Supernatural
"Family Ties – Chapter 2"
Sam stared at the computer screen taking in the horror that befell him. Hundreds had been massacred in a small town forty five miles from where he sat. As they lay in their beds, death visited them one by one in horrifying fashion. Each had been stabbed violently and left to bleed to death. Sam had not seen this kind of evil in a long time. He began to attribute it to a band of leftover Metatron supporters exacting revenge for their captured leader.
Castiel was finishing his task of scouring the earth for the rest of the fallen angels. Heaven was still in chaos with no leader. They all wanted him to lead, but Castiel was reluctant, fearing the result of too much power. He had not forgotten the last time he was empowered. Many angels met their demise. As Castiel was searching, he also did reconnaissance on the whereabouts of Sam and Dean's twin sister. The demon airwaves were pretty silent with not much to offer.
Sam grew impatient more and more each day. The idea of having another family member alive kept him up at night, thinking about all the birthdays and family reunions he had missed. He was angry at his father for keeping this secret from him and Dean. They had a right to know. She had a right to know if she didn't know already. Then another thought hit him; what if she did know and decided not to reach out. It was hard to fathom but not impossible. He wondered what she looked like, how she acted, what she liked and disliked. Did she have Dean's broody attitude with his lust for classic rock and muscle cars? Did she have the soft side that he had, the intelligence, the need for more knowledge. Was she, too, a hunter? The questions kept raging in his head. He took a sip of the last beer and shut his laptop.
It had been four weeks since Dean's death, and Castiel kept regular contact every few days with Sam, but he couldn't shake the loneliness. When Dean was in Pergatory, the loneliness had not been this bad, but he still had Bobby then. He could hear Bobby's voice echo in his head with the incessant grumblings, idgit name calling, and sarcastic comments. Sam smiled when a particular memory of Bobby and Dean arguing over muscle cars crept in.
"I miss you, you old crabby bastard," and took another sip of his beer.
He packed up the laptop, shut the lights off, and headed out to the Impala. He sat in the front seat and took in the smell of the leather, the way it sounded when he shifted in it, and just tried to focus on the task at hand. Grieving for his father hadn't been this hard. He cranked the engine, and it roared in exultation. At least he still had the car to remember Dean by.
Castiel suddenly appeared in the passenger seat, startling Sam.
"Geez, Cas. You scared the crap out of me. You gotta quit doing that."
Cas looked at him unamused, "I assume you would have gotten used to that by now, Sam."
"Yeah, afraid not, man. Whatcha got? Anything new?" Sam tried to mask his melancholy.
"Afraid not, Sam. The demons are either keeping it pretty hush-hush or they don't know anything. I have not exhausted my efforts though. I would suggest reaching out to the hunter community to see if maybe your father once confided in any of them regarding her whereabouts."
"I dunno, Cas. If he couldn't even tell his own family, why would he tell a bunch of strangers?"
"There's freedom in telling strangers or acquaintances secrets without the possibility of judgment, Sam. That was a huge burden for him to carry."
Sam hadn't thought of it that way. He guessed ignorance was truly bliss. The less you knew, the safer you would be. He reconsidered his frustration and anger toward his father. It was time to let it go.
"I guess you're right. I've been wondering what she's like; if she's anything like Dean."
Castiel was an angel of few words and little obvious humor, but with his time spent on earth during the period which he had no grace, he'd learned a little about being human.
"Let's hope she's nothing like Dean. I've gotten my fill of references to pie or quippy pop culture comments."
Sam couldn't help but laugh. He could imagine Dean sitting there listening in and having a snarky response
"I miss him, Cas. This has been the hardest month of my life."
Castiel sat in silence for a few moments, and Sam began to wonder if he was paying attention.
"I miss him, too, Sam. Even though he was rough around the edges, he was still a passionate man, hell-bent on doing the right thing."
Wanting a break from the monotony of wallowing in self-pity, Sam changed the subject.
"So what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Cas?" he grinned sarcastically.
Castiel was still staring out of the passenger window, intently thinking of somewhere or something else.
"Cas?" Sam asked."
"Oh, sorry. I came to ask if you'd heard about the massacre in Armstrong, Iowa?"
Sam was a taken aback. What were the odds he would come talk to him about this very event?
"Yeah, in fact, I was on my way there to check it out. Want to come with?"
"Yes, I do, actually. The event itself is a tragedy, but something isn't setting right with me. I haven't seen this kind of bloodshed in a while. It has demon written all over it."
Sam agreed silently. He hadn't wanted to take on any hunting trips since Dean's death, but to ignore this one would almost be inhumane. Sam put the car in gear and drove west toward Armstrong. When they arrived, media vans, police, and government officials crowded every street corner. It was a circus, and Sam knew he would eventually have to pull out the old FBI suit to get some answers.
"For old time's sake, want to do the FBI partner thing with me? I got a great set of names done up recently. Agents Lee and Neil?"
Castiel stared blankly back at Sam.
"Oh come on, Cas. Tommy Lee and Vince Neil…you know, from Motley Crue."
"Sounds like two names we probably shouldn't use if they're from a motley crew," Castiel replied, deadpan in typical Castiel fashion.
"Agents Lee and Neil it is," Sam chuckled triumphantly.
He pulled into a parking space and put the car in park. Glancing around the crowd, he noticed a few areas cordoned off by police tape with little human presence.
"Let's try there first. Doesn't seem to be a lot of people hanging around so we'll have little resistance getting in. Of course, I don't see us getting hassled too much by the local fuzz. They've got too much on their hands right now. This place is a madhouse," Sam pointed to an apartment building one block down from them.
As they walked up to the front door, a deputy stood outside guarding the entrance. Sam and Castiel flipped their badges open so he could see.
"FBI. I'm Agent Lee. This is Agent Neil. What happened here?" Sam inquired.
The officer looked warily at Sam, and his face was stricken with despondency. Sam figured this officer had seen things that should only be in horror movies and nightmares.
"Pure hell, man. Some psycho went through about forty homes this weekend and slayed hundreds of people. This little town has never seen the likes of this."
The officer appeared he was going to break down any moment. Exhaustion was written all over his face. Sam guessed many sleepless nights were in store for the officer. He, too, had once had those dreams, shortly after seeing some of the stuff Dean dragged him into for the first time.
The officer continued with his story, "The bodies, they were…practically gutted. Whoever did this was filled with pure hatred."
Sam spoke up, hoping to lighten the situation, "Did anyone find the murder weapon? Was the same weapon used for all the murders?"
The officer shook his head, "No, we didn't find it, but yes, some kind of knife or blade was used on all of the victims. Roughly an eight inch blade with a serrated edge, but –" the officer hesitated, carefully articulating the words in his head, "the blade was not a regular knife, not cleanly carved out. The cuts were very jagged and wide. It's hard to make out what kind of weapon it was…maybe some of kind of makeshift shiv. It's just horrible what he did to those people."
The deputy trailed off into thoughts and conversations inside his own head. Noticing he wasn't going to get much else out of him, Sam thanked him and asked to go inside. As he and Castiel crossed the threshold, splatters of blood on the walls were the first things they noticed. The murderer had slung the blood when ejecting the knife from his victim. A large pool of blood lie in the middle of the living room next to the couch. Sam knelt down to get a better look at the surroundings. The couch was shifted out of its original position, indicating there may have been a struggle. Blood was smeared down one of the cushions indicating the victim was initially stabbed while sitting or lying on the couch, then eventually ended up in the floor where they ultimately died.
Sam looked up at Castiel, who was pacing the room, "Cas, you getting anything?"
"This was bad, Sam. The world hasn't seen this type of evil in a couple hundred years."
"So you know what did this?" Sam asked.
"No, not exactly. I can't pinpoint it, but I can sense so much anger and hatred. And this was done to almost two hundred people in two days. They must've moved with a wicked speed, which screams demon to me. That, and there weren't any witnesses to intruders."
Castiel's face was pale. His posture was rigid as he walked, and Sam had never seen his friend like this.
"You ok, Cas?"
"No, Sam. I'm worried. I don't think the two of us alone can handle this. We're going to need help."
"Well, who do you have in mind? The angels? Because I'm not sure I trust any of them at this point. No offense."
"Your concerns are completely warranted, Sam. I don't disagree with you, but we may not have a choice in the matter."
"Well, maybe we can find a few demons to shake up to get more info to see what we're dealing with. That is, if this was really a demon's work," Sam said.
"Oh, it's definitely the work of a demon. The smell of sulfur is so strong that it would probably make my human-self vomit."
Sam didn't want to say what he was thinking. He didn't want to take that route again. Besides, there was no guarantee it would work. He hadn't seen or heard from Crowley since Dean's death. It was all quiet on the demon home front…which made Sam uneasy. He wondered if it was the silence before the break of a storm.
"What about –"
"Don't say Crowley, Sam. You know what that could mean by summoning him. He wouldn't help out of the kindness of his heart. There's always a deal at play," Castiel interrupted.
"I know, Cas, but he owes me. He owes Dean, for what he got him into. The Mark of Cain, the First Blade. He has to get Dean out of this situation he put him in. Look, I'm not saying we have to be all buddy-buddy with him. Trust me, I want to kill him as much as the next angel, but if anybody knew what was going on here, it would definitely be him."
"Sam, that's asking for trouble. A trouble we can't afford to get into. Now that he has his kingdom back, there's no telling what army he might have amassed. Heaven is weak and disoriented. It would be perfect timing for him to make a move."
Sam sighed. He didn't know what to do, and calling on Crowley seemed to be their only option. Meg was dead, so there was no point to call upon her. Ruby was long gone. Crowley was their only demonic connection, but Castiel was right. Crowley would demand something in return if wanted to do anything at all…and Sam had nothing to offer.
"We just have to try. Demons are few and far between these days, Cas. Capturing one that will talk is hard enough. Crowley's our only shot."
"I can't stand by and let you do that, Sam. It's too dangerous. You know of all people that Crowley cannot be trusted."
"We can always trap him again, like at the bunker. Just place devil's traps everywhere, then summon him into one." Sam was pleading. He wouldn't deny that he was desperate.
Castiel appeared to wrestle with the idea. Sam could tell that he was agitated by being put in a corner. They didn't have a choice.
Before Castiel could reply, Sam spoke, "We'll do it tonight after sunset. After we find a place and put down traps. We can do this, Cas. It really is our only option. I get it. I don't like it either."
Castiel relented and sighed. He was done talking and vanished before Sam's eyes. Sam knew there was point in calling him back, but now he wondered if he was going to do this alone.
Sam managed to find an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. He stopped at a hardware store beforehand and purchased a basket load of red spray paint. He took every precaution he could think of, and he wouldn't rest until he had an answer from Crowley.
A sigil was drawn on the floor with a piece of chalk, and three candles lay at centered points around a bowl. Sam put the summoning ingredients in and stopped. He started to second guess his decision. His relationship with Crowley was different now. Dean was no longer around so he had no leverage over Sam with him. Honestly, he had no leverage over him at all. Sam no longer cared what happened to his life. He was alone now…but as this thought occurred to him, he remembered his sister. He still had to find her. Then a second thought crossed his mind. What if Crowley knew something about her? Could he get that out of him, too? Then again, he could be placing her in harm's way if Crowley didn't know about her. The war in Sam's mind wreaked havoc on his nerves.
"Stop it," he yelled at himself. "He already knows about her, otherwise the demons wouldn't be looking for her at all."
He did find it odd that Crowley hadn't dangled that tidbit in front of them at some point. Crowley thrived off of manipulation, and that would've been a doozy.
He placed a knife over his forearm and proceeded to cut himself for the blood offering. The blood slowly dripped into the bowl, and the smell of iron hit him in the face. Thoughts of his past of when he once consumed blood crept up into his mind. Where had that come from? He hadn't thought of that in years. He shook his head and concentrated on the incantation now that he was ready.
"Et ad congregandum...eos coram me."
He lit a match and dropped it into the bowl. The contents blossomed into a smooth amber glow. He stood up, ready for whatever responded.
After a few moments, Crowley popped into the room with a quiet flutter.
"Moose. What do I owe this pleasure? I thought you were sore at me."
"Cut the crap, Crowley. You owe me answers."
"I owe you answers? Now what makes you think I owe you anything? The King of Hell owes no one," Crowley grinned.
"Yeah, you owe me. You got Dean into that Mark of Cain and First Blade crap, and now he's dead. So yeah, you owe me some retribution. What's going on in this town? Is one of your cronies loose?"
Crowley paced slowly back and forth across the floor when he looked down and noticed the Devil's Trap he was standing in.
"Clever as always, huh, Moose?" he pointed at the trap. "Do you ever tire of these tricks? They're starting to get old."
"Enough, Crowley. Answer my question. Did a demon do this? And who?"
Crowley chuffed. He held his hand up to his face, eyeing his finely manicured nails. He turned his hand over and wiggled his fingers.
"Oh Moose. I grow weary of getting my hands dirty. I recently discovered manicures. Lovely things. Who knew we were missing out? Anyway, since I don't like to get my hands dirty anymore, I just let my protégé handle everything now. He seems to get his jollies from his handiwork, so I just let him do what he wants."
"Protégé? Who are you talking about, Crowley?
Crowley stopped pacing and stared directly at Sam. The edges of his smile seemed to touch ear to ear. Sam knew he was cooking something in that sadistic head of his.
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
Sam heard two footsteps close behind him. Anticipating a blow, he swung around with his arms raised, ready for a fight.
Sam's stomach nearly jumped up into his throat. He squinted, thinking maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. Dean stood in the doorway, with the First Blade in hand and eyes black as midnight.