Chapter Twenty

The Winchesters and Bobby had breakfast, then gathered in the living room, where the table was already strewn with books, notes, sketches and the detritus of Bobby's research.

"So, this design," he pointed to a print-out of what Sam had sent of the demons' working, "I haven't seen anything exactly like it, but it looks a bit like this." He indicated a page in a large, yellowed tome. "A spell to tamper with the proper workings of... natural consequences."

"Messing with reality?" asked Sam.

"Not exactly," Bobby qualified, "Just kind of fiddling with it around the edges. Even that, though, takes serious, high level mojo." He tapped at the book. "The crazy old coot who tried to work this one was a high level practitioner – he failed, but he wasn't using blood. Blood signifies that it was something real nasty. It's not a summoning, which leads me to suspect it's a destruction ritual. And this one," he indicated the small altar, "It looks like it was a summoning, or a communication."

"One demon did say she had to set up a long-distance call," Felicity reminded him. "And they were doing this for somebody else. To get brownie points. And they were worried about the idea that somebody would be angry if they screwed up."

"So, minions setting up for a boss," mused Sam. "They do the grunt work, then call in the Big Banana to work the spell. But what spell?"

"Something they needed Fic for," Dean said, "Fic, specifically. A Winchester. They needed lots of Winchester blood, to do something pretty damned evil."

"That doesn't narrow it down much," Sam reminded him, "We got hundreds, if not thousands, of demons who'd give their pitchforks to take some sort of shot at us."

"Well, it looks like we hit the coffee and the books from here," sighed Bobby. "A blood spell, and possibly a destruction ritual." He started to divide the books up amongst them. "We're lookin' for anything that might be relevant. So, get to it, kids."

They spent the morning combing through various books, manuscripts and grimoires. They found a couple of descriptions of workings along similar lines, but no reports of anyone being able to get it to work.

"There's one here," announced Felicity, "A nobleman who wanted to get rid of his wife in the 1400s. He sought a divorce first – yeah, good luck with that six hundred years ago – then decided to try to get rid of her with a blood ritual."

"Show me what you got there, missy," instructed Bobby. She handed over the book. "Oh yeah, he wanted to mess with normal events a little to rid himself of his wife," chuckled Bobby. "Figured that if he could come up with a spell just to tweak reality a little, he could kill her in the seemingly normal course of events. Make her fall from her horse, and break her neck." He consulted the print-out. "His working bears similarities to the demonic one."

"Why didn't he just off her, if he wanted to get rid of her?" asked Dean.

"There were laws against murder then, too," Sam reminded him.

"Bingo," said Bobby, reading on. "He didn't want to get caught murdering her, or have any suspicion of foul play, so he figured a blood ritual to get rid of her, with no incriminating evidence, was the way to go. It didn't work, though." He turned the page. "Oh, at least, it didn't work the first time." He kept reading. "Well, isn't that interesting," he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"What?" chorused all three Winchesters.

"Says here, he postulated that the blood required had to be human blood," Bobby went on. "Seems he tried it with human blood – paid a sexton at a local churchyard to bleed out a corpse – but that didn't work either."

"So, it has to be blood collected from a, uh, freshly murdered person," nodded Sam. "Figures."

"More to it than that," Bobby continued, "He tried that, too, some poor scullery maid. Abducted her, bled her out, and used her blood. But... oh..."

"Oh? Oh? What's oh, Bobby?" demanded Dean. "Oh, as in, 'Oh, I've got a paper cut', or oh as in, 'Oh, and then the aliens landed and impregnated everybody with their embryos that would later burst out and kill them all horribly'?"

"Maybe more of an 'Aha!' than an 'Oh', then," conceded Bobby. "His wife didn't die. But another maid did, and so did a scullion boy. Bizarre accidents. The maid was trampled by a runaway horse as she fetched water, and the scullion slipped on a step, and broke his neck."

"So, did he not have it, what, 'aimed' properly?" wondered Sam.

"I think he never realised what he was aiming it at to start with," replied Bobby grimly. "Because they were the brother and sister of the murdered maid." He kept reading. "Seems he was never held accountable for killin' the maid, but he was tried and hanged for witchcraft."

"So," Fic looked thoughful, "Somebody wanted my blood... to tinker around the edges of their reality?" she jerked a thumb at her brothers.

"Certainly sounds like the sort of thing some asshole demon would like do," Sam smiled tightly.

"Really?" Dean sounded dubious. "Demons, yeah, they hate us, they want us dead, but, surely, there had to be an easier way to do it?"

"Maybe not," grinned Bobby. "You two have a talent for stayin' alive when attacked by demons, and openin' a can of whoop-ass on any that get too close to you."

"And they do like to scheme," Sam reminded him.

Bobby looked thoughtfully at Felicity. "The angels never went after you when they were looking for alternative vessels for Mike and Luci to pull each other's pigtails," he noted, "Somehow, you were off the radar. But it figures that the info would get out sooner or later; news like the existence of another Winchester, even an illegitimate one, was never going to stay buried forever." He took a sip of his coffee. "So, let's say that somewhere, somehow, some asshole demon found out that there was a third Winchester, but didn't know who, or where. So, that demon sends out minions with instructions: find the family that adopted the kid, then go find the grown-up kid, then I want that grown-up kid's blood."

"So, we know the what," Dean accepted, "But we don't know the who. Damn it, if only we could've hung onto one of those demons..."

"Not really an option at the time," Sam pointed out ruefully. "If we'd taken a chance on it, and it escaped, it would have warned any others that we were onto the plan."

"Why don't we just finish the summoning?" suggested Felicity, "Can you do that?"

The three men stared at her.

"One of 'em said she was going to set up a long-distance call," she shrugged, "Presumably to whoever sent them. Can we draw up another demon trap, then make the call, and see who or what turns up?"

Bobby smiled slowly. "You know, if I didn't know better," he grinned, "I'd say she was a Winchester."

...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...

It didn't take long to set up the required altar in the middle of a devil's trap, arrange the items that Sam had collected from the demons' set up, and prepare to work the summoning.

"Er," Bobby smiled sheepishly, "We're gonna need some Winchester blood to make this authentic." He waggled a small and very ugly goblet. "Just a bit. Not a whole armful."

"Figures," grumbled Felicity, taking the knife Sam offered and cutting her arm. "I'm noticing a theme, here, there seems to be blood involved in a lot of it. Are you sure demons don't sit around all day watching 'Twilight' DVDs? Some of the matinee session had a Twilight weekend; poor Father Tran had to go and have a lie down after hearing confession."

When everything was in place, Bobby picked up the small goblet, sprinkled in a few herbs, and began the recitation.

The call was answered quickly.

It began with a thrumming that set into the floor, like a sleepy earthquake. Jimi looked down, and growled, his eyes glowing.

Next, a sulphurous breeze picked up, to be followed by wisps of black smoke, shot through with streaks of red. The wisps coalesced until they were a swirling, roiling bank churning on the ceiling.

"Looks like somebody wants to make an impressive entrance," remarked Bobby disdainfully. "Put the fear of fear into the minions."

The smoke writhed, and twisted, and finally drew together into a spinning, wailing column, until it collapsed in on itself with a small thunderclap. The small altar exploded.

A figure stood where it had been.

"Oh, well done, children," it began, clapping its hands together, "I am so very pleased with you, this evening I think we shall have to open a bottle of something really speciiiiiEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Bobby let out a snarl to rival Jimi's. "God's tits!" he roared. "CROWLEY!"

... but you'd all already guessed that, hadn't you? :-)

Reviews are the Winchester Of Your Choice Joining You To Puzzle Over A Book In The Living Room Of Life!

Dean: Can mine be the Kama Sutra?

Lampito: Be quiet, or I shall throw you to the crew. If I can stop them from licking the chocolate anchor.