Part Two

Dean hadn't left the motel more than ten minutes when I started to feel guilty. Was I taking my own problems out on him? Yes, what he'd done to Amy was wrong, so very wrong, but I know his reasons for doing it were sound enough. I'd helped Madison end it, after all, did that really make me any better?

My conscience told me I was the better man because I hadn't taken her life without her permission, but my mind knew the truth - even if it was addled right now with a whirlpool of satanic madness leftover from my time in the pit.

I rubbed a hand across my temple, feeling even now the pressure there.

I picked up my cell, intending to dial Dean's number, but on quick inspection I noticed the signal I'd had earlier had died just like the TV.

My eyes locked on the bottle of Jack Daniels Dean had brought in and I succumbed to his weakness. I poured a large shot and walked over to the window. Gently drawing back the dusty net curtain, I was surprised to see just how thick the fog had become.

Something nagged at the back of my mind. Would Dean be okay out in this? Then I realized he'd probably take a swing at me for even having the thought. Of course he'd be okay in fog, this was Dean we were talking about.

I turned to move away from the glass but my brow furrowed as I heard the loud toot of an air horn. I guessed me and Dean weren't the only latecomers to the motel, and my eyes returned to the window to take a peek at the newcomer.

The semi was all black. Even the long container type trailer it hauled was coloured like a raven. The headlights seemed to have an eerie red tinge to them that cut through the mist like lasers, but that must have been just a trick of the light.

As I watched, intrigued, the driver gunned the engine and it belched a rosy smoke into the night.

I saw "Norman" come to his tiny office window and look out, but his expression said if he was expecting the late arrival, it wasn't supposed to be a friendly visit. Good old "Norman" was shaking badly, and his eyes were wide as plates.

Instinctively, I put down my glass next to our little impromptu Christmas tree and grabbed the Glock I'd stowed under my pillow. I flicked off the safety, but didn't leave the room – not yet until I was sure what was going down.

When I looked back to the window again, only seconds could have passed, but the semi and "Norman" had both vanished.

My throat bobbed as I swallowed hard and tried to figure out what my next move should be. Something was going down here, something bad.

My senses were screaming at me from years of honing them, but my brain was lagging behind in making a decision.

Heck, it's Christmas, this can't be going down, not here, not now!

But then Dean and me have long ago learned that time, tide and demonic skanks wait for no man, and no holiday.

As I pondered the fact of luck and the Winchester name, the lights went out.

I pushed my back into the wall and held the Glock close to my chest with both hands. I was behind the door and ready for anyone, or anything that might try to enter.

I waited, chest heaving hard.

Where was Dean? Was he safe?

You drove him out into the night Sam, are you proud of yourself now?

I looked up to see Lucifer sneering at me. He never truly left me, I'd just grown accustomed to his presence. I likened it to a patient knowing they had a debilitating disease, but not letting it get them down.

That trucker is gonna strip the flesh off old Norman and then he's gonna do the same to Dean. Are you going to stand there all night and let it happen? Or maybe you'd like to admit finally that none of this is real. It's all me, Sammy, all part of my game…

I bit into the bottom of my own lip, drawing a thin line of blood. Blood was good, blood gave pain and pain faded Lucifer's image to nothing but a distant memory.

I heard, no felt something drip near my boot and looked down to see the dribble from my lip splash on the wooden floorboard.

And it wasn't the only thing down there.

Under the door, a thick ooze of pulsating fog was creeping into the motel room, searching, sensing, probing like it had a life of its own.

I spun around, pointing my Glock at it like an inexperienced idjit, as Bobby would say.

"Get a grip, Winchester." I swiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my sleeve and then grabbed the throw from Dean's bed.

I didn't know why, but I had to stop the fog from creeping in.

Sticking my gun in the small of my back behind my belt, I quickly used the throw to stuff the gap under the door, like padding an oozing wound.

Small amounts still entered, but for now I had stemmed the flow.

I heard the squeal of tyres from outside and then the slamming of what sounded like the Impala's creaky driver's door. I frowned when there was a second slam of metal and resumed my place behind the door.

Ten seconds later, Dean was pounding on the wood with what sounded like the butt of his Colt. "Sammy, you better be in one piece or I swear I'll tear you a new one!"

I opened the door and he fell in grumbling, to be followed a second later by a slim looking blonde with short-hair and a half empty bottle of bourbon.

"Sheesh Dean, I've been worried sick about you and you were out picking up a girl?"

I took a wary look out into the night, but the creeping, oozing fog from before seemed to have vanished, replaced by what looked like normal fog, albeit thicker than I'd have liked. I quickly shut the door and placed the throw back, just in case.

Dean was glowering at me when I turned back to face him. "I was not picking up a girl," he said almost angrily. "I was saving one." He looked around, at last realizing the lights were out. "What happened here, you fry the electrics with the good old magic fingers?"

He smirked, knowing full well our room didn't have "magic fingers" anyway.

"Dean, something's going down. Tonight. Here. Now." I pointed to the window. "There was this truck outside. It was…I don't know, whacked out."

Dean scoffed, "Tell me about it, Einstein. I've had that thing breathing down my tailpipe. And let me tell you, the driver likes to fillet anyone he doesn't take a shine too – which from what I'm seeing and hearing is at least two people already tonight. Talk about Duel on steroids"

Dean paced a little in the darkness, rubbing a hand through his short spiky hair in contemplation. "There's something else, too, Sammy. I didn't notice it when we first got here, but there are references all over this joint that I should have recognized sooner."

"Like what?" I was peering under the curtain again as I spoke, but all I could make out was that the mire outside was thickening again until it might take a knife to break through it.

"Like this motel is named after a fishing boat in Carpenter's The Fog. Like the town is called St Anthony's Cove, sounds an awful lot like Carpenter's Antonio Bay, huh? Oh, and let's not forget there's an awful lot of actual fog outside right now."

I looked at him and raised my brows. "We can't be talking trickster, not unless we actually have a real Loki on our hands."

The girl pulled a face at me and took another swig of whatever was in her bottle. "Whoa, and I thought I was the one imagining things. C'mon, guys, it's Christmas Eve, for crying out loud."

Dean stopped pacing and tossed down his gun on the bed. Given our situation, that surprised me, but then so did what he had to say next.

"You know what? She's right! It's Christmas, so what do we care that this friggin' town has gone ape? Why don't we just sit back and let whatever is gonna happen, happen?"

"Dean?" I asked incredulously, unsure even if I was getting his point.

"Dude, God has been giving us crap since the day were we both born. We always come through for him like obedient little puppies, and for what? The very next day he throws more crap at us! Well I'm telling you, I'm done. It's Christmas, and I'm gonna get smashed outta my face and let the jeepers creepers crowd outside go have a ball."

To prove his point he took a Coors and choked down a huge gulp.

"Dean, there are people dying!"

"You think I don't know that? Around us people are always dying or getting their asses sucked to hell - or worse." He took another swig of beer and then tossed the bottle at the far wall until it shattered into a myriad of pieces.

"Sam, this is supposed to be God's time of year, the birth of Christ, peace and goodwill to all, and yet here we are again, mopping up his mess and he can't even be bothered to show his saintly ass down here. I'm telling you, no wonder Cas went fruit loop with a boss like that. Think about it, what has he done, once, ever for the human race in the last hundred years except sit and watch up screw up? I bet he's up there in heaven right now getting rat-assed."

I opened my mouth to answer, but when I considered it, I wasn't really sure I had one that justified God's absence. We'd fought a war against Lucifer and his cohorts. We'd both died and we'd both been to hell. Mankind was burning himself out with only a few hunters and angels actually knowing what was going on, but still we were apparently alone in the battle.

And that was without even counting the new Leviathan threat.

"Jeez, even Samantha is lost for words." Dean sighed and looked at the ceiling as if something might appear there in the darkness. "If you're listening big "G" then I'd say its time to shag ass to this pathetic little planet and clean up house, because the Winchesters are tired of doing it for you…."

I waited.

Actually waited thinking that somewhere in the cosmos some being might be listening and finally feel enough guilt to come and explain himself, or well, herself, (just in case God happens to be a woman, heh)

If not that, then maybe I expected Dean to get smited or something. I mean, his outburst was more than a little disrespectful if there was a higher being watching.

I still waited.

The room was silent all but for Denny slugging down the last of her liquor.

The clock on the shelf ticked, and ticked, but no one came.

Dean nodded. "Well, surprise surprise that's another no show for the almighty!"

The clock suddenly began its hourly chime.

I think we all jumped at the suddenness of it. I glanced across and noted the hands on the timepiece said it was 11pm. Old "Norman" was obviously a bit tardy with the maintenance.

Out the corner of my eye I saw Dean look too, then glance at his wrist.

"Man, has anyone got the time?" He said it like he already knew we were in for a shock.

Denny and I looked at our watches simultaneously and both saw the same thing.

It was 11pm.

Although it was impossible, time seemed to have jumped back about forty minutes or so. Or, we were having a group hallucination, which even I didn't buy.

Dean picked his Colt back up from the bed and his eyes narrowed, taking in a thin line of smog that was making its way through the throw I'd stuffed the door with.

As we all watched it in morbid fascination, a slow menacing knock came at the motel door. It wasn't like flesh on wood, but more like a metallic clang.

"I'm guessing that ain't no gorilla in the mist our there, Sam." Dean clenched his weapon and nodded to me to take a defensive pose in front of the girl.

I swallowed again. It's a habit of mine in stressful situations, then I nodded back. "What's supposed to happen next," I whispered. "In the movie I mean?"

Dean grinned wryly. "Guess you're wishing you watched all those gorefest flicks now huh?"

I rolled my eyes and Denny answered for him, her voice stronger than I'd have expected given our wild situation. "This is the part where the rotting corpse of a long dead sailor comes knocking at your door with a meat hook the size of Mount Rushmore and tears your guts out."

Dean's eyes twinkled. "Oh I'm starting to like this chick. But yeah, that about sums it up. Except I'm thinkin' we got ourselves a rabid trucker, not a sailor, but who gives a crap about the little print, right? Whacked out spook is still a whacked out spook in my book."

The knock came again, slow, laborious and well timed.

Dean's Colt vanished under his jacket and I did much the same with my Glock. Without thinking, I automatically reached under the throw on my own bed and drew out two sawed-off shotguns. I kept one and pitched the other to Dean who caught it effortlessly in one hand.

Now we were ready.

"Full frontal assault?" I asked.

Dean licked his lips. "Hell yeah, bring it on, little brother. Gank or be ganked!"

I inhaled, took two steps to the motel door…

And opened it.