Chapter Text
The dark-colored Bronco sped down the rain-slick highway, heading out of town. The radio came in choppy and full of static, trying to pick up a station.
The driver was barely watching the road, his eyes busily darting from the mirrors to the glow of his cellphone. He knew he had to get out of there, and fast. He could feel his heart pounding, the sound reverberating in his ears.
He steered along the curves of the road, constantly looking in the rearview mirror to be sure there was no one else on the road. The road behind him was empty but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed- that someone was out there in the darkness, watching his every move.
The static of the radio broke away and a song came through.
He stared at the radio in fear for a few seconds as he heard the words.
“I've seen your face before my friend. But I don't know if you know who I am… Well, I was there and I saw what you did. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
His boot pressed the accelerator more, trying to escape the feeling whatever was after him was closing in. His thumb pressed the call button, his eyes darting from the side mirrors to the rearview mirror.
C’mon. C’mon.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel anxiously, hoping for an answer.
“Hey! You’ve reached Deb. I’m away from my phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back” beep!
He sighed, his voice cracking a little, “Deb? Honey, it’s me. Please - please pick up. I - I don’t want to do this over the phone. Deb, please pick up-” He let out another long sigh, trying not to sound so broken and scared, “I love you, Deb. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I-”
Suddenly there was a flash of light and the Bronco swerved off the road and headlong into an ash tree on an embankment at the side of the road. The driver’s lifeless body slammed against the steering wheel, the horn blaring in the darkness.
The radio flickered in and out of range, ending up a garble of static melting into the wail of the car horn.
--
In a dumpy little motel room somewhere in northern Nebraska, a young woman was sitting slumped in bed, wearing an over-sized sweatshirt and boxers, typing away on her tablet. The sudden chirp of her phone drew her attention away from her work.
She pushed errant strands of hair from her face and grabbed the phone off the bedside table, tapping the screen to reveal a message notification bubble. <Unknown>
“Unknown?” She hadn't received any messages like this in years.
She opened it, curious about this mysterious unknown sender.
Car accident in Faith, SD. You should check it out.
Attached to the message is a news bulletin, showing what appeared to be a police crime scene photo of the mangled car and the body inside.
Sitting up, she started rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pulled up her blog to add a new post for her readers.
Duty calls. Six hour drive to South Dakota tonight. Let’s hope this leads to some answers.
--
The dusty black Chevy pulled up to the line of police cars on the side of the highway. The driver killed the engine before sliding out in unison with his passenger.
They approached an officer trying to get rid of a nosy journalist. Her phone was out and poised to record his commentary until she saw the two tall men in dark suits walking up, looking very official. They flashed their federal credentials. “Agent Murdock, Agent Stiles.”
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear nervously and conceded her defeat, slipping her phone back into her purse with a sigh. “Thank you for your time, Lieutenant.”
The two agents gave her small smiles and she walked away, heels clacking on the asphalt.
The lieutenant nodded, “Thanks. Lieutenant Jayne.” He scratched his stubbly jaw absentmindedly, “Didn't realize they’d called in the feds for a drunk.”
Agent Stiles pursed his lips, pulling out a pen and notepad from his coat, “So you think this was just some drinking accident?”
The lieutenant nodded back, “Oh yeah. Drinking and speeding and he wrapped his car around this tree. Open and shut. Happens every so often, but nothing that needs an investigation.”
Agent Murdock cut in, looking over in the direction of the mangled car, “Have you notified the next of kin?”
“Yeah, sent one of my men over there once we pulled the wallet out and got ID.”
One of the younger officers walked up, his eyes darting between the agents and his superior, Uh, sir? There’s some reporter here who wants a word with you.”
“Sorry, Agents. I have to go fight off this vulture now. Can’t stand reporters.”
The lieutenant followed the younger officer.
Once the police were out of earshot, the two agents looked at each other.
The shorter man raised an eyebrow. “You really think this is anything more than just an accident?”
“I don’t know, Dean. All I know is it can’t be a coincidence that this is the third accident like this that we've come across in the last couple months.”
Dean nodded, straightening his tie a little, “Yeah - well, you can go talk to the family then, I’ll go see what the ME has to say.”
They walked back towards the car and drove off.
--
The taller man sighed as Dean drove off, leaving him at the front porch of the latest victim. He adjusted his coat and rapped his knuckles against the door.
There was some shuffling and two women’s voice and then the front door opened.
A middle-aged blonde woman with puffy red eyes looked up at him, “Hello?”
He flashed his credentials and a sympathetic smile, “Mrs. Stewart? Agent Stiles.”
She nodded a little, looking exhausted from all the crying she had obviously been doing, “The police were just here. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
He turned on the charm, looking down at her with puppy eyes, “I’m just here to ask you a few quick questions about your husband, ma’am. It'll be quick.”
She let him in, leading him through the living room, past a couple of well-worn sofas and a litter-box. They walked into the kitchen, which was just as dated as the living room, and found the journalist from the scene of the accident was sitting at the table with a cup of tea in her hands.
The moment they locked eyes, the young woman tensed up. She gave a polite smile to her hostess, smoothing her skirt nervously with the palms of her hands, “I think I have everything I need, Mrs. Stewart. Thank you for your time and I’m sorry for your loss.”
The older woman looked surprised and a little confused as the journalist slipped her purse over her shoulder and left without another word. She looked over at the agent, forcing a smile, “Would you like tea?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’d like to make this as brief as possible for you, Mrs. Stewart. You've been through a lot.”
She nodded, pouring herself some tea and sitting across from him.
“Why don’t you tell me a bit about your husband? Did he give you any idea where he was going last night?”
“Norman loved late night drives. He would drive around to clear his head - it helped him sleep better. He’d never tell me where he was going - just ‘out for a drive’.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes, looking down at her wedding ring.
“And last night…”
“He called me.” She looked up at him with a surprised look on her face, as if she had just remembered, and she stood up to go fetch her phone. “I- I had a message on my phone this morning… Oh god.”
He nodded a little, “What did he say? Did he sound upset?”
She pulled up the voicemail and played it so he could hear.
He looked up when he heard the crash at the end of the voicemail, his brow furrowed. “What could your husband have been so worried about that he called you?”
Mrs. Stewart shook her head, “He was always going on - about the things in the dark, how there was so much that I didn’t know about that I should be afraid of. I always thought he was just quirky - aliens and Bigfoot. Silly stuff, you know?”
Agent Stiles gave her a little smile and nodded, “Yeah. Silly stuff.”
--
Dean looked down at the body of Norman Stewart, laying out on the table, his eyes following the lines of stitching over the man’s chest that tried to close the wounds. He looked over at the medical examiner, “So you’re saying he wasn’t killed when he slammed into that tree?”
The medical examiner looked over the chart, pursing her lips a little. “No, actually. Mr. Stewart was dead before the crash. He died of something else.”
“Like a heart attack?”
She looked up at him, smiling a little, “See, that’s the problem. Mr. Stewart was in great shape for a man his age. I couldn’t find any defects that would have such a sudden death and the damage from the accident complicates things. I’ve still got a few more tests to run though.”
Dean pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Please, don’t hesitate to call if you do find anything.”
She smiled a little, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "And if I don’t find something, Agent Murdock?”
He let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah…”
There was a knock at the door and one of the assistants poked his head in, “Dr. Rogers? There’s some reporter here to talk to you-”
The medical examiner nodded, pulling off her gloves, “Thank you, Thomas. I’m sorry, Agent. I have to see what this is about.” She smiled at him playfully. “I hope I’ll have something for you later.”
Dean just smiled and peeled off his gloves, holding the door for her and following her out.
Just as he reached the lobby, he saw the reporter in question - the very same young woman in the pencil skirt from the crime scene that morning. His phone chirped and he brought it up to his ear, “Sam?”
--
The black Impala pulled up to the curb in front of the Stewart house. Sam opened the passenger door and slid in.
Dean looked over at him, hoping for some clues as to what they were dealing with, “Any news from the family?”
Sam nodded, “So, get this - our dead guy? Wife got a voicemail last night just before the crash - he thought he was being followed when he died.”
“Followed by what?”
Sam gave a little shrug, “Who knows? This guy was into everything from UFO watching to mediums to Bigfoot.”
Dean sighed, heading off down the road. “Great. A whackjob.”
Sam scowled a little, looking up at him, “Hey - most people would think we’re whackjobs for what we do. Maybe this is legit. Maybe Norman really knew something that got him killed. You find anything out?”
“Well, it turns out our dead guy was dead before he hit the tree.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Just like-”
“Just like the other dead guys in the last few towns,” Dean nodded.
“So there is something going on here.”
“Yeah - and it’s getting attention. You know who I ran into at the ME’s? That little reporter lady from the scene of the crash.”
Sam sat up a little. “I saw her at the Stewarts’ house too. She left when she saw me.”
“What was she doing there?”
Sam gave another little shrug. “She must’ve been asking questions. She and the wife were having tea when I walked in. You think she knows something?”
“What could she know? I mean, this looks like a car crash at best.”
--
The journalist sat in the driver’s seat of her Jeep Cherokee. She was parked across the street from the bar where the black Impala was parked, waiting to see any sign of the two men.
She had to figure out who these two were and what they were doing butting in on her case.
She looked down at the phone in her hand and the half-written blog post on the screen.
This case looks like everything I've read. The man died before his car even hit the tree. ME thinks it's some defect but I've seen these accidents too many times to know that it's gotta be something else.
But I just don't know what it could be.
She sighed and resumed typing.
Any suggestions? enter.
She watched the screen, elbow resting on the window and holding her head up.
--
Sam looked over the files Dean got from the medical examiner's office. "So far this guy doesn't look like he had any ailments that would've killed him- no heart problems, no brain aneurysm, nothing..."
Dean took a big bite of the greasy cheeseburger he had ordered, tucking the food into his cheek to allow him to talk. "What do you think it is?"
Sam shot his brother a disgusted look, rolling his eyes, "Real classy, dude."
This only made Dean give him a wide smile, his cheeks puffed up with food.
Sam shook his head, "I don't know. Can't be a ghost- moves around too much. Demon, maybe? But why?"
"Demon deal?"
Sam smirked, "You didn't see this guy's house. Nothing about it says demon deal."
Dean took another big bite. "I don't know. Wife say anything about where he was headed when he crashed?"
Sam opened a beer. "Nope. Said he would always go out late to clear his head, never really told her where he went." He took a long swallow.
Dean’s phone chirped from inside his pocket and he groaned, setting his burger aside. The number wasn’t one he recognized. “Hello?”
It was the medical examiner. “Agent Murdock? It’s Kathy Rogers… I got some of those test results back and I was wondering if you wanted to stop by while I reviewed them?”
Even Sam could see his brother was less than pleased by this call. "Sure, Dr. Rogers. My partner and I can stop by your office.”
Dean could almost hear how much she was smiling over the phone, “I’ll be waiting.”
Sam was smiling in that mocking way little brothers seem to smile. “New girlfriend?”
--
The journalist was reading over some of the messages received since her last blog posting. Most of the messages were well-meaning but incorrect assumptions of ghosts. But one - from the mysterious <Unknown> - was different.
Think demonic.
She frowned a little, trying to understand the message. Demonic? she typed back.
Her phone pinged again.
Think, Fi. I know you can do it.
She was pulled back into reality when she noticed the two agents from that morning walk out of the bar and back to their car. She set her phone aside and turned the key.
--
Dean looked over the car to Sam, “You know, the more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense. What the hell does this journalist care about about some guy who hit a tree in the middle of the night?”
Sam slid into the passenger’s seat, tucking his hair behind his ear, “Maybe it’s some local piece - tragic community loss or something like that.”
“I don’t know. Seems sketchy, that’s all.”
They headed back to see what the medical examiner had for them.
She was more than happy to see Dean again, smiling up at him as she pulled open the freezer drawer containing Norman Stewart. “Hello Agent Murdock, good to see you again.”
He nodded to Sam, “This is my partner, Agent Stiles.”
She smiled, not really giving Sam much attention.
Dean gave her a curt smile. “You said you had the test results?”
She nodded, “Oh, of course. You should see it- I don't understand what killed him but it wasn't that crash. Let me go get the files.” She stepped out, leaving Sam and Dean standing unsupervised in the middle of the room.
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair as he went over the files again. “There’s gotta be something in here that will tell us what’s going on.”
Frustrated with the lack of leads, the elder brother grabbed the file from Sam’s hand, “Let me see that.” He scanned the pages before stopping on one.
“Wait a minute…”
Sam leaned over, trying to see what was so intriguing, “What?”
He just gave Sam a big grin, shoving the files back into Sam’s hands, “What’s something that comes out in the dark and kills people?”
The blank look he got in return told him he was being a little too vague.
He rolled his eyes. “Look.” He showed Sam a photo from the crime scene.
Sam looked down at the picture and saw the sigil scratched into the headrest of the driver’s seat.
“But who summoned it?”
“Someone who wanted Norm here to quit playing Ghostbusters.”
They put the pages back in the file and turned to the door just as Dr. Rogers was coming back.
“Agent Murdock?”
Dean smiled apologetically, following Sam out.
--
Fi was in her Jeep again, slouched to avoid being spied on as she read every entry on demons she could find on her tablet. She was just about to give up when she came across an encyclopedia entry about demons that lurk in the darkness, invisible but for their shadows.
“Daeva?”
She flipped over to her blog, opening a new post.
Has anyone heard of a daeva? I think it may be what I’ve been looking for.
Her inbox pinged with a notification almost immediately.
--
The Impala pulled into the parking lot of the motel they were staying at. Both men got out and went around back.
Sam opened the Impala’s trunk and loosened his tie, surveying the weapons they had with them.
Dean pulled out a couple flare guns. “Think we can scare ‘em off with these again?”
Sam nodded, making sure the shotguns were loaded. “We have to figure out whatever’s summoning these things too.”
“We can ha-” he looked down the street. “Hey, is that that nosy journalist chick?”
Sam followed Dean’s line of sight. She was pulling out of a nearby parking lot in her Jeep.
“Wonder where she’s headed.”
Dean scoffed, turning his attention back to the arsenal in the trunk, “Probably found some hot story that’s gonna be her ticket to a Pulitzer.”
--
Fi drove a few miles downtown and found herself in a run-down part of town. She tugged the sleeves of her sweater to shield her arms from the chilly night air.
A young woman in a soft pink cardigan and grey pencil skirt approached her, looking out of place in the sketchy neighborhood. "You Fi?"
Fi nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “You’re Unknown?”
Before the young woman could say anything else her eyes flicked over to solid black and she smirked.
Fi took a step back but the demon girl grabbed her arm.
“Fiona Phillips, always butting in where you don’t belong. Shouldn’t you have learned your lesson already?”
Fi pursed her lips, trying to stay strong and not show fear. “Tell me what happened.”
The girl smiled, “Some jerk like you, sticking his nose in other people’s business, and he had to die. That’s why they called me in. I’m the cleaner, if you will. No witnesses.”
Fi watched in terror as the girl began chanting in some ancient language.
The shadows started coming out of the darkness, black vaguely humanoid shape blobs creeping closer and closer as the demon chanted.
Suddenly the bright headlights of the Impala came around the corner and the daevas scattered to escape the light. The car came to a stop several feet away and Sam jumped out, reciting an exorcism.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…”
The demon began to choke, coughing up her smoky black form.
Dean joined in, chanting with Sam as they moved closer, “Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”
With that, the demon smoke erupted out of the girl’s body and Dean rushed over to check on her.
Fi frowned, staring up at Sam with glossy tear-filled eyes as he approached her to see if she was okay.
“This was the only way I was going to get answers!”
Sam opened his mouth but she pushed him away, storming off. She got in her Jeep and drove off, wiping her eyes furiously.
--
Sam was leaning against the Impala’s trunk when Dean walked out of the hospital. “She gonna be okay?”
Dean nodded a little, “She’s pretty shaken up but I think she’ll be okay. What happened to Barbara Walters?”
“Who knows? She pushed me away and ran off.”
--
Fi was huddled up in a motel room, ready to break down and mourn that this was the closest she had ever been to finding the answers she needed and it was ruined.
Her phone pinged with another alert and she tapped the screen.
It was a message. <Unknown>.
She tapped the icon hesitantly.
I would never hurt you.
She frowned, but before she could reply there was another message.
Chesterfield, Indiana.