Thanks again to everyone who has been reading along. This chapter is sort of long, hope it's not too long
Standard disclaimers, don't own, nor profit from any of the Supernatural characters etc.
When Dean mumbled something about stopping for the night yet again Sam just shook his head. Concha, insisting she was fine to continue on ignored him. She'd said it was better to keep moving after killing the tartums, but Sam knew better. He knew damn better, and he also knew Dean just wasn't going to really grasp it unless Sam clobbered him over the head with it. That would just embarrass Concha, he was sure. So he simply opted for her strategy and ignored Dean. Probably a mean thing to do, since Dean was only trying to do what Dean always did, and frankly did best. Take care of things, look out for someone (mostly Sam, but anyone else around them as well), who needed looking out for. Dean was a fixer, Concha was hurt, and Sam was exhausted and stopping and sleeping was the best fix. Sam and Concha of course knew that, but Dean was the only one pointing it out. Sam would, at first opportunity, explain it to his sibling. Though, truthfully it annoyed Sam a bit Dean hadn't picked up on Concha saying she wanted to get to the cabin, the one she'd told them she shared with her brother. It was crystal clear to Sam, Concha simply wanted to be where her brother was. But Dean sometimes was so single-minded in his drive to fix, take care of, he missed the fact, some fixes needed a little effort. Concha was willing to put forth the effort, and Sam was more than willing to let her, help her. From his view point she seemed to have a firm grasp on what she could and couldn't do, and what was pushing the bounds of safety in these mountains. He had a good sense she'd stop short of endangering someone else for her own needs.
But Dean, being Dean just wasn't going to let it go. And Sam's brother, being Sam's brother was nothing if not adaptable. So, when Dean's tactic was to sulk, on horseback no less, Sam had to consciously keep himself from chuckling.
When the trail widened enough for the brothers to ride side by side, Sam leaned over and whispered in Dean's ear, "sulking only works for me…with you. I think she's got an immunity."
"Harummppffff"
"You are so articulate."
"And I'm gonna kick your ass Sammy."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Sam affectionately patted Dean's back. "And just so you know, next time, whine first, then sulk, much more affective."
Sam could literally see the light bulb go off over Dean's head. His brother was going to make one more last ditch effort.
"I really wouldn't mind stopping for the night, legs are all cramped, and my butt hurts."
Concha brought her horse to a stop, twisting a bit to look back at them. "Actually, we should be there in about 45 minutes."
Dean sighed in the way Sam knew meant he was admitting defeat. "Ok, an hour, not a minute longer, then we stop."
"Deal." Concha smiled a bit.
"You're so easy." Sam said only loud enough for just Dean to hear him.
"Ass kicking, Sammy, major ass kicking."
Fifty minutes later, true to her word, they arrived at the cabin. It was just after eight-thirty in the evening, but pitch dark in the mountains. The cabin turned out to be a three story house, with a barn and air strip. Cheery lights shone in some of the windows. Japanese paper lanterns were strung along the front, and Sam could seem some in the back too. The aroma of grilled food wafted from behind the cabin as did a feint plum of smoke. Sam's stomach grumbled, then sort of snarled at him. He was hungry. Glancing at Dean, who smiled in an almost predatory way told Sam his brother had noticed the smells too, with pretty much the same reaction.
Concha was less subtle about it. "Ohhhhh…..fooooodddddd!!!! I don't know about you guys, but damn, I'm starving. Not stopping to eat will be worth the wait." She slipped, somewhat stiffly Sam thought, off the horse, and shouted. "Dante!" She grabbed Tug's bridle, and motioned to Sam, "come on down." Then grinned mischievously at Dean.
"Oh, I'm not making that mistake twice." Came his very casual reply. Pointing at his sibling, "you're in cahoots with him, aren't you?"
"I don't need to be." She laughed. "You guys can have the third floor," she motioned to the cabin, "it's a dormer room, but it has its own bathroom and shower."
"Thanks." Sam's gratitude was earnest, he was done with sitting on the horse and sleeping on the ground.
Two men rounded the side of the house, they'd obviously been in the back. One Sam instantly recognized was Bobby, giving him a broad grin. Dean was a little more reserved, just a nod and slight smile. The second man was about his height, maybe an inch less, in his mid-thirties, broader, more filled out that Sam. He had short, coal black hair, and lighter colored eyes, but Sam couldn't tell the exact color in the dim, outdoor lighting. He greeted them pleasantly enough, confirming yes, he was Dante West. Concha seemed to be trying to melt into the shadows, she put a few feet distance between the men and herself, caring for her horses. Sam could tell she was moving in such a way trying to hide her hurts.
"What the hell you doing riding up here in the dark? You know better." Dante had, in a few long strides, moved to Concha and the horses.
Sam bit back a laugh, he felt for her, he really did. He'd only seen that look on his own older brother's face about a million times. He tried some deflection tactics. "Our fault, we were anxious to get here." Which earned him Dean's elbow jabbed forcefully into his side, and a grateful smile from Concha.
"Speak for yourself, I was perfectly happy to stop for the night. It made far more sense."
"She knows better."
"Ya know, Dante, I'm willing to bet you can bitch and unsaddle a horse all at the same time." Concha angrily grabbed his wrist and slapped the reins of one of the horses across his palm. Taking the other two horses, in her left hand, she stalked off to the barn. Dante huffed something sounding like obscenities and followed.
When they'd disappeared into the barn, arguing, Bobby turned to Sam and Dean. "Remind you of anyone we know?"
"No." Dean said, completely serious.
"Who?" Came Sam's curiosity at almost the same instant. Bobby just shook his head, leading them into the cabin, to their room.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Dean trailed behind Bobby up the two flights of stairs to the room he and Sam would call home for the next week or two. Much nicer digs than they often had, he readily admitted to himself. Though he nearly passed out when he saw the room. It was sort of average, obviously for guests. One end was a bath with a shower. Two beds were in the room, none of which was really a problem. It was the outer wall of the room that literally turned Dean's stomach.
"What the hell kind of people are they?" He sputtered staring at the wall of solid windows.
Bobby sort of chuckled, "I wouldn't stay in this room."
"We can move the beds to the other wall." Sam sounded sort of lame. He edged up to the glass wall, pulled on a chord at the far side, blinds dropped. A small smile came and went quickly, he pointed to the ground, "salted."
"Yeah, good luck with that." Bobby kindly tapped Dean's shoulder, "lemme know how it works out for you." He ducked out the door.
"Get away from there." Dean stretched, snatching Sam's sleeve and pulled him back a few steps.
"Ok, sheesh, Dean, it's not so bad with the blinds down, we'll just leave the blinds down. We won't be up here much anyway."
"I suppose." Dean grumbled. He didn't say much while he helped Sam move the beds away from the offending window. Though he was happy to have somewhere away from the rest. After spending two days not being able to have a private conversation with his brother he was a bit cranky. And wouldn't that just make Mr. Sam-sharemyfeelingstalkitout-Winchester laugh if he knew his older brother missed being able to talk to him without censoring his words. Not that it was something Sam would ever know about. More importantly he doubted anyone would hear much should Sam have one of his nightmares, not that he really did anymore. Dean didn't even know why he kept thinking about them. Now they were visions coming to him when he slept. The visions he had when awake might be more of an issue. But there was nothing Dean could do to stop the visions, nor could his brother, lord knew they both wanted to. All either could do was hope no vision picked now to rear its ugly head.
"So what do you think about all this?" Dean leaned casually against one wall, bumping into a fire extinguisher.
"I think I'm hungry."
Giving the now covered glass wall one more dirty look Dean trailed behind Sam down the stairs and outside. Bobby was piling food up on one of the outdoor picnic tables.
He could hear Concha's voice, and spotted her and Dante walking over from the barn. "And when, Dante, was the last time anyone ever accused me of being sane?"
Dean wondered how much of their encounter with the tartums she'd told him, since she hadn't seemed too quick to go into it earlier. Whatever prompted her statement as they crossed the yard remained privately theirs. Dinner was delicious, and conversation pleasant enough, though the Concha he'd seen the past few days had been more relaxed and outgoing than she was now. She was sort of fidgety, and hadn't he seen her expression on Sam only about a million times? Dean didn't miss the few glances her brother turned her direction, carefully, when she wasn't looking. She was hiding something, and he was determined to find out what. They'd get started on their research a bit later, everything was inside, for now it was nothing but relax and get to know one another a bit. Dean and Dante shared a few hunting stories, Bobby too. Sam looked, predictably, a bit bored and Concha seemed incredibly entertained by the grain patterns of the wood the table was made from. Concha was the only one among them without a beer, she'd informed him she hated beer, preferred iced tea when he'd offered her one from the cooler next to the table.
Then, leaning back a bit, cracking open another beer Dante moved in for the kill. Dean sort of admired the man, it was slick. "So, Conchita, just exactly how did you get all the bruising?"
"I…um…fell." She almost met his gaze.
Beer stopped midway along to another sip, "off a cliff?" He asked lightly. Dean smiled to himself, but he sure wouldn't let her take the blame, he and Sam had been there too, and he was readying himself to fess up.
A slick smile crossed Concha's lips for a few seconds, "no, smartass off Orion."
"Beee-cauuse he was falling off a cliff? Concha, you don't get bruises like that from falling off a walking horse. And you haven't fallen off any horse since you were fourteen." He had her locked in his gaze, never shifted to the other three at the table.
"Well, ermm….he was sort of jumping over a tartum at the time."
The beer bottle thunked onto the table. "A tartum? You jumped the horse over a tartum?!" His voice rose just a bit by the time the sentence was done.
"Well, I figured I could use the momentum to get my saber through his neck that way." She scratched the back of her head, "really it seemed like a good idea at the time." Standing she started gathering abandoned plates. "Dean shot it."
"And you couldn't use a gun because why?"
"I didn't think it would be sharp enough." Then before her brother could reply she retreated to the house.
"Those things sure don't die easy." Dean sort of half laughed.
Once in the house Dean took more notice of their surroundings. The main room had two couches, a decent sized TV, entertainment system. A large area rug sporting moose, bears and wolves in squares covered the majority of the wooden floor. Dean casually glanced at the ceiling, no drawings. He did notice the wards at the doors and windows, and the symbols carved into the thick wood of the front door. Whoever did that must have done it long enough ago that there was no discoloration, just the change from smooth wood. And a fire extinguisher was tucked discreetly into a corner at the opposite ends of the room. Double, solid wood doors lead to somewhere farther into the house, but were closed. A fireplace took up most the rest of the wall. The kitchen was off the opposite end of the room. A hallway to the upper floors, and Dean remembered seeing another few doors off the hall, a bathroom was one, the other a dining room which didn't look like it was used much. A third door partially open, but he couldn't see in from his vantage point.
"I'm going to take a shower." Concha announced.
"Hey." Dante caught her attention, but there was no malice in his voice. When she turned, he grabbed a bag off one of the couches and pitched it to her with force enough force to strike out a batter. Her arm shot out, and just before the bag slammed into her it seemed to dip right into her palm. "Got you something."
Dean grinned a bit, if the man wanted to quit hunting, he sure could take up baseball and pitching.
Concha peered inside, then her eyebrows shot up and an ecstatic smile appeared on her face. "You actually went into a bath---" She pulled out scented shower gel and shampoo.
"I ordered online. Wouldn't be caught dead in one of those places."
She stopped next to him, on her way to the back half of the house, her shoulder next to his. She smiled up at him, speaking softly, "thank you."
"No more tartum jumping, or I send it back!"
The offer of checking out the weapons locker (which doubled as a game room, and was behind that partially opened door) was a welcome diversion, especially since Sam had taken off for the third floor and the shower there. He had just about decided to find some excuse to go check on his brother, sure something had wafted through that glass wall when Concha reappeared, hair still damp and smelling of citrus and melon. She'd changed into clean jeans and wore a sleeveless top which showed off her rather colorful and extensive bruising along her shoulder and upper arm. Dean winced, that had to hurt, but her movements weren't too far off normal. It was a minor injury, really, and they'd been lucky. He also didn't miss the dark look Dante turned on him for a few seconds. Tensing, ready for either verbal or physical assault or both Dean tried to be smooth and lean casually against a wall, bumping a fire extinguisher…do they have enough of these things here? His mood immediately changed when Sam picked that moment to appear, miniscule water droplets from his hair landing on Dean's arm.
"Sorry." Sam sort of smirked, "your turn."
"No problem." Rolling off the wall Dean gave Dante and Concha a nod. He had to seriously admire the man's restraint. Had Sam been the one sporting those bruises, well, suffice to say someone-not him-would have a bloody nose and someone – not him – would have busted up furniture about now. He deserved anything Dante cared to dish out, he, they, all of them should have been more careful. But an instant after it had flashed, the moment passed, and things were back to normal. Concha chattering about something, he wasn't sure what, distracted Dante. Whether that was her intent or not, Dean had no clue, but took it for what it was worth.
An hour or so later they, being Dean, Sam, Dante and Bobby were gathered around the large kitchen table. Bobby had some pictures, notes, a small sheaf of paper scattered about in front of them. Concha appeared from behind the double doors, leaving them partially open, but Dean couldn't see inside without being obvious about it.
Snatching her jacked from the rack beside the door, she reached for the door handle.
"Where you going?" Dante didn't look up.
"Just out to feed the horses, I'll be back in a half hour, less if I can."
This time Dante looked up, "forgetting something Conch?"
"I don't really need to be armed just to feed the horses." She turned the door handle.
"Conchita!"
"Oh fine!" Striding to the double doored room, she returned a few seconds later, this time wearing her shoulder holster with gun. Holding both arms up as she walked by, turning a quick circle, she gave him a 'happy now?' sort of smirk and disappeared out the front door.
A short time later she reappeared without comment, settling herself on the couch, attention to the TV. They hadn't much success so far with figuring out the evidence Bobby had brought for his 'case' and it was giving Dean a headache. He would have very much liked to go watch whatever movie she had playing too. It sounded like his kind, he'd already heard gunfire and explosions.
"You gonna help us?" Dante asked mildly. He was responded only by the briefest glance in his direction before she turned her attention back to her movie. After a few minutes he made another attempt. "You going to just sit there sulking all night?"
"No, I'm watching one of the movies Bobby brought me. He's nice. But I could work some sulking in just for you."
Dean was amused by them. Sam, he noticed was buried in some beyond ancient looking book, oblivious.
"Ya know," Dante drawled good naturedly, "I didn't send you to that big, fancy, expensive, school to sit and watch movies."
Concha was on her feet with a huffed out breath. "Whatever." She covered the distance between the living room and kitchen quickly, stopping behind her brother's chair. "Big, fancy, expensive prison is more like it." She grumbled, then folded her injured arm across Dante's shoulder, leaning over to look down at what was spread about the table. "What is all this?"
"This…" Bobby waved expansively at the mess, "is a string of deaths, murders really. Over the past three years, that's as far as I've been able to track back. All over the continent, some in Canada and Mexico too. Bloody, violent. These people go into closed rooms, two were even in a locked jail cell, and they die, are killed. The only common thing is the bodies are branded. No link between any of the victims."
"Branded? How? Vengeful spirit?"
Dante shrugged, silently handed her a picture, a young man, throat slashed, bare-chested, across his lower abdomen was a symbol, maybe three inches in length. From the welts it was obvious it had been seared into his skin. Concha made a face, mumbling something sounding like crispy critters, then, "No way."
"Way. Way so way." Dante craned his neck to look sideways at her.
"Way so way?" She rolled the paper and smacked him on top of his head with it, "what is this, the sixth grade?"
"I've tried finding this, but can't find an exact match to the symbol. It's about our only real clue." Sam raised his hands, then let them drop to the table. "This one is a bit better, and here's a drawing of the symbol."
Reaching across Dante she took the offered paper. She straightened, studying it. "I dunno, this looks familiar, but damn if I can't place it." Probably a minute passed before a smile spread slowly across her face. She turned the paper sideways, and flipped it over, holding it up to the light. "It's upside down and backwards. Be right back." Stopping after two steps she stopped, reached over and tugged lightly on Sam's shirt. "Come on Sam, have I got a research library to show you!"
"Ok." He agreed amiably. Dean felt a warm glow in his middle, seeing Sam's face light up at the word library.
Twenty or so minutes later they were back, armed with several books. "I think," Concha plunked one down, open, in the middle of the table, "that it may not be something supernatural. The symbol is Mayan, long before the Spanish invasion, very early Mayan, and represents an emperor. Which sort of begs the question, why would a ten thousand year old spirit kill these people, why would he care, and why would he put his own symbol on them the wrong way?
"That's three questions." Sam pointed out, "but really good ones."
Debating it a while longer, and getting nowhere, when their theories finally dissolved to downright silly everyone agreed it was time to turn in for the night, start fresh in the morning. Frankly, Dean couldn't wait to get to bed, even if it was in a room with one entire wall being glass, he was beat.
"You awake?" Sam's voice was that tone of softness that told Dean he wanted to talk about something.
Dean groaned inwardly, of course his brother wanted to talk, he seemed to have some kind of radar knowing when Dean was at his most tired. "If I said no, would it stop you?" He turned his head to Sam, seeing the grin.
"No. You're mostly zoned out or asleep when I talk to you anyway."
"You gonna torture me, or just tell me what's on your mind?"
"You should check out Concha's library tomorrow. She's a PhD. Got hundreds of hunter's journals. Manuscripts going back thousands of years, or copies of them. Even a copy of dad's. She said Bobby and Dante convinced everyone they knew to let her copy their journals for her dissertation. She didn't know how they did that, said she didn't want to know. Tracker, that's what she says she is, what her mother was. That's the research she told us about. Finds patterns, information for hunters all over the world. Her degree is in some kind of mythology, demonology, basically she's the only demon hunter with a degree in it."
Dean rolled on his side, able to see enough of Sam's expression in the moonlight filtered through the blinds to know how that was affecting his brother. Their father didn't want Sam attending college, but had handed over his journal to a complete stranger to help with her education. It hurt Dean, he could only imagine how it felt to Sam.
"You're asleep and didn't hear a word, aren't you?" Sam snorted.
"No, I'm awake, I heard you." He took a deep breath and hoped he wasn't going to really regret what he was about to say. Somehow he just knew Sam would take this the wrong way. "Look, Sam, you want to go back to school go. We'll work it out," laughing a bit, "hell, kiddo I'll get a job if I have to. We'll pay for it, you got one scholarship, you can get another one, and if not…..we'll work it out."
"You would do that?"
"Sam, come on, yes. And it's not like you'd be in school forever, we're talking what, a few years? Trade off is, we hunt over breaks. And you don't get to just take off and not talk to me for a few years." He repositioned himself onto his stomach. "Just a thought, think about it." He heard Sam sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, felt his brother's gaze on him. Sleep was something Dean was apparently not going to get tonight.
"You would really do that for me? I don't know what to say….where did this come from?"
"I've been thinking about it. It could have it's perks, there are sororities at colleges. Ask me one more time and I'll change my mind. Now, just say sleep well Dean, and shut up Francine, quit being a girl and let me sleep."
He heard Sam resettle in bed. "Thank you."
"How do you expect to study when you can't even follow my simple directions? Now shut it." Dean got his sleep, but not before he got to feel quite proud of himself.
Concha, they discovered the next day left before breakfast, Dean felt no such compunction at anytime. Not only did he have breakfast with Bobby, he then had it again with Sam. Partially because Bobby could actually cook and the food was good, and partially because he was happy that for once Sam actually slept undisturbed, and late. Besides waiting for Sam was a sure way to get seconds. He rolled his shoulders, and fixed his third, no fourth cup of coffee.
"Damn, Bobby, I don't think I'll ever be normal again after two days on that horse." Movement in the doorway made him turn. "Morning sunshine, it's nearly…." Glancing purposefully at his watch, "9 am."
"Thank you Chronos." Sam said dryly, but he was grinning, and accepted the offered coffee from Dean.
"Eat up, I want to check something out." Dean happily attacked his plate of food.
"What?" Sam took the offered plate of food from Bobby, "thanks."
"Just the area around here. I need to do some serious stretching and sitting around won't cut it. Besides I just want to see where we are, check over the terrain."
Sam shrugged, "Ok."
Wandering through the woods an hour later didn't bring them any closer to finding the clearing of Sam's vision so many months ago. Dean couldn't find anything unusual, out of place, nothing. They hiked a few miles, circling around so the cabin was in the center of their path. There was an air strip, and closer to the house a workout area, sparring ring included. Sam fended off Dean's few, half-hearted jabs, promising he'd beat Dean up in a few days.
"Yeah, on what planet? Eh, Sammy boy, got you on that one, didn't I?" Dean turned around, expecting Sam's finger up his nose or some other gesture of brotherly love, only to discover he was talking to himself. "Sam?" Turning in a half circle, "Sa-umm!" Something crunched over branches and whatnot on the ground, from behind him. He spun, "Sam!" Then started running. "Shit!" Ran a bit faster, "Samsamsam…" Dean managed to loop one arm around his brother's middle, skid to a halt and brace himself to take the extra weight all at the same time.
Sam's knees buckled, not that he'd notice any. Head bent down, heel of his palm pressed against the spot right between his eyebrows he winced and made a funny noise when Dean grabbed him, stopping him from hitting the damp ground. Dean wheeled him around, aiming for a tree to set him against. It never ceased to amaze him how Sam having a vision was Sam all of a sudden gaining about eighty pounds, extra sets of arms and legs, no sense of direction (any of them, up, down, sideways, compass points), and complete loss of coordination. In short, hefting around his already large sibling, with little or no warning, and with no help from said sibling was a challenging pain-in-the-ass. Some days more so than others. It was much more convenient when Sam was thoughtful enough to do this in the car, or in a chair.
Luck wasn't totally abandoning him however. There was a tree with a few chunks of fallen trees jammed up against it. Perfect. Dean hauled Sam, somewhat unsteadily, the few feet, leveling him as gently as possible onto the logs. For a brief instant the image of a Sashquash flashed through Dean's mind, one having a vision. His smile formed and faded in almost the same instant. Sam's forehead almost rested against his knees, gulping in air, and making the occasional strangled noise. Dean squatted in front of him, hands firmly on either of Sam's shoulders. The way Sam's face contorted, it made Dean hurt just to watch.
"What do you see Sam?" He winced when Sam's fingers curled around his forearm, tightening, gripping. "Hey, Sam, talk to me."
Nothing.
Dean had no clue why it seemed so important to him he get Sam to talk. It was as if he didn't get a response Sam would be stuck in the vision forever. He had nothing to base it on, that had never even been close to happening. However, some instinct told him, drove him, to get Sam to focus away from the vision and onto Dean.
Sam shuddered, then flinched, again making the strangling noise in his throat.
"Sammy!"
That got him a nod. Dean relaxed just a tad. When the hair on the back of his neck rose, his focus shifted from centered on Sam to centered on Sam and the woods around them. He stood slowly, still holding Sam's shoulders, not getting out of the uncomfortable (ok, painful) grip his brother had on his arm. He looked around, twisting on his heels enough to get a complete three-sixty view. Sam's entire body lurched a bit, causing Dean, out of sheer reflex, to step sideways. Poor Sam, that wonderful breakfast was now on the ground. Dean kindly patted the back of his neck.
"Well, Sam, we have one secret weapon. When we find ole' yellow eyes he'll never see it coming that you'll hurl on him. It'll throw him off his game, and…" Dean's hand mimicked a pistol, "POW!"
That got a reaction. Sam half straightened, offered him a weak smile and a small, shaky laugh. "Oh, hurts, stop." Leaning forward he rested his head against Dean's belt. "Trees. A tree."
"Huh?"
"Vision is a tree." Sam gasped out.
"Great, demon trees now. Don't suppose he's hanging from one?" Dean relaxed a bit more when Sam's grip on his arm loosened, then dropped off. He couldn't help himself, he wrapped his knuckles against their tree, half expecting it to be hollow and grow yellow eyes. But the tree was solid and just a tree. Sam supported himself on his elbows, propped on his knees, oblivious to the fact Dean's gaze was trained at the woods surrounding them. "You stay here, don't move, and behave yourself for a few minutes." Another pat on the shoulder, "I'll be right back."
"Y-you're leaving?" He tried pushing to his feet.
"Oh for petessake Sam, we're not breaking up, I'm going over there, I got that being watched feeling." Dean easily held Sam in place, pointed to a spot where the trees thinned, "look, I'll be right over there," he jostled Sam's shoulder a bit, pointing with his other arm, until his brother turned his head and looked, "I won't let you out of my sight, promise. Now just sit here, behave and try not to drown the chipmunks in vomit."
His brother just nodded a bit, and seemed to scrunch down slightly, shivering. Dean stopped a few paces away, glancing back. Sam didn't usually get cold during his visions, they followed a pretty predicable pattern once they hit, which was the only nice thing he could say about them. He didn't like new things added. New things were not acceptable, he was having enough of a time with the old things. "Doing ok?"
Another nod from Sam, who had turned his head, watching his brother intently.
Feeling a more than slight tinge of guilt, gun held ready, Dean stepped quietly through the woods, looking left, then right, then up, senses in overdrive. Neither of them could predict the when, or length, but they'd been incredibly lucky so far. Very few of Sam's visions happened when the kid was alone. And while Dean may not have always been close enough to grab, he'd almost always been within at least shouting distance.
Almost. Not always.
There had been a few times, three to be exact where Sam had been out somewhere, in public, by himself. They'd explained the visions to any witnesses as seizures, or migraines, something similar. But once, some well meaning do-gooder called an ambulance, and Dean had a heck of a time finding Sam and then emancipating him from the hospital. As if the visions in general just didn't make Dean's day complete. Imagining how frightening it must have been to have those visions wasn't too much of a stretch for Dean, he knew full well the cold feeling he'd gotten when Sam had told him. Not to mention the time he'd gotten a call from Sam's cell from a nurse at the hospital. Yeah, that caused a few minutes of panic he didn't want to relive anytime, ever. So leaving Sam sitting there, alone, might not have been the kindest thing to do, but it was necessary. However, he didn't have the luxury of too much time, glancing at his watch, he realized he might have over extended his time. He thought about just calling out, asking Sam if he was ok, which would settle his brother and give him a few more minutes. Problem with that plan was whoever, whatever else was there with them would hear, and be alerted.
Sam's visions followed a set pattern, each one of the pretty much the exact same. One glance at him told Dean the last phase had hit like a wall. Irrational phase. While Dean could still see Sam, he'd promised not to go farther than he could see his brother, Sam had lost sight of Dean. Swearing under his breath, "shit." Dean moved faster, in a straight line between him and the tree Sam was using to get himself up to this full height. "Sam." He kept his voice low, but Sam didn't hear him, and was about to do just what Dean didn't want him to do, go wandering around looking for him. Sighing heavily, he didn't want to have to wrestle the eight sets of fourteen foot limbs again, once was enough thank you very much, gun pointed down he ran the last few feet.
"What is it about the concept of sit and stay you just don't get?" Dean snapped, grabbed Sam's arm and roughly jerked him back down.
"Guess I missed that day of training class." Sam grumbled in a tone nasty and confrontational.
Oooppss…….irrational phase, for sure. Dean backed down, getting into a verbal match now would just complicate things, it always did. "I didn't mean it that way. Sorry."
Sam shot him a dirty look, but leaned his head back against the tree, the apology seemed to pacify him. Dean settled himself on one of the tree chunks next to his brother and waited patiently, reminding himself, yet again of the pattern, checking off mentally, looking for any changes, which were unacceptable, but he looked anyway. Clicking them off on mental fingers in his head, one—headache, discernable from regular headache by the fact that it went from zero to blindingly painful in somewhere around five seconds. Check. Two—actual vision, easy part to spot. Check. Three—vomit, even easier to spot. Check. Four—Exit vision, Sam starts to speak real words again. Check. Then there was five—the irrational phase. It was five that caused the most trouble. Five that had taken Dean nearly six months to figure out, and had caused them some unneeded trouble before he did. Sam told him he often had a hard time distinguishing real from vision in the middle of the vision, which would be disorienting in the least, he didn't want to think about the worst. What it also did, Dean reasoned after a bit of research into a human body's reaction to various types of trauma, was send his flight or fight response into overdrive. But with the visions Sam could do neither, which probably confused the shit out of his primal brain, which in typical Sam fashion made up a third response. Dean figured it could have done a better job than irrationality. The change was subtle, probably Dean was the only person ever who noticed, and was able to pick out normal Sam from not-normal-post vision Sam. Dean preferred the visions Sam had in his sleep. No pain, no vomit (bonus!), and at the most a minute or two of being irrational. His mouth still ran afterwards, but that was ok. The waking ones sometimes had that final after affect for a few hours. The tricky part was not making it worse. Sam might be the one getting the visions, but Dean was the one who had to do damage control with the visions and the responses they produced in a practical sense.
And Dean had definitely made it worse on a few occasions.
Twice he'd been goaded into nearly disastrous actions simply because he trusted, without really thinking about, what Sam was telling him. The second time he had flat out screamed at his brother this was irrational, which was sort of when he started figuring it out. And gave him the name for that phase. Fortunately early on he'd started keeping a log of the visions, and what went with them. During that phase trusting Sam's information was all good, trusting Sam's motivations and logic needed careful consideration. The problems came because Sam was so damn convincing. The visions scared Sam, and Sam's brain scared by a vision was a truly unique thing. Dean reasoned if he could harness some of that energy and sell it, they'd be obscenely rich, and the world would have lights for a millennium. Sam scared-by-vision was Sam's mouth running at light speed, but his brain hit warp ten. Whatever thoughts stopped long enough to take form and hold came shooting out of Sam's mouth. That in itself wouldn't be so bad, but Sam had a true gift. He could talk circles around possibly anyone or anything, Dean included. The kid could take logic, and illogic bundle it all up in one big ball and toss it out in a way almost making sense. He could talk squirrels out of their acorns, and fleas off a dog. Really, not a good thing when one was in one's irrational phase. Irrational phase was a pesky thing. Dean hated irrational phase the most.
Dean learned, not quickly enough, taking everything Sam said about a vision in the first hour or so at face value wasn't the best thing to do. Sam being Sam of course immediately turned this into Dean not trusting him. Which was not at all true. Sam had been horribly hurt by those thoughts. What Dean didn't trust was how some of the information got distorted, especially if vision events overlapped. Sam had almost no sense of the passage of time within a vision, so what he saw taking place over seconds might, in reality occur over hours. They made Sam irritable too, also not helpful. At first Dean tried explaining it to Sam, which might have worked had he not done it while irrational phase was still lingering. A second attempt, waiting a day this time, worked better, but still there was a bit of a wounded look to his brother's face. Dean figured better he have a few hurt feelings than be dead.
The plus side of irrational phase, capable of leading to the dark side, was Sam running his mouth. He'd launch into what the vision was, giving Dean every tiny detail, which in turn were dutifully stored away in Dean's brain for sorting and further use. Sam had had to prove the validity of the first few visions, which he'd done. Which had interfered with Dean's spotting sooner of the whole irrationality thing. Funny thing was, as much as Sam could tell him about the visions, what he never told Dean, and what Dean wanted to know most, was how the visions affected Sam himself, beyond the vague 'it freaked him out.' That took him a bit to piece together too, but the answer was so simple it was just funny he didn't see it sooner. It was easy to find out what went on in Sam's head, just ask. Even faster and easier was pretend he didn't want to know. So, Dean concluded, Sam hadn't told him how he felt during (and immediately after) his visions because Sam didn't have a clue himself. And people, Sam included, wondered why Dean was so protective.
A couple of deep breaths from Sam made Dean turn towards him. "Any better?"
"I couldn't see you, I thought something happened." Stronger voice, not normal, but closer, still a bit tense.
"Sorry. I told you I wouldn't go so far that I couldn't see you, and I didn't. Just believe me next time, ok?"
"Like you trus---"
"Shut it Sam. We are not having this discussion, not now, not ever. You damn well know I trust you. Baiting me won't work."
Irrational phase not entirely gone.
"Did you find anything?"
"No. Nothing, no one. I had that someone's watching type of feeling."
"Irrational phase contagious?" This time there was a mischievous grin with Sam's words. One brother back safe and whole. One more vision defeated.
Dean laughed outright, "now that would create some problems." He stood and stretched, holding out one hand to his brother. "Walk ok now? Because I'm sure as hell not going to carry you back."
Pulling himself up on Dean's hand, then brushing off his jeans, "yeah, I think so."
"So, tell me about these demonic trees."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"Bobby," Concha found him in the game room. "We need to talk."
"Sure, sweety,"
This made Concha take in more of the room. Bobby had never called her sweety. She groaned inwardly, stupid of her to blurt out words before knowing for sure the man had been in there by himself. She caught sight of Dean out of the corner of her eye, watching her, a bit suspiciously she thought.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dante asked, setting down the gun he'd been cleaning.
Concha imagined she looked like she'd been hit by a freight train…in the head. Just when she needed to think fast, she couldn't. Her muddied mind scrambled around for something to get rid of Dante and Dean, she needed information from Bobby. She settled on her tried and true method of getting rid of the younger men. "Headache, nasty sinus and hormone headache. PMS headache. Please, I need caffine, pretty please?" Her words sort of babbled at Dante. Well, the headache part had been true at least. Dean was really giving her funny looks, but she didn't really care just then.
"Why don't you just go lay down?" Dante was already heading for the door however, coffee was her best cure for hormone headaches.
"Because standing is way more better, things spin less." She shot Dean a look after Dante had disappeared.
"I'll…umm…I have to…..ummm…." He waved in the general direction of the bathroom.
Concha hopped onto the pool table, thinking that had been a BIG mistake, smiled in spite of her pain and almost giggled when Bobby watched the door push closed. "I don't care how big a bad ass he is, mention menstrual stuff and they turn tail and run." She rubbed her forehead. "Damn, another headache like this and one of us gets a bullet in the brain, I am not doing this again. I mean how the HELL does he put up with that crap?! You said Sam was psychic, not a mental wrecking ball. Explain this to me a bit more."
"I told you everything I know. He sees things, mostly people before they die. Sometimes awake, sometimes asleep. The only reason I know is because he had one at my house one time. Didn't last more than ten minutes. Leaves him pretty much out of it for that time though."
"You could have forewarned me about the headache."
"Did it work?"
Concha shook her head. "No. Unless you count the headache, which isn't really going to be useful. It appears my only contact is going to remain with Dante. And not get any better than what it's always been. I keep telling you, Bobby, I'm not a psychic."
"It was worth a shot."
"Look, I'm going to get my coffee to go, I need to get away from him for a bit. If we're going to be working together that man really needs to put a cork in it."
"You know, you're really not making much sense."
"I'll be back later." With that she left him there, got her coffee from her brother, gave him a kiss on the cheek and a reassurance she'd not go far, and would be back soon, just needed some air.
She retraced the path Sam and Dean had taken earlier, not having much luck sorting anything out in her head. An hour later the headache was blissfully gone, she had to pee, it was getting dark and it was time to head home. Climbing the slight rise to the cabin the first thing she noticed was the flickering lights. FLICKERING LIGHTS!!!!! Crapcrapcrap Flickering lights was never a good thing. Especially combined with the unmistakable odor of sulfur hitting her a few seconds later.
Crouching down she approached the house, peering through one front window. How the hell did a demon get in THERE? Things were odd, even for a demon. This one was a high enough level to manifest itself, not need someone to possess for short term. But it was obviously on the search for a decent possessee. She needed a plan. The four men were inside, that she could see, but she didn't take the time just then to assess anything else. The only plan she could come up with was simple enough, but she'd need a bit of prep work. Moving away from the house she ran to the back, near the barbeque area. There, as she'd hoped was a few half drunk bottles of beer.
She hated beer!
She dumped them over her jacket and some in her hair. The demon was going to suffer for this. Next she headed to the barn, there was an emergency weapons cache there. In her back pocket went a flask of holy water. She snatched her brother's hunting knife, large curved blade, a line of blessed silver ran along it from hilt to tip. Using a rag she rubbed it with some holy water, it went into a sheath which she strapped around her middle, under her jacket.
Set as she was ever going to be she headed back to the house. This time she took more stock in who was where in the large living room, and said a quiet thank you they were all there. First was Dante, and she was almost happy he was securely tied to a chair. Her plan depended on her sticking her tongue down one of their throats, and it was, under any circumstances, not going to be her brother. If saving the world meant frenching Dante, well, sorry world, on your own, if you implode, you implode. Eyes sliding from Dante, he was alive and well and pissed off, she continued on around the room. Next was Bobby, also tied, looking sort of dazed. Now that just made her think 'euuwwww,' but she'd take one for the team if really necessary. Then she looked for the Winchesters.
Well at least neither of them invoked the 'euuwwww' response.
Sam was against the far wall, standing, not tied, but not really bearing his own weight either. She watched as Dean was hauled to the middle of the room. It was bad enough demons felt the need to torture, but even worse they seemed to feel the need to pontificate about it while doing it. Really, couldn't they just torture quietly? All the rambling on before, during and after was just… mean. This one was apparently filling Dean in on some details, Dean was doing his best to look bored. He actually yawned. Good grief she had to give the man credit, he really was good. And probably honestly bored by the demon's monologue.
Shoulders squared, taking a moment to steady her nerves, tracker, she flushed, distracted, baited, delivered evil things to hunters….small smile playing on her lips. This truly was what she did best. One more deep breath, and she flung the front door open with enough force to make it bang loudly against the wall, but not splinter and shatter the wood. Lurching drunkenly inside she was satisfied to see even the demon had jumped at the noise.
"Wow!" staggering around the room, turning an unsteady circle, "this is just too good to be true! A whole house full of MEN!" She giggled and waved both arms in the air. Dean was just outside of the pentagram trap etched into the floor boards, but he didn't know it, a large rug covered it up. All she had to do was get her, Dean and demon to the right spot. The demon being what looked like a bald, middle aged man with skinny lips, a pot belly, and barely taller than Concha's five-foot-nine.
"Ya'll got booze too, cause that would just be wuunnderfullll…" Reaching to Dean, she grabbed his shirt collar, yanked him towards her which caught him off balance and he stumbled, falling into her. "I like YOOOOU!" A few more drunken steps, up on tiptoe and before he could do or say anything she kissed him, pushing her tongue past his teeth and against his. Arching one eyebrow he gazed down at her, and she could tell he was realizing she might smell like a brewery explosion, but she didn't taste like one. Jerking away just enough to make him have to step forward another pace, hoping he wouldn't drop her from sheer surprise she leaned away quickly so he'd have to catch her. His hand came to rest against the small of her back with barely any pressure, as if she'd break. An inch or so below the knife. Damn. She dropped her eyes for the briefest second to the floor, then gazed up at him with what she hoped looked like a drunken leer. His eyes dipped to the floor also, then met hers. He was beginning to get the idea.
Still needing the demon a bit closer she'd have another shot at getting Dean's fingers around that knife. Letting go of Dean with one hand she reached across his chest, grabbing the demon and yanked it right up to the two of them. "I waanntt twoooooooooooo." Another silly giggle, another lurch back, which again threw Dean's weight off balance and toward her. This time she succeeded. His hand, out of reflex to steady himself slid higher on her back, and froze.
Bingo!
The second his finger tips touched the cool hilt of that knife everything in him changed. Literally she could feel him transform into a man ready to battle. Plastering a slick smile on his face he pulled the knife free, but not out from under her jacket. "Naw darlin' I think it's going to be just you and me." Winking at her, he moved in one smooth, fluid motion. Grabbing her shoulder he turned her slightly, forcing her to back up a few steps, knife pulled free, he spun so fast he had the blade against the demon's throat before it had even moved. He sliced the blade right on through.
The demon was manifesting, not possessing, so there was no blood. There was however screeching. Concha took her flask and dowsed the wailing demon with the holy water. And it was trapped in the circle under the rug. Dean backed away, pushing Concha along as he went until she squeezed his elbow, "we're out." She whispered. The demon evaporated into black haze, bounced around the circle for a few seconds, making its horrible screeching noise exploding and coalescing several times before blasting apart, falling to the floor in a harmless heap and vanishing.
Dean's eyes met hers. "That's new."
Sam had at some point gotten to their part of the room. He closed the door and untied Bobby, then Dante. Concha started when Dante's hands rested on her shoulders. She turned, they looked at each other for a minute, then at the same time, "you let a demon in here?!"
"Me? I didn't let one in." Dante said.
"Well, I sure didn't. So how did it get in here? We're locked up tighter that Fort Knoxs, in a demonic, supernatural sort of way."
"Maybe came in on something?" Bobby suggested.
"What? How? And why would anyone here bring one in?" Dante asked. Then turned his attention again to his sister. "You stink."
"Arrggghhh………..I HATE beer almost as much as demons." Shedding the jacket she threw it to the floor. "I need to shower, right now." Spun on her heels and heard Dean say to her brother, "dude, I didn't enjoy it!" On the way up the stairs she caught a glimpse of Sam. He was in pain, one hand pressed to his forehead, headache, nasty headache. Dean was somewhat helping him stand. A thought started to form, it took more shape under the hot water. Once done she headed for her library.
She had work to do.
The demon had been called, brought in, and she was starting to see how and why.
She had lots of work to do.