Third Option

Third Option
Date of Scene:	13 September 2017
Location:	Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Synopsis:	After receiving word of Dean's possession, a team goes out of their way to get White Eyes out of the Elder Winchester's body. Things don't go as planned.
Thanks to:	Dean Winchester
Cast of Characters:	Dean Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Winifred Burkle, Sam Winchester, Melinda May
Tinyplot:	Blood on My Name

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Dean Winchester has posed:
The road gifted more than tortured time. The drive from Hell’s Kitchen to rural South Dakota was long, but thanks to Alistair’s actions against the Impala, it also provided Sam and Fred two allies along the way. The black Impala on the side of the road was unmistakable. It had garnered attention immediately, and both May and Jo joined the foray.

While discussion had been short thanks to not really knowing what they’re getting into, the details seemed to align. Something had Dean. It occupied his body with its flat-white eyes and sadistic smile. Whoever it is has little regard for kindness and, presumably, roughed him up before choosing to take up residence.

It also became clear that the creature’s machinations had some intent. Those encountering demons regularly know full-well they ride their vessels hard. But many just seemed to want power. Something about this particular demon seemed different--purposive, even.

But after those details had been exchanged, there was little else to say. It was hard to plan without knowing what they faced…

Hours passed before they saw its first indication. Any who’d visited Bobby in South Dakota before would know the oddity of the prairie’s big open skies. Today, however, the sky itself dreads whatever will happen here. A swirl of grey, orange, pink, and red calls upwards in an incredibly odd storm. No rain falls. No wind blows. Yet the sky swirls in impossibility overhead.

Driving down the rural range road kicks up dust as the car moves, but something else hits hard against the car with each passing moment. The faint clunk of something meeting metal presents at a strange pace. Random enough not to be something wrong with the car, but loud enough to know that outside they’re hitting something.. Or something is hitting them.

The number of them grows as does the sound. The barrage of brown-green bugs--locusts that have presumably infested the area--pushes against the windshield. And should the driver just continue on their course, they pass the warning as quickly as they’d come to it, producing a house in the distance.

If they didn’t know better, a passerby would assume the people outside are enjoying a barbeque, a true wonder with skies like these. They see five figures for certain. It’s impossible to know if there’s more kicking around.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
It's a quiet Jo Harvelle who huddles on the back seat of the Impala. She's worried about Dean, and about Sam (given what Dean had told her before), and trying not to show it. She's failing - not badly but enough.

The swarm of locusts has the blonde leaning forward, against the seat belt, and peering out the window. "If I was more devout than I am, I'd probably be able to quote a bible verse or two." She mutters, eyes narrowing as she takes the upcoming house in. "Well they probably ain't Riders, given there's five of them but they're likely trouble all the same."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
It’s been hours on the road from New York City to here for Fred and Sam. The time have been tense, with bursts of conversation and planning and then anxious silence. They know only some of what awaits them at Bobby’s house. The demon’s purpose and what he’s done with Bobby is still a mystery. At least they now know that May and Jo are alright, despite the unmoveable Impala on the side of the road.

Acquiring two more allies as well as the sleepy bomb from Fred’s stash that she left in the car from the Crossroads fight is certainly a boon in her opinion.

Fred is not one of the people who have visited Bobby before. Or South Dakota, even. However, she makes an educated guess that they’re getting close when locusts start to hit against the car and windshield. Behind the wheel, the physicist slows but does not stop the car. She’s not as skilled a driver as Sam is, but she manages to push them through the almost biblical plague intact. “It’s not a Bible verse, but I’m starting to think the most appropriate one is, ‘When Moses was in Egypt’s Land, ‘Let my people go.’’ ‘Course the last part is actually a Bible verse, so that’s really a twofor. Either way, that wasn’t pleasant and doesn’t really much bode well for what else he can do. Last thing we want are boils. Or frogs. I didn’t even like dissecting them in class. Locusts were at the end of the plagues, yeah? After that came darkness?” It’s been a little while since Fred rambled quite like this. It’s either a testament to leaving the Winchester apartment or how close they are to the anticipated showdown.

Once through the bugs, the slowing of the car turns into a stop. She scans the five figures in the distance. “They’re probably expecting us from the front. Buncha places to hide, for them and us.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
The road always brings gifts.

It’s a distant thought that Sam had experienced when he’d spotted that Impala and had asked Fred to stop the car.

But hearing the demon had white eyes had cast him into a pensive silence, folded him up in the front passenger’s seat with his hand over his eyes. He conducts his grapple with despair in silence. He’d passed out two more anti-possession necklaces prior to slipping off into this dark inner world.

But when the first locust hits the windshield he sits up with narrowed eyes. Fred’s observation casts him into Professional Mode, and it’s as if he had never had a doubt in his life. Because now that he can see some of what they’re up against, a plan is starting to present itself.

“Park there,” he says, tense, pointing to an old open barn off the side of the road. “The property’s up ahead. Park before they can see us.”

Then the young man half turns around to look at May and Jo.

The oddity of Sam’s upbringing has had a profound effect on him. Sometimes his youth is obvious: he is uncertain and hopeful all at once. Sometimes, he is twice or even three times as old behind the eyes as he really is. Now he looks ancient, someone who has gone beyond “seen too much”, gone beyond “experienced too much.” He hasn’t stared into the Abyss; he’s sat in the passenger’s seat of a classic car while other men drove straight through it. Or, in this case, a woman, through a cloud of locusts.

That weight is in his eyes now. They’re flat, hazel reflecting mostly the color green today, emotion pushed far from him. At the least, the matte black the irises (though not the sclera) have been known to display in response to anger lately is missing.

“White-eyes doesn’t know you three are coming. He only knows for sure that I am.”

He removes a salt shotgun from beneath his feet. Cocks it. Loads it. “So. I go in obvious. You ladies go in stealth. Attack when the time seems right. I imagine it will want to talk to me before the violence starts. Agent May will know the right moment.”

It’s Agent May’s eyes he looks into now, because he knows several things. He knows Fred and Jo will hate this plan. He also knows it’s probably their only chance. He knows May will get that. He knows that she’ll get them out of there if she has to. There are senior agents who have never displayed the kind of grim, knowing bleakness that sits in his eyes now. He’s counting on her to make the hard calls and to make these two women her priority if it comes to that. And to lead them to some sort of successful conclusion, if she can.

Melinda May has posed:
Being stranded on the side of the highway with all dead electronics and a stalled out Impala and a MISSING DEAN does not a happy May make. She’d been fully prepared to leave Jo with the car and walk to the nearest phone, but that’s about when Sam and Fred pull up. Her first words to the pair are to demand Sam’s cell phone, and then she spends the next several minutes talking with someone in SHIELD as they transfer whatever they need from the Impala’s trunk to Fred’s car and get underway again.

“Sam, Another senior agent is going to see that the Impala is returned to New York and any damages are repaired. He’s taken care of her for Dean before.” And, Sam might have seen Lola in passing.

Upon reaching the city with an airport, May directs them toward it, where she meets up with the SHIELD personnel waiting there beside a quinjet. There’s body armor and comms and gear for everyone as well as replacement electronics for May, and despite it being a VERY close fit, Fred’s car is loaded into the jet and they’re underway again with May doing the piloting.

The atmospheric situation forces them to land several miles away from their target location and drive the rest of the way. The locusts have May muttering something in Cantonese, and then Sam lays out the plan. Her reply is to simply nod and then look at Fred and Jo. Both have seen her at work before, though under completely different situations. This should be interesting.

May can’t help but wish a sniper had been available to join them.

Dean Winchester has posed:
It’s fortunate they park away from the house as it enables them the element of surprise--at least to some extent. The figures outside don’t seem to have taken notice. Not yet, anyways. While the heroes plan some distance away, the house-posse lingers watching the front road. The people on the lawn almost look familiar. But it’s hard to really notice from this distance.

Make no mistake, it’s a trap of their making.

A few beats pass and when everyone looks away for a second--only to look back moments later--and another figure in a camo-green jacket joins them. Near silence comes over the people while eyes turn up to the sky.

And in a single second, the swirling sky stills.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
“Sounds more like a musical to me…” Jo’s snark comes out when she’s worried and poor Fred, who’s just met the blonde, gets the full force of it. “... sorry… I’m just … worried.” She falls silent as the car pulls up and just stares at Sams STUPID plan.

Damn Winchesters and their stupid plans.

Yet she can’t think of a better one. Not at all. “I ain’t no lady …” it’s the best she can do as she slips from the back of the car and pops the trunk. It’s a veritable treasure trove of weapons they’ve collected there. The Impala was certainly well stocked and combined with what the other other two had … they could go in loaded for bear.

Pity it’s //not// bear they’re hunting. That would be sooooo much easier.

Silently, blue eyes flicking to the figures at the house, Jo arms herself. Salt loaded rounds, holy water, silver, iron. Whatever she can carry, she’ll take. As the sixth figure arrives and the sky literally starts opening, she shakes her head.

“Guess it’s now or never.”

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Sam is quite right in thinking Fred will hate his plan - it leaves him going in alone with a creature that can apparently summon swarms of locusts. Demon locusts. “No way.” Fred shakes her head. “I’m not letting you go in there alone. If that thing knows what Dean’s thinking, he knows I wouldn’t let you do this by yourself, I’ll go with you.” It’s not just her being leery of splitting up, it does make logical sense. Her eyes flick toward the SHIELD agent as she says this before they return to Sam. She knows how good May is, having seen her in action during Sam’s rescue, but she is also stubborn on this issue.

As they start to gather the weapons, Jo’s snark is met with an innocent blink from the brunette. “Actually, yeah, I think it’s a song,” she agrees, a bit guileless. The apology is given a confused nod. “It’s alright, me too.” Worried about Dean, worried about Sam, worried about all of them.

She makes sure she has some of the beer bottles filled with holy water and salt as well as the sleepy-time bomb, passing out other items as needed. The stillness of the sky, when before it was agitated catches Fred’s attention. Much like the other figures, she looks up and then looks back to the yard to see the green jacketed figure now amongst the others. Dean. Or whatever it is that has possessed him.

Sam Winchester has posed:
He’d nodded about Lola; he’d seen it. An impressive car. But too flashy. Cop magnet.

“Now or never is a song too,” Sam points out, distracted. Or maybe he’s just going ahead and trying to lighten the mood somewhat. It’s hard to tell. There’s a flash of a tired smile on his face, there and gone again.

/I ain’t gonna live forever. I just wanna live while I’m alive./

Fred makes some sense too. His eyes close for just a moment. But he chose her because he saw an equal, and if she’s ready to step out and partner up and face this with him...well. He has no right to stop her, not when her comment makes tactical sense. He reaches out. Takes her hand. Squeezes once.

“Together, then,” he says softly.

They might die together. It might be the last time they are together, because he’s fairly sure what Fred’s destination will be, and he /knows/ what his will be already.

/But this world is shit. You carve out every last. Damned. Good moment. You. Can./

Right now, there’s a little good in the feel of her softer, smaller hand in his broader, more calloused one.

“Good luck, you two.” This to Jo and Agent May. “And...thanks.”

And then he takes a deep breath. Steels his spine. Gets out of the car. He’ll wait for Fred.

And then, hand in hand with her still, if she’ll allow it...he takes what seems to be an endless walk towards the 6 demons he can see, shotgun aimed, for the moment, groundward in his unoccupied hand.

Melinda May has posed:
May can only nod as Fred insists on sticking with Sam and he agrees. She’s not in charge of this mission, so she’ll do what’s asked of her and not argue unless she thinks it’s a suicidally stupid idea. And, well, this WHOLE DAY has been suicidally stupid. So, really, it’s all the same anymore.

Wishing her blades had even a hint of usefulness against demons, she checks the rounds in the pistol in her hands again then looks at Jo. “Let’s go.” She plans to lead the blonde around to flank the demons. At the same time, she’s mentally reviewing other possibilities for getting these demons to leave HER agents the F* alone.

“How big can a devil’s trap be made?” she asks of the Hunter as they run. She’s now also contemplating the accuracy of, say, those red lasers that Iron Man uses from time to time.

Dean Winchester has posed:
When Sam and Fred draw near, the people outside begin to come into focus. The first, with curly red hair, freckles, and a fit figure looks undeniably familiar to Sam. But from years past. If he watches her now-black eyes long enough he might draw some faint memory. When he’d known her, she’d been one of the odd kids in school. While twelve-year-old Sam was new to school, Ellie had been an outcast already. They’d saved her from the Backahasten nine years ago. Evidently she lived well into adulthood. To now be possessed here. Her forehead oozes blood as do her arms and legs. It’s a wonder whether she’s still alive and in her body at all.

Adjacent to her, the pale mulleted brunette man in the jean vest also has an air of familiarity. His jaw tightens and his eyes level at Sam and Fred in turn. The demon wearing the Roadhouse employee, Ash, stares blandly at the pair. Unlike his female comrade with the black eyes, he has a guise of being human. He’s not. But the guise is there. Ash’s hands are bloodied, bruised, and his shoulder has a strange angle.

Behind Ash, a pair familiar to Fred lingers. Their eyes follow the woman in particular as she walks by. The faces of her parents staring at her with open amusement eye Fred. She was right--she was expected. Her parents’ lips curve upwards with recognition as their eyes roll to black. Bruising lines her mother’s cheeks and her father’s clothes are soaked in blood.The Deanmon knew that Fred would come along. And it put Fred and her obvious loved ones on the radar.

And as they walk on, it becomes ever clearer, the Deanmon spent time rooting around through Dean’s thoughts and using each to make a very calculated move. While this demon may not have managed to take May and Jo, he had made other efforts to collect plenty of hostages by dressing his allies in them. Most put up a fight of some kind, but the result had been the same. Those that knew him were lulled into easy complacency while Dean made a trap for them. Swiftly. Easily.

Finally, adjacent to whoever wears Dean, a small girl. Her light blonde hair, fair almost-invisible eyebrows, and flat-white eyes stare blankly at the pair while her lips press into a thin line. It’s a stand-off. And even children are available to the masses.

And then there’s Dean. His lips quirk at Sam and Fred’s presence. His hands tuck into his pockets and he stares into Sam’s eyes, trying to make eye contact with the younger Winchester. His lips pull with pride as his teeth flash towards the pair. “Sammy,” the greeting has familiarity that this thing shouldn’t have. But then he has all of Dean’s memories, all of his feelings, and every nuance of the body at his disposal. Dean looks worse for wear. His skin is pale. His eyes, sunken and hollow. And his clothes have blood splatters across them. It’s hard to tell whether the blood is Dean’s or someone else’s but it remains. Dean Winchester is not in good shape--even worse than when Jo and May saw him last.

Inside the house a loud crash clatters loudly followed by a blood curdling scream. Dean shrugs his shoulders as if to ask //Whatcha gonna do?//. He lifts both of his hands and with a gentle move of his fingers aims to telekinetically throw Fred in one direction and Sam in the other.

Should anyone try to use electronics, they fail. Utterly and completely. The omens above and the opening in the sky has caused everything to short out. Entirely. There are no cell phone signals, no radio transmissions, and no satellite signals.

They are in a dead zone.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"Thought it was from a musical, to be honest. Y'know the one the Donny Osmond as Joseph..." Jo shrugs at Fred. She might have watched it a time or two and she's deflecting her worry with dumb jokes.

That, or she simply hasn't eaten enough. That does that too.

"Be careful." Is all she mutters as the pair head off towards Deanmon and his crew.

"Soak your blades if you don' think it will negate anything that's been done to them already." The blonde hands over a flask of holy water. It's ... not much, but it's something right. Then they're at a run, skirting round the back of the house whilst Sam and Fred run distraction.

"How big? If we had the time, we could probably cover the yard and the house." she frowns at the Agent "What are you thinkin' though?" There's a copse of trees not far from the structure, it will obscure their approach, at least for the moment.

That is, if the demons don't sense their humanity.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Two white-eyed demons. A host of hostages important to them both.

They are utterly fucked. Even with May and Jo. Especially with May and Jo, who Sam is beginning to think will just be the other hostages taken one way or another today. The state of his brother breaks his heart, ramps up his desperation.

A shudder runs over him as the white-eyed demon in Dean greets him. His hand tightens on Fred’s hand until it might well hurt. He meets those eyes, then is flung hard into the nearest telephone pole. It bruises him, but that’s not what rips him apart next.

Because he met those eyes, and even as he staggers up to his feet, his own widen in recognition. Somewhere in his mind, a dam starts to crack.

“No…”

At first he doesn’t understand the source of his own mortal terror. But then a name comes to him. The dread he says it with, the sheer, crushing dread, ought to be enough to worry anyone.

“Alistair.”

As soon as he says the name the crack becomes a flood. As Alistair no doubt intended when he looked into Sam’s eyes, he breaks Crowley’s weaker memory manipulations easily. It’s like a very talented college basketball player made an incredible three point shot, only to be defeated with ease by an Olympian basketball player on the defense.

A flash before Sam’s eyes, a /flicker/…

And…

Stretched out on the rack, perceiving all as if he were in a body still. Limbs pulled unnaturally long and tight, hooks digging into his flesh, blood slicking them down, unable to move, unable to free himself.

Flicker. He’s in South Dakota.

“E--exorcizamus...t-te,” Sam stammers. Is it a serious effort at exorcism? Really? Here? Like this? Or is it a fearful prayer?

Flicker.

Alistair leans over him, his smile a mockery of something loving as Sammy screams. Something in his hand. The boy has lost track of it. The demon just peeled a layer of skin off of his arm, shoulder to wrist. He holds it up for Sam to see. It’s soulstuff, not skin, Sam understands this, but it feels like skin, looks like skin, is gruesome and bloody like skin. Only if someone had done that to him on Earth, he’d die and escape. Here there is no death. Never death, never an escape.

Flicker.

The memories are almost too much. His soul twists in agony as if it were all happening here and now.

“O-omnis,” he whispers, tears flowing down his face, body convulsing. His shotgun hits the dirt. Useless as the words he’s speaking. He grabs his head with both hands, panting, eyes wide, barely seeing anything here anymore because…

Flicker.

He has been here just five days, and he can’t stop weeping, even for a moment. The brand that his tormenter slowly presses into exposed muscle turns tears to howls. Alistair presses hideous lips against his temple, strokes his hair. “You’re my favorite, Sammy.”

Flicker.

“Omnis satanica!” It’s almost defiant, until the scream rips out of him, a moment and a flash of pain. The lack of memory had meant that he never felt the damage to his own soul. Now the buffer is gone, and he feels it in live flesh. He falls back to his knees, curling over into a ball, hands pulling fitfully at his hair, screams pouring out of him, twenty days of torment, relived in a few short seconds.

Just as Alistair intended.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred takes Sam’s hand, looking to Jo and May as they prepare and then separate for this mission. There’s a quick smile to them as thanks before they head straight forward. It may be a stupid idea for her to go in with Sam straight away, she can be quite stealthy from her years scavenging and hiding from demons who wished to capture and behead her. However, she also knows she’s far too close to the situation to hide and wait for a signal. If something happened to Sam, she’d charge in.

Her hand remains in Sam’s, clutching to him in this moment, knowing how dangerous this is and that they may not make it out alive, but at least in this they’ll face it together. Her bottles and bomb remain tucked in a bag over her shoulder. While she generally feels more comfortable with a crossbow, the second shotgun with its salt shells is cradled in her other arm.

It’s probably for the best that Fred didn’t stay with May and Jo. As they approach the gathering of individuals, it’s not Sam she would rush forward toward - it’s a pair of very familiar faces.

“…Mom? Dad?” Fred’s voice breaks as she sees their eyes shift to black. Her attention immediately narrows to the blood on her father’s shirt, the bruises on her mother’s cheeks. Her mind drifts to the young teenager motionless on a yard the night she met Sam. It’s his voice in her head telling her in sympathetic, yet matter of fact voice, ‘Sometimes they use bodies so hard they become walking corpses.’ Is that what she is looking at?

“No. No!” It’s a denial of both that inner voice and the fact of the matter: her parents might be dead and standing in front of her. Her hand leaves Sam’s as she rushes to them. The shotgun drops at her feet as she reaches out to grasp them on opposite arms, pleading. “Mom, Dad, please.”

Behind her, as if from a different room, she can hear Sam screaming.

They shouldn’t have come here. They shouldn’t have done this.

Melinda May has posed:
“Bigger than we have time to make.” So that idea is discarded promptly. As much as it rankled, May is seeing her potential options dwindling, and quickly. She leads the blonde Hunter through to as close to the others as they can manage without having to leave the cover of the stand of trees they’re in. And again, she wishes they’d asked for a sniper. Or that she’d bothered to spend more time on sniper training.

With the comms to Fred and Sam suddenly gone quiet, there’s no way to tell that anyone in there is familiar to the Hunters, and when Sam’s screams carry to them, she knows they’re out of time. She’s got one last thing to try, and it’s a long shot.

Speaking in the ancient and overly formal-sounding Mandarin, she calls for King Wuguan of the Courts of Hell to reclaim the souls that have left Hell before their punishments for their sins were completed. She’s focused specifically on the ones that had been there originally, not Dean or the little girl standing next to him.

Do exorcisms work when one is out of earshot of the target demons?

Dean Winchester has posed:
As May and Jo move around the back of the house, the scent of sulphur becomes increasingly powerful. Its pungent scent of rotten eggs overwhelms as they get closer. Moving to flank the demons out front means passing the windows of the home on the way there thanks to the abandoned cars that surround the junkyard. Bobby had taken care to ensure he would see the goings-on around his house, a necessity as a hunter aiming to stay on in one spot.

Before they even get to the window, they can smell it: the distinct scent of flames licking wood. But combined with the already sulphuric aroma floating from the area? Fire and brimstone reign here.

May and Jo can feel the heat of flame as they draw closer to the house. It burns hot and angry as it begins to lick the ceiling inside. And as they pass the window, they see a middle aged woman with dirty blonde hair staring up at the ceiling. While they can’t see what’s on the ceiling, it’s clear that Ellen Harvelle isn’t herself today.

Her sadistic smile, yellow eyes, and extended hand admire some handiwork out of scope. But within scope. A bevy of unconscious (or dead?) children strewn about the floor. She looks down the hall. “Any movement yet?” she calls.

“Not yet,” a voice calls back.

“Then show him a goddamned picture of this. Use your suit’s cellphone,” Ellen scoffs. “Knock on the door and call him out.”

As far as May’s words are concerned, they don’t seem to have any effect as of yet. But expediency isn’t a feature of all spirits.

Outside, in the front yard, things aren’t going well. But most of the torture hasn’t been physical as of yet.

“Hello sweetie,” Fred’s mother’s voice cuts through the little stillness that exists. Alluringly--not at all with an air of maternal warmth--she strides towards Fred. Her long, slender fingers reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind Fred’s ear, an action her mother took many times as a comfort. But the smile is wrong. Her expressions are wrong. Even the tone is wrong. And in an instant, comfort turns tides.

The demon wearing Fred’s mother reaches out her hand to push Fred back. “We are here for you,” while it might come off as warmth or support, it’s cold and angry. She reaches those slender fingers to grab a mitt-full of Fred’s hair in an effort to drag the girl to her father.

“Winifred Burkle needs punishment,” Fred’s mother allays to her father.

Fred’s father’s eyes crease with delight. He looks towards her bag. “You brought us gifts? Oh little girl… we do like presents,” he jeers. He walks around her, assessing her as he does so. “You’ve been very naughty. Your mother just said as much.” And then with the condescending tone of an animal owner reprimanding their pet, he asks, “What did you do?”

“She wants to hurt us, darling~” Fred’s mother virtually sings. “She wants us to pop and sizzle and burn. She came here with fire in her eyes to smite us, but now? She remembers she’s just a lost little girl.”

Her father nods curtly. “Of course none of this is real. Sam isn’t real. You made him up, Fred. We’re not really here. None of us. You’re alone. A slave dressed in rags with a heavy collar bound to your neck for eternity. They won’t tell you this, but you don’t die. And you never leave. Not there. Not really. You get to live day after day enslaved to them, their world, and their servitude. To their whirls, wants, and whimsies.”

A giggle emits from Dean’s lips as Sam begins the words that could put any of them out of commission. “That tickles,” he notes with another quirk of his lips.

Dean’s face lights with unbridled pleasure. His eyes lid and his lips quirk as if experiencing some other ecstasy at Sam’s pain. A shiver of delight passes over him. But if anyone is paying attention, something, however briefly, changes in the tide. His hand moves towards the inside of his jacket. It’s slow, cautioned, and purposive. It tugs at the inner pocket and draws out a strange looking knife.

The picture has oddities of its own: Dean basking in revelrie while his hand utilizes the opportunity. With the little girl near, and Alistair’s pleasure continuing, the knife moves to stab the little girl, another white-eyed demon, in the back. Hard. Her body flickers yellow and her occupant twists around to face Alistair. It’s not enough to kill her--not one as powerful as she is, but its effect speaks volumes of what the weapon is. She screams in pain.

The knife misses her heart, its intended target.

“I have this handled,” Dean’s voice hisses to the girl.

“I’ll be fine,” she returns with a smirk. Undoubtedly, whatever that weapon was, hurt. But evidently she doesn’t want to be eliminated from this stand-off.

The knife rests on the ground in the dust. And for a moment flat-white eyes turn green. They soften. They stare at Sam. And, with a drop of Dean’s chin, they look at the knife. And then back to Sam. In a moment the message is given. One can only hope that in his agony, Sam got it.

And as quickly as those eyes had softened, they harden again. “So,” Alistair begins. “Tell me, Sammy, do you remember all our fun?” There’s a pause. “I do. I remember the chorus of your screams amongst the others, the way you cried each and every time you awoke the next morning, how you called out for your brother as you hung there.” His eyebrows draw together, “Of course, you also called out for Dad. But we both knew /he’d/ never come.”

Dean’s body treads to where Sam remains in a ball. “Because he never would. He doesn’t care for you. For either of you.” He lifts a finger. “But. Big brother made a deal to get you out of there.” His expression sours and he looks towards Lilith as he seems to put something together. Between Dean’s memories and the space between them, something is becoming increasingly obvious in their efforts to control Hell. The Faustians are actively undermining their efforts. Alistair sneers. “They stole you from me,” he seethes.

“You were mine.” There’s a long pause. “And you’re mine again,” his lips edge into a smile. “And this time? There’s nothing big brother can do to stop me. You’re on your own, Sammy.”

“You. Are. Mine.”

And then, ominously like a revelation has just come to him, he pats Dean’s chest.

“And so is he.”

Jo Harvelle has posed:
No way to tell that anyone is familiar to the Hunters except for the hitch in Jo's step as she spies Ash through the trees. "... Ash ..." She hisses and glares at the SHIELD agent - heavens knows why, it's not May's fault.

The look turns to horror as Sam's screams ring out through the area and she squints at the tableau unfolding. "What... is she doing .... " Of course, she doesn't recognise Freds parents but she does recognise Dean, the man who ... well who she's become quite fond of.

"Keep moving..." What they're going to do, she's no idea but one of her Dads Hunter friend had once said //No plan, no matter how good, survives first contact.// This one, the one of Sam's making, doesn't look like it ever really deployed.

Despite the heat emanating from the house. Despite the smell of rotten eggs, her steps bring them closer to that window and now the blonde freezes. "Mom..." She breathes, breath hitching in terror. "... they've got Mom ... we have to save her... "

Can she? Can they? Can they truly save Ellen from the Demon that possesses her. Jo doesn't know, but she's going to try. Probably much to May's dismay. Untrained, undisciplined and potentially, just plain stupid - might be some of the words that the blonde gets labelled with.

"... and Bobby." That has to be who they're trying to bait out.

One last glance to the older agent and the blonde takes off at a run, right to the door, throwing it open. "Hey Mom... fancy meeting you here ...."

//Splash// there's some holy water just for good measure.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
There was no one else Alistair could have stolen that would have a worse impact on Fred. Angel, Wesley, even Sam...she would be upset and enraged by their possession. However, she also knows that they live in this world and signed up to be a part of its dangers and accepted those consequences. Her parents? They might know about demons and vampires now, but they live on a farm in Texas. They were away from all this, going about their own normal lives. This could have only happened to them because someone wished to hurt her and that makes this her fault.

She already knows it is a horrible idea as she runs to them, but she can’t stop herself, wanting to shake them, //make// them okay. Trish tucks her hair behind her ear and for a brief heartbeat of a moment, she hopes. Unfortunately, the voice - while unmistakably her mother’s voice - is wrong.

The hand easily curls into her long hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling her forward. Fred almost topples and does fall to one knee in front of her father as it happens, wincing at the pain of that yank. “I’m sorry,” she says, heartfelt, through the pain. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you both better. I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t know if they can hear her, but she says it anyway. The words about this being a different world, one that she has made up cause a hitch in her throat, a taunt as to how she dealt with five years in Pylea. How she dealt with the spell that just recently sent her into a spiral. She’s weak, she can’t handle the dangers, she couldn’t protect her parents.

They ask her what is in her bag, what she’s brought them. It clinks to the ground as she falls, the bottles inside rattling against each other, but don’t break. There is no way she will use any force against her parents, but she has to do something. “H-here…” she says, unzipping the bag just a bit, still looped over one arm. “I’ll show you.”

A hand reaches in to grab one of the beer bottles filled with holy water and salt. Squeezing her eyes shut, taking a deep breath, she pulls it out to smash against the leg of her mother. There are tears in her eyes as she she swings. Five years in Pylea cemented a survivor’s spirit, one that instinctively knows that to save her parents, she has to stay alive, too. If they’re not already dead. No, she can’t think like that. She can’t.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The screams do stop. Sam gets himself under control, bit by bit.

First, it's because he can hear, distantly, the demons taunting Fred. A flame of fury ignites in him. He's spent many nights reassuring her he was real, and some bastard black-eye pissants think they're going to undo her? Even now, her heart-felt apologies to them rip at his heart. It's a sentiment he more than understands, really.

That's the moment where he raises his head, panting softly in fear, pain, and fury all at once. His irises slowly turn. Hazel to light green, light green to dark green, dark green to pitch black. He can still feel the throbbing pain as he watches his brother keep right on fighting, and feels such pride in Winchester the Elder that it helps to snap a new memory into place.

Flicker.

"Life is pain, Princess," says the smooth-talking pirate on the flickering television screen. "Anyone who says differently is selling something."

The TBS logo appears briefly at the bottom of the screen, signalling a switch to commercial. Sometimes nothing good is on TV, but today, at the Motel Picayune on MS Hwy 5, they luck out. Sammy is four years old, and he is in his favorite spot: snuggled up to his brother on the couch, one of the only places he ever feels safe. He's sucking his thumb, and Dean notices and gently draws it out of his mouth.

"Stop that," says the older boy, but with no heat. And then, thoughtfully, "He's right you know, Sammy. The Dread Pirate. Life is pain."

Sammy shifts uneasily and says nothing. He kind of knows some of this already. Life had Been Pain just yesterday, when he'd spilled his milk in the diner, broken a glass, and had inspired Dad to smack him and berate him for being careless in front of everyone. It was his fault. He shouldn't have been so clumsy.

Dean seems to sense his unease, and sets his mouth into a grim line. At 8, Dean always looks so grown-up, so tough. Sammy emulates the expression as best he can.

"But you know what you can do, Sammy? You can /fight/. Fight for the people who can't fight for themselves, and most of all fight against any son of a bitch who tries to hurt anyone you care about. I'm going to teach you. You'll see."

Flicker.

He gets the signal. He sees it. Now he has to figure out how to exploit it. Alistair steps right up to him, taunts him, and Sam starts putting his brain to work. Why is it going down like this, specifically? Why draw him all the way out there for hours? Why gather everyone he's ever known, and Fred's parents? Why attack Bobby? What do they want here? Getting Dean's body alone was enough to have Sam ready to give himself up to them, but that's not what they want. Alistair had been angry, in fact, when Sam had seemed meek. Sam gets the impression he'd have been angrier still if he'd tried to bow his head for his brother's life. It tracks with what he remembers, now. Some tormenters grew angry at defiance, threats, but Alistair had never seemed so proud as the day that--

Flicker.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" Sam screams, his voice cracking not because it was ready to take on the new tones of manhood, but simply under the strain. Day 14. "I'm going to carve out your KIDNEYS and I'm going to FEED THEM TO YOU, do you understand? You better HOPE I never get out of here, because I am going to KICK YOUR DEMON ASS!"

"Goood," Alistair coos. "That's good, Sammy."

And he rewards him with a drink of water, the first his parched throat had seen in two weeks.

Flicker.

Of course. Alistair wants him to /change/. Soon after that…

Flicker.

"All you have to do is take the knife, Sammy. Take the knife, and run it down her foot, and I'll let you off the rack. I'll give you a whole day off for that one little cut. It's so sharp, it'll cut her like nothing. Like running a butter knife through mashed potatoes."

"No. I won't."

"Then I guess I'll have to run it down /your/ feet."

Flicker.

Sam's throat burns, parched. He can sense he doesn't have nearly enough juice to pull the only trick that gets any of their possessed friends out. He doesn't have enough for Alistair for sure. He needs more. Which was the point. Goad him into saving Dean at the expense of Ellie, Ash, Fred's parents. Save Dean, and possibly Fred from her infected parents, and Bobby...or save nobody at all. A sadistic choice. May and Jo are here, but they're vastly outnumbered. And /something/ awful is happening inside the house, too.

Sam is not a fan of sadistic choices.

He is, however, a fan of third options. The knife won't be enough, he knows, because he just saw for himself it wasn't. But he has a theory. Two theories, really.

One.

The strength of the demon MUST matter to the potency of the blood. He hadn't entirely been honest with Claire, though it was only cause he hadn't thought about it at the time. The Crossroads demon he'd eaten had been so much more satisfying and had lasted so much longer than the black-eyes he'd first taken. Vengeance demons were also crazy powerful, and that's what he'd been mostly sipping on, but he would rank them about on the scale of a Crossroads...they both had that wish-granting ability and power, and just used it differently. The rush was more the rush of NEEDING something and getting it. Like feeding a caffiene addiction. Or his alcohol addiction. As he'd said. The rush of a black-eyes? Practically non-existent. The rush, and the power. The power of a white-eyes, a literal ruler of Hell? That's going to be immense. So will, dangerously, the rush, but one problem at a time.

Two.

That he can inject it, or he can drink it. He'd had some dreams about simply drinking gallon after gallon of demon blood. He'd had dreams of ripping demons open with his /teeth/, during that first hellish week where demon blood had suddenly become nearly all he could think of. Which was...to the good, really, because he has no time whatsoever to set up a neat, clean drip. This again tracked with the set-up; if they'd hoped he wouldn't see through this they couldn't exactly set it up so he could go after each of those people with a needle.

So. Third option. Dangerous, difficult to pull off, disgusting in the extreme, uncomfortable for both him and Dean because there is no way to do this in a way that isn't. But fitting, too, because this will mean he and Dean took care of this son of a bitch together. And really, there is no universe where Sam Winchester ever wants Dean to be an unwilling victim. Dean has put himself a little bit back in the ring; Sam decides to keep him there.

He times the test of the theory though. Times it for the moment that Fred decides she's not going to cave. That she's going to fight. The moment she smashes holy water and salt into the demon wearing her beloved mother. He synchs up with them, moves with them, adding Fred to the synchronous fighting flow that he's always shared with Dean. This is appropriate. On a number of levels.

He stretches out his hand, as if he is going to try his trick of forcing a soul out of the body without the juice-up. But instead, he exercises the barest hint of his power, yanking that knife to his hand with a burst of telekinetic force.

"Watch those kidneys, Al," Sam hisses, as if they were already succeeding, as if he'd be willing to kill his brother to spare him…

Only to feint at them...and instead plunge the demon knife into Alistair's calf, right into where Sam thinks he remembered a superficial system called the great saphenous vein would be. He has read up on anatomy, as it happens, precisely /because/ he tries to spare the vessels of the possessed. If he finds his mark he's hit a vein that would bleed like a son of a bitch, and /hurt/ like a son of a bitch, but won't threaten Dean's life. He hopes the shock of the obviously magical weapon, Dean's own desire to take the reins, and the location itself will buy him the time to do what he needs to do. Because the next thing he does is withdraw the knife, launch himself forward, seize Alistair's leg, and clamp his mouth around it.

Melinda May has posed:
Pulling the still salt-saturated sash whip, May looks up and curses when Jo darts off toward the house proper. She can’t watch over everyone if they’re running all over the place willy-nilly. She wastes a moment trying to decide if she can help Jo with the farmhouse, then decides, no, the young woman has proven herself pretty well able to handle things. It’s the multiple demons that she’s concerned with.

This whole day has been beyond screwed up. Moving as quietly as she can she takes a breath, then charges out at the group of demons all together. She doesn’t know any of the people they’re possessing, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to just mow through them. Anything she can do to lock them down and hopefully banish the demons will be good enough.

Her sash whip snaps out at the closest black-eyed demon (Ash) the moment she’s within range.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Inside, the dramatic interruption of a the blonde hunter sees holy water steam from Ellen’s back. The demon wearing her, however, is powerful and strong. Ellen twists around to see her daughter’s face, and yellow eyes sparkle at the sight. “You look like her--thought that when I got access to your mother’s thoughts,” yellow-eyes taunts. “Dean is just looking for his mama again and again and again,” she muses with a sadistic turn of her lips. With the fire burning above, lighting multiple bodies as it billows, she lifts a hand--a burst of telekinetic energy to push Jo back, hard. Her head tilts. “I would’ve liked to wait until Alistair could bring his suit here,” the smooth cadence of her mother’s voice mixed with the pure venom of Azazel’s malice chills the air. “But, as they say, time is of the essence.”

//BANG//

//BANG//

The shotgun fire of salt loaded bullets distracts enough to have the telekinetic move last just a moment, giving Jo release as Bobby’s house continues to go up in flames. “Let go of Ellen, you son of a bitch,” Bobby’s flat tone cuts into the room. The salt rounds won’t be enough to stop her, but it might serve as a distraction. “Kid, we need to round her off back towards the living room,” he states. Bobby’s house is most definitely full of demon traps. The trick is getting this thing into one of them.

Outside, Fred finds her fight, and the holy water burns her mother’s skin. The demon wearing her screeches in pain, falling forward as steam rises from her body. Her father reacts in kind, forcing her backwards with a burst of telekinetic energy to throw her against a car. “Winifred, you’ve been a very naughty girl,” he repeats from before. While Trish-demon tries to recover, Roger-demon takes point.

He paces towards her and allows his head to cant to the side, examining her. “There was a time when you were young that your father gifted you something of comfort. That you wouldn’t be afraid. Somehow you thought a rabbit would calm the storm. A stuffed bunny that your father believed would help you relate better to others.” He taps his temple. “I remember. Or, he does. He almost felt bad about it. Giving you a bunny instead of helping you find a friend. You were always such a sweet child.” He motions towards Trish. “That’s what your mother always said. So sweet. So innocent. So alone. Still alone. Always alone.”

“Nothing can comfort you here.” His tone flattens, “Not your beloved knight in shining whatever,” his nostrils flare, “not your mother’s touch,” his nose wrinkles and his lips quirk, “and not even that damned bunny. No one can make sense of the chaos.”

“That place you were at, it’s real. It’s not just in your mind, and you can bet that we will find a way to return you to it. Or,” he smiles faintly, “at least, leave dear old Mom and Dad there.” His black eyes shimmer with unbridled amusement. He’s thrilled. Pleased with his latest consideration. “I bet these bodies aren’t even necessary for our plans.”

The knife into Dean’s calf cuts true. And, sure enough, Sam finds the vein easily. If, however, he opens his eyes, he can see his brother has been subjected to numerous other cuts down his leg--all in various states of disarray thanks to the lack of nutrition that Alistair has provided him. Healing requires basic blocks of life, and Dean has had none. Yet none of those would’ve granted or

The sound that emits from Dean’s lips is somewhere between pain and ecstasy. Sam gets an ample dose before Alistair manages to lift a hand to push him back because another will buried inside him continues to exert itself where it can, even in exhaustion, malnutrition, and injury. Of course, it doesn’t take much of Alistair’s blood to make the younger Winchester dosed up. Oddly, none of the other demons rush the situation. None try to draw Sam away. The child in the distance even smiles. Softly. As if she’s experiencing a puppet show or play. Her eyes flit towards the others, and with a small smile, she disappears.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Sammy,” Alistair states with a wry smile as he flexes Dean’s leg to continue to let the blood pour out. He is really not kind to this body. “You know, I wonder how much /anyone/,” Crowley for one, “will want my sloppy seconds.”

The sash draws towards Ash and catches his skin causing it to steam and burn, but doesn’t wrap around the demon before he’s onto the ploy. His hand lifts and it turns back towards May. Vacantly, his head tilts to the side. “Handy trick,” he states evenly while he lifts a hand to . “Bet it helped when you ganked that little girl in Bahrain.” His lips curve into a smile. “Alistair tortures her day after day after day in Hell. If you ever wonder what that’s like, I suggest talking to Sam.”

He strides forward to close the distance again. His hands lift in want. “She was pretty though, wasn’t she?”

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo grimaces as Ellen back steams. As much as she'd expected it, it was still a shock. "Mom..." is that plea or just simple sorrow? Hard to tell, given the blonde is rocketed backwards.

//Thump//

"Nggggnh. He's not, you know, looking for his Mom..." A weak protest indeed. The words have cut through the blonde like a knife. Far more dangerous than any physical torment Ellen-demon could subject her to.

Eyes wide, there's still fight in the woman even though she's held tight. The first blast from the shotgun causes her to jump - that's not how they're supposed to take her, is it? Oh wait. That's Bobby's voice she's hearing as she slides to ground, hand rising to massage her throat.

It takes a moment - several very long moments really - for Bobby's words to sink in. "Living room, right. Come and get me you bitch if you want me..." her other hand delves into the pouch on her hip and salt is strewn to one side Ellen-mon. It won't hold her for long but Bobby should be able to ride herd as Jo acts as bait.

OK. It might not be the best plan - but it's far from the worst she's had today.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Wincing in sympathy pain as she hears her mother shriek, Fred pushes herself upward to standing. Her hand grips the neck of another bottle to toss onto her possessed father, but she never gets a chance to throw it. The telekenetic shove whips her against the car and she gives a short, soft cry of pain. Some of the beer bottles shatter on impact, shards of glass and holy salt water now pooling in the bottom of its fabric.

Pinned there, Fred is forced to listen to the demon holding her father as he recounts exactly why he gave her Feigenbaum in the first place. It attempts to twist a fond memory into something sad and tainted. Hearing her father’s voice talk to her in a way that is nothing like her father twists a knot in her stomach. Desperately, she shoves against the supernatural hold that keeps her helplessly in place, unable to move and unable to stop listening to the horrible words and threats.

The threat of Pylea - finding a way to send her or her parents back there - sends a cold stroke of fear down her back. “Don’t,” she says, softly. The thought of her parents on Pylea, scrounging to survive, causes her eyes to glass over with more tears. “Please leave them out of this.” She has to do something, has to stop this.

Trapped against the junked car, there is little she can do. She can’t toss any of the holy water, can’t do anything. Except talk. She takes a shallow breath - all she is able to do against the horrible pressure - and starts to quietly recite. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

Sam Winchester has posed:
It feels amazing. For a moment Sammy is just...lost. The power flows into his mouth, down his throat, into his body. He feels the glory of every swallow. The taste on his tongue. Not bitter, or salty, or coppery. Sweet. He feels like he's floating in a sea of white. It feels surprisingly unthreatening. Exhaustion, gone. Uncertainty gone. Fear, gone. Nothing but the absolute certainty that he is unstoppable.

Being pushed off is a blessing. To Sam, it feels almost intolerable. But it keeps him from madly draining his brother dry, which he surely would have done if he'd been allowed to feed without reservation or restraint.

Only a bare trickle of blood runs from the corner of his lips, stained a rich color from the exchange. His eyes shift a little too. Black? Or are they closer to red now? Is his demon half moving subtlely up the hierarchy? It fades back to black a second later, he'd have to do a lot more feeding, a lot more regularly, to unleash /that/ fresh Hell. Probably nobody's looking at that but Alistair himself.

Alistair says he didn't think he had it in him.

Sam stands. He's not doing this on his knees. He wipes the trickle on the back of his hand. He watches Alistair as he slurps it up, licking that last little bit away. Nothing wasted. Nothing. There will be consequences for this, but they feel so distant. So. Unimportant. He rolls his tongue over his lips, over his teeth, cleaning the blood away, mostly intent on getting it all inside of him as fast as he can make it happen. But there's still a very disturbing quality to his smile. It's slight. Hard, as Sammy's smiles never are. Holding an edge that hints at something within him that is more than capable of cruelty, if pushed to it. Cruelty in equal measure, as it happens, to his vast empathy.

"You shouldn't have put yourself back on my radar, Alistair," Sam says, in a low, too-calm voice. "There will be consequences for that. But for now?"

His hand forms into a sort of claw. He rears it back. Though the other demons are right on his priority list, Fred's parents in particular, he's going to trust May and Fred to keep fighting while he initiates what has been, with every other demon, a battle of wills. Fred might achieve what she needs to with the exorcism anyway. Distantly, he hopes they're in good enough shape to survive the process. Distantly, he wonders what's happening to Jo and Bobby.

But he can only do one thing at a time.

He flings his will into his brother's form, shoving with all his might, doing his dead level best to use his stolen power to force his former tormenter straight back to Hell, and to hit him hard enough with that force that he won't have the strength to come seeking a new host for quite some time.

"Give me back my brother, you sorry son of a bitch."

Melinda May has posed:
If there’s one thing that May has learned only too well in her years at SHIELD, it’s the ability to NOT let it show when something affects her. Thus, Ash’s comments about the little girl and Bahrain appear to fall upon deaf ears as she sidesteps the sash whip coming back at her then whirls around, pulling the weapon back into a whirring spin. She also doesn’t waste time with talking.

Setting the whip to spin blurringly fast, she flicks it out at Ash-demon again, knowing it’s exactly what he’ll expect and with her other hand pulls the salt-loaded pistol from the Impala’s trunk and shoots at the redneck demon. She’s aiming only to wound and annoy, though, by shooting at his right thigh. Sorry… whoever you are.

Then she does start to toss out words, again using the ancient Mandarin to call upon one of the Kings of Diyu to pull these souls back to Hell to complete their punishments.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Inside the house, “He’s been looking for his mom since I stole her,” Ellen counters to Jo. Bobby receives a small tilt of her head as she stumbles backwards from the shells. It won’t stop her, and it won’t send her back to hell, but it certainly has some impact, enough to grant a death stare towards the gentleman-hunter. “Decided to leave your solace to have some fun?” her yellow eyes flash with amusement.

Bobby looks worse for wear. His head has been bandaged many times over. His clothes are blood soaked. His wrists are bound with bandages. He’s been through something vile--that much is clear. But the anger in his eyes doesn’t dissipate. He shoots the gun again, this time towards the demon’s head. “Get. Out,” he says again.

Ellen’s eyes glimmer as Jo begins to lead her away. She knows what’s up. She also knows the house is going up in flames. Even from the outside the flames can be seen. Time is short. “I took her, you know. I took Sam’s fiance. And it’s only a matter of time until I take you. And make no mistake, Jo, I will get you.” She manages a small smile. “But in the meantime, know that he doesn’t love you. Not really. He doesn’t know how. Even your mother knows that.” There’s a pause. “Unless it’s Sam. Sam will always come first. He sold his soul for Sam--do you think he would ever do that for you? If you think so, you know you’re lying to yourself…”

“Shut up, you Idjit!” Bobby fires again to herd the demon towards Jo. “Don’t listen to him, Kid. They spew anything and everything to get inside yer ‘ead,” he fires the shotgun again.

And it seems to be working for the time being, but it’s easier than it should be. It’s possible the demon wants to get caught or its gambit has been fulfilled already.

Outside, Roger-demon sneers when Fred makes her bid for her parents’ lives. His nostrils flare and his body tenses at the request not to put them in Pylea. There’s little room for any of it. He takes delight in her pleading, and he doesn’t lose that edge of torment as he laughs, “I will see that every day of their life and beyond they are in agony. And the agony will never cease. Not once. Not ever.”

But the murmuring of the Latin causes his knees to buckle. His black eyes cannot handle the Latin the way the white eyes can. He falls onto his hands. He bats the ground as the words continue to spill from Fred’s lips and he begins to cough as his soul begins to be banished into the pit beyond.

Trish-demon, meanwhile has begun to recover. She forces herself to a stand and walks to where Roger and Fred are.

There will be consequences for Alistar returning to Sam’s radar. “I’m counting on it,” Dean replies gruffly. Amusement tugs at each edge of Dean’s face. His eyes crinkle with delight, his lips turn upwards, and the white of his eyes seems downright delighted. But the delight begins to change when Sam reaches out his hand.

At first, Alistair spreads Dean’s arms, inviting the change. But then the pressure changes. The white-eyed demon fights, demanding even more juice to be expensed and Dean’s body buckles beneath the war, stumbling towards the ground. Sam pulls on Alistair’s soul, forcing him from Dean’s body. And, because he can, he claws at the edges of Dean’s consciousness.

Dean’s chin lifts towards the sky and his mouth opens as a white thick cloud of smoke floats into the sky. It billows above, disappearing into nothing as it moves.

Dean collapses when the smoke disappears, causing his body to fall into the fetal position with his stomach falling to the ground. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t cough. Emptily, he remains there frozen in place.

Ash screams in agony when the shell hits his thigh. He collapses to his knees. “You bitch!” he seethes loudly. “She agonizes every day because of what you did! And she will come back to haunt you--I swear that you will suffer tenfold!”

The demon wearing him keeps black eyes shining as he reaches out to counter her. He sends a burst of telekinetic towards her to thrust her against a rusty looking dumpster. But as he does so, he also begins to be willed from the body he’s occupying. His lips part and thick black smoke begins to billow up to the sky.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
It's difficult to hear much of what's happening outside - just the muffled noises that indicate not everything is ok in Kansas, Toto. Jo's blue eyes flick uncertainly in that direction but Ellen-mon's words have her focussing again.

Do they work? Does the demon manage to plant the seed of doubt in the blondes mind? What she has with Dean ... it's fledgling. They'd made no promises to each other, had they? Wasn't he really 'Mister Right Now' rather than 'Mister Right'? Maybe. Time will tell the effect those words truly have.

"You can have me if you can catch me." Jo's voice trembles as she moves further into the house. It is too easy, baiting the creature like this and she shoots a quick look to Bobby trying to convey that.

"I've chosen Ellen over Dean, so I guess we're even on that score." she tells her corrupted mothers form. "Blood is, after all, thicker than water."

It's getting hot in here and a trickle of sweat runs down her forehead but still, she leads the demon on. Ellen-mon. Gotta catch them all.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred, pinned against the car like a butterfly to a board, keeps reciting. She can hear the spiteful words of the demon holding her father promising them pain. It only spurs her to recite faster, to try and literally release that demon. The same fear Sam has is lodged in the back of her head - the teenager face down in a lawn that would never move again. The one Sam wrapped in a tarp and drove elsewhere. Is that the future for her parents? Will she not only be the reason for their possession, but their death?

The words slow slightly as she thinks about that, a soft sob interjecting itself in her recitation in between lines. Her eyes close as she continues, seeing her father drop to his knees and choke. The approach of her mother is unable to be seen. She simply can’t stand it. She has little of the training or outward fortitude of May. Every word clearly cuts her deeply. Still, though, she speaks through unbearable pressure and the pain.

Determined, aching and devastated, she finishes the exorcism. Despite the dangers, the fact that she knows there are enemies still around, she cannot bear to open her eyes, to see if she succeeded - and if she did - to see what that means.

Sam Winchester has posed:
“Dean!”

Sam darts forward to gather Dean into his arms. He wants to check for a pulse, he wants to offer some food or water or medical care, but they are still very much in the middle of a crisis here. And Fred is still being menaced. He sees Mr. Burkle’s demon smoke out, but here comes Mrs. Burkle.

He flings his hand in that direction, jaw firming with determination. After Alistair, this should be nothing. He was unable to force the white-eyed monster back to Hell, he’s still out there. But a black-eyes?

Should be easy enough.

He pushes the soul out like it’s nothing, leaving, briefly, a black fiery burn mark on the ground beneath her feet. It takes a moment of concentration, but compared to Alistair it’s as easy as simply thumping a piece of paper away with his thumb and forefinger. Gentler on Mrs. Burkle’s body than the exorcism, though there are still no guarantees.

Melinda May has posed:
May get slammed back against a rusty old dumpster, and that finally elicits a reaction from her. She growls at the pain and frustration of being stuck, but then as the demon ghosts out of the young man’s body and the hold on her releases, she takes a breath and then says to the black smoke, “You first.”

Then, grimacing slightly as she steps away from the dumpster and feels like someone just pulled a rusty knife out of her back, she takes a very quick stock of the goings on and turns to run for the farmhouse. As much as seeing what Sam is doing disturbs her, she can’t exactly argue it now. But she CAN go help Jo with whatever is going on inside the house.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Inside the house, Ellen follows Jo through to the living room. She lifts a hand to telekinetically hit the girl, but the shotgun fire grants her pause. Bobby has few (if any) concerns about damaging his home. It’s already going up in flames anyways. While Jo may be acting as live bait, the yellow-eyed demon seems to take it. The plan may be known, but something seems to inspire Ellen-mon forward.

And sure enough, the living room is a veritable myriad of demon traps. The ceiling, walls, and floor underneath the carpet all act as demon traps. Yellow eyes is stuck. Ellen, however, just smiles at the others, strangely pleased with herself at this turn of events. “You’re both aware that you’ve won nothing today, aren’t you? All of this went according to plan.” Her yellow eyes track towards Jo.

Bobby’s expression remains neutral. He’s been dealing with monsters for decades and he won’t let himself be rattled by another. He does, however, look towards Jo. “Send the bitch home, Kid,” intending her to exorcise her own mother.

When May finds the pair inside the home, Bobby casts her a long look as he levels his shotgun towards her. A glance is given Jo, silently asking about the woman standing in front of him.

Outside, Fred’s agony gets emphasized as her mother continues what her father had begun. Trish lifts her fingers to slowly, telekinetically, wrench Fred’s skull. She applies pressure, exerting more with every passing instant to literally crush her brain. But it’s all for naught. She’s ripped from the mortal she’s residing in by Sam’s will. In an array of black smoke, she leaves Trish’s body on the ground in a mess of nothing.

Ellie smirks as Trish is exorcised, and in a second, she’s gone to parts unknown to fight another day.

Unconscious, both of Fred’s parents lay there with no movement. It’s a wonder if they’re alive.

Not far away, Dean’s body resembles a corpse. Pallid skin. Cold. Empty. His eyes don’t flicker, his breath doesn’t steady. And in a way, he’s nearly vacant. The light seems comforting. Peaceful. He knows it leads nowhere good, but his mind struggles to return to the present.

The rocking had been peaceful. The sound of her humming a comfort even before he’d seen her face. But she never stuck to humming. Her voice echoes in his mind. “Hey Jude, refrain, don’t carry the world upon your shoulders~’

She didn’t like lullabies. She liked the Beatles. They would rock in the rocking chair of the nursery. Time and time again. “For well you know that it’s a fool~ Who plays it cool~ By making this world a little colder~”

“You need to wake up, Dean,” she says softly. He can almost feel her fingers on his cheek. The way she’d gently woken him many times when they had somewhere to be.

In the real world, Dean gasps for breath, inhaling a face full of dirt, causing him to push up slightly to cough the dirt back into the ground before collapsing against it again. He’s alive.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus... " Jo starts to intone as she hits the living room. Bobby didn't need to tell her twice. "omnis satanig--"

She stutters as the yellowed eye demon taunts them further and draws in a gasping breath.

"He'll survive. They'll survive..." She mutters to herself. Who's she's talking about isn't clear, perhaps not even to herself. She knows better than to respond to the creature but it's hard, oh so hard.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanicus potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii..."

//SPLASH//

Holy water is added to the moment mix of this recipe.

"omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte, ut ecclesiam tuam secura,"

//SPLASH//

"tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, AUDI NOS!"

The final words of the rite have her voice rising as sweat pours down her face. She's breathing heavily by the time she finishes. Who knew reciting a few words could be so taxing?

Ellen-mon smokes, or is it steams?, as the water hits her and her body trembles terribly at the words. Those eyes fix Jo with deadly intent as yellow smoke rises from her body.

"Is it over, Bobby?" she grates out. Not once thinking to question if this truly is the Hunter and not some other meat-suit wearing Demon.

Um. They should probably take Ellen's body and get the hell out of Dodge.

"Dean...."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The pressure against her is felt exponentially. Fred’s eyes remain closed as the pain increases, her head shoved against the junkyard car further and further. There’s only so long it will last before it might burst. She starts to try again, the words gritted through her teeth, through the excruciating pain. “Exorci….zamus….te….”

Suddenly, though, the pain is gone. Fred drops to the ground in a pile of limbs, gasping at the sudden release of pressure against her body. Her eyes remain closed for a few moments until they open to glance upward. She takes in the scene, blinking at the sudden brightness after squeezing her eyes shut for so long.

There’s Sam holding Dean and then, there is her parents, lying motionless on the ground. Scrambling, tripping in her hurry to get up, she scurries to them. The bag of mystical weapons are left behind broken and filled with water. It might be a mistake, but she isn’t thinking about that right now. Instead, she needs to get to her parents, to check on them.

“Mom? Dad?” Terrified, she reaches for them, checking for a pulse, gently assessing them to try and see if they have any wounds that need to be tended. “Please, please, wake up. Please be okay. I’m sorry.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester has never felt so relieved in his life as he feels when Dean wakes up in his arms. He lifts him up a little to try to get him out of the dirt, rolls him over, sees Fred fussing over her parents. Some of the demons exited, stage left. Now he turns his attention to Bobby’s home, gasping, worried.

He is no healer, but there are still things he can do. He knows this might well use nearly all of what he’s got. He is already going to need a dose much faster than usual. He’s already out of them. New York is far, far away.

He’ll just have to trust that he’ll pull through, because he can’t let Bobby’s house burn. Father, uncle, whatever one wants to call him, Bobby Singer is family.

He could never try this if he weren’t high on the rush of demonic blood. But now he lifts his hand and focuses on the fire. Focuses on pulling it first to a single point outside the house, telekinetically trying to draw flames together into one long finger-like torrent, stretching it out and out and out until he can get it away from Bobby’s home.

It works, to his shock. But he doesn’t revel in it for long. There’s a watery ditch, a culvert he played in as a kid. He slams the fire into it, leaving only a hiss of steam in the distance. It’s probably a Hell of a thing to watch. In more ways than one.

He keeps his arm tightly around his brother the entire time, pressing his chest to his brother’s back to keep him in spiritual contact with the anti-possession ward tattoo’d deeply into his own skin. He doesn’t have time to grab that final necklace from his pocket right now, and he won’t risk another possession. They won’t get this lucky twice.

“Fred,” he asks hoarsely, a one-word request for a status report on her parents.

Melinda May has posed:
May bursts into the farmhouse and stops abruptly when the older man (though really, he’s probably the same age she is) turns his shotgun on her. “We need to go,” she says to the younger Harvelle after seeing the woman freed of possession. She’s guessing that that’s Jo’s mother, and while keeping a wary eye on Bobby, she moves cautiously closer to check on the now unconscious woman and in doing so passes straight through at least two devil’s traps without realizing they’re there.

She checks Ellen’s pulse and finds that she’s out for the count, but not on the verge of dying, which is a relief. She starts to heft the unconscious woman into a fireman’s carry when the fire suddenly just … goes away. She is going to have WORDS with Sam after this. But, the house may very well still be structurally compromised so she keeps on with the getting Ellen out. “Let’s move, Jo. Now.”

Her eyes land on Bobby again for a moment as if to see if he’s going to follow or continue standing there being openly curmudgeonly. But only for a moment. The smoke is now more dangerous than the flames were, so she’s getting out and she’s taking Ellen with her.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Looking to the skies reveals that the omens have shifted. The skies have cleared and blue takes over from the swirl of orange, red, and white. It’s relieving. The locusts have cleared--something they will notice when they drive out of here.

Bobby casts a long look to Jo as May enters the demon traps. His shotguns drop and his own bloodied body nods once at the young blonde when May moves to get Ellen out. In no time, he’s walking out of his home, semi-intact and looking out on the yard. His head shakes once while he assumes silence. His eyes train on the boys and linger on Sam for a long while.

Fred’s parents remain unresponsive. Assessing her mother yields a strong pulse and breathing. Her body doesn’t look ridden hard--likely because it wasn’t ridden long. Alistair had some last minute additions to his hostage entourage. It’s good to be at the tail end of the possessions. Her father’s pulse, however, is weak. Barely there. His breathing is shallow. Undoubtedly the exorcism had unwanted secondary effects. Both are alive though.

Dean’s vision can’t come into focus. His body refuses to cooperate as he tries to regain some semblance of muscle control. He wants to stand. He can’t even motivate himself to wriggle out of Sam’s grasp. And so he stays there. His eyes burn, prompting him to close them again. His very breath rakes against his throat, scratching with dryness like sandpaper. Mary’s voice continues to sing over him in this place. He can sense her. Feel her. And it moves him.

Years of hunting have made Dean hard. He knows to maintain himself. To carry his composure. His life has been threatened many times before. He’s sold his soul. He’s died and come back to life. Seven times.

Maybe it’s the lack of nourishment, dehydration, or the sheer magnitude of being possessed for days, but something breaks. And, underneath his arm, Sam can feel Dean’s chest heave.

Dean Winchester is crying.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"A friend..." Jo grates out as May bursts through the door "... sort of..." she ammends. "SHIELD agent." Which should speak volumes for Bobby and warn him. No matter what she's been through, and her face shows the fear, the panic, the terror she feels, Jo won't leave Bobby out to dry.

Wiping her hand across her forehead, smearing grime and soot as she does, the blonde nods once to May, dips and helps her left Ellen, leaving the house and out into the yard.

"... Dean ..." Poor May is left with Ellens weight as the Hunter's daugher, now Hunter herself, takes a faltering step forward. Yellow eyes words play in her head like a bad song stuck on repeat. It takes a moment for her to push the doubt down. It's not gone - and the pair will have to deal with that ... later.

Hopefully much, much, later.

Standing there, between May and the men, hands clenched, Jo finally surveys the turmoil. "Fred? Ar... " she swallows "Are they ... " she can't finish the statement. She heard the womans' plaintive plea to the downed pair.

She hasn't looked for Ash yet. There's too much to take in, as her eyes return to the Winchester brothers. No place for her there.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As her mother is closest to her, Fred checks her pulse first, finding it steady, though the woman has yet to wake up. A slight warmth of relief starts flood its way through until she reaches her father. His breathing is shallow, his pulse weak. The blood in her ears pounds as she quickly tries whatever she can to steady him, to heal him. There’s a look to her mother, still lying there. She feels terrible about leaving her there, but it’s Roger that is in the most dire straits.

“Dad, Dad, come on. You gotta stay strong, okay?” The question from Sam, from Jo, they’re both only heard as if from far away, barely recognized. All her attention is on her father, lying here. Her hands remain on him as she finally looks up, towards the others. She might not have heard their questions, but she knows Sam is there, that Dean is there. There’s almost surprise as she sees Jo and May, as well as two others she doesn’t know. Ellen may be unconscious, but the previously unseen form of Bobby stands with them and there is a brief wariness that fades to her greater concerns.

“Help him,” she pleads. “He’s...he’s weak. I think I...I don’t know. We gotta get him out of here. Please.” Panic has clearly set in.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Bobby is staring at him, and Sam looks away, flushing with sudden shame. And that makes him angry, because look. There they are. All alive.

But not all well. Dean is weak, Fred’s parents are weak, Ash is weak, Ellen is no doubt weak. His mouth sets into a tight line. He hefts Dean up as if he were hefting up a small child. He doesn’t even strain to do it. It doesn’t occur to him that Jo might be feeling uneasy about her place in that right now, or he’d be more considerate, but right now he’s in crisis mode. He fishes out that necklace, puts it firmly around Dean’s neck.

He sees Dean’s tears but won’t address them. It would mortify his brother. If anything he turns Dean into his body just a little bit, so the man can shed what he needs to shed without anyone seeing. A protective gesture, though not a traditional one.

“How fast can you get a SHIELD medical team to us, Agent May?” Sam asks. “Or us to a SHIELD medical team? Everyone needs help.” His words, when they come out, are grim, taut, and utterly professional, showing no hint of any emotion at all. His irises remain flat black. No telling if they’re going back.

Melinda May has posed:
With Jo’s help, May gets Ellen out of the farmhouse only to have to take all of her weight when the blonde moves toward the brothers. She’s starting to feel where she took that dumpster to the back, so before she’s at risk of dropping the unconscious woman she moves to set her down somewhere central-ish. Doing so might reveal that she didn’t get out of this unscathed, and it was something bad enough to tear through her jacket.

“Depends on if,” she pauses and forces herself to not wince as she pulls her cell phone from a pocket. Please work, please work, “my phone is working now.” She starts trying to dial out and looks at Bobby again. “There’s a young man over that way. Sleeveless shirt. Mullet.” She doesn’t know if he’s okay or not, though.

Glancing over at Sam, she reaches into her jacket again and pulls the water flask that Dean had declined before. It’s at best four ounces of water, but it’s better than nothing and Dean looks like he’ll need any bit of sustenance they can manage.

Oh thank goodness. “HQ. May. Require immediate medical teams or exfil at my location. Four civilians down, one asset, one agent.” She doesn’t bother to get up from where she’s sitting on the ground next to Ellen. She’s not sure her back will take it. “Have Medical check my file, I’ll likely need another tetanus booster.”

Dean Winchester has posed:
When Bobby’s gaze finally peels away from the brothers, it rests on Ellen a few beats and then he moves to find Ash and assess the kid. “What a mess,” he mutters softly to himself. But he’s pleased enough to find the body with a heartbeat and signs of life. His eyes turn up to the sky for a moment, taking in the blue stillness and he exhales a long breath. “And it’s just gonna get worse,” he murmurs to no one in particular.

But on that note, SHIELD medical arrives. The quinjet is fully prepared to take all for transport. And while at least one patient objects, a lot of sedative eats the objection. In short order everyone is receiving treatment. And when they’re alert, five will wake up in a place they don’t recall going to sleep.