Title: The C-Team, Chapter Three
Author: walkingdean
Word Count: 2,854
Trigger Warnings: Blood, Cursing, Death
Summary: TFW & the reader investigate the house where the case happened when they realize what did it, and that it’s striking again.
Fic:
The air inside of the rustic car consisted of different emotions from every contemplating body in the vehicle. The rugged driver tugged at the gearshift with his leather jacket hanging just over his wrist comfortably, parking the beloved contraption. His brain was pumping with different reflections that he attempted to understand. A feeling of reluctance overcame him for he did not await the future- he never has due to the life that he has lived so far. The longer he lived, the more suffering he endured such as going to hell, his brother losing his soul, and the worst fate of all- the death of his parents that he had never recovered from. He hadn’t known the prophet in the backseat for long. Hell, he had only known her for about four hours at this point, but he didn’t want her to die. He never wanted anyone to die while the Winchesters were reigning over a case, yet it was different with her. She was so innocent to what she could do with her abilities and Dean felt as if he had to guide her because he had nursed Sam during his tribulations years ago with his abilities from the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Azazel. Call it poetic, but Dean felt that he was meant to be her shepherd- if shepherds had the overwhelming feeling that they were going to fall in love with the sheep. On the other hand, Sam had formed the idea that she could almost act like a sister in his life. He felt no romantic attraction for he felt Dean could barely keep his pants on around her, so whatever sort of relationship he felt with her was completely platonic. However, Castiel felt slight resentment towards her due to the past of her type of prophet and the literal hell that they had risen up in the past. The angel was wary of her and his prediction that he hoped would not come to fruition. And finally, the prophet sat in the back seat just attempting to process what had happened in the past week; she had witnessed a murder, sent to a mental institution, and was now in a car with two supernatural hunters and an angel of the Lord. And you thought your week has been crazy?
Dean stumbled out of the Impala as his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight that struck down on the ground like rain during a hurricane. The rest of the crew quickly followed behind, yet she had hesitation about getting out. The yellow hazard tape that dressed the front yard of the Peterson house was almost as vibrant as the blood that had spilt out of the youngest member of the clan just days ago. The grass was annoyingly green and happy unlike the rest of the houses that rested on the block. No more cop cars harassed the street for they took all of the evidence that they could and called it quits on the investigation; she had it in the back of her mind that the cops probably assumed her as the prime suspect as of now, but she could barely care. She just wanted the hideous being that took an innocent life off the streets.
“So, why exactly do we have to come back here?” She questioned as she struggled to catch up with the crew. “I’m pretty sure the cops would have found anything worthwhile,”
Dean shook his head in disagreement has he charged on towards the house of horrors, or rather his ‘job’ in his point of view. Sam was matching him in his stride while Castiel was behind them and the prophet followed. “The cops would look for anything physical: weapons, blood, signs of a struggle. We get that information from them, which we don’t need because we have you, and then we look at the unnatural side of the case: smells, plasmas or ectoplasm, and the behavior of the flesh-easting bastard. We’re like the CSI cast revamped, I guess,”
Sam casted a side glance to his brother, his eyebrow cocked and a smirk spread on his lips. “I thought you said you hated procedural cop shows? Are you watching them like you watch Doctor Sexy?”
Castiel had a grin grow like a wildflower on his face at the banter that was nonetheless true. Dean rolled his eyes dramatically as his cheeks blushed in embarrassment. “Anyhow, if you could just go inside the house and get any vibes from the place that have importance, let us know. We’ll be doing the investigating,”
Dean saw no harm in his directions, yet irritation bubbled up inside the angelic being for he saw it as Dean encouraging the ticking time bomb to take advantage of her powers and increase their effectiveness. She still had no clue as to what she possessed, and Castiel wanted to keep it that way, but Dean wasn’t helping. Cas felt as if Dean was doing it on purpose as he could tell that Dean had already formed a connection with the prophet; he probably thought that if she found out what she really was, she could learn to control it sooner but the angel had his doubts with that scenario. Hopefully, she would become scared enough of what she can do that she’ll stop using her abilities for good.
Whenever Dean rested his hand on the doorknob to the front door after he had finished picking it, she could feel her chest swell tremendously with anticipation and reluctance. Of course, she wanted to help in any fashion she could for Jacob deserved that at the least, but she was circumspect to even setting the sole of her foot within the haunted house. The brothers and the angel had already made their way inside and were poking around the kitchen and living room that looked the exact same way it did the last time she was there. She could picture Jacob running around in his Hawkeye pajamas that he always got picked on for by other kids when he mentioned it. He wasn’t a huge fan of the Hulk, Iron Man, or Captain America. He always sided with the lesser known, the underdog without even realizing it. He had a good heart that was horrifically ripped from him.
Castiel stood inside of the home, waiting for the prophet to breach into the stained area. “Are you coming?” He asked. There was a hint of annoyance that wasn’t hidden very well in his voice. Sam and Dean glanced behind them to see the prophet still standing on the porch, then when back to plundering through cabinets and pulling out their EMF reader to scan around. They didn’t worry too much because they assumed it wouldn’t be the easiest thing for her to come back to the unholy ground, but Castiel lacked the human knowledge to understand that. She glared at him with her eyes beginning to water. She placed a foot on the hardwood flooring which sent shocks of electricity through her legs and up to her brain. Soon enough, her entire body was inside as she decided to stride up the stairs to the bedroom that Jacob took his last breath in. As she walked down the lengthy hall, the aura of the house was becoming a force to reckon with. Along with the ability to see spirits, the power to get energy from people, places, and things also came along with the package for her. Whenever she was first hired, she could tell the Peterson’s were good-natured, do-well people that would kill a fly. Whenever she had shaken Mr. Peterson’s hand, she received the knowledge that he had been in New York whenever 9/11 had taken place; he was one of the citizens that helped rescue stranded victims on the first couple of bottom floors. He was meant to die that day, but he didn’t. And she knew this. Whenever she had hugged Mrs. Peterson, she learned that she had recently had a miscarriage and it was to be a girl, but she lost it after she was in a car accident two months before. All of this was learned the first time she met the family when she responded to their ad in the paper. She has yet to touch either of the Winchester’s or Castiel with her hands, so she wasn’t too familiar with their back story, but the vibe they gave off was coated in pain and misfortune. Most people had this, but it was only for a moment because something put them in a bad mood. However, these two had a stigma about them that made them seem like swirling vortexes of suffering.
She came to the end of the hall that led into Jacob’s messy room. Legos and toy arrows from his Hawkeye playset were always scattered around like lethal, fun booby traps that could make a person want to amputate their foot if they were to put their weight on it. Yellow tape outlined where his body was devoured on the carpet; blood still stained the white flooring like fine wine that was spilt too soon. She rested her head on the archway and crossed her arms in thought. She was fighting hard not to cry, especially since she didn’t want any of them to see it. Footsteps were ringing behind her as they marched their way up the stairs and made their way to her back, peering over her at the scene.
“Are you okay, Y/N? It’s okay if you want to go back to the car for a bit,” Sam expressed as his brooding figure glared down at her. His eyes glanced over to the red splatters as his mind tried to fathom what had caused them.
“Yeah, I’m okay, Sam. It’s just weird being back here. It doesn’t seem real. I’m still expecting Jacob to put his gum in my hair whenever I tell him he can’t go outside,” She chuckled faintly to herself as she lifted her head off of the arch and strode into the bedroom that once housed a kindred soul. Her feet were wary to not intrude on any of the blood or the way that Jacob had “organized” his room with toys scattered everywhere. She placed her hand on the bed which gave her images in her head of him bouncing with jubilee upon the mattress to his parents’ dismay. Sam was poking around the room curiously, opening every drawer and door with expectance. He eventually made his way to the window where he crouched down.
“Was this open the night that the attack happened?” He questioned her. She stared at him for a moment, trying to remember, but she couldn’t.
“I’m not sure. Jacob would open it sometimes so he could launch arrows outside on the neighbor’s cat. I can probably get a read off of it and it’ll tell me if it was, if that’s alright,”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever will work,” Sam agreed as he scooted over to make room for her. She gazed at the glass for what seemed like a millennium trying to prepare herself for what she would see, and Sam could tell there was some hesitation. “Whatever you see, it’ll help us get rid of whatever took him, alright? This is for him. Not for you, Dean, or me. This is for him,”
His eyes poured into hers deeply which sent a wave of reassurance through her as she placed her hand upon the glass. Image upon imagine soared through her mind as she shut her eyes to see them better play out. First, she saw an older man handling the window as he installed it into the hole in the wall while he was on a ladder outside. That flew from her eyesight as it was replaced with children leaping in front of the window, jumping from couch to couch. They were dressed as if it was the seventies with their short hair and bellbottomed jeans. After that slung itself away, Jacob appeared getting dressed in his favorite pajamas, turned away from the window. It was closed. It slowly started to rise as Jacob turned around to find the source of the noise was something creeping in through the hole. The lock turned violently, but before he could call for help, the being tore into him, rendering him speechless. He could hear her threatening to call his parents which he didn’t want, but he couldn’t open the door. Tears began to run down his face-.
She yanked her hand away from the paneling before she went even deeper. Tears began to swell in her eyes as her throat closed tighter than a virgin’s legs on Easter. She rubbed her hand on her jeans to rid herself of the oil that she collected from it as she sniffled quietly. Sam stared at her with his eyes growing in concern. “It was closed. I saw the thing open the window from outside,”
“Are you okay?” He asked. Of course he was concerned that the window had been closed, but he was more preoccupied with the emotional heap in front of him. She nodded her head.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just saw more than what was necessary,” The prophet explained as she sat on the floor next to Sam who was still crouching. “So what does the closed window mean?”
He sighed and decided to give up on talking about her emotions. “Well, while you were doing that, whatever it’s called-,”
“Reading,”
“Okay, well. While you were reading, I noticed something on the outside of the window,” He revealed as he slid his finger against the outside ledge to reveal a yellow powder coating his finger.
She furrowed her brows as she leaned in closer to it. “What? That’s just pollen,” She shrugged her shoulders in confusion.
“Smell it,” He ordered and she did to which he received a face of disgust in return. He smiled softly at the childish reaction. “That’s sulfur. Whenever ghosts are somewhere, they sometimes leave this behind. A ghost wouldn’t need to open the window. It could just walk through walls if it wanted to,”
She bit her lip in puzzlement. “So, you’re saying we’re hunting something that’s a ghost, but not a ghost?”
Footsteps were beginning to sound on the stairs. Sam nodded his head. “Yeah, good job. The only thing we have to do is figure out what it is and how to kill it,”
Dean and Castiel waltzed into the room suavely. Castiel began to fiddle with the Legos on the ground as Dean made his way over to the sitting prophet and younger brother. Dean decided to plop himself down as well. “Thought I’d join the campfire crew. What’s next? Are we going to sing Kumbaya My Lord?”
Sam and the prophet rolled their eyes as Sam began to relay the information to his brother who had found nothing downstairs. “So, you’re saying we have a monster that’s not a monster, and a ghost that’s not a ghost? What the hell?” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the drawing from a few hours ago as he gazed at it. His eyes flickered to her. “If this thing had to resemble any animal, what would it be?”
Everyone in the room, including the distant Castiel, furrowed their brows in confusion. “I…I guess a human? Arms, legs, a face, a torso,”
“Sammy, I know what this is. You remember a few years ago whenever we were in Douglas, Georgia and bodies kept going missing from the morgue?”
Sam nodded his head, but still seemed to not make the connection. “Yeah…but how does this relate?”
“Well, it turns out it was monster that liked to dine on dead bodies. I think this is the same thing, it’s just gone rogue. It’s killing people to eat their bodies,” Dean’s head bobbed enthusiastically as a lightbulb seemed to illuminate brightly over Sam’s head.
“Oh, yeah! It was that Jikininki. That would explain why Y/N thought it was a ghost, left sulfur behind, and needed an entryway,”
The prophet glared at the brothers with her eyes growing bigger by the second. “Okay. I’m sorry, but what the hell is a Jikininki?”
Dean inhaled as he revealed the information. “It comes from Japanese Buddhism. It’s basically a ghost that’s reincarnated as a monster that feasts on dead bodies as punishment for being greedy in their physical life. In this case, the asswipe has started killing people in order to feed. All we need to know is how to gank the fu-,”
Dean stopped his sputtering lips in their tracks as he observed the prophet, Sam doing the same. A glazed over look rocked around in her eyes, her mouth faintly hanging open. Dean placed his hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. “Hey, Y/N. What’s the matter?”
Her eyes focused back to him quickly as all the blood drained from her face. “It’s back,” She confessed as she returned to stare at a seemingly blank wall that was behind the figure of her mother-who was missing her skin, just like Jacob.
