13. The First Trial

"I think I would have liked to be with Kevin and Sam at the boat," I mutter.

"Hey, you could have said no."

"You sounded like I didn't have a say in the matter." I watch as another item gets tossed into the cart. I look around warily. "So what's this about Hellhounds that you hate so much?" I heard the biting tone in his voice back at the boat.

"They're nasty sons of bitches, for one." Dean's occupied with the aisle we're in. "The morons who make the deals don't realize just how short their contract is. But they do it anyway, because nobody thinks about the consequences, apparently."

"What is that, the crossroads deal?"

"It simple enough, Maxipad. You sell your soul to a demon at the crossroads in exchange for whatever you want out of the bargain."

I look down at the cart. "I bet a lot of them don't do their homework."

"None of them do."

"Are we almost finished? We can't afford to clean out the store all for one person."

"If I could, we would. Kevin needs it."

I shake my head as I push the cart along, with Dean beside me. "Is he like me? Did he get pulled in by mistake?"

"It wasn't really a mistake so much as destiny, I guess. He didn't have much of a choice in it."

"That's where we differ." We turn a corner. "He really can't get out of it, I can."

"But you choose not to."

I nod. "I choose not to. It's a price to pay for staying where I am now. Think of it as me paying rent."

"I'd rather you not do it."

"You were the one who let me stay in the first place! Besides, I owe you Winchesters."

"I didn't realize that automatically meant you sticking around."

I shrug. "You saved my life, and I owe you for that." I push onward, leaving Dean in the dust.

Unlike the last time we shopped, I don't have a dizzy spell. We would have checked out sooner, but Dean has a hard time understanding the concept of the various types of tomatoes. I roll my eyes. It's like he's never seen food before.

We check out without issues and collectively shove things into the trunk of the Impala. Once again, I resume riding shotgun while Dean kicks the car into gear. I put the window down a bit to let some air circulate.

"You ever let anybody else behind the wheel?" I blurt out.

"Since I've owned it, only Sam."

"You're real protective of a car, you know that, right?"

"Maxipad, you wouldn't understand unless you were in my shoes."

"Don't think I'd want to be. Sure, I'd be a good-looking guy, but be conditioned to hunt by my father from a young age? No thank you."

"You admit I'm attractive." I hear the amusement in Dean's tone.

I shrug. "Why would I say anything different?"

"Oh, I don't know, ever since we picked you off the streets, you've been trying to bust my balls any chance you can get your dirty hands on."

I sigh through my nose. "I'm not all snark and sarcasm, Dean." I keep my eyes focused on what we pass by. "It's just hard to see past all that."

"Yeah, so I see."

"Maybe if you weren't so hard on me, you'd see the different sides of me."

"You've got other sides to you?"

I turn my head and hit him on the arm. "Jackass."

"You say that in a fond way, you know that?" Dean's mouth tries to turn into a smile. I maybe see a corner of his mouth twitch.

"Let me ask you something, Dean. You and Sam pick up strays often?" I cock my head a little towards him.

"Nope."

"But I'm not the first to be pulled in."

"No. You're the second."

I swallow. "Who was the first?"

"That is something you'll have to bring up with Sam. She was his choice, not mine."

"Where's she now?"

"Last I knew, Nebraska, starting over with some aunt, uncle, and their kids. She made it out, and that's saying something."

I snort. "Maybe I'll make it out someday."

"Max, it takes a lot to get out of this and stay out of it."

I observe Dean closely. He used "Max," not "Maxipad." Should it mean much? Maybe. Does it mean much? Possibly.

For all I know, it was just a slip of the tongue.

* * *

"If any of these bags break-" Dean grunts behind me as we lug the groceries up the boat's ramp towards the main door.

"You'll be picking up what falls out," I say haughtily. "Just hope these are industrial-strength bags." Biting my lip, I use my shoulder to nudge the door open. It caves against my weight with a loud squeak that grates on my ears. "We're back!" I nearly stumble through the doorway. Kevin and Sam both notice. "We would have been sooner, but somebody is easily distracted by food."

"Did you know that there are, like, six-thousand kinds of tomatoes?" is Dean's version of a greeting as he and I sit the bags down on the table. "Did you find anything?"

"Yeah," says Sam. I don't question where Sam got the laptop from. It's possible that Kevin's got his own. But where could he possibly get wifi? "Demon signs, ten years ago, all centered on Shoshone, Idaho."

"Okay, well, big-time mojo means a big-time freak. So, anybody have a horseshoe shoved up his ass?"

I clear my throat. "That's one way of putting it."

Sam chuckles before clearing his throat and turning the laptop around to us. Dean and I close in to see what's on the screen. "Meet the Cassitys, small-time farmers who struck oil on their land in February of oh-three, which is weird because geological surveys-"

"Yeah, you had me at 'weird,'" Dean murmurs. "All right. We thinking deal?"

"Best lead we've got."

"Well, let's go visit the Beverly Hillbillies. You stay here"-this is addressed to Kevin-"work on step number two, and, uh, if you come across anything about Hellhounds, drop a dime, okay? 'Cause between the-the claws and the teeth and the whole invisibility thing, those bitches can be...real bitches."

"We got you something," I tell Kevin and I dig through a bag to pull out two bottles. "Thank me for remembering." I hand one bottle over to the kid.

"The blue ones are for the headaches, and the greens are for pep," Dean explains. I hand Kevin the second bottle. Dean goes over to smack Kevin's arm. "Don't O.D."

"Thanks?" Kevin says. He looks to me. "You're not staying?"

"I guess not." I shrug. "But you've been doing just fine without a babysitter, right? Just slow down a little bit and take care of yourself." I spin around to follow the brothers out of the boat.

* * *

Cassity Farms is a nice joint: very clean, very nice. It's not what you expect a farm to look like-not that you expect them all to look like dump heaps.

Dean cuts off the engine.

"All right, keep an eye out," Dean instructs Sam and me. "Anybody with a Hellhound on their ass is gonna be showing signs-hallucinating, freaking out-the usual."

"What if they're insane? How can you tell then?" I probe just to aggravate him.

"Don't make me lock you up in the trunk, because I will do it."

"And if we find someone?" Sam interjects.

"You get 'em clear. I spike Fido. The crowd goes wild."

Sounds so simple, yet I'm almost positive it won't be. We exit the Impala and head over to a tractor that's being worked on. Most of the person's body is underneath, only their dirty jeans is what we can see.

"Hey, pal," Dean says, "who runs this joint?"

I take a step back as a young, Hispanic woman rolls herself out from under the tractor. I'm slightly envious. I'm a ghost compared to her olive complexion and dark hair. She looks pretty even with sweat on her.

"You're looking at her," she responds with a slight accent.

"You...own the ranch?" I ask slowly.

"Nope, just manage the property." She looks at us inquiringly. "You three here about the job?"

"How'd you guess?" Dean plays along.

"We get our share of drifters."

"Ah."

"Ever worked on a farm before?"

"Yeah."

"We're quick learners," Sam adds.

"Ellie..." comes a new, deeper voice. "Who we got here?" The voice belongs to a portly, slightly older guy.

"I'm Dean," the elder Winchester says. "This is Sam and Natasha."

I give him a confused side-glance. Natasha, huh? Using that old alias? Not that I object. In this case, I don't want my name being spread.

"Oh," says the man. "Carl Granville. A pleasure."

"Pleasure," says Sam politely. "So you're not a Cassity?"

"No, my wife is. Her and her family own the place. I'm just one of those, uh-what you call 'em?" Carl pats his belly. "Trophy husbands." He laughs. I remain polite and don't make some snarky remark to land us out of this job we supposedly came to look for. "So, we, uh, hiring them?"

"Not sure yet," says Ellie.

"Oh, come on. They seem like swell people."

"Well, he's right," I say. "We're swell." The boys follow my lead and smile.

The smiles are enough to get us a tour-more like a tour towards the sleeping area of the staff. It's part of the barn, a plus I guess.

"It'll be a tight fit since there's three of you," Ellie says sympathetically. "But I'm sure you'll figure out something. You bed down in here. Breakfast is at five, dinner is at eight, and in between, you're mine. Questions?"

"I miss my old room," I hear Dean whimper.

"We're good," I say on all our behalves.

"Okay. Job is yours if you want it," Ellie offers. "But I better warn you-it's crap work."

"Can't be worse than what we've done before." It's a total lie on my part, but most likely not on the brothers'.

Ellie smiles at me. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

This can't be much worse than demons, right?

**Max picked up on it, but did you, folks? Dean's little slip-up with the name?

Intentional, or not intentional?**