Fantasy Becomes Reality
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Not making any money. I'm just having some fun.
Patrick Quinn parked his truck in front of the little cabin nestled in the woods far off the beaten path. He got out and breathed in the cool, crisp air. He came out to this cabin just about every other weekend to kind of commune with nature and do a little fishing. He loved the isolation of the place. Sometimes he just needed to get away from it all. He may live in a small town just twenty miles from here, but small towns can sometimes be hectic too especially with a wife and two kids, who could be a handful.
Grabbing his fishing gear from the bed of the truck, he walked up to the small cabin. The place was special to him. It was left to him by his father, and it was given to him by his father before that. Once inside, he put his gear down on the small table and proceeded to build a fire to take the chill out of the air.
As he was putting logs into the fireplace, there was a knock at the door. His brown furrowed in puzzlement. Now who could that be? He wondered as he went to answer the door. He opened the door, but there was no one there. Even more puzzled, he stuck his head out the door and looked around. There was no one in sight. Shrugging, he was about to go back inside when he noticed a metal briefcase sitting on the porch in front of the door. Taking one last look around, he picked up the briefcase and brought it inside.
He placed the briefcase on the table. There was no note or card or anything to indicate where it came from or who sent it. He tried to open it, but it was locked and appeared to need a key to open. Scratching his head, he shrugged and went back to building the fire. He'd figure out the mystery of the briefcase later.
He was just about to light the fire when he heard something liquid hitting the floor. He turned around, and his mouth fell open. What looked like blood was pouring out the still closed briefcase. It was just streaming from the seam like a waterfall. He ran to the briefcase, nearly slipping on the blood-coated floor. He tried to get it open once again, but it still wouldn't open. He soon realized he was standing ankle-deep in blood. There was no way that much blood could fit in the small briefcase and yet the blood continued to pour out of it.
He quickly sloshed his way to the door and found it to be locked. He twisted and turned the knob, frantically trying to break free, but it wouldn't budge. The blood was up to his knees now. Getting really scared now, he went to one of the windows and tried to break it with his fist. When his hand started to hurt, he picked up a chair. The blood was up to his waist now as he swung the chair into the window. But it was like the windows were shatter-proof as not even a crack appeared in the glass. He continued to try though until the blood got so high he couldn't swing the chair anymore.
He frantically tried to keep his head above the thick red liquid until the level reached the ceiling and completely engulfed his head. He continued to hit the window with his hand. He could feel his lungs burning with the need for oxygen. Then his body went still as he lost his grip on consciousness.
It was minutes before the blood level started to go down, and in seconds the blood was completely gone, leaving no trace that it was ever there. Patrick Quinn lay dead on the floor, and the briefcase was gone.
Sam sat in the Impala looking through the local newspaper he had bought at the last gas station while Dean drove. They had just finished with a particularly nasty spirit and were now on the lookout for a new hunt. Sam was looking for anything unusual in the paper, but Ozzy Osbourne's Suicide Solution was blaring so loud through the speakers that he was having a little difficulty concentrating on what he was reading.
Sam looked at his brother who was bobbing his head and singing along. He shook his head. It was a wonder he didn't blow out the Impala's speakers. He knew it was probably a waste of time to ask, but he was starting to get a headache.
"Hey Dean," Sam yelled over the music. "Could you turn that down?"
Dean grinned and turned the music up louder. "What! I can't hear you! The music's too loud!"
Sam rubbed his temple. "You're a jerk!" he yelled louder.
"Yeah, and you're a bitch!"
Sam looked down at the article he was trying to read. "Look, do you want to hear about our next hunt or not?"
That got Dean's attention. He quickly turned the music down and looked at Sam quizzically. "So what do you got?"
"Not sure. Listen to this. 'Man Dies Mysteriously. Patrick Quinn, age 45, was found dead in his cabin in the woods about ten miles outside of his hometown of Oakvale, Massachusetts. He had gone up there for a weekend of fishing, but when he didn't return, his wife went to check on him. The local authorities are baffled as to what exactly happened, but according to the coroner's report, Quinn died from drowning in blood. However, there was no trace of blood at the scene or on the victim, or there was so sign of trauma on the body.'"
"Ok, that's weird," Dean said.
"Well, here's the really weird part. According to this article, the blood that was found in his lungs wasn't his. The blood that was in his lungs was Type A. He was Type O."
"That is really weird. Guess we're going to Oakvale."
Dean stepped on the gas little harder and turned the music up a little louder, but not as loud as it had been before for which Sam was grateful.
Arriving in the small town of Oakvale, the first thing the brothers did was get a hotel room. Then they headed over to Patrick Quinn's house to have a little talk with his wife.
Stopping in front of the house, they got out of the car. It looked like any normal American family home with the white picket fence and a tire swing out front. Dean crossed his arms as he looked at the two-story dwelling.
"Well, this looks too normal," he said.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, come on."
They walked up to the house and knocked on the door. A woman in her thirties answered. Her eyes were red and puffy and her face was tear-stained. She had a used tissue in one hand that she was using to dry her eyes.
"Yes? Can I help you?" she asked.
"Mrs. Quinn?" Sam asked.
"Hi, I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean. We're your husband's nephews."
"Oh!" she said in surprise. "Um, please come in." She stepped aside to allow them to enter. "I wasn't aware Patrick had any siblings."
"Yeah, well, he and our dad had this huge fight years ago, and they haven't spoken to each other since," Sam replied easily. He couldn't believe how lying had become such a natural thing for him, but it was all part of the job.
"Yeah," Dean chimed in. "We haven't seen Uncle Patrick since we were kids."
"We heard about his death, and we just wanted to pay our respects," Sam said.
"Thank you. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"
"Coffee, please," Dean said.
"Uh, nothing for me, thanks," Sam said.
Mrs. Quinn walked away, leaving them to their own devices. Sam walked into the family room and looked at the pictures on the fireplace mantle. Many were snapshots of two children at varying stages of their lives, and some were of the whole family. They looked happy. They looked normal. So what had happened to cause such tragedy in their lives? Sam felt heartache for the woman who lost her husband and the children who lost their father. Sam felt Dean come up behind him.
"What the hell did this, Dean?" he asked.
"I don't know, Sammy, but we'll figure it out."
Mrs. Quinn returned a few minutes later with two cups of coffee. She set one on the coffee table but kept the other in her hand as she sat down on the couch. Sam and Dean took a seat on the other couch across from her.
"So Mrs. Quinn…" Sam began.
"Oh, please, call me Lisa."
"Ok. Lisa, what can you tell us about your husband?"
"He was a very sweet, caring, loving man and a wonderful father. He loved his boys so much," she said, glancing at a picture on the mantle of the two boys playing in the yard.
"How old are they?" Sam asked.
"Ten and fourteen."
Four years apart. The significance of that didn't escape Sam's attention. He glanced over at his brother. He couldn't imagine losing their father at that age. Hell, he couldn't even imagine losing their father right now. He may not get along with his father, but he still loved him.
"I just can't believe something like this could happen," Lisa went on. "I mean how can you drown in blood when there's no blood to drown in?"
Sam and Dean looked at each other, wishing they could answer that question.
"You know he wasn't always so kind," Lisa said.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
"I remember in high school he was a real jerk. He was a part of the popular crowd, and he and his group of friends used to go around making fun of people. I mean they terrorized a lot of kids back then, and I always hated them for that. They never really did anything to me, but I hate people like that. But after high school, Patrick really changed. He became a real sweetheart, and I just fell in love with him. I just can't believe he's gone."
Sam looked at her sympathetically. He was almost reluctant to continue, but they needed more information if they were going to figure out what happened. He took a deep breath.
"Lisa, did your husband ever mention seeing or hearing anything strange before he died?" Sam asked.
"No, not that I remember."
"What about the cabin?" Dean asked. "Anything strange happen there?"
"Strange like how?"
"Um, strange noises, temperature changes, things seem to move from one spot to another," Dean explained.
Lisa's brow furrowed. "No, nothing like that. What kind of questions are these?"
Sam looked at Dean and then back at Lisa. "We're sorry. We just want to find out what happened to our uncle. You have to admit his death is kind of strange."
Lisa lowered her eyes. "I know. And it's funny. Patrick's death isn't the only strange death that's occurred here."
Dean straightened up a bit and leaned forward slightly. "Really."
"Yeah, Jeff Morrison died about a week before Patrick."
"What happened to him?" Dean asked.
"It's weird. He froze to death in his living room."
"What?" Dean said, his eyebrows raised.
"Yeah. The police are still trying to figure it out. I mean it was sixty degrees outside that day, and it was seventy inside. No one knows how it happened."
Sam and Dean glanced at each other.
"Did they know each other?" Sam asked. "Your husband and Morrison."
Lisa nodded. "They were best friends in high school. But they hadn't really talked to each other since then."
Sam thought about that. This couldn't be a coincidence that there were two mysterious deaths in this small town, not to mention the fact that the two victims knew each other. So what was causing these deaths and why? He had a feeling that it had to be something that happened when they were in high school since none of these people had really seen each other since then. But the question was, what?
"Who else was in this group of friends you told us about?" Sam asked.
"Um, well, Patrick and Jeff obviously. There was also Patrick's old girlfriend, Shelly Long, and her friend Maria Santiago. I think there was one other guy, but I can't remember his name."
"Do any of them still live here?"
"Shelly I know moved to California and became a teacher. Maria still lives here though. She works at the diner."
Sam nodded and made a mental note of that. They may need to talk to her later. She may be the next victim.
"Lisa, do you mind if we go up to your husband's cabin just to have a look around?" Dean asked.
"Um, I suppose it'll be alright," she said a little uncertainly. She reached for a piece of paper and pen. "His death hasn't really been declared a crime. Here are the directions." She handed them the paper.
"Thanks. Well, we should be going," Dean said. He took a quick drink of his untouched cup of coffee just to be polite before he stood up.
"It was nice meeting you," she said as she led them to the door. "And I'm sorry you didn't get to know Patrick the way that I did."
"Yeah, us too," Sam said.
They walked back to the Impala and went to their respective sides. They looked at each other over the roof of the car.
"Well, that was enlightening," Dean said.
"So you think those two deaths are related?" Sam asked.
"Oh no doubt. So what are we dealing with here?"
"Spirit?" Sam suggested.
"Maybe, but spirits don't usually change their method of killing between victims."
"Possibly," Dean said thoughtfully. He looked down at the paper in his hand. "Let's go check out the cabin and see what we can find out."
A man with shoulder-length dark hair and two silver rings piercing his bottom lip stood across the street from Patrick Quinn's house smoking a cigarette. He watched as the Winchesters drove away.
Now who are they and what are they doing talking to Quinn's widow? He wondered. They didn't look like cops with those clothes and that car, but he had a bad feeling they may be trouble for him. Nothing was going to stand in his way. He was going to get his revenge. Quinn and Morrison and their other little friends made his life a living hell, made it so he dreaded going to school every day. Now that he had the chance to get back at them, he wasn't going to let two strangers ruin it for him.
He took one last drag of his cigarette and then flicked the butt into the grass. He walked to his car deciding to follow those two and see what they're up to.
It took about two hours to get to the cabin in the woods. Exiting the car, they looked at the very small cabin.
"Man, can this place get any smaller?" Dean said. "And I thought the cabin Dad made us stay at in Minnesota was small."
"Oh please don't bring that up," Sam said as he walked toward the trunk.
Dean looked back at his little brother and smiled. Sammy had only been seven at the time. Dad was hunting a Wendigo out in the woods nearby, and they were forced to stay in a small cabin way out in the boonies in the middle of winter with no school and no other kids in sight. It hadn't been fun for his kid brother.
Dean joined Sam at the trunk. They grabbed a couple of EMF meters. Even though Dean was sure it wasn't a spirit, it was better to be safe than sorry. They also grabbed a couple of flashlights. Even though it was daytime, it was kind of dark and dreary out so there wouldn't be much light inside the cabin.
Once inside, they took a look around. There wasn't much there. There was just a couch and coffee table in front of the fireplace and a small round table in the corner near the door with a couple of chairs. And there seemed to be only one bedroom. It didn't take long to canvass the entire cabin.
"Anything?" Sam asked.
"Nope, not a thing."
Sam sighed. "There's got to be something."
"I don't know what to tell you, Sam. I've got nothing on the EMF meter, and there seems to be nothing out of the ordinary. It doesn't look like anything supernatural happened here."
"Well, something happened to that guy, Dean. Something killed him."
"It doesn't look like we're going to find anything here. C'mon. We'll find out the address of that Jeff Morrison guy and check out his place. Maybe we'll have more luck." Dean headed toward the door.
With one last look around, Sam followed, but as he was walking out the door he happened to look up and saw some kind of symbol carved into the wall above the door. It was a circle with lines going through the middle in some sort of pattern, almost like a pentacle but different. He stopped.
"Whoa, wait. Hold up," Sam called as he took a step backward.
"What is it?" Dean asked as he came back into the cabin.
"Check that out," Sam said, pointing.
"What the hell is that?"
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." He took out his phone and took a picture of it. "You ever seen anything like it?"
"No, not that I know of. Kind of an odd thing to have carved into your wall though, don't ya think?" Dean commented as he looked closer at the picture.
"Yep. At least it's something."
Back at the hotel, Sam immediately took out his laptop and started doing research on their mystery symbol. Dean sat down on his bed and flipped on the TV. He channel surfed for a little while, but when he couldn't find anything worth watching, he took out the guns and started cleaning them.
It was a few hours later that Dean started getting restless. He looked at his brother who was still typing away at his laptop.
"Dude, have you found anything yet?"
"Not yet," Sam replied distractedly.
Dean sighed. He always hated the research aspect of the job. Luckily, he had the researching wizard on his side so he didn't have to do it. Sam was always good at finding information even when he was a kid. But the waiting was just as bad.
"Well, I'm going to get something to eat. I'm starving," he said as he got up and grabbed his jacket. "You want anything?"
"Yeah, sure. Whatever."
Dean shook his head and left. When he returned an hour later, Sam was still in front of his computer. He put the paper bag on the table and dug out Sam's chicken sandwich.
"Hey, geek boy, food," Dean said, tossing the sandwich onto the table next to his brother.
"Oh thanks. Hey Dean, I think I found out what this symbol is."
"Oh yeah?" Dean said as he pulled out his burger and sat down to enjoy it. "What is it?"
"It's called the Seal of Oricalcos."
Dean took a bite of his burger and swallowed quickly. "The Seal of Ori-what?"
"Oricalcos. It's a symbol used in a pagan ritual to bring thoughts and fantasies to life but with grave consequences."
Dean raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything as he continued to eat.
"According to what I found out, this ritual requires two of these symbols. One the user keeps with him at all times. The other is put in a place where the user wants his thoughts or fantasies to manifest."
"So someone is using this seal of whatever to kill people?"
"It looks that way. It would explain the mysterious deaths."
"What about these grave consequences you were talking about?"
"Well, apparently, if a person uses the seal too much, it eventually turns on them. It sucks the life out of them."
Dean looked at him and shook his head. "Great. So not only do we have to figure out who's doing this before he kills someone else, we also have to find him before the seal kills him."
"Exactly. Now I'm willing to bet that the seal is what also killed Jeff Morrison, but the only way to prove that is to have a look at his house, see if we can find the seal."
Dean smiled as he put his burger down. "Well, then it's a good thing I found out the guy's address, now isn't it?" he said as he pulled a folded up piece of paper from his pocket.
Sam looked at him in surprise. "When did you do that?"
"When I went to get the food. I also managed to get Maria Santiago's home and work addresses in case we need to go talk to her."
Sam smiled as he pulled the sandwich close to him and pulled off the wrapper. "Then I guess we better hurry up and eat so we can check out Morrison's house."
They arrived at Morrison's house a half hour later. Luckily, the house was still vacant so they didn't have to deal with any new owners. They picked the lock and went inside.
"So, where do we start?" Dean asked.
Sam looked around. It was a rather nice two-story house. There was still some furniture that probably belonged to the previous owner.
"I'll take the upstairs. You take the downstairs," Sam suggested.
"Works for me."
"Be sure to search every nook and cranny."
Dean stopped and looked at his brother. "Nook and cranny? Did you seriously just say that? What are you, a girl?"
Sam glared. "Alright. Just look everywhere, ok? It's probably someplace where it won't be easily seen." He headed toward the stairs.
Sam paused with his foot on the bottom step. He looked over his shoulder at Dean. "You know you can be such an ass sometimes."
"Thank you," Dean said with a smirk.
Sam shook his head and continued up the steps.
Still smiling, Dean started his search. He checked every inch of wall space and even checked underneath the tables and chairs. He checked inside all the cabinets in the kitchen and behind the fridge but found nothing.
Walking into the living room, he stood with his hands on his hips thinking. The guy was killed in this room. So maybe it had to be in this room. He looked around. He had already checked all the furniture in here as well as all the walls. What else was there? Then his eyes settled on a painting on the wall. Narrowing his eyes, he walked over to the painting and pulled it off the wall. Sure enough, there it was on the wall where the painting had been.
"Bingo. Hey Sam!"
Sam came down the stairs a moment later. "What is it? Did you find it?"
"Yep. Guess we just proved your theory."
Dean replaced the painting and they went back out to the car.
"Ok, so, these guys were definitely killed by the same person," Sam said.
"Yep, and it's too coincidental that these guys were friends in high school. Whoever's doing this probably went to high school with them, probably someone they made fun of. This guy's out for revenge, and he's not done yet."
"Yeah, but why wait all these years?" Sam wondered.
"Well, think about it. What would you do if you were suddenly handed the means to get back at the people who terrorized your high school existence even if it was like thirty years later or something?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I was never really picked on in school."
"Well, that's because you had a big brother like me to protect you," Dean said with pride as he put his arm around Sam's shoulders. "But trust me. There were plenty of kids who wanted to pick on you, geek boy, but I set them straight."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Gee thanks." He tried to sound sarcastic, but he knew it was true. On many occasions growing up, some bully would try to pick on him, and Dean would be right there to defend him. He owed Dean a lot for the things he did.
"Don't mention it. Now, Maria Santiago works at the diner just down the street. Let's go see if we can get some information out of her on who this guy might be."
Dean headed toward the Impala. He wasn't kidding when he said he protected Sam in school. He would never let anybody or anything mess with his little brother, supernatural or otherwise. That was a promise he made to himself the night he carried baby Sammy from their fire-engulfed house all those years ago.
They arrived at the diner twenty minutes later. Walking inside, they took a seat at one of the booths and immediately spotted Maria as one of the waitresses. She was a Hispanic woman in her mid-forties with long black hair. She walked over to their table with a small notepad and a pencil.
"Hi guys," she said with a smile. "What can I get you?"
Dean smiled back flirtatiously. "What do you recommend?"
The woman blushed and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Well, that depends. Are you for a meal or dessert?"
"Then I'd recommend our famous blueberry pie. The best in all the county."
"Mmmm. Sounds good. I'll have that."
"Ok. And for you?" she asked, turning to Sam.
Sam gave her a small smile. "Nothing for me, thanks."
"Ok," she said with a shrug and turned to walk away.
"Hey, uh, aren't you Maria Santiago?" Dean asked.
She turned back toward them. "Yes, I am. Do I know you?"
"No, I don't think so. I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam. We understand that you were friends with Patrick Quinn and Jeff Morrison."
Her smile faded. "Yes, in high school. I haven't spoken to them in a while though. I was sorry to hear that they died. I still can't believe it."
"Yeah, neither can we."
Her brow furrowed. "Did you know them?"
"Patrick was our uncle," Sam answered.
"Oh," she said, putting her hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
"Well, we didn't really know him all that well, and we're just asking around trying to find out a little bit more about him," Dean explained.
"And we heard that you and them were kind of the town bullies back then," Sam went on.
She sighed guiltily. "Yes, that's true. It's not something I'm proud of. We were just kids."
"Was there anyone in particular that you guys made fun of more than the others?" Dean asked.
Maria frowned, puzzled by the odd questioning. She shrugged. There was no harm in answering. These boys were just trying to find out all about their uncle and his past. She thought about it.
"Well, there was this one kid," she said after a moment. "Dillon Marks, I think his name was. Patrick and Jeff really didn't like this kid. They picked on him every chance they got. Every time they saw him they just had to mess with him. I still don't know why. The rest of us just kind of went along."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. They may have just found their culprit.
"Does he still live here?" Dean asked.
"Um, last I heard he was still living in his parents' old house at the end of old Turner Road. I haven't seen him in a while though. I don't know if he still lives there."
Sam and Dean thanked her for the information and left, Dean carrying a box with a piece of blueberry pie inside. He hadn't wanted to disappoint Maria who had been so helpful to them. Besides, he really did want to try it. He hadn't had blueberry pie since he was a kid.
Back in the Impala, they drove over to the house at the end of old Turner Road. The three-story ramshackle house looked like no one had lived there for years. They weren't even sure they had the right house at first. It didn't even look fit for occupancy. The front lawn was overgrown with some patches of brown dead grass. The wooden planks that made up the front fence were falling off. It looked like there was a hole in the roof and some of the windows were broken. If this guy actually lived here, he didn't take care of it very well.
"Oh man. The guy actually lives here?" Dean asked as he looked up at the house.
"I don't know. It doesn't look like it."
Dean walked up the porch steps. The wood boards creaked ominously under his feet.
"I swear to god. This thing better not collapse under me," Dean muttered as he knocked on the door.
Sam stayed at the foot of the stairs. He didn't think those old boards would be able to hold both their weight, and he'd rather not risk it. Dean knocked again, but there was no movement inside.
"Dean, I don't think he lives here," Sam said.
Dean maneuvered himself off the would-be deathtrap otherwise known as the front porch and joined Sam at the bottom. "Maybe not, but we should check to make sure. Let's check around back."
They walked around the side of the house. Dean stopped when he noticed a light on in the basement window.
"Well, someone's home. There's a light on in the basement," Dean said. He crouched down in front of the small window and peered inside. The window was so dingy and dirty he could barely see anything, but what he could make out looked like some kind of altar.
"What do you see?" Sam asked as he crouched down next to him.
"An altar maybe. I don't know. It's kind of hard to see. We gotta get in here." Dean pushed on the basement window and surprisingly it popped open with ease. He grinned at Sam before crawling through feet first. Sam followed suit.
The basement was fairly large, and it looked clean and lived in with a bed and a couch and a couple of end tables. But what caught the brothers' attention was the small table against the left wall. It was covered in a red cloth with lit candles on both ends with a space in the middle like something belonged there. And there were several pieces of paper hanging on the wall above the table.
Dean walked over to the table and looked at the pieces of paper. "What the hell is this? Bloodbath? Frostbite?" he asked, reading the title of each page.
Sam looked at them too and pulled the one called "Bloodbath" off the wall. "Dean, I think these are stories. Listen to this: Bloodbath By Dillon Marks. Dated March 28th.
"Patrick Quinn arrived at his little cabin in the woods promptly at 7:30am like he always did almost every weekend. Shortly after bringing in his gear, there was a knock on the door. He opened the door to find a small metal briefcase sitting on the porch in front of the door. He picked it up and brought it inside, placing it on the table. After failing to get the briefcase open, he shrugged and went back to making the fire.
"Shortly thereafter, blood began pour out of the briefcase like a waterfall, covering the wood floor. Patrick tried in vain to get the door open, but it was suddenly locked. He tried to break a window with a chair, but it was almost like it was unbreakable. The blood filled the cabin completely, consuming the man and filling his lungs with the red liquid."
"Creative," Dean commented.
"And deadly. This is what happened to Patrick Quinn."
"That explains how he drowned in blood," Dean said as he pulled the paper entitled "Frostbite" from the wall. "I'm guessing this one is about Jeff Morrison. Check this out: Frostbite by Dillon Marks. Dated March 20th.
"Jeff Morrison was sitting in his living room reading a book late at night. He closed his eyes for only a moment, and when he opened them again he suddenly found himself standing in a meat freezer. Sides of beef and pork hung from the ceiling on hooks all around him.
"He shivered and wound his way through the meat to the freezer door. He tried to open it, but it was locked solid. He banged on it and yelled at the top of lungs, but his cries fell on deaf ears.
"His shaking and shivered worsened as time went on, and no matter what he did to keep warm, his body temperature continued to drop. He started to feel sleepy and tried his best to stay awake. But the lull of sleep was too strong, and he couldn't stay awake anymore. He succumbed to the cold embrace of death."
"There is something seriously wrong with this guy," Sam said.
"Yeah, no doubt," Dean agreed as he dropped the paper on the table. "So that's how he does it. He writes out these stories and then they come true."
"Yeah, and it looks like he's written two more." Sam pulled another piece of paper off the wall. "It's dated March 15th."
"That's before Morrison died."
Sam nodded. "It's about Shelly Long. She's dead."
Dean winced. "Do I want to know how?"
"It's called 'A Break in TV'. Does that give you any hints?"
Dean grimaced and waited for Sam to continue even though he had a pretty good idea of what happened to the woman.
"Her head was smashed through a TV that was mounted on a wall."
Dean shook his head. "I'm really beginning to hate this guy," he said as he took the other paper off the wall.
"What does that one say?" Sam asked.
"This one's dated today. It's about Maria."
Sam's eyes widened. "Where?"
"It looks like her house. Oh man. Looks like we've got a fight on our hands." Dean turned the paper toward his brother so he could read the title: "Axe Murderer".
Dean dropped the paper on the table, and they both ran back to the window crawled back through it.
Shortly after Sam and Dean left the basement, Dillon Marks crawled out of his hiding spot under the stairs. Pushing his long hair out of his face, he carried a big black case over to the table. He picked up the pieces of paper where they had been dropped haphazardly on the table and floor and hung them back on the wall.
He knew those guys were going to be trouble, and now it looked like they were going to try to save Maria. It didn't matter. Even if they did manage to save her, he'd just write another story for her later. He'll get her eventually after he took care of those two strangers. No one was going to interfere with his revenge.
He opened the case and took out an old typewriter. The Seal of Oricalcos was painted on the sides. He placed the typewriter on the table and put some paper in it. He was going to write a story about one of them. He had already managed to get into their hotel room to plant the seal. Now all he had to do was write it out. He had only managed to get one of their names, Dean. He would take care of him first. He pulled a chair over to the table and began to type.
Dean drove as fast as he could toward Maria's house. He just hoped they weren't too late. He had really liked the woman even though he was half her age. She had been sweet and helpful, and she didn't deserve to be hacked up by some axe murderer.
Dean stopped abruptly in front of Maria's house. They both jumped out of the car and ran toward the front door. They could hear her screaming from inside, and Dean wasted little time kicking the door in. When they got inside, they saw Maria cowering on the floor and a big burly man standing over her. He was dressed in jeans and a brown jacket, and he had a black ski mask over his head. He turned around at their entrance, a large double-bladed axe in his hands.
Both brothers took out their guns and shot the man in the chest several times as he advanced on them. He fell to the floor like a ton of bricks. With twin sighs, they ran to see if Maria was ok.
"Maria?" Sam said as he knelt down in front of her. "Are you alright?"
She lifted her tear-stained face. "I think so. H-he came out of nowhere." She looked over Sam's shoulder and gasped.
"Sam! Move!" Dean shouted.
Sam looked over his shoulder and then quickly dove to the side as the axe came down and lodged into the wooden floor where he had been crouching. He turned over onto his back and pointed his gun at the psycho with the axe. His shots joined Dean's as the man was once again bombarded with hot lead, and then suddenly he disappeared.
"You ok, little brother?" Dean asked.
"Yeah. I'm good."
Dean helped Sam up and they both looked around for the axe-wielding maniac.
"Where did he go?" Maria asked shakily.
"Good question. Man, these guns don't do shit. It's like fighting the tulpa all over again," Dean said.
"C'mon. We have to get Maria out of here," Sam said as he helped Maria to her feet.
As they were walking toward the front, it suddenly slammed shut and locked.
"Son of bitch," Dean swore as he tried to get the door opened, but it was locked solid. "Great! We can't leave. We can't kill the guy. So what the fuck are we supposed to do?"
"We break the connection," Sam muttered.
"There's a reason there's always two symbols. In order for the ritual to work, there has to be a connection between the creator and the created."
"And the seals are the connection."
"I think so. It explains why the user always has to have a seal with them in order for it to work."
"So if we destroy the seal, it'll break the connection," Dean surmised.
"In theory, yes," Sam answered.
"In theory? What do you mean in theory?"
"Well, I don't know, Dean," Sam snapped. "The website wasn't very specific on how to stop the ritual once it's already started. I'm just guessing here."
Dean sighed. "Ok, genius. You go find the seal. I'll stay here and protect Maria. Go."
Sam nodded and went to search the house while Dean guided Maria back into the front room.
"I don't understand," Maria stammered. "How could that man just get up after you guys shot him, and how could he just disappear into thin air like that?"
"Now's not really a good time for explanations," Dean said, keeping his eyes peeled for the man with the axe.
In the blink of an eye, the man was suddenly in front of them already in mid-swing.
"Get down!" Dean yelled, pushing Maria to the floor. The axe swung over their heads and hit the wall. While the man was preoccupied with trying to pull his axe from the wall, Dean pulled Maria up and ran into the next room and through the nearest door, which happened to be a study. He closed and locked the door, and then he and Maria pushed the large mahogany desk in front of it.
Dean pushed Maria back and stood in front of her, his gun trained on the door. They could hear heavy footsteps getting closer and then the jiggling of the doorknob. Then they heard loud banging and wood splintering, and they could see the axe starting to come through the door. Dean could feel Maria shaking at his back, but he kept his gun aimed at the door. The hole was slowly getting bigger as the man continued to hack away.
"Hurry up, Sammy!" Dean yelled. He wasn't sure what he could do if the man got inside.
Sam searched frantically through the house, overturning furniture and throwing paintings off the walls. He searched every corner and every crevice, all the while listening to the relentless banging of the axe hitting wood. Damn it! Where is it? He wondered.
Time was running out Sam knew as he wandered back into the kitchen. Dean could only hold off the guy for so long. He stopped as he spotted the seal carved into the underside of one of the wooden chairs. He didn't know how he missed that the first time around, and he didn't care. He quickly grabbed the chair, broke off the legs and the back, and took the base over to the fireplace in the living room. He turned the gas on and dropped a lit match onto the logs. They immediately burst into flames. He quickly threw the base of the chair into the fire and watched it burn for a few seconds. The banging stopped.
"Dean?" Sam called as he walked toward the study.
Dean heard his brother call his name, and that's when he realized the banging had stopped. Motioning for Maria to stay put, he cautiously made his way over to the door, his gun still raised. He cautiously peered through the hole in the door, but he didn't see the axe murderer anywhere.
"Dean!" Sam's face suddenly appeared in the hole, causing Dean to jump back a bit.
"Jesus Sammy! What the fuck?"
"Are you two ok?" Sam asked, trying to hold back a laugh knowing that he had just scared his big brother.
"Yeah, we're fine," Dean huffed. "I'm guessing you found the seal."
"Yeah." Sam nodded. "It's ashes."
"Alright. Let's get out of here."
Sam and Dean led Maria outside to their car. Maria stopped short and looked at them, hugging her arms close to her body.
"I don't understand. What just happened?" she asked.
Sam and Dean looked each other.
"Look," Dean said. "It's kind of hard to explain. All you need to know is that someone is trying to kill you."
She laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, I kind of got that much."
"Oh that guy?" Dean said, pointing back toward the house. "No, that guy wasn't real. That guy was just a figment of someone's imagination that was made to be real."
"What?" she asked in confusion.
"Maria," Sam took over. "Patrick Quinn and Jeff Morrison's deaths weren't accidents. They were murdered by Dillon Marks."
"What? Dillon? Killed them? But…why?"
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because you made his life a living hell in high school," Dean said sarcastically.
"Dean," Sam scolded.
"What?" Dean said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's true. And I never like people like that."
Maria looked from one brother to the other, trying to grasp what she'd been told. "Look, I know what we did was wrong. We were horrible to that kid, and I've always regretted it since. But this is too much. How could it get this far?"
"You push someone hard enough and eventually they snap," Sam replied.
"Yeah, and now Dillon wants revenge, and he wants you all dead," Dean added.
"We can protect you, but you have to do what we say."
Maria nodded silently. She couldn't deny what she saw.
"Ok, first of all. Who was the other guy in your group?" Sam asked.
"Um, David Banse. He lives at 3415 W. Walnut Avenue."
Dean nodded and glanced back at the blue car sitting in the driveway. "That your car?" he asked her. She nodded. "You got the keys?"
Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pull out her keys. Thank god she hadn't had the chance to put them down yet when she got home before she was attacked. She handed the keys to Dean.
"Ok, Sam," Dean said, tossing the keys to his brother. "Why don't you go over and pick up Banse while I take Maria back to the hotel room and make sure she's safe."
Sam nodded and took a step toward Maria's car but stopped and narrowed his eyes at Dean. He waited until Maria was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala before he spoke. "Wait. You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?"
"Dude, I'm half her age. Get your mind out of the gutter." Dean shook his head as he walked around to the driver's side.
"I wouldn't put it past you."
"I'm insulted," Dean said with a mock look of hurt. "I do have some dignity, you know. Now get out of here, Sasquatch, before I kick your ass."
Sam laughed as he walked toward the blue Escort in the driveway. He knew his brother loved women, but he also knew that Dean didn't go for older women. It was always fun to yank Dean's chain though.
Dean parked the Impala in the space right in front of their hotel room. He looked at the frightened woman sitting next to him.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
She snorted. "I was nearly hacked to pieces today. I think it's safe to say I'm not ok."
"Sorry. Stupid question. Look, it's going to be ok. We're going to protect you."
She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Who are you guys? Really? You're not Patrick's nephews, are you?"
Dean sighed. "No, we're not. All you need to know is that we're experts in the strange and unusual and leave it at that. Now come on. Let's get inside and wait for Sam."
Dean got out of the car and led the way toward the hotel room. He unlocked the door with his key and walked in. The minute he stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind him, preventing Maria from entering.
"Dean!" Maria cried, trying to open the door, but it wouldn't open.
Dean heard Maria yell his name. He spun around to find himself standing not in the hotel room but in a darkened graveyard at night. Broken and crumbling tombstones were all around him and mist curled around his ankles.
He looked around in confusion. Ok, what just happened? He thought. Hadn't he just walked into his hotel room and hadn't it been day just a second ago? He had a bad feeling about this.
He walked down the rows of grave markers without thinking. It was as if something was pulling him, urging him to go forward. Dean was starting to get a little freaked and tried to stop his feet from moving, but they continued to take him forward seemingly of their own accord. It was like he wasn't in control of himself anymore. This had to be Dillon Marks's doing. Great! I'm stuck in one of his little fantasies. There was nothing he could do now but watch as the "story" unfolded.
He came upon an already dug grave with an empty wooden coffin sitting at the bottom. He really didn't like the looks of this. He turned around and came face to face with an apparition of a bearded man wearing overalls and carrying a shovel. Every instinct was screaming at him to pull out a shotgun and shoot the thing or dive out of the way, but he couldn't get his body to move. He just stood there and stared with wide eyes as the spirit came charging at him swinging the shovel. The shovel made contact with the side of his head, and he fell backwards into the open grave.
Stars exploded in his vision, and he fought to stay conscious. After a few moments, his vision cleared and he looked up to see the ghost standing above him. Then suddenly the coffin lid slammed shut in his face.
"NO! LET ME OUT!" Dean screamed, frantically pounding on the lid.
Dirt fell through the cracks in the wooden lid into his face, and he realized with horror that he was slowly being buried alive. He continued to pound and claw at the lid until his fingers were raw and bloody. Dirt continued to rain down on him until he could no longer see light through the cracks. Oh god, he was going to suffocate.
Sam parked in front of 3415 W. Walnut Avenue. He took a deep breath and tried to think how he was going to convince this guy to come with him. It wasn't going to be an easy discussion that was for sure. Well, it was now or never. He got out of the car and approached the house. He knocked on the front door. A man with salt and pepper hair and a graying beard answered.
"Yes, can I help you?" he asked.
"David Banse?" Sam asked.
"Hi, you don't know me. My name is Sam, and…I know this is going to sound crazy, but you may be in danger."
The man straightened. "What?"
"Look, you heard about Patrick Quinn's and Jeff Morrison's deaths, right?"
"Well, they weren't accidents. They were murdered."
"And someone just tried to murder Maria as well," Sam went on as if he hadn't said anything.
"Maria? Is she alright?" David asked worriedly.
"She's fine. We managed to rescue her. Now we believe he may be coming after you next," Sam said. He knew he was being blunt, but he didn't care. He wanted to get back to Dean and Maria as soon as possible. He was starting to get a bad feeling.
David shook his head, trying to clear his befuddled mind. "Marks? You gotta be kidding me. Why would he want to kill us?"
"Because of what you did to him back in high school. He's out for revenge Mr. Banse, and he wants you all dead. He's already killed Patrick, Jeff, and Shelly."
"Shelly's dead too?" Banse said in surprise.
"Yes, and now he's after you two. We can protect you, but you have to come with me right now."
"This is nuts," David said, running his hand over his bearded chin. He regarded Sam for a moment. "Where's Maria?"
"At my hotel room with my brother."
David nodded. "Take me to her."
Sam nodded and led the way back to the car. He was a little surprised. That was easier than he thought. Maybe he should be that blunt more often. He shook his head. He knew that wouldn't always work. Most of the time, lying and bluffing was the way to go when speaking to family members, witnesses, victims, or potential victims because most people weren't willing to just take the word of a total stranger.
Getting in to the car, Sam drove as fast he could back to the hotel. His heart lurched when he pulled into the parking lot and parked next to the Impala. Maria was cowering outside the hotel room, her head buried in her arms.
"Maria!" David cried as he got out of the car. He hurried to the woman's side and placed his hand on her shoulder.
She looked up, wiping the tears from her face. "David?"
"Are you ok?" David asked. She nodded.
"Maria, where's Dean?" Sam asked, not seeing his brother anywhere in sight.
"He's inside the room. The door slammed shut behind him, and I couldn't get it to open. I heard screams, but then it was quiet."
Sam didn't waste time trying the doorknob. He just kicked the hotel door open. He stopped in his tracks as his eyes took in the seen before him. Dean lay on the floor barely breathing, lips starting to turn blue.
"Oh god! Dean!" Sam cried, kneeling beside his brother's unmoving form. He took note of the bloody lump on the side of Dean's head and his bloody fingertips. Something had happened to his brother, something not natural. Sam looked frantically about the room, knowing that the Seal of Oricalcos was somewhere in the room. His eyes fell on Maria and David standing the doorway staring with wide eyes. "Maria! Come here!"
Maria entered the room timidly and knelt down beside Sam.
"Keep an eye on him, ok?" he said and then stood up and approached David. "You, help me."
"What are we doing?" David asked.
Sam pulled out his cell phone, pulled up the picture of the seal, and showed it to David. "Look for this symbol. It's gotta be in this room. On the walls. Under the furniture. Just look everywhere."
"Why? Shouldn't we be getting him to a hospital? He looks pretty bad."
Sam shook his head. "No, a hospital won't help. We have to find the seal."
David looked at him like he'd gone crazy. Sam shook his head and started searching the room. He didn't have time to cater to David's beliefs. His brother was going to die if he didn't find that seal.
"Just do it, David. Please," Maria begged.
David sighed and joined Sam in the search. They inspected the walls. They overturned the beds, the nightstand, and the tables. They pretty much trashed the room looking for the seal but without any luck, and Sam was starting to panic.
"Sam! I think he's stopped breathing," Maria yelled.
"Shit!" Sam hurried back to Dean's form, practically pushing Maria out of the way. "Do you know CPR?"
She looked at him apologetically. "I don't really remember much. I'm sorry."
"Alright. Go help him look," Sam said as he tilted his brother's head back. He gave him two quick breaths and then started chest compressions. "C'mon, Dean. Don't you die on me."
Minutes went by as Sam continued to perform CPR, completely oblivious to everything else until he heard David say, "Sam, I think I found it!" Sam looked up and saw the seal carved into the wall near the floor. It looked like it had been concealed by the TV stand.
"Alright. David, do you know CPR?" Sam asked. Please say yes, Sam begged silently. He hated to leave Dean's side, but he needed to burn the seal, and he didn't trust these two not to set fire to the whole room.
David nodded and took over for Sam. Sam quickly went to his duffel bag and pulled some lighter fluid and some matches. Then he grabbed a blanket from one of the beds.
"What are you doing?" Maria asked.
"I need to destroy the seal," Sam answered absently as he squirted some lighter fluid over the seal.
"But you're going to burn the whole place down."
Sam struck the match. "Not if you do it right," he said as he threw the lit match onto the seal. The symbol was immediately consumed by the flames, and Sam let it burn for a few seconds before he quickly smothered the fire with the blanket, leaving behind a charred spot on the wall. He turned around and went back to Dean's side. "You can stop now," he told David.
David stopped performing CPR and leaned back on his haunches. They all watched Dean with bated breath, but there was no movement. There was no breathing.
"Come on, Dean," Sam muttered.
One minute turned into two, and Sam blinked back tears. Come on, come on, come on. Sam couldn't take it anymore and was about to continue CPR when Dean suddenly sucked in a huge breath. His eyes snapped open and sat up straight, breathing heavily.
"Dean!" Sam cried, gripping Dean's shoulders. "Oh thank god." He pulled his brother in for a hug, not caring that it was what Dean considered a chick flick moment. He was just so relieved that Dean was alive and breathing.
Dean remained in Sam's arms for a few minutes still breathing heavily but regularly. When he finally realized that Sam was hugging him, he stiffened.
"Sammy?" Dean said breathlessly.
"Why are you hugging me?"
Sam blushed and pulled away. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I'm just glad you're alive. Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I think so," Dean replied, rubbing his chest. "My head is killing me, and oh jeez." He got his first real look at his fingers. They were bloody, and the skin was torn. And the nail was practically hanging off one of them. "That just looks nasty."
"Yeah, no kidding," Sam said as he examined Dean's fingers. "What happened?"
"Oh man, Sam. It was the weirdest thing. I walked into the room and suddenly I was standing in this graveyard at night. Then this spirit comes out of nowhere and whacks me in the head with a shovel, which explains the incredible headache I have right now."
He reached one of his hands up to rub his aching head, but Sam grabbed his arm and pulled it back down.
"Whoa wait. Hold up. Let me get the first aid kit and patch up your wounds. We don't need your fingers getting infected."
Dean nodded and dropped his hands onto his lap while Sam went to grab the first aid kit.
"So what happened next?" Sam asked as he returned with the kit. He offered Dean a helping hand, which Dean grudgingly accepted since he couldn't really use his hands to push himself up. Once he was on his feet, however, he pushed Sam's hands away and walked over to the table and sat down. Sam sat next to him and opened the kit.
"Dude, I ended up in a fucking grave," Dean said in answer to Sam's question. "The bastard had me buried alive. I'm really beginning to hate this guy."
Sam kept his eyes on his ministrations. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Dean, but judging from the condition of Dean's fingers, he tried to claw his way out of the grave before succumbing to oxygen deprivation. Sam shuddered to think about it, and just concentrated on fixing up Dean's wounds. He cleaned the blood off as best he could and then took out a bottle of peroxide. He finally looked up into Dean's eyes.
"Ok, you're choice. One at a time or all together?" Sam asked, holding up the bottle.
Dean looked at the bottle, his lips set in a tight line. Either way would be painful, but they were kind of in a hurry here. Dillon already tried to kill one of them. Who knows what he was planning on next?
"All together," Dean answered.
"Knew you were going to say that," Sam said as he pulled a plastic bowl closer to him. He looked Dean in the eye, the bottle poised in the air. "You do know that this is going to hurt like a bitch."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Just do it."
Sam poured some peroxide into the bowl and then took Dean's right arm by the wrist. Holding his brother's fingers above the liquid, he looked at Dean again. "You ready?"
Dean glared at him. "Would you just do it?" he snapped.
Sam took a deep breath and submerged Dean's fingertips into the peroxide. The liquid immediately began to bubble and fizzled. Dean hissed and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to cry out in pain. Sam held Dean's fingers in the peroxide for a minute or two and then removed them. Dean kept his eyes closed tightly as Sam carefully placed his hand palm up on the table and then guided Dean's other hand over to the bowl.
"Only one more time. You good?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded, not opening his eyes and trying to breathe through the pain. Sam hated that he was causing his brother pain, but he knew it had to be done. He carefully submerged Dean's other hand into the liquid and held it there. Dean squeezed his eyes even more tightly if possible and this time let out a grunt of pain. And then it was over. Dean sighed in relief as Sam finished cleaning and bandaging his fingers.
"God damn! That stung," Dean said.
"I told you it would," Sam said as he took a look at Dean's head.
Dean glared at him. "Yeah, that you did, Sasquatch. Are you done yet?"
Sam smiled as he finished tending to Dean's head. "Yeah, I'm done. Lucky for you that head wound wasn't too bad. I don't think you have a concussion."
With relief, Dean stood up from the table while Sam went to put the first aid supplies away. Dean stopped as he caught sight of David and Maria standing fixedly in the middle of the room staring at them. He'd almost forgotten they were there.
"Are you two ok?" Dean asked slowly.
They both nodded.
"Are you ok?" Maria asked.
Dean looked at his bandaged fingers. "Yeah. I've had worse."
"That was unreal," David said in open-mouthed disbelief.
Dean grinned. "Yeah, well, get used to it."
"So what now?" Sam asked, once the med kit was secured back in their bag.
"Well, I say we stop this thing once and for all," Dean said.
"How?" Maria asked.
"We go to his house and wait. He's gotta go home sometime."
"And then what?" Sam asked, looking Dean in the eye.
Dean grimaced. He wasn't quite sure yet. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He looked at Maria and David. "You two stay here. You'll be safe."
"How do you know?" David asked.
"He can't get to you without a seal," Sam answered. "And we already destroyed the one that was in here. Just stay here until we get back."
The brothers left the room and went out to the Impala. Dean got behind the wheel while Sam got in the passenger side. Sam looked at his brother as Dean was pulling out of the parking lot.
"So what are we going to do about this guy, Dean?" Sam asked. Dean didn't answer. "Dean, we can't kill him if that's what you're thinking."
Dean looked at him, with anger in his eyes. "And why the hell not? He's killed people. He had me buried alive for Christ sakes." He suppressed a shudder. That was not a fun experience, and he wasn't eager to relive it anytime soon. He will never forget the total blinding fear he had felt when that coffin lid had closed and the dirt started piling on top of him. He just wanted Marks to pay for putting him through that nightmare.
Sam winced. "I know, but he's still a human being. And I'm not going to commit murder."
Dean sighed. "Look, all I know is that he has to be stopped."
"All we have to do is get the seal away from him. Then he won't be able to do any harm."
Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Fine. We'll do it your way."
Sam leaned back in the seat. He was glad Dean had listened to him. He couldn't let Dean commit murder either. No matter what horrible things Dillon Marks has done, they couldn't kill him. If they did, they would be no better than all the things that they hunted.
Dean parked the Impala in front of Dillon's house. They both got out of the car, and Dean pulled out his .45 and checked the clip. Sam stared at him.
"What?" Dean said. "I'm not going in there unarmed. I said we'd do it your way, but that doesn't mean he's going to cooperate."
Sam sighed and shook his head. He knew Dean was right, and he pulled out his own gun and checked the clip as well.
They entered the house through the basement window again. The minute they entered, they noticed a new addition to the room. On the table with the candles, there was an old typewriter sitting where there had once been a space. The typewriter had the Seal of Oricalcos painted on the side.
Dean walked over to it. "So he uses a typewriter."
"It looks that way," Sam said.
"Dude, this guy needs to get with the times. No one uses a typewriter anymore."
"I found it."
Sam and Dean spun around at the new voice. Dean immediately pulled out his gun and pointed it at Dillon who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Dillon didn't seem fazed.
"In the attic," Dillon continued. "It was my dad's apparently. I didn't know what the symbol on the side meant until I looked it up." He smiled. "It was like a gift from God."
"Dillon, listen to me. This is no gift. You have to stop using it," Sam said.
"Stop using it?" Dillon shook his head, hatred in his eyes. "No. Finally I have the chance to get back at those people for what they did to me. They tortured me all through school. It wasn't just in high school. It was in elementary school. It was in junior high. Twelve years. Do you know what that does to a person?"
"I'm starting to get an idea," Dean said.
"Dean," Sam scolded.
"Well, not anymore," Dillon continued as if they hadn't spoken. "I was never able to do anything back then, but now I have the power. I'm finally getting the revenge that's been coming to me, and I'm not going to let anyone stand in my way." He closed his eyes and looked away. "I truly am sorry about all this. I have nothing against you, but I can't let you stop me."
"So what are you going to do?" Dean asked, his finger on the trigger.
"I knew you'd be back. So I wrote out a little something just for you. I didn't have enough time to write out a full story, but I think I wrote out just enough to make me all powerful."
He lifted up his right hand. At first, there was nothing, but then they began to see tendrils of electricity dancing along his fingers. Dillon's hair turned stark white and his eyes began to glow white as well. Sam glanced at Dean who looked back at him.
"Oh, this is not good," Dean muttered. Despite what he had promised Sam, he pulled the trigger. This was a whole new ballgame. Unfortunately, the bullet didn't do any good. It hit Marks, there was a crackle, and the bullet fell harmlessly to the ground like a fly hitting a bug zapper. "Shit!"
Dillon shook his head. He lifted up his hand and pointed it at Sam and Dean. Bolts of electricity crackled through the air. Dean pushed Sam to the ground behind a large lazy boy reclining chair.
"Holy shit, dude! What the hell did he do to himself?" Dean asked.
"I don't know, but if we don't move soon, he's going to fry us like an egg," Sam said, looking around for an escape route. He spotted an open door nearby and pointed it out to Dean. "Hey, the door. Get ready."
Dean nodded, gripping his gun a little tighter. Even though it was useless, he still felt better with it in his hand.
"On three," Sam said. "One, two, three."
They both jumped up from their hiding place and ran toward the open door just as the chair they'd been hiding behind exploded and erupted in flames. They dove through the doorway, and Dean slammed the door shut and locked it. He leaned his forehead against the door, breathing heavily.
"Still don't want to kill him, Sam?" Dean asked.
"Don't think it really matters now, Dean. He's basically invincible."
Dean took a deep breath and turned around to lean his back against the door. "Yeah, I noticed that. And it's probably not going to take him long to bust through this door."
They heard more crackling of electricity, and Dean jumped away from the door as he felt it begin to heat up. They could see fire starting to burn through the wood, and smoke was billowing from underneath the door.
"Great! Now what are we supposed to do? I've already been electrocuted once. I don't care to do it again," Dean said.
Sam ignored his brother's comments as he took a look at the room they were in. It was fairly small and narrow with large wooden shelving along one wall. It looked like this room was used for storage. There wasn't anything in the room except for a monkey wrench on one of the shelves and a metal bucket in the far corner, nothing that was of any use at the moment.
Over the crackles of electricity outside, Sam thought he heard water running onto concrete. He followed the sound to a pipe running down the wall from the ceiling. The pipe was leaking water all over the ground. Sam smiled.
"Hey Dean. Come over here," Sam called.
Dean came over and Sam pointed at the water pipe. Dean smirked and nodded, catching Sam's meaning.
"Nice. If he wants to act like a human fuse box, we'll short-circuit his ass."
They immediately set to work. Sam grabbed the bucket while Dean grabbed the monkey wrench, and together they unscrewed a section of pipe and let the water flow into the bucket. Once the bucket was full, Sam carried it over to the door, and they both stood on either side waiting for Dillon to break through.
They didn't have to wait long. The door exploded a few minutes later, bits of charred and flaming wood flying everywhere. Sam watched Marks enter the room and walk past them. With a glance at Dean, Sam stepped forward and threw the water all over Dillon. He screamed and dropped to his hands and knees, smoke billowing from his body. Dean stepped forward then and put his gun to the back of Dillon's head.
"Don't move," Dean said, his voice cold as steel.
Sam dropped the bucket and stood in front of Marks. "Give it up, Dillon. It's over."
"No," Dillon gasped, his hand moving to the sleeve of his shirt.
"You think the Seal of Oricalcos is a gift?" Sam asked. "It's not, and if you keep using it, it's going to kill you."
"NO!" Dillon screamed. He surged to his feet, pulling a small knife from his sleeve. He stabbed Sam in the shoulder and then pulled the taller man in front of him as a shield before Dean could shoot.
"Sam!" Dean cried.
"Put down the gun," Dillon ordered, holding the blade of the knife to Sam's throat.
"This isn't going to go the way you want it," Dean said. He still held his gun on Dillon, but with Sam's taller form in front of him, he couldn't get a clear shot.
"Enough! I told you. I'm not going to let you stand in my way. Now put down the gun."
Dean looked from Dillon to Sam. He could see the pain in his brother's face and blood seeping through Sam's shirt. Dean sighed and slowly placed his gun on the ground. He kept his eyes on Dillon as he dragged Sam out of the room. He followed as Dillon backed away toward the table where the typewriter was sitting. With lightening speed, he pushed Sam into Dean, knocking them both to the ground. He grabbed the typewriter and bolted up the stairs, like fixtures and electronics exploding in his wake. Apparently, he still had some juice left in him.
Dean sat up and looked at Sam who was sitting up holding his bleeding shoulder. "Sam, are you alright?" he asked worriedly.
"Yeah," Sam grunted. "Go. You can't let him get away."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, man. Go."
Dean nodded and quickly got to his feet. He went and grabbed his gun and ran after Marks.
Dillon ran through the house looking for an escape route, the typewriter clutched to his chest. He couldn't let them stop him. He was so close. He ran out the back door and raced across the large backyard. He tripped over his own two feet and went sprawling face first into the grass. The typewriter rolled to a stop next to his head.
As he was pushing himself up, he noticed the seal on the side of the typewriter was beginning to glow. Brow furrowed, he stared as the typewriter began to type on its own. He looked at what was being written, and his eyes widened. No!
Dean reached the top of the stairs, his gun out in front of him. He searched through the house, but he found no sign of Marks or any indication of where he had gone. He was just about to head upstairs when he heard a scream coming from outside. He ran out the back door and immediately spotted Dillon sprawled out on the grass, the typewriter sitting next to him.
He approached cautiously. He lowered his gun when he finally saw Dillon's face. His eyes were wide open and staring vacantly up at the sky. Blood was dribbling from his mouth and down his face, staining the grass a dark red. His face was contorted in pain and fear. There was no doubt about it. Dillon was dead.
What the hell happened? Dean wondered.
Dean turned as Sam was making his way across the yard, still holding his bleeding shoulder. He looked down at Dillon and then at Dean.
Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I heard him scream. I came out here and found him like this."
Sam looked at the body once more and then his eyes strayed to the typewriter. He walked around the body and pulled the paper from the typewriter. He quickly read through what was written on it and sighed. He looked back at Dean.
"Looks like the seal got him," he said, handing the paper to Dean.
Dean looked at the paper and began to read:
"Dillon Marks believed that the Seal of Oricalcos was a gift when in fact it was a curse. He overused and misused the sacred symbol, and for that he must pay a hefty price. He caused others pain and suffering, and now he will suffer the same pain he caused a hundred times over. He will feel an agony so great that not even death will bring reprieve."
Dean shook his head. "Man, that seal really knows how to punish its users." He looked up at Sam. He could see the slump of his brother's shoulders, and the regret in his eyes. "Sam, I'm sorry."
"Let's just get out of here," he said, turning and walking away.
Dean picked up the typewriter and followed Sam back to the Impala. He grabbed some lighter fluid and matches from the trunk and lit the device on fire so that no one could ever use it again. Then the brothers got into the car and drove away.
As Dean headed the Impala toward the hotel, he looked at Sam. "Sammy, I'm sorry we couldn't save Marks. I really am."
"He was just so full of hatred," Sam said quietly. "And it really wasn't his fault. Patrick Quinn and Jeff Morrison, they did that to him. They turned him into what he was."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean they deserved to die."
"Yeah, I know."
"Besides, I don't think he could have been saved. I think he snapped a long time ago way before he got the seal. There was no reasoning with him."
Sam lowered his eyes. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
They arrived at the hotel twenty minutes later, and David and Maria were waiting for them. They both met the hunters at the door.
"So? What happened?" David asked.
"Oh my god! You're bleeding," Maria said, horrified as she noticed the blood on Sam's shirt. "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine," Sam replied with a small smile.
"And you don't have to worry about Dillon anymore. He won't be bothering you again," Dean added.
"Really?" Maria said, relieved.
"I still don't quite understand what happened here," David said, confusion in his eyes.
"Trust me. It's better that way," Dean said, patting David on the shoulder. "Just go back to your happy, normal existence. And this'll be nothing more than a memory."
Maria kissed both hunters on the cheek. "Thank you. You guys saved my life."
"Oh. It was our pleasure," Dean said with a cheeky grin.
They both watched as David and Maria left the room and walked across the parking lot. Dean was still grinning.
"Now why can't all the women we save thank us like that?"
Sam looked at his brother and shook his head, not saying a word.
"What?" Dean asked, his shoulders raised. Then he shook his head and closed the hotel room door. "Come on. I'll stitch up your shoulder."
"Uh, Dean, are you sure you can stitch me up with your fingers bandaged?" Sam asked.
Dean gave him a wounded look. "Dude, I've been stitching since I was ten. I could do it blindfolded."
"That's great. But can you do with bandages on your fingers?"
"Hey, I'm an expert at stitching wounds. Besides, I'm not the one that gave Dad so unbelievably crooked stitches, butterfingers."
"Oh come on. I was twelve. Besides, what were we supposed to do? He was bleeding all over, and you were too sick to do it."
"Even sick, I could have done a better job. Dad still has a jagged scar on his back from those zig zag stitches you gave him."
Sam shrugged. "Yeah, well, he's the one that ordered me to do it. I told him I wasn't ready yet, but he didn't listen. It was his own fault."
"Yeah, alright. Just sit down, Sasquatch, and no more complaining."
Sam sat down at the table while Dean got out the first aid supplies again. Despite all his ribbing, Sam was confident in his brother's abilities. And he wasn't disappointed. Dean did a suburb job, as usual. The stitches were clean, straight, and evenly spaced out.
As they were packing up their belongings, Sam looked at the charred spot on the wall. "Hey Dean, what are we going to tell the hotel manager about that mark on the wall?"
"Nothing," Dean said with a laugh. "Let's just get out of here. I so can't wait to put this town in our rearview mirror." Dean slung his duffel over his shoulder and walked out of the room.
Sam picked up his own duffel and followed Dean out. Within minutes, they were back on the road again without even bothering to check out of the hotel, leaving the small town behind.