Kevin came back out into the main compartment after showering and shaving, wearing a fresh change of clothes. I immediately relaxed upon seeing him.
"Okay, I feel a lot better," he admitted.
"Hey, Kevin, buddy, you got to slow down," I told him.
"What?"
"Get some shut-eye. Take a day off. Open a window."
"No," he shook his head. "You said nuking Hell- that's how I get out. That's how I go home."
"Right, it is, but Ellie has a point," Sam chimed in. "You can't live like this."
"You think I want to? I hate it here. I can't leave because every demon on the planet wants to peel my face off. I can't talk to anyone except you guys or Garth, when he swings by, or my mom. Right? And when she calls, all she does is cry. I just... I need this to be over."
My heart clenched in my chest in sympathy as Sam nodded his head.
"I know. I do. But trust us on this- this whole 'saving the world' thing- it's a marathon, not a sprint. You got to take better care of yourself."
Before we could discuss further, the door to the compartment squeaked open and Dean entered carrying several plastic grocery bags.
"Hey. Did you know there are, like, 6,000 kinds of tomatoes?" he asked, setting the bags on the table. "Did you find anything?"
"Yeah, demon signs, 10 years ago, all centered around Shoshone, Idaho," Sam replied.
"Okay, well, big-time mojo means big-time freak. So, anybody have a horseshoe shoved up his ass?"
"That's one way of putting it," Sam chuckled, turning his laptop around for us to see. "Meet the Cassitys, small-time farmers who struck oil on their land in February of '03, which is weird because-"
"You had me at weird," Dean cut him off. "Alright. We thinking deal?"
"Best lead we got."
"Well, let's go visit the Beverly Hillbillies. You stay here," Dean addressed Kevin, "work on step number two, and, uh, if you come across anything about hellhounds, drop a dime, okay? Because between the claws and the teeth, those bitches can be real... bitches."
I facepalmed at his poor word choice as he turned and rummaged through one of the bags on the table, and pulled out two bottles.
"I got you a present," he handed the bottles to Kevin one at a time. "The, uh, blue ones are for the headaches and the greens are for pep. Don't O.D."
"Thanks?"
After smacking Kevin on the arm, Sam and Dean started out the door, but I hung back for a moment longer.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked him.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I'll be fine. You should get going."
I nodded, giving him a small smile before heading out the door after Sam and Dean.
⁘
The Cassity farm was very nice, neat, and, in my personal opinion, a bit much. The gates opened automatically for the Impala, allowing us to drive right up to the barn on the grounds near the mansion.
"Alright, keep an eye out," Dean addressed us as he cut the engine. "Anybody with a hellhound on their ass is going to be showing signs- hallucinating, freaking out- the usual."
"And if we find someone?" I quirked an eyebrow at him in the rearview mirror.
"You get 'em clear," he grabbed the demon-killing knife. "I spike fido, the crowd goes wild."
After he pocketed the knife, we all climbed out of the car and we made our way toward the barn where a tractor was parked with someone working on a dolly underneath it.
"Hey, pal, who runs this joint?" Dean asked.
A pretty young Hispanic woman slid out from beneath the tractor and stood up. When I saw Dean's reaction, I slapped him upside the head. When she spoke, the woman had a slight accent.
"You're looking at her."
"You... own the ranch?" Sam asked.
"Nope, just manage the property. You guys here about the job?"
"How'd you guess?" I inquired.
"We get our share of drifters," she replied.
"Ah."
"Ever worked a farm before?"
"Definitely," Dean nodded.
The woman eyed Dean skeptically, and Sam jumped in.
"We're quick learners."
Another man approached us then.
"Ellie... who we got here?" he asked the woman.
I quirked an eyebrow as Dean introduced us.
"I'm Dean. This is Sam and Eleanor."
"Oh," the man said as Ellie 2.0 and I eyed each other. "Carl Granville. A pleasure."
"Pleasure," Sam nodded, shaking Carl's hand. "So you're not a Cassity?"
"No, my wife is. Her and her family own the place. I'm just one of those, uh- what you call 'em?" he patted his somewhat pudgy belly. "-trophy husbands."
He laughed and looked at Ellie.
"So, we, uh, hiring the fellas?"
"Not sure yet," she replied, still having a glare off with me.
"Oh, come on. They seem like a swell bunch."
"Well, he's right," Dean cut in. "We're swell."
Ellie showed us where our room was while we were staying on the farm.
"You bed down in here. Breakfast is at 5:00, dinner is at 8:00, and in between, you're mine. Questions?"
"I miss our room," Dean muttered.
"We're good," I informed her with a forced smile, giving her a death-glare with my eyes.
"Okay. Job is yours if you want it. But I better warn you- it's crap work."
⁘
"Crap- she literally meant crap," Dean grunted as he dumped manure into a wheelbarrow.
He walked over to where a horse was sticking its head out of its stall and got in its face.
"I hate you."
I giggled, shaking my head as I leaned on my own shovel.
"Don't hate the horse, Dean," I grinned. "All living things do it."
He glared over at me as a woman's voice carried over to us.
"I don't care. Do I look like a hippie?"
We looked over to see Ellie talking to a woman in a skirt and blouse with high heels on her feet.
"Organic food is better for the cattle," Ellie insisted.
"My land, my animals, my money, my way- end of story."
The woman walked away then, and Ellie sighed.
"She's a real piece of work, huh?" Dean asked, leaning on his shovel like I had been just moments earlier.
"Alice Cassity's a piece of something, alright. But what are we gonna do? She's the boss."
"Drink?"
Ellie didn't respond, just walking away and Dean turned back to face Sam and I.
"What?" he asked when he saw my expression.
"Hi, I'm Ellie," I started sarcastically. "Your wife."
"I wasn't-"
"Sure you weren't."
"So, what are we thinking?" Sam interrupted our argument.
"What, deal wise?" Dean asked. "Well, Ellie's the help, so that rules her out."
"And Carl doesn't really seem like the sell-your-sell type," Sam added before I could make another snarky comment. "So, Alice?"
"Ding-ding-ding."
"Should we talk to her?"
"Why? So she can lie to us and then call the cops? No. No, we're gonna have to go stalker on this one, Sammy."