++++++ Sorry it's been a few days-we just got the internet back after we moved.
Just letting you all know I'm a bit spaced out at the moment. We lost my grandmother on the 9th April.
Now...the journal excerpt is from John Winchester's Journal
I hope you enjoy.
I own Art whilst my homie SUL owns Monica ++++++
Chapter Four
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light
Plato
"So long jerk face," Art muttered under her breath as Dean lit the fire.
"You'll have to forgive me but I don't understand what it is you're doing," Monica frowned. "Why are you burning his body?"
The hunter chuckled. She and Dean had gotten back from their book run only an hour ago with a trunk full of books on angels and nephilim-all of them in languages that Monica would never have the time to learn. "We're burning his body so that the host doesn't come back and haunt our ass. That's how you get a vengeful spirit."
"I don't understand," Monica replied. "If you burn a body, the soul cannot be resurrected until Judgment Day."
Art shrugged and stepped away from the girl. She went to her car for her journal and came back before she threw it at Monica, almost hitting her in the face. "Lose it, damage it, hurt the precious in any way and I will kill you, understand?"
Monica looked around for someone to come to her defence only the three men seemed to be nodding their agreement with Art. "You'll have to excuse me but I'm not used to being issued with death threats at all let alone twice a day."
"It's a Hunter's Journal," Sam explained. "All hunters have one in some form or another. It's our go to book for everything that goes bump in the night. Now that we've got this out of the way, care to explain what you two found out?"
"Art did some reading on the way back," Dean answered. "Apparently she can read Ancient Sumerian."
The pint-sized hunter shrugged. "It's a gift."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "What did you find?"
"Inside," Art suggested. She stuck her hands in her pocket and walked inside giving the rest of them no choice but to follow. She picked up a book from the top of the pile and flicked it open. "This book is basically a How To Guide on releasing the devil from the pit. Our little half breed over there is definitely one of the seals."
Monica glared at Art. "Can you not call me that?"
The hunter stared at her right back. "Given my current track record with angels and the fact that none of us trust you-you're gonna remain the half-breed or the nephilim. You're a threat, Monica."
Monica looked around the room, it was certainly written all over their faces that they didn't trust her at all. What Art had said was true. "I'm not a threat!" she objected.
Art snapped the book shut. "Honey, I've met fairies who are threats. Just because you've got some Catholic good girl crap going on means nothing. The easiest thing would be to kill you and salt and burn you to prevent your blood from being used-but Sam and Dean vetoed that idea."
"I like a good cat fight as much as the next dude," Dean spoke up, "but we've got more pressing issues at hand."
"Well you guys deal with that," Art replied, "I've found a case so I'm gonna head and get out of dodge. Okay?
Bobby cleared his throat. "Why don't you all go?" he suggested. "Get out of here so I can work in peace."
"Including that?" Art asked, pointing at Monica.
"Be nice," Bobby warned her.
Art sighed. "Okay, fine."
Sam shifted in his spot. "What's the case?"
"Guy named Luke Wallace died after eating razor blades in Halloween candy," Art answered. "Four of them. Think he'd stop after one-hey? I see case." She snatched her journal back off Monica and stalked off to check the supplies in her car.
"Don't mind her," Bobby shrugged. "Good kid, doesn't trust anyone for good reason."
Monica frowned. "Everyone keeps telling me not to mind this or that but what about my feelings? I was raised a good, Catholic girl with a respect for the good Lord but none of you are giving me enough time to deal with this."
Dean shrugged. "Fine. There's the door. Don't come crying to us when you're being chased by angels or demons or whatever wants to kill you next time."
"Dean!" Sam groaned as his older brother walked away. He looked at Monica as she went a different way to both Dean and Art. "Bobby, I don't think it's a good idea if we all go."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You're all going. I don't have time for Tuesday with Maury. Go on, get."
Sam stuck his hands in his pocket and walked off to go help Dean with the supplies.
-XXX-
Art found Monica about an hour later in the kitchen making various sandwiches and food for the road trip. She raised an eyebrow and came up behind the nephilim before stealing the chunk of roast beef she was working with.
"Hey!" Monica objected. She struck Art in the hand with the butter knife and took the meat back. "I'm not butting in on your little hunters showdown so you can stay out of the kitchen!"
Art snorted. "Hunter's showdown? I don't think so. What is it that you think we do?"
Monica paused. "Um-I hadn't really thought about it really."
"That's your problem," the hunter scowled, "you aren't thinking." Art lifted her shirt up to show Monica three scars along her chest. "Black Dog did that before I killed it." She let the shirt go and rolled her sleeve up to show Monica some silvery scars that looked like teeth marks on her right arm. "Vampires did that. We hunters roll into town with one goal-kill the evil bastard causing trouble. This isn't some little pissy school girl road trip-this is serious business and if you get in our way you're going to get someone killed."
Monica pressed her lips together.
Art leant in. "Hit me with that knife again and I'll stab it through your gut,"
"Art stop threatening Monica," Bobby growled from the living room.
"So are we all going in one car?" Monica asked.
"You can travel with the Winchesters," Art replied. She turned, grabbing a sandwich before the waitress could stop her and ducked upstairs to borrow Bobby's shower.
"So what happens to me now?" Monica frowned.
Bobby shrugged. "Do I look like a guidance counsellor princess?"
Monica wasn't sure what to make of this change in Bobby and how he treated her, usually he was always so nice. Whenever he came into the diner, he always gave her tips and treated her nicely. This Bobby was treating her like...like a freak. She returned to making the food as Sam and Dean were making notes about monkey suits and fake ID's-none of which she liked the sound of.
"You okay?" Sam suddenly asked, popping up behind her.
Monica jumped. "Yeah I'm okay. A little sick and tired of Artemis making me out to be a monster."
Sam coughed a little. "Bobby says you're travelling with us. You can have a read of our dad's journal whilst we drive. Give you an idea of what we do."
Monica smiled. "Thank you, I'd like that...your dad must be so proud of you."
He shrugged. "He's dead. So's our mum."
"Oh Sam I'm so sorry"
"Don't worry about it," Sam replied. He looked at the basket Monica was packing and shook his head a little. "I hope you like the Best of Mullet Rock cause that's all Dean listens to."
"Best of Mullet Rock?" Monica asked.
Sam laughed. "You'll see."
Yeah Monica didn't like the sound of that.
-XXX-
It almost took the group of four twenty-four hours to get to Twin Falls Idaho. When Monica finally got out of the Winchester's impala her legs almost dropped off. Sure they'd stopped for a few pit stops along the track but man they all knew how to road trip.
Their first step was to find a hotel, the Best Western Plus was the most inconspicuous hotel that Sam could find so after a quick trip to the reception area, he came back with two rooms. Art was thrilled by having to share a room with Martha Stewart's clone gone wrong.
As Monica stood by the chest of drawers unpacking her suitcase, Art came out of the bathroom zipping up a pair of black slacks. "What are you doing?" Monica asked her.
"Dean and I are going to talk to the widow," she replied. Art pulled her shirt on and buttoned the blood red blouse up before she pulled her jacket on. "See if we can find anything funky going on."
Monica bit her lip. "I don't mean to be rude but shouldn't you be focusing on-I dunno-me?"
Art raised an eyebrow. "You're like a long term goal, this is a short term goal." She ratted through her duffle bag on the bed and pulled out a leather wallet.
"What's that?"
"FBI ID," Art replied. "Agent Amelia Dale at your service."
"You have a fake federal ID?" Monica asked, mortified.
Art shrugged. "I'm the best damn forger out there. Ain't nobody got documents as good as the ones I spit out. Comes from being an art lover."
"That's against the law!" Before Art could answer, there was a knock on the door. She shrugged as Monica opened the door to let Sam and Dean in-Dean wearing a suit like Art was. "Do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking by doing this? What if you get caught?"
"Monica it's what we do," Sam told her, trying to ease her fears. "We're gonna head to the local diner to see what gossip we can find out about Luke Wallace. Okay?"
Monica frowned. She seemed to be doing this a lot lately. "I guess I don't really have a say in this, do I?"
Art pulled her hair up in a messy, yet professional bun. "Nope. You could stay here, unprotected. It's up to you."
Sam crossed the room over to Art when Monica went to the bathroom with a change of clothes in her hands. "Can you stop being so rude?"
"Why?" Art snapped. She buttoned her jacket up and looked at herself in the mirror. "She's going to slow us down and get us killed."
"This is no us," Sam argued.
"Until we sort this angel shit out, Sammy-We. Are. Family."
Dean chuckled and Sam shot him a dirty look. The elder Winchester shrugged. "Sorry, Sammy. I gotta agree with short-pint over there. You can have fun babysitting the danger magnet. We'll meet you at the diner."
He tossed Sam the keys to the Impala and followed Art outside.
-XXX-
Art fixed her suit jacket up before she raised her hand and knocked on the door of the two story house. She looked sideways at Dean and smirked, "you clean up nice Winchester. Kinda hot."
Dean grinned. "You're not too bad yourself, Artemis."
"Do you wanna do the talking or the looking?"
"Looking."
Art nodded. "Okie dokie."
Dean chuckled. "I like you. You say okie dokie."
The door suddenly opened and a woman stood there clutching herself showing signs of recent crying.
"Mrs. Wallace? I'm SSA Amelia Dale and this is my partner SSA Leonard Axel from the FBI. We're here about your husband, Mr. Wallace, and the razor blades in the candy."
Mrs. Wallace paused but stepped aside to let Art and Dean inside the house. "What can I do for you both?"
"As I stated by the door, we're here about your husband," Art replied. "Tell me what happened to Luke? How many razor blades did they find?" she asked as Dean started looking around the kitchen.
"Two on the floor, one in his stomach and one was stuck in his throat. He swallowed four of them. How is that even possible?" Mrs. Wallace looked at Dean as he looked around the front of the stove and in the oven door. "The candy was never in the oven."
Dean stood straight. "We just have to be thorough, Mrs. Wallace."
Art cleared her throat. "Did the police find any razors in the rest of the candy?"
The woman shook her head. "No. I mean, I don't think so. I just-I can't believe it. You hear urban legends about this stuff, but it actually happens?"
Art nodded. "More than you might imagine." She flickered her gaze over to Dean who held up a small brown bag in his hands making her skin shudder. Fucking witches. "Did Luke have any enemies?"
"Enemies?"
"Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?"
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Wallace snapped.
"Co-workers? Neighbours? Maybe a woman?" Dean suggested.
Mrs. Wallace looked at Dean like he'd just slapped her in the face. "Are you suggesting an affair?"
"Is it possible?" Art asked her.
"No! No, Luke would never!"
"We have to consider all possibilities," Art told her, "I am so, so very sorry for asking you these questions."
"If someone wanted to kill my husband, don't you think they'd find a better way than a razor in a piece of candy he might eat?"
Art raised an eyebrow. "Well, we're sorry for taking up your time, Mrs. Wallace. If you can think of anything else can you call me?" She handed the widow her business card before she and Dean left the house. "Hex bag?"
Dean handed her the bag and Art opened it to have a look. "Witches, man."
"Yeah I agree," Art replied. She stuck it in her pocket and headed back to the Charger.
-XXX-
Monica came out of the bathroom wearing a simple yellow sundress complete with matching yellow shoes and a white bolero jacket. She glanced over at Sam who was flicking through some brochures looking for a suitable diner nearby.
"I've been meaning to ask, how do you guys fund all this?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Um-well-put it this way-whilst you were learning which bible verse best fitted any given situation-Dean and I were learning how to cheat at pool and steal ect."
Monica wrinkled her nose up at Sam. "That sounds highly illegal."
Sam shrugged. "We've all got criminal records, Monica. You think we can dig up a grave to put a restless spirit to bed? How do you think we put a spirit to rest? It's not a bunch of latin or a spell-you gotta salt and burn the bones. Or sometimes a spirit attaches itself to an item so that's gotta be salted and burned. Werewolves-silver bullet through the heart. Vampires? Chop of their heads. Shapeshifters? Silver again. Ghouls? Decapitation. Rugaru? Fire. Different monsters have different ways of dying."
"So you have this information in your diaries?"
Sam shrugged. "Most of it."
"So the purpose of this diner trip is not to eat or socialise but to spy on everyone's private conversations?" Monica inquired.
"That about sums it up. Don't worry. We do this all the time."
"I don't like the sound of that," Monica replied. She followed Sam out of the room and shoved the key in her handbag. When she got in the car, Monica immediately leant forward to change the channel on the radio only for Sam to cough to stop her.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why?" Even after spending a seventeen-hour car trip with the brothers, Monica couldn't understand Dean's love for rock music from the eighties. His set up was old school-cassette tapes. Even Art had the same taste in music although hers was a little broader and she had an iPod connected up to a snazzy looking stereo system.
"Just cause."
Monica sat back. "I seem to remember some kind of conversation about Dean and hell-he doesn't mean the literal hell-does he?"
Sam paused. "I guess you should probably know. Some stuff happened and it got pretty bad and well-I died."
Monica's jaw dropped. "Wait-you died?"
He nodded. "Yup. I was dead. Dean sold his soul to bring me back. But instead of the usual ten-year contract, Dean only had a year. The demon Lilith that is breaking the seals to free Lucifer from hell had his contract and she killed him when his time was up. Four months later Dean showed up at my hotel room with Bobby and that's when we met Cas. The angels apparently laid siege to Hell to rescue Dean."
Monica took a deep breath. There was an angel who had asked Sam and Dean to look after her and protect her after her father had asked him to look out for her but her mother was still in hell for doing the same thing that Dean did. How was that fair? How was any of this fair? She sat there in the passenger seat and took out her cell phone to check her messages.
There was a few from her boss asking if she was okay and that the police were looking to talk to her over the body in the diner. She had some missed phone calls from Kenny who she volunteered with at the nursing home as well as her neighbour asking when she was going to be home since there was a clanky pipe in her walls.
She put her phone away as Sam pulled into the parking lot of the closest diner. Monica got out of the car and followed Sam inside. As they sat down, Sam dug the thick leather bound journal out of his backpack and slid it across the table.
"Read it," he instructed. "You'll learn a little bit about why me and Dean do what we do."
Monica opened it and put the menu over the top when the waitress came over.
"You guys looked at the specials?"
Monica ordered a caesar salad with a glass of sparkling mineral water whilst Sam got a Mexican chili burger with a side of cheesy fries and a coke. They didn't talk, instead just sat there in silence whilst Sam pretended to read a magazine. The diner was buzzing with conversation about the man who had died-Luke Wallace.
It upset Monica to learn that he was a devoted father and a husband who loved his wife despite his goofy nature. She listened to the wait staff talking about how he always came in and ordered a BLT with extra bacon, a large chips and chocolate thick shake for lunch every Thursday.
She closed her eyes and took a moment before she returned back to the journal before her.
November 16th 1983
I went to Missouri, and learned the truth. And from her, I met Fletcher Gable, who gave me this book and said: 'write everything down." That's what Fletcher told me, like this new life is a school and I'll flunk out if I don't have good notes. Only if I flunk out of this school, I'll be dead. And the boys will be orphans. So I'm going back to where this started.
Two weeks ago, my wife was murdered. I watched her die, pinned to the ceiling of Sammy's room, blood dripping onto his cradle until she burst into flames-looking at me as she died. The week before that, we were a normal family...eating dinner, going to Dean's T-Ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed...when I try to think back, get it straight in my head...I feel like I'm going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out...I'm wandering around, alone and lost, and I can't do anything.
Mary used to write books like this one. She said it helped her remember all the little things, about the boys, me...I wish I could read her journals, but like everything else, they're gone. Burned into nothing. She always wanted me to try writing things down. Maybe she was right, maybe it will help me to remember, to understand. Fletcher seems to think so.
Nothing makes sense anymore...my wife is gone, my sons are without their mother...the things I saw that night, I remember hearing Mary scream, and I ran, but then everything was calm, just for a second-Sammy was fine-and I was sure I had been hearing things-too many horror movies too late at night. But then there was the blood, and when i looked up, my wife…
Half our house is gone, even though the fires burned for only a few hours. Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe-the safe with Mary's old diaries, the passbooks for the boy's college accounts, what little jewelry we had..all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?
I want my wife back. Oh God, I want her back.
Monica closed the journal as she started to tear up. She looked over at Sam who was suddenly on his laptop not paying her any attention.
Just as the waitress put their food on the table, the bell over the door dinged. Art and Dean came in and came directly over to the booth where Monica and Sam were sitting.
"Hiya Sammy, Monica," Dean grinned, sitting at the booth.
"Did you find anything?" Monica asked.
Art dropped the bag on the table. "Yeah-it's a witch doing this." Monica reached out to pick up the bag only Art snatched it off the table before she could touch it. "It's a hex bag, witches use them to make something really bad happen to their victims. I wouldn't touch it. I've got some pure iron necklaces and bracelets in the trunk that we can wear."
"Pure iron?"
"Suppresses a witch's power," Art replied. "We gonna eat and head back to the hotel room? This hex bag isn't like you're usually witchy magic."
The other two hunters nodded.
Monica decided to read the rest of the journal when they returned to the hotel room but for the moment, she wanted to pretend that this was something normal.