*12:57*

~36~ Panicking

By the smell and feel, Dean knew he was back in the endless cavern below Corvus Manor, floored with black sand and inhabited by unknown creatures of the dark. He was lying on his front, his left arm asleep under his own weight. He rolled over.

"Sam?" His throat was so dry that clearing it did nothing. Sitting up took a great amount of energy, and he remained still for several seconds to recuperate.

He felt around. Touched the shotgun but did not pick it up. "Sammy." Use the witchlight, dumbass, he scolded himself, and he felt his pockets for it. He paused. It wasn't where he put it before. Patting himself down, he was both disappointed and confused when he pulled out something cylindrical. Disappointed because it wasn't the candle, confused because it was Sam's flashlight. He couldn't remember getting it from him.

"Sam?" He clicked it on, shining in every direction until he saw a motionless form several feet away. "Sam!"

He dragged himself across the sand to his brother, who was lying on his side, his back to Dean. He was breathing low and slow, soaked in sweat. Dean shook him.

"Wake up, man!"

Sam opened his eyes but they were unseeing. Breath escaped in thin gasps, and his mouth moved as though he were trying to speak. Dean noticed bile clumped the sand.

"What happened? Sam? Hey!"

He shook him, then rolled him flat onto his back, only to find the cause of his brother's distress. The wound below his collarbone was black and purple, swollen, with dark veins spreading out around it. The crossed cuts he had made were crusted with black and weeping. It wasn't infected in any normal sense, but infected it was.

"No, no no no!" Dean dropped the flashlight and grabbed hold of Sam's jacket, shaking him again. "Come on, Sam, fight it! We're almost there!"

A tutting in the dark. "Oh, that issss a pity."

Dean blanched, stomach clenching. He felt a presence behind him, but dared not look.

"So close, you were. So close. No one has ever gotten assss far as you. And to fail now..."

"Go away!" Dean barked. "Our time's not up. You can't touch us yet."

"Is that so?"

Something in the corner of his eye appeared, and he looked without thinking. Fortunately for him, it wasn't Ewah. It was the grandfather clock from the foyer, illuminated without anything to light it. It didn't cast a shadow.

The hour hand pointed straight up at the thirteen, the minute hand bearing in on it. The pendulum still swung at a slow speed, but it didn't seem to matter now.

"How ssssilly of me," said the formless voice. "You are correct. But I seem to recall your keepers of time moving faster than thissss."

With that, the pendulum returned to its normal pace.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

"No, stop!" Dean tried to slow it down again with mental will as they had before, but he couldn't focus.

"Why? You know it does not matter now. You were just thinking that."

"What are you waiting for then?" Dean snapped. "Show yourself. Make me cuckoo for cocoa puffs."

Something touched him near his eye, and he punched the air, sick with fear. The demon laughed.

"The lamb remembers. How did you like hosting my new form?"

"Go to hell."

"I can't."

With a snarl, Dean picked up the shotgun and sprang to his feet.

BAM!

He pumped the action and turned around. "Come on!"

BAM!

Again.

BAM!

He heard a chortle and turned towards the clock. A dark hand with long fingers disappeared behind it.

"Go on, then," a voice hissed behind his ear. "Tell me what you learned. Tell me what befell the noble housssse of Corvus."

A muscle jumped in Dean's jaw. "Give me time to."

"...As you wish."

Tick...

Tock...

Tick...

Tock...

Dean kept his eyes lowered, but focused on the edges of his vision, not at what he was looking at. Sam was just within sight on the left, but he dared not turn to him.

So how did it start? Angelina and her sister Ariel lost their parents because of Atticus. No, because of an incident, which was covered up by Atticus. Dean remembered the account book he found from 1822, which the old man had hidden. After finding the pages missing from it, he learned that a catastrophe at a work camp, followed by a sickness, had devastated the families staying there. Atticus had it all hushed up to protect his kin and his reputation. Angelina and Ariel were left with nothing.

"Well, lamb? I'mmm waiting."

"Angelina made a deal with you in order to get revenge on Atticus Corvus. She wanted to have more power, power similar to yours. To attack minds instead of bodies."

"Go on."

"You accepted the deal, gaining a bit of freedom in exchange for what she wanted. But you broke the deal as soon as the first ward was removed. You attached a part of yourself to her, like a parasite."

"I know this, morsel. You are...boring me."

Dean tried not to let his anger expose itself, eyes still on the sand near his feet. "With her new power, Angelina wandered off into the woods...and I'm guessing she stumbled across the lumber work camp where Ariel's son-in-law worked at. You attached to someone there and drove everyone in the camp insane." A newspaper clipping in another one of Atticus' account books told of the massacre that occurred there on March 18th, 1844. Gerald, the son-in-law, was the only survivor. But then he returned here, to Corvus Manor, only to drown his son.

But why take so long to kill the family? The camp had been killed in a few hours. All the Corvuses, save one, were killed over the course of two years.

"Insssightful of you," said Ewah blandly.

"But once you hitchhiked with Gerald to the manor, you didn't kill everyone right off the bat," Dean continued, thinking madly.

"And why do you sssuppose that was?"

"Because..." He paused. Perhaps he was thinking Ewah too much of a monster and not a demon. Although it wasn't a true demon, it had the nature of one, bloodthirsty and without integrity. Why kill everyone quickly when you could take it slow, savour the pain caused by encroaching madness, watch people forget their own names, see the horror on their faces when they realized a cage had been built around them, a cage with no door.

"Because you wanted to have fun," he said at last. He felt the displacement of air to his right. Kept his eyes down. "You scuttled around like a rat, poisoning minds here and there, but you didn't get to do much before Angelina caught you, did you?"

A crocodilian hiss. Still Dean did not lift his gaze.

"She trapped you underground, where you belong."

Ewah chuckled. "She thought it would be enouggghh to subdue me. But what the little cunt didn't realize is, it'ssss very difficult to kill a thought once it's been planted."

Something poked the back of Dean's head. He only just managed not to flinch.

"You made someone poison three kids, had Pastor Gregory murdered. You even had a horse eat a scullion."

"And how did I do that, if I was trapped in this hole?"

"You'd already infected the building, like mold. I'm guessing you spoke to people through the Collective Unconscious."

"Good, lamb, very good."

"You also drove ol' Uncle Ed insane by making eye contact with him, and he ate worms and dirt until his stomach burst. Right in the middle of his chess game too. Then there's Jack, Edward's brother, who hung himself in the gallery. Their sister Katrine was thrown from a crazy horse and died. At some point the fourth sibling met their end, as did all their rugrats, except one..."

Agnes. Agnes, who somehow escaped but was not innocent herself. Not possessed but infiltrated nonetheless, she cut the baby from Ariel's womb because...what did Sam say?

'She must be punished, and to punish her, you must feel pain.'

It was what Agnes told Ariel before attacking her with a straight razor and murdering the unborn child. But who? Who was to be punished?

Dean already knew. Who could it be other than Angelina, the one who had brought this upon the family. Her family. Once she'd figured out what was going on and tried to kill, banish or otherwise dispose of the demon, it got angry. But instead of going for her, it kept after her loved ones. That, Dean understood. He'd rather go to hell – again – than let anyone hurt his brother, and no doubt Angelina had felt the same. And Ewah knew it.

"...Anything else?"

Dean jerked out of his thoughts. "That's it."

"Well. I'mmm impressed." The untethered voice oozed sarcasm.

"So will you let us go?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand, lamb."

Dean's heart flopped. "We beat you. We discovered the secret."

"But there was no sssecret! Only unspoken truths."

"Whatever you want to call it," he growled. "We did what we were supposed to."

"You did—most—of what the dead wanted you to do. This is not my game. It's theirs."

When he remained in a stunned silence, a low, croaking chuckle hovered in the darkness.

"Dean," said Sam weakly. Dean didn't hear. He gripped the shotgun tightly and raised it, baring his teeth.

"Show yourself!"

"Dean..."

"Come on, Ewah! Ha! You call that a name? What are you, the fourth Power Puff Girl?" He felt movement near his arm and whirled around, jabbing with the butt of the gun. Meeting no resistance, he almost fell over.

"Who do you think you are?" the voice croaked, contemptuous.

He turned. It was dark. He couldn't see. "Haven't you heard of me? My name is Dean Winchester. I'm the one hiding under your bed."

Something grabbed his ankle, and he kicked it away before whirling around, only to find himself pointing the gun barrel between Sam's eyes.

He looked hollow in the faint glow of the flashlight, hand raised between his face and the gun. "Dean, stop."

"Get up, Sam. We'll fight our way out."

"Oh, it's too late for that, lamb."

Dean felt the words behind his ear and spun around again. Still he saw nothing.

"We've already made a deallll, Sam and I."

"What?!"

"Dean—"

He rounded on Sam, glaring fire. "What did you do?!"

Sam remained sprawled in the sand, breathing as though he were pinned by a great weight. "I gave myself up...in exchange for one more hour."

Dean couldn't believe his ears. "When did this happen?"

"In the woods, before I found you..."

"So you lied."

"Not really. I just...didn't mention that part."

Knuckles white around the shotgun, Dean almost threw it away into the nothingness. "Why, Sam?"

"What else could I do, Dean? I was finished the moment that monster poisoned me."

"But it had us anyway! Look at the time."

He could have sworn he sensed Ewah shaking its head, somewhere to his left. "I have you and alllll that you are, and I have your brother's consciousness, his meatsuit to play with. But his sssoul..."

"I was possessed by an angel," said Sam weakly.

Dean sputtered. "You mean Lucifer?"

"He's evil, I know, but bottom line, he's an angel. Meant my soul belonged to heaven."

"Rules are rules," said Ewah happily.

"And you gave that up?" Dean said incredulously.

Sam tried to get up. Failed. "It bought you an hour."

"And you're wasssting it," the demon hissed. There was a gust of cold air, and suddenly the grandfather clock reversed, minute hand turning back until it returned to the peak, its smaller counterpart back at twelve.

"And when I say hour, I mean an hour. No more of that mind over time nonsense." The clock vanished, leaving the flashlight in the sand the only source of illumination. It flickered.

"Fine." Dean barely contained his anger. He went to his brother, kneeling beside him and gripping his hand. "You're coming with me."

"I can't. You know I can't."

"Sam—"

"No, Dean. I'm too weak. Please. Just go. Please."

Dean hadn't heard him this beseeching since the day he had pleaded against Death returning his tortured soul – Lucifer's chew toy for an untold length of timed – to his body. Dean hadn't listened to Sam then, but he had to now.

The demon was right – he was wasting the most precious gift Sam could have given him. And he knew what he had to do.

He squeezed Sam's hand harder, looking towards where he had heard Ewah last. "If you lay a finger on him—"

A chortle. "I won't touch him. You have my word."

Back to Sam. "I'll get you out of this. I promise."

Sam nodded. "I know you will...Dean."

He crouched again. Sam handed him his knife.

"Give 'em hell."

Sam watched Dean until he could no more, when his strength gave out and he could no longer hold his head up. The sand was soft and he closed his eyes. No sense in keeping them open. All light was lost to him.

But he knew the demon had crept up on him, leaning in close.

"Let's have some fun, shhhall we?"

Eyes opened again. Teeth clenched. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"You...you said..."

"I lied."

With speed that belied his weakness, Sam slashed the darkness with a silver knife, his last weapon. He felt resistance, heard another crocodilian hiss of annoyance as the demon retreated. But Sam remained still, a bird in a cave, eyes wide but unseeing. His heart pounded against his ribs loud enough for him to hear.

Something smacked against his hand, and the knife was gone.

"No—"

Something else struck his shoulder, knocking him onto his back, and then what felt like a massive paw stepped onto his chest, claws burrowing in. Hot breath and the stench of singed fur fell over him like a heavy quilt. Sam's eyes widened, the sounds of sniffing near his head.

"Ah, fear," Ewah rumbled. "The mind is so much more alive with it. And there's always more to be had..."

Far away, too far to do anything, Dean heard the screams. Sam's screams.

"Sam!" He slipped in his efforts to turn around, barely catching himself before his face hit the sand. "SAM!"

He started running back when something caught his foot. This time he did fall, and he twisted around, kicking at the root-like tendril that had wrapped around his ankle. He could see more of them growing from the sand, hunting for him.

"Get off!" He hacked at his captor with Sam's knife until it recoiled, writhing and spraying putrid juices. When Dean got up, he was confronted by another unwelcome sight.

"You!"

"You can do nothing for him now," said Agnes. She was probably fifteen, several years older than she was when Dean last saw her in this form. But there was no mistaking those dark eyes and that glossy black dress. "Continue without him."

"Get out of my way!"

Dean tried to go around her, but suddenly she was in front of him again.

"You won't find him."

As she said this, Dean noticed the lack of footprints in the sand. He turned around, panning with the flashlight, thinking he'd lost his bearings completely. But there were none to be found.

"We must go," said Agnes. "It will come for you. And if it catches you, it will not let you get away. And your brother's sacrifice will be for nought. Come with me."

"Yeah? And why the hell should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't. But you have to. For the sake of us all, you have to." In the blink of an eye, she became a crow and took off.

Dean followed. For what choice had he but to obey.

Ω

"Why is the presence of this Dr Corrigan so important?" Detective Roberts snapped. It was the third time in five minutes Lilly had asked him to go get her and bring her now.

"I must add my confusion," said Garth. "What can an examiner do?"

Lilly's impatience seemed to aggravate her Parkinson's, making her shake all the more. "I don't know yet!"

"Something gave you an idea!" Roberts barked. "You know what? I'm through with this."

"Hey, where are you going?" said Garth.

"There's a bar down the road. I'll see you after one. Or three."

"Detective. Roberts, please—"

The door closed behind him.

"Let him be," said Lilly, sitting back down in a swivel chair, fiddling with her charm bracelet. "He'll only get in the way."

"Get in the way of what?"

"Everything. He's oblivious to the true extent of this and it's better for him if he stays that way."

Garth swallowed. "Do you know what's going to happen, Lilly?"

"No. But I have a bad feeling, and they're rarely wrong."

"...Then I'll go get her and wheel her here on a gurney if I have to."

Garth turned on his heel and left the examination room, marching the length of the hall to Dr Corrigan's office. At least, he assumed it was hers – it was the only one lit but the name on the door was Dr Steve Hobbs. When Garth knocked and opened the door, he saw that it was no Steve.

"Dr Corrigan?"

She was slumped over the desk, facing away from Garth. Struck with foreboding, he approached cautiously, aware of the gun in his holster and the lamp on the desk.

"Doctor?"

He poked her. She didn't respond. He gripped her shoulder and pulled her upright.

"Holy sassafras!" He release her. Her head thudded on the desk, lifeless.

Garth fumbled for one of his many cellphones with one hand, the other grasping the woman's wrist, checking for a pulse. He stopped before he could dial the detective.

"You're alive?"

He gripped her shoulder again, pulling her back into the chair. She was limp and her eyes were open, but she wasn't cold or stiff and her pulse was strong. He passed a hand before her face. She didn't blink. The engine was running but no one was home.

"Guess I better do what I said I would do."

Fortunately the chair had wheels so he didn't have to wrestle the examiner onto a gurney, and he pulled her out from behind the desk, aiming for the door. It was then he noticed something clenched in her hand. A black feather.

He decided not to touch it until he'd returned to the examination room, which he did in record time without sending Corrigan flying from the chair.

Lilly didn't seem concerned at the other woman's lack of functioning, simply gazing at her as though she were some interesting exhibit.

"Roberts spoke with her ten minutes ago, so something happened to her since then," said Garth, panting slightly.

"Nothing happened to her," said Lilly, getting up slowly and making her way over. "She did this to herself."

"What?"

"She's dreamwalking. See that feather? Be thankful you didn't touch it. I don't know what would have happened to her if you did. Or to you."

Garth swallowed. "I think I'm missing something. Dreamwalking? Don't you need African dream root for that?"

"That is one way. This is another. It was a lost art. Is a lost art. No one alive should be able to do it."

"...Well she's alive."

"And if my assumptions are correct, she shouldn't be."

Garth recoiled. "A revenant?"

"Relax, dear boy. When she wakes up, we'll ask her." Lilly glanced at the clock. "And she should be, before one o'clock. In the meantime, don't let anyone take that feather from her."

"Who's gonna take the feather from her?"

"Don't ask silly questions, and help me back to the chair. Come, come now, I don't have an eternity."