Dooley's Meat Co Inc

Abandoned Refrigeration Plant, Lawrence

Muted light from the crescent moon seeped through gaps in the broken windows, causing shadows to dance across the open concrete floor like playful wraiths.

Dust covered every leftover piece of machinery and equipment like a death shroud, but then, this had once been a place of death – for animals, at least.

Dean Winchester ran a finger through the grime and then looked around, searching out a spot on the open flooring that best suited his needs. The center of the area seemed somehow fitting, and he ambled towards it as if he had all night.

Finding the central point, he kneeled, brushing away dirt and grunge until his palm was filthy, but the painted grey flooring was revealed in all its glory.

"Dean, are you sure about this?" The trepidation in Sam's voice was clear as he joined his brother, eyes scanning every darkened corner of the plant for signs of unwelcome visitors. "I mean, maybe there's some other way?"

The elder hunter shook his head, but didn't look up. Instead, he slipped a hand inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a solitary white piece of chalk. He held it up to the cascading moonlight, admiring how something so simple could evoke something so deadly.

Satisfied, his hand then moved to his ankle holster and he unsheathed his favorite hunting knife. The serrated edge glistened, cruelly teasing him with its recently sharpened blade.

"There's no other way, Sammy." His tone was gruff, to the point, focused. "You know what we have to do."

Placing the knife on the concrete, Dean once again put his attention on the chalk and began drawing a carefully memorized symbol onto the floor. The sigil had to be perfect. He concentrated, his brow furrowing as he painstakingly recreated the pictogram in all its glory. At each point there was a circle, he placed a small candle inside and lit it.

Once complete, he shuffled back, encircling the sigil with a large chalk triangle. At its base, he slid a small pot filled with acacia, oil of abramelin and more.

"Are you sure…"

"It'll work, Sammy, trust me." Dean leaned low, grabbing his knife from the floor and taking a long breath before standing back beside his brother.

This was the moment they had waited for, and all they had to do was say a few words, make a blood offering and they would have their enemy before them.

Sam felt his heart begin to throb in his chest. They'd been in this position before. Hell, they'd even had the Colt that time. Would the tiny fact that they had actually summoned the fiery-eyed bastard really make all that much difference now?

Dean clenched the knife hilt in his hand, perspiration making his grip feel less secure. He sensed the foreboding thoughts Sam was experiencing, and his own nerves mirrored them. It was time.

The elder hunter stepped forward, letting his shadow fall over the triangle and sigil within. He took a breath and then opened his hand, making a quick slicing motion with the hunting knife across his palm until a slick trail of blood followed it. He squeezed, forcing the oozing red liquid to dribble onto the chalk representation on the floor.

As the blood dripped onto its intended target, Dean began to chant in Latin, slowly at first, his thick tone almost making the words unintelligible. Then, as he recalled the precise evocation from John's diary, he began to talk faster, wanting, willing, urging the demon to appear.

While Dean continued the unholy mantra, Sam stepped forward, striking a match and letting it fall into the pot they had prepared at the triangle's base. The tiny flame hit the oils within and erupted, sending a white glaring arch of sparks high off the ground like some tiny Fourth of July display.

As the mini lightshow fizzled out, Dean's evocation ritual was finally over and he began to breathe hard. "Where is that freaky sonofabitch?" he murmured, eyes shifting to the darkness that enveloped them and then back to the chalk marks he'd so painstakingly scrawled.

"Are you sure you drew it right? One piece out of place and…" Sam was edgy; he could almost feel an electrical charge building in the air around them – something he hadn't even felt back at the cabin in Missouri.

"Dude, do I look like freakin' Picasso?" Dean spun the knife in his hand, the twisting motion somehow calming his nerves almost as much as humming Metallica did.

"Well, considering Picasso was into cubism…"

Dean didn't see the funny side. "Ha freakin' ha…you and your art course shi…" he stopped mid-sentence, the breath suddenly sucked from his lungs as someone – something finally stepped from the shadows.

The thing smiled at them, eyes pulsing a mesmerizing mix of orange and red hues that seemed to flicker and dance like flames as it sauntered into the triangle they had prepared for it.

"It's nice to finally meet you boys. I've heard so much about you…" The creature whose features seemed half-human, half-feline smirked, its cheeks bulging until Dean couldn't help but think "Cheshire cat."

"Finally?" The oldest Winchester's face contorted in out-and-out scorn. "I thought you'd have remembered Missouri a littler more clearly." He spat now, thinking of John, of the nightmares, of the secret he carried. "You know, in the cabin, when we talked about how I wasted your kids. Tell me, when they aren't possessing a human, are they all fugly sons of bitches like you?"

Flauros still smiled, his expression unwavering as insult after insult was bandied his way. "Missouri?" he paced from corner to corner of the triangle, putting a hand to his mouth mockingly as if he had to think hard about the place in question. "Hmmn, I'm afraid I haven't been to be Missouri, boys. At least, not this century…"

Sam moved closer to the chalk marks on the floor, his eyebrows arching up in surprise. Invoking Flauros within the triangle was supposed to force the demon under their control. He, it, was under their command now, and one of the rules of the demonic game was that he couldn't lie to them. If they'd carried out the incantation correctly, then something was gravely wrong.

"You're supposed to answer questions of past, present and future truthfully while under our power…" Sam flinched, his dimples vanishing to be replaced by a look of utter despair. "How can you say you've never met us before when…"

"Oh, I would have thought a smart college boy like you would have worked out the math by now." Flauros continued to pace, his boots dragging across the concrete as if he were trying to wear an escape route through the floor. "Apparently, the dogged, but somewhat underwhelming Winchesters have the wrong demon…"

Silence filled the derelict meat plant. After all they had been through, after all they'd discovered, could they be wrong?

"If you're not the one who killed Mom, Jess, Dad…" Sam cringed at the words. Talking to this thing was like talking to a multiple serial killer, only worse. "If you're not the one who came for me as a child, why are you here killing other gifted kids? Why Lawrence? Why the mothman witnesses?" Why now? Why…? Too many questions poured from his subconscious, too much to put together and make sense of. Too much to assimilate…

Flauros' lips quirked upwards. Sometimes being forced to tell the truth was so much fun when it allowed mental and physical torture of the enemy. It was almost worth being trapped in the triangle to be able to manipulate at such a level. "Even demons pay their debts, Samuel. Something you'll learn in time. You see, I owed a fellow demon a favor or two over the millennia, and as you know, we demons always collect."

Dean almost choked in disgust. The thing before him was beyond contempt, beyond anything. If it hadn't taken John, it was part of the whole collective that had. He wanted to pounce on it, squeeze its throat until there was no more air left in its demonic lungs. But then, that wouldn't kill it anyway. "So, you owed a debt? Who the hell to? 'Cause I'm telling you, I owe him big time…and he's gonna pay…" His eyes shone with such hatred they almost matched the demon's. "And the mothman, are they in on this too? 'Cause I can kick bug ass any day of the week, just ask around in Oasis Plains."

"A colleague." Flauros stopped pacing, his amusement dulling as the questions moved a little closer to home. "I'm merely paying my debt to a colleague. Just like Reshef paid his debt in River Grove with the "test." As for mothman? A quaint name, somewhat amusing even, but not part of my brethrens plans."

"But they exist, and they're here, aren't they, you bastard? Why? And why did you kill those gifted kids who saw them? Why does you friend want them dead?" Dean paused to take a breath and the demon's admissions finally sank in

I'm merely paying my debt to a colleague. Just like Reshef paid his debt in River Grove with the "test."

The elder hunter felt his blood begin to boil. His cheeks began to redden and he moved closer to the edge of the chalk, wishing Flauros would dare to try and cross. "You freak, you know what happened in Oregon with the virus, don't you? And what do you mean by "test"? I swear, you better start squealing or…"

"…the mothman are like prophets." Flauros struggled with the words, reminding the brothers of the time they had exorcized Meg. The demon within her hadn't wanted to give answers, but had been forced too, just like now. "The gifted children are easy receptacles for them. Children like you pick up on their messages so easily…"

"And your friend doesn't want that? He doesn't want anyone getting the messages, does he?" Sam could see where the conversation was going, and he didn't like the implications.

"No, my "colleague" doesn't want the mothman's message getting through to anyone who might be able to make sense of it. His plans are too precious to be revealed at this stage." Flauros sneered, making it quite clear he may be working for another demon, but that he wasn't happy about it. "He is busy elsewhere, and has commanded that to repay my debt I must "remove" the gifted children from the equation. Like a demonic hitman, if you will…"

"And River Grove? How was that zombie freak town any part of this?" Dean's voice quivered. They were getting answers, but none of it was making sense.

Flauros sighed. "That test was for Sam and Sam alone."

"I don't care about your friend's plans for me. The test, all of it doesn't matter until I'm sure more lives aren't at stake." Sam stood his ground, his insides churning at the repeated mention of Oregon, while his outer façade remained reasonably centered. "Mothman only usually foretell huge disasters…what the hell is your buddy planning?"

Flauros began to pace again. Too much was being revealed, and his friend, nay master, would not be happy. It wouldn't matter that he was being coerced, controlled even, he was telling secrets that should not be spoken of outside of hell. Of course, he knew other secrets – secrets that would break the remaining Winchester family right at its core. Secrets he could use to deflect the conversation.

"It's funny, you boys ask so many questions about others when there are so many things you could ask for yourselves. Your father, perhaps? Don't you wonder about him? Where he is? What pain he has to endure every single day at the hands of my kind…"

"You bastard!" Dean's muscled tensed, every part of him wanting to spring on the demon and rip its heart out. But then, would that be killing an innocent if the demon had taken a human host? Somehow, some inner self control took hold and he held back – just. "I've heard enough of this crap from the crossroads demon. Your kind lie your asses of and expect us to believe it…"

"Dean!" Sam forced a trembling hand in front of his brother as he realized the elder Winchester was on the verge of snapping. All he's been through... "Dean, he can't lie…" he looked to his sibling pleadingly and then focused on the demon. No matter what Flauros was up to, he had to know about John, they both did. It was the one thing that had haunted them since his death. "What about dad?" Sam stammered, his heart already clenching as he expected to hear the worst.

"My colleague had a real fun time with you Winchesters in Missouri, but taking John's soul so easily? That was just so peachy. The great hunter reduced to a begging wreck and all for just one pathetic life…" Flauros let his mouth twist into a deranged feline grin as he fixed his gaze on Dean.

"Dad died for me. If I could change it I would." Dean's fingers flexed over the knife hilt again, wanting, needing to kill every demon Hades had spawned. "At least he died with honor. Something you bastards don't even understand…"

"Oh, but it was your father's own fault…such a pointless offering." Flauros let his swirling, burning eyes eat into Dean's conscience. "Dying for someone who didn't even need saving…"

The last jibe was too much. Too much pain, too many memories.

Dean bolted across the concrete, skidding along the chalk marks until he grabbed his foe by the throat. If he'd had the strength to lift the thing off its feet, he would have. Instead, he squeezed, enjoying the tactile sense of his enemy's windpipe closing beneath his grasp, even though Flauros didn't flinch.

Dying for someone who didn't even need saving…

The remark burned into his mind, eating, eroding at his confidence as if John had said the words. Was he that worthless?

"What do you mean didn't need saving?" He eventually spat, tugging the thing around until its pointed features were bathed in the stark light seeping through the broken rafters above.

"Those dreams you've been having? They're very real, boy. But what you don't know? You almost gave your life away at the word of a demon. Tessa was never a reaper, Dean. She was my friend's daughter, just like the one who took over Meg…"

Dean's grip faltered. Flauros was bound to tell the truth. "Can't be…"

Flauros nodded. "Oh, but she was, Dean, and you fell for her every word, her every illusion. When your soul left your body, my colleague sent her to lure you to go with her. If you had agreed to "pass over" with her, you would have been selling your soul without even knowing it. You would have been killing yourself and gaining a one way ticket to where your father now resides." The thing smirked. "But then maybe, the way you feel lately you would have appreciated that…"

Sam's jaw dropped. "We must have done the incantation wrong. He has to be lying…"

"Not lying, telling the truth, and don't it hurt like a bitch, Sammy?" Flauros was enjoying the game again now. He owned the Winchesters, and while they waited on his every word, his every new revelation, it gave more windows of opportunity for an escape. "My colleague thought he might be able to get Dean's soul before he could return to his earthly body. You see, you should have returned after you flat lined, but Tessa managed to dissuade you with her lies and her reaper apparition. Then, things took a real interesting turn when John boy offered himself up. John and the Colt for free. My friend didn't even have to save Dean, because he was never going to die – not unless he was dumb enough to take Tessa's offer…"

Dean felt the muscles in his legs begin to quake and it was all that he could do to stop his knees buckling. His hands dropped from the demon's collar and his anger, his wrath turned to utter defeat. Thinking John had died for him had been bad enough, but to know his father had died for nothing, tricked by the very demon who had haunted their family, it was just too much.

"If I was meant to live naturally, answer me this? How did my injuries heal so fast?" The voice was muted, dulled by the truth.

Flauros let a hand slide to his neck and let his fingers play over his throat where Dean had tried to throttle him. "You should ask your brother that question. Didn't you ever wonder how he survived the River Grove virus? I know you have. I know it eats away at you, just like the secret you carry…"

Sam watched as Dean succumbed to the demon's words. Watched as his brother changed from warrior to a feeble shell of a man that had lost all the fight, all the determination until there was nothing left.

What was worse, he had made this happen.

Sam felt the same pain as his brother, knew how Flauros' words had cut deep inside just as acutely as any blade. And it was his fault. The secret, the River Grove virus, the visions – they all lead to the demon.

Dean glanced up and saw the haunted look in his brother's eyes. The loss, the pain, the guilt. It was a look he didn't want to see ever again. A look that finally sent the elder hunter over the precipice he'd been hovering over for so long.

"You sonofa…" Dean's deflated ego returned to its former self with a vengeance. Flauros had to pay, every demon in hell did, and he was going to make it his personal mission to see it happened.

Even though he knew a mere mortal's punch was useless, Dean lashed out, sending a right hook straight to Flauros' jaw. The demon was pushed back by the unexpected and powerful blow, his boots skidding through the chalk marks until they smeared the drawing, making the triangle no longer complete.

The break in the line was all that Flauros needed. Freed from the trap, he was liberated from the brothers' control and able to turn into his true form, vanishing into the shadows in a black palpating miasma.

"Dean!" Sam couldn't think. His brain didn't want to react to the situation. There were no rules as to what to do next. No way to accept what they'd been told. Dad died for nothing.

Dean didn't need to be psychic to sense his brother's thoughts. Not for nothing, Sammy, for my worthless ass. If I'd used my brain, if I'd realized Tessa wasn't a reaper…I could have been back in my body before dad had a chance to…to…

The hunter looked at the disturbed chalk marks. Maybe they had lost Flauros, but it wouldn't be hard to find him again, and find him they must. Demons always kept to their contracts, and that meant Flauros had to pay his debt to whoever the big bad was.

"Now what?" Sam brushed a hang through his shaggy mop of hair and cast a sideways glance to the doorway. "I mean, where next?"

At first, Dean didn't even hear the words.

"Dean? We should go back to the motel…"

"Huh?" Dean turned, trying to hide the pain in his heart. Dad died for nothing. "Sam, if there are anymore kids like you out there and the mothman have visited them, Flauros is bound to pay his debt and try to fry their asses. We don't have time to worry about our own bleeding hearts. We gotta stop this freak and find out who is calling the shots."

Sam nodded. "Flauros knows we're on to him. If he has anymore kids to kill, he'll do it fast. We need to check if there were any more witnesses and get to them before he does."

Dean kneeled and slipped his hunting knife back into its sheath. "I hear ya." He tipped his head towards the broken down exit door. "Laptop's in the trunk, let's get to it."

You should ask your brother that question. Didn't you ever wonder how he survived the River Grove virus? I know you have. I know it eats away at you, just like the secret you carry…

Sam heard Dean's words, but it was the demon's oratory that had his attention. It seemed the whole dark underworld knew about him, knew the secret, and yet he was forced to suffer, never knowing the fate that seemed to have been preordained.

Eventually, his throat bobbed and he managed a strained response to his brother, but his mind still reveled in Flauros' evil anecdote. "I think there were at least four more sightings. There's no way to know which might be one of the gifted kids."

Dean pulled down his trouser leg and scrambled up. "Yeah, well then we go to plan B."

"We have a plan B?" Sam edged outside into the dull light and glanced warily around before heading for the Impala.

"Sure," Dean smirked, flipping the car's keychain from his pocket in a false show of bravado. Died for nothing… "We guess our asses off and hope for a miracle…"

tbc...