Dawson's Daughter | {BOOK 1}

12|Meg

We managed to stop Sue Ann, and it cost her her life. Turns out reapers don't like people enslaving them and playing God... who knew? The only downside to the whole ordeal was that Layla still had her tumor and was still going to die in six months... As if some force was really trying to piss me off or something, the next job we worked took us to Cape Girardeau, Missouri where Dean's first real girlfriend lived. Apparently some racist ghost truck was killing off people she knew. I'm pretty sure she and Dean hooked back up while we were there.

Anyway, after that we dealt with this kid named Max who was killing his family using telekinesis. That case was interesting, because we only found out about it because Sam was having visions of the killings... Apparently he's psychic or something. Like Mary, Max's mom burned on the ceiling of his nursery, so it seems like the Demon was after a certain 'type'. The next case wasn't even monsters- instead we got to deal with a family of humans who hunted people for sport. Dean said it best:

"Demons I get. People are crazy."

Currently, we were in Chicago looking into the death of a young woman named Meredith. The windows were locked, door was bolted, and the alarm was on, but she died brutal, with her heart ripped right out of her chest and pieces of her scattered throughout the apartment, according to the landlady. There was also a first victim Sam found, Ben Swardstrom, that was same deal: found mutilated, door locked, alarm on.

"Is there any connection between the two of them?" I asked Sam.

We were in the bar Meredith waitressed at. Dean had been asking around, and had scored the bartender's phone number. I had rolled my eyes at it, but inside I felt another pang of jealousy.

"Not that I can tell," Sam shook his head, "I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common- they were practically from different worlds."

"So, to recap," Dean smirked, "the only successful intel we've scored so far is the bartender's number."

I rolled my eyes again, hitting Dean upside the head as Sam became distracted by something on the opposite side of the bar.

"What?" Dean asked him, looking around.

Ignoring him, Sam stood and began walking off.

"Sam?" I called after him.

Again, we were ignored as he made his way over to another table and started talking to a young woman with a blonde pixie cut. Dean and I exchanged a confused look as the two of them hugged. Rising in unison, we made our way over to where the two stood.

"Oh, I did," the blonde was saying. "I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what's-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar."

"Who?" Sam inquired, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I'm living here for a while."

Dean cleared his throat beside me, but was ignored by his brother and the girl.

"You're from Chicago?" Sam asked her.

"No, Massachusetts- Andover. Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we'd run into each other?" 

I raised an eyebrow as I studied the girl for a moment. Something about her made me uneasy. I didn't know how she and Sam knew each other, but nothing good could come out of this encounter if my gut instinct was anything to go by.

"Yeah, I know, I thought I'd never see you again," Sam was saying.

"Well, I'm glad you were wrong," the girl smiled.

Dean cleared his throat again, louder this time, and she turned an annoyed glare toward him.

"Dude, cover your mouth."

"Yeah, um, I'm sorry, Meg," Sam acted embarrassed, as if he just realized that Dean and I were standing there. "This is, uh- this is my brother, Dean and our friend Ellie."

Shock registered on Meg's face as she stared at us.

"This is Dean and Ellie?"

I scowled at her use of my nickname that was reserved for those close to me, while Dean smiled at her.

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

"So, you've heard of me?" Dean asked cockily.

"Oh, yeah. I've heard of you," Meg said, tone turning bitter. "Nice- the way you treat your brother like luggage."

My jaw dropped and Dean furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"Why don't you let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him all over God's green earth."

"Excuse me?" I cut in.

"Oh, and don't get me started on you," she glared at me.

"Meg, it's alright," Sam told her.

The four of us fell silent, looking around the bar. Dean let out a low whistle.

"Okay, awkward," he chuckled. "We're gonna get a drink now."

He cast Sam a puzzled look, grabbing my arm and dragging me over to the bar.

"Dean, what-"

"I don't know," he shook his head.

⁘

Dean and I were back in our motel room researching the strange symbol we had found on Meredith's apartment floor made out of blood. Or rather, I was researching the symbol while he looked into Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts for Sam, who had gone to watch Meg. It turned out, he had met her while Dean and I were dealing with the Pagan god case in Indiana. Dean dialed Sam, putting his phone on speaker and placing it on the table so I could listen as well.

"Hey," Sam answered.

"Let me guess," Dean smirked. "You're lurkin' outside that poor girl's apartment, aren't you?"

"No," Sam denied.

There was a pause as Dean and I waited for a different response.

"Yes," Sam sighed.

"You've got a funny way of showing your affection," Dean told his brother.

"Did you find anything on her or what?"

"Sorry, man, she checks out. There is a Meg Masters in the Andover phonebook. I even pulled up her high school photo. Now, look, why don't you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do?"

"What about the symbol?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's comment. "Any luck?"

"Yeah, we did have some luck with that," I jumped in. "It's, uh- turns out it's Zoroastrian. Very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for a Daeva."

"What's a Daeva?"

"It translates to 'demon of darkness,'" I explained. "Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, you know, nasty attitudes..."

"Kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls," Dean interrupted.

"Mmhm," I nodded. "Anyway, here's the thing. These Daevas, they have to be summoned, conjured."

"So, someone's controlling it?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. And, from what I gather, it's pretty risky business, too. These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them. And, uh, the arms, and torsos."

"So, what do they look like?"

"Well, nobody knows, but nobody's seen 'em for a couple of millennia. I mean, summoning a demon that ancient? Someone really knows their stuff. I think we've got a major player in town."

And despite the fact that Dean cleared Meg, I couldn't shake the gut feeling that she had something to do with it.