Title: Nothing and Everything

Part Two: Retribution

Summary: The hunt for the Soul Stealer begins. Sam and Gwen take a honeymoon and Jo’s reaction to an invitation leaves Dean more than a little exasperated with her.

Chapter 24

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam Winchester sat in the Impala in the passenger seat and wondered why he was even arguing with Dean. In Dean’s current mood, arguing did no good whatsoever. “Brigson isn’t our monster.”

“Of course he is.”

“You just want it to be him. Wanting it and it being true are two very different things.”

“Do you blame me? He’s a wife beater.”

“True.”

“And a sadistic arrogant bastard.” Which was Dean’s latest way to describe a cop.

“Also true.”

He snorted. “He’s probably a child molester on top of it all.”

“That we can’t prove.”

“He’s a monster.”

“Agreed, but,” Sam shrugged, “he’s a human monster. Not exactly our line of work. If we were really law enforcement of any kind, then yes, but we’re not.” Dean had been muttering about Darrin Brigson since meeting Sheila Brigson on the case and seeing that she was both showing signs of a recent beating and was half her husband’s size. It got to Sam too and maybe, in the course of the job, some justice for Sheila might be meted out. Probably would if Dean had any say. He was raring to take Darrin out.

“Smug, wife-beating dick. There’s a guy who deserves a beating himself.” He made a noise of disgust. “Lowlife.”

“I’d like to see him get his as much as the next person, but why don’t we concentrate on whatever is draining people of blood?”

“Think it’s ghouls?”

They’d had that conversation two hours earlier and Sam suppressed a sigh. Dean was reaching the stage of the stakeout where he was so bored he’d rehash old conversations. “It’s not ghouls.”

“You sure? We haven’t had a ghoul hunt in a long time and you know what they say….”

He winced ahead of time for the joke that was forthcoming. “What do they say?”

“Ghouls just want to have fun.”

Sam couldn’t suppress the groan that welled up. At this hour, Dean’s jokes would keep getting worse and worse. This one, rehashed from earlier, was the tip of the iceberg.

“Heh. Funny, right?” Dean chuckled and reached for the bag of chips.

“Sure. Funny…the first time you said it. I think it’s the fifth or sixth in the past three hours.” He shifted in the seat, stretching one leg out a little. “It’s not ghouls. It’s nothing like ghouls. There’ve been no grave robberies, for one thing.”

“I can dream.”

“We should take a look at the first victim again.” He flicked a glance at his watch. Instead of sitting here, maybe the time would be better spent going to the morgue. In fact, he’d rather be at the morgue, carefully going over the bodies for clues.

“Good luck getting that past Officer Dickweed’s buddy.”

They hadn’t hit it off with any of the officials in this town and while they could get back into the morgue during regular hours, they really didn’t need officials looking over their shoulders when they went back over the bodies. Sam wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but thought the first victim was the key. Laura Coombs had been the first victim drained according to the estimated time of death and the most recent found, but unlike the others, there hadn’t been a mark on her. “We go in tonight.”

“And quit in the middle of a vital part of our investigation?”

Sam rolled his eyes. It was hardly vital. The stakeout they were on wasn’t exactly to watch for a monster, at least not the supernatural kind. They were just down from Darrin Brigson’s house waiting to see if any domestic dispute came to light in the wee hours of the morning. The spouse abuse they’d noted had been digging at Dean something terrible the past two days and he seemed as determined to catch Darrin in the act as he was to catch the creature. He and Darrin hadn’t hit it off to begin with, matched in height, build, and skill in fast talk, annoying each other quickly from their first meeting. The dislike was amplified by the gut feeling Dean and Sam both had that Darrin was hiding something.

“Let’s stay a couple more hours.” Dean ate a few chips, then reached out and slapped Sam on the arm. “Hey, remind me why you’re here with me again?”

Lifting the binoculars, Sam scanned the area before lowering them and answering. “We’re partners? A team?”

“No, I mean on this job,” he corrected through a mouthful of chips. “Why are you here on this job and not out on a honeymoon with Gwen?”

Not quite the topic Sam was expecting. “Well --”

“Dude, you just got married. You should be in some exotic location boinking your wife, not sitting in the car with me in some Podunk town out in BFE eating chips and drinking coffee while waiting for some creature we haven’t identified yet to do something.”

“Boinking?”

“Yeah. Horizontal mambo? Mattress --”

“I know what it means.”

“Why’d you ask, then?”

“I wasn’t asking, I was….” Pick your battles, Sam, he told himself. “Never mind. We’re not on our honeymoon because she needs to build her strength up first. She was in a hospital bed for weeks.”

Dean snorted. “Are you kidding me? She was in better shape physically than ninety-five percent of the U.S. population the day she was released to go home. She was back running in the mornings within a week.”

Running, shooting, and getting her skills sharpened up again with Jo. They’d logged more than a few hours at target practice and at a weird course in the backyard the two had devised to test their physical skills such as jumping and climbing. The backyard now resembled a boot camp and Jo and Gwen ran drills for each other like they were in a military course. Sam supposed it was a good idea. Whatever kept them in shape for work and kept them occupied when they weren’t out on a job. It had been nice to see both women enjoying the challenge and teasing Dean when he’d refused to try out the course. He’d said it was too girly, to which Jo had told him to take it as fast as he could and then complain about it being girly. Maybe when they got back, Sam would take the course and join in the teasing, thus shaming Dean into trying it.

“Maybe, but I want her fully recovered before we go.”

“It’s been over a month. She checked out with her own doctor. I think you’re safe to have a wild, week-long boink-fest somewhere.” Taking the binoculars, he lifted them and peered down the street at Darrin Brigson’s house. “Come on, you dick, do something,” he murmured.

‘Boink’ appeared to be the word of the day and as for the latter part of Dean’s conversation, Sam assumed he wasn’t referring to him, but rather to Darrin, though he supposed the words could apply. “We can’t decide where to go. Every place we look at has a lot we want to do.”

“I hear you. Remember me and Jo? Every place seemed perfect until I saw the next ad.”

Dean had had trouble deciding where to take Jo for their sixth month dating anniversary and ended up just picking Las Vegas at the last minute, where he’d spontaneously proposed to her and married her. Maybe indecision in these matters was catching?

“Too many options.”

“Take her somewhere tropical. You can get her in a bikini most of the time.” Dean laid the binoculars down and reached for his coffee, taking a long drink.

“A cruise, definitely.” Gwen had been pouring over the brochures she’d picked up at the travel agent’s office. “Maybe in July? August?”

“Check the temperatures before you go. It’d suck to get heat stroke on your honeymoon and not be able to have a boink-fest.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime.” He sighed. “So, what about the, uh,” he snapped his fingers several times, “you know, the Trickster matter? You still --”

A large hairy creature walking on two legs broke through the bushes and strolled across the street several houses away. It paused in the middle of the street, looked at them, scratched at it’s rear with a hand and continued to the other line of bushes.

Sam opened his mouth and wasn’t sure what to say, squinting, trying to make sure he was seeing what it looked like he was seeing. Without streetlights in that section, he wasn’t sure he was. His mind might be filling in details because, after all, he did have monsters on the brain at present.

Dean looked down at the coffee cup in his hand, then at Sam. “Did you put something in my coffee?” The suspicion was high in his voice.

“No.”

“Okay. So either I’m hallucinating because it’s late and I’m wired on coffee or we just saw a Yeti stroll across the street.”

Sam blinked, still trying to process the way the thing had casually scratched it’s butt. “Bigfoot doesn’t exist, Dean, but we just saw --”

“What looks like Bigfoot,” Dean finished for him. “Big, hairy…and we’re still sitting in the damn car like a couple of little girls. Damn it!” He put down his cup and then they were getting out in pursuit.

The creature wasn't moving very fast and didn't react at all to their pursuit, strolling along like it was in a daze. Dean tackled it with a flying leap, his determination to actually do something outweighing the idiocy of tackling a creature. It made a very human grunt, groan, and then shout, arms swinging. Sam didn't get in Dean's way as he tried to subdue it, realizing quickly that it wasn't a creature Dean had hold of. Those were human hands and feet and the mask that had been covering the man's face was now on the ground a few feet away. "Um…. Dean?"

"I got it, Sam! I got Bigfoot! I got -"

“A guy in an animal suit.”

Dean quit fighting, the man slipping free. “A what?”

Sam gestured, then quickly looked away. The man was naked under net fabric that left everything hanging out and visible. The ‘fur’ was mostly on the back, arms and legs, though there were patches along his chest and groin area, albeit not enough for decency.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered and got to his feet.

The man was curling up against a tree trunk, blinking fast and looking around with a bewildered expression. “Where the hell am I? How’d I get here?”

“You want to tell us what you’re doing out here at this time of night in that get-up?” Dean brought out his FBI i.d. and held it up. “You know there’s something out here killing people, right?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing out here, man! I took one of those sleep aids….”

The explanation the guy babbled wasn’t as weird as Sam thought it was going to be, which he supposed was a sign of how cynical he was getting. People were strange, some more than others, and he knew many people would do anything -- especially under the influence of that sleep aid. Sam had heard stories of people driving to work naked and not remembering it after taking that drug, so this? Didn’t surprise him really.

The man only lived a block over and they escorted him back to his house before returning to the car. Once there, Dean demanded Sam’s flask. “The dude was naked, Sam.” He took a swig. “I was wrestling with a naked dude.”

"He had the suit on." He thought of a few wrestling jokes he could make, one with Jell-O and dismissed it as too soon. Dean wouldn't even pay attention right now. Maybe in a few hours he could get a little teasing in.

Dean's expression clearly indicated that that wasn't a comfort and he took another swig from the flask.

"You do know you're lucky it was just a guy in a suit and not some creature, right? Tackling it wasn't smart."

He ignored the question. "I've said it before and I'm gonna say it again. Monsters I get. People…."

Sam snickered. It wasn’t everyday Bigfoot turned out to be a 6’7” bodybuilder who liked to sleep in a bodysuit that was a full animal costume -- including face mask.

“An animal costume, Sam. A freakin’ animal costume.”

“Yeah.” Up close it had been…interesting, all skintight net and fur. He hoped to someday have the sight burned from his mind.

“A ‘cover me entirely in fur’ animal costume. To sleep in.”

“Well…. He probably doesn’t need covers.”

He shook his head. “I’m all for spicing up the sex life --”

“You certainly are.”

“-- but to sleep in? Alone? No hot chick dressed in the equivalent? Where’s the fun in that?”

The alone part appeared to be bothering Dean the most and Sam pictured Jo’s response if Dean ever asked her to dress up in an animal suit. She’d purse her lips, quirk a brow, and announce that he had issues then likely let herself be sweet-talked into doing it as long as Sam and Gwen and anyone else who might walk in were hundreds of miles away. She was still embarrassed over the saloon girl-sheriff incident.

Gwen would just collapse in peals of laughter at such a request. He couldn’t wait to tell her about this. “I don’t know.”

He gave himself a shake like a dog did and picked up his coffee, which had to be cold by now. “Anyway, where were we?”

“The Trickster matter?”

“Yeah, that. You really think he was lying to her?” He didn’t say it like he was disagreeing or doubtful, merely like he was double-checking.

“I do. Saying he’d let her go just for bringing his piece of power back to him? After expending so much energy on her to begin with? He kidnapped her, Dean, and actually put some thought into his idea of justice. Skeevy rapist thought, but it was thought. And after the amount of hate she says he has for Aaron? My money is on him lying low for awhile then heading after her. Make her -- and us -- think he’s done with us before sneaking in and grabbing her. He wants her, no matter how much he may protest otherwise.”

“I don’t think he let her go either.” He took a drink of coffee, grimaced, then opened the door and poured out the cup. Once it was filled with fresh from the thermos, Dean settled back in the seat. “We need to go on the offensive with him, go after him soon before he can strike.”

“I agree. I was thinking we could take a few days when we get back, check in with Chris and Sophie, see what they’ve come up with on the Soul Stealer, give Jo and Gwen a chance to work something, and finish up the box.” They’d been working on the box for containing the Trickster’s power, using the diagrams and directions in Aaron’s journals. Sam intended to neutralize him completely, so they’d had to recalculate the dimensions to hold the estimated mass of power. Aaron’s research had indicated the box needed to be bigger the more power they took away. Sam wanted no chance he could harm Gwen in the future, though he didn’t see a point in killing him when he could just take away his powers. “Not much left on it, I don’t think. I need to double check the symbols before I etch them in the wood. It’d be nice to know what they mean individually.”

One of the things Aaron hadn’t written down. He’d neglected to put what each symbol was on its own and Sam had been hunting down those symbols. A couple of them looked almost Enochian, though he hadn’t been able to get Cas or Abby to answer his summons in order to find out. Maybe he’d try Balthazar or Uzziel when they got back.

“Can’t always get what you want though.”

“I can try on this point.”

Dean groaned, sighed, and drank down the coffee. “Okay, let’s head for the morgue.”

The town morgue was one of the smallest they’d ever broken into, with none of the security precautions larger towns and cities had. They crept down the hall and into the main room, flipping on the light. No one would see it and they needed light to study the remains. Sam pulled Laura Coombs from the freezer and wheeled the table to the center of the room so they could work, while Dean laid out instruments with gloved hands.

“You want to --”

There was a loud cracking noise coming from the body beneath the sheet, a series of cracks that reverberated through the room. The sheet was moving.

Sam’s heart beat a bit faster and he drew his gun. “Dean?”

“Huh. You want to pull that sheet back or shall I?”

“You’re closer. You can have the honors.”

“Gee, thanks. Feelin’ the love, bro.” His hand reached out and whipped the sheet away.

The victim’s head had turned around so her face was to her back. Her arms, moving at an unnatural angle, pushed her body up, revealing a bloodless gash on the back of her neck, the stitches closing it broken and dangling. With another crack, her knees bent the wrong way and she crouched on the table. Her mouth opened in a snarl, but the only sound that emerged was from the gash on her neck, a sound like a cat’s yowl.

“Oh shit.” Dean backed up, right into the table of instruments. They clattered on the floor. “I haven’t seen one of those since it was just me and dad and you were at Stanford.”

“What is it?”

“One damn scary bitch,” was all Dean had time to say before the changed woman leaped at them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, Dean thought the old world monsters were the worst, the ones that ancient civilizations had worshipped as gods and goddesses. Bizarre creatures -- like this one. Many of them were forgotten beneath the passing of time.

Maybe they should research the old monsters, make the information current and available for everyone.

He stood over the body of Laura Coombs, watching Sam sew garlic into the feeding mouth on the back of her neck. Memories of the last time he’d fought one of these came rushing forward and he suddenly realized the truth. “I think I know who our monster is,” he said once Sam finished. With the head cut off, the chair leg through her heart and garlic sewn into the feeding mouth, she was definitely not a threat anymore. She wasn’t one of the varieties that the head could grow back together with the body, so it was safe to leave her body.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“All in good time.” He led Sam out to the car and drove to Darrin Brigson’s house. “Grab a couple stakes, mallets, a machete, and some garlic from the trunk?”

When they were loaded down, he gestured at the house. “Let’s pay Mrs. Brigson a visit, shall we?”

When he answered the door, Darrin Brigson was pale and sweating, blotting his face with the long sleeve of his shirt. “What can I do for you, agents?”

The fact that they were knocking on his door at four in the morning didn’t seem to alarm him the way it would most people. He kept glancing over his shoulder, fear in his eyes. “Your wife in,” Dean asked.

“She’s…resting.”

Long sleeves in June in the south. Darrin was buttoned up tight like it was December. “Too bad. We’re interviewing her anyway.” After seeing Laura Coombs transformed less than an hour earlier, it had all come together for Dean, the marks on Sheila Brigson making perfect sense.

Darrin wasn’t beating her. He was the one being worked over. The bruises on Sheila’s neck weren’t from him strangling her, they were from her head turning around to expose the feeding mouth. The bruises on her arms were from the unnatural angle they turned to aid in the feeding.

“Push up your sleeves,” Dean ordered him. These creatures, when they returned to a spouse or loved one, liked to snack on them as a way to torment them. Real food they got from others. They derived a sadistic pleasure from tormenting loved ones by taking small amounts of blood from them.

“I don’t --”

Sam drew his gun and pointed it at him. “Now.”

With shaking hands, Darrin complied. “Please keep your voices low! Don’t wake her!” His arms were covered by leech-like wounds.

“How long,” Dean asked.

“What?”

“How long? When did she turn?”

Relief passed quickly through his gaze, his shoulders slumping. “She got back from an archeological dig about a month ago. They started in Israel and I think they were able to get to a site in Iraq for awhile. She got home and slept for a couple days. I thought it was jetlag.”

Iraq. Babylon. That settled it in his mind. “Let me guess. People started dying and wifey-poo perked right up. Seemed to thrive after each report while those bruises got worse.”

Darrin paled, his chin trembling. “I followed her one night, caught her feeding, and she…she turned on me. I can’t say no to her, man. She’s my wife.”

“She was your wife.” Dean shook his head. “She’s not anymore.” He looked at Sam. “She’ll be stronger than Laura, Sam. I’ll bet that side trip to Iraq was right near the beginning of the dig and she went missing for the hibernation period. Takes two to three weeks for a victim to turn. These things usually take up to four companions, growing stronger with each real kill they make and they’re always female. A matriarchal monster line. There are no males in their ranks, so those male victims we can discount. The ones they take as companions they’ll guard and keep safe until they’re almost ready to start feeding themselves. She’s the source of the infection.”

“The other female victims?”

There’d been two female and three male. “Not infected…unless there are some missing person reports Darrin here never let see the light of day?”

The man bowed his head. “One, but she could be a runaway. Family has had trouble with her before, the sort of girl who runs off occasionally anyway. They reported her but said not to bother looking, they’re sure she’ll turn up.”

“Get us that report and a picture when we’re done here.” They’d put up an alert on the message board as a possible turning.

“Darrin?” A woman’s guttural voice cried from the back of the house.

Sweat dripped down Darrin’s brow.

“Answer her,” Sam hissed in a voice close to a whisper.

“In the living room.”

Sam put his gun away.

Sheila Brigson was hardly the composed, well-dressed young woman they’d first met. Her long, reddish brown hair was matted with dirt and leaves, her clothes filthy. Bloodstains covered her shirt and the bruises on her neck were darker than before. “Agents.” Calculation flared in her eyes, so fast that if Dean hadn’t been watching for it, he might have missed it. “Look at what he’s done to me. He dragged me across the yard and threw me in the bushes.” As she talked, her voice became more animated and human, that of an abused woman desperate for help. “Please help me before he kills me!” She shied away from Darrin. “Please!”

Dean opened one side of his jacket, revealing the stake and mallet he was carrying as Sam did the same. “We met your pal Laura a bit ago.”

“Oh.” She dropped the victim act with a shrug. “How is Laura? Risen I take it?”

“Dead, actually. Really dead this time. Put a chair leg through her chest, cut off her head, and stuffed garlic down the feeding mouth before sewing it shut.”

She crossed her arms, her beautiful face set in a cold smirk. “I see. You’re hunters then. They warned me some of you might come sniffing around.” Her glance slid to Darrin. “Don’t go anywhere, sweetie. I’ll want a snack after dealing with these men.”

Sheila was strong, a lot stronger than Laura had been, and for a few minutes, Dean wasn’t sure they could beat her…until Darrin seemed to snap out of his hopeless state and entered the fray. With the three of them against her, they were able to wrestle her to the floor, Sheila spouting obscenities the entire time. She disparaged Darrin as a lover and husband, then changed tactics once she was firmly held down, pleading with him not to kill her.

“Please, Darrin, don’t kill me! Don’t let them do this! I love you, I do, I --”

Dean cut off her head with the machete and Darrin was sick all over the floor beside her body.

Darrin sat on the floor, watching them finish with Sheila, an emptiness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. “What do I do now?” His voice broke on the words and he sobbed.

“Develop amnesia,” Sam suggested. “Some crazy broke in and killed her, then tried to kill you. That’s all that happened.”

“Forget about monsters,” Dean told him.

“The runaway. She could be one of those things. I should --”

“Get us the information and leave it to us.” Sam stood. There was a flash of sympathy in his eyes. “Stay in your world, Darrin. Trust us. It’s better if you do, for you and whatever family you still have.”

He stared up at Sam and slowly nodded. “Sheila was my life. We were high school sweethearts.”

“The information on the runaway,” Dean prodded.

They left the house half an hour later, the file in hand. Once they were on the road, Sam would begin sending the information out and by the time they were home, Ellen would have it up for all hunters on the board to see. First, however, they swung by the motel to pack up.

“Dad called them Lilitu, but I always thought they fit the description of Ekimmu or Utukku better. They’re all three Babylonian, you know.” He was showing off a little and why not? Wasn’t often he was able to one-up Sam in the research area. A glance showed Sam was listening to him the way he did to Bobby whenever Bobby explained about some strange creature. Dean smiled to himself. “They have some weird-ass creatures running around over there. Sometimes they send a little envoy over here, try to get a new party going.”

“You and dad hunted one?”

“Try four. Those Babylonian bitches are all strange, behave in bizarre ways -- for monsters. Two mouths, six eyes, tentacles….”

“Tentacles?”

“You don’t want to know.” It was a story for another day. He cleared his throat and tapped a hand on the roof of the car. “We ready?”

“Sure.”

He continued once they were on the road. “Four beautiful women with those nasty feeding mouths came right at us. Trapped us, even. Dad was calm about it though, said, ‘Cut off the head or slam the heart, we’ll do the rest of the routine once they’re all down.’” He recalled the memory of that night. It had been a bloody, very hard battle, and when it was over, John had gripped his shoulder, squeezed it, and almost smiled as he nodded once. Dean had almost forgotten that moment of approval. “I think he was proud of me that night.”

“Considering it took us plus Darrin to take care of just one, he was probably bursting with pride, Dean.”

Maybe he had been and the idea was a pleasant thought inside him, a moment he hadn’t had in a long time. Dean vowed to make sure Jack always knew when he was proud of him. He settled back in the seat. Time for something a bit lighter in the way of conversation. “So…one or two?”

“One or two what?” Sam reached for his bottle of water.

“Weeks.”

“For what?”

“For…. Dude. Is it possible I’m thinking about your honeymoon more than you are?”

“As long as you’re not thinking about sex with Gwen.”

“Uh…no. I have my own wife to think about. You know, you’re supposed to have nothing but your honeymoon on your mind right now. You should be dreaming of wild sex. The fact that you can work without a goofy grin and trouble focusing is more than a little disturbing.” It floored him that Sam really could compartmentalize it while working when Dean would occasionally lapse into daydreams of Jo wearing nothing more than a saucy smile -- which she did very well.

Sam looked at him like he was nuts. “Gwen and I don’t need a honeymoon to have wild sex, Dean. We just need a free hour or two.”

He ignored that comment, tapping a finger on the steering wheel. “Eight to ten days. That’s how long you two need to be gone. Two weeks of nothing but romance and relaxation.”

“I can work because it’s work. Why don’t you and Jo go?”

“You promised a comatose woman a honeymoon. Deliver. Trust me. When the wife is happy, you’re happy. When she’s not happy? No one is happy. Remember that. It’s one key to a successful marriage. Keep your wife happy as much as possible.” He glanced at Sam. “Jo and I had a honeymoon already. We were actually in Las Vegas, then we got a cabin. It counts.”

“I’m sure Jo would like a second honeymoon.”

“Don’t you worry about us, Sam. If Jo and I need a few days away for sun and sex, we’ll take them.” He cleared his throat. “You and Gwen however…. You two can’t seem to take a few days alone without finding a case -- or two -- and I don’t mean of beer.” Their holidays were all busman’s holidays, searching out the very things they were taking a break from. Dean had determined that Sam and Gwen’s honeymoon needed to be completely different -- whether they thought so or not. They needed to do nothing but lie around in deck chairs and read dumb magazines or stay in their room otherwise occupied. “Checking out local legends, scaring up a case the next town over….”

“We have fun,” Sam protested.

Not to worry. Dean and Jo had talked it over and they had a plan to make sure the two had a very unproductive trip when they finally did go. It was beautiful, brilliant and guaranteed to piss both of them off the first couple days, but after that, they were sure to see the light. Dean almost couldn’t wait for Sam and Gwen to leave so he could hear about the honeymoon on their return.