The whole thing reminded Dean of a Renaissance Fair he and Sam had stopped to visit on a hunt with their father.

There were people milling around as far as two blocks away from the McLaughlins' enormous gate, dressed in wildly anachronistic clothing and drunk of their asses. Five or six teenaged girls dodged the Impala as it rolled slowly past. He didn't want to call attention to the car; the FBI was still in town looking for the psychotic plastic surgeon and the Finch was probably on the lookout for him, considering he'd completely disappeared after the first survey of the crime scene. Probably thinks we're the killers, Dean mused.

He tried not to shake his head in disbelief as he followed the line of cars into another secret parking lot past the front drive. What, did all these people host drive-ins on Saturday nights?

Merida and Sam were in the back seat, sitting too close together for his liking. He still didn't trust Merida – not by a long shot – but he had to admit that he was starting to like her, a little bit. Not for herself, exactly, but because of the effect she had on Sam. If he was going to hell in a year, Dean could imagine far worse people for the kid to end up with. Be a hell of an asset when it comes to hunting, too.

"So everyone clear on the plan?" Sam leaned forward as Dean shifted the car into park. "Remember your places. We meet up between the giant oak trees behind the house. The fair isn't extending that far onto the property, so we should get some privacy."

Dean straightened his jacket. "You got the blood, Bobby?"

He nodded and shoved the vial into Dean's jacket pocket. "Spell, too. Anu should show up in a hurry; I don't think this guy's been summoned in a while."

"Good," Merida said. "The faster we get this done, the better."

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror. "Where's the fire, Miss Sweet Corn?"

She and Sam exchanged surreptitious looks, and Dean was about to inquire further when Bobby pulled a small box out of his pocket and handed it to him.

"What's this?"

"Ear plugs," Bobby said, handing another box to Sam, who took it. "In case we come across any screamers."

"Will these even work? I mean, I don't think BOSE headphones were made to lock out banshee screams."

Bobby glared over the headrest at Sam. "Take it or leave it, boy."

"All righty then," Merida chirped, cutting Dean off before he could open his mouth.

They split up at the gate. Dean gave Merida and Sam a once-over, handing them the bag of supplies for the altar.

"Don't spill the ashes, you two. We don't have any to spare."

Merida rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the tips, boss. I think I can handle setting up the landing pad. You two just make sure the other rituals aren't too realistic. If someone else's honor offering is more compelling than the ashes, Anu could show up anywhere and surprise us. We probably wouldn't be able to save the others in time, either."

Dean nodded without comment.

Bobby took a deep breath. "Are y'all waiting for a group cheer? Let's get a move on!"

Sam and Merida started toward the rear of the property, disappearing into the crowd.

Dean looked around the entrance to the fair, scanning the faces of people dressed in bundled and roughhewn shirts and dresses, pushing small children in strollers and carrying plates of food. Another mob of teenage girls bounced past, eating some kind of meat on a kebab; vendors stood at booths with signs that announced the sale of Ye Olde this or that, shouting and singing at passers-by. He looked down at his button-down and leather jacket, wishing they'd taken the time to get costumes; if the FBI or the Finch were around, they'd be made in no time. Too late now.

He slipped his hands into his pockets. "So what's first on the list?"

"Well, in the old days there was a sacrifice of a bull, but I don't think they'll get that deep into things at this shindig. Traditionally, they'd take some corn up to high ground and bury it for the gods, eat some bilberries and some of the new harvest, that kind of thing."

"None of that sounds like it would draw Anu away from our true-blue human sacrifice."

"It wouldn't, but the dancing and the ritual play might."

Dean shook his head. "Do I want to know?"

Bobby shrugged. "It's nothing hinky, just a what-happened-to-the-gods kind of thing, like the ancient Egyptians used to do. It doesn't involve a sacrifice, but one guy gets to play Anu, and at the end of the play he gets to return to power. Way back when, he would have been treated as a human manifestation of a harvest god. Wasn't true of course, but under the circumstances…"

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me." Dean shivered, dreading the temperature drop that would accompany the coming sunset. "Do we know who's playing Anu in this High School Musical?"

"Nope. But historically it was someone born into a good family, wealthy, young, male…"

Dean thought for a moment, then swore.

"C'mon."

"C'mon where?"

"We gotta find the Vampire Lestat."

"Who?"

But Dean was already twenty yards a ahead of him; Bobby frowned and hurried after.

Merida knelt in the small clearing, arranging the stones in a circle; after she added some extra ones, the final picture looked to Sam like a clock with four extra hands.

He dug in the bag for the canister of ashes and the small piece of evergreen, handing them to Merida when she reached for them.

"So…do we just hand him the urn?"

Merida tossed the evergreen unceremoniously into the canister and shook it until the leaves were completely concealed by the ashes. "Pretty much. Why?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, I just pictured something more dramatic, I guess. I thought a mortar and pestle would be involved."

She grinned, the expression looking somewhat sinister in the fading light. "Nope. We summon him, we present him with the tribute, he eats it, and then…well, he eats it."

She balanced the urn on the stone in the center of the circle, then backed out of it until she stood beside Sam. The studied her handiwork together, their hands drifting until they were intertwined.

"When this is done," she said softly, "you and Dean head back to the motel."

"What about you?"

"I have to go meet someone."

"Who?"

"You know who."

There was moment of silence as Sam collected his thoughts. "Merida…"

"We – well, I – already did what she asked. Nick and Sarah have met and are probably playing hide and seek in her bedroom right now, so the kid's practically a given. No muss, no fuss."

He snorted.

"And tonight," she said pointedly, "I meet her, she gives me the contract, we burn it, and that's all she wrote."

"What if something goes wrong? I can't help you if you won't tell me where you're going – "

She shook her head, then rested it against his arm. "No can do. This is a covert operation, Winchester; she's risking a lot by doing this for me."

"So I'm just supposed to wait while you go meet some demon face to face?"

"Not 'supposed to'," she said firmly. "You will. She's not just getting this contract, Sam, she's breaking my curse. Don't screw this up."

"She's doing all that in exchange for you setting up this Nick guy? Why couldn't she do that herself?"

"There are rules, she says. It's all written down somewhere."

"This guy must be pretty important."

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, I don't ask these questions. Not our problem."

But Sam was beginning to think it was very much their problem. They were screwing with destiny again, just like Dean had done for him when he'd made his hell-conceived deal. Sam could practically feel the wheels of the universe turning in a direction he dreaded.

"I don't like where this is going."

"It's going there whether you like or not, Sam."

"I don't-"

But he was cut off by a sudden and piercing scream, all too familiar in its overwhelmingness.

Ian MacGregor strutted across the stage in what looked like a Grandmother Willow costume, talking in a booming voice and gesticulating broadly at the audience, who cheered and clapped. Dean fought his way through the crowd to the center of the lawn where the stage stood on a raised platform. Bobby was right on his heels, knocking tweens aside in his haste to keep up.

"That's him, Bobby!"

"Who?"

"Ian MacGregor," Dean said, turning his head so that his words would reach Bobby. "He's a McLaughlin by blood! Anu's gonna use him to-"

Dean's head split open in a terribly familiar way, and he was knocked to the ground with the force of the pain. The entire audience seemed to scream in unison, and a third of them started to flee, tripping over props and each other in a blind attempt to escape the sound.

Dean clasped his hands tightly over his ears and groaned, kicking himself. Why hadn't he remembered to-

But his hands were being torn away from his head, and before he could protest, soft pieces of foam were being jammed into his ears. The noise drastically decreased in volume.

Bobby gradually came into focus; he was sitting on his knees in front of Dean and people were running all about them, barely avoiding the two men crouched on the ground. Bobby was mouthing something and pulling Dean to his feet.

"WHAT?"

Bobby rolled his eyes and yanked Dean by the arm, dragging him toward the back of the property. Dean caught on and they started running, the vial of the blood of the first victim bouncing in Dean's pocket.

Merida winced and sank to the ground, holding her hands up like she could physically stave off the sound. On instinct, he shoved the earplugs Bobby had given him into his ears; the sound was still loud, but it was dulled enough that he wasn't incapacitated. When he looked down at Merida again, a soft golden light was emitting from her hands, and her face was no longer contorted in pain.

It's called magic, Winchester. Perhaps you're familiar with the concept.

Holy shit, he thought. I can hear you right now. What are you, a Meyerpire?

She laughed inside his head. Not so much. Why do you keep forgetting what I am?

I'm not used to dealing with psychics. Sue me for being shocked when you start yammering into my brain.

And to think, you two were gonna gank me. An image of Merida sprawled on a neighborhood street with a stake in her chest appeared in Sam's mind.

This is so weird, he thought.

I hope we-

Bobby came barreling into the clearing and Dean was right behind him, waving his arms in the air.

"LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!"

Merida rose carefully to her feet so as not to disturb the shield she'd constructed; Dean trudged roughly past her, sprinkling the blood unceremoniously over the urn with the ashes.

"BOBBY! NOW!"

Bobby began speaking words Sam couldn't hear. He stood in front of the circle beside Dean, his hands raised in the air as if he was cheering at a sporting event.

The banshee's screams came to an abrupt and jarring halt. Then there was silence.

The four of them looked anxiously at one another, and Bobby was about to recite the incantation again when a bright light exploded in front of them. They cried out and held their hands up to their faces to block it out.

After a moment, the light dimmed, and a tall man stood before them on the other side of the circle. He was dressed in a roughhewn toga that hung to his knees, and thick black hair dusted his shoulders. He stared at them, wide-eyed.

Sam and Merida crept forward until they were at the edge of the circle beside Dean and Bobby.

"What should we say?" Dean whispered.

"I didn't bring any conversation points, Dean!" Sam muttered back. "Maybe-"

Anu's confusion soon gave way to rage, and he released a deep and loud bellow. They stumbled back with the force of it.

Guess we know why he as such a fondness for banshees, Merida thought at Sam.

"We brought you a little gift," Bobby ventured, pointing at the urn.

Anu glanced down at the urn in disgust, when spat something at them in a language they didn't recognize.

"Shit," Dean said. "He doesn't speak English?"

"Of course not," Merida hissed. "He's an ancient Irish harvest god!"

"Well, if you got anything else up your sleeve, princess, now's the time to share it with the class!" Bobby growled.

Merida glared at Dean, then took a tentative step forward, holding out her hands. She began to speak very quickly and with a strange rhythm. It was vaguely familiar to Sam, and after a few moments he remembered where he'd heard it from.

In front of Jennifer Tierney's house, he thought. When she put that mark on me. This is the language she spoke.

Very good, Sam, Merida thought without breaking her sing-song speech to Anu. Have a cookie.

Sam's expression prompted a swat on the arm from his brother. "What the hell is this, man?" he said, gesturing at Merida. "Since when does she speak ancient Gaelic?"

"Who cares?" Bobby said.

Dean didn't say anything more, but he glared surreptitiously at Merida's back as she spoke.

She stopped a moment after that, and Anu stepped into the circle. His movements were crude and jerky, as though he were an action figure being moved by an unseen hand. He bent slowly forward and picked up the urn, holding it above his head. Hatred and rage were etched into every line of his face, and his eyes bored into Merida's. He spoke a few words – harsh and ugly ones – and then he opened his mouth.

What looked like black ink came pouring out like paint and splattered into the rocks beneath his feet. He turned his head upward and emptied the urn into his mouth.

The four of them stepped back, expecting an explosion of some kind, but nothing of the sort happened. Anu simply began to choke, clawing at his throat, before collapsing into a heap on the ground. He twitched a few more times before going completely still.

An uneasy silence followed.

"Welp," Dean said, shrugging, "should we bury him?"

Merida squatted and cocked her head at the god's body, then shook her head.

"I don't think we'll have to," she said. "He's…melting."

Sam, Dean, and Bobby knelt beside her to get a better look. Sure enough, the black ink was dripping from his eyes and mouth, as well was the beds of his fingernails.

"Oh." Dean got back to his feet; Bobby and Sam followed. "Guess that's all, folks. Let's hit the road before the alphabet boys catch up with us. The Finch ain't the type to drop a case like this."

They started to walk away, but Merida didn't follow.

"Merida?" Sam took a step in her direction. "You coming?"

"You go ahead," she said. Her voice was toneless. "I'll be along."

Sam ignored her and walked back over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged it off. "Nothing."

"What did this thing say to you?"

"Nothing!"

"I-"

"Just go, Sam!"

"I'm not gonna-"

"I have a meeting to get to," she said quietly. "You don't want me to be late. So go."

She sounded too final for Sam's liking, and he started to put an arm around her when she vanished from sight.

"Merida!"

"Sam-"

"Merida!"

Dean grabbed him by the bicep. "Look at me."

"Damn it, Dean-"

"Look at me."

Sam stopped fighting and looked Dean's way.

"She'll be back when she's ready, Sam."

"You don't understand-"

"You're wrong," Dean said. "I do understand. I'm cursed, same as she is. She just needs a little time."

"Dean-"

"Trust me," Dean said softly, letting go of Sam's arm. "Let's go home to wait for her. She'll come back once she's got her stuff together."

But she didn't.

Sam insisted that they stay at the motel for over a week waiting for her, but didn't turn up. Sam had dragged them back to her house, to the coffee shop, even back to the McLaughlins' house, dangerous as it was after the events of the festival, but she was gone. Dean had tried to comfort him, but Sam would have none of it; Dean didn't know where she'd gone, what she'd done for him.

And something had gone terribly wrong. He knew it as soon as she left the clearing, but on the day Dean insisted it was time to hit the road, it was confirmed.

Sam stood over the sink in the bathroom, shaving, when he realized the mark Merida had left on him was gone. He examined his face again and again, but he couldn't find a trace of it anywhere.

Dean picked up on his mood the second he left the bathroom.

"Somethin' happen, Sam?"

"Nothing."

Dean snorted.

"She's dead, Dean."

"How could you know something like that, Sammy? Your psychic link back up, or something?"

"The mark," Sam said, fighting to keep his voice even. "It's gone."

Dean strolled over to him and took him by the chin, turning his face left and right. Sam knocked his arm away and looked down so Dean wouldn't see his eyes welling up.

"So it is." Dean shrugged. "Doesn't mean she's dead, man. Could be the spell just wore off."

Sam shook his head and picked up his pack. "Yeah. Whatever."

Dean leaned against the small table and stared at his brother. "Something you wanna tell me?"

"Like what?"

"Like why you're acting like your whole world's just been crushed."

"I know you're a hit it and quit it guy, Dean, but some of us have feelings."

"Don't go there, Sam. You liked this girl, I can see that, okay? But you didn't like her that much. She was no Jessica. So why do you look like you just found out you have terminal cancer?"

"I just-"

"Don't bullshit me, Sam. Something was going on with you two, and I don't just mean you were breaking headboards. What were you two up to? And why is she dead?"

Sam fiddled with the strap of his pack, tapping his tongue against the back of his teeth.

"Okay, then. Fine. Keep your mouth shut. Let's go."

Sam followed Dean out the motel room door. "Where're we headed, anyway?"

"Indiana," Dean said, opening the Impala door. "Cicero. I need a little R and R."

"What's in Cicero?"

"Quiet, that's what. And Lisa. She's a yoga instructor. I need a break from all this supernatural shit for a while."

It was forty degrees and sunny when they left Platsworth, Minnesota, and for once, Sam didn't do any research on the road. He just gazed out the window, wondering how he'd lost yet another person close to him.

And vowing to do anything to keep from losing another one.

Stay tuned for the epilogue!