Warning: Deathfic... kinda. Angsty goodness. Characters: Sam, Dean, Lucifer. Gen. Set sometime in Season 5. Spoilers: Everything in Season 5.
Sam and Dean enter the dim, derelict factory. The air reeks of mildew, rust, and faintly sulfur. Sam know immediately that they have the right place.
Castiel had informed Dean yesterday of a possible location that demons were using to harness power for a spell Pestilence is planning to unleash across America, causing untold damage.
Sam is distinctly aware that they have absolutely no idea what is in this building. Pestilence himself could be here, or a swarm of demons. Hell, this could be a trap.
His shoulders pull tight at the thought that they are going in blind. But fuck, what choice do they have? There's no way they can let disease sweep across country.
Dean takes point ahead of Sam, keeping his gun out steady in front of his body. Sam follows, gun barrel pointed at the floor, but his finger on he trigger.
Light filters from the lazy midday sun through dirty high windows, leaving pockets of dark with splashes of light reflecting off puddles onto walls. Water drips distantly, and it echos off the walls.
The large room narrows into an unlit corridor. Dean curses quietly, while Sam pulls out his flash light in his left hand, while holding his gun in his right. He flicks the beam of light across the passage way. At the end of the hall is a bigger room, possibly at the center of the building. Dean slowly edges forward, a tense line of muscled shoulder nudges Sam to continue forward.
As they exit the hall, Sam and Dean walk into a large room, devoid of anything but cement floors, high filthy windows, and a floor covered in runes etched with charcoal. Dean keeps his gun clasped in a firm grip, searching for any movement, while Sam holsters his gun in the band of his jeans and waves the flashlight over the markings on the floor.
They are not anything Sam recognizes, but if he had to guess, they would be Babylonian. The complicated scriptures weaves together to create a intricate circle in the middle of the room.
“Dean,” Sam breathes, goosebumps rise on his arms.
Dean looks in Sam's direction, and then follows Sam's flashlight's beam down to the runes. He looks up to catch Sam's gaze.
“I assume that means something to you?” Dean murmurs.
“Dean, this is a circle of power. You put a sacrifice in this circle, and it feeds into the recipient,” Sam remarks.
“So, in this case, what? Pestilence?” Dean asks Sam, turning his full attention to the circle.
“Maybe,” replies Sam.
Dean walks up to stand beside Sam, and crouches down to touch one of the charcoal marks. Sam leans over and smacks Dean's hand away.
“Don't touch them. I don't know what these mean exactly, but you don't want to have them activate on you,” Sam says over Dean's shoulder.
Dean stands, his knees pop and he gives a grunt of pain. “So we can't touch it, can't go in it, but we've got to destroy it?”
Sam huffs in frustration while looking around the dark room. The sound of bird feathers shuffling and pigeon's cooing echo faintly in the distance. “Where are the demons? Look at how exact this is. It took a long time to set up. They wouldn't just abandon it.”
“Maybe they're out getting their sacrifice?” suggests Dean. He gently pulls the flashlight out of Sam's hand and sends a beam of light around the room. His eyes set on a rusted iron barrel at the end of the room. He edges around the circle, while Sam continues to study the runes.
Dean stops at the barrel. The top is off, and it's full of murky water, funneled down over time through the leaky roof. He gives the barrel a shove. The water ripples, but it doesn't tip.
“Sam, come help me with this,” Dean calls. Sam looks up at Dean, lost in his own thoughts. He follows Dean's path over to the barrel.
FILLED - Chased by the Devil 1/?
Characters: Sam, Dean, Lucifer. Gen.
Set sometime in Season 5.
Spoilers: Everything in Season 5.
Sam and Dean enter the dim, derelict factory. The air reeks of mildew, rust, and faintly sulfur. Sam know immediately that they have the right place.
Castiel had informed Dean yesterday of a possible location that demons were using to harness power for a spell Pestilence is planning to unleash across America, causing untold damage.
Sam is distinctly aware that they have absolutely no idea what is in this building. Pestilence himself could be here, or a swarm of demons. Hell, this could be a trap.
His shoulders pull tight at the thought that they are going in blind. But fuck, what choice do they have? There's no way they can let disease sweep across country.
Dean takes point ahead of Sam, keeping his gun out steady in front of his body. Sam follows, gun barrel pointed at the floor, but his finger on he trigger.
Light filters from the lazy midday sun through dirty high windows, leaving pockets of dark with splashes of light reflecting off puddles onto walls. Water drips distantly, and it echos off the walls.
The large room narrows into an unlit corridor. Dean curses quietly, while Sam pulls out his flash light in his left hand, while holding his gun in his right. He flicks the beam of light across the passage way. At the end of the hall is a bigger room, possibly at the center of the building. Dean slowly edges forward, a tense line of muscled shoulder nudges Sam to continue forward.
As they exit the hall, Sam and Dean walk into a large room, devoid of anything but cement floors, high filthy windows, and a floor covered in runes etched with charcoal. Dean keeps his gun clasped in a firm grip, searching for any movement, while Sam holsters his gun in the band of his jeans and waves the flashlight over the markings on the floor.
They are not anything Sam recognizes, but if he had to guess, they would be Babylonian. The complicated scriptures weaves together to create a intricate circle in the middle of the room.
“Dean,” Sam breathes, goosebumps rise on his arms.
Dean looks in Sam's direction, and then follows Sam's flashlight's beam down to the runes. He looks up to catch Sam's gaze.
“I assume that means something to you?” Dean murmurs.
“Dean, this is a circle of power. You put a sacrifice in this circle, and it feeds into the recipient,” Sam remarks.
“So, in this case, what? Pestilence?” Dean asks Sam, turning his full attention to the circle.
“Maybe,” replies Sam.
Dean walks up to stand beside Sam, and crouches down to touch one of the charcoal marks. Sam leans over and smacks Dean's hand away.
“Don't touch them. I don't know what these mean exactly, but you don't want to have them activate on you,” Sam says over Dean's shoulder.
Dean stands, his knees pop and he gives a grunt of pain. “So we can't touch it, can't go in it, but we've got to destroy it?”
Sam huffs in frustration while looking around the dark room. The sound of bird feathers shuffling and pigeon's cooing echo faintly in the distance. “Where are the demons? Look at how exact this is. It took a long time to set up. They wouldn't just abandon it.”
“Maybe they're out getting their sacrifice?” suggests Dean. He gently pulls the flashlight out of Sam's hand and sends a beam of light around the room. His eyes set on a rusted iron barrel at the end of the room. He edges around the circle, while Sam continues to study the runes.
Dean stops at the barrel. The top is off, and it's full of murky water, funneled down over time through the leaky roof. He gives the barrel a shove. The water ripples, but it doesn't tip.
“Sam, come help me with this,” Dean calls. Sam looks up at Dean, lost in his own thoughts. He follows Dean's path over to the barrel.