AN: For disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

Much love to all readers (and especially reviewers 😚 😚 😚) I hope you enjoy.

Losing My Religion

Previously:

Wanda: "You don't think … I mean … a demon …"

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The young girl collapsed at the older woman's feet.

Wanda looked down at the unconscious form. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, but she would make it work.

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John: "Pack everything, then you're going to check in with Bobby."

Sam: "You know Uncle Bobby can't shoot you down the phone."

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Chapter 4: Every Waking Hour

More often than not, Bobby Singer would like nothing more than to take a baseball bat to the head of John Winchester. But it had been Sammy who called. Even if he wasn't one of the hardest little brats to say no to that ever existed, the fear-filled words 'Dean's in trouble' were all the salvager needed to put everything else, even his ire towards John Winchester, on hold to help.

A combination of motivation and experience meant that by the time the kid called back with the details of the motel where they were setting up base, he had some information for them.

"Singer, tell me you've got something," John demanded, grabbing the phone from Sam.

"Nothing good," the gruff voice was grimmer than usual. Bobby could feel John glaring at the phone and cleared his throat. "The four missing that Sammy told me about, ain't the only ones."

"What?" John demanded. "I checked with the police personally, they didn't mention anyone else."

"There's a pretty big transitory community that passes through that way. Some of them have reported others going missing. I doubt there are any official reports in the system. Looks like it wasn't taken seriously by anyone except the people that reported them. As my contact said, drifters drift, it's right there in the name."

"So that's what the crazy drunk was going on about. This thing's taking drifters?" John's voice had changed and Bobby was willing to bet his colour too.

"Crazy drunk?" Bobby queried but could hear Sammy at the same time.

"Did you set Dean up as bait?" The boy's voice was more distant, but he knew how to project when he was angry. Bobby was sure he'd also be staring intently at his dad, determined not to miss the slightest flicker of a tell.

"Of course not," John snapped. Bobby could fill in the blanks, Dean had been dropped at a squat of some sort. "It seemed the best way to keep him inconspicuous."

Sam's sceptical snort came clearly down the line, indicating he'd moved closer. Bobby grinned to himself. Not only did Sam always want an explanation for everything, but John also usually ended up giving him one. Even though he'd stated more than once that he didn't have to justify himself to anyone, certainly not his eleven-year-old son.

"Look, small communities like this, everyone knows everyone, strangers draw attention. Except drifters, they come, they go, no one notices them much." John's tone was tightly strained.

"Which is probably also what our bad guy is thinking," Bobby interrupted, speaking loudly down the line. "I mean the few locals that went missing got plenty of attention, including ours. If it had just been drifters, who knows when anyone would even realise."

There was a pause, then John's voice was once again directed into the phone. "So here's what I'm thinking," his tone had reverted to practical mode. "The pathologist's report on the one body that was found, makes more sense if the victim was a drifter. And I'm guessing he was a reject of some sort. He was neither the first nor the last to go missing but he's the only one we've found. Besides, his chest was ripped open but nothing was taken."

"So something cracked open the pinata but didn't take the candy, probably because it was the wrong flavour. Did the coroner find anything wrong with him? Illnesses or anything?"

"There was a lot wrong with him. Not surprising for a drifter really. I mean moving around all the time, sleeping in squats, irregular and unhealthy diet …" There was a muffling sound and the next words were more distant but still clearly heard by Bobby. "Sam, I can feel you looking at me and I swear one word and I'll put you over my knee." The muffle was removed and John's voice came through clear again, forced calm in the tone. "But I'm thinking it's something specific, I mean there are at least three other missing drifters and they haven't been found."

"Well, I hope you're right about the fussy eating thing, 'cause at least that means it's not a demon. They ain't fussy at all."

"That's not exactly comforting Bobby," there was a pause, Bobby waited. "I'm going to look for him," John declared. The next was not directed down the phone but Bobby could still hear it. "Make what you can of Dean's research, do not leave this room. Do not open this door. And Sam," there was a muffled sound again, the transfer of the handset.

"I know Dad," Sam said, uncharacteristically compliant. "Dad," he called, indicating John was already at the door. "He'll be okay, right? I mean, it's Dean."

"We just need to find him," John's last was followed by a door slam.

It was a few moments before a small, worried voice came down the line. "Hey Uncle Bobby."

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A loud clang startled Mari to consciousness, her body twitching reflexively, her mind half expecting more pain than that already pounding in her head. When nothing more happened, she cautiously opened her eyes. It didn't help. Wherever she was, it was dark.

Gradually, she started to make out the dim outline of shapes, shadows. One of them moved.

"Hello?" came a whispered voice. The shadow moved again and she tensed, sniffing back the sob that threatened.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

The shadow moved closer, cautiously. "Are you okay?"

She groaned and the shadow leaned over her, probably trying to make her out in the dark.

It came back to her. Not slowly but all at once like a punch and she sat up suddenly, forcing the shadow back to avoid a collision.

"Ouch," she groaned. The pain in her head intensified for a moment.

"Mari?"

"Dean?" She checked, having recognised the voice.

"Yeah. Are you OK? Are you hurt?" He asked anxiously, moving closer again. Mari reached up and felt the back of her head which was sore but didn't appear to be bleeding.

"I hit my head," she mumbled, trying to reconcile what had happened.

"Don't move too fast, you might have a concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?" Mari stopped rubbing her head and looked towards the vague shape that was the cute drifter.

"Seriously? I can barely make you out and you want me to count fingers?"

There was a pause.

"Okay, fair point. Hang on, there was a light around here somewhere."

There was a scuffling movement as he felt around, then a mumbled, 'gotcha'. A moment later a match burst into light, illuminating a small candle. He lit it and brought it forward. Mari winced, flinching away. "Sorry." He moved it further from her eyes.

"Have you got any idea what the fuck is going on?" She asked, trying to look around, though the candle illuminated very little.

There was a pause, then Dean asked carefully, "Did you see who attacked you?"

"It was Wanda. She's a member of the Family. I always thought she was nice. Well, creepy into my dad, but not dangerous. But she was furious and rambling. Something about an issue with my dad."

"Did you feel … did you get dizzy or anything?"

"No. I was fine until she hit me over the head."

They were both silent for a while. Mari was still getting her bearings and Dean was trying to work out what was going on. Had he been drugged before being hit? But the only person who could have done that was Mari and she was locked up here with him.

"They must have corrupted her or something," Mari mumbled.

Dean squinted at her in the dim light. "Who?"

"We have to stop her."

"Obviously," Dean scoffed.

"No. I mean, because of the demons."

"Demons?"

"I know how it sounds but it's true. I swear, I've seen it myself. It's why he is the leader. Demons are real and he can banish them."

Dean felt panic threaten and took a couple of deep breaths. "Wait, just slow down. Your leader can banish demons?"

"My dad, yes."

"And you've seen him do this?"

"Yes. I wasn't supposed to but I sneaked in and watched once."

"Okay," Dean said carefully. "What exactly did you see?"

He felt more than he saw the look she gave him. He didn't doubt he'd given people that look himself. When you know something, something unbelievable, and know that to someone who hasn't seen what you've seen you'll sound crazy. Sure enough, when she spoke it was with the impatience of someone who didn't expect to be believed and had given up caring that she wasn't.

"The demon came but my dad confronted it. It cowered from him and he sent it back to hell."

"It cowered?"

She nodded, encouraged that, despite his sceptical tone, he was not laughing at her. "It came from deep in the cave. I swear, I thought it was the devil himself. Everyone was terrified. But my dad walked straight at it. He spoke scripture and demanded the demon leave and it did."

"And it cowered before him?"

"Yes, why are you stuck on that?"

"Because if it cowered, it wasn't a demon."

"What?"

"Did it have black eyes?"

"I don't … no. They were like hot coals."

"Any black smoke?"

"I guess, some, through the cracks."

"Cracks?"

"It had this cracked outer skin. Like there was a fire burning inside it and trying to break out through a black shell."

"So not human," Dean said to himself more than her. "But not a demon."

Dean hadn't actually seen a real demon, but he knew all about them. He'd done the research, heard the stories, sat through his father's interrogations on his knowledge. More importantly he'd seen the state of his dad after he and Uncle Bobby had dealt with one.

"What are you talking about?" Mari demanded. He'd come across this before, even when people had seen something, they still thought their thing was the only thing. He shifted so they were more square-on, face to face.

"Demons are bad, really bad," he started. "But they are rare. More importantly, they are not the only thing out there." He took another deep breath and started 'the talk'.

There was a long silence after he was done.

"So, are we going to die?" She finally asked.

"No," Dean said decisively. "You're going to be fine. You trust me, right?"

"Trust a random drifter?" He could hear mocking in her tone and wondered at it. He was sure she was scared, but she was trying to grasp something, anything, solid. Anything that might give her even a small sense of control.

"Yeah about that …" There was no longer a need for his cover.

"You're not a drifter." There was no question, no surprise, there was even a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Not in the sense you mean. How did you know?"

"Clean fingernails."

Despite the dark, Dean looked down at his hands.

"So, we've got monsters that my dad thinks are demons but probably aren't, a crazy lady knocking people over the head, and we're locked in a cage. You're the expert, what do we do now?" she asked.

Dean cleared his throat to keep the fear from sounding. "It's fine, I've got a plan." He desperately tried to make his brain work, to think what Dad or even Sammy would think of.

"What plan?"

"A good plan, don't worry."

ℼℼℼ

It had been thirty hours since Dean had last been seen and neither John nor Sam had slept since. With all leads to Dean gone cold they were focused on working the case, hoping it would lead them to him anyway. Jim hadn't been able to offer anything new when they called him, and Bobby's call had only brought bad news. There was an old report from an ex-member of the cult who claimed the leader had banished a demon.

John recalled how all of the members treated Henry with respect bordering on worship but when it happened, Henry seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable. He was friendly and effacing, joking with the children and warmly checking in with the adults. But, even with the awe, John saw no signs of fear from anyone.

Even so, he had tested Hank with both holy water and silver. The man hadn't flinched but it wasn't conclusive proof he was human. Of course, they had no way to know if the report had any truth to it, or even if it related to Hank. It might have been the previous leader, Mathers.

Sam was barely functioning. He was pushing on through fear for his brother but his vision was blurry and his brain was sluggish. He knew his brother was still alive. He knew it. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

Even if he could sleep, he didn't want to. The last time he'd seen his brother, he'd blown him off. Even if it meant bringing Dean back from the dead, he would not let that be the last time they were together.

Exhaustion was pressing in on him from all sides and, using his remaining energy to hold it back, he had little left to focus on the book he was trying to read. Dad, on the other hand, seemed to be wired with determined vigour. Sam glanced at his father's face. He had never seen him like this, it was scary. For the first time he understood why, among the creatures they hunted, the name John Winchester struck fear.

Terrified of the feeling of inadequacy his father induced, of letting either his dad or his brother down, he stared at the page before him. The words swam in and out of each other and he rubbed his face trying to get his eyes to focus. Feeling his father's gaze on him and suspecting it was judgemental, he stared at the page again more doggedly.

John moved some papers aside to reach for something and a photo fell to the floor. Feeling the need to move in order to keep himself awake, Sam slipped from his chair to pick it up. He had always been 'strongly discouraged' from looking at the crime scene and coroner's pictures, and he hadn't seen this image before. At first he had to forcibly hold in the contents of his stomach but as he was about to look away, something else caught his attention. He stopped. Ignoring the main part of the image, he focused on the small detail.

Throwing the photo onto the table he went to his school bag and pulled out a book.

"Dad?"

"What?" John snapped.

Sam swallowed but pushed on. "You said the victim they found was burnt right? But not fire burnt, more melted?" John's expression went from angry to predatory in a second, his eyes hunting Sam's face for knowledge, or hope at least.

"Why? What have you got?"

"In the photo, next to the body, it looks like obsidian."

"What?" John picked up the photo of the body when it had been found.

"Volcanic rock, look." Sam held out his schoolbook.

John looked at it then back to the photo, comparing the two images. Then he looked at Sam, the first glimmer of a lead in his eye.

"Good job I pay attention in class, right?" Sam grinned.

"Not now Sam," John said. He put the schoolbook down and went to a pile of old volumes across the room. Throwing one then another aside he finally found the one he was looking for and opened it keenly. Turning page after page he found what he was looking for.

"This is it, I think. Here, read up, I need to make a call." John passed the book to Sam and moved the phone, punching a number quickly.

"Bobby, what have you got on cherufe?"

Sam looked down at the book his father had handed him. The monster in the picture looked terrifying.

"I know they usually live in a deep cave or mountain attached to a volcano, Bobby," John growled impatiently down the phone. "But what if one is here, now?"

"You can call them out," Sam said, reading the page. John looked up and Sam took the book over to him, pointing to a section about halfway down. John repeated the information to Bobby.

"What if someone summoned it or something," John demanded.

"It might be possible, would be damn 's risky though," Bobby said. "But it would fit with the description of someone 'driving back a demon'." There was a pause. "Hold on, there's something here." The sound of turning pages travelled down the phone. "There's a ritual. But it's riskier than having a smoke in a firework factory. And even if you survive that, you have to keep feeding it."

"Feeding it what?" John asked, dread in his voice.

"Human sacrifice," Bobby said quietly. John froze, nothing moved but his eyes, which found Sam. He couldn't say it, couldn't even bear to let himself think it.

Sam's eyes had returned to reading the book he was holding. John was glad he didn't need to look him in the eye. For hours he'd been wrestling with himself about asking Hank for help. He didn't want to pull a civilian into a hunt but he was local and if anyone understood doing whatever it took to protect your family it was Shepherd. Now a horrifying thought fell into place. What if the cult was a safe place because, somehow, they had a monster protecting them? Of course, he couldn't be sure Hank was responsible, maybe he just knew about it. Either way, he couldn't risk asking him for help.

"So if someone summoned one of these things, where would they be keeping it?" he barked down the phone. Maybe part of him hoped Hank was trying to protect against the cherufe, rather than being the one responsible.

"Well you can't exactly check one into a motel. My guess would be somewhere nearby but as close to a volcano habitat as possible."

"So caves? Probably somewhere near a hot spring or geyser?" John's eyes went to the map he'd pinned on the wall.

"Yeah, all reports suggest they are not fond of the cold."

John heard a gasping sound, looking up he noticed Sam's breathing was rapid and shallow, his wide eyes stared in John's direction but didn't seem to see him. The book he'd been reading had dropped to the floor, the page on cherufe still open. John could make an educated guess which section the boy had made it to.

John dropped the receiver on the bed and grabbed the boy's shoulders, with a firm squeeze and light shake he willed the boy look at him.

"You need to breathe Sammy, just breathe." Sam's eyes were wild and John wasn't sure how much he was taking in, either air or words. He shook him more firmly. "Damnit Sam, we need to help your brother, which means you have to hold it together, you hear me?"

Another gasp but then Sam managed to take a breath. "That's it, Kiddo, and again."

"John? … JOHN?" The muffled calls from the bed got louder and, once satisfied Sam was not in danger of asphyxiation, John leaned back to pick up the receiver, still keeping one hand on his son.

"We're good." He squeezed his son's shoulder. "Right Sammy?" Sam nodded, though he looked far from good. John kicked away the fallen book, out of Sam's eyeline, and returned his attention back to the call. "You got anything on taking these things out?"

"A report of someone escaping by running into a cold lake. But most weapons just melt."

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AN: Thank you for reading and if you have a mo, please do drop me a line. All feedback helps me improve and even a quick thumbs up can really make my day xx Love and hugs to all.