Brothers Keep Her

“That’s my apartment,” you say when Dean shows you the text from Crowley. “Why is he going to my apartment?!” You fumble in your pocket for your phone. You have to call your roommate. You have to warn Jenna.

Dean floors the gas pedal. The line connects and each ring drives your heart further up into your throat. “C’mon, Jenna, pick up the damn phone!” you whisper. You keep trying, but Jenna never answers. Tremors radiate through your body from your core. Jenna always answers. Now you fear she has met the same fate as Jonah.

Before you realize it, Dean skids the Impala into an imperfect park outside of your building. Crowley is nowhere in sight. You burst out of the car the minute Dean opens his door, knocking him back into his seat. “Wait!” he yells after you. But you don’t.

You bound up the stairs two at a time to your apartment door. It’s locked. Of course, it is. You don’t have your keys on you, so you pound on the door with your fists. “Jenna!” you scream. “Jenna! OPEN THE DOOR!”

You don’t wait for her to answer. There isn’t any time. You step back to the railing and heave yourself at the door, ramming it with your shoulder, which was stupid because pain sears through your neck. By the time you retreat to the railing again, Sam and Dean are huffing and puffing at your side. Sam holds you back, and Dean stands in front of the door, lifts his right leg and kicks as hard as he can. It takes three good kicks but he finally busts in and the three of you rush inside.

Crowley is sitting on your couch with one leg crossed over the other, a paper coffee cup from your shop in his hand and a tea tag hanging over the side. “I would have opened the door for you if you’d just waited.”

“Where is she?” Dean shouts, both fists clenched as he stares down the King of Hell.

Crowley shrugs. “Safe. You don’t need to worry about Miss Jenna. I took the liberty of sending her out of harm’s way.”

“What did you do?” you ask, but your voice is barely audible.

Crowley doesn’t need to hear you to know what you said, though. “I told you. I sent her somewhere safe. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Dean and Sam look between you and Crowley with deep lines carved into their foreheads. “What is this?” Dean asks him. “How did you hear her? How do you know what she wants? Are you reading minds, now?”

“Just hers,” Crowley responds, nonchalantly sipping his tea.

“You never told us you could read minds,” Sam accuses.

“I never said I couldn’t, Moose.” He motioned to the armchair and looks right at you. Have a seat, Dearie.

Your skin freezes over. He didn’t really just do that, did he?

“What the hell was that, Crowley?” Dean demands as he watches you move to the armchair under Crowley’s watchful eyes, just as he told you to do as if you are under some sort of spell.

“Just having a chat with the girl, is all.” Crowley’s wry smile unsettles you.

“Where’s the demon?” Sam interrupts. “You said you know where it is.”

“Ah, yes. He’s in the back bedroom. Hers, actually. Don’t worry - I trapped him in there. You know how tricky it is to paint a devil’s trap when you’re a demon? I nearly trapped myself.”

Sam takes off. You can’t stop staring at Crowley, even though you want to run to Jonah.

Don’t worry. Sam’ll take care of it.

“Stop,” you warn him.

Crowley shrugs. “Can’t, I’m afraid.”

“Okay, explain. Now,” Dean says. He walks to the chair and stands beside you with one hand protectively on your shoulder. You shudder under the electricity of Dean’s touch.

Crowley looks up at him and realization hits his face. “Oh... you really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

A wicked grin spreads across his stubbly face as he sips his tea.

As if some tether snaps free, you feel Crowley’s hold on you break and jump to your feet. “Jonah!” you yell and chase after Sam. You find him in your bedroom, face to face with Jonah - or, rather, the demon. “I want to do it,” you seethe through gritted teeth.

“They’re coming for you,” the demon says, his eyes as black as coal.

“[Y/N], don’t listen to him,” Sam warns with the knife at the demon’s throat.

“Sam, don’t,” you order. “Jonah’s in there.”

The demon cackles. “I’m surprised you don’t know. No wonder you’ve been such an easy target.”

“Shut up,” Sam says, slicing into the demon’s flesh.

“Sam!” you yell as the demon cries in agony.

Another demonic cackle. “You really have no idea. Oh, this is so good. So, so good.” More cackles. “You can’t feel it?”

“Feel what?” you demand.

“Don’t -” Sam says.

The demon interrupts. “Death. Jonah’s gone, sweetheart. He’s long gone. It’s been me ever since your little mishap in the diner.”

Your heart bottoms out. “You...”

“Did you kill McFarlane?” Sam presses the blade over his heart.

“Oh, yes. That was me.”

“But...why...?”

“The professor?” The demon smirks. “That’s need-to-know, darlin’.”

With trembling hands, you reach into your back pocket as your eyebrows furrow and your eyes turn to ice. You clench your jaw to stop the quivering as your rage spreads through your body like a grease fire.

“What happened to making deals?” Sam asks him and your nimble fingers unfold the page.

The demon throws its head back and guffaws. “We expected more from you, Sam. When you let the Darkness out, the rule books went into the fire.”

“We?”

“Yesssss, we. WE will restore Lucifer to his throne.”

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” you begin, the paper trembling in your hands.

Sam rushes to your side. “What - where did you get this..?”

You ignore him. “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio

infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,

omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.

Ergo draco maledicte

et omnis legio diabolica

adjuramus te.

Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,

eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.”

Sam straightens up, squares his shoulders, and recites along with you from memory. “Vade, Satana, inventor et magister

omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis.

Humiliare sub potenti manu dei,

contremisce et effuge, invocato a

nobis sancto et terribili nomine,

quem inferi tremunt.

“Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine.

Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire

te rogamus, audi nos.

Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris,

te rogamus, audi nos.

“Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo.

Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem

et fortitudinem plebi Suae.

Benedictus deus. Gloria patri!”

A soul-piercing scream fills the room as the black cloud spills out of Jonah’s mouth. You lunge for him, but you’re not quite fast enough. You end up on the floor, pulling his lifeless body into your lap. A sob sneaks up from the pit of your stomach. You shake your head. “No... no no no...”

Sam kneels beside you and runs his hands over his hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

You hug Jonah.

And you feel it.

His body is nothing but an empty shell.