Night 48 - Janitor's Closet
[Tracking Faith from here; Scarecrow's effects are wearing off]
No sign of Sam, but he was willing the Demon had went this way. He'd heard something loud banging open in this direction, and Dean was willing to bet that it'd been that Demon. The more he thought about it, the more he was getting weirded out by this whole thing. It just wasn't adding ( Read more... )
No sign of Sam, but he was willing the Demon had went this way. He'd heard something loud banging open in this direction, and Dean was willing to bet that it'd been that Demon. The more he thought about it, the more he was getting weirded out by this whole thing. It just wasn't adding ( Read more... )
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Because no, she didn't know who the hell this guy all up in her face was. What she did know was that he wasn't no vampire; from this distance, she could feel the heat from him well enough. Definitely not a corpse.
She threw up her hands, sandwiched between some shelves and this pseudo-James Dean, and hoped to God he was coming off whatever acid they'd both been tripping on. Also, she'd be enjoying this position more if he wasn't trying to kill her.
"Whoa, easy. Wait."
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"The hell?" Dean peered at her, barely able to make out her face in the crappy lighting. It finally occurred to him what he'd touched earlier - he was currently coping a feel on her tits and while they were pretty nice ones, he wasn't ready to drop this just 'cause her rack wasn't half-bad. Dean didn't move his hand, eyes on her face. "Who're you?"
No sign of those yellow-eyes. He was more than sure he'd tracked Sam all the way here, unless this chick made it a habit to randomly go hiding in closets, and he was still convinced this was some kinda trick. Even if, y'know, Demons weren't your regular shapeshifters and this was a weird, way out there way to dick around with his head.
Dean didn't let up just yet, his knife still hovering close to her throat as he kicked aside a bucket he'd nearly tripped on earlier.
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He glanced down pointedly at the knife at her throat. Maybe he'd been seeing things. Too much Kool-Aid and all that. But his nose was still hurting like a mother and the little throw-down they had back there wasn't some hallucination; if she was a normal human, fine. He could let her go. But he'd had way too many jobs with monsters that passed themselves off as humans, as damn good ones, and now he was wishing he could've found some silver. And salt. And brass. And just 'bout everything that was back in the Impala's trunk.
"How 'bout you do me a favor, sweetheart, and give me a rundown about what you remember?" Dean's grin wasn't very friendly right now. If they'd both been tripping, then he needed her version of it to compare to his own. As much as he didn't mind coping a feel on her right now, he was more interested in making sure he hadn't just chased a possessed Sam this way.
If Sam was chilling back in his room, fine. No harm, no foul.
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Thanks to some unforeseen circumstances, the door to the closet had been broken, so Chise didn't have to use her cannon to blow it open. Several bottles and cans were littered on the floor which lead her to a conclusion that someone else was in here earlier. She hoped that nothing too important was taken.
Taking out her journal she proceeded to write down everything that was in the room.
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