4 - Annihilator
Sam could only hope that Katie came here to kill them herself, and that was confirmed as the door to their motel room blew open, and sent both of them flying. Sam was thrown back into the bathroom door, which knocked the wind out of him before he hit the cheap tile floor. "Oh God, I'm embarrassed for you," she said, and he smelled carpet burning as she set the witch trap on fire. "I mean, I've heard you're a bit of a let down now, but this sucks guys."
Dean had been thrown back against the bed, and even though he was still coughing up blood, he aimed a gun in her direction. But with a harshly spat word, the gun flew out of his hand. "Oh please. The only reason you're still alive is because I want to capture you dying slow for my insta. Do you really think you're working with an amateur here?"
Sam could feel something going on inside him. His chest felt like it was contracting, like the weight of the Impala was sitting on his torso and crushing his ribcage. He probably only had time until his lungs were punctured to do something. Sam tried to swallow the pain as he reached for his gun, but it was like he had a thousand fire ants marching under his skin, and every movement was agony. Katie was good and sadistic, you had to give her that.
She was pretty in a bland, Stepford Wife sort of way, perhaps Reese Witherspoon's cousin twice removed. She also was wearing a blue silk blouse and dark pants that could have been silk as well. No wonder Mercer called her fancy. That didn't even take into account the incongruous diamond jewelry she wore. In this part of town, she would have been mugged in about ten minutes, but that's where being a killer witch probably came in real handy.
It looked like Katie had forgotten him and was personally taunting Dean, which gave him an idea. If it would work. Sam was starting to see black spots exploding before his eyes, and knew he was down to time here. Now or never. And since he was dying anyway, he had nothing to lose.
He took aim as best he could, and fired. Not only was his vision getting blurry again, but she was at an odd angle to the bathroom, so he missed her by what? Sam figured a country mile would probably cover it.
She turned towards him, blue eyes wide with fury, and it felt like an invisible biker wearing steel-toed boots kicked the gun out of his hand. "Oh, you think I forgot you, motherfucker?" She stomped over to him, and he realized she was wearing the type of stiletto-heeled footwear that looked super uncomfortable, and was probably so expensive that saying the price out loud would make him laugh at its sheer ridiculousness. Nothing but the best for Katie.
The vice grip on his chest was so tight he had no idea how his entire ribcage hadn't been pulverized to dust yet. Those spots in his vision were now throbbing with his heartbeat, and Sam suddenly wondered when he last took a breath. Could he even breathe anymore? "I felt that little spell you tried, " Katie snapped, leaning down over him. "I'll have you know that's cultural appropriation. You're no witch, and you'll never be one. And I'd tell you to keep your grimy mitts off our stuff, but you're about to be a corpse, so why bother?"
"Fuck you," Sam gasped, pretty sure he just used the last of his air. It was little more than a ghastly whisper.
Katie still heard it, and her brightly painted upper lip curved into a snarl. "You really want those as your last words, you jumped up lit -"
Blood exploded out of her chest as a witch killing bullet ripped through her, hitting almost perfect center mass. Sam felt some of the blood splatter on his face, but more importantly, he could breathe again. He took in a loud gasp of air as the pain in his chest was now gone. Katie swung back around, the bones in her torso actually visible through the apple-sized hole in her back, and Dean said, in a deep raspy voice, "So those are your last words, huh?"
She said nothing, as she was already dead. Her body started falling towards Sam, but he kicked her, and she slammed into the doorframe before collapsing to the floor. He should feel bad about that, but since she had been trying to murder him, he didn't.
"Thank God for villains who monologue," Dean said. His voice sounded terrible, like the needles had ripped up his throat, and Sam wondered if that would heal itself magically since the spell wasn't hitting him anymore. He guessed they'd find out shortly.
As for Sam, he made himself take deep, slow breaths, so he didn't hyperventilate. Suffocation was so much fun. He really wished he wasn't so well versed in it."And those stupid enough to turn their backs on a Winchester." Sam had been counting on Dean to do his thing and kill her before she killed him. Always a gamble, but it usually paid off.
He sat up slowly, his head only swimming for a second, the spots in front of his eyes fading away. Katie was pretty goddamn powerful, which led him to wonder why she was killing homeless people in Tacoma. Wouldn't she see that as beneath her? But it was hard to say, since she didn't live long enough for him to get a good grasp on her personality. Except gloating sadist, but that could cover all witches. And demons. And vampires. Okay, that covered easily half of the supernatural world, and the human one as well.
Sam saw that Dean had crawled to a slightly better position for a kill shot on Katie, and as a result had left a snail trail of blood behind him on the now permanently discolored rug. He was still face down on the carpet, his back up gun in his outstretched hand. He was still breathing, but in no hurry to try and stand yet. Sam couldn't even imagine what that small journey took out of him.
Sam used the sink to help himself stand up, his limbs still a little shaky from the whole spell/asphyxiation one-two punch. Now that he was standing, the chemical smell of the smoldering carpet was not only unpleasant, but overwhelming. Sorry for the motel, as they would probably never get the smell out of this room. He went to check it out, and stamped out the still smoking bits. The whole room wasn't on fire, so ... yay? Didn't seem like a victory at all.
By the time he returned to Dean's side, he felt almost normal. Sam patted him on the shoulder, and helped Dean stand. Sam understood why he was having a hard time when he saw his chin and neck were coated with gore, and his shirt was completely soaked with blood. "Goddamn, how much did you lose?"
He looked down at his sodden shirt, and shrugged. "At least a pint. Maybe two." Dean sat down hard on the edge of the bed. "Why the fuck was a witch that powerful picking off the homeless one by one? To save time, she could have taken out everyone at the park at once."
"I was wondering the same thing." Did they really need one more thing here that didn't fit? What the hell was going on? Sam felt like they were seeing the tip of the iceberg, but not the real stuff going on beneath. They had just enough pieces of the puzzle to get them in danger, but not enough to see a way out. Goddamn, he hated cases like this.
Noticing once again how hollow-eyed and pale Dean seemed, Sam grimaced. "Maybe we should get you to a hospital."
He shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. I just need fluids. And maybe some trucker's speed." Sam was pretty sure that last part was a joke. Maybe. Oh hell, with Dean, it was hard to say. He pulled out his flask and drank the rest down, leaving bloody fingerprints on it.
Sam took out his phone, and after a brief internal debate, sent Rowena a text message. Katie McClane, who is she? He didn't expect her to respond to him, but at least he gave it a shot.
Now they had a real problem. They had a body in their room that they needed to get rid of, and what the fuck were they going to do with her? Dean figured they could put her in her car - she probably came in one, right? - and abandon it somewhere. Let the cops try and figure out what the hell happened. There was a possibility her coven would find her and come after them ... but if she had a coven, why were they missing in action today? Unless she didn't have one. Was she a free agent? Some were, but they usually felt stronger in a group, with some exceptions.
Dean had to clean up and change his shirt, for obvious reasons, and while he did that, Sam rolled Katie up in a bedspread, and wiped her blood off his face with his forearm. He did notice, while rolling her up, she seemed to be getting lighter and lighter. Sometimes that happened with witches, especially if they were really old. It was like time caught up to them once they couldn't magic it away, and reduced them to bones and dust. If they were really lucky, there'd be no body to dump.
Belatedly, Sam checked the fire alarm on the wall to see why it never went off. The batteries had been torn out. Fantastic. At least this was already a deathtrap motel.
Dean came out of the bathroom still pale, but looking a bit better than before, and he belatedly wondered if he had some pills in his jacket. He had just about everything else. But Sam decided he didn't care. If he could keep going, fine, whatever it took.
"Is she shrinking?" Dean asked, going over to the rolled-up bedspread. He tapped it with his foot, but from the reaction, there was no real weight to it. "Did she melt?"
It was a terrible joke, but that's what they called it when time caught up to them. "Seems to have, yeah."
"Fantastic. There's some richly satisfying about flushing an evil witches' ashes down the toilet."
Sam rolled his eyes, but ... yeah, okay, there was. HIs phone hummed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see Rowena had actually replied.
Are you trying to scandalize me, Samuel? Throwing that harlot's name at me. She's a cheap sellsword, and if you ever run into her, do us all a favor and get rid of her.
Dean noticed the look on his face, and came over to see what he was reading. "Sellsword?"
"It's what they used to call mercenaries."
Dean glared at him. "I know what it means." Then a look of delighted surprise spread across his face. "Holy shit. She was a hitwoman witch. Hitwitch?"
Sam shook his head. "Okay, if she was, we're back at square one. Who the hell knew where to find a ... hitwitch -" Dean looked utterly pleased by this, so Sam let him have it. His brother was such a dork. "- and why would they pay her to take out homeless people? None of this makes sense."
Dean seemed to be staring at a nothing point in the room - or maybe at the bullet hole Sam had put in the wall - and said, "You're standing on a ledge, but you're on a building."
Oh yeah, he was fucking stoned out of his gourd. "What? How many pills did you take?"
"It's something Shirani said." Dean walked back to the bedspread, and unraveled it. Katie was now down to dust and bones scattered inside expensive fabrics and even more expensive jewelry. When Dean picked up her pants - and a leg bone came falling out - Sam was about to ask what he thought he was doing when he dropped the clothes and revealed he was holding a black keyfob. He pressed it, and they heard the brief bleep of a car unlocking in the motel parking lot. "Why don't we see how much evidence Katie left behind for us?"
It was kind of scary, but if pills made Dean this lucid, he should take them all the time.