"So where would you like to begin?" Laraje asks happily with Lizzy's voice, the closet door still acting as a barrier between them. "We could start big with someone like Lisa, or we could ease you into the whole thing with a high school crush like Amanda."
"There's no way this is real," Dean mumbles to himself. "My head is screwing with me. I'm seeing things… and hearing things."
"Wouldn't that be nice," she comments flippantly. "However, this is most definitely real. And I've been patient enough so can we get down to business here? The sooner we get our talk over with, the sooner we can move on from it."
"What does moving on mean?" Dean questions cautiously, not particularly liking the sound of it.
"Meaning I can be on my merry way," she explains. "I just want to talk, Dean. All demons get a pretty bad rep since most are sadistic a-holes. I'm more of a talker than a killer."
"And I should believe that why?" Dean's taking everything she says with a giant sized grain of salt. From his experience, demons lie and then lie again. And then they lie some more. He smells bullshit all over her.
"Because you're in there and I'm out here. What choice do you have other than to take my word for it, really?" she huffs. "Ok, I say we start at the very beginning, huh? Let's talk about Rachel Stanwick."
Dean leans heavily back into the hard wall behind him and looks up to the ceiling, begging his fogged over brain to come up with some kind of solution to all of this. Should he try and bust out? He probably couldn't in his injured state and even if he can get the door open, once he's out he has no weapons, no way to fight her. Also, if he fights this demon, he fights Lizzy and he could never hurt her, not even now. Maybe if he can get Castiel's attention he could help out… but she'd hear him praying and know what he was doing. Fuck! He's stuck here until the angel comes back later tomorrow.
"Helloooo?" Laraje calls to him. "You passing out in there? I wouldn't suggest it. That concussion's probably a bad one."
"You're telling me," he says, still weighing the options in his head. He either tries to bust out, probably getting himself and/or Lizzy killed in the process, or he sits tight, pretends to listen to whatever it is she has to say and hopefully assuages the demon long enough for Castiel to arrive.
"So what do you remember about Rachel?" she tries again.
"Um," Dean answers, preparing himself for the worst therapy session ever. "Met her when I was fifteen I think."
"You think?" Laraje asks with surprise. "Are you telling me you don't remember your first? I mean I know there's been only God knows how many since her, Dean, but everyone remembers their first."
"I remember," he tells her. He certainly did. "We were stuck in Colorado for a few weeks. I went to her high school."
"It's all coming back now, isn't it?" she encourages him.
"A little," he admits, but in reality he recalls her clear as day. She was older, seventeen, and he first saw her walking down the hall at school in her combat boots, cut off denim shorts, Nirvana t-shirt and red flannel. She was hot, he surely remembers that. The first thing he noticed on her were her legs that went on for days. "We went to Fort Collins together while I was there. She was a junior and I was a freshman."
"You liked her right away didn't you?" Laraje questions, obviously knowing the answer already.
"Well, yeah," Dean answers. "Who wouldn't? She was hot."
"How'd you first talk to her?"
"This is ridiculous," Dean says, feeling stupid. He knows there's also a good chance Lizzy is listening in on all this. It's awkward to say the least and judging by the faces on the wall, it's only going to get so much worse.
"Sorry you feel that way, but it has to be done."
"What if I decide I don't want to do this, huh?" Dean challenges. "You can't make me talk."
"You're absolutely right. I physically cannot make you talk, but…" Laraje pauses as she sweeps the blade of a knife underneath the door, the metal gleaming with the soft light in the closet and catching Dean's eye. "You don't talk, you're sweetie doesn't live after I'm gone. So start speaking."
Dean's heart races at the threat as he watches the blade disappear from sight. She's got him by the balls, or by the Lizzy rather, and there's nothing he can do about it.
"So, how did you first get to talk to Rachel?" Laraje asks once again.
"A house party," Dean returns, doing whatever he can to keep Lizzy from getting seriously hurt. "Her parents were out of town and I went with some guys I'd met from school."
"And using that over-confident swagger of yours, you just walked right up to her and struck up a conversation?"
"Not exactly," Dean recalls, embarrassment already hitting him hard. "I had swiped a bottle from a liquor store earlier that day. I forget what it was, but someone told me it was her favorite. I brought it to the party and gave it to her."
"And she just dropped her panties right then and there, huh?" Laraje laughs.
"No way. She ended up challenging me to go shot for shot with her. I ended up losing big time and puking in her back yard when I'd hoped no one was looking. She saw though."
"Smooth," she comments.
"Hey, it worked," Dean explains, defending his actions. "I yakked but she was impressed that I could keep up as much as I did. Apparently I was the only dude to get as far as I did against her. Guess taking my portion of dad's supply all those times ended up paying off finally. After a little mouthwash, I spent the night in her bedroom listening to Soundgarden and popping my cherry. I don't remember much of it though… I was pretty wasted."
"So Rachel ushered you into manwhoredom with all the grace of a five buck hooker," Laraje remarks with utter enjoyment. "Then what?"
"Then nothing. I walk-of-shamed it back to the motel the next day to find Sam still passed out on his bed, half eaten bowl of Cheerios on the nightstand and TV blaring. I left the poor kid to his own devices for the night. I shouldn't have either. He was only eleven. Still feel kinda bad about that. We left that day when dad got back and told us to pack it up. Never saw her again."
"Wow, I mean, I've heard plenty of first time stories before, but yours is just… perfect."
"How do you figure?" Dean questions, wondering how puking at a party and leaving before saying goodbye is perfect.
"It's just so you! I mean, drinking too much, banging a chick you barely know, never seeing her again after. Talk about foreshadowing!"
Dean sighs and closes his eyes. She was right. He did have quite the pattern going. Maybe Rachel did set him up for a life of the same; get drunk, find girl, have sex with said girl, on to the next. That night he did indeed discover how easy it was to get a chick in bed. He barely had to lift a finger, only a shot glass several times. With his lifestyle, he quickly found that this game of his worked like a charm.
"See Dean," Laraje begins explaining. "Even from the jump you were meant to be on the road, banging strange and having whatever fun you can find. Rachel was just there to give you a nudge in the right direction. She was the perfect example of what was to come and I have to say, she did a hell of a job."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean complains. "She was just a chick at a high school party that had a thing for drunk, stupid underclassmen."
"No, she was there for a reason," she explains. "Just like Amanda was there to show you without a doubt what you could never have."
"Huh!" Dean finds himself beyond confused and frustrated. She's changing subjects awfully quick and in his busted mind he's having a hard time keeping things straight. "I'm a bit cloudy over here so you better start making more sense, bitch."
"Amanda Heckerling. She was hot, and sweet, and a bit of a goody-goody," Lizzy's voice reminds him. "Not your usual type."
"Nah, but isn't variety the spice of life?" Dean jests, though he hears Lizzy saying it in the back of his mind. She once told him this when talking about his musical preferences and the lack of range in it. Damn it, he misses her already.
"Very funny," Laraje says in Lizzy's voice with a kind laugh. Maybe she's warming up to him. Wouldn't that be nice? "But back then you never once thought, huh, this chick is nothing like the girls I usually go for. Why did I go after her?"
"No," Dean honestly tells her.
"Well, she was also there for a reason. She taught you another important life lesson. If your last name is Winchester, you can't have a girlfriend or a normal life."
"I can promise you I wasn't looking for a girlfriend at that time," Dean informs her while wiping the trickle of blood running down his temple. Shit, he's still bleeding. He begins to take off his flannel shirt to use it to stop the bleeding
"Oh, I'm aware, but the invitation to meet her parents wasn't quite as terrible as you played it off, now was it?"
Dean freezes mid shirt removal. How did she know that?
"You're quiet, which means I'm right." Laraje is starting to piss him off now.
"If you know everything already, why am I doing the recap thing for you?" Dean asks with sheer annoyance.
"It's better that way," she explains. "People tend to recall things much more clearly if they are forced to do it themselves. Now back to Amanda. Be honest here. Deep down, you kind of wanted to meet them, didn't you?"
"No!" Dean says a little too defensively as he presses his shirt to the side of his head with the gash on it. He knows he's being too transparent and is giving himself up. Might as well be truthful now. "Alright, maybe it wouldn't have totally sucked."
"And you still said no. Why? Your image? To convince yourself that you really were more of a ladies man than boyfriend material?"
"No," Dean says, cringing with the throbbing wound as he puts more pressure on it. "What would be the point? We're constantly on the move. Why bother?"
"So Rachel taught you a lesson and Amanda cemented into place," Laraje concludes. "How convenient, huh?"
"Whatever," Dean responds, already tired from the discussion and from the concussion. He closes his eyes once more and wallows in his own misery as his trapped-like-a-rat situation gets the best of him. And it's official, Lizzy was right; he's very clearly not allowed to take a vacation.
"You're not gonna like what I have to tell ya'," Bobby warns as he pours his second glass of cheap booze. After looking further into the demon they're now sure they're up against, he started drinking to curb his growing anxiety.
"Super," Sam complains as he sees the first flurries on the outskirts of the storm start to fall all around his car. "Alright, out with it, Bobby. Just get it over with."
"When I said she liked conflict and love, I was right. But in her mind they ain't exactly mutually exclusive."
"The fuck does that mean?" Sam asks while rubbing his weary eyes. The road was repetitive and mind-numbing enough. The added hypnosis of the rapidly falling white specks shooting towards his windshield like a scene from inside the Millennium Falcon isn't helping. It makes his tired eyes have to work even harder.
"It means she's a master anti-couples therapist," Bobby explains, pausing to take down some of his whiskey. "She likes to fuck with people's minds, make them fall outta both love and all attraction with their current significant other."
"Interesting…" Sam trails off. "So it sounds like she's purposely going after them."
"That's what I'm thinking. Though not sure what the motive would be."
"You really can't see how breaking them up would be a smart move for the bad guys?" Sam asks, surprised Bobby wouldn't get it. "They both have an important purpose for the good guys. They're needed and there's no way demons haven't figured it out by now."
"Great," Bobby caustically complains. "You think it's possible?"
"That Laraje went to fuck with them. Yeah, Bobby. I do."
"No, no," Bobby brushes off. He's pretty damn sure that's what's happening anyways. "I mean do you think it's possible for anythin' to break those two up? Seems like it'd take a whole hell of a lot."
"I don't know. Depends on how good she is I guess." Sam blinks rapidly again as a brightly lit sign appears on the side of the road. Rest stop. Time for a frantic run in for coffee and a quick fuel up. "Anything else helpful you find?"
"Well, her weapon of choice is interesting. She uses a bow and arrow."
"Very, uh, retro of her," Sam comments, not expecting the old, arcane weaponry to still be a choice for a demon in the twenty-first century.
"Of course it ain't just any ol' bow and arrow," Bobby continues.
"That'd be too easy, right?"
"Right. The arrows are tipped with pestilence. On contact, it does the same initial damage as any other arrow, but quickly the wound becomes infected and festers."
"Gross."
"No kiddin'," Bobby concurs, a gulp of booze to wash away the nasty idea. "And the best part, the only thing that can cure the rotting damage is Laraje herself. Only her touch can make it stop… otherwise, you're good as dead."
"Watch out for arrows," Sam states, repeating the information to store it away. He turns into the parking lot at the side of the highway.
"Damn straight watch for em'," Bobby says.
"So she causes conflict and war, ruins love, can kill in probably the nastiest way possible, and can control the weather?" Sam tried his best to sum everything up, his overworked and overly tired brain struggling to keep on top of all the information Bobby gives him. "Jill of all fucking trades, huh?" Sam throws the car in park once he's pulled up to the rest stop.
"Oh yeah. She's into everything."
"She also sell steak knives door to door?" Sam jests while grabbing his wallet from the glove box and jumping out of the car.
"Nah, but it's said she bakes a mean chocolate chip cookie," Bobby returns with huff.
Sam pushes through the glass doors and shakes the snow out of his hair. "Gotta let you go. I'm stopping real quick for fuel."
"You hit snow yet?"
"Just a few minutes ago. It's coming fast so from here on out, I gotta concentrate."
"Ok. Just be careful, Sam…"
"I know Bobby," Sam interrupts him before ending the call. He's had enough with the cautious warnings. He just wants to get back to it and get to Dean and Lizzy.