Reckless [Dean Winchester]

41. Double Trouble

41. Double Trouble

This is stupid. This is not a smart plan. Why can't we just snatch a run-of-the-mill demon and do it that way? Why do we need to dig her up and sew her back together? Hell, I'd be willing to summon Crowley here!

I'm pacing, resisting the urge to scratch my arms raw as the boys temporarily become Dr. Frankenstein. From the moment they had the idea, I said no.

This is insane.

"You could have just waited out in the car, Max," says Dean.

"And miss the reunion? Nah. Besides, I want to watch it blow up in your faces." I make sure I'm not facing the surgery that's going on nearby. "I still think there's an easier way to do this."

"We don't have the time to track a demon and play kidnapper. If we had no other option, then we would."

"But you know what she's done. She killed Henry!" I snap. I stand my ground. Thankfully, Sam's body is keeping his work out of my sight. I glare at Dean. "Why do you think you made her into puzzle pieces and buried her so she couldn't build herself back up again?"

"Max—"

"We should at least put a Devil's trap on the floor."

"She's still got the bullet in her. She won't be going anywhere."

I snort. "I still don't like this idea."

"You think we want to play surgeon?" Sam asks. He steps away, and it takes everything in me to not puke.

You would never know she's been sewn back together, minus her hands, unless you look at her stubs that are her arms, and the lovely stitched smile across her neck. She looks even more intimidating this way. A modern day Frankenstein, only ten times worse.

Abaddon.

I cringe as she stirs, cracking her head. She gives a sigh of relief, and my first instinct is to throw holy water on her. Her eyes open, pitch-black.

"Morning, sunshines," she croons, her eyes reverting back to her possessed body's normal coloring.

"It worked," says Dean. He looks at me. "You owe me a beer."

"And I owe you three so, so much," says Abaddon. "I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes. But I think I'll start with the girl first." Her smile is feline. "I never got the chance to properly introduce her to our world."

"Good luck with that," I say haughtily.

"We figured kitty didn't need her claws," Dean tells her.

"Then I'll stump you to death," spits the demon. "It'll be swell."

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, either. The bullet—remember?" Sam reminds her.

"So you sit there like a good little bitch," Dean degrades her. Under a normal circumstance, I'd lecture him. "We're gonna consecrate the ground, and you're gonna get to fessing up."

"Oh, I know this tune," says Abaddon.

"I doubt that," I say.

"Father Max Thompson, born October twelfth, nineteen ten. Died August fifth, nineteen fifty-eight. Who do you think ripped him apart?" The feline smile is still there on her face. "Word got back to home office that Maxie was messing with things, so we made an example. It wasn't my most artful kill, but it was effective. And bonus—before he died, he told me all about Josie Sands. I found her, and I rode her into the Men of Letters." The demon laughs. "And what I did to them, that was art."