She Talks to Angels | {BOOK 2}

82|Stull Cemetery

Dean and I were back in the street with Bobby and Cass, watching the news playing on several television screens inside a shop window.

"It's starting," Cass stated.

"Yeah, you think, genius?" Dean snapped.

"You don't have to be mean," the angel told him.

"So, what do we do now?" I asked, voice small, even to my ears.

"I suggest we imbibe copious amounts of alcohol," Castiel replied. "Just wait for the inevitable blast wave."

"Yeah, swell," Dean quipped sarcastically. "Thank you, Bukowski. S-she means, how do we stop it?"

"We don't. Lucifer will meet Michael on the chosen field, and the battle of Armageddon begins."

"Okay, well, where's this chosen field?"

"I don't know."

"Well, there's got to be something we can do."

"I'm sorry, Dean. This is over."

Dean rounded on the angel, then, getting up in his face.

"You listen to me, you junkless sissy- we are not giving up! Bobby? Bobby?"

"There was never much hope to begin with," Bobby spoke quietly. "I don't know what to do."

⁘

In between jobs, Sam and Dean would sometimes get a day- sometimes a week, if they were lucky. They'd pass the time lining their pockets. Sam used to insist on honest work, but now he hustles pool, like his brother. After they picked up Ellie, she would join them, Dean calling her their "good luck charm."

They could go anywhere and do anything. They drove 1,000 miles for an Ozzy show, two days for a Jayhawks game. And when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood, and watch the stars... for hours... without saying a word. It never occurred to them, Ellie included, that, sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls, but they were never, in fact, homeless.

⁘

Dean and I were in an alleyway alone. He had dialed up Chuck, and I listened idly to his end of the conversation, running my finger idly over the three sets of crudely carved initials in the back window deck of the Impala: D.W., S.W., E.D.

"Did you see where the title fight goes down?" Dean inquired.

I couldn't hear Chuck's response, but from Dean's 'Aw, crap' a moment later, I had a feeling it wasn't what we wanted from the prophet. Then Dean froze up, and I looked at him curiously.

"Stull Ceme- Wait, I know that," he said. "That's- that's an old boneyard outside of Lawrence. Why Lawrence?... Alright, Chuck. You know of any way to short-circuit this thing?... Well, do you know what happens next?"

I tuned out slightly, running my finger over the initials once more, and glancing over at the army man crammed into the ashtray on the opposite side. Later that night, Dean and I were preparing to head to Stull Cemetery in Lawrence when Bobby and Castiel showed up.

"You goin' someplace?" Bobby asked us. "You're goin' to do somethin' stupid. You got that look."

He was looking at Dean, then turned to me.

"Aren't you going to try and talk some sense into him?"

"We're gonna go talk to Sam," I muttered, not meeting the elder hunter's eyes.

"You just don't give up!"

"It's Sam!" Dean cried.

"If you couldn't reach him here, you're certainly not going to reach him on the battlefield," Cass informed us.