"Come on you son of a bitch," Dean muttered as he thumped the jukebox with his hand. Looking at Sam as he talked to your dad, but then shifted your gaze to see Dean getting his frustrations out on a jukebox. Getting up, you walked over to him before standing to the side of the juke.
"Having trouble?"
"This fucking thing won't start," Dean groaned.
"Check this out," you grinned as your hands glowed a bright blue. Wiggling your eyebrows at Dean, you made sure no one was watching before placing both your hands to each side of the box. Almost immediately, it fired to life and music started playing softly over the speakers.
"You shouldn't be using your magic in public," Dean lightly scolded.
"If I have it, may as well enjoy it."
"Weren't you the one who told us you were scared shitless about the things you can do? You're acting like this is no big deal."
"It's the only way I can cope with it, you know? I have to entertain myself somehow," you sighed, looking over at Sam once he hung up. "Come on," you and Dean walked back to Sam as soon as he started typing.
"What did my dad say?"
"He found something in Wyoming."
"A job?"
"Maybe," Sam said as Dean bit into his burger.
"Small town, no one's died in the past week and a half."
"That's so unusual?" you asked with a small smile.
"Well, it's how they're not dying. One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice. Another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch," Sam explained as he turned his laptop so you can Dean could read what is on screen. Each tab he had opened was for the Greybull Gazette with the top article that reads: Shooting victim walks away unharmed. Right underneath that, it reads: Police and medical authorities are struggling for an explanation as to why local resident Jim Jenkins was able to walk away from a point-blank shooting incident. After leaving Bison Bud's Bar, Mr. Jenkins and friend Pete Hensley were confronted by a mugger in a nearby alley. After a brief altercation, the mugger fired a shot from a 9mm Automatic, hitting Jenkins...
"Police say Mr. Jenkins was shot in the heart at point-blank range by a nine-millimeter," Sam said as he turned the laptop back around.
"And he's not a doughnut?" Dean asked with his mouth full.
"Locals are saying it's a miracle. It's got to be something nasty, right? I mean, people making deals or something."
"You think so?" you asked.
"What else would it be?"
"I don't know."
"Alright, get that to go," Sam told his brother as he packed up. Dean gave you a look once before placing his burger down and brushes his hands together to get the crumbs off.
"And I know just the cover," you grinned.
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"Now, you three said you were bloggers?" Jim asked once you got there. He invited you into his home to talk about what happened to him. Thinking bloggers about the lord were better than FBI, the brothers gave your idea a shot.
"Yes, sir. Flooredbythelord.com," you chuckled.
"All of God's glory fit to blog," Dean grins, giving you and Sam a glance.
"Um. Some of the people around town are saying what happened to you was a miracle," Sam started.
"It was. Plain as day."
"How can you be so sure?"
"How else do you explain it? The doctors can't. There's a bullet in my heart, and it's pumping like a piston."
"How do you explain it?" you asked gently. Jim hesitated as he looked over at his daughter and wife in the next room as they colored together.
"Look, honestly, I was nobody's saint—not exactly father of the year, either. But when that guy shot me and I didn't bleed a drop? I just knew the Lord was giving me a second chance. I had this feeling—like angels were watching over me. I wouldn't expect you guys to understand."
"We can try," you shrugged lightly.
"You wouldn't have happened to have swung by a crossroads in the past week or so?" Sam asked.
"No."
"Maybe you met someone? With black eyes? Or red?"
"Who'd you guys say you were again?" Jim asked suspiciously. Exchanging glances with the brothers, you got up since that was your cue to leave.
"Never mind. Thank you for your time." Following your lead, the brothers walked to the car before getting inside. "Sam, you should check out the cancer guy. Dean and I can do some more research to find out who the last person to die was. We can go from there."
"Sounds good," both brothers agreed before Dean started the car. Once Sam found out where the cancer guy lived, Dean dropped him off before heading straight to the motel room. Once inside, you got to work on finding out who the last person to die was. It took all night, but the earliest you could find was ten days ago. As soon as you found the article, Sam entered the motel room.
"Find anything?" you asked.
"That cancer survivor? He was clinically dead, his wife pulled the plug, and now he's taking her out for their twentieth anniversary."
"No sign of a deal?"
"None. What about you two? Found anyone dying around here?"
"Not since Cole Griffith," Dean answered, enlarging the picture of the kid. "He dropped ten days ago. It was the last death we could find."
"So, what are you thinking?" Sam asked once he saw the looks on yours and Dean's faces.
"Eh, maybe it is what the people say it is," Dean replied, getting up to pour himself a cup of coffee.
"Miracles? In our experience, when do miracles just happen?"
"Well, there are no deals. There's, uh, no skeevy faith healers. I mean, these souls just ain't getting dragged into the light."
"Maybe that's because there's no one around to carry them," you thought out loud.
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. Remember that faith healer when you got electrocuted? As you were dying, you saw that man in the black suit and I saw him as well? He's a reaper to take your soul away, but if there aren't any in town, then no one's dying. They have no guide to carry them away."
"So, what? The local reaper's on strike? Playing the back nine? I don't know, Y/N."
"Then we talk to someone who might. Cole is the last person to die, right? He should know where the reapers are, if not, where to find them. We just got to talk to him."
"I love how matter-of-fact you are about that. Strange lives," Dean chuckled as he sipped his coffee.
"Sam."
"I'm already on it," he said as he typed away. Grinning, you stole some of Dean's coffee when he wasn't looking.
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Sam got the whole séance thing set up with five candles around a pentacle drawn on cloth that was spread over Cole's grave. Sam placed a bunch of stuck in the middle of the pentacle while you and Dean watched from another grave nearby.
"You sure this is going to work?" Dean asked as he flipped through his dad's journal.
"Yeah, Sam, it's cold," you shivered, watching your breath come out in short spurts.
"No, Dean, I'm not sure this will work, but if his spirit's around, this should smoke him out. And Y/N, this was your idea."
"This job is jacked," Dean sighed as he closed the journal.
"How so?"
"You want me to gank a monster or torch a corpse, hey, let's light it up, right? But this? If we fix whatever this is, people are gonna start dropping dead. Good people."
"Dean, you can't mess with the balance of life. If it's their time to go, it's their time," you said.
"There is a natural order," Sam agreed.
"You're kidding, right? You don't see the irony in that? I mean, you, me and Y/N, we're like the poster children of the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death."
"Yeah, but the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?" you chuckled.
"We're no different than anybody else."
"I'm infected with demon blood. You've been to hell. Y/N is a witch for crying out loud. Look, I know you want to think of yourself as Joe the Plumber, Dean, but you're not. Neither am I or Y/N. The sooner you accept that the better off you're gonna be. So, you two gonna help me finish this?"
Groaning, you got up to help when you heard a man's voice and a flash of light from behind.
"Hey! What are you doing here?"
"Just take it easy," Sam tried.
"What the hell is this?"
"Okay, this—this—this is not what it looks like," Dean laughed.
"Really? 'Cause it looks like devil worship."
"What? No! No, this is not devil worship. This—This is—this—this is, uh," Dean shrugged with a shake of his head. "I don't have a good answer."
"We're leaving," you said to the man.
"You're not going anywhere," the man said as he took a few steps forward. "Ever again. Y/N, Sam, Dean." Suddenly, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, showing off the white that his normal ones usually look like before going back to normal.
"Alastair. I thought you got deep fried, extra-crispy," Dean said.
"Nah. Just the pediatrician I was riding. His wife's still looking for him. It's hilarious. Anyway, no time to chat. Got a hot date with death."
Alastair flicked his hand, sending Dean crashing into a grave which knocked him unconscious. The demon went to do the same to you, but at the last second, your arm went up in a straight vertical line with your hand in a fist just as a shield-like forcefield half surrounded you.
"Oh, look who is getting stronger," Alastair laughed. "Nor strong enough to beat me," he crushed his hand into a fist which shattered your shield before he flicked you away, the same thing happening to you.
"Dean! Y/N!" Sam yelled, but you couldn't do anything but lay there.