Title: Nothing and Everything

Chapter 21

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel had been tailing Atropos for days. He’d assumed that by following her, he’d be in place when it happened, so he spent his time tracking her movements.

What Death had done to him was cruel, leaving him unable to warn Dean, Sam, Gwen, and Jo so they’d be expecting trouble. All he could do was watch them and try to find a way around the restriction put upon him. How could one get around ‘no interference’ however? No meant none. The four were unaware of what was headed their way, yet he’d had to suffer the knowledge day after day. He’d watched them, savoring their happiness in their lives at present, yet always aware that their happiness was a bittersweet thing. Happiness could easily come crashing to a halt.

He’d thought that they’d be allowed to be happy. Everything he’d seen had pointed towards that. Jo and Dean had married and had a child together. Sam had a steady girlfriend and was truly happy with her. They had good lives, a reversal of fortune and now….

Castiel followed Atropos as she went about her job, a churning, sick sensation growing inside him as he thought about the pain that was going to happen to humans he cared about. Briefly, he thought about killing Atropos, but that would only ensure he’d be reaped. He let the thought of murdering her slip away. Death would find another way anyway if she was indisposed.

Materializing behind her, he was surprised to find all three Fates at the location. He’d expected only Atropos. This was, after all, her time to work. Why were all three there? Had they expected him to arrive and were there to make sure he wouldn’t interfere?

Clotho looked at him like she wasn’t surprised, but said nothing, returning to the paperwork she had on her clipboard. Her briefcase was at her feet.

Lachesis shook her head. She had no clipboard or briefcase. He saw disappointment flash in her eyes.

Atropos stepped over to him, urgency in her voice. “You can’t be here, Castiel. You need to leave.”

“I can be here if I don’t interrupt or get in your way.” The words were stubborn and he knew it would probably be best if he wasn’t there, but he couldn’t not be here. “I can watch.”

“Like you have these past couple weeks?”

“Yes.”

She sighed and nodded. “Fine, but if you get in the way….” It was a warning that the Fates would deal with him as well. “And I mean in the slightest bit. I’ll report you to Death so fast you won’t realize you’re being reaped. You’ll exist and then you won’t.”

She was in a bad mood and he remembered she’d voted against doing this. She’d been a firm ally in that room in heaven. “Please don’t do this,” he tried, his voice thick. “They’ve been through so much already.”

Atropos looked away, then turned, moving to stand beside Clotho.

“You and your sisters can change this,” he called after her. “You can stop it. I know you can.”

Lachesis approached him. Raising her hands, she cupped his face, thumbs sweeping his cheeks. The expression in her eyes was kind, yet held a stern glint. “Why do you cry, Castiel? They’re humans and human lives are spun, measured, and cut by design. They’re woven in and out of other lives and when they reach their conclusion….” She shook her head again. “They’re not meant to live forever, nor are any of them exempt from the pain of life. Some are destined for more than others. It is life. It may not be fair by their understanding, but there is a design to each and sometimes…the design is not what’s expected or even hoped for by them.”

He hadn’t been aware that he was crying. “Leave them alone. Must I beg? Is that what you want? I’ll beg you all to not make this happen.”

Her touch upon his face was gentle, her voice soothing. “There’s a reason we don’t become emotionally involved with those we deal with. If we did, we’d be weeping for them every minute of every day. This is set. It’s done. You can’t bargain with us.” Her hands lowered, a hand taking one of his, and she moved beside him, standing with him.

With Lachesis by his side, Castiel watched events unfold, sadness piercing him. He wanted to move forward, to stop it, but Lachesis held on to him. She was strong, as strong as he was.

When the matter was done, Clotho came forward, touching her hand to Castiel’s cheek. “You may stay, but again, you can’t stop this. Don’t try to be a hero, Castiel. It would go very badly for all if you stepped in.”

“I can help.”

“You’ll hinder. There are things happening here that you don’t know about. Stay out of it. I’m warning you.”

Wrenching his hand free of Lachesis’s grip, he took out his phone, dialing 911 and holding it up so Clotho could see it, a silent question.

The three Fates conferred with a glance and a few words.

“It won’t change anything that’s happened,” Atropos said, tucking her clipboard beneath her arm, “if that’s what you’re thinking, Castiel.”

“It won’t get in the way,” Lachesis added in a reasonable tone. “Let him.”

The unspoken words there were that it’d make him feel like he was doing something when really he wasn’t.

Clotho nodded. “It’s an acceptable action, Castiel. We three agree. You may report, but nothing more. No other action. You call and then you make no attempt to change what has occurred. Let it play out. It’s not just Death you’ll contend with if you butt in.”

Castiel pressed send as the Fates left the scene.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was annoying Sam. It wasn’t hard to miss and it was the little things that never bothered Dean that were doing it, things she did without thinking about them. Therefore, Jo was glad when they finally reach their destination. She grabbed a flashlight from the floor. Getting out of the car, she stretched. Riding in one of Bobby’s cars was always something of an adventure. She’d swear there was a spring in the seat right behind her that had been trying to drill through her back.

“I’m gonna head in.” She jerked her thumb towards the building as Sam opened the trunk to get the hunting kit they’d brought with them.

He grunted, moving things around in the trunk.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?” He looked at her in question.

“You want me to carry something?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll get it. You, uh, go calm Sophie down.”

“I doubt she’s still majorly pissed after twelve hours.” Though she couldn’t be certain of that. If Mick seemed like he was hiding something, and that was the impression Sophie had given her on the phone, she might be ready to put Mick on the rack.

“Maybe. We’ll see. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jo crossed the parking lot and tried one double door. It was open. She stepped into a large room that was going to be a reception area when it was completed. The area was dark save the light spilling in through the glass door Jo had entered through. Clicking on her flashlight, she swept the light around the room. Looked normal. There didn’t appear to be anything out of place.

She knew Dean was worried and that was why he’d sent Sam along. He had ideas of what three months missing could mean. Truthfully, she had her own reservations and they’d do all the drills before getting down to playing relationship counselors.

With a last sweep of the room with the light, Jo stepped to the door at the back of the room and called out.

“Sophie? Mick? It’s Jo. Where are you?”

She listened carefully and after a second, a reply came.

“In the back.”

Jo opened the door and walked through it.

A hand gripped her throat, her body slammed against the wall. It was Mick. The flashlight dropped from her hand. She scratched at his face, feeling skin tear beneath her nails. Blood welled up on his face. She kicked as hard as she could, the toe of her boot hitting his legs. He flung her to the side.

Jo went down hard, tripping over Sophie’s prone body and skinning her hands on the rough floor. Sophie was tied to a chair, hair covering her face, and looked too still to be alive. She had no time to examine her, Mick’s hand grabbing her hair and jerking her back towards him. He gripped her throat again, this time with both hands. She choked and gasped, unable to draw a breath.

His gaze bore into hers. Jo couldn’t look away. She felt like some part of her that was essential was being ripped away, the sort of pain felt in her soul, excruciating in the same sort of way that Zachariah’s torture had been. Panic ran full tilt inside her. He was gutting her without physically gutting her, ripping her soul free from her body and in another few seconds, she knew it would be over and she’d cease to exist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mick sniffed the air, stepping around the woman’s body. There upon the air, the delectable fragrance he’d been searching for, a mildly familiar scent. He sniffed slowly, drawing the essence inside and mulling it over.

Definitely family of the ones who’d imprisoned him. Direct family. The woman crossing the outer room had all the scents on her and he picked out what they were. Her own, another female, two male. Them.

A memory rose up.

“Patty, don’t look in his eyes!”

The woman looked away right when he almost had her. Another few seconds and he could have jumped inside and ended the ritual. He writhed against his bonds, temporary things until they finished the ritual.

“Aaron?” The man beside her didn’t understand, but also averted his eyes.

“It’s how he gets inside, Neal. Preferred method anyway.”

The fourth man, in a leather jacket, held the creature’s gaze until the last second, deliberately taunting him with possibly entry, then denying him. The creature remembered with pleasure how it had almost had the man’s girlfriend. If he could have gotten to her, this never would have happened. “How do we finish this, Aaron? You do know, right?”

The tall one, the know-it-all leader with the thick dark hair, nodded. “Course I do. Think I’d chance this without a plan?”

“Always a first time,” was the grinned reply.

“True. It takes blood to fully bind him.” He collected it from each, a drop or two mingled, then dipped his index finger in it and touched the box, empowering it with a few words.

The creature struggled harder and then Aaron was staring at him. Few people had the ability to repel him and keep him out. It required a strong, almost inhuman will, and this man had that ability.

No, no, no, no!

It could taste it’s freedom to wreak havoc upon the world slipping away.

That hand stretched out, finger touching his forehead, linking him to the prison with that blood. With a few more words, he was ripped from the body he’d taken and shoved into the box the hunters had created. He felt it closing in around him and then nothing as the magic forced him into hibernation.

The memory made him angry and he closed his hands into tight fists. He recalled the names of the four clearly. Harvelle. Bennett. Campbell. Three men and a woman. The scent of the leader was diluted in the air, changed, feminine. His descendant was a woman. Not the one approaching, but the friend. Had to be. Gwen, Sophie had called her.

As soon as Jo stepped inside the room, he grabbed her by the throat. He’d make this quick. The one he had to find was Gwen. The leader’s child. He had to make sure she didn’t know the ritual.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen had safely arrived in Fort Collins a couple hours earlier and Sam was glad to see the end of their own trip. While Jo wasn’t as annoying as Dean could be on a trip, she had her own quirks that steadily got on his nerves. It was different when Dean was there, too. They sort of cancelled each other out and kept each other occupied.

She had a habit of skipping songs after hearing the first few seconds and claiming her finger slipped on the button. He told her more than once if she didn’t want to listen to the song, just say so, but she didn’t stop.

She’d shake her cup with ice in it and suck the tiny bits of liquid out, making the loud slurping noise through the straw, yet was appalled when he told her to ‘just eat the ice already’. ‘And ruin my teeth crunching ice, Sam?’ she’d asked.

Then when she’d done those numerous times, she’d started in with questions like, ‘why is there Braille on drive-up money machines?’

A couple times he wasn’t sure if she was doing those things on purpose in some sort of experiment she and Dean had cooked up (a distinct possibility knowing those two together) or if she was trying to make the time pass by annoying him (also a possibility). Whatever the reason, he was glad they’d arrived and didn’t have to be in a tiny enclosed space together for awhile.

Pausing in rifling through the trunk, he pulled out his phone, checking to see if he had any messages. The signal was low, but at least he had one now. It had been off and on for a few hours, thankfully on when Gwen had called. He put the phone back in his pocket.

Sam took the kit from the trunk and shouldered it, looking doubtfully at the building Sophie had told them to meet her at. It looked like a construction site. Mostly finished, yet construction nonetheless. He could smell sawdust in the air. Sophie had neglected to mention that, but if Dean’s suspicions ended up being true, they’d have privacy to deal with anything gone wrong with Mick. Jo had already gone in and he followed slowly, not ready to spend an evening listening to Mick get raked over coals by the two women. He crossed the outer room, then rapped on the inner door and opened it. “Hey --”

The inner room was only partially completed, the scent of fresh drywall added to the sawdust. Plastic still curtained off part of the area. In front of one section of plastic Jo was on her knees, her neck in Mick’s grasp. She was making choking noises, prying at his hands. Her face was turning an alarming shade of purple. Sophie was on the floor, tied to a chair, her eyes closed and body limp. Sam couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. Dropping the bag, he drew his gun, aimed and fired.

Mick whirled from the hit, dropping Jo to the floor. He hissed, an animal sound the human body didn’t naturally make.

Sam took two steps closer and fired twice more. He could see now that it wasn’t Mick, but something riding him, looking out of his eyes. The thing came forward to meet him, the impact of his body pushing Sam to the floor. The gun went flying, Mick’s hands around his throat like they’d been around Jo’s. It occurred to him that besides holding him down, the thing wasn’t hurting him. It was staring down into his eyes, like it expected something to happen, keeping him fairly immobile. He twisted, breaking eye contact, reaching blindly with one hand for something to use as a weapon while the other clawed at the hands at his neck.

Black spots danced on the edges of his vision.

He found something in the dust on the floor, something rough, and grabbed it, swinging as hard as he could at Mick’s head. The thing grunted, releasing him to crouch a few feet away. The malice and hate that roiled in his eyes surpassed anything Sam had ever seen from a demon. This thing was definitely evil and he thought it was old, too. Fear slid through him. What the hell was this thing? A part of his mind struggled to identify it from what had been in that book Bobby had. Shadow walker? Soul eater? One of those two or a completely different creature?

An eerie growl left it, a cross between that weird hiss and a lion’s growl. The thing fled.

Sam sat up. Why? What had caused it to flee? He dropped the sliver of wood he’d used to hit it and pulled a large splinter from his palm before hurrying to Jo. “Jo!” Her eyes were closed and she was as limp and still as Sophie. Sam prayed she was only unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~

He was hurt, injured. While he’d heal, the pain made him angry, as did the man who’d appeared before he could kill the Harvelle heir. The man had a strong will of the unwavering sort Aaron Bennett had, only he wasn’t a part of the Bennett line. He didn’t have the smell. It was the Campbell scent on him.

The strong will meant that he couldn’t enter his body and eat his soul, nor could he finish with the woman with that man present. So how did he cripple them before they got together and stopped him? He’d go after the other woman. And when they were crippled and unable to act, he’d toy with the rest, take his time, and enjoy the sport of killing off the family lines.

He stalked along the road. Taking out the phone he’d stolen from Sophie, he found the proper name in the address section and made a call.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two large metal trunks were on wooden flats at the back of the 10x10 room. There were no symbols on or around them and only after extensive searching did Gwen open the first one.

Inside was a box of pictures. She put it to one side to look at in a minute. The rest of the box was filled with rows of composition notebooks, the old kind with black and white covers. Choosing one at random, she opened it to about the middle. The handwriting was neat and rested smack dab on each line like the author had written using a ruler as the guide.

‘He deserves happiness, don’t get me wrong. I understand why he doesn’t want any of us to meet her yet. After the soul eater killed his parents and went after Brenda, I get why Bill’s being cautious. Hazard of the life. Takes awhile to bring a civilian into our circle, but from all he’s said about Ellen, I think she’ll fit right in. Talks about her constantly. Think Bill’s found his soul mate.’

Gwen flipped open the front page. On the inside cover were the initials ‘A.J.B.’ crossed out and replaced by ‘A.J.C.’. He’d reinvented himself it seemed. Beneath the initials was a number and she checked a few other books. They were all numbered, the earlier ones more childish in tone, the writing less sure and practiced. She found notes on creatures she’d never heard of just in the first book.

How old had he been when he’d written in the first book. Eleven maybe? Twelve perhaps?

With a shaking hand, she pulled out the last book. It was only half written in, the pages filled with diagrams and spells, symbols she recognized and symbols she didn’t. The last entry made her pause.

‘I named her Gwen. Mia didn’t have a say, I wouldn’t let her. It’s the least the witch could do considering her plans. The baby has been Gwen in my head since the day we knew Mia was pregnant, even though she could have turned out to be a boy. I knew she was a girl. Saw it. My special girl, precious gift. Mom will be happy I named her that. I think she’ll appreciate the gesture even if she doesn’t like Mia.

Mia. I still can’t believe I was so blinded as to not see what she was. We all were, except my parents. They somehow saw her and knew. How? What tipped them off? They tried to tell me two years ago and I wouldn’t listen. I should’ve. I didn’t see it.

I got myself into this and I’ll get myself, and Gwen, out of it. I have to. For Gwen’s sake. Can’t ask dad for help. I’m a man now. That’s what he told me. “Aaron, you’re a man now and a man does what he has to to keep his family safe.” I have to be a man. Have to. No other choice.

Does a man ever get past the point of wanting his dad to come in at the last second and make things okay? I don’t have that option.

Maybe when it’s all over I’ll take Gwen to meet them. Mom will like that. Maybe we can patch things up.’

He’d ended the journal there, maybe planning to take up a new one when he reinvented himself once more. But he’d never gotten the chance. Instead, he’d been killed by Mia and Gwen had been rescued at the last minute by his friend, Neal Campbell.

Gwen put the books back and moved to the second trunk. It had a jacket, a couple shirts, and more books. The books were published volumes. A couple she recalled having seen on Bobby’s shelves. She picked up the jacket. It was a man’s jacket, about Sam and Dean’s size, no stains of any kind on it that she could see. Just stored perhaps. The shirts were clean of stains as well and very seventies in the fabric pattern and shape of the collar. She smiled at that. Retro. Were they Aaron’s then? She surmised they must be since they were in one of his trunks.

She kept digging in the trunk, looking through the books and there, on the bottom, beneath everything, was a knife. Gwen remembered Neal having one just like it. Iron, with his initials on the blade. Christian had taken it when Neal died, wearing it proudly as part of his personal arsenal. He’d offered it to her first, but she’d known how much he’d wanted it and let him take it for himself. She studied this knife.

‘A.J.B.’ on the blade by the handle. Had they gotten them at the same time, she wondered?

When she’d thoroughly investigated the room and contents and decided there was a ton of information they needed to take home and go through, she went to the box that had been set just inside the door. It was just like the drawing. She dialed Dean, surprised when it went through without failing. That was like a miracle. Her attempt to call Sam as soon as she’d walked in and seen the box had failed. “Hey, Dean, guess what I found,” she asked when he answered. She could hear Jack making noises in the background. Gwen slid a finger along the box. It was a lot prettier than she’d thought it’d be, almost like a work of art due to the design of the symbols.

“Mmm…. Is it like the drawing we copied and has Trickster stink all over it?”

“Bingo,” she sing-songed. “Walked in and there it was, right by the door, like they just shoved it in to get rid of it.”

“Maybe they did.”

Her phone beeped. “Hey, hold on. Got another call. It’s Sophie.” She switched over. “Hi. How goes the Mick grill?”

Sophie sounded off, her voice a little gruff, though maybe it was the service Gwen had in this area. “Where are you?”

“Went to check out a property. Didn’t Jo and Sam tell you? They get there okay?”

“They’re fine and no, they didn’t tell me. Are you anywhere near here?”

‘Here’ was Craig, Colorado, about four hours or so west of where she was. She’d contemplated going with them and swinging across to Fort Collins on the way back, but Gwen was glad she’d done this alone. She’d had a couple hours to sit and look through Aaron’s things. “Uh…I’m near Fort Collins. Why?”

“Would you be willing to pick up Mick?”

“Why, what’s going on?” Sophie sounded oddly breathless and Gwen pressed her ear tighter to the phone.

“I just can’t be in a car with the inconsiderate louse. Would you pick him up for me?”

Why couldn’t he jump a car or something and get himself there, she wondered. They did it all the time. “I don’t know, Sophie. That’s quite a haul just to pick him up.” Not to mention he and Sam could ride together. What was going on?

“Please, Gwen. I don’t trust him not to leave again if he’s by himself.”

Still hadn’t ironed out their issues, she saw.

“He pissed off Sam, too,” Sophie added and Gwen sighed.

“Okay, fine…I guess. It’ll be awhile before I can get there though. What’s the address again?” She made arrangements to pick up Mick and switched back to Dean. “Dean, I gotta go. Sophie wants me to come pick up Mick. Apparently he’s managed to piss all of them off and not just Sophie. I need to go referee.”

“Okay. Later.”

She picked up the box, locked up the building, and set the box in the backseat of the car before getting in and starting it up. Her phone rang, Sam’s number, but when she went to answer it, the signal dipped to nothing. “Great.” She headed towards Craig, stopping once to use a gas station phone only to discover it was out of order, a thing that had caused the clerk to curse a blue streak on the inadequacies of the phone company. “Guess I’m not meant to call Sam back yet,” she muttered under her breath as she drove away.

It was later than she’d thought it’d be by the time she reached the town and she sat for a moment, studying the parking lot. There were no cars, no people. Where were they all? Gwen drew out her phone. Still no signal. She could see she had messages, text and voice both -- a lot of them, but couldn’t get them. Slowly, she got out of the car, looking around the area. There was still no one in sight. “Mick,” she called cautiously, drawing her gun. Better to be prepared than not.

It was silent, not even the sound of wind or traffic from other roads.

“Hey Gwen.”

She gasped, whirling. Mick was at the passenger side, hands resting on the roof of the car. He hadn’t been there a minute ago. “Mick. Hey. Where did you come from?”

“Hey.” He pointed at the overhang from the building. “I was right over there. You didn’t see me?”

“No. Where are Sophie, Jo, and Sam?”

“Left.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m supposed to ride with you?” He shrugged, looking more than a little chagrined. “Sophie’s a little pissed with me right now.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t fillet you. Three months, Mick.” Slowly, she put her gun away.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…gone.” He drew in a deep breath and smiled. “Shall we?”

“Get in.” He did, but Gwen hesitated a minute. Something didn’t feel quite right, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Nothing he’d said was strange. She could totally see Jo and Sophie leaving his ass behind if he made them mad. She’d do it herself. But would Sam? She drew out her phone and held it up, but the signal didn’t change, continuing to be abysmal. Even if Sam was pissed with Mick, would he leave him there?

Indecision tugged at her.

A movement to her left caught her eye and she turned her head. For a flash of a second, she though she saw a woman standing under the overhang where Mick claimed to have been. Gwen squinted, but it was too dark to see for sure.

“We going?”

“Yeah. Sure.” She got in and started the car. “They just left you?”

“Sophie said something about how waiting in the cold for hours would be good for my lying ass.”

That did sound like Sophie. “How did you piss off Jo and Sam?”

“I may have told them to mind their own business a little too forcefully.”

She could almost hear Sam saying, ‘hey man, I’m just here to help, but if you don’t want it, I’m outta here.’

Mick leveled a contrite expression her way. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you all.”

She put the car in gear and pulled onto the road, gradually becoming aware of an odd smell coming from his direction. It was faint and subtle. She recognized it, but what was it? Gwen frowned, trying to sniff and identify that smell without him realizing she was sniffing him.

Mick wasn’t much for conversation this time, staying silent for the most part. He seemed content to watch the scenery pass by in dark blurs.

She glanced at him. “You have no idea what happened in West Virginia?”

“No. Last thing I remember was the Siren.”

“Did you get her?”

His grin was slow and gave her the creeps, a thing she’d never felt with Mick before. “Oh, I got her alright. I took care of her.”

“Well…. Good.”

A sign flashed by on the right. Winding road ahead. Gwen touched the brakes and slowed down a bit. She knew from coming across this way earlier that there was still some ice on the road.

“It was.” He shifted in the seat and the smell was suddenly clear.

Carrion. That was what she smelled. The scent of something dead, with the underscore of old blood.

In tiny glances, by the light of the dashboard, Gwen studied Mick. “Are you okay?” This was a bad road to be on if he wasn’t Mick after all. Winding, icy, dangerous. No place to turn around for a long while yet. She felt sick to her stomach.

“Why would you ask that?” His voice was sharp, suspicious.

“You just don’t seem like yourself is all.”

“I’m fine…Gwen.”

Her glance lowered briefly to his coat. “Is that a bullet hole,” she asked. She’d noticed it earlier but hadn’t thought a thing of it. They all had clothes with bullet holes and other marks of their trade adorning them. Clothes were always getting ripped to shreds. In the dark of the car, it was hard to tell and she expected to see him smile and start in with some outlandish tale as to how it had gotten there. It was what Mick would do.

“Yes.”

Though she waited, no story was forthcoming. “How did you get it,” she prompted, praying he’d start in with a tale and knowing he wasn’t going to because this wasn’t Mick with her. It was something that was very good at pretending to be him.

Mick turned in his seat, removing his seatbelt, letting it retract with a hard ‘thwack’.

“What are you doing? Are you nuts? This road is terrible. Put that back on.”

“Sam shot me, Gwen.”

“What?”

“Three times and the third time wasn’t a charm. Not for him anyway.”

“What did you do to him?” She was going too fast for the curves. Gwen knew it and she couldn’t stop, her mind racing as to how to get herself out of this situation. She could slam on the brakes, yet the road had enough ice on it still that that would be a bad decision for both of them even if she was wearing her seatbelt.

“A little of this, a little of that. Tell me, did daddy teach you the ritual?”

“What ritual?” She reached for her gun and found it yanked from her hand and tossed in the backseat.

The thing slid closer, the carrion smell increasing. “I’ll take that as a no.”

He launched himself at her and then the car was out of her control, spinning and lurching into air, a clump of trees coming up awfully fast. She didn’t have time to do anything as the thing posing as Mick kept up his attack upon her. The pain of the impact was incredible, so much pain it was impossible to Gwen that she could feel it at all. She tasted blood, saw the satisfied smile of the thing as he climbed from the wreckage surrounding her, and gasped for a breath through lungs that felt like they were on fire.

Cold, she was so cold.

No. No, this wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be.

Her vision went blurry, strength seeping from her body.

I’m dying, she thought.

Gwen heard the thump of something falling close by. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, what looked like a small ribbon of shimmering light stretching towards her. She tried to reach for it, fingers twitching but not moving.

There was a tingling warmth on her skin and then everything went dark.