An Apostle of the Lord, Chapter 29
At the Silverado, Dean gathered guns, knives and potions in preparation for anything they could think of, including the witch-killing bullets and the infamous everyone-killing Colt, and stuffed them into a duffel bag. The Winchesters walked to behind the community center to get into the woods above the town and crossed out of sight of the houses to where they expected to find the lane.
A long distance across they turned down to the cliff's edge and took a peek down. They tried to see evidence of a town in the heap of rocks and vegetation at the bottom, but couldn't really see anything so far down. Not much farther along the cliff, a muddy lane started at the bluff's edge and led upward.
"Well," said Sam, doing a last check of all the weapons and potions in Dean's bag. He tucked a sheathed knife in his pants. "Here we go on a witch hunt. I hope we're lucky."
"Piece of cake," Dean assured him, and they headed up the lane to Rose's place.
The lane above Brammerang wound gently through an oak forest around the mountain and narrowed as it advanced. Eventually it stopped abruptly at two bent metal gate posts piled with sawbriar. The gate was long gone. Beyond that a path took Sam and Dean between masses of mostly dead brambles interspersed with some scraggly pines. The path passed through a gap in a tall hedge of brambles sporting pink roses that completely surrounded an ancient two-story Victorian style home.
Sam looked over the gardens of lilies, daisies and violets that lined the long porch as Dean knocked on the door. And they waited.
Eventually they heard footsteps and as the door creaked open a Viennese waltz poured out the door from a phonograph inside. The lady that peeked around the door was tall and thin, and wore a long silvery gown with a broad collar interlaced with a black Art Deco pattern.
"May I help you?" she said with some suspicion.
Dean tucked his fingers in the duffle bag of weapons he was carrying. "Hi. My brother and I are having major problems with a neighbor, and a friend told us we could get some helpful potion or spell here to solve our problem. Am I mistaken?"
"What kind of problems?" Her hand swept towards three wooden rocking chairs that appeared to begin rocking in response.
No one sat.
"Well, a lot of people are getting diseases in town lately. I figured if this person did, too, it wouldn't look suspicious, but he would guess the reason," Dean offered.
"And what do you offer in exchange?" Rose looked at the open duffle bag and added. "You should know you can't kill me." She knew.
Dean pulled out a gun and shot.
"You can't kill me."
Dean pulled out another gun and shot.
"You can't kill me, but you'll get your disease."
Thorny branches from the tall hedge slid swiftly over the porch railing and wrapped around the Winchesters, pulled them up and flung them far from the house. Where they landed, the brambles around them crept towards them, stopping just short of them in all directions.
"That won't stop us," Dean pulled out a knife. "We'll chop our way out. Sam? What's wrong?"
Sam was struggling out of his shirt, exposing huge boils all over his shoulders. They started appearing on his face and down his body. Soon, Dean realized it was happening to him, too.
They pulled their shoes and socks off. Boils had reached the soles of their feet. It became too painful to move at all, let alone stand and make chopping motions. They were trapped, unable to move and surrounded by a bramble patch growing higher around them.
Dean looked toward his brother through one unswollen eye. Both of Sam's eyelids were shut with boils. Both could do nothing but lie still and wait, but for what?
"I used a witch-killing bullet. It should have killed her. And I used the Colt. It's impossible that the Colt didn't kill her! It kills everything."
Sam could only grunt.
For hours they laid there until they heard footsteps on the nearby path.
A young boy's voice said, "Papa! There's someone over there in the thorns."
There was some slashing of branches and finally Dean saw through his one good eye, two figures covered head to toe in white cloth, like actors from 'Lawrence of Arabia.' The tall one pulled back the cloth wrapped around his head to see better.
Dean saw gray eyes. "Oh, shit!"
"Wha?" Sam mumbled.
The taller figure said, "You see, son, you shouldn't feed on bodies like these. They will make you sick."
"Beryx and..." Dean was too sore to say more.
"It's Vladimir and Beryx," Beryx informed Sam. "So, what should I know before we meet your witch besides that her name is Rose and you failed?"
"She can't be killed," said Sam.
"So, that kills Plan A. I'll use plan B. Come on, son." Beryx turned to go back to the lane.
"What about us?" called Dean.
"Not like you can help us."
"Bitch!" Dean attempted to get up and fell back down with a whimper.
"See, Vlad," Beryx said as they left. "Take note of Dean. Always struggle no matter the odds. If all seems lost, be like Dean Winchester."
"Even though he is just a chimp with a stick..." he added a minute later.
Sam snorted.
"Shaddup, Sammy!"
