Fic: The Shattered One (22/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
It was one of the most awkward car rides Sam could remember them having in a really, really long time. Dean was driving like the road had offended him and the Impala was his blunt instrument for punishing it. His hands were clamped tight on the steering wheel, his eyes locked forward like a wolf on the hunt, and his jaw muscle kept doing that ‘I’m holding in so much man-pain’ twitch that Sam knew to tread carefully around. Castiel was in the backseat, cradling Daniel as usual, but it was a play of contrasts. His hold on Daniel was gentle, but his expression was stony with barely-masked displeasure… and no one radiated and fumed like an angel did.
Sam was just keeping his head down until something distracted everyone from the spat that had precipitated the tension in the car.
They’d been leaving Bobby’s, bound for Detroit, when Castiel had stated he would fly on ahead into the fray and see what trouble he could mitigate on his own before the Winchesters got there. It was practical; Castiel could be there in the time it took him to think ‘Detroit’.
But Dean, already in a foul mood, had had a shit-fit. He snapped, “Not a chance… there’s no telling what’ll happen once we get there that could split us up, so until then, you’re going to sit back there with Daniel and let him stock up on all the grace from you that he can.”
Just remembering the way Castiel had bristled and loomed at that made Sam swallow. He wasn’t the target of the angel’s burning stare, but he’d backed up a step all the same. Suffice it to say, Castiel had not taken kindly to being commanded. Sam was certain they were going to hear that ‘I don’t serve you’ speech again (probably in that same hostile tone of voice he’d used the first time, too). He was very surprised when Castiel didn’t refuse to obey on principle alone. Instead, he collected his son and got in the backseat of the Impala.
But Dean wasn’t placated by that very much, if his belligerent glower while he drove was any indication. And in the hours they’d been on the road, Castiel hadn’t gotten over being bossed around like a mindless foot soldier. He sat in the back, tensely silent, and the annoyance coming off of him was so real Sam could swear he felt it raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
Sam removed himself from the situation by doing his best to be invisible or acting as the contact with Cait. Not that she was much for phone conversation. After giving Sam an address for the place in Detroit where she’d set up base and a brusque suggestion that they get the lead out, she hung up without saying goodbye.
So, basically, worst family road trip ever.
If he thought he could say a word without getting visually skewered, Sam would have told Castiel that Dean was being an ass because he was mad at himself for being a potentially-shitty dad, not that he was angry at the angel for anything. Or he’d tell Dean that Castiel had suffered and sacrificed so much for his free will, so it was really douchey for Dean to seemingly strip it from him, regardless of how unintentionally.
But Sam figured he’d be taking his life in his hands either way, so he just scrunched down and kept quiet. It made for a long trip. So awkwardly silent, in fact, that Sam was the one digging out a classic rock cassette and sticking it in the tape deck… just anything to break the oppressive silence.
They were about two hours out when Dean turned down the music (not that it had been loud to begin with… while Dean cared nothing for his own eardrums or his brother’s, apparently he cared about his son’s). “Getting close… you should check in with that chick,” he said to Sam.
Sam nodded, pulled out his phone, and dialed the number.
It went straight to voicemail… no ringing.
“I’m not getting through.”
“She not answering?” Dean asked.
“Acting more like either her phone’s off, dead, or not getting any reception.”
Dean frowned. “Give Ellen a call… they left half a day before we did; they should be there by now.”
Sam tried Ellen’s number.
“Same thing, straight to voicemail,” Sam reported.
“That can’t be good,” Dean muttered. Not that it stopped their headlong rush toward the city. Because that was the Winchester way.
If the problem with the phones was the first sign of things being worse than they’d feared, the roadblock was the next. They could see the skyscrapers of Detroit swelling in the Impala’s windshield, all harsh angles and sharp edges, when the road ahead was blocked by police cars and barricades barring passage into the city.
Police cars, but no sign of police.
Dean stopped the car in the middle of the road and they all stared at the eerie scene. It smacked of those end of the world type movies that Jess used to like but Sam never could, just because he knew too many ways it could actually happen.
“Think we should try to find another road into the city?” Sam asked, his voice strangely loud in the car.
Dean tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. “Might not be time for that,” he mused. Then he glanced back at Castiel. “If I stash the car, could you angel airway us to that address Sam got from that chick?”
Castiel’s anger over their little domestic squabble seemingly stepped aside for the warrior facing his enemies. “I can.”
Dean made a u-turn in the middle of the road and backtracked until he found an access road off the highway. He pulled off the road, tucked the Impala behind a copse of trees, and without a word they all got out. Dean and Sam pulled bulging duffels of supplies to combat an Apocalyptic-scale demon possession party out of the trunk, then both brothers turned to Castiel.
“I need you to hold Daniel,” Castiel told Dean.
Dean took a steeling breath. “Yeah, literally be the one carrying him into this clusterfuck, why not?” he bitched to himself, but he shouldered his bag and took his son from Castiel.
When his hands were free, Castiel lifted two fingers to each brother’s forehead…
… and suddenly they were inside the city.
Sam staggered a bit trying to orient himself to their new surroundings. They were at the backside of the same towering buildings they’d seen from the road before. They were giants looming over a residential section of tightly-packed houses. The streets were empty, and it might look like a typical school/workday with everyone elsewhere, but the random car abandoned sideways in the street with doors thrown open and others with alarms endlessly wailing shattered that illusion. Somewhere out of sight, but not far enough for comfort, were the muffled sounds of screaming. There were columns of smoke to the left… somewhere on another block, homes were burning. Police sirens were screaming, first from the right, then the left, then ahead, then behind. The house across the street had a bay window that had been broken. Glass littered the yard, fanning out around an armchair lying overturned in the grass. A few houses down the street had boards hastily nailed over the windows. Others stood with front doors open, hinting at so many grim reasons the world so clearly on the cusp of ending would be welcome to come and go at will.
It looked like a disaster zone, but neither Winchester got much chance to dwell on it. Almost the moment they landed, Castiel’s head snapped around purposefully. Like a bloodhound catching a scent.
“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked.
“There are a large number of possessions taking place not far from here.”
“Large number like…”
“Like Lucifer has opened another Hellmouth and the escaping demons are finding hosts.”
“Well, fuck,” Dean said.
Castiel glanced at them a second before he said, “I should go close it before any more demons are released.”
“Close it how?” Dean asked.
But the last syllables were said to empty air when Castiel vanished on Dean in mid-sentence.
“Damnit,” Dean grumbled.
Sam turned around to look at the house they’d landed in front of. It was small, narrow, and its windows were boarded up. The numbers on the façade matched those given to him by Cait.
“Come on, Dean,” Sam tugged at Dean’s elbow. “I’m betting this isn’t the kind of neighborhood we want to hang around outside in.”
Sam had barely finished knocking on the door when it was opened and Ellen was looking back at them, her face stern and determined. Behind her stood Strafe, right arm in a cast from elbow to wrist, and at his side an African American man in a police uniform that Sam didn’t know.
“Good to see you boys,” Ellen said gruffly, “now get your asses inside before someone sees you.”
They didn’t have to be told twice.
Inside, the brothers dropped their bags in the foyer and Sam looked around while Ellen was padlocking the front door behind them. Sam did a quick survey of the room. It was a fairly typical middle class home, but even here there were signs of what was going on outside. The coffee table was sitting at an odd angle, and there was a dark stain on the rug that Sam knew had to be blood.
It was also crowded. In addition to Ellen, Strafe, and the cop, Jo was standing watch at a window, rifle in her hands as she peeked out through the slats boarded over the glass. She cast the Winchesters a glance and nodded in acknowledgement before turning her eyes back to her job. Beyond a small hallway (where the foot of a staircase was visible) was a kitchen, where a man in his forties with salt-and-pepper hair and a hunter’s fashion sense stood next to a woman easily ten years younger with close-cropped dark hair and one side of her neck sporting a tattoo. On the couch, curled in the corner with her face buried in her arms, was another woman… and though her age was hard to guess without seeing her face, she felt young, closer to Jo’s age.
“Where’s your angel?” Ellen asked as she came around them.
“Sensed what might be a Hellmouth nearby, so he went off to take care of it,” Dean answered.
At that moment, Daniel made a noise to get attention (sounded to Sam like his ‘I’m hungry’ noise).
At the baby’s half-cry, the woman on the couch made a choking sound, her body shuddered, and her head snapped up to seek the source of the noise. She was young, though the grief on her face made her look ancient, too. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. When she saw Daniel in Dean’s arms, she started to sob again.
Suddenly, the tattooed woman was in Dean’s face, not intimidated by the good six inches of height Dean had on her. She glared up at him furiously. The tattoo on her neck was an ornate bird, Sam could tell now.
“Why did you bring a baby?” she asked lowly.
“Sorry, the sitter canceled,” Dean snapped back.
The woman gave him a mighty ‘go to hell’ look, then turned toward the woman on the couch. “Hannah…?”
Hannah shook her head, stood, and fled up the stairs. For a second, the tattooed woman seemed to consider going after the younger one, then she just kind of sagged and didn’t. She turned back to the Winchesters, eyeing both of them bitterly.
And by process of elimination, Sam ventured, “You must be Cait.”
She looked at him, sized him up, then gave a curt nod. “Caitlyn Phoenix. That was my baby sister, Hannah. I gather you know the Harvelles.”
“Don’t know him, though,” Dean looked toward the man in the kitchen.
Said man came into the living room. “Gerald Anderson.”
“I’m Officer Nathan Winters,” the cop introduced himself without waiting to be asked.
Dean looked around at the gathered group. “And is everyone here a hunter?”
“Hannah’s not,” Cait said… though really, Sam thought that was pretty obvious without them needing to be told.
“I’m the law,” Nathan replied flatly, clearly leery of the ‘hunter’ title, like one of the uninitiated.
Which was not the way to win Dean’s trust.
“Okay,” Sam quickly jumped in, “looks like we have a couple of minutes… maybe someone could fill us in?”
Cait started. “I was working a case in Ann Arbor when my little sister called me, said there was something weird going on with her husband, Rob. She said he wasn’t acting like himself: behaving violently, scaring my sister that he would actually hurt her or their daughter - and this is a guy who was not a violent person. I’ve been in the business about fifteen years, so Hannah knows if something’s hinky, she calls her big sis.
“I got here and Rob was… he’d killed their four-month-old daughter, Elsi, and had Hannah trapped in an upstairs bathroom. He’d just about busted through the door when I got here.”
“So you…” Sam began.
Cait looked meaningfully at the bloodstain on the rug. “I wasted him… I had to. He was coming at me with a knife like a maniac. I don’t think he even heard me when I tried to warn him off.”
“So, demon possession?” Sam offered.
Cait hesitated. “It sounds like it, but some things aren’t adding up. I shot him with a 9 mil, and that did it… no rock salt, no exorcism, no black smoke… but I can promise you that wasn’t Rob.”
“No way Rob would do something like that,” Nathan chimed in as he stepped closer. “I knew Rob Masters. He was a stand-up guy. He doted on his daughter… I can’t believe he killed her.”
“How did you get balled up in this?” Dean asked.
“Hannah called the police on her cell phone from inside the bathroom when Rob was trying to break his way in. I came on the scene just seconds before Ms. Phoenix shot Rob. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…”
“I’d be in cuffs for murder instead of being believed for calling it self-defense,” Cait finished snidely.
Nathan looked hard at Cait before returning his attention to the Winchesters. “I’d called for reinforcements, a team for body pick-up… but they never came.”
“That’s when the first demons started to swarm through this neighborhood,” Ellen said somberly. “Jo and I came in after them, but we saw them rip through another street… they were like rabid animals. People tearing through the streets, attacking people left and right… I tell you, boys, it’s strange and plenty creepy. And that’s coming from a seasoned hunter.”
“What have you done so far?” Sam asked, noting the Devil’s Trap drawn hastily in magic marker on the hardwood floor in front of the door they’d just passed through and the tell-tale mess from salt lines on the window sills.
“Found out that exorcisms don’t work on them,” Jo said from the window.
“How’s that possible?” Dean asked.
“Beats us,” Ellen said. “We thought maybe someone was putting binding brands on them… wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.” Sam couldn’t help his eyes flicking toward Jo. “But Rob’s the only one we’ve had a close look at, and there’s nothing on him. Cuts and bruises, sure, but binding work, no.”
“Did you call Bobby to see what he thought?” Dean asked.
“Tried… phones stopped working about six hours ago. Landlines, cell phones, police radio… everything.”
“That’s strange,” Sam said.
“Oh, gets better than that,” Gerald quipped, “come look at this shit.” With that, he turned back toward the kitchen. Sam glanced briefly at Dean then followed Gerald.
At the kitchen window, Gerald pulled back the curtain and pointed toward a gap in the boards nailed to the frame. “That there, I’ve seen it other places in town, too. Got any ideas? ‘Cause we’re stumped.”
Sam ducked down to peer through the boards, looking for whatever had the house full of hunters scratching their heads.
“Oh, shit,” Sam cursed.
“You know what that means?” Gerald asked.
“Yeah… Dean, get in here!”
Dean turned up at Sam’s elbow a few seconds later. “What’s up?”
“See for yourself,” Sam gestured out the window.
Dean crouched and looked. He drew back sharply. “Oh, shit.”
“What? What’s it mean?” Gerald asked impatiently.
Sam almost didn’t want to say. But there was no denying the graffiti on the building on the other side of the alley. The word was spelled out in large, bright orange letters against the dark red brick.
Croatoan.
Next
It was one of the most awkward car rides Sam could remember them having in a really, really long time. Dean was driving like the road had offended him and the Impala was his blunt instrument for punishing it. His hands were clamped tight on the steering wheel, his eyes locked forward like a wolf on the hunt, and his jaw muscle kept doing that ‘I’m holding in so much man-pain’ twitch that Sam knew to tread carefully around. Castiel was in the backseat, cradling Daniel as usual, but it was a play of contrasts. His hold on Daniel was gentle, but his expression was stony with barely-masked displeasure… and no one radiated and fumed like an angel did.
Sam was just keeping his head down until something distracted everyone from the spat that had precipitated the tension in the car.
They’d been leaving Bobby’s, bound for Detroit, when Castiel had stated he would fly on ahead into the fray and see what trouble he could mitigate on his own before the Winchesters got there. It was practical; Castiel could be there in the time it took him to think ‘Detroit’.
But Dean, already in a foul mood, had had a shit-fit. He snapped, “Not a chance… there’s no telling what’ll happen once we get there that could split us up, so until then, you’re going to sit back there with Daniel and let him stock up on all the grace from you that he can.”
Just remembering the way Castiel had bristled and loomed at that made Sam swallow. He wasn’t the target of the angel’s burning stare, but he’d backed up a step all the same. Suffice it to say, Castiel had not taken kindly to being commanded. Sam was certain they were going to hear that ‘I don’t serve you’ speech again (probably in that same hostile tone of voice he’d used the first time, too). He was very surprised when Castiel didn’t refuse to obey on principle alone. Instead, he collected his son and got in the backseat of the Impala.
But Dean wasn’t placated by that very much, if his belligerent glower while he drove was any indication. And in the hours they’d been on the road, Castiel hadn’t gotten over being bossed around like a mindless foot soldier. He sat in the back, tensely silent, and the annoyance coming off of him was so real Sam could swear he felt it raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
Sam removed himself from the situation by doing his best to be invisible or acting as the contact with Cait. Not that she was much for phone conversation. After giving Sam an address for the place in Detroit where she’d set up base and a brusque suggestion that they get the lead out, she hung up without saying goodbye.
So, basically, worst family road trip ever.
If he thought he could say a word without getting visually skewered, Sam would have told Castiel that Dean was being an ass because he was mad at himself for being a potentially-shitty dad, not that he was angry at the angel for anything. Or he’d tell Dean that Castiel had suffered and sacrificed so much for his free will, so it was really douchey for Dean to seemingly strip it from him, regardless of how unintentionally.
But Sam figured he’d be taking his life in his hands either way, so he just scrunched down and kept quiet. It made for a long trip. So awkwardly silent, in fact, that Sam was the one digging out a classic rock cassette and sticking it in the tape deck… just anything to break the oppressive silence.
They were about two hours out when Dean turned down the music (not that it had been loud to begin with… while Dean cared nothing for his own eardrums or his brother’s, apparently he cared about his son’s). “Getting close… you should check in with that chick,” he said to Sam.
Sam nodded, pulled out his phone, and dialed the number.
It went straight to voicemail… no ringing.
“I’m not getting through.”
“She not answering?” Dean asked.
“Acting more like either her phone’s off, dead, or not getting any reception.”
Dean frowned. “Give Ellen a call… they left half a day before we did; they should be there by now.”
Sam tried Ellen’s number.
“Same thing, straight to voicemail,” Sam reported.
“That can’t be good,” Dean muttered. Not that it stopped their headlong rush toward the city. Because that was the Winchester way.
If the problem with the phones was the first sign of things being worse than they’d feared, the roadblock was the next. They could see the skyscrapers of Detroit swelling in the Impala’s windshield, all harsh angles and sharp edges, when the road ahead was blocked by police cars and barricades barring passage into the city.
Police cars, but no sign of police.
Dean stopped the car in the middle of the road and they all stared at the eerie scene. It smacked of those end of the world type movies that Jess used to like but Sam never could, just because he knew too many ways it could actually happen.
“Think we should try to find another road into the city?” Sam asked, his voice strangely loud in the car.
Dean tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. “Might not be time for that,” he mused. Then he glanced back at Castiel. “If I stash the car, could you angel airway us to that address Sam got from that chick?”
Castiel’s anger over their little domestic squabble seemingly stepped aside for the warrior facing his enemies. “I can.”
Dean made a u-turn in the middle of the road and backtracked until he found an access road off the highway. He pulled off the road, tucked the Impala behind a copse of trees, and without a word they all got out. Dean and Sam pulled bulging duffels of supplies to combat an Apocalyptic-scale demon possession party out of the trunk, then both brothers turned to Castiel.
“I need you to hold Daniel,” Castiel told Dean.
Dean took a steeling breath. “Yeah, literally be the one carrying him into this clusterfuck, why not?” he bitched to himself, but he shouldered his bag and took his son from Castiel.
When his hands were free, Castiel lifted two fingers to each brother’s forehead…
… and suddenly they were inside the city.
Sam staggered a bit trying to orient himself to their new surroundings. They were at the backside of the same towering buildings they’d seen from the road before. They were giants looming over a residential section of tightly-packed houses. The streets were empty, and it might look like a typical school/workday with everyone elsewhere, but the random car abandoned sideways in the street with doors thrown open and others with alarms endlessly wailing shattered that illusion. Somewhere out of sight, but not far enough for comfort, were the muffled sounds of screaming. There were columns of smoke to the left… somewhere on another block, homes were burning. Police sirens were screaming, first from the right, then the left, then ahead, then behind. The house across the street had a bay window that had been broken. Glass littered the yard, fanning out around an armchair lying overturned in the grass. A few houses down the street had boards hastily nailed over the windows. Others stood with front doors open, hinting at so many grim reasons the world so clearly on the cusp of ending would be welcome to come and go at will.
It looked like a disaster zone, but neither Winchester got much chance to dwell on it. Almost the moment they landed, Castiel’s head snapped around purposefully. Like a bloodhound catching a scent.
“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked.
“There are a large number of possessions taking place not far from here.”
“Large number like…”
“Like Lucifer has opened another Hellmouth and the escaping demons are finding hosts.”
“Well, fuck,” Dean said.
Castiel glanced at them a second before he said, “I should go close it before any more demons are released.”
“Close it how?” Dean asked.
But the last syllables were said to empty air when Castiel vanished on Dean in mid-sentence.
“Damnit,” Dean grumbled.
Sam turned around to look at the house they’d landed in front of. It was small, narrow, and its windows were boarded up. The numbers on the façade matched those given to him by Cait.
“Come on, Dean,” Sam tugged at Dean’s elbow. “I’m betting this isn’t the kind of neighborhood we want to hang around outside in.”
Sam had barely finished knocking on the door when it was opened and Ellen was looking back at them, her face stern and determined. Behind her stood Strafe, right arm in a cast from elbow to wrist, and at his side an African American man in a police uniform that Sam didn’t know.
“Good to see you boys,” Ellen said gruffly, “now get your asses inside before someone sees you.”
They didn’t have to be told twice.
Inside, the brothers dropped their bags in the foyer and Sam looked around while Ellen was padlocking the front door behind them. Sam did a quick survey of the room. It was a fairly typical middle class home, but even here there were signs of what was going on outside. The coffee table was sitting at an odd angle, and there was a dark stain on the rug that Sam knew had to be blood.
It was also crowded. In addition to Ellen, Strafe, and the cop, Jo was standing watch at a window, rifle in her hands as she peeked out through the slats boarded over the glass. She cast the Winchesters a glance and nodded in acknowledgement before turning her eyes back to her job. Beyond a small hallway (where the foot of a staircase was visible) was a kitchen, where a man in his forties with salt-and-pepper hair and a hunter’s fashion sense stood next to a woman easily ten years younger with close-cropped dark hair and one side of her neck sporting a tattoo. On the couch, curled in the corner with her face buried in her arms, was another woman… and though her age was hard to guess without seeing her face, she felt young, closer to Jo’s age.
“Where’s your angel?” Ellen asked as she came around them.
“Sensed what might be a Hellmouth nearby, so he went off to take care of it,” Dean answered.
At that moment, Daniel made a noise to get attention (sounded to Sam like his ‘I’m hungry’ noise).
At the baby’s half-cry, the woman on the couch made a choking sound, her body shuddered, and her head snapped up to seek the source of the noise. She was young, though the grief on her face made her look ancient, too. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. When she saw Daniel in Dean’s arms, she started to sob again.
Suddenly, the tattooed woman was in Dean’s face, not intimidated by the good six inches of height Dean had on her. She glared up at him furiously. The tattoo on her neck was an ornate bird, Sam could tell now.
“Why did you bring a baby?” she asked lowly.
“Sorry, the sitter canceled,” Dean snapped back.
The woman gave him a mighty ‘go to hell’ look, then turned toward the woman on the couch. “Hannah…?”
Hannah shook her head, stood, and fled up the stairs. For a second, the tattooed woman seemed to consider going after the younger one, then she just kind of sagged and didn’t. She turned back to the Winchesters, eyeing both of them bitterly.
And by process of elimination, Sam ventured, “You must be Cait.”
She looked at him, sized him up, then gave a curt nod. “Caitlyn Phoenix. That was my baby sister, Hannah. I gather you know the Harvelles.”
“Don’t know him, though,” Dean looked toward the man in the kitchen.
Said man came into the living room. “Gerald Anderson.”
“I’m Officer Nathan Winters,” the cop introduced himself without waiting to be asked.
Dean looked around at the gathered group. “And is everyone here a hunter?”
“Hannah’s not,” Cait said… though really, Sam thought that was pretty obvious without them needing to be told.
“I’m the law,” Nathan replied flatly, clearly leery of the ‘hunter’ title, like one of the uninitiated.
Which was not the way to win Dean’s trust.
“Okay,” Sam quickly jumped in, “looks like we have a couple of minutes… maybe someone could fill us in?”
Cait started. “I was working a case in Ann Arbor when my little sister called me, said there was something weird going on with her husband, Rob. She said he wasn’t acting like himself: behaving violently, scaring my sister that he would actually hurt her or their daughter - and this is a guy who was not a violent person. I’ve been in the business about fifteen years, so Hannah knows if something’s hinky, she calls her big sis.
“I got here and Rob was… he’d killed their four-month-old daughter, Elsi, and had Hannah trapped in an upstairs bathroom. He’d just about busted through the door when I got here.”
“So you…” Sam began.
Cait looked meaningfully at the bloodstain on the rug. “I wasted him… I had to. He was coming at me with a knife like a maniac. I don’t think he even heard me when I tried to warn him off.”
“So, demon possession?” Sam offered.
Cait hesitated. “It sounds like it, but some things aren’t adding up. I shot him with a 9 mil, and that did it… no rock salt, no exorcism, no black smoke… but I can promise you that wasn’t Rob.”
“No way Rob would do something like that,” Nathan chimed in as he stepped closer. “I knew Rob Masters. He was a stand-up guy. He doted on his daughter… I can’t believe he killed her.”
“How did you get balled up in this?” Dean asked.
“Hannah called the police on her cell phone from inside the bathroom when Rob was trying to break his way in. I came on the scene just seconds before Ms. Phoenix shot Rob. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…”
“I’d be in cuffs for murder instead of being believed for calling it self-defense,” Cait finished snidely.
Nathan looked hard at Cait before returning his attention to the Winchesters. “I’d called for reinforcements, a team for body pick-up… but they never came.”
“That’s when the first demons started to swarm through this neighborhood,” Ellen said somberly. “Jo and I came in after them, but we saw them rip through another street… they were like rabid animals. People tearing through the streets, attacking people left and right… I tell you, boys, it’s strange and plenty creepy. And that’s coming from a seasoned hunter.”
“What have you done so far?” Sam asked, noting the Devil’s Trap drawn hastily in magic marker on the hardwood floor in front of the door they’d just passed through and the tell-tale mess from salt lines on the window sills.
“Found out that exorcisms don’t work on them,” Jo said from the window.
“How’s that possible?” Dean asked.
“Beats us,” Ellen said. “We thought maybe someone was putting binding brands on them… wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.” Sam couldn’t help his eyes flicking toward Jo. “But Rob’s the only one we’ve had a close look at, and there’s nothing on him. Cuts and bruises, sure, but binding work, no.”
“Did you call Bobby to see what he thought?” Dean asked.
“Tried… phones stopped working about six hours ago. Landlines, cell phones, police radio… everything.”
“That’s strange,” Sam said.
“Oh, gets better than that,” Gerald quipped, “come look at this shit.” With that, he turned back toward the kitchen. Sam glanced briefly at Dean then followed Gerald.
At the kitchen window, Gerald pulled back the curtain and pointed toward a gap in the boards nailed to the frame. “That there, I’ve seen it other places in town, too. Got any ideas? ‘Cause we’re stumped.”
Sam ducked down to peer through the boards, looking for whatever had the house full of hunters scratching their heads.
“Oh, shit,” Sam cursed.
“You know what that means?” Gerald asked.
“Yeah… Dean, get in here!”
Dean turned up at Sam’s elbow a few seconds later. “What’s up?”
“See for yourself,” Sam gestured out the window.
Dean crouched and looked. He drew back sharply. “Oh, shit.”
“What? What’s it mean?” Gerald asked impatiently.
Sam almost didn’t want to say. But there was no denying the graffiti on the building on the other side of the alley. The word was spelled out in large, bright orange letters against the dark red brick.
Croatoan.
Next