"Aren't we all bound in one way or another?"
Since Abigael made the decision to place herself into a deep slumber, to come to terms with the knowledge Lucifer provided. All seemed well, and calm. She was coming to terms with the fact of it all. But...
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With my idea fresh in our minds, we headed back to a motel room. Ready to research further into the Egyptian plagues. Plus we needed to learn more about this Christopher Birch kid that Ed was mumbling about. Dean and Sam sat at the table, filled with police reports, and images of Egyptian plagues. Sam was on his laptop, as Dean looked over the images. I sat on the chair to the right of Dean, able to get them both in my sights. However, I had a book on the table, depicting the plagues, and how it was possible that they were happening.
"Sweet. Blood, boils, locusts," Dean began, flicking through the images.
"Three of your more popular Egyptian plagues," Sam remarks, his eyes never leaving that of his computer screen.
"Yeah, but these guys," Dean grips the glass jar that contains a few of the locusts that came from Ed's head. "Ate their way out of a cop's melon. I don't quite remember that in the King James,"
"Be glad there's no others," I state, cocking my head up to meet Dean's pending gaze. "What I'm reading, it sounds brutal," I peered back down to the book on the table briefly, before flicking to the next page.
"Meanwhile, a kid named Christopher Birch was shot in the head last month," Sam explains on what he found out on the kid, as Dean places the jar back onto the table. "After a vehicle pursuit. Hatch, Gray, and Colfax were the three officers involved, and they all filed the exact same police report," Sam finishes off, as Dean picks up the police report he had, while I lean back in the chair.
"Suspect exited the vehicle brandishing a firearm. We were forced to fire," Dean read off from the report, but I rolled my eyes at the words the officers chose, a lie. "Just a kid with no face, and a planted gun. Bunch of dicks," even Dean didn't like how these cops treated this. "So they pop the kid, planted the piece,"
"Maybe Colfax is right. You know, maybe Heaven has a hate-on for bad cops," Sam was trying to suggest that Heaven had something to do with these deaths.
"So we're listening to the guy with the bug in his custard? That's-" Dean rose from his chair. "That's the, uh, the theory you want to go with?" Dean had taken a few steps to the minifridge and pulled out a beer for himself.
"Dean, angels got to have something to do, right, now that we're post-apocalypse?" Sam's eyes were trained on Dean, as he made an excellent point.
"Plus, I see no witch powerful enough to conjure plagues," I added into the mix, so it wasn't witches then our next best bet was the angels.
"Yeah, maybe... We should call Cas," Dean announces before putting the bottle to his lips, wanting to call our pet angels for answers. Dean began to walk on over to the closest double size bed.
"You're kidding right?" Sam states, as Dean turns and plants himself on the end of the bed, facing us. Sam scoffs at the fact. "Dean, I tried. It was the first and second and third thing I did, soon as I got topside. Son of a bitch won't answer the phone," Sam explained, as he tried to contact Cas when he got back, and received nothing from the angel.
