Title: Under the Influence of Djinn
Chapter: Fourteen
Summary: AU: The Djinn siblings created a terrible detailed nightmare for Dean out of revenge, nearly killing him, Lisa, and Ben. With Sam alive, Castiel missing, and Campbell cousins in tow, he tries to pull himself back together.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect in intended with this work of fan fiction.
Notes: Long-time readers may notice I have a habit of taking characters that have had maybe a couple lines and fleshing them out.

For four days after West Virginia, all Dean could think about was that feeling he had that they were near Castiel. So where was he? Was he just out of sight doing that angel invisibility thing? If so, then why wasn't he coming to them and talking to them?

They wended their slow way up to Chicago, where Sam and Mark had found what they thought was a ghost. There were unexplained disappearances in an apartment building. Sitting in their motel going over the information by himself, Dean remembered another apartment building and other disappearances from the early days of he and Sam by themselves, right after their dad had died. He recalled taking that case from Jo Harvelle, a case that had ended with Ellen pissed at them and Jo leaving home.

He sat back and half smiled. Ellen and Jo Harvelle. He hadn't thought about them in awhile. It would be a case that brought them from memory. The similarities between the two cases were there and although Chicago had had it's share of low-life murdering scum, he didn't think this one would end up having been a notorious serial killer.

They'd all been innocent in those days. Funny to look back and see just how innocent they'd been. They hadn't learned about the angels and Lucifer and Dean had yet to make that deal that got him mauled by hellhounds and dragged to hell. It had been coming though. A part of him wondered if anything would have changed had they known where their actions would take them.

There was a knock on the door and it turned out to be Mark, out and about when Christian wanted him to rest. He had a long back brace on that he took off as soon as the door was closed.

"Don't let the doc see you do that."

"Didn't he tell you to stop calling him that? Now Gwen's doing it and won't stop."

"I knew I liked Gwen. I thought that brace was, and I quote, 'essential to your healing process'."

"What Christian doesn't know won't hurt him. That thing hurts after a couple hours. You'd think I could ditch it already, but Christian thinks something is really wrong with my back now. I mean, seriously? I got thrown around for months and he's just now worried?" Mark slowly stretched from side to side. "You have a few minutes?"

"What do you need?" Silent, observant Mark had given way to a chatty, observant Mark. He seemed to think he'd gotten to know Dean enough to talk to him steadily when they were in the same space together. Dean continued to shake his head on occasion at how different the cousins were from their Djinn dream counterparts. Obviously the Djinn had taken only the bare bits of their lives, like their appearances and the fact that they were hunting and family.

"Want to run something by you." At his nod of consent, Mark went to the table and sat, opening the notebook he'd brought with him. Those notebooks he wrote in all the time were his version of a hunting journal, not so much straight lore but a mix of detailed experiences and lore. "This case we just had before West Virginia. It's been bothering me. The whole 'bodies drained of blood but with no visible wounds or bruising' thing has been bothering me. I've seen something like it before. Not exact, but similar."

"Me, too, but a lot of things drain blood." The case had been nagging at Dean, too. The whole thing had felt off, like they were looking for one thing when another was really at the root of it.

"I widened the search for bodies that were drained of blood with wounds that don't account for the blood loss just to have a little more to work from and it was adding the wounds part that got me results. I found several so far over a few decades in that general region of the country. Most were attributed to animal attacks. Only thing off about them is the unexplained blood loss. Now put it all together." He pulled a few folded papers from the back of the notebook and handed them to Dean. "Here. Take a look. The attacks are in patterns of every seven years."

"Cat attack on a baby. Cat seen leaving the bedroom even though the family didn't own a cat and the body was drained. No windows were open and the cat disappeared." He read the next few on the list. "Dog attacks. Again, the dogs disappeared and the bodies were drained." The rest were more of the same and he turned to the last page. "Wait, what's this?"

"That," Mark touched the top of the page with a finger, "is how many of those bodies disappeared from the morgue."

"All except the baby and one couple. What happened to them?"

"Cremated immediately. Something about a biohazard."

"Kind of weird."

"Tell me about it. And the families disappeared pretty quickly after. This one we caught may be a change in a pattern right here. We're at the seven year mark." He flipped pages in the notebook. "I think it's some kind of vampire. I mean, with the blood loss it's what comes to mind. I just don't know what -"

As Mark spoke, the details clicked into place. "Muroni. It's got to be. "

"How do you know?"

"The animal attacks with the blood loss. I think…." He thought a moment, then nodded. "It's got to be. It's the trademark of a muroni. They're sort of like a vampire-shape shifter cross, but not really in either category." It had been a long time since he'd come across one. "They're humanoid in their natural form, but never attack that way, always using the form of animals and sometimes spiders to feed. It's a tactic they use to keep from getting caught and killed. Misdirection, trying to get the blame on something else."

"That fits."

"Sam and I came across one once. Man, we were chasing our tails for days until we managed to figure out what that thing was. Hard, sometimes impossible to identify. Not many hunters have ever killed one. If you found a lot of those victims in that region, I'd say there's a family of them working, moving in and out of hibernation, adding the victims to their family." He felt a sense of satisfaction in pulling that bit from memory. "They're pretty easy to kill once you catch them though. Nail through the forehead and it's over. Anticlimactic after all the chasing to track one down."

"Stock up on nails."

"No kidding. If it is a family of muroni, then why the change? Why stop the misdirection? What's different?"

"Don't know. A lot of things have been acting different since you and Sam put Lucifer back. Anyway, it seems likely that's what it is, one of those muroni."

"We should head back there when we're done with this, suss them out and end their feeding cycle."

"Does this ghost thing need all of us? I mean, you and I, or…someone else could track them down and meet back up in a week or so. Not that I don't like being in Chicago again."

It was the pause that clued him in. Christian's restrictions were driving him nuts. "You want to get away from Christian for a week."

He tried to slump in his chair, hissed with pain, and sat back up. "I must be transparent, but if I hear 'rest is the best medicine' one more time I might just shoot him."

Dean chuckled. "I get that." He studied Mark. Why not? Maybe he'd have Gwen come along, too. "Let me see what I can set up."

It took some convincing, but Dean, Mark, and Gwen were on their way back to Oklahoma by the end of the day, leaving Sam and Christian to work the Chicago ghost angle.

"I wish to hunt this ghost."

Castiel's voice was petulant and Jo crossed her arms. "If you think I'm traveling in a car with you puking, you've got another thing coming. It can wait."

"It's a migraine. It'll pass. We're an hour away from Chicago, Jo. We could hunt it."

She'd been trying to disabuse him of the notion that he had a migraine for hours, but the more she told him it wasn't one, the more he insisted it was. Heaven forbid he admit he had the flu. "You have a fever, Castiel."

"I'm fine. It's my ghost. I found it and I wish to hunt it. I need to hunt it. We need to be in Chicago!"

"We don't need to be anywhere because you have the flu." He kept saying that they needed to be in Chicago, though she wasn't sure why. The ghost, or whatever it was, could wait. Besides, the case specifics reminded her an awful lot of that case in Philadelphia years ago and she didn't want to somehow end up being bait again, especially with only Castiel as backup. No offense meant to him, but he wasn't exactly hunter material right now. He had far too much to learn. With a grimace, she tried to forget just how green she'd been in those days. "You have chills, can't keep anything down, and have body aches. Not to mention you look sort of green right now."

He rolled over in bed to glare at her and promptly rolled back over, dry heaving into the trashcan she'd put by his head and finally changing his tune as he moaned. "I'm dying."

"It's the flu. You'll live. I'm going to go get you some things. I'll be, like, ten minutes."

"My short life as a human is flashing before my eyes."

"You're such a baby when you're sick," she murmured. He also had drama queen tendencies.

"I want…." He groaned again. "I don't know what I want. Jo, I'm scared."

Crouching down, she reached for the cool cloth she'd put in a plastic bowl on the nightstand and ran it across his face. "I know. If you can, take a cool shower while I'm gone and change clothes. It'll help."

She went about her shopping as fast as possible. He really had looked helpless and miserable, as much as he had his first two days awake. She picked up tissues with lotion, a large bottle of hand sanitizer, Pedialyte, and some meds to ease his symptoms (provided he was ever able to keep them down), then grabbed a bottle of lemon-lime soda, bread, applesauce, and pudding cups. The pudding cups were for when he was on the mend. As it was bagged up, she realized she'd bought all the things her mother used to buy when Jo had been sick growing up.

Jo paid for the items and headed back to the room, pausing as she saw a woman sitting outside their motel room door. She slowed her pace, suspecting a demon or other creature. It'd be just her luck with Castiel sick as a dog right now.

The woman looked up from her sketchpad. Her short wavy dark hair was tucked behind her ears and her smile was friendly and warm. "You are here. I knew you would be."

She shifted the bags of provisions. "I am. Who are you and why are you looking for me?"

"I'm Daphne. Daphne Allen. I'm from Colorado. Well, my house is there." She got to her feet, her long skirt swishing. "I'm here to help you."

"Right. Help me. Why?"

"Because God told me to."

"Uh-huh. Do you know my name?"

"Sadly, no. I was only told where to be and given a picture of you and the man with you in my head."

"Sure. God didn't tell you my name?"

"No, but…." She turned the sketchpad around. "I drew you. I drew you both."

She had indeed drawn them. Fairly good likenesses too on those pages. However, she could be some deranged stalker who had been watching them the past week.

"He said I needed to be here and I'm here. I have faith and you're here just like he said."

"Yeah, okay." Jo worked her room key from her pocket. "You, uh, mind staying out here for awhile?"

"No. No, of course not. I'll wait."

Going inside, Jo set own the bags and stepped to Castiel. "Do you know someone named Daphne? Maybe an angel or something?"

Castiel lifted his head and looked at her. "No. Who's Daphne?" He didn't appear to have moved since she'd left.

"I'll take care of her. You just concentrate on not actually puking, okay?"

Gathering a few items, she stepped back outside. "All right, Daphne Allen from Colorado on a mission from God, I have a few tests that need to be completed before I can even consider letting you in this room."

"Yes. I know. I'm prepared."

After all the drills, Jo let the woman into the room, still half afraid she was some creature out to kill them or one of Raphael's angels. Daphne crossed the threshold however, stepping past the devil's trap and the barrier of symbols on the walls. She was human and, while Jo was suspicious, her gut wasn't telling her there was danger. She introduced herself and Castiel, told the woman to stay put and went to freshen the cool water she'd been using to bathe Castiel's face.

Could she trust her gut these days?

It was with trepidation that Daphne waited. She was a woman of faith, but taking this trip had been a large step for her. Leaving her home and setting out for a city in another state to meet a man and woman she didn't know was frightening. She did it, however, following the instructions that she'd been given.

Once inside the room, she waited for Jo to take the plastic basin into the bathroom before stepping to the window and scratching a tiny opening on one painted symbol. She took a deep breath and moved to the bedside to allow the observation to begin.

Daphne was fully conscious and aware, in control of her body. She was merely a conduit, not a vessel, and it was an arrangement that had worked thus far.

She studied Castiel, feeling a tug of attraction to him. He was rather handsome and when he opened his eyes to look at her, she saw they were a pretty blue shade. She placed a hand on Castiel's forehead, feeling the heat pouring from his body.

"Hey!" Jo came from the bathroom to bedside with the basin and set it down, a hand immediately removing Daphne's hand from Castiel. "I told you to stay put. Hands off him."

"What's his temperature?"

"High."

"Has he had anything for it?"

"Yes. Did he keep it down, no."

"Perhaps we should give him a cool bath."

"Perhaps you should back the hell off."

She got up and returned to the window. "I'm here to help. Let me help. Please."

"Sit." Jo dipped the washcloth in the water, squeezed it out, and dabbed at Castiel's face with it. "No offense, Daphne, but I don't know you. I don't -"

Castiel raised a hand, grasped Jo's arm and motioned her close.

Daphne didn't hear what he said during their whispered conversation, but it was obvious from Jo's grim expression that she didn't agree with him.

"Fine." Jo set the washcloth in the basin. "Daphne, go start a bath."

She hurried to begin the task, glad to be of service.

Castiel knew he could trust Daphne from the second she touched his forehead with one cool hand. There was a gentle peace that he'd swear he could sense from her. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. And so, when Jo protested her assistance, he told her to allow it. He'd seen the strain of caring for him in Jo and a second set of hands would ease her burden.

"I trust her."

"Why? Give me a reason, because letting a stranger in here -"

"I know I can. I feel it. She passed the tests."

"Doesn't mean a thing if she's some human whacko. You're having a gut feeling?"

"Yes. She won't hurt us, Jo. She's not a whacko."

"You'd better be right or we could really both be in trouble by letting her stay."

"I promise we can trust her."

Jo was reluctant, but in the end she did give her consent.

He let her help him to sit, hating how the flu was making him feel. He wanted to either die already or for it to be done. At least Jo wasn't showing signs of having this sickness as well. He'd hate to have to try to care for her how she was caring for him. This wasn't something he knew much about.

"Raise your arms," Jo told him. After he'd complied, she tugged his t-shirt over his head. "I'll let you get the pants, then lean on me and I'll help you in there."

He was hot and cold and his stomach wouldn't settle down. The bath was pain at first, then quickly turned into relief, Jo sitting and once more bathing his face.

"You'll be okay," she whispered, and he believed her because she'd been right before and because she was his friend.

Daphne stayed back, trying her best to anticipate what Jo wanted her to do. After he was dressed in fresh pajamas, the two got him back into bed. Between their efforts, he recovered in comfort and was on the mend within a few days. It was then that he really looked at Daphne. They exchanged flirtatious glances and what he was certain was awkward and equally flirtatious banter that Jo only half rolled her eyes at.

He became attached to Daphne, enjoyed her company, and realized that he was settling in to being human far better than he had the last time. Of course, this time the apocalypse wasn't in progress.

The only thing missing, actually, was Dean.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean crouched down and stretched out a hand to help Gwen up. She wobbled unsteadily on what he hoped wasn't a broken ankle.

Mark knelt, a little unsteady as well. He'd pushed himself and was having fresh back spasms. He pushed up Gwen's jeans leg and studied her ankle. His ministration caused only a slight hiss from her. "It might be sprained, but it sure isn't broken."

They'd managed to kill seven muroni, their bodies littering the cemetery. Unfortunately, the two that had been doing the most recent killings had gotten away. He wasn't too sad however, as Sam and Christian had reported in that their ghost had kicked their butts. Christian had two broken fingers and Sam a concussion while the ghost was still out and about wreaking havoc. Dean figured he, Mark, and Gwen were doing well in comparison. For once, Dean was the only one not injured.

He steadied Gwen, ignoring her muttered string of curse words. Mark carefully hobbled along behind them, also turning the air blue with words. At the car, with them inside, he paused.

Dean saw a woman out of the corner of his eye, there and gone when he tried to get a closer look. It looked like the same woman he'd seen on the way to Bobby's after he'd woken from the Djinn dream. Who was she? And why was she watching him?