39. Room 7B

Mid-May. Exact date, couldn't tell you. When you're a businessman, you don't think about the dates.

I'm following Dean back with more files. Since last night, after we found Cas in the street and about the third trial, we've been hitting the research. If anyone had any information about curing a demon, it would be the Men of Letters.

So far, we've struck out. With each new stack gone through, our hope diminishes a little. There has to be something that can help us finish these trials.

Till next time, Maxi. I look forward to it.

He's practically in my head. He sounds as clearly as though I'm having a conversation with him right now. Damn King of Hell. Damn him to a fate worse than Hell. Is there such a thing? Damn him to Purgatory.

I'm running out of time, like I have been since Crowley reminded me. I'm really running short, as we're now in May. Mid-May. Exact date, couldn't tell you. I'd bet my life Crowley knows my expiration date, he just doesn't want to tell me. He wants me to be on my toes, make me paranoid.

I'm so zoned out that I don't realize where I'm walking. My arm knocks into a corner as I mindlessly turn, and the folders and papers drop to the floor, creating chaos. Dean hears the chaos and stops, green eyes full of concern.

"You okay there, Max?"

"Fine," I grumble as I bend down, scooping up papers and trying to stuff them back in their proper files. "I'm fine. I'm just..." I sit on my knees, eyes down on the plethora of papers. "Exhausted."

"I know." Dean's on his knees in front of me, helping gather the rest of my stack. "We're all a little worse for wear."

"When this is over, is there gonna be a break?"

"Knowing our track record, it's probably not gonna happen."

I sigh. "We need it. Something that doesn't involve hunting or research." I'd prefer to take it now before I can't live anymore.

"We'll get there, someday."

I don't bother alphabetizing anything, I try to make the pile neat. I'm on my feet now, but Dean's got his hands on my arms.

"Max, if there's something you wanna say, now might be a good time to." I lean into his warm hand against my face.

He's asking for it. Do it, tell him. He needs to know. The trials don't matter right now. Your time on Earth is tick, tick, ticking away. He's right here. Perfect chance. Go. Do it! The thought is rapid in my head, but I can't get my mouth to say the words. I can't find the courage to spill the story, what's been going on behind closed doors.

"How much do you hear me at night, Dean?"

"Do you want the nice answer or the truth?" He smiles wryly.

"Truth." Which is what you should be telling him.

"More than I'd like to. More than you think." He looks at me pitifully. "You're barely hanging in here, Max. It's starting to get me worried."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" I tease mournfully. "I've survived a lot."

"The streets can't compare to this, Max." He dips his head a little. "Every time I hear you, I'm up. I don't wake you, because I don't know what you'd try to do. I try to do everything in my power to make your sleep a little better. Sometimes I fail, other times it works.

"Truthfully, I wake to make sure you're still next to me. To make sure something hasn't happened to you. I can't sleep well at night knowing you're suffering."

I can feel the tears brimming in my eyes. "Even when you're with me, I can't escape them." I sigh heavily. "It's just one of those things that we've got to live with, no matter what. Now"—I peck him on the mouth—"we got to get these out to the library and start looking through them." I get to my feet and almost hurry down the hall, fighting back the sobs in my chest.

I'm a coward. I'm a fucking coward. I blew it. I blew that chance. Why can't I just scream it to the heavens? Why can't I just blurt it out? Did Crowley do something to me that allows me to not say anything about the deal to anyone? It's possible. Keep trying to find a way. If nothing else, start thinking up escape plans.

I enter the bunker library, where Sam is sifting through papers. I hear Dean's feet behind me. Sam looks up, and his eyes pop in distress.

"Please tell me that's everything," he whimpers.

"We wish," I state. "This isn't even close."

"You see," Dean adds on, "the Men of Letters kept files on every demonic possession for the last three-hundred years, I mean, we've got Borden, Lizzy, all the way to Crane, Ichabod."

"How are you feeling?" I switch topics.

"Honestly, um...My, uh, my whole body hurts. I feel nauseous and like I'm starving at the same time, and everything smells like rotting meat," Sam tells us flatly.

"I've had that hangover," says Dean. I look at him strangely. "Jaeger, man. Maybe you should, uh, take a break, get some air."

"Dean, the only thing that's gonna make me feel better is finishing this."

"All right. Well, I'll go get you some grub, keep your strength up." Dean heads for one of the halls as Cas comes into the picture.

"Morning," he says. I sigh through my nose as Dean doesn't acknowledge the angel. I guess I can't blame him for that, but still. Cas looks around. "I like this bunker. It's orderly."

"Oh, give us a few months," Sam tells him. "Dean wants to get a ping-pong table."

"Since when?" I ask.

"If you two just ask each other questions instead of kissing all the time—"

"Sam, we're not that couple." I roll my eyes. "This is just the hunger and fatigue talking."

"I've heard of that," Cas cuts in. "It's a game, right?" He groans.

"Are you okay?"

"My wound isn't healing as quickly as I'd hoped...But I am getting better." He looks at Sam. "And you're getting worse."

"Well, two trials down, one to go," says Sam.

"And the final test, do you—you know what it is?"

"I have to cure a demon."

"Of what?"

"Soup's on," says Dean as he comes back with a plate. I notice he's also got a beer. "There we go. I think this is, uh...Oh, it's still good."

"Wow, Sam's so gonna have Herculean strength with this," I say, looking disdainfully at the plate and the half-drunk beer.

"A half-drunk beer, jerky, and three peanut-butter cups?" asks Sam.

"Yeah, we're—we're running a little low. I'll make a run," says Dean.

"Dean, I can go with you," Cas offers. An awkward silence follows briefly. "Dean. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything."

"Everything? Like, uh...ignoring us?"

"Yes."

"Or like bolting off with the Angel Tablet, then losing it 'cause you didn't trust me? You didn't trust me."

Okay, just act like I wasn't there, Dean.

"Yes."

"Yeah. Nah, that's not gonna cut it. Not this time. So you can take your little apology and you cram it up your ass."

"Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Yeah, you always do."

I want to clear this tension, but I have no idea how to start it. Luckily, Sam does it for me with a simple throat clearing.

"Hey, uh, do we have a room seven B?"

* * *

"Dude, go easy on Cas, okay," Sam tells Dean as we're in 7B. This place is full of archive files. This never ends. It's almost like Metatron's room. "He's one of the good guys."

"Dude, if anybody else—I mean anybody—pulled that kind of crap, I would stab them in their neck on principle. Why should I give him a free pass?"

"Because it's Cas."

"What are we supposed to be looking for down here?" I cut in.

"Um, anything on case one-one-three-eight. It was a class five infernal event—St. Louis, March eighth, nineteen fifty-seven."

"'Class five infernal event'?" Dean questions.

"Yeah. See, the Letters have this whole rating system. 'The Exorcist' would have been a class two."

"All right, so what makes this puppet show so special?"

"It was weird."

"Weird how?" I press.

"No clue. One of the files just had a note written in the margin about room seven B and the word 'weird' with three exclamation points."

"Good times."

"Yeah."

We split up. I'm not having any luck. I purse my lips.

"Got it," says Sam.

"Guys, check this out."

Sam and I turn to Dean, who's pushing back sets of shelves. They actually cave inwards, almost like doors. A secret area. These Men of Letters have everything.

The first thing that stands out is the huge Devil's trap on the floor. Manacles are on the walls. We step into the unexplored area. I tilt my head in curiosity.

"What is this place?" I whisper, taking in the trap on the floor.

"Is that a Devil's trap?" asks Sam. "It takes up half the room. These chains—they have spellwork etched into them."

"So we have a dungeon," Dean concludes. "Finally!" I feel my face grow hot when he winks in my direction.

"Not that kind of dungeon, Dean," I groan.

"What do you got there?"

I squint to see the object in Sam's hand. Looks like some roll of film. "Movie night?" he suggests.

"I'll go get Cas," I say, since I know Dean won't be the one to get the angel.