Apartments

I suppose I'd always known that Dean Winchester lived above his own shop, but it was in a vague, disbelieving sort of way. I always went home before my boss, and he never talked about his apartment. Whenever a customer mentioned that the garage had a second story, he always called the space a warehouse.

As Sam and I followed Dean up a narrow staircase in the alley behind his shop, I wondered what else I didn't know about the hunter. Even before we entered the apartment, it was obvious that its owner knew how to keep a home safe from the things that go bump in the might.

There was a large warding symbol – Celtic, most likely – spray painted above the mechanic's dark-green front door. I could see salt on the windowsill of the window next to the door, laid out in a neat, even line. Partially hidden beneath a worn-out welcome mat lay a small devil's trap, drawn on the concrete landing with a permanent marker.

Dean fumbled with the keys for a moment and then opened the door to reveal a small apartment. He limped slightly as he stepped inside and I followed after Sam. From the entrance, I could see a tiny but well-furnished kitchen, complete with unwashed dishes in the sink. Beyond that lay a sparsely decorated living room – large couch, seventy inch television – with a couple of doors on one side.

One whole wall of Dean's otherwise barren apartment was taken up by a gun and knife collection like any other. I took a moment to walk over and admire the weapons, a hunter's best friends some days.

"Make yourselves at home," said the mechanic with a light chuckle as he walked up to the fridge – too large to properly fit into the kitchen. "It's not much, but I call it home."

There were several pizza boxes balanced on top of the trash can and a small recycle box was filled with beer cans. The place really did feel like someone's bachelor pad, except for the guns. And the old, hard bound books on the coffee table.

"You live here?" Sam asked cautiously as he looked around.

I saw Dean tense. "Yeah, I do," he said defensively. "Got a problem with that?"

"Um, no…"

I rolled my eyes. "Cool it, Winchester. No one's disrespecting your home. Although, it could use some housekeeping."

"I barely spend any time up here," Dean admitted a bit more calmly and handed me a beer.

"Figured as much. I mean, there was a good span of a few months where I thought you were homeless and just slept in that garage of yours."

Dean laughed aloud, then smiled bemused. "Give it a rest, Jo. I'm not a bum."

"Didn't say you were, but you know, hunters aren't the most stable bunch. How many of Mama's patrons do you think have full-time jobs and furnished apartments?"

"Fair point."

The mechanic walked over to one of the doors and opened it, revealing a small but clean bedroom. "Guest room's this way, Sam. I left clean linens in there and what not. There's plenty of food in the fridge and far too many channels on TV."

"Thank you," the young man said quietly.

I fingered my cell phone, still in a pocket. "If you guys are good, I'm going to head home. Got a cat to feed and plants to water."

"Want me to drive you home?"

I frowned and shook my head. "No need. I live like four blocks away. I think I can make it there all right. Sam, you need anything?"

We both turned to the omega, who started to say something. Whatever it was he planned to tell us got lost when the man let out an ear-piercing scream. He winced and his brows furrowed, as if in pain. His hands went to his face.

Dean practically sprinted across the living room and put his hands on Sam's back. The boy was shaking, barely standing. He dropped the medications he'd been holding and the bottles rolled across gray carpet.

"What's the matter?" I asked softly, stepping in front of Sam so I could see his face.

A thin line of blood poured out of his nose and down to his mouth and he gasped for breath. "Head. It hurts."

Then, his eyes closed and he passed out. Dean caught him mid-fall and wrapped his arms around the now unconscious omega. He grunted for a moment as he shifted his grip to better hold onto Sam.

"Help me get him into bed."

"What the hell just happened?" I demanded – as if Dean had answers – as I grabbed Sam's feet and lifted.

"No idea," Dean replied, sounding genuinely worried.

Together we carried the man into Dean's guest room and situated him on the bed. The mechanic brought over a blanket and I covered Sam with it. His breathing slowed to something more normal and when I found his pulse, it sounded normal to me. As I brushed hair away from his neck, I noticed that Sam had two small stud earrings in his right ear. One was emerald green and the other a bloody shade of red.

"Are you going to be all right?" I asked, looking up at my boss.

"You keep asking that as if I'm the one unconscious or something. Relax, Jo, I'm fine. Sam's an omega, not a rabid dog. I can take care of myself – have been for a decade now."

"I know you can, Dean. That's not what I meant." I said, exasperated.

"Then, what did you mean?"

I took a deep breath. "I mean, are you all right? Forget Sam for a moment. There's a crazed maniac out there, out for your blood. You're no safer than me."

"I can handle that prick."

"Sure you can. But what about whoever he's working with?" I chewed my lip nervously. "At least call Ellen and see about getting a few hunters to keep an eye on this place. Just in case. Until we know what Gordon's planning, at least."

Dean glanced his wrist watch. "I think it might be a bit late tonight, but tomorrow, sure."

"Thanks, Dean. That makes me feel better."

"What about you? Sure you don't want me to walk you home?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. I'll call you as soon as I get in, though. So you can sleep tonight."

"You would me," Dean joked, pretending that he was stabbed through the heart.

I left his place and headed home down well-lit, familiar streets. I knew these roads inside and out, having lived here most of my life. Most of the streets were at least paved, although some were more pothole than pavement by now. Neon signs announced everything from liquor to tattoos to payday loans.

"Hey Jo!" yelled the owner of the corner gas station and waved at me.

"Good evening, Mr. Lawrence."

"How's your day going, dear?"

"Oh you know, it's all right. Just heading home," I said with a smile at the elderly owner.

"Well, you have a nice evening, dear."

"See you tomorrow, sir!"

I walked down the street for another block and then turned into the familiar courtyard. It was already dark out by then but the street lamps in this part of town weren't very reliable. Half of them weren't even on. The lights on the four-story building itself weren't on, either – probably idiot children again, smashing them for fun.

As I approached the stairs down into the basement, I saw a dark smudge on my front door. In the minimal lighting, it looked like some artistically-challenged child had painted a grizzly skull in the middle of the wood. When I got close enough to touch it, I was assaulted by a thick, coppery smell and my fingers came away from the artwork blood red.

"Could be a coincidence," I told myself even as my hand reached for my phone.

Ours wasn't the safest neighborhood. Plenty of good people called these streets home, but not every one of them was a law-abiding citizen. Hunters preferred the gray spaces for the work we did.

Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, I dialed Dean's number even as I fished my keys out of my pocket.

"Hey! Did you make it home OK?" asked the mechanic as soon as he picked up – the miracle of caller ID.

"Well, I got home. But it looks like someone's been here, finger painting."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a bloody skull on my front door."

I heard his voice change, grow harder, more dangerous. "Get out of there, Jo. Right now."

"Lock doesn't look tempered with."

"Doesn't matter. Just come back to my place, OK? We can check it out in the morning."

"Yeah, all right. I'm coming. See you in a few minutes."

"Be careful, Jo," Dean said and I hung up.

I was about to head back when the sound of footsteps startled my already frayed nerves. I heard several sets of footsteps in the street just outside the courtyard, all moving together and all headed my way. I too the stairs two at a time back to ground level and ducked behind a large dumpster, keeping out of sight. Just in case.

Shadows moved around the side of the building. Boots hit the pavement hard, not trying for stealth at all. I heard them approach my door and put my hands over my mouth, to keep sound down to a minimum.

I heard Gordon say, "Ellen's little whore lives down here. Marcus, you go around back, just in case the bitch tries to run. Andy, you're with me."

My stomach knotted at the sound of his voice. Somehow, the more I thought about Gordon, the more he frightened me. Edging along the wall, hidden from their view for the moment, I turned into an alley on the side of the building. Keeping to the shadows, I snuck in between a couple of junk cars in the parking lot and vaulted the fence that separated my building from the neighboring community.

The noise caught the attention of one of Gordon's friend because I heard running behind me, followed by someone grabbing the metal mesh fence. I ran, and they followed, cursing loudly enough that I could hear them. Whoever it was seemed faster than me; I wasn't going to be able to outrun them.