SIX

The creature stroked its paw down the side of his chest and Dean flinched.

"Hey – really, don't do that," he said quickly. The creature brought its huge face close to his, pressing it to his cheek and humming softly. "Oh God… Look, lady, please don't do that. I'm used to all the shootin', saltin', burnin', you know, all that normal stuff? I'm just not ready for molestation by shag-pile carpet," he added desperately.

The creature paused, pulling its head back and watching him. It put a single digit to his chin, pressing on it slowly and mewling.

"I swear to God, if you dare put anything in my mouth–" he began, but hesitated when he saw the eyes of the creature draw down his face to his chin. "Ah… Right," he said nervously. "So… you like the noise? You like my voice?" he hazarded. "Well if this ain't the weirdest day I've ever had," he sighed.

The creature trilled some faintly positive tune, and he looked at it, surprised.

"Ok… how about you put me down and I talk at you. How about that, huh?" he prompted, freeing a hand and putting it to the creature's grip on him. "I'll just be movin' this huge paw of yours…" He pulled its paw off him slowly, watching it carefully. It appeared amused, or simply curious.

"Don't worry, I'm just making room," he said firmly, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. But the creature just watched him, making no attempt to retake its grip on him. Its eyes sparkled as he moved away from it gradually, swallowing and turning for the edge.

"You know, ah… you got a really nice pad here," he said with false appreciation, nodding and looking round with a forced smile. He moved to sit on the basket-shaped pad, his feet braced against the edge, his knees up and his elbows resting on them lazily. The creature trilled again, fascinated, and then curled round him suddenly. He froze, waiting for something bad to happen. But it simply leaned against his back, snaking arms around him to lie on the basket either side of him. Partly, he thought, to keep them both warm and partly to impede his escape. It cooed a warm noise deep in its throat and stroked at his left arm.

He suppressed a shiver, deeming it a good time to be diplomatic.

"No food though," he observed. "I tell you man – er, sorry." He paused, searching for a word. "I tell you, darlin', I am Starvin' Marvin right now. Did I tell you we were out late last night?" he asked charmingly, looking back over his shoulder at the doe-eyed creature, positively quivering in appreciation of his voice. "No? Guess it slipped my mind. I have to say, I'm pretty much skeeved all to hell that some Chewie throwback chick would rather sit listening to my voice than eat me. Or – or do anything else," he said quickly, belatedly remembering not to use that phrase.

The creature drew its paw back, its claw inadvertently dragging over his skin, causing a bright red line. He swallowed, then shifted round slightly so as not to look at the face watching him with intent.

"You know what, you ain't half bad up close. I mean, you look like you could use a few all-over waxes and maybe some dental work, but hey, that's like half the chicks in Nebraska," he shrugged. The creature made a tiny rippling noise in its throat and he cleared his throat discreetly. "You do realise that when my little brother gets here, I'm leaving. I'm sorry darlin', but there it is," he said firmly. "You and me are just never gonna work out. You drink blood and kill people, I drink… mostly alcoholic stuff and kill things like you. You see?"

The creature's paw slid across his back gently, and he sighed.

"So… as long as I keep talking, you ain't gonna start stroking anything else, right?" he ventured slowly. He paused, deliberately not speaking, and the creature started to rub its paw down the side of his arm, down to the back of the waist on his jeans.

"Right… I get it," he added nervously, wetting dry lips. "Ok, so… all I have to do is keep talking till Sam turns up. Which I hope he's gonna do in the next five minutes, cos – seriously – I'm not good at this talking thing." He thought for a second. "I mean… Sammy's the talker, right? It's like… it's like he can just open his mouth and the right thing always comes out. Me?" he asked, spreading his hands helplessly and shaking his head. "I'm ah… I'm kinda the facetious one." He snorted with amusement, clasping nervous hands together. "I gotta remember that word for when Sammy gets here."

The beast paused, waiting it seemed, and Dean got the impression it wanted something more.

"Look… I… I hate to say this, and I think I'm going soft, 'cos right now I'm thinkin' it's weird you're not some automatic killing machine. I mean, you seem to think about stuff, not just plough in there and…" He smiled at himself, then looked back over his shoulder at it. "I'm talking to a walking carpet, like it understands me," he snorted.

The creature mewled happily, blinking its eyes slowly and actually managing to look amused.

"And you're enjoying this conversation. Believe me, I get that – I mean, how often would you get a chance like this?" he asked himself, looking away again. "What I'm trying to say is… I mean, what's I'm trying to justify is that… if you hadn't just killed a little girl, I'd be… ah… Well, I'd be seriously thinking about letting you off. There," he said firmly, shaking his head, "I said it. But I just can't get the poor guy's face outta my head. You killed his little daughter," he breathed, looking at his feet. "But there's just this… There's this little voice in ma head – sounds a lot like Sam, actually," he said, smiling self-consciously. "It says you drinking people's blood is like me eating steak."

He let his mind wander for a moment, but was brought back to reality with a serious thud as he felt a soft paw on his neck.

"Ok then!" he said nervously, false cheer buoying his attempt at charm. "So… ah… How about them Eagles, huh? Huh? Getting back together after all this time? And Led Zeppelin – doing that benefit gig last year with Jason Bonham. Man, would have loved to see that – John's boy filling in for his dad. See, that's what it's all about," he grinned, then abruptly his smile vanished. He stared into space for a long moment, then straightened abruptly. "Well this is about as much fun as your hot date's husband coming home early," he observed with a wry smile, his attempt at levity almost painful. "I never thought I'd miss Sam so much."

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Sam reached up and pushed the business end of the heavy Maglite into the wooden slat, unsurprised when it gave and creaked upwards. He poked it further, then jumped and managed to coerce the trapdoor arrangement into falling open.

He looked around, found nothing helpful, and remembered the creature must have been a good eight foot tall, with a reach that would have far out-stripped Mr Fantastic at full stretch. He looked up, judged distances, and then jumped.

His hands caught the wood and he found his feet hovering off the floor. His fingers slipped off again and he landed in his trainers, cursing the rough edges of the trapdoor. He tried again, this time using momentum to swing up and grab at some bar-like object inside the gap too.

He used it to crawl up, feeling his sinews and muscles scream in protest as he hauled himself up through the hole. He dragged himself through and lay on the slatting, relaxing and getting some breath back. He got to his hands and knees and looked around, picking up his Maglite before standing and looking first to his left, then his right.

It was some kind of covered catwalk, all wooden slats and dodgy shadows thrown by half-lights and reflections, and he was suddenly very glad he'd managed to retain his handgun. He pulled it free of his jacket pocket and checked it was on safety still, wanting to avoid shooting himself in the knee in pure nervous excitement.

He sniffed, wondering which way to go. His gaze fell on the slatting that served as a floor and he noticed scratches over it. He looked behind him, to his right, checking the floor and finding it devoid of such markings.

He nodded and turned back to his left, deciding to follow the scratches.

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"Naw, sometimes it just feels like I'm the only one who gives a shit, you know?" Dean said miserably, letting his head fall forward and scrubbing at his hair with a cold hand. "I just… You see so much… so much freaky stuff, but you can't tell anyone cos they'd think you were completely nuts," he pointed out, his face bitter.

The beast hummed agreeably and he almost smiled.

"Sometimes you wonder why you do it," he mused out loud. "I don't get money out of it, or thanks. And how many times has it landed me or Sam in hospital? I'm getting to the point where I'm tired of seeing him cut up and looking like a walk-on die-off part from Raging Bull," he grumped.

The creature stroked a paw down his back lightly, and he got the impression it was out of sympathy.

"You really… Are you just hearing the tone of my voice?" he wondered out loud, looking at the creature for a long second. Then he smiled and shook his head. "Long time since anyone's listened to me, y'know? I mean, Sam's great and all but… Seriously, could I ever tell him this stuff? No offence, but only a chick's gonna sit through all this emo shit," he grinned, shaking his head. "It's not like I'm not used to having no-one, I mean… Just me and Dad for a few years kinda makes you realise the world would be a better place with a few women in your life who were friends. Man, I can't believe I said that out loud," he chuckled, then fell silent, musing over this revelation.

It was silent a few minutes, until Dean felt the stroking on his back go from a friendly touch of reassurance to something else entirely. He shifted forward as delicately as he could, hoping the creature wouldn't notice. He opened his mouth to say more, desperate to fill the silence, but the beast shifted closer to his back suddenly, and he froze as he felt the warmth of its breath on the back of his neck.

"Seriously, lady, we really need to talk about–"

He stiffened in shock and repulsion as he felt something warm and wet slide over his neck. He gave an involuntary shiver as the moist, firm thing swept round the side of his jaw and up onto his face.

He reached up and grabbed the tongue, yanking it off and jumping to his feet, off the basket.

"That's it!" he cried angrily, turning to face the beast. "I can't pretend this ain't freakin' me out any more!" He ignored the hurt or injured tone he heard from the creature's ribcage and backed up swiftly. "If you touch me once more I'm gonna–"

The creature drew in a long breath and roared it out at him in pain and anger. He recognised the sound of a woman scorned and did the only thing a man could do in such a situation.

He ran.

He heard the bounding of feet and claws even as his hands fastened on the flap of wood over the crawl-hole. In a flash he was ripped backwards. He sailed through the air. He braced himself for impact but there was none.

He squirmed to look around quickly, realising he was being carried upside down by an ankle. His t-shirt fell into his face and while he was busy spitting out cottony fibres he heard a decidedly human shout.

"Hey! Put – him – down!"

There was a suspiciously long pause before Dean caught his breath and his eyes widened.

"No!" he cried urgently. But it was too late; he was released.

He floated gently down to the wooden flooring in the very same way that bricks do not.