Chapter Text
Sam looked up from the yellowed pages of the demonology text to see Dean's silhouette in the motel window. His brother gave him a thumbs up before yanking the curtains closed. Sam turned back to the book, but the words blurred together. A book snapped shut in the backseat.
"Let's get a drink," Addison said, already climbing into the front seat.
"Ads—"
"We have twelve months to figure this out." She settled into the passenger seat, copper hair catching the streetlight. "Dean's deal doesn't expire tonight because we took an hour off."
She popped the door open. Sam grabbed her wrist. "Wait."
She turned, amber eyes sharp in the dark. Sam pulled her across the bench seat and kissed her hard, his hand sliding to the back of her neck. She pressed closer, one hand fisting in his shirt. When she pulled back, they were both breathing rough. "Yeah, so—" The rest of her sentence disappeared when Sam shoved the book to the floorboard and dragged her onto his lap. His mouth found hers again while her hands slipped under his shirt, nails trailing over his ribs.
His hand slid into her jeans. She made a frustrated sound against his mouth when he traced circles but didn't give her what she wanted. He felt her smile. Her hips rolled forward and her nails dug into the leather seat. Sam hooked his fingers under the elastic of her panties and pushed them aside. Two fingers slid into her while his thumb found her clit. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder with a low moan. His phone rang.
"Ignore it," she muttered, grinding down on his hand. Her breath was hot against his neck. "I don't want to think about demons or deals or—" Her voice caught when he curled his fingers. "I just want to feel something good for five minutes. Please."
He pulled back. She made a noise of protest. "Could be important.” Sam fished the phone from his pocket one-handed. Bobby's name lit up the screen. He hit speaker. "Hey, Bobby.” Addison's mouth moved to his neck.
"What're you doing?" Bobby asked.
"Same old." Sam's voice came out strangled when Addison's teeth scraped his pulse point.
"Still got your nose in that book?"
"Obviously," Addison said, sitting back enough to unbutton her flannel. Underneath was a leopard print bra that made Sam's brain short-circuit.
"Sam, you want to break that deal, you ain't finding the answer in dusty pages."
"Then where?" Sam tried to focus while Addison palmed him through his jeans.
"Wish I knew. Where's Dean?"
"Occupied."
"What?"
"He's busy," Addison said, shrugging out of the shirt completely. "Very busy."
Bobby coughed. "Right. Well, pack it up. Got something outside Lincoln. Crop failure, cicada swarm. Could be our kind of thing."
The line went dead. Addison snatched the phone and tossed it in the back before kissing him again. Sam's hands found her bare waist. "We should go," he said against her mouth.
"If you knock on that door right now, you're gonna get an eyeful of your brother doing what you're supposed to be doing to me." She rolled her hips. "Wait a couple hours."
"Bobby said—"
"Bobby can wait." She bit his bottom lip. "Or you can go interrupt Dean and deal with the aftermath."
Sam pulled back and looked at her. Flushed skin, kiss-swollen lips, half-naked in his lap. Then he thought about Dean. About the deal. About the twelve months they had left. He opened the passenger door. "Seriously?" Addison climbed off him and settled back in the seat, making no move to put her shirt back on.
Sam got out and crossed the parking lot. He knocked on room twelve. Knocked again. When no one answered, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. "Oh, Jesus—sorry!"
He yanked the door shut and stood there for a second, trying to bleach the image from his brain. Dean. Very much not alone. Very much occupied. When he got back to the Impala, Addison was exactly where he'd left her. Leopard print bra, jeans unbuttoned, smirking at him. "Told you."
Sam dropped into the driver's seat. "Yeah. We're definitely not doing this. Not now. Not—" He gestured vaguely. "Not for a while."
She finally reached for her shirt. "Your loss."
Addison braced herself against the door as the Impala hit another pothole. Dean didn't slow down. The music blared so loud she could feel it in her teeth. She leaned forward between the seats. "You know there's an actual road under us, right?"
Dean grinned at her in the rearview mirror. Sam still looked like he'd witnessed something that required therapy. Or exorcism. Sam reached over and turned the volume down. "Give me your knife."
"Why?" Dean's grin widened.
"So I can stab myself in the eyes."
Dean laughed, the sound sharp in the sudden quiet. "It's a natural human act, Sam. Beautiful, even."
"I warned you." Addison sat back, crossing her arms. "But no, you had to go knock.” Sam twisted in his seat to glare at her. She met his gaze, completely unrepentant. He turned back around, shoulders tight.
"That's a part of you burned into my brain now," Sam said. "Permanently."
"Hey, you're the one who barged in. I was just thanking the ladies for their time and enthusiasm." Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Appreciate you guys letting me blow off some steam, though."
"Yeah," Sam said flatly. "No problem."
"Really?" Dean glanced at him. "No lecture? No disapproving silence? Ads barely rolled her eyes."
"You've got a year left to live." Sam's voice was careful, controlled. "You deserve to have some fun."
"Damn right I do." Dean's knuckles tightened on the wheel for just a second. "So what's Bobby got?"
"Crop failure outside Lincoln," Addison said, leaning forward again. "And a cicada swarm that appeared overnight."
Dean shrugged. "Could be demonic. Could also be bad farming and bugs."
"It's the only lead we have," Sam said.
"Any deaths?"
"Bobby couldn't find any." Addison rested her chin on the back of the seat.
"That's the weird part." Dean's fingers started tapping again. "Devil's Gate opens, we get these freaky storm systems over—what was it?"
"Seventeen cities," Sam said.
"Seventeen cities. You'd think we'd be knee-deep in bodies and chaos by now. Instead it's been five days of nothing." He looked between them. "What the hell are they waiting for?"
Sam shook his head. "No idea."
"It's making me insane. If there's gonna be a war, I'd rather it just start already. Get it over with."
"Careful," Sam said quietly. "You might get what you're asking for.”
Addison watched the back of Dean's head, the way his jaw shifted. In the side mirror, she could see his eyes. He wasn't as casual as he sounded. "Maybe that's better than waiting," Dean said.
Nobody argued with him. The music stayed off. Outside, fields blurred past, and somewhere ahead of them, crops were dying and insects were swarming and demons were planning something none of them could see yet.
Sam watched Addison stretch, arms overhead, spine arching. Her shirt rode up, exposing a strip of skin above her jeans. He forced himself to look away before she caught him staring. When he glanced back, she was watching him with a knowing smile. "Hear those cicadas?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm." Her smile didn't fade.
"Can't be good," Dean said around a mouthful of burger.
"Definitely not good," Sam agreed, still looking at Addison.
"Bacon cheeseburgers at eight in the morning?" Bobby approached their table, eyebrows raised.
Dean swallowed. "Got a year left. Not gonna spend it eating salad."
"This feel Biblical to you?" Addison asked, turning to Bobby.
He shrugged. "Let's find out."
The house sat in the middle of dead crops, cicadas screaming from every surface. Dean hammered on the door with his fist. “Candygram!" Nothing. He pulled out his lockpick. The door swung open thirty seconds later. The smell hit them like a wall. Rot and waste and something sweet underneath that made it worse.
"Jesus Christ," Addison choked out, covering her nose and mouth.
"Yeah, that's not good." Dean pulled his gun and moved inside.
They split up. Bobby jerked his head toward the back hallway and Addison followed. Sam and Dean took the front of the house. Screaming erupted from one of the rooms. Addison met Bobby's eyes. He kicked the door open and they moved in, guns raised. The smell intensified—thick enough to taste. Dean and Sam were already there, staring at a couch. The screaming came from a TV. Late-night infomercial volume. Three people sat on the couch. Their clothes had fused to the fabric. Flies lifted in lazy clouds.
"What the hell happened?" Sam's voice was tight.
"I don't know," Bobby said.
"Check for sulfur." Dean's face was pale.
Addison started searching, breathing through her mouth. A thud came from outside, then Bobby was gone, following Dean out the door. "We need to leave," Addison whispered. "Right now. Before I throw up in a crime scene.” Sam nodded, his hand finding the small of her back. The touch steadied them both as they moved toward the door.
Outside, Dean was flat on the ground, blood running down his temple. Bobby stood nearby with two people Addison didn't recognize—a Black man and woman, both armed, both looking like they knew how to use their weapons.
"Sam, Addison," Bobby said. "Tamara and Isaac.” Addison managed a nod. Sam raised a hand in greeting.
"Still bleeding," Dean said from the ground. "In case anyone cares."
Addison watched Isaac and Tamara move around each other in the kitchen like they'd choreographed it. A happily married hunting couple. She didn't think those existed outside of urban legends. Sam's hand rested on her upper thigh. Neither of them seemed to notice. "Honey," Isaac called out, searching through a duffel. "Where's the Palo Santo?"
Tamara didn't look up from the map she was studying. "Where'd you leave it?"
"Don't know. That's why I'm asking."
"What's Palo Santo?" Addison asked.
"Holy wood from Peru." Tamara dug through another bag. "Toxic to demons like holy water. Keeps them pinned down during an exorcism.” She pulled out a thick wooden stake and held it out. Isaac took it with a smile that looked like he'd been giving her that same smile for years.
"Thank you, dear."
"You'd lose your head if it wasn't attached."
"How long have you been married?" Sam asked.
"Eight years this June."
Isaac grinned. "The family that slays together—"
"Right." Sam shifted forward. "So how'd you two get started?” The words hung in the air. Addison turned to stare at him. The silence stretched out, uncomfortable and heavy. "I'm sorry." Sam shook his head. "That's none of my business."
"It's okay," Tamara said quietly. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
The kitchen door swung open. Dean walked in, phone to his ear. "Well, Jenny, if you look as pretty as you sound, I'd love to grab that appletini with you." He grinned. "Yeah. I'll call.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. "That was the coroner's tech," Dean announced.
"What'd you learn?" Addison asked. "Besides her cup size?"
Dean's grin widened. "Cause of death was dehydration and starvation. No restraints, no violence, no struggle. They just sat down and never moved."
"They chose to sit there and die?" Addison's hand tightened on Sam's knee.
"What is this?" Sam asked. "Some kind of demon attack?"
Bobby walked in carrying a stack of books. "If it is, it's nothing I've seen before. And I've seen plenty."
"So what now?" Dean looked between them.
"We're not gonna do anything," Isaac said.
"What do you mean?" Sam's eyebrows pulled together.
"You seem nice enough, but we don't play well with others. This isn't some team-up situation."
"We'd cover more ground together," Addison said.
"No offense, but we're not working with the people who opened the Devil's Gate in the first place."
Dean took a step forward. "No offense?"
"Isaac." Tamara's voice was sharp. "Like you've never screwed up."
"Yeah, sure. I've locked my keys in the car, turned my whites pink in the wash." Isaac's voice went hard. "Never kicked off the apocalypse, though."
"All right—" Dean moved toward him. Addison stood up, already calculating whether she could get between them.
"Guys, this isn't—Dean—" Sam started.
"There are hundreds more demons out there now," Isaac said. "We don't know where they are or when they'll hit. There aren't enough hunters in the world to handle this." He jabbed a finger toward Dean. "You brought war down on all of us."
Tamara grabbed his arm. "That's enough testosterone for one day.” She pulled him out of the room. Dean stood there, hands in fists at his sides. Then he turned and walked out the opposite direction. Addison exhaled and leaned back against Sam, feeling the warmth of him through her shirt. His hand was still on her thigh. This time she noticed.
Bobby looked at them over his reading glasses. "Well. That went well."
"Sam." Addison stopped walking. "We need to have the talk.” He turned back to her, confusion crossing his face. She stepped in front of him and held up their joined hands. "The 'what exactly is this' talk."
Sam's mouth curved. "I think it's pretty obvious, Ads."
"Spell it out for me anyway."
He moved closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "Us. Together. A couple. No more pretending we're just—whatever we've been pretending."
Something loosened in her chest. "Okay."
"Okay?" He sounded surprised.
"Yeah." She smiled. "But you get to tell Dean. He's still pissed at me."
Sam started walking again, tugging her along. "You really went for the direct approach on that one."
"He asked what happened. I told him the truth."
"'We had sex in the bathroom' might've been a little too much truth."
"Would you have preferred I lie?"
They turned the corner onto Main Street. Small-town storefronts lined both sides—boutiques with hand-painted signs, a diner, a hardware store that looked like it hadn't changed since 1952. The shoe store sat between a coffee shop and a real estate office. Yellow crime scene tape stretched across the entrance. Through the window, Addison could see Dean leaning against a display case, all charm and attention focused on a woman in her thirties who was blushing and playing with her hair.
Sam pushed the door open. "Dean. What are you doing?” The woman glanced at them and walked away, still smiling.
"Comforting the bereaved." Dean straightened. "What are you doing?"
"Working. You know—dead body, possible demon attack, the usual."
Dean coughed into his fist. "Sam. I'm sorry, it's just—I don't have much time left. Got to make every second count."
Sam's expression shifted. "Yeah. Right. Sorry."
"Apology accepted." Dean's grin was too wide, too easy.
Addison shook her head. The excuse was wearing thin. Dean caught her expression and his smile faltered. A whistle cut through the tension. Bobby walked through the door in a suit, his hair slicked back, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Playing Fed?" Addison asked.
"Assistant D.A.'s office." Bobby loosened his tie. "Just finished with the suspect."
"Possessed?" Sam asked.
"Don't think so. No blackouts, no lost time. She remembers everything. She's lucid—she just really wanted those shoes." Bobby shrugged. "Hit her with holy water to be sure. Nothing."
"Maybe she's just crazy," Dean said.
"First the family, now this?" Bobby gave him a flat look. "I don't believe in coincidence."
"We didn't find anything," Addison said. "No sulfur, no EMF, nothing."
"Actually—" Dean pointed to the corner of the ceiling. A security camera blinked a small red light. "Found that. See? I'm working."
"Yeah," Addison said. "You're a real hero.” Dean flipped her off. She smiled sweetly back at him. Sam's hand found hers again, and this time everyone noticed.
Addison pressed her forehead against the window, watching condensation bloom under her breath. Staking out a dive bar with Bobby and Dean wasn't high on her list of fun activities. Especially now, with this brittle silence between her and Dean that neither of them knew how to fix. She'd hurt him. She knew that. But she was hurting too. Her best friend had twelve months left and was acting like it didn't matter. "What time is it?" Bobby asked.
"Seven past midnight." Dean shifted in the front seat, leather jacket creaking.
"You sure this is the right place?"
"No. But me and Ads spent all day showing this asshole's face around this shithole town, and supposedly he drinks at this shithole bar."
Something slammed against the window. Addison jumped, hand going for the knife at her hip. Sam's face appeared in the glass, grinning like an idiot. He opened the door and slid in next to her. "Miss me?"
She punched his shoulder. "Not funny."
Sam caught her hand and kissed her. Not a quick peck—a real kiss, the kind that said mine in front of an audience. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Dean's voice was sharp.
Sam pulled back but kept his hand on Addison's thigh. "We're together."
Dean stared at them in the rearview mirror. Something ugly flickered across his face before he looked away. "Great. Fantastic. Can we work now?" Dean's fingers drummed the dashboard. "What'd you find?"
"John Doe is Walter Rosen. Oak Park, just outside Chicago. Went missing about a week ago."
"The night the gate opened," Dean said.
"Yeah."
"So he's possessed," Addison said. "And what—he touches people and they lose their minds?"
"Those demons got out, they're gonna pull things we've never seen," Bobby said.
Sam's hand tightened on her leg. "The demons we let out."
"We didn't let them out." Addison turned to him. "We did what we could to—"
"There." Dean pointed through the windshield. A man got out of a Honda Civic. Middle-aged, receding hairline, khakis and a polo shirt. Walter Rosen looked like an accountant, not a demon.
Bobby grabbed Dean's arm before he could open the door. "Wait."
"What?"
"You heard me earlier. We don't know what this thing can do. We tail him until we're sure."
"So he kills somebody while we sit here with our thumbs up our asses?"
"We're no good dead."
Sam elbowed Addison and jerked his chin toward the window. She followed his gaze and saw Isaac and Tamara walking toward the bar, weapons probably hidden under their jackets. "Bobby," she said. "We're out of time."
“Why?" Sam nodded toward the couple. Bobby's hand hit the steering wheel. "Damn it."
Bobby and Dean bolted from the car, running for the entrance. Addison watched them try the door—locked. They sprinted back. Bobby started the engine. Dean popped the trunk, grabbed two jugs of holy water, and shoved them at Sam and Addison as he climbed back in. "Hold on," Bobby said.
The car surged forward. Addison grabbed Sam's arm as they crashed through the bar doors in an explosion of wood and glass. Demons everywhere. Seven, maybe eight. Standing in a circle, laughing. Tamara was on the floor, screaming. Isaac lay motionless next to her.
They scrambled out. Addison unscrewed the cap on her jug and started throwing holy water. The demons shrieked, skin smoking where the water hit. Sam got to Tamara first, hauling her up and dragging her toward the car. Bobby threw his jug at a demon's face. It went down screaming. Addison's jug was empty. A demon turned toward her, eyes black. She dropped the jug and pulled her knife.
"Get in the car!" Dean shouted from somewhere behind her.
Sam grabbed Addison's arm and yanked her backward. She stumbled into the backseat with Tamara. Bobby was already behind the wheel. The engine roared.
Through the windshield, she could see Dean grappling with Walter Rosen. The demon threw him back, but Dean came up swinging. He landed a punch that sent the demon sprawling, then grabbed it by the collar and dragged it toward the trunk. "Dean, get in the fucking car!" Addison leaned out the open door.
Sam's arm locked around her waist, hauling her back onto his lap as Dean shoved the demon into the trunk and slammed it shut. He dove into the front seat. “Drive!" Bobby floored it. The car fishtailed out of the ruined entrance, tires squealing on broken glass, and Addison could still hear the demons screaming behind them.
"We're going back." Tamara's voice cracked on the last word. She took two steps toward Addison. “Now." Sam and Dean stood near the doorway. Bobby had disappeared into another room with an armload of books.
"We can't," Addison said.
"I left my husband bleeding on the floor!"
"I know. But going back right now gets us all killed."
"Then you stay." Tamara's hands were shaking. "I'm going."
Dean moved forward. "I'll go with her."
"That's suicide," Sam said, stepping next to Addison.
Dean's shoulder lifted. "So what? I'm already on the clock."
"How are you gonna kill them? You can't shoot them. They're not gonna line up for exorcisms like it's the DMV."
"I don't care."
"We don't even know how many there are!"
"Yeah, we do." Bobby walked back in carrying a massive leather-bound tome. "Seven. And do you have any idea who we're up against?"
"Who?" Dean asked.
The pieces clicked together in Addison's head. She looked at Bobby. "Seven deadly sins.” Bobby nodded. "Perfect," Addison muttered.
Everyone turned to Dean. He stood there, silent for a beat. "What's in the box?” Silence. "Brad Pitt? Se7en?" Dean looked around. "Nothing?"
Bobby shoved the book at him. "Binsfeld's Classification of Demons. 1589. Binsfeld identified the seven sins not as human weakness but as actual devils."
"The family," Sam said slowly. "Sloth touched them."
"And the woman in the shoe store was Envy," Addison finished. "We caught Envy."
"Isaac." Bobby's voice was rough. "That was Gluttony."
"I don't give a damn if they're the Beatles reunion tour," Tamara said. "I'm going to rip them apart."
"We tried it your way already." Bobby's voice rose. "You went in half-cocked and look what happened. These demons haven't been topside in five hundred years. Medieval. Dark ages. We've never faced anything like this. So we're gonna take a breath—" He paused. "—and figure out what our next move is.” Nobody moved. Addison had never heard Bobby yell before. Not like that. "I'm sorry for your loss," Bobby said quietly, and walked out.
The four of them stood there. Dean looked at the floor. Sam's hand found Addison's for a second, then let go. Addison turned and left the room. Envy sat tied to a chair in the middle of a devil's trap, grinning. "So you know who I am."
"Hate to break it to you," Addison said. "We're not impressed.” Sam and Dean came in behind her.
"Why are you here?" Sam asked. "What do you want?” Envy stayed quiet, smile fixed in place.
"He asked you a question." Dean's voice was ice. "What do you want?"
Envy laughed. Dean threw holy water in his face. The skin sizzled and the demon screamed. "We already have what we want," Envy said when he could speak again.
"What's that?"
"We're out. Free. Thanks to you, my kind are everywhere." His eyes were black pits. "I am legion, for we are many. So me? I'm celebrating. Having a little fun."
"Fun," Addison repeated.
"Yeah. Fun. Some people crochet, others golf. Me?" He leaned forward as far as the ropes allowed. "I like to see people's insides on their outside."
"I'm gonna put you down." Tamara stood in the doorway. None of them had heard her come in.
"Please." Envy's laugh was wet. "You think you're better than me? Which one of you gets to cast the first stone?" His gaze slid to Dean. "You're practically a billboard for gluttony and lust." Then to Tamara. "And you. All that wrath. That's why you and Isaac started hunting in the first place, isn't it? So much easier to drink in the rage than face what really happened all those years ago."
Tamara's hand cracked across his face. She went in for another hit. Bobby grabbed one arm, Dean the other.
Envy laughed, blood on his teeth. "My point exactly. You call us sins. We're not sins. We're natural human instinct. You can repress us, deny us all you want, but the truth is—you're just animals. Horny, greedy, hungry, violent animals." He smiled wider. "And you'll be slaughtered like animals. The others are coming for me."
"Maybe," Dean said. "But they won't find you. Because you'll be in Hell." He headed for the door. "Someone send this clown packing."
"My pleasure." Tamara picked up the exorcism book from the table. Addison shot her a look—concern, warning—then followed the guys out.
"We're not gonna have to hunt them," Bobby said.
"What does that mean?" Sam asked.
"It means they're coming for us," Addison said.
Bobby nodded. "And they won't quit easy."
"Take Tamara and run," Dean said. "I'll stay back, slow them down. Buy you time."
"You're insane," Sam said. "Just forget it."
"He's right," Bobby said.
"There's six of them," Dean argued. "We're outnumbered, outgunned. We'll be dead by dawn."
"If we run, they still find us," Addison said.
"Look—if we're going down, we go down together," Sam said.
Dean shrugged. He hated that. "Then let's not make it easy."
The house shook. Wind rushed through the room from nowhere, whipping hair and rattling windows. Papers flew off tables. Tamara walked in. "Demon's out."
"What about the guy?" Addison asked.
Tamara met her eyes. "He didn't make it."
Addison watched Sam fill a flask with holy water. His hands were steady, methodical. Across the room, Dean loaded shells into a shotgun with the same deliberate care. The brothers looked at each other. Held the gaze for a beat. Then turned back to their work without a word. The lights flickered. Static hissed from an old radio on the shelf. Dean racked the shotgun and stood. "Here we go."
Shouting from outside. Addison moved to the window, Dean right behind her. Isaac stood in the front yard, head tilted at an unnatural angle, calling Tamara's name in a voice that wasn't his. "Christ," Addison breathed.
"Poor bastard."
"Poor Tamara." She couldn't look away. "Hearing that voice."
Sam's hand settled on her lower back. She glanced up at him, then back at the window. Tamara burst through the front door and tackled the thing wearing her husband's face down the porch steps. They hit the ground hard.
"Showtime," Dean said, and left the room.
Addison started toward the corner where she'd stashed extra iron rounds. Sam caught her arm and spun her around. His mouth crashed into hers—desperate, claiming, like he was trying to memorize the taste of her in case this was the last chance he got. Then he pulled back, chest heaving. His hand found hers and squeezed hard before letting go.
The door exploded inward. A demon in an expensive suit stepped through the splintered frame. "Here's Johnny."
Sam and Addison backed toward the edge of the devil's trap they'd painted on the ceiling. The demon held up a hand, stopping two more behind him—a woman in workout clothes and a man in coveralls. "Come on." The demon in the suit smiled. "You really think that's gonna work on me? Me?"
"Let me guess," Sam said. "Pride."
The demon's smile widened. He flicked his wrist. The ceiling cracked with a sound like breaking bones. The devil's trap shattered. "Root of all sin. And you—" He pointed at Sam. "—you're Sam Winchester. I've heard all about you. The prodigy. The boy king." He took a step forward. "Looking at you now? I don't believe the hype. You think I'm gonna bow to some cut-rate human? I have my pride, after all." Another step. "And now that your yellow-eyed friend is dead, I don't have to do a damn thing. You're fair game. Open season."
Pride moved fast. His hand locked around Addison's throat and slammed her against the wall. Her feet left the ground. The other two demons went for Sam. Addison clawed at the hand crushing her windpipe. Her vision started to narrow. She kicked out, caught Pride in the ribs. He didn't even flinch.
A blonde woman appeared in the doorway. The demon in coveralls turned. The woman's knife drove into his throat. Orange light exploded from the wound like molten metal. The demon dropped. The woman in workout clothes threw a punch that snapped the blonde's head back. Pride released Addison—she crumpled to the floor, gasping—and lunged for the newcomer.
Sam grabbed Pride from behind and slammed a fist into his face. The blonde slit the second demon's throat. Orange sparks fountained. She spun and drove her blade into the base of Pride's skull. He fell with the same burning light pouring from the wound. Silence. The smell of burned ozone.
"Who the hell are you?" Sam asked.
"The girl who just saved your asses." The blonde wiped her blade on her jeans.
"I saved yours too."
She laughed. "See you around, Sam."
She walked out. Sam started after her. “Wait—" But she was gone.
Sam turned back. Addison was on her hands and knees, pulling in ragged breaths. He dropped beside her. "Are you okay?"
She looked up at him. Her throat felt like ground glass. "Yeah." Her voice came out wrecked. "I'm fine." She managed something that might've been a smile. "My pride, however, is seriously wounded."
Sam didn't laugh. His hand cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Can you stand?"
"In a minute." She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Give me a minute."
Despite the summer heat, Addison couldn't get warm. She wrapped her arms around herself, standing near the pit they'd dug before dawn. Her throat still ached where Pride had choked her. Tamara worked alone, building Isaac's pyre with methodical precision. Nobody tried to help. Nobody said anything. This was hers to do. "Think she's gonna be all right?" Sam asked quietly.
"No," Addison said. Bobby walked over, smelling like sulfur and exhaustion. His shirt was drenched with sweat.
"You look like hell," Dean said.
"Exorcise demons all night and tell me how pretty you feel."
"Any survivors?" Addison asked.
"The girl and the heavy guy will make it. They'll need therapy for the rest of their lives, but—" Bobby shrugged. "They're breathing."
"More than you can say for these poor sons of bitches." Dean nodded toward the pit. Five bodies lay at the bottom, already salted and doused with lighter fluid.
"Bobby," Sam said. "That knife. What kind of blade kills a demon?"
"Yesterday I would've told you no such thing existed."
"I'm gonna ask again," Dean said. "Who was the blonde? And the follow-up question—how come she fights better than you?"
"Two demons," Sam said. "At the same time."
"Hey, whatever helps you sleep at night."
Addison stared at the pit. At the bodies. "If the seven deadly sins got out—" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What else got out?"
Nobody answered. Dean pulled a matchbook from his pocket. He struck one and held it for a second, watching the flame. Then he tossed it into the pit. The lighter fluid caught with a whoosh that sent heat rolling over them. Orange flames climbed toward the gray morning sky. Across the yard, Tamara lit Isaac's pyre. The smoke from both fires twisted together, rising black and thick. Addison closed her eyes. The smell of burning bodies was something you never forgot. She knew that now. Sam's hand found hers. She held on tight and didn't let go.
Addison kicked off her Converses and curled her feet under her in the backseat. Every muscle ached. The bruises on her throat were already turning purple. Sam stood by the passenger door. Dean leaned against the Impala's side, arms crossed.
"See you around," Tamara said. Her voice was flat, empty.
Bobby walked over. "World just got a lot scarier. Be careful out there."
"You too."
They watched her climb into her truck. The engine turned over and she was gone, dust rising behind her taillights. Bobby turned to them. "Keep your eyes open for omens. I'll do the same."
"You got it," Dean said.
"Bobby—" Sam straightened. "We can win this, right? This war?"
Bobby was quiet for too long. "Catch you on the next one.” His car disappeared down the same road. The three of them stood there in the silence.
"So where to?" Dean asked.
"I don't know. Louisiana, maybe."
Addison's eyes opened. "Sam, Mardi Gras is in February."
Dean's mouth quirked. "Thank you."
"I talked to Tamara," Sam said. "There's a hoodoo priestess outside Shreveport. She might be able to help with—with your deal."
"Nah."
"What do you mean, 'nah'?"
"I mean no. No hoodoo priestess, no spells, no chasing dead ends."
"We don't know it's a dead end."
"Yes, we do. She can't help. We're not going. End of story." Dean pushed off the car. "What about Reno?"
"You know what? I'm done." Sam's voice went hard. "I've been walking on eggshells around you for days and I'm done with it."
Dean laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That didn't last long."
"I've been killing myself trying to save you and you act like you don't even care. Like you want to die. Is that it? You got some kind of death wish?"
"It's not like that."
"Dean." Addison climbed out of the car, gravel biting into her bare feet. "What aren't you telling us?” He looked away. "Dean." She moved closer. "I've known you my entire life. Don't lie to me now."
His shoulders dropped. "We try to break the deal—any way, doesn't matter how—Sam dies. Those are the terms. If you try to find a loophole, I'll stop you. I swear to God, I will."
Sam's face went white. "How could you—"
"Because I couldn't live with you dead." Dean's voice cracked. "I couldn't do it."
"So what?" Addison's bare feet brought her right up to him. "Sam gets to live and you die? That's your solution?"
"That's the deal, Ads.”
She stared at him. The boy she'd known her entire life. The man who'd called her Ads for entire life. Her best friend. "You're a hypocrite." Her voice shook. "Remember how you felt when you found out what John did? We were there, Dean. We watched you break. And now you're doing the exact same thing to us. That makes you selfish. It makes you a bastard."
Dean met her eyes. Something in his expression went cold and distant. "Yeah. You're right, Addison." The use of her full name was deliberate. "I am a selfish bastard. But I'm okay with that."
"I'm not," Sam said.
"Tough." Dean's hands went into his pockets. "After everything I've done for this family, I think I've earned the right to make one call for myself. Truth is, I'm tired. And this—there's a light at the end of the tunnel."
"It's hellfire."
"Whatever." Dean shrugged. "You're alive. I feel good for the first time in forever. I've got a year left. I'd like to actually enjoy it." He looked between them. "So what do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and raise a little hell?"
Addison turned and climbed back into the car. She was furious. At Dean for making a deal he had no right to make. At Yellow Eyes for starting this whole nightmare. At herself for not seeing it coming. But more than that, she was hurt. Because Dean didn't think she and Sam were enough. Weren't worth fighting for. Weren't worth wanting to live for. Sam got in the front seat without a word. Dean slid behind the wheel. The engine roared to life. Classic rock poured from the speakers, too loud, filling the silence with noise that wasn't conversation. Addison closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Nobody said anything for three hundred miles.