The flickering lights hanging over the large boards painted with fading black numbers did little to assist the Winchester brothers in their search for warehouse number 58. The fact that Lily Collins had cried on Sammy's shoulder for over an hour before finally letting the men leave didn't help, either. It was already dark in Maine by the time Sam and Dean had found the right building.
"It certainly looks creepy enough to house a soul-sucking witch," Dean commented, pocketing his car keys and joining his brother in digging through the Impala's trunk.
"Madeline said silver bullets would kill it, right?" Sam asked, sorting through the various weapons and ammunition stored in the small, cluttered space.
Dean nodded. "Pure silver. Why?"
"Just making sure. You're positive she knows what she's talking about?"
"She's a family friend, Sam. Our family doesn't exactly make nice with crackpots and quacks. She knows her stuff. Now grab the guns and let's go."
Sammy obeyed, closing up the weapons compartment and tossing his brother a gun. Together, the siblings snuck toward the seemingly-abandoned building. The large corrugated metal door didn't have a lock on it and slid up easily, allowing them entrance.
The first thing Sam noticed as he stepped into the warehouse was the thick layer of dust on the concrete floor, hardly disturbed by the many cops that had investigated the murder. Then, the door slid loudly shut behind him, creating a banging sound as it hit the ground that echoed throughout the warehouse, undoubtedly alerting the creature to their presence. Sam turned hastily around, weapon drawn, flashlight pointing at the dark figure that had caused the ruckus.
"Sorry," Dean shrugged, picking his own gun up off the ground and checking for any damage to the precious bullets nestled inside, "it slipped."
"Sure it did," Sam muttered, "butterfingers."
Dean glared at him as a box far off in the darkened building fell to the floor. "It knows we're here."
"It'd have to be pretty hard of hearing not to," Sammy said, peering cautiously into the blackness of the warehouse, "it's trying to draw us out."
"Trap?"
"Probably," the younger nodded, "but we're gonna check it out anyway, aren't we?"
His brother smirked, which was as good an answer as Sam needed. The two headed slowly in the direction from which the hollow boom of the box had issued.
As they traveled through the rows of old boxes stacked several feet high, Sam noticed that thick dirt not only caked the ground on which they stood, but every box, shelf, and window as well.
"Check it out," Dean mumbled, pointing the beam of his own small flashlight at a clear space in the floor, "no dust. Something cleared it, but there aren't any footprints back here."
"Something that slithered?"
"That's a pretty big snake, Sammy."
Sam sighed, turning around to face his brother as they finally reached the box. "A snake? Come on, Dean, I know she didn't tell us what we were looking for, but I'm pretty sure it's-"
"A creepy old lady in a black robe?" Dean interrupted, shining his flashlight over Sam's head and onto the tall stack of boxes. Sammy turned just as the creature leapt from her perch. Hoping to catch her off-guard, Dean tossed his flashlight in her direction, hitting the soul-sucker square in the forehead.
"Come on," he yelled, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him from the witch's line of attack as she teetered and regained balance.
The brother's ran through the darkness, neither daring to look over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. Finally, hidden by the shadow cast by another large pile of crates, they stopped to rest.
"Think we lost it?" Dean panted, out of breath, as Sammy peeked around the boxes to gaze into the pitch black building.
"I wouldn't bet on it," a voice seeping with evil hissed from somewhere above them as the black-cloaked witch dropped from the top of the pile, grinning maniacally.
The boys turned to find themselves staring into cold black eyes. Freezing clawed hands grabbed the collars of their shirts, lifting both Winchesters a foot off the ground.
"Any bright ideas?' Sam questioned quietly as the witch opened her mouth wide. Dean fumbled with the safety on his gun as the soul-sucker moved her hands roughly from the boys' shirts to their mouths, forcing them open. She began to inhale as Dean cocked the gun.
The creature breathed deeply, smiling inwardly as pale yellow vapor issued from the mouth of her tallest victim. She almost laughed out loud when she heard the click of the gun as deep purple mist from the shortest filled her mouth and nostrils.
Her triumph was short-lived, however. A loud gunshot echoed through the building and the witch screamed, expelling the souls of her victims and sending them back into the boys; bodies. The wounded creature, still shrieking, fled the scene, dropping both brothers back to the floor as she did so.
Dean raised his head groggily. Something felt different. Well, he thought, you came close to getting your soul sucked out. That doesn't exactly happen every day. He struggled to his feet, a little dizzy, and shook his head. Something soft and feathery flapped around his ears, forehead, and the back of his neck. Cobwebs?
"Come on, Sammy," Dean muttered, groping around the dark floor and pulling his brother up. His voice sounded funny, different somehow, but he figured the witch had done some damage to his vocal chords while nearly strangling him. "Gotta go before it comes back."
Sam mumbled something unintelligible and followed his brother quickly through the thick darkness. They reached the unlocked door and slid it up, heading out into more darkness. Sam stumbled slowly to the car while Dean began digging in his pockets for his keys.
He was aware that Sam was watching him, staring, obviously waiting for the elder to unlock the car doors. There was just one problem: Dean couldn't find his keys. His pockets were empty except for…
"Sammy, why do I have your cell phone?"
"Better question," Sam replied, the sound of his voice making Dean's blood run cold, "why do you have my body?"
Dean looked up and saw, under the flickering glow of the warehouse lights, a man in his late 20's with short sandy hair and bright hazel eyes. He was holding a key ring with the keys to the Impala on it in his hand.
"Give me the keys," Dean instructed, hoping his own dull level of panic was showing through as he slowly realized what was so different about his voice, "and get in the car."
Sammy did as he was told easily, leaning back in the passenger seat and buckling the safety belt. His brother, on the other hand, had a little more trouble. He stumbled in, moved the seat back an inch or two, and slammed the door.
"Dean," Sam began, but his brother cut him off.
"Not here. Just wait. Time to think."
The car fell silent and Dean started the engine, looking into the rearview mirror and shuddering as scared green eyes gazed steadily back at him.
