The (Other) Nephilim

Chapter Twenty-One

Sam was talking to Mary and Dean on the phone as Jack and I were combing through the books. "I should be there with you," he snapped. After a second, "No it's not... yeah, I did. No that's not - It's not Enochian. I-I-I think its Ancient Hebrew... we don't know yet, we're still working on it... watch your back." With that he hung up the phone and slumped down into a chair dejectedly.

With a sigh, I dropped a stack of books on the table in front of him. "Better get to it, Sammy. We got a lot to go through."

Sam leaned forward and chuckled as I grabbed more books of the shelf and sat at the table. "You sound like Dean," he scoffed.

"Hey," I pointed a finger at him as I flipped a book open. "I take that as a compliment."

Jack laughed and added, "You're just a bit smarter."

I blinked. "What."

"Or not," Sam smiled, and both he and Jack started laughing.

"What? I don't get it," I looked between the two of them. "Dean's not not smart!"

---

Okay, I'll be honest. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I didn't know jack squat about Ancient Hebrew, or half the other things that Sam and Jack were talking about. I just tried my best to find something that sounded even vaguely similar to what Donatello was belting out on the voicemail.

We were listening to the message for what felt like the millionth time when Sam finally spoke up, "Wait a second. Wait, wait, wait. This - I know this."

At the same time, Jack and I asked, "What?"

"Donatello's message. It's," Sam chuckled. "It's from the Bible." He reached over and took a hardcover book from the middle of his pile, which I assumed to be the Bible, and began flipping through it. "It's Peter. Peter 5:8. Here, 'Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary, the Devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.'"

---

Dean and Mary, in the Impala, roared up to Donatello's house, quickly running out and up to the door. Dean, gun drawn, opened the door and shouted for their friend. "Donatello?!"

From a nearby room, they heard their friend's voice. "Oh, please! Dean! Please!"

"Donatello?"

"Help me please! Dean! Ooh! Oh! Sam! Dean!" The two Winchesters had arrived at the origin of their friend's voice, only finding a phone sitting on the dining room table, playing a recording. It continued in Donatello's voice, "Help! Help me," as footsteps approached.

Dean raised his gun to see Nick, Lucifer's empty vessel, walking in from the kitchen wearing a bright yellow apron with pastries on it, and holding a plate. He smiled, unfazed by the two pistols aimed at him, and said, "Good. You made it."

---

C-c-c-c-c-click!

Dean tightened Nick's handcuffs and turned him around so that he would lean against the table. Not missing a beat, Dean snapped, "Where's Donatello?"

Nick frowned, "What, no 'hey?' 'How ya been?'" Mary sighed and ventured into the kitchen, looking for clues. "So it's just you, huh? Sammy's home sick?"

Dean shook his head. "How are you even -"

Nick finished for him, "Here? Instead of rotting away in a jail cell where you left me? Sort of a funny story... and by 'funny,' I mean a lot of people died."

Mary rejoined them, holding up a silver syringe. "No one's here, but I found this in the trash."

"Dumpster diving," Nick nodded sarcastically. "Classy, Mamabear." Mary just smiled.

Dean snapped, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he shrugged innocently, then added, "I mean, I sort of injected your friend with poison. Thallium, to be exact. So he's got about a day before his internal organs shut down? But that's just sort of a 'guesstimate.'"

Mary asked, "Why?"

"To get your attention. I mean he was - is, sorry, is one of your friends, right? And you don't have too many of those."

"I'm not buying a word of this," Dean said.

"No?" Nick nodded toward the phone. As the Winchester picked it up, Nick instructed, "Hit the live-stream button." Dean did so, and the phone showed Donatello, tied up sitting in some sort of basement. He showed it to Mary and Nick snootily said, "You can save him if you can find him."

Dean practically threw the phone onto the table. He drew his gun on Nick and bellowed, "Where is he?!"

"Ooh, the angry voice," Nick said calmly. "Hey, if you kill me, you kill him. Do it. What do I got to live for? Go."

Mary sighed, "What do you want?"

"I want to talk."

Dean lowered the gun with a sigh.