Maddison Winchester: Journal 4 {Supernatural}

7 It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester: Part 3

Sam, Dean, and I walked back down to the Impala, except when we approached it, it had been covered in egg.

"Astronaut!" Dean yelled, his face red with anger.

I chuckled. "Don't act like you don't deserve this. You totally brought this on to yourself. The kid just wanted candy."

Dean looked at me, stunned. "You think this is funny, what he did to baby?"

I shrugged. "No, I think it's funny what he did to you." I stepped forward and poked his forehead. "Hey look, you've got that vein too, must be where I get it from." I smiled brightly at him.

I heard Sam chuckle softly from behind me.

Dean pushed my hand away. "Get in."

Sam and I got in, followed by Dean, who huffed and slammed his door behind him.

I realized Sam was sitting there with his head down, looking at the hex bag in his hand, disappointment written all over his face. I touched his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing." He took a deep breath and sighed. "I thought they'd be different."

"Who? the angels?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Dean shrugged. "Well, I tried to tell ya."

Sam shook his head. "I just— I mean, I thought they'd be righteous."

"Well, they are righteous, I mean, that's kinda the problem. Of course, there's nothing more dangerous than some A-hole who thinks he's on a holy mission," Dean said.

"But, I mean, this is God? And Heaven? This is what I've been praying to?" Sam asked.

"Look, man, I know you're into the whole God thing, ya know, Jesus on a tortilla and stuff like that. But just because there's a couple of bad apples doesn't mean the whole barrel's rotten. I mean, for all we know, God hates these jerks. Don't give up on this stuff, is all I'm saying. Babe Ruth was a dick..." Dean shrugged. "But baseball's still a beautiful game."

Sam smirked slightly but still looked disappointed. He nodded and then looked down at the hex bag and opened it. He picked up a small, charred bone and twirled it in his fingers as he examined it.

"Well, are you gonna figure out a way to find this witch, or are you just gonna sit there fingering your bone?" Dean chuckled at his own joke and then started the Impala.

"You know how much heat it would take to char a bone like this, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "No."

"A lot, I mean, more than a fire or some kitchen oven," Sam said.

"Yeah, more like 1,500 degrees hot," I said.

Dean turned to look at me. "You need to stop watching crime documentaries. You little psycho."

I smirked.

Dean turned his attention back to Sam. "Okay, Betty Crocker, what does that mean?"

"It means we make a stop," Sam said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We pulled up to Tracy's high school and snuck in through the back so I could go in with them. We made our way to Don Harding's classroom and walked in. I was creeped out by all the papier-mâché masks on the walls and then realized there was a giant kiln at the back of the room.

Dean walked over to the kiln. "So Tracy used the kiln to char the bone, what's the big deal?" he asked as Sam rifled through things on the desk.

"Dean, that hex bag turned up in our room, not after we talked to Tracy..." Sam said as Dean, and I joined him at the desk.