Sam knocked on the door of a shabby double-wide trailer that was so festooned with sigils, charms, runes, and mandalas it was hard to find the door. After a few moments, a gray-haired woman in a sagging pink house-dress opened the door and looked him up and down suspiciously.
"Who are you?" She had a slight lisp and yellow sputum flew from her mouth as she spoke. Sam tried not to shudder with revulsion.
"Sam Winchester. Are you Meringala? We spoke on the forum."
"Huh," she said noncommittally. Her eyes darted over to Cas and her lip curled. "And yer friend?"
"This is Cas." On cue, Cas held up a hand to say hello, giving her his most charming smile. It landed with a thud.
"He's not human," she spat. "He stays outside."
Sam exchanged a look with the angel, who shrugged. "OK," he said. "I wanted to ask you about the ghost you met. The Native American who could shoot real arrows."
"Come on in," she said, shuffling inside. "Call me Merry. Coffee?"
"Uh, no, thanks," Sam said. The trailer was filthy, with piles of dirty dishes overflowing the sink and damp clothes on a line extending across the back. It smelled of sweat and neglect.
"Shawnee," Merry snorted.
"I'm sorry?"
"The ghost. Twas Shawnee. Nasty thing, completely consumed with rage. No sense of self left, just blind hate and anger. Sad, really." She opened a small tin and plucked out a pinch of chewing tobacco before offering it to Sam. He waved it off. "So whaddya wanna know?"
"We're trying to find a ghost of a sniper," Sam explained. "He shot a woman on the freeway."
"Oh, yeah, I heard about that," she said. "Assumed it was a real live person." She eyed him closely. "Ghost, you think?"
"There's a lot of EMF activity on the bridge he shot from. And there's CCTV showing him just melting away, rifle and all." Sam didn't want to mention the demon Prince Asmodeus. Merry seemed easily spooked and he needed to know what she knew.
"Yeah? Well, boy, what ya gotta understand is, ghosts like that have to be drawing power from somewhere. Their own energy ain't enough." She chewed contemplatively. "When I used to hunt, I used to carry dowsing rods for tracking ley lines. You might wanna give that a try. If a ghost is manifested on a ley line nexus, it could be getting the extra power it needs from there."
"We found some evidence that somebody might be charging the lines at the victim's house," Sam told her. The effect on Merry was startling. She drew her lips back over her teeth in a hiss and scuttled away from Sam, her movements quick and jerky.
"Someone did this on purpose?" she snarled.
"I think so," Sam said.
"Hoo, we are in a world of trouble then," she said. "Whaddya know about ley lines anyway?"
"Not much," Sam admitted. "Lines of spiritual energy linking significant locations all over the globe. The crossing points of the lines, known as a nexus, can be used to draw power from the lines, or charge power into the lines."
"Not bad," she said, looking impressed. "Most hunters don't bother themselves enough with lore these days. Lemme fill in some gaps. The lines ain't fixed. Those maps you can buy, all fancy-like with their radiating spokes? Horseshit. Ley lines are more like-" she waved her hands as she struggled for an analogy. "Probability clouds." Sam blinked as he processed that. Merry was either smarter than her folksy demeanor implied or she was a snake-oil salesman of the first water. "It's like quantum, see. Nobody knows where a ley line actually is, just where it's most likely to be. And they move around. You can deflect 'em if you know what you're doing."
Sam felt like he was getting in over his head. He was no slouch in academics and had always been better at the research and lore parts of the hunting job than Dean. But this was getting a little esoteric and way off course.
"OK," he said, hoping to direct the conversation back to where it had originated. "So this sniper ghost…"
"Might not have its artifact here in town. A ghost that's motivated enough and has drawn enough energy from the ley lines can travel those lines, leaving its fetish behind."
Sam choked. "Fetish?"
"The object it's attached to, boy!" Merry shook her head and muttered under her breath.
Sam relaxed, thankful he'd misunderstood. "So what you're saying is the rules about how far a ghost can travel when it's on one of these charged ley lines might not apply."
"Exactly," she said, nodding in satisfaction. "Do you know who the ghost was?"
"Yes," Sam said. "He died only a few days before the woman he shot."
"Hmm. Was it a weird death?" She shambled over to the coffee maker and poured out thick, black coffee into a mug, before adding heart-stopping amounts of sugar from a heavy glass container.
"Very," Sam told her. "His heart vanished."
Her eyes widened. "Ammit."
"What's that?"
"Not a what, a who. Egyptian demon who devours hearts. She renders final judgement on a man's life." She sniffed and swallowed a large mouthful of coffee. "Somebody musta summoned her. No wonder your sniper became a vengeful spirit."
"Why would anyone do that?" Sam wondered.
"Beats me, kiddo," Merry said. "There are easier ways to determine guilt." At Sam's expression, she gave him a toothy smile. "Your sniper did something in life, something bad and somebody else wanted to know what it was. That's the only reason you'd summon Ammit. But like I say, there are easier ways. Safer ways."
"Safer?" Sam asked nervously.
"Stuffing Ammit back in her box ain't easy." She put her mug down and began to move towards the door. Sam took it as his cue to leave.
"Thanks for your help," he said. "You really know a lot."
"Been around a long time, Sammy," she said and he stared at her. "What?"
"N-nothing," he stammered. "Uh, thanks again!" He stumbled out of the trailer to see Cas waiting for him.
"Did you get anything useful?" the angel asked.
"Yeah, I think so," Sam said.
"You look… disturbed."
"Yeah, it's-" Sam looked over his shoulder at the trailer. "She was strange."
"Gorgons often are," Cas agreed.
"What!"
"She was a Gorgon," Cas said patiently.
"But… I didn't turn to stone," Sam objected.
"She can control that power," Cas told him. "Most Gorgons aren't interested in hurting humans. I've met Meringala before, though I doubt she remembers. She's… well, she's not harmless, but she's not usually a threat."
"So why is she helping us?" Sam asked.
"I expect she wants something," Cas said. "What did she ask for?"
"Nothing," Sam said, puzzled. "We didn't discuss payment or anything."
"Did she touch you?"
"No," Sam said. "And I didn't accept anything from her, not even coffee." He frowned. "But she called me Sammy, right at the end. Only Dean ever called me Sammy. And-" he broke off, swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat. "And Lucifer used to call me that sometimes."
"Curious," Cas said.
Sam opened the motel room door to see Dean staring at his bed, his face blank. There was an outline where someone had clearly laid down, and a strange electric feeling in the air.
"Uh, hey, Dean," Sam said cautiously, the atmosphere in the room scraping at his nerves. Had something happened while they were out?
His brother looked up, his face lined with concern. "Sam! Where have you been?" There were dark shadows under his eyes and his face was pale. He looked awful, and it had to be something that had recently happened since he'd been fine that morning.
"Talking to that hunter on Reddit," Sam said slowly. Had Dean forgotten?
"You've been gone hours," Dean complained. "I had to put up with Crowley breathing down my neck." He swallowed and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Crowley?" Sam said in surprise. He thought Crowley had made it clear he was finished with the case now Asmodeus had been dealt with. "What did he want?"
"I don't know," Dean said. "He did this weird thing and made a big ball of green light appear and then he kinda… faded away."
Cas's mouth dropped open in a rare expression of total shock. "What kind of green?" he demanded.
"You too?" Dean said plaintively. "Crowley asked me that. It was a light, yellowish green. What difference does it make?"
"Chartreuse?" Sam suggested.
Dean threw up his hands and made an exasperated face. "I don't know." He began to pace, and tension radiated off him in waves. Sam was baffled. Crowley's behavior was strange, and the demon king's flirtatious manner had been throwing Dean off his game ever since they started working on this case. But this was whole orders of magnitude different. Dean seemed really upset and it had to be something Crowley had done or said, something Dean was leaving out of his account.
Sam pulled up a Pantone chart on his phone and held it out to his brother, pointing to one of the swatches. "This color here."
"Yeah, that's it," Dean agreed, rolling his eyes as if he thought the whole thing ridiculous.
"How did he make the ball of light appear," Cas pressed. His eyes were intent and Sam had the sense the angel knew what more about what was going on than either him or Dean.
"He held his arms out and said something in a foreign language," Dean said, spreading his arms to demonstrate.
"Infernal?" Cas suggested. "It sounds sort of guttural."
"I don't know," Dean said. He bit his lip. "Maybe."
"What is it?" Sam said, laying a hand on Cas's arm. Cas's face was an odd combination of concerned and confused.
"Crowley's in trouble," Cas explained. "That 'ball of light' is a manifestation of his power as King of Hell. It should be red."
"What does it mean that it wasn't?" Dean asked, a sliver of worry entering his voice. Sam gave him a curious glance.
"I'm not certain," Cas admitted. "But my best guess is that his power is fading. It's analogous to an angel falling."
"Really?" Sam said, the concept seeming fascinating in the abstract but the arrested look on Dean's face giving him pause. "What would cause that?"
"I have no idea."
Sam pawed through the box of Wayne Jeffries belongings and sighed. "There's nothing else here, just some papers and his social security card."
"There has to be," Dean asserted drunkenly. Sam squinted at him, wishing his brother would find another way to deal with his emotions than whiskey and anger. He'd been surly and uncommunicative all afternoon, drinking steadily and doing little to help. Cas held his hand out and Sam shrugged and gave him the social security card.
"No," the angel rumbled as he turned the card over in his hands, his brows diving together as he concentrated. "Nothing."
Dean made a rude noise and Sam's temper flared. "Look, Dean, I know you hate it when I pry, but what the Hell is your problem?" he snapped.
"He's worried about Crowley," Cas said gently, placing a restraining hand on Sam's arm. Sam could feel the warmth of the angel through his sleeve and he let it soothe him. Getting angry at Dean would only lead to a fight and wouldn't leave him any further forward as to what was actually wrong.
"I am not," Dean said indignantly. But his face told a different story. Sam wanted to push harder, make Dean spill exactly what was going on in his head, but with so much booze in his system, he'd be more likely to get a fist in the face than a heartfelt confession.
Cas raised one eyebrow at Dean as if to tell him he thought he was full of shit. Sam had to suppress a bark of laughter since that would definitely lead to violence. Cas returned his attention to Sam, his eyes shadowed with doubt. "Perhaps we should drive down to Tennessee, look at Wayne Jeffries home."
"It's gotta be better than cooling our heels here," Sam agreed. "Dean?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he said, struggling to his feet. He scowled as Sam snagged the car keys off the table. "Y'not drivin', Sam."
"I am," Sam insisted. "You're absolutely dead drunk." That wasn't even the half of it. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Dean this intoxicated. His tolerance was so high, it took a serious amount of liquor to put him in this state and Sam began to wonder if the bottle of whiskey Dean had polished off had even been the only bottle.
"M'not," Dean slurred, swaying slightly. "Bit tipsy, 'sall." He grinned in triumph as he managed to stay standing. Sam glared at him, making it clear that this should not be regarded as a victory.
"I can sober him up," Cas offered, extending one hand. Dean backed away, his face set.
"Your choice, Dean," Sam said firmly. He folded his arms over his chest and planted his feet, ready for a fight if it came to it. "Either let Cas drain the booze from your system or I'm driving."
"Fine," Dean said, staggering to the door and waving one hand dismissively. "Imma sleep in th'back."
Sam exchanged a look with Cas, whose eyes reflected his own concern. "What's going on with him?"
"I don't know," Cas said. "But I stand by what I said. He's worried about Crowley. If he really is meliorating, there may not be much we can do. He won't survive long in Hell, that's for sure."
"Meliorating?" Sam picked up on the word Cas had used. It was an archaism, but that was Cas for you. "You really do mean it's analogous to falling, don't you?"
"Yes," the angel said. "It's incredibly rare, especially in higher status demons. Melioration occurs when the demon begins to experience the more blessed human emotional states. Altruism, self-sacrifice, grace, love."
"Love," Sam said, speculating wildly now. "Could he be in love with Dean?"
Cas looked startled at the prospect. "Anything's possible, but on its own, I don't think it would be enough. But if he's both in love and willing to be unselfish about it, then melioration is almost inevitable."
"Fuck," Sam said with feeling. "If that's what's going on, no wonder Dean's freaking out."
Dean snored in the backseat as the Impala ate up the miles. Sam cast a sideways glance at Cas, who had rested his left hand on Sam's thigh. It felt nice, that small bit of contact and it made Sam smile.
"Do you really think we'll find anything in Jeffries home?" he asked.
"I have a theory I'd like to talk through with you," Cas explained.
"Oh?" Sam said in surprise. "Shoot."
"I was thinking about what Meringala said to you," Cas mused. "What if Jeffries never attached to an object that traveled to Arkansas. What if the object he is attached to is still in his home? If his home was on a major ley line and he traveled along it to intersect with Heather, that could explain everything."
"Not quite everything," Sam said. "But yeah, that would explain a lot." He contemplated the fields as they whizzed by, thinking hard. "Merry said that ley lines weren't fixed the way people think, that they were, uh, probability clouds. I think she made some quantum mechanics reference but it was a bit beyond me, to be honest."
"Merry?" Cas said, sounding startled. "She asked you to call her that?"
Derailed, Sam flicked a quick look at his angel before returning his gaze to the road. "Yeah. Is that a problem?"
"No," Cas said wonderingly. "It's just unusual. She's not a people person, as you would say. Calling her Merry seems… intimate. Like you were good friends. It's strange."
"It's just my natural charm," Sam joked. Cas grinned at that.
"She is correct, of course. Ley lines are strange things that even angels don't fully understand," Cas said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Gorgons have a strong attraction to them, which is probably why she's in Rogers. But that uncertainty could be the final piece of our puzzle. The nexus under Ridley's home probably moves around and when Jeffries traveled along it, he couldn't control where he ended up. It's probably not a coincidence he ended up on that bridge, but someone very carefully shaped things to ensure it was a high probability."
"Asmodeus?" Sam asked.
"Unlikely," Cas said, frowning. "Heather's death not only destroyed his plans for creating a half-demon vessel for Lucifer, it also drew unwanted attention to him and his machinations. No, I suspect this was someone else. Possibly someone opposed to what he was doing."
"Could this be Crowley?" Sam asked. "Dean did wonder if he was trying to draw us into something bigger."
"Not that I doubt Crowley's ability to be so duplicitous," Cas said with a wry twist to his mouth as he glanced over his shoulder at Dean. "But he's not stupid enough to mess with Ammit. I agree with Meringala's assessment that Ammit is the cause of Jeffries' death. Now we just have to figure out who is, and why they went to such lengths."