Meg inspected the fierce black contours that surrounded the Queen. She paced, clearly angry as she stared down at the other's blood-slicked, but clearly empty, claws. Ten more behind the Queen were bowed just as low, and all looked shame-faced.

"At least a hundred slaughtered, and NOTHING??" Meg was on the verge of hysteria. She glared deeply into the other's eyes, black slits amid a pool of gold, and continued, "I know where the object is, I've told you where it is, and you will go and kill every single human there until you find it!"

The cats shrank from her piercing gaze and slowly vanished back into the shadows gracing the cave. Meg, frustrated, punched a clean hole through the stone wall.


When they first arrived at the town, Dean was in as bad of a mood, and stalked off to pay for another dinghy motel room before Sam had the chance to say anything. Dean also neglected to tell Sam the location of their room, a deliberate act which resulted in the younger brother pacing down every hall, knocking on every door, until Dean's face came into view. Dean, with all his reflexes and sharp skills, didn't dodge the punch and staggered back in the room.

"Dude!" was the angry, somewhat muffled cry, "you fuckin punched me asshole!"

"You deserved it jerk."

Dean didn't say anything, which Sam noted was quite out of character, and just lied down on one of the spring beds, staring up at the ceiling. Sam made mental notes of Dean's sudden lack of…what's the word, rebelliousness? and resigned himself to unpacking their meager belongings.

"So this is Ragged Lake," Sam said the next morning, hands dug deep into denim pockets, watching a pale sunrise casting some light on the darkened sky.

Dean was deeply absorbed in a map, and hadn't paid any attention.

"Hey Sammy, look at this, I've plotted the most recent murders, they're all centered around the Southeast corner of Ragged Lake, well, the actual lake, not the town."

"Thinkin we head that way about now," Dean concluded, waving Sam back to the car.

Sam turned around slowly, breathing in the heavy morning mist. He thought it was awfully thick today, or was it always like this up here? The musk was starting to choke him. He clutched his chest and didn't even hear Dean yell his name as he sank into the muddy ground and into the dark.


Meg was pleased. The cats had easily killed most of the town's population. Regardless of their previous failures, someone would be found with it sooner or later. She waved her hand over a chalice of fresh blood, ripped minutes ago from the throat of some old woman she'd caught walking across the road. So that's why little old ladies shouldn't cross the road alone, she mused. The deep maroon surface quivered.

"We're getting close."


Sam woke up, coughing. His head was pounding. He had to find Dean. Why couldn't he see anything? His eyes were open, but all he saw was a haze of black that blocked out even the sun. He tried calling for Dean, but only succeeded in coughing some more.

"Sam, Sammy, talk to me, you alright?" Dean asked, shaking his brother. Sam had collapsed and passed out for a minute, lying there in the mud and grass. For Dean, that was an hour of trepidation, of fear that he'd lose his baby brother. He'd even proceeded to administer CPR when Sam came through with a cough, and sat up all on his own.

Sam could hear something, something faint.

"Dean?" He tried to answer, but his voice sounded small, drowned out by a pool of black silence.

"Dean?" Stronger this time.

"I'm here Sammy, stay with me Sammy, I'm helping you up, you ok?"

Sam rubbed furiously at his eyes to clear his vision, which was starting to come back to life, sunlight piercing the black veil.

"Dean, had…vision."

Dean blanched, were they getting so bad that having visions actually led to unconsciousness.

"It's not…not…the cats. They're…controlled." He coughed some more phlegm, and straightened himself a bit more, slowly letting the warm sun recharge his strength.

Dean didn't quite understand it yet. They knew it was the cats, they'd seen the pictures, studied the autopsy reports of claw marks. They'd researched the Neqa'el, there was no mistaking those marks. Were they brainwashed? Was that possible?

Sam sputtered and blinked a few times, his vision clearing and opening into his brother's furrowed face, drawn with worry. A few more blinks, a few more coughs.

"It's Meg, Dean. She's still alive."