As Dean and Van humped it back towards the picnic area in complete and eerie silence, Sam was trekking his way, via the map he swiped from Donovan, along with her bag. He was pretty proud of himself back there; he smirked as he stepped over some fallen trees, their stumps mutilated from termites and other scavengers. Pulling the five fingered swap while his brother and she went back and forth on how poor Sam wasn't going to go off on his own, went smoothly. The only thing that did concern Sam as he followed the markings on the map was getting back to Van's house; at that precise moment, they were slamming the doors shut to the Impala. He scanned the map for the nearest highway and penciled a circle around Route 24. There was a truck stop near by and if he had any luck, someone would be willing to pick him up and drive him back to the house.
The map indicated that Sam had about a mile and half to go before reaching the abandoned Shaker Well. It was getting colder and darker as he trudged forward, his flashlight in one hand leading him along what appeared to be a hidden, but worn path. The hairs on the back of his neck, sprung to life, as he heard twigs being broken underfoot. He reached into his bag and swung his rifle around, scanning the perimeter from left to right. He had stuffed the end of the flashlight between his teeth and when he finishing scanning, it dropped with a dull thud to the earthen ground, its glass breaking, and its light diminishing. Standing in front of him, was not only the elderly man they had encountered before the crows attacked, but a woman as well. They stared at Sam, with disapproving eyes, the woman kneading her hands together as the man inched closer to Sam.
"Not another step," Sam stuttered, his voice shaky, but his rifle steady.
"Son," the grizzly man spoke, "go back before she comes."
"Please, Sam," the ghostly woman spoke his name, "do as my husband says."
"How do you know my name," Sam questioned the woman, whose eyes fluttered, knowing she had said too much. She turned towards her husband and he sighed, causing the trees around Sam to sway and the leaves to dance.
"We all know about you and your brother," the apparition spoke, "we know about his deal, a fate we both suffered years before you were even born."
"So you know who holds his contract?" Sam gritted his teeth as he lowered his weapon.
"She is too powerful, too cunning," they nodded, "she isn't one to be reckoned with."
"Years ago, our people, drank from this very same Well," they pointed to a clearing where a stone fountain was overwrought with vines and foliage.
"But she came, offered us eternal life, in exchange for our waters," the woman appeared saddened by this recollection, "but it was our life source, so our village leaders denied her."
"Thus dooming us, tainting our waters, our bodies, once vessels of purity, became hosts for evil."
Sam wondered who this "She" was, why she went after the innocent, why she sentenced the Shakers to eternal damnation.
"The sickness spread," their ghostly figures became distorted in front of Sam's eyes, "our people ravaged one another, until we were nothing but dust."
"Even our water, ran dry."
Sam did a double take; the spring itself was in fact running, pure water, insufficient droplets at a time, but it wasn't dry. Not even close.
"Your Well works," Sam shook his head, "we saw what it can do, if it can help my brother…" but he was cut off by the man once more.
"It cannot help your brother!" he bellowed, "She has damned everyone and anything that drinks from the spring."
"The crows," Sam mentioned, "did they drink from it?"
"Yes," the woman hissed, "and you saw what has come of it?"
"Evil predators, feeding on those who disturb the life source of the Well."
"Who is she?" Sam demanded, "If the water can't save my brother, give me her name!"
"No," the woman shook her head defiantly, "no, please, do not ask that of us."
Sam cocked the rifle and aimed it towards the stone foundation of the Well, and demanded the name of the demon that held Dean's contract. They watched as the foundation shattered, the waters flowing more freely by Sam's shot. The water began to encircle the ghosts, swirling around their feet, steam rising from the ground. Before Sam knew it, the ghosts were being sucked into the swirling waters, their souls being sucked into Hell. Not a second before the water ran dry, the man, bellowed a name, a name which sent all the birds and critters to scurry in all four directions; Lilith!
Sam watched in utter disbelief as the two ghosts disappeared along with the Well's water. Standing above the spot where they vanished, Sam reached down and picked up the remnants of the Well. Nothing but dirt and dust, sifted through his fingers. Thinking he had to get a hold of his brother fast, Sam took out his cell and dialed Dean. An annoying beeping caused Sam to curse under his breath as he looked at the screen on his phone. No service. Time was wasting and their one chance at saving Dean just evaporated right before Sam's eyes.
"Figures," Sam huffed. He began to walk back towards the way he came, holding his phone out in front of him and above his head, hoping to get a signal. With no luck, he took a detour and headed for that truck stop he circled on the map. An hour later, Sam emerged from the woods and his feet hit solid, tarred, road. Cars and trucks whizzed by him, his hair whipped back by the sheer force. Sam edged his way closer to a spot that was lit by a highway sign, advertising a museum dedicated to the Shakers. He thumbed his finger outward and shivered as he waited for a ride. Still no luck with his cell phone, Sam was about to give up on hitchhiking, but a truck pulled up along side the road and halted. Sam shook his head and walked towards the familiar truck.
"Don't you know it's dangerous to be out here in the middle of nowhere, boy?" Bobby's voice cut through over the raucous music.
"Never know what kind of creeps are looking for a joy ride."
Sam raised an eyebrow and chuckled, "I'm betting my money that you're not one of those creeps."
"Hmph," the man grumbled, "you ain't got no money." The older man smirked as Sam opened the back door.
"Bobby," Sam threw his gear into the backseat, and pulled the passenger side door to a close, "what are you doin' out this way?"
"Thought you were meeting back at Van's?"
"Did that, son," Bobby pulled back onto the highway, "but we got worried about your sorry behind and drew straws on who went back out lookin' for ya."
Sam laughed. If he didn't know any better, that's probably not too far off from what really went down.
"Let's get back to the house," Sam threw his head back into the seat and looked over at Bobby, "I got us the name."
"Hell, boy," Bobby grunted, "the name of what?"
"The demon that holds Dean's contract." Sam narrowed his brows; with only a couple weeks left, they had a lot of research to do on this Lilith.