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dixiehellcatThat Which Lies Hidden, a Ghost Adventures fic, chapter 4
Some language and whumpage...it's somebody else's turn to get whumped on in this chapter though. I believe in spreading the character abuse around, up in here. Beware! :D Rated R this chappie, for aforementioned language and implied violence.
Also, this chapter includes some characters from Supernatural, so I'll take this opp to remind y'all that this fic is not connected with Worlds Collide, the GAC/SPN fic written by tetiny68 and me. You should be able to follow this without having watched that, though if you are an SPN fan you'll see some bits you know the background to. :)
And again, much love and squishes to xXTailo-Lives-OnXx for loaning me toys and letting me play in the sandbox. (if you've gotten this far in my fic and have somehow not read The Other Side, go catch up NAOW. I'll wait.The link to her first chapter is in my post for chapter 1 of Hidden.)
Hope nobody minds that this chapter is rather long--I couldn't find a good place to break it.
4 We watched Zak's final minutes again, looking for any additional clues or information. I forced my agonized heart aside and made myself study the screen as dispassionately as my CSI buds at work would. My efforts at objectivity paid off. At max slow, the jerking of Zak's body we had first thought to be spasms or seizures was anything but. "Look," I said and pointed. "It touches him, and nothing happens; but then it starts to constrict, and a beat later we get that movement there--see it? It's obviously pushing against the constrictive force. I don't think that's reflex. I think it's deliberate. Zak realized something had him, and he struggled. He couldn't do much; it was too strong, but he fought it as hard as he could." Fresh tears clouded my vision, and I closed my burning eyes. "He fought it…Oh, Zak."
"You gonna be okay, Claire?" Billy asked quietly.
I sniffled, nodded and opened my eyes. "Yeah. I have to be. Falling apart won't help get that thing out of Zak."
"What makes you so sure it's still in there?" Billy sounded unconvinced. "Couldn't it have made the mess, taken off, and left him to take the heat?"
"It could, but I don't think it did. What we just saw tends against that. Clearly, Zak knew something alien was inside him. So if hours or days later it let him go, what would he do? You knew him, Billy. Would he cut all ties with his past? Would he not even show up at the hospital to find out if his best friends were alive or dead?"
"No, and hell no, respectively." Billy shook his head, his eyes haunted. "I guess…it's so awful to think something's had him all this time, a part of me would rather just think he's a deranged asshole."
"I understand that," I agreed. "But he never was a deranged asshole, right? A person doesn't change that quickly. It has to be someone—something—else in there, pretending to be him. You were more right than you knew, Nick, the first time we talked, when I told you how he was behaving, and you said that's not Zak."
Nick had been silent for a long time. I turned and found him staring at the floor. "Right on that maybe, but so wrong on everything else," he said, his voice low. "All this time, I've blamed Zak, when it was all my fault, and Aaron's. If we hadn't punked him…one lousy prank, and it cost us so much, and cost Zak everything…"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Billy said, baffled.
Nick's head came up, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Zak got possessed a couple of times, or came close anyway, but he came out of it, because he wasn't alone. I was there, and Aaron was there, to help him pull free. But this time we weren't. We were on the other side of a locked door, laughing."
I took hold of his hunched shoulders and made him look at me. "Nick, did you watch the same footage I just did? You saw how fast that thing moved. If you and Aaron had opened the door the moment you walked up to it, it could have stopped you; and even if you could have gotten in, it was too late--the summoning had already begun. It still would have gotten Zak, or maybe one of you instead. This was not your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault, except maybe the moron who called up this satanic son of a bitch to begin with. Zak would tell you the same. He WILL tell you the same."
Nick was scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, but he stopped cold and frowned at me. "You—you think he's still in there?"
"I can't say for sure. I know how to ID demonic possession, but I'm no expert."
"I was almost possessed once," Nick said. "I remember how it felt, the pressure, the pain, the feeling zoned out and muffled, the voices yelling at me to do things I would never... I can't even imagine what it would be like to try to live that way for months."
"I know, I know! It hurts me to think about it too. But one thing I'm certain of, and I've learned it from what you guys have shown me and told me about Zak: he's a fighter. He fought this demon from the instant it took hold of him. And I hope—I pray—that if there's any way possible, he's still fighting."
+++
I wanted to call Uncle Bobby right away, till I realized it was quarter past four in the morning. He's cranky at the best of times, and waking him up wouldn't improve his disposition one bit, so I reluctantly conceded I had to wait a bit. Naturally, Nick and Billy were eager to learn about my 'expert', but I told them nothing. I felt bad about it, but it was force of habit; you don't go telling everybody you have a demon hunter in the family.
My mother and her older brother had been close as kids, but grown apart over the years. Mom said he'd never been quite right after his wife's tragic death. But after she died, when I was eight, my dad, who'd divorced and remarried, thought it best I get to know her only living relative. So every summer for the next few years, I spent several weeks in South Dakota at my uncle's junkyard. Singer Salvage was one huge playground, and the old house piled to the rafters with books of every type was heaven to a shy and bookish little girl.
Over those summers, Uncle Bobby taught me so much. From him, I learned to shoot, to write my name in Japanese, to build a fire with a stick and a string and a tube of lipstick, and to make a decent pot of pasta puttanseca. And on one incredible night in my eleventh year, I learned that monsters were real, and that people like my uncle devoted their lives to fighting them.
Once I had wanted to be one of those people; but hunters lived on the fringes of society, and my uncle convinced me my mother would probably come back and haunt us both if he allowed that. Besides, I was a lousy shot. So I had accepted my lot, and the limited tutelage he gave; but that very knowledge had now dumped a big steaming pile of shit in my lap, and I needed his help to deal with it.
I tossed and turned for a couple of hours, dozing and then waking in a cold sweat from nightmares I couldn't remember. Then I paced and drank coffee for a couple of hours more, till I decided it was a decent enough hour. As I dialed I hoped the number hadn't changed; it'd been six years since I'd talked to him, right after I moved to Vegas. The phone clicked. "Y'ello?"
"Uncle Bobby?" A wave of relief swept over me. "Hi. It's Claire."
"Oh. Um, hi, doll! It's been a coon's age. How the, uh, how are ya?"
"I'm okay. How are you?"
"Hangin' in like a hair in a biscuit, darlin'. Had some trouble with my legs here awhile back, but, um, got a specialist to look at 'em and get 'em straightened out."
"Great. I'm sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning—"
"Bother me? Hah. You're never a bother, doll. I already got a coupla morons here, they're a bother. You remember Sam and Dean Winchester?"
"Oh my God! Yes!" A spark of unexpected delight warmed my heart. Sam and Dean's father was a hunter, and one of Uncle Bobby's close friends. The boys had often stayed at the salvage yard when their dad was on a hunt, and the three of us had wreaked havoc on the place all those summers ago. "Tell them hi for me."
"Done. Now, is this just a social call?"
"Not really. If you have a few minutes, I need to pick your brain. Specifically, about demon possession."
Uncle Bobby's tone changed instantly. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into, girl?" he growled. Muffled voices in tones of concern sounded in the background, and I heard my name. "Hold on—" There was another click. "I'm puttin' you on speaker."
"Hey, Claire," said a bright male voice. "It's Sam."
"Hi, Sam! Damn, the last time I talked to you, you were still a soprano."
"Last time you talked to him, he wasn't a sasquatch yet," came a raspy and more familiar voice. "Hey, baby girl, it's Dean. Been too damn long."
"It sure has." I'd had my first kiss, and my first in other categories we won't go into just now, from Dean Winchester. "I'm sure you guys are busy, but I need some information on demonic possession."
"Why?" Dean asked.
"Why? Because I need it. And because Uncle Bobby always said educated 'civilians' were as important as hunters in their own way. Now, first, can a demon possess somebody for an extended period of time—months, a year or more?"
"Yes," Sam said immediately. "We've dealt with demons that kept a meatsuit for years."
"Yikes. Where's the body's rightful owner during all this?"
"Right there, usually," Dean replied. "The level of their awareness varies, though. They may be unconscious, but more likely they're aware but helpless. Demons live to inflict pain, and making the mortal see what's being done with their body is a nice convenient way of doin' that." Horror and hope took hold of me in a savage tug of war.
"What's this all about, Claire?" Uncle Bobby sounded frustrated.
"One more question, unc. Black eyes are a pretty definite sign of demon possession, right?"
"Right, and now you're gonna answer some questions!" he thundered. So I did. Quickly, I summarized my experiences with Zak, meeting Nick, and what he had told me about the Ghost Adventures crew and their final lockdown. Sam booted up his laptop, and I scanned the sigils and sent them to him. "It's a summoning ritual, all right," Uncle Bobby said after examining them. "A lesser demon. Lesser in this case meanin', only able to kick one mortal ass at a time, as opposed to dozens."
"So this lesser demon could be using Zak's body, and holding his—soul, spirit, essence, whatever—prisoner?"
"Probably is," Dean confirmed. "Demons that low on the food chain aren't the brightest bulbs on the sign, but they're great opportunists. Cunning, sadistic bastards, by and large." There was a knowing tone to his voice. I didn't want to ask where that came from.
"Could his—its—control vary? Because sometimes he seems really cold, and sometimes, apologetic, pitiful almost."
"It may be beatin' your boy down, and lettin' him closer to the surface, a little, on occasion, if it needs knowledge he has, but only when he's weakened enough not to cause it trouble," Dean said.
"Fits the general demonic MO," Sam agreed. "And too, if Zak has feelings for you, the demon is probably using you against him; threatening you, to keep him in line."
"I doubt that," I said. "Zak didn't know me before, remember. So what do I do about this?"
My uncle's answer stunned me. "Do? You get the hell outta Dodge, that's what you do. Break your lease, quit your job, whatever. You're a smart girl, you can find work easy. Go back east, maybe. And don't let that thing see you or talk to you again."
"What? You just told me an innocent man's soul is being tortured, and you expect me to pack up and run?"
"Damn right I do. You're not a hunter, and right now we can't spare any hunters."
"We could—" Sam began.
"Sam, we got too much on our plates," Dean interrupted.
"Leave Vegas, Claire," Uncle Bobby ordered. "Demons aren't for playing with."
Anger burned through my shock and chilled my skin when it hit. "Oh, I know that," I said quietly. "Thanks for the information. Sorry to have bothered you."
I hung up and nearly threw the phone across my living room; but that smacked too much of the outburst at Zak's apartment. Instead I tossed it down onto the couch and dropped beside it, before the emotions penned up inside me burst loose. I curled up in a ball and cried till, exhausted, I drifted into an uneasy doze…
::I stand in a huge building, empty and dank and grey. I think it's an old prison from Nick's DVDs, one of the places the Ghost Adventures Crew investigated. After a moment, I hear a noise, grating and metallic, like the closing of a rusty cell door; but it goes on and on, and I realize it's a voice, though no human voice I've ever heard. Shaky but curious, I follow it, moving as quietly as I can, up stairs and down catwalks, till I locate it down one corridor. Flat to the wall, I creep down to a cell where two figures can be seen, both of them familiar, simliar but so different. One is cloaked in black, and stands with back to me; the harsh voice is coming from it, and a long sharp knife shines in its hand. The other is chained to the wall, shirtless, and hangs limp and bloodied, barely standing—::
I woke with a cry, to the phone's bleat. Uncle Bobby, no doubt, calling to harangue me some more. Ain't tryin' to hear that, I thought, still shaking from the nightmarish vision of Zak bound and helpless, tormented by a monster that wore his face. I went to the bathroom and washed the tears from my face.
The phone was still complaining when I returned, and I sighed and checked it. One call was from my uncle, all right, but an email had just come through from Sam Winchester's address. (Claire—please reply—I think I can help. How's your Latin?)
I gaped for a moment before typing an answer. (Latin's fair for not being used much. What's your thought?)
In a few moments, a reply came. (Dean's right, we've got a lot going on now. But every demon banished is one less dirtying up the earth. And I know you, Claire; all those baby birds and animals you'd try to save when we were kids? I doubt you've changed all that much. Besides, you're dating this guy, even if it's not exactly 'this guy'. You're not gonna leave him hanging, and I'd rather you at least know what you're doing. I can teach you the exorcism, but you have to take it seriously. Do nothing until I say you're ready, and tell no one.) I almost started to cry again. (Deal?)
(DEAL) I replied instantly.
Some language and whumpage...it's somebody else's turn to get whumped on in this chapter though. I believe in spreading the character abuse around, up in here. Beware! :D Rated R this chappie, for aforementioned language and implied violence.
Also, this chapter includes some characters from Supernatural, so I'll take this opp to remind y'all that this fic is not connected with Worlds Collide, the GAC/SPN fic written by tetiny68 and me. You should be able to follow this without having watched that, though if you are an SPN fan you'll see some bits you know the background to. :)
And again, much love and squishes to xXTailo-Lives-OnXx for loaning me toys and letting me play in the sandbox. (if you've gotten this far in my fic and have somehow not read The Other Side, go catch up NAOW. I'll wait.The link to her first chapter is in my post for chapter 1 of Hidden.)
Hope nobody minds that this chapter is rather long--I couldn't find a good place to break it.
4 We watched Zak's final minutes again, looking for any additional clues or information. I forced my agonized heart aside and made myself study the screen as dispassionately as my CSI buds at work would. My efforts at objectivity paid off. At max slow, the jerking of Zak's body we had first thought to be spasms or seizures was anything but. "Look," I said and pointed. "It touches him, and nothing happens; but then it starts to constrict, and a beat later we get that movement there--see it? It's obviously pushing against the constrictive force. I don't think that's reflex. I think it's deliberate. Zak realized something had him, and he struggled. He couldn't do much; it was too strong, but he fought it as hard as he could." Fresh tears clouded my vision, and I closed my burning eyes. "He fought it…Oh, Zak."
"You gonna be okay, Claire?" Billy asked quietly.
I sniffled, nodded and opened my eyes. "Yeah. I have to be. Falling apart won't help get that thing out of Zak."
"What makes you so sure it's still in there?" Billy sounded unconvinced. "Couldn't it have made the mess, taken off, and left him to take the heat?"
"It could, but I don't think it did. What we just saw tends against that. Clearly, Zak knew something alien was inside him. So if hours or days later it let him go, what would he do? You knew him, Billy. Would he cut all ties with his past? Would he not even show up at the hospital to find out if his best friends were alive or dead?"
"No, and hell no, respectively." Billy shook his head, his eyes haunted. "I guess…it's so awful to think something's had him all this time, a part of me would rather just think he's a deranged asshole."
"I understand that," I agreed. "But he never was a deranged asshole, right? A person doesn't change that quickly. It has to be someone—something—else in there, pretending to be him. You were more right than you knew, Nick, the first time we talked, when I told you how he was behaving, and you said that's not Zak."
Nick had been silent for a long time. I turned and found him staring at the floor. "Right on that maybe, but so wrong on everything else," he said, his voice low. "All this time, I've blamed Zak, when it was all my fault, and Aaron's. If we hadn't punked him…one lousy prank, and it cost us so much, and cost Zak everything…"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Billy said, baffled.
Nick's head came up, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Zak got possessed a couple of times, or came close anyway, but he came out of it, because he wasn't alone. I was there, and Aaron was there, to help him pull free. But this time we weren't. We were on the other side of a locked door, laughing."
I took hold of his hunched shoulders and made him look at me. "Nick, did you watch the same footage I just did? You saw how fast that thing moved. If you and Aaron had opened the door the moment you walked up to it, it could have stopped you; and even if you could have gotten in, it was too late--the summoning had already begun. It still would have gotten Zak, or maybe one of you instead. This was not your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault, except maybe the moron who called up this satanic son of a bitch to begin with. Zak would tell you the same. He WILL tell you the same."
Nick was scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, but he stopped cold and frowned at me. "You—you think he's still in there?"
"I can't say for sure. I know how to ID demonic possession, but I'm no expert."
"I was almost possessed once," Nick said. "I remember how it felt, the pressure, the pain, the feeling zoned out and muffled, the voices yelling at me to do things I would never... I can't even imagine what it would be like to try to live that way for months."
"I know, I know! It hurts me to think about it too. But one thing I'm certain of, and I've learned it from what you guys have shown me and told me about Zak: he's a fighter. He fought this demon from the instant it took hold of him. And I hope—I pray—that if there's any way possible, he's still fighting."
+++
I wanted to call Uncle Bobby right away, till I realized it was quarter past four in the morning. He's cranky at the best of times, and waking him up wouldn't improve his disposition one bit, so I reluctantly conceded I had to wait a bit. Naturally, Nick and Billy were eager to learn about my 'expert', but I told them nothing. I felt bad about it, but it was force of habit; you don't go telling everybody you have a demon hunter in the family.
My mother and her older brother had been close as kids, but grown apart over the years. Mom said he'd never been quite right after his wife's tragic death. But after she died, when I was eight, my dad, who'd divorced and remarried, thought it best I get to know her only living relative. So every summer for the next few years, I spent several weeks in South Dakota at my uncle's junkyard. Singer Salvage was one huge playground, and the old house piled to the rafters with books of every type was heaven to a shy and bookish little girl.
Over those summers, Uncle Bobby taught me so much. From him, I learned to shoot, to write my name in Japanese, to build a fire with a stick and a string and a tube of lipstick, and to make a decent pot of pasta puttanseca. And on one incredible night in my eleventh year, I learned that monsters were real, and that people like my uncle devoted their lives to fighting them.
Once I had wanted to be one of those people; but hunters lived on the fringes of society, and my uncle convinced me my mother would probably come back and haunt us both if he allowed that. Besides, I was a lousy shot. So I had accepted my lot, and the limited tutelage he gave; but that very knowledge had now dumped a big steaming pile of shit in my lap, and I needed his help to deal with it.
I tossed and turned for a couple of hours, dozing and then waking in a cold sweat from nightmares I couldn't remember. Then I paced and drank coffee for a couple of hours more, till I decided it was a decent enough hour. As I dialed I hoped the number hadn't changed; it'd been six years since I'd talked to him, right after I moved to Vegas. The phone clicked. "Y'ello?"
"Uncle Bobby?" A wave of relief swept over me. "Hi. It's Claire."
"Oh. Um, hi, doll! It's been a coon's age. How the, uh, how are ya?"
"I'm okay. How are you?"
"Hangin' in like a hair in a biscuit, darlin'. Had some trouble with my legs here awhile back, but, um, got a specialist to look at 'em and get 'em straightened out."
"Great. I'm sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning—"
"Bother me? Hah. You're never a bother, doll. I already got a coupla morons here, they're a bother. You remember Sam and Dean Winchester?"
"Oh my God! Yes!" A spark of unexpected delight warmed my heart. Sam and Dean's father was a hunter, and one of Uncle Bobby's close friends. The boys had often stayed at the salvage yard when their dad was on a hunt, and the three of us had wreaked havoc on the place all those summers ago. "Tell them hi for me."
"Done. Now, is this just a social call?"
"Not really. If you have a few minutes, I need to pick your brain. Specifically, about demon possession."
Uncle Bobby's tone changed instantly. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into, girl?" he growled. Muffled voices in tones of concern sounded in the background, and I heard my name. "Hold on—" There was another click. "I'm puttin' you on speaker."
"Hey, Claire," said a bright male voice. "It's Sam."
"Hi, Sam! Damn, the last time I talked to you, you were still a soprano."
"Last time you talked to him, he wasn't a sasquatch yet," came a raspy and more familiar voice. "Hey, baby girl, it's Dean. Been too damn long."
"It sure has." I'd had my first kiss, and my first in other categories we won't go into just now, from Dean Winchester. "I'm sure you guys are busy, but I need some information on demonic possession."
"Why?" Dean asked.
"Why? Because I need it. And because Uncle Bobby always said educated 'civilians' were as important as hunters in their own way. Now, first, can a demon possess somebody for an extended period of time—months, a year or more?"
"Yes," Sam said immediately. "We've dealt with demons that kept a meatsuit for years."
"Yikes. Where's the body's rightful owner during all this?"
"Right there, usually," Dean replied. "The level of their awareness varies, though. They may be unconscious, but more likely they're aware but helpless. Demons live to inflict pain, and making the mortal see what's being done with their body is a nice convenient way of doin' that." Horror and hope took hold of me in a savage tug of war.
"What's this all about, Claire?" Uncle Bobby sounded frustrated.
"One more question, unc. Black eyes are a pretty definite sign of demon possession, right?"
"Right, and now you're gonna answer some questions!" he thundered. So I did. Quickly, I summarized my experiences with Zak, meeting Nick, and what he had told me about the Ghost Adventures crew and their final lockdown. Sam booted up his laptop, and I scanned the sigils and sent them to him. "It's a summoning ritual, all right," Uncle Bobby said after examining them. "A lesser demon. Lesser in this case meanin', only able to kick one mortal ass at a time, as opposed to dozens."
"So this lesser demon could be using Zak's body, and holding his—soul, spirit, essence, whatever—prisoner?"
"Probably is," Dean confirmed. "Demons that low on the food chain aren't the brightest bulbs on the sign, but they're great opportunists. Cunning, sadistic bastards, by and large." There was a knowing tone to his voice. I didn't want to ask where that came from.
"Could his—its—control vary? Because sometimes he seems really cold, and sometimes, apologetic, pitiful almost."
"It may be beatin' your boy down, and lettin' him closer to the surface, a little, on occasion, if it needs knowledge he has, but only when he's weakened enough not to cause it trouble," Dean said.
"Fits the general demonic MO," Sam agreed. "And too, if Zak has feelings for you, the demon is probably using you against him; threatening you, to keep him in line."
"I doubt that," I said. "Zak didn't know me before, remember. So what do I do about this?"
My uncle's answer stunned me. "Do? You get the hell outta Dodge, that's what you do. Break your lease, quit your job, whatever. You're a smart girl, you can find work easy. Go back east, maybe. And don't let that thing see you or talk to you again."
"What? You just told me an innocent man's soul is being tortured, and you expect me to pack up and run?"
"Damn right I do. You're not a hunter, and right now we can't spare any hunters."
"We could—" Sam began.
"Sam, we got too much on our plates," Dean interrupted.
"Leave Vegas, Claire," Uncle Bobby ordered. "Demons aren't for playing with."
Anger burned through my shock and chilled my skin when it hit. "Oh, I know that," I said quietly. "Thanks for the information. Sorry to have bothered you."
I hung up and nearly threw the phone across my living room; but that smacked too much of the outburst at Zak's apartment. Instead I tossed it down onto the couch and dropped beside it, before the emotions penned up inside me burst loose. I curled up in a ball and cried till, exhausted, I drifted into an uneasy doze…
::I stand in a huge building, empty and dank and grey. I think it's an old prison from Nick's DVDs, one of the places the Ghost Adventures Crew investigated. After a moment, I hear a noise, grating and metallic, like the closing of a rusty cell door; but it goes on and on, and I realize it's a voice, though no human voice I've ever heard. Shaky but curious, I follow it, moving as quietly as I can, up stairs and down catwalks, till I locate it down one corridor. Flat to the wall, I creep down to a cell where two figures can be seen, both of them familiar, simliar but so different. One is cloaked in black, and stands with back to me; the harsh voice is coming from it, and a long sharp knife shines in its hand. The other is chained to the wall, shirtless, and hangs limp and bloodied, barely standing—::
I woke with a cry, to the phone's bleat. Uncle Bobby, no doubt, calling to harangue me some more. Ain't tryin' to hear that, I thought, still shaking from the nightmarish vision of Zak bound and helpless, tormented by a monster that wore his face. I went to the bathroom and washed the tears from my face.
The phone was still complaining when I returned, and I sighed and checked it. One call was from my uncle, all right, but an email had just come through from Sam Winchester's address. (Claire—please reply—I think I can help. How's your Latin?)
I gaped for a moment before typing an answer. (Latin's fair for not being used much. What's your thought?)
In a few moments, a reply came. (Dean's right, we've got a lot going on now. But every demon banished is one less dirtying up the earth. And I know you, Claire; all those baby birds and animals you'd try to save when we were kids? I doubt you've changed all that much. Besides, you're dating this guy, even if it's not exactly 'this guy'. You're not gonna leave him hanging, and I'd rather you at least know what you're doing. I can teach you the exorcism, but you have to take it seriously. Do nothing until I say you're ready, and tell no one.) I almost started to cry again. (Deal?)
(DEAL) I replied instantly.
