Hollowing Souls

The French Mistake

December 2nd, 2011

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

It was a few weeks later. Sam and Dean were both back at Bobby's for a few days, agreeing that they had to hit this "Mother of All" thing hard, although currently the old hunter was in town. Supply run, he had claimed. Of course, Alex knew that included getting drunk, which meant he wouldn't be back for quite a long time. The howling of wind had her glancing out the window, and Alex frowned to see snow slamming against the window.

Footsteps approached, and Sam entered the room carrying several heavy books. "Where's Bobby?"

"In town," Dean answered from where he was sitting at the desk. "Supply run."

"Doubt he'll be back tonight," Alex added. "Not in the storm like this."

Sam grunted in agreement. He dropped the books on the desk. "He went out in this?" He glance out the window in surprise.

"Man is a hero." Dean held up the empty bottle of liquor. "We are officially out of hunter's helper." He closed his laptop, on which he had been researching Eve.

Lightning flashed, and Alex jumped to her feet as her wings tingled. "Angel," she hissed, glancing over at the Winchesters to see they were still confused as to why lightning flashed in a snowstorm.

"Hello, boys. Alex."

Alex spun around to see Balthazar standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and her wings arched high in warm greeting. "Balthazar."

"You've seen The Godfather, right?" He crossed the room to stand by the desk.

"B . . ."

"You know, the end where Michael Corleone sends his men to kill his enemies in one big bloody swoop?" He set a wooden bowl down on the desk and turned to the bookshelf behind him.

"Hey!" Dean stood up, speaking directly to the angel.

Balthazar ignored him. "Dead sea brine," he muttered, glancing at the cardboard container he had picked up. "Good good good. You know, Moe Greene gets it in the eye, and Don Cuneo gets it in the revolving door?" He continued with his rambling as he poured in a fair amount of salt.

"I said 'hey,' " Dean repeated sharply.

Balthazar stopped what he was doing. "You did," he scathingly praised. "Twice. Good for you." He patted Dean on the shoulder before looking around. "Blood of lamb, blood of lamb."

He flared his wings and Alex watched him fly into the kitchen. "Fridge," she suggested.

The angel twitched his wings in acknowledgment, flinging open the refrigerator door. "Beer, cold pizza, blood of lamb." He pulled out the glass jar. "Yes!" He showed it to the hunters. "Blood of lamb." His wings flared again, and he was back in front of the wooden bowl, pouring the thick contents of the jar into the bowl.

"B?" Alex hurried over to him. "What's going on? Why are you talking about The Godfather?" Her wings folded forward in worry.

The angel stopped what he was doing to look at her. "Because we're in it. Right now. Tonight. And in the role of Michael Corleone: the archangel, Raphael." And with that, he started digging through Bobby's desk.

Dean stepped out of his way, a frown on his face. "You mind telling us what you mean?" he asked somewhat crossly.

"No. No no no no no." Balthazar started dumping the drawers out onto the desk, desperately searching for something. Then he stopped and rapped on the bottom of the drawer. "Yes." He grinned victoriously, tearing off the false bottom in the drawer. He held up a small plastic bag with a part of a spine in it. "Bone of a lesser saint. This vertebra will do quite nicely. Your Mr. Singer does keep a beautiful pantry."