Apparently Fabian the plot bunny doesn't like cliffhangers either, because here's the next chapter...
Chapter Eighteen
The other demons looked around, and gaped in astonishment.
splat
Another demon went down, howling in pain.
The air was suddenly full of flying... gloop, as the demons looked around in bewilderment, then screamed in agony.
A brunette woman crouched to pull the gag from Sam's mouth, then started fumbling at the ropes holding him. "Knife... boot," he managed to gasp.
"Oh, okay, sorry," she quavered, finding the weapon and using it to free his hands.
"Look, thanks," he said shakily, starting to climb to his feet, "But what exactly is goi-eeeeek!"
A glob of something wet hit him in the side of the face.
It tasted of apples.
"Sorry!" called Mervyn, hefting another handful out of the bowl he was carrying, and flinging it at a demon that was trying to rise.
" 'S cool," Sam gave him a wave, and staggered upright. He saw that the older man and the young guy who'd been possessed by the demons who'd tried to steal the love spell pies were with Mervyn, holding bowls of their own, and throwing globs at the demons.
"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.
"We thought you could use some help!" Mervyn replied, "And I'd just made another big batch of filling, so I scryed for you to find you, and here we are!" He flung another handful of gloop at a staggering demon. "Suck my grandmother's recipe, you evil bitches!"
A demon snarled, but was drowned out by a more terrifying noise: Sam turned, and saw an animal come barrelling through the door. It was slavering and barking savagely, and looked to be at least two hundred pounds of very angry canine, of which about one hundred pounds was teeth.
"Jesus H. Christ!' shrieked Sam, "They've got a Hellhound!"
"Pixie! Pixie!" Mervyn called anxiously, "Get out of the way, sweetie!"
Sam's brain did a handbrake turn. "That is Pixie?" he asked incredulously. "That's your 'little dog'?"
"He hates to be left behind," Mervyn shrugged apologetically, as the dog sank its impressive dentition into a demon's arm.
"Mervyn, your 'little dog' is a male Tibetan Mastiff!"
"Oh, but he still thinks he's a puppy," protested Mervyn, "Pixie, Pixie-pie, come away, sweetie boy, that's not safe, it's a nasty demon..."
Pixie shook the demon like a rag doll, as Mervyn gently chided him.
"They're planning something really bad," the brunette told Sam in a shaky voice, "We don't know what exactly, but it involves the people from Over The Rainbow – we were at the convention before we were possessed. They want couples to be happy. And it revolves around the hotel here. The Grand Prize. The guys who won the night in the suite..."
As his eyes darted around, Sam's eyes fell on a spray can of penetrating oil. He grabbed it up and drew a hurried Devil's Trap, then oversaw the dragging of the moaning, apple-smeared demons into it, one being dragged by Pixie, who, like Lemmy, apparently had trouble letting go of an idea – or a toy – once he had hold of it.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, "Why do want to make people happy?"
"Go to hell," whined the grandmotherly demon.
Mervyn hit her between the eyes with a glob of filling. "Answer him," he growled, chins wobbling in righteous anger, "Answer him, or," he pulled a jar from his pocket and brandished it. "Candied rosebuds! The central basic ingredient of my most potent love spell!"
"Aaaaaaaaaargh!" shrieked the demon.
"I'll do it! I'll do it!" Mervyn shrieked right back, "I swear to God, I'll sprinkle these on you!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" wailed another demon.
"You answer him!" shouted Mervin.
"Fuck you, fat man!" squealed the Sarah-demon.
"I'm opening the jar!' Mervyn yelled, fumbling with the lid with hands sticky with pie filling, "I'm opening the jar!"
"Nooooooooo!" sobbed the portly male demon, writhing in his coating of spiced apple, "We're harvesting! And it has to start here, it's the collection point..."
"SHUT UP!" bellowed the Sarah demon, "Or I'll kill you myself!"
"What? What are you harvesting?" snapped Sam. "Why is it so important to you that people be happy with each other? What's so important about the Grand Prize suite?"
The Sarah-demon gave him a sneering smirk. "It doesn't matter," it hissed, "Because it's too late to stop it! Your brother and his partner will be making joyful declarations of undying love, and screwing each other's brains out by now!"
"Huh?" Sam's jaw dropped.
"There's enough occult firepower up there to make Rush Limbaugh french-kiss Hilary Clinton!" laughed the demon.
Sam's face turned green.
"That is quite possibly the most evil thing I've ever heard," said Mervyn in horror.
"What do we do?" asked the brunette woman, hiding behind Mervyn.
"We stab them with this," Sam smiled grimly, hefting his demon-killing knife.
Sarah eyed the knife warily. "Not unless you want to kill this meatsuit too, Hunter," she spat. "Mine's still alive. Come on," she elbowed the other moaning demons viciously, "We gotta smoke out and report this..."
A growling sound echoed around the small room.
"Whoops, too late," grinned Sam, stepping away from the wall.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Having pushed the heavy bed out of the way, Dean scuttled to the other side of the room.
"I think we will have to pull up this carpet," said Castiel.
"Fine," Dean waved a hand with unconvincing nonchalance, "You do that, and I'll just wait over here, until..." his face flushed again.
"Dean," Castiel frowned, "This is no time to be coy about a simple physiological reaction of your body."
"I'm not being coy!" Dean snapped, "It's just... you know, it's not right..."
"It is being provoked by the workings in this room," Castiel reminded him.
"Yeah, but..."
"We do not have time for your insecurities about your appearance, Dean."
"I'm not insecure!" Dean yelped.
"It is established in the medical literature that arousal can occur without desire, or consent, so..."
"Yaaaaargh!" yodelled Dean. "Just... oh, God, just... don't, okay?" With a sigh, he joined the angel, pulled out his knife, and levered up the edge of the carpet. "It's just... look, there's a phase most guys go through when it, you know, kind of has a mind of its own, and it... usually when you least want it or expect it, like you're in front of the class, or in swimming trunks, or chasing down a rugaru, or bein' lectured by a nosy neighbour who's callin' you a nasty, dirty little boy just for lookin' at a skin mag ... " he turned tortured eyes to Castiel. "It's really, really, really traumatising, okay? We're skirting the edges of PTSD, here."
"I am sorry, Dean," Castiel intoned, "But we must complete this Hunt."
They pulled up the expensive carpet to reveal an intricate working carved carefully into the floor below.
"Holy crap," breathed Dean, "What the hell is this?"
"I am not certain," frowned Castiel, "But whatever it is, it has been... initiated." He pointed to a central part of the design, which had begun to glow with a faint red light.
"We know that it's demonic and evil, so whatever it's doin', we gotta stop it," decided Dean, clearly content to go with the Use A Bigger Hammer approach, "So if we disrupt the sigils, maybe that will..."
"Oh no you don't," said a voice from behind them. They both snapped around.
The concierge, flanked by a housemaid and a couple of people who looked like they'd come straight from the party, glared at them, all with black eyes flashing angrily.
"I wondered what was taking so long," he snarled. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Fucking with your plans rather than each other, asshole," Dean smirked cockily.
"You are not going to mess with this," the concierge-demon reiterated, "We are going to put down a lovely soft blanket, then you are going to get into the middle of the design, and have wonderful, fulfilling, loving sex like a devoted, happy, good little couple."
"Hey, dickhead, you aint listenin'," Dean smirked even more infuriatingly, "I don't perform for an audience. Well, there was that time in that shop window, but..."
"We have no intention of fornicating for the benefit of some demonic scheme," Castiel informed them loftily.
"Oooooh, we have no intention," the housemaid mimicked his mien as she took a blanket out of a cupboard and spread it over the working. "I understand what even a bossy bottom would see in him," she leered at Castiel, "When he comes over all assertive like that." She turned her leer to Dean. "Does he spank you when you misbehave?" Her eyes dropped to waist height. "Oh, yeah, you like it when he takes charge..."
"Enough," snapped the concierge as Dean squawked in outrage, "We don't have time for this." From his jacket pocket he drew a small irregular grey sphere. "It's better if we don't have to use the sledgehammer approach, but if needs must..."
"So, what, you're gonna throw an oyster at us?" scoffed Dean, reaching for his holy water flask.
"Oh, nothing that subtle," replied the demon silkily, "What I have here is a handful of pure Lust."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
"What did that mean?" asked the younger man in a quavering voice after Lemmy and Lars had once more extracted demons from their hosts to be annihilated, and were exchanging greeting nose and butt sniffs with Pixie (who had barked and snapped at the roiling black smoke like a puppy chasing butterflies, which didn't immobilise the smoke the way the Winchester's dogs could, but if the inhuman shriekings were anything to judge by, managed to inflict a world of hurt). "What did they mean about harvesting?"
"No idea," growled Sam, "But right now, my brother and our friend are in serious trouble, and I gotta go save them from a fate worse than death!"
The brunette woman, who had rallied enough to check on the people who had been vacated by the latest batch of demons and ascertain that Sarah was indeed still alive, looked confused. "Sex is a fate worse than death?"
"It is if you end up screwing – or being screwed by – your best friend," Sam told her, looking around then picking up the mop bucket.
"I always thought that being best friends with the person you're having sex with is the best sex you can have," sighed Mervyn happily.
"Yeah, but only if you're actually a couple, and not an irritatingly hetero man-slut pretending to be gay for his clueless friend to stop an evil demonic scheme!" replied Sam desperately, filling the bucket with water from the nearest tap.
"Oh, my..." Mervyn breathed, "That's just... that is completely evil!" He turned to the two recently possessed men, quivering with indignation. "Come on guys, we gotta help stop this!"
"This way!" said Sam, heading for the stair well with his bucket of water, the Winchester dogs at his heels, and Mervyn, Pixie and his two accomplices following him.
Reviews are the Unexpected Adorable Doggy Accomplices in the Brawl Of Life! (Go and Google-image 'angry Tibetan Mastiff' to see what Pixie looks like...)