Supernatural: War of the Sons (28 page)

Throughout Dean’s life, he’d been betrayed by anyone who had got close to him. With Julia he had allowed himself to hope, even though, Dean realized, it was an idiotic notion to fall in love with someone born fifty years before him.

A burning anger bubbled up within him. He returned to their room and headed straight for the closet.

“They said they weren’t going to make any moves until we talked about it some more,” Sam said.

“Well, they lied. Seems like Walter’s plan to play a part in saving humanity means he’s going to do whatever it takes.”

“Aren’t we as well?”

Dean stared at his brother. “We’re not killing people, Sam.”

“How are we going to find them? We have no idea where they’ve gone.”

Dean held up the cord of the CB radio.

“We’re going to track them as we go.”

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the electronics store. As they raced inside Crazy Eddie was there, smiling broadly.

“Good morning gentlemen. Can I hel—”

Dean put his hand in his face.

“We’re taking some equipment.”

Dean pulled a CB converter off the wall, and Sam grabbed a large extendable antenna. They left without saying another word to the store clerk.

“You’ve got to pay for those!” Eddie called after them.

Sam assembled the gear as Dean drove. The plan was to find the signal that Walter and Julia were using, and quickly, before they could tell anyone about the list. But chances were slim. They had no idea which direction Walter and Julia had gone in. Moreover they had no idea what kind of hunter network they were a part of. John Winchester had always taught his boys a sort of code: they might have to kill the bodies demons inhabited, but they don’t kill people. From the conversations they had had last night, it seemed that not all hunters thought that way. To Julia and Walter, the greater good was worth sacrificing some human life.

Dean gripped the steering wheel; all these things flying through his mind as they burned down the freeway.

Sam regarded his brother. Sam was pissed. Dean knew better than to get involved with someone, especially another hunter. Just at the time when the outcome of the Apocalypse would be determined by whether Sam and Dean could find away to keep Lucifer and Michael at bay,
Dean decides to get involved with a chick
. Sam knew his brother would never let him get away with that if the tables were reversed. Example, Ruby.

Sam fiddled with the CB radio, but all they heard were truckers all over the Midwest; not one spec of evidence that Walter and Julia were out there.

Dean pulled over for gas. They had been driving south in a crisscross fashion for hours. The new Oldsmobile they had hotwired was a gas-guzzler.

Dean hit the head at the rest stop. Staring into the mirror in the men’s room, he wondered if they would ever be able to leave 1954. Would they run into their father at some point? Would this mean that they would never be born? How long could they live in the past? Would they even age? Dean took off his jacket and set it on one of the sinks. He ran some water over his face. As he reached for his jacket, he noticed a small piece of paper hanging out of the inside breast pocket.

It was a napkin from the café across the street from the motel. On it was scribbled a little drawing that Julia had doodled while they were having coffee the previous night. It was an arch, with little stick people figures underneath it. Dean had teased Julia that she was terrible at drawing, and that he would never pick her to be on his Pictionary team. She didn’t understand the reference, but she did give him the drawing. The arch looked like it could be the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. Dean could be totally wrong, but it was the only lead they had.

“They’re in St. Louis.” Dean jumped into the driver’s seat.

“How do you know?” Sam asked.

Dean held up the napkin. “Julia drew this, sort of looks like the St. Louis Arch, right? I wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing. I bet that’s where they’re based. When we called them on the CB, it took them twelve hours to get to us. It’s a twelve-hour drive to St. Louis, especially in these old cars.”

“They have a twelve-hour jump on us. Let’s get going.”

Dean hit the gas and headed due south.

Around eight hours later, as they reached the outskirts of St. Louis, they turned on the CB again.

Dean nodded toward the radio. “Flip through, see if you can’t get a higher frequency for any emergency calls.”

Sam did as he was told. Surveying the upper frequencies of the CB might lead them to any emergency calls coming into the St. Louis Police Department. If Walter and Julia were serious about killing off some of the angelic bloodlines, there probably would be some witnesses to the violence. Unless they were really, really good.

In a quiet residential street, Dean pulled over to the side of the road. It was around eight p.m., the sun was going down and several families were out for an evening stroll.

Sam diligently switched through the frequencies, going all the way up and then back down again. Then he caught it. It was faint, but they had picked up the local police radio.

They listened for more than an hour. All the police calls were for public drunkenness or the occasional domestic dispute. Dean leaned back and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

Dana Mey Smith was on her hands and knees looking underneath the bed for Bertrand.

“Found him!” She appeared back at her son’s bedside with the erstwhile missing bear. “Don’t let him drop down there again,” she said with a sincere maternal voice.

Dana smoothed down the blond cowlick of her son’s hair; ever since he was born, the absurd tuft of hair had adorned her son’s forehead. If it hadn’t smoothed out in five years, she was certain it was never going to. But at least the hair’s disposition fit the popular hairstyles of the times.

“I won’t,” Cory said as he closed his eyes contentedly and turned over.

Dana tiptoed out of his room and down the stairs. At first she didn’t notice anything out of place. It was still hot in her small two-story Victorian, though she kept all the windows open all the time when it was the middle of summer like this. And she didn’t lock the door because Greg would be returning home from his shift. So it wasn’t unusual to have the long curtains move in the breeze. But as Dana turned toward the kitchen, she saw a figure outlined in the curtain. The figure was tall and dressed in black clothing with a ski mask on his face. She screamed.

He moved toward her. She screamed again and tried to run toward the back door. The man tackled her to the floor. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he was far too fast and too strong.

Dana felt her head hit the floor. A hot tingling feeling ran from her ears to her eyes.

“I don’t have any money. I don’t have any money,” she cried through her tears.

The figure put his hands around her throat and started to squeeze. She struggled at first, pulling at the fists around her neck. In a matter of thirty seconds her body went limp.

The man got up off the floor and pulled the dead body into a pantry inside the kitchen.

“Ma!” a small voice called from the front of the house.

The figure turned, his eyes shifting around the living room. He peeled off his ski mask. The man’s sandy blond hair was matted down with sweat. He put on a smile and approached the stairs. On the top of the landing was a small boy, about four or five years old. He was in his pajamas.

“Ma, Bertrand fell again.” The little boy’s eyes focused on the man in black, standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of your mom’s.” The man said through a plastered-on smile. “Can I help you find Bertrand?”

“Okay.”

The man had just stepped onto the staircase when the door flew open. A policeman stopped in his tracks, and surveyed the situation. The man opened his mouth as if to offer some excuse. That’s when the cop tackled him. Cory screamed and ran back to his room.

The man drew a knife and plunged it into the cop’s soft belly. The dead weight collapsed onto him, but he managed to roll out from underneath.

A second, younger cop appeared at the door, gun drawn. The intruder rose to his full height. The cop let loose three bullets, but two went wide, with the third passing straight through the man’s shoulder. He turned and took off through the back of the house. The cop dove over his partner in pursuit, but the man had apparently vanished into the summer night.

He returned to his partner’s side and fell to his knees. The prone cop opened his shirt to reveal the deep stab wounds. He tried to speak, but a stream of blood poured out of his mouth. His eyes rolled back. He was dead.

Sam and Dean had heard the police call. Following the patrol car to the scene, Dean left Sam waiting outside, while he headed around the side of the house.

“Dean, he’s coming through the back!” Sam yelled.

Hearing his brother, Dean jumped a fence and went around the back. That’s when he saw the man in black sprint out of the house across the backyard. Dean took off after him.

The man vaulted over a six-foot wooden fence. Dean was close behind. He reached for the guy’s black sweater. It half ripped as he pulled away, but the small delay allowed Dean to punch him in the back of the throat with his right hook. The man fell to the ground. Dean flipped him over and started pummeling him in the face.

“You a hunter? Hey, you a hunter?” Dean growled.

“Go to Hell,” the man spat.

“Been there, done that.” Dean punched the guy in the ear, knocking him out.

“Dean?” Sam hissed.

“Over here.”

Sam appeared with a flashlight. “Let’s get out of here.”

Sam took the guy’s legs and Dean wrapped his arms underneath his shoulders. They made their way to the car, opened the trunk, swiftly bound the guy’s hands and feet and roughly folded him inside.

Then they jumped into the front seats and took off.

The brothers pulled into a motel, checked in, and, under the cover of night, carried the guy into their room.

Dean threw a cup of cold water at the man’s face. He opened his eyes and tried to move.

“Hey, get these off me!” He struggled against his bonds.

“You need to answer some questions first,” Dean said.

“Screw you. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Sam leaned over the guy menacingly. “You just murdered two people. We’ll be happy to let you go. I’m sure the police will completely understand as they tear you limb from limb. They have the death penalty in Missouri, Dean?”

“Please, it’s 1954, of course they do.”

“Fine, what do you want to know?” the man hissed.

“What were you doing in that woman’s house?” Dean demanded.

“I was asked to do a job. I did it.”

“Who asked you?”

“I don’t know, never saw the guy. He called me up and said he wanted some skirt laid up, and I told him my price.”

“Which is?”

“Normally I don’t like to kill ladies. But he offered me a grand.”

“A grand to kill a woman? And the kid?”

“I didn’t know there was a kid. I wasn’t going to hurt him. Honest.”

“How were you going to collect the money?”

“The guy said to call him and we would meet up.”

“You really think you were going to get paid? Do you even know where this guy lives?”

“I’m not an idiot. I got a bead on him. He’s some old guy.”

Dean’s face hardened; deep down he was still hoping their suspicions were wrong and Julia and Walter weren’t behind this. But he had a bad feeling they were right.

“Call him.” Dean grabbed the telephone off the night-stand and forced the receiver into the guy’s face.

“Um, hello? Hands are tied.”

“What’s the number?” Dean held his hand over the rotary telephone. “Come on.”

The guy recited the number. Dean put the receiver to his ear. On the other end of the line it rang, and then there was a female voice.

“Hello? Hello?”

Dean scowled—it was Julia. She and Walter had hired someone to kill the first of the angelic vessels.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Julia said impatiently.

Sam quickly took the receiver from Dean, and put it up to the guy’s ear. He motioned for him to speak.

“Hey, it’s Grant. Deed’s done. When can we meet up?”

“One second,” the end of the line was silent for a moment. “Rick’s Drive-In. One hour. I’ll see you.”

There was a click. The guy looked up at Dean and Sam.

“Can you loosen these ropes now? I can’t feel my dick.”

Dean punched him hard in the face.

It was around midnight, and the drive-in was hopping. Dean pulled the car into the darkest corner of the parking lot. They had bound the guy in the backseat, and tied him down.

“Hey, I can’t see. How are you going to find her?”

“We’ll find her,” Sam said.

Dean noticed a young couple making out in the car nearest to them. The windows were all steamed up.

“Very
American Graffiti”
he spat.

Sam leaned back and stuffed the nose of the gun into the guy’s stomach.

“Remember, if you mention one word about the kid to them, you’re dead. You understand?” Sam’s face and voice made it clear that he was completely serious.