SEASON   1 ;   EPISODE 16 ┈•
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
𓍢 ━━ ❪ ACT ONE OF BOHEMIAN ❫ ˖୧
❝ I'VE KILLED A LOT MORE
FOR A LOT LESS! ❞

     Somewhere in Chicago in the middle of a crowded bar stood two brothers around a small table. The eldest brother was holding three shots in his hands, looking around in confusion. The youngest brother, suppressing an amused grin on his face, pointed out towards a huddled crowd of people, cheering someone on.

     Bowie.

     "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. . ." Dean trails.

     A group of young men and women chanted an encouraging cheer of Bowie Winchester's name, placing bets on how fast the man could drink while throwing darts at a bullseye after every glass.

     The middle sibling was in the center of it all, his hair in every direction but down, his button-up gone, his tight white tank top hiding just enough of his scars. He was laughing, amused by the attention a little dartboard could bring.

     One glass was three, then seven.

     "Bullseye!" Bowie screams, jumping up and down as the others clapped and cheered at the perfectly lined dart.

     "Do you think he's having a midlife crisis?" Sam asked Dean.

     He frowned in contemplation, "At this point, I think he's just letting off some steam."

     "Maybe we should call someone," Sam suggests.

     Dean looked at him with wide eyes, "What? Why? We can handle him on our own, he's perfectly safe."

     "Who wants to throw this dart at me?" Bowie asked the crowd.

     "I don't know, because Katherine knows him emotionally better than we do," Sam continues.

     "I don't think he'll appreciate us calling his girlfriend every time he has a hiccup," Dean reminds, "Bowie's a grown man, he'll get himself straightened out."

     Sam hesitates, "I just think that what Max said triggered h—"

     "Sam," Dean raised his voice in frustration but played it off with a laugh, "Geez, if you care this much, why don't you just talk to him? You two haven't had a conversation in days!"

     "I can't, I'm pissed at him and he's pissed at me," Sam reminds him in aggravation, "It was his idea to bring that gun, he lied, he wasn't on my side about Max and look what happened."

     "Max wasn't going to change his mind, he was a depressed kid planning to kill his family," Dean corrects, "Bowie was trying to protect you."

     "He doesn't think I can handle these things on my own," Sam throws his hands up, "He's been babying me on hunts as if I haven't been hunting since he left us! He didn't think I could handle taking out Max if I had to."

     Dean waves him off, "I don't take sides, that's my only rule when it comes to you two fighting, you know that."

     Sam crosses his arms, "Sure you don't, because even when you say you don't take sides you agree with Bowie."

     He shook his head, "You're both know–it–all's, I just nod towards the most compelling know–it–all, I've been doing it since you both started speaking full sentences."

     He leans back in defeat, "I'm just saying. . .call someone for him."

     "And I'm just saying, let it go. ."

     "Hey guys!" Bowie greets happily, coming up to the table with a large smile, "Oh, you got us more shots?"

     "I got me and Sam more shots," Dean takes it away from him, "Our second round of the hour. We're still on the job in case you forgot."

     Bowie nods, "I haven't forgotten a thing. The city is on a manhunt for a murderer, two kills in two months, our recent victim's name was Meredith." He drums his fingers on the table in excitement, "Did you two analyize the apartment?"

     "Thanks to Dean's good eye and my taping skills, we know the blood on the carpet makes a symbol, off the top of my head, I'm guessing demonic," He continues, "If that's the case it explains why whatever killed Meredith didn't trip off the alarms."

     "Okay, Bowie, we get it, you're still sharp," Sam clenched his jaw bitterly.

     Bowie simply grinned in response, not even looking at him, "I'm simply stating the obvious."

     "So, what is it obviously?" Dean pressed.

     "Oh, I have no idea," He replies.

     "Well, I spoke to the bartender."

     Sam looked up from his newspaper clips, "Did you get anything besides her number?"

      "What did I say about leaving Sam at the bar?" Bowie asked, "Remember the last time you did that?"

     "I got kidnapped once and now I'm being benched like a child." Sam scoffs.

     "Both of you, shush," Dean waved them off, "And dude, I'm a professional. I'm offended that you would think that," He holds up a napkin, "Alright, yeah. I did."

      "Do you mind doing a bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?" Sam asked through his teeth.

     Bowie shrugged, "I think there's nothing wrong with Dean occupying his free time."

     "See, Bowie gets it," Dean smiles.

     He laughs, "Oh, no. I think sex is a waste of time."

     "Anyways," Dean cuts off loudly, "There's nothing to find out. Meredith worked here, she waited tables. Everyone here is her friend. Everyone says she's normal. She didn't do or say anything weird before she died. Besides, demonic, is there anything else we know about this symbol?"

     "Nope, nothing," Sam sighed, "It wasn't in dad's journal or in any of the usual books. I just have to dig a little deeper, I guess."

     "We," Bowie corrects, finally looking at him.

     Sam turned fully around to face him, "We? How about we consider us a we when you aren't drinking in the afternoon."

     Bowie narrowed his eyes, "I feel like there's a lot of repressed emotions you have, Sam."

     "I think you're sad," Sam rebuttals.

     "I think you're angry," Bowie firms, no longer sounding lighthearted, "I think you're taking it out on us when the real problem is you can't face the truth."

     "Oh yeah? And what's the truth?" Sam goes to stand.

     "Guys!" Dean snaps, pointing between them, "That's enough. I expect you both to get along for the next twenty-four hours. Is that understood?"

     "Fine," Bowie responds, instantly smiling.
"Fine," Sam reluctantly agrees, looking back down at his notes.

     "There was a first victim, right, before Meredith?"

     "Yeah, his name was Ben Swardstrom," Sam hands them his newspaper clip, "Last month he was found mutilated in his town house. Same deal, The door was locked, the alarm was on."

     "Is there any connection between them?" Dean asked.

     "Nothing I can tell," Sam sighs, "Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common. They were practically from different worlds."

     "So, to recap. The only successful intel we've scored so far is the bartender's phone number," Dean smirks.

     Sam is looking over his shoulder.

     "What?" Dean asked him, grabbing at his face.

     Sam stands up, walking down the tables at the bar. Dean and Bowie frown at each other, standing up to follow him.

     From around Sam's shoulder, Bowie can see a glimpse of short blonde hair at a table, talking and laughing with a small group of people before Sam stopped in front of her.

     "Meg?"

     Oh god.

     "Sam!" She greets with a cherry, loud smile, "Is that you? Oh, my gosh!" She hugs him tight, "What are you doing here?"

     "I'm just in town, visiting friends," Sam lies.

     "Where are they?" Meg asked, looking around.

     "Well, they're not here right now. But what about you? I thought you were going to California."

     "Oh, I did," She smiles. "I came. I saw. I conquered. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I'm living here for a while."

     Dean clears his throat, waiting to be introduced.

     Sam ignores them, "You're from Chicago?"

     "No, Massachusetts— Andover." She corrects.

     "Look who has her answers prepared," Bowie mutters very loudly to Dean.

     Dean nods, clearing his throat a second time.

     "Dude, cover your mouth," Meg snaps.

     Bowie raised an eyebrow.

     "Uh, yeah, sorry about that," Sam chuckles, "Meg, this is my brother Dean. And I'm sure you remember Bowie."

     "Bowie, I didn't see you standing there, you're so quiet," Meg remarks, forcing a smile.

     Bowie forced his own, "No, I just didn't feel like talking to you."

     She barks a laugh, "So, this is the Dean."

     Dean smiles, "You've heard about me?"

     "Oh, yeah, I've heard about you," Meg drawls, "Nice, the way you treat your brother like luggage," She turns her head to Bowie, "And you abandoning him twice."

     "I'm sorry?" Dean falters.

     "Say that again?" Bowie takes a step forward.

     "Why don't you let him do what he wants to do?" Meg continued hounding Dean, "Stop dragging him over God's green Earth."

     "Meg," Sam waves off, "It's alright."

     Dean angrily looks between Sam and Meg, giving a low whistle, "Okay, awkward. I'm gonna get a drink now." He grabs Bowie by the sleeve towards the Bar.

     "What did she say?" Bowie asked again, face red with rage, "What did she even say?"

      "Do I need to ask who that is?" Dean jerks a thumb back, "I mean seriously, has he even mentioned her before?"

     Bowie scoffs, "That's Sam's friend we bumped into at the bus station."

     "She's a real catch," Dean rolls his eyes.

     "She gives me bad vibes," He admits.

     "Like 'inhuman' bad vibes or just 'Bowie normally hating people' bad vibes?" Dean asked seriously.

     Bowie paused, thinking, "Both?"

     Dean shrugs it off.

     Sam had spent the next two hours talking to Meg at the bar. In those two hours the mood had died for Dean and Bowie has they sat at their table and watched their little brother interact with a she-devil.

     By nighttime, the brothers had forced Sam to part ways with the girl, and the three were walking circles around each other down the street towards the car.

     "Who the hell was she?" Dean asked, breaking the silence.

     "I don't really know. I only met her once," Sam says, "Meeting up with her again? I don't know, man. It's weird."

     "And what was she saying?" Dean pressed, "I treat you like luggage? Were you bitching about me to some chick?"

     "Look, I'm sorry, Dean," Sam sighed, "It was when we had that huge fight when Bow and I were at that bus stop in Indiana. But that's not important—"

     "Is there any truth to what she's saying?" Dean asked, "I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?"

     "No! Of course not." Sam says quickly.

     "And what about me?" Bowie asked, following the yellow line down the street, turning his head just enough to look Sam in the face, "Do you think I abandoned you twice? The first time, I assume, was when we were kids. I'm assuming you told her about that."

     "No," Sam says with more hesitance, "No, that's not true either. Now, would you two listen? I think there's something strange going on here."

     "Yeah, tell me about it. She wasn't even into me," Dean scoffs.

     Sam looked frustrated, "No, man, I mean, like our kind of strange. Maybe even a lead."

     "Why do you say that?" Dean asked.

     Bowie seemed to be catching on, "No, Sam is right. We met Meg weeks ago on the side of the road, now suddenly she's in Chicago. Those odds are a million to one. She happened to be at the same bar we were out of plenty of bars in the City at the same time."

     Sam nods, "The same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural. Bowie said it when we got into the city, he felt something was off here, maybe he's sensing danger."

     "Bowie always says he senses danger," Dean reminds, "He's like a depressed Anakin Skywalker."

     "Okay, I know we joke about it but after a while it gets offensive," Bowie held out a hand.

     "Bowie is like a walking heightened six sense, maybe even for the supernatural," Sam continued, "I don't know, don't you think that's weird?"

     "It happens," Dean agrees.

     "Well, yeah, it happens, but not to us," Sam reminds, "Look, I could be wrong. I'm just saying there's something about this girl that I can't quite put my finger on."

     "But I bet you'd like to," Dean drags teasingly, "Look, maybe she's not a suspect. Maybe you got a thing for her, huh? Maybe you're thinking too much with your upstairs brain, huh?"

     "Gross," Bowie shivers.

     Sam shakes his head, reluctantly turning to Bowie, "Look, I'm not saying I forgive you, but you're also the best tracker I know so I need you to check and see if there's a Meg Masters from Massachusetts and see if you can dig anything up on that symbol."

     Bowie clenched his jaw, "Look, I'm not saying I forgive you either, but Meg makes me uncomfortable and I'd like to uncover as much as I can to get her away from me."

     "So, it's settled then," Sam nods.

     "What are you gonna do?" Dean asked.

     "I'm going to watch Meg."

     Dean instantly laughs, "Yeah you are!"

     Bowie smirks a little.

     "I'm just trying to see what's what, better to be safe than sorry!" Sam responds.

     Dean turns away, "All right, you little pervert. Come on, Bow."

     Bowie salutes his little brother before getting in the car with Dean and driving off to the motel.

     The same motel that those two brothers would be spending hours in, researching and reading for anything related to the case.

     Dean was at the coffee table, drinking a warm bottle of water as he looked through pages of symbols, trying to find a match to theirs.

     Bowie was on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles and Sam's computer in his lap. He was looking for Meg Masters. School records, local doctors visits in her town, pictures, media, traffic cameras.

     The frustrating part about all of this was Meg checked out.

     She was a high school student, a few photos of her scattered on her yearbook, some on the school website. She had a family, a job, a life before she picked up and left it.

No sign of being missing, no sign of crazy house visits. She was normal. Completely and utterly boring.

"There's no way that Meg checks off all of the boxes," Bowie says, biting the skin of his thumb. "I mean, come on, not even a week of school missed before she left on her own."

"So, she's normal," Dean shrugs, "Maybe Sam likes the girl and is using your dislike for everyone as an excuse not to take her out."

"Maybe," Bowie agrees aimlessly, "But there's no explaining how I felt when we came to this town, or how I feel whenever Meg is near me. It's bad juju written all over it."

"We should call Sam and tell him," Dean announced, picking up his flip phone and pressing one.

It rings twice, then Sam is put on speaker.

"Let me guess, you're lurking outside that poor girl's apartment, aren't you?" Dean asked him.

"No." Sam paused, "Yes."

"You've got a funny way of showing your affection," Dean grinned.

"What is he saying?" Bowie asked, poking at his left hearing aid, "Sam, speak up."

"You find anything on her or what?" Sam asked a bit louder.

"No, she annoyingly checks out," Bowie reports, "There's even a Meg Masters in the phone book."

"Now, why don't you go knock on her door," Dean suggests, "And invite her to a poetry reading or whatever it is you do, huh?"

Sam doesn't acknowledge, "What about the symbol? Any luck?"

Dean nods, "Yeah, that I did have some luck with. Turns out it's Zoroastrian. Very, very old-school, like two–thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for a Daeva."

"What's a Daeva?" Sam asked.

"It's just another reason why I was right about the demonic meaning behind it," Bowie pipes in, "It translates to 'demon of darkness'."

"Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, nasty attitudes," Dean reports, "You know, kind of like demonic pit bulls."

"How'd you guys figure that out?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Give me some credit man," Dean laughs, "You don't have a corner on paper chasing around here."

"Oh yeah? Name the last book you read," Sam demands.

Dean paused, blinking, "Okay, I called dad's friend Caleb. He told me." He admits, "Anyway, here's the thing, he said these Daevas, they have to be summoned, conjured."

"So someone's controlling it?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying, and from what I gather, it's pretty risky business, too." Dean replies, "These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them. . .and the arms. . . and the torsos."

"So what do they look like?"

Bowie shrugs, "Nobody knows. They haven't seen them for a couple of millennia, our records don't date that far back but summoning a demon that ancient, someone really knows their stuff."

"I think we have a major player in town," Dean agrees, smiling at the phone, "Hey, why don't you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?"

"Bite me," Sam scoffs.

"Bite her."

"Nobody bite anyone," Bowie reels.

"Sam? Are you—?" Dean pulls back, "He hung up on me."

*·˚ ༘ ➳〔 𝙗𝙤𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 〕 ࿐ ࿔*:

"Bowie! Dean?!" Sam comes into the motel room, looking spooked. He finds the pair on the beds, sharing and comparing two files, "Guys, I've got to talk to you."

"I've got to talk to you!" Dean says at the same time, getting off the bed and meeting him halfway.

"Me first," Sam waved off, throwing Bowie his camera, "Look at this. I followed Meg to this building, where I found her talking to someone, something in this bowl of blood. The symbols were all over the table, also drawn in blood."

Bowie clicks through the grainy, shaky photos on the camera, reaching for his leather journal and sketch pencils, "I can't we're making Hunting history with this," He says in excitement, ready to sketch the table into his latest entry.

"So, hot little Meg is summoning Daeva?" Dean concludes.

"It looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing," Sam agrees.

Dean shakes his head, "So Sammy's got a thing for the bad girl. And what's the deal with that bowl again?" 

"She was talking into it," Sam repeats, "The way witches used to scry into crystal balls. She was communicating with someone."

"With the Daeva?" Dean guessed.

Bowie shakes his head, "Like we said, they're savage and animalistic with nasty attitudes, they wouldn't be listening to a low rank being in its eyes like Meg is."

Sam agrees, "This was something different. Someone who's giving her orders, someone who's coming to that warehouse."

Bowie and Dean glanced at each other.

"What?" Sam pressed.

"Holy crap," Dean realized, "I was gonna tell you earlier, I pulled a favor with my," He clears his throat oddly, "Friend, Amy over at the police department."

Bowie snorts, handing over his file, "We have the two complete records of the two victims. Dean pointed out that we missed something the first time."

Sam sits down, "What?"

"The first victim, the old man? He spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn't born here. Look where he was born."

"Lawrence, Kansas," Sam read aloud.

Dean nods, "Meredith. The second victim, it turns out she was adopted. Guess where she's from?"

"Don't even think, it's Lawerence, Kansas," Bowie cuts in, snapping his leather journal closed and getting off the bed.

"Holy shit," Sam breathed out, "I mean, that is where the demon killed mom. That's where everything started. So, you think Meg's tied up with the demon?"

"With this?" Bowie holds up the camera, "I don't think, I know."

"What's the significance to Lawrence?" Sam asked them, "And how do these Daeva things fit in?"

"Beats me," Dean shrugs, "But I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation."
Bowie smirks, "I've always wanted to waterboard someone."

Sam looked mortified, "We can't. It's just going to tip her off. We've got to play it safe, take out that Warehouse. We've got to see who, or what is showing up to meet her."

Bowie's smile dropped, "You suck."

"I'll tell you one thing, I don't think we should do this alone," Dean sighs.

Sam and Dean share a knowing look.

"I can call Bobby," Bowie suggests.

"Not Bobby," Dean starts slowly, "Dad."

John.

Bowie falters, looking between them, "You aren't serious? I mean, what are the odds he even answers his phone?"

Dean grabbed his phone, "It's time, Bowie," He says firmly, "Prepare yourself, we could be the ones closing in."

"I'll clear out the car," Sam rushed off.

Dean waits impatiently for the rings to end and the voicemail to come— like it always did, "We think we've got a serious lead on the thing that killed mom. So, uh, this warehouse. It's 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can."

Bowie watched silently as Dean closed the phone with a defeated sigh, "You think he'll show," Bowie realized, "You really think—"

"It's a serious lead," Dean repeats lowly.

"No, you want him to show," Bowie continues, "You think he'll come because you called about the thing that killed Mom. Don't you think that if he took you seriously he would've come down when you were on your deathbed?"

"Are you seriously trying to pick a fight with me right now?" Dean asked in desperation, "I can forgive Dad for all of that stuff—"

"You shouldn't," Bowie responds.

"I'm not you," Dean reminds firmly, "Stop trying to make me like you because I'm not. I think Dad did what he had to do, do I agree with it? No. But I need to respect it."

"That's not what I'm doing," Bowie reassures, "I'm not forcing you to be me, I'm just letting you know I understand."

"There's nothing to understand. And don't think I'm backing out on my promise, either," Dean continues, "I'm not going to let him hurt you again, that's a fact. But don't hate me for caring about my father in my own way."

Bowie closed his mouth, looking away, "Thank you."

"Voicemail?" Sam asked, coming into the room with their bags.

"Yeah," Dean says, "What'd you get?"

"Everything, I ransacked that truck," Sam responds, giving Bowie his dark green duffle bag, "Holy water, every weapon that  I could think of."

Bowie cracks his neck with a roll of his head, opening his duffle bag that had way more hunting equipment than both his brothers combined.

He grabs his quiver, counting his arrows and pulling out the ones with flimsy shafts. His arrows were steel iron, the heads silver and the nocks a golden yellow with his initial carved at the top.

"Those are nice," Dean admitted.

Bowie smiles, "Iron shafts, a lot of creatures who try to grab this will burn them. Including demons. The silver heads take out anything from Werewolf to Wraith," He educates, holding one out for him to hold.

Dean chuckles, trying to balance it on his finger.

"Exorcism rituals from about a half-dozen religions," Sam continues, "I'm not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything, huh?"

Sam throws him a clip with loaded bullets and Dean quickly clicks it in place, "It's a big night."

"Yeah," Sam paused, "Are either of you nervous?"

"No," Bowie lines his arrow on his crossbow, "De?"

"Nah," Dean agrees, "Sammy?"

"No way." He looks between them, "God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing, that demon?"

Bowie thinks for a long moment, "Makes you wonder what we're all going to do after this."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Dean cuts in.

"I know. I'm just saying. . .what if we did?" Sam pressed, "What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I'd sleep for a month, go back to school, just be a person again." He says longingly.

"You want to go back to school?" Dean frowns.

"Yeah, once we're done hunting this thing," Sam responds like it was obvious, "Why? Is there something wrong with that?"

Dean waits for Bowie to respond.

"I think," He paused, holding up a sharpened knife, "I'm going back to Katherine when this is all over," He agrees lightly, "I'd figure it out. Maybe pick up Stevie, work with Kit at his bar or something."

Dean scoffs.

"Don't," Bowie pinched his lips together.

Don't be negative.

"No, no, it's great. Good for you both," He replies.

"What are you gonna do when it's all over?" Sam pressed.

"He's going to come with us when this is all over," Bowie responds, slapping Dean's back, "Right? Things are going to be different."

Dean pulls back, "It's never going to be over. There's gonna be others," He says seriously, "There's always gonna be something to hunt."

Sam frowns, "But there's got to be something you want for yourself."

He throws his gun down on the bed, "I don't want either of you to leave the second this is over."

"Dude?" Sam scoffs, "What's your problem?"

"We aren't gonna leave you behind again, Dean," Bowie says slowly, crossing his arms over his chest, "It's not going to be like last time—"

"Why do you think I drag you two everywhere, huh?" Dean snaps, "Why do you think I broke into Bobby's phone book or why I came and got you at Stanford?"

"'Cause dad was in trouble," Sam says.

"'Cause you wanted us to find the thing that killed mom," Bowie adds, "It's why you came and got me, it's why you took the letter for me to stay—"

"I took that letter because I'm a selfish bastard, so don't make excuses for me," Dean corrects, "I did it because I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again." He says hopefully.

Sam and Bowie look at each other.

"Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you," Sam reminds him, "But things will never be the way they were before."

"We aren't kids anymore, De," Bowie says with a sad scoff, "We want things to be different. We aren't the same people we were when we were kids in the Impala road tripping around."

"We could be," Dean mutters, turning away. Bowie frowns, knowing he did that so he couldn't hear him.

"I don't want them to be," Sam responds, "I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way."

Dean grabbed his things and left for the car.

"He just misses you." Bowie reminds firmly.

Sam straightens, remembering his frustration toward his brother, "I was telling him the truth. We're both going our own ways after this, we can't keep in touch."

"Can't or won't?" Bowie pressed, "What? Can't admit it with your chest? I can. When I left at eighteen, I tried to keep in touch with you, only you, and then you told Dean and your dad, and I had to take a semester online in a different state. So, I didn't keep in touch with you."

Sam clenched his jaw, "I was a kid, what did you expect me to do?"

"A kid? You were sixteen. You've got blood on your hands younger than that, you knew how to keep a secret, you just didn't want to!" Bowie's tone raised.

"I thought I was helping," Sam snaps, "I thought if something came after you, Dad and Dean would get there in time and stop it."

"Well you weren't helping!" Bowie screamed at the top of his lungs, "You weren't helping with Max, either! You kept forcing and pressuring him to fit your savior complex until he got overwhelmed and killed himself—"

"Don't," Sam cries, retraching, "Don't say that!"

Bowie pauses, looking scared at Sam's hurt expression. After a moment, his face stoned, grabbing his bag and his crossbow, "I'm sorry if that makes me an asshole, I can be an asshole if you want. But you can't fix people who don't think they need fixing."

"You're one to talk!" Sam scoffs, "As if you're not pressing Dean to hate on Dad the way you do."

"The difference between Max and Dean is our brother deserves to be saved—"

"Max did deserve to be saved—!"

"Before he killed his Dad and his uncle in cold blood and then tried to murder his stepmother, and all three of us when we tried to stop him," Bowie cuts in, correcting him.

"You're not listening to me!"

"I am listening, you just don't like being wrong," Bowie scoffs. "The difference between Max and Dean is that I'm not trying to change him or save him, I'm trying to let him know that I'll be there when he comes to terms with the truth. Dean doesn't deserve to be alone in that. Max was killing people!" Bowie says in one breath.

Sam looks away from him, "You don't get it."

"What do you want from me Sam?!" Bowie asked.

"I want you to stop babying me on hunts!" Sam throws his arms up, "I want you to stop treating me like a little kid, I want to make my own calls, I want to be respected by you not coddled!"

Bowie takes a breath, letting it all sink in his skin, "We were raised to save people and hunt monsters. Don't mix those two up."

That was all he said to that, ending the argument.

"You sound just like him." Sam jabs one last shot.

Him. He meant John.

He pinched his lips together, not letting those words affect him on the outside as much as it ripped him apart on the inside.

He gives one solid nod in Sam's direction, and walks out the door.

*·˚ ༘ ➳〔 𝙗𝙤𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 〕 ࿐ ࿔*:

Sam had taken Dean and Bowie to the warehouse that he followed Meg into hours prior. They climb the poles of an old elevator shaft, weapons strapped to their bodies and unclear heads on their shoulders.

Still, they were silent, watching. Trained.

Meg was back in front of the Black Altar, chanting in a different language, summoning something.

Sam slowly pulls the old elevator doors just enough to slide up and across the room. Dean follows, Bowie closes it.

Together, they work through the warehouse in silence, standing behind pillars and crates just enough to not be seen.

Dean hands Sam a shotgun, Bowie unhooks his crossbow and keeps it steady. He was far enough to close his left eye and target Meg right in the back of her head.

"Tell me when," Bowie says under his breath.

"Guys," Meg drawls out nice and loud, "Hiding is a little bit childish, don't you think?"

Sam and Dean glance at each other. Bowie doesn't blink a second, following her steps.

"That didn't work out like I planned," Dean huffed.

"Next time, I make the plans," Bowie concludes, "Holy water bullet from a sniper on the roof."

Meg turns to face them, "Why don't you come out."

They listen, having no other options but to show themselves. Still, their weapons are aimed up and their stance is alined, shoulder to shoulder as they approached Meg with in sync steps.

"Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship." Meg teased.

"Yeah, tell me about it." He scoffs.

"So, where's your little Daeva friend?" Dean asked.

"Around," Meg responds, "And that shotgun's not gonna do much good."

Bowie drops his finger to the trigger and Meg rears her head in his direction, almost sensing the iron. She wants to make a snarky comment about Bowie coming prepared— but she knew acknowledging him would make him pull the trigger.

Besides, Meg knew that if she reacted, she'd just be testing Bowie's theory that she was a demon, too.

"Oh, don't worry the shotgun's not for the demon." Dean smiles.

"So, who is it Meg?" Sam asked, "Who's coming? Who are you waiting for?"

"You."

Bowie watched as a figure on the wall rose against the moonlight, it was shaped like a man—or what was left of a man— in tattered robes.

It attacks. Striking without being seen. It hits Sam first, knocking him down with three good licks of its sharp hands.

It throws Dean back into a pile of crates, turning to Bowie. He couldn't fight what he couldn't see. He couldn't feel what hovered on the ground or hear what moved silently in the air.

So, with three scratches deep against his chest, two on his neck and his crossbow discarded, Bowie was knocked down by the Daeve in seconds.

Three brothers tied to different pillars, Meg Masters stood before them with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. She wanted to appear taller, superior than them. She sure felt that way.

"Hey, Sam, don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend? Is a bitch," Dean found the strength to say.

"This, the whole thing, was a trap," Sam realized. "Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearing what you had to say— it was all a set up, wasn't it?"

She chuckles.

"And that the victims were from Lawrence," Sam concludes.

"Doesn't mean a thing," Meg admits, "It was just to draw you in, that's all."

"You killed those people for nothing!" He snaps.

"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less," She grins.

Dean rolls his eyes, "You trapped us. Good for you. It's Miller time, why don't you kill us already?"

"Because this trap isn't for us," Bowie examined Meg, eyes narrowed as he watched her calm body language, her smiles, her mockery, "We're bait and she's just distracting us with her villain monologue."

Meg throws her hands up, "Yahtzee! Now, that's a real deduction," —She smiles at Sam's scolding for her words—, "I was told you were the witty one, Bowie."

"It's a trap for Dad," Sam bellows.

"Oh, Sam, second place again," Meg tsked, "How does it feel to always be one point behind?"

Sam avoids Bowie's gaze by intensely staring at Meg with a red face. She was picking on his insecurities with Bowie because she senses tension between them.

It was smart.

It was working.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're dumber than you look." Dean was quick to insult, "'Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn't walk into something like this. He's too good."

Bowie was fighting himself not to roll his eyes.

"He's pretty good, I'll give you that." Meg agrees, getting up slowly and crouching down in front of Dean, "But you see, he has one weakness. You. He lets his guard down around his two boys," She looks at Bowie, "Sorry kiddo, still last place on that subject."

Bowie felt his face go hot, wanting to strangle her.

"He lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town, and he'll come and try to save you," Meg says so confidently that Dean's smile drops, "And then the Daevas will kill everybody. Nice, slow, and messy."

"Well, I've got news for you. It's gonna take a lot more than some. . .shadow to kill him!" He says proudly.

"Man," Meg turns her head to Bowie, "How does it feel whenever you hear them say that? It must be sickening." —Bowie doesn't look in their direction, just straight ahead with a straight face, "Listening to the people you love openly support and love someone who openly hurt you?"

Dean falters, not even realizing how that sounded. He doesn't regret it because in his mind, it was true— but he wished he could take it back, keep it to himself, word it better.

"Stop trying to break us," Bowie responds, gathering himself before adding, "Dean is right, John isn't going to show and fight your shadow people. Wherever they are."

"Oh, the Daevas are in the room here," She announced, "They're invisible. Their shadows are just the only part you can see."

"Why are you doing this Meg?" Sam asked, "What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?"

"I'm doing this for the same reasons you do what you do," Meg firms, "Loyalty, love. Like the love you had for Mommy. . .and Jess," She mocks.

"Monsters don't love," Bowie defends Sam to Meg, his voice softly stern, "At least the ones like you."

"But the ones like you get a pass?" She snaps.

"Go to hell," Sam defends Bowie.

"Baby, I'm already there," Meg crawls over to Sams, feeling up his body and getting close to his ear.

It made Bowie extremely uncomfortable, protective of his brother who was being held down against his will and touched that way, "Fuck off, Meg!"

"Oh, come on, Sam," Meg drawls, "There's no need to be nasty. I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me changing in my apartment. . ."

Bowie instantly tunes her out.

He thinks about all the information he had gotten from Meg in the hour they've been there, piecing together all the tiny little pieces of a bigger picture.

It wasn't until he heard the clinking of Dean's switchblade against the pavement, sending the vibration of metal across the floor and against the skin of Bowie's ankle.

He looks up. Dean was frozen, Meg was stalking towards him, crouching down and taking the blade out of Dean's fist.

"Where are you trying to distract me while your brothers cut free?" Meg asked Sam, getting in his face again.

Brothers? Was Bowie supposed to be cutting himself loose? He quickly and easily snaps the restraints off with a jerk of his wrists against the pillar .

"No, no," Sam responds slowly, almost mocking her drawling voice. "Because I have a knife of my own." His hands shoot out and grab her shoulders, head butting her.

It hurts him but it keeps her down.

"The altar!" Dean calls out.

Bowie was closer, rushing up and flipping the table so hard that it breaks, shattering everything on the ground— including the blood that stained his shoes.

The Daevas were freed, attacking Meg from the shadows by dragging her across the ground and straight out of the window.

Bowie didn't have to hear the drop to know it was a heavy one.

Sam had untied Dean by the time she was gone, and the three had rushed to the window and looked over at the same time.

Meg was still there, body at an odd angle and blood rushing from her skull.

Bowie hesitates. Maybe she was human after all.

Sam awkwardly chuckles, "So, I guess the Daevas didn't like being bossed around."

"I guess not. Oh, and Sam?" Dean waits for Sam's full attention before saying, "Next time you want to get laid, find a girl that's not so buckets of crazy."

He faked a smile, and walked away.

Bowie goes to follow, but paused, "Are you. . .?"

"Yeah. Are you. . .?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He nods.

Sam hesitates, "Bow—"

"Sam," Bowie holds out a hand, unable to hold back his hurt expression any longer, "We have two different opinions on life. Unless mine actively hurts other people, I'm not going to apologize for it. But yours? Yours gets people hurt."

Sam clenched his jaw, "You make it sound so easy, not making mistakes. You act like you've never made a mistake, or got someone hurt—"

"Because I haven't," Bowie confirms, "Why? Because I live my life through logical choices, even if sometimes I don't agree with them. There's nothing in this world, no creatures, nothing, that will make me change my mind. If you aren't human, you die."

"This is the real you, isn't it," Sam asked, remembering what Katherine had told him those months ago, "This is the you that you hide from me. The hunter. The one who makes the hard calls."

"You don't want to be babied anymore," Bowie reminds casually, "You want to be respected? Make respectable calls. You don't want to be coddled, stop crying." Bowie goes to walk away, "You wanted to be treated like an adult, Sam. You get to listen in on how adults make choices."

It was quiet in the car.

They were beaten, and bloody, and quiet.
Bowie looked chewed up and spit out. Face pale, sweat that curled his hair to his forehead and blood on his clothes. Wounds unhealed, uncleaned.

Still, they worked and unloaded the car without words.

In fact, it was so quiet up until Dean got to the door, fishing for the keys in his pocket.

"Why don't you just leave that stuff in the car?"

"I said it before and I'll say it again, better safe than sorry," Sam replies.

Dean puts the key in, they enter.

Bowie had never felt a stronger sensation of danger.

The reaction was in seconds. The brothers who see the dark figure in the corner of the room, back turned, staring out the window.

Bowie's finger was on the trigger before the man could turn around.

And then the man did.

He smiled. The type of smile that was meant to be warm and comforting yet all Bowie felt from it was manipulation, the smile replaced with a sneer or a twisted grin.

Sam and Dean saw their father.

Bowie saw John.

Bowie saw a monster.

"Dad?" Dean calls.

Then, there it was.

The same voice that made Bowie feel nothing more than a scared worthless little boy all over again.

"Hey, boys."

[ WE ARE HERE — and we are all scared. ]