"It seriously baffles me that you're back in Jackson for only one day, and you already get yourself neck-deep in trouble."
A little smirk dances at the corners of Alex's lips at the dry comment, but all traces of it soon vanish with a wince as Isla applies more pressure on a nasty gash on the edge of her temple that she had obtained during the scuffle with the demons. She instinctively moves to draw away from the tight hold, but Isla keeps a firm grip on the other side of her head, holding her in place. The gash itself isn't deep enough to cause real concern, but her best friend had insisted on giving it the once over and patching it up once she had finished attending to Noah.
The moment that Duke had been banished back to hell, Alex – not speaking another word to Dean – had hurried out of the house and out onto the street, looking for her battered uncle. She found him being placed gently in the Impala that the Winchesters had parked halfway down the street so as not to alert the demons of their presence at the time, with Sam calmly asking Noah if he had any serious injuries. Alex had been quick to rush over and insist that Noah needed to be looked at by a medical professional, and she had been quick to send Isla a message to both assure her that the danger was over and to ask her if she could meet them at the Donovan's with medical supplies. Sam had assured her that he and his brother would follow after them but needed to clean up the mess they made in the Haysmiths' home first.
Half an hour later, Alex guides her car to a screeching stop outside the farmhouse where an anxious Isla and Oscar had been waiting for them on the front porch. The latter had helped Alex guide Noah into their home and placed him on the living room couch, while a focused Isla had begun her work. Feeling more useless than ever, Alex had hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands by her side in a nervous fashion as she kept her eyes fixed on her uncle.
As if sensing her unease, Oscar had placed a hand on her shoulder and given it a comforting squeeze. "Are you alright?"
He had probably meant the question in the physical sense. Even though she knew that she didn't look anywhere near as battered as Noah, Alex had been well aware at the time that hadn't come home completely unscathed – she could feel it. Still, her injuries were superficial at best, so in all actuality, she had fared pretty alright.
But the soft 'no' had flown past her lips before she could stop it, and it wasn't until it hung spoken in the air between the two of them that she realised, it was the truth. She was farfrom alright. Duke had confirmed her worst fear was actually a reality; Yellow Eyes knew exactly where she had been all this time, and there's every chance that he plans on coming after her and her family again.
He's going to come after you and kill you, and everyone around you until there's nothing left.
Now, she swallows yet another wince of discomfort as Isla shifts the bloody rag against the wound, and does her best to smile. There's still bloodstained on her teeth. "Aha. Neck deep, see what you did there. Guess – ah!– guess, guess trouble is just my middle name…"
Isla snorts, pulling the rag away to inspect the gash, Seemingly satisfied with whatever it is that she sees, she tosses the rag on the dining room table beside them before reaching for some gauze and tape.
"Of course. And here I was thinking that it was Kay."
"Common misconception. Besides, none of this is technically my fault."
"Right, sorry. My bad. I just forgot how much of a danger magnet you are."
Alex pulls a face. "Rude."
"But true," Isla fires back, no real bite in her tone. Ripping the gauze from the packet and dropping the rubbish on the table, she places the thin fabric firmly against Alex's head, eliciting a hiss from the brunette in response. "Hold that, would you?"
Alex complies without any complaint, allowing the nurse to pull off some tape and gently stick both it and the gauze in place. Once done, Isla steps back to check over her handiwork, a small smile creeping across her face as she peels the gloves off her hands. "And my work here is done."
"Thank you." Standing up, Alex begins to help gather the empty packets and bloody rags strewn across the table, leaving Isla to gather the medical equipment that she had brought over with her. Walking over to toss the rubbish in the bin, she calls over her shoulder, "And you're sure that Noah will be alright too?"
"I've stitched up all the deep cuts, but he'll need to keep an eye out for any signs of infection. Redness, swelling, warmer than the rest of the body, all that nasty green stuff – you know, the usual symptoms," Isla lists. "I've also managed to make a splint for his fingers. I'm convinced that they're broken, but I can't be sure without an x-ray; he'll need to come into the hospital tomorrow for a scan. He's got a concussion and overall is exhausted, but believe me when I say that he'll be fine, Al."
Alex lets out a long, slow breath of relief, and another 'thank you' dances on the tip of her tongue as she turns back to face the table, but Isla cuts her to the chase;
"To be honest, I'm more worried about you. Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. You patched me up really well –"
"That's not what I mean."
She stiffens, standing as still as a statue and feeling very much like a deer caught in the lights of an oncoming bus when she meets the expectant and knowing gaze of Isla. She leans against the table with her arms crossed over her chest, looking surprisingly tall despite her small stature. When Alex hesitates, she throws her head back with exasperation.
"C'mon, Al. It's me. I'm not dumb, you know."
Alex swallows, her mouth feeling like sandpaper. "I know."
"Then tell me what's wrong. And don't even say it's just because of Noah because we both know that whatever is bothering you is bigger than that."
Of course, her best friend would notice that something deeper is bothering her. But that doesn't make things any easier for a conflicted Alex still frozen in place. Isla might know about the supernatural world and have some semblance of how Alex is a part of it, but that doesn't automatically place her smack-bam in the middle of things. She's never had to deal with any of the horrors that Alex has faced over the years up close and personal, and everything she has heard or knows has come directly from Alex herself.
But she's smart enough to know that she should be scared by it. So, how the hell does Alex tell her that the thing that they both fear the most is back and out for blood? Her stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought.
It seems that she doesn't have to worry, however. She's been silent for too long, allowing a hundred different possibilities and scenarios to run rampant in Isla's mind, and the honey-blonde woman figures out the answer in no time. There's only one thing in this world that could shake her best friend to her core …
She blanches. "It's back, isn't it?"
Her shoulders sag with a mixture of dread and defeat. "It never really left."
"Meaning?"
"It's known where we've been this whole time."
"How do you know?"
"One of the demons that kidnapped Noah confirmed it before I sent him back to hell."
"He could have been lying though, right?"
It's true. Demons lie all the time – maybe Duke had been lying at the time, trying to throw Alex off long enough for him to make a grand escape. But the feeling in her gut kills this fleeting little piece of hope before it can become truly believable. She knows Duke hadn't been lying. She knows that Yellow Eyes is after her again. It's just like Duke said; who else could it be?
The look on her face is enough to clue Isla in on her thoughts, and the nurse, in turn, sinks herself down in the nearest chair, a hand to her chest. "Fuck."
Yeah. Fuck.
Unable to bring herself to keep looking at Isla without the guilt weighing her down, her eyes trail over the contents of the kitchen. From the chipped, cupboard doors, the knife block in the corner, the fruit bowl on the counter – every small little detail in the place that she has called home over the past few years, filled with no horrible memories but only personable moments instead. The living room where she and Noah had spent the nights watching movies together. The bathroom with the leaky tap. The front porch looked across the land and had perfect views of the setting sun at dusk, the cars parked in the old and rickety shed down the path. It hadn't been much, but it had been home.
Even though she had spent every waking minute of her life on edge, there had been a false sense of safety here on their farm, tucked away from the rest of the world. Here she and Noah had lived in peace ( or, as peacefully as they could), and for the first time in forever, she felt as if she could be safe.
Tears spring in the back of her eyes and it takes every ounce of her willpower to not let them fall. It had all been a bunch of fucking bullshit.
She rubs her hands up and down her arms, a feeling of unease trailing down her spine, feeling as if she is being watched by some invisible force with Yellow Eyes. Shivering, she distracts herself by crossing the room to sit down by the still stunned Isla, her dark eyes blinking slowly as she tries her best to process the bad news.
Alex sitting down in the chair beside her seems to jolt the nurse from her numb stupor, as she flinches in her chair. Ignoring Alex's apology, she only questions, "What does this mean? Is it going to come for you?"
"I don't know. The demon – Duke, it, it sounded like Yellow Eyes was more concerned with the journal if anything. They were here for it, not me. But …" she trails off in a whisper, unable to finish the thought out loud.
But that doesn't mean that it's not going to come for me eventually.
Isla hears her loud and clear though, and her spine straightens almost with a sense of determination. "What are you going to do?"
At this, Alex tastes bile in the back of her throat. There was only one thing she could do, and it's something that has haunted her in the back of her mind since all hell broke lose earlier in the day. It would hurt like hell and she would regret it every day but she knows that she has to do what she must in order to keep those closest to her safe and out of harm's way, as well as keep herself alive too.
"Leave."
The word sounds stale in the air as it hangs between them, ugly and upsetting. Alex watches silently as Isla blinks almost owlishly as the short answer leaves her mouth, almost as if she hadn't expected Alex to say it in the slightest. She shouldn't be all that surprised though – it's not the first time that Alex is has run from something like this. At this point, it's basic instinct. Run, and start over. Keep moving, and stay alive.
She hates it. She really does. But she'll do it if it ensures Isla's safety. And Oscar's, and Noah's.
She won't endanger her family again.
"What about Oscar and me?"
Alex is startled to hear animosity lacing her best friend's words, and she looks up to see a glare etched to Isla's dark face. Horrified, she realises that her one-worded response hadn't really offered Isla any assurances that she and her fiancée would be safe; she likely thinks that Alex is ready to up and leave, leaving them helpless and at the mercy of the demon if it does decide to drop by for an unexpected and more than unwelcome visit.
Alex holds her palms up, almost in an offering. "I'd make sure that you guys were safe before I took off, Isles. I'd try and organise some sort of protection – "
"I don't give a rat's ass about being protected. It's not us I'm worried about; it's you,dumbass."
Now it's Alex's turn to blink. " … huh?"
"You heard me," Isla flares, the anger in her face causing Alex to reel back in her seat. She's seen her best friend frustrated at times and even pissed, but this. This is borderline fury. "You can't keep up and running like this and leaving everyone behind you, Alex. You just can't."
"Isles – "
"I don't want you to run. It's not fair on everyone that is left to sit at home and wonder whether or not you've been killed when you don't pick up the phone for weeks on end. I don't want you taking off and never coming back, putting everyone here – me, behind you."
"It's not like that."
"Well, that's what it seems like."
Even though she knows that her friend's rage stems from a place of genuine care, a flash of irritation strikes her. Isla doesn't understand – she doesn't get it. "You act like I want to do this. I don't. But what other bloody choice do I have?"
"I don't know! But there has to be a better one than running!"
Alex grits her teeth. Before she can rebut, however, Isla continues, "It's been the same old cycle since you were a kid. You run, it eventually finds you, and you run again. Sooner or later this demon is going to catch up with you and do God knows what. If you take off now, you're just avoiding the inevitable."
A humourless, bark of laughter seeps past her lips, and Alex shakes her head while a bitter smile taints her lips. "Gee. Thanks. Just fucking great. Real nice knowing that my grim and bloody death is inevitable at the end of all this. Real fucking fantastic."
Isla flinches, the anger momentarily subsiding. "I didn't mean it like that – "
"Then what did you mean?"
"I mean that you have another option? One that didn't involve running? What if you – what if you tried to kill it before it gets you?"
Alex gapes, and once again finds herself hesitating. It's not a thought that she hasn't had before – or tried to follow through with herself – but hearing Isla, sweet, funny and so naively innocent Isla ( when it comes to the supernatural, that is ) suggest that she kill an all-powerful demon that could slaughter them both where they stood if given the chance, throws her for a loop. Especially because she knows that Alex has already tried this in the past.
And failed.
Every. Single. Damn. Time.
"You want to talk about never-ending cycles? You know I've tried going after this thing before, Isla. And every single time, I get my ass handed to me and someone either gets hurt or killed. Every time. I don't want to run. But it sure as hell beats the alternative of getting myself killed. Or worse; you."
For the first time since the tense argument first broke out, the features of Isla's face soften. Seemingly finally understanding where her friend's anger and fear seep from, she reaches a hand across the table to grasp at Alex's with a firm, yet reassuring grip. At some reluctance, Alex turns her palm over and grips back equally as tight.
"You don't have to worry about me," she soothes, voice as soft as honey. "It's not me with a target on my back. If I'm not worried about myself, then you shouldn't be either."
Alex bites back a scoff. Not possible.
"Like I said, I'm more worried about you. I want you to be safe. And truthfully? You're never going to be safe. Not until this fucker is put in the ground once and for all."
Too tired to argue – and not particularly enjoying being at odds with her best friend – Alex lets out a worn sigh. "I can't kill it, Isla. I don't know how."
"But there are some people that might."
The implication behind her words causes Alex's heart to skip a beat. Her hostility toward the Winchester brothers might have thawed ever so slightly with their agreement and success of helping her get Noah back alive and partially well, but that doesn't mean she's willing to go against every fibre of her being and instinct in her body by hitting the road with them to try and hunt Yellow Eyes down. She doesn't trust them – hunters can't be trusted.
But they promised to help get Noah back. And they did in the end, didn't they? That has to count for something.
Her eyes close at the annoying voice whispering the logic in the furthest corners of her mind, and try as she might, she can't shut it up. They didn't have to stay behind and help her. They didn't have to stick their own necks out and help her try and get Noah back. They could have walked away if they wanted – Alex had even reminded them that they had this option if they wanted themselves.
But they stayed. And, as much as she hates to admit it, they're the only reason that Noah is alive still tonight.
"What if I told you that there was a way to kill it?"
Dean's annoying voice rings in her head like a bell, the words coming from their conversation in the street earlier that day. He had sounded so sure when he had described this legendary gun to her, promising her that it was the solution to solving all their problems. But it couldn't be real, could it? A gun, a colt of all things, could take this thing down once and for all? It seems too farfetched.
And yet…
She abruptly pulls herself to her feet and tears her hand away from a startled Isla. Her boots thud against the wooden floorboard as she heads back towards the hall leading out to the living room, and the sound of a chair scraping back alerts her to the fact that Isla is up and ready to follow her as well.
"Wait, where are you going?"
"To talk to Noah. I just need to check something."
If there was anyone, anyone that would know about this gun, then it would be her uncle.
She finds Noah exactly where she had left him with Oscar twenty minutes prior, sprawled across the couch and covered head to toe with fresh bandages. When he sees Alex march through the doorway, however, he does his best to pull himself upright, his face strained with the effort off it all and trying to do it with only one good hand. Oscar is quick to dart forward and help him up, perching him in the corner so that Alex can sink into the free space now beside him.
She thanks Isla's fiancée before turning her attention fully to her uncle. "Hey, Old Man," she teases only half-heartedly, a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes spreading across her lips.
Her dark eyes trail over his face, relieved to see that the dried blood has been cleaned from his face, but the black and blue hues of bruises remain all the same. There are dark shadows and bags tainting the skin beneath his eyes, and his greying, short hair is caked with sweat, grime and blood. She can see through the holes in his shirt where Isla's handiwork has fixed him up, and that the three fingers on his right hand are being held together by a black splint. If not sprained, then definitely broken.
"How are you feeling?"
"I've … I've seen better days," Noah half wheezes, free hand darting to his side as if to clutch at his ribs.
Alex's eyes narrow at the sight, deducing that his ribs must have attained some damage as well. She really wishes she had taken her time with that fucking exorcism. Or, at the very least, managed to get a few more hits in on those demons herself.
"I – I can't thank you all, enough," he continues, eyes darting between Alex, Oscar and Isla respectively. "What you – what you all did – "
"Donovan here gets all the credit," Oscar says, reaching down to slap a hand approvingly on Alex's shoulder. "She's the one that did all the rescuing."
"Yeah, well, I had some help," Alex reminds him, her smile slipping somewhat. The Winchesters wouldn't be too much longer now – they had promised they would stop by the farm to touch base with everyone and make sure that they were all in one piece. Plus, there was every chance that they might need some medical attention themselves. She needs to talk to Noah before they arrive.
"I know that the last thing you probably want to do is talk shop," she murmurs to her uncle. "But I have to ask you something – it's really important."
For a fleeting moment, she recognises something akin to fear on his face, but it disappears in a flash before she can properly identify it. "Yes?"
"OK. This is going to sound really random, but have you ever heard of a demon-killing gun? A colt, specifically. Belonging to some old cowboy hunter from way back in the day?"
Noah frowns. "You're not referring to Samuel Colt, are you?"
She subconsciously clicks her fingers – bingo. "So it's true?"
"I – cer – certain texts have described such a gun created by Samuel Colt back in the eighteen hundreds. But there's been no real concrete evidence to prove that this gun ever existed, and – and if it's still around to this day. It's a legend among American hunters, you see. Though, I – I suppose that there must be some degree of truth to be found among the myth."
Alex sinks back into the worn yet comfortable couch, entirely stunned, while Oscar lets out a slow but impressed whistle. "A demon-killing gun, made by a cowboy hunter?" He nods his head with a sense of approval. "Badass."
"Oscar," Isla gently reprimands.
"What? That's totally cool!"
"Just shut up, you dork."
Alex runs a hand down her tired face, eyes still locked on the ceiling above. So, there potentially was – is, a colt that could kill demons, which means that there is every chance that Dean had been telling her the truth earlier. It seems almost too good to be true, but he had sworn that he wasn't lying. His word means absolute jack to her, but Noah's means everything. So, if he is going to sit here and tell her that this gun does, in fact, exist, then she will take his word over that of a hunter that is nothing but a stranger to her.
"Why – why the sudden interest in this?" Noah questions.
She sighs. "The men that helped me save you – they reckon that the gun was real and they had it for a bit. Said it could kill Yellow Eyes."
The colour drains from Noah's face at the mention of the very thing that has caused him just as much pain as it has for Alex, and even Oscar shuffles uncomfortably behind them at the mention of the demon. Trying not to let the fear creep in too much, Alex continues, "The only problem is, is that they lost it."
"How do you lose a gun?" Isla questions.
"Yellow Eyes apparently took it."
Disappointment floods Noah's battered features, making him age almost fifty years in the span of two seconds. Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with the fingers of his good hand, he murmurs, "It's good as gone, then. We must assume that if there really was something powerful enough to kill Yellow Eyes, then he would have destroyed it the moment that he got his hands on it."
Alex bites back a bitter chuckle. "Pretty much."
Oscar, ever the optimistic, butts in, "Well, hang on. Can't you just … make, another gun? Another colt? I mean, if a cowboy two hundred years ago can manage it, then surely you guys could."
"It's not that simple, I'm afraid," Noah mourns. "Up until now, we thought this gun to be a myth. And while we know that it exists, we don't know how Samuel Colt managed to make it. There's no record of any spell or enchantment that may have been placed on it, and even if there had been, I think that it is safe to assume that such powers have been lost to time, otherwise many others would have procured something similar before now."
"So we're back to square one," Alex flatly states.
"Well, that doesn't mean you should give up," Isla says, an edge to her tone. Alex immediately meets her eyes and sends her a warning glance, not wishing to delve into the topic of their recent argument in front of Noah, but her best friend pays her no mind. She only stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest and continues, "You can't keep running. Especially now that it knows where you are. It's just going to catch up to you eventually if you do."
"Isla – "
"You need to find a different way to kill it. And I really think you should talk to those hunters before they leave town."
Alex's nostrils flare as she inhales sharply, trying her best to keep a lid on her growing frustration and refrain from snapping at her friend who she knows only means well. She cares, and only wants the best for Alex. But she also knows that Isla is purposely bringing it up in front of Noah because she knows that her uncle will agree with her and try to talk Alex into going – he's always hated the idea of her hunting alone and, like Ellen, has occasionally tried to coax her into working with others during jobs. Each time he is met with disappointment, however, with Alex immediately shutting him down as quickly as she had everyone else.
The pile of dread growing in her stomach at the thought of having this conversation with him now though suggests that maybe, just maybe, with enough pushing, he won't be disappointed this time.
And that terrifies her.
Noah's brows furrow. "Those men that helped – they were hunters?"
"Mhm," Isla says before Alex can even think of opening her mouth. "They are. And they want Alex's help with finding the demon."
Isla Dunne, you sneaky rat.
Resisting the urge to sink further back into the couch, Alex turns her gaze towards her expectant uncle still beside her. "Ellen sent them here. She told them that I could help – "
"Which she totally should – "
" – but, I already told them that I couldn't."
"Right," Oscar drawls. "But um, was this before orafter they helped you get Noah back?"
The glare Alex sends his way is withering, causing him to creep back towards where his fiancée stands in the corner of the room, hands raised in silent surrender.
Glare still etched to her face, she tries her best to calmly reason, "Without this gun – this colt or whatever, there's nothing that can kill this thing. I don't want to take off for God knows how long searching for nothing but dead ends and leads that go nowhere. Especially when I just got back from a few jobs as well. Besides," she pauses to gesture to Noah beside her. "Do you really think that I'm just going to up and leave you when you're like this?"
She prays that Noah will agree with her, but to her dismay, he only shakes his head. "You don't need to worry, Alex, I've had worse. And I know that every hunt for this thing in the past has always led you to disappointment but … but circumstances are different this time round. The demon knows where you are and has known for who knows how long. If we take off now, then who's to say that it won't find us again?"
Her heart sinks, hating how much his logic makes sense. It's exactly what Isla had been trying to drill into her when they had been arguing in the kitchen. Either take off and repeat the same cycle of running and hiding until this thing eventually kills her, or kill it before it can finish her off. Anyone with enough brains would choose the second option. And, as much
Like Noah said, Yellow Eyes knowing where they are changes things. She doesn't just want to sit around and wait for him to come for her at any given moment, but she also doesn't want to have to deal with the pain of taking off and putting Jackson – and Isla and Oscar – well and truly behind her. She can't have it both ways – she stays and potentially signs her own death warrant, or leaves and faces the heartbreak of saying goodbye to those closest to her – so the only option that gives her even the slightest chance of coming out on the other side happy would be to take off with the Winchesters and find a way to kill this thing.
The question is, does she really have what it takes to go against every instinct in her body and hit the road with the people that she swore she would never trust again?
A blinding light suddenly flashes through the living room window and is quickly followed by the sound of a rumbling engine. Alex and the other three in the room immediately cast their gaze out through the window behind the couch and are greeted with the sight of the slick, black Impala that belongs to the Winchesters pulling up outside the front of the house. Alex's heart lurches uncomfortably in her chest at the sight, and she realises that she will be forced to find out the question she had silently asked herself moments prior sooner than she thought.
"Demons?" Isla asks anxiously, hand stretched out to grasp at Oscar beside her.
"No. They're the hunters who helped."
The nurse immediately relaxes.
The four of them silently watch as the engine is killed and the two brothers emerge from the vehicle. They're too far away for Alex to see just how badly injured they are, but they definitely look worse for wear. Isla would need to patch them up. Though judging from the way that Isla's face flushes crimson red at the sight of the handsome men, she probably wouldn't mind.
Alex leans over to help pull Noah up from the couch, with Oscar darting forward to help her. Isla scampers after her fiancée to move out of the doorway of the living room, just as the Winchesters barge through the front door. Moments later, they huddle in the doorway, Sam having to duck his head so he doesn't hit it on the edge. After doing a quick scan over the brothers, Alex realises that like her, their wounds are most superficial; nothing life-threatening or too serious.
Still supporting her uncle under his arm, she asks, "Everything all good?"
"Yeah. Took care of the bodies and cleaned the place up – don't think we made too much noise 'cause no one came to check the house." Dean shrugs, "Should be fine."
"What about you guys?" Sam asks, and Alex is surprised to hear genuine sincerity in his tone.
"A bit worse for wear, but mostly intact."
Nodding, Sam then reaches into the pocket of the back of his jeans. Alex's eyes widen when he pulls out and holds up the fake journal she had made to deceive Duke and the rest of the demons; she thought it had been lost in the scuffle.
"Wasn't sure if you wanted this back or not. Thought I would grab it just in case though."
At the sight of the fake journal, Noah stiffens beneath Alex's hold. Speaking up for the first time in minutes, he carefully asks, "That's – that's not the real journal?"
"No – I made a fake one. The real journal is still down in the basement."
She feels her uncle relax against her at the news, and a barely audible sigh of relief slips past his lips.
"What did they want with it anyway?" Dean asks.
Alex is tempted to dive in with a quick lie or excuse, not entirely sure that she should be delving into her family history with the two men who she has known for less than twenty-four hours. But it seems that her uncle is less cautious than her in this instance. Lifting his arm from Alex's shoulder – but still leaning heavily on Oscar – Noah reaches up to rub a hand down his tired face. "I'm not entirely sure," he admits, voice tight. "The journal itself belonged to Fredrick Stevenson – your paternal grandfather, Alex."
Alex hums, more interested in the journal now that the demons were no longer a threat. So, she had been right; it does have something to do with her father's side of the family. A side that she has never met and consequently knows very little about, making it also impossible for her to pinpoint exactly what all the fuss about the journal is. Something that she would still very much like to figure out though.
"So, what? The demon wanted to get some information or something?" Isla asks.
"I would assume so, yes."
"Not like it would have gotten much anyway," Alex says. "The real one was full of gibberish – symbols and crap that didn't make a lick of sense."
"Your grandfather was a paranoid schizophrenic. Or at least, that is what I was told," Noah hastily adds when Alex shoots him a look of bewilderment. She thought he had known as much about the Stevensons as she does – which is absolute jack squat. Clearly, she had been wrong.
"I never met him or any of the Stevensons myself, but I do dimly recall your mother mentioning that your grandfather spent the majority of his life in and out of psychiatric facilities. After having read through the journal myself, I would have to agree with you; it is full of nothing but gibberish and the ramblings of an unwell man."
Alex deflates, trying her best to hide the disappointment from her face. Even though she knows nothing about her father's side of the family, she is very much interested in learning anything she can about the mysterious Stevensons that not even her mother spoke about all that much. It seems, however, that she has once again hit another unwanted dead end. That's all she seems to be hitting these days.
With a sense of finality in his last words, Noah turns his attention to the two hunters still standing in the doorway of the living room. "I cannot thank you both enough. Not only were you willing to help Alex, but you were also willing to risk your lives to save mine."
"It's not a problem," Sam, polite as always, assures him. It makes it harder for Alex to maintain her hostility toward him. "Just happy to help."
"Yes, well, your help doesn't go unappreciated … " Noah trails off, a lingering questioning hanging on the end of his last few words.
Sam understands him perfectly. "Oh, right. Sorry. I'm Sam, and this is my older brother, Dean."
Noah's brows furrow. "Sam and Dean? As in … Sam and Dean Winchester?"
"You know us?"
"I knew your father, John."
The atmosphere in the room shifts in a blink. Dean's face contorts into something harder as he clenches his jaw and looks away, while Sam's eyes flood with a sadness that hadn't been there moments before. The realisation that these two men were the sons of the friend of Noah's who had recently passed hits Alex like a slap in the face, as she is quickly reminded of what the brothers have recently lost. How ironic that the two men that she had been trying to avoid all day were the sons of the man that had been trying to get in contact with Noah before he had passed. She hadn't even thought of the possibility of Noah's friend John – recently deceased – being the Winchesters' father, also recently deceased. What a funny, cruel world. Noah had lost a friend, and the boys had lost a father, something that no child should ever go through.
Her fingers inch upwards to fiddle with the locket resting against the base of her throat at the thought.
"I'm sorry to hear that he passed," Noah continues softly, not noticing Dean's obvious dislike for the change of conversation. "He and I would sometimes exchange information or he would call and ask about certain creatures that he was hunting." A brief, sad pause. Then; "Do – do you know – ?"
"We think it was the demon," Dean bites out, voice as bitter as lemons.
Noah's face pales. "I'm so sorry."
When his older brother fails to offer Noah a response, Sam does his best to clear his throat of any emotion. "Thank you."
A faint tension swarms across the room in the silence that follows, and Alex knows that a change of subject is now desperately needed. Turning towards both Isla and Oscar, who have spent the last few minutes silently watching and listening to the four hunters with wide eyes and keen ears, she lowly asks, "Isles, do you reckon that you can patch them up?"
Flinching, as if thrown entirely off guard by being addressed directly, the young nurse recovers quickly and steps forward with a bright smile and a little wave in the brothers' direction. "Isla Dunne, pleasure. Best friend of this sexy, single lady right here –"
Alex bites back a scream.
"– and designated nurse of said hunter friend," she finishes with a shit-eating grin and a wink Alex's way. The latter glares when Oscar tries – and fails – to hide a snicker at this. With the smile still on her face, she beckons both Oscar and the brothers to follow after her as she makes a move towards the kitchen, leaving an embarrassed Alex and exhausted Noah in their wake.
Once they're gone, Alex lets out a weary sigh and moves to take more of Noah's weight on her shoulders. "C'mon, Old Man. Isla may have patched you up, but you're in desperate need of some rest –"
"Alex."
She stiffens at the soft tone in which he says her name and reluctantly turns to crane her head back to look up at him beside her, hating the knowing gleam in his eyes as he stares back at her. She had hoped that she could make a quick escape by suggesting that he needed to turn in for the night and that she wouldn't be forced to face reality until tomorrow morning at the earliest. She herself is exhausted – the last thing that she wants to do is stand here and be convinced into doing the one thing that she most definitely does not want to do.
Even if she knows in her heart, that it's the right thing.
Noah must sense her hesitance, as his ageing features soften. "Alex, you know that you can't stay here. It isn't safe, not anymore."
"I know."
"And I know that you also don't want to leave everything behind – including the friends that you've made here in Jackson."
She turns her head towards the kitchen, where she can hear Isla's bubbly laughter and Oscar's cheerful chatter floating down the hallway. A warmth blossoms in her chest at the sound but a bolt of pain shoots stabs her in the heart like a sharp knife at the thought of neither hearing them again. Or seeing them. After everything she has lost, she doesn't want to lose them as well.
"You want me to go with the Winchesters, don't you?"
"I want you to be safe," Noah gently counters. "I want to be able to leave this all behind us – I want you to be able to live your life without fear or death or destruction. If taking off with these boys means that you have the chance to have all of this, then yes; I think you should go."
She bites down harshly on her lip, hard enough to almost draw blood. It's harder for her to ignore the logic swirling around in her mind and explained to her by those closest to Alex when the logic itself is coming from her uncle. Isla she would listen to and Ellen she would pay attention, but there's really only one person left on this earth that has the power to really consider what it is that is being said to her, and that person is Noah.
But even now, there is still an inkling of doubt. "I swore I would never work with hunters ever again."
"I know – and you have every right to make that call, even now. But sometimes, in order to achieve what we want, we have to make difficult decisions that push us out of our comfort zone. Alone, you don't have much of a chance against this demon, and you know this yourself from past experiences. But with the Winchesters … with the Winchesters, the three of you might stand a chance."
"And what if we don't? What if I take off and come back empty-handed and the demon is still hot on my trail? We're just back to square one."
He lets out a sigh, though it isn't from disappointment. If anything, it's laced with exhaustion. "I can't force you to go, and I certainly don't want to either. All I am asking is that you at least consider the options laid out in front of you. At least hear the boys out before you turn them away for good. If it's any constellation, their father – though complicated – was a good man and damn good hunter as well. From what I've been told, the apples don't far from the tree. Listen to them, Alex – they might surprise you."
The cool night breeze sends the tiny hairs on Alex's bare arms on end and sends a shiver down her spine where she sits on the front porch step, eyes cast to the stars above. The loose, brown strands that have fallen from the ponytail at the back of her head blow in front of her and tickle her face, and she resists the urge to push them back behind her ear.
After she had helped an exhausted Noah into her bed, she couldn't bring herself to march into the kitchen where Isla and Oscar were helping patch up the Winchester brothers, the conversation easy and friendly enough. When she had paused at the bottom of the stairs to briefly listen to what was being said at the time in the kitchen, Oscar had been cracking a joke, causing the brothers to snort with amusement and for Isla to scold her fiancé with an underlying loving tone. Not feeling particularly cheerful and needing a moment to herself to properly process the events of the evening, she had quietly made her escape out the front of the house, plonking down on the porch and relaying everything that has been said to her in the past twenty-four hours.
Everyone that she had spoken to about the matter – Ellen, Isla and now Noah – had seemed to think that it would be in her best interest to take off with the brothers. Or, at the very least, it beat the alternative of taking off and living the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for the grim and grisly death that potentially waits for her after all of this. She knows that they love her and that they only want the best for her, even if she disagrees with them entirely about working with hunters again.
She sighs, leaning her head back against the wooden beam behind her. There had been a time when she would have never hesitated at the opportunity to work with another hunter. Being such a young one herself, she had always liked working with others to try and learn from them as much as she can – it is a big world out there, and it always seems like the number of scary and bizarre supernatural threats just keeps growing. She would need all the help she could get if she wanted to survive.
But that was then. Now? The idea of working with hunters makes her feel physically sick. And disappointed. After adamantly refusing to back down on her one and only rule that she's had for the past three and a half years, the one rule that she's been so good at holding herself to, she can't help but feel that, in a sense, she is betraying herself and everything that she stands for. It's enough to cause the backs of her eyes to sting.
"I want you to be safe. I want to be able to leave this all behind us – I want you to be able to live your life without fear or death or destruction. If taking off with these boys means that you have the chance to have all of this, then yes; I think you should go."
She reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She can sit here and pretend all night long that she hasn't already reluctantly made up her mind all she likes, but sooner or later she will have to face reality. She wants the same things as her uncle … and she knows that there is really only one thing that she can do to have them.
The front door behind her creaks open, causing her to hastily wipe at her eyes and turn her head to see fresher looking Sam and Dean just coming through the doorway. With the dirt, grime and blood wiped away, she can see the dozens of bruises littered across their faces, necks and where the sleeves of their shirt end, and the spots of blood spread across their hardened knuckles. There are a few cuts and scrapes here and there, but only Dean has one white bandage pressed securely to the side of his neck. Other than these small things, they mostly appear to be unscathed.
"Where's your uncle?" Dean asks before Alex can get a word out.
"In bed. After everything that's happened, he needed some rest." A beat of silence that borderlines awkward. Then; "I see that Isla patched you up pretty good then."
"Yeah, well, nothing we couldn't handle ourselves –"
"But, we do really appreciate it," Sam quickly interjects, shooting his older brother a deathly glare. "It's not every chance that we get patched up by a professional, so it's a nice change."
Alex slowly nods, only half paying attention to the conversation. Her mind a whirlwind of unwanted thoughts and emotions after the more than eventful night, all she really wants to do is have a shower and head to bed, putting everything behind her. Wake up, start fresh and pretend that it was all just a very bad dream that would eventually slip to the furthest corners of her mind after some time.
But it wasn't a bad dream. And there's no chance in hell she would be able to forget about this – or what the Winchesters have done for her.
So, swallowing her pride, she clears her throat and looks them in the eye once more. "It goes without saying that I do really appreciate what you both did here tonight. Without you … If I hadn't of had your help …" she trails off, not even wanting to think about finishing the sentence. Without the brothers, there's every chance that she would be burning a body tonight, and become the sole, living member of the Donovan clan. There's every chance that she would have watched her uncle die, left to bleed out on the Haysmith's front porch while the demons laugh gleefully behind her.
"It's not a problem," Sam gently assures her, understanding the thoughts running rampant through her mind perfectly. "We're just glad that he's ok."
And despite her unwillingness to trust him, Alex does believe him on that. It makes it a little easier to pull herself upright, dust the dirt off her jeans and cross her arms over her chest, standing half on the steps, effectively blocking the two brothers from escaping to their car still parked in the driveway.
"So, this gun … this colt. What can you tell me about it?"
If Sam is thrown by her sudden change of heart, then he doesn't let it show. Dean, on the other hand, doesn't bother to try and hide his surprise, as his brows shoot up and almost disappear in his hairline. "Thought you didn't believe me?"
"Still don't – not without hard proof. But that doesn't mean that I'm not willing to at least listen to what you have to say."
Now. Now that is – I'm willing to hear them out now. Because of what they did. The thoughts run rampant in her mind, taunting her almost, but she remains tight-lipped, refusing to allow them to break through to the surface.
A brief silence follows her admission, and the brothers stare at her expectantly, almost as if they are waiting for her to scoff in their faces, claiming that she was messing with them. That, or they are providing her with the opportunity to take the words back. But neither outcome comes to light, leaving Sam to finally nod his head in agreement. "Uh, back in 1834 – no, 35, when Hayley's comet was overhead, they say that this guy, Samuel Colt –"
"Legendary cowboy hunter –"
"– made this gun –"
"A special gun –"
"For another hunter –"
"Who was also a cowboy," Dean proudly says with a borderline excited grin, taking a moment to finally notice the glare that his younger brother shoots him at his continual interruptions. The smile fades, apple green orbs roll skywards with exasperation, but he nevertheless backs off, mouth clamped shut for the time being.
Sighing, Sam continues, "The story goes that he made thirteen bullets and that the hunter he gave the gun to fired the gun half a dozen times before he disappeared, taking the gun with him. What made this gun so special though, is that they say that it can kill everything."
"So I've been told," Alex says, shooting Dean a look out of the corner of her eyes. "I was also told that you let Yellow Eyes take it from you –"
"We didn't let him take it from us," Dean snaps.
"Then how the hell did it wind up in his hands then?!"
"Because it stole it from us the night that it killed our Dad."
He hadn't shouted the words, but the intensity in his tone and the blazing anger that had suddenly taken a hold of Dean's face shocks Alex as if he had. It takes everything within her not to recoil back, but she manages to firmly keep herself planted in the ground, face blank despite the sudden guilt that seeps through her as she watches Dean's jaw clench as he turns away.
With the tension in the atmosphere suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife, Sam tries his best to diffuse it, despite the grief now clouding his features at the mention of his father. "Look. I know how it sounds, OK? Crazy doesn't begin to cover it. But we're telling the truth. I promise."
"Even if I were to believe it, you do realise that the first thing that Yellow Eyes would have done was destroy it, right?"
"Maybe not," Sam says. "As much as I had to give that thing any credit, it's smart. Smart enough to realise that a gun that can kill anything might be useful at some point. He might have destroyed it, but he might not have. But I'm willing to bet that he has it somewhere, out there. And we're gonna steal it back if it is."
"That's a hell of a big if."
Once upon a time, Alex might have said something similar. But after the past few years, the things that she has seen and done, faith isn't really something that she has a whole lot of anymore. The bitter, pessimist of a hunter within her is screaming at her that there isn't a chance in hell that this gun is around anymore, and even if it was it would be nearly impossible to steal back from the demon. As Sam said, it's smart. So if they didn't have the gun to kill it with, then where the hell did it leave them?
Back to square one, that's where. Clueless, scared, and forced back into hiding once more.
"And if I'm right and the gun really is gone?"
"Then we figure out some other way to kill it," Dean steely says. "This bastard doesn't get to walk. Not after everything that it's done."
Alex sticks her tongue in the side of her cheek, leaning back as she thinks. It really, really isn't a lot to go on from. Their plan was to track down the demon, find this supposed magic gun, steal it back and then use it to kill the demon. Except they had no idea where the demon is; no leads, no clues; nothing. Not to mention that this thing was probably one of the most powerful supernatural creatures out there; they would be risking everything by going up against it, their lives included. And even if they did fail and manage to walk away in one piece – though very highly unlikely – then they would just start over again, trying to find some other way to kill this thing.
Just another endless cycle. One that she might not ever be able to walk away from. Once she starts hunting this thing again, she knows that it will be hard for her to stop. That, or she'll wind up dead.
It's Isla's voice that whispers to her this time, her words from earlier in the kitchen floating up to the forefront of Alex's mind; I want you to be safe. And truthfully? You're never going to be safe. Not until this fucker is put in the ground once and for all.
"I'll help you," she says, quickly, before she has time to think about it some more and change her mind. The brothers stare at her in surprise, but she only continues, "I'll help you kill this thing. But there are conditions."
"Conditions?"
"No other hunters." Dean scoffs at this, but Alex holds up a hand to silence him. "I mean it. No other hunters. We can go to Ellen, Jo and Ash, Noah even – but that's it. You can call them or whatever if you want for advice, but we don't work with anyone else. Don't ask me to either, because I won't change my mind. I'll help you, but I'm not working with anyone else."
The two brothers share a look, a thousand words shifting between them in silent conversation, the two men knowing perfectly well what the other is trying is thinking. It slightly irks Alex, but she allows them to mull over her first demand which happens to be the biggest, and most important. If they couldn't agree to this one, then she wouldn't be leaving with them in the morning. She's able to put aside her differences with them and her firm belief that hunters can't be trusted to work with them, but she sure as hell isn't ready or willing to do the same with anyone else. If they really wanted her help that badly, then they would agree to this.
Sam, she knows, will be the easier of the two to convince, and this shows when he shrugs his shoulders in defeat, much to the chagrin of his older brother.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me –"
"Dean, c'mon ..."
"You can't be serious!"
"I sure as hell am," Alex says. "I get it; it's a big ask, or whatever. So, if you don't want to agree then that's fine. I won't stop you from leaving."
"No one's leaving," Sam quickly interjects. "I – just, just give me a second, alright?"
She shrugs and turns her attention to the empty fields and wide paddocks of the farm beyond the porch, giving them a moment of privacy. With her back turned to them and the way they whisper in sharp hisses under their breath, it makes it impossible for her to properly discern whatever the hell it is that they're saying. Alex can just make out Dean making wild, angry gestures with his hands out of the corner of her eyes, but if they're directed towards her, then she doesn't care. He can be angry all he wants but it's like she said. If they can't agree to work with just her and steer clear of any and all other hunters besides Ellen's gang, then she's not going to help them.
After what seems like an eternity – but is actually only a minute later – a throat is cleared behind her. She turns to see the two brothers waiting for her, Dean looking mildly pissed off while Sam has a small, victorious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Alright, we agree. No hunters."
"One hundred percent."
She slowly nods. "Good."
"Anything else, Queenie?" Dean sarcastically bites out, earning a scowl from Alex in turn. "What are your other demands?"
"I'm taking my own car." At the offending look that Dean shoots her, she bares her teeth. "Relax, princess. It's got nothing to do with your precious Impala. The fact is if I'm really going to be hitting the road with you for God knows how long, then I'm going to need my own space. Don't like it, lump it."
Dean mutters something unintelligible under his breath (although Alex is pretty sure she hears a 'bitch' or two in there) but Sam is the one to hold his hand out and bring the peace. "Of course, that's more than fine. Anything else?"
Where his brother had been rude, Sam is being sincere. It's enough to clue Alex in on who exactly she'll be getting along better with over the next few weeks, so she looks at him when she replies, "That's pretty much it."
Sam smiles. Dean glares. The latter spits out, "Guess that makes us partners then."
"Guess so," Alex says with more enthusiasm than necessary, knowing that it would only piss off the older Winchester that much more. Although, enthusiasm is the last thing that she is truly feeling right now. Dread, regret and nausea would be more accurate. God, she hopes that she isn't making a big mistake right now.
"Alright, boys. Let's go find this son of a bitch."