Thank you to the MVP Angeleyes31102 for my first review :) You always have the kindest words to say! And I had never thought about Kristen Bell for Rae, but she would fit so well!
And thank you to those that have followed and favorited so far. Enjoy the next chapter.
3. Sin City
I was gonna kill him.
"You must actually want to die!" I yelled, storming out of Bobby's kitchen and into the room where he was messing with the Colt.
"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," Dean said as he followed me in.
I threw myself down on a chair at the table, getting back to making bullets. "You've crossed a line and you know it!"
Dean sat opposite me, doing the same. "Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?"
I choked, not believing he actually thought I was overreacting. "And if I'd have said the same thing to you?"
He put down the instruments in his hand and stared at me dead in the eyes. "I'd shoot you. In the leg. Twice."
See?! "Goddamn hypocrite!"
Bobby threw the Colt down on the table. "Will you two damn idjits shut up!"
The silence echoed loudly around the room. I cast my head away from Bobby, hating that I felt like a scolded child. "He started it," I mumbled as I got back to work.
"Hey, what's all the fighting about?" Sam asked as he strode in.
I flung my arm out towards Dean. "This shmuck here told me that it didn't make sense for us to drive in separate cars, and that I should just leave my truck here. Just abandon her. Leave her to rot! Can you believe that?"
"I spoke the truth," Dean said, banging the casing a little harder than he needed to.
"How about we leave your car here and take my truck?" I asked.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Sam flinch. "Did you just wince?"
"Do you really think this is a good idea? You two? Being in close quarters? Getting' on everyone's last damn nerve?" Bobby asked as he picked the Colt back up to examine it.
"If he leaves my truck out of it, no one has to get hurt." It was my turn to bang the shell casing harder than necessary. And so what if I imagined it was Dean's face I was pummelling. Telling me to leave my truck behind. Who did he think he was, huh? Not like he'd ever leave his precious Impala behind. But he expects me to leave my truck? Jackass.
Bobby groaned. "Please tell me you've found something," he said to Sam. "I want these two outta my house."
Sam laughed. "Might've found some omens in Ohio. Dry lightning, barometric pressure drop."
"Well, that's thrilling," Dean uttered sarcastically.
Sam cleared his throat. "Plus, some guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out."
"Thrilling enough for you?" I asked Dean.
"Might be demonic omens," Sam said.
"Or it could just be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker," Dean said.
"Yeah, but it's our best lead since Lincoln."
"Where in Ohio?" I asked. Getting on a case would beat sitting here. Because let's face it, one of us one was going to end up hurt if we stayed in close quarters any longer—Bobby had that right.
"Elizabethville," Sam said. "It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt."
"There's got to be a demon or two in South Beach," Dean pleaded.
Sam chuckled. "Sorry, Hef. Maybe next time. How's it going, Bobby?"
Bobby was trying to figure out how the Colt worked—more specifically, how it was able to kill demons. If we could figure that out, then maybe it could be replicated. But first, we had to get the damn thing working again.
"Slow," he said with a pointed look at Dean and I.
"Eh, I tell you," Dean said. "It's a little sad seeing the Colt like that."
"Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick," Bobby said.
"So what makes it tick?"
Bobby threw a glare at Sam for the question. Bobby was not a patient man I'd come to learn.
Dean stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio, you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?" He obviously had a death wish.
Sam snorted with a grin.
"Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you," Bobby pointed what was left of the gun at Dean, "it'll kill you."
"All right, come on, we're wasting daylight," Dean said with a smile.
I grabbed my jacket too and shrugged it on as we headed out.
"See you, Bobby," Sam and I said.
"Hey!" We turned back to him. "You kids run into anything—anything—you call me."
I threw him a salute and off we went. I didn't miss Bobby's eye roll.
When we got out into the blinding sunlight, Dean tipped his head towards the Impala.
I curled my lip. "I'm taking my truck."
Dean shrugged. "Well don't come crying to me when you break down on the side of the road."
"Don't come crying to me when I beat your ass there." I climbed in and hit the gas, leaving Dean in my trail of dust.
God he was so irritating. Don't get me wrong, we'd been getting along fine in the bedroom department the last few weeks. It was just the other times I couldn't stand him: when he was walking, talking, breathing. I had no one to blame but me. I'd signed myself up for it. But still… why did he have to be so annoying? It was one of life's mysteries.
"You cheated," Dean grumbled as he got out of the Impala. I was leaning against my truck, soaking in the sunshine as I had been for the past half hour. The peace and quiet had been rather soothing.
I lowered my sunglasses. "How would that even be possible?"
His mouth open and closed, like he couldn't quite find the right words. "I'm sure there's some ancient voodoo out there that would do the trick. No way that thing gets above fifty."
I could have argued his point, but it would annoy him more if I left it. So I left it.
I clapped my hands. "Get suited boys. Insurance company. Come on, move it." I was already prepared, having dressed in my pantsuit while waiting for them. Our first point of call was to the church where the first shooting had happened.
"Is she gonna boss us about now?" Sam asked Dean when he thought I couldn't hear.
Yes I am, Sammy. Yes I am.
When the boys were suited and booted, we headed for the church. Inside, we met Father Gil, who had witnessed the supposed suicide. The church itself was eerily quiet. But I figured that was the norm for places like that. Yet there was definitely something heavier in the air than normal. Almost like something was lingering that shouldn't be.
"There's not much left for the insurance company. It was a suicide. I saw it myself," Father Gil said. Considering he'd seen someone blow their brains out, he was pretty calm and collected. Guessed that was a trait of priests though—to be the solid rock when everything went to hell.
"Well, this shouldn't take long, then," Dean commented.
"That's where Andy did it," Father Gil said, indicating the second floor overlooking the pews. "It's the first time I'd seen him in weeks. He used to come every Sunday."
"When did he stop?" asked Sam.
"Probably about... two months ago? Right around the time everything else started to change."
Two months ago? That couldn't be a coincidence.
"Change how?" I asked.
"Oh, let's just say this used to be a town you could be proud of. People cared about each other. Andy sang in the choir, and then one day, he just... wasn't Andy anymore. It was like he was..."
"Possessed?" Sam asked.
"You could say that," Father Gil said. "Gambled away his money, cheated on his wife, destroyed his business. Yes, like a switch had flipped."
What were the chances that demons got out of the gate, and Andy changed his whole personality?
"Father, did you know the man who killed those folks in the hobby shop?" Sam asked.
"Sure, Tony Perkins."
Dean scribbled the name on his little notepad.
"Good man," the Father added.
"Would you say that his personality suddenly changed one day, too?" I asked.
"I never thought about it that way, but... yes. About the same time as Andy—about two months ago."
Looked like demons were in town.
"Well, thank you, Father," Dean said. "Appreciate your time."
We headed for the exit. Me, moving a little more swiftly than the others. Churches gave me the heebie jeebies.
"Two months ago, we open up the devil's gate, all of a sudden this town turns into Margaritaville? It's no coincidence," Sam said.
Seemed as if I was gonna get more chances to practise my Latin. Joy.
We got two motel rooms and headed up to change, then it would be off into town to try and figure out exactly what was going on. The boys got to their room, and I headed to mine next door.
Just as I unlocked my door, I heard Dean call out, "Richie. I don't believe it."
Dean was standing in the doorway of his room, talking to a guy across the hall. He looked like some sort of used car salesman.
"Hey, Dean... Winchester, right?" Richie said.
I walked back to the boys' room.
"Yeah," Dean chuckled.
From Richie's room emerged a… lady of the night. I didn't think I was being bitchy about that assessment.
"This is my sister, uh, Cheryl." Richie introduced us.
I'm pretty sure whatever he'd been doing with his sister was illegal in all fifty states.
"Hey," she said in a bored tone.
Richie handed over a wad of cash. "There."
She tucked the money into her bra and walked off. The three of us turned to look at Richie.
"Well, you know... stepsister."
Yeah, no one's buying that, buddy.
"Come on in," Dean waved him into the room. "This is my brother, Sam."
"Hey. How you doing?" Richie held his hand out to Sam and they shook.
"Not too bad."
Richie turned to me and looked me up and down. He raised an eyebrow, wanting my name.
"Sarah."
"It's certainly a pleasure." He walked over, picked my hand up and kissed the back of it.
Before I could pull my hand away with a 'yuck', Dean slapped Richie's hand off of mine. "Knock it off, Romeo."
"How do you two know each other?" Sam asked.
"You were in school," Dean said to Sam.
Richie clicked his fingers. "It was that succubus, in Canarsie right?"
"Yeah, yeah." Dean smiled, lost in the memory of whatever had happened.
"Oh, man. You should have seen the rack on this broad. Freakin' tragedy when I had to gank her."
God this guy was like an older, somehow slightly smarmier, version of Dean. Apparently, my disgust showed on my face.
"No offence," Richie said to me.
"None taken?" Wasn't entirely sure how else to respond to that.
"Whoa, whoa. Wait," Dean said. "Who killed her? If I remember, your ass was toast until I showed up."
"Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guy was."
"Richie, Richie, know what? I told you then and I'll tell you again," Richie's phone started ringing over Dean's admonishment. "You're not cut out for this job. You're gonna get yourself killed."
Richie answered his phone. "Talk to me. FYI, Winchester," he said as he walked to the other side of the room, "words hurt. Yeah? No, it's not a good time, babe. Later." He ended the call and took a seat on the couch. The guy was a real Cassanova.
"So you find anything in this town, anyway?" Dean asked.
Somehow I didn't think this Richie guy was gonna be very useful on this case.
"Ah, no. I got nothing. Oh, wait a minute. You mean as in demons and whatnot?"
Jeez.
Dean nodded. "Yeah."
Richie shook his head. "No, I got nothing."
"Typical," Dean said, starting to unpack his clothes. "What about your sister back there?"
"Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil in her, but she wasn't no demon, you know what I'm saying?" He smirked.
Good God, could this guy get any worse? No wonder he was so buddy buddy with Dean.
Richie caught my eye again and his smile faded. "Right. Seriously. Church guy, hobby-shop guy—they were lunch meat by the time I got there. Hey maybe they were possessed, but I can't prove it."
"Yeah, that's where we're, too," Sam said. "You know, let's just say that demons are possessing people in this town. You know, raising hell—"
"Yeah, but why would a demon blow his brains out?" Dean asked as he sat on the bed to remove his shoes.
"Well, for fun? You know he wrecks one body, moves to another. You know, like taking a stolen car for a joyride," Richie said.
"Anybody else left in the town that fits the profile?" Dean asked. "You know, nice guy turned douche, still breathing?"
"There's Trotter," Richie said, almost without hesitation.
"Who's that?" asked Sam.
"Well, he used to be head of the Rotary Club. And then people say he turned bastard all of a sudden. Brought in the gambling, the hookers. Ah, he practically owns this whole town."
"Where can we find him?" I asked.
"Oh, he'll be at his bar in a few hours. Now I hate to chat and run, but I got another... meeting to attend."
I did not need an image of Richie in another meeting in my head... but there it was.
"See you around Richie," Dean said. "Watch your back."
"I'd rather be watching someone else's front," he chuckled and turned to me. "Hey, I don't suppose you're free tonight?"
I folded my arms and glared.
He took the hint. "So, not free then. Maybe another night sweet cheeks." He blew me a kiss and walked out.
I shivered. "I think I need a shower."
I went into my room and started peeling off my suit jacket. There was a knock on the door and I knew instantly who was gonna be on the other side.
I swung the door open. "What?"
"Quick question," Dean said. "Do you need help in the shower?"
"Actually, now that you mention it..." I closed the door on his face.
We headed into town, and I almost thought we'd somehow wound up in Vegas. The streets were crammed with people ready to party. Girls walked around in sky-high heels, short skirts, with margaritas in hand. And the men? Well, they looked like they'd just won the lottery.
"I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town," Dean said.
"It is. At least, it's supposed to be," Sam answered, just as confused as Dean and I were.
"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do some research." Never before had Dean sounded so happy and eager to do research. We began walking down the street when Dean suddenly backtracked. He walked back to a limo parked on the side of the road and leaned down. I walked over to see a woman beckoning him inside.
I grabbed Dean by the ear. "Move it." I dragged him away.
"Ow!" He batted my hand away as we continued on. "Aww come on, don't be like that. I'm sure she'd let you join us if you asked nicely." He tried to shoot me an innocent look, but 'innocent' was never gonna work with Dean.
"Who let you out of your pig pen today, anyway?" I walked off ahead of him.
We made our way to Trotter's and the bar seemed to be party central. The music was loud, people were dancing, and some were drunk out of their minds. You would have thought that it was two in the morning, rather than two in the afternoon.
"This place is... certainly something," Sam said.
I hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I think Dean died and went to heaven."
He grunted. "Oh I don't think that's where I'm headed."
Sam frowned at Dean, who waved him off.
"Seriously?" I said to Dean. "This place isn't your idea of perfection?"
He shook his head. "It's no heaven."
"Why not?"
He turned to me. "You're here."
Dick. "And I'm gonna haunt you for every damn second."
Before he could retort, Richie appeared. Boy he moved quick. He'd changed into another outfit. This one no better than the last.
"Oh, Richie. Look at you," Dean said.
"Hey," he said to the boys before turning his attention to me. "Hey, beautiful."
I rolled my eyes.
"Bringing satin back?" Dean asked.
"Oh, you like this?" he said looking down at his peach silk shirt. "Try Thai Silk—Canal Street. You'd have to pay three hundred dollars for threads like these, easy. Cost to me? Forget about it."
Sam chuckled. "How much is 'forget about it'?"
"Ah, forget about it," he waved the question away with his own little laugh. "That's Trotter over there. He sits there all night. Can't touch him."
He pointed out a tall, bald man dressed in all black. He looked fairly demon-y. Not to say there was a standard look for a demon, but he was sketchy looking enough that if I were a betting girl, I'd be getting the holy water out.
"So, what do we do now?" Sam asked.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna do a little investigating with that bartender."
Really, Dean? That's your grand plan?
His eyes were locked on a dark-haired bartender in a bright red top.
"Easy," Richie said. "Me and her, we got a little... somethin' somethin' lined up for later."
I was calling bullshit on that one.
"Yeah, right." So was Dean.
"Stings, don't it?" Richie said with a wicked grin. "All right. I gotta hit the head, release the hostages. Be back in a few."
"No way he gets a girl like that. I mean, look at her," Dean said. "You could fit that ass on a nickel."
"You think so?" Father Gil was sitting at the bar. Now what was a priest like him doing in a place like this?
"Oh," Dean said in surprise. "Sorry, Padre."
"Knew you'd find your way here. They all do." He drank the last of his whiskey.
"No offense, but what are you doing here, Father?" Sam asked.
"Like it or not, you go where your flock is."
"Plus, the clergy drinks for free," the bartender said, pouring out a shot for the Father.
"True, and a certain bartender owes me a confession," he said.
"Not in this lifetime, Father." She poured her own drink and the two of them drained their glasses.
"I better see your butt on Sunday," Father Gil turned to leave but leaned closer to Dean. "Nickel or no nickel."
Was everyone in this town a raging pervert? "Men," I muttered.
"At least we're predictable," Dean said to me, taking Father Gil's seat.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked him. There was a certain tone in her voice, an undeniable one that said she liked what she saw.
"What's your speciality?" The same tone was in Dean's voice. Couldn't blame him; if I had to create a girl made for Dean, it would be her. She looked just his type: long dark hair, pretty face, curves in all the right places… Yep, it would be her.
"I make a mean hurricane," she answered.
"I guess we'll see about that," he said with a grin.
She turned to make the drink, a matching grin on her lips.
"You drink hurricanes?" asked Sam.
"I do now." He rubbed his hands gleefully.
Dean and I had an arrangement. No feelings were involved, just the way we both wanted it. But for God sake, the man had not half an hour ago asked to join me in the shower. So it was fair to say I was a little irked with his flirtations with the bartender. Was that unreasonable? I didn't think so.
"Don't choke on it," I said loud enough for him to hear me over the music. "Whoops. Did I say that out loud?"
Dean turned in his chair to face me. "Does it bother you? Me flirting with the bartender? Because if it does, I can stop."
I screwed my face up. "Why the hell would it bother me?"
"I can't imagine why," he said looking back over his shoulder as the bartender bent over to grab a bottle.
"You know," I continued on, even knowing I was digging my own grave by giving him the reaction that I knew he wanted, but I'd always had trouble biting my tongue and keeping my thoughts to myself. "I think maybe Sam and I should leave you in her trusty, warm, nimble hands and we could actually get some work done around here. You know, exorcising demons, saving people's lives... pesky things like that."
"You just hate the fact that other women want me."
"Oh, please! You egotistical, delusion, little—"
"Hey guys!" Sam said slapping Dean across the chest. He pointed over at a couple of guys by the pool table. One of them looked like he was about to go off on the other. Wait... the guy had a gun. Shit.
We raced over but the guy got a shot off before we could get to him, hitting the other guy point blank in the chest. He was putting the gun underneath his own chin when Dean tackled him. When he hit the floor, I grabbed the gun from his hand. Sam brought out a flask of holy water and doused him in it.
Nothing. There was no reaction. No smoke. No demon.
"What are you doing?!" The guy spluttered. "He slept with my wife! That bastard slept with my wife!"
"Somebody call 911!" Sam yelled.
People were running out screaming. It was chaos. I looked up to find Sam locked in place, staring at Trotter, who was staring right back. Eventually their gazes broke, and Trotter left. Yeah, there was definitely something off about that guy.
We sat on the shooter until the cops arrived, then moved back so they could cuff him. They asked us to take a seat so they could question us later.
"Too many cops here. I say we roll." Sam always had the best ideas. And judging by their past record with cops, we needed to head out fast.
"Just be cool," Dean said, keeping Sam and I in our seats. "Poor jerk. Only thing possessing him was a sixer of Pabst."
"So, what's the deal, then?" Sam asked. "People in this town getting possessed or not?
"I don't know. Maybe it is just what it is—town full of scumbags."
"The town's become party central," I added. "With that comes a lot of people making stupid decisions. Still. Something feels off."
An officer walked up to us. "You guys ready for your mug shots?" I felt both boys go rigid at the question. "The photographer's gonna be here in a few," they relaxed, "and take your picture for the local paper."
"Be an honor, Officer. What a thrill!" Dean said overjoyed.
"Yep, time to go." We leapt up from the barstools.
"Wait a second. Wait a second," Dean said.
"What?" I asked.
"Where's Richie?"
We scanned the bar but Mr Silk was nowhere to be seen. "Huh. Maybe he really did leave with your girlfriend."
Sam brought over our drinks as Dean went through his phone. "You do realize there's red meat within striking distance, right?"
There was indeed a might fine lookin' burger sitting right in front of him, but Dean clearly had other things on his mind.
Dean snapped his cell phone shut. "How many times do I gotta tell Richie he's gonna get himself in trouble?"
Ah, of course. Richie. Dean hadn't heard from him since last night and he hadn't been at the motel that morning or afternoon. Judging by our first interactions though, the man liked to keep busy. He was probably in another 'meeting'.
"Dean, you're assuming he's missing," said Sam. "I mean, maybe he just bailed."
Dean shook his head. "He's a moron. I mean, he's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I gotta go find him."
Hmm. Dean didn't exactly worry easily—unless of course it was about Sam, then all bets were off. If tracking Richie down gave him some peace of mind, then he could go for it. Me? I was sticking to the demon hunting.
"All right," Sam said. "Meanwhile I think I'm gonna trail this Trotter guy."
Bingo! I was glad to see Sam and I were on the same path.
"Yeah?" Dean asked as he tucked his phone into his pocket.
"Yeah. I don't know. Something about the way he looked at me last night. Maybe there is something going on here."
I wouldn't say alarm bells had rung for me last night when I caught sight of the stare down between the two men, but he was definitely on top of my suspected demon list.
"I agree," I said. "He looked fishy."
"Fishy?" Dean asked. "We're not in Scooby-Doo, Princess."
He always had to make a damn comment, didn't he? Instead of taking the bait… I took his burger. I reached over and took a huge bite as I got up.
"Hey! I was gonna eat that."
I smirked, or as much as I could smirk with a mouth full of food. "Think of it as my Scooby snack."
Sam and I hotfooted it over to the office where Trotter supposedly handled the majority of his business. We snaked through the corridors until we found the office. We peeked out from behind the corner to see Trotter in a deep discussion with another man. The other guy was even bigger than Trotter.
The ringing of Sam's phone had both of us jumping and scattering back behind the wall.
"You didn't silence it?!" I slapped him on the arm.
He winced. "Dean," he said as he answered. "Yeah. Hey. I can't talk right now."
Was it just me or had that door at the end of the hall creaked?
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, uh... meet me at the bar in 20 minutes, okay?"
There was a rhythmic tapping on the floor—someone was definitely walking our way.
I grabbed hold of Sam's jacket and pulled him backwards. "Move it."
We raced back around the corner, heading the way we'd come, and plastered ourselves against the wall. There was a shuffle of footsteps, but they thankfully stopped at the end of the hall. Whoever it was, Trotter or the man he'd been speaking to, stood there for only a few seconds before turning back.
"What do we do now?" I whispered once I was sure the coast was clear. "Stand here, hiding around the corner until he leaves?"
"Uh, yeah. I guess so."
My eyes widened. "You're supposed to be the brains of the team."
With no other plan in place... we waited. I slid down the wall and rested my head back against it. We were gonna be here a while, so I wanted to get comfy. Well, as comfy as I could. After about half an hour, Sam joined me on the floor. Fifteen minutes later, I'd had enough. I nudged Sam with my shoulder. I held out the palm of my hand, with my other one fisted on top of it. He looked at my hands, then back to me. His face said, 'really?'. Hey, I needed something to keep me entertained, even if it was just a few rounds of rock, paper, scissors. I urged him on with my hands and he rolled his eyes but got into the starting position. We hit our palms three times and shot... Yes! Sam had gone for rock, while I'd gone for paper. The next round, we'd gone with each other's previous choices. 1-1. The game was on.
I don't know how long we sat there for, but when we finally heard them leaving the office, the score was fifty-seven to fifty-five... to me! Damn I would have been pissed if we'd played that many rounds and I'd lost. Sam didn't look all that thrilled. But he was probably just annoyed I'd made him play that many rounds in the first place. Hey, it had passed the time hadn't it?
We got to our feet and headed back to the office. The door wasn't locked, so we went right in.
"Ok, if I were a demon who liked to cause a little trouble," I said, "where would I hide the evidence?"
I started searching the filing cabinets in the far corner, while Sam headed for the desk. There was nothing incriminating here—at least not that I could tell. There were a bunch of business receipts and some legal mumbo jumbo that I was sure Sam would understand.
I turned to him. "Nothing worth reading but—Sam!"
The guy Trotter had been talking to rounded on Sam, but Sam got the upper hand quick enough, he kneed him in the stomach and I reached out, flinging the guy to the floor.
I turned back to find Trotter with his gun in Sam's face. The second guy—Trotter's goon—grabbed my arms and pulled them tight behind my back. I tried to fling him off of me, but the man was made of solid steel.
"What are you doing here?" Trotter asked us.
"I think maybe you know," Sam said.
"Yeah? Well, I think I'm calling the cops!"
If he thought for a second that... wait. What?
"Cops?" Sam asked, mirroring my confusion.
"Breaking and entering, assault—you're in a peck of trouble, my friends."
What kind of demon would say 'peck of trouble'? This was not going how I expected it to.
"Uh... I think I could probably explain it—"Sam whipped around, forcing the gun out of Trotter's hand and into his own.
"All right, back up! Let her go." At Sam's order, the goon released me at once. I dashed over to Sam's side.
The two men backed up. "Money's in the safe!" Trotter said. "Take it and go."
Dammit, he was so not a demon.
"I don't want your money," Sam said.
"I think we mighta messed up," I said out the corner of my mouth to Sam.
"I just gotta be sure." He took his flask out again and flicked the water into Trotter's face. And for good measure, he did his buddy too. Yep... not demons.
"Oh boy," I muttered.
"What kind of psycho are you?" Trotter asked.
It was a fair question.
"Oh, God. Uh... I'm sorry. We're sorry." Sam fumbled over his words. "Huh. I... think this was just a minor misunderstanding?"
We slowly started backing away towards the door.
"Yeah, yeah," I said. And I don't know why I did, but I tried to make the situation seem slightly less weird. "You see, I'm so grateful for all you've done for this town and I... I wanted to meet you. Maybe this wasn't the best way to go about it though and you're obviously not buying a word of what I'm saying, so we're just gonna..." I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. I had just made this a thousand times more awkward.
"Go," Sam said, finishing my sentence. "I'll take these." He emptied the bullets from the gun into his hands. "And I'll leave this." He put the gun down on a cabinet by the door. "Ah... have a nice day."
I grabbed his arm. "Run," I said to him. "Run away, now."
I had never run so fast in my life.
"God that was embarrassing," I said as we escaped out of the building.
Sam laughed. "The situation or your rambling?"
I groaned. "I couldn't stop! I don't even know why I said anything." I groaned. So that had put a pin in the one and only lead we had. "What if there really isn't anything going on here?"
"Let's head to the bar," Sam suggested. "We're late to meet Dean. Let's see what he thinks."
We headed back to the bar, but there was no sign of Dean. We both checked our phones. It was possible he got pissed at having to wait for us and bailed, but he would have called or texted one of us to bitch us out. Yet neither Sam or I had any missed calls or texts.
We stood at the bar, waiting a little longer to see if he'd show.
"Hey," I whispered, nudging Sam and pointing with my head to the other side of the bar. "I think you've got an admirer."
There was a woman sitting a little further down the bar. Just like every other woman in sight, she was dressed to the nines. And by the glint she had in her eyes as she looked at Sam, she clearly had a plan in mind for the rest of her evening.
"You look kind of tense," the woman said, sipping on her cocktail. "You know, I know a sure-fire way to relax."
Sam squirmed on the spot. "Maybe later. Excuse me," he said the guy behind the bar. "Hi."
The woman looked affronted at being dismissed so quickly.
"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked us.
"Um, you remember the guy we were with last night? We sat right here. Umm..."
"The big hero who jumped on Reggie," the bartender added.
Boy, Dean would have loved to hear that.
"Yeah, yeah. The— the big hero. Right," Sam said. "Um, have you seen him around at all today?"
"Maybe. Depends." He shrugged with not a care in the world.
Oh, come on, was he really going to be the big cliché?
"D-depends on what?" Sam asked before it clicked. "Oh my... Does everyone around here have their hand out?"
He took out his wallet and handed over a note to the bartender.
"He left with Casey about an hour ago," he said.
"Huh." He'd actually gone through with it. So much for being worried about his buddy. Pig.
"Any idea where they went?" Sam asked.
"Her place... for Bible study."
Yeah… and they were gonna finish off with a game of rock, paper, scissors.
"All right, you got an address?" Sam asked.
"What's wrong with you? You think I'm gonna give you a co-worker's address, just so you can go over there and get your freaky peeping-tom rocks off?" Sam handed him another note with a steadfast glare. "Corner of Piermont and Clinton. Have fun."
He walked off, his pockets a little more full than they had been before. We turned and... the woman was still watching Sam, but she'd added seductively sucking a lollipop to her come-ons.
"Jeez," I said, once again taking Sam's arm. "Let's get out of here."
We walked back to the hotel so I could grab my truck as Casey's place wasn't within walking distance.
"Come on," I said as I opened my door. When I didn't hear the passenger side open, I looked over to Sam. I didn't like what I saw.
I pointed my finger at him. "Stop. Do not pull that face. Just get in the truck you big baby." Seriously, what was with those two and my truck?
Sam helped with the directions, though he shifted a few times in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. I really didn't understand what was to complain about. Just because they'd been spoiled with their stupid Impala for all these years didn't mean they needed to look down their noses at my truck. Damn Winchesters.
Eventually we pulled up outside the address the bartender had given us. It was a small apartment building, not too shabby looking. We found her address on the mail boxes out front and headed to the apartment.
Sam knocked on the door and it swung open. That was not a good sign.
We crept in, listening for a hint of movement. It was all quiet.
"Dean?" Sam called out.
The place was... a mess. Not a mess where it looked like someone had broken in and been hunting for something. Just a normal mess. Dresses hung up in random places, books and magazines sprawled all over the place, used cups and glasses left out.
I continued searching the apartment, heading off down the hall when Sam called me.
He was standing by the window, yellow powder on his fingers. "Sulfur."
I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Of course she's a demon."
Dean really did know how to pick 'em.
"We don't know if it's her for sure," Sam said. "There could have been something—"
"Oh its her alright," I said. "Dean's been making a habit out of attracting demon chicks lately. Gotta go and save another Winchester ass. I should charge you two a babysitting fee." I said as I strode back outside.
"What do we do now?" Sam asked, the worry growing in his voice.
"Head back to the only lead we had." Back to the bar. It seemed the one and only place to get answers in this damn town.
Concern was woven over Sam's face, so much so he didn't even hesitate to climb back into the truck.
"Don't worry," I said to him and held out my fist. "Ram's on the case."
He fist bumped back then pulled out his phone. I was fast learning the rules of hunting with the Winchesters. And one of those rules? When all else fails... call Bobby.
"Bobby, it's Sam. We got a big problem. We found some sulfur, and now we can't find Dean. Call me as soon as you get this."
I drove back to the bar, probably breaking a number of speed limits, and when we got there, we went straight for the bartender we'd spoken to earlier. If he was gonna expect another handout for information, he had another thing coming.
"Hey, excuse me," said Sam. "Um, they weren't there."
"I guess you got to catch your jollies another night." The guy was starting to really annoy me.
"Here," he said turning to grab a bottle and a couple of glasses. "Why don't you have a drink... and relax?"
"Yeah, I don't want to relax!" Sam said. "What is it with the people in this town?"
"Suit yourself—princess." He downed one of the shots he had poured for us.
I stared after him as he walked to the other end of the bar. "Guys like him make me think that maybe the mindless violence is kinda justified."
Sam braced both hands on the bar. "Now what?"
I didn't know the answer to that. Hopefully Bobby would get back to Sam pronto because I—
"How about some divine intervention?" I asked when I spotted Father Gil in a booth in the far corner of the bar.
We headed over there.
"Father," Sam said.
"Yes?"
"Can we talk to you for a sec?"
"Of course." He waved to the empty seats across from him.
"So, the bartender from the other night, Casey. You know her pretty well?" Sam asked as he scooted into the booth after me.
"Since she was in pigtails."
"Well, um, she and my brother, they, uh... they... left tonight. Together." Nice way of putting it, Sammy.
The light bulb clicked on for the Father pretty quick. "Ah. Well... not that I approve, but they are consenting adults."
"Right," Sam said.
"I'm sorry. You said "brother." I thought you were insurance investigators?" Father Gil asked.
"Right. Well, we are. Um, it's like, it's like a family business, you know?"
Father Gil looked at me. "And are you part of the family?"
"No," I chuckled. "I'm just a stray they adopted into the fold. I really had a passion for insurance."
"Ah." He nodded.
"Anyways, um, so we went to Casey's apartment, and they weren't there," Sam explained. "We just have this feeling that they... that they might be in trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
You wouldn't believe us if we told you. Or maybe he would, you know, given the whole Heaven and Hell thing. Angels and Demons and all that.
"Just... trouble," Sam said. "Look, please, Father, we need your help. Is there anything you could tell us about Casey? Anyplace she'd go, maybe?"
He looked down at the table, seemingly in deep thought. "Yes, there is a place. Let me get my jacket." He moved to get up.
"Oh, you don't need to come with us," I insisted. "We can handle it. You should stay.
"If Casey's really in trouble, then there's nothing to talk about." He stood up and threw his jacket on. "Shall we go?"
We didn't really have a choice. We shuffled out of the booth and followed Father Gil outside.
"Getting a priest killed has gotta be a hefty fine," I said to Sam. "A couple centuries in Hell at least, right? We're so gonna burn."
Outside, Father Gil led us over to his car. "I'll drive."
Who were we to argue with a priest? I hopped in the back; Sam took the front.
"So, insurance investigating," Father Gil said as he drove down a dark street. "You enjoy the work?"
Oh great, now we have to make small talk. I hated small talk.
"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah, I like being able to help people."
"Ever think about doing anything else?"
Huh. Seemed like a strange question to ask someone you didn't know.
"Like what?" Sam asked.
"Mmm, anything. You seem like a pretty smart kid. Somehow I see you out in front of the pack. You could do some great things."
I figured priests took any opportunity to get preachy about stuff.
"I don't know," Sam answered. "I like doing what I'm doing, I guess."
"Well, it's your life. Does, um... Dean?"
"Yeah, Dean."
"Does he find trouble often?"
Why were we getting the third degree? Was it my usual dislike for anything churchy or was he being shifty?
"Yeah. Yeah, Dean finds his fair share," Sam said.
"Well, it's a good thing he has you—his brother's keeper." Father Gil locked eyes with me in the rear-view mirror. "And how about you?"
"What about me?" I asked, more defensive than Sam had been. But something about him was bothering me.
"Well you're... harder to read than the boys. Was insurance investigating really your passion?" I didn't like the way he was looking at me. Didn't like the feeling that was starting to crawl over me.
"I dunno. Was becoming a priest yours?" I said, probably a little snarkier than I should have.
Father Gil laughed it off. "I always believed I was destined to serve a higher power."
Not a second too soon, he pulled up in front of an old, secluded house which had been overrun by vines. Dean's car was parked in front of it.
"Dean?!" Sam called out as soon as we got out of the car. We ran up to the front door and started knocking, repeatedly calling his name. There was no answer.
"Check that way." I ventured off to one side at Sam's order, while he took the other.
"Dean?!" I yelled as I rounded the house. I couldn't make him or Casey out through the windows. Everything seemed still and—
"Rae?"
I stumbled to a stop.
"Dean?" I called out, not sure where his voice had come from.
"Rae, down here! The basement caved in!"
There, by the wall, was a space leading down to the basement. The damn thing was barred. I kneeled down in the grass to find Dean peering up at me.
"That's what you get for hooking up with a demon," I said.
"What? I didn't... Now is so not the time! Get me outta here."
"Say please." I couldn't resist.
"Are you freakin' kiddin—"
"Alright, alright," I said. "We're coming."
"Who's we? Just you and Sam, right?" he asked.
"We're here with Father Gil."
He turned, looking at someone or something. When he faced me again, he spoke with way more urgency than he had before. "Rae, be careful."
Did that mean that... "Goddamnit!" The damn Father was a demon, wasn't he? Of course he was!
I ran back around the house to find Sam.
I called out for him as I ran. "Sam, are you... Great." And I did find him... thrown into the car windshield. Not only that, Bobby was down on the ground. Father Gil stood in front of me, his eyes jet black.
Before I could lift a foot in his direction, he swept his hand out, and I followed its path. He flung me across the courtyard and I landed with a crash against a stone statue. My shoulder smarted, but thankfully I managed to keep myself from hitting my head and knocking myself out.
"Rae, you ok?" Sam asked as he knelt over me.
I groaned as I staggered to my feet. "Yeah. I'm good."
We rushed over to Bobby.
"Bobby, you all right?" I asked.
"Yeah."
Sam took Bobby's arm to help him up. "How did you know where we—"
"Go!" he passed the Colt which had been on the ground in front of him to Sam.
"You heard the man. Go." There was a random woman standing behind us. She had straight blonde hair and wore a snarky attitude.
"Who the hell is she?!" I asked as Sam sprinted off into the house. I obviously wasn't going to get an answer from anyone, so I ran after him. I followed Sam down into the basement.
Father Gil had Dean hoisted into the air by his throat. Sam didn't hesitate. He braced himself, raised the gun and shot the Father in the chest. Lightening erupted in his body. He jerked as smoke rose from him, before he fell to the ground.
Sam turned the gun onto Casey.
"Sam, wait!" Dean cried out from the floor.
The bullet hit Casey in the centre of her chest and she hit the floor right next to Father Gil.
The final shot echoed around the basement. Sam went over to help Dean up, but I stayed where I was. Why had Dean told Sam to stop? Why had Dean tried to save a demon?
When we got back outside, Bobby was alone. No random woman in sight.
"Who was the blonde chick?" I asked.
"Her name's Ruby," Sam answered somewhat reluctantly. "She's the one that helped us out in Nebraska."
So that was the woman that had appeared with the knife and killed off some of the deadly sin demons.
"What's her deal?" I asked.
"She uh... she's a demon."
I laughed. "I'm sorry, those shots down there must have messed with my hearing, because it sounded like you said she was a demon. But I must have been wrong."
Sam couldn't look at me. In fact, he seemed to look everywhere but at me.
I erupted.
"What the hell is it with you two and pretty demons?!" I screamed at the brothers. "Am I missing something here? Why is no one freaking out? I mean, I know some of them come in sparkly, pretty packaging but still... demons!"
Sam shuffled on the spot, looking at the ground. "She said she could help us out with—"
"With whatever the hell got out of the gate," Dean finished quickly.
"So you're working with a demon now?" I asked. "And she's just helping out of the kindness of her black, dead heart? I feel like this should have been mentioned."
Something like 'Hey Rae, you wanna tag along with us? If so, be prepared to also work with a demon.' Wasn't so hard, was it? Of course I would have laughed in their faces at their offer had I've known.
"Trust me," Dean said with a scowl at his brother, "we're not all on board."
"Goddamn Winchesters!" I growled.
The boys dropped me off at the bar so I could pick up my truck, and then they headed off back to the motel. Just as I was about to turn the ignition and follow them, I had a change of heart. I climbed out the truck and headed into the bar.
I sat at the bar and ordered a few drinks. Would my decision really have changed about joining the boys on the road if I knew they were working with a demon? Maybe. Probably. I could always hightail it now that I knew. I didn't owe them anything. So why was I sitting here drinking instead of hitting the road? As I sat there, as the minutes turned to hours, I couldn't find an answer to that question.
I heard someone pull the barstool next to mine out. I looked out the side of my eye to see who it was and sighed.
"Don't spoil my good mood." I drained the last of my drink and started the next one.
"Yeah," Dean said. "You sure look perky."
"Sorry Dean, you just missed the other demon bartender. You'll have to wait around 'til her next shift."
Dean sighed and mumbled under his breath. He seemed to do that a lot around me. "I tracked the gps in Richie's cellphone. Found his body in her basement. I knew what she was then, but I had to get her down to where I'd painted the devil's trap. Had to make her think I wasn't on to her. She gave me a damn peck and that was—"
"Why are you explaining this to me?" I said, turning to face him. "I don't care."
He raised a single brow. "You sure seem like you care a little."
I scoffed. "I don't. I really don't. What I do care about and what I don't get is this sudden pro-demon thing you guys have going on."
Dean rubbed his forehead, like I was giving him a headache. If anything, it was the other way around!
He sighed. "I told you I didn't—"
"You told Sam to wait." And there was the crux of my issue right there. More than anything else that had happened, more than anything I'd learned, it was that moment that was eating at me.
"What?" he asked.
"After Sam shot Father Gil, and he pointed that gun at her, you told him to wait. Why?"
Dean didn't answer for a moment, seeming to search for an answer. "She saved my life," he said eventually.
I waited for him to keep going. But he just sat there. "And?" I asked.
"And I thought... I don't know what I thought."
I shook my head in disbelief. Did he not hear himself? "I don't care if she saved a litter of kittens, cured world hunger, or got your rocks off so good that you transported to another dimension. A demon's a demon. End of. I swear, I knew I was going to regret this. I just didn't realise it would be this soon."
"Regret what?" he asked.
"Hunting with you two. This was a stupid idea." I downed what was left of my drink, screwing my face up at the burning sensation running down my throat. At this point, I didn't even know what I was drinking, but if it could keep me from killing my current companion, then I'd keep drinking it.
"Huh." Dean said. "Well, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."
Right. That was it.
"Excuse me?" I called over to the, hopefully non-demon bartender. When I had her attention, I pointed at Dean. "He's paying my tab."
"Son of a—"
I got up and walked out. I took the side exit, in the alleyway, hoping Dean wouldn't realise and wouldn't be able to find me out the front. I wasn't that lucky. When was I ever that lucky?
"Running away then?" he asked as the door slammed behind him.
"I'm not running, I'm walking away before I punch you in the throat." I said as I made for the street.
"Maybe you should," Dean said, hot on my heels. "Might work out some of that jealousy you got going on."
I spun around. "You think I'm jealous? Ha!" If that wasn't the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard.
Dean sucked air in through his teeth. "Sounds like the lady doth protest too much."
He'd pushed my limits, so I pushed him into the wall. "If I was jealous, I'd be pouring bleach on your clothes and keying your car."
"Pft. You're not that kinda girl."
I leaned up into his face. "You have no idea what kind of girl I am."
"You wouldn't key Baby... you'd drive off with her. Even knowing I'd have to hunt you down and kill you for it."
To be fair, that did sound like something I would do. "Don't give me ideas."
"I also know you're the kind of girl who likes it when I…" Before I could blink, Dean had grabbed me by the tops of my arms and swung me around, swapping our places, bracing me against the wall.
"Shove off." I forced his hands away from me.
"Or when I…" He kissed me. The son of a bitch actually had the nerve to kiss me! Didn't matter if the kiss was hot, didn't matter if it started melting away my ire, he was still pushing his luck.
"You're asking for a beating," I panted once he tore his lips from mine.
"And when I do this..." He leaned down and kissed my throat, just below my ear. My eyes closed. I couldn't help but moan.
I could feel him smile against my neck. "A little moan always slips out."
DAMN HIM! I shoved him back again. "You're a dead man."
"And then I—"
Not willing to give him anything more to try and brag about, I once again reversed our positions.
"God I really don't like you." I sneered up at him.
I dove for his mouth, giving as good as I got. We went from zero to sixty in seconds. Dean licked at my lips, then tangled his with mine as our lips fought for dominance.
Dean pulled back. "Right back atcha," he said before diving in once more.
I thought about flinging another insult his way. I really did. But, safe to say, Dean had found a sure-fire way of distracting me.
Damn those lips of his.