18. The Intern

"Okay, there are three storage facilities nearby," says Sam. Dean's driving us down the road in the Impala. I'm stuck in the back seat. This brings me back to the old days. Only, back then, it wasn't just me. I'd always had Sam with me. Dean was always upfront with Dad. "The closest one is about a mile up the road. Oh, and I, uh—I dug up some stuff on Candy. Turns out she was the kept woman of a powerful Congressman. Gossip blog said he worshipped the ground she walked on, literally. He, uh—had a foot fetish."

I cringe. I'm not a foot person nor do I like people so much as touching my feet.

"So, Crowley was holding the beloved tootsies of a powerful politician?" asks Dean.

"And the beloved mother of a powerful Prophet."

"Human leverage," I whisper. "But why kill Candy?"

"Well, you heard her. Uh, she tried to make a break for it. Maybe Crowley wanted to make an example."

"No," Dean cuts in. "No. The guy left in charge. Crowley wanted the victims alive."

"So, what, you want to give him a medal?" asks Sam. "I mean, Crowley's the one who put them in the cells in the first place."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just talking it out. You know, working the case. Businesslike."

You could practically hear Sam and me rolling our eyes. Businesslike, my ass. There's something with you and Crowley that I don't appreciate, brother.

"So, when we get there, how are we approaching this?" I ask. "We're not doing our usual getup, are we?"

"Nope, going all Feds on this one, sis," says Dean.

"Shit, I left that back at the bunker."

"We'll think of something."

"I am not putting on whatever leftovers you two have."

We strike out at the first storage facility. I take a backseat on that one and let my brothers do all the talking. We strike out at the second facility. So now, we're down to our last storage facility. This has to be the one.

This time, I'm in tow behind my brothers. I look so out of place compared to them, but I've prepared a story. Hopefully it's believable.

"Let me guess," says Dean as we enter the facility office, "five-foot-five, pasty white, black-rimmed hipster glasses just like the last place." He rings the bell.

I have to hide my laughter behind my hand as Dean's said description comes to help us out.

"Nailed it," I whisper.

"Can I help you?" asks the guy behind the desk. His tag reads "Del." What an odd name.

"Yeah, hi. Agents Nicks and McVie," says Dean. "Need to take a look at your, uh, rental records."

"Uh, my manager's not here. I really don't think I should—"

"Hey! The records, pal."

"Yeah. Barry! Bring out the rental binder!"

Barry walks out, carrying a massive binder. Like Del, he matches Dean's description. This is too funny. Barry hands the binder over to Dean.

I meander over with Sam to look at the facility map while Dean thumbs through the binder.

"Check it out," I murmur. "Corridor 'Q.' Three adjacent units separate from the others. Candy said there were three hostages, right?"

"Yeah," says Sam.

"Okay," says Dean. "It's all leased by the same guy—a D. Webster."

"D. Webster? Wait. As in, like, Daniel Webster?"

"Well, I know a lame Crowley in-joke when I see one."

"You guys says 'D. Webster'?" asks Del.

"Yeah. Yeah, you—you seen him?"

"Uh, no, just...I know his name from the records. He's leasing another unit on the other side of the facility. I could show you."

"Yeah. That'd be great," I say. I look at my brothers. "Who wants to go with me?"

"Why don't you take corridor 'Q'?" Dean tells Sam. "I'll go with Jo and, uh, Del the funky homosapien."

Del leads us far away from Sam, an entirely different storage unit. Warily, I stay close to Dean, inspecting the contents. Dean's got a hold of a scythe, looking it over.

"What are we even looking for?" I ask Dean.

"Just looking until we figure that out," he tells me. "You sure this is the one leased by Webster?" This question is for Del.

"Yeah, this is it."

Dean waves me closer. I stiffen.

This isn't Crowley's unit. This unit belongs to Bob Gunderson, whoever the frick that is.

I jump away from Dean as he crumples to the floor. I grit my teeth, seeing Del armed with a freaking knife. I go for him, wrestling for the weapon. He hits me in the side, I force my knee into his gut.

"Dean!" I shout, hoping my brother wakes up.

Del and I knock heads—intentionally, as the bastard is the one who started it—forcing me off him.

My head hits the floor hard, and I remember nothing else after that.

* * *

"Son of a bitch," I hiss. There's a sharp pain in the back of my head as I come to.

I realize I'm tied with Dean to a post, arms behind my back. I sigh as I see Barry's body on the floor, bleeding into a bowl on the floor. I wince. Over the bowl is Del, who I seriously want to kick in the balls, or the head. Or just gank him at this point.

I wonder where Sam is. If he's been hurt or worse. Captured. Killed. What about Ms. Tran?

"'Trust me,' he says," Del mutters. Whether it's to himself or to us, I don't know. "'You definitely want to be a part of this—a chance to get in on the ground floor of my operation, a real learning experience. Consider it a stepping stone, my lad—like an internship.' Should've known. Internships suck."

"You're the one," I pant. From the corner of my eye, Dean's awake beside me. "You're the one who Crowley left in charge."

"Yeah," scoffs Del. "What a privilege. Feeding the apes, hosing the floors, washing out the honey buckets, and for zero credit. The boss, M.I.A. Too important to show for work, to even return my calls. And you know the worst part? I wasn't even allowed to kill anyone. I was told to protect them. I mean, how sick is that? Am I not a young, vital demon with basic demon needs and rights? And when I call Crowley to inform him that I've single-handedly caught the Winchesters and their pet, if he even answers my call, think I'll get a thank you? Ha!"

I scowl. I don't appreciate being called my brothers' "pet." At least he doesn't know who I really am. And let's leave it that way. And hearing that Sam's captured somewhere too makes me want to kill Del all the more.

"Yeah, you're right, kid," says Dean. "He won't give you credit. If anything, he'll be pissed."

"What?"

"Well, me and Crowley, we're—we're tight now. Thick as thieves. Saw him just last month. We, uh, had a grand ol' time."

I don't put it past Dean if that's the truth, considering he'd tried to call Crowley for help earlier.

"So, that's where he's been," says Del. "Out partying with humans, with hunters?! While I languish here in his go-nowhere, no-kill joke of a job."

"'Partying' is a bit of an exaggeration."

"This job blows!" Del rips the nametag off. "I quit. Screw the rules."

"Don't touch me!" I kick out at Del as he tries to untie me.

"What, isn't this what you want?"

"To be free, yes. To be near you, hell no."

"Stop moving, bitch." He grabs my hair, knocks my head into the post, nearly rendering me unconscious again.

"If you touch her—" Dean growls.

"You won't do a damn thing from where you're sitting." Del gets me free, forcing me onto the ground. I fight against him, but the pain in my head is so fierce that it's disorienting. Del has me straddled, and I'm seeing black spots in my vision.

I stop when I feel the blade on my throat. If only I had my damn batons. But, stupidly, I'd left them at the bunker. I need to make sure I don't do that again. "You know, I hope Crowley kills you when he finds out what a sloppy mess you've done," I spit.

I gasp, feeling a cut open just under my right ear.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've done this?" Del croons. I watch him with malicious brown eyes. "I thank you for reminding me what I truly am." I start struggling again as the bloody knife is raised, poised to stab my heart.

But just then, the door to our room is raised, and Sam rushes through. At the same time, Dean somehow breaks himself free and takes Del off me, leaving me to sit up, feeling the blood on my neck. It's nothing major; Del didn't hit the jugular.

I spring up as Del goes for Dean, but Sam takes over and knocks Del into a bookshelf.

"You okay, Jo?" asks Dean.

I nod. "Fine. Fine. Kinda wish you'd let me do that, though." I laugh. "He's one twisted bastard."

"He's a demon, Jo. They're all losing one too many marbles upstairs."

"Let me teach him a lesson."

"Oh, we would, but I think someone else deserves that honor more than you."

I look through the open doorway to see someone who I can only presume is Ms. Tran. She looks slightly frightened, but there's a hatred in her eyes. For Del, probably, not for us.

"All right, I'll let it slide," I say half-jokingly. "Next one, though, let me handle them."

We hear a groan come from Del, and I'm the one to deal with him. I pull him up so that he's on his knees.

"For the record, I'm a Winchester too, you bastard," I snarl. "Don't ever call me a pet ever again."

"Back off, sis," Dean tells me.

With a little guidance from Sam, I'm pulled away from Del.

"Do it," Del pants. "Kill me."

"Oh, no, buddy. That's too good for you," I say. "No, we're saving you for someone else."

"Crowley."

"Much worse," says Sam. Sam holds a knife out, and Ms. Tran walks in.

"Do the honors, Ms. Tran," Dean tells her.

"With pleasure," she says quietly.

Del tries to cover his tracks. "Hey, lady. I swear. I was just following ord—"

Ms. Tran ends Del with a stab to the heart. I feel relief wash over me. I'm sure Ms. Tran has a big feeling off her shoulders too.

But then I remember. If Sam found her, then he must've told her about her son. She must know about Kevin. How he's dead.

I'm almost afraid of Ms. Tran, as she still has the knife in her hand. But there's no anger in her eyes. More so longing, a tortured, pained look.

"Take me to my son," she says.