"Great!" the younger Winchester threw his hands above his head, "Wonderful idea, Dean. Let's melt our asses and get ourselves cursed because you can't live a day without doing something stupid."
"It's the tenth time I've heard it in two hours," Dean snarled with a cold edge in his voice. He was perfectly aware that it was his fault. Maybe a tiny bit Castiel's fault too. Anyway, even his hot temper didn't hinder an incredibly complex thought process that led to a conclusion that blame shifting would do no good.
"Technically, we weren't cursed," the angel explained, tracing the scorched, bleak landscape outside the motel's window with a broody look, "we were seduced."
"So you do know what kind of a fucker it was?"
"It would be extraordinary, but I believe it might have been a poludnitsa."
"A what?" both Winchesters exclaimed in unison. Dean remained seated on his bed, while Sam immediately grabbed his laptop and placed it on the table.
"Poludnitsa... Or Pshipolnitsa, or simply Lady Midday..." he read, muttering when his look skimmed over the parts he found unimportant, "spirit of a young woman... Died on the day of her wedding... Lives on fields... kidnaps newborns, causes headaches, drives people to madness... Worshiped by farmers, appeased by offerings and rites... The fuck? So is she a vengeful spirit or a monster or a pagan goddess?"
"Perhaps all three. These Slavic deities are really bizarre..." Castiel pursed his lips and jiggled his head with outright disdain.
"He's right," Sam confirmed briskly after a few minutes of browsing the web, "It looks like slavic people made turning vengeful spirits into gods their trademark. Topielets', Samodivas, Mamunas, Navkas, Vodniks. Spirits of floaters, dead virgins, women dead in childbirth, stillborns, oh, floaters again... All powered up and made into deities with rites and offerings. Why the fuck would they worship them?"
Dean downed the remaining half of his beer in one swig; his mouth was dry and his head hurt. Of course he wouldn't admit it, but there was this paranoid thought that the symptoms of dying were already kicking in. The vision of his body slowly boiling on its own accord didn't fill him with delight.
"And if she's from Europe, what the hell is she doing here?" Sam looked at Castiel expectantly. The angel took one slightly deeper breath.
Which meant that he was on the verge of bursting out in frustration.
"I suggested what this creature might be. I'm not omniscient," he noticed Dean's puzzled look, "It means I don't know everything about everything," he clarified earnestly.
"Yeah, it sticks out a mile," the older Winchester talked back, then opened the minibar with his foot without moving from where he was sitting. He examined its contents with appreciation. If he was about to suffer a horrible and painful death, at least he wasn't going to suffer it sober.
"Let's go through the vics. Usually the people targeted by a monster are the key," Sam ordained form behind his laptop. His older brother mumbled something inarticulate, mocking the younger's serious expression.
The computer expert focused on the screen again and started typing deftly.
"Four so far..." he muttered to himself.
"Seven!" Dean insisted, staring at the floor with a dismal expression. He took a big swig of tequila without taking his eyes off the crack in the tile in front of him.
"All right, seven. All male. 25 to 40 except for Cas... By the way, Cas, how old are you?"
"Four hundred million years."
The eldest Winchester took another gulp, but this time he choked on it.
"Erm," Sam gave Cas a somewhat fretful glance "Is it... much?"
"Not really. In fact I am quite young for an angel," With his steady gaze still resting on Sam the angel skimmed Dean's temple in passing; the burning sensation of actually breathing fire in the man's throat wore off in no time.
"All right. Male, relatively young, various ethnicities..."
"Various species..." Dean added with a pout.
"Dean, how could I have expected that it would be a slavic deity that had been forgotten for centuries?"
"Dunno, perhaps thanks to four hundred million years of experience?!"
"Not helping!" Sam rose his voice. Two other men calmed down - Castiel patient and stoic, Dean sulky and exasperated.
After a minute or so of frowning, sighing, muttering and rubbing his temples the younger hunter concluded:
"Nothing in common except for one thing. Two were married, four single, one divorced. From what we know one of this married guys was gay and had a fake marriage... And the other had a divorce pending."
"Does it mean that they all had an unsatisfactory love life?" The angel asked, a bit inhibited.
"Hey!" Dean bristled "my love life is awesome!"
Sam and Cas both gave him a meaningful look. Dean took another gulp of tequila - this time more warily - and crossed his arms.
"Well, all right, you said we weren't cursed, but seduced, mr Hotshot," he jerked his head up, "What did you mean?"
The angel sat down on the bed next to his friend and rested his elbows on his thighs in a surprisingly human gesture.
"I suppose it has something to do with the way she died. She seduces men, drives them crazy and finally comes for their souls," he explained softly, "but unless she is powerful enough to reap a soul herself, and I surely doubt she is, a reaper always takes them to where they belong and she remains with nothing."
"She's trying to fill the void left by the one she never had a chance to marry?" Sam sounded authentically moved; Dean snorted.
"You have something on your face, Samantha..." he licked his thumb, approached his brother and rubbed Sam's cheek under the eye, "There, there. Your makeup was running, but I've fixed it."
"Dean, Sam. Please," Castiel rebuked peevishly, "This is not funny. We have to figure out what to do."
Sam sighed. He reposed his hands on the table next to the laptop, as if he was hinting that he was not going to type in any more queries.
"I'd suggest Bobby..."
"It's like 20 hours driving from here," Dean noted morosely. Castiel cleared his throat. The older Winchester squinted at him. "What?!"
Castiel gave him one of this rare looks that meant What is wrong with you.
"No, no way," the hunter protested. "I'm not leaving Baby here."
"Dean, think. We book the room for 3 days, we leave the car on a manned car park, Cas zaps us to Bobby's, we're back when we're ready."
The idea took a while to process.
"Oh..."
Dean took dropped onto the bed and pressed the cold bottle of booze against his temple. Of course. The plan was so simple. It was happening. His brain was melting. He was surely dying.
