Fic: Good Day Sunshine (4/5)
Title: Good Day Sunshine
Author: judith_88_g
Rating: R (language, whump)
Genre: Gen
Characters: Dean, Sam, a tiny bit of Bobby, OCs
Spoilers: Up to 2x01, set in early season 2
Word Count: 3,600 (21,00 total)
Disclaimer: Still not mine, don't lose my hope though.
Summary: Sam and Dean receive an unexpected phone call and learn that one of John's old friends has been murdered. They set off to investigate his death, the case, however, turning out to be much more than just a simple salt'n burn, stirring the memories that, in Dean's book, are better left forgotten.
A/N: I took some liberties with location as well as the lore. The title comes from The Beatles' song.
A/N 2: Beta'd by a lovely astute spangielka, whose support, Sober Eye of Reason, and uncanny insight into a boy called Sam Winchester have been of inestimable value, and also by a very helpful rubystandish who put the story into the right shape, treading bravely over the steaming cinders of my grammar. All remaining mistakes are of course all mine.
Previous: I, II, III
IV.
Sam was sitting in the library half burrowed behind an impressing number of dusty old books. It wasn’t exactly anything new for him, nor was the agitated look that the woman behind the counter had flashed him at the realization of what he had been looking for. Usually he would smile and mention a college assignment of some sort and, usually, it would do the trick. However, today was not the day. Today lies, even the small ones, the necessary ones, as Dad had used to call them, felt overwhelmingly nauseous.
The library turned out to be surprisingly well-stocked. However, this didn’t ensure the place a big interest, at least not right now, as Sam and the librarian were the only people present. He was leafing his way through yellowish pages in search of anything that would suggest what they were up against, so far - with no results. Two victims, might easily become three if they didn’t hurry up. Splitting up meant covering more ground but it also meant leaving Dean alone, which at the moment didn’t seem to be a particularly bright idea. Sam couldn’t quite decide if he was more angry or worried but all the alarms were on and flashing red.
***
“Mandy Oak, aged 17, living outside Wellton with her mother. Father long since disappeared,” Dean’s voice was all business, a plain factual account. Sam bit his lips to stop the already forming questions.
“Disappeared meaning?” He asked to the phone instead.
“Meaning less demon more whiskey.”
“Oh, ok.”
“But listen, I’ve just talked to Mandy’s mom and she says that her daughter was a regular kid right until she started pulling a paranoid act a few months before her death. Locking herself in her room, pulling all the shades down and losing her shit every time somebody suggested going out. Her favorite sentence from that time was that it wouldn’t leave her alone.”
“Let me guess, she didn’t specify what she meant, did she?”
“Nope, but I bet our fluffy little friend had a say in this. Anyway, this is where it gets interesting, when Mandy’s behavior reached the point when her mother couldn’t think of anything else but locking her up for real it suddenly got better. I mean, she didn’t immediately stop being full buckets of crazy - I guess that one stays with a person - but calmed down a bit. Said it’s gone. That was four weeks ago.”
“Four weeks later Dave’s dead and it’s a matter of days until she joins him.”
“Yep.”
Sam pondered for a moment analyzing the news and trying to make some sense out of it. On the other side of the line Dean remained quiet as if knowing that his brother needed some time to digest the information. They had been suspecting it earlier on - this thing apparently reveled not only in killing but also cornering its victims, driving them mad beforehand. Still, something was missing in this whole picture, the elements didn’t quite fit as they normally should.
“Ok,” Sam started in an attempt to cast his thoughts into a somewhat more tangible form. “Assuming Dave was summoning this thing why would he want Mandy dead? Any connection between the two of them?”
“None that I know of.”
Sam scratched the back of his head. Although the low hum of air conditioning in the library let him forget about the heat outside for a while, he still felt itchy. “It’s strange,” he pinched the root of his nose letting his eyelids close for a second. “So Dave for unknown reasons summons this thing and sends it after a seventeen-year-old that, for all we know, he has absolutely nothing in common with. Then, the thing gets lose, kills its former master and goes back to the job he assigned to it? It’s not how it works.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right but rather than its motives I’d like to know how to kill this thing. Any luck with the research?”
“Not yet.”
“Ok, keep me posted. Gonna hit Shannon’s house before she gets another of her bright ideas. Meet you back at the motel.”
“Dean,” Sam stopped not really clear on what he wanted to say. “Just, be careful, ok?”
“Sure,” he heard his brother’s blank voice followed by the sound of hanging up.
Sam sat quietly over the desk scattered with books. The librarian long since grew tired with sending him withering looks and was currently lost in a book of her own, swallowing chocolates in an absent-minded fashion. Sam wondered briefly how many stains she had left on the pages but quickly dismissed the thought. It was almost 6 p.m., probably around the time of closing, didn’t really matter anyway, he was done here. No demons taking the form of animals, no ghosts, no monsters, no nothing. Sam stretched out trying to get rid of the kinks in his neck and shoulders and started gathering all the books in a neat pile that he could return on his way out when his phone rang again.
“Bobby, please tell me you found something,” he said hastily as soon as he picked up.
“Looks like you got yourself a vetala.”
“Vetala?” Sam was sure he had heard the name before but couldn’t quite place it.
“It’s a spirit, a real mean son of a bitch. Rather rare. You have to collect a great deal of unholy deeds to become one after your death. It doesn’t act like regular ghosts, more like demons - clever and having its fun whenever it can find some. Those sigils you boys sent me are from a binding ritual.”
“Any reason in particular why people would like to have a vetala on a leash?” Sam asked in a muffled voice as the librarian had abandoned her book for the time being and placed her full attention on him again.
“Vetalas are said to possess the uncanny insight into human nature. Supposedly, they can see through people. I’d say such knowledge can come in handy.”
“Ok, how do we kill it?”
“This is where it gets shady. There are some mentions of mantras and performing funerary rites but nothing more specific than that. I’ll keep digging and you boys, watch your damn steps while I’m on it, got it?”
Sam was about to thank and hang up but in the last second changed his mind. “Bobby?” He asked shakily and heard his voice echoing in the phone strange and distorted.
“What is it?”
Sam took a long unsteady breath. “Have you ever heard about a guy named Dave Rionston?”
“Yeah,” the sound was prolonged, careful as if Bobby was trying to buy himself some time to figure out the story behind the question. The worry freely detectable under a thin layer of sobriety. “Met him once or twice on a job, heard that he’d left the life.”
“Literally. We’re investigating his death.”
“Balls.”
“Those sigils, they were his. Before his death Dave left a letter to call our Dad in case something happened. And there’s also,” Sam hesitated, “I need you to tell me what you know about him.”
“Care to spit out what’s wrong, kid?”
Sam could easily see the old man’s bothered face marked with deep lines under the beat up cap, the image, too familiar, too tangible, making something in him crack. “I’m not sure,” he sighed heavily dragging a palm over his face and feeling his throat constrict as if all the events of the last couple of days, months, chose this particular moment to pin him down. “It’s Dean,” he heard himself saying, “I just, I just need to know, ok?”
There was a moment of silence finally broken by Bobby. “Dave was one of the best hunters I’ve ever known or heard about.” The words were pronounced slowly with precision that was probably supposed to belie the worry behind them. A poor attempt but Sam had to at least give him the points for trying. “The jobs that he carried through made even the toughest guys look the other way. But such things don’t come without a price.”
“What do you mean?” A tingle of scare crept over his back.
“I mean, that it’s usually hard to sleep tight after you kill a kid just changed into a vampire even if that’s the only thing to do. Word has it that Dave did sleep tight.”
“A regular ray of sunshine,” Sam muttered nervously, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, I never really believed in this whole family thing, a woman with a kid ain’t something I would normally match him with.”
“Wait, a kid?” They checked Dave, they checked Shannon, there was no trace of any children. “I didn’t know Shannon had a child.”
“A teenage son, they say, so I guess, an adult now.”
“Unless he’s dead,” Sam said quietly more to himself than to Bobby. It was a long shot but it fit.
“You figure?”
“Don’t know yet, listen Bobby, I gotta go, thanks for everything.”
“You boys be careful, this vetala is one vicious mother fucker. If it gets real bad you call, understand? And watch out for that dumbass brother of yours.”
Sam smiled inadvertently. “Sure, Bobby. And really, thanks,” he said and hung up.
The books were in his hands in a second. Planning his next steps, he didn’t even noticed when he was in front of the desk, a remote thank you met with yet another inimical glance and he was out, back in the heat of the day, on his way to the motel. Disappearing kids were never a favorable touch to the plot. Shannon talked about Dave using the name Rionston not Bronston and since she didn’t know his past there must’ve been other reasons for the change, reasons that she was perfectly familiar with but hadn’t felt like sharing. How could they ignore it so completely? The big burning question however, was why would Shannon and Dave want to keep it secret. Protection was one of the possibilities but somehow Sam found it hard to believe. The laptop and a good Internet connection was what he needed right now.
***
Air conditioning or not, the motel room was stiflingly hot. Flooded with the sun hanging low over the parking lot, it appeared almost pretty with the few pieces of old furniture colored in golden brightness. Even the dirty used-to-be-white walls looked more inviting adorned with a cozy shade of orange. Not really in the mood for admiring the wacky play of sunshine, Sam crossed the interior quickly and shut the grayish curtains to bar at least some of the swelter. Almost cheerfully, he got rid of the sweaty shirt and trousers putting on a relatively clean T-shirt and burrowing the pieces of clothing in his own movable equivalent of a laundry bag, the size of which reminding him that washing was long overdue. He looked at his jeans spread next to his bed and decided that they could wait. Instead, he grabbed the laptop and headed to the kitchenette table.
Dean was supposed to come back right after he checked on Shannon. Sam had called him on the way to the motel, filled him in on what Bobby had managed to determine. Still wasn’t sure whether it had been that good an idea, though. When his brother was in such a state, he was usually more than willing to throw himself in the middle of a hunt in a frontal-crash fashion. However, Sam had to admit that in their line of work knowing would always beat the alternative.
So he’d called. And now couldn’t help but check the time every fifteen minutes, counting the miles in his head. They still didn’t know how to get rid of this thing and Shannon was next on its list. Sam shook the recurring image of Dave’s battered body and forced his attention back on the screen. The research was going slow. One thing about Dave seemed undisputable, the guy really was good and whatever the big secret was it had been hidden with meticulous care.
The room gradually grew darker as the sun ducked behind the skyline and ceased to send its yellow rays through the old curtains.
***
Shannon seemed adamant that she didn’t have any children. But she was also shaken, her speech slurry and pupils dilated. Voice sounding detached when she spoke about Dave cooking fucking quesadillas of all things. Dean left her on the couch, already half-asleep, pouring a glass of tepid tap water and placing it on the coffee table on the way out. Give this woman enough time and she’ll tie a nice little noose herself, no need for any fucking vetalas. Foolish and plain irresponsible as she was, Dean couldn’t really find it in himself to blame her.
The hood of the Impala felt warm under his back. All the heat gathered by the car throughout the day of being struck by the merciless sun was seeping through his clothes and petting his skin with unfailing stubbornness. Dean didn’t really mind. Somewhere in the background he could feel a hint of guilt for not returning to the motel but it was remote and lacked a defined shape while Sam’s questions remained solid and hefty. Besides, he was of no help to his brother right now, research needed to be done and Shannon needed to be watched. So he stayed, Shannon in the house and him patrolling the terrain, making sure that no coyotes will drop for a visit. Reclining on the hood, the glock with silver bullets on his right, the shotgun on his left, and feeling the warmth soaking through his torn and dirty shirt, he examined the horizon for any moving shape with almost eager anticipation.
The sun was sinking slowly taking the daylight with itself. The dazzling orange halo hanging just above the horizon bathing the sky in red to gradually surrender to upcoming night. The biggest fucking cliché in the entire world. And yet, Dean found himself strangely mesmerized by the view. Here, out in the open, he felt good, like he was exactly where he’s supposed to be.
Grabbing his weapons, he slid down from the hood somewhat regretfully and walked slowly scanning the austere landscape cut black against the red sky. Walking with two guns was neither awfully smart nor comfortable so he secured the sawed-off awkwardly behind his belt. It might have not done a lot of damage last time, but there was no guarantee that the Glock would be of more use. It was growing duskier every minute now and when he turned around the other side of the world was already shrouded in darkness. Not thick yet, but the sickle moon pasted on the sky didn’t foretell a great visibility.
The first lap around the house didn’t bring anything new to the picture, neither did the second. Not even the slightest gust of wind interrupted the stillness of the view. Dean was about to enter the house, the night already claiming this part of the world, when suddenly he noticed something. Out of the corner of his eye, nothing much, just the impression of movement, but enough to make him alert. He readied the gun turning his back to the house without even thinking and stared intensely into gathering darkness. Nothing. Stepping carefully backwards in the direction of the front door, he scanned the area for any sign of foreign presence. There it was, this time on his left. He turned quickly only to catch something disappearing behind the house. Too fast to get a good look of it. Not a coyote, however, that one Dean was sure. It was bigger, a human-like shape, but much quicker. Apparently the vetala had found itself a snug brand new meatsuit.
Dean sprinted to the door as quietly as it was physically possible. This thing had gone to the back, just like the last time, so he was going to give it a proper welcome. The interior was already cloaked in darkness. Shannon moved nervously on the sofa when he passed by but didn’t wake up. It was probably for the better. In the kitchen Dean discovered that the broken door had been propped with a wooden stool to at least maintain the impression that it served its proper function. Careful to avoid any sound that would give away his position, he peeked through a window looking out east where he supposed the thing might be. He was met with yet another impression of movement, much closer, and he could swear that it was accompanied by a quiet whizz as the vetala cut through the air. Damn, it was fast. Dean kept his position leaning against the wall to avoid being detected from the outside but didn’t notice anything else. He could feel the tension gripping up his muscles screaming for some action but the area seemed perfectly calm for the time being. Feeling its weight by his side, Dean lowered the sawed-off to the floor so that nothing disturbed his movements but placed it close enough to grab quickly if the need arose. Seconds went by, and the only thing that seemed to change was the silence growing heavier.
A sudden noise made him almost jump. It came from right behind the wall. Firewood, Dean thought, but why would it… The thought didn’t have time to crystallize as one of the splinters flew into the room sending a rain of glass falling down on him. On instinct, he dropped to the floor covering his head, just in time to avoid another splinter entering the kitchen from the other side. It hit the cupboard on the opposite wall and fell right next to him with a loud thump. Dean crept towards the backdoor hoping for all his might that consecrated silver would make a bigger impression on the vetala than the salt had. Squatting down, too aware of how easy a target he was if he stuck out his head, Dean kicked the stool keeping the door in a more or less vertical position and in one smooth movement leaped towards the exit pointing his gun to the left, at the storage shed. Nothing there. It’s playing with you, it’s fucking playing with you.
He quickly retrieved to the house. In the kitchen doorway standing wobblingly was Shannon, fuck, he almost forgot about her, the drug-induced daze still clear in her features.
“On the ground!” He bellowed reaching her in a second, her surprised gasp mixing up with the sound of a broken window. Out front this time.
“Fuck!” He yelled. “Fucking mother fucker! You ok?” Dean’s body partly covered Shannon’s and as he withdrew his hands he saw that her red hair was glued with fresh blood. “Shannon!”
When she looked at him she seemed more alert as if the shock had managed to sober her up. “What the hell?”
It was his palms, cut by the freaking flying glass. He didn’t have time to answer, however, as the next window went down. Shannon screamed with terror.
“Shannon, you with me?”
“Dean, what’s going on?” her voice was trembling, scared.
“Listen to me, it’s going to be ok, understand?” She looked at him blankly as if he’d just said a very bad joke.
Another sound came from the front door and the vile grotesque of it made Dean shiver involuntarily. Knocking. Firm and executed with ridiculously long intervals. Shannon let out a quiet gasp. One rap, then another, and another, the breaks filled with silence letting the sound reverberate inside the walls.
“Stay here and stay down,” Dean hissed through the greeted teeth and without waiting for any response moved quietly towards the door. He knew this thing was smart, knew it couldn’t enter and wanted to lure him outside. Still, no way was he going to stay put and wait for its next move; that mother fucker was going down.
Tiptoeing among the broken glass, Dean approached a window frame up front and, using it as a cover, aimed the gun into the darkness. He wasn’t surprised by the absolute lack of anything remotely similar to something else than dirt and cactuses but he kept his position. It’s gonna show up, sooner or later.
Come on. Out, you freak.
Something moved, on the right, he shot in that direction already sure the bullet wouldn’t hit it. The thing was close but he couldn’t see it due to the darkness. He shot again. Then, in one second the front door cracked and flew off of its hinges with a loud pound followed by two quick sounds of discharge. On instinct, Dean sprang aside. He managed to roll behind the sofa when the third gunshot made him realize that he wasn’t the target. It was too late, though. He sneaked a look only to discover that the threshold was completely destroyed.
And the salt line with it. Damn.
Readying the glock, he sent a glance where Shannon had been the last time he’d seen her. Of course, she wasn’t there, why would she be? He only hoped she was smart enough to bury herself in a fucking closet rather than try escaping through the desert. However, his thoughts were cut by the sudden appearance in the doorway that made all his coherence vanish in a second.
“Long time no see. Ain’t it so, Dean-o?”
Dean’s finger froze on the trigger. Just for a moment, but a moment too long. Enough for Dave to point a shotgun at him and fire.
Chapter V
Author: judith_88_g
Rating: R (language, whump)
Genre: Gen
Characters: Dean, Sam, a tiny bit of Bobby, OCs
Spoilers: Up to 2x01, set in early season 2
Word Count: 3,600 (21,00 total)
Disclaimer: Still not mine, don't lose my hope though.
Summary: Sam and Dean receive an unexpected phone call and learn that one of John's old friends has been murdered. They set off to investigate his death, the case, however, turning out to be much more than just a simple salt'n burn, stirring the memories that, in Dean's book, are better left forgotten.
A/N: I took some liberties with location as well as the lore. The title comes from The Beatles' song.
A/N 2: Beta'd by a lovely astute spangielka, whose support, Sober Eye of Reason, and uncanny insight into a boy called Sam Winchester have been of inestimable value, and also by a very helpful rubystandish who put the story into the right shape, treading bravely over the steaming cinders of my grammar. All remaining mistakes are of course all mine.
Previous: I, II, III
IV.
Sam was sitting in the library half burrowed behind an impressing number of dusty old books. It wasn’t exactly anything new for him, nor was the agitated look that the woman behind the counter had flashed him at the realization of what he had been looking for. Usually he would smile and mention a college assignment of some sort and, usually, it would do the trick. However, today was not the day. Today lies, even the small ones, the necessary ones, as Dad had used to call them, felt overwhelmingly nauseous.
The library turned out to be surprisingly well-stocked. However, this didn’t ensure the place a big interest, at least not right now, as Sam and the librarian were the only people present. He was leafing his way through yellowish pages in search of anything that would suggest what they were up against, so far - with no results. Two victims, might easily become three if they didn’t hurry up. Splitting up meant covering more ground but it also meant leaving Dean alone, which at the moment didn’t seem to be a particularly bright idea. Sam couldn’t quite decide if he was more angry or worried but all the alarms were on and flashing red.
***
“Mandy Oak, aged 17, living outside Wellton with her mother. Father long since disappeared,” Dean’s voice was all business, a plain factual account. Sam bit his lips to stop the already forming questions.
“Disappeared meaning?” He asked to the phone instead.
“Meaning less demon more whiskey.”
“Oh, ok.”
“But listen, I’ve just talked to Mandy’s mom and she says that her daughter was a regular kid right until she started pulling a paranoid act a few months before her death. Locking herself in her room, pulling all the shades down and losing her shit every time somebody suggested going out. Her favorite sentence from that time was that it wouldn’t leave her alone.”
“Let me guess, she didn’t specify what she meant, did she?”
“Nope, but I bet our fluffy little friend had a say in this. Anyway, this is where it gets interesting, when Mandy’s behavior reached the point when her mother couldn’t think of anything else but locking her up for real it suddenly got better. I mean, she didn’t immediately stop being full buckets of crazy - I guess that one stays with a person - but calmed down a bit. Said it’s gone. That was four weeks ago.”
“Four weeks later Dave’s dead and it’s a matter of days until she joins him.”
“Yep.”
Sam pondered for a moment analyzing the news and trying to make some sense out of it. On the other side of the line Dean remained quiet as if knowing that his brother needed some time to digest the information. They had been suspecting it earlier on - this thing apparently reveled not only in killing but also cornering its victims, driving them mad beforehand. Still, something was missing in this whole picture, the elements didn’t quite fit as they normally should.
“Ok,” Sam started in an attempt to cast his thoughts into a somewhat more tangible form. “Assuming Dave was summoning this thing why would he want Mandy dead? Any connection between the two of them?”
“None that I know of.”
Sam scratched the back of his head. Although the low hum of air conditioning in the library let him forget about the heat outside for a while, he still felt itchy. “It’s strange,” he pinched the root of his nose letting his eyelids close for a second. “So Dave for unknown reasons summons this thing and sends it after a seventeen-year-old that, for all we know, he has absolutely nothing in common with. Then, the thing gets lose, kills its former master and goes back to the job he assigned to it? It’s not how it works.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right but rather than its motives I’d like to know how to kill this thing. Any luck with the research?”
“Not yet.”
“Ok, keep me posted. Gonna hit Shannon’s house before she gets another of her bright ideas. Meet you back at the motel.”
“Dean,” Sam stopped not really clear on what he wanted to say. “Just, be careful, ok?”
“Sure,” he heard his brother’s blank voice followed by the sound of hanging up.
Sam sat quietly over the desk scattered with books. The librarian long since grew tired with sending him withering looks and was currently lost in a book of her own, swallowing chocolates in an absent-minded fashion. Sam wondered briefly how many stains she had left on the pages but quickly dismissed the thought. It was almost 6 p.m., probably around the time of closing, didn’t really matter anyway, he was done here. No demons taking the form of animals, no ghosts, no monsters, no nothing. Sam stretched out trying to get rid of the kinks in his neck and shoulders and started gathering all the books in a neat pile that he could return on his way out when his phone rang again.
“Bobby, please tell me you found something,” he said hastily as soon as he picked up.
“Looks like you got yourself a vetala.”
“Vetala?” Sam was sure he had heard the name before but couldn’t quite place it.
“It’s a spirit, a real mean son of a bitch. Rather rare. You have to collect a great deal of unholy deeds to become one after your death. It doesn’t act like regular ghosts, more like demons - clever and having its fun whenever it can find some. Those sigils you boys sent me are from a binding ritual.”
“Any reason in particular why people would like to have a vetala on a leash?” Sam asked in a muffled voice as the librarian had abandoned her book for the time being and placed her full attention on him again.
“Vetalas are said to possess the uncanny insight into human nature. Supposedly, they can see through people. I’d say such knowledge can come in handy.”
“Ok, how do we kill it?”
“This is where it gets shady. There are some mentions of mantras and performing funerary rites but nothing more specific than that. I’ll keep digging and you boys, watch your damn steps while I’m on it, got it?”
Sam was about to thank and hang up but in the last second changed his mind. “Bobby?” He asked shakily and heard his voice echoing in the phone strange and distorted.
“What is it?”
Sam took a long unsteady breath. “Have you ever heard about a guy named Dave Rionston?”
“Yeah,” the sound was prolonged, careful as if Bobby was trying to buy himself some time to figure out the story behind the question. The worry freely detectable under a thin layer of sobriety. “Met him once or twice on a job, heard that he’d left the life.”
“Literally. We’re investigating his death.”
“Balls.”
“Those sigils, they were his. Before his death Dave left a letter to call our Dad in case something happened. And there’s also,” Sam hesitated, “I need you to tell me what you know about him.”
“Care to spit out what’s wrong, kid?”
Sam could easily see the old man’s bothered face marked with deep lines under the beat up cap, the image, too familiar, too tangible, making something in him crack. “I’m not sure,” he sighed heavily dragging a palm over his face and feeling his throat constrict as if all the events of the last couple of days, months, chose this particular moment to pin him down. “It’s Dean,” he heard himself saying, “I just, I just need to know, ok?”
There was a moment of silence finally broken by Bobby. “Dave was one of the best hunters I’ve ever known or heard about.” The words were pronounced slowly with precision that was probably supposed to belie the worry behind them. A poor attempt but Sam had to at least give him the points for trying. “The jobs that he carried through made even the toughest guys look the other way. But such things don’t come without a price.”
“What do you mean?” A tingle of scare crept over his back.
“I mean, that it’s usually hard to sleep tight after you kill a kid just changed into a vampire even if that’s the only thing to do. Word has it that Dave did sleep tight.”
“A regular ray of sunshine,” Sam muttered nervously, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, I never really believed in this whole family thing, a woman with a kid ain’t something I would normally match him with.”
“Wait, a kid?” They checked Dave, they checked Shannon, there was no trace of any children. “I didn’t know Shannon had a child.”
“A teenage son, they say, so I guess, an adult now.”
“Unless he’s dead,” Sam said quietly more to himself than to Bobby. It was a long shot but it fit.
“You figure?”
“Don’t know yet, listen Bobby, I gotta go, thanks for everything.”
“You boys be careful, this vetala is one vicious mother fucker. If it gets real bad you call, understand? And watch out for that dumbass brother of yours.”
Sam smiled inadvertently. “Sure, Bobby. And really, thanks,” he said and hung up.
The books were in his hands in a second. Planning his next steps, he didn’t even noticed when he was in front of the desk, a remote thank you met with yet another inimical glance and he was out, back in the heat of the day, on his way to the motel. Disappearing kids were never a favorable touch to the plot. Shannon talked about Dave using the name Rionston not Bronston and since she didn’t know his past there must’ve been other reasons for the change, reasons that she was perfectly familiar with but hadn’t felt like sharing. How could they ignore it so completely? The big burning question however, was why would Shannon and Dave want to keep it secret. Protection was one of the possibilities but somehow Sam found it hard to believe. The laptop and a good Internet connection was what he needed right now.
***
Air conditioning or not, the motel room was stiflingly hot. Flooded with the sun hanging low over the parking lot, it appeared almost pretty with the few pieces of old furniture colored in golden brightness. Even the dirty used-to-be-white walls looked more inviting adorned with a cozy shade of orange. Not really in the mood for admiring the wacky play of sunshine, Sam crossed the interior quickly and shut the grayish curtains to bar at least some of the swelter. Almost cheerfully, he got rid of the sweaty shirt and trousers putting on a relatively clean T-shirt and burrowing the pieces of clothing in his own movable equivalent of a laundry bag, the size of which reminding him that washing was long overdue. He looked at his jeans spread next to his bed and decided that they could wait. Instead, he grabbed the laptop and headed to the kitchenette table.
Dean was supposed to come back right after he checked on Shannon. Sam had called him on the way to the motel, filled him in on what Bobby had managed to determine. Still wasn’t sure whether it had been that good an idea, though. When his brother was in such a state, he was usually more than willing to throw himself in the middle of a hunt in a frontal-crash fashion. However, Sam had to admit that in their line of work knowing would always beat the alternative.
So he’d called. And now couldn’t help but check the time every fifteen minutes, counting the miles in his head. They still didn’t know how to get rid of this thing and Shannon was next on its list. Sam shook the recurring image of Dave’s battered body and forced his attention back on the screen. The research was going slow. One thing about Dave seemed undisputable, the guy really was good and whatever the big secret was it had been hidden with meticulous care.
The room gradually grew darker as the sun ducked behind the skyline and ceased to send its yellow rays through the old curtains.
***
Shannon seemed adamant that she didn’t have any children. But she was also shaken, her speech slurry and pupils dilated. Voice sounding detached when she spoke about Dave cooking fucking quesadillas of all things. Dean left her on the couch, already half-asleep, pouring a glass of tepid tap water and placing it on the coffee table on the way out. Give this woman enough time and she’ll tie a nice little noose herself, no need for any fucking vetalas. Foolish and plain irresponsible as she was, Dean couldn’t really find it in himself to blame her.
The hood of the Impala felt warm under his back. All the heat gathered by the car throughout the day of being struck by the merciless sun was seeping through his clothes and petting his skin with unfailing stubbornness. Dean didn’t really mind. Somewhere in the background he could feel a hint of guilt for not returning to the motel but it was remote and lacked a defined shape while Sam’s questions remained solid and hefty. Besides, he was of no help to his brother right now, research needed to be done and Shannon needed to be watched. So he stayed, Shannon in the house and him patrolling the terrain, making sure that no coyotes will drop for a visit. Reclining on the hood, the glock with silver bullets on his right, the shotgun on his left, and feeling the warmth soaking through his torn and dirty shirt, he examined the horizon for any moving shape with almost eager anticipation.
The sun was sinking slowly taking the daylight with itself. The dazzling orange halo hanging just above the horizon bathing the sky in red to gradually surrender to upcoming night. The biggest fucking cliché in the entire world. And yet, Dean found himself strangely mesmerized by the view. Here, out in the open, he felt good, like he was exactly where he’s supposed to be.
Grabbing his weapons, he slid down from the hood somewhat regretfully and walked slowly scanning the austere landscape cut black against the red sky. Walking with two guns was neither awfully smart nor comfortable so he secured the sawed-off awkwardly behind his belt. It might have not done a lot of damage last time, but there was no guarantee that the Glock would be of more use. It was growing duskier every minute now and when he turned around the other side of the world was already shrouded in darkness. Not thick yet, but the sickle moon pasted on the sky didn’t foretell a great visibility.
The first lap around the house didn’t bring anything new to the picture, neither did the second. Not even the slightest gust of wind interrupted the stillness of the view. Dean was about to enter the house, the night already claiming this part of the world, when suddenly he noticed something. Out of the corner of his eye, nothing much, just the impression of movement, but enough to make him alert. He readied the gun turning his back to the house without even thinking and stared intensely into gathering darkness. Nothing. Stepping carefully backwards in the direction of the front door, he scanned the area for any sign of foreign presence. There it was, this time on his left. He turned quickly only to catch something disappearing behind the house. Too fast to get a good look of it. Not a coyote, however, that one Dean was sure. It was bigger, a human-like shape, but much quicker. Apparently the vetala had found itself a snug brand new meatsuit.
Dean sprinted to the door as quietly as it was physically possible. This thing had gone to the back, just like the last time, so he was going to give it a proper welcome. The interior was already cloaked in darkness. Shannon moved nervously on the sofa when he passed by but didn’t wake up. It was probably for the better. In the kitchen Dean discovered that the broken door had been propped with a wooden stool to at least maintain the impression that it served its proper function. Careful to avoid any sound that would give away his position, he peeked through a window looking out east where he supposed the thing might be. He was met with yet another impression of movement, much closer, and he could swear that it was accompanied by a quiet whizz as the vetala cut through the air. Damn, it was fast. Dean kept his position leaning against the wall to avoid being detected from the outside but didn’t notice anything else. He could feel the tension gripping up his muscles screaming for some action but the area seemed perfectly calm for the time being. Feeling its weight by his side, Dean lowered the sawed-off to the floor so that nothing disturbed his movements but placed it close enough to grab quickly if the need arose. Seconds went by, and the only thing that seemed to change was the silence growing heavier.
A sudden noise made him almost jump. It came from right behind the wall. Firewood, Dean thought, but why would it… The thought didn’t have time to crystallize as one of the splinters flew into the room sending a rain of glass falling down on him. On instinct, he dropped to the floor covering his head, just in time to avoid another splinter entering the kitchen from the other side. It hit the cupboard on the opposite wall and fell right next to him with a loud thump. Dean crept towards the backdoor hoping for all his might that consecrated silver would make a bigger impression on the vetala than the salt had. Squatting down, too aware of how easy a target he was if he stuck out his head, Dean kicked the stool keeping the door in a more or less vertical position and in one smooth movement leaped towards the exit pointing his gun to the left, at the storage shed. Nothing there. It’s playing with you, it’s fucking playing with you.
He quickly retrieved to the house. In the kitchen doorway standing wobblingly was Shannon, fuck, he almost forgot about her, the drug-induced daze still clear in her features.
“On the ground!” He bellowed reaching her in a second, her surprised gasp mixing up with the sound of a broken window. Out front this time.
“Fuck!” He yelled. “Fucking mother fucker! You ok?” Dean’s body partly covered Shannon’s and as he withdrew his hands he saw that her red hair was glued with fresh blood. “Shannon!”
When she looked at him she seemed more alert as if the shock had managed to sober her up. “What the hell?”
It was his palms, cut by the freaking flying glass. He didn’t have time to answer, however, as the next window went down. Shannon screamed with terror.
“Shannon, you with me?”
“Dean, what’s going on?” her voice was trembling, scared.
“Listen to me, it’s going to be ok, understand?” She looked at him blankly as if he’d just said a very bad joke.
Another sound came from the front door and the vile grotesque of it made Dean shiver involuntarily. Knocking. Firm and executed with ridiculously long intervals. Shannon let out a quiet gasp. One rap, then another, and another, the breaks filled with silence letting the sound reverberate inside the walls.
“Stay here and stay down,” Dean hissed through the greeted teeth and without waiting for any response moved quietly towards the door. He knew this thing was smart, knew it couldn’t enter and wanted to lure him outside. Still, no way was he going to stay put and wait for its next move; that mother fucker was going down.
Tiptoeing among the broken glass, Dean approached a window frame up front and, using it as a cover, aimed the gun into the darkness. He wasn’t surprised by the absolute lack of anything remotely similar to something else than dirt and cactuses but he kept his position. It’s gonna show up, sooner or later.
Come on. Out, you freak.
Something moved, on the right, he shot in that direction already sure the bullet wouldn’t hit it. The thing was close but he couldn’t see it due to the darkness. He shot again. Then, in one second the front door cracked and flew off of its hinges with a loud pound followed by two quick sounds of discharge. On instinct, Dean sprang aside. He managed to roll behind the sofa when the third gunshot made him realize that he wasn’t the target. It was too late, though. He sneaked a look only to discover that the threshold was completely destroyed.
And the salt line with it. Damn.
Readying the glock, he sent a glance where Shannon had been the last time he’d seen her. Of course, she wasn’t there, why would she be? He only hoped she was smart enough to bury herself in a fucking closet rather than try escaping through the desert. However, his thoughts were cut by the sudden appearance in the doorway that made all his coherence vanish in a second.
“Long time no see. Ain’t it so, Dean-o?”
Dean’s finger froze on the trigger. Just for a moment, but a moment too long. Enough for Dave to point a shotgun at him and fire.
Chapter V