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.

Sam stepped up to the desk, and we followed, "Hi."

"Yeah?" The officer snapped.

"Uh, we'd like to see the crime-scene photos from the Irina Koganzon case, please," Sam said.

The officer glared at us and shook his head, "And you would be...?"

"Oh," Dean said, and we all pulled out our FBI badges.

The officer's irritation lightened up, and he nodded, "Give me a minute."

Dean nodded with a smirk, "Take your time."

The officer came out a few minutes later and handed Dean the case file. He opened it and found the crime scene photo. Irina was lying on the floor in her ballet costume, her feet looked like they literally exploded off of her, and a pair of ballet shoes were lying perfectly displayed near her body.

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, I'd call that weird." He nodded at us, "Come on."

We walked further into the station and found ourselves in front of the evidence room, Dean opened the door, and we walked in, holding up our badges.

"Hey, there. How you doing?" Sam asked.

The officer looked at us, slightly surprised, "Okay. What can I do for you?"

"Well, we need to see the shoes that were involved in the ballet dancer's death," Sam said.

The officer furrowed his brow, "Didn't figure that would be an FBI deal. But sure. Yeah, right here," He turned around and hesitated, "Damn it, Tracy."

"Who's Tracy?" Dean asked.

The officer, "My daughter. She loves ballet."

"Where'd she go?" I asked urgently.

He shook his head, "She said she needed to use the little girl's room."

Sam, Dean, and I took off for the bathrooms and burst through the women's room door. We found Tracy, a ten or eleven-year-old girl, sitting on the floor wearing the ballet shoes.

Sam pointed at her, "Hey, take those shoes off."

Suddenly, Tracy was pulled to her feet by an invisible force and started to spin on the tips of her toes. Sam ran over and grabbed her to hold her still, but she kept kicking around uncontrollably. I ran over and wrapped my arm around her legs to try and stop them from thrashing all over the place while Dean tried to pull the shoes off her.

"Get the shoes!" Sam yelled.

"I'm trying!" Dean shouted back.

Tracy's legs continued to flail around and kicked Dean in the head. "Sorry!" She yelled.

"Come on, Dean!" Sam yelled.

"I'm trying!" Dean said as he yanked one of the shoes off.

Tracy kicked Dean in the head again, "Sorry!"

Dean fell back but steadied himself and managed to pull the other shoe off, "I got it! I got it."

We all dropped to the floor, out of breath, with a terrified Tracy on top of us.

"Okay," Sam caught his breath, "I'm going with cursed object."

"You think?!" Dean yelled.

Sam looked down at Tracy, "You okay?"

Tracy nodded with wide eyes. We all stood up and sent Tracy back to her dad. Sam used two pens to carry the ballet shoes out to the front of the police station.

He looked inside the shoes and spotted a sticker, "Next stop... 'Out with the Old.' I suppose it's too much to hope that these shoes are the only thing in that store that we have to worry about."

"Oh, what a dreamer you are," Dean said as we walked out of the station.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I looked out of the window as we pulled up in front of the antique store and watched as Dean turned around slowly, looking at the seat next to me, almost terrified.

"What?" I asked.

"Didn't we put those in the trunk?" He asked.

I looked next to me and jumped back slightly, moving as far away from the ballet shoes as possible.

Sam looked back, "Ho-- How did they—"

"Cursed object, Sam," Dean said.

We all looked at the shoes for a moment, they seemed to be a lot bigger than they were when we peeled them off of Tracy's feet.

Sam furrowed his brow and looked at Dean, "Do they... Look like they're... Your size?"

"Shut up," Dean said.

I looked at him, "Wait a sec, are you—"

"Getting the strong urge to Prince Siegfried myself into oblivion?" Dean asked, freaked out, "Yes."

Sam's eyes widened, "You really did see Black Swan." Dean nodded slowly. Sam sighed, "Okay, let's hurry."

We got out of the car, and Sam used a pair of pliers to carry the slippers across the street into the antique store, which had a Going Out of Business Sale sign on the door.

"Hello?" Sam asked as we walked in. A man stopped mopping the floor and looked up at us. Sam held the slippers up, "Hey, did you sell these?"

The man nodded, "Uh, yeah."

"Where did you get them?" Sam asked.

"Uh, my— my— mo— mother had them in that box," The man pointed to a box on a counter.

Sam put the ballet shoes down on a display case and walked to the counter.

"I don't understand. What's happening?" The man asked.

Dean walked over to the ballet shoes and looked at them longingly.

"This, in here?" Sam asked as he held a box with carvings all over it up to the man.

I turned and realized Dean was holding the ballet shoes and staring at them intensely, "Hey, Dean," I put my hand on his arm, "Put those down."

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey!" Sam shouted and ran to Dean, he grabbed Dean's hands and forced him to drop the shoes in the box, "Jeez! You okay there, Baryshnikov?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm 'pas de' done," Dean smirked.

"Okay, if it's not too much trouble, do you mind telling me, uh, what's— what's going on?" The man asked.

The three of us held up our badges, and he looked confused and nervous.

"What's your name?" Sam asked.

"Uh, Scott— Uh, Scott Freeman," The man said.

"You said these were your mother's?" Sam asked, "Where'd she get them?"

Scott shrugged, "I don't know. I found them in the back." He pointed to the door behind the counter.

"I got it," Dean said and walked off.

"Now, where is your mother?" Sam asked.

"Well, she's, uh..." Scott sighed, "She passed away last week."

Sam sighed and nodded, "I'm sorry to hear that. Scott, listen. These shoes—"

Scott shrugged, "Just some personal stuff she collected. I'm trying to get rid of it all."

I raised my eyebrows, "All?"

"Is there more like this?" Sam asked urgently.

"Guys," Dean said, holding up more wooden boxes with carvings on them as he walked back into the room.

"Scott, what was in those boxes?" Sam asked.

Scott furrowed his brow, "Okay, what the hell kind of FBI guys are you?"

"The kind that are trying to fix the mess you started. Now, where'd your mom get these?" Dean asked, jiggling the boxes around.

Scott shook his head, "I don't know. I found them in her safe," He gestured to a safe that had been left open with symbols written all over the inside of it and a few more carved boxes inside.

I nodded, "Oh, the safe that's covered with strange symbols? Did you ever think that maybe it was locked for a reason?"

Scott shook his head, "No, I—I just thought it was some of the junk that she had collected over the years. Like, I knew she was into some weird stuff, but I never thought that she would be, like—"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, well, think again, okay? 'Cause this 'junk' is killing people."

Scott furrowed his brow, "What? Like, how can that be?"

"Look, Scott," Sam said, "We're gonna need to know exactly what you sold out of that safe and names and addresses of who you sold it to."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We pulled up in front of a house and got out.

"Alright, what do we got?" Dean asked.

"She bought a tea kettle," Sam said.

"Tea kettle?" I asked.

Sam nodded, "Yeah," He shrugged, "Hey, with enough curse mojo, you can turn a freaking pencil into a weapon of mass destruction."

Dean sighed, "Good times."

We walked up the long sidewalk to the front door and stepped in. Instantly, we could see an old metal tea kettle laying on the ground next to an older woman who had burn marks on her hands, down her chin, and onto her chest.

Dean grabbed rubber gloves off of the counter and picked up the kettle and its lid off of the ground, "Better call this in."

Sam nodded and dialed a number into his phone, "Hello?" (...) "Yeah. I'd like to report an accident at 23 Gorham Road." (...) "My name? Uh... Bruce Hornsby." He shrugged and then hung up.

We walked out of the house back toward the car.

"Alright. Who's next on the list?" Dean asked.

Sam pulled a notebook out of his pocket and read over it, "We got a, uh, gramophone sold to Brenda Gluck, 413 River Street, and a vintage gentleman's magazine sold to Peter Yankit, 27 Johnson Lane."

"That name cannot be real," I said.

Sam nodded, "Well, it is."

"Alright, we'd better split up. Why don't you take the gramophone?" Dean asked, "Maddi, and I'll handle the old rag."

Sam shook his head, "I wouldn't really 'handle' it if I were you. Remember those shoes?"

"Yeah, how could I forget?" Dean asked and put the kettle in the back seat, "You know, I wonder how old porn kills you."

Sam shrugged, "Pretty sure you don't want to know."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, you're probably right. Alright. Let's do this."

"Yep," Sam said and walked away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After Dean collected the gentleman's magazine, he put it in one of the boxes, and I called Sam.

"Hey. Dean got the porn. Apparently, just in time, too," I said.

"What was the guy doing?" Sam asked.

"Uh, I was told, quote, 'It's a good thing you stayed in the car,'" I said, and Sam groaned, "Where are you?" I asked.

"I just got the gramophone. I'm across town. I'll head your way," Sam said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dean and I hurried back to the antique store and put the boxes back in the safe where they belonged.

"So, my mom wasn't just some whack job. All this stuff is real?" Scott asked.

Dean nodded, "Yep."

"Well, now I— I really feel like crap," Scott said sadly.

I shook my head, "Why?"

Scott shrugged, "I kept pushing her to sell the store. She kept saying no, and I kept pushing her, you know, telling her how much money she'd make."

"You think you changed her mind?" Dean asked.

Scott shook his head, "I don't know. You know, this real-estate lady kept coming around, and then one day, just like that, Mom says okay. Then she had that accident, never even got to enjoy the money."

Dean raised his eyebrows, "How soon after?"

"The next day," Scott sighed.

"The nex—" Dean shook his head, "How did she die?"

"Car crash. You know, I keep thinking, if I hadn't pushed her, then..." Scott sighed and shrugged.

Dean nodded, "Hey, a little tip. Uh, feeling guilty ain't gonna bring 'em back. Best you can do is live your life the way that you think would make her proud. Or at least not embarrass the crap out of her." Scott smiled and nodded. We turned to walk away, but Dean paused and turned around, "Oh, uh... You know the drill, right? Don't touch anything in those boxes. In fact, don't even go near the safe. Once we get it all boxed up, we'll get a U-Haul and get everything out of here."

Scott nodded, "Believe me, I— I got it."

We walked out of the antique shop and started down the sidewalk. I zoned out as I walked next to Dean, following along and listening to his footsteps. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of one of the windows, I looked horrible, and then for a split second, my eyes changed black. My heart skipped a beat, and then Dean nudged my arm.

"Hey, did you hear anything I just said?" He asked.

"Huh? Yeah, what?" I asked.

Dean shook his head, "Are you okay?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. What did you say?"

Dean stared at me for a long moment and then pointed to a bunch of Bicklebee Realty SOLD signs on several of the storefronts along the road.

I shrugged, "Seems a little sketch."

Dean furrowed his brow, "'Seems a little sketch'? That's all you got?"

I shrugged, "What do you want me to say, Dean? Maybe they're buying out the block for a company or something. It's not that crazy. It's a small town, it's not that uncommon for big companies to move in and bulldoze a place."

Dean stared at me for a moment and then put a hand on my shoulder, "Let's go get food."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I sat at a table across from Dean as he called Sam. I laid my head on my arms as I looked up at him. I felt horrible and sick to my stomach, but it wasn't a nauseous feeling. I felt extremely hungry, but at the same time, the thought of eating made me feel worse.

"Yeah, not sure we're taking the safe out of town just yet," Dean said.

Our waitress walked up and poured Dean a cup of coffee, "Here you go."

Dean nodded at her, "Thanks." Then he went back to talking to Sam, "Um, so, it turns out that mama hoarder didn't just die and leave the store to Scott." (...) He clicked around on his laptop, "No, listen to this. The lady spends forty years trying to keep that place, right? Then one day, she wakes up and sells. Next day, drives her car off a cliff." (...) "No, I think the world is full of hilarious coincidences. Oh, and there's this new company... Never even tasted real estate just gobbled up a huge chunk of Main Street. Maddi says this is normal," He gave me a look, "And now, I could be off the deep end here, but doesn't that seem weird to you?" (...) "Sam? Sam? (...) He furrowed his brow, "Sounds good? Are you alright?" (...) "Yeah." He sighed and hung up. He typed a little on his computer and sighed, "Son of a bitch."

"What?" I asked.

Dean sighed, "Bicklebee Realty? Their website doesn't work or something. It says, 'We're sorry, the site you are trying to access has been blocked.'" He sighed, "I'm calling Frank," He grabbed his phone and put it to his ear, "Frank, hey, I don't mean to double-dip in your crazy sauce. No offense." (...) "But I think I found something." (...) "Alright, so, there's this new company that's buying up a whole bunch of, uh, mom-n'-pops in Portland, but I hit a firewall when I tried to access its site. Think you can crack it?" (...) "I don't—" (...) "Uh, Geothrive, Inc." He sighed and hung up, then turned his attention to me, "You sure you're okay, kid?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Why?" I asked.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, you look like crap," Dean said.

"Oh, wow, that's so sweet of you," I rolled my eyes, "You really know how to charm a girl."

"I'm sorry, but I'm being serious," Dean said, "What's going on? Are your nightmares back or something?"

I chuckled, "Back? They never really stopped."

"Maddison, if somethings going on with you, you need to tell me," Dean said, "Sam's seeing Lucifer everywhere, so I need to make sure nothing's goin' on with you too."

"Yeah, Dean. I get it," I sighed, "I just don't feel good, I'm allowed to be sick. I am human, you know."

"Alright, as long as that's all it is," He said, looking at me very seriously.

"Yeah, that's all it is," I shrugged.

Dean stared at me for a moment, and then his phone started vibrating, "Frank, tell me you got something." (...) "What?" (...) "My silence is your cue, Frank." (...) "Yeah, well, that'd be helpful if you didn't say that about everything." (...) "So, you're tellin' me that Geothrive is part of Roman, Inc.?" (...) "So, what, leviathans are—are Walmartin' mom-n'-pops?" (...) "So, we've got a big ol' field in Wisconsin and a bunch of friggin' shops in Portland? What the hell are they up to?" (...) "People are dying here, Frank." (...) "Well, we're not done here, okay, and, hey, we might get some answers," He clicked the phone off.

I shrugged, "So, you're right? This is something weird."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, leviathan weird."

Sam walked in and joined us at our table, "So? Um, how's it going?" Sam asked, and then looked at me, "You feeling alright?"

"Yes! I'm alright," I snapped.

Both Dean and Sam looked at me, surprised, and glanced around at some of the people who were now staring in our direction.

"Okay, jeez," Sam said wide-eyed.

Dean cleared his throat, "I just got off the phone with Frank. Apparently, we have a bit of a leviathan issue in this town."

"Leviathans, here?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, "Yeah. We're lookin' at a big, old giant nesting doll of Dick, as far as property sales go." Sam sighed and looked away, causing Dean to furrow his brow, "Hey, you hearin' me?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head, "Okay, you know what? Enough with the insomnia crap. Alright, Pacino? You need to crash. I'll keep working. You find a motel and get some sleep. Take Grumpy the dwarf with you. Okay?" I kicked Dean under the table, and he shot me a look, "Ow."

Sam sighed, "It doesn't matter what I do, Dean. Lucifer will not shut up."

"Even now?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, "He's singing 'Stairway to Heaven' right now."

"Good song," Dean shrugged.

Sam shook his head, "Not fifty times in a row."

"Hmm," Dean nodded, considering how annoying that would be.

Then Sam's phone rang, and he answered, "Hey, Scott." (...) "What's happening?" (...) "Alright, hold tight. Uh, we're on our way." He hung up and sighed.

"Let me guess. He touched something he was not supposed to," Dean said as he put some cash down on the table.

"'Course he did," Sam said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The three of us ran into the antique store, where we found Scott tied to a chair, another man in a bright red suit, and the woman who had her face plastered all over town on the Bricklebee Realty signs.

"So much for the cursed mirror," Dean groaned.

The woman smiled at us, "Sam, Dean, and Maddison. It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintances," She walked up to us, "Now, just so you can put names to the faces that'll be eating you, I'm Joyce, and this is my assistant, George," She nodded at the man in the red suit.

"Oh, you're the— you're the lady from the real-estate signs," Dean said.

Joyce smiled proudly, "Yes. You like my photo?"

Dean shrugged, "Oh, you might want to lay off the whitening strips."

Joyce laughed, "Oh, Dean. I am gonna enjoy picking you out of my teeth," Her face transformed into the giant leviathan mouth. Then she grabbed Dean and threw him into a glass cabinet. She turned and backhanded me, sending me to the ground.

While Sam and Dean fought with the leviathans, I ran to Scott and started cutting his duct tape off him. Then Sam dunked George's head into a bucket and pulled him up to reveal that his skin was burning and smoking. Joyce looked at George in disgust and then grabbed Dean, throwing him through a glass door.

I cut through Scott's duct tape, "Okay, you need to hide, quickly."

Scott nodded frantically and ran into a back room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"The sword!" George yelled at Sam, "The sword!" He pointed to a display cabinet, and then Sam hurried over and broke the glass and pulled a sword out of it.

Sam ran to Joyce and cut her head off before she had a chance to attack Dean again.

"Uh. Thanks," Dean said, out of breath.

Scott came out of the backroom and peered out of the door, "Are they gone?"

"Not exactly," Sam sighed, "You're probably gonna want to leave town."

Dean stood up and grabbed a bag. He walked over to Joyce's head, put it inside the bag, and then shoved it into the safe.

"Okay, I get that these things mean business, you know, but I can't just, like, uproot my life," Scott said.

"Sure you can," Dean said as he slammed the safe shut, "It's not as hard as you think."

"Look, Scott. These big mouths don't like to leave loose ends," Sam said.

"So don't you look back 'til you get someplace where you don't speak the language," Dean said.

Scott nodded, "Alright. I'm going," He shrugged, "Thank you, I guess," Then he walked out.

"Don't mention it," Sam said and then turned to George, "One minute. That's how long you have to explain to us why you helped us."

"Because I am dying to know what that bitch tastes like," George said.

We all looked at him in disgust.

Dean shook his head, "Wait, let me get this straight. You want to eat your boss?"

"You got a better way to make her stay dead?" George smirked.

"So, what? So now you're— you're on our side or something?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," George smirked and shook his head, "No. But if Joyce is alive, then I spend the rest of my life cleaning her messes," He took off his jacket, "Or worse, I get eaten," He loosened his tie, "Or bibbed. So, thanks... For chopping her head off for me. Taking her on solo..." He cringed, "Yikes. So, really, thanks for the assist there. And, of course..." He looked at Dean, "You're welcome... For saving you... Before she ripped into your ass like a Christmas present," He clicked his tongue and winked, "Win-win, right? So how 'bout that head?"

We exchanged looks between the three of us.

"Yeah, not gonna happen, Georgie," Dean said, and Sam held the sword to his throat. "Now..." Dean glared at him, "What the hell is Dick Roman building in Wisconsin?"

George scoffed, "I don't know. I barely know where Wisconsin is. I'm a West-Coast representative."

"You gonna keep killing people who don't sign on the dotted line?" Sam asked.

"Alright, take it easy," George raised his hands and then poked his finger in Joyce's blood on the sword. He looked at it for a moment and then tasted it, "Mmm," He groaned happily, "Killing people isn't part of the agenda. Joyce just kept getting impatient. You— You got nothing to worry about with me. Don't you get it? You guys are freaking out about the wrong thing."

"Oh, you think?" Dean asked.

"A couple of real-estate deals?" George asked, "Come on. Big picture, guys. You— You think it's just here?" He shook his head, "It's everywhere. And it's a lot more ambitious than this little project. My advice... Keep your heads down and stay down."

Dean nodded and stepped closer to George, "Listen to me, you gooey son of a bitch. You're gonna tell us what you're building here, or I'm gonna wash your mouth out with soap."

"Hmm," George looked at us anxiously, "I was hoping we could play nice. But if you must know... It's going to be a research center."

"Research for what?" Dean asked.

"Disease," George nodded, "This is where we are going to cure cancer."

Sam glared and shook his head, "Wait. That doesn't make any sense. I mean, why would Dick Roman want to cure cancer?"

"'Cause we're only here to help," George smirked.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After Sam cut George's head off, we loaded it into the safe. Then we went to a motel and slept for a couple hours before renting a U-Haul trailer the next morning. We went back to the antique store and then packed the safe into the trailer.

"Monsters cure cancer," Dean said as he slammed the door shut, "A sentence I never thought I'd say. Why does it make me so nervous?"

"Yeah, I hear you. So, what do we do now?" Sam asked.

Dean pointed at Sam, "You are gonna sleep on it... All the way to Frank's. Capiche?"

Sam chuckled, "I wish I could."

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Yeah. A little. I— I don't know," He chuckled as we reached our doors.

Dean nodded, "Well, we'll find you a soft-rock station. Always knocks you right out."

Sam chuckled, and we all climbed into the truck Dean had stolen.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Late that night, we pulled up to Frank's trailer that he had strategically hid in the woods. We got out and could hear him blasting music inside.

"Hey, Frank!" Dean yelled and pounded on the door, "Devereaux!" He yelled, but there was no answer, "What the hell is he doing in there?" He knocked on the door again, but there was no answer, "Frank! Don't shoot! We're coming in!"

When we walked in, there was glass and blood all over the floor. Frank's computers and monitors had been destroyed. All of his paperwork was scattered and ripped apart, and the whole place was splattered with blood, but there was no Frank. We just looked around in shock for a moment.

"Not good," Dean said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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