Rowena swept into the restaurant, her eyes quickly scanning the diners to locate her group. There: Morgana (such a reach, borrowin' Morgan Le Fey's name!) and Gwen, seated at a table in the back. Rowena murmured to the maitre'd in passing to indicate she was joining a group. She breathed in the delectable scents of Chef Renfrew's cooking, absorbed the quiet, elegant atmosphere with a satisfied smile, then threaded her way through the artfully scattered tables, long skirt swaying gracefully around her ankles. When she reached the table, she waited a beat for the maitre'd to pull out a chair for her, swirled her dress around, and sat daintily, smiling archly at the two other witches.
"My dears! It is so very good to see you again! It's been far too long, yes?" She leaned forward to air-kiss Morgan, then did the same for Gwen. Both of them eyed her skeptically. She pursed her lips momentarily, eyeing them surreptitiously, then flipped open her napkin and draped it across her lap
"Rowena," Morgan drawled in greeting. Gwen merely raised her eyebrows and smiled faintly. "So just why are we - you - here? We did hear about Olivette's...disappearance, y'know."
Rowena waved a dismissive hand. "Och! Darlings! Let us not waste time on Olivette, eh?" She paused while the waiter poured her a glass from the bottle of wine beside the table. When she judged him safely out of earshot, she continued. "I asked you to join me here to discuss formin' a new coven, a better coven, than our old and outdated Grand Coven. Now that Olivette is out of the way - " Her eyes glittered with satisfaction. " - we are finally able to...oh...express ourselves in a way that wasn't possible when she was the leader."
Gwen's skeptical expression deepened. She hid a slight grimace by taking a sip of her wine. Morgan tilted an eyebrow. "Do tell about us 'expressing ourselves'..."
"Well! Girls, you know that we all have the power inborn. And that Olivette - sainted be her name, I'm sure! - found us all needin' of restraint. Which, of course, stunted us all when it comes to explorin' the power. So now that she's...vanished...I'm proposin' we re-organize into a new coven, a - a - " She paused a moment, waving a wordless hand, thinking. Then her eyes lit up. "Mega-Coven, grander than the Grand Coven ever was! With the three of us bein' the leaders, of course." She smiled broadly at them, inviting them to share in her great dream.
The other two were silent for a long moment. Morgan coughed. Gwen took another sip of wine, put the glass carefully back on the table, and slanted a look at Morgan. Finally, she folded her hands on the table, and murmured, "Do tell us, Rowena...why should we be listening to a witch who can't even keep an apprentice?" Morgan snickered.
Rowena's eyebrows twitched together in a tiny frown. "Gwen, dear, what are you natterin' about?"
"You don't know...?" Gwen questioned dryly. Rowena folded her lips, and she looked at Morgan for enlightenment. Morgan smirked at her.
"Oh, we've been hearing things, y'know."
Rowena's frown deepened. "No, I dinna know!" she snapped. "What 'things' have you been hearin'?"
Morgan leaned back in her chair, waved a hand. "Oh, this and that..." She snickered. "About how your apprentice, that Winchester boy, has been...oh, talking to other witches from the Grand Coven, looking for training..."
Rowena drew in a shocked breath, feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach. "What?!" she shrilled. Looking for training from someone else? No. Not possible.
"Oh, dear. You really didn't know?" Gwen's soft voice was sweet with false sympathy. "Oh, yes. He tried Ethan!" She covered her lips with a hand to muffle a chuckle. "And then Melanie. No doubt, he's looking for someone else by now, you know what Melanie is like..."
The two looked at Rowena with bright eyes, enjoying her utter surprise and dismay.
"Ethan?! That...that...useless heap of dung?!" Rowena's voice rose. She found it difficult to believe what she was hearing, but the way Morgan and Gwen were practically wetting themselves, it might actually be true. She had been sorry to see Samuel go, turning his back on his potential. But this? Training with someone else?
"And Melanie..." Morgan murmured, eyes dancing with malicious glee. "Maybe I should offer myself up. Though he is one of those Winchesters..." She shuddered.
Rowena wadded up her napkin and tossed it on the table. She pushed back her chair, stood up, and glared at them, tossing her mane of red hair back haughtily. "Och, no! That boy is my apprentice! Mine! There will be none teachin' him the ways of power except me, you can be sure of that!"
Morgan laughed. The scornful note slid right through Rowena, making her quiver with rage. "Well, he seems to want a replacement. Maybe your training wasn't quite as good as you think?" she asked lightly. She slid her own chair back and stood up, too, Gwen joining her. They looked at her with open contempt. "And since you can't even keep an apprentice...well, really, Rowena. Why on earth should we join this so-called 'Mega-Coven' of yours? Please." She rolled her eyes. After a pause, she marched away from the table, Gwen following.
Rowena stood there, seething, face pale, small fists clenched in anger. She ignored the surreptitious glances sent her way by nearby diners. The meeting had started so well, but now... Her plan to form a new coven tossed in her face! And the news that Samuel, rather than denying the use of his power, was actually looking for someone else to teach him - that was beyond bad. It slashed at her very reputation amongst witches, and at her vanity. Besides...well, she had thought they had been approaching a rapport. Not the sex, though she had to admit, it had been very enjoyable. But he had learned things from her, was beginning to understand his power, beginning to come into his own. An idiot like Ethan, or a persnickety dullard like Melanie, or scheming Morgan - none of them would be able to guide him the way she could. No-one could!
She spun around, ready to leave, only to almost crash into the waiter, who was hovering anxiously behind her, distressed by the scene.
"Madame..." he murmured discreetly. "The bill...?" He extended a small black leather folder, waiting for her to take it. She snarled, snatched it from him, reached into her purse, and returned it with a small hex bag perched on top. He sagged a moment, eyes dulling, then murmured, "Thank you, madame," and headed away, the bill forgotten. She watched him leave with narrowed eyes.
"Humph!" she finally huffed. She tossed her head again and made her graceful way toward the restaurant entry, thinking furiously. She paused to snap "And just what might you be gawpin' at, pray tell?" at one interested bystander, then stalked haughtily out the door.
While Sam suffered through Ethan and Melanie's "training", Dean worked on repairing the burnt-out room. He ripped out the wallboard, pulled up the charred flooring, hauled the detritus and burnt furnishings off to the county dump. It was relaxing. Walls and floors didn't try to kill you. This work was fixing things, dammit, rather than trying to stem a never-ending tide of disasters. He could take his confusion and mistrust about Sam's powers out by wielding a sledgehammer and crowbar.
Now he stood in the shell of Sam's room, looking around, absently running a hand through his hair. Time to head into Saratoga Springs to a lumber yard, hardware store, get supplies. He swung up his bottle of beer, took a gulp, nodded decisively, and strode out of the room.
"Heading out to the Springs," he called to Cas and Sam as he headed to the cabin door. Sam, head down over the open laptop, grunted acknowledgement; Cas, buried deep in "Basin And Range", just waved. Dean snorted, shook his head, and left the cabin.
He spent the drive in singing along to music on the local classic rock station and drumming the steering wheel in rhythm. No troubles. There was nothing supernatural on their radar...Jodi was dealing with some werewolves - lycanthropes, he reminded himself; Rudy was taking care of an infestation of ghost possessions in Nevada...but nothing more. Nice and quiet. Dean's superstitious side squinted sidelong at that, fully expecting all hell to break loose at any moment. Things were never quiet for long.
As if in answer to his thoughts, the local news mentioned something about a rabies scare. He snorted. Rabies. Nice and normal.
Quality Hardware's lumber yard was actually in Hudson Falls, a bit further than he'd meant to go. He pulled into the parking lot, gravelly voice crooning along with "Nothing Else Matters", then killed the engine and headed inside to dicker with clerks.
He was busy with Jerry, figuring out how much framing material and drywall he'd need, when the racket started. Someone seemed to be shouting, and there was the clatter of two by fours being tossed around. Dean glanced up, met Jerry's eyes. Jerry craned his head toward the aisle where the noise was coming from, frowning.
"This happen often?" Dean asked, straightening up and lifting his eyebrows.
Jerry grabbed his walkie-talkie, keyed it. "Hey, Tom? What's going on over in 9?" The walkie-talkie sputtered with static, then Tom replied, "Dunno, I'm heading over - " The voice stopped, the static resumed, and there was a scream from the same area where the noise had come from.
Dean was already on the run, headed toward the scream. Jerry joined him. They rounded the corner to Aisle 9, and skidded to a stop. Halfway down the aisle, surrounded by scattered lumber, a man was crouched over another man spread out on the floor, smashing his fist into his victim with robotic regularity. The punches landed with sickeningly squishy sounds. They could see blood - a lot of blood - pooling on the floor around the body.
Jerry drew in a sharp breath, then rushed forward, yelling, "What the - ! Hey! Hey, you! Get the hell off of him - !" Dean was right beside him. The man lifted his head, looked at them barreling down on him, and stood up, snarling. Jerry slid to a stop and knelt down by the body. Dean, meanwhile, was already on the attacker, hooking his arm and yanking him away. He dropped the arm, cocked his own back, and sent his fist into the guy's gut, then followed up with an uppercut to the chin when he doubled up from the pain.
Usually that would be enough.
This time, however, the man just stumbled back up, shook his head roughly, snarled again, and launched himself back at Dean.
"Holy shit!" Dean mumbled, dodging. He could hear Jerry on the walkie-talkie, calling for help and an ambulance. The attacker, eyes crazed, turned on him again, and his awareness of their surroundings faded as he narrowed his eyes, focused on the guy.
The next few minutes were a blur. They smashed into the shelves of lumber, causing more to fall off. Dean staggered and tripped over some of the scattered wood, and abruptly he found himself being held down on the floor by the snarling, grunting man, trying to hold him off as the guy's head came closer and closer to his neck. It seemed as if the he was thinking of taking a bite. Okay, let's just give a great big nope to that. His arm muscles stood out like cables as he strained to keep the head away, but the guy seemed filled with unnerving strength, like he was hopped up on something.
Suddenly, there were two cops behind the attacker, pulling him off, struggling to hold him. Dean sat up, ran his hand through his hair, and panted. A third cop joined the two, and they wrestled the guy to the ground, face-down, and cuffed him. There were EMTs clustered around the man on the floor - Tom? - and one swung over to check on Dean. He waved her off impatiently, with an "Eh, I'll be fine." She frowned, but backed off.
The cops managed to get the captured attacker turned over, and then they all froze.
"Jim?!" one said, puzzled.
"Yo! Jimbo! What the fuck - ?" said another. The attacker tried to jerk free, growling and snarling.
"You know this guy?" Dean asked. The second cop flicked worried eyes up to glance at him.
"Hell, yeah, we all do. It's Jimmy Coughlin, lived here all his life. Went to school with him. Just got back from business in the City. Prob'ly here to get some wood for his renovations, he's fixing up his bar."
One of the cops started patting Coughlin's face, saying, "Jim! Hey! It's Robbie! Jim, y'okay?" Coughlin turned his head, growled, and promptly bit the cop's hand. The cop screeched, tried to yank his hand back, but Coughlin's teeth were dug in, his jaw was set, and he wasn't letting go. In a flurry, the cops managed to pry his mouth open, get him back on the ground. One of them sat on him, just to be sure he wasn't going anywhere. Coughlin's body bucked, trying to throw him off. Another cop joined the first.
"Shit shit shit! Jen, get over here, Jimbo's gone and bit Andy, and it's real bad!" the third cop called out. The EMT who had tried to help Dean came rushing back over. Dean scooted back, out of the way, and stood up, eyes narrowed and focused on Coughlin. He folded his arms, rubbed his chin, and tuned out the uproar.
If he didn't know better, he'd think it was Croatoan. But Coughlin didn't have the telltale signs of reddened eye-whites, bleeding eyelids. Just the behaviors.
Hunh.
He searched out Jerry, clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey. You guys are pretty busy right now. I'll come back tomorrow, we can figure out then what all I need."
Jerry nodded absently, worried eyes on Tom, still surrounded by EMTs. He waved a hand, said, "Yeah, yeah. Thanks." He seemed to come to for a moment, and realize who he was talking to. "Really. Thanks. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been here. Jim might've gotten me, too..." He looked at Coughlin, frowned sadly. "So, y'think it's drugs or something?"
Dean shrugged. "Dunno, man." He clapped him on the shoulder again. "Hang in there. I'm off."
He replayed the scene in his head multiple times on the drive back, chewing it over.
Sam puttered in the kitchen, making a sandwich, his mind on various possible leads on more members of the Grand Coven. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and frowned at nothing. The problem was that every member of the coven they'd found was a bust. He really wanted to be back training with Rowena, but so far as Dean was concerned, her very name was anathema. Of course, take that with a grain of salt: so far as Dean was concerned, Sam's...abilities...themselves were anathema. He scrubbed his face with a fist, sighed again, and focused on the sandwich.
He was eating when the cabin door opened and Dean came in. One look at him and Sam was on his feet, saying, "Whoa! Dean, what happened?!" Cas looked up from his book, concerned, and got up, too, heading to Dean.
Dean shoved the door closed and leaned against it, frowning, arms folded around a grocery bag. He ducked away from the fingers Cas was reaching out to his forehead and snapped, "Dammit, don't fuss! I'm fine!" Cas raised a dubious eyebrow, but backed away a bit. "As for what happened..." He snorted and pulled away from the door, moved to the dining table, dropped the bag on it, and dropped himself into one of the empty chairs. He drummed his fingers on the table, chewing his lips.
Cas retreated to the room divider between kitchen and living area, leaned against it, and folded his arms. He kept his worried eyes on Dean.
"Guy went berserk at the lumber yard. I helped get him down. Where's my beer?" He turned and looked around the room.
Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Want a new one?" Dean nodded, and Sam stepped into the kitchen to grab a cold bottle from the fridge. He came back, popped the top off, and handed it to his brother, who took a swig, thumped the bottle down on the table, and leaned back in his chair, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling.
"So...what? Some guy snaps. That's not too unusual these days," Sam commented, sitting down. Dean slid his eyes to him.
"It's just...the way he behaved. Snarling. Growling. Animalistic. The dude tried to bite me, dammit, and did bite off a cop's finger!"
Cas narrowed his eyes at him. "Croatoan?" Sam frowned, flicked a glance at the angel, then looked back at Dean.
Dean sat up straight, pointed a finger at him. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But that's the thing. No bloodshot eyes, no bleeding around the eyes. So. Behavior like Croatoan, but no outward signs." He paused while they digested his description. "I did hear on the radio that there's some kind of rabies scare going around...so maybe that was it. Dunno." He spun the beer bottle between his hands a couple of times, then shrugged and took another drink. He put the bottle back down and started rummaging in the bag.
"In the meantime...I got this!" he announced, pulling out can after can of Febreze.
"Dude. What the hell is that for?" Sam asked. Dean grinned at him and grabbed two cans.
"Better living through chemistry, Sammy!" He surged up, marched into the hallway, and shouted back, "Place reeks of smoke! Even after I pulled everything out!" He was spraying as he walked. Sam and Cas trailed him. He kept spraying, and Sam, after coughing, choking, and uselessly waving a hand to clear the air, backed up, bumping into Cas. Cas steadied him with a hand on his elbow. He was frowning again.
"Dean. You do realize that you are spraying so much of that...whatever it is...that I can barely see the air molecules?"
Sam quirked an eyebrow at him, and pushed him back into the living area. "Cas. Dean's philosophy is that if a little bit of a chemical helps, then a lot of that same chemical must be better." He strode around the room, opening windows, then went to the door. "Coming? The cabin's gonna be unlivable for a few hours."
"I heard that, Sammy!" Dean shouted from the back of the cabin. Sam grinned, grabbed his jacket, opened the door, and escaped the miasma that was forming. Cas looked toward the hallway, shuddered, and followed him out.