Hey, folks. Minor spoilers in here for season 11, with... My own adjustments. Enjoy, and, yeah. I don't own Supernatural, bummer. Here's chapter one!
"It's a creature," Sam's voice called out from the other side of the basement, flashlight shining down on the old book. "Corporeal in form… A slave to your commands."
Waving his flashlight into the corners of the room, Dean eyed the work table - the unfinished walls, the tools sloppily tossed around. "Kinda like a genie," he replied, a brief nod as he heard his brother continue.
"I guess." A mumble, Sam running his thumb over the text, fishing out the information via the post-it note. The book was written in some old Arabian language, dating the lore of the creature far back than Sam appreciated. "Here we go. Someone chants a curse, lays a wet one on you, then the victim is seduced and killed by the Qareen." With a frown, he tapped the edge of the note, where it ever so slightly curled. "But instead of taking the form of Barbara Eden, they present themselves as your deepest, darkest desire."
When Sam had gone upstairs to find the heart, Dean had anticipated Daisy Duke. Not Amara. It couldn't be Amara. His throat had clenched at the idea of it, watching his brother's long legs carrying him back to the main floor of the hair salon.
"Ever since I was seven."
It was a lie, Dean felt the pull too often. Amara practically called out, urging the hunter's body and spirit down a path he saw no return from.
"... Whatever," Sam's voice rang through his ears, "I'm going upstairs." Their hands dropped, Dean holding onto a proud smile at his winnings of rock, paper, scissors.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean groaned, pushing back the base of a tub to check a musty corner. Nothing. Nothing but supplies to finish a basement. Simple, mundane things. He set the tub back down, sighing in mere frustration as he heard the clear tarp being pushed back. "Find anything?" He called out, glancing over his shoulder with no assumption of danger lingering. It was Sam, right? Coming back, ready to announce his discovery - the end to the damn curse.
There, between balanced slabs of wood, billowed a beige coat.
No.
Bright, blue eyes fixed on Dean. Dark, messy hair, haphazardly styled, as if the person themselves had yet to grasp true understanding of a hairbrush.
No, no… Daisy Duke. Daisy goddamn Duke!
Backwards tie. It was him, but it most definitely wasn't.
Not fair.
"Cas?"