Chapter Three: It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester
"So, angels sent you, huh?" Dean asked skeptically.
They were driving down a mostly empty highway in the lingering blue twilight. Outside, the temperature was cooling rapidly, and shadowed pines lined the side of the road, blackened by the encroaching darkness. AC/DC pumped out of the stereo, just loud enough that the three could speak without shouting.
"That's right," Eli said, staring out the window at the landscape of gently rolling hills. She was sleepy; the bump of the highway beneath her, the faded leather smell of the seats and even the slightly dirty, but not unpleasant smell of road and boys and stale food was comforting, like a memory from childhood.
"Why?" Sam asked, craning his head to look at her curled up in the backseat. She had removed her boots and tucked her socked feet up under her body, her leather jacket balled up and cushioning her head against the window. Her squashed buns were gone and now her cornsilk hair spooled in messy waves around her face. Blue shadowed the delicate skin under her eyes, making her look worn and ghostlike.
"And don't fall asleep," Dean ordered, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. He was still exhausted, his fingertips trembling with the effort of staying awake. The car swerved, slightly, and the jolt of adrenaline shook him out of his stupor.
She yawned hugely. "We're at a very important and shitty place in history. Lilith is breaking the seals, too fast and too soon for us to do much about it. Heaven has its hands full stopping the apocalypse, and it seems to think that you two are very important, our best shot at keeping this whole thing from exploding in our faces. I've worked with the bastards before. I guess they thought I could help."
"Glad to see you share my opinion on their general douchiness," Dean said, fiddling with the radio, cranking the music just a little bit louder.
"They're not all harps and halos," Eli agreed.
"Then why do you work for them?" Sam asked, directing his question to the mirror instead of turning around, but dark had rapidly fallen and it was impossible to see her face.
"I'm doing God's work," she said, but in a voice so deadpan it came out harsh and sarcastic.
"Yeah, right," Dean said. He tapped his fingers on the ancient steering wheel in time with the music; beneath the dashboard, he also tapped his toes. "Nobody does anything for nothing, unless you're some kind of fanatic, which honestly, you don't strike me as. Especially not for those dickheads."
"We have a … business arrangement," Eli said carefully.
"Which is?"
"Personal."
Dean snorted. Eli yawned again. Sam turned around in his seat and tried to smile, but it was lost in the dark. "We're almost there."
The next morning, Dean and Sam dressed in their slightly ill-fitting black suits and fake badges and went to investigate the case of the man who swallowed razorblades in Halloween candy. Sam tried to rouse Eli from her spot on the futon, but she just rolled over and muttered something about how investigations weren't in her job description.
When they got back to the room she had showered and was sitting cross-legged on Dean's bed, feet bare, in jeans with huge holes at the knees and a threadbare sweater, her hair in two wet braids, eating from an open bag of Halloween candy.
"Sleep well, Princess?" Dean asked sarcastically. She glanced up from her book.
"Just wonderfully, honey bear," she replied. "What did you guys find out?"
Dean perched on the edge of his bed and loosened his tie, dipping his hand into the bag of candy by Eli's knee. "Witches," he said, scraping the foil wrapper from the first piece and popping it into his mouth. "Skanky, creepy-ass witches. There was a hex bag at the house."
"Yeah, and not just any hex bag." Sam shrugged off his black jacket and opened a small piece of brown cloth, peering at the contents with narrowed eyes. "This is some weird shit. I'm gonna need to research these ingredients."
"Take your time," Dean said, standing and grabbing the pile of clothes by his bed. "I'm changing and going to check out this Luke Wallace guy and buy some Halloween candy."
"There's a bag right there, and you're eating from it," Sam commented at the same time Eli said: "Get me some Mars Bars, will you?"
"Good girl," Dean said, slapping her on her back. He looked at Sam. "Doesn't bitch about AC/DC, eats like a dude. Takes my shit. Has boobs. I'm starting to think I like her as a traveling companion more than you, Sammy."
"And to think, yesterday you hated me," Eli quipped. Dean grabbed another piece of candy and walked to the bathroom.
"Actually, I was being nice. I just like the boobs." He closed the door just in time to hear the thunk of her shoe against the wood.
In the bathroom, Dean leaned heavy on his hands and stared at his face in the mirror, his smiling slipping. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and red, the delicate skin around his nose dry and cracked, like all of the moisture was leaking out of his body. He hadn't slept the night before, despite his desire to; he didn't even have to dream for the images to come back to him with the white-hot flare of remembered pain. All it took was closing his eyes, so he kept them open all night, staring at the ceiling.
From outside he heard soft chatter: Sam said something, the chick responded dryly; there was the creaking of bedsprings and shuffling of heavy books. Dean took a deep, shaking breath and started to change. He didn't know why this stranger was suddenly intruding on their lives like she could just waltz in and belong, or what she really wanted, or where all of this was going, but he had the distinct and unsettling feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't good.
He pasted a smile back on his face and opened the door.
When dealing with witches, death always came in threes. Dean had almost forgotten that, had almost lulled himself into the hope that it would end with a man choking on razor blades in his own house, but then the police scanner picked up the mysterious boiling of a co-ed and he was dragged once more into the chill October air.
Fuck it, he needed a drink.
"How did the investigation go?" Eli asked when they returned. It was nighttime, the moon bright and fat overhead. She had barely moved all day, except to buy a burger at the local diner and pick up more books. They lay scattered around her now like fallen angels, pages fluttered open like wings.
"You know, I still can't figure out why you refuse to come with us," Dean said, shrugging off his FBI jacket and pulling at his tie. "Aren't you shirking your bodyguard duties?"
"I'd just be in your way," she said distractedly, then looked up to see the two staring at her. "What? I know you guys have a system. I'm not here to muck things up for you. I'm just here to help. And come on, I know you don't want me to come."
"Hm," Dean grunted noncommittally. He sank down on the bed and closed his eyes; when he opened them he saw that she was watching him, warily, a strange calculating look that unnerved him. He stared her down until she looked away.
Sam was oblivious to this interaction. "Right, well, here's how the investigation went," he said, tossing the hex bag onto the bed. Eli picked it up, interested. "Found it at the scene of the second murder. How much you want to bet it has the same weird ingredients as the last one?"
"I wouldn't bet against it, that's for sure," she muttered, turning the musty bag around in her hands.
"Did you find anything, research girl?" Dean asked with forced lightheartedness, now kicking off his shiny black shoes and wiggling his socked toes in the air. Eli made a note on a piece of paper, stuck a pencil behind her ear, and nodded.
"I think so. Check this out." She flipped the book she was looking at and handed it to Sam.
Sam scanned the page for a moment, then groaned. "Oh, shit," he muttered.
"What is it?" Dean asked, trying to peer at the page.
"Samhain."
"Mother-fucking Samhain," Eli confirmed, sounded inordinately excited.
"Okay, what? Sam-who?" Dean asked, glancing between the two of them. Sam sat back down in his hard-backed chair and began to read.
"Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st." He looked at Dean and handed him the book with its gory etching. "It's for the summoning of Samhain."
"Mother-fucking Samhain," Eli clarified, rising from the bed and balling her hands into fists. "This is awesome."
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Dean asked, at the same time Sam blurted out, "How the hell is this awesome?"
"Come on, guys," Eli said, rising from the bed to stand on the tips of her toes. "This is one of the most badass demons ever. The god of Halloween. The damn origin of Halloween. Masks to hide from him, candy to appease him, the whole shebang. This dude is bad-ass in a way you rarely see. He was exorcized hundreds of years ago, the ritual itself can only be performed once every 600 years, and now…we get to kill him."
"You are crazy," Sam said, standing and gesturing wildly with his hands as if unable to express just how crazy she was. "We're talking heavyweight witchcraft. A ridiculously powerful demon. Samhain can even raise his own army. And you want to fight that?"
"Guys, we're hunters," she countered as if he was being stupid. "We hunt evil. I mean, hopefully we'll stop this before the ritual is complete, but if we can't, and he is raised, we'll have destroyed something huge! Don't you want that on your resume?"
"Do you want to die?" Sam snapped.
"Who says I'm going to?" she shot back.
"Yo," Dean said, and they both whipped around to look at him. "Not to interrupt the cat fight, but what exactly do you mean he can raise his own army? Raise what, exactly?"
Sam sighed and rubbed his temples. Everything – this room with its stale air, this case, this conversation, this strange hunter with her smart mouth and blithe bravado—was grating on his nerves. His muscles ached for no reason, his legs restless, like he needed to run and run until all of this disappeared behind him. "Dark, evil crap and lots of it, I mean, they follow him around like the Pied Piper."
"So we're talking ghosts," Dean said.
"Yeah."
"Zombies."
Sam nodded distractedly, hands still pressed to his head. "Mm-hmm."
"Leprechauns?"
Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Dean- "
Dean shot him a cheeky grin and waggled his fingers. "Those little dudes are scary. Small hands."
"Like carnies," Eli piped in.
"Oh my God, I'm working with insane people." Sam stood, raising himself to his full height and glaring down at both of them. "Don't you guys get it? Look, it just starts with ghosts and ghouls. This sucker keeps on going, by night's end we are talking every awful thing we have ever seen. Everything we fight, all in one place."
"Not if we stop it," Eli said in a low voice.
Dean gave a short, humorless laugh. "Sam's right, you're one crazy broad. It's gonna be a slaughterhouse."
Eli looked at both of them, hands on her hips, in bare feet and braids. "Not," she repeated firmly, "if we stop it."
600 –year-old witches, apparently, liked their reincarnations young and hot. Also, apparently, they liked to cheer. This pleased Dean inordinately, a tiny spark of humor and relaxation against the stress pushing down at the muscles in his shoulders and back.
Fuck the beer. Maybe all he really needed was to get laid.
While he and Sam went to the high school to talk to a teacher, Eli wandered off to interview some of the cheerleader's friends. Dean was uncertain if her was annoyed or relieved at her absence. It didn't matter, anyway. She found them only two hours later, having an altercation with a fat astronaut outside of the motel. The kid marched away from them angrily, knocking into her in the process.
"Woah, beware the wrath of astronauts," she said, coming to a stop in front of them. "What did you say to the kid?"
"The truth," Dean said cheekily, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. He rocked back on his heels, the chill October wind messing his carefully spiked hair. "You find anything?"
"Nada," she said as they started to walk to the room. "Same old, same old: Sweet girl, good student, fun to be around, lots of clubs, blah blah blah. You?"
"Nothing," Sam said morosely as he dug in his pockets for the motel keys. "Just one teacher trying to be too hip and an empty apartment."
He entered the room first, and a second later Dean and Eli heard him yell: "Who are you?"
It seemed the angels had arrived.