A Very Supernatural Journey Chapter 9
A Birthday Story Written for Enkidu07, in appreciation for the work she and Onyx Moonbeam do and for the community they built
by womanofletters, mainegirlwrites, theymp and wynefred
Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
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Chapter 9: Treading Water
This chapter written by womanofletters
Rachelle stepped out of the Impala into the bright morning sunshine. The crisp autumn wind blew in her face but she was too preoccupied to pay it much heed. During the car ride home, she had been steadily more and more on edge, her mind conjuring pictures of the people she loved, dead at the bagiennik's hand. In her imagination, it was really Mer's face staring up at her at the Rec Center, the flesh on her face burned, her eyes wide with terror. Now Amy was curled over in the fish tank. Those tiny hands that had given Rachelle a massage just a few days ago were reaching desperately for unattainable freedom. Rachelle shuddered as she tried to shut out the images that wouldn't stop coming. Sometimes her imagination was her greatest enemy.
She ran up the stairs and fumbled for the key, so nervous that she was having a hard time opening the door, something she'd done so many times it should have been second nature. "Damn it," she muttered. "What's wrong with me?"
Dean came up behind her and put a hand on her wrist. "Take it easy, Rachelle," he said. "Slow down, it's okay." His hand and words seemed to slow her heartbeat. She was suddenly conscious of the nearness of his body and the desire to rest against him was overwhelming. She leaned into him, took a deep breath, and turned the key. He took his hand off her wrist and she opened the door, missing that touch already.
Rachelle sprinted down the long hall and hammered on Mer's door, shouting at the top of her voice for her friend.
There was no answer. Maybe Mer wasn't home? Or maybe...
She pounded harder. Still no answer. Dean and Sam drew their guns and took up positions on either side of her. Sam was about to kick in the door when they heard a toilet flush and Mer's voice. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" They barely had a chance to conceal their weapons before the door swung open.
Mer stood there in her shabby old bathrobe, her hair rumpled and face devoid of makeup. She looked at her friend, confused. "Rachelle?"
Rachelle flung herself into Mer's arms with a deep sigh of relief. She'd had a feeling of dread, so sure that something awful had happened to Mer. For some reason she kept seeing an image of something attacking Mer in the shower.
"Rachelle? What is it, what's wrong?" Mer pulled away and looked at her friend. "Why were you pounding on the door? Did something happen?"
"N..no," Rachelle said, unsure of what to tell her friend.
"Wait a minute!" Her voice got louder. "Are these burns?" She put a hand to Rachelle's face, touching the tender, peeling skin where the bagiennik had burned her just that morning. Rachelle tried not to wince at the pain from Mer's touch, but of course Mer noticed. Her brow wrinkled with concern and she turned up her nose. "And what's that smell?"
Rachelle shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that the simple sponge bath she had taken at Detective Tyrone's house could not do the job of a steaming hot shower, a luxury she desperately wanted. "I, uh, fell in the river," she muttered, not quite able to look Mer in the eye.
"You what? How did that happen?" Mer caught sight of Sam and Dean standing on either side of the door. "Does it have to do with them?" She swept the brothers with a gaze that screamed stranger, beware!, her eyes hard with watchful, purposeful anger.
Rachelle's breath caught as she saw, in Mer's place, an implacable warden, obviously a person of great importance in charge of a mental institution. Keeper of the gates of her sanity, white-coated and stern faced, the Warden had already decided that Rachelle needed to be kept under lock and key while she, and she alone, decided Rachelle's treatment. The Warden placed her hands on her hips and faced the brothers, spine rigid, placing herself, unconsciously or not, between them and Rachelle. It reminded her of her earlier vision, where Mer was trying to lock her up in a soft padded box to protect her from the evils of the world.
"Are you two causing trouble for Rachelle?" the Warden demanded, her imperious tones echoing in the small hallway. "Hasn't she had enough trouble already? How did she get burnt?"
"Now wait a minute, Mer!" Rachelle protested. "They're my friends, they wouldn't hurt me..."
This time Rachelle was not in a padded box. Instead, she saw a wall spring up between her and Mer, a brick and mortar affair covered with lichen and ivy. Was this the wall of her sanity, she wondered, noting that though the wall was growing on its own, it was also crumbling from the bottom. But no, she realized, this was how Mer was seeing things. As fast as Mer was trying to build the wall, it would crumble, because she couldn't keep danger away from Rachelle.
The wall expanded, becoming a ring around Rachelle, encircling her entirely. But Rachelle wasn't imprisoned; the wall was no barrier at all. Growing and crumbling at the same time, it was transparent, translucent. She put her arm out and it went right through. And she could see the boys, for all of the Warden's efforts to keep them out.
"No, really, ma'am, we'd never dream of causing trouble for her..." Sam said in his most reassuring voice, but he and Dean had changed as well. They had black burglar masks on, jaunty French berets and black and white striped prison outfits. She almost giggled. They looked like the Hamburglar rom those McDonald's commercials. But they had coils of rope, she saw, and theywould release her from Mer's wall.
The black masks the boys wore couldn't hide the truth from Rachelle. She could see their feelings as if she were sitting inside their skins. Sam's face was open, as if he were trying to placate the Warden. Dean's jaw was clenched and he was bracing for a fight, his hunter's mask of indifference already up. Rachelle could see the defensiveness behind his facade. She could tell it really bothered him that she'd been attacked in the river; he blamed himself.
Rachelle stared harder at Dean. From the center of his chest, a dark red glow radiated outward, filaments spreading across his prison outfit. Like those pictures of the nervous system that they showed you in science class at school, she realized. These were webs of pain traveling across his body. She wondered... was this real? Maybe he'd reinjured his ribs? He had helped pull her from the river, after all. He was walking a bit stiffly again, she realized. She'd have to look into that once they were alone.
Sam's cell phone rang and Rachelle blinked, the sound a disruption to the smoothness of the vision, which wavered for a moment and then broke. The Warden, the wall and Hamburglars Sam and Dean were gone, as if she'd never seen them.
"Excuse me," Sam said after glancing at the number. He walked a few feet, trying to keep the conversation private, but Rachelle could see his body tensing up as he talked.
Meanwhile, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge, flashing it at Mer. "Actually, Meredith, we're Federal agents," Dean started to say, only then noticing Rachelle frantically motioning with her right hand behind her back, trying to warn him to stop. Oh God, she thought, he has no idea that I told her the truth and that she knows they're demon hunters...
"You're with the FBI?" Mer frowned, and snatched the badge from his hand. "Agent... Brody?" She gave back the badge but seemed puzzled and not at all inclined to trust the paper it was written on. Inwardly, Rachelle groaned, but there was no taking back what Dean had said.
"That's right," he said, shooting Mer one of his patented "charm the ladies" smiles and putting the badge away. "We're undercover agents trying to find and catch the killer on campus, and we believe Rachelle is in danger."
"Danger?" Mer's expression was guarded and Rachelle could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she compared Rachelle's "demon hunter" explanation with Dean's "witness protection" story. It's as if Mer is trying to build a coherent picture from two different puzzle sets where half the pieces are missing and the ones that are there are all in the wrong place, Rachelle thought. Or it's like a Rorschach test taken by a person with multiple personalities who keeps changing his story every five minutes. She felt a twinge of guilt for her part in causing this confusion.
Rachelle's stomach clenched when Mer's eyes fixed angrily on Dean. "I don't think much of your protection," she said. "She's got burns on her face, she fell in the river... How the hell are you protecting her?"
Mer's words stung Dean, though his own inner voice had been saying that, and much worse, since the attack on Rachelle. He reacted defensively, vehemently, attacking without thought. "Listen, she's still alive... Ya think we might've had somethin' to do with that?"
He would've said more but they were interrupted by Sam, who snapped off his phone and hurried back to them. Sam spoke urgently, looking pointedly at Rachelle and Dean, who looked like he was ready to explode. "We need to talk."
Mer bristled and opened her mouth to protest, but Rachelle stilled her with a hand on her shoulder. "No, Mer, it's okay... Something's come up. I'll be down a little later, okay?" She gave Mer a hug and deftly stepped past her friend, who seemed, for a moment, like she was going to block her but then grudgingly let her go. Mer looked on with narrowed eyes as Rachelle led the boys upstairs to her apartment, Dean casting her one last, venomous look.
Once they were out of sight, Mer closed her door and stood still for a moment before walking to the phone and dialing Amy's number.
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Dean was still muttering under his breath when Rachelle closed the door to her apartment with a sigh. In her inner sanctum, away from Mer and her questions, the mood already felt lighter. "That was... intense." She leaned against the door, the tension from the conflict between Mer and Dean slowly starting to fade.
"What a b..." Dean stopped, remembering that Meredith was Rachelle's friend. "I mean, she's so friggin' stubborn!"
"If you were in her place, you'd do the same."
"No, I'd trust you, and I'd wait for you to tell me what was flyin'," he said, making himself comfortable on the green and orange plaid monstrosity that passed for a couch.
Sam's sarcastic response carried through the room. "Really?"
"Shut up, bitch," Dean teased, the normalcy of the remark lifting Rachelle's spirits.
"Well, I'm just glad that's over," she said.
"Amen, sister. That was awkward," Dean responded. "Like that moment when you're reading the words on someone's t-shirt and it looks like you're staring at their boobs." Rachelle chuckled, but tried not to cross her arms.
Dean grinned devilishly. "Aha, I made you laugh! See? I'm the funny one. Samantha here always gets his panties bunched up."
Feeling a little self-conscious, Rachelle sat down next to him, sinking into the too-soft cushions and trying not to look at the overly bright patterned cloth, her eyes instead resting on Dean's chest. Boy does he look good in a t-shirt, she thought, trying not to let her thoughts stray to some of the fanfic she'd read where Dean had been, well, not exactly clothed. Hell, she didn't even have to go to the fanfic... the show wasn't exactly shy about showing skin. Just look at 'Route 666' and that love scene with Cassie... Rachelle stared at his hard, lean torso and swallowed, blushing to the roots of her hair. She glanced up to see Dean staring at her, the heat of his gaze making her look away.
Dean turned to Sam, who'd ignored his jibe and was standing in the center of the room, surveying it like he'd study a crime scene. Accustomed to his brother's moods, Dean could see the clear lines of tension in Sam's demeanor.
"Sammy, what's going on?" he asked, but his brother continued to ignore him, striding purposefully to the bathroom.
"What the hell?" Dean said, "First it's life or death and now you want to take a leak?"
Too tired to move, Rachelle watched with curiosity as Sam entered the bathroom but didn't close the door behind him. She could just about see him bending over the sink and she could hear the squeak of the faucets being tightened. Then he turned his attention to the shower. When he was finished he muttered, "Just making sure there aren't any leaks, jerk."
"Good idea," admitted Dean, and watched as Sam repeated the process by the sink in the kitchenette. "So why are we at Defcon 1? Can this thing really come through a dripping tap?"
Sam leaned against the sink, hands folded. "Well," he said, "We know it can come through the shower and I'm not sure how much water it needs."
"What?" Rachelle's voice squeaked. "Oh my God! What happened?"
Sam hesitated. "Detective Tyrone just called me. He was attacked in the shower."
Dean said, "When? Is he all right?"
"Maybe 10 minutes after we left. And yes, he's fine. The baggienik had him but must have realized he didn't have the ring. It let him go."
Rachelle shivered, picturing Tyrone staring death right in the eyes. Dean noticed and pulled her closer, putting his arm around her. "It'll be alright, Rachelle," he reassured. "Nothing's gonna get you on my watch." She cuddled against him, the sense of safety stealing over her like a warm blanket. She stopped shivering and felt herself heating up again with the awareness of being close to Dean. It was the feeling of his chest pressed up against her, the smell of leather and gun powder that she loved (mixed with the faint smell of the river), the wish that she could just make the world stop and stay in this moment forever.
And how sick am I, she thought, taking advantage of Tyrone's misfortune so that I can cuddle with Dean? But she didn't pull away.
"Shouldn't we go back to his house, make sure he's okay?" Rachelle wondered, but Dean chuckled. "Tyrone?" he said. "He's a detective in a small town; those kind of guys want action. He's probably been training all his life for the Psycho shower scene."
Rachelle rolled her eyes at Dean's insensitivity. "Come on... nobody expects the Psycho shower scene!"
"I did offer our help," Sam said, "He insisted he was fine and told me to protect Rachelle. He's going to see what he can do on his end."
Rachelle felt awe at the detective's resilience. That he could recover from such an attack and go right back into the field, alone and unaided, took strength and courage she wasn't sure she had.
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Detective Tyrone McFarling felt like an egg that had been boiled too long in its shell, pieces of the white bubbling through. He could barely drag himself to the bed, his body a heavy weight, his hands still shaking. Any benefit he'd had from that shower had been wiped out when that creature had dragged him around the bathroom like a toddler playing with a rag doll. In the aftermath of the attack, his mind kept reliving those filmy white eyes staring at him, the creature's sharp teeth. The... bagiennik... He rolled the word around in his mind. At least he'd warned Sam about it... But he'd told Sam that he was alright and damn it, he was going to be! No bagiennikwas going to get the best of him.
Bagiennik,he thought.
Bagiennik...
He kept practicing it in his mind, his mental voice dripping with scorn. He pictured himself holding a gun on the bagiennik. "Come and take it, you dirty, yellow-bellied bagiennik..." he snarled at the mirror. "Okay, James Cagney I'm not..." he muttered, but the image of him holding that gun on the creature was steadying his hand, which had stopped shaking.
He took a deep breath, wondering what to do next. He looked at the clock. Damn! 9:30 already... The Chief was going to kill him! He forced himself to move to the closet, to throw on clothes that didn't look too rumpled, all the while working on the puzzle of the bagiennik. Why had it dragged him around like... like a frustrated child? Why didn't it kill him? Was it tired of killing? Tyrone prided himself on being a good judge of character, and he was starting to get a sense of the creature... Dangerous, yes, but not something that loved to kill for the sake of killing. But definitely frustrated. Obsessed. Focused on that ring. And determined to do anything to get it.
He picked up his keys and locked the door, heading for his car. The first death - the fisherman - had happened Saturday morning. That was four days ago. The creature had to be holed up somewhere, but where? It didn't seem like the cave-dwelling type. So... maybe a motel? A boardinghouse? Where would it be? How did it pass for human with those eyes and teeth? He made a mental note that he'd have to talk to Sam and Dean soon. He needed more information on bagienniks if he had a prayer of tracking it down before it went after Rachelle... or hurt anyone else in the process.
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Read Chapter 10: Too Many Ducks in the Pond