3. Meet the Winchesters
For a while, nobody says anything; Dean just guns it down the road. We're lucky no cop cars are nearby. But I doubt they'd try and catch us anyway, some of the speeds we're going would be enough to scare a cop, probably.
I roll down the window partway, practically sticking my head out. Keep it together, you're alive. That's the big thing. You're alive. You're with strangers, you're in some strange shit, but you're alive. My stomach is tumbling.
"All right, whose bright idea was it to bring the homeless with us?" Dean asks.
"We couldn't just leave her there, Dean," Sam says. He looks to me, concerned. "You okay?"
"G-give me a minute," I say, sticking my head back out the window, letting the wind try and take my panic with it. "You two definitely aren't cops." I keep the bile down. "Is it bad that I wish I was on some hallucinogen right now so there was a reasonable explanation to this?"
"You seem to be handling it alright," Dean adds. "You're not passed out. And don't even think about getting sick. If you do, it goes out the window and doesn't touch the car."
"I'll try." I close my eyes, pull my head back in, and take deep breaths. "You know it wouldn't be an awkward car ride without me asking questions."
"Another time. I've got one for you while we're running. I need a name to the pain in the ass we brought along."
"Natasha," I say curtly. He doesn't need to know my real name, anyway. None of these men do. "Manners isn't your forte, is it?"
"What did you want, a formal interview?"
"Enough," Sam calls to order. I open my eyes and turn my head to him wearily. "Y-you better pull over somewhere soon, Dean. Somebody might lose it."
Not long after we pass under a long bridge, Dean decides to pull over. Henry and I get out of the car in unison and go our separate ways. I hunch over, gagging, while I hear Henry make vomit noises a distance away. I shake violently. Easy, easy. Keep it inside. Somehow, I don't puke. I feel accomplished.
I should feel more so since I didn't faint, like Dean said.
After a few more minutes to ensure nothing is going to come out of me, I walk back to the car and rejoin Sam and Dean. We watch-me with pitiful eyes-as Henry continues to vomit. Once we're assured that it's safe to approach, the three of us go to Henry.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yes, I will be," Henry tells me. Him spewing vomit again tells me another story. At least he's decent enough to wipe his mouth with a handkerchief. "It's just all the adventures I enjoy are usually of the literary nature."
"Yeah, well, now that you're done blowing chunks, you want to tell us who Betty Crocker was?" Dean asks.
"Abaddon. She's a demon."
Demon. The word resonates with me. Henry says it so casually, like it's no big deal, like demons are a natural thing where he's from. Where is he from? That question has yet to be asked. I'm stuck in shock from hearing the woman that we just escaped from is a demon. Well, it explains how she threw Sam and Dean around without lifting a finger. I knew she wasn't human, but I didn't think she'd be that.
"No kidding," says Sam. "Where'd she come from?"
"Where'd you come from?" Dean asks the critical question.
"She's from Hell," says Henry. "I'm from Normal, Illinois-nineteen fifty-eight."
"Yeah, right. Seriously? Dudes time-travelling through motel-room closets? That's what we've come to?"
For some reason, the word demon scares me more than dudes time-travelling through motel closets. It's got to be because I witnessed the time-travel. I'm not exactly exposed to demons.
"If you could just take me to John, we could clear this all up, I'm sure," Henry insists.
"I've told you that's not gonna happen," Dean tells him.
"Why not?"
"Because he's dead!" Clearly, this isn't the first time Dean has had to tell someone this news. Questions pop into my head. How long has it been since then? How did it happen? Not that it's my business to know. I can't help my curiosity.
Henry doesn't believe it, it's so obvious in his face. "No." He turns away.
"What's it to you?" Sam asks.
"Everything. I'm his father."
"I don't even know what's going on, and even I don't believe that," I speak up, my voice pitchy. "I can maybe get that you're from a different era and that this Abaddon chick is a-a demon, but not that."
"H-how can you not believe...?" Henry sighs. "I can prove it."
"How?" Dean demands.
"I'll show you. Besides"-Henry looks at me-"I'm not trying to prove it to you, but to them." He nods towards Sam and Dean.
"Well, we can do it someplace that's not in the middle of nowhere," I suggest, heading back to the car. The three men stare at me. "What? Come on!"
I get in the car and wait, watch the men as they have a further discussion. Dean's very worked up, I can see it in his face and posture. Sam and Henry seem like they have their heads pretty clear. Dean eventually storms off from them both and huffs as he gets in the car. Once Henry and Sam are back in, Dean starts the car, and we're back on the road again.
* * *
We take shelter at a small diner. I find a booth with Henry as Sam and Dean talk in private. They have to be evaluating the validity of Henry's information. On the way to the diner, he'd shown us a driver's license and said various things to try and sway us all onto his side. Like Henry said, it's not me he has to convince.
I have my hands on the table, folded, and my eyes looking around everywhere. It's been ages since I've been someplace that smells nice and doesn't seem threatening. My stomach rumbled the moment we stepped foot in here. I'm very tempted to get something, but I can't pay for anything at the moment, and I don't think any of the guys feels charitable enough to cover me.
My eyes bug a little with hunger as Dean and Sam come back with trays of food. Four trays, I might add. Holy...am I seeing this right now? Food? Actual food? Not scraps? It takes all the restraint in the world for me to remain calm and not go into a gorge fest.
"How you doing?" Sam asks. Whether to Henry, me, or both of us, I'm not sure.
"I'm not sure food is the best thing for me," I say.
"It'll settle your stomach. Take something, come on."
I smile sheepishly as I take a basket. Chicken fingers and fries. It sounds so simple, but it feels like I've struck gold. I know whose idea it was to do this.
"I'll be fine," Henry says once he sees me take a bite of chicken. "After all, despite everything, I've just met my grandsons, haven't I?" He holds out a hand to Sam. "Henry Winchester. It's a pleasure."
"Sam," Sam says as he shakes his grandfather's hand.
"Hello, Sam." Henry extends a hand to Dean, but Dean bluntly takes a basket of food and sets it down in front of Henry. I give Dean a stink eye, not that it phases him any.
"Dinner," he says.
"This is Dean," Sam says awkwardly on his brother's behalf. It's hard to say who's older. Dean could be the oldest, but right now, he's acting like the younger one. Sam's taller than Dean by a few inches, but I can't do who's older based on height.
"Right."
"Well, this has been touching," says Dean. "How about we figure out how to clean up your mess, huh?"
"Abaddon. Yes. She must be stopped."
"How come she didn't die when I stabbed her?"
I look around frantically, seeing a scarce amount of people. The last thing I need is for someone to overhear and call the police. I don't want to be linked to suspected murderers, and I certainly don't want to land in jail for a stupid comment. But a cell would be better than where I was before today.
"Because demons can't be killed by run-of-the-mill cutlery," says Henry. "At the very least, you'd need an ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds."
My eyes widen as Dean partially exposes a knife partway out of his jacket. Well, I'm not a demon, so I don't think my head's on the chopping block. I'm glad he didn't put that through my heart in the parking lot.
"That's what this is," he says.
"Where'd you get that?" Henry asks.
Dean puts the knife away. "Demon gave it to me. We've been around this block so many times."
I open my mouth, but then close it. I know it'll be a stupid question to ask that will only get a retort from Dean as an answer. It's not worth it to get into a fight with him right now. Not when I'm trying to absorb this stranger-by-the-minute situation.
"Now, that portal or whatever it was you came through-is it still open?" Sam asks.
"I highly doubt it," Henry says. "Why?"
"I'm just thinking if we can't kill this Abaddon-"
"-maybe we can shove her back where she came from," Dean finishes. "How did you do it?"
"It's a blood sigil," Henry explains. "Blood leads to blood. Or their next of kin."
"But Abaddon came through it, also, right?" Sam reminds us. "So can you create this blood sigil again?"
"My blood, an angel feather, tears of a dragon, a pinch of the sands of time-I-I would need those and...at least a week for my soul to recharge, but, yes, it's possible."
"You tapped the power of your soul to get here? I thought only angels could do that."
I can easily walk out this diner door and never look back. I should do that. What is being talked about is asylum worthy. Demons and people travelling out of motel room closets? Angel feathers? Dragon tears? The Winchester brothers meeting their grandfather, who isn't half-bad looking? Blood sigils? My head is reeling, but somehow I still have grip on reality. What they're talking about is reality, though. To them, but not to everyone else.
"You should know this," Henry states. "What level are you two?"
"What level?" Dean asks.
"Level of knowledge. You're Men of Letters, correct?"
The name peaks my interest as I pop a few more salty fries into my mouth. I'm trying to savor each bite, but it's hard when every taste is Heaven in my mouth. Sam and Dean look at each other. Like me, they don't know what Henry means.
"I'm a little rusty on my boy bands," says Dean. "Men of what?"
"Men of Letters, like your father, who taught you our ways."
"Our father taught us how to be hunters," Sam says.
Hunters. So that's what they do. I have a feeling that their game is a lot most would deem mythical and non-existent. Just a hunch.
Henry laughs. "You're not. Are you? Hunters? Well, hunters are...Hunters are apes. You're supposed to-you're legacies."
"Legacies of what?"
A smile touches Henry's face. "Let me show you."
**Part 1 starting to make sense now? :)
Fun fact: I thought about having Natasha be her real name but then the fun idea of her having an alias came to mind.**