Chapter Text
A Warehouse.
Of course, it's a warehouse.
Why is it, that whenever a monster wants to hide somewhere, it has to be someplace cold and dark? Why can't they ever pick some place clean? Or at least warm? Even demons have more class for Christ's sake...
Dean barely has time to finish his thoughts when a cold trickle of water manages to find its way from one of the metal beams high above his head to down the back of his neck and he bites back a hiss behind gritted teeth, resisting the violent urge to flinch. "Freaking vampires," Dean mumbles. "Always with the cold n' creepy." He carefully steps through the warehouse, a gun in his hands and a syringe of deadman's blood nestled tightly in his back pocket. The building is shadowed in darkness apart from a glimpse of moonlight shining through broken windows, so mostly everything is just silhouettes of cracked glass and rotten wood covering concrete flooring. Wood creaks under the weight of Deans boots and he grimaces at the sound.
A fellow hunter gave them the tip about this place. Apparently, it's a huge vampires nest and the hunter didn't have time to deal with it, so that's when the Winchesters step in -it's meant to be filled head to toe with these bloodsuckers and a kill or be killed situation, but the vampires don't seem to be getting the picture. So two arguments and one phone call to Bobby later confirmed that what he needed to do was 'shut up and get on with it'. And that's how Dean now finds himself tracking the son's of bitches far into the abandoned parts of town; more specifically inside this old warehouse where Dean is now on a hunt in the middle of the night inside the creature's temporary lair, waiting for something, anything to happen.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out clicking it to life. "Dean?" Sam's voice vibrates through the phone and Dean quickly throws his hand over the speaker to quieten it. "I'm here Sam." He whispers and continues trudging through the rubble, taking note of the blood trails on the wall in front of him. "Good, anything happened yet?" Sam asks, worry seeping through his voice. "No nothing yet, just a crappy building and a bit of blood." Dean answers, stepping around a heap of broken metal that seems to have used to been part of the roof. A collapsing roof, great. Just what he needs.
"Really nothing? That's... weird." Sam states, the sound of his keyboard being tapped in the background. "I should have come with you." He mumbles because of course the only thing Sam inherits from Dean is his stubborn ass personality and refuses to drop the fact that yeah he probably should have come with Dean "Yeah, well I need you in the motel for research so quit whining." Dean orders tediously, pointing his flashlight and forming a cone-shaped circle of light at a few misshapen objects. Sam is silent for a while and Dean can practically feel his bitch-face coming through the phone. "Don't start Sam." He sighs.
"But Dean you have to admit it's suspicious." Sam whines and Dean sighs again, resisting the urge to hang up the phone. "Sam I don't know why he didn't have time to sort this place out, maybe he ate a bad quesadilla? Just shut up and tell me where I need to go." He hisses through the phone. Sam lets out a long sigh, followed by a huff before he mumbles out a short, "Fine." Dean smirks to himself and uses his feet to kick some broken wood out of his way, being careful to look for any more signs of blood.
"Okay so get this, I was searching through some paperwork dating from 57' to 2000', and I found a death report claiming that one of the workers was killed on site. According to this, his body was never found but after his death missing people reports came out like clockwork ranging from teens on a school trip to the actual owner until eventually the whole factory got shut down because of 'unsafe working conditions'." Dean peeks around the corner and pauses when he sees something move through the tall shards of fallen roof. "So you're saying it's ghosts instead of vampires?" He whispers into the phone and holds his flashlight to his chest to hide the light.
The figure doesn't seem to notice him and continues moving until it disappears behind some drywall. Dean shifts around the fallen metal, slowly following behind the shadow. "Yes and no," Sam answers uncertainly, restarting the constant tapping on his keyboard. Dean sighs and shines his flashlight down the end of the narrow hallway ahead of him before continuing straight on. "Wow, thanks for the great insight Sam, but I'm gonna need a bit more than a freaking guess." The whole building groans at Deans every step and howls in protest whenever he touches anything other than the floor. A spark of light illuminates the space around him, the blinding light momentarily stopping him in his tracks as he tries to rub away the coloured spots clouding his vision. He follows it into a narrow hallway where another bright glow crackles in the air like a set of small fireworks and stops in his tracks.
"Dean?" Sam calls from the other end of the phone. Dean shushes him and presses his back against the wall to avoid being seen by whoever or whatever is there. "Yeah Sam, there's something ahead but I can't see what it is from where I am," Dean mutters and flicks his flashlight off. Another flash of light comes from within the first cut way, this time, accompanied by voices; there deep and rough, like whoever's speaking needs a serious throat sweet. The speaking becomes louder and clearer as Dean shuffles closer and closer until he can work out a few of the words. "Nomine Catharina...Alica..Damus Aditus.. in promissione.." Latin, of course, it's always Latin.
Dean holds the phone between his ear and shoulder while cocking the hammer of his gun, so he's ready for a surprise attack. "Dean, don't dive into this. You don't know what you're up against, you're not prepared! Just wait until I get there." Sam tries to convince Dean, as he shuffles around in their motel room, packing guns and knives into his duffel. "Sam calm down. I can handle this, it'll be a piece of cake. As you said it's probably just a ghost or something." Dean assures, inching forwards to try and see what's on the other side or, at least, catch a glimpse of whatever he's up against. "Dean no- Stop-" The shuffling through the phone becomes clearer and the sound of the impala starting up rumbles low in the background. Dean steps out into the middle of the archway, gun in one hand and demon knife in the other.
The light dies in one quick movement and a woman with jet black hair, hard features, and pale skin awaits in front of Dean. She looks no older than thirty and the dress she's wearing shows off a petite figure as it ties in at the waist. However her fashion sense isn't what catches Dean's attention, the woman is practically concealed in hex bags, over thirty wrapped around her body and her hands holding more, aiming them all at Dean. "Um, Sam I'm gonna have to call you back," Dean smiles awkwardly at the woman, dropping his gun and raising his free hand slowly in some kind of surrender. The woman look's like a human bomb and he knows this is one of those times in life when shooting your way out would only make things worse. Dean hates those times in life. "Why?" Sam questions, faint music playing from the impala's stereo.
A dark chuckle comes from behind him and he tilts his head back, suddenly finding himself surrounded by two other figures their faces veiled by the darkness. "Because it's not vampires Sam," He sighs. "It's witches." The dark haired girl smirks and then Dean's out like a light: Sam left on the phone calling his name and Dean not knowing what the hell is going to happen.