Season Four

Episode Ten: Dark Side Of The Sun

By Kittsbud

Part Two

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He asked again, the gun in his hand centered perfectly on the stranger’s frontal lobe.

The man seemed unabashed. “My name is Castiel…I’m an angel of the Lord…”

Dean’s lips curled into a sarcastic smirk. “Yeah? And I’m friggin’ Barak Obama.”

Castiel’s expression remained emotionless. “I find that highly improbable.”

“Oh, a funny man, huh?” Dean’s finger itched on the trigger of his weapon. “So tell me Castiel, if angels are just flyin’ around mixing among us mere mortals, how come Sammy and me have never bumped into one of you do-gooders before?”

“Because we have had no reason to show ourselves to you.”

“Oh, and now suddenly we’re worthy, huh?” Dean’s lip curled in distaste. He didn’t know what he was dealing with, but the thing had a weird way of thinking.

“Actually, no.” Castiel seemed tired of having to explain himself. “You called me.”

Dean almost choked down a laugh.

Almost.

“Mister, even if you are what you say, no way would you catch me calling on your kind. For one thing, I’m not sure I even believe in you.”

“You believe,” Castiel countered. “Why else would you carry around my feather for protection? The feather I lost in the battle at Mount Diablo.” He took a step forward, ignoring the barrel still pointed at his skull. “The feather you have used several times to tap my power against the fallen ones…”

Was there an actual tinge of annoyance in his tone?

Dean pushed further, hoping to get a rise out of the man/creature. “Your feather? C’mon…you aren’t exactly bristling with plumage there, bucko.” He swallowed. “So let me get this straight, you want me to believe you guys are just walking around, looking like us, mingling with us and we’ve never known about it?”

“We appear to humans in the form in which they are most likely to accept us according to their beliefs. There are many different planes of existence, and my kind are privileged to walk them all.”

Dean balked. “You mean like the places Sam and me got stuck in back in Stull church? Like where Dad was? You’re tellin’ me Heaven and Hell are all part of some screwed up dimensional crap outta the friggin’ X-Files?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He just gazed at Dean, steely eyes burning into the hunter until Dean had to look away, just for an instant.

When he looked back up, Castiel’s stare had softened, just a touch. “Why appear now?” Dean asked. “It’s not like we haven’t been using that damn feather for months. Kinda late to want your wings back, dude.”

“The feather must be returned because you attempted to use it against one of my brethren.” The hint of annoyance was there again, just below the surface of his low timbre.

“Say what?” The surprise was enough to make Dean lower his weapon and pull a face of incredulity. “An angel was trying to gank Father Alvaro? Isn’t that kinda like killing one of your own? Have you guys gone nuts? Assuming I even believe you are what you say you are…”

Castiel turned away, the length of his coat flapping out behind him like a bird stretching its wings. He was distant now, as if talking about the subject was painful. “There are forces at work in this town,” he whispered. “Forces that must be stopped at any price.”

Dean exhaled deeply, suddenly feeling deflated. Wasn’t that just the story of his life? Different towns, same shit – a Winchesters life never changed. “Even if I believe you, I’m not gonna help you ventilate some poor priest just because he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Ventilate a priest?” Sam’s sleepy-headed voice filled the desert and Dean spun quickly around to face him, ready to do some fast talking. “Dean, who were you talking to?”

Dean frowned and glanced back over his shoulder, but the man in the trench coat had vanished into the night.

Looking down, Dean stared at the feather for the longest moment, wondering just what he believed, and how much, or how little he should tell his brother just yet.

Everything just felt wrong – too wrong to go admitting he’d been in contact with a being that might, just might, be some kind of heavenly spirit.

No, for now it was best not to tell Sam about his conversation with “Castiel.”

“I was just thinking out loud, dude. Wondering who’d want to ventilate Father Alvaro…”

Sam’s brow scrunched as if he was unconvinced, but his eyes were already drooping from the desire for more sleep.

“Sammy, get your gangly ass back to sleep, we can talk more in the morning over breakfast.”

Sam dropped back down into the Impala and tossed an empty potato chip packet at his brother despairingly. “Yeah, right, breakfast. I mean, the room service is just so good in this motel you got us, dude.”

Rio Conchos Mental Facility
The Next Day…

As Sam walked through the sparsely furnished hospital, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be his and Dean’s fate some day. In their line of work, it could only be a matter of time before they ended up deader than a dodo or madder than Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.

Right now, though, they were using Sam’s cover as a U.S. government attaché to get them through the security here. So far, it had worked better than he’d expected, and they were being led towards a small interview room to speak with Miles Barker.

Barker was the man convicted of the flaying the previous year, and his shrink at the facility had informed them he had moments of total lucidity, interspersed with episodes of completely psychotic behavior.

If this was true, they were going to have their work cut out trying to tell which parts of his story to believe.

“Over here,” a short and particularly chubby orderly instructed them. “Barker is already waiting for you.” He slid a security card into a reader and the metal door in front of them clicked open. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Folding his arms over his chest the orderly watched them go in and closed the door behind them.

Sam glanced over his shoulder as it snapped shut. Should they really be left alone with a psychotic murderer? Maybe Dean’s right. Something is “off” about this case…

Sam took a seat anyway, fiddling with his tie as it dangled loosely before him. “Mr. Barker? My name is Sam Wayne and this is my associate Dean Kent. We’re from the U.S. government. We’re here to see you about what happened last year.”

Barker looked them both over with sparkling green eyes. Was that an expression of curiosity, or something more? “You’re here to help me get out?” He eventually asked, wringing his hands every few seconds nervously.

“It’s a possibility,” Dean lied. “But we need a few facts first.”

“I told the authorities here everything I know. They just think I’m mad. But I’m not insane, they are for not seeing what’s going on.”

“So, you’re saying you didn’t kill anyone?” Sam sat forward on the edge of his chair, carefully appraising just how well restrained Barker was. The man seemed to be cuffed to a bar on the table that separated them, but sometimes looks could be deceiving.

Jeez, I’m getting as paranoid as Dean. What’s with this town?

“I’m telling you, the local cops set me up. Why would I kill a total stranger?” Barker defended.

“Because you’re buckets of crazy?” Dean smiled back, obviously not caring if he offended.

Sam shot his brother a dipped brow that screamed “shut your piehole” and then probed further before Dean had the chance to do more damage. “Mr. Barker, why would the police want to frame you?”

Barker huffed, his eyes suddenly becoming more feral. He pulled at the chains on his wrists, rocking back and forth on his chair until the metal restraints actually started to bite into his flesh, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Because the locals are all in on it,” Barker growled. “They want the flesh, that’s all they want, the bloody flesh of the innocents.”

Sam glanced at Dean. This could be a real clue, or it could be a mad man ranting to his audience. “Why do they want the flesh?” He risked another question.

Barker grinned. “You’ll see! Oh, you’ll see so soon…so SOON!” He yanked harder at his cuffs in a steady rhythm that sounded like he was trying to make music – but it was far from sweet. “Today it’s all going to happen again, but this time he won’t be sated with one body, one skin…”

Dean looked over his shoulder to check on the orderly outside. So far, he had either not noticed the ruckus, or was ignoring it. “Listen, buddy,” he soothed. “Maybe you’ll wanna keep the noise down before the baboons in the white coats come take you away to a nice padded cell, huh?”

“We can help you if you just stay calm.” Sam attempted a similar tactic. The last thing they wanted right now was for the staff to sedate Barker before they’d finished talking to him.

Nothing either Winchester had to say had any effect, however.

Barker had retreated into some inner world that seemed to both terrify and excite him at the same time.

“They want the flesh!” He screamed over and over until his voice became hoarse with the effort. “They want the flesh! Need the FLESH!”

Sam winced and shook his head pitifully. If Barker had ever been sane, that part of him was gone now, and with it any information that might have helped them. “I think we’re done here,” he said sadly.

Dean’s brow ticked up as if to suggest he’d known that five minutes previously. “Like I said,” he muttered. “A whole lotta buckets of crazy…”

Father Alvaro’s Church

The church looked different to Dean somehow as they once again walked along the pebbled pathway to its door. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but the place seemed to ooze a kind of foreboding that no holy house should.

Of course, he’d felt weird ever since he’d come to this town, so maybe it was just his imagination. Imagination hell, there’s some seriously bad mojo going on around here.

And then, let’s not forget we’ve got an angel stalking our asses…

Dean glanced over at his brother. What would Sam think if he knew about this “Castiel?” Sam was the believer of the Winchesters, but an angel that was willing to gank a man of God?

“Something on your mind?” Sam asked intuitively.

Dean stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and paused in front of the church. “Sam, if angels really exist, do you think they would actually kill if the reason was good enough?”

Sam appeared taken aback at the sudden question. “Okay,” he eventually mouthed, his face ticking into a confused expression. “Since when did you start talking about angels as if they’re on every street corner?”

“Since I saw Cage in City of Angels?” Dean snarked back, not wanting to admit the truth.

Sam huffed as if the explanation wasn’t good enough, but Dean reached out for the church door, brushing off any further conversation.

As his fingers touched the aged wood, Ernesto seemed to materialize from the ether to stand beside him.

Dean took a step back, surprised at the young boy’s abrupt appearance. “Sheesh, what are you, the friggin’ invisible man?”

Ernesto sniffed. “If you’re looking for the padre he isn’t here.”

“Do you know where he is?” Sam asked softly.

“Father Alvaro is busy arranging the yearly celebrations…” Ernesto paused, watching as three police cruisers screamed by, sirens wailing as they disappeared into the distance.

“Wonder what’s got them so all fired up?” Dean pondered. “I mean, I wouldn’t have thought a back woods town like this even had three cop cars.”

Ernesto’s nose puckered as if he found the comment slightly insulting. For his age, the kid was sharp. “A skinned body has been found,” he eventually explained as if the brothers should already be aware of the fact.

“How do you know that?” Sam looked to Dean as he asked the question.

“Because it always happens on this day!” Ernesto shook his head as if he were teaching a kindergarten class. “What are you two? Stupid?”

Dean let the comment slide, instead thinking of what Barker had told them back at the mental institute.

“You’ll see! Oh, you’ll see so soon…so SOON! Today it’s all going to happen again, but this time he won’t be sated with one body, one skin…”

Was Barker sane after all, despite his ravings?

“Why is today so special?” Sam continued to question the boy, the concern on his face suggesting he was having the same thoughts as Dean.

Ernesto sighed deeply. “Because it’s his day, of course!”

“Who?” Dean scowled, finally becoming annoyed at the kid’s tone. “The friggin’ Tooth Fairy gone rabid?”

Ernesto took the comment as yet another insult and grimaced. “No, today is the festival of Tlacaxipehualizti!”

“ Gesundheit!” Dean countered.

“What does that actually mean?” Sam asked pointedly, apparently ignoring the banter that seemed to be going back and forth in front of him.

Ernesto blinked as if he was unsure how much to say. “The flaying of men in honor of Xipe,” he eventually elaborated.

Dean blinked in amazement and looked straight at Sam. “Dude, what the hell have we dropped into here? Predator?”

Sam shook his head, obviously deeply worried by what he’d just heard. “I wish this was just a movie, but its not, and we’re stuck right in the middle of it …”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, and dude, I so plan on keeping the skin I’m in.” He cocked his head, listening to the fading sirens.

Maybe in this town, that was going to prove impossible.

Garcia’s Grille
Calle Vallarta
Ciudad Del Maldecido

Dean watched his brother work their laptop hard, digging up as much as he could on the so called “Xipe Totec.” Being a Mexican deity had meant they hadn’t actually had to look very hard to find the creature.

How they interpreted what they’d discovered, and how a small town priest fit into the equation was another matter.

“Okay, so Xipe is some sun god or something?” Dean asked – for once his mouth devoid of food.

“Not exactly,” Sam corrected. “Xipe was more a god of agriculture. He’s listed as a life-death-rebirth deity.”

“Great,” Dean groaned as he eyed the menu in front of him longingly. “What does that make him, some kinda Antichrist risen from the grave?”

“That supposes Xipe is actually doing the killings here,” Sam pointed out. “During the Spanish conquests, worshippers used to sacrifice slaves to Xipe. Maybe that’s what’s going on?”

“You think the locals are ganking one another to appease some ancient god?” Dean shook his head despairingly. “Reminds me of Burkitsville all over again.”

“According to sources, the sacrificial slaves had their hearts cut out and then the body was carefully flayed to produce a nearly whole skin. This was then worn by the priests for twenty days during the fertility rituals.”

“Nice, in a grunge kinda way.”

“Yeah, and it gets worse, today is the start of the annual festival to honor Xipe.”

“So all that crap Barker was spouting is most likely true,” Dean reasoned. “And Alvaro said this was a quiet little town where nothing ever happened. I’m thinking the padre is either at one with the natives or he’s a few short of a six pack.”

“Well, it could get worse.”

Dean scowled. “It could?”

Sam nodded, taking a sip from a glass of ice water. “There are other forms of sacrifice we need to look out for. An arrow sacrifice was another method used by worshippers. The victim was bound, spread-eagled to a wooden frame, and then shot with arrows until his blood spilled onto the ground in honor of Xipe.”

“Dude, so not my kind of bondage.”

“Mine either,” Sam agreed. “But it does mean a whole lot of people in this town might be in trouble, and we have no clue who is friend or foe.”

“All that crap you dug up on Xipe and I’m not hearing anything on how to kill the grisly S.O.B. either.”

“That’s because so far I got squat.” Sam sighed. “At least everything is starting to fall into place. All we need to do now is figure out who’s batting for the opposition. Do you really think the cops could be involved like Barker suggested?”

“Hell, I wouldn’t rule anything out.” Dean stared at the menu again, but thoughts of flayed flesh kept creeping into his mind until his stomach growled angrily, telling him not to dare eat here. “Heck, we don’t even know how Alvaro fits into this mess.”

But he does fit somehow, because he’s got at least one angel after ganking his ass…

“He’s a friend of Kyle’s. Shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt? I mean he is a priest, Dean.”

“Yeah, well a dog collar doesn’t make him one of the good guys, Sammy.”

Sam closed up the laptop, apparently finished with his research. He seemed to think long and hard about an answer before simply offering. “If we can’t trust a man of God, who can we trust?”

Dean didn’t even have to think about his reply. “Ourselves. We trust ourselves, because there ain’t nobody else I want watching my back.” Not even Castiel, angel or no angel…

Sam let out a long breath. “So,” he rubbed at his brow in frustration. “We can’t trust the cops, the locals, or a priest who just happens to be Kyle Williams’ buddy. Where exactly does that leave us?”

“I’m thinkin’ it leaves us in a whole bunch of hurt,” Dean confirmed. “Right now, though, we gotta figure out who or what we’re hunting here. Maybe you can check out the most recent murder scene and find out if we’re dealing with Xipe himself or just a few rabid followers. I’ll go talk to our not-so-innocent priest again.”

“And if Xipe really is walking among men once more, we have squat to fight him with,” Sam squirmed, obviously hating that he hadn’t discovered a way to subdue the god.

“Then,” Dean admitted. “We’re crap outta luck…”

Latest Crime Scene,
41 Avenida Guerrero
Ciudad Del Maldecido

Sam straightened his tie and took a deep breath before approaching the police line that clearly marked the crime scene. While he felt totally at home crashing a U.S. murder scene, Mexico was something else.

He’d read about all the different law enforcement agencies here, and about how some local officers were dependant on bribes because of their poor pay - something that would support Barker’s accusations that the police were a part of the mess here, rather than a cure.

Then of course, there was the small fact that he couldn’t just masquerade as an F.B.I. agent here and get away with it. No, Sam’s cover had to be a little more complex. No doubt the reason he’d been given this job and Dean had ambled off in search of Father Alvaro.

Sam grunted at the idea he’d drawn the short straw, again, and then drew out several fake “official” papers giving him clearance to be here.

“Hi, I’ve been told to speak with a…” he glanced at the forms, feigning uncertainty, “…Comandante Chavez?”

The officer on guard at the police line looked unimpressed. He took the paperwork and inspected it. “F.B.I. attaché assigned to the Chihuahua regional office, huh?” He scowled, his creased skin wrinkling further. “We don’t appreciate your kind meddling in local matters…”

“Miguel, is there a problem?”

Sam looked across the crime scene to see a tall, lean looking man heading towards them. From his uniform, the man was probably Luis Chavez, the equivalent of a U.S. police chief.

“He’s from the U.S. government,” Miguel sniffed. “Come down here to poke his nose in our affairs.”

“Actually, I was hoping to be able to help.” Sam frowned at the second sergeant and hoped his boss was more amenable, or this was going to be one hell of a short gig. He looked Chavez straight in the eye and offered up a hand. “Sam Skinner.”

Chavez took the proffered hand and shook heartily. “Sorry about Miguel, he’s…not used to dealing with outsiders. How can I help?”

“Well, I’m working in conjunction with the Policia Federal,” Sam lied convincingly. “We’re looking into the murder last year involving Miles Barker, and when I heard there had been another flaying while Barker is still inside…”

“You’re considering the fact that he’s innocent, and his claims that the police are involved might be true?”

Sam sighed for effect, wanting the cop to think he was on the law’s side. “No, sir, not at all – at least not the police involvement at any rate. We are considering that Barker might be innocent, or possibly even have an accomplice.”

Chavez put a hand on his hip and slid on a pair of Raybans Horatio Cain style. “Well then I guess I better assist you. Is there anything particular you’re looking for?”

Was that sincerity, or sarcasm? With the accent and demeanor, it was hard for Sam to tell.

“I was hoping to get a look at the body before the meat wagon arrives. Compare injuries from last year’s case.”

Chavez jerked a thumb towards a nearby clump of bushes. Even at this distance, Sam could clearly see splashes of coagulating blood on the shrubbery. What lay beyond wouldn’t be pleasant.

But then, that was what he’d come here to see.

Taking several long strides, he moved swiftly and decisively to where the corpse lay waiting.

The thing stretched out before him in the dusty earth had apparently once been a woman, but now it was simply a pile of raw meat and sinew, with eyes that seemed to pop from its skull.

Sam kneeled, unfazed by what he was seeing.

Even in this condition, it was obviously apparent where the victim’s heart had been removed, Xipe style. The job was neat and accomplished, as if it had been carried out by a craftsman rather than an angry god. Which tells me zip about who did this…

Sam’s brow furrowed in the way it always did when he was feeling pensive. He had to take a risk here, push a few buttons, because he wasn’t going to get any clues from the crime scene itself.

“Tell me Comandante, do you think any of your men could be involved in this?”

Chavez chuckled wryly. “Why Agent Skinner, I thought you weren’t looking at my delegación for corruption?”

“I have to look at every option – even you.” Sam straightened up from his position, staring at the cop intently with the hope his size alone made him just a little intimidating.

If he was shocked, Chavez didn’t show it. “Anything is possible,” he acknowledged. “But if there is corruption in my department, then it’s well hidden.”

“Like this girl’s body, then,” Sam pushed. “Are you a churchgoing man, Comandante? Perhaps you know Father Alvaro?”

Chavez reddened just a touch. “It’s a small town, everyone knows Alvaro. He’s a great priest. Just what this community has needed for a long time.”

Sam licked his lips, the Mexican heat making them dry and cracked like a sheet of sand paper. Not that Sam noticed, because something was going on here – at least between Chavez and Alvaro. Now he had to find out what.

“Can you tell me more about the festivities Alvaro is overseeing? Some kind of celebration of the god Xipe Totec, isn’t it?”

Chavez’s head snapped around and he jerked off the sunglasses to glare at Sam. Definitely the action of a man who had been caught off guard. “It’s nothing the F.B.I. need worry themselves about. Just a simple fiesta that has endured the test of our great nation’s history. Just like your Independence Day.”

“Except we let off fireworks, we don’t skin people,” Sam countered.

The head cop seemed to sag as if he didn’t want the war of words anymore. His shoulders dropped and he nodded sadly. Whether his sudden lack of recalcitrance was due to genuine concern or deep-seated guilt, Sam couldn’t be sure.

What came next from Chavez could be a bold lie, or an admission that he had lost control of the situation. In honesty, Sam expected the lie, but he had to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Dean would probably have wanted to ventilate the cop by now, but that approach wasn’t likely to help in front of several local officers who wouldn’t give a crap about shooting Sam to make a fast buck, or rather a fast peso.

Chavez rubbed a hand across his slick hair and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, of course. Something could be going on here that is, shall we say, beyond my capabilities. I was first at the scene, and there was disturbing evidence. Evidence I didn’t want my men to see for fear they might think I was going mad.”

“Such as?” Sam probed.

“I bagged and tagged it,” Chavez explained, taking a slow gait towards his cruiser. “It’s in my trunk. I didn’t know what else to do with it until you showed up.”

Sam cautiously followed the cop to the rear of the car. Maybe this was the proof he needed that Xipe was back in town. Or at least that some kind of following was continuing the god’s love of skin flaying.

As Chavez popped the trunk, Sam realized his mistake.

The rear of the car was completely empty, and to add to that suspicious fact, two of the Comandante’s subordinates suddenly joined them – one either side Sam.

“You didn’t really think you’d be allowed to just walk in here and pull rank did you?” Chavez still looked angry.

“You can’t just make me disappear,” Sam defended, even though his heart told him otherwise. “There are people at the Policia Federal office that know I’m here.”

“And what would you say if I told you that I have people there too? People who can help make you disappear.”

I’d have to borrow a phrase from my brother and say I’m so screwed, Sam thought. Except that would be an understatement.

Chavez nodded to the officer on the left and Sam felt something hard crash down on the back of his skull without warning.

Maybe it was the butt of a gun, maybe it was some kind of police baton, but the choice of weapon was pretty much irrelevant.

Sam felt his body pushed forward as his world turned black, and he realized that if he was lucky enough to ever regain consciousness again, then he’d find himself locked inside the trunk of a police cruiser.

Or worse still, with no skin…

Father Alvaro’s Church

Dean wasn’t really sure why he’d come here. After all, despite the place being Alvaro’s place of worship, the little priest was hardly ever around when anyone came to call.

Of course, that could easily be explained if he was off in some dark place worshipping a long dead god – although the Winchesters had yet to see evidence of it.

“Huh,” Dean groaned to himself as he walked up to the tiny pulpit. “The only proof we have is from a friggin’ freak who calls himself an angel. Who’d actually want to be a damn angel in this whacked out world anyway?”

“You should be more careful of your choice of words in a house of the Lord.”

Dean whirled to see Castiel eyeing him distastefully. “Well maybe if you guys didn’t creep around like friggin’ ninjas I might not need to cuss so much, dude.”

Castiel’s expression remained dry. “Your language was inappropriate before my appearance.” He slid his hands in his long overcoat pockets and walked slowly to the pulpit. “In fact, your language is…somewhat colorful far too often.”

“Yeah? Well stick around and I’ll show you a whole new meaning to the word ‘colorful.’” Dean pulled a face but the angel’s stoic expression never faltered.

He has stubble, Dean noted randomly. What kind of heavenly creature comes down here with a designer beard? And I’ve still not seen any sign of those damn feathers…

“My wings are not visible in this form,” Castiel offered helpfully, even though Dean hadn’t made the comment vocally.

Dean nodded as if he really should have known that. “Riiight! Stupid me. Why didn’t I realize that. ’Cause I mean, no angel is gonna want to show off his plumage to prove he actually is an angel.”

Castiel sighed, obviously frustrated and confused by Dean’s behavior. He remained silent apparently waiting for some kind of heavenly intervention to tell him what to do next.

Dean decided he didn’t want to wait that long. After all, it might be forty days and forty nights, or some other such biblical number, before the guy upstairs bothered to answer.

“So,” Dean asked. “Why have you taken to suddenly stalking my ass? I mean, apart from me having your one true feather. And a truly amazing ass… ’Cause, either way man, I’m telling you, it’s so not healthy.”

Castiel faced-off Dean as if what he was about to say was for heavenly ears only.

To Dean, that thought wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Because we have a common cause,” Castiel breathed in his customary whisper. “Alvaro is the reason you came here, and he is also what I was sent here to deal with.”

“So do I at least get to know what the padre has done before you vanish off back to the pearly gates this time?”

Castiel turned until his back was to Dean. He was probably thinking again, or somehow conversing with others of his kind, the hunter surmised.

“Alvaro has corrupted some of his congregation, and he must be stopped.” Castiel explained matter-of-factly. “He has given up on today’s society and gone back to the old ways. Bad ways that mean he now reveres an unworthy god to such an extent that he is willing to sacrifice to it, Dean.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that kinda thing before,” Dean admitted, thinking again of the scarecrow town in Indiana. “Never saw me a corrupt priest that liked to skin people before, though. That’s just too whacked.”

“If we do not stop him today, he will complete enough sacrifices to cause Xipe Totec to rise from his current resting place…” The angel’s sentence cut off as if the very thought of what might happen next was too unspeakable, even to him.

“Resting place?” Dean asked with a frown. “You mean like a grave or some kinda temple?”

Castiel didn’t mess with words. “Like Hell, Dean.”

“But didn’t you just say this creep is some kinda god?”

Castiel’s mood remained somber. “A fallen one, like Lucifer, yes…”

Dean almost gaped. Just what kind of civilization were he and Sam fighting for when even the good guys weren’t good anymore?

“You’re telling me Alvaro, a priest for crying out loud, is messed up in this, and we’re supposed to stop him?”

Castiel turned away for a second time, looking sad, almost bitter even. He locked his hands behind his back and Dean thought he heard a tiny sigh escape the angel’s lungs.

“Everything has a dark side, Dean.”

The church fell silent, save for a bird fluttering in the rafters where it had inadvertently become trapped. Even the rays of sunlight that descended through the cracks in the roof seemed muted.

It was as if God had abandoned this place suddenly, leaving only his two soldiers behind to deliberate their next actions.

Dean watched Castiel. Were their fates really so alike, despite their different origins?

Had they both been put on the planet to fight the supernatural any way they could?

Brothers in arms.

“If Alvaro succeeds with the sacrifices today, can we still try and gank this Xipe freak somehow?” Dean eventually asked.

“Not easily.” The monotone response suggested that Castiel had retreated into his usual emotionless state.
Dean wasn’t sure which way he preferred the angel.

He cringed, knowing that Castiel – one of God’s minions – was suggesting something tantamount to murder.

Alvaro had to die to stop the rebirth of an evil god.

“Can’t we find a way to just stop Alvaro making the sacrifices? You’re an angel, can’t you just zap him or something?”

“My brother would already have stopped him, if you had not intervened,” Castiel intoned.

Dean began to pace along the aisle, rubbing a hand over his hair in frustration. Nothing was going right, and he was talking, actually talking to an angel to boot. Today was definitely going down as one of the weirdest in his life so far.

“Dude, how were we supposed to know what was going on?” The hunter eventually asked. “It’s not every day you get to see a priest getting his butt spanked by one of God’s pets.”

“We are not pets,” Castiel corrected unflinchingly. “We are soldiers – like you.”

Dean looked at the angel. “Not like me,” he grumbled. “Even I have a conscience.”

Castiel’s head cocked to one side as if he didn’t really understand the point. “In my Father’s business, there is no time for earthly principles.”

“Yeah, I get it. No shades of grey, only right and wrong as the Big Guy sees it, right?” Dean perched himself precariously on the edge of a pew. “Now can we cut through all the heavenly red tape here and actually do some work?”

“Work?” Castiel asked, as if he had no concept of such a word.

Boy, this is hard work, Dean considered before remembering the angel had read his thoughts earlier. “Can we just find our rabid priest before anyone else loses their skin today?”

“I think I know where to look.” The angel walked towards the door, obviously expecting Dean to follow him. When Dean didn’t, Castiel turned back and explained. “There are ancient Aztec ruins out in the desert. It would be a perfect place for more sacrifices.”

Dean rubbed his hands together.

Finally.

Now they had somewhere to look and something to do besides chasing their tails, even if the idea had come from a freak with hidden wings.

He slapped Castiel on the back “Tell me, has your angelic ass ever ridden in the finest set of wheels in the whole dang universe, Cas?”

“I do not believe so,” the angel frowned uncertainly. “And my name is Castiel…”

Dean grinned. “Hang onto those wing feathers there, Cas, because you’re about to witness a miracle of classic motor construction…”

* * * *

Sam suspected before he even opened his eyes that he was no longer in Chavez’s trunk. Somehow he could feel the sun beating down on his body as if he’d stripped off his shirt and was trying to catch a few rays.

He blinked, finally daring to actually check out his situation.

Sam appeared to still be in Mexico – probably the desert just outside of town, but there was no real evidence to suggest where.

As he’d suspected, his shirt and t-shirt had been stripped away to leave bare flesh exposed to the elements, and whatever else his captive had in mind.

At this point, he was sure Dean would have been having lewd thoughts and hoping his kidnapper was a skinny blonde, with or without brains.

Sam wasn’t so enamored with the way he’d been splayed out.

Both his wrists and ankles had been bound to some kind of wooden frame until he was effectively spread-eagled. It didn’t really take much imagination to guess he’d been prepared for the arrow sacrifice he’d described to his brother.

He squinted as the sun dipped from behind a cloud, momentarily blinding him.

Once its rays had once again been veiled by more puffs of white in the heavens, he began to take stock of his situation.

There was no way for Dean to know he’d been taken, or indeed where he’d been taken. That meant no rescue. His only chance was to escape.

Sam glanced down at the cord that held him fast. It was thick and new – there was no chance to break free from its clutches.

Looking around, he saw ruins both to the left and right. Ancient stonework that had once been part of vast temples and maybe even local pyramids.

In their heyday, they would have held hundreds of worshippers and followers, but today, no living soul remained here that could help Sam.

Dammit, this isn’t good. Not good at all…

Sam heard a sudden movement behind him and desperately tried to crane his neck to see what was causing the noise. Had he been wrong? Was there someone here who could help him after all?

But the interloper wasn’t a friend.

It was Alvaro, or at least it looked like Alvaro beneath a hideous human skin that he seemed to wear with as much ease as his dog collar.

The coat of flesh appeared to have been recently removed from its owner, and Sam guessed this was the latest murder victim’s hide.

To add to the grotesque picture that belonged in the history books was the frightening fact that Alvaro was carrying a crudely fashioned bow, and several arrows.

He’s going to do the sacrifice, and I’m the lamb to the slaughter!

“Father, you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not yourself. Kyle told me…”

“Kyle Williams is a fool,” Alvaro snapped. “He still puts his trust in the Church, in the new ways, when in reality we should be looking back to the days of our forefathers.”

“You don’t mean that,” Sam blurted, thinking of nothing else constructive to argue with.

The skin-cloaked priest snorted. “Don’t I? What has your God given me after all my years of service? What has he given the poor peasants that live in this place except constant hardship? Xipe will not see his followers in such poverty once he is reborn…”

“Wanna bet?” Sam yanked at his bonds again as the priest turned away to concentrate more on some bizarre Mexican chant.

Alvaro wasn’t interested in conversation, he was only interested in how many he could kill to appease his new master.

With an abrupt sense of panic eating at his soul, Sam realized that, in fact, he wasn’t even the first to die in this place today.

Around the stone plinth where he’d been tied were several coagulating pools of dark blood, some of which contained blobs of meat that he could only guess were lumps of fatty tissue left over from earlier flayings.

Crap! And I’m next on the menu!

Alvaro stopped his strange, throaty ritual and sucked down a deep, calming breath before taking several long steps back.

When he was happy he was far enough away, he slowly lifted the home-crafted bow and took aim at Sam’s chest.

The weapon shook in his hands as he placed the arrow ready to fire, but Sam guessed it was more from excitement than shame.

This was it, of all the hunts he’d been on, he was going to die here at the hands of a demented priest.

Irony was sometimes so not funny.

Sam saw the sweat on Alvaro’s palms, saw the manic joy in the priest’s glistening orbs, and decided he didn’t want to see the instrument of his own death.

He closed his eyes, and as he heard the twang of the bow’s release, he tried to think of all the good times he and Dean had shared before the arrow took away any chance of him ever seeing his brother again.

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The Winchester Chronicles