FIVE
.
Warning: this is a Not Safe for Work chapter. Just sayin'.
.
.
John reached forward and waved a fifty dollar bill at the very human cab driver.
The older man turned in the driver's seat and looked at it with suspicion. "Fare says twenty. I can't break that."
"No - just take fifty. If anyone asks, you were never here, and you never saw me," John said. The driver hesitated. John waved the note again. "Look, this ain't illegal, mate. This is a tip. Your missus probably needs new shoes for that do on Saturday, eh?"
The driver squirmed round in his seat to glare at his fare. "How do you know my wife?"
"Lucky guess. Take the tip. It's a gratuity. I thought that's how America's working class really survived."
The man put a hand up and opened the glass barrier. He took the money and stuffed it in the plastic beaker in the cup holder by his hand. "Thanks."
"Just forget you saw me."
"You going to forget about my wife?"
"What wife?" John grinned. He pushed the door open and got out, stretching before he shut the door and pulled his packet of Silk Cut from his pocket. The taxi whisked away from behind him but it didn't warrant his interest. Instead he went up the dirt driveway in front of him and opened the packet to find it empty. He muttered something unkind and stopped to look up.
The street was empty. Not even a tumbleweed bothered to bring a little bit of movement to the deserted road. Empty, dilapidated houses edged both sides, abandoned cars were dotted about, here and there a crow strutted up and down as if trying to warn John against doing anything stupid whilst on its turf.
The driveway he was currently standing in was the sudden victim of a breeze, the resulting dusty swirl round his boots making him look up at the house before him. A two storey lump of rotten wood and unsafe structure notices, it stared back at him in some kind of dare to enter its rotting front door.
He held onto his cigarette packet and hovered his left palm over the top. He closed his eyes as he recited something under his breath. He popped an eye open. He cursed and tried again.
This time a tiny blue flash warmed his palm and he opened his eyes to find the packet refilled. He looked up at the house. "Thanks for the lend. Not like you'd need any spare energy lying around here, is it?"
The front door creaked open on unsteady hinges. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it quickly, taking one last look around before walking up the rest of the driveway.
.
ooOoo
.
Sam shoved his duffle in the boot of the Impala with a huff. "What a dick."
Dean was already going to the driver's door. "I can't believe we hung out at a friggin' bar all night - what were we thinking?" he demanded.
"It's weird - now it's like I can't understand why we didn't think leaving the moment we had the book was a good idea. It's almost like—"
"What a dick," Dean cried angrily.
Sam looked at him. "What?"
"Well think, Sam! What's the only thing that could have influenced us last night?"
Sam smacked a hand into his forehead and rubbed it down his face wearily. "You're saying John planned this?"
"He put some kind of whammy on us! He must have done! Otherwise we woulda left the library and not stopped till we were back at the bunker!" Dean ran his hands through his hair. "That back-stabbing—!"
"I don't know who I'm more angry at," Sam snapped. "Him for doing it to us, or me for letting him."
"We didn't know he was some hypnotist," Dean said. "And who does that, anyway?"
Sam closed the boot and got in the passenger door. "He was good. Like really good. I actually believed he might be an ok guy."
"Well it's too late now," Dean growled. He started the engine.
"I don't even know how we trace him," Sam huffed. "That was low. I mean, that was seriously low. How does he sleep at night?"
"People like that, who've gone as low as they can go? Just when you think you can trust them, that they've been the lowest they can go - they find a basement door."
Sam looked at his brother for a long moment. "Are you talking about John or—. Or other people who've been down as low as they can go?"
Dean didn't answer. He pushed a cassette tape into the car stereo and sniffed to himself, checking the car park was empty before reversing the classic out and round.
"Just wish we could find him," Sam said.
"Believe me, I really want that book too," Dean snapped. "But he doesn't have a phone, no car - even his shoes didn't leave footprints. There's nothing we can do, Sam. We get back to the bunker and do what we can to that demon. And he will tell us where these women are. If we're too late… then he's on our hit list for attention at another time." He checked the traffic and pulled out onto the quiet street.
The midday sun glinted off her bodywork as the Impala sped off down the road. Sam frowned at the road ahead, but Dean was already attempting to block out the morning's upsetting developments with nothing more than sheer bloody-mindedness and the music from the stereo.
.
ooOoo
.
John stepped in through the door. A large, open room with only a large staircase greeted him with a notable lack of enthusiasm. He noticed that a set of wooden cabinets, an old telephone atop, a hat rack, the floorboards - everything - was covered in several layers of dust, so much so that in places it had melted into a kind of plastic spongey mess that curled up at the edges.
He checked the floor was in one piece before he walked toward the grand staircase in the middle of the room. He pushed the cigarette in his mouth and lifted his left hand. He began to scrawl letters on the palm with the fingers of his right, mumbling something around the cigarette.
A squeak - a noise. He stopped and listened.
Nothing.
He gave his hand his full attention, continuing with the words he needed and tracing letters on his left hand.
"Johnny come lately," sang a voice from above.
He made his hand drop to conceal it behind him. He heard shoes on old wood. They came from the left, somewhere above him. He looked up to see a woman making her way down the staircase and round. She smiled at him, her dark face and long, black hair standing out even in the gloom of the house.
"The new kid in town. Everybody loves you, so don't let them down," she sang softly. She came to the bottom and stopped a few feet from him. Her dark blue blouse and long matching skirt looked very out of place in such a run-down hovel. "I was wondering if you'd show up, or if I'd have to come and find you," she oiled.
"I told you I'd be here. Anyway, I didn't fancy you doin' a fly-by and roasting me from above, pet," he smiled.
Her face dropped. "I am nobody's pet," she seethed.
He put both hands up in surrender. "Wrong choice of words, yeah? You prefer 'sweetheart'?"
She relaxed, before she squared her shoulders and laced her hands behind her back. "Did you bring it?"
"Of course, love. Question is, would you just take it and go?"
She grinned, her brilliant white teeth almost flashing. "Oh Johnny boy. Are you trying to haggle? Now? A little late, don't you think?"
"I'm just asking," he smiled. "…So would you?"
She threw her head back and laughed, and John felt something in him deflate in I-told-you-so resignation. He fixed his smile as she managed to control herself. She reached out and put a hand to his tie, sliding it down slowly. "No, John, I will not. A soul and the promise of your flesh between my teeth, given up for a simple book? Absolutely not."
John took the cigarette from his mouth and let out a long stream of smoke through his nose. "You sure about that?"
"Poor darling," she cooed, running her dark hand down his face. "Still posturing, still bluffing? That's what got us both here in the first place, as I recall." She let her hand drop. "Hand it over."
"That's it? I give it to you, you eat me and a fresh soul, and then you go back to your natural form… Have you really thought this through?" he asked earnestly. "I mean, once you're a dragon again, you can't eat chips and gravy. Or drink whisky. Or have down-and-dirty sex with a human."
"Stalling, John?" she grinned. "I know your magic. You talk and talk until the other person believes, until they change, until they do your bidding. You must know that won't work on me."
"I'm just sayin'—" he began innocently.
She laughed. "Oh dear. You are persistent." She smoothed the back of her hand down his cheek. "That's what drew me to you in the first place. Well, you and your… talents."
"Happy to entertain you. I'm here all week. —Oh wait, I'm not," he added.
She grinned. "My poor laughing magician."
"You're going to miss me when I'm gone," he said, a crafty smile lighting up his eyes. She didn't answer, her gaze busy interrogating his. He let his head tilt. "Are you really ready to get your old life back? It's going to be a bastard of a transition, love."
"Oh, I think so," she said, but her smile was fading. "Now… give me the book."
"There's nothing you want first?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes ran up and down him in their own time, before she lifted her chin. "No."
"Sure?" he pressed, his eyes conspiratorial to the extreme. "Come off it. You've been lookin', you know you have."
She began to grin. "This is hardly the time."
"If I'm on your chopping block anyway, what's the harm in taking time out for yourself? It's not like I can just leave." He paused, sucking on the cigarette and then taking it from his mouth. "After all, this is it. The end of that human suit. You'll never get it back, never walk down a street again, never move completely unknown amongst us humans. No more sleeping on soft sheets, no more bodies to keep you warm at night. No more of that little tickle you get when someone stands too close to you, and you can't decide what to do about it."
She smiled, running an index finger across her lower lip.
He stepped closer to her, looking slightly down at her, his nose barely an inch from hers. "How about it, love? One last hurrah, one last shag before you slough off this human skin and fly free? Goin' to be a hell of a dry spell once you're proper dragon again."
"Are you so desperate?" she teased, but she bit at her lip.
"I'm a biscuit away from being devoured, I've got no escape. —And if I'm bein' honest, I've always had a weakness for strong birds," he winked. He flicked the cigarette butt from his fingers.
She sighed. "You've done it again, haven't you, John?" She turned her chin up to his. "You talked, and I listened. And now here you are, the last turkey in the shop."
"You'll hurt me feelings, sweetheart. I may be scrawny but I'm good at what I do."
"I'll be the judge of that," she whispered. Her hands yanked his raincoat down his arms. Her palms went to his face and pulled it down closer. She kissed him.
He was nearly knocked back off his feet but he managed to keep his balance. She pressed, he counter-balanced. She yanked off his tie and threw it from her. Her nails ranged harmlessly down the front of his shirt, then went back up and flicked open every button to grant her access to his skin.
.
ooOoo
.
The Impala rumbled along the road, the interior quiet save Bon Scott shouting from the stereo, until Sam lifted his phone and waved it around. "Typical. Another blackspot," he huffed.
"What blackspot?" Dean asked, his attention on the road.
"I was just checking mail and the signal went out. No cellular, nothing," Sam grumped.
"What do you expect out here in Bumblefrick Nowhereville?"
"S'pose." He let the phone down again. Suddenly it beeped. Sam frowned. "I've got a message."
"There you are - signal's all back, balance is restored to the Force."
Sam's frowned deepened. "I still don't have a signal."
"So what is it, the phone telling you that you don't have a signal? I hate it when it does that."
Sam's eyes widened. "It's from John."
"What?"
"Pull over."
Dean checked his mirrors before pulling into the dirt by the side of the road. "First of all, how in the hell does someone without a phone send a—"
"Save a soul - not mine," Sam read out. "1194 Birchwood Avenue right sodding now. Bring a…" He paused. "That's it."
Dean's face stretched wide in surprise. "He's asking us for help?"
"Wait." Sam pressed at the phone with his thumb, reading something else. "It's like twelve miles away. I've got it on Maps. We going?"
"You bet your ass we're going. He's got some explaining to do."
Sam held on as Dean spun the Impala out of the dirt. She leapt onto the tarmac and hared off as if her tailpipe were on fire. "And saving this soul?"
"After we save whoever it is, then we ask him a few questions. Saving people first, hunting down our goddamn book after," Dean grunted.
"Abso-friggin'-lutely."
.
ooOoo
.
John grasped her arms and pulled her against him, but she yanked his shirt off his arms to ditch it on the rotting floor. She ran her hands down his front. They encountered his belt and she pulled the end out harshly, wrenching the bar from the eyelet and unthreading the whole thing to leave it on the floor. He grabbed her under the arms and lifted her back, onto a cabinet that creaked with the threat of collapse.
She chuckled and ruffled a hand through his hair even as his mouth crashed into hers. She hurried the zip down on his trousers and pushed them down over his hips. Her boots went up and pushed the trousers all the way down to land round his ankles. Her hand went round his back. He hitched up her skirt, slid his hands up her legs. She clawed at his shoulder blade as her other nails went to his chest to relish the feel of his heart banging so fast against her human fingers. She lifted her hand and instead her mouth touched at his chest. She bit into his skin, hearing him wheeze something over her head. She pulled her head back and grinned, but he kissed her. Her hand pressed against the trickle of blood she had created.
She pulled on his back, feeling her touch squish into the blood trails she had caused. His mouth on hers, his hands pulling her hips closer to the edge of the cabinet, she went to lift her other hand from the blood on his chest. It didn't move. She tugged but it was stuck fast. She pulled at her other hand on his back, but it was just as immoveable. She pulled at her hand over his heart that sped up with adrenaline - or perhaps something else.
She ripped her mouth free. "What - have you done?" she panted.
He grinned - and she had never seen such a wicked display of sly intent. "Nothing yet, pet."
She growled and struggled. He put both hands to her head and she gasped in pain. "No! What are you doing! No!"
"Atrio commands you home! Affalon summons you! The gwraig pull you from this place!" he shouted.
"No! You double-crossing bastard!" she screamed.
"Desperate human, love," he countered. "Atrio gorchmynion eich bod yn mynd adref! Affalon gwŷs i chi! Gwraig tynnu chi i ffwrdd o fan hyn!" he roared.
She screamed. A bright pink light shot out of her chest to bathe the entire room. John had to close his eyes but held on desperately to her head. She fought and wrenched.
Her hands came free of his skin. They fell, limp, to the cabinet as the scream echoed round the house.
He opened an eye. The place was devoid of light, the woman under him similarly vacant. He let go of her head quickly and stepped back - and promptly fell on his backside in the dust, his ankles still welded together by virtue of his trousers.
He got up and dusted off the seat of his cotton boxers. A bang and a crash behind him made him twist to see the front door.
Sam and Dean had halted just inside, flashlights and knives at the ready.
John gave a weak smile. "This ain't what it looks like, I promise."
"Oh yeah?" Dean growled. "Then where's the soul we gotta save? That her?" he accused.
John bent and grabbed up his trousers, doing them up as his eyes searched for his belt. "No. Five-year-old girl, somewhere in this house. Find her."
"What?" Sam gasped. "What the hell—"
"Find her! She's five, Sam! And this dragon just screamed like she was bein' murdered," John countered angrily. "She's been kidnapped - she's probably scared shitless. Now go find her!"
Dean went up the staircase as fast as his legs would carry him. Sam began to open the doors surrounding the room, looking in. He ran out of doors to try and turned to find John buttoning up his shirt, his back to him. He coughed politely.
"What now?" John asked wearily, turning to look at him.
Sam pointed half-heartedly at the shirt over his back. "You - ah - your back. It's bleeding."
"Occupational hazard," John said with a veritable shedload of false cheer. "I've had worse." He picked up his trenchcoat and pulled it on, running his hands through his hair. He went to the staircase and heaved himself up it.
Sam followed. They came to a long corridor, half the doors still open. Dean was just shouldering another open as they caught him up.
"Nothing so far, man," he said, bursting another door open and looking in to find the room just as empty and run-down as the rest of them.
"Bollocks," John cursed. "Lily! Lilyyyy!" he shouted.
Sam went off in the other direction. "Lily?" he called. "Lily, we're friends!"
They searched the entire floor. Dean came back to the top of the staircase. John was leaning on the balustrade, a cigarette in his mouth, his eyes firmly closed. Dean cleared his throat. "She's not here. Now where's our book?"
"You came for the book? Not to save anyone?" John frowned, his eyes still shut.
"You listen to me," Dean growled, grabbing his arm and turning him to look at him. John met his eyes with just as much harsh intent, but nothing was capable of daunting Dean. "Explain why you made me and Sam believe we had time to waste. We need that book to save people - and we should have done it last friggin' night!" he hissed.
John ripped the cigarette from his mouth. "Oh leave it out," he snapped irritably. "You were never going to let me just have it, even if I was bringing it back. And I needed it to save Lily. Don't act like you're the only person who's in this to save people who can't save themselves."
"Where is it?" Dean demanded.
"Is it really that important right now?"
"You hand it over and we can all get on with whatever it is you're doing out here," Dean said firmly.
John felt inside his coat. He produced the book and slapped it into Dean's chest. "There. Happy? Now can we find the missing girl?"
Dean pushed it into his jacket. His hand encountered the other book. "Don't you want yours back?"
"I never wanted that book, Dean. I wanted yours. Keep the other one - they're as useless as each other."
"What?" Dean said. "What do you mean, useless?"
John turned away to survey the room beneath them. "I don't get it. She can't have eaten her - she can't have. She was empty when she went home."
"Start again - what's going on?"
John walked off down the staircase. Dean followed but stopped as John exited the front door into the weak afternoon sun. He picked up a handful of dirt and came back inside. "Spirits of the air and of the earth, I command you to show me where the bloody hell poor little Lily has been stashed in this house, or so help me I'll set fire to this pile and rub the evil, twisted ashes into your precious land beneath!" He threw the dirt into the air. It hung for a barely a nanosecond, but it was definitely draped over a rough arrow shape that pointed to John's right.
Dean blinked. "Ok, that was kinda impressive."
John dropped his cigarette and stamped it out before the two of them hurried across the room to a door off to the side.
"I thought Sam already checked down here," Dean said.
"He did." John paused. "Where is Sam?"
Dean turned and looked back at the staircase. "Sam!" he bellowed.
They waited.
Silence.
"Saaaauuum!" Dean shouted.
They looked at each other.
"You go for Sam. I'll get Lily," John said.
Dean tore off across the room and back up the staircase. John opened the door. The room beyond was empty. He put a shoe out but something made him pause. His foot hovered over the edge of the room. As he moved it further over the threshold there was a tingling sensation. A green light sparkled around the sole of his shoe. He stepped back quickly.
"Dean!" he shouted. "Dean, wait! Don't go into any of the rooms!"
There was no answer. He stepped away from the door and looked round at the staircase.
"Dean! Sam! Lily!"
The house was silent.
"You think this is funny?" he shouted at thin air. "One innocent girl came in, and she's sodding well coming out again, you hear me!"
He turned back to the door. He pushed it open. He put his hands to the doorjambs and came closer to the edge. He leant in and then out again, feeling his heart speed.
"Right then. Here we go."
He leant in.
And then back out.
"Shit. Am I even going to end up in the same place as any of the three of them?"
He leant in.
And then right out again.
"What would Johnny Rotten do?"
He let go of the surround, and, giving an angry shout, all but jumped into the room.
.