1.16
Sam and Dean drop me off at a library while they go and impersonate security alarm workers.
"Jumpsuit it definitely your style," I tell Dean.
Dean rolls his eyes as he pulls up in front of the library. "You know the rules."
"Stay inside, don't talk to anyone that isn't a librarian, call for anything," I recite.
"Good."
I get out of the car, "Have fun storming the castle, boys," I say and slam the door shut. I go up the steps and into the library. I find a free desk downstairs with what looks like college students and figure they'll all leave me alone. I finish my schoolwork for the day and try and read but I get bored. I try to call Dad. Voicemail. Seven times. I shut my phone. None of my friends are online so I force myself to read. Hours later Dean calls and says they're outside. I pack up and walk out and get in the car.
"Why so glum, Munch?" Dean asks when I get in.
I shrug. "Bored."
"I know what'll cheer you up."
"What?"
"Dead girl worked in a bar."
Sam scoffs. "Dean."
"What?" Dean asks.
"A bar isn't exactly my idea of fun, Dean," I say.
"Is it for me."
"So I get to sit a table and hope no one notices I'm nine years too young to be there?"
Dean shrugs as he drives. "You and Sammy can do the nerdy stuff together if you like," Dean offers.
"See now that sounds more fun than a bar," I say with a grin to Dean in the rearview mirror.
Sam and I gather together all the stuff they've got from whatever it is that seems to kill people behind locked doors and leave blood patterns while Dean goes in to the bar to talk to people.
"How bad was it?" I ask.
Sam huffs. "Just the blood."
"Nothing else was destroyed?" I ask.
"What?"
"If it looked like an animal attack, and that's what the police are saying, wouldn't there be like…destroyed furniture, ripped curtains, signs of struggle? Even ghosts make a mess."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Didn't think of that."
I scoff. "And you call yourself a professional."
Sam smiles and we go in to the bar. I just hide behind Sam's giant back and no one bats an eye. Sam goes to an empty table and we sit down and go through all the stuff. Dean comes over.
"I talked to the bartender," says Dean.
"Did you get anything? Besides her number?" asks Sam.
"Dude, I'm a professional. I'm offended that you would think that… All right, yeah." He laughs and holds up a napkin with a number on it.
"Have you no shame?" I ask.
"You mind doin' a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?" asks Sam.
"Huh? Look, there's nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everybody said she was normal. She didn't do or say anything weird before she died, so—what about that symbol, you find anything?"
"Nope, nothing. It wasn't in Dad's journal or in any of the usual books. I just have to dig a little deeper, I guess."
"Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?"
"Right. Yeah." I hand Sam the newspaper article. "His name was, uh—his name was Ben Swardstrom. Last month he was found mutilated in his town house. Same deal—the door was locked, the alarm was on."
"Is there any connection between the two of them?"
"Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds."
"So, to recap, the only successful intel we've scored so far is the bartender's phone number."
"Is that really successful intel though Dean?" I ask.
"I'd say so. What?" Dean asks.
Sam is scanning the room. Then he gets up and walks away.
"Sam?" Dean asks.
Sam goes to a woman across the room.
"Who the hell is that?" I ask.
"No idea. Stay," Dean says and goes over.
"Like hell," I say. And follow him over to Sam.
"Oh, I did," the woman is saying. "I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what's-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar."
"Who?" asks Sam.
"Oh, it doesn't matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I'm living here for a while."
Dean clears his throat loudly.
"Smooth," I mumble to him. He hits me in the arm.
"You're from Chicago?" Sam asks the woman.
"No, Massachusetts—Andover. Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we'd run into each other?"
"Yeah, I know, I thought I'd never see you again."
"Well, I'm glad you were wrong."
Dean clears his throat loudly again.
"Dude," says the woman. "Cover your mouth."
I laugh. Dean elbows me.
"Yeah, um, I'm sorry, Meg. This is, my little sister, Jane, and uh—this is my brother, Dean."
"This is Dean?"
"And Jane," I say.
Meg ignores me.
"So you've heard of me?" asks Dean.
"Oh, yeah. I've heard of you. Nice—the way you treat your brother like luggage."
"Sorry?" Dean asks.
"Why don't you let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him over God's green earth."
"Meg, it's all right," says Sam.
No one says anything for a while.
"So…" I start.
Dean whistles. "Okay, awkward. I'm gonna get a drink now."
He leaves to go to the bar and I'm just left there standing there. Alone. In a bar. I step closer to Sam.
"Sam, I'm sorry. It's just—the way you told me he treats you...if it were me, I'd kill him," says Meg.
"It's all right. He means well," says Sam.
"Well, we should hook up while you're in town."
"Yeah."
"I'll show you a hell of a time."
"You know what, that sounds great. Why don't you, uh—why don't you give me your number?" Sam pulls out his phone.
"312-555-0143."
"You know what, I never got your last name."
"Masters."
"Masters?"
"So, you better call."
"Scout's Honor."
"I hope to see you around, Sam. Nice to meet you, Jane."
I smile as she leaves.
"So…" I say looking up at Sam. "Who was that?"
"Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like that."
"Like you like her?"
"That's not it. Let's go."
Sam grabs Dean and we go back out to the car.
"Who the hell was she?" asks Dean.
"I don't really know. I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don't know, man, it's weird."
"And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitchin' about me to some chick?"
"Look, I'm sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana. But that's not important, just listen—"
"Well, is there any truth to what she's saying? I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?"
"No, of course not. Now, would you listen?"
" What?"
"I think there's somethin' strange going on here, Dean."
"Yeah, tell me about it. She wasn't even that into me."
"Oh no," I say sarcastically. "The horror."
"Shut up."
"No, man," says Sam. "I mean like our kind of strange. Like, maybe even a lead."
"Why do you say that?"
"I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the Same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don't think that's a little weird?"
"I don't know, random coincidence. It happens."
"Yeah, it happens, but not to us. Look, I could be wrong, I'm just saying that there's something about this girl that I can't quite put my finger on."
"Well, I bet you'd like to. I mean, maybe she's not a suspect, maybe you've got a thing for her, huh?"
Sam laughs.
"Told you," I say.
"Maybe you're thinking a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?" asks Dean.
"Do me a favor," says Sam. "Check and see if there's really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and see if you can't dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith's floor."
"What are you gonna do?"
"I'm gonna watch Meg."
Dean laughs. "Yeah, you are."
"I just wanna see what's what. Better safe than sorry."
"All right, you little pervert."
"Dude."
"I'm going, we're going," Dean says. He yanks my arm, and we cross the street.
"What do mean by upstairs brain?" I ask Dean as we walk back to the hotel.
"The brain."
I frown. "So what's the downstairs brain?"
"Uhh…"
"Do I want to know?"
"Probably not."
"Boys are gross."
"Girls are gross."
"You don't seem to act like you think that's true."
"Fine. Sisters are gross."
"That's just mean. Is Sam going to stalk that poor woman?"
"Maybe."
"So that's a yes?"
"Do you always ask so many annoying questions?"
"I don't know. Do I?"
Dean sighs. "Little sisters really are the worst."
"Not as bad as big brothers. And I've got two of those, so I've got it way worse than you."
We get back to the motel and Dean gets on the laptop to do research and I go have a shower. When I come back out he's on the phone.
"Sorry, man," Dean's saying, "she checks out. There is a Meg Masters in the Andover phonebook. I even pulled up her high school photo. Now, look, why don't you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh? … Yeah, that I did have some luck with." He looks down in front of him. "It's uh, turns out it's Zoroastrian. Very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for a Daeva."
A Daeva? I walk over to Dean and peer over his shoulder.
"It translates to "demon of darkness". Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, you know, nasty attitudes—kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls…Give me some credit, man. You don't have a corner on paper chasin' around here…No, I called Dad's friend, Caleb. He told me, all right?"
I laugh.
"Anyway, here's the thing—these Daevas, they have to be summoned, conjured…Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. And, from what I gather, it's pretty risky business, too. These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them. And, uh, the arms, and torsos…Well, nobody knows, but nobody's seen 'em for a couple of millennia. I mean, summoning a demon that ancient? Someone really knows their stuff. I think we've got a major player in town. Now, why don't you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?"
I hit Dean on the arm. He waves me off.
"No, bite her. Don't leave teeth marks, though—Sam? Are you—?"
I stare down at Dean. He looks up at me. "What?"
"You're disgusting."
Dean pulls out his wallet and hands me a twenty. "Go get us something to eat."
I frown, but snatch the money and go out down the street to get us some food. When I get back he's putting his jacket on.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"Amy called," he says with a smile.
"Who?"
"Police woman."
"Okay…"
"I'll be back later."
"Dean!"
"Jane," Dean mocks my tone. I stare at him, Dean quickly kisses the top of my head as he leaves. "See ya." He closes the door. I stand there with a bag of food.
Dean gets back a little while later. He looks…odd.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"The victims…"
"What about them?"
"They're all from Lawrence."
"What?" I ask. "They're not…how?"
"I don't know, but it's not good." Dean goes to bathroom and washes his face.
Sam comes in, looks around. Dean comes out of the bathroom and they both say, "Dude, I gotta talk to you."
"Are two married or something?" I say.
"It's Meg," Sam says.
"What?" asks Dean.
"She had a whole set up in a warehouse, she's doing it. With a bowl, some black liquid in it, talking into it, talking to someone or something I don't really know. But it was her, there's no way all that set up is for anything other than some sort of conjuring ritual."
"So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?"
"Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing," Sam explains.
"So, Sammy's got a thing for the bad girl. And what's the deal with that bowl again?"
"She was talking into it. The way witches used to scry into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was communicating with someone."
"With who? With the Daeva?"
"No, you said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who's giving her orders. Someone… who's coming to that warehouse."
Dean pauses, goes to the table where the research all is. "Holy crap."
"What?"
"What I was gonna tell you earlier—I pulled a favor with my – friend, Amy, over at the police department."
"Uh huh…" I say.
Dean eyes me but carries on, "The complete records of the two victims—we missed something the first time."
"What?" Sam goes over to Dean at the table.
"The first victim, the old man—he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn't born here. Look where he was born."
"Lawrence, Kansas."
"Mmhmm. Meredith, second victim—turns out she was adopted. And guess where she's from?"
Sam sits down at the table. I sit on the edge of the bed.
"Holy crap," says Sam.
"Yeah."
"I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That's where everything started. So, you think Meg's tied up with the demon?"
"I think it's a definite possibility."
"But I don't understand. What's the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daeva things fit in?"
"Beats me. But I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation."
"No, we can't. We shouldn't tip her off. We've gotta stake out that warehouse. We've gotta see who, or what, is showing up to meet her."
"I'll tell you one thing. I don't think we should do this alone."
Sam goes to the car, presumably to stock up on weapons that might fight a demon and/or a daeva. I just sit there on the end of the bed. What do I do? Sam and Dean are my family but this fight against the demon that killed their mom…that's not…that's not my fight? Is it? I've always felt so far removed from it. If that thing hadn't killed their mom, I wouldn't even be here. I'm like…a mistake. An accidental part of the family.
Dean calls Dad. He obviously doesn't answer. "We think we've got a serious lead on the thing that k*lled Mom. So, uh, this warehouse—it's 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can."
Sam comes in with a full bag and drops it on the bed next to me. "Voicemail?" he asks. The bag is so heavy I'm lifted several inches up.
"Yeah. Jesus, what'd you get?" Dean says.
Sam chuckles. "I ransacked that trunk. Holy water, every weapon that I could think of, exorcism rituals from about a half dozen religions. I'm not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything."
Sam hands me the stack of paper and books. I don't need to be told. I do this…did this for Dad all the time. I sort through, earmarking exorcism rituals.
"Big night," says Dean.
"Yeah. You nervous?"
"No. Why, are you?"
"No. No way."
I fold down the page of another exorcism and start sorting through the loose leaf paper.
"God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing?" says Sam. "That demon?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, all right?" says Dean.
"I know. I'm just saying, what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I'd sleep for a month. Go back to school—be a person again."
I pause pulling out a page.
"You wanna go back to school?" asks Dean.
"Yeah, once we're done hunting the thing."
I bite my lip. I look up at Dean. He's looking at me.
"Huh," he says, going back to the gun.
"Why, is there something wrong with that?"
"No. No, it's, uh, great. Good for you."
"I mean, what are you gonna do when it's all over?"
"It's never gonna be over. There's gonna be others. There's always gonna be something to hunt."
"But there's got to be something that you want for yourself—"
"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over, Sam." Dean goes over to the dresser. I go back to staring blankly at the rituals.
"Dude, what's your problem?" asks Sam.
Dean says nothing. I can feel Sam's eyes baring down on me but I just stare at the page.
"Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh? I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?" asks Dean.
"Cause Dad was in trouble. Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom."
"Yes, that, but it's more than that, man. …You and Jane and me and Dad—I mean, I want us….I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again."
"Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before."
My very existence proves that, but I bite my tongue.
I look up at Dean. He looks sad. "Could be," he says.
"I don't want them to be. I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way."
"So you're going to leave again?" I ask. Surprising even myself that I say something.
"Janie…I…"
"No, it's fine," I say, and I move the page I've been staring at to the back of the pile. "You want to do your own thing. That's…that's…fine."
Sam sighs.
God. I miss Dad. I want things to go back the way they were too. No Sam. Just me and Dad and Dean. It's good. It's fine. If Sam doesn't want to be a part of our family he doesn't have to. Just let me have Dad.
I put all the exocism and ritual stuff in the outside pocket of the duffel bag.
"Jane," Dean says, kneeling down so he's eye level with me on the bed, "you know you can't come."
"I kind of figured," I say.
"I just didn't want you to, you know, throw a fit."
"I don't throw fits," I say defensively.
Dean laughs a little. "Okay. You stay here. I mean it. Lock everything. Gun under your pillow. Salt the windows and doors. Got it?"
I nod. "Got it."
Dean quickly kisses my head and leaves.
"Jane, I…" Sam says.
I shrug. "It's fine," I say. "Really. Go kick some ass." And I actually kind of mean it. Like, at least 60% it really is fine.
As soon as they're gone I do what I'm told. I salt all the doors and windows. Even the vents. I clean my gun. Clean the shotgun. Load it with rock salt. It's late. And I am actually tired. I decide to try and sleep. I check all the locks again. Turn off the lights. I climb into the corner bed. Handgun under my pillow. Shotgun at my side. I close my eyes. My heart is racing a million miles an hour. What is happening? What are they doing? I must doze off because the next thing I know I hear something. I reach out under the covers, keeping my eyes closed, wrap my hands around the shotgun. I slowly pull it closer to me. Trying to keep my breath steady.
"Hey Janie."
I don't think I've ever opened my eyes so fast. I see him, leaning over the bed. "Dad?"
He smiles.
I throw off the covers, crawl over the gun and wrap my arms around him. He hugs me back, tight, his chin resting on top of my head.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Avoiding a trap," he says.
"Sam and Dean?" I ask as I pull back a little.
"They're fine," Dad says and he pulls me off him. "They'll be here soon, but I figured I should get out of there."
I nod and climb off the bed. He's here. He's really here. Dad goes to the window, where I assume he climbed in. He closes it and looks out the window. I go over to him and take his hand. He squeezes my hand tight in his.
"It wasn't the demon, was it?" I ask.
Dad shakes his head, closes his eyes. "I'm getting close though, kiddo."
I smile up at him.
Dad opens his eyes, sees me, smiles. He takes a deep breath and pulls me in front of him, kisses my hair and both of us stand there, staring out the window at the city, his arms wrapped around me.
I hear the door unlock.
"Hey!"
The light turns on, Dad lets go of me, turns.
"Dad?" asks Dean.
"Hey boys," says Dad.
Dad and Dean walk towards each other and hug. They pull apart after a little. I go and stand next to Dad again. I don't want him to disappear again.
"Hi Sam," Dad says.
"Hey Dad," says Sam and he puts the bag down.
"Dad, it was a trap," says Dean. "I didn't know, I'm sorry."
"It's all right," says Dad. "I thought it might've been."
"Were you there?"
"Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?"
"Yes, sir," says Sam and Dean.
"Good. Well, it doesn't surprise me. It's tried to stop me before."
"The demon has?" asks Sam.
"It knows I'm close. It knows I'm gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell—actually kill it."
I look up at Dad. Confused.
"How?" Dean asks.
Dad smiles. "I'm working on that."
Which means he has a plan.
"Let us come with you. We'll help," says Sam.
"No, Sam. Not yet," says Dad.
Not yet?
"Just try to understand," says Dad. "This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don't want you caught in a crossfire. I don't want you hurt."
"Dad, you don't have to worry about us."
"Of course I do. I'm your father…Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."
"Yes, sir."
"It's good to see you again. It's been a long time."
"Too long," says Sam.
They hug. I nearly cry. Our family. Together. Finally.
Dad is thrown across the room. I scream. Then I'm thrown against the bed.
"No!" Dean yells.
I'm picked up by nothing and thrown back down on the bed. Something scratches at my face. I'm thrown on the ground. I see Dean, Dad, and Sam all being attacked down.
"Shut your eyes!" Sam yells. "These things are shadow demons, so let's light 'em up!"
I close my eyes. Light still pierces my eyes. And smoke. A flare.
"Dad!" Dean yells.
"Over here!"
A hand grabs mine and helps me up. Coughing we all leave the motel. I'm outside before I realize it's Sam that's grabbed me and helped me out. We get down to the alley, the cars, and I catch my breath in the fresh air.
"All right, come on," says Sam. "We don't have much time. As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back."
"Wait, wait," says Dean. "Sam, wait. Dad, you can't come with us."
"What?" I ask. I go to Dad. He looks at my face, reaches out his hand to my cheek.
"What? What are you talking about?" asks Sam.
"You guys—you're beat to hell," says Dad.
"We'll be all right," says Dean.
"Dean, we should stick together," says Sam, "We'll go after those demons—"
"Sam! Listen to me! We almost got Dad killed in there. Don't you understand? They're not gonna stop, they're gonna try again. They're gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He's—he's stronger without us around."
"Dad, no," says Sam. He puts a hand on Dad's shoulder. "After everything, after all the time we spent looking for you—please. I gotta be a part of this fight."
"Sammy, this fight is just starting," says Dad. "And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you've got to trust me, son. Okay, you've gotta let me go."
"But Dad…" I say but I can't find the words.
"Your brothers will take care of you, Janie," Dad says.
I stare at him. My eyes filling with tears. "You can't leave again," I croak.
"Jane," I hear Dean say.
"Dad," I'm almost begging. I know I'm pathetic. But I just got my Dad back. He can't go again.
"I'm sorry Janie," Dad says. He wraps me in a hug, kisses my cheek and then…lets go.
I stand there dumbfounded.
Dad walks to his truck. He looks back at us. "Be careful, kids." He gets in and drives away.
"Come on," Dean says. Suddenly he's next to me. He takes my arm and leads me to the car. "We'll see him again," he says.
I get in the car silently. None of us say a word. We just back out of the alley and leave. I cry as quietly as I can.