Now you may have been expecting to read 'The Kids Are All Right', but that's going to feature later on in the story, and will be quite a bit different from the actual episode.
But hope you enjoy this one anyway. Please leave a review if you can- it helps me to keep motivated to write more!
2. Bad Day At Black Rock
I'd been given homework... and I sucked at it. I didn't see why we couldn't just go 'the power of Christ compels you' and send demons back to Hell that way. No, now I had to read Latin. I mean, how was I supposed to know I should have studied Latin in school? This was dumb. But not only did I have to read it, Sam told me it would be a good idea to try and learn it. Off. By. Heart. Sam was all 'What if you don't have the book?' and 'It could be the difference between life and death' and blah, blah, blah. Damn, I was grouchy. But you try learning Latin on an empty stomach and see how you feel. I was getting nowhere fast; I needed to make some phone calls.
The first, and most important, was to the pizza place down the street. Could I have gotten in my truck and driven? Yeah. Could I have also walked it? Yeah. I was being lazy. Sue me. After ordering a whole large-ass pizza for myself, I called my current pain in the ass. Which was surprisingly not the Winchester it normally was.
He answered after the second ring but before he could even say hello, I jumped in.
"How am I supposed to pronounce this? Is it leg-ee-oh or lej-ee-oh. Or is it none of the above? 'Cause knowing my luck, I'd mispronounce it and summon every demon from Hell to my motel room!"
There was a beat of silence on the other end. "Rae?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you ok?" Sam asked.
"No, I'm not ok! Weren't you listening? I need help. You told me to practise, and I need you to teach me your ways, oh masterful Yoda."
"Erm, what do you need help with?" I could hear him fumbling with something on the other end.
"With the Latin, Sam. I need help with the Latin! Are you actually paying attention?"
"Sorry, I'm a bit distracted.
"What's up?" I asked. He did seem a bit off.
"No, no," he said. "You called for my help. What word was it again?"
"No, I insist, please distract me from my homework and inevitable breakdown. What's up?" Not that I wanted anything to be wrong, but I'd be a fool not to take any out I could get.
"We got a call from a warehouse just outside of Buffalo. Seems Dad had a storage unit there and someone broke in," Sam explained.
"That can't be good. You thinking demon?"
"We're not sure what to think yet. We're heading there now to figure out what happened."
And that was all I needed to know. "Well that sounds like a pretty damn good distraction for me. What's the address?"
Latin could go suck it.
I pulled up outside the storage building. This wasn't one of those commercial places where there were colourful garage doors, where people were popping in and out to get their belongings. No, this was clearly a place were people put stuff they did not want to be found. The building was derelict and the guy working what I was very politely calling the front desk—he was sat on fold-up chair by a little fold-up table— looked like he's rather be anywhere but there. I went inside and climbed in the elevator, taking me to the floor Sam had just texted me. Someone had obviously not paid their electricity bill. It was a surprise I could even see where I was going, the place was so dark and dingy.
I got to the locker to find the door already open. The boys were inside looking through the heaps of stuff piled inside.
"I didn't expect the place to be so grimy," I said.
They both jumped around. I think Dean may have let out a little squeak. "Christ! Don't sneak up on people," he grumbled.
I chuckled and stepped further inside. "Sorry I made you jump you little—"
"Stop!" They both shouted.
I froze and looked down. Running across the floor was a thin trip wire. That was close.
"Thanks for the save," I said as I stepped over it. I may not have expected it, but I wasn't all that surprised—John Winchester had been a damn thorough hunter, so it was no wonder he'd made sure his possessions were safe. Judging by the state of the blood splattered floor, someone hadn't been so lucky. Not only had he set up the traps, John had also demon proofed the place with numerous devil's traps drawn on the floor.
"Given the floor décor, I figure you've ruled out demons," I said as I walked around, far more wary of where I was stepping.
"Yeah, but whoever it was got tagged good," Dean said as he scanned the shelves with his flashlight. Damn wish I'd have brought mine.
"Anything missing?" I asked.
"Not sure," Sam responded. "We didn't even know this place existed until a few hours ago."
I wasn't sure how they would even figure out if something was missing. The place was full of junk. I mean, it probably wasn't actually junk, but it certainly looked like it.
"1995," Dean said. In his hands was a small trophy.
"No way!" Sam said walking over to it. "That's my Division Championship soccer trophy. I can't believe he kept this."
"Yeah, it was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy." Typical Dean response.
"I wouldn't have figured you for a soccer player," I said then looked him up and down. "I'd have guessed basketball."
Sam chuckled.
"Just seems like a waste of height is all," I said as I continued looking around.
"Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off." Dean was grinning as he picked up the shotgun from the table. "I made it myself. Sixth grade."
"Huh. I made my first sawed-off in fifth grade." I hadn't really. But he didn't know that.
Dean gave me a baleful stare and cocked the shotgun. A cloud of dust exploded around it. Threat received loud and clear.
A clang of chains sounded. Sam had ventured into a caged part of the locker. Dean and I followed and now I could see why John had had this placed locked up tight.
"Holy crap," Dean said.
Holy crap, indeed. There were enough weapons in there to arm a small army. Knives, guns, grenades, you name it. I wouldn't have been surprised to stumble on a damn rocket launcher.
"Look at this, he had land mines... Which they didn't take," Dean said perusing the weapons. "Or the guns. I guess they knew what they were after, huh?"
That was a good point. If someone broke in here, and didn't take any of the weapons, whether for use or to sell them, then what exactly did they want? What was more valuable to them?
"Hey, check this out," Sam called us over. He was standing in front of a row of locked chests. Each one had painted white markings on them. "See these symbols? That's binding magic. These are curse boxes."
"Curse boxes? They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right, kinda like the Pandora deal?" Dean asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object."
I took a fraction of a step back. "So, probably best not to touch."
"Right," Sam said.
"Dad's journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, you know. Dangerous hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they ended up."
"Yeah. Well this must be his toxic waste dump." Sam swept his finger through a line of dust, right by a space where a box had clearly been sitting for a while but was now gone. "One box is missing. Great."
"Well maybe they didn't open it," Dean said.
When were we ever that lucky?
"But if they did…" I said. "What did they let out?"
Thankfully, the place actually had CCTV. Who'd have thought? The images it produced were grainy and somewhat blurred, but also thankfully, we were clearly dealing with a bunch of morons. The only visitors to the place on the day the locker had been broken into, were two guys, who had stupidly parked right in front of the camera. We couldn't have gotten a clearer image of their license plate if we'd tried.
We searched up the address linked to the plate and got a hit straight away. The boys hopped in their car, and I followed in the truck. We were on the hunt.
Not twenty minutes later, Dean pulled up beside a car that looked like the one we'd seen on the CCTV and peered out of the window. The plates were a match for the one we'd seen on screen. They really should have blacked out their plates. Geniuses.
We parked and made our way to their apartment. Sam silently picked the lock, and we crept in, guns drawn. One of them may have been injured, but we still didn't know what they had in their possession. There were two voices coming from down the hall, and by the sounds of it, they were enjoying a friendly game of poker. Well we were about to interrupt.
"Freeze, freeze! Nobody move!" Dean yelled as we charged in.
"Don't move!"
"What is this?" One of the guys said.
Dean faced the other guy head on. "All right, give us the box. And please tell me that you didn't–"
"Oh they did." Sam was looking down at a chest that was almost identical to the ones we'd seen in the storage locker. And it was open. And empty.
"You opened it?!" Dean charged at the guy that had taken the bullet in the locker, judging by the bandages wrapped around his upper arm. He shoved him against the wall, arm pinned against his chest.
The second guy made to run. I turned my gun on him. "Don't even think about it." He stiffened.
"Are you guys cops?" Bandage guy asked.
"What was in the box?" Dean asked.
The guy must have made some slight movement with his eyes.
Dean turned to look behind him. "Oh, was that it, huh? It was wasn't it? What is that thing?"
Bandage guy didn't miss the opportunity. As Dean was otherwise preoccupied, he bashed the gun out of Dean's hand and it fell to the floor, firing a single shot as it landed. The bullet pinged off the radiator and into Sam's gun, knocking it out of his hand, then somehow ricocheted into my gun, flinging it to the floor, finally hitting the lamp. What the…
Sam and the second guy lunged for his gun. He grabbed Sam by the collar and pushed him back. Unfortunately on my part, I was standing right behind Sam. He fell into me and we went down like dominoes. Having Sam fall in to me was like getting hit by a semi-truck. Thankfully something was there to break my fall as we hit the ground. Which was fortunate as we fell through a table.
"Dammit, Princess!" Dean grumbled from underneath me.
Whoops. Looked like I was the meat in a Winchester sandwich... which was not as fun as it sounded.
Sam climbed off of me and pulled me up with a wince. "Sorry!" Then he got side tackled, landing with a grunt.
I went to kick the son of a bitch off of him, but lost my footing and landed right back on my ass with a painful thump. I looked up just in time to see Dean meet the side of a gun face first, and he collapsed once more back to the floor.
What in the hell was going on?
I managed to scramble to my knees as Sam kicked the guy off of him.
"Dean! I got it!" he said jumping up.
"No you don't." Bandage guy held a gun directly to Sam's chest.
No. No. No. No. No.
He pulled the trigger. It clicked. The damn thing had luckily jammed. As he tried desperately to unjam it, he tumbled over the debris on the floor, knocking himself out. The second guy in the corner got to his feet, raising his gun.
"Sam!" Dean and I screamed.
Before we could blink, the guy had somehow brought the shelves above him down on top of his head, knocking him out too. His gun flew into the air… landing in Sam's hand.
The three of us stood in stunned silence. I must have been dreaming. None of that had actually happened. Right?
"Wh-what just happened?" I asked, hoping someone would be able to tell me how any of that had made sense.
"That was a lucky break," Dean said. "Is that a rabbit's foot?"
Sam was holding a fluffy… well, rabbit's foot in his other hand.
"I think it is," he said.
"Huh."
I needed to lie down.
We parked in front of a diner and convenience store, still trying to wrap our heads around what had happened. I knew a rabbit's foot was supposed to be lucky, but that had been luck to the extreme. Dean said he was gonna pick us up some food from the convenience store, while I hopped in the back of the Impala.
Sam took out John's journal. "Maybe there's something in here that will tell us more."
I'd forgotten about that thing. It was fit to bursting with all things paranormal. I remember Sam hastily flicking through it when Dean had been in the hospital fighting for his life, not only against his injuries, but also the reaper that was after him. Was there anything in there about a reaper being able to bring people back from the dead? We could have read something about that last time but glanced over it. After all, it hadn't been our main concern at that time. But was it possible? I'd spent a few evenings lately looking up the power of reapers. I was desperate to see some evidence that what Dean had told me about getting Sam back was possible. I hadn't come across anything so far. Would there be something in John's journal? I'd probably never find out; Dean would kill me if he saw me with my hands on it.
A couple of minutes later, Dean sauntered back, a paper bag in his hand.
"I'm not finding anything on it in Dad's journal," Sam said.
Dean opened up the bag and pulled out… scratch tickets?
"Erm, where's the food?" I whined.
"Dean, come on," Sam said with an irritated sigh.
"What? Hey, that was my gun he was aiming at your head, and my gun don't jam. So that was a lucky break. Not to mention them taking themselves out, also a lucky break. Here, scratch one." He held one out to him. "C'mon Sam, scratch and win!"
Reluctantly, Sam took it and Dean handed him a coin to scratch with.
"Dean, it's gotta be cursed somehow, otherwise Dad wouldn't have locked it up." Without checking what it said, he handed the ticket back to Dean.
It was a nice thought, but there was no way the luck of the rabbit's foot extended to—
"Twelve thousand dollars..." Dean's eyes widened. "You just won twelve thousand dollars! Woo! I don't know, man, it doesn't seem that cursed to me!" He said, handing the next ticket out to Sam, who once more begrudgingly took it.
"Winnings aside, Sam's right," I said. "There has to be some sort of price to pay for all this luck."
"We should call Bobby," Sam suggested.
Dan shrugged. "Hey, go for it. Just keep scratchin' as you do."
While Sam continued to add to Dean's wallet, I made my way into the grocery store to pick up some snacks. They were out of strawberry shakes, so I got something fizzy instead. It would have to do. Making my way out, I could see both boys had gotten out of the car. Sam was on the phone and Dean was laying out his winnings on the hood of the Impala.
"Now look Bobby, we didn't know. Well Dad never told us about this thing…" Sam was saying.
I jumped up to sit on the hood next to the scratch tickets.
"Hey, scram!" Dean pushed me off the hood.
I huffed. "Hey, if my ass dents the hood, looks like you've got enough cash to cover the repairs."
Every single ticket Sam had scratched was a winner.
Dean raised a scolding eyebrow. "Not the point." He went back to the scratch tickets, his eyes lighting up.
"Awesome!" he mouthed to Sam. I looked back to see Sam holding up a golden watch. Had he just found that on the floor?
Dean had his fingers up and was whispering something to himself. I'd never seen Dean looking so focused, yet so confused, before.
"You need help adding up?" I said. "You look like you're struggling."
He slammed his hands down. "Dammit, you made me lose count." He pouted and started again.
"Well, so I won't lose it, Bobby," Sam said as he wandered back closer to us. "Well, then, how do we break the curse?" Sam stuffed the rabbit's foot into his pocket.
It seemed Bobby didn't have all the answers as Sam flipped his phone closed with a defeated slump of his shoulders.
"Dude! We're up fifteen grand!" Dean said.
"Split it evenly… that's five grand each," I said. Maybe it was worth playing on Sam's luck. Just a little.
Dean turned to me, confused. "I'm sorry, how exactly do you fit into the equation, Princess?"
Hey, I was part of this team now. The jerk. "You wanna be like that?" I asked as I grabbed the tickets from the hood. "Then technically Sam should get it all, he's the one with the luck. Without him, you wouldn't have won a damn thing."
Dean snatched them back from me. "You're forgetting that I bought the scratch cards, so I get a fair share."
I grabbed them back. "And I have to put up with your constant BS and ego, so I get a fair share." As far as I was concerned, the conversation was over, so I turned to Sam. "So it's definitely cursed?"
Dean snatched the tickets back and shoved them in his inside jacket pocket. I'd get my hands on them one way or another.
"Yeah," Sam said. "And if I lose it, then I'm in trouble. Like, dead kind of trouble."
Of course it was gonna kill him. Nothing was ever smooth with these Winchesters.
"Bobby's gonna do some research and get back to us," Sam added.
"Well, with that delightful news, let's eat," Dean said walking off towards the diner.
I guessed my snacks would have to wait.
"Hey," I said to Sam as we crossed the parking lot. "It'll be fine. You've faced worse." Way worse.
"Yeah, don't worry," Dean said as he opened the diner's door and we filed through. "Bobby'll find a way to break it. Until then I say we hit Vegas, pull a little Rain Man. You can be Rain Man."
Because of course that was Dean's first idea. Although, I hated to admit it, but hitting up Vegas could actually be fun. You know, as long as Sam didn't die. Again.
Sam had other ideas though. More sensible ideas. Shock horror. "Look, we should just lay low until Bobby calls back, ok? Hi, uh, table for three please," he said to the waiter.
"Congratulations!" The waiter bellowed.
Well that was some welcome. Did he greet all the customers like that?
"It's exciting, I know," Dean said with a smile.
The waiter rang some sort of bell and pulled out… a giant cheque?
"You are the one millionth guest of the Biggerson's Restaurant family!" The rest of the staff gathered around, taking photos, as confetti, streamers and balloons fell from the ceiling.
"Oh my God." I ducked down behind the gigantic cheque he'd handed to the boys. Then they all started singing. God this was embarrassing. I stayed hunkered down until the celebrations wore off and I was sure nothing else was gonna pop out.
"If you'll follow me," the guy said, who was in fact the manager. "Here you are. And as the millionth guests, everything you order today is on the house!"
Now that I could get behind.
"Sweet." Dean rubbed his hands like a child getting ready to tear open their presents on Christmas Day morning.
"Do you guys know what you want or shall we give you a few moments?" the manager asked.
I didn't need to look at the menu. I very rarely did. "I'll get a strawberry shake and waffles."
"I'll just have some coffee, thanks," Sam said.
Dean looked at us as if we'd just sprouted a second head each. "What's wrong with you guys? It's free." He turned to give his order. "I'll get pie. All the pie. I'll also have two burgers. Plenty of fries. Maybe some ice cream to finish it off. Wait. It's a great day today, I'll have the ice cream first." He grinned.
I gave him a look.
"What?" he asked.
I just shook my head. My diet wasn't the greatest, but I countered that with kicking monster ass. Dean? He was a child in a man's body and had the diet to prove it.
When our orders arrived, Dean practically dove into his ice cream. The waffles were heavenly. So light. So fluffy. I'd be dreaming about them that night. While we ate, Sam got into research mode.
"Bobby's right," Sam said as he scanned the laptop screen. "This lore goes way back. Pure Hoodoo. You can't just cut one off any rabbit. Has to be in a cemetery, under a full moon, on a Friday the thirteenth." He put the laptop away.
"I think from now on, we only go to places with Biggerson's." Dean scrunched up his face in pain. Brain freeze. Like I'd said: child.
A waitress came over with a fresh pot of coffee. "Can I freshen you up?"
"Yeah, yeah sure. Thanks," Sam said, sliding his cup over to her.
They shared a smile, which must have distracted the poor girl, as the cup overfilled.
"Oh!" she said.
"Oh! Oh I uh—" Sam fumbled.
"Let me mop up here," she said, taking a cloth out of her apron pocket.
"No, no don't worry it's okay, it's okay," Sam insisted.
"It's no trouble, really." She threw him one hell of a smile.
"Ok." Sam sat back with a smile of his own.
"Sorry about that."
"It's all right."
I felt like I was interrupting a moment. Maybe we needed to get those two a room because… jeesh. She finished clearing up and walked away. Both brothers' gazes were glued to her as she went. Typical. She threw a look back at Sam over her shoulder.
"Dude," Dean said. "If you were ever gonna get lucky..."
"Chill out." Sam squirmed.
"I mean, she definitely wants something from you," I said to Sam, wiggling my eyebrows.
He shook his head. "Not you too."
Poor guy was so easy to wind up. But that waitress was definitely interested.
Sam went to pick up his cup but somehow knocked it over, spilling the hot drink all over himself.
"Oh! Oh geez, uh..." He leapt up from his seat… and knocked into a waiter standing behind him with a full tray of food. It went flying to the ground—the food and the waiter.
Oh boy.
"Sorry!" Sam said.
"How was that good?" Dean asked.
Sam went to check his jacket pocket. Empty. The rabbit's foot was gone. It could have only been…
"Son of a bitch," Dean said as we all raced for the exit.
We ran across the parking lot, but there was no sign of the waitress. We kept—
There was a thud behind me. Dean and I stopped and looked back. Sam was sprawled face down on the floor.
"Wow! You suck!" Dean, the ever-sympathetic brother. He did however join me in helping pull him up.
I looked down. "Sam… ouch." Sam had torn his knees to shreds. Poor thing looked like a kicked puppy.
"So what, now your luck turns bad?" Dean asked.
"I guess," Sam said.
"I wonder how bad?" So not the question to ask, Dean. He was asking for trouble with that one.
"Come on." I took Sam's arm and led him over to the Impala. He brushed his hands, trying to get rid of the gravel embedded in them.
"Who the hell was she?" Dean asked.
I said, "I think its safe to say she wasn't a waitress, so—"
"Thank you so much for that contribution, oh wise one."
I whacked Dean across the chest. "I think it's also safe to say she had to have been working with the guys from the storage room, or more likely they were working for her. It's way too much of a coincidence two separate people were looking for the rabbit's foot, that no one else knew existed, at the same time. And when they lost the rabbit's foot, she had to take matters into her own hands. So I say we head back to Thing 1 and Thing 2 and see what we can get out of them. How's that for a contribution?" I stood there huffing and puffing, glaring at Dean.
He did look a little chewed out. "Might be an ok plan," he mumbled. "You could tone down the attitude though."
We got into our vehicles and headed back to the thieves' building. When we got there, we stormed up the stairs, having no need to be quiet this time, not caring if they heard us coming. We didn't have the rabbit's foot, but neither did they. We could easily take them in a fair fight.
As we got to their floor, their neighbour was just heading back into his apartment.
"You guys here to see Grossman?" he asked.
"Yeah," Dean responded warily.
"Take it easy on him. He's had a rough day. Rough." He shook his head with his eyes wide.
"What happened?" I asked.
"His buddy Wayne just died. Man tripped and impaled himself on a fork. Talk about a freak accident."
Damn. The loss of the rabbit's foot hadn't taken long to kill him. Things were not looking good for Sam.
"Thanks for giving us the heads up," Dean said, faking empathy. "We'll make sure he's cared for."
The apartment door was unlocked, so we walked straight in. Grossman was sat on a chair in the middle of the room, drink in one hand, photograph in the other. "Oh, man. What do you want?" he asked when he spotted us.
"Heard about your friend. That's bad luck," Dean said.
"Piss off."
I tutted. "Not a very nice welcome. We know someone hired you to steal the rabbit's foot. A woman."
"Oh yeah?" he asked. "How do you know that?"
"Because she just stole it back from us," Dean answered.
Grossman laughed.
"Listen man, this is seri—" There was an almighty crash from where Sam should have been standing. I turned around to once again find him on the floor.
"Sam, you OK?" Dean asked without turning around.
"Yeah, I'm good!" He groaned.
I whispered over to him as he stood up, "Maybe just stand still, ok?"
He nodded. Poor pup.
"I want you to tell us her name," Dean ordered.
"Screw you."
"It wasn't a freak accident that killed your partner."
"What?" he asked.
"It was the rabbit's foot," Dean explained.
Grossman chortled. "You're crazy, man."
"You know I'm not," Dean said. "You saw what happened, what it did. All the flukes, all the luck. When you lose the foot that luck goes sour. That's what killed your friend. And my brother here is next. And who knows how many more innocent people after that. Now if you don't help us stop this thing, that puts those deaths on your head. Now I can read people... and I get it. You're a thief, and a scumbag, that's fine." The grinding of Grossman's jaw told me he took some offence to that. Oh well.
"But you're not a killer," Dean continued. "Are you?"
Grossman broke eye contact, contemplating what to say. "No."
"Her name?" Dean prompted.
"Lugosi. That's all I know, I swear," he said. "Now please just… leave me the hell alone."
With pleasure. And so we left, heading back down the stairs. I kept a close eye on Sam, just to make sure he didn't fall and break his neck. As soon as we got outside, Dean's cell rang.
"Hello?" Dean listened intently to what the other person was saying. "Bobby, that's uh, great, 'cept Sam, uh... Sam lost the foot."
I looked over at Sam to see he had stood in a big glob of chewing gum.
"Just, don't move," I said as I went over to Dean to listen in on the conversation with Bobby.
"This, uh, this hot chick stole it from him," Dean explained "I'm serious. In her mid 20's, and she was sharp you know, good enough at the con to play us. And she only gave the guy she hired a name, probably an alias or something. Uh, Luigi or something?"
"Lugosi. Idiot," I said. I got up on tiptoes, trying to hear Bobby on the other end.
"Lugosi?" he said. "Aw crap, it's probably Bela."
Dean smirked. "Bela Lugosi? That's cute."
"Bela Talbot's her real name. Crossed paths with her once or twice."
"Well she knew about the rabbit's foot. Is she a hunter?" I asked, loud enough for him to hear me.
"Pretty friggin' far from a hunter, but she knows her way around the territory," Bobby explained. "She's been out of the country. Last I heard she was in the Middle East someplace."
"Ah, I guess she's back," Dean said.
"Which means seriously bad luck for you."
"Great." Dean said with a self-deprecating smile.
"But, if it is Bela... At least I might know some folks who know where to find her."
"Thanks, Bobby. Again."
"Just... look out for your brother, ya idjit." Bobby ended the call.
As one, Dean and I turned around. Sam was stood, shoulders slumped, wearing one hell of a sad, grumpy face.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I lost my shoe."
He was indeed standing there with one foot shoe-less. What had he been doing while we were on the phone?
I was following behind the Impala when Dean pulled into a motel parking lot. I pulled up alongside him and got out.
"All right," Dean said as he and Sam joined me. "Bobby's got it on pretty good authority that this Bela chick lives in Queens. So it'll take us about two hours to get there."
"So what are we doing here?" Sam asked.
Dean turned to him and patted a hand on his shoulder. "You, my brother, are staying here 'cause I don't want your bad luck getting us killed."
He walked off heading to the front desk. Sam looked to me, hoping for some back up.
I shrugged. "I mean, it might not be a bad idea. You'd probably be safer here." Just thinking about all the times he'd tripped up, I wouldn't be surprised if he tripped into a bullet.
Dean came back with the keys and we followed him to the room. He flipped on the light switch. It was a pretty decent room, especially compared to some I'd been staying in lately.
"What am I even supposed to do, Dean?" Sam asked.
"Nothing! Come here." He took Sam by the arm and dragged him over to a chair he pulled out into the middle of the room. "I don't want you doing anything. I want you to sit right here, and don't move, ok?"
Sam slowly sat down, obviously not happy about being left behind. There was nothing around him. There was nothing he could hurt himself on. Though judging by how bad his luck was getting, maybe he wasn't entirely out of harms way.
Dean made for the door. "Don't turn on the light, don't turn off the light. Don't even scratch your nose. We'll be back before you know it." He turned back to me. "You coming?"
I hesitated, looking from Dean to Sam and back again. "You really think we should leave him alone?"
"He'll be fine. As long as he stays put," he said with a pointed look at Sam.
It still wasn't sitting right with me. I had a bad feeling in my gut. And my gut wasn't usually wrong. "Yeah but what if, I dunno… the ceiling collapses on him? Or his appendix bursts? Or he spontaneously combusts?"
Sam's eyes widened.
"That's not really gonna happen, Sammy," I hastily rushed to calm his worries. "Just thinking worst-case scenario."
Dean nodded. "Ok, you watch him. I'll be back." He closed the door behind him.
Then it was just Sam and I.
"Now what?" he asked.
That was a good question. I looked around, but there wasn't much to do. I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Now you sit, and I watch." This was gonna be fun.
We sat there in silence for a while. It suddenly felt awkward, like we'd never spoken to each other before.
"You know, maybe you should go with Dean, watch his back," Sam said. "I don't need a babysitter."
I turned to him, my eyebrows raised. "How can you say that with a straight face? It's been like watching a slapstick comedy since you lost that foot."
It really had. If it wasn't so serious as maybe ending in his death, I would have paid good money for entertainment like that.
"Dean can handle himself," I continued. "Right now, you can't."
Sam grumbled. "I hate being a burden."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're not a burden. You're… Sam." It was a good a compliment as any I could think of.
Sam's brow furrowed. "Thanks… I think."
"Ram sticks together." I held out my fist. Sam, maybe a little reluctantly, fist bumped me. "Through ghostly serial killers, demonic visions, and dealing with Dean Winchester."
"I'm not having them anymore." I wasn't sure what Sam meant. At my look of confusion, he added, "The visions? They've stopped."
No more visions? No more headaches? No more self-doubt that he was crazy?
"Huh," I said instead of voicing my thoughts. "I bet that's a relief."
He smiled. "You have no idea."
"Guess since Yellow Eyes bit the literal bullet…" Would make sense that his hold over Sam, the powers he'd gotten, would end with him dying.
"Yeah I figure that's the case. Either that or me dying wiped my blood clean."
Hello elephant in the room. Hello cat that just got out of the bag. He knew. Suddenly, a weight seemed to lift from the room.
"I wasn't sure if you knew," I said. "Didn't want to accidentally blurt it out if you didn't."
"I didn't think Jake had been lying that night in the cemetery." Jake had straight out told Sam that he'd killed him. I should have known Sam would piece it together quick enough. "Didn't take me long to get the truth out of Dean."
I wondered if it was worse? Knowing the truth? Though he had a right to know what had happened to him. Part of me wanted to ask if he remembered anything after it happened. If there was any white light and pearly gates. But I wasn't too sure I wanted the answer to that.
"I'm sorry," was all I could say.
He smiled and gently shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry about."
But there were things to be sorry about. "We didn't get to you in time," I said. We had been so close to reaching him. But as soon as we turned that corner… The image came rushing back to me.
"Dean was… he was broken," I said. "He was going to do whatever it took to bring you back."
"I'd do the same for him."
And wasn't that just the one thing I admired about both the brothers—as much of an irritant one of them was. They loved each other. More than anything. It almost made me ashamed that I hadn't tried to get Sophie back. But I knew realistically I was only a kid myself then. I didn't have the knowledge or the connections I had now. Hell, even now I probably wouldn't be able to do it. Not that I was even contemplating it. She was happy wherever she was. I had to believe that. If I didn't, I'd fall apart.
"Did he tell you how he got you back?" I asked.
Sam sighed. "Collected a favour from a reaper." He didn't look all that happy about it.
So had Dean lied to me? He'd told Bobby and Sam the same thing. Unless he'd lied to all of us. Maybe I was reading far too much into it. Sam was alive and everyone was fine. I should let it drop.
"Well, you're back," I said. "Good as new. Apart from the current situation of course."
I swear, if we'd gone through all that with Yellow Eyes, just to have Sam get killed by a damn rabbit's foot...
"You want anything to eat?" I said, needing to something. "Drink? There were a couple of vending machines outside."
"No thanks, I'm good."
I nodded. "Probably for the best. Don't want to have to give you the Heimlich. I don't think it would work with our height difference anyway. It would be like trying to hug a giraffe."
As I walked to the door, I kept looking back. He seemed safe enough.
I wandered over to the vending machine and made a quick decision, not wanting to leave Sam for too long. I got enough chips and candy to last us a few hours then headed back to… fire!
There were flames racing up Sam's arm.
"Oh my god! I was kidding about the spontaneous combustion!" I threw the goodies down and dove towards Sam. We both grabbed the curtain and tore it down, batting the flames, which thankfully died down quickly. Only Sam's foot had gotten caught and down he went. Before I could try and grab him, he whacked his head on the floor, knocking himself out cold.
"Sam!" I sighed, long and heavy. I hunched over him, looking at the state of him. "Dammit. I was gone for two minutes."
Faintly, behind me, I heard the door creak open. Dean wouldn't have been back already. Moving slowly, I wrapped my hand around the gun tucked in the back of my jeans. There were footsteps moving towards me. I jumped up and spun, aiming my weapon ahead of me. I was too late. A man whacked my gun out of my hand and punched me. I flew to the floor but sprung up quickly. I hit him back, blood went splattering from his mouth. I ducked his next punch but missed the one he swung with his other fist. I careened into the glass table, and it shattered. A burning sensation stung my arm. But I got back up.
As I went to swing, a second guy called out "Stop!"
I froze. He was standing over Sam, gun aimed at his head. "Stop right there or a bullet goes in Sam's brain."
He knew Sam's name. I didn't recognise either of them. Were they working for Bella too? "Who the hell are you?"
"I'll ask the questions," the guy who I'd been fighting said. "You sit." He nodded towards a chair and took out a roll of duct tape from his jacket. "Tie her up," he said to the other guy.
What the hell had we gotten in to?
I did as they asked. After all, I couldn't risk Sam. When he woke up, maybe we had a shot. Then again, maybe not. Not if we still had that cursed rabbit's foot hanging over our heads.
I sat still as the second guy tied me up. He seemed normal enough—expect of course for the whole tying me up thing. It was the other guy that took my interest. I was glad to see I'd probably knocked one of his teeth loose, given the blood pooling around his gums. But what really got my attention was his eyes. There was a crazy gleam in them that spelled trouble. He stood there watching me, a devilish smile on his thin lips.
"Is this a kink thing?" I asked him. "'Cause I'm sorry to say, you're just not my type."
He slapped me across the face. Ow, but also... worth it.
Once they had me secured, the second guy hauled Sam up. Well he tried to. Sam was not a light guy, especially not when he was dead weight. Both of them had to haul him into a second chair, which they placed next to mine.
God this tape was tied a little tight. I could just about breathe, but there was not a lot of wriggle room for anything else.
Just as they finished tying Sam up, he jolted back into the land of the living.
"Oh, he's awake!" Goatee said. Hey, I didn't know his name, I had to differentiate between the two somehow. The other one…? Crazy Eyes.
"Back with us, eh?" Crazy Eyes said.
Goatee laughed. "We didn't even have to touch you. You just went all spastic, and knocked yourself out. It was like watching Jerry Lewis try to stack chairs! And your little girlfriend here wasn't too happy with us. We got her to shut up quick enough though."
Hey, I put up enough of a fight… asshole. I managed to keep that thought to myself. Just.
"Who are you?" Sam asked. So he didn't know them? Then who the hell were they?
"What do you wa—"
Crazy Eyes snapped his fingers in Sam's face, cutting him off. "I used to think your friend Gordon sent me," he said.
"Gordon?" Sam threw his head back. "Oh, come on!"
Gordon? Who the hell was Gordon now? I couldn't keep up.
"Yeah, because he asked me to track you down, and put a bullet in your brain."
"Great," Sam sighed. "That sounds like him."
"Uh… who the hell is Gordon?" I asked.
"But, as it turns out," Crazy Eyes continued without answering my question. "I'm on a mission from God." With that, he back handed Sam across the face.
A mission… from God?
"Oh, it just gets better," I muttered.
Crazy Eyes didn't stop there. He hit Sam over and over until he once again was knocked out. And here I was, useless to stop it.
"You're making a mistake, you know?" I said to them both.
"How so?" Goatee asked.
"Well, for one, I'm pissed. So when I get out of this tape, I'm kicking both your asses. And two? When Dean sees what you've done to his brother, he's gonna kill you. Just thought you should have the heads up."
Goatee shot a concerned look at Crazy Eyes, but he was too busy moving towards me and yep… here came his fist. My head snapped to the side. That one was gonna hurt in the morning.
Goatee filled a glass with water in the bathroom, then splashed it in Sam's face, waking him up. I shot him a concerned look, silently asking if he was ok. He gave a subtle nod back.
"You were a part of that demon plan to open the gate weren't you?" Crazy Eyes asked Sam.
Back to this again were we?
"We did everything we could to stop it," Sam said.
"Lie! Lie! Lie!" He shoved his finger in Sam's face. "You were in on it. You know what their next move is too, don't you?"
"No, I don't, okay? You're wrong about all of this."
"Where are they gonna hit us next?"
Sam heaved out a heavy breath. He didn't answer. Not like he could.
Another smack across the face.
"Where?!" Crazy Eyes yelled, then took a breath to calm himself down. "Gordon told me about you, Sam. About your powers. You're some kinda weirdo psychic freak."
It was one hell of a coincidence that Sam had literally just told me about his lack of powers, and these guys showed up. Talk about… bad luck. That damn rabbit's foot!
"No, not anymore," Sam said. "I have no powers, no visions, nothing, it just—"
"Lie!"
Another hit.
"Tell me the truth," Crazy Eyes ordered.
Sam kept his mouth shut.
Crazy Eyes nodded. "Ok, then. We'll try a different way."
He walked over to me and let me have it. Hit after hit. My lip busted open, filling my mouth with the coppery taste of blood.
"Hey! Stop!" Sam roared.
"It's all right Sam," I managed to sputter when Crazy Eyes stopped. "I can take his dainty little punches." I looked directly up at Crazy Eyes. "I would say you punch like a girl, but I'd literally be offending myself."
Whack!
"Stop!" Sam pleaded.
"Now no more lies," Crazy Eyes breathed out heavily as he leaned down in front of Sam. "There's an army of demons out there pushing at a world already on the brink. We're on deck for the endgame here, right? So maybe, just maybe you can understand why we can't take chances."
And then the psycho pulled out a gun and pointed it at Sam.
"Whoa, okay, okay, no, do— hold on a minute—" Sam said.
Goatee grabbed Crazy Eye's arm, turning him away from Sam. "Hey, Kubrick just—"
"No, you saw what happened, Creedy."
Oh, so they actually did have names. Well, I was sticking to the ones I'd given them.
"Ask yourself, why are we here?" Crazy Eyes said to Goatee. "Because you saw a picture on the web? Because we chose this motel instead of another? Luck like that doesn't just happen."
I threw a pointed look at Sam. That damn Rabbit's foot! "Funny you should say that."
Sam said, "Look, I can explain all of that if—"
"Shut up!" Crazy Eyes said without turning his attention from Goatee. "It's God, Creedy. He led us here for one reason. To do His work. This... is destiny."
He turned back to Sam, raising his gun. My heart skipped a beat.
"Nope. No destiny. Just a rabbit's foot."
Oh my God, I had never been so glad to see Dean Winchester in all my life! And like hell I'd ever admit to that out loud. My shoulders slumped. We'd be all right.
Goatee had put his hands up as Dean pointed his gun at them.
Crazy Eyes on the other hand hadn't moved a muscle. "Put the gun down, son, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall."
"Oh, this thing?" Dean indicated his gun.
"Yeah, that thing."
"Okay," Dean said, putting the… putting the gun down? Why was he putting the gun down?!
"But you see, there's something about me that you don't know," he continued as he… picked up a pen.
What was he doing?!
"Yeah?" Crazy Eyes asked as he finally turned to him. "What would that be?"
"It's my lucky day."
He threw the pen and it landed straight in the barrel of Crazy Eye's gun.
Dean chuckled in clear disbelief. "Oh my God, did you see that shot?!"
Goatee lunged at him, ready to swing, but Dean sidestepped him. Goatee kept on going until his face met the wall and he fell to the floor.
"I'm amazing."
Come on, Dean. No one likes a show-off.
Crazy Eyes frantically whipped the pen out of the barrel, but before he could even aim it, Dean launched a TV remote at his head—yep, you guessed it—knocking him out cold.
If I had a dollar for every time someone had been knocked out…
Dean stood there, looking all too pleased with himself. "I'm Batman."
I rolled my eyes. "You're an idiot."
"An idiot that saved your ass." He stepped over Crazy Eyes and over to us. "How the hell did those two old cronies get you both tied up?"
That. Damn. Rabbit's. Foot.
We stood in a cemetery, prepping for the destruction of the rabbit's foot. It wasn't specified that it had to be done in a cemetery, but given the lore, we figured we'd be better off playing safer than sorry.
"All right. Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it," Sam said.
"One second." Dean was desperately scratching another round of tickets.
Sam sighed, obviously eager to get rid of this thing. "Dean, you—"
"Hey, back off, Jinx! I'm bringing home the bacon."
I patted Sam on the arm. "Let him. My face still hurts. Money might make me feel better." My arm was aching like a bitch too. A shard of glass had sliced my arm when I'd fallen through the table. I'd wrapped some cloth around it, but I knew I really needed to stitch it up. We'd left Crazy Eyes and Goatee tied up on the motel room floor, taped together. The thought of them desperately trying to free themselves dulled the pain a little.
When Dean was finished, he put the tickets in his jacket pocket which he'd laid over a gravestone. He grabbed the rabbit's foot and held it up.
"All right, say goodbye wascawy wabbit."
There was a click of a gun.
"I think you'll find that belongs to me." Oh great, the fake waitress was back. "Or, you know, whatever. Put the foot down, honey."
"No," Dean said turning to her. "You're not going to shoot anybody. See I happen to be able to read people. OK, you're a thief, fine, but you're not—"
She fired. Sam was spun back, falling to the floor.
"Sam!" I ran over to him. Thank God. It was only a shoulder shot. He'd be ok. I helped him to his feet as he groaned, clutching his shoulder.
"Son of a—" Dean went to move on her.
"Back off, tiger," she said. "Back off. You make one more move and I'll pull the trigger. You've got the luck, Dean. You, I can't hit. But your brother? And your little friend? Them I can't miss."
She looked at me.
Oh hell no. If she even thought she could shoot me, she'd end up six feet under. I sent her a look right back that sent that message loud and clear.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Dean exploded. "You don't just go around shooting people like that!"
"Relax," she said, tearing her eyes from mine. "It's a shoulder hit, I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now."
Man, I don't think I'd ever wanted to shoot someone as much as I did her.
"All right!" Dean said, putting his hands out. "All right. Take it easy." He slowly bent down to place it on the ground. "Think fast." He threw the foot at Bela. On instinct, she reached out and caught it. Smart move, Deany.
"Damn!" she growled.
"Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?" Dean asked.
Not like she could say no to that offer.
Bela walked over and placed the foot on the burning coals.
"Thanks very much," she said. "I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer."
"Wow," Dean said. "I really don't feel bad about that. Sam?"
"Nope," he said with a grunt. "Not even a little."
She began to walk away then turned around, leaning over the gravestone where Dean's jacket was. "Maybe next time I'll hang you out to dry."
"Oh don't go away angry, just go away," Dean said.
"Have a nice night, boys." She gave me a nod and walked away.
We stood there watching her leave.
"Anyone else here fantasising about shooting her in the back?" I asked.
When we were sure she was gone, we gathered up our stuff
"Let's get out of here. You good?" Dean asked Sam.
"I'll live," he responded.
"I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. Oh!" Dean came to a halt. "I forgot we're up forty-six thousand dollars!" He checked his pocket. Then the other. "I almost forgot about the... scratch tickets." He froze. His eyes widened.
Please don't tell me she—
A car zoomed past, beeping as it went.
Yep. She had.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled.
I sighed. "Yeah… we should have shot her in the back."
"So, Gordon now wants you dead?" I asked.
"Yep," Sam said.
"Great."
They'd filled me in on their history with Gordon while I patched Sam's gunshot wound up at the motel. He was a hunter who they boys had worked with in the past. But as soon as Gordon had found out about Sam's psychic ability, things went downhill.
"There," I placed a bandage over the stitches. "Good as new. Almost."
"Thanks," he said.
I gathered up the things I'd used from the table and headed to the connecting door between our motel rooms. We'd chosen somewhere far away from the other motel, in case Crazy Eyes and Goatee were still wriggling around on the floor like turtles that had fallen on their backs.
"Now boys, can we try to keep the snoring to a minimum?" I asked. "I would like to see the backs of my eyelids at some point tonight."
"Don't know what you're talking about. I'm like Sleeping Beauty." Dean was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, mooning over his lost forty-six thousand dollars.
I snorted. "Yeah, if Sleeping Beauty slept with a chainsaw in her mouth."
I closed the door behind me and sat at the table in my room. I took off my jacket, wincing at the blood which had dried on my skin and stuck to the fabric. I peeled off the cloth I'd tied around my arm. Yeah. I probably should have patched this up sooner. I poured disinfectant over the wound, just about managing to hold in the hiss of pain. Then I cleared up the blood around the wound and prepped the stitches. This was gonna be a pain as it was on my right hand. I'd had a fair amount of practise using my left hand to stitch myself up, but it was never as smooth as when I used my right.
Just as I got started, there was a knock on the door.
"It's unlocked," I called out.
Dean walked through and took one look at what I was doing before crossing the room. "You didn't say you were hurt."
"I'm fine," I said. "Nothing a couple of stitches won't fix."
He pulled out the chair beside me and held his hand out. "Here." He motioned his fingers in a 'gimme' gesture.
"I can—"
"Do you always have to be so stubbornly independent?" he asked.
I raised an eyebrow. "Pot meet kettle."
He stayed there with his hand out. We were locked in a battle of wills. Yet I knew I probably wasn't going to win this one, and I was getting tired. So I handed over the needle and thread.
He began to stitch and I kept my eyes on what he was doing.
"Careful with—"
He stopped and met my watchful gaze. "I can stitch a wound." Then he went back to it.
I waited a beat. "Make sure you don't leave a scar."
This time he didn't stop. He muttered, "Ok, Princess. I'll try my best, your majesty."
I kept my mouth shut as he worked. I only winced here and there. I had to give him his due, he was pretty good at this.
"Thank you, for watching after Sam," Dean said without looking up.
"No need to thank me."
"He was vulnerable today," he said quietly. "There's not many people I'd trust having his back in that kind of situation."
I blinked. "Oh god… are we having a moment?"
Dean poked my arm with the needle—harder than he needed to.
"Ow! Jerk face."
I didn't miss that smirk on his face. "I'll just say 'thank you' and leave it at that."
I grumbled, "I'll just say 'you're welcome' and leave it at that."
He continued on, and we sat there in comfortable silence for a while. Well, I sat as comfortable as I could while having a needle dig into my flesh.
"Have you thought about—" Dean began.
"I thought you were leaving it there?"
"I think my hands are starting to shake," Dean said playfully. "The needle might just slip in my hands and sever something."
"Alright, alright. I'll stop being difficult."
He looked at me in shock. "You admit you're being difficult?"
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe just this once."
"As I was saying, have you thought any more about my offer?"
"Your offer?" I asked.
"To hit the road with me and Sam."
As a matter of fact I hadn't. I mean, we ran into each other constantly anyways. And now, we had Bobby getting us together when needed. It felt like we already were on the road with one another.
"Who knows what else we're gonna come up against," Dean added. "What else got out of the gate that night. But if one of us isn't around… well, at least you've still got someone watching your back."
The last part was said with a heaviness he hadn't shown before. What exactly had he meant by that?
"No need to look at me like that," he said without looking up from what he was doing. I wasn't even aware I was giving him a look. "Today was just a good example. Had me thinking."
Always a dangerous concept: Dean Winchester thinking. But would it really be such a bad idea? And yeah, he had a point. Especially now, not knowing what we'd come up against, maybe it was good to have someone or two someone's watching my back.
"Ok," I said.
"Ok?" He looked up in surprise, like he wasn't expecting that answer.
"I'll tag along," I shrugged, careful not to jolt my arm. "Just don't blame me if I end up killing you. Think of this as your first and only warning."
"Oh please," he scoffed. "I could take you." He finished up the last stitch. "Done."
I admired his handiwork before he placed a bandage over it. "Not bad, Winchester."
"I've got good hands." He winked.
I shook my head and held up my thumb and forefinger with the smallest of gaps between them. "We were this close to having a normal conversation."
He smirked. "You bring out the best in me."
"Sure," I said, heavy on the sarcasm. "Not like this was your roundabout way of bringing up the other half of your offer."
He knew exactly what I was talking about, as he didn't miss a beat when he said, "I think you'll find you're the one bringing it up, sweetheart. But now that you mention it…"
"You know, you—"
"Yeah, yeah," he waved my words away. "I'm a sleazeball, a horndog, it's never gonna happen, yada, yada, yada."
"Actually, I was gonna say you have a point." I wasn't going to say that. I don't know why I said that. Crazy Eye's hits must have rattled something lose in my brain.
He froze. "I do? I have a point?"
Damn. Ok, maybe he did have a point… logistically. We were going to be in close proximity for the foreseeable future. I just had to think of it like a business deal. Something mutually beneficial. Let's face it, it was either that, or put up with an endless conveyor belt of Dean's one night stands. And hey, I was a woman, I had needs too. Oh screw it... may as well jump right in.
I was so going to regret this.
"Let me make this clear: it's just sex," I said, jabbing my finger in his face. "No feelings, no morning snuggles. Nada."
"Am I dreaming?" The man looked in a state of shock.
"If you are…" I got up and straddled his lap. Go big or go home, as they say. "The dream's about to have a happy ending."
I leant down and kissed him. He dove into action, kissing me back.
"Ouch!" Damn, I'd forgotten about my busted lip. "Maybe this isn't a good idea after all."
"Not to worry," he grinned. "I can find other places to kiss." He kissed his way down my neck.
Maybe this was the way to go. Keep ourselves happy and get along better.
And maybe, just maybe, we could refrain from killing one another.