Fic: Thicker Than Water (7/?)
Title: Thicker Than Water
Chapter: 7
Author: dragon_fall
Fandoms: Supernatural/True Blood
Rating: R
Warnings: none yet
Summary: Dean and Sam roll into Bon Temps in search of answers and find more problems than they ever would have imagined.
Author's Note: Takes place after Lucifer Rising and at the beginning of True Blood Season 2. Since I started writing this months ago it is AU in the True Blood universe, but pieces from this season will be working themselves in.
"So… have you dealt a lot with demons before?"
Bill sighed heavily. He'd hoped that Jessica and would distract Sookie from what happened earlier. Her anger at not being told about his progeny had eclipsed everything else, followed swiftly by passion. She had been dozing as he ran a hand down the curve of her spine, amazed at how she seemed so much warmer than other humans. Now she was staring at him, burnished by the firelight, eyes shining.
"I've heard of their existence," the vampire said slowly. "Though I've never actually seen a person possessed by a demon."
Sookie shifted against him. "Would I have gone all Exorcist?" When he stared at her blankly she continued. "You know, pasty-pale skin, yellow eyes… projectile vomiting?"
Bill grimaced. "From what I understand those who are possessed look just as they did before. The last time I'd heard of an actual demon possession from a credible source was more than thirty years ago."
He frowned. He'd been in Britain at the time, watching as a vampire's human companion was sentenced for crimes they swore were not his doing. When the word 'possession' was spoken the court had gone silent, the oldest vampires turning pensive. It was the first time he'd learned that something truly lay beyond death. The first time in decades that he feared what would happen when he met his own end.
"Hey…" Sookie ran a hand down his arm. "You all right?"
"Yes." He turned away from the memory of Kyle. "Those two men who helped you, they were the friends you spoke of yesterday evening?"
"Yeah. Never thought I'd seen Dean again, personally. He struck me as a rolling stone, you know?" she smirked. "When I thought Sam was just a dog I named him after him."
Bill half turned to look at her directly. "Did you know what he does?"
She shook her head. "No. He just said he was down here on business, that's all." She sat up on her elbows. "Why?"
The vampire steeled himself. "They are Hunters, Sookie."
"Okay…" the word was drawn out, confused. "I'm guessin' you don’t mean deer hunters?"
Hate, old and bitter, welled up. "Men like them hunt creatures like myself. Anything supernatural can fall prey to them. Even shape-shifters such as your boss." The man who had hunted him a century ago killed anything he could find, proclaiming them sins against God. "Hunters are ruthless, cruel. There's no telling how many they have killed."
Sookie's eyes dimmed. "You don't think they're here for… you… do you?" her voice was small.
Bill shook his head. "I doubt it. We have come to an agreement with many hunters since revealing ourselves to the world, but they are not like an army that follows the dictates of a few. There have been several attacks on nests in recent months, too well executed to have been done by amateurs." And none yet had been brought to justice.
The blonde shook her head. "They wouldn't do that," she countered. "I mean, I know they're a little strange, but they wouldn't hurt people unless they thought they had to." She didn't know where this certainty came from, but it was there. Hard on the end of it images flashed in her mind: pain and fire, screaming.
"I've alerted Eric of their presence," Bill rubbed a hand down her back, frowning at the feel of goosebumps. "I would like you to avoid contact with them whenever possible. Hunters have been known to use humans to get to their targets."
"I can ask Sam for some time off," she ventured, eyes beginning to droop with sleep. "I think nearly getting possessed counts as a reason to play hooky."
"Please tell me you've got something."
Dean was jittery. Full on, about to tear his own skin off (which brought up a whole shitload of memories he didn't want to deal with) jittery. Two days. Two days of nothing. No more attacks, no strange occurrences. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Part of him said the nasty blew town once it realized there were people who knew how to fight it hanging around. Another part said they were dealing with some kind of fucked up werewolf, since the killings stopped once the moon wasn't full. The other ninety percent of him told those parts to shut the hell up.
"Andy's still filling information about Miss. Jeanette," Sam filled in, scanning through the detective's harddrive. "We got a connection to Tara Mae Thornton."
"Why does that name sound familiar?" Dean muttered to himself around a mouthful of apple pie.
"She's the bartender at Merlotte's. Apparently, she and her mother paid Miss. Jeanette for exorcisms a little over two months ago."
That caught Dean's attention. "Possessed people don't ask for exorcisms."
"Apparently these two do. Tara insists it was all just for show, but it seems her mother isn't as skeptical." Sam leaned back. "Looks like your hoodoo lady was running scams on the side."
The older Winchester shrugged. "Everybody's gotta make a living. Anything else?"
"The heart was removed surgically, just like Sarah Josh. Toxicology hasn't come back yet." He clicked to another screen, then frowned. "There is this, though." He turned the laptop towards his brother.
"Ouch." Dean examined the picture of the three slashes down Jeanette's back. "Those aren't from any animal you'd find down here." He looked at the middle gouge. "That goes to the bone."
"Yeah," Sam turned the laptop back around. "They found a viscous substance in the wounds, but haven't got an ID on it yet." He closed the laptop. “The first victim didn‘t have slash marks on her back that match these. Demons don’t work like this, Dean. We could be dealing with two bad guys here, dude."
"What? A heart-snatching… whatever the hell rolls into town the same weekend as a demon?"
"Could be," Sam pressed. "Sarah Josh was killed and laid out according to ritual. There were sigils, symbols. Jeanette didn't have any of that. She was killed somewhere else and dumped where she couldn't help but be found."
Dean cocked his head. "Huh, a baddie that wants attention."
"Or wants to bring attention to someone else."
Lettie Mae Thornton was a thin, bird-like woman who looked far older than her forty -six years. They'd agreed that Dean should canvas her while Sam did some digging on Merlotte. The police report listed Tara as living with her mother, but there was no way he could imagine the bitter woman living in such a cheery house. The lawn was mowed, the flowerbeds freshly planted. The bartender could probably make roses wither just by glaring at them.
Dean tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt. He was supposed to look respectable, church-going; someone who carried a bible in the glove compartment of his car and believed angels were there to protect you from harm. If he managed to make it through this without exploding he'd consider it mission accomplished.
It was easy to gain access to the house. Lettie Mae nearly fell over herself when he let Miss. Jeanette's name slip as he introduced himself. He was whisked through the living room and into a small kitchen, where she was cooking.
"You were friends with Ms. Jeanette?" the woman asked as Dean sat down in a wooden chair that had seen better days.
"Yes ma'am," he answered. His smile was self-deprecating. "You probably won't believe this, but she saved my life."
It was apparently the right thing to say, because the woman reached across the small kitchen table and took his hands. "Oh, honey, I know exactly what you mean." Her eyes were earnest.
"I had a problem," Dean started. "With drugs, drinking. I wanted to stop and I couldn't…" he trailed off. "Something kept me from going into rehab, from getting help."
"I had a demon in me, too," Lettie Mae told him. "It made me drink… made me mean. I was lost for so long, I'd thrown away almost everything. My health, my daughter. Then Miss Jeanette drove the evil out of me." Tears came to her eyes. "It was a demon that killed her, I know it."
Paydirt. "What makes you say that?"
"Evil's always waiting to take good people, like Miss Jeanette." She wrung thin hands. "She tried to help my daughter Tara, but her demon was too strong."
"Ms. Thornton… did you daughter ever look… different to you?" When her eyes rounded in confusion he continued. "Did her eyes ever look odd. Kinda black?"
"Tara's eyes have always been black, if that’s what you mean."
Great. He changed tactics. "Has her behavior changed in the past few days? Or maybe you noticed a smell recently? Something like rotten eggs?" Dean pushed.
Lettie Mae sighed. "Tara hasn't lived here in a few months. She moved out after I…" she paused, eyes on the table. "I was real bad to my baby girl before Miss. Jeanette took that demon outta me,” the woman explained, voice flat. “But the last time I saw her she looked… happy. She'd been taken in by a woman named Maryanne Forester after she got arrested. Sheriff Dearborn said that's what Maryanne did; take in those that needed it." She frowned. "Why you so interested in my Tara?"
"I'm just… concerned about other people who've gone through the same thing we have." Not a complete lie, whatever had killed the hoodoo woman might start looking at those she 'helped' as potential victims. "I saw Miss Jeanette the night she died, just a few hours before they found her. She said something was coming."
Ms. Thornton's eyes went wide. "You think she knew someone was gonna kill her?"
"Maybe." Dean stood. "Thanks for talking to me, Ms. Thornton. I appreciate it."
She rose with him. "You're not gonna do something stupid, are you?"
Dean grinned broadly. "Not if I can help it."
Sam Merlotte didn't exist.
Sam leaned back and closed his laptop. He'd set Ashe's program to search for any information he could find on the man. Sam Merlotte didn't exist anywhere accept on the deed to his bar. His social security number belonged to Samuel Merlotte, a boy who drowned when he was four years old in west Texas. He couldn't find a birth certificate, next of kin, not even a high school diploma. His tax records only went back five years, right to the year he brought the land his bar was built on as well as several small family homes. All in cash. Other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the man. He paid his taxes, kept his licenses up and never so much as had a complaint filed against him by his tenants.
Sam pulled out his phone and speed dialed his brother. "Any luck?"
"None," Dean answered. "I don't think Jeanette ran a con on her though. From the way she said she drunk, if she stopped cold the DT's woulda' killed her in less than a week." Dean paused. "Find anything on Merlotte?"
"Nothing." Sam reopened his laptop. "And I mean nothing. Everything about this guy is surface only. Until five years ago he didn't even exist."
"So, what? You think this is some kinda revenge thing? Drop a dead hoodoo woman in your parking lot to say thanks for ditching five years ago?" Dean snorted. "Gotta be an ex-girlfriend."
"Don’t know." Sam pushed to his feet. "What about Tara Thornton?"
"Apparently she got an exorcism and was all right for all of ten hours," Dean explained. "The next time Lettie Mae hears from her she's in jail for a DUI. Get this, she said she swerved to avoid a naked woman and a pig."
"A pig?"
"Yeah. You hungry?"
Sam looked at his watch, it was almost two. "Sure."
Do you often eat flesh?
Jimmy hung his head. "Please stop calling it that," he muttered around a mouthful of meatloaf. The angel hadn't spoken since their run in with Lucifer, had been absolutely silent, which suited him just fine. Had waited until they were around people who couldn't help but notice the sweaty, dirty, sun-burnt, half-starved man talking to himself in a back booth, to remind him that he still had a heavenly creature crammed somewhere inside him.
Lowel's Diner was a greasy spoon, the kind his grandfather told him about when he described traveling after coming home from World War 2; a tarnished silver tube somewhere between train car and bus that stood just on the edge of town. The booths might have been candy red once, but had long since faded to a color between rose and pale pink. The linoleum table was scratched, with deeper veins of damage running through it. The single waitress looked old enough to be his grandmother. But water was free and nothing on the menu was over six dollars.
"More water, honey?" Amie asked, shaking a pitcher of ice water.
"Please."
Why does it disturb you when I call it flesh?
Jimmy waited until she was finished pouring to take hold of the pitcher. "Why don't you let me just have it?" he asked with a smile. "It'll save you having to come back over every five minutes."
The grey-haired waitress let go of the handle. "You let me know when you need another one, okay?"
Jimmy nodded, and tucked back into his meal. This was the best tasting meatloaf he'd ever had in his life, even if a part of him was willing to admit it was a little overdone.
What you consume was once part of an animal, and therefore is flesh. Why would my naming it offend you?
"It just does all right?" Jimmy swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "I eat vegetables, too."
Castiel hunkered in his host and allowed the human to continue eating uninterrupted. The pain that gnawed at his stomach for days had eased, but James continued to eat. It was interesting, taking in nourishment this way. Before he didn't understand the obsession his charge had with eating, his joy at finding a place that prepared food to his liking. He found himself constantly drawing from James' experience to place flavors. The meatloaf was flavorful, the thick gravy salty, but pleasant. He wondered what else diner offered.
Lucifer had been truthful when he spoke of a town seven miles from where Zachariah had imprisoned them. Delmar was small, with less than a hundred citizens, or so Amie claimed. He could almost feel them; almost feel the grace his father had given the humans here flutter against his host; some weaker, some stronger. They were in Nebraska, that much they'd learned since coming here. In the dead center of Nebraska, with nothing but dry brush for miles in any direction. No regular buses came through the town, or truckers who might offer him a ride. He was stranded.
We should see if there is a place we might bed down for the night, the angel said as James was mopping up the remainder of the gravy with a biscuit. Perhaps buy clothing more suited for this climate.
"I don’t suppose there's a hotel in town?" Jimmy asked Amie when she came to clear his plates.
The older woman smiled. "The Red Baron's still up and running. Joyce only keeps up four rooms though. It's at the other end of town. Can't miss it."
Just the thought of walking that small distance further made Jimmy's feet throb. But it was a small price to pay for a hot shower and a bed that had to be softer than weathered floor boards or dry ground. "Thanks."
"Sure thing." Amie stacked the plates in a plastic bin and hefted it onto her hip. "Anything else I can get ya?"
Jimmy left the diner twenty minutes later with spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, and a large order of ice tea, as well as the largest single piece of blueberry pie he'd ever seen, the last at Castiel's insistence.
"We have a problem."
Sal waited for a response, but the woman he watched didn't even acknowledge his presence. "It didn't work," he continued.
"We didn't expect it to."
He blinked. "Then why-"
"Because we had to try," the woman cut him off, putting another flower in place.
Sal looked around the room. Flowers were everywhere, every kind; sitting in vases, woven together into garlands. Almost every available surface was littered with them, or parts of them. The woman was currently arranging a bouquet of roses and tulips in an oversized vase. The smell was nearly unbearable. "The spell almost killed me."
Thick shoulders slumped. "Pity. Are you sure she was a virgin?"
"Yes."
She turned around. In his day she would have almost been called matronly in the short sleeved, ankle length sundress. She was older, perhaps forty, a red head just starting to lose her looks and grow thick around the arms and middle. It was a shame, really. A few years ago she would have been stunning.
"Have you found out anything useful?" She asked, idly flipping a trimming knife in delicate hands. "Other than she's not a rogue stirring up unnecessary trouble?"
"There are hunters in Bon Temps." He grimaced. "Two of them. One of them is named Sam."
"Really?" The woman asked with a smile, and Sal stepped back. She tapped her lip with the knife, the point digging into the skin "Now that is useful."
The demon swallowed. "Do you want me back in Bon Temps?"
The smile faded. "No. You'll be of more value to us elsewhere." She turned her back to him and Sal fought the urge not to run out the French doors. There was something unsettling about her, something that made him want to run screaming. He’d thought that over a thousand years in the pit had made him immune to the feeling, especially on this plane, but he was wrong.
The demon’s trip through the gardens was short and uninterrupted. The mansion was empty, except for his superior. Higher level demons usually had entire entourages, those who they took under their wing in the pit, who acted as body guards once they made it out. This woman didn’t. There hadn't been anyone, not even a human plaything. Outside the large gates the demon frowned.
He wasn't really sure she was a demon at all.
Next
___________________________________________
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_^
Chapter: 7
Author: dragon_fall
Fandoms: Supernatural/True Blood
Rating: R
Warnings: none yet
Summary: Dean and Sam roll into Bon Temps in search of answers and find more problems than they ever would have imagined.
Author's Note: Takes place after Lucifer Rising and at the beginning of True Blood Season 2. Since I started writing this months ago it is AU in the True Blood universe, but pieces from this season will be working themselves in.
"So… have you dealt a lot with demons before?"
Bill sighed heavily. He'd hoped that Jessica and would distract Sookie from what happened earlier. Her anger at not being told about his progeny had eclipsed everything else, followed swiftly by passion. She had been dozing as he ran a hand down the curve of her spine, amazed at how she seemed so much warmer than other humans. Now she was staring at him, burnished by the firelight, eyes shining.
"I've heard of their existence," the vampire said slowly. "Though I've never actually seen a person possessed by a demon."
Sookie shifted against him. "Would I have gone all Exorcist?" When he stared at her blankly she continued. "You know, pasty-pale skin, yellow eyes… projectile vomiting?"
Bill grimaced. "From what I understand those who are possessed look just as they did before. The last time I'd heard of an actual demon possession from a credible source was more than thirty years ago."
He frowned. He'd been in Britain at the time, watching as a vampire's human companion was sentenced for crimes they swore were not his doing. When the word 'possession' was spoken the court had gone silent, the oldest vampires turning pensive. It was the first time he'd learned that something truly lay beyond death. The first time in decades that he feared what would happen when he met his own end.
"Hey…" Sookie ran a hand down his arm. "You all right?"
"Yes." He turned away from the memory of Kyle. "Those two men who helped you, they were the friends you spoke of yesterday evening?"
"Yeah. Never thought I'd seen Dean again, personally. He struck me as a rolling stone, you know?" she smirked. "When I thought Sam was just a dog I named him after him."
Bill half turned to look at her directly. "Did you know what he does?"
She shook her head. "No. He just said he was down here on business, that's all." She sat up on her elbows. "Why?"
The vampire steeled himself. "They are Hunters, Sookie."
"Okay…" the word was drawn out, confused. "I'm guessin' you don’t mean deer hunters?"
Hate, old and bitter, welled up. "Men like them hunt creatures like myself. Anything supernatural can fall prey to them. Even shape-shifters such as your boss." The man who had hunted him a century ago killed anything he could find, proclaiming them sins against God. "Hunters are ruthless, cruel. There's no telling how many they have killed."
Sookie's eyes dimmed. "You don't think they're here for… you… do you?" her voice was small.
Bill shook his head. "I doubt it. We have come to an agreement with many hunters since revealing ourselves to the world, but they are not like an army that follows the dictates of a few. There have been several attacks on nests in recent months, too well executed to have been done by amateurs." And none yet had been brought to justice.
The blonde shook her head. "They wouldn't do that," she countered. "I mean, I know they're a little strange, but they wouldn't hurt people unless they thought they had to." She didn't know where this certainty came from, but it was there. Hard on the end of it images flashed in her mind: pain and fire, screaming.
"I've alerted Eric of their presence," Bill rubbed a hand down her back, frowning at the feel of goosebumps. "I would like you to avoid contact with them whenever possible. Hunters have been known to use humans to get to their targets."
"I can ask Sam for some time off," she ventured, eyes beginning to droop with sleep. "I think nearly getting possessed counts as a reason to play hooky."
"Please tell me you've got something."
Dean was jittery. Full on, about to tear his own skin off (which brought up a whole shitload of memories he didn't want to deal with) jittery. Two days. Two days of nothing. No more attacks, no strange occurrences. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Part of him said the nasty blew town once it realized there were people who knew how to fight it hanging around. Another part said they were dealing with some kind of fucked up werewolf, since the killings stopped once the moon wasn't full. The other ninety percent of him told those parts to shut the hell up.
"Andy's still filling information about Miss. Jeanette," Sam filled in, scanning through the detective's harddrive. "We got a connection to Tara Mae Thornton."
"Why does that name sound familiar?" Dean muttered to himself around a mouthful of apple pie.
"She's the bartender at Merlotte's. Apparently, she and her mother paid Miss. Jeanette for exorcisms a little over two months ago."
That caught Dean's attention. "Possessed people don't ask for exorcisms."
"Apparently these two do. Tara insists it was all just for show, but it seems her mother isn't as skeptical." Sam leaned back. "Looks like your hoodoo lady was running scams on the side."
The older Winchester shrugged. "Everybody's gotta make a living. Anything else?"
"The heart was removed surgically, just like Sarah Josh. Toxicology hasn't come back yet." He clicked to another screen, then frowned. "There is this, though." He turned the laptop towards his brother.
"Ouch." Dean examined the picture of the three slashes down Jeanette's back. "Those aren't from any animal you'd find down here." He looked at the middle gouge. "That goes to the bone."
"Yeah," Sam turned the laptop back around. "They found a viscous substance in the wounds, but haven't got an ID on it yet." He closed the laptop. “The first victim didn‘t have slash marks on her back that match these. Demons don’t work like this, Dean. We could be dealing with two bad guys here, dude."
"What? A heart-snatching… whatever the hell rolls into town the same weekend as a demon?"
"Could be," Sam pressed. "Sarah Josh was killed and laid out according to ritual. There were sigils, symbols. Jeanette didn't have any of that. She was killed somewhere else and dumped where she couldn't help but be found."
Dean cocked his head. "Huh, a baddie that wants attention."
"Or wants to bring attention to someone else."
Lettie Mae Thornton was a thin, bird-like woman who looked far older than her forty -six years. They'd agreed that Dean should canvas her while Sam did some digging on Merlotte. The police report listed Tara as living with her mother, but there was no way he could imagine the bitter woman living in such a cheery house. The lawn was mowed, the flowerbeds freshly planted. The bartender could probably make roses wither just by glaring at them.
Dean tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt. He was supposed to look respectable, church-going; someone who carried a bible in the glove compartment of his car and believed angels were there to protect you from harm. If he managed to make it through this without exploding he'd consider it mission accomplished.
It was easy to gain access to the house. Lettie Mae nearly fell over herself when he let Miss. Jeanette's name slip as he introduced himself. He was whisked through the living room and into a small kitchen, where she was cooking.
"You were friends with Ms. Jeanette?" the woman asked as Dean sat down in a wooden chair that had seen better days.
"Yes ma'am," he answered. His smile was self-deprecating. "You probably won't believe this, but she saved my life."
It was apparently the right thing to say, because the woman reached across the small kitchen table and took his hands. "Oh, honey, I know exactly what you mean." Her eyes were earnest.
"I had a problem," Dean started. "With drugs, drinking. I wanted to stop and I couldn't…" he trailed off. "Something kept me from going into rehab, from getting help."
"I had a demon in me, too," Lettie Mae told him. "It made me drink… made me mean. I was lost for so long, I'd thrown away almost everything. My health, my daughter. Then Miss Jeanette drove the evil out of me." Tears came to her eyes. "It was a demon that killed her, I know it."
Paydirt. "What makes you say that?"
"Evil's always waiting to take good people, like Miss Jeanette." She wrung thin hands. "She tried to help my daughter Tara, but her demon was too strong."
"Ms. Thornton… did you daughter ever look… different to you?" When her eyes rounded in confusion he continued. "Did her eyes ever look odd. Kinda black?"
"Tara's eyes have always been black, if that’s what you mean."
Great. He changed tactics. "Has her behavior changed in the past few days? Or maybe you noticed a smell recently? Something like rotten eggs?" Dean pushed.
Lettie Mae sighed. "Tara hasn't lived here in a few months. She moved out after I…" she paused, eyes on the table. "I was real bad to my baby girl before Miss. Jeanette took that demon outta me,” the woman explained, voice flat. “But the last time I saw her she looked… happy. She'd been taken in by a woman named Maryanne Forester after she got arrested. Sheriff Dearborn said that's what Maryanne did; take in those that needed it." She frowned. "Why you so interested in my Tara?"
"I'm just… concerned about other people who've gone through the same thing we have." Not a complete lie, whatever had killed the hoodoo woman might start looking at those she 'helped' as potential victims. "I saw Miss Jeanette the night she died, just a few hours before they found her. She said something was coming."
Ms. Thornton's eyes went wide. "You think she knew someone was gonna kill her?"
"Maybe." Dean stood. "Thanks for talking to me, Ms. Thornton. I appreciate it."
She rose with him. "You're not gonna do something stupid, are you?"
Dean grinned broadly. "Not if I can help it."
Sam Merlotte didn't exist.
Sam leaned back and closed his laptop. He'd set Ashe's program to search for any information he could find on the man. Sam Merlotte didn't exist anywhere accept on the deed to his bar. His social security number belonged to Samuel Merlotte, a boy who drowned when he was four years old in west Texas. He couldn't find a birth certificate, next of kin, not even a high school diploma. His tax records only went back five years, right to the year he brought the land his bar was built on as well as several small family homes. All in cash. Other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the man. He paid his taxes, kept his licenses up and never so much as had a complaint filed against him by his tenants.
Sam pulled out his phone and speed dialed his brother. "Any luck?"
"None," Dean answered. "I don't think Jeanette ran a con on her though. From the way she said she drunk, if she stopped cold the DT's woulda' killed her in less than a week." Dean paused. "Find anything on Merlotte?"
"Nothing." Sam reopened his laptop. "And I mean nothing. Everything about this guy is surface only. Until five years ago he didn't even exist."
"So, what? You think this is some kinda revenge thing? Drop a dead hoodoo woman in your parking lot to say thanks for ditching five years ago?" Dean snorted. "Gotta be an ex-girlfriend."
"Don’t know." Sam pushed to his feet. "What about Tara Thornton?"
"Apparently she got an exorcism and was all right for all of ten hours," Dean explained. "The next time Lettie Mae hears from her she's in jail for a DUI. Get this, she said she swerved to avoid a naked woman and a pig."
"A pig?"
"Yeah. You hungry?"
Sam looked at his watch, it was almost two. "Sure."
Do you often eat flesh?
Jimmy hung his head. "Please stop calling it that," he muttered around a mouthful of meatloaf. The angel hadn't spoken since their run in with Lucifer, had been absolutely silent, which suited him just fine. Had waited until they were around people who couldn't help but notice the sweaty, dirty, sun-burnt, half-starved man talking to himself in a back booth, to remind him that he still had a heavenly creature crammed somewhere inside him.
Lowel's Diner was a greasy spoon, the kind his grandfather told him about when he described traveling after coming home from World War 2; a tarnished silver tube somewhere between train car and bus that stood just on the edge of town. The booths might have been candy red once, but had long since faded to a color between rose and pale pink. The linoleum table was scratched, with deeper veins of damage running through it. The single waitress looked old enough to be his grandmother. But water was free and nothing on the menu was over six dollars.
"More water, honey?" Amie asked, shaking a pitcher of ice water.
"Please."
Why does it disturb you when I call it flesh?
Jimmy waited until she was finished pouring to take hold of the pitcher. "Why don't you let me just have it?" he asked with a smile. "It'll save you having to come back over every five minutes."
The grey-haired waitress let go of the handle. "You let me know when you need another one, okay?"
Jimmy nodded, and tucked back into his meal. This was the best tasting meatloaf he'd ever had in his life, even if a part of him was willing to admit it was a little overdone.
What you consume was once part of an animal, and therefore is flesh. Why would my naming it offend you?
"It just does all right?" Jimmy swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "I eat vegetables, too."
Castiel hunkered in his host and allowed the human to continue eating uninterrupted. The pain that gnawed at his stomach for days had eased, but James continued to eat. It was interesting, taking in nourishment this way. Before he didn't understand the obsession his charge had with eating, his joy at finding a place that prepared food to his liking. He found himself constantly drawing from James' experience to place flavors. The meatloaf was flavorful, the thick gravy salty, but pleasant. He wondered what else diner offered.
Lucifer had been truthful when he spoke of a town seven miles from where Zachariah had imprisoned them. Delmar was small, with less than a hundred citizens, or so Amie claimed. He could almost feel them; almost feel the grace his father had given the humans here flutter against his host; some weaker, some stronger. They were in Nebraska, that much they'd learned since coming here. In the dead center of Nebraska, with nothing but dry brush for miles in any direction. No regular buses came through the town, or truckers who might offer him a ride. He was stranded.
We should see if there is a place we might bed down for the night, the angel said as James was mopping up the remainder of the gravy with a biscuit. Perhaps buy clothing more suited for this climate.
"I don’t suppose there's a hotel in town?" Jimmy asked Amie when she came to clear his plates.
The older woman smiled. "The Red Baron's still up and running. Joyce only keeps up four rooms though. It's at the other end of town. Can't miss it."
Just the thought of walking that small distance further made Jimmy's feet throb. But it was a small price to pay for a hot shower and a bed that had to be softer than weathered floor boards or dry ground. "Thanks."
"Sure thing." Amie stacked the plates in a plastic bin and hefted it onto her hip. "Anything else I can get ya?"
Jimmy left the diner twenty minutes later with spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, and a large order of ice tea, as well as the largest single piece of blueberry pie he'd ever seen, the last at Castiel's insistence.
"We have a problem."
Sal waited for a response, but the woman he watched didn't even acknowledge his presence. "It didn't work," he continued.
"We didn't expect it to."
He blinked. "Then why-"
"Because we had to try," the woman cut him off, putting another flower in place.
Sal looked around the room. Flowers were everywhere, every kind; sitting in vases, woven together into garlands. Almost every available surface was littered with them, or parts of them. The woman was currently arranging a bouquet of roses and tulips in an oversized vase. The smell was nearly unbearable. "The spell almost killed me."
Thick shoulders slumped. "Pity. Are you sure she was a virgin?"
"Yes."
She turned around. In his day she would have almost been called matronly in the short sleeved, ankle length sundress. She was older, perhaps forty, a red head just starting to lose her looks and grow thick around the arms and middle. It was a shame, really. A few years ago she would have been stunning.
"Have you found out anything useful?" She asked, idly flipping a trimming knife in delicate hands. "Other than she's not a rogue stirring up unnecessary trouble?"
"There are hunters in Bon Temps." He grimaced. "Two of them. One of them is named Sam."
"Really?" The woman asked with a smile, and Sal stepped back. She tapped her lip with the knife, the point digging into the skin "Now that is useful."
The demon swallowed. "Do you want me back in Bon Temps?"
The smile faded. "No. You'll be of more value to us elsewhere." She turned her back to him and Sal fought the urge not to run out the French doors. There was something unsettling about her, something that made him want to run screaming. He’d thought that over a thousand years in the pit had made him immune to the feeling, especially on this plane, but he was wrong.
The demon’s trip through the gardens was short and uninterrupted. The mansion was empty, except for his superior. Higher level demons usually had entire entourages, those who they took under their wing in the pit, who acted as body guards once they made it out. This woman didn’t. There hadn't been anyone, not even a human plaything. Outside the large gates the demon frowned.
He wasn't really sure she was a demon at all.
Next
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