Chapter 11: Of Monsters and Men

November 18, 2005

Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin

The morning of Ellie addressing the big yellow-eyed demon in the room who slaughtered her biological family and burned down the only home she ever had, Sam takes on the duty to grab breakfast for everyone while on his early walk. Ellie wants to go with him, but Sam refuses, and Dean is uncharacteristically silent when the girl bugs him about it. For one horrifying second, it almost seems as if Sam is going to use a phone call with Jessica as an excuse to be in solitude. However, the expression that washes over his face at his forgetfulness is enough to solidify that he needs to be alone as he slips out the motel room door.

Sleep did not come easily the night previous, for their lovely neighbors settled on being rowdy once more. Ellie simply rolled over to face away from the noise as she typically does, but she could not escape from the nervousness of tomorrow that was wringing out her stomach. She did not know why she felt that way, and it was as annoying as the people next door. Dean had made a comment that they better wrap this case up soon. Their predicament was driving him crazy to the point where sleeping in the car was nearing preferable; and all three of them knew that nights spent in the Impala were full of complaints. The space Baby offers could be nice on long drives, but was not practical for two grown men and a child to sleep in. The battle to become unconscious in the sticky heat of a stationary vehicle involved quite a bit of shoving and slapping feet away from faces and mouths, kicking, arguing over leg space, pinching someone for snoring, heightened disturbances from the outside world, and, of course, waking as soon as the sun became eye level with the car windows.

Dean doesn't turn on the TV for Ellie like he normally does when there is down-time. He is still quiet, and it is causing a bubble of unease to rise in his younger sister's throat, so she heads off to the bathroom to brush her teeth as a distraction. She leaves the bathroom door open in case Dean does begin to show signs of his usual self so she can take comfort in it. Ellie can't help but wonder while standing at the sink, toothbrush swirling around her mouth, what the big fuss – or lack thereof – is all about. It's not as if she is going to be in hand-to-hand combat with the ringleader of her nightmares and trauma. She only plans on talking to another kid about what he saw that made him never want to utter another word again; yet she thinks she may have an idea of what the answer will be.

Even if she does not fully understand it, there is a reason why Ellie has not been able to explore what happened when a real-life demon crept into her house. She could not even find words for it or anything else for months after, no matter how hard she pushed. The encounter with her past does not have to be physical for her to feel as if she is back three years prior, and perhaps that is the point.

Ellie has to wipe away the toothpaste dribbling down her chin due to brushing her teeth for too long while lost in thought. The second she steps foot outside of the bathroom, Dean speaks, "Hey, kiddo. I think we should probably talk."

Her eldest brother is as she left him when she rejoins him at the small table by the front window in their room. Ellie is grateful that they do not have to wade in a foreign silence until Sam returns with food, but she is off-put by the seriousness of his tone. Dean is maneuvering faraway problems around his eyes before blinking back to the present. Traces of pink tug at his green eyes that signal his lost hours of sleep. Dean does not sleep much, but it normally never shows. Ellie stares at the ring on his right hand, his bracelets, his watch – the amulet hanging delicately from his neck. For the first time, he looks weighed down by it all.

"I know you heard Sam and I's conversation." he opens with the obvious, but for a moment she thinks he is referring to the Sylvania Bridge. Dean does not know about that, though – no one does – but it hurts the same; all open wounds with blood tumbling out of the same source.

The heater clicks on with a whirl, and Dean pauses. He holds his fingers together and steady before regarding Ellie. "I never mentioned what happened before because I didn't want you to have to relive it. I didn't want to put you back in that headspace if you weren't ready for it."

This is easy. Ellie says, "It's okay." because it is. It's not like this is something she really wants to talk about, anyways.

Sure – she wondered from time to time why no one brought up why she was stepping into an untailored family name; but like Dean said, Ellie does not want to be smoldering in Pennsylvania again. She still doesn't, even now.

Dean shakes his head while clearing his throat, soft and thread-bare like. He twists his ring around. He folds his upper body over the tabletop, and all Ellie can do is watch the unusual spectacle. "No – you see, it's kind of not. I saw it, too." Suddenly, the heater has crammed itself against Ellie's cheek and there are vacuums in her ears and behind her eyes. They are going to suck her soul out if she is not careful. She has to clench her teeth to keep it inside.

Dean is stammering his way through his history, "When I was four, it, um, it took my mom and – and John was never the same after that."

Ellie balks at him. The vacuums slowly churn into mush as the heater shuts off and her head clears. She knew that whatever slaughtered its way through her family also had its way with the Winchesters; it is why they are tangled up in this mess together. She knew that John had been full-throttle racing to track the thing down because he lost his wife in the crossfire. What Ellie did not know, though, is that Dean knows what it looks, sunken into inky black with yellow behind its eyes.

He can probably still see it, too – on the bad days. This is personal.

She chokes on "I'm sorry", but Dean stops her.

"No, El – what I am trying to say is that I am sorry." He sits up, using the tabletop for leverage, but he only thumps back to crumble in his seat. "I know how living through it affected me, and I should have given you a space to talk about it if you wanted to." Dean scoffs. A smile catches at the edges of his teeth when he bites down. "What do you know? Sam has a point."

The floor is open for her, yet Ellie is not sure what to say. She is still sorry, no matter if Dean lets her vocalize it or not. A car's engine turns over in the parking lot before it yawns and grumbles away. Her eyes feel like they are bubbling up and she cannot stop it. Ellie huffs. She grips the end of the table until her knuckles turn white and changes the way she is sitting.

"And Ellie, I need you to understand that it's okay to show emotions." A curveball, if ever there was one, is hurling her way. John always taught her that the best way to handle her crap is to sit on it. The outside world is not supposed to take a look at her and see everything inside. Otherwise, she will be subject to her weaknesses being exposed to strangers in their rawest form.

Although Ellie kind of sucks at holding the lid down on herself because John only enforces it when he is in a special mood, she still knows the rules. And Dean is the best at abiding by them.

"But – "

Dean holds up a hand. "I know, I know. I'm terrible at following my own advice." he admits.

At this point, "terrible" is putting it lightly. Dean did not cry like she did when John vanished. Ellie has only ever seen him cry twice: after Sam left, and the time Dad and him fought so badly that Dean had to get a separate motel room. They are never full-body energy drainers as Ellie produces, though; his cries are quick, jagged, and to the point when he thinks no one else can witness them. When he is not acting as who Ellie has come to expect him to be, the only emotion he has truly excelled at emitting is anger. Not at Ellie, of course, but to everyone else. To everything else.

Dean proceeds with his point, "That doesn't mean you should be, though. You can come to me, or Sam, and we'll figure it out. Together." He holds his sister's eyes. She can see it is true. That is the thing about Dean; it is obvious when he means something. "Dad is wrong. You can't just bury it. Not this. Got it?"

"Yes." Ellie thinks his request is manageable. She does not like when John tells her to suck it up for the sake of appearances. It only makes her want to cry harder and her sadness stronger.

"Awesome." Her brother presses a smile into his face. There is a heaviness behind it. He lifts a closed fist. "Pound it?"

Somehow, the table seems to have grown in size and they feel miles apart. Ellie bounds over to him and pins her own knuckles to his, content.

Dean's eyes are swimming when she looks up. All of his features have collapsed into themselves, onto him.

"Dean," Ellie grabs at his face. Her thumb grazes a runaway tear. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He quickly swipes at his reddening eyes with the heels of his hands. His cheeks are tinted in pink, visible even in the grainy motel lighting. "Hell – " Dean sniffles once and harsh. It sounds like it might sting. "Guess I'm not so bad at following my advice after all."

Ellie and her older brothers arrive at the playground during after-school hours. They walk there, reluctantly leaving the Impala behind to nap in her parking spot, because everything in Lake Manitoc is within walking distance. It is a small enough town that when something worthwhile happens, especially when there is a causality, everyone knows at least by the next sunrise. For this same reason, the Winchesters can only assume that they are on the receiving end of funny looks and analyzing stares on their first outing together because they are the outliers here. Of course, Lake Manitoc gets its visitors from time to time, but they are usually only in town to spend time with family, or cling to reasonable places to be during a pit stop. It is not every day that outsiders creep so close to the residents; and they are curious, to say the least.

It is a brisk, late-fall day. There is no breeze to fill in the gaps, so the environment seems still and frozen in time during the walk over. The sun is bright and warm on Ellie's back while she stands on the sidewalk facing the playground with Dean and Sam. Her left hand is encased in Dean's right, and her sneaker-clad toes press down into the pavement while she takes in the scene before her. Due to the decent weather, children of all ages are pouring out of the jungle gym; their sounds of glee are almost deafening against the backdrop of lifeless wind. Adults are strung out around the borders of the playground, sitting in the grass or on benches. This is where they are supposed to meet with Lucas and his mom.

There is one problem, though; Ellie has no idea what Lucas looks like. And with all the bundled-up kids running around jumping, screaming, and shouting at one another, they all appear the same.

"Isn't that Lucas over there?" Sam asks, cutting through the silence that had washed over the three of them. He gestures towards a boy with shaggy reddish-brown hair who is sitting by himself and off to the side.

Seeing him makes so much sense to Ellie. Of course, he is alone and not within the chaos – he does not talk; just like she used to.

Ellie takes a step forward. Dean squeezes her hand that is attached to him. "Hey, El – you know you don't have to do this, right?"

She does not even have to hesitate before looking up at him. Her face is flushed from the low temperature. "I know, but I want to."

A soft "Okay," comes in as a response before her hand is released. Dean presses Ellie close and holds his lips to the top of her head briefly. "I'm proud of you, kiddo."

When they part, the nine-year-old turns to Sam, who works a slow grin across his face. "You got this, bug."

Sam's words stay with her as she crunches across dead leaves to Lucas, her head pointed down to intently watch her shadow move with her. When she arrives at her destination and the other boy does not even lift his head to acknowledge her existence, she stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets as a shiver bolts down her spine. The whole situation is echoing pieces of herself and it is too familiar. When she glances over at her brothers, they are still standing there, hands at their sides and a bit hunched over in the cold. Dean gives her a thumbs up.

Ellie swallows before regarding Lucas, "Hi," she greets to an empty shell of a child, her shadow looming over his form in the sunshine. "I'm Ellie."

Nothing happens. Lucas continues to draw on colored construction paper with crayons. Tiny green army men are lined up around him, acting as his line of defense against the outside world. Their mini rifles are pointed at Ellie's stomach. Thinking of her guts spilling out, Ellie starts to have doubts while her heart rate starts its ascend up a mountain. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. When she was shut down, it was never the other kids at the park wanting to play with Ellie who made her want to speak again. Eventually, her throat just stopped closing up all the time, unlike how it is presently.

Immediately, Ellie searches for Sam and Dean in the crowd. She locates them engaged in a conversation with Lucas' mom, the same woman from yesterday, but their backs are turned. However, before Ellie can think too hard, two kids tear through the grass beside them, shrieking loudly. One tags the other before they begin to argue because apparently the tag does not count since they went out of bounds. Lucas slaps an arm on his drawings so they do not blow away or get messed up in the commotion.

Ellie takes his slight movement as a sign to keep going, despite the alarm sounding in her head, "My brothers are over there with your mom." she states, sniffling. "You looked lonely."

He still does. Even with all the people around. She knows the feeling.

"Can I color?" Ellie asks.

Lucas stops coloring in dark blue waves. There is a beat of hollowness before he barely slides over to his left. He leaves just enough room so that Ellie can fold herself in beside him on the bench seat. A piece of yellow construction paper and a red crayon sits in front of her on the warped wood. The green army men stare her down from their perch.

Ellie picks up the red crayon that was offered to her. A quick glance over at Lucas tells her that he is hiding behind his hair and scribbling as if she was not sitting there. Ellie tries to think about what she wanted someone to say to her when she was mute, and numb, and hurting, and bleeding out invisible ink everywhere she went. There are no magic words, though; she merely wanted her life back.

"Listen – I know you don't talk, and that's okay. You don't have to." Ellie is hearing herself speak, but it does not feel real. "I once didn't say a word for months."

Ellie leans forward and touches the tip of her crayon to paper. She starts sketching out hair. "Something really bad happened, and I saw something. I didn't know how to tell anyone what it was, so I stopped talking. I tried really hard, but I couldn't. I still don't really . . ."

Her voice blips out, but she reins it back in. The random bursts of hair now have accompanying eyes. "I draw a lot, and I feel better, but my brothers help me, too. They don't need me to talk, either." Ellie adds a jagged nose, sharp cheekbones. "That's what their job is; they help people with their monsters so they go away. They want to help you and your mom."

The girl cannot visualize a mouth for the face, so she stops drawing. "You don't have to say anything, but you could show me, maybe?" Ellie concludes the sentence with a question that dangles weakly in the atmosphere. She has to be more convincing. "I won't laugh. I'll believe you even if it's crazy. I promise."

In the wake of her reassurance, Lucas breaks away from his insistent coloring of a large house to pick through his other finished drawings. He slides one of them to Ellie. There is no eye contact involved, but it feels like he is watching her through the curtain of his hair.

When Ellie examines Lucas' gift, her breath is catching again. It is an image of the lake: massive and hungry with seven-foot waves and rip currents. The picture is mainly scribbles of oval darkness, but she recognizes what it means regardless.

"You drew your monster." breathes Ellie.

Another realization strikes Ellie then, and she snatches up her own yellow and red work in progress. She crumbles it in a panic before smashing the bumpy shape in her jacket pocket. Jumping up, she seizes the drawing Lucas gave her, and dashes away with it in hand. She does not say "bye", not that Lucas would answer verbally, but the thought fails to even cross her mind until she is too far away from the recipient.

Ellie's shoes thud on the barren patches of grass. The motion feels like getting slapped from her feet upwards due to the aftershocks. Her heart thumps to the beat of her footsteps once she slows, coming up on her family and Lucas' mom.

Dean is the first to notice her – he always is – and twists his body around. His greeting is extra cheerful, for Ellie's sake: "Hey, sweetheart! What's up?"

The trio of adults peer down at Ellie. Their eyes are squinting as a result of the strong sun stretching over the child's head. She holds the crayon art above her shoulder to whoever gets to it first. "Lucas gave me this," she says, catching them up to speed.

Sam gently removes the paper from Ellie's fingertips, "Is that the lake?"

Dean nods while Sam and he analyze it together. "Yeah. Looks like it."

Lucas' mom focuses on Ellie while her brothers are preoccupied. Her arm is curled to her chest. Hope flickers through her eyes. "Did he say anything to you?"

Ellie shakes her head. "No." She recounts her experience. "He was just drawing."

In response, the woman bobs her head and bites down on her lip. She plays with her necklace chain as an expected sadness fills her. Ellie Winchester is not the cure for her son.

"That's what he usually does." Lucas' mom sighs, longingly. "You know, he used to have so much life about him. He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth." Dean and Sam have lowered Lucas' drawing and are listening along with their sister. There is not much to say to a mother who is grieving the loss of a child still alive. "But now, he just sits there . . . drawing those pictures and playing with those army men."

A father calls out to his kids to retrieve drinks and snacks he has sitting out for them. He is positioned at the picnic bench beside the one Lucas occupies. Ellie notices that the boy's belongings are still there, but he is not. His shelter sits abandoned.

The tone of Lucas' mother is resigned, "I just wish – "

She cuts off before switching up her demeanor. "Hey, sweetie!"

Ellie bounces her eyes off the empty spot Lucas used to be. Her gaze lands on no other than the boy of the hour standing in front of her. He is ignoring his mom and pushing a piece of paper into Ellie's hand – wait – what?

A second of confusion passes. The paper is in Ellie's grasp, but she does not feel it there. She blinks back into herself. A confused "Oh – " blurts its way into the frosty air.

It is the drawing Lucas was working on while she sat with him. A tan house with a red roof is what the picture reveals. Sam and Dean are both profusely thanking Lucas as a subtle reminder to Ellie of what she should be doing as well.

Ellie springs into action to quell their request. She is still in mild disbelief. "Thanks, Lucas."

Lucas averts his eyes and walks away. His mother touches a hand to her mouth in shock.

He has never done that before.

The people next door are much quieter, but the restlessness persists within Ellie. She cannot stop thinking about all that was shared between her and Dean – and Lucas. He drew the lake to show her his monster.

Ellie waits until she is sure that her brothers are not going to jump up at the slightest sound – she does not even want to entertain the thought of being on the receiving end of the gun she knows Dean keeps under his pillow wherever they are staying – before she toes out of her sofa bed in slow motion. She walks on only half of her feet to her wrinkled coat on the ground. Acquiring the waded-up picture from her jacket pocket, Ellie creeps into the bathroom to dislodge the paper from itself. She cautiously curls up by the front window, utilizing the moonlight to her advantage, to finish what she started at the park.

It does not take the young girl long to complete the task because she has been mindlessly doodling pieces of the same façade for months. Assembling the parts uncovers an all too human face. It's what Ellie saw standing over her bed in Pennsylvania before the ceiling was coated in a blaze. There is nothing different about it to indicate a monster, and she hates it.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Ellie slips the drawing into her bag. She sloshes back into bed with tears tumbling into her mouth and over her ears.

November 19, 2005

Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin

Sam rushes out for another walk in the morning. This time, Ellie does not even bother saying anything before he leaves. She cannot recall him needing to "clear his head" before he disappeared off to college and Dad was around. There must be something about her and Dean that is too much to bear after long periods of time.

Ellie is having trouble completing her vocab words for school, but not because the words are flipping around backwards and letters scrambling like an anagram. The inability to move on from the findings of her monster hunt is what has her brain in a fog. She feels a distant guilt for indulging in such a painful past, but it was bound to happen eventually; like Sam said. Still – it doesn't mean she has worked through it.

If anything, the situation has only further absorbed Ellie. She is beginning to remember more of it.

A snap in Ellie's face is what makes her flinch back into Wisconsin.

"Hey-o . . . Earth to Ellie,"

Ellie presses into her feet that do not quite reach the floor, her eyes working on latching onto the blurry body before her. Dean is leaned over close to Ellie's face, waving a hand across her form, "You alive in there?"

Dean smiles when she bats at his hand. He lets Ellie grab at his bracelets before their interlocking arms flop onto the table like a dead fish. Ellie deflates, her chin coming to rest right above where their limbs are adjoined.

"I'm tired." she declares with the words sticking to her gums.

"Okay." is Dean's answer. For a second, Ellie thinks he knows what she did last night because his tone is cramped with understanding. Sometimes, it feels like Dean can see right through her down to her heartbeat.

Thankfully, the squeeze to her hand and playful look on his face indicates otherwise. "So, would you say you're 'barely able to keep your eyes open' tired, or 'Sam's snoring was extra annoying last night, and now you don't want to do homework' tired?"

Ellie lifts their arms to sit up on their elbows. She bends her arm forward into Dean's. "Who says you don't snore?"

"There she is," Dean comments to point out that Ellie is back in the present. He pushes their arms back. "And I don't know what you're talking about. I sleep like a baby."

"Maybe a baby bear."

"Watch it." he warns before wiggling out of their hold. He taps the closest colorful index card. There are rainbow stickers on it from the time Ellie got out of studying vocabulary by claiming that decorating the cards would help her remember better. "Come on, Ellie – you got this. We've done these words before; you just gotta focus."

Following Dean's words, the doorknob to their room twists as it is unlocked from the outside. It swings open and Sam plows in, not wasting any time, "So," He shoves the door back the way it came. "I think it's safe to say that we can rule out Nessie." He looks like he just encountered something.

Ellie angles her head to view Sam. Her eyes pull in. If Sam means Nessie as in the Loch Ness Monster Nessie, it does not even seem practical to consider her as a possibility. She lives on an entirely different continent and is therefore someone else's problem. What Lucas saw is far past any folktale. He experienced something unable to be conjurable.

"What do you mean?" questions Dean. "I thought that was already pretty clear."

"Yeah." Sam breathes before plopping down onto the sheets of Ellie's sofa bed. He sinks for a moment and looks like a giant surrounded by his younger sister's stuff. "Well, I just walked past the Carlton house – the family of the latest victim after Lucas' dad. There was an ambulance there. Sophie Carlton's brother – Will? He's dead."

A stiffness manifests in the room and channels through everyone like powerlines. Ellie does not know who Will Carlton is, but it is not good to already have another body when they have yet to figure out much of anything.

Dean regains himself and returns to covering his bases. "Did he drown in the lake?"

"Nope." Sam corrects. "The sink."

This makes even less sense than Ellie's vocabulary words. It was reasonable when Constance Welch's little kids drowned in the bathtub because they were unsupervised and too young to know any better. However, she had overheard yesterday when they returned from the park that Sophie was a trained swimmer and swam in the lake nearly every day. And now, somehow her brother faceplanted in the sink long enough to drown?

The nine-year-old blurts out "What?" the same time Dean remarks: "What the hell?".

Sam's palms slump down to his thighs. "Exactly."

Dean purses his lips and touches his spine to back of the chair. There is a mute "huh" dangling as contemplation kicks in. Briefly, Ellie thinks about inconspicuously packing up her notecards.

A shadow crosses over the window as someone passes by. There is faint talking over by the ice machine. The building settles by shifting its weight, lights zapping for a split second, as the heater pours a sort-of-warm breeze into their living space. Ellie's fingers itch.

"So, this isn't your normal run-of-the-mill creature." Dean decides. "We're dealing with something else."

Using the derailment of the case to her advantage, Ellie plucks at her index cards that look as though a nine-year-old threw up on them with decoration – which, to be fair, one did. She starts to organize them into neat piles. Her brothers are going back and forth, mentally crossing off suspects for what they are hunting. No dice so far.

The vocab words have somehow found themselves into a singular defined stack. Ellie listens to Dean while she softly lowers her rejected studying into a plastic purple pencil case, "I mean, it's gotta be something that controls water. Water that comes from the same source."

Sam lifts his head. His eyes are zeroed in on something that is not there. "The lake. It'll be freezing over soon. That would explain why it's upping the body count. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, it's running out of time."

The Winchesters are unknotting and touching the bottom of a solution. Dean adds, "And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone almost anywhere." He hops up, walking the few steps to his bed so he can tug on his boots that are spilled out on the carpet. "This is gonna happen again soon."

Ellie glances mournfully at the bathroom. She guesses there is no more bathing for the time being. What if the shower curtain pounces and tries to smother her? Or the faucet grows hands and strangles her? Or both at the same time?

Sam is saying how the mysterious deaths have got something to do with Bill Carlton. It took both of his kids, and after asking around at Will's crime scene, he found out that Lucas' dad was Bill's godson. They need to start there.

All of a sudden, Lucas' art pieces make a lot more sense. He was not just illustrating to Ellie that the lake was his monster, but it is where the thing lives. She told him that her brothers hunt monsters, and he showed them where to look.

"What about Lucas' drawing?" inquires Ellie. She changes positions to trickle off the side of her chair. "The house with the red roof?"

Sam's eyes go wild for a moment. "I was just at the Carlton house, and it had a red roof."

Dean puts a pin in tying a sturdy knot for his left shoe to speak: "I'd say let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit, then."

Dean, Sam, and Ellie drive the short minutes to their destination. They take the Impala due to the case picking up steam. If they need to be somewhere in town more quickly than their legs can carry them, they now have the means to do so. Dean guides the car down a path of soft dark dirt and pine. Bill Carlton's residence is situated on the edge of the infamous lake. The water laps at his backyard in an unending beat.

Trees too tall to see the tops of line the property. The air is moist when the trio step out into it. They huddle across from the solo house in the area – still in front of their car – so Ellie can hold Lucas' picture as high as her arms can go to compare the two. It's an obvious match.

"Well, I'll be damned . . . " expresses Dean near his sister's left ear. Both Sam and he are squatting a bit, hands braced on their kneecaps, to be eye level with Ellie's arms' length. He pushes up to stand at his full height, speaking through it with a slight strain, "You might just be the next Sherlock, El."

The child lowers the paper, her arms beginning to turn sore and stale from holding in an extended position. She does feel pleased with herself, though; a smile brewing at Dean's compliments.

Sam lifts his chin to an area barren of trees and buildings. It is home to a long gray dock stretching out into the water. "Dean, look,"

Even though Ellie was not asked to aim her attention elsewhere, she still does. A middle-aged man is sitting in a plastic chair in the middle of the dock. His back is turned, and he faces the expanse of the billowing body of water. She nearly overlooked his presence.

"Alright. Ellie – "

The girl swings to her eldest brother when he calls on her. Dean grips her eyes with his.

"Listen to me: stay up here with Baby." he instructs, eyes drifting to the Impala before racing back. "Whatever you do, do not go near the lake. You stay put."

Ellie nods her head in understanding. Strands of hair plaster to her cheeks and mouth in a gust of wind. The trees shake and talk to one another. Baby has always kept her safe, even when she was hijacked by a woman in white, and Ellie has no doubt that the car will live up to her reputation today.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam breaks the moment with an overwhelmed chuckle. "You don't have to scare her." He points to the person they are here for, reaffirming their mission. "We're only going to be right over there. I'm sure she understands."

Dean visibly breathes out and disengages from an argument. "Just – " He lets up to edit his request of the child. "Holler if you need anything."

When Dean pivots to start the walk to Mr. Carlton, grumbling between steps in the darkened dirt, Ellie informs Sam: "I'm not scared, Sammy."

He holds his palms out and bows his head. "Of course not, Miss Holmes."

Following a giggle from the nine-year-old, Sam tips his gaze back up to look at her through his long hair. He begins to take steps backwards before Dean can yell at him to hurry up. Still facing his sister, Sam taps the bridge of his nose knowingly, to which Ellie copies back at him. She observes him spin around and take elongated steps to catch up to their brother.

Left alone, Ellie wanders back to Baby. Running her fingertips over the black paint, speckled under the leaves of the trees, she hoists herself up on the hood to sit cross-legged. It is a cloudy day and the clouds rush by to fester on the horizon. Off in the distance, she sees that her brothers have approached Mr. Carlton, but the man refuses to look at them. She will never be able to hear them from this far away, but she can play pretend. Maybe the man drowned all of the victims because wicked people do wicked things, and he wanted to free himself of the family burden to live in blissful solitude forever.

Ellie rests her head in her hands, closes her eyes. The light air tickles her cheekbones. Bill Carlton being the killer is an unlikely accusation, but it is nice to live in a world where the only monsters are human, even for a minute or two. She breathes deeply, thinking in the pitch black: jeez – she really did not need to be grilled to not go near the lake. Ellie learned how to swim in a hotel pool two summers ago when Dad and Dean got hung up on a case in the New Mexico desert. It was so hot that all there was to do was swim. She can keep her head above water with a sloppy doggy paddle, but Ellie is still not the strongest swimmer. She surely does not plan on taking a dip in a body of water she cannot even see the bottom of and multiple people recently died in.

The girl snaps her eyes open, jumping in her own skin, when a hand is carefully placed on her left shoulder. A Black woman in a charcoal pantsuit and black trench coat – who Ellie has never seen before – is standing at Ellie's side, but that is not the weirdest part. Her feet feel cold and heavy, and looking down, she is ankle deep in the lake she was admonished to avoid at all costs minutes prior.

The woman's trench coat is so long that the ends float soundlessly on the surface of the water. Ellie is anchored in place by the touch of the stranger, but she does not understand. She swears she did not walk here.

Without warning, a pale white hand is dragging itself out of the lake and stretching to the bone to reach for Ellie's submerged sneakers. A rotten head pokes up and Ellie's eyes grow impossibly wider. It is Lucas' monster – alive and leaking out.

Ellie's companion is strangely unbothered by the series of events that have unfolded. They merely lift a leather boot out of the water to flick the creature in the head with the shoe's sole. The thing slinks back into the inky liquid and disappears for good.

When the woman turns to the child to talk, it is their voice, but it does not sound as if it is being used by them. "Careful – " they warn. "Do not tread on that fish." Their tone is monotone and they pronounce every syllable.

If Ellie knows one thing for sure: that was definitely not a fish.

Ellie wants to feel afraid and hightail it out of there back to Dean and Sam, but she doesn't – or she can't. It is as if the two of them are encased in a bubble where time exists, but it is unwavering. Something else is wearing the skin of the person next to Ellie, a monster attempted to drag her into a lake that she somehow teleported into, and she cannot even feel scared. Great.

The hand that was steady and holding Ellie back from being drowned is removed from her left shoulder in the same manner it was laid. The all-knowing and self-righteous speech continues: "That was a vengeful spirit. It lured you to the lake. He is angry that your brothers are here."

Most of the incoming information is crashing right over Ellie's head. How do they know everything? Ellie twists her head to collide with the gaze of the woman. She is wearing make-up, her hair is styled neatly, and the clothes on her back are far too nice to be drifting in a muddy lake. It looks as if this person was on their way to work, or even at work, when they got smacked down in a mighty gust of wind that is whatever is inside of them.

"Who are you?" asks Ellie.

"Castiel." they answer. This must be the thing's name. Ellie has never heard Castiel as the name of anyone ever before.

"That's a weird name."

"Ellie," Her name is spoken. Purposeful.

She tightens up. "How do you know my name?"

"I am an angel of the lord. I can decipher the name of any human simply by studying the hues of their soul." They lay it out so easily that Ellie could be able to believe it, if only angels existed. They do not exist in this world; not now, not ever. Dean and Dad have made that abundantly clear throughout the years. If they did inhabit this place, there would have been some big shift already. But there hasn't been, no matter how hard someone were to beg. This has to be some kind of joke. "You are Ellie Winchester, formally known as Ellie Blackwell."

"What – " At this point, it is more likely that the thing is a demon than an angel. If that is the case, Ellie should have been on solid ground booking it away ages ago. It is too late to flee now. Perhaps it is her monster wearing the face of someone else this time to confuse her.

Why did they save her, though? What does a demon gain from saving her?

They are looking at something past Ellie now, and seem disappointed at the sight. "My apologies." They raise an index and middle finger held together. "This may bring you some discomfort." Before Ellie can even find the words to protest, the fingers are settled on her forehead. She nearly goes cross-eyed from looking at them trying to figure out what is happening and then – blank.

Ellie is standing in the lake with the water twisting past her ankles. She is alone. There is an awareness of Sam and Dean and shouting and getting closer, but it is pushed to the background. She does not understand how she got here. The last thing she remembers is sitting on the car and debating about who the monster of the week could be.

Sam is the first to arrive at the scene. He lifts the girl up from under her armpits and out of the threshold of danger. It hurts to be carried in this way while hanging limply like a rag doll, but all Ellie can do is peer down at the white-brown water spitting out of her ruined shoes. Sam sits her down on the pebbly beach. He does not say a word. She expects this is because of the look on her face that she cannot seem to wipe away.

Dean is the opposite. He slides up like he was being chased here. "Jesus! Dammit, Ellie – what did I tell you?!"

"I'm sorry." She is blubbering. She cannot look away from her sneakers. "I didn't even – "

"Didn't what? Think I was being serious?"

"No!" Ellie shrieks. Her head sits up straight. "I didn't even know I walked towards the lake. I don't remember doing it . . ." Towards the end, she is mumbling. Her head is pounding and feels as stuffed full as her bloated shoes. Ellie could cry.

There is silence. Sam and Dean are probably communicating without her, but about her. Sam picks Ellie up in a way that does not hurt this time. He carries her back to the Impala so that her shoes and socks can be removed.