I take another sip of my beer, and set it down beside me on the roof of an old and broken Ford in the back of Bobby's house. I sigh, and tap the eraser end of my pencil against my leg again and again. I could feel my frustration melting away, and my imagination starting to flow. Just as I was about to take another swig of beer, I suddenly get a massive pain in my skull, but the only sound I am able to let out was a long groan, and I hope someone heard me. I get a flash of a face in my brain, and I suddenly have a need to draw. This is what Cass was talking about in my dream.
I squeeze the pencil in my fingers, and force my eyes shut, and as I try to concentrate, I see the face again, but this time it stays there. The pain that was pounding on my skull is no longer there, and I'm drawing at super speed. After a couple of minutes the face leaves my brain, and I open my eyes. I glance down at the picture I draw, and gasp at the exact replica I have in my hands. The detail in this drawing looks like I should have taken hours, and I did it in a matter of seconds. I laugh to myself, grab the rest of my pencils and beer, and slide off the roof towards the front door or Bobby's house. I don't stop running until I twist the handle, and almost crash directly into Dean. He's shocked at first, but his shock quickly turns into flirty in a flash.
"Missed me too much?" He purrs, but I push past him.
"Oh, shut up. I had a vision, I think." I huff out as I walk toward Sam and Bobby, who have been staring at me since I walked through the door. Cass is nowhere to be seen, but I neither surprised nor caring. Sam's eyebrows fly upwards.
"What was it?" He asks, stepping forward.
"It was a man's face. I drew it, look." I say as I flip my book around to show them the face. Dean walks around me to get a glance, and he groans. He and Sam mirror the same face, but Bobby and I stare at them.
"Care to enlighten us on who the hell this is?" Bobby demands. Dean looks at him, and sighs.
"It's not a 'who'. He's a 'what'." He says, and crosses his arms over his broad chest.
"An angel?" I ask, but when I say it out loud I know it isn't. The man I drew seems menacing, and evil; like there is a million secrets he has, and a million lies he has told. Sam shakes his head.
"No; a demon. THE demon, actually. The crossroads demon: Crowley." He answers begrudgingly.
"You know his NAME? How do you know his NAME?" Yells Bobby as he wheels himself to face the two boys. They look at each other.
"Bobby, that's the demon who gave us the damn the Colt!" Dean shouts back.
"You watch your tone with me, boy." Bobby growls. By this point I'm confused as hell, and I can tell that a fight is about to start, so I lay the picture on the table, and put my hands up.
"Okay, wait a minute. What Colt?" I ask. They both turn to me, but Sam answers in a normal tone before they can scream at me.
"This is a special Colt that can kill any demon." He responds. Now I'm even more confused.
"And the crossroads demon just gave it to you? Are you kidding me?" I say in disbelief. Dean answers this time, impatiently.
"He gave it to us to kill Lucifer. He thinks that if the devil will destroy all humans, it's only a matter of time before he destroys his little minions, too." He speaks fast, and walks towards the table that I laid my picture on, opens a hidden drawer that I failed to notice, pulls out a old-style gun, and lays it on the table beside my picture.
"Wow." I say. "This thing can kill ANY demon? Then why hasn't anyone killed the big bad wolf yet?" I ask as I pick up the Colt. After a couple seconds of silence, I glance up to see the rest of them looking away from each other.
Damn it, Sarah. Put your foot in it that time. I put the Colt down, and face them.
"You have, haven't you? And it didn't work?" I question, stupidly. Sam shakes his head. Dean walks over to the window, and puts his hand on the window sill, and Bobby wheels over behind his desk across the room. Sam walks towards me, and stops to bend down beside me to whisper in my ear.
"We lost two hunters on the way. We were attacked by Hellhounds, and they sacrificed themselves. They were old friends of ours." He murmurs in a monotone voice. I look into his eyes, and I see that they are filled with sorrow and regret. I look away.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't know any of that." I glace back up at his face, and smirk. "Obviously Castiel didn't tell em much of anything, I guess." I say in a normal voice. Dean whips around.
"Yeah, how DO you know Cass, anyway?" He demands. He is hardly staring at me, and I know I have to explain to make up for my lack of sensitivity, but before I can, Bobby speaks.
"Didn't you hear her ripping him a new one? I'd be surprised if he wasn't out having more than just a beer." He chuckles, and flips through a folder with a bunch of papers sticking out. I roll my eyes at him; Cass doesn't have feelings. I start to say just that when Dean interrupts.
"No, seriously. I want to know why Cass brought Bitchy Barbie here, because if it's to draw faces of demons on little scraps of paper, then you can just leave." He tells me in a loud voice. Sam puts his hand to his forehead and heavily sighs as I narrow my eyes at him.
"Do you honestly think I WANT to be here? It's not like I had much of a choice here, Dean." I tell him just as loud.
He was about to say something else when I felt a gust of wind on my arm. Dean felt it, too, so we looked in the direction it came from, and there stood Cass. He looked at each of our red faces, then at Bobby.
"What did I miss?" He asks.
"A whole lotta bitchin', that's what." He throws down his file folder, and wheels in front of Castiel. "We need to hear it straight, angel boy: Why is she here?" He points to me. Cass has a look of confusion.
"She is a Prophet of the Lord." He replies simply.
"Yes, but how do you know her? It seems like you have a lot of history together." Dean says, pushing himself off of the window to stand beside Bobby. I just sigh.
"He came to me when I was fourteen, and told me that I had "a gift", and he was right. A couple of months before he found me, I started having these horrible pains in my head. Just after, I would get flashes of what seemed to be pictures in my mind. They would go away as fast as they would come, and at first I thought I was seeing things, but they became more frequent, and they stayed in my mind for longer periods of time." I walk to the wooden chair closest to me and sit down. "Then I thought I was just recalling memories, but when I would describe, or draw, the images to my mother, she would deny that I had ever been to any of those places. So I started to look into it, but I came up nothing. I suffered two more months before Castiel appeared in my room one day when I was doing homework." I look at him as I speck the last sentence.
"You were peeping on a teenage girl? A little perverted, don't you think, Cass?" Dean says smugly, then laughs. When nobody laughs with him, his face slowly returns serious.
"Actually, that's what I saw. He's lucky my mother took another shift, or she would have burst right in when I screamed as loud as I did. I was about to throw something at you, but when you mentioned my visions, I stopped myself. You're lucky that your last vessel was as good to look at as this one because I probably wouldn't have responded well if it hadn't been." I tell him as I look him in the eyes. He looks down, suddenly uncomfortable, and I laugh. I turn to Sam and Dean, and see that their faces are mix of shock and awkwardness. I cleared my throat and continued.
"He was there for a month, helping me harness my gift. He helped me concentrate on keeping the image open for as long as I could, and I practised drawing at the same time. By that time, I was having them every day and, although I couldn't stop the pain entirely, Cass taught me a spell to make the pain subside. Then he left without a goodbye, only barely a letter." I sit back in my chair. "And ten years later, he pops up in one of my dreams, in a different vessel, I might add, and scare the crap out of me, and tell me he needs me and my ability." I finish, and clap my hands together. It is silent for a long time before Cass speaks up.
"I told you that I did not mean to frighten you." He mutters. I wave him off, and stand up.
"So what do we do next?" I ask. Before anyone can answer, I hear a deep, British voice in the kitchen reply to me.
"I was about to ask the very same thing." He says. I turn and gasp. I look down at my picture, and back up at the man standing only a couple of meters away from me. Then I hear Sam's voice rip through the silence.
"Crowley." He grinds out. Crowley smiles evilly, and winks at him.
"Hello, love. Miss me?"