Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Supernatural, or anything else for that matter. So please don't sue, I don't have much to give except for six tattered Harry Potter books and a fat rabbit.

Rating: T for language and violence

Summary: Sam and Dean investigate a town where men are disappearing, and one of the brothers becomes the next target.

Where The Beauty Ends

Chapter Three

Neither Winchester slept well that night. Dean tossed and turned in the small, uncomfortable bed, his hand sporadically reaching out from under the covers to feel the gun resting on the nightstand before he'd murmur something and roll over.

His sleep plagued by nightmares, Sam woke up every hour or so, glanced at Dean and then tried to find a more comfortable position and returned to another unsettling sleep.

The next morning was a slow start. The brothers each sported a pair of dark circles under their puffy eyes from the lack of sleep, but somehow managed to pull themselves out of bed. They spent the majority of the morning questioning the two remaining witnesses: Marla O'Shaunessey, mother of the eighteen year old Brendan O'Shaunessey, third on the list of disappearances, and Susan Leeman, wife of fifty year old Robert Leeman, the most recent victim.

Marla O'Shaunessey proved to be as useful as questioning a fire hydrant, for the way she put it, she seemed to have wonderful relationship with her son and had no idea why he had disappeared. At least, that's what Sam and Dean assumed she had said, for the distraught mother's answers were all gasped out between blubbers and sobs into a handkerchief. Susan Leeman was a bitter old woman of sixty-two, with a twelve year age gap between herself and Robert Leeman. The "oh woe is me, my husband is missing" act she put on for Sam and Dean didn't fool them for a second; in fact, she seemed almost relieved to have the man off her back. However, neither of the brothers had any reason to list her as a suspect, rather just an old toad of a woman who was enjoying her days without an old husband to look after.

It was in the late afternoon that Sam and Dean returned to the sickly motel. Strolling into the room, Dean's eye caught the glint of the knife on the scratched coffee table, where Sam had placed it after yanking it out of the door the previous night. Today though, his eyes picked up something that he hadn't seen in the dim light of the cheap lamp the night before. "Hey Sammy, did you see this?"

Washing his hands in the bathroom, Sam glanced into the mirror, his eyes looking past his gangly reflection, through the open door to where Dean stood, holding the knife up to his face to examine something on the handle. "What?"

"There's an engraving on the hilt of this knife," Dean said, running his slightly calloused finger over the wood. Sam dried his hands, walking into the main room to stand next to Dean. He peered over his shoulder, eyeing the small symbol carved into the handle. Three circles, one larger and two smaller; the smaller two overlapped the first on either side, looking almost like a sort of Venn Diagram; carved into the largest center circle was an eye.

"Ever seen anything like it before?" Dean asked, letting Sam take the knife from him to examine it closer.

"No," Same answered, tilting it towards the window for better light. "It looks like the symbol for some sort of cult."

Dean was already scribbling a drawing of the engraving onto a sheet of paper. "You check the laptop, I'll see if the library down the street has anything on it."

"I doubt you'll find anything," Sam said, setting the knife down as Dean pulled his jacket on. "The library's the smallest, saddest excuse for a library I've ever seen."

"Worth a shot," Dean said with a half-shrug. "Call me if you find anything."

"Yeah, okay, ditto," Sam said distantly as he pulled the laptop out of his bag and Dean slipped out the door.

---

Hours passed, and Sam's eyes were starting to burn from the light reflecting off the laptop's monitor. He had searched every symbol site he knew of and had Googled anything from "cult symbols" to "disappearing men", but had come up with nothing.

Sighing, the young Winchester leaned back in his chair, at the same time picking up the knife from the table next to him. Sam turned the blade over in his hands, tracing the engraving on the hilt with his index finger. There had to be something they were missing.

---

Dean sighed, flipping the heavy book cover shut. This had been the fourth and last book he had looked through and had found no results. The engraving on the knife hadn't shown up in any book, and though Dean had questioned the brown-haired, large-eyed librarian chewing bubble gum behind the front desk, the young woman had replied that they didn't have anything else on the subject.

Gathering up the materials, Dean was about to call it quits when a certain title on the open table of contents page in front of him caught his eye. Sirens. Furrowing his eyebrows, Dean flipped open to the page, not knowing why save for a gut feeling.

"According to Greek mythology," read the small-type text, "Sirens, or Seirenes, were sea nymphs or Naiads who lived on the island of Sirenum Scopuli, surrounded by large cliffs and rocks. Approaching sailors were drawn to them by their enchanting singing, causing them to sail on the cliffs and drown.

In early art, the Sirens were represented as birds with the heads, and sometimes the chests, of women. Later, they were represented as female figures with the legs of birds, with or without wings.

Yet, in other forms of mythology, legend and folklore, Sirens were known as demons in the skin of beautiful women, enticing men with their song. Once lured in, the Sirens would keep the men as their slaves until dissatisfied with them, upon which they would kill them."

By the time he had gotten to the last sentence, Dean was already pulling out his cell phone to call Sam. "Sirens," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head. Scrolling down his phone's contact list, Dean had reached Sam's name when a voice called out behind him.

"Dean!"

Dean whipped around, a smile sliding onto his face and Sam forgotten as he spotted Allison, the cute waitress from Harry's Diner.

"Hey Allison," he greeted charmingly. "What are you doing here?"

"Not much," the blond replied with a small shrug and a grin, her Montana twang prominent as she spoke. "I just came to return a book and decided to browse. How 'bout you?"

"Just doing a little research," Dean shrugged as he casually reached behind him to shut the open book.

"Findin' what you were lookin' for?" Allison questioned.

"Nah, not really," Dean lied nonchalantly with a half-shrug.

"Aw," said Allison coolly, taking a few steps towards Dean. "Well how about a little music to make you feel better?"

Dean tilted his head slightly. "Wha...?"

He was cut off however, as Allison began to hum, her soft voice echoing in Dean's ears. Almost immediately, he started to feel numb, and light, as if he were simply floating, and his eyes started to glaze over slightly. Any remaining thought of Sam, the missing men, or Sirens vanished from his thoughts, as his mind started to feel thick and foggy. Without thinking, without feeling, Dean felt his body drawn towards the small woman slinking towards him; he reached out to pull her closer, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss.

---

Sam was jerked awake two hours later by the sounds of sirens and flashes of blue and red light filtering in through the window. He yawned, glancing at his watch, 5:28. He'd been asleep for two hours, Sam mused to himself as he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face to try to clear his mind from the muddled just-waking-up fog.

The laptop was still open to the official site for the area's main newspaper. Sam had been reading and re-reading the articles on the disappearing men in hopes of finding some sort of clues that they might have missed, but to no avail.

It was then that Sam finally noticed the flashing lights bouncing off his face as another police car drove past the motel. Standing up, he made his way over towards the window, peering out. The cop car was continuing down the street – in the direction of the library. Dean. His brother still wasn't back, and Sam grabbed his cell phone off the table to see with a sinking feeling that there had been no missed calls.

Closing the laptop, Sam pulled on his jacket and slipped into his pair of tennis shoes by the door. Something wasn't right, Dean had been gone far too long. Rushing out of the motel, he jogged down the street in the direction of the library, where he saw two police cars, an ambulance, and a small crowd of people gathered. Slowing down by the group of people, Sam gently pushed his way towards the front in time to see two paramedics loading a body bag into the back of the ambulance.

Sam felt his breath hitch in his throat. "Hey, what happened?" he asked the middle-aged woman standing next to him, trying to keep his voice steady.

"They won't tell us anything," the woman replied shortly. "Apparently the librarian was killed."

Sam breathed a small sigh of relief, at least Dean wasn't dead. Making his way away from the crowd, Sam pulled out his cell phone, pressing speed dial two for Dean's number. "C'mon, Dean, pick up, pick up," he muttered quietly to himself as the other side rang. There was a small click before it went to his voicemail. Snapping his phone shut, Sam leaned back against the brick wall of the library. Dean was gone.

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