COLD AS ICE
Authors: DanieWinchester RatedR Genre: General Archive: Sure, why not
Summery: Dean and Sam have faced many inexplicable entities from years of hunting but none as aggravating as Billie Stewart a mysterious woman with a tormented past and a terrible secret. While combating a murderous succubus the Winchesters must determine whether Billie is friend or foe before it's too late for all of them.
Disclaimer: Since Kripke has caused us so much torment over the past year it is this author's opinion that he owes us some ownership of Supernatural, or at least some entrance into Jensen Ackles's pants but sadly he does not seem to share my view. I do not own any of the original plot or characters, all new characters and original plot you can chalk up to this crazy brain of mine. The songs are copy written to their respective owners, I neither wrote nor performed nothing, unless you ask my steering wheel microphone, I can rock a car. No infringement intended. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida Baby.
CHAPTER ONE
She
keeps Moet et Chandon Caviar and cigarettes She's a Killer Queen
Recommended at the price
In her pretty cabinet
'Let them eat
cake' she says
Just like Marie Antoinette
A built-in remedy
For Khrushchev and Kennedy
At anytime an invitation
You
can't decline
Well versed in
etiquette
Extraordinarily nice
Gunpowder, gelatine
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed
to blow your mind
Anytime
Insatiable an appetite
Wanna try?
A large mug slammed down on the counter of Deterioration a dive bar which definitely lived up to its name. The glass made a resounding thud of success and joined a formation of its recently emptied brethren which made a less than straight line. The crowds cheered loudly as Bryan Davis grabbed the next mug. At thirty one years old Bryan wasn't quite sure why he kept chugging the beers, in fact he couldn't even remember how he had been suckered into a drinking competition with two twenty-something barflies but here he was on a roll and on his eleventh drink. The liquid was beginning to sting his throat as it went down and he was beginning to grow queasy. He wasn't about to allow the punks to beat him though, they may be younger and more enthusiastic, but he, he had experience. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the smaller one go down. Now it was just between him and the taller one. He picked up the last mug from the bar counter he could feel the amber liquid creeping back up his throat but he knew that the kid was worse off. He tipped the glass to his lips and began to drink. The kid did the same slowly. As Bryan drank, he was dribbling horribly on his shirt but he wasn't going to give up.
Bryan Davis had often been referred to as a "loser" in most conversations. Middle aged and single, Bryan had held a steady career as the manager of a Java Stop for the past ten years. He honestly did like his job and not many people could understand that, choosing instead to decide that Davis never truly made anything of his life. He was sure that his parents were embarrassed of his life choices. During holiday dinners his mother would always introduce his brother the doctor, his sister the Hollywood makeup artist, and Bryan who was in "management" but had "big plans." He often wished that one day his mother would understand that not everyone aspires to greatness; some are just content with a life of mediocrity. Of course, mediocrity didn't exactly endear you to those around you. Being the older manager of a Java Stop didn't make befriending co-workers easy or even possible; in fact on this particular night he had invited his employees who were college students in their early twenties to join him for a drink at the bar. No one had showed up. It didn't bother Bryan though he was used to it by now.
By now his competitor finished the beer that drew him even with Bryan and glared at his opponent as if daring him to drink another. Bryan eyed the mug that the bartender has slid onto the counter, he picked it up and the other man did the same with his glass, it was now a Mexican showdown. Who could drink the last beer? The man gave a sigh and put the beer back on the counter in defeat. Bryan grinned, raising his mug in a salute. To mediocrity he thought and promptly downed the liquid.
The cheering was loud but fleeting soon the patrons grew bored of the spectacle and returned to whatever they had been doing before the interruption. Bryan settled down in a barstool and attempted to collect himself. He had knocked back thirteen beers from the tap and the alcohol was starting to cause a foggy feeling in his head which was sure to be followed in the morning by a pounding hangover from hell. Bryan wasn't quite sure what to do now. After his crushing defeat of the bar boys, which had won him seventy bucks he wasn't going to go home. After all, to the rest of the patrons he was a champion, a blue collar hero. That had to be worth something. However, Bryan wasn't too keen on ingesting anymore alcohol considering his liver was probably already suffering for this little stunt. But what could a man do at a bar that didn't involve drinking? He raked his fingers over the strike plate of the bar matchbook he picked up on the way in and spun on his barstool away from the counter and towards- the most perfect breasts he had ever seen. Round and perky they were nestled into a couple of pieces of leather strips that Paris Hilton would call a shirt and his mother would call exploitation and sin.
Bryan Davis tore his eyes away from the cleavage and traveled up towards the woman's face. She was beautiful; Bryan placed her at late twenties with her long black hair and sparkling blue eyes. The woman was pale but not in a sickly gothic way the younger generation had begun to venerate, but luminous and ethereal.
"That was impressive." She didn't just speak the words; they seemed to drip from her ruby red lips. It was as if the rest of the world disappeared.
Bryan didn't really know what to say. He did decide that what ever it is must be smooth and confident.
"Du-yah, you lie-kit?" he stuttered.
"What?" Came the woman's confused response.
"Did you like that?" He repeated clearer.
Real smooth man, he mentally chastised. It didn't seem to faze the woman though. She gave a quiet giggle and continued.
"My name is Lilith." She offered out her hand.
Bryan still gaping at the woman's beauty just stared at it.
Lilith smirked.
"You know, where I am from, you shake the hand." She motioned towards her outstretched hand.
Bryan snapped out of his daze and quickly thrust out his hand to meet hers.
"Uh, oh, right, sorry, Bryan." He stopped, "I mean- I'm Bryan, not that you are Bryan."
"I got that." She remarked slightly sarcastic.
"Oh right." Bryan was striking out bad here but the woman didn't seem to notice.
She just kept his gaze, eyes transfixed.
"Bryan."
"Yes?"
"Do you want to get out of here?"
Had he just hallucinated that? He couldn't have.
"Oh, god yes!"
Bryan wasn't quite sure what he was doing as the woman led him out the front door of the bar. In fact, he often attempted to deter the few friends he had from going home with women they met in bars. After all, you are never sure where they have been. For all you know they could be psycho serial killers but it was as if Bryan's body was on autopilot. He could think of nothing but Lilith and how much he wanted to touch her, to taste her. Woman like this did not hook up with men like him, this could quite possibly be the letter to Penthouse he had waited for his entire life. If there happened to be a busload of cheerleaders in the parking Bryan would probably die right then and there.
Bryan Davis had never been so happy about the fact that his apartment was only three blocks away then he was that particular evening. Lilith traced kisses down his neck as he fumbled with the door handle. He was too busy returning the attention to look down at the lock merely attempting feel the lock out with the key. Eventually he managed to get his front door open and the couple pushed their way in. The door slammed behind them. Bryan didn't want to be presumptuous and begin disrobing the woman (even though by this point no one could blame him) luckily the woman decided to take charge of the situation
The woman pulled the straps which bound the top around her neck and it fell to the floor. Without warning in a forceful move Lilith pushed Brian to the floor and pinned him down with her body. He would have protested that his bedroom was only three feet away but his body soon erupted into pleasure like that he had never felt before and all other thoughts melted away. The sex was amazing as the two moved in one fluid rhythm and best of all Bryan didn't have to any work he simply left it to Lilith who seemed more than willing to control the situation. He just looked deep into her crystal blue eyes. She was smiling but it wasn't the kind of smile of pleasure he expected it was cold, calculating, it just didn't hit him right. Bryan Davis could never have anticipated what happened next. Lilith's sparkling eyes clouded over with a murky cloud turning them a soulless black.
There was second explosion not the scintillating sexual pleasure from before but that of agonizing pain the likes of which he had never previously felt it washed over his body.
Lilith, more monster than woman now, dug her long nails deep into his skin ripping down the soft flesh. Bryan attempted to return the action with a scream of pain but it was muffled as the creature leaned down over his mouth she began to inhale drawing out a glowing stream of light from deep inside his mutilated body. Bryan's body writhed and contorted with pain- the last thing he remembered was the sounds of Queen's Killer Queen the ring tone on his cell. His stupid brother had reprogrammed the mobile to the song as a prank one night. The irony of this situation was lost on Bryan as he faded into the darkness. Slowly and painfully Bryan Davis stopped breathing.
THREE DAYS LATER
Samuel Winchester was a god. There was nothing else to say about it. He was a god and all others were mere mortals in his presence. He lifted the tiny wooden tiles from their tray and laid them down one at a time. Each separate tile made a soft click as it was placed. He then leaned back to survey his work. "Q, U, I, X, O, T, I, C, quixotic, and that's as triple word score meaning that it is worth, " he did the multiplication quickly in his head, "78 points." Sam smirked at the look on his brother's face.
Dean Winchester's eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Was quixotic even a word? When his little brother suggested they forgo their usual evening bouncing from bar to bar in favor of a trip to the local Java Stop Dean had been less thrilled. However, Sammy had taken a break from his scheduled binge brooding and staring out rainy windows to suggest the brothers try something different this particular evening and Dean couldn't refuse. Dean had always had trouble turning down his brother's requests even the stupid ones but in this case he should have tried harder. He had once heard a rumor that cafes do not sell alcohol so after one o'clock in the afternoon they were thus dead to him. Don't get him wrong Dean like coffee, he liked coffee a lot, if wasn't for coffee he probably wouldn't get out of bed in the morning, however he could never understand what compelled a person to hang out in a café. When ordering coffee Dean was an in and out sort of guy, if the particular joint had a drive through it was an early Christmas. Cafés were not places you'd expect to find a party, a group of high school students doing a late night cram fest maybe, a woman's lit club coming together to talk about reading Bridget Jones' Diary and how much they hated men definitely, but not a way to spend a Friday night. Which is why he was beginning to question whether he and his brother were even related, it made him think of how he used to tell his brother he was adopted and their father found in an old tire in an abandoned field near their house just to upset him and make him cry. Those were good times. Of course, at that point in time and his brother was shorter than him and hit like girl. At least he still hit like a girl.
Dean was further put out when Sammy suggested a game of Scrabble while waiting for their drinks. He wasn't a Scrabble man in fact he wasn't any kind of game man unless the game involved darts or a billiards table. Well, except for that game of strip poker that one time at that one sorority and well he was really drunk that night.
A heavy sigh of defeat escaped the young mans lips as he rubbed a hand over his chin in meditation. He finally decided on a plan of attack. He lay his tiles down on the board and leaned back into the oversized arm chair.
"C, O, A, T, coat," Dean glanced up at Sam; his sibling's normally stoic face was dancing with amusement. "Shut up man we can't all be freaking Scrabble champs."
Dean was well aware that his brother hadn't actually said anything but at the moment everything about Sam bugged him. The fact that Sam had dragged his ass out of a nice comfortable motel room to some nerdy café, that fact that he felt obligated to make his brother happy by agreeing, and that Sam was kicking his ass at Scrabble.
Dean was going to berate Sam further but was interrupted by a shout from the barista.
"I've got a large caramel macchiato for Sam and a medium black coffee for Dane."
Sam snorted and giggled. Giggled like a ten year old girl. That was it Dean had lost all respect for his brother the tire kid.
"I'll get those Dane." Sam said rising, but Dean stopped him.
"No, no, I got it," Dean rose, and roughly knocked his shoulder into his brother's while passing. He needed to get away from his brother and more importantly that Scrabble board before he shot someone.
He walked slowly; his jeans had begun to stick to his thighs and his crotchital region he readjusted in one swift move. He noticed a disapproving glance from a black haired girl in the corner who with her think rimmed glasses and unreasonably pale skin looked like a vampire librarian. He shot back a look of what I'm a guy. She shot back a look that read if I wasn't overweight, covered in acne and fifteen I would skin you and drink your blood while sacrificing your genitals to the goddess. Dean rolled his eyes.
It Dean took the seven steps to the counter to officially decide that he was in hell. This was hell and it was attended to by demons. Demons which took the form of twenty-somethings that dressed head to toe in Hot Topic or American Eagle, ordered ridiculously overpriced coffee, discussed world politics and episodes of Buffy, shared his brother's awful taste in haircuts, and probably never got laid.
At twenty seven and actually cool, Dean did could not see himself fitting into this world, he preferred his Floyd shirt to polo tees. He wanted to be drinking a beer not his breakfast, and he had no idea what the hell a hollerback girl was but he was quite sure he wasn't one.
Without warning, something light but firm hit Dean square in the head. It had fallen from the sky. He looked down at the floor and seethed at the piece of crumpled notebook paper that had rained down on him. He turned back at a group of college kids who were horsing around in the corner. One of the girls gave him an apologetic glance as she attempted to wrestle a notebook away from her boyfriend and his friend. Dean just shook his head and breathed slowly to control his rage.
It was that time Dean noticed the double doors of the Java Stop fly open with some force. With them a woman strode confidently into the coffee shop. She was not necessarily gorgeous by conventional standards. She was not some half plastic, fake blonde, in a crop top like most of the woman Dean noticed. In fact, she was quite the opposite. Thin but solid, the woman looked as if she had lifted some weights in the past and could probably handle herself in a fight. Her dark brown hair was short, cropped to chin with the just the right amount of razored layers to make it look edgy. Instead of the pound of black eyeliner most women wore to make themselves look tough her face was almost completely bare of makeup and she was sporting tight dark jeans (that hugged her toned legs), a grey Led Zeppelin shirt, black motorcycle boots, and a black leather jacket.
Maybe it was his current company but this woman was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Perhaps, this was Dean's night after all. The woman glanced in his direction and he threw her a coy smile. She reciprocated with what could almost be considered a smile if more then the corners of her full rounded lips turned up. It was better then nothing he supposed.
"Come on man hurry up." It was brother's voice snapped Dean back to the present.
Sam was gesturing impatiently to the caramel macchiato and black coffee which still rested on the counter waiting for him to retrieve them. Dean gave another record setting sigh and pushed all other thoughts out of his head (including those about his future wife in the Led Zeppelin shirt who had already made her way to the line of people waiting to order) gathered the beverages and moved to return to the Scrabble Game of Doom as he now chose to refer to it. That was when a large sign resting on the counter caught his eye. On a small piece of poster board a large glossy photo, which had been blown out from enlargement, was taped to the center. On it a slight smiling man bedecked in a Java Stop uniform stared back at Dean. Large letters reading Rest in Peace Bryan framed the photo. By this point the barista had noticed Dean take an interest in the poster.
"We're taking donations for his family if you're interested." The girl was cute, it was really the only way to describe her, cute women like this were generally suckers and given the opportunity Dean would normally hit on a girl like this but her voice was a total deal breaker. Like nails on a chalkboard it was.
"What do you mean?" Dean asked automatically.
"Well," the cute blonde with the cat screech of a voice continued, "Its just awful what happened him getting all torn up like that, his family is taking up collections to help pay for the funeral costs."
"Torn up?" Now Dean was interested. Maybe he would get out of this evening after all.
"Yeah, he was found in his apartment in pieces, the cops are saying it was like he like got attacked by a wild animal or something." The barista continued. "Which is totally, like the weirdest thing because they said his door was locked from the inside, plus how many wild animals do you find in a second story apartment?"
"Not many." Dean admitted softly. The wheels in his brain were turning.
"Its got me like totally freaked out now, I mean what if something gets into my place and like tries to eat me. It's a pity I don't have a strong man there to protect me." She said with a slight pout.
The girl was putting out the vibe, but Dean feigned obliviousness he really couldn't care less. He just might have found his way out of this evening and might have found something to shoot at to boot. He collected the coffees and turned to go, nearly crashing into his brother who apparently was fed up with waiting.
"Dude, what's the hold up?"
Dean smiled at his brother,
"Maya here," he explained glancing at the girl's name tag, "Was telling me about this poor guy who got mauled by a wild animal."
Sam's expression did a one-eighty into a look of undying concern (so, the normal state of Sam's face).
"Oh, I am so sorry, was he camping?"
"No." Dean attempted to keep the excited from his voice. "He was mauled in his apartment- his locked, second story apartment."
Dean and Sam shared a look of knowing.
"Oh that's too bad."
"Yeah, I know," The girl turned her vibe towards the younger brother. "It's like so tragic."
Neither brother was taking the bait. She was just another added to the list of women spurned by the Winchester brothers.
"Hey what was that guy's last name?" He inquired from the girl.
"Davis." She answered. "Bryan Davis."
"Bryan Davis," Sam read aloud from his laptop as the boys pulled up to the row of apartments. "Thirty-one, single, manager for Java Stop, was found eviscerated in his second story apartment three nights ago. Apparently this is the third wild animal attack of the sort in the past ten months. It has authorities baffled."
"Yeah, color me surprised." Dean quipped looking up at the window of the second story apartment.
It felt nice to be back in his car, a full restored 1967 Chevy Impala they didn't quite make them like that anymore. In fact, Dean often wondered how a car so perfect and so awe inspiring could become so ugly in the past forty-years. The newer model Impala's didn't have style, didn't have grace. They looked like every other car on the road. Then again most people operating vehicles lacked the style and grace necessary to pilot such a worthy vessel. It reminded Dean of the last time he had stopped to get gas, he went into the station to stock up on provisions to overhear the gas station attended commenting on his pride and joy.
"You know I had an Im-pal-a once." The attended admitted in a Southern dialect. The word caused Dean to actually cringe. Im-pal-a as if he had a pal named Im. It was wrong. Dean felt like screaming "Impala! IM-PAW-LA! Say it wrong again and I will break your fucking fingers!"
Instead he kept it to himself (after all he was a wanted man) and regaled his brother on the idiocracy they were forced to cohabitate this particular planet with. However, this had absolutely nothing to do with the mission at hand. Sam and Dean had a short conversation about how exactly to get into the apartment without raising too much suspicion. Being that the hour was nearing midnight the boys deduced that there would be no disguise warranting a visit to an active crime scene at the hour and concluded that this would be a sneak and stealth mission.
Sam was the first to swing open his door and unfolded himself from the passenger seat. His brother followed suit and the two met around back at the trunk. The trunk of the Impala was rather remarkable. The beauty of the older model vehicles were the massive amounts of trunk space. Sam was sure that in a pinch he and his brother could fit at least three dead bodies into the trunk- four if one happened to be a really short skinny guy. On top of that, Dean had retrofitted the trunk with secret compartments for hiding all the demon hunting gear that was sure to get you more than a ticket on a routine traffic stop.
Dean lifted the latch on the compartment. The boys were still currently working to replace the equipment that had lost to an unfortunate collision with a demonically possessed semi-driver a few months back. It was an event the two rarely talked about because it invariably involved the brothers discussing their father's untimely demise and Sam's supposed fate. They did however; replace the bulk of their implements. Shotguns lined the upper portion and hand guns underneath. Ammo, knives, and various talismans came next. Normally, this would be the point of the adventure where the boys would mount up, but for your standard sneak and creep a flashlight and a lock pick set would do.
As Dean slammed the trunk lid down he was sure he heard the crunch of a broken branches underfoot before its impact. He glanced around inquisitively to the source. The street was bordered by a small park. It was dark however, and the small playground was stationary except for the slight sway of the swings in the evening breeze. The presence of the park however did make a wild animal attack slightly more plausible, yet Dean was sure it was one his types of cases and even if it wasn't it got him out of that damn coffee house. He looked back down towards his pockets as he began shoving his flashlight deep in the folds of his leather jacket. Something shiny caught his eye. It was a quarter. Dean squatted down to retrieve the booty.
"Sweet!" He exclaimed brightly.
His brother gave him a perplexed look.
"What?"
"I found a quarter." Dean displayed the piece of money proudly.
Sam shook his head, "Dude, it's a quarter."
Dean's eyebrows lowered conspiratorially.
"You see a quarter, I see fifteen minutes with the magic fingers."
"You have a serious problem man." His brother chided towards Dean's recent addiction to vibrating beds.
"Says the porn-boy." Dean shot back. It was a low blow, he knew it, but he didn't really care.
"Can we just get on with this?" Sam stomped off frustrated.
Dean took point as the brothers ambled up the path towards to apartment.
It didn't take the two long to locate apartment 111 the one formally inhabited by the late Bryan Davis, it was the only one sporting bright yellow tape reading Crime Scene: Do Not Cross in thick black letters. Dean and Sam Winchester had never been good at following directions.
Oddly enough at least one cop pulled his head out of his ass long enough to lock the door to the apartment and it took Sam a few minutes to jimmy the rusty lock. Upon entering the abode the brothers were met with what Dean Winchester assumed a Tsunami-stricken third world country looked like, dirty clothes littered the floor, dishes were pile haphazardly in the sink, and everything smelled of decomposition.
To add insult to injury the entire contents of the room seemed to be soaked with blood. Blood which made large arcs of spatter on the walls like a morbid Jackson Pollock painting.
"Wow," escaped from the older Winchester's lips as he took in the scene, "This is impressive, looks like he could have used a little Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, this just screams bachelor."
Sam shot a look to his brother, "You watch Queer Eye?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders, "I've flipped passed it."
Sam grinned, "I guess that explains your hair."
Deans grinned dropped.
"What wrong with my hair."
Sam decided not to respond and let him stew on it, he instead returned to surveying the scene.
There was a body shaped void in the blood where Bryan Davis must have fallen, Sam followed the blood trails up the walls with his eyes and drew his conclusions.
"Well, it looks to me like he was murdered here, this arc of blood right here (he pointed towards the wall in question), this is arterial blood most likely from the severing of the aorta." Sam deduced.
He glanced back towards Dean who had found a picture on the wall and was considering his reflection in it running his hand over the front part of his hair. Sam smirked to himself.
"Dean," he prompted.
Dean swung around towards him.
"Yeah, what… arterial spray?" Dean paused, "How do you know about arterial spray exactly?"
"I know a lot about a lot of things." Sam affirmed as if his brother had insulted him.
Dean chuckled, "Right and you didn't get it from that episode of CSI we caught last night. Man that red head is hot"
Sam smirked, "That doesn't matter, and all that matters is that I am right."
Dean moved swiftly and he was at his brother's side.
"Yeah, well, that's great for cops; do you see anything that makes this one of our cases?"
Sam made a circle and something caught his eye, something dark and black around the outer edges of the blood pool. He ran his finger through it and brought it up under his nose. It was rank, he quickly drew it back.
"Ugh." Sam shook the smell out his nostrils, "Sulfur, I'm thinking demon."
Dean nodded in agreement.
"Guess this is one of our cases."
Something else caught Sam's eye from underneath the glistening blood pool it had been discarded on the floor. He was about to point it out to his brother but was caught of guard by a low growl.
"Wow, bro, maybe you should eat something." He remarked looking up at Dean.
Dean had turned back a perplexed look on his face.
"What do you mean?"
Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Your stomach is growling."
Dean shook his head, "Wasn't me man."
Maybe Sam had been imagining things. Sam put it out of his mind and reached a hand into the blood and withdrew what was left of a soggy matchbook. He could barely make out the name of the bar on the cover.
"Dean, look at this."
The elder Winchester joined his little brother in a squat position and took in the matchbook.
"Hmm, looks like a bar matchbook, considering its sopping up blood Bryan probably dropped it during the attack. The demon may have followed him home from there, or hell maybe he picked it up" Dean reasoned.
Sam nodded at his brother's logic.
"Hope she was hot." Dean said with a slow shake of his head added, "Hope she was a she."
He then took one last glance around the room. "What time is it?"
Sam looked down at his watch then back to Dean.
"Almost one-o'clock..."
Dean grinned.
"Just in time for last call," Things were finally going Dean's way.
The brother's left as quietly as they came. As the door clicked shut they probably would have been knocked on their asses by the form of a large grey wolf that entered the room from the hallway. It slinked towards the blood pool that the brothers had retrieved all their clues from and gave it a sniff. It then glanced up at the door with it eyes, those soulless black eyes. It wanted the boys, both had been strong healthy and beautiful, a feast befitting royalty. It wanted to play with them, to taste their flesh. Tear them limb from limb, but it had stopped.
There was a whistling on the wind… a call… her call. It let out a deep and violent growl at it, displeased with being beckoned. He would return to her. His master, for now…