"Holy hell." Tony's mouth wasn't hanging open, but he was staring as he entered the living room of the suite. "Who called central casting for male models?"
Carol sighed. Tony never did like waiting; curiosity, cat, and all that. "Why am I not surprised to see you?"
"Tony Stark," the dark-haired man ignored her and gave a nod to Sam. "Sam! Nice to finally put a name to the abs … I mean face." Then he eyed Dean, seated on the couch. "And you must be Dean. Okay, Legolas, I give. No more Gimli jokes. He's more a Strider-type." God, Carol thought, Tony was at his most charming, eyes sparkling as his gaze travelled up and down Sam, taking a long inventory of the jeans, t-shirt, plaid shirt, and long hair; he stared brazenly at both men, and his shit-eating grin just got wider.
Neither one replied; Tony, suddenly aware of the height difference, stepped away from Sam, putting Carol between them. Then he realized he was just a touch shorter than Carol as well; he cocked his head as he measured himself and shrugged. "Okay," he said. "I wouldn't trust me either."
"I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?" Clint asked. Having Clint and Tony in the same room was like pouring gasoline on a fire; when they got going, they could rip anyone to shreds with their wit. And from what she'd seen of Dean, now the posturing would be times three.
"Saw the list you had Jarvis collate. Thought it would be easier to get access to Bunny if I came personally." Tony had poured himself a drink from the bar; he walked over to the couch and sat down.
"Bunny?" Sam asked, still standing in the same spot.
"Bridget Abigail Stephens Bridington, wife of the esteemed senator from Connecticut. She's an … old friend." Tony smirked; god, the man had slept with everyone. "Hubby's snooty as hell, with a stick up his ass about 'the right type' of people. Bunny's a lot more receptive."
"You had sex with her." Carol stated the obvious; Sam's eyebrows lifted, but otherwise he stayed silent.
"I'd say I was drunk at the time, but, hell, I'm almost always drunk, so that's no excuse. In her defense, she donates a good portion of her money to help fund school for girls in Afghanistan." Tony waved it away. "Bunny is just delighted to hear I'm in town and would love to have a drink with me later to talk about a family heirloom I'm in the market to acquire. And, trust me, she won't mind when she sees the extras."
"Ah, Tony, you know the most interesting people," Clint teased. "Introduced me one to time to these twins contortionists from Cirque du Soleil …"
"Oh, before I forget, here." Tony pulled out a small case and tossed it to Carol. "Jolly Green sent these. He's made a few changes, says the success rate should be about 86% now. Atomized and in pen form for effective and quick dosage. There's enough for everyone."
Inside were a row of medical delivery pens, neatly held in place by elastic bands. Carol took one out and turned it over in her hand. "That's about as good as we're going to get on short notice. Who wants to go first?"
"Toss me two," Clint reached out his hand. "Arm or leg?"
"Drop 'em and grip 'em boys. Got to go in the thigh." Tony grinned. "Stung like hell when I took mine, but I'll take that over fangs any day. I mean, fur and eating hearts? Vampires are so much more in vogue." Without hesitation, Clint unbuckled his jeans, raising enough to slip them down; with a click of plastic and a jab, he injected the vaccine in the muscle. Dean was just as quick; he favored briefs, black ones, Carol noticed because she did have a pretty healthy libido and Dean was almost princess pretty if you liked your damsels hard edged and able to take down the worst of the monsters.
Usually, Carol wouldn't have flinched about taking off her jeans – she had on sensible white underwear at the moment, and she did live in a tower with a bunch of exhibitionist men who wandered around in skintight suits. But she was very aware of Sam standing next to her; she tried not to look at Sam, to watch as the denim shimmied down, to notice that he liked briefs as well, grey ones, and she most definitely didn't look at the noticeable bulge in the front. Nope. Not at all. She very calmly bared her ass and shot the vaccine into her leg fast enough that Sam wouldn't see the elastic of her underwear riding up as she bent to inject herself or the catch of her jeans on her hips as she pulled them back up.
"Well, now, suddenly I'm thinking strip club; I can't imagine why!" Tony announced; Clint threw a pillow at him from the couch. "What?"
"The point, metal head, was to talk to Bunny. Don't get distracted." Clint absently rubbed his leg; Carol felt the burn as the sharp pain lingered and warmth spread up her leg and into her torso. Not that she wasn't already hot from that damn image of Sam's underwear. Underwear, woman, she chided herself. It was nothing she hadn't seen in a catalogue before. Just underwear and really toned thighs and …
"Excuse me for getting distracted by some very fine ass and a very nice …" Tony said.
"Tony." Carol used her sharpest voice to stop Tony from completing that thought, completely aware she'd just been thinking of that exact body part. "Bunny?"
"You need to get laid, Carol. Look at Clint, he's the most relaxed I've seen him in …. Well, damn Clint I've never seen you relaxed before." Tony goaded both of them.
"First time for everything," Clint laughed. "Bunny?"
"Fine. When you're ready, we can go." Tony pouted.
"Is he always like this?" Dean asked Clint.
"Oh, no. This is good behavior reserved for special guests. He likes you," Carol said. Neither of the two hunters looked like they believed her.
…..
The bar was just the kind that Dean hated the most – pretentious and old-fashioned, filled with men in power suits and women in jeans that cost more than he could hustle in a couple months of playing pool. The kind of place movers and shakers hung out, under the table deals taking place right next to men wining and dining the next, younger model of a trophy wife. As much as he wouldn't admit it, part of his dislike was the way he felt out of place, too easy to be picked out of the crowd. At least Clint was there, slouching in his chair in his jeans and black tee, looking dangerous and just as much at odds with everyone else; his mouth was on overdrive, smart alec comments flying as he nursed a glass of single malt scotch. Okay, that was one good thing about the whole situation; the arrogant bastard Stark was buying, and the whiskey was head and shoulders above what he usually drank, so, hell, he was going to drink as much as he could on the rich guy's dime.
"Could she have picked a more stuffy and uptight place?" Carol asked; she'd turned her chair around and straddled the back, resting her elbows on the table just to annoy the other patrons, nursing a glass of sweet tea. "Hello? Peasants here. We don't mix well with the nobility."
Sam had opted for beer in a bottle, some craft label that the waiter had suggested; Dean started a running tally of the little glances between them, the bumps and accidental touches. His brother definitely had a shot with the very sexy blonde. Very sexy with a really nice ass. Not that he'd noticed, but there was a little blue stripe on the top of her underwear. Of course, the best part had been watching Sam not watching Carol who was not watching Sam. Scary, though. The woman could shoot laser beams or something out of her hands, or so Clint kept telling him. Dean wasn't entirely sure he bought that. Then again, he'd seen weirder stuff.
"It's Bunny's choice, and since I'm springing you four on her, I think we should at least do it on her turf." Tony replied. "You do want to get some answers I assume?"
The interviews had gone nowhere; he and Clint had only managed to speak to one of the people on their list. Gaining access to private estates had turned out to be very difficult. Agatha McTavish had agreed to see them because her husband worked on the Armed Services Committee, and she recognized Clint's SHIELD credentials, but she didn't even know she was a member of the Adams' family, much less ever heard about the bowl. They had a morning appointment with the third woman, Margaret Davenport, only after Clint had put a call into Coulson to pull some strings for them. At least they had the vaccine now and the hope that it would protect them. Maybe. Dean didn't really trust in that either.
"Hey, Van Helsing. Do you want another?" Stark was talking directly to him, and Dean jerked his attention back to the task at hand. The young male waiter was waiting for his answer.
"Yeah, make it a double. And can I see a menu? Kind of hungry here." May as well spend the man's money on an overpriced burger. Probably some sissy thing with truffles or veggie patties. No, a steak. Nice big one. With a baked potato the size of Montana. Yeah. That was the ticket.
"They make a mean ribeye here," Tony offered, then waggled his eyebrows at Dean. "You look like a red meat man to me. What does the moose graze on? I'm sure there's a salad somewhere. Can't imagine how anyone who eats lettuce can get that big though."
"Bruce likes salads." Clint calmly took a sip of his drink and deliberately bumped Dean's thigh under the table. "And he gets pretty big."
"Banner doesn't count," Tony immediately argued back. The man seemed to love nothing more than hearing himself talk; he'd argued over nothing. "Oh, wait, Sam didn't get exposed to radiation or fall into a vat of toxic waste or anything, did he?"
"He just ate his Wheaties growing up." Clint offered, winking at Dean, his knee moving now along the seam of Dean's jeans.
"Oops, that me," Tony pulled something that looked like a phone from his pocket, but it opened into a larger touch screen that he manipulated with his fingers. "That's Bunny. She's running late. I'm shocked. Just shocked. The woman will be late to the zombie apocalypse; nah, she'll be the lead zombie chasing me down."
"Zombie Tony. I'd hardly notice the difference." Carol zinged that one past Tony's head.
"Actually, zombies aren't dumb. They still have their personalities, just an uncontrollable hunger for human flesh." Dean offered, voice loud enough to carry to the table next to them and earn him some strange looks. "Fairly easy to kill, though. Shotguns work, but chain saws are better."
"I dare you to lean over and ask that guy how much for the women." Tony nudged Clint.
"You going to order four whole fried chickens? Or dry white toast." Clint returned.
"Damn good music in that flick." Tony eyes slid past Carol to Sam, and he gave a conspiratorial smile to Clint and Dean. "Oh, shotguns remind me. Here." He tossed a small bottle to Dean. "Mix in a couple drops with a gallon of water and you've got the equivalent of werewolf holy water. If you want a big bang, toss it then add a silver bullet. I've also got some silver nitrate pellets back in my luggage you can add to shotgun shells to cause more damage."
"Tony, you really know how to charm a date," Clint laughed; he'd let his hand fall onto Dean's thigh only partially hidden under the table, and Tony could see the way Clint's thumb was circling. God, Dean thought, Clint was laying claim to him to warn Tony off. When the hell did his sex life get so strange?
"Well, thanks Q. Got any other gadgets hidden in that suit?" Dean had to mouth off; really, Tony Stark was just asking for sass.
"Oh, god, no, don't start that." Carol groaned. "Not that."
Tony's eyes sparkled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Six hours, Tony. Six hours of arguing about who was the best Bond and which was the best movie. How could you forget? The stakeout from hell. I promised myself never again." Carol flicked a drop of water from her glass at the billionaire.
"All you had to do was agree with me and it would have been over. Sean Connery was THE only Bond. And Goldfinger is the quintessential Bond movie." Tony said, all too glad to open up the conversation again.
"Um, I'll give you Connery, but, dude, Daniela Bianchi? Sorry, but From Russia with Love is it." Dean argued because, well, blonde girl in a nightgown with a ribbon around her neck like a freakin' present. On a train.
"Hey, no love for Roger Moore? The Spy who Loved Me? Live and Let Die?" Clint lazed back in his chair, only too willing to throw fuel on the fire.
"You can't be serious. Three words. Diamonds are Forever." Dean dismissed the claim; how could Clint like Roger Moore?
"I'm with Eyelashes on this one. Those were too silly to be good films." Tony came back. "But really. Goldfinger wins. Odd Jobs. 'I expect you to die, Mr. Bond.' Pussy Galore."
"Yeah, good name, but not the best Bond girl," Clint said, not even caring if anyone noticed his hand grazing the inside of Dean's leg. Dean shifted in his seat as his cock stirred at the light touch; damn him, Clint was enjoying getting Dean hard in front of his friends. The man had a fetish, that's for sure. "That's Jane Seymour."
"Wait, wait. Actress or character?" Tony asked, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table; he had a much better view from there of Clint's hand. "Very different things. I'll go for Halle Berry and Pussy Galore. I mean, her name is Pussy Galore."
"You just like saying that," Carol protested. "And very loudly, might I add." Dean saw the look she exchanged with Sam; they were both pretty exasperated by the whole conversation.
"Jane Seymour, and I'll have to agree on Pussy Galore." Clint winked at Carol.
"I'll take Tomorrow Never Dies. Terri Hatcher and Wai Lin." Dean took the new drink the waiter was handing to him, passing off his empty glass and grabbing a menu.
"Oh, damn. Michelle Yeoh. I'd forgotten about her. Kick ass. Yeah. I'm changing my vote." Tony saluted Dean with his glass, and Dean felt absurdly successful to get that much.
"Okay, boys, which Bond would you sleep with? For me, it would be Timothy Dalton." If Carol expected outrage, she was sadly mistaken. Her question only made Clint laugh.
"Oh, I would so tap Connery's Bond's ass." Tony took a big swig of whiskey. "Dean?"
"Sorry, dude, but you'd have to share." Dean answered, and suddenly he was the fly talking to the spider as Tony's gaze turned sexy, as if he was actually considering the idea. Uncomfortable, Dean still met Tony's eyes squarely; Clint's hand squeezed his thigh. "I'll arm wrestle you for him."
That made Tony laugh, and the moment was gone as the man looked as his team mate. "Damn, Clint, I like him. Bet he gives you a run for your money. Good. Someone needs to kick your ass on occasion."
"Ha, ha, Tony. Very funny. If I'm looking for someone to kick my ass, I'll take Daniel Craig's Bond, thank you very much. Skyfall? Wow."
"Haven't seen that one." Dean said. "Caught Casino Royale on TV, but not the others."
"What? Okay, when this is done, fangs or no fangs, we're going to a theater to see the flick. You'll love it. I'll even spring for popcorn and milk duds." Clint leaned in, his eyes promising more, hands and lips and heat in the dark. Years ago, Dean had done that, taken the girl of the moment to see the latest, only wanting to get a hand in her jeans. But it had been a long time since he'd steamed up a back row. For a split second, he wasn't sure if Clint was going to slide his hand the rest of the way up to where Dean's cock was aching already, or if he was going to lean over and kiss him.
"Dial that down from eleven, would you?" Tony's voice cut in. "Making me queasy over here. Plus, Bunny's just arrived."
The woman was nothing like Dean expected of a woman called Bunny – no power suit, no perfectly coiffed bleached hair, no thousand dollar purse with a miniature dog. Instead, she was wearing Levi's with a plain black Gap tee under a light cotton cardigan, very tight over her perky breasts. Long auburn hair was smooth and glossy over her shoulders; she looked for the world like she was in her late twenties, even though Dean knew she was approaching forty.
"Tony! How delightful of you to call. Things are so boring right now. Matt is out of town and the children are with his mother, may she die an early death." A quick hug and kiss on the cheek for Tony, and she was standing in front of the table, surveying all of them. "Oh, lovely! It's a party. Tony Stark, you always did have the best ideas."
"Can you bring a dirty Tanqueray martini for the lady?" Tony called to the waiter as he pulled over a chair. "Now normally you know I love nothing better than a party, but some of my friends are a little antsy, so let's get business out of the way. Then you can ply you're wiles upon this hapless but quite hot group."
Sam looked positively terrified at that pronouncement, and Dean was none too happy either. Although, he did love the way Sam could face down the bloodiest of monster, but one well-endowed socialite could make him run for the hills.
"Fast and sweet, that's how I like it," the woman laughed. "I did some checking after you called; the Monster-in-law was being such a bitch this summer that I gave a large donation of Adams' artifacts under my maiden name. She was livid, of course, to be reminded that I'm an Adams, but she has to come to the opening. Wouldn't look good if she snubbed me in public." She took her martini and overtly raked her eyes over the waiter's body as he picked up the empties. "You're new here, love. What's your name?"
He blushed and stammered, "Carl," before he beat a hasty retreat, escaping.
"Anyway," Bunny said, reveling in the effect she'd had on the young man, "I vaguely remember some old pottery and bowls in the batch; it's all boxed up at the house and ready to go to the Smithsonian next week in fact. Let's see, why don't we have a nice dinner then adjourn to my place for the evening. You can look through the mess to your heart's content, and I'll crack open some of Matt's best scotch, the kind I know you love, Tony." She smiled indulgently at Carol. "You, too, dear. I don't discriminate based upon gender."
Dean couldn't decide which to laugh at – Carol's face or Sam's open mouth; Clint simply took a picture of the two of them and tilted the screen so Dean could see the masterpiece. Classic blackmail, indeed.
"Um, yes, well, thank you for that, but we have a couple other interviews to conduct, so I'll have to take a rain check." A hasty spill of words and a pleading look at Tony; Carol scooted a little closer to Sam.
"Yeah, we do have a lot to do. I think Dean and Clint can handle looking through some boxes." Sam got his mouth working first, beating Dean to the punch.
"Sam," Dean's voice held a wealth of warning, but Sam, damn him, wasn't worried. They couldn't both back out; now Dean was stuck with Lady Warbucks.
"Oh, well, more for us, lads," Bunny waved over the waiter. "Now, who's hungry? I have a feeling I'm going to need energy."
…
Dark red and thick, the liquid dribbled down the pale hand and onto the glass as she traced the outline of the magical circle, drawing in her will and channeling the power through the draining life blood. Five points, five objects – four glasses and a bottle – splatters coating them all, completing the pentagram. The energy pulsed in her hands, no, Tessa's hands; daddy had magic of his own and the poor little girl had a well of talent untapped, making her first time back at work easy, an orgasmic rush of chaos spilling out into this world.
A simple spell, linking the past with the person, stirring up things repressed, thinning the veil between real and not. Just the first ripples of the effects were like the most fragrant of perfumes, filling the air with potential violence and the promise of death.
She'd missed this so much, holding lives in her hand. Dropping the arm of the now lifeless waiter … Carl, she remembered … she broke the circle and set the spell free, winging out into the night towards her targets. She smiled.
…
"Well, that was an awkward evening." Sam jammed his hands in his pockets; a slight chill came with sundown and a breeze had kicked up on the city streets. He and Carol had elected to walk back to the hotel since Dean pitched a 'I need my baby if I'm going to do this' fit. "Not exactly used to talking about orgies over dinner."
"Oh, you get used to it when you're friends with Tony. There's no telling what he or Clint or Thor will come up with." Carol was hunched into her jacket, hair drifting across her face as they passed by a large office building, mostly empty at this hour of the evening. "But I'm happy to avoid the visit to Bunny's house."
"If it gets us the bowl, Dean will just have to take one for the team," Sam laughed, thinking about how slowly Dean was probably driving right now; his mind jumped ahead to the hotel room, no one there but the beautiful woman walking next to him. Despite his earlier decision to not get involved, his body was running on its own agenda.
"That's why we keep Tony around." Carol's cheeks were rosy, and Sam imagined they'd be cool to the touch if he let his fingers graze her face; she was smiling at him when he saw the figure in front of them, standing on the corner of the next cross street, just under a street light. He blinked, clearing his eyes, but she was still there, dark hair unmoving, her shirt spattered with the blood from the gunshot wound.
"What the hell?" By the time he uttered the phrase, she was in front of him, reaching, hand settling on Sam's arm; a searing pain burned him and he tried to jerk away, but her fingers were talons that buried their way into his flesh with agonizing sharpness.
"Sam!" Carol grabbed the woman and pulled her away, pushing her back a few steps. A low rumble issued from the woman's throat, rising quickly to a howl; hands grabbed again, latching onto Sam. Lovely face was contorted with rage, eyes like an animal, teeth elongated. Sam grunted as he felt the touch through his clothes, searching with his free hand for the gun tucked in his belt. This time, Carol shoved with more strength, and the attacker went flying across the street, smashing face first down into a parked car; she simply peeled herself off the metal and stood up, staring at them. Two pedestrians skittered backwards, away from the scene. "What is she?"
"Not a ghost, but she's …she's dead." He was rattled, the memory of the feel of the trigger in his hand, the look of trust in her eyes that faded to glassy nothing. "Not a zombie. Zombies don't burn when they touch."
"Maybe we should get off the street." Carol's voice sounded strained as she stared over Sam's shoulder; with a quick glance, he saw a Middle Eastern man striding towards them, body riddled with bullet holes, earning startled glances from the other people on the street. They sped up, heading towards the hotel, just a few blocks ahead, cutting across the green space of the National Mall, followed the whole way; as they approached the World War II Memorial, another woman blocked their path, black hair, short, blood soaking her t shirt under her leather jacket. Rushing them, the three moved with preternatural speed, herding Sam and Carol into the circle of the white columns.
"Water," Sam yanked Carol towards the pool and fountains, taking her with him as he jumped the edge; cold splashed as she sank down to her thighs. "Water can cancel magic."
"Sam." One of the women said. "You can't stay in there forever. It's time to face what you've done."
"You're dead, Ruby." Sam pushed Carol behind him, drawing his gun. He knew he had silver bullets but had no idea if they would make any difference to these monsters. "And if you were a ghost, you wouldn't be Ruby, would you?"
"Does it really matter?" Ruby asked. "I'm here and I have a score to settle. You held me Sam while Dean killed me. After all we were to each other."
"Sam," Carol said. "There's more behind us." As Carol kept her eyes forward, Sam saw two more men, recognizing the vampiric smile of Gordon Walker, the other unknown to him.
"Can't be the rising of the witnesses," Sam said, thinking out loud.
"Never were that smart, Sam," Gordon drawled behind him. "You can't throw forces out of balance and expect it not to come back to bite you." Even as he spoke, more forms were appearing, some recognizable, others merely shadow figures, no faces to see.
"Damn," Sam cursed as they closed in from all sides. Arms circled around his chest, stepping up and holding on.
"Hang on," Carol said, and, feeling her small jump, his feet left the ground, out of the water, just as the first hands came close; howls of frustration sounded as Carol blasted out of the pool. They were flying, honest to god, ground dropping away beneath them and leaving pursuit behind them. Sam turned to look at Carol; her eyes were serious, but she smiled when she saw his own grin.
….
Dean made sure to catch the first few lights so they fell further and further behind Bunny's Range Rover. He kept to the speed limit and took the congested main roads until Clint was laughing at him.
"I'm pretty sure Tony and Bunny are just joking about the whole orgy thing," Clint offered, patting Dean on the knee. "Tony and Pepper are pretty solid right now. Anyway, Bunny's not my type."
"Very funny, ha, ha." Dean slowed to take a turn onto the 395 bridge to cross the Potomac. "Are you sure Stark's an asset? Seems more like a joker to me."
"Tony always comes through when we need him. Besides, he has the same sense of humor you do." Clint needled.
The person was standing at a crosswalk as they slowed to stop at the light; Dean saw the hole in his forehead, ringed with blood and gunshot residue, his yellow eyes shining as he walked towards the car.
"Dean?" Clint said. "Are you seeing dead people too?"
Dean glanced over at the passenger window; a large man in a purple costume was reaching for the car. The sound of fingernails on glass caught his attention, and he turned back to see Azazel's hand flat on his window; he could feel the heat radiating outward as the dead demon eased his fingers through the safety glass.
"That's not normal, is it?" Clint asked, scooting away from the door.
"Hell, no." Dean hit the gas, lurching forward into the intersection just as the light turned green, almost clipping the bumper of an SUV; they drove towards the next light, weaving in and out of the late evening traffic. Just as they approached, the light shifted to yellow. Alastair appeared in the street before them, a sinister smile as he beckoned them to stop. Instead, Dean floored it, racing through the light after it turned red, slamming right into the grinning demon. Whatever it was flowed around the car, dropping the image to reveal blackness churning with multi-colored lights; it split and oozed apart as they passed. In the rearview mirror, he could see it reform, the familiar face emerging from the darkness.
"Okay. That's officially weird." Clint's phone was vibrating; Tony's voice spilled out when he answered.
"What the hell is going on? I'm all Haley Joel Osment here! We've got dead people," he shouted. "They're after me, it seems. Or else my dad's ghost has bad taste in women."
Clint looked at Dean, who could only shrug as he tried to avoid another figure, one he didn't recognize. "We've got them too. Don't know what they are, but you can't run them down with a car."
"They're not ghosts, but try iron or silver. And running water protects from magic." Dean offered, blatantly running the next light to hang a left onto a smaller road with less traffic. "Call Sam. See if he's got anything."
…..
Carol slammed the door, directing an energy blast to melt the handle closed; they'd landed on the roof and taken the stairs down at a run, their pursuers materializing right behind them.
"I don't think these things use doors, Carol," Sam said, nodding over his shoulder to the living area. Ghazi was standing, waiting for them.
"Maybe I can absorb the energy or …" Carol began, but stopped when she saw Sam draw his knife across his forearm in a long shallow cut. Moving to the wall, he used his blood to draw a strange symbol.
"Come here." He held out his hand to her, and she went. He was the expert on this kind of thing, and she realized she trusted him. Standing behind him, they waited, letting the five distinct figures move closer, the shadows following, until they could almost touch them. Without warning, Sam slammed his hand onto the symbol and spoke some words – Latin, she thought, but she wasn't sure. The figures screamed, unearthly high pitched sounds that jabbed right into her brain, their human faces burning off to reveal a roiling black mass with colors and swirls churning inside. Then the blackness burst, the membrane holding it together dissolving, colors whirling in the room, then imploding with a loud clap. Silence then, except for their labored breathing.
"Damn. Wasn't sure that would work." Sam flew into action, scrounging in the kitchen for some supplies. "Get the candles from the table. We don't have much time. They're not gone, just dispersed for the moment."
Carol did as she was told, following Sam into the bedroom he'd used last night, dumping everything they were carrying on the unslept in second bed. Sam immediately rooted around in his duffle, coming up with a cardboard container of salt and tossing it to her.
"Line the windows. Then we need to ward every wall they could come through. Windows too."
She watched how he put a thick line of salt across the bottom of the door, so she did the same to the big windows, checking the bathroom which, thankfully, didn't have any. Then he began drawing a series of symbols on the doorway; without hesitation, she took the proffered knife and sliced her own arm, copying them exactly on the other walls. They even did the outer walls, unsure if the height of the building would be a problem. As they did, Sam talked, explaining what he was doing.
"It's the language of angels, Enochian. Most powerful runes I know. These are the warding runes, meant to keep even angels out. The one outside can blow an angel out of its body and back to heaven. I hoped it would be overkill for these things."
Just then, both of their phones rang. Carol finished up the last symbol and answered.
"Yeah, Tony we're fine. Look, find a room, preferably one with as few doors and windows as possible. Line the entrances with salt. I'm going to send you a picture of some symbols. Paint them on each wall … yes, all of them, these things can come through walls … and you have to use blood … yes, blood … no Tony I'm not shitting you. Shut up, okay? Just do it. Here's the pic." She sent a quick image and cut the connection; Sam was obviously talking to Clint.
"Tell Dean to treat them like angels. The warding works. What? Hell." Sam put his hand over the phone and spoke to Carol. "They're in the car."
Her phone rang again, this time a New York number that she didn't recognize. No one had this number but team members; curious, she answered.
"Carol. Something is happening in Washington DC. I can feel it." The deep voice boomed out of her phone.
"Strange? How did you… never mind. Look, we've got some sort of energy creatures here. They take the form of someone you know, someone who's dead, but they're all black with swirly colors on the inside. Sam said that Enochian warding works, but Clint's out in a car." Despite the fact that she found Doctor Strange to be pretty damn creepy with his calling before she could even think of needing his help … and the cape was just showy … he was probably one of the few people who could actually help them.
"Enochian? I didn't realize anyone even knew that language anymore. I would like to meet this Sam fellow at a future date when things are not so dangerous. As for now, consecrated ground should also suffice as a protection; similar principle to the wards. Consecrated, not just holy ground."
"Consecrated ground." Carol told Sam. "Tell them to find some. Not holy, but consecrated."
"Clint? Can you hear me? Consecrated ground…" Sam continued; it was like a game of tag, passing messages along.
"This spell, for this is magic, should last only until sunrise. I will endeavor to determine what this new power is. Perhaps it is not new so much as new to me. The flavor is very old, indeed. I will contact you if I have any more information." The line went dead.
Tossing the phone on the bed, Carol leaned against the wall and slid slowly down, bending her knees and laying her forehead on them as she sat. Wet jeans squelched as she began to shiver, the after effects of adrenaline and the cold hitting her all at once. Zombies, ghosts, energy monsters … suddenly fighting doombots didn't seem all that exotic.