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72

( DEARLY DEPARTED )

ABANDONED WAREHOUSE
[ ☼ ]

Sam and Dean begin stitching Abaddon's head back on her body. When it's done, she cracks her neck and smiles. "Morning, sunshines." She says.

"It worked. You owe me a beer." Dean says.

"And I owe you both so, so much. I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes." Abaddon says.

"Good luck with that. We figured kitty didn't need her claws." Sam says.

"Then I'll stump you to death. It'll be swell." Abaddon says.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, either. The bullet–remember?" Asks Sam.

"So you sit there like a good little bitch." Dean says. "We're gonna consecrate the ground, and you're gonna get to fessing up."

"Oh, I know this tune." Abaddon says.

"I doubt that." Dean says.

"Father Max Thompson, born October 12, 1910. Died August 5, 1958. Who do you think ripped him apart? Word got back to home office that Maxie was messing with things, so we made an example. It wasn't my most artful kill, but it was effective." Abaddon says. "And bonus–before he died, he told me all about Josie Sands. I found her, and I rode her into the Men of Letters." She laughs. "And what I did to them, that was art."

"So you know what Max was doing?" Sam asks

"Fella screamed the basics... But it'll never work."

"You keep telling yourself that." Dean says as a cellphone rings.

"Hello, boy." Crowley says.

"Crowley." Sam says.

"Crowley? The salesman?" Abaddon asks.

"Try the King of Hell." Dean says.

"This is a joke, right?" Asks Abaddon.

"Stay." Sam says. The boys get outside. "Hold on. How'd you get this number?"

"Ah, first things first–what are you wearing?" Crowley asks.

"Oh, okay, hanging up now. Hang up." Dean says.

"Fine. This isn't a social call. I was wondering. You lads been reading the papers, say, Denver Times from yesterday? No? Well, you should." He says. "It's side-splitting. What the hell–I'm sexting you an address. Check it out. Then we'll talk. Cheerio."

"Wait, what? Crowley?" Sam asks. His cellphone beeps.

"Here it is. Vic's name is Tommy Collins. Tommy." Dean says. "Why do I know that name?"

"Well, Tommy Collins, we saved him from a Wendigo like forever ago." Sam says.

"Okay, and, what, you think that Crowley blew his head off?" Dean asks. "Well, what are we dealing with here? Some sort of Demon-Wendigo team-up?"

"Uh, no clue." Sam says.

"All right, well, we'll pour one out for Tommy later. As far as Crowley goes, screw him. We got everything we need to put him in a permanent time-out." Dean says as they enter the barn again, just to discover that Abaddon is not here anymore. "No. No! No! No! No!"

"She's gone." Sam says.

"She's–son of a bitch!"

"Dean!" Sam yells as his cellphone chimes again.