Disclaimer: I don't own "Supernatural" or its characters. (Notes at end).
Chapter 1: Caged
"How did this happen?!" Sam asked aloud in exasperation. "Why do these things always happen to us?" he continued in frustration as he paced back and forth in the cage in which he and his brother were currently trapped.
"It comes with the territory, Sam," Dean remarked while watching his agitated brother from the corner of the cage. He couldn't help but grin despite his own annoyance with the situation.
The two brothers were hunters, hunters of the supernatural: demons, vampires, witches, and the like. Ever since Sam was a baby and their mother was killed by a yellow-eyed demon, their dad, John Winchester, had dragged them all over the country in search of the monster. Once they were old enough, Sam and Dean had become hunters themselves. Since taking down the yellow-eyed demon, the pair had faced many other dangerous foes and horrible tragedies. They had defeated Hellhounds, angels, knights of Hell, and even the Devil himself. Together, they had been to Hell, had gone to Purgatory, and had even died and been brought back to life by their undying loyalty for one other. But, this, this one was new.
"Come on, Dean!" he shouted, angry at how casual his older brother was being.
He knew the consequences of his job: never getting paid, hardly getting thanked, the loss of friends, demon deals, severe injuries, nasty hotel rooms, losing one's soul, long nights, losing oneself to demonic influences, and all the other terrible things. These were the normal costs of being a hunter. Sam knew this. But their current predicament could not be chalked up to the standard consequences of their job. It was not normal, not that their lives could be considered normal. This, however, was just bizarre. This was not even supernatural. It was just unnatural.
"You can't say this-" Sam gestured to himself "-is just a part of our job," he said, looking down at his new body in disbelief and hatred. He moved his eyes up to his brother, seeing if he had any response. What he saw only angered him more. "Are, are you actually smiling?" he asked, a "V" forming on his forehead.
"No," Dean said, face dropping. "Not at all. Of course not," he rambled, looking away from his brother's angry eyes.
"You think this is funny, don't' you?" he questioned, glaring at him.
Not that Sam wasn't pleased to see his brother truly tickled about something after what he had been going through lately, but how could he be when they were so far from an answer now? How could they even try to find a way to get rid of the Mark of Cain when they were in their new forms and trapped in cage who knows where? It's like Dean didn't even care. Sam tried to be supportive, but he was so tired of his brother acting like there was no answer, that Dean was just doomed to be a monster. And now, he was practically laughing about all of it.
Dean hesitated at first, not wanting the upset Sam any further. But then he caught a glimpse of his brother's furious expression, and he couldn't help himself.
"Aw, come on, Sammy. You've got to admit that this is a little hilarious," he said with a big grin on his face. Sam just continued glaring at his Cheshire cat of a brother. "Stop being such a Grumpy Cat. Just look at yourself," he said, motioning to the shiny metal floor. Sam sighed. With a roll of his eyes, he leaned forward a bit and scowled down at his reflection. "You are the most fringin' adorable thing I've ever seen! Especially with that pouty face of yours," he said, grinning down at their reflections.
After eyeing his brother's reflection at the comment, he looked back at his own. He could only recognize the creature staring back at him as Sam Winchester by its brownish-green eyes. Seeing the creature he had been unwillingly transformed into forced his mind back to the event that had gotten them into yet another ordeal.
UNUNUNUNUNUNUNUNUN
The younger Winchester brother was tuning the large file room of the Bunker upside down once again to find a cure for the Mark. Protected against all forms of evil and located under an old power plant in Lebanon, Kansas, the Bunker had become a home to the two and was filled with vast information about the supernatural. Still, Sam had not had any luck finding a way to remove the Mark of Cain from his brother's arm that was slowly turning him into a demon. Now that the Mark had served its purpose of allowing Dean to kill Abaddon, and then Cain as a bonus, and ridding the world of the last two very evil Knights of Hell, it had to be eradicated. It was destroying his big brother.
The tall, younger man ran his hand through his long, dark brown hair and let the air out of his lightly bearded cheeks. He stared with bloodshot eyes at the hundredth open file in front of him. The words on the paper were blurred into illegible marks. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Dropping his hands to support his weight on the table, he attempted to read the file again. Letters running together, he shook his head. It was no use. He was just too worn out form the endless searching he had done that day to read any longer.
He roughly closed the folder and threw it into the box. There were no answers here, no matter how many times he read every piece of paper in the Bunker. He slammed the lid onto the box and shoved the cardboard cube back into its place on the shelf. He sighed. He would not give up. He would find a way to save his brother. There had to be a way. He'd just have to look for other options, maybe even one's he didn't want to think about. He shook his head again, closing his eyes. It hadn't come to that yet. He didn't need to take that risk just yet. Dean wouldn't like it anyway.
A rustle followed by a soft thud, broke him from his thoughts as his eyelids flew open. Hand placed on his angel blade, his eyes quickly darted down behind the metal shelfing unit where he had heard the sound. He spotted the corner of some paper sticking up behind the bottom shelf directly below where he had just put the box. He relaxed and crouched down to retrieve the paper. The dusty paper turned out to be a few pages of papers that were now falling out of an old folder he had apparently knocked down from somewhere on the shelving unit. He collected all the pieces and placed them on the table. He grabbed a chair that he was too busy to use earlier. Sitting down, he read through the old and forgotten case file.
The case had been a witch hunt. A few hunters had heard from a reliable source that a witch by the name of Ambivalence had recently been chased into the area after her previous lair had been discovered. The hunters were part of the Men of Letters, who had lived in the Bunker many years ago. These men had set out to collect and bring back Ambivalence's spells, potions, and such. These things would be safe from others' hands and could be of use to the men. The witch was very old, and they were confident they would find all sorts of magical goodies. The men had found her lair, which was an old large house that had seemed to have long been abandoned before she had taken it as her own. They discovered it had a large library full of her spell books. The books revealed spells that none of the men had ever heard of. They assumed they were just too old for any living person to remember. Distracted by the strange spells, Ambivalence had gotten the better of them. She had knock one of them out with a spell, but another one of the hunters was able to injury her with an iron fire pit poker. She fled and the third man had chased after her, leaving the second man to help the first. The rest of the file was unclear. It only said that the witch had gotten away and that they hadn't pursued her further. Two men had been lost in the fight, and the library had been left untouched.
Sam thought it was odd that the Men of Letters had not gone after the ancient witch nor brought back any of her books. Old witch's spells like those were usually very powerful, as were the witches who created them. They could do a lot of harm in the wrong hands. The spells could also be very useful, particularly to the brothers right now. An old, forgotten library owned by a centuries old witch could most definitely have something Sam could use to remove the Mark. It was certainly worth looking into at least.
Exhaustion swept away by this new lead, Sam grabbed the file and ran to Dean's room. Reaching his brother's small, simple room decorated with a few weapons, he was too excited to knock. He barged in, swinging the solid door open so hard it slammed into the concrete wall. Hunter instincts kicking in, the shorter man leapt up out of bed pointing the gun from his nightstand at whatever had come to attack him. His messy, short brown hair further gave the impression that he was surprised, as if his hair were standing on end in a cartoonish manor.
"Whoa, Dean! It's me, Sam," the younger brother quickly said, holding his arms up beside his head.
"Da** it, Sammy," Dean said, dropping his hands down. "You can't just barge in here in the middle of the night like a mad man, unless you want to have a hole through that big brain of yours."
"Sorry," Sam said. Watching his brother set the gun back down in its place, Sam was reminded that his brother would often sleep in his birthday suit now that he had his own room. "Ahem, Dean," Sam said, eyes glued to the dark ceiling.
He gave his younger brother a strange look, before he looked down and understood why Sam appeared to find the ceiling so interesting. He sat down in his bed and covered himself up with his tan blanket.
"That's what you get for scaring the he** outta me," Dean said, letting his brother know he was decent. Sam slowly moved his eyes downward, just in case. "You jealous, little bro," he added with a sideways grin.
Sam just rolled his eyes as he walked past his now covered brother and turned on the lamp beside the gun. Waiting for his blinded brother to stop squinting, Sam cautiously sat down beside him on the edge of the bed.
"What's that?" Dean asked, blinking his eyes at the old folder. "Don't tell me you woke me up just for a case. I was having a good dream, if you know what I mean."
Sam rolled his eyes again. He doubted that was true. He had found Dean twisting and turning in his bed covered in sweat on more than one occasion. He could only assume he was having bad dreams about the Mark and the awful things he had done under its influence. Sam wouldn't ask him. He didn't want Dean to feel worse about the situation. And Dean wouldn't have told him anyway. He didn't want to worry his little brother further. The truth is he was actually thankful Sam had woken him. Another bad dream about brutally killing and causing a blood bath was starting up again. He tried to hide this with his remark about the good dream, trying to act normal. He needed to convince himself he was fine, that he could handle this, even more than he needed to convince his brother. Sam still had hope. Dean wasn't sure he had any left, though he told his brother otherwise. He had allowed Sam to believe he would stop thinking like there was no hope, but he didn't know if he could really believe that.
"I found this old folder behind the filing shelves," Sam said with some excitement. Dean took the folder and began glancing through it. "Some hunters were after an old witch." The oldest looked up from the folder. The tired and annoyed look he was giving Sam silently asked why this mattered right now before the sun was even up. "She had a library full of old spells," the youngest answered the unspoken question.
"Sam, I know where this is going," Dean shot him down before he could even explain.
"Come on, Dean. You said you wouldn't give up," Sam reminded him.
"I didn't say that," he said, staring at the pages.
"You pretty much did. I told you to stop acting like this is the end, and you agreed. I won't stop looking for an answer," Sam said, standing up and looking down at him.
"This is a long shot," Dean said, looking up to meet his brother's eyes.
"I know. But it's something," he stated with sad hopefulness.
The room was quiet as they both kept their eye contact. Dean's eyebrows knitted into horizontal lines above his eyes, while Sam's begging ones were pushed upwards in the middle. After a few quiet moments, the sitting hunter finally broke.
"Alright fine," he sighed, looking back at the file. "We can take a swing at it, but I'm not getting my hopes up. Just stop giving me those darn puppy eyes," he said, handing Sam the folder while still avoiding those big, sad eyes. Sam smiled and took the folder. "Now get you're a$$ outta here so I can get dressed," he demanded and grabbed the blanket threateningly. He smirked as his little brother scurried out of the room so fast he lost his gripped on the door handle. The door was left ajar, but the embarrassed hunter didn't dare turn back to close it. Sam was just too easy.
The old, black Impala that had once belonged to their father slowly made its way down a bumpy dirt road. The path went through a large overgrown field that ran along some woods. The drive was not too long, but, by the time they had gotten themselves ready and loaded the car with what they would need to take down the witch if necessary, the sun was already up when Dean could see a wooden dwelling in the distance. He thought that had to be the house they were looking for. The only other building was a newer, smaller, white panel house they had passed a few minutes back that was across the field on the opposite side as the old house.
The older Winchester glanced over at his sleeping brother, wishing he didn't have to wake his peaceful, slumbering sibling. He couldn't convince his determined, excited brother to eat much of a breakfast before they left, but he did get him to at least take a nap on the way there. Dean knew Sam was neglecting his sleep, being too worried about him or staying up to look for a solution. There was no point for youngest to stay awake anyway. Dean would seldom let him drive his precious Baby-except when his demon self gave her over to him-, especially when Sam hadn't slept. Plus, Sam had already told him how to get there. He had also filled his big brother in on what little was written about the case, while Dean scarfed down a heavy breakfast. He was already up before the sun on a farfetched cure; he was not going to miss eating a hearty breakfast too.
Dean slowed the car to a stop in front of the house because what he could only assume was once a yard was covered in tall weeds and dead grass. He might not ever get his Baby out of there if he parked any closer. Not to mention the scratches. He turned off the engine and shook his brother's shoulder.
"Hay, Sammy. We're here," he said gently.
"Hum…," Sam mumbled. He stretched his long body. Then he fisted his eyes, shook the sleep out of his head, and hoped out of the car leaving his brother stunned. He popped his head into the passenger window and asked, "You coming?"
"Yeah…," Dean answered.
He'd never seen anyone go from completely out stone cold to wide awake and ready for action so quickly. Sam couldn't help himself though. Any lead, even one as farfetched as this one, filled him with more hope. His excitement bubbled to the surface because he might finally have his big brother back. He couldn't even act a little tired right now.
Climbing out of the car, Dean looked back at his little brother as he grabbed some knives, guns, and iron out of the trunk. He wished he could feel what his brother was feeling. Instead, he plastered on a smirk and joined Sam.
Grabbing a gun, he smirked, "You look like a kid on Christmas morning."
"I'm just really hopeful we'll finally find an answer here," Sam said, closing the trunk.
Loaded down with weapons, the two brothers headed for the house. This witch had apparently killed two men already. Although the case file didn't say exactly what had happened, it appeared this witch was powerful, so much so that they never went after her again. Plus, she had a full library of spells she could use against them. They had to be prepared.
Fighting their way through the brush, they made it to the porch. They dusted the stray plants off their jackets and then held their guns at the ready. Dean motioned for Sam to walk around the creaky, overgrown, wraparound porch to the back. He skillfully made his way around the house without making a sound. The eldest Winchester pushed open the gapped door, gun in the other hand. Dim morning light shined through the open wooden door and joined the rest that was creeping through the broken windows, lighting the room just enough for Dean to see.
He carefully stepped inside the fallen down house. The room felt a little cool, but the house was pretty drafty. Dean dismissed it. They were looking for a witch, not a ghost. Searching the room for any signs of life, he was surprised by how well the house was kept. There was hardly any dust or cobwebs covering the living room. What little furniture was there was old and torn. If someone had been living in the house recently, they must not have replaced anything form the first owners who lived there even before the witch had. That couch was ancient. Dean made his way to the back of the house. They hadn't done any repairs either. He had to step over a broken floor panel to get to the kitchen. The only upkeep on the house was the dusting and keeping all the old crap organized.
Finding Sam standing in the kitchen looking as confused as he did, Dean asked, "What kind of person would bother cleaning this dump?" He eyed the fallen chandelier hanging over the scratched-up dining room table in the adjacent room.
"Maybe a witch," Sam offered, "That is the last known person to live here." He moved the crocked cabinet door to find it was empty just like all the others he had checked. "It's weird though. There's no food here," he said, showing him the empty cabinet. To be sure, Dean opened the frig door. Unsurprisingly, it was empty as well. Making a face he stuck his hand inside, and then he raised an eyebrow.
"Check this out," Dean said.
Sam copied his brother and said in astonishment, "It's cold."
"Yeah," Dean said, walking into the dining room. He flipped the light switch. The broken light fixture came to life with light. "The electricity still works."
Closing the refrigerator, Sam went to the kitchen sink. Turning the knob, he was rewarded with clean, clear water.
"And the water," Sam mused aloud. Turning off the water as his brother killed the lights, Sam said, "Someone must still live here."
"Yeah, someone with a horrible taste in style," Dean added, looking at the decrepit room again. "Sounds like a she-witch to me, a she-witch that's a neat freak," he added, spotting the old-fashioned dishes stacked neatly on the counter.
"This whole thing feels off to me. Come on. Let's keep looking," Sam said.
Finding nothing on the first floor, they climbed the half-broken stairs. There was still no sign of the witch after searching every room but one. One brother on each side, they pushed open two large doors that must have led to the library. Doors opened fully, the two saw the large room filled with old, worn books that they were searching for. Checking the room, there was no sign of the witch, expect for the spell books.
They assumed she must have been out or something-if she had even been there recently at all. They still weren't sure what was going on with the house, but they worked carefully in case someone came back. They didn't want her to get the slip on them, like she had the other hunters. Looking at the tremendous number of books, Dean almost wished she were there. Then they could force her to help them find the spell they needed, if there even were one there.
After a long day of reading through the books, Dean had had enough. "We are never going to find anything!" he yelled, knocking the pile of books he had read off the table. "We've been here all day! None of these spells even make any sense!"
"Calm down, Dean," Sam said calmly, walking over to his brother. "We'll find something," he assured, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder.
Shrugging the hand off, Dean stepped back and said more calmly, "Come on, Sammy. Face it. There is nothing here but a bunch of crazy old hag's mumbo jumbo."
"Why don't you take a break? I'll be fine up here," Sam suggested. His brother didn't move. Sam could still see the remnants of anger in his eyes. "Didn't you bring some of that unhealthy junk food you love so much?" he added, feigning disgust and hoping food would get his mind on something else.
"Yeah. I'll just go have a snack then," Dean said sounding dejected as he glanced at the scattered books on the floor.
"I'll get that, Dean," he offered with a smile, bending down to clean up the mess.
"Thanks, Sammy," he said, turning around to go to the car.
Once he was gone, Sam sighed. He needed to find the spell quick. Normal Dean had a temper, but it was the Mark's influence that made him snap like that.
Reaching the Impala, he kicked the tire hard. He had to get himself under control. The more he lost it, the more he worried his little brother and thus, the more desperate Sam got for an answer. Not to mention, Dean was scaring himself. What if he had hit Sammy when he tried to comfort him like he had thought about doing for a split second? He could never live with himself if he hurt his little brother. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and slowly let it go. He was fine and, more importantly, Sam was okay. That was all that mattered right now. He couldn't think about the future right now. He just had to focus on his candy bar and maybe a beer and then go back in and help Sam.
Flipping through another aged book, Sam had a thought. He looked around the room again. Besides the shelves full of spell books, there were no other signs of witchcraft. Maybe the witch had never come back. But what about the working power, running water, clean rooms, and organized dishes? If she had been chased off after a battle with the hunters, the place would have been a mess. Even if the house had somehow survived the fight, there would still be dust covering everything. Plus, her witchcraft stuff would have still been there, since the hunters apparently had left everything there. Maybe she had left recently to move somewhere else, and she had taken everything else with her. Why would she leave the books, and what kind of witch would clean before she left? Something was definitely not right here.
Sam shook his head of the thoughts and tried to focus on the book again. He was there to look for a spell, not to investigate a case of a missing witch. The incantations were unfamiliar. He hadn't seen this language before. The purpose of each spell written along with them offered little help. Although written in English, the sentences were so vague, they could mean anything. Sam couldn't tell what the spells actual did. Plus, the spells required no ingredients or anything else but reading the incantations as far as he could tell. That was unusual. Maybe they were just very old like the hunters before them had thought. What had happened to make them just drop the case like they had? What had happened in this house? Sam observed the room again. Whatever had happened, he and Dean had been there all day, and there had been no sign of anyone. He felt it was fairly safe to assume that no one was coming back, at least not tonight.
Finding his mind wondering again, Sam closed the book to take a break. These strange books were giving him a headache. Not to mention the only sleep he had gotten since the night before last was in the car. He hadn't eaten much either. He really should take better care of himself. It was just too hard to focus on himself when he was so worried about Dean. He rubbed his hands over his face, putting extra attention on his pounding temples and heavy eyes. He walked around the room a bit to clear his head. Glancing at the many books they still had to read, he sighed. This was going to take longer than he had thought. He had underestimated the size of the library and the difficulty of interpreting the meaning of the spells.
Then his eyes caught something odd. Hidden in plain sight with some older, rougher looking books, was an extremely tattered brown book. Sam approached the book, noticing it was obviously even more aged and worn than the rest. He carefully slid the ancient book off the shelf so not to tear it further. Glancing through the pages, he quickly realized that this book was just like the others: confusing and full of unusual incantations.
Frustrated, he dropped the book onto the table. Hitting the wooden surface, the book opened. Glancing back at it, he noticed some darker writing on the page. Curious, he picked the book back up. The darker marks were written in another's sloppy handwriting. They were fresher than the witch's writing. Someone else had written it more recently, which would explain why the book had opened to this spot. Ignoring the writing for now, he read the page.
The incantation was short, but still not familiar. There was not ingredient list for this spell either. It seemed very simple, much like the others. Also similar to the others, the purpose of the spell was unclear. It was something to do with weak and change. Maybe the spell could weaken the Mark so it could be removed or change it into a simple, harmless scar.
Before Sam could further think on the spell, Dean stumbled back into the room through the large open doorway. He seemed much more relaxed, which made Sam smile. The break must have done him good. Now maybe they could progress faster. He had a bottle of water in one hand and a snack bar in the other.
"You need to eat," Dean said, offering Sam the bottle and snack. Sam took the food and looked at the fruit grain bar. "It has fruit. That counts as healthy, right?" he asked, falling into the chair he had been sitting in prior to his break. He put his dirty boots on the table and leaned back. "Find anything?" he casually asked.
Sam eyed him strangely. He was definitely buzzed. As long as he was calm and could still help him work, Sam was okay with it. He could understand. Alcohol made him feel better, made things easier for him.
"Yeah," Sam answered, taking the book over to Dean and setting his food down.
"Yeah?" he asked, surprised. One eyebrow up in suspicion, he dropped his feet to sit up properly, so he could look at the magic, cure-all spell.
"Well, maybe," Sam added. He sat the book down in front of his now skeptic brother. "It's hard to tell, but this spell might do something."
"Well that's nice, Sam, another gibberish spell that does something. That's helpful," he said sarcastically, pushing the book away.
"No, Dean. Look," he said, picking the book up and holding it in front of Dean. "Here. It might weaken the mark or something. We can at least try it. It's not like it could kill you if it fails."
"Yeah. Let's just treat me like a lab rat with every fringin' one of these spells because this Mark won't let anything take me out," he sneered, pushing the useless book out of his face.
"This is the closest thing we've found all day," Sam said desperately. Dean just looked away. "Please, Dean. Let's just try this one, and then we can ward the house and rest for the night," he bargained. They were both exhausted form the early start and long day of reading. "This is all we have. I won't let you become that monster again. You'd said you would try," he said more aggressively.
Dean looked up at him. Sam stared back with desperate, pleading eyes. Dean didn't want to just start casting spells all willy-nilly just because Sam was desperate to fix his brother. He may not get hurt, but Sam could. But his little brother hadn't tried any spells all day and believed this one could work. He could at least try this one for Sammy's sake.
"You eat, and I'll let you do it," Dean offered.
"Deal," Sam said, holding the book back up.
"Ah ah ah," Dean said, pushing the discarded food towards Sam. "Food first."
"Really?" Sam asked, eyeing his brother.
"We had a deal," he said with a sideways grin.
"Fine," Sam sighed, putting the book down and grabbing the artificial fruit bar. He ripped it open and swiftly took a bit. It was surprisingly appetizing, but he hadn't eaten much that day.
Satisfied that his little brother was holding up his end, he picked up the book. Reading over the English part, he could sort of understand what Sam had seen. His eyes took notice of the fresher note written in the margin of the page. What in the world was a grimalkin? Sam probably knew.
"Drink the water too," Dean demanded, eyeing him from behind the book like a mean, old librarian. Sam rolled his eyes, but opened the bottle and chugged it back.
Knowing Sam, he had probably already read the little messy note and figured it out by now. He wouldn't try the spell before he had gotten all the information he could. Sam was careful like that.
"All of it," he commanded, his smile hidden behind the book. Sam glared at him, but quickly guzzled some more water down.
His brother was going to use an unknown spell on him, the least Dean could do was make him work for it. Besides, they were overdue for some brotherly teasing with all that had been going on lately. Plus, he really did want Sam to eat. He hated that his little brother was neglecting his own health to try to help him. He was the big brother; that was his job. Teasing his sibling was just a bonus.
Watching Sam hurriedly gulp down the water, he wondered if he was still as careful as he used to be. He practically choked on the water just so he could try some random spell that had a little sliver of a change at working. Maybe his judgement was a little lapsed as well due to the circumstances. Great; something else for Dean to worry about.
Dean shook his head and focused on the book again. He should thoroughly study the spell just to be safe. He looked at the strange incantation as Sam finished the water. The youngest twisted the top on and set down the empty bottle, while Dean mumbled the odd words to himself, trying to recognize even a single word. The taller looked at his brother, expecting a sarcastic job well done. He only saw his sibling staring intensively at the book. He stepped over to the table and wrapped his fingers around the top of the book. Finishing reading over the incantation, Dean glanced up at his brother.
"I want to get the lowdown on his thing before I let you hit me with it," Dean said, not releasing the book.
"I do too," Sam said, pulling on the book.
"You mean you got my hopes up, and you haven't even read the fine print?" he asked, eyeing him.
"You really seem hopeful," he responded, rolling his eyes. "I just want to be certain before I use it," he answered, pulling on the book again.
"Go ahead and take it then, Nancy," Dean commented on his brother's inability to pull the book from his grip.
"I would if you'd release your vice grip," he said, pulling harder.
"I'm not doing anything," he said, beginning to worry.
Sam's eyes met his brother's. They both quickly tried to drop the open book, but their hands remained glued to it. The pages began the rustle under their fingers. Nervously waiting for something bad to happen, they both just stared wide-eyed at the old hardback stuck to their hands. A small green tornado of smoke began seeping out form the pages.
"Dean, what did you do?!" Sam questioned, mixed with anger and fear. He had no idea how to defeat a smoke-spewing book.
"Me?!" Dean asked, eyes moving to stare at his brother.
The twisting smoke grew larger.
"You had it last!" he shouted over the loud gusting that was now coming from the green tornado.
"I didn't…Son of a bit**! All I did was read it to myself! It was hardly even a whisper!" he yelled over the loud blowing wind.
The tornado had outgrown the book and was spilling over onto their arms.
"Dean!" he scolded.
It grew even larger and encompassed them into itself.
"That's not how spells work! You need ingredients and candles and crap like that, don't you?!" Dean asked, watching the green smoke as it circled around them.
"Not for this spell, apparently!" he hollered.
The smoke was spinning so fast, the two could barely keep from collapsing.
"The spell was only meant for me, not you!" the oldest panicked, no longer able to see his little brother through the smoke. "What's it going to do to you?!" He didn't get a reply. "SAMMY!"
His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He tried to pull the book towards him, knowing his little brother should be on the other end. The distance to the end of his arm seemed impossibly long. He kept pulling, even trying to use his other arm. He couldn't find his arm or reach the end. The smoke in front of his eyes grew brighter until he could only see white. He suddenly felt lightheaded. Then everything went black.
Far off in the field, a bright explosion of light was visibly filling the second floor of an old, wooden house with green smoke that poured out the broken windows. The sole owner of the little white house, the only other house in the overgrown field, quickly ran to her window. Once there, the young brunette could clearly see where the strange light that had tinted her curtains green had come from. Speedily grabbing her cell phone, she dialed 911. This was something she could not ignore.
Less than half an hour later, the police and firemen had finally made the long drive to the house. Seeing the officials had arrived, the women could finally drive around the field, up the dirt road, and over to the house she had been watching ever since she had made the call. Since the strange light show, nothing else had happened. The house was completely still, lifeless. By the time she had driven to the old house, the officials were tapping up the scene. The cops had found a car full of fake IDs, weapons of many kinds, and quite a few empty beer bottles; a library filled with possibly devil worship books; two sets of clothes with cell phones; an empty bottle of water; a fruit bar wrapper; no other food inside the house; no sign of the smoke or an explosion; and no trail as to where the two men had gone. Their flannel shirts, heavy jackets, jeans, and boots were lying on the floor in a pile as if the men had just disappeared into thin air, leaving behind their clothes.
Stepping out of her light blue Corolla, the women walked up to one of the officers. He explained that they had found several suspicious items and asked her if she knew anything else. All she saw that night was the green smoke and light. She had seen lights turned on in the house before and had heard some banging sounds, but she was positive that no one had lived there since long before she had her house built about ten years ago. She thought maybe some homeless people had used it on occasion or something. She didn't want to bother them. Until tonight, it hadn't been a problem. What she had seen that night had scared her though.
The officer said they still weren't sure what had happened there. They would have to investigate this further. But the men could be dangerous. He advised her to be careful. Maybe she could go stay with someone away from this house until they had caught the men or a least had figured out what had happened there. He had one last question for her. He pointed over to a fireman holding something in his arms. She shook her head negatively.
With a groan, the younger Winchester blinked his eyes at the semi dark room. All he could remember was the green smoke and then some blurry visions of metal tables, awful needles, and a very inappropriately placed thermometer; he shivered at the fuzzy memory. He found difficulty rubbing his eyes. Then he slowly sat up and scanned the room. He quickly took notice of the large metal bars in front of him. Heart beating faster, he raced to the bars and observed the room.
A small hanging light fixture gave the room a creepy dim glow. He could just barely see more large cages on the other side of the room. It was too dark and the cages to distant for Sam to see inside them. He focused on the floor below instead, where the light had formed a bright circle on the floor. White tile seemed to be what was covering the floor. He felt a small bit of relief. Judging by the relatively niceness of the room, he probably wasn't in Hell or in Lucifer's cage. But he was still in some kind of cage in a place he couldn't remember being taken to.
He turned to face the inside of his cell. Maybe there was a clue inside. For the first time, he realized he was standing on a blue blanket. Wherever he was couldn't have been too bad if his captors had provided him with this soft accommodation. There was some sort of large purple box in the corner. On the other side were two large matching bowls. Wait! What was that in the corner? Maybe it was Dean. He hoped his brother was okay. He wondered if the spell had worked and did anything to the Mark.
The heap in the corner suddenly shifted, startling Sam from his thoughts. Now that it had moved a bit, the creature didn't look anything like his brother. It appeared to be asleep though. Sam could take this to his advantage, but quickly. The creature was waking up. With no weapons on him, the slightly still disoriented hunter prepared himself for a first fight and carefully approached the waking body. The closer he got, the more familiar the creature appeared, but it was way too large to be that. It turned over. Sam was surprised at his own actions as he was easily startled and jumped backwards away from the creature.
Saying the only thing his alarmed mind could think of, Sam stuttered, "Wh-where's D-Dean?"
"You're lookin' at him, stupid," the creature moaned, eyes still too tired to open.
"You're not my brother!" Sam protested, strange freight replaced with anger. This monster, whose deep voice soundly oddly very much like Dean's, was pretending to be his big brother! Groaning in frustration, the creature pushed its heavy, exhausted body upright, making Sam take a step back.
"Get your hair out of your eyes. It's me, Sammy," it spoke, finally lifting its eyelids. Sam and the creature both stared into each other's wide familiar eyes.
"Dean?" Sam questioned, staring at the creature that was currently wearing his brother's eyes.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, surprised by his brother's appearance. "What the he** happened to you?"
"Me? Look at you," Sam said, fully clearheaded now.
Giving each other strange looks, they both looked down at themselves. They were surprised to see that they were both the creature their brother was.
"What the fudge?!" Dean shouted at his own appearance, drowsiness gone.
Calming himself, Sam suggested, "Maybe it was the spell."
"Transformed and weak definitely describes us right now," he agreed, observing his new arms.
"Is the Mark still there?" he asked, hope in his voice.
After quickly checking his upper right arm, the oldest sighed, "Yep." "Looks like that dumb spell was completely useless after all, unless you wanted us to live like this for the rest of lives," he sneered, looking at himself again.
"Of course not, Dean," Sam said, getting mad at the situation they had found themselves in.
"I'm just saying, I'm a lot less dangerous like this," he said, a little anger dying in his voice.
"This is not a solution! The spell was supposed to fix that Mark, not turn us into this!" the youngest yelled, aggravation taking over.
This was just so typical of them: trying to fix something only for it to blow up in their faces. Sam began angrily pacing behind the bars. He, nor Dean, had time for this now. This was serious!
UNUNUNUNUNUNUNUN
Enraged more by the memory, Sam focused his mind back on the reflecting floor. The creature's pointy ears were pinned back against its round head. Little turfs of fur stood from the end of both hairy ears. Its white-ringed eyes were angrily narrowed. An almost black fluffy tail swished back and forth behind its fur covered body. The black-striped, brown fur was long, poofy, and lightened as it traveled from the back to the belly and face. White fur covered its puffed-out chest, whiskered muzzle, and four paws. An "M" was written across its furiously wrinkled forehead, which seemed to mark him as the Maine Coon kitten he'd been accidentally transformed into.
A small smiled crept up the side of his mouth. The pouty kitten looking at him was undeniably adorable. Plus, Sam had to admit that after all they had been through, being turned into weak little kittens while trying to save Dean from a mark that was turning him into a monster was just ridiculous. It was so much so it was funny. His brother was right.
Of course, his changed mood did not go unnoticed by his older brother, who smirked at the now smiling kitten. Sam quickly dropped his humorous expression. He was happy, ecstatic really, to see Dean truly being his normal jerky big brother. He had really missed it. Plus, it meant Dean was happy too, and that really made him feel good. But Sam didn't want him to know he had agreed with him. The situation was still serious, despite being funny at the moment.
Sam glanced at the other kitten reflection that was smirking at him. His green eyes too gave away his identity. His new body was covered in light brown, short fur. Darker brown fur ran halfway up his legs. His chest was a cream color. His tiny paws, tail, erect ears, and muzzle were black. He was a Siamese kitten who, just like in their human forms, had to look up at his little brother. After looking over his brother's new body, Sam smirked. A humorous idea had popped into his lately worried head. The Siamese kitten dropped his smile and turned his head to the side.
"What?" Dean asked, confused and a little nervous.
Sam raised his head back up so he could look directly at his brother. Then he gleefully said, "You called me adorable." Dean's eyes widened, and his ears dropped down.
"I-I…I was just…I…" he stammered. "I'm not gay!" he shouted.
"Are you sure? Calling your brother-turned-kitten 'the most adorable thing you've ever seen,' seems pretty homosexual to me," Sam teased.
"Sam, I've been with more chicks than you could ever dream of!" he defended.
"Calm down, Dean," he laughed, "It was just a joke."
"That's a sick joke, Sam. I'm your brother," he huffed, turning around and tail twitching.
"Eww, gross!" Sam said, tiny sandpaper tongue sticking out.
He shivered at the thought of doing anything like that with his brother. It was awkward and embarrassing enough to even see his brother naked, especially since Dean had no modesty and just thought it was funny to mortify Sam. But doing that?
He shook his head from the nightmare inducing thought and said, "I was just trying to get back at you, jerk."
Sam's ears perked up, waiting for his sibling's appropriate response. After a few seconds of silence, his ears went down. Maybe he took it too far. Dean was pretty proud of his manliness, and he wasn't exactly his usual self right now.
"Bit**." Sam's ears caught the sound a quiet muffled snark.
A half smile formed on his face. Dean turned his head to reveal his own sideways smile to Sam. Everything was right with the Winchester boys again, at least at that moment. In that one moment Sam could forget how much he worried for his brother, Dean could forget his fear, and they could just enjoy their brotherly teasing. The moment was short-lived, however, when they realized they were each looking at a kitten instead of their brother. Right. They still had to figure out how to get out of wherever they were and turn themselves human again.
Author's Note: I've edited this chapter just a bit, mostly just fixing a few grammatical errors and changing a bit of the format. I did change one little thing from the content at the very end because I don't think they would assume anything about their location yet. Sorry, it took me so long to get back to this story. I love writing it, but life gets in the way sometimes. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and feel free to review!
Also, if anyone is interested, I have posted sort of a cover-art for this story on my Deviantart account (same username: Goodie Two-Shoes).
P.S. I'm still not caught up on the show, so no spoilers, please. And ** means bleeping out of curse words, in case it wasn't obvious.
Thanks for the review, TotallyChic! I'm really glad you want another chapter! I'm working on it. And thanks to all those who favorited and followed and to all you other readers!