Summary: Sam and Dean chase down a local ghost in San Antonio. Lots of action, saving good guys, killing bad guys, and of course, some limp!dean and Sam holding back some of his own darkness. (Come on, it's me, you know I can't write a story without a little dark/badass Sam.) Please read and review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
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Somewhere in the distance, a smiling elderly couple can hear the sounds of guitars and trumpets from a mariachi trio. The night air felt cool as lamplight glittered in the water beneath their boat.
"Why, George," the aging wife says, turning to her husband of forty years, "this river tour was such a good idea!"
The older man, whose wrinkles now show the gentle passage of time between him and his wife, simply turns and smiles. Nudging her lovingly, as he always did since they first met, he replies, "Only the best for my snookums!"
They both grin, holding each other tightly as the river guide captain continues to detail the historical facts of the pristine riverwalk.
"San Antonio isn't just known for its Alamo, but this canal that we're now on goes all around the downtown area. Many don't know this, but this is actually an artificial river, the idea coming from a need to bring tourists to our humble city."
The dozen tourists, half donning a digital camera like masks, listened closely.
The tour guide continued, "And looking around at all your smiling faces, I guess the plan worked!" The boat's passengers gave small chuckles and continued to take flash photography of the beautiful scenery around them.
Remnants of the city's famous festival "Dia de los Muertos" – or Day of the Dead -- abound. Posters of cartoon-like skeletons filled the city. In the trees hung various pictures of marigolds and lost loved ones. Everywhere you looked, death greeted its patrons with a smile. This bright November day was not one of mourning; instead, as was typical of the holiday tradition, it was a time of celebration.
Georgina was taken aback by the sheer beauty before her. To her left, colorful cabanas lined the canal, advertising all onlookers to come in and taste true Tex-Mex cuisine. To her right, a traditional dance was taking place upon a stage, lit by spotlights and a full moon above. What was that dance called?
"Look, honey, it's that folk---folk---oh pickles! What's that dance we learned about here?"
George gave her hand a squeeze, and seeing the colorful dresses twirl on the Hispanic women upon the stage, he responded, "Folklorico, punkin. It's an ol' dance that came from the Mexican side of this town."
"Ah yes, that's right." She sighed and began to dream up all the incredible stories that must have taken place in this town. So much culture, diversity, and life! Oh how different it was from that boring old Omaha. Nothing but corn and casserole there! Georgina just couldn't wait to return home to tell her Monday night book club how peachy her vacation had been.
Little did Georgina know, folklorico dancing and a riverwalk scrapbook would only be chopped liver compared to what was to come.
All of a sudden, a myriad a shouting erupted from the cabanas on the land next to them. A tray of dishes crashed to the ground and restaurant goers were seized up by a flash of racing shadows.
"What the -- ?" the riverboat captain announced, unaware that his microphone was still on.
Immediately, the boats passengers' attention turned to the chaos going on next to them. The women gasped and the men held their women closely for fear of what was happening.
Oh, please don't be terrorists again, Georgina thought, gripping her purse tightly.
From what they could see, Georgina and her husband watched as several people on land were being pushed aside by some unseen force, knocking tables over and causing several waiters to yell angrily in a language she wish she had studied.
From what she could tell, these waiters were shouting some strange name in Spanish that sounded like "your" "own" "uh."
Yourowna.
Amidst the screams, Georgina looked to her husband who had studied Spanish in his times and yelled, "George! What in the world is Your-own-a!"
Shooting a look of sheer terror, her husband's mouth dropped. The boat was rocking now as the passengers clamored up and out of their seats.
"Excuse me, folks, there's just a slight technical difficulty going on." Frantically now, "please, stay in your seats!" However, his once captive audience paid him no attention, too fearful of what was happening around them.
"George!" the elderly wife continued to say, as her husband grabbed her elbow to raise her to her feet. "I'm not going anywhere! Tell me what this yourowna is!"
"Don't worry 'bout that now, Georgina," he said with fear in his voice, desperate to get this hard headed woman out of her seat. "We need to go!"
"No! Not until you tell me!"
"Dammit, woman! It's la Llorona," he shouted. "It's an ancient Mexican ghost, and I'll be a monkey's uncle if I'm gonna stay here and watch it!"
Georgina gasped. Her husband had never cursed in front of her.
Boy, was he going to get it when they got home.
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"Sam!" shouted the out-of-breath hunter to his little brother. He was only a few steps behind him, but Dean felt slightly jealous of his brother's long legs that gave him a natural speed.
Racing ahead of him with gun in hand, intent on catching his prey, Sam shouted back at his brother, "I've almost got her! Dean cut her off at the pass!"
Toppling over yet another terrified patron of the Riverwalk's now chaotic restaurant scene, Dean made a hard turn right and sprinted towards the river.
Mexican' lore is fan-freakin-tastic, Dean thought as he ran. He had only been with one Hispanic girl in his time, a bartender in Miami, and she wasn't easily forgotten. Now, as Dean jumped onto the cement edge that lined the river, he could only think of one thing. Not only do can living latin women drive you crazy, but their ghosts are whole other level of bat**** crazy.
"Llorona, you bitch!" Dean shouted to the wailing apparition that now hovered above the water. Sam stood on the opposite side of the river's edge, boxing the ghost in and aiming his gun at the woman's ghostly visage. Her hair, black and wild, curled up like serpents around her face. The gnarled clothing she wore clung tightly to her frame as if wet. Grinning maniacally, the woman brought her head back and raised her hands to the sky.
Only a few feet away on the water, a single boat remained. The passengers and captain were the only witnesses left as all other people on land had cleared away. Thus, they sat, frozen in horror and forced to watch the supernatural scene unfold. Georgina and George gripped each other tightly, listening to their racing hearts, the lapping of the water against the river's edge, and the shrill cry of a woman scorned.
"¿Ontán mis niños?" the ghost beckoned to the skies.
"Sam!" Dean called from the opposite side of the bank, his gun raised and prepared to salt the ghost. "What's she saying?"
"How the hell am I supposed to know!" his brother called back, hand on his own trigger.
Both of the hunters were aware of the boat, which was why neither had tried to shoot just yet. Each was devising the best plan possible in order to destroy the ghost but leave all innocent bystanders unharmed.
"Chances are, she's still looking for those kids she killed!" Sam shouted to his brother. Dean shrugged, satisfied with the answer. At this point, he didn't care anymore, he just wanted to smoke the damn thing.
A chill breeze caused the hairs on the back of Dean's neck to rise. He could still hear the joyful chorus of a Mariachi band singing loudly about a block away. As the trumpets blew, Dean thought to himself: Dammit. Drunk Mariachi singing is totally not the appropriate music for us right now.
Leave it to Mexican culture to face death with a grain of salt.
Writhing and twisting her body above the water, the ghost settled her eyes on the terrified passengers next to her. Opening her red eyes wide, she seemed to finally find what she was looking for.
Powerless on the river's edge, the boys only watched as the ghost wafted even closer to the innocents. Throwing her arms out, her hair mirroring her reach, la Llorona dangerously approached a quivering child that was seated next to an elderly couple.
"Sam, she's going for the kid!" Without hesitation, both hunters locked eyes and in an unspoken communication, both understood what had to be done.
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"Mijita," the pale woman cried. She brought her bloody hands closely towards the child's face. She licked her lips hungrily as salty tears carved into her cheeks. A screaming female passenger, clearly the child's mother, threw herself around her child, but it was no use. La Llorona, the crying woman, had found the source of her pain. She was here to take back what would forever be hers.
The men aboard attempted to jump and block the unearthly being from touching the little girl, but all were held back by an invisible barrier.
"Do something, George!" the wife called out.
"I'm trying, but we can't get any closer," the older man declared, pushing with all his might against the unseen wall.
The passengers continued to scream, while Georgina seemed to be the only one aware of one of the mysterious strangers swimming towards the boat. The other man, the taller one, had disappeared.
"Lady! Help me up!" Dean cried from the water. Dean had swum to the farthest corner of the boat away from the ghost's location and was now trying to grab Georgina's attention without the ghost seeing.
Georgina noticed that this young man leaning against the side of her boat had danger written all over him. Why, if she had seen him at the grocery store or the bingo club, she would have stayed far away. Something about the demand in his eyes, the leather jacket he wore, and the precarious situation he had put himself in proved her theory. He was a rebel alright.
"Yo, Lady! Hello!" Dean called again, still trying to keep his voice low. Everybody else was too busy trying to break the wall that entrapped the child. Georgina quickly got up and tapped her husband on the shoulder.
"George! That man needs help!"
"Woman, I'm busy!" George cried back amidst the commotion around him. The ghost now had its arms wrapped lovingly around the child.
"But George…" she continued to tap. "I think he means to help!" With a quick glance behind him, George spied the stranger that was grasping at the edge of their little red ferry boat.
Seeing the look in the strange man's hazel eyes whose head was barely above water, George abandoned his struggle with the ghost's barrier. Something in his gut told him that he might be their only hope.
Scurrying over to the edge of the boat, George shot out his hand towards the underwater hunter.
"Finally!" Dean said, and with George's help, he used his upper body strength to hoist himself out of the water.
Quickly, Dean shrugged off the thought of Now I know how a beached whale feels, and continued with the only plan two hunters were trained follow.
Distract and destroy. While staring down this latest foe, the brothers had immediately settled on "the D &D" plan, which was always the best bet. Their father had drilled it into them as boys and now was the time to use it, especially when innocents were at risk of being harmed.
Meanwhile, a demanding voice called from the river's edge.
"Hey, Maria!" Sam's voice boomed. He needed only a few moments to distract the ghost so that Dean could save the child and the rest of the boat's passengers. The brothers didn't have a chance to devise anything else, but as usual, one or both of them would just have to improvise.
The transparent ghost sneered, and twisted its body in a way that would break a normal human's back. She spun around, searching for the voice's source. Gnashing her teeth, pulling her hair, and kicking her floating feet above the water, La Llorona was a true image of scorn.
"She really doesn't drop the bitch act, huh?" Dean said to the elderly man that had helped him. George just looked at the man, dumbfounded. How could he remain so cool in this extraordinary situation?
While the ghost remained distracted, Dean approached the shivering child that remained locked away from her parent's embrace, imprisoned by the impenetrable field.
"Alright, people, stand aside," Dean said, proud that he could finally say that line. His eyes still locked on the ghost whose attention was temporarily deferred. "Come on, Sammy," he said under his breath, "I only need a few minutes."
Sam took a few steps back from the river's edge, beckoning the ghost to come towards him.
"Hey, Maria. Llorona, whatever your name is!" Sam continued to shout, hiding the gun behind his back. "I found your lost kid, and umm…" he stuttered for a moment, not sure what to say. "He's right over here!"
La Llorona let out a long, snake-like tongue from her mouth, and shot towards Sam. She glided through the air, bent on murder. Hate filled her screams, and she threw her claws out, ready to wrangle the neck of this arrogant boy before her.
Chanting the latin phrases his father had taught him as a child, Dean focused on the scared child in front of him. The onlookers just watched in horror as the soaking wet man worked. Dean ignored their stares and concentrated on the ghost's barrier. In rare cases, certain spirits, fueled by the stories around them, could gain unbelievable power to affect the real world. In this case, La Llorona was capable of manifesting the air around her, imprisoning children through sheer anger alone.
But being a hunter, Dean knew the very ritual to use to break it. All it took was concentration, proper recitation, and time…something he was losing by the minute. With every word, he could feel the barrier weakening, and he watched as the young girl reached her arms out, ready to be saved by the strong man before her.
Almost there, he thought. Georgina gasped, eyes reflecting the ethereal glow that seemed to be coming off of the crying child in front of her. Whatever this man was doing, it was working. Despite the terrifying monster in the river, Georgina's heart beamed to know that she was now becoming part of the very things she'd only read about in her stories.
Meanwhile on land, Sam immediately ducked to avoid the raging ghost that was attacking him. Rolling onto his side, Sam just barely missed decapitation by this enraged spirit, but had just enough time to aim his salt gun at her. Realizing she had missed her target, the spirit slowed to turn around, but it was too late. Sam fired the gun and the salt shot through the wailing ghost's backside, causing the entity's form to scatter like ash.
But Sam knew that it wouldn't be long before the being re-materialized. With spirits like this, salt would only slow them down. To enact the two-part plan of distracting and destroying the enemy, the hunters would have to either salt the bones or shoot the ghost with the colt.
Unfortunately, neither bones nor the colt were readily available. And if Dean didn't hurry up, Sam would just have to resort to measures that he couldn't, he wouldn't, consider at the moment.
"Dean!" Sam yelled to his brother, his eyes darting back and forth from the boat to where he had last shot the ghost. "Do you have the kid?!"
Wiping both riverwater and sweat from his brow, Dean recited that last words of the incantation and was shot back as the field exploded in front of him. The blast from the prison's destruction sent other passenger's reeling back, as well, but Dean was the fastest one to regain his footing and cover the child's face with his jacket.
"Dude!" Dean shouted to the tour guide.
"Me?" the shocked man said, nervously pointing to himself with his microphone.
"Yes, you! Get this boat out of here! And everyone else…," Dean proclaimed to his captive listeners. "I know this sounds REALLY weird right now, but whatever you do. Do NOT allow this kid to take this off her face!" Dean knew the Mexican lore and if any of it was true, the ghost would not return to the boat if it didn't see the child. La Llorona's only driving force in her afterlife was to seek out any children by the water, to bring them with her, and to ultimately kill them just as she had done when she was alive.
"Now drive!" Dean shot up and readied himself at the boat's ledge.
"Wait!" Georgina called out, placing a withered hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?" Her heart fluttered as the mysterious man turned around and stared at her with the most beautiful, commanding green eyes she had ever seen.
"I have to go help my brother. Now if you'll excuse me," and with that, the dark hero gave a quick nod to the reluctant tourists and dove back into the water towards the river's perilous edge.
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Underneath the starry San Antonio sky, tiny pieces of life, no bigger than dust, joined together to form the wild countenance of Maria of the River, the woman of local children's nightmares, la Llorona incarnate. It was said that she once loved, but that her husband had cheated and left her when she was alive. Mourning the loss of her husband, the woman could no longer look upon the faces of her children. So she did what only those infected by hate could commit.
"Mijitos," my children, she had called them, too fear stricken and drowning in her own tears to realize how they struggled beneath her. "Perdóname," she cried so long ago. Forgive me, she screeched to the heavens, ignoring the gasps from her little ones in the river water. Finally, she had thrown herself to the water's welcoming embrace, while the angels above only laughed and hell below embraced one of their own.
Now, between Sam and Dean, the woman's guilt-stricken spirit reformed. The brothers stood ready to battle now that the innocents were set free. As each readied their fighting pose, salt guns ready, the war could begin. Still, there was only problem.
"Uhhh, Dean?" Sam called to his brother, eyes still set on the ghost in front of them.
"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean responded, already knowing the question to come.
"What the hell do we do now?" Without bones, a body, or even the colt, the boys were at a loss.
"Hey, I freed the kid! You figure something out!"
In that instant, La Llorona reformed completely and was now crying tears of blood that stained her entire face.
"Holy shit!" Dean cried, "Now that's fugly!"
Not one to be mocked, the ghost whipped her head around to acknowledge the hunter's remark. As she stared at Dean, both brothers readied for an instant battle. However, the ghost simply lingered there. Neither screaming nor moving, the woman appeared lost in thought. It seemed she was lost in…recognition.
Cocking her head to the side, the ghost wafted closer to Dean and emitted a howl that echoed through the night.
"Traídor!" came the embittered words from the spirit's mouth. "TRAÍDOR!"
Confused, Dean called back to his brother, "Um, what's this bitch saying about me?"
Sam's face went white as he immediately realized what his thick-headed brother could not.
"Traídor! Traitor, Dean!" and running towards the apparition and his older brother, Sam continued to yell the frightful truth, "She thinks you're her husband!"
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Dean's eyes went wide with understanding. In his hesitation, the entity threw itself towards him and had managed to place a firm psychic grip on his entire body, throwing him into a nearby tree.
"Dean!" Sam roared at the sight of his brother who had been thrown like a rag doll. Upon seeing the meddling younger brother approaching, the powerful spirit roared back. Sam watched in horror as La Llorona's black mouth opened and released what could only be described as a black current of power. It rushed out of her mouth, poured onto the ground, and forced Sam onto the grass beneath him.
She's stronger than we thought, Sam said to himself. The blackness was as fluid as water but had the temperature of fire.
Pure hate. That's what this entity held. Fueled by betrayal and guilt, La Llorona's power came not only from the local's belief in her, but from the fiery emotions she possessed upon death.
"Dean, answer me!" Sam called as the water raced around him. He struggled to get up and see his brother, but Dean remained unconscious against the tree. Sam felt another invisible barrier holding him back, away from his target, and it was hard enough to remain standing, let alone take a few steps forward. And the ghost was getting closer!
Sam, struggling to remember the chants from his younger days to keep a ghost at bay, searched through the desperation in his mind. Ghosts were a dime a dozen in their line of work, but what were the words that he should use in this situation?
"Uhhh…Dominu…phasma expelus…," Sam fought into his memory as the last of the black water dripped away from him. He had regained his footing and was battling to stay standing as he approached the ghost who only had eyes for Dean.
"Pinche traídor!" the ghost howled again. She clawed the air and twitched as if something were attacking her side and neck. She was truly torn from the world's nightmares and she was bent on bringing Dean, her lost love, down into the depths of hell with her.
"Uhhh…desino su malum…," the words had long been inscribed in his mind, but the passage of time had corroded them. Try as he may, Sam could not resurrect their memory. He had nothing left to save Dean, and with invisible barrier that now blocked Sam's further movements, he felt hopeless.
Sam watched futilely as his big brother lay in waiting, feeble, and helpless against the monster that approached. La Llorona hissed in joy at hell's delightful gift of her husband, finally returned to her. Now, she could have the vengeance she deserved.
Dropping to her knees, she crawled against the muddy grass. Sam watched in horror as the vile demon traced her serpentine tongue against Dean's cheek, tasting his vulnerability.
How could this be happening? This wasn't an all powerful demon or angel. They had faced worse than this! But a simple ghost was the one thing that was once again bringing his brother close to death? Sam tightened his fist, fighting back tears.
No, he wouldn't let this happen again! For his brother, Sam would give anything and sacrifice everything, even if it meant defying God himself.
Again.
Mind focused on the open-mouthed, hungry beast before him, Sam closed his eyes and summoned up the energy within him. He couldn't let his emotions take over. The thought of what the ghost would do to his brother fought its way into his consciousness, but Sam pushed his hand out in an effort to expel those distractions, closing his fist to embrace the one thing that mattered.
Saving his brother.
With his fist out, he sent out a forceful surge of power around him, causing the invisible barrier to shatter like so much glass.
But he was out of practice. Immediately, Sam felt the familiar rush of a thousand needles dig into his mind. The world went blurry with the amount of energy that Sam had to use to break the ghost's powerful wall. He could feel the blood trailing out of his nose, its copper blending with the salt of his tears against his lips.
Taking in a deep breath, Sam drew the rest of his energy into the center of his being. He concentrated on the now laughing vision in front of him who seemed too entranced in the man beneath her to notice what Sam was doing.
This was his chance.
Stretching his arms out in front of him, palms facing down to the ground, Sam attempted to feel out the evil that surrounded him. However, since this was no demon that needed expulsion, Sam had to improvise. Instead of looking within the being for an evil to control and expel, Sam spread his shivering fingertips out before him, searching for the blackness that had previously poured over his body.
The grass was still soaked with it, and he could feel it pulsate with every breath he took. The darkness was a part of him, his to control once he gave in, and for Dean's sake, he was willing to do anything.
Opening his dark eyes that were now filled with the inky depths of water that surrounded him, Sam summoned the waters up. Instantaneously, minute droplets of liquid onyx rose into the air, hovering and awaiting command in their suspended animation.
Sam furrowed his brow in concentration, struggling to hold onto the image in his mind, just like Ruby had taught him. Fighting against the vice-like grip that had taken hold of his head and muscles, Sam held the waters that had once been inside Llorona's body. Closing his hands together, he brought the water particles together into a single, ominous, liquid. Now, it would only take a push.
One thought.
One command and all would be washed away.
As the ghost reached its claws high to dig into Dean's limp body, her mouth gloriously wide to take in the victorious moment, La Llorona stopped cold. For once, the spirit could hear a voice breaking through to her spiritual realm from the physical realm she had haunted for so many years. It was a single voice, and chilled her to the core.
"Go."
Her spirit body went rigid as a thousand liters of darkness ripped into her body, starting with her oral cavity, and entering through every various hole that a spirit could possess. Although she still lay dangerously close to Dean, not a single particle of murky water touched his exposed skin.
Sam wouldn't let that happen.
With an ultimate wail of defeat, the monster watched as her body was consumed by the very hate that she had expelled. The black, oily substance completely surrounded her writhing body and crushed her until nothing was left but an echo of weeping that melded into the police sirens that approached.
Sam, aware that he had beaten the ghost, finally released the energy within him. He let out a sigh of relief and felt his muscles immediately relax. The battle was over, his brother was safe, and each could peacefully rest in the bliss of unconsciousness.
Yet, as he slumped to the ground, Sam failed to see the one thing that he had terrified him more than the demons. As his eyes gave way to sleep, Sam did not witness the body waking by the tree. He had neither seen the expression that had eclipsed Dean's face, nor gazed into his eyes that remained frozen open, glassy, and glistening with equal horror and awe.
What had his brother become?