Chapter Thirty-Six: In Which Pamela is a Freelance Witch
Rufus's cabin came equipped with a TV that only showed channels in Spanish, a radio that Sam had chucked against the wall after it started playing Asia (Mary had asked, but she'd only gotten 'it can't play when it's not Tuesday!' in response) and a Monopoly game. Seeing as they were rational adults, there was only one thing to do.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
How could she have possibly landed on Park Place again? Jody waggled her eyebrows, holding out her hand. She'd been the doubter when Bobby had suggested playing for actual money (citing the fact that most of the fake stuff in Rufus's game was missing) but she didn't seem to object now.
"Sam, honey, could you hand me my purse?"
Since the wall broke down, Sam jumped whenever someone said his name. This time was no exception. Once he realized who had spoken, he threw Mary her purse.
"All I've got is a five," Mary said, checking her wallet. "I can write you a check?"
"It'll bounce, won't it," Jody deadpanned.
"Probably," Mary said cheerfully, finishing her signature with a flourish.
With both Jody and Bobby's houses in ashes behind them and targets painted on their backs, they'd decided to hole up until Dean's broken leg and Mary's concussion healed. Personally, Mary thought her brain had been rattled around in her skull enough times at this point that it would never sit straight. Sam sat the dice down when Mary passed them to him.
"I'm going for a run."
"I'm coming," Mary agreed, standing up.
She tossed the credit card that was registered under Janice Rand at Jody.
"That should cover the number of times I would have landed on your hotels. Go nuts."
Sam looked as if he were going to argue, but knew that she'd just point out that her run-of-the-mill concussion was nowhere near as dangerous as a walking, talking devil.
They'd both been lounging around all day in sweats anyway, so neither of them bothered changing. The trails near the cabin were surprisingly well kept, considering they were literally in the middle of nowhere.
"Is it getting better?"
It was probably the last thing on Earth Sam wanted to talk about, but Mary didn't care. If they didn't have a proper diagnosis, they couldn't help him discern what was real.
"No."
Well, she had asked.
"Are you seeing him right now?"
Sam's eyes locked on something just over her right shoulder. May turned to look, nearly tripping over a tree root in the process.
"He's wearing a track suit."
While Mary tried scrub that mental image out of her brain, Sam increased his pace. Mary got the feeling that he was trying to get her to stop pressing.
"Shut up."
"Okay then."
He broke into a sprint. Mary took off after him, lungs burning. Sam had about thirty years and almost a foot on her. She didn't have a prayer to catch up.
"Sam, honey—"
"No, not you. Not you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."'
He buried his face in his hands just as his legs gave out beneath him. Mary couldn't quite catch him, but she did ease him to the ground.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
He shook his head. "You're bleeding."
Mary looked down, in case she'd somehow managed to miss a cut. Her skin was completely unblemished, aside from the various scars.
"Your abdomen," Sam said dully. "Like Dad. Like Jess. Sometimes there's fire. Sometimes not. He likes to mix it up."
He closed his eyes and hunched in on himself even further. Mary pressed a kiss to his forehead and settled in a crouch beside him, an arm around his shoulders. He leaned towards her, putting his face in the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.
"I'm okay," she whispered. "I'm not hurt. We're all okay."
Sam didn't respond except to carefully place both of his hands over his ears. Mary bit her lip and hugged him tighter.
They might be okay, but Sam wasn't.
/
"I thought I told you not to be strangers."
There were very few things that were more terrifying than Missouri Mosely on the warpath, and the Leviathan were not among them. She buffeted Mary to the side as she bustled into the cabin.
"Sam, honey, what did you do to yourself?"
Missouri settled herself down on the couch next to him, taking both his hands. She tutted a little at the sight of his bloodied left hand.
"You let him walk around like this?"
Sam shrugged. "It helps."
She gave Mary the single most withering look she'd ever received in her life. Mary could only shrug helplessly. She'd tried to keep Sam's cut wrapped up, but he kept tearing at it to rid himself of the hallucinations. Before Missouri could reprimand her properly, the familiar sound of the Impala pulled up out front.
Bobby hurried into the cabin, a woman hard on his heels. Pamela Barnes, a rucksack swinging on her shoulder, winked at Mary as she breezed into the room.
"How's it going, Grumpy?" she asked Sam, flouncing down on his other side.
"Two psychics?" Missouri asked, eyebrows dancing up a bit.
She tended to speak her mind, so Mary knew she wasn't offended when she didn't say so. Instead, Missouri nodded her assent, quickly turning back to her examination of Sam's hand. He didn't flinch away for once, which Mary took to be a good sign.
"We wanted to make sure," Bobby told her. "We've got a lot on our plate at the moment."
Pamela gave a low whistle. "So you told me on the way over. Sea monsters from the dawn of time, huh? You people just like pushing the envelope, don't you?"
Missouri looked up at the ceiling for a moment, silently shaking her head.
"All right, Sam, do you mind if I have a look?"
"Do I have to stick out my tongue?" Sam asked sarcastically.
It was good to see that he could at least still make a few cracks. Mary hurried behind the couch and put her hands reassuringly on Sam's shoulders. He didn't flinch this time.
"Be quiet," Missouri snapped, rolling her eyes.
She laid two fingers on Sam's forehead. His breath caught in his throat and he lurched back into the seat, fingers clenching around his knees. Across the room, Dean flinched too.
Missouri reeled back. "Good lord, boy."
Mary had wished hundreds of times over the last few weeks that she could the brunt of Sam's memories, but she didn't wish for a moment that she could see it and not do anything about it.
"Pamela," Missouri said, her voice tremoring a little bit. "If you could take a look for a moment?"
Pamela looked a little more nervous to step up, but Missouri all but launched herself off of the couch. She grabbed Mary by the forearm and pulled her outside on to the porch. Bobby followed after them, closing the door behind them.
"His head." Missouri shook hers. "It's—Mary."
Mary had seen Missouri frightened before (vampires had a tendency to do that to you even if you were the most level-headed psychic this side of the Mason-Dixie line) but it had never struck a chord of fear in her before.
"Chaotic," Missouri finished. "From what I understand, he's having difficulty sorting out what's real, not that I can blame him."
"Did you see him?" Mary asked.
At Missouri's blank look, Bobby jumped in. "Lucifer. Sam's seeing Lucifer."
Missouri looked like she wanted to hit them. "So that's why I was seeing Revelations everywhere last year."
Whoops.
She huffed. "Has it occurred to you that maybe what Sam's seeing isn't in his head?"
Mary turned away from Missouri, but it wasn't her suggestion that made her blood run cold. It was Sam stepping hurriedly away from the door, eyes wide.
/
Pamela Barnes liked the Winchesters (and, usually, their company) but she didn't always enjoy being enlisted in their hunts. Most of her schtick was the tourist circuit—contact a few Great Aunt Louisas and Grandpappy Stews, watch the money roll in. Occasionally, she would actually run into Aunt Louisa, but generally the spirit was more about haunting and less about trying to talk to old family members. It wasn't exactly the most honest living, but Pamela liked it.
This was an entirely different beast.
Partially because of the man lurking around outside.
"Um. Did anybody else get invited to this little party?"
Ellen looked up. "Not that I know of."
Okay, not good. Pamela motioned for the others to duck down below the windows. They complied, all giving her strange looks. Missouri caught on the feeling a few beats after she did.
"He's not human," Missouri hissed.
"I know."
Pamela squeezed her eyes shut and reached out for that feeling that had alerted her to him in the first place. She'd never felt anything like it before. He was ancient, that much was sure. Pamela had a gut feeling that they couldn't fight him if they tried.
Well, maybe she could.
After years of having the supernatural chase her across the country, Pamela had decided that her best bet came in the form of magic. Psychics were more in tune to that kind of thing than ordinary people, anyway. It had been almost second nature. She'd picked up a few things from the witch in NOLA that she'd helped back on her feet after Katrina, but she hadn't ever told the Winchesters about her extracurricular activities.
They killed witches on a regular basis after all. Pamela wasn't sure if she classified herself as a witch or not, but the fact that she could work at least some magic was probably enough for them.
"Get behind me," she urged.
The others looked doubtful, but they moved behind her anyway, careful to keep their eyes and weapons trained on the door. (Pamela wondered distractedly how they'd managed to drag all of that in here).
The door swung open, doorway framing the man like he was meant to be there. Pamela dug deep into that part of herself that even she didn't fully understand, closed her eyes and raised her hand.
All Pamela saw was a streak of white across her eyelids. She kept them squeezed tightly shut because if it hadn't worked, she didn't want the thing to eat her when she had her eyes open.
"I can't believe that worked," she said breathlessly.
And then, she collapsed.
/
The TV provided white noise in the background of the darkened cabin. The others had retired to bed a long time ago, but Mary had stuck it out on the couch with Sam, who hadn't shown any sign of wanting to find one of the moth-eaten mattresses and sleep.
He was currently passed out on her lap, though, so Mary figured that he needed it more than he let on. She carded her fingers through his hair, head drooping forward a little in her own exhaustion.
"—Now, I would advise our more easily upset viewers to express caution with this next story."
Mary yawned and really focused on the TV for the first time in about an hour. It was a gut reflex, really. Words like upset viewers and caution tended to grab her attention.
The video on screen changed to the grainy picture Mary was used to seeing from over policeman's shoulders when they were looking at security footage for a case. She leaned forward, just in case it was Leviathan-connected or case-worthy.
"At 3:30, the shooters entered the building."
Mary reached for the remote, but she fumbled and missed it in the dark. She resolved herself to watching at least the rest of the segment. Three people made their way into the lobby of what Mary thought looked like a bank.
Except…
"Sam? Sam, wake up."
He hadn't been getting much sleep these past few weeks and Mary didn't want to wake him unless there was an emergency. This definitely qualified. She shook his shoulder, lightly at first and then harder when he didn't respond.
"Sam, look!"
He dragged himself upright, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Mary brushed some of the hair out of his eyes with one hand and gestured at the screen with her other.
"What?"
She shushed him, just in time for the three onscreen to finally turn towards the camera. Mary made a sound in the back of her throat that sounded just the tiniest bit like a dying Lamia.
"Is that—"
They were unmistakable. Her sons, more hatred etched into their faces than she had ever seen for Azazel or Lilith or Alastair. And her, wielding a semiautomatic, checking over her shoulder.
"Do I really miss that patch of grey when I dye?"
"Shh," Sam hissed.
"The following video was uploaded to YouTube under what appears to be the killers' account, which has been suspended."
Mary's heart started to pound. The three doppelgangers advanced forward, raising their weapons. And then, before Mary could move to turn off the TV, they opened fire. The reporter's voice cut over.
"Eight people were killed in the incident. The shooters have been identified as Mary, Sam and Dean Winchester. Mary was a suspect in the 1983 death of her husband, John, but vanished with her sons immediately afterwards. The family laid low for the next twenty-two years until Sam's girlfriend Jessica Moore was killed in the same manner. Evidence recently revealed gives reasonable cause to believe that Sam was responsible. Meanwhile, the oldest brother, Dean, was presumed dead after a murder spree in St. Louis."
Crap.
/
Jody Mills had only been a mother for seven years, but she knew a pout when she saw one, even if the pout happened to be on the face of an almost twenty-nine-year-old man. Mary and Dean had just left to track down a friend of Bobby's named Frank Devereaux. and they'd refused point-blank to let Sam come with them.
Jody couldn't really blame them. The cabin wasn't that big. Everyone could hear him tossing and turning at night, sometimes crying out in the strange language that Bobby had quietly identified as Enochian, the language of the angels, when Jody had asked.
When she'd pictured angels, she hadn't ever imagined that their language could be that terrifying.
"All right, that's it."
Ellen and Bobby had been put in charge of interrogating the Leviathan currently tied up in the basement of the cabin, leaving the other four to their own devices. Pamela and Missouri had agreed to stay, half to monitor Sam and half in case the Leviathan started an escape attempt.
Looking at Pamela, Jody wasn't sure that she could actually manage to subdue the monster a second time, but she appreciated her sticking around anyway.
"Missouri, do you mind checking the closet for some cleaning supplies?"
Even stubborn hunters had to have at least a dustpan, right?
Within a few minutes, the three women and Sam had set to work on cleaning the floor with some cleaning solution Missouri had found in the back of the closet. Rufus hadn't thought to stock any rags, but one of the t-shirts Jody had been meaning to throw out made do.
Sam seemed to relax a little when he had something to do that didn't take too much thought. His mind could wander a little bit, but not far enough to hurt him. Jody wanted to do everything she could to help him, but there didn't seem to be that much to do in the first place.
"Remind me why we're doing housework?" Pamela asked after a few minutes.
Jody fixed her with a stare. "Unless you want to play Monopoly with a game that has a bullet hole in it."
Hunters.
Sam reached for a new rag, only to send the bucket crashing down on its side. The cleaning solution slopped out on to the floor, draining through the cracks
The conversation was interrupted by a shout from downstairs. Jody put one hand on the gun still on her belt and bolted to her feet. Pamela looked a little woozy at the thought of using magic again. And, in a testament to just how out of it he was, Sam didn't even react to Missouri shoving him behind her.
Bobby sprinted up the steps and around the corner, Ellen less than a half step behind him the entire way. He skidded into the room.
"What is it?" he demanded
"Cleaner?" Jody said, raising an eyebrow. "You're welcome, by the way."
"Jody Mills," he said, closing the gap between them, "I could kiss you!"
Well. Remembering something Ellen had mentioned a long time ago, Jody decided to take the initiative. Later, she could never be sure who had actually started the kiss, but she knew who ended it.
"Leviathan in the basement," Ellen said, rolling her eyes at the pair of them.
Right. Priorities.
/
Frank might have been completely off his rocker, but at least he'd managed to set them up with new identities. Patricia Smith was not the most exciting name she'd ever stolen, but at least it was safe. She hoped, anyway.
"There they are."
Mary had never thought that her ability to spot a black Chevy Impala from fifty feet would come in handy, but then, she'd never imagined that she'd wind up hunting herself of all people. Their Leviathan doppelgangers sat in the car, finishing up a bag of fast food.
"Plan?" she asked.
"Hope Bobby calls," Dean replied.
Just as they started to get out of the car, they were interrupted by the screeching of tires on asphalt. Mary flung herself back in the car. Dean leaped back in, too, struggling to stuff the keys back in the ignition.
"Freeze!"
Mary dropped her gaze to her feet and raised her hands in defeat. Dean popped the locks on the car and the police pulled open the doors.
"Watch it," Mary snapped.
Deaf to her protests, the officer closest to her yanked her out of the car, tightening his fingertips around her wrist. She didn't struggle, but he dragged both her hands behind her back and cuffed them together.
"No, no, no!" Dean shouted, pulling away best he could. "They're right there!"
The doppelgangers grinned at them as they clambered into their own Impala and pulled away. Mary tried her best to angle the cop holding her towards the versions of Mary, Sam and Dean currently pulling away, but he didn't move.
Mary and Dean had been stuffed in the backs of police cars before (sometimes with Sam squeezed between them, which made for a rough ride) but they were usually justified. This one definitely wasn't.
"Plan?" Dean asked.
"Hope they let us call Bobby?" Mary replied, the corners of her lips dancing up despite herself.
If he'd been able, he probably would have whacked her in the arm. As it was, he had to settle for turning his back on her the best he could and staring out the window.
/
The small town only had two cells in the local jail, so it wasn't like separating them did much good. Dean sat down on what passed for the bed and watched Mom pace restlessly across her cell.
"Sam's gonna be fine."
To the officer standing just off to the side, watching them carefully as if they could pull the disappearing act of the century, it sounded like he was reassuring her that Sam wouldn't get caught. Dean wondered what he would think if he knew that he was reassuring his mother that his brother wouldn't lose his mind completely when Ellen, Bobby, Jody and the others were around.
"Do we at least get a phone call?" Mom asked.
The officer raised his eyebrow. "Not likely."
Mom tried another angle. "I'm an American citizen. I pay taxes!"
It had probably been a few years since that last tax payment, but Dean wisely chose not to comment. The officer fixed her with a stare. Mom just stared back, the blithest, most innocent expression she could manage on her face.
"Fine. Who are you calling?"
"Bobby Singer. He's an old friend. Maybe he can pay bail."
"Good luck with that. This is a federal investigation."
He dialed his cell phone at her instruction and held it out. Dean held his breath as it rang once, twice, three times. Come on, Bobby. Someone at the cabin had to pick up. At long last, Bobby's voice came through the line.
"Who is this? How'd you get this number?"
"Bobby!"
"Mary?" Then. "Uh-oh."
She grimaced. "Yeah. Did you find anything?"
The officer, a little suspicious, began to draw away. Mary leaned closer to the bars in response. Thankfully, Bobby was on speakerphone, so she wasn't having difficulty hearing him.
"Cleaning solution. Stuff with borax. And—Mary, is someone listening?"
She nodded frantically, then realized he couldn't see her. "Yeah."
"Vamps. Same thing."
Dean shook his head. That could mean anything—maybe the Leviathan had a slight aversion to sunlight, or maybe they didn't like dead man's blood. Dean watched Mom's jaw work as she tried to figure out how to ask the question without getting her phone taken away.
"Injections?"
"No. The other thing."
"That's enough."
The officer snapped his phone shut and jerked away as if he'd been burned. He hurried out of the holding cell area, quickening his pace with every step he took. Mom groaned. Dean craned his neck to watch him vanish back into the office.
It didn't take long for the officer to stagger back into the cell block, eyes comically wide. Great. So he'd met the Leviathan, then. That was all the cue Dean needed. Just like Mom, he hopped to his feet and close enough to the door that he could get out as soon as the man allowed.
"I just—they—"
Mom rolled her eyes. "Scully. That's my partner, Agent Mulder."
"Get as much cleaning solution as you can," Dean told him as the man unlocked both of their doors.
He scampered off down the hall towards a broom closet. Dean took advantage of the short break.
"You all right?"
She nodded. "They need to get more comfortable cuffs."
The officer came running back into the cellblock, this time carrying a jug of what was presumably cleaning supplies. Mom took it from him.
"Get into one of the back rooms and don't come out until we give the okay."
He looked doubtfully at her. "Which one of you?"
She sighed. "Hope it's the right ones."
/
It had been stupid to allow the Leviathan to separate them. Mary turned a corner and then another, lungs beginning to burn. She was a lot of years older than she'd been when she'd started this gig and it had only gotten harder. Apocalypses and sea monsters aside, she was just plain getting old. Now there was a thought.
"Mom!"
She turned around, relieved, at the sound of Dean's voice, but she knew in an instant that the thing drawing closer with every step wasn't her son. She swallowed, hard, but decided to play along.
"Listen, sweetheart," she said, nearly choking on the word. "We need to get out of here. We can't beat them."
"Nice try, Mom."
Just as the Leviathan's ugly mug opened wide to reveal a row of startlingly long fangs, something caused him to freeze, body contorting in pain. Dean—the real Dean—took advantage of his distraction and swung something at his head.
Mary barely had time to register that he'd somehow gotten his hands on a fire ax before the Leviathan's head, still looking painfully like her son's, rolled away on to the ground.
"Progress?" he asked, staring down at it.
"Progress."