2.02
Dean and I are discharged two days after…two days after.
Bobby meets us in front of the hospital.
Take us back to his place.
No one talks.
We get to Bobby's place. Go inside.
"I've still got that room set up for you," Bobby says.
I nod.
"What room?" asks Sam.
"I uh…looked after Janie a couple of times, when your Dad and Dean got in some real shit."
I make my way upstairs. Open the door, go in, close the door. The room looks exactly the same. I sit on the edge of the twin bed. The old patchwork blanket soft under my hands. I stare at the old and worn bookshelves. I read the titles. It is easy to tell where Bobby's books finish and mine begin.
It goes from old obscure texts, to The Winnie the Pooh.
I have mailed Bobby every book I have ever read from when I was seven. I find cheap and old copies second hand, read them, finish them, mail them when I mail my homeschool packets. Sometimes, if I read a book from a library, I'll track down the same edition I read, buy it, mail it.
When I first met Bobby, I was amazed at all his books. His collection. The next day he had found an old copy of A Little Princess. I read it in two days. He added it to these shelves.
I don't remember when he agreed to hoard my books for me. I don't remember if we ever talked about the fact that he and Dad didn't speak but he still accepted all my packages. I don't remember when this tiny room became mine. A room that I knew Bobby never touched except to change the sheets and put my books on the shelves. Even when I hadn't been here in years.
I used to find this room cosy, inviting, and safe. Now as I sit here, it feels claustrophobic, dark, and lonely. I close my eyes to stop it. But it's no use. The tears fall anyway.
Novels are too fun. I read Bobby's tomes. At first, he asks if I'm researching, then it becomes clear that I'm distracting myself and Bobby tries to get me to do other things. I do not. I read. Dean works on the car. Sam goes through anything of Dad's he can find. I read downstairs. Where Meg…died. But I'm not in my room and sometimes I go outside to sit with Dean. So that's three places I go, plus sunshine.
Sam's more annoying than Bobby.
Always asking me what I need.
The last few days he's made me go for a walk with him. An hour. Every day. He tries to talk but I mostly tell him to just shut up.
I feel bad.
But Sam doesn't say anything.
He keeps trying.
Sam comes in while Bobby is trying to force feed me lemonade.
"Hey Bobby?" he asks.
I look up.
"Can we borrow a car?"
"What for?" asks Bobby.
"Tracking down a friend of Dad's."
"Well, yeah. But I've only got the one…"
"That's fine."
"I'll get the keys," says Bobby and leaves.
I look at Sam. "What friend?"
"What?"
"What friend of Dad's?"
"A woman named Ellen."
"Never heard of her."
"That's why we're going to go see her."
"Right…"
Sam looks at me, his eyes looking all sad. Like he's a lost puppy. Makes me sick. "Want to come?" he asks.
"No thank you."
"I think you should come."
"What for?"
"To get out of the house."
I glare at him.
"Walking around the property doesn't count," Sam says.
I close the book. Sigh. "Fine."
I don't admit to Sam that a change of scenery does actually sound good.
We arrive at The Roadhouse and get out of the worst minivan known to mankind.
"This is humiliating," says Dean when we get out of the car. "I feel like a friggin' soccer mom!"
"It's the only car Bobby had running," says Sam.
There is nothing here. I can't hear anything.
"Huh," I say. "Looks like we came during rush hour."
"Hello?" calls Sam. "Anybody here?"
"Hey," says Dean, "you bring the uh…"
"Of course," says Sam and tosses Dean the
WE go inside. It is just as dead inside as it is outside. At the back of the bar is a man asleep…on the bar.
"Is he all right?" I ask.
"Hey buddy?" says Sam. "I'm guessing that isn't Ellen."
"Yeah."
"Come on," says Sam and we go through a door to the back.
"Sam…" I say, "this feels…off."
"Yeah –" Sam starts and then we hear a cock of a gun.
"Oh great," I say. I turn and see a woman with a shotgun pointed at us.
"Shut it," says the woman.
"You can't be seri–"
"Jane," Sam hisses.
I shut up.
"Hands on your heads," says the woman.
Sam and I look at each other, roll our eyes, but we do what she says.
"Let's go," says the woman and signals for us to go back out the door with the gun.
"Sam!" Dean yells from the other room. "Need some help in here."
Sam elbows the door and we go through with the woman behind us.
"Sorry, Dean," says Sam. "I can't right now. I'm a... little tied up."
Dean's cornered by a young blonde woman. And he doesn't look happy about it.
"Jane? Sam? Dean? Winchester?" says the woman behind us.
"Yeah," we all say.
"Son of a bitch," says the woman.
"Mom, you know these guys?" asked the blonde woman.
"Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's kids," says the woman. She laughs. "Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo."
I drop my arms.
"Hey," says Jo.
"You're not gonna hit me again, are you?" asks Dean.
Ellen hands Dean a towel filled with ice. "Here you go."
"Thanks. You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?"
"Well, the demon, of course. I heard he was closing in on it."
"What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who, who are you? How do you know about all this?"
"Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once."
"Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?"
"You'd have to ask him that."
I look at Dean. But he doesn't react. "So why exactly do we need your help?"
"Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if...He didn't send you." Ellen pauses. "He's all right, isn't he?"
"No," I say. My voice more croaky than I wanted it to be.
"No, he isn't," says Sam. "It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. We're all right," says Dean.
I frown. Sam shuffles a little closer to me.
"Really? I know how close you and your dad were."
"Really, lady, I'm fine."
"So, look," says Sam. "If you can help, we could use all the help we can get."
"Well, we can't," says Ellen. "But Ash will."
"Who's Ash?" asks Sam.
"Ash!" Ellen practically screams.
The man on the bar jerks, and sits up. "What? It closin' time?"
"That's Ash?" asks Sam.
"Mm-hmm. He's a genius," says Jo.
Sam and I get Dad's stuff from the van and sit with Ash at a table.
"You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius," says Dean to Jo at the bar. "He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie."
"I like you," says Ash.
"Thanks."
"Just give him a chance," says Jo.
Dean sits down with us and opens a folder. "All right. This stuff's about a year's worth of our dad's work, so uh, let's see what you make of it."
Ash starts looking through the papers. "Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this."
"Our dad could," says Sam.
"There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean.. damn! They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms... You ever been struck by lightening? It ain't fun."
"Can you track it or not?"
"Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me... fifty one hours," Ash stands up.
"Hey, man?" says Dean.
"Yeah?"
"I, uh, I dig the haircut."
Ash shakes his hair. "All business up front, party in the back."
I shake my head, suddenly grateful that at least Dad always sent me to a proper hairdresser.
"Hey, Ellen, what is that?" Sam asks.
I turn to where he's looking.
"It's a police scanner," says Ellen. "We keep tabs on things, we..."
"No, no, no, no, the, um, the folder."
"Uh, I was gonna give this to a friend of mine. But take a look, if you want."
Sam takes the folder and I go to look at it with him but Ellen looks at me.
"Jane?"
"Hmm?" I say.
"I think I have something you'd like."
I look at Sam who shrugs and smiles. I follow Ellen around the back. An office. She goes to a filing cabinet and pulls out a overstuffed file.
"Been a long time," Ellen says, "but I'm not one to just through away hunter's stuff," she starts rifling through the file, looking for something. "The last time your Dad was here he dropped a couple of things, I would've given them back but…" she looks over at me and stops. "Anyway, things happen. Ah! Here," she hands me a ratty piece of paper with some things shoved under a paperclip.
I take it off her. The top is a napkin with an address in Dad's handwriting for…Rochester, New York. I freeze, look up at Ellen. She gives a sad smile. I flip up the napkin and look underneath. It's worn, a little torn and folded, but it's clear. I thought I had forgotten her face, but as soon as I see it I remember. My mom. It's a photo of me and my mom. At our house in Rochester. The haunted house, but still.
"Thought you might like that," says Ellen.
"Thank you."
I look underneath the photo. It's a…birth certificate. My birth certificate. "Huh," I say.
"Thought I should legally give you that."
I laugh a little. Part of me is surprised I have a birth certificate. Irrefutable proof that I exist. Even if my Dad doesn't anymore.
"You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?" Dean says as we drive in the rain.
"Yeah," says Sam. "He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually."
"And this family was at some carnival that night?"
"Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnivals."
"So how do you know we're not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?"
"Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course."
"Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?"
"Oh, give me a break."
Dean and I laugh.
"You didn't think I'd remember, did you?" says Dean. "I mean, come on, you still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television."
"Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying."
"Planes crash!"
"And apparently clowns kill!"
"And cars crash more often than planes do, Dean," I point out.
"Oh shut it," says Dean. "So these types of murders, they ever happen before?"
"Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, Same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales," says Sam.
"It's weird, though, I'm mean if it is a spirit it's usually bound to a specific locale, you know, a house, or a town."
"So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?"
"Cursed object, maybe. Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them."
"Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt."
"Well, this case was your idea. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."
"So?"
"It's just... not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt."
"I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do."
"What Dad would have wanted?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Nothing."
We arrive at the carnival. It's…lacklustre. Maybe because it's the middle of the day and the magic of flashing lights is gone, but it gives me a weird vibe.
"Check it out," says Dean, "Five-o."
Sam and I wait by one of the rides while Dean talks to the cops. A woman dressed in a colourful clown outfit who can't be more than four feet tall stares at Sam. I glance at Sam, then the woman. She walks on. I can't help but snigger.
"Shut up," Sam says.
"Did you get her number?" Dean asks as he returns.
"More murders?" Sam asks.
"Two more last night. Apparently, they were ripped to shreds. And they had a little boy with them."
"Who fingered a clown."
Netiher of them say anything. I look up at my brothers.
"What?" Sam asks.
"Yes. Clown. Who apparently vanished into thin air."
"Dean, you know, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything."
"Well, it's bound to give off EMF, so we'll just have to scan everything.
"Oh, good, that's nice and... inconspicuous."
"I guess we'll just have to blend in."
I follow where Dean is looking. I shake my head. "I'm not working at a carnival."
Dean shrugs. "Don't need you to. Be…a kid."
"What?"
"Maybe you'll see the clown."
"I'm 13."
"So?"
"So, not exactly a kid."
"Dean," Sam says, "Maybe Janie shouldn't-"
Dean pulls out his wallet and hands me a bunch of 20s. "Have fun."
I hold the money and stare at him.
"But also, grab an EMF from the trunk."
I stare at him. He says nothing. I look at Sam. He shrugs. I shove the money in my jeans pocket. "Just to spite you I'm mostly going on rides. And I'm spending all your money."
I eat way too much popcorn. Then a corn dog. And try to drink and entire super-size coke. I feel sick. But the rides are fun, and I don't even vomit. I still have 60 bucks left but I can't eat anything else, or I will vomit. I wander along and go into the fun house. Definitely no chance of vomiting in there. I walk through. It's confusing and dark…and I even jump at one point. I round a corner and bump into someone.
"Sorry," I say. I look up at the giant. "Sam?"
"Janie?"
I sip my coke. "How goes the hunt?" I ask, noticing the EMF.
"Not good."
"Nice jacket."
"Thanks. Come on."
We walk through the funhouse and something falls. A skeleton. Sam scans it.
"Anything?" I ask.
"No…"
"But?"
"I have an idea."
I follow Sam out of the Funhouse and he calls Dean.
"Hey, man….very funny. Skeleton, actually…In the funhouse. Listen, I was thinking. What if the spirit isn't attached to a cursed object, what if it's attached to its own remains…Well, no, but..."
Sam hangs up.
"And?"
"Dean's coming."
I offer my super-size coke. "Thirsty?"
Sam takes it and has a sip.
We wait for Dean. Who takes forever.
"Finally," I say when Dean walks over.
"What took you so long?" asks Sam.
"Long story," says Dean.
"Mommy, look at the clown!" a little girl squeals.
I look where she's pointing. There's nothing.
"What clown?" asks the girls' mom. "Come on, sweetie, come on."
"Well that's just great," I say.
We follow the poor family home and park across the street. Dean admits he told someone about the killer clown.
Sam still just can't wrap his head around it. "Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown."
"I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown, I never said it was real," says Dean.
Dean cocks a gun and Sam grabs it. "Keep that down!"
"Panic much?" I ask Sam.
He reaches back and slaps my leg.
"Oh, and get this," says Dean. "I mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse? Guess what."
"What?" asks Sam.
"Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager."
"So, you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?"
"Something like that. I can't believe we keep talking about clowns."
"Could be worse," I say.
"How?"
"We could be stalking an innocent family in a rundown soccer mom van…oh wait," I say. Grinning at Dean as he frowns at me in the rearview mirror.
"Oh, shut it," says Dean.
I must fall asleep because Sam wakes me up my shaking my leg. "It's here," he says.
He wakes Dean and he snorts awake.
"Stay here," Sam says to me.
"Really?" I ask, there's a light on in the house.
"Killer clown, so yes."
I watch Sam and Dean run across the road and sneak into the house. Not too long later, I hear shots.
"Well that's not good," I say to myself. I crawl into the front of the van, and start it. It takes three tries before the engine catches.
Glass shatters and I look across at the house, just in time to see the clown get up and vanish. I crawl back into the back of the van as Sam and Dean come running back out. Dean floors the van, tires screeching as we drive away.
Dean parks the van off the side of a road, under a low tree. I climb out. The seats in that van suck. I grab my bag and Dean is taking off the plates.
"You really think they saw our plates?" Sam asks.
"I don't want to take the chance. Besides, I hate this friggin' thing anyway," says Dean.
We start walking down the road.
"Well, one thing's for sure," says Dean.
"What's that?" asks Sam.
"We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid."
"Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?"
"Yeah, and dresses up as a clown for kicks? You see anything in Dad's journal?"
"Nope." Sam pulls out his phone.
"Who are you calling?"
"Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something. Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?"
"Eww no," I say.
"No way," says Dean.
"Then why didn't he tell us about her?" asks Sam.
"I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out."
"Yeah. You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?" Sam puts the phone down. "Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man."
"What do you mean?" asks Dean.
"I mean this "strong silent" thing of yours, it's crap."
"Oh, god."
I roll my eyes. Step away from both of them. The road seems suddenly very small.
"I'm over it," says Sam. "This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man."
"You know what, back off, all right? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to."
"No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. You're pretending everything is fine all the time. Janie's putting on a brave face, but we both hear her crying at night and talking to Bobby about it."
Well that's just great. "You guys are eavesdropping on me?" I ask.
They both turn back to me.
"We care about you," says Sam. "It's not eavesdropping."
I sigh.
Sam turns back to Dean who is charging ahead down the road. "Just listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay?" says Dean. "I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm going to start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late."
"Why are you saying this to me?"
"Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?"
"I'm going to call Ellen."
Sam trudges ahead and pulls out his phone. I stay walking on the side of the road. I walk along for another minutes before Dean makes his way over to me. He doesn't say anything, thank god, and we walk on in silence, listening the few words from Sam on the phone. I feel Dean looking over at me every once in a while, but I pretend to be really caught up in staring at the scenery.
Sam eventually hangs up the phone and walks back over to us.
"Rakshasa," Sam says.
"What's that?" asks Dean.
"Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures, they appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited."
"So, they dress up like clowns, and the children invite them in."
"So just you know, general evil things," I say.
"Yeah," says Sam.
"Why don't they just munch on the kids?" asks Dean.
"No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?"
"What else'd you find out?"
"Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects."
I shudder.
"Nice," says Dean.
"Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess."
"Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers' in '81."
"Right. Probably more before that."
"Hey Sam, who do we know that worked both shows?"
"Cooper?"
"Cooper."
"You know, that picture of his father, that looked just like him."
"You think maybe it was him?"
"Well, who knows how old he is?"
"Ellen say how to kill him?"
"Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass."
"And everyone knows that brass daggers are a dime a dozen," I say.
"I think I actually know where to get one of those," says Dean.
"Well, before we go stabbing things into Cooper, we're going to want to make damn sure it's him," says Sam.
"Oh, you're such a stickler for details, Sammy. All right, I'll round up the blade, you guys check if Cooper's got bedbugs."
I shudder again.
That night I go with Sam, he picks Cooper's lock on his trailer. We creep in, I check under the bed, no bugs. Sam slashes the mattress and I stand up.
"Oh no," I say.
Cooper, I assume, cocks the shotgun. "What do you think you're doing?"
Sam turns and puts an arm across me. "We were just…looking for something."
"Looking for what?"
"Uh…"
Cooper raises the gun level with Sam's head.
"I just wanted to know what you sleep on, you know, we were going to…hide," Sam stammers.
I close my eyes. Great.
"You wanted to hide in my bed?"
Sam nods. He looks at me. I nod too. "To be close to you."
"Creeps," says Cooper. He waves at us with the gun. "Get out!"
Sam and I don't need to be told twice and we run out of there.
"Close to you?" I ask as we rush away from the trailer.
"What else could I say for why we were crawling around his bed?"
Dean trips out of another trailer and we catch up to him.
"Hey!" says Sam. "Hey. So, Cooper thinks I'm a Peeping Tom, but it's not him."
"Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy, he's here somewhere," says Dean.
"Well, did you get the-"
"The brass blades? No, it's been one of those days."
"I got an idea. Come on," says Sam and he leads us to the funhouse.
A door slams between us. Dean and I try to open it.
"Sam!" Dean yells at the door.
"Dean!" Sam yells from the other side. "Find the maze, okay?"
"Come on," I say to Dean. "I was in here earlier."
I lead Dean around several turns, it feels like we're going in circles but we round a corner and find Sam.
"Hey," says Dean.
"Hey," says Sam. "Where is it?"
"I don't know, I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?"
Something flies past me, Dean is pinned to the wall from his jacket. Another knife flies and pierces his sleeve.
"Sam!" Dean yells.
Sam pulls a pipe off the organ. A knife flies past him and I feel it graze me as it lodges in my shirt and the wall.
"Jane!" Sam yells.
I'm trying to pull it out when another knife flies past me and lands next to my head.
"Don't move," says Sam to me. "Where is it?"
"I don't know," says Dean.
Dean pulls something and steam or smoke pours into the room. I see a shadow in the smoke.
"Sam!" Dean yells. "Behind you! Behind you!"
Sam stabs blindly but it lodges in something, and it hangs there, blood dripping from seemingly nothing.
Dean pulls the knives out of his jacket and then removes the one from my shirt. There's a thud, Dean turns the lever thing again the steam clears. There's a pile of clothes and the bloody organ pipe lying there.
"I hate funhouses," says Dean.
We make our way back to The Roadhouse. Sitting at the bar, Ellen gives Sam and Dean a beer, a coke for me.
"You guys did a hell of a job. Your dad would be proud," says Ellen.
"Thanks," says Sam.
Jo sits down next to Dean. She looks at Sam and I, looking at her.
"Oh yeah, um, I've gotta... uh, we've gotta go. Over there. Right now."
Sam grabs my arm and drags me to another table. I barely have enough time to grab my glass before me throws me into another chair.
"Do you mind?" I say to Sam.
"No, I really don't," says Sam sipping his beer.
I sip my coke. "You're the worst."
Sam cocks his head.
"Okay maybe not the worst. But you and Dean really do treat me like a little kid."
"How?" asks Sam, he seems genuinely confused.
"I can never be a part of anything. As soon as anything gets too…whatever, I'm dragged away or stuck in a motel room, or the dreaded car duty."
Sam smiles a little. "We're the worst trying to keep you safe?"
"If that's what it was, I wouldn't be here. I'd be at some boarding school somewhere."
Sam shrugs.
"Don't even think about it. It's just…I'm not a little kid anymore."
"You're only thirteen."
"And what were you doing at thirteen? I bet Dad never put you on car duty."
Sam opens his mouth. Then must decide against it and sips his beer again instead.
A door opens and I turn to see Ash come in carrying the folder we gave him and a laptop.
"Where you guys been? Been waitin' for ya," Ash says.
"We were working a job, Ash," says Sam. "Clowns?"
"Clowns? What the f-"
"You got something for us, Ash?" interrupts Dean getting up and coming over to the table.
Ash sets the laptop down. It's…quite a machine.
"Did you find the demon?" asks Sam.
"It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world. my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm."
Dean reaches for the laptop and Ash gives him a look.
"Do you mind...yeah." says Dean.
"Hey, what's up, man?" asks Ash.
"Ash, where did you learn to do all this?" asks Sam.
"M.I.T. Before I got bounced for... fighting."
"M.I.T.?"
"It's a school in Boston."
"Okay. You give us a call as soon as you know something?" asks Dean.
"Si, si, compadre."
We get up to leave.
"Hey, listen, if you guys need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back," says Ellen.
"Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish," says Dean.
"Okay."
Back at Bobby's Dean keeps working on the car. Sam's out there with him and I watch them from the kitchen window.
"You know you don't have to do that," says Bobby.
I look down, I'm doing dishes. Not sure when I started. "I don't mind," I say. "It's nice to be…helpful."
"You sure?" Bobby asks.
"I like having something to do."
"Okay then," says Bobby.
I hear him walk away. Sam and Dean are talking. It doesn't look good. Sam walks away and I watch Dean pummel the trunk of the car with a crowbar. Sam comes in to the kitchen.
"You okay?" he asks. He clearly hasn't heard or seen what Dean has done.
I look down at the dishes. My soapy hands. "Okay," I say. "Just okay."