Maddison Winchester: Journal 7 {Supernatural} (Editing)

Out with the Old

I leaned up against a snow-covered railing just outside of our car, I was feeling completely drained of energy and dizzy. It had been a little while since I last drank any blood. Plus, after my nightmare and selfish cravings, I really just wanted to stay away from the stuff, but that was just making me feel worse. Sam was inside the convenience store, and Dean was talking on the phone with Frank.

"So, Dick's funding an archaeological dig?" Dean asked, "Well, unless Dick's actually digging himself, I'm not sure I know what to do with that, Frank." (...) "Or the factory in Saudi Arabia, or the fishery in Jakarta. None of this is helping, Frank." (...) "Where the hell is Tromso?" (...) "Yeah, well, we're not in Montana." (...) "We're in Oregon." (...) "Wisconsin, Frank." (...) "The coordinates... Bobby's coordinates." (...) "Well, work on it." (...) "Alright, alright, alright. Take it easy, Frank." (...) "Frank? Hello?" He furrowed his brow and pulled the phone away.

Sam walked up with a coffee in one hand and a newspaper in another.

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes, "He's a crazy son of a bitch."

"Frank?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, "You know, having a cranky total paranoid as your go-to guy... that's— it's—" He shook his head, "I don't know what it is." He spotted Sam's coffee and gestured to it, "What, are you going for, like, the Guinness record of caffeine consumption? That's like your fifth this morning."

Sam chuckled, "Yeah, well, every time I close my eyes, Lucifer is yelling into my head. It's like I let him in once, now I can't get rid of him."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "You know he's not actually—"

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, no. I know. Uh, try telling that to the volume control inside my brain."

"Well, did you try the hand thing?" Dean asked.

Sam hesitated, "Yeah," He flipped open the newspaper, "Anyway, long as I'm awake, check it out." He handed the paper to Dean, "They're saying drugs, but read between the lines. Sounds like she danced her own feet off. Might be our kind of thing."

"Dancers," Dean said as he read the paper, "They are toe shoes full of crazy."

Sam scoffed, "You— And you would know this how?"

"I saw Black Swan," Dean said, "Twice," He smiled, and Sam shot him a look, "Hot tutu-on-tutu action? Come on, Sam. What's wrong with you?"

Sam smirked, "Wow. The depths of your..." He took a deep breath and sighed, "Anyway, it's in Portland, a couple hours away. What do you think?"

"Yeah, dancers?" Dean shrugged, "Why not? Maybe you'll get some sleep on the way."

Sam scoffed, "Yeah, maybe."

Dean turned to me, "Come on, kid," He put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me curiously, "You feelin' okay?"

I nodded hesitantly, "Yeah, I'm fine."

He nodded, "Alright, let's get a move on then."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After checking out the crime scene, we made our way over to the police station.

Sam sighed, "So, the usual... No EMF, no sulfur, no hex junk."

Dean nodded, "If there's no more dancers to interview on this trip, it could be a bust. Although I hear they have good coffee in Portland."

"Dude, that's Seattle," Sam sighed, "Let's just get the drill over with."

One officer was behind the front desk joking around with another officer who was leaning on the desk, so Dean cleared his throat, and Sam raised his hand. The officer behind the desk raised his hand to acknowledge us, and then just went right back to talking. The officer who was leaning on the desk nodded at him and then walked away.