~ Coeur d'Alene, Idaho ~
Four years ago...
Nora Havelock parked in front of a remote log cabin. She stepped out of her car and walked to the front door, minding the gravel path in the dark. Before she could knock, Sam Winchester swung open the door.
"Ms. Havelock, you shouldn't have come," he told her.
She walked past him without a word. Reluctantly, he shut the door.
"I needed to see it for myself," she said. "After all that tracking, all those hours we spent. I mean, it's one thing to study them in books. It's…"
Sam sighed.
In the other room, Dean sharpened a knife. It scraped unpleasantly against the metal.
A demon sat in a chair, tied up and restrained. He inhaled. "Do I smell menopause?" He glanced to the side, watching Sam and Nora walk in. "Well, if it isn't the Wiccan bitch of the West. Ms. Havelock, I know you're the one that helped them find me." With his head, he gestured at the bloody corpse in the kitchen. Nora sucked in a breath. "Not in time to save our big girl here, but still, you get a merit badge."
"They caught you, you son of a bitch," Nora snapped. "No more murders. And you're going back to Hell."
"Oh, Nora, Nora..." he tutted. "I'm gonna scoop you out like a pumpkin. You know that?" His face twisted into snarl as he growled at her. Nora jumped back, gasping, then gave a cry of fear and bolted from the room. He only smirked.
"Yeah, your scooping days are over, Gomer," Dean told him. He bent down to look the demon in the eye. "All you gotta worry about now is us."
Outside, Nora's car drove away.
"You ain't the first demon we've tracked down on this safari," Dean continued.
"That's right," said Sam. "As a matter of fact, I think you put us over half a dozen."
"Looking for Lilith in all the wrong places," the demon drawled.
"Well, you're gonna help us with that."
"If things are about to get messy, maybe you should meet the owner of this fleshy temple. A puppy of a man. You'll like him." The demon bowed his head, relinquishing control to the original host. When he raised his head again, he looked stricken.
"Jeffrey?" Sam asked. "Jeffrey, is that you?"
"Oh god," Jeffrey whispered. A broken sob escaped him. "You have to stop him."
"We will," Sam promised. "We're going to, okay? We're gonna send that demon back to Hell."
"Okay. Please don't hurt me."
"Jeffrey, before we can let him go…" Sam sighed. "Look, the demon knows where we can find more of his kind, okay?
"See, we're hunting them - all of them," Dean added. "He's not gonna give up his rolodex easy. Jeffrey, we're gonna have to cut into him. That means you."
Jeffrey took in a shaky breath. "The things he made me do to those women... Whatever you have to do, you have to do it. Please, just stop this evil piece of-" He choked as the demon wrested control away from him. "And on, and on, and on," the demon laughed. "Frankly, he can get tedious with this whole 'good and evil' thing."
"You know, you were right," Dean said. "I like Jeffrey. He's a decent guy. In fact, he just signed off on his temple." He held up the demon knife and poured holy water over it. The demon glared at him.
Dean stabbed him in the side.
The demon shrieked, jerking in his seat. His skin sizzled, undergoing relentless contact with holy water.
"She's got other lieutenants," Dean growled. "We already know that. We want names."
The demon began to scream as they poured holy water over his open wounds. When Dean went to start breaking limbs, the demon cried, "wait! Wait! His name is Merrick! I swear! You'll find him in New Orleans!"
Now having received the information they wanted, Dean flipped open a lore book and began to read. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis!"
The demon tipped back his head. Smoke funneled from his mouth, spiraling upwards and fleeing the scene.
"Jeffrey?"
Now in the Impala, they drove as fast as they were able to a hospital.
"Jeffrey, you awake?" Dean questioned. In the back seat, Jeffrey coughed wetly. "Hey, you passed out. You're in shock."
"He's- He's gone?" Jeffrey slurred.
"We exorcised him," Dean replied. "Try not to move, okay? We're almost to the hospital."
"You- Your brother?" Jeffrey moaned.
"My brother stayed back to clean us out of that crime scene. There's no reason to go down for a demon's murders. You know what I mean?"
When they arrived at the hospital, Dean jumped out of the car and opened the door for Jeffrey. He helped the other to the sidewalk. "Alright, alright, take it easy. Alright, you're good to make it from here, right? Okay, Jeffrey, no demon talk in the E.R., you understand me? You were mugged." He almost patted Jeffrey on the arm, but thought better of it, and instead got back in the car and drove off, leaving the tortured man alone.
~ Coeur d'Alene, Idaho ~
Present day...
Dean flicked the light on. The brothers peeked into the motel room.
Grimy yellow walls, green and blue patterned curtains, and one broken lightbulb. Not too shabby.
As they stepped inside, Dean's phone rang. He stared at the caller I.D. "Classified server? Got to be Deveraux, right?" He held it to his ear. "Hello? Thank God. Frank, Frank what do you got for me?"
Off to the side, Sam's hallucination of Lucifer stuck his hands in his pockets. "It's nice. Kind of like a men's room with beds."
Sam looked away. He distracted himself with a stack of files.
"Hmm," Lucifer continued, picking at the wall. "Avocado grime. Takes years to build up a patina like this."
Grimacing, Sam pressed his wounded palm until Lucifer flickered and vanished.
"... it's Dick Roman. Turn on CNN," Dean was saying. "Didn't you see him at that, uh, press conference in Phoenix? The bastard's everywhere." A pause. "You sure? No, I-I-I don't. I don't care that they've infiltrated the luxury boat industry, Frank. Great, call Kanye." He hung up and sighed.
"Frank's still stumped on Roman?" Sam questioned.
"Yeah." Dean joined Sam by the bed, where the younger had laid out each of the victim files. "Alright, let's do this."
"Okay, look at the victim profiles - same age, same hair color, body type. The ritual mutilations line up exactly."
"Who down there would've let our demon out of the can?" Dean asked. "He squealed on his superiors. We made sure of that. I mean, he should be down under until trumpet day."
"But two women killed in the last two weeks, same parts missing, I mean, same old hunting grounds even."
"Alright, well, we can take a swing at it. But you know it's all about the Leviathans now, okay? They're the ones we need to be hunting."
"Yeah, but, no." Sam sighed. "I mean, not right now. This one's ours, Dean. It's unfinished business, apparently."
Dean glanced back at him, and though it was obvious he'd rather be hunting Leviathans, he agreed. "Alright."
"... This is unit 32. Repeat, we've got another one. That's a 187. Female, caucasian, maybe late 30s, at the Henley Autowash."
"Unit 32, assistance is enroute."
Dean opened his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he rolled over in bed.
When they arrived, the crime scene was swarming with policemen and paramedics. Yellow tape marked off the area. Sam cleared his throat as the brothers approached; they both held up their FBI badges.
An officer lifted the tape for them, and they ducked under, with Sam thanking him.
"You know, every time we do this, I wonder if today's the day," Dean commented. "We walk up, flash our tin to a bunch of chompers pretending to policemen."
"I hear you."
They paused by the bloodstained body, which medics were ferrying into the ambulance, when a detective clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.
"Thought you boys might show up!" he exclaimed, smiling. "It's the drummer boys, agents, uh, Bonham and Watts, right?"
"Yeah," Sam said.
"Yeah, absolutely," Dean said.
"Uh, it's a pleasure to see you again, detective…" Sam trailed off, embarrassed he didn't remember the name.
"Sutton," Lucifer supplied helpfully, leaning against the ambulance. Sam ignored him.
"Pardon me, what was it - detective...?"
"Sutton," Lucifer repeated, enunciating each syllable as if Sam didn't hear the first time.
"Oh, no problemo, it's Detective Sutton," the detective answered. He shook Sam's hand.
"Sutton, yeah, hi," Dean rambled, shaking his hand next.
"Sad to say, case looks to be open again," Sutton told them.
"Are you sure?" Dean questioned.
"Same tools," Sutton said, walking over to the broken glass on the pavement. "Same cuts. Same crazy."
By the ambulance, Lucifer scowled and stuck out his forked tongue.
"Makes sense. I mean, we didn't catch the critter last time, did we?"
"And no suspects?" Dean asked.
"Same as before. Very thorough. Cold-blooded."
Meanwhile, Sam walked around the other side of the car and peered inside. He scanned the seats and dashboard for hints, but nothing.
Dean thanked the detective, who wandered off. Sam rejoined his brother and they gazed into the car together. Suddenly, Sam noticed something in the corner. Yellow powder. He gathered some on his finger and sniffed it.
"Sulfur."
"Dammit," Dean muttered. "Better go check on Havelock."
"This is it." Nora opened the door for the brothers and ushered them inside her shop.
"Wiccan's Web dot com," Sam read off.
"Internet mail order," she explained. "White magic only. Herbs and talismans." She led them to her office, pushing open the wide double doors to reveal a dark red Devil's trap drawn on the floor. She stepped to the side, avoiding touching it. "Careful, it's still drying." At their questioning looks, she clarified, "I have a friend at the Sheriff's office. I know about all the new murders. I'm doing what I can to protect myself."
Sam and Dean inched around the trap. She walked around her desk and pushed some papers aside.
"I'm also translating some very old banishments," she continued. She handed Sam a few pages.
He flipped through them, scanning the ancient texts with an appraising eye. "Wow, uh, these are- these are good."
"Thanks. I got an affinity. But back then, that night in that farmhouse, I was in over my head. I know that now, believe me. I will leave all that to the pros."
"Well, you helped track it down," Dean told her. "I mean, that was some solid legwork."
"When it came down to it, all I really knew was somebody who knew somebody who knew the right number to call," she dismissed. "And your number is not working, by the way."
"Right, we've had some-" Sam paused and rephrased. "-technical difficulties, phone issues."
"It's a monster problem, really," Dean added.
Sam glared at him, then turned his attention back to Nora. "So, uh, you haven't had any contact?"
"With the demon? No, thank God." She took the papers back and set them on her desk. "I have one or two things to finish up in town, and then I'm leaving."
"Good choice," said Dean.
"Have you found Jeffrey yet?" Nora asked.
"Who?"
"The man who the demon possessed," Nora replied. "The one you almost beat to death."
Dean swallowed. "Yeah, Jeffrey. That poor bastard."
"Some demons tend to be sentimental, don't they? Always go back to the same host if they can."
"It's a start," Sam said.
~ Halfway House Group Therapy ~
"I want to talk about Cinemax," someone said, raising his hand. "We're grown men. We pay rent. Why can't we get Cinemax?"
"The Halfway program advisers have already weighed in on that," the group facilitator, Alan, replied.
"Fine, fine," the man muttered.
"Bringing it up in group is not gonna-"
"I said fine!" the man snapped.
Alan refocused his attention on another member, with wide, nervous eyes and trembling hands. "Jeffrey. You have something pretty big going down later this morning."
"That's right, I guess," Jeffrey murmured. "I'm picking her up today. I'm getting a dog - a rescue. I had to get her spayed and shots and stuff, but they said she's ready."
"Jeffrey and I talked about this," Alan said. "He understands that pet ownership is a privilege, not a right. He's gonna have to show the whole house that he can handle the responsibility."
"And that's what it's all about, right, Alan?" Jeffrey smiled a bit. "Handling it."
At the animal shelter, Jeffrey stepped outside with a dog cradled in his arms.
"Surgery's a big bucket of laughs, huh?" he said. "You look good. I'm sorry for the cone of shame, but we gotta keep these stitches in." He carefully set her down on the sidewalk, a leash bundled up in his fist. "Okay. Come one."
As he headed off, something crashed in the alleyway. He paused. Limping, he stepped into the alley, searching for the source of the noise. He moved past the dumpsters, and instantly he was grabbed by Sam and Dean.
Dean pressed the demon knife to his neck while Sam drenched him with holy water, aiming his gun at his chest. Jeffrey yelped, shrinking into his jacket fearfully.
"Jeffrey?" Sam questioned.
When they realized he wasn't possessed, they released him.
"It's okay," Sam soothed, noting the terrified expression he wore. "You're okay."
"Sorry," Dean said. "Just had to make sure."
"Make sure of what?" Jeffrey asked. "That I peed my pants today?" His dog whimpered. "Aw, you scared my dog." He knelt down and stroked her head.
"Uh, we did not mean to do that," Sam backpedaled, managing a chuckle.
"Listen, Jeff, we got to- we gotta talk," Dean told him.
Back at Jeffrey's apartment, everyone took a seat. Sam pulled out a chair, while Dean joined the man on the couch.
"Well, this is, uh…" Dean trailed off, unsure about how to comment on the room without offending Jeffrey.
"I know what it is," Jeffrey muttered.
"Look, I know it must've been, um, hard," Sam tried, attempting to not sound awkward but failing. Jeffrey stared at him.
"Do you even listen to yourself?" Lucifer wondered. He was perched in the windowsill like a lazy cat, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was one of faint amusement.
Sam glanced at him, then pressed his palm.
Lucifer scowled and waved him off, flickering out of existence. "Oh, don't bother."
"What do you guys want from me?" Jeffrey asked.
"Well, um, we're pretty sure the demon that possessed you is back," Dean replied.
"What? What do you mean?" Jeffrey's tone took on an accusing edge. He rose to his feet. "You exorcised him, right? He's- He's supposed to be in Hell."
"Jeffrey, look, please just calm down," Sam placated. "Have a seat, please."
"I don't understand," Jeffrey whispered. He looked on the verge of tears now.
"Three more women have been murdered over the past two weeks," said Dean.
Jeffrey shook his head. "No, no…"
"Same vic profiles, same forensics, crime scene dusted with sulfur," Dean continued, counting off his fingers. "We've gotta assume that it's him."
"But we're here now, okay? So if he comes after you, we'll nail him, just like we did last time," Sam promised.
"What was her name?" Jeffrey inquired. "The last one he killed."
"Uh, Anna," Dean supplied.
"Anna Paxton," Sam finished.
"Marjorie Willis." Jeffrey raised his head, voice firm. "She's the next one on the list."
"List? What list?" Sam asked.
"The demon used to recite it all the time, like a grocery list. He burned it in my head - the names of all the women he was gonna kill."
"He already had his victims chosen?" Sam's eyebrows furrowed.
"And put in line, in an order."
"Wait, why?" Dean questioned. "Demons aren't usually into the obsessive serial-killer crap. You know, they're more just kinda all around evil. Why would he do this?"
"He said it was his job," Jeffrey said.
Then there was a knock at the door. Jeffrey raised a finger to his lips, crossed the room, and opened it.
"Jeffrey," an older man greeted. "Did your guests sign in?"
"I'm really sorry, Alan," Jeffrey said. "They're friends of mine from my days back at the post office. I didn't know they were coming."
"So, what do you think?" Sam asked Dean quietly.
"I think we really helped mess this poor son of a bitch up," Dean replied, casting his gaze downward. "Look at him. He's got a state-assigned Dad."
"Okay, just get them to sign in when they sign out," Alan told him with a smile. Jeffrey nodded, and closed the door.
The brothers got to their feet.
"Jeffrey, look, I'm gonna go," Sam said, "I'm gonna go find Marjorie Willis, keep her on watch, okay?"
"Don't worry," Dean added. "I'm gonna stay here just in case."
Sam walked into the local library with a bag slung over his shoulder. The place was milling with quiet folks checking out books, creating a comfortable atmosphere for both work and relaxing. He offered a polite smile to someone walking by, then scanned the library for his target.
"Excuse me." A woman strolled past him, pushing a cart filled with books. Her blonde hair was tugged back in a tail, and she wore a grey cardigan.
Despite knowing he was here to scope out the next victim, Sam couldn't help but think about how he never got a chance to pick up a book and read. Lore books, sure, but not fiction or the interesting ones he enjoyed.
Lucifer stepped into view, leaning over his shoulder. "You're right. We just don't read anymore."
Sam gritted his teeth and began walking.
"Marjorie Willis," Lucifer mused, keeping the pace behind him. "Librarian, indoor gardening enthusiast. Our demon's next organ donor."
They watched Marjorie take a seat at a desk. Sam picked a vacant table to keep an eye on her, settling his bag on the wood. Lucifer sat down in front of him. When Sam tried to look over at her, Lucifer gave a sigh and blocked him. Sam inched to the side. Looking absolutely defiant, Lucifer leaned farther. Sam scowled.
"Come on, Sam, talk to me," Lucifer said. "It's been months."
Sighing, Sam moved his chair again. Lucifer crossed his arms.
"When you left me at the E.R., I had three smashed fingers, five teeth out, a broken wrist, nose, cheekbone, collarbone." Jeffrey counted off the numerous injuries on his hands. "I had to get 160 stitches." He breathed a laugh. "Mugged. The doctor on duty said it looked like I got caught in the Spanish Inquisition."
"And we're the good guys," Dean said.
"They patched me up, mostly," Jeffrey continued, ignoring Dean. "But I lost my job, my health insurance. I just started to drink and drift, and I got lost. Had some kind of mental break. And I started to talk... about what happened."
Dean groaned. "Ah, man. Never tell. Never, never."
"I know that now, believe me."
"So, lemme guess," Dean tried. "Drunk tank, to psych eval, to seventy-two hour forced hold, to a nice long stay at an institution of their choice."
Jeffrey gave a nod. "Yes."
"It's happened to friends of mine," Dean recalled.
"For a long time, I didn't care," Jeffrey admitted. "The truth was more important than where I was. I was in no shape to cope with the outside world."
"Well, hey, you got out, you know? Holding it together."
"And now the demon is back."
"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "I'm sorry, man. I mean it - about all of it, you know?"
"You saved my life," Jeffrey assured him. "I owe you for it. I know that. I owe a lot of people for getting even this far. I…" He paused. A crease formed on his forehead. "Crap."
"What?"
"If he isn't already circling the next woman, Marjorie, then I-I think I might know where he is." Jeffrey's words gathered momentum as feverish urgency gleamed in his eyes. "He had this special place where he kept souvenirs. Where he nested."
"Why didn't you tell us this?" Dean questioned.
"I didn't want to go," Jeffrey said, looking down at his hands.
"You don't have to go. We'll handle it."
"I do, I have to," Jeffrey urged.
"'Average annual rainfall, Hackberry, Texas…'" Lucifer trailed off with a sigh of boredom and dropped the book he was reading.
Sam trained his eyes on the pages. Pages, not Lucifer. Words, pages, ink, not the Devil.
Across the room, Marjorie had moved from her desk and now pushed her rattling cart through the aisles. Sam watched her vanish into the back.
Then-
The people all around him began to bang their heads into the tables. Sam flinched and held back a gasp. As if yanked by invisible strings, people tried to break their skulls open on the wood, grunting every time they did so. Blood dripped from their foreheads. Lucifer smirked.
Sam pressed as hard as he could into the scar on his palm. Lucifer vanished. Everyone went back to normal. He let out a breath of relief.
A moment later, Lucifer was back. His voice held the whiny petulance of a toddler. "Come on, Sam, pay attention to me. I'm bored." He pouted for emphasis.
Sam caught sight of a man walking towards where Marjorie had disappeared. He wore a black leather jacket, and didn't seem to be the friendliest. Sam was instantly suspicious.
"Civil war buff?" Lucifer wondered, raising an eyebrow.
His jaw tightening, Sam rose from his seat and followed the guy into the back. He peeked through the rows of books, searching for the pair. A soft cry reached his ears, and he sped up. He went to round the corner, when-
"...right here, in my discontinued periodicals," Marjorie gasped.
They were making out passionately, so passionate one might think they were trying to devour one another.
Sam spun on his heel and fled the scene.
Dean turned the engine off. He lifted his cellphone, then frowned. "Dammit, no service."
Jeffrey twisted around to look at his dog in the backseat. "Good girl. You stay." He opened up a bag and set it in front of her. She gave a soft whine. "Here's some jerky. Stay."
"Thing's not gonna pee in here, is it?" Dean asked.
"Um, I don't know."
Sighing, Dean hopped out of the car, Jeffrey following suit. "So he'd get you this far, and then he'd shut your lights out, yeah?" Dean asked.
"For some reason, he was very secretive about this place," Jeffrey confirmed. "But after a while, he'd only really sort of cover my eyes when we walked in."
"Okay. You think you can get us back there?" Dean searched the younger man's face for signs he was having a breakdown inside. Growing up with Sam, he'd learned to detect these things.
Jeffrey gave a nervous nod.
Dean opened the back door, which rattled loudly. He shined a flashlight inside the gloomy warehouse.
"Red door down the hallway," Jeffrey whispered.
The light illuminated a door with chipped and peeling red paint.
"Yeah, there is," Dean said. He unsheathed the demon knife. As they walked, Jeffrey kept a hand on his shoulder, his eyes closed. They made their way to the end of the hallway.
"This must be it," Jeffrey breathed.
Dean swung open the door. More darkness. He proceeded into a larger area, where shelves and tall structures were few and far between. He could see more clearly in the moonlight.
On the windows, dozens and dozens of occult symbols were drawn in what he hoped wasn't blood. He recognized a lot of them, but many were unfamiliar. Dean steeled himself.
"Alright, stay over here, okay?" he instructed, pushing Jeffrey back towards the door. "You just stay here, don't move."
His light gave a weak attempt at puncturing the shadowy space. Dean moved farther back, exploring more of the creepy demon warehouse. He turned a corner, sighting some propane tanks. At the sound of footsteps, he whirled around.
Jeffrey stood a few feet behind him, looking anxious. He bit his lip.
Dean sighed. He aimed his light a little to the right, and froze. Bloody and beaten and strapped to a chair, a young man sat with his head bowed. Thick chains secured him, restricting any movement. Dean approached cautiously.
"Hey," Dean whispered. "Hey. Hey, alright." He flicked his light off and went to work on the cuffs. "We're gonna get you out of here."
The guy slowly raised his head, revealing a gag tied around his mouth. His eyes fixed on something beyond Dean. He began to struggle, making muffled noises of panic and rattling the chains.
"Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?" Dean muttered. "But you gotta stay still."
The guy moaned behind the gag.
Then a sharp pain stabbed Dean's neck, and everything went black.
"I'm pretty sure this guy's the boring sort of chubby chaser," Lucifer remarked. They watched the apparent couple smile and chuckle with one another.
Sam flipped open his phone and dialed Dean's number.
"Leave your name, number, and nightmare at the tone."
"Dean, where are you? I'm scoping zero out here."
"Not a good sign~" Lucifer sing-songed. He stood behind Sam and scanned the various papers. "Surprised you haven't picked up on that one yet. It's right there in the coroner's report." He sat down across from Sam once more.
Sam flipped open the report. He frowned.
"Yeah. Uh-huh," Lucifer approved. "In this latest round of killings, our big girls had traces of heavy tranquilizers in their blood. Yeah, but our demon's strong enough to make fat Betty do whatever he wants to, right?" He cocked an eyebrow. "So, why does he need the tranqs? Think he's got a bad back?"
Feeling unsettled that his hallucination was right, Sam wracked his brain for ideas. Answers.
"Yeah, whatever is going on here, you know that demon's not coming back to kill anybody," Lucifer continued.
The phone beeped as Dean's other number failed to connect. "This is Special Agent Smith. Please leave your name, number, and details-" Sam hung up.
"Oh no," Lucifer drawled. "That's every cellphone Dean has. One of them should've picked up, right? Big brother's probably dead."
For the first time since arriving in Coeur d'Alene, Sam pinned Lucifer with a sharp look and growled, "Shut up." Still glaring at him, Sam gathered up his things and left, leaving Lucifer sitting alone.
Lucifer watched his departure, a faint smile crossing his face. "He said 'shut up' to me."
At Jeffrey's room, Sam picked the lock and hurried inside before anyone saw him.
"That's what I'm talking about, Sam," Lucifer said, slipping inside after him. "Real interaction again. I miss that. The rapier wit. The wittier rape. Come on."
Sam shouldered past him. He lifted up Jeffrey's mattress, searching for something, anything to help him find Dean that wasn't a hallucination of the Devil.
"I'll be good," Lucifer promised. "I'll even help you solve your little Nancy Drew mystery, or whatever."
Fear made him move quicker. Sam rifled through papers and knick knacks, then picked the lock on a drawer and pulled it open. He found a blue box inside, and his breath caught in his throat.
"Hm, a cell phone scrambler," Lucifer observed. "But Luci, those are illegal. Think, Sam. Maybe this has something to do with Dean's telephone blackout."
Sam put the scrambler back and swung open the bottom drawer. Full of junk, full of useless things that couldn't help him, couldn't help Dean. He abandoned the drawer and shoved past items atop a dresser, yanking open cubbies and tossing aside clothing items. He smacked the wood in frustration, then paused. He banged on it again. It was hollow. He pulled out the entire drawer and dumped the contents all over the floor. When he reached below it, he found a case. He opened the clasp and flipped through the papers inside.
Demon summonings.
"Latin - not suspicious at all," said Lucifer.
Walking down an alleyway, Sam convinced himself he was talking outloud for organization reasons. "I've never seen this spell before."
"No, but you've seen this type."
"Demon summoning," Sam muttered. "Why?"
"Why? To summon a demon, jackass," Lucifer replied, smirking. "Start looking at who."
There was a lengthy pause. Sam stopped and turned to look at Lucifer. "Okay, what do you mean?"
"Look at the page," Lucifer told him. His tone had instantly shifted from antagonistic to calm instruction.
Sam scanned the words. The familiar looping y's, the scratched i's.
He said, "I know this handwriting" at the same time Lucifer spoke, "You know this handwriting."
Sam crept into Nora's dark shop. He walked past the lobby, then slipped into her office. Lucifer sat at the desk, hands laced behind his head. Sam hardly managed a few steps before something heavy and hard connected with his skull, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Ay, caramba," Lucifer exclaimed, rubbing his own head. "Mi cabeza!"
Groaning, Sam stumbled to his feet to face his attacker.
Nora let out a cry and swung at him again, but Sam grabbed her weapon and shoved her back several feet.
"Nora, stop it!" Sam shouted. "Calm down!" He brandished the summonings for her to see, crinkling the paper. "What is this? What is this? Why did Jeffrey have a demon summoning in your handwriting?"
"Everything's happening the way he said, the way he planned it," Nora whimpered. She was trembling from head to toe, her lips wobbling.
"What plan?" Sam demanded.
"You can't help - you can't change it."
"Hit her," Lucifer suggested.
Nora exhaled shakily and sat down.
"Nora, tell me what is going on," Sam ordered.
"Sam, shake her up," Lucifer told him. He jabbed a finger in Nora's direction. "She knows what happened to Dean. Get this stupid cow to focus, will you?"
"Nora, listen to me!" Sam lowered himself to her level. His voice was quiet but threatening. "Whatever it is, you should be a lot more scared of me right now because I'm two inches away from you, and I can make you talk. Do you understand me?"
Lucifer nodded in approval.
Nora let out a sob. "It's my son. He has my son."
"What were you thinking?" Sam snarled. "Why would you even help bring back a demon in the first place?"
"Not the demon!" Nora cried. "Jeffrey."
Dean's eyes fluttered open.
He saw the kid beside him, still tied down. He blinked rapidly and tugged at his own restraints. Everything was fuzzy, and he couldn't think straight. He squinted in the darkness.
"Jeffrey?"
Jeffrey looked over at him. "Good. You're up."
"What happened?" Dean groaned. "What's going on?"
"No one asked you to get involved," Jeffrey said. "To save me, to save anyone."
"What?"
"Did you ever think that maybe I loved being possessed?" Jeffrey limped across the room, then began tugging a cart. It was filled to the brim with summoning supplies. "Did you? I loved the connection, the power. And I loved him. Love of my life, actually."
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," Dean mumbled.
"He liberated me - started me on my true life mission." Jeffrey began to assemble the various ingredients.
"So you're the one with the thing for all those women," Dean realized. "Aren't you, Jeffrey? You're a serial killer."
"I was nothing before he found me. A shadow, too scared to do what I was brought here to do." Jeffrey lit a match and tossed it in the bowl, which caught fire. "Too timid to live up to my true potential."
"So, what happened?" Dean asked. "Redheaded mommy make you stuff birds, put on dresses?"
"You shouldn't trivialize other people's pain," Jeffrey told him.
"Demon comes along, rides co-pilot in your skull. Teaches you how to kill. The list - that's yours," Dean said.
"For years, it was just a game I would play," Jeffrey recalled. "Every time I'd walk by one of them in the street or see one on my mail route... there's a sound that comes from their brains. You know that? Only I can hear it, like and evil little steam whistle." He stepped closer to Dean, eyes alight with manic passion. "Every time I saw one, I'd follow her, take down her address. But I was never gonna do anything. Not 'til he came along. He's the one who saved me." He picked up a knife from the table. "And you sent him to Hell."
"I kept tabs on Jeffrey after the exorcism," Nora told Sam. "I even sent him care packages in the hospital, but he never responded. And then not long ago, he came to me. He seemed healthy, put together, except he wanted to know if there was a way to summon the demon back."
Sam shook his head, gritting his teeth.
"He said he'd been doing some research. It was mostly nonsense, but he was convinced it was possible."
"You really knocked the cork outta her piehole," Lucifer remarked.
"I sent him away," Nora said earnestly. "I told him to get some more help. The next day, he called me. He put my son on the phone." Tears slipped down her face. "He had taken him from his dorm room. I gave him everything: the ritual, the sigils. But he kept my boy." Nora stood and walked behind her desk, then opened a drawer. She held up a small wooden box. "And then he sent me this."
Sam undid the lock and grimaced at the bloody contents.
"It's my baby's ear," Nora sobbed. "He cut it off because the ritual didn't work."
"Well, that demon gave up some serious state secrets," Sam said. "Would've gone into big lockdown. Not so easy to bring him back up." He closed the box.
"Jeffrey didn't care. He told me to find out what went wrong or else. Finally, I found a summoning spell that would work for sure." She flipped open a large book and handed it to him. "And that's when he said I had another job to do."
"Which was what?" Sam questioned, scanning the page.
"When you came, I was supposed to send you to Jeffrey," Nora admitted. "He left a trail of bodies to make sure of it."
Sam held back his anger and turned his attention to the spell. He frowned at one line. "'Blood of the exorcist'?"
"Strongest summoning I've ever seen," Nora whispered. "It requires the blood of the exorcist who banished him - your brother. You see? It is all part of Jeffrey's plan."
"Yeah, well-" Sam slammed the book with a thud, "-new plan. Tracking spell. Bavarian, Egyptian, I don't care. Dealer's choice. Use the flesh of the body to find the body and Dean." When he saw Nora's expression, he smacked the box on the table. "Do you want the ear, or the kid?"
"You're giving me the chills," Lucifer piped up, grinning.
"I like to think I know you pretty well," Jeffrey mused. He knelt beside Dean, watching his blood drip into a bowl.
"Yeah, how do you figure?" Dean grunted.
"I watched you torture an innocent man to get out a demon," Jeffrey replied. "Pretty charged situation - revealing. You guys talked about a lot, showed a lot of character. God, you were so desperate to fix the world back then. It kills you that people keep getting hurt…" He picked up the bowl and headed back to the cart. "... and you just can't stop it. Or should I say it's killed you, shouldn't I?"
"You know what? Screw you," Dean snapped.
"Hey. I was there. I was depressed, Dean, because he was gone. I was a wreck, an emotional shell, a drunk." Jeffrey glanced over at Dean. "I was suicidal."
"I don't usually endorse suicide, but man, what stopped you?"
"It was Alan, at the house," Jeffrey said.
"You're kidding me."
"He's a really good rehab therapist. Really helped me focus on my goals, my attitude." Jeffrey cleaned off the knife leisurely. "I have to say, I really benefited from the whole program. A life well-lived comes from the structured pursuit of meaningful happiness. I realized I was nothing without my demon. Then I decided I have to get him back." He let out a long sigh. "I'll be right back."
He shuffled off, favoring his weak leg. "Come on, honey," he said to his dog. Dean felt sick. "It's a bit of a recipe, I must admit," he called back.
"No," Dean muttered, disbelieving.
Jeffrey and his dog vanished around the corner, but Dean could still see their shadows.
"Oh, you sick son of a bitch."
The dog yelped. The whimpering went quiet. Jeffrey walked back over a few moments later, clutching something in his hand. Dean shook his head as he went by.
Jeffrey placed a smaller bowl within the burning one. He poured Dean's blood over it, then began to chant in Latin. As he spoke, the shelves started rattling, filling the warehouse with noise. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The ground trembled.
Everything went quiet.
Exhaling, Jeffrey lowered his arms. He glanced around, looking confused. Dean prayed the ritual didn't work.
Nora's son suddenly burst free of his chains, sending them clattering to the floor. He raised his head, revealing his eyes to be black. He ripped off the gag. "Hello, Jeffrey."
The demon rose from his seat, looking down on Dean with disdain. "Dean Winchester. As I live and breathe... again." His eyes flicked back to their normal color. He turned and approached Jeffrey, then wrapped the other in an embrace.
"What are you doing?" Jeffrey whispered.
"I'm thanking you, Jeffrey." The demon laced their fingers together and began to sway back and forth in a strange, stumbling waltz.
"What are you doing with this half-dead piece of crap?" Jeffrey asked, referring to Nora's son. "Come into me."
"We had a very special time together, didn't we, Jeffrey?" the demon mused. "It warms my heart to see you haven't forgotten what I taught you. You built on it." He slowed to a halt, stepping back to admire his former vessel. A grin spread over Jeffrey's face at his words. "You captured a Winchester. You, Jeffrey, my pupil."
"I don't want to be your pupil," Jeffrey said eagerly. "I want to be yours."
The demon released him. "But I'm done with you. My work is finished. You can do everything now, all on your beautiful own."
"No," Jeffrey said.
"No?"
Jeffrey shook his head.
The demon backhanded him. Jeffrey staggered and fell, reeling from the unexpected blow. The demon knelt.
"We don't do 'no'. Remember, Jeffrey?" Dean strained against his ropes, drawing the demon's attention. He stepped towards Dean, the promise of pain in his voice. "Keep sawing away at your ropes, Penelope Pitstop. We can dance standing up if you want."
"So is this what you do?" Dean demanded. "Find postal workers, make 'em go postal?"
"I talent scout," the demon corrected. "That's all. Looking for the next generation of superstars before they get to Hell, like Jeffrey here. He had all the raw material, just bubbling in there. All I had to do was loosen the lid on his jar, show him some practical know-how."
"What about the kid?"
"This one?" The demon wiggled a bit and clicked his tongue. "I don't think. Not much to work with. No natural gift. I'll probably burn this meat off on my way to Vegas."
Sam lunged from the shadows. The demon whipped around and grabbed his gun, and then the two were locked in combat.
Dean sawed off his ropes.
The demon grasped Sam by the collar and flung him several feet back. He hit the floor with a groan. Grinning, the demon advanced, preparing to finish the job, but slammed into an invisible barrier. A devil's trap was sprayed on the ceiling.
"You've got to be kidding me!" the demon roared.
"You let go of my son," Nora demanded, striding into view.
The demon chuckled lowly, but it held no humor. "Where do you keep coming from?"
Behind them, Jeffrey had gotten to his feet. Clutching a knife, he moved to attack them, but Dean cocked his gun and pulled the trigger. Jeffrey stumbled. He shot him again. Jeffrey collapsed with a moan.
The demon strained against the barrier, growling. Nora chanted an exorcism, but despite his obvious pain, the demon offered a sinister grin.
"He'll be back, you know. Back in black."
"Go to Hell," Dean snapped.
Nora finished the exorcism. The demon fell to his knees and screamed, black smoke funneling from his mouth and spiraling out of sight. Nora's son slumped to the side. She ran to him, helping him sit up. Through her crying, Nora managed to murmur, "I got you. I got you, baby."
Dean collapsed into his motel bed with a weary sigh. Sam locked the door behind him.
"So Jeffrey was just pretending to be the victim," Sam said, frowning. "Way back in that farmhouse, during the exorcism. H-He was just acting."
"He was a psychopath, Sam," Dean mumbled, his voice muffled. He shifted in bed and kicked his shoes off. "That's what they do all the time, is act. Act like they're normal, act like they're not balls-to-the-wall crazy."
"You going to sleep?"
"Damn straight. Screw consciousness, that's what I say..."
Sam chuckled. He started to shrug his jacket off, but a voice stopped him. Dread clutched at his chest.
"No, no, Sam. No nap for you, Sammy."
Sam pressed his scar.
"Oh, come on, don't do that," Lucifer scolded. He straightened. "Let's talk, Sam. I always enjoyed our special little chats. Don't you want to talk?"
Pressing his lips together, Sam jammed his nails into the scar, but Lucifer remained frustratingly corporeal.
"Yeah, look at that. Something's definitely different now, isn't it?" Lucifer pointed at him. "You let me in. You wanted me, partner. So you think you can use your little tricks to banish me again, like that? No." He snapped his fingers. The sharp sound made Sam flinch. "I do believe I've got you, bunk buddy. Got my finger wiggling around in your brainpan." He wriggled his finger, and as he did so, the bed burst into flames.
Sam sucked in a breath. The heat was horrifyingly real, warming his skin and crawling up his clothes. He held in a cry of pain as the fire leaped up his arm.
Lucifer chuckled. His snickering rose in volume, turning into a full-blown howl of laughter. The sound was cruel and utterly merciless.
"Come on, Sammy! Come on! Say it with me now... GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!" Lucifer shouted. Sam flinched violently.
The laughing turned to a cackle, cold and sadistic and ringing in Sam's ears, so loud it was painful but not as painful as the flames, the fire searing him to the core and it wasn't- it wasn't real, it couldn't be, but- the heat, the cackling it couldn't be imaginary-
The fire roared on.