One Night Only Part Four
Author's note: Thank you everyone who has taken the time to leave me a review. Each and every one is appreciated!
...
As we drove out to the church, Dean was unusually quiet, and I could guess why. Chuck appearing had been a curve ball my brother – heck, none of us had expected – but the thing was, Dean wasn't buying Chuck's story.
At least, not on the surface.
Deeper down, I knew my brother had been thrown into a pit of emotions that were eating at him inside. Up until Cas's appearance, Dean had been a none-believer where God was concerned, while I've always been more open to the idea that maybe a higher being might just be out there.
After Cas, though, well, even Dean had to admit that who the hell knows what is floating around in the universal soup.
But Chuck, of all people?
I'll confess, it wasn't likely that he really was God, but I couldn't push the "what if" out of my mind altogether.
All in all, so far this had been the weirdest night of my life, and I knew Dean was feeling the same.
I glanced into the rearview and saw Denny rubbing at her arms on the backseat. What was her part in all of this? Was she really an innocent bystander? Were we dragging her to her death just by travelling with us?
Of course you are, Sammy boy!
I quickly closed my eyes as Lucifer appeared next to the girl, smirking.
You can't hide from me just my closing those peepers, Sam, I'm in your head. I'm everywhere.
I felt myself biting into my lip again, but this time the pain didn't instantly make him vanish. When I opened my eyes, he was still sitting next to Denny, motioning across her neck with his hand to suggest her throat was going to be sliced.
One way or another, Sam, you're all dead meat tonight. This is my gig, not God's. My gig, inside your head. I can kill whoever I choose, and you can't stop me. Just wait until we get to the church…
"Sam?"
I blinked and shook myself, realizing it was Dean's voice now, not Lucifer's. I looked over to him, and I could see he knew I'd been in another zone for a moment.
He let it slide.
"Sam, I think we found our church."
My mind had been so preoccupied that I hadn't noticed the fog had thinned considerably and that we were about to pull up outside a somewhat modern building made of wood.
It wasn't what I'd expected at all. Somehow, my mind had pictured an ancient stone structure with a bell tower. Something creepy and mysterious to match the swirling mist we'd been enveloped by all evening.
Dean obviously felt the same. "Well this wasn't what I was expecting…" he climbed out and I followed, opening the rear door for Denny to join us.
As we walked up the small gravel path to the side entrance, I kept up my guard, turning every few seconds to make sure the fog wasn't coalescing behind our group and making ready for an attack.
Nothing happened, though, and I couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't the holy ground holding the grey miasma at bay.
But then again, maybe that really was too much to ask for, even on Christmas Eve.
While I brought up the rear, Dean knocked on the thin wooden door, his face a mask of frustration. Dean has always hated puzzles, especially deadly ones, and I knew tonight was driving him nuts.
He knocked again, and just as his hand came away from the door it creaked open like in those old black and white Hollywood movies. It seemed so stereotypical of the rest of the night I almost laughed.
The serene look on the priest's face who'd answered stopped me.
He was an average build with a neatly trimmed beard and soft blue eyes. I guessed he was about forty, and it looked like he was dressed for midnight mass.
"Yes, can I help you?"
Dean cleared his throat. "Actually, I think maybe it's us who can help you. First, though, we need to talk."
The priest appeared confused. "I'm sorry, but I have mass to prepare for, perhaps you'd like to come back later?"
Dean tried again. "Look Padre, no offence, but I don't think you're going to have much of a congregation tonight, not with what's going on with the fog and all?" He jerked a thumb back towards the mist behind us.
"There's a fog?" The priest looked mystified. It was pretty much at that point that I noticed he wasn't really looking at Dean – at any of us when he spoke.
I pushed forwards to take Dean's place. "Father Vickers, there's a fog tonight, a thick one, there have been some incidents in town. Under the circumstances, I don't think midnight mass might be appropriate."
I took the blind priest's arm and turned him around to guide him back inside.
"Incidents?" He asked. "Fog? Yes, I see…" He didn't struggle, he didn't even ask my name or why I had bothered to come out to the church.
Behind me, Dean and Denny followed us into Father Vickers' living quarters.
Once inside, the priest seemed to gather himself again – especially when a large Golden Retriever appeared and placed itself dutifully by his side. He patted its head appreciatively and then took a seat in a bedraggled armchair by a small open fire.
"So," he began. "Just who are you three, and why have you bothered to visit a blind priest on Christmas Eve when the rest of his flock have apparently deserted him?"
He was astute, I'll give him that. Denny hadn't spoken, but he'd sensed her presence.
Dean coughed again. "This is kinda hard to explain, but the fog, it's linked to some deaths tonight, and you might be able to help us understand why."
"When you said fog, I thought you meant there had been an accident or maybe the road was closed, poor visibility and all that."
"Not exactly," I intervened. "Father, this is going to sound crazy, but something is happening in St Anthony's Cove tonight. People are dying because of something that's linked to the town's past."
"What my brother is so eloquently trying to say is that your town has one mother of a skeleton in its closet, and tonight is apparently payback time for those involved." Dean wasn't pulling any punches. "We're here to try and stop any more deaths, and to do that, we need to know if you have an old journals or diaries, anything that might date back to the town's early history."
Vickers looked confused. "Me? I've only been here five years. I don't have anything of value." He was shaking a little, and I suppose he may have even thought we were there to rob him.
"You haven't found any books or papers in any of the church walls?" I think Dean was looking for links back to Carpenter's movie again, but the priest just shook his head.
"No, like me, the church isn't very old. It wasn't built until '82. There was an old stone structure here before that, but it was deemed unsafe and torn down in the summer of '79."
Dean grimaced. "Crap!" he looked at the priest. "Sorry…"
"Okay, so no paperwork, no diaries relating to the Cove's past, but do you know any stories or legends about the town?" I tried to talk softly, to relax Vickers as much as possible, considering he was all but being interrogated by strangers.
He leaned forwards and the dog trotted around and licked his hands as he reached them out to warm them on the fire. He was still shaking, but I don't think it was from how cold it was outside.
We were scaring him, and I hated that.
Vickers eventually licked his lips and lifted his head. "Well, there is the story about the old cannery, but I really don't see how that would relate to anyone's death."
"Try us," Dean grumbled. "We're trying to save lives here, and we're desperate."
The priest nodded, apparently beginning to believe we really were the good guys. "It was way back in April of 1906. The town was thriving back then, fishing, the cannery, life was good. There were plenty of jobs for all and no one went hungry. At least, that's the way it was until the great quake. The Cove is too far away from San Francisco for there to have been much damage, but one of the minor aftershocks almost took out the entire community."
He paused for effect, and I could tell that being a priest, he was used to being a good story teller up there on the pulpit. "What happened?" I prompted obediently.
"Well," Vickers sighed. "The story goes that a young boy who worked at the cannery left a lantern a little too close to a table ledge. When the aftershock hit, the lantern toppled and the cannery was burned to the ground. Many jobs were lost, and there wasn't enough cash to rebuild the place because the insurance wouldn't pay out. It was basically the start of a downward spiral for the town."
Dean looked at me and shook his head. "I'm not sure this is the kinda story that would lead to a supernatural being running rampant through town killing the local folk." He looked at Vickers. "We were thinking more of a town secret, black magic rituals in the woods, murder, mayhem, that kinda thing…"
My brother isn't exactly good with words, and I expected Vickers to balk at even the suggestion his congregation's ancestors might have been up to no good.
But he didn't scowl or scoff, and he didn't question what Dean had said about supernatural killings, either.
It was my turn to be surprised.
Vickers swallowed and rubbed his hands together harder, trying to evoke more warmth. "Actually," he explained. "There is more to the cannery story. If you can even begin to believe it."
"Just give it a try," I prompted. "We've seen a lot in our time."
The priest smiled strangely as if he knew that already and then cleared his throat. "Well, like I said, the town was getting in a mess. Months went by, Christmas was upon them all and they were destitute – desperate even. The tale goes that around this time a man came to town with a solution. He offered Anthony's Cove the cannery back, but there was a price."
"What could a town with no money offer up as collateral?" Denny asked, obviously intrigued by the story.
Vickers looked apologetic. "This is were it all gets rather confused. Silly even. But it's told that some of the senior townsfolk were asked to put up their families souls as security. Anyway, there was a meeting out of town on the old cliff road and whatever happened, they say come Christmas morning there was a cannery out there right where the old one had stood."
The priest shrugged and reached out for an old iron poker. He felt for it, letting his fingers search it out. Then he poked the fire even though he couldn't see its glow. "I don't know how the cannery really got rebuilt, but, well you asked for a supernatural story…"
Dean looked at me, then back to Vickers. "Is there a crossroads out on the old cliff road?"
"I really don't know," Vickers apologized. "Like I say, I've only been here a few short years."
"Yes, there's a crossroads," Denny answered instead. "Or at least, there used to be. That part of the cliffs collapsed into the sea after a storm in about '95 I think…." It was her turn to look confused. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
Dean and me both ignored her. Finally we were getting somewhere.
"Father, do you know anything about the stranger that came to town. Was he English, well-dressed, losing his hair?"
Vickers opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly the dog at his feet jerked up, its eyes setting the corner of the room.
It began to growl uncontrollably, teeth baring in an unusual show of temper.
A figure emerged from the shadows and with one click of his fingers the dog whimpered and then sat back down in front of the fire. "Losing my hair?" He scoffed almost sounding hurt. "As if…"
"Crowley!" Dean and I offered up in unison.
The demon nodded as if saying his name was some kind of mark of respect – which it most definitely was not. Then he smiled as I presume he read my mind.
"Well, we've had God tonight, now The King of Hell himself," Dean said sarcastically. "What next, the ghost of Christmas past?"
"Well my money's on Santa Claus," Denny broke the awkward silence with a little humour of her own, then quickly hid back in the shadows as everyone scowled at her.
Vickers turned to Crowley, sensing his presence, but he didn't ask who the newcomer was. Maybe he felt something was off kilter.
I know I did – and I knew what was going on – kinda.
"Hello again, lads." Crowley stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and moved so that he was in the center of the room, and had our full attention. "Nice to see you all celebrating the festive season with a little blood and guts."
"One of your goons out in the fog collecting souls," Dean grunted. "Not exactly my idea of rocking around the Christmas tree."
Crowley wagged a finger. "Now now, Dean, I made a deal here fair and square and I'm merely using an agent to collect what I'm owed. You of all people should know how the system works."
"But these people didn't sell their souls," I argued. "Their ancestors made the deal, not them."
Crowley walked around to the fire and taking the iron from Vickers, prodded the logs, making the flames lick higher. He watched them appreciatively while he answered. "Ah Sam, haven't you ever heard of a long term contract? Surely you didn't think all my deals were for a mere ten years or so? This kind of agreement earns me so much more interest. Think about it. I get to collect as many relatives I like up until midnight every Christmas Eve. And given that my deal with Castiel fell through, so to speak, I'm a little short on souls of late."
Dean almost choked. "Every Christmas Eve? Crap, Crowley, just what kind of deal did you make?"
The demon smiled. "A good one, I'd say. You see, St Anthony's Cove got a hundred year agreement. They get one hundred years of freedom, but from 2006 I get first dibs on as many souls as I like for one day, every year thereafter on the date of the original contract. Of course, the townsfolk back then thought I was bloody barking, but then, they didn't have to pay up now, did they?"
Dean was rubbing his temple in disbelief, and I can't say as I was far behind.
"You're taking the souls of people who don't even know why? People who had nothing to do with all this?"
"Poor sods have no clue," Crowley agreed. "But that's not my problem now is it, lads?"
"So why are you here, now, talking to us even?" I demanded.
Crowley brushed some ash from his pristine black suit that had floated up from the fire. "Let's just say I'm finding this rather…amusing. Oh and the best is yet to come."
Vickers finally found his voice, albeit rather shaky. "I don't think you belong in a house of God." He was looking at our demon friend.
"Quite right," Crowley admitted. "And I'll be off soon, but not before I give my friends here a little helping hand." The demon stared at me and Dean. "You're here to stop my man doing his job, right?"
"Right," We both said together.
"Well, let me tell you, you're dealing with no ordinary demon. This chap is…special to say the least. In fact, I'm willing to wager once you've caught up with him, you just won't be able to send his arse back to me in hell no matter how much rock salt and mojo you take with you."
"Wager huh?"
I could see from Dean's expression he was mulling some plan over. Given his track record with crossroads demons, that scared me. I waited to hear him out, though, before deciding whether to kick his suggestion into the great beyond.
"How about we make you a wager?" Dean stepped so close to Crowley I thought he was going to try and put down the King of Hell right then and there.
Thankfully, he didn't as we were totally outgunned and unprepared for such a fight.
"How about, if we gank your boy despite him being Rambo skank, you call the contract on St Anthony's null and void and leave these folks alone?"
Crowley paced a little as if thinking about it, but I knew he was going to bite. If there was one thing this freak liked it was a good bet. Eventually, he paused. "I like those odds," he smiled. "But I still think they're stacked in my favour, and I'm anything but unfair so…"
"So you're gonna shag ass and take your boy with you, let these folks alone?" Dean shook his head. "C'mon, Crowley, what are you playing at."
The demon laughed then. "Oh I never play, Dean. But here's the deal, my boy is so unique, you can't send him back with any old Rituale Romanum. You need something special."
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a very old piece of parchment. The edges were curled and torn and the pigment was discoloured, but the ink was still legible – barely.
He handed it to me and I accepted it, looking closely at the scrawl spread across it. "What makes you so sure we'll lose that you'd give us this?" I asked, not really expecting the truth for an answer.
Crowley laughed. "I've told you, my man is not your average demon. You boys will find it a little difficult to kill him."
"And if we do lose?" I dared to ask.
"Then I get to stick one to God on the eve of his son's birthday. How cool is that?"
Dean wasn't convinced. "You're going to all this trouble just to get one over on the big "G"? Where do we figure in this picture?"
Crowley began walking around us, like he was sizing us up – although he'd surely done that many moons ago. "Lose, and the town's souls are mine for all eternity. And that means anyone in the town at the time of our second deal."
I looked to my brother. "I think he's trying to tell us the truck will be coming for us too if we fail."
Dean's eyes twinkled and I knew he'd taken the demon's bait. "Yeah, well, we're not gonna lose, Sammy." He eyed Crowley. "What's with the black semi and the fog, anyways?"
Crowley shrugged, his own eyes now sparkling. "Let's call it productive theatrics. Christmas is normally such a schmaltzy time of year. All snow, laughter and candy canes. I like my take on it much better." He pointedly looked at Dean. "So is it a deal?"
Dean rubbed a hand over his stubble. "Just as long as you don't expect us to kiss your ugly mug."
I tried to stop him. I mean, what if we failed? This wasn't just our souls we were playing with. "Dean wait…"
But it was no use. As I watched, Crowley offered a hand instead of his usual smooch and my brother accepted it.
As Crowley broke away from the handshake, he looked at the very expensive Rolex on his wrist. "Better hurry, lads, you have twenty minutes before midnight. Twenty minutes to send my little helper on his way or…"
"We get the picture." I snapped.
But before the words had left my mouth I realized the snappy-dressed demon had already vanished.
I whirled around to my brother. "Just what did you think you were doing?"
"Saving this town, just like our friend Chuck asked us to?" He snapped back. "Or are you forgetting God is as big a part of this as Crowley?"
He was right, of course, but it still didn't feel right.
"Could somebody tell me what the hell just happened?" Denny had reappeared and had positioned herself next to the priest.
"Yes," Vickers agreed. "I'd like to know too. I had the most horrid sensation when that man was in my home."
It was my turn to look at my watch. "We don't have time to explain. We have to find the trucker that's out there and we don't have long to do it."
Denny suddenly looked horrified. "You want to find the idiot who killed old Hank? Are you nuts?" She put a hand on her hip and stared Dean out. "And you're so not FBI!"
Dean ignored her. "We have to figure out who might be next on the hit list. Long time families of the Cove going all the way back to 1906 should lead us to our skank."
Denny crossed her arms and her horrified expression changed to out and out scared. "No you don't," she said shakily. "You don't need to find anyone, 'cause he's found you."
She pointed to a small side window in the church that had mostly misted up with the heat from the open fire. But through the condensation, I could clearly see the source of her terror.
A black semi was parked out in the lane that led to the church. Red smoke belched from its stacks and its lights glowed a chilling ruby. If Crowley's "productive theatrics" were meant to instil fear, they were working, even on me.
"It's here, out front," I told Dean. "And the fog is back with it too."
"So either Crowley is cheating, or one of us has ancestors in this town that helped make the original deal."
Dean joined me at the window to check out the rig.
"My folks are Canadian," Denny offered up as me and Dean watched for the semi's driver. "No way am I from these parts."
"Well we sure as hell aren't," Dean added. "Kansas born and bred. "How about you, Padre? Could your parents or grandparents be from these parts?"
Vickers bottom lip began to quiver and his whole body began to shake. "I…I don't know. I was adopted…"
Dean nodded knowingly. "I guess that makes you our number one victim until we find out otherwise." He glanced at me. "Okay, Sam, any ideas? Stand and fight this thing outright, or do we try and get the padre to safety first?"
I shook my head. "I haven't even read all that ritual yet, let alone memorized it. I don't think we're ready to fight." I looked how close the rig was to the Impala. "Think we can get out to the car and out of here before he turns us and your baby into ground beef?"
Dean checked the shells in his shotgun. "I'm sure as hell willing to try college boy, but we only got fifteen minutes left to gank that freak's ass, so you better be ready with that ritual once we get Vickers clear."
I nodded, checking my own weapon even though I knew I had a full load. "Mad dash for the Impala on three?"
"Got it," Dean affirmed then turned to Denny and Vickers. "All you folks gotta do is follow me and Sammy out to the car, and we'll do the rest." He took Vickers hand and pressed it to his jacket. "You're with me, Padre. Just keep a hold and you'll do fine."
Vickers looked unhappy. "What about Phoebe? I can't leave her!"
It took a second to register, even or me. "Your dog will be safe here," I cajoled. "You won't. Trust us on this."
He looked more than uncertain, but he held tight to the back of Dean's jacket anyway, so some of what had happened must have seeped into his mind.
Denny looked at me and smiled wanly. "Guess that means I'm with you big boy?"
I nodded, feeling awkward. "Just make a run for the car with the others," I explained. "I'll cover you all."
Cover.
Just what could I really do to cover them with a powerful demon and a pack of hellhounds out there in the mist?
I had to try though.
As Dean opened the wooden church door, he gave me one last sarcastic salute with his hand and then dived out into the night with Vickers in tow. Denny followed, and as they ran across a small pebbled area to the car, I let off a couple of blasts of my shotgun into the fog for good measure.
I paused, taking stock, and it was then that I saw the driver.
At a glance, he looked like any trucker might, but then the bandana pulled over his features somehow made him seem more ominous.
More deadly.
I aimed at him, knowing I was firing at a supernatural creature, not a human.
I pulled my trigger without remorse, and saw the trucker's blue eyes flash as he spotted me.
Was that recognition or something else I saw in his penetrating stare?
Whatever it was, I was transfixed by it, and I admit I froze, not from fear, but from something I couldn't even explain.
It must have only been seconds, but the next thing I heard was Dean's voice.
And he was angry – with me.
"Sammy, dammit, will you fire at that thing! Jeez!"
I heard the blast from my brother's weapon, and saw the rock salt dissipate helplessly as it hit an invisible and apparently impenetrable wall in front of the semi driver.
The trucker turned then, not towards us, but to his rig. He didn't run, he didn't even hurry, but took a slow saunter up to the cab steps.
I heard growling, and not like anything an earthly animal was capable of. It was deeper than deep, and most definitely unholy.
My head bobbed wildly left and right searching for the hellhounds in the mist, but I knew they were undetectable unless they wanted to be seen.
From the periphery of my vision I saw Dean pushing Vickers roughly onto the backseat of the Impala and I knew I need to give them more time.
Somehow, I dared to run towards the semi driver. "Hey, you, come over here and fight like a man." It seemed a stupid thing to say to a demon, but I didn't know how else to draw the thing's attention.
He didn't turn, he didn't even acknowledge he'd heard me.
At least not physically.
But in my mind I heard a voice whisper. But I'm not human, Sam, am I? You should know that.
I shuddered, realizing the thing had gotten into my head as easily as one of my own thoughts as easily as Lucifer even. The idea made me angry, and I stopped moving, aimed and fired.
It was a waste of two shells, but it felt good.
Behind me, I heard a scream and I whirled about to see Denny go down despite Dean's best efforts to reach her.
She screamed again, this time as if she was in agony, but all I could see was an arm thrashing just above the fog for a moment as something dragged her below the thickening mist.
Dean had stopped running towards her and was trying to aim at her assailant, but in truth, there was nothing to aim at.
Denny's third and final cry was cut short into a bubbling gurgle and I think Dean and I both knew that something had just tore her throat out, even though we couldn't see it.
I wanted to rip the creature in two with my bare hands, followed closely by Crowley for creating this mess, but I was the rational Winchester. I knew that couldn't happen.
The best course of action now was a tactical retreat before we too ended up as hellhound fodder or ground beef from being hit by the semi.
"Dean! We have to leave her! She's dead!"
I don't know why I said it. I don't know why I even tried stopping him.
Because Dean was pissed, and hellhounds in the fog or not, he was going to go headlong into it trying to save a girl we both knew was already gone…