The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

Mommy Dearest

A/N: Winding down to the end now guys, but at the same time things are heating up. We're not quite finished yet....

MOMMY DEAREST

Come on, come on, come on. I was holed up in a corner of Bobby's basement with Sam's laptop, doing my best to keep tabs on the demon we were yet to find. I'd figured since we had no leads yet on Eve, I may as well be doing something - though Dean'd been pestering me all day to do something 'useful' and help him make the bullets.

"You gonna come help yet, Mil?" Dean asked presently.

I sighed, scowling as he packed Phoenix ash into a shell. "You know, Dean. Eve isn't the only big bad on our plate at the moment."

"Yeah, well, until that demon of yours rears its ugly head again it's a wild goose chase," Dean griped.

"Well then I'll be ready for it," I snapped. I ignored my brother's further argument, and went back to tracking the demon. We'd seen him first in Wyoming, and then Colorado. Over two weeks later it'd shown its face in Kansas - Junction City, Topeka, Lawrence. Lately, he'd appeared again with omens way up in Massachusetts. We'd tailed him for a couple days, tracking a string of missing persons. And then he'd fallen off the grid. There didn't seem to be any pattern or logic to this wild trail, spanning right the way across the country over random time periods, taking random amounts of people, hitting random towns each time. The only thing in common was that we could not catch him. Chris and Anne had tried, but had died in the process. So as Dean'd pointed out, we were back here on the tail of Eve - the other big bad on our plate.

"Aw, crap!" Dean swore suddenly, leaping to his feet. The shotgun shell he was currently making plinking to the ground, contents spilling everywhere.

"What?" I demanded.

"Spilt it," Dean hissed. "Crap, crap, crap."

That stuff's supposed to burn! I jumped up, grabbed a cloth, and helped Dean clean up his blackened hands. But underneath, his hands weren't even red.

"They're not burning?" I observed, setting down the cloth.

Dean frowned, inspecting his hands. "No."

"What the heck?"

"Beats me." Dean's voice was a grumble. "Maybe the stuff's a myth."

"Better not be," I adjoined. "Otherwise we took a trip to 1861 and almost killed Cas and Bobby for nothing."

"Yeah," Dean agreed with a sigh. He sat back down in his place. I picked up the empty shell and plastic primer, then whilst Dean went back to work I swept up the spilt ash.

"You gonna help me yet?" Dean muttered.

Well, I was here, wasn't I? "May as well. Demon bastard isn't going anywhere quickly."

I watched Dean set up another casing, place the primer, funnel in some ash, then seal it shut. I picked up my own empty casing, repeating the process and storing it in the tray with the others. There was still only five, not good enough.

Sam and Bobby descended the staircase as we worked.

"Hey. How you doing?" Sam greeted us.

I rubbed my dirty hands together, groaning in boredom.

"Five shells," Dean grumbled in response. "That's how I'm doing."

Sam sighed. "Well, you know, it's a hell of a lot more than what we had last week."

That supposed to be comforting?

"Maybe," Dean muttered.

"Meaning?" Bobby prompted.