The kid was older than Dean had figured, and not just in body.
"You," Jesse said. "I was expecting someone else. It's good to see you, Dean."
He had regained enough strength to pull himself into a sitting position, but he was still pretty out of it; his eyes were unfocused and he twitched at random intervals. His clothes were torn to shreds and he was covered in bloody gashes. Dean reminded himself to file away the spells they'd used to summon him; it could come in seriously handy one day.
"Always glad to hear we've pleased our customers," Dean said. "I'll be sure to relay your message to upper management."
Jesse actually chuckled, and not in the demonic I'll-never-tell kind of way. It surprised Dean. He hadn't pictured the Antichrist laughing. He was such a fucking nut as a kid, I'm surprised he's not in the loony bin. Especially without his mojo.
"That's funny," Jesse said. "I haven't laughed in a long time, Dean. Thank you for that."
Bobby shot Dean a look that he ignored. He wasn't going to entertain any of the kid's bullshit. Sam might have sympathy for the devil, but he wasn't Sam.
"You're an elusive little son of a bitch, you know that?" Dean pulled up a chair to the edge of the devil's trap and straddled it, resting his chin on the back. "I mean, not even the damn devil could find you."
Jesse shrugged. "Hiding is most of who I am," he said. "Just like hunting is most of who you are."
Dean was amused. The little shit thought he was going to psych Dean out with a Hannibal Lecter routine. I've tortured more people than you could ever dream, Benjamin Button. You don't know a damned thing about me. But I know all I need to know about you.
"I apprenticed under Alistair, you evil little shit," Dean said cheerfully. "I know all there is to know about crafty interrogation. Save the reverse psychology for the demons who'll show up to tear you apart once we throw your ass down the pit."
Jesse looked intrigued. Not exactly the reaction Dean was going for. "Do you think they'd tell me about my mother? My real mother, I mean, not the woman who was possessed." He was earnest, hopeful; he was sitting Indian style, hands folded in his lap like a second grader angling for a gold star. Dean could see why Sam believed the kid was an innocent; if Dean hadn't known who Jesse was, he'd have been tempted to buy him a balloon.
The whole age thing was wigging him out, too. It was like, one moment he was a fucking Yale student pontificating about the nature of man and the next he was a nine year old waiting for his mom to pick him up from school. Something told Dean he wasn't faking this; the thing really was curious about where the hell he'd come from. Well let's just give him what he's asking for.
"Your mother was an evil bitch who rode an innocent woman for months and forced her to give birth to you. A monster, who was all set and ready to destroy the world."
"I didn't, though," Jesse said. "You and Sam, you came and told me I had a choice. And I chose not to follow them."
"Yeah, yeah, you're a nice monster, and you enjoy feta cheese and expensive wine and foreign films. We've heard that song before, champ, and it always ends on a brown note."
Jesse moved forward, quick as a cat, and slammed into an invisible wall. He fell back into the circle with a loud thud and a groan. Dean chuckled.
Jesse's lost child routine came to an abrupt end, and the look on his face shot cold water down Dean's back. He subconsciously went over the room, remembering where all of the hidden weapons were. Cas was right about this kid, Dean thought, fighting to keep his expression neutral. You do not want to be around him when he gets pissed.
"What the hell is this?" He rubbed his palm in a circle on his chest. "It hurts."
His voice was cold, dead. His face betrayed nothing, giving the impression he was as empty as a can of air inside.
"Devil's trap," Dean said. "Modified one, anyway. Added a few special symbols, just for you."
Jesse's expression stayed mostly the same, but Dean detected an undercurrent of confusion. That bothered him. Cas said he'd know all there was to know about this stuff. So how the hell does he not know about devil's traps? Did he miss witchcraft day at Hell School?
"How did you find me?" Jesse looked around, still massaging his chest. "It told me I would be safe from anyone who would look for me."
"Well, I think we know a few things you don't, Jesse, my man," Dean said. "See, your blood is special. Unique. Kind of like, I dunno, poisoned Kool-Aid. It has a signature, see, and we can find it." Dean grinned. "You're lo-jacked, buddy."
Jesse turned contemplative. "So my blood…it keeps me in the circle?"
It was odd, sitting there, explaining these concepts to a monster they were about to put down. Most of the others knew the rules of the game better than Dean did. His resolve began to slip a bit; he wondered if they ought to question him for longer than they had planned at first. That's just what he wants, another part of him said. This thing is half demon, half human, half god knows what else. Manipulation is like breathing to him. Stay focused.
"It keeps half of you here," Dean said carefully. "The other half – your human half – is held by a garden variety containment spell. You get two people, you say both summoning spells at once, voila – you got yourself a hell spawn in a circle on your living room floor." Dean smiled cruelly, like he could kill the kid no problem at any moment. He hoped Jesse bought it. "So don't step out of the circle, sweet thing. Or you and your Dark Passenger go your separate ways, and it's lights out for you."
Jesse nodded. "Very clever, Dean," he said. "I can see why you're such a good hunter."
Dean wasn't sure what to say to that; he'd never been genuinely complimented by anything they had in a monster trap. Jesus, this kid is all over the place. I dunno whether to kill him or take him out to hustle pool.
"Never mind that," Dean said. "We got you, that's what's important. And now it's confession time." Dean reached under his chair and picked up a plastic bottle of holy water. "What the hell is going on? What are you up to?"
Jesse sighed, laying on his back. "What do you want to know? I'll tell you everything. I have nothing to hide, not really."
"What happened at the base?"
"I called hellhounds with the sigil. I'm sure Sam told you about it. They came, they attacked a few people, then the rest of the soldiers shot each other."
"Why?"
"It told me to."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying," Jesse snapped. Shivers wriggled down Dean's back again.
"Where are the bodies?"
"It…consumed them."
"All of them?"
"All of them. Ella as well, all those missing people in Riverton. Their souls, too, I think."
Bobby perked up. "Their souls? This thing is sucking down souls?"
"I don't know for sure, but I think so, yes. It seems to fit. It's trying to get stronger, more powerful. It's gearing up for something. Don't know what."
Dean blinked, struck by a memory. Keep digging, Death had said. It's about the souls.
Fuck me, he thought.
Bobby pulled up a chair beside Dean. Dean started to speak, but Bobby beat him to it. "This thing, it talks to you. Did it say anything about Sam and Dean? Sam seems to think it's got a hard on for 'em."
"Yes," Jesse said. "I'm afraid so. It's furious with both of you, but mostly with Sam. It said he stole its legacy, ruined some opportunity for it. And it says you have something it wants."
"You wanna be a bit more specific, Carrie?"
Jesse turned his gaze slowly toward Dean. "Sam's right about you," he said. "You are a dick."
Dean frowned. "Sam said that?"
"He thinks it. Constantly."
Bobby stifled a chuckle. Old drunk asshole, Dean thought.
"So you can see inside Sam's melon, is that it?" Dean snorted dismissively. "Always glad to meet the guests in Sam's head. First with the visions and the psychic kids, and then with the wireless exorcisms and now you. Wonder who else lives in there?"
"And there's something else," Jesse said. Dean couldn't believe it, but his voice was breaking. "My friend. Trystane. He escaped Azazel's trap, the one that killed Sam. The thing, whatever it is, it has him."
"Fabulous," Dean said. "More freaks. And how do you know him?"
"We met by chance, in Australia." His voice faded to a low mumble. "He helped me. More than I can say. Helped me control myself, especially while Lucifer was still on Earth. He's so strong, the things he can do…I was worried when the thing first got to me, but after it took Trystane, I knew I had to get in contact with someone who could help. Anyone. Because anything powerful enough to take him…"
"Could do anything," Bobby finished.
Jesse nodded.
"Excuse us for a moment, Jesse," Dean said, standing. "Me and my co-pilot here need to have a private chat." He and Bobby made their way up the stairs of the abandoned house.
"Don't go anywhere," Dean called.
Bobby sat in a rusted metal chair; Dean leaned against an ancient wood-burning stove.
"Bobby…"
"I think Sam's right, Dean."
Dean opened his mouth.
"I know you don't want to hear it," Bobby said. "Lord knows, I know. But I believe him. I'm not saying the kid's not a grade A sociopath – I think he is, powers or not – but I don't think he's lying about this. It actually makes a lot of sense."
"How does any of this make sense?" Dean shrugged. "Nothing in the lore fits, you said so yourself. Any monster this powerful would have something written about it, but we found jack shit. Not even a footnote. That doesn't strike you as suspicious?"
"Well, maybe we just been asking the wrong questions, looking for the wrong thing. Or maybe…"
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe this thing isn't following a script. If you two had a run-in with this thing before, could be that it wised up and changed strategy. Might be why the lore's so scant on details about this thing. It used to do something else, got caught, then changed."
"Monsters don't change, Bobby, you know that. They can't. There are rules. Especially for stuff like this. I mean – hellhound sigils? The fucking Antichrist as this thing's lap dog? And now with this souls bullshit?"
"Well, I dunno what else could be happening, here, boy. It's either this, or something so out there it's not recorded anywhere. But Vegas money's on modified monster."
Dean put his fingers to his temples, stroking them in slow circles. "So where do we start?"
"Well, now that you mention it…" Bobby pulled a folded up sheet of paper from a satchel on the floor. "The one thing we know for sure about this thing is that it loves a fight, right? In Riverton, you said there'd been overkill, for lack of a better term."
"Yeah? And?"
"It could be nothing-"
Dean shot him a pointed look.
"-but it's not just Detroit that seeing a spike. Most of the inner city areas of the continent have practically exploded. And I don't mean an extra slap fight or two. I mean guns, pipe bombs, grenades, hell, even spears. Gangs are having an all-out war, seemingly over nothing. People are going nuts out there – Michael Bay style."
"Why hasn't there been anything about all this on the news? Don't they usually milk the hell out of violent stories?"
"Inner city killers, inner city victims. Nobody cares, or thinks it's out of the ordinary. 'Cept us, of course."
"Yep, that's us," Dean said. "Friends to the friendless."
"So we're agreed then? The kid's not completely full of shit?"
"I guess. It's probably in his best interest to tell us the truth, too, you know? I mean, if something really is out to get him, and us, he obviously can't fight it on his own. We're his only hope of getting out of this alive."
Bobby nodded. "There's that."
Dean frowned and rubbed his temples a few more times. Something stank about this whole deal, but fuck if he knew what it was.
"Somethin' wrong?"
"Nah, just something Cas said. He said Jesse would know all there was to know about magic, demons, yadda yadda. But this kid…he might be lying about a lot of things, Bobby, but he's clueless about most of the shit that's going on here. So why would Cas tell us not to even listen to him speak?"
"I dunno," Bobby said. "Maybe he just assumed Jesse would know about all that. Hell, I thought he would, too, and I didn't need Cas to enlighten me, either."
"Yeah, you're right." Dean stepped away from the stove. "C'mon. Let's go let this dog off his leash. Pray he doesn't bite us."
"I got the trank in case he tries."
Bobby held up the bloody wood of the cross.
Sam snapped his phone shut and threw it onto the floor of the car he'd just stolen. He was racing along the highway, headed back toward Detroit, and had just ended his twelfth call to Dean's cell. Again it had gone to voicemail. Dean probably had it turned off and the stashed the battery so that Sam couldn't track him.
He bit his lip, trying to keep his feelings in check. Getting angry wouldn't help him find Dean, or Jesse, for that matter. He could scream at Dean for ditching him without a note later. Right now, he had to get to Jesse's place. There was something there he needed to see, and Sam got the feeling they were running out of time.
As he descended the off ramp, Sam was wondering whether he should call another hunter for backup when a bottle struck the driver's side window. The window glass cracked, but didn't break, and the bottle fell to the asphalt and shattered. Sam slammed on his brakes, craning his neck.
The man who tossed the bottle was huddled under the overpass, gazing fearfully at Sam and trying to take cover behind a sad little bush. He was terrified, Sam saw, and his sense of dread went into overdrive. He had seen that look before. It wasn't just generalized fear; it was a very specific look, and it was driving him absolutely insane not to be able to remember it. He had a feeling it was part of the key to everything. Something was happening, something big. He prayed he wasn't too late to stop the worst of it.
It was early morning, and as Sam passed through the outskirts and into the city, his hopes of stopping whatever hell had come to Detroit were dashed.
There were small nuisance fires in every other doorway, and many houses were destroyed entirely. Buildings were trashed and abandoned, and smoke rose from many a roof, casting a dirty film over the morning sky. A few of them looked bombed out, though Sam didn't understand how that could be – since when did inner city violence include bombs?
He didn't see another person until he reached the hospital where he and Dean had gone to visit Ella. He felt a pang of regret when he remembered the fact of her death – he had told her she would probably be safe, that monsters rarely came back twice. This one did. And I don't think it's done yet.
Sam rolled past as slow as he dared. Thousands of people were crowded into the parking lot. Most appeared uninjured to Sam's eye, but a few were laid out on blankets. Doctors and nurses ran to and fro, carrying bags and blankets and silver poles on wheels. Jesus, Sam thought, turning onto a thoroughfare and heading north. What's happening, and why haven't we heard about it?
The address Jesse gave him was in a pretty upscale part of town. It was a penthouse apartment, and Sam had real trouble jimmying the lock on the door. He managed, though, and slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him.
Jesse was a pretty neat kid. This came as no surprise to Sam; he had an orderly mind, and it followed that this disposition would carry over into his waking life. The kitchen cabinets and drawers revealed nothing, and he continued into the bedroom. There was a mirror on the ceiling, and he chuckled in spite of himself as he imagined what Dean would say if he were there. His anger at Dean was beginning to give way to worry. Dean and Bobby had most likely gone after the thing without him – worried that he couldn't handle it – but what if they hadn't? What if it had gotten to them first?
He accelerated his search of the room, not bothering to put things back where he found them. He was about to give up and scour the bathroom when he caught sight of the corner of a small brown box. It was sticking out from under the bed, and Sam sat down and picked it up, opening it gently.
Inside, there was a note and a business card. He picked up the business card first, looking it over.
Trystane Phillips
Assistant Coach – JV Basketball
555-0165
Suite 1030A
Sam raised his eyebrows. This had to be the Trystane that had been taken; Jesse had wanted Sam to have this card for some reason. But Trystane's kidnapping probably didn't have much to do with his day job – it was almost guaranteed to somehow involve his time with Yellow Eyes. So why did Jesse leave him the card?
He pocketed the card and opened up the note, relieved to recognize Jesse's neat handwriting.
Sam,
You're probably alone reading this, unfortunately. If you have to read this note, it means we can't talk in person, and that means we're closing in on whatever is happening. You're probably separated from Dean by now – I've heard through the grape vine that you two can never seem to stay on the same page or in the same place when things get down to the wire – but all is not lost. At least, I hope not.
There's a business card in here, as I'm sure you've noticed. Trystane worked as a coach at a local high school for years before we met – he graduated from the same school, he tells me. The office – the one listed on the card – was his. He's hidden something in the wall, something he said you would recognize. He wouldn't tell me what it was or what it did; said I would be safer if I didn't know. He picked it up off someone who helped him escape Azazel's prison, a woman, I'm pretty sure. She owed him a favor, he said. I hope you and Dean can find some way to use it against this creature. If not, I don't know what we're going to do. Die, I suppose.
I'm really not very good at ending letters, so I'll just stop now.
Cheers,
Jesse
Sam had to smile. The kid really was creepy, in a young serial killer sort of way, but Sam liked him. He hoped Jesse survived this thing. If he did, it might mean Sam had a shot at making it through, too. The Mother of All, the alpha monsters. His wall. If the Antichrist could scratch out some semblance of stability, surely Sam could, too.
He shoved the letter in the pocket with the card and headed out. Once inside, he reached onto the floor of the car and picked up his phone, calling Dean again.
No answer.
He sighed, setting it into the center console. He couldn't go after this thing without Dean, but where was he? They were running short on time – Jesse's letter had confirmed it – but he had no idea where Dean and Bobby had gone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card, checking the school's address and heading in that direction. He had nowhere else to go; maybe this thing Trystane had held on to could be useful.
"How's it going over there, angel?"
The sound of the demon's voice grated on Castiel's ears. It was a constant reminder of the depths that he had been reduced to in this war against Raphael. He ignored Crowley as best he could, taking slow breaths as he waited to heal.
"I'll be fine," Castiel said. "I just need time."
Crowley lifted a brow at him, turning the page of a book. Trystane was laid out on the table in front of him, unconscious and surrounded by candles.
"Well, I hope you can get it up before sunrise." He lifted the book in the air. "We're on a bit of a timetable."
"I know that."
"Don't get testy with me. You're the one who came up with the idea."
Castiel shot him a look.
"Well, all right, that was me, but you suggested using this…this thing." He poured some of his blood into the bowl.
"If you know of another way to beat Raphael, Crowley, I command you to tell me what it is. Now."
Crowley smiled bitterly and cocked his head. "All in good time."
"You-"
"Ah, look. That's all the time we have for today." Crowley beckoned him. Castiel resented the gesture; it made him feel as though Crowley was the one controlling things. He didn't like that. "Think you can stand long enough to say a prayer with an old friend?"
Castiel appeared beside Crowley. "Let's get this over with."
"Yes, master," Crowley said. He handed Castiel a slip of paper. "On my count?"
King High School was in the heart of the Riverton district.
The buildings were gray and low and its windows were barred and shuttered. The parking lot was overgrown and cracked, and the fence that surrounded it gave the place an air of ominousness, as though it might lock behind you of its own accord, trapping you inside. Sam had been to a lot of haunted places, but few of them could get his back up the way this place was doing. He was on high alert as he cruised across the ancient asphalt toward the main building in the center.
It was darker than it should have been, Sam realized. The sun was rising, not setting, and the area ought to be bathed in early morning light. Instead, it was cast in deep and source-less shadow. It was cold as well; he tightened his jacket around him as he walked toward the door of the building.
Suddenly, he wished he had thought to stop for salt and something iron. How was I supposed to know the place would be haunted? Jesse didn't mention anything. He paused, calculating the time it would take to find an open store, get the supplies, pay, drive back…Nah. I can handle it. I'll just be right in and out.
They hadn't bothered with a deadbolt.
The creak of the door echoed off the bare walls and he paused, listening for signs of life. Don't be a chicken shit, he told himself. Get in there and get the box out of the wall. Then find Dean. Things are winding down.
He read the office numbers, turning right toward Trystane's. The paint was peeling from the ceiling, and large sections were missing entirely; Sam could see the rafters and hear scurrying.
The hall took longer to walk down than Sam would have guessed from its length, but he didn't stop to ponder it; he had arrived at Trystane's office. It wasn't locked either, and he stepped inside, the door closing with a gentle click behind him.
It was a pretty large room, about twenty by forty feet, with six desks and computers. A tube light blinked in the ceiling, illuminating the center of the room and casting the corners in black shadow. He pulled his knife, holding it out in front of him in case something was hiding in one of the corners.
He started with the south wall, knocking for a hollow space, and finding none, continued around the room. He felt foolish when he arrived at the north wall beside Trystane's desk and saw a small door near the floor. He bent and tugged on the steel loop and it groaned open.
Inside, there was a small box. Sam would bet the Impala that there was a note inside.
These notes are getting old, he thought bitterly, pulling open the box. When the hell am I going to meet these people face to face?
Inside, he found a polished rock in the shape of a diamond. And, of course, a note.
Trys-
You can't walk out or drive out or anything like that; he's got some disgusting little containment spell on the whole town – it took a minor miracle for me to sneak this in. There is one place you can go, though. But only briefly. You must come back right away. You're apt to get eaten if you don't.
Take this rock, bleed on it – or use the blood of one of the others, there ought to be enough lying around – and paint the sigil you see onto a wall. Then say the words. It'll open the portal. Go in, wait ten seconds, and come out again. You'll be on the opposite side of the globe from where you went in. I trust this is far enough from Yellow Eyes to get you a good head start on hiding.
You've got one shot at this, Trys. One. If you wait too long, things will come out with you that you want to stay in. And I won't be able to help you. You're lucky I'm telling you even this much. I really shouldn't. Don't screw it up.
We're even,
Dr. Visyak
So Trystane had escaped through a portal to somewhere, and he knew the spell to open it before Yellow Eyes got to him. Huh. It was probably one of the only things that would have worked. And Dr. Visyak…that name was familiar. Hadn't she been the woman who had given Dean the dragon blade? What did she have to do with this? And where did the portal lead?
He pocketed the note and sighed. "What the hell?"
"Now, now, Sam," a voice said, "you shouldn't curse."
Sam dropped the box and whirled to his feet, looking desperately for the source of the voice. Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit.
A young man wearing an army dress uniform stepped out of one of the dark corners, his arms spread in a welcoming gesture. He was tall, almost as tall as Sam, and for a moment he thought it was Jake Talley. Then the man's face came into focus, and he saw that it was someone else.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
The man sighed, leaning against the corner of a desk, straightening his hat. "People used to respect this uniform, Sam," he said sadly. "In ancient times, warriors were considered the very heart of many societies. Of course, they were also often the first choice for sacrificial ceremonies, but that's neither here nor there." An apple materialized in his hand and he bit into it.
"I said, who are you?!"
"I'm like you, Sammy," he said. "One of those poor little children in the crib, Yellow Eyes standing over me, bleeding. Got away though, when he came back for me. More than you can say."
Breath flew out of Sam in a rush. "Trystane?"
"In the flesh."
"What…what are you doing here? Jesse, he's been worried about you. He called us to help look for you. What's going on? Where's the thing, the thing that kidnapped you?"
Trystane's face twisted in contempt, and he stood, marching toward Sam. "The thing?! Is this how you speak of someone like me? I was slicing throats when cavemen were hiding in their hovels, you piece of shit. I was there when Troy fell, when Persia marched on Greece, when the goddam A-Bomb fell. Who are you to call me a thing?"
Sam backed up until he hit the wall, his knife still held out before him. "Trystane…where is he? Where's Jesse?"
"Oh, Trystane's in here," it said, grinning. "What do you think Azazel took you to the town for? He was making vessels, you sniveling little roach. And lo and behold, one of his pets ran away. And a better vessel than Trystane would be hard to find these days, wouldn't it, Sam?" He chuckled. "I mean, apart from you, who else is there?"
"Tell me what you want," he said, looking around the room for a way out. "I'll give it to you. You just let him go."
It laughed, high and long, and the walls shook with the power of it. "Go? You misunderstand, Sam. Trystane is never going anywhere again. And neither are you."
No salt, no iron, no devil's trap, nothing but a silver knife. Way to go, Sam. He had a feeling he'd need more than a silver knife to beat this thing.
"I have something you want," Sam said. "I know you killed all those people because you needed them for sustenance. You're weak, washed up. From the last time we met. Remember that?" Sam hoped it would be enough to get the thing riled; he had no idea what this thing was, and he had to get word to Dean somehow, or he was as good as dead.
"Oh, I remember." It lifted its hand, and Sam rose from the floor, sliding up the wall toward the ceiling. It slammed his hand into the wall and he dropped the knife with a clatter. "I remember everything. And before we're done here, you're going to feel every ounce of pain I felt when you took it from me. Nearly destroyed me. It took me a while to find my way back, Winchester, but here I am. Because you can't get rid of me. Not ever."
It angled its fingers to the left, and Sam flew through the air and crashed onto one of the desks. He felt two of his ribs break and groaned, sliding to the floor. He tried to crawl away, but it caught him, flinging him through the air again. This time he reached the far wall, slamming into it back first and dropping to the floor. He landed on his head and fell to the side, coming to rest in a crumpled heap. The thing walked over, looking down at him.
"Winchester," it said, grabbing Sam by the throat and pinning him to the wall, "I'm going to ask you a question. And you're going to answer me truthfully." It tightened its grip and Sam's vision grayed, his head pounding. "All right?"
Sam gasped for breath, but managed a small nod.
"Good," it said, moving closer. It pushed Sam higher on the wall. "I'm glad we understand each other."
Trystane's face loomed in front of Sam's, going in and out of focus as Sam's consciousness waxed and waned.
"Now," it said, smiling gently, "what have you done with my ring?"
I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, and that the reveal came as a surprise. Don't forget to leave a comment! Only three more chapters to go!
