Season Two

Episode Sixteen: Dezòd

By Kittsbud & Tree

Part Two

“Dammit Sam, I knew it, I just knew it!” Dean shouted as he came to a dead stop at the edge of the doorway. “She’s the freakin’ cause of all this.”

Sam drew up short behind his brother, quickly taking in the scene before him. Marie stood a few feet away, her back to the hunters, her large snake coiled around her neck, shoulders and upper body. In fact, other than her head, very little else of the voodoo priestess was actually showing from underneath the scaly creature.

Marie didn’t immediately turn to face them, despite the racket Dean had made kicking in yet another door. Around her, dozens of candles were glowing, casting shadows around the small space and giving the room an eerie feel. Even with the intrusion, the woman remained ominously quiet and unmoving.

“Great choice of accommodations there, Sammy. How 'bout next time you just check us into that place in Hostel? Or better still, why not just see if the Benders have any extra room at the inn,” Dean mouthed sarcastically, his silvered .45 appearing in his hand.

Sam knew that despite Dean’s snide remarks and insistence on wanting to hunt something, deep down his brother would have appreciated a little R&R. As he watched Dean approach their dark-skinned hostess, a strange feeling swept over Sam. Something wasn’t quite right here and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He couldn’t accept that Marie was the Bokor, he just wasn’t that bad a judge of character, was he?

“Okay voodoo woman, the jig is up. Nice try acting like you were so concerned about all the others, you deserve the Academy Award for that role,” Dean growled.

Still, Marie didn’t move. Even when Dean reached out and poked at her shoulder with the muzzle of the handgun, she didn’t acknowledge either of the Winchesters. The only discernible activity was the barely perceptible creep of the snake as it constricted about her.

“Dean, something’s wrong here,” Sam insisted, watching as the reptile coiled tighter. He moved up alongside his brother, tentatively reaching a hand out to grasp Marie’s barely exposed right shoulder.

She didn’t resist when he pulled her body around, but rather moved stiffly and then froze in place once again. In the flicker of the candles, Sam could finally see her face. Marie’s eyes were wide, dark irises shrouded by the bright white of her conjunctivae.

In an instant, Sam realized why the older woman hadn’t acknowledged them. The snake had coiled around her throat, wrapping its thick body up and around her face, covering her mouth. She was only able to suck in little gasps of air through her nose as the serpent constricted its body and began to crush her ribcage and windpipe.

“Dean! It’s killing her. We got to get it off!” Sam shouted, his hands flying up to grab at the massive snake in an attempt to pull it from the suffocating woman.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for not having a normal pet like a dog,” Dean mouthed back, still not comprehending the situation.

“She’s not the Bokor, Dean. The real Bokor is using the snake to kill her. Trust me! I just know it,” Sam pleaded back, still frantically tearing at the unyielding creature.

Dean paused, unsure of his brother’s assurances that Marie was an innocent victim. Still, Sam was rarely wrong about these things, and after all, part of him didn’t really want to believe the dark woman could have been at the center of all the murders. As he quickly searched Marie’s face, her eyes seemed to plead her guiltlessness and beg for assistance. It was always the eyes that got him, and this instance was no exception.

“I sure hope you’re right, Sammy,” he acquiesced, pocketing his automatic and reaching for the body of the snake as well.

Even with both muscular young men tugging on the coils, the serpent was simply too strong. For every inch that they unwound, the snake simply contracted and pulled even tighter. Marie groaned, air escaping her lungs under the pressure of the creature’s squeeze. She tried to suck in another breath, but found her chest simply wouldn’t expand. Panic filled Marie, her eyes rolling back in her head as she began to succumb to hypoxia.

“It’s no use,” Sam yelled. “We’ll never get this thing off this way. We got to cut it apart or something.”

Dean reached for the .45 once again, and then replaced it, not even knowing if shooting the damn thing would even make a difference. Instead, he reached down into his boot and pulled out the knife he always kept secreted there for emergencies.

“Emergencies?” he thought. “Can’t say I ever planned on needing the thing to cut an eight foot python off someone.”

“Can you see the head?” he asked, his hand searching for the best place to begin carving up the slithering thing.

“No, maybe, I’m not sure,” Sam replied, still trying desperately to pull a coil from around Marie’s mouth. “Just cut anywhere. Cut the damn thing in half!”

Dean looked at the snake and then down to the blade in his hand. He was tempted to run up to their room and grab the large Bowie, preferring the longer blade than the four inch one he currently held. But one look at Marie and he knew she didn’t have time for that.

Reaching in toward one length that was wrapped tightly around her chest, he began to saw on the snake’s body. Despite having actually hunted deer and other small game with his dad, gutting and field dressing the kills when they were done, this particular task was somehow more grisly than anything he’d ever done before. Even with the well-maintained, razor-sharp edge of the blade, he was still forced to pull it back and forth across the reptile’s body, each time bits of scale, blood, and tissue pouring out onto his hand. The warmth of the snake’s internal fluids was nearly more than he could stand and he stifled a gag, his left hand rushing to his mouth as his right continued to cut.

“This is just gross,” he groaned as he continued to hack on the reptile.

“We’re losing her!” Sam yelled frantically, seeing Marie’s eyes slide shut, her body held upright due only to the rigid support of her former pet.

“I’m working on it, Sam. This isn’t like cutting up a hotdog. The damn thing is tough,” Dean snapped back.

Nearly through the thick skin, Dean yanked the blade with every ounce of energy he possessed, pulling the knife through the last millimeters of the creature’s flesh. The weapon pulled free with a sickening tearing sound, nearly causing the elder brother to fall backwards at the sudden loss of resistance. Blood, flesh, and greenish goo splattered out onto his shirt as the knife came free.

“Oh that’s just disgusting,” Dean moaned, looking down at the snake entrails that painted the front of his T-shirt like it had been tie-dyed by Rob Zombie.

“Dean, its still not loosening,” Sam informed him, sweat dripping from a stray length of hair as he fought to remove the snake. “Cut it off somewhere else.”

“Great! Dude, I got a pocket knife here, not a friggin’ chainsaw,” Dean complained, but stalwartly went back and repeated his previous dissection of the python.

It seemed to take an eternity, but when he hacked through the second section of the creature, there was an immediate release as the snake fell in one large chunk to the floor. Marie would have collapsed too had Sam not reached out at the last second and caught her weakened form in his arms. He gently eased her down to the floor and sat behind her, supporting her as she sucked in huge breaths of air.

“Marie? How’re you doin'?” he asked, concern in his voice and reflected in his eyes.

The Creole woman didn’t speak at first, simply recuperated in the strong support of the younger brother as the last remnants of the spell that had bound her in place ebbed away. She forced herself to hide the fear and panic that threatened to overwhelm her as the implications of what had just happened rushed through her mind.

“Marie?” Dean questioned, kneeling down to peer into the woman’s eyes. “You okay?”

She blinked twice, forcing herself back to the here and now, seeing the unabashed concern in the faces of both young men. Marie nodded quietly, reaching out to gently pat Dean’s arm.

“I’m fine, sugah. Just a little shocked about Hooper turnin’ on me,” she answered.

“Is that what happened?” Sam asked suspiciously. “You’ve had that snake how long, Marie? And today, it decided to have you for dinner?”

“Yeah, 'cause from where we were standing, it was looking a lot like voodoo gone wrong,” Dean chimed in. “And of course, not like this room is gonna be featured on any home makeover shows anytime soon. So why don’t you just tell us what’s going on here, 'cause ten minutes ago, I was pretty sure you were responsible for all the other deaths. So why don’t you tell me a story that explains how and why you’re involved with what’s happening around here.”

Marie inhaled deeply, nudging Sam to help her to her feet. The younger Winchester quickly rose and then bent down to loop a forearm under their hostess’ shoulder and gently eased her up, continuing to hold onto her until he was certain she was steady.

She glanced between the brothers, seeing worry in Sam and something that bordered on hardened suspicion in Dean. She’d never meant to drag these young men into what was happening, knowing that Missouri had told her just how bad Dean had needed to rest. But the deed was done now, and they were involved. She reluctantly admitted to herself that they deserved to know the truth.

“Well, first, let me begin by telling y’all that voodoo isn’t some dark, secretive religion, no matter what people out there think. We aren’t sitting around butcherin’ chickens or creating zombies. Voodoo is about harmony, balance in all things both natural and supernatural. Between things in this life and the next,” she began.

“Yeah, 'cause lately, there’s been so much harmony for the folks that have gotten killed,” Dean broke in.

Marie glared at him, annoyed at his interruption and for a moment, Dean thought he was going to get slapped, shying away as her hand flicked slightly in his direction. He smiled good-naturedly, flashing his best “charming” look. The older woman wasn’t buying it and glared at him again before she continued on.

“I’m a priestess, have been most of my adult life, just like my momma before me and her momma before her. Voodoo isn’t just a religion; it’s a way of life. And for the most part, you’d never know that any of us practiced it, except for when a Bokor is involved, like now.”

“Marie, why do you think there’s a Bokor involved now?” Sam posed.

“Bokors can practice either good or dark magic, but in this case, with all the deaths being local priests or priestesses that I knew well, I’m pretty sure that this Bokor is up to no good,” she speculated.

“So why would this Bokor kill the DuCroix? And now you apparently?” Dean asked. “Are you like the Voodoo Queen of the South?”

“Boy, how many times has your smart mouth gotten y’all in trouble? 'Cause I’m thinking that you must enjoy some of the ass-whuppings you must get for sassin’ back to people all the time,” Marie shot back.

Turning back to face Sam, the younger sibling quickly trying to hide his amusement at his older brother’s sudden discomfort at being reduced to a chastised child, Marie continued, “I’m just a simple priestess. I live for balance; I promote only peace and prosperity. I don’t know why anyone would want to kill me specifically, but I think I might guess why the Bokor is involved.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again as he reconsidered the jibe when Marie turned to look at him. She cracked a slight grin when the young man remained quiet, taking a small victory that she had won this particular battle in the war of snide words. She really liked these two young men and even more so Dean, sensing that beneath the surface he was really little more than a circus juggler, trying frantically to keep the balls in the air at the same time while never once letting anyone see how close he was to dropping them all.

“I think that whoever’s behind the murders wants to bring about Dezòd,” she announced, her voice shaking at the mention of the word.

“Dezòd? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that,” Sam stated.

“Don’t they make car parts?” Dean joked, earning him a dark glance from Sam this time.

Marie shook her head. “Dezòd is basically chaos and confusion, a great imbalance in nature that is usually catastrophic. As I said, those that practice voodoo believe strongly in the equilibrium between all things in the universe. Good that counteracts evil, right that offsets wrong. Now, someone out there is trying to disrupt that balance by killing the good priests and priestesses, leaving only those that practice the dark arts. Someone is trying to bring on a storm, a great storm of evil.”

Dean became suddenly serious, the smirk gone from his face as Marie’s words sunk in. He looked over at Sam and could tell that his brother had made a similar connection to the woman’s words.

“Chaos huh?” he asked solemnly.

“The likes of which this world has not seen since the dawn of time. It’ll be a war between the forces of good and the forces of evil and it seems that evil is trying to take the upper hand early,” she summarized.

There was a long silence in the room as all three took in the gravity of what Marie was suggesting. Sam looked at Dean, apprehension starkly apparent in his eyes. He knew what Dean was thinking in light of the recent discovery of their life-long foe, Haris, now being free and apparently stalking them again.

“Well, I dunno about you two, but it’s been a hell of a day and I for one was supposed to be on vacation,” Dean broke the quiet.

“Dean, you never wanted to be on vacation,” Sam interjected.

“Yeah, well right now, I’m thinking that somewhere like Siberia might not be a bad place to be. But still, you’re right, vacation’s over. We’ll start fresh in the morning looking for this Bokor dude. After all, Marie should be able to help us figure out who the likely candidate with an overwhelming desire to bring about universal chaos and destruction might be. Right? So, let’s all get some rest and we can tackle this better at first light and after some seriously strong coffee.”

Sam nodded and Marie seemed to acquiesce by the slump in her shoulders.

“You boys go on up to your room. I need to make sure that Hooper is taken care of,” she quietly ordered.

“Marie, I’m real sorry about your pet,” Sam consoled, one hand touching her shoulder as she turned to look down on the hacked up remains of the python. “Can I help you?”

“No, dahlin’. Whoever set my Hooper against me might still have some control over the loa. I’ll need to make sure that he’s properly disposed of,” she answered, stooping down to carefully run a hand along one length of the dissected reptile. “My poor Hooper. Never did hurt a soul.”

Dean reached out and pulled Sam from the room as the dark woman quietly grieved over her lost pet. “I, for one, will sleep a lot better tonight knowing that thing ain’t slithering around the place,” he mumbled when they were out of earshot.

Sam slugged his callous brother in the arm. “Dean, she loved that snake. How would you feel if you lost a pet?”

“Never had one dude. Well, unless I count your ass, always tagging along behind me like friggin’ Lassie. Besides, it was a snake dude, so not gonna lose no sleep over something that can’t even fetch a ball.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief, trailing his brother as they made their way up the stairs and to their room. Pets had never been in the Winchesters' vagabond existence, there being only so much room in the Impala and so little time to take care of one properly. Still, he was a little surprised that Dean could be that unsympathetic.

Yet while Sam soaked in the relaxing heat of a lengthy shower, he didn’t hear Dean sneak back out of the room and down the stairs, never knew that it was Dean that carried the hefty reptile outside for their hostess, helped her build the pyre and stood with one arm around her shoulders until the flames died and Marie’s silent tears quit falling.

* * * *

Dean came out of the shower hoping that he could fall into a dreamless slumber and not the tormented nightmares that had continued to plague him since the events at Harrisburg. He glanced over and was mildly relieved to see that Sam was already deeply asleep. He sighed audibly, a little amused at the role-reversal. Usually, it was his brother that moved restlessly during the night, oftentimes subsisting off of three or four hours before memories of Jess’s horrific death tore him awake. Still, it had been a while since Sam had woken screaming her name and inwardly Dean hoped that meant that his brother was slowly moving on.

Dean didn’t expect that Sam would ever forget the beautiful blonde, it was more the after-effect of the brutal loss that tore through his brother and therefore bothered Dean the most. Protecting his baby brother from spirits and ghosts was one thing, they were tangible, but protecting him from nightmares and memories was something that even Dean had yet to be able to combat, especially now, when his own mind chose to bombard and betray him on a nightly basis.

He tossed on a pair of boxers before collapsing onto the bed, relishing the way that the soft mattress seemed to hug his semi-naked body. Normally, he could sleep anywhere, on anything, at any time, but was thankful that at least for tonight, he wasn’t subjecting his still stiff and sore body to the hard slab of a cheap motel bed.

Dean listened as Sam’s soft breathing broke the otherwise silence of the room. He could feel the pull of sleep tugging at his eyes, but struggled to keep them open, focusing on the bright light cast off of the full moon that beamed through the window. A gentle breeze caused the lace curtain to drift back and forth away from the open window as it glided blissfully cool across his body.

All together, the salty air, the gentle moonlight, the exquisite softness of the down mattress and rhythmic hum of Sam’s respirations lulled Dean away. Before he could consciously fight it, his eyes fell closed and he was out, one hand still reflexively under his pillow and grasping the blade that perpetually found its nightly home beneath his head. He twitched now and again throughout the night, his body moving as he fought the demons that had become uncaged from the recesses of his mind.

Fortunately for Sam, his dreams were not nearly as viscous as his older brother’s. Like Dean, his exhausted body was no match for the incredible softness of the bed and he was fast asleep long before Dean had even emerged from the bathroom. In his mind, the same gentle breeze that was drifting through the room was also tousling the shaggy strands of his hair as he stood alone on the bank of Lake Pontchartrain.

It was a pleasant night, the moon climbing into the sky and reflecting brightly off the glassy water. Night sounds greeted his ears, but nothing that made him cautious or fearful. The water lapped lightly at his bare feet, teasing his soles with its liquid coolness.

“Now this is what a vacation is all about,” he spoke aloud to the night sky, inhaling deeply and filling his lungs with the aroma of magnolias from behind him beyond the bank.

Dropping down onto the damp sand, Sam continued to let his feet bathe in the lake while he lay backward to stare up at the clear, night sky. Thousands of stars twinkled overhead, far too many to count although he knew several of the constellations by name. Sam closed his eyes again, once more taking in a cleansing breath.

“Peaceful, just sooo damn peaceful,” he muttered contentedly to himself. “If only Dean could appreciate this.”

Sam could feel himself drifting, succumbing to the gentle breeze and the soothing sound of the waves breaking on the shore. He briefly felt something brush against his leg, but ignored it, lost in the quiet of the southern night.

Suddenly, a heavier weight pressed against his lower right leg. Irritated, he kicked out, hoping to dislodge whatever was on him. But as he tried to lift the extremity to shake it again, a mild panic took over when he found that he couldn’t. Worried now, he opened his eyes to look down at whatever was lying heavily across his lower half.

Sam’s eyes widened in fear as he saw the huge python begin to curl its massive body around both of his legs. He struggled to rise back up, knowing that he was easy prey if he continued to remain on the ground. Pushing up from the hard-packed sand, he found that the more he fought, the more the huge snake simply wound itself around him.

Cold and lifeless, Sam could only stare in shock as he recognized Marie’s beloved Hooper as it continued to coil around his torso. He could feel the pressure being exerted against his stomach and lower intestines as the snake began to constrict as it climbed.

Panicked, Sam reached for the Glock that was in the inside pocket of his jacket. But even as his hand wrapped around the grip of the gun, the python slithered higher, tightening as it moved and forcing Sam to drop the weapon onto the sand.

He fought and thrashed, pushing with all his strength to pry the reptile from his body, knowing that if it wrapped around his chest, he was a goner. Despite his valiant efforts, the serpent curled higher, one length wrapping snugly around the young hunter’s ribcage and trapping his left arm tightly to his side.

It wasted no time in trying to destroy its prey, constricting again as it crushed Sam’s ribcage and drove the air from his lungs. He managed only the tiniest breath, before the snake coiled again, moving closer to his throat.

Desperate, knowing he was soon to die, Sam screamed out the only word he had enough breath to utter.

“DEAN!”

Miraculously, Dean appeared by his side, except as Sam’s eyes flew open, the starry sky, the gentle breakwater of the lake, the sweet smell of magnolias were all strangely missing. Instead, he was back in his bed at Marie’s. The one constant was the snake, its clammy body still wrapped tightly around the terrified young man.

Sam’s hands flew to his throat as the python encircled his neck, cutting off his air and beginning to suffocate him. He clawed frantically but to no avail, his eyes wide and seeking out Dean’s hazel for help.

Dean had awoken to Sam’s scream and was at his side instantly, Bowie in hand and ready to fight off whatever had caused his younger brother to cry out. Instead, he found Sam awake, but thrashing about, pulling and pushing at some unseen attacker.

Sam was gasping for air, his lips already tingeing blue as Dean watched helplessly. “Sammy, what is it? Talk to me man!” he shouted out, trying to figure out what was happening to his brother.

He reached out a hand to Sam’s shoulder, pulling his brother to a sitting position on the bed. Still, Sam continued to thrash about, gasping as only partial choked words came from his mouth.

“Sna… can’t bre…”

Dean began to panic as well as Sam slumped limply in his arms. He recognized that this was no simple nightmare, it was black magic; something he was ill-prepared to combat.

“Sammy, hang in there. I’m gonna help you,” he promised.

And then Marie was in the room and pushing him out of the way. Dean began to protest, but one look at the strong woman and he backed a step away. She wasted no time, dropping a small pouch on the bed beside the unconscious Sam. Whispering softly, Dean strained to make out the strange Creole words that fell fluidly from her mouth. He watched in stunned silence as she pulled out the skeletal head of a snake, moving it across Sam’s face before she opened the small pouch and withdrew a handful of the contents.

Beneath her, Sam was deathly still and not breathing. Dean rushed forward, grabbing for his brother and prepared to begin CPR, but Marie quickly reached out and held him at bay with the side of her arm.

“NO!” she commanded. “It is the work of the Bokor. You cannot help your brother that way.”

Dean relinquished his position, strangely trusting the dark woman although his heart was screaming at him to take action. He bit his bottom lip as he forced himself to remain still and let the voodoo priestess take control.

Marie whispered a few more words and then with the powder retrieved from the pouch, she blew the white residue directly into Sam’s face. Almost instantly, Sam’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a huge gasp of air.

Dean breathed in unison, not realizing that he had been holding his breath as well. He dashed over to his brother’s side, his hands quickly skimming over Sam’s upper body, looking for injuries and assuring himself that his baby brother was tangibly among the living.

“Sammy?” he asked tentatively.

“The snake? Where’s the snake, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice raspy.

“There wasn’t any snake dude. It was all some sort of spell work,” Dean replied, his hand still on his brother’s shoulder.

“It was the Bokor. He made you believe that you were being attacked. It is a very powerful spell and even though it isn’t completely real, it can kill you just the same,” Marie explained sullenly.

She sighed deeply, her face downcast, unable to look either of the young men in the face. “I am so sorry. You should have never been brought into all of this. I have put you in great danger.”

Dean looked away from Sam, but retained the contact with his shoulder. He let out a short laugh as he studied the woman’s sad face.

“Lady, we’re always in great danger. Hell, it wouldn’t be natural if something wasn’t trying to kick our ass on a daily basis. This is what we do. Now, you need to come clean and tell us everything so we can help you. Besides, I think it's gotten a bit personal now, so consider us involved,” Dean stressed.

Marie nodded, holding up one finger as she darted out of the room. She returned just as quickly, holding out a cobalt blue bottle filled with liquid. She pulled the cork from the top and passed it over to Dean. He took the proffered beverage, suspiciously sniffing at the opening.

“It’s trempe.” Marie informed, clarifying when she saw that the word held no meaning for the young hunter. “Raw corn whiskey. It’s sort of a specialty around these parts.”

Dean grinned, tipping back the bottle and pulling in a healthy swig. He felt his eyes begin to water almost immediately and it took him a brief second to find his voice before he passed the bottle on to Sam. His brother wasted no time taking a pull of the liquor as well, hissing as the harshness of the alcohol burned his raw throat.

Sam in turn handed the bottle back to Marie, who in turn tipped the container back and swallowed a large gulp, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth to catch a stray drop that threatened to fall from her lip. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes to gather herself before speaking again.

“The Bokor used a poppet on Sam. It's what you might think of as a voodoo doll. You see, this Bokor is very powerful and his ability to make someone see or feel something through the power of suggestion is also very potent.”

“Yeah, but why Sam?” Dean asked, reaching out to take the bottle of trempe from the woman.

“The Bokor must know that you and your brother helped to stop him from killing me earlier. He was looking to pay you back for interfering with his plans,” Marie suggested. “He has definitely marked you both by now. You must both be very careful.”

“But Marie, how would he have gotten to me? I never left the house after we rescued you?" Sam asked.

“As I’ve said, this Bokor must be very powerful. In a way, that does help.”

“Help?” both Sam and Dean nearly shouted simultaneously. “How does having an extremely powerful and generally pissed-off at us Bokor help?” Dean added.

“Because, there are only two priests I know in these parts whose magic is strong enough to be able to do something like this. It will be much easier for you to find him,” Marie replied, smiling generously.

“Just great!” Dean moaned, taking a final pull of the corn mash. “Now all we gotta do is figure out which one of them has been sticking pins into a GI Joe doll with girly hair.”

Cabin somewhere near North Shore Beach
Slidell, Louisiana

Sam looked down at the thick glop that covered his shoes and wondered why Miami Vice never quite showed the swamps or bayous this way. He was trudging through a quagmire that almost came up to his knees and he was not enjoying it.

The only consolation was that Dean appeared to be just as pissed at the state of his CAT boots.

“Man, I’m glad we left the Impala back there. She’d have sunk right into this crap like the freakin’ Titanic.”

“Yeah,” Sam smirked. “Well, the thing is nearly as old…”

Dean chose not to reply and instead hunkered down in the sludge as they finally approached what could loosely be called someone’s home. The place was more of a shack than anything. A tumbledown wooden porch giving way to an even more decrepit abode whose wooden laths hadn’t seen a lick of paint or preservative since they’d been hammered together.

The roof didn’t appear to be in much better repair. In fact, how anyone managed to live in such a place bewildered the elder hunter. “And I thought we’d stayed in some dives in our time, Sammy, but that place takes the cake.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not the house I’m worried about, it’s the owner.” Sam joined his brother, stealthily hiding behind some marshland shrubbery as they peered at the collapsing structure. “Just remember, this has to be our guy…”

Dean nodded, not taking his eyes from the grimy hut as his hand slid unconsciously to his .45.

This place was just plain creepy, even by Winchester standards, but then, if what Marie LaBauve had told them was true, it had every right to be. There were only two voodoo priests in Slidell that Marie knew of who could conjure as powerful a magic as that which was at work - Francois Dupres and Antoine Morel.

The fact that they had found the former stone dead in his home, a look of complete terror on his face, left little to the imagination as to who was their man.

According to Marie, Morel was in his late forties with long, tied back hair that had been gray as far back as anyone could remember. He was a little man, whose stature in the voodoo world was often misjudged based on his looks alone. Many a follower had learned the hard way just how powerful Morel could be – and just how far he was willing to take his art beyond the usual boundaries of his chosen religion. So far, in fact, that he had long since been considered an outsider by his fellow voodoo advocates.

“Okay, little brother, you ready to kick some priestly ass?” Dean waited until Sam had his Glock drawn and then nodded towards the front porch. “Just make sure those long girly legs of yours don’t fall through the wood. That thing looks like its seen better days.”

Sam grimaced, for once acknowledging that Dean was probably right. They would have to be careful the rotting wood actually held their weight – but then, maybe that was all part of Morel’s defenses against outside interlopers.

“Maybe we should have let the police handle this.” The younger Winchester tramped forward, glad at last that his feet appeared to have found solider ground. “I mean, he’s human, Dean…”

“Yeah, human, but with some pretty freaky spell work going on.” Dean carefully placed his weight on the wooden steps at the front of the shack, wincing as the termite-infested timbers creaked under the strain. It was hard to keep a defensive position with his weapon and keep his balance. “Just remember, dude, Morel is Louisiana’s answer to a bad-assed Harry Potter…the cops so wouldn’t know how to deal with that.”

“Jeez, he has a wand?” Sam cocked his head and grinned when Dean scowled back at him.

“Ha friggin’ ha. You won’t be so funny when this freak full-on zaps you into a fat freakin' toad…” Something moved beneath his feet and Dean paused, waiting for the imminent collapse of the porch. When it didn’t come, he let a hand slip around the door knob and flashed his eyes, signaling he was about to go full frontal assault mode.

Sam nodded he understood, adding at the last minute, “Frog Prince more like-”

“In your freaky dreams, geekboy…”

Dean pushed the door inwards and immediately dived into the room, gun outstretched. Fanning the interior of the shack, finger poised on the trigger, he paused only when his eyes met the beady, evil orbs of another.

Behind him, Dean could hear Sam enter but the younger hunter remained out of view.

“I knew you would come.” Morel’s voice was soft with no hint of any kind of accent. It seemed almost too innocent for a murderer. “I knew you would seek me out, and I knew I must destroy you.”

The Bokor pulled two items from beneath a time-worn desk and it was all Dean could do not to ease back on the trigger and let a shot off. Instead, his eyes widened at what the little man held out in front of him.

“Friggin’ G.I.Joes…”

The dolls weren’t perfect, but it was easy to see that the hand-crafted effigies were meant to be both brothers. The shorter poppet even wore a short chain complete with a bauble that represented Dean’s amulet.

“What ya gonna do with that, pops? Stick pins in my ass? ’Cause I tell you, there was this one gal who already tried that and it so didn’t float my boat…” Dean felt the sweat begin to pool in his palm and he flexed his fingers, reasserting his grip on the Desert Eagle. “Just put the dollies down before I ventilate their puppet master.”

Morel tossed both the dolls out onto his desk with a shrug. “You think you’re so smart, Winchester, but you have no clue who or what you’re dealing with.” He ran a hand over a pen that sat idly by his fingertips. When Dean’s gun jolted slightly at his move, the priest laughed. “Scared of a pen?” His fingers grabbed the biro and before the hunter could react, Morel had stabbed the pointed nib into both dolls so viciously it pierced their rag bodies and exited the other side, gouging into the desk’s wooden top.

Behind him, Dean heard his brother yelp in both surprise and pain, and as he whirled around, the hunter could already hear the clatter of metal on wood as Sam dropped his Glock.

“Sammy!”

Sam’s knees crashed into the floor bonelessly and he grabbed helplessly at his stomach as if he’d been run through with a sword. No blood appeared on his fingers or on his shirt, but he gasped down air as if every lungful was his last, his features paling even though no human hand or weapon had touched him.

“You bastard!” Dean spun back around in time to see Morel’s eyes widen.

The rogue Bokor had quickly forgotten the shaggy-haired doll and was now concentrating on the shorter effigy, stabbing it with the pen over and over until the inner stuffing began to push through the material in ever-increasing balls of white fluff.

“What’s the matter, pops? Mini-Me giving you a hard time there?” Dean strode forward until the barrel of the .45 was pressing against the enraged priest’s temple and he finally ceased his efforts to down the elder hunter. “I’d be dropping the pen right about now if I were you, before I decide to stick you with it so you know how it feels.”

Morel twitched, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he fought every last urge to continue his torture. “No one is immune to my magic.” His pupils narrowed and he scrutinized his captor. “How did you escape the power of the poppet, hunter?”

Dean’s faced twisted into a smug grin as he plucked a looped section of rope from the wall. “Dude, dolls are so not my thing - not unless they’re the blow up kind-” Using Morel’s own line he began to tie the Bokor to his chair.

“Yeah, he kinda has a thing for vibrating beds too,” Sam groaned out the sentence and began to pull his stinging body up using the chair he’d fallen next to for support. When his fingers literally sank into grunge he cringed and flopped down on a somewhat cleaner dining chair. “Just how the hell did you manage not to get zapped?” he asked, running a shaky hand through his tousled mop.

Dean plucked the doll from the table that had obviously been meant as his twin. It was supposed to embody everything about him to the point that, any harm inflicted upon it, he would feel too. And yet, while Sam had been downed, he’d remained untouched.

Normally, Sammy was the gifted one, the one who was immune to things normal people weren’t.

The hunter took down a breath and looked at the necklace on the poppet. It couldn’t be, could it?

Tossing the doll back down, Dean’s eyes unconsciously locked on the amulet that dangled loosely on his shirt. It was shining like some mini-supernova, and yet he’d never cleaned it.

Could it be protecting him, like it had when he’d been possessed?

The thing was an enigma. A puzzle that demons and hunters alike knew of, but had no answers to.

“I guess I’m charmed.” Dean tucked his weapon in the back of his jeans and looked his brother over for signs of any permanent damage. “You okay, Sasquatch?”

Sam nodded, looking warily at the dolls and then to Morel. “I’ve had worse,” he admitted. “First time I ever got stabbed by a pen, though…”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, I thought only Sarah Connor was adept at that particular form of weaponry.” He swept a hand across the table, wafting the innocent-looking biro onto the floor with the flat of his hand. “So, Mr. Poppet King, why the hell do you suddenly want your fellow voodoo priests out of the equation? Taking a little too much of your business selling fake mojo to the tourists?”

Morel shook his head, and then spat on the floor, the thin film of spittle narrowly missing Dean’s already marred boots. “You think I will tell you anything, hunter?”

Dean turned his back to the bokor, allowing the image of Marie suffocating to flood his mind. He wanted to be angry. He needed Morel to know that the white-hot temper in his eyes was real, and that at any moment he could snap.

When he whirled back around, Dean’s face had changed into a mask that only Sam had seen before – at Bobby’s, when they’d questioned Meg about their father.

Dean’s right hand shot forward and he grabbed Morel below the chin, forcing his neck back until the elder man thought it would snap. The bokor’s eyes locked on Dean’s, but his expression never changed.

“You really don’t want to see him when he’s pissed,” Sam advised. “Turning us into pin cushions won’t be anything compared to what you’re going to get if you don’t talk.”

“You know, you might have an idea there, Sammy.” Dean let go of Morel and leaned, retrieving the pen from the bare floor boards. “Where you like it first, pops? Eyeball maybe? Can’t make freakin’ poppets if you can’t see the dolls, right?”

Morel swallowed, his gaze focusing on the already damaged nib of the pen. Should the hunter carry out his threat, there would be little left of his eyes once the jagged plastic had ravaged them.

The Bokor let out a breath of defeat. It didn’t really matter if these underlings knew the truth, did it? Not when his master was so close to his goals. “What do you want from me?” he snapped, white hair flicking as he jarred his neck away from the pen Dean was still wielding.

“We want to know why you killed the other priests and priestesses.” Sam did the talking, finally shrugging off the after effects of Morel’s spell to stand at the side of his brother.

“Because my master decreed it so.”

“Yeah?” Dean raised a brow, scared to even dare think who the “master” might be. Haris? “So just who is calling the shots out here, pops?”

“Baron Samedi, master of the dead…”

“Samedi?” Dean asked, obviously confused. “You mean I got two Sammys to deal with now?” He smirked at his brother, getting a hurt look back for his trouble.

“He said Samedi, Dean. Baron Samedi is a ghede loa. He’s supposed to stand at the crossroads of the afterlife,” Sam retorted. “He’s often depicted as having a skull for a face, and wears a top hat.”

“Hey, wait, I think I saw that freak in a Bond movie!” Dean pondered for a moment, then realized he had more to worry about that Ian Fleming’s creation. “So,” he focused back on Morel. “You’re controlling ‘Sammy the skull,’ making him go against who and what he normally is?”

Morel shook his whitening mane and grinned, revealing stained, rotting teeth. “You still have no clue, do you? I don’t control Samedi, he commands me!”

Sam’s expression darkened, tiny worry lines appearing instead of his usual jovial dimples. “Dean, this means someone has turned a normally neutral spirit into a killing machine that is definitely batting for the opposite team here-”

“Samedi couldn’t have just gone dark side for the hell of it?”

Sam shook his head, looking at Morel for some sign that would confirm his deductions. “I don’t think so…he would have to be coerced somehow. The question is, why would anyone want to control a ghede to kill voodoo priests, and just who has the sheer raw power to command something as important as Samedi?”

Morel watched as his two captors visibly squirmed. They were so clueless it amused him just to see their pathetic assumptions – especially the elder hunter. Morel had taken a dislike to that one the minute they’d locked eyes. Of course, seeing the look of complete foreboding on said hunter’s face right now was worth more than any lottery win or promise of eternal life.

Morel was enjoying his moment.

“Haris…” The pen once again dropped from Dean’s fingers, this time in utter defeat. Could they really fight the yellow-eyed freak one more time? Dean wasn’t even sure he had it in him anymore – not after what they’d already been through. “It has to be that freaky bastard, Sammy. He’s trying to mess with nature’s balance, just like he did before with the special kids. He’s back, and he’s making sure we know it.”

Sam opened his mouth but found he had no words, no comment that would make their situation sound any better.

Dean was right.

If Haris was back and this was his doing, it didn’t take much to realize that the war with mankind Bobby had once spoken of was edging ever closer…

Maybe, just maybe it had already begun, in this quiet little Louisiana town where no one would realize the End of Days was upon them, not until it was far too late.

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The Winchester Chronicles