“Ierda,” The man’s voice was clearer this time, but I still couldn’t make out what he was saying.

I cleared my throat a few times and glanced down at where his chest was my eye level. I couldn’t remember the last time I had trouble speaking. How long was it since I stepped foot on that accursed battlefield? It felt like mere hours ago the sun shone for too long. The consequence of the spell performed to lock away the monster so many had died to defeat.

My legs began to sway beneath me, forcing me to grasp the man’s shirt to steady myself. I leaned into him with my head resting on his chest while I shook my legs out. Thank the gods he was being patient with me. I’d never been this frail. I could feel my skin buzzing with eons of collected magic, but my body was weak from being motionless for too long. 

I froze in place as I felt his familiar reach across the bond toward my dragon. A shudder ran down my spine as she unfurled deep within the recesses of my mind and came out of her hiding place. She greeted him like an old friend, a promising sign for the years ahead. 

Following Kenna’s lead, I raised my gaze at the same time the man brushed his knuckles across my cheek. When our gazes met, he rested his hand on my cheek and gently caressed my skin with the pad of his thumb. 

I thought I knew what to expect when the seal for the spell broke, but the man before me was beyond my wildest dreams. He was taller and more muscular than most men. His grey eyes contrasted perfectly with his rich brown, cool toned complexion. Most people would be intimidated by his large, imposing stature, but I was transfixed.

How long had I waited for this? How many people had placed their hands in mine, hoping the statue would come to life and they’d find true love? Or did people avoid me? Did they refuse to bring back the girl who could end the world?

The man supporting me dropped his hand from my cheek and returned his arm to where it had been wrapped around my waist. Fiddling with the material of his shirt, I cleared my throat and tested my voice until I was able to say something.

“Wh-What?” I finally croaked, my voice hoarse from years of disuse.

“Gadya ierda,” He spoke slowly, enough for me to understand we were speaking different languages. It was a good sign. I hoped.

Would it be strange if I kissed him? Had the tradition changed? What would he think of me if I did? I needed to understand him. I needed to understand a language in use today, but what if he rejects me because I kissed him too soon? 

The feeling of a large, calloused hand on my cheek pulled me out of my thoughts. My vision focused on his mouth then his lips were on mine. A chill so deep it became a furnace erupted from where our skin met. Our lips moved feverishly against each other, encouraged by the bond tying us together for the rest of our lives. 

A hunger neither of us could satiate until it was adequately fed took root deep inside each of us. Even if one of us rejected the other, which now seemed unlikely, we could never completely erase the other’s effect on our lives. My senses were overwhelmed by the taste of bamban smoke on his lips and smell of magic in the air. I’d heard about what the bond did to people, but this was beyond what I could have imagined. He was my drug, and I couldn’t get enough. 

He roughly grasped my rear in his hand and squeezed, eliciting a small groan from my lips. The intimate touch reminded me we were likely in a public space. I placed my hands on his chest and pushed, breaking the kiss. He rested his forehead against mine while we tried to catch our breath, holding me to his heaving chest. His arms were tightly wound around my waist and pressed to my spine, his muscles shaking with the strength he was holding back.

“Who . . . when . . . fuck,” I gasped out, attempting to figure out which question was more pressing.

“I am King Caedan.” Thank the gods I could understand him, and hopefully he could understand me.

“I’m Serephina.” I lifted my head to look around us for the first time. 

Nothing was how I remembered. We were currently standing in the courtyard of what appeared to be a city. Grandiose buildings towered over everyone. There was a crowd of people in a circle around us, none of them wearing clothes I was familiar with and most of the women were wearing trousers. 

“What year is it?” I took one last look at my surroundings before turning back to my mate. 

“9578 A.L.D.” He didn’t sound confused by my question, but the answer he provided only gave me more questions.

“A.L.D.?” I paid the ultimate price five thousand years after The Split. If people were no longer measuring time from the same date, how long had I been imprisoned?

“After The Long Day?” 

It had taken much longer than any of us could have anticipated. The unprecedented amount of magic coursing through my veins was no longer a surprise. I had spent the past nine and a half millennia absorbing the magic in the air and draining Melantha of hers, all without using a drop of what I had. 

If she was petrified like I was, Melantha should be in the same area as when the spell took effect. I needed to find her before she fled and regained her former strength. 

The bond had barely taken effect, and yet a small part of me already felt pained at the idea of having to leave my mate. Unsure of whether I would find him again or survive the battle ahead, I leaned into Caedan and inhaled deeply. He smelled so strongly of bamban smoke I couldn’t detect his natural scent.

Time was slipping away from me, and I couldn’t follow my heart. I had a job to do and it didn’t matter whether or not I wanted to do it. Melantha had to be stopped no matter the cost. I knew I needed to leave the second I woke, but I dragged the moment out as long as I could. 

What did Caedan think of me, the frail warrior clinging to his shirt? Did he think my timidness endearing, or could he see deeper? Where my hands rested on his chest, could he see the red staining my skin? Did he understand my submission was reserved only for him? 

I took a steadying breath and straightened my posture. Gently pushing on Caedan’s chest, I tried to remove myself from his embrace. He let out a low, warning growl from deep in his chest and refused to let go of me.

“What are you doing? I need to go.” I pushed against him again, but it was futile. The years may have fed my soul, but they sapped my body.

“Where could you possibly need to go? You’ve been a statue for so long, you don’t know what year it is,” The mocking undertones in his voice surprised me. He had been nothing but patient and kind until now.

“Don’t you remember? Don’t you know why?” I stopped fighting him in the hope diplomacy would work.

“I know I’m your mate and that makes you my Queen. Unless you plan on rejecting the bond, you’re staying with me.” Caedan tightened his hold on me to the point I could hardly breathe.

“She’s coming . . . need to . . . stop her,” I panted, desperately pushing against him in an attempt to put some distance between us.

“What are you talking about? Have the years as stone addled your brain?” He jibed while partially loosening his hold.

“Melantha . . . is coming.” My voice faltered as I struggled to breathe properly and speak at the same time.

“Melantha?” Caedan began laughing raucously as if what I said was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard. His head tipped back and his chest shook while I watched in stunned indignation. “The dark witch that destroyed Bakiavela in one day? She’s been dead for thousands of years,”

“She never died! She was imprisoned and now that I’m awake, so is she!” I snapped at him. 

“Are you high on guaran leaves?” His pearly white teeth shone in the light as his lips pulled back in a half smile.

“No, I’m not high! Are you fucking crazy? Let me go!” I pounded both fists on his chest to no avail.

“Let you go? You have responsibilities at home, Your Highness.” His nonchalance convinced me nothing I said would matter. People had forgotten and he wouldn’t believe me. Maybe no one would.

Hands fisting in Caedan’s shirt, I raised my leg and slammed my knee into his groin. He let go of me to grab his stomach with a grunt. The moment I was freed, I bolted for the southeast corner of the courtyard while ignoring the shouts of the people I barrelled through. With the rising sun behind me, I darted through two buildings into an alley. I prayed I was going the right direction and hadn’t been followed while weaving through the monuments around me.

What did Caedan mean when he said Melantha destroyed Bakiavela in a day? The spell locked her away the same as me. Were the consequences higher than we thought? Did we sacrifice our home, our people, for the belief we were saving the world? If all of Bakiavela died anyway, were our sacrifices worth it? 

I ran out into the middle of a street only for something large and heavy to plow into my side. My body flew through the air before I fell and my breath was forced from my lungs. Taking in a deep gasp, I gingerly felt my side. Nothing was broken, but a bruise was already forming.

I carefully pushed myself up and looked over at what hit me. It appeared to be an abnormally large, rounded box floating slightly above the ground. Rather than sit and stare at the oddity, I turned to stand only to find myself surrounded by unfamiliar faces. 

They were likely trying to make sure I wasn’t injured, but I couldn’t care less about what they wanted. Taking advantage of the people hiding me, I studied my surroundings. The battlefield had become unrecognizable. If someone asked me which direction my home used to be, I wouldn’t be able to tell them. 

“Goddammit! Where is she?!” The sound of my mate’s voice made Kenna perk up and urge me to search the crowd for him.

Slowly rising to my feet, I calmly made my way through the crowd and away from the voice calling for me. I hid in the swarm of people walking along the street while putting as much distance as I could between my followers and I.

‘Stop worrying about him and help me find the kenge spawn,’ I demanded of my familiar while glancing behind me.

‘Climb one of the buildings,’ Kenna suggested, accompanied by the image of a grunyan climbing the wall to my right. Dragons were supposed to be the most intelligent creatures, and this was the idea she offered. 

‘The walls are too smooth. We’d have to shift.’ Only a dragon could hope to sink their claws into whatever material people used these days. She ruffled her wings and began to unfurl, inching closer to the forefront of my consciousness. Of course she wanted to shift. I did too, but a dragon, in a city, seriously?

‘What have you seen in the sky since I woke up?’ I glanced behind myself again and turned onto another road, keeping the other pedestrians in between myself and the street. The buildings to my right appeared to be stores. Using my hair to hide my face, I walked with the pace of the crowd. 

‘Clouds.’ Abarrane help me. Kenna drove me fucking ballistic sometimes. I swore, she did this shit on purpose. ‘I heard that.’

‘What haven’t you seen?’ I kept my head down and turned onto a side street to lean against a wall while Kenna rambled off a list of animals I would normally see flying overhead several times a day. All of which were nowhere to be found.

I was completely lost in this place with only the sun to guide me. In spite of centuries of training, my legs were aching and lungs burned. Could I really handle this? This was my best chance, and yet I could barely handle walking across flat ground. If—no, when I fight Melantha, will I win?

The plan was for me to find and kill her when the seal broke. Did anyone think about the state of my body after all that time? Someone had to, which meant they expected me to use the magic I collected and it still may not be enough to kill her.

Latent magic in the world feeds life, but using it eats away at us from the inside. I’d always been careful with mine, used it sparingly. If I burned through every bit of the magic I possessed, it would kill me. 

I volunteered for a suicide mission.

 Next Chapter

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  Ryan Bergara waits for the sound engineer's cue, then begins reading aloud from his script, "In June of 2008, James 'Jimmy' Novak disappeared, leaving behind wife Amelia and daughter Claire. Just a few years later, in 2010, Amelia vanishes, as well. Jimmy is reported to have been spotted a handful of times since then, but what could have lead a loving father and husband to vanishing from the face of the earth? And what prompted his wife to join him?"

  A pause, a second reading of the same paragraph, and then Ryan continues, "The Novaks were known for their devout faith and regular church attendances. According to close friends and family, Jimmy became a zealot in the months leading up to his disappearance, saying that he'd gained the ability to 'talk to Angels'. It's said this put a great strain on his and Amelia's marriage. But, is this what caused him to leave? Did he even leave under his own will?"

  More details are fleshed out, more takes are made, until Ryan reaches his favorite part of every Unsolved episode, "That being said, let's get to the theories. Our first theory builds off of Jimmy's known fanaticism. That he had become convinced he could talk to, and become a vessel for, Angels, and so left his family to fulfill his mission to god. This, however, does not explain what happened to Amelia, or why she disappeared so long after her husband.

  "Our second theory is more far-fetched, and comes mostly from the internet rumor-mill. Over the years, there's been alleged sightings of Jimmy Novak, not only nationally, but internationally, as well. He's most controversially been claimed to have been spotted with infamous serial killers, Sam and Dean Winchester. Coupled with this is the idea that Jimmy and Dean are romantically connected, which people cite as to why Jimmy left his family in the first place, and that Amelia didn't disappear while looking for Jimmy, but was, in fact, killed by Dean. And, for the record, I think this is horseshit."

  Ryan looks up to see the sound engineer silently howling with laughter, which puts a dumb grin on his own face, "But wait, it gets worse!"

  Clearing his throat, and fighting to keep a straight face, Ryan continues, "Our third and final theory is that Jimmy and Amelia weren't running towards anything, but away from someone. That someone? Their 10 year old daughter Claire, who some, as in the internet, claim is a Demon-" Ryan breaks off his sentence, laughing so hard he gives himself the hiccups, "This is gonna be our worst episode, ever."

3 WEEKS LATER

  Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej step out of one of two rental vans, as the rest of the crew starts to unpack. Shane, the taller of the two hosts, stretches his arms, "God, it's good to get out."

Ryan doesn't respond, looking on at the location for that week's episode. His stomach aches just from the sight of it.

 "You all right there?" Shane asks, "Breakfast making a reappearance?"

 "Nah, just." Ryan shakes his head, "The cases with murder always get me. So fucking creepy."

 "Yup." Shane claps his shoulder, leading the way to the front door.

 The house is a single story home, very modern, less than ten years old. Only one family had lived in it, and now it's vacant. The lawn is trimmed, as it's the least the city can do, but the walls, windows and porch are filthy. Items deliberately thrown at the windows are dry and caked on, and Ryan can just picture kids in costumes throwing eggs at the house on Halloween, probably on a dare.

 Shane fishes out the keys from his pocket, waits for their cameraman to give them the thumbs-up, and unlocks the door. Motioning for Ryan to go first, Shane gives a cheeky bow.

 "Alright, whatever." Ryan mutters.

 Everyone filed in, lighting tested and cleared, Ryan begins. He walks into the living room, Shane just a pace behind, and soaks in the scene. The furniture is gone, a light fixture and a bookshelf are all that remain. trying to recall the grisly crime scene photos, Ryan waves hand where the couch should have been. "In August of 2011, Marianne Wyatt and her three boys sat in this area, as someone came up behind them, and shot them, one after the other. They'd been bound, unable to escape, and-" Ryan blinks, nausea overwhelming him, "And a few days later, the father, Marianne's husband, Phil, was found dead. His death ruled a suicide, no note was ever found. Police couldn't prove it, but the theory was that Phil killed his family, and then himself. No one knows why."

 "Neighbors on either side said they heard nothing?" Shane says, prompting Ryan out of his daze.

 "Heard no screams, no shots. Police couldn't even pinpoint the wife and kids' time of death." Ryan nods, "I think I need some water."

 The cameraman shoots some B-roll as Ryan sits, one of the producers handing him a water bottle. "thanks." Ryan nods, as he takes a swallow.

 There's rumbling outside, followed by one of the crew commenting, "whoa, look at that ride!"

 "Sweet car." the boom operator quips.

 Shane looks out the window, "Eh, too obnoxious for my tastes."

 "That's a '67 Chevy Impala." the first crew member replies, "You have no taste."

 Several people, including Shane, laugh at this, and leaves Ryan with an odd sense of deja-vu. Maybe if the room would stop spinning, he could figure out what it is.

 With Ryan looking so sick, the rest of the crew agree to break for the day. Shane drives Ryan to a gas station to get the sickly man some medicine and a Sprite to calm his stomach. Feeling much better, Ryan stays back for a bit to check out the souvenirs the store has to offer, "We could get a hat, or maybe something small like a shot glass."

 "Or, we can get gas station nachos!" Shane grins, his smile only getting broader as Ryan pales at the thought, "And here I thought you were a hardened pro, Ryan Bergara."

 "It might just be food poisoning." Ryan replies, thumbing through some key chains. A car pulls into the lot, loudly announcing its presence, and Ryan has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, "What's it with people around here and their shitty mufflers?"

 "Oh, that's not very fair." Shane replies, the sarcasm lightly sprinkling his words, "I mean- look! -it's the same car from earlier. You shouldn't make such generalizations."

 Ryan peers up as they start walking towards the cashier, as the black, classic car comes to a stop, the engine cutting off a second later. Ryan's eyes widen, as he remembers where he's seen this car before. He shakes his head, willing his heart to slow down. As Shane pays for their stuff, Ryan can't resist the urge to try and catch a glimpse of the car's owner. Just to reassure himself, nothing more. However, by the time Shane's ready to leave, the driver of the Impala has already gotten back in the car.

 The ride back to the hotel is quiet, save for the radio tuned into some local station. It's a sports station, and Ryan feels it's a nice gesture Shane put it on for him, but Ryan just can't concentrate. He can feel Shane glance his way every now and then, and as he pulls into the hotel parking lot, "Hey, if you're really feeling that bad, I'm sure we can find an Urgent Care, around here."

 Ryan shakes his head, "It's not that."

 "What's on your mind?"

 Ryan stares out the window as Shane parks the rental, "Reading up on all of these cases, it makes ya kinda paranoid after a while."

 Shane laughs, "You don't have to be so serious about it."

 "No, really. The car we saw earlier? It reminds me of the episode we filmed a few weeks back. The Novaks, remember?"

 "I don't recall the devout Christian couple driving a muscle car."

 "Right." Ryan nods, "I'm an idiot, I didn't include it in the script, but it's the car Dean Winchester's known to drive."

 "So? It's a 'classic car', I'm sure a ton of people drive it."

 "But it was in front of the Wyatt house, earlier."

 Shane gives a single shrug, "Maybe it's a fan. There was a data breach, last week. Someone could've leaked the location of this week's episode."

  Ryan has to admit to himself, Shane's reasoning does make him feel better, "You're probably right."

  Dean steers the Impala into the motel parking lot, as Sam sits next to him, reading from his phone, "Marianne Wyatt and her kids are buried together at Eternal Rest Cemetery. Phil, however, was cremated."

  "But, a man is reported to be seen in the house?" Dean asks.

  "That's right." Sam confirms.

  "Some personal items of Phil's still there?"

  Castiel speaks up from the backseat, "House was empty when we searched it earlier, save for some signs of 'squatters'." he answers, using air-quotes, "Have we considered the possibility of the spirit not being Phil Wyatt?"

  "No one else has lived in the house, let alone died here." Sam says.

  "What if Phil's suicide was staged?" Castiel poses, "The wife and children are killed, the husband's taken hostage for insurance. Something goes wrong, Phil is murdered, and it's staged as a suicide."

  "There wasn't any physical evidence tying Phil to the murders." Dean agrees, "Could've been a set-up. It'd also make sense why he'd be a vengeful spirit."

  "Again, we don't know it's Phil, or what's tying him, there." Sam sighs, "It feels like we're going in circles."

  "If not Phil Wyatt, then what? The killer?" Dean asks, "Unless the guy died in the house, why would he be stuck?"

  Castiel thinks, "Maybe the real killer has something from this crime. Kept it one his person, even in death."

  "So, the 'real' killer's stuck in someone else's house?" Dean shakes his head, "This shit's giving me a migraine, god."

  Entering the motel, Sam gets to work researching any possible leads on the Wyatt murders, as Dean hops in the shower, and Castiel is left standing in the middle of the room. After a minute of tense silence, Sam takes the bait, "What's wrong, Cas?"

  "The beds look disgusting." Castiel practically spits, not in harsh judgement, but genuine concern. Sam looks over at what he's talking about, and sees the usual grimy, cheap motel pillows and comforters. Both beds have old, faded stains, and minute tears. Sam figures Castiel being without powers makes him more sensitive to cleanliness, or lack thereof, more than as an Angel.

  "Don't know what you want me to do about it." Sam sighs, "I'm sure they're just old."

  "I think I want to sleep out in the Impala." Castiel mutters.

  Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes, "Ask Dean for the keys when he gets out, then."

  Castiel resorts to standing awkwardly in the corner, as Sam does his best to just research the Wyatt murders. By the time Dean returns to the main room, back in his old, sweaty clothes, making the shower seem entirely pointless, Sam stumbles upon some interesting information.

  "Hey. So, get this," Sam calls the other two men over, "There was this leak at the Buzzfeed headquarters, some of it revealing the Unsolved guys' sites for the new season."

  Castiel stares blankly at him. Dean sees this and goes, "It's a couple of assholes on the web who mess with ghosts and Demons. Sam, being the serial killer fanboy he is, is obsessed with their true crime series."

  "I'm not a fanboy."

  Dean mutters to Castiel, "Yes he is."

  "The reason I bring it up," Sam presses, "is because this week, they're covering the Wyatt murders."

  Dean pauses, "Wait, that camera crew we saw earlier-?"

  "Looks like it's Buzzfeed."

  Castiel leans over, peering at the computer screen, "The- the disappearance of the Novaks?"

  Sam and Dean turn, and confirm Castiel’s observation, "Oh, my God."

  "I mean," Dean starts, "There's more than one Novak out there, you know?"

  "From Pontiac, Illinois?" Sam asks.

  Dean frowns, "Well, I guess that means you can't meet your idols, Sammy."

  Sam scoffs at this, "They're probably gone by now, anyway. They never stay in a location for longer than a day."

  "Let's use caution when going back, regardless." Castiel says, turning to Dean, "May I stay in the Impala, tonight?"

  Dean, flustered and blushing, replies, "What's wrong with in here? Afraid to share the bed? I was gonna make Sam sleep on the floor, anyway."

  Sam feels a part of his soul wither away from the second-hand embarrassment.

  "This room is filthy, and I don't want to stay here." Castiel answers.

  "That's just character." Dean mumbles, taking out his keys, "Fine. Whatever."

  After Castiel shuts the front door, Sam braces himself for Dean's inevitable angsty tantrum, "He didn't have to be so rude. We stay in places like this all the time! Sure, none of these rooms come with a third bed, so maybe he was afraid to bunk with one of us, especially you." Dean points at Sam, "You kick in your sleep. In fact, I was just gonna make you sleep on the floor, with you being the youngest and everything."

  Sam wonders how close the nearest liquor store is.

  At midnight, Dean can't help himself but to check on Castiel. He needs a good excuse though, so he grabs the remainder of the six pack, all that Sam didn't drink, and heads out into the dimly lit parking lot.

  Dean can tell from some distance away that Cas is still awake. The Impala's interior is alight, and as Dean nears he can see Cas in the backseat holding up a book. Reaching the car, Dean knocks on the window, then lifts the cans of beer when Castiel glances up. Castiel moves to unlock the door, and without invitation Dean scoots in, ignoring how close-quarters the situation is, and offers Castiel a drink. Dean's so preoccupied with not brushing up against Castiel in any way, that he forgets to actually say anything.

  "Did you need something?" Castiel asks, opening the can with a pop.

  Dean, suffering from a brain-fart, "Just, uhm, checking in."

  The awkward silence is so palpable, Dean feels like he's about to choke, "So, this place can get pretty uncomfortable. Did you, er, want a pillow? Or something? Blanket?" he says, sweating profusely.

  Castiel points to the front seat, "I already have a pillow, thank you."

  Dean gives a high-pitched hum, and, with little to add, exits the car.

  Back in the motel, "I think Cas is upset." Dean says as he closes the door, "He doesn't want to be in the same room as m- us," he looks up at Sam, who's doing his best to ignore his older brother at the moment, "You think he's still mad about the whole 'you're dead to me' thing?"

  Sam rolls his eyes, "Gee, what could ever give you that impression."

  "I was just being angry!" Dean starts to pace, right as Sam's head starts to pound, "I yell at you sometimes, and you know I don't mean it!"

  "I've known you for 36 years, I think I've picked up on that." Sam deadpans, "Maybe, and here's a novel concept, you tell Cas that yourself?"

  "I don't know, I think you-"

  "No." Sam presses, "I'm not gonna be the messenger between you guys. You want to patch things up with Cas, do it yourself."

  In the morning, after a full night of not resolving their issues, Castiel returns to the motel from a coffee run. Wordlessly passing around three cups, the group huddles around Sam as he gets ready to show them his recent findings.

  Ryan and Shane return to the Wyatt house first thing in the morning, the crew waiting for them out front. Working off of nothing but coffee and toast, Ryan's ready for take two. They enter the house, set up their equipment just like the day before, and get situated.

  "There's one suspect, outside of Phil Wyatt himself, police posit committed these crimes" Ryan says, "And since the guy's dead, it'll remain as speculation."

  "Victor Myers was the personal assistant to a business mogul." Sam begins, "He traveled frequently, mainly within the United States. Occasionally, he would go into the next town over, pick a target, and kill them. The longer he did this, the bolder he got."

  Ryan says, "Victor started off killing one, then two people at a time. After a couple of years, he found his rhythm in killing families and making it look like a break-in." he looks around the vacant living room, a chill going down his spine.

  "He wrote about some of his kills," Sam continues, "but it's suspected he took many more lives, around 30, at least. He died of a stroke, four years ago. Police only knew of the murders after searching his home and DNA evidence. The deaths of the Wyatts are thought to be connected to Myers, judging by Victor's whereabouts at the time and the nature of the kills, but obviously the police can't pursue it."

  "So, we're dealing with the ghost of a serial killer?" Dean asks.

  "Serial killers are known to keep 'trophies' of their victims." Castiel adds, "It could be what's tying him to the house."

  Sam's eyes widen, as he lifts up the laptop for everyone else to see, "Maybe not."

  Castiel tilts his head to the side, "The events began before Victor's death?"

  "So," Dean asks, "Who's haunting?"

  "The thought of Victor Myers being behind these killings seems like a no-brainer," Ryan says, "but it doesn't have everyone convinced. Personally, I think the cops here know it's the truth, but don't want to go through the trouble of proving Myers did it."

  "Wouldn't be the first time." Shane nods in agreement, "Too much paperwork."

  After filming, the cast and crew pack their things, and get ready to leave the Wyatt house, and the small suburban town, for the last time. Ryan can't help but breathe a sigh of relief; the suffocating feelings he'd had the day before weren't as strong, now, but they were still incredibly unpleasant. At the threshold of the once occupied home, he turns back to the empty rooms that echoed their steps and voices, "If there's a Victor around here, you can kindly fuck off."

  Shane shrugs his bag higher up on his shoulder, "The camera's are off, buddy. No idea what you're trying to prove."

  "That there's a thick and toxic presence in the house?" Ryan asks, shutting the door behind him, "One that we'll never have to deal with again?"

  Shane groans, "It's True Crime season, Ryan. The one season where you and I are on the same page. And you have to make it about your spooky stories."

  "Most murders have some whisper of the supernatural to them." Ryan replies, "I just don't always bring it up. This time I did. So, there."

  Shane shakes his head, "What an active imagination you have."

  Dean methodically checks all of their weapons, handing each item one-by-one to Sam for packing. Their gear, stored in two duffels, is almost ready to go, Sam zipping up the first bag and readying the second. Castiel does a once-over of their motel room, as after they're done with the Wyatt house, they're heading straight out of town; all three men agreed, with the extra attention on them from those 'paranormal investigators' from Buzzfeed, it wouldn't be smart to linger.

  An hour later, Dean gathers everyone around, "We'll park the Impala a block from the house, walk the rest of the way. Someone spots the car, they won't automatically know where we are. Ready?" a nod from Sam and Castiel, "Right, let's go."

  Flight not until mid-morning, the crew decide to treat themselves to some drinks at the local bar. A couple of rounds in, Shane returns from the bathroom and says to the group, "Hey, guys, I forgot to leave the key at the house. Can one of y'all drop me off?"

  Ryan, who's only had one beer, raises his hand, "Got ya covered."

  A minute later, both men are back in the rental, driving down that familiar street. Ryan pulls up to the curb, front passenger's door lined up with the sidewalk leading to the house. Shane steps out, then looks back at Ryan, "Aren't you coming?"

  Ryan blinks, "Why would I?"

  "Make sure I get to the door safely. For goodness' sake, Ryan, if I can't drive myself, what makes you think I can walk straight."

  "Bullshit, you just want me to go near that house."

  Shane's face splits into a wide grin, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Get it over with." Ryan says, climbing out of the car.

  With more than a little swagger to his step, Shane leads the way. Both men, however, stop in their tracks as a crashing sound is heard, coming from within the house.

  Ryan doesn't dare blink, "What-?"

  One of the lights turns on. Ryan recognizes it as being the bedroom window.

  "Well." Shane says, "Leave a door unlocked for a few hours, and this is what happens." Ryan doesn't miss the note of unease in the other man's voice. Unbelievably, Shane continues to walk towards the front door.

  "What are you doing?!" Ryan hisses.

  "Well, we should probably kick them out." Shane explains, as if it were obvious.

  "No, we call the cops."

  "You do that, then."

  Ryan pulls out his phone as Shane foolishly enters the house. Before Ryan can pull up the keypad, he hears Shane exclaim, "Holy shit!"

  Ryan can't help it, "What's wrong?" Not waiting for an answer, feet with a mind of their own, Ryan walks through the darkened doorway.

  More crashes are coming from one of the other rooms, people yelling, grunting, as Ryan turns on his phone's light. All along the walls of the living room are pentagrams, the smell of spray-paint permeating the air, making Ryan dizzy. He can feel his hands start to shake, and he thinks he's gonna puke.

  Shane turns to him, pale in the light, "We should leave."

  The bedroom door shakes, the voices on the other side increasing in volume until-

  -silence.

  Simultaneously, the front door slams shut as the one to the bedroom swings open, bouncing off the wall and sending small chunks of plaster flying. It takes a moment for Ryan's eyes and mind to come to the same conclusion, that within the room, standing around the body of a man, crumpled on the floor, are three men. It takes a second longer for Ryan to realize who these men are.

  The eyes of infamous killers Sam and Dean Winchester, and missing person James Novak, stare back at them.

  Shane runs to the front door, trying for the lock. The door wiggles and shakes against the frame, and Ryan can tell it's not budging. "Come on, COME ON!" Shane grunts.

  "That's not gonna work." Dean Winchester, the shorter of the brothers, says, "Bastard is keeping that, and all the other doors, shut. We're on lock-down."

  "How did you do that?" Ryan chokes out, impressed with himself that he can say anything at all.

  "Let us out." Shane rejoins Ryan, standing side-by-side.

  Dean grimly laughs, "Would if I could. Last thing I want is for a couple of vloggers getting in the way."

  "We were just returning a key." Ryan doesn't know what else to do, what to say.

  The tallest of the trio, Sam, comes walking towards Ryan and Shane, hands held out in submission, a container of table-salt in his right, "I'm not gonna hurt you, but we need to get you guys in a safe place."

  Shane isn't so convinced, "And what's 'safe', exactly?"

  "Within a ring of salt." Sam answers.

  "Oh, god." Shane groans, "Don't tell me- you're dealing with Demons?"

  Ryan turns to his friend, "Why would you suggest that? What is wrong with you?!"

  "Um, yeah." Sam grimaces, "I realize that's gonna be... a bit of a problem..."

  Ryan can already begin to feel his heart race, palms sweating and legs becoming like lead, "No, this can't be real."

  "We don't have time for this." James Novak says, and the sheer fact he's in the room, saying anything at all, brings Ryan that much closer to a panic attack. He doesn't even flinch when Novak uses a gun, Ryan has no clue what kind, to direct where he and Shane should go.

  At the appearance of the weapon, Shane's tune changes, "You know what? Fine. Demons are real, where do you want us to stand?"

  This snaps Ryan out of it, "Wait, so it takes spending five minutes with serial killers to convince you, but I can't?!"

  "They have guns, Ryan. They could sell me a piece of the moon and I'd write them a check."

  Ignoring the banter, Sam pours a circle of salt around the two men, "No matter what happens, stay in this circle."

  "Who are you people?" Ryan asks, feeling unusually brave.

  "Not what you think." Sam replies.

  "We're Hunters." Dean states, chin up in pride.

  "Hunters of what?" Shane asks.

  "Monsters, ghosts, Demons." James Novak replies.

  "And how'd you get involved?" Ryan asks Novak, "Where's your wife?"

  Novak tilts his head, "The Djinn Queen?"

  "They were doing a video on Jimmy, remember?" Dean says.

  Ryan pales, "You- you saw the leak?"

  "That you spoke of the Novaks, yes." not-Novak answers.

  Annoyed, Shane goes, "If you're not James Novak, who are you?"

  "Castiel. I'm- was, an Angel."

  "Was." Shane nods, "So, not anymore?"

  Castiel shakes his head.

  "Meaning," Shane continues, "There's no way to prove with, say, magic tricks, your claims?"

  "Stop needling the serial killers." Ryan hisses.

  "You mean monster hunters." Shane sarcastically corrects.

  "I'm sorry about my friend." Ryan announces, "He's kind of a dick."

  "You don't say." Dean deadpans.

  "Hey, is it true," Shane starts, "that you and Columbo over there are knockin' boots?"

  Castiel stares down at his shoes, while Dean goes red and Sam sucks in a breath, trying not to laugh.

  "You're insane." Ryan says to the air, unable to look at Shane.

  "Might as well find out." Shane shrugs.

  "Dean," says Castiel, "I apologize if, at any time during the evening, I've stepped on your toes."

  Dean looks to age five years in as many seconds, "No problem, Cas."

  "And that man, in there?" Shane asks, "He's just sleeping, right?"

  "He was dead before he hit the ground." Castiel responds, "We never know for sure, when there’s a Demon present."

  This information makes Shane falter, if only a little, "And why do only we need to be in the salt circle?"

  Dean and Sam pull down their shirt collars, revealing pentagrams tattooed in black ink, just above their hearts. Castiel lifts up the hem of his shirt, revealing several lines of text written in a foreign language. "We're good. And unless one of y'all's a tattoo artist… ?" Dean says.

  "No." Shane relents, "You still can't prove it, but whatever."

  "You are exhausting." Ryan says.

  "I'm thorough."

  "Shut up, Shane."

  "That's enough!" Dean barks, "We're dealing with a fucking Demon, now act like it." he glares at his two companions. As the trio resumes their work, Shane and Ryan are left in silence.

  "You gonna try your phone?" Shane mutters.

  "No, they've got guns." Ryan responds, "I think they can draw faster than I can dial."

  After a few minutes of tense silence, Shane pats Ryan's arm, getting his attention. Turning to him, Ryan mouths 'What?' while following Shane's gaze. Down the hall, leading all the way to the back of the house, is the only other door leading outside.

  It's open.

  Glancing at one another, the intent is understood; at least one of them can make it out. Knowing Shane's got the longer legs, Ryan figures he'll have a better chance, so he prods at Shane's back, encouraging him to make a break for it.

  Shane sprints for the door, and is at the other end of the hallway by the time the Winchesters or Castiel notice. Ryan doesn't see the trio's reactions, though, focusing on whether or not his friend escapes.

  Shane opens the door wider, gets one foot on the first concrete step-

  Cold air fills the room, enveloping every inch of Ryan's skin. The room grows darker, like someone's dimming down the lights. Every breath he inhales is freezing, and every exhale the same temperature. It's like Ryan's overcome with a sudden fever, left weak and in a cold sweat. Arms and legs locked in place, he can feel his heart slow...

  "RYAN!"

  Dean looks from one idiot to the other; the tall one that tried to leave the house, in what was obviously a trap set up by the Demon, and the second, shorter one that was in the broken salt circle, currently having a long stream of black smoke rush into his throat.

  The Demon's found a new body.

  "RYAN!" Shane shouts, and for all his smart-ass quips, the tall one wasn't that sharp. Perfect opportunity to get the fuck out and leave things to the pros, but he's gone and pissed that away. Dean feels his lip twitch into a smirk, realizing he'd do the same if it was his family. Hand closing around the Angel blade, his smile falters.

  Ryan collapses to the ground, still as stone. Sam intercepts Shane, who tries to rush to his friend's side. "What did you do?!" Shane yells.

  "Stay back!" Castiel shouts, charging forward with more salt. Dean's stomach jumps with worry at the sight of Castiel going in on his own. Old habits of being an Angel, thinking himself indestructible. Dean begins reciting the exorcism, his Latin clunky, as always. Smoke begins to spill from the corners of Ryan's mouth as Castiel approaches.

  A hand suddenly lashes out, striking Castiel with such ferocity it throws the man clean across the room. Dean continues the exorcism, mind on autopilot, as he looks to see if Castiel is still in the fight. The former Angel knocked out cold, Dean turns his head just in time to see Ryan's hand extend out towards him.

  "I'm tired of playing with you." the Demon smirks a toothy grim, causing Ryan's brown eyes to flash to black.

  Dean feels his feet lift from the floor, and in a blur of speed, his body be thrown up against the ceiling. Pinned here, and momentarily stunned, Dean tries in vain to continue the exorcism.

  "Shut up." the Demon hisses.

  Dean's voice dies away. He can only watch as Sam tries to take the Demon on.

  Angel blade in hand, Sam goes in, and Dean can tell Sam isn't looking for a kill shot. Swipes, stabs and arcs to distract, but none fatal. Maybe he's hoping for Castiel to wake, maybe he hopes the Demon can't concentrate on more than one Hunter at a time. It's not a bad strategy.

  One slice too close to Ryan's neck makes Shane rush forward, spin Sam around, and snatch the blade from Sam's stunned hand. "What are you doing-?"

  Both men are sent crashing to the floor, as the Demon steps out of the remains of the salt circle. Cracking knuckles and stretching arms, Ryan's lips curve into a smile, as Dean realizes what's coming next:

  Villain monologue.

  "Winchesters, your reputations proceed you." Ryan walks over to Castiel, who's starting to stir, "Here I am, with my humble, little set-up, and here you are, sticking your noses where they don't belong." He presses a boot against Castiel's neck, pinning him to the wall, "Don't you have bigger fish to fry? A God to fight?"

  Castiel gasps for breath, and Dean struggles to free his arms, legs, willing any muscle to move.

  "I'm a nobody." the Demon laughs, "I should be dead, right now. You all have lost your touch."

  Shane slowly starts to rise from the floor, trying not to get the Demon's attention.

  Ryan's head snaps in Shane's direction, "Shane! Buddy! How ya been?" with a hard kick to Castiel's head, Ryan begins to calmly walk over.

  Shane tries for the door, and it looks like Sam was right; it's unlocked, and the Demon can't focus on more than a few things at a time.

  With that, Dean frees his arm, can move his lips. He starts the exorcism from the top.

  "WHAT DID I SAY." the Demon bellows, waving his hand towards Dean, again. This time, Dean's throat closes up.

  Sam continues the exorcism from his place on the ground.

  Ryan waves his hand again, throwing Sam into the room with the man's corpse.

  Castiel, blood pouring out of his mouth, picks up the chant where Sam left off. The Demon is so distracted, Dean's able to get free. Bracing himself, Dean falls to the floor, and, after a few shaky seconds, joins Castiel.

  Teeth clenched, veins pulsing, Ryan yells, "ENOUGH!" sending both men staggering back, falling to the ground, and then pressed up against the wall.

  The front door bursts open. Dean cannot, for the life of him, believe that the tall idiot's back.

  "Hey! Dumbass!" Shane calls.

  The Demon turns to look at him.

  Dean, thinking he's seen it all, and can't be surprised anymore, tonight, feels his jaw drop.

  "Do you want to di-" Ryan starts, just before Shane douses him with a water gun.

  The screams coming from Ryan are simply inhuman. Smoke rises from his skin, as he covers his face. The air, already pungent with sulfur, becomes insufferable.

  Sam staggers from the back room, finishing the exorcism.

  A rush of smoke exits through Ryan's mouth, the pained scream still echoing off of the walls. And then-

  -silence.

  Shane considers the squirt gun in his hand, then looks back up at the trio of Hunters staring at him. "It's- it's filled with holy water." he gestures to an unconscious Ryan, "His idea."

  "So, you're really monster hunters?" Shane asks, wincing at the alcohol being applied to his scraped knees. They were the worst of the gashes on him, sustained when the Demon threw Sam on top of him.

  "Yes." Sam replies, taking a bandage from the Impala's first aid kit. Shane had gotten Ryan, who was still out, in the rental car, and parked that just behind the Chevy. Everyone is now taking a breather before parting ways.

  "So, not serial killers?"

  "No."

  Shane pauses, "Sorry, about taking your knife. I just didn't want you stabbing my friend."

  "You ended up saving all of us, so I think we're square." Sam looks over to the open trunk lid, behind which Dean and Castiel were securing the corpse the Demon had initially possessed.

  "Ryan's gonna be unbearable when he wakes, you know." Shane says, "'Ooh! Demons are real! We don't have it on camera, but it happened!'"

  "Will you keep doing the show?" Sam asks, trying not to sound too eager.

  "Probably. Ryan'll want to catch lightning in a bottle twice, but never do another Demon location, again."

  "You sound disappointed."

  Shane shrugs, "It's fun seeing him scared."

  Sam shakes his head.

  "So," Shane begins, "You watch the show."

  "... maybe."

  "How many of the places we visit are actually haunted?"

  Sam thinks, "Most were, but we, or other Hunters we know, cleared 'em."

  "Huh."

  After saying their goodbyes, and with the understanding that no one would believe Ryan and Shane if they tried to profit off of their Demon encounter, the two groups part ways. The Hunter trio climb back into the Impala, but not before Dean throws Sam the keys.

  "I'm spent." Dean explains, "You take over for a while." Dean also opens the back door for Castiel, but only when he thinks Sam isn't watching. Dean crawls in after him, and does everything he can to not meet Sam's eyes in the mirror.

  It's a half hour later, when on the highway, heading towards the Bunker, that Dean tries to make amends.

  "Cas-" Dean starts, voice just above a whisper.

  Castiel grabs his hand, both are dried and crusted with blood, "I'm sorry." he mouths, "For everything."

  "No." Dean fails to keep the break out of his voice, "I'm sorry. You're family, Cas. Nothing's gonna change that."

  Castiel looks away, and Dean knows from personal experience what he's trying to hide.

  "I miss Jack." Comes Castiel's broken sob.

  Dean squeezes his hand, "I know. I do, too. I should've done more."

  "We should have." Castiel corrects.

  They sit together in a bittersweet silence. The car interior is dark, the rumbling of the road beneath their feet thunderous, and Sam's eyes on the road. Dean and Castiel are in their own little world.

  "I love you." the words spill from Dean's mouth before he can stop them, and funny enough, he doesn't regret it, or treat it like a mistake. It's been years in the making, really. And when Castiel looks back at him, eyes wide with wonder, and more than a little red from fatigue, Dean just brings their joined hands up to his lips, and gives the back of Castiel's palm a gentle kiss. Castiel leans in, meeting Dean forehead-to-forehead, "I love you, too."

  Shane's pulling up to the hotel parking lot when Ryan finally wakes.

  "Ugh, god." Ryan rubs at his eyes, "What a fuckin' nightmare."

  Shane puts the car in park, turning off the engine, "What do ya mean, buddy?"

  Ryan looks over at Shane, then around the rest of the car, "Wait, didn't we go by the Wyatt house, and drop off some keys?"

  "Yep."

  "And I was driving."

  "Uh-huh."

  Ryan blinks, "Did I hit my head or something?"

  "No, we met up with serial killers Sam and Dean Winchester, along with missing person James Novak, and took on a Demon. You got possessed."

  Ryan's face screws up in disbelief, "Very funny, asshat."

  "No!" Shane insists, "It really happened."

  "Bullshit."

  "Then, what was your nightmare about?"

   "Getting chased by a rabid Paddington." Ryan replies, his eyes glazed over in a haunted stare.

   Shane throws his hands up, "Fine, we’ll go with that."

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