23. Lincoln Springs, Missouri
"What the hell is this?"
I groan loudly. We've been at this since after dinner. While Sam's typing away on his laptop, Dean and I are taking inventory. Smart on my part, I actually have a pen and paper and document whatever Dean pulls out of the boxes.
Our object up for naming: a long, thin box.
"Spear of Destiny?" Dean rants. I scribble the name down. "What is this-God's toothpick? You know, would it have killed these asshats to label these boxes in something other than hieroglyphics? It's ridiculous."
"It's probably because only they could understand the writing." I shrug. "Next." I look past our archiving to watch Sam. He seems like he's in his own little world. "Hey, Sam, you with us?"
"Yeah," he says absently. "It's uh..." He clears his throat. "Fascinating stuff. You should probably, uh, write it all down in your journal for the archives, you know?" Another clearing of the throat.
"Someone's not aware," I retort. "Dean didn't think to take notes."
"That's why you're my secretary," he mutters as he rummages through a box. "Can't do it all in one shot."
My head picks up at hearing Sam's obnoxious coughing in the next room. "You okay, Sam?"
All I get is more coughing.
"Hey, Doc Holliday, you all right over there?" Dean adds.
"Uh, yeah," Sam sputters. I swallow as I watch Sam's reaction after putting a napkin to his mouth. Don't make it a big issue right now. If Dean doesn't want to address it, do it yourself. "Um...I'm fine. Just, uh, wrong pipe."
Wrong pipe, my ass, I want to say.
"Well, hello," I catch Dean saying. "These Men of Letters weren't so boring after all. Konnichiwa."
"I'm not putting that on the list," I grumble as Dean's found, somehow, a porn magazine. I snort derisively. I keep my eyes off the rated-R pictures. "Don't know how they found any...free time."
"Hey, check this out." Dean moves away to show the magazine to Sam.
"Dude, what is wrong with you?" Sam asks.
"Can I answer that question?" I ask eagerly. "Better yet, can you let me answer it?"
"What's wrong with me?" Dean repeats. "You kidding me? This is a first edition, dude. You know what this would go for on eBay?"
"No," Sam says. "Why? Do you?"
"No. Maybe. Shut up. You find anything?" Dean sits on the other side of the map table, where the trash can might be in his view. Maybe he'll see the bloody napkin.
"I did, yeah-uh, dead bodies showing up all over the Midwest last week. Benton, Indiana; Downers Grove, Illinois; uh, Novi, Michigan; and then again last night in Lincoln Springs, Missouri."
"And how is this us?"
"Because each of the victims had severe burns around their eyes, hands, and feet, puncture wounds through the backs of their hands, eyes and internal organs liquefied."
Dean smacks his lips. "That sounds like us."
"Yeah. Also, no link between any of the victims. Uh, one was a real-estate agent. Another was a local historian. Woman killed last night was a teacher."
"So, chupacabra, what do we got? Power tools gone rogue? Wait-are we talking a-a 'Maximum Overdrive' situation here?"
"I don't know. Worth a shot, though. I'll grab my gear. We should probably leave in five."
"Mhm." Dean's focus has now shifted back to the magazine.
"'Less of course, you need some more time with Miss October."
"What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, make it ten."
"If he's not done by then, I'll go with you," I offer to Sam.
Sam chuckles, then gets up and heads out. I put down the notepad and paper and cross into the other room, immediately grabbing the waste basket. I flick the magazine, and Dean puts it down, glaring at me. Wordlessly, I gesture to the waste basket.
Dean stretches up to see inside. He and I exchange a mutual frown.
"He's getting worse," I say quietly. "Maybe this should stop, Dean."
"Stop?" I get him away from the magazine, at least. "We're only two tasks away from shutting down Hell for good!"
"You won't be able to if the trials shut down your brother first!" I set the waste basket down. "And there's no way in Hell that you're gonna try that if something does happen to Sam. It's got to be called off, Dean."
"Sam said that he's okay."
"Does that look okay to you?" I point to the waste basket. "Does he sound okay? Tell me how your brother is okay, Dean." I cross my arms.
"Look, if things go south, I'll take my shot."
My mouth hangs open. "Did you not hear a word I just said?!"
"Who are you to say what I can and can't do, Max?"
"Gee, I don't know, I'm a resident in this bunker!" I shift my weight. "If Sam doesn't handle it, what makes you think you will? Oh, let me guess," I cut him off, "you think you're stronger than him. Or is it a goal of yours to commit suicide before you're forty?!" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Just-let's go. He's probably waiting outside."
"Oh, so you want to be a part of it now?"
"If you want to be ignorant about your brother's health, then fine, go ahead."
"I'm not ignoring his health."
"But you're not confronting him about it." I head for the stairs, making my feet extra heavy so that they echo behind me as I exit. I can feel my pulse thundering in my ears. Sometimes it's hard to say if Dean actually cares about Sam. He'll act like he does one second, and the next...
I feel like punching something. I feel like shooting something. Maybe what we'll be going after will involve one of the two activities.
* * *
I sleep the majority of the ride to Lincoln Springs, Missouri. The first stop is the Morton house, where Sam and Dean talk to the husband, Mr. Morton. Since I don't have an outfit to match (I didn't think to bring it along for the ride), I remain inside the backseat of the Impala. Their visit is short, and from what they gather, someone's killing demons. Well, it's about damn time someone is killing those bastards. But we're left with a lot of nothing: no guesses, no suspects, and no motives.
Our next stop is Wendy Rice's place. She's the last person that spoke with the latest victim.
"Sure," says Sam. "Of course." He's been on the phone since we've been on the way to Wendy Rice's house. We come to a halt in a residential area. The Impala falls silent. "Well, thank you very much for all your help. I really appreciate the time."
Sam is the first out of the car, Dean almost follows suit. Ever since our argument back in the bunker about his brother, there's ice between us.
"You still got it?" He looks at me through the mirror.
"Yeah." Since I'm not in federal agent gear, I'm stuck to being weaponized with a handgun, just in case. It's loaded with salt shells, good to keep demons away. "Hopefully, I don't have to call out for help if I'm attacked. The gun should do that for me."
"Stay here, all right?"
"Where can I go?"
Dean ignores my sass and exits the car. I watch the professionally-dressed brothers as they walk to the house. Sam knocks on the door, and a woman covered in blue and purple curlers answers the door. Already she looks like a trip.
Once the boys are inside and the door is closed, all I can do is watch and wait.
If the keys had been left in the Impala, I would have turned on some music just for background noise. The silence of the area bothers me. I rap my fingers on my thigh before that gets old pretty fast. Who knows how long it'll be before they come back? That woman did seem like a blubbering, blushing mess when in the Winchesters' presence. Someone needed to keep herself in control. They're here for business, certainly not pleasure.
I begin to want to doze off, but the sight of three men approaching Wendy Rice's house wakes me right up. I feel for the gun, having my other hand on the door handle. Something smells fishy.
I watch as one of the men knocks on the door repeatedly. I bite my tongue lightly, waiting. Once the door is open, the three men barge in, and I know that's my cue. I launch myself out of the Impala, running with the gun at my side.
I can hear Wendy's scream and the familiar scuffles of a fight. I hike to the front door to see Wendy thrown across her living room, smashing a coffee table. I'm nearly thrown into a wall as one of the men knocks me out of the way. I decide to try and shoot at him. All I get is grass. Grimacing, I turn back to the rest of the fight.
I train my gun on the black smoke that flies out of one of the men. My blue eyes bug in horror as the smoke shoots into Wendy's mouth. She's up, her eyes pitch black. Is that how mine turned out when I was possessed? I wasn't able to see it at the time; I had been a backseat driver in my own body.
Demon-Wendy runs for another door, and I try and take a shot at her. I end up injuring one of the living rooms walls. My other instinct tells me to try and fire a shot on the third demon who's battling Sam, but I can't risk hurting the younger Winchester. I have to watch and try to pick my opportune moment to jump in and help.
But the fight stops long before I can help.
I'm stuck in my tracks as the demon has blinding light protruding from his eyes and his mouth. I have my gun trained on the figure that's behind the fallen demon's body before it collapses. I look at the new player in the game with guarded eyes.
Whoever he is, he's got Demon-Wendy by her curlers.
"Put it down, Max," Sam tells me softly. "He's not gonna hurt us."
"Really?"
"He's not a demon."
"It's over, Max. There is no need for the weapon," says the stranger.
For some reason, my mind puts together a name: Cas. Is this Cas? If he is who I think he is, he terrifies me. He killed a demon from within its vessel. If this is Cas, and he had been in the bunker, would I have ended like that?
Figuring it's better for everyone in the room, I put the gun down, but I'm still wary.
**Aaaaand I'm kicking off Part 2 with a rather loud bang!
Max finally meets Cas :D**