Hey folks! Sorry for the delay. First I was sick, then my awesome editor charis-kalos has been sick (hope you're feeling better!), and I had to weather a monster of a hurricane. We're some of the very lucky ones, we have power, water, internet and now phone. There are literally millions without any of that. Some areas were literally scoured, wiping out entire communities. The damage estimates are in the neighborhood of 100 billion. (You can go to to see local pictures and articles.) When the calls go out for assistance, I hope you will all do what you can.
Chapter 43 - New Arrivals
Minor earthquakes around the globe caused graduate students to scramble around their seismic equipment and place excited calls to faculty advisors. In a half dozen locations the earth split open in long jagged cracks, dust spilling into the open sky. From each of those cracks thin wisps of black smoke emerged, coiling up from the dust. Any observer unlucky enough to see the emergence of these incorporeal hellhounds had their retinas burned from the inside out, leaving them stumbling blind with milk-white eyes in desolate areas.
The hellhounds searched for suitable hosts per their instructions. One by one they chose large muscular dogs, many with military or police training, and slipped away from their handlers in the dead of night.
They had one destination: Singer's Salvage.
They had one mission: Annihilation.
Hillary dragged her favorite sleeping blanket to the car. She eyed the open window, wondering if she could jump inside with her blanket.
"Don't even think about it," Book-boy's voice barked.
She froze, dropping her head. Busted. A squeak and creaking noises made her lift her head. Book-boy had opened the door for her? She gave him an inquisitive look.
"Dean would say you'd scratch the paint, but he's really worried you'll get hurt," he said, taking the blanket. "You're sure Bobby won't miss this?"
She snorted at him. Why would he miss it? It was hers.
Book-boy shook his head at her as he spread her blanket over the seat, tucking it in tightly. She eyed it warily, wondering if it would stay. Then a large warm hand was on her head, rubbing all around.
"I'm taking Dean up to see the doctor today, for his back," Book-boy told her. "You're going to have to stay here."
With a disgusted growl, she shot out from under his hand into the backseat. Hillary spread herself out, taking up every inch of space she could. She grumbled at Book-boy that she wasn't leaving, and he couldn't make her. He frowned and reached out a hand for her collar. Hillary lifted her head, bared her teeth and growled for all she was worth.
"Whoa!" he shouted, snatching his hand away. Book-boy glared at her for a long minute. "Ever heard about not biting the hand that feeds you?" he demanded.
She glared back. Food-boy always had something to eat.
"Yeah? Well, Dean's going to be the one feeding you from now on," Book-boy promised. He massaged the hand he had yanked back. She hadn't even snapped at him. Wimp.
Hillary rested her head on her front paws, watching Book-boy carefully. She doubted he had given up so easily.
"Forget it, Sam," Food-boy said through the open passenger window, "she's too much like you. She's not going to let this go." He opened the door and dropped down into the seat. "Let's get this crap over with."
Hillary panted in relief. She was going! Was going to the doctor anything like going to the Vet, she wondered. The big dog waited until they were safely on the road before sitting up. She hung her head over the front seat to nuzzle Food-boy's shoulder. He rubbed her muzzle absently as he stared out the window. She hoped it was just time for his shots and he wasn't going because he needed to be checked for worms.
Sam noticed Dean's apprehension increase the closer they came to the hospital, but he did his damnedest to ignore it. Dean needed to be checked out by a doctor. These so-called phantom pains couldn't be nothing, not if they completely incapacitated Dean. His heart-rate sped up just thinking about the way Dean had crashed to the ground in the park the other day.
A few deep breaths later and Sam felt he had himself under control. Hopefully. Even the car sounded funny, the engine grinding as they rounded the drive into the hospital parking lot. Sam found a shady spot to park, hoping it might appease Dean but his brother just stared out the window.
"Dean?" Sam asked gently. "We're here."
Dean shook his head, like he was coming out of a daze.
"Dude, are you okay?" Sam reached out to touch his brother's shoulder, but Dean waved him off.
"I'm fine, Sam," he said in a weary voice. "I just want this over with."
Dean opened his door, then stood there with it open. He jerked his head at the dog. She bounded out of the backseat to stand by the car, ready to go. Sam followed slowly, locking up the car behind them.
"Uh, Dean?" Sam motioned to the dog. "What are you doing?"
"Going to see the stupid doctor." Dean glared at him. "What else?"
"I meant Hillary," he said. "She can't go inside."
Dean looked down at the dog and a broad grin spread over his face. "Who's gonna stop her?" He chuckled. "On second thought, this might be fun. Let's go, Sam." Dean slapped his thigh as he set a fast pace for the hospital entrance. Hillary loped along at his side.
Unsure if the thigh slap was for him or the dog, Sam rushed to catch up. After the automatic doors admitted them, Dean and Hillary didn't even break pace as they made a bee-line for the elevators.
"Sir!"
Sam knew it couldn't be that easy.
"Sir!" A young man, probably a volunteer, raced to cut Dean off. "Excuse me, sir, but what is that animal doing here?"
Dean's head tilted to one side and his eyes took on a soft, warm glow. "She's fine," he said in a deep, resonant voice. "She's with me."
The man's stern face broke in a mindless grin. "Oh. Okay. Have a nice day, sir."
"Thank you," Dean replied in the same voice.
The man returned at a normal pace to the information desk as Sam watched. Stunned didn't even begin to cover how Sam felt at this moment.
"Uh, Dean?" Sam asked in a hushed voice. "What the hell was that?"
Dean's wince reminded him to watch his language – too late. "Well," Dean rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips, "you know how agreeable people are to Mike? I wondered if I could get it to work for me."
Sam turned around to look back at the volunteer, who was already helping a visitor and smiling broadly, Dean and his dog completely gone from the man's concerns. He shook a finger in the volunteer's direction. "Now that is something we can use."
Dean laughed as he spun Sam around to face the elevators. "So now you're finding perks?"
Sam gave his brother a grin. "Hey, when you've got enough lemons..."
Dean shook his head with another laugh. "It's time for some hard-core lemonade. Now you sound like Bobby."
They rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. Sam checked in with the nurse's station while Dean and Hillary found seats. Well, Dean sat down, and Hillary lay across his boots. Sam took a seat across from them, out of range of those teeth.
"What's wrong with you two?" Dean demanded.
Sam met his brother's eyes, fully ready to lie through his teeth if necessary. "What do you mean?"
Dean motioned between him and the dog. "You and Hillary. You won't even stand on the same side of me." He glared at the dog. "What happened?"
Sam, fully prepared to deny everything, opened his mouth to answer, but Hillary beat him to it. She made some whining noises, a couple of growls and grunts, then rolled over on her back with all her legs straight up in the air.
Dean sat back, staring unbelievably at both of them. "What are you, two? Hillary, go apologize for growling at Sam. Sam, pet her."
Hillary rolled to her stomach but she didn't move, just lying there and eying Sam. Dean stomped his boot. She crawled slowly across the floor toward Sam, stopping an inch from his shoe.
"Apologize," Dean said, and Sam heard the growl in his voice.
Hillary turned wide, pitiful eyes on Sam. Those huge brown eyes turned so wet, later he would swear he saw tears. A whine which conveyed sorrow and begged forgiveness rose from behind those riveting eyes. Sam swallowed hard before he reached out a tentative hand to rest on her head.
"Sam, tell her how you're not going to try to keep her from going with us again." As Sam started to protest, Dean held up a hand. "Doesn't matter where we're going."
"Fine," he said, returning his attention to the pitiful sight below his hand. "I won't try to make you get out of the car again. Happy?"
Hillary popped up to a sit, leaning her massive frame on his leg and her head across his lap.
"You know," a woman said on the other side of the room, "if I'd known dogs were allowed, I would've brought my Lizzie-baby."
"You're starting something," Sam whispered in his warning voice.
Dean waved a hand, blowing him off. As usual.
"Singer!" The nurse's voice rang out.
"And we're up," Dean groaned. As he stood Hillary leaped to her paws and stood beside Dean in a flash. He grinned at her, resting a hand on her head briefly before heading for the nurse's desk. Sam followed closely. They passed the front desk behind a set of double doors, where the nurse directed them into a waiting room. She started to ask about the dog, but Dean did The Voice again and she found Hillary sweet and charming. Hillary seemed to love the new attention.
When they were alone, Dean looked down at the dog. "You don't have to like the doctor," he said. "The guy is a jackass."
"One of the top experts in his field," Sam argued.
Dean's eyes did not move from the dog. "And he's stuck here why? Because he's a jackass."
Hillary gave a snort as she sat between Dean's feet. Possessive mutt. God, the dog could be annoying at times.
It scented the air using the drug dog's sensitive nose. There were plenty of human scents here and one dog. Had one of the others beaten it here? It gave a derisive sneeze as it entered Singer's Salvage. It doubted any of the young ones understood the tricks it used to reach the targets first. Those were the kinds of secrets which made it prized by Lilith above the others.
It felt good and strong in the husky German Shepard as they walked among the scents of rust and rotting fabric and poisons dripping from the abandoned cars. It sniffed again. A new scent, one which made its mouth water with anticipation, filtered through the others. Nose high in the air, it tracked the new scent.
A sound. Pointed ears rotated, the only muscles moving on its strong body. Human. Talking. Approaching.
"Now why in the world would those boys take the dog with them to the hospital?" The human stopped walking. "Nah, they're not that stupid. Hillary! C'mon! I got your breakfast!"
Breakfast. Its canine mind knew this word and more drool dripped from its open mouth. Death and Destruction could wait a few moments. No need to wreak havoc on an empty stomach.
It crept soundlessly from behind a rusting car, but too fast. The human calling for breakfast spotted it.
"Hey there, fella," he said softly. "You lost?" The human squatted in the dust, holding out a round bowl. He shoved it forward. "Come on. I won't hurt you."
First it would have breakfast and then for dessert, disemboweled human. It crept forward cautiously, wary for signs of deception. It smelled no fear from the human, and the contents of the bowl caused it to drool to an embarrassing degree. The human suspected nothing, it was certain. It continued its slow creep until it reached the bowl. Still keeping one eye on the human, it took a large mouthful of the food creating the intoxicating aroma. It lifted its regal head to swallow, and then its problems began.
First smoke shot from its nose, then a burning sensation in its throat. It spat viciously, trying to rid itself of the so-called breakfast. It hacked, desperately trying to dislodge the burning thing from its mouth and throat.
"Jesus!"
Angry, it turned on the human. For such a docile looking creature, he attacked with subtlety and without mercy. He raced for the house and it followed close behind, eyes watering, throat and mouth burning, smoke still pouring from its nose. It managed to slip through the slamming door, its tail barely missing being caught. They ran through the house, prey and predator. If only it had realized which one it actually was.
The human, panting heavily, grabbed a book. If it could have, it would have laughed. What could a book do against it? Snorting out more smoke, the burning in its throat had abated. It stepped toward the human who was about to die, in a very messy, bloody fashion. A string of entrails would dress this room up nicely. It stepped forward again.
But it couldn't. A second attempt proved there was something holding it in place, not allowing it to reach its target. Howling in frustration, it leapt at the human, but it was like hitting a solid wall, throwing it backwards. It landed on its back, feet useless in the air. Then the markings on the ceiling caught its eye. Canine eyes were not the best for viewing flat objects, like signs or painting, but the sigil on the ceiling was too familiar. Leaping to its feet, it roared its displeasure. It was the oldest! It was favored! It could not be trapped, not by a mere human!
The human's hands shook as he opened his book and began to read. It understood the words and felt its essence being pulled from the dog's body. No! It paced, threw its body again and again at the human, but to no avail. It had never been exorcised! It was favored! It would not go now.
The human left for a few minutes, allowing it to pace and plan. If it could break the sigil, it could escape. It eyed the ceiling again. But how to get up there?
The human returned with a bucket. It eyed the human, waiting for the new form of torture. The human threw a cup of the contents of the bucket at it. It burned! Everywhere it burned. The human threw cup after cup at it, then while it ran in circles, trying to avoid the torturous water, he started reading again.
Being favored was not worth this. Let the younger ones come here. It opened its canine mouth as the human read the exorcism ritual. It raced out, rushing for the safety of Hell.
Bobby stared down at the limp body of the German Shepard. He knelt carefully beside it, laying a tentative hand on its side. Holding his breath to remain perfectly still, he noticed the dog was breathing. If it was breathing, it had a chance.
"Guess what?" he whispered to the dog. "I'm gonna mix holy water in your food, too."