The next day, the Impala's tires crunched to a halt at the edge of a sheer drop.
The main bridge leading into River Pass wasn't just broken — it had been destroyed, leaving nothing but jagged concrete and twisted rebar hanging over the rushing water below.
Dean killed the engine and stepped out, peering over the edge. "Wow. It seems like Bobby wasn't kidding when he said something's wrong with this town. It's really fucked up out here."
Sam climbed out of the passenger side, eyes scanning the dead-quiet tree line across the gap. "Yeah, Dean. There's definitely something strange going on."
Dean kicked a loose rock down into the roaring water. "But how do we get there? The bridge is broken, and with that current, we'll get washed out if we try to swim it."
Henry stepped out of the back seat, unfazed. "Yeah, you don't need to worry about that. We can go," he said, nodding toward the back of the car.
"Just pack the bag with the guns."
Dean didn't argue.
He popped the trunk, pulled out their canvas duffel bag, and loaded it with shotguns, salt rounds, and the demon-killing knife.
He zipped it shut, slung the strap over his shoulder, and walked back to the edge.
Without a word, Henry grabbed both Dean and Sam by the shoulders.
A rush of wind, a sharp sound of displacement — and a split second later their boots hit solid asphalt on the other side of the broken bridge.
Dean stumbled slightly, catching his balance, then turned to look back across the gap at the empty road.
"Do you think my baby will be okay?" he asked, staring longingly at the parked Impala.
Sam racked his shotgun, turning his back on the cliff to face the deserted road into River Pass.
"Yes, Dean. With this much bullshit going on, no one's going to worry about a car."
They walked down the center of the main road.
The town looked like a war zone — cars abandoned at odd angles, doors hanging open, smashed glass, overturned trash cans, spent shotgun shells littering the asphalt.
"Keep your eyes peeled," Dean whispered, gripping his shotgun tighter. "Black eyes could be anywhere."
Henry walked behind them, scanning the broken storefronts. Demons weren't a big deal to him — the only players he had to worry about were Lucifer and Michael.
Anyone else, he could handle. If they came in massive numbers he'd still have to run, but a standard demon invasion didn't scare him.
"There's no sulfur," he noted. "Usually, if a town's actually swarming with demons, the stench is suffocating. I don't smell anything."
Before Dean could answer, the clack-clack of a pump-action shotgun echoed from a narrow alley to their left.
"Drop 'em," a harsh, familiar female voice ordered. "Kick the guns away. Now."
Dean and Sam froze, hands raising slightly off their weapons.
Stepping out of the shadows, shotgun leveled at Dean's chest, was Ellen Harvelle — exhausted, clothes covered in dirt, grease, and dried blood.
"Ellen?" Dean's eyes went wide. He lowered his gun a fraction. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Shut up," Ellen snapped. She grabbed a metal flask from her belt, popped the cap with her thumb, and splashed holy water across both their faces.
Dean sputtered, spitting water and wiping his eyes. "Ah, son of a bitch! Really?"
Ellen watched them for a few seconds. No smoke. No sizzling flesh. She let out a shaky breath and lowered the barrel. "You're not demons."
"No, we're not," Sam sighed, wiping his face on his sleeve. "Bobby sent us. He said Rufus called him for help."
Ellen glanced past them, eyes landing on Henry, who'd stepped back to avoid the splash zone. "Who's this? He one of them?"
"He's with us. Remember that cousin of ours? Came by the Roadhouse once," Dean said quickly, shaking water out of his hair. "It's a long story. Ellen, what's going on here? Where's Rufus?"
Before she could answer, a gunshot cracked from a nearby rooftop.
The bullet slammed into Henry's head, snapping his neck back.
Everyone jumped, whipping around to look at him, standing right behind Sam.
"You okay, Henry?" Sam asked, raising his shotgun toward the rooftops.
Henry sighed, annoyed. He reached up, dug his fingers into his bleeding forehead, and pulled the crushed bullet out of his skull, flicking it away onto the asphalt.
"Yeah, fine," he said, wiping the blood off his face. "But we should leave, unless we want to get riddled with bullet holes."
As they hurried down a narrow alley, out of the sniper's sightline, Ellen abruptly stopped and leveled her shotgun at Henry's chest.
"Okay, now tell me what the hell he is," she demanded, finger tightening on the trigger. "Is he a demon? Because no normal human walks away from a headshot like that."
Dean put his hands up, stepping half-between them. "He's not a demon, but he's not human either. Our 'cousin' here is an angel."
Ellen stared at Henry, face twisted in disbelief. "An angel?" She looked him up and down, taking in the blood smeared across his forehead and his general demeanor.
"Yeah, I know he doesn't exactly look the part, but he is one," Sam said gently, trying to defuse the tension. "Ellen, we can explain it all later. But you should probably lower the gun. It's not going to do anything to him — you just saw that."
Ellen kept the barrel on Henry another tense second, jaw clenched, then let out a frustrated breath and lowered the weapon.
"Fine," she snapped, turning and waving for them to follow. "But if his eyes go black, I'm finding a bigger gun."
*****
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