Author's note: Here's the new chapter. No one dies here. Well, except the people who are already dead... Thanks, Tmk13, NeonBlackRoseRevived and KAL for your suport.


10.13.2015 Thursday (and again)

Mercy, Smith County, Kansas

Don't take Cas into the warehouse.

Dean rubbed his tired eyes and tried to focus on the case, but the headache threatened to squeeze his brain through his ears. He hadn't slept well the night before. He was already used to nightmares from Hell, but this was something different. He remembered fragments of a dream that were extremely disturbing, especially the image of his own fingers, sticky with Cas' blood.

"Dean?"

He looked at his hands again, for the tenth time in the last half hour.

"Dean? Are you alright?" The voice startled him, almost as if he had forgotten that the angel was sitting across the table.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the hunter replied weary.

"What do you think?"

"Maybe it's a witch." Dean slid the pictures carefully back into the folder. "I hate witches," he added quietly, more to himself. "I thought we should first look at the bodies, but the pathologist is out of town until tomorrow, so we'll have to start with something else."

"The warehouse, where they found the first two victims?" Cas suggested absentmindedly.

Don't take Cas into the warehouse.

The thought popped into his mind, vivid and not quite meaningless. The hunter looked at his hands again and shivered as his skin crawled. He thought he must have caught Sammy's flu, but part of him somehow knew that this was not the cause of the headache and cold. He decided it was better to trust his instincts, no matter how crazy everything seemed.

And speaking of crazy... Most of the faces in the small cafe seemed so familiar that the entire time he was looking around intently, his fingers sought his knife. He felt particularly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, and local 'famous' coffee made him sick. He pushed the cup aside and tried to decide which way to go over the investigation. To find any connection between the victims, if ever there was one. They had to inspect the bodies, to visit the vic's homes to talk to their friends and families.

"The warehouse. Yes..." Then he hesitated for a moment. "No, I have a better idea."

"Anything else, sweetie?" The cute redhaired waitress asked, smiling with her green eyes at Castiel.

"Actually," said Dean. "Yes. Would you please direct us to the clinic?"


"Mercy Grace" Clinic, Mercy, Smith County, Kansas

"I think you mentioned that the pathologist is out of town."

"Right." Dean shifted the lock pick into the doorknob. There was a click and it opened quietly, creaking slightly. He looked at his friend from below and his face slid into a sly smile. "When has that ever stopped me before?"

The hunter looked around once more and quickly slipped inside, making an impatient gesture with his hand for Cas to follow him.

"I believe this is an illegal act," Cas noted vaguely as the angel followed him down the long, narrow corridor.

"Ya think, Sherlock?" Dean grinned over his shoulder, as he was reading the inscriptions on nearby doors.

He walked to the end of the hallway to the Morgue's door and pressed down the handle. It opened with no problem. The hunter carefully felt around the wall until found the light switch.

"I love small towns," he said.

The room they entered was narrow and the air felt cool. In one corner was a desk stacked with documents and records. Undereath the lone shaded window stood a table and autopsy set. On the wall opposite the desk was positioned a morgue refrigerator with four sections.

Dean was reviewing the records on the desk.

"It seems here are only the last two bodies," he said, "The rest were handed over to relatives. Number two," he opened and pulled the compartment open, "and three. You feel anything strange?"

One body was a dark-haired woman, early fifties and the other one was young man.

"Cas, would you..."

Dean turned to his friend when there was no response. The angel was watching intently at something behind his back, his face darkened and his hand was clutching the angel blade. The hunter turned back for a split second, his fingers tightened around the handle of Ruby's knife.

"I will not harm you."

The voice came from a little girl who was standing next to the woman's body. The cadaver was no more than ten years, with brown wavy hair and dressed in a white dress.

"Uh, Cas?" Dean asked without turning. His eyes remained fixed on the tiny figure, watching for the smallest threatening gesture.

"She's a reaper," Cas replied briefly, then turned to the child, "What do you want?"

"As I said, I will not harm you." The child's voice sounded wrong now that the hunter knew what was against him. "I came here to reap and accompany these two souls to Heaven. This form," she smoothed her dress, "this is Emily, youngest daughter of Evelyn Carmichael, deceased when she was eleven years old. I decided this way will be easier for them."

Dean watched the girl's movements while he was listening her to her intently.

"But when I came here... " she hesitated, as if was searching for the right words, "it's better to show you."

The girl made a gesture to Cas to come over. The two men looked at each other and nodded, and then the angel stepped forward.

"Can you feel the soul of this woman, Castiel?" They exchange worried looks again and the girl smiled, "I know who you are. That's exactly why I manifested myself; I wanted to talk to you."

Cas placed his hesitant hand on the forehead of the dead woman and his face darkened.

"This is not possible." He shook his head. "What happened to her?"

"Her soul was torn apart, piece by piece, slowly and painfully," the reaper said, her face filled with grief. "Until nothing was left. She was absorbed."

"Great, " Dean said. "That's exactly what we need, another soul-eating monster."

"Is it the same with the other one?" Castiel asked.

The girl shook her head sadly and again gestured him to come over. Cas' hand laid for a moment the cold forehead of the man. He withdrew it, almost startled, and his eyes widened.

"How ...?"

"What do you feel Castiel?" she asked, though it was clear that she knew the answer.

The angel didn't answered, only bowed his head.

"Let me tell you," the girl continued, "what is this feeling, which is passing through the skin of your vessel and touching with its soiled fingers your true form. It is dark and sinister; it bear the imprint of Hell's flames and screams of thousands of tormented souls. This is the same thing I felt the first time I touched him."

"Cas?" Dean urged, "What the hell is going on?"

"This soul," Castiel spoke softly after a few seconds, "It is corrupted, twisted, and almost demonic."

"Is he possessed?" The hunter didn't understand.

Castiel shook his head.

"Then what?"

"Dean Winchester," the reaper addressed him, "tell me how you corrupted the souls in Hell."

The man's hand winced around the handle of the knife at the memories that invaded his head.

"Torture. Many violent deaths," he said, his voice trembled faintly. "You mean the same has happened to this man? Within 24 hours? How is it possible?"

"I do not have all the answers," she said. "But I'll tell you what I know. These are not the only cases."

"Yeah, we know that," Dean said. "There were two more pairs within the last ten days."

"Yes," the girl confirmed, "but what you do not know is that there are many similar cases scattered around the country over the past eighteen months. Not detected because they are isolated and no one has so far made the connection. But among the reapers the word is spreading."

"So this thing, or things, however, kills more than a year, kept a low profile and now suddenly decided to crawl out of its hole and attract some attention? There's no point."

"This is all I know," the reaper said, "And I'm as puzzled as you are. Moreover, I came here to accompany two righteous humans in Heaven, and now have to forcibly drag this miserable tormented soul in the Pit."

With these words the girl disappeared.

"She gone?" Dean still looked nervously around.

"Yes." Cas nodded as they put the weapons back.

"Is it true?" He thoughtfully rubbed his neck. "What she said?

"I'm afraid so."

"So one person becomes a demon and the other is torn to pieces?"

"That's not quite accurate," Castiel explained. "To corrupt a soul in such a way, in such a short time..." he sighed wearily, "I don't know, It requires great power. Moreover, very few beings are able to tear and absorb human souls."

"Amara?" Dean asked the question he most feared.

"No," the angel said, "If we can believe the reaper, it has begun before her being released. And the pattern is different."

"I'll check that. Later I'll call Sam to make some..."

Dean couldn't finish the sentence because suddenly the headache intensified to unbearable limits, and he closed his eyes in a painful grimace. The world spun around him and he sought support in desk to hold to his feet steady. His ears were ringing and dull pain throbbed in his temples, making him sick. Under his clenched eyes, suddenly appeared bright but foggy images.

Imprint of wings burned on a dirty floor.

A demon, with a steaming weapon in his hand.

His fingers, sticky with Castiel's blood.

Dean pressed his head in his hands and groaned softly. He heard his name somewhere from afar, the voice was filled with concern and he tried to focus on it and pushed the pain aside.

Then he felt cold fingers on his hot skin and relief that flowed into him like a wave washed away the pain and visions, leaving only a sense of security and calmness.

He blinked slowly and opened his eyes. Dean saw that was sitting on the floor in front of the desk, and Castiel was kneeling beside him. Cas' fingers were still on hunter's forehead and his expression didn't bode no good.

"Dean?"

"Yes, I'm fine." He shook his head to get rid of the awkward touch. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Cas looked at him with narrowed eyes and head slightly tilted sideways. "Something is wrong."

"Will you be specific, or..."

"You fainted," the angel stated obviously.

Well, on the other hand he was right.

Dean struggled on his feet, then again leaned on the smooth wooden surface when the world spun around him. He closed his eyes for a moment to suppress nausea and then took a few uncertain steps.

"Here," he said, "now everything's fine."

"Dean..."

If he got a coin every time he heard his name spoken with insistent long-drawn manner of Castiel, he would be been rich and retired, he thought. However, his friend's concern was somehow touching.

"I'll buy it. What's wrong?"

"Your soul," the angel bowed his head, "is damaged."

"Yeah, tell me something new."

"No, I mean like the victims. " Insistent anxiety in Castiel's voice wiped the smile from Dean's face.

"You mean…" He shook his head. "But how is that possible? We just came here."

"I don't know."

"Okay. If so, there must be a second victim, right?"

Dean was still trying to digest the news and the best way to do that was working. He had to harness his mind into something useful, not to think that after a few hours he would be one of the bodies that will be splayed out on the autopsy table.