Your Guardian Angel

24. Goodbye Stranger

WAREHOUSE

Dean came around the corner in a darkened warehouse, gun drawn. He brought up his gun, but was struck down. Castiel appeared over him.

"No, Cas. No!" Dean cried. Castiel broke Dean's wrist and he groaned in pain.

"No, Cas, don't," Dean begged again. "Please." Castiel buried her weapon into Dean's chest and Dean choked. Castiel pulled the blade from Dean's chest. He fell back, dead, blood running from his mouth.

There was a buzz of electricity and the lights came on.

Naomi walked into the room. "No hesitation. Quick. Brutal." Naomi and Castiel stared down at Dean. "Everything's back in order." Naomi smiled at Castiel. "Finally." Castiel's face remained expressionless. "You're ready."

BUNKER

Dean reached into a box. He pulled out a small rectangular box with a glass lid. It was the tip of a spear.

Dean sighed. "What the hell is this?" He read the contents of the box. "Spear of Destiny? What is this -- God's toothpick?" Sam was typing on his laptop. "You know, would it have killed these asshats to label these boxes in something other than hieroglyphics?" Dean picked up a small box, opened it, and lifted out an object and turned it over in his hands. "Hey. You listening to me?"

"Yeah. It's, uh..." Sam cleared his throat, "fascinating stuff." Dean opened a smaller box investigated the contents of the box. "You should probably, uh, write it all down in your journal for the archives, you know?"

He pulled an ornate red and gold egg from the box he had opened, and opened the egg and sniffed it. Sam coughed. "You all right over there, Doc Holliday?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam answered, coughing into a napkin. He pulled it away to reveal blood. "Um..." he cleared his throat, "I'm fine." Sam threw the bloody napkin into the trash can. "Just, uh, wrong pipe." He took a drink from his glass, coughing again.

Dean, still sorting, pulled out a folder containing an old magazine titled 'Voluptuous Asian Lovelies'. He chuckled at the picture of the Asian woman on the cover holding a paper parasol.

"Well, hello." Dean flipped through the magazine. "These Men of Letters weren't so boring after all. Konnichiwa. Hey, check this out." He walked into the control room with the magazine for Sam to see.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?" Sam grimaced.

"What's wrong with me? You kidding me? This is a first edition, dude. You know what this would go for on eBay?"

"No. Why? Do you?"

"No. Maybe. Shut up. You find anything?"

Sam nodded and he said, "I did, yeah -- uh, dead bodies showing up all over the Midwest last week. Benton, Indiana; Downers Grove, Illinois; uh, Novi, Michigan; and then again last night in Lincoln Springs, Missouri."

"And how is this us?"

"Because each of the victims had severe burns around their eyes, hands, and feet, puncture wounds through the backs of their hands, eyes and internal organs liquefied."

Dean smacked his lips before saying, "Yeah, that sounds like us."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Also no link between any of the victims. Uh, one was a real-estate agent. Another was a local historian. Woman killed last night was a teacher."

"So, chupacabra," Dean guessed as Sam chuckled. "What do we got? Power tools gone rogue? Wait -- are we talking a-a 'Maximum Overdrive' situation here?"

"I don't know. I think it's worth a shot, though. I'll grab our gear. We should probably leave in five."

"Mm-hmm," Dean hummed, looking at the magazine.