The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

The French Mistake

A/N: MILLERS! Are you as excited for this one as I am?! French Freaking Mistake!

On a downer note, sorry, if you read my post the other day... it's true, Life and Lies is ending at the end of the season, so that I can focus on a new and exciting work that is taking a lot of attention (more to come on that later :) )

And I'd just like to put out there - I'm not American, but if anyone out there is upset by the outcome of the election, don't hesitate to contact me. I'm here if anyone would like to vent :)

Anyway, cheerful time!

VOTE!COMMENT!FAN!

THE FRENCH MISTAKE

In typical Dakota fashion one minute it was sunny, and the next the skies had opened into a violent thunderstorm. That was summer for you. Sam and I sat at Bobby's kitchen table, eating sandwiches and researching possible leads on a case. We'd been here almost a week now - a week after we'd rescued Sam and killed Seraphiel. It was high time we found ourselves another case. Currently, we were working two leads - Sam looking at something that appeared to be a curse, meanwhile I was hunting for our little demon friend - who'd once again vanished without a trace. I was watching the lightning flash outside the window, when a sodden Dean burst in. He'd been working on Baby out in the yard, and must've just been caught in the storm. He shook out his dripping hair, and I laughed.

Dean scowled. "Shut up. Friggin Dakota."

I shrugged. I'd pretty much grown up with this weather pattern, the number of summers I'd spent here as a child.

"Hey, where's Bobby?" Sam wondered. Yeah, actually. Where was he? I'd seen Bobby leave shortly after Dean'd gone out, and he was yet to return.

"In town, supply run," Dean responded.

I stared out the window. "In this?" Yuck.

"Yeah, man's a hero. We were officially out of hunter's helper." Dean set down an empty beer bottle on the table. I glanced at the mounting pile of empty bottles in the trashcan. Between the four of us, the hill of Coors Crafted overflowing the trashcan was the result of a week long binge, which none of us regretted.

Electricity suddenly sparked in an odd pattern, lighting up the dark room. We all glanced sharply out the window. It only masked the arrival of an angel.

"Hello, boys, and Mil." It was freaking Balthazar. I swore under my breath. Angels weren't exactly on the top of my priority list right now. "You've seen "'the Godfather', right?"

"Balthazar..." Dean muttered coldly. I seconded that emotion.

"You know, the end, where Michael Corleone sends his men to kill his enemies in one big, bloody swoop?" Balthazar continued. I had no idea what he was talking about. I watched the angel warily as he fetched a salad bowl from atop the fridge, and then began hunting the cabinets, eventually pulling out a large container of salt.

"Hey!" I protested. That's Bobby's salt! What the hell are you doing?

"Dead sea brine," Balthazar said, pouring the contents into the bowl. "Good, good, good. You know, Moe Greene gets it in the eye, and Don Cuneo gets it in the revolving door?" What? Oh yeah, The Godfather.

"I said 'hey'," I repeated crossly.

"You did. Twice. Good for you," the angel sneered. "Blood of lamb. Blood of lamb." He vanished, and I noticed Sam jump. Balthazar reappeared rummaging through the contents of Bobby's fridge, muttering to himself. "Beer, cold pizza. Blood of lamb. Yes! Blood of lamb!" He straightened up with a jar of thick red liquid.