Chapter 15

Stella was pacing.

The boys had been gone for two hours. There was certainly no timetable for dispatching a rugaru, but Stella just couldn't get rid of the sick lump that had settled in her stomach. She'd been walking back and forth for a half-hour now. She stopped, looked at the clock, and absently chewed on her thumb nail. Stella had a lot of faith in her intuition. It had always served her well, and now it was telling her that Sam and Dean were in a boatload of trouble.

Something's not right. It just isn't right. I know something's gone wrong.

Stella picked up the keys to the Camaro and stared at them. She'd promised Dean that she would stay there, stay safe. But how could she do that when she was convinced that Dean wasn't safe? She put the keys down and picked them up again, and then she just screamed out in frustration.

"Screw it," she said to no one other than herself. "If Dean wants to be pissed at me, he can be pissed at me." I would never forgive myself if something happened to him or Sam when I could have done something about it.

Stella grabbed her jacket and felt hurried down the stairs. Sliding into the driver's seat of the Camaro, she depressed the clutch and turned the key. The engine growled awake and she stomped on the gas pedal. She felt a small pain in her arm as she shifted aggressively. Stella had listened carefully when Sam and Dean had discussed Russell Roy. She knew his address and she'd Googled a map of his neighborhood one night after the boys had fallen asleep. She knew exactly where she needed to go.

Normally, Stella would have followed the same pattern as the Winchesters; she would have parked on a different street if possible so that her Camaro didn't draw a lot of attention, but her gut told her this was no time to be subtle. She pulled onto Uncochief—on the opposite end of the loop from where Sam and Dean had parked-and watched the mailboxes. When she got close to 75, she turned off her headlights and killed the engine, rolling to a silent stop not too far from the Roy house.

There were only a few lights on in Russell's house and very few streetlights on this part of Uncochief and she was grateful for that. Anything that would give her an advantage was welcome. She gently pushed the door of the Camaro shut and paused. Stella could hear music coming out of the house. She picked up her pace and approached the house. Then, a voice cried out in pain and Stella's blood ran cold.

Sam? Is that Sam screaming? Stella gritted her teeth and moved her hand inside her jacket. Her gun might not do much good against a rugaru, but she felt better knowing it was there. Not trusting the porch and front of the house, Stella slipped along the edge and around to the side of the house. She stepped softly through some of the landscaping and kept her back pressed against the wall. She turned and peered in through a corner of the window.

What she saw made her sick.

Sam was strapped to a table and the creature—Stella wouldn't even call him a man anymore; he was a monster—the creature dipped its head down and bit Sam. The younger Winchester brother screamed again as Russell started to shake his head a little, his teeth tearing deeper into Sam's flesh. Behind the grotesque and bloody tableau, Dean was tied to a chair with tape over his mouth. Stella could see him strain against the bonds in a vain effort to reach his brother, tears running down his cheeks.

Stella took a deep breath and stepped back. She continued around the side of the house, looking for another way in. Turning another corner, she found the back door landing. The porch light was out, but the kitchen light was bright enough to make it easier to see. A short distance away was an open shed with a lawn mower and some tools outside of it. She put a foot on the back step and stopped, looking back at the shed again.

Daddy always said to never overlook an opportunity, even a small one. She crept over to the shed and went inside. It was a small, and Stella came back out with a few things that might be useful in a fight. Carefully working her way up the back steps she opened the screen door just enough to test the door knob. She almost sighed in relief when it turned easily. She could still hear Sam in the other room but the kitchen radio was loud enough to drown out what little noise the door made.

Think, Stella, think! All she wanted to do was charge into the other room and start shooting. But she remembered what Sam and Dean had told her: a rugaru could only be killed by burning it. She didn't know if shooting it would make any difference at all. It would make her feel a lot better, but then she'd lose her only advantage: surprise. She looked around the kitchen, trying to find something else to use. The far kitchen counter caught her eye—those bottles!

Stella had her answer, but she needed a little time.

Dean would have sold his soul a second time if he could have somehow made the rugaru leave Sam alone. His entire life Dean's father had drilled one notion into his sometimes thick skull: take care of your brother; don't let anything happen to Sammy. Now he was trapped, helpless, watching as this God-forsaken creature ate his brother alive. The rugaru, crouched low over Sam, flicked out his tongue and let the rivulets of blood run onto it. As each one did, he shut his eyes and savored the flavor, ignoring everything else around him. A flicker of a shadow in the kitchen door waved in Dean's peripheral vision. He kept his body still and slid his eyes to the side.

Stella! Dean's eyes got huge. What was Stella doing here? She held a finger to her lips, asking him for silence and then she held up two fingers. Two minutes; she needed two minutes. She disappeared back into the kitchen and Dean immediately looked back towards Sam, and he was just in time. Russell's head came up and cocked curiously. He looked carefully at Dean who glared at him, wishing his hatred could simply burn the rugaru to a crisp where he stood. Russell raised his head slightly and sniffed the air. Was that a new scent? The air was so saturated with the distinct odor of Sam's blood he wasn't sure.

More fear clawed at Dean's heart. If the rugaru realized Stella was in the house… All he could think about was what Russell had said to him earlier: "Do you think she's going to call for you when I take her? Scream your name? Beg for you to come and save her?" Dean started to scream behind his gag, and he thrashed violently in his chair. Even with the gag it was obvious what he was saying: "Take me, you freak. Take me! Leave my brother alone. Sam!" The sudden outburst distracted Russell from his mystery scent.

"You are entertaining, Dean. So eager to die for your brother. Would it be easier for him to watch you die? Maybe I should have started with you and let this one watch you turn into my chew toy. But this is too much fun…" Russell came up to Dean, so close that his fetid breath was hot in Dean's ear. The rugaru licked Dean's throat, feeling the blood pumping through the veins and arteries. It was so tempting to just sink his teeth in, to pull out that hunk of flesh and feel the blood wash over him. But then he pushed back.

"No, no it isn't your turn yet. Maybe I'll take you last. Maybe, after I'm finished with your brother here I'll go catch that woman of yours. She is yours, right? The way you acted around her… Maybe I'll bring her back here and stretch her out on that table. You'll have the best seat in the house to watch me play with her. To watch me bleed her dry…"

"That's not going to be quite as easy as you think…" said Stella from the kitchen door.

Trapped in his chair, Dean realized he felt relieved, not afraid. He looked at Stella, standing in the doorway. She looked confident, fearless… magnificent. There was no way the rugaru was going to walk out of this house alive. Dean just knew it, deep down in his gut, he knew it. Behind the tape, he smiled.

Russell smiled, too, but for very different reasons. His grin was feral; his prey had come to him. He moved forward slowly. Russell could have rushed and taken Stella by surprise but he wanted the game, he wanted to stalk her. He found the idea exciting and it was another chance for him to torture Dean. I'll catch her and I'll drag her back in here by her hair…

"It is so nice of you to join our party, pretty." Russell licked his lips as Stella took a few steps back, moving into the kitchen and tucking herself by the door frame. Foolish woman, he thought, go ahead and run. I can smell your fear. It will be so much more satisfying to run you down, to watch you struggle… He took two big strides to close the distance between them but instead of running, Stella leaned back into the door opening. She leveled her handgun at Russell and he stopped.

What is that smell? Alcohol? Gas?

Russell hesitated for a moment as he tried to sort through the new scents but he didn't have much time to process as Stella unloaded four shots directly into his chest. He shuddered and staggered but drew himself up to his full height. Russell practically howled in delight. If he'd been human, the bullets would have killed him. But he was still standing, still breathing.

"What do you think of that, you bitch? Your gun didn't hurt me. You can't kill me…"

"That's what you think." Stella stepped fully into the doorway. In her right hand a glass bottle with a rag stuffed in the neck. The rag was on fire. She raised her arm and flung the bottle down and it smashed on the hardwood floor at Russell's feet. As the glass shattered, the gasoline Stella had poured into the nearly empty vodka bottle ballooned into a ball of flame, engulfing Russell's legs and igniting the puddle of vodka that Stella had poured onto the floor while Russell had gloated over Dean.

Russell shrieked as flames climbed up his body. Stella flung herself past him, and as she ran to Dean's side a Bowie knife with a good eight-and-a-half inch blade seemed to materialize in her hand. She slashed the duct tape around his left wrist and then his left leg. Behind her, Russell roared and started to stumble across the room towards them. The knife made short work of the rest of Dean's restraints and he launched himself out of the chair.

"Get Sam!"

Dean grabbed his mini-flame thrower from where it had fallen on the ground and by the time he got to his feet it was spouting a jet of flame. He charged directly at Russell. "Burn you sonofabitch," he shouted. "You try killing my brother? Threaten to kill my girl? Go to Hell and rot there…"

Russell's screams reached a new pitch as the flames seared his face and upper body. His hair started to burn and he clawed at his face as he stumbled back. His exposed skin started to blacken and blister. The room filled with the scent of burning flesh. As Russell thrashed, the furniture and the carpet started to catch fire. He took another step towards Sam and Dean before he collapsed onto the floor.

"Dean! Help me with Sam."

Even in Sam's weakened condition, he struggled to get to his feet, but he was too injured to move quickly. Stella took the flame thrower from Dean while he propped up his brother and headed towards the door. Reigniting the weapon, Stella started to set more of the house on fire; the more that burned the less evidence there would be that she and the Winchester brothers had been there. When they got home, they were going to have to burn their clothes and their shoes.

"Stella, c'mon Stella… we've gotta get out of here now!" Dean shouted for her from the front porch. Smoke was rapidly filling the house as Stella made sure more curtains were on fire. She flung her arm over her face as she ran through the flaming living room and out onto the porch. As Dean half carried, half dragged Sam towards the car, Stella ran pas them to the Camaro. She grabbed her emergency tarp and threw it over the front passenger seat. There was no way they were going to be able to shove him into the back. She jumped in the driver's seat and pulled the car forward.

"C'mon, get him in here." Stella looked behind Dean. The fire in the house was clearly spreading. She had emptied both of the bottles of rum she'd found in the kitchen on the floor. Eventually the flames would reach the gas stove. It had been too risky to disconnect the gas line while Sam and Dean were still tied up… but she'd left the red gas canister from the shed on the kitchen floor. When that went up, it may well cause a chain reaction that would take the rest of the house with it.

Dean clicked the seatbelt to secure Sam in place. He ran around the front of the car and squeezed into the back seat. Stella kept the lights off and headed down the street. A few hundred yards away from the Impala, she slowed and let Dean jump out. She flipped on the headlights and slowly drove out of Uncochief as if nothing unusual had happened. Dean grabbed an empty beer bottle from the side of the road and strolled to the Impala. A couple party-goers passed him on the sidewalk and he raised his bottle in a greeting and they walked by, singing some ridiculous song, without a second look. Once he got to the car, Dean didn't waste any time getting the hell out of there.

Stella pulled onto the main street and reached over with her hand. She gently shook Sam. "You still with me, Sammy? You doing okay?"

Sam groaned. "Been better but I sure was glad to see you, Stella."

"Okay, you stay quiet. We'll be back at the house soon Dean and I will patch you up. We can't take you to a hospital…"

"I know." Sam's voice was a whisper. "Too many questions about who bit me. You've patched me up before, I trust you guys."

Stella smiled and gently squeezed Sam's shoulder. She looked in her rear view mirror, wishing that she could see the Impala behind her, but she knew that Dean would take the long way back to the house so that the cars weren't seen together.

In the distance, she could hear sirens.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I hope this was a satisfactory conclusion to Sam and Dean's little mess and that you enjoyed it. Thanks to everyone who has been reading this story, and welcome to the new readers who have joined us. Thank you for taking the time to read my little Supernatural adventure – I know you have a lot of different stories to pick from. I appreciate that you are taking your time to read my work.