UPSIDE DOWN
Chapter 1
A routine hunt turns not so routine, and Sam faces a challenge to save his brother - although not in the conventional sense. He's thinking he might need to work hard to save his sanity too ...
A/N: Written for the Supernatural Summergen challenge 2022. This story is an amalgam of two awesome prompts:
1. Sam and Dean face an unusual obstacle.
2. Sick in the middle of a job is never good
Disclaimer: I don't own them
xxxxx
At first, when Dean had seen the potential job in the local newspaper, Sam had been sceptical.
The bodies of three unfortunate people found on three separate occasions, each one week apart, in an old derelict warehouse on the edge of a forest in Colorado with their heads staved in.
Sam was quick to point out that it could have been your garden variety psycho with a mallet, but Dean wasn't convinced. The vics hadn't been robbed or interfered with in any way. However, their blood had been roughly mopped up which, even Sam had to agree, was kind of odd. It had been that aspect of the mystery that caught Dean's eye. Most homicidal nutters didn't make a habit of clearing up after themselves.
Sam, however, still wasn't convinced. Perhaps it was your garden variety psycho with a mallet and a touch of OCD?
But Dean was adamant. Something about this situation had piqued his interest and that, Sam realised, was that.
"Let's go check it out Sam," Dean coaxed; "my gut is telling me there's something going on here. Besides these poor bastards getting whacked, I mean."
So, Sam reluctantly agreed, once again, to follow Dean's gut. He had followed Dean's gut many times. Mostly to skeevy diners that he and his grossly abused digestive system would rather forget about, but this time it was to that forest in Colorado.
By the end of their Colorado visit, Sam had reluctantly conceded there was a chance that Dean could be right. For a start, the location - a derelict warehouse on the edge of a forbiddingly dank forested area was enough to give anyone the vapours.
Aside from them all being male, there was no discernable connection between the vics, except the smashed skull bit, and the fact that their assailant had taken the time to somewhat clumsily clear up after themselves. And then, there was the smell. The Winchesters knew that death scenes had a very distinctive - and not in a good way - smell. They'd smelt that odour far more than anyone would ever want to, and unfortunately, they knew they'd smell it again, but this time the odour was different.
"It was like, mildew," Sam mused as the brothers sat, mulling over the case in a nearby diner. "Or like that smell of fallen leaves when they start to rot."
"Well, it was near a forest," Dean replied around a face full of French fries.
"Yeah, but I only smelt it near the actual crime scene. I walked to the other end of the building and all I smelt was dust and corrosion, you know – normal derelict building smells."
"I thought it smelled like wet leather," Dean added, loading his fork with something that might have been meatloaf; "or wet dog, or … I dunno, wet something."
Sam regarded Dean with a quirk of an eyebrow.
"Mmm…mmfff…" Dean responded.
Sam knew that they'd reached the point where further discussion was pointless. Dean's attention span had switched from 'case' to 'food', and any more attempts at conversation would be entirely moot.
They'd pick the trail up again tomorrow.
xxxxx
The following day, the brothers researched the area. They knew they had to act quickly. The kills had been a week apart, and if the pattern continued, they had five days to prevent the next one. Dean spent the day trawling the bars to talk to the locals, while Sam spent his time trawling the library to find out a bit of local history.
It didn't take long before Sam had a theory to share with Dean.
"So, get this," he began; "these woods are steeped in faerie lore."
"OK," Dean replied, economically.
"Did you hear anything about that around the bars?"
Dean stared flatly at Sam. "No Sam," he replied. "Oddly enough the lumberjacks and ranchers in the bars didn't have a lot to say about faeries."
"I'm not talking about Tinkerbelle, asshat," snapped Sam. "I think we're dealing with a Redcap."
"A Red… what now?"
"A Redcap," Sam repeated; "it's a type of faerie, but a real nasty one. It kills and then it soaks its cap in the blood of its victim…"
"That'd explain the blood being mopped up," Dean mused.
"Exactly," Sam agreed. "it's said to inhabit ruined castles in Ireland and Scotland, where it's most commonly found, and it likes the edge of forested areas best."
Dean nodded, "but I guess a derelict – or ruined – warehouse on the edge of a forest would do just as well when there's no castle handy?"
"Exactly," Sam nodded and turned his book to show Dean the picture of the grotesque troll-like creature wearing a dripping red cap."
"Ugly little spud, ain't he," Dean snorted irreverently.
"Not so little Dean," Sam replied solemnly; "these things can be taller than us!"
"And don't tell me," Dean continued; "they smell of wet leaves or wet leather or wet dogs?"
Sam nodded. "Yup. Their odour is described as a sort of musty, fleshy, damp wood, earthy smell."
"So, not wet dog then?"
"Whatever," Sam replied. "They stink, okay?"
"Clearly," Dean agreed.
Sam turned the page in his book. "This thing is going to kill again," he stated urgently; "it says here that Redcaps have to kill regularly. If their hats dry out, they die."
"So, how come it's only killed three times so far?" Dean asked.
"I was wondering that," Sam replied with a nod; "but then, while I was researching the area, I found out that a faerie ring – a ring of wild mushrooms - appeared in the woods about a month ago. They're portals that open where the veil between our two worlds is thinnest – so I guess it must have come through that.
"Okay, so we gank this troll, and then we level that mushroom ring so these freaky douchebags can stay in their own world," Dean snorted, rubbing his hands together with slightly psychotic glee. "Freakin' faeries – it gets funnier every time I hear it…"
xxxxx
TWO DAYS LATER…
The Winchesters pushed open the rusted carcass of the door, wincing at the high-pitched squeal that echoed through the late-night silence.
Dean swept the area with his flashlight and glanced back at Sam.
"No signs of it yet. What now?"
Sam swung the sack he'd been carrying on his shoulder down on to the floor with a grunt. "Well, we don't know whether this freaky asshat is hiding out in here, or whether he's finding his victims in the woods, and bringing them in here to do his dirty work. So either way we've got to bring him to us."
"Faerie lore seems to suggest you can attract faeries with milk or cream, sweet treats, or shiny things. So, I've brought some milk, some sweet treats, a couple of belt buckles and some spoons – I dunno, I guess they're shiny!"
Dean looked down at the sack and back up at Sam. "Hey, you didn't raid my candy stash, did you?"
Sam glanced up at Dean through his bangs and chose to ignore his question.
Dean reached into the back of his pants for his faithful colt. "I've got something shiny here," he smirked; "that Redcap douchebag, he'll enjoy this!"
Sam looked up again. "Did you load it with silver bullets?"
"Yep," Dean grinned; "got some spare too."
Through the gloom, Dean watched Sam spreading the floor around them with a circle of random items; a bottle of cream, spoons, a belt buckle, some home-baked pastries, and some wrapped candy. Sam looked deep into the now empty sack, "Dean, have you seen the cooki…" The words died on his lips as Dean belched softly.
"Sorry Sam, I got peckish."
xxxxx
An hour passed, as the brothers sat in silence behind a pile of mouldy pallets, staring at the display of goods that Sam had laid out - minus the cookies apparently and boy, it may have been dark, but Dean didn't need to be able to see to know Sam was shooting him an epic bitchface.
Both brothers were on edge. They knew that if the forest was a faerie haven, then this place could be crawling with faeries. Not just the giant murdering psycho faeries that they were hunting for at this precise moment, but any one of the myriad different kinds of faeries that existed between the human and fae realms, both good and evil.
It was that precise thought that was on their minds when Dean heard a quiet scrape beside him. He swung round and on instinct, he pulled out his gun.
The brothers both stood up. Trying to hear the faintest sound over their own pounding heartbeats.
They heard the sound again momentarily before Dean stepped forward, blindly through the darkness, and as his boot touched down on the dusty ground they heard a sickening crunch.
Dean jumped up as if burned. A sticky green crushed mess beneath his boot began to dissolve and fade, but a residue of green goo lingered on the sole of his boot, and began to glow, growing brighter and brighter, gradually spreading all the way over his foot, and continuing on past his ankle.
"Sam, SAM!" Dean yelled hopping around, desperately trying to swat away the strange light, now dazzlingly bright, as it continued to creep up his lower body.
"GEDDIDOFFMEEEE!"
Before Sam could rationalise what was happening, the strange luminescence had completely engulfed Dean who was still thrashing and gyrating wildly to try to escape from within the blinding aura. Sam lunged forward, ducking in a vain attempt to avoid Dean's flailing limbs, and made a grab for Dean in an effort to pull him away from the light. However, his efforts came to nought because almost instantaneously, it disappeared leaving Dean standing weak-kneed in the dark, panting harshly, and frantically patting at his body as if trying to brush a swarm of imaginary ants away.
"Sam, what the hell?" He stammered, a note of panic sharpening his words.
On the basis that Sam had no idea what had just happened, or what effect the strange experience would have on Dean, he decided there and then to abandon the Redcap hunt and get them both back to the bunker so that they could regroup and find out what the hell had just happened.
Dean, shaken and disoriented, was in no condition to argue.
xxxxx
tbc