Title: Nothing and Everything

Chapter 32

Notes: For any curious: many of the creatures I’ve been adding are in the book The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Fairies by Anna Franklin, which seems to contain a lot more general world folklore than strictly fairy folk legends.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’ve we got?” Sam followed Dean up the stairs to the office area. Pinned to the board on one wall was a map of the U.S. with pins dotting it and several newspaper clippings. There were an awful lot of pins crowded together in clusters.

“For one, we’ve got Crowley hiding his crossroads demons out in the middle of nowhere because of something coming after them and for another…” Dean took a thick file from one shelf. “Check this out.”

“Where’d you get that intel?” Crowely reassigning demons had to be a big deal. It meant there was a real threat to his reign. Sometimes Sam wished they’d been able to kill Crowley instead of him fleeing from them. The demon had cut his losses and run before they could put him down and had yet to give them another chance at him.

“Something Bobby scared up this past week.” Dean’s words were vague. Maybe someday Sam would get the real story of the past week from him.

What he laid down on the table in front of Sam was a newspaper article about a town. Sam read through it. “When did this happen?” He looked for the date. “Gwen and I were boarding the ship that day. We saw demonic omens right in that area the night before.”

“You texted me about it. I’ve got a few more details. Each body was mutilated and when they talk about the entire town in that article, they mean it. No one got out. It was bloody and gruesome. They’re still trying to clean it up. I’ve been in contact with one of the investigators. He promised to call me if they found something really bizarre as they searched the town and they did. Some sort of symbols painted on the floor in the high school gym. I figure we can leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, hell. Let’s go right after the party.”

“Get it past the wives and I’m with you.”

“Okay. I will.” As tired as he was from the trip, he could easily be ready to leave this evening. He gestured at the map. “What’s with all the pins? They’re not a part of this are they?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Could be. That’s the other fun thing I found. Working hypothesis is that we’ve got a bunch of people running around with half-eaten souls.” He laid out more articles and a few papers with his handwriting on them. “It’s a really working hypothesis. There’ve been a rash of attacks in a steady line from that road Gwen crashed on in Colorado all the way to Indiana. I even found a couple out on the coast now, too, and a few older attacks in the southern states from about a year ago.”

“About the time we think he was released?”

“Yeah. Anyway, the attacker subdues the victims, does something that causes excruciating pain, but doesn’t mark them up. Each one has reported feeling weird afterwards, like the assailant took a part of them somehow. They’ve been displaying aggressive tendencies and personality changes since attacked, both far out of proportion to what could be considered normal. Same sort of thing we’ve seen in Sophie.” He sighed. “A few of them have gone missing since, too. Could be suicides that haven’t been found or…. I don’t know. It’s weird, whatever it is. Might be something.”

From downstairs came the sound of other voices besides Gwen and Jo -- Ellen and Bobby.

Ellen’s voice was louder than Bobby’s. “There’s the birthday boy! Come to grandma, sweetie.”

Sam studied the pages, reading through everything before looking up at Dean. “All over the past four months, concentrated in Iowa and Illinois.” He tapped a portion of the list Dean had made. “These four were the day we left and only half an hour from the town that was massacred.”

“Awful big coincidence.” Dean slid over the pages on the weather patterns. “Add in the demonic omens right there and I’m wondering if it eats demons too.”

He sat back, thinking about that possibility. “Interesting question. Demons are corrupted souls and he eats souls, so…maybe?”

“Be a public service if he did. How can we convince him to gorge on them and not humans?”

Jo’s voice came from downstairs. “Hey! You two gonna join the rest of us? Got a birthday party starting down here!”

Sam stacked the papers and got up from his chair. “We’d better get down there.”

Gwen was holding Jack when they came downstairs, watching Jo set out the cake. Bobby and Ellen were already seated at the table and Sam saw a tower of brightly wrapped packages to one side on the floor. Ellen had gone all out again. Her delight in being a grandmother was obvious to anyone who looked at her with Jack.

There were two cakes: a little one for Jack and a bigger one for the rest of them. Gwen got Jack into his high chair and crouched down beside the chair. The candle was in the big cake, Dean blowing it out for Jack as they sang ‘Happy Birthday’.

Setting the little cake in front of Jack, Gwen brushed a finger along his cheek. “Eat up, little man. It’s all yours.”

He stared at the cake, then leaned over cautiously and pressed his mouth to it. He licked his lips, then grinned and grabbed at it with his hands, getting icing and cake all over himself, the high chair, and the floor. It was like watching a tornado touch down and send things flying.

Jo laughed and began to dish up cake and ice cream for everyone else except Dean. She went into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a slab of pie, piling it with ice cream before handing it to him.

Sam saw Dean pat Jo on the rear before sitting to eat. “Special treatment, huh?”

“I know what my man likes,” Jo replied, reaching for a fork and sitting in the chair beside Dean, “and it’s not cake.”

Ellen sat back and carefully aimed her camera at Jack, snapping a series of pictures. “So, Sam, what do you make of Crowley reassigning his demons to odd places? Dean did tell you, right?”

“He did.” He scraped a large glop of icing from his piece of cake and dropped it onto Gwen’s plate. She wasn’t usually much of a sweet eater, but liked icing. She’d eat the icing and leave the cake, while he’d eat the cake and leave the icing. “He’s running scared of something and we know it’s not us. We were speculating a few minutes ago that the soul stealer eats up demons. We already know he takes human and monster souls. Demons were once human souls. They’re still human souls, just twisted up and evil. It’d explain Crowley’s reorganization. If the creature needs to eat and knows he can find demons at the crossroads, why not go there? If he considers monsters of all kinds as good of food as humans? It takes a certain amount of time to make demons. What if the creature is eating up all of Crowley’s staff?”

“Go him. The less staff that demon dick has up running around the better,” Dean remarked, spooning a little bit of the vanilla ice cream from his pie for Jack to eat. The boy took it, spit it out, and smeared more icing all over his face. “You’re supposed to swallow it,” Dean told him and reached for a cloth to wipe his face with, “not spit it out.”

Jack kicked his feet in response.

Bobby sat back, his cake and ice cream largely untouched, and crossed his arms. “You heading out to that town that got butchered? See what the demonic omens brought out?”

“I’d like to move on it tonight,” Sam said, glancing at Gwen and Jo. “Longer we wait, the more clues we lose.”

After a bit more discussion, it was settled. They’d leave after the party.

~~~~~~~~~~

The town was a ton of weird. The murders were horrific, some of the bloodiest Dean had ever come across and he’d seen more than his share. He stepped across the floor of the high school gym to the cordoned off area. There’d been bodies here, too, several of them around the symbol. The smell of all those things that went with death lingered in the air. It seemed to permeate the entire town.

Dean crouched down. The symbols looked familiar, but he was having trouble placing them. “You get a picture of this, Sam?”

Sam crouched as well, camera in his gloved hands. “I did.”

“Looks like one we’ve seen before, but I can’t place it right now.”

“Neither can I. I’ll do a cross-reference of basic symbols when we get back to the motel.” He’d begun a folder of symbols they’d come across, each labeled with a date and case descriptor. Labeled elsewhere on file at home were further details such as what some symbols meant and how they were used together in certain rituals. It was useful information and putting it all together was possibly some sort of OCD thing on Sam’s part.

A voice came from behind them. “You have any ideas, Agents?”

Dean stood while Sam took a few close-up pictures. “It might fit a much smaller pattern we’ve been seeing.” He motioned the guy away a few steps from the activity in the gym. “Let me know if you get prints from a guy named Mick Richardson, alias Michael Ricks, anywhere here, okay?”

“You think one guy could do all this?”

“No, of course not, but he’s a person of interest to us. Just give me a quick call if you find his prints.” He handed the cop his card and returned to Sam.

Back at the motel, he called home, chatting with Jo awhile before hanging up and trying to get his mind centered back on the case. He thought this was all Mick. The soul stealer, rather. His prints were going to be everywhere. Dean poured a small amount of whiskey into a glass and sat at the table across from Sam.

He was deep into that file of symbols, trying to identify the ones from earlier.

“What’s he up to, Sam?” Dean swirled the liquor in his glass.

“Who? The soul stealer?” He looked up from the pictures. “Not sure. He’s been out about a year now.”

“My point exactly. He’s supposed to be so bad that everything is scared of him, but what’s he done? I mean really? What’s he done in a year?”

“He ate an entire town of fourteen hundred people? Isn’t that bad enough?”

“And before that?”

“If we’re correct, he’s been snacking his way across the country from Colorado to Indiana since the accident. That’s not nothing, Dean.”

“The accident that wasn’t really an accident, but rather an attempt to murder Gwen.”

“After he’d set a trap for us, ate part of Sophie’s soul, and tried to eat Jo’s soul.”

“And he tried to kill you.” Dean narrowed his eyes and sipped at the liquor. “Why didn’t it work? I mean whatever he was trying to do to you? Jo described exactly what Sophie said it felt like for him to chop at a piece of soul, but you didn’t feel that at all. How come he couldn’t do it to you?”

“Maybe he can’t.” Setting down one picture, he picked up another, squinted at it, and discarded it. “Maybe I’m immune somehow. Could be he can’t take the souls of angelic vessels or it could be a willpower thing.”

Dean nodded. “Could be.” He tapped the bottom of his glass lightly on the table. “Another thing bothering me.”

“Only one thing? What’s that?” Sam shuffled pictures, putting two side by side.

“When I looked, those single attacks didn’t seem to be anything big, but then I checked out the weather pattern Gwen pointed out to you, found the town massacre, and it all seemed to fit together.” He released the glass and gestured with his hands, threading his fingers together.

“And?”

“It seem strange to you that we didn’t notice the pieces until Gwen handed you one? Like we, you and I, weren’t allowed to see any of it? Seriously, Sam. There’s these strange attacks going on all over the place and we don’t notice them?”

He was silent a moment, then nodded. “Actually, it did seem strange. Strange that no hunters called us on them either.”

“Almost like we’re being kept in the dark for some reason.” Dean swallowed the liquor and put the glass down. He meant Castiel -- or some other angel or higher power. He hated to suspect Cas of that, but already had suspicions on Castiel’s involvement in Gwen’s accident. His manner was off, he was nervous when they saw him…. He’d been pondering the strangeness of the conversation they’d had that day at the hospital, trying not to think Castiel could be involved in it. He didn’t want to believe that Castiel would have a hand in hurting one of them for any reason. “Like angelic interference. Looks like an angel, smells like an angel, probably an angel.”

“The idea crossed my mind, too, but I’d hate to accuse Cas of doing something like that without proof.”

“I would, too. Hard to prove a hunch, though.”

“Why would Castiel do that? He should know about this creature, right?”

Dean had no answer. “You’d think.” Stretching out a hand, he turned the pictures Sam was now looking at. One was the symbol they’d found in the town. The other was a similar symbol. “They’re almost identical.” He pointed at the picture on the left. “Where’d we find that one?”

“Last year. The storage building that blew?”

“Right. Those are nearly a match to the one today.”

“They are. I wonder if some demon maybe tried to bind the soul stealer back to the earth.”

He scratched a finger on his jaw, thinking about that. “Wouldn’t he need to be part of the original bloodline that bound it? Also he’d have to have one of those boxes like we found and there wasn’t one at the scene.”

“Yeah….” Sam pointed at the pictures now. The symbol from the high school was missing some of the symbols that were on the other picture. “Look at the symbols that are missing.”

“What about them?”

His voice was excited. “If I’m right, the symbols that plug in here and here,” he tapped a finger to the picture in three places, “would correspond to these on the containment box. I’ll check the rest of the pictures when we get back, but I think those symbols were on the box, too. Remember? There were symbols on the box as well.”

“If they correspond, then what?”

He half laughed and turned in his chair. “Don’t you see it, Dean?”

“Obviously not. Enlighten me.”

“Well…they must be the power symbols, the ones with the most oomph, and….These look like the same ones that were on the Trickster box. The possible Enochian ones.” Her turned the pictures, peering at them and nodding his head. “I think the whole thing works on the same principle as what we used on the Trickster. Maybe Aaron even adapted this containment ritual and spell to the Trickster. Think about it. Instead of sucking his entire soul and powers, his being, into the containment, he figured out how to change it, adapt it, to take just his powers.”

“How sure are you that that could be the case?”

“The timeline for one. He mentioned the soul stealer killing Bill Harvelle’s parents long before he mentioned anything about the Trickster. It reasons out. If he already had this information and he was the genius we think he was, how hard would it have been for him to adapt it?”

It did make sense. “He would’ve had to figure out how to change it to the Trickster instead of the soul stealer, specify the Trickster’s powers and not his entire essence, break down both the symbols and the spoken words into each component, analyze it all, and puzzle it back together how he wanted it.” Dean snorted. “If he did that, he was a friggin’ genius, especially with Tricksters not being in as big supply as some of the other monsters out there.” Occasionally he wondered why there didn’t seem to be many tricksters. A few here and there, yes, just not many overall in the world.

“Wouldn’t that mean that his containment on the Trickster was an experiment that he’d merely predicted would work? He had enough confidence in his calculations that he used it blind to try to save Gwen.”

“That takes balls.” Dean eyed the whiskey bottle, but didn’t reach for it.

“And desperation, but he was right. It worked. His hypothesis was proven right twice now, once by him and once by us.”

Dean sat back in his chair, studying both pictures. If the concept was the same…. “We could use this as a jumping off point to do the same thing he did, working to adapt it back to the soul stealer. You already know what some of it means.”

“Except the possible Enochian.”

“And you’re sure it has to be Enochian?”

“Doesn’t it look like it to you? Balthazar denied having seen any of the symbols, but he was lying. I could see it. He was lying and alarmed by me having them. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t steal the box.”

“Maybe someone reigned him in somehow.”

“Castiel? Isn’t he supposed to be some big boss angel now?”

“Something like that. What’s say we give old Cas a call?”

It was a good idea in theory, except for the part where Castiel didn’t show up. They decided to go back to base and start working on dissecting the parts of the spell and comparing the symbols.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of fall passed swiftly by, heading towards the winter months. Jo and Gwen went up against a Lugat that started killing his victims -- odd behavior for one of that kind. A Lugat usually only took a small amount of blood, but this one had gone on a killing spree and expressed no remorse.

Sam didn’t know if the monster’s soul was gone or not, though his change in manner indicated it. It wasn’t just Jo and Gwen finding weird changes in the monster population. Bobby and Ellen had as well, along with all the hunters they knew. The hunting community was abuzz with that news. Vampires, werewolves, shape shifters and skin walkers popping up to ask hunters to kill them. Gentler monsters, such as the Lugat, turning violent. Weird.

And now Sam had a Dryad acting out with aggression to a simple questioning when they’d gone in to question her using all the proper respectful rituals. They’d been no threat to her, yet she’d shot Dean. He took out his phone.

“Don’t you call her.” The words were beginning to slur, Dean reaching to grab the phone and missing, his perception off at present due to the dosage Sam had given him. “Sammy, don’t you dare.”

Sam held the phone up to his ear and shoved Dean firmly back onto the bed with one hand. “You just lay there and enjoy your morphine, Dean.”

Jo’s voice answered him. “Hello? Sam? Morphine? I heard the word morphine. What happened?”

“Dean got shot.” Before he could say more, she was asking questions.

“What? How bad is it? Is he okay?”

Sam glanced at Dean. “He’s fine. The Dryad had crap aim.”

“Why was a Dryad using a gun to begin with? They’re harmless, peaceful creatures.”

“Long story. Anyway, it got him in the arm, more grazed him than anything. Lot of blood, little wound. He got morphine because he’s being a crybaby about it.”

“Graze,” Dean replied, lifting his head from the pillow. “Hell you say! Went clear through and I’m not being a crybaby, you dick, I’m in pain!”

“What’d he say,” Jo asked. “It went through?”

“Grazed,” Sam repeated. “I know the difference between a hole all the way through and a graze, Jo. Listen, I need you to pull out the file I was putting together on the Vanadevata.”

“Vanadevata? Spell it for me.”

He did, though there weren’t many files in the ‘v’ section of the filing cabinet yet.

“Make their homes in trees? Will punish those who cut the trees down?”

“That’s them. Is there anything there about them attacking women?”

“They’re not native to the U.S..” Papers rustled. “What kind of attacks?”

“Rapes.”

“No. Nothing.”

“Damn.” He’d remembered the Vanadevata could be violent when their homes were cut down.

“Sam, have you tried looking into the Leshie population?”

The name was familiar. “Refresh my memory.”

“There’s a Leshie clan lives in the woods in that region, though they’re usually not active this late in the season. Their active period is normally early spring to the start of fall. They wander the woods all over there like nomads, living in one area for awhile, then moving on. They’re shape shifters, like to trick travelers and lure them deep into the woods to die of starvation and thirst. When I ran into them a few years back, their Czar had a firm hand on them and only allowed them to trick thieves. If there was a power struggle, he may have been deposed.”

“How would they fit in with rapes in the area?”

She was silent a minute. “Wild Leshie lure women into the woods, then rape them until they’re mute from the trauma and release them. The women come out of the woods covered in moss and never talk again.”

“Got a name for the Czar you met?”

“He went by the name Grayson, but be careful, Sam. They’re a really volatile bunch. I was really lucky to come back out of the woods alive and well.”

“I will. You want to talk to Dean a minute?”

“Is he coherent enough?”

Sam chuckled. “For the moment. Here he is.” He patted Dean’s good arm. “It’s Jo.”

Dean took the phone, nearly dropping it before he got it to his ear. “He drugged me, Jo. My own brother…. Yeah…. It is good stuff.” His words descended into all slurs, his blinks becoming slower as the drug pulled him under. The phone dropped and Sam picked it up.

“And he’s out. Probably for awhile.”

“You sure he’s okay?”

“As good as I can make him.

“Why’d you give him morphine for a scratch?”

“Because he needs the rest.”

“It’s more than a scratch, isn’t it? It went all the way through, right?”

He didn’t answer her. “I’m gonna check out the Leshie angle, see if anything comes of it.”

“Call me if you find Grayson. You may need me to talk to him.”

“Sure.” He had a brief window of opportunity here where Dean would be down for the count. He needed to use that opportunity to the best of his ability.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lachesis was too much of a party girl for even Balthazar to keep up. He was actually distressed to realize that. She’d been leading him from party to party for nearly a week now, dancing and drinking the hours away.

“Come on, already,” she coaxed. “The night is still very young, Balthazar.”

He let her drag him a few steps down the sidewalk. “You’re wearing me out, darling.”

“Ooooh…..” She pouted, lower lip thrust out. “I thought you’d be more fun.”

“If you think I’m no fun, it’s a good thing you never convinced Castiel to come out with you.”

“I’ve always known he’d never come out with me. I love to tease him. You on the other hand….” She grasped his chin between thumb and forefinger. “You had potential.”

“So sorry I’ve disappointed.”

Lachesis waved a hand. “It’s fine. Not many can keep up with me.” Releasing his chin, she linked her arm through his. “Did you try Clotho first?”

“I did, yes. Why?”

“Oh, she intimated you’d be calling on me soon and here you are.” Her smile was delighted. “Flirt.”

“Tease.”

They walked, passing groups of revelers. A lot of parties going on.

“What do you want, Balthazar,” she asked, her tone sliding abruptly into a serious mien.

“Do I have to want something?”

“No, but you do. What are you buttering me up to get?” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “You know, I’ve seen the life of your vessel to the end. I was there when he was born, watched the threads of his life knit together. Even though you’re driving the bus, he is still there. You’re using a portion of his existence. Therefore, I see…you.”

“And what is it you’ve seen and see?”

She smiled wide. “Enough. I’ve seen enough.” Stretching her hands up, she ran them through his hair and stepped back. “I can’t and won’t tell you what you’re trying to find.” Turning, she walked a few steps, then looked back over her shoulder. “Two out of three say no. What will the third say?”

Lachesis disappeared from view, leaving him standing alone on a cold New York street. Very well, he thought. Atropos was the lucky Fate he’d focus fully on.

~~~~~~~~~~

If Sam had even remotely hoped to return to the motel while Dean was still asleep, he would’ve been rather mistaken. Instead, he opened the door to find Dean awake and contemplating his injured arm with a look of abject disgust. He also looked annoyingly well-rested, whereas Sam hadn’t had sleep in over twenty-four hours now and had been in two fights that could have resulted in his death.

“Where’ve you been?” Dean pulled on his shirt and let out a hiss when he moved his arm. “Son of a bitch that hurts.”

Sam glanced down at himself. He had mud and leaves in his hair, scratches on face, neck, and arms, more mud and blood smeared on whatever skin was showing plus his clothes, his shirt was in strips and ready for a rag bag, and he was limping due to a painful gash on his left calf. “In the woods.” He dropped into one chair. “Took care of the monster problem.”

“Do tell.”

“Not much to tell.” Actually, there was a lot to tell, he was just too tired to go into it all right now. “Jo had suggested I look into the Leshie population, so I let them lead me into the woods. Deep into the woods, as in so lost you’re screwed. Then their original leader came out to chat. Turns out the Dryad that shot you was another rape victim had been yanked from her home tree a couple hundred miles away by a rival Leshie Czar who, for no reason anyone can see, went crazy and completely changed his policies. He dragged her here, used her to entice Grayson’s most impressionable clan members --”

“Wait.” Dean held up a hand. “Entice?”

“Unless the Leshie are reigned in by a Czar, they go wild and a favorite activity is raping women until they’re catatonic.”

“And that includes Dryads apparently.”

“Apparently. I guess quite a few of the clan joined in. Before the Dryad-napping, there’d been a truce between the two clans. It took them all by surprise.”

“So why are you all torn up if all you did was talk?”

Sam cast a longing glance at the bathroom. A shower would be wonderful right now, along with a meal and sleep. “The rival showed up, things got hairy, the Dryad got murdered, and Grayson is taking her killer back to her home forest for sentencing by her clan. I walked out and back here.”

“How’d you get out if you were lost?”

He held up his phone. “GPS, dude.”

“You were saved by Mapquest?”

He chuckled. “You could put it that way. Can I get in the shower, Dean? I have mud and Leshie blood all over me.”

“Yeah, sure. If we’re done here, let’s just pack up and head out.”

“Don’t try doing too much. You still have a hole in your arm.”

“You told Jo it was a scratch. Now you’re admitting it’s a hole?”

“She knew I was lying.”

Once he’d had a meal and sleep, he’d be able to go through what had happened with a lot more detail, telling Dean everything the Leshie murderer had said. He hadn’t gone crazy. The creature maintained that. He’d had an epiphany. Sam had had to work fast to get anything from him, but the gist of what the creature said was that he’d been attacked by a monster in a human guise, a very old monster that he’d recognized, one who’d ripped his soul from him. He’d known what had happened, but with his soul gone, he didn’t care anymore. A long time ago, he’d used his abilities to help trap the creature so hunters could take care of it.

The attack on him had been personal. Payback.

There’d been little else he could say and there was no way to get whatever other information he’d have. Grayson had whisked him away and by now, the Dryad’s clan would be killing him.

Sam had tried to stall them, but Grayson was a good leader, set on seeing justice as soon as possible. He’d wanted to get the Dryad home so her family and friends could mourn.

He had to wonder if there were other Leshie out there, or other creatures like them, who’d aided in a trap. If they could find them somehow and convince them to help again, they’d have some sort of edge.