A/N: Oh hey, I managed to write a Halloween fic this year after all! Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!
Song: "Witchy Woman" by the Eagles
Setting: Season 5
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Summary: A Halloween case!fic
"Witchy Woman" - Eagles
Raven hair and ruby lips
sparks fly from her finger tips
Echoed voices in the night
she's a restless spirit on an endless flight
"So get this," Sam said, scrolling through his phone's web browser. "There's a ton of local rumors surrounding this old house on the edge of town. It's called the Grey Manor, and is supposedly haunted."
"I thought we were looking into a guy who woke up with his eyes missing," Dean said, glancing over from the driver's side of the Impala. "That says witch, not ghost."
"Well, yeah, but they say the woman who used to live there was a witch." Sam twisted around to look in the backseat. "Cas, could a witch's ghost still be able to cast spells?"
The angel tilted his head in that thoughtful mien of his, brows puckered. "I suppose that is possible."
"Great," Dean muttered. "Like alive witches aren't bad enough."
Sam turned back to facing front, and started searching for records on the manor's previous occupant in the hopes of finding a burial plot, just in case they needed to salt and burn some bones later.
They arrived at the local sheriff station, already dressed in their FBI threads. Except for Cas, who was always wearing the same suit and trench coat that made him look more like a tax accountant than an agent.
It had taken a few days, but the angel was starting to look less rumpled after their stint in the Trickster's pocket dimension. Sam wondered just how badly the unmasked archangel had knocked Cas around, but of course Cas wouldn't say. He'd just lingered awkwardly outside that warehouse until Dean had told him to get in the car, and he'd been sticking with them ever since.
The trio made their way inside, Sam and Dean taking the lead as they headed toward the reception counter, which was decorated with thick cobwebs and a candy dish.
"Afternoon," Sam greeted the deputy and flashed his fake credentials. "Agents O'Neill, Carter, and Jackson, FBI."
The deputy immediately stood a little taller. "FBI? Oh, wow. What can I do for you?"
"We're here about what happened to George Lansten," Dean replied. "What can you tell us?"
Deputy Harris, as his name badge said, grimaced. "That he lost his eyeballs?" He shook his head. "Kinda keep wanting to say he lost his marbles, but that means somethin' else. Gotta wonder where that saying came from, given it makes more sense that eyes look like marbles."
"Okay," Sam interrupted, cringing at the line of conversation. "We also read that there have been some pet killings in the area, and that a few people have gone missing. Any commonalities with Grey Manor? Maybe Mr. Lansten was up there recently?"
The deputy's eyes widened. "Well, I gotta tell you, there's a lot of weird stuff that goes on up there. Folks used to say it was haunted."
"Used to?" Dean picked up.
Deputy Harris shrugged. "New owner just moved in. Now people are reporting that they can hear chanting at night, and that there's candlelight flickering in the windows."
"It's just decorations for Halloween," a new voice spoke up, and Sam looked over as a man in a sheriff's uniform came out of a back office. "Harris, the FBI ain't here to investigate occult mumbo jumbo."
"Actually," Cas began, "there have been plenty of—"
"We don't discount those who do believe in the stuff," Dean cut him off.
The sheriff gave them a funny look, and then shook his head as though in exasperation. He reached behind the counter and produced a flyer advertising that Grey Manor would be transformed into a haunted house for Halloween, and that the entire community was welcome to come see it, no charge.
"Seriously, agents, Miss Grey isn't up to anything heinous. She's just trying to make a good impression in the new neighborhood."
Sam raised his brows. "Miss Grey at Grey Manor?"
"Yeah, I guess she's an heir or something," the sheriff replied. "Anyway, Lansten was transferred to a hospital in a bigger town where they have more equipment for dealing with…well, I'll get you the address. By all means, I'll take any help I can get on solving that, because…" He trailed off, giving a small shudder.
"But Mr. Lansten was a delivery man," Deputy Harris put in. "And Grey Manor was on his route the day before the, uh, incident."
Sam exchanged a covert look with Dean. The manor did sound like a lead.
"Not all of us are backwater ninnies who believe in superstitions," the sheriff said with a slight edge as he handed Dean the hospital address. "We do real police work here. I even talked to Miss Grey about Lansten's delivery, and she said everything seemed fine."
Dean gave a fake smile and nodded. "Well, thank you for this. We'll take it from here."
Woo hoo witchy woman,
see how high she flies
Woo hoo witchy woman
she got the moon in her eye
Grey Manor was a large Victorian house that sat in the middle of a plot surrounded by tall trees and thick copses, and a wrought-iron fence covered in ivy, leaving the only entrance a long drive through an open gate. Dean was definitely not driving his Baby in there.
After parking at the curb, he, Sam, and Cas made their way up the drive. The yard was completely overgrown with shrubbery that looked half dead. And the spider webs strewn throughout the dried leaves didn't look all that fake.
They reached the front porch, and Dean threw his brother a pointed look to be on guard before he rang the doorbell. The mahogany door opened almost immediately, startling them. Dean gaped at the woman who greeted them—velvety raven curls cascaded down shoulders shrouded in see-through black fabric, and her ruby lips stood out on a porcelain face, dark eyes lightly painted with shimmering emerald eye shadow. She wore a large pendant of a milky white stone clasped in silver.
"Why, hello there," she said. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"
"FBI, ma'am." Dean fished out his badge for a quick flash. "Mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?"
"FBI? How intriguing." She backed up and opened the door wider. "Please, come in."
Dean nodded stiffly as he entered, eyes roving the foyer and adjoining sitting room, both of which were heavily decorated with dark curtains, cobwebs, goblets, and candlesticks. "You really get into Halloween, huh?"
"I do," Miss Grey replied. "It's such an exciting time of year, full of possibility."
"Uh-huh."
"We're here about an Arthur Conway who's been reported missing," Sam stepped in. "We understand he did some handyman work for you recently?"
They'd learned that shortly after leaving the sheriff's station, which had convinced Dean they were dealing with a witch, though Sam wanted to be absolutely certain first, since he hadn't written off the ghost theory. But seriously, a mysterious woman moves into a supposedly haunted house and people start disappearing and losing their eyeballs? Not a coincidence.
Miss Grey walked into the parlor. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."
"What kind of work did he do?" Dean asked.
"Oh, this and that. There's a lot of things that need fixing in an old house like this. Plus I had him build a few contraptions for my haunted house. Little tricks here and there to give the guests tomorrow a delightful scare." She sashayed around the parlor's sofa, a mischievous moue tugging at her lips.
Dean felt like his skin was crawling, and he cast his gaze about for evidence of witchcraft. Which, okay, was kinda hard to pinpoint with all the Halloween paraphernalia. Sam was surreptitiously making his way around one side of the room, flicking glances at the curtains and bookshelves. Cas stood like a statue as usual, eyes narrowed on the walls where faint shadows were dancing, cast by…something.
"How'd you pay him?" Dean asked, attempting to stall.
"You got me, it was cash," she responded with a coy smile. "Perhaps he disappeared so he could evade taxes."
Dean fixed her with an unamused half smirk. "From the town he's lived in his whole life?"
Miss Grey shrugged. "Well, I'm not an investigator, am I?"
"No," Sam spoke up, leaning down to pluck something out from under the fireplace mantle. He held up the hex bag. "You're a witch."
Finally. Dean reached behind him to draw his gun.
Miss Grey, however, didn't look surprised, or threatened. Rather, her eyes were gleaming with something like reflected moonlight.
Cas suddenly jerked toward him. "Dean!"
He didn't even hear the witch cast a spell, but suddenly the shadows on the wall surged up and over the ceiling, all the way down the other side to completely black out the windows. Dean whipped his gun out and whirled, but she was gone.
She held me spellbound in the night
dancing shadows and firelight
Crazy laughter in another
room and she drove herself to madness
with a silver spoon
Castiel tensed as a great wave of power rippled over and around the house like a shield, and he instantly felt his grace neutralized. His wings, so much heavier now that he was cut off from Heaven, were suddenly weightless from being completely numbed.
"We need to get out of here," he said urgently, spinning toward the foyer and the front door.
Sam and Dean scrambled after him, yet when he turned the corner, he pulled up short to find the front door was gone. A solid wall now stood in its place. Castiel pivoted back into the parlor, only to jolt to a stop again as the windows that had been darkened were now also missing. And he couldn't fly.
They were trapped.
Shadows and orange light flitted across the walls, though there was no source that could be seen. It made the room feel like it was tilting, and Castiel blinked against the onset of dizziness.
"What the hell is this?" Dean demanded.
"It's gotta just be an illusion," Sam said tensely.
"No," Castiel ground out. "There is strong magic at work here." He could see it running across the ceiling and down the wallpaper like amorphous serpents, slithering out from the corners where he could now see hex bags were placed, everywhere.
A cackle echoed from somewhere else in the house, reverberating through the walls.
"Okay, I say we gank this bitch," Dean growled, and cocked his gun before turning to storm deeper into the mansion.
Sam followed, and Castiel hurried after them, dropping his angel blade into his hand. The witch could be hiding anywhere, and she had apparently shored up a lot of power as a defense mechanism in this house.
They barreled into a large kitchen with grand bay windows, and Castiel was instantly disoriented by the full moons peering in through each pane as though half a dozen of the celestial body were looming right outside. The white light bounced off a series of mirrors, bathing the entire room in a foggy haze.
"What the hell," Dean uttered. He staggered back a step, only to bump into the island counter. When he turned, he suddenly jerked away, and Castiel spotted a pair of eyeballs just sitting on the counter top, staring straight at them.
"Back this way," he said, reaching out to tug both Winchesters with him. Time and space seemed to be warping around them, giving him a headache.
Castiel ushered Sam and Dean ahead of him, pausing in the hall to try to get his bearings. Sam kept going, stepping into a nearby sitting room, and suddenly there was a wall where the opening had been a split second before.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, running forward and pounding the wall. There was no response from the other side. "Dammit. Cas! We need to find him."
Castiel started after Dean, and ran straight into another wall. He blinked at it for a moment dubiously. "Dean? Dean!"
Castiel frantically ran his hands along the solid barrier, unable to find any indication that it wasn't real. And he couldn't hear Dean on the other side.
Castiel drew his arm back and punched a hole straight through the plaster. The house groaned in response, and then shrieked, an ear-splitting sound that drove into Castiel's skull like a drill. He clapped his hands over his ears.
An extra burst of power swarmed the room he was in, piecing the wall back together. And as the wave rippled through the air, Castiel felt it clinging to his grace and trying to siphon off his energy, bleeding it out through the conduit hex bags placed in nearly every nook and shelf. This was likely the witch's intention for when people came to her haunted house tomorrow.
Castiel tried to wrench away, but he had nowhere to go. His wings didn't work, and the walls were hemming him in, just like in Gabriel's pocket dimension. And for a split moment, the maniacal laughter echoing through the walls started to sound like one capricious Trickster.
Castiel fell onto his side, clutching his head.
Well I know you want a lover,
let me tell you brother, she's been sleeping
in the Devil's bed.
Sam was plunged into pitch black, and then it felt as though the floor had disappeared and he was rolling through a vortex. When candles suddenly spurted to life, he blinked rapidly to reorient himself, and found he was lying on a king size bed with a plush comforter, wrists tied to the bedposts. His heart gave a panicked jump, and he yanked against the ropes, but they were secured tightly.
"Aren't you a delicious looking morsel," a seductive voice issued from the dark.
Sam nearly wrenched his neck jerking toward it as Miss Grey stepped from the shadows. He gritted his teeth and tried to get his breathing under control.
"Sam Winchester. What a pleasure."
So much for staying calm. "How'd you know that?"
She gave him a simpering smile. "Oh, sweetie, it is my great pleasure to serve my lord Lucifer."
Ice filled his veins. Was Lucifer here? Was he on his way?
The witch canted her head at him with a predatory gleam. "Such lovely eyes. Too bad Lucifer wants his vessel untouched." She let out a small laugh. "Well, there's always Blue-Eyes."
Sam's pulse stuttered, but he narrowed his gaze. Yeah, just let her try. Cas would smite her to smithereens.
Miss Grey placed a manicured nail against her lips. "Although, green is my favorite color."
With that, she turned and vanished between a flicker of candlelight and shadow. Sam's lungs seized, and he strained harder against the ropes, the coarse fibers grating against his skin. He let out a ragged cry of frustration when they didn't budge.
"Dean!"
And there's some rumors going round
someone's underground
She can rock you in the nighttime
'til your skin turns red.
Dean stumbled through a dark passageway, hands scraping against craggy walls. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was somehow in a dungeon. Certainly not the ornate Victorian house anymore. But then where was he? And where the hell were Sam and Cas?
There was a small gleam up ahead, like ambient moonlight. Dean quickened his pace, and found himself coming out in a basement. A single window grate up near the ceiling let in a stream of moonlight that coated the concrete floor. It was definitely too small to fit through.
Great.
Dean started searching for a set of stairs to get back up to the first level. He had to find his brother and best friend before the witch—or this house—could screw with them more.
Dean reached out to feel along the walls. Maybe there was a secret passage, like the one he'd somehow come through to get here. But so far there was just coarse stone.
Until there wasn't.
Dean recoiled sharply as his palm brushed against the soft cartilage of a nose. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and he nearly startled again when he made out a face sticking out from the wall, along with a hand and a knee, as though the poor bastard had been absorbed into the stone. Dean caught a glimpse of a partial name patch sewn into what looked like coveralls.
Guess he'd found the handyman.
"Hello, lover," a soft voice whispered in his ear.
Dean spun so fast he lost his balance and pitched back against the wall. Miss Grey was standing there, smirking at him. He raised his gun, but was unable to straighten his arm as something gooey seemed to have stuck to his elbow. His heart leaped into his throat as he realized the stone wall was squirming and oozing around him like a spongy material. He tried to pull free, but it was already sucking him in, bubbling around his torso and thighs and turning hard just as quickly. It calcified across his chest, constricting his breathing. Panic threatened to make him hyperventilate. He was friggin' entombed.
The witch sauntered up to him and placed a delicate finger against his cheek. His nostrils flared as he was unable to turn away. "Hm, I really can't decide whether to take your lovely eyes, or keep you down here as a long-term snack."
Dean's breaths were coming hard and fast. Shit, this was bad. He still had his finger around the trigger, but he couldn't get his gun to angle up away from the ground. Maybe he should just shoot and hope the ricochet hit the damn witch.
"Where's my brother?" he gritted out.
"Upstairs," she replied nonchalantly. "Don't worry, I'm not allowed to touch his pretty face." She paused. "Lucifer wants his vessel whole."
Dean's eyes flew wide. Yet before he could think of actually going through with the stupid plan of firing his gun at the concrete floor, a door he hadn't seen across the room banged open. Cas staggered inside, looking ragged but also very pissed.
The witch smoothly stepped away from Dean and began to stalk a half circle around the basement. "Well, I have to admit, I didn't think you'd get out of that little loop."
"You're not the first to try that trick with me," Cas growled, sidestepping to keep her in front of him. His angel blade glinted in the moonlight.
"Sweetie, I have way more juice than you."
Dean's heart jackhammered against his ribs as he watched them circle each other. And then Cas struck like lightning, but the witch moved like shadow, the contours of her clothes taking on a wispy aura as she danced away. Cas spun to keep her in sight.
He attacked again, and there was a grunt followed by a clatter, and Dean saw the blade go skittering across the floor. His heart nearly stopped.
The witch surged forward and grabbed Cas by his throat. "Like I said, you don't have the juice."
Cas glared back at her as static prickled the air and the shadows in the corners started to writhe and crawl toward the angel. Miss Grey's eyes gleamed almost white.
Cas dropped his gaze a fraction, and then lashed out to rip the moonstone pendant from her neck. She gasped in surprise, letting go of Cas's throat. The angel staggered away, cupping the stone in both hands and slamming it down on the ground with such force that it exploded.
The impact shook the foundation. Dean's chest rattled, and for a second he thought the wall was going to come crashing down on him as silt shook loose, but then he was suddenly falling forward. He landed on the floor on his hands and knees. The body of the handyman thumped down next to him.
A high-pitched shriek of rage filled the basement, and Dean whipped his head up as the witch lunged for Cas, his angel blade in her hand. Dean snatched up his gun and emptied the magazine into the bitch. Her body jerked several times as each bullet tore through her, and then she dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Dean nearly sagged. He really hated witches.
He turned to Cas, who was still kneeling on the floor in front of the shattered moonstone. Dean frowned at the dazed look on the angel's face, and then at how he was holding his hands lax and palms up. They were scorched red.
"Hey, you okay?" Dean hurried forward and knelt down beside him.
Cas blinked at him owlishly. "That…had unforeseen results," he said hoarsely.
Dean captured his wrists and forced Cas to hold still as he examined the angel's burned hands. He grimaced. "That looks painful."
"Magical burns are," Cas replied stoically.
"They gonna heal?"
Cas tilted his head at them. "Yes. Eventually."
Well, that was good. Dean hauled him to his feet. "We need to find Sam. That bitch was going to turn him over to Lucifer."
Cas's eyes widened a fraction in obvious alarm, and he gave a sharp nod toward over Dean's shoulder. There was now a clear stairway leading up.
Navigating the mansion was easy now that whatever hoodoo the witch had been spinning was neutralized. Doors were where they were supposed to be, and Cas said he could sense Sam, so Dean followed the angel through several corridors before they finally found his brother in one of the last positions Dean expected.
He crossed his arms with a huff that was partial relief, partial annoyance at having almost been bested by a stupid witch.
"Wow, Sam, really?"
Sam's cheeks reddened. "Just get me out of here, jerk."
"Whatever you say, bitch."
Woo hoo witchy woman
see how high she flies
Woo hoo witchy woman
she got the moon in her eye
Sam stacked another bundle of dry twigs on the wood pile they'd erected in the backyard of the manor. Dean wanted to burn the witch's body so there wouldn't be any chance she could come back as a ghost, even though they hadn't proved that was possible. Still, Sam wasn't going to argue.
He and Dean finished preparing the pyre around Miss Grey's body while Cas stood back and watched, his hands still pretty badly burned. Sam hoped his angelic healing would kick in soon.
Dean lit a match and tossed it on the kindling, which lit up with a whoosh. Flames billowed up, wafting warm air over them to chase away the nighttime chill. They stood in silence as ash and embers floated up into the sky and across the full moon centered above them. Only once the body was completely burned did Dean turn and walk over to Cas, reaching to inspect the angel's hands once again.
"We should clean and bandage these since they're not healing."
"That's not necessary," Cas protested.
"Humor me," Dean retorted, tone brooking no argument.
Cas huffed, but didn't say anything more.
"Think the townspeople will be disappointed they won't have a haunted house to come to?" Sam brought up.
Dean snorted. "A haunted house that was primed to suck the life out of them. Yeah, fun times."
Sam rolled his eyes.
They packed up and headed back to the Impala. As Dean hurried forward to open the backdoor for Cas so the angel wouldn't have to use his hands, Sam happened to glance up at the night sky—and could have sworn he saw a shadow fly across the face of the moon.