Chapter 6. Continuation 2
Although I wouldn't be surprised if it did. I often thought about it, especially the night I went to a single client's apartment and there were four of them. The next morning, I went to a free clinic for the first and only time, spitting pride, although I thought I was going to die in a puddle of blood from my own intestines somewhere along the way.
- I got out of the grave four months later," Dean continues, "right in the middle of the old cemetery, with all the weed lying around like an explosion. I immediately went looking for Sam, and he almost killed me because he thought it wasn't me.
I almost cried with relief. You can spit on your own life all you want, but I don't want to go to hell.
- We sat down with Sam and started to decide what to do," Dean smiles. - To get out of hell, to get out of the ground, no one will be able to do it for nothing. Besides, some strange things happened to me. For example, everything around me began to collapse and explode from an incomprehensible sound wave. I also found this on my body - he takes off his shirt with a T-shirt from one hand and shows what I have already seen - a fiery handprint on my shoulder. And again, I am beaten by uncontrollable shiver at the sight of him.
As he continues, he gently puts his shirt back on Dean's shirt, which is cool in the room, and I can already see the goosebumps crawling through the skin of older Winchester, and he's tense from the cold of his nipples.
Sam tells us that in their search they immediately came across an ancient legend about a man who was pulled out of hell by an angel. On that guy's shoulder there was exactly the same palm print, as if burnt by hot iron. The man was very grateful to the angel for his salvation, but as a token of his gratitude he demanded a terrible thing from him. What a terrible thing it was that the legend did not say. It was known, however, that the saved man had chosen to commit suicide and go back to hell.
- We went to a family friend, Bobby, to ask for advice," Dean continued. - He studied the legend, the print, and concluded that the story was repeating itself, and that the sound wave that was destroying everything around him was an angelic voice that no human ear could stand. In general, the sky was going to bill me. And then," he grins, "we decided to become ungrateful bastards. We had enough demons, angels and other celestial crap. Bobby found out how to become invisible to these creatures, so that they did not track us, we decorated ourselves with stylish tattoos and went on the run.
- Well, like on the run, - Sam says, "we're doing the same thing we always do, killing evil and doing people good. We just try not to stay in one place longer than 24 hours. Then, with this pack of werewolves, you know what I mean, it was an accident, and Dean almost fainted when Mary killed a plate in the kitchen," he thought the angels had caught up with us.
- You almost fainted yourself, - Dean grumbles, and his elbow stuck under his ribs. Sam's grabbing and parrying:
- Come on, wait, we'll probably have to pump Michael out right now. Or didn't you believe all this bullshit about hunters?
They both look at me like I'm a judge, and now comes the time of sentencing. I only shrug my shoulders:
- Of course I did. I saw it all. The witch was real. I didn't guess about werewolves, but now I know what's going on. And Joseph was a hunter, just like you.
I don't tell them I don't believe in angels alone. There are no angels, I know for sure. I saw only one angel - a girl from the Salvation Army who wore clothes and food in our squat in any weather. Then she was raped and killed when she came home. No, she was not an angel, because angels do not die.
- Your work is hard. I probably wouldn't have been able to do that. But I feel that it is very important for you to do it, to help people.
Sam is blurred in a good-natured smile, and Dena's beautiful face, though still serious, is softened, and deep wrinkles disappear in the corners of his lips. As if my approval was important to them. All this is strange. I wouldn't approve of the evil fighters. I just didn't know how they lived or what they were holding on to in this life. Probably to understand their strange world, you have to be a part of it. And I just looked through the doorway.
I can imagine why the Winchesters shared all this with me. Some stories have to be told, otherwise they start to hurt inside and break out. I am the last person brothers can expect a trick from. I won't run off selling news to newspapers, making them look crazy in the eyes of others, if only because the Winchesters, if they were three times crazy, are more important to me than the rest of the sane world right now.
Especially since they now consider me almost equal to themselves and are beginning to share secrets.