A Family Business 5/6
Title: A Family Business 5/6
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. It’s all Kripke’s and the CW’s and blah blah blah. We all know who the real brain trust is around here.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: General for the series. Takes place in two time periods, one pre-series and the other situated at some point between 3x04 (Sin City) and 3x05 (Bedtime Stories).
Summary: The Winchesters never stay, and when they go they leave more than burned corpses behind them.
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
November 23, 1996
Thomas F. Keegan Nature Park
Lansing, MI
Bare branches creaked over Gillian’s head, a dull, scratching noise that echoed through her bones. She stood, poised on the edge of the asphalt, and stared into the blackness between the trees. The river flowed to her right and dogs howled somewhere behind the tree-lined ridge far to her left. There were houses up there full of families placidly asleep in their beds. She’d never felt so alone.
She flicked her flashlight on; its dull yellow beam only made the night darker. She took a deep breath and stepped into the woods.
It was entirely still underneath the dead, gray boughs. Brown leaves scrunched under her feet, the decaying layers a thick, wet matting after weeks of rain. All she could hear were her own ragged breaths; it was as if she were the only living thing left.
During the long walk from her house she’d almost talked herself out of going at all. She’d nearly turned around a hundred times but something kept her on her path, forced one foot into movement followed by another. Coming down here was foolish, she knew it was, dangerous in a way she still couldn’t quite understand, but she also knew that she’d never move beyond the sound of her father’s screams if she didn’t do this. She didn’t want to die but she couldn’t live with her memories any longer.
A twig snapped behind her and she jumped. She spun around, the flashlight beam ricocheting off of the tree trunks that penned her in. She swallowed the shouts that threatened to escape her throat. She couldn’t see anything but she could feel it out there, its breath almost tangible on the back of her neck.
She turned back around. Her heart pounded in her ears; she wanted to run, to scream, but instead she carefully stepped forward. She’d walk to the other side of the woods and back again. Whatever happened, happened.
Her foot caught on a hidden root and she stumbled, flashlight flying out of her hands. Her head collided with a tree trunk and she sat down, hard, ephemeral starbursts exploding in her eyes. She shook her head and blinked her eyes rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision and knock the sudden ringing out of her ears. The taste of metal coated the back of her throat.
She blinked again and her eyes cleared. She was surrounded by darkness. Slowly, her eyes adjusted and she could see the light from the nearly full moon stream past hibernating trees. It was brighter than she’d thought it would be; it was like standing on another world, everything turned cold and silver. She stood up slowly, her hand scraped against the rough bark of the maple tree holding her up.
A deep growl shuddered from behind her back. She knew that noise. She spun around, her lungs frozen and her eyes full of tears.
The monster stared at her, lips curled, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. It had been waiting for her.
~~~
Dean ghosted through the trees. He could hardly hear his own feet as he skidded from trunk to trunk, shotgun held ready in his hands. Dad was somewhere further north, towards the river. The forest wasn’t huge, it was nothing compared to some of the places they’d hunted through in the past, but it was big enough to get lost in, especially with the moonlight playing tricks with his peripheral vision.
He stopped and crouched beside a fallen tree. Something had stood there, something heavy with feet bigger than anything Dean had seen before, except for those grizzly tracks Dad’d found during a training run in Colorado.
Dean grimaced and wiped rotting leaf slime off of his hand. Maybe the fucker was around here, maybe it wasn’t. No way to tell how old the footprint was. Shame it hadn’t laid some scat out for him to find, but that’d just make things too fucking easy, or something.
But any direction was better than nothing at all. And if it’d stuck around after chomping down on Dewar then there was a decent chance that it was still waiting around for Victim #3. Dean stood up and headed further west. Dad was probably right about the beast setting up a den somewhere by the bridge. It was a pretty cushy area to hole up for the winter, surrounded by a tasty smorgasbord of all the suburbanites it could get.
He stepped around a tree and froze, gun brought to bear on the scene frozen in front of him. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing-that Gillian chick standing in front of the thing that looked like a mutant wolverine on steroids. They stared at each other like they were the only two beings in the world.
“Move!” Dad’s order cut through the air and shattered time back into motion. The monster howled and sprang at the same time that Gillian took off running to her left, straight at Dean.
“Come on, come on!” Dean’s words were muffled under the sound of Dad’s shotgun booming. The creature howled again but it didn’t go down. It skidded and turned, its disjointed leaps quickly eating up the space between it and the girl.
Dean grabbed her arm as she ran up and pushed her past him. The thing was nearly on top of them, a sickly, hungry light in its eyes.
Dean squared his shoulders and watched it come. It was the only thing he could see, the adrenaline in his blood focusing his eyes and clearing his head. He took a deep breath, his heart a steady pulse in his ears, and pulled the trigger.
The blast echoed through the dell, and the thing howled again, a horrific sound. It fell to the ground and twitched, a labored attempt to pick itself up. Dad fired from its other side and it stilled. It didn’t get up again.
Dean automatically pulled the lighter fluid out of the pack on his back. He doused the still-warm carcass, his nose twitching with the combined attack of the acrid accelerant and the rotten stench that swirled around the dead body.
As Dean stepped away Dad struck the matchbook and dropped it in one smooth motion. The beast burst into flames. Dean watched it burn, fire wrapping around fur and muscle, consuming everything in sight.
He looked up and met Dad’s eyes, identical grins on their faces. Nothing felt better than a job well done.
Dad’s eyes caught on something over Dean’s shoulder and the grin leached off of his face. Dean turned, his eyes dazed for a second from the lack of light. Gillian stood behind him, half-hidden behind a tree. Her face was pale and firelight danced in her eyes as she stared at what was left of the thing that had killed her father.
Dad clapped him on the shoulder, his hand steady and warm. “Come on,” he said, his voice pitched low for Dean’s ears only even though he never looked away from the girl. “We need to get her home.”
Dean nodded and hiked the bag back up on his shoulder with a grunt. He watched as Dad walked up to Gillian and carefully turned her away from the dwindling blaze. Dean followed them out of the woods.
~~~
September 14, 2007
Hart, MI
Angela pulled at the collar of the t-shirt she’d swiped from Gillian’s closet. It had seen better days, the large yellow, block ‘M’ print-screened on the front was scored and faded from many grueling years of wear and tear and the tag constantly scraped along the back of her neck. She remembered Dad buying it for Gillian right after she’d gotten her acceptance letter to U-M. He’d been so proud.
The sun from the west was dazzlingly bright as it shone straight down the empty country highway. Angela put her hand up to shield her eyes and squinted at the tree line. She could just make out the two figures pacing along the edge of the forest. Occasionally one or both of them would stop and they would have a silent conversation that she couldn’t hope to understand.
Yesterday she would’ve had herself committed for trusting two random guys who’d broken into her sister’s house and lied about being federal agents, but today they were all she had.
They headed back up towards the car. At some point during the afternoon they’d changed into jeans and generic tees. The difference in the way they held themselves made it apparent just how much a costume the suits were. It also made them look more dangerous, a fact that, perversely, made Angela feel more confident.
She stood up from her lean against the car as Dean popped the trunk open. He handed Sam a shotgun and a loaded duffle and grabbed a shotgun for himself. They loaded the barrels in movements choreographed by what could only be years of experience. She mused, in passing, on what kind of a life would have been necessary to give two brothers such mechanical gestures and identical expressions of deadly focus. She wondered what a life like that would have done to her and her sister.
Dean looked up at her when he was done, his hand already resting on another of the many firearms that littered the trunk. “You know how to shoot?” he asked brusquely, a critical look on his face.
Angela shrugged. “Not so much, no.” She really should’ve taken Uncle Dave up on his offer to take her to the shooting range.
Dean only nodded in reply. He and Sam shared another significant look while she played with the amulet that hung around her neck on a piece of twine. They’d spent what was left of the afternoon turning circles of cardboard into something that might protect them, that might help her get her sister back. Anything was better than nothing.
The trunk slammed shut like a gun shot. Wordlessly they turned towards the forest.
The forest was stuffy and still. Angela could feel sweat drip down her back as she stepped under the leafy canopy, her chest tight. The rhythmic stomp of Dean’s boots in front and Sam’s behind was all she could hear. It felt like the world was holding its breath.
They walked like that for about fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour, tromping through saplings and undergrowth. With each step she took the knot in Angela’s throat tightened, each step heavier under the weight of invisible eyes. She realized that she was humming to herself, a quiet tune that was both familiar and alien.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice cut through the air, jarring her out of her introspection. He’d stopped a few feet behind her and was crouched down, examining something on the ground. He looked up when Dean came alongside him. “Look at this.”
Dean squatted beside him. His fingers ran lightly over the little white flowers almost buried under dead leaves and pine needles. “Looks like trailing arbutus.” He looked at Sam. “It’s for protection, right?”
Sam nodded and stood up. “The lore also says that it was sacred to the Ojibwe and Potowatomi. They believed it grew where their gods walked. And look at how it’s growing,” Sam gestured along the ground to either side where the flowers were growing in a narrow line.
“It’s like a border, or a wall.” Dean’s face was as serious as his tone. “Wonder if it’s meant to keep something in or out.”
Angela frowned and surveyed the area, a new paranoia coloring her vision. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped up to a nearby tree, putting a hand up to feel the bark. “The trees have changed.” She glanced over at the guys but didn’t wait for them to respond. “When we started they were mostly deciduous, maple and oak, but these are all pine. And so old-” Her voice trailed off. The music that had been tickling at the edges of her mind suddenly strengthened, a radio finally catching on the right signal. “Can you hear that?”
She turned slowly in a circle, her eyes closed. The music strummed down her nerves, her entire body sparked in anticipation. It was there, so close. “The trees are singing,” she whispered, hardly aware that she’d spoken at all.
She jerked to a stop. Her eyes opened wide and she smiled at Sam and Dean. Everything was clear. “I can see Gillian.” She felt like the entire forest was glowing.
Immediately she spun around and took off deeper into the forest. Her sister was waiting for her.
~~~
“Fuck!” Sam shouted, an involuntary reaction more than a conscious statement, as he started after Angela. Of course they weren’t going to go in, save some people, and get out again in time to get some pie before the diner closed. He’d never been that lucky.
Pine branches slapped against his face as he ran. He’d lost sight of Angela almost immediately, the dark blue of her t-shirt blending seamlessly into the growing darkness under the pine boughs. He ran on blind instinct. She couldn’t be that far away.
His foot slammed through a fragile film of pine needles on the forest floor and he stumbled through over the suddenly precarious ground. He fell forward, barely staying upright by grabbing at a nearby tree. He pulled back with a sharp hiss and stared at his hand. It felt like something had bitten him but there was only loose bark on his palm.
Dean grabbed his elbow. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam grunted but he’d already forgotten about his near tumble. There was something off in Dean’s voice.
He peered closely at his brother. Dean was pale in the deepening twilight, and distracted. His hand was still on Sam’s elbow, grip sure and steady, but his eyes jumped chaotically from shadow to shadow.
“Dude, what is it?” Sam couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice. Dean wouldn’t be this worked up over a couple trees.
Dean shook his head and pulled his hand back, his movements jerky and broad. “Just couldn’t see you there for a second. Do you-” He stopped abruptly and grimaced. He glanced around the forest again, forehead creased in concentration. “I don’t think these things are worth shit.” He flicked the homemade amulet tied around his neck. “Cause there’s something out there saying my name. And I keep seeing things, people, out of the corner of my eyes.”
Sam frowned. He looked around, but if there was anything there he couldn’t see it. He closed his eyes for a second and listened. His frown deepened. “I can’t see anything, but it’s like the air is buzzing.” He huffed out a breath, frustrated by his verbal inadequacy.
When he opened his eyes his attention was caught by the branches above him and the way they moved, each one swaying in a different direction than its neighbor. At that moment it struck him as communication.
“I think we should go this way,” Dean muttered and started walking forward without a backward glance.
Sam followed closely behind him, his hand firmly on his shoulder. They had only walked a few feet when the forest opened up. They stepped into a circular clearing, their eyes blinking in sudden sunlight. The vastness of the open sky was overwhelming after the sweltering silence of the trees.
A single pine tree stood in the center of the clearing. It towered over everything else, the only fixed point in a place that changed every time Sam blinked. The ground wasn’t covered in grass but rather a carpet of trailing arbutus, the color somehow foreboding. The air was almost too thick to breathe.
Sam’s eyes cleared, and the dark figures under the tree coalesced. His grip on Dean’s shoulder tightened involuntarily. Angela was kneeling by the trunk, both of her hands gripping a leg that seemed to be growing out of a knot in the tree. He didn’t doubt the impulse that told him that it was Gillian who she was clinging to so tightly.
Sam surged past his brother. He took a few loping steps across the open space and then jumped. It was like he’d been shot with an electric current. He swore and turned back to his brother, suddenly anxious because Dean wasn’t there.
Dean remained at the edge of the clearing, eyes open and completely still. Roots had grown over his feet.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, voice hoarse and deep. Dean didn’t respond, didn’t look at him or blink. Sam could feel the rage building in his chest. This wasn’t happening, he wouldn’t let it happen.
He strode across the clearing, his anger feeding on every shock that spiked through him with every step. He bent under the low-hanging boughs and then stood to his fullest height, shoulders squared. He looked down at Angela’s dirt and tear-streaked face. A distant part of his mind registered his lack of sympathy and then disregarded the information as irrelevant.
“It won’t let her go,” Angela sobbed. “I keep pulling and pulling but I can’t make her move. It wants to make her like them.” Her eyes strayed from his face to the branches above them.
Sam looked up. His mouth clenched. Emaciated bodies swayed over their heads and dead eyes shined down on them. He recognized one small body; Danny Owen wouldn’t be going home again.
He knelt down and grabbed Angela’s shoulders but she didn’t respond to him, all of her attention focused on something he couldn’t see. He shook her roughly, unmindful of the force he used. “What does it want? Tell me!” he shouted.
She finally looked back down at him, eyes distracted and dim. “It wants worship,” she whispered, terrified.
A sharp growl ripped from his chest. He’d give it worship. He pulled a red can of lighter fluid out of bag. He’d purify the whole goddamn forest.
“No!” Angela screamed. Sam ignored her, she and her sister weren’t important. Only Dean mattered.
Angela surged to her feet as the buzzing in his ears rose to a deafening pitch. She threw herself against the tree, her arms hardly spanning a quarter of its width in a desperate embrace. Her hair whipped in a sudden gale. Sam pulled a lighter out of his pocket.
“I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you want,” she shrieked to whatever was listening. “Just don’t take her away from me!”
The world crashed into blackness.
~~~
Chapter Six
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. It’s all Kripke’s and the CW’s and blah blah blah. We all know who the real brain trust is around here.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: General for the series. Takes place in two time periods, one pre-series and the other situated at some point between 3x04 (Sin City) and 3x05 (Bedtime Stories).
Summary: The Winchesters never stay, and when they go they leave more than burned corpses behind them.
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
November 23, 1996
Thomas F. Keegan Nature Park
Lansing, MI
Bare branches creaked over Gillian’s head, a dull, scratching noise that echoed through her bones. She stood, poised on the edge of the asphalt, and stared into the blackness between the trees. The river flowed to her right and dogs howled somewhere behind the tree-lined ridge far to her left. There were houses up there full of families placidly asleep in their beds. She’d never felt so alone.
She flicked her flashlight on; its dull yellow beam only made the night darker. She took a deep breath and stepped into the woods.
It was entirely still underneath the dead, gray boughs. Brown leaves scrunched under her feet, the decaying layers a thick, wet matting after weeks of rain. All she could hear were her own ragged breaths; it was as if she were the only living thing left.
During the long walk from her house she’d almost talked herself out of going at all. She’d nearly turned around a hundred times but something kept her on her path, forced one foot into movement followed by another. Coming down here was foolish, she knew it was, dangerous in a way she still couldn’t quite understand, but she also knew that she’d never move beyond the sound of her father’s screams if she didn’t do this. She didn’t want to die but she couldn’t live with her memories any longer.
A twig snapped behind her and she jumped. She spun around, the flashlight beam ricocheting off of the tree trunks that penned her in. She swallowed the shouts that threatened to escape her throat. She couldn’t see anything but she could feel it out there, its breath almost tangible on the back of her neck.
She turned back around. Her heart pounded in her ears; she wanted to run, to scream, but instead she carefully stepped forward. She’d walk to the other side of the woods and back again. Whatever happened, happened.
Her foot caught on a hidden root and she stumbled, flashlight flying out of her hands. Her head collided with a tree trunk and she sat down, hard, ephemeral starbursts exploding in her eyes. She shook her head and blinked her eyes rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision and knock the sudden ringing out of her ears. The taste of metal coated the back of her throat.
She blinked again and her eyes cleared. She was surrounded by darkness. Slowly, her eyes adjusted and she could see the light from the nearly full moon stream past hibernating trees. It was brighter than she’d thought it would be; it was like standing on another world, everything turned cold and silver. She stood up slowly, her hand scraped against the rough bark of the maple tree holding her up.
A deep growl shuddered from behind her back. She knew that noise. She spun around, her lungs frozen and her eyes full of tears.
The monster stared at her, lips curled, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. It had been waiting for her.
~~~
Dean ghosted through the trees. He could hardly hear his own feet as he skidded from trunk to trunk, shotgun held ready in his hands. Dad was somewhere further north, towards the river. The forest wasn’t huge, it was nothing compared to some of the places they’d hunted through in the past, but it was big enough to get lost in, especially with the moonlight playing tricks with his peripheral vision.
He stopped and crouched beside a fallen tree. Something had stood there, something heavy with feet bigger than anything Dean had seen before, except for those grizzly tracks Dad’d found during a training run in Colorado.
Dean grimaced and wiped rotting leaf slime off of his hand. Maybe the fucker was around here, maybe it wasn’t. No way to tell how old the footprint was. Shame it hadn’t laid some scat out for him to find, but that’d just make things too fucking easy, or something.
But any direction was better than nothing at all. And if it’d stuck around after chomping down on Dewar then there was a decent chance that it was still waiting around for Victim #3. Dean stood up and headed further west. Dad was probably right about the beast setting up a den somewhere by the bridge. It was a pretty cushy area to hole up for the winter, surrounded by a tasty smorgasbord of all the suburbanites it could get.
He stepped around a tree and froze, gun brought to bear on the scene frozen in front of him. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing-that Gillian chick standing in front of the thing that looked like a mutant wolverine on steroids. They stared at each other like they were the only two beings in the world.
“Move!” Dad’s order cut through the air and shattered time back into motion. The monster howled and sprang at the same time that Gillian took off running to her left, straight at Dean.
“Come on, come on!” Dean’s words were muffled under the sound of Dad’s shotgun booming. The creature howled again but it didn’t go down. It skidded and turned, its disjointed leaps quickly eating up the space between it and the girl.
Dean grabbed her arm as she ran up and pushed her past him. The thing was nearly on top of them, a sickly, hungry light in its eyes.
Dean squared his shoulders and watched it come. It was the only thing he could see, the adrenaline in his blood focusing his eyes and clearing his head. He took a deep breath, his heart a steady pulse in his ears, and pulled the trigger.
The blast echoed through the dell, and the thing howled again, a horrific sound. It fell to the ground and twitched, a labored attempt to pick itself up. Dad fired from its other side and it stilled. It didn’t get up again.
Dean automatically pulled the lighter fluid out of the pack on his back. He doused the still-warm carcass, his nose twitching with the combined attack of the acrid accelerant and the rotten stench that swirled around the dead body.
As Dean stepped away Dad struck the matchbook and dropped it in one smooth motion. The beast burst into flames. Dean watched it burn, fire wrapping around fur and muscle, consuming everything in sight.
He looked up and met Dad’s eyes, identical grins on their faces. Nothing felt better than a job well done.
Dad’s eyes caught on something over Dean’s shoulder and the grin leached off of his face. Dean turned, his eyes dazed for a second from the lack of light. Gillian stood behind him, half-hidden behind a tree. Her face was pale and firelight danced in her eyes as she stared at what was left of the thing that had killed her father.
Dad clapped him on the shoulder, his hand steady and warm. “Come on,” he said, his voice pitched low for Dean’s ears only even though he never looked away from the girl. “We need to get her home.”
Dean nodded and hiked the bag back up on his shoulder with a grunt. He watched as Dad walked up to Gillian and carefully turned her away from the dwindling blaze. Dean followed them out of the woods.
~~~
September 14, 2007
Hart, MI
Angela pulled at the collar of the t-shirt she’d swiped from Gillian’s closet. It had seen better days, the large yellow, block ‘M’ print-screened on the front was scored and faded from many grueling years of wear and tear and the tag constantly scraped along the back of her neck. She remembered Dad buying it for Gillian right after she’d gotten her acceptance letter to U-M. He’d been so proud.
The sun from the west was dazzlingly bright as it shone straight down the empty country highway. Angela put her hand up to shield her eyes and squinted at the tree line. She could just make out the two figures pacing along the edge of the forest. Occasionally one or both of them would stop and they would have a silent conversation that she couldn’t hope to understand.
Yesterday she would’ve had herself committed for trusting two random guys who’d broken into her sister’s house and lied about being federal agents, but today they were all she had.
They headed back up towards the car. At some point during the afternoon they’d changed into jeans and generic tees. The difference in the way they held themselves made it apparent just how much a costume the suits were. It also made them look more dangerous, a fact that, perversely, made Angela feel more confident.
She stood up from her lean against the car as Dean popped the trunk open. He handed Sam a shotgun and a loaded duffle and grabbed a shotgun for himself. They loaded the barrels in movements choreographed by what could only be years of experience. She mused, in passing, on what kind of a life would have been necessary to give two brothers such mechanical gestures and identical expressions of deadly focus. She wondered what a life like that would have done to her and her sister.
Dean looked up at her when he was done, his hand already resting on another of the many firearms that littered the trunk. “You know how to shoot?” he asked brusquely, a critical look on his face.
Angela shrugged. “Not so much, no.” She really should’ve taken Uncle Dave up on his offer to take her to the shooting range.
Dean only nodded in reply. He and Sam shared another significant look while she played with the amulet that hung around her neck on a piece of twine. They’d spent what was left of the afternoon turning circles of cardboard into something that might protect them, that might help her get her sister back. Anything was better than nothing.
The trunk slammed shut like a gun shot. Wordlessly they turned towards the forest.
The forest was stuffy and still. Angela could feel sweat drip down her back as she stepped under the leafy canopy, her chest tight. The rhythmic stomp of Dean’s boots in front and Sam’s behind was all she could hear. It felt like the world was holding its breath.
They walked like that for about fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour, tromping through saplings and undergrowth. With each step she took the knot in Angela’s throat tightened, each step heavier under the weight of invisible eyes. She realized that she was humming to herself, a quiet tune that was both familiar and alien.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice cut through the air, jarring her out of her introspection. He’d stopped a few feet behind her and was crouched down, examining something on the ground. He looked up when Dean came alongside him. “Look at this.”
Dean squatted beside him. His fingers ran lightly over the little white flowers almost buried under dead leaves and pine needles. “Looks like trailing arbutus.” He looked at Sam. “It’s for protection, right?”
Sam nodded and stood up. “The lore also says that it was sacred to the Ojibwe and Potowatomi. They believed it grew where their gods walked. And look at how it’s growing,” Sam gestured along the ground to either side where the flowers were growing in a narrow line.
“It’s like a border, or a wall.” Dean’s face was as serious as his tone. “Wonder if it’s meant to keep something in or out.”
Angela frowned and surveyed the area, a new paranoia coloring her vision. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped up to a nearby tree, putting a hand up to feel the bark. “The trees have changed.” She glanced over at the guys but didn’t wait for them to respond. “When we started they were mostly deciduous, maple and oak, but these are all pine. And so old-” Her voice trailed off. The music that had been tickling at the edges of her mind suddenly strengthened, a radio finally catching on the right signal. “Can you hear that?”
She turned slowly in a circle, her eyes closed. The music strummed down her nerves, her entire body sparked in anticipation. It was there, so close. “The trees are singing,” she whispered, hardly aware that she’d spoken at all.
She jerked to a stop. Her eyes opened wide and she smiled at Sam and Dean. Everything was clear. “I can see Gillian.” She felt like the entire forest was glowing.
Immediately she spun around and took off deeper into the forest. Her sister was waiting for her.
~~~
“Fuck!” Sam shouted, an involuntary reaction more than a conscious statement, as he started after Angela. Of course they weren’t going to go in, save some people, and get out again in time to get some pie before the diner closed. He’d never been that lucky.
Pine branches slapped against his face as he ran. He’d lost sight of Angela almost immediately, the dark blue of her t-shirt blending seamlessly into the growing darkness under the pine boughs. He ran on blind instinct. She couldn’t be that far away.
His foot slammed through a fragile film of pine needles on the forest floor and he stumbled through over the suddenly precarious ground. He fell forward, barely staying upright by grabbing at a nearby tree. He pulled back with a sharp hiss and stared at his hand. It felt like something had bitten him but there was only loose bark on his palm.
Dean grabbed his elbow. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam grunted but he’d already forgotten about his near tumble. There was something off in Dean’s voice.
He peered closely at his brother. Dean was pale in the deepening twilight, and distracted. His hand was still on Sam’s elbow, grip sure and steady, but his eyes jumped chaotically from shadow to shadow.
“Dude, what is it?” Sam couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice. Dean wouldn’t be this worked up over a couple trees.
Dean shook his head and pulled his hand back, his movements jerky and broad. “Just couldn’t see you there for a second. Do you-” He stopped abruptly and grimaced. He glanced around the forest again, forehead creased in concentration. “I don’t think these things are worth shit.” He flicked the homemade amulet tied around his neck. “Cause there’s something out there saying my name. And I keep seeing things, people, out of the corner of my eyes.”
Sam frowned. He looked around, but if there was anything there he couldn’t see it. He closed his eyes for a second and listened. His frown deepened. “I can’t see anything, but it’s like the air is buzzing.” He huffed out a breath, frustrated by his verbal inadequacy.
When he opened his eyes his attention was caught by the branches above him and the way they moved, each one swaying in a different direction than its neighbor. At that moment it struck him as communication.
“I think we should go this way,” Dean muttered and started walking forward without a backward glance.
Sam followed closely behind him, his hand firmly on his shoulder. They had only walked a few feet when the forest opened up. They stepped into a circular clearing, their eyes blinking in sudden sunlight. The vastness of the open sky was overwhelming after the sweltering silence of the trees.
A single pine tree stood in the center of the clearing. It towered over everything else, the only fixed point in a place that changed every time Sam blinked. The ground wasn’t covered in grass but rather a carpet of trailing arbutus, the color somehow foreboding. The air was almost too thick to breathe.
Sam’s eyes cleared, and the dark figures under the tree coalesced. His grip on Dean’s shoulder tightened involuntarily. Angela was kneeling by the trunk, both of her hands gripping a leg that seemed to be growing out of a knot in the tree. He didn’t doubt the impulse that told him that it was Gillian who she was clinging to so tightly.
Sam surged past his brother. He took a few loping steps across the open space and then jumped. It was like he’d been shot with an electric current. He swore and turned back to his brother, suddenly anxious because Dean wasn’t there.
Dean remained at the edge of the clearing, eyes open and completely still. Roots had grown over his feet.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, voice hoarse and deep. Dean didn’t respond, didn’t look at him or blink. Sam could feel the rage building in his chest. This wasn’t happening, he wouldn’t let it happen.
He strode across the clearing, his anger feeding on every shock that spiked through him with every step. He bent under the low-hanging boughs and then stood to his fullest height, shoulders squared. He looked down at Angela’s dirt and tear-streaked face. A distant part of his mind registered his lack of sympathy and then disregarded the information as irrelevant.
“It won’t let her go,” Angela sobbed. “I keep pulling and pulling but I can’t make her move. It wants to make her like them.” Her eyes strayed from his face to the branches above them.
Sam looked up. His mouth clenched. Emaciated bodies swayed over their heads and dead eyes shined down on them. He recognized one small body; Danny Owen wouldn’t be going home again.
He knelt down and grabbed Angela’s shoulders but she didn’t respond to him, all of her attention focused on something he couldn’t see. He shook her roughly, unmindful of the force he used. “What does it want? Tell me!” he shouted.
She finally looked back down at him, eyes distracted and dim. “It wants worship,” she whispered, terrified.
A sharp growl ripped from his chest. He’d give it worship. He pulled a red can of lighter fluid out of bag. He’d purify the whole goddamn forest.
“No!” Angela screamed. Sam ignored her, she and her sister weren’t important. Only Dean mattered.
Angela surged to her feet as the buzzing in his ears rose to a deafening pitch. She threw herself against the tree, her arms hardly spanning a quarter of its width in a desperate embrace. Her hair whipped in a sudden gale. Sam pulled a lighter out of his pocket.
“I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you want,” she shrieked to whatever was listening. “Just don’t take her away from me!”
The world crashed into blackness.
~~~
Chapter Six