The night wind of the Texas Barrens rushed through the car windows, carrying the smell of dust and dry grass.
Dean kept the speed at 120, his eyes constantly sweeping the rearview mirror. In the back seat, Adam Milligan was wrapped in an old jacket from the safehouse, silently watching the darkness stream past outside.
"Forty more minutes to the next transfer point." Sam looked at the GPS, a shotgun in his hands, its barrel resting against the window and his trigger finger outside the guard.
Dean grunted and glanced at Adam again through the rearview mirror.
That face really did resemble John's, especially the line of his jaw and the habit of narrowing his eyes slightly when looking at people. But his eyes were like Adam's mother's—softer.
"So," Dean said, his voice even beneath the engine's roar, "how did the angels find you?"
Adam looked away from the window and toward the front seats. "I live in Chicago. I teach at a community college. Two months ago, a man in a trench coat came to sit in on one of my classes. He approached me afterward and said my bloodline was special. I thought he was a creep, so I ignored him. Then last week, three men in suits broke into my apartment and said, 'Heaven needs a vessel.'"
"You didn't call the police?" Sam asked.
"I did. The cops came, but those three vanished when the police knocked on the door." Adam gave a bitter smile. "The cops thought I was high. They warned me not to make false reports. I knew something was wrong, so I started looking into the Winchester Family... and then you contacted me."
Dean and Sam exchanged a look. It matched the pattern. Angels really would do something like this.
"The guild will