Stage of Salvation

9.01 The Last of Us

Sitting cross-legged on the scratchy motel bedspread, I stared up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the faded paint. Boredom was eating away at me. Sam was sprawled out on the other bed, his soft snores the only sound in the room. Dean had disappeared on one of his infamous "supply runs", which probably involved pie and beer. I sighed and flopped back onto the bed, staring at my phone in hopes of some kind of distraction. Suddenly, it buzzed in my hand, and I bolted upright, heart leaping. Maybe it was Bobby or Ash with a lead on the yellow-eyed demon. I swiped to answer without even checking the caller ID.
"Yeah, what'd you find?" I asked eagerly.
"Toralei?" The voice on the other end made my stomach drop. Not Bobby. Not Ash.
"Dad?" My throat tightened, and I sat up straighter, gripping the phone like it might fly out of my hand.
"Toralei Elise Argent," Chris Argent's voice was stern, but it cracked with emotion. "Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick."
I clenched my jaw, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration rise. "I've been busy. Hunting."
"Hunting?" His voice rose. "Hunting what, Toralei? Where are you? You just disappeared after—" He cut himself off, but I knew what he wasn't saying. After Allison.
"I'm following the Code," I said firmly. "Allison rewrote it, remember? We protect those who cannot protect themselves. That's what I'm doing."
Chris was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and tense. "Are you hunting alone?"
"No," I admitted. "I'm with other hunters."
"What kind of hunters?" He demanded. "Who are they?"
"Sam and Dean Winchester," I said, already regretting it.
"And what are you hunting with these Winchesters?"
I hesitated. Lying wasn't an option, he'd see right through me. "A demon."
"A demon?!" His voice exploded through the phone. "Toralei, do you have any idea how dangerous that is? You need to come home. Now."
I clenched my teeth. "I'm not coming home, dad. This demon is dangerous, and if we don't stop it, it's going to hurt a lot of people. That's the Code."
"This isn't what Allison would've wanted for you," He snapped, his grief twisting into anger.
"She would've wanted me to help people!" I shot back, my voice shaking. "She would've wanted me to do what's right. To save lives."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Chris growled. "Allison wouldn't have wanted you risking your life like this—"
"She risked her life every day to protect people, dad!" I shouted, cutting him off. "She died doing it. She died saving me. And I'm not going to sit on the sidelines and let her sacrifice mean nothing." The line went quiet for a moment, just the sound of our heavy breathing filling the space. My chest ached, and I wiped at my eyes before the tears could fall.
Chris's voice softened slightly, but his frustration still lingered. "Toralei... I already lost one daughter. I'm not going to lose you too."
Before I could respond, Sam stirred on the other bed, his voice low and strained. "Dean... no. Don't do it..." I froze, turning to look at him. His face was twisted in distress, his hands gripping the blanket. He was having another vision.
"I have to go," I said quickly into the phone.
"Toralei Elise Argent, don't you dare—" I hung up before he could finish, tossing the phone onto the nightstand. My dad's anger and grief could wait. Right now, Sam needs me. I crossed the room and knelt beside his bed, gently shaking his shoulder.
"Sam, wake up," I said softly, my voice steady despite the panic bubbling in my chest. "Sam, what are you seeing?" His eyes flew open, wild and glassy, as he gasped for air. The door creaked open, and Dean strolled in, tearing into a piece of beef jerky and balancing a six-pack of beer in his other hand. His casual demeanor shifted the second he saw us, me crouched by Sam's bedside and Sam sitting up, pale and wide-eyed, his chest heaving.
Dean froze, his brow furrowing in concern. "Sammy?" His voice was low, but the panic in it was unmistakable. I glanced back at Sam, his face still tight with whatever he'd just seen. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn't good.

Dean grips the wheel, his focus on the dark stretch of road ahead as the Impala hums steadily beneath us. Sam sits in the passenger seat, flipping through John's journal, while I balance the GPS device in my hand. The mechanical voice cuts through the silence: "Continue on OR-224 West."
"There are only two towns in the U.S. named Rivergrove," Sam explained, his tone steady.
"And you're sure it's the one in Oregon?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sam paused, considering. "There was a picture. Crater Lake."
"What else did you see?" I prompted, leaning forward.
Sam's expression tightened. "A dark room, a group of people... and a guy tied to a chair."
Dean's jaw tightened. "And I ventilated him?"
"Yeah," Sam said reluctantly. "You thought there was something inside him."
"What, like a demon? Was he possessed?" Dean pressed.
"I don't know," Sam admitted, shaking his head. "There wasn't any exorcism. No black smoke. You just... shot him."
Dean huffed. "Well, I'm sure I had a good reason."
"I hope so," Sam replied, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice.
Dean's eyes snapped to him. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm not gonna waste an innocent man."
"I didn't say you would," Sam shot back, eyebrows raising in challenge.
"Well, it sure sounded like it!" Dean snapped.
"Guys!" I cut in, raising my voice over theirs. "None of this is helping. We don't know the full picture yet. All we know is the guy in the chair is part of it. Let's just find him and figure out what's going on before we start pointing fingers."
Dean grumbled under his breath, gripping the wheel. "Fine."
"Fine," Sam muttered, slumping back in his seat.
I exhaled sharply. "Great. Now let's focus before you two scare off all the good ideas." We drove into the small town, passing a large billboard boasting about Crater Lake. The quiet streets had a rustic charm, and as we pulled up in front of a weathered wooden shop, an older man caught our attention. He stood out front, casually cleaning a rifle. His short-sleeved blue shirt and multi-pocketed brown vest gave him the look of someone who knew his way around the outdoors.
The Impala rumbled to a stop, and we climbed out, making our way toward him.
"Morning," Dean greeted him with a nod.
The man glanced between the three of us, sizing us up. "Good morning. Can I help you folks with something?"
Dean flashed a quick, confident smile and pulled out his fake badge as Sam and I pulled out ours too. "Yeah, actually. Billy Gibbons, Frank Beard, and Dusty Hill. US Marshals."
The man eyed me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. "Are you sure you're a US Marshal?" He asked, his tone skeptical. "You look a little... young for that."
I straightened up, throwing a confident smile his way. "I just finished training. Top of my class," I said smoothly, making sure to keep my voice steady and convincing. "I'm the real deal."
He seemed to buy it, nodding slowly as if he was satisfied with my answer. "Well, congratulations," He said, still eyeing me curiously. "So, what brings you folks to Rivergrove?" I glanced at Dean and Sam, who both gave me a look that said, nice save, before we all got back to business.
"We're looking for someone," Dean said, his voice casual but firm.
"A young man, early twenties," Sam added, scanning the man's face. "He'd have a thin scar right below his hairline."
The man frowned. "What'd he do?"
"Well, nothing really," Sam replied, taking a step forward. "We're actually looking for someone else, but we think this young man could help us."
"Yeah, he's not in trouble... yet," Dean said with a smirk, his eyes flicking down to the man's left arm, where a distinctive tattoo peeked out from his sleeve. "I think you might know him, though... Master Sergeant." Dean grinned, locking eyes with the man. "My dad was in the Corps, he was a Corporal."
The man narrowed his eyes slightly. "What company?"
"Echo-21," Dean answered smoothly.
Sam stepped in, pressing for more information. "So, can you help us?"
The man hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Duane Tanner's got a scar like that. I know him. Good kid, keeps his nose clean."
"I'm sure he does," I added, giving the man a pointed look. "Do you know where he lives?"
"With his family, up Aspen Way," The man replied, his tone softening a little.
"Thanks," I said, giving him a nod as we turned to leave. As we crossed the street, I caught the man frowning, his gaze heavy on us until we were out of earshot. Sam, distracted, brushed against a telephone pole and muttered something under his breath. He glanced at it absently but froze mid-step.
"Hold up," Sam said, leaning in closer. Carved into the weathered wood was a single word: Croatoan.
I felt a chill run down my spine as I stepped up beside him. "Well, that's not ominous at all."
"Croatoan?" Dean repeated, clearly confused.
"Yeah," Sam replied, giving Dean a look. "Roanoke? The Lost Colony? Ring any bells? Dean, did you even pay attention in history class?"
Dean scratched his head. "Yeah! Shots heard 'round the world, how bills become laws..."
Sam scoffed and shook his head. "That's not history class, Dean. That's Schoolhouse Rock."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
I cut in, trying to steer things back. "Roanoke was one of the first English colonies in America. Late 1500s. Does that help?"
"Oh!" Dean's face lit up with recognition. "Yeah, now I remember. The only thing they left behind was a single word carved into a tree..." He pointed to the telephone pole behind Sam. "Croatoan."
"Exactly," Sam nodded. "There were theories, Indian raids, disease, but no one really knows what happened. They were all just gone. Wiped out overnight."
I gave a troubled look at the word carved into the pole. "You don't think that's what's happening here, do you? I mean..."
Sam's expression darkened. "Whatever I saw in my vision, it sure wasn't good."
"Okay, but what do you think could do something like that?" I asked.
Dean exhaled and glanced at Sam. "Well, like I said, all of your weird visions are tied to the yellow-eyed demon somehow, so..." He trailed off, then turned to Sam. "Maybe we should get help?"
Sam nodded quickly. "Bobby, Ellen? Someone who can make sense of all this."
Dean pulled out his phone and frowned. "No signal."
I pulled mine out too. "Yeah, me neither."
Sam checked his phone. "Nothing." We walked over to a nearby payphone, and Dean yanked the receiver off the hook. He waited a moment before the "out of service" beep filled the air. He clicked the receiver several times, frustrated.
"Line's dead," He muttered, hanging up. He turned to us, his eyes steely. "I'll tell you one thing. If I was going to massacre a town, that'd be my first step."