Fic: Thicker Than Water 4/? (Supernatural/ True Blood)
Title: Thicker Than Water
Chapter: 4
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.
“It’s a bus.”
Dean’s shoulders tensed but he stayed silent.
Sam slapped at his arm. The mosquitoes here were brutal, and apparently singled him out as their next meal. Should have brought OFF at that Piggly Wiggly, he mused to himself as another invader swooped low. “It’s an old bus, Dean. We’re supposed to meet this person at an old bus in the middle of the swamp?”
“Sammy, you’re PMSing. Take some Pamprin.”
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
Sam turned in a tight circle. They were in the middle of a swamp… literally. They had to leave the car almost a mile back because of the mud, there were mosquitoes everywhere. Dean had lead them down a dirt road for nearly twenty minutes before stopping at the rusted heap and leaning against it. Sam slapped at his neck as another mosquito lighted. At the least they could have attacked Dean too.
"He's a little less tempting."
The brothers turned at the voice. A woman separated herself from the trees.
Dean cleared his throat. "Miss Jeannette."
"It's been a while," the black woman said as she walked forward, leaning heavily on a thick cane. "Didn't think I'd see you again after last time."
"Yeah, well…here I am." His smile was weak.
"Hmm…" She gave them each a piercing glance before heading to the entrance of the bus.
"You don't need to rock the cane," Dean said as they followed. "We're not tourists."
“Some folks need the theatrics,” Jeannette answered, standing straight and leaning her cane against the side of the bus. “Else they don’t think it’ll work.” She gave the two brothers another long stare before she pulled Dean into a hug.
Sam gawked. It wasn’t often Dean let someone hug him, especially since his return from hell, but he was letting this woman do it without complaint.
“You’ve been pushed and pulled every which way, haven’t you, boy,” she said as she let him go. Her hand settled on his shoulder for a moment before falling away. “You and your brother both.” She walked into the bus.
Sam shared a glance with Dean and followed. “Who said we were brothers?”
The woman’s gaze swept over him. “I know blood, boy,” she told him. “And the blood between you two is thick and strong.” Her eyes narrowed and Sam fought the urge to fidget. The last person to look at him like that was Anna.
Inside the bus was dank and smelled of rotten plants and incense. Jeanette dug around the leather bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, followed by two cups.
“I need you,” Dean said, hands flicking at the collection of hanging snake skins. “We need to find someone.”
Jeannette half turned, her eyes on Sam. “Then pick up the yellow pages.”
“Please,” Sam piled on as much earnestness as he could. “He might need our help.”
"Lots a people need help in this world. Don't mean I'll go jumpin' in the pot for them, either." She poured the dark liquor into both cups and offered one to Dean. "Dark things is walkin' the world again. Now ain't the time to go poking my head where it ain't wanted."
Dean took the cup and swirled the liquid around. "I know how dangerous it is," he countered. "Trust me."
She glanced between the two of them and sighed. “I owed you a debt, boy.”
Dean scratched the back of his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.”
"Fifteen hundred."
Sam fought the urge to choke. "What?" he finally laughed out. "Fifteen hundred… dollars?"
"No, boy. Fifteen hundred sheep. The debt's the only reason I'm agreeing at all."
Sam turned to his brother. "Dean-"
"Done."
He was about to ask where Dean planned on getting that kind of money in the middle of the night when his brother pulled out a thick wad of cash and started counting off bills. "Where did-"
"Don't ask," Dean cut him off as he counted. When he was done he slapped the whole on the scared table next to her.
Jeanette didn’t look surprised. She gathered the cash and shoved it in her bag. "Had a feeling something big was coming," she said as she raised her cup. "Didn't think it'd be you." She downed the liquid in one shot. Dean followed suit. "I do this, we're clear. Understand?"
Dean bounced slightly. "Yes, ma'am."
__________________________________________
Sam examined the collection of bones and herbs with trepidation. The incantations they used were mostly Latin based, fairly new as far as supernatural things went. There was a precision about it, a knowledge that even if you’d just picked up the book and only half believed you could still get it to work if you had everything set up right. He still wasn’t sure if he was more afraid or comforted by that fact.
Voodoo wasn’t like that. It required feeling, a connection to elements, to powers, that were older than western theology. No one could pick up a ‘Voodoo For Dummies’ and start summoning spirits, no matter how much attention to detail you put into the sigils. It was also a practice that burned you the minute your guard was down.
“Stop worrying like an old woman,” Miss Jeanette tossed the words over her shoulder as she built a rough circle from red powder. The bare patch of ground outside the bus was fire lit and covered in arcane symbols. “I’m not that like lily white ghost following you around. Pride goes before a fall, and I know when to be careful a where I step.”
“Lily… Pam?” Sam fought the urge to turn a circle. Even if she was there, he wouldn’t be able to see her.
Miss Jeanette straightened, pulling the drawstring on her bag. “Her soul’s long gone. The ghost I’m talking about is caused by guilt. You carry it around like a weight, let it drag you down.” Her gaze flicked to Dean. "Least yours you can help."
"Less Dr. Phil, more summoning, Jeanette," Dean scowled.
She laughed outright at that. "Dr. Phil'd run screaming if he had to deal with you."
Sam skirted the circle until he was standing next to his brother as Jeanette went back to ignoring them. "How'd you two meet again?"
Dean gave him a sidelong glance. "Before Dad disappeared," he answered with a huff. "I was in New Orleans for a while on this voodoo thing. Helped Jeanette and her sister outta a jam."
Sam perked up. "Right before you came and got me?"
"Few weeks." Dean's eyes never left the woman as she worked. "You'd think the people down here would know how to deal with a haunting." Well, more like a haunting on top of a poltergeist on top of a possession, if he wanted to get technical.
"I'm done now." She hefted a small bowel and a knife. "Get yourself over here."
Sam stepped forward at the sight of the knife, but was stopped by a quick glance from Dean. Don't be a pussy, Dean's eyes told him.
When the older Winchester was in the center of the circle Jeannette gave him a sharp glance. "Take that off," she said, gesturing to his shirt. "There's a connection between you and the one you're looking for," the voodoun continued as Dean pulled off his tee and kneeled in front of her. "A connection of blood and fire, pain and glory. We'll need that for what you want."
Sam watched as his brother took the knife. After a steadying breath he cut himself along his forearm, sending dark blood into the rough beaten bowl at his feet. Sam bit his lip as more blood drained from his brother, until the bowl was half-filled. After a quick sign from Jeanette Dean used his shirt to staunch the wound.
"We need eyes," Jeanette's voice was deep as she poured herbs and liquids into the bowl with one hand, beating steadily on a small drum slung on her shoulder with the other. "Eyes to see, ears to hear what you seek." She swirled the bowl. "The blood will seek him out, show you the way."
Sam felt his mouth go dry. Please tell me you don't have to drink that, Dean, he thought to himself.
Miss Jeanette dipped two fingers into the blood, coating them with the thick liquid before drawing a line on Dean's forehead over both eyes. "Eyes to see," she intoned. She dipped her fingers again, drawing a line from Dean's chin to his heart. The line arched, became a complicated symbol that gleamed in the half-light. When she was done she placed her hand on Dean's chest over his heart.
"Tell me what you see, boy."
Dean jerked. It felt like something had reached inside him and yanked his soul free. He wasn't in the swamp anymore, of that he was certain. The tree's were tall, the night hot, but not humid. Dry heat. He was standing in front of a run down single story building that sprawled out on both sides, the porch tilting dangerously. The remains of a low fence leaned a short distance away, short shadows in the darkness. "Ranch house" he muttered. There were no street lights, nothing to indicate where he was. But that wasn't right. He should know where he was. The scene kept changing, swirling until it didn’t make sense, then settled on a figure hunched near the back of the building, trench coat billowed around him.
Cas? He tried to say the word, but nothing came out. CAS!
The figure looked up, and there he was, staring up at him. Only he wasn't wearing an expression he'd ever seen on the angel's face before. He looked tired, and scared, and pissed off. "Dean?"
Where… before he could finish asking he was pulled backwards, landing hard in the dirt.
"Dean…? Dean, you okay?"
Dean blinked. Sam was staring down at him, hand on his chest. "What happened?" Sam helped him sit up. Damn, but his chest hurt.
"I don't know," Sam said, kneeling next to him. "You said Cas's name, then you flew back."
"Somethin' don't want you to find your boy," Jeannette said from the circle. She was watching them both with narrowed eyes. "Somethin' strong enough to knock you back into yourself." She cradled her hand to her chest.
Dean shook his head. "You okay?"
The voodoun shook her hand out. "Burned. Coulda been worse." She stalked towards them. "I did what you asked, and I'm not doin' it again. You get anything useful outta it?"
Dean heaved himself to his feet. "He's alive, it's a start."
"Good. Now get outta here. I got work to do cleanin' up the mess you made."
For the first time he noticed the clearing. Broken glass was everywhere. All the windows on the bus had blown outward. "Damn angels," he muttered as he pulled on his shirt.
________________________________________________
Jeanette dumped the last of the glass into a trash bag with a sigh. It had taken her over an hour before she got it all. She could have let it lie, but there were times when she needed to be rooted in the earth, and nothing hurt more than dirty glass sticking in a toe.
"Damn that boy," she muttered to herself as she straightened, tossing a battered broom and dustpan into her bus. She knew Dean Winchester was trouble the minute he burst into the exorcism she and her sister were performing. He was too young, too cocky, and too damn smart-mouthed for his own good. Four years hadn't made him any less a pain in the ass, but he had changed. She could feel it when she touched him. Something writhed beneath the surface of his soul, sucking him under so that his eyes were empty and pain filled. She'd almost been tempted to give him something for it, but she doubted it would help. That kind of pain dug in sharp hooks and held on.
And that was only the start.
Then there was his brother to think about, and she had a feeling if she thought too long on it she'd get a headache. There was something off about the boy, something that made her skin itch. He hadn't felt right. Powerful, yes, but not right; like what he had shouldn’t be there, shouldn't be anywhere. What's worse was the boy knew it, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Whatever they'd gotten themselves mixed in she wanted no part of it. There were things in the world that could rip her to shreds, and she'd survived for a long time by knowing when to walk lightly.
Jeanette was walking back to her car when she felt it: a presence that made her arms pebble in gooseflesh despite the humidity. The trees were silent around her, the keening of insects quieted. Jeanette stared into the darkness, searching for a sign of the creature. "I know you're there," she called, turning a tight circle. "I can smell ya."
"Impressive."
The voodoun narrowed her eyes as the creature stepped free of the treeline. She ignored the body it was wearing. Flesh meant little in these things.
"You know, I'd thought you were just another conman looking for easy marks," it said conversationally. "Thought I'd come out for myself, take a look around." It smiled widely. "And guess what I find? The little hoodoo woman that could."
Miss Jeanette kept her eyes on the creature, hands reaching for her mojo bag. "I ain't afraid of you."
The thing laughed at her, clapping its hands lightly. "You really think that little trinket is gonna do anything to me?" It held up a hand, and the bag slipped through her fingers, flying through the air. The creature held the bag up to its nose and sniffed. "It is very nice, though." It eyed the bag appreciatively. "A lot of work went into this. A lot of time and patience." It’s expression flattened out. "Shame it won't get anymore use, though."
Jeanette circled wide, glad when the creature followed suit. If she could make it back to the bus she should be safe. Her and her sister and worked for hours on it, etching wards into the metal itself. She'd had demons bang themselves out trying to get to her in there. "I got no quarrel with you," she stalled.
"Of course you don't," it said, expression changing to indulgence. "But I can't have you around spoiling my fun."
She didn't think. She ran. There was laughter behind her but she ignored it. Her hands were just touching the doors to the bus when her back erupted in fire.
________________________________________________
That was Dean.
Jimmy stood up and walked out into the yard. "You saw him, too?" he asked.
That was no dream, James.
The human waved a hand in the space that seconds ago had held Dean Winchester. It was just air; hot like the surrounding air. There wasn't even an imprint to suggest that someone had been standing there.
Jimmy dropped his hand with a sigh. He's been lucky to find the remains of the house just as the sun was going down. So far the only thing he'd figured out was that he was in the US, and that was only after the stars had come out. Amateur astronomy had finally paid off, one small plus on the increasingly negative pile he found himself sitting on.
He hadn't run into anything in the hours since waking up: no cars, no people, not even cows. Just endless stretches of flat land and scrub brush occasionally broken by a stunted tree. No cactus though, so he couldn't be too far west. He'd nearly given up when the ramshackle remains of the house separated itself from the evening gloom. It had taken all his strength to get the ancient pump going, and the dribbles of water that finally came out were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, but ran out entirely too soon. "Tell me again that this isn't Purgatory," he asked the angel.
We are in the mortal realm.
Yeah… in the most deserted part of the mortal realm the angels could find, apparently. "Any idea where we are?"
Something rippled up from the angel. Something that felt like annoyance mixed with self-loathing. No.
"You're not really good for anything, are you?" He snapped, wishing he could punch the entity inside him without damaging himself.
We traveled north for the greater part of the afternoon, Castiel answered. The presence of this dwelling means we will more than likely run into a town soon.
Jimmy tugged his coat off and marched back to his spot on the porch. He'd found an old couch cushion in the house that would be an adequate pillow. "And what then? How do we get in touch with Dean?"
The mention of civilization made your stomach hurt more than it has over the past several hours. Why?
The question made Jimmy blink. "Because I'm hungry."
This…emptiness… is hunger? The angel's voice sounded peculiar. And once you reach others you believe they will relieve this hunger?
The thought of walking into a dinner and ordering a large double cheeseburger with the works made his stomach growl. "I do still have cash on me. Every town has at least one place to eat out." He frowned. "And you didn't answer my question. How do we get in touch with Dean?"
The annoyance was back at the question. You will have to find a way.
Right. "You don’t know anything? A cellphone number? An address?"
In my former state I had no need of such things.
Which meant their current state was gonna be hell. "Do you know anything?" he finally grumbled as he leaned against the house.
Robert Singer.
Oh thank… whoever. "City? State?"
The angel didn't respond.
________________________________________
Next
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_^
Chapter: 4
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.
“It’s a bus.”
Dean’s shoulders tensed but he stayed silent.
Sam slapped at his arm. The mosquitoes here were brutal, and apparently singled him out as their next meal. Should have brought OFF at that Piggly Wiggly, he mused to himself as another invader swooped low. “It’s an old bus, Dean. We’re supposed to meet this person at an old bus in the middle of the swamp?”
“Sammy, you’re PMSing. Take some Pamprin.”
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
Sam turned in a tight circle. They were in the middle of a swamp… literally. They had to leave the car almost a mile back because of the mud, there were mosquitoes everywhere. Dean had lead them down a dirt road for nearly twenty minutes before stopping at the rusted heap and leaning against it. Sam slapped at his neck as another mosquito lighted. At the least they could have attacked Dean too.
"He's a little less tempting."
The brothers turned at the voice. A woman separated herself from the trees.
Dean cleared his throat. "Miss Jeannette."
"It's been a while," the black woman said as she walked forward, leaning heavily on a thick cane. "Didn't think I'd see you again after last time."
"Yeah, well…here I am." His smile was weak.
"Hmm…" She gave them each a piercing glance before heading to the entrance of the bus.
"You don't need to rock the cane," Dean said as they followed. "We're not tourists."
“Some folks need the theatrics,” Jeannette answered, standing straight and leaning her cane against the side of the bus. “Else they don’t think it’ll work.” She gave the two brothers another long stare before she pulled Dean into a hug.
Sam gawked. It wasn’t often Dean let someone hug him, especially since his return from hell, but he was letting this woman do it without complaint.
“You’ve been pushed and pulled every which way, haven’t you, boy,” she said as she let him go. Her hand settled on his shoulder for a moment before falling away. “You and your brother both.” She walked into the bus.
Sam shared a glance with Dean and followed. “Who said we were brothers?”
The woman’s gaze swept over him. “I know blood, boy,” she told him. “And the blood between you two is thick and strong.” Her eyes narrowed and Sam fought the urge to fidget. The last person to look at him like that was Anna.
Inside the bus was dank and smelled of rotten plants and incense. Jeanette dug around the leather bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, followed by two cups.
“I need you,” Dean said, hands flicking at the collection of hanging snake skins. “We need to find someone.”
Jeannette half turned, her eyes on Sam. “Then pick up the yellow pages.”
“Please,” Sam piled on as much earnestness as he could. “He might need our help.”
"Lots a people need help in this world. Don't mean I'll go jumpin' in the pot for them, either." She poured the dark liquor into both cups and offered one to Dean. "Dark things is walkin' the world again. Now ain't the time to go poking my head where it ain't wanted."
Dean took the cup and swirled the liquid around. "I know how dangerous it is," he countered. "Trust me."
She glanced between the two of them and sighed. “I owed you a debt, boy.”
Dean scratched the back of his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.”
"Fifteen hundred."
Sam fought the urge to choke. "What?" he finally laughed out. "Fifteen hundred… dollars?"
"No, boy. Fifteen hundred sheep. The debt's the only reason I'm agreeing at all."
Sam turned to his brother. "Dean-"
"Done."
He was about to ask where Dean planned on getting that kind of money in the middle of the night when his brother pulled out a thick wad of cash and started counting off bills. "Where did-"
"Don't ask," Dean cut him off as he counted. When he was done he slapped the whole on the scared table next to her.
Jeanette didn’t look surprised. She gathered the cash and shoved it in her bag. "Had a feeling something big was coming," she said as she raised her cup. "Didn't think it'd be you." She downed the liquid in one shot. Dean followed suit. "I do this, we're clear. Understand?"
Dean bounced slightly. "Yes, ma'am."
__________________________________________
Sam examined the collection of bones and herbs with trepidation. The incantations they used were mostly Latin based, fairly new as far as supernatural things went. There was a precision about it, a knowledge that even if you’d just picked up the book and only half believed you could still get it to work if you had everything set up right. He still wasn’t sure if he was more afraid or comforted by that fact.
Voodoo wasn’t like that. It required feeling, a connection to elements, to powers, that were older than western theology. No one could pick up a ‘Voodoo For Dummies’ and start summoning spirits, no matter how much attention to detail you put into the sigils. It was also a practice that burned you the minute your guard was down.
“Stop worrying like an old woman,” Miss Jeanette tossed the words over her shoulder as she built a rough circle from red powder. The bare patch of ground outside the bus was fire lit and covered in arcane symbols. “I’m not that like lily white ghost following you around. Pride goes before a fall, and I know when to be careful a where I step.”
“Lily… Pam?” Sam fought the urge to turn a circle. Even if she was there, he wouldn’t be able to see her.
Miss Jeanette straightened, pulling the drawstring on her bag. “Her soul’s long gone. The ghost I’m talking about is caused by guilt. You carry it around like a weight, let it drag you down.” Her gaze flicked to Dean. "Least yours you can help."
"Less Dr. Phil, more summoning, Jeanette," Dean scowled.
She laughed outright at that. "Dr. Phil'd run screaming if he had to deal with you."
Sam skirted the circle until he was standing next to his brother as Jeanette went back to ignoring them. "How'd you two meet again?"
Dean gave him a sidelong glance. "Before Dad disappeared," he answered with a huff. "I was in New Orleans for a while on this voodoo thing. Helped Jeanette and her sister outta a jam."
Sam perked up. "Right before you came and got me?"
"Few weeks." Dean's eyes never left the woman as she worked. "You'd think the people down here would know how to deal with a haunting." Well, more like a haunting on top of a poltergeist on top of a possession, if he wanted to get technical.
"I'm done now." She hefted a small bowel and a knife. "Get yourself over here."
Sam stepped forward at the sight of the knife, but was stopped by a quick glance from Dean. Don't be a pussy, Dean's eyes told him.
When the older Winchester was in the center of the circle Jeannette gave him a sharp glance. "Take that off," she said, gesturing to his shirt. "There's a connection between you and the one you're looking for," the voodoun continued as Dean pulled off his tee and kneeled in front of her. "A connection of blood and fire, pain and glory. We'll need that for what you want."
Sam watched as his brother took the knife. After a steadying breath he cut himself along his forearm, sending dark blood into the rough beaten bowl at his feet. Sam bit his lip as more blood drained from his brother, until the bowl was half-filled. After a quick sign from Jeanette Dean used his shirt to staunch the wound.
"We need eyes," Jeanette's voice was deep as she poured herbs and liquids into the bowl with one hand, beating steadily on a small drum slung on her shoulder with the other. "Eyes to see, ears to hear what you seek." She swirled the bowl. "The blood will seek him out, show you the way."
Sam felt his mouth go dry. Please tell me you don't have to drink that, Dean, he thought to himself.
Miss Jeanette dipped two fingers into the blood, coating them with the thick liquid before drawing a line on Dean's forehead over both eyes. "Eyes to see," she intoned. She dipped her fingers again, drawing a line from Dean's chin to his heart. The line arched, became a complicated symbol that gleamed in the half-light. When she was done she placed her hand on Dean's chest over his heart.
"Tell me what you see, boy."
Dean jerked. It felt like something had reached inside him and yanked his soul free. He wasn't in the swamp anymore, of that he was certain. The tree's were tall, the night hot, but not humid. Dry heat. He was standing in front of a run down single story building that sprawled out on both sides, the porch tilting dangerously. The remains of a low fence leaned a short distance away, short shadows in the darkness. "Ranch house" he muttered. There were no street lights, nothing to indicate where he was. But that wasn't right. He should know where he was. The scene kept changing, swirling until it didn’t make sense, then settled on a figure hunched near the back of the building, trench coat billowed around him.
Cas? He tried to say the word, but nothing came out. CAS!
The figure looked up, and there he was, staring up at him. Only he wasn't wearing an expression he'd ever seen on the angel's face before. He looked tired, and scared, and pissed off. "Dean?"
Where… before he could finish asking he was pulled backwards, landing hard in the dirt.
"Dean…? Dean, you okay?"
Dean blinked. Sam was staring down at him, hand on his chest. "What happened?" Sam helped him sit up. Damn, but his chest hurt.
"I don't know," Sam said, kneeling next to him. "You said Cas's name, then you flew back."
"Somethin' don't want you to find your boy," Jeannette said from the circle. She was watching them both with narrowed eyes. "Somethin' strong enough to knock you back into yourself." She cradled her hand to her chest.
Dean shook his head. "You okay?"
The voodoun shook her hand out. "Burned. Coulda been worse." She stalked towards them. "I did what you asked, and I'm not doin' it again. You get anything useful outta it?"
Dean heaved himself to his feet. "He's alive, it's a start."
"Good. Now get outta here. I got work to do cleanin' up the mess you made."
For the first time he noticed the clearing. Broken glass was everywhere. All the windows on the bus had blown outward. "Damn angels," he muttered as he pulled on his shirt.
________________________________________________
Jeanette dumped the last of the glass into a trash bag with a sigh. It had taken her over an hour before she got it all. She could have let it lie, but there were times when she needed to be rooted in the earth, and nothing hurt more than dirty glass sticking in a toe.
"Damn that boy," she muttered to herself as she straightened, tossing a battered broom and dustpan into her bus. She knew Dean Winchester was trouble the minute he burst into the exorcism she and her sister were performing. He was too young, too cocky, and too damn smart-mouthed for his own good. Four years hadn't made him any less a pain in the ass, but he had changed. She could feel it when she touched him. Something writhed beneath the surface of his soul, sucking him under so that his eyes were empty and pain filled. She'd almost been tempted to give him something for it, but she doubted it would help. That kind of pain dug in sharp hooks and held on.
And that was only the start.
Then there was his brother to think about, and she had a feeling if she thought too long on it she'd get a headache. There was something off about the boy, something that made her skin itch. He hadn't felt right. Powerful, yes, but not right; like what he had shouldn’t be there, shouldn't be anywhere. What's worse was the boy knew it, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Whatever they'd gotten themselves mixed in she wanted no part of it. There were things in the world that could rip her to shreds, and she'd survived for a long time by knowing when to walk lightly.
Jeanette was walking back to her car when she felt it: a presence that made her arms pebble in gooseflesh despite the humidity. The trees were silent around her, the keening of insects quieted. Jeanette stared into the darkness, searching for a sign of the creature. "I know you're there," she called, turning a tight circle. "I can smell ya."
"Impressive."
The voodoun narrowed her eyes as the creature stepped free of the treeline. She ignored the body it was wearing. Flesh meant little in these things.
"You know, I'd thought you were just another conman looking for easy marks," it said conversationally. "Thought I'd come out for myself, take a look around." It smiled widely. "And guess what I find? The little hoodoo woman that could."
Miss Jeanette kept her eyes on the creature, hands reaching for her mojo bag. "I ain't afraid of you."
The thing laughed at her, clapping its hands lightly. "You really think that little trinket is gonna do anything to me?" It held up a hand, and the bag slipped through her fingers, flying through the air. The creature held the bag up to its nose and sniffed. "It is very nice, though." It eyed the bag appreciatively. "A lot of work went into this. A lot of time and patience." It’s expression flattened out. "Shame it won't get anymore use, though."
Jeanette circled wide, glad when the creature followed suit. If she could make it back to the bus she should be safe. Her and her sister and worked for hours on it, etching wards into the metal itself. She'd had demons bang themselves out trying to get to her in there. "I got no quarrel with you," she stalled.
"Of course you don't," it said, expression changing to indulgence. "But I can't have you around spoiling my fun."
She didn't think. She ran. There was laughter behind her but she ignored it. Her hands were just touching the doors to the bus when her back erupted in fire.
________________________________________________
That was Dean.
Jimmy stood up and walked out into the yard. "You saw him, too?" he asked.
That was no dream, James.
The human waved a hand in the space that seconds ago had held Dean Winchester. It was just air; hot like the surrounding air. There wasn't even an imprint to suggest that someone had been standing there.
Jimmy dropped his hand with a sigh. He's been lucky to find the remains of the house just as the sun was going down. So far the only thing he'd figured out was that he was in the US, and that was only after the stars had come out. Amateur astronomy had finally paid off, one small plus on the increasingly negative pile he found himself sitting on.
He hadn't run into anything in the hours since waking up: no cars, no people, not even cows. Just endless stretches of flat land and scrub brush occasionally broken by a stunted tree. No cactus though, so he couldn't be too far west. He'd nearly given up when the ramshackle remains of the house separated itself from the evening gloom. It had taken all his strength to get the ancient pump going, and the dribbles of water that finally came out were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, but ran out entirely too soon. "Tell me again that this isn't Purgatory," he asked the angel.
We are in the mortal realm.
Yeah… in the most deserted part of the mortal realm the angels could find, apparently. "Any idea where we are?"
Something rippled up from the angel. Something that felt like annoyance mixed with self-loathing. No.
"You're not really good for anything, are you?" He snapped, wishing he could punch the entity inside him without damaging himself.
We traveled north for the greater part of the afternoon, Castiel answered. The presence of this dwelling means we will more than likely run into a town soon.
Jimmy tugged his coat off and marched back to his spot on the porch. He'd found an old couch cushion in the house that would be an adequate pillow. "And what then? How do we get in touch with Dean?"
The mention of civilization made your stomach hurt more than it has over the past several hours. Why?
The question made Jimmy blink. "Because I'm hungry."
This…emptiness… is hunger? The angel's voice sounded peculiar. And once you reach others you believe they will relieve this hunger?
The thought of walking into a dinner and ordering a large double cheeseburger with the works made his stomach growl. "I do still have cash on me. Every town has at least one place to eat out." He frowned. "And you didn't answer my question. How do we get in touch with Dean?"
The annoyance was back at the question. You will have to find a way.
Right. "You don’t know anything? A cellphone number? An address?"
In my former state I had no need of such things.
Which meant their current state was gonna be hell. "Do you know anything?" he finally grumbled as he leaned against the house.
Robert Singer.
Oh thank… whoever. "City? State?"
The angel didn't respond.
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