Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So this was what normal people did for fun, huh? Dean wondered why.

Well, that was probably not very kind. Some people did this for fun. Technically, they were here for work related reasons.

Bobby liked to check out the weekend flea market that operated out of the old drive-in every other week, because sometimes genuine artifacts turned up. Supernatural items that people had no idea were supernatural. This started a couple years back, because apparently his friend Rufus was here looking for something - Bobby didn’t say what - and they came across a haunted painting. A genuine “everybody who’s ever owned it died in weird circumstances” sort of painting. According to Bobby, it was ugly as fuck too, just some random Midwestern landscape painted by someone who really loathed their surroundings, hardly a step beyond shitty motel art.

Bobby and Rufus burned it, and salted the ashes, and that seemed to take care of that. But he still liked to check, because, as Bobby had told him several times, “Never bet against stupid.”

Dean didn’t, but he was also bored as hell. It was unreasonably hot, and this little stay they had with Bobby was unknown. A couple weeks was the best Dad could give them. It didn’t help that Dad and Bobby had another fight before he left. As always, they tried to have it away from him and Sam, so they didn’t get caught in it, but did they think they were at all subtle?

Sometimes the fights between Dad and Bobby reminded him a little of the fights between Dad and Sam. Sometimes the source of the hostility was unclear; they were just mad and venting. Bobby thought Dad wasn’t raising them properly, or putting them in too much danger, or some combination thereof. Dad felt Bobby was a busybody who had no right to tell him how to parent. Round and round it went. Just another fighting pair for Dean to get in the middle of, and try and separate. That seemed to be his one solid job in the family - referee. If you’d asked him, Dean wouldn’t have thought he would play that role. Wasn’t he the reckless hothead? Shouldn’t he be the one arguing pointlessly for nothing? And yet, he kept the lines of communication between Dad and Sam open. He honestly didn’t know if they’d be able to stomach living in the same house with each other if he wasn’t around. Sometimes, when things were at their worst, he thought about leaving. He could just walk away, and he’d be able to fend for himself. But that always made him stay. It sounded arrogant, sure, but he wasn’t sure they could function without him. Honestly, it was a terrible thought, and not one he liked to think about.

Bobby was searching one end of the flea market, and Dean was covering the other. They’d meet in the middle. Sam was sitting this one out, which was his prerogative. Besides, he was going through his whole moody teen thing, and it was best to just to let him brood and sulk in peace. Sam was generally nicer to Bobby than anyone else, but even he’d gotten a dose of it. Dean was just glad he wasn’t putting up with this bullshit alone.

So far, Dean had seen nothing but crap. Every now and again, he’d turn and surreptitiously use his EMF meter, but nothing was moving the needle. The only thing haunted here was the concept of drive in movies, which was kind of a shame. Another piece of classic Americana dead and gone.

Yes, it was late June, but it seemed unseasonably warm, almost a hundred degrees, and he was still sweating like crazy, despite having left his coat in Bobby’s car. He was going to need a year long shower after this. It didn’t help that there was almost no shade available. Everyone at the flea market was roasting equally, which again made him question why anyone was out here.

He walked by table after table, barely glancing at any of them. One guy appeared to be selling glass bongs - sorry, “water pipes” - and Dean had a vague notion that was technically illegal in this state, but who cared? If people needed a beer or a hit to get through another day on this planet, what was the harm really? Dean wasn’t sure he’d have lived this long if being completely sober was his only option.

Finally, he came to a promising stall. It was a large folding card table, covered with a blue tablecloth, and topped with with what could generously be called complete garbage. Old cabinet pulls and figurines, piggy banks and doorstops that looked like they were from the nineteenth century, that sort of thing. He turned on his EMF meter, and got a tick. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe there was something here that needed to be bagged, tagged, and burned.

Since nobody seemed to be currently attending this table, he brought out his meter and ran it over, hoping to spot the one that made the needle move. As it was, he found its general vicinity before people walked by, forcing him to stick the meter back in the front pocket of his jeans, where it was a very tight fit. The reading was either coming from a single brass candlestick that had seen better decades, or a figurine of a ... what the hell was that? A buffalo, maybe? Or a bear with a spinal cord malformation. Real fucked up thing. He’d have no problem destroying it.

“You’re younger than our usual buyers,” a woman’s voice said. Dean looked up, and found himself face to face with one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.

She was probably around his age, twenty, maybe twenty two at the oldest, with shoulder length, glossy black hair, and clear blue eyes that almost sparkled in the sun. She was eyeing him with a small smirk, which maybe he should have found somewhat mocking, but god, she was gorgeous. “What can I say, I have an eye for old shit,” Dean said, belatedly realizing that probably wasn’t as charming as he hoped.

But her smile widened. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

“Can I ask where you found this stuff?”

“Oh, it’s not up to me. My Mom generally haunts estate sales, shut down storage units, houses on the verge of destruction, that sort of thing. Frankly, I think she has kind of a hoarding issue, but what do I know?”

“Do you know what this is?” Dean asked, pointing at the buffalo bear thing.

She grimaced. “Uh, a badger and hyena that went through the Brundlefly transporter together?”

That made Dean laugh. Cool reference, and also? Now that she said it, he could kind of see it. “That was a great movie.”

“Well, duh. I mean, it’s Cronenberg.”

His heart did a little flip. Someone who knew horror movies! Good horror movies! “Quick, which do you like better - Scanners or Videodrome?”

“Oh hell, man. That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.” She considered it a moment. “Okay, if I had to pick one ... Scanners.” Dean nodded. Despite Debbie Harry being in Videodrome, he would have to go Scanners too. “Now, Mr. Cineaste, what did you think of The Dead Zone?”

“Criminally underrated.”

“I know, right? The whole thing’s creepy as fuck. It’s not exactly usual Cronenberg stuff, but it fits right in. But here’s the advanced level - have you seen Crash?”

“I did. And I know it’s weird as fuck, but ... I kind of liked it?”

She was grinning now. “Me too. Kinky as fuck, though.”

“That’s kind of why I liked it,” he admitted, grinning himself.

“Ooh, a wholesome looking boy like you, into kinky stuff? Well, I never,” she teased.

“I’ve never been called wholesome looking before. Should I be offended?”

She eyed him a moment, scanning him, and he almost felt the urge to blush. “No. Honestly, you’re the cutest looking boy I’ve ever seen in this hick town. Hi, I’m Leah.” She held out her hand, for him to shake. He did. She had wonderfully soft hands, and yet, one hell of a grip.

“Dean.”

“Well, Dean, would you like to buy my badgerena?”

That made him laugh, and she giggled too. God, she was pretty. He was certain he was half way to love already. Her eyes and love of horror cinema were a trap he didn’t want to escape. “Do I get a discount, since it was spliced together in a transporter accident?”

She made a show of thinking about it, and he didn’t mind. He loved the way she bit her lower lip, and felt a tiny bit pervy for doing so. “No. But it’s only ninety nine cents, so, you can’t complain that much.”

“I guess I can’t.” He dug out a dollar bill, and as he handed it to her, he asked, “Same price for the candle holder?”

“No, let’s call that a cent. That way, I don’t have to make change.”

“Awesome.” He picked them both up, and they were both small enough to tuck under his arm with no problem. But boy, was the metal hot from the sun. “I don’t suppose I could get your number, in case I want to complain about a defect or something.”

She smiled. “Oh, is that it? I’d be more open to giving you my number if you invited me to a movie or something.”

“For a job well done? Yeah, I could do that.”

“Oh, how magnanimous of you,” she teased. She found a pen, and grabbed his hand, and instead of writing her number on his palm, she wrote it on the top of his hand, so he and the rest of the world couldn’t possibly miss it. “Don’t let me down, Dean.”

“I won’t.” He basically wanted to pull his phone out of his pocket and call her now, but that would be way too eager, wouldn’t it? Still, he threw her his best smile, and walked backwards, as he was reluctantly to turn away from her. But finally he did, and almost walked straight into Bobby, who was simply standing there.

He gave him a dark look, catching Dean by the shoulders so he didn’t collide with him. “Don’t let me interrupt your flirting time,” he said. Yeah, it was kind of bitchy, but he was sweat drenched, so Dean imagined the heat was making him extra grouchy.

“I’ll have you know I picked up a couple of things that made the meter jump,” he said, handing over the badgerena and the candlestick holder. “And even if it was coincidence, they’re fucking ugly and deserve to burn.”

Bobby looked at them with a grunt of acknowledgement. “You kinda wonder why a haunted item can never be attractive.”

“Maybe the evil sucks the pretty right out of them.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow at that. “I think that’s too metaphysical for me. I Had no luck on the other side, or at least it’s clear of anything cursed. Lots of fucking garbage, though, if you’re in the market.”

“I think you have enough garbage at home, Bobby.” Dean said with a smile.

Bobby scowled at him, but in his more typical, good natured way. Although you’d think someone couldn’t have a good natured scowl, Bobby managed.

They walked back to his piece of shit car, which was broiling hot from being parked in the relentless sun, and Dean tried not to think about Leah for a moment, just so he could get the stupid grin off his face. But it was difficult.

Bobby tossed the possibly haunted items in the trunk, and they started back towards home. There was no air conditioning - of course not - so they had to keep the windows open. It barely helped, but Dean was trying to recall if any good movies were playing, so he didn’t mind it so much.

They were about half way home when Bobby’s phone rang. At home, he had at least a half a dozen lines, different numbers so he could pretend to be different people for hunters who need their fake credentials backed up, but he only brought his personal phone while on the move. Because Bobby was responsible, he pulled over before answer his phone. Dean just memorized the number on the back of his hand, half-listening. Bobby’s side of the conversation wasn’t very interesting, until he said, “Well, shit. Yeah, I think we’re about ten minutes out. Thanks, Lon.” As soon as Bobby hung up, he said, “We’ve got a detour.”

“What’s up?”

“That was a friend of mine who works for the county,” Bobby told him, getting back on the road via u-turn. “There’s this vacant lot next to a stand of trees out near Castleton, and while there, Lon was pretty sure she saw a ghost. She convinced another guy he only saw a really pale girl, but she knew it wasn’t.”

“Shit.” Near a vacant lot? Oh, that wasn’t good. There was a better than average chance that was a murder victim. That could be a tricky dig up and burn, because sometimes, if they didn’t come from here initially, they were returned to their families out of state. How did you even begin to tackle that one? They had before, but it was always rough. And Dean felt bad for them. They deserved justice. It was just, sometimes, it was hard to find. Sometimes the people responsible for their death were in prison for something else, or decades dead, and it could be difficult to explain these things to a ghost. To them, on that side of the veil, time had no meaning. He wanted to help them all, but sometimes all he could do was help put them to rest.

They didn’t speak the whole rest of the way there, probably because they were caught up in the same depressing thoughts. And as soon as Dean saw the place through the windshield, he knew it was an excellent place to dump a body. The vacant lot was overgrown, with waist high burnt brown grass, and some of those weird yellow wildflowers that seemed to grow on nothing but spite. The scrub land beside it was full of anemic trees and trash left behind by people, mostly teenagers who partied there, or homeless people with few other places to go. Dean was already dreading this. His hunter sense was kicking in, and leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

He and Bobby got out, and since they both had their EMF meters with them, it was easy to pull them out and use them again. And they both made noise the instant they were turned on. Yep, a ghost was nearby.

They split up without discussing it, with Bobby taking the field on the right hand side, and Dean taking the scrub land on the left. Dean looked between his meter and the ground equally, until the meter flashed green, and he suddenly felt cold. On a day like this, it was kind of refreshing, at least until he remembered the cause of it.

And he saw her.

She was maybe seventeen. Average height and weight, dressed in a t-shirt for a local softball team, and running shorts. Her brown hair looked nearly translucent, as did the rest of her body in this intense sunlight. But Dean felt impaled by her dark brown eyes, which defied the sun and psychics and everything he could think of. She was asking him a question without speaking, which was a weird thing to think, but he felt it like a punch to the center of his chest. She drifted back into the trees, and he followed.

She came to a stop near a spindly oak, and looked down at the ground. The dirt there was disturbed, and had been recently. Dean’s stomach sunk, and as she watched, he used the toe of his boot to dig up the disturbed soil, until he dug up a finger with chipped pink nail polish on it. It took a moment for the smell to hit.

It wasn’t that bad, she was a fairly fresh kill, but just knowing she had been murdered, and she was standing right here next to him, made his gorge rise. He swallowed it down, and shouted, “Bobby! We need to get the cops here.” He glanced at the girl, who was still standing there looking at him, and said, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Yes, cops usually got in the way of a hunter doing their job. But finding her killer was a lot more important than doing their job right now.

Chapter Text

Sam told himself it was just a coincidence, and maybe it didn’t happen. He’d almost convinced himself before he gave up.

It didn’t mean anything. Dreams were simply the subconscious’ way of dealing with things. And he had spent most of his life surrounded by blood and death. Most of his dreams would reflect that. Hell, Dean probably dreamed about it too. In fact, Sam knew he did. Why else did he have those crazy nightmares, that sometimes ended up with Dean waking up screaming, or pulling the weapon under his pillow and aiming it at nothing even before he was fully awake? It was the Winchester curse made manifest. They were haunted, and it showed in every corner of their lives.

It was just a crazy coincidence that the girl he saw getting killed in his nightmare looked remarkably like this missing girl from Whitewood. And that was all it was. Sam figured, if he told himself that enough times, he’d believe it.

At first, it had been nice having Bobby and Dean out of the house, so he could be by himself, without them getting on his nerves. But was it them? If Sam was honest, it was himself. He was driving himself crazy, and he wasn’t going to think about death dreams anymore, because he wasn’t those supposed fucking real psychics that his Dad knew. He was a stupid bastard who was tired of living by his Dad’s arbitrary and inconsistent rules, and he hated doing all of this. Why couldn’t they be normal? Why was that too much to ask?

It might have been too much for Dean. He was never going to be normal. Not that he aspired to it, but he’d swallowed all of Dad’s bullshit, and he was a lost cause. Sam refused to be a lost cause. He just wasn’t sure what that meant yet.

It didn’t help that it was a hot day, and the old air conditioner Bobby had barely cooled one room. Also, it was noisy as hell. Dean had offered to look at it, even though he knew cars not air conditioners, but Bobby insisted it was fine. Also he was afraid if anyone genuinely looked at it, all the good intentions keeping it running would fall apart, and it would explode. It was partly a joke, but also? Partly not. After all, Bobby was a mechanic too. On some level, he wasn’t kidding.

Sam sorted out the books he had, and then sorted some of Bobby’s books. The ones where he claimed he didn’t have a system, which was basically a single shelf and a table. But Sam neatened it anyways, and found he was incredibly, overwhelmingly bored. He really should have gone with them to the flea market.

The problem was, with nothing to fill his time, he began thinking about his nightmare. And how he knew it was something inhuman that had killed that girl, but not what, and he could have screamed in frustration. So Sam got on Bobby’s computer, and started researching colleges.

Okay, yes, this was probably a pipe dream, but what he said to Dean once when he was mad - that when he was eighteen he was fucking out of here - oh, he meant it. He’d never meant anything more in his life, and he was counting the days. Two years to go. He didn’t want to do this for his entire life. How could he? He didn’t want to end up like Dean. Which he knew was a shitty thing to think.

Dean actually looked after him and took care of him, unlike Dad half the time. Dean had saved his life in a thousand ways by now, and he knew he could depend on him. He wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him. He knew that.

But he also knew Dean was a fucking mess. Dean gave until he couldn’t give anymore, then gave another ten percent. His dedication to Dad’s vision - as murky as it was - was unwavering. The more Dad treated him like a misbehaving puppy who needed a swat on the nose, the more Dean was loyal to him. Sam was honestly beginning to think it was a form of Stockholm Syndrome. He couldn’t talk to Dean about it, because he got mad at the very suggestion.

Which was another thing about him. When Dean wasn’t taking care of him or saving his life, he was a total asshole. All brothers probably were to each other, he got that, but Sam honestly was torn most of the time between wanting to defend him, and wanting to kill him himself.

Sam tried to distract himself by considering college. He already knew the Midwest was out. He wanted to get as far from their theoretic home as possible. So, East Coast or West Coast? It was kind of a toss up, as they both had good schools, and it might come down to what he wanted to study. He did feel a bit more partial to the West Coast.

But what did he want to pursue a degree in? He’d considered writing, but that wasn’t an easy profession, and also, how did that translate to fighting evil in the world exactly? It didn’t really. Not that writing hadn’t fought evil in the world, because it completely had. Writing could sway the mind of a generation. The problem was, it could be decades, a lifetime, before any change was wrought. He knew there was evil in the world, and he knew he needed to do something about it. He couldn’t just pretend it wasn’t there, when he had the scars and nightmares to prove it. It had killed his Mom, for fuck’s sake. He just had to figure out a way to do it that didn’t make him the emotionally damaged mess that Dean was, that didn’t make him live out of cheap motels and wash blood out of his clothes every other night. Sam wanted to have a real life. Something with hope in it. Because right now, there didn’t seem to be a lot of that. The life of a hunter ended one way. Sam wanted to genuinely live before he died. Why did Dean or his Dad find that hard to fathom? They weren’t living right now. They were surviving. There was a huge difference.

Sam just realized how late they were running when he heard Bobby’s car coming up the driveway. It gave him time to shut down Bobby’s computer, and walk to the kitchen, where he found the one good apple in Bobby’s fridge - Bobby didn’t really have a lot in the way of fresh fruits or vegetables, to the point where Sam wondered how he didn’t have scurvy - and was eating it when Dean came in, looking sweaty and somber. “How was the market?”

Dean went straight to the fridge and grabbed one of Bobby’s beers. He cracked it open and had a couple of big swallows before answering him. “Fine. It was after that sucked.”

Bobby came in, and he looked much the same as Dean. “What happened?” Sam asked. Now he wondered if he’d missed something major.

“We got a call about a ghost, and found the shallow grave of a recently murdered girl,” Bobby said. He went and retrieved a beer of his own.

Sam flashed back to his nightmare, and instantly dismissed it. Couldn’t be the same girl. Just another shitty coincidence. “Did you call the police?”

It was Dean that scowled at him. “Of course we called the police, and got the hell out of there. Hopefully, she only wanted to be found, and now she can move on.”

Sam wanted to ask, but didn’t. Dean had seen the ghost. Dean had seen a hundred ghosts by now, but for some reason, this one got to him. Sam almost asked how young she was, and then didn’t. He really didn’t want to know.

That was another thing. This burden of living with the dead, and their unfinished business - sometimes it felt so heavy, Sam felt like he was suffocating under the weight of it. Dean tried to drink his away, but Sam knew he had already been crushed by it. How could he not have been? He’d lived with this since he was four years old. It was a minor miracle he hadn’t been institutionalized. Dean might have been a mess, but it was actually a testament to his strength that he wasn’t so much worse. And the fact that he could have been worse than he was was kind of mind blowing.

For several minutes, they existed in the same kitchen in different bubbles of dread, silence no reflection of memories or regrets they all had, but still meaningful all the same. Then Bobby finished his beer, took off his cap, and wiped away sweat with his forearm. “Guess we oughta get to burning those objects we found.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I suppose.” He gulped down the rest of his beer in two swallows.

“So you did find something there.” Sam had no reason to say it, it was obvious, but he wanted to fill this horrible silence.

“Eh, probably nothing. We’re just making sure.” Dean said, and ruffled his hair, because he was back in jackass mode.

Sam swatted his hand away, but he saw something was written on it. “What’s that?”

“Oh, Romeo here met a girl at the market,” Bobby said, heading out the door. He left it open, assuming Dean would follow.

Dean looked at the writing on the back of his hand wistfully, as if it was a remnant of a past life. “God, she was so pretty.” He did follow Bobby out, closing the door behind him. Ever obedient Dean.

Sam was trying not to wonder if his nightmare was connected to the dead girl they found, and now he was wondering, if they weren’t connected, what would that mean? It wasn’t like this was the murder capitol of the United States. It could still be coincidence, but what if it was a pattern? What if there was something at work here, and they weren’t seeing it yet?

Sam returned to Bobby’s computer. He had some research to do.

**

Dean wasn’t quite sure why the ghost got to him so much.

Maybe it was because she was younger than him, and he couldn’t help but think of her as a kid. And what kind of motherfucking son of a bitch hurt a kid? Dean wanted to find them - human or monster, made no difference - and break them in half with his bare hands. And there was that whole weird moment, when he felt like she was trying to tell him something, but didn’t have the words. It was unsettling, all of it.

He didn’t tell Bobby about that last bit. He couldn’t. He’d think he was crazy. Dean was already half-convinced he was crazy. Maybe he just thought that had happened, and it hadn’t. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

But once they tossed everything into the barrel and burned it, Dean saw the number on his hand, and started feeling a little better. Leah was the rare bright spot of a terrible morning. He really needed to call her.

As soon as they were done, he went inside and did just that. He supposed he should have checked movie times, but fuck it. Dean admitted right away he hadn’t checked anything, but if she just wanted to hang out, he was good. She could name the place and time, and he’d be there.

Surprisingly, she took him up on this shitty offer. Leah asked him if he’d ever done any “urban spelunking”, which was a new phrase to him, but she knew of this old factory she wanted to check out, but most of her friends were too scared to go with her. To an old factory? How many of those had Dean been in? Sure, it sounded like the set up to a horror film, but he had weapons, salt, and years of experience kicking the ass of things that went bump in the night. Even if it became Return of the Living Dead, they’d be fine.

He didn’t tell her that, but he imagined the number of abandoned factories he’d visited was somewhere in the dozens. He told her he didn’t scare easily, which was both true and a lie. Depended on what you wanted to scare him with. Ghosts? Nope. Losing his Dad or Sam? He couldn’t even contemplate that as a thing that could really happen. He’d be found catatonic in a corner if he did. The thought of losing what little he had left made it feel like his chest was constricting, so he did’t think about it.

Dean took a long shower, because at least the water was cool and not stifling, and then wondered what he was supposed to wear. This wasn’t a “proper” date, and they were going to go crawling around some rubble, so nice clothes were out of the question. But he couldn’t look like a complete slob either. He wore his nicest t-shirt, his third nicest pair of jeans - considering he only had four pairs, and he had yet to trash the one with ghoul blood on it, because maybe they were salvageable, maybe it was fairer to say bottom of the pile. But he hoped that evened out into a presentable, but not trying too hard look.

He told Bobby he was headed out and just left, because he was an adult and didn’t need to check in with anyone. Also, Dean was afraid of the eye roll he’d get if he said he was out on a date, even though he wasn’t sure this was one.

It wasn’t like there was anything going on. Sam had his brooding to do, and Bobby had his drinking. Best leave them to it.

They’d probably never even know he was gone.

**

Sam had been hoping this was a wild goose chase, and this would prove to him once and for all he was a paranoid asshole like the rest of the family, jumping at shadows. Which was why he wasn’t sure if he should feel vindicated or not. But it was a good thing he’d put this together, right? Sam honestly didn’t know. But ferreting out a monster could never be a bad thing, not with so many lives at stake. 

“Do I wanna know what you’re doing?” Bobby asked. Sam had been so absorbed in research, he hadn’t heard him come into the room.

“Yeah. I think we have a problem.”

“Just the one?” Bobby replied, coming over for a peek.

Sam started calling up all the tabs he had, stacked one after the other. “Okay, so, from what I can tell, there have been thirteen missing kids and ten murdered kids turning up in this state and on the borders in the last month. Not counting the girl you found today.”

“What?” Bobby looked over his shoulder intently.

“Yeah, this is a dramatic uptick in the statistics, and I’m not sure if the investigative agencies have pulled the threads together and are keeping it need to know, or if they really haven’t.”

“What do you mean by kids? What’s the age range?”

“Twelve to nineteen. Sixty percent female, forty percent male. And many of the dead that have been recovered have been listed as dying of “unknown causes”, although homicide is the official cause of death, since all the recovered victims were at least partially buried. And none of this counts some kids who were never listed as missing and were just considered runaways.”

Bobby tensed, scanning the news reports. “What the hell ..? How is this not front page news?”

Sam shrugged. “No idea. Unless they think they’re dealing with a serial killer, and are keeping this quiet.”

“Shit. What made you think to look this up?”

Sam had worked out his excuse as soon as he saw a pattern developing. “Well, I read in the paper about that missing girl, and when you guys mentioned finding a dead body, I wondered if they were isolated incidents, or possibly connected in some way.”

Bobby sighed, pushing up his cap and scratching his head. “It always boggles my mind how good you are at this.”

Sam said nothing, because what could he say? I’m afraid I actually am some kind of freak. Those kids at school had been right all this time. I’m somehow more doomed than the average Winchester, and I hate Dad and Dean for not taking this bullet for me. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

Bobby nodded, completely getting it. “I can put on a Fed monkey suit, try and see if I get some info on what killed the girl we found today. Maybe that’ll help us narrow down what we’re looking for.”

“Yeah. I mean, most monsters prefer kids when they can get them. It doesn’t narrow down the pool very much.” He’d already looked, in an alternate tab. “Although the burying or attempted burying of victims does winnow it down a little.”

“Yeah, monsters don’t usually bother with that step.”

Was Sam going to say it? He really didn’t want to. But he felt he had to. “Unless they’re saving them for later.”

“Ah hell. Why would you give me that mental image, kid?”

“Sorry. But some monsters apparently do that.”

“I know. I’ve just had enough grisly for one day.” Bobby rubbed his eyes, and seemed to be steeling himself. “Okay, I’ll get changed and pay a visit to the coroner’s office. Keep me updated if you find something else.”

“Will do.” Sam still hoped he was wrong, despite finding all of this. Why couldn’t he have been wrong?

No matter what he did, he was never going to be normal, was he? Sam tried not to give in to despair, but some nights, it was harder than others.

Chapter Text

The abandon factory was about thirty five minutes outside of town, and Dean met Leah there. He was fine with this, as he had to borrow one of Bobby’s piece of shit cars. Because Bobby ran an auto junkyard, there was no shortage of kind of functional cars he could borrow. But were any of them actually decent cars? Not really. Dean had tried to fix up a trashed Mustang Bobby had, but the transmission was shot, and it had both a broken axle and a trunk that was mostly Bond-o and rust. It would have taken lots of time and effort to rebuild the thing, and money, and Dean didn’t really have the money or time to waste. So he stuck to the running pieces of shit, and tried not to be caught dead in any of them.

He did wonder if they needed to come this far to find an abandoned factory. There were a lot of abandoned and crumbling buildings around. There was a strange phenomenon he mostly noticed in the Midwest, of small towns that just closed up shop wholesale and blew away. Bobby had a theory about it, going all the way back to Dust Bowl times, but Dean had no idea if it was accurate. It was just one of those weird things he noticed while bouncing around the country like a loose ping pong ball. There were a lot of places where people could up and disappear, and never be seen again. It was one of the reasons the monsters loved it so much.

There was a broken down chain link fence around this factory, but Dean meant super broken. He could climb it; he could lift up an edge and walk in; he could kick the gate open. So many choices. Leah was waiting outside, dressed much as she had been at the flea market today, in a black t-shirt and jeans that looked utilitarian, but still nice on her. She also wore tattered sneakers that looked like they still had decent traction, which was a good choice for crawling around rubble. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and she pulled out a flashlight, flicking it on and positioning it under her chin, like she was telling a scary story around a campfire. “Welcome, Dean, to the graveyard of capitalism. Mwa-ha-ha!”

So cheesy and dumb, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Should I bust out my Cryptkeeper impression now?”

She swung the flashlight back towards the ground. “Oh, please no. I want to like you.”

“Fair enough. So what was this place?”

“I think it used to make parts for something.”

“That’s super specific.”

She gave him a friendly, gentle shove, and Dean was surprised at how much he liked her already. There was something fearless about her, and god, he loved that in a woman. “So sue me, I didn’t look up the history of this place. I’ve been too busy selling my Mom’s crap at flea markets.”

“There’s so much I could say about that.”

She smiled. “Anything that wouldn’t get you in trouble?”

He shook his head. “Probably not.”

“Need a flashlight?”

Dean reached into his pocket, and pulled out a flashlight. She raised an eyebrow at that. “Wow. You are a smart boy.”

“Always be prepared, that’s my motto.”

“Boy Scout?”

He smiled. “Monster hunter.”

That made her chuckle and shake her head. “Sure you are.”

“So do you want to climb the fence, or should I kick it open?”

She shook her head. “You disappoint me, Venkman. Didn’t you notice the subtleties?” Leah walked up to the lopsided gate, lifted a piece of metal, and pushed it open. “Lock’s broken.”

Dean shrugged. “Should’ve guessed.”

“Yes, you should have,” she agreed, giving him a sly smile before turning and leading the way into the extensive gravel lot around the factory.

He thought he saw something on her arm, and once he caught up to her, he shined his flashlight on it. “Oh, nice tattoo.” It was a blue and green scaled snake coiling around her left upper arm. Not huge, but detailed enough it must have taken some time.

“Thanks. I designed it. And my Mom hit the ceiling when she found out.”

“Not a fan of body art?”

“Oh no. She thought I was crazy to waste money on such a thing, and of course, mar my pretty skin.”

“Your skin’s still beautiful,” Dean replied, and then realized what he said.

But she looked at him with a grin. “You’re damn right it is.”

The factory was low slung, and looked more solid than a lot of abandoned buildings he’d been around. The main door appeared chained shut, but the main bolt holding it in place was broken, so it was easy as hell to get inside. “Think this place has squatters?” Dean asked quietly. This was the perfect building for it. An illusion of being locked and safe, ideal for someone unsafe on the streets.

“Nah. The security company the business hired is pretty zealous about running out trespassers.”

That made him pause. “And you didn’t think to mention that?”

“They’re active during the day. As long as we’re gone by sun up, should be no problem. Besides, Dean, where’s your sense of living dangerously?”

He looked at her, and wondered if he should tell her every single day he was still alive was pretty much living dangerously. In fact, it was all he did. But Dean knew from hard experience telling anyone the truth of who he was and what he did never ended well for anyone. Instead, Dean gestured with his flashlight, and said, “Lead on, Sigourney.”

Leah gave him a triumphant grin, and did just that.

Everything that could have been cleaned out of the factory had been, although some of the conveyor belts were still around, giving the place weird pockets of darkness, and sometimes casting crazy shadows when their flashlight beams would hit them. The heat of the day was trapped in here too, making it seem stuffy as well as dusty. There was an extremely rickety looking metal staircase, leading up to what must have been the supervisor’s level, and Dean’s professional opinion would have been to avoid it, because old staircases often had hidden points of failure. But Leah headed straight for it and went up, and while it made a couple of unsettling noises, she made it up in one piece, and Dean had no choice but to follow. He managed to get up it as well, but he didn’t like the way his footsteps made it rattle, like there was a vital anchor point askew or broken.

There wasn’t a ton to look at on this level, unless you liked looking at spider webs or mouse holes, but the supervisor’s office had some odd details. Yes, it had been ransacked, but there was still an empty metal desk, still a tipped over file cabinet on the floor, and, in the oddest thing yet, a framed picture remained on the wall, unbroken. It depicted the factory in what must have been its heyday, and yet, Dean could pull no clues about what this place used to be. It was both kind of poignant, and kind of creepy.

Leah sat on the floor, and took off her backpack. “I don’t know about you, but all this spelunking has made me thirsty.” She pulled a bottle of vodka out of her pack.

“I was wondering why you were carrying that.” He sat on the floor beside her, leaning against the wall. There was something about this place that struck him as odd, beyond the single surviving photograph, but Dean hadn’t figured out what yet. He assumed he’d get there shortly.

She cracked open the bottle and had a healthy swallow before passing it to him. It was vaguely cold, and he knew it would probably be warm within ten minutes, but he didn’t care. It was actually good vodka. “This kind of reminds me of being a sixteen year old,” she said, once he handed her the bottle back.

“You snuck around abandoned buildings and drank?”

She smirked, holding the bottle loosely. “Kinda. My boyfriend and I once broke into our school on a Saturday night, and drank Mad Dog 20/20 in the teacher’s lounge.”

He laughed. “Oh god, sweet rotgut.”

“I know, right? That stuff was awful, and yet we felt so sophisticated drinking it.” She laughed at the memory.

Dean grimaced. “That stuff tasted worse coming back up.”

She groaned in sympathy. “Oh god yes. That was also the last time I had it, ‘cause the next day, I wasn’t sure I would ever stop puking.”

“It’s really not an amateur drink. You have to be an advanced level alcoholic to tolerate it. That, or have no taste buds or gag reflex.” It did strike Dean that it was sad he knew this, but at least he wasn’t alone.

For a couple minutes, they enjoyed a companionable silence, passing the vodka bottle back and forth, and Dean started making shadow puppets in front of the flashlight beam, in the office wall across from them. She said she didn’t know how to do those, and he taught her a few basic shapes. It allowed him to touch her hands again, which he didn’t mind at all.

And the silence here was crazy. It was like being in the building of a ghost town. The breeze was anemic, but it was still a faint whistle through the holes in the wall and the roof. “This is a weird hang out location,” Dean admitted.

She smiled faintly. “Yeah, I know. But I swear there isn’t a decent bar or nightclub in this entire state.”

Dean shrugged. “I’d settle for crappy as long as the company’s good.”

Leah’s smile grew as she eyed him suspiciously. “Wow. You have a line for every occasion, don’t you?”

“It’s not a line.” At her continued dubious look, he rolled his eyes. “Okay, it is a line, but I mean it. Besides, taking a guy to an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere ... that’s not very safe, is it?”

“For you or for me?” Now it was his turn to give her a dubious look. “Okay, for one, I had a good feeling about you, and my intuition is usually correct. And two, you’re talking to the Wichita Falls regional hapkido champion from age ten to eleven.”

“Hapkido? I mean, no offense, but -“

She grabbed his hand and twisted it, bending back his wrist and forearm in an incredibly painful way. With a tiny bit more pressure, she could have snapped it clean. “Okay, ow, ow, you made your point.” She released her hold, and he shook out his wrist. Dean didn’t point out all the ways he could have broke the hold, as they had all instantly flashed through his mind: punch to the jaw, elbow to the nose, throat strike, hit to the interior of the elbow, blow to the short ribs, headbutt. It actually bothered Dean how quick his own mind had shifted to battle mode, like he was a fucking self-defense robot. But that’s what he was, wasn’t he? His Dad had taught him how to fight anything. And if he couldn’t beat it, survive it. Leah’s knowledge would probably protect her against the average person, but not a Terminator like him. And while Dean actually felt a bit of pride thinking of himself in such terms, he now realized it was terrible. He was a human being. He wasn’t supposed to be a Terminator. He wasn’t supposed to approach every interaction like a potential battle. Dean knew he could fake being normal for a while, but at a certain point, it all collapsed. If he wasn’t a normal human - and he wasn’t - then what the fuck was he?

He picked up the vodka bottle, and had a serious swallow, enjoying the after burn of alcohol in his throat. He didn’t want to think like this, or think of it at all. Dean wanted to get back to this being a weird but kind of fun little adventure. “So what are you doing here, Wichita Falls? Is there some hapkido tournament going on that I’m unaware of?”

“Ha. No, my grandmother died, and my Mom and I came up here to settle her estate, or, in less formal terms, clear out her trailer and sell it.” She took the bottle from him, and had a sip.

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.”

She shrugged, setting the bottle down between them. “It’s okay. I barely knew her. She and my Mom had a falling out before I was born, and they never really reconciled. What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“Judging from your lack of regional accent, you’re not from here either, and I’d know if you ever showed up at the flea market before. So where you from, Venkman?”

“Oh. Everywhere. My Dad’s in the military, we move around a lot. I’m just here visiting my Uncle.” It was funny how such a bald faced lie could feel more truthful than not. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, and he realized now he could smell her shampoo, something with apple in it, and maybe a hint of sweat, but nothing bad. He liked her smell.

And that’s when the penny dropped for Dean. Oh, that was what was weird about this place. There was no rot smell.

He didn’t mean rotten wood or mildew. He meant animal rot; the smell of small bodies decayed. Usually mice, and a bird or two, but occasionally a rat, or a cat who had crawled in a quiet place to die. Abandoned places always had a couple, if not a horror show of tiny dead bodies in them. You could get an entire black mass worth of animal bones in some places. He hadn’t seen a single dead animal or skeleton of one. Of course, maybe they were on the ground floor. Still, you’d think you’d be able to smell them up here. With the heat of the day trapped within the walls, it should have exacerbated the scent of it.

Maybe, if the building owners were hyperactive about trespassers, they’d clean up carcasses too? No, that made no sense. He suddenly wondered if they should be here at all. Lack of animals - alive or dead - was never a good sign.

Before he thought of way to phrase it so it wouldn’t alarm her, Leah asked, “How old are you?”

That momentarily threw him. “Twenty.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Want to see my driver’s license?” He did have one that said he was twenty and not twenty one, right? Now he wasn’t sure. Did he even have one that had his first name as Dean? Shit.

“No. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t robbing the cradle,” she said, grabbing the collar of his jacket, and pulling him in for a kiss.

It was slightly unexpected, but welcome, and he quickly returned it, moving his hand to cup the back of her neck. She tasted like vodka and lip balm, and it was kind of wonderful. Leah pulled him to her, and he moved closer, sliding his hand into her soft hair, and enjoying the heat and crush of her body against his. He was trying to ignore the nagging little voice in the back of his head telling him he shouldn’t get too comfortable, when a sudden shock of liquid on his leg made him pull away from her.

“Shit,” Leah said, righting the tipped over vodka bottle. “Well, at least there wasn’t that much left to lose.”

Dean realized he heard something downstairs, and put a finger to his lips to warn her to be quiet as he got up and went to the open office door as quietly as possible. She followed, and he barely heard her.

The door downstairs, the one they had closed, was now ajar. He saw deceptive moments in the darkness, something disappearing in the shadows, and a strange sound, like a heavy thing being dragged in the dirt. Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Leah grabbed his arm, and whispered in his ear, “What is it?”

“We’re not alone,” he reported.

He didn’t add that the thing that had joined them wasn’t human. That seemed unkind.

Chapter Text

Dean was usually proud of having anything he needed at any time. Which was why he was now ashamed he hadn’t brought a gun.

He couldn’t justify it in his mind. It was kind of a date, and what happened if she realized he was carrying a gun. “Oh, this isn’t for you. This is in case we run into any ghouls.” She’d think he was a fucking maniac on the spot, and maybe even think he intended to use it on her. And he wouldn’t blame her in the slightest. What kind of psycho is always armed?

Him. Dean was generally the kind of psycho who was always armed. Save for tonight. His Dad would be so angry with him.

He had a knife in his boot - he had to have some kind of weapon - but he had no idea if this was a monster he dare go hand to hand with. Dean liked to pride himself on being able to kill any monster - or so he hoped - but there were categories. Some you had to dispatch at a distance, because trying close combat on them always went sideways fast. Hand to hand was always a risky prospect anyways, because most monsters were stronger than humans, or had powers that made strength irrelevant. The only thing you had to work with was going for a quick kill shot, and hoping you hit it. Otherwise, you were getting your ass handed to you on a platter, if you were lucky. Unlucky was having to be collected in pieces, and hoping a relative could identify your remains.

He could all but here Dad in his brain, asking, “What now, genius?” Okay, so he didn’t have a decent weapon. Could he make one? Dean looked around, but this was the same empty office, with empty furniture, and a vodka bottle. Oh, hey.

Dean picked up the bottle, and Leah asked, “What are you doing?”

“Wanna make a spectacular exit?” They were both keeping their voices low, pitched to whispers, because it seemed like the thing to do. But the thing had to know they were here, through smell or body temperature or life force or whatever. Creepy crawlies had their own ways of always knowing where you were. It was more than likely it thought they didn’t know it was here, and was waiting to attack them. Some monsters loved the element of surprise.

“How spectacular are we talking about?”

Dean searched his pockets, and immediately found the Zippo lighter his Dad gave him, but he needed that to light the fuse. More searching finally turned up a disposable lighter, the kind he didn’t mind throwing into graves to burn bones. He broke it easily, and poured the lighter fluid in the vodka bottle. “Not very. Just enough to be distracting.”

“Wow, Venkman, you’re hardcore,” she whispered. Leah knew a Molotov cocktail when she saw it. Awesome.

“Got a lighter I can use?” he asked, before searching the floor detritus for fuse materials. He could use part of his t-shirt if he had to, but he was saving that as a last resort. Thankfully, Dean found some old newspaper, which he hastily rolled into a tight fuse.

Leah had found a disposable lighter, which they broke, and poured into the bottle, using a little of it to get the fuse wet before they shoved it in. Dean picked up the bottle and tilted it a little, so the fuse could soak up a bit more of the booze and lighter fluid combo. If the fuse didn’t light properly, none of this mattered. “Okay. I’m going to leave the office and heave this at the ... whatever downstairs. Then we have to run for it. I mean, give it everything you’ve got, unless you feel like being arrested tonight.” Of course he meant killed, but he couldn’t actually say that. Arrested seemed like a fine substitute.

She nodded. “You think it’ll be that easy?”

“No, but we can always hope, can’t we?”

She smiled, and pulled him in for a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. It was unreasonably hot. “Make that throw count, Dean.”

He swallowed hard, keeping his mind focused on monsters and what could happen if he fucked this up, because dear lord, he was in a thousand different kinds of lust and love with this woman. “Like ours lives depended on it.”

Dean moved back to the doorway, looking out at the greater darkness, hoping to spy movement below. Nothing. But he knew where he’d last saw it heading, and had to hope it was still in that general area.

He used the Zippo to light the paper fuse, and stepped out of the office, throwing the bottle with as much force as he could muster, with a shouted, “Now!”

To her credit, Leah was a very fast runner. She was down the stairs in what seemed like three steps, and was already out the door by the time Dean hit the stairs. The Molotov had done its job, going up with a nicely dramatic flare of fire, but Dean knew it would burn out fast. There just wasn’t enough fuel in it, and a paper fuse was obliterated quickly.

Dean only looked back in the doorway, to see if he could catch a glimpse of what was in here with them. It was then he noticed a smell, above and heavier than burning lighter fluid and vodka. It was ... odd, and dense. Like the sea? Slimy kelp came to mind, something that left a silty taste at the back of your throat. He could see something in the flickering shadows of the dying flames, something with eyes that reflected the fire back at him, golden and flat. And then there was a noisy. A chittering sound, and the a skittering, like claws slipping on a freshly waxed floor.

Dean ran. He had no choice.

Leah was already half way to the gate, and not seeing him following, had paused. But as he came running out, he waved her on, and shouted, “Go! Go!” He had no fucking idea what that thing was, and there was never anything good about discovering new monsters.

Dean didn’t dare look behind him. He caught up to Leah pretty quickly, closing the broken gate for what little good it would do, and followed Leah to her car, a small hatchback. She flung herself into the driver’s seat, and Dean jumped in the passenger seat as she cranked the motor, and she was speeding out of there before he could close his door.

Dean glanced in the rearview, but he saw no signs the thing had followed them out of the gate.

At the first intersection, Leah slapped the steering wheel and whooped, before breaking up into riotous laughter. “That was fucking awesome!” she crowed.

He laughed too, relieved. Holy shit, they had dodged a bullet. “Is urban spelunking always that exciting?”

“Hell no. If it was, I’d do it all the time.” She was flushed and her eyes were bright, and Dean logically knew a woman this thrilled by danger was probably bad news. And yet, he still felt like he’d met his soul mate. “Sorry about your car.”

Dean finally remembered it, and waved his hand. “Borrowed it from my Uncle. It’s his problem.” Actually, it would be a great way of finding the factory again in the daylight. They needed to search it and see if they could find out what kind of beast this was.

“Cold, Venkman, really cold.”

“He runs a junkyard. He’ll be fine.” One of the reasons Bobby let him take those cars in the first place was because he wouldn’t miss them if Dean totaled them or whatever. Dean sometimes took it personally - did he think his driving skills were that bad? He’d been hot-wiring and driving cars since he was fourteen - but he knew it wasn’t that. Bobby was simply being practical. Sometimes, monsters and other circumstance beyond your control could fuck up your car.

He didn’t know what she was doing when she quickly pulled into the parking lot of a store, but then he remembered she thought cops was a possibility. So parking and not being on the road when the cops were looking for trespassers made sense. She killed the motor, plunging them into the dark. “How often have you made Molotov cocktails?” she asked. “You looked like you really knew what you were doing.”

“I’ve also done quite a bit of trespassing,” he admitted. “For a guy with a wholesome face, I’m a surprising amount of trouble.” He didn’t mention the grave desecration, for obvious reasons.

She looked at him, and gave him that radiant smile again. It was smirky and lopsided, and yet he found it endearing. “You are a big bucketful of trouble, aren’t you? I’m glad we did this tonight. I haven’t had this much fun with a guy since ... well, forever.

Dean smiled back, wondering if she’d change her mind if she knew it wasn’t one of the security guys, or another person, but a chittering creature with golden eyes that smelled like high tide, and undoubtedly wanted to kill them, possibly for dinner. “Not even when you broke into the high school?”

That made her chuckle. “Chance turned out to be a total jackass.”

“His name was Chance? Well, there’s your problem.”

She stroked his face, which was kind of odd, but kind of nice too? He stared at her in the dark, and realized she was probably too pretty for him. But if she didn’t mind slumming, he didn’t mind punching above his weight. There was a little light coming from the security lamps around the store, but the road was dead. They’d been the only car on it for a couple of miles, and that hadn’t seemed to have changed. Dean wondered when she’d decide the cops weren’t coming.

“I guess I should get you home, shouldn’t I?” she finally asked.

He shrugged. “There’s no need to rush.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Wanna resume from where we left off?”

“Please.”

“Well, since you asked nicely ...” she said, pulling him to her for another kiss.

Okay, so maybe the evening had taken kind of a sinister turn. It was still fucking great.

**

Sam knew Bobby didn’t think it was a big deal, but Sam was furious. He considered several revenge pranks against Dean, but discarded them all because none were truly vicious enough. They finally need the son of a bitch and he’s nowhere to be found. He wasn’t answering his phone either, which figured. Bastard. Out getting his drink on and people were fucking dying.

Bobby’s visit to the coroner’s office turned out to be a wasted trip. They had no idea what killed her; she was simply dead. Toxicology would at least take a few days, but Bobby wasn’t super hopeful that would turn up anything.

“How can their be no signs of death? No defensive wounds even?” Sam asked. He really needed to go. Yeah, he was too young to be an FBI agent, but Bobby must have missed something.

Bobby, who’d changed back into his usual clothes, and was sitting in his chair with a beer, sighed heavily. “I’m tellin’ ya, kiddo, it looked like she was sleeping. But somehow dead. Even the doctor found it fucking creepy.”

“What monster kills without leaving a physical trace?”

Bobby didn’t have to think about it too long. “A ghost could. Or at least it would look like natural causes, like a heart attack. But ghosts don’t bury victims.”

“Couldn’t a monster who drains life force or energy or something like that not leave a physical mark?”

Bobby considered that, looking down at his beer. “From my experience, the ones that drain life force usually leave their victims looking like mummified husks.”

“Could there be one that doesn’t?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible, I don’t know of every monster that has ever existed on the planet. But if there is, it’s not a monster I’ve ever encountered before.”

Sam scowled, turning back to the ancient bestiary in his hands. This book was so old, he was afraid it was going to fall apart in his hands, so he was trying to be careful with it. Which was difficult when he felt like flinging it across the room.

Sam knew his rage was out of bounds for the situation. He knew he was balling up his frustration over the last couple of weeks, and focusing it on Dean, because he wasn’t here, and the monster, because it was killing people and he couldn’t even identify it. And himself, because he always kind of hated himself a little bit. It was the Winchester way.

Right now, Sam could feel himself spiraling, as if he was outside watching himself, and yet he didn’t know how to stop it. He needed to challenge Dean to some training, because right now, he needed to work out some of this physically. He didn’t know what to do about the rest of it. Find the monster, beat it to death with his bare hands?

Bobby was picking up on it, because he said, “Son, sometimes you need to put things down and walk away. A little distance on a problem can help.”

“We don’t have time for that. Too many people have already died.”

Bobby sat forward. “But you’re not solving this tonight, and you don’t do anyone any favors if you make your own head explode. Take a break for tonight, huh?”

He was making sense, and Sam felt like he had no responding argument. Sam had just set the book aside when he heard the scrape of a key in the lock.

Oh good, the prodigal son was home.

Dean came drifting in with a goofy grin on his face, the kind of grin that said he’d been on a successful date. The kind of grin that Sam reflexively wanted to punch off his face. “Where the hell have you been?” Sam snapped.

Dean stopped and jerked his head back, as if Sam had taken a swing at him. “Holy shit, what crawled up your ass and died?”

“What, you mean like that girl this morning?” As soon as it was out of Sam’s mouth, he regretted it. Why was he so mad?

Bobby decided to play peace keeper, picking up Dean’s usual role. “Sam’s dug up a pattern that seems to suggest we have a monster in the area.”

Dean nodded. “I know. I ran into it.”

Both Bobby and Sam stared at him in naked shock. “What?” Sam asked, feeling his anger still for the moment. Had Dean actually bumbled into the answer?

“So, Leah took me for some urban spelunking at this abandoned factory near Narrow Spring. And while we were there, this ... thing came in, and we had to make a hasty escape. She didn’t see it; she thought it was one of the security people. So I didn’t have to explain that part.”

“What did it look like?” Sam asked. “Did you recognize it?”

Dean shook his head. “I barely saw it. It was big, had golden eyes, and smelled like high tide.”

Sam threw up his hands at some a vague, useless description, while Bobby asked, “High tide?”

“Yeah, like rotting kelp. Not great. It also made this clicking noise. Sort of insectoid.”

“Ugh,” Bobby said, before finishing his beer.

“That’s it?” Sam replied. “That’s all you can give me?”

“Yeah. I had a civilian there, and I needed to get her out of there before she realized we were running from a monster. But I figured we can go back when it’s daylight, see if it nests there.”

Bobby stood up, clapping his hands together. “Sounds like a plan. I’m goin’ to bed. Sam, you’d be wise to do so too, we’re gonna need you sharp for tomorrow.” Bobby gave him an encouraging pat on the back before leaving the room. Sam appreciated it, but anger was still this ember in the center of his chest.

Dean sat on the arm of the chair, and said, “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve missed?”

“Oh, you’ve decided to care now?”

There was a small flare of irritation in his eyes, but Dean had apparently decided to play elder statesman tonight, which was so fucking annoying. “You know I care, Sam. What’s eating at you?”

“Everything, all right? How can we have any sort of life when we have no idea how long we’ll be here, or where we’re going next? Or when death seems to fucking follow us around no matter where we are? Aren’t you sick and tired of it?”

Dean shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“I hate that phrase.”

“We play the cards we’re dealt. Sometimes it’s a shitty hand.”

Sam glared at him. “It doesn’t have to be. Why do we have to move every couple of weeks? Why can’t I start school in one place, and still be there at the start of the next month? Why do I have to keep stopping and starting all over again? I fucking hate it.”

“I’ll talk to Dad about it, all right?” Sam rolled his eyes, because all Dad had to do was say it was an order, and Dean shut down like that was his kill switch. “No, Sammy, I will. I’ll let him know you’re miserable, and he needs to do something about it. Although, dude, summer vacation just started. Why you thinking about school now?”

Because two years to go, and then I’m out of this place and never looking back, Sam thought. “I’ve got to think about something. It’s either that, or this mystery monster killing kids.”

Dean grimaced. The one good thing about his brother was his empathy. Punch that button, and things could work. Dean pretended like he didn’t care most of the time, precisely because he cared too goddamn much, and he was hiding it. Poorly, but Sam did wonder if most people bought the act. His poor, sappy brother. “Tomorrow, we hunt that bastard, and burn its goddamn house down if we have to, but we’re ending this.”

Sam nodded, hpoing it was true, but well aware of how their luck ran. It wasn’t going to be that easy, was it? He had this sinking feeling that it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to say anything, he was going to let it go, but ultimately, he had to. “You know, urban spelunking is a nice way of saying trespassing, and we do it all the time.”

“I know. But Leah’s a shit ton prettier than you. More fun too.”

Sam flashed him a middle finger, and Dean gave him one right back. On his way to the stairs, Dean ruffled his hair again, precisely because he knew Sam hated it when he did that. “Bobby’s right, kiddo. Get some sleep. We’ll kill it in the morning.”

Sam sat there, until Dean was gone and he was alone in the living room. He wondered if he should attempt to go to sleep and fail, or just stay up and see if he could find a golden eyed monster who smelled like seaweed.

Vague monster hunt it was. Good thing he was used to running on little to no sleep.

Chapter Text

It turned out, the factory looked better in the dark.

The night had given it a spooky energy it just didn’t have. In the harsh light of day, it was only another ruin, without the grandeur or dignity of older ruins. It was simply a building probably a month out from being demolished.

He and Bobby had fake IDs that made them state building inspectors, and as for Sam, Bobby figured he could just say he was his nephew, and belligerence the rest on through, which was fine with Dean. Bobby could fake belligerence really well. In fact, Dean was partially sure it wasn’t an act most of the time. Bobby took those moments to vent his frustrations.

As it was, it wasn’t something they needed to worry about. The security guards on site didn’t give a shit who they were or what they were doing, as long as they didn’t bother them. Sam hardly raised an eyebrow.

Inside the factory, the sadness continued. The spooky atmosphere from last night gave way to sad decay. The reason they got those crazy shadows last night? Because the conveyor belt was tipped. Part of its support structure was missing, so it probably shouldn’t have been standing at all.

Sam found the scorch mark on the floor right away, which Dean had to confess was his fault, as they escaped via Molotov last night. Sam looked at him funny, and Dean imagine he was thinking do you set everything on fire ? Which, first of all, was not fair, and two, fire was almost always an effective weapon against monsters. Nobody liked fire. Fire bad.

The monster had left no trace of itself, except perhaps a faint, lingering hint of that high tide scent, which Bobby said he could smell. Sam said he couldn’t.

Sam was yawning a lot, as he spent most of the night awake, researching monsters. Bobby had apparently found him asleep on the couch this morning, propped up on a stack of books. Sam had a list of eight creatures it could maybe be, cross referencing horrible smells/life force/energy draining. The problem? Two of the creatures on the list were supposedly extinct, and had never been known to be in North America. The other six were considered purely mythical, filed away under myths and old wives’ tales.

Bobby was quick to point out that didn’t disqualify any of them from the list. For one, if they lived once, it was possible they could live again. Maybe someone only thought they were extinct because the survivors mastered hiding, and avoiding hunters. Two, if they were considered mythical, it only meant they may exist, it was just no one encountered them and lived. So now it was just a case of nailing down which supposedly extinct/mythical beast this was. They all sounded vaguely plausible, especially if some of the finer details got sanded off. Bobby was also quick to point out some of those details could be exaggerated or wrong. The problem with myth was tales grew over time, and some got tangled with other mythologies.

Since the factory was a bust, they stopped for food, and then came home. Sam wasn’t happy, but to be honest, Dean wasn’t either. Where had that fucking thing gone? Nose to the grindstone time. They had to track it and kill it, no matter how long it took. They could only hope the were no more deaths in the meantime.

Dean was going to help Bobby rebuild a transmission, and Sam decided to go take a nap, because he was falling asleep in his fries. Literally. Dean stole several, and Sam never noticed.

It turned out they rebuilt the transmission faster than Bobby had expected. Dean felt weirdly happy rebuilding something, working with his hands, doing something he knew how to do. Even Bobby seemed less grumpy, and when they were done, he patted him on the back, and said, “Good job, kid.” This made Dean weirdly feel over the moon. He almost got teary eyed. When was the last time his Dad said that to him? Had his Dad ever said that to him?

Before he got carried away with it, Dean started reading about the possible creatures Sam had narrowed down. He had just about psyched himself up into looking in the older, dustier, duller books when Leah called, and asked if he wanted to hang out. No spelunking , but maybe they could get a drink later.

Dean had barely hung up before he was putting his coat on and heading out the door. He almost collided with Bobby, who was back from towing in another wreck. “Where you headed?” he wondered.

“Gonna meet Leah. I’ll leave my phone on this time, okay? Call me if anything develops.” And before Bobby could say anything, Dean was out the door.

It wasn’t like he was going to be much help in the monster search. Books had never really been his forte anyway.

**

Bobby did his best to remember what it had been like when he was a twenty year old kid. Hmm ... nope. Honestly, he never felt like he was twenty. Or a kid.

Of course, all of that was due to shit he didn’t like to think about, so he didn’t. But it was odd to sort of see the men that both Dean and Sam were becoming. Sam had a huge chip on his shoulder, which you couldn’t really blame him for, was thoughtful and considerate in spite of that, and holy shit, was he smart. He must have gotten that from his mother, because he certainly didn’t get it from John. The chip, maybe. Sam deserved so much better than he got. He’d probably be at some gifted school, if he had anything approaching a typical family life.

Dean was a trickier one to get a hold of. He could be a goofy horndog - like the one that just ran out the door because a pretty girl called him - and he could be a studious hard worker, like the one who pretty much rebuilt the transmission single handedly thirty minutes ago. He had a seemingly bottomless appetite for vices, and yet he looked after Sam like he was his son, not his brother, and he took down an amanjaku demon, which was virtually unheard of. Bobby used to worry that John was damaging both his kids the way he was raising them, and he felt all his criticisms were justified, but he had been worried about the wrong one. He had been afraid that this was damaging Sam in untold and critical ways, because he was too young for this world and its violence, but now he feared it was actually Dean who was more damaged. Dean had actually tried to protect Sam from the worst of it, and in doing so, had hurt himself. Bobby hadn’t seen that coming.

But Dean and his many odd dichotomies always threw him for a loop. For instance, he was more responsible than his Dad, and if you asked Bobby, he was a better man than his Dad, but Dean’s loyalty to him was frightening. Why? John didn’t fucking deserve it, not the way he treated him and Sam. If Dean hadn’t been willing to play mother to Sam and lapdog to John, this whole scheme would have collapsed ages ago. Why Dean didn’t snap and tell him to shove it all up his ass was a mystery Bobby was pretty sure he was never going to solve.

He looked at the books Sam had patiently annotated with pieces of paper, and decided to have a look for himself. Yes, Sam had a weird gift for this, but he was still a kid. He could have missed or overlooked something.

Bobby suddenly remembered his friend Teri, the genuine psychic, and the last thing she ever said to him before leaving the state, and pretty much exiting his life. She never did drop him a line, let him know where she was now. She told him Sam and Dean were “fated”, whatever that meant, and they had an aura of weirdness that surrounded them. One was marked by the divine, and one was marked by the demonic. He was never able to make much sense out of that. First of all, he had yet to find anything that suggested the “divine” existed; it seemed like fairy tales people told themselves to make them feel better. And he’d never seen anything even approaching a demonic mark on Dean, or even Sam, who was his guess for divine if divine existed. Hell, those things might be helpful right now. An angel on Sam’s shoulder could tell them what they were dealing with, and the devil on Dean’s shoulder could tell them how to kill it.

It still bugged him, though. What the hell was “fated” supposed to mean? Technically, everyone was fated - to die, because no one got out of life alive. Every single person on this planet sucking air right now was doomed. Sam, Dean, and himself included. The only difference was the timing and the details.

Bobby had just started reading about energy sucking creatures when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye.

He looked up, across the room, but nothing moved. What could? He didn’t even have the fan on, since his air conditioner was making its unholy noise in the other room. Some of the cooler air was drifting out here, it was just taking its sweet time. Maybe that was it? An unusual gust from the AC?

Bobby decided that was it, and turned back to the book, only to spy the movement again, this time near the couch.

At one point, mice had been an issue. It was unavoidable, especially in an area where you had piles of things, such as cars. But a feral cat colony had taken to living in a strip of grassland near the yard, thanks to a neighbor who put out food for them, and Bobby, who’d never really thought about cats one way or the other, came to appreciate them. He didn’t see them much if at all, but his mouse population went from maybe a dozen to zero in a little over a week. Those cats cleaned out the rats that started to move in as well. It was easy to forget that cats were actually efficient predators, smaller versions of nature’s perfect killing machines, and vermin didn’t have a chance. To the point where Bobby hadn’t seen a sign of that feral cat colony for a couple years now, and yet, the rats and mice hadn’t returned. Now Bobby was wondering if some brave mice scouts had returned. Again, he’d seen no signs of that, but he hadn’t been looking either.

He crouched down and had a look. There was a tiny space between the couch and the floor, and Bobby was sure he’d seen the movement under there. He lifted up the edge slightly, but realized almost immediately that he should have brought a flashlight, no matter sunlight was streaming through the windows. The floor beneath the sofa was like a black hole, making all light disappear.

He heard a noise then, something scratchy. A rattle? Bobby lowered the couch, and was about to get up, when he simultaneous realized two things. He had heard that sound before. And there was a rattlesnake on the floor right next to him.

Well, didn’t this fucking suck?

**

When Sam first heard Bobby yell, he thought he was dreaming.

Another nightmare, right? One of a million, and counting.

It was stuffy and hot in his room, and the fan was no help. In fact, he had a bit of a headache. He thought maybe he was dehydrated, so Sam headed out to the hallway. It was there he could hear Bobby cursing a blue streak downstairs. “Bobby?” Sam called.

“Stay upstairs,” Bobby shouted back. “Got kind of a situation down here.”

“What kind of a situation?” Sam asked, heading for the stairs. Seriously, did he think he was going to stay away simply because he said that? Did he know him at all?

Sam started down the stairs, and paused about half way down, when he could see into the living room.

He thought he must have still been asleep, because the living room looked like it was full of snakes.

Mostly rattlesnakes, but some other kinds of pit vipers were mixed in. Because of the color of the floor and the rugs, it wasn’t easy to count them all, but there were at least a dozen. Some curled up, some moving, all defensive and ready to strike, all aimed at Bobby, who was currently standing on a chair, holding his arm to his chest like he’d hurt it.

Sam pinched himself. Okay, he felt that, he was awake. In a way, he was glad, because man, would that have been a Freudian nightmare. “What the fuck ..?”

“New theory,” Bobby said. “I think the monster we’re after is somehow connected to serpents. And knows we’re after it.”

Fantastic. Not only had they not found the thing, but now it was trying to kill them with snakes.

Chapter Text

Sam mentally raced through what he could do right now to get all these fucking snakes out of the house. A Pied Piper or a snake charmer would be great right about now. His kingdom for a flamethrower.

Wait a second. Wouldn’t a cold gun be better? Sam had an idea.

There were no snakes on the stairs, which was great, but Sam saw at least one at the bottom. As he came down, Bobby said, “Stay where you are. A single bite ain’t gonna kill me.”

“No, but a half dozen might.” Sam jumped down, avoiding the snake as best he could, and ran for the kitchen.

There weren’t that many snakes there, as they’d all apparently come here on a mission to get the first warm body they found. Sam managed to avoid the ones in there, and retrieved Bobby’s heavy CO2 fire extinguisher.

He had a couple around the house and outside, because this was a junkyard, and gas leaks could spring up at the most unexpected times. Bobby liked to be prepared. Sam hefted it, and primed it to fire.

When he came back out, headed towards the living room, he sprayed the snakes with the white cooling foam. As he anticipated, the snakes had a very poor reaction to this. If they weren’t dead, they were stunned, because snakes hated cold. Sam imagined the chemicals, and the way CO2 smothered oxygen was doing them no favors either.

After Sam was finished spraying all the snakes he saw on the floor, Bobby said, “You know it costs money to get them refilled, right?”

Sam put the fire extinguisher down, but he kept a hand on it, in case he missed some. “Charge Dad for it. Are you hurt?”

Bobby got off the chair, and headed for the kitchen. “Just a bite. As I said, I’ll live.”

Sam followed, still hauling the fire extinguisher. “Shouldn’t we get you to a hospital or something?”

“Nah, I got a snakebite kit,” Bobby said, pulling open a cabinet drawer. Of course Bobby had a snakebite kit. He had just about everything. Sam had a feeling if he asked if Bobby had the finger bone of a fourteenth century monk, he’d ask early fourteenth century, or later fourteenth century.

Sam had to blast a couple more snakes, but that was the end of the snake siege, at least for now. There wasn’t anything they could do about a fire extinguisher except wait for it to run out, and even then, Bobby had several other ones scattered about. Bobby took care of his injury, and seemed okay, in spite of everything. Sam knew better than to push the whole hospital thing. Sam did find it alarming that Bobby said he’d been bitten by snakes before , and it wasn’t a big deal. When had he been bitten by snakes?

They used brooms and dustpans to gather dead and otherwise chilled to comatose snakes, and tossed them all in one of Bobby’s burn barrels, because, fuck it. If some of them woke up, they didn’t need them to come back for round two. Afterwards, Sam asked, “Does this get us any closer to figuring out the thing we’re dealing with?”

“It does, ‘cause there’s only one thing you flagged that mentions snakes,” Bobby said, handing him one of the bestiaries with a piece of paper wedged in between the pages.

Sam saw it. It was the page for the mythology of a creature known as the lamia, and from the extensive notes written on the piece of paper, Sam knew this was one of the ones he had a problem with. Just glancing at the opening sentences, he remembered everything. “Okay, this one ... I’m not sure it was ever a real thing. It seems to have a lot of myths scrambled up in it - vampires, sirens, mermaids, shapeshifters.”

“Probably. So it’s up to us to figure out what’s true and what’s bullshit. And then you get to write up how you discovered a mythological creature that was true after all.”

Sam stared at him. “I didn’t discover it.”

“You did. Be proud of that. You figured out something that most adult hunters couldn’t have. Now you get to write the book on what it really is, and how we kill it.”

Sam felt a little overwhelmed. He discovered something? Him? That was crazy. He looked down at the book in his hands, even though it couldn’t help him. “How are we going to find it out?”

Bobby shrugged. “How we find out everything else. Trial and error. For now, look over the myth and see what correlates with what we know.”

Sam sat down - after checking for more snakes - and scanned the section about lamias. “Okay, here’s the snake references - there are some myths that put the lamias as half-snake. Also, there is a reference here to a foul smell, which might be what Dean encountered. They’re known to be child devourers, although the devouring part is apparently a toss up as to whether it refers to the body itself, the blood, or the life force, or some combination of all three.”

“The body of that girl hadn’t been eaten,” Bobby said. “And she didn’t appear to be missing any blood.”

“So life force it is then.” Sam scratched his head, scanning the paragraphs. “You know, a lot of this myth sounds as sexist as fuck.”

Bobby grunted. “That tells you a man or several men wrote it. Men can be shit.”

Sam looked up at him with a grimace. “Does that include us?”

“’Fraid so. Our gender is the fucking worst. All we can do is try not to be those kind of men.”

Sam nodded. He got the sense Bobby was referring to one man in particular, and not their Dad this time. Somebody else. Someone who occasionally brought out this haunted look in Bobby, like he was looking back on a nightmare. But Sam never felt like he could ask. The one time he tried, he shut down faster than Dean if Sam ever brought up the night Mom died. Sam figured it was something traumatic, and he hoped Bobby had achieved some distance and peace on it. Again, he didn’t know how to ask without bringing on the great wall of denial, so he didn’t. “Do we put down shapeshifting as a possible or not? I mean, no one’s reported a big clicking thing except Dean. “

Bobby considered it a moment. “You’d think if it went around like that all the time, more people would admit seeing them.”

That was what Sam figured. If they could appear human most of the time, they wouldn’t be seen as suspicious. And they wouldn’t have hidden away from hunters so easily. “So why did Dean seen it in its presumably natural form? Why was he the only one?”

“He wasn’t the only one. He was the only one who saw it and lived to talk about it. Big difference.”

Yes it was. And it made Sam wonder if that was why the lamia was after them now.

After all, no one could tell a secret if everyone who knew about it was dead.

**

Dean took Leah out to this little hole in the wall roadside burger joint that you could easily drive past, thinking it was something else. It made the best burgers in the state, and its shakes were pretty damn good too. It was a small place, and despite its fantastic food, struggling. He imagined it would be going the way of the drive-in soon, a relic of another time.

It had no indoors to eat in, just picnic tables with umbrellas, and he and Leah sat at one, sharing fries and talking. She got a chocolate pineapple shake, which sounded disgusting to him, but she dared him to try it, and to his surprise, it wasn’t disgusting. It was actually pretty good.

They were half way through lunch when Leah’s mother called her, and she got up and walked to a quieter spot. He wondered why, until he noticed her body language. It went instantly rigid, and she was making short, sharp gestures with her free hand. She was arguing with her. Normal people did that with normal parents, apparently.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have disagreements with Dad. He knew Sam would say he never did, but that wasn’t true. He just kept them low key, because he left all the shouting and dramatic door slamming to him and Dad. Not every disagreement need to be the end of the world.

Dean noticed a girl staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to look, and got the jolt of his life.

It was the dead girl. The one he found in the shallow grave.

She was some distance away, so he didn’t feel her ghostly chill, but her wide, staring eyes were impaling him. Again, he got the sense she was trying to tell him something, but didn’t have the words.

She was haunting him now? What did she want him to do?

Leah returned to the table with a sigh. “Sorry about that,” she said, sitting back down. She noticed him looking, and turned to see . “What’re you looking at?”

She couldn’t see her. Of course she couldn’t. The haunting was for him specifically. “Nothing..” He turned his gaze back on Leah, but he could still see the girl in the corner of his eye. “Everything okay with you and your Mom?”

She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Oh, it’s just boring shit. Mom wants me to follow in her footsteps and take over the family business, but since when is selling crap a business? I want to do something different. She’s not a fan.”

“Well, sometimes keeping the family business going isn’t a bad thing,” Dean said.

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Selling old crap at flea markets?”

“Okay, I’d admit, it may not be hugely applicable in this case.”

She pointed a fry at him. “It is not. I'm an adult. I should be able to do whatever the fuck I want. And I’m going to, whether she likes it or not.”

Dean shrugged. “Fair enough.” He saw a five year old kid run through the ghost of the girl in the corner of his eye, but the kid didn’t react, confirming she was only here for him. Why couldn’t she use her voice?

She got closer to him, seemingly walking, but more like drifting closer to the table. Dean could feel the edge of her chill, and while it was still kind of refreshing since the day was so hot, it was also undeniably creepy, and his hamburger was turning into a ball of cement in his gut. He was running through possibilities of why she’d do this in his mind. Clearly she was trying to communicate something undone. She wanted to be found, yes, but that wasn’t the only thing she wanted. What else? Justice? That might be more difficult, especially if they couldn’t pinpoint the monster.

When Leah got up to throw her garbage away, the girl drifted closer. Dean was now completely enveloped in the ghost's chill. Keeping his voice pitched low, so none of the people at other tables looked at him like he was a crazy guy off his meds, "Can you at least tell me your name?"

She moved her lips, but said nothing. Still, he thought her lips made the shape of the name, "Amy." "Okay, Amy, what can I do for you?"

She pointed at him. He didn't understand. Dean shook his head, until a cold certainty settled on him. Oh. She was haunting him, but not in a way he expected. She was a death omen. 

Dean was next to die. Amy's killer was coming for him next.

He was still digesting this when Leah returned to the table, leaning through Amy. Neither seemed aware of each other. "Is everything okay?" she asked. "You look pale."

"It's just the heat. Gettin' to me."

She snickered. "Wait until August. This place is like Hell's blast furnace."

"Great." Maybe he wouldn’t be here for that. Either he’d move on with Dad, or he’d be dead. There was something to look forward to.

He wanted to ask Amy how much time he had, but he knew she couldn’t answer that question for him even if she knew. Time was nothing in the veil. All she knew was Dean had a big neon target on his back. She was trying to warn him, because she didn’t want this particular son of a bitch to kill anyone else. “Uh, I hate to cut this short, but I got a call from my Uncle and he needs me back home,” he lied, with a sheepish grimace. Dean had no idea when this monster was going to try for him, and he didn’t want Leah around when it happened. It fell him on him to minimize potential casualties if nothing else.

She frowned. “Damn it. Think we can meet up tonight? I know this great bar where they never card anyone.”

He smiled faintly. “I don’t know if I can do it tonight, but I’m going to try. Call you later, okay?”

“You’d better,” she mocked threatened, and gave him a lingering kiss. He changed his mind, he wanted to stay now. But as Leah pulled away from him, Dean saw Amy was now gone, and didn’t necessarily take that as a good sign. She’d delivered the message she wanted to deliver. The countdown was now on. He could have six days; he could have six minutes.

Dean walked to his car, trying not to look everywhere at once. He’d wanted to, but no monster would be so desperate as to attack him in broad daylight, around several witnesses. Besides, with the head’s up Amy gave him, he should be ready for anything. That fucking monster was signing its death warrant if it came after him. It was a fatal mistake.

The car felt like a hotbox, and heat seemed to bring out the cigarette smell that had marinated the leather over time. Disgusting smell. How did people ever do that? Dean had slammed the door and pulled the keys out of his pocket when he realized there was something on the dashboard.

It was a black snake, half coiled, now surging up on its wire thin body, making a noise that was like an anemic hiss, a pressure vessel with a slow leak. Dean realized it wasn’t just at face level with him, it was at eye level.

Okay. So six minutes it was. Awesome.

Chapter Text

Dean couldn’t get bit in the face. He didn’t want to get bit at all, but certainly not in the goddamn face. It was the best thing he had going for him.

He threw up his left arm, and the snake sunk its fangs into his forearm, which hurt like a fucking bite from a wild animal. At the same time, Dean had reached into his coat, pulled out his knife, and swiped at it, slicing through the snake like it was made of ice cream. The back half slid down the dashboard. The front half fell into his lap, but at least it was dead.

Dean popped open the door to throw out the snake parts, and holy shit, his arm was throbbing. As it was, Leah had been coming towards his car, and now she looked horrified. “What happened?”

“Believe it or not, I got bit by a snake.”

“In your car?”

Dean could only shrug. Even if he wanted to tell her, where did you start? “My life is crazy fucked up.”

She looked down at the pieces of snakes, and seemed briefly at a loss for words. “Wait ... you killed the snake too?”

“Had to get it to stop biting me, didn’t I?” Dean’s arm was really throbbing now, and he thought about finding something he could tie it off with, but it was probably too late for that. “So, hate to bug you, but you think I could catch a lift to the emergency room?”

Dean supposed he out to take the front half of the snake with him too. He had no idea what it was, except a nasty little fucker. He really hoped it wasn’t too poisonous, because what a stupid way to die.

**

Bobby decided to go around attempting to “snake proof” the house, which was a tall order, but he decided to give it a shot anyways. Sam offered to help, but he thought Sam was of more use going through the books.

If lamias were more like shapeshifters, silver should kill them, right? But what if they weren’t? This was the problem with “discovering” monsters. What beat them? It was horrible to go into a battle situation and have no idea if you’re going to figure out a way to dispatch the monster before it eats you.

What if it was half snake? What did snakes dislike? Well, cold. Mongooses. Predatory birds. Yeah, none of that was a help, unless he suddenly took up falconry. 

Sam had moved on to myths about mermaids when the phone rang. It was Bobby’s personal phone, not one of his hunter lines, so Sam felt safe to answer it.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean said. “Uh, weird story for you. A snake attacked me in my car.”

“Just the one?” Sam replied.

Dean seemed to take a long pause. “Are you saying you guys were attacked by snakes too?”

“Yeah, we had a dozen or so in the house. We got them, though. We’ve figured out the creature we’re after is a lamia.” Sam knew he should have said “I figured out”, but it sounded too weird in his head.

“A lamia? What the hell’s that?”

“We’re still figuring that out. We know it’s connected to snakes, and may have some shapeshifting abilities. And drains life force.”

Dean sighed. “Great. We know what kills it yet?”

“Not yet. Working on it.”

“Better make it fast. Amy appeared as a death omen for me.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to be confused into silence. At least for a few extra seconds. “Wait, what?”

“The girl I found? Her name’s Amy. And she warned me I’m next on the killer’s chopping block.”

Bobby came in, just as Sam asked, “Are you sure she’s a death omen?”At that, Bobby turned to face him, wide eyed, like Sam had just called him the worst motherfucker on Earth.

Dean was talking, but Sam wasn’t paying attention, as Bobby approached him, asking, “Is that your brother?”

Sam nodded, and seeing the urgency in his face, handed Bobby the phone. “What’s this about a death omen?”

As Dean told him, Bobby looked grimmer and grimmer. So this was crazier than he initially thought? Good to know.

“Where are you?” Bobby asked. “Good, okay, stay there. I mean it, Dean. Pretend it’s an order from your father. Don’t you fucking move until we get there. Got it?” Bobby started nodding. “Okay, we’re on our way.”

As soon as he hung up the receiver, Sam said, “It’s that bad?”

He scoffed. “Yeah, it’s that bad. Ghosts don’t often show up as death omens. It ain’t rare, but it ain’t common either. It’s nothing to take lightly. If a ghost says bad shit is happening, believe it.”

Sam put down his book, and wondered whether he should get his jacket. It was too hot for one, but he could hide weapons in it. Which brought up the other rampant elephant in the room. “What if it comes for him? How do we kill it?”

That made Bobby pause. “No luck on that front?”

Sam shrugged. “Too many myths, too many things it’s tied up with. Could be a silver bullet; could be a driftwood stake to the heart when the moon is in a waning phase. Could be both.”

“Fuck. Okay, then we’ll go with the old stand bys. Silver, salt, holy water, and at worst, we’ll use fire.”

“Like Dean used in the factory.” Oh hey - there was precedent for using fire against them.

Bobby got it too. “Maybe we should move fire up the list.”

They should. But if it attacked Dean at the hospital, they couldn’t exactly go lighting the place up, could they?

Again, his kingdom for a flamethrower.

**

Dean shoved his phone in his pocket, wondering if he should be more freaked out than he was. After all, he hadn’t even told them the best - well, best as in “this is a totally screwed up thing, isn’t it?” kind of way - that the snake that bit him was technically a yellow bellied sea snake. Which don’t often come ashore, because they really aren’t adapted for it, and oh yeah, this was a landlocked state, nowhere near the Pacific Ocean, which was where you’d find them. So what the fuck?

The doctors looked at him like he was lying about not attempting to smuggle sea snakes for ... what, exactly? Pets? To milk them of their venom? No idea. But they seemed to find his story of just discovering one on his dashboard unbelievable. He couldn’t make them believe it, so he stopped trying. It just made him seem more guilty.

But Sam saying him and Bobby were attacked by snakes put it in context, he supposed. This thing, this lamia, had a connection of some sort with all snakes, even water based ones in the wrong state. To be brutally honest, the ability to throw snakes at anyone was fucking terrifying. Why was that a power a thing could have? It was so unfair. He honestly didn’t know if demon telekinesis or being able to command snakes was the worst power set. How did you fight against that?

Dean, for the record, didn’t feel poisoned. They were apparently pretty venomous, but the bite was fairly shallow, because he was wearing his coat, and the poor thing must have been out of the water for a while, and by all rights should have been dead. The doctor told him that, even after antivenin treatments, side effects could turn up later. So he had that to look forward to as well. Death notice and snakebite complications. Possibly one and the same thing.

Leah came into the side area where he had been tucked away. It wasn’t its own room, it was a communal treatment area sectioned off by curtains, but he was pretty sure he was the only person here right now. Not a busy time for the emergency room, two in the afternoon on a Tuesday. “How’s the patient?” she asked, with a flirty smile, tucking her long hair behind her ear. 

He shrugged. “Mostly bored.” The snakebite still throbbed a bit beneath the bandage, but that was the least he could expect.

She took his arm gently, and looked at the bandage, which had a tiny spot of blood on it. “Maybe I should have sucked out the poison.”

He smiled at the double entendre, but said, “You know you don’t do that, right?”

“You don’t?”

“No. Doesn’t help, might make things worse. If you’re bitten, it’s in your bloodstream. Can’t be sucked out. All you need is a hospital, as soon as possible.”

“Do I want to know how you know that?”

He shrugged. “My Dad is big on training us to do field medicine and triage, because ...” Oh shit. What did he say? Dean blamed the treatment, because he was usually a quicker and better liar than this. ”... he’s really paranoid.”

Leah looked puzzled by that. “Oh. Is he one of those survivalist guys?”

“No, more of a “we have to be ready for the zombie apocalypse” guys.” Kind of true? Also, while pathetic, Dean felt they were of a slightly more noble class than survivalists, who often through their lots in with white supremacists and other assorted nutjobs.

Leah tried to laugh, but couldn’t quite. “God. That must have sucked growing up.”

“It had its moments.”

She leaned in close, so close that his snakebite didn’t hurt so much anymore. “What say you and I sneak out of here and go back to my place?”

“Goddamn it,” he sighed. “I want to more than anything, but my Uncle’s coming to pick me up, and he told me to stay here.”

“Really?” she gave him a sexy smile. “Do you always do as your told, Dean?”

Jesus Christ. A woman this sexy must have been illegal in some states. Luckily, not this one. “Depends on what you’re asking.”

She finally closed the meager distance and kissed him, running her hand through his hair, giving him the kind of hungry kiss he could feel all the way down to his toes. Holy shit. Why did she have to do this to him now?

Dean forced himself to think about Amy and the death omen, otherwise he wasn’t going to be able to stop. Reluctantly, he pushed her back by the shoulders, and said, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but ... another time.”

“Aww, poor baby. The snake bite making you feel that bad? I can make you feel better.”

He wanted to shout “No shit you can! Let’s find a broom closet!” but no, no no no. He had to keep focused on ... god, she was so pretty. Nope, focus on the mission, which was currently not dying. If he was dead, he was never having sex again. What was more of a cold water hit than that? “It’s killing me to take a rain check on this ... but I gotta.”

She draped her arms around his shoulders, gazing at him with something akin to wonder. “A twenty year old straight man is turning me down? Wow. That’s just -“

“Crazy, I know. Believe me, no one knows better than me. But ... gotta.”

“You’re a real puzzler, Dean. Sometimes you seem like such a bad boy, and then you seem like such a good boy. Which are you?”

That was a good question. One he hadn’t ever really considered before. “Both? I contain multitudes, and it also depends on how sober I am at a given time. I’m a little too sober right now.”

She gently stroked some hair back from his forehead, and it was all he could do not to lean into that. It felt like his skin tingled wherever she touched him. He never wanted her to stop touching him. She sighed heavily. “I so wish my mother hadn’t fucked everything up.”

Dean went over the last couple lines of their conversation, because he was sure he had missed something, and this wasn’t some weird, out of left field non-sequitur. But it was, unless he briefly blacked out. “What?”

She stroked his hair, her fingertips grazing his scalp, and he felt an odd jolt of pleasure. It was really nice, but ... also very weird. “I was going to do this gently, subtly, but she keeps getting involved. She has no faith in me at all. I mean, siccing a snake on you? I’m glad you killed it.”

Now Dean was really confused. At least it cast a more permanent pall on his lust. “Wait, what? Your Mom put a snake in my car?”

She cupped his face in her hand, and he leaned into it, unbidden. Her touch was so nice, so warm, so soft. It felt like he could fall asleep right now. “She’s all just kill, kill, kill. There’s a better way to do this, one that’s kind of fun and not dreary. But oh no, she’s all “we’ve always done it this way, and we’re always gonna do it this way”. “

“Holy shit,” Dean said, trying to push her away. Trying was the operative word, because he was dizzy, and could barely move his arms. What was she doing to him? “You’re the monster.”

“Now hunter, you know that’s not fair. To me, you’re the monster.” She gave him a chaste kiss on the lips, and he could feel a definite decrease in his consciousness. He was trying to hang on by his fingernails, but keeping his eyes open felt like a job he was far to weak to accomplish. Dean meant to kick her back, but he couldn’t even manage that. Why?

His fuzzy brain finally reminded him she drained life force. That’s what she was doing to him now. Right. “But don’t worry, Dean. This is going to be all over very soon.”

Dean couldn’t help but think that was exactly what he was afraid of, as everything faded to black.

Chapter Text

Sam was deeply confused when the nurse behind the check in desk said, “Oh, you mean the kid who was smuggling the exotic snake?”

He didn’t know where to begin. Why did they think he was smuggling snakes? And Dean would totally turn that into a dirty joke, wouldn’t he? Sam already felt like he knew the joke he would tell.

“He was not ...” Bobby began, then sighed in frustration, and said, “Where is he?”

The nurse, who looked like she’d mainlined caffeine straight into her veins and yet still hadn’t had enough coffee to stay completely awake, said, “His sister picked him up.”

“His sister?” Sam repeated. Was Dad holding out on him, or had his latest girlfriend lied?

“Black hair, real pretty?” Bobby asked.

The nurse nodded. “You’re family, aren’t you? You should know her.”

“Yeah, we do,” Bobby replied, putting a hand on Sam’s back and giving him a gentle but obvious push onward. They left the desk, and stood in the waiting room.

Sam had never seen an E.R. waiting room this empty, and he’d seen a lot of them. Too many, to be brutally honest. If hospitals across the nation had frequent flyer miles, Sam could have bought his own ambulance with the points.

“That motherfucking bastard,” Sam seethed, keeping his voice low. “He can’t keep it in his pants if his life depended on it, apparently.”

“You’re assuming he went willingly,” Bobby said. “I’m not so sure. I gave him an order, and since when does Dean disobey an order?”

That was a good point, but he still felt like this was Dean, being his usual assy self. “You’re not Dad.”

“Doesn’t matter. I believed him when he said he’d stay put. Did he ever tell you the full name of this girl he’s been seeing?”

Sam shook his head. “I just know her as Leah.”

“Me too.” Bobby scowled as he thought. “But he met her at the flea market. I think I know how we track her down.”

Sam was glad, because he was short on ideas. Locater spell? He wasn’t sure if those worked on lamias.

Still ... if they were going to try and figure that out, now would be a great time, wouldn’t it? And it didn’t matter either way. Because Sam knew he could find Dean that way.

And if that motherfucking horndog bastard had just run off for some good times with his girlfriend, he was going to kick his fucking ass.

**

Dean felt hollow.

It wasn’t actually the first time, but this time was really weird. This seemed physical, emotional, psychic, the whole nine yards. Along with the hollow feeling was a small but substantial ache in his head, on the right side, just over his eye. It also felt like he was crawling on his belly towards consciousness, grabbing handfuls of dirt as he pulled himself along, like a dying animal on the side of the road.

His senses filtered back, one by one, while he was still trying to figure out why this was so strange. He smelled hay, and dust, and blood. The light was filtered and golden, and hurt his eyes despite the lack of intensity. Dean tried to move, but it was like all the blood in his body had been replaced by cotton wool, and his nerves were deadened under the fibers. Except for the fucking ache in his head. It didn’t seem fair somehow.

Dean’s eyes finally adjusted, and he could see dust motes floating in a hazy beam of light, and beyond that, a roof. It seemed pretty high up, but he didn’t really know.

Memories started to come back to him in dribbles. He was at the hospital .... no, there was a ghost. Amy, right? And a snake. For some reason, it was the snake thing that brought it all flooding back.

Dean tried to muster all his strength, and lift his arms, but no go. “Leah, what the hell ..?” Was he tied down? He thought so, but he honestly had no confirmation. He was beginning to think he was paralyzed, temporarily or otherwise, and he had to force himself not to panic. The Dad he had in his head was reminding him panic was worthless and indulgent, and no help at all. He had to focus on what he could do to get out of this mess. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he could do anything. It hurt to think.

“Don’t panic, Venkman,” she said, suddenly appearing on his left side. She put a hand on his arm, and while it was warm, he wished he could rip his arm away. “I just drained enough to make you docile.”

“When I get my strength back, I’m killing you,” he said.

She patted his cheek, and looked down at him with a smile best classified as condescending. “As I was saying at the hospital, my mother’s all about the killing thing, which is fine, but really dull after the first hundred years or so.”

He didn’t know why this surprised him. “You’re a hundred?”

“A hundred and eighteen, actually. But while we’re immortal, we only age if we want to. Isn’t that great? I don’t know why you humans bother to age.”

Wow. He kind of enjoyed dating older women, but this was ridiculous. “I’m really too young for you.” She lowered her face down, and Dean tried to headbutt her. But he couldn’t move his head in that way. It felt like it was made of cement.

“See, Dean? This is why I like you. You have a sense of humor. You’re fun to be around. You’re very pretty. You’ll be a great lamia.”

It took Dean a moment to understand what she was saying. “What?”

Her smile deepened. “This is why Mom is so pissed off at me. She thinks she should be enough for me. But she’s not. I think we need to expand our family, and you’re perfect. You being a hunter will work out well for us too. You know what they do. You can keep them at bay.”

“You’re not making me like you.” How did you even turn a person into a lamia? Dean kind of wanted to know, but also, kind of didn’t.

She petted him, like he was some exotic species of lapdog. “Yes I am.”

“It won’t work. I’ve seen a death omen. You’re just gonna kill me trying.” Or Dean would kill himself. One of the two. Result was the same.

She shrugged. “If it happens, it happens. What can you do?”

“Not turn me in to one of you.”

“But sweetheart, you’re going to love it. Immortality, and you get to keep your pretty face. And it’ll fill that hole in you.”

Now Dean was sure he was missing something. “What are you talking about?”

She patted his chest, and kept her hand there. He wished he could buck it off. “We lamia can sense things, you know. It’s how we pick our prey. And you are so lonely and sad. You were like a scream of “Love me!” in an empty room. I mean, how hard hearted would I be to ignore that?”

“You are making that up.” She probably wasn’t making that up, but he wasn’t going to admit it. If he was about to die, that wasn’t going to be the last thing he said.

Her look became pitying. And now he knew why she decided to turn him instead of outright killing him - she felt bad for him. A monster had pity for him. If his Dad found out about this, he wasn’t sure if he’d be furious, or simply laugh. Some hunter he was. Dean doubted he would be surprised, either way. “Oh hon. Just think how great your life is going to be now that you don’t have to pretend you don’t feel anything. You won’t have to look after anyone, just yourself. You can be whatever you want. And if you still want to kill demons or whatever, you could do that too! Did you know we can do that? We can pull life force out of demons. Turn them right to ash. We are the boogeymen to them. You should see ‘em run when we enter a room.” She cackled. “It’s loads of fun.”

Dean’s thought process got briefly sidetracked. They could do that? Wow. He had no idea there monsters that were natural enemies to demons. He assumed demons were up on the top of the totem pole of beasties. But they weren’t? Was there something that was the natural enemies of lamias? Who was the top of pole? He almost asked, but then he remembered he had no reason to trust her, since she’d been lying to him this whole time, and that pain in his head was not going away. In fact, it felt like it was intensifying, like a drill bit was digging in, gaining speed. “What the fuck are you doing to my head?”

She stroked his hair, and said, “Just be the unfeeling macho bastard your Dad wants you to be for a few minutes longer. The second phase is much better.”

“Second phase?” How many fucking phases were there? Again, kind of wanted to know, kind of didn’t want to know. “Leah, if you cared for me at all, at any point, you hafta let me go. Do you understand?”

“I understand you’re going to say whatever you have to to get away. But Dean, this is really for the best.”

Rage was warring with hopelessness in him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat that he swallowed away. He turned this reckless feeling of surrender into rage. “If you turn me, the first thing I do is kill you, your mother, and then myself. I will die before I let you hurt any more people!”

Leah gave him that lopsided, smirking smile he used to think was so attractive. Now he realized it was patronizing. “Put the weapons down, soldier boy. You don’t have to be what your Daddy wants anymore. You can be you. And to be honest in a way I’m sure you’ll reject, I think the real Dean is pretty great.”

“I am the real Dean, you crazy bitch!” He winced as the pain in his head continued to grow in intensity. He could almost feel it, something in his brain, a snake looking for a way out, drilling straight through gray matter to find an exit. Oh god, he hoped that wasn’t what was actually happening.

She patted his head again, like he was a hyperactive dog in need of comforting. “Honey, even you know that isn’t true. You’re a square peg that forced yourself into a round hole because that’s what your Daddy wanted. It’s time for him to grow up and deal with his own responsibilities, and for you to shed other people’s expectations. You won’t believe how much fun it is.”

“I am going to kill you,” he said through gritted teeth. He was crying now, involuntarily, because the pain in his head was so vast, he thought it might make his skull explode. It was only when he became aware he was digging his heels into this table he was on that he could feel his body again. Well, his feet. But it was a start. Maybe the pain was good for something. Maybe, if he could just ride it out, it would give him control of his body back. But, oh god, it hurt so much.

“Second verse, same as the first,” Leah said. “Need to get a new tune, baby, ‘cause this one’s getting old.”

“Jesus Christ, will you stop playing with your food, Amaranth?” A woman’s voice said.

Leah turned towards it, but since Dean couldn’t move his head yet, he had to wait until she walked into his limited range of vision. It was a woman who looked an awful lot like Ellen Barkin, which was kind of hot, except he knew instinctively this was the mother. And, wait - did she just call Leah Amaranth?

“We are not having this argument again,” Leah/Amaranth said flatly.

The mother glared at Dean, and her eyes weren’t human, but serpentine, golden slits in a dark background. Creepy as fuck. Although, honestly? Still kind of hot. “He won’t survive the transition. The last two didn’t. It’s a waste of good food.”

Wait - the last two ? “I have a good feeling about this one,” she said, rubbing Dean’s chest. He could actually kind of feel it, which he took as a good sign. Yeah, it still felt like something was trying to force the plates of his skull apart from the inside, but he’d put up with the pain if he got control back. “When I bit him, his blood tasted divine. And I mean divine in the actual sense - full of power. I think he’s somebody’s destined vessel. I think he can physically survive just about everything. He’d be a great addition to our people.”

Hold the phone - she bit him? When? Where? Why didn’t he remember that? And what the fuck did she mean he was a destined vessel? What the shit was that?

Monster Ellen Barkin rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, ‘cause that’s a smart thing. Intercept someone’s vessel. That won’t draw any unwanted attention.”

“I am no one’s vessel!” he snapped. Okay, he was briefly a vessel for a demon lord, but not long, and it was done under duress, so it couldn’t have counted.

Leah/Amaranth patted his chest again, like he was a hyperactive puppy. He wanted to snap her hand off at the wrist. “You’ve heard the same stories I have, about what’s to come. We need a strong fighter on our side.”

“We are strong fighters,” Mom snapped. “All of us.”

Dean thought the movement he saw in the corner of his eye was simply due to his tears making the light waver, but suddenly he realized no, it wasn’t a trick. The barn floor was covered with snakes. Hundreds of them. He’d never seen so many of anything in one place before.

Holy shit. Even if he could get control of his body again, where the fuck was he supposed to go?

Dean had told himself not to give in to despair, that he was only lost when he decided he was, but he honestly didn’t know how he was supposed to get out of this. He was paralyzed, trapped, and now hemmed in by hundreds of undoubtedly poisonous snakes.

Just this once, Dean let himself give in to despair. At least all tears, pain based or not, looked the same.

Chapter Text

Finding Dean was the easy part. The hard part was deciding on a method of attack.

They tracked him to a rustic looking farmhouse house with gingham curtains and an old barn on the property, and Sam was pretty sure that’s where Dean was. That was a guess, based on the fact that there was a small river of snakes headed that way.

“Balls,” Bobby said, seeing them.

Sam had tried to count them, but quickly gave up. Technically they were attempting to conceal themselves in the huge shadow of an old, broad black chestnut tree, but if the snakes were functioning as spies, they would have been spotted already. But they had no reason to believe they functioned in that capacity.

This really sucked. They had to fight an unknown number of monsters - if they were lucky, there was just the one - and a fuckton of snakes. It was beyond their capacity. They were fucked from the start. They couldn’t rescue Dean - if he was even alive - and they’d just get themselves captured. On second thought, sucked was a generous reading of this whole thing.

When Sam was feeling particularly hopeless, he liked to imagine what Dad would do. Talk it to death? Macho pose it to death? Most likely, just shoot it in the face, whether that did anything or not. Then, infinitely more helpful, he liked to imagine what Dean would do. Well, curse spectacularly for several minutes, probably hit or kick an inanimate object. After that, somehow find a way. Because while Dean could be spectacularly bad at planning or common sense, when push came to shove, he could do almost anything. What he lacked in concrete thinking, he made up for with his ability to improvise and general tenacity. Not that he’d tell Dean this - his ego was healthy enough as it was.

His inner Dean spewed up something so brazen, so spectacularly stupid, he knew he’d successfully tapped into his internal Dean. It was so fucking dumb, it was almost award worthy. He shared this incredibly suicidal plan with Bobby.

Bobby stared at him. “You’re joking, right?”

“We don’t have the numbers. But they don’t know that.”

“You can’t bluff monsters in a fight.”

“You can, just not for long. Dean’s done it.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Your brother is crazy, and crazy lucky. I’m not sure we have that on our side.”

“Do you have a better plan?” Sam wondered.

Bobby sighed, and looked at the barn with a scowl. “Balls.”

Yep, that was what Sam thought. Crazy, suicidal Dean-esque plan was a go.

As they went back to the truck Bobby had brought, and started going through the tool case in the back that was full of weapons and potential weapons, Bobby said, “You know, we’re more likely to injure Dean than any monster, right?”

“Yeah, but Dean would tell you he’d rather be alive and injured than captured and dead.” He’d heard him say that enough. Also, it was pathetic that they were in that position so often that it was almost a cliché. Real sad life they had. Still, it’d be a shame to lose it.

If Sam paused to think, it occurred to him this plan was pure suicide. So he tried not to stop and think. He made himself gather what he thought he’d need, and he and Bobby worked out a general idea of how they were going to do this. God, this was fucking nuts. But sometimes, crazy was all you had to work with.

Sam got in the back of the truck, with the weapons he’d need, and a tarp over him, as Bobby insisted on that. Bobby turned the truck around, and built up some good speed before crunching through the fence, picking up even more speed, bouncing up the uneven lawn, before crashing into the doors of the barn.

It was a heavy jolt, and the sudden lurch to a stop briefly knocked Sam’s head against the truck’s window, but it wasn’t so bad. He threw off the tarp, and lit the first Molotov cocktail, which he threw at the far corner of the barn, where there was a tiny bit of hay. The glass shattered, and spread fire, gasoline, and alcohol all over the immediate area. Sam barely had time to admire the shot, as he was already lighting another.

Bobby had opened his door, and was standing on the running board, shooting with his shotgun. As Sam threw another Molotov cocktail, the barn was already catching fire, and Bobby had shot the two standing women in the barn, which would buy them a few seconds if nothing else.

Sam lobbed another Molotov, this time into the mass of snakes on the floor. He set some of them on fire, and they helped spread it around. He hated being cruel to animals - under normal circumstances, snakes did good in the world; it wasn’t their fault they were limbless, slinky, and kind of creepy - but considering they were working with monsters right now, he had to consider them enemy combatants. At least until they stopped following the lamias command.

And yes, their shitty, stupid plan in its totality was bust down the door, throw fire everywhere, and shoot any big thing that moves that wasn’t Dean. It was simple, stupid, doomed to failure. And yet, somehow, currently still working. Maybe the lamias couldn’t believe anyone would be so stupid as to do such a thing. Maybe that would teach them to think the Winchesters were too stupid to try such a thing. Winchesters were stupid enough to try anything.

Bobby fired a couple more shots into the snakes covering the floor, then tossed the shotgun back to Sam, as he used a can of started fluid and a lighter to make a temporary blowtorch to scatter any snakes in front of him. The fire had already caught the barn, climbing up the walls like they were painted in kerosene, and the snakes were panicking as much as snakes ever could. They seemed to be headed out, which was the ideal result. Sam tried to cover Bobby as best he could, and if either woman moved, he shot them, whether they were still on the ground or not.

Somehow the flames had already climbed up to the ceiling? Which was crazy, as he didn’t put too much gasoline in the cocktails, but this place must have been built of flash paper or something. They never expected the fire to catch and spread this quickly.

Dean was tied down to a table, and must not have been able to move, because Bobby tossed him over his shoulder and threw the starter fluid can into a pocket of fire, where it exploded and sent out tiny gobbets of flame across the floor snakes that were stupid enough to remain. Ashes and flaming pieces of wood were starting to salt down, raining fire. They needed to get out of here before the truck caught fire, and burned them up with it.

Sam used the running boards to get into the truck’s cab without ever touching the ground, although it did look remarkably snake free right now, and as soon as Bobby climbed into the tail back with Dean, he threw it in reverse and got them the hell out of there. The entire barn was engulfed, and the rain of fire had become a small but steady drizzle of sparks. Holy shit, had the stupid plan worked?

As Sam swung the truck around, he saw both women were getting up, silhouetted by the flames, and no longer had any bullet holes blasted through them. Fuck.

Part two of the plan was fortifying at Bobby’s place, but as Bobby had already pointed out, they didn’t know if they had anything that would work on them. Still, they had nothing else, and Bobby had so much stuff, he was bound to have some kind of artifact or spell that would help them. They only had to find it before they were all dead. A super tall order, sure, but what wasn’t right now?

As Sam floored it, chewing up even more of the dead lawn, he figured a last stand at Bobby’s place was at least kind of poetic.

**

Bobby had no idea what they’d done to Dean, but holy shit, was it bad.

The bite on his neck wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was still bleeding a bit more than was advisable, and why the fuck did they bite him in the first place? If you were draining someone’s life force, you didn’t need to take a chunk out of someone. Once Bobby got him laid out flat in the truck bed, he soaked a bandanna he had in a combination of alcohol and holy water, and put it against the wound. Holy water probably wouldn’t do anything, but it might cut the sting of alcohol. It turned red almost immediately. Shit. He pressed a little harder on the wound, but not so hard he'd hurt him or make him pass out. Now was not the time to accidentally blood choke the kid. 

Dean didn’t react, and Bobby did wonder if it was related to the fact that he couldn’t seem to move. Was that a temporary or permanent development? He supposed they would find out. But the fact that he seemed to be in agony suggested temporary.

Dean looked up at him, and shouted over the rush of wind, “You gotta leave me behind, Bobby.”

“Fuck you. I do not.”

“They’re trying to turn me.”

Had he heard that right? “Turn you? What the fuck are they, vampires?”

“I don’t know. But I can ... feel something happening to me.” Dean looked deathly pale, his lips bloodless. His green eyes bored into his with a feverish intensity. He was half crazed with pain, fear, or both. “You gotta put a bullet in my head.”

“What? Fuck no!”

“I don’t wanna become a monster.”

“And you’re not gonna. I’ll figure something out.” Them wanting to turn him hadn’t occurred to him. First of all, lamias could do that? Second, what did that mean in context? Could they cure him, or was this a werewolf situation, where there was no saving, save for killing them before they could turn or eat someone else?

It hit Bobby like a fist in the gut. Was he going to have to kill Dean? Oh god, he couldn’t. He knew if he had to, he had to, but ... holy fucking shit. Sam and Dean weren’t his kids, no, but they felt like they may as well have been. He could remember playing catch with Dean at the park when he was ... what? Eleven, twelve? Dean didn’t get the chance to just be a kid that often, so when he could be, he got this big, goofy smile on his face, and seemed to enjoy being something he wasn’t allowed to be for a little while. Which made Bobby spitting mad at John, but that was a different argument for a different time. He had to remember the good without kicking up the bad too.

He also have vivid memories of a thirteen year old Dean taking apart an engine and rebuilding it perfectly, like he was some kind of engineering savant. Bobby was amazed, because it had so many fiddly bits, and sometimes he didn’t have the patience for it, but Dean seemed to find endless reserves of patience when he was really interested in something. He could watch Bobby work on something, and then be able to mimic it perfectly. Dean was more of a hand’s on learner, as opposed to Sam, who did just fine with words.

Dean was the one he worried about the most. Sam was younger, sure, but he was smart, and seemed to know what he was about despite his age. Dean drifted; he watched the world, saw what it needed of him, and tried to fit it. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was about, it was more that Dean didn’t care what he wanted. Dean automatically assumed his input wasn’t necessary, and could be easily discarded. Bobby felt John had taught Dean that whatever his desires were, they didn’t matter, and Bobby wanted to beat John to a fucking bloody pulp for that. To teach your own child their needs were fundamentally irrelevant was such a cruelty he couldn’t even begin to fathom how Dean had picked that up, and how Sam had managed to dodge that. Bobby had to assume Dean prevented that somehow, which suggested he knew it was wrong, but not enough to stop doing it for himself? That was a puzzler. Unless it meant Dean cared more about Sam than about himself, which was another level of wrong, and how much therapy did these kids need exactly? Was there enough of it in the Western hemisphere for them? 

Next time he saw John, he swore he was going to fill him full of buckshot. Bobby told himself no, he was going to mind his temper, and not alienate John so much he never saw the boys again. But god-fucking-dammit, the number he’d done on them. Maybe somewhere, in that thick skull of his, he thought he was protecting them, but in protecting them from monsters, John had probably done more harm than monsters ever could. Did he ever think about it? Did it ever occur to him? The way he acted, you’d think not. Bobby hoped it snuck up on him one day, and sunk its claws into his head. He hoped he never slept in peace again.

Bobby knew he couldn’t and shouldn’t be bitter on their behalf. But he kind of was, and he couldn’t help it.

Sam usually got painted with the strange brush, but that was only true if you didn’t know these kids like he knew these kids. And it was Dean who was the strange one. Who, when he wasn’t putting up his goofy shtick or doing a job, seemed so very lost. He didn’t seem to know who he was without a mission. Bobby had really hoped he’d grow out of that, but if he hadn’t by twenty, it probably wasn’t ever going to happen.

Bobby couldn’t fucking kill him. He’d already had to kill too many people he loved. So Bobby was going to have to figure out how to save him, and do it. Even if it was the last thing he ever fucking did.

Chapter Text

Sam wasn’t sure he heard Bobby right when he got out of the truck, and said, “We hafta cure your brother.”

Cure? From what? Being an asshole? That was pretty much baked in already.

But Sam figured it was serious when Bobby carried Dean in. He couldn’t move? Also, Dean was bleeding from the neck, which was never good. Although, if it was really serious, he’d already be dead.

Bobby left Dean on the couch in a side room while he went to his office, and Sam followed him there. “It started as a Greek myth, right?” Bobby said, scanning his shelves. He had some of Dean’s blood on him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Lamias?”

“Uh, yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

“The reason Dean’s still alive is ‘cause they were trying to turn him.”

That stopped Sam cold. “What? Lamias can do that?”

Bobby shrugged, taking a book off the shelf. “Since we’re writing the book on them, I guess it’s up to us to find out.” Bobby abandoned the book he had, toss it on his desk, and found a second tome.

“What are you looking for? I can help.”

“Thanks, kid, but I think I finally found it.” Bobby checked the index before turning to a page. It was one of his thick, old, dusty books that the title had worn off of long ago. How Bobby knew what it was proved he did have some kind of system in here, even if Sam couldn’t follow it for the life of him. “There’s this weird purification spell that dates back to ancient Greece, but the records on what it actually purified are long lost to time. I’m wonderin’ if it’s connected to the lamias somehow.”

“That’s a reach,” Sam said.

Bobby looked up and scowled at him. “I know that. You got any better ideas?”

Now it was Sam’s turn to cede the point. No, he didn’t. He shook his head. “What I need you to do is lock everything down, and keep watch. I bet the lamias aren’t done with us yet.”

“Or the snakes.”

“Let me know if we’re about to get hit. I’m gonna see if I can cure your brother.”

Bobby walked past, book tucked under his arm, and Sam hated to say it. But the horror of the possibility had entered his mind, and he felt he had to say it, or it would kill him. “But if you can’t ...”

“I’m gonna,” Bobby insisted. “I’ll find a way. Dean wouldn’t quit on us, so I’m not quitting on him. Got it?”

Sam nodded, even though dread sat in his stomach now, turning their triumphant rescue to ash. Was this it? Did they save him, only to have to kill him themselves? But they couldn’t. For one, he and Dad would probably kill each other if Dean wasn’t there. For two, he didn’t want to actually have to kill his own goddamn brother.

As usual, when the despair almost got overwhelming, his thoughts turned to his absent Dad, and quickly became rage. Where the fuck was he? If by some miracle, Sam could get him on the phone, would he even give a shit? Sam knew what was happening here - he couldn’t deal with grief, so he was shoving it over into anger, which he could handle more easily. Did he stop it from happening, though? Nope. Rage was just easier, and he knew what terrible things that said about him. But a lot of people were guilty of emotional displacement, right? He was simply another.

He heard Bobby searching for something in another room, and wanted to offer to help, but knew if he needed help, he would ask. Sam had a job to do, and he might as well fucking do it.

He checked every door and made sure they were locked, for all the good that would do, and put down lines of salt, which would only keep demons out, not lamias, but what the hell. Sam also went into Bobby’s weapon cache, to see what he could find.

Bobby’s shotgun seemed to work extremely well on the lamias. It didn’t keep them down or injured, but it knocked them down for a few seconds, which is the very least you could expect from a shotgun blast. Bobby had a sawed off that would be even more devastating, with the caveat that it lessened its range. But if a lamia got in here, stopping power was more important than how far away he was from it.

He grabbed the sawed off and checked for ammo. Right now, it had buckshot in it. Sam swapped it out for hollow points.

He could hear Bobby saying something, but it had the feeling of a chant, so he tuned out and focused on looking out the window that gave him the best view of the front of the lot, holding on to the shotgun so hard his fingers hurt.

Sam tried not to think about what he’d do if he had to shoot Dean. And it was funny how not wanting to think about something made you think of it all the more.

**

The spell was one of the weirder ones he’d ever read. Bobby was pretty sure he didn’t know how to properly pronounce half these words. But he was going ahead with it, because it was all he had.

Bobby really wasn’t happy that it called for lighting some myrrh resin in a bowl. Not because he didn’t have it - he had enough he could probably barter with some Magi - but because he hated the smell. Still, he did it, and cut his finger so he could draw a chi symbol - which was basically an x - in “clean” blood on Dean’s forehead. Once his sinuses started to hurt from the myrrh, and he had Dean’s body outlined in salt, he got under way.

Bobby was soon glad he had to concentrate on how to pronounce every word, because six words in, Dean started screaming.

It wasn’t angry screaming, it was hideous pain screaming, and Bobby glanced up from the book to make sure snakes hadn’t crawled in and started chomping on his face or something. But it looked like nothing had changed. Did that mean it was working, or had he fucked up in some unknown, catastrophic way? Bobby couldn’t tell, and at this point, he was committed. So he kept on reading, and Dean kept on screaming. It made him want to bite his own tongue in half. He didn’t want to hurt him any more than he was already hurt, but if this was what it took to cure him, fine. It was better than having to kill him.

He was about half way done when Sam shouted, over the din, “We have company!”

Of course they did. Because god forbid they could win one simple battle and have it stay won.

Bobby sped up, hoping speed didn’t matter one way or another, and he heard a loud boom from the front, that told him Sam had gotten his sawed off shotgun. That thing was noisy as hell, and kicked like a mule, but could put a hole in something as big as your head. It was a good choice if you wanted something dead, or something for a monster to remember you by.

Dean stopped screaming and fell ominously silent as Bobby read the last few words. Bobby felt something odd, a catch in his breath, that might have been due to the spell, or due to all the myrrh smoke. Dean looked unconscious, and Bobby stepped closer, because he was afraid he wasn’t breathing. Holy shit - had he killed him? What if the death omen was due to him fucking up a spell so badly he killed Dean when he meant to save him?

It was then he heard a huge noise in the neighboring room. It was something hitting one of his larger bookcases and taking it down. Shit. “Sam!” he shouted, pulling out the pistol he brought with him, just in case. (It was not for Dean. Bobby told himself this, and made himself believe it.)

Bobby entered the living room to discover he’d been correct. A large bookcase was toppled over, partially balanced on the back of a chair, and books had been vomited all over the place. There was a lump behind the chair and beneath the bookcase that Bobby took to be Sam, as his sawed off was somewhere in the pile. He was at the very least unconscious. If he was more, this bitch wasn’t leaving alive.

And there was just the one lamia. Leah, the pretty girl Dean met, who wasn’t a girl, and ... no, Bobby couldn’t deny it. She was extremely pretty. Too bad she was a monster. Bobby knew it was pointless, but he raised his pistol, so he had a nice clear shot at her face.

Sam had shot her dead center in the chest, an instant kill shot on just about any mortal thing, but not the lamia. The hole was still healing as Bobby watched, growing back like her flesh was some kind of sentient putty. What passed for internal organs and veins reached out for one another, knitting together like they’d never been apart. It was equally fascinating and disgusting. In other strange news, she wasn’t bleeding - nothing fell out of her that wasn’t immediately absorbed back into her sponge like body. “Do we really need to do this?” Leah said. “You can’t stop me, you can’t hurt me, and you never really had a plan, did you?”

 “You can’t have him.”

She gave him a smug smirk. “I already have him.” She raised her voice, and shouted, “Come on, Dean, let’s go!”

Bobby’s stomach sunk. It didn’t work? It was a long shot. Still, he’d been hoping the universe owed him one by now. It was his own fault. He should have known the universe never pays anything back. It could only take. “Where are the snakes?”

She rolled her eyes. For a brief moment, she had slit shaped pupils. “Oh, mother had a snit fit about you burning down half her property. She stormed off in a huff. But that works out, ‘cause Dean and I can start over together somewhere a little less hunter infested.” She then craned her neck to see around Bobby. “Dean, come on! Time’s wasting.”

It was then that Bobby heard a familiar floorboard creak, and his stomach turned to stone. Dean was here.

Blood was smeared on his forehead, where he apparently wiped the x off, and he was standing there blank faced, like an android awaiting programming in a science fiction film. Bobby hoped to see a glimpse of recognition, rage, something, but he seemed perfectly empty. Shit.

Bobby knew what to come would be bad, but he almost didn’t care. He’d rather be dead then have to hunt Dean down.

“I bet you’re hungry,” Leah said, approaching him. “You can have the old guy or the kid. Or both, if you’re in a piggy mood. Frankly, I’m pretty full. It’s been good hunting lately.”

Dean stared at her like he didn’t recognize her, or anyone. Bobby was still trying to figure out if there was a way he could save Sam, when Dean said, “Emotional repression one, lamia zero.”

Bobby looked back in time to see shock register on Leah’s face as Dean pulled out the machete he had hidden behind his back, and she had time to take one step back before Dean brought the blade across her neck viciously and cut her head off.

It fell from her shoulders and did a couple of wonky half rolls across the room, and her body collapsed to the floor. Still bloodless, but not moving.

Bobby couldn’t help it. He grabbed Dean in a bear hug, and said, “Goddamn it, boy, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Bobby, Bobby, enough with the hug, I feel like I’ve been trampled by a thousand horses,” Dean said, his voice raspy from the prolonged screaming. He did give him a pat on the back, though.

He let him go, and Dean stumbled, stopping when he could lean against the wall, almost dropping the machete. But he had the strap looped around his wrist, so it stayed with him. “Is Sammy okay?”

Bobby quickly went to check, almost tripping over Leah’s body. Her head was still detached. Was it too far away to reattach to her body? In that case, Bobby was going to throw it in his car crusher. If she thought it was bad now, wait until it was the width of a doily.

He had to shove some books off Sam and pull him out from under the bookcase - which he could see now had a Sam sized hole in it - but before Bobby could check for a pulse, he groaned in pain. “Alive. ” Bobby stood up, and hoped no one else heard the firewood like crack of his knees. Damn, he was too old for this shit.

Bobby looked down at Leah’s still body, and had to repress the urge to kick it. “How did you know cutting off her head would work?”

Dean, still looking ashen with pain, shook his head. “I didn’t. But it’s how you kill snakes, right? Cut off the head.”

It was how you killed just about everything, but Bobby wasn’t about to nitpick. He should have thought of it himself.

Holy shit. They were all still alive. Bobby wondered how long that would last.

**

They squished Leah’s head and body in the car compacter - Bobby had not been fucking kidding about that - at separate times, as all they needed to do was reunite her in the crusher and have her come out whole and angry. After that, they scraped up what was left, which wasn’t a whole lot, and burned it in the burn barrel. They then poured those remains in an iron box they filled with salt, locked, and drove seventy five miles to the first Greek orthodox church Bobby had found, and buried her on their sacred land. Being Greek Orthodox might mean absolutely nothing, but it was better safe than sorry.

But they were aware that this might not be the end of her. She might still reform, and come back for revenge. But, the same thing would happen to her if she did, so Bobby hoped she kept that in mind. And of course the mother was still out there. But if they had any luck left, she was out of state, and had no idea what had happened to her wayward daughter.

As for Dean, Bobby had to get a couple of beers in him, and a Tylenol codeine, before he was able to function. He had no idea if what the lamias did to him, the purification spell, or both, left him in so much pain, but something sure had. Until the booze kicked in, Bobby was sure he was going to pass out again. He remained inordinately pale for the rest of the day. But he helped with everything, because Dean wasn’t going to let a “small” thing like his own constant physical agony keep him from doing his job.

Sam was okay. He had a black eye, and a couple of bruises, but somehow came out of being knocked across the room and through furniture relatively unscathed. Oh, to be sixteen again.

Bobby told some hunters he knew about the lamias, and to keep an eye out for the Mom. Mainly the only way they had to track her was the bodies she would leave behind, but that would be enough. Bobby hoped he got the chance to plant her before anyone else did.

There was no chance Bobby was sleeping that night. When he came downstairs to the kitchen around two in the morning, he discovered he wasn’t alone.

He found Dean sitting at the kitchen table facing the door, the machete on the table, and a bottle of beer in front of him. He’d had the light off, so it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. “Warn someone before you do that, huh?” Dean said.

Bobby almost asked him if he couldn’t sleep, but that was obvious, so he didn’t. Bobby got a beer of his own and joined him at the table. “You feeling any better?” Bobby asked instead. He couldn’t imagine what number of beer Dean was working on, but he looked distressingly sober in spite of it.

He shook his head. “I feel like some giant chewed me to a paste like consistency, then spit me out. But maybe that’s what happens when you stop a transformation before it can really take root.”

Bobby almost didn’t want to know this. But he felt he had to. “You could feel it?”

Dean was still so pale, it made his eyes look ten times greener, and the black circles beneath them look like bruises. “It was like I was being torn apart at the cellular level. It was ... I figured I was done. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

“I would never.”

“And I’m sorry.”

That confused him. “Sorry for what?”

“I almost got us all killed.”

Bobby almost choked on his beer. He managed to swallow it down and coughed, and while struggling to breathe, he gave Dean a backhanded slap on the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up” he said, when he was finally able to. “You did no such thing.”

“I did. I brought Leah into our lives -“

“Which she woulda been anyways, ‘cause we were looking for her. If anything, you speeded up the process. And no one else died while she was with you. Don’t forget that.”

“That we know of.”

“Don’t make me hit you again, son.”

That at least got a brittle smile from Dean. “I can’t believe I fucked up this badly.”

“You didn’t. A monster stupidly thought you were easy prey. She was wrong.”

“Was she?”

Bobby scowled at him. “You keep talking like that, and I’m taking your beer.”

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

“I don’t want you to shut up. I want you to stop blaming yourself. Do you blame Amy, for getting taken in by Leah?”

That genuinely surprised him. “No, of course not. She was a kid.”

“Then you don’t get to victim blame when you’re the victim. Monsters fucking suck, and they can target anyone at any time. You can’t blame yourself for getting abused. You think you’re better than everyone else?”

“No, but -“

“There’s no but. Just because you hunt monsters doesn’t mean you always see them coming. Thoughts like that will get you killed quick. You’re human. Shit happens. It’s no more your fault than Amy’s, or any other victim. You were targeted. Blame the monster, never you. You get me? Or are you really gonna make me beat your ass in my own goddamn kitchen?”

That teased a smile out of Dean, which was what he’d been hoping for. Bobby had been through a lot of research on abused kids, and adult children of abusive parents, and it was something he had to get over too. It was always easy to blame yourself, but it was never true. The abuser made the decision to hurt you. You didn’t bring it on, you didn’t make them; the choice had always been theirs, and to insinuate you had anything to do with it was just another form of abuse. He hated to see Dean mimicking any part of it. “I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t. They’ve been under the radar for centuries. Think of how much work it must have been to never have been identified by any hunter. Or at least any hunter who lived to talk about it.”

Dean grimaced, peeling the label on his beer bottle. “I hafta admit, I did wonder how they managed that.”

“Because they’re good at what they do. Hear me? Real good.”

He nodded, but he was still looking at his beer bottle like it was fascinating. “Can’t complain about being beaten by the best, huh?”

“Exactly. And when it counted, we beat their ass. So who’s the best now, huh?”

Dean almost smiled, but not quite. “Have there been a lot of ... demon omens or something lately?”

Bobby hadn’t expected the conversation to go in that direction, but if he wasn’t blaming himself, that had to be a positive. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“When Leah was trying to change me, she and her mother had a weird conversation ... they seemed to think something bad was on the way, or was going to happen in the near future.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “They didn’t elaborate. Leah also called me a vessel. Someone’s vessel.”

Bobby sat forward, not liking the sound of that at all. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know, right? I have no idea. She also said my blood tasted divine. Not as in great, as in divine divine. What the fuck does that mean?”

It felt like Dean had thrown a cup of water in his face. Divine - that word again! First from Teri, and now from these things. Well, they were monsters, so you had to take whatever they said with a grain of salt. But what a coincidence.

Bobby suddenly wondered if he had it all wrong. He just assumed - if there was a single iota of sense in Teri’s prediction - that Dean would be the demonic one, since he was a hellraiser, and Sam would be the angelic one, since he was as sweet as you could hope. But what if personality wasn’t the tell? What if it was something deeper or stranger?

Yeah, Dean did like to carouse, and live like life was one big green room after party, but he was also willing to die to save his family, or a stranger who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Was that not, by definition, divine? As for Sam, yes, the same was true of him. But what was also true of him was he had his secrets, and his plans. Sam really should have cleared the browser history after looking up colleges on Bobby’s computer. Would scheming be considered at all demonic? What if Bobby had it wrong from day one? Dean was the one touched by the divine, and Sam was the one touched by the demonic. But what did that mean exactly?

Bobby still had no proof anything divine existed. And Teri’s prediction was horseshit, and he knew it. Not one of these boys was touched by anything demonic. To even think about this twice was a waste of his time and energy. Dean was waiting - hoping - for an answer, and Bobby wanted to comfort him. What could he say? “They were monsters who wanted to make you one of them. Who gives a fuck what they said? The only thing that matters is, someone took a spin in the car crusher tonight, and it wasn’t you. You’re still human, and one of them is a pancake. You won. Take the victory.”

“No, we won. Thanks, Bobby.”

He shook his head. “No evil bitch is getting my nephew.”

Dean smiled, and sat back in his chair, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. They sat for a few moments in companionable silence, until Dean said, “Sam’s gonna be insufferable now that he’s discovered a mythical monster that actually exists, right?”

Bobby shrugged. “Maybe, but you can rub it in his face you were the one who figured out how to temporarily kill them. Sounds like a stalemate to me.”

“Oh good. I get to be insufferable?”

“Don’t act like you’ve never been. I know you, kid.”

Dean snickered at that before taking a swig from his beer, and Bobby felt like this was a step in the right direction.

They were all alive, and they got one of the child killers. It was only a matter of time before they got the other. Things were ugly there for a while, but they made it through.

Like he’d just said to Dean, Bobby decided to take the victory. They could be few and far between. But he had both his boys, and they were safe and intact.

You could hardly ask for more, could you?