AN: For everyone who commented on Apocalypthe Not Now, please know that I loved every single comment and wish I could answer them. I appreciate you all very much!

Janice, friend and beta, helped like she always does!

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Sam held in his sigh until after Dean was out the door. He felt so damn useless. In his head, he knew better. He wasn't kidding when he'd said that the answers they needed were probably somewhere in all the paperwork. But it still felt like he was being benched. It was like being a kid again and left behind in the motel room or car and told to "stay put" while the real work of the hunt was done by the grown-ups. And that woke up feelings that didn't have any interest in his logic.

Dean doesn't trust me. I'm a liability. I'm broken.

Determined to stop (or at least temporarily quiet) the litany of self-doubt, Sam moved all of Dean's "treasures" to the tiny console between the beds that was pretending to be a nightstand, brought his piles of papers back to the table, and got to work again.

He jotted down questions and notes as he went. He had to figure out the pattern before someone else died in less than four days, because there was no way to protect everyone in the entire city who was born on a Friday the 13th. If Hayes' death counted and the deaths made up some kind of ritual, there was a chance it was complete with 13 deaths, but they couldn't afford to take that chance.

The birthdays on Friday the 13ths of various months was the only connection of the victims Sam could find. The locations were all within a relatively small area of Durango, but were ordinary places. It seemed doubtful that all of them had a sordid history. The post office was an older building and the grocery store hailed back to the 1950's, but the rest of the places were newer. They were all small businesses, but nothing else seemed to connect them.

The dates of the deaths bothered Sam the most. Why 28 days? If the catalyst was the number 13, why didn't the deaths fall on the 13th other than the one in January?

The exception to everything except cause of death was, of course, James Rutherford "J. R." Hayes. Sam almost tossed that file aside, but instinct said that Dr. Ling was right to include it.

Sam decided he'd read her notes on it in detail, not skipping over the mundane. He made it through the weights and appearances of all internal organs (all normal, stomach contents negligible) and was slogging through a description of Hayes' outward appearance when finally something stood out.

Fresh wound to abdomen. Cuts forming a roughly circular shape; exact shape not determined because of the condition of the body. Through dermis and fat to a depth of between .59 and 1.1 inches. Appear self-inflicted but without hesitation marks. Not sufficient to cause exsanguination. Edges of cuts blackened as if by great heat.

"Huh," muttered Sam. Hayes had carved some kind of symbol into himself – and deep, too – just prior to hanging himself. He flipped through the pages but there weren't any pictures. There was a note that the knife was found at the scene, still bloody and with no fingerprints other than Hayes' own.

Needing more information, Sam called the morgue, but all he got was a recording that said nobody was available and to contact law enforcement if there was an emergency of some kind. Sam then called the police station. He explained who he was and asked if it was possible to get the Hayes file.

The woman to whom he was transferred, Officer "call me Danielle" Green was not only accommodating, she remembered his visit. "I was the one who showed you to the chief's office," she explained. Sam remembered her too. She was pretty and blonde and kept trying to get him to make eye contact when they were leaving.

"I don't mean to be pushy, Agent, but I'm just about finished here. Could I meet you and maybe buy you a drink or two?"

Sam was surprised by her forthrightness, but he found he didn't mind it at all. "I'd like that, Danielle, though you don't have to pay. And I'd like if you'd call me Sam. But since we're being so honest here, I don't want to, er, stay out late when we're in the middle of a case. A drink or two, sure. And if we have a chance –" which they probably wouldn't – "maybe we can go out again."

"Sounds good to me."

Sam rethought his decision to meet Danielle at least a hundred times while he changed to the nicest jeans and flannel shirt he had along (which wasn't saying much). He wasn't really leading the woman on since he'd been upfront about his short stay, but on the other hand, she might not want to even meet with him if she had any idea of what a mess he was, losing time and having lapses in memory. Of course, there were a lot of other things about him that she might object to as well (he'd been in prison, repeatedly impersonated an officer of the law, regularly killed things and burned corpses, had been possessed by a demon and, oh yeah, Satan himself, etc., etc.). Sam snorted at his reflection. "Yeah, I'm a real catch," he told it sardonically. But he needed that police report, so he went anyway.

They met at a sports bar within walking distance of the motel that Danielle promised wouldn't be too loud and had high-backed booths that would give them enough privacy to talk about a case with impunity. She also promised that he'd fit right in wearing blue jeans.

When he arrived, Sam looked around the place with approval. It was more restaurant than bar and only about half full. TV's showed various sporting events but at a low enough volume that people could easily talk. And Danielle was right about the booths – they were set back from the main area and would allow for private conversation.

"Hey, Sam!"

Danielle looked great with her hair down and a pretty purple sweater and Sam really wished he could spend more time just enjoying her company.

They found a booth next to a wall decorated with memorabilia from an Olympic biathlete who was born in Durango. They ordered beers and a "bit o' everything" appetizer platter. As they nibbled, Danielle brought up the case and handed over the file.

"I figured we'd get the shop talk out of the way," she suggested with a smile. "You think J. R. is part of your case?"

"I don't know yet." Sam nibbled on a deep-fried mushroom that he'd dipped in ranch dressing at Danielle's suggestion. He noted the woman's use of the Hayes' nickname. "You knew him?"

"I used to, anyway. We went to the same middle school and high school and were only one grade apart."

That might be helpful, Sam thought. "What can you tell me about him?"

"He wasn't a bad guy. Bit of a loner, though. He didn't have to be because he was a decent athlete and a pretty good student and okay looking, but he was always kind of...twitchy." Danielle twirled a mozzarella stick in red sauce as she spoke.

"Twitchy?"

"Yeah, like paranoid. His parents were these really outdoorsy people and J. R. just hated it. He was convinced something bad would happen when they were hiking or mountain biking or whatever." She shrugged. "He was pretty superstitious, you know? I felt bad for him. And I guess it got a whole lot worse once his parents died. I heard he hardly went anywhere other than work after that, but by then we were out of school and I never saw him." Danielle sighed. "Poor guy. I know he was bullied a little bit in school – I mean, some of the dicks called him 'Ruthie' because of his middle name – but I don't think he was all that unhappy until later in life. The investigators decided that it wasn't a huge surprise that he committed suicide, and I guess they're right. I just wish someone had been able to help J. R. before it came to that."

Sam considered her words. She'd given him a whole lot of information, certainly more than he'd expected. He nodded sympathetically. "How did his parents die?"

"Car accident. They were coming back from Purgatory, and it was dark and they slid right off the road. Hazard of driving through the mountains, you know." Danielle picked up a piece of what Sam was pretty sure was calamari.

"Purgatory?" Sam was startled for a moment.

"Oh, sorry. It's a ski resort. They have some pretty good specials in the slower seasons."

Sam laughed. "Purgatory Ski Resort? That's unique."

They chatted about odd names and other inconsequential things for a while Sam tried to think of a polite way to ask about the symbol that Hayes had cut into his own abdomen. Before he came up with anything, Danielle went back to the subject of the man's death.

"I'm not a detective or anything, but I have to tell you, I don't see how J. R.'s death can be related to the rest," she said out of the blue. "As much as I hate to say it, it seems like he got into some really weird stuff, especially with all the stuff he wrote on the floor right before he killed himself."

"What did he write on the floor?" Sam asked, sitting up straight. This was new to him. "Is there a picture in the file?" He started thumbing through it.

"I doubt it. A clear suicide isn't really a crime scene, you know?" Danielle tapped her lips in thought. "I don't know exactly. I never saw it, but scuttlebutt said it was weird symbols that nobody understood."

Sam had confirmed that there wasn't a picture in the slim file. "Does somebody live in the house now?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager.

"Probably not. His next-of-kin are some out of state cousins. It's probably still all being worked out." Danielle wiped her fingers on her napkin and smiled a little ruefully. "I lost you, didn't I?"

Sam felt himself blush. So much for hiding his interest in the topic. "I'm sorry. I really am. But everything you told me gave some ideas for things to look into. And, well, I'm not good at letting go once I get an avenue to investigate."

His date nodded. "I get it. I do. And it's not like your dedication to your job makes you any less attractive to me."

Sam put some money on the table, still feeling a little guilty, especially since she was being so great about him ditching her. "I must be an idiot to give up time with a beautiful woman to look into a suicide," he said self-deprecatingly.

Danielle pretended to fan herself and they both laughed. "Just for that, I'm going to give you my number."

They traded numbers and Danielle gave Sam a kiss on the cheek and a reminder to call her if he had the chance before he left town. Bad timing, Sam thought. He was in no shape for a hook-up.

Once she'd driven off, Sam walked back to the room and looked at the file in more detail, but there wasn't much to find. It noted the symbols Hayes had apparently painted on the floor as well as "other signs of occultism" but not more detail. He was unimpressed with the police work. Even if they were pretty sure it was a suicide, somebody was dead and they should have taken a little more time to document everything, at very least until the ME confirmed or contradicted the cause of death as self-inflicted.

A quick internet search showed that Danielle was right about the house being unoccupied as ownership was debated, so there a decent chance that the scene was pretty well preserved. Also, when there was any possibility of supernatural activity, it was always a good idea to look for books and items that shouldn't be left to get innocents in trouble. If Hayes really had been into the occult, he might have owned some things that should be confiscated.

It was always better to snoop at night, so Sam gave Dean a quick call. Instead of answering the phone, Dean texted back a "w," which meant he was with a witness. If it was important, Sam would call back again and Dean would answer pretty much no matter what he was doing. This wasn't an emergency, so instead of calling, Sam simply texted:

meet me at JRH house when u can

He sent along the address, geared up with an EMF meter and a few weapons that worked on a lot of different creatures just in case. After a moment's thought, he loaded his Taurus with witch-killing bullets. He didn't expect to run into anything almost a year after Hayes had died – the previous New Year's Eve or New Year's Day according to Dr. Ling's estimates – but paranoia had kept him alive more than once before.

The neighborhood was quiet. Sam would have been able to pick out the Hayes house without the address from its air of abandonment. Though somebody had clearly been mowing the lawn, the whole thing lacked the pride and care its neighbors showed. There were no flowers of any kind, and all the windows were tightly shuttered.

Sticking to the shadows, Sam went to the back door, grateful for the high fence that would conceal him back there – and for its unlocked gate. The slider of the walkout basement wasn't accessible, but the first window Sam tried had the kind of lock he could open with his knife from the outside. When no alarms went off, he climbed inside, finding himself in a fully finished rec room.

The house looked like you'd expect of a place caught up in probate court for a year. There was dust everywhere and the heavy stillness of a place that was well and truly empty. A sweatshirt was discarded over one arm of the sectional and a remote control waited to be used.

Sam moved upstairs, finding more of the same: it was a nice but not ostentatious place covered in dust and with occasional reminders that the person who'd called it home wasn't around to pick up after himself.

But in the large dining room, the table was pushed all the way against the wall and a rope still hung from the chandelier-like light fixture. And on the floor, painted in black paint from the can that still sat on the table, was a circle with strange symbols around it, not all that different from a summoning circle. Or even like an angel-banishing sigil. And – Sam found himself outside in the back yard.

He blinked and looked around. He hadn't sensed any kind of magic, nor did he have any recollection of having come back outside. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he drew his gun. Acting on a guess, Sam tried the slider, now finding it unlocked. He went back inside, moving cautiously.

And he was outside again.

"What the…?" Sam muttered. He hadn't seen or sensed anything malevolent. He hadn't noticed any cold spots (though it was hard to tell when it was already cold inside). He hadn't touched anything except for a door handle or two. Heck, he hadn't even gotten back upstairs before finding himself standing in the back yard again. He decided to try once more and pay extra attention to what he saw or felt immediately before finding himself back outside.

"Okay –" Dean was saying.

"Dean?" asked Sam, confused. He was standing on a sidewalk with Dean in front of him and the Impala running next to them. Looking around, he realized they were at the end of the street that J. R. Hayes had lived on and his blood ran cold. "What –?"

"I was just gonna ask you that," Dean answered with an insincere smile. "Were you waiting for me to check out the house or…?"

"No, actually I tried going in a couple of times and it seems like there's some kind of spell that dumps me back outside, farther away from the house each time." But what if it wasn't a spell? What if Sam was blacking out or whatever he did when he lost time lately?

"A spell?" Dean asked carefully.

Oh, shit, he's thinking the same thing, Sam thought. He can't trust what I tell him. Aloud, he said, "Yeah. One second I'm inside and the next I'm out. I don't see or feel anything. It doesn't hurt or anything, but we really need to see what's in there. The police report says there are symbols painted on the floor, but I only got a glance at them."

"Let's park Baby a street or two over and try a different entrance," Dean suggested. "Grab some iron from the trunk, see if we can break whatever spell it is."

"That doesn't –" Sam started, but Dean was already getting into the driver's seat. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, he climbed in the other side. "I already tried two different places to get in," he muttered, hoping he didn't sound as petulant as he felt. "And since when does a little iron break a spell this strong?"

"I don't know, Sam." Dean's voice had a frustrated edge. "But like you said, we have to get in there to see what Hayes was up to. And people have been inside. The ones who found the body, the ones who took it out, probably somebody's maintaining the place so the pipes don't freeze or whatever."

Sam huffed but he wasn't actually angry at Dean. It wasn't his brother's fault that he was screwing everything up with his weird blackout moments. "Sure, yeah. So, you find anything out?"

Dean parked next to a storage facility where the car would be out of sight. "Yup. The manager of the movie theater was still there counting money and whatever when the lady Cora hung herself. Hanged? Whatever. Anyhoo, she heard something and went into the theater and Cora was still alive, scratching at herself and struggling but there wasn't any way to get to her in time. She was hanging from a balcony that's been closed for years and is only accessible from a catwalk. So you tell me how a woman who could barely walk with a walker got up there."

Sam winced. "That's brutal." Watching someone die and not being able to help them was one of the worst possible things to experience.

"Yeah, and she knew the old couple. They were regulars to see the throw-back movies they show every week, and Cora's hubby says a neighbor claims to have seen her walking down the street in just her nightgown that night. The neighbor called out, but she didn't react and since she was walking so upright, he figured it couldn't be her. He did call the non-emergency police line in case it was somebody who needed help, but she was long gone before they got there."

Sam rubbed his palms against his thighs. "I heard that Hayes was super paranoid. He also carved something into his own stomach, but they couldn't tell what shape because his body wasn't discovered right away. Maybe he summoned something and it's possessing people and making them kill themselves."

Now it was Dean's turn to wince. "You wanna sit this out?"

"What?" Sam turned in his seat to face Dean. "No way! Even if the spell evicts the first one of us, maybe it won't get the other. Or maybe we see something together." He shook his head, frustrated all over again, feeling defensive and resentful. Rather than saying something he might regret, he got out of the car and went to the trunk. After a moment, Dean followed and popped the trunk.

They each took a tire iron and a canister of salt in case J. R. was hanging around. Sam grabbed a small empty duffel and stuffed a pair of gloves in his pocket. Dean emulated the second action and double-checked his gun.

They didn't need words to make their stealthy way back to the Hayes house. Since Sam had tried the basement slider and a window next to it, he pointed to a door that led to the garage instead.

Sam picked the lock easily enough and let Dean enter first, expecting any second to see Dean expelled or to just look up and find they were outside, but they walked in without incident. The door from the garage to the house was unlocked and they went through that without trouble too.

They made their way through the dark kitchen into the dining area and still nothing happened, even as they looked down at the painted markings in the light of Dean's penlight. Sam opened his mouth to try to convince Dean that he really had ended up outside against his will, then closed it again. Either Dean believed him or not. Nothing he could say would change Dean's mind either way.

"Let's see if we can get some pictures," Dean said after a moment. Arcana didn't always allow itself to be photographed. Being careful not to touch the circle or the symbols inside it, Dean crouched down and blew away as much dust as he could. "Look, it's burned in the middle."

"No sign of candles though," Sam observed. He didn't know of any summoning rituals that worked without candles.

He took a handful of pictures with his phone, a few of the entire circle and at least one close-up of each of the symbols, checking to make sure that they'd photographed well and finding they had. "Thirteen symbols," he noted. "Huh. I only recognize a couple of them. Sumerian, maybe? I see dingur and kur and an or ana." He shrugged. "The rest I have no idea." If it really was ancient cuneiform, it was a puzzle. It wasn't a terribly specific form of communication, having many symbols that represented a number of different concepts. For example, dingur could be a ruler or an especially revered man, or even a god. Kur was even worse, because it had changed over time, sometimes meaning just an unspecified place, sometimes meaning a mountain, and occasionally referring to the mythical underworld.

Other than the weird painting, the house was a bust – until they reached Hayes' bedroom. There they found three stacks of books about things from the "evil eye" to defeating your horoscope. There were also all kinds of items that supposedly had protective properties – horseshoes, witch glass, Hamsa hands, ankhs, triquetras, dream catchers, fu symbols, life trees, and more. Even the comforter on the bed had a St. Brigid's cross in the design. There were labeled jars of sage, devil's shoestring, garlic, and more. It was the sanctuary of a paranoid man…a paranoid man with at least a passing knowledge of the supernatural, apparently.

"Who are these people?" Dean asked, handing over a hand-written list of names with strange notations behind each, like 4 known or St. Bartholemew. "Tim Kelly was the guitarist for Slaughter and Catherine de' Medici was a queen or something, right? Castro, sure. The rest I don't know."

Sam studied it. "There's a bunch I don't know. Pee Wee Gaskins was a serial killer who was executed in the early 90's. Jane Grey was the queen of England for like a week. The Borgias were political schemers known for poisoning their opponents, so Cesare was probably cut from that same mold."

"Well, put on your gloves and let's get loading," Dean sighed.

They filled the bag Sam had brought with mostly books and a few of the objects that might actually have some power. Sam stuffed the list in his pocket.

"I have no idea what's going on," Sam admitted softly as they carefully made their way back through the house to erase as many traces of their presence as they could. "There's no sign of actual witchcraft, but I kept getting dumped out of the house. The EMF is reacting where he hanged himself, but it didn't the other places you went, so it might be a reaction to the symbols if it's actual spellcraft. He had a lot of weird stuff, but nothing that fits a pattern I can see yet."

"I still think you've got something going with possession," Dean suggested. "I swear there were some cold spots in there. Let's look through all this stuff and burn Hayes' bones and see what happens. We have a couple days yet."

Sam nodded. He pushed aside the nagging sense of wrongness. If Dean was confident, he would be too. Simple as that.

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AN: In researching Durango, I found out that it was the birthplace of Tracy Barnes, who represented the U. S. in the 2006 Olympics. Is there a sports bar with memorabilia of hers in Durango? Who knows? Not me.

There really is a Purgatory Ski Resort in Durango. Once I discovered that, I just had to include it somehow!

sfaulkenberry: My brain is just a strange and crazy place! I didn't intend to focus so much on the angst of this particular season, but it's almost impossible not to since they both had to be stuck with thinking about it all the time. I have a confession. Two confessions, really. I didn't watch Friends...I'm not sure I've ever seen a full episode. And I know I've never seen TMNT. My mom was a bit draconian about what we watched, and I'm sure she considered it violent. (She considered Bugs Bunny violent, so take it with a grain of salt!) I just picked a turtle who didn't share a name with any SPN characters, LOL. Maybe Sam will have to mention later that he prefers one of the other turtles.

ncsupnatfan: Thank you! I think this chapter probably just made things more convoluted instead of really giving them an idea of what they're after, though Dean's got some insider info that will be revealed in the next chapter.

Jenjoremy: I was trying to think of what Dean might grab from a dollar store and determined it had to be food. The case is weird because the writer can't seem to write anything straightfoward, even when she intends to. Seriously. After this chapter, are you even more confused?

Timelady66: Of course he did! I could write Winchesters interacting with little kids all day and never get sick of it! Now you have me dying to know how you're going to fix things. You could give me a hint...or write fast. Please?

Colby's girl: Oh, thank you! You make a lot of sense, sleep-deprived or not, which is a real skill. Most people get very incoherent. LOL. I really enjoy the little pictures of the guys between stressful moments and it makes me very happy when other people enjoy them too. When I first started putting fan fiction out there, I thought it all had to be danger and action, but y'all have taught me better.

muffinroo: I laughed every single time I read your comment! I love it! Do you think the Count from Sesame Street would be any help fighting the number 13? I never realized that Sam's name has 13 letters, to be honest. Unless it's actually Samuel...hmmm…

Atlasina7: Thank you for such nice words. It's impossible not to get caught up in the angst but I'm enjoying the challenge of it. (All the angst! Hooray! LOL)

Kathy: You are very smart...but I'm not going to confirm or deny. I had fun choosing things for Dean to buy. (I think Peeps are evil. I'd rather exorcise them than eat them personally.) I liked the ME myself. The Winchesters would appreciate a straight shooter, I think. Gotta feel bad for Sam, though, being so confused about what's happening to him.