The room suddenly got cold. Her breath came steaming out. Something flickered at the edge of Nathalie's vision. The demon crowed in delight.
"Show time," she said.
Nathalie saw the woman from the other night. At first her image was indistinct, but solidified.
The woman looked similar to her. Same height, but with dark hair. But the eyes were the kicker. They were her eyes: green with brown flecks in them.
The ghost of her biological mother was dressed in a nightgown, the front of her dress a bright red. The gunshot had left an ugly gaping hole in her chest.
The woman raised her hand to Nathalie. She screamed.
Castiel was waiting outside the abandoned house when Dean drove up. Dean looked up at the building, made imposing only due to its derelict state.
"I cannot enter," Castiel said.
Dean nodded, taking his bag out. "Stay here and get anything running out," he said.
Castiel caught his arm as Dean passed him.
"Dean, I will not be able to help you or Nathalie if Sam's plan fails. Remember, if she dies at the hand of her mother's ghost, another seal is lost," he said, his face turned away, impassive.
Dean started to assure him, but Castiel's words struck him.
"What do you mean?" he asked harshly, his eyes searching the angel's face.
Castiel stayed silent.
Dean sucked in a breath. "You're a cold son of a bitch, aren't you? You're telling me I should kill her now?"
Castiel averted his eyes. "I hope you will be able to save her. But if the plan fails, our only salvation may lie in your hands."
Dean stared at him angrily. His hand tightened over his gun, but relaxed, remembering the angel was immune to mortal weapons.
Then Castiel turned and met his stare. In a flash, Dean understood. He saw hope, desperation and unhappiness in the angel's eyes. Nodding curtly, he opened the door and walked in.
Sam breathed heavily. He hoped he had managed to break through to Nell's spirit, or that it was enough to break the spell.
There was nothing he could do now but pray.
Dean heard her scream the moment he entered the house. Fear gripping his heart, he ran in direction of the sound.
Two goons were blocking his way to the stairs, their eyes black. Dean pumped his sawed-off shotgun and shot the two with rock salt. The demons doubled over.
Dean took advantage of their disorientation and splashed holy water on one of them for good measure while his hand grabbed Ruby's demon-killing knife and plunged it into the other.
The demon howled, collapsing. The other demon dove at Dean, pushing him to the ground. Dean fell, the dagger skittering away from him.
Dean elbowed the demon, who was trying to claw his way up to Dean. The demon feinted, avoiding Dean's elbow. Dean kicked hard, his hand outstretched, trying to reach the dagger.
His boot made contact with a knee; the demon yelped in response. It did not slow him down, however, he kept pulling and punching at Dean.
The demon's hands closed around Dean's throat, choking him.
"We've missed you down there, Dean Winchester," the demon snarled.
"I like being on top. Sorry, douchebag," Dean laughed between gasps. His hand grappled for a weapon, any weapon. His hand closed around a hypodermic syringe he had taken from Hannah's house.
He slashed towards the demon, pressing down on the syringe at the same time. The demon howled.
"Pure saline. Suck it, bitch," Dean growled, pushing the convulsing demon away as the salt solution made its way through the bloodstream.
Dean crawled towards the dagger, grabbed it and plunged it into the demon's chest. The demon howled and collapsed, dead.
Breathing heavily, he staggered his feet. He pressed his hand to his side, nothing broken, just another bruise. He ran up the stairs.