Taking some major liberties with Celtic lore here; assume that everything you read here is fiction, including the creatures. R & R!

Sam walked barefoot alongside the swimming pool, surprised at how warm it was. Figures, he thought. She got knocked up with a McLaughlin, got promotions, extra money, the works. Heated concrete's the obvious next step.

He and Dean had returned to Jennifer Tierney's house to have another look around, as Merida had cut the last one short. They were in the backyard, looking for anything that might help them catch their monster. It was dark and should have been cold, but the heat from the pool and the ground had also warmed the air. Dean poked around in the bushes with the end of a pool net, looking for god knew what.

"It's a banshee, Dean, not a sparrow. It's not going to be in the bushes."

"Shaddup," Dean said. "Maybe Jenny hid some banshee-nip back here, and we can toss it into an empty dumpster and close the lid when our little Fay Wray shows up. We could be done with this shit tonight."

"Fat chance," Sam said, dipping his toes into the water.

Dean replied, but Sam couldn't make out the words; Dean was crawling through the bushes now, making them rustle.

Sam laughed. "You got company in there?"

The rustling continued, then stopped abruptly.

Dean didn't emerge.

"You okay?"

Nothing.

"Dean?"

Sam jogged over to the bushes, peering inside. Dean was nowhere to be found.

"Dean!"

"Now, hush, sugar," Merida said. "You'll wake the neighbors."

She was sitting on one of the poolside lounge chairs, naked. Her hair covered her breasts and most of her midsection, her legs folded cleverly to conceal everything else. She perched her chin on her knee, smiling coyly at Sam.

"What the hell did you do with him?"

She feigned insult. "Sam, how could you think me so wicked? I haven't done anything to your precious Dean."

Sam whirled around, looking for Dean and any other trap she might have laid. If Bobby was right, he would have to be a lot more careful from now on; every new person he met might be out to kill him, or use him.

He saw nothing and turned back to face her, holding out the pool net Dean had been using like a sword.

"What do you want, Merida?"

She shrugged. "Just your help."

"Why should I help you do anything? You attacked me!"

"That was a mistake, I admit," she said. The playfulness left her and she turned solemn and resolute. "But I'm gettin' desperate, all right? I cain't afford to wait on you and your brother to decide I'm not after your demon powers or whatever you want to call 'em."

"Desperate? Why?"

"The life of people like me is rough, Sam," she said. "I'm sure I don't have to explain all that to you. But the time to break my curse is running out. When the banshee is finished with its' work – "

Sam narrowed his eyes. "So it is you. You've been killing all of these people. Why?"

"It's not me," she snapped. "I'm just a conduit. It's the curse. Both of them."

"Both?" Sam had gradually been moving toward her, and now he sat down across from her on another of the lounges. "There are two?"

"Yes. Mine and the McLaughlins'."

"They're cursed," he said thoughtfully. "That's how they've been so successful. They made some kind of deal, didn't they?"

Merida nodded. "Siobhan, that was her name, the one who made the deal. She swore on…a family heirloom that if she and her family found safe passage and prosperity in the New World, she'd give seven souls of her progeny to the beast as payment."

"And now it's time to pay up."

"Three hundred years to date."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Why would this beast accept a deal like that? I mean, seven souls for three hundred years of plenty? Why is he such a cheap date?"

"He's anything but. The seven souls give him the power to come to earth."

"And do what?"

"Eat."

Sam grimaced.

She shrugged again. Her hair slipped away from her breast, leaving it uncovered. Sam did his best not to stare. "Old world gods are simple. They come, they eat, they leave."

"So how did the banshee get involved in all this? Nothing in the lore says anything about banshees bargaining or eating people."

"Banshees are carriers," Merida said. "Bound to the beast. They used to say the banshee screamed until it scared the condemned's spirit from his body, but the noise really just causes a massive seizure and kills them. The beast gets the spirit, the banshee gets out of its cage for a while, and everybody wins."

Sam fidgeted. It was far too hot out here, and Merida's hair had somehow slipped over her shoulders and onto her back, leaving him with a very generous view. It was odd; he hadn't seen her move very much and she seemed to have forgotten that she was naked.

"Sounds like they've got a pretty good deal going," he grumbled, trying to keep his mind on the subject at hand. "So how do you play into all this? Why is the banshee possessing you? Can't it scream on its own?"

"That," she said, frowning, "is the only reason I even considered approaching either of you. You're the only ones who can help me."

"Stop beating around the bush, Merida."

"I ran afoul of a witch a few months back. Though I'd killed him, but I hadn't, and he laid a whopper of a curse on me."

"What does it do?"

"Allows things to possess me. Anything I come across. You can imagine how bothersome it becomes for someone like me. Every spirit who calls out to me to help settle its debts can ride me like a ten speed."

Sam's eyes coursed over her. The sun in her hair, the curve of her breast, she…

The sun?

Sam looked around to find that the sun was high in the cloudless noonday sky. There were tan mountains off to his left and trees lined the street on the other side of Jennifer Tierney's backyard wall, green and full.

"What the hell?"

She frowned. "I said, spirits can possess me-"

"What's going on? Why is it daytime?" He stood and ran a hand through his hair, scanning the bushes for Dean again. He had forgotten Dean for a while there, and now hours had passed and he was still missing. Shit. She must have enchanted him again, and this time she hadn't been interrupted. "And where are we?"

She looked around. "You tell me, Sam. This is your party, after all."

"Wha-"

"You're asleep. This is a conference call."

He spluttered, turning in circles and taking everything in.

"Are we in Stanford?"

"This looks like Nor Cal, doesn't it?" She stood, walking over to where he was.

He fixed his gaze on the sky.

"You can invade my dreams," he said. "Dean's gonna love this."

"It's not like I can control you," she said, waving a hand in dismissal. "It's just a conversation. I can't even control where we are."

Sam swallowed. "You think you could put some clothes on?"

A slow smile spread over her face. "I can't do anything. I should point out that if you really wanted clothes on me, they'd be there."

"Is this why you marked me? So you could play Sandman?"

"I needed a way to talk to you. Your posable-action-figure brother would have killed me on sight if I'd tried to meet you in real time."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, he's a shoot first, ask questions never kind of guy."

"So I noticed."

"So what do you want me to do about this? I mean, we've gone up against curses before, and they're impossible to break. All you can do is get out of their way."

"This banshee thing is not like other curses," she said. "It's more of a deal-with-the-devil sort of thing. You kill the holder of the contract, so to speak, and-"

"The bet is off," Sam finished slowly.

"I said I could help you, Sam."

"Do you know who holds Dean's contract?"

"No," she said quickly. "But I know where the contract is. We get it, destroy it, and you're brother's home free."

Sam wracked his brain. "I've spent days on end looking for a way to break this deal. How come I've never heard of this?"

"The lore only includes things that humans have done. But you and Dean are anything but typical humans."

"We're just…" He couldn't think of an ordinary way to finish that sentence.

She smiled at him.

"It's almost time to go, Sam. Your brother's about to wake you."

"How do you kn-"

"It's not enough to kill the banshee. The god will just send another one. You have to get to him."

"What's his na-"

"SAM!"

He jerked awake, coughing and spluttering. He was wet from head to waist, and so was the bed under him. Dean and Bobby stood over him, Dean carrying a still-dripping bucket and looking distraught.

"Jesus," Sam said, wiping water from his face. "What the hell'd you do that for?"

"It's three thirty, you idjit," Bobby said, visibly relieved. "You've been sleeping like the dead since you hit the hay last night."

He sat up, looking around. Sunlight filtered in through the window at a low angle. "Oh."

"Oh?" Dean exhaled and tossed the bucket onto the floor. He sat down near Sam's feet.

Sam shrugged, wiping his face again.

"What the fuck happened, Sam? You were mumbling the whole time, but we didn't get a word of it." He put two fingers to his temple and a thumb on his cheek, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he looked less wound up. "Was it another one of your psychic visions? A psychic movie marathon?"

Sam hesitated before answering. "Yes and no."

Dean scowled.

Bobby rolled his eyes and reached under his bed. When his hand reappeared, there was a bottle of whiskey in it.

There was no point in hiding it from Dean; she had provided valuable information about the hunt that he couldn't have gotten any other way. Better leave out the part about finding Dean's contract, though.

"It was Merida."

Dean's eyes bulged dangerously in their sockets.

"You were right," Sam said hastily. "She is the one who's been killing these people. She gets possessed by the banshee, kills the vics, and the thing mauls their faces for entertainment, I guess. That's why the nails tested human."

Dean's fury began to give way to confusion.

"She told you that?"

Sam nodded. "The stuff in front of Jennifer's house – the mark – she just needed a way to talk to me in private. A witch cursed her, and she hoped we would come here to solve this case. She can't control the possessing spirits, Dean. She's been cursed, and so have the McLaughlins."

"Cursed? How? They've been riding the rainbow since time out of mind."

"Some kind of Faustian deal. An immigrant woman made a deal with a pagan god, promised him the souls of seven of her descendants in exchange for three hundred years of prosperity. Time's run out, and if the god gets all seven souls, he gets to come to earth and chow down."

"Let me guess," Dean said. "She needs us to kill the thing."

"Natually."

"And what does she get out of all this?" Bobby kicked off his shoes. "What does she want from you, Sam?"

"I…I'm not sure. Maybe to help break her curse."

"Can't break a curse, man. Just-"

"Get out of the way, I know, but she can't get out of the way. I woke up before she got to finish, but she said she's running out of time. I think when the banshee is done with all this, it might do something to Merida."

Dean glanced over at him. "She say that?"

"No. But it feels right."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Bobby pulled a messenger bag up from the floor on the other side of his bed. He reached inside for a book, setting it on his lap. "For now, we got to find out what god we have to kill. If the banshee's just some kind of courier, killin' it won't matter; monster'll just send another one."

"This thing have a name?" Dean looked over at Bobby, trying to read the cover of the book upside down.

"Woke up," Sam said. He tugged at his damp shirt. "Didn't get one."

"Well, if he's Irish, he's in here," Bobby said, waving the small book. "Encyclopedia of all things Celtic and evil."

"He sends shrieking bitches to do his dirty work, and he's chomping at the bit to get topside and have himself a big Sunday dinner. Should narrow things down, don't you think?"

"Must be our lucky day," Bobby said. "Right here on page twelve. Guess there are only a few flesh-eaters in the pantheon. Go figure."

Sam got up and walked over to where their bags were stashed, digging for dry clothes. "Who is it?"

"Anu," Bobby said. "God of plenty."

"God?" Sam pulled on a dry shirt. "Aren't most deities of prosperity and fertility female in Celtic lore?"

Dean turned slowly to face him, a bemused look on his face.

Sam shrugged.

"Took an elective about it. Seemed like it might be useful one day."

"This guy trades tribute for treasure. Used to take the bodies; guess the souls get him more bang for his buck." Bobby turned a page. "Must have made a killing during the potato famine."

"So how do we kill this asshole?"

"Well," he said, scanning a page before closing the book, "says here we have to get him to eat "the fruit of the evergreen of the mountains." Poison to him."

"There are thousands of evergreens. How do we know which one?"

Sam thought. "It'll be native to Ireland, and probably pretty rare," he said. "And it's got to have some kind of fruit that people might eat on it. People don't describe evergreen needles as "fruit.""

"Fine, Johnny Appleseed, a pine tree with berries or some shit. In Ireland. Even if we find it, how the hell are we gonna get it here?"

"Won't matter if Anu doesn't put in an appearance until it's too late," Bobby said. He stood, slipping his shoes back on. "We need the blood of his tribute to summon him. I'm going down to Corrina to get it."

"I'll come with you," Dean said. "I'm gonna burn this mother down if I don't get out of this friggin' room for a while. "

"Have your brains leaked out of your fool head, boy? You two can't go anywhere near the police station. The FBI is here – the real deal, remember them? – and they've heard about the two agents who rolled into town before the FBI even processed the request."

Dean started to complain but Bobby held up his hand. "Find out what you can about this Merida Fletcher, you two. If she really is on the up and up, she might have some idea where to find this evergreen. Don't do anything stupid, y'hear?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"What's with you?" Dean snapped after Bobby's car pulled out of the lot, pissed at being stuck in the motel room, once again.

Sam had been spacing out, thinking of Merida's mention of the family heirloom that Siobhan had sworn on to make the deal with the god. They might be able to use it to find him if they could get it.

He started to tell Dean about it, but for some reason that was unclear even to him, he held back. Perhaps it was because he suspected it might be useful somehow in breaking Dean's deal. He didn't see how that could be – Anu was no demon, and as far as they knew, had nothing to do with hell – but there was a connection there, he could feel it.

And maybe he didn't want to share all of Merida just yet. She might be screwing them over in a major way, but Sam didn't think so. I like her, he thought. I trust her. And she's one of the only people who gets what it's like to be…

What?

Psychic?

Infected with demon blood?

Tainted?

"Just thinking," he said. "He needs seven victims to fulfill this curse and stay on earth permanently. We should figure out who's next and warn them when we go to meet Merida."

"Mmm," Dean mumbled. "Three hundred years, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam chuckled. "He's patient, I'll give him that."

Dean's amused expression was tinged with sadness.

"Should have checked out the pagans before calling on the friendly neighborhood demon, huh?"

Sam started to reply, but Dean disappeared out the motel room door, closing it with a soft click. Sam watched his shadow move across the closed blinds as he leaned against the Impala.