Howdy to all! Here it is! The second part of this episode. I hope you all enjoy it :) I am ssooo excited for the next episode because I have some exciting plans that I can't wait to share with all you wonderful readers!
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It was finally the middle of the night and was safe for us to come out and play, sans pot, fyi. Apparently Dean was joking, so when he overheard me on the phone with Leah, trying to figure out a meeting spot to do a handoff, he went all ape shit and a yelling match ensued between the two, neither one backing down. She was determined to bring us pot and he was pissed that she continued to be a bad influence on mankind. Lies, Leah was downright charming, in her own magical way. Dean just couldn't see the good in my friend.
But alas, here we were, digging away. Well, I guess I should be more specific. Sam and Dean were digging away. I'm happy to report that I was manning the flashlight after winning a nerve wracking double elimination game of rock-paper-scissors. They were hard at work tossing dirt out to the side of the grave, as I sat on the grass with my feet dangling into their newly dug hole.
They had started off discussing some sports team, but the conversation had slowly faded away into silence a while ago and it wasn't hard to miss their heavy breathing. "Out of shape much?" I mocked.
"Fuck off," Dean bit, only half joking. His mood was still on edge ever since we began this little hunt.
"A little touchy tonight, huh?" I threw back.
I saw Dean open his mouth to respond, but Sam tugged on his arm, drawing his attention to the coffin that was now fully uncovered.
Dean smirked and without a second thought, he reached back behind him and tugged on my leg, pulling me down into the grave beside him before I even had a chance to react. "Dean!" I scolded harshly. "What the hell?!"
"Ladies first," he responded calmly, pointing towards the coffin for me to open.
I wanted to shank him in the jugular, but I figured now was not the time (even though it was most definitely the place, I mean if you are going to kill someone, might as well be in the cemetery, no shipping fees!)
I shoved the flashlight into Dean's chest with extra force. "Fine," I sneered. I would show him. He put the light on coffin and I stretched my arms as far as they would reach in front of me, not wanting to get too close. I slowly pulled up on it and had to exert way more energy than I thought I was going to need. This thing was heavy. I continued to squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see what was now opened in front of me.
When I heard Sam and Dean exhale in confusion, I peered through one eye into the coffin. I looked from Sam to Dean, both equally lost and in disbelief as I was. The coffin was empty. The girl's body wasn't there anymore.
"They buried the body like four days ago!" Dean shouted in exasperation.
"I don't get it," I whispered. There should have been some fresh, rotting corpse staring back at us.
"Look," Sam pointed to some symbols carved on the inside of the coffin.
"What is that?" I asked, kneeling down to look at them better.
"I know I've seen those symbols before," Dean explained. Sam and I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. "In Dr. Mason's office, remember?" Nope, no remembering going on here. He was the one who looked at the book. I was too busy comforting that old man, who just might be the culprit? Man, that's some good acting skills he had.
And now we had to go after him and stop whatever messed up zombie crap he was trying to pull.
As part of our latest "let's be decent human beings" campaign, we went back to the motel, showered, and slept for a few hours before going to the library to research those symbols at the ass crack of dawn. Once we had a general idea about their meaning, we went over to Dr. Mason's personal residence and were now standing on his porch, ready to pound on the door. I don't think Dean managed to sleep at all last night because he was still fuming in anger. Visibly agitated, he pounded heavily on the door.
"Dean. Take it easy, okay?" Sam scolded. Always the levelheaded one. Blatantly ignoring him, Dean pounded his fist on the door once more.
Moments later, the door creaked open and the old man from yesterday appeared, clad in a gray shirt, pajama pants, and his robe. "You're Angie's friends, right?" he said, motioning between me and Dean. It was almost as if he were happy to see some of his daughter's 'friends' again.
"Yeah, this is S-," I began to introduce him, but Dean was ready to ignore the pleasantries and pounce right on him.
"We need to talk," he said harshly. His expression was fixed and he left no room for Dr. Mason to turn us away.
"Well, then, uh, come in," he replied as a flash of uncertainty spread across his face, unsure what this was about. This guy was smooth because he wasn't even showing any signs of panic that someone had found out about his little zombie secret.
"Thanks," I replied on behalf of everyone as we made our way into his house and Dr. Mason closed the door behind us.
Not wasting another second, Dean got straight to the point. "You teach Ancient Greek," he stated matter-of-factly. "Tell me, what are these?" he demanded, handing over a piece of paper that had the symbols copied on them.
"I, I don't understand," Dr. Mason responded, his brow furrowed in confusion. "You said this had something to do with Angela?" He looked from the paper to Dean and finally to me, not seeing how all of this was related. The way he looked at me…his eyes...there was just something in them. Something that screamed he was innocent. Had he been involved with bringing back his zombie daughter, there would have been panic in his eyes at seeing those symbols, and panic wasn't staring back at me.
"It does relate to her. Please, just humor me," Dean insisted flatly, his face still expressionless.
"They're part of an ancient Greek divination ritual," he explained, trying to get this conversation over with.
"Used for necromancy, right?" Dean interrogated. Dr. Mason nodded and Dean took that as his cue to continue, "See, before we came over here, we stopped by the library and did a little homework ourselves. Apparently they used rituals like this one for communicating with the dead. Even bringing corpses back to life. Full-on zombie action."
Dr. Mason shifted a little, taken back by Dean's tone. "Yes, I mean, according to the legends. Now, what's all this about?" He wanted more answers now because he wasn't picking up on what we were after, which meant he wasn't our guy. I noticed Sam's face change from 'we got you now' to 'oh shit, wrong guy'.
"I think you know," Dean spat, still in full pursuit of the old man.
I glared at him and whispered harshly, "Dean." This needed to stop. We had already bothered this poor, grieving guy enough. I stole a look at Sam and he shared my same uneasy expression.
But Dean wasn't backing down. No way josé. He was dead set on getting Dr. Mason to confess. "Look, I get it. Okay? There are people that I would give anything to see again. But what gives you the right!" he snapped. Yes, there were people we all wished we should see again. And then I finally started to understand Dean's angle in all of this, why he seemed to be so affected by this particular case. And I hated to say it, but I had to. However, let's keep this between us, okay? Don't need anyone going and getting a big head, but, Sam was right. He had been right all along about all this having everything to do with Dean and how he was handling Dad's death.
"Dean!" Sam spoke up, trying to get him to stop.
"What are you talking about?" Dr. Mason asked, taking a step backwards, trying to get himself further away from this heated conversation.
"What's dead should stay dead!" Dean snapped, each word laced with more emotion than I'd heard him express in recent days. And there it was. That wasn't just something he was yelling at Dr. Mason, that was something he was yelling at himself too. I had never spoken (well, written) the words here because once you write something down, it's like you put some credit of truth to it. And, I still refused to do that. Dad was dead and Dean was here. Those are the facts and the details were not important to me because no matter what they were, that wouldn't change my current pain. So speculating wouldn't help anyone, but it seemed like Dean had been carrying that around with himself for a while now and this case was letting it all come out into the open.
"What?!" Dr. Mason raised his voice a little, both offended and confused by his remark.
"Stop it!" I shouted. This had gone far enough and Dean was pushing this old man over the edge.
But Dean was completely oblivious to our presence. He was in the zone and our words bounced off of him and he kept attacking. "What you brought back isn't even your daughter anymore! These things are vicious; they're violent, so nasty they rot the ground around them. I mean, come on, haven't you seen the cemetery? Where is she!?"
"You're insane! Get out of my house!" Dr. Mason yelled, pushing his way past Dean and over to grab the phone and began dialing. Before either of us had a chance to react, Dean stepped forward and knocked the phone right out of his hands.
"I know you're hiding her somewhere! Where is she!" Dean fumed, steam almost spewing from his ears.
Our reflexes finally kicked in and we stepped in to prevent my brother from tormenting this innocent guy any further. "Dean! Stop, that's enough," I shouted firmly.
When Dean didn't even flitch at my voice, Sam immediately grabbed onto his jacket, trying to get his attention as he pointed to a row of plants sitting in front of the window, in an attempt to show Dean some sense. "Look! Beautiful, living plants." Before anyone had a chance to say anything else, Sam shoved Dean toward the door and Dean retaliated, breaking Sam's grasp from his arm and angrily making his way outside. "We're leaving," Sam offered apologetically as he followed behind Dean.
"Sir, we're so sorry. We won't bother you again," I assured as I walked out also, throwing him a regretful smile. The look on Dr. Mason's face was going to be a hard one to erase. He seemed paralyzed with not only fear but also confusion, us talking about his daughter being alive again…I can't imagine what was going through his head at that precise moment.
By the time I reached the porch, Dean was already marching down the last of the stairs that lead to the sidewalk. Sam paused on the first few steps and waited for me to catch up. He just let out a heavy sigh, not even able to form words. Unable to think of anything to say either, I motioned for Sam to continue down. We'd better catch up with Dean now before he steamrolled some innocent kid outside.
We quickly went down the steps, taking them two at a time. Well, for Sam that was like his usual pace anyway. We jogged a few steps to catch up to Dean, whose boots were slamming hard into the concrete as he stormed toward the parking lot where we left the car.
In an attempt to trap him in, Sam and I went on either side of Dean, but he was solely focused on walking and not even acknowledging our presence. "What the hell is the matter with you, Dean?" I demanded.
"Back off," he seethed, looking from me to Sam, but never missing a step. I swear I saw a flicker of fire burning behind his angry eyes.
"That man is innocent! He didn't deserve that!" Sam argued back.
"Okay, so maybe she's not here, maybe he's keeping her somewhere else," Dean countered, not willing to give up his theory.
"Stop it! That's enough, okay? Enough!" I yelled, unable to control myself at his stubbornness. "You attacked that poor old man for no reason!"
"Guys, I know what I'm doing," Dean fumed, pissed that we were ganging up on him. He was acting like this whole Dr. Mason invasion was just some part of his (clearly stupid) master plan.
"No, you don't. At all. Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the crap out of me," Sam said, concerned. And wasn't that the truth. I know I had agreed to go on this case with him, but now he was just being completely irrational and things were turning ugly.
Dean let out a small chuckle and continued walking, his gaze fixated on what was ahead. "Yeah, cause you two are never overdramatic," Dean jabbed, refusing to address the issue.
"You're lucky this turned out to be a real case. Because if it wasn't, you would have just found something else to kill," Sam spat.
"Wha-,"Dean began, but I interrupted him before he could say any more excuses.
I took a step in front of him to cut off his path and held up my hand, signaling for him to stop. He couldn't briskly walk away from this. "You're on edge, you're erratic—except for when you're hunting, because then you are downright scary. When I saw you killing that vamp back at the sawmill, I just…you are so angry and you…you're spinning out of control, Dean. And you refuse to talk about it!" I snapped, finally able to voice what I had been thinking for a while.
"Oh, yeah, cause you open up about your feelings all the damn time," Dean jabbed, trying to draw the attention off of himself. He had a semi-valid point because I hadn't talked to anyone about what was going on with me, but that wasn't the issue at hand and he knew it.
"This isn't about her, it's about you!" Sam barked, annoyance clear in his voice.
"I can take care of myself, thanks," he shrugged, sidestepping me and walking on.
"You don't have to handle all this on your own, Dean!" I argued back, trailing behind him. He hadn't opened up to anyone about what was going on in that stupid head of his, and it was time he did so.
Dean was quick to stop dead in his tracks and respond, "If you bring up Dad's death one more time, I swear…." Out of the corner of my eye I saw his right hand slowly form into a first, seemingly ready to take action if we continued.
"Stop. Please, Dean, it's killing you. Please," Sam all but begged. "We've already lost Dad. We've lost Mom. I've lost Jessica. And now we are going to lose you too?" he asked.
There was a beat of silence as the words sunk in for all of us. I took a moment to glance around us and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized nobody was staring at us and our family drama.
Dean finally broke the silence. "We better get out of here before the cops come," he stated flatly avoiding the entire conversation. He turned to walk to the car, but when he realized neither of us were budging he turned back around to face us, sighing in defeat. "I hear you both, okay? Yeah, I'm being an ass. And I'm sorry," he said sincerely. I was momentarily taken back by the fact that Dean actually apologized. "But right now we've got a friggin' zombie running around, and we need to figure out how to kill it," he finished, trying to appeal to reason.
Sam sighed before letting out a small chuckle, clearly not wanting to press this issue any further right now. "Our lives are weird, man."
"That's an understatement," I laughed. At least Dean had admitted something was going on. That was much more progress than I had anticipated, and he had a very good point. We had to get to the bottom of his zombie mystery before more people died. Feelings could wait. Surely they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.
So we didn't know where zombie girl was hiding, but the next most logical step was to figure out how to waste her because then, when we finally did find her, we could gank her.
Sam was sitting on the bed, searching through Dad's journal for any information, while Dean took the more technological approach and was sitting at the table, reading through a billion web pages on zombie lore. I, on the other hand, was sitting crouched over across from Dean, pouring through the pages in Angela's journal, trying to find any clues about who else could be harboring her.
I leaned back in my chair, exhausted from reading another girl's ramblings. I mean it just wasn't interesting. There was little drama and if felt like I was watching a crappy movie. "Come on, guys, haven't you found something yet?" I asked, annoyed that it was taking so long.
"There're too many different legends on the walking dead. Some say you can kill them with a headshot and others say by setting them on fire," Dean explained as he threw himself back in his chair and crossed his arms.
Sam tossed Dad's journal aside on the bed. "Yeah, my personal favorite was by feeding their hearts to wild dogs. Who knows what's real and what's myth?" Sam sighed.
"Well is there anything they all have in common?" I suggested.
"Silver, maybe?" Sam asked, looking at Dean to see if he'd found the same common thread. He nodded his head.
"Silver's a good place to start," Dean stated. "But how are we going to find Angela?" he asked, staring at me, waiting for some answers.
"Since we know it's not her dad, I think it might be that guy Neil," I explained.
Sam stood up and came over to take a seat at the table also. "How'd you come up with that?"
I picked up the pink journal and waved it in front of his face. "I think I managed to crack the girl code in here. And I quote, 'Neil's a real shoulder to cry on, he so understands what I'm going through with Matt.' There's so much puppy love written all over this crap."
Dean smirked, "Well I think you're right there because there's no way in hell Neil would be a 'shoulder to cry on' if he didn't have an end game to get laid." Cue eye roll.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he brought her back from the dead," Sam countered.
"Did I mention that he's Professor Mason's TA? Meaning he has access to all the same books," I added. I received approving nods from both of my brothers, but Sam still seemed a little hesitant. Couldn't blame him. We'd already terrorized one person, so we should probably tread lightly this time. And by that, I mean we decided to break into his house at night and just look for the zombie bitch instead of confronting Neil himself.
Sam picked the lock on this old, huge house. No idea why Neil lived in such a big house? Whatever, not the issue right now. He slowly opened the door and Dean snuck by. "Hello? Neil!?" Dean shouted and after hearing no response, he continued, "It's your grief counselors—we've come to hug." He threw me his infamous cocky grin, finding himself rather humorous, but he was the only one.
Sam and I followed Dean into the living room as we looked around and didn't see any signs of anyone being there. Dean pulled out his gun and nodded toward me to do the same. Peacekeeper Sam didn't bring his gun-his idea, not ours; he felt like we shouldn't assume Neil was guilty. Whatever, I was all for being safe and not sorry.
"You put the silver bullets in?" Dean asked, always double checking shit he didn't need to be double checked. I was prepared, contrary to popular belief.
"Yes," I snarled. He nodded his head in some sort of faint approval and without another word, he started to lead us through the house, checking carefully around each corner. When we entered the kitchen, the dead and rotting plants instantly caught our eyes, making this Neil guy a definite prime suspect now. I couldn't help but throw Sam a haha, you were wrong look. Gotta take advantage of these moments when you can, my friends.
We arrived at the basement door, which had a dead bolt metal lock on the outside of it, making it obvious that he was trying to keep something down there. Dean nodded toward Sam to open it. "Unless it's where he keeps his porn…," he joked. I should just constantly roll my eyes in anticipation of the next ridiculous thing he'll say.
Sam opened the door and Dean quickly stepped inside, gun aiming down the stairs into the dark basement. He motioned for us to follow him as he started down the steps. I made sure to keep checking behind us, since I was brining up the rear. I hated that overly paranoid feeling that someone was going to pop up behind me at any second. Have you ever had that feeling? It was something I'd never get used to.
Just in time for some comic relief, Sam banged his forehead on one of the boards in the ceiling and I couldn't help but laugh. He threw me a perturbed look before hunching over and continuing to walk further into the room looking like the hunchback. Don't feel bad for him, it's his own fault. He went on vegetable overload when he was a kid and now suffers the consequences.
This basement was disgusting and full of crap everywhere. Clearly the cleaning lady hadn't been by for some time. Dusty old bottles and everything, even an old mattress and blankets thrown over in the corner. "Sure looks like a zombie pen to me," Dean said, looking around.
"Yeah, minus the zombie. You think she's going after someone?" I asked, flicking the safety on and tucking my gun into the backside of my pants, not seeing any immediate threat.
Dean walked over to the window and pulled a grate aside, revealing a hidden exit. Well, looked like crazy zombie girl didn't like being cooped up in here and found her own way out.
"Nay, I think she went out to grab some milk," Dean mocked.
Sam was still over Dean's attitude, so cue the bitch face. "Listen, smartass, she might kill someone. We gotta find her!"
"Yeah, all right. She, uh, she clipped Matt because he was cheating, right?" Dean asked, thinking out loud. I nodded my head. "Well it takes two to, you know, have hardcore sex," Dean remarked, not even caring.
"Dean, seriously?! Is there no filter up there?" I grunted, smacking him on the back of the head. Ugh. Did he always have to be so literal and disgusting?
"Well, dipshit, I think Angela's roommate is a good place to start…she seemed pretty broken up over Matt's death…like really broken up," he explained as he returned the smack to the back of my head.
"Ouch!" I muttered, rubbing my head. Okay, that was definitely harder than I had hit him. I'm calling party foul.
"You're such a wimp," Dean groaned before taking off up the stairs.
As I turned to head towards the stairs, my foot got caught and I almost tripped over myself. I looked down and realized my shoe had come untied. Story of my life. I looked up and Dean was already at the top of the stairs, so he hadn't even noticed. Good, because the last thing I needed was for him to see this because he'd already threatened that if my shoe ever came untied during a hunt again, he was going out and buying me those old lady shoes that had velcro instead of laces. And that was not happening.
I knelt down and quickly tied my shoe, triple knotting that little bastard, but as I stood up, my vision didn't seem to come with me. Black, fuzzy spots formed all over, blocking out my sight. My head started to swirl, and my heart started to pound. Unable to keep my balance, I stretched my hand out, hoping it would reach something to grab a hold of. Thankfully the wall was close enough and I could feel the cold cement against my palm as I tried to steady myself. After a few more seconds, my heart rate began to steady and my vision slowly came back into focus, making me abruptly aware that Sam was hunched over staring at me.
"Kate?" he asked gently, worry apparent in his voice. He placed a steadying hand on my shoulder.
When my vision had fully come back and the colors were clear again, I felt my cheeks burn hot and my breathing increased as I began to fret. I knew exactly why I had felt so lightheaded: I hadn't eaten more than a sandwich in the last 36 hours. I had to force one down for supper last night, especially after those concerned glances my brothers gave at breakfast yesterday.
"Kate?!" he asked again when I hadn't responded.
I looked him in the eye and gave him a faint smile. "I'm fine," I offered lightly, but his disbelieving eyes burned into me. I couldn't hold his gaze any longer and my eyes bolted to the floor.
"Are you sure?" he pried, knowing something was off.
Before I had a chance to respond, Dean suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, yelling, "Guys, move your ass!"
I immediately jerked my arm out of Sam's grasp, hoping Dean hadn't noticed, because then he'd want to know what was going on. Taking this as a great opportunity to change the subject, I yelled back up at Dean, "Asses, Dean. Asses."
He stared at me, annoyance written all over his face. "What?!" he demanded.
"Sam and I don't share an ass. Therefore, when speaking to both of us 'move your ass' is incorrect. It should be 'move your-." I wasn't even able to finish my educational explanation in an attempt to improve my brother's grammar before he interrupted me.
"Oh for fuck's sake, Kate," he said with a dramatic, aggravated eye roll. Well it worked because he went away, and now I could just ignore Sam and go up the stairs.
But before I could even get a step further, he gripped my arm and yanked me around to face him. He didn't say anything, but his eyes silently pleaded with me to offer him some kind of explanation. "I'm fine, just got up too fast," I explained flatly, showing no emotion in my voice.
Sam's mouth opened and closed, unable to come up with a response. My explanation had been very logical and he couldn't fight with logic, no matter how hard he tried. Defeated, he let go of my arm and I took off up the stairs without a second glance. I brushed past Dean who was standing in the kitchen waiting.
When I didn't hear Dean's footsteps following behind me to leave the house, I turned around to see him peering down the steps, presumably trying to see what was taking Sam so long. Sam must have given him a concerned look because Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise and he slowly turned to face me. From the moonlight shinning in through the windows, I could read his face clear as day. Our eyes locked for only a moment before I turned and briskly shuffled my way out on the porch to avoid any confrontation.
I crossed my arms as the cold night air hit me outside, unable to find warmth in my jacket. My body shivered, either from the sudden burst of cold or from the pure fear that they'd figured something out, I wasn't sure which. I waited for what seemed like forever until I heard two distinctive sets of footsteps heading in my direction, instantly recognizing them as belonging to my brothers. Isn't it interesting how someone can learn to recognize who is coming by just listening to their footsteps? It had come in handy on various occasions.
"We gotta haul ass to Lindsey's house and hope we get there in time," Dean instructed, not even looking in my direction as he made his way down the steps, hurrying off to the car, thankfully.
Sam appeared on the porch, but paused for a brief moment, stretching his arm out, signaling for me to go first. Apparently he wanted to keep an eye on me in case I suddenly passed out or decided to bolt.
Dean started up the car and was already peeling out before I could fully settle into the backseat. "Kate, why don't you just sit this one out," Dean said casually, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
"What are you talking about? Why would I?" I asked, completely taken off guard by his sudden declaration.
"Sammy said you weren't feeling good," he explained. Ah, so they had had some sort of chit chat before coming out of the house after all. Dean made an abrupt left turn and I had to push my hand up against the door to keep from flying against it.
"Sam's a liar. I feel fine," I sneered, narrowing my eyes into the back of Sam's head.
Dean pressed down on the gas harder, pressured to get to Lindsey's house on time. "Yeah, well I don't have time to figure out if you're sick or not, so you're just going to sit this one out," Dean stated firmly, his tone showing how serious he was.
He slammed on the breaks in front of a large, white house, presumably belonging to this cheating chick. I scooted over to the door behind Dean and pulled out my gun, ready to get out and join them, but he instantly picked up on my defiance and threw over his shoulder at me, "It's not up for discussion," and slammed his door behind him. Sam reached back and ripped my gun right out of my hand before I could react and he and Dean took off running toward the house.
And so here I was, alone and worried. Not about my brothers taking out the zombie bitch, because we all knew they could do that in their sleep, but about where this would go after they killed her. Once she was out of the way, they would have a one-track mind and it appeared all paths led to me, instead of to Dean and all his emotional malfunctions.
I slouched down in my seat, putting my knees up on the back of the front seat (a big no-no, but screw that). I was lost in my thoughts when the sound of gunshots and glass shattering pulled me back to this crazy reality. I quickly got out of the car and looked around, trying to see what was going on. Suddenly appearing from behind the house, Dean ran at full force, his gun held out in front of him. "Did you see her?!" he yelled as he approached me.
I looked at him confused and replied honestly, "No, I didn't see anything." I hadn't been aware that I was on runaway zombie lookout.
"Damnit!" he shouted at no one in particular, throwing his arms down at his sides in defeat.
"You missed?!" I questioned, unable to believe he had missed such an easy shot.
He turned to face me, his eyes narrowed in rage. "No, Kate," he spat. "I nailed her a few times, but apparently silver bullets don't kill the bitch, they only slow her down." Just then, Sam came barging out of the house and storming down the steps to meet us. "Lindsey okay?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, as good as anyone can be after their ex-best friend zombie tried to kill them," he explained, making his way over to his side of the car. "But we have to find Neil."
"Get in the car," Dean ordered both of us, his face showing all kinds of frustration that the zombie hunt wasn't going as planned.
I avoided making any eye contact with Sam because he was a traitor and didn't deserve to be graced with my wonderful face. We both slid back into the car and the engine roared to life in seconds.
"Where do you think Neil is?" Dean asked, unsure in which direction we should be heading.
"Well, if I knew my dead best friend slash secret crush was suddenly a murderous zombie, I'd want to find a way to get that shit under control," I replied, stating what I assumed to be the obvious.
"The university?" Sam suggested.
"Best bet is Dr. Mason's office—that's where he got the book from after all," I added. See? I was clearly helpful on this case. I don't know why they felt the need to leave me out of the house hunt.
"University it is," Dean confirmed as he sped off down the street. "But one pit stop on the way," he said as an afterthought. Ugh. I rolled my eyes. Such an inconvenient time to need gas. I peered over his shoulder and saw that the tank was actually just half empty (or half full, depending on your outlook on life—I tend to be a pessimist, you'd understand in my line of work). Well, no gas was needed, so this was now officially the worst time to need a potty break. I mean, couldn't he just like go outside? Guys have that luxury, girls on the other hand, not so much. Well…there was this one time in Idaho. Have you ever been to Idaho? No rest stops for miles and miles. So options were slim-picking and thank the pagan gods it was corn season because the field was…
"Kate!" Sam's voice ripped me from my inner story time. I stared blankly at him, but his raised eyebrows told me I'd missed something. I glanced out of the side window and saw we were stopped out in front of the hotel.
"Come on!" Dean barked, motioning in the direction of the door.
"Come on what?" I asked, confused.
"I told you you're sitting this one out, so get out," he commanded. I thought I was just sitting out the zombie chase, but I could more than handle this Neil interrogation! When I refused to budge, he pulled out his wallet and held out a $20 bill to me. "Go get yourself dinner and rest up," his eyes began to narrow like they always did when he was losing his patience, which was basically every time we had a conversation.
I looked from the money to him and over to traitor Sam. "For the last time, I'm fine!" I said, exasperated. I felt like a broken record, repeating the same phrase over and over.
"I don't have time to sit here and argue about this. There's a fucking zombie involved in some Twilight romance and—," Dean began.
"But Twilight is vampires, not-," I interrupted him, but his deepening scowl forced me into silence. Knowing this battle was already over, I forcefully ripped the money out of his hand and got out of the car, making sure to take my frustrations out by slamming the door. And it felt good.
I turned around to give them one last glare, but I was met with Sam's index finger banging on the window, pointing at the diner that was beside the hotel. Before I had a chance to flip him off, Dean sped off down the road toward the university.
And there I was. Dumped off (again, I might add) at the hotel, but the only difference was this time it wasn't my choice. Sam had brainwashed Dean into thinking I was not feeling well and therefore wouldn't be at my best for this hunt. I let out a frustrated sigh. To my right was the room, which meant sleep, and to my left was Bert's Blissful Bites 24-hour diner. Reluctantly, I shuffled my feet to the left, knowing I had no choice. Sam had been so adamant with his stupid finger slamming on the window. If I didn't go get food, somehow he'd find out. Checking security cameras, drawing my blood, interviewing employees…I wouldn't put anything past his psycho ass.
I opened the door and the cowbells (yes.) jingled, announcing my presence to the entire diner, however there was only one other couple in the entire place. From the looks of it, they had had a hot night at some bar and were now drunkenly indulging in some pancakes and fries.
Spotting a booth in the corner, I made my way over there quickly, throwing myself into the not-so-comfortable seat. Moments later, a young, red-haired waitress with boobs that were practically tumbling out of her shirt came over. Thank goodness Dean wasn't here because he would have been hitting on her within seconds. She handed me a menu and I managed to smile and mutter a "thank you" before she excused herself.
I mindlessly flipped through the pages, not even bothering to read anything. It was just habit. All the diners had the same foods anyways and I'm pretty sure I could recite their typical menu by heart. However, nothing sounded appealing to my stomach, which was already begging me to leave. But I had to pick something. What's something that would show Sam I was just fine? What food screams normal? A salad? No, that screams Sam disease. Pancakes? No, not appetizing after seeing drunk peeps chowing down on them.
Just then the waitress reappeared. "What'll it be?" she asked flatly, clearly not amused by her graveyard shift job.
As a split second decision, I blurted out, "A cheeseburger, fries, and a sprite." Good choice, me. I applauded my inner conscious. That was a respectable, normal meal.
Not too long after, she walked by, casually dumping my meal off in front of me without even a simple enjoy. It must be this Midwest hospitality that kept people coming back for more.
And now it was just me and my cheeseburger, which sounded like the lyrics to a very depressing song. I picked it up and held it hovering over the plate, as if it were a completely foreign object. Before I could bring it closer, the pit in my stomach fell even further. Like the endless abyss that it was. And I was immediately reminded of why that pit was even there in the first place. Dad. Dad was gone and he was never coming back. That's what had brought on all of this. And somehow a loss of appetite had turned into something more. Something larger than I had even imagined. The emptiness turned into a feeling of comfort….a feeling of something that was only for me to know about. It was turning in to a never-ending game of convincing myself and my brothers that I was fine. I couldn't just take that feeling away. No cheeseburger or fry was going to fill up that hole and make it all better.
The sandwich never even made it within 6 inches of my mouth. Screw Sam and his dumbass pointy finger. He didn't understand what was going on and the sudden realization that he was suspicious about this entire situation made me nervous. This was my problem and I wasn't up for a share and care therapy session. Sure I had told him my college secret, but some secrets you just didn't share, especially in a Winchester family. So I needed to get him and brainwashed Dean off of my case.
I signaled for the waitress to come over and asked for a to-go box for my meal. She dramatically rolled her eyes at me and unenthusiastically carried my plate away. Freaking sassy redheads. I paid for my meal, leaving her a lousy tip, and left with my styrofoam box. In my trek across the black pavement, only the moon and a dim streetlamp illuminated my way. Still unable to activate my superhero night vision, I had to squint through the darkness to spot a dumpster off behind the back of the hotel reception building. Perfect! Making my way back there, I opened the side door on the dumpster and was met with a disgusting, reeking smell of trash. But I wasn't thrown off for long; believe it or not, rotting trash wasn't the worst smell out there. Rotting corpses and Dean's extra onion backfire ranked up there at the top.
Opening my box, I strategically broke off a few bun crumbs and dusted the inside with them, before tossing the entire cheeseburger into the dumpster. Then I did the same with the fries. There. Done. I knew Sam was capable of going to extremes to get answers, but there was no way Sam would freaking go dumpster diving to check if I'd eaten or not. Even psychos had to have their limits.
Once in the hotel, I went and threw the box and receipt into the kitchen trashcan, meticulously placing the evidence. Then I changed into my pajamas and sat on the bed, resting against the headboard and pulling my knees tight into my chest. I was wrapped up in my thoughts, continuing to replay what had just happened in the last couple of hours. Ever so quietly, the words slipped right out of my mouth before I even had a chance to realize it. "Maybe I'm not fine," I muttered. And it was with that sudden confession and realization that brought the tears brimming over the surface. They just started flowing out—for my dad, for the pain I felt, for the emptiness I was carrying around. I cried until my body physically felt like it couldn't take another tear, till weakness overcame me and there was nothing left inside me to carry on. I couldn't fight the overwhelming tiredness anymore and I slowly slid under the covers, pulling them tight up under my head, praying to escape all of this in my dreams.
I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the sound of a key turning in the lock woke up. I squinted my eyes so slightly and saw the ever-familiar shapes of my brothers entering through the doorway, outlined by the burning sun in the background, letting me know it must already be mid-morning. I still felt the crushing sensation of tiredness throughout my body, telling me I had nowhere near enough energy to communicate with them, so I did the most logical thing and quickly shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
I heard Sam's footsteps come near me and suddenly the vision inside my eyelids darkened as I felt a presence in front of me. Seconds later it was gone. "She's asleep," Sam whispered. At least I'd successfully fooled them.
I heard Dean pull out a chair at the table and start to unlace his shoes. "Do you think she ate?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know…," Sam trailed off as the sound of a stryrofoam box opening hit my ears. "Looks like it," he said flatly, his tone showing he was reluctant to believe it. He smoothed out a crumbled paper, reading aloud, "A cheeseburger, fries, and sprite."
"Well guess she did then," Dean said.
Sam walked over and pulled out another chair at the table. "Yeah, but something's up, Dean," he remarked in a hushed tone, but everything was still audible in this miniature room.
"I know," Dean confessed.
"You know?" he questioned, shifting in his seat.
"Yeah, started noticing something was off a few days ago when I offered to get her ice cream at the minimart and she said no…for the first time in her life," Dean explained. I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, inwardly scolding myself for throwing up such a large red flag.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Sam interrogated.
"'Cuz I don't need you getting all worried too," Dean defended. Typical Dean, always wanting to handle stuff on his own and not get anyone else involved.
"I think we're passed that now," Sam retorted. "I mean she's getting lightheaded from not eating, Dean."
"Well, we told her to eat and she did, so maybe it was one of those weird girl phases and it's over," Dean suggested.
"I don't know. It just seems too easy," Sam paused before continuing, "you know, finding all the evidence conveniently placed for us to see."
"Like she wanted us to find it?"
Sam must have nodded in agreement because there was a beat of silence. My heart started pounding in my chest—they had caught on. My plan clearly hadn't been enough. Anxiety rushed through my veins as the fear settled in. They were going to wake me up and demand an explanation and there was no logical or comprehensible way to explain this except through denial.
"So what do we do?" Sam broke the silence.
Dean exhaled heavily before answering, "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Sam repeated in disbelief.
"We can't confront her about it, Sam, not yet at least. You know she'll get defensive. So we wait. We keep an eye on her and if things don't change, we figure something else out," Dean explained.
"So we say nothing?" Sam apparently couldn't comprehend what he was saying because, as demonstrated earlier with Dean, Sam's go-to tactic was fully confronting the person and demanding answers.
"Nothing. We don't need to push her any further away than she already is," Dean affirmed, knowing he had the last word in this matter. Sam must not have acknowledged he was in agreement because Dean hissed, "Sam," in a low, harsh tone.
"Fine," he muttered, clearly reluctant.
"Now rest up that arm, okay?" Dean added, lightening his tone.
At hearing Dean's last comment, curiosity got the best of me, so I peeped open one eye and caught a glimpse of a white cast on Sam's arm. Clearly something hadn't gone as planned on the hunt. As much as I wanted to know what had happened and if he was okay, I couldn't magically "wake up" now, it would be too much of a coincidence. No, I just had to lie here and focus on slowing down my heartbeat and getting my shit together. They weren't going to confront me about anything just yet, so there was no need for internal hysteria. I had time to figure out how I was going to go about this. I just had to be extra careful to avoid any more suspicions or possible confrontations, and with two annoyingly overprotective brothers around, that was going to take a lot of precise planning.