In the beginning …
So there's this town, out in the middle of nothing, on the edge of 'no' and the corner of 'where'. Nothing distinguishing about it, just like a lot of other towns in the mid-west. Folks are born, they live and they die, and the world happens all around them. The only thing apparently different about this scrap of moonshine is the name. People laugh at the big board painted with bright red letters at the city limits as they drive through, but they don't stop, and don't wonder why.
Until now …
"So, Sammy, this place … you think the name's a good omen?" Dean Winchester asked as they sped by the big wooden sign proclaiming that they were entering Purgatory (Population: 11,348. Please Drive Carefully).
"I don't know, but you'd better slow down before we get pulled over by the local cops," his brother Sam said.
"Since when did you obey the law?"
"Since never, at least since I've been riding with you, but I don't think it'd be a good idea to land in jail before we even start."
Dean chuckled. "Sammy, Sammy … we've been hunting this thing for two weeks. I think we've done a little more than start."
"And it's killed ten people we know of in that time. And stop calling me Sammy. It makes me sound about five."
Dean risked a stare. "Whoa, what side of the coffin did you climb out of this morning?"
Sam hunched down in the seat. "We've been driving for eighteen hours straight, and I haven't actually seen a bed in more than four days. I'm beginning to forget what a pillow looks like." He crossed his arms, dropping his head as deeply into his shoulders as he could manage.
"You shoulda said." Dean beamed at him. "Next gas station, I'll buy you one of those little blow-up things. You know, all flocked blue plastic."
"Thanks," Sam said witheringly.
"You're welcome." He nodded ahead as they began to pass through tree-lined suburbs. "Anyway, can we get back to business now? Does this all look a little too Stepford Wives to you?"
Sam sat up a bit, studying the houses they were now passing at a legal speed. "Looks like any other small town."
"Yeah, but have you ever seen so many pumpkins?"
Sam had to agree. Every house had at least one pumpkin on the front stoop, carved into faces, and black cut-outs of witches hung in the windows. There was even a proliferation of skeletons leaning on gates, as if chatting to each other, and broomsticks held an entire century of cobwebs. "It's Hallowe'en, Dean. Maybe they just like it."
"All of 'em?" He indicated the full length of the street. "There's not one house left undecorated. I can't believe there's not a Scrooge amongst them."
"That's Christmas."
"It is?"
"Pretty sure."
"Oh. Anyway, you still get my point."
"I don't know," Sam conceded. "Maybe it's because of the town's name. Perhaps living in a place called Purgatory gives you a slightly warped sense of humour."
"How much more warped can you get?" Dean asked, pointing to a display on a children's play area of a miniature guillotine, in excruciating detail, even down to a tiny head bouncing on the scaffold.
"Like I said, it's Hallowe'en."
"Not until tomorrow." He glanced at the dashboard clock as they turned onto Main Street. "And we've got thirty-six hours to kill that son of a bitch, or it'll be another year before we get a second shot."
"Do we have time for breakfast?" Sam asked, his belly rumbling.
"Oh, yeah. Always time for that," Dean agreed, pulling the Impala to a halt in front of an old-fashioned diner. Switching off the engine, he got out and stretched, feeling the knots popping in his back. "I'm getting old," he said, then looked at Sam. "You're supposed to say I'm not, that I'm still in the first incredibly handsome flush of youth," he pointed out.
Sam was gazing about him. "What?"
"I said … forget it. What are you staring at?"
"This place. Haven't you looked?"
Dean leaned on the roof of the car and let his eyes wander. The street they were on was wide, trees dotted at intervals along it. There were the usual stores, from a couple of hardware places to an Italian delicatessen. Further down was a small supermarket, a gas station on the corner opposite it. "So? Looks like every other small town. Like you said."
"I was wrong. Where's Starbucks? MacDonalds? There's none of the big chains that I can see. These all look like family-run businesses."
Dean shrugged. "Maybe they have taste. And decent planning laws." His own stomach grumbled. "Come on. Before I faint from hunger." He strode to the door of Mom and Pop's Diner, Sam following reluctantly.
Inside there were a number of patrons enjoying a late breakfast or coffee and Danish, but there were several tables vacant. Dean headed for one in the window with a good view of the street, and Sam slid in opposite.
"I'm just saying this isn't normal," he went on, continuing his point. "How many little towns are still like this? Were ever like this, actually?" He glanced outside. "It's like something out of a Rockwell painting."
"Are you saying the whole place is possessed?" Dean asked, scoffing just a little. "And by what? The spirit of small-town America?"
"No. There's been no indication of … no."
"Then what?"
"I … don't know." Sam watched a couple walk by the diner, holding hands. "It's probably nothing."
"Good. 'Cause I need to stoke up if I have to take on an entire town." Dean smiled up at the waitress as she approached, her shoulder-length blonde hair swinging as she walked. "Well, I'm guessing you're not Pop, and hoping you're not Mom," he said, turning on the Winchester charm.
She smiled back, showing even white teeth. "No, I'm Marie. Mom and Pop are out the back, cooking. What can I get you?" She nodded towards the blackboard above the serving counter. "Everything's up there."
They studied the menu, then Dean said, "Give me three eggs, over easy, lots of bacon, and a side order of French toast."
"No problem." She turned to Sam. "And for you?"
Sam had winced at the near-terminal levels of cholesterol his brother was about to consume, but said, "I'll just have a coffee and ordinary toast."
"Sure." She reached over to the counter and picked up the coffee jug. "Milk and sugar's on the table. Unless you'd like cream?"
"Black's fine," Dean said, twinkling at her. "And I'm sweet enough."
"I'm sure you are." She grinned, poured, then headed back behind the counter to place their order, saying over her shoulder, "Won't be a tick."
"I thought you were hungry." Dean's eyes were still on the waitress's curves.
"I'm sure watching you eat that lot will be like having a four course banquet myself." Sam shook his head slightly.
Dean grinned. "Hey, it takes a lot of fuel to maintain this perfect body." He looked himself up and down.
"Surprised you're not the size of a house," Sam muttered only just loud enough for his brother to hear, but the promising argument was interrupted by the diner's door opening, and a woman in a uniform stepping inside out of the autumn sun. Mid-thirties maybe, her thumbs were hitched into the belt at her waist, not too far from the gun on her hip, and she looked up and down the diner until her gaze settled on the Winchesters.
"Mornin', boys," she said, approaching their table and sitting down next to Sam.
"Uh, morning." He nodded, if a little warily at being hemmed in.
"Hope you don't mind me joining you," she went on, "but I'm sheriff of this town, and I like to meet all the new arrivals."
"That's … nice." Sam glanced at Dean, who looked unperturbed.
"So … what're you boys' names?"
"I'm Jack, and this here's my brother Billy," Dean lied smoothly. He held out a hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise." They shook, and Dean was surprised at the strength in her grip. "My name's Charlotte Maguire, but most people around here call me –"
"Charlie." The waitress was standing next to them again. "Your usual?"
Charlie Maguire shook her head. "Not today. Just coffee. Got to watch my figure." She patted her flat midriff, and Dean took a moment to size her up. Probably as tall as him when standing up, she looked athletic, belying her insistence that she was on a diet. Her hair, caught in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, was long and almost black, just a shade from being the true colour of the night sky. Her eyes, though, were a brilliant blue, as if she had a summer's day in her ancestry too. She smiled back, small creases at the corners of those disconcerting eyes suggesting she was perhaps older than she looked.
Marie poured the coffee, her expression warm. "You sure I can't interest you in a Danish?" she asked Charlie.
There was a pause, then the sheriff grudgingly said, "Maybe one to go." She watched Marie head back before picking up her mug and sipping the scalding liquid. "So … what are you two boys doing in my town?" she asked, looking from Dean to Sam and back again.
"Nothing much," Dean said, trying charm again. "Just passing through."
Sam agreed. "Yeah. That's all. Passing through." He went on, "Something about the name attracted us, and we wondered what kind of town Purgatory could be."
She blew on the steaming coffee, cooling it a little before taking another sip. "So you wouldn't be hunting demons."
The Winchester boys exchanged a glance, then Dean said, "Demons?" He leaned back in his seat. "Aren't they just fairy tales?"
"Oh, I'm pretty sure you and me both know that ain't the case." Charlie smiled, placing the mug back on the table top. "But if that's what you've come to Purgatory for, well … you're gonna leave empty handed. I won't have hunting in my town."
Sam shifted slightly in his seat. "Look, I can assure you that we're not –"
Charlie stopped him with a hand resting lightly on his arm. "I knew what you were from the first moment I saw you getting out of that car of yours. You're hunters. And I don't mean for bear." She removed her fingers, but it still felt like his hand was too heavy to lift. "Now, I don't have a problem with that, but like I said, not in my town."
Dean leaned forward, lowering his voice so that no-one else could hear. "Look, you don't know what's here. What damage it can do. We've chased it across three states, and it's left a trail of bodies … well, bits. And right now, we know it's here."
"And if it is, I will deal with it," Charlie said, her blue eyes fixed on his face, and he felt uncomfortably as if she was reading the thoughts off the back of his head. "Look around you," she ordered. "What do you see?"
Dean and Sam did what they were told, studying the people in the diner before looking outside. A man passed the window, reading a newspaper, his head down. Across the street a child skipped along between her parents. Normal, ordinary people.
"Not really," Charlie said, even though neither of the brothers had spoken. "Our waitress, Marie? You like her?"
Dean shrugged. "She's okay."
"The way you had your eyes glued to her ass said something different." She repositioned the mug slightly. "There's some folks say she was responsible for the great plague hit Europe some five centuries ago. I wouldn't like to comment on the veracity of that. But now she lives here, and doesn't kill anyone." She paused. "Except maybe with this coffee. She always does make the damn stuff too strong."
Sam straightened in his seat. "Are you saying –"
"That guy out there." She ignored him. "On the bench under the tree."
They looked, noting the man she meant, very carefully keeping out of the direct sunlight.
"What about him?" Dean asked.
"Hundred years back him and his nest were feeding on royalty. Now he likes to sit out there and watch the world go by, at least what there is of it in Purgatory."
Dean snapped his head around to stare at her, his fingers reaching towards the bottle of holy water under his jacket.
Charlie held up a hand. "You complete that move, it might be the last you ever make," she said quietly. "Now I'm not here to hurt you, none of us are, but the point is this is my town, and like I said, you ain't gonna come here and cause a ruckus."
Sam stared at her. "Are you saying … that everyone in this town is some kind of demon or –"
"No. Not at all. Probably at the moment we're about fifty-fifty. And they ain't all demons. We've got a family of werewolves, for instance. They're okay, though. They stay indoors a few days every month, but other than that they come out and act like everybody else."
"I don't get it," Dean said. "What the hell's going on here?"
Charlie chuckled. "In a way, that's the point. You saw the name of this town. Well, maybe the folks that come here are looking for some kind of peace, some kind of … way of living with what they are. They're not looking for redemption, don't get me wrong. A lot of 'em are old and tired, some of 'em never really did get into the killing people thing, but what they got in common is that all they want to do is live someplace they ain't gonna get exorcised, or killed or … whatever it is you hunters do."
"That's not natural," Sam stated.
"No. Probably not. But here, inside the town's boundaries, that's what they do. They don't hunt or kill or feast. They don't go out terrorising children, they stay home and watch soaps on the TV. And they know I won't let anyone come into my town to hurt them."
The two boys stared at her, almost unable to believe what she was saying.
"Your town?" Sam finally said.
"You'd better believe it. For a long time now." She smiled. "So you can understand my being protective."
"She's right," Marie said, handing a Danish in a box to Charlie, obviously having overheard the conversation. "It's the only place we're safe. Anywhere else, your kind hunt us down. Here, we can get on with our lives. And all of us are thankful to Charlie for giving us this opportunity, and we're likewise grateful to the humans for taking us in."
"You mean they know?" Sam asked.
"Of course. They're our friends. And when we need help, they're there. If one of us feels the need to talk, they listen."
"Maybe things ain't like this out beyond Purgatory, but right here, right now, this is how it is." Charlie stood up.
"Well, there's something out there that's going to make that ruckus you don't like, and we're here to kill it," Dean said bluntly.
"Could be," Charlie conceded. "And maybe you're going to do like I said and let me deal with it."
"You have no idea what –"
"Are you so sure about that? You really think that the Winchester brothers know more than I do?"
"We didn't tell you our name," Sam said slowly, more unnerved than he wanted to admit.
"Didn't have to." Charlie laughed. "You're famous. Sam and Dean Winchester. Besides, it's something like professional courtesy, keeping an eye on the opposition." She sobered. "I don't mind you being here. No problems with you hanging around. I'll even let you find this demon. But you leave him to me." She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the back of the seat. "Do we have a deal?"
Dean's eyes narrowed slightly but he stuck out his hand again. "Deal," he said.
"Wait a minute -" Sam tried to put in, but Dean just shot him a glare.
"Deal," he said again, and he and Charlie shook.
"Okay then." Charlie straightened. "Marie, that coffee was up to your usual low standards, but put the Danish on my tab, will you?"
"You know I ain't gonna charge you," Marie smiled, heading back to the counter.
"Yes, you are. And these boys' breakfasts too. On me." She sniffed the cake box appreciatively. "Now, I have stuff to do, including eating this in a somewhat illicit manner." She glanced at the still seated men. "You two have a nice day, y'hear?" she said, and strode out, her ponytail swinging.
"Well, if she's paying I'm gonna have the special," Dean said, rubbing his hands together, earning a pained look from his brother.
"Did you mean that?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low. "That we'll just locate this demon then stand back?"
Dean smiled. "What do you think?" He winked, then called, "Marie!"
Forty-five minutes later and stuffed so much that he could hardly move, Dean walked back out into the sunshine, Sam at his back. They looked across at the vampire sitting on the bench under the tree.
"Makes you hand itch, doesn't it?" Dean said quietly. "Just knowing he's sitting there, and you want to go over and stake him."
"I don't know, Dean," Sam said. "There's something about this place. Almost feels like … home."
"Yeah, if you're a bloodsucking creature of the night."
"I don't mean that, and you know it."
"Then you wanna tell me what you do mean?"
"It feels … safe. Somewhere I'd like to be."
Dean stared at his little brother. "Are you saying you want to retire here? Live among the ghouls and the ghosts?"
"No."
But there maybe wasn't the denial in his voice that Dean wanted.
"Okay. Well, maybe we can talk about it later. Much later. Because right now we have a job to do. Like a demon to find." He walked to the Impala, opening the driver's door. "We got everything we need?"
Sam dragged his eyes from the vampire sitting peacefully under the tree. "Um, yeah. I think so."
"Best be making sure about that," Dean said. "I wouldn't want to be facing this thing down only for you to realise we've run out of wolfsbane."
Sam glared at him. "We've got everything."
Dean smiled. "Okay then. Let's go."
--
The local motel looked clean and ordinary, but as Dean signed them in he couldn't help but notice the slightly hairy aspect of the desk clerk, and the nails that could do with a trim.
"Thank you, Mr …" The man checked the register card. "Lugosi." He smiled, his teeth white, regular, and sharp. "Room 11. Just along by the pool. Sheets are changed every other day, fresh towels each morning." He handed over an old-fashioned iron door key. "We don't do breakfast, but the diner –"
"Yeah, we found it."
"Well, you should try Mom's apple pie." The man smacked his lips. "It's to die for."
"I'll … remember that." He went back outside and climbed back into the driver's seat. "Room 11. By the pool," he said, tossing the key to Sam.
Sam glanced back as they drove the short distance, noting the desk clerk watching them. The man waved in a friendly fashion. "So … vampire?"
"Nope. Werewolf."
"That will probably be the family Charlie mentioned."
"Seems like it."
"I'm surprised he's out at the moment. Full moon was only a couple of days ago."
"Let's just say he's not exactly hiding it." Dean exhaled heavily.
The room was better than the majority they'd spent a lot of their lives in, the beds surprisingly comfortable, and the TV had free cable.
"Looks okay," Dean said, dumping his bag on the bed nearest the door.
Sam didn't answer, just set up his laptop on the table under the window, quickly logging on.
"I'm surprised this town's got the internet," Dean went on, investigating the cupboards. "Seeing as it's still back in the fifties."
There was a beep and Sam was checking his email.
"You know, a conversation tends to mean me talking, then you, then me, then you –"
"Sorry," Sam said. "But I want to get this job done."
Dean sat down on the bed. "I thought you liked this place."
"Maybe I do, but …"
His brother understood. It might appear, to a lot of people who didn't really know them, that Sam had got all the brains, and all he could lay claim to was a stubborn tenacity that bordered on the psychotic. But he wasn't stupid. He knew Sam thought about a normal life sometimes, about having a wife, kids … and maybe this town was just bringing those dreams into a little clearer focus. If they weren't his dreams, well … "So what does Bobby say?"
Sam looked up, his lips smiling slightly as he realised Dean was changing the subject for him. "That the demon's still in town."
"He's sure?"
"Positive. All the signs indicate it's going to take someone tonight, and feed tomorrow."
"It's what he does in between that turns my stomach," Dean complained, rubbing his belly.
"After all that food I'm surprised there's room."
"Hey!"
--
By nightfall they had the map of Purgatory set out on the table, the scrying crystal lying ready.
"How's that thing going to find our specific demon?" Dean asked, finishing the last mouthful of beer from the six-pack he'd brought back earlier in the afternoon. "This place is crawling with them."
In response Sam held up a tiny strip of cloth. "We have this," he said, tying it tightly to the chain.
"True." Dean remembered trying to grapple the demon and almost getting slashed to pieces, only coming up with a handful of air and the bit of jacket when it dematerialised the last time. He glanced through the window, seeing the last of the sunset fading. "Okay. Time to get to work."
--
"Are you sure this is the place?" Dean stared at the building, doubt on his features.
"Positive." Sam peered out of the window. "He's here."
"Only …"
"Only what?"
"It looks like everywhere else."
"You mean with the cobwebs and pumpkins?" Sam climbed from the Impala, tossing the map and crystal onto the seat.
"I guess."
They were outside a two-storey whiteboard house, picket fence, only the pumpkins were growing in the garden, and the cobwebs had the remains of a thousand fly meals in them. "Maybe that's why he chose it. Because it fitted in."
"Not sure anything in this town counts as fitting in," Dean pointed out, going round to the trunk and opening it. Inside lay the tools of their trade, but he didn't need to search. Lifting out the bag lying ready, he slammed the lid closed. "Let's go kill us a demon."
--
Well, that was the idea. At least until they got inside and found the demon had something else in mind. Pinned against opposite walls of the small living room, the Winchester brothers shared an anxious glance.
"Did you really think I wouldn't know you were coming?" the demon asked through the mouth of Harry Spalding, mild-mannered insurance agent and currently a walking full-body suit. "I've been laying enough breadcrumbs for an idiot to follow. I didn't think I was going to have to sky-write it as well."
"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked, ignoring the little man.
"I think so. Might have broken a rib."
"Well, don't aggravate it. Wouldn't want you to puncture a lung or anything."
"No." Sam tried to breathe shallowly to avoid the pain. "You?"
"Oh, I'm peachy." He wriggled a little, but his body wasn't moving. "So, how do you fancy picking up a pizza when we're through here?"
"Sounds … sounds good. No olives."
"What's wrong with olives?"
"They look like a rabbit's crapped all over it."
"Have to be a damn big rabbit."
"Mutant."
"Okay, so no olives. But –"
The demon was suddenly in his face, waving the knife they had intended to use to despatch him under Dean's nose. "Are you always this annoying?"
"Pretty much. But we work really hard at it."
"You're succeeding."
Sam watched as the demon used the point of the knife to cut open Dean's t-shirt, exposing his chest. "You know we're going to kill you, don't you?" he said urgently, needing to get the demon's attention away from his brother.
"Oh, I doubt it. The incantation I've used will keep you immobile for twelve hours, and by then you won't be in a fit state to do much more than lie there screaming." He laughed. "Of course, as soon as the sun sets tomorrow I'll carve you into convenient bite-sized morsels, but that's for me to look forward to."
Dean had to bite back on the cry as the demon slid the knife blade down his flesh, just drawing a thin line of blood. If only he could get to the holy water in his pocket, or the pouch containing blessed grave dust in his boot, but not even the most violent twitch showed. "I'm going to send you so far back into hell even your own kind won't be able to find you," he ground out.
The demon smiled, and it was most concerting to see the coal-black eyes in that gentle face. "And my name will be known forever as the final vanquisher of the Winchester family." He turned towards the table, set as if for a meal, but with a variety of ugly and disturbing implements on it. "I am sooo going to enjoy this." He put the knife down and went to pick up something that looked like a razor-sharp scoop, but stopped. It was moving. No, vibrating. In fact, everything on the table was resonating, beginning to bounce on the stained cloth.
With the sound like a ruler being flipped on the edge of a desk, each tool flexed and flew into the air, burying itself in the floor, the old sofa, the ceiling.
One landed in the wall two inches from Dean's head, and he stared at it.
"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked.
"I'm fine. I think I might have to change my shorts though."
"You mean you're wearing some?"
Dean was about to make a snappy comeback when the door shivered into matchwood.
The demon pulled a long blade, almost a sword, from somewhere inside its jacket, holding it ready.
As the dust settled, a voice said, "I see you don't exactly put a lot of store behind a handshake."
"I had my fingers crossed," Dean explained.
Charlie Maguire tutted. "You'll never get into heaven lying like that."
Harry Spalding, or what was wearing him, hefted the knife. "You really want to join the party?"
"Oh, honey, I am the party." She stepped inside just as he charged. Her eyes flashed, and he staggered to a halt, the metal only a micron from her regulation shirt. "What is it about me that people just don't wanna believe?" she asked no-one in particular, then fixed her gaze on the demon. "Now you got a choice. You can go quietly, or not, it's up to you. But one way or another, you're going." She hitched her thumbs into her belt. "So which is it to be?"
The demon tugged the sword back and tried again, but with no better luck. "What are you?" it snarled, eyes narrowed.
"Your worst nightmare," Charlie said. "I protect this town from things in the dark."
"You mean like a rottweiler?"
She unexpectedly laughed. "Could say that. Only my bite is a lot worse than my bark."
Muttering something under its breath that sounded like ancient words from the old time, the demon drew back the blade for one last attempt, the metal whoomphing into black flame. He swung it at her neck.
Both Dean and Sam fully expected to see her head fall to the old carpet, like the miniature guillotine they'd seen on their way into town, blood spattering everywhere. Instead the blade seemed to melt, silver droplets evaporating before they hit the ground.
She grinned. "Told you."
Unhitching her thumbs, she brought her hands together in a single clap, and the concussion ripped through the house. Dust filled the air from the old shelves, and the cobwebs floated from the windows. The floor itself seemed to heave, and the shockwave spread out through town, rattling the cups in the diner and setting dogs howling. Dried autumn leaves were stirred into a windless dance, and a hundred miles away at a USGS station the seismic indicator registered it as a minor earthquake.
Back in the house, Sam thought he was going to be deaf for days, but he heard Charlie's voice as clear as a bell.
"No matter what you do, you can't hurt me. No matter what spells you try, I will always be a little stronger. Because I have the town behind me. My town. And right now that includes you. So no matter what invocations you try, I will always have the power to turn it back on you. To defeat you."
The demon didn't listen, just roared with rage and lifted one hand, lightning sparking from his fingers. Old curses dripped from his lips, and he released the energy.
Charlie sighed, and blinked.
The energy turned back, wrapping itself around the body of Harry Spalding, lifting him into the air as he struggled and squirmed, arms pinioned to his sides.
"It will only hurt more if you do that," Charlie pointed out.
The demon glared at her, his mouth working as he tried yet another spell.
Charlie glanced at Dean. "Doesn't look like he's learned a thing, does it?" She shook her head and reached up, lightly touching the demon via Harry's belly.
Gold light poured into the room, surrounding the demon, although Dean could never swear that it wasn't simply a reflection from Charlie's eyes. Whatever it was, though, the demon screamed as it coalesced around him. He threw back his head, oily black smoke issuing from his mouth and gathering on the ceiling as it tried to get away, but instead of spiralling into the vortex, it span into a ball, tighter and faster, and a hum began that set the Winchester boys' teeth on edge and made them want to cover their ears.
It grew in volume, all the discord within it melding into a single clear note, razor sharp but outrageously beautiful. Just when it seemed that they could take no more, that it would send them both insane, it shattered into a million fragments, and the ball of demon energy winked out.
In the sudden silence Dean and Sam stared at each other, then the older sibling coughed slightly.
"On the flashy side," he commented, his throat somewhat dry.
Charlie turned slowly to look at him. "Flashy?"
"But effective," he added quickly. "You know we could've taken him."
"It surely looked like it."
"We were just lulling him into a false sense of security."
"Of course you were."
"So it's gone?" Sam asked.
Charlie smiled. "Oh yes. And it won't be back."
"Then would you mind …" He looked down at his trapped body.
"Oh, yes. Sorry." She waved her hand and both men slid to the floor.
"What about him?" Dean worked his jaw to try and clear the slight ringing in his ears, at the same time nodding up to where Harry Spalding still floated in the middle of the room.
"Oh, I'll take care of him," Charlie promised. "He won't remember a thing."
Sam moved forwards, staring at the little man. "You mean he's still alive? But he was possessed for weeks, and no human body can -"
"It wasn't his fault," Charlie interrupted. "I ain't having an innocent die here because of something he couldn't prevent." She adjusted her somewhat redundant gunbelt. "As far as he's concerned, he had a minor car accident that resulted in amnesia. It's the least I can do."
"Wait a minute …" Dean said, hurrying to his brother. "Sam, what about your rib? You said you thought you busted it."
Sam's hand flew to his side and his eyes widened. "Nothing. There's … nothing. I think it's … okay."
"But you said -"
"I know." Sam pulled Dean's cut t-shirt to one side. "But I'm not the only one."
Dean felt his chest, encountering dried blood but no sign of a cut. He turned to glare at Charlie. "You did this?"
"You're healed," she agreed. "Can't have someone who's injured helping me set this place straight." She stood a chair upright. "Come on. Don't just stand there. We got work to do."
They stared at her, then each other, and both decided that it was better to be safe than sorry, and began to tidy up.
--
The Winchesters slept better than they had done in months, finding it was well gone four by the time they surfaced.
"So you think it's because we feel safe here too?" Dean asked, rubbing a hand through his short hair.
Sam didn't answer, only shrugging as he climbed from the bed.
After showering and shaving, packing their few belonging into their bags again, darkness was beginning to fall. Yellow street lights were coming on, and the quiet bustle of the town was dying down.
"Maybe we should stay another night." Dean tossed his bag into the trunk. "You know. Just to be on the safe side. In case we're needed."
Sam smiled. "Dean, I imagine this is the one place in America that's not likely to be troubled by any kind of apparition this All Hallow's Eve."
"I think you might be right about that." He leaned on the roof of the car. "But if we're going to be driving, I need some sustenance first."
"The diner?"
"The diner."
--
"You know, old Lon wasn't wrong about that pie," Dean said, carrying a box labelled Mom and Pop's Taking It Away carefully towards the parked Impala. He felt comfortably full, and ready to drive to the ends of the earth.
"Lon?" Sam stared at him. "Did we meet someone called Lon?"
"Sammy, where did I go wrong with you?" Dean sighed. "Lon Chaney. Played the Wolf Man back in all those old 1930's black and white horror films."
"Are you talking about the desk clerk back at the motel?"
"That's the guy." Balancing the box on one hand, Dean opened the back door. Placing the apple pie carefully on the back seat, he added, "He said this pie was to die for. And he was right."
"His name's Greg," said a woman's voice. "Not Lon."
"Come to make sure we leave town?" Sam asked, not surprised to look around and see Charlie leaning nonchalantly against the wall.
"Something like that." She smiled. "And to thank you."
"For what?"
"Drawing that demon out."
Sam glanced at his brother. "You mean you used us? As bait?"
Charlie chuckled. "Well, you were so all-fire set on finding it. I just figured I'd let you get caught and then come in and clean up."
Dean shook his head. "I feel … violated."
The chuckle became a laugh. "Well, I'm sure you'll get over it." She pushed off from the wall and approached the Impala as a rumble of thunder growled in the distance. "So how about giving me a lift?"
--
Driving back through the suburbs, they watched all the neighbourhood kids playing trick or treat, skipping from house to house, packing as much candy as they could carry into their plastic pumpkins so they could get home before the storm broke.
"Hope you got good dentists," Dean commented.
"We do." Charlie nodded. "One of 'em used to be a …" She stopped, smiling.
Laughter drew their attention back outside as they passed the miniature guillotine tableau again where this time children were already munching through their collection.
"Think they know what almost happened here?" Sam asked, half turning so he could look at her in the back.
"Nope, and it's right that they shouldn't." Charlie leaned forward, resting her forearms on the front seats. "They're only children. The difference is that while they're growing up knowing there's evil in this world, they believe that there's good too. And maybe when they're old enough, they can make that belief go just a little further."
"What you said last night …" Dean was almost awkward. "What you said to that demon, about always being a little bit stronger. Was that true?"
Charlie took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly. "It's true," she admitted.
"So what you do here, you could do to the rest of the world. Make it peaceful." He was concentrating on the road, deliberately not looking at her. He wasn't even really asking the question, just posing a theory.
"I could. But the important word there is make. Folks in Purgatory want this. They come here because they need a place to hide, but they stay because they feel content. I just keep it that way. If I were to do it to the rest of the world …" She paused.
"You mean we don't want it," Sam supplied.
"Yes."
"No, now that's not –" Dean began, but his brother interrupted.
"She's right. No matter how much people stand in front of microphones and say they want the wars to stop, they want it on their terms. Their peace."
"Besides," Charlie went on, "there are a lot more demons like the one from last night than there are those living here. So I don't think you're going to be out of a job too soon."
Sam watched the last houses disappear as he pondered years more of what they were doing, or the more likely scenario that one day they wouldn't duck fast enough, or they'd meet a demon just that little bit too strong for them. "I wish –"
Charlie put her hand on his shoulder. "No, you don't. But you just keep in mind that sometimes we ain't as black as we're painted."
"Could be we might be able to point a few likely inhabitants in your direction," Dean said with somewhat forced good humour. "If we find any."
"Just tell 'em to stop by the sheriff's station." She squeezed lightly. "And you can drop me right here."
Dean pulled the Impala up at the town boundary, and she climbed from the car. "Are you going to walk back?" he asked.
She looked up at the lightning forking across the sky, and smiled. "It's a nice night. I could do with the exercise. And there's nothing out here in the dark that's likely to bother me."
He laughed. "You sure are one crazy lady."
"You know, I think I'm gonna take that as a compliment." She leaned one hand on the roof. "You boys are welcome any time, you know that. You can come back if you need a place to be, a safe place."
"As long as our guns stay locked in the trunk?" Dean supplied.
"Got that right." She smiled at him, her blue eyes dark.
"So what is it with the name?" Sam asked, nodding towards the wooden sign, red letters bright in the headlights. "Why Purgatory?"
Charlie smiled. "Try again."
They looked, just as a flash of lightning rent the sky, and suddenly they could read the real name.
"That's …" Sam couldn't finish.
Dean could. "Awesome."
"Thing is, people see what they want to see. Always have. But maybe now you boys are seeing just a little bit clearer." She stood back. "Go on now. On your way. We don't like your kind around here." She tempered her words with a grin.
"Yes ma'am." Dean saluted, and gunned the Impala.
Sam half-turned in his seat, keeping Charlie in sight as long as he could. "So … what do you suppose she is?" he asked, finally sitting back.
Dean shrugged. "No idea. And I'm not intending to try and find out."
"Probably for the best," Sam agreed, pondering the last image he had of Purgatory's sheriff, illuminated by a final lightning flash, and wondered at what he thought he'd seen in the actinic glow.
Dean squeezed the accelerator a little more and the car leaped noisily ahead. "Think we'll be back?" he asked, glancing across at his brother.
Sam smiled. "I wouldn't be at all surprised."
Dean laughed. "Me neither, Sammy. Me neither." He reached out and punched the radio, the sound of Meatloaf singing Bat Out of Hell filling the car as they sped into the dark.
-x-
There's a place, a small town, out in the middle of nothing, halfway between heaven and hell, where people laugh at the name painted in big red letters on the wooden sign at the city limits as they drive through and away.
But sometimes, at night, when the electrical storms chase each other from horizon to horizon, just once in a while the lightning will flash, and it's possible to read its true name in letters of gold six feet high. And the folks who live there know exactly what it says. Sanctuary.