So these beef jerky commercials have been haunting me; this Messin' with Sasquatch ad campaign in the States. I knew I wanted to use the title but I wasn't sure how. I just started writing and this is what came out.
Dean wants to revive the Prank Wars in order to find some balance between the brothers again. Unfortunately, a simple prank puts Sam's life in peril as Dean races against the clock to find his brother. This is a healthy balance of angst and limp.
Honestly, this is not my best work, and it's because I didn't have any beta input on this piece. BUT the reason I don't have a beta is because I've written this for my betas, Geminigrl11 and TraSan. Times have been rough as of late and these two friends have been there through thick and thin, always encouraging and supporting me. I can never thank you enough for all you do! ALL mistakes are mine, including horrible plot points and bad grammar.
I'd also like to send a huge hug to Irismay and Rozzy as well. I finally got to talk with them while I was in Scotland and they're every bit as charming as I'd imagined. You two have been amazing through all this writing malarky as well! So thank you.
Here's the craziness. I hope that some part of it is enjoyable. It's two parts with the second part being finished now. I expect to post on Monday (fingers crossed).
I didn't sign up for "Summer of Sam" and I'm not sure that this qualifies, but thanks to all those wonderful stories that have come from that initiative. Faye, you rock!
After Wishing Well
Oh yeah, this will be perfect.
The girl was sitting at the desk, thrumming her fingers on the yellowed pages, pretending to be fully engrossed in her novel. Dean watched her long, mousy brown hair fall gently to the page as she brushed it upwards and off her face, sighing softly. Thick glasses and a slight unibrow graced her visage. Her untidy appearance and mismatched clothing donned a slim physique and bony fingers.
But he knew what was really going on.
Dean watched as the woman's eyes were glued to Sam like a suction cup to the window. Her body twitched every so often in some sort of anticipation of movement from his brother. Dean caught her following Sam's torso to the wooden chair that supported his backside, tilting her head slightly as she tried to get the entire angle in her vision. He couldn't help but smile at the atypical behavior of the "gift" before him.
And, as usual, Sam was oblivious to her female wiles as he researched their latest case like a madman.
Not that Dean would particularly choose this girl for his brother but this just had the makings of something fun.
Messin' with Sasquatch.
After the weirdness in Concrete, Washington with the possible Big Foot sighting (which was actually a psychotic Teddy Bear turned real via wishing well) and those constant Beef Jerky commercials with the stupid people making fun of Big Foot, Dean knew that the stars were in line. He'd thought fondly of the Prank Wars – Nair, itching powder, the spoon in the mouth - and how he could bring his brother to the pinnacle of discomfort in the quickest period of time. Now. The best medicine was always laughter in Dean's book and Lord knew they needed some laughter in their lives.
Dean was still surprised that he'd actually confessed to remembering his time in hell to his little brother a few days back but holding it in just wasn't possible any longer. Of course, Uriel's big angelic mouth busting him out to Sam didn't help matters any but in a weird way, it felt good to get the secret off his chest. At least part of it. He wasn't sure that he'd ever tell Sam the whole story of his time in Hell.
In any case, they'd left that job with lots of unanswered questions and more awkwardness between them, as if there wasn't enough already. Hallmark didn't exactly make a "Sorry you spent some time in Hell" card and the guilt on Sam's face at what Dean had confessed was horrifying. It's why he never wanted Sam to know in the first place. Their relationship may have been strained, but Dean didn't blame Sam – it was Dean's decision to make the deal.
They were definitely not on their "A" game, so a little fun had to be had in order to bring things back around; show them how to laugh again.
Even if it was at the expense of an unassuming librarian in the middle of nowhere.
It was now or never as Sam had his nose buried deep in an ancient tome that they'd received permission to look through from said book keeper. That, in itself, must have piqued the girl's interest.
"I gotta take a leak. You okay?" Dean asked, hovering over his brother, waiting impatiently for an answer. It was nice to see Geek Boy again, even if it was just a quick side job for Bobby. Winchesters vs. Evil. God, he'd missed the simplicity of that.
But God was the problem; well at least, his angels were the problem. They'd inferred that Sam was up to some serious no good with Ruby but they didn't know exactly what it was. Dean had seen him exorcise Samhain with his mind, and that scared the crap out of him. The angels had also implied there was a good chance they'd smite his brother right then and there unless Dean pulled him in a different direction – back to the 'good' side. So, when Bobby asked them to run this hunt, Dean jumped at the chance to let things settle down a bit. A good old-fashioned hunt, filled with hours of research – Sam's specialty. And a way to keep him from Ruby.
This felt good. Really good.
"I got it," Sam began, ready to expand on the whole of his research. "I'm trying to find out if the Chinese sword was really from the Three…"
"Stop. Really, I don't want to know. You'll may make my ears bleed if you continue," Dean interrupted, putting his hands up in mock disgust. "Once you do your geek thing and tell me the particulars of the case, we'll figure out the rest. But right now, I gotta go. I'll… be back. Later." With that, Dean turned on his heel and split down the dimly lit corridor towards the bathroom watching as Sam huffed at the sudden departure.
Quickly making his way back around in a stealth maneuver, Dean wound up in front of the library information desk, staring at the woman staring at his brother.
"You know, he mentioned you," Dean said with a slight cough, startling the woman from her assumed not-so-nice thoughts. He motioned his head in Sam's direction, wiggling his eyebrows. As she returned the glance, Dean noted her stunningly beautiful, makeup-free blue eyes, taking him back for an odd moment. Regaining his composure, Dean continued. "He's a real brainiac, that one. LOVES the library and everything in it. Has a thing for librarians, you know, especially the smart ones. "
At this, the woman smiled, revealing stubby teeth that were surprisingly white. "Really? Do you think…will he come talk to me?" The voice was soft and innocent and Dean surmised she'd never been touched by a man in her life.
He took a few steps closer to the counter, knowing that he'd hooked his prey, simply needing to reel her in. "He's very shy. Loves his books and all. Perfect 4.0 student at Stanford," Dean revealed with a touch of pride, leaning even closer to the librarian, lowering his voice for only her. "Sam doesn't date much but I'm sure if you approached him…"
"Sam…" she said dreamily, clearly not listening to Dean anymore now that she had her beloved's name.
The woman carefully placed a bookmark in her novel and pulled herself from her chair. She straightened out her fuchsia, cotton top, pulling it down a little to expose some of her minimal cleavage and brushed her hands over her crinkled skirt. Her purse was perched next to her at the desk – bright red filled with buttons about peace and love – as she quickly pulled out some binaca, depressing the nozzle several times to get her breath nice and fresh for her love.
"Thanks! I'll take it from here," she stated matter-of-factly to Dean as she marched off with a strange gait in the direction of his brother.
Laughter erupted from his belly but Dean suppressed it so as not to give any clues to his brother. The crow's feet along Dean's eyes deepened as he thought of his brother squirming to get out of this one. He knew that Sam would be stunned at the forward advance of the woman, would be overly kind to her, giving her some story about not being able to date, yada yada yada, and would eventually send her on her way. But not before Dean got a few pictures for memory's sake (and the website he discovered where you upload pictures and make the people talk like cut out characters) to be used as bargaining chips later.
He made his way parallel to the action, positioning himself quietly in the rust colored stacks of the library. He only needed a few snapshots from a few angles and then he'd be on his way to the local java joint, completely inaccessible to Sam's cries for help.
If only Dean had seen the book lying on the faux marble countertop being read by the seemingly meek woman: The Ancient Book of Love Spells, Hexes, Voodoo and Evil Curses by the Black Arts Witch of Africa, Shozola DoraStar, before he walked away.
The research was going nowhere and Sam knew it. This whole thing was a diversionary tactic cooked up by Bobby to keep him away from Lilith, probably at Dean's request. But things had been strained between him and Dean since his brother's return from down under, and even more so since the dockside confession in Washington. Sam knew this was Dean's way of trying to bridge that gap, knowing that part of Sam was being eaten alive with guilt at the suffering he went through. Sam waffled back and forth between wanting to hug him or strangle him. But he figured that Ruby was still hot on Lilith's trail so he obliged and took this side job for the sake of their family. Trying to pull that bond back together again before it was irreparably shattered.
He slammed the latest text shut causing little puffs of dust to twirl around as he exhaled a deep sigh. Sam pulled his fingers through his chestnut hair wondering what he should do next, knowing that this was going nowhere.
"Anything I can help with? I know all about these tomes," the quiet feminine voice asked, surprising Sam as she approached him cautiously. "If you're looking for more Chinese mythology there's a great volume on the back wall in the oversized section. I can show you if you want."
As she continued to talk, shortening the distance between them, Sam watched her, furrowing his brow at the odd invitation. Normally, librarians seemed a bit freaked by their requests to look at ancient books on demonology and myths, running in terror the other way. But this one seemed genuinely interested from the get go, providing all the information they'd needed and then some.
"Actually, I think I'm going to take a break. My head is spinning and it seems my Chinese Rosetta Stone training is failing me," Sam added, leaning back in the wooden chair smiling uneasily as the woman continued forward in slow and determined steps. He took in her small frame and curious apparel, knowing that he'd met a hundred people like her along their travels: those who thought they understood the occult and monsters.
She suppressed a giggle at Sam's non-joke and continued on her path, her hair swishing from side to side. He watched as she fondled a stray piece, eventually pulling it behind her ear. That's when he realized what was happening.
"I actually know some Chinese. I could help, you know, if you wanted it." She shuffled her feet, now seemingly uncomfortable as she was only steps away, eyes to the floor.
That's when he noticed the movement from the left, behind the library stacks and Sam saw his brother dash off, holding something in his hands. Great. Now he has pictures.
"…Wendy. I don't know what my brother told you, but I'm not…"
"Oh! That's your brother. Well that makes this much more interesting then." Her whole demeanor seemed to change at the familial information, straightening up and looking more alert. A new confidence building with each step she took. "See, he told me that you had a thing for me, well, for librarians, and that I should come over here and ask you out."
Sam shook his head in disgust at his brother. Not only was he screwing with a nice girl, he was trying to pimp him out – again.
"I'm really sorry. Whatever he said…"
"Is irrelevant now that he's gone. He gave me exactly what I wanted." Her face was suddenly in Sam's, hot breath whispering with the smell of ginseng and licorice. "And now that we're alone at last, we have some things to talk about. I want to learn all about you."
Sam pulled back on years of instinct alone, head spinning in wisps of confusion as she continued her approach, circling around him. This had gone from bad to worse in an instant; the scent of her breath bringing awareness of something tainted. He tried to grasp at fleeting thoughts as fog crammed into his head like mist rolling in over an early morning harbor. His head could no longer form coherent or rational notions. Clearly this was no ordinary librarian but the more he fought it, the closer she got to him.
"Tell me, Sam, what do you want?" she asked, now finding her way to his lap, sitting sideways, toes barely reaching the ground as she'd found her new seat. "I mean, what will make you happy?" Her fingers twirled through his hair finding their way along his tight neck and eventually palming his muscular chest.
He tried to pull away but found it useless as she made herself comfortable. What was worse, he struggled against really answering her question but as the lies formed in his head, they played hide and seek in the clouds, melting away to the only answer that burned constantly in his mind.
"Lilith…dead." Why am I answering her? What has she done…
She placed her cold, dry lips over Sam's and began to kiss him, deeply. Her poison leaked from her breath into his soul; his body tensing and fighting the intrusion. The feel of her was surrounding him, suffocating his being. Sam closed his eyes to try and resist her.
"Not in your head, silly," Wendy laughed, pulling back and releasing her hold on his locks, walking her fingers down his chest. "What's in your heart?" she asked, pausing directly above it, causing Sam to open his confused eyes in response. The small tendrils of pressure were released momentarily and then her whole hand slammed against Sam.
A jolt of power coursed through him as she made contact, forcing Sam's head backwards unable to scream, trying to escape the pain. His vision grayed as he fought for awareness, sanity. Her question echoed through his head, bouncing off the corners of his mind:
What's in your heart?
What's in your heart?
What's in your… heart?
Churning thoughts plowed through, slowly erasing the smoke in his mind. His life flashed before him, finding the few happy moments that stuck out: Dean patting him on the head after playing catch, Dean beaming at his performance in Our Town, Dean teaching him to drive…
The first time he saw Jessica in English Lit, Jess smiling as they shared a cup of coffee as they studied in the library, Jess kissing him for the first time, Jess nuzzled up next to him wrapped in his arms, the feel of Jess as they made love, her smile, her touch, her love…
Sam's breath hitched as he absorbed the flow of memories; true and wonderful but painful. His world revolved around Jess for those years at Stanford. She'd made him feel real, loved. Normal. Even when he knew it was a lie, she was there. She loved him, he loved her. She was going to be his wife.
His mind slowed the assault as the picture of Jess faded away, a tear slowly making its way down his tense cheek. He inhaled at the pain her memories brought to him; the guilt at not being able to save her. The love he held in his heart for her, unrelenting. He felt the sting of the loss penetrating his soul all over again, tearing back the wound that never healed. Sam dropped his head in shame as failure came at him full-force again.
A finger caught the tear making a trail down his face, followed by a soft palm resting gently against it. Sam struggled to open his eyes, fog finally dissipating as he regained focus. He blinked several times at the vision before him, heart dropping to the floor at the woman staring back at him.
The blonde sitting contentedly on his lap smiled broadly, strands of her silky, curled hair falling softly across her perfect face. The striking blue of her eyes consumed him and he grabbed her face with both hands, rekindling the love they shared all those years ago.
Sam pulled back from his kiss, looking at her with awe. "Is it… really you? How can it…" Sam cried, gently caressing her face with the back of his hand, feeling the soft touch of her skin. He felt the sharp pangs of guilt stab his heart and his hand dropped like a lead balloon to his thigh. He tore his eyes away from her, face filled with disgust. "How can you…stand to be near me?"
He watched as her face scrunched in question as if she didn't know what he'd done to her.
"Oh, Baby. I always want to be with you. That's why I'm here," she answered in the sing song of her beautiful voice, wanting with every fiber of his being for this to be the truth.
"But…I let you die. It's all my fault. I knew..." Tears welled in his eyes and waterfalled down his face as Sam was caught in the moment of realization all over again.
"Shhh, Baby. It's okay," Wendy soothed, lightly stroking his cheek, wiping up the tears. "Let's get out of here so we can talk. Alone. Does that sound alright?"
Sam looked up and saw perfection in his arms smiling back at him. "How could I say no to you?"
Dean sipped his coffee – black – at the Jumpin' Java Coffee Café (apparently they liked alliteration) carefully checking his watch. It'd been twenty minutes since he'd left his brother in the "arms" of the librarian. Watching Sam pre-squirm to get out of her advances had made his day. Getting pictures of it – priceless! And the website? The razzing that would continue for months was worth it, especially after Sam saw him in the stacks and knew what he'd been up to. A smile broke out across his face; maybe it would help cut the tension between them since things had spun so out of control lately. A return to the Prank Wars was definitely in the game plan.
He finished up his cup, noting it was 3:25. He'd let Sam struggle for long enough; now it was time to swoop in and be the hero. Maybe Sam had found the answer to this hunt in those tomes. If not, they'd have a night to laugh about the day's events and have a few beers. Sometimes that was the best way to handle everything.
Dean hadn't wanted to confess about Hell to Sam but after Uriel had ratted him out, Sam had been a dog with a bone and wouldn't let up. At this point, it was easier to tell him and deal with the consequences of Sam's brooding. He knew the kid wanted to help, but there was no help, no way to describe what had happened down there. No way to convince Sam there was nothing to be done. He'd hoped that this would be the end of the discussion.
So, a return to the simpler ways seemed the best way to get past this which is why Dean brewed up the plan in the first place. Sam would be pissed, but he'd also be distracted and that was a win win in his column.
Committing to his decision, Dean rose and dumped the cup unceremoniously into the garbage, taking a leisurely stroll back to the library a few blocks down. The wind had picked up a little and there was a slight chill to the air. Strange for these summer months down south. But the apocalypse was coming, so who knew what bizarre weather patterns would arise.
The squat brick building came into view with Oakdale Community Library in art deco lettering of silver and black about half way up the side. Dean crossed over the lawn that clearly said "Do Not Walk on Grass" and made his way into the front entrance.
He'd left Sam in the basement stacks area so he trotted down the painted cement steps towards his brother. There was no telling what Dean would find when he finally pulled Sasquatch from the depths of despair like the damsel he was. A smirk ran across his face at the librarian trying with all her might to talk with Sam and his brother just squirming. Dean already had the evidence so the payoff would continue in droves.
The doors from the stairwell opened with a whoosh as the floor was mostly deserted. He saw a few kids hanging out in the anatomy section, giggling at the pictures of the human body. They quickly pushed the book away as they saw Dean approaching them. He nodded with a mischievous smile and kept walking, making his way down the brown corridor towards the special section. Sam had already taken several pages of notes on his yellow legal pad before Dean left and was buried in a pile of books ranging several subjects because they just weren't sure what this thing was.
Dean rounded the corner slowly, waiting to see whether Sam had been able to ditch the girl or not but what he found was that same pile of books and no Sam. He furrowed his brow and stepped around the corner, twisting his neck from side to side wondering where Gigantor had gotten to. He continued towards the table to find the yellow notepad with Sam's scribbles very prominently left on the counter.
No answer. And Dean wondered if Sam was playing his own joke.
But why would Sam leave the notes out for anyone to find? Sam wasn't sloppy and would never purposely allow someone else to stumble onto his research…
That could only mean that something had happened.
Trying to quell the panic that started to rise from his gut, Dean rushed back to the front desk to find Sam's "date" gone as well. He looked around, spotting an older woman with light gray hair gently shelving books to his right.
"Excuse me, ma'am? Do you know where the young lady is that was sitting here?" Dean asked, trying not to be too loud, incurring the wrath of any other librarian within earshot.
"Oh, Wendy? Goodness, I haven't seen her in about half an hour when I checked in with her at the desk," she replied, walking towards Dean with a slight limp. "She's usually very good about keeping the post."
Changing tactics to gather more information, Dean continued. "Did you happen to see the young man that was sitting in the special stacks earlier? I think maybe she went to speak with him."
"Oh, the tall boy? Yes, Wendy did mention him," she added, thinking something good would come of it. "Maybe they hit it off? She's such a sweet girl. Perhaps they went to have a bite to eat?" The woman's smile faded as she sensed the worry in Dean's eyes. "Although, she would have said something to me…."
Dean wanted to be angry, and maybe he still was, but until he could place all the pieces together, worry had taken the front seat.
The woman offered a polite smile in return as she headed back the way she came, book in hand, job on her mind.
Dean did another quick around, getting ready to leave when he noticed a book at the desk where Wendy had been sitting. It didn't take him long to get a glimpse of the cover.
The Ancient Book of Love Spells, Hexes, Voodoo and Evil Curses…
"Witches! I hate witches! Haven't we had enough of those skanks in the last few weeks?" Dean pulled his hand down his face, popping behind the desk, checking out the area for any other clues. "No wonder she was looking at him like a piece of meat. Damn it!"
Obviously Wendy had taken her purse but Dean was looking for anything else she might have left behind to tell him where his brother might be. Tooling around the area, he found a schedule with the names of the workers and their shifts.
WENDY YOUNG – Tuesday 10-6
Well, that would help a bit and it certainly meant that she'd bailed on her shift. Now he'd have to figure out where she lived and what she had in store for Sam. Grabbing the spell book and cramming it into his jacket, he walked back to the older librarian to see if he could gather any more information.
"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm sorry to keep bothering you," Dean said, putting his best charms forward. "I'm wondering if you can tell me where Wendy likes to hang out. Maybe she and my brother are there. See, Sam has diabetes and his insulin shots are in my car. If he left without them, well, I'm not really sure what'll happen…"
"Oh dear!" she cried, switching to motherly mode, putting her current book down. "I really don't know. She lives quite a ways from here in Park Forest so I don't think she'd have anywhere local to go. Maybe the coffee house down the road?"
Now he had a name and city; he just had to figure out where she might have taken his brother.
She couldn't believe her luck.
The minute Sam had walked in the door of the library, the perimeter spells she'd cast had sprung into action. Not only was he extremely handsome and a great kisser, he had on over-the-top guilt factor built in. Then once she'd learned that Jess had died, Wendy had carefully fed lines to Sam to figure out why he believed that he'd caused her untimely death.
What she'd learned astounded her.
It seemed that Sam had years of pent up guilt regarding his girlfriend's death because a demon had come to claim him, killing Jess instead. After given the opportunity to talk about it, he leaked like a sieve with information.
This was no ordinary boy.
Under normal circumstances, she'd have thought that Sam Winchester was insane, although she hadn't ruled that out yet, but since the potion removed any chances of deception, she knew that she'd hit pay dirt. He was exactly what she was looking for.
Guilt on a stick.
There were still some things that were buried deep about this enigma of a man, but sooner or later he'd spill – literally.
Dean quickly found Wendy's home address; a twenty-five mile drive from the library. Typically, not a huge distance but when one little brother was missing – especially in light of everything that'd been going on as of late – it was too long of a distance. And chances were that they wouldn't even be there. Dean just hoped there would be some clue where to find them.
He'd made the drive in twenty minutes which was rather impressive seeing as the speed limit was 35 most of the way. The badge was always there as a back up in emergencies, and this definitely constituted an emergency.
Pulling in front of the white with brown trim ranch-style home, he glanced again at the address, 226 Hawthorne Blvd, hovering out the window of the Impala. The driveway held a few spots where oil had leaked from whatever car sat there and the bushes around the yard were unkempt and dying. There was a small herb garden just under the picture window where it would get the perfect amount of sun. Even from this distance, Dean was relatively sure that there were some pretty funky herbs growing in there for a "typical" librarian.
It was definitely the right house. The bad thing: no visible signs of Sam.
Dean made quick work of scoping the surrounding area for nosey neighbors in a drive by. He assumed that in a neighborhood like this, most of the crowd was still working. He'd found a spot to stash the Impala that was relatively inconspicuous, grabbed the fake badge, pick set, his Glock and a few sundry items and high-tailed it back to the house to look for clues.
The gate to the back yard seemed the easiest bet as he quietly slithered through the door, shutting it with a soft click. The entire yard was fenced in which left very little room for neighbors to know what was up. More herbs were scattered about the yard, some in circular patterns or growing in secluded areas. Symbolism that he'd seen many times with black magic littered the yard, forming worship areas and sacred spots. She'd definitely done her homework on the apothecary and effigies.
The back door was connected to a rotting porch, sliding to allow entry. Dean checked for anything that would indicate an alarm and moved forward with his B&E, pushing the handle up quickly and gaining entrance to the witch's home.
Books were scattered everywhere and a strange odor of licorice and something he couldn't put his fingers on permeated the walls. Her furniture was as mismatched as she was; a garage sale of knickknacks and household goods. He made his way to her bookshelf to read the contents:
Ancient Spells of the Gods
Binding Rituals in the World of Black Magic
Definitely stuff that Bobby would be interested in adding to his own collection if for no other reason than to be able to fight future witch attacks.
Dean continued his way through the house, stopping to look at pictures of assumed family members, friends and cherished pets. The mantle was relatively bare of frames but the few that were there were probably her parents as the faces were older and the photographs yellowed with time.
There was one picture of Wendy dressed to the nines with a young boy. Probably prom. He was average looking with a goofy smile, donning a suit that was clearly too big for him. His arm was wrapped tightly around Wendy's shoulder, squishing the boutonniere she'd purchased for him. As Dean stepped closer to the mantel, he noticed a small, black ribbon wrapped at the corner of the frame. He touched the fabric and the frame moved slightly, revealing a dried flower behind the picture that looked suspiciously like the rose he'd worn on his lapel.
Continuing around the house, there was a photo album of clippings not far from the ledge. Opening the book, he learned that the young man's name was Stan Billings. Flipping through the articles, it seemed that Stan was on his way to Princeton with a full-ride as class Valedictorian until a drunk driver had killed him shortly after prom in 2005. The community had been devastated.
And by the look of it, so had Wendy. She had her own personal shrine to the boy.
But that didn't explain why she took Sam…
He continued to case the house, finding a door to the basement. While going down there with no backup did not seem like a very good option, Dean had no idea what was going on with his brother. If the basement held the answers, he'd make his way down.
The finished space was quite neat and tidy compared to the rest of the home. He cautiously pulled his Glock from the back of his jeans, holding it at the ready. Dean tip-toed through the basement, finding the room much smaller than he'd imagined. Near what appeared to be the front of the house, there was a wooden door that looked like some kind of pantry. Raising his gun higher, he mentally counted to three and swung the room open to find a small alter with burning black candles and that smell of licorice again. Looking around, Dean found a small picture of Stan and some pieces of hair. The rest of the items he could not identify and really didn't want to know. A tiny cauldron of sorts bubbled merrily, emitting a putrid odor of dirt and burning flesh – both smells he was uncomfortably familiar with. To the side, an even larger cauldron stood, obviously waiting for some ingredient to get it going. A shiver ran down Dean's spine, wondering what that could be.
Gathering what information he could from the set up, he turned to exit the room, stopping at the wall behind him. He approached the paper taped to it, chicken scratching all over the page with arrows and pictures every which way. It was obviously some kind of spell. Looking at the rest of the sheet, Dean's face blanching at the final ingredient.