It's been about a week since we left Lawrence. Dean had shoved all his feelings about the situation away and is his normal sarcastic self again, and Sam and I havent uttered a word to each other since. Dean was growing rather irritated with our childish antics, but Sam hasn't made an effort to even apologize about it yet.
Even better, my wound in my shoulder was reopened thanks to the evil spirit that was living rent free in their old house, and to make it better the wound was deeper than last time. Thank god I'm right handed, and rarely use my left arm for anything. These two things have left me in a sour mood, and no matter how hard Dean has tried, nothing has changed the way I was feeling.
Currently, Dean was reading a book at the small table in our motel room, I was watching the Golden Girls on the cheap tv, and Sam was on the phone talking to one of John's old hunting buddies. I can't get over the conversation I had with Missour, which I haven't told Dean about yet, and I couldn't help but think John didn't want us to find him. John obviously knew we were back home, so why didn't he come help us with the situation at his old home. I just wish I knew where he was, and what he was up too.
Sam finished up his conversation on the phone and Dean asked, "Caleb hasn't heard from him?"
"Nope," Sam replied from his spot at the end of his bed, "Niether has Jefferson or Pastor Jim."
"Well, there are no leads in the journal either. I love the guy, but I swear he writes like freaking Yoda," Dean said back.
"Maybe he doesn't want to be found," I voiced my thoughts, keeping my eyes on the television.
Sam glared my way, then brought his gaze to Dean, "Maybe we should call the feds, file a missing persons report."
I rolled my eyes at the suggestion. What are we gonna tell them? Oh John went missing about five months ago trying to track down some supernatural creature, and now we can't find him? I don't understan how stupid Sam could be, when he is suppose to be the smart one.
Sam kept arguing with Dean about involving the feds, as Dean's phone started to ring. He got up and made his way to our bed and started to rummage through his pile of stuff.
"Where the hell is my phone," he mumbled to himself.
"He could be dead for all we know," Sam pushed.
Dean stopped his search for his phone, and turned to his brother, "Don't say that! You know he's - he's..."
"He's what," Sam shot back as Dean's phone kept ringing.
All this arguing and phone ringing was distracting me from my show, so I decided to find the phone myself. I quickly found it and handed it to Dean, and he answered it ending the incessant ringing, Thank God.
Dean's face relaxed a bit as he said, "I don't believe it."
"What," I asked him as he sat down next to me. I placed a hand around to the front of his shoulder, and rested my chin on the other side trying to get a good look at his phone.
He turned slightly to look at me, "It's coordinates."
"What," I asked again, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
I released my grip around Dean's neck as he got up and made his way back to where he was sitting before. He whipped out the computer and immediately started to look up where these coordinates lead to.
"Do you think dad is texting us," Sam thought out loud.
"It wouldn't be the first time he has sent us coordinates," Dean said, typing quickly on his computer.
I got up from my spot, and pushed past Sam heading to see where exactly these coordinates point to."So where do these coordinates lead too," I asked Dean as I leand down next to him to look at the computer screen.
"Rockfort, Illinois," Dean mumbled.
I tensed a little at the mention of the state, and from what I could see on the map, the town was about 50 minutes away from the town my parents were murdered in. I stood up and released a shaky breath.I let out a shaky, hummorless laugh and grumbled, "Great."
Sam looked at us and asked, "What's got you so bothered?"
I looked over to him briefly, before looking back to the computer screen. Dean grabbed my hand, and squeezed it, explaining, "This place is about fifty minutes away from where Devyn's parents were murdered almost a year ago."
"Oh," Sam muttered, while looking to the ground, shifting his feet awkwardly.
"Yeah, oh," I said through gritted teeth.
There was an awkward silence that passed through the room, as I gripped Dean's hand tightly. He squeezed my hand back, and cleared his throat.
"Okay... so, what's interesting about Rockfort is that this cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift and kills both his wife and himself. Earlier that night Kelly and his partner responded to a call about the Roosevelt Asylum," Dean filled the silence.
As Dean was explaining Sam came over to the small table, and sat next to Dean. I moved to the other side of Dean, and leaned against the wall.
"Okay," Sam questioned.
"Dad marked the same asylum in his journal," Dean explained further.
I picked up the journal, and searched for the entry, "Here. Seven unconfirmed citings, two deaths...I think this is where your father wants us to go next."
Sam scoffed and got up front his seat, and paced the room saying, "This is a job. Dad wants us to work a job."
"I mean maybe we will meet up with him, maybe he's there," Dean said hopefully. I couldn't help the frown that took over my face, doubtful John is actually going to be there.
"Yeah," Sam mumbled, "Or he could be sending us there to hunt this thing-"
"Who cares," Dean interrupted him, "if he wants us there it's good enough for me."
"Don't you think this is a little weird," Sam cautioned, "The texting, the coordinates?"
I sighed knowing that Sam was starting to catch on, and whether Dean was too, it didn't matter. He always followed his dad's orders like a soldier, no matter what.
"Sam, dad told us to go somewhere, so we are going," Dean said, walking back to our bed and starting to pack up.
"Dean, maybe we don-"
"Devyn, what did I just say," Dean shot my way.
I jumped from the volume of Dean's voice, but quickly recovered and shot back, "Dean! Your dad isn't here with us anymore. You don't have to follow his every orders."
Dean quickly turned to me and warned me, pointing a finger my way, "Don't. We are going and that's final."
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The car ride was quiet, except for the music playing on the radio. Since we barely knew anything about the asylum, and there wasn't much to talk about I decided to take a much needed snoozer. I've been sleeping better, I think, but I'm still always feeling more fatigued than I should be.
When I woke up we were just entering Illinois. It seemed that Dean had been driving the whole time, so I offered to drive and let him rest. Though I wasn't shocked when he said no. Sam was passed out in the front seat, and I found myself looking at him, and thinking about everything that has happened.
"Are you gonna talk to him at some point? '' Dean asked from the driver's seat.
"No, I don't know if I can trust him anymore," I said, looking out the window.
"Dev, I'm sure he is sorry. You didn't see him that night, you were too busy bleeding out on him. He was so worried. He kept you from bleeding out in the motel room," Dean said to me.
I sighed heavily, "I remember what happened in the motel room, all the way up until I passed out in your arms. It doesn't change the way I feel. If he would've said something, anything, it could've all been prevented."
"You don't know that. The exact same events that happened in his dreams about Jenny and her family still happened, and we helped," Dean said softly.
"I know you're right," I started, "but it doesn't matter. Dean you don't know what that thing did to me, not everything. What he almost did to me. I can still feel his hands around my throat, moving down my body...." Tears started to well up in my eyes. I hated constantly feeling like this, so helpless, unable to escape my past.
"Devyn, I'm not asking you to relive one of the worst nights of your life. I'm asking you to forgive Sam," Dean said.
"I can't. Not yet, at least," I said, ending the conversation.