Supernatural 10 - Rite of Passage Read Free Page B

third one brought the jogger here before the other two arrived?”
    Dean recalled the plastic containers in the fridge. “The poor bastard might thank us,” he muttered.
    “Look,” Sam whispered urgently.
    Dean followed his gaze to the peak of the gable roof. At first he saw nothing in the darkness. Then two hunched shapes resolved, silhouettes darting with eerie grace toward the edge of the roof. First one, then the other launched from the roof, broad wings spread and pounding against the air. In seconds they soared over the road and higher, over the treetops of the forest on the other side, and vanished.
    “Come on!” Bobby said. “We’ll need rifles.”
    Dean braced the deer rifle across his chest as he stumbled through the underbrush of the unnaturally quiet forest. Sam followed behind him, sweeping the dark ground ahead with a powerful Maglite, his other hand on the hilt of a hunting knife. Bringing up the rear, Bobby—the best shot of the three of them—like Dean, carried a Browning A-Bolt 30- 06. Sam had wanted a rifle for this hunt too, but Dean had vetoed the idea.
    “Dude, no,” he’d said, before they followed a deer trail across the tree line. “It’ll be bad enough with two of us bumbling around in the dark with rifles. We’re in the middle of this, what happens if Lucifer decides to put on a puppet show in your head? I get a bull’s-eye on my back? Or Bobby?”
    “I’m fine, Dean. I was fine in the house.”
    “Yeah, you’re fine until you’re not fine. A pistol in daylight, okay. But a rifle in the dark? Baby steps, Sammy.”
    Sam wanted Dean to believe he was okay, but he had admitted that he sometimes had trouble separating reality from his visions of Lucifer. They weren’t memories of the pit either, released when the wall inside Sam’s head collapsed, but actual psychotic breaks. That freaked the hell out of Dean, he wasn’t afraid to admit. And though Dean had helped Sam distinguish between reality and his Lucifer-vision, Sam was far from acing that test on a regular basis. Sam tried to hide it, but now and then Dean caught his brother squeezing the scar on his left hand, prompting real-world pain to push reality back to the surface of his mind.
    Sam turned to Bobby, looking for support. “Bobby? Back me up here?”
    The older man, the Winchester brothers’ honorary uncle, averted his gaze momentarily. “I’m with Dean on this one, Sam.”
    Bobby reached into the trunk of the Chevelle. “Near as I can tell, bullets won’t kill ’em, just slow ’em down long enough to use this.” He handed Sam a sheathed hunting knife.
    “Got two more of those?” Dean asked.
    “That I do.”
    Fifteen minutes later, they were wandering through the forest in the general direction the two sisters had flown.
    The toe of Dean’s boot caught on an exposed tree root, causing him to trip. He released the stock of his rifle and caught himself against a tree trunk. For the third time in fifteen minutes, he patted the hilt of the knife in the sheath looped around his belt. Right then, he would gladly trade the rifle for a pair of night-vision goggles.
    “You okay, Dean?” Sam asked.
    “Yeah,” Dean said. “I tripped over a tree root.”
    Bobby flicked on his rifle-mounted flashlight and focused the beam on the ground near Dean’s feet.
    “That ain’t no tree root.” Bobby nodded toward the spot. “Had to guess, I’d say that’s a human femur.”
    Sam used his flashlight to scan the area in question. He kicked aside some dead leaves and dirt, exposing more bones. “One victim.”
    “Picked clean,” Bobby observed.
    “We’re on their turf now,” Dean said.
    “Thought crossed my mind,” Bobby said. “Maybe that’s what they intended from the jump.”
    “So we’re walking into a trap,” Sam said.
    “Awesome,” Dean replied.
    “Gonna pretend that’s not in the job description?” Bobby asked. “Maybe toast a few marshmallows? Or do something useful?”
    “Right.” Dean