Season Three

Episode Twelve: Retribution

By irismay42 & Tree

Part Two

Abandoned house,
Fort Worth, TX

Dean thrashed like a shark caught on a fisherman’s hook, pulling against the restraints that held him lashed to the chair in a futile attempt to get free. He couldn’t believe Mia, refused to believe her, forcing his mind to banish any thought of accepting that his brother might be dead.

It didn’t work…

Ghastly images flashed through his mind, reinforced by the sounds he’d heard while trapped in the Impala’s trunk. Sam, exchanging barbs with Mia… the demon, in turn, taunting Sam with Dean’s death. The sounds of the fight between the two of them, bodies grunting with abuse… then finally the loud blast of the truck’s horn followed by the sickening thud of something solid impacting the vehicle.

Sam’s dead… left bleeding and alone on some deserted road… left alone because of me!

“Am I next? Don’t I deserve to be?” Dean’s guilt-ridden conscience demanded. “My family will be destroyed by this bitch and it’s all my fault!”

That’s probably the real reason you don’t think Daddy’s gonna come charging in on his white horse to save you, right? ’Cause you’re not worth saving? Mia’s words echoed in his head, adding to the recrimination he was already feeling.

Closing his eyes, Dean sucked in a shuddering breath and focused on trying to get free of his bonds. He had to get loose, his dad’s life depended on it. If nothing else, he refused to go down like some trapped animal. If he had any say, he was going to do his damndest to get away and give Mia some serious payback.

Or die trying…

Twisting his arms, he felt the thin twine bite further into his flesh, refusing to give way despite Dean’s vigorous attempts to pull his hands out of the bindings. Teeth clenched, his lower lip bleeding from having gnawed on it to prevent any vocalization of the pain his battered extremities were enduring, he bunched the muscles in his upper arms and strained against the roping.

His effort resulted in nothing more than burying the twine even deeper into the lacerated skin on his wrists. Blood was flowing freely now from the wounds, coating his hands in a warm stickiness and adding to the spreading pool beneath him on the floor.

He strained even more, hoping that the added flow might lubricate his hands enough to perhaps wiggle them out from the tight ropes. But even as he tugged, Dean knew the action was futile. Mia had wound several layers of the thin cord around his wrists, pulling them taut with the expertise of a Boy Scout before tying off several knots to the back post of the chair.

“Are you done yet?” Mia snarked, looking down at him from her perch atop the counter.

The hunter loosed an acquiescing sigh, not willing to let the woman see just how much pain he had caused himself or how devastated every fiber of his being was at her news of Sam’s death. She might think she had the upper hand, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting defeat.

“I’m just getting started sweetheart,” Dean snapped back, flashing her the best sardonic grin he could muster.

“Ha! I can see that. How long are you gonna sit there and try to get free before you realize that there’s no point? Besides, what’s your hurry? Like I said, Sam’s gone and Daddy will be here soon. You might as well hang out a while,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, sure. Why don’t we just get comfortable and get acquainted? Have a glass of wine and tell each other a little about ourselves?” Dean suggested sarcastically. “Oh wait, I forgot, we already met; I’m Dean and you’re a lying skank of a demon.”

He watched her as she dropped down off the countertop, landing on the floor like a cat. She slowly crossed over toward him, still laughing her mocking sort of snicker, even while her eyes and body reminded him more of a predator stalking him, testing the air as she prepared for the kill.

“Kill me, bitch. I dare you!” Dean silently taunted. “I’ll meet you in Hell and then we’ll play ‘who’s the bigger badass?’”

“Such nasty name-calling from a man that just a short while ago couldn’t live without me. I seem to recall all those times you defended me to Sam. Why, you even picked me over him. Wasn’t that what drove you apart?” she goaded him.

Dean glared back at her, silently praying for the power to break free even for a second so he could pummel the smug smile from Mia’s face. He knew what she was doing and while he knew she couldn’t possibly say anything that could condemn him more than the blame he’d already heaped on himself, her poisonous barbs stung just the same.

“Sam paid for my mistake. I have to live with that. But what about you Mia? Are you ready to pay for all the innocent lives you’ve destroyed?”

Her face froze before him, a momentary loss of her cockiness made her look almost sad in the dim light of the ramshackle house.

Almost…

She was still a demon, half or otherwise, and Dean still planned on stopping her before she hurt anyone else.

“Innocent lives destroyed?” she snarled. “You want to talk about innocent lives being destroyed hunter? You wanna hear the rest of the story, Dean? What really happened? Then you tell me who the bigger bastard is? Who destroyed more lives?”

Dean shrugged noncommittally. “You’ve got a captive audience.”

She whirled around and dropped to the dirty floor, pressing her back against the fading blue paint on the wall and drawing her knees up before wrapping her arms around them. Her brown hair cascaded down around her face and as she sighed long and pronounced, her eyes changed over to their usual freckled sienna.

“All that crap about me being an orphan, well that’s not completely untrue, but it wasn’t like I didn’t have any family. After your dad wiped out my parents and brothers, I was left to be raised by my grandparents outside of Fort Worth,” she began.

“Well, lucky you…” Dean mumbled, becoming silent when she threw him a dirty look, her eyes briefly glazing over black before returning to their normal, normal?, color.

“Everything was actually pretty normal, typical childhood sorta stuff. Grandma and Grandpa Cameron were halfway decent. I went to school, played with my friends, hell, I even went to church on Sunday. But then I turned thirteen…”

“And what? The church caved in on you one day?”

“No, smartass. I turned thirteen and suddenly, along with a developing body, I started to develop other things. Then a couple of years later, I’m in school one day and this Barbie Doll, Bethany Michelson, beats me out of the last position on the cheerleading squad…”

“The bitch…”

“Exactly. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but Bethany was an absolute cow about it, throwing it in my face while she’s sitting next to Jimmy Morrison in the cafeteria. I guess I just got really pissed, and then all of a sudden, Bethany is flying across the lunch room, smashing into a wall and breaking her leg, bones sticking out and everything. She’s screaming, Jimmy is freaking, and all I can think is…’Wow, look at what I just did.’”

“Such a proud moment,” Dean snarked. “Lemme guess, you conveniently made it onto the cheerleading squad after that?”

“A few months after that, it’s the night of the junior prom, Kevin Larkin and I are sitting in his car and things start to get a little hot and heavy,” she continued, ignoring Dean’s constant interjections.

“Did you try to light his car on fire too?” the young hunter asked.

“No, but the car made it out better that night than Kevin did. I kept telling him to stop, begged him to stop, but he kept pushing. He was all over me, hands everywhere. I just kinda froze. I thought I even blacked out while he was on top of me, but all of a sudden he’s off, slamming into the roof of the car over and over,” Mia paused, becoming quiet as she toyed with a loose strand of hair.

Dean remained silent. He hated her, that was for sure, but she was describing an act that he despised only slightly less than people that abused kids. Whatever she’d done, in Dean’s opinion, the Larkin kid deserved it.

“Anyway, I sort of woke up and Kevin was lying on top of me again, but now he’s unconscious, bloody and broken. It was pretty hard explaining that to everyone, so he made up this story about being mugged and I never talked. But I gotta tell you, it was pretty cool, knowing I could do something like that if I needed to,” the brunette admitted.

“So when did you go from using your power to defend yourself to randomly killing innocent people?” Dean queried.

“I never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it,” she insisted defensively.

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

“It’s true. Believe what you want. But other than Kevin and Bethany, I never used my powers like that on anyone for a long time. I graduated, went to college for a while, and then got a job working for the County in the Recorder’s office. Things were pretty dull there, so to pass the time I used to surf through some of the records,” Mia continued.

Dean feigned a yawn, smiling inwardly when she glared at his sarcastic response. He knew she had some purpose in telling him her story, he just really couldn’t find himself giving a damn about whatever awful things had happened to her as a child. Not when he thought about all the deaths she had caused… not when he thought about Sam.

“My grandparents had always told me that my mom and dad had died in a car accident right after I was born. I believed them, why not? But I was curious, morbidly curious, and I wanted to see some pictures of the wreck or something. I don’t know, anything to fill in the gaps I guess,” she droned on.

“That’s pretty sick ya’ know, but I’ll try not to act surprised,” Dean interjected.

“Give me a break! Like you and your dad weren’t completely obsessed with your mom’s death?” Mia retorted.

“I didn’t take pictures, hell, I never wanted to see that house or think about that night ever again. Losing her once was bad enough,” the young hunter admitted, not caring that the demon knew how painful that particular wound still was for him.

“At least you got to know her. I wasn’t that lucky, thanks to your dad.”

“Whatever! Get on with the Lifetime Movie, Mia, ’cause its only slightly more painful listening to you than these ropes are right now,” Dean threw back, rolling his eyes.

“Fine! So, I dig and dig, but I don’t turn up anything on my folks. Not a single picture, not even a mention of any accident. Only their death certificates along with something else, my brothers. Brothers I never knew I had, brothers that my grandparents conveniently neglected to tell me about. Still, I couldn’t find a damn thing about how any of them died, only that all of their death certificates were dated for the same day, the same day I was born.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “There’s a joke in there, I just know it!” he taunted.

Enraged, Mia flew up from her seat on the floor and grabbed Dean by the throat, her fingernails digging into the soft flesh at his neck while her thumbs pressed unmercifully against his trachea. Gasping, he tried to pull away from her, but her strength, enhanced by her demonic powers, was more than he could combat. Tiny rivulets of blood began to seep from his skin as her nails dug deeper and for a moment he thought she was sure to finish him as she increased the pressure on his windpipe, the sound of cartilage popping underneath the skin.

As darkness hedged at the corners of his vision, Dean saw her smile, evidence of the demented satisfaction she was taking from inflicting pain. As quickly as her attack began, her grip relented and allowed precious oxygen to flow back into his lungs. He was still coughing, between greedily sucking in huge gasps of air, as she nonchalantly walked away.

“So, as I was saying,” she continued casually, ignoring Dean’s noisy breathing. “It didn’t add up. I went back to my grandparents and asked them again, telling them what I had found. But they stuck to their story, insisting that the records were wrong and that my parents had simply died in a wreck. I begged for answers from them, but they just acted like I was crazy or something. So I guessed I sorta snapped… and well… so did Grandma and Grandpa Cameron’s necks.”

“Real… sweet…of you,” Dean struggled.

“I was actually pretty devastated about it after it happened. It was like Kevin all over, but worse. I never knew I could do something like that. I was so scared, I ran to the church. I didn’t know what else to do. But the priest, the same damn priest that I had listened to and trusted every Sunday for over eighteen years, he listens to my confession and after he prayed for me, he goes to call the police.”

“And let me guess what you did next?” Dean asked, his voice still raspy from her attack.

“I’m sitting there, he’s headed for the phone, and all I can think of is to protect myself. My vision blurs, like I’m staring through this black film or something and Father Roberson yells ‘Christo’ at me. It was like he had hit me with a two by four with that single word. While I’m trying to figure out what the hell he’s done, he starts spouting off Latin at me, this crazy sort of speech, like he’s gonna talk me to death,” Mia recounted.

“It’s called an exorcism you dumb bitch,” the elder Winchester snapped.

She jerked in his direction, feigning another assault and laughed when he flinched.

“I know that now, but then, I was scared. Before I knew it, the huge crucifix on the wall behind the altar starts to shake, the plaster around it crumbling and falling down on top of us. It fell, bringing down most of the wall with it, right on top of the bastard. I ran outside and never looked back. That was the end of Emma Collins that day,” the brunette admitted.

“Lucky us. I’m sure the world is a much better place for you being in it,” Dean groused. He knew he was risking her wrath, but he just didn’t care. Whether she killed him now or later, he knew he deserved it for having betrayed Sam.

“I moved on, changed my name, got a new I.D. and started looking for answers. I had this friend that worked for the Fort Worth P.D. and after a few weeks of going out to dinner and convincing him that I loved him, I got him to get me access to the files and evidence box from my parents’ case. Seems their murders were never solved, their killer never apprehended. But interestingly enough, there was this one odd piece of evidence left behind. A book…”

“A book?” Dean repeated curiously.

“Just a small one, full of Latin and a bunch of strange side notes. One section in particular was still marked; the Rituale Romanum. At first I thought it was just some odd kind of church book, but then I found a name written inside… Tanner Marks,” Mia stated cryptically, cocking her head to the side as she watched for Dean’s reaction.

“Is that supposed to mean anything to me?” he asked after a moment.

“It should. You see, I tracked down Tanner Marks and using my talents, he was only too happy to tell me everything I wanted to know.”

“You tortured and killed him.”

“You better believe I did. Gotta give the guy credit, he held out for a long time before he cracked. But really, you can’t blame the guy. I have to admit, I’d probably talk too if someone had crushed every single bone in my hands and feet and was working their way up my body,” Mia laughed.

“You sick bitch!” Dean grumbled.

“Hey, I get into my work. Luckily, Marks lived long enough to tell me about this guy that he’d met back in Blue Earth, Minnesota, a fellow hunter, although at the time, neither of them had been hunting long. Seems this guy had just lost his wife to some demon and was determined to learn everything he could about them. Marks and this guy become friends while they’re there and Marks ends up giving this dude the small book as a gift before the guy takes off on some hunt.”

Dean held his breath. He’d heard his dad mention Tanner Marks before, the two having hunted together a few times when the boys were still young. The novice hunters had parted ways, like so many that his dad had partnered with, simply because Marks couldn’t tolerate John’s obsession with finding and killing Haris.

“Marks also told me that he hadn’t worked with this man for quite some time, but he’d heard that the guy was still out there hunting. He also told me that the man had two young sons the last he’d seen him. The sons would be older now, but you can imagine my surprise when I realized how absolutely perfect my revenge would be,” Mia taunted him.

Dean snorted derisively. “Are you done with your little sob story Mia, or Emma or whoever the hell you are? ’Cause I’m pretty tired of listening to you go on and on and I basically don’t give a damn how awful your life was or how you were so unfortunate to have lost your folks,” Dean sneered back.

He shuddered when she began laughing again, the same sadistic, maniacal cackle that made his skin crawl when he’d been forced to listen to her exchange with Sam outside the Impala’s trunk.

“Oh you should give a damn, Dean. I’m talking about your dad. Tanner Marks told me the man he gave the book to was none other than John Winchester,” she informed him.

“My dad knows a lot of people. He’s killed plenty of your kind. He’s gonna find you and put you down like all the other demonic trash he’s sent packing back to Hell over the years.”

“I’m counting on that. And just like Marks, just like Sammy, I’m gonna tear your father to tiny little shreds and feed his organs to you through a straw,” Mia hissed. “I’m gonna take his family from him just like he took mine.”

Dean cringed, her description playing out vividly within his mind.

“And then Dean, and only then, I’m going finish you off too…”

Plano Medical Center,
Plano, TX

Sam finished signing the AMA papers with a frantic scribble of the pen. He tossed them back onto the bedside table, ignoring the glaring scrutiny of his father from across the room.

They had argued about Sam leaving the hospital, his father determined to make sure that the young hunter was well on the way to recuperating before he was willing to see him discharged. But Sam had countered, insisting that he was nearly one hundred percent, and that delaying would only cost them time, precious time that Dean might not have.

If he was totally honest, Sam wasn’t one hundred percent. In fact, he wouldn’t even go so far as to claim fifty percent at this point. But after languishing in a hospital bed in Plano for the past couple of days, he knew the few minor contusions and such that still showed were a far cry from the injuries he’d sustained in his battle with Mia and subsequent collision with the speeding truck.

“Sam, just give it a couple more days. Please?” John pleaded. “You were busted up pretty bad no matter how miraculous your recovery is now.”

Sam looked at his father, noting the concern in those dark eyes but also something more.

…no matter how miraculous your recovery is now.

That was it! His dad was spooked by how he had managed to heal so quickly. He didn’t understand and in that confusion hid underlying suspicion.

Who could blame him really? Sam thought to himself. I don’t understand it either. I don’t know why I got better so fast. Or how!

“I’m good, Dad. Really I am. And I can’t just sit here eating Jello and watching soaps while Dean is out there at the mercy of that psychotic bitch,” Sam adamantly replied.

The recuperating hunter dropped to the nearby chair and began to tug on his shoes, but he could feel John’s watchful stare on him the entire time. Sam finished and stood up as strongly as he could manage, trying to hide the generalized stiffness and lingering pain that was still haunting his body.

“Sam, I know you want to help find Dean, but honestly, I would feel a lot better if I knew you were out of harm’s way. I could move a lot faster if I wasn’t worried about you,” John insisted.

“What you mean is that you could be more reckless,” Sam interjected.

“That’s not true!” the elder Winchester refuted. “Dammit, Sam! Mia already has one of my sons, do you think I want to risk serving up another to her?”

“Hmm? Wasn’t that the same logic you used when you left Salvation? Better still, you left Bobby’s in secret, not telling us anything, supposedly protecting us. That didn’t exactly work out very well either.”

Sam watched his father scrub his face with a scarred hand, sighing deeply as the accusation struck home. He wasn’t trying to pick a fight or lay more blame on his dad, but there was no way he was going to stay behind while Dean was in trouble. John might be shouldering the guilt for creating the hybrid demon, but Sam was also feeling a certain amount of culpability for not speaking his suspicions about Mia before it was too late.

“Sam, look, I’m sorry about all that. But you can’t blame me for wanting to protect you,” John maintained.

“You’re always trying to protect us, Dad. When are you going to admit that Dean and I have been taking care of ourselves for a while on our own? We’re not kids, we haven’t been for a long time.”

“You’ll always be my son. I’ll always worry about you and do whatever I think is best to protect you,” John stalwartly replied.

“I get that, I do. But face it, Dad, I can either go with you and we can fight Mia together or you can leave and I’ll just track her down on my own. After all, I did learn tracking from the best,” Sam stated resolutely, his own eyes locking with John’s.

The older hunter smiled warmly as he shook his head. Sam took the chance and went in for “the kill.”

“Come on, Dad. Dean said it best before, we’re stronger as a family. And besides, I think you might need me.”

“To fight her?” John asked warily.

To fight her? Like I faired so well the last time?

“Maybe… I mean, I was kinda holding my own until she iced me in place and I played hood ornament to that truck,” Sam said with a chuckle.

The laughter cost him, jolting still bruised ribs and robbing his breath for a moment. His arm closed around his side as he steeled himself to the pain, but he knew his father had seen the action.

“Sammy, your psychic thing… do you think that’s how you healed so fast?” John asked tentatively.

And there it was…

Sam paused, reflecting inwardly as he considered his answer.

“I don’t know. I mean I sure couldn’t fix myself when Eli pulverized my hand back in Wyoming. But…”

“What?” John pushed, stepping closer as Sam pulled on an outer shirt.

“Well, it’s just that I saw Mia heal herself out there on the road when we were fighting. Maybe that’s how I managed to do it too,” he suggested.

“You think you copied her powers?” his father queried.

“I’m not really certain. She’s not exactly one of Haris’ kids as far as we know. I’ve only ever been able to mirror the powers of other psychics.” Sam replied.

“Does it really matter?” John asked.

Sam cast him a questioning look. Was his dad suddenly accepting his strange talents when only moments before he had seemed freaked out about it?

“There’s just so much I don’t know about my abilities, things I can’t control,” he admitted.

“I’m only saying that maybe it doesn’t matter whose powers you can imitate…”

“It does matter, Dad. What if it’s all just the beginning of me becoming evil too?” Sam asked worriedly. “After all, most of the other kids I’ve met have all gone off the deep end.”

Somethin’ up with those demonic Spidey Senses of yours, huh Sammy?

Dean had insinuated that Sam’s powers were demonic. Maybe they were? Just because he hadn’t used them for anything evil didn’t mean that the potential to do so wasn’t just lying within him… dormant… waiting.

“Sam, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”

“No?”

Dean called me demonic…

“No… and besides, I know what happened between you and Lucifer. I’m willing to bet that your powers don’t discriminate. Haris’ kids, demons, hybrid demons even… You do what you do for good reasons,” John tried to console, coming to Sam’s side and placing a large hand soothingly on his shoulder.

Good reasons? Maybe his dad was right. Hadn’t he always managed to kick his psychic gifts into action whenever it seemed that Dean might be threatened? Hadn’t that been the impetus with Mia? Finding out that Dean was still alive and in danger was what had given him the push to fight the girl back on the side of the road.

He felt his father’s gentle squeeze, appreciating that the skeptical hunter was trying hard to fight down his own instincts that shouted to distrust anything supernatural in origin, even if it related to his own flesh and blood. Yet deep inside, his father’s comforting words couldn’t silence the nagging voices within his own head.

“Sammy, trust yourself. Whatever the source of your abilities, you’re the one that decides how to use them. No one can make you become evil,” John insisted.

Yet, deep inside, his own fears continued to nag at Sam.

Demonic powers?

So be it… He thought to himself. If that what it takes to save Dean, then I’ll gladly fight fire with fire.

Collins House
Ft. Worth, Texas

“Do you know what the first thing I killed was, Dean?” Mia taunted as she paced around the cluttered old living room.

“Lemme guess? You slaughtered some poor slob for leaving off the pickles on your Quarter Pounder?” the trapped hunter snarked back.

“Funny! Good to see that you still have that sharp sense of humor,” she returned. “But seriously, it was this stray cat, some pathetic looking tabby that just wandered in to the yard one day. Grandma let me keep it after we cleaned it up. It was a really sweet cat for the most part.”

“Of course! Sweet cat, had to kill it, makes perfect sense to me, considering your track record.”

“I hadn’t really meant to hurt it, not at first. But the damn thing clawed me and I just sorta snapped. Before I knew it, I had crushed the poor little thing to death. Blood was oozing out of its mouth and ears and when I picked it up, it was like all of its bones had just turned to dust,” she recounted.

“Well there’s a proud moment for you. Let me ask you something, Mia. How did you explain your freaky little talents to good ole’ Ma and Pa Clampett?”

Mia whirled around on him, her eyes blazing with hatred.

She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but nonetheless, Dean felt a sudden pressure on his upper body. It was though a massive vice was wrapped around his chest, constricting like a python as the force continued to increase. He struggled against the rope holding him to the chair, panic rising as the air was forced from his lungs.

She was crushing him, just like her grandparents, just like all the buildings she’d managed to reduce to rubble, just like the cat…

“What’s wrong Dean? Cat got your tongue?” she mocked.

Cartilage popped as his ribcage protested the abuse. Within his chest, his lungs fought to expand and draw in air even as his other organs threatened to rupture.

“I’ve gotten a lot stronger at this since that cat. I can control it more now than when I was younger,” Mia promised.

Something in his hand gave way to the unseen force with an audible crack and Dean forced himself to hold back the cry of pain as his thumb fractured and dislocated. He hissed through his teeth, crimping his eyes shut tightly as his index finger followed suit.

“See? Aren’t you impressed? There was a time when that could have easily been your spine or your sternum,” Mia threatened. “But I’m much better at directing it now.”

“Lucky… me…” Dean croaked.

“Of course, I can easily rectify that. Maybe you’d like to see how much one of your ribs could take before it snapped and rammed into your lungs? Ooh, and come to think of it, I’ve never tried a skull. That would be a real neat trick don’t you think?” she asked gleefully.

“You’re a sick, twisted bitch, Mia,” Dean answered.

“Aw honey, don’t be that way. Don’t you know that love hurts sometimes?” she sneered.

“Love? Ha! You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“And you do?” Mia snapped back. “You supposedly loved your brother, but you didn’t think twice about believing me over him. I wonder what Sam must have thought about that? Going to his grave knowing that he wasn’t as important to you as your most recent piece of ass?” Mia threw in his face.

Dean became silent. He had no snappy retort for her, no sarcastic comment that he could lob back to defend himself. He didn’t reply simply because his own conscience was battling those exact same accusations.

“You’re jealous because you think I care more about her than I do about you?” he had implied.

Those words, like all the others he’d spat out in anger, ate away at him now. Consumed by his guilt and devastated by the loss of Sam, Dean couldn’t stop the hitched breath that belied the underlying emotion. Worse yet, he knew she saw it.

“What? No smart-ass comment, Dean? And I was so enjoying our friendly banter,” she said mockingly.

“Go screw yourself…”

“I don’t think so, Dean. Besides, after all we had together, what about one last little romp in the sack?”

“Cut it out, Mia. If you want to beat the crap out of me, then bring it on. Otherwise, just leave me alone,” Dean pleaded, sagging down in the chair and turning away from her.

He knew he might as well have told her to keep taunting him as to have shown the weakness he just had, giving the demon the prompting she needed to torment him more. He just didn’t care. Nothing really mattered, not pain, not blood, not the gnawing hunger in his gut. The young hunter slowly closed his eyes and shut out the world.

“You’re gonna wait till she kills us both?” Sam had challenged

And apparently he had done just that...

“Sam… I’m so sorry,” he silently apologized.

“No no no,” Mia snarled, coming over to his side and grabbing a handful of Dean’s short hair, pulling his face up toward her own. “No fading out for you, lover. You paid for the whole show, now you get to stay and watch.”

He felt her backhand his cheek, the skin splitting open from contact with the ring on her hand. It dazed him for a second, but ironically brought him clarity born of anger a moment later. He couldn’t fall into the trap of self-pity, self-recrimination. He just wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“What if I don’t like what’s playing?”

“Ah, but you have a front row seat and a guest starring role,” she answered. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. We haven’t finished the early scenes yet.”

“Can we just skip to the highlights?” Dean whined.

“I’m getting to some of the best parts. Aren’t you curious about all the other little tricks I can do?” Mia tempted.

“You’re a demon, er… well, you’re some sort of demon I guess. So, I’m pretty sure you can do all sorts of freakish things,” he answered blandly.

She chuckled, “So funny you chose that particular word… freak that is! You know, after the cat, I thought I was a freak. I had these strange feelings, these even stranger abilities, but I was afraid to tell anyone ’cause they would think I was a freak too.”

What’s going on in that freakish head of yours, Sammy?

How many times had he teased his brother with that particular name? How many times had Sam worried about his own peculiar powers?

“You are a freak, Mia,” Dean snapped back. “You’re not a true demon and you’re not even a real woman.”

Mia glared at him, obviously angered by the insult. It was a small victory. Dean chanced pushing further.

“Hell, you’re even a freak to the real demons out there. Do you know what Malphas called you the night we summoned him? Of course, it didn’t make sense then, but when I accused him of possessing you, he said he wouldn’t have anything to do with ‘filth like you.’”

“So? Do you think that bothers me one bit?” she retorted. “All my life, people thought I was weird, different. The kids at school, the guys I dated, even my grandparents. But I showed them… I showed them all!”

“Yeah, you killed them. Is that why you ganked all those people back in Warner? ’Cause they called you names?”

“No! They died because of you, because of your dad,” Mia stated.

“Oh? How’s that? I don’t seem to remember putting a drillbit through Greg’s skull or dropping a jail on top of Karen Aldridge after you gutted her.”

“They died so I could draw you two in. Sacrificial lambs if you will, but their blood is on your dad’s hands.”

“You can keep saying that till you’re convinced, ’cause honey, I ain’t buying that load of bull. This whole sob story of yours might play out well for a soap opera, but to me, you’re just another heartless, spineless, piece of demon crap. You’re all the same… mindless, evil, sick animals. And guess what? You’re going down when my dad gets here,” he promised.

“Do you think for one minute that I care about your name calling? Do you think for one minute I care about the blood I’ve spilled or the lives I’ve taken? Casualties of war, Dean. Collateral damage,” she replied dispassionately.

“Like your grandparents? Is that why you took their name? Because you didn’t give a damn?”

He watched her go silent, her face suddenly devoid of the wild smile she’d been displaying since he’d come to in the rundown house. Despite her obstinate denial that she cared about anyone, it was all too apparent that at some level, she had cared about the old couple that had raised her.

“I took their name out of respect. I owed them that much. The night I killed them, it was an accident. I was young, I couldn’t control myself like now. After the deal with the priest, I went back to the house and I burned it to the ground. But you know what? I didn’t shed a single tear.”

She was yelling at him now. Her hands waving about wildly as she continued with her animated explanation. Inwardly, Dean smiled. He’d gotten to her. She wasn’t showing any control now. He pressed harder.

“Well, too bad you burned them. There’s a couple of angry spirits I would like to have seen come back and exact a little vengeance,” he commented wistfully.

“Oh and you’re so perfect? Let me ask you this Dean, how well have you fit in all your life? You’re a freak too in your own right. You forget, you’ve told me all about that pathetic childhood you endured.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t sunshine and lollipops, but at least I never offed my own flesh and blood.”

“I bet Sam would beg to differ with you on that one. If he were alive, that is. Seems to me, you have plenty of blood on your hands, Dean, most of it belonging to that equally freakish brother of yours.”

“Nah, you’re not gonna pull that on me. You killed Sammy. Just like all the others. I have my own guilt to shoulder, but I didn’t kill him,” Dean steadfastly maintained, inwardly trying to convince himself of that statement.

She was enraged now. Pacing frantically about the small space until Dean thought he’d get dizzy watching her.

“So, Mia or Emma. Ya know, I gotta tell you, neither of those names fits you worth a damn. You’re more like a Squeaky or maybe an Aileen. Something more appropriate for a serial killer,” he taunted.

“Shows how much you know. I chose Mia for a reason. It means ‘bitter’. Ironic, don’t you think?”

“Bitter? That’s an understatement, you stupid bitch. Women that get dumped by their boyfriends are bitter. People that lose the lottery by one number are bitter. But you… I think you left the realm of bitter about the time old Bethany got dropped-kicked off the cheerleading squad.”

She was laughing again, stopping her frantic movement to stand directly in front of the young hunter. “Mia also means ‘mine’ too.” She informed him.

“Mine? As though you belong to someone? What demon is hitching a ride underneath that skin of yours?” Dean asked casually. “Maybe the better question is what piece of trash from the pit would be so desperate to shack up in your meatsuit for so many years?”

She backhanded him again, catching Dean on the side of his face and laying open a cut near the corner of his eye. The blow was hard enough to rock him in the chair, the seat teetering precariously but luckily remaining upright.

“I’m nobody’s puppet,” she shouted, before licking the small splatter of his blood from the back of her hand.

Momentarily blinded by the haze of red seeping into his right eye, he squinted to see her, determined to maintain his defiant stare.

“Oh you are, sweetheart. You might want to insist that you’re on a mission of revenge, but somewhere deep down in there, some demon is pulling the strings. Probably has been all along. You’re just too stupid to know that,” he sneered.

“You still don’t get it do you?” Mia lashed back. “You still don’t get what happened to me the day I was born?”

“Lady, I’m pretty much ruing the day right now,” Dean jibed with a soft snicker.
She was about to answer when there was a loud creak from the rickety boards on the steps leading to the porch. Both of them froze, becoming silent as they waited for subsequent sounds.

Dean felt his heart begin to beat wildly in his chest. Was it his dad? Had he managed to track them down and was now here to face the hybrid demon? But no, it couldn’t be. John Winchester wasn’t careless enough to make such a simple mistake as alerting his prey.

He watched as Mia ducked quietly to the edge of a boarded up window. She peeked through a gap in the boards, shrinking back against the wall once she had seen outside.

The knock at the door that came next startled both of them. Dean considered shouting for help, but fear of what Mia might do to whoever was on the other side of the door caused him to refrain from calling out.

There was another loud rap on the door followed by someone trying the handle to gain entry.

“Fort Worth P.D.. I know someone’s in there. This house is condemned. You need to come out right now!”

Dean looked up at Mia, seeing her eyes narrow at him in warning. Unspoken, he understood the threat. One sound from him and she’d turn the cop into hamburger.

“Come out now or I’m coming in. This is your one and only warning!” the officer advised.

Mia suddenly smiled, the sadistic glee from earlier returning to her face. “Watch and learn, Dean,” she whispered intently.

Without touching the front door, the entry opened on its own, allowing light to spill inside and silhouette the tall officer standing in the doorway. His gun drawn, the young cop took a cautious step forward and over the threshold.

“NO!” Dean yelled at the top of his lungs. “Get back!”

But his desperate cry only served to draw the lawman in further. Once he spotted the young hunter, restrained and bloody, he rushed toward Dean. He only made it three feet before he pulled up short, his hands flashing up to his throat even as his weapon clattered uselessly to the floor.

Blood began to cascade from the officer’s nose, even his eyes and ears were seeping precious life fluid. Dean cringed as a sickening gurgle filled the quiet of the old house. He watched helplessly as the cop dropped to his knees, his breathing ragged as more blood fell in globs from his mouth.

“Stop it!” Dean pleaded.

If Mia heard him, she didn’t react. The brunette merely stood there, her face an odd mixture of dispassionate fascination and the cruel smile of excitement.

The young policeman writhed on the floor as blood continued to flow unabated. Unable to beg for his own life, his locked his eyes on Dean, beseeching the hunter to help him as he stretched out a beckoning hand.

“Please,” Dean implored. “Mia, please don’t do this. He’s innocent. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

She walked over to the elder Winchester brother, squatting down so her mouth was next to his ear. “Do I look like I give a damn?” she hissed.

“Mia, I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill him…”

“Ah, Dean. You don’t have anything to bargain with. I already have everything I need,” she replied coldly, rising back up and nodding at the dying cop. “But I’ll give you this. I’ll put him out of his misery.”

“Mia! NO!” Dean shouted, straining desperately against his bonds as the man was lifted upward off the floor, his feet dangling several inches from the ground.

There was a stomach-churning sound of flesh ripping apart as the young officer’s body exploded outward in a torrent of blood, tissue and gore. Bits of skin and bone sprayed throughout the room, coating the nearby walls and splattering across Dean’s upper body. Fighting back the rising bile, he turned his head away, unable to look at the nearly unidentifiable remains of the cop.

Mia left his side, walking over to where the husk of the lawman lay silently on the floor. She toed his body, her nose wrinkling in disgust as a piece of intestine flopped onto her boot. She kicked it free, much to Dean’s utter revulsion, and turned back to face him, dusting her hands off as though she had just completed some menial task, looking pleased with her accomplishment.

“Why?” Dean groaned, unable to hide the horror from his face or voice.

If he’d ever thought she had any humanity left in her, Dean knew she was well beyond sane now.

Insane or demonic… did it even make a difference?

She reached out and flicked a piece of congealing gore from the front of his shirt, her eyes dancing when he shivered away from her touch.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get your turn…”

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The Winchester Chronicles