Supernatural... But Better (Vol. I)

Chapter Five

"This is a shitty plan."

Dean, having got back from Indiana in time to help his brother come up with said plan, gave me a look. "You got any better ideas?"

I didn't move from where I was sitting on the floor, my legs crossed underneath me. "Clearly, I don't. But you don't have to be Monet to know whether or not someone can paint."

"Well, if you can't think of anything that's not 'shitty', this is our best option," he reminded me condescendingly, making me like him even less than I already didn't.

Raising my hands in mock surrender, I shot him a sarcastic look. "Fine, go ahead."

Dean inclined his head to me. "Thank you."

They went back to hanging the mirror on the wall of my living room.

"So, let's go over this one more time," Sam suggested once they were finished. "We need to pin her down to a mirror and then smash it to make sure she can't go anywhere else. So, once it gets dark enough, we'll cover all the windows, and one of us will summon her, so that she's stuck here."

With a sigh, I finally stood. "Which one of us is going to summon her?"

I looked at Dean, who seemed like the type of person capable of killing someone, but he shot me an incredulous look. "Hey, don't look at me, I haven't killed anybody— well, not anybody alive."

"I will."

We both glanced at Sam, who had a weird look on his face. "She'll come after me."

Dean groaned. "You know what, that's it," he announced, pulling his brother over to sit on the couch. "This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now listen to me — it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place."

I stood there, just watching the drama unfold, mildly intrigued.

Sam sighed, looking away. "I don't blame you."

"Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done," his brother contested.

"I could've warned her."

"About what?" Dean exclaimed, tossing his arms to the side. "You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean, I know all about it— and now Evelyn does, too. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway."

That seemed to remind Sam I was in the room, and he looked suddenly uncomfortable because of my presence. "No, you don't."

"I don't what?" Dean asked, seeming exasperated by this point.

"You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything."

That gave his brother pause. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?" Sam countered, a small smile almost tugging the corners of his lips up.

Dean blinked, standing still for a few moments. "No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it. Evelyn's probably got some ghosts in her closet, let's—"

His brother stood, stopping him. "Dean, Mary's going to remain free if we don't do something about it. And who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now, we're doing this. You've got to let me do this."

I glanced out the window, seeing that the sun had just crossed over the horizon. "If Sam says he's got this, then he's got this. But we've got to get ready before we start banishing any spirits in my house, alright?"

Dean looked at me, then nodded. "Right. I'll get some stuff out of the car, is there—"

"Woah, woah, woah," I interrupted, holding my hands out to stop him. "Who said anything about using stuff from your car?"

The brothers shared a confused glance. "Then... what are we going to use?" Sam asked.

I smiled genuinely for the first time in a week, at least. "My stuff."

Pushing past them, I went into the guest bedroom. When I'd bought the house and settled down, I couldn't part with all of my gear from my life before. Partially because of sentimental reasons, partially because I literally didn't know how to toss that many weapons without people finding out and asking questions, and partially for the peace of mind of knowing I'd be able to defend myself should I need to. So, instead, I'd boarded it all up in a room no one would even think to look for.

Going into the closet, I pulled out the boxes I had stored there, setting them on the bed. Then, I pulled out the shelf, resting it against the wall.

"I don't see anything that'll help us," Dean observed, gingerly poking around in the things on the bed.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the closet. Removing the shelf had revealed a little handhold in the back wall. Grasping it, and bracing my feet on the floor, I pulled.

Hard.

It sprang free, the board falling perfectly through the doorway, though sending me flying a bit.

Sam caught me by my shoulders, helping me catch my balance. "Are you alright?"

I tucked my hair behind my ear, blushing out of embarrassment. "Yeah, I'm fine. Anyways. Here's the stuff."

They followed me through the hole in the wall, revealing a room that had clearly once been a walk-in closet. But it wasn't anymore.

Lining the walls were all sorts of weapons. From axes of different sizes and shapes, to spears, to all sorts of guns, to blades of all kinds, and even more stuff. I sort of stood there, taking it all in, as reality came crashing down around me.

I was back in the game.

They immediately began searching my arms for the best items to use for that particular situation. Sam grabbed a crowbar, Dean followed, and I chose that and something that had gotten me out of more scrapes than I cared to admit.

"A... mug?"

Raising an eyebrow, I turned to face him. "First of all, it's called a tankard. Secondly, it's what's inside it that counts." Opening it up, I revealed a clear liquid. "Holy water."