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hybridshadePart One || Masterpost
---{{--}}---
So tired…
Need… must…
Must feed… so… so…
Hungry.
Can taste it. So close.
---{{--}}---
Pulling his phone from his jacket, Sam pressed the first speed-dial and - much to his relief - his brother picked up on the first ring.
“Dude, you get anything?”
“Dean, I’ve just finished checking out the Markowitz house-slash-gallery. It’s the same as the others, it happened in a hurry and everything’s been left as it was. No EMF reading, no sulphur, no cold patches, no ectoplasm – nothing.”
“Same here,” Dean grunted with annoyance, “I’m still in the Romanov place and I got a big nada on the weird-o-meter. Well, mostly. I found holes out on the front porch where they found tuna-bake lady, and more in the bedroom where the boyfriend was. The girl must’ve been taken from one of those places ‘cause I didn’t find any others. Oh, but I did uncover what a kinky lady this Katja must be – there were handcuffs hanging on the bedframe and several bottles of different flavoured lube on the night stand. There’s somethin’ to be said for variety, man.”
“Dean, I-” Sam hesitated, wondering if he was seeing things where there was nothing to be seen. He had a theory, but with the evidence they had so far it was a bit of a long shot. Yet it was the only thing connecting the majority of the victims – the first woman was the singular exception.
His brother’s voice softened. “What is it, Sam?”
“Uh. Nothing, nothing. Don’t wor-”
“Please, spare me.”
He stopped, then swallowed. And ploughed on. “I’ve got a theory. It’s a little shaky but…”
“Spit it out, boy-genius.”
“It’s all to do with sexual energy,” Sam expelled in a rush, “It was present at all the abduction sites except the first – Jake Rogers and then Trent David and his girl were all getting high and getting off, Leslie Whittaker is supposedly a hooker so god knows what she was up to, Katja was apparently into something kinky with her boyfriend, and Lucinda Markowitz is an artist with a penchant for erotic photography.”
Dean was silent for an extended moment. “You sure you’re not reading into this too much, man? Your imaginary friend ain’t screwin’ with you or anything? I mean, they’re all in their twenties, right? It makes perfect sense that they’re making good on the best years of their life – I know I sure did.”
“Dude, not every twenty-something in the world is as much of a horn-dog as you were. Or, correction, still are.”
“Hey, calm down there, Sasquatch. I’ve been a good boy lately, thanksverymuch.”
“Whatever you say. Anyway, I still think there’s something there. I’ve just… got a hunch.”
“Hmm, yeah, but… what about the tuna-bake lady? She wasn’t even inside the house.”
“So? Maybe she came to the door, Katja and Wesley are having a screaming match of the good kind, she listens in for a bit, gets a little excited-”
“Dude, do not say shit like that when I’m in hearing range. Those kinda thoughts can mess a guy up.”
Sam smiled innocently. “I’m just throwin’ some hypotheticals at you. Nothing messy about it.”
“Right,” Dean huffed, “So, what now?”
Humming in thought, Sam crossed the floor of Lucinda’s bedroom, scrutinising the pile of art and photography supplies that littered her desk and chairs. He’d been over it already, sure, but there was just something he was missing, he was certain of it.
“What’d you find? I know that tone of humming and it usually means something’s on your mind.”
Dean’s voice crackled as it passed through the phone speaker, meaning one of them was probably in a bad reception area again – though, this town seemed to be full of ‘bad areas’. Just their luck.
“I’m just wondering if it’s possible that two people were taken from this place.”
“Two?” Dean cleared his voice comically. “But Agent Winchester, that would mean the un-sub’s broken pattern. Do you think we’ve got him spooked?”
“Fuck you, too,” Sam joked back. “I’m just looking at all her equipment and some of it looks like it was used but not put away. And going by the rest of the house this girl seems like a bit of a neat-freak, so I’m thinking there was either someone else here with her or they’d only just left when she was taken – the holes are around the art stuff, not the bed…”
“What makes you think someone else had to be there? …Sam?”
“You should check out the way the wood’s splintered around the holes,” Lucifer muttered aloud, his legs tucked up underneath him where he sat on the bed, “Might be relevant, Princess.”
“Sam? Dude, are you listening or just wasting my phone credit?”
Sam shook himself out of his distraction, focussing back on his brother’s voice. “That particular phone’s on a plan, under the name of Mister Barrington Dartmore, no less. And yeah, I’m listening, but something just occurred to me.”
“Which is?”
“These holes – I didn’t notice it at any of the other places but the debris from the floorboards being broken is on the inside, which means whatever is making them is definitely coming from underneath, inside the earth. The Chief’s comment about mutated, ground-dwelling anacondas may not be so far wrong.”
Over the line Dean sighed, and Sam could imagine the creases deepening in his forehead as he frowned, his fingers pressing on either side of his chin the way he always did when he was thinking too hard. They’d spent all of last night and the morning twisted up in each other’s bodies, but already he was feeling the withdrawal of separation – despite Dean being only a few blocks and a phone call away.
“Right. Good work then, 99.”
Lucifer howled. “Fiiine, take the credit for my superior detective skills.”
“But let’s just stop for a minute, just think,” Dean went on, his lighter tone indicating he was onto something, “What would we find in the ground if we looked?”
Sam paused. “It could be some kind of creature that burrows its way around? That would take a lot of time though, and some of the houses are pretty far apart… There’s worms down there, and bugs-”
“Don’t even fucking say that word, man. If this is all from bugs I’m goddamn leaving and someone else can take care of it.”
“Uh, right. Well.” Sam gestured to no one in particular, trying to get his brain working. “There could be an underground reservoir – plenty of room for things to hang around in down there – then there’s the dirt itself, tree roots and other plant matter, for all we know there could have been people or ruins buried under the town centuries back.”
Dean swallowed audibly. “Sam, when we were driving into this hellhole, what was the one thing you couldn’t stop yammering on about?”
His eyes widened in realisation. “The trees.”
“Yeah, the fucking trees. Now, hold that thought, Sherlock. We’ve got some families to interview first before we go bush bashing. You take the ones in walking distance and I’ll drive to the ones across town. Call me if you get anything.”
“Gotcha.”
Sam ended the call and pulled out the list of carelessly scrawled names and addresses from his pocket. Usually he and Dean did this together, and the ache of being even temporarily separated was like a sharp pang in his chest, but there were simply too many names on their list and splitting up was their only option to cut down on the time.
It took several long and arduous hours, but he finally made his way through question time with Jake Rogers’ long-suffering grandmother, Katja Romanov’s barely English-speaking parents, and Trent David’s mother and older brother, each to varying degrees of awkwardness and overly-emotional stress.
Unfortunately, none of them brought up anything of note with relation to the case, only that their missing family members were good people with plenty to live for. Sam wished he could have comforted them more, but the thought merely drew him to despair – they had no clue what precisely they were dealing with, nor how to kill it, and there was no way of knowing for sure if any of the missing people were still alive, let alone where they were being kept.
It was all hanging precariously on the edge of the too-hard basket. Usually they had something by this stage, even a simple working theory or an idea of where to search, but this goddamn town and it’s goddamn secrets were so far evading them spectacularly.
That was, until he finally came to question Martha Caldwell, the mother of their first missing person, Nancy. She was soft-spoken, and clearly quite depressed, but she had perked up momentarily when she realised the FBI was now involved in the case, and she answered all of Sam’s questions without complaint. The information he gathered was all quite ordinary and unexciting, but there was a singular fact that had Sam’s stomach fluttering with enthusiasm, something that altered his earlier theory and put a slightly new spin on things.
Leaving the Caldwell household, Sam fumbled and nearly dropped his phone before he finally got it up to his ear, listening to the dial tone and only exhaling once he heard the click of Bobby answering the call. He explained his theory in full, and the older man grunted and grumbled through most of the conversation, but agreed that Sam’s idea was as good as any, and at least provided a possible motivation for their still-unknown entity.
Hanging up he then dialled his brother, eager to know if he’d had more luck. Dean answered with a glum-sounding ‘hey’, so Sam knew straight away he’d gotten nowhere.
“Dean, I think I got something. I just spoke to Nancy Caldwell’s mother. She had a long-term boyfriend who travels for his work. He—”
“You think he’s got something to do with it?”
“No, he was in New York at the time, the mother swears to it. But the thing is she was a bit of a loner around here otherwise, so the fact that she was noticed as missing that quickly was pure chance, and in even bigger news – apparently she was six months pregnant.”
“Oh, fucking Christ. That can’t be good.”
“Babies! Oh, I just love babies!”
Sam winced at the glee in Lucifer’s voice, but forced himself to focus. “While this doesn’t fit my sexual energy theory, I’m wondering if maybe it’s reproductive energy we’re looking at instead. It still fits in with all the specifically sexual incidents, as well as including Nancy’s pregnancy. I already called Bobby and relayed all this so he’s looking into it, but he was as stumped as I was.”
“Sammy,” Dean grumbled, “Much as I hate to say it, I think now might be a good time to pay that psychic chick a visit.”
“I’m not sure I’d call her a ‘chick’, Dean. She’s in her seventies.”
---{{--}}---
Oh, yes…
Yes, so…
So soft.
Soft flesh.
Ripe.
So hungry…
---{{--}}---
“Oh, you must be the Winchester brothers! Come in, come in! My, look how handsome you both are. My Robert always used to curse me and his father for giving him the ‘short gene’ but not everyone can be blessed with such great heights!”
The two brothers gulped as they were abruptly compelled inside the rickety old house by Miss Eloise – Pineville’s resident psychic. The seventy-something grandmother was completely unassuming appearance-wise – white curly hair, knitted cardigan, tacky beaded necklaces, tiny spectacles, the whole works – but evidently her petite, barely-five-foot stature housed a booming personality.
“My-oh-my I wish you could stay long enough to tell me all about your adventures, but I know how terribly busy you are so I’m hoping you could stay long enough for a glass of pink lemonade, at least?”
Sam looked at Dean, and Dean looked at Sam and they both stared at each other with bewilderment.
“Um, er, sure. Thank you,” Sam stuttered out.
Eloise smiled up at him for a long moment before patting his arm.
“Don’t worry deary, your shadow isn’t allowed in my house, so you can enjoy the quiet for a few minutes.”
Sure enough, as soon as the psychic headed off for the kitchen, Sam heard the banging of the front door, and the angered ‘that’s not very fair!’ that wafted in on the breeze.
Dean frowned, grabbing at his brother’s shoulder.
“Sam, you said—”
“Not now, Dean. I’m fine, seriously.”
The older brother snorted his disbelief before taking a seat on one half of the floral couch, sinking straight down into the worn cushions before he suddenly bounced back up again once Sam landed himself on the other half.
“Here we are,” Eloise sing-songed as she bustled her way back into the living room with a tray of pink lemonade and shortbread biscuits. She set everything down on the coffee table before pulling up a creaky wooden chair for herself. “So, tell me what this old hag can do for you lovely boys?”
Dean smirked. “So you don’t already know?”
“Oh, Dean! You flatter an old lady! But honestly, not even God knows everything, so tell it to me straight.”
“Uh, well,” Dean fumbled, “There’s been a lot of disappearances lately, you’ve probably seen it in the papers. So we’re investigating and we’re wondering if you know of any old legends attached to this town – witches, ghosts, spirits, demons, man-sized porcupines, baby-munching nasties… You know, the usual.”
“Well, as a matter of fact I do. This town has quite a history, as it happens. Pineville’s supported a co-existence of both witches and psychic mediums for going on a hundred and fifty years now. All under the radar, of course.”
The brothers shared a glance.
Sam cleared his throat. “Would you say it was, or is, a peaceful co-existence?”
“Oh, yes!” Eloise chuckled, taking a sip of her lemonade, “As far as it has been written, all those that came before were women, and we are still all women now. The original group came together here initially for the sake of their own protection, since back at that time they were being hunted, as you probably well know. The story goes that they started experimenting with their powers, and found a way for the witches to channel their power through the mediums, resulting in either an alteration of the spell used, a projection of it over a great distance, or an amplification of it.”
“That sounds like some pretty intense stuff,” Dean interjected, “The kind of knowledge other people might kill for, for instance…”
“Yes, absolutely. And I’m quite sure people were killed over it. It was both their best and worst kept secret – word spread amongst the paranormal community about what they were accomplishing, but as far as I’m aware, the knowledge of how was never revealed to anyone from outside the group.”
“That would have ruffled some feathers, keeping valuable secrets like that.” Sam reached out and took a biscuit from the tray, doing his best to sound conversational, and not like he was mid-interrogation. Though he got the feeling Eloise knew exactly what was what.
“Indeed it did. Apparently a great many witches, psychics, and other ‘alternative’ types travelled here either to try and join them or try and kill them. What they were doing was extremely controversial by the standards of the time, crossing the line between two different natures of magic, and blending the magics of both the dark and the light. Even today there aren’t many who do it. Or at least, not many who broadcast the fact.”
“That sounds pretty dangerous.”
“Oh, without a doubt! Dark magics and divining magics are volatile enough on their own, let alone trying to mix the two. It’s hard enough keeping things under control even when you know what to do. I can’t imagine how it must have been when they were still perfecting the techniques way back when. Thankfully in my time I’ve only seen minor injuries, but definitely in the beginning there would have been women who died for the cause.
“When I was still a young thing and still learning, my elders would tell us horror stories about the witches whose spells would snap and they would be severely injured from the recoil, and how the mediums would often burn out or become physically damaged from channelling too much power.”
“But what, um,” Dean paused to rethink his wording. “There must have been some greater purpose for all their experimenting, right? You mentioned protection before, which, sure, is a damn good reason. But then you just said something about a cause… So my guess is that they had something a little bigger in mind.”
“Ooh, can’t put anything past you, can I?” Eloise chuckled brightly. “No one still living knows precisely how or why it all occurred the way it did. There are journals in existence, written by those involved in the initial development of these techniques, but they’re not exactly revealing when it comes to background information.
“That said, from what information I’ve gathered over time, it did start off as only a protection charm. But apparently it wasn’t strong enough for their purposes and so on a whim the witches and mediums tried combining their powers. As you can imagine, it was a resounding success – to a point. They managed to put up a shield that not only warded off those humans with bad intentions, but would also burn any lesser supernatural being into a crisp. Naturally that put a great big target on their backs, which was obviously not part of the plan, and thus they were forced to develop further methods to keep the supernatural folk at bay. The way I see it, it was all just a big misunderstanding that got way out of hand.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “They evidently fought back, though.”
“They had to. Story goes that their shield injured some big-shot vampire with a lot of powerful friends – he took the injury as a threat, so he threatened them right back. Their options were fight or flee, and fleeing would only have gotten them killed anyway.”
“They clearly survived that confrontation. So tell me, were there any other noteworthy conflicts that you know of?”
“What are you thinking, Sammy?” Dean wondered out loud.
“Just,” Sam turned back to look Eloise in the eye, “Just humour me, if you would.”
“You think there’s something related to your case, do you?”
Dean snorted. “Actually, Sam seems to think it’s related to sex or reproduction or some shit.”
“Well, they call him the smart one for a reason. Perhaps you should pay him more attention.”
Sam could have howled with laughter at the vexed expression on his brother’s face – his jaw was clamped so tightly Sam could see the tendons in his neck pulsing from the strain.
“But now that you mention it,” Eloise went on, “There was this seer, Betty, that would tell us stories when I was very young. We would all joke about how she was mad as a hatter and old as the hills – and she certainly looked it. But I didn’t find out until I was a bit older that she wasn’t really all that old and she only came across that way because she’d get these terribly violent visions that affected her health and her sanity. Apparently her visions hadn’t always been like that, but after being part of the group for so many years and subjected to the vast amounts of power and all the magic blending…”
The psychic hesitated for the first time since they’d appeared at her front door.
“She would always carry on about crazy things that she’d seen, but there was one story that whenever she told it, the other elders would get agitated, and tell us not to believe a word she said – they only ever said such a thing about this particular story. I think that it actually happened, is why. It was about a witch from the early days – Betty changed the names every time she told the story, but let’s call her Molly for now. So a group of mean, nasty, male witches came to the town to try and challenge the power of the females. The men were very impressed at the aggression shown by the females but in typical male fashion they decided they wanted to own and control that power. The leader – let’s call him Billy – had a few tricks of his own that made the females very worried, so they approached them directly to see if they could make a deal.
“Billy surprised them all by saying he wanted to take one of the females as his wife. They hadn’t expected that at all, thinking that he merely wanted some of their spells, but they refused straight out, not wanting to give the men the satisfaction that they would win so easily. Of course, that made Billy very angry, and he attacked. Molly, who was the most powerful female at the time, took it upon herself to challenge him to a duel of sorts. Billy agreed, so he and Molly battled with their magic, causing fires and all sorts of damage through the town until they finally ended up in the forest. They were both wounded by this stage, but being so powerful, the two each possessed various amulets and tattoos and other markings of protection which were used commonly in those days to ward off death and ill-intentioned magic. Because of that, theoretically, they wouldn’t have been able to kill each other completely despite their great attempts.
“Anyway, that was the last any of the witches saw of Billy and Molly. The story says that there was a sequence of powerful explosions before it all went quiet, and all they found remaining in the forest was a lifeless clearing of charred ground, and a great oak tree that sprung up out of nowhere.”
“Well, that would explain why suddenly Pineville is overrun with oaks.”
“Quite likely,” Eloise agreed, “But like I said, there’s truly no way to know if such a thing actually happened because there’s simply no record of it, only the wild ramblings of a nutty psychic.”
“Trust me, we’ve heard much stranger things that have turned out to be true. It wouldn’t-”
Eloise stopped Dean with a wave of her hand. “You should answer that.”
“Answer wh-”
Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone suddenly started belting out a Metallica song, signalling a call.
“I’ll, um, just go over there and, uh, get that… ‘Scuse me.”
Eloise waited until Dean had vacated the room before turning back to Sam, his large frame looking more than uncomfortable on the low, sunken cushions of her scungy old sofa.
“He’ll probably dwell on my words for a bit when you leave. But I was just having a bit of fun – he’s so touchy, I couldn’t resist!”
It took Sam a moment before he realised what words she was talking about. “Oh, yeah. He’s not so good with criticisms. Can’t always take a joke either.”
“I know, I know. And he won’t change, he’ll always be like that, I can tell.” Eloise’s mouth twisted into a devilish grin. “If he really goes on about it you could tell him I know exactly how much attention he paid you last night. Even this old girl would call that some impressive stamina – and they made ‘em tough back in my day, if you know what I mean.”
“Er, I…”
“Oh, and don’t you worry about the past anymore, will you? Your brother wears that regret like a great stone sitting on his shoulders. I can tell you with near certainty that neither of you will hurt each other that way again. Well, unless you ask for it specifically, of course…”
“Uh…”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief when his brother trudged back into the room, cutting though the awkward mood with renewed intent – obviously something of interest had come in on that phone call.
“C’mon, Sam, we gotta split. That was the Chief; there’s been another disappearance with a healthy serving of death on the side.”
“What, wait, this literally just happened?”
“Yep. Neighbour heard some weird noises, sounded like a struggle, called the cops straight away. They got there only minutes too late, one gone, one dead – the body was still warm though.”
Sam finally stood up from the couch, both knees popping as they straightened out. “We should try and catch this thing’s tail and follow it – this could be our chance to see it in action, get a look at what we’re dealing with. We could get it while it’s feeding or something; maybe catch it while it’s not expecting us.”
“Yeah, if it feeds,” Dean added quietly, “Way too many what-ifs goin’ on if you ask me.”
“You’ll be wanting to check out the forest, no doubt,” Eloise piped in.
“Yeah. Any suggestions where to start?”
“Oh, I know exactly where you need to go. There’s this black cloud of energy hovering around in there that sticks out like a big, shiny beacon to a person like me.”
Dean grunted. “You mean you knew there was something in there and didn’t even-”
“Oh, please, Dean. That forest has been suffocated by bad energy for over a hundred years, and that’s no secret. But those of us that are left here, we couldn’t do anything about it even if we wanted to. Maybe back in the day they could’ve managed something, but nowadays we have neither the strength nor the manpower to take on cleansing a forest of that size. You boys though, if you manage to kill this entity – whatever it is – then the forest should hopefully be able to cleanse itself.”
“Awesome. Sounds like a piece ‘a cake.”
“Now, now,” the psychic chided, “You put that sarcasm away until you’re back outside, young man. As for where you might start your hunt, there’s a road that runs north to south right through the very middle of the town. You should follow it north and go as far as you can go, then ditch the car and travel on foot and keep going in a straight line – again, far as you can go. You’ll find the clearing no problem.”
“We will, will we?”
“If you’re as in tune to the supernatural as one would hope you’d be, then yes. Now skedaddle. My hospitality threshold draws near. Do keep in touch, though! I want to hear all about it.”
---{{--}}---
Sam slammed the car door shut and dejectedly followed his brother up the driveway, fiddling with his tie all the while. He’d been hoping that they would be able to finish things before any more victims were taken or killed, but this still unknown thing they were hunting kept pushing up the timeline, beating them to the punch. Dean hadn’t told him much in the car on the way over, only that it involved two guys this time - one taken, one dead - and same as the others, there were more holes in the floor. He’d prodded Dean a couple of times already, but he couldn’t tell whether his brother just hadn’t been told much when the Chief had called him, or if there was something he purposely wasn’t saying.
Regardless, Sam was somewhat glad that they’d be able to see an intact crime scene for once. Even with the previous incident, though only a couple of days old when they’d first gone to investigate, the scene had been figuratively ‘murdered’ by all the officers that had gone in to inspect the place, ‘bagging and tagging’ everything in sight like they saw on fucking CSI every week. But now they’d be able to get the whole story, and hopefully find some evidence that hadn’t been present at the previous abduction sites.
Dean greeted the local officer who’d been posted at the house to keep an eye on things, and lead the way up the stairs to the front door. Apparently he’d had the sense to tell Chief over the phone to keep everyone out and stop them from touching things, which meant the scene would still be fresh and hopefully any lingering smells or presences would remain.
“Just wait til you see this one, Sam,” Lucifer smirked from where he was perched by the door, “It’s a doozy. Gotta give ‘em credit, though – these kids really did their research. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
Letting that thought penetrate, Sam wondered what in the hell these two guys had gotten themselves into that would interest the damn Devil. They’d had pregnant ladies, drugs and porn, kinky art, kinky sex, what the fuck else-
“Whoa, that’s kinda new.”
Dean’s voice travelled through the hallway, startling Sam out of his daze where he’d still been standing just inside the front door. He hurried into the living room and found his brother just inside the entryway, his arms crossed and a mystified look on his face.
It wasn’t hard to see why, once he finally turned to take in the present tableau of the room, in all its bewildering glory. The overhead lights were out but the space still glowed with the illumination of what looked like hundreds of red candles. Some kind of incense was burning as well, leaving a slightly-woody, slightly-herbal smell drifting through the air, however it didn’t quite cover the metallic stench of blood coming from the corpse tied up bondage-style in the middle of the hardwood floor.
Sam moved to take a step closer to the body, but froze when he suddenly noticed the painted lines etched into the ground, markings that suddenly gave the scene a whole new meaning.
“Told you it was a knockout,” a shadowy voice slithered out from the hallway behind. “It’s almost a pity he had to die; I should have liked to give them my blessing.”
“That’s not-”
“Yeah it is, Sammy,” Dean cut in, shifting his weight to his other foot, “It’s a good ol’ fashioned magic circle, pentagram an’ all. And that right there is Quin Loblay. He and his BFF Chester were apparently well known for being practicing Wiccans.”
“Yeah, but…” Sam finally stepped inside the circle, crouching down to get a look at the groups of symbols marked around the circle’s edge. He recognised most of them, but their order and placement would indicate what the spell was trying to achieve, so he would have to inspect all of them before he could be sure. “This was some kind of big-time ritualistic thing, man. Serious black magic stuff – not exactly what your standard, small-town Wiccans would be delving into.”
“Clearly we aren’t lookin’ at any standard, small-town Wiccans then.”
“Fair enough.”
Kneeling down by the body, Sam pulled out the latex gloves he’d stashed in his pocket earlier and snapped them on. He manoeuvred the slowly stiffening limbs just enough to get a good look at the guy’s chest and hands, though he was hindered by the intricate rope work that overlaid his arms and torso, the twists and knots of it creating diamond patterns all over his skin. It wasn’t the ropes that kept his attention however, nor was it the familiar wounds on his neck or the palms of his hands – it was the symbols painted on his stomach in what looked to be blood that made Sam take a breath.
He looked to his brother in astonishment. “Christ, Dean, this was a soul binding ritual. They weren’t friends, they were lovers. And they were going to tie themselves together for eternity.”
“Huh, no kidding.” Dean smiled fondly, “Oh, to be young and stupid.”
“I mean, it’s no surprise they got jumped like this. As soon as they drew that circle the power would have started building, and it would have drawn our culprit toward them like a moth to a flame.”
“Culprit? Sammy, I think we better get you outta here, you’re starting to sound like a crime drama junkie.”
“Rich coming from you,” he shot back playfully, “But we’ve still got stuff to check out here, so… Hey, where are the holes?”
Dean gestured with his hands. “If you’d care to stand up and do a little pirouette, Anna Ballerina, you’ll find they’re all around you.”
Doing as his brother suggested, Sam rose to his feet and did a three-sixty, finding a neat line of various-sized holes skirting the perimeter of the magic circle.
“It avoided the circle?” Sam turned the detail over in his mind. “There’s been no evidence that anything about this was demonic.”
Dropping down in a crouch, Dean ran his finger through the paint that made up the circle, then lifted it to his lips. “Because it’s not – it didn’t avoid the circle, just went over it, someone put salt in the paint. So, I think now we’ve got Bobby an answer about whether it’s a spirit or not.”
“Hey, Sammy. Wanna see a neat trick?”
“Yeah, finally we catch a break,” Sam agreed with his brother, ignoring the fallen angel, though he could feel the apparition’s gaze burning holes in his back.
“Are we finished here, then? I told Chief I’d let him know when we were done checking out our ‘important FBI stuff’.”
He shrugged. “I guess-”
“Help…”
Sam’s head snapped around. “W-what?”
“Sammy, what’s going on?”
“Help me… it burns…”
He watched on it horror as the corpse at his feet suddenly began to twitch, its arms straining to get free of the ropes they were bound in.
“Ho- hot… nnn, burns…”
The body convulsed, its spine twisting at an unnatural angle, limbs pushing and pulling as they tried desperately to break out of their bonds. The candles still burning cast an eerie glow over the whole scene, and Sam felt his own body begin to involuntarily panic, his feet nearly tripping him over as he all but sprinted backward til he met the wall.
“N-no, no, nonono-”
The voice emanating from the corpse started to grow increasingly louder, and what had initially been words blurred into grunts and cries of pain. Sam couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink as the skin deepened gradually to an agonising shade of pink, whisps of heat and smoke curling up into the air. It was cooking from the inside.
“Please, no,” he whimpered, the sounds of popping and crackling ringing too loudly in his ears, the sounds of kindling in a burning fire. The rotting smell cut through the air quickly, bringing on a wave of nausea that abruptly threatened to spill out through his mouth, and he moaned aloud trying to hold back the sickness-
And then as immediately as it had appeared, it was gone again. Replaced by the comforting scents of leather and cheap motel soap, and his brother’s arms around his shoulders, shielding him from the rest of the room.
“S’okay, Sammy. Whatever fucked up shit you’re seeing isn’t real, but just come back to me, okay?”
Slowly he managed to bring his heaving breaths back to a more normal pace, and he nodded against Dean’s shoulder, giving him the all-okay.
“You good?”
Sam nodded again, peeking over his brother’s bicep, taking in the present state of the room – still and unmoving, just as it had been the entire time.
“Mm, yeah. Can we just… can we go now? Please? I need to go.”
“Of course.” Dean backed off and helped him up from the floor. “Hey, how ‘bout we go check out that forest now? Get some fresh air.”
Part Three || Masterpost
