Liliaeth (liliaeth) wrote,

Reverse Bang Fic: Be careful what you ask for, you might get it(1/1)

Art Prompt Title: Don't touch that!
Art link: Art Masterlist
Artist: shades_of_hades

Fic Title: Fic: Be careful what you ask for, you might get it
Author: liliaeth
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Horror, gen
Pairing(s): none
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 5825
Warnings: set in s3, portrayal of domestic abuse, violence towards children, and self harm and suicide attempts caused by mind control

Notes: Much thanks to runriggers for the quick beta

Summary: When a town's pregnancy rate climbs so high that it becomes national news, Sam and Dean can't help but take a closer look.


Just as the water in the toilet flushed away, her eyes stayed fixed on the little stick she held in between her fingertips. Her free hand remained clutched on the cheap faux marble sink that her husband had insisted on when they built the house. She stared away from it, and at the cheap curtains, matching the towels. They were old. George hadn’t cared about the house in years, none of his friends did, so why waste money on it. Her pants were huddled around her ankles and she couldn’t find the strength to bow down and pull them up.

She didn’t want to move. She pushed the back of her hand across her eyes, desperate to stop the tears building up, it just brought the color closer than she wanted to consider . “I can’t be.” She whispered , as she grabbed a towel and cleaned up. “I can’t be. I just can’t.” But it didn’t seem to matter to the little stick that was still colored up, throwing the truth in her face.

“Where the fuck are you!” She heard his voice in the kitchen. “Get over here, I need my dinner, you lazy bitch!” She let go of the sink, almost wondering why her fingers hadn’t left a mark on the stone. She hugged herself, pushing the little stick close against her shoulder. She wondered when the baby would start kicking, when the little bit of life inside of her would start to care.

She feared, more than anything, what he’d do to it.

She wouldn’t let him!

She stared in the mirror, looking back at the face with the bruises circling her eyes, the swellings around her mouth. The thin red line of a scar where he’d hit her with a bottle, that had never quite healed up right.

She remembered what the doctors had told her after he’d thrown her down the stairs and into the hat rack, after her gut had been pierced and she’d barely survived. She’d told them it was an accident. That she’d slipped. They hadn’t believed her either. But they did tell her then, that her womb had been pierced, that she was lucky to be alive, but that she’d never bear a child.

She couldn’t have children. She’d accepted that, had even been happy about it, because now, she’d never force another innocent into this life, where the man who should protect them was the worst threat they could face.

And now…

She pulled up her pants and checked her sweater, and fixed her make up before she even touched the door. He was already drinking, the stench of his booze came at her like a wave..

“Finally!” he blurted out, sagged into the chair, his words came out slurred, hard to understand, but she could translate the meaning all too easily “I Should have thrown your lazy ass out of my house years ago. At least I might have gotten some chick whose tits aren’t all sagged up instead of some barren tramp who can’t even cook right.”

She ignored him and opened the kitchen shelf.

The baby would need her.

Her thoughts went back to happier days, when George had been charming and gentle; when he told her he loved her with soft whispers in her ear as they sat in the theatre watching the movie of the week. Those days when she’d first moved in with him her dad had been gruff about it, told her to be sure he was the right man. But he’d given her away with pride in his eyes and came back after to renovate half the house the two of them had moved into.

Her mother though, she’d been harder to convince. Mary wished she’d trusted her mother’s instincts. But they’d seemed so silly, an old woman’s rambling about a man who’d been nothing but kind to her. Old, mom had been only a few years older back then, than she was now. But the day before their wedding, her mother had brought her a set of presents. A veil that had belonged to her great grandmother and a set of kitchen utensils for what would be her and George’s kitchen. The knives were still as sharp now as they’d been the day her mother had handed them over to her.

She was going to be a mother, mothers protected their children. She was sure this is what her mother would have wanted to do with her gift, to protect her mother’s grandchild from its mother’s big mistake. Her hand held a tight grip on the handle of the large butcher’s knife that had only been used once since she had it.

George didn’t even look up when she came near. So used to her cowering away from him, no longer even daring to scream as he… It was almost too easy when she started stabbing him. He fought back, tried to push her against the wall. Any other time he would have managed it easily, being a head taller than her. But today he was too drunk to even stand on his feet. She kept stabbing him as if she was bashing into ground beef, not much was left of his face when she finally stopped, too exhausted to do anything but sink down next to his body, his corpse.

Her baby would be safe. She was a mother now.

A few miles away a small clay icon's eyes started bleeding as small cracks in the clay opened up.


The Impala’s engine hitched a bit as the brothers drove into the tiny garden town. Dean hesitated a moment at his baby’s discomfort; it was that hesitation that made him notice the poster declaring the town the ‘fertility capital’ of the nation.

He snorted at that, he guessed that every town needed something to be proud of. Sam was dozing off in the passenger seat and Dean turned up the music, waking his little brother with a ear-rendering version of the Red Hot Chili Peppers greatest hits. Sam glared at him, before staring out the window. Not that there was that much to see.

Everywhere he looked he could see women in maternity wear, with big bumps on their bellies and large heavy breasts under cutesie shirts and dresses. It wasn’t really his thing, aside of the breasts, but he could see why others would go for it. They passed a Planned Parenthood clinic on the way there and Dean couldn’t help but notice the graffiti on the walls, and the taped off windows near the road.

Someone hadn’t done too good a job of cleaning up the glass either.

Dean didn’t have a clue what the hell they were doing here. He stopped his car, and took a look at the engine while Sam grabbed his stuff. Dean quickly added some oil and brushed his hand over the hood before closing it. Sam rolled his eyes, Dean grabbed his coat and led the way into the diner. He refused to even look at Sam. The big lug sat down and ordered salad. Dean had no idea what he’d done wrong with the kid, no, it had to be dad’s fault. Dad never made them eat their greens, so of course, Sam had had to rebel by eating as healthy as possible. Brat! He quickly ordered a burger to set the world straight before Sam completely ruined the Winchester reputation.

He had four more months to go and his brother was wasting their time checking up on a town, just because a lot of guys were getting lucky. Or not so lucky in some cases. The diner was stuffed and he could see a bunch of couples sitting around, talking quietly, but looking either hopeful , or in a few cases more than a bit skeptical.

The bell of the diner rang as the door swung open and two kids walked in. The boy, about ten, had a cocky smile on his face and a walk that spoke of bravado. He held the hand of a little girl in that unclear age between six and eight. The girl was dragging along a big paper bag, while the boy had a bag around his shoulder that proudly proclaimed ‘Pregnancy Water”. Spelling errors and all. The kids smiled at the diner owner and the guy just told them to close the door behind them. It might be early spring, but the cold breeze was enough to make a man shiver. The boy headed up to the out of towners, offering them his water, talking big about how it was magical water that could help you get pregnant. Most just laughed at the kid’s enthusiasm, several of them even bought a bottle, skeptical as they might be.

Enterprising youth, awesome. Dean figured he might have tried the same when he was the boy’s age. Well after his dad had made sure that whatever he was selling wasn’t contaminated with some kind of demon or ghost illness. He doubted anyone did the same for the kid, not that he thought there was anything to shield the people from, and by the look of the water, it wasn’t so much magical water, as it was water coming from the tap, probably from his parents' kitchen.

He called the kids towards them, he figured it couldn’t hurt to buy one. Hell, he needed some new holy water.

“Dean, I know it sounds stupid. But I tell you, an eighty percent increase in pregnancy rate is not normal. Over sixty five percent of the women in this town have gotten pregnant in the last three months alone. Amongst them are several women over the age of fifty, and a couple of women that were supposed to be infertile or that had operations done.”

“So what? Maybe there’s something in the water, maybe some factory put some drugs in the sewers and now people are overly fertile. Who cares? What’s supposed to make this our business?” Dean said as he looked over the newspaper.

“Two weeks ago, a woman over the age of eighty found herself pregnant. She and her husband can barely walk.”

“Go gramps.” Dean muttered.

“Then a woman who had had her womb removed found herself pregnant last week. She killed her husband the same day.” Sam said, Dean looked up, noticing that the waitress was on the way with his burger.

“So what? You think that someone is sacrificing passersby like those people in Burkitsville just so they can get what… more kids?”

“It’s possible. Fertility gods have been known to provide an increased pregnancy rate.”
Dean rolled his eyes. Just because a bunch of rednecks were getting laid and had to deal with the consequences, didn’t mean that someone was making sacrifices to pagan gods. Not like there’d been any really suspicious deaths. Even the woman who killed her husband, did so after the guy had spent literally years of beating the crap out of her.

The local AD barely even bothered to press charges, his office was trying to get the woman in some kind of enforced therapy, anger management. Never mind that she’d put her husband six feet under, as far as they were concerned, he deserved it. It made him wonder that if they all agreed on that, then why hadn’t anyone stepped in sooner and tried to save her from the man before she tried to ruin her life over him?

Dean bit into his burger and stared at the local newspaper, Two birth notices on the front page, some mention of an attack on the local abortion clinic in town and a brief mention of a pig that had given birth to over a dozen piglets. Babe in the city, soon to be in the stew, he couldn’t help think.

There was a small article in the left corner of a proud elderly couple, ages 89 and 87 who were expecting their first born child, talking about how it was a gift from God to give them a child, even so late in their life. But who’d take care of this miracle baby of theirs once the clock ran out on them?

Life versus death, whatever. He didn’t care. it might even be nice to spend some time here. It would keep Sam busy, his brother’s mind occupied, so he’d stop worrying about where Dean was heading in a few months. Hell, Dean figured he might have some fun, meet a girl, make sure he’d cover it up. If this was what Sammy wanted them to do, he was all for it. Not that he’d tell Sam that.

A new couple came in arguing, the woman louder than the man. He didn’t seem to be taking her serious, joking at her anger, while her voice increased in strength with his every pat and snarky answer. Then he pulled out a pack of smokes and she really got going. The guy was about mid fifties, rolling his eyes when his wife looked away from him as if asking the people surrounding them to see what he had to deal with. His wife seemed to be mid forties, but she looked good for her age, her hair was dyed a rich red and Dean could see that her pregnancy wear fit her like a glove. He wasn’t usually the type to go for older women, but this lady could visit his motel room any day.

She was screaming by now, how he was murdering her baby one smoke at a time, how he didn’t respect her worries, how… Her husband still didn’t seem to understand how much trouble he was getting himself in. Dean hoped for his sake that they had a really really good couch downstairs.

“Oh come on sweetie, if the baby gets cancer, you can say ‘I told you so’, but until then, please leave a man his one guilty pleasure in life.”

“Please George, for the baby’s sake.” Those words came out in a whisper. But curious George didn’t get the message, he didn’t even look at his wife, as her hand moved away from her belly to the steak knife right next to her, waiting for a customer’s food to arrive. Dean was up in a second, but it was already too late, as she grabbed the knife and pushed it in his throat. Dean grabbed her, she struggled, but his hold was too firm. He made her drop the knife, almost as much for her own protection as for his. Sam had already jumped over the back of their seat and down next to the downed man, trying to stem the man’s bleeding with napkins he’d pulled from the table.
They could hear someone dialing 911 in the background.

“I had to do it,” she cried. “He was hurting my baby.”
She’d gone limp in his arms. Dean still didn’t let go until the cops finally arrived to take over.


Things had moved from kooky to hell in a hand basket in less time than Dean could have imagined possible. With victim number two heading up to the morgue and a mother to be heading down to the police station for assault, Dean couldn’t help but throw a worried glance at all the pregnant and wannabe pregnant women surrounding them.

“What the hell?” he said, while ignoring his pie, “I repeat, what the hell?!”

Sam didn’t even bother to respond, instead he was focused on his laptop. His salad stood to the side, still untouched. He was biting his lip as he did so, going from page to page.

“I just read the file on the previous attack. Mary Mollovich, she kept mentioning her baby as well. Saying that ‘she had to protect her child’.”


“It specifies things. Our local pagan god doesn’t just cause pregnancy, she takes a special interest in protecting the unborn. And so far it’s only pregnant women who are acting weird, you didn’t see that mother with her two kids go psycho because her husband was letting them eat burgers.”

Why wouldn’t a mother let her kid eat something decent? Dean didn’t bother to ask, Sam was after all a freak where those kind of things were concerned.

“Why a she?” Not that Dean doubted his brother’s skills where geekery was involved.

“Gods connected with childbirth or unborn children are almost always female. Male fertility gods tend to focus on the harvest and livestock. Childbirth and pregnancy are seen as something strictly connected with women especially in most ancient cultures.”

“Oh sure, easy.” Dean muttered before he took a drink from his just bought bottle. “So where would the hip pregnancy gods hang out?”

“I don’t know, it depends on the god, some are connected to water, other to specific animals, sometimes both… We need to find the source of the fertility. Once we do, it’ll tell us what god we’re dealing with and how to kill them.

And that was easier said than done. While Sam was arranging meetings with the women in lock up, Dean tried to talk to some of the town’s people, pretending to be with a newspaper that was doing a piece on all the pregnancies. People almost threw themselves at him to get quoted. Everyone wanted people to know how great their town was and how amazing all the pregnancies were and if Dean hadn’t gotten a hot chick or two to talk to, he wasn’t sure how he’d have been able to handle it. Hell, after talking to one old lady who kept asking him to agree with him, just to keep her going, he was so thirsty, he actually grabbed the water bottle he’d bought earlier. Damn Sam for stealing his whiskey flask.

By the time Sam got back, he was long sick and tired of it all. He focused his attention on the two kids instead. The same kids from before, neither of them seemed to be scared of by what had happened, and they were still selling their little bottles of water. The boy had bought his sister an ice cream cone out of their earnings and she was now happily indulging herself while he was drinking his milkshake.

Dean hesitated a moment before heading up to them, sitting down on the barstool, next to the oldest kid. “So do your parents know about your enterprise?” he started off. The boy looked at him, his eyes filled with suspicion. Dean pulled out his wallet and showed the fake press credentials that they’d gotten for the job.

“My name’s John McClane,” He waited a second for a response, wondering if they’d recognize the name. He was almost disappointed when they didn’t. Nobody appreciated the classics. “I’m with the Chicago Daily Herald and my partner and me are doing an article on all the pregnancies in town. I noticed you’ve been enjoying some benefits from it.”

The kid smiled, but seemed a bit hesitant to continue.

“So what’s so special about that water?” Dean asked. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to spill your secret ingredients, I’m just curious.”

“The lady blessed it.” The girl suddenly said.

“Carlie!” Her brother didn’t seem to be as ready to talk about it.”Don’t talk stupid.”

“But she did, Mike.” The girl was pouting at her brother being angry with her. “She was all nice and she said that all we had to do was bring the water to the people and she’d make sure that mommy’s baby would grow up big and strong.”


“So what was the nice lady’s name?” Dean asked, now focusing his attention on the little girl. The boy mostly seemed to be sulking that his big secret was out. Probably worried that Dean was going to steal his business from him.


“You mean to tell me that we spent all day, talking to people who didn’t have a clue, and you talk to two kids for one minute and all of a sudden the case is solved?” Sam seemed almost furious.

“I rule.”

“Dean, didn’t it cross your mind that maybe the goddess wants us to find her for some reason?”

“So what if she does. We find our baby mama goddess, stake her with branches soiled in the blood of her victims and bam, she’s dead, and guys can go back to sleeping around without having to worry about the consequences.”


“Look the kids said the god’s name was Taweret, that mean anything to you?”

Sam had that brooding face of his own, his shoulders slumped and he was biting his lips, his face looking constipated, no wonder, with all that green stuff he was eating…

“Taweret, she’s the Egyptian goddess of childbirth and fertility, usually portrayed as a pregnant woman with the arms and legs of a lion, the back and tail of a crocodile and on occasion the face of a hippo. All while carrying a crocodile on her back. Her name means something like ‘she who is great’ or ‘great one’”.

“Talk about a big ego.” Dean ate some chips and took another sip from his water bottle.

“Mythology says she was the wife of Apep, an ancient god of evil.”

Dean looked up at that, “So what, you think he’s around as well?”

Sam seemed to hesitate, “I don’t think so, there’s been no signs of him being around. “

Dean nodded, finishing his bottle. “So what do we do?”

“Well if the kids saw her around their home, then that means she’s probably still living somewhere around there. Probably near the water, the Egyptians always connected Taweret to the water.“

Oh goodie. Long as it didn’t harm his car. He was about to throw the empty bottle to the back of the car when Sam grabbed his hand.

“Dean, where did you get that bttle?”


Sam was sounding far too cheery, Dean could hear him in the background, loading up their stuff.
“Dean, wake up, Dean.” Dean hesitated, opening and closing his eyes for a moment before responding. He tried to roll over, but he had trouble moving.

“Come on, Dean, it’s almost time.” His hands moved over his belly, his hard, sticking out belly, his eyes flew open in seconds. He looked down and stared.

“Come on, Dean, the baby’s coming.”

He woke up screaming. And glared at Sam who was smirking on the other bed. “Don’t even start.” What kind of brother dared to even think of planting the idea of getting pregnant from drinking water into a guy’s head. Seriously?

He didn’t even want to look at Sam, turned his back on his brother and headed off to the bathroom, once in there he quickly turned back to the door, held up his finger.

“Don’t even dare talk to me.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam was still sniggering. “So what do we do?”

Dean didn’t care, he just used the toilet and pushed a wet towel into his face, anything to wake up. Even if the towels did smell.

“We head up to the kids farm and go gut that goddess.” He growled out. “We just need to get them to tell us where they met her.”

“Oooh sure, simple as that.” Not listening, so not listening.

Sam came into the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush, rubbing up against Dean’s shoulders and nearly pushing him into the bathtub. Dean growled and almost threw him out.
Instead he left the tiny bathroom and grabbed his shirt. Let Sam have the hot water, the bastard was a whiny pain in the ass if he didn’t get his hour long shower.

“She’ll probably be somewhere around water.” He heard Sam’s voice coming from behind the door.

Dean didn’t care, he just checked his guns. He cleaned the barrels, touch the cold metal for bumps or irregularities. Filled them, ready to shoot.

Sam finally left the bathroom and Dean jumped in after him, just to make sure there was some hot water left. He flipped Sam off when his brother asked a simple question.

“Are you coming?”

They had a goddess to kill.


Both Winchesters hesitated as they got out of the car and up to the Lancaster’s house. It’s where the waitress had finally told Dean, that the kids came from. Their dad was an ‘artist’ and his wife supposedly worked as some kind of restorer for art houses and museums. The family had moved to the town because the mother had been suffering from allergies since she got pregnant. Seems like they thought she’d recover in a less ‘urban’ environment. Dean couldn’t really see the difference, but whatever made her sleep better at night.

They were both wearing suits, and had their press badges on them, ready to come up with some bullshit story for the parents. Dean wished they’d just gone with FBI agent in the first place, at least then he’d have an excuse for wearing a gun. Now he had to keep his weapon hidden behind the small of his back.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he knocked on the door, but he was pretty sure he didn’t expect the door to be open. Dean pushed it for a moment, testing it, before continuing inside.

“Hello!” No one responded. He continued on in the house, when he heard a sound, there was a soft rocking noise coming from one of the rooms in the back of the house.

“Hello.” Both Sam and Dean had pulled out their guns by now. “Sir, Ma’am, anyone here?”

He pushed at the door, it opened easily. It was a baby’s room, with a crib on one side and carefully carved wooden furniture. There was a woman sitting in a rocking chair. She was petting her stomach, mumbling nonsense. She seemed to come right out of a picture book, the happy mother to be.

“Mrs Lancaster?” But she didn’t answer. Dean lowered his gun, but didn’t put it away. Sam held his hand before her eyes. It was like talking to a zombie. “Hello.” No response.

They left the room, checking up further in the house. It was some kind of workshop. Several statues and icons stood around the room, some in the middle of restorations, others barely unpacked.

One of the icons had drops of blood seeping into its wooden base. Dean was about ready to smash it.

“Dean, no. If the goddess is already out of the icon, destroying it will just release her fully.”
He cringed and lowered his gun, listening, something was dripping. He followed it to the back of the room, there was a man holding some kind of a carving tool, cutting into the flesh of his arm, dripping his blood in a bowl. His eyes stood as wide as those of his wife. Dean grabbed the tool out of his hands, he barely even responded.

“Oh shit.”

He pocketed the tool, more to keep it out of the man’s hands than anything else, before tying him up so he wouldn’t be able to keep hurting himself.

There was a door to the basement and the both of them hesitated, Sam standing on the look out while Dean led the way downstairs. It seemed someone had build the house on top of a natural cave system, using the cave’s entrances for basement rooms. Someone had put up light fixtures and Dean turned on the light before continuing.

Despite that modern convenience, the presence of the cave walls was disturbing; almost like heading into a wendigo’s lair, something deep and primitive. Dean hated to admit it, but he loved his modern life too much to really enjoy any idea of back to nature.

Especially when he didn’t have any candy on him. A guy needed his provisions after all.
Sam was checking something on the wall. Dean wondered if he had to tell the kid not to taste the walls. He hoped that Sam had gone beyond that a few years ago. Then again…

There was a voice singing a song, he couldn’t quite make out the words until he stopped.

"Rock a bye baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all."

Dean pointed at Sam to hold back. They didn’t know how powerful this Taweret was, looking at the town, it went beyond giving a small blessing or two. Who knew what she could do, if she was ready for them. He wasn’t even surprised when he saw the little girl standing in front of a slate of stone, some kind of improvised altar, but low enough for the little girl to loom over her big brother. The boy had a lotus flower held between his lips, as he knelt in front of the girl. She handed him the flint knife she was carrying and he pressed his lips on the knife, before holding it over his chest, ready to stab himself.

Dean grabbed his own flint dagger, blessed with morning dew, it should hold her long enough if he were willing to kill the host. Which the goddess knew he didn’t.

“Well hello there.” She said in a friendly tone of voice. It sent shivers down his spine.

“Taharet. Let them go.”

“Now why would I do that?” She sounded almost teasing, the little girl sing songed the words with a cheer that was totally out of place in the scene facing them.

“The boy’s done nothing to you.” Sam said, while stepping out of the shadows, holding the carving tool and staring down at the little girl.

She seemed almost confused. “Of course he hasn’t. He worships me. He sacrifices for me. And I take what I am given. “

“By eating him?” Sam said. He sounded a bit shocked, as if he expected something more, even after all they’d seen.

“It is the most primal form of worship, hunter. In the old days, families would sacrifice their finest slaves or imperfect children or younglings so that I would bless them with a healthy heir.”


“The boy suffers from an illness of the heart, he will die before he matures. Is it not kinder that he gives his life now so that his mother may give birth to a better child, one who will bring pride to their father’s blood?“ The goddess grinned with the little girl’s gap toothed smile. “A life for a life.”

“Is that what you’re planning with the people in town. Make them have kids, so they’ll sacrifice them to you?” Dean growled out the words, the goddess barely even turned to him

“Only the failed ones, hunter.” Her look at him was almost kind, as if she pitied him. “The lost and the forgotten.”

“But why?”

“Why does a farmer care for his calves, supply them with all they may need so they may find nourishment in the earth, and then when the calf is fattened and ready, he prepares it and feasts in honor of the life he has taken? Thus is the life of those above you, hunter. To feed, and stay strong, so we may watch over the herd and keep them well.”

Dean actually started laughing at her little speech. The arrogance in it.

“You could take his place Hunter. I could feed on your flesh, instead of his.” She came up to him and he knew he should shoot her or stab her or anything, yet her form stopped him from doing so.

“And why would I ever want to do that?”

She looked up at him, her face looked so innocent. “Wouldn’t you want to be saved from hell, Hunter?”

Sam froze, inches away from the boy, and the knife he’d been about to grab away from the kid.

“You will die either way, but if you give me your flesh, I will take your soul inside of me and it will rest in my glory, my greatness for the remainder of all time. “ Dean couldn’t help himself. His body moved against his will, he tried to fight her control even as he knelt down in front of her. He couldn’t even pull away from her as she caressed his face. “A quick death, followed by eternal peace. Wouldn’t you want to sacrifice yourself to me, to spare your soul the eternal damnation that will follow you once the hounds drag it to the pit.” Dean shivered, her nails stretched out, cutting into his flesh.

"Say yes, and you shall be free." There was power in her voice, in her touch, it almost made him want to take his knife and force it in his throat as he promised himself to her. To sing her praise. Just say 'yes'.

And then he saw Sam’s face, Sam was screaming, but somehow Dean couldn’t hear his words, could see nothing but Sam’s eyes, and the horror in them that seemed almost frozen, as if all the world had died down around them.

But those eyes, they were all Dean needed to push the goddess away from himself.
Just a little girl, and a boy ready to kill himself, a whole town filled with people under the god's influence. Who knows how many would kill to satisfy the goddess without ever realizing what they had done?

So he pushed the girl to the floor and cut himself with his own knife. He could see the fire lighting in her eyes, but he needed the blood of the pagan’s victim, which he’d become, even if only for a moment, to be able to do this.

He didn’t think he would ever forget that scream. Or that face, or the way the little girl's body crumbled up and mummified into that of something old and rotten. It was still clawing at him, desperate to grab his blood and heal itself, but he kept stabbing it, killing it.

Until Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him back." It's dead." he said.


“She wasn’t real, Dean.” Sam sat down next to him, They weren’t touching, and Dean was still staring at the beer in front of him. “The Lancasters never had a little girl. Just a boy and a baby on the way. Taharet just took the form of the child to be born.”

It didn’t matter. He hadn’t known what she was when he killed it. He’d just seen a little girl, and the destruction in Sam’s eyes as he was about to kill himself.

“I know that.” He got up from his chair. Sam was still stunned, so Dean did his best not to face his brother as he forced a smirk on his face. “At least she could recognize prime beef when she saw it.”
He barely avoided the keys thrown at his head. It would be alright, it had to be.

The end
Tags: be careful what you ask for, gen supernatural

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