Maddison Winchester: Journal 7 {Supernatural} (Editing)

Repo Man

We caught wind of a case in Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, that was eerily similar to a demon case that Sam and Dean had dealt with years ago. The problem was, they got the demon to tell us all their secrets, so when he was sent back to Hell, we figured the other demons would've finished him off. We weren't exactly sure if this was our guy or not, but we had to check it out. While I knew people were dying, I couldn't shake this strange excitement I had to be working a demon case.

When we walked into our new motel room, Dean's phone rang immediately. He looked at the caller ID, confused, "'Classified server'? Gotta be Devereaux, right?" He answered, "Hello?" (...) "Thank god. Frank..." He grabbed a radio receiver from Sam, "Frank, what do you got for me?" (...) "Frank, you're breaking up."

I spotted Sam acting strange, and he pressed his palm where his scar was. I walked up to him and put my hand on his arm, "You okay?"

He cleared his throat, nodded, and then went back to laying our case files out on one of the beds.

"What do you mean you can't find him?" Dean asked, "It's Dick Roman. Turn on CNN. Didn't you see him at that, uh, press conference in Phoenix? The bastard's everywhere." (...) "You sure?" (...) "No, I— I— I don't—" (...) "I don't care that they've infiltrated the luxury boat industry, Frank." (...) "Great. Call Kanye," He hung up, shaking his head.

"Frank's still stumped on Roman?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean tossed his phone on his bed, "Alright, let's do this."

"Okay, um, look at the victim profiles," Sam said, gesturing to the pictures of two blood-covered women's bodies, "Same age, same hair color, body type. The ritual mutilations line up exactly."

"Who down there would've let our demon out of the can?" Dean asked, "He squealed on his superiors. We made sure of that. I mean, he should be down under until, uh, trumpet day."

Sam shrugged, "But two women killed in the last two weeks, same parts missing, I mean, same old hunting grounds, even."

"Alright, well, we can take a swing at it. But you know it's all about the leviathans now, okay?" Dean pointed at Sam and turned away, "They're the ones we need to be huntin'."

Sam sighed, "Yeah, but, no..." He shook his head, "I mean, not right now. This one's ours, Dean. It's unfinished business, apparently."

Dean nodded, "Alright. Let's get some shut-eye and figure this out tomorrow."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I weakly laid down on the couch. I was so exhausted, I almost felt drained. I looked down at my hands and noticed that my hands and arms were almost skin and bone and covered in bruises. I shook my head and blinked my eyes, but when I opened them, nothing had changed.

I sat up quickly, hyperventilating, and looked down at the rest of me. My whole body was basically just skin and bones, and I was now sitting on a bed with white sheets in a bright white, almost blinding room.

Someone cleared their throat next to me, and I jumped. I looked up to see Crowley, looking down at me almost sympathetically.

He sat down on the bed and put his hand on my shoulder, pushing me back gently, "I told you, you need to relax. You won't get better if you don't listen to me."

I shook my head as I laid back, "What's go—"

Crowley put his finger over my lips, "Ah-ah, save your energy." He snapped his fingers, and a table with a metal pitcher and a glass appeared next to us. He picked up the pitcher and started pouring thick red liquid into the glass.

I felt an overwhelming hunger grow over me, and my mouth watered as I watched the blood fill the cup. He picked up the glass and handed it to me, and I immediately snatched it out of his hand and drank it savagely.