The motel room in Manning, Colorado is papered in old lore and maps; a Bible sits on the nightstand with colorful tabs sticking to its pages, the tables and desk are covered in print-outs, some old enough to have become yellowed, and a special pistol sits atop a precarious stack. Behind the desk with its mountain of papers is John Winchester, looking more exhausted than Elizabeth has ever seen him.
"This is what I've got so far," he says, gesturing around him. It reminds Elizabeth of the motel in California, though mercifully void of old food gone rotten.
"Is this what your brain is like," she asks, looking around. "Just unfiltered chaos and the occasional Rolling Stones song?"
"Pretty much." He smiles up at her, but it's a tired, pitiful thing. "There hasn't been a trace of the demon in years until just this past year. For the first time, I picked up a trail."
"That's when you took off," Dean notes. That takes her by surprise, realizing that they've been on John's trail for an entire year now. Most of that has been spent in an honest-to-God relationship, which is the longest one she's ever been in. Aside from Cassie, Dean's the only other person she can open up to and also have sex with regularly.
"The demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation." Elizabeth raises her hand with a genuinely curious expression. "No, they're not like bears." Her hand drops back to her lap and Zane laughs somewhere behind her.
"Tell us about the trail."
"It starts in Arizona, then it heads through Jersey and California. Houses burn to the ground everywhere it visits, houses with at least one kid in them. Each time a house burned, one of the kids was celebrating a six-month birthday." Elizabeth straightens up, not bothering to raise her hand this time.
"Luther told me that Azazel was…." Elizabeth trails off, unsure. "Creating psychics. He said that for every psychic child, there was a Chosen created in the same vicinity. Most of the Chosen he's created are dead, but maybe the psychics are different." She glances over at Sam, catching the way he rubs his hand over his mouth.
"Your house didn't burn down," he says.
"No, but the only person who knew about the demon deal surrounding my birth was murdered. Maybe that'll help narrow the results. A mother or father murdered within a week of their baby turning six months old."
"I'll add it to the list," John says. "Did Luther tell you why Azazel was targeting kids?"
"No, I was too out of it to ask and he didn't think to elaborate."
"Why'd he go after Jess," Sam asks. Anger creeps into his expression, making him look far too bitter for how young he is. For God's sake, four out of the five people in this room aren't even thirty yet. At the way things are going, Elizabeth doubts they'll even make it to thirty.
"He wanted you toughened up." Sam's eyes snap to her and she winces at the heat in them. "He wants all of his kids tough and well-versed with monsters. If Jess stayed alive, you never would have fulfilled whatever purpose he had in mind for us."
"That's super fucked up."
"Tell me about it."
"How do we find this asshole before he torches another family," Dean asks after a lull. They all look to John for the answer and he slouches under the pressure of it. Much more of this stress and John will be lucky not to have a heart attack.
"There are signs," John says. "It took me a while to see the pattern, but I think I got it down. In the days before the fires there are cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms. I went back and checked, these things happened in Lawrence the week before Mary…."
"Did they ever happen in Saginaw, Michigan?"
"Yeah, why?"
"We met the psychic he targeted there. The poor kid got the snot beat out of him by his dad and he went on a rampage, put them all down. We got him to a safe home and he's still there for all we know. Right, guys?" Sam and Elizabeth nod when Dean looks at them. Elizabeth hopes Max is okay, he deserves something good after his shitty childhood.
"You might have another kid to rescue because the signs have cropped up again. We need to pack up and get to Salvation, Iowa as soon as we can."
"What about me," Zane asks. He's sitting up, his back against the headboard with an ugly line of stitches over his right eyebrow. He'd escaped the car crash with relatively few wounds, but he won't be hunting for at least a week. "Should I hold down the fort in Oklahoma?"
"I think that would be best, yeah. Keep Archer there with you so I don't have to worry about him putting moves on Elizabeth. I'd hate to bail my sons out of jail for murder."
"Archer wouldn't be a problem," Dean says, meeting John's steady gaze. "Sammy dealt with that a few months ago." John looks to Sam with something like pride, a fierce, burning protectiveness that's so rare to see in his gaze. Sam sees it, too, holding himself a little straighter under the weight of it.
"Atta boy. We protect our family."
"I'm family now," Elizabeth asks, surprised. Sure, Sam and Dean have always been part of her family, but to hear John acknowledge that is big news. She bets Bobby wouldn't even shoot his ass full of rock salt for it. "And here I thought I was just a bad influence on your baby boys."
"You're like a wart."
"Huh?"
"You grow on people and you're relatively harmless." Behind her, Zane lets out a loud guffaw of laughter that makes him sound like an excited donkey. Elizabeth decides that she'll wait for him to feel better before getting her revenge. Maybe she'll put a bucket of bright pink paint on his bedroom door. "Let's get movin'. I'd like to get to Salvation before another family is ruined."
"But Zane—"
"Archer can be here in two hours," Zane says. "I'll watch Bones until he gets here."
They've just crossed into Salvation when John's turn signal comes on, the truck pulling off to the shoulder with the Impala following suit. "Well, that can't be good," Dean mutters. They get out and meet John at the back of his truck, taking in the grief-darkened expression and the way he roughly shoves his phone into his jacket pocket. "What's up?"
"I just got a call from Caleb," John says in a voice choked with tears. "He found…." He trails off and glances away, biting at his lip. "He found Jim Murphy dead in the church. His throat was slashed, he bled out slow. Caleb said they found traces of sulfur in Jim's office."
"Was it the demon?"
"I don't know. He could have slipped up around a low-level demon or it could be that Azazel knows we're getting close."
"What should we do, Dad?"
"We do the one thing I always advised never to do, we split up. There's too much ground to cover all together, so we'll each go through hospital and health center records to find the kids in Salvation that'll be six months old soon."
"That could be dozens of kids," Sam points out. "How are we supposed to narrow it down?"
"By checking on all of them. Got any better ideas?" Elizabeth raises her hand and John sends her a flat, unamused stare. "No, witchcraft is not an option." Elizabeth lowers her hand. "Does your uncle know you practice that shit?"
"Who do you think taught me," she asks, raising her brows. "Shit comes in handy now and then." Tracking spells in particular have become well-used in the Singer household, useful in locating wayward hunters, nieces lost in the woods, and hats. John looks like he wants to debate the subject, but then he's biting his lip and looking away.
"Dad," Dean asks, taking a step forward. His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach out and comfort his dad. John, however, leans against the door of his truck and doesn't seem to notice Dean's aborted movement.
"This ends now," John says in a voice thick with emotion. "I'm ending it and I don't care what it takes. Let's get it done." He climbs into the cab of his truck before his boys can say anything else, his jaw clenched. The boys and Elizabeth share a glance over the Impala's hood, then they're sliding inside and driving down the road again.
Elizabeth spends the next two hours going through various records compiled by a local midwife and marveling at the fact that midwives are still a thing. She'd always thought they were confined to historical flicks to dramatically tell an anxious father that his wife had died but his baby was healthy. This one, Bridget Deere, is pleasantly plump with a gap-toothed smile that would put anyone at ease.
"And these are all your records," Elizabeth checks, laying her hand on the pile. "No more hiding out under a tea kettle or stuffed under a wobbly table?"
"No, that's all," Bridget says. "It hasn't been a busy year for me. Why are you going through these records again?"
"There's a chance these kids have been exposed to a sick volunteer in the pediatrician's office. She's got the flu and still showed up to pass out stuffed animals for all the newborns."
"Oh, that's awful."
"Yes, she's been told to stay away for a week or two." Elizabeth rises from the kitchen table, gathering her notes and shoving them into her purse. "Thank you for this, Mrs. Deere." Bridget shows her to the front door and even waves as Elizabeth heads down the sidewalk, a glass of unsweetened tea in her hand. She'd offered to pour Elizabeth a glass, but she had turned her down politely. Elizabeth is a good southern girl and she knows the only way to drink tea is if you can taste the diabetes.
She's almost a block away when she spots Sam running down the sidewalk, waving frantically at her. She meets him at the corner, taking in the pain creasing his forehead and the desperation in his eyes.
"Are you okay," she asks.
"I had a vision. I-I think I know what baby we're looking for. Come on." He grabs her wrist and they take off toward Grand Street, slowing to a walk and then stopping altogether in front of a quaint two-story. The lawn has been freshly mowed, the grass still green somehow despite the dropping temperatures and near-freezing drizzle that's just stopped. "There she is."
"Who?"
"The woman from my vision." He tugs on her wrist again, leading her over to a woman around their age pushing a stroller. He's got a pleasant smile and keeps his walk casual, Elizabeth following suit. "Hi," Sam says. "Here, I'll hold the stroller so you can close your umbrella."
"Thanks," the woman says, laughing. In the stroller is a little girl, snuggled up with a pink blanket and a matching coat. She's got one of those rings of plastic keys that you can find at the bottom of every toy chest, gumming it with a real passion.
"She's gorgeous. Is she yours?"
"Yeah." The woman starts moving again and the hunters follow alongside her.
"Sorry, that was probably creepy. I'm Sam and this is Elizabeth. We just moved in up the block." The woman slows down and shakes their hands, her smile a little less tense now.
"I'm Monica and this is Rosie. Uh, welcome to the neighborhood."
"She's such a good baby," Elizabeth says, smiling. "When our niece was little, she'd just throw a hissy fit whenever we took her out of her bouncer. I thought we'd never make it through." It's a true story, Lilly was a little hellcat whenever she wasn't in her bouncer and poor Darren had considered chucking himself out a window.
"Oh, Rosie can't stand the bouncer. Give her something to chew on and she's a happy camper. Isn't that right, Rosie?" Monica reaches down to stroke a finger over Rosie's chin and the baby lets out a shrill sound, kicking her little feet. "I swear, she's more interested in looking at people than fussing. Sometimes she looks at you and it's like she's reading your mind."
"Oh, hang on." Elizabeth pulls out her phone and flips through the pictures until she finds one of Lilly, Darren, and Tanya at the park. Lilly's hair shines like gold in the sunlight, her cheeks flushed and one of her front teeth missing. "This is her. Ain't she cute?"
"Oh my God, she's adorable! How old is she?"
"She turned four a couple months ago." Monica coos over the picture and even Sam melts a little. Lilly is an adorably mean little shit and the hunters love her more than anything. "How old is little Rosie?"
"She turned six months old today." It's Elizabeth's turn to coo, grinning down at the baby. She's got a strong maternal instinct after helping raise Lilly and she's a regular softie in general, so there's no acting involved when she reaches down to tickle Rosie's belly. "She's growing like a weed." Monica glances over at Sam, still smiling proudly. "Do you guys have a baby?"
"No," Elizabeth says in the same instant that Sam says," God no." It's the disgust crinkling his nose that makes Elizabeth arch her brows. She clears her throat pointedly and the disgust transforms into a sheepish smile.
"She's my sister-in-law," Sam explains, patting Elizabeth awkwardly on the shoulder. "Or she will be when my brother finally pops the question. There's a betting pool if you want in."
"Can I make a bet," Elizabeth asks.
"No, because you'll cheat and split the money with Dean." Sam focuses back on Monica, smiling again like a lost puppy. "Well, we'll let you get Rosie inside. Take care."
"You, too," Monica says, waving. The hunters watch her disappear into the house from Sam's vision, unease and dread draped around them like a funeral shroud. They're quiet a moment, the muscle in Sam's jaw jumping as he clenches his teeth. Elizabeth, unsure of what else to do, twines her pinky around his.
"We can't let anything happen to them, Liza."
"We won't," she says. He hunches over, shoulders coming up around his ears as a vision hits him. Elizabeth lowers him to the sidewalk, cradling him against her as he works through it. She makes a note to find a motel after this so that Sam can get some rest. "It'll be okay." She's whispering nonsense against the crown of Sam's head, rocking him back and forth. "It'll be okay, Sammy."
"We gotta tell the others," Sam gasps out. He's trembling in her arms, face gone gray and a cold sweat prickling his brow. "We gotta…. He's gonna burn her."
"Alright, but we'll sit here a second. You need to calm down." She rocks him a while longer, humming and murmuring until he's able to stand without falling. She leads him through town with one of his arms slung around her shoulders, finding the Impala already parked at a local motel. Dean's pulling their bags out of the trunk when he spots them, dropping the duffles and sprinting over to take some of Sam's weight.
"What happened," he demands.
"Another vision. We know where Azazel's gonna strike next." They get Sam into the motel, almost dumping him on the bed farthest from the door. "I'll go get our bags and some ice. Stay with him." Elizabeth pauses at the door, casting John a sharp look over her shoulder.
"What," he asks snappishly.
"Get off your lazy ass and go check on your son. Help him get comfortable or something that shows you actually know how to be a father." She's gone before he can get sassy, striding over to the Impala and gathering the bags before filling a Ziploc baggie with ice and marching to the room. Sam's sitting up on the edge of his bed when she comes in, rubbing at his forehead.
"Thanks, Elizabeth." John wraps the baggie of ice in a dishtowel and hands it off to Sam, clapping him on the back before dropping onto the other bed. "Okay, so I get why the twins didn't tell me about these visions because they have the combined common sense of a brain-dead duck, but what's your excuse, Dean? Your brother starts having visions, you send a goddamn text."
"You would have known about the visions if we weren't chasing you all over God's green earth," Dean snaps. "And don't give me that bullshit about calling you either because I've called you once a week since this began. I called you from Lawrence when Mom was stuck in our house, Sam called you when I was dying. Fuck, even Elizabeth gave you a call when the Headless Horseman was galloping through Oklahoma! We've got a better chance of winning the lottery than getting you on the phone."
"You're right."
"Damn straight, I'm right." Dean pauses and his brows crease as he looks back to his dad. The other two are doing much the same thing. John admitting that he was wrong about something is like Lucifer singing show tunes in their shower—strange and not likely to actually happen. "I am?"
"Yeah, son. I'm not crazy about this new tone of yours."
"I have a tone?"
"You sound a bit like I do after three shots of whiskey," Elizabeth says. "I'm very proud of you, darlin'." Sam clears his throat, flinching a little when they all glance over at him.
"You guys think we could move past the psychic thing and focus on the point of this conversation," Sam asks. "The demon's coming tonight and we can keep a family from going through the same hell we've gone through."
"You're right," John says.
"Okay, you gotta stop doing that because it's starting to freak me out a little. We all know I'm right, but you're supposed to be a surly ass about it."
"I thought that was Elizabeth's job."
"No, she's an ass about everything but she's not surly unless you wake her up early." Elizabeth gives the room at large a sarcastic smile, then she turns to the little kitchenette and grabs a beer. She's going to need alcohol before they hunt down the fucker that put a hit out on her mom.
"Then what's Dean's job?" Sam's saved from answering when his cell starts to ring, vibrating beside him on the comforter. He snatches it up and holds it to his ear so he doesn't have to admit that Dean's job is to watch over them better than John ever thought about doing.
"Hello." He frowns a little at what the person on the other end says. "Who is this?" The frown smoothes out into something darker, his eyes clouded with surprise and a deep-burning rage. "Meg. Last time I saw you, you fell out a window. Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop." Sam's head snaps up and he glances over at John. "Sorry, I don't know where my dad is." John holds out a hand and Sam presses the phone into it, a faint tremor running through his fingers.
"This is John." He moves away from the other three, pacing the length of the room between the kitchenette and the door. "I'm here. Caleb?" Elizabeth's head snaps up at that, a bead of anxiety rolling down her nape. She hadn't known Jim Murphy very well, but Caleb was practically another uncle. "You listen to me, he's got nothing to do with this. Let him go. I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"We really need to teach him how to turn on the speakerphone," Elizabeth grumbles.
"Caleb? Caleb! I'm gonna kill you. You know that?" He's quiet for a long moment, moving to stand next to the others. "Okay. I said okay. I'll bring you the Colt." Elizabeth chokes on her beer and Dean beats a fist against her back without taking his eyes off his dad. "It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there. That's impossible. I can't drive there in time and airport security isn't gonna like me carrying a gun on a plane." He clenches his jaw at whatever Meg is saying, then he drops the phone back onto the bed.
"You can't trade the Colt," Dean blurts out. "It's the only way to kill Azazel."
"I'm not trading it to some demon." Sam stands up and moves into the kitchen beside Dean and Elizabeth. He settles back against the counter, Elizabeth stuck between her two boys with Sam's pinky brushing hers.
"You think Meg is a demon," Sam asks.
"Either she is one or she's possessed by one, yeah. Not very many things can survive a seven-story swan dive out a window, Sammy." Elizabeth thinks of Constance Welch, the way she'd nearly killed Sam in the Impala's front seat. "I gotta get to Lincoln."
"What," Dean asks. "No, you can't just leave."
"If I don't leave, then that crazy bitch kills everyone we care about. Do you want Bobby's death on your conscience?" Dean flinches back at John's hard tone, pushing closer against Elizabeth's side. "You guys are gonna keep the Colt with you here and use it on the demon. I'll find a look-alike at an antique store and lie outta my ass about how special it is."
"You really think Meg won't notice it's a fake?"
"She'll only be able to tell the difference if she shoots a demon with it."
"And what happens when she figures it out? What, you think she'll just laugh it off as a joke?"
"I just need to buy a few hours."
"You really want us to kill the demon by ourselves," Sam asks, incredulous. John glances down at his boots and walks a few feet away to look out the window. He ages a decade in that moment, his face losing all its hard edges as he sags against the wall.
"What I want is for you to go to school, Sam. I want Dean to have a home and Elizabeth to have her sister. I want Mary back." His voice breaks and Elizabeth is moving before she really registers it. She puts a hand on his back, drawing him into a hug despite the anxiety spiking in her gut. She hasn't hugged John since she was a kid, not since he'd tried to strangle her. John wraps an arm around Elizabeth and sinks into the hug, brushing his cheek against the top of her head. "I need to end this, kids. For all of you, for us.
"We will," Elizabeth murmurs. She pulls back a little, just enough to smile up at him with a cheerful optimism she doesn't feel. John's cheeks are wet with tears and more are caught in his dark eyelashes, glimmering like crystals. "We're too stubborn not to." His smile is a sad thing, worn down with a touch of hope glinting at the edges.
"That's right, Liza. We're too stubborn."