Disclaimer: I do not own the Supernatural world or its characters. Just borrowing!
Hello again! It has been a while since I've posted here. I've been busy writing "Phantom Traveler AU." To be honest, I was going to wait until I finished my other story to start writing "Boy King" again, but Shadowpletlove wrote a review asking for more, so here it is!
Another big thanks to Bella4evr and Souless666 for your continued support. I'm not the best at posting quickly, so I appreciate your patience with me. (I answer Souless666's question this chapter, so watch out for that!)
Dean pulled up to the motel, shut off the Impala, and leaned back in his seat, rubbing his hands over his face. What a long day. Once Dean left the last widow, he spent the rest of the day in the library looking up anything and everything he could on kidnappings around Christmas. Nothing turned up for Michigan, but after branching out, Dean found out two abductions had happened in Seattle of last year, and, looking further back, other abductions had also been reported for the last few years, each year in a different state. Whatever was killing people had been moving locations so it wouldn't get caught. Smart.
Dean opened the driver side door and slowly climbed out of the Impala. Checking his phone, Dean sighed. 11:27 PM. All Dean wanted to do now was flop onto his ratty mattress and fall into a deep sleep. Hell, even a half-assed attempt at sleep would be nice right now. Dean took the stairs, cursing all the way for having a room on the second floor. Finally reaching his motel door, Dean paused, the key in his hand. Something didn't feel right. Shrugging it off, Dean unlocked the door and stepped inside.
A movement to his left was all Dean registered before the world went black.
The first thing Dean registered was pain. He had the world's worst headache, and the fucking Christmas music wasn't helping. Why the fuck was Christmas music playing? Opening his eyes, an array of Christmas decorations came into focus. A gingerbread house, scented candles, and Christmas-themed cups and pottery assaulted Dean's vision. It was enough to make him want to vomit.
A sickeningly sweet voice sounded from behind him. "Oooh, and here we were thinking you would sleep straight through the fun stuff."
A plump old lady came into view, her cheeks rosy and white hair curled about her shoulders. Her Christmas sweater matched the one the man who followed her was wearing. He had picture perfect teeth, and he had an unlit pipe in his mouth. The whole thing was straight out of a Hallmark movie.
"Miss all this? Nah, I'm a partier." Dean eyed the two carefully, trying to assess what they were.
"Isn't he a kick in the pants, honey?" The man turned serious. "You're a hunter; That's what you are."
Dean smirked, determined to show no fear. "You know what I am, but I don't know what you are."
The woman smiled. "We're Pagan Gods, dear, but the folks around here know us as the Carrigan's."
"Why'd you have to start eating people?" Dean snarled.
"Oh, well we used to take a hundred tributes a year, and that's a fact." Mrs. Carrigan smiled, placing a napkin under Dean's right hand. "Now what do we take, two? Three?" She directed the question at her husband.
"Scamp here makes four." Mr. Carrigan pointed at Dean with his pipe.
Mrs. Carrigan nodded. "now, that's not so bad, is it?"
Dean couldn't believe these people. They wanted him to be okay with people dying? "Well, when you say it like that I guess you guys are the Cunningham's."
"You, mister, better show us a little respect." Mr. Carrigan raised his eyebrows reproachfully.
"Or what?" Dean challenged. "You'll eat me?"
"Not so fast. There's a... ritual to be followed first." Mr. Carrigan put the pipe back in his mouth.
Mrs. Carrigan shivered in excitement. "Oh, we're just sticklers for ritual."
"And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?" Mr. Carrigan pulled out his pipe again. Dean wanted nothing more than to shove that freaking pipe down that freaking Pagan God's throat. "Meadowsweet."
Mrs. Carrigan placed a wreath around Dean's neck. "There! Don't you just look darling."
Mr. Carrigan winked. "Good enough to eat. Alrightyroo, step number two." Mr. Carrigan whipped out a curved, sharp knife. Carrying that and a small wooden bowl over to Dean, he cut into Dean's forearm. Blood flowed out of the wound and into the wooden bowl.
"You son of a bitch!" Dean cursed.
"You hear how he talks to us? To Gods?" Mr. Carrigan tutted. "Now, back in the day we were worshipped by millions."
"Times have changed!" Dean growled, trying to ignore the burning pain in his right arm.
Mr. Carrigan carried the bowl back to the table. "You don't have to tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town! All of a sudden, our alters are being burned down and we're being hunted down like common monsters."
Putting some herbs into the wooden bowl, Mrs. Carrigan added, "And did we say a peep? No, no, no we did not. Two millennium. We kept a low profile and got jobs, a, a mortgage. What was that word, dear?"
"We assimilated."
"We assimilated. Why, we play bridge on Tuesdays and Fridays. We're just like everybody else."
Dean though that was rich coming from the woman who was about to eat him. "You're not playing it as smooth as you think, you bitch."
"Ooh, what language! Someone owes a nickel to the swear jar. Do you know what I say when I feel like swearing? Fudge." Mrs. Carrigan pointed the knife at Dean on the last word, an unspoken threat. Not that it could get much worse for him right now.
"I'll try to remember that." Dean said through clenched teeth.
Mr. Carrigan brought pliers over to Dean. "You don't know how lucky you are. There was a time when people would come from miles around to be sitting where you are."
"If you fudgin' touch me again, I'll fudgin' kill ya!" Dean's heart rate picked up. What the hell were the pliers for?!
"Very good!" Mrs. Carrigan praised. Dean ought to kill her for that, but he was a bit tied up at the moment.
Mr. Carrigan smiled and grabbed Dean's right hand. Using the pliers, he pulled off one of Dean's fingernails. Dean screamed as the nerves in his hand fired off. His head fell back against the chair and he focused on his breathing to distract from the pain.
"We've got a winner!" The nail went into the wooden bowl along with the blood and herbs.
Mrs. Carrigan mixed the ingredients together. "What else, dear?"
"Let's see, fingernail, blood..." Mr. Carrigan hit his head with his palm. "Sweet Peter on a popsicle stick! I forgot the tooth!"
Picking up a different pair of pliers, he approached Dean.
"Merry Christmas." Dean muttered to himself.
"Now, open wide and say ah." Mr. Carrigan held Dean's jaw open as he put the pliers inside. Dean screamed as one of his molars was literally ripped from his mouth. The pain was too much to handle, and Dean passed out.