AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a crossover between not just two, but three pop-culture references.
Disclaimer 1: Supernatural is not my invention. As hard and frequent as I begged for Santa to bring me Dean and Sam Winchester for Christmas, he just didn't come true.
Disclaimer 2: Elmer is also, not my invention. The kindhearted and wise, old man belongs to a show called The Others. It's not very well known and only ran for one season, but it was the best supernaturally charged TV-series I've ever seen. Almost better than Supernatural ;)
Disclaimer 3: I don't have anything fancy to say about Hellboy, so here you go: I. Own. Nothing.
And this is movie-verse Hellboy we're talking. Just to keep it on-screen. Without further ado: Here you go.
Summary:
Dean went to hell, Ruby began grooming Sam for the task of killing Lilith and Sam started drinking. But all he really wanted to do was to get Dean back. One way or another.
Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense
"This, Mr. Farber, is an international non-governmental agency." The suit proudly spread out his arms and gestured to the grand hall. Black marble donned almost every surface and on the floor and in the middle, a gold emblem shone; almost six feet across. "The U.S. Government has no authority over us."
"And you chose…'Sanitation Department' as your cover." Sam quirked an eyebrow and shrugged mentally. His face was set in a grim frown to fit the miserable weather outside.
"Yes," The suit smiled. "Which agency did you say sent you?" Charles Rapier Junior, the desk clerk, who was also coincidentally a trained assassin, master of close combat and formerly NSA, placed his hands elegantly behind his back and peered pleasantly at the young man.
"Uhh, with the, uhh DOD."
The clerk nodded and flipped through a manila folder. "Department of Defense, yes?"
Sam smirked quickly. "Right."
"And you're here to exchange information with one of our FBI handlers?"
"Yes."
He checked off a mark in his folder. "Right, well the strangest thing happened, Mr. Farber," Rapier smiled and exhaled nasally. "Your name doesn't come up as any of our registered contacts." He flipped the folder closed. "Would you mind telling me who informed you of our institution?"
"Uhh Miss Mosley." Sam had spent every odd second doubtful since Missouri announced she might be able to get Sam the inside scoop on the biggest thing since the apocalypse. Perhaps even a way to get Dean back from hell. "Professor Bruttenholm contacted her some time ago for some information. I'm here to deliver that information." He smirked again for added effect and prayed the CIA didn't suddenly storm the building.
Who knew Missouri had contacts this deep in the world of competitive contract killers? Because he had no illusions, that was who they were. Somewhere, deep within the facility in which Sam was now standing, there were three or more highly trained assassins. Rumored to hunt the things that went bump in the night. A federal branch, sort of. As Missouri said: "You know better than anyone about the things that go bump in the night. These guys bump back, that's all." The fact that it was a non-governmental organization was both relieving and yet oddly alarming. It meant no direct link-up with the FBI mainframe where his name, his real name, would be blaring over every computer screen, but it also meant no government control.
"Right." Rapier smiled again. "Well, I regret to inform you that Professor Bruttenholm passed some time ago." His expression took on the appearance of empathy, but Sam doubted it was real.
"Oh. Well who do I give my information to then?" He gestured to the leather travel-bag, lent to him by Missouri for this explicit purpose. The case was designed to protect the contents from any outside source. Be it natural or super. Imprinted sigils coiled in the velvet smooth leather and two heavy padlocks kept busy hands at bay.
"Our new supervisor and FBI handler, John Myles will probably be happy to see you. I'll take you to him."
Rapier continued back towards the door, but stopped halfway on the golden emblem. "Please mind your toes and elbows." The floor began to drop at a slow rate. They were lowered down into a large storage hall. A few people were tuning various vehicles. One of which was a big, mirror-glass plated dumptruck. Rapier noticed Sam staring at it and sent him another friendly smile. "Beautiful isn't she?"
"Very nice," Sam nodded back and followed in awkward silence. I can't believe I'm doing this. It was too early in the game to be reaching for such absurd leads on ways to free his brother. It had only been three weeks and there were other leads he could've hunted down before he went to Missouri; before she sent him on wild goose chase into a building full of every kind of agent there ever was.
Rapier led him through an armored vault-door and stopped in a circular hall with five separate passages. "Wait here, please." He left Sam gawking. More black and white marble. It seemed no expense was too great for whoever company was sponsoring the institution. He felt for the gun in his belt and wondered briefly how far below ground they were. Or why no one thought to frisk me before letting me in.
"This way, please." Rapier had appeared out of nowhere and made Sam jump. "Mr. Myles will see you in the library."
He nodded and followed the, surprisingly long strides of the shorter man. Another vault door opened to a lavish library. The smells of old books immediately assaulted Sam's senses and made his body relax on its own accord. Rapier closed the door behind him and left the young hunter alone. "Gotta tell Bobby about this," He looked up at the arched ceilings full of bookcases, which were in turn, full of books.
"Hey, Mr. Farber?" A young man with an easy smile trudged over to him and reached out his hand.
Sam took it. Strong handshake. He noticed something sad in the eyes of the young man, though.
"So Junior told me you had some information for me and Abe?" The smile almost covered whatever sadness Sam had first noticed almost perfectly.
"Abe?" Sam caught a blurred movement in, what he had presumed to be an empty fish tank, to his right.
"Yes," A mild voice answered in a distinguished, but subtle British accent. Also with a touch of melancholy like John's eyes. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Who's Abe?" He arched a brow at Myles' smile.
"Abraham Sapien," Myles gestured to the tank. "Don't be scared."
Sam stared at the blue tank in shock as a blue, streamlined body slid past the glass. "Hello," The pleasant voice greeted. A hand pushed against the glass. Sam noticed it had little suckers on it.
"…Hi,"
John chuckled. "Abe, this is Mr. Farber." His voice was slow and deep.
"Call me Sam." As was Sam's. He cautiously approached the human-looking creature.
"I am human, Sam," Abe said gently.
Sam stopped in surprise and glanced back at John, who looked slightly irked. "I'm sorry, but did you hear me think that?"
Abe nodded. "I can also measure your heart rate and recite your personal information. Would you like me to tell Mr. Myles your other name-"
"No! No, that's fine." Sam held up a hand and turned back to John. His pulse rapidly sped up, but neither of the two men seemed alarmed over Abe's slipup. "If you're ready, I've got that information you asked for." His heart rate was jacked.
"It was really the professor who wanted it, but, whatever," He waved the thought away and gestured to Abe. "You can prop the book up on the pedestal in front of Abe."
Sam glanced from John to Abe.
"I believe he thinks you're making a joke," Abe said with a curious tilt of his head.
John narrowed his eyes at Sam before schooling his features. "Abe's the quickest reader of us all. He reads four books a day. Simultaneously."
"I have somewhat of a photographic memory,"
Sam got the feeling Abe had just made a joke, but didn't feel anything beyond the slight intrusion of stress into his apathetic routine, ever since Dean- He sent John a quick smile before taking long strides to one of the four pedestals in plain view of the tank. He pulled out the old, leather bound book and placed it gently on a pedestal before opening to the first page. "You read Latin?"
"Yes,"
Sam smiled, a little stiffly, and turned back to Special Agent Myles. "Anything else I can help you with?" He was acutely aware that he wasn't leaving unless they let him leave.
"No." John shook his head and smiled slowly. He knew more than the young, so-called agent, thought. "Is there… something we can help you with?"
"His brother is lost,"
Sam whipped around to look at the human/amphibian.
Abe tipped his head at Sam again. "In hell, I believe." He glanced at John. "Perhaps Red can help-"
"No!" John interrupted loudly. "No. I'd rather not bother him."
"Actually I was hoping to borrow something," Sam hedged and wondered over the unfounded trust he was receiving from the two men. He was standing in a beautiful, underground library in a black suit, surrounded by specially trained agents/freaks and yet he felt calm. Reluctant hopefulness was diluting the bleary depression he'd felt ever since Dean- "You have a book I'm interested in."
"He wants the Grimoire from Latvia," Abe supplied helpfully, already reading the book Sam had brought him, as well as Sam's mind. "I need someone to turn the page." John stepped over and flipped it carefully. "Thank you."
The book Abe was reading was present from Missouri. Apparently she knew more about the world of freaks and psychics than she let on. Sam could never have guessed a place such as this even existed.
"That one isn't usually allowed to leave this room." John looked at the young man and already knew he'd give the kid anything he asked for.
Suddenly Missouri's previous advice rang through his mind. Just ask for anything you need and they'll give it to ya, sugar. "Please."
John's face fell again. Something sad slipped over him. He nodded and moved to the shelves. "It contains very powerful information."
"Oh?" Sam knew exactly what it contained. That was why he wanted it.
John grabbed a random book and extracted a key hidden within it. With it he unlocked a drawer in his desk. "The witch who made the recipe for that particular concoction was never heard from again."
Sam accepted the book, wondering why something so volatile was kept in a drawer of a desk and not in a vault. He glanced back at the door and heard his brother's dry laugh. Guess Dean had a point, even if he was just a figment of imagination. He looked back down at the book. It felt like it was shivering. Like it was alive. Dean. "Why wasn't she heard from?"
"Because she succeeded,"
Sam stared at the blue man. He weighed the book in his hands pensively.
"She opened the door to the one place she wanted the most. Only, she didn't know someone was waiting for her."
"Be careful with it. If you can't keep it safe, return it here. It can't just float around out there." John looked at him with wide eyes.
Sam nodded. Jesus, he's a kid.
"He's not worried anymore," Abe's voice held an unusual note of sadness to it as he addressed John. "He feels closer now. Either to his brother or to himself. I'm not quite able to make that distinction."
Sam and Abe stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. It was like staring into the clouds. One could lose oneself in those eyes. John cleared his throat awkwardly and Sam blinked awake. "Thanks for the book. I'll make sure it stays safe." He turned for the door and suddenly felt the countdown begin. He needed to get out of the building before any of them changed their minds. Before anyone tried to stop him.
"Hey, Sam?" John was standing in the middle of the room with a worried expression. "Some doors aren't meant to be opened,"
Sam stared back before nodding quietly and leaving the room. The vault door swung closed behind him and he hurried back into the circular hall. Practically running through it, he bumped into Rapier again. The clerk didn't act the least bit surprised and escorted Sam out. They passed and open vault door with an empty rolling table out front, full of empty dishes. The book was humming in his hands.
"I don't give a rat's ass who let the cats out. Just find them!" A disjointed voice ordered. "You impotent morons," And a slur of curse words followed.
"Red…" Another disjointed voice, this time female, chastised calmly.
Two suit-dressed men came running down the adjoining hall in a hurry. Something big and red walked past the doorway. What the hell…? Sam stopped in shock, and forgot all else when the red human-looking creature moved past the doorway again. Something, vaguely resembling a guy, wearing a long leather trench coat. Something, horribly similar to the creature, said to roam the roads and rooftops of New Jersey at night. Something said to be the Devil's son itself.
A puff of smoke hovered in its wake the second time it passed the doorway. Was that a cigar? "Let's not linger," Rapier grabbed Sam, firmly, but gently by the arm and guided the young man back to the lift. On the way up to the main lobby, Sam barely glanced at the clerk, but heard the quick, nervous tapping of Italian loafers against marble as he was escorted from the building. Outside, it had started to rain. Grey drops whetted him to the bone.
He sighed and leaned his head back, unaware of the water soaking him through. The days all seemed bleary since Dean- He shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
A camera, mounted right behind him, blinked merrily as Sam walked to the car.
"He'd make a nice addition to the team." John commented softly, without trying to sound obvious.
"We'd need proper sanctioning before that happens. And a pardon from the president." Special Agent Manning answered in a bored voice. "One for his brother too," A soft meow sounded from the small feline that jumped onto the monitor. She was purring away, begginng, longing for one of the agents to pet her smooth fur. Neither of the agents acknowledged the little tabby.
John glanced at Manning and tried to hide his glee. "You're considering it, aren't you?"
"What?" Manning scowled. "No!" He turned back to the screen. "They're criminals. Everyone knows the Winchester brothers from TV by now. I've got enough to handle with Red crashing face-first into buildings and Elisabeth lighting everything on fire. I swear; the only one who vaguely stays out of trouble around here is Abe and that's only because he lives in a tank." He pushed out a stressed breath. "And where the hell do all these cats come from!"
John smiled at the senior agent's back. He ignored the last question and the cat vying for their attention by batting her fluffy paws his way. "Yeah, but these guys have been through just as much, maybe even more, than Red." He shrugged and tried to act nonchalant. "They could be very valuable."
Manning huffed. "They're destructive. They're undisciplined, untrained," As if that was the cardinal sin of sins. He watched on the monitor as Sam Winchester walked to his Chevrolet and pulled away from the BPRD with one of the library's most valuable books in his possession. "Irrepressible." He growled.
"That's why you gave me permission to hand over the Grimoire?" John still couldn't knock off his slightly gleeful smirk.
Manning shrugged reluctantly. "Let's see what he does with it."
"And then what?"
He stared at the hopeful junior agent. "You're like a teenager with a crush, you know that?" He left John staring at the monitor, still ignoring the cat. "Then I might consider inviting them to join the team." The door swished closed behind him before John could answer.
Instead he just smiled wider and picked up the cat. "C'mon, Whiskers. Let's go."
Sam could feel the book's presence in the car. It was funny how much he wanted to pull over and read it. It was still humming. Or purring? But something Missouri had said made him pull back as if burned, every time he glanced at it. That book's no good, Sam. Such simple words spoken with fear, the likes of which he'd never heard. He wasn't anxious to find out what caused her fear of it, but still couldn't refuse the impulse to glance at it every few seconds.
He had asked her for help instead of Bobby. That was another problem in the making, if Bobby ever found out. Missouri wasn't surprised when Sam showed up on her doorstep though; twelve days after Dean- He punched the horn at an irate driver, who pulled out from a side street without blinking. He shivered when he noticed his own reflection in the dark windshield. He had dark rims under his eyes, but those would go away once he got Dean back. His skin was greasy, but he'd shower once Dean was safe.
And his brother would be safe. Sam would see to it. He glanced back down at the book. It hummed and vibrated a low decibel. Begging him to pick it up. Purring. "What are you?" he whispered and almost expected the little Grimoire to answer. That book's no good, Sam. She had mentioned it had several uses. One could summon for someone lost, but they wouldn't come back whole. And one could open a door. To where, he was still a bit iffy. Someplace dark. Scary.
It shook a bit along with the vibrations of the car. He had thought of trying to resurrect his brother, but the part about not returning right had made him pause. He wanted Dean. All of him. Normal. Safe. He swore it had moved a bit closer to him when he glanced down again. That book opens something, best left be. Missouri's voice was weak compared to the rumble of the engine. The lure of the small, leather-bound book was undeniable.
That book's no good, Sam. A wave of fear rushed through him. If he opened a door, there was no telling where he might go. Or what might come through. Whispers seemed to flow from it the Grimoire like smoke. Begging him to reach down and caress the leather. Like a placid house cat, it glared at him through almond shaped eyes. Reach me… it whispered softly. The darkness slid by until a sudden jolt brought him back to his senses.
He glanced at the clock and realized he had zoned out for thirty seconds while driving. He would've hit anything that crossed the road, had it chosen to do so in that short span of time. He shivered and stomped down harder on the gas. But when you do find it, don't bring it here. Missouri's honeysuckle voice warned him. I don't want it near me. He wondered briefly if Bobby might help him.
He knew he'd have some serious translating to do. Only half the book had been translated. And the rest was written in a language Sam had never even heard of. Some Slavic tongue that freaked him out; more so than the prospect of diving into hell to yank his brother out. The very core of that book was evil. And not angels or demons- evil. No, something deeper and much, much older than Judaic religion. He'd heard Missouri mutter a few words in the foreign tongue. A lullaby, as she told it. But she didn't know the origins of the language. No one did. Just as no one knew what was written in the last pages of that book.
He knew it had only been opened two times since its creation. Once by the young woman who supposedly wrote and used it. And the second time by a military scientist in the late fifties. The man supposedly vanished from his lab, never to be heard from again. It purred at him and beckoned him to reach down and feel the leather binding. Just once. Was that what the book did? Make people vanish. "But to where?"
He glanced down when he almost expected the book to answer. A soft feminine voice, as he imagined it to have. Not that unlike Dean had been around the car before he-
Touch me…
Sam swallowed when he felt something pressing down on his chest. He tugged at his collar and noticed he had broken out in a light sweat.
Come on…
Headlights from an oncoming car shocked him and made his jerk the wheel.
Just once…
"Ahr god." He pulled over and slammed the door, exiting the car. The cold air was like a slap to the face. It woke him up. "What's happening- what the hell is happening?" His deep voice carried into the starlit night. For a brief instant a dog barked, but stopped. He breathed heavily and ran his hands continuously over his face. When he looked down, he noticed they were shaking. Ha glanced back at the book with fear, widening his eyes.
Come back in…
He swallowed and ripped open the passenger door. Gripping the Grimoire with one hand, he hurled it in the trunk and locked it. Shaking and breathing deeply, he leaned on the smooth surface. His exhales were visible in the cold night. The cool air surged through his lungs and cleared his head. What the hell is that thing? It wasn't just a book, of that he was sure. "Gotta get help," He ripped the driver's side open and roared away with dirt spraying in his wake.
Two hours of perilous speeding later…
Missouri took one look at him and did something Sam never thought she would. She slapped him. Right there in her front door. His head snapped to the side and stayed there, one hand held against his cheek and his eyes turned down. But it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. "That wasn't necessary-"
"You brought it here?" Her hiss shrilled beyond what the human ear could perceive. He swore he heard a dog barking down the street. A passerby started and hurried along in fright.
He flinched when she made to slap him again, but forcefully calmed himself.
"You stupid fool!" She left the doorway with him lingering, unsure whether to follow or not, and returned with a large handbag. "Let's go. I'm not letting that thing into my house!" She said angrily and gestured to the car. "I assume it's in the trunk?"
Sam nodded, not all clear on what was happening. "Where're we-"
"Just drive," She slammed the car door and deposited the bag impatiently on her knees like it had committed some act of great injustice. "Now."
Sam ground his teeth as he moved around the nose and slipped in behind the wheel.
"And don't you dare cuss at me, Sam Winchester!" She pointed a purple fingernail at him.
He paled a little at the thought of being whacked with a spoon before he slid the car in gear. They drove for twenty minutes in silence before they reached, what looked like a farm.
"It's abandoned." She said, before he could ask the question.
Sam cut the engine and got out with a look around the area. No neighbors for miles. A small copse of trees hid the house from the road.
Missouri pushed past him without a care. "Bring the book." Her voice was sharper than he had ever heard it. Like a whip.
He almost gave a mock salute, but exhaled loudly through his nostrils instead.
"I heard that!" She barked back and entered the house.
He got the book and only really noticed it after taking it out of the trunk. It started vibrating again. Softly; almost pleasantly. The pages were so wrinkled and the binding so light that it almost fell open just from lying in his hand. All he'd have to do was give the front page a little nudge.
"Sam!" Missouri had her head out and was looking at him with mixed concern and anger. "I'm waitin'."
Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat and rushed into the house. In the living room was an older, dark-skinned gentleman with graying hair. His hands and face looked weathered, but his eyes were vivid. Sam nodded in greeting. "I didn't think anybody lived here?"
"They don't. The building's haunted." The old man said with his slender fingers pointing to the rest of the house.
"Sam, this is Elmer. He's gonna help us out a little bit with…" She pointed at the book and frowned. "…this." She sighed.
Elmer chuckled. A deep, delicious sound that bathed the cold room with affection. "You always were delightful, Missy."
She sent Elmer a goofy smile and almost blushed.
"Missy?" Sam glanced between the two, but backed down when Missouri sent him a toxic glower.
"You better focus on that book, or it'll eat you up whole," Elmer chuckled pleasantly at her high pitched voice. "Literally." She finished and drew Sam's astonished gaze to her slight, yet rotund form once again.
He took a deep breath and placed the book respectfully on a folding table. He figured Elmer brought it with him, but wondered how Elmer even knew that they were coming. "I called him before you got here," Missouri bit out. She was still seething.
How did she know I would come? She glared at him in passing. Sam hoped it was just the presence to the book and not to him.
Her expression almost instantly softened as she looked at the tall boy. "I'm not mad at you, Sam." Her voice softened.
He dared to raise his eyes and peer at her from under his bangs.
She sighed and began fishing supplies out of her trunk of a bag. Sam stared at her a moment, wondering what she was doing.
She turned. "I figure: We're here. Might as well help you with whatever is it you're thinkin' of doin',"
Sam again looked to the floor. He already felt the guilt bubbling. He wasn't sure what he was doing. He wasn't sure he even wanted to involve Missouri in the ritual. It was something he'd hoped to perform without anyone knowing. Not Bobby, not Missouri.
A blessing ritual was muttered halfheartedly. Elmer stood as a pillar off to the side while Missouri consecrated the house. "You realize you can't open a door without lettin' somethin' else out?" She asked bluntly.
Sam had always planned on opening a door and going through as a last resort. Find his brother, wherever he was, and bring him back. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was a mistake. Missouri got an indefinable expression on her face, but quickly schooled her features. "How do I actually travel there?" he asked, pulling out odds and ends. Mostly weapons.
"Your spirit leaves your body," Elmer answered from his spot in the corner. He spoke very calmly and as if it was the most natural thing to happen. "Most people do it all the time without noticing. Lovers mostly." He smiled.
Sam suddenly got the distinct feeling he was making a joke at his and Dean's expense, and frowned. "The spell is so powerful it'll pull you out without any need for us to do anythin' but watch." Missouri finished.
Sam nodded and placed the book on a table as the last action. Elmer didn't visibly change, but the air around him seemed to darken. Missouri scowled a little harder and flipped open a page of the Grimoire. "See here…" She traced a finger along a page. "This language is almost like the one I mentioned to ya, Sam. But not quite. It's a different dialect, but the meaning shouldn't change. Lie down." She gestured to the dining table.
Sam swallowed, feeling nervous for the first time in his life about doing anything dangerous to save Dean. It seemed fear was always overruled when his brother was in jeopardy. Now though, now he felt it.
"Lie back, hunny." Missouri pushed the rest of the way down when he still hadn't obliged after hopping onto the table.
There were no candles for this spell. No hyssop or sage. No essential oils or blessings. This was dark. Missouri had apparently been prepared for this situation to arise because she was as ready as ever. At her nod, Elmer went to get a small cage from an adjoining room. All the spell needed was a broken twig of winter barley, the blood of a sparrow and a necromancy medallion, which was basically a silver locket with something resembling three hexagons over-locking in a triangular pattern.
The very last piece of the spell was the incantation that no living human, besides Missouri, knew how to read. Or perhaps Missouri and Elmer. Actually, Sam figured he very likely knew the language as well, since his presence there suggested some higher purpose, besides moral support. The sparrow flittered about in her cage, but Elmer's large hands caught her easily. It tweeted in his palm, but had no way to free itself despite Elmer's light grip.
He nodded his ready to Missouri who snapped the barley and started the spell. "This house, inhabited by the dead, has been blessed so that it can only protect. All who still reside within her walls are benign and in service of goodwill." She glanced at Elmer who nodded. At Missouri's responding nod, he stabbed the sparrow with a long knife, almost shaped like a needle. The sparrow jerked, but soon stopped twitching. He'd pierced the heart.
Sam's pulse began to rise. He wasn't sure about this.
"None of us are, hunny." Missouri said slowly, before continuing the spell. The dark language rolled off her tongue like curses and hissing anger. It fit the purpose of the spell beautifully, Sam thought.
"Hold on, kid." Elmer suddenly voiced from the corner, seconds before a massive wave of pain shot up Sam's spine. His back arched from the table and his hands flailed to the side.
"Ahhhhrr!" His mouth split from the strain on his muscles.
"Hold on, Sam. It's just the spell doing what it's meant to do."
He panted through more pain, but could hardly focus on anything besides the agony. In his mind he was screaming that he never heard of out-of-body experiences being this painful. Somewhere in the ether Missouri must have picked up on it. "That's because you're not just bein' pulled outta your own body. Your body is the key that unlocks the door, Sam." After her clear voice, the subsequent language was almost hysterical. The way the Slavic tongue just flowed through the room in a voice, hardly hers.
Elmer apparently stepped in, now that Missouri had vocalized Sam's question. "When your spirit's gone, something else will step in…" Elmer's voice was strangely soothing. "And take your place." Like the ocean. Charged, yet calm in the midst of the hurricane of agony. Sam panted and cursed mentally when tears ran down his cheeks. The spell rose to its crescendo and he almost felt the whole house tremble.
Nails in the walls shook loose and landed on the floor with pings and trickles. The windows shook so hard one of them broke. The sparrow finally gave its last twitch as Elmer dropped it and then Sam felt it. It was like a giant hole opening up under his back. Like something magnificent sucking him down through the table. Like being spread thin and passing through the eye of a needle all at once. He was sure he screamed because the pain almost finished him.
And then there was nothing.
No pain. No fear. Just… the quiet.
A bird sang a lovely jingle outside somewhere. Someone was panting and belatedly Sam realized it was himself. "What- … What happened?" He looked around at Elmer and Missouri who were both standing in opposite corners of the room with wide, terrified eyes. "What happened?"
"How long were you gone, Sam?" Elmer asked, visibly forcing his shock and fear back under a calm surface.
"What? I never left!" He sat up, ready to berate both psychics for a job poorly done. Then he looked down at his chest and stopped. His t-shirt was on the floor in a heap of scraps and on his chest were markings. Scratches of something trying to claw its way under his skin; or perhaps out? The wounds were bleeding sluggishly and Sam noticed they looked almost like letters. Though upside down and not in any language he understood, he recognized them.
"A lot more happened than you think, hunny." Missouri had no problem showing just how upset she was. She wouldn't come within three feet of the dinner table and her hand never left her chest.
Then he noticed why the letters looked familiar. They looked like the writing from the Grimoire. He looked back up at the two psychics. "What exactly happened?"
"The spell worked," Elmer calmly stated.
"No. No it didn't. I didn't go anywhere. I didn't see anything!"
"That you remember," Missouri inched a little closer, although still weary of getting to close to Sam. "But since Dean's not here with you, it's safe to assume you didn't find him."
"How do you know? How do you know it worked if he's not here!" Sam was panicking. He felt so tired. So frustrated that nothing about their situation had visibly changed. Apart from the claw-marks on his chest, of course. The ache right above his heart.
"We know what we saw, Sam." Elmer said. Anyone who heard his voice would never have dreamt of arguing him.
"Which was what, exactly?"
"The spell worked." Elmer repeated and turned around to open a window.
"How?" Sam was begging now and he knew it. He was shaking and thought he might actually cry if someone didn't answer his questions real soon.
"Best not to dwell on it, hunny." Missouri, who finally noticed just how upset he was, came closer and put a hand on his arm. "C'mon now. Let's get you cleaned up. Maybe some food?"
Sam couldn't focus. His eyes kept darting from one person to the other, searching for answers. "But-"
"I'll explain everything when we get outta here, son. C'mon now," She guided him from the room without looking back. Sam kept hovering between the intense desire to rip the room apart in search of answers and the urge to run from the house, screaming. Something about it had changed. Before, it had been a creepy, old house like any other. But now it oozed darkness. Not necessarily evil, but just… darkness.
"The spirits all vanished." Elmer said quietly, not without a fair amount of sorrow in his voice. He lingered in the living room a few seconds. The beast that had reared its ugly head almost two hours ago had just vanished. Why Sam returned or how he pushed that beast back, Elmer couldn't say. All he knew was that something had been exposed to a world that was nowhere near ready for it. He looked down at the carcass of the sparrow at his feet and a sense of foreboding came over him.
As he left he was sure he heard a dark voice cackle. Won't be the last time either.
Drops dripped from a low ceiling like tar. Black as night. An animal screeched and cackled. Someone laughed. It was a dark laugh. Pain was dully pulsing through his bones. He was inside a house. So dark it was hard to imagine what space might look like. Air. There was none. His breaths were slow. It was like the air didn't dare to enter this house.
Somewhere he heard a voice. Not one he recognized, but familiar none the less. He stood up. His back was covered in water. It was warm. A drop slid down his neck and he wiped it off. A flash of red caught his eyes and he looked at his hand. It was blood. He tapped his shoulder and looked at the same hand. Covered in blood. But there was no smell. Just barely enough air, not enough room for smell.
The darkness pulled back a little like soft hands over his bare arms. There was Missouri. Elmer in the corner. She was chanting. That was the source of the voice. Only now it seemed unreal. Dark and distorted. Slower too. Like moving through molasses. Someone hissed in the corner. He flinched to look, but there was nothing there. Only more darkness. In the corner, a girl was swinging her legs to and fro on the kitchen table.
She was watching the spell like Sam had once watched a parade. Her legs went swing, swing, swing. Innocent as the day she was born. Until she looked straight at Sam. Her eyes widened and like a flash she was gone. "Missouri." He walked closer to get her attention, but nothing changed. It was funny that the ceiling seemed lower now. He looked up. Tar was dripping from it and mixing with the blood on his back.
"Elmer?"
It seemed as if the gnarled, old psychic had heard him, but couldn't see him. Sam then made the biggest mistake of the day. He looked at himself on the dinner table. The body was his, but temporarily uninhabited. Something black and slithering was sitting atop it. Claws like tentacles were ripping apart his shirt. It was burrowing its way into his belly. He screamed and jerked forward to rip it out.
His hands reached deep into soft tissue. Blood squished out and spilled on the floor. The Sam on the table was breathing, but raggedly. Like someone sucking milkshake through a leaky straw. Fingers brushed the black creature and he reached deeper. With each inch the sleeping Sam on the table got worse. His breathing was too shallow. Finally! Sam felt something so slick it couldn't possibly belong inside himself and pulled.
The little beast shrieked from deep within his chest and dug in its claws. It was strange of clearly the sound got through layers of bone, gristle, muscle and fat. Not as muffled as he expected. He jerked his hand back with the creature in it. Sleeping Beauty jerked on the table. The creature screamed in fury that someone was trying to keep it from its task. It screamed at him in its foreign tongue until two names arrived that Sam remembered.
"Sloužím Nichnytsia a Scheznyk! Být pryč nositel hluku!"
Its cussing became a scream when Sam yanked back as hard as he could. He heard something snap inside his own body and cried out. Mostly because of the sound. The little, slick animal screamed when he pulled his bloodied arm farther and farther back. He saw its black, slick tail slither out and curl around his wrist; he pulled harder. The farther from its destination it came, the louder it screamed.
With a final tug, he yanked it free of his body and hurled it across the room. The second he let go, he turned- and found himself sitting. The chanting had stopped and the ceiling had dropped lower. "No!" The creature screamed from a black corner. He heard it slither past the walls with frightening speed. He saw himself breathe deeply as if pained or surprised. He watched himself look about the room and, to his horror, saw Missouri and Elmer acknowledging him.
"No! It's not me!" He reached out, but grabbed nothing. The little fiend screamed again, but this time it sounded distinctly mocking. The ceiling dropped so low he had to crouch. Black ooze was dripping into his mouth and ears.
"How do you feel, Sam?" Missouri asked.
Sam watched in terror as the other Sam looked directly at him. Smiled. And answered. "I feel fine,"
He snapped out of it like a physical blow. Tangled sheets spun wildly around his legs as he headed for the floor. The second 'floor' met 'Sam' it knocked him back to his senses. He was panting, but at least breathing. He was in his own skin. The TV was on. Another motel room. He checked the scratches on his chest and noted they were healing well. He gathered his gangly limbs and pushed off the floor. He counted all ten fingers and ten toes.
Then he mentally backtracked. Two days. Two days since the failed attempt at getting to Dean. He sighed and made his way to the computer, absentmindedly punching in the names he remembered from the dream. Nichnytsia and Scheznyk brought up vague references to old, Slavic deities which really only confirmed what he already knew. It was a Slavic spell, thus probably Slavic demons.
He couldn't find a name for the little slithering creature, but figured it was moot since he was awake and whole. No worse for the wear than the nightmares that plagued him. And since when was that news to a Winchester? He slammed the computer closed and went back to bed. He turned up the sound on a random channel and prepared for yet another sleepless night.
Special Agent John Myles was sitting at his desk in the FBI headquarters when his phone rang. "Yes, Cynthia?"
"You got a call on line 4."
"Thanks." He pressed 4. "Hello?"
"John?" The voice was so commanding he literally sat to attention.
"Miss. Mosley?"
She giggled. "I just called to let you know we tried the spell, but it didn't take. Sam's still as lost as ever."
"Well it was never meant to work, was it?"
"By my design, though," She sighed regretfully. "Those boys would burn the world to cinders for each other. I couldn't let Sam do that. The guilt over releasin' somethin' as dark as the creatures in that book, would destroy him."
John sighed, secretly relieved that the gate hadn't been opened. "How did you stop it?"
"It was a two-step spell. I just never finished it," She sighed again. "Poor baby. Gonna have my head too if he ever finds out I did what I did."
"He won't hear it from me." He could almost hear her smile across the lines.
"Well good, hunny. Thank you. And do you understand? Why I did it, that is."
He sat back and looked around the busy office. No one at HQ believed a word of what went on in BPRD. No suspected their federal liaise-on worked around fantastical creatures and obscure myths all day. "I get it. It was my idea, after all. Only way Manning would've let that book leave the compound."
"Ye-es. Speaking of that book…"
"You burn it?" He tapped a pen between two fingers.
"I did. It's gone. Risky plan, giving it to a fugitive and trusting a crazy old woman all his plans."
He smiled sweetly into the phone. "Aw, Missouri, you're not old."
"But I am crazy? Boy, you better be careful or I'll whack you with a spoon!"
"Sorry. But we're all a little crazy. We have to be, to do what we do."
"Mhm…" She didn't sound convinced, but seemed to accept it. "Well just called to let you know it's gone. It broke my heart to lie to that boy, but I did it."
"I owe you one."
"Yeah… You do. And you know what I want,"
"It's being processed, but we need to see them face to face for it to be official."
"That's gonna take a little while, hunny. Dean's not around at the moment. Won't be for a while."
"Well, anytime. The paperwork's been drawn up and is awaiting administrative signatures."
"Still don't know how a kid like you got the President to agree to this," She laughed openly. "Aw, the faces those boys are gonna make when they hear!"
He chuckled with and earned a few crooked stares from his coworkers. "Ah, I think I gotta go. Don't want my boss to think I'm playing hooky."
She grunted, discontent. "A little hooky's good for the soul. You tell your boss I said that!"
"I will. Bye, Missouri. Call me if the situation changes."
"'When', darling, it's 'when the situation changes'. Bye."
The call ended and SA John Myles left his desk. He had an appointment at BPRD in thirty minutes, and if he hurried he wouldn't be late. Perhaps then Manning wouldn't suspect anything. After all, how did one tell ones supervisor that he was only doing what he thought was best for Earth and mankind. That book would've brought it all tumbling faster and harder than the apocalypse ever could. And he'd do just about anything to stop it.
Even if that meant lobbying for the pardoning of two high-risk, wanted-and-suspected dead, fugitives.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
"Sloužím Nichnytsia a Scheznyk! Být pryč Nositel hluku!"
Translation: "I serve Nichnytsia (night spirit) and Scheznyk (vanisher)! Be gone, Bringer of Sound!"
It's Czech which is: 1) NOT my native tongue, so if there are any mistakes, please know I mean no offense. And 2) Not necessarily the language spoken by the people who believe in these deities. Just thought it sounded nice.