Running From Insanity

5. Not All Hunters Are Normal

"All right, well, call us if he wakes up or, you know, anything. Yeah, fine. Thanks for your help, Meg." Dean's phone beeped as he ended the call. His face curled into a frown as Sam and I looked over expectantly. "What a bitch."

"So, Cas is the same then?" Sam asked, trying to get a little information than his opinion of the demon.

I still can't believe they're real, I thought.

"Yeah, down to the drool," Dean replied. Sam hummed in response. I sat back in the backseat of our new car and closed my eyes, ready for a cat nap.

It was a red AMC Pacer, the worst car in the history of cars. Ugly. Bulky. Something no one would want to look at. Which is what they wanted. Sigh. Sam was driving, so I sat behind him.

I wouldn't get one anytime soon.

"By the way, how is your custard?" Dean asked Sam, switching his gaze from the view of the road and his brother.

"It's all right. It's getting better," Sam responded with a sigh. "Just wish it wasn't like the damn tape from "The Ring." I mean, I feel like I'm okay 'cause I passed on the crazy."

"No, you didn't. You heard what Cas said."

Technically, he did, Dean. Castiel now has his madness.

Just as Dean's phone rang, again, Sam started his reply.

"Let's–let's not. You know what?"

I sighed as Dean ignored his brother. It seemed to be a common thing for him to do. I was actually surprised that he'd let me come along. His eyes when he first saw me, it was different. Like he knew me. Like he knew what had happened all those years ago... but I was just reading too much into it. Nothing was going on. Nothing at all.

Dean grabbed his phone and put it under his ear. "Hello?" I could faintly hear the person on the other line, so I slid closer to him.

"Hey, Dean. It's Garth."

"What kind of name is Garth?" I asked, whispering into Dean's ear.

"Shh!" he scolded. I leaned back and frowned. "Wait. W-who is this?"

"Garth. Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth. We worked together on that demon thing? You owe me one?" the man on the other line answered. Something seemed to click in Dean's expression like he really did know this person.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, how you doing, Garth?"

"I'm ready to cash in that chip, Bra. There's something brewing in Junction City, Kansas."

Dean's facial expression hardened and his knuckles turned white from his grip on the phone. "I'm on the way." With that, he hung up. Sam and I sat back and waited for him to explain. He never did.

~*~

Before we came over, we stopped at a store so I could rack up on clothes. The main thing they wanted me to get was a pants suit. I didn't ask questions as I quickly picked one up and grabbed a few more outfits for normal wear. My fashion style had changed in the past ten years. Converse had changed to boots, though I still did like them. I'd become skinnier, so muscle shirts fitted me well.

We were then walking into a morgue—being escorted by the coroner— Garth was supposed to meet us there so we could examine the victim. Somehow, they'd managed to get me a fake FBI badge and said they would work on getting me more later.

"So," I whispered to Sam. "You look at dead people often?"

He shoved me playfully as we walked into the room where the victim was. "Shut up." We rounded the corner to find a scrawny guy in a... military uniform?