Dean sighed, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. The lack of sleep and talk now of zombies was really starting to wear him down.
Like I said, old school.
Dean looked over at Anya as she said that, those two words striking a chord in him. What if they were wrong, just like Warren Fischer? He had thought it was a typical cut and dry voodoo hunt too, and that hadn't turned out in his favor. Maybe....
"Maybe...it's not a person," he said, his thoughts spilling out of his mouth.
"You thinking demonic?" Sam asked, not sure what was worse--some really magically powerful person raising the dead or demons.
"The shapeshifter in Illinois wasn't the typical MO either. Killing specifically hunters and hunter families?" Dean said, turning slightly in his seat to look at Sam and Buffy in the back. "Not usually their deal. They're random killers. That's why they're so hard to track. And now we got the dead rising up and making an entire town their own zombie all-you-can-eat buffet. None of these bastards are acting the way they're supposed to." He frowned at the thought even as he was having it. "So maybe it's all connected. The shapeshifters, the zombies, the coming war. Hell, maybe the war is already here."
"What, and we're right in the middle of it?" Buffy frowned, "We'd have had a heads up, right? I mean, we usually get a heads up about these things..."
"Not always," said Anya, carefully. "You didn't start getting those wacko dreams with The First until it was way past too late and all those girls had died."
She was right with that, Buffy knew, but that still didn't make it any easier to hear. "Yeah, but this--"
"I think Dean's right," Anya interrupted, holding up a hand. Buffy closed her mouth abruptly and Anya knew she hated that as much as she'd hate the next words coming out of her mouth. "Something demonic, all those things working together... It's not your usual demon way. Add zombies into the mix..."
"Okay, so we have wacky. We've done wacky," said Buffy, though the tension in her voice was plaintive. "That doesn't mean the apocalypse is already on us."
Anya sighed, "I think it does." She hated having an enraptured audience on a topic such as this. Give her anything to talk about - money, sex,, hell even Bunnies - and she'd be happier than this moment right here. "There's a demon," she murmured, "A real powerful, vindictive, bastard of a demon... And this? Has him written all over it."
Okay, Dean liked to be right about a lot of things, but the end of world breathing down their neck? He would have preferred to be wrong. "A single demon can pull a move like this?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He'd had a lot to take in the past few days, and he was honestly still just trying to keep his own head on straight; and now they had to worry about zombies. "A demon is good though, right? Means we can destroy him."
Dean turned to Anya, who was currently chewing nervoudly on her lower lip. "So who is this guy, Anya?"
"He's not your typical demon, Sam," said Anya, shooting a look back at Fischer's house and wondering if he'd even come close to what was actually causing this. She didn't think so.
"His name is Samhain," she said quietly, "The God of the Dead. Go back a few thousand years and the Celts of old believed that from sunset on the last night of October, to sun-up on November 1st, the veil separating the worlds between the dead was thinnest."
"Halloween?"
Anya nodded, "Halloween was Samhain's night. Think what Santa is to Christmas... What the Easter Bunny is to Easter," she shuddered, "Those who worshipped him carved his face into pumpkins, left candy on the doorsteps to appease him and wore masks to hide their true face... Once he was banished to Hell, Halloween changed. Commercialised, I guess, until we have what we have now. Kids, trick-or-treaters... Nobody remembers the true meaning of Halloween."
Buffy's stomach which had already been doubled in knots, turned even more. "So what, he decides to come out and play now?"
"You didn't release him," Anya's gaze went straight to Sam's, "not with the Devils Gate. Yellow Eyes could only dream of being that powerful. The chance to bring Samhain back only comes around once every 600 years so... Somebody's been waiting. There would've been a spell, right here in town. Serious voodoo, requiring sacrifices, blood... Probably a witch, someone who worshipped the guy in all his former glory."
Dean sighed, glancing back at Sam. "Have I mentioned lately how much I friggin' hate witches?"
Witches Sam could deal with. He was still having issues with the army of walking dead led by a god. "Okay, so we regroup at Bobby's, research up whatever else we can find about this Samhain guy...."
Dean shook his head at that. "Dude, you heard Anya. She's right. This is demon ground zero. We need to stick around here and figure this out." He raised a hand to stop Sam, as he was already giving Dean a "seriously?" sort of look. "Yeah, I don't like the idea of zombies creeping up on us either, but it makes sense."
They're not coming back for me. This town is dead.
He pushed Warren's voice out of his head as he continued, "We grab some supplies, arm ourselves to the teeth to be on the safe side--" He picked up the journal from the dash. "And we start from the beginning."
"Not all Witches are evil," Buffy felt the need to point out, "And if I can get in touch with our resident Wicca-who-Won't-Often, I can see if she can help us. Maybe she's heard something..."
Not that she was clutching at straws or anything here. She knew nothing about spells or spell-casting but she assumed that a spell of this magnitude would leave traces somewhere.
She opened her cell again, frowning at the lack of messages. Or call-backs, especially from Giles, how come the guy was never around when you really needed him?
"I'm with Dean," Anya nodded, "but I want something bigger than that machete. A pitchfork could work." She could definitely get behind stabbing at a distance. "If Samhain's out and all these people are walking around... We're heading right into a bloodbath, you guys know this, right? It's not going to be pretty."
Usually, this would be the point where Anya ran - got the hell out of dodge and left the idiots behind to deal with the bad. She glanced at Dean, gave a tiny sigh. If he'd been less pretty, maybe, or less accomodating... Or hell, even if he'd just let Bobby talk him right into his senses, maybe she wouldn't have had to stick around.
"We need to canvas the town first," said Buffy, shooting a wary glance back at Fischer's house as if the ghosts were gonna start pouring out all on their own. "Make sure it's really most sincerely dead before we set up camp."
Like I said, old school.
Dean looked over at Anya as she said that, those two words striking a chord in him. What if they were wrong, just like Warren Fischer? He had thought it was a typical cut and dry voodoo hunt too, and that hadn't turned out in his favor. Maybe....
"Maybe...it's not a person," he said, his thoughts spilling out of his mouth.
"You thinking demonic?" Sam asked, not sure what was worse--some really magically powerful person raising the dead or demons.
"The shapeshifter in Illinois wasn't the typical MO either. Killing specifically hunters and hunter families?" Dean said, turning slightly in his seat to look at Sam and Buffy in the back. "Not usually their deal. They're random killers. That's why they're so hard to track. And now we got the dead rising up and making an entire town their own zombie all-you-can-eat buffet. None of these bastards are acting the way they're supposed to." He frowned at the thought even as he was having it. "So maybe it's all connected. The shapeshifters, the zombies, the coming war. Hell, maybe the war is already here."
The was was here, and they were currently losing.
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"Not always," said Anya, carefully. "You didn't start getting those wacko dreams with The First until it was way past too late and all those girls had died."
She was right with that, Buffy knew, but that still didn't make it any easier to hear. "Yeah, but this--"
"I think Dean's right," Anya interrupted, holding up a hand. Buffy closed her mouth abruptly and Anya knew she hated that as much as she'd hate the next words coming out of her mouth. "Something demonic, all those things working together... It's not your usual demon way. Add zombies into the mix..."
"Okay, so we have wacky. We've done wacky," said Buffy, though the tension in her voice was plaintive. "That doesn't mean the apocalypse is already on us."
Anya sighed, "I think it does." She hated having an enraptured audience on a topic such as this. Give her anything to talk about - money, sex,, hell even Bunnies - and she'd be happier than this moment right here. "There's a demon," she murmured, "A real powerful, vindictive, bastard of a demon... And this? Has him written all over it."
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Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He'd had a lot to take in the past few days, and he was honestly still just trying to keep his own head on straight; and now they had to worry about zombies. "A demon is good though, right? Means we can destroy him."
Dean turned to Anya, who was currently chewing nervoudly on her lower lip. "So who is this guy, Anya?"
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"His name is Samhain," she said quietly, "The God of the Dead. Go back a few thousand years and the Celts of old believed that from sunset on the last night of October, to sun-up on November 1st, the veil separating the worlds between the dead was thinnest."
"Halloween?"
Anya nodded, "Halloween was Samhain's night. Think what Santa is to Christmas... What the Easter Bunny is to Easter," she shuddered, "Those who worshipped him carved his face into pumpkins, left candy on the doorsteps to appease him and wore masks to hide their true face... Once he was banished to Hell, Halloween changed. Commercialised, I guess, until we have what we have now. Kids, trick-or-treaters... Nobody remembers the true meaning of Halloween."
Buffy's stomach which had already been doubled in knots, turned even more. "So what, he decides to come out and play now?"
"You didn't release him," Anya's gaze went straight to Sam's, "not with the Devils Gate. Yellow Eyes could only dream of being that powerful. The chance to bring Samhain back only comes around once every 600 years so... Somebody's been waiting. There would've been a spell, right here in town. Serious voodoo, requiring sacrifices, blood... Probably a witch, someone who worshipped the guy in all his former glory."
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Witches Sam could deal with. He was still having issues with the army of walking dead led by a god. "Okay, so we regroup at Bobby's, research up whatever else we can find about this Samhain guy...."
Dean shook his head at that. "Dude, you heard Anya. She's right. This is demon ground zero. We need to stick around here and figure this out." He raised a hand to stop Sam, as he was already giving Dean a "seriously?" sort of look. "Yeah, I don't like the idea of zombies creeping up on us either, but it makes sense."
They're not coming back for me. This town is dead.
He pushed Warren's voice out of his head as he continued, "We grab some supplies, arm ourselves to the teeth to be on the safe side--" He picked up the journal from the dash. "And we start from the beginning."
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Not that she was clutching at straws or anything here. She knew nothing about spells or spell-casting but she assumed that a spell of this magnitude would leave traces somewhere.
She opened her cell again, frowning at the lack of messages. Or call-backs, especially from Giles, how come the guy was never around when you really needed him?
"I'm with Dean," Anya nodded, "but I want something bigger than that machete. A pitchfork could work." She could definitely get behind stabbing at a distance. "If Samhain's out and all these people are walking around... We're heading right into a bloodbath, you guys know this, right? It's not going to be pretty."
Usually, this would be the point where Anya ran - got the hell out of dodge and left the idiots behind to deal with the bad. She glanced at Dean, gave a tiny sigh. If he'd been less pretty, maybe, or less accomodating... Or hell, even if he'd just let Bobby talk him right into his senses, maybe she wouldn't have had to stick around.
"We need to canvas the town first," said Buffy, shooting a wary glance back at Fischer's house as if the ghosts were gonna start pouring out all on their own. "Make sure it's really most sincerely dead before we set up camp."
Who knew who - or what - else was out there.
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