SIXTEEN

James McMannon felt as if a heavy burden was lifting off his back. A white light appeared before him, and he wanted to go toward it.

There was an eruption of noise.

The light disappeared. James forced his eyes open. In front of him, he could see a wavering group of people—they looked like they were in an enormous, swirling heat devil— as if they were caught in the hot air that rose off the black streets of the city in the middle of summer.

He heard a voice in his left ear.

“Hey. Stay still, the ambulance is coming.”

James thought he was answering to the voice, but he realized that all he could hear was ringing. Then he saw that white light again. He got up, at least he thought he did, and walked toward its beckoning glimmer.

At that moment, everything that James McMannon had every thought, felt, or loved left his body.

All that was left was the animal.

In all of Hank Caprezie’s years on the force, he had never seen a man fall thirty floors and live, but here he was. And he was one of the family, a security guard.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hank peered into the guy’s eyes. “You need to go to the hospital, stay still.”

Without responding, the man slid himself off the crushed taxi. Standing in the middle of the crowd, he looked around, as though searching for something. His neck was at an unnatural angle, which he corrected by grasping it on both sides and twisting his head back into place. When he turned back to Hank, his eyes were pitch black. Hank took an involuntary step back.

“Hey man, I really think you should stay!” Hank called.

The guy didn’t listen. Instead, he walked toward the throng of people and disappeared.

I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining this to the captain, Hank thought.

Dean spent the train ride trying to interrogate Walter and Julia. Unfortunately for him, they weren’t talking. It was clear they knew much more about the scrolls than Walter had let on in his meeting with Sam, but their motivations were still hazy. Do they want to protect the scrolls, or destroy them? Dean wondered. It was possible that they were all on the same side, working toward the exact same goal, but without more information from Walter and Julia, Dean had no way of knowing.

When the group got off the train in lower Manhattan, the bleeding from Walter’s leg had slowed, but he was still in need of a doctor’s care. They looked at one another. They didn’t have the scrolls, nor any idea how to find them. They had reached an impasse.

Sam looked at Dean, his feelings obvious. It’s time to go.

Just like that, the Winchesters turned and started walking uptown.

“You’re just going to leave us here?” Julia cried. “I thought I was your prisoner?”

Dean turned on his heel. “I release you. And from what I can tell, sweet cheeks, you’ll do fine on your own. Both of you.”

“You’re going to need us,” Julia called as Walter faltered a step. Sam’s face registered a slight flash of sympathy. What Julia really meant, of course, was that she needed them. Are we really going to leave a bleeding old man on the street, especially if his daughter might be in possession of our stolen knife?

Dean punched him in the shoulder. “Let’s get going.” Apparently, they were.

That evening, Sam and Dean checked into a dive hotel on the Lower East Side. With all the chaos they had caused at the Waldorf that day, it was too much of a risk to go back to the apartment, even if they had used aliases. They bought a pizza and took it back to their room. Despite their exhaustion, they still had to eat, and neither of them was in the mood for the human interaction a restaurant visit would require.

Sam wondered how much Walter and Julia really knew. It seemed likely now that they had been the ones to ransack the Villard House apartment, and Walter had spoken at length about the scrolls at the Bible Society. But did they know the true significance of the War Scroll? Could they possibly comprehend how important it was for Sam and Dean to take possession of it?

Neither of them knew any of the answers. All they knew was that in the morning, they’d come up with a new plan. Until then, they’d eat pizza and bask in the hopelessness of their cause.

Long past nightfall, Dean stepped out onto the building’s front stoop. Sam was already there, staring quietly at the black sky.

“Can’t see stars for shit here,” Dean said.

Sam’s lips curled into a half-smile—the one he reserved for Dean’s attempts to cheer him up.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Good work today, Sammy.”

“Good work? We got hosed, Dean. We had to run away with our tails between our legs, and now we don’t even have a clue where the scroll is. For all we know, it really was destroyed.”

“You kept it together in there. Me, I wouldn’t have taken well to Julia barging in like that.”

Sam nodded. Then, after a moment’s silence, said, “Dean... is that a shotgun down your pants?”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Dean produced the shotgun, then hid it once more down the back of his jeans.

“After everything, I wanted to keep it handy. But I don’t want to get arrested for firearm possession after what we got away with today.”

“Actually, I think the only real crime was destruction of property,” Sam said, thinking back.

“Plus breaking and entering.”

“And resisting arrest.”

“And assault with a deadly weapon.”

Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “When was that? I didn’t shoot anybody that wasn’t a demon.”

Dean smirked. “I shot you.”

That was enough to get a small laugh out of Sam.

“Sorry about that, by the way.”

Sam reached for his neck, where tiny bits of glass and rock salt were no doubt still embedded.

“No, Dean, I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Hey now, let’s not start with this. One ‘I’m sorry’ is the daily limit.”

“I’m serious. I’m sorry I brought us here. We didn’t know what we were getting into, and now...”

“Now we’re stuck, is that what you’re getting at?”

“Maybe. What if Don leaves us here to rot, chasing after a scroll that doesn’t exist?”

“No angel douche is gonna leave me stranded with the Cleavers. We’ll find a way, Sam. I promise you that.”

They sat quietly for a minute, then Sam said hesitantly, “Am I a coward?”

Dean didn’t know how to respond to that. In the end he just said, “No.”

“I mean, if it was you. If you knew the fight could be won, and all it took was your life—”

“That’s not all it takes, Sam.”

Sam nodded, but Dean could tell he wasn’t satisfied.

“That’s not all it takes. You saying ‘yes’ to Lucifer isn’t just about giving up your life, it’s about giving up everything. Letting the angels have their way with the Earth, with what’s rightfully ours. Sam, if I could say ‘yes’ to Michael and end this here and now, I would in an instant, but we both know it ain’t that simple.”

“I didn’t mean saying ‘yes.’ I meant...”

“What? Out with it.”

“I don’t know. Nevermind.”

“You’re tired. We both are. Get some rest, it’ll make more sense in the morning.”

When Dean reached the door, he looked back at his brother, still seated on the front steps. In so many ways, Sam would forever be the little boy that Dean had spent his entire youth protecting. A familiar fear raced through his mind. The same fear that had plagued him for months. More than anything else, Dean feared that Sam wasn’t strong enough.

He feared that, when the time came, Sam would say “Yes.”