Dean leant across the oversized woman in the bathtub, his hand at her throat, holding her there as she screamed in agony.
"Tell me where he is!"
The woman thrashed in desperation, she couldn't escape the demon trap on the ceiling, and she couldn't smoke out because of the sigil he had branded on her wrist earlier. She scrabbled through her brain for an escape route.
"I won't ask you again!" Dean plunged the pretty features now distorted in pain below the water and her skin sizzled again. The water in the tub although lukewarm was veritably steaming. Pulling her forcibly out of the water he continued, "I've got all day, let's hope this meat-suit can hold out that long, otherwise you will be wishing you were back in hell."
Penelope took one last look at Dean, hatred scorching from her eyes. And then she smirked and sank beneath the water, triumphant once again.
####
You have never felt so lousy in a very long time. The temperature has been soaring all afternoon, and yet you spent most of it shivering. Your skin itself has been on fire almost feeling as if the flesh would peel from your body, but at the same time you've been covered in goose bumps.
In total misery you run a lukewarm bath and sink yourself beneath the soothing waters, hoping to at least bring your body's core temperature back to something near normal. Closing your eyes you drift off to a peaceful sleep finally finding some sanctuary from your unexplained illness.
You are woken by the tilt of the bathtub and then it turns a full three hundred and sixty degrees with you still inside.
You lay there, eyes still closed, wondering what the hell has gone wrong with gravity, how the hell the water stayed inside and just why have you turned like a pig on a spit.
Opening your eyes cautiously you realise immediately that you are no longer in your bathroom. You don't have a problem with lime scale, you don't have dirty black grouting and you certainly don't have muddy peach tiles.
As you try to assimilate these changes in your brain the door opens and Sam and Dean walk in.
Wow, cool dream, you think to yourself, before you remember you are naked.
Both men stop abruptly in their tracks, your nakedness throwing them both for a moment.
"Okay, kinky." Dean retorts. "But I'm not really into naked demons."
"I'm not a demon," you explain as you struggle to sit up properly whilst covering your necessaries.
"You ready to talk?"
You look between both of them, taking in Dean's menacing features, and Sam's perplexed ones. You reply with a grimace, not sure what to say.
"Cavanagh, where is he?"
Your grimace changes to puzzlement.
Immediately Dean's hand reaches out and grabs you by the throat, forcing your head back, back beneath the water.
You splutter and choke, trying to fight against the hand imprisoning you, but have no match for his strength especially in your supine position. This can't be a dream you decide, this is too real to be a dream. But it can't be real, your logical side replies. You breathe in water and blow bubbles out, not caring now what it is.
"Dean!" Sam's voice calls out. "Dean! Let her back up."
Dean looks at his brother as if he's gone soft. "I am pissed off with being dicked about here."
"She's not steaming. She's not reacting to the holy water. Let her up."
Dean looks back down at your struggling body and the lack of hiss to the water, registers. After a moment's hesitation he releases his hand.
Coughing, and choking you breach the surface, eyes smarting and gasping for breath.
Dean reaches for your wrist and turns it over. Then he takes the other one inspecting it in the same way.
"Son of bitch, it's gone. It can't have." He looks up to check the demon trap is still intact.
As you get your breath, you wonder if this is a lucid dream. You've never had one before. Is this what it would be like? If it is, you are pretty crap at lucid dreaming. Why have them kill you, if you can have them lay you. How the hell do you get control of these things? You concentrate hard, to see if you can get Dean to remove his plaid shirt. That would be proof enough. But he's having none of it. Yep you are rubbish at lucid dreaming, or this is some waking nightmare.
"Did you feel it leave your body? What do you remember?"
You look at Dean like some kind of mute. Unable to utter a single word.
In annoyance he walks from the room, calling over his shoulder, "You'd better get some clothes on."
Sam has sat himself on the loo seat, looking at you like you are mystery that he just has to solve.
"What happened?" you ask.
Running his hand through his hair, Sam scrutinises you closely. "I have no idea. What is the last thing you remember?"
"Sitting in the bath at home. And then it rotated, and I ended up here."
"Where's home?"
"London."
"London!" Dean was back at the doorway. "London, England?"
"Erm, yeah."
"You need to get dressed. We need to talk." Sam said pointedly.
"I haven't any clothes."
The brothers look at each for help, which neither of them were able to give.
"Get dry. Meet us outside." Sam throws a towel at you. They both walk from the room.
####
Satisfied that you finally have some privacy, you haul yourself to your feet and wrap the towel around you. You feel decidedly light-headed. You may not be in your own house, but this is your body from earlier and it still isn't feeling that great.
Woozily you walk from the room, hugging the wall and swaying slightly.
Sam catches you before you fall completely and guides you to the bed. He calls for another towel and lays it on the bed with one hand, holding you to him with the other. Then he lowers you to the bed and gratefully you swing your legs up and lay back.
You wonder at his protectiveness and that he's laid out an extra towel. And then you realise that he doesn't want wet sheets and probably did that for his benefit rather than yours.
Closing your eyes you feel the heat suffuse your body again, whatever illness you have you are still fighting it, and that pretty much nails closed the idea that this is some sort of dream.
"I'm Sam, this is Dean." Sam gestures to his brother. "Do you remember being possessed?"
"I've never been possessed," you say. "I think I was, sort of… transported here." You end hopelessly.
"By what?" Dean's tone is still sharp.
"I don't know. I was in my house, in London. And then I was here. I don't want to be here. I didn't ask to be here. I'm just here." You are starting to get annoyed now.
"Penelope, we think…"
"Penny. People call me Penny."
"Penny," Sam continued. "We think you have been possessed by a demon. Does the name Cavanagh mean anything to you?"
You shake your head in reply. "I haven't been possessed. I'd know if I had. And I haven't."
"How would you know?"
You turn to Dean again. "Because I'd remember. Because sometimes you are awake during the possession."
"And you know this how?" You stop in your tracks. You can't exactly say… because you've seen it on telly.
"Because I've read about it. In books."
"And why would you be reading about it?" He still isn't convinced of your innocence and starts walking towards you.
"I'm interested." You squeak.
The slap across your face is sudden and stunning. Instinctively you raise your had to touch the sore spot. Tear threaten behind your eyes. You've never been slapped in your life before.
"You're still there, aren't you? You are not some innocent woman from London. You are not fooling me Miss Pitstop, so stop the charade and let's get this over with.
You look across to Sam for support, but he is taking a back seat here, his face a blank, you can draw no conclusions from him.
"Please, Sam." You beg. Honestly, I'm not possessed.
Sam is watching his brother, and you turn back to see him holding a blade. He grabs your hand and pulls your arm towards him.
Forgetting the towel you are clasping to your bust, you try to pull away, frantic and scared. You know what he intends to do, you've seen it before.
The slice into your arm is searing and red hot. Not too dissimilar to the pain you felt earlier in the day when your skin was burning. Only this is more intense, more concentrated on that one spot where your arm bleeds red.
You look back up at Dean in horror and he finally seems to be having the first shred of doubt as he looks at your cut perplexed.
"Okay. You had better tell us everything. From the beginning."
So, you regale the story of your illness, of your bath and of your sudden change of scenery. When pressed about your experience of demons you explain about a television show you watch, without going into too much detail. Finally after a long question and answer session, they seem satisfied. Clueless as to what to do next, but satisfied that you are genuine.
Realising they are going to let you go, you tentatively raise the question of clothes.
Again the brothers look to each other for help, again neither of them find it.
"I'll get you something," Dean decides. He looks you up and down. "What size? Large? Extra-large? Supersize?"
"Dean!"
"What dude? I'm only asking." He turns on his heel and strides from the motel.
You sink back onto the mattress, clasping the towel to your chest, feeling thoroughly miserable. You have the shivers again, your arm hurts where it is cut and you are now supersize.
"Let me see." Sam nods towards your arm that is still seeping over his bed sheets.
Grabbing a med kit, he sits on the edge of the bed and cleans the cut gently with cotton wool and antiseptic. You are too exhausted to complain. A quick wrap in a bandage and you are done and finally left alone with your thoughts.
You watch Sam as he sits at the table and sets up his laptop. You think you'll ask him about Wi-Fi and how he always seems to connect okay, and then realise that it's a stupid question and close your mouth again. Eventually through boredom you drift off to sleep.
You are awoken later by the nauseating smell of onion rings. You wonder if you are still in never never land or if your daughter has actually decided to cook dinner for once. You decide without opening your eyes that you are more likely still in this fantasy land rather than your daughter actually having the spontaneity to cook dinner without being asked.
Opening one eye, you spot Dean on the bed next to you wolfing down a burger. Turning your head, you see Sam still sitting at the table staring at his laptop; he looks like he hasn't moved.
At the foot of your bed is a small pile of clothes. You swing your legs to the side and sit up. You wait to see if you are going to be sick or faint or any of the other options that were likely to occur a few hours earlier. You feel fine.
"You wanna try those on?" Dean says through a mouthful of burger.
"Yeah, thanks." You pull the clothes to you and get to your feet, then walk assertively to the bathroom.
The lacy knickers and bra fit like a dream, and wonder how and when Dean assessed your size so accurately. The jeans fit well too, but the purple top is a little tight. You wonder if that is deliberate but it will do. The trainers are a size too big and there are no socks, but you figure if you can beg a pair or two that they'll do just dandy.
All you need now is to get home.
####
You are waiting at the bus stop, for the overnighter that will take you to Los Angeles Airport. Dean has purchased tickets to get you home safely. Sam has leant you two pair's of socks. The rain is miserable and you feel incredibly lost and lonely. You are in a strange country, alone. You have tried to call home but the number isn't recognised. You check for the hundredth time the money in your back pocket, your lifeline for the next two days. And then the rain intensifies. It is pouring down and the bus shelter has a leak, but you are too miserable to move. So you sit there and just let yourself get soaked.
####
Penelope realises that the time is right. She is free and the spell worked. Letting herself out of your house she recites the spell in reverse and prays to Lucifer that it will work.
####
Closing your eyes you lean back against the bus shelter running the last few hours through your mind one last time. Nothing makes sense. Nothing at all. Is this a dream? Have you been bewitched? Or are you just losing your marbles?
With a squeal you hang on to the sides of the seat you sitting on as it begins to rotate. It goes through a full three hundred and sixty degrees and then you sitting in your bathtub up to your neck in bubbles.
You heave a sigh of relief. It was a dream after all. You recognise the pristine white tiles and the forest green towels on the rack. You scratch your head and you realise how bizarre your dream was and then heave yourself out of the now cold water. As you grab a towel you realise you are holding a ticket for a greyhound bus. You look at it in wonder, before squelching out of the bathroom in Sam's socks.