Title: Under the Influence of Djinn
Chapter: Nineteen
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.
"Cas tells me you haven't been hunting." Dean tried to keep his tone casual. He'd prepared the room to entice her to the case because he knew Jo couldn't resist gory crime scene photos. He'd gotten out the worst of the pictures Christian had brought back that morning and made sure they were at the top of the stack.
"He's been upset about that," she acknowledged with a nod of her head as she slipped off her jacket and laid it across the end of Sam's bed.
He glanced at her. "You, Jo? This life was your goal, your dream."
"Dreams change." She gave a nonchalant shrug and stepped closer, leaning over to study the pictures at the far side of the table. He'd had ample time to put pictures on the wall, as Jo had managed to avoid coming back to the motel most of the day. Funnily enough, it had been Daphne who'd maneuvered Jo into meeting Dean in the room.
"Do they?"
Stretching out a hand, she picked up one gruesome photo. "They do when you've died and been shoved back down here without anyone asking if you even wanted to come back."
He turned, rested a hand on the table, and plucked the photo from her, tossing it down. "I've been dead, Jo. I've been dead and come back more times than you know. I've been to heaven and, I get that you don't want to be here, but what I don't get, is why you'd rather be up there. It's nothing but reliving the past."
She picked up another photo. "Not once you've been snapped from the loop. Ash found me. After you and Sam left, he looked for me and mom. He found me, taught me, said he'd be back as soon as he could with mom, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a motel room with Castiel doing a good impression of a coma patient for the better part of a week." Jo waved the picture at him. "What's the first victim's story?"
"Drained of blood, went all movie zombie under a bridge."
"Anything indicating how he was drained?"
"Nada."
"Hmm." There was a spark of interest in her eyes, but nothing he thought she'd admit to just yet. Jo moved the pictures around, arranging them so that the goriest gut pictures were all together. Once they were, she pursed her lips and started rearranging the order.
"The one in your hand is from the latest victim, happened yesterday."
"How'd you get all this so fast? You got here yesterday, same as we did."
He leaned against the table. "Christian. He went in early, before anyone with pull enough to really stop him got in, acted like a pissy Fed who'd had to take a late flight and had barely had any sleep."
"Bet he's good at that role."
"Aces it. I think it's partly because he's not exactly what you'd call a people person."
"But he's doctor." Frowning, she exchanged the picture in her hand with another one, then began to lay them all out overlapping, so that the sections of internal organs connected.
"He's better with kids than adults. You should see him with the younger ones, like about three and four. He's like another person entirely." As she worked, Dean realized that she was working the pictures like a cardboard puzzle and he was beginning to see a pattern. "Hold on. Look at that." He touched three of the pictures, tracing the design with a finger. "You see that? It's a pattern. Tell me I'm not imagining it."
She whistled. "You're not imagining it."
"The gore at the scenes isn't random. Give me that picture from the wall."
Leaning over it, she snagged it and handed it to him.
Dean laid it down and stared at the pictures. "Second victim. The rest from that scene," he moved two pictures, "line up in a circle around it, making…." A symbol. A freaking symbol. "Son of a bitch. A detached symbol, each victim with a different piece of it from their stomach."
"Gross." She sounded more fascinated than grossed out. "No movie zombie has the mind to do this."
"I agree."
"Only one thing arranges entrails in an orderly pattern to make symbols. Gotta be a witch. Or a coven of them."
He groaned. "Damn it. Witches. I friggin' hate witches"
Jo made a noise rather like his own groan. "Witches suck. Why are they making people into movie zombies? What's the motivation?"
Dean had a few ideas, but didn't say anything, waiting for her to prod him.
"Well?"
"Well what, Jo?"
"Were there any hex bags anywhere? I'd think hex bags would be the easiest way for a witch to help several people into that state."
"Thought you didn't want to hunt." Drawing out his phone, he sent a group text with their conclusion.
"Dean. Come on. Someone is making people into movie zombies with a spell. That's personal. Has to be. And they're still doing it. It's something…."
"Something what?" Christian's first text came in with one word: Duh. Dean wondered what he and Sam had found out about the first victim that supported the conclusion.
She didn't answer.
"Interesting maybe? Intriguing? So which is it? Do you want to hunt or not?" He slipped the phone into his pocket, ignoring the buzz of more texts coming in. Sam would be wanting more information, Gwen and Mark cursing as they hated witches as much as he did, and Castiel would be asking what he needed to do.
"I'll admit I'm curious. Why would a witch go to these lengths? What would drive one to do this and do whatever he or she did to drain someone of blood? What sort of spell is this, because it's not like any other zombie spell I've come across."
"You've come across zombie spells before? Other than the usual ones?"
"Oh, yeah. Remind me to tell you about the time Rufus and I went to New Orleans without mom and ended up with Bobby having to come rescue us at four in the morning from these Babylonian creatures that a witch was trying to control. They were zombified…sort of. The witch tried anyway."
"I think I definitely need to hear that one sometime. Where was Ellen?"
"Staying with a friend for a week." She used finger quotes on the word 'friend'.
"Friend?"
"He wasn't exactly a boyfriend, but, um…yeah, you get the picture. It was always better if I just went out on the road with Rufus or stayed at Bobby's house because…eww. Just the thought of my mother and…that…" Her lip curled and she shuddered. "Eww."
"I can see how that would be squicky."
"Squicky?" She snickered. "Where'd you hear that word?"
"Gwen." He reached for his jacket. "I have an idea. Let's you and I check out the last scene. Look for anything witch related."
"What, right now?" Jo stepped back, arms crossing. She seemed caught off guard by his suggestion.
"No time like the present." Come on, Jo, he thought. Come back to me.
"Cas -"
"Is with Gwen and Mark."
"Sam -"
"With Christian following up on some details from the first victim."
Her teeth grazed her lower lip.
"Come on," he coaxed. "We'll just, uh, poke around." Dean waggled his brows at her until she smiled.
"Okay. We'll go poke around." Raising a finger, she pointed it at him. "But this doesn't mean I'm back in the game."
"Of course not. You're just an extra set of eyes in case I miss something."
"Like you miss anything." She put her jacket on.
"I have on occasion missed some doozies."
The crime scene was as bad as some he'd seen and worse than others. Dean no longer felt the urge to puke at seeing the aftermath of carnage. Was that a bad thing?
There was no one at the scene. They had it to themselves. Jo slid on a pair of plastic gloves and began looking for a hex bag as she continued their conversation from the car ride over. "I died, Dean. It was a painful death. I think it's sort of understandable I'm reluctant to do that dance again."
"And you're preaching to the choir. I had those sons of bitches maul me a lot worse than you got, then drag my soul to hell. I relive that moment over and over in my dreams and that's just one of my nightmares. I've been shot pointblank, stabbed, poisoned, and a ton of other not so fun deaths."
"Death is not fun," she agreed, glancing over her shoulder at him.
"I agree. He's something of a killjoy."
"Huh?" She frowned.
"This is our job, Jo." Dean gestured between them. "This is our calling, and at the end of the day, we suck it up and get back out there because the world needs people like us. We're not normal and we ain't ever gonna be that. This is in our blood and we are in for life. You used to know all this. You used to get it, so what's different now?"
Had he really just given her the same speech he'd gotten from Sam recently? And the one Ellen had given him in his sleep?
"I'm tired and I don't feel like I belong here." She snorted. "Castiel really bared all to you already, didn't he? When was your chat? Last night while I was asleep? Man, I knew he'd do something like this. Him and his stupid only three hours of sleep gives him way too much time on his hands." Crouching down, she felt behind the wall of the entertainment center.
"Yeah, we talked, but Jo, I've been where you are."
"Right. When," she demanded.
"Back a little while after you and Ellen died and it looked like there was no way to stop Lucifer. I had this whole 'let it come' thing going on. Let it all end and be over." He crouched down as well to feel under the coffee table. "I had it bad, too. Ask Sam. Ask Cas or, hell, go ask Bobby."
"Bobby doesn't know I'm alive." She groaned. "Oh crap. Bobby doesn't know I'm alive."
"We'll take care of it. Point is, I was right there not that long ago. I remember that feeling."
"You?"
"Me, and if we're telling the truth here, I'm still having trouble these days."
"You don't look it." She stood back up.
"Well, I can bluff with the best when I have to. You and me, Jo, we're kind of in the same place here." Finding nothing, he stood and stepped over to her. "What's say we get back in the boat together, go kill some monsters, and save a few people?" He held out his glove encased hand. "I will if you will."
Jo looked down at it.
"You had my back in Carthage. You died having my back. Let me have your back now."
Slowly, she placed her hand in his. When she looked up, he saw her blink fast a few times, as if clearing tears. She smiled. "And here I thought you wanted my front."
He winked at her. "Night's still young."
She laughed. "You going to buy me dinner?"
"I'll buy it for weeks with no strings attached. I respect that self-respect you have."
Her smile faded and she gave him a thoughtful look. "You've changed, Dean."
"So have you."
"You've changed, I've changed, everyone has changed. I guess it happens." Sighing, she held up an object. "But some things never do. Lookie what I found."
A hex bag.
Castiel was bored. Jo and Dean were having all the fun finding hex bags at crime scenes and Sam and Christian had discovered that the first victim's best friend's girlfriend was a witch. He didn't know how they'd found out that tidbit of information because he was stuck with Gwen and Mark. He didn't know how any of it connected because he was stuck here waiting. "Why can't we go help Sam and Christian?"
"Because we're teaching you this part of the job," Gwen explained.
"Sitting waiting for hours is boring." They'd waited through dinner and were now waiting into the evening in Mark and Christian's room.
"It sure is, but someone has to do it." She looked over at him. "We have to be ready as backup, Castiel. For either Dean and Jo or Sam and Christian. We pool all the information we get from both and make sure it all makes sense. We - "
"Sit and wait," he finished for her.
"Impatient, aren't you?"
Castiel stretched his legs out. Should he explain the reason for his impatience? "I was an angel, Gwen. I could search an entire town for one item in about five seconds, so waiting like this is boring."
"It's boring even if you're not used to searching an entire town in five seconds," Mark commented. "Consider it downtime. The next time you're the one out running around after having had only a couple hours of sleep, you'll think back on this moment and want it so bad you can taste it."
"I always only need a couple hours of sleep."
"Then you're damn lucky. You get my point, though?"
With a bored sigh, he reached for his notebook, the nice new one Sam had shoved at him earlier. "I do. You needn't worry about Dean, however. I've seen him work on no sleep at all. Besides, Jo will assist him. They'll be fine."
Mark and Gwen exchanged a glance. "Why do you think we're worried," Mark asked.
"Because you are."
"How do you know?" Gwen turned in her chair.
"I…I don't know. I just do. I feel it coming from both of you. You're worried about Dean."
There was a knock on the door and Mark opened it.
A pretty young maid stood there, a stack of towels in her hands. "The extra towels you asked for, sir."
"Did we get extra towels," he asked Gwen, who shrugged.
"Probably Christian since he tends to use three at a time. Thanks."
"I guess we did." Mark took the stack, closed the door, and put the towels in the bathroom. He returned to looking at his notebook, occasionally doodling on a page.
Gradually, Castiel noticed that something wasn't right. The air was all wrong in the room. Castiel could feel it, but what was different? Had it been something he'd said? He couldn't think of anything particularly inflammatory that he might have said.
"I don't feel right." Mark mopped his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie. He was sweating.
"Don't feel right how?" Gwen looked up from her notes. She was sweating as well now, one hand rubbing across her stomach.
Odd. Castiel felt fine. He blotted his brow just to make sure he, too, wasn't sweating. Nope, no sweat.
"Hungry." Mark cleared his throat. The sound was wet.
"Me, too." Gwen shook her head, glance honing in on Castiel. "Weird. I just ate like an hour ago, but I'm starving."
Nope, he wasn't hungry either.
"I want meat."
"Rare meat." With a noise of disgust, Gwen shuddered. "I don't like rare, but it sounds so good!"
Castiel frowned, suddenly noticing that both Gwen and Mark were staring at him now instead of only Gwen. They leaned forward towards him.
"Hungry," they said in unison.
Getting up, he edged towards the bathroom. Their eyes followed him and he felt the tension in the room ratchet up higher. They stood. Mark should have been moving slow because of his back, yet he moved with no trouble at all. This wasn't normal. Even after only a few hours, Castiel knew that.
Moving into the bathroom, Castiel slammed the door and engaged the lock. He leaned against the panel, pulled out his phone, and dialed Dean's number. "Hello, Dean. It's me. We may have a problem…."
As he relayed the situation, Castiel fumbled at the towels, the only new item in the motel room and as three hex bags were revealed (nasty ones if the weight and smell were any indication), he reached for the lighter in his pocket. Jo's mantra to always be prepared was coming in very handy right now.
Get up now.
The voice was far too loud in Daphne's mind and she cried out from the pain, unable to move until that familiar voice lowered to a better level. She moved as it continued, telling her the situation.
Castiel was in trouble and she had to save him.
Stepping outside, she saw the young woman the voice mentioned. Daphne followed her to her car, her stride determined. The woman was only young on the outside. On the inside, she was ugly and ancient. Daphne could see the ugliness there in her. It was in times like this that she almost regretted the connection that allowed her to see what her mental and sometimes spiritual companion could see.
The young woman turned to face Daphne. "You following me?"
"Don't do it."
"Do what?"
"I know you left hex bags in that room with the towels."
"Hex what? I took in towels and nothing more."
"Don't lie to me."
For a second, it looked like the woman might protest again, but then she smirked. "Try and stop me." A few guttural words left her lips, words to a very dangerous spell.
Daphne was filled then, the connection giving her the power to act. Castiel was in danger and she'd do anything to protect him. Without hesitation, she stretched out her hand and grasped the woman by the throat. Power slid from her hand into the witch's body. The witch made a low moan, her eyes rolling back in her head and her body bucking as though an electric current was moving through her.
Perhaps one was.
Blood trickled from the witch's nose and ears and steam came off her flesh. With a squeeze of her hand, the woman's neck snapped.
Swallowing hard, Daphne released her. The witch slid to the ground, dead.
You killed her, Daphne thought, horrified by that action. Couldn't she have just incapacitated her?
He must be protected, came the answer in her mind. You know that. We do whatever it takes and she wouldn't have stopped.
With a glance left and right and then behind her, Daphne dragged the body behind the car to buy some time, then returned to the room to wait, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd never been used to kill anyone or thing before. Events were fast moving to the point where she needed to leave them or be found out. It wouldn't take Sam and Dean Winchester long to understand what was different about her.
The problem for Jo was deeper than Dean had thought.
Upon bursting into the room and finding Gwen and Mark gasping on the floor and Castiel cautiously coming out of the bathroom, he'd watched Jo go to Cas and drag him to one chair. She'd looked him over, demanded to know how he felt, looked at his eyes like a doctor did, and took his pulse. She was helping him and so deep into helping Castiel, that he was her focus. She was trying to make him her purpose and while Dean could understand why, he agreed with Castiel that she needed a different purpose to her life.
Catching Dean's eye, Castiel grasped Jo's hands and set them from him. "I'm fine, Jo. It's Mark and Gwen who need looked at, not me."
"I take it you found the hex bags?" Dean stepped into the bathroom and bent over the sink to study the charred remains. He was very glad Castiel was carrying around a lighter in his pocket. Must have been Jo who'd told him to do that, as he knew she usually had one in a pocket for hunting purposes. Did she still? "Fast thinking with the lighter, Cas."
"Thank you. There were three of them wrapped in the towels, which means it must have been the maid who came to the door. I'm uncertain how she found us so fast since we'd barely begun our investigation."
"Bitch," Gwen gasped as she pushed herself up onto her knees.
Christian and Sam appeared in the doorway.
"You mean the dead maid in the parking lot who looks like she had a bad encounter with a live wire?" Christian went to Mark and knelt down. "She may have followed us when we stopped here earlier."
Sam stepped inside and closed the door. "It's the same woman we learned about and she's freshly dead. Body is still warm."
Dean shrugged. "Good. Karma."
"Far as I know, karma doesn't break necks, Dean. Someone killed her."
Jo sat on one bed and looked around the room. "We need to vacate, find another motel before the police come and we have to answer questions."
"I agree," Christian helped Mark to his feet. "Find a new place, go over everything, make sure it all lines up before we blow town."
Moving back into the room, Dean nodded. "Jo, you and Cas get Daphne and your things packed up. Gwen, you and Christian do this room and yours. Mark, you help Sam with the case materials, make sure we don't leave anything. I'll be in in a minute. I want to take a look at this witch."
The body was hidden between the car and the fence and Dean made sure no one was in the area before he approached it. He didn't think anyone in this part of the city would own up to seeing anything, but best to minimize the possibility.
The way the body was burned was reminiscent of the way an angel burned a demon out, but not as bad. The eyes weren't completely gone and blood streaked her face and neck. The woman's head was at an angle. Was she the only witch at work here? Was this backlash from a spell gone wrong or was there some thing that had done this to her?
Dean considered the backlash angle, but while it'd explain the burned look of the body, it didn't explain the broken neck. The only thing that explained it, and how the body was hidden, was that some one or thing had killed her. Maybe a fellow witch, maybe someone else.
Standing, he raised his gaze to the entrance to the parking lot. A woman stood there, mostly in shadow and he raised a hand, trying to shield his eyes from light to see her better. It seemed to be the same woman he'd been getting brief glimpses of all over the country and he moved around the car and towards her, intending on questioning her.
In a single blink, she disappeared and an uneasy sensation crawled up his spine. There'd been no sound of wings, so she wasn't an angel, but what was she?
What the hell was going on?