AN: I could apologize for the long wait here, but instead I'm going to whine. My coffee maker broke yesterday! I mean, I bought a new one already, but I didn't get coffee this morning. Tragedy.
Janice helped extra with this chapter.
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The hardest thing to see is what is in front of your eyes.
"Wait, what?" Dean demanded. He couldn't believe what Foster was telling him about chapulin powder, the missing ingredient for rendering their (possibly) living gargoyle permanently not living.
"It's good news," Foster insisted. "No Hunter supply needed. Won't even cost you anything. Just catch yourself some grasshoppers and grind 'em up, and you have chapulin powder. They're everywhere. Hell, here in Idaho, them suckers are as big as gophers, so you'll only need a couple."
"Catch...and grind up...grasshoppers," Dean parroted back, disgusted. Honestly, he preferred rotting corpses to creepy-crawlies. "Seems inhumane."
Foster laughed longer than Dean thought was strictly polite. "You hacked the head off a ghoul before you were old enough to shave, boy. You telling me you can't kill a pest that only lives a few months anyway?"
Dean sputtered, both flattered that Foster remembered that detail of their first meeting and mildly offended by the implications of the statement. "Of course I can. I was just surprised. If you want to hear what we found so far, you better stop laughing and pay attention, old man."
"Report, then," Foster answered, still sounding amused and not the slightest bit offended by the mild insult. But then he sobered. "And I may have somethin' for you, too, somethin' I didn't remember until after you were gone."
Dean obligingly told the older man a short summary of what they'd found and heard during their interviews and their working theory.
"And if it's a Sumerian wishing coin or whatever, like we dealt with once before, I'm gonna find the guy who woke the thing up and punch him in his stupid face," he concluded. "Before anybody gets hit by lightning."
This time, Foster didn't laugh. "I don't think it's gonna be that simple."
"Simple?!" Dean started to protest, but Foster kept talking.
"See, when you two mentioned demons, it reminded me of this manuscript copy that Bobby Singer gave me an age ago. Dæmonium Hypogæum. Never heard of another copy anywhere, ever. Don't know how that man got his hands on half the shit he had. Anyhow, it mentioned something about demon vaults or storage or somethin', and one of the possible places was where Milton is now. Pretty vague, except two of the other places listed were legit. One had an actual Hellgate, the other was Chicxulub. You know, that big-ass crater that scientists figure was from a meteor? I figure it was from somethin' else." He hesitated for the first time. "I hope to hell it ain't anything that big, but it seems possible."
Dean whistled low. "We did wonder if all the construction woke something up, but maybe it just made a certain area accessible. One of the recent builds is this network of trails, a bunch of 'em with boardwalks even."
"Yeah." Foster sounded very unhappy. "I could be wrong. That list's hundreds of years old and pretty damn hard to decipher. There's no way to be sure we're reading it right, partly because the world has changed so much and partly because the thing's been translated and re-translated so many times."
Dean mulled that over. "If it's between something really bad and not so bad, you're probably right and it's the really bad thing. That's the way our luck tends to go. We already have a decent idea about what area we need to search. We'll wait a couple hours and go check it out." He rolled his shoulders wearily. "Apparently, there's a fire in the area, so we can't go until all the firefighters and everyone else has cleared out."
"You're gonna take care of the cursed bones, catch a bunch of 'hoppers in the dark, do the gargoyle ritual, then haul your asses to the woods hopin' it ain't still smokin' and burnin' to look for a demon vault that might, oh I dunno, have an actual demon in it when you're too damn tired to keep your eyes open? Oh, and still hurtin' from your last go-round?" Foster's voice went up in pitch throughout his rhetorical question. The sarcasm made him sound even more like Bobby than he already had. "C'mon, kid. You ain't that dumb. You ain't indestructible, either. Neither is your brother. Maybe you oughta get some rest first. And I think you oughta call in some back-up on this one."
It was actually kind of nice to have someone genuinely worried about them, which immediately made Dean think about Jody. He shook his head as if Foster could see him. "We got this, I swear. And we don't need back-up. We've handled some pretty big shit." Dean almost laughed at the understatement. He shifted and his hip gave a nasty twinge. "Don't worry – we'll be fine. We can sleep when we're dead."
"You in some kinda hurry to get to the dead part?" Foster scoffed. "Cuz you were beat up enough before and you sound just as bad now, meanin' you're probably not tellin' me everythin'. On top of that, you ain't had any sleep. I know it's part of the Hunter code to be a moron when it comes to your own health, but you're askin' for trouble if you go out before gettin' a little shut-eye. Trust an old Hunter on this one."
Dean didn't like it; he never liked waiting once there was a plan of action, and he hated the thought of someone getting hurt or worse because he was catching some sleep. He could almost hear Dad saying 'no excuses.' On the other hand, Dad also said it was 'criminally stupid' to go after something really dangerous when you weren't at your best, not to mention the whole 'watch out for Sammy' thing. "But –"
"No buts. What would Singer say about you goin' out now?"
"He'd say we were idjits," Dean admitted, his resolve weakening. "I'll see what Sam says, but yeah, fine. We'll get some rest tonight and go out tomorrow. After we take care of the squirrel thing." Mentioning Sam's name made him start to wonder what was taking his brother so long. "Let us know if you find anything about that symbol that's on people's skin or anything else about these vault things. Otherwise, we'll give you a call some time tomorrow if we get the chance."
Dean missed whatever Foster said next because he was distracted by the sound of a muffled thunk outside followed by a high-pitched squeal. "Gotta go," he snapped out, hanging up. He stood, ignoring his many aches, stuck his 1911 in the back of his pants, and grabbed the shotgun for good measure. He would have liked to have run outside and around the building, but it was more of a hobble than a run.
As he rounded the corner, something came leaping at him at high speed. He knocked it aside automatically and stomped on it when he recognized what it was. "Ungulus?" he said aloud in disgust. "I hate those things."
There weren't just a few, either.
Sam had his back to Foster's truck with Ace at his side. There was a large half ring of dead and dying demonic scavengers around them. Both man and dog looked a little worse for the wear with a few spots of blood in various places but appeared mostly okay.
"Dean! Batter up," Sam called, sounding relieved to see his brother, and punted an ungulu off Ace's side toward Dean. Dean responded by sliding the shotgun down in his hands so he could swing it like a baseball bat and sent the ungulu flying out of sight, screeching as it went.
"Yes!" Dean cheered, wading further into the fray. "Home run!"
Sam stomped one creature, Ace bit another in half, and Dean picked up a third and threw it hard enough against the motel that it left a greenish smear behind when it slid down the side. Not many ungulus were left, but they refused to stop attacking. Sam elbowed one, deflecting it away from Ace's flank and into a small fire that was crackling along just past the truck's hood. Two others immediately headed for Sam's back. Dean pushed Sam back and punched one aside, and Ace snapped his teeth on the other. Sam thunked into the truck from the push and grunted, but Dean figured it was a lot better than getting chomped on.
Just like that, the only ungulus still moving were merely flopping around weakly.
"Nice timing," Sam panted, leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees.
Dean looked him over as he started pushing dead and dying monsters into the fire with his feet. There was a scrape on one cheek that was so shallow that it was already done bleeding. There was decent-sized circle of blood on his pant leg not far above his left ankle that looked more significant.
"Why, after killing like two dozen, you couldn't handle the last five?" Dean asked, slightly impressed at the number Sam and his canine sidekick had taken out. "You and the mutt okay?"
Sam laughed a little and joined him in kicking the ungulus into the fire. "I'm fine. They were really after Goethe the most. Actually, the truck, too." He frowned. "In fact, I think we should check Goethe over. He kept attacking the ones near me instead of protecting himself."
Well, if Dean hadn't already warmed to the dog, that would have done it. "I'll finish up burning these nasty-ass things and you take him inside. The squirrel zombie in that fire already?"
Sam only hesitated a second, then nodded and scooped up Ace carefully, not quite hiding his wince. "Yeah. That was the first thing to go in. You sure?"
"Yup. Be right there." Dean was exhausted, but they couldn't risk leaving any of the ungulus alive. Luckily, they burned quickly, as so many supernatural things did. He sang a bastardized version of Smoke on the Water to them as he tossed them onto the fire to distract himself from his throbbing leg.
"Ungulus, ugly mothers/came to this dumb little town/then Sammy with a flare gun/burned them all to the ground. Oh smooooooooke…" The fire burned a little higher and he noticed the damage to the truck for the first time.
"Aw, shit." Dean pulled his penlight from his pocket and ran it over the abused vehicle. There were little holes in the doors, roof, and even hood. It looked like someone had gone at it repeatedly with an ice pick. Dean pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door so he could pop the hood and take a look. What he saw wasn't great. The main fuel line had been scored and was dripping, though at a glacial pace, and the coolant hose was punctured all the way through. Piqued, Dean wished he could kill the ungulus all over again.
"Stupid damn ugly spider-faced bastard freaks," he bitched, guiltily glad that it wasn't Baby who'd been defiled. Clearly, they weren't going to the woods tonight, whether they wanted to or not.
"Wait. Why the hell would they go after a truck in the first place? And Ace?" Sam he could almost understand. They had both had plenty of demon exposure, but when it came to his brother there was still the whole demon blood thing that lingered in both their memories. That would have at least made sense if they were after him. It was the kind of mystery he did not like, since not knowing the answers could put them in danger. He opened the passenger's side door and did a cursory inspection of the interior. Finding nothing of interest, he reached under first one seat, then the other. Under the passenger's seat, he found some press-dried orange flowers. Under the driver's seat, he found a piece of hard candy...and a solid metal disk on a tied leather cord, as if intended to be worn around the neck.
Dean picked the latter up and found it was surprisingly heavy. There were three dimensional images on each side, worn but still visible. One side had a depiction of two hands, one holding a sphere with lines or rays coming from it, the other holding a flower. On the back, there were seven horses pulling a sleigh, or maybe a chariot.
"What are you?" he asked it, pretty sure he'd found the reason the ungulus had been so drawn to the truck even if he didn't know exactly what he was holding. Not that any inanimate object would bring the ungulus to the area to start with, even if it could attract their attention once they were close. For that matter, even the appearance of the four horsemen of the apocalypse hadn't drawn this many ungulus.
Dean didn't like any of the questions the monsters' appearance raised or any of the potential answers to those questions that he could think of, especially in light of Foster's demon vault idea. Scowling at the medallion, he locked the truck again, kicked dirt over the sputtering fire, and limped back inside.
Sam was sitting on his bed wrapping his bloody ankle. Ace was sitting on the bed next to him watching the process intently. The dog had been cleaned up and didn't have any bandages or anything that Dean could see.
"It's deep but small and I have full range of motion," Sam reported, anticipating Dean's questions. "And yes, I washed it out with holy water. You good?" At Dean's affirmative grunt, Sam tied off the bandage and continued. "Goethe got bitten quite a few times, but once I cleaned the spots with holy water, they all just...went away." Sam's voice conveyed his unspoken concern over what that might mean, or more importantly, what Dean might make of it.
Dean's gut tightened. He grabbed a bit of gauze from the kit that Sam had out on the table and wet it with some of the holy water he'd been using.
"Before you say anything about him being more than just a dog, we knew that already. Besides, Goethe put himself in harm's way over and over again out there," Sam said, rolling his eyes when Dean started to clean the blood off his face and inspect the scrape there.
"That's nice and all," Dean responded, not quite appeased. "Unless he's somehow the reason they all came here."
Sam pulled away from Dean's (probably unnecessary) ministrations. "What, so the gargoyle was him too? And the squirrels? Maybe the entire case was masterminded by Foster to kill us, because there aren't easier ways to take a shot at us." His tone was light but the hand gently petting Ace said he was serious about trusting the dog. "Sit down, wouldja?"
Dean started to move to the other bed, when a thought occurred to him. He picked up the flask of holy water and, making sure the dog was watching, poured some of it into Goethe's water bowl.
"Hey there, Ace. How about taking a drink of water for me, pal?" he said, pointing to the bowl.
The dog obligingly jumped down off the bed and padded over to the bowl. Giving it a quick sniff first, he willingly lapped up a few sips of the water and then looked up at Dean with an expression that looked decidedly like "Happy now?"
Dean was, in fact, happy and a bit of the tension went out of his shoulders. "There's just questions we need answered," Dean answered, very reasonably in his opinion. He wanted to trust the older Hunter and most of the evidence pointed to him being an ally, but they'd been burned before. "Like why those crazy-ass spiders were all over Foster's truck. My guess is this, but I don't know what it is." He held out the medallion .
Sam took it without touching the metal, turning it to study both sides.
"There's more." Dean sat on his bed gratefully. He gave Sam a quick run-down of Foster's latest discovery.
"Hmmm." Sam's brow was furrowed, and he had laid the necklace on his bed to look at it closer.
Dean set his 1911 aside, kicked off his boots, and stretched out. He couldn't interpret Sam's noise. "Hmmm what? I still trust the guy, I think, but I want to know what the hell is out here and now coming after us."
"I think you're right about what drew the ungulus to the truck," he answered slowly, still looking at the medal from Foster's truck. "This looks like a periapt to me. A, um, talisman for protection. From the Hindu sun god, I think, though I don't remember his name. Must be a pretty powerful artifact. Normally ungulus wouldn't care much, just like they'll come after you and me, but only when there's nothing better." The older Sam and Dean got, the more ungulus were interested in grabbing a taste of them, but they still preferred those recently possessed or tortured by demons.
"I'm assuming that they were interested in Goethe because of the spell the rå put on him."
"None of that explains what brought them here in the first place." Dean closed his eyes wearily. He needed to get back up and do a quick cleansing rite on the warding bag, then put the gargoyle head inside it. Maybe lying down had been a bad idea.
"No. No, it doesn't." Sam was moving around, but Dean didn't open his eyes just yet. "Them being here makes me think deal-making again." Something landed softly on the bed next to Dean. "Here, put this on your leg. And at least take some Tylenol."
Dean cracked an eyelid. Sam had fetched the heating pad. "We have to go out there tonight," Sam added softly, sounding resolute...and exhausted.
"No, we can't. It'll be swarming with firemen all night, probably. Cops too, if they think arson." Dean had already decided to follow Foster's advice. "And that truck needs work before I dare drive it anywhere. Get some sleep, Sam. Demon dog, too." He grumbled the last, though he doubted Sam would believe that he really distrusted Ace, especially after the holy water. Dean's eyes fell shut again. "I'll take care o' the bag and the head and stuff in a minute."
Dean didn't listen to Sam's answer because he didn't have the energy to argue with him. And he was finally comfortable. The bed wasn't bad, and the room was pleasantly warm without even any weird smells. His lungs were almost back to normal and the bite on his neck from Mrs. Markham, formerly Nachzehrer, no longer bothered him. He probably should be more upset by their situation – their unknown assailant was probably some kind of demon and it was marking up and stealing away people of the town. That was just the tip of the weird iceberg, too. Even his aches and pains felt like a problem for another day.
Dean heard a phone ring and Sam's voice talk for a couple of minutes, but he was just too tired to care. He drifted for a few moments, then there was some moving around and he was fairly sure that Sam was talking to him again.
"Go t' sleep," he muttered. "And no weird dreams 'bout Dad or whatever. Cuz big brother said so." He didn't want to hear about any more supposed messages from Heaven or beyond the grave.
He drifted in blissful comfort for what felt like a long time. Eventually, Dean noticed that his side was growing warm as if someone were cuddling with him, but he couldn't remember who he was with. He reached over, but instead of feeling the soft curves of a woman, he found a grotesque, misshapen head with a protruding tongue. Looking down in mild surprise, he saw that the gargoyle, now whole again, was lying on the bed with him, curled up like a giant cat. Oddly, it smelled like toothpaste and was snoring high-pitched little whines. All along the little horns that stuck out from its head were grasshoppers, also fast asleep.
The warmth from the gargoyle's body was so relaxing that Dean found himself just letting it stay there, though he wasn't real impressed with having bugs in his bed.
Things changed rapidly after that. Sam drove past in Foster's wife's car, the eyelashes on the headlights winking at Dean. Then a family of raccoons climbed onto the foot of Dean's bed and the whole room faded out. Dean slowly realized that he was dreaming again, remembering a summer many years earlier.
Though it was after 10 pm, it was still pleasantly warm. Dean followed his t-shirt and shorts-clad brother, a little bemused. He and Dad had left the kid completely alone at the cabin for a whomping 18 days, twice as long as expected. Food (for once) was no issue, but Dean had expected anger when they finally got back, not an excited, "I have to show you guys something!"
Sam convinced them to come around the back of the cabin, then cautioned them to stay off to the side. The kid then went to the crumbling cement slab that at one time had formed a kind of back porch and crouched low, holding something in an outstretched hand.
"C'mon, it's okay. That's just my family," Sammy said softly. To Dean's amazement, three little faces appeared, then three baby raccoons climbed out from beneath the cement. They proceeded to take food directly from Sam's hands and sit and eat it right there.
Dean didn't dare look at Dad, afraid any movement would startle the little creatures and send them scurrying back into their den.
"I just convinced the smallest one to come out yesterday," Sam said, barely above a whisper. He sounded awed by the accomplishment. "Their mom is always out foraging this time of night, so I've been bringing the babies food and talking to them. I don't touch them, promise."
The rest of the time they stayed there, Dean waited for Dad to scold Sam for his actions – for wasting food on animals or going outside after dark or getting the raccoons used to human handouts – but he never did.
Dean woke up because his bladder was trying to get his attention and realized he'd slept long and hard. The warmth at his side was not a gargoyle but their heating pad, plugged in and arranged to cover his sore hip and thigh. A blanket had been draped over him too. He sniffed the air. Not toothpaste, as he'd thought in his dream, but the slightly minty smell that was produced by their go-to cleansing ritual. Dean craned his head and saw the warding bag on the table bulging with what must be the gargoyle head. Looking around more, he saw the bottle of Tylenol, a glass of water, and his phone (plugged into the charger) on the nightstand next to his bed.
Sam was sleeping on his face in his own bed, his feet hanging off the end by a good eight inches and an arm thrown over the dog who was stretched out next to him.
Dean didn't make much noise climbing out of bed, but Sam and Ace lifted their heads in identical movements. "Y'alright?" Sam muttered not really doing justice to any of the consonants in the word.
"Just gotta take a piss. Go back to sleep," Dean responded, unable to keep from smiling when Sam's response was to draw his knees up and pretzel himself to fit on the bed better without disturbing the dog. He was still smiling after he'd finished his business and brushing his fuzzy teeth and climbing back into bed. This case (and yes, the previous one too) was turning into kind of a shitstorm, but at least Sam was there with him.
Too softly to disturb his sleeping brother, Dean whispered, "Never change, man."
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AN: Accidental schmoop! Not sorry.
The events Dean mentions in passing to Foster about a coin and wishes happened in Season 4, Episode 8: Wishful Thinking, including Sam getting struck by lightning.
Dæmonium Hypogæum roughly translates to demon or demonic vault or catacomb in Latin, according to my good friend Google Translate.
The Chicxulub Crater is real and is located on the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico. It was discovered in the 1970's and is believed to be the second largest impact site on Earth (after only the Vredefort in South Africa). It's like 110 miles across and the asteroid that caused it may have been responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs. Cool stuff.
"Smoke on the Water" is a fabulous song by Deep Purple. The lines Dean misquoted are supposed to be "Frank Zappa and the Mothers were at the best place around. But some stupid with a flare gun burned the place to the ground." (It was also used in S-6 when Dean pulls the tarp off the Impala after Lisa tells him it's okay to go back to hunting.)
The god whose name Sam can't remember is Surya.
Christine: LOL! Craziness is what is happening. Would you know the reference if I said "what it is ain't exactly clear"?
Colby's girl: Here's a bit of a reprieve from so much going on! I feel bad for Grant and all I'm putting him through. I do like picturing him trying to focus on fighting the fire with a head full of what he saw!
scootersmom: Thank you! I'm so glad that you like Goethe! He's very smart. And Sam is okay...mostly. LOL. Did you notice that I didn't leave you with a cliffie for once?
stedan: Aw, thanks! Yup, Grant is too smart and too tough to let them off the hook; they're going to have to tell him the truth. Yeah, the ungulus are kind of nightmare fuel. You were right to be worried for Sam, but luckily he and Goethe make a great team and Dean showed up to help finish the ungulus off. I love the fact that you Googled chapulin! I had a college roommate who had pet frogs (since you could only have fish or frogs as pets in the dorms) and she fed them live crickets that had been dusted in chapulin powder. We got used to having crickets chirping in our room all night – I actually found it very homey.
muffinroo: Mutant rat and Satan's ant hill? Ha! I love your wording so much. Sorry for the heebee jeebies...I specialize in those. Grant is definitely due for the talk. And sorry for leaving you on the edge of your seat for so long.
Kathy: Creeptastic? Hehe. I tried to make up for it in this chapter...and I even gave you a throwback memory. It makes me so happy that you Googled chapulin. I figured that it was weird enough that maybe even Sam didn't know what it really was. Plus I wanted something really different but easy to find in Idaho. You are very smart with some of your questions. :-) A few answers here, but probably still a lot of questions. Sorry about that!
Visionary: Thank you so much! I saw your comment on Undefined too and you are very kind with your words. I'm so glad you enjoyed that story and this one so far. Every comment means so much to me. It's especially helpful how specific you are. I don't get emails sent to me through the site, which is why I respond to all comments in WIP. It is fun to write the guys giving each other a hard time...but I love the TLC just as much.
Black Fungus: Then I made you wait! Sorry!
Spnlady: Thank you. You're the sweetest! I saw what you said about Subdural, too, and I appreciate it. The guys definitely need to listen to Goethe. He's one smart pooch.