Season Three

Episode Five: Between Two Fires

By Kittsbud & Tree

Part Two

“Dean! This side!”

Dean barely had time to hear his brother’s yelp and feel Sam’s huge hand tug at him before he was yanked halfway across the cell. His rapid sideways momentum slammed him into his sibling and they both tumbled backwards into the far wall.

As the pair toppled to the concrete floor in a heap, the section of ceiling Dean had been standing under finally gave way.

A chalky-white miasma of dust and debris mushroomed downwards like an inverted nuclear cloud, filling the cell with a choking haze that seemed to suck away all the oxygen in the air.

Dean hacked as the smoke from the collapse tickled at his throat relentlessly, and he was forced to lean forward as the coughing nearly doubled him over.

“Dean, the outside wall’s going!”

The elder hunter forced his stinging eyes to look up, wiping spittle away from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he searched through the smog and debris for his brother.

Somehow, Sam had managed to avoid inhaling too much of the debilitating fog and had clambered to his feet. As Dean watched, a section of timber plunged from the hole in the ceiling, narrowly missing his brother, but Sam barely flinched.

“Dean! MOVE!”

Blinking through long, dust clogged lashes, Dean finally realized what Sam was trying to tell him. While the upper story of the Sheriff’s Office may be coming down like a house of cards, it wasn’t exactly doing so in a very natural manner.

Demonic intervention…

And right now, that intervention might actually save their asses rather than bury them.

The cell wall that faced into the parking lot was crumbling faster than the remaining section of ceiling. If they could give the brick and concrete a little helping hand, maybe it would cave in before the rest of the roof rafters did.

Glancing over to Karen, Dean forced up from his knees and lurched across the small room to grab at the cot that covered her. The tubular metal frame wasn’t exactly the most ideal battering ram, but he and Sam had improvised with far worse on many occasions.

“Sammy, you better have had your Wheaties this morning or we’re about to feel like a couple of extras in Armageddon."

Sam grabbed at the edge of the cot. “Man, as long as I’m not Bruce Willis’ character, I don’t care…”

Dean shared the sentiment, bobbing his head silently as he put all his weight into helping Sam ram the bed into the wall.

The metal jarred on the brickwork but still the wall wouldn’t quite yield. “Again, Sam!”

Dean closed his eyes as he urged his muscles to give more strength than they were actually capable of. Instead of seeing an ordinary brick wall, he envisioned he was in Hell – just like the soul that had inhabited him for a short while in Leicester – just like Mia would be if they couldn’t save her.

He charged again letting his emotions fuel his arms, wanting, willing the wall to fall.

Alongside him, even though he couldn’t see it, he felt Sam’s presence doing much the same.

“Dean, it’s going!”

Finally, the elder hunter let his eyes snap open to a full view of the parking lot. The cell wall was gone, leaving only a mound of dusty rubble as evidence it had ever existed.

Dean blinked just once and then turned in time to see his brother gathering up Karen. She didn’t protest, simply lying limp as Sam carried her towards their newly-made exit.

Was she already another casualty of their war?

Dean didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to wonder if mankind was really worth saving anymore.

From somewhere above, an unnatural groan made the hunter unconsciously look up. Whatever form of luck had been holding up the ceiling apparently decided to now vacate the premises, and the remainder of the building had chosen to disappear with it.

“Sammy, shag ass!” Dean took a breath and vaulted over the pile of broken bricks, steel and concrete that had once held him. He landed heavily, his right knee giving way as he twisted sideways.

A string of verbal expletives rolled off his tongue before he bit back on both the cursing and the pain now burning down his leg. “Sonofa friggin’ bitch!”

Dean grabbed at his knee with both hands, rubbing it as if the swift motion would somehow quell the twisted muscle’s spasms. “I swear when we find this demon’s name I’m going to…”

“Dean!”

Sam’s sharp delivery of his name made the complaining hunter abruptly snap his mouth closed.

While their own near miss had been bad enough, it was nothing compared to what had been done to Greg – and now Karen and her co-workers.

Dean clambered to his feet, forgetting his own aches as he delved into a pocket for his cell. No doubt someone had already realized something bad was going on here, but just in case, he needed to call in the emergency services for the Deputy Sheriff’s sake.

He tapped at the phone twice before he realized it was dead. Just like anyone who gets in this demon chick’s way…

Angrily slamming the cell into the ground until its outer casing shattered, Dean looked across the lot and out onto the road. Maybe they could drive the cop to the hospital.

Maybe.

Such a small, but very meaningful word.

“Dean…”

Dean took a breath, calming himself before he looked down. Even if he was boiling inside, on the outer surface, he had to remain cool.

“How’s she doing?” He dropped to his knees to kneel alongside his brother and the stricken officer.

Sam had the cop carefully leaning against a debris-covered late Ford, her glazed eyes blinking, but not focusing fully.

“I’m doing…crap,” Karen spat out the words along with a mouthful of clotting blood. “Gutted like a pig by…by my own...best friend.” The cop’s mouth ticked into the wryest of smiles and she coughed out more serum “Go figure…”

“Do you have any idea why Mia would want to come after you?” Sam slid off his jacket as he talked, gently lying it over Aldridge.

Karen huffed, placing a shaking, blood-covered hand over the coat to clutch at the wound beneath, but she didn’t attempt to answer. She was in too much pain for small talk.

Dean had seen this kind of injury before, and he knew the likely outcome as he watched Karen struggle to remain conscious. The cop was dying, and like it or not, if they didn’t get valuable information from her first, then many more people might die too.

“Karen, this isn’t Mia’s fault, whatever it might look like, but we need your help to stop it happening again.” The elder hunter shot a glance to his brother, noting Sam’s surprised expression at his abrupt approach.

Perhaps under normal circumstances he could have spared the dying Deputy Sheriff the truth, but not today. Even though he hadn’t come right out and said it, he’d confirmed what she probably already suspected.

She was going to die, and they needed her assistance before it was too late.

Dean put a bruised and bloodied hand sympathetically on Karen’s shoulder and lightly squeezed. “We need a name. Anyone you can think of that Mia might think of as a friend or relative. If you can’t help us, someone else dies tonight…”

Karen’s head lolled onto her shoulder and a thin, continuous rivulet of blood began to seep from the corner of her mouth. Eyes that had once been full of life seemed to lose their glow, and for a moment, Dean thought they were too late.

He saw the startled, almost hurt look on Sam’s face as his brother probably realized it too.

Then, before either could speak, Karen exhaled one long, laborious breath and blinked. Her eyelids fluttered like the rapidly beating wings of a hummingbird and then once again became still.

Death had come for her, but she wasn’t yet ready to relinquish her tenuous hold on life.

Reaching out, her tiny palm grabbed Sam’s jacket, and she squeezed with a newfound strength born of desperation. “Alex…Alex Hamilton…” Karen’s grip weakened. “Mimosa Drive…”

Dean watched as the cop’s hand finally slid away from his brother and he realized she was now just another victim to add to the tally.

Just another human to die in a fight few of mankind would ever know about. He looked to the bricks and debris that encroached on the edges of the parking lot – anywhere but to the empty shell of Karen Aldridge.

“Dean, we should go…”

There was a pause, an instant when Dean actually considered asking “go where,” but then he snapped back.

Because Dean always snapped back.

It was what was expected of him.

Tossing the Impala’s keys to his brother, he began to limp back inside the ruins of the Sheriff’s office with a renewed sense of purpose. It wasn’t easy to even pick out where the demon “chick” had been standing before the mini-earthquake, but somehow he managed.

Somehow, he managed to just know where to dig in the mounds of rubble until he found what he was searching for.

Brushing aside the thick white dust from the impromptu demolition, he let his fingertips caress the engraved metalwork like a puppet master controlling his prized marionette.

“Dean…”

Dean looked up, his face as cold as an arctic breeze drifting across the North Pole. He lifted the dusty forty-five in his hand, brandishing it as if he was daring a target to present itself. “Sammy, that black-eyed bitch is going down…”

450 Mimosa Drive
Warner, OK

Sam wasn’t sure if they were trespassing or not. In fact, thinking about it, Sam was pretty sure they were.

At any moment, the gangly hunter expected a Rottweiler or some similar huge beast to come bounding up and take a chunk out of him.

“Dean, are you sure that freaky gadget is going to work?” He cocked his head and winced at the thing in his brother’s hand. “Dude, I’m telling you, if that blows a few fingers off I’m so not wiping your butt for you…”

Dean ignored the jibe and grinned broadly, clambering under a large patch of with the offending item. “Hey, c’mon, Bobby said it’ll work. You dissing Bobby’s creative abilities? Man, wait until I tell him…”

Sam bobbed under the same area of undergrowth, struggling more than Dean due to his freakish height. He squirmed as the bush’s spikes dug into him, catching his thick mop of unruly hair as he pushed on through to the opposite side.

“It’s not Bobby I don’t trust,” he finally panted. “It’s your wonderful assembly work. Dude, it’s just a pipe with a gas canister stuck on the end.”

Dean hunkered down, watching the house at the end of the driveway as they talked.

It hadn’t been difficult to discover the exact address of the only Alex Hamilton on Mimosa Drive, and it hadn’t taken them long to do a little reconnaissance and find he was home – and for now still in one piece.

Now, all they had to do was wait until Mia came calling and it should all be over.

“This,” Dean responded with a look almost akin to pride. “This is as good as the cops use. I fire this thing and that bitch’s ass will be stuck under a web better than Spidey could spin.” He wiggled his eyebrows and patted the weapon with his palm.

“You hope,” Sam scoffed, eyeing the impromptu net launcher with a look of uncertainty. It was one thing for Dean to mess with guns – those he really did know about – but homemade stuff was another matter. Sam couldn’t help but think back to the time Dean had fried himself chasing a Rawhead every time the elder hunter broke out some new and untested weapon.

“Looks like we’re both about to find out, Sasquatch.” Dean tensed, holding the net launcher a touch closer to his body as he bobbed his head towards the far fence.

In the dark, it wasn’t easy to see movement in the shadows, but there was something there, something dodging from one hiding place to another in the gloom.

Sam squinted, noting the size and shape of the stealthily moving figure and knowing it had to be Mia. Sliding a hand to his waistline, he pulled out his Glock ready to back up his brother if needed.

He didn’t want to use the gun on the girl unless he had to slow her down, because any injury would manifest itself later once she was exorcized.

If we can exorcize her again…

“Hey, bitch!” Dean pointed the tube in his hand, angling it just above the girl’s head. “Show time…”

Mia stopped dead at the hunter’s voice, spinning around lithely on the balls of her feet. As her eyes honed in on the metal cylinder in his hand, it took seconds for the item’s purpose to register – seconds that gave Dean time to fire before she reacted.

The tightly meshed net exploded outwards from the tube, billowing over the girl and draping her in its confining grip.

Mia, or at least the thing inside her, began to thrash, trying desperately to tear through the netting. She screamed in rage as her hands, her skin touched the sticky residue on the web and it restricted her movements further.

After a minute, her struggling ceased and her eyes flashed over black. She smiled, examining the thing that held her captive more closely. “Very clever boys, a net, but not just a net…” Mia sighed. “I really wouldn’t have given you credit for such a thing, but then, maybe it wasn’t your idea at all?”

Dean tossed down the tubing in his hand and looked up as a light came on in the nearby house. “Sweetheart, it ain’t the designer you’ve got to worry about, it’s the guy who just pulled the trigger-”

“A Devil’s Trap on a riot net, whatever will you hunter types drum up next?” Mia let her eyes flick back to their human form, rolling them skyward mockingly. “I’m really not worried about you…why should I be? Your pathetic types have been trying to exorcize me for weeks. Not doing such a bang up job, are we boys? Knock yourself out exorcizing me all you want.” She paused, licking her lips suggestively. “I’ll only take this body back later and tear out your hearts with it…”

Sam moved forward, eyeing the Hamilton house as yet more lights flickered on. If they didn’t move soon, what little was left of the local police department was likely to arrive and slap their butts in chains. “Dean, she has a point. We can’t just treat this like a regular gig. We need help…”

“You’re agreeing with a black-eyed freak?” Dean raised a brow, grabbing at the net to drag it across the garden back to the awaiting Impala. “Sammy, so gotta watch your ass, you’re turning darkside.”

Sam took a hold of the other side of the webbing, careful not to allow the edges to open up and give the demon an opportunity for escape. He tugged hard, wondering if the real Mia would remember their rough handling later. “Well, if you have any smart ideas…”

They reached the hedge and Dean paused, looking at the glue now smeared haphazardly across his palms from the homemade riot net. “Man, this is friggin’ gross.” He wiped the offending glop down his blue jacket. “Maybe we could call Moses?” He eventually suggested, his expression saying the idea was most definitely born of desperation.

Sam inhaled, listening as the sound of muted sirens seemed to head their way. If they were caught with the girl like this it would look like an abduction. In fact there was probably enough evidence on their clothing to link them to the Sheriff’s office fiasco too.

Maybe Kyle Williams wasn’t the best option for anything outside of pure research, but right now, he was all they had. He’d also recently moved from Wyoming after the police had gotten a little too close for comfort. He was, after all, a wanted man too.

Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe I actually agree with your funky logic. I think Kyle is probably our best option.” He stole a glance at the girl who sat quietly and possibly far too subserviently in the netting. Were things fitting into place just a little too easily for comfort?

Dean made a huffing noise. “Funky logic, huh? I’ll remember that later Mr. Spock.” He flexed his fingers playfully in front of his brother as he retook the corner of the riot web. “Looks like I won’t be needing you to wipe my ass after all, Sammy…”

St. Benedict Church
2200 W Ithica St, Broken Arrow, OK

Kyle Williams hadn’t changed an inch. Despite the attack by Laura Mitchell that had almost cost him his life, he was still the same shy little man who thought everybody had a chance to be saved.

His overlarge glasses still had a tendency to fall to the edge of his nose, and he still had the habit of wringing his hands when he was nervous – which was usually all of the time.

“It’s nice to see you again – even under these circumstances…” Kyle smiled softly as he ushered the two hunters and their captive into a small area at the back of the church. “I’m…really not sure if I’m the man for this job, but…”

“You’ll try, right, Padre?” Dean hauled the net into a carefully marked Devil’s Trap the stammering priest had prepared in anticipation of their arrival. “I mean, Moses was all about saving asses, right?”

Once Mia was central, Dean pulled out his favorite hunting knife and released her from the restrictions of the mesh jail.

Kyle coughed, looking at Sam nervously as he straightened his dog collar.

Sam nodded back, hoping to give the holy man some confidence. While Kyle was quite capable of performing an ordinary exorcism, they had no clue what would happen with Mia.

Sam knew Kyle wasn’t afraid – not for himself – not for the Winchesters, but he was afraid for the girl. The little priest may be rich, but he had very old fashioned values. They were about to exorcize someone who had already suffered the procedure at least once. Some humans didn’t even survive the procedure the first time.

“You ready to let loose the Latin and fry us a demon?” Dean smirked at Mia as he crossed the room, joining his brother and the priest.

Kyle swallowed hard, lacing his fingers around a leather-bound and extremely worn copy of the Rituale Romanum. “I’m ready,” he offered shakily. “But I’m not sure why you think I’ll do a better job than Father Lane did…”

Sam wasn’t sure either, although he didn’t voice the concern out loud. Lane had been a pro at this kind of thing, and yet he’d died only moments after supposedly “saving” the girl. Still, this was, as far as they could tell, an unprecedented case. What else could they do but try again?

“We have to try something,” Sam reassured. “And this time at least we’re prepared.”

Dean pulled out his silver flask to support the statement, brandishing it at the edge of the painted symbols on the floor. “How about a little drink before the main course?” He shrugged when Mia hissed at him like a taunted reptile. “No? Sure you don’t want to reconsider? I’ve heard it’s a little hot where you’re going…”

Mia didn’t respond. She moved to the far edge of the trap and turned her back on both the hunters and the priest.

Sam watched her as she calmly sat on the floor, crossing her legs like some yoga guru. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it did look like she was simply meditating. Hardly the behavior they’d come to expect from a demon fighting for survival.

The young hunter watched the possessed girl in fascination, only broken from his train of thought by the sarcasm in his brother’s voice.

“Moses, can we get this over with some time this year? Because, man, I’m starving…”

The little priest scrunched up his nose, examining the slimy marks on the hunter’s jacket and the tacky glop that had refused to wash from his hands. “May I suggest a shower before food?” He turned, winking slyly to Sam as he continued. “I really don’t want to feel like I’m dining with a caveman…”

“Huh?” Dean took a moment to realize the little priest was suggesting he was a slob. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t have the musical tastes of one, Moses.”

Kyle smiled, enjoying the brief humorous respite before opening the Rituale Romanum. Once the book was open, he moved to the edge of the Devil’s Trap, his gentle eyes focusing solely on the girl.

“'I exorcise thee, most vile spirit, the very embodiment of our enemy, the entire specter, the whole legion, in the name of Jesus Christ, to get out and flee from this creature of God…”

As the priest recited his litany, Sam continued to watch Mia. At first, nothing happened. The girl didn’t seem to flinch or struggle as was usual in common cases of possession.

Would she be tossed around the trap as Meg had been?

“…yield to God, who by his servant Moses drowned thee and thy malice in Pharaoh and in his army in the abyss…”

Finally, Mia began to shake.

Sam noticed the young girl’s arms first, as if she was about to have some kind of seizure. Then the trembling moved to her legs until her whole body was almost convulsing.

She fell backwards, writhing like some obscene serpent was trying to tear itself from her body.

And then, she screamed – a deep, guttural wail – a death howl that reminded Sam of the Hellmouth he’d hovered over not so long ago.

“Dean…” Sam stepped forward until his sneakers almost crossed the edge of the trap. He wanted to hold the girl, help her through the ordeal even though he knew it wasn’t possible.

But then there were strong hands pulling him back – Dean’s hands – and when Sam tried to pull free, his brother held him fast. Sam turned then, wanting to tell Dean Mia shouldn’t have to go through this, shouldn’t have to be tortured over and over until finally her body could stand possession no more.

But when Sam looked into his brother’s eyes, he knew there was nothing to tell.

Dean felt the same thing he did.

“I know, Sammy,” were all the words Dean offered, but they said far more than an entire oratory.

“He excludes thee, who has prepared for thee and thy angels’ everlasting hell; out of whose mouth the sharp sword will go, he who shall come to judge the quick and the dead and the world by fire…” Kyle lowered his head, making the sign of the cross as he finished the ritual with an unspoken prayer and psalm.

Mia screamed again, her shivering body finally falling limp dead center of the Devil’s Trap.

“Is it over?” Dean raised a brow. “’Cause I didn’t see any creepy black smoke shagging ass outta this joint, or the girl…”

Kyle closed the book in his hand and looked uncertainly to both Winchesters. “I…I’ve completed the Rituale Romanum…she should be free…”

“Yeah, well tell that to the last priest after she literally brought the house down on him.” Dean pulled out the small flagon of holy water he’d brandished earlier and walked to the edge of the circle. Cocking his head, he warily watched to see if the girl still appeared to be breathing.

“Dean…Kyle finished the Rituale perfectly…” Sam edged to his brother’s side, knowing that without the familiar raven smog after the exorcism, something was wrong.

Dean nodded, stepping cautiously into the trap to approach where Mia lay. As he grew closer, her fingers began to flex and she drew a sharp intake of breath, causing both hunters to pause mid-step.

Dean studied the girl warily as she pushed up on one elbow, her straggly hair hanging loose over her features. “Knock knock,” he hunkered down, looking her straight in the eye for signs of continued possession. “Who’s home, little lady?”

The girl gulped several times as if a lump had formed in her throat. Her eyes looked to Dean and then wildly around the room as if she didn’t even recognize her surroundings. Eventually, she slumped back, her body beginning to tremble once again. “Who are you?”

Mia let her gaze fall on each man in turn, finally settling on the priest. The dog collar seemed to draw her, perhaps giving hope.

Kyle began to wring his hands again, suddenly back to the timid persona he was known for. He opened his mouth, but found he couldn’t even stammer a timely response.

“We’re here to help you,” Dean offered, studying the girl as he waited for a reply.

“I…I was with Greg and then…” Mia’s pupils widened and she placed her hands over her face as recent memories returned. She shook her head, tears beginning to stream down her normally pretty features as her chest hitched in uncontrolled sobbing. “I…ki…killed Greg…”

Dean winced, and Sam saw his brother hesitate in putting an arm around the girl. It was hard for the Winchesters not to empathize with her after their own ordeals, but they couldn’t drop their guard – at least – not yet.

Sam joined his brother in the trap, waiting silently as the minutes ticked by and Mia’s sobs became less pronounced. Eventually, Sam dared to take the girl’s hand. “Do you know what’s been happening to you?” He asked, his voice all but a whisper as he searched Mia’s eyes for recognition.

Mia thought about it. “I…I was at work. Something came over me – as if I didn’t even have control over my own limbs.” Her head drooped and fresh tears began to tumble from her already swollen features. “I killed my boyfriend, killed him and tore his body to pieces…”

“Do you know why?” Sam stole a glance to his brother, knowing Dean was taking in every word from the girl, every expression and twitch of her body.

“I …I remember thinking I must have lost my mind…but I hadn’t. I know now I hadn’t.” Mia rubbed away the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Something was inside me…” She looked up to Kyle, suddenly startled. “I think I tried to find a priest…I think I…”

Mia couldn’t finish, instead she pulled away from Sam and began to sob again until she could barely draw a breath.

Dean cringed as the girl seemed to withdraw into herself, hiding from her own transgressions like a tortoise retreating into its shell. “Moses, I don’t suppose the church happens to keep any brandy around here? Purely for medicinal purposes, of course,” he added, as the priest scowled.

“No, no brandy, I’m afraid -”

“Jeez, I made a buddy out of a teetotal, wuss ass music lover who drives a Ford.” Dean looked to the church ceiling, feigning disgust. “Tell me why I like your sorry butt?”

Kyle took off his glasses and cleaned them with a small white cloth before smiling. “Because I have Jack Daniels?” He offered, already moving to a locked cabinet drawer.

“Tell me you have enough glasses to go around, Padre, and I might just forgive your musical sins.” Dean watched the little priest pour out several drinks and then put his attention back on Mia.

She was rocking back and forth, her eyes tightly closed until he could see the flesh of her eyelids scrunched into a mass of wrinkled skin. “Mia…it’s alright…”

Dean reached forward, gently touching her forearm enough to make her start. She yelped, almost drawing back away from him for a second before calming.

“Listen, we’re here to help you figure this out.”

“You can’t help me. I’m a murderer. It doesn’t matter about the whys or the how.” Mia began to wring her hands, much as her host, Kyle, had wrung his earlier.

When Dean reached out, tenderly placing an arm around her, she didn’t flinch away.

Sam watched as the girl sank into the warmth of his brother’s arms, shakily taking the tumbler of whiskey Kyle brought over for her. She took a sip, then another until its warmth joined that from Dean’s body and she finally allowed herself to relax.

“Maybe you should rest up tonight.” Sam looked as Mia sagged against Dean’s chest, sheer exhaustion after the exorcism threatening to push her to the point of collapse. “We can talk in the morning. There are things we can do to help. Things to protect you. “

Mia bobbed her head, but the young hunter doubted she’d even heard him. Sam’s eyes moved to his brother and Dean nodded, silently sliding his arms under Mia until he supported her full weight.

“There’s a spare room this way…” Kyle pointed down a dimly lit, wood-lined corridor before taking the lead. After only a few steps, he came to a door which he unlocked with an ancient-looking key.

Sam eyed the thing in surprise, wondering just how old the church could be to have such medieval-style locks. Inside the room appeared even more primeval, a genuine four-poster bed sitting central in the paneled room.

“Man, I feel like I’m stuck in the Cat and the Canary waiting on some freaky secret passage to slide open…” Dean’s eyes skittered around the chamber as he placed Mia on the bed. “You think some hairy hand is gonna come outta the wall and make a grab for my ass..?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s that desperate.”

Dean huffed, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the usual brotherly banter.

He was looking at Mia.

The girl had curled into a ball on the bed, her hands gathering the top blanket like a comforter even in her exhaustion-induced slumber. She moaned softly every few moments, her eyeballs darting back and forth under their lids as if she were reliving her real life nightmare over and over.

“Perhaps you two would like another drink while I lock the windows and adjoining doors?” Kyle suggested meekly as he looked over his glasses. “It really has been a long day. Perhaps I might even partake myself…”

Dean slapped the priest heavily on the shoulder until he almost fell forwards. “That’s the spirit, Moses! We’ll make a man of you yet…”

“…or be the death of me,” Kyle mumbled as he scurried to the window, locking the latch down with one of the keys in his hand.

Sam’s face creased into a smile and he turned, stealing one last look at Mia before heading back out the door. He wasn’t a heavy drinker, in fact, he didn’t really drink as much as Dean even, but tonight he was ready for whatever Kyle had to offer. It had been a long day, and he suspected the “Mia case” was far from over.

As he headed back into the corridor, he heard Dean’s footfalls pause on the oak floor timbers and he frowned, intuition telling him that maybe “Jack” would have to wait awhile longer.

Spinning around in the doorway, Sam was just in time to see Mia with her arm locked around Kyle’s neck. If she’d been asleep moments earlier, she was now wide awake and her eyes sparkled with a new sense of life.

The black oily patina of demonic verve.

“Did you really think your pissy little version of an exorcism would keep me out of the girl?” The voice was still Mia’s – at least, it was “borrowing” her vocal cords. But even so, the personality had distinctly changed.

Dean shrugged, his usually wry smirk playing across his features, hazel eyes dancing with mirth. “Oh, I think you’ll find we were prepared for you paying a return visit.” He shook his head, the grin getting wider as he moved in front of the girl and her captive. “Guess your kind just can’t get enough of us Winchesters…”

Mia eyed him with suspicion, but had little time to try and figure out just what the hunter’s comment had meant.

Dean didn’t wait for backup from Sam, but leapt forward instead, diving at the girl and her prisoner as if he was tackling a quarterback.

Mia screeched, but there was simply no room to maneuver out of Dean’s way. Instead, all three were propelled backwards, landing on the four-poster bed with a whoosh of air from the freshly placed linen.

Before Mia could fully react, Dean rolled on top of her, pinning her arms down with his full weight. She spat at him, confusion playing across her features as to why he could so easily subdue her.

Nevertheless, she continued to struggle against his grip, writhing and contorting like a snake.

Dean grinned and then looked across to where Kyle still lay in stunned silence. The little priest may have been aware of the Winchesters’ contingency plan, but it had still apparently shocked him that they’d needed to use it.

“Get off me you human scum…” The Mia demon’s black eyes bored into Dean as if he were violating her in some way. Considering the way she’d been trapped, perhaps he was.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sister.” Dean looked up to the lace canopy above, where a hastily scrawled Devil’s Trap did its work. “Trust me, you and the padre here are so not my idea of a threesome…”

Kyle started, quickly pulling himself together and scrambling off the bed as if he’d somehow sullied his vows just by laying there.

Mia didn’t even notice the priest leave. Her black orbs had shifted from Dean to stare at the trap above her. The way it had been placed meant she was effectively bound in the bed unless the Winchesters chose otherwise.

Dean felt her muscles relax beneath him and he let go of her wrists, stepping quickly away from the four-poster to join his brother. He crossed his arms, examining the bed and demon girl with a curious, somewhat faraway stare. ”You know, in that bed? I think maybe I could go for the ‘Let’s go have wild sex’ line after all…” he mused.

“Yeah, well, can you try and find a chick that’s not so buckets of crazy first?” Sam looked down from his lofty heights, apparently remembering a time when his brother had shot him a similar line about Meg. The contrast didn’t go unnoticed and Dean puckered his lips and shrugged.

“I hate to interrupt your…um…musings.” Kyle looked over his glasses as if he were chastising a naughty child at Sunday Service. “But, what do we do now?” He glanced to Mia who still hadn’t moved and appeared to be in some kind of trance.

Dean’s impish grin returned and he put an arm around the priest, guiding him back towards the bed, even though Kyle’s slow gait suggested he was scared to return there. “You, Padre, are going to repeat your earlier performance. Kinda like an encore. In the meantime, me and Sammy are going to go make a few calls and see if we can’t find a way to stop this damn freak getting back inside the girl.”

Kyle’s face turned into a mask of mental pain and he took a step back, realizing Dean had steered him too close to the edge of the bed for comfort. “I…I’m safe as long as I stay this side of the trap…?”

“Safe as a priest in a pulpit,” Dean agreed, fishing around in his pocket for his flask of holy water. Finding the silver container, he slapped it into the priest’s open palm. “And if all else fails, burn the bitch with this…”

Kyle’s eyes widened but he bobbed his head, tucking the flask into an empty pocket before re-opening his copy of the Rituale Romanum and beginning to recite its contents. “Depart therefore in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost; give place to the Holy Ghost, by the sign of the Cross of Jesus Christ our Lord, who with the Father and the same Holy Ghost liveth and reigneth one God, for ever and ever, world without end…”

Dean watched the priest for a second then tugged at his brother’s jacket. “Come on, Sasquatch, time to put that big brain of yours to use to save this girl…”

* * * *

Dean pushed back in Kyle’s chair and tossed his cell phone on the desk in front of him. Given that it was his second phone in one night, it wasn’t getting any better treatment than the first.

The unit bounced once and came to rest next to a Bible – something that was giving the hunter little solace right now. He’d called everyone he could think of that might know a way to help the girl, and so far he’d come up empty.

That “everyone” even included John, but it had come as no surprise that the Winchester patriarch still wasn’t answering calls. John hadn’t picked up the phone once since he’d hastily left Bobby’s, and Dean doubted he would until whatever had pulled him away had been dealt with. It was their father’s way – always had been – always would be.

That, though, wasn’t helping Mia one iota.

Dean ran a hand through his spiky hair and then pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. There had to be a way to stop the girl getting possessed again while they figured out a way to really get rid of the demon. Exorcizing alone only seemed to work in the very short term and it simply wasn’t giving them enough time.

Time.

How much more of it did Mia have? How many more possessions could her body and soul take before she was reduced to some drooling mass residing in some state mental institution?

Dean had to admit, she was one plucky girl to have gotten this far and still be running on all cylinders.

“Dean, I think I’ve got something…”

“Tell me it’s more than dirty laundry and a bad haircut,” Dean snarked back, abruptly sitting up straight in the holy man’s chair.

“I talked to Bobby and he says there’s not a lot out there that can keep a demon out besides salt and a Devil’s Trap,” Sam explained, twiddling the pen in his hand like he was spinning a tiny mace.

Dean relaxed, sitting back with a sigh of disappointment. “Great, tell me something we didn’t know…”

“Dad may have had a trinket that you basically ‘bind’ to the wearer and it repels evil spirits and possibly…possibly demons.”

Dean locked his hands behind his head and let the chair recline, placing his boots up on the desk even though he knew it would irk Kyle if he came in. “May have, possibly. Sounds like a whole lotta nothing to me, Sammy. I mean, just where the hell do we find this thing even if Dad had it once upon a time?”

Sam leaned forward, picking up the Impala’s keys from the oak desk’s worn top. He shook the bunch in front of his brother’s nose and then smiled. “Hiding in plain sight,” he enlightened. “Bobby says Dad used to keep the thing in his glove box, and seeing as you never seem to clear that thing out…”

Dean let his CAT boots quickly slide back off the desk and he leaned forward, grabbing the Chevy’s keys as he launched himself from his seat. “This trinket? It’s small, gold, circular shaped, right?” He questioned as he moved towards the door.

Sam nodded. “Yeah…Bobby says he always thought the legends about the thing were a whole lot of mumbo jumbo, but I guess Dad believed enough to keep it around…” He pushed away from his own chair to follow his brother outside into the brusque Oklahoma night air.

Dean listened, but didn’t stop his rapid pace towards the car. He took long, speedy strides until he was almost jogging across the tiny rectory parking area to the Impala.

The car was waiting just where he’d left it, its glove box’s contents a mishmash of fake IDs, spare ammo clips and other assorted oddments.

Dean flicked the compartment open and jammed in his hand, rummaging through the mess until his fingers met something small and soft. It was possibly the only soft thing in the entire car.

Pulling out the small jewelry box, he paused a second before flicking open the lid with his thumb. He had known all along the box was in the car, but until now he’d never known its true value or why his father had kept it so close.

Dean smiled, thinking of the irony. He had always thought the glimmering necklace had been his mother’s, and that John had stashed it in the car for sentimental value – one last piece of home to remember Mary by.

“Dean?” Sam padded up behind his brother, one brow arched in surprise that the elder hunter had so easily found the trinket. “You knew it was here all along..?”

Dean took a breath and then closed the lid of the box, hiding the very special necklace. “I thought it was Mom’s,” he admitted, thinking back to the woman with long blonde hair he barely remembered. “I thought that was why Dad had kept it…”

There was a brief silence. A brief moment when both Winchesters shared the memory of what a demon could do to a pretty, unsuspecting woman who had never harmed a soul. Then, they both returned inside, hoping this time they could make a difference.

* * * *

Sam grabbed the lace canopy, using his lofty height to pull the material away from the four wooden beams that held it. The canopy, along with the Devil’s Trap that adorned it slid ungracefully to the floor and landed in a crumpled heap at the foot of the four-poster.

Mia watched, fascinated, her earlier transgressions as the demon seemingly forgotten – or perhaps, pushed aside into some deep recess of her mind so she didn’t have to relive them like a bad network re-run.

Dean held out a hand, the intricate chain of the trinket glistening in the dim light from the bedside lamp. “We want you to wear this,” he offered, gently placing the charm in Mia’s palm. “It’ll help protect you against…”

“Against possession?” Mia finished for him, taking the charm somewhat unenthusiastically. “A simple piece of gold can really do that?” She shook her head, but slid the chain around her neck anyway, carefully fastening the trinket in place with her long fingers.

“Trust me, it’ll help.” Dean shot a sideways glance to his brother, hoping that his lanky sibling had the facts straight from Bobby. From the washed out pallor of the girl’s skin, he doubted she could take another round with the demon he’d aptly named “Demolition Man.”

Mia flicked her tousled hair back, offering a muted huff in return. “Trust?” she asked looking across into an antique mirror on the dressing table. “Right now, I don’t even trust my own reflection. Is that really even me in the glass?”

Dean’s gaze locked on the mirror and he recalled an earlier time. A time when he too hadn’t dared to look at his own reflection for fear of seeing a pair of dusky black orbs looking back at him.

Am I a Monster? The thought had been a constant one during the time one of Haris’ (only because you’ve spelt it like this later on…) kids had ridden piggyback on his soul. Mia must be imagining the same right now – possibly worse – after all her “possessed self” had been through.

“You’ve nothing to lose by trusting us,” Sam suggested in his best “we’re the good guys” voice. “All you have to do is wear the necklace and let us try to figure out the rest.”

Mia slumped backwards onto the bed and let her tired eyes fall to the woven rug at her feet. “How about my eternal soul? Can I lose that? Or maybe my mind? God knows I’ve thought I’d lost that enough times already these past few days…”

Sam looked to his brother, knowing for once Dean was going to take the lead in the conversation again. This was Dean’s ball park. He knew the rules and had batted in his own personal hell pretty much like Mia was doing right now. Maybe only Dean could help her win this game.

“Listen.” Dean hunkered down, locking eyes with Mia so intently she almost flinched. “No sonofabitch demon is gonna touch your soul, that’s my promise. I know my promise isn’t worth jack right about now, but I won’t give up on you, or on catching that black-eyed freak and sending its ass right back to Hades. Now you catch some shut eye, and me and Sammy will figure this thing out, okay?”

Mia slowly bobbed her head, fingering the gold bauble that now hung from her neck. It was a simple design, yet somehow captivating to look at. Maybe not exactly what an average shopper would snatch up to wear to their next party, but definitely eye-catching in its own way.

Perhaps it would serve its purpose, or perhaps it was just as Bobby suspected – a whole lot of mumbo jumbo. Tonight only time would tell.

* * * *

Sam tapped absently at the laptop, uncertain just what he thought he was looking for. Yes, maybe the charm would protect Mia from possession, but that still didn’t give them a clue where to start hunting the thing that was after her – or why it was after her.

So far, they’d gotten very little from the girl information-wise, and that wasn’t helping.

The young hunter sighed, taking a chug from the beer Kyle had left him. The timid little priest had served them with food, drink and in Dean’s case, food drink and cable TV, and then he’d retired to bed.

Apparently, two exorcisms in one day had been far too much for him and he’d needed a sleeping pill to even contemplate slumber. Dean ribbed him about that for twenty minutes before Kyle had been able to escape the hunter’s jibes.

“For crying out loud! You gotta be friggin’ kidding me!”

Sam winced at his brother’s use of profanities in the holy house, but didn’t bother expressing his distaste. It was of little use, because Dean was standing in front of Kyle’s tiny TV, remote in hand, about to put his CAT boot through the screen.

“Dude,” Dean griped to no one in particular. “Every damn channel has the same Travolta movie on!” He slapped the TV’s ancient wooden casing to try and persuade it to show something other than Broken Arrow. Not that Dean considered the flick all that bad, but given their current location it just seemed somewhat bizarre. “I’m telling you, man, I think that freaky demon took over the cable box just to piss me off…”

Sam shook his head and chuckled as Dean continued to press the remote in desperation for a further ten minutes before giving in to the inevitable.

There was an abrupt thump as the elder Winchester crashed into a rather scruffy chair and began reciting Travolta and Slater’s lines as if he had a copy of their script in front of him.

Within minutes, the hunter was engrossed in all the gunfire, quietly muttering to himself about how John Woo movies “kicked ass” even if they were predictable as he munched on the half-eaten remains of someone’s pizza.

Sam watched the movie and Dean’s consumption of the stale foodstuff for a moment longer and then returned to his own distraction, because even if the demon really had possessed the cable box, it wasn’t likely to stay there for long…

Sometime Later

Dean pushed himself up from the threadbare sofa, thinking he wasn’t sure which had been more tortuous: the lack of anything decent on TV or the broken-down couch that could have doubled as a coroner’s slab. He knew clergymen often took a vow of poverty but maybe Moses had taken this a bit too literally. After all, the priest certainly had the dough to spring for a decent big screen and recliner.

He stretched his arms and loosed a wide yawn, feeling his ears pop in response. Rolling his neck, he reached back and rubbed at the knots that had formed while he had lain there. His entire body protested the recent abuse, but he ignored it like he always did. Bruises would fade, sore muscles would loosen, and lacerations would heal. Considering that he’d barely escaped having a building land on top of him, everything else was minor.

Dean glanced at his watch. With a few hours left before dawn, he figured it was time to check once more on Mia and make sure that his “supergeek” brother called it a night and got some sleep. He knew Sam was just as stumped about Mia’s possession as he was. That meant his younger brother was even more likely to be burning the midnight oil, surfing the internet or buried in some obscure text.

“First, some coffee for me,” the young hunter grumbled, slowly making his way to the small rectory kitchen.

Prowling around the cupboards, Dean found a cup and poured the last dregs from the bottom of the pot. Taking a huge gulp, the strong caffeine struck his system not unlike the Jack Daniels they’d had earlier.

“Ah, that’s my boy, Sammy. Gotta love it when you make the brew,” Dean murmured appreciatively before taking another swig.

With the cup in hand, Dean made his way down the hall toward the small bedrooms where Kyle and Mia slept. Passing by the priest’s study, he paused at the doorway, smiling briefly as he spotted Sam fast asleep, his head collapsed on his folded arms as he snored softly. Books were half open and strewn across the desk and Sam’s laptop was still dimly glowing, all indicating that his brother had indeed passed out in the midst of his research.

“Get some rest, bro,” Dean whispered, flipping off the light switch and plunging the room into darkness, the light from the computer acting as an appropriate sort of nightlight.

Continuing down the hall, louder snoring echoed from the farthest bedroom and Dean laughed aloud, shaking his head as he realized the raucous noise was coming from the priest’s room.

“Damn, Moses! I’ve heard of sending prayers to heaven, but I don’t think God meant for you to raise the roof off the place. Hell, I’ve known banshees that are quieter than you,” he joked as he continued toward where they had secured Mia for the night.

Reaching the young woman’s room, he tapped softly, calling out her name before slowly edging the door open. The room was dimly lit, a small lamp on a beside table casting tall shadows about the sparsely furnished space. At first he didn’t see her, the linens mounded in a lump making it look as though she were huddled beneath them.

“Mia?” Dean called out tentatively.

Something was off. The blankets didn’t budge, not even with what should have been the easy rise and fall of her respirations.

Dean watched for a few seconds more, waiting, willing there to be movement. It was then that his eyes caught the piece of paper, bold white sitting stark against the dark wood of the night stand.

In two steps, Dean crossed the space from the doorway to the table, snatching the note up with one hand while throwing back the comforter with the other and confirming his suspicions. His eyes pored over the hastily scribbled letter, the handwriting conveying the desperation even if the words did not.

Sam & Dean,
Thanks for everything you did – but I can’t live with what I’ve done or what I’ve become. I know you tried, but I’m not sure you can protect me and worse still, I’m not sure you can protect anyone else from me.
No one else should suffer because of the evil inside of me and it just has to end…
Mia

“Dammit!-” Dean grumbled, spinning on his heels and storming toward the hallway. “Sammy!”

He sprinted to the study, calling out his brother’s name the entire way and skidding to a halt as he reached the doorway. His yelling paid off as he saw Sam was already stirring, hands rubbing at sleep-reddened eyes as the younger man struggled to come alert.

“Sammy, she’s gone,” Dean shouted.

“Huh? What? What the hell, Dean?” Sam asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Mia, dude. Wake the hell up. She’s gone. Left a note.”

“A note?”

“Yeah, the angsty, let the world go on without me variety. Sammy, come on. We gotta find her,” Dean pleaded, flipping on the lights and tossing his brother’s earlier discarded jacket at him.

Sam raised a hand to block the sudden offending glare, but still managed to deftly catch the coat.

“Dean, hang on. Let’s be smart about this. She could be anywhere. I’ll wake up Kyle and start in the church, you look around in the church grounds,” the younger man suggested.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. Call my cell if you find her,” Dean announced, bounding out the door with Sam close on his heels.

The older hunter cursed under his breath as he headed for the front door of the rectory, alternately blaming himself for not checking on the distraught young woman sooner and doggedly refusing to let anything happen to her now that she was within their protective care.

Stepping outside, the nighttime air assaulted him, suddenly chilling the exposed skin on his face and hands. Dean looked in both directions, not sure if he should check the outbuildings, the grounds or simply head down the street. In the end, his decision was made simple as his eyes landed on the Impala, still parked along the curb and gleaming in the reflection of the streetlight.

Movement silhouetted in the front seat of the old Chevy drew Dean closer and as he approached the passenger’s side he spotted Mia seated behind the steering wheel. Even from a few feet away he could see the brunette sitting there, barely moving, her head hanging down to her chest while long tendrils of her russet tresses dangled like delicate ribbons.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he thought she merely had second thoughts about stealing the Impala until he reached the passenger side door and looked inside. Panic filled the older Winchester, his hand immediately fumbling with the door handle as he spotted the red gas can nestled ominously on the bench seat beside Mia, a length of rag dangling from the mouth of the container.

“Mia?” he called out trying to contain the alarm in his voice as he carefully opened the car door and even more slowly slid onto the leather seat.

The odor of the gasoline fumes seeping from the can assailed him and Dean nonchalantly left the door cracked open hoping to evacuate some of the gas, suddenly worried how long the brunette had been subjected to the closed car.

“Mia? Talk to me, please,” he pleaded, hoping to elicit some response from the silent young woman.

He heard her shudder, a deep inhalation of breath followed by the smallest of movements and a flicker of light.

“Mia? What’s in your hand, sweetheart?” Dean asked tentatively, fear creeping into his voice as his mind tried to deny what his eyes had seen.

The girl responded to him, her head lifting slightly but still not meeting his eyes while her hands opened within her lap revealing a lighter. Dean sucked in a breath when she ran her thumb along flint wheel igniting a tall flame.

He watched as she did so, both of them mesmerized by the yellow-orange dance of the fire within her hand. A dozen possible actions and outcomes ran through Dean’s mind, each ending with them and the Impala being spread across the front steps of the church in a million crispy pieces.

“Please, Mia, you don’t want to do this. Sammy and I, we’re here to help you,” he pleaded, simultaneously calculating the distance across the seat and whether he could grab the lighter before she could ignite the gas-soaked rag.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she finally spoke. “All my friends, the people I cared about, all dead because of me. I took all those lives, I should pay for what I’ve done.”

Dean cringed at the desperation and despair in her voice. He bore his own fair share of guilt, lives lost that lay at his own feet. What rationale could he offer the young woman that wouldn’t be a smack in his own face?

“Mia, I understand what you’re going through. I really do. But you can’t give up hope.”

“How can you know?” she whispered back, her thumb flicking the lighter to life yet again, her voice filled with agony.

“I’ve been there too. I was sorta possessed once and people died because of it. Because of me,” Dean admitted, feeling his own throat seize up at the bitter memory.

The bodies of the dead girls covered the floor around him as Haris’ sadistic laughter rang in his ears, but Dean forced that vision from his mind, focusing instead on the young woman beside him in the car. The flame of the lighter in her hand erupted again and the hunter knew he needed to act quickly.

“Mia, please listen to me. I know things seem bad, but Sammy and me, we’ve faced worse odds, worse demons. And Sam, he’s smart, he never gives up, he’ll figure this out for you,” Dean assured her.

He watched her, looking for a glimmer of hope, or barring that, hoping for an opportunity to take the lighter from her. She gave him neither.

“There is nothing to figure out, Dean” she replied, incessantly lighting the Zippo.

His panic went into overload when Mia methodically turned her head to stare straight at him, her eyes blank and lacking their normal sparkling hues of intermixed copper and sepia. Dean almost expected them to gloss over black as he watched her, his body tensing as he prepared for the demon to manifest in the woman yet again.

Still, all he needed was five seconds. Five seconds to launch his body across the seat, over the gas can that separated them and wrestle the lighter from her grasp. He outweighed her, he was stronger, he could do this. He could save her, he could save them both.

Four seconds… she shifted suddenly, twisting her entire body so that she faced him, faced the container. He twitched, throwing his body across the seat at Mia, his hands reaching for hers.

Three seconds… a small flash of light flared from the lighter as her thumb snapped along the flint wheel one final time, her hand managing to snake past his as they struggled in the small confines of the car.

Two seconds… a flame ignited, eating away at the rag that dangled from the gas can, brilliantly illuminating the interior of the Impala as it burned.

One second… Dean had waited one second too late…

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The Winchester Chronicles