Alexandria (Chapter 7 of 13)

[tikific]

Please see the masterpost for warnings, summary, and previous chapters.



Inias spread out the book on his lap. Reading from 1,001 Tales of the South had become a little tradition with them, and he wanted to keep it. So much of their lives had been thrown into turmoil, first when their mother had passed away, when their father left them, and finally that terrible day when Castiel, who Inias thought of as ever loyal, had gone to see Metatron and never returned.

It had been a lot for him to take, and he couldn't imagine what effect it must have had on Samandriel. The boy had now withdrawn from most human contact, and contented himself with his strange little pets. One of his favorite things about the South was the notion that you could find tarantulas down there. Inias stifled a shudder. He'd gotten used to the insects, but a furry spider? That was a bit much.

“Inias, more pirates!” urged the boy, who was sitting on the floor watching what even Inias admitted was a rather pretty beetle scurry back and forth.

“All right,” said Inias. He turned back to the book on his lap. But just then there came a soft knocking at the door. “Let me get that,” he said irritably. He had no idea who would be about at this late hour. He was startled when he opened the door, a cold chill running down his spine. “Ion. Esper,” he said, greeting the grim henchmen. Without waiting for an invitation, Ion pushed past him and, along with Esper, stomped into the small cottage where the boys had been living these past few months. They talking around for a few moments, with much clattering and banging. Inias grabbed his brother, and, terrified, they both huddled in a corner.

Ion went back to the door. “It's all right,” he shouted to someone outside.

Inias held his breath as Metatron stomped inside. “Where is your brother?”

“I- I don't know,” said Inias, trying to clutch a squirming Samandriel. “So Castiel is still alive?”

“Of course. But I can no longer see him. Where has he gone?”

“I thought he had gone to the South?” Inias tried.

“I can't see him there! What kind of magic is he using?”

With a mix of hope and terror, Inias shook his head. Somehow, Metatron had been keeping track of Castiel! But what could have happened to him. Had he come back to Lawrence?

“You don't know the magic? He hasn't taught you?”

“I don't use magic, sir. It isn't allowed.”

“I know damned well it isn't allowed, you idiot. I'm asking if you know the spell!”

Dean had been quiet these past few miles. Cas was aware that they had to be on the lookout for people following him. And it was getting difficult to follow the roadway here, as there were so many routes blocked by water.

The terrain had changed some miles back, and it was much more to Castiel's liking, going from the rough desert to the well-watered environment he remembered from the North. But this was different from his home: they had gone from sparse vegetation to a riot of foliage, plants bursting out all over the place here, the ground gone mad with the sheer quantity of life.

The contrast between the fertile surroundings and Dean's mood was striking. Each time they stopped for water breaching the roadway, Dean would get out of the car and fret - for what seemed like a longer and longer period of time - as to whether the car would make it over. After encountering perhaps the half-dozenth instance of a washed out road, he seemed to Cas like a lit firecracker, the fuse fizzling while you waited for the inevitable explosion. Cas, who was quiet by nature, became even more careful with his remarks.

“Is that something up there?”

“I'm sure it's more fucking swamp,” grumbled Dean. They had both gotten out of the Impala to check the depth of yet another pool of standing water across the roadway. Dean's eyes followed where Cas was pointing, squinting into the gathering darkness of twilight. “Wait a minute,” he added. He walked back to the car and fished out a pair of binoculars, he focused on the hillside ahead. “Yeah. I think that's it. Hey. Good eye!” he told Cas. “Just not sure if this is the way,” he added sadly, pointing to the water. And then, “Hey!”

Cas, who had grown a trifle impatient, strode into the pool, was thankfully only ankle-deep.

“Be careful, Cas! You don't know what's in there.”

Cas continued to walk across. “It's all right, I'm a strong swimmer,” he declared, having reached the other side. “For the next stretch, I'll walk, and you will follow me in the car.” And then he continued walking up the road.

Dean watched his friend for a few moments, and then declared, “Well, works for me.” He hopped into the car and followed along.

Cas walked with a kind of contentment, though his shoes and socks and pants were soaked up to his shins. He loved and missed the water. And though it was pleasant, Dean's little pool of hot springs water was really no substitute.

He passed through another pool of standing water and walked around a sharp bend when he heard the noise that sounded a lot like a man cocking a shotgun. Because that's exactly what it was. A dark-skinned man was now standing a few meters ahead of Cas, holding a long firearm pointed at about mid-chest level.

Cas, who was intensely curious about guns at the present time, was probably not appropriately frightened by the situation. “Hello,” he said. “Is that a shotgun?”

“Damn right it's a shotgun.”

“I am constructing a firearm.”

“And what are you supposed to be?” the man barked.

Cas sighed deeply. This again. “I realize that I appear very young, but I am a bladesmith.”

The man lowered the shotgun, possibly out of surprise at the odd answer. “Come again?” But he raised the weapon again when at last the Impala rounded the bend and came into sight.

The car halted and Dean leapt out, holding his hands up. “Rufus! It's okay! He's with me!”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Dean Winchester.”

Rufus thought for a moment. “Any relation to Sam?”

“I'm his brother!”

Rufus peered through the darkness. “Really? You boys don't look anything alike.”

“Rufus. I'm John Winchester's son.”

“John's boy?” Rufus lowered his weapon again.

“Yeah. Bobby Singer's friend.”

Suddenly the weapon snapped up again. “Bobby Singer? Fuck that motherfucker!”

“Rufus-”

“Is it possible we could continue this conversation elsewhere?” asked Cas. “I believe I have a leeches in my socks.”

The Emerald Fort was often referred to as the Littlest Sister. Not that this made it unimportant, especially as the Seven were now the Six. But it had always been understaffed and a little neglected.

Three men sat up on the roof. Two of them were engaged in a battle of wits.

“You hear that, Gordon?” asked Kubrick, one of the contestants.

Gordon remained hunched over the chessboard. “Hear what?”

Kubrick shrugged. “I could have sworn I heard something. Down below.”

“You just don't wanna lose your bishop,” said Gordon, making his move and holding up his prize.

“Aw … fucknuts,” said Kubrick, surveying the disaster of the board.

Creevy, who had been hanging around doing not much of anything at all, looked down from the battlements and said, “Hey, guys! Down there!”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “I swear, Kubrick, do you pay that guy? I'm like, three moves from check!”

Making an apologetic gesture, Kubrick stood and wandered over to the edge of the roof to see what Creevy was on about. He squinted into the dimness. “Why the hell do I always pull swing shift?” he sighed.

“What is that?” asked Creevy, pointing into the distance.

“Think it's just dust,” Kubrick told him with a yawn.

“Or your imagination,” said Gordon. “Your move, Kubrick.”

“Wait,” said Kubrick. “Fuck, that's not dust. Gordon!”

Gordon was on his feet and next to Kubrick in a second.

“That's one of them,” said Kubrick.

“The Enemy!” agreed Creevy.

Gordon nodded. “Yeah, you're right. It's a little one. What the hell is it doing way out here on its own?” They grabbed weapons and headed down the stairs, although at a leisurely pace. You occasionally saw the small crawly-bugs, but they were usually easy to scare off.

“Why the hell isn't it running away,” said Gordon when they had reached the outer courtyard.

Creevy put out a hand. “Ow!” he said, drawing it back.

“Did it sting you?” asked Kubrick.

“No,” said Gordon. “Look, it's wounded.” It was true: one side had gotten slashed, and it was oozing out that icky acidic blood. Kubrick squatted down next to Gordon. He spotted something flashing on one of the legs. He kicked at the dirt around it to find it was tethered to a fine chain that was in turn anchored to the ground. He used his sword to pick up the chain, and looked inquiringly at Creevy and Gordon.

“What the hell?” asked Gordon. “Someone's got a pet crawly-bug?”

Kubrick looked thoughtful. “Could be somebody found it wounded, and brought it back. But why didn't we hear about this?”

There was a familiar rumbling sound along the desert.

“Oh, crap,” said Kubrick. “It's a big one. I really big one.” He looked at his comrades. “Inside! Now!”

The three raced back inside and finally arrived, panting, back up on top of the wall. As they looked down, just outside the exterior wall, the sand began to push upwards into small hillocks. The mounds swelled up in a semi-circle pattern all around the small crawly-bug.

The wall began to crack.

“Damn! It's underneath the wall!” yelled Gordon.

“Get back!” shouted Kubrick.

He, Gordon and Creevy backed up just as the wall buckled. Gordon and Kubrick jumped clear, but Creevy jumped and missed, screaming as he fell down with the crumbling wall.

“Creevy!” Kubrick shouted, but then he was nearly hit by a large feeding tentacle. He gave Gordon a shove and they ran across the rooftop as one entire side of the fort now buckled and plunged down into the sand below.

Cas sat with his feet up on a chair in Rufus's living room. Well, Cas figured it was a living room. He hadn't actually been in a lot of private residences in his time, so he was only really familiar with his family's house. It seemed that every room in Rufus's house was a kind of library, as there were books stacked everywhere.

“Are you done in there?” came Dean's voice from the kitchen. He had had to excuse himself when Rufus began pulling off the leeches.

Rufus had used a butter knife from the kitchen to flick them off into a jar, and now was washing Cas's feet and ankles. “Can't be too careful. There's usually no harm, but I've had 'em get infected before, and that hurts like the dickens.”

“Can I come out?” Dean pleaded.

“You wanna pick up the leech jar?” laughed Rufus.

“No!” Dean poked his head into the room, looking a bit nauseated.

“All right. You can help wash him up I guess.” Rufus grabbed the jar and handed Dean the washcloth. “I thought I'd fry them up in some oil!” he said, holding the jar under Dean's nose.

“Rufus! Goddammit.”

“You boys had dinner yet?”

“No!” Dean called.

“And Dean ate my lunch!” Cas complained.

“I didn't eat all of it.”

Cas looked at Dean accusingly. “Jo told me the hamburger was made from turkey.”

“Well, see? I told you it wasn't a cow.”

“Well, this ain't cow meat either,” said Rufus, hefting a platter of cured sausage, cheese, and a yellowy kind of cake. “I keep my cow for the milk.”

“What's the salami, Rufus?” asked Dean, who had brought out a pocket knife to cut off a hunk of sausage. “Wait, maybe you should let me eat first.”

“That one's venison,” said Rufus. “But this one?” He picked up an identical looking hunk of meat.

Cas was picking at the yellow bread. It was sweet, but not as sweet as a cake. He liked it.

“What's that one?” asked Dean.

“Gator I shot last month. He was trying to run off with my chickens. Bastard.”

“What is a gator?” asked Cas.

“Alligator. We'll probably show you one tomorrow,” said Rufus. “It's too late to make the crossing tonight, you understand. So you boys hole up here, and we'll go first thing tomorrow.”

“That's cool.”

“You know what you're looking for?”

Dean shrugged. “Cas is looking for a spell on armaments.”

“Ought to be easy enough.”

Dean smiled. “Rufus. What's the deal with you and Bobby?”

“He knows what he did!” spat Rufus.

“Please.”

“Please what?” asked Lucifer.

Kubrick glanced over at Gordon's headless corpse. Then he blinked up at Lucifer, who was currently in possession of Gordon's head. Lucifer tossed the head away, thoughtlessly, as if he was tossing a ball. He directed his gaze at Kubrick. “Please, what?”

Kubrick struggled as Alastair held the knife at his throat. “If you want to know something, I'll tell you.”

“Well,” said Lucifer. “The sorry fact is, I don't really want anything you have. Your fortification is frankly lacking.”

Kubrick had nothing to say. He looked over at Uriel and Abaddon, who had been keeping their distance.

“Unless you know the way to Alexandria?” said Uriel.

Kubrick looked to Uriel. “You know damn well Alexandria is the Red Fort's secret.”

“We know,” said Lucifer.

“Then … why?” Kubrick's eyes were pleading.

“Practice.”

“Practice?”

“There's always a bigger fish,” said Lucifer.

“But you need us!”

“How is that?”

“We may be small, but they're only the six of us to keep the Enemy at bay.”

Lucifer snorted. “We gave you a little one. A tiny one! Gift-wrapped. And look how successful you were at keeping that at bay!” He pointed over to the ruined section of the fort, where the Enemy's tunnel had undermined the foundation.

Kubrick gazed at the broken wall and felt sick. “I know we haven't always gotten along, Lucifer. But we should be comrades!”

“A little late for that,” Lucifer sighed. “And I'm just of late finding my own morality.”

“Morality?”

“Certainly. My morality. As long as I'm having fun and not hurting anyone, then everything should be all right.” Lucifer brought a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful. “I mean, of course, I guess I am hurting someone.” He waved a hand towards Kubrick. “But I'm having a lot of fun!”

He gestured at Alastair, who slashed. Kubrick fell, his blood and his life leeching out onto the unforgiving desert.

They didn't bother with the car the next day, just followed Rufus's lead as he walked quickly through the swampy lands. Cas was careful to follow Rufus's footsteps, as he seemed to instinctively know where to place his feet so as not to end up ankle deep in mud. The encounter with the leeches had given Cas a healthy respect for the water hereabouts.

They came at last to a vast stretch of water. Cas couldn't see over to the other side. “Is this the ocean?” he asked. It was curious, as it didn't seem to have a tide.

“It is now! At one point, this here was the mighty Mississippi river,” Rufus told him. “It overflowed. A little.”

“Just a little,” echoed Dean.

They found their way to a flat-bottomed wooden boat. It was barely big enough for the three of them. Cas and Dean sat while Rufus stood and skillfully used a pole to ferry them across. The water here was shallow, and also quite clear, so Cas found himself staring at the bottom as they passed over old roadways.

They skimmed by a rusty metal sign sticking part way in the water.

“Alexandria?” said Cas.

“This used to be the city limits,” Rufus told them. “Now it’s an island. There it is. Up ahead.”

Just coming into view was a partially submerged city. Rufus guided the boat right up between the abandoned buildings. “This all seems like a story my mother read me,” said Cas.

“There was a real city, Venice, built on the water like this,” said Rufus.

“In the South?” asked Cas.

“Oh, no. It was across the Wide Sea. But it's at the bottom of the ocean now. If you look around today, you'll probably be able to find pictures.”

“Ve-niz,” repeated Cas. He was going to look.

The water became too shallow to navigate. Rufus tied up the boat and led Dean and Cas through the city, and then to a vast field that contained many rusted out cars. Dean became distracted as they walked, running to see this and that vehicle. “Damn, I could have used those parts,” he muttered.

“This was the parking lot,” said Rufus. He walked closer to the structure. Cas was completely captivated. It looked like a giant tree, only formed of pre-flood concrete. “Was this made by the Men of Letters too?”

“Naw. Just a drunk architect with too much money,” Rufus told him. “But you see why we chose this?”

“It will keep everything up out of the water.”

“Correct. Well, unless the flood waters rise a few more meters. In case, I don't think you and I would care to be here. You wanna stand back? I gotta do my mumbo jumbo.”

Cas took a cautious step back, as Rufus was casting the unlocking spell. He noticed the sigils carved into the wide pillars: a lot of them. Obviously, someone didn't want anybody wandering in here.

The locks on the two heavy wooden doors clicked, and Rufus went to heave them open. Cas and Dean followed him up some wide concrete steps into the first floor.

Castiel gasped in surprise. He had never seen so many books, not even in Metatron's villa. The hall was chock-a-block with high shelves, and every shelf was crammed full of books.

“This is the treasure trove,” Dean told him proudly. “The Library of Alexandria. This is the reason Lucifer wants to get his hands on us.”

“Magical armaments would be up on the third floor,” Rufus told them. “You boys have fun, and I'll be back at dusk to pick you up.”

“Wait,” said Dean. “You're leaving?”

“I got shit to do, boy. You think my sausage makes itself?”

“But I thought you were supposed to be the librarian?”

“You got ‘til dusk,” said Rufus. “And then the boat is leaving, ready or not.”

“I'll be ready!” Cas assured him.

As Dean shook his head, Rufus departed, and Castiel scampered for the nearest staircase. “Wait for me, Cas! I'll never find you in this place.”

“That's all right Dean! I think I want to stay her forever!”

“Oh you do not!”

Much to his own surprise, Dean wasn’t entirely bored, as Cas kept him running after this or that book of spells or armaments, and then he had showed Dean a section with automotive manuals, and Dean had kind of lost track of time gazing at pictures of old racing cars. There was something called a Corvette made by the same company that had manufactured the Impala, and it looked like sex on four wheels. Dean set aside the book in the “check out” pile.

Dean did manage to drag Cas outside for a while to sit on a small stand of soft grass and eat the lunch Rufus had packed them. Cas was now a big fan of Rufus’s cornbread, and begged for the recipe to take back to Crowley, though Dean couldn’t imagine the fussy chef actually allowing such simple fare in his kitchen. They drank a little of the wine, too, and then one thing led to another and they were kissing. It was lovely, feeling like the only two people in the world, knowing they were likely the only two human beings on the island.

They were lying tangled together when Dean found himself speaking. “You know, when Rufus picks us up and takes us back, I have half a mind to just get in the car and drive, you know?”

“You mean, not go back to the fort?”

“Not go back to the fort. Just take off. Just forget about everyone, and everything.”

Cas slid around so he rested his arms on Dean’s chest. He looked into his eyes. “I still need to find my brothers.”

“I know. I know.”

“But I feel like that too,” Cas admitted.

Dean’s face broke into a smile. A soft breeze had come up, blowing Cas’s hair down into his eyes. Dean swept it away and kissed him on the forehead.

“We need to get back,” said Cas, getting up and grabbing his pants. “I need to find a couple more volumes. Are you going to be in the automotive section?”

Dean remained lying back in the grass for a moment more. “Probably. Man, you know the Corvette? It wasn’t even made of steel!”

“Really? What was it made of then?”

“Something called fiberglass.” Dean sat up. “When it was in an accident, it didn’t get dented, it ripped!”

“How would you repair it?”

“No idea. Maybe people just went and bought a new one. There were whole factories, you know.”

“It’s difficult to imagine. And how did they lay down the magic to fiber glass?”

Dean scratched his foot and thought he should put his clothes on. He felt a little itchy. “I don’t think they used magic.”

“What? Of course they did. They always used magic.”

“I’ve heard that didn’t start ‘til after the Flood.”

“I’ve heard different.”

Dean grinned and stuck out his tongue. Cas looked affronted for a moment, and then repeated the gesture. And then he turned, still barefoot and carrying his shoes, and walked up the stairs and back into the library. Dean sat back for a moment, admiring the view, and then grabbed his own clothes.

“Do you have it?”

There was a silence.

“Do you have another bug?”

Lucifer peered into Metatron’s face, or rather the replica of his face, traced in blue-tinged liquid.

“We have it,” said Lucifer. He cast his eyes around to Abaddon and Uriel. “We are simply … some of us … uncertain as to our next move.”

“Haven’t I outlined it for you?”

“Your instructions were clear,” said Uriel. “However, there are treaties, traditions….”

Metatron’s image in the middle of the table snorted. “And since when have treaties and traditions mattered to you people?”

Uriel straightened. “The outpost has long been a place where all are welcomed. The Harvelle family is and has always remained neutral. We do have a common cause. Do not forget that.”

“Your parrot is squawking up a storm today, Lucifer.”

“Uriel,” said Lucifer.

“I am growing impatient, Lucifer,” said Metatron. “Everything I have told you: has it worked?”

“It's worked. Though I wouldn't mind a little more information from some of those books I see around you.”

“In good time, Lucifer. Do this one thing for me, and we'll see about opening another spell book.”

“And then I'll have the Winchesters?”

“Yes, then it will be time to go against the Winchesters. And find Alexandria.”

Lucifer nodded. “It will be done.”

“Good.”

Metatron's image had barely melted back into the scrying bowl when Uriel spoke. “Lucifer.”

“No more of this, Uriel,” snapped Lucifer, who was already standing. “I agreed. Now get those lazy bastards to roust me another little one.” He spun on his heel and stormed out of Abaddon's room.

Abaddon sat back, crossing her legs, and gazed at Uriel.

“What do you want, woman?” asked Uriel.

“You're not leaving. I notice these things. I'm pretty smart for a girl.”

Uriel glowered at Abaddon. But still, as the damnable woman had taunted, he did not rise to leave.

“The outpost, Uriel? I mean, seriously?”

“Lucifer … is our leader.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

Uriel squirmed in his seat.

Abaddon leaned forward. “Metatron's magical spells or not, there are some lines you don't cross.”

“I don't see what we can do about it,” said Uriel. And finally, he stood up.

“That's your excuse?” said Abaddon. She shook her head. “You can't think up a way around it?”

“I can think of many things,” said Uriel. He glanced at Abaddon, and then, rapping his knuckles on the table, made to leave.

Dean found Cas sitting cross-legged on the carpet up on the fifth floor, in a section that had nothing to do with either armaments nor magic.

“Where the heck did you go?” Dean asked.

Cas tilted the book over so Dean could see. It was a large picture book. “This is Venice,” he said. “It was a port in a land called Italy.”

Dean crouched down so he could see the book. It did halfway resemble Alexandria. Only it appeared that Venice had been designed to lie near the water. “It’s pretty.”

“I like water. I really miss living near the water.”

“Not a lot of water where we live, I guess.”

“Strange, in a world of water,” said Cas. “To live in a desert.”

Dean nodded.

“It’s sad that Venice is submerged now,” said Cas. “So much was lost.”

“Well, we still have Alexandria. I guess.”

“Why were people stupid?”

“You mean causing the flood? It’s not clear that’s what happened. I mean, it's not clear it was people to blame.”

“It was God’s wrath. That’s what my father told us.”

Dean slid down so he was sitting next to Cas. “I’m not sure I believe in God.”

“Really?” Dean shook his head. “You don’t believe in God. Or in magic. What do you believe in?”

Dean was thoughtful for a moment. “My family. Sammy’s always there for me. And Bobby’s always been like family. And … there’s this cranky bladesmith.”

“I’m not cranky!”

In the end, they added the Venice picture book as well as a couple of Dean’s automotive books to the pile. Rufus, when he showed up, grumbled for a while about how they would surely sink his boat, but everything fit just fine.

The shadows stretched long, and it was in gathering darkness that they finally pushed off, Rufus once again standing up to work the pole, just like the men in Cas’s Venice book. Dean sat in back and then grabbed Cas to sit down right next to him.

“You boys think this is a date?”

“Why not?” asked Dean, his arm around Cas. “You’re our gondolier, Rufus.”

“Hey, I like that. Want me to sing you some opera?”

“Uh, no.”

“Hava nagila, hava nagila, hava nagila, ve-ni’smecha!” sang Rufus.

“What the hell is that?” grumbled Dean.

“It means rejoice, dumb ass. I ain’t really supposed to be out working on a Friday evening, but I don’t suppose the Lord minds so much if I sing to him.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, and Cas stomped on his foot.

“Come on, sing along! Hava neranena, hava neranena….”

Cas started in singing along, so Dean joined in as well.

“Wait, what’s that?” asked Cas, pointing to some strange glowing objects now hovering near the boat.

“That?” said Rufus. “That’s just some old lightning bugs.”

“They glow!”

“Yeah, there’s some creatures got it all figured out.”

“You like it, Cas?” asked Dean, tightening his arm around him. “I won’t get to take you to Venice, but this is pretty cool, huh?”

“Maybe we’ll find Venice some time, Dean. And maybe we will ride in a Car Vent!”

“A Corvette? Yeah, maybe we will.” He looked up at the shore. There were two figures standing there now. “Rufus?”

They were holding shotguns.

“They got here today. I had no choice,” Rufus whispered. He continued poling to the shore. “I'm sorry.”

Blind.

I’m blind, Sam thought, blinking his eyes.

But after a moment, the softly glowing objects came into focus. He was some place dark. And cold.

He groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. Everything seemed to be intact, arms and legs where they should be. His clothing on the other hand was in pretty bad shape, with big holes everywhere.

And he’d completely lost his shoes.

What the hell?

He thought about standing up, got to his knees, and then decided verticality was a bad idea. The floor underneath him was dirt. He crawled over to touch the wall. The wall was earthen as well. He reached up to touch one of the softly glowing lights and it ended up falling down, flopping onto the floor.

And then it crawled away.

“Ew!” grunted Sam, surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I’m in a cave,” he told himself, more to hear himself speak than anything.

His back felt itchy. He reached around to scratch. There seemed to be a large welt on the small of his back, but he couldn’t position himself to turn around and look. A sting? Something had stung him.

He froze, seeing the movement. There was something at the mouth of his small chamber. He pressed himself back as far as he could on the low wall of the cave.

Sam stifled a gasp when he recognized the undulating tentacles. But he was further startled when he saw the remains of electrician’s tape hanging off the creature’s back.

It approached, and he felt a wave of calmness wash over him. That was strange: he should be scared out of his mind right now. The creature was carrying something in its tentacles. It placed it carefully down on the floor of the cave, and then, after remaining there for a little while, retreated.

Sam crawled over to see what the hell the thing had left him. It seemed to be branches of a bush. Sam recognized the smell from some salad Crowley’s kitchen had cooked up. Yes, there were small purple berries studded in the branches.

Sam suddenly realized he was starving. He wondered if the berries would be all right to eat? He picked one off and stuck it in his mouth. It was delicious, so sweet. He grabbed some more and ate them, until he had completely picked the branches clean.

“It’s bringing me food?” he thought. It must have been a coincidence. Maybe it was building a nest or something? Did these things nest?

A wave of drowsiness hit him, and Sam lay down again and fell asleep.

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