[SPN BigBang] And God, I Know I'm One (4/6)
iv. And it’s been the ruin of many
Dean jerks upright, eyes adrenaline-wide. Dewy grass sticks in mats to his palms. Soft morning sun fills an eggshell blue sky. Dean’s throat is still ragged and tight. He pats down his jacket, but he’s got nothing, not his gun, not even his phone. His father’s blood stains his sleeves and pants. A creek burbles close by; beyond the rise of the bank, he can see the tops of buildings. Dean has a job in front of him. He has to figure out where he is. He pushes himself to his feet and starts away from the creek.
The town is quiet. Every old structure is warped, faded and abandoned. The glass in the windows is dark where it isn’t broken. Dean patrols the streets carefully, acutely aware of how exposed he is. The town square opens up at the next corner. An enormous windmill dominates the open space. Someone is staring at it, arms at his sides. Dean stops in his tracks. “Hey!” he calls out. “Hey!”
The guy turns around. He’s a slight, pale thing, with watery eyes and chapped lips. Though he looks Dean’s age, his hairline is already retreating. He neither moves nor speaks while Dean jogs up to him. “Hey,” he repeats. “What the hell is all this?”
“I don’t know,” the guy says, dispassionate. He nods. “I just woke up in that stable over there.”
Dean’s stomach turns a little. “You don’t remember how you got here?”
The guy doesn’t blink. “Nope.”
“Well,” he says, putting one hand to his chest, “I’m Dean.”
“Max,” he replies, after a moment.
Dean nods. “Max, I’m gonna need your help. You haven’t seen anyone else here, have you?”
He wrinkles his nose, squinting into the early morning sunlight. “Maybe at the window in one of the shops, but I think I was imagining it.”
Dean runs a palm over his face. “Okay, well, we’ve got to get the hell out of here. It’s dangerous to stay.”
Max frowns. “Dangerous?”
“You really think it’s a good idea to stick around?” He starts away from the windmill. “We need to leave, and now is better than sooner.”
“Hello?” They both turn at the new voice. “Hey, is someone out there?”
A girl and a guy emerge from down one of the crooked alleyways. He’s short and bewildered-looking, huddled into a rumpled hemp hoodie; she’s statuesque and dark-haired, a clutch in one manicured hand and a pair of silver high heels in the other.
“Who’re you guys?” says Max from behind Dean’s shoulder.
“I’m Sarah,” says the girl, pushing up a strap on her black dress.
The guy’s eyes focus for the first time. He clutches one elbow and brings a fist up against his mouth. “Andy,” he says, gnawing his thumb. “Not good in a crisis, just warning you.”
Dean weighs his options. “Okay. I’m Dean. This is Max. How long have you guys been here?”
Sarah tucks a limp ringlet behind her ear. “We both just woke up here. I was at a reception at my dad’s art gallery. I was fixing my makeup.”
Dean scrubs his hand over his face again. “No roads nearby, no place to get out?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. And my cell phone won’t pick up a signal. But this sure as hell isn’t Buffalo.”
“Have you guys seen anybody else here?” Sarah and Andy shake their heads, while Max continues to look wary and sullen. Dean turns in the direction he came. “There’s a creek close to here. If we follow that, we’re bound to come to something.”
Max snorts. “What are you, like, an Eagle Scout?”
Dean looks him in the eye. “I’m probably the only one here who knows what we’re dealing with here.”
“What - what would that be, exactly?” Andy asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Dean waves them after him. “We can do this walking.” He turns only to stop dead in his tracks. A tall blonde is approaching, one foot in front of the other, deerlike. She’s wearing skinny jeans, Chuck Taylors and a threadbare t-shirt. Her hair is longer, and tied back; her eyes are lamplight-wide.
Dean feels cold adrenaline jackrabbit under his skin. “Jess?”
All the hesitation vanishes. She runs over to Dean and throws her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. “Oh my God,” she sobs. Her fingers dig into his back. “Dean,” she whispers. “I can’t even tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“We’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles.
She pulls back, sniffling. “I tried to find you too. I tried-” Her eyes go wide again. “Sam. Dean, where is Sam? Is he okay? Is he here?” She glances over at Max, Andy and Sarah. “What’s going on?”
Sarah nods to herself. “I take it you two know each other.”
Jess wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. “He’s-yeah, he’s my fiancé’s brother. I’ve only actually met him once, but I’ve heard a lot of stories.” She manages a laugh, and her smile is so sunny Dean suddenly understands why Sam could think of choosing her first.
Andy peers. “You know how you got here?”
Jess runs her fingers through her curls. “No. I just woke up over in that empty shop.”
“I saw you,” says Max suddenly. “That was you.”
Dean frowns a little. “Where have you been?”
“If we’re not leaving, can we eat?” says Sarah. “I’m so hungry I could faint.”
“I found some things,” Jess says. “It’s not much, but it’s edible.”
A shiver rushes up Dean’s spine. “Fine,” he says, pushing it aside. “Let’s get some supplies and then get out of here.” Jess slips her arm through his and turns her face up at him.
“Back here,” she says, and leans into his side. He feels her trembling as they troop through the empty town.
*
“I’m a vegetarian,” Sarah announces, her arms crossed tight over her chest. The shell of a saloon is empty save for one lonely table, on top of which rest packages of gnarled jerky and crackers.
Jess arcs an unimpressed eyebrow. “Are you hungry?” Sarah purses her lips and reaches for the saltines. Dean hangs back and tries not to think about the taste of iron in his mouth.
“So,” says Sarah, brushing crumbs off her evening gown. “How come you two know each other?”
Dean looks up. “What?”
Sarah points between him and Jess. “You two. The three of us don’t know each other. I just think it’s weird.”
Andy eyes her sidelong. “More weird than any of the rest of this?”
“How weird has it been?” Jess takes a deep breath. “For you guys, I mean?” For a moment no one speaks.
Then Andy points at Max. “Do a handstand.”
Max frowns at him. “No.”
Andy stops. “Huh. Um. Okay.” He scratches his nose. “I can make people do things. When I tell them.” He offers another small wave. “I don’t know about you guys.”
“I get visions,” blurts out Jess. “Terrible dreams. I keep seeing people dying.”
“I can move things,” says Max, not meeting anyone’s eye.
Dean exchanges glances with Sarah, who squirms. “I get visions too,” he admits, his stomach curdling.
“Oh my God.” Jess presses a hand to her heart. “I don’t believe it. I thought it was just me.”
Dean frowns. “Did Sam know about this?”
“Why did we all show up here, then?” says Max, eyes still narrowed. His voice crackles over a rough throat.
For some reason, everyone looks at Dean. He swallows. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Yeah,” laughs Andy. “Because we’re doing so great right now anyway.”
He bows his head. “It’s a demon.”
Max snorts. “Give me a break.” But Sarah’s face has drained.
“The man with the yellow eyes?” she whispers, suddenly a lot less brassy. She hugs her elbows again. “He’s come to me a couple times,” she admits, retreating into her shoulders. “He scares the crap out of me.”
Andy’s jaw is dangling. “A demon?” he repeats.
“Yeah.” Dean avoids Jess’s eye.
“Wow.” Andy laughs and throws up his hands. “A demon? Great. Okay, yeah, that’s swell. How do we protect ourselves from a demon in the middle of a ghost town?”
“We get out here,” Dean repeats. “This sonofabitch doesn’t tell us what we do or where we go. Let’s do a pass through the buildings. If you find salt or iron, take it. We move out in half an hour.”
“Salt?” says Max.
Dean scowls. “Is there an echo in here? Just do what I say, and meet back here in half an hour.”
Hesitantly, they split up, Jess lingering only until Dean pushes past her. The less he has to explain about Sam and Dad, the better.
Locusts wail in the fields outside town. Dean moves through the streets with military efficiency. Each house or building turns up a rusty knife here, a fire stoker there. Sarah and Andy are waiting in front of the saloon when he returns. “Dude,” Andy calls out, grinning, and hefts up two sacks of rock salt. Dean manages a smile.
“My favorite condiment.” He hands off two of his findings. “You guys seen Max yet?”
Sarah points past Dean’s shoulder. “He’s coming now.”
Max slouches across the town square, his long sleeves pushed up past his elbows. Angry bruises creep down over his skin, visible even at a distance. He’s carrying another bag of salt, and a fistful of railroad spikes. “That’ll help,” Dean says approvingly. Max keeps his head down as he trudges closer, ignoring Andy’s two thumbs up.
Mid-stride, a spasm wracks his body. He drops what he’s carrying; the railroad spikes scatter and roll in the dust. Andy frowns. “Max?”
Max clutches his chest, eyes wide. Blood begins spurting from his mouth and eyes and nose. “Holy shit!” yells Sarah, recoiling. Andy darts forward, but Max has already pitched face first to the ground, unmoving. Dean runs to his side and pulls him up by the shoulders; he flops limply, dead with hardly a sound. Sarah hangs back with the weapons and the salt, horror-stricken. Andy looks up at Dean, eyes huge.
“What the hell just happened?”
Jess emerges from the general store nearby, balancing a tower of tin cans. The cans scatter when she catches sight of Max and sprints into the street. “Holy shit,” she gasps. Sarah reaches for her, and they cling to each other, staring.
Dean stands up. “Back inside,” he says. “Grab our things and get in there. Lay down lines of salt at every window and every door.”
“Why?” Jess blubbers, hand splayed over her mouth. A bracelet catches in the sunlight, but no diamond. Dean pushes Andy toward the saloon.
“Because it keeps demons out, okay? Just go, do it! I’ll take care of Max.”
Andy scoops up what Max dropped. Sarah and Jess let go of each other and follow him away. Dean hefts Max over his shoulders. Max is already beginning to leak.
*
“I was awake the whole time,” Sam says as they barrel north on the highway. “I saw everything.”
“I’m so sorry,” says Meg, smaller than the dip in the passenger seat. “At least you only had to see it once.”
Sam laughs. It’s not a comforting sound. “Right. Just once.” Meg drops her eyes.
“I’m sorry, that was bad.” Her hair hangs in her face as she shakes her head. “I just… I hate these visions so much. And I thought I’d make this one in time. I’ve never seen it as clearly as for you, Sam.”
“You saw where Dean is?” he interrupts, gripping the wheel.
She bites her lip. “Yeah. Cold Oak, South Dakota. But that’s hundreds of miles.”
“You let me worry about that,” says Sam. The road rumbles beneath them.
*
“I have this awesome, awesome van,” Andy begins, unprompted.
Sarah stops picking rock salt from her nails. “Where’d that come from?” Jess straightens Sarah’s head from behind and continues braiding her long hair.
“Just, you know.” He starts to shrug, then changes his mind halfway through and scratches aimlessly at the back of his head. “Making conversation. I mean, as long we’re holed up here until this demon comes and kills us all.”
“Hey,” says Jess, firm and a little sharp. “Don’t talk like that. We’re all getting out of this just fine.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” says Andy, still smiling, but his voice has something strangled to it. “And where is Max right now again?”
“Hey. Andy.” Dean looks up from laying a salt line across the doorway. “Tell us about your van.”
For a moment Andy looks like he’s going to protest, like he’s reconsidered this reedy bravado thing in favor of just flipping his shit like any normal person, but he swallows and settles back against the wall. “So, like, right after I got my mind control thing? I snagged this awesome van. I wasn’t good enough to get the guy to give it to me, but I did get a sweet deal for it.” Sarah sighs and starts worrying at her manicure again. “I love it, man,” he continues. “It’s got everything I need. The back is all set up with, like, books and things on the wall and stuff. I have a freaking disco ball, man. It’s like, the kind of thing you always say you’re gonna get together while you’re in high school but you can’t, and it’s great. But the best part,” he continues, and his voice wavers, low and happy, “is the barbarian queen.”
Now Jess frowns. “The what now?”
Andy bobs his head. “Dude, so there’s this art college a few towns over, right? And I was having some beers with this guy, and we were talking about Barbarella.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Dean interjects, grinning.
Andy beams at him. “I know, right? So this guy is like, ‘You know what would be awesome?’” The pitch of his voice drops, and he nails the universal stoner accent. “‘This hot chick in, like, full-on Princess Leia gear, right? And she’s-wait for it-riding a polar bear. On your van.’ And I was like, Dude, you are so right! I didn’t even have to talk him into it!”
“Are you kidding me?” Sarah interrupts. She wrinkles her nose. “That sounds demeaning and ridiculous, not to mention ugly.”
Andy’s face falls. “But it-”
“I hear you, sister.” Jess combs through the loose half of Sarah’s tresses. “I almost did an art minor. Liberal arts solidarity, my friend.”
Sarah tilts her head back. “What did you end up with?”
Jess chuckles. “English, just as useful.”
Dean snorts. “Well, you two enjoy your Picasso and Rembrandt. We cretins will be in this corner discussing the finer things in life.”
“Hey,” pipes up Andy, “I like smart stuff too.” Dean shoots him a look of betrayal. Andy hunches his shoulders. “What? German philosophy. I grew up in Oklahoma, I had to make my own fun.” Sarah rolls her eyes.
Jess glances up at Dean as he lingers over the salt line. She holds a half-completed plait over Sarah’s shoulder. “I got it started. Is it okay if you finish?”
“Yeah,” says Sarah, taking her braid. “Thanks.”
Jess stands up and joins Dean. She edges him out into the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest. “Hey,” she says quietly, “where is Max?”
Dean checks past her shoulder, but no one is listening from the other room. “Out back,” he answers. “If he’s still around here, he’s not getting in.”
Jess frowns. “What do you mean?”
He rolls his shoulders. “Ghosts are born of violent deaths. Maybe he was a nice kid before, I don’t know. But I’m not putting it past him to stick around and take his dying out on us.”
“What?” she says. “We tried to stop it. Why would he be mad at us?”
Dean blinks at her. “Huh,” he says. “I guess ghosts aren’t too big a shock when you know demons are real.”
Jess summons a small smile. “I guess.” She bows her head, still hugging her elbows. “So, this is what you do. You and Sam.”
He huffs, his expression rueful. “What we’ve always done.”
She shakes her head. “I never knew. He never told me.”
Dean shrugs. “First rule of Fight Club: you do not talk about Fight Club.”
She looks up at him. “And what do you really call it?”
He watches her face for a moment. “Hunting,” he says. “We’re called hunters.”
“Hunters,” she says, tasting the word. She knits her brow. “He was a lawyer.”
“He left us to go be a lawyer,” Dean replies. “Sort of like the son of the Bearded Lady skipping the circus to go be a tax accountant.”
Jess shudders. “Hey, I don’t blame him. The way he talked about growing up, always moving around, college through correspondence courses?” She lifts her chin. “He’s brilliant, you know. To get into Stanford on that.” Dean just laughs and looks away. Jess frowns. “He didn’t want it for you,” she says fiercely. “He wanted you to have a home and a life of your own. That’s what he talked about. He talked about you.”
Dean sets his jaw. He keeps his eyes on Andy and Sarah. “Well, he’s a damn good hunter. He’ll find us. I’m sure of it. We’ve just got to take care of ourselves until then.” Jess’s face is strangely impassive. He cants his head. “You do want to see him again, right? It’s been four months.”
She blinks at him, puzzled. “That long?”
Her voice is quite soft.
[next]
Dean jerks upright, eyes adrenaline-wide. Dewy grass sticks in mats to his palms. Soft morning sun fills an eggshell blue sky. Dean’s throat is still ragged and tight. He pats down his jacket, but he’s got nothing, not his gun, not even his phone. His father’s blood stains his sleeves and pants. A creek burbles close by; beyond the rise of the bank, he can see the tops of buildings. Dean has a job in front of him. He has to figure out where he is. He pushes himself to his feet and starts away from the creek.
The town is quiet. Every old structure is warped, faded and abandoned. The glass in the windows is dark where it isn’t broken. Dean patrols the streets carefully, acutely aware of how exposed he is. The town square opens up at the next corner. An enormous windmill dominates the open space. Someone is staring at it, arms at his sides. Dean stops in his tracks. “Hey!” he calls out. “Hey!”
The guy turns around. He’s a slight, pale thing, with watery eyes and chapped lips. Though he looks Dean’s age, his hairline is already retreating. He neither moves nor speaks while Dean jogs up to him. “Hey,” he repeats. “What the hell is all this?”
“I don’t know,” the guy says, dispassionate. He nods. “I just woke up in that stable over there.”
Dean’s stomach turns a little. “You don’t remember how you got here?”
The guy doesn’t blink. “Nope.”
“Well,” he says, putting one hand to his chest, “I’m Dean.”
“Max,” he replies, after a moment.
Dean nods. “Max, I’m gonna need your help. You haven’t seen anyone else here, have you?”
He wrinkles his nose, squinting into the early morning sunlight. “Maybe at the window in one of the shops, but I think I was imagining it.”
Dean runs a palm over his face. “Okay, well, we’ve got to get the hell out of here. It’s dangerous to stay.”
Max frowns. “Dangerous?”
“You really think it’s a good idea to stick around?” He starts away from the windmill. “We need to leave, and now is better than sooner.”
“Hello?” They both turn at the new voice. “Hey, is someone out there?”
A girl and a guy emerge from down one of the crooked alleyways. He’s short and bewildered-looking, huddled into a rumpled hemp hoodie; she’s statuesque and dark-haired, a clutch in one manicured hand and a pair of silver high heels in the other.
“Who’re you guys?” says Max from behind Dean’s shoulder.
“I’m Sarah,” says the girl, pushing up a strap on her black dress.
The guy’s eyes focus for the first time. He clutches one elbow and brings a fist up against his mouth. “Andy,” he says, gnawing his thumb. “Not good in a crisis, just warning you.”
Dean weighs his options. “Okay. I’m Dean. This is Max. How long have you guys been here?”
Sarah tucks a limp ringlet behind her ear. “We both just woke up here. I was at a reception at my dad’s art gallery. I was fixing my makeup.”
Dean scrubs his hand over his face again. “No roads nearby, no place to get out?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. And my cell phone won’t pick up a signal. But this sure as hell isn’t Buffalo.”
“Have you guys seen anybody else here?” Sarah and Andy shake their heads, while Max continues to look wary and sullen. Dean turns in the direction he came. “There’s a creek close to here. If we follow that, we’re bound to come to something.”
Max snorts. “What are you, like, an Eagle Scout?”
Dean looks him in the eye. “I’m probably the only one here who knows what we’re dealing with here.”
“What - what would that be, exactly?” Andy asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Dean waves them after him. “We can do this walking.” He turns only to stop dead in his tracks. A tall blonde is approaching, one foot in front of the other, deerlike. She’s wearing skinny jeans, Chuck Taylors and a threadbare t-shirt. Her hair is longer, and tied back; her eyes are lamplight-wide.
Dean feels cold adrenaline jackrabbit under his skin. “Jess?”
All the hesitation vanishes. She runs over to Dean and throws her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. “Oh my God,” she sobs. Her fingers dig into his back. “Dean,” she whispers. “I can’t even tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“We’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles.
She pulls back, sniffling. “I tried to find you too. I tried-” Her eyes go wide again. “Sam. Dean, where is Sam? Is he okay? Is he here?” She glances over at Max, Andy and Sarah. “What’s going on?”
Sarah nods to herself. “I take it you two know each other.”
Jess wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. “He’s-yeah, he’s my fiancé’s brother. I’ve only actually met him once, but I’ve heard a lot of stories.” She manages a laugh, and her smile is so sunny Dean suddenly understands why Sam could think of choosing her first.
Andy peers. “You know how you got here?”
Jess runs her fingers through her curls. “No. I just woke up over in that empty shop.”
“I saw you,” says Max suddenly. “That was you.”
Dean frowns a little. “Where have you been?”
“If we’re not leaving, can we eat?” says Sarah. “I’m so hungry I could faint.”
“I found some things,” Jess says. “It’s not much, but it’s edible.”
A shiver rushes up Dean’s spine. “Fine,” he says, pushing it aside. “Let’s get some supplies and then get out of here.” Jess slips her arm through his and turns her face up at him.
“Back here,” she says, and leans into his side. He feels her trembling as they troop through the empty town.
*
“I’m a vegetarian,” Sarah announces, her arms crossed tight over her chest. The shell of a saloon is empty save for one lonely table, on top of which rest packages of gnarled jerky and crackers.
Jess arcs an unimpressed eyebrow. “Are you hungry?” Sarah purses her lips and reaches for the saltines. Dean hangs back and tries not to think about the taste of iron in his mouth.
“So,” says Sarah, brushing crumbs off her evening gown. “How come you two know each other?”
Dean looks up. “What?”
Sarah points between him and Jess. “You two. The three of us don’t know each other. I just think it’s weird.”
Andy eyes her sidelong. “More weird than any of the rest of this?”
“How weird has it been?” Jess takes a deep breath. “For you guys, I mean?” For a moment no one speaks.
Then Andy points at Max. “Do a handstand.”
Max frowns at him. “No.”
Andy stops. “Huh. Um. Okay.” He scratches his nose. “I can make people do things. When I tell them.” He offers another small wave. “I don’t know about you guys.”
“I get visions,” blurts out Jess. “Terrible dreams. I keep seeing people dying.”
“I can move things,” says Max, not meeting anyone’s eye.
Dean exchanges glances with Sarah, who squirms. “I get visions too,” he admits, his stomach curdling.
“Oh my God.” Jess presses a hand to her heart. “I don’t believe it. I thought it was just me.”
Dean frowns. “Did Sam know about this?”
“Why did we all show up here, then?” says Max, eyes still narrowed. His voice crackles over a rough throat.
For some reason, everyone looks at Dean. He swallows. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Yeah,” laughs Andy. “Because we’re doing so great right now anyway.”
He bows his head. “It’s a demon.”
Max snorts. “Give me a break.” But Sarah’s face has drained.
“The man with the yellow eyes?” she whispers, suddenly a lot less brassy. She hugs her elbows again. “He’s come to me a couple times,” she admits, retreating into her shoulders. “He scares the crap out of me.”
Andy’s jaw is dangling. “A demon?” he repeats.
“Yeah.” Dean avoids Jess’s eye.
“Wow.” Andy laughs and throws up his hands. “A demon? Great. Okay, yeah, that’s swell. How do we protect ourselves from a demon in the middle of a ghost town?”
“We get out here,” Dean repeats. “This sonofabitch doesn’t tell us what we do or where we go. Let’s do a pass through the buildings. If you find salt or iron, take it. We move out in half an hour.”
“Salt?” says Max.
Dean scowls. “Is there an echo in here? Just do what I say, and meet back here in half an hour.”
Hesitantly, they split up, Jess lingering only until Dean pushes past her. The less he has to explain about Sam and Dad, the better.
Locusts wail in the fields outside town. Dean moves through the streets with military efficiency. Each house or building turns up a rusty knife here, a fire stoker there. Sarah and Andy are waiting in front of the saloon when he returns. “Dude,” Andy calls out, grinning, and hefts up two sacks of rock salt. Dean manages a smile.
“My favorite condiment.” He hands off two of his findings. “You guys seen Max yet?”
Sarah points past Dean’s shoulder. “He’s coming now.”
Max slouches across the town square, his long sleeves pushed up past his elbows. Angry bruises creep down over his skin, visible even at a distance. He’s carrying another bag of salt, and a fistful of railroad spikes. “That’ll help,” Dean says approvingly. Max keeps his head down as he trudges closer, ignoring Andy’s two thumbs up.
Mid-stride, a spasm wracks his body. He drops what he’s carrying; the railroad spikes scatter and roll in the dust. Andy frowns. “Max?”
Max clutches his chest, eyes wide. Blood begins spurting from his mouth and eyes and nose. “Holy shit!” yells Sarah, recoiling. Andy darts forward, but Max has already pitched face first to the ground, unmoving. Dean runs to his side and pulls him up by the shoulders; he flops limply, dead with hardly a sound. Sarah hangs back with the weapons and the salt, horror-stricken. Andy looks up at Dean, eyes huge.
“What the hell just happened?”
Jess emerges from the general store nearby, balancing a tower of tin cans. The cans scatter when she catches sight of Max and sprints into the street. “Holy shit,” she gasps. Sarah reaches for her, and they cling to each other, staring.
Dean stands up. “Back inside,” he says. “Grab our things and get in there. Lay down lines of salt at every window and every door.”
“Why?” Jess blubbers, hand splayed over her mouth. A bracelet catches in the sunlight, but no diamond. Dean pushes Andy toward the saloon.
“Because it keeps demons out, okay? Just go, do it! I’ll take care of Max.”
Andy scoops up what Max dropped. Sarah and Jess let go of each other and follow him away. Dean hefts Max over his shoulders. Max is already beginning to leak.
*
“I was awake the whole time,” Sam says as they barrel north on the highway. “I saw everything.”
“I’m so sorry,” says Meg, smaller than the dip in the passenger seat. “At least you only had to see it once.”
Sam laughs. It’s not a comforting sound. “Right. Just once.” Meg drops her eyes.
“I’m sorry, that was bad.” Her hair hangs in her face as she shakes her head. “I just… I hate these visions so much. And I thought I’d make this one in time. I’ve never seen it as clearly as for you, Sam.”
“You saw where Dean is?” he interrupts, gripping the wheel.
She bites her lip. “Yeah. Cold Oak, South Dakota. But that’s hundreds of miles.”
“You let me worry about that,” says Sam. The road rumbles beneath them.
*
“I have this awesome, awesome van,” Andy begins, unprompted.
Sarah stops picking rock salt from her nails. “Where’d that come from?” Jess straightens Sarah’s head from behind and continues braiding her long hair.
“Just, you know.” He starts to shrug, then changes his mind halfway through and scratches aimlessly at the back of his head. “Making conversation. I mean, as long we’re holed up here until this demon comes and kills us all.”
“Hey,” says Jess, firm and a little sharp. “Don’t talk like that. We’re all getting out of this just fine.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” says Andy, still smiling, but his voice has something strangled to it. “And where is Max right now again?”
“Hey. Andy.” Dean looks up from laying a salt line across the doorway. “Tell us about your van.”
For a moment Andy looks like he’s going to protest, like he’s reconsidered this reedy bravado thing in favor of just flipping his shit like any normal person, but he swallows and settles back against the wall. “So, like, right after I got my mind control thing? I snagged this awesome van. I wasn’t good enough to get the guy to give it to me, but I did get a sweet deal for it.” Sarah sighs and starts worrying at her manicure again. “I love it, man,” he continues. “It’s got everything I need. The back is all set up with, like, books and things on the wall and stuff. I have a freaking disco ball, man. It’s like, the kind of thing you always say you’re gonna get together while you’re in high school but you can’t, and it’s great. But the best part,” he continues, and his voice wavers, low and happy, “is the barbarian queen.”
Now Jess frowns. “The what now?”
Andy bobs his head. “Dude, so there’s this art college a few towns over, right? And I was having some beers with this guy, and we were talking about Barbarella.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Dean interjects, grinning.
Andy beams at him. “I know, right? So this guy is like, ‘You know what would be awesome?’” The pitch of his voice drops, and he nails the universal stoner accent. “‘This hot chick in, like, full-on Princess Leia gear, right? And she’s-wait for it-riding a polar bear. On your van.’ And I was like, Dude, you are so right! I didn’t even have to talk him into it!”
“Are you kidding me?” Sarah interrupts. She wrinkles her nose. “That sounds demeaning and ridiculous, not to mention ugly.”
Andy’s face falls. “But it-”
“I hear you, sister.” Jess combs through the loose half of Sarah’s tresses. “I almost did an art minor. Liberal arts solidarity, my friend.”
Sarah tilts her head back. “What did you end up with?”
Jess chuckles. “English, just as useful.”
Dean snorts. “Well, you two enjoy your Picasso and Rembrandt. We cretins will be in this corner discussing the finer things in life.”
“Hey,” pipes up Andy, “I like smart stuff too.” Dean shoots him a look of betrayal. Andy hunches his shoulders. “What? German philosophy. I grew up in Oklahoma, I had to make my own fun.” Sarah rolls her eyes.
Jess glances up at Dean as he lingers over the salt line. She holds a half-completed plait over Sarah’s shoulder. “I got it started. Is it okay if you finish?”
“Yeah,” says Sarah, taking her braid. “Thanks.”
Jess stands up and joins Dean. She edges him out into the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest. “Hey,” she says quietly, “where is Max?”
Dean checks past her shoulder, but no one is listening from the other room. “Out back,” he answers. “If he’s still around here, he’s not getting in.”
Jess frowns. “What do you mean?”
He rolls his shoulders. “Ghosts are born of violent deaths. Maybe he was a nice kid before, I don’t know. But I’m not putting it past him to stick around and take his dying out on us.”
“What?” she says. “We tried to stop it. Why would he be mad at us?”
Dean blinks at her. “Huh,” he says. “I guess ghosts aren’t too big a shock when you know demons are real.”
Jess summons a small smile. “I guess.” She bows her head, still hugging her elbows. “So, this is what you do. You and Sam.”
He huffs, his expression rueful. “What we’ve always done.”
She shakes her head. “I never knew. He never told me.”
Dean shrugs. “First rule of Fight Club: you do not talk about Fight Club.”
She looks up at him. “And what do you really call it?”
He watches her face for a moment. “Hunting,” he says. “We’re called hunters.”
“Hunters,” she says, tasting the word. She knits her brow. “He was a lawyer.”
“He left us to go be a lawyer,” Dean replies. “Sort of like the son of the Bearded Lady skipping the circus to go be a tax accountant.”
Jess shudders. “Hey, I don’t blame him. The way he talked about growing up, always moving around, college through correspondence courses?” She lifts her chin. “He’s brilliant, you know. To get into Stanford on that.” Dean just laughs and looks away. Jess frowns. “He didn’t want it for you,” she says fiercely. “He wanted you to have a home and a life of your own. That’s what he talked about. He talked about you.”
Dean sets his jaw. He keeps his eyes on Andy and Sarah. “Well, he’s a damn good hunter. He’ll find us. I’m sure of it. We’ve just got to take care of ourselves until then.” Jess’s face is strangely impassive. He cants his head. “You do want to see him again, right? It’s been four months.”
She blinks at him, puzzled. “That long?”
Her voice is quite soft.
[next]