A/N: A visit of Mr. Saint's house puts the boys one step closer to knowing what they're facing. Dean does a little dance. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, I just like putting words in the characters' mouths.
Evening seemed to come early, casting the brothers far too quickly into their twilight hunt. An invisible predator during the day seemed much more daunting at night. They circled around the house of the last victim, the beams from their flashlights scouring the ground as they climbed up onto the wrap around porch, looking for anything out of place.
Sam paced by the windows, looking at the frames, running his fingers over the wood. There was no tell-tale sign of sulphur, no signs of forced entry at all. Sighing, he tried the front door, surprised when it swing wide open.
They ducked under the crime scene tape , moving slowly into the den where Aaron had obviously died.
"That's foul," Dean groaned, catching a smell of the coagulated mess covering a large portion of the carpet and furniture. He reached over, flipping on the light, leaving his flashlight on the table by the door. "Just for once, it'd be nice to get a job that didn't smell like crap."
"Definitely," Sam agreed, moving into the den as his brother moved toward the kitchen. Breathing shallowly through his mouth, he squatted down beside the bulk of the mess, angling his beam down to closer examine it, his head slightly cocked to the side as it always did when he was studying something.
The indistinct noises of Dean's search did little to break his concentration as his eyes narrowed, finding something off about the putrid, congealed mess on the carpet. "Hey, Dean!" he called, glancing around the living room, his eyes settling on the fireplace and the poker propped against the stonework.
The older Winchester looked around the corner to where Sam stood, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Find something?"
"Yeah, I think so." He gestured his brother over, once again squinting down at the mess on the floor.
Grimacing, Dean made his way over, forcing himself to lean close to the vomited mess. "What is it? I mean…besides disgusting?" He glanced over. "No, c'mon, Sam. What are you gonna do? Poke around in it with that thing?"
"It's moving," he countered.
"Dude, how close did you freakin' get?" He forced himself to look closer, finally admitting that he, too, could see the almost imperceptible shifting that Sam had noticed. "Is it…breathing?"
"That's what it looks like."
He stood back, his disgust written plainly on his rugged face. "That just adds a whole new level to creepy." Moving a step back, he crossed his arms stoically across his chest, staring down at the carpet. "Well, go on."
The younger man adjusted his grip on the iron poker, squaring his jaw in determination before he plunged the make-shift tool into the midst of the bloody pulp. An immediate cacophony of high-pitched shrieks filled the room and several small, dark shapes separated from the gore, moving quickly across the floor. Reflexively, Sam stabbed the iron rod forward, managing to impale one of the fleeing things on the sharp point before it got away.
Recoiling, Dean shook his pant legs, trying to watch where the shrieking blobs went. It was quiet for a long moment before he looked up, catching Sam's gaze. The younger brother simply stood there, slightly amused, watching Dean attempt to compose himself.
"Ya done?" Sam asked, a slight smirk touching his lips.
Dean awkwardly cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, slightly raising a brow as he took a final sweep across the floor. "Yeah." He cleared his throat again. "So, uh, what the hell is that thing?"
"I dunno," Sam replied absently, wandering over to the dining room table. He grabbed one of the placemats, shaking the dead thing he had captured onto the off-white surface. "Can you find me…a knife or something?"
Dean returned to the kitchen, searching through drawers until he found the silverware, returning to stand by Sam's shoulder as he handed the knife down to his brother. "Uggh, the hell?"
"Looks like a parasite of some sort. Wanna call Bobby?"
"Good thinkin'." He reached in his pocket for his cell phone, hitting the speed dial. "Hey, Bobby."
"Dean? Find anything? Still got nothin' here."
"Bobby, I have no idea what the hell we're lookin' at here. Sam managed to kill one."
"One?"
Dean bent closer to the specimen Sam was beginning to dissect on the table. "It's small, Bobby. Looks like a parasite of some sort. Digs its way into somebody and turns them to freakin' mush, man." He paused, looking around the floors again in paranoia. "Found five or so here at the last vic's house."
"Bobby," Sam cut in, gesturing for Dean to hand him the phone. He cradled it against his shoulder and laid the knife on the table. "I think this same thing happened here before, like a hundred years ago."
"That's somethin' to go on," came the reply amidst the sound of shuffling papers. "I'll have a look, see what I can dig up."
"Thanks, Bobby."
"You boys be careful." The phone call ended with the gruff reminder, leaving the two of them to stare down at the table.
The dead specimen appeared to be about the size of a fist. Further inspection revealed that the mouth of the creature appeared to be coin-shaped and full of small, sharp teeth. The dark, murky color the parasite had been faded as it bled onto the table, leaving it almost translucent.
Sam dropped the knife back on the table again, looking back at his brother. "You realize…that when these things are hungry…they're practically invisible?"
Dean widened his stance, throwing his hands up in a helpless gesture. "How the hell do we fight these things?"
Sam chewed the inside of his bottom lip, his mind racing.
"There were five here…How many more do ya think there are?" he asked gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Dunno," the younger hunter replied absently, his eyes narrowing as he focused in on his brother. "Let's get outta here."
"Oh, hell yes."
TBC...
