Mary's Baby
The large, abandon warehouse held the musty-sweet smell of rotted wood and rusty pipes. It was pitch black inside, save for the slivers of moonlight that streamed from the rows of small broken windows lining the top of the walls. The light barely illuminated the figures in the center of the cold, damp cement floor, serving as a spotlight on the pair. A young woman sat beside the prone form of an unconscious young man. She leaned on her left hand and hip, her arm outstretched casually as if she was lounging in front of a fireplace instead of holding vigil over the man. He lay unmoving, clad only in tattered jeans; no visible signs of trauma that would suggest a reason for his current state. His hands were tied in front of his body. The woman held a small knife in her right hand, humming lightly as she casually skimmed the knife blade along the contours of his face. She stopped for a moment to study his features in the moonlight. He was pale; no doubt, she figured, from the evening's recent events; his long lashes cast a shadow onto his high cheekbones. She noticed that he had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. It seemed incongruous to her when she considered his tough reputation among the hunters. She continued to study his face and laughed softly. He's almost angelic looking. How ironic is that? Seems a shame to destroy something this beautiful. She sat up and let her fingers linger over his full lips, feeling herself drawn to kiss him. Instead, she ran her hand down his bare chest, her large, dark eyes flashing as she admired his muscular torso, stopping her hands at the top of his denim waistband. In spite of her dire mission, she was thinking nasty thoughts. Stop it, Lil; you can't be going there; at least not yet. After he's completed his usefulness, then maybe you can play. You deserve some kind of a reward for your loyalty, after all.
"Honey, you may be the bait on the line right now, but once the trap is sprung, you're all mine," she whispered into his ear as she ran her hand further down his body.
She didn't hear, but felt a presence next to her and tensed. Keeping her head down, she turned slowly to see a pair of familiar cowboy boots in her peripheral vision. Relaxing, she turned slightly and her eyes followed the legs up to see her partner watching her with a mirthless smile. He shook his head disapprovingly and leaned over to pull back her long black hair to expose her neck.
"Lilith, baby you are way too distracted. I could have slit your throat with ease."
She smiled up at her dark-eyed, dark skinned lover. She stood up slowly and pressed her body into his, attempting to appease her volatile companion. "You're right, Gordon. I need to stay focused for this job."
"Damn straight. We both do." He pushed her away. "You can have what's left of Dean Winchester after this is all over. But first, we have a life or death hunt to finish. The demon spawn have matured, Lilith, and we need to take them out, before they become too powerful. The evil is going to spread like fucking wildfire if we don't stop it now. This is a war, and some innocents may even have to die."
He glanced down at Dean and frowned. Gordon recalled attempting to bond with the Winchesters over drinks at a tavern after they had saved his life. At least he had made inroads with Dean. A defiant Sam Winchester definitely hadn't liked the hunter's overtly violent methods. Gordon had made the mistake of calling him "Sammy" and was quickly admonished. The tall, obviously annoyed younger brother stood and leaned over the table. "The name's Sam." He tilted his head towards Dean, indicating his older brother. "Only he gets to call me that."
Gordon turned away from the still unconscious Dean, his eyes sorrowful. The Winchester boys were fellow hunters and he may have to kill both of them. As angry as he had been at his last encounter with Dean, he respected the older Winchester brother and hated to lose such a talented ally against evil. He shook his head. This wasn't about revenge; it was about winning a war. He looked at Lilith, a fellow hunter; one of the hundreds who were gathering to fight.
"Sam is one of them, and he's the key to trapping them all," he reminded her. "I delivered our message to him, so it won't be long now."
The flickering red neon vacancy sign outside the window cast an eerie glow to the darkness of the motel room where 23 year-old Sam Winchester slept fitfully. He jolted awake, sitting upright in the bed, attempting to catch his breath. This was a familiar scenario for him. It was a rare week that went by when he didn't have a nightmare or a prophetic vision. They had been coming at an alarmingly higher frequency lately. This time it had been a nightmare. He couldn't recall the details, but it had left him feeling panicked and deeply disturbed. He looked over to the bed beside him, expecting to see his older brother sleeping soundly, as usual. The bed was empty; but it had definitely been slept in. Sam looked at the bathroom door, which was open, no light on inside.
"Dean?" He called out, knowing full well the motel was too small for his brother to be there without his knowing it. Dean wasn't in the room. He turned on the lamp on the bed stand. His fear went up another notch when he saw that Dean's shoes, shirt and jacket were still near the bed. He got up and went over to Dean's bed and lifted the pillow. The hunting knife that his brother always kept there hadn't been touched, either. Dean wouldn't leave here half dressed in this weather. What the hell happened?
The younger Winchester opened the motel door and looked outside. Dean's beloved Impala was still parked where they had left it hours ago. Sam walked over to look inside and felt the hood of the Impala. It was cold. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, but aside from Sam's, there were no other footprints. He swallowed hard, trying to get his breath under control as the knot in his stomach threatened to paralyze him. So if Dean left, or was taken, it happened before the snow fell; while I was there in the room with him. The thought of his brother being taken made him shudder. He came back inside and did a perfunctory search of the small room, hoping to find some clue to Dean's whereabouts. . He grabbed his cell phone and dialed his brother's number. It rang inside the pocket of Dean's leather jacket, a foot away from Sam. Shit! How did my brother just disappear right under my nose?
A loud thump on the hotel door startled Sam. He grabbed his handgun, opened the curtain slightly and peered outside. There were no visible footprints. Frowning, he slowly opened the motel door, holding his gun in both hands, ready for a fight. A package lay on the concrete entryway. Sam looked around, trying in vain to see any sign of who may have thrown the package at the door. The only sign of activity were several sets of tire tracks running through the alleyway behind the motel. Breathing heavily in the cold air, he turned back to the door and cautiously picked up the package. His heart raced as he saw that it was addressed simply to "Sammy."