Chapter One
A/N: Hey guys! I'm back again with my second spn fic! Thanks so much for everyone's support on the last one! So excited about to see what you guys think.
This is set mid-to-late season 3, as that's where I currently am in the series.
"Excuse me, sir?" The girl is drop-dead gorgeous. Sun kissed skin, long bleach-blonde waves down to the middle of her back, booty shorts and a crop top all illuminated by the pool of the street lamp she's standing under. She smiles tentatively when he stops in his tracks, hearing her voice. "Sorry to bother you. Could you just walk me to my car?" Her arms are folded over her bare stomach, shifting from foot to foot. "Bad neighborhood, you know?"
The seedy motel parking lot is pitch black past the narrow walkway outside the rooms. The young woman has a handful of cash stuffed into her open purse, hands clenched around the bag. One of her bra straps is off her shoulder and her lip stick is smeared.
"Okay, sure, no problem." Anthony struggles not to look too friendly, remembering the brand new wedding band on his finger and Karen's sweet face waiting for him at home. She visibly deflates with relief and loops her arm through his, glancing around nervously as they start off toward the scarce row of cars. "So what're you doing here in the middle of the night, anyway?" Anthony internally kicks himself. What the hell does he think she's doing here?
The girl laughs awkwardly, still clinging to him like he's a liferaft. "I, uh, had a date."
"Oh." He clears his throat.
She smiles sideways at him, chuckling at his obvious discomfort. "So what's your name?"
"Anthony."
"Not Tony?"
He smirks. "Anthony sounds more professional."
"Ahh, a professional. Let me guess." She stops him and puts a finger to her cherry red lips, tapping thoughtfully as her ocean-blue eyes scan him up and down. "Defence attorney?"
Anthony raises his eyebrows. "That's amazing, how'd you know that?"
She laughs and the gesture makes her eyes crinkle up. Her voice is beautiful. "What can I say? I've had some experience in your field..." They turn and keep walking. It's not until they're giggling and stumbling like two drunk teenagers down a sandy slope toward the beach that Anthony realizes they've left the parking lot all together. It's a gorgeous night. Clear and calm, a sprinkle of stars you rarely get to see in the city.
"Did you park on the beach," he asks lightly, gazing up at the sky.
"Yeah, it's not too far," she says. Her blonde curls are leaned against his shoulder as they walk, no longer with arms linked but hand in hand. Her hair is warm and smells like sea salt and ocean wind. "Thanks so much, by the way. You're a real hero, Anthony."
His face warms a little. "It's no big deal..." Then he realizes. "I never got your name."
She giggles. "It's Brooke."
"Brooke," he repeats, tasting the name. It matches her.
He dated a girl named Brooke once, back in college before he met Karen. She was a regular barhound but so, so hot. Every one of their dates consisted of getting brain-dead drunk until one or the other (or both) puked and made a complete embarassment out of themselves. They didn't last long for obvious reasons and now everytime he gets buzzed, he thinks of college-Brooke and feels sick to his stomach.
He certainly feels buzzed now, though he can't for the life of him imagine why. There was that glass of wine with dinner, sure, but just a glass... Not enough to feel tipsy. He's not that much of a lightweight.
"Look," New-Brooke says. "Dolphins!"
"Wha...?"
Surely enough, there's a family of dolphins playing in the gentle waves just off-shore. What are they doing so close to the beach?
He staggers when Brooke suddenly releases his hand.
She kicks off her sandals and tugs Anthony's arms, her eyes bright with excitement. "Come on! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! We cannot pass this up."
"Um, I don't know..." He's swaying on his feet. "I don't really feel so well all of a sudden..."
"Oh come on," she says, reaching up to touch his cheek. When their eyes meet, hers are dark and lustful, shaded with full lashes. "It'll be fun..."
He feels numb, dazed, as she leads him by the hand. The water laps first around the toes of his leather loafers, then his ankles. Brooke leads him further and further into the ocean until its chilly depths have swallowed him up to his chest. Overhead, the gulls have gone silent and the dolphins are no longer anywhere to be seen.
Brooke's hair floats on the surface, the waves gently lapping at her slender neck. She's still holding his hands beneath the water but slowly her hands move up his wrists, up his arms, to his shoulders. She steps closer as he sways and almost falls, his head spinning, barely able to keep his eyes open.
"Shh," she breathes as some water splashes into his mouth and he coughs. She moves closer, touching her lips to his.
The world goes black before his eyes and he sinks into the water. His body rebels, thrashing when it can't find air, but Brooke's hands are still on his shoulders, holding him down.
She hums a little tune as Anthony drowns.
Dean could not be more ecstatic.
"How many times, Sammy? How many times have we wished for this to happen?" Sam watches with mild amusement as his brother tosses sun screen, beach towels, sunglasses, and a pack of beer onto the checkout counter of the beach-side gift shop. Dean is practically vibrating with impatience as the cashier scans each item.
"I don't know what you're so thrilled about. We're here for business, remember? Not vacation."
"I don't see why it can't be both." Dean grins sideways at him and Sam rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. "Finally. Finally we get a job somewhere fun!" He pays with a card that reads Jimmie Hendrix but the cashier doesn't seem to notice.
"Oh yeah. Three drownings in two weeks. All young, strong men who had no business being on the beach in the middle of the night. All found floating face down in the water, fully clothed, as if they just walked into the ocean and fell asleep. Real fun, Dean."
Finally his brother gives him a sour expression. "Do you always have to be such a downer?"
"Have a nice day," the cashier grumbles dully, handing them their plastic bag of goodies. The little bell over the door jingles as they push out onto the boardwalk, greeted by sunshine, sea gulls, and laughing children. Dean pulls the pair of shades from the bag and slips them on, not even bothering to take the tag off.
"You know what, Sammy?" He takes out the other pair of glasses-grinning at the bright fuscia rims Sam didn't notice while he was too busy rambling about death and murder-and slides them on his little brother's face. Sam fights, swatting the glasses away. Dean lowers his voice. "I don't have very long left on planet Earth," he whispers. "And I'm gonna enjoy a day on the beach, even if it kills me, dammit!"
Sam frowns under the stupid looking glasses. "Well in this case, it just might."
"Eh, we've got all day. Sirens usually only attack at night."
Sam takes the sunglasses off, rolling his eyes at the obnoxious color. "Alright, fine. You go have your fun in the sun but we're meeting back at the motel before nightfall."
Dean frowns, watching him turn to walk away. "Where are you going, sourpuss?"
"The motel. I'm gonna get some more research done."
"I thought you finished researching."
"Nah, there's a couple more things I want to look into before tonight."
"A workaholic, Sam," Dean yells after him as he walks away. "That's what you are!"
Sam parks the Impala and grabs their duffel bags from the trunk, glancing around as he jogs to the door marked with a faded 3. Jamming the key into the lock, he looks over his shoulder and opens the door, closing and locking it behind himself.
He flicks on the light and the air conditioning and throws their backpacks onto the beds. He's a little pressed for time so he grabs the thick, manila folder packed with research files from his laptop case quickly and lays it open on the bed. A few of the sheets he takes out and pins up on the walls with tacks. He boots up his computer and sets it on the little, round dining table. It's still open to the last page he visited...though it has nothing to do with sirens.
A moment later, he feels a presence in the room and turns, his heart jumping a little. "Give a guy a little warning, huh?"
Ruby sighs wearily, her arms folded across her chest. "Hey, you asked me to come and I'm here. What do you want, Sam?" Her tone is irritable and clipped as usual, her grey eyes skimming along the walls, looking at the tacked up sheets. "What is all this stuff?"
"A cover." Sam goes to his computer and taps across the keyboard, moving urgently. "I don't think Dean will be back for a few hours but just in case he pops by, I want it to look like I've been busy."
Ruby raises her eyebrows. "Wow. Lying to mother hen. Whatever this is, it must be important."
Sam scowls at her from over top the computer screen. "Just shut up and listen, okay?"
She sighs but doesn't say anymore.
Sam straightens from the laptop and walks over to Ruby. Something about his posture, the way his expression holds no trust or warmth, makes her shift uncomfortably. "I know you lied," he says, voice hard as stone. "About being able to save Dean from the Crossroads Deal."
Her expression changes very little but fear flashes through her eyes. "I had to. You wouldn't talk to me otherwise-"
"I said shut up. I don't want your excuses or apologies."
"Then what do you want?" The colt is no where to be seen but that doesn't mean he doesn't have it on him. Is he planning to kill her? Not that she cares much if he does.
Sam looks...on edge. Amped, like he hasn't slept in days and is living on caffine. By the shadows under his eyes, that might even be true. "I want you to help me," he says.
This doesn't sound good. "Help you with what?"
Sam turns away suddenly, grabbing a sheet of paper tucked at the very bottom of the siren-research folder. He shoves it into Ruby's hands, looking half sick and very ashamed. "I can't do it myself," he says softly. "You know this stuff, right? You used to be a witch. Besides, you promised you'd save Dean so you kind of owe me."
He's rambling but Ruby doesn't really hear him. She's too busy staring at the spell in her hands. "This is...some pretty dark stuff, Sam."
"I know."
She looks up. "Like even darker than what I was into. And trust me, I was no little miss sunshine in my day. This is some old school black magic...and a real long shot on top of that. Probably won't even work."
"I know." He rakes a hand through his hair and sinks down onto the edge of the bed. "Look, I don't like this anymore than you do. I've spent pretty much my entire life hunting down people who use this stuff for the wrong reasons. Dean would kill me if he knew... But this is not a wrong reason, Ruby. I'm just..." His gaze drops to the floor. "I'm just trying to save my brother. He's almost out of time...and he's scared. And I'm scared."
Ruby exhales deeply, dropping the paper on the edge of the table. This is so not what she expected when Sam asked her to come here. Help them fight a monster, sure. Questions about the war, why not. But this? Helping Sam Winchester cast a black magic spell is a little like helping Bambi hide a dead body. Still... "I'm not gonna say no," Ruby says coolly, ignoring the wetness in his eyes. "It's none of my business what you do or don't do to save Dean. But for my own interests, I have to warn you, Sam. There can't be any hesitation on your part. You have to be sure."
He nods obediently, standing from the bed. "I am sure."
"No. I mean one hundred percent, no regrets, absolute certainty. Black magic isn't tarot cards or palm reading or balloon animals. You have to believe in it, you have to mean it. Any fear, any shame, anything at all and you can kiss you ass goodbye because demons can sense that kind of weakness."
He's nodding along and, shockingly, he does look certain. All the shame and fear she saw earlier is gone. "I'm sure," he says again. His hazel-green eyes are steady. Cold as stone.
Ruby shrugs with one shoulder. "Then let's get to it. There's a really good chance this won't work but you're already the antichrist, so how much worse can it get?"
They find a nice, quiet place in the motel basement to preform the ritual. Ruby uses her telekinesis to jam the lock on the door so they won't be disturbed and Sam carries the bag of tools to a dark place beside the hot water heater, laying it down. Ruby joins him a moment later, lighting the candles.
He doesn't look as sure as he did upstairs.
"Sam," she says quietly.
"I'm sure."
She scoffs lightly. "If I can sense it, so can every other demon in a thirty mile radius. Upstairs and down. Get yourself together."
He swallows, taking a breath, and his composure returns. "I'm good."
"If you say so." She kneels down and opens the bag, taking out everything they'll need. Chalk, coffin nails, graveyard dirt, sprigs of dried cypress greens, lobelia flowers, nettle, and human bones. Ruby busily arranges them in the proper order. When it's done, the ritual board looks almost like a devil's trap, but with a few key differences in the markings.
Now comes the fun part.
She reaches into the bag and pulls out the last object. A long, serrated knife. Ruby has no qualms cutting up her host body apparently as she drags the blade vertically up her arm without a flinch, turning it over and letting her demon blood pour over the chalk lines.
Without trying to stem the bleeding in any way, she hands the knife to Sam. "No fear," she reminds him softly. "It's too late to stop now. Think about Dean."
Before she's even finished speaking, Sam cuts his arm, holding back the pained grimace, and lets his blood pour over the ritual items as well.
"Ad ligandum eos pariter eos coram me," he says lowly, reading off the paper beside him. Instantly, the candles blow out and they're plunged back into complete darkness.
The basement grows frigidly cold, Sam and Ruby's breath misting in the air before their faces. The floor rumbles slightly beneath them but other than that, nothing happens.
Sam glances around, looking for a demon or any other sign that the spell worked. Even Ruby frowns eventually and starts running through the ritual in her head to be sure they didn't forget something. But no, they have everything, they did everything right.
The spell was supposed to summon the demon of a former witch, like Ruby.
She was burned at the stake in the 1600's for necromancy and drinking the blood of children and now, as a demon after rotting in Hell for centuries, she gets her kicks striking deals with humans to bring back their loved ones from anywhere: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. She can snatch a soul from anywhere.
All she asks for in return is a little taste of the summoner's blood...and hope they don't die in the process.
That's if she shows.
"You ever meet this demon?" Sam asks softly, searching the shadows of the dark basement.
"No," Ruby says with a roll of her eyes. "Hell's not exactly the place for a meet-n-greet."
"Right. Sorry."
"It is kind of rude, though," Ruby yells into the shadows. "We're here to make a deal! Are you gonna show or not?"
A skittering sound behind them draws their attention. Sam and Ruby both whip around at the noise, like nails on the concrete floor.
The old woman stands with her back in the corner, peering at them from behind the water heater. Only half of her face is visible.
Her eye is almost colorless, the eye of a blind woman. Her skin is pale, her face gaunt and wrinkled, hair silver and wiry, hanging around her face in tangled knots. Her dress is that of the old pilgrims, only burned and left in tatters.
Sam and Ruby rise slowly from their spots by the altar.
"Are you Marguerite," Sam asks cautiously.
The old woman doesn't answer but she blinks and her eyes flash black. Good enough.
"I'm here to make a deal," he continues. "For my brother."
"Your brother isn't dead yet, boy," Marguerite snarls.
"No, he isn't." Sam offers a tight smile. "But you're famous. A master of necromancy. You must know who holds my brother's contract."
"You're wrong. Why should I care which demons make dealings with humans? I have my own business affairs to conduct."
"Oh come on," Ruby snaps. "We know you can help us. What's it gonna take to save Dean Winchester?"
"Death," the demon replies quickly. "For me to help you, Dean Winchester has to die, go to Hell, and then I can pull him back. That's if the demon holding his control doesn't stop me. And by the way, he will."
"So you do know who it is then," Sam says. "Please. Just tell me his name. I can handle it from there and I'll never bother you again. I swear."
"You seem awfully desperate, boy," Marguerite says, a smile pulling at her withered face, revealing long, craggy black teeth. "Does your brother really mean so much to you?"
"Sam," Ruby says, taking a step backwards. "We should end this now. She isn't going to help you."
"Yes," he says, ignoring her. "He's all I have."
"All you have? How sad. Yes, I think I can help you."
"Sam...!"
"In exchange for some blood."
"That's fine," Sam tells her. "Just tell me the demon's name."
"I don't know his name...but I can send you to speak with him." She smiles.
"What?"
The old demon puts out her hand and Sam's vision goes black. Ruby watches in terror as the bluish tendrils of his soul begin to seep out of his mouth. His face goes white and his eyes roll back.
That bitch! She's going to send Sam's soul to Hell!
Ruby's eyes go black as she throws the old bitch with her mind. Marguerite hits the wall, grunting. When she rouses, her eyes are coal black and she's pissed as a hornet.
Sam's soul returns to his body and he collapses to the floor as she and Marguerite clash.
The wrinkled old whore slams her into a wall. An icy hand tipped with yellowed nails grabs Ruby's head and smashes it into the concrete once, twice, three times until she falls to her knees.
By the time she rouses, Marguerite is back on Sam. This time, she's after her payment, drinking from the open wound on his forearm.
"Screw this," Ruby hisses. With a single telekinetic push, the altar is sent flying a hundred different directions.
Marguerite screams as she dissolves into black smoke and is sucked back to Hell.
"Sam," Ruby pants, getting unsteadily to her feet. Blood trickles down the back of her neck from the wound on her head. She staggers to Sam, who is just waking up, and kicks him in the ribs.
"Ow! What the hell?"
"Get up," she snaps. "The demon wasn't in a playful mood so I'm leaving."
They trudge down the hall to the room, Ruby pissed off and Sam sulky and silent. "You can't mention this to Dean," he eventually says, one hand on the doorknob. "He'd freak."
"And you don't think he's gonna ask how you got all banged up?"
"It's just a cut on the arm. I'll say...I cut it hopping a fence while I was looking for the siren."
"Oh yeah, I'm sure he'll believe that."
"Hey, anything is better than telling him I tried to make a pact with a four hundred year old demon...and failed miserably." Sam pushes the door open and while he doesn't immediately see him, Ruby does. She stops in her tracks, caught like a deer in headlights. Sam sees her and she can almost see his heart stop.
He turns.
Dean is just hanging up his phone, and his expression is hard as rock. "Just researching the siren, huh, Sammy?" He inclines his head at her with cold eyes. "Ruby."
Shit.