Chapter Twelve: A Mace to the Face

Do you wanna come with me? 'Cause if you do then I should warn you, you're gonna see all sorts of things. Ghosts from the past; Aliens from the future; the day the Earth died in a ball of flame; It won't be quiet, it won't be safe, and it won't be calm. But I'll tell you what it will be: the trip of a lifetime.

–The Doctor

The sun was high overhead as Sam and Dean exited the church, their eyes scanning up and down each side of the road as they crossed the street. Sam could feel his brother lingering close behind him, his gun pointed in the opposite direction. But Sam knew that Dean was watching him out of the corner of his eye and the lack of trust was starting to get suffocating. And impractical. How were they supposed to protect the town, find Jo and Rufus, and save the survivors huddled up in the church basement if Dean couldn't trust him to carry his own weight? Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know. We also don't have the time fight it out. Or had his brother not noticed that the town had been laid waste to by demons? I'm in just as much danger as everyone else and more competent than most. What's the point of sidelining me? Sam swallowed his irritation as they continued across the street.

On the other end, near where they'd entered the town, Sam could see the long smear of blood across the asphalt. The black sedan just across from them had a cracked windshield. One someone had obviously been thrown into. Maybe in a fit of telekinetic rage? Sam didn't know. He glanced at Dean. His brother continued to stare forward with steely eyes, unmoved by the destruction around them. His finger tightened around the trigger of the shotgun as he brought it up, nestling it in the cradle of his shoulder. Finally, he said. "You get the salt. I'll get the guns."

Dean shook his head. "We'll do it together." He said, his voice gruff. He had no intention of letting Sammy go into danger alone. Not after what happened with Ruby and breaking the final seal. He wasn't about to let his little brother fall off the wagon. Not again.

Sam looked at his brother in dismay. Then he looked up the street at the mini-mart and grimaced. "Dean." He growled. "It's right there. Can't we at least do this like professionals?" Cocking it he continued forward as Dean slowed down behind him.

Dean came to a stop and watched his brother move forward. He didn't want to admit it, but he was hurt. He frowned, silent and said nothing. Watching as Sammy disappeared up behind a Ford Truck and into the River Pass Quick Mart. He knew this was a bad idea. Fine Sammy. He thought. We'll do it your way. Gail was still out here somewhere, but Dean was relieved that Sam hadn't mentioned her. There's no way that little bitch'd be in the Quick Mart. And if she was, what were the chances that she'd hurt Sam? She's workin' for the angels, so pretty damn good I'd guess. Besides, if that bitch poked her head out of her hidey hole and threatened Sam? Then I'll just fill it with holes. No sense playing nice. He'd had his fill of evil bitches. Rubbing his chin and wincing as he put pressure on the bruise, he turned and headed off down the road. He'd do his business and be back. And if you're listening you bitch, I better find Sammy in one piece!

Inside the River Pass Quick Mart, Gail was still watching the security camera. Plugging her nose, she yawned and glanced back over her shoulder at the body of the dead min-mart shopkeeper. There still seemed to be a horrible irony in the fact that he was an Indian from India. It's even more ironic that I feel I have clarify that in my head. The man's ghost was still lurking and wailing. He'd been begging her to avenge his killer for the past fifteen minutes and it was getting old. "I'm never going to get rid of you am I?" She asked, rolling her eyes. There was a very quick way to get rid of him, but alone with only herself and her alter ego, Gail was fully willing to admit that she liked the company. At least someone wants me around. It was almost refreshing. If he could hold up a half decent conversation. The problem was that when he wasn't screaming for her to avenge his murder, he didn't seem to realize that he was dead. "I'm going to be vampire Willow here for a minute." She told him, lifting her fingers. "Bored now." She snapped them. The specter not visible to anything but her spiritual second sight went up in flames. He screamed. Loudly. Then he was gone.

She tapped the side of her head and groaned. "Blessed, blessed silence." It was so rare for her to experience that.

Then why didn't you get rid of him earlier?

"I was trying to be nice." She replied. "You know, nice? Kindness? The emotions you find…er…foreign?" Mentally, she felt a hard scaly tail flick the back of her head. Hard. "Ouch. I didn't deserve that." The tail whacked her again. "I didn't!" She sighed. Her head hitting the keyboard

Seeing a familiar lanky frame of Sam Winchester on the screen, Gail looked up. He was making his way through the aisles. She watched for a moment as he knelt down and began collecting small canisters. "Oh yay." She muttered. "A Winchester walking into a very obvious combat sequence…er…trap." Leaning on her palm, she groaned. "Honestly," she stood and walked to the door. "Fifteen odd years of combat training," Gail pushed it open, slamming the wooden barrier head first into an oncoming enemy. She stepped into the corridor and let the door close behind her, ignoring the bloody smear now scraped across the black paint. It was six feet high. A man's height. She looked down at the squirming teenager now rolling on the floor, clutching his forehead. He was maybe sixteen years old. "And he doesn't bother to check the perimeter."

Fucking amateur.

Watching as the boy lifted the nine-millimeter handgun he was clutching and pointed it at her chest, Gail sighed. Well, he'd just broken Mace's cardinal rule. No guns pointed in her direction. Ever. She couldn't help him now. "Tag team switch?" She asked. She got a laugh and sighed. The boy was looking at her wide-eyed, she could see the dilated pupils of his dark blue eyes. I must resist urge to make obvious Dirty Harry reference. He was scared and he was looking at her like she was insane. Well shucks, I guess I just get to be the big bad monster today.

Not by a long shot kid.

Cannot resist urge… "I'm really sorry about this," she said as the boy's finger started to squeeze the trigger. "I really am, cause no one should have to suffer through yet another bad Dirty Harry reference but since this might be my only chance…" She smirked, tilting her head to the side. "Do you feel lucky punk? Well? Do ya?"

Don't worry, kid. He won't have enough time to scream.

Alerted to the sound of a door slamming into something, Sam looked up. He put the last bottle of rock salt down into his bag and waited for a moment. Moving from a crouched position to an almost standing one, he poked his head up over the shelves. His eyes scanned the room but saw nothing. Okay, that came from the direction of the back and the bathrooms. Which meant he wasn't alone in here. Knew I should've checked this place out. About ready to head towards the back and see what was going on, Sam stopped. There was a jingle from the front as someone entered. He ducked. Peering up over the shelves, he looked over and saw two teenagers, probably between the ages of seventeen and nineteen. They're eyes were black. Demons. Sam swallowed his disgust. Demons possessing kids! That was as low as it got.

He checked the overhead mirror, frozen in place, following the motions of the two teens. Neither carried guns, which forced Sam to breathe a sigh of relief and offer up a prayer of thanks. One had a baseball bat and the other a canvas bag. They both wore trucker hats with odd insignia, ones he didn't recognize. What am I going to do? The question hung in his mind as one of the boys moved across the aisle, back to him and started collecting water bottles.

Sam looked to the left and saw his shotgun resting on the second shelf, snug on top of cans of Chunky's chili. It was twelve inches beyond his reach. Still, it was the best defense he had against these enemies. The shells were loaded with salt, meaning he could keep the demons away while he had time to exorcise them from the kids. There was no reason for anyone to die here. Sam had already seen enough innocents kill. He reached, his fingers sliding around the wooden stock and for a moment he had it, then they slipped, knocking a chili can to the floor. Sam looked up. The boy had heard him. Shit!

Sam was already on his feet and backing up as the boy in a blue plaid shirt hurled a water bottle at his head. Sam kept the last canister of salt clutched firmly in his hand as the boy rushed him. Swinging a wild punch at his face, Sam caught the boy by the back of his shirt and flung him into the tall rack of shelves. The boy's arms crushed the bags of Lays Potato Chips and Kettle Corn. Shoving himself up, the boy spun around and clocked Sam across the jaw with a solid backhand strike. Thrown back, Sam felt his back rammed into the cold hard steel of the shelves as the boy's fingers closed around his neck, choking off his airflow. Gasping, Sam began the familiar chant of a Latin exorcism. "Exorcizamus te," the boy remained unaffected by his words, squeezing harder. "Omnis immundus," Sam threw up his arm, casting sprays of salt across the face of the demon. Before he could continue, the boy knocked his arm away, sending the canister of salt rolling across the floor. He reached for Sam's throat again.

But this time Sam was ready. His hand snaked down to Ruby's demon killing knife, the one he always wore belted to his hip. He yanked it free from its sheath as the boy rammed his shoulder into Sam's chest. Sam groaned and shoved the knife into the boy's abdomen. The boy cried out as Sam yanked the knife free and fell rolling on the ground, clutching his bell. The knife's serrated edge and the way it had sliced through the boy's intestines meant that the wound was a deathblow if the kid wasn't taken to the hospital. And out in the middle of nowhere, what are the chances of that? Slowly, Sam began backing up. There was another in here. Where'd he gone? Heart hammering in his brain, Sam's eyes leaped up to the mirror. Hopefully it would give him bearings on where the other one was hiding. But, the other demon was nowhere to be found among the aisles in its smooth shining reflection. Nowhere. Did he run? Sam wondered. Trying to slow his breathing down as adrenaline pumped through his system, Sam continued to back up.

Behind him, there was a loud and angry yell. Jumping Sam spun, but a body stepped past him, catching the arms of the young black man and shoving him backwards into the glass doors of the refrigerated beverages. Sam saw long brown hair and a petite body. Gail? Without missing a step, the girl stepped forwards and slammed a closed fist into the boy's chest. Sam blinked, realizing that the boy struggled for a moment and then fell limp, his body held up by her arm. "Gail?" Did she just…put her fist…through his…?

Shattered glass and blood covered the floor. Gail's free hand went to the boy's shoulder and coolly yanked her arm free from his chest cavity, bringing the boy's heart out with it. She turned, her arm coated in crimson. Sam felt his racing heart stop as she gave him a grin. There was something off about her expression. "Here," she said. Her voice was several octaves lower than usual. It gave him chills and he wasn't sure why. "Catch."

Sam blinked in surprise as a bloody organ came flying at his head. His response, ingrained by years and years of training took over. He ducked. "What the hell!" The words escaped his lips as he stared up at her and into dark brown eyes. He watched her snort and then shake her head, crossing her arms over her chest. Her position was less feminine and more manly, the position his father had used to assume when Sam had failed at a simple task during training. A technique Dean would have accomplished easily. He could see something akin to disapproval glittering in those eyes, but at the same time soft lips that were all too feminine twitched with laughter. The look Dad gave me when I was scared of the monster under my bed.

"Fucktard."

Sam blinked. "What?" He coughed and looked down. A knife was buried in his belly. Long, red lines were dripping down his plaid shirt. What?

Sam watched her shake her head. "Should've been watching me, not the heart." Sam felt his knees hit the floor. His skull rolling back as pain hammered against his brain. "Don't worry, kid the wound's mortal. You'll be dead in a few."

She started towards him. It was a lazy stride, effortless, and confident. She seemed unaware of, or simply didn't care that her arm was still dripping blood. Blood. Demon blood. Sam felt his head begin to pound. A similar sensation to when he'd killed Lillith. The feeling, it filled him, subsumed his mind and he found himself staring at her arm, wanting to taste the crimson droplets slipping off of it. His desire hammered against his brain. Vision blurred, he looked up. She was squatting in front of him; a grin spread from ear to ear, head tilted to the side.

"Shit." He heard her chuckle. "Distracted boys die early deaths. Didn't anyone teach you that?" He looked up into her eyes and reached for the knife. Ready yank it out of his stomach. His fingers scrambled to find the hilt. Where was it? "No."

He froze.

She smiled.

She reached out with nimble fingers, her hand lazily wrapping around a leather wrapped hit. Was it wrapped in leather? It was so much longer than he remembered. He felt her pull it free, it's blade ripping through his intestines. He stared at it. A long sword. When had it become a long sword? He'd thought it was a knife. Where'd she been hiding that thing? "Good boy." He felt her reach up and ruffle his hair like he was a child.

Like I'm being rewarded. She was different. Her stance, her walk, the way she tilted her head, everything. Gone was the slight bounce to the way she grinned, the sing song childish lilt to her voice, she sounded a little like a chain smoker now, her voice reverberating from deep in her throat. She doesn't waste her motions. He'd always noticed a little uncertainty to Gail, like her all her pride was just a front for a pool of insecurity. She'd always reminded him of himself. But not now… Now, she's like a completely different person. What had Gail called her alter ego? Terror crept into his brain as he stared into her brown eyes. He'd felt like he'd met this being before.

"Mace." The word croaked through his lips. He was getting dizzy. What had she said? Don't worry, the wound's mortal. Had she…had she killed him? Just like that? It seemed very anti-climactic.

He listened to her laugh. "Brain's not a total loss." Her hand was on his shoulder, why couldn't he move? "But you should've figured that out more than a minute ago. Poor logical thinking for someone who scored…what was it? A 174 on the LSATs." She shoved him with a swift flick of her wrist. Sam fell backwards, his eyes on her bloody arm. His shoulder hurt, but the rest of his body was becoming painfully stiff. His mind was fogging and she sounded so…far away. "Don't go so fast, kid." He heard her laughing. "Someone told me you… chers had stamina. Guess they were talking about, well, someone competent."

"You…"

He felt her pat his head. "Nighty night, boyo. See you in a few." Sam closed his eyes. All he saw was darkness.