DISCLAIMER: If I owned Supernatural...*nosebleed* Anyway, it belongs to all rightful owners. (But Mr. Kripke, just because you own it doesn't mean you can constantly mess with all my feels. Just saying XD)
Summary- With Sam struggling to control his visions of Lucifer, and Dean barely coping with the loss of both Cas and Bobby, the two make a bruised and battered team that is far from okay. When another difficult case comes their way, they wonder if they'll be able to push back the demons in their minds long enough to face the demons that torment the real world.
~Dogs of War~
Chapter 1: Sigh No More
Three weeks.
Maybe this is hell all over again, because Dean is certain that it felt more like ten years. Ten years since Cas had turned, ten years since they tried to help Cas get rid of all those souls, and instead leaving him stuck with the unwelcome leviathans who would simply drop him dead in the reservoir like a piece of scrap.
But it felt like even longer than ten years since Bobby had died.
And all that time the wounds were left open, bleeding and infected since the day he lost the last person he could consider a father figure. Every single book, empty can of beer, and discarded paper is left untouched for nearly two after his death, and for most of the time, Dean can barely stand the sight of the house that was once a safe haven.
It still is a safe haven as far as he's concerned. Dean knows he isn't on the brink of being found by anyone who wants to harm them, and either way they'd be screwed if they tried. Both brothers are as taut as a violin string that's about to snap. No, the house is a safe haven physically, always has been always will be. But that doesn't mean the memories made there don't take a heavy toll on the remaining Winchesters.
"Shouldn't you just put that away?" Sam asks tiredly, and not for the first time. He points half-heartedly to the ancient flask that Dean had just drained of the precious amber liquid.
"It was Bobby's, Sam. I'm not gonna just forget about the guy, okay?" Dean says, words slightly hazy.
Sam can tell his brother is on the edge of a drunken stupor, and knows that Dean usually stops before going that far, but this time he's not sure if Dean is willing. He's too strong and stubborn a person to let the ghosts and the past get to him, but he's not strong enough to actually face them either.
"Dean, there is no way we could forget him if we tried," Sam says with a quiet sigh. He doesn't want his brother to keep up the façade for him like he usually does. It'll destroy him. "…But we just can't keep holding onto this. It'll just drag us down."
"I know, Sammy," Dean says. It's a cold reply though, and Sam knows he's just saying that to get out of the conversation.
Sam lets it go for the moment, instead turning his focus to the newspaper articles in front of him. "We have a case, if you're up to it."
"I'm always up to it." Dean argues, somewhat offended. When Sam goes to smirk at him, thankfully his brother is putting the flask away. Its return is eminent though, no doubt. "What do you have?"
"Up in Pennsylvania, a man was mauled to death by an animal, and then a week later, a girl was attacked. So far there have been three attacks but only two were deadly."
Dean scans over the articles, a frown sobering his expression. "The kid okay?" He asks.
For a moment Sam hears his real brother, not the shell he had become over the last few weeks.
"She was in ICU for a few days, but says here she's all right," Sam answers.
"What makes you think this is our kinda case?" Dean asks, already packing up his gear and getting ready to go.
"The girl told the police it was her dog that attacked her."
Dean stops, frowning. "And?"
"Their family dog died nearly three weeks before this happened, Dean." Sam says, pushing the one paper over for Dean to read it for himself.
"I thought all dogs go to heaven."
Sam has to chuckle at that. "Apparently not."
*(*)*
It's an old house, but looks recently restored, and still holds onto the beauty of a long forgotten antique. Dean figures it's from the Victorian age given the architecture, but that kind of historical stuff has always been Sam's forte, something Dean only dabbled in when absolutely necessary.
"Mrs. Miller?" Sam greets as a woman comes to the door. "We're with the FBI, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions."
The woman can't be any older than 34 or 35, Dean supposes, but her eyes are already filled with the kind of knowledge that comes with age and experience. She looks slightly pale, her eyes sunken in with a lack of sleep. Blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she holds onto a dish towel.
"I've already talked to the police about what happened to Khrysta, did something come up, or did tey find something?" Her eyes go wide and she looks anxiously between Sam and Dean.
"Not as far as we know, m'am. The FBI is working cooperatively with the police, and we just want to cover all the bases again, make sure they didn't miss anything," Dean offers, lying easily.
Mrs. Miller's expression drops, but she lifts the corners of her mouth in an attempt for a smile. "Come in," She says, stepping to the side to let them in. "And please, call me Cas. Mrs. Miller makes me feel ancient."
"Cas?" Dean says slowly, ignoring the pang of pain that went with the name. It's like the world is hell bent on say 'fuck you' in every way possible. "Short for Cassandra?"
Cassandra nods, and leads them into the living room. "Take a seat, I'll go get us some drinks. What would you like? We have water, soda, beer…"
"I'll have water," Sam says responsibly, with a polite smile.
"Beer, if that's all right." Dean requests. He can practically hear Sam rolling his eyes.
"'Course," Cassandra returns with with water for Sam and a beer for Dean and herself. "So," She starts with a sigh, sitting across from Sam in an armchair. "What's got the FBI involved?"
Sam clears his throat setting his glass on the side table. "We've had several unsolved cases that are similar to this one, and we're just trying to help out where we can."
"Is your daughter here?" Dean asks as she processes this. "We might have a few questions for her too."
"Oh of course, I'll go get her," Cassandra sets her own drink down, and goes to the staircase on the opposite side of the room. "Khrysta, honey could you come down for a moment?"
The boys can hear shuffling, like someone is looking hurriedly through drawrs to find something, and then a new face appears.
She's not nearly as little a girl as they would've thought she'd been, probably somewhere from 15 to 17. "Who are they?" Khrysta asks cautiously.
"Sam Mercury," Dean points to his brother and then to himself. "And I'm Dean Elton."
The girl's eyes flick back and forth, and she stares at them like they're suspicious. Which, Dean admits that all feds look rather shifty; they are certainly no exception.
"Could we have a moment alone with your daughter for a moment, Cas?" Even as the nickname rolled off his tongue he could feel a swell of regret. It felt so wrong.
Cassandra smiles. "I'll go get dinner started."
As soon as Cassandra Miller is far out of sight and earshot, the boys look back to Khrysta.
Only to get a face full of water.
Both stumble back, and Dean sputters, angrilly wiping away the water on his face while Khrysta breathes a sigh of relief.
"What the hell was that for?" Dam hisses.
"Making sure you weren't gonna, I dunno, kill me in my sleep or something." She shrugs, obviously happy with the results.
Dean blinks down at her, beyond surprised. "Holy water?"
Khrysta nods and limps over to the couch, throwing herself on it carelessly. "Already had one demon thing attack me," She mumbles her words nearly muffled by the pillow she has her face pressed into.
"Wait, so you… you know about demons?" Sam says incredulously.
She turns her head in order to give him a solemn look. "Enough not to get killed. Had a close encounter when I was ten, been learning about them ever since."
Dean offers a strained laugh. "That is one road you do not wanna go down sister."
"Can it, bitch." Khrysta glares.
Dean barely squeaks out, "Jerk." Her ferocity caught him by surprise, and surprising Dean Winchester just isn't something that happens often. "That wasn't very nice."
She gives him a pointed look and says, "You look like you've had much less pleasant conversations. And I'm just messing around, loosen up a bit."
"Anyway, Khrysta, back to business. Apparently you were attacked by a dog…?"
"Not just any dog, my dog. Jethro, a German Sheppard, barely seven years old. He died nearly two weeks ago." She answers Sam without protest, and Dean wonders what has put him in such bad graces with the girl.
"Are you sure it was your dog?"
Khrysta bites her lip, thinking back on it and says, "He had the same coloring, but most German Sheppard's look pretty similar… It could have been a different dog," She admits.
"Where did he bite you?" Dean asks.
Khrysta pulls her hair away from her neck, tilting her head back to show them a half healed mark on the side of her throat. "There, and on my leg. That's how he took me down."
Dean is surprised the girl even survived. Khrysta had gotten lucky- the dog must've just barely missed the artery in her throat.
"Did someone get the dog off you or-?"
Khrysta shakes her head slowly. "No, it ran away, with its tail between its legs, like a master had reprimanded it." For a moment her eyes are wild as an idea pops into her mind. "You don't think someone summoned a demon to come after me did you?"
Sam sighs, running a hand through his overly long bangs. "I'm not really sure, Khrysta. But we have to consider everything."
The girl takes a deep breath and lets it out calmly. "Okay."
*(*)*
Dean feels constantly hung-over anymore, even when he hasn't drank much alcohol for a solid two days.
Two days have passed since their initial talk with Khrysta and her mother, and the best they can come up with is that it's a low level hellhound, one that is still visible to the human eye.
"How many hellhounds do you know of that we can see?" Dean asks around a mouth full of toothpaste.
"None," Sam says plainly. "But that doesn't mean they don't exist. When you were dragged down to hell," He says carefully, "Did you see the hellhound that was attacking you?"
Dean is taken aback by the forward question. "Well, yeah, but it sure as hell looked a lot more gruesome than a family pet, and it was trying to kill me Sam."
Sam shrugs, "Well think about it, how many people have lived to tell the tale of what the damn thing looked like? According to a lot of mythology the hellhounds can take on whatever appearance they want to, the dog was just a favorite."
Dean frowns thoughtfully, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "So you think it took the form of Khrysta's dog-,"
"Jethro," Sam corrects.
His correction is ignored and Dean keeps going, "—just to mess with her mind?"
Sam rubs his temples, far from just tired. He just wanted to go to bed and never have to wake up again. To just stay in the blissful darkness forever would be wonderful.
"Ah, come on Sammy. Thought you liked having me around." The voice comes out of the blue, and Sam barely suppresses the urge to pull his gun out and point it at the bastard right now.
Lucifer grins at him, looking slightly ridiculous with his 'I Love Luci' t-shirt. Sam gets the joke, but doesn't particularly care for the actual play 'I Love Lucy'
He presses the cut on his hand and Lucifer sighs and fizzes out, thankfully gone for at least a while.
"Hey, Sam, you with me?" Dean snaps his fingers in front of his brother's face, and watches his eyes snap away from the empty corner of the room.
"Yeah, I'm here man."
Dean yawns, stretching like a cat.
"Good, now let's get some sleep."
Review? I'll try to post the next chapter by Saturday if there's enough interest. Toodles, and thanks for reading!
Love,
gilraenstar