Title: Echoes Of Hell
trickie - February 13, 2009 09:50 PM (GMT)
Echoes of HellAs much as Dean wants to forget his time in hell, the memories stay at the forefront of his mind.
I don't own any characters from Supernatural, including the metallicar. I am just borrowing them to tell my story. I promise to return all characters alive and well when I am finished. :P
A special thanks exdemon1120 for her beta services and being brave enough to take me and my craziness on. :D
The story contains some language and mild torture scenes.
Okay, so let's buckle in and start this ride.
Awesome banner by ChasidernChapter 1
He stood unmoving, his head bowed over the metal tray staring at the various implements. Slowly he reached out a trembling hand, picking up the straight razor. His green eyes watched the glint of the shining metal as he rotated his wrist examining the blade. Lowering his hand, he cast fearful glances around him, his heart pounding in his chest as he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.
He flinched as a loud clanking filled the room followed by a steady grinding whine. He looked up; the machine had been set in motion. His hand gripped the handle of the straight razor tightly, his body vibrating as the grinding came to a halt. His eyes blurred with unshed tears, as he waited for his victim to descend from the infinite darkness above. As she was lowered slowly into place, his gaze dropped to the floor. He refused to look into the terrified face before him. The guilt was almost too much to bear.
The chink of metal on metal echoed through the room as the pins dropped into place; restraining his victim to the table. His stomach rolled violently as he took a shaky breath, his eyes locked on the razor in his hand. The smell of his victim’s fear overpowered the stench of old blood and charred flesh that he had become all too familiar with. He sensed the other before he felt the hand clasp his shoulder. He stiffened, and waited.
He could feel the heat of the man’s breath as he whispered; could smell the stench of death in his stale breath. “Well, I guess its time to prove yourself,” the man rasped into his ear.
He felt the coolness as the hand left his shoulder; still he didn’t move. He didn’t look up as he awaited instructions.
“Today, I think we’ll do a little flay and fillet. What do you think son?” The other spoke silkily.
He choked on a gasp, trying to maintain his disgust with himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead, as he raised his head, horror in his eyes, “I…I don’t think…”He felt his stomach churn, he wasn’t sure he could do this.
The other man chuckled deep in his throat, “Come now, do you need me to show you? I would think you would be very familiar with this particular technique.”
Scrubbing a hand across his stubbled face, he stepped forward towards the table. “Flay…,” he whispered.
He ran the tip of a finger across the thin blade of the razor, watching as a line of blood rose to the surface. He raised his head to the body on the table, keeping his eyes away from the face. He couldn’t look at the face. He could not bear the look of fear and accusation in their eyes. He inhaled deeply, and straightened his frame. He had no choice, this was better than the alternative.
He walked to the end of the table, and stared at the foot in front of him. He carefully sliced into the skin. A blood-curdling scream came from the girl on the table as he slowly peeled back the flesh exposing the blood and meat beneath.
Dean Winchester woke abruptly, a shout dying on his lips. His hands fisted in the motel blankets, the sheets drenched in sweat. He turned his head to the bed across from him; Sam’s breathing was steady, as he snored lightly. Dean sat up, and buried his face in his hands, pushing the nightmarish memory from his mind.
Sam woke suddenly, the smell of fresh brewed coffee filling the room. He brushed a hand sleepily across his eyes peering at the illuminated clock resting on his nightstand. Raising himself up on one elbow, he looked over his shoulder; he could see a silhouette in the darkness, leaning against the counter.
“D’n?” he mumbled.
“Go back to sleep,” Dean replied quietly.
“What are you doing up at twenty after two?” Sam watched the silhouette of his brother as he shifted, raising the mug to his mouth. “Dean?”
Dean lowered the mug, “I couldn’t sleep.”
Sam nodded, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. “And you think coffee is gonna help?”
“Yeah well. I figured I was up anyway.”
Sam sat up, pushing the blankets away, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Sam. Just go back to sleep okay?”
Sam stood up, stretching as he walked across the room and turned on the light. Both men squinted as the light filled the room, chasing away the shadows.
“Dean,” Sam began as his eyes adjusted to the light. “You look like crap.”
Dean shrugged his shoulders, his gaze focused on the wall.
“You got to get some sleep,” Sam pushed; Dean’s face was gaunt and pale, the dark circles beneath his eyes standing out. His green eyes were dull, and he needed sleep. “C’mon, Dean. You haven’t slept more than a few hours at a time in a week. You need to get some…”
“I‘m fine,” Dean cut him off.
“Hey, it‘s your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp.” Sam responded, unconsciously repeating words Dean had said to him a lifetime ago.
Sam moved to his bed, reaching underneath he pulled out his duffel. Dean watched him as he rummaged through the bag, “What are you looking for?”
Sam raised his head, pulling a small bottle from the bag, “Take one of these,” he said striding across the room. “Bobby gave ‘em to me.”
“What the hell are they?” Dean took the bottle from Sam, reading the label. “Sleeping pills?”
“Yeah, I uh…”
“You want me to pop pills to sleep?” Dean asked incredulously. “What do you suppose would happen if I take them and we get attacked or something?”
“Dean,” Sam sighed. “It’s better than drinking yourself into a stupor…Besides you don’t need to take them all the time. Actually it’s best if you don’t…We’re done the job, and nothing is lined up…”
“So you want me doped up?”
“No, I want you to get one night of good sleep. One night without the nightmares waking you…”
Dean looked into Sam’s hazel eyes, sensing his anxiety, “Sam, I don’t need these.”
“Yes you do. In the past week, you slept what ten, fifteen hours? In a whole week, Dean. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m not taking them,” Dean slammed the bottle on the counter beside him.
“Fine, don’t,” Sam exclaimed in frustration. “But you have to do something. You can’t keep going like this, you’re going to collapse.”
“Fine!” Dean hissed dumping his half mug of coffee down the sink. “If it’ll shut you the hell up, I’ll go to bed.”
“You have to sleep…”
“Sam shut up! Damn it will you just shut the hell up.” Dean stormed across the room dropping onto his bed. “Are you gonna turn the light off?” He growled glaring at his little brother.
Sam turned off the light, and got into his own bed, “Dean…”
“Sam,” Dean spat angrily. “If you don’t shut the hell up I swear…” Dean lay with his hands behind his head, staring at the darkness above him. He knew Sam was worried, and only wanted what he thought was best for him. Dean sighed, thinking about the previous hunt, anything to keep his mind from his dream. It was sometime before dawn when he finally slipped into a fitful sleep.
The woman sat on the tattered beige sofa, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Dust motes danced in the slash of afternoon light streaming through partially closed curtains. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she reached to pick up the bottle of whiskey, her other hand scooped up the handful of pills that lay on the glass coffee table. She crammed the pills into her mouth, chasing them down with the final dregs from the whiskey bottle. She ran a hand through her short brown hair; as she closed tear filled eyes, praying death would come quickly. Her eyes opened groggily as she heard the sounds reverberating through the hall.
Emily Cross got shakily to her feet as the demanding wails of her son called to her. Stumbling from the living room, she walked drunkenly down the hall. She bumped into the doorjamb as she turned to enter the nursery. With trembling hands, she picked up six-month-old Casper, his face red from his frantic screams.
Dazed she carried him across the hall, turning on the light as she entered the bathroom. Holding her whimpering son, she placed the plug in the tub, and turned on the taps. She tested the water with her elbow, and as the level rose, she lowered her son into the tepid water without removing his clothing. She stared in to the now calm, trusting face of her infant and let go, watching him sink to the bottom of the tub. Tiny hands flailed, and small bubbles surfaced as he gasped for air and took in water.
She caught a movement in the mirror above the sink. Raising her eyes, she saw a roiling cloud of black smoke on the ceiling. She watched the cloud as it moved towards her, surrounding her body. Timidly, she raised her hand, poking a finger into the dark cloud, a feeling of unease shuddered through her. The cloud spiralled around her, drawing closer as her eyes widened in fear. Emily gagged as the cloud forced itself into her body through her mouth and nose.
She blinked and gazed around the room, her obsidian eyes falling on the baby. She stepped forward quickly, and stooped down to pull the infant from the water. Kneeling on the floor, she laid the motionless child in front of her, and began blowing quick breaths into his lungs. She paused only long enough to use her fingers tips to compress his chest gently.
Casper coughed, spewing water from his mouth; she turned him to his side allowing the water to run freely from his little body. The child took a deep breath and wailed his displeasure. The woman smiled, her black eyes glistening in the light. Gently she picked him up and reached for a towel hung on the rack by the sink. She crooned softly to the child as she gently wrapped him in the towel and cradled him to her chest.
Getting to her feet, she held Casper in her arms as she left the bathroom and entered the hall. Accessing the memories of her hostess, she turned toward the kitchen. She looked around her as she entered; dirty dishes flooded the sink and spread across the counter. Pots with left over food sat on the stove, forgotten their contents hardened with age. She shook her head she walked to the fridge in search of a bottle, hoping the milk would be good.
Finding a prepared bottle, she sniffed the contents, satisfied; she placed the nipple against his lip. Casper hungrily latched on, staring into her face as he drank contentedly.
“Poor baby,” she murmured softly. “Poor little Casper, it’ll be alright,” she assured him.
Holding the baby in one arm, she propped the bottle under her chin as she reached for the phone. Digging further into the memories of Emily Cross, she dialled and placed the receiver to her ear.
“Missy?” She said as the voice came over the line. “It’s Em. Uh…Could you and Jerry take Casper for awhile?” She asked, making her voice tremor slightly for effect. She listened as the voice spoke, and then continued her pleas. “Joe left me, and I’m not handling it so well…..I don’t think Casper is safe with me right now…”
She waited impatiently as Emily’s sister responded, and then rolling her eyes, sobbed into the phone, “Because I just caught myself trying to drown him!” She further put herself into character, blubbering incoherently as Missy tried to calm her. A slow smile spread across her face, “You’ll take him? Thank you so much…What? Yes I’ll get help as soon as you take Cas, I promise.”
Hanging up the phone she looked into Casper’s tiny face, “Well little one,” she sighed. “You’re safe for now.” She carried the child to the nursery changing him into dry clothes, and packing a bag for his stay with Emily’s sister.
She stood in the window, watching as Missy’s teal green Toyota backed from the drive. She turned away letting the drapes fall back, sending a gloomy darkness over the room. She inhaled deeply, her nose unconsciously scrunching as the stench clogged her nostrils. She raised an arm, turning her head to sniff; she abruptly pulled her head back.
“Damn,” she whispered. “I don’t think this chick has showered in a month.”
She walked down the hall toward the bathroom, pulling of her clothes and dropping them on the floor as she went. Entering the bathroom, she pushed the door closed. Turning to the full-length mirror, she studied her new body. Her fingers lightly trailed over the stretch marks.
The body was thin, almost too thin, and she wondered exactly what Emily Cross had done to regain her slim figure so soon. She stroked the short brown hair, deciding the bob-cut appealed to the softly rounded features. Turning to the tub her eyes fell on the bottle of bubble bath resting on the edge, she smiled it had been a long time since she had pampered herself.
She filled the tub, while dumping a generous amount of the bottle’s contents under the running water; she crawled in immersing herself completely in the luxurious sweet scented bubbles. She expelled a content sigh, feeling the tension of the host body evaporate in the soothing heat and vanilla scent. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the wall behind her.
She had so much she should be doing; soaking in the tub was not on her to do list. Yet instead of getting up, she sunk deeper into the bubbles. She had already cleansed the body of the pills and alcohol the woman had consumed. After she had changed Casper, she had left him in his crib and returned to the bathroom.
She had induced vomiting. Forcing most of the toxins from the body, but it was an experience she did not enjoy. The retching and straining had brought tears to her eyes. The acidic bile burned her throat, and left a bad taste that didn’t seem to go away even after rinsing.
So many things up here she had forgotten about. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t have time to experience the few things she did remember. It had been a long time since she had been topside, but the violence was still here, Emily was a prime example, mother trying to kill son. She slid further down, immersing her head beneath the water wetting her hair. Sitting up she shampooed, her mind still thinking of her work ahead.
She had a lot to do and very little time with which to do it; wasting time here wasn’t going to help. Sighing, she stood, draping a towel around her body. She had to call someone to get Emily Cross the help she so desperately needed, but before that, she had some personal errands of her own. Chewing pensively on her lower lip, she strode to Emily’s bedroom, to get dressed.
The room looked like a cyclone had run through it. Clothes were tossed carelessly about the room, the bedding hanging half on the bed and half on the floor. Housekeeping was not Emily’s strong suit, the more she was learning about her the more angered she became. Stupid meat puppets, they were never satisfied with what they had, always looking for more. One day they will realize just what they had here, by then it would be too late, all would be lost to them.
She heard the doorbell chime as she was pulling a dark green tank top over her head, ignoring the chime she stepped into the faded denims. She ran her hands over her hips, revelling in the comfortable snug fit. Her smile faltered as the bell chimed again. With an annoyed hiss she left the bedroom and went to the front door, as she placed her hand on the doorknob the bell chimed again.
“All right I’m coming,” she grumbled, swinging the door wide. Her eyes resumed the brown shade of her host, and widened in surprise when she spotted the two uniformed officers on the stoop.
“Can I help you?” she asked, plastering a friendly smile on her face.
“Mrs. Cross? I‘m Officer Parker, and this is Officer Van Meekren.” the young officer spoke, his pale grey eyes watching her alertly. “Your sister called us; she is concerned for your well being. Is everything okay?”
She raised a hand to her chest, a remorseful look on her face, “Oh, I’m fine, I’m sorry she called you out for this…”
Officer Parker stepped closer to her, “I’m sorry ma’am, but I need you to come with us. Your sister made a serious accusation…”
She allowed tears to surface, “I know what this is about…and I won’t deny it. But I am getting help. I had enough sense to call my sister…”
“We still need you to come to the station,” Officer Van Meekren drew closer.
“I have some things I need to do first…”She didn’t have time for this.
“We must insist.”
Licking her lips, her eyes darted between the two men, “Very well. I have to finish getting dressed, please come in.” She stepped back allowing them entry, quickly scanning the yard before closing the door. She smiled complacently, “I’ll be just a moment.”
Before either Officer had a chance to reply, she grabbed the large vase by the door and brought it down over Van Meekren’s head. As he slipped soundlessly to the floor, she turned on Officer Parker, gripping his chin; she repeatedly slammed his head in to the wall until he too lost consciousness.
“So sorry officers,” she smiled. “I have places to go, things to do.” She quickly stepped over their bodies, and walked out the door, locking it behind her. She raked fingers through her hair in attempt to brush the wet mass. With a sigh, she walked from the yard and into the street.
jessalyn - February 14, 2009 09:59 PM (GMT)
WHOA! Great start!
I don't think that girl is Emily Cross.
Am I right or am I right?
jayess - February 15, 2009 12:38 AM (GMT)
Woah, great start here Trickie. Poor Dean still living in hell even though he's not and got to love Sam for the caring he shows Dean.
Poor Emily, the original, being in such a low state of mind to do what she did, but hey, demon smoke has reigned upon her. What is it's purpose?
Looking forward to follwing this story and can't wait for part 2! :D
Angel325girl - February 15, 2009 01:21 AM (GMT)
wow this story caught my eye. I think i know where you're taking this story. Still can't wait for more
trickie - February 17, 2009 11:30 PM (GMT)
jessalyn- you're right, the woman that saved the baby was not Emily, that was a demon. But sad to say the one that tried to kill him was Emily through and through.
jayess- Oh yes, Dean is doing the usual macho thing...suppress, suppress, suppress.
But with memories like that...they'll keep jumping otu when you least expect it. Sam is always the sweet caring bro. Glad you're here for the ride.
Angel325girl - Hi and welcome. Glad you're enjoying.
and thanks to exdemon1120 - for the beta services.
Are we ready? Let's go!
Dean sat his beer on the table. He glanced around the bar curiously before returning his gaze to Sam, “You got anything?”
Sam pulled his eyes from the computer screen, and picked up his beer taking a healthy swallow before answering. “Nothing…I got nothing Dean. Everything seems quiet, too quiet…”
Dean’s green eyes looked at him inquisitively, “No low level stuff? Vengeful spirits, zombies? Nothing?”
“Exactly. It’s like everything supernatural has taken a vacation,” Sam shrugged.
“Aw that can’t be good…Can it?”
Sam watched his brother through cautious eyes, “We can stay another night…you know relax. We haven’t checked out from the motel yet.”
“Yeah…I guess,” Dean said absently. “I’ll get us another round.”
Sam closed his laptop, keeping his eyes on his brother as he made his way through the crowd to the bar. He glanced down, as he shoved the laptop into the carry case, a smile touched his lips when he looked up. A voluptuous blonde had sidled up alongside Dean, pressing into him as other patrons pushed their way through to the bar.
He watched as the girl flirted unmercifully with his brother, her hand brushed against Dean at every opportunity. Dean flashed a winning smile at the girl, as he took the beer the bartender sat down. Sam shook his head in amusement as the girl continued batting her eyes at the elder Winchester, licking her lips seductively. Dean never had troubles with the women that was for sure. Sam leaned back in his chair, as he watched Dean coming toward him.
“I take it I’m on my own,” Sam snorted when Dean handed him a bottle.
Dean looked at him blankly, “What are you talking about?”
“I saw the girl at the bar…”
“Oh her.” Dean looked at the woman over his shoulder. He turned back to face Sam, “I’m gonna hang here with you.” Sam straightened, staring slack jawed at his sibling, Dean turned from his brothers bemused stare. “Stop it!”
Sam shook his head, clearing the surprised concern from his mind. “Dean? You turned her down to hang with me? You’re kidding, right?” Dean shrugged, and Sam asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Damn it, Sam. Why does everything have to have ulterior motives with you?”
Sam’s eyes widened, “Cause Dean, this is not like you…at all.” Dean shrugged off his brother’s concern and raised the bottle to his mouth.
Sam found himself watching Dean; the nightmares were affecting him more than he thought. The dark circles and pale, stress lined face weren’t the only results of Dean’s lack of sleep. He had been moody, snapping at every little thing, and now apparently his sex drive was taking a dive.
“Stop staring at me, Sam,” Dean glowered, slamming his bottle on the table.
“Dean, we need to talk …”
“God Damn it,” Dean shouted in exasperation. “I didn’t frickin’ know that it was a criminal offence to not want to get laid….Hell, you never do!”
Sam shoved a hand through his dark shaggy hair, “Yeah but that’s me. You are a different story. I mean c’mon…if I suddenly started hitting on every woman we met, you’d be concerned.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Finish your beer, we’re leaving.”
“What? But I thought…”
“We’re leaving…I’m tired okay.” Dean heaved a ragged breath, “I just want to pick up some beer, go back to the motel and relax in front of the tube…”
Sam nodded, downing the last of his beer he stood, picking up the laptop, “Okay, Dean.”
The demon that was wearing Emily Cross stood under the streetlight, focusing on the motel across the road. She leaned against the post arms across her chest. She was sure this was the motel; she had done a lot of searching and asking the right questions to find it. The Impala they drove was not an inconspicuous or forgettable vehicle, but it wasn’t here.
She plucked at her lower lip; her eyes scanned the area around her. Seeing no one, she stepped toward the motel. When she heard the deep rumble of an eight-cylinder motor she stopped, and backed up to her previous position. Peering down the road, she could see the vehicle approaching and had no doubt, as to who it would be. She ducked in to the shadow of the hedges behind her, and kept her eyes on the vintage car as it pulled into the motel parking lot.
The lights and motor cut out, then she stepped forward again, keeping her eyes trained on the young men in the car. The streetlight directly above her shone down on her, with a smug smile, she snapped her fingers and the light flickered and went out, leaving her secluded in darkness.
The boys exited the car, and locked their doors, before walking to their motel room, a case of beer in Dean’s hands. She smiled as she watched them enter the room, furthest away from the office. She rotated her shoulders and neck feeling relief as the stiff joints popped. Her eyes became black as she walked forward. She had them, all she had to do was walk right in, neither showed any signs that they felt her presence she had the upper hand.
A hand fell on her shoulder as she entered the parking lot and turning she saw a dark-haired man. His blue eyes stared at her knowingly. She trailed her eyes down his body; he was wearing a beige trench coat over a dark blue business suit. She returned her gaze to his face, and sensed the being inside the man.
“You,” she said with a sneer.
“What are you doing here?” He asked crisply.
She walked her fingers up his chest, “That is none of your business.”
He pulled away as her fingers stroked his jaw, grasping her wrist in his hand. “You will leave, now. You know who I am and what I can do.”
She snatched her hand back, “The way I see it, Castiel, you owe me.”
The only reaction on his stoic face was a slight rise of an eyebrow, “I owe you? How has it come to pass that I owe you?”
She glared at him, “When you came for Dean…he was still worth saving. You had better believe that was no easy feat. They had him on the fast track.”
“You want me to believe that you had something to do with that?” His eyes fixed on her in disbelief, “What have you come here for?”
“Payback’s a bitch and she’s in heat.” She said coldly.
“If you leave now, I will not destroy you…Consider my obligation fulfilled.”
She snorted, then spread her arms wide, “Go ahead…Smite me!”
“Don’t tempt me.” Castiel stared at the demon, “I will do what is necessary.”
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” she bit out as she dropped her arms. “Just keep this in mind Mr. Holier-than-thou; I don’t fear you or any of the rest of your little choir. You and your God can kiss my ass!” With that, she spun around and crossed the road, walking away from the motel.
Castiel watched her leave, puzzling over what she had said. He knew demons lie, but sometimes they spoke the truth. He truly didn’t know much about what Dean had gone through in Hell. He only had the basic picture, tortured becoming the torturer. He wondered and not for the first time, what had happened to Dean in the pit. With a final glance in the direction the demon went, he took his leave. However, he intended to keep his eyes on Dean, in case she came back.
She could still feel the Angel’s presence and knew he hadn’t gone far. She muttered angrily to herself, as she turned to walk away. She could just jump the distance to Emily’s home, but she had used enough demonic powers while in this body, much more would burn it out. She did not intend to leave behind a corpse; her time in this borrowed body was limited.
She raised her eyes to the midnight blue sky above, her breath catching at the beauty of the stars as they twinkled brightly. It had been too long since she last crawled form the pit. Too long since she had seen the beauty of the world humankind took for granted.
“Damn Angels,” she growled as she continued to walk. There had to be a change in strategy; Castiel had seen the skin she wore. He would be watching the Winchesters closely, waiting for her next move. He wouldn’t be alone next time either; the bloodthirsty Uriel would be at his side. A hex bag would keep her under the Angels’ radar, but she required a new suit, one the Angel wouldn’t suspect. She had to find a place for Emily to get help and she had to move on.
With a sigh, she changed direction. She walked slowly to the only place that would guarantee Emily got the help she needed, no matter how much she protested. When she approached the building, she paused, then walked up the steps and entered the police station.
Sam straightened pulling his tired eyes away from the glare of the computer screen. He yawned as he glanced at his watch, 11:45. Pushing himself back, he tipped the chrome legged chair trying to see his brother in the khaki green armchair in front of the TV. Sam’s eyes softened and a smile graced his face. Dean was slouched in the armchair, his chin tipped to his chest, a half-empty bottle of beer clutched in his hand, as he snored softly. All the tension was gone from his face as he slept peacefully, his bottom lip pushed out in an unconscious pout.
Sam quietly lowered the front legs of the chair to the floor, as he gazed at his brother, relieved to see him sleeping soundly. Sam knew from the position his brother was in; Dean would wake lame and cramped in the morning. Still Sam was hesitant about waking him. He stood up, moved silently across the room, and pulled the bedspread from the bed nearest the door. He walked to the sleeping form and gently pried the bottle from his fingers.
Again, Sam thought about waking him, but pushed the thought from his mind. He knew it would take the elder Winchester a long time to return to his slumber, if he did at all. He spread the blanket over the sleeping man, and gently tucked the edges around him.
“G’night, Dean,” he whispered softly, before turning to dump the remnants of the bottle into the sink.
Stifling a yawn the young hunter turned off the light and padded softly to his own bed. He flinched as the springs creaked beneath his weight. He held his breath, waiting for his brother to stir. He smiled to himself when there was no movement from the chair, and settled into his bed. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
He stood in front of his table, meticulously arranging the tools in his preferred order. The polished metal gleamed in the orange glow of the burning flames as he inspected each instrument, wiping away smudges, and testing sharpness. His eyes sparkled as he hummed Enter Sandman quietly to himself. Satisfied, he
stepped back from the table and licked his lips in anticipation as the clanging motor shifted into gear.
He quickly wiped the rack in front of him with an old rag, stuffing it into his back pocket when finished. He paused, something felt familiar about the simple action, his hand rested on the rag. He chewed his lower lip, trying to catch the memory that hinted around the edges of his mind. He shrugged, watching his victim descending to his table, pushing the thought from his mind. He strapped the woman down, arms and legs spread, in a star-like shape.
“Hey Dean,” he heard the call from across the room. “How’s it going? Ready to start the day?”
Dean looked up and grinned, “Damn straight,” he called back enthusiastically.
He reached for the scalpel, his favourite tool to begin the day with, and stepped forward. Abruptly, he paused, waiting for the pleas for compassion that he had come to relish over the past five years. Yet she remained silent. His brow furrowed, as he stepped toward the woman curiously, and stared into her face. Her eyes were a light brown almost amber in color, strawberry blonde curls spread out around her head like a halo.
“You’ve nothing to say?” he grunted, holding the scalpel within her line of vision. She glared at him defiantly, and remained silent.
Dean studied her face, surprised at the lack of fear in her eyes. With a menacing smile, he nodded, “That’s fine…we’ll start out slow then,” he winked. “Let you work up to it.”
He set to work, painstakingly cutting and peeling the skin in thin even pieces, whistling cheerfully. He smiled smugly as the skin pulled back in equal strips. Not one strip broke too soon or ripped into a wide wedge. He had Ol’ Al beat today for sure, thinking of the friendly competition they had running. He glanced at the girl as he worked; her screams filled him with a sense of pride of a job well done. However, not once did she beg or plead with him to stop.
He stepped back; looking at the tools laid before him, and scratched his head with a blood-covered hand. He would make her beg, one way or the other. He thoroughly enjoyed the heady sense of power that he felt when his victims begged and pleaded with him, asking, no praying to him for compassion. Not that he ever gave in to them, but he loved the feeling.
“Problems over there, Dean?” he heard Alastair call out.
“No, I guess not,” he replied sheepishly. How would he win the bet if he couldn’t even get this young girl to beg?
He heard Alastair toss his tool on to the metal tray, and start towards him. Shaking his head, Dean reached for another of the wide selection of tools something would make her cave. He needed to hear her beg him to stop; beg him to end her suffering.
Alastair stepped over to Dean’s table, inspecting the bloodied mass of muscle and tissue. His eyes trailed to the girl’s face, the only discernible features that visible in the blood and missing skin were her amber eyes. “My, my.” he crowed. “I never thought I’d see you in my offices again. What did you do this time?”
He chuckled as he turned to Dean, “She’ll be a tough one, boy. It’ll be interesting to see how or IF you’ll break her.” He slapped Dean’s back as he walked away.
Dean was briefly puzzled by Alastair’s familiarity with the girl, but pushed his questions away as he thought to his own time on the racks. The memories of that time were still vivid in his mind. In fact, if he closed his eyes he’d be able to feel the excruciating pain he had endured. He had the vague feeling there was something before the racks, but the images stayed just out of reach taunting him with glimpses he didn’t understand.
An ominous smile formed on his face, as he remembered a particular technique that had nearly driven him over the edge. He looked around the room, searching for the device that had at one time turned his veins to ice. He found it against the far wall. The wooden apparatus was large and had a wheeled base. He hoped he had found what would break the girl. He whistled as he jaunted across the room to obtain his new toy.
He pulled the apparatus to his station, his eyes dancing in excitement. He had never used the Intestinal Crank before and was looking forward to the results. The wooden post stood around seven feet high, near the top was a metal rod attached to cogs and a hand crank. The rod had a clamp at the end, that opened when pressure was applied on the end, similar to that of a clothespin.
Dean looked into her eyes, and smiled coldly, “This is gonna be fun.”
He took a knife from his tool tray, then cut a deep incision into her abdomen. He thrust his fingers into the opening, sighing contentedly as her screams echoed through the room. After digging around her insides longer than necessary he extracted part of her intestines, he stretched to reach the rod, and clamped the end of the intestine in place.
“You ready for this?” he whispered. He felt a brief surge of delight as terror registered in her eyes. Returning to the crank handle he slowly turned the rod, watching as the intestines were pulled from her body, twisting around the clamped end. She screamed and he laughed…
“Nooo!” Dean screamed stiffening and pushing back with his legs. The chair he sat in wobbled precariously on two legs as he threw his weight back, then toppled over, spilling Dean to the floor.
He barely took the time to regain his bearings as he jumped up and rushed for the bathroom. He fell to his knees and raised the toilet lid in one fluent motion. He crossed his arms over the bowel resting his head on them as he retched. Gasping, for air, he continued heaving long after the contents of his stomach had emptied.
He flinched as a cool hand touched his shoulder. He couldn’t look back and he couldn’t pull away.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, his throat constricted as he watched his brother suffering.
Dean managed to raise his head, offering a faint smile, “Something I ate…Don’t worry about it. Go back to bed.”
Sam squatted beside his older brother, and gently rubbed his back, as another bout of dry heaves overcame the man.
exdemon1120 - February 17, 2009 11:32 PM (GMT)
:) you're welcome, thanks for asking me. :) You already know I love the story... and hey i'm just glad I get to read it before anyone else :D
Angel325girl - February 18, 2009 01:41 AM (GMT)
Okay, so now I have two theories on this story. i don't wanna say them to soon in case I'm right, but you brought Castiel in. awesome. Yaya, can't wait for more and you're really making Dean sadistic in this story.
jessalyn - February 18, 2009 01:52 AM (GMT)
Oh no! That was a real graphic pictures of what Dean did in hell.Poor Dean. Was he under a spell while he was doing it(because I can't believe he did that willingly)
trickie - February 20, 2009 10:10 PM (GMT)
exdemon1120 - Glad you are enjoying the story. Thanks for keeping me on track and for the pointers and suggestions. :D
Angel325girl - Two theories? Great, let's see how close you are... :lol: Yeah I brought in Castiel, please be patient with me. Its the first time I've considered using the angel in a fic, and I'm hoping I get him right.
jessalyn - Yeah...uh..I hope its not too graphic for ya. No there was no spell, remember its hell...it would change a person. :o Sad but true.
Okay maybe I'll add a warning here: There are some scenes of torture that maybe more graphic than some may like. (Not graphic enough for me, but I'm getting help with my descriptions and qualifiers I can only get better from here right?)
There is also some language, nothing more than they use on the series. B)
And of course, a special thanks to exdemon1120 for beta services. (any mistakes are all mine... I tweaked and added to this chapter and was too impatient to wait for the :thumbsup )
Okay....here we go,
Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as Burn Bitch Burn blasted through the speakers, Sam sat shotgun, studying the map in his hand. Casting a sidelong glance at his brother, with an impish grin on his face Dean asked, “Where’d you say we were going?”
Sam sighed rolling his eyes, “White County, Arkansas…”
Dean feigned a puzzled expression, “No…No that’s not it…I think you need to be more specific.”
“No, I’m not saying it again, Dean.” Sam stated firmly.
“Aww c’mon, Sam. Why not?”
“Because you’re immature,” Sam shot back, unable to suppress a smile. He was enjoying the banter, Dean’s foul mood seemed to have finally lifted, and he was getting back to his old self. He passed a fleeting glance at the older Winchester, relieved to see the dark smudges beneath his eyes had lightened a fair degree. Dean had managed to get in five hours sleep that night, before the nightmares sent him running for the bathroom. Albeit it was in an armchair, which had caused Dean a sore neck and stiff back, but still, it was sleep.
“What’s the name of the town?” Dean asked his eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched the road ahead.
“Dude, stop! I’m not saying it.” Sam maintained with an inward groan.
“Don’t you remember?” Dean asked, chuckling. “How are we gonna find it if we don’t know…”
“Fine…Bald Knob!” Sam blurted out.
Dean started laughing, “Awesome, Bald Knob…”
“Okay are you done?” Sam asked, starting to chuckle himself. “You really got to get this under control before we get there.”
“C’mon Dude, Bald Knob…Seriously, they have to have a sense of humour to live in a town with that name.” Dean couldn’t help but laugh; it was one of the best town names ever.
“Dean, c’mon. We have to focus here. You can’t be cracking up every time you hear it.”
Sam huffed in exasperation, “What we were just talking about? Bald Knob.” As soon as the name left his mouth and Dean started to laugh, Sam knew he had been set up. He shook his head, “Really Dean, it must be getting old by now.”
Dean continued to laugh, “Not when you say it. You look like you’re sucking on a lemon every time you say it…It’s hysterical.”
“I do not,” Sam retorted, good-naturedly.
“Yeah you do,” Dean snickered.
“Okay, okay. Tell me about the case.”
Sam reached down and picked up the newspaper resting at his feet. He opened to the page he had marked and read, “Okay,” he glanced at Dean as he summarized the article. “Three kids go to the local cemetery, only two come back. They thought their friend was pulling a prank on them, but he hasn’t been seen since. That was four days ago.”
He folded the paper and laid it on his lap, “The police are saying runaway, but the kid’s family and friends say he was happy. According to them he had no reason to runaway.”
Dean looked over in uncertainty, “Maybe the cops are right, maybe there was stuff going on with this kid that no one knows about.”
Sam nodded, “That’s what I thought at first…But in the past year, at least three other people have disappeared. The last place they were seen was around the same cemetery…” Sam glanced at the paper again. “Shady Grove Cemetery.”
Dean kept his eyes on the road, “The cops didn’t think that was suspicious?”
“Well…uh…The thing is the other three that disappeared…Well, two were vagrants and the third was a kid recently taken into foster care. So the cops say the kid ran away, and that the vagrants just moved on.”
Dean shot a disparaging look at his brother, “Two vagrants and two runaways? Seriously, Sam. What makes you think this is our thing? The cops are probably right.”
“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “We’ve gone on the road for less…”
Dean shrugged in agreement, “True enough. Okay…So how far to Bald Knob?” Dean asked, with a crooked grin.
She hovered within the shadows, as her gaseous form dispersed then unified in the light breeze. She hated the feel and struggled to keep herself whole. C’mon girl, pull yourself together, she thought wryly. If she had lips, she would have smiled. She now understood why the meat puppets were so important to the lower demons like her. She didn’t have the power to bring her corporeal body to a reality, only the higher-level demons were capable of that. Yet they still preferred to hide behind the mask of the human cattle, concealing their true image.
After she entered the police station, she merely had to tell them what Emily had done, and added the assault on the officers. They took no time getting her evaluated and into a psych hospital, and when the opportunity arose he vacated the body. Now she was floating through alleys and out buildings, occasionally taking to the ground as necessary. Travelling beneath the surface was her preferred method, away from the wind and curious glances. However, she couldn’t catch his familiar scent while travelling sewers and tunnels.
Even without a physical body, she could smell him, the titillating aroma of his damaged soul wafting through the breeze. She chortled to herself, as she changed direction, following the Winchesters, planning their demise.
Sam walked up the steps of the white, two-story, clapboard house. He stopped at the door and rang the doorbell. He stepped back as the door opened and an elderly woman peered up at him. Her grey hair was swept back from her face in a bun; her blue-grey eyes gazed at him merrily.
“Hi,” Sam smiled at her. “The guy at the gas station said you might have a room to let for the night.”
“Oh yes,” she nodded. “Come in. Come in.” She stepped aside to allow him entry, “My you are a tall one.”
Sam smiled sheepishly, “Uh, my brother is in the car…”
“Well bring him in,” she gushed. “Have you boys been driving all day? You must be starved…here it is suppertime.”
Sam turned towards the car, and waved to his brother. Dean exited the car, and pocketed his keys, then joined his brother on the steps.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed. “You’re a tall one too. Well, lets get you boys inside and sitting down before I strain my neck looking up at you.” She turned walking in to the house.
The young hunters exchanged amused looks and followed her through the foyer. She paused in front of a swinging door where they could hear distinct tapping sounds resonating. She smiled up at them, holding the door open for them to enter.
“Go right in, make yourselves comfortable.” She motioned to the wooden table in the centre of the kitchen, then followed behind them as they entered.
“Damn it, Nana. That’s it!” a girl’s voice growled out. “You’re getting a self defrosting fridge.”
They turned to find the fridge pulled out from the wall, a young woman clad in faded jeans and a pale blue tee shirt, was chipping at the mountain of ice over the freezer door. She turned to face them, a chisel and hammer in her hand. “Oh, I didn’t realize there was company,” she muttered in embarrassment, quickly laying down the tools and smoothing her hand over her copper hair.
“We have guests,” the older woman said cheerfully. “Isn’t that wonderful, Kimbee?”
“It’s terrific,” she answered pleasantly. She ran her eyes over the men in front of her then held out her hand, “I’m Kimberly.”
“Hi, I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean,” he replied, taking her hand in his.
“These boys are probably hungry.” The older woman said as she cheerfully donned her apron.
Kimberly released Sam’s hand, and nodded at Dean before turning to her grandmother, “Well, as long as they don’t want anything from the freezer.” She laughed, pointing at the ice.
“Well, I’ll just reheat the stew,” the older woman stated, walking to the ice chest on the counter.
“Oh we couldn’t ask you to do that. You weren’t expecting us.” Sam spoke up. “We just really appreciate the room, Mrs…” Sam paused, realizing he didn’t know her name.
“Call me Nana,” she supplied happily. “Everyone does.” She pulled a large covered container from the cooler, and headed for the stove. She quickly dumped the stew from the container into a pot and set the burner on low. “Would either of you boys care for some tea or coffee?” She asked as she filled the kettle.
As Nana busied herself about the kitchen, she motioned for the boys to take a seat at the table. She chatted amicably as she gathered mugs from the cupboard. “Where are you boys from?”
“Lafayette,” Dean replied, saying the first name that came to mind as he sat in the wooden chair.
Kimberly slid in the chair across from Dean as Sam took his place next to his brother.
A feeling of unease overcame the youngest Winchester as he caught Kimberly’s penetrating gaze. He fought the urge to squirm in his seat, as her dark brown eyes seemed to bore into him.
He almost sighed audibly when the older woman distracted her, “Kimbee, could you grab the rolls while I serve the stew?” Nana shook her head; sometimes Kimberly was too pushy and suspicious. She’d never get herself a good man if she were always interrogating them. She smiled apologetically at the boys as she set the stew in front of them, and sat down.
Kimberly placed the plate of homemade rolls on the table and reclaimed her seat next to her grandmother. “So…” she began as she snatched up a roll. “What brings you to Bald Knob? It isn’t exactly tourist season.”
Sam caught the gleam in Dean’s eyes and quickly kicked his leg under the table before answering Kimberly’s question, “Well, we were just passing through. It seems like a real nice town so we thought we’d stay a bit.”
Dean shot a glare at Sam and moved his leg from his reach. “I read about that boy in the paper,” he said to Kimberly as he buttered a warm roll.
Kimberly leaned back, eyeing them suspiciously, “Is that so?”
“Did I say something wrong?” Dean looked quizzically at Sam.
“Every so often one of you blows through town, stirring up a lot of crap. Quite frankly, we don’t need it.” She replied coolly.
“I’m sorry,” Sam interjected. “One of who?”
“You,” she rolled her eyes. “Ghost hunters, ghost trackers. Paranormal investigators. What ever you want to call yourselves.” She narrowed her brown eyes, a scowl marring her features. “You people come here, talking about ghosts, saying you’ll rid us of some spirit or other. But nothing is ever resolved.”
“You think a ghost is behind the disappearance?” Dean asked, trying to act surprised.
“No, but you people seem to, and thanks to you popping up every couple years so does a third of the town.” She forcefully, pushed her chair back from the table, “I got to get ready for work.” She turned to the older woman, “Leave the fridge, Nana. I’ll deal with it when I get home.” She pecked her on the cheek and left the room.
The young hunters cast uneasy glances at each other as Kimberly stormed from the room leaving them with Nana.
“Oh don’t let her bother you, dear.” Nana smiled, “She always had a thing for dramatics. Are you boys here about the missing people?” She tilted her head inquisitively.
Dean cleared his throat and cast a furtive glance at the kitchen door before answering, “People? I thought it was one boy.” Dean cast a subtle glance at his brother then returned his attention to the woman across from them.
“Oh heavens, that’s just the most recent. There must’ve been twenty or more that have gone missing from Bald Knob Lake Road over the past…oh...thirty years it must be now.” Nana’s eyes lit up at the prospect of having a chance to tell her story. Since Kimberly had taken the night shift, the evenings had been quiet and lonely. The Berkley boy usually came around nine, but what teenage boy wanted to hear the ramblings of an old woman?
“That many?” Sam queried, “Does anyone know what happened? Has anyone been found you know somewhere else?”
Nana rubbed her hands together, “I think this calls for something a little stronger than coffee. Let’s go to the den.” She stood from the table, picking up her dirty dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. The brothers stood, placed their own dishes into the dishwasher and followed the elderly woman to the den.
The boys entered the den, a sofa sat against the wall across from the door it was grey plush velvet with a dusty rose flower print, two matching armchairs flanked either side. A mini bar was set up to the right of the entryway.
Both brothers took a seat exchanging apprehensive glances as they waited for the older woman to join them. She stood at the bar, her back to them as she poured drinks into three glasses.
“Well I hope Jack Daniels is okay.” She crossed the room, their drinks on the tray she carried. “It was my Henry’s favourite drink…,”she murmured with a hint of sadness in her voice.
Dean nodded his approval as he took his glass and leaned back into the chair. Sam picked a glass up off the tray and with a brief glance at the amber liquid; he set it on the polished coffee table in front of him.
“Nana?” They heard Kimberly call.
“In here, dear.” Nana set her glass of whiskey on the table next to her, sliding it behind the lamp. She gave a conspiratorial wink to the boys and stood to face her granddaughter as she entered the room.
“I‘m heading out now,” Kimberly said. Looking pointedly at the men she added, “Ryan will be here at nine.” Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and nudged Dean with his knee.
Dean turned his head to look at the woman and felt his heart plummet to his feet. Kimberly leaned against the doorjamb, her copper hair pulled into a pony tale. Her arms were crossed over her crisp police uniform, as she spoke to the elder woman.
“Don’t be gossiping and getting things stirred up,” she huffed.
“No ma’am,” Sam said, shaking his head for emphasis.
She looked at him, a cool professional smile on her face, “I was talking to Nana, but yeah it goes for you too.” She glared at the men in front of her. She felt uncomfortable about leaving her grandmother alone with them, and decided that she’d check in frequently.
“Kimberly Ann Richards!” Nana gasped, hands on her robust hips. “That is enough. We are all adults here and we can talk about whatever we choose.”
“Fine, talk about what you want,” Kimberly shrugged. She turned to glower at the hunters, “But it better stay in here. I don’t need anymore crap going on out there. My hands are full already.” With a final heated glare at the boys, she left.
“Wow, she’s a cop.” Dean said, turning to see if Sam realized the importance of the situation. The FBI wanted them as did the police in several states, renting a room from a cop was hardly the smartest move.
“Oh don’t let her get under your skin,” Nana waved a hand at them. “She’s just tired. Been run off her feet since the latest disappearance.” She smiled brightly at them, “Now, where were we?”
She sat back in the armchair; pulling her drink from its hiding place, she took a drink. She looked at Sam and Dean and cleared her throat. “Are you what Kimbee says you are? Are you some kind of ghost hunter?”
Sam looked to his brother, unsure of how to answer, Dean shrugged, “I guess we’re amateurs, Ma’am.”
“Call me Nana,” she insisted once again.
Dean scratched his neck, and looked at the woman, “Okay…Nana…,” he grinned a bit. “We have an interest in unexplained cases. And well, we weren’t really sure if this was one of them.”
Nana nodded, “I see, and what would you do with the information if it turned out to be one of your…unexplained cases?”
Sam could sense the woman’s loyalty, and knew she wouldn’t want the publicity of a haunted town, “It’s more for our own interest. We wouldn’t go public with it,” he reassured her.
She smiled, and gazed at the photograph of a man standing in the door of the house that hung above the sofa. “That’s my Henry.” She said softly. “He was a good man; he took care of his family. Family meant everything to him…” She returned her gaze to the young men. “He’s been gone almost thirty years now.”
Sam nodded, with a sympathetic smile, “What happened?”
“He was coming home from helping a friend, and for some reason he parked the car, and got out…He was never seen again.” She sighed, “You would think after all this time I’d be over it. But…” she searched their faces for understanding. “Maybe it’s because I never knew for sure what happened. People said he probably just took off, abandoned his family. I know my husband, he wouldn’t do that…” She got up and went to the bar, coming back with the whiskey bottle. She refilled her glass and held it out to Dean. He topped off his own glass and set the bottle on the coffee table, where Sam’s drink still sat untouched.
“I was twenty when we married,” she remembered fondly. “I had twenty five good years with him. Our family was all but grown and gone form the nest. After twenty-five years you really know a person, if he was unhappy I would’ve known.” She paused, taking another drink, her blue-grey eyes moist with tears. “He was the second man to go missing. Since then men and boys have randomly gone missing. No rhyme or reason. Sometimes cars are left; doors open as if they just stepped out. Like my Henry…”
“This was near Shady Grove Cemetery?” Sam questioned, gently.
Her sudden bray of laughter startled the young hunters and they looked at her in confusion. She placed a hand against her chest, and waved at them with the other. After several seconds she stopped laughing, a smile still on her face, as she wiped the moisture from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she chuckled again. “All the papers make it seem that it’s the cemetery. People, tourists, come every once and awhile to see the haunted cemetery.”
She drifted through the sky, using the soft evening breeze to her advantage. Once the sun had gone down, she was obscured by the darkness of night, no longer needing to hide. She already knew why the hunters were here, but was unsure as to what she was going to do.
A sound below her caught her attention and she dropped to the surface, swirling into the mist that was surrounding the young man. As the mist gathered, she felt the presence. A Shimmer, she thought, immediately losing interest. She started back up to the wide expanse of the night sky, pausing barely a foot from the ground. Maybe this was the Shimmer the Winchesters were looking for.
Without further thought she shot toward the teen as the mist began to take form. The boy’s eyes were wide with terror as the ghostly form grabbed him roughly. Quickly, she forced herself into the meat suit, turning her ominous gaze onto the ghost. It didn’t take much to send the Shimmer on its way. She just gave him a small taste of what she was capable of, and once it realized that its existence was in jeopardy, it moved on.
She smiled darkly, all she had to do now was wait. Once Dean caught wind of the missing man-child he and his brother would come running. This would be her chance to see what he could do here. She was all too familiar with his abilities in hell, but here he was a different man. It might not be that hard to take him out.
She tugged at her bottom lip as she walked into the stand of trees where she would wait for the Calvary.
jessalyn - February 20, 2009 10:31 PM (GMT)
Dean and Sam are in trouble!
A vengeful spirit and a nasty ghost!
I have a feeling this won't end well. :(
I LOVE IT!
Angel325girl - February 20, 2009 10:35 PM (GMT)
*jumps up and down* my theory was right. oh, this is awesome. Can't wait to see what you come up with Trace.
exdemon1120 - February 20, 2009 10:45 PM (GMT)
:D I love the changes. Great work. Really cool.
trickie - February 26, 2009 04:56 PM (GMT)
Jessalyn- actually there is a nasty ghost and a vengeful demon B)
Angel325girl- so glad you're enjoying the story. I hope you like the rest as much.
exdemon1120 is it exangel 42 now? Glad you liked the changes, there are a few more in this chapter. I hope you're able to get your computer problems straightened away.
Okay are we all ready? Let's go check on our boys. :D
Once she had gotten through the tale of her husband, Nana perked up. There was nothing she loved more than a good yarn; especially one she knew was based in truth. She leaned forward in her chair, making sure she had the full attention of the young men. “About five years ago, a group of Paranormal Investigators came to confirm or debunk the stories. They set up a bunch of cameras and other strange equipment over at Shady Grove Cemetery, even though we told them the stories were false.” She paused for dramatic effect.
Dropping her voice to a loud whisper, the old woman continued, “Travis Whitehall was assigned to keep an eye on them, you know, make sure things didn’t get out of hand. By the time the sun rose the next day the investigators had nothing, and Travis had disappeared right under their noses.” Nana paused, rubbing a hand across her weary face. “There was a big deal over that one. The first time there was an honest to goodness, thorough investigation…”
“Why? What was so special about Travis Whitehall? Why did he warrant a full investigation when the others didn’t?” Dean asked, leaning forward to refill his glass.
“Travis was a police officer for starters, but even so, the investigation would have died off sooner…if he hadn’t been Kimberly’s fiancé. She became obsessed with his case. Even when they finally filed it away as unsolved, she spent her off hours looking for leads. Now, she takes each missing persons case personally.” She shook her head sadly. “Travis was the last for three years, and then it started again. Just in the past six months alone three boys have gone missing, four if you count Tony Misner - he was the most recent.”
“Did they have anything in common?” Sam asked, bracing his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.
“They were all male, and they were last seen in the vicinity of Bald Knob Lake Road. Those who had been driving apparently left their vehicles, usually with the doors open, making it look like they up and walked away,” Kimberly replied icily. She stood just outside the door, listening to the conversation, her anger growing at the casual mention of Travis’ disappearance. “I thought I told you not to go stirring that crap up, Nana.”
The trio raised their heads, surprised to find Kimberly standing there glaring at them. She slowly stepped into the room, taking the glass of whiskey from the older woman. With an annoyed shake of her head, she downed the neat spirit in a single gulp.
“I’m seventy four years old,” Nana said briskly. “If I want to share old stories and town gossip, I damn well will!” She snatched the glass from the younger woman’s hand. “And if I want a snort or two, I guess I’ll do that as well. What are you doing here anyway?”
“I was out on patrol, and I noticed Ryan’s car wasn’t in the yard. He hasn’t been here?” Kimberly asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
The older woman became concerned. “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you called his place? What time is it?” She glanced at the wall clock, answering her own question. “My goodness, it’s after ten. He’s never late.”
Kimberly patted her grandmother’s arm. “He probably had car trouble again. Don’t worry until there’s cause,” she assured the woman in the armchair as she deftly snagged the cell phone from the case on her belt. Rapidly pressing Ryan’s number into the keypad, she held the phone to her ear and waited impatiently for the other party to pick up.
“I’m sure everything is fine…” Sam reassured the older woman.
Nana raised fear-filled eyes to his face. “Ryan is such a good boy…” She fell silent as Kimberly began to speak into the phone.
“Margi? It’s Kimberly, is Ryan there?…No, he hasn’t got here yet…oh…Jen Drake?…No, no…there’s nothing to concern yourself over, I know the route he would take…Uh huh…I’ll have him call you right away.” Kimberly hung up the phone and ran her hand along her ponytail. Ryan would have travelled Bald Knob Lake Road. Lake Road, to the locals. A feeling of apprehension settled over her, and she found herself hoping that Ryan’s old car had merely conked out again, preferably not on Lake Road.
Dean studied the police officer’s emotionless face, watching her eyes intently. He caught the brief flash of worry in her brown orbs. Glancing at his brother, he gave Sam a subtle nod before turning back to face the young cop, “You going out to look for him?”
Kimberly nodded. “Yeah, I am. He was going to take his girlfriend home, then come here. Most likely the car broke down.” She pulled her keys from her pocket and flashed a reassuring smile at the older woman.
Dean stood, setting his glass on the coffee table. “I’ll come with you.”
Kimberly shook her head. “I don’t think so…”
“Look, you think his car broke down?” Dean cut her off. “I know a thing or two about cars; maybe I could help him out.” He smiled amicably.
“You can’t take him with you!” Nana exclaimed. “To get to the Drakes you have to pass through Lake Road. It wouldn’t be right…” She knew Kimberly didn’t believe the stories, but the girl wasn’t aware of the part her own grandfather had played. Nana knew deep in her heart that Henry was gone, and that it was in revenge for what he and the other men had done that night so many years ago. Now, because of their overzealousness, the young men wouldn’t be safe on Lake Road.
Sam laid a soothing hand on the elder woman‘s arm, “It’s okay, we’ll be careful.”
Nana pressed her fingers briefly to her trembling lips, tears shimmering in her wide eyes. “Kimberly, you can’t really be thinking…”
Kimberly sighed. “You boys are civilians, and I’m not taking you out on police duty.”
Dean shrugged cockily. “We can come with you or follow you. Either way we‘re coming.”
Kimberly glared angrily at the men, every part of her screaming to leave them behind. But then again, she reasoned, it would be easier to keep an eye on them if she agreed. The last thing she needed was a couple out-of-towners getting lost. She clenched her jaw as she looked back and forth between the men and Nana. Finally she sighed in defeat. “Fine. I don’t have time to argue, you can follow. Just stay out of the way.” She headed towards the door then paused, glancing back as the men began to follow. “Try to keep up…,” she added.
Dean kept his eyes on the taillights in front of them as he held the steering wheel in a vice-like grip. They had been following Kimberly’s squad car for a little over five minutes, and she showed no signs of slowing. Several times, he had almost lost sight of the taillights as she sped down the country road. She wasn’t kidding when she told him he would need to try to keep up.
The road was dark; the only lights came from the two speeding cars. The young woman leading the way had the advantage of being in familiar territory, she knew when the curves and turn offs were coming. Meanwhile, Dean had to brake more times than he cared to count as each new twist loomed before them.
“Dean!” Sam suddenly shouted, his fingers gripping the dashboard.
Dean realized that the squad car had abruptly slowed and was coming to a halt. He stomped hard on the brake pedal, twisting the wheel to veer away from the car in front of him. The tires screamed and the reek of burnt rubber filled the classic Chevy. Sam braced himself as the car began to fishtail, barely able to keep from bumping into the door or his brother.
Dean took a deep breath as the Impala came to a stop. He stared out the windshield, heart pounding in his chest. “Christ,” he gasped. He slammed the gearshift into park, and looked at his brother. “That woman is freakin’ crazy.” He swiped an arm over his sweaty brow and angrily pushed the door open. Cop or not, the crazy bitch was going to get a piece of his mind.
“Hey,” Kimberly called to him. “You can’t just leave your car in the middle of the road.”
Dean stared at her incredulously. Was she serious? He had damn near rear-ended her crapheap of a car with his baby because she didn’t have the sense to give warning before she stopped, and now she was worried about his car being in the street. She was lucky he’d reacted as fast as he had, otherwise both vehicles would have been in a twisted heap in the road.
“You deaf?” the cop snapped. “I said move your car.”
Dean gritted his teeth; it was all he could do to keep his temper in line. He heard the familiar rumble as the Impala roared to life. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Sam steer the car to the side of the road, before turning back to the police officer. Anger burning through his veins, he swiftly covered the distance between them, stopping mere inches from her face.
His green eyes flashed angrily as he tightened his fists at his side. “Are you out of your ever lovin’ mind?” he demanded raking a hand through his short hair. “Do you realize I could’ve hit you? Why the hell would you stop like that? No warning, nothing. Do you have a death wish?” Dean glared at her, waiting for an apology.
Kimberly gazed at him with indifference. Shifting her weight from side to side, she crossed her arms and waited for him to finish his rant. When he finally paused for breath, she took the opportunity to speak. “I figured brake lights were a pretty good warning. It’s what most people use nowadays.” She saw Dean’s eyes darken in rage, and held up her hand as he moved to speak. “We don’t have time for this foolishness. If you have a problem with me, file an official report at the station.”
She knew it was a mistake letting them tag along. The man couldn’t even drive for God sake. Any driver worth his weight would have enough sense to watch the brake lights on the car ahead. Yet here he stood, screaming at her as if it was her fault he was a moron. She ducked her head to hide the smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Dean waved a finger in her face. “You have got to be the craziest…”
“Dean,” Sam exclaimed, coming to stand next to them. He grabbed his older brother’s hand and pushed it away from Kimberly. “Focus. The Impala is fine, calm down.”
Dean clenched his jaw as he glared at the Officer. His anger reached the boiling point when he saw the faint smile on her face. “Fine,” he snapped, shrugging Sam’s hand off as he turned to scan the area around them. He spotted the Honda Civic parked a few feet from the police car, and realized why Kimberly had stopped so quickly.
As he walked over to the small car, he noticed that the door was open and the hood was propped open. Everything seemed to be pointing to car trouble. Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flashlight, directing the beam into the abandoned car. Nothing looked out of place and there was no sign of a struggle. He sighed as he turned and played the small beam of light across the ground. There was no evidence of a struggle outside the car either. The dirt on the shoulder was undisturbed, and other than the car, there were no signs that Ryan had even been there.
“I’ll go turn on the spotlight,” Kimberly offered. “You two stay here. Don’t move.” She hurried to the car, the feeling of apprehension growing into full fear. Ryan’s car was here, just like the others. She pulled the spotlight from the interior of the squad car and set it on the roof, fighting to keep her emotions under control. She couldn’t lose another one; too many had already gone missing from her town. From Lake Road, her beat - she couldn’t help but feel responsible.
“Do you see anything, Dean?” Sam whispered as he stepped to his brother’s side, trying to peer into the darkness.
Dean shook his head and shone the light into the small stand of trees just off the road. “Maybe he went down there?”
“Could one of you give me a hand here?” Kimberly called. “The damn light won’t work.”
“Sam, go give her a hand,” Dean muttered. There was no way he was going to help her. The freakin’ psycho would probably electrocute him and then say it was his fault. He turned back to face the woods. “I’m gonna look around.” Dean eyed the trees speculatively, putting himself in the mind of the perpetrator. If he were taking people off the street, that’s where he’d go, he mused silently. It was secluded and dark, a good place to hide.
“Wait, Dean.” Sam whispered, casting a cautious glance at the dense woods. Something didn’t feel right. The shadows seemed to move, almost as if they were beckoning him. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go in there alone.” Dean scowled but agreed to wait focussing his attention back on the Honda. He leaned into the open driver’s side door, moving the flashlight across the interior.
Using the vehicle as a cover, Dean discreetly pulled his EMF reader from his pocket and switched it on. He knelt on the front seat facing the back, so he’d be able to scan the full interior without getting into the rear of the car. Not a sound emitted from the device, the lights didn’t so much as flicker. Frustrated with the results, he backed from the Honda, tapping the EMF meter on his leg. He had no idea what they were up against, hell they didn’t even know for sure if this Ryan kid was missing. There were too many unknown in this gig.
Dean glanced behind him at his brother and Kimberly. Seeing that they were still busy with the spotlight, he took advantage of the cop’s distraction and turned in a slow circle, holding the scanner in front of him but keeping close so it wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention. The device remained silent. “Damn it,” Dean muttered to himself as he shoved the EMF meter back into his jacket.
He could hear the faint murmur as Sam and Kimberly struggled with the spotlight. Shrugging his shoulders, he took a step forward to offer his assistance. The familiar shrill whine of the EMF caused him to stop in mid-step. He pulled the device from his pocket, his heart quickening as he slowly turned around, his eyes focused on the row of lights.
Every light glowed brightly and the device squealed as he came to a halt facing the stand of trees. He looked over his shoulder as the spotlight finally sprang into brilliance. “Sam,” he called. “Salt rounds.”
Sam raised his head, and without questioning the older hunter, he rushed to the Impala and popped the trunk. He grabbed both shotguns and several salt filled shells. Ignoring the open-mouthed stare of the woman, he hurried to Dean’s side and handed him a shotgun. He held his own sawed-off shotgun in one hand as he scanned the wooded area in front of them. The EMF detector continued its high-pitched whine and Sam shot a quick glance in Kimberly’s direction. There was no way she couldn‘t hear that. “Did you see anything?” Sam questioned.
“Not yet…but something is there.” Dean glanced at Sam. “Get her to shine that light towards the trees.”
Sam turned to yell to Kimberly, his face growing pale when he found himself staring at the business end of her pistol. He quickly raised his free hand in a placating gesture while slowly lowering the shotgun at the same time, careful to make no moves that could be conceived as a threat to the clearly nervous cop. Keeping the weapon’s muzzle trained towards the ground, he managed to nudge Dean with his shoulder. Dean turned scowling. His gaze flicked from Sam to the cop, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw her service revolver trained on his brother. On reflex, he began to raise his own weapon, but stopped as the woman turned the gun on him.
“Drop the weapon!” Kimberly shouted, dividing her attention between the two men. The guys at the station would have a field day with this, she thought bitterly. She couldn’t believe she had been stupid enough to allow them to come along. Now she was on a dark, barely travelled road with two armed strangers she knew nothing about. It was hard enough being the only woman on the force, but to make a stupid mistake like this just added fuel to an already blazing fire. She’d never live it down, if she even survived.
Dean dropped his arm, not releasing his hold on the gun but pointing it at the ground. “Easy…,” he said calmly, holding his empty hand up, palm facing her. “Let’s not do anything crazy here.” He looked at his brother then back to the Officer. They should’ve known better, he silently berated himself. Hell they came out here with a cop. What made him think they could whip out their guns and not have her react?
“Who the hell are you?” Kimberly demanded. Her finger rested lightly on the trigger as she struggled to appear calm. Her heart pounded against her chest and she could feel the sweat as it trailed along her spine. “What are you doing with shotguns?”
She watched the two men exchange a subtle look, the shorter one shrugged and nodded at the other. A movement caught her eye, and she looked past them. A mist was approaching from the trees, swirling and gathering into a solid mass. Kimberly blinked several times, unable to process what she was seeing. Raising a shaky hand to her face, she swiped at her eyes, but still the mist gathered. She paled as the mist took the shape of a man. He was tall, and lanky in stature, standing at least a foot taller than Dean. His bald head swivelled back and forth as he drank in the sight of the two unsuspecting men, his ice blue eyes filled with an evil glint.
“Oh my God!” Kimberly breathed. She aimed her pistol at the mist-man, drawing back the hammer.
Dean slowly turned his head to look behind them. “Crap,” he muttered, drawing Sam’s attention away from the cop. Both men faced the ghost, levelling their weapons at the spirit. A sudden force slammed into them, throwing both hunters to the ground. Their shotguns were torn from their hands and skittered across the asphalt, landing just out of reach.
Dean scrambled to his feet, his gaze darting between the spirit and the shotguns. The ghostly figure rapidly glided forward, its eyes glaring hungrily at the two hunters as it swooped down to grab the elder Winchester by the throat. Its lips pulled back, forming a menacing smile as drool ran from the corner of its mouth. Tightening its huge hand, the apparition lifted the struggling man effortlessly off the ground, bringing him close to its face as it leered in triumph. His legs kicking futilely, Dean reared back, gagging at the rank smell of decay wafting from the spirit. “Dude,” Dean sniffed, trying to turn his head away. “You need a breath mint.” He gasped as the ghost’s grip tightened slightly, but thankfully still not enough to completely cut off his air. “I think I got some in the car…Just let me go get them.” Dean flashed a cocky smile as the ghost snarled at him.
Sam hauled himself upright, throwing a glance to where the ghost held his brother suspended in the air like a rag doll, before quickly scanning the ground around him. Seeing one of the shotguns a few feet away he inched his way towards it, cringing when he heard Dean’s smart-ass comments. Leave it to Dean to provoke the thing that had him in a death grip.
Kimberly stepped forward and dropped to one knee, attempting to steady the pistol with both hands. “Police,” she yelled. “Release him and put your hands up!” There was no reaction from the apparition. “I repeat, release the man and put your hands up.”
Dean rolled his eyes. Just great, he was being choked to death by this Neanderthal, and she was following procedures. He tore his gaze from the gruesome face and searched desperately for his brother. “Sam,” he choked out as the ghost gripped him tighter.
Sam lunged for the nearest shotgun as Kimberly fired on the apparition. Much to the cop’s horror, the three shots from the service revolver sliced through the sprit with no visible effect. Dean still dangled helplessly from one meaty fist, his face slowly turning red as he fought for air. Kimberly trembled in shock - she was an excellent shot, there was no way she could have missed. Swallowing hard, she pulled herself together and aimed for the bald head. She squeezed the trigger, and watched as the bullet passed through and hit the ground behind it. God, what the hell was that thing? She lowered her weapon, looking around frantically. There had to be some way to stop it.
Sam swung around, prepared to fire the shotgun. He quickly moved his finger from the trigger, when he realized that Dean was between him and the ghost, rapidly searching for a better angle. In two quick strides he was beside Kimberly, and satisfied with the position, he squeezed the trigger. The spirit wavered and separated briefly, dropping Dean to the ground. Reforming almost immediately, it glared at the younger Winchester. Sam quickly fired again, and the ghost dissipated before the salt round hit him. Sam reached into his jacket, pulling out more shells. He loaded the shells into the shotgun as he watched the area around his brother.
Dean crawled back to his feet, turning to look at his sibling, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach when he spotted the white mist coalescing directly behind the younger hunter. Sam returned the look, his fingers reloading the shotgun, completely unaware of his danger. Dean opened his mouth to warn his little brother, but the ghost had Sam by the throat before the words made it from his mouth. It wrenched the shotgun from Sam’s hands, and with an angry howl, threw the weapon into the group of trees.
The spectre looked at the shotgun that lay between Dean and Kimberly. He raised his arm and the weapon flew from the ground and into his hand. A menacing smile spread across his features as he flung the second shotgun into the woods. Sam gasped, trying to pry the cold fingers from his neck, tears stinging his eyes as he struggled to draw a breath.
Dean reached for the gun in the waistband, thanking whoever was watching over them that he still had the magazine loaded with iron rounds. His only thought was to get the bastard to release Sam before his larynx was crushed. He flipped off the safety and fired, aiming for the spectre’s head. As the bullet found its mark, the ghost wavered slightly, but held together. Glaring angrily at the elder hunter, it flung Sam to the ground and disappeared.
Dean felt a rush of displaced air behind him and spun around to face the advancing spirit. He raised his gun, his finger squeezing the trigger, but the shot went wide of its intended mark as he staggered, pushed off-balance by the vengeful ghost. Fighting to keep on his feet, he felt an unseen grip fasten around his throat and drag him forward. Icy fingers dug into his flesh, cutting off his air.
The spirit suddenly moaned as if in pain, its grip on Dean‘s neck loosening rapidly as the moan built into an ear-splitting wail. Dean fell to the ground as the ghost staggered backwards, a look of terror in its eyes. The hunter rubbed a hand over his throat as he watched the ghost pulsate, becoming transparent, then solid and back to transparent again. A pain filled scream echoed through the night sky as the spirit flickered, unholy flames surrounding its writhing form. It raised its hands as it looked to the skies, the screams becoming shrill as the flames licked hungrily over the spirit. As suddenly as they began the screams stopped and the spirit exploded in the ethereal flames. The flames disappeared, and silence hung heavily in the air.
Dean got shakily to his feet, looking at the patch of singed grass before spinning to face his brother. “What the hell just happened?” He demanded, glaring accusingly at Sam.
“I have no idea,” Sam replied, staring in dazed confusion at the spot where the spirit had been destroyed. “I think it’s gone…” He didn’t look at his brother, failing to see Dean’s distrustful glare and angry scowl.
“What the hell? What is going on?” Kimberly asked, her voice rising slightly. “What was that? I could’ve sworn…” She stopped, dropping her eyes to the ground. Swallowing hard, she tried to wrap her mind around what she’d just witnessed. It couldn’t be, she decided. She was dreaming - she had to be, and in a few moments she’d wake up in her big comfortable bed and laugh it off as some stupid nightmare brought on by too much stress and too many late night meals. None of this ever happened - in fact the young men in front of her probably didn’t exist either.
With one last quick glance at his brother, Dean pushed down his suspicions and hurried to the young woman. He could see her swaying slightly, and could hear the panic in her voice. Gently taking her by the shoulders, he led her back to the squad car. Sam quickly followed and opened the passenger door for them. They helped her onto the seat before pushing her head towards her knees, talking softly to her while she slowly calmed down.
“My God,” Kimberly whispered, raising her head. “Wha…who…” She shuddered violently as she stared out into the night.
Sam removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, “It’s okay,” he soothed.
“Okay?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “I think I just had some kind of breakdown here. Jesus, I could’ve sworn that was…” She trailed off, pulling Sam’s jacket tighter around her.
Dean looked over and met Sam’s eyes, the same thought running through their minds. Kimberly obviously knew who the spirit was. Dean wanted to ask her, press her to tell them whom they had just been up against. He rested his gaze on the shivering woman and reluctantly changed his mind; he doubted she would be able to tell them much right now. Dean backed away from the car, motioning for Sam to follow.
“I’m gonna see if I can find the shotguns. Stay here with her; see if you can get her to talk.” Dean shifted his gaze to the trees.
“Do you think she really knows who that was?” Sam asked.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she does.”
Stepping back to the squad car, Dean grabbed the spotlight, turning it on its swivel base so the light was directed at the trees. He looked inside the vehicle, spotting a flashlight clipped to the dashboard. Reaching in through the open window on the driver’s side, he plucked it from its clip, shot one last wary glance at his brother and headed for the woods.
Dean hurried to the stand of trees; his speed was more for his need to get away from Sam than to retrieve their weapons. He hated what he was thinking, but try as hard as he might, he could come up with no other reasonable explanation. Ghosts don’t just vanish, he reminded himself grimly. Well yeah, they vanish, but they don’t self-destruct.
The spirit was destroyed in flames, and they hadn’t done anything to bring that on. At least, he hadn’t done anything, he corrected. He wished he could say the same about his brother. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, his anger building. It was bad enough that Sam had done this, used his power to vanquish a spirit. But to stand there acting innocent after the fact, like he thought Dean was too stupid to realize what had happened. Dean kicked at a rock on the ground, watching it sail through the grass. Sam said he wouldn’t do it any more. Yet, as soon as the going got a little tough, he pulled out his freaky bag of tricks.
He clicked on the police issue flashlight as he walked past the reach of the spotlight. Keeping the light trained on the ground, he searched for the shotguns as he replayed the scene in his mind. He wanted to be able to explain away the destruction of the spirit. To chalk it up to something besides his brother, but each thought led him to the obvious conclusion. Sam used his power, and it was because of him. If the spirit hadn’t gone after the older Winchester, Sam wouldn’t have done it, he wouldn’t have broken the promise.
Dean caught the glint as the light reflected off the barrel of one of the sawed-offs. He played the light around the area as he picked up the shotgun, hoping the other would be close by. Moving deeper in to small forest, he kept the beam trained on the ground.
She stood in the shadows of the trees, her eyes tracking his every move. She could sense his ire coming off him in waves, and she smiled, stepping further back into the shadows as he approached her position. Pulling speculatively at her lower lip, she watched him stoop down to pick up his weapon.
She had watched the lowly creature as it played with them, tossing them around like rag dolls and she’d had to stifle her laughter. Then the stupid Shimmer had started playing a little rough and had obvious intentions of killing Dean Winchester. She had immediately stepped up to the plate. There was no way she was going to let an insignificant Shimmer take what was rightfully hers. Dean would die, but at her hands, and he would suffer first. Oh, he would suffer, she would make sure of that.
What she hadn’t expected was Dean’s reaction. The way he looked at his brother, suspicion burning in his eyes. It was more than she could have hoped for, the anger and accusations steadily driving a wedge between the boys. Even low-level demons knew that the Winchesters were nothing when not together. Oh, they could take out a few demons, especially if Sam chose to use his power, but they were stronger together. Apart and alone, they were vulnerable.
She was almost giddy in her excitement. Soon she would set her plan into action and confront Dean, but not in this meat suit. Glancing down at the body, she curled the borrowed lips in disgust. This Ryan character, what a putz. With a final glance at Dean, she silently slipped from the host and let him fall to the ground with a thud. She knew the sound would catch the young hunter’s attention and he would come to investigate. Satisfied that her recent meat puppet would be found and taken care of, she rose into the night sky.
Dean spun on his heels as he heard a dull thud and rustle of dead leaves. Something had fallen to the ground. He crept silently toward the sound, the sawed-off in his right hand. Pointing the flashlight at the forest floor, he tensed when the beam showed a dusty boot.
He ducked and pushed through the low hanging branches, the light landing on the face of a boy. The kid was about sixteen or seventeen. His face was pale, eyes closed as if in slumber, purplish bruises beginning to mar his skin. Dean knelt next to the boy, placing his fingers on the carotid artery in search of a pulse.
Feeling the steady throb beneath his fingertips, Dean smiled his relief. “You must be Ryan.”
Quickly examining the boy for injuries, Dean blew out a sigh when he found none and sat back on his heels. Standing, Dean leaned the shotguns against a tree and was about to scoop the boy into a firefighter’s carry when the he let out a soft moan. Stooping down, Dean watched the boy’s face. Ryan’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth twitched into a grimace of pain.
“Hey,” Dean spoke softly. The boy moaned a little louder, blinking up at Dean in confusion. “Are you Ryan?” Dean asked.
Ryan nodded stiffly, a hiss escaping his pursed lips as the movement sent a shot of pain through his head.
“Do you think you can walk?” Dean asked hopefully.
Ryan tentatively sat up, holding his head. He swallowed and looked at the man in front of him. “I think so,” he whispered. His eyes suddenly widened in fear as he frantically looked around. “Where’s the guy who grabbed me?”
“Don’t worry; he’s been taken care of. Now let’s get back to the road, Kimberly will be glad to see you I imagine.” Dean helped the teen to his feet before bending to pick up the shotguns.
“Kimberly?” The boy asked. “Oh, Officer Richards.”
Dean nodded and put his arm around the boy, offering his support for the walk from the woods. “You ready?” He waited for Ryan to nod, and they started for the road.
jayess - February 26, 2009 06:59 PM (GMT)
Hey girl, this is good! Had two updates to catch up on in one and wow, you create a good story! :clap
I love Nana, but she has got more than just a little gossip going in there... ;)
Kimberly is icy, but I guess with good reason.
Loving the descriptions in your events, so vivid, I can really 'see' it, like an episode! :woohoo
Can't wait for more! :D
jessalyn - February 26, 2009 11:48 PM (GMT)
And I'm liking Kimberly.
And you know why!
trickie - March 3, 2009 07:24 PM (GMT)
Julie- thanks I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Yeah...Nana. I think I kinda based her on my own grandmother. She loved to feed people and talk. But she'd never admit to gossip. :rolleyes:
jessalyn- ahh you like Kimberly? Well thanks. Yeah, I know why :P
Jules- thanks for all the help and support. You are awesome. :hug
And to you silent readers- hi thanks for stopping by. :D
Okay are we ready? Ahh yes before I forget. warning: Some torture scenes, and possible season 4 spoilers. I always forget that part.
Dean unlocked the motel room door and entered the dreary, musty smelling room. The faded floral wallpaper was peeling in strips; a small folding card table was set up in the centre of the room, presumably to serve as the dining table. A two cup coffee perk and several small packets of coffee sat on the grimy yellow Formica countertop.
Dropping his keys onto the table, Dean rubbed a tired hand across his face. Sam followed him into the room, his laptop case and both duffle bags slung over his shoulder. The younger Winchester looked longingly at the bathroom, wanting only to shower and crawl into bed. He dropped the bags on the bed furthest from the door, and glanced cautiously at his brother.
Sam couldn’t figure it out. He thought that Dean would be happy that the hunt was over, but instead he seemed on edge, angry. Shoving a hand through his dark hair, Sam sat on the edge of the bed, mulling over the events of the evening. When Dean had gone in search of the shotguns, Sam had managed to get Kimberly to talk. She had told him about an old legend in the area, known only by the locals who spoke about it in hushed tones and never leaked it to outsiders.
Over thirty years ago, before she had been born, people in the town had begun to vanish. Their bodies had been found weeks later with parts missing, sometimes an organ and other times limbs. At the time, the police failed to turn up any leads, and their investigation had come to a stand still. The people had their suspicions, and as the bodies accumulated, so did their fears.
There had been rumours about the caretaker at the Shady Grove Cemetery - talk that he was insane. Every man or woman who had met him would claim that he looked at him or her as if they were his next meal. There were even a few accounts where the people had seen him salivate as he stared at them, pure hunger in his eyes. People began whispering that he was a cannibal and speculated that he had eaten the corpses after they were laid to rest - digging them up for his personal buffet. The man’s name was Mitchell Carver, but the locals started to call him The Carver, in hushed tones.
Soon the people had begun to cremate their dead, becoming concerned that loved ones were being pulled from their graves to be eaten by the madman. With fewer bodies being buried, the missing persons and murder rate had subsequently increased. The police were unable to find the murderer. There was no evidence to lead them to the perpetrator, and the people of the town began to panic.
One night a teen boy had gone missing while walking home along Bald Knob Lake Road. The son of a very prominent family, and captain of his school foot ball team, he was loved by everyone in the town for his work within the community and his giving heart. That night he had been to the home of an elderly woman, tending to her yard. His mutilated body had been found the next morning.
That was when the men of the town took things into their own hands. Late that night, they donned masks before going to the caretaker’s home. They forced him into the woods, and he never came out. It was said that he was buried beneath the trees.
Sometime after that the rumours began. Locals claimed to have seen a large bald man coming from the woods across from the Shady Grove Cemetery, and people started to go missing again. Kimberly’s grandfather had been one of the first to go missing.
When Dean had returned with the boy, Sam had told him about the story and they’d returned to the woods, EMF meter in hand. They had wandered around for more than an hour searching for the remains, before finally giving up. Sam was sure that whatever had happened to the ghost of Mitchell Carver, he wasn’t coming back and Dean reluctantly agreed.
It was after three in the morning when they had pulled into Nana’s Inn and found Kimberly waiting for them. After quickly updating them on Ryan, who was spending the night in the local clinic, she led the Winchesters to a room with two single beds and wished them goodnight. The hunters had quickly cleaned up, trying not to disturb the matronly owner, and dropped into their beds.
Dean had woken him just as the sun was starting to rise. They had quickly packed their belongings, and after a quick breakfast at Nana’s insistence had hit the road. Dean wanted to put the town behind them and forget about the hunt.
Sam yawned as he pulled himself back to the present. Dean was leaning against the counter, his feet crossed at the ankles. The black circles beneath his eyes had returned and his mood was dark and brooding.
“I don’t get it,” Dean said softly, turning his gaze on his brother. “What happened back there last night?”
Sam stood up, rubbing his stiff shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Dean shot back, his voice low and hard, fear gnawing in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
Sam drew back, bewildered at the anger and distrust in his brother‘s face. He couldn’t figure out why Dean would be reacting this way. The more he saw the suspicion and accusation in Dean’s eyes the angrier he became. He hadn’t done anything to warrant this kind of treatment, and he was tired of trying to force Dean to open up to him.
“I mean I have no damn idea,” Sam replied, keeping his voice calm and steady. “Why would I know, Dean?”
“Are you telling me you didn’t….You know.” Dean held his hand out, wiggling his fingers.
“Is that what you think?” Sam growled. Everything was falling into place now. Dean still didn’t trust him, and still thought Sam was keeping secrets and lying.
“Well, did you?” Dean pressed, a hint of desperation in his voice.
“No I didn’t,” Sam snapped. “Why is it when something weird happens in our favour, you automatically assume it was me? It never used to be like this, Dean.” Sam sighed heavily and sat back on the bed, “I never had to prove myself to you day in and day out,” he added sadly.
“Well, it’s not like you haven’t lied about it before,” Dean snapped in reply, anger bubbling to the surface.
Sam shook his head. “How long are you going to hold that over me? How long do I have to wait before you put a little trust in me again?”
Dean quirked an eyebrow, wanting so much to believe his baby brother. He wished they could go back to the time before he went to hell, back when things were still good between them. When he trusted Sam with everything he had. “So you didn’t…”
Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. “No I didn’t! Damn it, Dean.” Sam lowered his voice as he looked at his big brother, the hurt he felt reflecting in his hazel eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t convince you, and you won’t believe me anyway.” He stood up from the bed, grabbed his duffle and headed for the bathroom. Once inside he slammed the door and slumped against the sink, feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his chest.
Dean pressed his palms against his eyes, and sighed. Dropping his hands, he turned to the coffee perk. Desperately trying to find some comfort in the familiar motions, he filled the carafe, poured the water into the perk reservoir, and dumped the contents of a coffee packet into the filter. Turning on the appliance, he raised his eyes to the window over the sink. The afternoon sun streamed through the grimy glass, casting a warm glow over the room.
Who is Sam? Dean stiffened, trying to push the memory away; still he kept hearing the soft voice in his ear. C’mon, we’re friends…talk to me.
Dean turned, reaching a shaky hand to the chair, and gripped the back of it to steady himself. Images flashed through his mind, the smell of blood filling his senses. He could hear the cries and screams; could feel the sticky wetness of blood on his hands.
“Oh God,” Dean moaned, trying to push past the flashes in his mind, trying to stay focussed on the room in the present. Again, the images crashed into him, refusing to be ignored. Dean grabbed his head with both hands as he backed away. Feeling the counter behind him, he slowly slid to the floor.
“No,” he whispered. Tears stung his eyes as he fought to keep the memory at bay. He couldn’t go there, he couldn’t relive what he had done. Slowly began to rock, tears of shame flowed freely down his horrified face.
Whistling softly, he strapped the woman to the rack, still feeling the rush from the screams of the previous soul. He really enjoyed the rack that he had recently obtained. The rectangular frame supported rollers installed on both ends. A winch attached to one of the rollers separated the frame as it was cranked.
The soul’s feet and wrists were bound to each end, and their body would be stretched with each crank. If he chose, he could tear the limbs from the torso, but he preferred to torment between each stretch first. Nothing could beat the feeling of blood oozing onto his fingers as he cut into the flesh.
Dean walked to the head of the rack, looking down at the woman’s face, his eyes lighting up as they trailed over her long brown hair. Elated, he returned to his tool tray, picking up the contraption he had created. It resembled a fishing reel, with a clamp on the base that held it stationary when fastened to the edge of a table, or rack.
He recalled Alastair’s enthusiastic crow of praise and the pride in his eyes when Dean had showed it to him and demonstrated how it worked. He smiled; pleased he had a chance to use it again. It would only work on hair long enough to be wound into the reel.
Dean attached the reel to the rack near her head, careful to keep it from the sections that separated so as not to hamper the proper workings when he chose to stretch the woman. The doomed soul’s eyes were closed and she held herself rigid, waiting for the torture to begin. He remembered the wait while on the racks. Sometimes the wait was a torture in itself.
He grinned as he looked at her, fingering her soft brown hair. “Time to have some fun,” he murmured.
Her eyes flew open and locked on his face. The terror began to fade from her features as recognition took its place. “Dean?” She breathed. “Oh thank God, it’s you.”
He stared into her face, surprised and confused by her statement. Studying her with a fixed intensity, he tried to think of how she might know him, and why she would be relieved. Hundreds, if not thousands of souls had been privy to his handiwork over the past five and a half years, but her face sparked no recognition in him.
His cold, green eyes returned to her hair, a sickening smile on his face as he leaned down. “No God here,” he breathed into her ear. Straightening up, he lightly fingered her hair, then smoothed out a small section. He placed the ends of the strands into the reel, eyes glittering with excitement.
Dean began to turn the reel, watching as the golden brown strands wrapped around the spindle and pulled taut. He applied more pressure to the crank, smiling triumphantly as the roots pulled tight. With a final crank, the hair pulled free, tearing a chunk the size of a quarter from her scalp. She screamed in agony, her hands balling into tight fists.
Dean inhaled deeply, “Mmmm…Better than sex.” He pulled the hair from the reel, and gathered another section.
“Dean, please…” she cried. “Why are you doing this?” She looked tearfully into his face. Dean stared down at her, exhilarated, as she continued her pleas. “Please…stop Dean. Please…” She paused, searching the face she once knew. The features were the same, but his eyes were cold, and soulless. She swallowed back her pain, trying to reach out to him. “Dean…What would Sam think if he saw you like this?”
Dean paused, his throat tightening at the mention of the name. An image flashed in his mind, a boy holding out the toy from a cereal box, puppy dog eyes looking into his very soul. Then a man, unruly chestnut hair spilling over his eyes, the same puppy dog look. Dean shook his head, trying to push the memory from his mind.
“It would just kill Sam to know what you’ve become,” she continued, seeing his face pale and a flicker of uncertainty in his green eyes. “You know he’d blame himself…”
“Shut up!” Dean cried out. “Just shut up!” Stepping back he fought to breathe past the pressure in his chest. He tried to grasp the flashes in his mind as they rapidly changed, morphing into each other. A man’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, speaking words of love, comfort and loyalty; the soft gentle tone flooding him with a sense of peace.
“Dean, you know Sam would be ashamed and disgusted…,” the woman pressed, sensing she was hitting a nerve.
Dean stumbled back, his hands over his face as he moaned. His head felt like it was going to explode as memories tried to surface, none of them staying long enough for him to grasp. He backed into the tray, knocking it over, sending his immaculate tools clattering to the floor.
“Shut up,” he howled desperately, trying to block her voice from his mind.
She continued her own brand of torture, “Everyone thought Sam was the evil one, even Sam himself. I wonder what he would say if he could see just how evil you are…That you have become what you once hunted.”
Dean spun around to face the woman. “Shut up,” he screamed, clamping his hands over his ears. “Shut up. Bella… Just shut up.”
As soon as he said the woman’s name, he felt the memory slam into him. His legs suddenly felt rubbery and his knees buckled. Landing hard on the floor, he gasped for air as shame and self-loathing flitted around the edges of his mind. He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder, and raised his head, confusion and anguish etched in his face.
Soft amber eyes searched his features, her strawberry blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned over him, her face showing only concern. Hearing the words the soul spurted forth, she looked to the table, her lightly freckled nose wrinkling as her lips curled in a sneer. She pulled her hand from Dean’s shoulder and walked towards the rack, stooping to rummage through the tools scattered on the floor, before picking up the meat cleaver.
In two quick steps, she was standing over Bella and glaring into her face. “He asked you to shut up,” she hissed. “So shut up, bitch.” With inhuman speed, she raised the meat cleaver, and slammed it heavily into Bella’s throat. Bella fell silent, not even a gurgle passing her lips. Her head teetered for a moment before rolling from the rack and onto the floor, her vacant eyes staring at Dean.
The girl dropped the blade to the floor and hurried to Dean’s side. She gripped his face in her hands and forced him to look into her eyes. “Dean?” she called softly. “C’mon let’s get you up off the floor.”
Dean pushed her hands away. “Leave me alone!” He hissed, turning away from her concerned gaze. He didn’t deserve concern - he was a monster. Not only did he torture these souls, but he enjoyed it. He created new ways to inflict pain and terror on them, just to increase his own pleasure.
She sat on the floor next to him, wrapping her arms around his shaking form. “Who is Sam?” she asked gently. When he didn’t respond she turned his head to face her. “C’mon we’re friends…talk to me. Who is Sam?”
Dean swallowed hard, looking into her amber eyes. “I think…I think he was my brother,” he whispered. “And I think I failed him…he’d be so ashamed of me.” His lips quivered as the feeling of failure washed over him. “Beth…He would hate me now.”
Sam stepped from the shower, wiping the steam from the mirror he stared at his reflection. He was drained, emotionally as well as physically, and the hot shower had done little to ease the tension in his stiff muscles. Releasing a deep sigh, he dried himself and stepped into the grey jogging pants he usually slept in.
He did not intend to continue his conversation with Dean once he got out of the bathroom. All his exhausted body wanted was a few hours sleep. It didn’t matter to him that it was early afternoon, sleep was one way he could avoid his brother without actually leaving the room.
Opening the door, Sam stepped into the cool air of the main room, his gaze on the floor as he rubbed the towel through his wet hair. A soft moan caused him to look up, and he dropped the towel to the floor in shock, all his anger dissipating as he stared across the room.
Dean sat huddled against the counter, his arms wrapped around his legs, his head resting on his knees as he rocked back and forth. Sam could see his brother’s shoulders shake as he sobbed, and hear the anguish in his quiet moans. Sam rushed to Dean, dropping to the floor beside him as he put an arm around the older man’s shoulders.
Sam wasn’t sure what had set Dean off, but he felt responsible. The younger hunter had never seen his brother in this condition before, and was unsure of what to do. He could feel his brother’s pain with each gut-wrenching sob and his own eyes filled with tears.
Dean stiffened, pulling away from Sam’s touch, still in the throes of his bitter memories. “He’ll hate me…“ Dean whispered, his face buried against his knees. The elder Winchester’s stomach clenched with the realization of what he had become. “Oh God…Sam would hate me…I would disgust him. He’d be ashamed of me…” He continued rocking and chanting, “He’d hate me…He‘d hate me.”
Sam pressed a hand against his mouth, forcing back his own tears in the face of his brother’s breakdown. He wrapped his arms around his sibling, pulling Dean tightly to him. Sam cleared his throat, trying to speak past the lump that had lodged itself there.
“Dean, I’m here,” he said softly. “It’s me, Sam.”
Dean stopped rocking, his body growing even more rigid, “No, Sam would hate me,” he replied in a small voice, sounding lost and alone. “I trained him to hate things like me.”
Sam bit his lip, tears sliding down his cheeks as he realized where Dean was in his own mind. Whatever the memory was, it was beyond bad if Dean was convinced that Sam would hate his big brother for it. He tightened his hold and lowered his mouth to Dean’s ear.
“Dean, it’s me,” he began. “I don’t hate you. I love you, you’re my brother…I could never hate you. There is nothing you could ever do, EVER, to make me hate you.”
Dean heard the soft murmuring in his ear, and felt the accompanying warm puff of air. He took a shaky breath, and the clean scent of Sam’s shower gel permeated his fogged mind. Slowly he raised his head, his haunted eyes coming to rest on his brother’s face.
Sam smiled at him through his tears. “There you are,” he whispered, his heart breaking at the pain and self-loathing he saw in his brother’s face. “I’m here…everything is gonna be okay.”
“Sam?” Dean murmured in disbelief. “What…?” He slowly looked around the room as the present seeped back in to his mind, pushing back the horrific memories of the past. He shook his head, swallowing nervously. “I guess I was a little…ah…” He grimaced, unable to look Sam in the eyes.
“Yeah, you were a little out of it,” Sam nodded. He pulled his arms from his brother and patted his shoulder as he sensed Dean’s dicomfort.
Dean wiped a hand across his tear-streaked face, and pushed himself up from the floor. His gaze darted around the room, focussing anywhere but on his little brother. The elder hunter felt vulnerable and humiliated. He couldn’t believe he had broken down like that in front of Sam. He was supposed to be strong; he wasn’t supposed to show his weakness, his fear. The game face wasn’t meant to fold like a cheap suit. He couldn’t look at Sam; he was scared of what he might see in the younger man’s eyes.
Sam rose to his feet, watching as Dean pulled himself together. He saw the veil fall over Dean’s eyes the wall that normally hid his emotions slamming firmly back in place. Sam knew Dean wouldn’t talk about what had just happened, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted him to.
Dean’s walls had crumbled, partially due to the shame he felt, but mostly because he feared Sam would hate him. Sam swallowed; he didn’t know what Dean had remembered, but he knew that he was going to be there for him. He would never give Dean reason to think he hated him, and he vowed that they would get through these nightmares, together.
Sam picked up the coffee pot, and held it up. “Hey, you want that coffee now, Bro?”
Dean raked a hand through his hair and smiled weakly. “Yeah,” he answered.
mizpah - March 3, 2009 08:42 PM (GMT)
No problems, Trace - any time.
Intriguing start with the demon trailing the boys - and she knows Castiel....and isn't afraid of him...... That doesn't bode well for the boys, especially Dean.
Shiver-inducing scenes of Dean torturing Bela, and that breakdown of his brought tears to my eyes.
Hopefully Kimberly will back off a bit now that she has seen for herself that yep, there's a real ghost out there.
Well, there was a ghost out there - obviously the demon took care of things in a timely fashion. Unfortunately throwing suspicion onto Sam at the same time.
So, we're off on another rollicking tale - angels, demons and ghosts....oh my!
jayess - March 3, 2009 10:53 PM (GMT)
:) Woah, that was good.
Poor, poor Dean, having the flashback like that, really feel for the guy. That torture was just...beyond gruesome.
So sweet of Sam to be there, instantly dismissing his anger/tiredness to tend to his needy brother. Got to love him.
OK, what's next? Looking forward to more. :D
jessalyn - March 4, 2009 07:54 AM (GMT)
:evil ZE CARVER
I like I like
Also I love the imagery you have going on with Dean and Bella.
Poor Bella. I always liked her.Oh well.....
And who's Beth? She sounds nasty
trickie - March 10, 2009 01:32 PM (GMT)
Jules - yeah this little demon doesn't seem to be bothered by angels. And thanks again for all the help and support. You're so awesome :hug
Julie - One thing I can say for both Winchester men, no matter how pissed they are if the other one needs them they're there...no questions asked. As all siblings should be.
Jessalyn - Ze Carver...Lol love that, sounds so much more creepy. Well, Bela is in Hell so we know she'll be pieced back together in time for her next torture session. Beth? Who's Beth? Guess you'll have to keep reading to find out. :D
Okay, are we ready?
Hmm first things first: Warning: May contain torture scenes. Some language. Possible spoilers for season 4. (Does that cover everything, I wonder?)
So, shall we go?
The dark blue sedan sat beneath the large oak, shading its passenger from the afternoon sun. Not that she minded the heat. She had certainly been in warmer places, she thought to her self, gazing at the motel across the road as she popped the last bit of the cheeseburger into her mouth. She had no problem finding the young hunters, as once again the black classic gave them away.
She yawned, her hand gently patting the bulge in her hip pocket. It wasn’t easy getting the items she needed for the hex bag, but after a lot of searching, she had found everything. Castiel wouldn’t know she was there. She would deal with him when the time came, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
Stretching, she looked out at the sun, noting that it would be several hours before it went down. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think of a way to kill the time. Thinking about her plans for Dean and his guardian, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift, remembering what she had gone through in hell, the pain she felt because of him.
Because of Dean Winchester.
Opening her eyes, she found herself suspended by chains hooked through her shoulders, blood running freely from the wounds to pool on the floor beneath her feet. Slowly she moved her head, and feeling no pain or resistance she cautiously looked around, finding herself alone. The relief was short-lived as she heard his footsteps approaching long before she saw him, and tensed, preparing herself for the next assault.
“Now, now…” he chuckled. “That’s no way to greet me.”
She looked down as he walked into her field of vision, and groaned in annoyance. “Alastair, What are you up to now?” she demanded. She was tired of his head games. If he wanted to torture her, fine, but quit the ‘we can be friends’ crap.
“I came to make you an offer,” Alastair replied smugly. “But if you’re not interested…”
“Wait!” she called. He couldn’t be making the offer already-she had only been back on the racks a few months. Gazing at him warily, she asked, “What’s the offer?”
The demon torturer smiled. “That’s my girl.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced the floor. “You know the offer.”
“Already?” she asked, distrust on her face. “I haven’t been here long enough for the offer.” After well over a hundred years in Alastair‘s chambers, and several hundred more in other regions, she knew how it worked. She should be on the racks at least fifty years, then the offer would be made. Alastair never strayed from his format. It was how he did things here.
“Are you saying no?” he questioned, a humourless smile on his face. “Because if you are, I know Dean is waiting for you.”
She blanched and chewed her lip pensively. “Are you playing head games with me?” she demanded, glaring at him. She was not in the mood for this, but she really wasn’t in the mood for Dean.
Alastair looked up at her. “No head games,” he replied, his eyes glowing mischievously. “Don’t you think you have put in enough time on the racks?”
“I thought I put in enough time before I got here,” she shot back, watching his face intently. There had to be more to it - he actually seemed to be in a good mood for a change.
Alastair began pacing again, trying not to let his admiration show. She always had such spunk, he mused. “So? Do you want off the rack or not?”
“Yes I want off the rack…Do you think I’m crazy?” The demon walked out of her view, and a few seconds later, she felt herself being lowered to the floor.
Alastair came to her side and gently withdrew the hooks. “Neberios feels you should be punished longer.” He made no attempt to hide his amusement as he spoke of the other demon.
“That’s because he got his panties in a bunch,” she answered simply, rubbing her hands over her bleeding shoulders. “I only told him what I really thought of him…How was I supposed to know he couldn’t handle the truth.” Her thoughts turned to Neberios, the protector of hell’s gates, and her former boss. One little mistake, and he went ballistic. So an underling got through one of the fissures on her watch, she didn’t think it was that big a deal. She had quickly tired of his ranting and said a few choice words of her own. The next thing she knew, she was on Dean’s table.
“I told you one of these days that tongue of yours would get you into trouble.” Alastair ran his fingers through her strawberry blonde curls.
She spun around to look at him, horrified anger on her face. “Was it your idea then?” she demanded. “That trick your pet pulled. Did you suggest it?” She remembered clearly. Once again, she was on Dean’s table, why she kept ending up on his table she didn’t know. He had been doing the usual cut-burn-stab and pull routine. Then things had gotten nasty. Using a pair of pliers, he had pulled her tongue past her lips, then holding it in place; he had struck her under the chin, hard. Her teeth had clamped together and she had bitten off her own tongue. Her stomach roiled just thinking about it.
Alastair took her hand and place it in the crook of his arm, ever the gentleman. “Oh no my dear, that was all Dean.” He glowed with a fatherly pride. “That boy is just brilliant.” Pausing, he looked at her inquisitively. “Would you like one more time on Dean’s table…for old times sake?” He laughed as she glared at him, anger flashing in her amber eyes.
“Are you frickin’ nuts?” she shouted. “The bastard is truly sadistic. Have you even seen half the crap he does?” An involuntary shudder coursed through her body. She wanted nothing more to do with Alastair’s latest pet.
“Yes,” the head torturer replied, looking at her fondly. “You were such an inspiration to him.” Alastair hoped he was doing the right thing in taking her from under Dean’s knife and putting her under his supervision instead. He shook his head, sure he was right in his decision; Dean had a lot to teach her.
“An inspiration? An inspiration?” she ranted, staring at the demon incredulously. “How was I an inspiration?”
“You didn’t break easily,” was his simple reply as he led her from the room.
She could hear the screams and smell the charred flesh before they walked through the door. Alastair paused at a small cabinet and turned, handing her a cloth bundle. Taking it, she loosened the string that held it secure, gently rolling it open to make a quick inspection of the tools inside. She withdrew the fillet knife and examined the handle, finding a small notch in the base, and raised questioning eyes to Alastair.
“Yes, they are yours,” he confirmed, patting her arm. “I always knew you’d be back.” As a master of the art, he knew the tools became an extention of self, and quite often, an attachment was formed. Before she could say anything, he led her to a table where a middle-aged man was strapped to its surface.
She paused, looking around. The station was already set up, but the torturer was nowhere to be seen. Hearing a noise behind her she turned around, and came face to face with Dean Winchester. She looked at Alastair as realization dawned on her and she shook her head adamantly. “No, no damn way.”
“You will work with Dean or you will go back on the racks,” Alastair replied coldly. He gripped her roughly and pulled her back around to face Dean. “Dean this is Bethany… She will be your student.”
She looked at the demon in complete outrage, “His student? I’ve done this before Alastair. I don’t need a teacher, God!”
Alastair shook her roughly and stared into her eyes, “What have I told you about saying that here?”
Bethany rolled her eyes insolently. “Don’t say God in your presence,” she replied mockingly, paused for a moment and then hissed, “God!” Her head rocked as Alastair’s hand connected with her cheek. She glared at him but held her tongue.
Looking her over, Dean nodded. “You gave me a lot of trouble. I hope things will be different now that you’re on this side of the knife.” He turned, dismissing her as he resumed cutting into the soul on the table.
Bethany turned to Alastair. “You can’t be serious!” she complained. “There is no way I’m working with him. He’s an ass…”
Dean swung around to face her, a lecherous smile on his lips. “I’d rather that body of yours be on my table anyway,” he taunted. “So many things I haven’t done to it yet. We hadn‘t even got to the fun stuff.”
Alastair took a deep breath, beginning to think that he had made a mistake. He always remembered her so fondly, but now that she was back under his thumb, he was remembering how annoying she could be. The demon wracked his brain, trying to remember what it was that he had liked so much about her. What made him pleased to have her back?
Bethany’s eyes widened as Dean continued with his lewd description of what they were missing by her being off the rack. She quickly ducked her head as she felt her checks flush, dismayed that he had been able to embarrass her so easily, and fervently hoped he wouldn’t notice.
Alastair watched the blush travel her face, realizing that was what endeared her to him. For as long as she had been here, on the racks and off, she still had an innocence about her. She never completely lost her humanity, and she didn’t even realize it. He shook his head in determination. As much as her innocence intrigued him, she had to be broken. The battle was near, and he needed them strong. There was no time for him to explore the mind of Bethany, something he already regretted.
She felt the minor change of temperature and opened her eyes, blinking at the setting sun in surprise. She must have fallen asleep, which if she thought about it wasn’t that strange. The body she inhabited had been exhausted, and close to collapse when she had taken it over. It seemed these mortals just didn’t know how or even want to take care of the vessels they lived in. Her musings had obviously lulled the body into a sleepy comfort.
Sighing, she thought about her time with Dean. At first they had clashed, it was like mixing oil and water. They’d disagreed about everything, and he wasn’t above smacking her around if she got too verbal in her opinions. More often than not, she would be picking herself up from the bloodstained floor, just to be knocked back down. She shook her head at the memory. She didn’t know why she did it, but she had fought him at every turn, even when she knew he was right. Alastair had a point, her mouth did get her in a lot of trouble, but she never could think before she spoke.
Then things had begun to change between her and Dean - sometime during that first month a friendship had built. Beth snickered to herself, thinking that it was funny how things had come full circle. They had started out as enemies, became friends, and now they were back to being enemies again - full circle.
Gazing into the rearview mirror, she studied the deep brown eyes of the woman whose body she was possessing. “It’s time for our adventure to begin,” she murmured to the soul trapped inside. “If you want to keep any sanity at all, I recommend you sleep through the next few hours.” She could feel the soul push against her. It was a strong one, but not strong enough to keep Beth from her mission.
She didn’t have time to drive she would have to jump. Being late wasn’t an option. No one made Lillith wait.
He stood impassively, observing the young woman in the car beneath the tree. She had been there for a few hours, not moving, just sitting with her head against the headrest. He wasn’t close enough to see, but he was certain her eyes were closed.
“What are we doing here, Castiel?” Uriel asked in exasperation. “There is no sign of a demon here.”
Castiel turned his head to face his dark-skinned companion. “I told you, there is a demon that has been trailing the brothers.”
“Maybe so,” Uriel replied in a bored tone. “But it’s not here.”
“I just…” Castiel trailed off, unsure of how to voice his unease.
“You just what?” Uriel demanded. “Seals need to be protected. We have more important things to do.”
“I have a hunch,” Castiel said softly.
“A hunch?” Uriel shook his head in disgust. “You have been spending too much time with those… slugs.”
An electric current sizzled in the air around them, followed by a barely audible pop, and the smell of sulphur floated in the breeze. Castiel turned to look at the car. It was empty - there was no sign of the woman who had been sitting inside.
“It was her…” Castiel muttered. His hunch had been right, but now the demon had gone. The question was where and why. Had she seen them? Did she know that he knew the body she possessed? If so, he would be back at square one; she’d switch bodies, and he wouldn’t know who he was looking for.
Uriel’s face contorted in anger. “The damned soul was cloaked?”
“I suspected as much,” Castiel replied, turning his gaze to his companion. “She gave me the impression she wasn’t going to give up easily.”
“What will we do now?” Uriel questioned. “If she’s cloaked, we’ll never track her.”
“We keep watch over the brothers…And wait.”
Dean pressed his hands against the wall as he leaned forward, letting the hot water cascade over his shoulders. It seemed everything was going from bad to worse. From the day he had clawed his way out of his grave five months ago, nightmares had plagued him. Some were worse than others, but as time had passed they came less often and weren’t as intense. He had even been able to sleep through some nights without waking in a cold sweat. That was until a little over a week ago.
He had just begun to think the worst of it was over; the dreams were vague, and he didn’t remember them upon waking. Then the new nightmares had started. They were way more vivid than anything he‘d experienced before; the images coming in quick succession as if he was reliving Hell all over again, night after night. And he could still hear the screams when he opened his eyes each morning.
Heaving a sigh, he turned off the taps and stepped from the shower, he pulled a towel from the rack and quickly dried off. The flashback he’d had earlier had left him more than a little shaken. It wasn’t just a memory; it was as if he had been thrown back into the pit. Even now he could smell the charred flesh, taste the blood on his lips. He had been awake when it had hit, and he couldn’t smother it, couldn’t push it from his mind. That fact bothered him the most; the images had taken over, leaving him helpless. He had to gain some kind of control over this. What would happen if the memories took over while they were on a hunt? He couldn’t keep Sam safe if he was a blubbering idiot.
Dean quickly dressed when he heard movement on the other side of the door, indicating that Sam was awake. He was wary of facing the younger man, uncertain of how Sam would look at him. Leaving the towel and dirty clothes on the floor, Dean stepped into the main room.
Sam sat at the table, the laptop open in front of him, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He passed a cursory glance over the older hunter, then turned back to the screen.
Dean walked to the coffee pot, looking down at the computer as he passed. “You find another job?” he asked, pouring himself a coffee.
“No,” Sam replied absently, closing the laptop. Looking at his brother, he asked, “Did you sleep at all?”
“I’m a big boy, Sammy,” Dean answered, sitting across from his brother. “I don’t need a nap. I can stay up until it gets dark,” he quipped, his eyes wide in mock innocence.
Watching Dean, Sam leaned back in his chair and shook his head. There was no point in getting into this; he knew Dean wasn’t going to give in. “You want to go get some food?”
“You go,” Dean responded. “I think I’ll just see what’s on the tube. Bring me back a cheeseburger.” Standing, Dean crossed the room to the small TV. He turned it on and sat on the bed, his gaze focused on the screen.
“Dean…” Sam began tentatively.
“Sam, don’t.” Dean warned.
With a shrug, Sam picked up the keys and headed for the door.
“Oh, make sure you get onions on that burger.” Dean called to his back.
Sliding behind the wheel, Sam slipped the key into the ignition, raising his gaze to the review mirror before cranking the engine. He spotted a familiar figure partially hidden by the corner of the building, resisting the urge to turn around as he watched the man in the mirror. Uriel? Narrowing his eyes, Sam grabbed the door handle, preparing to confront the skulking angel. Skulking? Do angels skulk? Sam thought warily as he stepped from the Impala.
Closing the door gently, he turned towards the angel, frowning in confusion when he failed to spot the dark-skinned being. He surveyed the area around him as he cautiously walked to the side of the motel where Uriel had been. As he rounded the corner he tensed, expecting to find Uriel waiting for him, but the angel was nowhere in sight. Frustrated, Sam turned slowly, looking in every direction for the sanctimonious angel, but failed to locate the entity. Giving up on his fruitless search for the moment, he returned to the Impala.
Sam released a pent up breath as he got back into the car. Something was going on, something big. There were too many coincidences for his liking. First, Dean’s nightmares had returned with a vengeance and now he was having them while awake. Even though the article he had read about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, stated nightmares and flashbacks were common, Sam felt there was more to it - there had to be. For the nightmares to come back so intensely after they had seemed to be tapering off didn’t sit well with the youngest Winchester. Then there was the incident with the ghost, the way it had just vanished in a wall of flames, it wasn’t right. And now he finds Uriel spying on them. Too many things were happening at once to be shrugged off as mere coincidences - for them, there were no such things as coincidences.
jayess - March 10, 2009 07:12 PM (GMT)
Goodness me, poor Dean, jeez, I am just starting to breath again. :o :blink:
Sam is trusting his senses, which is always good and Castiel too it seems.
What the dickins is going to happen next? Not liking the fact that Dean is alone in the motel room...
Update as soon as please!
mizpah - March 11, 2009 10:03 PM (GMT)
Hmmmm.....Castiel's hunch was right - there is a demon trailing the boys. And now she's gone to meet up with Lilith? Ooh, that can't be good for either brother. Beth hates Dean, and Lilith hates Sam - not a desirable outcome.
Ugh, I wish someone would smack Uriel upside the head with something heavy, sharp and nasty. But at least he's obviously following Castiel's orders and helping to keep watch over the boys - even though the nong got himself spotted by eagle-eyed Sam. But then, that will only serve to make Sam more vigilant and more protective of Dean. Something tells me he's going to need all his skills before this ride is over.
So, Beth was Dean's reluctant student in Hell, and the one in his flashback who was asking who Sam was. And she has ties with Alistair... :angry: Is she on a mission from him? Or is this purely revenge on a personal level?
So many questions.....
jessalyn - March 12, 2009 12:42 AM (GMT)
I KNOW WHO BETH IS POSSESSING.......I THINK....... :huh:
Uriel is still mean...oh well...but he'll get the job done along with Cas.
I agree. I don't like the thought of Dean being left alone,its just not good!
trickie - March 14, 2009 12:55 PM (GMT)
Julie - Yes poor Dean :rolleyes: I think things are gonna get worse before they get better.
Jules - Not much that Sam misses eh? I have the distinct feeling that Uriel is not your favourite angel...Lol Thanks so much for the help and support...and requesting the banner (I love it!!) :hug
Jessalyn - ohh pretty story banner. Looks great. :thumbsup You'll soon find out what meat suit Beth is wearing, and maybe a few more little things along the way.
Okay let's see...ah yes Warning: may contain torture scenes, spoilers for season 4 and language.
Here we go.....
Bethany leaned against the trunk of the tree, pulling the thin denim jacket tighter around the borrowed body. The clouds had rolled in, carpeting the stars and moon, leaving her in an inky darkness. Shivering in the evening chill, she searched the area around her. She had been so worried about being late, and here she stood - alone. Shuffling her feet impatiently, she listened for any sounds of the other demon’s arrival.
Crossing her arms tighter over her chest, she bounced gently on her heels, trying to gain warmth in the motion. She wasn’t used to the cooler temperatures - she couldn’t remember the last time she had been cold. Lillith should’ve been here by now, and Bethany was growing more agitated with each passing second. She’d give the bitch twenty minutes, and after that she would go find her. Playing Lillith’s childish games wasn’t in her plans.
Once she had what she was looking for, she would find the Winchesters and their angelic guardian and when she was done, Dean would be begging for her mercy. She smiled wickedly as she lowered herself to the ground, sitting on the carpet of pine needles while she waited for Lillith.
Dean stepped back from the table, rubbing a bloodied hand across his jaw. “I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered to his accomplice.
“Yes you can,” she urged. “You have to.” Bethany looked into his haunted green eyes as he shook his head.
“No, I can’t. Not now…not knowing…” He couldn’t finish the job - with every cut, every twist, he could see his brother’s mortified gaze. He remembered his life before this - he knew who he was. Dean had lost his way for a while, but now it was time to be strong.
Bethany pushed a stray curl from her forehead as she weighed what she was about to say. With a sigh, she tugged her lower lip pensively. “Is this about your brother?” she asked as she guided Dean back to the table. “Do you think he wants you on the table? Do you think he would rather you be tortured, ripped apart until the end of time?” He shot her a heated glare, but remained silient. Picking up the knife Dean had laid down, she placed it into his hand. “You have to look out for you, Dean.”
She studied his face, watching the different emotions as they flitted through his eyes, a sad smile forming on her lips as she nodded. “I see…” Inhaling deeply, she hesitated for a moment knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Dean…Sam doesn’t exist. Not here. Don’t you get it?” Reaching out, she took the knife from his hand, and gently led him to the wall. Sitting down so her back was pressed against the stone surface, she tugged Dean’s hand until he lowered himself next to her.
“That life…the one that woman…”
“Bella,” Dean mumbled, staring at the floor. “Her name was Bella.”
“Her name IS Bella,” she said pointedly. “Like everyone here you, me …everyone. She exists - she is. That life you’re hanging onto? It’s gone, Dean. It’s gone and you can never get it back.” Looking at him, she tugged his hand, pulling his gaze to her. “You have to listen to me. If you keep going the way you have been….You’ll go mad, Dean. I’ve seen it happen countless times before.”
Dean pulled his hand back as he glared at the woman that had become his friend. “You don’t understand,” he stated icily. “You don’t know about me…Who I am.”
“Who you were…. I know all about you, Dean Winchester. I know who you were and I know who you are.” She smiled. “But let’s talk about the real problem here. You say you can’t do this because Sam would be ashamed, disgusted by you…Now try being honest. You’re ashamed and scared because you love it.” Dean flinched, holding himself rigid. “Every cut, every scream, every drop of blood. You love it, it makes you feel alive…Powerful. Then at the end of the day, you hate yourself, sickened by what you’ve become.” Bethany turned her head, staring at the table they had walked away from. “I know…because I feel that way too,” she whispered, tears shimmering in her amber eyes.
“So what are you saying? Just keep doing it? Who cares what Sam or anyone else might think?” Dean scrubbed a hand along his face. “I don’t want him to hate me.”
“That’s just it Dean. Up there, you’re dead…you don’t exist. That life is over. And down here, Sam doesn’t exist. It’s a different life. This? This is a different world, a new life, new rules. What was unacceptable up there, is par for the course down here.” Hesitating, she turned to face him, “Down here, you are power. The souls fear you. Your very name strikes terror into the core of their being. You need to let go of what once was you. You need to realize that you can never go back. Sam will never know what it’s like for you here; he’ll never know what you do. In this life Sam doesn‘t exist.” Bethany placed a gentle hand on his cheek, her eyes glinting mischievously. “When in Rome, Dean…”
“Well? What do you want?” the childish voice demanded.
Bethany started, raising her head to face the pale features of the child in front of her. Even in the blackness of night, the girl seemed to glow with an inner light. Pure Hellfire, Bethany thought as she scrambled to her feet.
“Lilltih,” Bethany acknowledged, studying the young body the older demon now possessed. “I just don’t understand why you insist on invading children, it restricts what you can do.”
The cherubic face lit with an icy smile. “Nothing restricts me,” Lillith giggled in childlike joy, her blond ringlets bouncing as she moved. “Now what is it you want? You may as well tell me before I send you back to the flames.”
“You won’t,” Bethany answered with a confidence she didn’t feel. “You‘re too damn curious. You want to know whether I‘m crazy or extremely brave. If it’s the latter, you‘ll want to recruit me.” She kept her gaze on the little girl, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground.
“Don’t be so sure,” Lillith said, slowly circling the woman, her brow furrowed as she glared at Bethany, her bright blue eyes changing to a milky white. “You have nothing to offer me. You aren’t even as valuable as a minion. You may have had Alastair wrapped around your finger, but you can’t play me so easy.” Lillith stopped in front of Bethany, a cruel smiling curling her lips. “I may be interested in what you have to say…but not likely.”
“Oh you’ll be interested,” Bethany shot back cockily. She had to sell this. If she was to get her revenge, she needed something from Lillith first. With a sigh, she combed her fingers through her copper hair. “I want the Unholy Sword,” she said hastily, preparing herself for the other demon’s reaction. The sudden bray of laughter took her by surprise; Lillith seemed genuinely amused by her request. Bethany narrowed her eyes. “What is so damned funny?”
“You…you want the Unholy Sword?” Lilltih asked between fits of laughter.
Bethany glared angrily. It didn’t matter how powerful the other entity was; she didn’t appreciate being laughed at. She needed the sword, she knew the lore behind it, and she didn’t care. If she could destroy Dean Winchester, going mad was a small price to pay. “Yes,” she exclaimed heatedly. “I want the Unholy Sword…”
Lillith stopped laughing, but the amused smile lingered as she stepped closer to the woman. “You want the Unholy Sword?… Lucifer’s Sword? You do realize you aren’t strong enough to wield it? You would be driven insane within seconds.”
Determination flashed in Bethany’s eyes. Satisfied that Lillith was at least willing to discuss the issue, she continued, “I don’t care if it drives me insane…I need it.”
Shaking her head, Lillith lowered her gaze from the woman’s face. “What do you need it for? What is worth losing your sanity, possibly your very existence for?”
“I need to destroy an angel,” Bethany answered, watching the child alertly. It would be nothing for Lillith to suddenly attack, even with her own kind; provocation wasn’t always needed for her to send one to hell.
“You were right,” Lillith murmured, fixing her gaze on Bethany. “I do find this interesting…So you just looking to kill any ol’ angel, or do you have a particular one in mind?”
Relaxing slightly, Bethany smiled. “I have one in mind…Castiel. Maybe you heard of him?”
Nodding, Lillith studied the young demon in front of her. It would be very convenient for Castiel to be taken out, leaving the Winchester boys without their divine protection. However, she knew the girl would fail, especially seeing she hadn’t really done her research. “As much as I’d love to have that thorn removed from my side, the Unholy Sword wouldn’t work.”
Bethany stared at the girl, swallowing hard. “It would work! I heard about it…”
Raising her hand, Lillith cut her off. “It wouldn’t work because it doesn’t exist.” She watched the waves of disbelief, sadness and defeat ripple across the woman’s features, quickly replaced with an angry determination.
“You’re lying!” Bethany growled at her elder. “I heard the stories. Lucifer brought the sword with him when he jumped from Heaven. He used it to kill angels in the First Battle.”
Lillith took her hand, looking into Bethany’s eyes, searching her dark soul. “It was a fairy tale, nothing more.” Shaking her head sadly, she let go of the young demon’s hand. “Don’t you think if it truly existed we’d have used it by now?”
“There has to be something,” Bethany pled. “You must know if something…You are one of the ancients…You were here practically since time began.”
“It’s not nice to remind a woman of her age you know,” Lillith cooed. “There is something…but it’s very hard to get. It was taken from us a long time ago. Seeking this weapon will destroy the owner of that meat suit you are wearing…And I know how you have been protecting…saving the hosts you use. So are you willing to do that? Are you willing to kill that bitch you hold hostage?”
Bethany tugged her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger as she contemplated Lilltih’s words. Finally, she shrugged. “Yes… I’ll do it. Where is this weapon? How do I get it?”
Cocking her head, Lillith wiped a small hand across her mouth. “I need some answers first.” She paused; continuing when she saw that she had Bethany’s full attention. “Why Castiel? Of all the angels, why him?”
“It’s simple, Lillith,” she replied nonchalantly. “He is in the way…I’ll take out Uriel too, if he tries to interfere. I want Dean Winchester. I want him to suffer…and to do that I need to get rid of the angels protecting him. Then…his brother.” A sickening smile slid across her face. “Everyone who tries to protect him will die, then…Then it’ll be his turn.”
Lillith chortled. “You think you can take out the Winchesters? What makes you think you can achieve something no other demon could? We had Dean in hell…and still he rose up from the pit to stand at his brother’s side.”
“Why do I think I can do it?” Bethany asked. “Because I don’t care if I’m destroyed…As long as Dean goes down with me. I’m fully prepared to take him out first if I think that he might get away. I can make him suffer later…”
Tapping a finger on her chin, Lillith looked thoughtfully at the woman. She just might be able to do it, the senior demon mused to herself. Obviously she had no concern for her own safety, and it would be a big help to be rid of the Winchesters and the angels that hovered over them. “I’ll tell you what I know…” she began. “The dagger was created in the time of the Grigori, by one of the children to emerge from the joining of angel and human. These children were the first gods of earth; they had great power and great strength. When the Grigori fell in love with mortals, God called it a sin and they were forbidden to ever enter the gates of heaven again. Then the Mindless angels were sent to collect the Sagacious, the ones they called Fallen….”
“Yes. The Battle before the Great Flood,” Bethany whispered. “When their God tried to force all angels into mindless submission.”
The humid air clung to their bodies, drenching their skin, blending with their sweat. Naram-Sin walked ahead, towering well above the mere mortal man who had come to seek his father. He sneered as the man stumbled, looking up to his face. The man barely came to Naram -Sin’s knees, yet he showed no fear when he confronted him, claiming he had a message from the Great God above.
Naram-Sin quickly climbed the mountain, as it was not more than a hill to him, and waited near the top for the smaller man to follow. Growing impatient, the giant reached down and picked up the man in one hand, setting him down at the top of the mountain. In front of them stood Naram-Sin’s father and his brothers, all waiting expectantly for the man called Enoch to tell them of their fate. Naram-Sin reined in his anger; this was not the time to express his feeling towards his father’s father, the creator of all. Instead he nodded humbly when his father bade him to take leave and allow them to speak alone.
“Azazel,” Enoch addressed Naram-Sin’s father. I have spoken to the Holy Great One; I have taken to him the petition on your behalf…” He paused as the Angels known as the Grigori watched him beseechingly. “The petition shall not be granted.”
Naram-Sim listened from his hidden perch, as Enoch spoke of the destruction of his father and his father’s brothers. He grew angry as Enoch also spoke of the destruction of the children the angels had begat with the human women, children like himself. Naram-Sin had heard enough, he crept quietly from his hiding place and made his way to his shop. It was time to fight back against the never swaying Creator; and he had the knowledge to do so.
Into the late hours of the night, the giant slaved over the fires, working with the metals as his father had taught him. A trade that was considered wrong - considered a transgression against The Holy One. His large lip curled in a snarl, his eyes glinting in anger. The Holy One. The God of the Heavens and All That Is Below was planning his death, planning to destroy all those like Naram-Sin, but he would be ready when the Avengers descended from the sky.
He mixed his blood with the copper as he began to create the blade. The dagger would be rather small by his standards, but easily wielded by the smaller beings, like his mother and father. Although Azazel and his brethren were larger than that of the mortal man, they too were smaller than Naram-Sin and his kind. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he continued to painstakingly forge the blade, paying special attention to the fine detail in the little knife. After he finished this dagger, he would create weapons proportional to his own size.
“Well?” Bethany asked, fixing her gaze on the child host. “Did it work? Does it kill angels?”
Lillith smirked, shaking her head at the younger demon. “It worked, but not how he had planned.” The demon stared intently at Bethany. “You see, before he had a chance to use the weapon on an angel or give it to Azazel, the Angels of the Lord put their mission into action. They caused a war to break out among the Nephilim, forcing the great giants to fight each other to the death.”
“And?” Bethany questioned, raising an eyebrow. “What happened with the dagger? Why didn’t it work as he planned?”
“The blade had been infused with his blood, his sweat and some say his tears. However, he never had the chance to work his dark magic, and the blade was incomplete. It will kill angels, demons even…as long as they are corporeal. After the whole thing with the Grigori, it was prohibited for angels to make themselves a physical body, and they can only possess, I’m sorry…merge,” Lillith said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Angels don’t possess, they merge within the body of a willing host. Anyway, they can only merge when God commands it.”
An icy smile sprang to Bethany’s lips. “So it will work on Castiel…”
“Yes, it will kill him…He would be completely destroyed.” Lillith returned the icy smile. “But you would have to get the dagger first. And I’ll tell you where to find it…”
jayess - March 14, 2009 11:57 PM (GMT)
Wow, that was a deep chapter...really getting into the plot now arn't we? :lol: Excellent stuff.
Those demons are all a load of well, demons! Lillith is a particularly nasty piece of work, but then again, so is Beth!
Now, she'll no doubt get the weapon but then geez, Cas and Uriel look out! :o
Good work, looking forward to more.
trickie - March 17, 2009 02:38 PM (GMT)
Julie- Oh yes, we are getting deeper into the plot. Beth and Lillith...a bad combination. Demon girls are such b**ches. Don't you think? LOL
Jules - Thanks for the help and support, even though you are very busy yourself. Greatly appreciated. :hug
Okay this chap probably isn't that bad....but if I don't put it up I will forget next time.
Warning: May contain scenes of torture/violence. Mild language and possible spoilers for S4
I feel like I should be saying veiwer discretion advised...LOL
Okay here we go....
Sam thumped the motel room door gently with his foot, a take-out bag in one hand, six-pack of beer in the other. After three quick taps with his foot, he stood back waiting for Dean to let him in. Several seconds passed, but the only sound he heard coming from the room was the muffled blare of the TV. Huffing impatiently, he booted the door a little harder, calling to his older sibling. Sam grumbled under his breath as he transferred the beer to the arm holding their quickly cooling meal. Once it was secured, he fished in his jeans pockets for the motel key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
Kicking the door closed behind him, he paused momentarily to scan the room. The only light came from the flickering images on the TV screen, but despite the near darkness he could see that there was nothing wrong, merely a sibling who was currently dead to the world. He walked purposefully to the small card table, dropping his parcels onto the surface with a thud before spinning around angrily to face his brother. Dean laid sprawled on the end of the bed, mouth slightly open as he snored softly, his feet still on the floor as if he had just flopped back while watching TV.
Sam’s features softened as he watched the older man sleep. Well, he made it til dark, he thought wryly, turning back to the table. Deciding the glow from the TV was enough light, he sat at the table and helped himself to his portion of the take-out meal and a pint of beer. While he ate, Sam’s gaze kept returning to the sleeping hunter, watching for any signs of nightmares in the older man’s face. Dean’s features were smooth; the lines of stress and worry had vanished in his slumber.
Finishing the meal, Sam cleaned up his garbage and put Dean’s burger and fries in the small bar fridge provided. He grabbed another bottle of beer, and pulled his laptop from the carry case. Placing it on the table, he prepared to do a little investigating on the local area. Uriel was there for a reason. While Sam felt sure that the angel had been there because of them, he wanted to check - maybe there was a case involved. Within minutes, Sam was lost in the pages of his research.
Hearing a soft moan, he raised his head towards his sleeping sibling. A faint smile was on the older man’s lips as he continued to breathe deeply in slumber. Sam‘s lips twitched into a gentle smile as he watched his brother, relieved that Dean was having a good dream for a change. Sighing, Sam returned his attention to the screen in front of him.
The room was dark; the faint light from the flickering candle sending moving shadows over the stone walls. The hunter watched them with a sad smile for a few moments before turning to face the young woman beside him. It was a rare occasion for them to have time in the private recreation room together, and he was enjoying her company. They had talked about everything - everything but their job. Neither of them wanted to remind the other that this was just a short reprieve; they’d be back to ripping apart souls sooner than they’d like.
Her head was tilted back as she laughed softly at something he had said. His gaze trailed down her neck as he licked his lips, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Yeah,” Dean chuckled. “That was Sammy. I pulled a lot of pranks on that kid.” Shaking his head, he looked back at the shadows as they danced along the walls. “He was so gullible back then. I could get him to believe anything…”
“Sounds to me that you took advantage of the poor boy…Being big brother and all,” she said, her voice still laced with laughter. “Did he ever get you back?”
“Oh he tried,” Dean answered, his smile growing fonder as he thought about his baby brother. “But he was never that good at pranks. He did glue my hand to a beer bottle once, but that was when we were older…a lot older.” He sobered as he glanced her way. “I wonder if he had a good life…If he made it through his personal Hell. I…sometimes I wonder if he’s still alive, you know…all old and wrinkly. Maybe married, with a bunch of kids and grandkids.”
Bethany’s smile faltered as she turned to face her cohort and best friend. Swallowing hard she sighed before murmuring. “Dean…It doesn’t matter does it? Really. Just believe he is happy…Believe that everything worked out for the best. There’s no way you can know for sure.” Bethany averted her eyes as she spoke.
Dean ran a hand through his short, sandy hair, the thin smile on his lips never reaching his eyes. “It’s been damn near thirty- eight years…I should’ve heard something. One of those souls he sent back should have said something…,” he rasped.
Tugging her lip, Bethany eyed him speculatively. “Dean…Listen to me. What I’m about to tell you…Well, you’re going to think I’m crazy…I shouldn’t tell you. Damn…If they find out I could be in some serious crap here.”
Reaching out, Dean gripped her arms, pulling her towards him roughly. “Do you know something about my brother?” he hissed, green eyes glinting coldly. “You better tell me right now.”
She pulled from his grasp, shoving him away from her. “No, I don’t know anything about your brother,” Bethany spat angrily. “After these past couple years, after working side by side…You think that I would keep something like that from you?” Tears shimmered in her amber eyes as she spoke. “Do you really think that little of me?”
Dropping his hands to his side, Dean groaned. Women. They went into hysterics over the stupidest things. Of course he thought she knew something about Sam, that’s who they had been talking about. He glared at her, trying to keep his voice even as he spoke. “What the hell are you talking about then, huh? Something you aren’t supposed to tell me…”
“It hasn’t been thirty -eight years,” she growled.
“What the… What are you talking about Bethany? I think I would know how much time I’ve spent in Hell. It isn’t something that slips your mind!”
“I told you that you would think I was crazy. I escaped from here once…a long time ago.” She paused, looking into his eyes. “Time is different here…up there…Topside? It’s been more like three - four months tops. So yeah, your brother is probably alive. He isn’t old; he probably looks the same as the day you… left.” Bethany shrugged, nonchalantly. “That’s all I wanted to tell you…I thought maybe it would make you feel better, not hearing anything about him. It’s just because up there, it hasn’t been as long as down here.”
Dean looked at the girl incredulously, searching her face for the truth, only to find that she honestly believed what she was saying. Shaking his head, he sat on the nearest bench, staring at the walls, while he absorbed the information. Not even four months had passed for Sam. His baby brother was still up there fighting the war on his own, probably still grieving for his older sibling. For Dean, his death was years ago, but for Sam it would still be fresh. He had convinced himself that Sammy had adapted, that he had gotten past Dean’s fate, and moved on with his life. Now to find that his brother had in all likelihood barely moved past that day. That his brother was probably still seeing him being ripped apart every time he closed his eyes. Dean slowly shook his head.
“Why did you tell me this,” he asked, his voice barely audible to his own ears.
Bethany quickly looked around then sat next to him. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I just thought…I don’t know what I thought to be honest.” Turning to face him, she cupped his chin in her hand. “They don’t want you to know. No one is allowed to say anything about what’s going on…And because you and I are friends…I’m not allowed to know either.”
“Why?” Dean questioned softly. “What does it matter?”
“As long as you think about your brother, you hold on to a part of your humanity, Dean. That’s why I discourage you from talking about Sam in the open. But I ask you about him when we are alone. For whatever reason, they want to turn you - fast.” Bethany dropped her hand to her lap. “I have my suspicions. I think they want you to completely lose your humanity as soon as possible…So they can use you against Sam. What better way to have Sam join the dark side, than to have his own brother head demon of the army he’d command.”
“They want to use me to get to Sam?” the young man asked dejectedly. “Was that the plan all along?”
“Probably,” Bethany replied with a shrug. “But I’m not going to let that happen, Dean. I promise…I’ll do everything I can to help you hold on to your humanity…And teach you to hide it.”
“Why? Why would you do that? Why do you want me to be more human than demon?”
Bethany reached out hesitantly; sliding her hand to the side of his face, she caressed his strong jaw. Leaning towards him ever so slightly; she brushed her lips lightly over his. When he didn’t try to move away, she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. Breaking off the embrace, she gazed into his green orbs, a shy smile on her face. “Any more questions?”
Dean shook his head. Wrapping his arms around her, he brought her close to him, capturing her lips with his own.
In the motel, Dean moaned softly in his sleep, a small smile softening his stoic features. As he dreamed, the youngest Winchester kept watch over him.
She was acutely aware of the entity that held her body hostage - it felt oily, dirty. And she wanted it out. Since the uninvited guest had pushed its way down her throat, she had fought it within her own mind, pushing and struggling with all her strength, but to no avail. Defeated for the moment, she had slipped further into her subconscious to wait and plan her next attack. She had every intention of regaining control over her body. This whatever-it-was wasn't going to stop her. She just needed time to figure things out.
Kimberly was a quick learner, and she never gave up. Through trial and error, she was finally able to find a way to gain access to small areas of her body; seeing what it saw and hearing what it heard without being detected. Unfortunately the exertion quickly tired her, but she kept pushing, kept testing her limits. Now she hovered beneath the greasy surface of the entity's presence, listening intently, catching bits of the current conversation.
It made little sense. Demons? Angels? What was going on? Why did this thing want to kill angels, and why was it going after the Winchesters? And just who were the Winchesters, anyway?
The other was called Bethany. Kimberly had managed to intercept some of its thoughts, and her fear grew with that newfound knowledge. It was something she'd never felt this intensely before, not even when her parents had died when she was young. This was different - it was a fear for her own sanity. None of this could really be happening, her rational mind tried to tell her. Somewhere along the way, she must have had some kind of breakdown. Demons and angels weren't real. But this - this felt real. She could feel the thing slither through her thoughts and memories, taking what it needed. Raping her mind. And it was there that she found the Winchesters, and realised that she did in fact know them after all.
They hadn't used their real names when she had met them, but that didn't surprise her considering what they apparently did for a living. That ghost out on Bald Knob Lake Road hadn't fazed them in the least. The strangers seemed to know exactly how to handle the situation - obviously it was something they had dealt with before. And it was there on that dark road, waiting for Dean to return with the rescued boy, that she had first encountered the entity who now glided around her body like some obscene oil slick.
When the group had returned to her grandmother's Inn that night, she had tried to scream, to beg for the mens' help, but the dark thing wouldn't let her. She had heard it laughing in her head, and it was then that Kimberly knew she was on her own.
Now she found herself accepting the impossible - angels and demons were real. Watching the little girl in front of them, she mentally cringed at the far from innocent expression on the child's face and the uttered words that were way beyond her years. The girl's essence was trapped inside that body somewhere, she realised, just as she was trapped in her own. The sick feeling that the thought evoked only fuelled her determination. She had to find a way to prevent this Bethany from achieving her goal. But first, she had to somehow regain control of the body that she had always taken for granted.
And it had to be soon.
jessalyn - March 19, 2009 01:55 AM (GMT)
So Dean was intimate with Beth...oh dear...what did he do to make her so mad!
A woman scorned.........
I love the back story on the Unholy sword. Extremely original if I dare say so myself!
ANd I stll love Kimberly!
UPDATE SOON OR ELSE........
trickie - March 21, 2009 12:08 AM (GMT)
Jessalyn- thanks...alot of work went into the story behind the dagger. Hmm What did Dean do to make her mad? lol Probably just being Dean...No seriuosly, you'll find out soon...probably not this chapter though.
Jules - As always thanks for everything. Your help and support is greatly apreciated.
To you lurkers :wave I hope you're enjoying the story. :)
Warning: May contain violence/torture scenes, language and spoilers.
Okay are we ready? Away we go....
Closing the laptop, Sam sighed in frustration. There was nothing unusual going on as far as he could tell, so there was no reason for Uriel to be around. He glanced at the clock, then turned to watch his sleeping brother. It was well past midnight, and Dean was still in the same position he had been in when Sam had returned with their evening meal. Rubbing weary eyes, Sam switched off the TV and crawled into his own bed, expecting Dean would be up bright and early, anxious to find another job and move on.
He was in a dusty room. Turning slowly, he looked around him, taking in the high ceilings and the stained-glass windows. The window to his right depicted the Madonna and child, and to his left the Archangel Michael. Looking straight ahead, he saw the marble Crucifix; the feet of the Saviour shining with a dark red stain. Swallowing hard he stepped closer, reaching out to lightly rub his fingers over the dark pool. He snapped his hand away quickly, feeling the sticky wetness of the blood; and wiped his hand across his jeans.
Laughter echoed around him, chilling him to the bone. Drawing a steadying breath, he walked past the statue and entered the room behind. He could hear a voice and paused, trying to place the familiarity of it. With silent steps, he pushed forward. Suddenly he froze; his stomach clenched, then heaved at the scene before him.
A woman stood over an elderly man, a knife poised over his open chest, blood pooling around them. She raised her head and smiled. “Hello, Sam.” she purred, pushing her copper hair from her brow.
“Kimberly?” Sam stood transfixed, unsure if he was dreaming or having a vision. Why would he be seeing the young police officer carving up an old man?
“Oh, Sammy,” the woman giggled. “It’s not a dream. Before you start trying to figure out how you can stop this, you can’t.” Stepping over the body, she made her way towards him. “You see…You’re watching in real time, Sammy. You can’t save Father Donovan here. Too little - too late.” Kimberly moved closer to Sam, placing a bloodied hand on his chest, leaving a crimson stain on his white tee shirt.
“Why are you doing this?” Pushing her away, Sam started towards the injured man.
“Oh, you know how it is…I needed a pure heart. He was here…Opportunity knocked.” She looked up at Sam with black eyes. “So I answered.”
“Who are you?” Sam demanded.
“That… is for another time.” Glaring angrily, Bethany put her hand up. “Tell your brother I said Hi.”
Sam felt himself falling…
Feeling a weight on his arms, Sam growled low in his throat and pushed at the restraint with all his strength. His arms were released, followed by a resounding thud and a series of loudly spoken curses.
“Damnit, Sam. Wake up!”
Snapping his eyes open, Sam found Dean flat on the floor between the two beds, the bedside lamp illuminating his face. He looked sheepishly at the elder Winchester, slowly becoming aware of the situation.
“What the hell was that all about?” Dean questioned, getting to his feet.
“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “Bad dream?”
Dean scowled at his sibling. “A bad dream…” He nodded as he spoke. “You were screaming, ‘Who are you’ over and over again. What have I told you about watching CSI before bed?”
“Dean…” Sam huffed, getting up.
“Is that blood?” Dean demanded, staring at Sam’s chest. “Is it yours? What the hell happened?”
Following the elder man’s gaze, Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the bloody handprint. “But it was a dream…” he said softly, touching the print on his shirt. It was still wet. “I don’t understand…It was just a dream.”
“You better tell me about this dream,” Dean replied grimly, pulling his gaze from the soiled shirt to his brother’s ashen face.
Bethany entered the old church without a sound, not even her footfalls were heard. Scanning the room, she fought the almost overwhelming urge to leave the Holy place; she came to do a job and do it she would. She gazed at the intricately painted windows, and turned away with a shake of her head.
The priest stood at the front of the church, his back to her as he dusted the statue of the crucified Jesus, humming a hymn under his breath. Stepping up behind the man of God, she tapped his shoulder, and dropped a mask of innocence over her features.
He spun around, startled by the silent visitor. Seeing the young woman, he smiled amicably. “Hello, can I help you?”
“Maybe,” Bethany murmured demurely. “At least I hope you can, Father Donovan.”
Bowing his head slightly he asked, “Do I know you?”
“No, I don’t think you do,” she whispered. Twirling her copper hair around her finger, she tilted her head to the side. “But you could.” Moving closer to him, she stroked his clean-shaven face. “We could get to know each other very, very well.” Bethany slid her arms around his neck, pressing her body against the older man. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his heart quicken. Smiling seductively, she snuggled closer.
Raymond Donovan had been a priest for well over thirty years, and never had he been accosted like this before. As the initial shock began to fade, he quickly launched into action. Gripping the girl’s arm gently but firmly, he pushed her away, his grey eyes studying her in astonishment. Unable to find the right words, he shook his head sadly at the woman before him. What could possibly cause a beautiful young girl to behave like that? Throw herself at a man of God?
“What’s the matter, Father?” she questioned, her brown eyes sparkling in amusement.
“This…this is wrong,” he stammered. “I am a man of God.”
Slowly, Bethany trailed a hand along his arm, stopping at his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “No one has to know.”
Father Donovan shoved her from him forcefully, looking at her in disgust. “God would know…I would know.” He staggered back, watching her alertly.
“To Hell with God,” the demon spat.
The old priest looked stricken, silently making the sign of the cross in the air. Such blasphemy within the church. He knew it was his job to help those who needed God’s word, but he doubted this one could be reached. The girl laughed at him, a sinister sound that shot fear into his old heart.
“Tell me old man,” Bethany snickered. “Does your God protect you? Does he keep you safe?”
“Of course…God protects all His children.” Father Donovan fell silent as she laughed again.
“We both know that isn’t true,” she smirked. “But let’s test that theory.” Stepping forward, she closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them to reveal the soulless black orbs of a demon. The woman smiled as the old priest backed away from her, a barely audible whimper caught in his throat. “You have nothing to fear. Remember, God will protect you.” Bethany trailed the old priest as he ran to the rectory in the back of the church.
He heard her footsteps as she followed and hurried his pace. Reaching the entry, Father Donovan pushed through to his private rooms, slamming and locking the door behind him.
“Not very nice,” Bethany called from the other side. Narrowing her eyes, she stretched out her hand as she concentrated her power. The door blew off its hinges, falling inwards and crashing to the floor. She quickly scanned the room, finding her prey standing at an old desk, trembling hands leafing through an ancient book.
“I know what you are,” the priest cried, fighting to keep the fear from his tone. “You’re the spawn of Hell!”
Rubbing her hands together, the young demon looked thoughtfully at the old priest. “No…Not really.” She shook her head. “That’s what everyone says you know…But really I’m the spawn of man. Hell just adopted me.”
Father Donovan returned his gaze to the book in his hands, searching through the Latin text for the verse he needed, no longer keeping watch on the abomination. Bethany crossed the room and had her hand wrapped around the elder man’s throat before he had time to turn the page. Uttering a strangled gasp, he dropped the book to the floor, staring wide-eyed at the girl.
“Do you value life, Father?” Bethany intoned. “More importantly, do you value your life?” He tried to pry her hand from his throat, fixing her with a watery gaze as he nodded frantically. Removing her hand from his throat, she smiled. “Very good, old man. We have some business to discuss.”
“What do you want from me?” Father Donovan croaked. “I have nothing to offer you.”
“Maybe you don’t…but the church does. There is a box here…An old wooden box with some very ancient carvings on it.” She could see the light of recognition in his eyes. “Ahh yes. You know what I‘m talking about. Good. I want it…Now.”
The priest lowered his head and began to pray in earnest. He knew the box she referred to, and vowed he would die rather than pass it into evil hands.
“Give me that damned box,” Bethany glowered, barely containing her anger. The man continued to pray, his voice growing louder. Releasing an enraged howl, she grabbed Father Donovan, flinging him effortlessly into the wall. She knelt beside him, the light in the room reflecting in her ebony eyes. “You will give me the box…Or you will die! Then I’ll tear this church down wall by damned wall until I find it.” Still the priest continued to pray.
Taking a deep breath, the demon smiled, and without touching the man, she forced him to look up at her. “You don’t care about your life. You don’t care about the church. Huh,” she mused aloud, tapping a finger on her chin. “What would a priest care about? How would I get him to cooperate?” Slowly, Bethany began to pace, deep in thought. After a few moments she snapped her fingers and crouched next to the Father. “Your flock…” she murmured. “Here’s what I have to offer. You give me the box, your congregation lives.” Gripping his chin between thumb and index finger, she looked into his terrified eyes. “You don’t give me what I want…I start killing off your precious flock…Starting with the youngest.”
Father Donovan nodded stiffly, tear-filled eyes watching the woman. “Okay, fine.” There was no doubt in his mind that the monster in front of him would do precisely what she threatened. He slowly got to his feet, avoiding the evil being as he trudged back into the main room of the church. Stopping at the base of the statue, he settled to his knees, fingers quickly working the side of the base free. The priest dropped the loose board to the floor next to him and reached beneath the statue.
Bethany crouched next to the priest, gazing at the symbols on the inner side of loosened board, her lips twitching into a mirthless smile. “Bet the Winchesters have never seen these symbols,” she said quietly. “Old school white magic? In a church no less.” She cast a questioning glance at the priest, shrugging when he didn’t answer. “No matter.” Her gaze shot back to the symbols. She didn’t recognize all of them, but the few she did sent shivers down her spine. It was a good thing she didn’t kill the old priest, or she wouldn’t have been able to get past the symbols.
Keeping his eyes partially averted, Father Donovan watched the entity discreetly. Seeing that she was engrossed in the symbols, he reached behind the small wooden box, his fingers wrapping around a small vial nestled in the tiny space. He brought his hand to his lap, removed the cork from the glass vessel and swung around, splashing the sweet-smelling liquid on the demon.
Jumping to her feet, Bethany screamed in agony. She stared in shock at the smouldering skin on her hand and arm, smoke rising from where the fluid had made contact. Tugging her blouse off, she wiped at the droplets, tears streaming from her eyes. The more she tried to rub it off, the more it burned, seeping into her flesh. Glaring angrily at the man, she flicked her hand in his direction, raising him into the air before tossing him hard against the statue. Blood flowed from Father Donovan’s head, pooling on the feet of Christ.
“You’ll pay for this, you miserable son of a bitch!” Bethany screeched. Levitating the old man into the air again, she picked up the vial he had dropped. She held it up, looking at the liquid before placing it in her pocket. Thankfully the priest had taken the time to recap it after the assault. She glanced up at the man hovering above her. “What is that stuff? It sure wasn‘t Holy water.”
Raymond Donovan remained silent as he fixed his gaze on the face of the statue, wondering if it was possible to give himself Last Rites. Murmuring softly, he began confessing his transgressions, begging the Heavenly Father for final forgiveness. The sixty-three year old man knew in his heart that this was his last day on Earth.
Bethany reached under the statue and pulled out the wooden box, a triumphant smile lighting her face. Letting the priest drop to the floor, she motioned to the rectory. “After you,” she cooed. The old man led the way, the demon following close behind humming cheerily to herself.
“Was it a vision?” Dean asked, setting a mug of steaming coffee in front of his brother.
Sam raised his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. “It didn’t feel like a vision…It didn’t feel like a dream either.” He rubbed his temple, his hazel eyes looking to Dean for answers. “Even if it was a vision…How the hell did I get the blood on my shirt?”
“That’s the million dollar question,” Dean replied, sitting in the chair across from his baby brother. “You said Kimberly was killing some old dude in a church?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam huffed in frustration. “A priest, Dean. She was possessed and killed a priest - in his church.”
“Kimberly? The cop chick?” Dean questioned again.
“Yes…The cop from Bald Knob. Apparently she kills Catholic priests in her spare time,” Sam grumbled.
“Huh.” The older hunter leaned back in his chair. “But you don’t think it’s a vision, and you woke up with blood on your shirt where she touched you.”
Raking a hand through his dark hair, Sam glared at his brother. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times. I don’t know what it means…”
“I think we need to find Kimberly for starters.” Putting the mug to his mouth, Dean took a swallow of the strong brew before adding. “And I think the sooner the better…Just in case this was one of your freaky visions.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Sam replied half-heartedly, his mind wandering in a continuous loop. It had seemed so real, he had felt the blood when he’d touched the statue, the warmth of Kimberly’s hand when she’d touched him. None of his visions had ever had this kind of interaction; it was as if he was actually there. Something was really off, and he didn’t know how to explain it.
“Pack your crap, Sammy,” Dean cut into his thoughts, rising from the chair.
“Where are we going?” the younger man asked, bewildered. “We don’t know where she is.”
Rinsing the cup, Dean set it in the sink then turned to face his brother. “I guess we start where we met her…” Dean smirked. “We’re going to Bald Knob.”
“Before going half-cocked in the wrong direction, give me a couple hours to try to find Father Donovan,” Sam sighed, opening the laptop.
“You got a first name? Cause I think it may be hard tracking someone with last name only.” Dean crossed the room, picking up his bag.
“Just a couple hours, Dean,” Sam responded, with a quick glance at his watch. “It’s not even six-thirty yet. Why don’t you go pick up some breakfast?”
Tossing clothes into the duffle, Dean sighed. “Fine. It would be easier to just get something on the road…But fine.” He dropped the bag on the bed, and reached for his car keys.
Bethany leaned back in the seat of the blue sedan, watching the older Winchester climb into the Impala and leave the parking lot. Rubbing her temples, she straightened, her lips curling into a strained smile - the youngest was alone. Her hand found the door handle, pulling the lever; she shouldered the door open and stepped from the car. Gasping in pain, Bethany gripped her head in both hands, bending over at the waist as the essence of Kimberly rallied against her.
Inhaling deeply, the demon gathered her strength and pushed at the soul, trying to block it from the forefront of her mind. She was starting to think the job would be harder than originally anticipated, especially after she had taken the dagger from the box. Lillith had told her that in order for her to use the knife she would first have to face her greatest foe. What the ancient entity neglected to tell her was her greatest enemy was herself - her own memories. Memories from Hell and from before - everything she had done - living and dead. And if her life and afterlife wasn’t bad enough, she had to contend with Kimberly’s recollections as well.
Straightening, Bethany slammed the car door and leaned against the fender, resting her hands on the hood. There was a lot that Lillith had forgotten to mention - not that it would’ve mattered. Bethany was determined to get her revenge - her own survival wasn’t necessary. However, the little obstacle of not being able to leave the meat suit did cause a problem. She had felt it the moment it had happened, the shared memories being the catalyst that had bound her to the body.
Deciding to deal with that little technicality later, she pushed away from the car and crossed the road, walking towards the motel and the loan Winchester inside.
jessalyn - March 21, 2009 12:20 AM (GMT)
Men.......Bethany is so baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!
Poor Father D.
And I wonder why she appeared to Sam and what she wants with him.
trickie - March 24, 2009 01:06 PM (GMT)
jessalyn- :wave Good to see your sticking with me. Yeah, poor Father Donovan. Bethany isn't the most friendly being. :rolleyes: As requested here is the update with that scene lol
Jules- as slways, thanks so much for hanging in there through my typos and duh moments. :hug
Hi to all the silent readers out there. I hope you are enjoying the ride. B)
Warning: Contains rather graphic torture scenes, language.
Here we go.
Dean pushed through the door, quickly scanning the empty diner before taking a seat at the counter. Turning from the coffee pot, the middle-aged waitress pushed the strands of ash blond hair from her brow. She smiled at the young hunter before picking up a menu and laying it in front of him.
Opening the menu, Dean returned her smile, dropping his gaze to her nametag before speaking. “So Carol, what’s good today?”
“Everything of course,” the waitress replied, snatching a cup and saucer from the overhead shelf. “Shawn - our cook - is running a little late this morning. Would you like a coffee while you wait?” Carol set the cup on the counter, picking up the coffee pot when he nodded his assent. “He should be here soon,” she assured him, pouring the aromatic liquid into the mug.
Dean looked up from the menu, and with a quick thanks to the woman he raised the cup to his lips. Hearing the door open, the hunter glanced over his shoulder at the two elderly men entering the diner.
“Hey Archie…Bud,” Carol called, setting out two mugs. “Having the usual today?”
Passing a cursory glance at Dean, the aging men sat at the counter. “Yup, the usual,” the larger of the two answered.
“How about you, hon?” the waitress asked the younger man, pen poised over her order pad. “You know what you want?”
“Yeah,” Dean answered, closing the menu. “I’ll take egg and sausage sandwich, a side of bacon, an order of blueberry pancakes and two coffees…to go.”
“Okay,” Carol smiled, jotting down the order. A thump resounding from the kitchen alerted the small group to the cook’s presence. “And that commotion would be the great Shawn,” the woman said with a wave of her hand. “It’ll be a few minutes, hon. You want a refill on that coffee?”
Dean slid the empty mug across the counter. “That would be great.” He smiled warmly. “I’m gonna go sit in one of the booths.” Taking the refreshed coffee, the hunter slid into a corner booth, listening to the quiet ramblings of the diner patrons.
The din of the eating establishment eased Dean with its sense of familiarity and he found himself gazing out the window, reflecting on the earlier events. For the first time in weeks, he hadn’t relived the torturous nightmares when he had closed his eyes. He had dreamt of a different part of his life in Hell, a part he had tried to bury along with the visions of blood and anguish.
Closing his eyes, the young hunter could see her strawberry blond curls, her passionate amber eyes and that devil-may-care smile she sported defiantly. Beth. His cohort and partner in crime. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean opened his eyes, willing his thoughts in a different direction. He didn’t want to think about her, he didn’t want to relive the things they had done together when he had finally accepted his fate - accepted her.
Dean jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, whipping his head around to face the person intruding on his private reveries. Seeing the harried waitress holding his bagged order, he smiled sheepishly.
“Sorry, hon,” she spoke softly. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Your order is ready.”
“That’s okay,” Dean responded, standing to retrieve his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. Glancing at the bill attached to the take-out bag, he counted out the money, leaving a considerable tip. He passed the cash to Carol, and took the paper bag from her hand. With a thin-lipped smile and a quick nod, the green-eyed Winchester left the small diner.
Sliding behind the wheel of the black classic, Dean closed the door, tossing the take-out onto the seat beside him as he leaned forward to slip the key into the ignition. He heard her laugh before the smells assaulted his senses. Swallowing thickly, he dropped his hand from the ignition and waited, his heart pounding against his ribs. The experience from the previous day had taught him that there would be no avoiding what was about to come; there was nothing he could do to prevent the nightmares. He couldn’t fight it - he was too weak.
The laughter echoed in the interior of the Impala, invading his sanctuary, proving there was no escape. His own mind was turning traitor, taking away the security he had always felt in his baby - his safe haven becoming his prison.
Dean unfastened the straps that had held the soul to the table, before pushing the lifeless slab to the floor. Raising his head, he cast a quick glance around the room, calling to his subordinate, “Clean up - aisle one!” He grabbed the rag from his tray, swiftly wiping up the pool of blood while he waited for the minion to take the meat away.
He heard the approach of the creature long before it had entered his peripheral vision and shook his head in disgust. The grey gelatinous mass slithered to the body, leaving a slimy slug-like trail in its wake, its black eyes showing no hint of intelligence. Dean shuddered, his gaze fixed on the creature, its blobbed form reminding him of cold, congealed gravy.
Watching the viscous creature slowly schlep away, with the carcass in tow, Dean failed to see any humanoid signs. It didn’t have any kind of recognizable limbs, and it oozed across the floor. The sludge-man could create limbs to grasp with, then return them into its mass, leaving no discernible features. Dean didn’t care what Beth said, there was no way that thing was once human.
Bethany had called the lowly creatures Sludge-men and Jell-O-boys, curling her pert nose in revulsion. When he had asked where the creatures had come from, she was more than willing to share the information. The giant masses of goo were once souls - souls that had gone insane, losing touch with everything they once were. In the living world, they would have been catatonic, but here there were no such luxuries. Instead, the mindless creatures became slaves, cleaning up behind those who had remained intact.
Not all souls who had lost their grip became Sludge-men; some kept their form and remembered parts of what - or who they once were. These were the chaos demons, wrecking havoc for no other reason than the pleasure it gave them. Fighting amongst themselves and the mortals topside, chaos demons thrived on confusion and pain.
Returning his attention to his workstation, the young tormenter prepared for the next victim to arrive. His thoughts straying to the woman he had become very fond of, Dean turned in her direction, smiling while he waited for the petite blonde to notice him.
Bethany stood a few feet away, finishing the job in front of her before looking up to meet his gaze. Reading the unspoken message in his green eyes, her face lit up in a radiant smile. The past two years they had been inseparable, much to Alastair’s dismay. The young pre-demon knew that the head torturer had wanted Dean to finish turning her, to complete the transformation that she had somehow held at bay. Instead, unknown to Alastair, she had encouraged Dean to hold onto his own humanity.
Wiping bloodied hands across the back of her jeans, she sauntered to her tutor’s side. “So,” she murmured. Leaning across the man who had been dropped onto Dean’s bench, she strapped his arms to the table. “I hear you got privacy privileges tonight.”
Nodding, Dean restrained the soul’s legs. “Yeah. I heard you’re on crap detail.” Standing, he looked into her eyes, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face. “What’d you do this time?”
The torture rooms ran twenty-four, seven, with no rest for the weary, condemned souls. Because of the never-ending bloodletting, the stone floors had to be hosed down regularly or they’d be standing in blood, guts and excrement ankle deep. Usually, lackeys - newly released from the racks, handled the hosing of the various chambers. Sometimes, the chore was handed out as a reprimand, for mild disobedience. Which Bethany seemed inclined to on a habitual basis.
Ignoring his question, Beth smiled smugly, tilting her head. “What would you say if I told you I got out of it?”
“You did?” Dean asked, green orbs shining impishly. “How’d you swing that?”
“Well, I offered a few favours…I’ll be working crap detail for a few days.” The woman shrugged happily. “It’ll be worth it.”
Sobering, Dean observed the girl intently. “What about Alastair. You know he won’t go for you getting out of your punishment.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Bethany laughed. “He got summoned - Topside.” She tried to suppress her giggles, picturing the head of the torture chambers being forced to walk on the surface. He was one of the few demons she had met who actually enjoyed Hell and the positions they held there. “So you know as well as I do, he’s gonna be pissed when he gets back anyway.”
Momentarily forgetting about the man on his worktable, the young butcher pulled the girl into a warm embrace. Stooping considerably, Dean rested his chin on top of the much shorter figure’s head. “Damn girl,” he muttered softly. “You keep going the way you are, and Alastair will put that cute ass of yours right back on the rack.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she moved to see his face. “Mmmm…but you wouldn’t let that happen would you?” Beth smiled affectionately at the tall man. “You’re my knight in shining armour.”
Dean groaned, stepping back from the mutual hug. “I got you out of it once,” he replied, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t work a second time.”
Beth touched his hand, becoming serious. “You know I try, right?” she asked hesitantly. “Sometimes my mouth goes before my brain kicks in…but I’m trying.”
The former demon hunter’s lips twitched into a half smile. He knew she was trying; even more so since their talk a few months ago, when Dean had vowed he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. Promising he would always be there to keep her safe and remind her to shut her pie-hole when need be. “I know… Just try to count before you say anything, maybe your brain’ll kick in by the time you hit ten.”
Flashing a bright smile, Beth stepped back, a challenging glint in her amber eyes. “So…Let the competition begin.” Without waiting for his response, she returned to her workstation and the fresh soul hanging nearby.
Dean approached the man confined to the table, chuckling softly to himself. The challenge had been made, now he had to step up to the plate. It was a game they had started a long time ago. Whenever they were about to have time off together, they’d compete to see who got the best screams from their victims. The winner got to choose their leisure activities. So far, he was the reigning champion, and he intended to keep it that way.
Gathering the items he needed, the young tyrant set to work fastening the metal implements to the soul’s legs. The apparatus ran from knee to ankle, the metal wedges designed to crush the bones beneath the skin on impact. Smiling, Dean picked up the maul. Hefting the weight, he slammed the large hammer repeatedly onto the metal plates. Feeding on the agonized screams as if it was his last meal, the sadist continued until he grew tired, and the screams of his victim became hoarse.
Dean dropped the heavy hammer to the floor and wiped the sweat from his brow. Hearing a blood-curdling scream, he turned to survey Bethany’s station. Her strawberry blond head was bent over the woman as she murmured something in the soul’s ear. When Beth stood, Dean released an involuntary gasp. In her hands she cradled a large rat, calmly rubbing the fur between its eyes with the tip of one finger.
He watched transfixed, unable to turn from the grotesque scene. The amber-eyed tormentor sat the rat on the woman’s stomach before covering it with a metal bowl. Using tongs, Beth picked up the hot coals, lining the outside of the dish.
Shaking off his stupor, Dean called to his companion. “What are you doing with a freakin’ rat?”
Beth smiled, casting a glance over her shoulder. “You’ll see…I bet this chick will scream her fool head off.”
Despite his aversion to rats, Dean found himself deeply intrigued by the method his fellow torturer was using. Inhaling deeply, he moved closer to Beth’s station, keeping an eye on the dish in case the rodent should escape. He soon realized his concern was unwarranted. The bowl was securely fastened - the rat had only one way out.
“Jesus, Beth,” he breathed, drawing a little closer while she continued placing hot coals on the metal container. They could hear the muted cries of the rat as the metal heated, making the rodent uncomfortable. A split second before the woman bound to the table screamed, Dean was sure he heard a wet chewing sound. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked at Beth. “I am sooo glad you weren’t here when I was on the rack.” Running a hand across his mouth, he shook his head at the female butcher. Turning towards his table, Dean paused. “By the way…that don’t count,” he said with a smirk.
“What do you mean it don’t count?” Bethany demanded, heatedly. “A scream is a scream.”
“Oh no. You have to make her scream…” the green -eyed man responded. “Not the rat. I’ll be damned if I’ll spend my free time hanging out with a rat.” Laughing at her outraged expression, he returned to the barely conscious man on his own worktable.
Removing the apparatus, Dean grinned, his eyes shining coldly. The soul’s legs had been reduced to little more than flesh. The bones had completely disintegrated beneath the skin that hung flaccidly around the muscle and blood beneath. Advancing to the head of the table, Dean looked into the face of his victim, noting the vitality in the suffering man’s eyes. Good, Dean thought to himself. There was still fight in the tortured soul, giving Dean more time to play.
“Have you ever seen one of these?” the tormentor asked, holding an odd shaped device. “It’s kinda similar to what I did to your legs…but it goes on your head.” The brief flash of terror in the soul’s eyes revitalized the young torturer and he hummed a [I]Metallica tune while he hooked up the instrument. “You wanna know the coolest thing about this? Beth said that if it’s done just right… your eyes will pop right out…What do you think, wanna try?” Dean was more interested in a hands on approach, but he had found that inducing fear heightened the senses. Then they really squirmed.
After tightening the helmet part of the skull crushing apparatus, Dean selected his favourite blade. Moving to stand at the foot of the table, he whistled cheerily. There were some lacerations on the soul’s legs where the skin had split, blood and sinewy cords left exposed. Deftly, he wielded the knife, slicing into the loose folds of skin, poking and prodding at the mass of ligaments and tendons. He slowly made his way along the entire surface of the body, removing all skin, cutting tendons and any other object that caught his interest. Losing track of time, he heard only the screams and pleas of the soul as he quenched his morbid curiosity.
Hearing a sudden squeal, Dean looked up. Bethany stood laughing, pushing her hair behind her ear while gazing at the floor. He looked at the woman on the table. Her mouth was wide and slightly chewed - the rat had escaped. Dean’s heart skipped a beat. Peering at the surface around his feet, he hoped the missing rat wasn‘t anywhere near his station.[/I]
“I say forget about demon-boy and let whatever happens happen,” the dark-skinned divine being grumbled.
“You know our orders.” Castiel shot him a contemptuous look. “Sam is in danger…I can sense his apprehension. I can’t tell if the demon is with him or not.”
Uriel grunted. “Why are we wasting our time with him?”
“There is no time to argue,” Castiel admonished. “You will obey orders.”
“I still think we’d be better off to let him die,” Uriel muttered darkly. Seeing the anger in the other angel’s face, the specialist reluctantly conceded, “It’s against my better judgement…but orders are orders.” With an angry nod, Uriel turned to the motel, to protect a man he’d rather see dead.
Castiel watched his companion for a moment, praying the angel didn’t let his own feelings impede their mission. Sighing, the weary Angel of the Lord went in search of the elder Winchester.
jessalyn - March 24, 2009 09:18 PM (GMT)
:clap :clap :clap :clap :clap
jayess - March 25, 2009 12:01 AM (GMT)
I have two words:
Goodness me. :o :( :unsure: :blink: :thud
Amazing work, really anxious for more...
p.s. sorry haven't reviewed in a while, been a little busy but wow, three chaps in 1 go to catch up on. :lol:
trickie - March 31, 2009 08:40 PM (GMT)
jessalyn- thank you, thank you very much :lol: *curtsies prettily*
julie - Hey you're back. I missed you :hug Hmm.. and what can I say to your two words? Ummm...more to come? :blink:
jules- thanks for everything (hope you're feeling better)
And a big shout out to the silent readers, Hi :wave
Warning: Violence and language.
So let's see how things are with our boys now, :evil
Sam was in the bathroom when he heard someone in the main room. Leaning back slightly, he called over his shoulder, “Be right out.” He quickly finished with his business and turned to wash his hands. “You were right,” he called again. “I couldn’t pinpoint Father Donovan.” Drying his hands, the young hunter moved towards the door, wondering why his brother hadn’t made any smart-assed comments in reply.
Opening the door, Sam continued talking without turning to look at the person in the room. “So I called Nana…and she doesn’t know where Kimberly is. She went missing right after we left…” His voice trailed off as he moved to the kitchen area, his gaze falling on the possessed Kimberly instead of his older brother.
“How the hell did you get in here?” Sam sputtered, turning his head to examine the salt lines, noticing the line in front of the door had been disturbed.
She smiled coldly, her eyes taking on an odd colour, not quite brown and not quite black - a strange swirling mixture of the two. “A police badge comes in handy… I just flashed it to the manager and he let me in. Of course when he unlocked the door, he opened it for me…Breaking your protective little line.” The demon quickly crossed the room. Coming to a halt in front of Sam; she slid her hand across his face. “I’ve heard so much about you, Sam,” she murmured, lightly tapping his cheek.
“Really,” the hunter replied, feigning disinterest. “And what have you heard?” Taking a step back, Sam narrowed his hazel orbs. “Oh let me guess…I was supposed to lead some stupid demon army, and when I refused, Lillith stepped up and now she wants my head on a stick…And you’re gonna give it to her.”
Bethany laughed softly. “I don’t give a flying f**k about Lillith…Or your supposed demon expelling abilities.” She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t really want to kill you. But I may have to…for my own personal reasons.”
Sam quickly scanned the area, trying to remember if Dean had taken the demon-killing knife with him or if it was somewhere in the room. He walked casually towards the beds - and the weapons bag. “Personal reasons, huh?” Sam asked, trying to keep the demon talking and distracted. “What did I ever do to you?”
Beth quirked an eyebrow, watching the young hunter in amusement. He obviously thought he had her fooled with his innocent act, but then, he didn’t know whom he was dealing with. She waited until Sam sat on the bed; discreetly trying to grasp the bag, then flicked her wrist, slamming him against the wall before letting him drop to the floor.
Sam scrambled to his feet, anger burning in his hazel eyes. He was getting damned tired of being flung around like yesterdays trash. Every time he and his brother encountered a supernatural entity, he ended up being slammed into a wall - ground - whatever hard surface was available. The youngest Winchester raised his head to glare at the demon, clenching his fists at his sides.
The being wearing Kimberly Richards’ meat smiled at the raging man. She could feel him gathering his energy - planning to use his powers against her. Lifting her hand, palm facing the young hunter, she flexed her mental muscles and pinned Sam to the wall.
Bethany surveyed the room, unhappy with the sparse furnishings. The room contained two beds, a very unsteady card table, a couple kitchen chairs and a small TV sitting on a rickety looking stand. Not much to work with at all, none of the chairs looked strong enough to hold the angry Sam Winchester. And for what she had planned, he needed to be securely restrained.
Keeping a portion of her thoughts on maintaining her psychic hold on the tall hunter, the young demon studied the beds, nodding her approval at the solid head and footboards. They would do nicely; she was accustomed to her participants being horizontal anyway.
Returning her attention to the man against the wall, she flashed a menacing smile. “So, do you feel like cooperating or will I have to use force?”
“Go to Hell,” Sam growled, struggling against the invisible bonds.
Bethany clapped her hands gleefully. “Oh goody,” she gushed. “I love it when my clientele have spunk.” Her brown-black eyes sparkled. “It makes the game so much more fun…” Turning, the demon beckoned with her hand. The young hunter felt his body move forward, gliding across the dingy carpeting towards the bed closest to the door - Dean’s bed.
Once she got the youngest Winchester lying on the bed, Beth looked down at the figure thoughtfully. Pursing her lips, she reached her hands forward, nimbly unbuckling the belt at his waist. Sam automatically withdrew trying to push his body further into the bed and away from the demon’s touch. His eyes widened when he felt his belt loosened and pulled through the loops of his jeans.
Feeling the young man tense, Beth deposited the belt on the bed and turned to see his face, her grim lips moving into an amused smile when she realized what the hunter was thinking. She gently ran her fingertips along his jaw and down his neck, stopping at the collar of his tee shirt. With a wink, she grasped the garment in both hands, ripping it open to expose his muscular torso.
“What are you doing?” Sam gasped, struggling to shift his body away from her touch. He could move everything but his arms and legs, which were restrained against the head and footboards - psychically tied.
“Just relax,” Beth cooed, lightly dragging her fingernails from his chest to his abdomen. She could feel the young man’s heart ramming into overdrive as he dug into the core of his being, focussing on removing the invisible bonds.
Snatching up the leather belt, the dark entity moved to the headboard. She gripped his right wrist firmly and quickly fastened it to the wood frame. Satisfied that he couldn’t slip free, Beth reached for the destroyed tee shirt. Realizing Sam’s arms were still in the sleeves, she slid her hand under the pillow and found Dean’s knife, triumphantly pulling it free
Sam stared at Beth, his jaw dropping in surprise. She had reached beneath the pillow in total confidence, expecting the blade to be there - but how had she known Dean kept his knife there?
Using the older brother’s Bowie knife, the demon made quick work of the cloth, freeing it from Sam’s arms and tearing it into strips. She now had what she needed to finish securing the hunter to the bed.
After using the makeshift straps to confine the youngest Winchester, Bethany released her psychic hold and sagged wearily onto the bed next to him. Looking at him, she sighed. “Do you happen to have a pen, marker or perhaps some ochre? Ochre would be better…”
Sam raised his head, staring at the demon incredulously - she was clearly insane. The bitch had just tied him to the bed, then casually requested writing materials. With an inward groan, the hunter dropped his head back on the pillow, refusing to answer.
Shrugging, Beth tugged her lip pensively before tilting her head and speaking. “You’re right…I shouldn’t use inks or ochre. That’d be so….temporary.” She leaned in until her face was mere inches from the young man’s. “We should have something permanent, that way there will be no future surprises.” Pausing, the demon regarded him sadly. “Still, it’ll be a pity to mar that pretty forehead…” Sitting back, she picked up Dean’s knife, thinking of the irony - Dean’s weapon being used on his precious baby brother. She placed the tip of the blade on Sam’s forehead, over the third eye.
Sam flinched, feeling the point of cold steel against his skin, and drew in a steadying breath. The demon smiled down at him, almost sadly, while applying just enough pressure to break the skin and draw blood. Hissing in pain, the young hunter turned away from the cutting blade, feeling the warm trickle of blood as it flowed to the surface.
“Don’t move…” Bethany whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you more than necessary, at least not yet.” She gripped his chin with pure demonic strength, pulling his head back and holding it in place.
“Why are you doing this,” Sam questioned, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“I did ask for a pen, remember,” the demon answered flippantly. “But you wouldn’t cooperate.” Sighing, she concentrated on the symbol she was painstakingly etching into the man’s forehead.
“What are you carving on me?” the young Winchester demanded, his jaw clenched against the sting of the blade.
“What…this?” she drawled innocently. “Just a little symbol to keep you put. I have to go get something from the car, and I can’t have you astral projecting to your brother.”
Sam stared at her in confusion. Astral projection?
Picking up a piece of the tee shirt she hadn’t used, she gently wiped the blood from his forehead. “I didn’t even know you were capable of astral projection…So many things you keep to yourself.” Shaking her head, she studied the symbol. “Then you popped in on me and Father Donovan - that‘s when I realized. You’re gathering quite a collection of abilities, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam,” the young man bit out, glaring defiantly at the copper-haired demon as he began to piece together what she was saying. What he had seen in the dark hours of the morning wasn’t a dream, or vision. He had somehow left his physical body - had actually been there, witnessing the death of the priest.
“So this little picture on your head will keep you in your body… And believe me, you’ll be screaming to be out of it before I’m done,” Beth continued, not acknowledging that he had spoken. Patting his shoulder apologetically, she stood up. “Now I just need to jump to the car for a minute…Don’t go away.”
Sam blinked and she vanished.
With the demon gone, and the threat of supernatural energies no longer hanging over his head, the youngest Winchester tugged at his restraints in earnest. He had to find a way to break free of his captor and find his brother. Sweat beaded on his brow, stinging the freshly carved wound. Turning his head, Sam tried to wipe the perspiration onto his upper arm, a faint gasp escaping his lips when the burning sensation increased on contact.
Sam shifted his body, trying to get a better view of the ties holding his extremities in place.
“Don’t be silly, you can’t get out of that…” Bethany stood at the foot of the bed, a wooden box clutched in her hands. “Just look at those knots, Sammy. I had a real good teacher. No one could tie better knots than The Flesher... And he taught me well.” Approaching the bed head, she placed the box on the nightstand before quickly checking Sam‘s bindings. “See? No getting out.”
“My name is Sam,” he snarled at the demon. His arms were beginning to ache, a dull throb from wrists to shoulders. He tried to relax, hoping to alleviate the strain on the muscles in his upper arms. Closing his eyes, he thought of his brother, wondering what was taking the older hunter so long. A chill travelled through his body as fear for his sibling took hold of his thoughts. Dean should’ve been back by now. Had something happened to him? What if this demon wasn’t working alone? His imagination began to kick in, images of his brother injured or worse flashing through his mind.
With renewed determination, the young hunter opened his eyes and pulled against the restraints. He gasped as the leather cut into his wrist, releasing a slick flow of blood. Sam stopped struggling, trying to create a different plan of escape. Breathing deeply, he convinced himself that his brother was fine and would be back soon and together they’d kick this demon’s ass.
Ignoring the actions of her hostage, the demon lowered herself to the floor between the beds before pulling the weapons bag into her lap. “To show you what else I learned, I’m going to need a few tools.” She slowly rifled through the bag, taking out the weapons that caught her interest. Hauling a handgun from the depths of the canvas carryall, Beth raised her gaze to her captive audience. “Guns are too impersonal, don’t you think?” Tossing the gun onto the floor, she dug deeper into the duffel.
Sighing, she dropped the knapsack to the floor and studied the tools she had selected. There were a few knives, a machete and very little else that would suit her needs. Shaking her head in disappointment, she got to her feet and began clearing off the bedside stand, leaving the box where it lay. The demon picked up the zippered shaving kit smiling as she looked at the items inside. The razor blades wouldn’t be much use unless she removed them from the handles, but if she remembered correctly, aftershave could hurt like a son of a bitch on an open wound.
Sam focussed on the possessed woman, his gaze following her every move while she arranged the weapons on the stand. The earlier fear for his brother was now matched by a growing sense of horror as he watched her meticulously examine each blade, checking sharpness and wiping them clean. The hunter swallowed hard, knowing what was coming next, and unable to stop it.
Beth picked up the lamp, intending to deposit it on the other bed, but the cord caught her attention. “How much power travels through these cords?” she asked Sam curiously. The young man’s face paled considerably, his wide hazel eyes staring at her in disbelief. The demon’s lips curled into an eerie smile. “I guess I have my answer…I would say a lot. Maybe even a painful amount?” Snickering, she pulled the plug from the wall and cut the cord from the base of the lamp. She peeled the plastic coating from the wires, then returned the plug to the outlet.
“This should be fun,” she murmured. “My teacher always said there are all kinds tools…one need only be creative and improvise…I guess he was right.” Laying the exposed wire on the nightstand, she picked up the Bowie knife and moved to Sam’s side. Starting at his ankle Beth ran the blade along the pantleg to the wastband, slicing easily through the denim, carefully avoiding his skin. Moving to the other side, she repeated the process.
Beth looked down at her victim solemnly. “Now, in order for me to get these jeans out of the way, I’m gonna need to cut the seams at the groin…Think you can hold still?” The demon moved to the middle of the bed, gently pulling the material away from his skin.
“Wait!” Sam shouted. “You can just pull them off… I’ll help. See?” The panicked man arched his back, lifting his bottom from the bed to enable the woman to tug the material free, leaving him in just his boxers. Closing his eyes, Sam took a deep breath; he had to find away to stall the demon at least until his brother came. And Dean would come, he always did. Granted he was really pressing his luck here - if Dean was waiting for the last minute rescue, the time had come.
The demon stood beside the bed, her gaze trailing the solid body of the youngest Winchester. She could finally say she had met them all, and after today she’d have tortured them all as well, and was saving the best for last. The most painful torture for the oldest Winchester boy would be to find his precious baby brother, carved and bleeding, barely holding on to the minuscule threads of his life.
Brushing the hair from her eyes, Beth brought the knife forward, pressing the blade into the hunter’s chest. Slowly, she ran the knife down his torso, stopping at his hip. The cut wasn’t deep; only a thin line of blood seeped to the surface. Listening to the barely audible whimper from the man on the bed, the woman smiled, inhaling a cleansing breath. Returning the blade to the starting point, she pressed a little harder, making a slightly deeper cut alongside the first. Halfway down Sam’s chest she halted abruptly, hearing a loud crack and the sound of splintering wood.
Bethany turned to face the door as it blew off its hinges to land on the table in the centre of the room. Her brown-black eyes widened in surprise when the dark man entered the room, his threatening glare focussed on her. In less than a second he was towering over her, his large hand against her head. The demon struggled to draw in a breath, the heart of the meat suit slowing to a dangerously low rate.
Fumbling slightly, her fingers grazed the lid of the box on the stand, but she couldn’t open it. Her thoughts were jumbled and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes and give into the darkness beyond her conciousness. Beth imagined the box in her mind, concentrating on what was inside. With a surge of desperation, she reached for it again. This time she got it open and grabbed the glass vial nestled inside. She quickly thumbed the cork from the top and being careful not to spill it on herself, she splashed the liquid into the dark man’s face.
The young hunter had raised his head when he heard the door practically blow apart, announcing the angel‘s arrival. Watching Uriel grab the demon and lay his hand on her head in his vanquishing grip, Sam felt a moment of relief and sagged against the restraints. The sudden baritone screams of agony shook the young man to the core of his being, his hazel eyes staring in shock as smoke rolled off the divine being. Uriel’s hands were over his face as he continued his anguished cries.
Sam turned his horrified gaze to the demon. She stood stock still, her chest heaving as she gasped for air holding the bottle firmly in one hand. Taking a shaky breath, Beth searched for the cork and quickly capped the bottle, making sure it was completely dry before shoving it into her pocket. Raising a trembling hand to her face, the demon mopped the sweat from her forehead and squared her shoulders. She retrieved the bowie knife from where she had dropped it, and advanced determinedly on the still screaming angel.
Coming to a halt in front of the massive man, Beth grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pushed him against the wall. With a shout of rage, she drove the bowie knife through the jacket, just below the vessel’s armpit, and into the plaster behind him. Uriel’s screams tapered off to a whimper, and he dropped his large hands to his sides.
Sam’s breath caught in his throat. The larger-than-life angel looked defeated; his face and hands were burnt and the normally dark eyes were infused with a cloudy haze. Feeling his panic building, the hunter concentrated on breathing, thinking only of each inhale and exhale. After seeing what the demon could do to an angel of Uriel’s stature, Sam no longer believed that he going to get out alive.
“Hurts, don’t it? It‘s called qeres,” the woman gloated. “Don’t worry…there’s no permanent damage to the meat.” Tittering, Beth walked to the nightstand and her collection of weaponry, selected another knife and returned to the angel. “You, on the other hand, are gonna feel a bit weak and a little groggy and disorientated for quite a few days…If I let you live that long.” She drove the second knife through the angel’s clothes on the other side, effectively pinning him to the wall.
“Oh, I almost forgot…” The demon withdrew the vial from her pocket, holding it up for Uriel to see. “Keep your hands to yourself, and no more owies. Can you handle that, big guy?” The angel dropped his gaze in defeat, keeping his tender hands at his sides. Uncorking the container, she dripped the liquid onto the hilts of the knives. “There…Now you won’t be tempted to pull them out to get free.” Holding the bottle up, she noted there was less than a quarter left.
As she recapped it, she looked into Uriel’s eyes. “Gotta save that for a very special angel.” Placing the bottle in her pocket, she smiled. “When are Castiel and Dean gonna get here anyway?”
Uriel grunted, turning his head away from the woman.
“Aww…Uriel. I had heard so much about you. Aren’t you the Great Smiter of demons and piss-hole towns? Yet you stand here silently…I must say I’m very disappointed.” Spinning on her heel, she looked at the open entryway in disgust. “Uriel, you stupid son of a bitch. You blew the damn door off its hinges,” the young demon fumed. “How the hell can I play with Sammy if the whole damn world can look in?” Grabbing the door, she leaned it against its post, to shield the room from curious eyes, grumbling to herself about the inconvenience of it all.
Returning to the barely clothed hunter, she patted his leg and shook her head. “I’m sorry, hun. But Uriel has gone and ruined all our fun.” She suddenly smiled. “But don’t worry…once your brother and his angel get here, we’ll go to a much more private place…Then we’ll all have fun.”
Castiel appeared in the passenger’s seat of the Impala; it had taken very little time and effort for him to find his charge. He looked at the young man in the driver’s seat and felt a moment of trepidation. Dean sat unmoving, his eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing of the present, his face drawn and pale as he continued to relive the horrors of Hell.
The angel watched him with concerned eyes, briefly feeling a pang of sympathy for the man. Shaking off the emotions, Castiel touched Dean’s forhead, willing the man back to the current time and situation. As an afterthought, the impassive angel surrounded his young charge with a quiet tranquility to ease the turmoil within his mind. Telling himself that it was because he needed the young hunter aware and focussed, and not because he had grown fond of the older Winchester, he waited patiently for Dean to return to the present.
Dean blinked slowly, squinting when he became aware of the early morning sun glaring through the windshield. He felt slightly off, not sure where he was or what he had been doing. Taking a moment to regain his bearings, the hunter began to survey the area. He realized he was still in the diner parking lot, and he wasn’t alone. Tensing, he gripped the butt of the gun in his coat pocket before turning to face his company.
Exhaling in relief when he recognized his uninvited guest, Dean let go of the gun and pulled his hand from his pocket, raking it through his short sandy hair. “Damn it, Cas,” he hissed. “Seriously, I’m getting you a bell.”
The angel regarded the man in mild confusion. “Your brother may be in trouble,” he said softly.
Dean’s irritation with the angel quickly dissipated, concern for his brother taking its place. “What do you mean?” the hunter demanded. “What’s wrong with Sam? Where is he? What happened?” Bringing the Impala to life as he spoke, Dean dropped the shifter in drive and peeled out of the parking lot before Castiel had a chance to answer.
“I’m not sure,” Castiel responded his blue eyes watching the scenery fly by. “I could sense his fear…but I don’t know what frightened him.” The angel turned to the hunter, a deep sadness in his face. “I sent Uriel in to help, while I came for you.”
Turning his head, Dean glared at the angel. “Uriel? You sent Uriel?” Looking back at the road, the young man grumbled angrily, “Why send any help at all? We both know how that sanctimonious son of a bitch feels about Sammy.”
“Dean,” Castiel spoke softly, voice devoid of emotion. “Uriel may be blunt, and obdurate in his opinions, but he is still an Angel of the Lord…and he will follow orders.”
Sighing heavily, the young hunter scrubbed a hand across his jaw, focussing on the road. “Do you have any idea what we could be dealing with?”
“I’m not certain,” the angel said hesitantly. “However, there was a demon trailing you. I’m not sure what she was after.”
“A demon?” Dean asked incredulously. “You knew a demon was following us and you didn’t think it important enough to tell us? Hell, if you were to busy you coulda sent an email or a text message…” Dean looked at his passenger. “You know, it’s crap like this that makes me wonder whose side you’re really on…”
jayess - March 31, 2009 10:07 PM (GMT)
Wow, that was intense! Poor Sam, jeez, that demon needs taking down! What she was doing to Sam was so not called for! Grr. :angry: But that qeres is powerful stuff isn't it? I felt sorry for Uriel. And Cas, come on man, get Dean to his brother quicker, do some magic mojo that speeds up the journey or something and give Dean the heads up sooner will ya?!
Oh yeah, and Sam being able to do Astral projection, cool, and how did Beth know Dean's Bowie knife was under his pillow? <_<
Looking forward to more, Dean and Cas HAVE to stop that thing! :lol:
jessalyn - April 1, 2009 12:36 AM (GMT)
As always you made it believable like I was watching the actual show. sometimes I wish they would get a character like this on the show itself. A well rounded kick ass female who is believable!
Steffs - April 3, 2009 08:16 PM (GMT)
Finaly broke up for the Holls and have time to indulge in a little Supernatural fanfic reading.
Gah I do love Dean angst and phew you have plenty....lol
What a great story it pulls you along and (Shhhhh) love the torture!!!
trickie - April 5, 2009 04:07 PM (GMT)
Julie - Yep, poor Sam. That demon really has an attitude problem dontcha think? The qeres is powerful stuff. Dean and Castiel should hurry up, I agree. C'mon boys, times a wastin'. :lol:
jessalyn - :blush Thank you, I'm glad you like my demon character, even if she is the bad guy. lol
Steffs - :wave hey, and welcome to my little storytime :D So glad you like the torture, I sometimes wonder how far to go, lol. (I love the gore too... :unsure: does that make me a bad person? :lol: )
Jules - As always, thanks for your great insight and help, and reminding me the readers can't see inside my head, I have to give descriptions. :rotfl (probably a good thing they can't, it's a cluttered mess in there)
And to you silent readers - :wave Hope you are enjoying the ride. B)
Warning: language and violence.
Okay, shall we go see how Sam is holding up, and where the heck Dean is?
Bethany lounged on the bed next to the shaggy-haired hunter, her gaze fixed on the broken door, the boxed clutched tightly in her hands. Feeling the mattress shift, she turned to watch Sam moving uncomfortably, seeking a position to ease the pain in his joints. She tugged her lower lip thoughtfully, her gaze trailing his lean body before setting the wooden chest on the bed. Standing, she smiled at the hunter, feeling a brief stab of sympathy for him. His minimally clad body was covered in tiny goose bumps as the cool air filtered through the broken door.
“Look, I know you gotta be sore…” she said contritely. “And I‘m sorry it has to be this way.” Moving to the bed across from him, she pulled the comforter off and laid it over the chilled hunter. “If Saint Screw-up over there hadn’t busted the door, things would’ve been different…” Her gaze turned wistful as it fell on the stockpile of weaponry. Maybe she should just go ahead and follow through, she could handle any human interruptions.
“So what now?” the brash tone of the angel cut in. “You get yourself another demon whore, Winchester?”
Bethany turned to the ethereal being, her brown-black eyes reduced to slits. “I see the qeres has worn off. I was really hoping Castiel and Dean would be here before that happened.” She moved forward, stopping in front of Uriel. “It appears you’re stronger than I thought…”
The dark-skinned angel glared wrathfully. “You needn’t worry about them; you’ll be long gone before they arrive.” With a grunt, the entity lunged forward, sending the knives that pinned him clattering to the floor.
Bethany backpedaled to the bed, reaching out blindly for the box and the knife that was inside, silently berating herself as the angel stalked towards her with righteous anger burning in his dark eyes. She should have kept the dagger on her, consequences be damned. Now she had to get to it before the divine being laid his hand on her. She wasn’t strong enough to send him packing back to heaven - not without using the remaining qeres, and she planned to use that on the blue-eyed guardian.
Her fingers grazed over the wooden box, and she quickly latched onto it. Watching the advancing angel, she hurriedly opened the intricately carved chest and brandished the copper blade, her lips curling into a thin smile.
Uriel glanced at the knife, uncertainty flickering momentarily over his dark features before he shot an indignant look at the demon. “Am I supposed to be scared of that?” he muttered dryly.
Holding the knife in a practiced hand, Beth swung at the angel. Uriel raised his arm, blocking the attack. Clamping hold of the girl’s wrist in a painfully tight grip, he tried to force her to drop the weapon. Tightening her hold on the hilt, the young demon looked up at the man looming over her, his head bent to look in her face. It was all the advantage she needed. Drawing a deep breath, she prepared her body for the pain she was about to take on, and brought her head forward, slamming into the skull of the glorified errand boy. The ensuing crack resonating through the room. Uriel stumbled back, loosening his grasp on the demon. He put a hand to his head, glaring at her.
Again, she took up the offence, aiming the knife for the soft part between the neck and shoulder of the angel. Seeing her intentions, Uriel dropped low, and with an unearthly growl tackled the demon, driving them both into the rickety table. The force of their impact sent it tipping over to crash onto the floor. The copper blade slid from her hand and skittered across the tiled surface, coming to rest beneath the bar fridge.
Breathless, Sam watched the battle between good and evil with wide eyes, the sharp crack when their heads impacted sending a wave of nausea over the young hunter. Shaking off his awe, the young Winchester quickly turned to assess the knots that held him. He wriggled his wrist within the bindings, trying to loosen the cloth restraint.
Hearing the crash of the table collapsing under the entities’ combined weight, the hunter paused, raising his head just in time to see the knife disappear under the fridge. Sam clenched his jaw in determination, turning his gaze back to the knot and resuming his desperate struggle to escape. Remembering the hungry look in the woman’s eyes when she had looked at the knives, he tugged harder, stopping when he felt the pressure around his wrist increase. It wasn’t working - if anything the knot was becoming tighter.
Sam growled low in his throat, frustration and defeat overcoming his senses. Dropping his head to the pillow, the young hunter fought against the tears of rage that threatened to leak from his hazel orbs. The room suddenly fell silent and Sam raised his head again, looking for the angel.
Uriel towered over the girl. Pinning her against the wall he pressed the palm of his hand to her forehead. The demon gasped, trying to pull from his grip, and the angel encircled her throat with a massive hand. Bethany raised her gaze to the entity’s face. Uriel’s lips slide into a grotesque smile as he savoured the triumph of the dark being’s imminent demise.
Sam saw a metallic glint reflecting from something in the girl’s hand, and concentrated it, his eyes widening as he recognized the item. Bethany had picked up the bowie knife at some point while she and Uriel were on the floor, and was shifting it in her hand, trying to get the blade positioned to strike.
“She’s got a knife,” Sam called, warning the angel just as the girl thrust the blade forward.
Twisting sideways, Uriel jumped back, hissing when the qeres soaked knife ripped through his clothes to graze his side. Smoke rose from the wound, the poison perfume burning the skin of the preternatural being and dropping him to his knees. Holding a hand against his injured side, Uriel swayed as the poison entered the bloodstream of the vessel, attacking the unnatural presence within.
Bethany stepped up to the kneeling man and laid her hand on his face. Looking into his dark, pain-filled eyes, she smiled and began to chant in a soft voice. The angel stared at her in shocked surprise while she recited the ancient rite to trap him in the host body. There would be no escape if she completed the verse; he wouldn’t be able to leave the vessel, and the poison would finish him.
Frustrated, Dean slammed his fist on the steering wheel, cursing violently under his breath. They were no more than five miles from the motel and they were stuck in the slow moving aftermath of a traffic accident. Rubbing a hand across his mouth, the young hunter glared at the barely creeping cars in front of him, and ground out another string of profanities.
Castiel watched the man calmly; fully confident in Uriel’s abilities and seeing no cause for the agitation emanating from the hunter he turned his gaze to the road. Feeling a sudden shift in the air, the angel stiffened and grasped Dean’s shoulder, fear flickering briefly in his blue eyes. “We have to go… now,” he muttered quietly.
“Unless the Impala suddenly sprouts angel wings - we’re stuck.” Shrugging off his passenger’s hand, Dean turned his head to glare out the windshield.
Again, Castiel felt the electrified sizzle, sensing the pain of his counterpart. The minor demon was not so minor after all and Uriel was in trouble. “We can’t wait,” Castiel spoke calmly, laying his hand on the hunter once again.
The ‘67 Chevy coughed and sputtered before the engine died completely. As traffic began to move again, horns blared at the black classic sitting stationary and empty.
Watching the demon stand over Uriel reciting the ancient script, Sam focused all his strength into getting free of the restraints. Sweat beaded on the young man’s brow with each tug. Looking away, the hunter gauged the solidity of the footboard and gritted his teeth, bracing his feet against the wood before pushing with both legs. He paused to catch his breath then continued his assault, hammering the frame in a steady beat. Feeling a small shift in the footboard, Sam chanced a quick look at the supernatural beings.
Defiantly raising his eyes to the girl, Uriel summoned the energy to begin his own droning mantra, his baritone voice raised in little more than a whisper. The angel’s voice faltered and he stumbled over the sacred words, his dark face sheathed in sweat and his lips barely moving. Swaying weakly, Uriel fell silent and slumped forward, unable to maintain his stance any longer. He fell forward, his lethargic head coming to rest against the demon’s leg as her chants grew louder.
“No!” Sam roared, as he watched the angel flop over like a rag doll. “Uriel! Get up!” A shot of panic-fuelled adrenaline slammed into the young hunter. He strained against his bindings, uttering a savage growl. Concentrating on the knots, he closed his eyes, untying them in his mind. He felt the cotton fabric holding his left hand loosen and fall away. Breathing deeply; pushing all other thoughts aside, he freed himself from the remaining ties.
As soon as the last restraint slid free, Sam sat up, his outstretched hand facing the demon. Panting heavily, the young hunter focussed on pushing the girl away from the incapacitated angel. He could feel the psychic power building within him, coalescing into a ball of molten energy, taking on a life of its own -feeding off his essence. Directing his aim, Sam felt the surge erupt from his body, slamming into the demon and knocking her back, causing Uriel’s inert form to thump to the floor.
Bethany spun around to face her attacker, her dark eyes glittering angrily.
Keeping his hand out, Sam pushed back the blanket and got to his feet, his gaze never wavering from the possessed woman’s face. With slow determination, he crossed the room, stopping at the angel’s side. Kneeling, the young hunter brushed his fingers over Uriel, unsure what he should be checking for. How did one tell if an angel was dying?
“It seems I’m underestimating everyone today,” Bethany intoned, watching Sam’s hand in apprehension.
“What did you do to him?” the hunter demanded harshly. “Is he dying?”
Wrinkling her nose in disdain, the girl looked down at the angel with a shake of her head. “Not yet. But if you give me a few more minutes he will be.” She took step towards the angel, her hand reaching out to him.
“Get back!” Sam commanded, rising to his feet and stopping Bethany in her tracks. “What was that stuff? What did you call it - qeres?”
“Oh, come off it, Sammy,” she muttered in irritation. “After everything that over-blown messenger has said to you - about you, and you want to save him? Just let him die.” Again, she moved forward.
Without further warning, Sam released the mental punch he was holding back, throwing the demon against the plaster wall and pinning her in place with a mere thought. “What did you do?” His voice echoed, vibrating in Bethany’s mind.
There was a sudden swirl of displaced air and the faint whirr of wings, followed by a familiar muttered curse.
“Sam? What’s going on?” Dean stood beside the counter, where he landed when Castiel had popped them in, assessing the scene in a sweeping glance. The table was in pieces on the floor, Uriel was down and unmoving. Sam was standing in the centre of the room dressed solely in his boxers, using his dark mojo to slam the officer around the room. “I asked a question, Sam.”
Turning, Sam saw the look in his brother’s eyes, a mixture of fear, apprehension and concern. With an inward groan and a stab of guilt, the young psychic searched his sibling’s face for understanding before shifting his gaze to Castiel. “She used something on him. I don’t know what it is. It burnt him like holy water does demons.”
The divine being hurried to his fallen partner’s side, assessing the damage done to the vessel. “Did she cut him?” he demanded, raising his blue eyes to the younger hunter.
“Yeah,” Sam answered, maintaining his telekinetic hold on the demon as he spoke. “She used Dean’s bowie knife, she soaked it in that stuff.”
The look of hopelessness in the angel’s face did little to ease the worries of either Winchester. Moving to stand at his brother‘s side, Dean kept watch on the demon as Sam told Castiel what had happened.
“It’s qeres,” Bethany laughed. “No cure, Cassi baby. Your little buddy is on his way to the… Oh, that’s right. He won’t be going to the pearly gates, will he?”
“Why don’t you shut up, bitch?” Dean snapped. Turning to the other two men, he asked, “What the hell is qeres?”
“Could we maybe get her taken care of first?” Sam asked, breathless from the exertion, his adrenaline rush starting to fade.
“What, Superman can’t keep it up?” Bethany smirked, wiggling her fingers at the infuriated man.
“I thought I told you to shut the hell up,” Dean growled, his green eyes narrowing as he stared at the demon.
Finding a marker, Dean drew a Devil’s Trap on the grimy tiled floor of the kitchenette. Upon its completion, he gripped the girl roughly and pushed her inside, fixing the scuffmarks before dropping the marker and turning away. He watched Sam drop his arm, noting the pallor in the younger man‘s face. Unable to think of something to say, the elder brother turned away, pretending not to notice the pained expression in Sam’s face.
Rubbing a hand through his shaggy hair, the younger hunter joined the others at Uriel’s side. “What’s qeres?” Sam asked Castiel, squatting to aid the angel in rolling his companion onto his back.
“It’s a perfume; it was created by the Egyptians. It was meant to be used in their mummification ceremonies. Somehow it was discovered that this perfume has special properties.” Castiel looked at the young hunters, sadness in his eyes. “The qeres can be used on any supernatural being, evil or good. It is one of the few things that can kill an angel if it enters the bloodstream.”
“Well isn’t that just peachy,” Dean grumbled. “Is there a cure?”
Bethany listened to the Winchesters as they tried to think of a way to save the arrogant angel. Shaking her head, she lowered herself to her knees and pulled her hair back from her face. She studied the flimsy stick on tiles that covered the small floor. Many of the squares were chipped or loose. Calling on her demonic skills, she blew on the tiles, causing them to lift from the floor and effectively destroying the symbol. Smiling, she straightened, her feet hiding the missing tiles from the others.
“What can you do for him, then? You’re not gonna just watch him die?” Standing, Sam pushed back his bangs, huffing in exasperation.
Dean stared at his brother, all thoughts of betrayal and anger gone from his mind as he focussed on the symbol that had been engraved on his sibling’s forehead. In two strides, Dean was in front of the younger man, pushing back the chestnut locks and examining the cut. “Sam?” he said softly dropping his hand to his side. “What the hell?”
Spinning on his heel, Dean went to his duffel in search of the first aid kit. He dropped onto Sam’s bed to rummage through his canvas carryall, trying not to see the emblem that was permanently scratched into the younger man’s head. A mark he had hoped to never see again.
Finally locating the first aid kit, Dean got to his feet, knocking the bag to the floor. He looked down, and froze - almost the entire contents of their weapons duffle was strewn across the carpet near his feet. “What the hell?” he repeated to himself. Looking up, he felt the bottom drop from his world. A tidy array of weaponry sat lined on the nightstand next to his bed. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes, wishing the image away. It couldn’t be happening - not now, not when he was needed. Opening his eyes, he averted his gaze from the night table to the bed, not wanting to see what couldn’t be there. He released a strangled gasp, his knees liquefying under his weight, his blurry vision locked on the wrists straps and bloody pillow.
Hearing the desperate sound of his sibling in anguish, Sam turned around and was moving to his brother’s side instantly. Dean’s breathing was fast and shallow and he swayed on his feet. Standing next to the older man, Sam cautiously laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly in his big brother’s ear, talking him down from his Hell.
Scrubbing a hand across his face, the elder Winchester turned haunted eyes to face his brother. “What did she do to you?” he rasped, his voice almost inaudible. He clasped the younger man’s shoulders, inspecting him for any sign of injury, no matter how small. His eyes widened in concern when he saw the two thin, bloody knife wounds winding their way down Sam’s torso.
“Dean, it’s okay,” Sam said comfortingly. “I’m okay. She didn’t get to do anything, Uriel interrupted. I’m okay, really.”
Dean looked at the shallow cuts marring his baby brother’s chest, then back to the symbol that was hidden beneath Sam’s bangs. Taking a deep breath, Dean turned to the demon; he would tear her apart for just thinking about touching his brother, he vowed silently.
Bethany stood within the trap, watching Castiel administer to his counterpart. She scowled as she heard bits and pieces of the original tongue being spoken - the language of angels. Without looking, she could feel Dean’s sudden turmoil, his pain and fear as tangible as the floor she stood on. Smiling, she turned to face the approaching man. Finally, her hard work was coming to fruition.
Steffs - April 5, 2009 05:53 PM (GMT)
Dean stay back before you recognise her cause its only gonna make you feel real realy bad.....badder than when you saw the instruments...LIKE BAAAAD
She really is a piece of work but I have the REAL BAD feeling that she is only gonna make things worse for the boys.
THIS IS BAD
Did I say that before ??????
IT IS BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD
Trace you're killing me.
mizpah - April 5, 2009 08:32 PM (GMT)
I haven't abandoned you - I've just been so snowed under lately.
Promise I'll return soon and leave you a proper review when I have more time.
Until then - great work!
jessalyn - April 6, 2009 03:09 AM (GMT)
Dean is going to recognise her isn't he?
Where's the update?
I want it now!!!!!!!!!