PART 7

The demon child looked up from its rapture as they circled it. For a moment, it thought it had just been presented with three new gifts, but when it reached out toward them, it found itself blocked. Realization dawned on it then, as it had in the swamp before, that it was unable to move outside of this small, invisibly walled place. It was again trapped. Sam closed the door, shutting out the din of the storm, and Bobby commenced with his oration.

The thing was still for a moment, confused. It saw no pattern on the floor that defined its prison, and it tried repeatedly to reach toward the men that ringed it. But each time, it's translucent white hands were thwarted in finding their target as if it were in a glass cage. A deep, low sound began to build in its throat. It rose to a keening howl that threatened to deafen the hunters as Bobby continued his words in a firm, clear voice. It flew into a rage. It screamed and clawed at the empty air, tried to cover its ears as the words cut through it like razors. The hunters , to a man, all retreated a little, as the violence of the demon-child's resistance mounted. It whirled in a frothing frenzy of hate and anger as Bobby's words made their mark. Dean and Sam exchanged anxious looks, nervous that it would break free. They'd seen a number of demons expunged from their hosts, and it was never pleasant, but the spectacle rarely had the intensity that this one exhibited.

Bobby's voice rose again to be heard over the screams and wails, as the thing threw itself at its invisible prison walls without success.

Suddenly it went quiet. The creature sat down in the center, drew its knees up to its chest and hugged its tiny arms around himself. It dropped its head, hiding its face behind its curtain of lank, wet hair. Bizarrely, it began to weep. It was a piteous sound, a lost, mournful sobbing. With its hideous face hidden, and its violence abandoned, it became nothing more to see than a pathetic, thin little boy. Bobby, already seasoned and jaded, remained unmoved, and he continued his chant. After what he'd been through at its hands, Sam was also immune to the pathos now of this creature in front of him.

But it was a calculated emotional performance, tailored to affect one man specifically. Dean stared at the boy, who huddled, crying and shivering on the floor. The trick, a clever lure—oddly affected him, as it had done briefly when he found it weeping in the cypress swamp. He was suddenly struck by the sadness and frailty of this little figure, as if it reached into his soul somehow, beseeching him to help it. It read like a little brother begging the love and protection of an older sibling. It was a calculated spell, and it worked. Dean slowly dropped to a crouch, watching this small child, mesmerized. The need to offer comfort overwhelmed him, and incapable of resisting its emotional pull, he gently reached toward it.

Bobby stopped reading for a second, confused. Sam looked to him, then turned to Dean..

"Dean—NO!" he yelled in horror. He threw himself at his brother, but it was too late. Dean's hand had passed the protection line of the image drawn above, and the demon had grasped it with both of its own. Dean had a second of terrified realization, the spell broken, but he was already being hauled into the centre of the trap. The thing set upon him immediately like a starving dog. With his arm still bound to his side, Dean didn't have a chance. He pried helplessly at the ragged filthy claws that dug into his throat as a strangled scream escaped him.

Sam hung onto his waist, his shirt, anything he could grip; desperately trying to keep him from being pulled completely into the trap, but the cursed thing was so strong-

"Bobby, don't stop! Keep reading!" he yelled. The older man immediately found his place and continued his chant.

Dean pulled the hands away as the thing bit deeply into his fore arm. He shook it loose and elbowed it in the face, but nothing seemed to slow it down and it grabbed hold of his throat again as Sam hung onto him, pulling with every fibre of his being. Sam made little headway while Dean began to choke, strangling under the grip of those powerful little white hands as the nails tore into his skin. He raised his good arm to ward it off. It bit his wrist again as he weakened, and he felt his grasp on his world abandon him. He began to black out.

Sam was groaning under the strain of keeping him back, and he saw that Dean was failing. He was about to leap into the circle himself, but before he could do so, a streak of brown flew past him and into the trap.

The brown cat launched herself at the child-demon's face, screaming and clawing. It surprised the thing, and it momentarily released its grip on Dean's throat. Sam pulled hard in that split second, hauling Dean's limp body to safety outside the circle. The brown cat fled before the thing could grab it.

Bobby was frozen, wild eyed at the unfolding events, but after a second or two he steadfastly returned to his reading of the passage, as Sam dragged Dean further away from the demon's grasp and influence. Sam yelled to David to help him, and the doc emerged from the safe room haltingly, profoundly terrified, but ready to help.

But seeing his stricken friend, he immediately became Dr. Bowman, pushing the younger hunter out of the way as he set about tending Dean's wounds. Sam returned to Bobby, if for nothing else than to witness the demise of the damned thing. It was wailing again, but its struggles were growing weaker as Bobby's words progressed. It tried to flee, but weakness dropped it to its hands and knees. It began to shake and twitch, and moaning replaced the howls. Bobby kept on, and it fell over, convulsing. As Bobby neared the end of his passage, the twitching stopped. A black poisonous effluent bubbled from its mouth, seeping down between the floorboards as if pulled there by some unseen force, and it began to shrivel grotesquely..

And at last the final words condemning it back to Hell were uttered, and all that remained was the ancient and ruined body of an eight year old boy, a child apparently born evil, and one, that when all else failed, was deliberately drowned in the swamp by priests nearly a century before. The whole damned thing was horrible, but now at last, whatever it was, it was finally rendered harmless. Bobby closed his book and gingerly prodded the remains with the toe of his shoe. Nothing happened. "I think we're good…" he ventured.

Sam turned away and hovered anxiously near David as he worked over Dean, who lay deathly still as David staunched the bleeding at his throat and arm.

"I need you to help me carry him in to a bed, I can't stitch him properly here."

Sam nodded and bundled his brother into his arms, following David and gently depositing him on the bed. David set about his work. "Nothing lethal, Sam, don't worry. Just nasty.." he assured him.

Sam breathed out his relief, and turned his head at Bobby's call. He returned to the place where the body lay, staring at it with a look of disgust and revulsion. "That's a new one." he grimaced.

Bobby agreed. "Let's finish this, Sam. We need to salt it and burn it, to be safe. Everything is soaking wet outside, only thing we can do is burn it here in the fireplace. Kinda gross, but what can you do.. How's Dean, is he ok?"

Sam nodded. "I hope so...David thinks so. Just some nasty tears, which he's stitching. He's still out of it. Bobby, his reaching out to that demon...I've never seen anything like that…"

Bobby knew the root of of though. "Mmm…. Some power it had, a way to get someone to feel sympathy for it, I guess. Just seemed to work with Dean, like it struck some chord…I dunno. But let's get this done now."

Sam found a thin blanket and he wrapped the shrunken remains in it and placed them on the grate in the hearth. Bobby salted the bundle liberally, then dowsed it all with kerosene until it was saturated.

"Do the honours, Sam.."

Sam struck a match and tossed it. The bundle lit up and was immediately engulfed in flame. It crackled and spit for a little while. Sam left to reassure the cousins as Bobby stayed watching until the fire died down to ashes. The women joined him, watching, wrinkling their noses at the stench. Bobby was glad they hadn't seen the remains, or indeed, any of the process. It would have been something too horrible to forget for people unaccustomed to such things.

Sally broke the silence."So..that's it, then?"

"That's it. It will never return."

Emily broke down, this time in sheer relief. "Thank-you Bobby…you're our brilliant saint! I thought I would go mad when that thing was in our midst. But it's all calm now, no more colours…" she said tearfully. Sally hugged her, and wept quietly herself.

The weather was calming. The palms still danced, but not with the ground-whipping ferocity that they had displayed earlier. They turned at an angry voice.

"Quit stabbing me, you hack!"

Sam knew Dean was conscious, he could hear his bitching from the bedroom. He and Sally joined David as Bobby sat with Emily. Poor David was trying to do what was best for Dean, his ragged wounds needed to be cleaned and closed. It was a lot easier when the elder Winchester was unconscious, and David was tempted to give him a shot of tranquilizer, or hit him upside his head with a rock.

"Dean! Relax and let him finish, you wuss!" Sam admonished.

Dean glared at him but tempered his response to fit the company. David continued his needlework, steady-handed and seemingly oblivious to Dean's vocal resistance. He'd already done his repairs to his neck; twenty seven stitches total. He was completing the closing of his arm wounds.

Dean was anxious to know the outcome. "What happened? Is it done?"

Sam nodded. "Banished, salted, and burned. I think we can safely call it finished."

The elder hunter closed his eyes in relief.

Sam had to ask. "Dean...you reached over to touch it, do you remember?"

Dean sighed. Oh yeah—he remembered. "Yeah, Sam. It happened when it started crying... It, I dunno...it hit me, how lonely and how small and ...sad, it was. I know it was just doing it to me, playing with my head, but… Shit, it was like it was you. When you were little and Dad was gone for days, you were so sad and lonely...so lost. You needed me to make it ok. Well, that kid, or whatever it was, seemed to ask me for the same thing. And I knew it was screwed up, but I...I just had to help it.. Sonofabitch! I actually felt, for a minute there, that it was a victim!"

Sam didn't know how to respond. He felt an overwhelming and irrational guilt. He changed the subject. "Well, the passage from the book worked...looks like it was sent back. And it did leave some remains, really weird. But like I said, we salted and burned them. I think it's gone for good." Sam wanted to ask if he was hurting, if he was alright. But he knew better. That was info to be gleaned from others, like David. Dean would never give him a straight answer. But stitches Sam knew, and Dean was his usual uncompromising self. This would be ok.

Sally located that bottle and poured everyone a stiff drink. "Here's to….Christ, anything but the last few days!"

There was a hearty round of cheers to that.

Needless to say, they vacuumed out the hearth with meticulous care. David, having played his new role with honours, had to return home. He had teaching obligations and a very demanding girlfriend. Bobby stayed a few days. He loved the warmth, the vibrant life all around him here. Back home, it was in the throes of waning Autumn, not nearly as hospitable as the Keys at this time of year. He helped do repairs to the studio, cleaning and helping with the glazing repairs. But he did have a business, and a life, elsewhere. He had to return eventually. Dean fretted about Bobby's burden of cost to come down. It was solely to rescue them, and Dean knew that Bobby was out of pocket quite a sum for gas alone. Yet he had no bloody way to repay him for his selflessness, and it ate at him.

Dean had worked out an arrangement with the cousins. He would scrape and repaint the Jezebel in return for free accommodations. He was happy to do it, it was a satisfying labour of love that he jealously guarded. But how to repay Bobby for his selflessness—that was a question that robbed him of sleep.

On the morning of Bobby's scheduled departure, Dean awoke to the brown cat's intense stare. He rubbed his eyes and sat up awkwardly. The cat head-butted him and dropped a small bundle onto his blanket-covered chest. Dean was disgusted, expecting to have to dispose of a mouse or lizard carcass. He grasped the object, and was surprised at its metallic sound. Drawing it closer to his bleary early-morning gaze, he saw that it wasn't some newly dead vermin offering. It appeared to be a dry, crackled old leather pouch. He sat up, groaning. The moldered bit of leather rolled down to his lap, and he picked it up and examined it. It was certainly old. The little draw-stringed purse was barely holding together, and bits of soil and decayed matter fell away from it as he turned it over.

Gold glinted through its ruined stitching. He sat bolt upright, suddenly alert, and fascinated by what lay in his hand. The brown cat had brought some sort of gift alright. It appeared to be some sort of buried hoard, god knows where she, or Ada, had found them. He pried the top open and peered inside.

"Sam!" he called…

Sam reluctantly answered from the other room, preferring at least two or three more hours rest. "What?"

"C'mere, you have to check this out!"

Deciding that his tone merited some attention, Sam sleepily entered his brother's room. Dean held up the small sack.

Sam yawned and scratched his tangled hair. "Yeah? So what is it?"

"You're not gonna believe it! The cat brought it to me! Check it out! Pirate coins!"

Sam was startled awake by that. Dean shook out the pouch and examined its contents. They were coins alright, and apparently gold. They bore the cross of Spain... "Holy shit, Dean! These are really old!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean nodded. "The damned cat, she just came in and dropped them on me!"

Sam was mesmerized by the seven glinting coins that tumbled out of the decaying leather. "Really old...from the fifteen hundreds. These are -wow- probably worth a fortune!"

Dean picked one up, staring at it, turning it over and over. He did what they always did in movies, he bit it. It dented slightly where his teeth pressed. And it tasted like mouldy dirt. He spat onto the floor in disgust, but beamed at Sam. "Feels like the real deal, you think they're really valuable?"

Sam shrugged. "Gotta be. Just in the gold weight alone. Add the age and rarity to it, and who knows. But I know a quick way to find out!"

He was on Ebay in short order. He quickly ascertained that the coins were indeed Spanish, and were 1 and 2 Escudo cobs, the typical Spanish doubloons that legend associated with privateer burials. There was no proof that they were really pirate gold, but it was irrelevant. Florida had a long history of Spanish association. Sam learned that each coin, in good condition, was worth a minimum of $1500. And there were seven of them, no less.

"Dean...this is like, more than ten grand right now!"

Dean shook his head. He struggled to realize the significance. Bobby could be compensated. Hell, even the cousins, if he hadn't already worked it out. And he could buy some new pants. Sam could get a digital camera... Dean wasn't complicated when it came to money. He had no words, he just grinned at his brother.

Several hours later, Bobby had the van loaded on the ramp. It showed the abuse it had suffered, the frame was hopelessly bent, so Bobby was now forced to look at it as a sum of its parts rather than as a reparable project. Mere hours ago, Dean, and Sam would have felt horrible about that as they had no means of compensating their friend for his grumbling selflessness. But Ada's contribution had changed all that.

"Well, boys-I guess I'm off to the cold again…" Bobby said, regretfully.

Both brothers nodded. Dean spoke for the two of them. "Bobby, we can't thank you enough for coming out and saving our asses."

Bobby shrugged with a smile. "I'd expect the same from you two. I'm sure we'll have a chance to even up."

"I expect so." said Dean. "But in the meantime, take these-" He handed Bobby two gold coins.

"Dean, what's this?"

If it were anyone else, Dean would have quickly devised a decent story to cover it, but Bobby was privy to it all. "Ada's cat, she brought these to me this morning. Look, Bobby, I know you spent some serious cash coming down here to help us.. You never hesitated. We knew we could count on you. Just like you know you can count on Sam and me if you ever need anything. Sam went online to check these out, and they're worth fifteen hundred a piece minimum. Take'em. We still have a few more to keep us going. Take it, please…"

Bobby turned the ancient coins over on his hand, examining them with fascination. "Boys, you don't have to do this, you know. I was happy to help."

"I know, man. " Dean said. "But we want to. Shit, I was ready to sell my liver to help with your costs. So now I don't have to."

Bobby laughed, but his eyes were moist. He snorted. "Dean, I've seen you drink. I doubt your liver has much market value left." He embraced Dean, roughly and awkwardly. He did the same to Sam. The cousins had already said their goodbyes, they hung back to allow the men their space. "Well, boys. Think of me while I'm freezing my arse off. And stay outa trouble, for god's sake. Think vacation, alright? Do you understand the concept? Don't go looking for complications!"

Dean and Sam agreed, smiling. Bobby climbed up into the cab, and waved one last time. And he put the truck in gear and pulled away.

The rest of their stay was as uneventful as they could manage. For Bobby's sake, for the cousins', and for their own, the brothers endeavoured to live the theme of vacation to its fullest. Sam was browned to a rich mahogany. He understood and embraced the whole beach culture. Dean did his best as well, although his tan was more of a farmer's type. He threw himself into the refurbishing of Jezebel's exterior. At first he did what he could while one-handed. But he abandoned his sling in short order, David would have been furious. He scraped nearly a century of peeling paint off her siding, and at Sally's behest, repainted her a soft tropical blue with contrasting white details. The jezebel looked completely, and happily renewed.

Ada must have approved, she would have shown any concern through the brown cat if she had any issues. As it was, Paddy and brown cat spent lazy days on the porch together, or hunting lizards in the gardens.

Sam spent time at the studio. He wanted to learn how to paint, and Sally was a patient tutor. Dean concentrated on the restoration. He was nearing completion of his task, and he was perched on a ladder, scraping the dormers in the roof. The wavy old glass of the small window was dirty and fly-specked. Dean stopped for a moment, sweat-soaked and working out the cramp in his hand. As he looked over what he'd accomplished, he felt a pang of regret. He'd be done soon. It had been soul-satisfying, the work, the place. The people... They'd be back on the road soon, back to what they called their lives. He sighed and resumed scraping. He rubbed a clear spot in the glass and peered through it while he worked on the mullions.

Something caught his eye. He couldn't quite see what it was, but he was intrigued. He decided to access the attic through the cottage. He got down from the ladder and entered the cool cottage. He found the trap door and lifted it, using a ladder to gain access. The space was stiflingly hot and airless. Little was stored here, a few small boxes, some old blankets. He crawled to where he'd seen the thing that had interested him. It was a small, fur covered thing. He thought at first it was a hat or something, but when he got closer, he saw that it was a carcass. Brownish fur, faded and dusty, it was completely dessicated. He reached out and lifted it gingerly. A loose little blue collar was revealed. And the tag bore a name. Maeve.

He knew what it was. He'd found the remains of Brown Cat.

She must have been a pet of a holiday tenant, having somehow made her way into the attic, and becoming trapped and dying there. He carefully replaced the little body, and made his way back down. He could have disposed of her, burned, or buried it, but he didn't. The relationship between Ada and her little friend didn't require his interference. Both seemed happy. He got himself a cold drink, and sought Emily out.

She was at her wheel, working the wet clay so skillfully that it was hard to believe she was blind. He came in and announced himself, so that she wasn't startled.

She smiled at his voice, and switched the wheel off. "Hello, sweetheart. Are you enjoying yourself? You're not working too hard, I hope!"

He smiled. "No, I'm good." He sat down near her, and sipped at his cold drink, still parched from working. "Emily, I found something, and I thought you would want to know. Ada's little friend, the cat...you said she just appeared a while ago, and you don't know where she came from..."

Emily cocked her head. "Yes, that's right...why?"

"Well, I think I found her. I was on the roof, scraping, and I saw something. I went into the attic and found her body, dried up. She must have got up there somehow, chasing lizards or bats maybe, and got stuck, a long time ago. She had a collar and name tag. Her name was, or is I guess, Maeve…"

Emily was quiet, thoughtful for several moments... When she spoke, she had tears in her eyes. "Maeve… it's lovely. Our little mystery is solved, then. Perhaps Ada was lonely in her world...and when the poor little thing expired, she invited her to join her."

"I guess. I left it as I found it. I didn't want to do anything that might change things."

She wiped her tears, leaving a smear of wet clay on her cheeks. "Thank-you, Dean." she said quietly. "I am very, very glad to know this. Thank-you..." She smiled with embarrassment at her emotions, and reached out a hand to touch his face. He let her, staying still as she followed the contours. "You're a fine person, Dean. Don't ever forget that."

He thanked her awkwardly, and made his excuse to leave, uncomfortable with the intensity of her touch. She beamed at him and waved as she heard him leave.

Sam constantly pestered him to help, to relieve him of some of the work. But to Dean, this wasn't a task so much as a vocation. He loved the job, seeing and facilitating the transformation from decrepit relic to a charming house reborn. When the project was finally complete, and he could find nothing at all that needed his attention, he felt a sense of loss. He called the cousins to see the result. Sally was ecstatic, it was exactly what she had pictured. She carefully described the renewal to Emily, who was able to envision it, as well as Ada's happiness.

"Oh, Dean, it looks wonderful! I know Ada must be pleased." Sally said, her eyes moist.

He grinned shyly as Sally held Emily's hand and stood back to take it in fully.

"You know you boys are always welcome here, right? You don't have to scrape paint to earn your keep everytime. We know Ada must adore you. You won't rush away just because the painting is done, will you?"

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. They were grateful of their time here, and for the knowledge that they were welcome to return… But they knew they should start thinking about getting back on the road. This place, and its people, its spirits, would always be a sanctuary. But they didn't want to jeopardize the cousins' peaceful life. Both were appreciative of the time they had been allowed to heal, to strengthen and renew. But they were still very aware of their fugitive status, and the dangers their association presented. Both vowed that no one would ever be forced to suffer as a result of helping them. The time had come to leave this place.

Sally was trying to remain stoic on the day of their departure. Emily had no such false pride and she shed her tears without shame.

"Please...Sam, Dean...come back to us. Promise us." Sally asked.

They did promise. Their lives were chaotic, filled with danger, and threat. They would both keep this sanctuary in their hearts. Dean hugged a weepy Emily. "So, what is my aura saying now?"

She refused to answer. "Just be careful. Be safe. And come back to us."

Sam did likewise, and the two climbed into the Impala. "Thanks, for everything. We will see you again."

The Impala's engine roared to life and they left. Both brothers spent the next few hours in contemplative silence.

The world was a mess. But good people would be its redemption, and theirs as well...

-End.