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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.
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A Wandering Boy
Chapter 26
Demons in Daylight
From Chapter 25
"Cas, stop." Sam interjected. "Please. You're taking all the fun out of the orange juice."
Cas blinked. "Dean asked. I thought I was answering his question. And, no, I don't see anything that might be called 'fun' in the glass. I don't believe fun has molecules."
Sam grimaced. "You're trying to make a joke again, aren't you?"
Dean drank down the rest of his juice and stood up. "Thanks guys. I think I'll just go on back to bed before Cas has me rolling in the aisles. Good night."
Dean went upstairs and snuggled into his bed. As he drifted off he heard Sam and Cas come back up. The click of their bedroom door sent Dean off to sleep. Bobby's house was at peace.
Chapter 26
Another dawn broke over Chez Singer. The house's various inhabitants awoke, shook off sleep and started to pace off another circle of the sun. The Angel greeted Dawn with a thank you to his absent father. Bobby Singer catalogued the parts he would need for the day's work ahead while still lying at ease in his bed. Evidently his dreams were of inventory as the lists were just about complete when he woke.
Sam Winchester stretched and reached out a hand for his partner's warmth. He was learning to like being an important part of a pair called Sam and Castiel. He was learning how not to be alone, how to be a comfortable part of a family.
The smallest Winchester rolled over and scratched an itch on his hip. There were no thoughts in the kid's head, only sensations. The warm bed, the soft pillow, the clean smell of his sheets, these were Dean's morning song. He curled back up on his side, pulled up the comforter around his head and made like an Eskimo.
The only creature not completely pleased with their morning was Rumsfeld. The dog was standing on the hood of Bobby's pick-up at full alert and barking her head off. Bobby got out of bed, dressed only in his sensible South Dakota long johns, grabbed his shot gun, threw up the window and leaned out.
"What's the problem, dog?" he shouted but was careful to scan the property. Rumsfeld was a guard dog and right now she was exercising her prerogative and doing what she did best, guarding. She didn't usually throw these kinds of tantrums without a reason. She was too old and wise a dog to bark at random birds or squirrels. If Rumsfeld went on alert it was always for a good reason and a wise man paid attention. Bobby might deny it but he was a Wise Man.
He could not see anything outside that should have disturbed Rumsfeld. He decided to get dressed and maybe go for a little walk with his dog and his gun before breakfast.
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The South Dakota morning was crisp and clear. It was late fall and the last of the leaves had fallen, were falling or would fall soon and the trees would be bare and ready for another long winter's sleep. Bobby and Rumsfeld made their usual circuit of the Salvage Yard. Starting at the Northern most point Bobby Singer, a modern Wizard, would walk his property deiseal, in a "sunwise" or clockwise direction. Considered a "Prosperous Course" in Scots lore such a conscious action would confer a blessing if he circled the area three times. The opposite course, tuathal, was against the light where you could not see your own shadow. By the same lore walking in that direction was considered bad luck.
Life was best ordered if there was a reason for everything. Bobby knew Rumsfeld had a reason for her morning serenade and they were going to go out and find it. A lot of Bobby's property line ran on the edge of an old forest. He knew each tree. He had watched the hawks hunting, the rabbits scampering and had checked out the animal tracks in the winter snows. Bobby knew his woods, what was there and what a temporary visitor was.
He noticed on the Western edge a newly fallen tree. It was a pine so the needles still hung on like a curtain and created small dark tunnels under the trunk. The deadfall had crashed on to a group of good sized boulders. Deep inside one of these dim tunnels, yellow eyes blinked out at the man. Rumsfeld stood like a statue in the leaves; not a sound from the old girl at first.
She glared at the yellow eyes which blinked back, confident enough to insult the dog. Rumsfeld started a low, deep growl and Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder. There was a scuttling noise as something moved in the debris. It seemed like a creature was trying to crawl forward, attempting to intimidate the man and his dog.
"Idjit," Bobby spat and pulled the trigger. There was a howling and a body scrabbled in the leaves. First the yellow eyes got very big. There was yelping and howls. Then, as quiet descended, the eyes disappeared. As soon as all noise stopped Rumsfeld moved in on their prey. Crouching down she wiggled her way into the ragged tunnel, found what she was looking for and then pulled her way back out.
Bobby loaded another shell while his dog was busy, just to be safe. They were very special shells that Bobby carried in a zippered pocket of his thermal vest. He only pulled them out to use when he suspected his target would laugh at a store bought shell.
Rumsfeld pulled the carcass out into the sunlight. She had her lips curled back, away from the skin like it tasted bad. It was almost dainty the way she maintained her hold with only her front teeth. Once out in the light she let go and back away.
Bobby picked up a long, thick stick. He didn't want to touch it either.
Whatever it was, it didn't belong in South Dakota. Mostly it looked like a really big, furless monkey. The skin was black. It had big ears decorating its bald head. It had four limbs but the joints seemed all wrong. Bobby imagined it lopping along the ground, the limbs pushing it one way while the head looked another; limbs splayed and clumsy but perhaps capable of speed.
Rumsfeld sat and whimpered.
"God, dog. I don't know what it is either." Bobby pushed his hat up above his forehead and scratched his hairline.
There was a rustling sound behind him and Bobby spun around, shotgun at ready. It was only Castiel.
"Damn it, Cas." I could have shot you full of rock salt and silver," the Hunter complained. "Give a guy some warning, would 'ya?"
Cas thrust his hands in his trench coat pockets and nodded at the Hunter. "Sorry, Bobby."
He passed Bobby on his way to the carcass and when within arm's reach of it, the Angel squatted down as if for a closer look at Bobby's quarry.
"How did you know this was out here, Bobby?" Cas asked as he straighten up again.
"The dog alerted me. She's a good dog." Rumsfeld responded to the sound of the word dog. She stood up, her tongue flopped out in a doggie smile and her tail started to make a breeze.
Even Castiel had to smile. "She certainly is a good dog. She's pretty talented too if she can scent these things from a distance."
"You sound like you know what it is." Bobby poked at the body with his stick. "I never seen anything like it out here in the woods. What is it?"
The Angel looked grim. "Hell Spawn"
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Where the sunlight fell on the carcass the skin began to smoke. It wasn't fragrant smoke; it stunk of the pit. The woods were tainted with the scent of sulfur and ashes, stinging and acrid.
"My God, I'm not dragging that thing back to the house," Bobby said, covering his nose and mouth with his hand.
"I agree," Cas said. "We should burn it and bury it as quickly as possible. Even now Hell may be watching." The Angel quickly scanned the area and then using the smallest amount of grace possible, blasted a hole in the dirt beside the body. A flick of his hand and the dead thing slid into the hole. Another flick and it was on fire.
"From the viewpoint of hiding from Heaven, this action might be viewed as unwise," the Angel murmured. "Hopefully Angelic surveillance will mistake the energy source as demonic."
Bobby watched as the flames claimed the monstrous body. It burned hot and fast and soon the smoke was diminishing. Thanks for that, Bobby said to himself. The stink was unbelievable.
Cas claimed Bobby's attention with a hand on his shoulder. "We should get back to the house and discuss this matter. Sam and Dean have already started breakfast for you." As the Angel started to turn away he once again flicked his hand and the excavated dirt flowed back into the hole. The ground was restored and settled. It looked like nothing had ever occurred here by the fallen tree.
Rumsfeld was a little bemused by the disappearance of the prey but humans were strange and wonderful creatures. The Bobby man was the pick of the litter as far as she was concerned. Whatever Bobby wanted so did she.
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As Bobby climbed the steps up to his front door the smell of bacon and coffee greeted him. Moments later he was inside but headed for his room immediately to change clothes. Now that he was inside it was pretty obvious that the smell of the pit had penetrated the fabric. Everything, including the thermal vest was going to have to be washed, maybe more than once. He'd been standing in Hell's smoke house and he had brought the smell back with him. He wanted the stench gone.
A little while later he was back down in the kitchen, smelling as clean as a fast shower and clean clothes could manage. The table was set and Dean was stuffing bacon in his mouth, hand over hand.
"Slow down, boy," Bobby grumped. "You're going to choke. That pig's long dead. It's not going to run away now."
Dean snorted. "Have you seen Sam eat pancakes?" Dean answered back. "I'm just afraid he's going to go after the bacon and nobody else will get any."
At the mention of his name Sam folded down the newspaper he was holding in front of his face and raised his eyebrows at his little brother. "Jerk."
Dean scanned the faces around the table before responding quietly with "Bitch."
Bobby went for his second cup of coffee and returned to the table. Now suitably fortified he opened the delayed conversation with Cas.
"Alright now, Cas." Bobby started. "Just what was that thing I shot this morning? What is Hell Spawn?"
Everyone waited for an answer. Sam even put down his newspaper.
Cas put his hands on the table and stared at them like they held the answer to Bobby's question. "This is partially my fault."" He started. "I should have expected this and prevented it somehow."
"Hell Spawn are temporary vessels created In hell to house demons, usually of the very lowest order. They can be used as spies. Newly created demons are hardly useful for decades after they are created. The formerly human minds are very slow to heal an even slower to learn. They can be useful as these things, these Hell Spawns." Cas looked around at the confused Hunters.
"So what can they do?" Bobby asked. "Why would they be sent here?"
"As I said, they can be used as spies." Cas tried to explain. "What they see they can transmit. They may not understand but they can tell what they have seen. Think of them as mindless drones. There are most likely others in the general neighborhood. Something in this area has attracted Hell's attention. From what I know of the people here it could be that Pastor with the Heavenly connections, Bobby Singer as a dangerous Man of Knowledge or very possibly, Samuel Winchester that Hell has become interested in."
"What the hell?" Sam exclaimed. "What did I do? Why would Hell be interested in me?"
Cas held up his hand. "Let me explain. As you are all aware I brought Dean Winchester to this timeline to protect him from Heaven's plans. Those plans were built on the bones of old prophesies. The Prophesy of the Righteous Man, the Michael Sword and Michael's perfect vessel have been long foretold in Heaven. There is another set of prophesies, however. In Hell they have the Prophesy of Lucifer's perfect vessel and that of The Boy King. This is where I have failed you all. I was so focused on protecting Dean from Heaven's plans I overlooked the machinations of Hell."
Dean perked up and waved his hand. "Is that me? Who am I? Can I be The Boy King? That sounds cool."
"No, Dean," Cas replied. "You are Michael's vessel, the Righteous Man and the Michael Sword. I'm sorry but Sam is The Boy King."
Sam choked on his last swallow of coffee then carefully placed his cup on the table. He glared at his Angel. "Excuse me? I'm what? What the hell? How did that happen?"