Fatal (Winchester Sister 2)

Croatoan

Everything was in slow motion, except for the dialogue. Dean clicks the magazine into place outside the door to the office. When he enters, he's greeted with yells from everyone. A doctor, Dr Lee, Nurse Pam, Mark, and Duane. Under the Crater Lake poster hanging high on the wall, Duane sat tied to a chair, knots done by Dean himself. The man sitting in the chair looks up and starts babbling. "No, no, no, no, no. It's not in me! I swear!"

"Oh, God. We're gonna die," Nurse Pam whispers from the corner of the room.

Mark places a hand on the back of Dean's shoulder, "maybe he's telling the truth."

Dean shrugs the hand off, advancing on Duane by cocking the gun. "It's not him. Not anymore."

"No! Stop it! Please stop it!" Duane cries. "Ask her! Ask the doctor! It's not in me!"

"I just... I can't tell," Dr Lee told him, stumped.

"No, please, don't! I swear I-"

Dean looks down the barrel, "I got no choice." Two shots are fired.

"Emerson?" Dean walked into the room, looking for me.

I looked up at him over the top of the bed. His expression when he killed that boy in the vision was the only thing I saw. "Oh, God no."

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"There's only two towns in the US named Rivergrove," I said, looking out the window.

"How come you're so sure it's the one in Oregon?" Sam asked, glancing over from the GPS and a map.

"There was a picture of Crater Lake."

"Anything else?"

"Just, uh, a dark room, some people, and a guy tied to a chair," I held my head in thought.

"And I ventilated him?"

"Yeah. You thought there was something inside of him."

"Where was me and you?" Sam asked.

"You were in there and I have no idea where I was."

"What was in him? A demon? Was he possessed?"

"I don't know, Dean!"

"Well, all your weirdo visions are somehow tied to the yellow-eyed demon," Dean pointed out, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. "Was there any black smoke? Did we try to exorcize it?"

"I don't know, Dean! I told you. You just plugged him!"

"Stop yelling at me, you idiot! I'm just tryna get everything I can here to save a few people." He paused and I felt his studying gaze on me from the rearview. Dean sighed, "I'm sorry, baby. Okay?" That's a weird nickname. He only calls the Impala that.

"Are you talking to me or?"

"I'm talking to you, Emerson. Now let's just hope that I had a good reason to waste him."

"I sure hope so," I muttered, peering back out the window.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Sam, where's your opinion?"

Sam looked up from the road map, "this is between you and him. I have no part in this."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

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The frosty Oregon early morning air woke me up when the boys got out of the car. Early as in at least nine. They approached a tall, tough looking, dark man who was sitting outside the diner cleaning his rifle. He was in my vision. What was his name? Mack? Mark! There! Mark!