NEXT

Cecille turned her attention away from her rude and taunting ex-lover. She leaned toward Sam. "Huh. You don't look like your brother. You the postman's bastard?" She giggled at that as she twisted a lock of his hair and snipped it. She placed it alongside one of the grass dolls. Returning, she stared at Dean pointedly, then surprised Sam by kissing him hard, biting his lip in the process. He flinched but said nothing. She smiled to herself and dabbed at the blood with the corner of his shirt. Then she snipped off the fabric.

She turned to Bobby next. "Jesus, it's like I'm killing Santa Claus!" she mocked. She knocked his cap off, and tousled his thin hair. "Not much to spare is there?" she laughed, cutting a small bit of it. He turned his head in disgust, expecting her to press her mouth on his. She snorted. "Like I'm gonna kiss some yellow, old man. How about I just take some of that hillbilly shirt you wearing?" She cut the corner off his collar, and Bobby growled something in return.

She laid her treasures again onto the table. But her attention was diverted by her first project. "Dean...you bad, bad boy." she breathed. She sat on his lap, facing him coyly. "Miss me?" She planted a rough kiss on his face. It was more of a brand than anything remotely tender. "It's a waste, really. You got a big mouth, but I can't deny it; you were a damned good lay." She got up and stood back, addressing the trio. "Watch now, boys. This is why nobody crosses Cecille."

Cecille was well aware of the timing-it was one of the quirks of this particular magic that she had learned early. She knew there was a limit to the effect, and a down-time between assaults. She also knew that for Dean, that period of safety was at an end now. "So…you came hunting the book, then." she said to Sam. "Well, you want to learn how it works? Here you go, lesson one."

She closed her eyes and began a recital. The trio watched her tensely. Dean scanned her desperately from head to toe, searching for any detail that could be of use. He saw it then-the bandage on the back of her left hand. A heavy silver shank protruded from it, capped by a black onyx bead carved into a macabre skull. It was obvious that she had been keeping the second pin in that place, never removing it from her irritated flesh, so that her power was always at the ready. He saw the red line of infection snaking away, following the path of a vein She was so obsessed with controlling the people around her that she was sacrificing her own health to stay in power. He realized that the fever in her eyes was more than merely malice; she was poisoning her own system.

She had memorized the particularly useful passages, those that would drop her adversaries in their tracks, crying out in agony. Holding the Dean doll in hand, she sat on his lap again and breathed the words into his ear. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth as she recited it. She stared at his face with breathless hunger as she slowly forced the second silver point through its middle.

There was nothing he could do. He felt it instantly, and howled in pain. He arched against his seat, knocking her to the floor with the violence of his reaction. He fell over along with the chair, breaking into a sweat and clamping his jaw hard to keep from making any more sound for her entertainment. She sat where she landed on the floor beside him, laughing with the pure joy of a child at a surprise birthday party as she watched him writhe against his ropes. She leaned toward him with the doll in her hand, brushing her mouth against his ear. "Oh Dean...tell me all about how you're on top now!" She twisted the pin roughly through the grass figure until it ran through the back of it.

He screamed. When he could catch his breath, he panted, "Bitch! You vicious little-"

"DON'T! Cecille, please! Stop it!" Sam begged. Her eyes burning with intense pleasure, she turned toward him, smiling blankly as if she hadn't understood. "Sorry, honey...already done."

Sam turned with wild eyes to Bobby. Bobby's hands were not yet free, and tears of frustration filmed his eyes as he shook his head. Not yet-

Cecille stood up and stepped over Dean where he lay, and reached out to stroke Sam's face. "Mmm." she sighed appreciately. "Ain't you a fine thing though. Too bad, little brother. We coulda had a real good time, you and me."

He twisted his head away from her hand and she laughed.

"All business are you? Well, you wanna see what's it all about?" She took the lock of hair and shirt bit, affixing them to one of the grass dolls. But this time, she got up and strode to a desk in the corner. She pulled out a key that hung around her neck and unlocked a drawer, retrieving a cracked, leather-bound item.

The book. Bobby tensed, ready-

She may have memorized some of the passages, but the one that empowered the dolls was too complex. She needed to read it. Both Bobby and Sam watched, holding their breath as she began to make her way clumsily through the text.

Dean heard it. He would have done anything to spare his brother from this pain, but he couldn't. He lay gasping on the floor, paralyzed by the agony cutting through him and on the verge of blacking out. He tried to force away the faintness that enveloped him, twisting his hands as the ropes loosened. "No!" he ground out. Sweat trickled down his face and throat as he worked his hands. The hissing in his ears becoming a roar, and he moaned with the effort of staying conscious. Sam tore his attention away from her and turned his fearful gaze back to his brother. He couldn't help him through it this time.

She finished her reading and withdrew the pin from Dean's effigy. It had done its work, it made no difference now. She smiled sweetly at Sam, playfully dancing the doll in front of his eyes,…and pushed the point into the centre of it.

Sam gasped in shock as the same brutal pain tore through his chest. He strained against his bonds and yelled. His vision swam as it intensified. For a brief second he recalled saying he'd wished he could carry this burden for his brother. If he'd known—

Bobby frantically worked at his bindings. Both brothers were now felled; he was the only one left, and the book-the damned book-was finally in front of them. Benoit stood in the doorway, horrified and sure that the effort was failing. He looked desperately to Bobby, who finished freeing his hands from the loose rope. It was all going wrong, and Ben knew he had to do something. He suddenly lunged at Cecille, crashing against her, his weight carrying her hard to the floor. He wrestled the book from her hands.

"You!" he shouted to Bobby-tossing it to him seconds before the dog was on him. Brutus went at him in a frenzy of protective violence. Benoit screamed and desperately fought it off.

Bobby had his own problems. The dog's attack paled in comparison to the fury of Cecille as she clawed and bit and gouged in her attempt to regain that book. He got a few decent blows in, but she was rabid, and he was losing his hold on it. He cursed and howled as her fingernails dug into his hands, and he felt his grip failing-

But suddenly she went down, her feet abruptly pulled out from under her-

Dean had her ankle in a tight grip. He couldn't get up, but he'd managed to free one hand from his ropes, and he held on like a drowning man as she kicked at him viciously and scrambled to regain her footing. When her sharp heel connected solidly with his temple a third time he released her and lay still. The sudden lack of resistance sent Cecille hopping off balance. She fell awkwardly against the sill of the large open window. She let loose an odd little scream, slipped backward through the open sash, and plummeted to the brick walkway below.

Brutus immediately halted his attack on Benoit and stood at the window, paws on the sill, looking down and whining piteously. A shaken Benoit crawled out of the room to safety, leaving a smeared trail of blood as he made his way to the nearest room and kicked the door shut behind him. Bobby sat stunned and trying to catch his breath. He didn't dare go near it, but by the dog's plaintive focus he was sure she was lying down there still.

The book was in his hands.

He tucked it into his shirt and turned his attention to Sam, still bound to the chair and moaning. He untied him, and was forced to leave him there while he tended to Dean, who lay deathly still and bleeding. He pulled his other arm free from the tangle and rolled him onto his back, keeping an eye on the fearsome dog at the window.

When Sam could function again, the two of them dragged Dean carefully out of the room—watching the dog warily. They needn't have worried—it only had eyes for her. Once in the hall, Bobby shut the door—trapping it safely. Sam swabbed at the blood streaming from the nasty cut on his brother's temple, relieved as he began to stir and complain. Bobby went in search of Ben—following the trail and opening the door. Ben was sitting on the floor-binding his badly bitten arms with torn strips of sheet. He looked up fearfully as the older man crouched beside him and took over.

"She's dead—or at least, out of action…" he said in answer to the questioning look on the wounded man's face.

"Good! -jeezus christ! " he sighed, relieved. "What about that dog-?"

"Locked in the blue room for now. Can you get up-?"

Ben nodded and wearily got to his feet. The two rejoined the brothers, both of whom were now up and trying to recover from their experience. Sam supported Dean, who was still groggy and unsteady. The significance struck Benoit then. He was free of her. "Man...I owe you guys...you don't know-"

Bobby shrugged, smiling.. "Same to you. But listen, you should get the hell out of here, go home to your family. You don't want to be involved in this now."

"Yeah, I hear that...but what about you guys?"

"We're used to shit like this, don't worry. Just go."

Ben shook their hands and quickly left. They heard his car roar and drive off.

"Boys, you alright?" Bobby asked, his face a mask of concern. He examined Dean's split brow, dabbing away the blood that still welled slowly.

Sam was first to respond. "I'm ok now...Holy crap that was rough!" he shuddered. " Dean…man, I don't know how the hell you could have kept going through that!"

Dean held his head in both hands, but he assured Bobby he was fine, even as his knees buckled and Sam steadied him again. "Just need to sit down for a minute."

Sam steered him to a tatty old wingchair in the corner of the wide hall. "I'd better check on her." he said.

"Be careful!" Bobby warned, "and get any dolls she might still have on her."

Sam descended the stairs and made his way around the building to where she lay. The light from the window illuminated her still form. Sam checked her pulse and was surprised to find it still strong. He was careful not to move her as he retrieved the contents from her pocket. As much as he hated her for what she'd done, he was still human, and he knew he should call 911 and get her help. He quickly returned to where the others were, informing them of her status.

"Crap!" Dean growled. He rubbed his eyes, nursing the headache from the vicious kick she'd given him. "Ok, let's do this. Bobby, here's my keys—bring the car up to the door. Sam; we're gonna have to get all those stupid dolls from that blue room, so Bobby can undo them. 'Course that means we need to do something with the dog. Sam; you go back down-leave the front door open, throw a blanket on her, then whistle and call Brutus. I'll open the door and hopefully he'll run downstairs and stay by her. In the meantime, get your ass into the car while I grab any dolls that look complete. I'll meet you down at the car."

They nodded their agreement. But Dean remembered one important detail, "Sam, you have to get that second pin. She's got it bandaged into the back of her left hand-you have to pull it out and bring it back."

"Ok, I'll do that."

When they heard the car out front, Sam grabbed a blanket from a bed and made his way out to where Cecille lay. He carefully placed it over her, making sure it didn't impede her breathing. He yanked the pin out of the flesh of her hand and slipped it into his pocket. Then he whistled loudly a few times and called the dog.

Dean could hear it whine and scratch behind the door. He opened it, and the mastiff bounded through and down the stairs, not slowing until he was at her side. Sam had run the opposite way around the house, and entered the waiting Impala. Upstairs, Dean looked around the room. He gathered up any figures that had anything tied to them, bundled them in his shirt and fled back down the stairs, out the front door, and into the front passenger seat.

Bobby floored it away from the house and back in the direction of the hotel.

Sam called 911, reporting the injured person and warning about the loose dog. With that final act of reluctant mercy done, they all sat silent, as they drove. Dean had his eyes closed, pressing a wad of tissue against his temple. Sam, being Sam, was worried...hoping that the paramedics would arrive soon, and he was relieved when the flashing lights passed them, flying in the opposite direction. He hated her, —really hated her-but she was still a broken girl lying still and bleeding on a brick walkway, with a faithful dog crying over her. It was a sad picture. Bobby simply drove, occasionally patting the place under his shirt where the book was stashed, just to reassure himself that he still had it.

Back at the hotel, the three stumbled out of the car and headed up. They were all exhausted. "Good job, boys." Bobby said wearily. "I know there's a whole lot of crap to discuss, but how about we debrief in the morning?"

"Sounds good." Sam said, eyeing Dean. Dean simply nodded, keeping a hand pressed to his temple. They parted ways in the hallway, and Sam steered his brother to bed. He went about the task of cleaning and bandaging the place she'd kicked him.

Once safely and comfortably tucked in, Sam brought up the subject of their eventful evening. He was appreciative of the effort Dean had made to turn her attention away from them but it troubled him. Dean would have preferred that he drop it, but he knew that was a pipe-dream. He leaned back against his headboard and humoured his younger brother.

"You took a hell of a chance Dean; antagonizing her like that. You should have just let her talk while we undid the ropes." he started.

Dean groaned. "What the hell do you want from me, Sam? Benoit tied all of us loose enough! Jesus, the two of you must've been drummed outa Boy Scouts; you couldn't untie yourselves from a pair of shoes, let alone those slack knots! I had to do something!" He turned over, tugging the covers up to his throat.

Sam knew he was just griping. They'd all tried as hard as they could, and the bottom line was, it was truly over. He got himself comfortable as well, and turned out the light. "Dean...?"

"Yeah?"

"We did it. No more pain.."

"Amen."

"And Dean..?"

He sighed. "What, Sam?"

"Thanks."

"Ditto. Now shut the hell up, will ya?"