Dean's driving was worse than usual. He turned corners far too quickly, ran red lights, barely escaped running over some unsuspecting pedestrians. It really was a miracle there were no cops around.
Dean was so determined to get there, he didn't care if he got himself killed in the process.
"Dean! Seriously!" Sam yelped as the car skirted the curb, sending them skidding.
"Aren't you meant to be planning, Sammy?"
"I'm too busy trying to work out if we'll get there alive or not!"
"I'm not slowing down." He said through gritted teeth.
"Do we have any holy oil left? Any spare angel blades?" Sam asked him.
"She got them both." Dean spat.
"We must've had spares. The amount of angels we fought, we must have another!"
"Don't know what to tell you, Sammy; we don't." Dean shrugged.
Sam sighed, wiping his hands down his face. "Bobby would know."
Dean glanced over to his brother. "Gee, great idea. Ask the dead guy; that'll work."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "We could call an angel? Take their blade?"
"No way will one of them give up their blade; not to us."
"We'd be fighting a common cause. You never know."
"Sam, I'm willing to try anything, so long as it don't slow us down." He told him, turning another corner.
"Right." Sam glanced around. "How do we summon an angel?"
"Dunno. They've always just... appeared." Dean shrugged.
Sam leant forward and popped open the glove box, searching for anything. Unfortunately, Dean swerved a corner, and mounds of paper, litter and assorted weapons spilt out, pouring to Sam's feet.
"Quit whining." Dean snapped.
Sam leant in, and Dean resumed a steady pace. But suddenly, unnaturally, their Dad's journal that had gotten lodged inside the compartment slid out, whacking Sam on the head. He winced and picked it up, but before he had the chance to open it, it flipped open, landing on the page detailing the address of John Winchesters old storage unit.
Sam dismissed it, flicking through for something of use, but as soon as he paused, the book flicked the pages back to the storage unit address, as if the spine had been bent to that page. Again, Sam pushed past it, going back to where he had gotten and moving further, though found the pages slipping back, fanning as though in a breeze; and somehow almost in annoyance.
Sam looked round, checking out the windows, but found they were all closed. "Dean, did you get air conditioner in here, or something?"
His brother glanced round, frowning, clearly not impressed with the question. "Is now the time?"
"No. No air-con. Why?"
"It could be nothing..." Sam frowned, checking out the page. "Because Dad's journal keeps opening on the same page."
"What the hell has that to do with my car?"
"It's breezing to it... like..."
"Like what?" Dean snapped.
"Like a breeze, or... a ghost?"
"A ghost?" Dean looked at the journal. "There's a ghost in my car?"
"It keeps opening on the address for Dad's storage unit."
"What the hell is Casper doing in my car?"
"Dean, maybe we should go to it." Sam suggested.
"What?" Dean blinked. "You're saying we listen to a ghost? That only maybe exists? Do you hear yourself?"
"Because it's a ghost! We hunt those things; we don't take advice from them!"
"But what if it's right?"
Dean looked at his brother. "You seriously think that?"
Sam looked back at the book, and sighed. "Yeah, I do."
Dean looked back at the road, and made a snap decision. "Fine." He said, turning the car around. "But if this is a wild goose chase, I'm holding you responsible."
"I'll take that." Sam agreed.
The boys couldn't see, of course, but an old drunk leant back in the back in the back seat. Swayzeying things was exhausting.
"What's the hold up, Cassie?" Livvie asked, leaning back on the chair. "They're taking their sweet time, aren't they?" She smirked. "They're not calling, either."
Cas sighed. "I thought your plan here was to kill me." He reminded her. "You seem to be stalling."
"I'm taking my time, kitten." She laughed. "We have to wait on lover boy and chuckle-head, now, don't we?"
"Surely they would impede your plan," He guessed. "Why do you want them here?"
"Oh, they're necessary." Livvie smiled. "Those old rituals did need a lot of ingredients."
"Ritual?" Cas questioned. "What ritual? What are you planning?"
Livvie's eyes snapped wide, instantly realising she'd said too much. A second later her poker face was back, but Cas noticed.
"Nothing. Don't you worry about it." She said, a little too quickly.
Cas looked around the room, taking in the items that she had placed around. There was holy oil, and the angel blade, but that was to be expected. There was nothing more, though. So he looked deeper. Aside from the Angel paraphernalia, there was also a Nephilim, a hugely powerful creature; a falling angel, and soon to be two humans.
No, not just humans. Two archangels' vessels.
Cas looked back to her, realisation dawning on his face. Livvie saw the look on his face, the change, the quiet smugness of knowledge, and a flash of fear crossed across her face.
"You're performing-" Cas went to ask, but was immediately cut off, his lips sealed shut with a pinch of Livvie's fingers.
She came up close to him, practically in his face as she hissed her words.
"No, Castiel; you will not ruin this for me."