"Do we really have to do this?" I groaned, closing the back door of the Impala. I gazed at the Ghostfacers trailer in all its glory, their Mystery Machine parked out front.
"Unfortunately," Dean said as we approached it.
"Look, we'll get in and get out. It should be simple," Sam tried, but I knew better. We ascended the stairs up to the trailer, the commotion inside getting louder. Dean glanced sideways at us before pounding a closed fist on the door and the noise inside stopped.
The trailer door was pulled open, Ed and Harry appearing in the doorway appearing flustered. "Welcome, to the first screening of our reality sh-"
Dean sidestepped them, letting himself inside. Ed and Harry quickly zipped around the small space gathering chairs to set in front of their desktop computer.
"And for...you...m'lady," Harry said as he struggled to trudge a large metal chair from the other side of the trailer. It was incredibly large for the space, nearly scratching the metal roof of the trailer. It was black with numerous pointed tops raising high above our heads. Its legs squeaked loudly across the floors, everyone watched on as he panted, pulling it to a stop next to Dean's plastic chair. Harry rested an arm up against it nonchalantly. "It's an exact replica of Saruman the White's throne from Lord of the Rings...I mean, it's smaller because if it was to scale, it wouldn't even fit in here. Even this one we had to take apart to fit through the door-"
"Thank you, Harry," I said, cutting off his rambling. I slowly sat down in the large metal chair, glaring at Sam and Dean who held back laughter.
Ed and Harry stood beside the desktop proudly. "We want to thank you all for joining the first ever screening of our reality show. We really want to thank-"
"Just play the fucking tape."
"Yes sir," Ed said quickly as he clicked the screen to life and hit play.
The show opened up to a close up clip of Ed and Harry in suits sitting in front of a fireplace with whiskey glasses in hand. A closeup of Harry showed him running a fingertip casually over the edge of it. "Hello. I am Harry Spengler."
"And I am Ed Zeddmore. Now if you have received this tape, you must be some sort of bigwig network executive. Well, today is your lucky day, mister. Because the unsolicited pilot you are about to watch is the bold new future of 'reality TV'."
"Mmhmm. We know you've had it hard during the crippling writer's strike," Harry said.
"Lazy fat cats." Ed muttered. "Who needs writers when you've got guys like us?
We watched as Harry used a dimmer switch to darken the lights around them. I rolled my eyes, leaning back agains the chair and making a mental note to kick Sam's ass for making us come here.
"Our team faced horrible horrors to bring you the footage that will change your world forever. So strap in for the scariest hour in the history of television."
"In the history of your life..."
"Strap in for...
"Ghostfacers!"
As their theme song began to play, I looked over to Ed and Harry who were watching intently, singing along silently to the song. During its first scene, western music began playing over Ed and Harry doing a slow-motion walk toward the camera with cars darting behind them down a suburban street, Ghostfacers briefcases in hand as a voice over began to play.
"You know, it can get kind of hard balancing our daytime careers with our nighttime missions."
"Yeah, but Ed and I pretty much call the shots at the Kinko's where we work, so we can usually pretty much get off by...what, six every night?"
The scene cut to the two of them sitting at a picnic table in a park.
"Yeah, six o'clock. It used to be just, you know, you and I taking on the cases -- just Harry and me. Two lone wolves."
"And two lone wolves need, uh...other wolves."
PHASE 1: THE HOMEWORK
Ed and Harry entered their "office" which I was pretty sure was one of their parents' garages. Two folding tables, a white board, camera equipment, and pictures of various movie ghosts littered the room.
"Good morning, Ghostfacers."
"It's seven p.m., dude," one of them said off camera.
"It's morning to a Ghostfacer," Harry said. "Corbett, what do we got, buddy?"
Corbett was at the white board, a tall scrawny guy who shied away from the camera's lens. "Oh, I'm just putting up some of the-"
"Yeah, this has got to go up here. That's got to go here. Got to see the whole field. Markers, eraser -- good job," Ed rambled, pointing randomly to the empty white board.
The scene cut to Corbett who was lugging in brown paper bags into the garage. "I first saw Ed putting up flyers down at the outlet mall in Scogan, so I read one, and I thought to myself, 'Huh. Where do ghosts come from?' And now here I am." He beamed, pulling out the contents of the bag. Say what you wanted to, but no matter if they were all the most whacked out people on earth, it was still hard to watch, especially knowing the end to this story.
The scene cut back to the garage where Ed's sister, Maggie, was standing at one of the folding tables and inspecting camera equipment. Harry came up behind her, playfully poking at her sides when Maggie whipped around started smacking his hands away.
"Ow! Ed, your sister's abusing staff!"
"That's adopted sister, thank you very much."
Maggie glared into the camera as the scene switched to her by herself. "Ed has been obsessed with the supernatural since we were kids, you know, and then he meets Harry at computer camp and...love at first geek."
The scene cut away again to the garage and the camera turned, revealing the camera man. "Spruce here. What up, playaaa!!!!"
"I am 15/16 Jew, 1/16 Cherokee. My grandfather is a mohel, my great-grandfather was a tallis maker," Spruce went on. Now he was driving in a ball cart on a driving range at a golf course, "and my great-great-grandfather was a degenerate gambler and had a peyote addiction."
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling as they finally got on to the case they were trying to solve that night. Ed was in front of their white board, the rest of them huddled around a table
"Okay, people. Let's cut the chatter and get on a mission. Morton house..." Footage of the house with a purple filter, made to make the house look scarier than it really is, flashed across the screen. "...one of our big fish. Alright, we all know the legend. Every four years, supposedly, this becomes the most haunted place in America.
"The leap year ghost, some call it," Harry said. "The ghost returns at midnight just as February 29th begins."
"And no one has ever stayed the night, right?" Maggie asked.
Harry nodded, "Yeah, well, every testimony that we dug up, every eyewitness has cut and run well before midnight."
"Well, that's all about to change, baby," Ed said as they each took a coffee mug from Corbett. Ed took a sip from the mug. "Mmm. That's good."
"It's French vanilla," Corbett said, silence falling over the group. "'Cause the other day, you said how much you liked it, so..."
"Thank you."
"You...are welcome," Corbett said awkwardly before quickly exiting off camera. I tried not to cringe. The shot switched to Harry sitting in the driver's seat of his car.
"I like Corbett. I do. Shows up early, does his job, lot of good hustle out -" Behind Harry, Corbett leaned down and knocked on the window, waving and smiling at the camera. Harry looked back to the camera. "I think he's got the hots for Ed, and that could spell trouble for the whole team."
"Ed's kind of more rugged, with that really golden...beautiful sort of beard," Corbett went on in his testimonial. He was almost giddy talking about him. "And Harry's...nice."
"29th is this Friday, facers," Ed went on at the whiteboard. "If we want this mission, we gotta move on it now, or guess what -- He's gone for another four years."
There was a sudden loud noise, the whiteboard crashing to the ground as the garage door it was attached to began to open up.
"Dad! Come on!" Ed shouted. He whipped around to Spruce. "Just cut the cameras. We don't need that. We don't need this part. We don't --"
PHASE II: INFILTRATION
“Stay low. Follow formation,” Ed says as they all quickly approach the Morton House. They look like maniacs with flashlights strapped to their foreheads and small cameras dangling in front of their faces. They come to a stop at the chain link fence surrounding the property. “Okay, as suspected. A lot of people have tried to break into the Morton house. The local authorities have just gotten fed up.”
“Looks like the cops have got this place pretty well fenced off,” Harry says as he pulls garden shears from his backpack, ready to chop the lock off the fence.
“Wait. Didn't you guys get, like, a permit or something?” Maggie interjected.
Harry and Ed shared glances. “A permit? That's a good idea for next time.”
A low rumbling noise came through the speakers. “Car!” Spruce shouted, each of the Ghostfacers panicking. “Shh, shh! Flashlights off!”
The rumbling became louder. The camera turned as the Impala rolled into frame.
“There’s you guys!” Ed said excitedly, slapping Sam on the shoulder. “That’s you!”
Sure enough, it was a clear picture of Sam, Dean and I in the Impala, the radio blaring. Sam was holding a flashlight as we examined the outside of the house before driving off.
“Damn, my Baby sounds good,” Dean chuckled proudly.
“It's okay. Not cops -- just hicks,” Ed said quickly and turned back to cut the lock on the gate. Sam, Dean and I turned to look back at them.
Ed quickly pointed our attention back to the screen, “Look, look you’ll miss it!”
We turned back to the show just as they all clambered through the gate Ed unlocked. “Guys, let's go! Let's go! Let's go!”
Inside the house they filmed various shots, but it was way too dark to make anything out. It wasn’t until they were all huddled together with their headlamps on could we see anything.
“Alright, everybody. Ghostfacers, let's line up. Everybody. We'll set up camp right here. This is command center one.” Ed whispered. “We're gonna call this the Eagle's Nest.”
“Everybody, bring it in. Bring it in,” Harry said, corralling the group. “We've all been here before. Standard walk-through. Team one, west. Team two, east. Spin the tires, light the fires. Ghostfacers on three. 1, 2, 3…"
“Ghostfacers!”
PHASE III: FACE TIME!
MORTON HOUSE 10:51PM
1ST FLOOR: TEAM 1 - ED & CORBETT
“Hello! I'm speaking to the restless spirits of the Morton house!” Ed shouted into a long hallway, holding a flashlight in one hand and a makeshift EMF detector in the other. “Hello! My name's Ed.”
Corbett followed closely behind as Ed slunk up against walls and at one point, kicked down a centuries old door that only led to a room covered in inches of dust.
“What's your name?” Ed shouted before looking down at his EMF reader. “.3 ... .29.”
“Is there an entity or entities here with us now?” Corbett asked this time, visibly terrified. “Can you give us a sign of your presence?”
The door behind Ed seemingly swung open on its own. Corbett let out a shriek, “I can't breathe. I can’t breathe.”
“You gotta breathe, buddy,” Ed said, shining his flashlight into the room. “Corbett, night vision.” The camera quality turned green. “Calm down, buddy. Breathe, all right? Calm the whirlwinds of your mind.”
2ND FLOOR: TEAM 2 - HARRY, SPRUCE, MAGGIE
“We're doing a basic EMF, EVP, temp-flux sweep. Looks like we've got all of our ducks in a row here,” Harry said as they searched the second floor. It was then that the camera began to fluctuate, making the quality grainy and hard to see.
Spruce muttered under his breath about the camera, turning it to see if there was anything on the lens before turning it back to Harry and Maggie. “That’s weird. It's fine now.”
"Alright. Get this. Get this,” Harry said as they approached a large door. He brought his leg up and attempted to kick it in, but the door hardly budged. He tried again and one more time.
“Turn the knob,” Spruce interjected. Maggie grabbed the knob, easily pushing the door open and Harry kicked it the rest of the way.
Suddenly, Harry began screaming and the camera jolted as he ran past Spruce back down the long hallway, "Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god!”
Spruce raced forward to catch whatever it was on camera, but as he pushed the door open, it revealed only a dead mouse sprawled out on the floor. “It's just a rat, dude.”
The shot cut to Harry back in his car. “I don't really like rats. They're gross. Rats are like the...rats of the world.”
1st Floor: Team 1 - Ed & Corbett
Corbett continued to follow Ed throughout the first floor, his breathing becoming heavier and heavier in the camera's microphone.
"This is spooky, man. This place-" Ed began before Corbett's camera picked up a figure at the end of the hall followed by a booming voice and flashlight.
"Freeze! police officers! Don't move!"
Corbett screamed, slamming his eyes closed. Ed held his hands up. "Alright, alright. Take it easy, take it easy."
As the figures came closer, their faces were easier to make out. It was Sam, Dean and I.
"Let's see some identification," Sam said. I took Corbett's I.D. he held out to us.
"What -- are we under -- under arrest?" Ed asked.
"Oh, god. Oh, god," Corbett muttered.
"Want to explain that weirdo outfit, Mr., uh, Corbett?" I asked, shining my flashlight over the driver's license.
"I know you," Ed said suddenly.
"Yeah, sure you do. Give me some identification," Dean said, holding his hand out.
"Yeah, ho-- whoa, hold on a second," Ed narrowed his eyes at us. "I know the three of you guys. Yeah."
I eyed him up and down. "What?"
"Holy [bleep]," Sam muttered.
"Bleep that out, it's not network friendly," Ed said into the camera.
I looked over to Sam, "What?"
Sam snapped his fingers, trying to place where we'd run into him before. "Uh, West Texas...the...the tulpa we had to take out. Those two goofballs that almost got us killed...the hellhounds or something?"
Dean looked from Sam and back to Ed, realization settling in, ”[Bleep] me."
"Yeah, we're not hellhounds anymore, okay? It didn't test that well."
"Ed, what's going on?” Corbett asked.
"They're not cops, buddy -- no, not at all."
"Ed, Ed, you had a partner, too, didn't you -- a different guy?” I prodded, the camera swinging back to me."Is he around here somewhere?"
"He's running around, chasing ghosts."
"Okay, well, listen, you and Rambo need to get your girlfriends and get out of here,” Dean said.
"Alright. Listen here, chisel chest,” Ed said, making Dean raise his eyebrows. “We were here first. We've already set up base camp. We beat you."
Dean chuckled, turning to Sam and I, shrugging, ”They were here first.” Dean turned back to Ed, pushing him up against the wall behind him.
"Oh, god,” Ed whispered in fear.
“Ed..." Dean started.
“Yeah?"
“Where’s your partner?”
2nd Floor: Team 2 - Harry, Maggie, Spruce
“10.6. 10.7, guys. The EMF is really spiking here,” Harry said as he rounded a large room.
“Temperature's down, like, 11 degrees.”
“Alright, alright, keep your eyes peeled. This could be it,” Harry warned. “Maggie, can I get a reading in here, please?”
For the second time while exploring the second floor of the Morton House, the camera began to malfunction. Spruce turned it around, wiping the lens with his shirt. “Something keeps messing with the chip. I don't know what's going on here.”
Suddenly, appearing out of nowhere, a man in a suit materialized in front of Spruce.
“Guys. Guys. Guys!” Spruce shouted to Maggie and Harry who were too wrapped up in the temperature of the room. They went silent at the sight of him.
“Look buddy, I'm sorry. That's it. I'm telling you, that's all the money I —" the spirit said before his chest exploded in numerous areas, like gunshots, before he disappeared again
1st Floor: Team 1 - Ed, Corbett, Sam, Dean, Ellie
"What are you doing in the Morton House, Ed - on a leap year -- what are you thinking?” Dean was going on as we came to a stop at their base camp.
"We're here to spend the night, okay? It's for our TV show,” Ed pointed to the cameras littering the room.
“Oh, your TV show. Great, perfect,” I said sarcastically, shaking my head. Corbett came closer to me, a blown up shot of my face. I quickly turned to him, making him quickly step back. “Get that camera out of my [bleep] face.”
“Sorry”
"Nobody's ever spent the night before,” Ed went on.
"Uh, actually, yeah, they have,” I corrected.
"Uh, we've never heard of them.”
"Yeah, you know why? 'Cause the ones that have haven't lived to talk about it!” Dean shouted as Sam threw his duffle bag onto the table. I remembered the frustration of that night. It was already a risky hunt, but now we had to also focus on getting five other people out alive, too.
"Oh, come on, I don't believe you."
Sam pulled out all the info we had on the place, all the people that went in and never came out. ”Look -- missing-persons reports going back almost a half century. John Graham stayed on a dare -- gone. Julie Wilkerson -- gone. There are tons more. All of them came to just stay the night through, always on a leap year. The only body they ever found was the last owner, Freeman Daggett."
Corbett’s camera went over Ed’s shoulder, panning down at the numerous missing persons flyers as Ed flipped through them. “These look legit."
"They are legit. Look, Ed, we ain't got much time here, buddy. Starting at midnight, your friends are going to die,” Sam said when suddenly screams filled the room as three sets of running feet came barreling down the stairs.
"Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Guys! Guys! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! We got one! Corbett! Corbett, we saw one! We saw one!” Harry, Spruce and Maggie were shouting over each other, all trying to explain at the same time what they’d seen.
"It was a full apparition! It was like a class four. It was a spectral illumination! It-“ Harry suddenly stopped at the sight of us, the camera panning to where Sam, Dean and I were standing. "Hey, aren't those the [bleep] from Texas?” He paused before standing straighter. “Oh my...Oh my god. You- you’re back…you came back for me.”
The camera panned to me, my arms crossed over my chest. I raised my eyebrows, “Jesus, here we go."
"Alright, let's have this reunion across the street, guys,” Dean said, trying to get them all out of the house in one piece. "Come on, come on. We'll get you ice cream -- our treat. What do you say? Let's go."
Maggie got behind one of their computers, pulling up the footage from Spruce’s camera. “No. No. Look at this. Okay, honest-to-god proof, alright?"
We crowded around the screen, watching as the spirit appeared in front of the three of them. Ed’s eyes widened. ”Are you kidding me?"
Sam, Dean and I shared a look behind the group of them. As we stepped aside, Spruce’s camera followed us across the room. "Think we were off on this? I mean, that was just a death echo,” Sam said.
"Yeah, but what's it doing here? Did anybody get shot here?” Dean asked.
I shook my head, ”No, not that I could find."
"What's a death echo?” Spruce asked.
I clenched my jaw, turning to him and resisting the urge to smack the camera out of his hands. ”Echoes are trapped in a loop, okay? They keep replaying how they died over and over and over again, usually in the place where they were killed. It's about as dangerous as a scary movie."
"So maybe the echo's not dangerous, but maybe something else is,” Sam said.
Dean nodded in agreement. ”You're right. Alright, we need to get out of here, guys. Come on. Let's go. Let's go. Let's go. Pack it up!”
Chaos ensued as we tried to corral them out the door. Maggie tried grabbing equipment, Ed was protesting, Spruce and Harry were going on about the death echo they’d seen. Just as we got to the door, Ed turned, blocking any of us from getting outside. He scanned the group. ”Wait! Wait!! Where's Corbett?"
The shot switched to where Corbett was alone on the second floor. He’d managed to somehow slip away among the crazy. “I wish to communicate with the restless spirits here.”
Just like Spruce’s, Corbett’s camera began to malfunction, the overhead light dimming out. “Uh, lights out? Oh, I think I got night vision here.”
Corbett switched to the night vision, swimming the picture in green. Behind him, a tall figure loomed over him.
The scene switched again back downstairs to where we were all arguing at the door, Corbett’s scream silencing us. We all looked up toward the staircase.”That was Corbett."
At the realization, the group scrambled for their friend, pushing past the three of us and back up the stairs. ”That was Corbett! Corbett!”
"Corbett! it's okay!"
“Guys!” Sam shouted after them, throwing his arms down in frustration. It was like herding a bunch of brainless sheep. “[Bleep]!”
We raced up the stairs after them, Corbett’s screams becoming louder.
"Corbett, you need to come back, Corbett!”
They were all gathered in the hallway once we reached the top of the stairs. I could distinctly remember his screams of protest. “No!!!!”
"Hey! Hey! Hey! Come on,” Dean said as he sandwiched the group, bringing them in at one end and Sam and I on the other.
"Corbett's...he's not here. Let's go. Let's go!” I shouted before anyone else could get taken.
A flurry of voices erupted from the group in protest, but this time we had them cornered.
"Go, go, go, come on!” Sam shouted, leading them out of the hallway.
"Guys. Guys. Guys. He's that way!” Ed shouted, trying to move in a different direction but we kept them in line.
"Here we go. Here we go. Keep it moving. Keep it moving."
"Corbett?"
"Go. Go. Move. Move!” I shouted at Spruce who continuously turned around, trying to get shots for their film. I’d finally had enough and smacked the camera from his hands. “Turn it off!”
Morton House
February 29th
12:04AM
Ed was pacing the room back and forth, his head in his hands. ”Oh, god, what's happened? Oh, god. He's gone. He just disappeared."
"Well, it's 12:04, Dean. You good? You happy?” I asked sarcastically. I remembered how quickly I felt like I was losing my mind. “'Let's go hunt the Morton house,' you said, 'it's our Grand Canyon'."
"Ellie, I don't want to hear this."
"You’ve got two months left, Dean,” I said, grabbing a chair from the adjoining kitchen. “Instead, we're gonna die tonight.” I swung the chair at the front door that hadn’t budged since the clock hit midnight.
"Whoa! What the hell is going on guys?” Ed asked, wide eyed.
"I'll tell you what's going on. Every door, every window, I'm guessing every exit out of this house -- they're all sealed!”
Harry looked nervously at the camera. ”But w-why are they sealed?"
"It's a supernatural lockdown, okay? Whatever took Corbett doesn't want us to leave, and it's no death echo. This is a bad mother, and it wants us scared,” Dean clarified.
"Or it just wants us,” Sam offered.
Spruce’s camera began to malfunction again. “Uh, guys, the camera's fritzing again."
"Whoa. Whoa. Guys, the EMF's starting to spike. This is a big one!"
"Everybody, stay close. There’s something coming.” Dean said, making the group huddle closely together. Harry grabbed Maggie’s hand tightly between them. In front of us, a different spirit appeared. Its back was to us, stumbling around the room. "Is this the same echo you guys saw earlier?"
"No, it's a different guy."
"Multiple echoes? What the hell's going on?” I questioned.
"Okay. Alright,” Dean said, stepping in front of the group and walked in front of the spirit, yelling at him. "Uh, hey, buddy! Hey. Hey. Wake up. You're dead! Hello!"
"What's he doing?” Harry questioned, looking to Sam and I.
"It's rare, but sometimes you can shock an echo out of its loop if you can talk to the part of the ghost that's still human, but usually you have to have some kind of connection to the deceased,” Sam said.
"Come on! Wake up! Be dead!”
A low rumbling filled the room that sounded like it was coming from the other side of the house. Ed turned, "You guys hear that?"
"Snap out of it, buddy, huh? Come on, what are you waiting for? You're gonzo! You're dead!”
The spirit stumbled sideways before turning. Suddenly, his body was illuminated by a bright yellow light and a train horn blew. We threw our hands over our ears as the spirits was thrown backward across the room before vanishing again.
Harry looked up, pulling his hands from his ears, looking around the room. “Where the hell did it go?"
The shot cut to the group of us making our way deeper into the house in an attempt to figure out what was happening. Maggie was carrying her camera, following close behind Sam, Dean, and I.
"Dude, there's no records of any of this here. No one got shot here. Obviously, no one got run over by a freaking train,” I said, wracking my brain for an explanation.
Sam looked over his shoulder at Maggie. “Stay close.”
"Did the echoes take Corbett?” She asked.
“Yes…no…I don't know!” Dean said finally, quickly losing his patience. “We don't know what's doing what here; that's what we're trying to figure out, okay?"
A beat of silence passed as we continued down the hall. Sam looked back at Maggie, looking like he felt bad for Dean’s outburst. “Look…death echoes are ghosts, okay? Now, ghosts -- they usually haunt places where they lived or where they died."
"Except these guys didn't live or die here,” I pointed out.
"So, what are they doing here?"
"Hey, give the lady a cigar,” Dean said as Sam and I walked ahead of them. “Alright, seriously, does looking at this nightmare through that camera make you feel better or something?"
Maggie pulled the camera away momentarily before pulling it back up, ”Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
Dean nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows as they continued down the hall where Harry led us into the room they’d first seen the death echo in. We scattered around the room, trying to dig up anything that could help us put these spirits to rest, once and for all.
I rifled through a cluttered dresser, picking up a framed certificate, the broken glass falling to the table. ”Freeman Daggett, house's last owner, 'officially commended for 20 years of fine service at the Gamble General Hospital’."
"He was a doctor?” Sam questioned
"Janitor."
Dean continued searching around the large room, shining his flashlight over the cluttered mess. “This looks like his den. When'd you say he died -- '64?"
"Yeah, heart attack.”
Maggie stepped up to bookcase lined with tan bags and cans. ”What are these, c-rations?"
Sam narrowed his eyes, nodding at the food. “Yeah, army-issued, three squares -- like a lifetime supply.”
"Oh, come on, guys. This is ridiculous. I mean, how the hell is this supposed to find Corbett, huh?” Ed said. “We should be digging up the friggin' floorboards right now!”
Behind Ed, Dean and I were standing in front of a locker as I picked the lock. Inside, Dean pulled out a large metal box. I turned, met by Harry holding up his EMF detector to me. I glared at him, making him quickly pull it away.
Dean dropped the heavy box onto the table in the middle of the room. He flipped the lid open revealing numerous old papers. Spruce’s camera panned up to Harry who motioned for him to film Dean.
"Crap. Crap,” Dean muttered under his breath as he tossed things from the box. “You said Daggett was a hospital janitor?"
“Yeah,” I confirmed, eyeing the book Dean threw onto the table, ‘Taxidermy’ written in old lettering across the top.
“Ewww,” Dean groaned. “Got three toe tags here -- one, death by gunshots, train accident, and suicide."
“Ewww,” Sam said after a minute.
I furrowed my brows before it clicked. “Oh, that’s gross."
Ed and Harry looked in between us in confusion. ”What?"
"Well, that explains why all the death echoes are here,” Sam said, thinking it would spur them on, but it didn’t. “They’re here because their bodies are here...somewhere in the house.”
Ed and Harry continued to watch us, confused. I jumped in, ”Daggett brought the remains home from the morgue…to play.”
A moment of silenced passed between them before they let out a chorus of groans, ”Ewwwwwwwwww!!!!! Ugh!!!!!"
"That's nasty, dude."
I chuckled, looking around the group. I remembered my heart skipped a beat as I did a headcount. “Wait a minute. Where’s Maggie?”
They used this to transition to Maggie’s camera where she was exploring one of the rooms on her own, her voice shaky as she called out their friend’s name, “Corbett."
She continued around the room, jumping at every little sound and shrieking when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a broken mirror. ”Okay, Maggie.”
As she completed a circle around the room and made her way back to the door, the camera jolted harshly as Maggie screamed, a picture of Dean coming into frame. "Closer to the herd, okay?"
"Maggie? Maggie!” Harry shouted, coming into the room behind Dean.
"She's fine."
Dean led them back to the room where Ed motioned them over. ”Harry. Harry, I got an 8.6 and climbing fast. Something huge is coming. Look. Something big is coming. It's past 11, you guys!”
“What?” Sam said, looking over Ed’s shoulder. “Nobody move! Stay quiet."
The camera malfunctioned again and when the picture became clear, Sam was gone into thin air. His flashlight clanging to the floor.
“Sam?" I called out, looking around the room, flashing my light to each person.
“Sam?!” Dean called this time. "Where'd he go?"
I bent down, picking up his flashlight. ”Sam!”
The room erupted again as we all frantically began calling out for Sam and Corbett. As Dean and I darted back down the hallway toward the staircase, the camera followed Harry and Maggie who ran into a separate room, calling for Corbett. Maggie stopped, panting and almost in tears, ”God, I am so scared. I'm so scared."
Harry stepped toward her, ”It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay, Maggie.”
Spruce was lingering outside of the room, filming through a large whole in the wall. Harry stepped toward Maggie before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, the two of them fervently making out.
“Did you have to keep that in?” I asked Harry and Ed, turning around in my seat. Harry sideways glanced at Ed who looked upset. I turned back to the monitor where they were still making out.
“Bom-chicka-bow-wow-“ Spruce said before the camera panned to his right where Ed was standing in shock. “Oh.”
Ed flashed his flashlight over the two of them, making them jump backward, their eyes wide at having been caught. “My best friend...and my best sister."
“Ed,” Harry said slowly as Ed took a step towards him.
"Harry."
"Ed."
"Harry."
"Ed. Listen, Ed."
"Are you banging my sister?!”
"No! No!” Harry said in a high-pitched voice.
Ed turned to Spruce, his hands trembling with adrenaline. ”Hold my glasses."
Spruce took them from him, obviously excited to have gotten it all on camera. ”You got it."
“Ed…” Harry tried again but Ed was running toward him at full speed. “Ed! Ed! Ed!"
Ed pushed him up against the wall beside them, their fight more of them just holding each others heads and slapping each other’s arms rather than any actual fighting. Maggie yelled at them to break it up as Dean ran inside, pulling the two of them apart.
“Hey, hey hey!” Dean shouted. “What the [bleep] are you doing?! Cut it out! We're down by two people!” He shook his head before leaving to search for Sam again. “Sam! Sammy!"
Ed and Harry turned to each other panting over the small amount of exertion. “Great.” Ed turned to Spruce. “Give me my glasses. Did he knock my -- is my tooth still there?"
“You’re good, man.”
"I won that, right?"
"Yep. You did."
Ed left back out into the hallway. Harry glared at Spruce, ”Thanks, Spruce."
"Yeah, it's my fault."
Maggie shook her head, brushing past the cameraman, ”That’s real great. That's nice. Thanks.”
I was holding back my laughter, but as the scene switched my blood ran cold. The chorus of It’s My Party by Lesley Gore played over and over, a still shot of Corbett remained on the screen as he was unconscious, blood running from his hairline and down the side of his face. We could hear Sam’s voice in the background.
"Corbett. Corbett,” Sam said, trying to wake him up. “Corbett, hey.”
Finally, Corbett began to stir, wincing at what I was sure was a bad concussion. His camera showed their surroundings in the small light it gave off. They were at a table, covered in colorful confetti. Across from the table was Sam, tied to a chair. To the left and right of either of them were corpses propped up against the table, party hats on their heads.
“Corbett, hey, you got to keep listening to my voice, okay? I'm right here. Stay awake."
"Don't listen,” a voice said from beside Corbett. A large man whose face remained hidden, but it wasn’t hard to decipher it was the same man who’d appeared behind Corbett just before he disappeared. He picked up a long metal pipe. “It stops hurting, so don't worry."
"Corbett, stay with me. Stay with me, you got it?” Sam pleaded as the man rounded Corbett’s chair. Corbett’s breathing became heavier as he tried not to panic. “I’m right here. Hey. Stay with me. Don’t…Don’t!”
The horrible sound of the metal entering through the back of Corbett’s neck filled the microphone. Corbett immediately began gurgling on his own blood as the pipe came clean through the front of his neck. He couldn’t even scream.
"No. Corbett! No! Corbett!”Sam screamed.Corbett writhed until finally, he stilled.
I looked past Dean to where Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to even look at the screen. When I looked back, Dean and I were crowded around the table, trying to figure out how the hell to get us all out of the Morton House alive.
"Okay, so Daggett was a cold war nut. He was -- he was an amateur taxidermist. He liked to slow dance with cadavers, and all he ate were c-rations, so what the hell are we looking for?!” Dean shouted as we rifled through Daggett’s belongings.
"Horrible little life,” Maggie remarked.
"Yeah, a lonely life,” I said as I picked up a pamphlet: How to Survive a Nuclear War. That was when it clicked. “A cold war life. He was scared.”
Dean met my eyes, realization settling in. “He was scared...he was scared."
Dean and I immediately set off toward the adjoining hallway, Ed, Spruce, Maggie and Harry calling out after us, ”Scared of what? Where are you going!?”
"Guys like Daggett back then, the ones who were really scared of the Russkies -- they built bomb shelters,” Dean said as we rushed down the stairs. “I’m guessing he's got one. I'll bet you it's in the basement.”
Me, Dean and Spruce ran through the door first. But before Harry, Ed, and Maggie could make it through, the door slammed shut. “Whoa! That is not funny!"
"Um, who closed the door?” Spruce asked, looking to Dean and I wide eyed.
"It did,” I said. “It wants to separate us.”
“Ed! Listen to me!” Dean shouted through the door. "There's some salt in my duffel. Make a circle and get inside."
Ed threw a confused look over his shoulder at Harry, whispering, “Inside?”
"That's stupid,” Harry whispered.
"Inside your duffel bag?” Ed asked.
I looked wide-eyed up to Dean in disbelief. "I'm gonna kill them...I'm going to [bleep] kill them-"
"In the salt, you idiot!” Dean shouted. Ed and Harry scrambled from the door. Dean and I turned with Spruce on our heels into the basement.
Ed grabbed the blue canister of salt from Dean’s bag, making a large circle around the three of them. Harry looked wide eyed at them. ”Guys, guys, I don't want to die, okay, and I don't want you to die-“
Ed grabbed him by the shoulder, ”Harry, listen -- listen to me, okay? Listen. If we don't die...it's totally okay if you, uh, do my sister.” Maggie reached out and punched Ed hard in the shoulder, making him yelp.
The camera began to fritz again. Maggie turned in a circle, ”Hey guys, it's coming again."
"Oh, god. Oh, okay. Guys. Get in close."
The three of them huddled closely together, their foreheads nearly touching as they turned their backs to the rest of the room when something caught Harry’s eye, just behind Maggie. Trembling, she slowly turned the camera around where Corbett was standing at the other side of the room, blood running down his neck. He convulsed, gagging on it. “Oh. Oh, C-Corbett.”
The angle switched to Dean, Spruce and I examining the basement.
"Hey, can I ask you something?” Spruce asked.
"What?"
"Earlier, you guys -- Ellie you said Dean had two months left?"
I clenched my jaw, ignoring his question. Dean threw me a look before looking back at the bright camera light. He cleared his throat. ”Yeah, it's complicated. A while ago, Sam…” He paused. “No. No. No. I'm not gonna whine about my [bleep]ing problems to some [bleep] reality show. I'm gonna do my [bleep]ing job."
Spruce was quiet for only a second. ”Is it cancer?"
"Shut up.”
I looked around the room, leaning my ear up to one of the walls. I turned to them. “You hear that?"
"Is that music?"
I nodded. ”Yeah, it's coming from behind this wall."
Dean motioned to a large metal cabinet. “Help me with this.”
We each grabbed an end, struggling slightly before moving it away from the wall and revealing a hidden door.
”Wow, you're strong,” Spruce said. Dean flashed him a blurred middle finger.
The view changed again to Corbett’s night vision camera that was still laying sideways on the table in Daggett’s bunker. Sam was just in frame, tied with white rope to a chair. Daggett had placed a small party hat on his head. He walked around Sam’s chair, the same metal pipe used to kill Corbett in his hand.
I gripped the sides of the chair. Even knowing that Sam came out of there unharmed, I hadn’t realized how close we really cut it.
Dean threw the door open, using his shotgun to blow Daggett away. I ran toward Sam. ”Sam!” I used my knife to untie the rope, helping him to his feet. Spruce’s camera showed the state of Daggett’s shelter. Around the table, besides’s Corbett’s, were two other corpses. One had his eyes wide open, a cigar dangling from his lips. Confetti, paper plates and cups littered the table along with a birthday cake.
"Oh, no, Corbett,” Spruce whispered. "What's this Daggett guy's problem anyway?"
“Loneliness,” Sam said.
"What, he's never heard of a Realdoll?” Dean said as we left the room.
"No, no, no, Daggett was the Norman Bates, stuff-your-mother kind of lonely. I mean, that's why he lifted these bodies from the morgue, threw himself a birthday party, except they were the only ones who would come.” Sam wiped away some of the blood dripping down his face. “Anyway, so, at midnight, he sealed them in the bomb shelter and went upstairs and O.D.'d on horse tranqs."
I raised my eyebrows at this new information. ”How do you know this?"
Sam grimaced, ”'Cause he told me."
"Oh. Okay, so now that he's dead, what? Same song, different verse, trying to get people to come to his party?"
Sam nodded. “Pretty much, yeah. Stay forever."
Upstairs, Maggie, Ed and Harry were sitting inside the salt circle. Ed and Harry were rocking back and forth, their knees tucked up into their chests. Harry was mumbling their theme song to soothe himself, "Ghostfacers... we go to places the others will not...Ghostfacers...stay in the kitchen when the kitchen gets hot."
It was then that Maggie’s camera began to start acting up again. ”Oh, no."
Behind them, Corbett stood again, his body shaking as he stared blankly ahead. Ed watched him, sad before turning to Maggie and Harry. "Guys, it's -- it's Corbett. He's -- he's -- he's trapped. He's in a lot of pain, you know? We got to try and...we got to try and pull him out of his loop. We have to."
The three of them stood. Ed turned to his friend, calling out his name. He brought his foot up, making Maggie and Harry gasp. ”Don’t cross the line of salt."
"I gotta do it, Harry,” Ed said. "Corbett, listen to me. Okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. Listen. Listen. Oh, god. Corbett.”
Corbett’s spirit began to flicker, frightening the three of them. Ed jumped back into the circle. “He's not hearing me! He won't stop dying."
The video cut to Dean using the butt of his rifle to smash into the basement door. Sam looked down into Spruce’s camera, "Seriously -- you're still shooting?"
"It makes him feel better. Don't ask,” Dean said, panting as he hit the door again, to no avail.
Once again, the camera turned fuzzy. Spruce turned quickly around where Daggett was standing behind him. The spirit grabbed him by his shirt and threw him backward across the room, the camera skittering across the floor. I ran in after them, shooting the rock salt at the ghost. I quickly grabbed Spruce who went back for the camera before following me back up the stairs.
"I...I know how we can get through to him,” Harry said. We were back watching the main room of the house. "Ed...he had feelings for you."
Ed furrowed his eyebrows. “Huh?"
"He wanted you,” Harry said, putting a hand on Ed’s chest.
"Wanted me to what?"
"You know…” Harry glanced at the camera before looking back at Ed and thrusting his hips forward, grunting. “And you know what you've got to do. You can do it, Ed. You've always been the brave one.” Ed immediately began shaking his head. “Yes, you can. You make us brave -- Maggie, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah you do. You totally do!”
"Ed...You got to go be gay for that poor, dead intern! You got to send him into the light.”
Ed looked back at his friend, turning and stepping back over the circle. "Corbett, look. Hey, it's Ed, buddy.” Corbett continued to convulse, whimpering in pain as he constantly relived his death over and over. "Hey, hey, Corbett, listen to me. Listen to me. You meant...Corbett, you meant a lot to the team. You meant…you meant a lot to me. You know, you never backed down...never said a bad word…I remember that, Corbett. I- I remember that. I remember because I love you, Corbett. I really, truly love you. Do you remember that?…Do you?"
Finally, Corbett’s whimpering stopped and for the first time it seemed as if he could actually see his friend. "Hey, Ed.”
Tears were streaming down both their faces now. “Yeah. Yeah, Corbett, it’s…it’s me. It's me. look at me. You got to help us, man. Please. Please help us right now."
Sam looked worriedly at Spruce back at the top of the basement steps. "Take it easy. You alright?"
Before he could say a word, Daggett’s spirit appeared behind us. “Uh, guys..."
We quickly turned on our heels, but Daggett was faster. He grabbed Dean by his shirt, throwing him across the room before tossing Sam and I aside too. He breathed heavily, coming closer to Spruce, towering over him. However, just before Daggett could get his hands on him, too, Corbett appeared behind him.
“Corbett?"
Corbett’s spirit ran at full speed toward Daggett, the two of them falling to the ground in a flurry of bodies. Gray smoke encircled them quickly before it suddenly disappeared, the two of them vanishing.
Spruce panned the camera over Sam, Dean and I as we groaned, struggling to our feet. “Oh, you guys look awful.”
I clenched my jaw, grabbing the camera by the lens, and the Ghostfacers theme song started playing.
Spruce’s next shot was of the sunrise coming up just above the Impala. He turned as we all filed out of the house. All of us, except Corbett. Ed’s voice played over the footage.
"Leap year, February 29th, the Morton House. A tragic day. A day of souls bound in torment, of lives held in cruel balance. But the Ghostfacers, they did the best that they could."
"We lost a beloved friend, but we gained new allies,” Harry said as Sam handed Ed a piece of paper, one we’d written our numbers on if they ever needed us again. "We know this much: that every day, including today, is a new beginning. We learned more than we can say in the brutal feat of the Morton House."
We saw Ed and Harry again in their suits, sitting in front of the fireplace with whiskey glasses in hand. “The Ghostfacers were forced to face something far more scary than ghosts. They were forced to face themselves."
"War changes Man."
"And Maggie."
"War changes man…and one woman…” A beat of silence passed before Ed went on. “You know Corbett, we just...gosh, we just like to think that you're out there, watching over us."
"As far as we're concerned, you're not an intern anymore. You have more than earned full Ghostfacer status. Plus, it would be cool to have a ghost on the team."
"Yeah,” Ed chuckled. “And here we were thinking that, you know, we were teaching you and all this time you were teaching us, about heart, about dedication…and about how gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day. Thank you, Alan J. Corbett.”
"Go well into that starry night, young Turk. Go well.”
A quiet, sad song began to play over a final video of Corbett, rushing to pack up the Ghostfacers van before leaving for the Morton House. He was flustered, hauling in camera equipment. “Come on, Spruce! I got to get all this stuff packed up.”
“So? Pack and talk,” Spruce said from behind the camera.
“I don’t know what to say,” he dismissed as he opened an equipment box, carefully placing rolled up cords inside. Say what you wanted about the kid, but he was committed.
“Say what comes to mind. This is one of our confessional moments, Corbett, so confess. What do you think is gonna happen tonight? What do you think’s gonna happen on this trip?”
Corbett paused, “I think tonight — I really do — I think that all our dreams are gonna come true…Does that sound stupid?”
Spruce chuckled behind the camera, “Kinda does, yeah.”
Corbett laughed, the video stilling on the smile spread wide across his face.
In Memory of Alan J. Corbett, 1985-2008
King of the Impossible
As the screen went black, I sat back on Harry’s throne chair, breathing out a deep breath.
"So, guys, what do you think?” Ed asked. Dean leaned forward, rubbing at his eye, laughing under his breath. “Are you alright?"
He looked up, smirking, ”You know, I kind of think it was half-awesome."
"Half-awesome? That- that's full-on good, right?” Harry beamed.
I glanced to Dean, nodding to him as he flipped the switch of our little device in our decoy bag under his chair. I cleared my throat, standing, ”Yeah, um, I mean it's bizarre how you all are able to honor Corbett's memory while grossly exploiting the manner of his death. Well done."
"Yeah. It's a real tight rope you guys are walking there,” Sam said, the two of them following suit.
"Nah, that's reality, man,” Ed said. We stopped, turning to him before leaving the trailer. “Yeah, Corbett gave his life searching for the truth, and it’s our job over here to share it with the world."
"Right. Well, in our experience, you know what you get when you show the world the truth? A straitjacket. Or a punch in the face. Sometimes both,” Sam said.
"Oh come on, guys, don't be 'facer haters just because we happen to have gotten the footage of the century,” Harry said, making Ed nod smugly.
I looked to Sam and Dean, shrugging. “You got us there. Well, we'll see you guys around."
"Peace out.”
Ed shut the door behind us. We stood outside, listening closely.
“Dicks,” Harry muttered. “You know, I think we’re gonna need a bigger office here because we’re gonna go international.”
I rolled my eyes, pressing my ear up closer to the door.
“Hey…menudo left their dance bag behind,” Ed said. Dean smirked at Sam and I.
They both laughed inside. I could hear the bag unzip. I created the mental image in my mind of Ed pulling out the hard drive destroyer we’d made from a car battery, wires, and a really nerdy kid at a tech store.
"Wait, wait!! No operating system found?! Wait a minute!!"
We bolted from the door, running out to the Impala.
”We clean?” Sam asked.
“Nooooooo!!!! Are you kidding me?!?!” They screamed from inside the garage. We laughed, sliding into the car.
"Electromagnet wiped out every tape and hard drive that they have,” I said. "The world just isn't ready for the Ghostfacers."
"It's too bad,” Dean said, turning halfway around. “I kinda liked the show."
Sam and I reluctantly nodded in agreement as he turned the engine over. ”It had its moments."
The search for Bela took us across the country from where we were in Florida. The three of us filed into the small studio apartment Bobby was sure she was staying in, guns drawn. I closed the door behind us, scanning the area for any sign of her. When we knew the coast was clear, we began the search for the Colt. I dropped to my stomach beside the bed, pushing away lone socks and pairs of shoes, pulling out a cardboard box. I rifled through it, only coming up with fake badges. Sam was going through the drawers of the tv stand while Dean was opening each of the dresser drawers.
"Any sign of it?" I asked, looking up to Sam and Dean as I shoved the box back under the bed.
Sam slammed shut an empty safe. "Nothing. Are you sure this is Bela’s room?"
Dean turned to us, a blonde wig in one hand and a red one in the other. "I’d say so."
The landline on the unmade bed began to ring. We looked to each other, unsure whether or not to answer it considering we did just break in. I stood from the floor, slowly lifting the phone off the stand and brought the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”
"Ellie?” Bela’s voice came through the other end. I rolled my eyes. “Sweetie, are you there?"
I clenched my jaw, "Where are you?"
"Two states away by now."
"Where?"
I could tell she was smirking as she spoke, "Where’s our usual quippy banter? I miss it."
"I want it back, Bela…now,” I said, gripping the phone. Our life was so much easier before she sauntered into it. Dean ran an annoyed hand through his hair as Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance at the situation.
"Your little pistol, you mean? Sorry, I can’t at the moment."
"You understand how many people are gonna die if you do this?"
"What exactly is it that you think I plan to do with it?"
The answer seemed obvious to me: "Take the only weapon we have against an army of demons and sell it to the highest bidder."
"You know nothing about me."
"I know I’m gonna stop you."
"Tough words for someone who can’t even find me."
I smirked, "Oh, I’ll find you. You know why? Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than to track you down."
"That’s where you’re wrong. You’re about to be quite occupied.” I furrowed my eyebrows. “Did you really think I wouldn’t take precautions?"
Before I could ask any questions, the door to the apartment was swiftly kicked down as six armed officers in bullet proof vests and guns blazing swarmed around us. "Hands in the air! Drop your weapons!”
I dropped the phone and my gun onto the bed, our hands flying into the air. I shook my head, "That bitch.”
“Down on the ground, now!” They shouted. Sam, Dean and I dropped to our knees as two officers flanked each of us and pushed us flat to the floor. One kept their guns trained at our backs while the other yanked our wrists behind us, securing them tightly with handcuffs.
"Sam, Dean, and Ellie Winchester, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” one of the officers recited. I winced at the pressure of the cuffs. Another pair of feet came into the room. His shoes were black, polished so neatly I could almost see my reflection in them. “You have the right to speak to an attorney and have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to you."
Sam, Dean and I glanced upward to the FBI agent hovering over us. He looked familiar. I wracked my brain for where I knew him from. It didn’t take long to realize that this was the same agent who’d responded to the bank robbery in Milwaukee last year, where the shapeshifters were wearing our skin. The same one that was hell-bent on putting us away forever.
"Hi guys,” Agent Henriksen greeted. “It’s been a while."
The three of us glanced at each other. We are so incredibly fucked.
"So did you get them?" The Sheriff asked immediately as I came through the small station.
"Where is everyone? I asked for all your men,” I said. He was lucky we caught them off guard, because if the Winchesters had gotten away again, the Sheriff’s head would be on a stick.
"And you got them. They went with you on the raid."
I cocked an eyebrow at him, "Six men? That’s all?"
"Everyone I could drum up with an hour’s notice. We’re a small town, Agent Henriksen."
I shook my head, moving past him toward the row of cells just around the corner. The biggest one was being occupied by a disheveled man asleep on a cot. The Sheriff and one of his officers followed close behind. I pointed to the man in the cell, "What’s he in for?"
"Drunk and disorderly."
I held out my hand, "Keys. Now."
The officer behind the Sheriff immediately gave them up. The Sheriff’s eyes widened as I entered the cell, "What are you doing?"
I grabbed the man by the back of his tattered jacket, pulling him to his feet, "It is your lucky night, sir. You're free to go."
"What the hell are you doing?" The Sheriff asked incredulously as I walked the man out the back door. "Agent Henriksen, you can’t just release my prisoners...Agent Henriksen!"
I whipped around, startling him, "Look, I get it…you’re Mayberry P.D."
He narrowed his eyes, "Excuse me?"
"And this isn’t how I’d do it if I had my choice. But a tip’s a tip and we had to move fast."
"Look, Agent, this ain’t my first rodeo-"
"No," I stopped him right there. There was nothing this small-town sheriff has seen that could even come close to these monsters. "You’ve never been to a rodeo like this before. You have any idea who we’re about to bring in here?"
"Yeah, a couple of fugitives."
"The most dangerous criminals you’ve ever laid your eyes on,” I corrected, making the Sheriff's face twitch slightly. “Think Hannibal Lecter and his half-wit little siblings. Do you know what these guys do for kicks? Dig up graves and mutilate corpses. They’re not just killers, Sheriff. They’re Satan-worshipping, nutbag killers. So work with me here. I’ll get them out of your hair and on their way to Supermax and you’ll be home in enough time to watch the farm report."
The Sheriff’s jaw twitched as he spoke through gritted teeth, "However we can help."
I nodded once, motioning to the six officers that helped arrest the Winchesters. "Those men of yours…post them at the exits."
"Yes sir,” the Sheriff said, begrudgingly.
I clicked on the walkie on my chest, "Reidy?"
"Yeah, Vic?"
"Bring them in. We’re as ready as we’re gonna be."
The double doors to the Sheriff’s station parted as Sam, Dean and I shuffled forward, doing the best we could not to trip over the chains wrapped tightly around our ankles. I tried to keep up with their longer strides, the chain connecting us clinking loudly against the linoleum floor. As we rounded the corner, we were faced with a row of cubicles, two officers, the Sheriff, Agent Henriksen, and a secretary who watched us.
"Why all the sourpusses?" Dean remarked. I glanced at the secretary who wouldn’t meet our gaze. The plaque on her desk read Nancy Fitzgerald. She reached for the rosary next to her. One of the officers pushed us forward. "Hey! Watch the merchandise!”
Sam looked to the secretary as we passed her desk, “We’re not the ones you should be scared of, Nancy."
The officers led us around another corner where a large cell door was open. We shuffled inside, turning as the door slammed shut behind us. We all turned in three separate directions, forgetting the chain connected us when it suddenly ran out slack. We lurched forward. I caught myself against the cell bars, looking over my shoulder, “Oh, this is gonna piss me off.”
"Alright, alright. Sit?" Dean suggested. We all came to the singular bed, twisting around each other in an attempt to untangle ourselves but it was no use. We flopped down onto the thin cot, sighing. "How we gonna Houdini out of this one?"
"Good question,” Sam said, rubbing at the raw skin around his wrists from the cuffs.
I leaned against the cinderblock wall behind me, trying to get some air after having been shoulder to shoulder with Sam and Dean for the hour ride over here. I glanced out of the cell where I could hear Henriksen on the phone. I narrowed my eyes as I strained to listen. “He’s saying something about a helicopter.”
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, they’re not taking any chances this time.”
It didn’t take long before Henriksen found his way to our cell, resting his hands around the bars. We watched him in silence. "You know what I’m trying to decide?"
"I don’t know. What? Whether Cialis will help you with your little condition?" Dean quipped.
Henriksen ignored him. "What to have for dinner tonight. Steak or lobster, what the hell, surf and turf. I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you three in chains…"
"You kinky son of a bitch. We don’t swing that way,” Dean smirked. "You know, I wouldn’t bust out the melted butter just yet. Couldn’t catch us at the bank, couldn’t keep us in that jail..."
Henriksen nodded, "You’re right. Screwed up. I underestimated you. I didn’t count on you being that smart…but now I’m ready."
"Yeah, ready to lose us again?" Sam asked, glaring at the agent.
"Ready like a court order to keep you in a Supermaximum prison in Nevada 'til trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, so small that, between you and me…is probably unconstitutional,” he threatened. I had a feeling he wasn’t bluffing. “How’s that for ready? Take a good look at one another because you three will never see each other again.”
I could tell Dean was nervous although he would never show it outright. Henriksen clicked his tongue, "Aw. Where’s that smug smile, Dean? I wanna see it."
I scoffed, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe this was happening. "You got the wrong people."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You fight monsters. Sorry, Ellie. Truth is, your daddy brainwashed you with all that devil talk and no doubt touched you in a bad place. That’s all. That’s reality."
I sat up, bearing my eyes into his skull. Sam and Dean straightened up, too. I clenched my fists, feeling them cut into the metal of the cuffs. "Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth?"
"Well, guess what? Life sucks, get a helmet ‘cause everybody’s got a sob story. But not everybody becomes a killer,” he said. The whirring sound of helicopter blades filled the room. We looked up to the small window at the top of the cell. Henriksen smirked. “And now I have three less to worry about…Mm. It’s surf and turf time."
Henriksen sauntered away from the cell, laughing. I almost expected him to start skipping. I blew out a breath, letting my head hang before looking to the two of them.
“Either of you bring your parachutes? Because that’s the only way I think we’re getting out of this one.” I stood from the cot, crossing the length of the small cell, feeling the restraint of the chains on my ankles. “What’s the plan?”
Sam shook his head, “I’ve got nothing.”
I ran my tongue over the edge of my teeth. “Only a few months left and I’ll be spending them in prison. Hey, but maybe I’ll be able to skip out on the electric chair.”
Sam and Dean glanced sideways at each other. I narrowed my eyes at them when footsteps rounded the corner. The door leading out to the office space was shut behind them, followed by a deep voice, "Sam, Dean, and Ellie Winchester.” The man stopped in front of the cell, hands on his hips as he surveyed us. “I’m Deputy Director Steven Groves. This is a pleasure."
"Well, glad one of us feels that way,” Dean muttered.
"I’ve been waiting a long time for you three to come out of the woodwork.” Then, Groves pulled a gun seemingly out of nowhere and slid it through the bars of the cell and fired round after round. I felt the first bullet before I saw it, pain exploding up my thigh as I dropped to the cell floor, scurrying backward away from the gun. I nearly screamed in pain as my ankle caught on the tension of the chain and forced the bottom half of my leg away from the bullet in my thigh. Blood seeped through my fingers as I held the wound. Sam and Dean were instantly on their feet, yanking Groves’ arm into the cell in an attempt to disarm him. The rounds continued to fire off, hitting the cinderblock behind us. I ducked my head as chunks of the wall exploded.
Through the commotion I could hear Sam start reciting an exorcism, making Groves’ head thrash back and forth. I moved my arm away from my face, watching as the agent’s eyes pooled to black. "Sorry, kids. I've gotta cut this short. It’s gonna be a long night."
The black smoke flew from the man’s mouth and up out of the building through the air vents above us. I struggled to my feet, pulling myself up with the support of the bars. The agent dropped to the ground on his back. Our luck was increasingly getting worse when the Sheriff and Henriksen burst through the sliding door, guns drawn and yelling at Sam, "Alright, put the gun down!"
"Wait. Okay. Wait!” Sam said frantically, holding the gun out on flat palms.
"He shot him!" The sheriff shouted, pointing his gun at Sam.
"He didn’t shoot him,“ Dean shouted back, eyes wild as he looked from the cops to Sam.
"Get on your knees, now!" Henriksen yelled.
Sam dropped the gun to the ground, passing it under the cell door as we dropped to our knees. My leg screamed in pain around the bullet still lodged inside. Without my hand to hold the wound it bled freely, coating my jeans and dripping onto the cement floor in a puddle. We put our hands in the air. I felt my blood roll in rivulets down my palm to my arm and under the sleeve of my jacket.
“Okay, okay, okay. Don’t shoot. Please. Look. Here. Here,” Sam said quickly. “We didn’t shoot him. Check the body. There’s no blood. We did not kill him!”
Henriksen’s partner, Agent Reidy kneeled down next to Groves’ body, looking for any visible gunshot wounds but of course, there weren’t any. "Vic, there’s no bullet wound."
"He’s probably been dead for months,” Dean said, glancing back at me and down to the blood pluming over my jeans.
"What did you do to him?" Henriksen demanded.
"We didn’t do anything.”
"Talk or I shoot."
"You won’t believe us,” I said, feeling dizzy already. I held onto the bar next to me. "He was possessed."
Henriksen scoffed, still holding his gun out at us. "Possessed? Right. Fire up the chopper! We’re taking them out of here now."
"Yeah! Do that!" Dean shouted.
Reidy brought his walkie to his mouth, "Bill? Bill, are you there?"
Only static came through the walkie. Reidy stood from where he was beside Groves and left the room. Henriksen and the Sheriff kept their weapons on us until Reidy’s voice came over the walkie again, "They’re dead. I think they’re all dead-” An ear-splitting explosion came from outside, a flash of orange light filled the room.
“What the hell was that?!” Henriksen yelled, dropping his gun as he tried to get hold of his partner. “Reidy? Reidy?!"
In an instant, Henriksen and the Sheriff ran from the room and chaos erupted. Sam and Dean rose to their feet. Sam came quickly around to me, helping me to my feet and to the bed. I sat back against the wall, huffing as I heaved my leg up. Dean shed his jacket and slid it under my thigh, bringing it up to tie just above the wound. He crossed the sleeves, glanced at me in apology before quickly tightening it around my thigh. More blood spilled out, warming the rest of my skin. I groaned, banging my head against the wall behind me.
“Sorry,” Dean apologized as he knotted the sleeves again. A makeshift tourniquet. The dim lights above us flickered before completely blinking out, swimming us in darkness.
“That can’t be good,” Sam said. Whatever was trying to get in wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Shouting continued out in the front of the station. They were all in full panic mode until Henriksen shouted something at them, instantly quieting the room.
"What’s the plan?” A voice said suddenly, appearing at the cell door. Henriksen. “Kill everyone in the station, bust you three out?"
Dean looked over his shoulder at him, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I’m talking about your psycho friends. I’m talking about a blood bath!"
"Okay, I promise you – whoever’s out there? They're not here to help us."
"Look, you gotta believe us. Everyone here is in terrible danger,” Sam tried. "Why don’t you let us out of here so we can save your asses?"
"From what?” Henriksen asked but stopped himself, shaking his head in frustration. “You gonna say 'demons'? Don’t you dare say 'demons'. Let me tell you something. You should be a lot more scared of me."
We watched as Henriksen rounded the corner again. Sam turned back to me, “How’s the leg?”
"It’s awesome,” I said through gritted teeth. “Any bright ideas?"
Dean looked around the cell as if an answer were hidden somewhere around our heads when he paused, nodding across the cell toward a figure who was seemingly spying on us. It was Nancy, the secretary.
Sam stood from the bed, gesturing toward her, "Hey, please. Please. We need your help. It’s Nancy, right?” The woman nodded. She had to be in her mid twenties but looked like a scared child. “Nancy, my sister’s been shot. She’s…she’s bleeding really bad. You think maybe you could get us a towel? Please?”
Nancy hesitated, not moving from behind the wall. Dean stood beside Sam, lowering his voice into a softer tone, “Look at us. We’re not the bad guys. I swear."
Nancy contemplated it before turning away. I sighed, "Nice try." I looked back down at my leg, using part of Dean’s jacket to press down on it, soaking up the blood. When I looked back up, Nancy had reappeared, towel in hand.
Sam stepped forward as Nancy took a tentative step toward him. His hands were held up non-threateningly. "Thank you."
Nancy came closer, smiling softly as she slowly passed the towel through the bars. Sam quickly grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her body against the cell. She screamed, an officer sprinting in behind her, shotgun at the ready.
"Let her go! Let her go!"
Sam quickly let go of her. I sat up straighter, watching with wide eyes. The officer looked behind at Nancy who had rushed toward the exit, "You okay, Nance?” She nodded quickly. The officer looked back at Sam, the shotgun still trained on him. “Try something again, get shot. And not in the leg."
The officer backed out of the room, taking Nancy with him. Dean slapped Sam on the arm. "What the hell was that?" Sam turned to us, holding up Nancy’s beaded rosary.
It felt like hours as we sat in our cell, waiting for something to happen so Henriksen would have no choice but to let us out.
"We’re like sitting ducks in here,” Sam muttered under his breath.
"Yeah, I know,” Dean said. “Would it kill these cops to bring us a snack?!"
I turned the towel over to a dry spot, worried about how much blood I was losing. "How many you figure are out there?"
"Don’t know. But however many there are, they could be possessing anyone. Anyone could just walk right in,” Sam pointed out.
"It's kind of wild, right? I mean it’s like they’re coming for us. They’ve never done that before. It’s like we got a contract on us,” Dean said before smirking at us. “Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome."
He continued to smile at us but dropped it as Sam and I stared back, unamused. The sound of footsteps made us turn to the hallway where the Sheriff came to a stop outside the cell, unclipping a key ring from his belt. "Well, howdy there, Sheriff."
He ignored Dean as he unlocked the cell, sliding the door open. The three of us stood. "Uh, Sheriff?"
"It’s time to go, kids."
"Um…you know what? We’re – we're just comfy right here. But thank you,” I said. We took a step back as the Sheriff came deeper into the cell.
"What do you think you’re doing?" Henriksen shouted.
The Sheriff turned to him, "We’re not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We’re gonna make a run for it."
"It’s safer here."
"There’s a SWAT facility in Boulder."
"We’re not going anywhere!”
"The hell we’re not-"
Henriksen raised his gun and blew the Sheriffs head off, making him crumple to the floor. Sam and Dean tackled Henriksen, effectively knocking the gun from his hands. Sam grabbed him under one arm and Dean grabbed the other, dropping him to the ground in front of the toilet in the corner of the cell. I quickly scooped the fallen gun into my hand as the rest of the officers, and Nancy, crowded into the room.
"Stay back!" I shouted at them, gun aimed at the group. They all came to a halt. I looked over my shoulder to where Sam was reciting an exorcism, shoving Henriksen’s head deeper into the water we had blessed with Nancy's rosary.
Henriksen’s head came up from the water, sizzling as the demon inside him screamed. I frantically looked back to the group in front of me who looked horrified. "Hurry up!"
"It’s too late,” the demon inside Henriksen said. His eyes were pools of black. “I already called them. They’re coming."
Dean shoved his head back into the water as Sam recited the exorcism even faster. I gripped the gun, watching the officers ahead of me when Henriksen’s head flew backwards and the black smoke escaped his mouth. Nancy and the officers ducked low as they watched the smoke disappear through the air vents, just like the demon inside Groves had. Finally, Henriksen fell sideways onto the floor and all was quiet again. Sam and Dean fell backwards onto the floor, panting. It’s not easy trying to keep a demon that still for so long.
“Is he…is he dead?" Nancy whispered. It was the first we’d heard from her.
It didn’t take long before Henriksen began coughing, sitting straight up and looking around the room at us. "Henriksen! Is that you in there?"
Henriksen pulled himself onto the cot, his face soaked. He looked like he was in shock. He looked down at the man on the cell floor. "I…I shot the Sheriff."
"But you didn't shoot the deputy,” Dean cracked, unable to hide his smile. Sam and I shot him a look.
"Five minutes ago, I was fine, and then…"
"Let me guess,” I said. Henriksen’s eyes flicked to mine. “Some nasty black smoke jammed itself down your throat? You were possessed."
He looked like he was weighing whether or not to believe me. "Possessed, like…possessed?"
"That’s what it feels like. Now you know,” I said, reluctantly handing him his gun back. I rested back against the bars.
"I owe the biggest ‘I told you so’ ever,” Dean said.
Henriksen didn’t look like putting up a fight. He looked to one of the officers behind him. "Officer Amici. Keys.” Officer Amici handed them over and Henriksen made quick work of freeing us. "Alright, so how do we survive?"
While Sam spray-painted devil’s traps in front of every door in the station and Dean looked over a map of the building, I sat pant-less in a cubicle with my leg propped up on a chair as I dug around for the bullet in my leg. Officer Amici offered to pin up a blanket to give me some privacy to which I gratefully accepted. I bit down on one of the new towels Nancy brought me until my tweezers found the hard metal. I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands trembling as I pulled it free, holding it up under the moonlight. I panted, dropping it into the trashcan next to me.
“Everything okay in there?” Sam called from the other side of the blanket.
I immediately got started on my stitches so I didn’t lose anymore blood. I spit the towel out of my mouth and onto the floor. “Almost done.”
I heard Henriksen and Amici return from the back of the station. I peeked around the blanket, watching as they dropped armfuls of guns onto the table.
"Well, that’s nice. It’s not gonna do much good,” Dean said.
Amici furrowed his brows, gesturing to the weapons. “We got an arsenal here."
"You don’t poke a bear with BB gun. That’s just gonna make them mad."
Henriksen put his hands on his hips. "What do you need?"
"Salt. Lots and lots of salt,” Dean said. There was a beat of silence.
"Salt?"
"What, is there an echo in here?"
"There’s road salt in the storeroom,” Nancy said this time.
"Perfect. Perfect. We need salt at every window and every door."
I could hear two sets of feet leaving the room. I squinted in the dark, piercing the needle through my skin again. One stitch left. I quickly finished the last suture, tying the end of it into a knot. I let out a shaky breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. I pulled my jeans back on, wincing as the denim dragged across the fresh stitches.
I pulled the blanket down, limping to the table where Dean was standing next to Nancy, the two of them examining the blueprint of the building in front of them.
"Hey," Dean said, looking to me. He glanced down at my leg. "How you holding up?"
"Better," I said truthfully. I handed Nancy back the blanket and first aid kit. "You doing okay, Nancy?"
She tore her eyes from my bloody hands and looked up at me, nodding. "I'm okay. When I was little, I would come home from the church and start to talk about the Devil. And my parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?"
I smiled softly at this. Behind me, Amici and Henriksen came back into the room, bags of salt in hand.
"Hey, where's my car?" Dean asked Amici.
"Impound lot out back," he said before pausing. "Wait. You’re not going out there?"
"Yeah, I gotta get something out of my trunk."
"Your funeral," Amici said.
I grabbed Dean by his arm. "Be careful."
Dean nodded once as I watched him jog toward the back of the station toward the impound lot. I grabbed one of the large bags of salt, helping Amici, Henriksen, and Nancy salt every door in window in the place.
As we finished up, I came to a stop beside Sam who stood from the devil's trap he had just finished spraying on the floor. "Do you think it'll be enough?"
Sam looked unsure. "It'll have to be."
The ground beneath our feet suddenly began to rumble, the streetlights outside flickering wildly. The back door Dean had left through just minutes ago was thrown open. He ran through it, full duffle bag slung over his shoulder, shouting, "They’re coming! Hurry!"
We all congregated into the offices. We could see the plume of black demonic smoke encircling the police station, blocking out every inch of light from the outside. The rumbling continued, shaking the floor beneath our feet. Tables were shaking, files and papers flying off of surfaces, coffee mugs shattering on the floor, and then suddenly, it was over. The smoke rolled away from the windows, the shaking stopped. My eyes darted over the windows, knowing that was just the beginning.
"Everybody okay?" Sam called out.
Henriksen slowly stood. “Define ‘okay’.”
Dean rifled through his duffle bag, pulling out a ziplock that contained necklaces made from dollar store yarn and an anti-possession amulet hanging off of it. He passed them out to Amici, Nancy and Henriksen. "Alright, everybody needs to put these on. They’ll keep you from being possessed."
"What about you guys?" Nancy asked as she slid hers over her head.
Sam and Dean pulled down the collars of their shirts to reveal the symbol we'd had tattooed. I rolled my eyes, pulling my collar down, too.
"Smart," Henriksen said. "How long you had those?"
I'd never felt more useless than sitting inside that station with no solid plan on how we were going to get these people to safety.
"Hey, that’s Jenna Rubner," Nancy said as she looked out the window to the growing group of demons outside. The woman stepped forward, her eyes black as coal.
"That’s not Jenna anymore," I said. It was important for her to know that upfront.
Nancy looked to me, "That’s where all that black demon smoke went?"
"Looks like."
There was a beat of silence before Henriksen spoke. He and Dean were sitting around a table, filling shotgun shells with the rock salt and loading them into the guns. "Shotgun shells full of salt."
"Whatever works," Dean said, pumping the gun.
"Fighting off monsters with condiments," Henriksen mumbled under his breath. "So. Turns out demons are real."
"FYI, ghosts are real too. So are werewolves, vampires, changelings, evil clowns that eat people," Sam listed.
Henriksen, to his own credit, was taking this news remarkably well. "Okay then."
"If it makes you feel better, Bigfoot’s a hoax."
"It doesn’t," he said. "How many demons?"
Dean raised his eyebrows, "Total? No clue. A lot."
Another beat of silence passed. Henriksen placed the shotgun on the bench beside him. "You know what my job is?"
"You mean besides locking up the good guys? I have no idea," I said.
"My job is boring, it’s frustrating. You work three years for one break, and then maybe you can save...a few people. Maybe. That’s the payoff. I’ve been busting my ass for fifteen years to nail a handful of guys and all this while, there’s something off in the corner so big. So yeah… sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my damn life."
Dean watched him. "You didn't know."
"Now I do," Henriksen countered. "What’s out there? Can you guys beat it? Can you win?"
I wish I could confidently say we could. I looked to Sam, and then to Dean. "Honestly? I think the world’s gonna end bloody. But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swingin’."
Henriksen nodded, "Plus you got nothing to go home to but each other."
Dean shrugged, "Yeah. What about you? You rockin’ the white picket fence?"
"Mmm-hmm. Empty apartment, string of angry ex-wives. I’m right where you are."
Dean raised his eyebrows at the irony of it all. "Imagine that."
The sound of shattering glass made the four of us look up toward one of the back offices. We raced toward the sound, rounding into the room. The window was shattered from the outside, glass littering the floor. But, that wasn't the only thing. I limped in behind them, side-stepping Sam. Henriksen held up his shotgun. "How do we kill her?"
"We don’t," Sam said, pushing Henriksen's gun down.
Henriksen looked at him, confused, "She’s a demon."
"She’s here to help us."
Ruby stood to her full height, her chest rising and falling heavily. Glass littered her hair, her face was bleeding. I glanced at the window, noticing the broken salt line. I groaned, looking to Dean who was just as annoyed to see Ruby as I was. We couldn't seem to shake her.
"Are you gonna let me out?" She asked Sam, referring to the devil's trap she had landed in. Sam leaned down, using the blade of his knife to scratch a line through the paint.
"And they say chivalry’s dead," she said as she brushed the glass from her hair and stepped out of the circle. "Does anyone have a breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here." She brushed past us as she left the room, leaning against one of the desks.
"How many are out there?" Dean asked as we all followed her.
"Thirty at least. That’s so far."
"Oh, good. Thirty. Thirty hit men all gunning for us," I said. "Who sent them?"
Ruby narrowed her eyes, turning to look at Sam. "You didn’t tell them?" Dean and I furrowed our eyebrows, throwing Sam a questioning look. "Oh, I’m surprised."
"Tell us what?" Dean pressed, looking a Sam who was definitely guilty of something.
"Oh, don't act like he's the only one keeping secrets, Dean," Ruby scolded. I looked to Dean this time who clenched his jaw. My eyes bounced between him and Sam, suddenly feeling like an outsider.
"There’s a big new up and comer," Ruby said. "Real pied piper."
"Who is he?"
"Not he. Her," Ruby corrected. "Her name is Lilith, and she really, really wants Sam’s intestines on a stick. ‘Cause she sees him as competition."
I looked to Sam who hadn't said a word. "You knew about this?" I threw a look over my shoulder to Dean. "And what the hell are you not telling us?"
It was a momentary glance, one that I may have missed if I hadn't been paying attention. Dean's eyes flicked to Sam's before quickly coming back to mine. I looked over my shoulder to Sam. I realized it wasn't what Dean hadn't told Sam and I, it's what they were both keeping from me.
"How about the three of you talk about this later," Ruby said. My eyes lingered on the two of them. "We’ll need the Colt. Where’s the Colt?"
I tore my eyes from Dean's. "It got stolen."
Ruby stood up from the desk, a stunned look on her face. "I’m sorry. I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands!" She scoffed. "Fantastic. This is just peachy…"
"Ruby…"
"Shut up!" She yelled at Sam. She took two deep breaths. When she spoke again, her voice was much lower. "Fine. Since I don’t see that there’s another option...there’s one other way I know how to get you out of here alive."
"What’s that?" Dean asked.
"I know a spell. It’ll vaporize every demon in a one-mile radius. Myself included. So, you let the Colt out of your sight and now I have to die. So next time, be more careful," she scolded. "How’s that for a dying wish?"
"What do we need to do?" Dean asked. I couldn't keep my mind from racing as I looked at him or Sam. I wanted to pry them for the truth but knew it wasn't the time.
Ruby leaned back against the desk again. "Aww…you can’t do anything. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue."
Dean raised his arms, "I got virtue."
"Nice try. You’re not a virgin."
Dean chuckled humorlessly, "Nobody’s a virgin." Ruby's eyes slowly made her way behind Dean to where Nancy stood against the wall, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Dean followed her gaze and wrinkled his eyebrows. "No. No way. You’re kidding me, r–. You’re…"
"What? It’s a choice, okay?" Nancy said defensively, not meeting anyone's surprised looks.
Dean raised his eyebrows in genuine shock. "So, y-you’ve never…not even once? I mean not even – Wow."
"So, this spell," Nancy started, changing the subject. "What can I do?"
Ruby sauntered toward her. "You can hold still...while I cut your heart out of your chest."
"What?-" Nancy breathed out.
"Are you crazy?" I said, eyes wide.
"I’m offering a solution."
"You’re offering to kill somebody!”
Ruby turned to me, "And what do you think’s gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?"
"We’re gonna protect her. That’s what," Henriksen chimed in.
"Excuse me," Nancy said in a quite voice.
Ruby rolled her eyes. "Very noble."
"Ex– excuse me."
"You’re all gonna die! Look. This is the only way."
Dean shook his head, "There’s no way that you’re gonna—"
"Would everybody please shut up?!" Nancy shouted, the room falling into silence. "All the people out there…will it save them?"
"It’ll blow the demons out of their bodies. So if their bodies are okay...yeah," Ruby confirmed.
Nancy thought about it for only a second, "I’ll do it."
"Hell no," Henriksen interjected.
"All my friends are out there."
"We don't sacrifice people! We do that, we’re no better than them," Henriksen said. I glanced over my shoulder at him. I never thought I'd see the day where we saw eye to eye.
"We don’t have a choice," Ruby countered.
"Yeah, well, your choice is not a choice," I said.
Ruby looked across the room to the one person who hadn't spoken up yet. "Sam, you know I’m right."
"Sam?" I said, turning to him, ready for him to jump in at any second to save this girl from an unnecessarily gruesome end. However, Sam remained silent as if he were actually contemplating it. Anger and confusion boiled in my chest. "What the hell is going on? Sam, tell her!"
"It’s my decision," Nancy said.
Ruby smirked. "Damn straight, cherry pie."
"Stop! Stop! Nobody kill any virgins," Dean shouted. "Sam, I need to talk to you."
I followed behind them, limping quickly to keep up. Dean turned in the hallway, looking at him. "Please tell me you’re not actually considering this. We’re talking about holding down a girl and cutting out her heart."
"And we’re also talking about thirty people out there, Dean. Innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here."
I couldn't push away the memory of Yellow-Eyes' words in my head. What if what you brought back is not 100%, pure, Sam? "It doesn’t mean that we throw away the rule book and stop acting like humans! I’m not gonna let that demon kill some nice, sweet, innocent girl, who hasn’t even been laid." My chest was rising and falling quickly. "I mean, look, if that’s how you win wars, then I don’t want to win."
Sam looked to Dean as if for help to win this non-existent argument. Dean continued to watch Sam. "She's right. Nobody else, except those demons outside, are dying tonight."
Sam clenched his jaw. "Then what? What do we do?"
I opened and closed my mouth. It was a plan I hadn't exactly completely thought through, but it was the only one I kept coming back to. "I got a plan. I’m not saying it's a good one. I’m not even saying that it’ll work. But it sure as hell beats killing a virgin."
"What’s the plan?" Dean asked.
I wasn't sure if it was my deal hanging over my head, or the desperation to not have to rip out a girl's heart. I knew the plan was reckless, yet I couldn't find it in me to care. "Open the doors, let them all in, and we fight."
"Get the equipment to work?" Dean asked as Sam came back into the room after he'd set up our quickly thrown together trap.
"Yeah."
"So?" I prodded.
"So this is insane," Sam muttered under his breath.
"You win 'understatement of the year'," Ruby said.
"Look, I get it, you think—"
"I don’t think…I know it’s not gonna work," she retorted, cutting Dean off. "So long, Winchesters."
Sam watched her. "So you’re just gonna leave?"
Ruby turned back abruptly. "Hey. I was gonna kill myself to help you win. I’m not gonna stand here and watch you lose. And I’m disappointed because I tried. I really did, but clearly I bet on the wrong horse." I glanced at Sam who was watching her with regret. "Do you mind letting me out?"
Sam followed Ruby as he led her to the front doors, breaking the salt line and scratching the devil's trap open. I looked to the rest of the group, nodding to them. It was time.
We took to our designated locations, strapped with rounds of rock salt. I stood in front of the double doors leading out to the impound lot, waiting for the signal.
"All set?" I heard Dean call out.
"Yeah!" Sam called, followed by Amici and Henriksen.
"Ready!" I called. I leaned down, using my blade to scratch a line out of the trap before using my foot to wipe the salt line away. I swung the doors open, throwing down the door stop. I sighed, glancing around the currently empty back alley. "Let’s do this."
I stepped back, my hands gripping the shotgun. It felt like forever before the first shot rang out through the station and then they kept on coming. I looked over my shoulder and when I looked back, two were already swarming the door ahead of me. I shot at both of them, knocking them backward and onto the ground. I forgot how goddamn fast demons were.
Another one sprinted into the hallway, I stumbled backward, shooting that one down too. Two more followed suit and then a whole herd of them. My heart sank, hearing the chaos already ensuing in the station behind me. We’re outnumbered, horribly outnumbered. I was able to shoot three of them down when my gun suddenly jammed. My eyes widened as the swarm of them got larger as they ran inside. One demon caught my eye, a burly man who ran straight at me, knocking the wind out of me as he tackled me to the floor. I gasped as he brought the shotgun up under my neck, pressing down hard and cutting off my airways. I groaned, trying to push against him but he was so much stronger than I was. I thought for sure he was going to kill me right there when a loud shot rang out and the man's body fell limp over me. I quickly pushed the demon off of me, coughing as I struggled to my feet. I looked at the end of the hall where Nancy stood, shotgun shaking in her hands.
"Thanks," I panted. She was obviously shaken. I took the gun from her. She was supposed to be outside, salting the doors to make sure no demon could escape. I lead her out to the alley, shoving the salt into her hands. "Trust me, it's safer out here. Go!"
She nodded quickly as I shut the door on her. Demons were now freely flowing into the station through the back door. From the looks of it, it seemed like none of us were able to control the flow of them. I ran as fast as I could toward the middle of the station where numerous fights had broken out. Dean had just blown away a demon coming straight for Henriksen, Amici shot down one rounding the corner from the cells. Sam was in a headlock of one. I quickly raised the gun, pumping the demon full of rock salt straight to the head. Sam stumbled forward, scooping up his gun and began shooting at surrounding targets.
I turned in a circle, shooting as many of them as I could. I felt at my chest where my strap of extra ammo was attached. I had been so mindlessly shooting before realizing I was completely out as a demon slid to a stop in front of me, smirking. I threw the gun aside, pulling out my holy water. I flung it at him, making his skin sizzle. It wouldn't kill him, but it would buy me some time. I looked around, realizing the rest of them were in the same boat I was.
The room suddenly became eerily quiet. I looked to my right where Sam and Dean stood. We were surrounded by demons. One of them in the back, the one Nancy had identified as once being Jenna Rupbner, stood. The demons parted, letting her through as she stopped in front of us. Quickly, she raised her hand, sending Sam, Dean and I flying through the air and connecting harshly with the brick wall behind us with a loud thud. The pressure on my chest holding me to the wall felt like it was going to break every bone in my body. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. I swore I could hear the brick crack behind me.
"Henriksen, now!" Dean shouted. Instantly, Sam's voice came over the station's loudspeakers. He was reciting an exorcism.
The demons instantly looked up in horror, grabbing at their ears as they screamed in pain as the tape continued. We watched as they scrambled, running to any window or door in an attempt to escape but it was no use. As the taped neared its end, black smoke filled the small station and one by one, the bodies fell to the floor. Still being pinned to the wall, we had no choice but to watch as the dark smoke cloud spun quickly above us, brief flashes of purple light like lightening filled the room. Suddenly, the smoke became orange, bursting in a ball of light as the tape ended. I turned my face away as best I could, only opening my eyes when the room fell into silence. Instantly, Sam, Dean and I dropped to the floor in a heap. I groaned, wincing at the pain. We slowly climbed to our feet as Henriksen came into the room, beat up, but alive.
Then, the electricity whirred back to life, illuminating the people on the ground that'd been possessed. They slowly began to stir, sitting upright. I let out a breath of relief.
Nancy and Amici led the civilians outside to where an ambulance was parked, its red lights flashing. Henriksen came up to us, handing in his shotgun. "I better call in. Hell of a story I won’t be telling."
"So what are you gonna tell them?" Sam asked.
"The least ridiculous lie I can come up with in the next five minutes."
Dean laughed lightly. "Good luck with that. Not to pressure you or anything, but what are you planning to do about us?"
"I’m gonna kill you," Henriksen said. My eyebrows shot up. "Sam, Dean, and Ellie Winchester were in the chopper when it caught on fire. Nothing left. Can’t even identify them with dental records. Rest in peace, guys."
Agent Henriksen held out his hand for each of us to shake. I took it in mine. "Thank you."
While my body was ready to drop dead on my mattress, my mind was doing cartwheels as we entered the motel room. We'd barely set our things down before I turned to them, arms crossed. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Ellie," Dean began, shaking his head as he let his duffle bag drop to the floor at his feet.
"No," I dismissed quickly. Sam was sat at the end of our bed, watching us. "Now I don't know what the hell is going on here, with- with Sam keeping secrets between him and Ruby and- and both of you keeping secrets from me." I paused, my heart pounded. "I knew something was off. What the fuck is going on?"
A moment of silence passed before Dean spared a glance at Sam, a look I couldn’t quite place when suddenly, the scattered pieces of my brain clicked together in horrifying realization. My stomach plummeted into my shoes.
“What did you do?” I breathed out, narrowing my eyes at Dean. It was in the way he couldn’t meet my gaze, the way he opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words to say, did I find my answer.
I took another step toward him, anger, fear and pain bubbling in my chest as I suddenly reached out and pushed him backwards by his chest, unable to contain the gravity of the situation. “What did you do!?”
Dean stumbled back a few steps. Now he was finally looking me in the eyes. “It was my turn to do the saving for once.”
I recoiled at his words. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Demons weren’t too happy with me when they found out what I did…killing Yellow Eyes,” he said, his words intended to lighten the mood but his tone was strained. “I…I got you out of your deal, Ellie.”
I slowly began shaking my head in disbelief as my worst fears were confirmed. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. “How could you?”
“What do you mean-”
“It’s supposed to be me,” I said, pointing to the middle of my chest. “I did this to save Sam not for someone else to take my place!”
“I did this to save you.”
“Maybe I didn’t want you to!” I shot back, my chest rising and falling quickly. But it was a lie. I didn’t want to die, but not if it meant someone else was going in my place and especially if it was him or Sam. I felt like I was spinning out of control, unable to grab onto anything.
I looked to Sam who was sitting quietly on the bed, his hands in his lap. I narrowed my eyes at him. Suddenly, every private conversation, every sideways glance between the two of them came rushing back. “Did you know about this?” He remained quiet. I knew the answer right then, but I wanted to hear it from him. “Did you know!?”
Sam looked up at me guiltily, “We were trying to protect you.”
I nodded in disbelief. I ran my hands through my hair, turning away from the two of them, willing my tears to stay at bay and failing miserably.
“I’m not sorry, Ellie,” Dean said. I turned back to him, willing my chin to stop trembling at the sight of my brother who had proven time and time again that he’d do absolutely anything for me. That didn’t change even now, in the face of death. “I couldn’t let you go…I couldn’t do it.”
“And now what?” I whispered. “What am I supposed to do without you?”
Dean’s eyes softened. He opened his mouth just as the door to the motel swung open followed by Ruby. "Turn on the news."
"Now is not the time, Ruby," Sam said. I quickly wiped my tears off my cheeks.
"You need to see this," she said, concern lacing her voice in a way I never heard before. I looked to her. She nodded toward the small tv set in the corner of the room. Sam hesitated before he reached behind him, grabbing the remote off the side table and switched it on. Immediately, the local news channel popped up.
BREAKING NEWS flashed across the screen. The reporter was standing in front of what looked like the scorched remains of a building. "The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside." I turned toward the tv, realizing the crumbled building was the police station. My heart sank. "Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including Sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald as well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen."
Their pictures flashed across the screen. "Three fugitives in custody were also killed. We’ll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim." My grip tightened on my folded arms as Ruby clicked the TV off.
"Must have happened right after we left," Dean said.
"Considering the size of the blast," Ruby began, throwing each of us a small velvet pouch. "My money’s on Lilith."
I caught it before it could hit my chest. "What’s in these?"
"Something that’ll protect you. Throw Lilith off your trail…for the time being, at least."
"Thanks-" Sam began when Ruby cut him off.
"Don’t thank me. Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered your precious little virgin, plus a half a dozen other people." She turned to me. "So after your big speech about humanity and war, turns out your plan? It was the one with the body count." I clenched my jaw, feeling a lump forming at the base of my throat again. “Do you know how to run a battle? You strike fast and you don’t leave any survivors. So no one can go running to tell the boss. So next time…we go with my plan."
Ruby gave us one last look before she turned and left the motel room, slamming the door shut behind her.
I shot upwards in the motel bed, my eyes flying open, the alarm clock next to me blaring the 1982 song through its small speakers. My eyes darted across the room where Dean was sitting on the bed, lacing his shoes and Ellie was throwing her coat on.
“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean yelled over the music.
“Dude. Asia?” Ellie asked, watching Dean skeptically.
“Come on, Sam loves this song and he knows it.”
I rubbed my tired face, trying to soothe my racing heart. “Yeah, and if I ever hear it again I’m gonna kill myself.”
I could hear the Doobie Brothers even from where I parked the Impala outside of the last dive bar in town after having dropped Ellie off down the street to do some searching on foot. I yanked the bar door open, frantically looking around for any sign of Sam who’d been missing for the better part of four hours.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted him sitting at the bar hunched over a glass. “There you are.” Sam looked up at me. I raised my eyebrows, arms raised. “What are you doing?”
“Having a drink,” he slurred.
I eyed the dark liquid moving slowly around inside the glass before looking back to Sam with a questioning look. “It’s two in the afternoon. You drinking whiskey?”
“I drink whiskey all the time.”
“No you don’t.”
“What’s the big deal? You get sloppy in bars, you hit on chicks all the time. Why can’t I?”
I glanced around the six other patrons, spotting only one woman who was in her mid forties with blazing red hair. I looked back to Sam, “It’s kind of slim pickings around here. What’s going on with you?”
I shot upwards in the motel bed, my eyes flying open, the alarm clock next to me blaring the 1982 song through its small speakers. My eyes darted across the room where Dean was sitting on the bed, lacing his shoes and Ellie was throwing her coat on.
“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean yelled over the music.
“Dude. Asia?” Ellie asked, watching Dean skeptically.
“Come on, Sam loves this song and he knows it.”
I rubbed my tired face, trying to soothe my racing heart. “Yeah, and if I ever hear it again I’m gonna kill myself.”
Dean reached back behind him, turning the volume louder and louder. “What?” he shouted, motioning to his ears. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you!”
It was the heat of the moment
I laughed, rolling my eyes as he began dancing, pointing his finger at me and shaking his hips, getting up, and dancing all the way to the bathroom.
The heat of the moment shone in your eyes
The small motel bathroom was less than ideal for three people at once, but nonetheless, we managed to work around the sink. I squeezed the thick toothpaste onto my toothbrush, examining it with concern as to whether or not it was toxic, Ellie was pulling her long hair back into a ponytail, nearly elbowing Dean in the eye as he gargled mouth wash for what felt like an eternity. I watched him, my eyebrows coming together as he glanced at me sideways, smiling before spitting it into the sink.
“That’s not a talent, you know.” Ellie said, pulling her hair through the hair tie, not before the black band snapped between her fingers, sending it soaring to the other corner of the bathroom. “Dammit.”
“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try to beat my record.”
“What’s your record?”
Dean checked his watch, stopping the timer. “Three minutes!”
Ellie shook her head, grabbing another hair tie. “You need a hobby.”
“Whenever you’re ready, Dean.” I said from the doorway. Ellie stood beside me, arms crossed over her chest as we watched Dean frantically scour the motel room. Dean stopped at his duffel bag, pulling out numerous shirts, pairs of pants, socks, and…a bra?
He held it up, looking to me as he smirked, “This yours?” I glared at him, but Dean only laughed, taking his sweet time as he threw it back into the bag before finally pulling out his gun. “Aha! Bingo.”
“Dean, we’re going for breakfast not a heist,” I said, even though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take my gun with me everywhere I went, too.
“Can never be too careful. Now, who’s ready for some food?”
We entered the diner just around the corner from our motel room, walking in as an old man was handed his change, making his way out the door.
“Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules.” A waitress holding a pot of coffee said to a man sitting at the counter. He pulled a few coins out of his pocket, sliding them to her.
“Some coffee.”
Ellie and I slid into a booth next to each other, Dean on the other side who was already looking at the specials for Tuesday. A pig was drawn on a large whiteboard hanging above the counter.
“Hey. Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” Dean smiled, pointing to the menu.
“Do you even know what that is?” Ellie asked, raising her eyebrows at him.
Before Dean could begin to think of a smartass answer, the waitress came to the table, notepad in hand. “You kids ready?”
“Yes! I’ll have the special, a side of bacon and a coffee,” Dean said.
“Make it two coffees and a short stack,” I said, Ellie nodding in agreement.
“You got it.”
Dean leaned forward over the table after the waitress had left. “I’m telling you guys this job is small-fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela.”
Ellie groaned, “Can we have one week where we don’t have to worry about her going around fucking everything up?”
“Wow,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Fine. Let’s get right on that,” she said sarcastically. “Where is she again?”
“Shut up,” Dean groaned.
“Look, believe me, I want to find her just as bad as you do,” I said this time, but Ellie was right. I pulled out the folded newspaper from my coat. “In the meantime, we have this.”
Dean picked up the papers, looking them over as he recalled the research we’d done before making the six hour drive here. “Alright, so this professor-”
“Dexter Hasselback,” Ellie chimed in. “He was passing through town last week when he vanished.”
“Last known location?”
I pulled a pamphlet from the stack of papers. “His daughter says he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot.”
Dean snatched the booklet, flipping it over in his hands as he read the back cover: “’Where the laws of physics have no meaning!’. What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
The waitress returned to the table, her tray balanced on one hand. “Three coffees- black, and some hot sauce for the-” the bottle of hot sauce teetered on the tray she was holding before it fell to the ground, shattering on the floor next to me. The waitress smiled sheepishly. “Crap. Sorry…Clean up!”
Leaving the restaurant, we took a sharp left down the sidewalk, keeping clear of the dog barking at our heels.
“Sam you know joints like this are only tourist traps, right?” Dean said skeptically as we walked down the sidewalk. “I mean, you know, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling. The only danger’s to your wallet.”
“Okay, look. I’m just saying there are spots in the world where holes open up and swallow people- the Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex.”
“Broward County Mystery Spot?” Ellie questioned, her eyebrows raised.
“Well, sometimes these places are legit!”
“Alright so if it is legit- and that’s a big ass ‘if’- what’s the lore?” Dean asked just as a woman, seemingly coming out of nowhere, bumped roughly into Dean’s arm.
“Excuse me,” she said quickly, clutching a stack of paper close to her chest.
“The lore’s pretty freaking nuts, actually,” I went on as Ellie rolled her eyes at Dean who smirked back at the woman. “I mean, they say these places, the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend space-time, sending victims nobody knows where.”
“Sounds a little X-Files to me.”
“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” A man yelled to another as they struggled to fit a piano inside a door nearly half its size.
“What do you want, a Pulitzer?!” the other man hollered back.
“Alright, look, I’m not saying this is really happening, but if it is, we got to check it out, see if we can do something.”
Ellie nodded, “I’m with Bigfoot on this one.”
“Alright, alright,” Dean gave in. “We’ll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look.”
I picked the lock to the entrance of the Mystery Spot, pushing the door open as we entered a hallway, painted green with a continuous black swirl going ‘round and ‘round the room. We held our flashlights close, Ellie pointed the EMF detector at each wall, waiting for it to spike. As we walked further into the room, Dean flashed his light onto the ceiling where, sure enough, a table accompanied by an ashtray and a lamp were nailed to the ceiling. “Wow. Uncanny.”
“Find anything?” I asked Ellie who scanned the EMF detector over every corner of the room. I examined a table that seemed to be resting on just one leg.
“No.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Dean asked me.
I hesitated, “Uh…yeah…no.”
“That sounds more like it,” he nodded as I continued wandering around the room, flashing my light on the random knick knacks scattered on counters and the walls.
Suddenly, a voice came from behind me, a high pitched voice that sounded terrified, “What the hell you doing here?”
The three of us whipped around, immediately training our guns on a man in a button down shirt, holding a shotgun. He shook, shielding his eyes from the light but stood strong, holding the gun tight.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! We can explain,” Dean said, holding up the hand that held his gun.
The man swiftly switched positions, pointing the gun at Ellie now, my heart leaping into my throat as he swung the weapon around. “You robbing me?!”
Ellie held her hands in the air. “Look, nobody’s robbing you. Calm down.” Dean lowered his weapon, motioning for me to do the same.
“Don’t move!” The man yelled, now pointing the gun back to Dean. “Don’t move!”
“I’m just putting the gun down-”
Before any of us could even fathom what was happening, two gunshots went off, one right to the middle of Dean’s chest, the other in the middle of Ellie’s.
“Ellie! Dean!” I screamed, running toward the two of them as they gripped their chests just over the bullet holes, blood seeping through their fingers. I bent down in between them, grabbing them by their shoulders one at a time, bouncing between them because I couldn’t even fathom where to start. “Hey…hey!”
The two of them shook in pain, gripping my jacket sleeves as they struggled to breathe. My heart twisted in pain as I quickly shot a look to the man who stood, gun now on the ground as he watched in shock. “Call 911-”
“I- I didn’t mean-”
“Now!”
I turned back to Ellie and Dean as they sputtered, now beginning to choke on the blood that coated their teeth and dribbled down onto their chins. “Hey, hey, no. God, no- not like this. C’mon!”
I watched, struggling to help them but all I could do was hold them close as they gasped for air before taking their last breaths, their eyes fluttering to a close.
I shot upwards in the motel bed, my eyes whipping open, the alarm clock next to me blaring the 1982 song through its small speakers. My eyes darted across the room where Dean was sitting on the bed, lacing his shoes and Ellie was throwing her coat on.
“Rise and shine, Sammy!”
My eyes bounced between the two of them to the alarm clock on the bedside table, concern and most of all, relief, filling me. Weren’t they…dead?
“Dude. Asia,” Dean smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. The music continued playing as they went about their routine, just like yesterday.
“Dean,” I said, nearly a whisper.
“Oh, come on! You love this song and you know it.” Just like yesterday, Dean reached behind him, turning the music up louder making Ellie roll her eyes. I watched as Dean began to dance, swiveling his hips on the bed before dancing his way to the bathroom. Again.
I downed a whole cup of water, sloshing it around in my mouth as I thought about the morning. Everything from Asia, to Dean dancing, the bathroom, even down to Ellie nearly elbowing Dean in the eye as she tied her hair back.
I watched Dean intently as he gurgled the mouthwash again before spitting it out into the sink. “What?”
I shook my head, this had to be a dream. An incredibly fucked up dream. “I don’t- I don’t know.”
“You all right?” El asked, tightening her hair into place when the rubber band snapped, sending it flying over my head to the corner of the bathroom. I looked down at it on the floor. It was the only one there, the one from the day before was gone. “Dammit.”
“No. I think I…” I stared at my bed, feeling on edge. “Man, I had a weird dream.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked, picking something in between his front two teeth. “Clowns or midgets?”
I watched the exchange, my mind had to be playing tricks on me. It had to be because I hadn’t been sleeping well lately…
“Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules.”
At the sound of this, I turned slightly on my heels, watching as the waitress waited, the man at the counter counting his change, sliding it over to her.
“Coffee.”
I shook my head, trying to figure it all out as we slid into the same booth, with me closest to the window. I tried to shake this feeling that something was not right, thankful just that they were both in front of me, alive.
“Hey. Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” Dean said, pointing to the menu, making my head pop up. I eyed Ellie, waiting for any strange reaction from her but she just laughed, shaking her head.
“Do you even know what that-”
“It’s Tuesday?” I interjected.
Dean and Ellie side-eyed each other. “Yeah?”
This day was getting weirder and weirder. I sat back in the booth as the same waitress came, her notepad in hand. “Are you kids ready?”
“Yes! I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee,” Dean smiled.
“Make that two coffees and a short stack.”
My head bobbed between Dean, Ellie and the waitress, my eyes wide. “Uh, nothing for me. Thanks.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
After the waitress was out of earshot, Dean began talking, staring out the window, “I’m telling you guys, this job is small-fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela.”
“Can we have one week where we don’t have to worry about her going around fucking everything up?” Ellie groaned, just like yesterday. I bounced my knee up and down nervously, constantly checking over my shoulder.
“Hey,” Dean said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You with us?”
“What?”
“You sure you feel okay?” Ellie asked.
I sighed, struggling to find the right words without sounding crazy, “You don’t…you don’t remember any of this?”
Ellie and Dean watched me in confusion. “Remember what?”
“This. Today. Like- like its…like its happened before?” I felt like the world was going topside.
“You mean like deja vu?” Dean asked, nodding.
“No. I mean like its- like it’s really happened before.”
“Yeah. Like deja vu,” Ellie echoed.
“No! Forget about deja vu!” I nearly shouted, trying to calm myself down before I flipped out entirely. “I’m asking you if it feels like- like we’re living yesterday all over again.”
The two of them sat silently in the booth, watching me in confusion before Dean began to speak slowly, “Okay…how is that not dej-”
“Don’t! Don’t say it!” I said firmly, my eyes wild as I stopped him before he went any further. “Just don’t even-”
“Two coffees- black,” the waitress said, coming back to the table. I watched the hot sauce as it teetered again against the edge of the tray. “And some hot sauce for the- whoops!” Quickly, I reached my hand out, grabbing the bottle in mid air before it came crashing down onto the floor in a million pieces.
I looked at the bottle in my hand as the waitress gasped, “Thanks!”
She sat down the rest of our food before leaving. Dean smiled at me, sticking his fork into his food. “Nice reflexes.”
I watched over my shoulder, eyeing the same dog that was tied to the bike rack the day before.
“Sam, I’m sorry, but, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Ellie said as we continued down the sidewalk.
“Okay, look. Yesterday was Tuesday, right?” I began, knowing I sounded crazy but couldn’t find it in me to care. “But today is Tuesday, too!”
Dean raised his eyebrows, nodding once, “Yeah. No. Good. You’re totally balanced.”
“So you don’t believe me?”
Dean and Ellie laughed, just as Dean was roughly bumped in the arm again by the same woman who held a stack of papers in her hands. “Excuse me.”
“Look, I’m just saying that it’s crazy, you know?” Ellie said this time, hands stuffed in her pockets. “Even for us crazy-”
“Yeah like, dingo-ate-my-baby crazy!” Dean said, eyeing me as I shook my head in disbelief. “Hey, maybe it’s like your psychic shit, you know?”
“No! That’s not it, I’m telling you, this is something much different. Look…we were at the Mystery Spot, and then…” I thought about the rest of what had happened, specifically how it all ended.
“…And then what?” Ellie prodded.
I bit the inside of my lip, desperately trying to push away the awful images of their deaths. There was no use in worrying them. “Then...then I woke up.”
“I told you it wouldn’t fit!”
“What do you want, a Pulitzer?!”
“Wait a minute!” I said suddenly, turning to them as if a light bulb had switched on over my head. “The Mystery Spot! You think maybe it…”
“Maybe what?”
“We gotta check that place out,” I said, making Dean groan. “Just go with me on this.”
“Alright. Alright, we’ll go tonight after close, get ourselves a nice long look.”
Immediately, my heart sank. “Wait. What? No.”
“Why not?” Ellie asked, her eyebrows inched together.
I hesitated. “Let’s just go now. Right now. Business hours, nice and crowded!”
Ellie and Dean glanced at each other, eyes wide before Dean turned back to me, starting down the street again. “My God, you’re a freak.”
“You guys!”
“Okay! Whatever. We’ll go now.”
I sighed, hoping that once we figured all of this out we would finally get me out of this loop I seemed to be trapped in. I watched as they began to cross the street, falling slightly behind. I had just set foot on the crosswalk when suddenly a car came barreling down the end of the street, plowing straight into the two of them. I shielded myself as they flew in the air before landing roughly face down on the pavement, the car screeching to a halting stop.
“No, no no no no!” I ran toward them, rolling them onto their backs, their faces coated in blood. I sat, shocked, as I whipped my head toward the driver of the car. Mr. Pickett from the diner stuck his head out of the driver’s side window.
“Hey, Dean…Ellie, c’mon!” I held them, moving their hair back from their faces, tears welling in my eyes from seeing them die for the second time in a row.
I shot upwards in the motel bed, my eyes flying open, the alarm clock next to me blaring the 1982 song through its small speakers. My eyes darted across the room where Dean was sitting on the bed, lacing his shoes and Ellie was throwing her coat on.
I watched from the doorway as Dean gargled his mouthwash next to Ellie who cursed as yet another hair tie broke around her fingers. My heart sank at the sight. It was Tuesday. Again.
“Would you guys listen to me? ‘Cause I am flipping out,” I said in a stern voice but they only watched me in confusion as the waitress came by the table.
“Are you three ready?”
I immediately jumped in, reciting their orders from memory because I needed to get to the bottom of whatever was happening, “They’ll take the special, side of bacon, two coffees and a short stack. Nothing for me, thanks.”
The waitress raised her eyebrows, tapping on her notepad with her pen. “You got it.”
I rubbed a hand down my face as I sat back against the booth, bouncing my leg up and down. Dean smirked, “Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that.”
“Quit screwing around, Dean,” I said, my arms now on the table. I was so anxious I could hardly sit still.
“Alright, we’re listening,” Ellie said. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. “So…now you think you’re in some kind of a...what?”
“Time loop.”
“Like Groundhog Day?” Dean asked this time.
“Yes! Exactly. Like Groundhog Day.”
“Uh-huh,” Dean nodded, a smile playing at his lips.
This was becoming increasingly old, quick. “So you don’t believe me?”
They laughed, “It’s- it’s just a little crazy. Even for us…crazy. You know like-”
“Dingo-ate-my-baby crazy?” I finished.
Dean’s eyes flicked up to me, “How’d you know I was gonna say that?”
“Because you’ve said it before, Dean! That’s my whole point, and- and when Ellie puts her hair up she always snaps the first hair tie. I’ve lived this day for the third time already!”
They watched me, their eyes raking over my face as if deciding whether to believe me or to call me crazy when the waitress came by again, as expected. “Two coffees- black, and some hot sauce for the- whoops!” Without even reacting, I stuck out my hand, catching the bottle before setting it back down on the table. “Thanks.”
“Nice reflexes.”
“No,” I shook my head. “I knew it was gonna happen.”
“Okay, look,” Ellie tried. “I’m sure that there’s some sort of explanation-”
“You’re just gonna have to go with me on this, alright? You just have to. You owe me that much.”
“Calm down-”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! I can’t calm down. I can’t because…” I took in a sharp breath, stopping myself.
“Because what?” Ellie asked. She seemed more concerned than anything, now.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again, “Because you guys die today.”
There was a beat of silence before Dean spoke, “We’re not gonna die. Not today, at least.”
“Twice now,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I’ve watched you die…and I can’t-” I shook my head, my chest tightening as understanding settled over them. “I won’t do it again, okay? And you two are just gonna have to believe me. Please.”
“Alright,” Dean said after another moment of silence had passed and Ellie nodded her head in agreement. “I still think you’re nuts but…” Dean watched me, probably noticing how utterly terrified I looked, his face falling. “Okay. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”
I ran through the list in my head, mentally ticking all of them off as we walked down the sidewalk.
“And you think this cheesy ass tourist trap has something to do with it?” Dean asked as we passed the men trying to carry the piano up the narrow stairs.
“Maybe it’s the real deal, you know?” Ellie suggested. “The magnetic fields bending space-time or whatever.”
“I don’t know that all seems a little too X-Files for me.”
“There’s no other way to explain it, Dean!” I said defensively, tired of hearing the same dialogue over and over again.
“Alright! Alright. We’ll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look.”
I held out a hand, signaling for them to stop. “No, no, no. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you guys…” I hesitated, not even wanting to say the words let alone think about it.
“We what?” Dean questioned, raising his eyebrows at my hesitation. “We die there?”
“Blown away, actually.”
“Huh,” Dean said, deep in thought. “Okay. Let’s go now.”
Dean and Ellie set off the cross the street, leaving me a few strides behind when I remembered the day before. Instantly, I was airborne, flying toward them as I clutched their jackets, yanking them back onto the sidewalk as Mr. Pickett flew by in his car, yelling obscenities out the window. Dean laughed lightly, watching the car fly down the street. “Shit. Thanks, Sam.”
Ellie watched me as I breathed heavily and uneasily, just narrowly avoiding their death again. She pointed to the car that became farther and farther away. “What...did he-”
“Yesterday,” I confirmed. “Yeah.”
“And?” Dean butted in.
I raised my eyebrows, shaking my head, “And what?”
“Did it look cool? Like in the movies?”
I sighed, having to bite my tongue before looking him dead in the eyes, “You peed yourself.”
Dean was taken aback, a disgusted look crawling over his face as Ellie held back her laughter. “Of course I peed myself...a man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!”
Slowly, as Ellie and Dean turned around, they did a double take, checking each side of the street before continuing on our way to the Mystery Spot.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” the owner of the Mystery Spot said to us, the same guy that shot Ellie and Dean just two days ago. I kept my hand hovered over my gun, not taking my eyes off of him. “We could use all the good ink we can get.”
“How long have you owned the place, Mr. Carpiak?” Ellie asked. We’d decided that the best angle to take this from was as journalists, looking to write a story about the Mystery Spot.
“Well, my family’s been guarding the secrets here since you don’t want to know when,” he said, eyeing Dean who was writing notes down on the notepad in his hands.
“So you’d know if anything strange happened?”
“Strange?” Mr. Carpiak said. “Strange happens here all the time. It’s a mystery spot.”
“What exactly does that mean?” I asked this time, wishing he’d cut straight to the point instead of trying to sell his business crap to us.
“Well, uh…it’s where the laws of physics…have no meaning,” he said, reciting the words from the back of the pamphlet. Mr. Carpiak held out his hand, flipping it from palm side up to palm side down as if that were supposed to mean something. Dean watched him, eyebrows cinched together at the gesture.
“Okay. Like how?” I asked, my voice rising in frustration.
Mr. Carpiak gestured behind him at the line of families, eagerly searching through the Mystery Spot. “Take the tour.”
I opened and closed my mouth, unsure of what to say to the guy. Thankfully, Dean took over once he’d seen how upset I was becoming. “The guy who went missing -- Dexter Hasselback -- he take the tour?”
Mr. Carpiak smiled in confusion, his eyes bouncing between the three of us. “Hold on a minute. What kind of article is this?”
“Just answer the question,” I blurted.
He glared at me, a burning anger behind his white smile. “The police scoured every inch of this place, they couldn’t find that man. I never seen him before. We’re a family establishment-”
“Listen to me,” I warned, taking a step toward the man who couldn’t have been any taller than Ellie was. His eyes went wide. “There’s something weird going on here. Now, do you know anything about it or not?”
“Okay, look,” Mr. Carpiak began, holding his hands up as he whispered. “Guys, um, give it a break. I bought the joint at a foreclosure auction last March, alright? Hell, I used to sell bail bonds.”
I curled my hand around the hilt of the gun when a hand pulled me back. “Okay, Kojak,” Dean said, grabbing me by the arm. “Lets get some air.” He leaned in close to me, whispering, “And let go of the gun.” My chest rose and fell heavily as I finally loosened my grip, my hand falling to my side.
“Well I hate to say it, but that place is exactly what I thought. It’s full of crap,” Dean said as we left the Mystery Spot.
“So what is it, then?” I asked, hoping one of them would have some kind of answer. “What the hell is happening to us?”
“I don’t know,” Ellie said, shaking her head before she stopped us in the middle of the sidewalk, holding an arm out, her eyes closed in concentration. “Alright, let me just…so, everyday, we die?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s when you wake up again, right?”
I thought about it before nodding, “Yeah.”
“So let’s make sure we don’t die.” I scoffed, knowing it wasn’t going to be that easy. “I’m serious! If Dean and I make it to tomorrow then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out.”
I paused, contemplating whether it could actually work. “Do you think?”
Dean shrugged, “Worth a shot to me. I say we grab some takeout, head back to the motel, lay low until midnight.” I hesitated as him and Ellie nodded, agreeing to the plan. “Alright, good. Who wants Chinese?”
Then, as if it had fallen straight from the sky, a large piano came slicing through the air, smashing Ellie and Dean under it like two pancakes, blood splattering the side of the building. Something straight out of a cartoon. My eyes went wide as they met the man next to the building who held a rope in between his hands, the other man stuck his head out of the second story window, both of their mouths agape.
I sighed, my shoulders slumping forward, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding-”
I glanced around the room from where I sat in bed, Dean lacing up his boots as Ellie pulled her coat on. Slowly, I laid back down on the pillows, wishing I knew what to do.
“I still think you’re nuts, but whatever this is, we’ll figure it out,” Dean said, eyes wide after I had quietly told them about the last three days.
“Thanks,” I managed out halfheartedly, my head resting on one of my palms while we sat in the same booth at the same diner.
Dean and Ellie glanced at each other before Ellie spoke up, “So, uh…if you’re stuck in Groundhog Day, why? What’s behind it?”
I sat up straighter in my seat. “First I thought it was the Mystery Spot, now I’m not so sure.”
“What do we do?”
“Well, we keep you guys breathing, try to make it to tomorrow. I mean, that’s the only thing I can think of.”
Dean shrugged, probably trying to make me feel better, “Shouldn’t be too hard.”
I laughed shortly, “Yeah, right. I’ve watched you two die a few times now, and I can’t ever seem to stop it.”
“Well, nothing’s set in stone,” Ellie said, trying to reassure me but I’d only feel better once I was out of this godforsaken loop.
“You say I order the same thing everyday, right?” Dean asked, my eyes flicking up to him.
“Yeah. Pig ‘n a poke, side of bacon.”
Dean nodded before turning toward the counter where our waitress stood, calling out to her, “Excuse me, sweetheart.” She turned from where she was talking to one of the other waitresses, smiling. “Can I get sausage instead of bacon?”
“Sure thing, hon.”
Dean turned to me, giving me his best smile, “See? Different day already. You see, if we all decide that El and I aren’t gonna die, El and I aren’t gonna die.” I smiled slightly to myself, the day already seemed to be looking up.
As the waitress rounded the corner she set three plates of food in between Ellie and Dean. They both smiled, “Thank you.”
Using their forks, Dean pierced one of the sausages, biting into it, as Ellie made a show of cutting a piece of pancake and stuffing it into her mouth, eliciting a small laugh from me as I just shook my head. All seemed to be looking up until I heard two small coughs turning into both of them clawing at their throats, their faces becoming red.
“Dean? El?” I said, my face going white as they dropped their forks and flopped onto the table. “Guys?”
“You mean we can’t even go out for breakfast?” Dean called from the bathroom where he was taking a shower.
“You’ll thank me when it’s Wednesday!” I yelled back. I watched with nervous anticipation as Ellie straightened her hair in the bathroom mirror.
“Whatever that means,” Dean mumbled to himself. I sat on my bed, trying to plan out the most risk free day I could when I heard a loud squeak from the bathroom followed by Dean screaming out in pain. At the same time, the straightener in Ellie’s hands burst into flames-
We sat around the motel table, taking the first bite of tacos we’d just unwrapped, Ellie and Dean taking the first bites of them. My mouth hovered over mine as I watched their expressions, their jaws pausing mid-chew.
Ellie examined hers, “Do these tacos taste funny to you?”
“Move the lamp that way!” Ellie yelled to Dean who was holding the power cord, reaching down to plug it in as Ellie yanked the lamp toward her, electricity traveled up the power cord and through the lamp-
I swung the ax over my shoulder as I brought it to the wall in one swift motion, hitting the same spot each time as I sought out to tear down the Mystery Spot for good. Dean helped me with his own ax, much to his protest.
Ellie squatted down next to Mr. Carpiak who we tied and duct taped to a chair. “Everybody’s fine. Nobody’s gonna get hurt, okay?” She said, trying to calm him even though she herself was probably slightly afraid of me, who ruthlessly tore at the wall. “Sam? Maybe you should drop the ax and let this guy go. What do you say?”
Dean turned to Ellie, begging for an end to whatever I was having them do. He had already sweat through his shirt but I showed no signs of slowing down. I let off on the wall, turning to look at the two of them. I held the ax, pointing it to the wall. “Something’s got to be going on here. I intend to find out what.”
“Place is tore up pretty good, Sam,” Dean panted. “Time to give it a rest.”
“No!” I shouted in anger. “I’m gonna take it down to studs.” I threatened as I swung at the wall again.
Ellie laughed lightly to the owner as if to say, “It’s fine, he’s just crazy!”
“Sam, that’s enough,” Dean said in his best parental voice. “Give me the ax.”
“No!”
“Come on,” Ellie said as he stood from his spot on the floor, assisting Dean with trying to wrestle it out of my hands. “Give me the ax!”
“This is crazy!”
“Leave it!”
“Come on! Get off!”
I had accidentally swung the ax too hard, straight through the middle of both Ellie and Dean, blood spraying over Mr. Carpiak who screamed behind the duct tape over his mouth.
“Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules.”
“Coffee.”
We sat down in the booth as I slouched down into the seat, not meeting either of their gazes.
“Hey. Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” Dean said, pointing to the sign above the counter.
“Do you even know what that is?”
Before the expected conversation could go on any longer, I threw a set of car keys onto the table in the middle of the three of us. Dean and Ellie’s eyes flicked up to each other in confusion. “What are those?”
“The old man’s,” I said tiredly. They both continued to watch me in confusion. “Trust me. You don’t want him behind the wheel.”
“You three ready?” Doris asked. I had finally actually taken the time to learn her name after all these Tuesdays.
“Yes, we are,” Dean said, eyeing me as I lazily drew on the table with my pointer finger. “I’ll have the special, a side of bacon and a coffee.”
“Make that two coffees and a short stack, please.”
After Ellie had given her order, I began talking to the waitress without even looking up at her, “Hey, Doris. What I’d like is for you to log in some more hours at the archery range. You’re a terrible shot.”
“How do you know-”
“Lucky guess,” I nodded, giving her a tight lipped smile.
“Okay,” Dean began, drawing the word out as Doris turned away from the table. “So, you think you’re caught in some kind of what again?”
“Time loop.”
“Like Groundhog Day,” Dean said, proudly.
“It doesn’t matter,” I shook my head. “There’s no way to stop it.”
“Jeez, you’re grumpy.”
“Yeah, I am. You want to know why?” I began before anybody could stop me, my eyes traveling up from the tabletop to Dean’s who were playful. “Because this is the hundredth Tuesday in a row I’ve been through, and it never stops. Ever. So, yeah, I’m a little grumpy.”
They sat in silence, both of them watching me in confusion at what I’d said. I sighed, exhaling roughly, wanting to at least prove to them I wasn’t going crazy but constantly having to repeat myself to them was becoming exhausting. “Hot sauce.”
“What?”
Doris appeared. “Two coffees- black, and some hot sauce for the- whoops!”
I stuck my hand out, catching the hot sauce before hitting the ground, giving both of them a glare as I slammed it down onto the table.
“Nice reflexes-”
“I knew it was gonna happen. I know everything that’s gonna happen.” I crossed my arms over my chest, challenging them.
“You don’t know everything.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Yeah right,” the three of us said in unison. They raised their eyebrows at me in slight surprise.
“Nice guess.” Now it was just Dean and I, staring each other down.
“It wasn’t a guess,” I corrected, eyebrow raised.
“Right, you’re a mind reader,” We said together, Dean’s eyes slightly going wide. “Cut it out, Sam. Sam!”
Dean huffed, clenching his jaw before leaning close over the table and I met him halfway as we spoke quickly at the same time, our voices running together. “You think you’re being funny but you’re being really really childish…Sam Winchester wears makeup.” Dean glanced around the diner, gearing himself up for the next part I was already prepared for. “Sam Winchester cries his way through sex…Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed, and every morning when he wakes up- okay enough!” We both sat back in our seats, Ellie’s eyes wide.
“That’s not all,” I said as I looked toward the counter. “Randy, the cashier? He’s skimming from the register. Judge Meyers? At night, he puts on a furry bunny outfit.” The man across the way nearly spilled his entire drink at the mention of it, Ellie and Dean listening intently. “Over there- that’s Cal. He’s gonna rob Tony the mechanic on the way home.”
“What’s your point?” Ellie asked.
“My point is I’ve lived through every possible Tuesday. I’ve watched you two die every possible way. I have ripped apart the Mystery Spot, burnt it down, tried everything I know to save your lives, and I can’t. No matter what I do, you die, and then I wake up. And then it’s Tuesday. Again.”
“The dog,” I said out loud this time as it barked at our feet.
“There’s got to be some way out of this,” Ellie tried.
“Where’s my dang keys?” I recited as we passed Mr. Pickett.
“Where’s my dang keys?!”
“Excuse me.”
“Excuse me.”
“She’s kind of cute,” Dean chuckled as he pointed his thumb in the direction of the blonde before he stopped us. “Hey. All the times we’ve walked down this street, I ever do this?” Dean turned on his heels as he ran toward the woman who’d bumped into him, calling out to her. I paused, watching as he stopped the woman and she handed him a paper from the stack she held close to her. He jogged back, showing it to me.
“A hundred Tuesdays, you never bothered to check what she was holding in her hands?” I shook my head, feeling stupid I hadn’t thought of it before. “This the guy who went missing?” He held up the missing flyer, a black and white picture of an older man printed on the front.
“That’s him,” Ellie confirmed.
“That’s his daughter back there,” Dean said, turning the flyer around so he could see it. Immediately, I plucked it out of his hands as I ran toward the woman.
“Ma’am!”
Ellie and Dean watched as I took off down the road, the dog chained to the bike rack still barking at them from the ground.
“He is pretty cute,” Dean admitted to Ellie who was smiling lovingly at the dog. “Hey, buddy. Somebody need a friend?”
I typed away at the computer in front of me while Ellie and Dean ate their breakfast in silence, most likely not wanting to push me any further now that I seemed to have been on edge all morning. “So, the police report says Dexter Hasselback is a professor, but that’s not all he is.”
“What is he?”
“I talked to his daughter. The guy’s quite the journalist. Columns in magazines, a blog. He writes about tourist attractions- mystery spots, UFO crash sites. He gets his kicks debunking them. I mean, he’s already put four of these places out of business. Here.” I turned the laptop toward them, showing them the article I’d been looking at. Dexter Hasselback: Truth Warrior
“More like a pompous schmuck, if you ask me,” Dean said as he read the title.
“Yeah. Tell me about it. I mean I’ve read everything the guy’s ever written. He must have weighed a ton, he was so full of himself.”
Ellie pulled the laptop in front of her as she scanned the page. “When did you have time to do all this research?”
My eyes bounced from her to the laptop and back to her before grabbing the computer and stuffing it back into my backpack as we exited the booth. “Come on.”
Dean laughed as he stood, check in hand, “It’s funny you know. I mean, this guy spends his whole life crapping on mystery spots and then he vanishes in one. It’s kind of poetic. Like just desserts.”
“You’re right,” I said as we walked to the cash register. I shifted the straps of the backpack on my shoulders as my eyes came to focus on the seat at the counter just in front of me. A quarter of a pancake left on an otherwise empty plate aside from an orange peel, but that wasn’t what was out of the usual. What was, was the red syrup smeared on the plate.
Ellie noticed my fixation, coming back to where I stood, “What’s wrong?”
I whipped around toward the windows where the same man who’d sat in the same spot every day walked past. “Guy has maple syrup for the past hundred Tuesdays, all of a sudden he’s having strawberry?”
“It’s a free country,” Dean said from behind El. “Man can’t choose his own syrup? What have we become?”
“Not in this diner,” I said, shaking my head. “Not today. Nothing in this place ever changes- ever…except me.”
I watched the man at the counter intently, maple syrup sitting next to his plate as he cut his pancakes one by one, slowly eating them as he read the newspaper.
“So, you think you’re caught in some kind of what again?”
“Eat your breakfast.”
Dean rolled his eyes as he scraped his food onto his fork. I watched as the man at the counter set his silverware onto his plate and stood, paying for his food before leaving the diner. I grabbed the brown paper bag I’d concealed beside me as I followed him out the door.
“What’s in the bag?” Ellie called after me but I ignored her as I took long strides to keep up with the man. Once we were outside and around the back of the diner, I grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving him up against a chainlink fence.
“Hey!” He yelped as I held the wooden stake to his neck.
“I know who you are,” I growled, not letting up on the man. Ellie and Dean chased after me, coming to a stop on either side, “or should I say what.”
“Oh my God. Please don’t kill me,” the man begged but I knew it was just a facade.
“Uh, Sam-”
“It took me a hell of a long time, but I got it.”
“What?”
“It’s your M.O. that gave you away,” I said, almost sounding hysterical. Ellie and Dean watched me carefully. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts. Your kind loves that, don’t they?”
“Yeah, sure. Okay, buddy,” the man nodded, tears brimming his eyes. “Just put the stake down!”
“Sam maybe you should-” Ellie tried, but I refused, yelling at them which only scared the three of them more.
“No! There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops. In fact, you’d pretty much have to be a god…you’d have to be a Trickster.” Dean and Ellie’s interest peeked up at this, their eyes flicking to the man.
“Mister, my name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name’s Amelia. I got two kids, for crying out loud! I sell ad space!”
“Don’t lie to me! I know what you are!” I shouted. “We’ve killed one of your kind before!” It was like a trigger as the man beneath my hands morphed his face until he looked completely different, his hair was no longer streaked with gray but now it was long and dark. His old features turned young, the new version of the man smiled even when threatened with the wooden stake at his neck. It was the same Trickster I could’ve sworn we’d killed months ago.
“Actually, Bucko,” he smiled, “you didn’t.”
“Why are you doing this?” I growled, putting more pressure on the stake. Ellie and Dean watched the scene unfold with wild eyes.
“You’re joking, right?” The Trickster asked. “You chuckle heads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this?”
“And Hasselback,” Dean jumped in. “What about him?”
“That putz? He said he didn’t believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one,” he laughed, his Adams apple bobbing dangerously against the tip of the stake. “Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”
“So this is fun for you?” I asked, disgust twinging at my insides. “Killing Dean and Ellie over and over again?”
“One- yes, it is fun,” he nodded. “And two- this is so not about killing Dean and Ellie. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching the last two people you have left die everyday…forever.”
“You son of a bitch,” I dug the stake deeper into his neck.
He only smiled tauntingly, “How long will it take you to realize you can’t save them…no matter what?”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, nodding. Anger boiled up from the deepest pits of my body, using every ounce of strength I had not to rip him apart right then and there. “I kill you, this all ends now.” I pushed the stake into his neck, drawing blood as it trickled down into his shirt collar.
“Oh, hey! Whoa. Okay, okay. Look,” he said frantically. “I was just playing around. You can’t take a joke, fine. You’re out of it. Tomorrow, you wake up, it’ll be Wednesday…I swear.”
“You’re lying.”
“If I am, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner.”
I thought about it, seriously considering letting him go, but for all the pain he’d put me through, it just didn’t seem like it was enough. “No. Easier to just kill you.”
“Sorry, kiddo. Can’t have that.” In an instant, before I could plunge the stake into his neck, he snapped his fingers, and he was gone.
The music pulled me from my sleep, my eyes flashing open at what I thought was the dreaded chorus of Asia. However, as I sat up, Huey Lewis poured through the alarm clock on the bedside table. I scanned the room to where Dean stood at the sink, brushing his teeth and Ellie sat at the end of the other bed, scrolling through the messages on her phone.
“What,” Dean said, watching me as I sat wide eyed. “Are you gonna sleep all day?”
“No Asia,” I blurted, my heart pounding because this had to be a dream.
“Yeah, I know. This station sucks.”
I looked to the alarm clock, the bold block lettering of the most beautiful day of the week stared back at me. I gasped, smiling from ear to ear, “It’s Wednesday!”
“Yeah, which usually comes after Tuesday,” Ellie remarked, shaking her head at me as I marveled at the clock, “and turn that music off, it’s awful.”
I threw the covers off, quickly standing off the bed. “What, are you kidding? This isn’t the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard!?”
Ellie and Dean shared a glance before they both shook their heads, “No…”
“Jesus, How many Tuesdays did you have?”
“I don’t know,” I said excitedly as I pulled on a jacket. “I lost count. Wait. What do you guys remember?”
“I remember you were pretty whacked out of it yesterday, then I remember running into the Trickster,” Dean said, cleaning his toothbrush off in the sink. “That’s about it.”
I nodded. That was reassurance enough for me to know that the past hundred or so Tuesdays weren’t all just in my head. “Alright. Pack your stuff. Lets get the hell out of town. Now.”
Dean pulled a shotgun out of the arsenal in the trunk, tucking it safely into the weapons bag before zipping it up and throwing it over his shoulder.
“Man, are you sure we should’ve just let the Trickster go?” Dean asked Ellie as he locked the arsenal.
Ellie shook her head, “Didn’t really have much of a choice. He snapped us to Wednesday before Sam could off him.”
“Yeah, nice job back there, by the way,” Dean said to me as I jogged down the stairs from our second floor motel room. “I would’ve never guessed-”
I looked up from my feet toward Dean and Ellie who were frozen in their spot. Cal from the diner stood in front of them, and next to him, Randy the cashier. They each sported a gun held shakily in their hands. “Give us your wallet.”
The three of us froze. Dean held his hands up, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys. Just relax.”
“I am relaxed!” Cal shouted, still holding the gun, pointing his at Ellie who put hers up, too. Randy’s hand shook violently as he stared down Dean.
“Okay,” I said, slowly rounding the car, trying to remedy the situation. This couldn’t happen today. “Alright, nobody wants this to end the wrong way. Let’s just talk about it.” That was when two loud gunshots echoed throughout the parking lot. My heart sank as I whipped my gun out, running toward Dean and Ellie who were laying face up as blood flowed freely out of their chests.
“No. No, no, no, no!” I ran toward them sliding across the pavement on my knees, patting both of their cheeks as if it would keep them with me. “Hey, come on, not today. Not today! This isn’t supposed to happen today.” I gripped them by their shirts, shaking them. “Come on…come on!”
I paused, my chest heaving as their eyes fluttered closed, all the color draining from their faces, both of them staring up at me. “Alright, Sam. Alright.” I closed my eyes, waiting to be thrown back into the motel bed, to be awoken by the sound of Asia blasting through the alarm speakers, however, as I opened my eyes, I remained on the street, my hands clasped around their shirts. “I’m supposed to wake up.” I whispered, my voice cracking, pulling them close. “Why am I not waking up?”
My chest clenched as I desperately tried to get sent back, to restart the day, slamming my eyes open and closed, open and closed, open and closed. All to no avail. I pulled them closer, ambulance sirens singing in the distance.
Six months and I hadn’t stopped trying to bring them back. I’d tried everything. From crossroads demons to anything in the old lore books. I’d completely separated from everybody, drawn in on myself because now the only important thing was to bring Dean and Ellie back. I continued to hunt. Crisscrossing the country in search of hunts and for anyone, or anything, that could give me information on where the Trickster could be. I’d made it my life’s mission. My motel rooms looked like a crazy person lived there, a US map taped to the wall above the bed, copied pages of lore books and sightings of what people claimed to be the Trickster decorated every square inch of my living space. I’d be damned if I let this go unsolved, I’d be damned if I let him go free one more time.
It was a voicemail that brought me to Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls. I’d been avoiding him for the better half of three months, the last time I’d spoken to him was on a case we’d worked back in February. Once I walked in, Bobby greeted me with a hug to which I didn’t have the strength or the will to give back.
“What’re we doing here, Bobby?” I asked.
“This is the last place for sure the Trickster worked his magic.”
“So?” I asked, no emotion present in my voice. I’d become a robot, so consumed in my work that all I did was go through the motions.
“So, you want this thing? I found a summoning ritual to bring the Trickster here.”
I would have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t at least slightly intrigued. “What do we need?”
“Blood,” he said simply.
“How much blood?”
“Ritual says near a gallon. It’s got to be fresh, too.” He motioned to the open pages of the book next to him as he sighed, resting an open hand on the desk.
“Meaning we have to bleed a person dry,” I said, unsure how this would even work.
“And it’s got to be tonight, or not for another 50 years.”
“Then let’s go get some,” I said, plain and simple. If it would bring them back, I’d do anything. I began walking toward the door of Bobby’s house, expecting him to follow me. However, when he just stood, staring at me, I raised my eyebrows at him in confusion.
“You break my heart, kid.”
“What?”
“I’m not gonna let you murder an innocent man,” Bobby said, shaking his head.
“Then why’d you bring me here?” I asked, my voice raising. I didn’t have time to play games.
“Why?” Bobby nearly shouted. “‘Cause it was the only way you’d see me! ‘Cause I’m trying to knock some sense into you. Because I thought you’d back down from killing a man!”
“Well you thought wrong,” I said plainly. “Leave the stuff. I’ll do it myself.”
“I told you, I’m not gonna let you kill anyone-”
“It’s none of your damn business what I do!” I shouted, getting closer to his face. My chest rose and fell quickly.
“You want them back so bad…” Bobby turned around, pulling something out of a brown duffel bag on the floor behind him. A knife, unlike I had ever seen. It was more of a dagger, but the blade looked like it had large waves in it. “Fine.”
“What are you talking about?”
He handed the dagger to me. “Better me than a civilian.”
I held the dagger in my hands, it suddenly felt extremely heavy. “You’re crazy, Bobby. I’m not killing you.”
“Oh. Now I’m the crazy one,” he said, his eyes softening as he looked at me for the first time in months. I felt so tired, so devoid of anything worth living for. “Look, Sam. I’m old. I’m coming near the end of my trail. But you can keep fighting, savin’ folk. But you need Dean and Ellie. So let me give ‘em back to you.”
“Bobby-”
“You and your brother, your sister…you kids are the closest thing I have to family. I want to do this.”
I flipped the knife in my hands, my chest becoming heavier and heavier as I gave in. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Bobby nodded, turning around as he kneeled down onto the hard floor, breathing heavily. “Just make it quick. Do it, son.”
“Yeah, okay, Bobby,” I said as I tucked the knife into my jacket before pulling out the long wooden stake I’d stuck in there before coming inside. “But do you want to know why?” I immediately sunk to the floor, holding the Trickster close to my chest as I drove the stake through his back, the tip of it coming out through his chest. “Because you’re not Bobby.”
I pushed him down onto the floor, waiting for him to disappear, but he remained still, blood dripping down his sides. It was then that I had feared I’d made a terrible mistake. “Bobby?” No response. “Bobby.” I said louder this time as if if it really were him he’d answer me. “Bobby!”
As if on cue, Bobby’s body emitted a blue glow and as it disappeared, the stake fell to the floor. I smiled slightly to myself before the stake flew across the room, into the hands of the Trickster. My eyebrows cinched together in confusion.
“You’re right,” the Trickster said, holding the stake where he’d caught it in his hand. “I was just screwing with you. Pretty good, though, Sam! Smart.” He began to circle me, pointing at me with the bloody stake. “Let me tell ya. Whoever said Dean was the dysfunctional one in your family has never seen you with a sharp object in your hands. Holy Full Metal Jacket!”
“Bring them back,” I begged. In my heart, I knew this would be my last chance.
“Who? Dean and Ellie? Didn’t my girl send you the flowers? They’re dead. They ain’t comin’ back, either. Their souls are downstairs doing the hellfire rumba as we speak.”
“Just take us back to that Tuesday- or Wednesday,” I said, never thinking I’d ever say those words. Tears began to pool in my eyes, my desperation peaking. “When it all started. Please. We won’t come after you. I swear.”
“You swear?”
“Yes,” I said seriously.
The Trickster shook his head, “I don’t know…even if I could-”
“You can.”
“True,” he nodded, “but that don’t mean I should. Sam, there’s a lesson here that I’ve been trying to drill into that pretty little head of yours.”
“Lesson? What lesson?”
“This obsession to save your siblings! The way you three keep sacrificing yourselves for each other. Nothing good comes out of it!” He stepped toward me, poking me in the chest with the stake. “Just blood and pain. Dean and Ellie- they’re your weakness, and you’re theirs. The bad guys know it, too. They’re going to be the death of you, Sam.”
I held back my tears because I knew he was right. They were my siblings. I would do anything for them, just like they’d done everything for me.
“Sometimes you just got to let people go.”
“It’s my brother...my sister,” I tried, my last attempt to bring them back. To salvage what remained of them.
The Trickster pursed his lips, “I get it, alright? And like it or not, this is what life’s gonna be like without them.”
“Please. Just…please,” I begged.
The Trickster sighed, hanging his head, “I swear, it’s like talking to a brick wall! Okay, look. This all stopped being fun months ago. You’re Travis Bickel in a skirt, pal. I’m over it.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
He turned on his heels, “Meaning that’s for me to know and you to find out.”
The music pulled me from my sleep, my eyes flashing open at what I thought was the dreaded chorus of Asia, however, as I sat up, Huey Lewis poured through the alarm clock on the bedside table.
I scanned the room, Dean was brushing his teeth at the sink and Ellie was sitting at the end of the other bed, scrolling through the messages on her phone.
“What, are you gonna sleep all day?” I watched them in astonishment as Ellie stood, stretching her arms high above her head as she came to stand next to Dean. “I know. No Asia. This station sucks.”
Looking back at the clock, three block letters stared back at me in the face, marking the most beautiful day of the week.
“It’s Wednesday,” I whispered to nobody in particular.
“Yeah,” Ellie said, smiling as she shook her head. “Which usually follows Tuesday. Turn that thing off, it’s awful.”
My heart was in my throat as I threw the covers off of my legs and I practically ran to Dean and Ellie, pulling them into a hug, gripping the back of their shirts as if if I let go they’d disappear again.
“Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?” Dean asked, patting my shoulder.
“Enough…wait,” I pulled back, looking between them, “what do you remember?”
They watched me with worried glances before Dean spoke up, “I remember you were pretty whacked out yesterday. I remember catching up with the Trickster…that’s about it.”
My eyes flicked to Ellie who nodded, letting me know that was all she could recall, too. I nodded, taking a deep breath, “Lets go.”
“No breakfast?”
I laughed, wondering if I’d ever eat breakfast again. “No. No breakfast.”
“Alright,” Ellie said, grabbing the duffel bags, “I’ll pack the car.”
“Wait, you guys aren’t going anywhere alone.”
“It’s the parking lot, Sam,” Ellie laughed but I firmly shook my head.
I zipped up my duffel bag, making sure that they all stayed in the motel room until we were all ready to leave. Once I’d given them the clear, Ellie and Dean had made it to the motel room door, opening it before catching a glimpse at me who stood almost frozen in the middle of the room.
“Hey, you don’t look so good. Something else happen?” Ellie asked from across the room.
I swallowed roughly, looking up from my duffel bag, “I just had a really weird dream.”
“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, smiling. “Clowns or midgets?”
They both smiled at me before making their way down the motel stairs. I turned, looking back at my bed that laid unmade, the alarm clock sitting quietly on the bedside table. I clicked the light off, shutting the door as I vowed to myself that I’d never be back to Broward County, Florida.
I could hear the Doobie Brothers even from where I parked the Impala outside of the last dive bar in town after having dropped Ellie off down the street to do some searching on foot. I yanked the bar door open, frantically looking around for any sign of Sam who’d been missing for the better part of four hours.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted him sitting at the bar hunched over a glass. “There you are.” Sam looked up at me. I raised my eyebrows, arms raised. “What are you doing?”
“Having a drink,” he slurred.
I eyed the dark liquid moving slowly around inside the glass before looking back to Sam with a questioning look. “It's two in the afternoon. You drinking whiskey?”
“I drink whiskey all the time.”
“No you don't.”
“What's the big deal? You get sloppy in bars, you hit on chicks all the time. Why can't I?”
I glanced around the six other patrons, spotting only one woman who was in her mid forties with blazing red hair. I looked back to Sam, “It's kind of slim pickings around here. What's going on with you?”
Sam looked back down to his glass, swirling the alcohol. “I tried, Dean.”
“To do what?” He wasn’t making any sense.
“To save you.”
I watched him for a second before pulling out the bar stool beside him, realizing it'd probably be a while before I could get him out of here. I motioned to the bartender, “Can I get a whiskey? Double, neat.”
“I'm serious, Dean.”
“No, you're drunk.”
“I mean, where you're going...what you're gonna become. I can't stop it,” he said, defeated. From where I sat now I could see that the rims of his eyes were red. “I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it. But really, the thing is...no one can save you.”
Although it's what I knew all along, hearing it come from Sam made my heart sink a little. “That's what I've been telling you.”
“No, that's not what I mean...I mean, no one can save you, because you don't wanna be saved,” he said, looking at me now. I kept my eyes on his, trying to understand where all this was coming from. “I mean, how can you care so little about yourself? What's wrong with you?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared back at Sam when my ringtone cut through the tension. We both looked away as I pulled my phone out, not recognizing the number. “Hello? Yes, this is Mr. Snyderson.” A low, firm voice was on the other end when he said something that automatically made my heart sink. The urgency in my tone making Sam look to me. “What? Where?”
It nearly killed me to see Bobby look so vulnerable in the hospital's bed. He was found unconscious in his motel room, but he didn’t look sick, he looked like he was just sleeping. I looked to the doctor, crossing my arms over my chest, “So, what's the diagnosis?”
The doctor shook his head, flipping through Bobby's file. “We've tested everything we can think to test. He seems perfectly healthy."
“Except that he's comatose,” I pointed out.
“Mr. Snyderson, you're his emergency contact,” the doctor ignored me, looking to Dean who flicked his eyes to the doctor. “Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”
Dean wracked his memory, “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”
“Doctor, is there anything you can do?” Sam asked.
“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it...so we don't know how to treat it." I looked to Bobby, wondering just what kind of trouble he got himself into to get this way. “He just...went to sleep, and didn't wake up.”
We hoped Bobby’s last motel room he was staying in could give us some idea as to what happened to him. Sam looked back at us as he opened the door to the room, “So, what was Bobby doing in Pittsburgh?”
“Unless he's taking an extremely lame vacation...” Dean said as we looked around the seemingly normal room.
“I mean, he must have been working a job, right?” I assumed, the three of us opening cupboards, drawers, desks, but nothing even gave away that Bobby had ever actually been here. If it hadn’t been for the paramedics telling us the room number, I would’ve insisted it was the wrong room.
“Well, you think there'd be some sort of sign of something, you know? Research, news clippings...Or a fuckin' pizza box or a beer can,” Dean said as he loudly shut one of the dresser drawers.
“How 'bout this?” Sam said from behind Dean and I where he stood in front of the open closet. He pushed aside the t-shirts and pants to reveal the back wall of the closet filled with maps, obituaries, diagrams of flowers and mushrooms along with different herbs.
“Good ol' Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled.
“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam asked.
Dean reached into the closet and pulled down a print out depicting a flower, “‘Silene capensis’, which of course means absolutely nothing to me.”
“Here,” I said, pulling the obituary clipping from the wall. “‘Dr. Walter Gregg, sixty-four, university neurologist.’”
“How'd he bite it?”
I scanned the page, frowning, “Actually, they don't know. They say he just went to sleep and didn't wake up.”
Dean took the obituary from me, examining it. “That sound familiar to you?”
Sam leaned against the closet doorframe. “Alright...so let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something-"
“—that started hunting him,” I finished, nodding along to Sam’s theory.
Dean nodded too. “Alright, stay here. See if you guys can make heads or tails of this.”
I furrowed my eyebrows at him, “What are you gonna do?”
Dean smiled, “I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself.”
“So you're Dr. Gregg's lab assistant?” I asked as she led me into Walter Gregg's office.
“That's right.”
I glanced around the place, the shiny oak desk, the numerous bookshelves and tall windows with the blinds drawn. His desk was cluttered with pens, books and papers like he’d disappeared out of thin air right in the middle of working. “His death must have come as a shock to you.”
She nodded. “Yeah, it did. But, still, to go in your sleep, peaceful...that’s what you wish for, right?”
“Yeah. Right,” I said as I looked back at the desk, picking up a book on sleep studies. “Dr. Gregg uh…studied sleeping disorders? Dreams?”
“I don't understand. I went over all of this with the other detective,” she said, seeming suspicious of me already.
I narrowed my eyes at her, “You already spoke to another detective?”
“Yes. A very nice older man with a beard.”
At least we knew we were on the right track if Bobby had already been here. “Well, I'd love to hear it again if you don't mind.”
The woman hesitated, “Thing is, I'm sort of busy. Maybe we could do this later?”
“Sure. Yeah. Just bring you down to the station later this afternoon, and get your statement on tape, do it all official-like,” I said, making her squirm under my gaze. She tore her eyes from mine.
“Look, okay, I didn't know about Dr. Gregg's experiments. Not until I was cleaning out his files.”
“His experiments...the ones he was conducting on...sleeping?”
“No one knew, okay? Not the university, not anybody,” she said quickly before defensively crossing her arms over her chest. “I already spoke with a lawyer and he told me I can't be held liable for anything.”
I racked my brain for anything to get this girl talking. “Maybe you couldn't, but that was before the new evidence came to light.”
She furrowed her eyebrows and shifted on her feet, “New evidence? What new evidence?”
I hesitated this time before settling with my go-to: “I'm not at liberty to say.”
“Look, I'm just a grad student. This was a gig to cover tuition,” she said, anxiously running her hands through her hair.
“Maybe so. But, uh, still, this- this...this could go on your permanent record,” I bullshitted, making her eyes widen slightly. “Unless you hand over the doctor's research to me. All of it.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I desperately tried to keep my gaze ahead of me, failing as multiple college girls brushed past me in the dorm stairwells. I smirked over my shoulder, watching them descend the stairs until I’d made it to the room I was looking for.
I banged hard twice on the door, holding my badge up to the peephole. The kid slowly opened the door, the unmistakable smell of weed rolling out of the room. "You Jeremy?"
“Look, I don't know what the RA said, but I was growing ferns.”
I chuckled as I stepped inside, “Take it easy, Phish, that's not why I'm here.”
He visibly relaxed, “Really? Oh, thank god. Okay.”
I glanced around the cluttered dorm room. “I wanna talk to you about Dr. Gregg's sleep study.”
“Yeah. Dr. Gregg just died, right?”
I nodded. “You were one of his test subjects, right?”
“Yeah,” he said as he opened the small mini fridge behind him, holding a beer out to me before he paused. “Unless you're on duty or something?”
I glanced from the beer to the open door out to the hallway before shrugging, “I guess I can make an exception.” I took a long drink from the beer before opening up the files in my hands. “Now, Dr. Gregg was testing treatments for a ‘Charcot-Wilbrand syndrome’? Which means...?”
“I can't dream,” he said simply. “I had this bike accident when I was a kid and banged my head pretty good and I haven't had a dream since. 'Til the study. You know. Sort of.”
I frowned, nodding as I rifled through the papers. “What'd the doc give you?”
“It's this yellow tea. It…it smelled awful, tasted worse.”
“What’d it do?”
Jeremy shrugged, “Just passed right out. I had the most vivid, super-intense dream. Like a bad acid trip, you know?”
“Totally,” I said instinctively before coughing, getting back into character. “I mean, no.”
“That was it. I dropped out of the study right after that,” he said as he took another drink. “I didn't...like it. To tell you the truth...it kind of scared me.”
By the time I made it back to Bobby’s room, Sam and Dean were sitting at Bobby’s bedside, whispering quietly to each other, their conversation immediately dying once I walked in. I ignored the way their words died on their lips as I dropped my papers onto the small table at the end of his bed. “How is he?”
“No change,” Dean said, glancing to Sam and then back to me. “What’d you find?”
“Well, considering what you told me about the doc's experiments…Bobby's wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense,” I said, flipping the folder open.
“How so?”
I picked up the first print, handing it to Sam. “This plant, Silene Capensis, is also known as African Dream Root. It's been used by shaman and medicine men for centuries.”
Dean looked up at me, “Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey.”
“Not quite,” I chuckled. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dream-walking. Entering another person's dreams, poking around in their heads.”
“I take it we believe the legends,” Sam said as I handed them more papers.
"When don't we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this Dream Root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger,” I said, looking to Bobby. “You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad."
"And killing people in their sleep?" Dean assumed.
I shrugged, "For example."
Sam nodded, "So let's say this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim Leary-style."
"Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night,” I confirmed.
"But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned, the one piece of the puzzle I couldn’t quite place. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?"
"I don't know,” I said honestly, hoping we could figure this all out before whatever got to the other victims got to him, too.
"So how do we find our homicidal sandman?" Dean asked as we left Bobby’s room, walking the halls toward the exit. I felt the anxious pressure on my chest begin to lessen the closer we got to the outside. Being in Bobby's room was fine, but the rest of the hospital smelled like antiseptic and old people.
"Could be anyone,” I said. Suddenly the case became a million times more difficult, not to mention dangerous. "Anyone who knew the doctor or had access to his dream shrooms."
"Maybe one of his test subjects or something?" Sam offered.
Dean shrugged at the theory. "Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean...I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were." We rounded a corner as Sam scoffed. Dean looked at him in confusion. "What?"
"In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now,” Sam said.
At Sam’s words, Dean suddenly stopped in realization, a hand held out to stop Sam and I from going any further. I suppressed a groan, eyeing the exit just ahead of us. "You know what? You're right.”
Sam glanced at me then back to Dean, confused, "What?"
"Let's go talk to him,” Dean insisted.
I furrowed my eyebrows at the suggestion, unsure whether or not Dean was fucking with us. "Sure, but I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided."
"Not if we're tripping on some Dream Root."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Sam raised his eyebrows, "You wanna go dream-walking inside Bobby's head?"
"Yeah. Why not? Maybe we could help."
"We have no idea what's crawling around in there."
"Well how bad could it be?"
"Bad."
"Dude, it's Bobby," Dean countered.
I thought about it, weighing our options. It was either that, or risk Bobby getting torn to shreds by this Boogeyman. Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African Dream Root, so unless you know someone who can score some..."
"Shit," Dean groaned.
I furrowed my eyebrows at him, "What?"
"Bela."
"Bela? Shit,” I mumbled, shaking my head at the prospect. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?"
"I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but yeah."
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands, my head aching from staring at my laptop screen for what felt like forever. I glanced at my watch, counting down the seconds until I called Dean and Ellie to get back to the motel where I knew they were out just avoiding doing research.
Just as I brought my eyes back up to the screen, there was a knock at the door. Without thinking much about it, I pulled it open, but it wasn’t Ellie or Dean. I groaned as Bela sauntered inside. "Hey, Sam."
"Bela, I didn't think there's a chance in hell you'd show up,” I said honestly as she came to a stop in the middle of the room, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her knee-length jacket. Her legs were bare despite the cold weather outside.
"Well, I'm full of surprises,” she said. She sounded...different. “Though, truthfully...you wanna know why I'm really here?"
She took a step toward me as I took one back, almost reluctantly. She brought her hands down to the straps of her jacket tied around her waist. I swallowed thickly, "Okay."
"Because of you,” she said as she undid the knot and let the jacket fall off her shoulders, nothing but a black, silky, lacy, slip dress beneath it.
I desperately tried to keep my eyes on hers. "Uh...what are you doing?"
"I can't stop thinking about you,” she whispered as she brought her hand up to my cheek.
"What-" my questions were instantly silenced as she leaned forward and kissed me, the kiss deepening every second before I reluctantly pulled away. "Are you sure?"
Bela smiled up at me as she kissed me again. I brought my hands up to her arms as I turned us backwards, walking back until my legs hit the end of the bed and we fell together. Bela’s lips never left mine even as I rolled her over onto her back, kissing down her jaw to her chest and then all the way down her body.
"Sam,” she moaned, gripping my hair in a tight fist. “Sam. Sam!"
"Sam! Wake up!” A harsh voice rang through the room as my eyelids snapped open. The room was sideways from where I was leaning on my arm, drool making a steady stream down my chin and onto my wrist. My smile faded as I slowly sat up, wiping the spit from my face.
"Dude, you were out. And making some serious happy noises,” Dean said from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder where Dean was sitting in the motel arm chair and Ellie was sprawled out on the couch, the two of them marking up numerous sheets of paper.
"Who were you dreaming about?" Ellie asked, smirking.
"What? No one. Nothing,” I dismissed quickly, turning away from them.
"C'mon, you can tell us,” Dean prodded. “Angelina Jolie?"
"No."
There was a beat of silence before Ellie spoke, "Brad Pitt?"
"No. No! Guys, it doesn't matter,” I dismissed, wanting to change the subject altogether.
"Whatever,” Dean said, shrugging it off. "I called Bela."
I paused, slowly turning back toward him, trying to seem nonchalant but it just came out awkwardly. "Bela? Yeah? She- what'd she...you know, say? She...gonna...help us?"
"Shockingly, no, which puts us back to square one. I've been trying to decipher the doctor's notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do."
"You gonna come help with this stuff?" Ellie asked, chewing on the end of her pen, not looking up.
I shifted in my seat, hesitating, my heart still hammering behind my rib cage. "Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec."
A series of knocks came from the motel’s door, the three of us looking up at it. Dean pulled his legs down from the coffee table in front of him, peering into the peephole before rolling his eyes at us and opening the door. "Bela. As I live and breathe."
I held my breath as Bela came inside, dressed in the same black raincoat she’d had on in my dream. I immediately became even more flustered. Ellie shot her a forced smile from across the room.
"You called me. Remember?" Bela reminded Dean as he shut the door behind her.
"I remember you turning me down."
"Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smirked.
"Hey, Bela,” I breathed out, trying not to focus too hard on my dream and getting it mixed with reality. I gave her a quick wave before averting my eyes again.
Bela furrowed her eyebrows at me as she opened her purse, pulling out a large jar and passing it to Ellie who was leaning against the small table I was sat at. "I brought you your African Dream Root. Nasty stuff, and not easy to come by."
Ellie turned it over in her hands. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
"What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?" Bela reached for the knot at the front of her jacket, undoing the belt as she slowly let the jacket slide from her shoulders. I held my breath, but instead of the small black slip before, now it was a dark blue long sleeve and pencil skirt. I let out somewhat a sigh of relief.
"No. You can't,” Dean retorted. "Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach 'em."
"You said this was for Bobby Singer, right? Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you."
Dean raised his eyebrows at this, "Bobby? Why?"
Bela hesitated before speaking, "He saved my life once. In Flagstaff. I screwed up and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?"
Dean grinned, “Maybe."
Bela rolled her eyes to the ceiling but pushed his prodding away and beamed, "So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?"
“Oh, that’s cute,” Ellie said. Dean took the jar from her hands. Bela gave her a puzzled look before looking to Dean.
“Dean—”
"Oh, you're not going anywhere. I don't trust you enough to let you in my car, much less Bobby's head,” he said as he made his way to the closet, opened the safe where the Colt was safely tucked inside and set the jar of African Dream Root beside it. He snapped the safe shut and spun the dial. “No offense."
"None taken,” Bela said, agitated. “It's 2AM. Where am I supposed to go?"
"Get a room. They got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it." Bela was starting to visibly become angry when she realized we’d used her just like all the times she’s used us. She snatched her coat from the chair, huffing as she yanked the door open.
"Nice to see—” I started, standing just as the door slammed shut behind her. “...see you...Bela." Dean and Ellie glanced sideways at me, confused.
Dean and I sat at the end of each of the motel beds as Sam brought the glasses of the dream root mixture. It looked less than appetizing: a light brown and green liquid with white foam bubbling on top. I didn’t dare ask him what was floating around in it. I hesitantly took it from his hands, staring down into it as he sat beside me.
"Should we dim the lights and synch up Wizard of Oz to Dark Side of the Moon?" Dean grinned. Sam and I furrowed our eyebrows.
"Why?" Sam questioned.
A beat passed between them as Dean narrowed his eyes, “What did you do during college?"
Sam scoffed. Dean then began to bring the cup to his lips when Sam suddenly stopped him, "Wait, wait, wait. Can't forget this. Here."
Pulling a small manila envelope from his shirt pocket, he plucked out three very small, fine strands. He placed one piece into my open palm and then Dean’s. I examined it, wrinkling my nose, "What the hell is that?"
"Bobby's hair."
I glanced at him, "We have to drink Bobby's hair?"
"That's how you control whose dream you're entering. You gotta...drink some of their uh...some of their body."
Dean looked down at his palm, "Well, guess the hair of the dog is better than other parts of the body."
I hesitantly agreed as I dropped the hair into the unknown mixture. I sighed, "Bottoms up."
We chugged the drinks as quickly as we could, trying not to process the rancidness of it. I winced, forcing myself to finish it completely. I pulled the glass away, swallowing the last of it.
A moment passed before Sam spoke up, "Feel anything?"
I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. "No. You feel anything?"
"No,” Dean said, stumped. He looked into his empty cup. “Maybe we got some bad schwag."
The sound of rain hitting the window filled the room. I looked toward the drawn curtains. "When did it start raining?"
Dean stood from the bed, pulling the curtains apart. "When did it start raining upside down?"
Sure enough, the rain was climbing upward against the glass. Sam and I stood from the bed, turning when we realized we were no longer in the motel but a dark, crowded living room.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “I think we did it.”
"Okay, I don't know what's weirder – the fact that we're in Bobby's head...or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean said.
"Wait. Wait a second,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes at our surroundings. “Imagine the place without the paint job. More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place."
We began to meander around the living room. Now that I was truly looking at it, it did feel familiar. The wallpaper, the couch, the pictures framed on the walls. Suddenly it hit me: “It's Bobby's house."
"Yeah," Sam chuckled. There was just one thing missing.
"Bobby?!" Dean called out, his voice reverberating off the walls.
"Bobby?" Sam called up the stairs, but nothing.
I continued walking throughout the living room when my eyes settled on the front door. "Hey, I'm gonna go look outside."
"No, no, no, stay close," Dean protested.
"I'll be fine. Just, look around in here," I protested. Dean still looked unsure. "Look, we gotta find him."
Dean still didn't seem like he loved the plan. "Don't do anything stupid."
I nodded once before pulling the back door open, stepping out onto the porch, instantly stopping in my tracks. It was daylight, when before the house was swimming in darkness. But that wasn't the weirdest part. The lawn was a bright green, trimmed closely to the sidewalk that led to the house, lined with pink, yellow and red tulips. I furrowed my eyebrows at the scene. For as long as we'd known him, Bobby's house never looked like this.
The sound of the door slamming shut behind me made me jump. I quickly turned, trying the doorknob that wouldn't budge. I pounded my closed fist against the wood. "Sam! Dean!"
I turned toward the windows when neither of them heard me. Inside, I could see Sam still investigating the living room, his back turned to me. The house was still dark inside, even though the curtains were drawn. I slapped my hand against the window. “Sam!”
When he still hadn't heard me, I huffed, descending the porch stairs. I knew I'd have to find another way back inside.
I pulled open the double doors that none of us had checked since we got here. I had a feeling I knew what was behind them, even though they'd since been taken out for as long as I've known Bobby. The doors led me into the kitchen, but it looked much different than I was used to. Light blue walls and pristine, sparkling white counter tops, placemats on a small, round dining room table. A damn cat clock was nailed to the wall.
"Bobby?"
As Dean and I walked deeper into the kitchen, I whipped around toward the door at the end of the hall. A quiet, murmuring voice coming from inside. I began to walk toward it when a familiar voice called us back. “Who's out there?"
Dean looked to the pantry, to me, and then back to the door. “Bobby, you in there?”
“Dean?”
“Yeah. It's me. Open up." The pantry door opened, Bobby, looking panicked, peered around the corner of the fridge.
“How in the hell did you find me?”
“We got our hands on some of that Dream Root stuff.”
Bobby's eyebrows furrowed, still looking for an unseen threat around the corner. “Dream Root? What?”
“Dr. Gregg, the experiments?” I said, trying to jog his memory.
“What the hell are you talking about?" Suddenly, the door across the hall began to shake violently as someone on the other side was banging on it. The lights above us started flickering. Bobby's eyes widened as he grabbed us, turning back toward the pantry. "Hurry.”
Dean stopped in place, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on?”
“She's coming," he said, sounding terrified.
“You do know this is a dream, don't you?” I tried to reason, but it was no use.
“What are you, crazy!?”
“It's a dream, Bobby! None of this is real!” I shouted at him over the shaking doorframe when suddenly the door flew off its hinges. The pantry door behind us slamming shut. We were cornered.
“Does that look made-up?” He asked, pointing past us. I followed his terrified gaze as a woman, dressed in all white came through the doorway. Blood soaked her dress, open and leaking stab wounds covered her chest.
“Bobby, who is that?” Dean asked.
Bobby hesitated as the woman came closer. “She's...she's my wife.”
My heart sank. I always knew Bobby had been married before, but he refused to ever talk about what'd happened to her. She drew closer. “Why Bobby? Why did you do this to me?”
“I'd rather died myself than hurt you," Bobby said, pain laced throughout his voice. Mine and Dean's eyes bounced between the two of them.
“But you did hurt me. You shoved that knife into me. Again and again. You watched me bleed. Watched me die.”
Dean grabbed Bobby's jacket in an another attempt to shake something loose, “Bobby, she's not real!”
Bobby didn't take his eyes off what seemed to be a spirit. “You were possessed, baby. You were rabid. And I didn't know what I know now. I didn't know how to save you.”
“You're lying. You wanted me dead!" She shouted. "If you'd loved me, you would've found a way!”
“I'm sorry," Bobby pleaded before she ran at us at full speed. I gripped Bobby by his arm, yanking him back into the living room and slamming the sliding doors shut before she could make it through.
I followed the path of flowers around the house that lead to the back where there was a fenced-in garden, no sign of the junkyard that has always surrounded Bobby's house, since we've known him at least. I had just ducked under a clothesline hung with white sheets when I heard quiet footsteps behind me. I whipped around, but not quick enough to react to the bat being swung right at my chest. I fell to the ground, holding my shoulder where I'd been hit. I narrowed my eyes at the man above me. "Who are you?”
“Who are you? You don't belong here.”
“You're one to talk. You're in my friend's head.”
“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me!"
"That may be because you're a killer."I could tell now that this guy was my age, maybe even younger.
“You should be nicer to me. In here...you're just an insect. I'm a god.”
Dean and I threw ourselves up against the double doors. Bobby continued to look stunned as he stood helpless in the middle of the living room. The doors behind Dean and I shook as we gripped the doorframe, trying to keep her at bay. “I'm telling you, all of it. Your house, your wife, it's a nightmare!”
“I killed her," Bobby mumbled, not having even heard what Dean was trying to tell him. I looked to my left, noticing a wire dangling from a table lamp. I yanked it from the wall, pulling it free from the lamp.
“Bobby, this is your dream. And you can wake up," Dean said as I began to tied the wire around the double door's round knobs. "I mean, hell, you can do anything.”
The screaming continued on the other side of the door, the wood shaking against the pounding of her fists. I wasn't sure how much longer they'd hold.
“Just leave me alone. Let her kill me already.”
Dean had finally had enough, grabbing Bobby by the shoulders as he pulled him away from the doors. “Look at me. You gotta snap out of this now! You're not gonna die. I'm not gonna let you die! You're like a father to me." Dean was gripping the front of Bobby's jacket in his fists, pleading. His eyes were wide, searching Bobby's face. "You gotta believe me, please.”
Bobby hesitated, unsure of what to believe. “I'm dreaming?”
“Yes! Now take control of it.”
Bobby watched Dean for a moment before slowing his breathing, closing his eyes. It only took a second before the screaming and pounding stopped. I looked at the double doors. Slowly, I untied the wire and slid the doors apart. Sunshine shown in through the kitchen windows, no woman in sight.
“I don't believe it," Bobby muttered.
“Believe it," I said, turning back to him. "Now would you please wake up?"
In an instant, the three of us shot up in bed, back in the motel room.
We'd gotten the call almost immediately that Bobby was awake. Dean and I stayed behind in the hospital room as Sam went to go check on Jeremy, who Dean was able to decipher after I told them what I saw.
We were flipping through Dr. Gregg's case files when Dean finally spoke up, breaking the silence, “Hey, Bobby. That stuff with your wife...that actually happen?”
“Everybody got into hunting somehow," Bobby said. It was horrible hearing about Bobby's dream, about his wife. I realized now why he never talked about her. Part of me wished it was just a horrible nightmare and not his past catching up with him.
“I'm sorry," Dean said.
“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead. Thank you."
A beat of silence passed as him and Dean looked to each other before Sam came in through the open door. "So, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”
“He ain't much of a stoner," Bobby said, reading from Dr. Gregg's file on him. "His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' something, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head. Here's Father of the Year.” He handed Sam a printed copy of Henry Frost's driver's license. “He died before Jeremy was ten.”
“Looks like a real sweetheart," I said as Sam passed the picture to me. He reminded me a lot of the guys dad used to be friends with from the military: rugged, usually drunk.
“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand," Bobby said. "He hasn't dreamt since.”
“Til he started dosing the dream drug," Dean said. “How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?”
“Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”
“How'd he get in there in the first place?" I asked. "Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?”
Bobby nodded, “Yeah. Before I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin' thing.”
“Oh, I don't know," Dean chuckled nervously. "It wasn't that dumb.”
I turned to him, sensing his embarrassment, “Dean, you didn't.”
“...I was thirsty," he admitted.
Sam scoffed, “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”
“Well, now we just have to find him first.”
“We better work fast...and coffee up," Bobby said. "Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”
Sam and I closely watched Dean whose been on edge all day. His hands were gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin' ghost. Where the hell could he be?”
Sam glanced at me before looking back at Dean. “Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little...caffeinated.”
“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean shouted. I eyed the speedometer when Dean's phone rang. He fumbled with it as he pulled it from his pocket, frustration and caffeine making him clumsy. He snapped it open, “Tell me you got something!”
“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby said on the other end.
“Yeah," I sighed, crossing it off our list. “That was our last lead.”
“What the hell, Bobby!” Dean shouted into the phone.
“Don't yell at me, boy. I'm working my ass off here!”
Dean tried to lower his tone, running a hand down his face. “Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm- I'm tired. What's Bela got?”
“What do you got, Bela?" Bobby asked. We could hear her in the background, but not enough to make out what she was saying. "She's got nothing.”
“Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” Dean slammed the phone shut and threw it to the seat between him and Sam. He closed his fist, bring it up to his mouth when suddenly, he veered the car onto a hidden road. “Alright, that's it. I'm done." He threw the car into park and cut the engine, settling into the seat.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”
Sam's eyes widened, “What?! Dean, Jeremy can come after you.”
“That's the idea.”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on man, we can't find him, so let him come to me!"
“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?”
“I can handle it," Dean huffed out, his eyes already closed and his arms crossed over his chest.
“Not alone, you can't," Sam said before quickly plucking a strand of hair from Dean's head. I followed suit. I wasn't gonna leave them to clean up this mess.
“Ow! What are you doing?” He yelped, grabbing at the back of his head.
“We're coming in with you," I said.
“No, you're not.”
"Why not? At least then it'll be three against one.”
Dean hesitated, looking to Sam and I, “'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”
“Too bad," Sam said already beginning to make the Dream Root mixture.
I sat up first, blinking away sleep. We were still in the car. I nudged Sam and Dean who sat upright, looking around the small enclosed dirt road we fell asleep parked on. "What are we still doing here?”
“I have no idea," Dean said.
A sound came just outside the car. Sam looked to us, “There's someone out there.”
We quietly filed out of the car, listening for more signs of what we assumed would be Jeremy. Then, I heard the noise again, soft and melodic. It was...music?
Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'.
“Hey," a voice said soothingly. The three of us turned. A woman, bathed in golden light despite the darkness consuming us, with dark hair and a yellow dress perched upon a plaid blanket. A picnic basket and bottle of wine were next to her. Dean froze in place at the sight of her. She smiled sweetly. I recognized her. Lisa. "You gonna sit down?”
Sam and I stood back. Dean gulped. Lisa patted the blanket and picked up the bottle of wine, refiling her glass. “Come on. We only have an hour before we have to pick Ben up from baseball.”
Say nighty-night and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.
“I've never had this dream before," Dean muttered, looking at us over his shoulder. Sam and I continued to watch Dean, knowing he was bluffing. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Dean," Lisa said. Dean looked longingly at her. "I love you.”
Dream a little dream of me.
Suddenly, the music cut out and the image of Lisa flickered until she was no longer in front of us.
“Where'd she go?” Dean breathed out.
We looked around the dense forest when Sam motioned toward the other side of the tree line. “Jeremy.”
Sam led the way, Dean and I following close behind. I kept my eyes trained on Sam's brown jacket, trying not to lose him as we dodged in and out of the trees. It wasn't until I'd happened to glance behind me when I realized Dean was nowhere to be found. I stopped, looking every which way, my chest quickly rising and falling. "Dean!?"
One second, I'm trailing behind Ellie in the pursuit of Jeremy through the thick forest and the next second, I'm not in the forest at all. I slide to a stop before I run straight into the wall ahead of me, painted with green oak trees. I slowly turned around, knowing that this was a dream. Knowing that anything was possible.
I was in a long hallway, doors lining the walls on either side of me. I glanced at each one, but it wasn't until I'd reached the end when the door ahead of me creaked open on its own, seemingly inviting me in. I stepped inside, quickly realizing I was back where this all started: Bobby's motel room. A faint clicking noise came from the otherwise silent, dark room. It was a man, sitting at the desk. His back was facing me, clicking the desk lamp on...off...on...off.
“Jeremy?” I called out to him. The clicking stopped, leaving the desk light on. In the light, I could tell it wasn't Jeremy at all. The figure looked halfway over its shoulder before standing, confirming what I feared deep in my stomach.
“Hey, Dean," it said. It was wearing my clothes, had my voice, in my skin.
“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun.”
“We need to talk.”
I nodded as we began circling each other around the small room. “I get it. I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”
“Joke all you want, smart-ass," he said. It was unsettling to say the least. We stopped on opposite sides of the room. "But you can't lie to me. I know the truth. I know how dead you are inside...how worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror...and hate what you see.”
I ground my teeth, “Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work. You're not real.”
“Sure I am. I'm you.”
“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours. All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye," I said, ready to get this shit over with, knowing that the longer I stayed inside this part of my dreams, the longer Sam and Ellie would be alone to hunt down Jeremy. I snapped my fingers, expecting him to disappear. However, he only continued to stare back, solid as a rock. I snapped again and again before I realized it was no use. My hand fell to my side.
He smirked, as if he knew I'd try that. “I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you.” The door behind him slammed shut, the deadbolt locking into place. My heart rate began to pick up speed. He lifted a shotgun -- my shotgun -- that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. “Like I said...we need to talk.”
Simultaneously, Sam and I shot up in our seats in the Impala, yet Dean stayed asleep. Sam grabbed him at the shoulder, trying to shake him awake, “Dean. Hey. Wake up.”
Instead, it was Jeremy in the front seat. Quicker than either of us could react, Jeremy used the end of his baseball bat to smash into Sam's shoulder so hard I heard an audible pop. He groaned in agony, opening the passenger side door as he rolled from the car. I quickly grabbed Jeremy in a headlock from behind, but he was faster. He grabbed me by my shoulders, yanking me over the front bench seat. My back landed hard against the dash board, making me suck in a painful breath of air. He stood from the car, pulling me out by my arms and dropping me to the forest floor. I scrambled to my feet, rounding the car to meet Sam but the unmistakable sound of the bat slicing through the air filled my ears before it came crashing down on the middle of my back. I crumpled to the ground next to Sam, the two of us shuffling away as quickly as we could from Jeremy who loomed over us.
“Boy, you just don't know when to leave well enough alone, do you?” He said, swinging the bat in circles.
“You're a psycho," Sam spit at him as we maneuvered backward on the forest floor.
Jeremy bared his teeth. “You're wrong.”
“Yeah? Tell that to Dr. Gregg.”
He scoffed, “The doc? No, no. The doc's the one that got me hooked on this stuff and then he took it away. But I needed it, and he wouldn't let me have it.”
“So you killed him?” I asked. Sam and I continued to kick at the wet grass beneath us to put as much distance between us and him but he continued to loom over us.
“I can dream again. Do you know what that's like, not to be able to dream? You never rest, not really. It's like being awake for fifteen years.”
“And let me guess," Sam said, holding his shoulder. "That makes you go crazy?”
“I just wanna be left alone. I just wanna dream.”
“Sorry," I said. "Can't do that.”
Jeremy paused, looking between Sam and I before suddenly we were forced flat onto the ground. I lifted my head, looking down at mine and Sam's hands that were tied with ropes and secured with large stakes into the ground. Our feet were bound at the ankles. I tried pulling, but the knots only seemed to tighten, digging into my skin.
Jeremy stepped forward, looking down at the bat in his hand. No doubt the same bat that put him in this situation in the first place. “I'm getting better and better at this. Stronger and stronger all the time." I looked to Sam, praying he had an answer to get us out of here. "But you two, your brother? You're not waking up. Not this time. I'm not gonna let you.”
I didn't take my eyes off this other version of me. There was something off about him. We were circling each other again, like predators. “I mean, you're going to Hell and you won't lift a finger to stop it. Talk about low self-esteem. Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”
“Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up," I muttered to myself, unsure of where this was going. I knew that it wouldn't only be me that would die if I couldn't get back into my own body, but Sam and Ellie, too.
“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Ellie and Sam," he went on, stopping in front of the desk. "You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”
“Now that's not true," I said, trying to dismiss his words but knew I couldn't. This wasn't some monster trying to get into my head. This is my head.
“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's dad’s. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?" He spat. I shook my head, trying to drown his words out. "No. No, all there is is, ‘watch out for Sammy and El. Look out for your siblings, boy!’ You can still hear your dad’s voice in your head, can't you?" He brought the barrel of the shotgun up to his temple, tapping it lightly. "Clear as a bell.”
“Just shut up," I warned, feeling a burning in my chest at his words because I knew, better than anyone, that they were true.
“I mean, think about it...all he ever did was train you, boss you around." He took a step closer. "But Sam and Ellie...them he doted on. Them, he loved.”
“I mean it. I'm getting angry," I warned again, but he went on.
“Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you!?”
I reached my boiling point, shoving him so hard against his chest that he flew across the room and smacked the wall behind him. “Son of a bitch! My father was an obsessed bastard!”
He tried to get up but I was faster, kicking him square in the chest, sending him flying back against the stone. I grabbed the shotgun, shoving it against his chest and shoulders, keeping him pinned to the wall. “All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam and Ellie, that was his shit! He's the one who couldn't protect his family!”
I swung the shotgun back, bringing it three times across his face and pinned him again. “He's the one who let mom die. Who wasn't there for Sam and Ellie! I always was! He wasn't there! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!"
For one last time I pulled the shotgun away and pumped four rounds into his chest, blood spraying.
My chest rose and fell quickly as I stepped toward my own lifeless body, slumped against the wall of the motel. Suddenly, the figure's eyes snapped open, clicking to pools of black. I took a quick step back, my eyes wide. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!”
"Please, stop!" I begged over and over as Jeremy continued to bring the bat down over Sam's beaten body. He groaned in pain, trying to dodge the blows but it was no use. "Stop!"
Jeremy looked to me, his chest heaving as he brought the bat down, but this time swinging it at my sides. Air escaped my lungs as the blows continued to rain down.
"Jeremy, stop!" Sam pleaded, but it was like Jeremy was in a trance, or he didn't care, or maybe both.
He finally took a step back and I could finally catch my breath. The faint taste of blood at the back of my throat. He pointed his bat down at me, just inches from my face. “You can't stop me. There's nothing I can't do in here.”
“Because of the Dream Root," I gasped out. I definitely had a few broken ribs. "Well, you're forgetting something.”
Jeremy shifted, planting his feet on the ground on either side of my hips. He squared his own as he raised the bat over his shoulder once again, working up what looked like would be a lethal blow right to my head. My blood ran cold. “What's that?”
I smiled, feeling blood coating my teeth now. “I took the Dream Root, too.”
A booming voice sounded on the other side of the forest clearing. “Jeremy! Jeremy!”
Jeremy whipped around at the sound of the man's voice, panic replacing the blood-thirsty look in his eyes. “No. No...dad?”
“You answer me when I'm talking to you, boy," Henry Frost stepped closer to his son who took two steps back for each one his father ascended upon him.
With his guard down, the ropes vanished. Sam was on his feet in an instant, using Jeremy's own bat to collide into his face. I hurried to my feet, watching as Sam swung one last time, bringing the bat down onto Jeremy's skull.
I flew upright in my seat in the car, Sam and Dean following suit. I gripped my chest to steady my racing heart.
We followed Bobby back into the motel room where Dean was just getting off the phone, turning to us, “Hey, you guys seen Bela? She's not in her room. She's not answering her phone.”
“She must've taken off or something," Bobby suggested.
“Just like that? It's a little weird," Sam said.
“Yeah well, if you ask me what's weird is why she helped us in the first place," Bobby said.
I looked at him, confused, “I thought you saved her life.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The thing in Flagstaff.”
Bobby raised his eyebrows, searching his memory. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.” Sam, Dean and I looked to each other. “You three better check your pockets.” Immediately, we patted the pockets of our coats and jeans. Bobby sighed. “Not literally.”
Suddenly, Dean widened his eyes as he turned directly toward the safe in the closet. “No, no, no, no.”
I watched in shock as he pulled the safe door open. Where once the Colt had been safely tucked inside, it was now gone. I clenched my jaw. “The Colt. Bela stole the Colt.”
“Damn it, kids!” Bobby shouted, shaking his head.
“Pack your shit," Dean said, grabbing the keys for the car. “We're gonna go hunt the bitch down.”
I glanced sideways at Sam as we stood at the trunk of Baby, zipping our duffles. “Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?”
Sam shook his head, “Just Jeremy. He kept us separated from you. Easier to beat our brains out that way, I guess. What about you? You never said.”
I bit my tongue, thankful that was all he'd seen. “Nothing. I was looking for you two the whole time.”
I slammed the trunk shut, the two of us rounding the car and slid into the front seat. I turned the engine over, glancing in the rearview mirror to where Ellie was coming out of the motel, helping Bobby carry his things to his truck. My throat constricted. Although I'd hardly slept the last three days, I laid awake all last night, unable to get the image of me with black eyes out of my head. “Sam.”
“Yeah?”
I tossed around everything in my head that I wanted to say, “I've been doing some thinking, and...well, the thing is..." I paused, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to Hell.”
Sam was quiet for a minute before he nodded. I couldn't meet his gaze. “Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you.”
I tried my best at a half-hearted smile but it came out as more of a grimace. I knew the chances were slim to none. “Okay, good.”
“You can't escape me, Dean.” The words rolled through my head again. I gripped the wheel. “You're gonna die.” I cranked the music louder in an attempt to drown out my own voice but it was no use. “And this? This is what you're gonna become!”
Just read your worked and I loves them all specially Ellie🥹
Thank you for your amazing job
I don't know if you ever plan on coming back but I just wanted ro know that I enjoyed reading your works.
I wish you the best❤️
Thank you so much🥹 I love that series so much. I do plan on posting more. I wasn't sure if anyone would want to read it since it's been so long since I've posted, so that means a lot!!❤️
“Are you sure it’s in here?” Sam said, rummaging through the glove box of the Impala, running a finger through the neck of his shirt that clung to his back.
Dean grumbled, sifting through the visor above the driver’s seat in search of the same damn insurance card that seemed to go missing every year. “Check the visor.”
Sam pulled down the visor, two white pieces of paper flittering into his lap. Sam picked one of them up, showing the insurance card to Dean who snatched it from his hands. Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed the small white envelope, going to put it back in its place when he noticed the large, looping handwriting across the front. Handwriting he immediately recognized as Ellie’s.
Omg the letter 🥹😭 Ellie’s personality is so well captured in just those words alone, even without knowing or reading your series!!! Definitely my fav writer! (also timely reminder that i need to catch up with my reading)
“Are you sure it’s in here?” Sam said, rummaging through the glove box of the Impala, running a finger through the neck of his shirt that clung to his back.
Dean grumbled, sifting through the visor above the driver’s seat in search of the same damn insurance card that seemed to go missing every year. “Check the visor.”
Sam pulled down the visor, two white pieces of paper flittering into his lap. Sam picked one of them up, showing the insurance card to Dean who snatched it from his hands. Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed the small white envelope, going to put it back in its place when he noticed the large, looping handwriting across the front. Handwriting he immediately recognized as Ellie’s.
“What’s this?” Sam asked, holding it up.
Dean narrowed his eyes, reading his and Sam’s names across the front. He shrugged, taking it from him and ripping it open. He unfolded the thin notebook paper, glancing to Sam in confusion before looking back down at it again.
Sammy + Dean,
Fuck. I guess I’m dead. I mean…if you’re reading this, then I probably am. Or maybe Dean went looking for that insurance card he loses every year. Sorry for dying, by the way. That really sucks and it was kind of shitty of me, leaving you two alone. I’m sure you’ll manage.
Sam and Dean glanced up at each other from the note and up to the motel room where they could see Ellie through the window, packing her clothes into her duffel bag. They both looked back down at the letter.
At the time that I’m writing this, I only have about six months left. It’s strange, knowing that every day that passes on the calendar I’ll never see again. I’ll never see the fireworks on the 4th of July, or the leaves changing in the fall. I’m just trying to soak it all up while I can. My birthday’s coming up. And to be honest, I never thought I’d see 22 years of my life. I’ve lived much longer than I ever expected to.
I’d never say to your faces, but thank you for all you’ve done for me. No matter what happened or where in the world we were, I always knew you guys would be right behind me, every step of the way. We never had any stability growing up. No home, no school, no friends. But in the end, none of that really mattered, because I had you. And that was more than enough.
So, please, for the love of god, don’t sit around moping. I mean…maybe a few days is okay just for you guys to remember how fucking cool I was and all that…but then, you need to move on. Hunters die every day, but that doesn’t mean the job does. I lived a good life, despite it all. I’ll be okay. And maybe one day we’ll see each other again.
Kick some ass for me.
Love,
El
Dean let the paper fall in his lap as they reached the bottom, sitting silently back in their seats. They watched her move across the motel room, unaware of what they’d found, something she’d intended for them not to find until she was long gone.
“We can’t let her go,” Sam whispered, looking over to Dean. “We can’t let her go to Hell.”
Dean had been telling himself this ever since he found out about Ellie’s deal. That he couldn’t let his sister be dragged to the worse place he could imagine, but nothing he tried was working. Either Ellie died and went to Hell and Sam lived, or vice versa. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself either way.
He glanced over at his brother, nodding. “We’ll figure something out.”
“You have to promise me, though, Dean,” Sam said in a serious tone. “You need to promise me that whatever we do, we do it knowing for sure that we all live. No more deals, okay?”
Dean wished he could keep the promise, but he knew better. He’d already been down every avenue, looked under every rock to figure out a way to get Ellie out of her deal, but nothing was working. He knew that if it came down to it, he would sell his soul for Ellie’s in a heartbeat.
“Okay,” Dean agreed guiltily. Sam continued to watch him, like he didn’t believe him. Dean nodded, folding the paper again and sliding it back into the envelope. “No deals.”
"She was so scared. I couldn't help; I couldn't do anything to stop it,” Mr. Dutton whispered in regret, staring off into space between Sam and Dean who were questioning him. His eyes flicked back up to them. “And I've talked to the police, and I've talked to the medical examiner and no one can explain it."
I shined my flashlight around every inch of the master bathroom that Janet Dutton died in, only half listening to their conversation as I searched for anything out of the ordinary that could give us a reason to believe this was our kind of job. "Well, that's why they put the call in to us Mr. Dutton."
"But the CDC, that's disease control, right? What do you think; it's some kind of virus?"
"We're not ruling out anything yet,” Dean said. I began searching through their medicine cabinet, pushing aside prescription bottles and bandaid boxes, but nothing was in there, either. “Mr. Dutton did Janet have any enemies?"
There was a beat of silence behind the bathroom door as Mr. Dutton processed the question. "I'm sorry?"
"Anyone that might have a reason to hurt her?" Sam asked this time. I rifled through the tall pantry, shuffling through the neatly folded towels, baskets of small perfume bottles, extra toothbrushes, hand soap. Absolutely nothing of interest.
"Wait, what are you saying? That somebody...poisoned her?"
"I'm just saying we have to cover every base here."
"Well, I mean, what kind of poison? You think a person could have done this?”
I nearly gave up on the search before I spotted the double cabinets beneath the sink. I squatted down, pulling them open where sure enough, a hex bag was stuffed between the pipes. I sighed, pulling it free and placing it into my pocket.
“Would anyone want to?" Sam was asking as I returned to the room. Mr. Dutton was standing now, looking horrified.
"What?! No, no, there's just no one that could've—" He paused, looking off into space again in thought.
Dean raised his eyebrows at us before waving a hand in front of his face. "Mr. Dutton?"
Whatever trance Mr. Dutton was in, he seemed to snap out of it quickly. He blinked twice, looking back at us. "Uh, everyone loved Janet."
Yeah, totally not weird and suspicious at all. Sam nodded once. "Okay. Thank you very much; I think we've got everything we need. We'll get out of your way now."
Sam, Dean and I stepped out onto the wet porch of Mr. Dutton’s house. "That dude seem a little evasive to you?" Dean asked.
"I don't know I was under a sink, pulling this out,” I said, tossing it to Sam who caught it before it could drop to the ground. "Hex bag."
"Awww gross,” Dean groaned as Sam opened it up in his palm.
"Yeah, there are bird bones, rabbit's teeth. This cloth is probably cut from something Janet Dutton owned."
Dean shivered at the thought as we kept walking. Sam looked over to me. "So we're thinking witch?"
"Uh, yeah, and not some new age wicked water douser either. This is Old World black magic, I mean, warts and all,” I said as we slid into the car, the rain coming down harder now.
There was a beat of silence in the car before Dean turned in his seat toward us. "I hate witches." Sam and I chuckled at the rant we knew Dean was about to go on, the same one he always went on when we dealt with witches. "They're always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere. It's creepy, you know, it's down right unsanitary."
"Yeah, well someone definitely had it out for Janet Dutton."
"Yeah, someone who snuck into that house and planted the bag,” Dean said, glancing up at the home. “So what are we thinking, we're uh, looking for some old craggy Blair bitch in the woods."
I shook my head, "No it could be anyone. Neighbor, coworker, man, woman—that's the problem, they're human, they're like everyone else."
"Great,” Dean exasperated. “How do we find 'em?"
I thought about it, the brutal way in which Janet died: choking on her own blood after all of her teeth fell out, seemingly out of nowhere. "This wasn't random; someone in Janet Dutton's life had an ugly axe to grind. We find the motive—"
"We find the murderer,” Sam finished. Dean nodded once before peeling away from the curb.
I sighed, tapping my fingertips against the door with my chin in my hand, people watching the patrons walk in and out of the pub just across from our stakeout spot. “I’m telling you guys, give me five minutes in that bar to hustle some pool money-”
“El, we’re working,” Sam reprimanded. I looked over Dean’s shoulder toward Mr. Dutton’s car that we’ve been tailing for the past four hours. He was parked in an empty lot after we’d just followed him through a drive thru.
“Yeah, and it’s thrilling,” I said sarcastically as I let out a puff of air, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t think anything’s going on here, you guys.”
“Wait,” Sam shushed me and just seconds later, Mr. Dutton’s car flew open as he fell to the ground. Dean immediately put the car into drive, barreling across the two lane road and skidded to a stop just inches from Mr. Dutton who was kneeling on the ground, gasping for air.
"Check the car!" Dean shouted to Sam and I. Sam ran toward the driver’s seat as I pulled open the back, reaching shoulder-deep under the seats, my hands searching blindly.
"Hurry up!" Dean called from behind us where he was kneeled beside Mr. Dutton who was trying to cough but couldn't, his wheezes for air becoming more and more desperate.
"Got it!" Sam suddenly shouted, holding the hex bag up. He grabbed his lighter, catching the hex bag ablaze before dropping it to the road.
"Come on.” Dean lifted Mr. Dutton off the ground as he grasped his chest, finally able to breathe again. "You okay?"
Mr. Dutton looked at us with wild eyes. "What the hell is happening to me?!"
"Someone murdered your wife and now they're trying to kill you, that's what's happening to you,” Sam said.
"That's impossible! There's no way—"
"If we hadn't have been following you, you'd be a doornail right now. Now who wants you dead?" Dean demanded.
Mr. Dutton looked at us as if we were crazy but wracked his brain for an answer, "I-uh..."
"Come on think."
"There's a woman—uh—"
"A woman, okay?"
"An affair—a mistake, she was un-balanced, she was blackmailing me and I put an end to it a week ago."
I raised my eyebrows at this. An affair would make sense, why this woman would want Janet dead. "What's her name?"
Mr. Dutton looked at me, confused, "Wha–what could she have to do with—?"
"Paul! What is her name?"
Mr. Dutton paused, watching us. “Amanda...Amanda Burns.”
Paul Dutton cracked pretty fast when it came to giving us Amanda’s address. I quietly picked the lock of the front door, leading the way into the dimly lit house. I entered the living room first, keeping my gun held high as I rounded the corner where a brunette woman in a black dress laid face down over a glass coffee table. I tilted my head at the blood pooled beneath her. "That's a curveball."
"Yeah."
Dean approached her, using his gun to rotate her wrists to the side as he confirmed what I’d suspected: "Three per wrist, vertical. She wasn't foolin' around."
Sam held a hand over his nose and mouth as he lowered himself to the floor beside the table. I followed his line of sight to a knocked over spell book and a plate of rotting food, maggots crawling in and out of it. There was a board with a sigil painted across the front, a knife, and a denim shirt beneath it all that I assumed was Paul Dutton’s. "Yeah, looks like she was working some heavyweight evil here."
"Oh god!” Dean shouted suddenly. I drew my gun towards Dean who’s eyes were wide, staring at the rabbit suspended by his feet from the ceiling behind him. I sighed, dropping my gun. “Fuckin' witches! Seriously man, come on!"
"Guess we know where she got the rabbit's teeth from,” Sam said. The rabbit was long since dead, its once-white fur now matted with dark blood.
"Well, Paul sure knows how to pick 'em huh? It's like Fatal Attraction all over again,” Dean said, looking back at the rabbit, his face falling. “And why does the rabbit always get screwed in the deal?! Poor little guy."
"You know what I don't get?” Sam said, making Dean and I look to him. “If she was so bent on revenge, why do this?"
I shrugged, "Well, she got Janet Dutton, thought she finished off Paul, decided to cap herself and make it a spurned lover's hat-trick...I mean, this doesn't exactly look like the TV room of a bright and stable person, you know?"
Sam kneeled down to the floor, inspecting beneath the coffee table. "No, but then...there's this.” Sam stood, throwing me a small object, wrapped in brown leather.
"Another hex bag? Come on!" Dean groaned, shaking his head. "Looks like we got a hit, huh? A little witch-on-witch violence?"
"I guess,” I said, tossing the hex bag onto the coffee table.
Dean pulled out his phone, dialing 911. "Hi, I'd like to report a dead body...309 Mayfair Circle...My name? Yeah, sure my name is—” Dean cut himself off, snapping his phone shut. “Why are witches ganking each other?"
Sam sighed, "I don't know, but I think maybe we got a coven on our hands."
"You must have a green thumb,” Sam said as we approached Elizabeth’s house where she was out in her garden, digging in the dirt. This was our first suspect, someone Amanda had been friends with for years.
“Excuse me?” She said, looking up at us.
“Getting these herbs to grow out of season like this, quite impressive,” Sam said before stopping. “I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself first. I'm Detective Bachman, this is Detective Turner and Detective Thornton.” He motioned to each of us as we flashed her our fake badges.
“Hi-ya,” Dean smirked.
“We're following up on Amanda Burns' death, going around the neighborhood and talking to neighbors, stuff like that,” I said.
Amanda stood, watching us in what I believed to be feigned confusion, “But didn't she— I mean...she...killed herself...right?”
“Maybe, maybe,” Sam said, vaguely. “We heard you were friends with the deceased right?”
Elizabeth shrugged, obviously anxious at the questioning. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Did you have any idea about her practices?”
She furrowed her eyebrows at my question. “I'm sorry, what kind of practices?”
“Well see, her house was littered with Satanic paraphernalia.”
“A regular Black Sabbath,” Dean added.
“No, the— but she was an Episcopalian.”
“Well, then we're pretty sure she was using the wrong Bible,” Dean chuckled.
“Elizabeth, you alright?” A voice asked from behind us. We turned, two women coming up the driveway. They rounded us as they stood on either side of Elizabeth.
“I'm fine...Renee, these are detectives,” Elizabeth hesitated. “They say Amanda was— she was practicing-”
“I'm sorry detectives; you can tell that Elizabeth is a little bit upset,” the blonde woman said, running a soothing hand down Elizabeth’s arm.
I narrowed my eyes at them. Something was definitely fishy about these three. “Of course, Miss…?”
“Mrs. Renee. Van. Allen,” she said, punctuating each part of her name. “Would you like me to spell it for you?”
I raised my eyebrows at her, biting my tongue. “I'll get by, thanks.”
“This Amanda business has been hard for Liz,” Mrs. Renee Van Allen said. She tightened the grip she had on Elizabeth’s arm. “For all of us.”
Elizabeth seemed frightened to even speak for herself as the other brunette woman spoke up this time, “Yeah. I mean, you think you know a person.”
“Well, I guess we all have secrets don't we?” Dean said. I could tell him and Sam both had their suspicious about them, too.
“Well, thanks,” Sam said, maintaining intense eye contact with Elizabeth that she couldn’t return. “We'll be in touch.”
After leaving Ellie at the motel to research more into what we didn’t already know about witches, Sam and I went out to see if we could find anything else on these women. It was nearly pitch black as we made our way back.
“Well, I'm already sold on that Elizabeth chick. Did you see that victory garden of hers?” I said as I drove. “Belladonna, wolfsbane, mandrake, not to mention that little flinch she threw when we mentioned the occult.”
“Well, she's definitely had a good run lately, gone up a few tax brackets; won almost too many raffles. Kinda thing a little black magic always helps with,” Sam said as he read through the local paper and other files we were able to scrounge up. “I don't think she's alone either. I looked into 'Mrs. Renee Van Allen'. She’s won almost every craft contest she has entered in the past three months.”
“Yeah, a regular Martha Stewart, huh? Except for the devil worship, I'm thinking that was the coven we met back there, minus one member,” I said, shaking my head. “Amanda was clearly going off the reservation. What do you think, they killed her to keep up appearances?”
“Seems like an appearance kind of crowd, don't you think?” Sam said.
“Yeah...if they killed the nut-job, should we uh, thank them or what?”
“They're working black magic too, Dean. They need to be stopped,” Sam said, folding up the paper.
I paused, glancing over to him as I suddenly remembered mine and Ellie’s conversation. “'Stopped' like stopped?” Sam shot me a look saying he was serious. It was never like him to think that way. “They're human, Sam.”
“They're murderers,” he corrected.
Pushing aside how out of character it was for Sam, it seemed justified to me. I looked back to the road, satisfied. “Burn witch, burn.”
Then, the car began to rattle and sputter. I looked down, confused, as I took my hands off the wheel. “What the hell?”
The headlights began to flicker. One second, they were off, and we were drowning in darkness and the next second they turned back on, there was a figure, illuminated in the golden light. The car rolled to a stop right in front of a woman, her arms crossed over her chest. I felt for the Colt in my jacket, gripping it by its hilt. We stood from the car, the woman unmoving.
“Ruby?” Sam said in confusion. I raised my eyebrows, looking back at her.
“Sam, listen to me, there's no time,” Ruby urged.
"For what? What are you talking about?"
"You have to get out of town."
"So this is Ruby, huh? Never had the pleasure,” I said, bringing the Colt out and aiming it at her.
"Dean!"
"I was hoping you'd show up again."
Ruby only watched me, unfazed. "Point that thing somewhere else."
"Hahahaha! Right,” I said sarcastically.
She sighed, looking back to Sam, "Sam, please. Go. Get in the car and don't look back."
"Why? I don't understand."
"Hey, hot stuff, we can take care of a few kitchen witches, thanks,” I said, making Ruby roll her eyes as she turned her attention back to me.
"I'm not talking about witches, you jackass. Witches are whores,” she spat. “I'm talking about who they serve."
I furrowed my eyebrows, looking to Sam for answers when his face fell. "Demons. They get their power from demons."
"Yeah. And there's one here, now."
I scoffed, "Oh, what, you mean besides you?"
"Sam, it knows you're in town and it's gonna come after you and it’s way more than you can handle."
I looked to Sam who suddenly seemed worried. I widened my eyes. "Oh come on, what is this, huh? Please tell me you're not listening to this crap!"
"Put a leash on your brother, Sam, if you wanna keep him."
"Dean, look, just chill out."
"No...no! She's messing with your head, god knows why, that's who they are!" I shouted, waving the gun in her direction. I was not going to let Sam make me feel like the crazy one.
"I'm telling you the truth,” Ruby interfered.
"And I'm telling you to shut up, bitch."
"I'm sorry, why are you even a part of this conversation?!" She yelled, stepping closer.
"Oh, I don't know maybe because he's my brother, you black-eyed skank!"
"Oh, right, right. You care about your brother so much. That's why you're checking out in a few months, leaving him all alone?"
My heart sank, praying Sam hadn’t heard her, but in my peripherals I could see Sam whip his head toward me. I tightened my hand on the gun. "Shut up."
Ruby knew she hit right where it hurt. She leaned forward, only inches from the gun now. "At least let me try and save him, since you won't be here to do it any more."
"I said shut up!"
I brought my finger back on the trigger, but Sam was faster as he bent my arm upwards, shooting a round into the sky. I opened my eyes, looking around, but Ruby was nowhere to be found.
“Damn it!” I shouted, shaking my head, turning away from Sam. I could feel his eyes on me.
“What did she mean, Dean?” He nearly whispered.
I ran a hand down my face before turning to him, acting like I hadn’t heard him when in reality I was buying myself time to think of an excuse. I didn’t want him to find out like this. I didn’t want them to find out at all, not until I was already gone. “What?”
Sam took a step closer. He was angry. “What did she mean...when she said you were checking out- what did she mean!?”
“Sam, c’mon, I have no idea!” I lied through my teeth.
Sam’s face shifted into realization. “What did you do, Dean?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. Guilt corroded my insides. Guilt because I’d been lying to them, guilt because I know what I was going to put them through would kill them. I scoffed, shaking my head. “Sam...”
“You took her deal, didn’t you?”
I slowly looked back to him, fear clouding over his face. There was no use in lying to him anymore. I’d done that too much already. “I couldn’t let her go, Sam...” Sam’s shoulders fell in defeat and shock. “You said it yourself...we couldn’t let her go.”
“I didn’t mean take her place, Dean!” He shouted, his breath coming out in smoke against the cold air. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say a thing. “So...what, now we have to lose you? Our plan this whole time was to come up with something so none of us would die! Did you forget that part!?”
“I didn’t have a choice!” I shouted back. “It was me, or her and if not one of us it was you, Sam! There was no way out of it so I...” I stopped myself, lowering my voice. “I had to do it. I have to protect you two.”
Sam shook his head, tears brimming his eyes. “Does Ellie know?”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat before shaking my head. Sam nodded once, looking away from me. “She can’t know, Sam. She can’t.”
“You can’t ask me to do that.”
“Well, I am,” I said. His eyes flicked to mine. “You have to promise me. You won’t tell her. Promise me that, Sam. Please.” He clenched his jaw, walking back toward the car before slipping inside. I looked up at the dark sky, wishing Hell would open its flaming mouth and just pull me under now.
The silence in the motel room was almost serene. I plopped myself onto the motel bed, a cloud of stale stench floating into the air from the ancient comforter. After nearly six hours of research on witches, my hand was cramping and my ass was sore from the motel’s hard wooden chairs. I stretched my legs out, clicking the small TV set on just as the door flew open, Sam and Dean arguing loudly.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam said as he came in behind Dean, slamming the door. I rolled my head backwards onto the wall, annoyed, switching the TV back off.
"What?! What the hell was I thinking?" Dean shot back, yanking his jacket off his shoulders and throwing it roughly onto his bed. "She's a demon, Sam. Period. Alright? They want us dead, we want them dead!”
“What happened?” I asked, watching as they moved across the room in a flurry, Sam hot on Dean’s trail.
They ignored me as they continued to go at each other. "Oh, that's funny; I remember that demon chick in Ohio, Casey? You didn't want her dead."
"Yeah, well she wasn't stringing me along like a fish on a hook."
"No one's stringing me along! Look, I know it's dangerous, that she is dangerous, but like it or not, she's useful."
"No! We kill her before she kills us."
"Kill her with what? The gun she fixed for us?"
"Whatever works."
I closed my eyes, absentmindedly rubbing at the side of my abdomen, chocking the dull pain up to the two day old takeout I’d eaten out of desperation.
"Dean, if she wants us dead, all she has to do is stop saving our lives,” Sam retorted, making Dean roll his eyes as he went to the bathroom, splashing water on his face. “Look, we have to start looking at the big picture Dean, start thinking in strategies and – and moves ahead. It's not so simple, we're not – we're not just hunting anymore...we're at war."
I peeked an eye out, glancing at them in the momentary silence. “Are you guys done-”
"Are you feeling okay?" Dean interrupted, making Sam shake his head as he sat on the end of our bed.
"Why are you always asking me that?"
"Because you're taking advice from a demon, for starters. And by the way, you seem less and less worried about offing people. You know, it used to eat you up inside."
"Yeah, and what has that gotten me?"
My eyes bounced between the two of them, rubbing rhythmic circles over my stomach. I was still trying to figure out what the hell had happened while they were gone.
"Nothing, but it's just what you're supposed to do, okay? We're supposed to drive in the fuckin' car and fuckin' argue about this stuff. You know, you go on about the sanctity of life and all that shit."
The pain in my stomach began to grow more intense. I sat up further on the bed, hoping my position would relieve some of the pressure, to no avail. I pushed my palm against it, wincing.
"Wait, so– so you're mad because I'm starting to agree with you?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean who was tossing the contents of his pocket onto the table.
"No, I'm not mad, I'm— I'm— I'm worried, Sam— I'm worried because you're not acting like yourself.”
"Yeah, you're right, I'm not. I don't have a choice."
Dean narrowed his eyes at him, stopping his movement. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"Look, Dean...things are changing. And the way I see it, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after...” Sam paused, him and Dean sharing a strange look. A silent conversation that I couldn’t quite place. “Then I gotta change."
"Change into what?"
"Into you,” Sam said after a beat of silence passed. “I gotta be more like you."
I sat up further on the bed, holding my side as I leaned forward, my face contorting in pain. Dean looked over at me as if he’d just noticed I was there. "What's going on with you?"
"I don't know,” I groaned as the pain quickly grew sharper until I gasped, feeling like I was being stabbed from the inside. “Something's wrong—"
"Ellie?" Sam said quickly, rounding the bed and kneeling in front of me. He gripped my shoulder.
"Son of a bitch—" I groaned, wrapping my arms around my midsection.
"Ellie, hey,” Dean said this time.
When I opened my eyes they were both in front of me, watching me worriedly. I panted, the pain just becoming more and more intense as I thought of the only solution I could come up with: "The coven...it's gotta be the coven."
I reached a hand out toward anyone and anything, grasping for air before finding Sam’s jacket, twisting it in my hand before they quickly pushed off the floor, turning the room upside down for the hex bag that had to be in here somewhere.
Sweat began to bead down my body as the sound of cabinets opening and closing filled the room, chairs being overturned, and our things being dumped from our duffle bags. I coughed, leaning forward as I felt something climbing up my throat. I dropped to the floor between the two beds, gagging as blood spurted from my mouth and down onto the linoleum floors. I quickly got onto my hands and knees, trying to clear my airways before my arms collapsed under me, sending me sprawling to the floor.
I didn’t have enough energy to pull myself up. I watched Sam above me as he threw the blankets off the bed and dug his knife into the mattresses, calling to Dean, “Did you find it!?”
"No,” Dean said as he came beside me, rolling me onto my side. "Sam, what are you doing?"
I opened an eye between fits of coughing up blood to where Sam was counting the bullets in the Colt, not saying a word to either of us. He threw the motel door open and all we could hear was the Impala’s engine roar to life.
"Sam!” Dean called after him, but once we could no longer hear the car he turned back, cursing Sam under his breath. “It’ll be okay. It’s okay.”
Blood continued to poor from my mouth and onto the floor, the pain only becoming more unbearable by the second.
I made it back to Elizabeth’s house in nearly half the time it should’ve taken me. I kicked down the front door, barging in, gun drawn at the coven standing around a seance table in the middle of the living room. They let out shrieks of surprised as they quickly stood with their hands in the air.
"Let her go." I couldn’t waste a second. I knew Ellie wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.
"Let who go? What are you doing?” Renee asked, obviously startled. “You're insane, get out!"
"Look, if you know about me, then you know about this gun. You're killing my sister. Now let her go,” I warned. “Get away from the altar."
I sat hunched over on all fours as Dean sat beside me, unsure of what to do except pray that Sam was doing something useful. Then, the motel door was kicked inward. Dean and I whipped our heads toward the door where a woman with long blonde hair sauntered in.
“Ruby?” Dean questioned.
"Ahh, you’re Ruby? You wanna kill me? Get in line bitch,” I groaned, blood smeared across my face. Ruby came deeper into the room, making Dean stand in front of me.
“Get back, Ruby.”
“You want me to save her sorry ass or not?”
Dean looked back down at me as I spit a wad of blood onto the floor. Suddenly, I was being lifted up by my shirt and thrown onto the bed. I kicked her away from me before she pinning my arms down with her knees and poured black liquid into my mouth. I gasped around it, but I instantly began to feel better. Dean yelled something at her, making her climb off of me. I sat up, the excess liquid spilling down my chest. I looked to Dean, and then her in confusion.
Ruby was panting, glaring at me. “Don’t...call me bitch."
The women weren’t giving me much to work with and I was pretty sure Ellie that if Ellie weren’t dead already, she would be soon. I gripped the gun, trying to clear my head as I analyzed the women, recalling what I knew about them.
"Okay, maybe it's not you,” I said, beginning at the front of the line with Elizabeth. I trailed the gun to Renee next, “—or you.” That left me with one option: Tammi Benton. The one out of the group we hadn’t been able to dig up much on. I cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe it's you."
Tammi’s eyes widened as Elizabeth and Renee looked to her in fear. "I don't even know what he's talking about. What are you even talking about?!"
"I mean, all of you, everyone in your little coven, you've all had runs of good fortune. Newsworthy good fortune. Except for you, Tammi,” I said, the pieces suddenly clicking together. I stepped toward her. “Now tell me, why is that? You didn't want anything for yourself? Or is it because you're already getting what you wanted – like these women's souls."
Elizabeth and Renee’s eyes grew wider at my words. Tammi continued to stumble, "I can't- I-I'm not- I-I-I don't..." Then, she stopped. Her facial expression changed as she let her hands drop to her sides, her eyes turning pitch black. "Nice dick work, Magnum."
I brought the gun up to her, gripping it with both hands. "Let. My sister. Go."
"What's wrong? Couldn't find my hex bag? Sorry, sweetheart, but your sister’s lungs should be on the floor by now."
I ground my teeth as I lightly pulled back against the trigger and released a bullet from the Colt, but before it could reach her, the demon brought her hand up, stopping it in mid air. I watched in shock as it fell to the floor with a clank. The demon smiled. "You're in a lot of trouble, Sam."
With that, she brought her hand up, sending me flying across the room and pinning me to the far wall. I groaned at the impact, watching in horror as Elizabeth and Renee turned to who they thought was their friend.
"Tammi, what's wrong with your eyes?" Elizabeth asked.
"Tammi, what are you doing?" Renee gasped.
"Renee, shut your painted hole,” the demon snapped.
"What?” Renee said in disbelief. “I- I will— you can't— not in my house, Tammi Benton-" The demon snapped Renee’s neck then, making her instantly fall to the floor in a heap. Elizabeth slapped her hands over her mouth, muffling her screams of terror.
"Look. You got me – let the girl go,” I tried to reason.
"Wait your turn, young man,” the demon hissed and turned back to Elizabeth who was shaking uncontrollably. “Shhh...Lizzie. It’s okay.”
"You're not Tammi,” Elizabeth breathed out.
The demon had her hand running through Elizabeth’s curls. "No, but I'm wearing her meat. I had to break the ice with you girls somehow."
Her eyes were brimmed with tears. "You killed Renee."
"Renee, Amanda...” the demon listed, circling the room like a caged tiger. “That's what happens to witches who get voted off the island."
"Who are you?"
The demon chuckled. "Funny story, actually. You remember all those dark demonic forces you prayed to, when you swore your servitude? Just who did you think you were praying to?"
"This- this isn't – it can't b—"
"What did you think it was? Make-believe? Positive thinking? The Secret? No, it was me. You sold yourself to me, you pig." Elizabeth’s hands were clutched close to her chest as tears silently fell down her cheeks. "All I had to do was bring one good book to book club, and you ladies lined up to kiss my ass."
Elizabeth began furiously shaking her head. "No, no, we didn't know—"
"Oh, yes you did. You knew every step of the way, and now your ever living souls are mine,” the demon smiled. "Comments? Questions?” Elizabeth continued to stare at her silently, frozen in fear before the demon turned to me. “Hmm, Sammy Winchester, wow! Right here in our little town. You know, my friends and I, we've been looking for you."
"Why?” I said before scoffing, rolling my eyes. “Oh, right, 'cause I'm supposed to lead some piss-poor demon army."
"No, not at all. You're not our Messiah. We don't believe in you...But, there's a new leader rising in the West – a real leader,” she said, coming closer. I furrowed my eyebrows at her words. “That's the horse to bet on, Sam, the one who's gonna tear this world apart. Thing is, this demon? It doesn't like you very much. It doesn't want the competition." I watched as the demon raised her hand and I slowly began to slide up the wall, the pressure against my chest becoming heavier and heavier. I grimaced, clenching my fists. "Nothing personal, it's a P.R. thing, so, buh-bye."
The demon pressed her hand forward until it felt like my chest was going to collapse in on itself. The wall behind me began to crack, plaster and drywall falling to the floor below me. I shut my eyes tightly, waiting for the impact when the front door flew open, Dean and Ellie running through, guns blazing. I let out a breath of relief at the sight of them.
Then, demon simply flicked her other hand, sending the two of them flying to two separate walls. From this angle, we could all see each other. They winced at the impact. I looked to Ellie, wondering how the hell she was even alive.
"Three for one. Lovely."
Then, there was another set of footsteps coming into the house. The demon turned to Ruby who followed behind, her hands raised. "Wait. Please. I just...came to talk."
She turned toward Ruby, looking surprised. "You made it out of the gate. Impressive. That was a bitch of a fight, wasn't it?"
"Doors out of Hell only open for so long."
"What do you want, Ruby?"
Ruby stepped closer to her. "I've been lost without you. Take me back. That's why I led the Winchesters here.”
I glanced to Dean and Ellie, feeling guilty. Dean was shaking his head, mouthing: I told you so!
“They're for you...as a gift,” Ruby said, the demon looking between her and us.
"Really?"
"Let me serve you again. I've wanted it – I've wanted you – for so long,” she whispered, making Dean’s eyebrows shoot upward.
"You were one of my best,” the demon whispered back. Ruby smiled sweetly before quickly bringing a knife up and over the demon’s head, but the demon grabbed the blade before it made impact. "But then again, you always were a lying whore."
The demon tossed the blade across the room, making it slide across the floor and stopping in front of the alter. Ruby began throwing punches at the demon’s face, grabbing her shoulders and kneeing her in the stomach. Then, the demon grabbed Ruby’s arms where they were holding her jacket, using them as leverage to slam her forehead into Ruby’s nose. The resounding crunch of cartilage filled the room. Dean, Ellie and I flinched as blood began pouring down Ruby’s face, but she kept fighting, blindly swinging her fists but the demon had the upper hand. She grabbed Ruby, punching her twice over her face before kicking her backwards into the TV, electrical sparks flying upwards.
The demon gave Ruby enough time to roll off of the shattered TV before knocking her to the floor again. Ruby panted, blood coating her face. The demon grabbed her by her jacket, lifted her easily and tossed her across the room into a bookshelf. Ruby went sprawling backwards, the shelf breaking in half as Ruby just laid there, no fight left in her. The demon sauntered toward the fireplace where Elizabeth was backed up against. She grabbed a fire poker, smirking at Elizabeth before turning back to Ruby. "You're really telling me you threw in your chips with the Three Stooges here?"
Ruby struggled to sit up as the demon swung the fire poker, striking her across the face, sending her falling back down. "Come on. Get up." The demon demanded, but Ruby stayed down. There was movement behind the demon then. My eyes flicked to Elizabeth who quietly ran to the alter on the other side of the room, pouring out a bowl of sewing needles. "I said, get up!"
Fed up, the demon threw the poker to the side and kneeled over Ruby, pulling her up by her jacket. "We've been here before, haven't we?" The demon looked over at us. "She didn't tell you? Pretty mortifying, I guess. She was one of mine. I turned her out a long, long time ago.” Ruby’s head started going limp. I watched the color drain from her face but the demon held it up to look into her eyes. “Ruby here was a witch. Of course, that was when you were human. Didn't want your friends to know that all those centuries back, you sold yourself to me? Embarrassing, I guess. But don't worry love, no secrets where you're heading remember?"
Ruby stared back at her as the demon threw her back onto the debris. The demon stood over her, reciting an exorcism. Ruby clenched her fists as the black smoke began to escape her mouth. Dean, Ellie and I trying desperately to peel ourselves off the walls but it was no use. The demon continued the incantation before she suddenly stopped, bringing her hand to her mouth as she violently began coughing.
I looked to the back of the living room where Elizabeth was sitting behind the alter, her eyes closed as she chanted something quietly that I couldn’t quite make out. We watched as the black smoke returned to Ruby’s body, but the demon continued coughing harder and harder, trying to catch her breath. Each cough made the grip she had on us looser until we each fell to the floor.
I groaned, turning to look back at the demon as she pulled her hand away from her mouth, her palm filled with dark blood and three long sewing needles. Her lips were stained crimson as she looked up, realizing what’d happened to her. She brought up her other hand, clasping it into a fist. Elizabeth’s chanting immediately stopped as she grasped her chest, gasping for air before limply falling forward onto the alter. Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, Dean came up from behind the demon, holding her firmly to his chest as he stabbed her over and over again in her side with Ruby’s knife. The demon’s face was contorted into pain as she flickered orange before dropping dead to the floor.
Ellie stood, rubbing the back of her head where she’d collided with the wall, inspecting the damage inside the house. Dean came around, helping me off the ground. We came to a stop in front of the demon who laid with her mouth wide open, her hand still curled into a tight fist. Ruby stood, wiping the blood from her nose. "Go. I'll clean up this mess."
"Come on,” Dean said, laying a hand on mine and Ellie’s shoulders, leading us to the door when I stopped, looking back over my shoulder to Ruby.
Her eyes clicked to black threateningly. "I said, go."
I was outside of the motel room, throwing our weapons into the arsenal in the trunk when the fluorescent lights outside began flickering wildly. I paused, a low humming filling the parking lot. I looked from my left to my right, trying to prepare myself for whatever the hell was about to show up. I reached around behind me for the Colt. I checked my surroundings again when I spotted Ruby a few feet away form me, her arms crossed.
I let out a small breath of relief as the lights stopped flickering. I let go of the gun. "So the devil may care after all, is that what I'm supposed to believe?"
"I don't believe in the devil.”
I raised my eyebrows as I shook my head, shutting and locking the arsenal. "Wacky night...So let me get this straight, you were human once, you died, you went to hell, you became uh-"
"Yeah,” she said simply as she turned and started walking away.
"How long ago?"
"Back when the plague was big."
I paused, really thinking about what she was telling me. "So all of 'em – every damn demon – they were all human once?"
Ruby turned back to me, "Every one I've ever met."
"Well, they sure don't act like it."
"Most of them have forgotten what it means, or even that they were. That's what happens when you go to Hell, Dean. That's what Hell is: forgetting what you are."
"Philosophy lesson from a demon. I'll pass, thanks."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "It's not philosophy. It's not a metaphor. There's a real fire in the pit. Agonies you can't even imagine."
I shrugged, "No, I saw 'Hellraiser'. I get the gist."
Ruby ran her tongue over her teeth as she rolled her eyes. "Actually, they got that pretty close. Except for all the custom leather...The answer is yes, by the way."
"I'm sorry?"
"Yes, the same thing will happen to you. It might take centuries, but sooner or later Hell will burn away your humanity,” she said. I felt my stomach flip, watching her to try to see if she were serious or not. “Every Hell-bound soul, every one, turns into something else. Turns you into us. So yeah. Yeah, you can count on it."
I could tell she wasn’t bluffing. I swallowed roughly, realizing now just how bad this was going to get. "There's no way of saving me from the pit, is there?"
"No,” she said simply and for once, I didn’t question her. “I was surprised you'd made it this far, saving Ellie and all. That was smart, what you did."
"Then why'd you tell Sam that you could save her?"
"So he would talk to me. You Winchesters can be pretty bigoted. I needed something to help him get past the–"
"The demon thing? It's pretty hard to get past."
"Look at you. Trying to be all stoic,” she cooed before clicking her tongue. “My god, it's heartbreaking."
I set my jaw, watching her. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"I need your help."
I wasn’t expecting that. "Help with what?"
"With Sam and Ellie. The way you stuck that demon tonight – it was pretty tough. Ellie’s almost there, but Sam...not quite. You need to help me get them ready – for life without you. To fight this war on their own." She turned, walking away from me again.
"Ruby!” I called after her, making her stop. “Why do you want us to win?"
She turned. "Isn't it obvious? I'm not like them. I don't know why. I– I wish I was, but...I'm not. I remember what it's like."
"What what's like?"
"Being human." I held her eyes for only a second longer before dropping them and when I looked back up, she was gone.
“Um, my daughter and I were in our beds,” Sheryl recalled, her arms held tightly over her chest. “Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof and then I heard Mike scream.” She took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “And now I’m talking to the FBI.”
I nodded sympathetically, my pen hovering over my notepad, trying to ignore the strong smell of cinnamon wafting from the house’s open front door. “And you didn’t see any of it?”
“No, he was…he was just gone.”
“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?”
“Um, my daughter and I were in our beds,” Sheryl recalled, her arms held tightly over her chest. “Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof and then I heard Mike scream.” She took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “And now I’m talking to the FBI.”
I nodded sympathetically, my pen hovering over my notepad, trying to ignore the strong smell of cinnamon wafting from the house’s open front door. “And you didn't see any of it?”
“No, he was…he was just gone.”
“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?”
Sheryl nodded, “That’s right.”
“Does anybody else have a key?”
Sheryl thought for a second before answering, “My parents.”
I nodded, creating a possible suspect list, "Where do they live?"
"Florida," she answered simply. I paused before giving her a tight-lipped smile, crossing out the grandparents on my list. I finished up my questioning as Sam and Dean came out onto the porch where Sheryl and I were talking.
"Thanks for letting us have a look around, Mrs. Walsh," Sam said. "I think we got just about everything we need."
"We’ll be in touch," Dean said as I pocketed my notepad inside my jacket.
Sam led the way back to the car but before we even made it to the driveway, Sheryl called back to us, "Agents..." We turned around, she seemed even more distraught than before. "...t-the police said my husband might have been kidnapped."
Dean looked to Sam and I, unsure of what to say. “Could be.”
"Then why haven't the kidnappers called? O-or demanded a ransom?" her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. Dark circles layered Sheryl’s eyes, her graying hair was tousled. "It's three days 'til Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?"
"We're very sorry." Sam said. I could tell by the way Sheryl lingered in the door that she wanted him to say something else. Something that would reassure her that her husband would be home in time for Christmas morning. However, all we could offer her was our cards with our phone numbers, and our condolences. Definitely not enough to get someone through something like this.
"Find anything?" I asked as we walked back to the Impala, my hands shoved in my pockets.
"Stocking, mistletoe…this." Dean pulled something small and white out of his pocket, setting it into my open palm.
"Is that-" I started, examining it closely before recoiling. "Is that a tooth? Where was it?
"In the chimney."
I raised my eyebrows, "Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow."
"No way he fits up in one piece," Sam pointed out, making Dean and I shutter in unison.
The three of us slid into the car parked across the street, the engine rumbling the car to life. Dean eyed the tooth as I handed it back over the bench seat to Sam, "Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney, we need to find out what dragged him up there."
At this point during our research, I was practically holding my eyelids open, staring at the pages of the books in front of me, only to realize I was reading the same sentence over and over again. Eventually, I gave up, resorting to just looking at the pictures.
The door to the motel room opened, a waft of warm air spilling into the room as Dean entered, bags of food in hand. "So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?"
"Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke," Sam said from behind his laptop.
"Who?" Dean and I said in unison.
"Mary Poppins?" Sam said expectantly, raising his eyebrows at us.
"Who’s that?" Dean and I said again.
"Oh come on— nevermind," he said, waving us off as he returned to his computer.
"Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month," Dean said, plopping the food onto the lore books.
"Oh yeah?" I said, leaning back in my chair, running my hands through my hair.
"Yeah."
"The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?" Sam asked.
“Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof," Dean said, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it on the motel bed.
"Just like Sheryl," I said.
"Just like Sheryl," Dean confirmed, reaching into the greasy takeout bag.
"So, what the hell do you think we're dealing with?" Sam asked, looking between Dean and I.
"Actually, I have an idea," I offered, resting my elbows on the table as I leaned forward. "It's, uh...it's gonna sound crazy."
"What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to us?" Dean asked around a mouthful of burger.
"Well...evil Santa," I said, watching them expectantly.
Sam and Dean sat still momentarily before Sam nodded, "Yeah, that's crazy."
"Yeah…I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture," I said, moving Dean's food away from the book I was looking at. "You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore."
"Saying what?" Sam asked, pulling the book closer to him.
"Saying that back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked."
Dean looked at me confused, "By hauling their ass up chimneys?"
I nodded, “For starters, yeah."
"So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?" Dean mocked.
"Well...I’m just saying, that’s what the lore says," I said, holding my hands up defensively.
Dean's eyes bounced to Sam, questioning whether Sam was buying into all this. "Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.”
"Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told me that in the first place, remember," Sam said, making Dean look down at his food.
I sighed, shutting the book in defeat, "Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I...gotta be wrong."
"Maybe, maybe not," Sam said. I flicked my eyes up to his. "I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched."
I raised my eyebrows, suddenly not feeling so crazy for maybe believing this could be true. "Where?"
“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean said as we walked into Santa’s Village, a run down town recreated to look like a sad North Pole. Kids rushed around past us, their parents on their tails. A Christmas song played eerily over a loud speaker.
"Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be,” Sam dismissed.
“It’s a Christmas miracle, Sammy,” I said, patting him on the back. “Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year.”
“Have one what?” Dean asked, glancing up at him.
“A Christmas.”
Sam furrowed his eyebrows at my sudden request. He laughed humorlessly, “No, thanks.”
“No, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little,” Dean said, surprising me.
"You're agreeing with this?" Sam asked incredulously, making Dean shrug.
"I don't know, man, maybe it'll be fun."
“You guys, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for us, you know,” Sam said as we walked past a line of kids waiting to meet Santa.
“What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases!” I shot back defensively.
He raised his eyebrows at me, “Whose childhood are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Sam,” I said, stopping on the path and turning to him.
“No!” Sam said abruptly, louder than I think he meant to. He glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Just…no.”
I paused a moment, realizing it would take more effort to argue with him. “Alright, Grinch.”
Sam carefully wrapped the small gift in today’s newspaper, the headlines reading something about Russia printed over the front. Sam struggled with the tape, unsticking it from itself when a voice spoke from behind him and Ellie who was lying on her stomach on the floor, watching Rudolph on the small TV set. “What are those?”
Sam looked up to Dean from over the couch and then back to the gifts. “Presents for daddy.” Ellie explained, smiling at the comic strips she was coloring in with black and blue ink pens.
Dean scoffed, looking to Sam, “Yeah, right. Where’d you get the money? Steal it?”
“No,” Sam said incredulously at the idea. “Uncle Bobby gave them to us to give to him. Said it was real special. He gave me one for you to give to him, too.”
Dean narrowed his eyes at the small gift. “What is it?”
“A pony,” Sam retorted, making Dean chuckle.
“Very funny.”
Sam taped the last corner down, fiddling with the newspaper as his mind raced with the questions he wanted so badly to ask. Dean came around from the window he was watching out of and plopped down on the couch, flipping through one of his dad’s car magazines when Sam spoke up, “Dad’s gonna be here, right?”
“He’ll be here,” Dean said simply, not looking up from his magazine. Sam could tell in his voice that even Dean wasn't sure of his own words.
“It’s Christmas.”
“He knows and he’ll be here. Promise.”
Sam sighed, pulling another piece of tape from the dispenser. “Where is he anyway?”
“On business.”
“What kind of business?”
“You know that. He sells stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Stuff.”
Sam huffed in frustration, “Nobody ever tells me anything.”
“Then quit asking.” Dean stood from the couch, lightly tapping his booted foot against Ellie’s bare one. “Sit back from the TV, El. You’re gonna go blind.” Ellie quickly scurried backward, her eyes still glued to the show, her pen forgotten in her closed fist.
Sam watched as his brother made his way across the small motel, using his arm to sweep the trash off the bed before sitting down on it, opening the magazine back up. Sam crawled onto the couch, watching him. “Is dad a spy?”
“Mm-hmm. He’s James Bond.”
“Why do we move around so much?”
Dean was growing visibly frustrated at the line of questioning. “’Cause everywhere we go, they get sick of your face.”
“I’m old enough, Dean. You can tell me the truth.”
“You don’t wanna know the truth. Believe me.”
Sam considered dropping the subject, but just couldn’t. He never understood why him and his dad kept so much from him. “Is that why we never talk about…mom?”
Suddenly, Dean threw the magazine aside at the mention of their mom. “Shut up! Don’t you ever talk about mom. Ever!”
Sam’s eyes were wide as Dean crossed the room in an instant, standing toe-to-toe with him. Dean’s eyes bounced to Ellie over Sam’s shoulder where she was staring back at them now at the sudden outburst. Dean looked back down at Sam, shaking his head as he turned and began walking toward the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” Sam called after him.
“Out,” Dean said simply, slamming the door behind him. Sam blinked twice, looking over to Ellie who simply turned back to her movie, coloring the newspaper.
“You’d think with the ten bucks it costs to get into this place, Santa could scrounge up a little snow,” Dean said, walking back to where Sam and I were sitting.
Sam blinked twice, coming out of his zoned-out state, “What?”
“Nothing. What are we looking for, again?”
“Lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets,” I said as we began walking again.
“Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa,” Dean retorted. “Why the sweets?”
“Think about it, Dean. If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer, you know?” Sam said, scrunching up his nose with the realization of how gross it sounded out loud.
“That’s creepy,” Dean said. “How does this thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?”
“Now that,” I said, my finger in the air, “I don’t know.”
“Welcome to Santa’s court!” A cheerful voice said suddenly. We turned to a girl dressed in an elf costume, pointy ears and all. “Can I escort your child to Santa?”
“N-No. No,” Sam stumbled.
"But actually my brother here,” Dean said, patting Sam on the shoulder, “its been a lifelong dream of his.”
I held a hand over my face, trying to hide my laughter, the girl watching Sam suspiciously as he glared at Dean, “Uh, sorry. No kids over…twelve.”
Sam shook his head quickly, “No, he’s just kidding. We only came here to watch.”
She looked at the three of us, her eyebrows furrowing before walking away quickly, “Ew.”
“I- I didn’t mean that we came here to w— y—” Sam tried, sighing as he turned to Dean. “Thanks a lot, Dean. Thanks for that.”
Dean chuckled. From across Santa’s Village, we watched as Santa stepped off his platform and walked past us. “Check it out.”
Santa limped past, his beard yellowing over his upper lip. He reeked of something sweet. I leaned toward Sam, “Are you seeing this?”
“A lot of people walk with limps.”
“Tell me you didn’t smell that. That was candy.”
“That was Ripple...I think. Had to be.”
“Maybe,” I said, sparing a glance over my shoulder to where Santa disappeared inside a port-a-potty. “We willing to take that chance?”
I stretched my arms high above my head in the backseat of the Impala, the backs of my hands smooshing up against the rear window. My eyes were growing heavier and heavier as we spent precious hours wasted on stalking this Santa. I let my hands fall down to the leather seats. “What time is it?”
“Same as the last time you asked,” Sam said, handing me a thermos. “Here…caffeinate.”
I untwisted the cap, but not a drop of coffee fell into the lid. “Wonderful.” I tossed the thermos onto the seat beside me before leaning forward. “Hey, Sam.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you the boy that hates Christmas?”
Dean let out a snort from where he was resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He sighed, “Ellie-”
“I mean, I admit it,” I began, cutting him off. “I know we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids-”
“’Bumpy’?” He chuckled humorlessly.
“That was then. We’ll do it right this year.”
“Look, if you two want to have Christmas, knock yourself out. Just don’t involve me.”
I looked to Dean, “Whatta say, Dean? You, me, cranberry molds?”
“Sounds like fun to me,” he admitted. I slapped his arm happily.
Dean sat up, then, narrowing his eyes at the trailer ahead of us, “Look who’s up.” Sam and I followed Dean’s line of sight to the man who was now looking out of his window before closing the curtains. “What’s up with Saint Nicotine?”
That was when we heard the screaming from inside the trailer, a woman’s voice, high pitched, “Oh my god!”
“Go, go, go!” Dean shouted as we threw the doors open and cocked our guns, running to the trailer door.
Dean was ahead of me, looking through a small window when I heard Sam chuckle behind me. I looked back at him, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, uh…well, you know, Miss Gung-Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa.”
I rolled my eyes just as Dean knocked the door down, the three of us cramming into the tiny trailer, guns at the ready. We stopped short as the man stood from the couch wearing a dirty wife beater and red pants. I glanced around the room quickly, searching for the source of the screaming, only to realize it was the pay-per-view porn blasting through the TV speakers. His hearing aid rested on the coffee table.
I scrunched up my face in horror as the man motioned to us, slurring his words, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m really not interested, okay?”
“Mistle my toe. Roast my chestnut. Egg my nog.”
I cringed at the TV playing distractingly behind him. We quickly stowed our guns behind our backs. This was obviously not our guy.
Dean hesitated, “Ah, w—”
“Jingle my bells?”
“S-silent night…” I began, mostly in an attempt to drown out the noise of the moaning from the TV. I looked to Sam and Dean for help, the words to the song escaping me. “Holy…”
“…night. All is well…”
“…all is d-dry.”
“Bright…”
Our pitch was awful, the three of us sounding so incredibly tone deaf it was almost comical. The man stopped, dropping down onto his worn recliner, smiling broadly. We slowly began to inch toward the door. “Round and round…the table- bye!” We dashed out the screen door, peeling away from the trailer park.
“So, that’s how your son described the attack?” Dean asked our witness. “‘Santa took daddy up the chimney’?”
She ran her hands soothingly up and down her arms, “That’s what he says, yes.”
“And where were you?” I questioned as she led us into the living room. In the better lighting, I could see the blossoming bruise over her right eye.
“I was asleep and all of a sudden…I was being dragged out of bed, screaming.”
“Did you see the attacker?”
She simply shook her head, biting her lip as she fought back tears. “It was dark, and he hit me. He knocked me out.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is hard,” Dean said sympathetically.
“Yeah…um, Mrs. Caldwell, where, where did you get that wreath above the fireplace?” Sam asked, gesturing to the one behind us. Dean and I furrowed our eyebrows at him, looking at the large wreath hung on the wall and then back to Sam.
Our witness stammered in confusion, “Excuse me?”
Sam hesitated awkwardly, “Just curious, you know.”
“Yeah, alright. Well, keep looking, would you? Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said, ending the call. “Well…we’re not dealing with the anti-Claus.”
“What’d Bobby say?”
“Uh, that we're morons,” Sam said seriously. I shrugged. “He also said that it was probably meadowsweet in those wreaths.”
“Wow! Amazing,” Dean said. “What the hell is meadowsweet?”
“It’s pretty rare and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore.”
“Pagan lore?”
Sam sat down in front of his laptop, “Yeah. See, they used meadowsweet for human sacrifice. It was kind of like a...chum for their gods. Gods were drawn to it and they’d stop by and snack on whatever was the nearest human.”
It was fucked up, all of it, and to think these people didn’t even know they were putting a target on their own families was the worst part. “Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?”
“It's not as crazy as it sounds, El. I mean, pretty much every Christmas tradition is pagan.”
“Christmas is Jesus’s birthday,” Dean countered.
“No, Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. It was actually the winter solstice festival that was co-opted by the church and renamed ‘Christmas’. But I mean, the Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit – that’s all remnants of pagan worship.”
I watched Sam in silence, wondering how the hell he knew half this stuff. Dean stood from the table, grabbing his forgotten coffee on the counter. “How do you know that? What are you gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?”
Sam laughed under his breath. I leaned back on the bed I was sitting on, resting my palms behind me. “So you think we’re dealing with a pagan god?”
Sam nodded, “Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, God of the winter solstice.”
“And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths…”
“It’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘come kill us’.”
“Great,” Dean muttered under his breath, taking a long drink from his coffee.
“Huh…” Sam hummed thoughtfully as he began reading from the website he was on. “When you sacrifice to Hold Nickar, guess what he gives you in return.”
“Lap dances, hopefully,” Dean smirked.
“Mild weather.”
Dean and I looked at Sam. I stood from the bed, pulling back the motel curtain to the parking lot. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”
“For instance.”
I let the curtain fall, leaning against the wall. “Do we know how to kill it yet?”
“No, Bobby’s working on that right now. We got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”
“You think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean asked. “Feeding the victims to this thing?”
Sam shut his laptop, sliding his jacket on, “Let’s find out.”
After embarrassing ourselves numerous times in the hopes of finding whoever was selling these damned wreaths, I was beginning to think we’d never find them. Our last shot was a small corner store with large plastic candy canes stuck into the grass beside the front door.
Inside, the place smelled of cinnamon and spruce trees and was entirely cluttered. Christmas trees, mini porcelain Santas, life size porcelain Santas, candles, tinsel, ornaments and candy. I was getting a headache just looking at it all. Behind the counter was an old man who lowered his glasses from behind today’s paper, “Can I help you kids?”
“We hope so,” Dean said, trying to give the man a smile but the man only continued to stare at him, bored. Dean cleared his throat and started again. “We were playing Jenga over at the Walshes’ the other night, and this one over here...” He clapped Sam on the shoulder, “he hasn’t shut up since about this Christmas wreath, and...I don’t know, you tell him.”
Sam glared at Dean and the looked back to the shop owner who was now watching him, too. “Sure...it- it was yummy.”
The man’s deep-set eyes bounced between the three of us, not sure if he should believe us or if we were just wasting his time. “I sell a lot of wreaths, guys.”
“Right, right, but – but you see, this one would have been really special. It had, uh, it had, uh, green leaves...white buds on it. It might have been made of, uh…meadowsweet?” Dean said.
“Well, aren’t you a fussy one?” The owner said.
Dean clenched his jaw as I held back a laugh. “Oh, he is.”
“Anyway, I know the one you’re talking about. I’m all out.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up, “Huh. Seems like this meadowsweet stuff’s pretty rare and expensive. Why make wreaths out of it?”
The man shrugged, “Beats me. I didn't make ‘em.”
“Who did?”
“Madge Carrigan, a local lady. She said the wreaths were so special, she gave them to me for free.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “She didn’t charge you?”
“Nope.”
“Did you sell them for free?” Dean asked, probably already knowing the answer.
“Hell no. It’s Christmas. People pay a buttload for this crap,” he said truthfully.
“How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?” Dean asked, turning on the light in the motel room and shutting the door behind us.
“A couple hundred dollars, at least,” I said, pulling my jacket off and shedding the light brown button down from beneath it. “And this lady’s giving them away for free? What do you think about that?”
“Well, sounds pretty suspicious,” Sam said as he and Dean sat at the end of the beds, pulling their shoes off.
I rested my hands on the back of one of the chairs, a random memory coming to me suddenly. I smirked, “Remember that wreath dad brought home that one year?”
Sam and Dean looked up at the quick change in subject. Dean crinkled his brow, “You mean the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?”
“Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great,” I chuckled, kicking my shoes off. “I bet if we looked around hard enough, we could probably find one just like it.” I pulled the chair out, plopping myself onto it as I pulled my hair down from the tight ponytail it’d been in all day.
“Alright,” Sam started, “El…what’s going on with you?”
“What?” I asked defensively.
“I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden? Why do you want Christmas so bad?”
I shrugged, avoiding the real reason as Dean spoke up, “Why are you so against it? I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?”
“No, that has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what?”
“I- I mean, I- I just…I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.”
I couldn't deny that he was right. I’d never really been eager to celebrate anything, but this year was different. I clasped my hands in front of me, leaning my elbows on my knees. “Well, yeah...this is my last year.”
A quietness settled over the room. Sam nodded slowly, “I know. That’s why I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“I mean I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay...” he paused, collecting himself. I kept my eyes trained on his, my heart wrenching, “...when I know next Christmas you’ll be dead. I just can’t.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, nodding and when I looked up again, Dean was watching the floor, his hands clasped tightly together.
When Dean returned, it was well past midnight and the room was quiet. Sam put down his comic book as he came in. “Thought you went out.”
“Yeah, to get dinner,” he said, tossing him a Pop-Tart and a bag of Funyuns. “Don’t forget your vegetables.” He sat at the end of his bed, pulling his boots off. “Hey, what the hell is that pile of sticks outside?”
“Ellie left them for the reindeer,” he said in a whisper and then motioned to the plate of graham crackers and glass of water she’d laid out, too. Sam quietly followed Dean to the two twin beds, careful not to disturb Ellie where she was curled up in a ball at the end of the couch. Sam grabbed her blanket, pulling it further on her small frame.
Dean tore into his own Pop-Tart while Sam watched his brother carefully, willing his hands not to shake now that he knew everything that Dean always tried so hard to protect him from. “I know why you keep a gun under your pillow.”
Dean lifted the pillow on his bed, revealing the revolver beneath it. “No, you don’t. Stay out of my stuff.”
“And I know why we lay salt down everywhere we go.”
“No, you don’t. Shut up,” Dean said, concern rising inside of him.
Sam leaned over the side of his bed, pulling their father’s leather-bound journal from between the mattress and rusted bed frame. He threw it on to the shared bed side table. Dean’s heart sunk.
“Where’d you get that? That’s dad’s!” Dean reprimanded, standing from the bed. “He’s gonna kick your ass for reading that.” Sam kept his eyes trained on him, unfazed by his words because he’d heard the threats before. Dean never meant to be so hard on Sam, he was just trying to keep him safe.
Dean watched his little brother, at just eight years old, asking him the question Dean has always dreaded to be asked: “Are monsters real?”
He narrowed his eyes at Sam. “What? You’re crazy.”
“Tell me.”
Dean clenched his jaw as Sam stared up at him with intense determination. He knew Sam was smart, and he also knew Sam would have to know the truth one day. He just prayed it wouldn’t come so soon. Dean sighed softly, glancing over to the couch where their sister slept before looking back at him. “I swear, if you ever tell dad I told you any of this, I will end you.”
Sam’s eyes widened slightly as if he wasn’t even sure himself that his prodding would work. “Promise.”
Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, hands clasped in front of him. “Well, the first thing you have to know is we have the coolest dad in the world. He’s a superhero.”
Sam’s eyes widened again. “He is?”
“Yeah. Monsters are real. Dad fights them. He’s fighting them right now.”
“But dad said the monsters under my bed weren’t real.”
“That’s ’cause he had already checked under there,” Dean said, watching his brother absorb the information. “But yeah, they’re real. Almost everything’s real.”
“Is Santa real?”
Dean chuckled softly. “No.”
Dean could practically see the gears turning in Sam’s head when he suddenly became concerned. “If monsters are real, then they could get us. They could get me.”
“Dad’s not gonna let them get you.”
“But what if they get him?”
“They aren’t gonna get dad. Dad’s, like, the best,” Dean reassured. If he knew one thing, it was that their dad was untouchable. As far as he was concerned, his dad would live forever.
“I read in dad’s book that they got mom.”
“It’s complicated, Sam-”
“If they got mom, they can get dad, and if they get dad, they can get us,” Sam rambled quickly.
“It’s not like that. Okay? Dad’s fine. We’re fine. Trust me.” Dean stood, sitting himself beside Sam in a moment of silence. Sam looked away from his brother as tears welled up behind his eyes as the world as he knew it was beginning to collapse around him. “You okay?”
Sam tried to swallow back the tears. “Yeah.”
Dean’s heart broke. “Hey, dad’s gonna be here for Christmas. Just like he always is.”
“I just want to go to sleep, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Sam slowly rolled over on his side, facing the wall away from his brother. Then, he couldn’t stop the tears that freely flowed. His shoulders shook as he gripped the pillow tightly.
“It’ll all be better when you wake up,” Dean tried, but he knew it was no use. “I promise.”
I looked up at the large white house in front of us, confused. Inflatable Santas and plastic reindeer sat in the front yard along with a snowman made from fake snow.
“This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh?” Dean said. “Can’t you just feel the evil pagan vibe?”
Sam rang the doorbell that was framed by another wreath. The door quickly opened where a woman in her mid-fifties beamed at us. “Yes?”
“Please tell me you’re the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths,” Dean charmed.
“Why, yes I am!” She said, her smile growing as she opened the door a little wider.
Dean snapped his fingers, “Ha! Bingo.”
“Well, we were just admiring your wreaths in Mr. Skylar’s place the other day?” Sam said. I glanced around the doorframe and into the interior of the house. Nothing seemed out of place, just an old woman who went over the top during the holidays.
“You were? Well, isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?”
“It is, it sure is,” I feigned a smile. Her eyes flicked to mine. “But the problem is, is that all your wreaths sold out before we got the chance to buy one.”
“Oh, fudge!” Madge exclaimed, her eyebrows knitted together.
“You wouldn’t have another one that we could buy from you, would you?”
“Oh, no, I’m afraid those were the only ones I had for this season.”
“Aww man,” Sam sighed, the three of us shaking our heads. “Tell me something, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?”
“Why, the smell, of course!” A man from behind Madge came down the stairs, a pipe dangling from his lips and a small container in hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything finer.”
“Yeah…you mentioned that,” Dean muttered.
The man looked between the three of us, cheerily taking the pipe from his mouth, “What's going on, honey?”
“Well, just some nice kids asking about my wreaths, dear.”
“Oh, the wreaths are fine. Fine wreaths!” Mr. Carrigan smiled. “Oh, care for some peanut brittle?” He held out the container toward us.
Dean reached for a piece but I quickly grabbed his elbow, pulling him backwards. I chuckled, “We’re okay, thanks.”
“I knew it!” Sam said from behind his laptop, clapping his hands. Dean and I stopped sharpening our wooden stakes. “Something was way off with those two.”
“What’d you find?” I asked, lightly touching my fingers against the point.
“The Carrigans lived in Seattle last year where two abductions took place right around Christmas. They moved here in January. All that Christmas crap in their house – that wasn’t boughs of holly. It was vervain and mint.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow, “Pagan stuff?”
“Serious pagan stuff.”
“So...what, Ozzie and Harriet are keeping a pagan god hidden underneath their plastic-covered couch?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know. All I know is we gotta check them out,” he said. “So, what about Bobby? He’s sure evergreen stakes will kill this thing, right?”
I held up the stake, examining it and nodding. “Yeah, he’s sure.”
The Carrigan’s house was much more eerie at night as we approached the front door. I glanced around the driveway as Dean made quick work of the lock on the front door, Sam and I grabbing our wooden stakes from Dean’s backpack.
Inside the house, Christmas music was playing softly. There wasn’t one square inch of this house that wasn’t decorated with Christmas lights or tinsel.
“See?” Dean whispered, pointing to the couch. “Plastic.”
I walked around to the fireplace, looking at the different Santa’s lined up on the mantel. I crinkled my nose at them and their beady little eyes. Dean walked past me into the kitchen while Sam checked the dining room. Something uneasy stirred inside me. It all seemed a little too quiet. I cautiously checked the living room for a little longer, but to my dismay, I had found exactly nothing interesting.
“Hey,” Sam whispered from the hallway. Dean and I met up with him where he was shining his flashlight on a hidden, dead bolted door. Sam quietly unlocked the door that opened to pitch blackness, but from the top we could see a long, steep staircase.
“Oh, I hate this,” I whispered as Dean took the lead. The first thing at the bottom of the stairs was a bowl sitting atop an old vanity. I shined my flashlight over it, narrowing my eyes at the bloody contents inside, long and fleshy.
“Are those...” Dean whispered.
“Intestines?” I finished, my face screwed upward. “Yeah.”
The more we looked around, the more we noticed just how much blood was strewn throughout the basement. I walked around the corner, a pile of bloodied bones sitting on a metal shelf, a Santa Claus boot drenched in blood on the floor. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a foot still inside of it. There was a table saw, pieces of flesh dangling from the blade. The place was a slaughterhouse. While I was examining a sewing machine, the needle red and sticky with blood, Sam’s scream filled the room.
“Sam!” Dean shouted. Running toward them, I gripped my stake, sliding to a stop just as Sam was being lifted off the ground by his throat by Madge.
“Gosh, I wish you kids hadn’t come down here,” Madge said as Sam continued to struggle to breathe when finally, she took him by the neck and quickly slammed his head against the hard concrete wall.
Dean and I ran toward her when a hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed Dean by his back before bashing his head into the bookcase beside him. Instantly, he fell to the floor unconscious.
I quickly slithered between two tall shelves, holding my hand over my mouth to stifle my breathing. I watched through the gaps in the shelves as Madge and her husband stood over Sam and Dean’s bodies.
“Where’s the girl?” Madge asked her husband.
I gripped the stake harder. I needed to think up a plan, and fast. I could run, but I wasn’t going to leave Sam and Dean down here alone. I probably couldn’t even make it to the stairs if I tried. I could take them head on, two to one, but by the looks of it, they were much stronger than I was.
“She’s got to be here somewhere,” Mr. Carrigan whispered.
I peaked around the corner, Madge’s back turned to me. I flipped the stake in my hands so the pointed edge was facing her. I reared my arm back, just before she stepped out of the way, Mr. Carrigan smiling wildly at me. As fast as I could, I forced the stake forward, attempting to plunge it into his heart, but he moved just in time. He snatched the stake from my hands, throwing it to the ground before holding my arms behind my back and slamming me onto the stone floor. My head bounced, and then the world went black.
The ringing in my ears was what brought me back to reality, followed by a voice that sounded miles and miles away before it slowly became clear: “Dean?...El?”
I forced my eyes open, squinting against the bright lights. I looked around groggily, quickly realizing the predicament we were in. Our arms and legs were secured tightly by ropes to the dining room chairs in the middle of the Carrigan’s kitchen. Our chairs were lined up side by side, facing the island in the middle of the room that was once filled with cookies, mini pies and gingerbread was now littered with knives, tools, and a bunch of other sharp, threatening looking things.
“You guys okay?” Dean groaned as he came to.
“Yeah, I think so,” Sam said.
“So, I guess we’re dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God,” I sighed, my head pounding. “Nice to know.”
Two sets of hurried footsteps came into the kitchen then, followed by a shrill voice, “Ooh, and here we thought you three lazybones were gonna sleep straight through all the fun stuff.”
“And miss all this? Nah, we’re partiers,” Dean said sarcastically.
“Isn’t he a kick in the pants, honey?” Mr. Carrigan laughed as he paced in front of us. “You’re hunters, is what you are.”
“And you’re pagan gods,” I said, glaring at the man as he walked past me. “So, why don't we just call it even, and go our separate ways?”
“What, so you can bring more hunters and kill us?” He popped his pipe back into his mouth. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went snacking on humans,” Sam shot back.
“Oh now, don’t get all wet.”
“Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year and that’s a fact,” Madge said, laying a cloth in each of our laps. “Now what do we take? What, two? Three?”
“Scooby gang here makes seven.”
“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?” Madge smiled brightly at Sam.
“Well, you say it like that – I guess you guys are the Cunninghams,” Dean mocked.
“You, mister, better show us a little respect,” Mr. Carrigan said to him. I continued to shoot death glares at Madge.
“Or what?” I said, looking to him. “You’ll eat us?”
“Not so fast. There’s rituals to be followed first.”
“Oh, we’re just sticklers for ritual!” Madge said, crouching down to be eye level with me. “And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?”
“Let me guess…meadowsweet,” Dean said, taking a wild guess. “Ah shucks, you’re all out of wreaths. I guess we’ll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?”
“Oh!” Madge exclaimed excitedly as she left the room before returning with three long sprigs of meadowsweet. “Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus.” She laid one around each of our necks. The leaves itched the back of my neck, the smell of meadowsweet overwhelming. Madge stepped back, hands clasped together as she admired us. “There. Oh…don’t they just look darling?”
“Good enough to eat,” Mr. Carrigan grinned. “Alrighty-roo. Step number two.”
I widened my eyes as he whipped out a large, curved knife and a wooden bowl. He came around the island, heading for Sam first.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” I shouted.
“D-don’t!” Sam yelled as they brought the knife to the inside of Sam’s straining arm, creating a long cut down the inside, his blood quickly dripping into the bowl.
“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, his wrists red from pulling at them.
“Hear how they talk to us? To gods?” Mr. Carrigan said to Madge as he passed the bowl and the knife to her as he rounded the island again. “Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions.”
“Times have changed!”
“Tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our – our altars are being burned down, and we’re being hunted down like common monsters!” I clenched my jaw, watching as Madge set the bowl down on the island, the two of them adding various ingredients to it.
“But did we say a peep?” Madge chimed in. I watched as Mr. Carrigan picked up a small pair of pliers, examining them as he scratched away a bit of dried blood. “Oh ho ho, no, no, no, we did not. Two millennium. We kept a low profile; we got jobs, a mortgage. We...what was that word, dear?”
Mr. Carrigan popped a piece of peanut brittle into his mouth. “We assimilated.”
“Yeah, we assimilated,” Madge repeated. “Why, we play bridge on Tuesday and Fridays. We’re just like everybody else.”
“You’re not blending in as smooth as you think, lady,” Dean retorted.
Madge came around to Dean this time with the knife. “This might pinch a bit, dear.”
“Stop!” I yelled at her as she brought the knife down in a vertical line on the inside of his arm, Sam and I shouting at her. Blood began pooling into the bowl.
“You bitch!” Dean shouted.
“Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar!” She said, pointing the knife at him. “Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing? ‘Fudge’.”
Dean watched her for a beat, “I’ll try and remember that!”
“You kids have no idea how lucky you are,” Mr. Carrigan said, coming around with the pliers. “There was a time when kids came from miles around, just to be sitting where you are.”
Mr. Carrigan stopped in front of Sam’s chair as Madge forced Dean’s fist open and close to get more blood out. Sam looked up at Mr. Carrigan, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you think you’re doing with those?”
“You fudging touch me again and I’ll fudging kill you!” Dean yelled as Madge went for his other arm.
“Very good!”
My head was bouncing between them, unsure of where to look next. I felt completely hopeless. Madge moved to Dean’s other arm, slicing down the middle. Sam began to plead with Mr. Carrigan, “No. No. Don’t.”
“Your turn, dearie!” Madge said, holding my arm down on the arm rest with a death grip, her nails digging into my skin as she sliced a similar vertical line through my arm. My brain couldn’t even comprehend the cut as I watched in horror as Mr. Carrigan grasped Sam’s closed fist, prying it open. Sam tried to fight against him, but the god was stronger as he yanked on of Sam’s fingers from his closed fist and quickly clamped the pliers down on his fingernail, pulling backwards.
Sam let out a scream, throwing his head back. The skin beneath his nail bloodied as the nail slowly came out before finally he yanked it and held it high. “Oh, we got a winner!”
“You’re a psycho, you know that!?” I yelled at him, desperately trying to get myself untied, my wrist beneath the ropes becoming slick with my own blood.
Mr. Carrigan tossed the nail into the bowl with our blood. Madge began mixing it with a wooden cooking spoon. “What else, dear?”
Sam and Dean panted softly, slumped in their seats. Mr. Carrigan put a hand on his hip, thinking. “Well, let’s see. Uh, fingernail, blood. Oh…sweet Peter on a popsicle stick…I forgot the tooth!”
My heart sank. “Oh, fuck me.”
“Merry Christmas, you guys,” Dean muttered to us, Sam and I groaning in response.
I watched with dread as Mr. Carrigan shuffled through his tools before settling on a pair of even larger pliers than before. Then, he came toward us, walking past Dean and stopping at me.
I forced my head back as far as I could but he snatched my jaw, holding it open. “Open wide…and say, ‘aaah’.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as he forced the pliers into the back of my mouth, stopping just short of my esophagus. I could feel him hesitating over a molar. I felt the pliers clamp down on one way in the back, snug between two other teeth. My body tensed, my hands gripping the armrest, bracing myself.
I could hear both Sam and Dean protesting, shouting at Mr. Carrigan to stop but he didn’t listen. I peeked my eyes open to where he was smiling down at me wickedly. “This is going to hurt.”
The second he began pulling up on the tooth, I screamed in pain, my mouth instantly filling with blood, so much I nearly choked on it. After what felt like forever, he yanked his arm back, forcing the tooth out of place.
I screamed even louder, the pain creating white spots in my vision. I gasped for air around the blood as it spilled out of my mouth and onto Mr. Carrigan’s hand where he was still holding my jaw open.
He held the tooth up, beaming with excitement. “Perfect! It’s rare we find one without any cavities!” He let go of my jaw, throwing the tooth into the bowl. I instantly leaned forward, coughing the blood onto my lap.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Dean growled to Mr. Carrigan before looking to Madge, “and then you.” Then, the doorbell rang. The Carrigan’s looked to each other, unsure.
“You gonna get that?” Sam asked, hopeful. “You should get that.”
The two of them sighed, throwing the pliers on the counter. “Come on.”
We watched as they left the room, answering the front door. Instantly, we began pulling at the ropes around our wrists and ankles. Dean was able to slip out first, the blood from his arms making his wrists slick. He quickly untied his feet before coming to Sam and I, using the curved knife to set us free.
“You guys okay?” He asked.
“Peachy,” I muttered, spitting a wad of blood onto the floor and wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt. “What do we do now?”
Sam looked around the room, contemplating our limited options before pointing Dean and I toward one set of doors leading to the living room while Sam took the other. Dean and I pressed ourselves against the wall of the hallway, listening quietly to the Carrigan’s talking casually to their neighbors.
I looked to Dean as we heard the front door close, nodding to him, just in time to hear Madge’s shrill voice. “Now, where were we?”
Sam slammed his door first, cueing our signal as Dean slammed ours, the two of us pushing all of our weight against them to keep it closed. The door shook with how hard they were banging on them. I dug my heels into the carpet, my right hand grasping the doorframe, Dean and I bouncing against the reverberation.
I looked to my left, past Dean where a tall white cabinet sat. I motioned to it, Dean simply pulling out a long drawer, blocking the Carrigan’s from successfully opened the door. We ran the hallway to the other side of the kitchen where Sam was desperately holding on. Dean and I pressed our hands against the door.
“What do we do now? The evergreen stakes are in the basement!” Dean shouted over the pounding of the doors.
“Well, we’re gonna need more evergreen!” I shouted, leaning my shoulder against the door now.
“No shit!” Dean yelled back sarcastically. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.
“I think I just found us some more,” Sam said. I followed Sam’s line of sight to the large Christmas tree at the end of the living room just ahead of us. “Help me get this.”
Dean pushed a large China cabinet as Sam pulled it in front of the door, plates and snow globes crashing to the ground. The three of us ran toward the Christmas tree before they could break loose. The small ornaments and porcelain Santas inside were rattling noisily as we threw the tree to the floor, pulling at the branches. I simultaneously pulled at the tree and watched the China cabinet as it shook violently. I squatted down, working a branch forward and backwards before it finally broke free.
Sam and Dean shook their branches free of the ornaments and lights wrapped around them, throwing them to the ground when the pounding at the kitchen door suddenly stopped. We silently looked at each other, creeping toward the door when a scream came from behind Dean as Mr. Carrigan came out of the dark, knocking Dean swiftly to the ground. Sam went after him, stake in hand.
Madge followed shortly after, grinning at me. “You little thing...I loved that tree.”
I pulled my arm back, ready to stab her with the stake when her fist connected with my jaw, more blood spurting out of my mouth. I fell backwards, collapsing onto a chair and dropping to the floor. I stood, half hazardously swinging the branch in the air that connected with her cheek. I glanced to Sam and Dean where Mr. Carrigan had knocked Dean to the ground, his fists flying over his face as Sam stumbled to his feet behind him, desperately searching for his stake that’d gone missing in the fight.
I looked back to where Madge was running toward me. I forced the branch out, plunging it into the middle of her stomach. Her eyes went wide, her hands inches from my throat, her fingers curling. Blood poured down her abdomen and onto my hands and arms.
Mr. Carrigan swiveled around from where he was straddling Dean, his eyes wide in terror. “Madge!”
Sam ran forward, knocking Mr. Carrigan sideways as Dean quickly sat up, using his branch to impale Mr. Carrigan twice through the middle of his chest.
I panted, dropping Madge to the floor beside Mr. Carrigan, their lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. I wiped away the blood dripping from my chin, looking to Sam and Dean. I smiled, blood coating my teeth. “Merry Christmas.”
From where I laid on the couch, I clasped my hands over my stomach tightly, squeezing my eyes shut as I situated my head on the armrest. “Okay. Just do it.”
I could see the light of the flashlight even with my eyes closed. I peeked an eye out to Dean with a needle and thread in one hand and Sam beside him, holding the flashlight over my mouth.
“I’ll make it quick,” Dean said.
I reluctantly opened my mouth, pulling away quickly before Dean could even come close with the needle. “Did you wash your hands.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “You want this hole in your mouth gone or you want it to get infected?” I sighed, laying back down and opening my mouth again. “Deep breath.” I let a long breath through my nose as Dean pierced my gums for the first stitch, pulling the thread through. I groaned, my eyes watering against my will as I resisted the urge to pull away from him.
“Only a few more,” Sam said from my left. His face screwed up as he watched Dean work. I let out another breath of air through my nose as Dean made another quick stitch. “Last one, kid.”
The final stitch came and went quickly. Dean snipped the thread, looking to Sam. “Should I sew her mouth shut while I’m at it?”
“Get off me,” I said, quickly sitting up. I rubbed at my jaw. “Thanks.”
“Here, drink this,” Sam said, handing me a bottle of whiskey as he clicked the light off. I looked from him to the bottle and then back to him. “C’mon, El. Gotta kill whatever bacteria’s in there from those pliers.”
I snatched the bottle, wincing as the alcohol burned my stitches. I handed it back to him, coughing as I tossed myself onto my bed, curling up on my side.
“Sammy! Sammy! Wake up!” Sam’s eyes flew open as he sat up, Ellie’s face only inches from his, her hair sticking up in wild tangles. “Santa was here, Sam!”
Sam slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fist as he noticed the large pine branch with scraggly leaves in the middle of the room, decorated in multi-colored Christmas lights. Two presents were neatly wrapped beneath it.
Ellie jumped off his bed, running toward the couch as she sat in front of the tree on her knees, bouncing excitedly. Sam looked over to Dean who was smiling at Ellie before looking over at him. Sam sat up further, lowering his voice so Ellie wouldn’t hear, “Dad was here?”
“Yeah. Look at this. We made a killing,” Dean beamed.
“Why didn't he try to wake me up?”
Dean hesitated. “He tried to, like a thousand times.”
Sam had always been a light sleeper. He furrowed his eyebrows. “He did?”
“Yeah,” Dean said before changing the subject. “Did I tell you he would give us Christmas, or what? Go on, dive in.”
Sam sat beside his sister, handing her one of the gifts as they tore into them. Ellie beamed, holding up a small, silver bike bell. She rang it twice, laughing hysterically. “A bell, Sammy! Look, Dean, Santa got me a bell!”
She flicked it multiple times in awe. Dean smiled, looking to Sam who was staring down at the colorful baton with streamers coming out both ends in his hands.
Sam looked to his other brother. “Dad never showed, did he?”
“Yeah, he did, I swear.”
“Dean…where’d you get this stuff?” Sam asked, not having to lower his voice thanks the the incessant ringing of Ellie’s new prized possession.
Dean sighed, finally giving in, “Nice house up the block. I swear I didn’t know they were lame presents. Look, I’m sure dad would have been here if he could.”
“If he’s alive.”
“Don’t say that,” Dean reprimanded instantly. “Of course he’s alive. He’s dad.”
Sam sat in silence before pulling out the small gift he’d been wrapping in newspaper the night before. He handed it over to Sam as Ellie climbed onto the couch, cradling the bell. “Here, take this. It’s from me and Ellie.”
Dean shook his head, confused. “No. No, that’s for dad.”
Sam looked Dean directly into his eyes, making sure Dean knew he meant what he was saying. “Dad lied to me. I want you to have it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Sam shook the present in front of Dean before he took it. Ellie sat forward eagerly as he unwrapped it. It was a necklace and dangling from it was a small, golden amulet. Dean wasn’t sure what to say. He’d never gotten a gift like this before. “Thank you, you guys. I– I love it.”
“Put it on,” Ellie encouraged. Dean slipped the necklace over his head, admiring it.
It snowed the next morning. Inches of it covering every part of the roads and sidewalks. The news over the car radio called it a Christmas miracle. I smiled softly as I clicked it off once I’d gotten back into the parking lot, the yellow lights from inside the motel spilling out onto the sidewalk.
I knew something was off when Dean asked me to take the car for a beer run, considering it wasn’t even noon and he’d only let me drive the car if he were on his death bed and even then, he’d have a second thought about it.
I pushed the motel door open with my shoulder where I could instantly hear...Christmas music?
Have yourself, a merry little Christmas.
I pushed the door open further, stopping when I saw Sam and Dean standing in front of a small table-top Christmas tree, decorated in multi-colored lights and car air fresheners. A tinsel ‘Merry Christmas!’ sign was taped to the wall above the TV.
“Hey! You get the beer?” Sam asked, beaming.
I stopped in my tracks, the six pack growing heavy around my fingers and the snow from my boots melting onto the floor. “What’s all this?”
“What do you think it is? It’s– it’s Christmas,” Dean said.
Our troubles will be out of sight...
I smiled softly, coming deeper into the room, shutting the door behind me. I couldn't help but feel giddy inside, and a little sad, too. “What made you change your mind?”
“I talked him into it,” Dean admitted, smiling. “I figured...one more Christmas wouldn’t hurt.”
“Here, uh...try the eggnog. Let me know if it needs some more kick,” Sam said, passing me a small plastic cup.
I sipped on it, my eyes going wide at the burn of alcohol down my throat and especially on the fresh stitches. I coughed, shaking my head as I chuckled. “No, we’re good.”
“Yeah?” Dean laughed.
“Yeah,” I said, laughing, too.
“Good. Well, uh, have a seat. Let’s do…Christmas stuff, or whatever,” Sam said, motioning to the couch.
I excitedly pulled up an arm chair, shedding my jacket. “Alright, first things first.” I set down the plastic bag in my hands, pulling out two gifts, still in the brown paper bags from the grocery store. “Merry Christmas, guys.”
“Where’d you get these?” Sam laughed, taking them.
“Someplace real special,” I nodded, Sam and Dean cocking an eyebrow at me. “The gas station down the street.” I confessed. Sam and Dean laughed. “Open them up.”
“Well, great minds think alike, El,” Dean said as him and Sam pulled out their own gifts for each of us.
“Really?” I said, taking the presents.
“Skin mags!” Sam laughed, before opening mine.. “And...shaving cream.”
“You like?” Dean asked.
Sam flipped the shaving cream in his hand, as he let a beat of silence pass. “Yeah...yeah.”
...upon the highest bough...
I opened mine next, and I could tell by just one side what the large box was. “Yes!” I laughed, holding up the box of Cheerios. “I haven't had these in forever!” They smiled as I moved on to the one from Dean. “And socks!” I pulled the socks on, laughing. “Okay Dean, your turn.”
Dean tore the newspaper off Sam’s gift, a bottle of oil for his car and then a candy bar from me. Dean beamed at the gifts. “Look at this. Fuel for me and fuel for my baby...these are awesome. Thanks.”
“Good,” Sam said softly, the room falling into silence aside from the music playing.
I set the box of cereal down, grabbing my plastic cup. “Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah. Merry Christmas,” Sam said, blinking twice. He clinked my cup with his, shortly followed by Dean. I took another tentative sip from my cup, admiring the lights. When I looked over, Dean was staring up at them, too. “Hey, y–...” I looked to Sam, who suddenly stopped, changing the subject. “Do you feel like watching the game?”
“Absolutely,” Dean said, and I nodded in agreement.
Sam smiled sadly, grabbing the remote from the coffee table as he flicked on the small TV. I pulled my feet under me, my eyes drifting toward Sam and Dean, who was still admiring the decorations. I swear I could’ve seen tears in Dean’s eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.
I settled back against the chair, resting my head against the warn fabric, the alcohol warming my insides. For once, the world didn’t seem so terrible, after all.
Sam, Dean and I crept quietly in and out of the alleys along 5th street, trying to hunt down the vampire we’ve been tailing all night with little to no luck. A bloodsucking freak named Dixon. We were coming to the end of the fourth one of the night, ready to throw in the towel and come up with another plan when I put a hand out in front of Sam and Dean, shining my flashlight over the growing puddle of blood just a few feet ahead of us.
Dean nodded, Sam and I taking the lead as we rounded the large dumpsters where a middle aged man was laying on his back, silently grasping at the gaping hole in his throat.
“Hey, hey. Don’t worry. We’re gonna call you some help, okay?” Sam said soothingly as we kneeled beside the man
“Where is she? Where’d she go?” I whispered.
The man couldn’t speak, only pointed in the direction directly across from us. I quickly stood, Sam and Dean quietly yelling after me, but I was ready to get this godforsaken hunt over with. This bitch has been stringing us along for the past two days now.
