Part 6
Dean was up at six, too antsy to relax. He had been listening to the weather worsen for the past several hours and he was beginning to panic that they would lose the trap. He wasn't sure yet if he'd be relieved in that case, with that thing gone, they wouldn't have to deal with it at the moment. He didn't feel entirely up to the task. But it was already strangely connected to Sam, and now to him as well…he shuddered at the memory of it breathing his name and reaching for him. If it did get free, he wondered if it would be content to stay where it lived, or would it seek out its human prize…?
All moot of course, if they could get out there in time. He grabbed some dry Froot Loops and filled his jacket pocket. since they were out of M&Ms. He sure wanted a coffee, and he stepped outside to see if the lights were on up the path. They were. -Good— He flipped the keys to the Impala over and over in his hand, absentmindedly. If he'd been paying attention, he would have noticed the brown cat streaking like a bat out of hell toward the studio. But he had his head down, and he followed the sodden path as the wind buffeted. By the time he reached the door, his jacket was dripping.
The cousins were up at the studio. Sally took his coat and shook it out before hanging it up in the bathroom. She returned with a steaming mug, handing it to Dean with a tense smile.
"Thanks." he said, accepting it gratefully. He saw Emily come in and join them. "Morning Emily, is Bobby up yet?"
She looked toward him, smiled slightly and nodded. "Just washing up, Dean. He'll be out shortly."
He noticed her rigid posture. "How are you ?...hanging in there?"
Emily sighed. "Ask me this evening, dear. Frankly I'm scared shitless at the moment…"
"Hmm. Ditto." he agreed.
Sally came in with toast and the ever-present array of fruit. "I called our pilot last night, no answer and no machine, - the idiot. I'll try him again in a few minutes. If we can't get him we'll have to call someone else, I guess…"
Bobby came in, puffy-eyed, damp hair sticking out comically.
"Hello, beautiful." Sally greeted, handing him his own mug.
"Not a morning guy, Bobby..?" Dean pestered.
"It ain't morning yet…" he grumbled. "Any word on the chopper?"
"Not yet, no answer. I'll go try him again." Sally said.
Bobby glanced with worry at Dean. "Weather's rough. Think that trap held?"
Dean shrugged. "Hope so. Gotta go out there anyway, but we need to be prepared that it could be loose and pissed, or possibly just gone. If we're lucky we can smoke it before the weather really gets bad. There's supposed to be gale force winds later—I'm not sure how much the cypress swamp gets affected by the coast weather. Got everything together?"
Bobby nodded. "You?"
Dean nodded. " It's all still at the cottage, but gathered. I still have to break it Sam that he doesn't get to play with us today…Maybe I can get David to tranquilize him." he snorted.
Sally returned, having successfully reached their reluctant pilot. "Bugger's getting expensive, but I convinced him to come out. He'll be here in under an hour, he said he still has to do his checks and fuel." She sat down, and picked up a piece of toast, with no intention of eating it. Instead she pulled out a cigarette, asking, but not caring, if anyone minded. No one dared object. The windows were buffeted by a particularly nasty gust, and a flash of bluish light accompanied it. Low rumbling could be heard above the wind. Dean announced he'd better get to the cottage and collect his gear. He threw his coat on and jogged back down the path.
Sam and David were now up as well, hardly able to sleep through the sudden turn in the weather. Dean lurched into the room, dripping, and uttering a curse. "Getting pretty crappy out there. The chopper's gonna be here any minute. Sam, I hate to break it to you, but it's just gonna be Bobby and me. —No. hear me out! There's nothing for you to do, we have it covered, and you already had your run in with that freak. You're still weak from that."
"I'm weak?" Sam retorted angrily. "You don't even have two useful hands, for shits sake! I'm going!"
"No you're not!" Dean barked. "And it's not my idea, it's Bobby's. This is how he wants to do this, and we owe him that much to go along with it, alright?"
Sam growled his frustration and stomped out to the porch. Dean sighed. "David, do what you can to convince him, will you? I don't have the time to argue. I gotta go."
"Good luck out there, Dean…We'll keep the cousins occupied, so they don't worry.. Stay in touch….please."
Dean nodded and picked up his gear, heading out. He met a glowering Sam on the steps. "Sorry Sammy. Next time. Look, it's important to keep those old girls calm. They're freaking out, and they'll feel a lot safer if you're there with them. Sally has coffee and breakfast up there, wanna come?"
Sam agreed, reluctantly. He stepped in to get his coat and invite David, who declined in favour of a shower. The poor doc was just too damned tense to be sociable. Dean and Sam ducked their faces into their collars and headed up the path to the studio, where they were welcomed in again.
"Oh, Sam—I'm so glad you've chosen to stay with Em and me, especially with this lousy weather. Don't get me wrong, I can handle just about anything thrown at me, but this demon stuff...well… it just gives me the willies!" Sally said, squeezing his arm and smiling wanly. She really does look scared, he thought. If he was to be banned from the demon-squelching, at least he could take solace in knowing his presence was a comfort for these two. He let them know David would join them shortly.
Bobby entered again, carrying his pack. He nodded to Sam. "You ok with staying with my cousins? Believe me, it's not busywork, it's important to them...and me, Sam."
"Whatever you want Bobby."
Bobby patted his shoulder, relieved that he wasn't resentful. Sam wished people would quit squeezing and patting him, his stitches were stinging like mad. Dean and Bobby were all set to leave, all that remained was the wait for their flight. Dean paced in nervous discomfort. They weren't sure if the chopper was even able to handle the inclement weather, but since no one had called them to cancel, the assumption was that they were still on.
They didn't feel or hear the approach so much as see it this time. The chopper neared, and carefully made its attempt to land again on the grassy lawn. Bobby and Dean readied to sprint towards it, but suddenly they were thwarted by an wildly frantic animal.
It was brown cat—
She advanced on them, growling, pupils round and flashing, and preventing them from moving forward. Bobby hadn't yet encountered her, he was sure the cat was rabid, he'd never seen a reaction like this.
"What the hell is wrong with it?" he yelled over the rain and rotor.
Dean was bewildered and afraid. This creature had been a boon before, but it now seemed to be aggressively in favour of the demon.
As the chopper pilot made his attempt to drop, Dean tried to keep the cat at bay, but it was adamant. It fought him, screaming, there was no way it was going to let them get near the craft. As Dean tried to derail it, Bobby turned his eyes to the cockpit. He was sure there was something odd happening. The pilot, a solitary figure moments earlier, was suddenly joined by another figure, and it looked like they were wrestling, struggling. The glass was becoming obscured, a red film was spattering over it, covering it on the inside.
Emily was still standing in the dry safety behind the screen door. She suddenly screamed and threw her hands to her head. Sally grabbed her and they retreated inside.
And then the unthinkable happened. The chopper was clearly in trouble when the tail rotor blew, with a flash and burst of smoke, and the craft, now rudderless—immediately began to spin wildly. Dean and Bobby ran back to the studio door where Sam stood,- horror-struck. They were screaming at everyone to get inside as the aircraft careened drunkenly, hopelessly out of control. It veered toward the bay, pitched, and plummeted like a stricken bird into the roiling, grey waves It struck the water with a blast of mist generated by the blades, and was instantly engulfed in an explosion of flame and greasy black smoke as the volatile jet fuel ignited. What little remained sank quickly into the white-capped water, leaving only an acrid burning stench and some bits of debris as a reminder that it ever existed at all. The group at the studio stood in stunned silence for mere seconds, until Dean was struck by the horror. The thing was free—and it had taken down the chopper. It wasn't loose in the swamp out there, it was here!
David had seen and heard the tragic crash, and he ran out of the cottage, filled with shocked disbelief.
"No! David, get back inside!" Dean screamed over the wind. David didn't understand, but the brown cat turned her attention to him and chased him back into the Jezebel. He backed into the cottage and slammed the door, bewildered and fearful, while Dean and the others barricaded themselves in the studio.
Emily was weeping, near hysteria. Sally tried to console her, if for no other reason other than to calm herself as well. Dean was pacing, his expression thunderous. The words we're screwed repeated in his mind until he had to physically shake the phrase off. Bobby and Sam stood by, in silence.
"Well, now what? " Dean demanded. "C'mon, Bobby, Sam—we need to think here, now!"
Sam spoke. "Dean, that thing can turn up wherever it wants! We're not safe in here anymore than out there!"
"Then pick a room and salt the openings! Sam, take Sal and Em, do it!"
Sam nodded and hurried the women to a first floor bathroom, a room with the least amount of vulnerable glass. He grabbed a box of salt from the kitchen on the way. He spoke gently and calmly while he poured the salt lines, and assured them it would be alright, and warned them to keep the doors and window secured.
Emily clutched his sleeve, begging tearfully, "Sam, don't go out there! Oh please, please—its too strong! Don't!"
But he pulled free and sat her down. "It'll be ok, I promise. I have to go!" He left them and returned to the other two men.
Bobby was poring over his notes and books, trying to find the best way to deal with the unexpected and unwelcome twist. They already knew the demon trap worked, but there was a good chance the thing had learned from its last experience, and would not be so easily tricked again. Due to Sam's encounter, they knew it was driven by a blood-lust that was nearly insatiable and the predictability of it worked in their favour. But also put them in grave peril. They had to trap it, but the question remained of how. The when would be determined the moment it showed itself. So far, it had not yet seen fit to do so.
"It's aware of a possible trap on the ground now, maybe we should draw it on the ceiling.." Sam suggested.
"Yeah, don't see any other way. I'll get on it. What do you think, here in the entanceway?" Bobby asked.
Dean nodded. Bobby grabbed a chair and a fat black marker. He carefully drew his shapes and symbols and added a few more appropriate phrases. It was second nature to him,he had it drawn in minutes, stepping down again and rubbing his aching neck. "There's one done. How bout a few more around here to be safe?"
They agreed, putting the image on anything above that was reachable. Much of the studio was glass cathedral ceiling, they couldn't hope to reach those high glazed panels without a tall ladder.
"Now what?" Dean asked.
"Guess we wait."
Dean called David on his cell and brought him up to speed. "SALT, David...salt every entrance in an unbroken line. Understand-?"
David indicated he would.
"Good. Now just stay there, no matter what. That demon-child thing is out there, and we don't know what it's up to, so don't leave… And David?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you see some words—some song, written, well pretty much everywhere in there?"
David looked and saw the embroidered verses. He recognized the old hymn… "Yeas, I see it."
"Well sing it. Hum it, say it out loud—whatever you want, but just do it, ok? It was her song, Ada—the one who haunts the cottage. She'll help you if she can, but you have to let her know you want her to!"
David was bewildered by the advice. "Yeah—ok, I will."
"Good. Keep the phone near, alright? We'll need to- JESUS!"
David heard shouting, screams, and the piercing sounds of glass breaking. "Dean? Dean, answer me! DEAN!"
The glazed walls were blowing inward with a fury and violence that exceeded the power of the storm, all three men were showered with razor sharp shrapnel from the heavy glass panels. Dean was blown against the wall with such force that it dropped him, unconscious, in a heap at the floor. His cell went skidding across the terra-cotta tiles. Sam and Bobby managed to take cover behind furniture, avoiding the brunt of the debris and force. Bobby was searching frantically for his leather bound book, it was pulled from his grasp in the melee. Sam called Dean's name frantically, scanning through the howling wind and rain that instantly filled the building. He saw where he lay, but the child-thing had suddenly materialized between them.
The hideous eyes fluoresced a golden light, the ugly rictus was in place. It turned its attention to the fallen figure. "Dean…..Dean…." it whispered, reaching toward him…
"NO!" Sam yelled. He searched frantically for something, anything—and finding one of Emily's large bowls, he threw it at the creature, striking it a glancing blow on its shoulder. It was enough, the thing turned around in a fury, it's prize momentarily forgotten, and it focused its attention on its attacker. As the creature was poised to fly at Sam, Bobby leapt forward and splattered it liberally with holy water from his recovered flask. It had the desired effect, the demon-child wailed and tore at the searing liquid soaking its face and torso, and it dropped, writhing, and vanished.
Stunned for a moment, Sam recovered his wits and ran to his fallen brother. Dean was struggling to regain his clarity and to get back up off the glass-strewn floor. He cursed as sharp slivers bit into his palms and knees, and Sam helped him, throwing Dean's un-bound arm over his shoulders and hauling him to his feet.
Dean rubbed the back of his head with a grimace. "What the hell happened ?"
"It's here." Sam answered tensely. "It blew in the glass and threw you against the wall. Bobby burned it with holy water and it disappeared, for now anyway."
Dean groaned and clutched his shoulder. The rough ride had jolted his fracture, but he pressed it gingerly, and was relieved that it still felt right despite the ache. Bobby was searching frantically for his book, and he barked at the two of them to help. Without it, and its complex incantations, they had no defense against the thing when it returned. The wind and rain were pelting into the studio, but the force that shattered the glass had died down. Water flooded in across the tiles. All three sifted through the glass shards and overturned objects until the book was located. Bobby snapped it up, drying it with his shirt, and he immediately resumed his search through its pages. Voices caught their attention. Emily and Sally were anxiously calling to them.
"Better check on the cousins, Sam." Dean said. Sam nodded and hurried to the room where they were cloistered.
"Is everyone ok? Sally demanded, as she stared at her ruined sanctuary in horror.
They assured her that they were. Bobby stopped long enough to embrace a terrified and weeping Emily while Sally checked Dean over as he sat hunched on a chair.
"Would you stop it?—I'm fine!" he growled. Judging by his surly tone and level of tension, she accepted that he probably was.
"Is it gone for good now? What do we do now?" she asked.
Dean answered. "I think we need to get the hell outa here and find a safer place. It may be gone for the moment but we all know that creepy little sonofabitch will be back, maybe any minute!"
Emily whimpered. Bobby had released her and was again poring over the notations. "Boys, look here—I think I found something that fits!"
Sam looked over his shoulder and read the passage. "Sounds like it will work. The description seems to be what we have here… But we still need to trap it."
Dean was getting up slowly to see. But before he could, the brown cat materialized beside him. He tensed with fear, drawing his hand up to protect his eyes as he remembered his last aggressive encounter with her. But she leaped onto his lap, and he could see she was carrying something. She dropped it onto his leg and yowled at him. He picked it up —keys— He recognized them they were the keys to Jezebel. Her message didn't need interpretation, and she immediately left him, stopping by the shattered garden doors, yowling again.
"We have to get to the cottage!" he said.
The others looked at him questioningly. He held up the set. "The cat—she just dropped the keys here! She's telling us its safer back there. Look at her!" He pointed to where she was standing—-she was still mewing, obviously poised to head out into the yard. Sam didn't need convincing, he knew that the animal had been sent before to help them.
"He's right. It's Ada, she may have some way of protecting the cottage. We need to get out of here anyway."
Without delay, they fled the studio, slipping down the sodden path, shielding their faces from the storm. In minutes they were at the door, pounding on it and shouting for David to open it. Dean tried the key, but David had dead-bolted it from the inside. David scrambled to slide the latch back, and they tumbled in, slamming the door and locking it behind them. The poor doc was speechless with relief. The last thing he'd heard was the mayhem up at the house, then nothing more. He'd tried to call Dean's cell time and time again, but it remained busy, and he was too terrified to leave the cottage to check.
Sam brought towels to everyone and put the kettle on while Dean filled David in on the developments. They sat around the livingroom, urgently discussing their options.
"Bobby may have the words to get rid of this thing for good, but we still need to pin it down long enough so he can say them….We need to trap it again. But it's getting smarter—" Dean frowned.
"Blood." Sam said.
"Yeah, and?" Dean was critically short on patience.
"It's what we need to lure it. You should have seen that thing when it was licking mine off its hands! It was thinking of nothing else. Believe me, it is incapable of resisting that temptation. If we could get some from each of us...David, you have the supplies to do that?" David nodded. "Then we could get enough to use some to leave a trail to a container, a bowl or something—filled with the rest. Above that spot, Bobby will have drawn a trap."
"What do we do, just invite the damn thing in?" Dean argued. "We're only guessing that this cottage is a safe zone! And if it is, do you think we should compromise that already? We'd be screwed if this didn't work!"
"We're screwed anyway." Bobby mused. "We can't wait in here forever, even if Ada's protection lasts against that thing. I think we should try this."
Everyone agreed, even Emily—who was so crippled by the flashing colours of impending danger that she just wanted to see it end.
"Ok, fine. Let's get to it." said Dean, grimly.
Bobby immediately set out to draw the lines and symbols on the ceiling. Sam pulled a kitchen chair over for him to stand on. David got his kit and prepared five syringes. Sally offered her arm first, it was a matter of pride. Dean was next, fighting his queasiness at yet another needle. Emily then volunteered. Then Bobby. David took his own last.
"Don't you need mine?" Sam asked.
"You're still rebuilding your stocks there, if I take any you may get light-headed, and I'd really rather have you thinking quickly and clearly." David replied. "I think we have a good quantity here anyway. Could you get me a bowl or something, Sam?"
Emily was singing the song softly to herself. David looked at her and said, "I was just singing that about a half hour ago…it's a sweet old tune." Dean caught that and smiled to himself. It was the same time the brown cat showed up with the keys…
Bobby stepped down from his chair and pushed it out of the way. "Ok boys, it's done." David handed him the bowl of their combined blood donations, and he placed it in the center of the floor beneath the trap.
Suddenly a frenzy of clawing, and scrabbling and howling caught their attention. The child-demon—it was at the door.
Dean motioned to Sam to take the cousins into a bedroom. Sam did so quickly, salting the openings just in case.
"Sing for Ada." Emily whispered.. "I know it helps her keep her protection strong." He nodded tensely, and left them.
Bobby had ladled out a trail of still warmish blood from the bowl to the entrance. The violence against the cottage door was increasing—the thing was becoming furious as it realized it could not gain entry. Dean sent David in with the cousins.
"Just keep them calm, ok? No matter what you hear.."
The remaining trio stood behind the door, ready to spring. Dean silently grasped the door knob, looked to the others for the sign. He got it, and as they held their breath, he opened the door to the porch. Wind and rain lashed in immediately, instantly flowing onto and diluting the first section of the blood trail.
But it didn't matter. They watched silently as the door was forced wider and a dirty white hand snaked in, smeared its fingers into the line of red, and retreated. They couldn't hear the smacking noises over the wind.
The lust for the warm blood overcame the thing's suspicion. It's defensive posture fell away, and it dropped onto its hands and knees, following the trail of blood, gleefully sliding its palms over the red and sucking it off its skin. In a few moments it reached the prize, the bowl—directly under the trap. The men watched as it sat on its haunches, dipped its white little hands in the blood ecstatically, almost reverently, and smearing it over its face. Finally it could resist no longer, and it greedily consumed the contents until the bowl, licking it until it was empty.
Bobby held the book open, ready, and the three stepped out and took places around the perimeter of the trap. Sam hummed Ada's hymn softly. The die was cast…