Dean focused on the road in front of him. The Impala's headlights illuminated a never-ending stream of yellow dashes and reflective bumps interrupted by the lines of asphalt. He glanced at Sam in the seat next to him. His brother was snoring peacefully, for now. In a way Dean envied him. He had never been able to sleep in the car. If he was honest with himself, it was because he didn't trust anyone with his baby.
He looked down at the dash. The odometer said they were halfway there. They should be pulling in to town in about eight hours, at 10am. The road was straight and even. Dean felt his mind wandering, examining the past few days as he had thousands of times.
Dean dwelled on what had led them to this point. He knew he was just as much at fault as Cas. The never-ending list of what-ifs scrolled through his head like film credits. What if he had told Cas how important he was to him? What if he had put as much faith in Cas as Cas had put in him? What if he had said thank you?
Dean jumped at the clicks as the Impala started to drift across into the other lane. He tried to shake the feeling he would never be able to save Cas. Worry lines creasing his face, he refocused on the road.
Sam woke up around 8AM. They still had two hours until they reached Canaan. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"So what do we do once we get there?" he asked Dean.
"Not sure," Dean replied, "We're looking for a book that was written sometime in the 2nd or 3rd millennium BC, but it could've been as late as the 1st century AD. How many places could it be?"
"Clearly you've never stepped foot in a library or antiques store before." Sam shot at him. "This could take us days, if not weeks. Hell, even months! This isn't just a needle in a haystack; this is a specific needle in a field of needles."
"Well aren't you just a little ray of hope?" quipped Dean. He sighed, and looked at Sam. "Look, Sam, I know this is pretty much hopeless. But we have to try. We owe Cas. I have to try. I owe him." He focused back on the road, fighting back the ball in his throat.
Sam softened. "I know. So, what do we know?"
"Well, it's a book." Replied Dean.
"Thank you Captain Obvious. What did Bobby say about it? 'You'll know it when you see it'?"
Dean nodded.
"Death said it was written in Sumerian."
"And it's basically a compendium of exorcisms. What did Death call it? A grimoire?" added Dean.
"It'll be inconspicuous, whoever has it probably won't know what they have." Sam pointed out.
"If someone has it." Dean amended.
"If." Sam agreed. "I just hope this isn't some wild goose chase. I mean, what if this is just the first stop on some crazy trip that ends with us finding the book and having it crumble in our hands?"
"Don't say that!" shouted Dean. "I know it's a possibility. Hell, what did you think I was doing the entire time you were sleeping? I was going over in my head how many different ways everything has and could go wrong. If it can happen, I've thought of it. Just please!" he begged, "Don't mention it out loud."
Sam looked at Dean, true concern in his eyes. He knew his brother had a bond with Castiel. Cas was the one that had saved him from Hell. But he hadn't realized Dean was this worried about the angel. They fell into an awkward silence for the remaining two hours.
Dean turned off State Route 4, putting the Impala in park. Sam looked up at the white one-story building in front of them.
"What's this?" he asked.
"I thought you'd know a library when you saw one." Dean replied.
"Dean," Sam looked at him slightly shocked, "That's not a library. That's a barn."
"Well it's the best thing they've got. I figured you could start here, I'd go find us a hotel room, and check out the local area for anywhere else the book could be."
Sam rolled his eyes, but he opened the door and clambered out of the Impala. He grabbed his backpack from the seat behind him and threw it over his shoulder. Beyond Sam, Dean could see clouds quickly covering the sky. It was unusual to go from completely clear to dark and overcast, but it was nothing alarming at this time of year. Dean's hunter sensibilities were getting the better of him. Sometimes he started seeing cases where there weren't any, just so he could pretend things weren't so terrible.
Slamming the door shut, Sam strode towards the library. Dean pulled out of the parking lot and continued on down the road.
He noted the grocery store and a couple of restaurants. When he saw Parker Street he turned, hoping to find a hotel somewhere along the road. He kept swiveling his head to the right and the left, but didn't see anything. He drove past the Canaan Police Department, and did a double take. It looked like the entire town was swarming around the building, the meager police force trying to keep them back. On a whim, he turned into the small asphalt lot, parking the Impala in the corner right by the road. Quickly, he dug through the glove box for his FBI badge. With one hand he shoved it in his back pocket, with the other he grabbed the piece from beneath his seat. He got out of the car, sticking the gun in the back of his pants, covering it with his shirt.
Dean forced his way through the crowd to one of the cops.
"Hey there." Dean said, pulling out the ID, "Agent Ulrich." He flashed the badge. "I was just passing through when I saw the crowd. Anything I can help with?"
The officer gave him a look of relief. "Yeah. We've got three dead bodies in there. These people are going nuts – it's the third set of murders we've had in two weeks. Head on in, Detective Zamora's in charge." The officer let him pass.
Dean calmly walked into the building. It was rather bare, with a secretary at the counter and a couple of desks for the on-duty cops behind it. He could hear voices coming from the back room. He flashed the badge at the dowdy secretary and walked on through to the back of the station.
When he opened the door, everyone fell silent. They all stared.
"Agent Ulrich." Dean held up the badge again. "I was passing through and noticed the crowd outside. One of the officers was kind enough to let me in. I was wondering if I could help."
A squat, balding man with the beginnings of a beer belly walked over, extending his hand. "Detective Zamora. Any help you could give us would be much appreciated."
Dean shook his sweaty hand, and walked over to the tables everyone was gathered around. He noticed he was in a one-room morgue. There was a freezer in one wall, and a series of instruments and chemicals lining another.
"This is Doctor Beasley, our local go-to medical professional." He gestured at a be-speckled, pepper-haired woman. She nodded, her complete focus on the body on the table in front of her.
"So," Dean asked, "What happened? I heard there have been three other murders like this one?"
"Yep." said Zamora. "This is the first one with more than a single victim, but they have to be related."
"How do you know?" Dean pressed.
"They've all been exsanguinated." Doctor Beasley cut in, her dark eyes never leaving the body. She was examining a male corpse. He looked like he had been about thirty. The next table over held a slightly smaller frame – a woman. The final one held a body barely three feet long. Dean tried to ignore that one.
"Completely?" he asked the Doctor.
"Yes." She replied. "There is a cut across the jugular and a stabbing wound that appears to have punctured the aorta, like a hunter bleeding his catch. If I had to guess I'd say they were hung upside down over a bucket or some other container, which caught the blood. I'm just surprised they were so thoroughly drained. Whoever did this has extensive medical knowledge."
"Like you?" Dean piped up.
Dr. Beasley finally looked up from the corpse. Her eyes blazed as she responded. "Like me. However, unlike this person, I have spent the past thirty-five years helping people. Healing them. I would never do something so horrendous." She turned to look at the farthest table, the one bearing the smallest corpse, a deep sorrow creasing her worn face. "I delivered that one. Almost five years ago. And the parents, decades before that. I never thought I'd be burying them."
Dean nodded solemnly. "Sorry." There was a pause. "Is there any more information you can give me?"
"Yes. As unlikely as it seems, they were alive when their blood was drained. Just like the others. To find out anything else I'll have to perform the autopsies."
"Thanks, Laura." Detective Zamora sighed. She nodded at him, returning to the bodies.
As the Detective ushered him back into the main area of the station, Dean saw her gathering tools and chemicals.
"So, Agent, think you can help with this?" Zamora looked hopeful.
"I think so." Dean replied.
Zamora looked relieved. "That's great. It'll save me the trouble of calling you guys and having to wait a few days, maybe even a week, for some other agents to get here. Who knows what would happen in the meantime."
"Well, I'll do what I can." Dean said. "Do you think you could give me directions to a hotel? And the files for the first three murders would be helpful."
"Oh, sure! I'll get you everything we have on those murders, and the most recent ones. Let me walk you out." Zamora replied as he went to grab some files from one of the desks.
When they exited the building, the gathered crowd fell silent and stopped pushing.
"Hold on a moment," Zamora whispered. He stood to address the townspeople. "Everyone. Please remain calm. This," he pointed at Dean, "Is Agent Ulrich. He's with the FBI. He has told me he is willing to help us investigate these murders. I assure you we are doing everything possible to find the perpetrator and bring him or her to justice. Now please, go home. Be careful. Keep yourself and your families safe."
Zamora cut through the stunned crowd, Dean trailing behind him. Slowly everyone started to disperse. When they got to the Impala, Zamora whistled. "Nice car," he said, shaking Dean's hand again.
"It sure is," Dean agreed. "I'll just go get settled in at the hotel and familiarize myself with the case. I'll come back later this afternoon to go over the autopsy reports."
"Sounds like a plan." Zamora returned to the station.
Dean pulled out of the parking lot, and turned to go back the way he came.
Dean was sitting at the table reading the case file for the first murder. Kevin Garcia, 67. Retired Marine. His wife had died five years ago of cancer. He wouldn't have gone quietly. His grandchildren had found him when they came to visit – they ran in without waiting for their parents, and saw him lying on the table. Other than the gashes, there were no visible marks on the body. Other than the complete exsanguination, he was in perfect health. It sounded like a vampire, but vampires aren't nearly this clean in their kills. Maybe one of the Jefferson Starships got away.
Dean looked up as Sam walked in.
"Anything?" he asked.
"Perhaps." replied Sam, setting his backpack down on his bed. He nodded at the files on the table. "What're those?"
"I think I found us a case. Six dead in all. Started with one, then two, and early this morning they discovered three more bodies. All exsanguinated."
"It could just be someone killing people off, it's not necessarily a case." Sam pointed out.
"I know." Dean sighed, "Honestly Sam, I kinda hope it is a monster. It's been a while since we had a good old-fashioned hunt. Plus, if it is a monster, it might have information about the book."
"Speaking of information about the book, I might have something." Sam paused.
"Well?" Dean asked.
"You never give me the satisfaction of asking what I found." Sam whined.
Dean rolled his eyes. "What did you find, Sammy?" he said, overly-cheerfully.
Sam scowled. "Don't call me Sammy."
"Then don't act like a whiny little girl."
The two glared at each other. Sam finally caved. "I couldn't find anything about an ancient book on exorcisms. However, I asked the librarian about any rare books, and she mentioned an Albert Classen. Some rich retired guy who moved to the country. He built this massive house and filled it with all sorts of antiques, especially antique books. Apparently he had quite the collection. He died just a few days ago. His family moved all of his stuff to a warehouse to be auctioned off in a couple weeks. They already had a buyer lined up for the house."
"Wow, cold bastards." Sam nodded his agreement. "So this guys' estate has the book?"
"It might. And even if it doesn't, it might have some other books with more information we could use to find the book."
"When's the auction?"
"Not for a couple weeks. They have to bury the guy first and settle up with the house."
"Good. That gives us time to work on this case."
"If we have a case."
"Come on, Sam. We can at least look into it."
"Fine." Sam sighed. "So what do you think it is?"
"My guess? Nest of vampires. Instead of everyone taking a bite the leader bleeds the victim and stores the blood like they would in a blood bank or hospital. Makes it a bit harder for any hunter to spot the nest, and the police force are likely to get so fed up they just find some chump to blame."
"Alright." said Sam. "So, let's find us some vamps."
Dean grinned at his brother, and Sam smiled back. When Dean returned to the case files, Sam let the smile slide off his face. He couldn't help but feel that this hunt wasn't going to be the trip down memory lane Dean so wanted it to be. His nostalgia was no match for reality. And from the dark corners of the hotel room, figures waved.
A couple hours later, Dean and Sam walked into the Police Department. Dean walked up to Detective Zamora, who greeted him with a hearty handshake. Zamora's brow crinkled when he saw Sam.
"Detective," Dean said, noticing Zamora's gaze, "This is my partner Agent Braunstein. Agent Braunstein, Detective Zamora."
The two shook hands, Zamora with some trepidation. "So why weren't you here earlier?" Zamora asked gingerly.
"Oh," Dean interjected, "He was running late. Had some paperwork to finish up on our last case. I decided to go on ahead. Turned out to be a good choice, since I wouldn't have seen the crowd outside if I'd stayed behind with him."
"Yes, of course." Detective Zamora nodded, the fog of suspicion easing from his demeanor.
"Did Doctor Beasley finish the autopsies?" Dean asked.
"She's just about to start the last one. You know where it is."
"Thanks." Sam said. Zamora turned to the sergeant at the desk, and Dean started to walk off. Sam quickly followed.
In the back room Doctor Beasley was bustling around the third table. A small body was stretched out in front of her. It was a small boy. He looked about five years old. It wasn't like everyone said – he didn't look like he was sleeping. He looked like he was dead. His dark hair contrasted starkly against the bloodless skin. There was no gaping hole in the chest, so they assumed Doctor Beasley hadn't started his autopsy yet.
"Mind if we sit in?" Dean piped up.
"Not at all. Gloves and masks are on that table. There's a bottle of peppermint oil for the smell." She jerked her head towards the back corner.
Dean introduced Sam, aka Agent Braunstein, as they pulled on gloves. Doctor Beasley mumbled in response, completely focused on the task ahead. As she arranged her tools, Sam and Dean put a couple drops of peppermint oil into their masks and tied them on.
"We all ready?" Dr. Beasley asked. The boys nodded.
Dr. Beasley turned on the tape recorder. "Autopsy of James Harold, five years old. June 30th, 2011. 3:47 PM. Attending medical examiner, Doctor Anne Beasley. With me are Agents Ulrich and Braunstein, FBI.
"There is one cut and one stab wound on the body. The cut is a straight, unhesitant slash originating approximately one and a half inches below the right ear and ending just below the left. It cut straight through the jugulars. The stab wound is in the upper abdominal region above the heart – it appears to have severed the aorta." Doctor Beasley examined the exposed flesh for a few minutes. "Other than the aforementioned cut and stab there are no visible marks on the body. I will now perform and internal autopsy to ascertain any damage beneath the surface."
Doctor Beasley picked up a scalpel. With a slurp she cut into the flesh. She made a precise Y-incision. As she pulled the skin back a sickening squelch was released. Sam looked on calmly, but Dean blanched. When Doctor Beasley picked up her rib cutters, Dean had to turn away, and Sam winced. After a series of sharp cracks, Doctor Beasley set down the cutters and resumed her narration. This kind of thing hadn't fazed them in a long time, but then again they had never witnessed the autopsy of a child.
"All major organs are the expected size. As previously thought, the aorta is completely severed. All indications support the initial belief – cause of death, exsanguination. Same as his parents." With that, Doctor Beasley turned off the tape recorder.
She turned to the boys. "I'm done. If you want you two can take a closer look – I'll be out front going over the paperwork and drinking some very strong coffee if you need me." Doctor Beasley whisked off her gloves and threw her mask in the trash as she headed out the door.
"What's her problem?" Sam asked once the door had shut.
"She delivered the kid and his parents." Dean removed the mask he had been wearing. He paused. "Do you smell that?" he asked Sam.
Sam removed his mask, giving his nose a moment to clear itself of the peppermint smell. "Yeah, there's something . . . But it can't be—"
"Sulfur." They chorused. Dean and Sam stared at each other for a split second, then the lights flickered.
Sam dived for the body while Dean reached into his holster. Sam began looking for signs of possession. Dean started loading his handgun with salt rounds.
"Anything?" he asked.
"Nothi— wait!" Sam slowly wiped the edges of the severed aorta and the slice across the neck. "What does that look like to you?" He showed Dean the stain on the white bit of cloth.
"Sulfur." Sam nodded his agreement. "So I guess we're looking for a demon, not a nest of vampires."
"Dean," Sam looked at his brother with concern, "What if this demon knows about the book?"
"Well, we'll just have to deal with that if it comes up. Right now I vote we get over to the warehouse and find that book."
"Alright." replied Sam. "But we should probably prepare for the worst."
They went to the warehouse the next morning. The place was huge and overflowing with the belongings of one Albert Classen. It was humbling in a way, to think of someone's life reduced to a series of purchases, however long that series was.
We've salted every window; spread Devil's traps throughout the warehouse. We have Ruby's knife, holy water, and plenty of salt rounds. There's no way this demon is getting out of this warehouse once it's inside Dean kept reassuring himself. It felt good, all the preparing they did took him back to the days when he and Sam just drove around hunting monsters. And the pre-hunt adrenaline was starting to kick in.
"So, time to start digging," said Sam. The brothers looked up at the daunting shelving. Things were stacked from floor to ceiling, from wall to wall, with narrow walkways between rows. There didn't seem to be any particular order, though they did notice basic groupings: paintings here, old furniture there, various furnishings opposite racks of clothing and boxes labeled with varying degrees of detail. The books alone took up a third of the warehouse.
"This is gonna take a while." Dean sighed, grabbing the nearest book.
The boys waded through tome after tome. Some they could immediately weed out – books of poetry and fairy tales. Others they casually flipped through, looking for anything to indicate it might be helpful. And then there were the ones they actually paused to read sections of. Any that seemed they might be helpful went into a pile at the end of the row.
Once they went through all the books, they were left with an intimidating number of books to read more closely. Night had fallen, and their eyes strained to read the faded letters on the pages despite their flashlights. They sat next to each other, selecting books from the pile, reading pertinent sections, and just as easily tossing them aside. Sam would occasionally shake his head as if he were trying to clear his mind. Something was bothering him, but he was determined to find . . . whatever it was they were looking for. Dean pretended not to notice his brother's discomfort.
"This is impossible!" Dean exclaimed, throwing down his latest failure. "I mean, we don't even know if we're in the ballpark here. We could be—"
"Quiet." Sam hushed his brother. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" As the words left Dean's mouth, he heard a scraping. Suddenly, it dawned on him. Something is here Dean thought. He clicked off his flashlight, Sam following his lead. They sat perfectly still, letting their eyes adjust to the sudden darkness.
Dean motioned at Sam to follow him. Quietly, Sam sat down his book and picked up the shotgun he had sat next to him at the beginning of the day. They stealthily made their way to the back of the warehouse, managing not to knock over any piles or trip on any stray antiques. They were attempting to get to one of the exits when they saw it.
A humanoid shape was prowling up and down the rows. It was agitated. And female Sam realized. Images of Ruby and Meg flashed before his eyes, mixed with other, even more unsavory memories. But it couldn't be Ruby. And Meg wouldn't have come alone if she was looking for the book.
The figure paused halfway down the row. Sam and Dean froze. It was only about ten yards away from them. Sam felt his heart start pounding, convinced the figure could hear it.
The figure cocked its head to the side, listening. Then, it sniffed the air. Why would a demon be sniffing the air? Dean thought. It wasn't adding up. Either way, we clearly need to get out of here. The figure resumed its examination of the items in front of it. Now or never Dean realized. He turned his head, catching Sam's eye. He jerked his head forward, and Sam nodded in response. Cautiously they started to move again.
Thud. Sam's foot slammed into the side of the shelf. The boys froze once more, but it was too late. The figure turned towards them and growled. It stalked down the row, heading straight for them.
"Run, Sam!" yelled Dean, all pretext of stealth forgotten. They sprinted down the side of the warehouse, the figure close behind. They reached one of the doors, but it was locked. It knew we were in here Dean thought. "This way!" he hissed as the figure rounded the corner of the aisle. They had nowhere to go but forward, around the outer edges of the warehouse. It's herding us Dean felt his stomach flip. He grabbed Sam's jacket, tugging his brother down one of the rows.
They weaved in and out, the figure tracking their every move. Dean could hear it closing in. Somehow it managed to match every turn they made, and it was gaining speed as it came.
Uh-oh Dean thought as he slammed into a dead end. This is what it was trying to get us to.
"Nothing to do but stand and fight." He said to his brother. Sam nodded grimly. Sam flipped on his flashlight; setting it on a table at about waist height so it shone down the aisle. He aimed his shotgun back the way they'd come. Dean did the same with his flashlight. He took his flask of holy water in one hand, Ruby's knife in the other. It's only a demon he kept reassuring himself. You've fought them before. You and Sam are going to get out of this just fine, and end up arguing over pie about who was more scared.
The figure barreled around the corner. Sam fired, but either he missed, or the salt rounds had no effect. Dean caught a glimpse of it, and it was no demon. Fangs had descended from the upper gums, bared in rage. It was a vampire, and from the way it was acting it was hungry; but not it, she. She was snarling, racing down the aisle towards him and Sam. Reflexively, Dean stepped in front of Sam. This is it Dean thought I'm going to die. Again! The vampire lunged, aiming for Dean's jugular.
WHAM. The vampire was thrown back. She looked around, bewildered. Sam and Dean stared in disbelief. She stood up, and threw herself towards the brothers once more.
Again, she was violently thrown back. She threw herself towards them again and again, and each time she was repelled. Dean grabbed his flashlight, shining it at the floor beneath her feet. A familiar etching peeked out from under the edge of an old rug.
"It's a Devil's trap!" he exclaimed. "Did you put one here?" he asked Sam.
"No. At least, not that I remember. It's kind of hard to tell where we are in the dark."
"Well where the hell did it come from?" The brothers jumped back, startled by the unearthly wail emitting from the vampire's gaping maw.
"I don't know."
"And more importantly, why is it holding a vampire?" Dean shone the light on the vampire. She flinched away from the light, hissing.
"She almost seems feral." Sam said.
"Maybe it's just really hungry," suggested Dean.
"I've read rumors of the bloodlust doing this to lone vampires, but usually it's only if they haven't hunted in a long time. She's alone, but if she's the one who has been committing all these murders there's no way she's hungry." Sam told him.
"Well, I vote we wait here and interrogate it once it calms down." Dean suggested. "Plus, I'm sure we could both use a little sleep."
Sam nodded in agreement. "I'll take the first watch." He volunteered.
"No, you go ahead and sleep. I'll take first watch. No way I could sleep now." Dean told him. Sam shrugged. He peeled off his jacket and wadded it up. He put it under his head as a makeshift pillow. Minutes later he was asleep.
Eventually, the vampire calmed down. She restlessly paced the breadth of the Devil's trap, never taking her eyes off the boys. Dean took this opportunity to take a closer look at the exposed part of the trap. It looked like Sam's work. And it made sense. Like he'd said, it was much harder to tell where in the warehouse they were when it was dark out.
The vampire curled into a ball, appearing to sleep. Dean didn't trust it. He fought his eyelids, refusing to sleep. A few hours before dawn he woke Sam. It was his turn to watch the thing. Now it was definitely asleep, but Dean still couldn't calm his mind enough to even feign sleep. What are we going to do with this thing? He wondered.
When Dean woke up, the warehouse was illuminated by light pouring in from the windows. He sat up, blinking his vision straight.
Sam sat to his left, his back against one of the shelving units. He was staring intently at Dean.
"Dude!" Dean jumped. "Don't do that."
"Sorry," Sam whispered, "But that thing has been staring at me since it woke up." He jerked his head in the direction of the Devil's trap.
The thing was sitting cross-legged in the center of the trap. Expressionless, it stared at the boys. Dean stood, the thing's eyes following him. When he walked over to the edge of the Devil's trap, it didn't even blink.
"So, you want out?" Dean asked menacingly.
The thing didn't answer. It just continued to stare.
Dean knelt beside it. "Listen, sweetheart, we're going to kill you one way or the other. But if you talk, we'll do it the easy way, quick, clean, and painless. So you might as well talk to us." He let his warning sink in. "Now, is Eve your mommy?"
The thing laughed. It had a surprisingly feminine tone. "I don't have a . . . mommy, as you so eloquently put it."
"Well then who's your daddy?" Sam moved to stand behind his brother.
"I don't have a daddy." It smiled villainously. "I have three."
"Start naming names," Dean pulled out Ruby's knife, "Or we'll start cutting off appendages."
It returned its expression to the blank stare.
"Okay then," Dean reached across the line of the Devil's trap to grab its hand.
The thing pulled back, hissing. "Don't touch me you pathetic empty vessel." It spat.
Dean and Sam looked at each other. "So you know who I am."
"Of course I know who you are." It rolled its eyes. "And the giant ape standing behind you is Sam." It lifted its eyes to Sam. "You should've just gone with it, Sam. We would've been great, you know."
Dean glared. "We? Lucifer's in the cage, bitch. Just who the hell are you."
The thing snapped its gaze back to Dean. "How sweet. Mistaking me for my grandfather. I'm flattered, really. But I'm just an underling. An important underling, but an underling all the same."
"How important?" Sam asked.
The thing smiled. "Very. Considering my humble beginnings."
"And just what beginnings are those?" Sam had taken over the interrogation.
"I was just a demon. Just your run-of-the-mill, black-eyed bitch. But now," it grinned, its fangs descending, "Now I'm so much more."
"You're a vampire." It was not a question.
"No."
"Then what are you?"
"I'm a lot like you, Sam."
"Shut your mouth you evil bitch you're nothing like—" Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder, silencing him.
"How so?" Sam asked
"Not quite one thing. Not quite the other," it swayed its head side to side.
"So you're some sort of hybrid?"
"Not like your Prius, if that's what you mean." It scoffed. "I was an experiment. I was engineered to have all the strengths and none of the weaknesses."
"Well if your blood frenzy last night was any indication, you got some of the weaknesses." Dean said.
"I never said I was a successful experiment. But I was close enough for their purposes."
"Whose experiment?" Dean held her gaze, acting as emotionless as it looked.
It lifted its gaze to Sam once more. "One you were friends with." It returned its gaze to Dean. "And one you got to know really well in Hell."
"Alastair." Dean whispered, looking up at Sam.
"Well then mine must be Azazel." Sam replied.
"Bingo, boy-os." It smirked.
"Wait. You said there were three." Sam's comment wiped the smirk off its face.
"You've never met the third. Though I'm sure you soon will."
"What's his name?" Dean pressed, clearly getting exasperated.
"Why should I tell you?"
"Like I said, we can kill you quick, or we can make it slow." Dean casually played with Ruby's knife.
The thing's eyes narrowed. It sat in silence, observing the brothers. Sam started to shift uncomfortably. Dean stood, turning to his brother. He grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him out of earshot of the Devil's trap.
"Are you okay, Sam?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah. I'm fine." Sam replied. "Why?"
"I just can't have you going nuclear meltdown on me in front of this . . . whatever it is."
"Look, Health said I'd be fine for a while. The worst thing so far is that I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched." Sam admitted.
"Well then, let's get to it." The boys walked back over to the edge of the Devil's trap, this time standing shoulder to shoulder.
"So. Have you decided to tell us who the third demon is?" Dean menaced.
The thing sat, head down. When it finally spoke, its voice had lost its musical quality. "His name is Moloch."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Moloch. As in the ancient pagan god?"
"The same."
"But you're saying he's actually a demon?"
"Milton wasn't that far off. Many of the powerful demons set themselves up as gods on earth. Sometimes they even had contests – who could get the most child sacrifices by the end of the month and that sort of thing."
"So the three of them . . . created you?" Sam was confused. He had never heard of demons creating anything, except the other special children. An idea hit him. "Were you once human?"
The thing laughed. "Human? No. Well, my meatsuit's human. She's still here you know." Its eyes flickered upwards to see the reaction on the boys' faces. Neither looked surprised, but Dean looked furious.
"You get out of her you freak!" Dean yelled.
It cackled. "You think you can just command me to get out of here? Oh no. I like it in here. And even if I didn't, I couldn't leave. One of the unfortunate side effects of the procedure." It grinned evilly.
Dean and Sam looked sideways at each other. They hadn't expected this.
"Well, Sam. I guess it's back to the basics. Exorcise the bitch." Dean said.
Sam began to recite, "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. cessa decipere humanas creaturas,
eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare."
With every word, the thing in front of them jerked. Slowly it was pulled to its feet, then clear off the floor. Light skimmed beneath the surface of its skin, as if lightening strikes were illuminating the darkness contained therein. Its eyes flashed between black orbs and the vivid green of the meatsuit. Wisps of black smoke rose from the corners of its mouth.
"It's working, Sam. Keep it up." Dean watched with wonder. He'd never seen a demon react this way to an exorcism.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. cessa decipere humanas creaturas,
eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare." Sam continued.
Slowly, the jerking ceased. The flashes of light diminished, then vanished all together. The black in the eyes dissolved, the green shining through. But then, everything went wrong. The wisps of smoke were sucked back into the mouth of the meatsuit. The thing's feet touched back to the ground, its head lolling about on its neck.
Its head snapped forward, its posture perfect. Slowly, it exhaled. Its vivid green eyes shone. "Nice try, boys. But I'm not that easy to get rid of."
Dean and Sam turned their backs. "Sam, why didn't that work?" Dean asked.
"I don't know. That should have done it. I mean it's just a minor demon."
"Minor?" The thing interrupted. "Demon? Oh I'm not a demon any more. Demon implies frailty. And I am no longer frail."
"Then just what the hell are you?" Dean insisted.
"I already told you. I'm a hybrid. And if you can't tell what of, then you're far stupider than we were told."
"Clearly you're a demon/vampire hybrid." Dean rolled his eyes.
"Clearly." It said. "And clearly, the typical ways of ridding yourselves of demons and vampires won't work on me." They could see glimpses of fangs when it smiled.
"Well then, I guess we'll have to go off the books for this one." Dean said. "I'm going to step outside for a minute."
Sam watched Dean's retreating back, then turned back to the hybrid. It was standing right behind him, mere inches separating them. The line of the Devil's trap looked incredibly feeble.
"I wasn't lying, Sam." It said. "We would've been great together."
"In what capacity?" Sam asked sarcastically.
"You're one of them; the special children. You would have been the vessel of Lucifer himself, and you would have been triumphant. But in order for you to beat that pathetic daddy's boy, you'd need a general to lead your armies."
"And you would've been that general?"
"Me. Or one of the other hybrids." Its tone was casual. "But either way we would've worked together."
"Other hybrids?" Sam zeroed in on the fact there were more. Anything he could gather might be helpful.
"Oh yes. There were others. Still are, if they've got brains."
"So there's more half demon, half vampires running around out there?"
"And half demon, half shape-shifter. They might've even managed a few demon/werewolves before they were shut down."
"They were shut down?"
"Well, Moloch was. Alastair and Azazel were dead. Daddy dearest wasn't happy with their performance. I mean, killed by a walking mountain, a daddy's boy with the IQ of a goldfish, and an angel who can't even get his coat dry-cleaned? And Moloch couldn't even get a simple demon/vampire hybrid entirely right. So production was halted, Moloch was demoted, and we were set loose on the unsuspecting masses."
"So what's Moloch up to these days?" Sam tried to sound as casual as possible.
"Deposing Crowley."
"What?" Sam was shocked.
"What with Crowley topside helping you pathetic excuses for hunters, Moloch decided it was time to go back to the old ways. Lines may be hell for you, but for us the paperwork was a bitch."
Sam refocused on the matter at hand – the creation of the hybrids. There would be plenty of time to learn more about this Moloch character later. "Why vampires and shape-shifters?" Sam pressed cautiously – if he acted too eager the hybrid would just shut down.
"Being turned into a vampire or a shape-shifter doesn't alter basic anatomy. In theory, a demon could easily possess a vampire or a shape-shifter, if the laws of the universe allowed it. Werewolves and other monsters would be a bit harder since the foundations of the human anatomy are completely altered."
"How did you pick all this up?"
"Oh, I was in the facility for years. Some things I overheard. Others I was told. Many of them I simply picked up once I started assisting Moloch."
"How many years were you there?"
"I don't remember exactly. Since 1985 or 6. I was one of the first recruited, but one of the last actually fused."
"But that means the woman you're possessing—"
"Was about five years old when we took her." It grinned wickedly. "Yeah. And you know what? She wasn't the youngest. A friend of mine got a two year old. Oh, the nightmares he gave the kid. The screams . . . you can't even imagine."
Sam advanced towards the hybrid, furious. He was blind to the fact he was about to scuff a hole in the Devil's trap, when Dean called to him.
"Sam!" Sam halted, looking down. Carefully he set his foot on the ground, avoiding the line of the trap. Dean walked up next to him. "Whatever it's telling you, you can't let it get to you."
Sam nodded. "So what did you find out?"
"Bobby's never heard of anything like this. He said he'd do some research and get back to me. He said if push came to shove we could probably combine a couple of rituals and exorcisms to get rid of the thing."
Sam relayed everything he'd learned from the hybrid while Dean was on the phone. Then they returned to interrogating it, but the thing was smart. It didn't give them anything solid, just general statements and information, and nothing more detailed than what they had already learned.
Three hours later, Bobby called. Sam had just returned with lunch for himself and Dean when Dean's phone rang. He answered, then put it on speaker.
"All right Bobby, what did you find?" he asked.
Bobby's voice crackled through the phone. "Well, I think I found something that would work. If we do it right, we can combine a basic exorcism with this cleansing ritual I found, and that should do it."
"What does the ritual take?" Sam asked.
"That's the problem. Half this stuff I don't have, and if I don't have it there's no way you two do."
"Well what are you gonna do about it?" Dean sounded annoyed. "We can't just baby-sit this bitch. Plus, there's going to be people coming through here any day now to look at all the stuff going up for auction."
"Would you shut up? I know that, idjit. I already picked up most of the ingredients. I just have a couple more to get. And I won't drive, I'll fly."
"Fly? Like in a plane?"
"No, on a Pegasus. Of course on a plane, ya moron. I'll pack the ingredients and be there in just a few hours instead of almost an entire day."
"Alright Bobby. Just hurry." Dean clearly didn't want to be in the warehouse any longer than necessary.
"I'll let you know when I land. I'll just rent a car and drive."
"Sounds good, Bobby. See you soon." Sam said. Dean snapped his phone shut.
"Well, I guess you're stuck with us for another day or so." Dean said to the hybrid. It sighed.
"Goody." The thing rolled its eyes.
Sam jumped. He knew something was watching them, but he didn't know what. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two figures . . . but it couldn't be who he thought it was. They were far away. Dean slept a few feet away, oblivious to the panic racing through his brother's mind.
But what if it is them? He asked himself. But it can't be another part of himself argued.
"Can't sleep?" the hybrid piped up. It was sitting cross-legged once more, eyeing the brothers carefully.
"No." Sam replied. "Plus, I drew first watch." He glanced at his digital watch on his wrist. The glowing green numbers told him it was 10:42. He was supposed to wake Dean up at eleven, but he might just let him sleep.
"Something bothering you, Sam?" The thing feigned genuine concern. "Whatever it is, you can tell little ol' me."
"It's nothing." Sam shook his head. When he looked back up at the hybrid, he saw something behind her. He gasped, hand going to the gun at his side. The hybrid's eyes followed Sam's gaze. It stared at the shadows behind it for a moment.
"Oh, Sam." It whispered, realizing what was happening. It turned back, a sly smile playing at its lips. "Really? Already you're bleeding hallucinations into reality?"
"How do you know about my," Sam paused, unsure what to call it. "Condition?"
"Every denizen of Hell knows about your condition. Your body escaped the Pit, then came your soul. And finally, your memories. You poor, pathetic thing."
Sam looked confused.
"I know what you're seeing. That flicker in the corner of your eye. The shadows that never seem to stay still."
A fully formed figure stepped from the shadows behind the hybrid. "Hello, Sam." It said.
Sam stood, rooted to the spot. He never thought he'd see that face again. Lucifer, his tormentor for so many years in the Pit, was standing there, in the middle of the warehouse.
"Oh he's not alone." Michael, in the guise of Adam, stepped from the shadows opposite Lucifer.
"You're gone." Sam stammered out. "Both of you. You're in the Pit."
"You didn't think you'd get out of there without pieces of us, did you?" Lucifer asked, stepping forwards.
"We're in your mind." Michael chimed in. "We're not really here, but we might as well be."
"No!" Sam said forcefully.
"What do you see?" the hybrid murmured, looking keenly in the direction Sam was staring. "Are they there?"
Sam's soft whimper was answer enough. He could see Lucifer and Michael's faces looming over him. He was back in the Pit, and in their boredom and anger they were turning to him for entertainment. Lucifer he could handle, but then Michael joined in. As contradictory as it seemed, Lucifer wasn't nearly as bad as Michael.
"It's not real, Sam." The hybrid told him. "You know it's not. They're not here. You are. But they're not."
Its calm voice pulled Sam back to the present. The figures dissipated, returning to simple shadows. Sam gasped, his heart pounding.
"Why?" he managed to gasp out. "Why would you help me like that?"
"If I didn't, and your brother woke up to you lying unconscious on the ground, he'd kill me without a second thought. Don't make the mistake of thinking I did it for you. I did it to save my own skin."
"We're still going to exorcise you." Sam pointed out.
"I know. But at least then I have the chance to crawl my way back out of Hell."
They fell silent, each turning to its own thoughts.
Bobby arrived around 2AM. Sam and Dean had set up some electric lanterns around the area, casting eerie shadows on the shelves. He walked in, a cardboard box in his arms.
"One of you want to come help me unload the rest of it?" he asked. He looked tired.
"I'll come." Sam volunteered.
Dean stood, staring at the hybrid.
"What?" it asked.
"I just can't wait to kick your ass straight back to Hell." He smiled.
"Can't wait for you to try." It smiled back.
A bright light appeared between the two. Dean shielded his eyes from the glare. When it subsided, he looked towards the hybrid. A figure stood between them, one he never thought he'd see again.
Gabriel was looking far more chipper than he should.
"Sorry, Dean." The angel said, turning to the hybrid. Before Dean could stop him, he walked into the Devil's trap, placing his hand on the hybrid's forehead. It resisted, but Gabriel grabbed it, forcing it to be still.
Another great light pulsed around them, beginning in Gabriel's hand. Slowly it spread into the hybrid's body. As it flowed into her, a reddish-black liquid began to ooze from her pores. Her mouth open in a silent scream, the ooze began to pool at her feet. Where it hit the edges of the trap, it burned away. Finally, her entire body was emanating light. The glow strengthened, forcing Dean to turn away. As he did, he noticed Sam and Bobby turning the corner. They dropped what they were carrying, shielding their eyes.
When this light faded, Dean turned back. The hybrid was crumpled on the floor, Gabriel kneeling next to her.
Sam and Bobby walked up, looking just as confused as Dean.
The hybrid stirred. Gabriel helped her to her feet. The minute they saw her face, they knew the demon was gone. What stood before them was nothing but a confused woman. Her perplexed gaze landed on Dean, then went to Sam. Finally, her eyes landed on Bobby.
For a moment she simply stared, but then she said, "Daddy?"