Dean crouched underneath the old porch, Ellis pressed behind him. He could hear her breathing loudly in the darkness. He shushed her. She had her eyes squeezed shut in a grimace, trying to repress her fear. Dean was worried that her inexperience would be a liability.
He felt something crawl across his hand and hissed, flinging the spider into the darkness.
They'd heard a car pull up as they'd been peeking in through the window and Dean shoved Ellis under the front porch, and crawled in behind her. Which is where they found themselves crouched now, peering through the lattice work, while the dark-haired woman from Ellis' vision climbed the steps above their heads. The tread of her high heeled boots clacked against the boards. She unlocked the door and walked in, the door clicking loudly as she shut it.
They both finally breathed. "Dad's gotta be in there. This is the house you saw, right?" Dean looked at her for confirmation.
She nodded. "And that was definitely his truck about a block over."
John heard her coming up the stairs before he saw her. He tried to clamber to his feet, using the railing for support as she rounded the corner. He barely had himself vertical as her dark head and almond eyes came into view. She smiled predatorily, brown eyes taking him in. She would have been attractive if she weren't a hellspawn.
"John Winchester. I see you figured me out. You're smarter than I gave you credit for."
John swayed on his feet, his breath ragged in his own ears. "I hear that a lot. Guess people underestimate mechanics."
A lance of pain went through his insides and he hunched into himself for a minute, unable to draw a breath. His mouth parting in a silent cry.
She stepped toward him. "It's rude to break into people's houses, you know."
John regained himself, more or less back upright, though the banister was still taking the brunt of his weight. He glanced around surreptitiously. She saw the gaze and smiled. "Hoping I somehow left the hex bag in plain sight? Good luck finding it before your massive coranary and internal bleeding gets the best of you..."
As she said it, a cascade of blood dripped out of John's nose and he let out a choking gag.
"John, you're going to ruin my carpet."
He spit red. "Bedroom already looks ruined. I'm continuing the theme."
She stepped forward and John was so doubled over he almost had to look up at her.
This was it. She was going to kill him. The hex had him weak enough that she could take him. Or coolly watch him bleed out, but his money was on her wanting the satisfaction of hearing his bones snap under her fingers.
He waited until she took another step and then launched himself at her. He closed the couple of feet between them in a haphazard tackle-using his size to try and bring her down.
It almost worked, but somehow she was able to hold his weight momentarily before she pushed him with some sort of supernatural strength and sent him crashing into the drywall hard enough to dent it. John whimpered and went down on his hands and knees, sputtering through his blood. His chest ached liked an elephant was sitting on it.
She approached and kicked him solidly in the abdomen. John felt the air go out of him in a woof and he collapsed onto his stomach. He reached out his hand, trying to connect with the pistol just out of his grasp.
"You think I'm going to let you get to that, honey?"
She kicked him again, viciously in the side. He thought maybe he felt a rib snap. The third time she drew back her foot, he let her connect and then grabbed her ankle with all the strength he had left, clutching it to his chest and didn't let go. She lost her balance and fell onto her ass on the rug with him.
"John," she panted. "I'm impressed." She kicked him in the face with her free foot.
"Do that again," he rasped. "I'll grab that leg too. Might break it for good measure."
"No, I don't think you will." She made a gesture with her hand and John felt something in his insides twist. The pain was so intense that he yelled on a broken sob.
Dean and Ellis both heard the low cry from their spot where they stood, trying to jimmy the front lock. Dean felt himself go frantic. "Dad! Dad!" He cried, throwing himself at the door, once, twice, three times. It wasn't going to give.
He grabbed a potted plant and threw it through the window on the porch. Pieces shattered loudly, flying inward in a gleaming spray of glass. He was fairly certain the entire neighborhood had to have heard the commotion. Good, let them call the cops. The more the merrier.
Dean was climbing up and inside the window before Ellis had a chance to process what was going on.
Running on pure adrenaline and instinct, Dean was up the stairs three at a time and was on the woman standing over his incapacitated father before she knew what hit her. His weight threw them both into the wall, and as she turned to try and fight him, all teeth and nails and red fury, their tangle almost sent them crashing over the railing.
She bit his arm and he yelled, but kept a firm hold until she kicked backwards with her pointed-heeled boot and caught him in the kneecap. Dean swore and buckled.
She turned to face him, incredulous. "John's son? The junkyard dog has a pup? Who knew?" She smiled, the shapely curve of her mouth more prominent under the rosy lipstick. "Good to know though."
Why his dad hadn't wanted him along registered suddenly. John didn't want the coven to know that Dean existed. He was protecting him.
John tried to drag himself on his belly, hands searching for his pistol. He almost had the Ivory inlaid grip in his hands, when it went skittering out of his grasp and over the balcony.
"Ah ah, I said no, John."
Bitch had to have telekinetic powers. She just had to because that seemed to be the Winchester luck.
Dean took advantage of the distraction and seized the opportunity to tackle her and as he grabbed her, she whirled her powers on him and tossed him into the drywall...through the dry wall into the adjoining bathroom.
She lifted him up with a gesture and pinned him up against the towel rack, sending guest linens scattering to the floor. John watched his son's eyes go wide and he was wondering if this was the first time Dean had been lifted like this by a witch. He started to change color, his skin going grey with the lack of oxygen. John tried to crawl to them but he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
A shot rang out. It went ridiculously wide of its intended target, but the witch turned and dropped Dean into a heap on the tiled floor.
Ellis had John's pistol in her hand. She looked floored by the sound and the kick back.
John saw Dean spring for the witch in a split second, the knife in his boot drawn and ready for a kill.
"Dean, no!" John cried.
His son's reflexes had always been quick as cat's and before the warning was completed, Dean had already brought the knife blade across her throat with lethal efficiency.
An arterial spray painted the hallway and John. He closed his eyes as it hit him.
Dean kicked the body over the banister and it fell to the floor like a limp crash test dummy. Ellis cried out and shielded her eyes.
Dean was on his knees next to his father, trying to haul him up.
"Dad! Dad! What's wrong?"
John could hardly talk around the squeeze in his chest. He gripped Dean's collar. "Hex bag...you killed her, now we don't know where to find it!"
Dean's eyes widened. "Ellis!" He yelled. "There's a hex bag! We need to look for it." Dean started to pat his father down, searching his pockets.
Ellis stood staring at the body before her, trembling.
"Ellis!" Dean yelled. "Dad's gonna die! Get it together!"
She snapped back to reality and darted up the stairs, searching the bathroom-hurling toiletries and towels.
Dean found nothing on his Dad and ran into the bedroom. The sight and smell of the decaying body stopped him cold. He'd only seen an odd handful of victim's corpses in his young life, and none in this much decay.
He put a hand over his mouth to stifle the gag reflex and tried to calm his heart. Search. He had to search for the hex bag. He didn't have time to be upset now, although he was fairly certain he was going to have nightmares for awhile.
Dean started searching drawers, tossing clothes to the floor. He dug through the closet at a frantic pace. He could hear his father's erratic, labored breathing from the other room and Ellis' quiet assurance of "It's okay John, I'm here. Dean, hurry!"
He lifted the mattress and yelled involuntarily as a horde of bugs ran for cover, but there it was tucked away, a hex bag. Black velvet on the outside, something horrible and nasty on the inside.
He grabbed it and fished for his lighter. "I found one!"
He jogged back into the hallway, lighting it as he went and letting it drop to the floor as the flames consumed it, turning the contents to ash. Funny how much of his life was spent doing just that. Reducing things to ash.
He looked to his father. The bag burnt but John didn't get up. He didn't break out from under the spell like a man coming up from the water for air. He didn't seem to be any better at all. Dean knelt down beside Ellis. "Dad?"
John was bleeding from his mouth in a steady stream. The carpet around him was painted red.
"Dad?" He took his father's face in his hands. "What's happening?" John's eyes had rolled up into the back of his head momentarily before he was able to pull focus on his son. He couldn't answer.
Ellis had her head turned and her attention settled on a small penciled mark on the wall near the floorboards. She crawled closer. "That's not the only bag, that's what. There's a sigil on the wall here that he tripped when he walked past it." She touched the mark with her hand and a flash of insight went through her.
She dove back to John, searching his coat pockets.
Dean's eyes were frantic. "I already looked there."
She pulled out John's truck keys. "It's not here, it's in the truck. She must've planted it when he was poking around asking questions."
Dean grabbed the keys. "I got it!"
"Look under the driver's seat," she yelled, wondering how fast Dean could run a block as he jumped down the steps, all adrenaline and action.
She turned her attention back. "John, baby, hang in here."
She rolled his body sideways so that he didn't choke on the blood pouring from his mouth and held his head. Bugs had started to crawl around them on the carpet. She gritted her teeth. "Oh God, John, this is gross. Your job is so gross."
He whimpered and her stomach twisted at the soft cry. It was a sound she couldn't have pictured ever coming from his mouth. "Okay, honey, okay." She tangled her hand in his dark hair. She could feel his essence ebbing, it was like watching a flame begin to gutter out. His eyes closed and he seemed to lose consciousness, suddenly limp and heavy in her arms. She set his head down.
"John!" Ellis checked for a pulse, pressing her fingers into his neck. "Oh god...oh god!"
And then suddenly, the bugs ran away from them like an invisible force had blown them back with a current of air, and John spasmed as he arched off the rug, his body taking a gasping, ragged breath.
Dean had found the hex bag.
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