ELEVEN

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"So you and Torrence - you were in this together from the start?" Dean asked.

Monica, all black eyes and snarling teeth, bared her nails. "What do you care?"

"Well… between you and me?" he asked, his eyes tripping over his gun on the carpet. "You may want to rethink that little alliance."

"And why's that?"

Dean's face produced the most unctuous smile it was capable of. "Because we have him, and his boss, in our basement. In fact, we have his boss torturing him."

"You lie," she growled.

"Only on Tuesdays." He looked past her to Saanvi, who was still struggling to find the right way up. "Now this can go one of two ways," he said confidently. "You can leave Monica's body, right now, and we can both walk away."

"I like the other way better."

"You want to die?" he said in apparent surprise. "You sure?"

She lunged for him. He dived at the floor and rolled. His hand connected with the gun on the carpet. He took three shots even as momentum brought him back upright on one knee.

The three specially-prepared bullets went straight into her arm. One hit her in the knee. She snapped upright, teetering on her heels. Then she simply keeled over backwards, growling and spitting.

Dean got up slowly. He looked over at Saanvi, finding her with her eyes shut, her arms hugged around her as if cold. "Hey - Saanvi? Saanvi, can you hear me?" he asked. He crouched in front of her. Her eyes crept open and she made a half smile. "Stay here, ok? I'm going to get you out, but you're gonna have to wait just a little longer. Ok?"

She melted backward, apparently unable to focus on anything.

He went back to the door, checking the carpet carefully. He noticed his shiny knife lying by the doorjamb and whisked it up, going back to the trapped demon on the floor.

"Now I warned you," he said, crouching next to her. She snarled and growled. He waved a hand at her. "Little late to be pissed at me." He flipped the knife round in his hand.

"Don't kill the vessel," she hissed. "I'll leave."

Dean's eyes narrowed. He considered her for a long moment.

"Please," she breathed.

Dean scratched at the side of his chin with his free hand. "A while ago I might have gone for that," he mused. "But today? I know the harm you've been doing that poor woman. I know how she'll feel, what she'll go through when you cast her off. I know she's now got three bullet holes in her."

"I'll heal her - I will," she gasped. "Please!"

He paused. "What about what you've made her watch, what you've made her do?"

"You can't kill her - she's innocent," she begged.

Dean grinned. He wagged a finger at her. "You've got me there."

"Let me out!"

He slammed the knife down into her chest.

She jerked and flashed, lights running up inside her skull, her neck. It fizzed and crackled, quieter with each pulse.

Eventually, all was quiet.

Dean pulled the knife free and stood. "I also know she was already dead," he said, his face telling tales of regret. He stood and looked over at Saanvi. Wiping the knife clean on the bedspread, he put it and his gun away before he leant down and grabbed her by the arms. "Hey - Saanvi." He helped her to her feet.

She nodded. "Ye-ah," she managed. "Who - who are you? Where's my car?" She looked around groggily. "Where am I?"

Dean pulled a metal flask from his back pocket. "Here. Water."

"Oh," she breathed. She tried to grip the flask but he had to help her sip it a few times. He waited.

But she only looked at him, lost. "Thank you," she managed, putting her arms round him.

He held her up with one arm, pushing the flask back in his pocket. "We're calling the police, ok?" he said. "Police. Yes?"

"Yeah," she said faintly. She pulled back but took hold of his arm. "Yeah. Police. Thanks."

He held her up with an arm round her, his other hand going in his pocket for his phone. He snapped it open and dialled. "Police, please. Yeah. Five-one-one Acacia Boulevard, five F Waterstone Apartments. Yeah. Someone's been killed. I don't know. I heard screaming and I forced the door. There's one woman here - really shellshocked. She was tied up." He paused. "Look, I don't know, man! Just get here and bring an ambulance!" He snapped the phone shut as they reached the door to the bedroom.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Do you live here?"

"Nah," he said dismissively. "I was just passing. I heard you screaming - I heard you screaming and I knocked down the door. That woman tried to kill you."

They stumbled out into the main room and he helped her down to a chair. "Thank you," she said, trying to smile. "I'm sorry, I can't… I can't remember who you are."

"Good," Dean said under his breath. "You know, I've got this… uh… friend. He knows how to put the whammy on people. He could make you forget all this, I bet. Pity he's not here."

"Friend," she repeated softly. "A friend."

"Yeah, that's me. A friend. A friend who's leaving." He aimed for the door.

"But… police," she said.

"They're on their way. You stay in that chair, ok? Don't you move."

"But… Helen and Moesha. My friends. Where's Monica?" She looked around, frowning. "Where am I? I was in the car—"

"You were. But now you're here," Dean interrupted. He went back to the chair, put his hands on the armrests. She looked up into his eyes. "You're ok now. You're safe."

"I'm… ok?"

"Yes. You're safe, and the police are coming. Just stay in that chair. You're just in shock and you need water."

"Oh. Yes. Ok," she said faintly. "I'll just… sit here." She rested back in the chair, a hand to her head.

Dean hesitated. He looked at her, chewing on the side of his lip. Then he pushed himself up resolutely and headed for the door.

.

ooOoo

.

Sam felt his phone vibrating and fished it out of his pocket. "Hey," he said quickly. "What? Another one? Well did you—. Oh. And what about—. Right." He paused. "Yep. Got it. Good." He pushed the phone back in his right pocket, his left hand still teasing the plug from the lighter in his left. He sniffed and looked over at John as the plug came free. He kept the lighter upside down as he looked at him. "Dean says only one of them survived."

"One?" John asked. "You said there were two birds."

"Yeah," Sam said, looking at Malakatch with the utmost judgement. "One of them was already dead - possessed."

Malakatch began to chuckle. "What? I was recruiting." His face fell slowly. "Did he kill her?"

"Yes," Sam said.

Malakatch snarled and struggled. "She was one of my favourites!"

"Not even sorry, mate," John said cheerfully.

Malphas hissed and swirled to regroup behind Malakatch. "You must now release my demon to me, and give me the book."

John shrugged, taking a drag on his Silk Cut before it all came back out through his nose. "Fair enough. A deal's a deal." He raised a palm and stretched his hand out toward Malakatch. "You are now the property of whom I summoned," he said firmly. "You belong to Malphas, and are bound to him until he leaves this place."

Malakatch spat at him.

John let his hand drop. "Is that demon for 'thank you'?" He flicked his cigarette butt at him, making Malakatch hiss and swear.

"You must not harm him now that he is mine," Malphas warned.

"That wouldn't harm him and we both know it," John tutted. "Now then," he said, rubbing his hands together and advancing on the chair, "I'll just let you out of those bracelets whilst Sam takes care of your book for you. Right, Sam?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

He lifted his left hand from his pocket, keeping the lighter in his palm. He used it to pull the book from inside his jacket, making sure some of the lighter fluid spilt on the cover. He pulled the book free, his finger poking into the pages. Fluid seeped into the paper.

"Hand it over," Malphas demanded, floating closer to Sam.

John paused to watch. Sam kept the lighter upside down between him and the book, forcing the plug back into the base. Then he grasped it in his clean right hand. He flicked it once.

The book went up in a torrent of bright yellow flames.

"Whoops!" Sam said innocently. He dropped the raging fire to the floor.

Malphas roared and billowed into a howling gale of black smoke.

Malakatch, yanking at his wrists still in chains, stopped to lean back in fear. "Now he'll kill you!"

Sam pulled his knife, uncertain what to do.

The black smoke whirled and swept around him. As it took hold he felt himself lifted off the ground. It stroked at his skin, sought out his mouth. It jerked back, horrified. He was whipped around like a spinning top, flying through the air.

He pounded into John. The two humans went rolling across the concrete. Sam grabbed a bookshelf and hauled himself up. "What do we do?" he called into the screaming wind.

"You protected from possession?" John shouted back, one hand round his ear.

"Yeah - you?"

"Kinda," he shouted. "You exorcise Malakatch - I'll do Malphas!"

"What?"

"We've got a finite amount of time before Dean gets back and opens that door! We can't let them out!" John shouted.

"We tried and exorcism already - it doesn't work!" Sam argued.

"Do what you have to - just get Malakatch out of that bloke!"

Sam crawled through the black blizzard, his knife still in his hand. He found the chair through blind luck. His hand went up to the side and he pulled himself to his feet. "Malakatch!" he cried.

"Let me go!" he raged. "We had a deal, Winchester! You owe me my freedom!"

Sam heard John's voice shouting into the storm of anger and hatred surrounding them. He stretched a hand toward Malakatch. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!" he shouted. The demon struggled and cursed at him. Sam continued to shout into the wind. It buffeted his arms, his head, everything. His words were ripped from his lips by the angry hurricane.

Malakatch began to laugh, the whole thing drowned out by Malphas' furious form. "That tickles!"

Sam racked his brain. He grasped the chair arm to keep himself steady. "Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine!" he tried. "Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias, libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos! Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus, audi nos!"

Malakatch just laughed at him, shaking his his head in the hurricane of angry dark air.

Sam fumed. He raised his knife over Malakatch's head.

"Wait!"

Something snatched at his wrist, kept it from plunging the blade into the demon's host. Sam pulled but all he did was swing John round into his line of vision. He yanked but John kept his hand clamped on Sam's wrist.

"Stop!" John shouted. "We need him!"

"You said get rid of him!" Sam cried. "I can't exorcise him! We need to kill him!"

"I said get it out!" John called. "We need him!"

"I don't get it!"

John let go of his arm. "Trust me!"

Sam let the knife down. John grabbed at Sam's upper arm for balance, as the howling smoke tried to lift him off his feet. Sam gripped his arm and weighed him down. "Do what you're gonna do, man!" Sam shouted.

John shouted something unintelligible into the smoke. Sam had to grasp his arm with both hands as the smaller man was hauled clean off the floor by at least a foot. He was twisted and buffeted high up into the air, Sam's hands the only thing between him and being smashed against the ceiling. He continued to shout, one arm outstretched. Sam felt himself beginning to lift. He pulled them across the room to reach out and grab the handle for the master light switch. John was heaved up into the gale but Sam held on. John's voice continued.

The smoke writhed and roared around them. Malakatch shrieked insults, threats, curses.

Abruptly the blackness swirled into a single cloud against the ceiling. John began to plummet to the concrete. Sam lost purchase on his arm and the handle to the light switch. John landed on his back, his head bouncing against the floor. He opened pained eyes and looked up.

Sam crouched. "You alright, man?" he panted.

John looked past him to the ceiling. Sam looked up.

The black smoke was hanging around the lights in the corner, pulsing with intent. Sam got to his feet slowly, backing up to put Malakatch and his chair between him and the clouds.

John got some breath back. He pointed up at the clouds. "Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt," he managed, his throat raw. "I command you, Malphas, in all forms. You obey me, you are adjured, you will heed my will or be scattered to the gales of Hell, you impure shade of shit."

The clouds billowed and flipped. They swirled down, tunnelling right into Malakatch's chest. He screamed and bucked but the clouds disappeared into him.

He went limp, his head tipping forwards to land on his chest.

Sam swallowed and came around the chair to look at him. John coughed, still on his back, as he muttered something to himself, and then wiped his face of sweat. Sam turned and looked at him. He crossed to him and put a palm out. John reached up and took it, and between them they got him on his feet.

"Thanks," John said, patting his arm. He put his hands on his knees and panted for a moment, then pushed himself upright and went to the form in the chair.

"What did you do?" Sam asked.

John smiled. It was not a nice smile, nor a moment Sam would forget easily. He shrugged into his jacket uncomfortably. John sniffed and rubbed a hand over his chin. "I bound him to Malakatch. They're both in there," he said, gesturing with his head to the host slumped in the chair.

"What?" Sam dared. "Both in there? Like, now? You can do that?"

"I can," John said. He slid his hands into his pockets. "Would you do the honours?"

Sam's eyes searched the floor. He found the knife lying by the hidden exit and retrieved it hastily. He came back but just looked at the unconscious man. "So… I can kill them both, right?"

"You can," John. "Do it before they assert control. Right now they're fighting it out. When they figure out that if they learnt to help each other, they'd be powerful enough to operate that meatsuit and overpower the chains, the sigils and us two, then we're proper screwed."

"Uh… right," Sam nodded. He cleared his throat, lifting the knife.

John waited.

Sam paused.

John frowned.

Sam adjusted his grip on the knife.

"Come on, Sam," John said.

"It's just… normally it's us or them," Sam said. "I've never really… done it like this."

"There's a first time for everything. Think of them three dead women, for a start."

"Yeah. Yeah," he nodded firmly. "Ok. Yeah." He lifted the knife.

Then he let it down again.

John looked at him.

"Can't do it," Sam sighed. He offered the knife to John.

"Are you kidding?" John said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm not a fighter, I'm a lover and a runner."

The bookcases scraped open and Dean wandered in. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked in surprise.

Sam and John looked over at him.

John grinned, taking the knife from the taller man. "Catch!" he called. He tossed the knife underarm.

Dean snatched it from the air, his face one of judgemental retribution. "That was smart," he accused. "What's all this about?"

"Knife these demons for us, will you? Then this is all over," John said.

Dean walked around the chair and looked down at the body of William Torrence. "What?"

"Both demons are in there. If they learn to work him we're all in big trouble," John went on. "So can you do us all a favour and knife them before they—"

Dean leant down and rammed the knife into the possessed man's shirt. The entire body crackled and glowed. Dean let go and they stood back quickly. Yellow smoke and blue light arced over the body as it jerked and glowed in the chair.

Abruptly it all stopped. Dean was the only one to move. He went forward and withdrew the knife. He wiped it on the man's trouser leg and stepped back. "Done," he said with satisfaction. He looked at the other two, standing there with identical looks of surprise on their faces. "We are done, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I think so."

"Well the two demons are dead, you got the only bird left alive… So yeah, I think we're sorted," John managed.

"Right." Dean looked around the room, at the way Sam and John's hair was still part standing up, part wilting like haystacks after a twister. "Is someone going to tell me what happened here?"

Sam ran his hands through his hair and shuffled his feet.

John straightened his tie so it was no longer trying to pat him on the back. He looked down at the body in the chair, then around the room. "Well… It went like this…"

"Well?" Dean asked.

John's mouth opened. He let it close again. Then he scratched behind his ear and looked at Dean. "I need a drink."

"Me too," Sam muttered.

Dean appraised the pair of them. "Where's the book?"

"Gone," Sam said. He looked around the floor, but all he could find was a black smudge on the floor. "We burnt it."

"We?" Dean asked.

Sam smiled. "Yeah. We did." He peeled off his jacket, folding it over his arm. "We all need a drink. Do we still have that motherload in the trunk of the car?"

"Oh yeah," Dean said meaningfully.

"Right then," John said, clapping his hands together and rubbing. "We get rid of this corpse in the morning. But for right now, the last one shit-faced has to admit to the others the most worrying thing about this entire episode."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. They backed up toward the exit as John grinned.

"I'll just… uh… get the beer then," Dean said casually.

Sam sped up to beat him to the door. "I'll help."

They turned and bolted from the room.

John looked around, ran a hand through his hair to attempt to tame the mess of blonde, and then tipped his head up to appraise the ceiling. "Funny old week," he mused to himself. He noticed his coat in the corner and went over slowly. He bent over with effort and picked it up, fishing in the pocket. Drawing out his packet of Silk Cut made him smile in relief. He felt through his pockets for his lighter. His face fell.

"Sam!" he called. "Oi! Where's my lighter, you thieving git?"

He hurried out of the room after them.

.

FIN

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And that's a wrap - thanks for reading, folks! Your reviews, comments, kudos or just plain attention are all gold dust. It's been fun, and I think it's given me an idea for a Constantine story... But that's for another time.

Thanks, you reading readers who read! It's all for you.