Lies I Never Told

Chapter 19

S s S s S

Sam found his footing, stepping back across the snow, putting more distance between him and Agatha. She moved forward, a curiously out of place figure in the cold winter night. She was dressed as she had been at dinner. No coat, only a knitted cream sweater, she had taken time to pull on a pair of green rubber boots that stuck out incongruously from under her long grey woolen skirt. If Sam had ever met a more unthreatening looking adversary the occasion hadn't been memorable.

Dean's flashlight lay upended in the snow, the bright pencil of light dissolving into the dusky night. Sam's fingers twitched, itching to retrieve it. Despite the apparent danger that Agatha represented all Sam could hear was Dean bitching in his head, he supposed it was an improvement over the brook-no-argument attitude of his father that had dogged his subconscious for most of his life.

Agatha leant over the parched remains of Lotte; she raised a hand, stroking her fingers through the short hair, brushing off the snow. "Millie will be upset; it's so hard to get good help," she said conversationally.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be such a chore if you could stop sucking the life out of people," Sam pointed out, gulping noisily against his dry throat. He sidestepped across the snow, slowly sliding his gun from his pocket and letting it hang loosely in his hand.

Agatha continued petting the corpse of her family's housekeeper, rubbing the short hair between her finger and thumb. "Did you know that hair is made up of dead cells? Dried up and useless and yet we spent so much time and energy on it." She turned and glanced at Sam. "Some of us."

"Why?" Sam asked quietly, his next question was going to be 'how' and as he edged toward the downward path he hoped fervently that Agatha wouldn't answer that one with a practical demonstration.

"Why not? Because I've spent a lifetime getting to this point. Because I can." She turned away from Lotte, and reached down to pickup the flashlight. Sam tensed. Agatha shone the light into his face and Sam ducked his head, throwing up a hand and peering through his fingers.

"Does your brother know what a filthy freak you are?" She sounded amused.

Sam was already cold, but at that moment his body felt as if it had been dumped into icy water. Everything stopped. His heart, his breath, his capacity for thought and as the initial shock waned his heart tried to make up for the sudden stoppage, racing thunderously. He straightened up, denial ready at his lips. How could she know about his dreams or the shadows that stalked his waking hours?

"What do you mean? I haven't done anything. You're the one feeding your friends and family to whatever lives out here." Sam was angry and afraid, the two emotions melding easily together, making his voice harsh and loud, his raised his arm, keeping it rigid, aiming his gun at the figure behind the light.

Agatha clicked off the flashlight and looked up at the moon. Sam took a small step forward. Agatha's snapped her head back and raised a wagging finger.

"Tut, tut."

The ground under Sam's feet trembled and something moved through the night air, a lazy undulation that pushed out from the center of the hilltop, rolling down into the trees and shaking branches enough to dislodge the settled snow. The ground was still for a moment and then it came again, more powerful this time. The shaking ground threw him off balance and he lost his footing, falling to his knees as his gun slipped from his fingers and skated across the icy surface the snow, stopping a few inches from Agatha.

"What are you? What is it?" His vortex theory was looking more and more shaky and underneath his fear was the prickly burn of irritation. It was a damn good theory.

"What am I? Someone who was born and raised to recognize my potential, my strength. The question is, what are you? Do you know? The first time you came to the house, the stench made me sick. Brought up by hunters, your father must be so stupid, I'm surprised you managed to survive this far." The crisp air carried Agatha's soft voice across the distance between them, the cold note of distain in her voice echoing in Sam's ears.

"My father?" Sam couldn't seem to escape the man, however hard he tried; something of the same must have shown in his face.

"I've been in the business a long time, child, there's not much I don't know. Poor John Winchester. Dissent in the ranks. What a disappointment you must be. Not like your brother, all fire and passion."

Sam was fairly sure he had just been told he was dull and the irritation lurking behind his fear flared up momentarily eclipsing his more guarded emotions and he decided it was time to do something rash.

"I guess we can't all be talented and passionate. I'll try harder next time," he snapped and sucking in a deep breath, he leapt forward, dropping to the ground and swinging his legs around, his feet catching Agatha across the back of the knees. She fell backwards into the snow, the toes of her boots pointing into the night sky. Sam scrambled to his feet hoping to hell that he hadn't killed her. She didn't move, he bent over her prostrate form, and quickly shrunk back. The glint of open eyes caught the silvery light.

His ragged puffs of breath condensing in the cold air were static, frozen in front of his face and then the small cloud of moisture fragmented before him, as the space around him shook, the vibration from the ground traveled from feet and up his legs, increasing in intensity as it overtook his torso and rang across his skull.

Every cell in his body sang out in pain, vibrating against its neighbor, a high pitched whistling sound reverberated around his head and Sam sank to his knees, clutching his head, the sound increased as every part of him shook. As he pitched face first to the ground a stray, an irreverent thought meandered across his mind; this was what it must be like to be the pea in a whistle. If his teeth hadn't been rattling so violently he might have laughed, and then it stopped. Ears still ringing and stomach contents swirling dangerously Sam lifted his head, Agatha's green clad feet were a couple of feet from his face. He scrambled backwards, pushing himself away, kicking at the ground, fingers clawing through the snow to the cold earth beneath.

Agatha was brushing herself down, peeling dead leaves and twigs from her clothes and hair. She glared at Sam. His gun now in her hands.

"Why did you stop?" Sam stayed on the ground, taking deep breaths and trying to figure out his next move.

Agatha studied him for a moment. "It would take you if I let it, but I don't want you polluting its energy. You would taint it and in turn taint me. You can rot in the ground and the let the worms take you back. There are others who I can take."

"How am I any different from you," Sam asked angrily. Why was he always being judged, compared to others and always found wanting? Growing up, hunting, at school, it didn't matter how smart he was or how hard he worked, he never seemed to find quite the right fit in life.

"Me, I have a gift, vital and pure. Yours is unnatural, a blasphemy against creation. You can't stop me, no one can stop me. They've tried, but I was too strong, even then." Agatha's smug self assurance grating on his nerves.

Then the knowledge came to Sam; it was so clear that he could not understand why he had not seen it before. Just like everything else, he thought tiredly.

"Your parents. It was you, not anything in that house."

Agatha's surprise showed briefly on her face before sliding away and being replaced by an expression of haughty annoyance. "My mother, she saw my talent and she was jealous, telling my father that I should hold back, not explore all that I could do and she wanted me to be like her, prostituting herself out, selling her gift. It was easy enough."

"And Rudy, is he going to let you do this?" Sam had no idea if Rudy would even try to stop his sister.

Agatha held up the gun before her, caressing the barrel with her fingertip. "My brother has spent years with his head stuck in the sand, wasting his own talents. He won't stop me." She bent down and smiled condescendingly at Sam. "Now how do you think I should attract your brother's attention? Any ideas?"

Sam tried to get to his feet, running seemed his most effective defense, he was too late. Air molecules danced across his face, their movements agitating his own skin, stabbing into his bones, burning through his every atom. He screamed, not for help or mercy, just a desperate attempt to relieve the pent up fire that blazed through his system, consuming his life force. He thrust his face into the snow trying to cool the heat of his skin, the ice forcing its way into his open mouth, muffling his cries. He curled into himself, it felt as if he sinking through the snow, melting it and the soil away, his body molding its own grave around him. He could smell the dirt, grit pressing into his pores, falling ever downwards until he was sure he would be consumed by the earth's fiery core.

"Sam. Sammy." A voice in his ear that sounded so close and yet was a million miles away, something clamped over his arm, halting his descent into the ground. The pain was ebbing away, retreating along his muscles leaving a trail of jolting shocks. He whimpered, unable to control the residual contractions. He was pulled upright, into a sitting position, his face pressed into rough fabric and the comfort of a familiar scent. Hands travelled lightly over him, smoothing down his back and gently trying to pry his folded limbs apart.

There was more that one voice, a conversation floating on the cold night above him. Ignoring his clanging nerve endings, Sam tried to concentrate on the words, he managed to turn his head, angling his face into a patch of exposed warmth.

"Jesus, Sam. Watch it there buddy, you're freezing." Arms came around him, holding him firmly.

No, no, I'm hot, Sam thought, too hot. His mouth was open, he realized, his tongue leaden and useless and he had the unpleasant suspicion he was drooling, on Dean's neck; and he'd lost his precious flashlight. He was never going to hear the end of it. He tried to close his mouth, the tendons in his jaw clicked mockingly at him.

"… you think? Come on Mr. Hawksworth, wake up and smell the herbal tea. Who else did this?" Dean's throat moved against his cheek and Sam found that his arm muscles were relaxing at last.

"I will not condemn my sister out of hand. We do not know what happened to Lotte. Anything could have attacked Sam." Rudy was flustered and defensive, his voice rising.

Sam tilted his head back, and wiggled his tongue. "Agagag." Damn it, that didn't sound right.

"See," Dean said triumphantly. "Agatha."

Sam let his head flop forward.

"Oh no you don't. Sam, can you move, where is she?" Dean's hands came up and framed his face, flat palms massaging his cheeks, Sam worked his mouth.

"S'not here?"

"Nobody here but us chickens, Sammy. Us and poor old Lotte. A damn shame, a waste of fine schnitzel."

Sam looked around slowly, his blurred vision gradually sharpening. Rudy was a few feet away; standing behind Dean, Sam couldn't see what he was looking at, the old man's line of sight directed into the gloomy forest

He tugged at Dean's jacket and raised a trembling hand to point upwards. Dean rose smoothly from where he knelt in the snow and Sam pulled himself up on the offered arm. Dean stepped back but never took his eyes of him, grimacing as he rubbed the end of his sleeve over his neck.

"What happened Sam? One minute you're behind us and then, poof, nothing. No tracks. We've been going around in circles for over an hour calling you. And then we heard you. I thought you were being pulled apart by a pack of rabid wolves. Scared the shit outta of me." Dean glanced over at Rudy, still with his back to them. "If she's got any sense she's running as far and as fast as she can." He made no effort to lower his voice.

"Poof?" Sam blinked. "She's controlling something, it sends out waves of energy, messes with you. Really messes with you."

"Your vortex?"

"I don't know, maybe. She can stop it and start it and apparently she likes to feed it. I think she somehow takes that energy back into herself." Sam took a tentative step towards Rudy, his legs hardly wobbled at all. "Mr. Hawksworth, we have to find her. We have to stop her, you must know that."

Rudy straightened slightly and Sam could the tension in his shoulders as his back stiffened. He did not turn around.

"All I know is that nobody died until you showed up, my sister might have some strange beliefs but she's not dangerous, she's not a killer." Sam had the feeling in wasn't the Winchesters that Rudy was trying to convince.

"Keep telling yourself that Rudy," Dean's voice was tight, "you said it yourself, we're here because we understand. You summoned us; it was your intent, your desire to end this that brought us here. Or don't you believe in what you do. You know how these things work, deep down you knew what she was, what she is and you needed us to stop her."

Rudy's shoulders dropped as he sagged in defeat.

"She told me about your parents." Sam said quietly, Dean raised a questioning eyebrow and Sam nodded.

"Wow." Dean was morbidly impressed.

Rudy twisted around, his face pallid in the moonlight. "My parents? What about them? Agatha had nothing to do with their deaths, if that's what you're implying."

"She thought they were holding her back, she believed that your mother misused her gifts." Sam wouldn't be repeating any other parts of that conversation any time soon.

"No. It wasn't like that." Rudy dipped his head, shielding his eyes as if he could block out the truth of Sam's words.

"You knew. You knew what she was capable of and you let her near your own family, your daughter." Dean stepped in front of Sam, keeping close enough that Sam had to peer over his shoulder. "And you sent us out there. Tell me why we shouldn't leave right now."

Sam knew they wouldn't be going anywhere just yet. Rudy seemed to wilt even further.

"I didn't know, please, how could you possibly believe that?" Rudy pleaded. "I loved my parents. Sometimes, I thought, that perhaps Agatha was too good at what she did. She was always something of an introvert and after the fire; she was so quiet and secretive, always pushing away the help offered by our family and friends. What was I supposed to do?. She was my sister, I'd promised to protect her."

"It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" Dean pressed, contempt in his voice, "For God's sake what about your wife. Doesn't she deserve your loyalty, your protection? It seems to me you've had it pretty easy since you married. Or were you only in it for the money?"

Rudy's face crumpled and Sam thought he was going to cry. The old man shook his head, his lips firmly together, reining in his emotions. "We went our separate ways when I married Millie. I admit it; I was relieved, because I had someone else, a family who needed me. We didn't talk about before."

"Out of sight, out of mind," Sam breathed, more to himself than the others.

"Where would she go?" Dean was unsympathetic. Rudy looked helpless.

Sam found himself walking back past the shriveled body on the highest point of the hill, what was left of Lotte was facing north, and for the first time since arriving he felt he could make some sense of the lay of land.

"That way. North. The clearing's down there. That's where she wants us to go. She wasn't trying to kill me." Sam thought about what he had just said. "Or she could have been, mainly she did it to get your attention."

"I can't wait to congratulate her on a job well-done." Dean's gun was in his hand and with it he motioned to Sam. "Come on, she can't move that fast."

"What? You know she's going to be waiting for us. As in a trap, as in whooping our asses again. How are we even going to get close enough to stop her before she calls up her handy pocket hurricane?" It wasn't that Sam was that afraid, he was just getting a little frayed around the edges and the woman really didn't like him. Dean didn't answer, crunching across the snowy hilltop, he caught Rudy by the arm, pulling him forward and directing him downhill.

"We'll need a distraction. Won't we Rudy?" Dean gave the old man a not so gentle shove and Rudy skittered down the hill, arms flailing. Sam tried to look disapproving, but it was a half hearted attempt at best.

Dean kept close to Rudy, encouraging him forward whenever he slowed. Sam didn't take his eyes of his brother and more than once had to stop himself from reaching out and clutching his jacket. They had been weaving in and out of the trees for about five minutes when Rudy stopped.

"Did you hear that?" Rudy whispered. Dean eyed him with suspicion and was about to say something when he paused, cocking his head. Sam could hear nothing other than the quiet noises of the snow clad forest.

Rudy started, panic on his face. "It's Millie. Can't you hear her? She's calling me, she's calling for help." He grabbed Dean's arm, tugging in desperation. Sam watched Dean frown, worry creasing his forehead and knew that his brother heard it too. Nothing but a light if chilly breeze bothered Sam's ears.

"I can hear someone, somewhere. I think." Dean looked to Sam, unsure and questioning. It was highly unlikely that Mrs. Hawksworth had followed them and Sam knew that this was no time for the indulgence of self-doubt.

"There's no one there, Mr. Hawksworth. It's a trick, she's used it before. Your sister doesn't want you to get to the clearing." Sam said, a lot more calmly than he felt.

"How can you be so sure?" Rudy's fingers curled into Dean's sleeve and his head bobbed nervously, looking between the two younger men and darting anguished glances into the woods.

I can't, Sam acknowledged to himself, I never will. "Trust me, there's no one there."

The approval in Dean's eyes was more welcomed than he could have imagined. They moved on, Rudy moving more swiftly now, guiding them toward the clearing. As they broke out of the trees and into the clearing the clouds drifted away and the moon, higher in the sky now, shone brightly on the clearing, it reminded Sam of an empty ice rink, the white ground smooth and even, ringed by a uniform band of dark trees. They watched in silence, Rudy stood, his body rigid, studying his boots, while Dean shifted from side to side, scanning the landscape for any sign of Agatha.

At first appearance the clearing did seem empty; Sam tried to pinpoint the spot where he had pulled Dean from what was now firmly fixed in his mind as his vortex. Something moved not far into the clearing, the snow itself seemed to rise up a few inches and the air above it shimmered, distorting the view behind it. Like a mirage, Sam realized.

"There. See that?" Sam pointed. Rudy looked up and Dean became very still, Sam could sense the strain in their faces as they both craned their necks, as if being a few millimeters closer would reveal Agatha to them.

Dean relaxed and shot Sam a thoughtful look. "There's nothing there, Sam. At least not that I can see, though I guess she's got more than one trick up her sleeve, eh Rudy?"

Rudy was still studying the clearing, his profile in dark contrast to the white background of the clearing and it wasn't anything that Sam could even attempt to describe but even in the semi-darkness he could see something pass across the old man's face.

"You can see it too, can't you Mr. Hawksworth?"

Rudy turned to him. "Maybe I can, but my sister does not appear to be here."

"Appearance can be deceptive. I think she's always been out here, watching us, waiting. She's waiting now, we can't see her, but she's there, I know she is. You have to go to her." Sam had the feeling he was being a touch too melodramatic; it had the desired effect, though. Rudy glared defiantly at him and then shuffled into the clearing.

"You sounded just like movie-announcer-guy. Been practicing in front of the mirror again?" Dean asked offhandedly, watching Rudy tiptoe through the snow.

"You love it." Sam retorted.

"I know. We all have our flaws. Look." Dean nudged him.

Rudy had stopped and the shimmering in the air intensified until an opaque shape began to form, starting at ground level and rising several feet upwards and across, its centre darkened, solidifying into a recognizable shape. It was Agatha, the space around her filled with visibly swirling currents that rose into the night and were swallowed by the moonlight.

"Tricky, tricky bitch," Dean snarled quietly, edging forward. "We need to be closer."

"No." Sam pulled him back. "It's enough that she knows we're here. Just wait."

The chill wind carried Rudy's voice into the trees. "Agatha. Perhaps you should come home now my dear and we can sort this out."

Sam caught an undercurrent in the tone of Rudy's voice and for one absurd moment it reminded him of Dean. Big brother knows best, he thought somewhat sourly, and then immediately felt a twinge of shame, caring about your family wasn't a crime even if it did sometimes seem like a life sentence.

Agatha didn't reply, instead passing her brother and turning her gaze to the precise spot where Sam and Dean stood hiding in the shadows. Sam pressed a finger to the sliver of pain that burrowed into his forehead. Next to him Dean repositioned his hands around his gun, muscles at the ready and before Sam could stop him Dean stepped out from the cover of the trees, training his weapon on Agatha, who did nothing but stand and stare. Sam took a couple of hasty steps, hovering uneasily beside his brother and then jumped in shock as Dean fired. He aimed high, behind Agatha Rudy ducked.

"Stop, please. There's no need for that." Rudy straightened up, stumbling clumsily in an effort to reach his sister's side, he was within a few feet of her when he stopped suddenly, bouncing back, arms waving as he tried, unsuccessfully, to retain his balance. He landed on his backside, gaping like a stunned fish.

"What the fuck?" Dean didn't drop his arms but his gun wavered. Sam had an unpleasant thought, which gave rise to another; one which judiciously applied could prove the truth of the first.

"Shoot her," he hissed.

"Pardon?" Dean whipped his head round. "Did you just say what I thought you said?"

Agatha was swaying gently from side to side and had closed her eyes. She was not, Sam thought, the slightest bit concerned about Dean taking potshots at her. Never a good sign.

"Go on. Do it." He was tempted to add an 'I dare you', Dean probably heard it anyway, because he narrowed his eyes at Sam and in one smooth movement swung back towards the small figure standing quietly in the moonlight, took careful aim and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out loud and clear only to be cut short an instant later, plucked by some unseen force from the night air. Agatha didn't so much as twitch. Dean frowned.

"I could've sworn..."

"Do it again." Sam urged recklessly. Dean lined up his shot, taking a couple of steps forward and fired. The air around Agatha rippled, moving outward in circular motion like the surface of pond after the impact of small pebble.

"How the hell is she doing that? Those suckers were on target, I don't miss at this range." Dean's hand dropped.

Sam cleared his throat and coughed. "Forcefield," he said quickly.

Dean wobbled slightly. "What? What the hell is that supposed to mean? This isn't freakin' Star Trek, in case you haven't noticed."

"I told you, she's manipulating some kind of energy. Dude, we've seen stranger things." Sam insisted. Agatha was moving, she lifted her head and Sam shivered, she must have opened her eyes because twin spots of soft silver light shone across the murky space between them. Behind her Rudy climbed unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head and trying to pull himself together.

Sam could only blame himself for what happened next. Okay, it was obviously Agatha's fault, but he might have avoided it if he hadn't been concentrating so hard on whatever paranormal shenanigans she was busy conjuring up, he didn't expect her to cheat.

"Shit, where'd she get that. Sam?" Dean seemed to think Agatha's wasn't playing fair, either. She was, Sam realized a fraction of a second too late, brandishing a gun, his gun and pointing it at him.

"Crap," Dean cursed again and shoved Sam hard, a little too late. As Sam crashed into the ground a burning streak of pain sliced across the top of his thigh and bit into his buttock, he barely had time to spit out the mouthful of snow he had inadvertently inhaled when Dean grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him back under the partial protection of the trees. Another shot whizzed past his ear as he crashed down behind the exposed roots of a large fir.

Sam gritted his teeth, gently patting the top of his left leg, his hand came away smeared with blood, in the colorless light of the night it was black against his pale flesh and he hastily wiped his hand in the snow.

"Was that your gun?" Dean asked accusingly as he threw himself down beside Sam.

Shot with his own gun. He should have quit while he was ahead. "Possibly." Shit, moving hurt.

A shot ricocheted off the tree trunk above them.

"She's a damn good shot for a wrinkly old biddy," Dean complained, peering over the tree root. "Let's try this again," he rested the barrel of his gun on the knarled knot of wood by his nose and fired, the noise cut short as before. Again an answering shot tore through the branches above them.

Sam kept his head down, breathing through the pain radiating from his leg. "Well?"

"I don't know," Dean was uncertain, "she's staying where she is. Rudy's got up; he's standing there, like a eunuch at an orgy, doing fuck all."

And I can't even move, Sam bit back a groan, fighting back the sick fear that was rising in his throat. Just leave me alone, he thought miserably and had a sudden wishful vision of Agatha spread eagle in the snow with Dean's bullet between her eyes. As if in reply another jab of pain spiked behind his eyes and he rested his forehead in the cool relief of the snow.

"Huh, she dropped her aim," Dean fired once more and this time the noise echoed across the clearing. "Yes! Her mojo's on the fritz. Pity I missed. Hey, Sam. You okay?"

Sam lifted his head, Agatha, gun dangling at her side, was moving swiftly toward the center of the clearing, Rudy followed her, keeping a safe distance and Sam knew she wasn't running from them, only repositioning her defenses.

"Dean, you've got to stop her now", he shifted sideways to nudge his brother, hissing as he jarred his leg.

"Not from here, I can't see well enough in this light and although it would serve him right, I might hit Rudy." Dean scrambled to his feet. "You coming?"

"Um," Sam offered and rolled onto his good side, poking at his jeans trying to assess just how blood soaked they were, his questing fingers found a tear at the bottom of his back pocket and then strong fingers gripped his own pulling them away.

"How bad?" Dean pulled out his flashlight and stuck it between teeth and with practiced hands examined Agatha's handiwork.

"It hurts," Sam grumbled, aspiring for stoic and falling sadly short.

"No shit." Dean was tugging at his jeans and there was the faint rather sodden sound of fabric ripping. Cool air flowed over his upper thigh.

"Hey, careful with those. You know, if this ends badly, I wanna die with my pants on." Sam winced as Dean prodded a particular tender spot.

"There's no gushing, she creased you. Pants or no pants, you'll live, although I ain't so sure about the lovely Ms. Hawksworth. You stay here." Dean ordered brusquely.

"No." Sam grabbed his brother's arm as he turned to go. "We'll go together. We don't know how strong she is, but we do know that she's only dealt with one victim at a time before. With two or even three if you count Rudy", which he didn't, "her energy mojo might not be so effective."

"Can you walk?" Dean was skeptical.

"It's not like I have any choice in the matter." Sam twisted around onto his knees and let Dean pull him up; he shone his flashlight on the snow where Sam had been laying. A round patch of pale red ice twinkled in the light. Sam turned and limped into the clearing, the wind was picking up, a soft whine reaching through the night and blowing directly into his face.

With Dean watching his every step, they followed Agatha's tracks, the air currents around them growing stronger with each step; they had reached the very center of the clearing. A figure emerged from the gloom in front of them, it was Rudy and as they reached his side Agatha herself became visible. She stood in the eye of the gathering storm, moving her head from side to side and back and forth, mimicking the progression of the cyclone that rose around her. Dean leaned in close to Rudy.

"How long," he demanded, shouting above the increasing howl of the wind.

"Just a minute or so, no more." Rudy's features lax with shock. "I never believed it. I've never seen anyone…" He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, boys."

The swirling winds were whisking up a fine layer of the snow and thin lines of ice were now visible in the twisting air, partially obscuring their view of Agatha. Sam could feel the same creeping feeling of lethargy begin to take hold and the flying air crystals collided with his exposed skin, providing a sharp reminder of the danger they were in. The icy cyclone jumped toward them and they backed up, except for Rudy who stood, head back staring up, transfixed at the mass of whirling energy that his sister had summoned. The wind made the old man stagger and as Sam stumbled back over the slippery ground, Rudy fell to his knees, swayed for a few seconds and then toppled forward into the snow.

Without thinking Sam lurched toward the fallen man, before he could reach him he driving force of the twister hit him full force, the bullet wound in his leg screamed with fresh pain and his legs gave out from underneath him. He was on his back, the wind stealing his breath and scouring his body of all his strength. Almost immediately the wind stopped, the snow that had been carried high into the air fell back to earth, dusting his body with ice crystals. Silence. Someone crunched across the snow, in light, measured steps. Where was Dean? He couldn't even muster enough muscle power to close his eyes. The moon, almost full shone into his open eyes, filling his field of vision with its milky glow. A dark shape blocked it from his view.

"It doesn't want you." A gun barrel pointing down at him, a quiet click. At least he had his pants on.

"I wouldn't do that if you've got any sense." Dean's voice came from somewhere behind him. Sam's fingers flexed involuntary, he blinked, and the muscles across his shoulders and down his spine twitched.

"There's nothing you can do, Mr. Winchester. Say goodbye to your brother." Agatha sounded so sure of herself, so convinced of her abilities that Sam almost expected to hear Dean's farewell. Don't let her in, he reminded himself. Get out of my head. The gun in his face wavered.

Sam threw himself sideways, muscles contracting randomly with little or no coordination. For the second time that night he knocked Agatha's legs out from underneath her and she fell across him. Her fingers dug into him as she scrabbled to right herself, Dean was at his side in an instant, pulling him away.

"Sammy?" Dean scooped up the gun at Sam's feet. Sam leant heavily into his brother; his weakened muscles sluggishly slow to respond.

"Okay," he wheezed. The air trembled around them; the ground pulsed beneath their feet. "Oh God, here she goes again."

Agatha was hunched over, hair wildly askew, muttering in low repetitive tone.

"Dean." Sam knew that they had only a moment. Dean flung himself at Agatha, crying out as he connected with her, Agatha staggered from the impact and falling back to sit in the snow, legs out before her. Dean rolled away, covering his ears, his body shaking as the vibrations increased. Sam folded to the ground once more, the excruciating heat swept through his body, his low cries of pain, meshing with his brother's as his body and the earth shook.

"Stop this. Stop it now Agatha." A hoarse but insistent voice called out and gradually the tremors calmed.

Sam squirmed around; it was Rudy looking remarkably healthy for a dead guy. Agatha's face registered her shock for only a brief moment and then she raised her hand.

"Rudy, you do surprise me. Help me up." She smiled; Sam supposed she imagined it to be an encouraging expression, instead her thin lips curled up with scorn.

"I think you should stay there." Rudy kept his hands to himself and took several steps back until he was standing by Dean, lying curled up on the ground. Rudy knelt by his side and shook him gently.

Dean groaned and slowly sat up. Sam crawled over to his side as Rudy turned back to Agatha.

"You okay?" Sam whispered slumping against him, Dean's muscles telegraphing their recent trauma to him in a series of sporadic twitches.

"Give me a minute. Why isn't Rudy dead, or at least, I don't know, looking as shitty as I feel?" Dean croaked.

Sam was wondering the same thing himself.

Rudy offered his hand and Agatha took it, Rudy helped her up, keeping her hand tightly in his.

"Did you kill them?" he asked quietly. Agatha looked at him making no reply, her face unreadable and she tugged at her hand, Rudy did not release her.

"Did you kill them?" Rudy repeated squeezing her hand. "Mother and father. Was it you?"

"Telling tales, I see," Agatha nodded at Sam, "how childish. What does it matter now? Look at me, Rudy, see what I can do. I can control the power of the earth itself, channel its energy, give to it and take from it. Did you think I was going to sit around and do parlor readings for fat, rich idiots or spend my dotage writing some dreary self-help book? I took what I needed and for the past forty years you've let me."

Rudy's hand slid away and Agatha laughed, high pitched and frenetic, clapping her hands together.

"So you killed Alan and poor Lotte, I suppose there have been others you brought here to this place, whatever it is. My home." Rudy sighed, covering his heart with one hand, the other fiddling with his pocket.

"Rudy, my dear brother. I didn't raise a hand against them, what took them was part of the natural order. All I have done is spent years communing with this place. It wasn't that strong when I first discovered it, it has taken me a long time to connect with it, increase its strength. A natural energy sink, a vortex shaped by the land . It may be your home Rudy, but it is now my life." Agatha flung out her arms to either side, as if staking her claim on the land around her, her voice full of pride and more than a touch of madness.

A vortex. Ha! Sam elbowed Dean in the side, but Dean's attention was fixed on Rudy and Agatha.

What Agatha expected Rudy to do, Sam couldn't guess and whether she intended to try and unleash the vortex again he would never know, Rudy was fumbling in his pocket and Dean tensed, before Sam could even think about blinking Rudy's arm was up and sweeping forward in a graceful and practiced arc. Agatha's arms dropped to her side, her mouth open in silent disbelief as her head flopped forward. A small black stain blossoming on her sweater, spreading outward from her heart, and in Rudy's hand a small iron dagger.

"Holy fuck." Dean breathed softly and then whispered indignantly,"Hey, that's mine." Sam rubbed at a sudden sting in his chest and decided not to argue, he didn't want it back now.

Agatha lay on her back, eyes open to the cold moonlit sky and Sam heard Rudy mutter a quiet, "Sorry Aggie." He ducked away, walking stiffly over to them; he stooped to wipe the blade on the snow before offering it to Dean.

"You should keep this safe, it's a powerful blade."

Dean automatically reached up for the weapon as Rudy gazed distractedly over their heads.

"You shouldn't be sitting in the wet snow like that, you'll catch a chill. We should hurry back; I think I owe Millie an apology." Rudy remarked pensively.

Sam didn't know what to say, judging by the dumbfounded expression on Dean's face neither did he. Reminding Rudy that he had just killed his sister suddenly felt kind of insensitive, Sam cleared his throat.

"Are you alright, Mr. Hawksworth? I mean, uh, I thought the vortex had, uh, knocked you out?"

Dean clucked his tongue impatiently. "We thought you were dead, why aren't you?"

"Oh," Rudy's hands fluttered self consciously and then he unzipped his heavy coat and pulled something from around his neck. Sam couldn't quite make out what it was. The beam of a flashlight came on; Dean held the light up to Rudy's chest. Around his neck was a thin leather cord on which hung a large flat polished crystal and a small bag.

"One of your protection charms?" Dean asked sharply, Rudy had the grace to look embarrassed, blinking in the shaft of light.

"It has a limited effect and I am sorry that I did not believe I would need it."

"But you wore it anyway, and left us to your sister's psychotic whims." Dean got to his feet. "Thanks," he added with heavy sarcasm. "I think we can go now, Sam."

Sam nodded and let his brother help him up; Rudy was already making his way back to the forest and presumably the trail home.

"Why?" Sam called after him, needing to know how such a gentle old man could do what he did and walk away without a second look. "Why now, why end it like that."

Rudy stopped and turned his head. "I swore to protect Agatha and maybe this was the only way to do it, and she killed my best friends and that I cannot forgive. My parents were the kindest people I have ever met. I should have seen what she had become, it was my responsibility. I did what I had to do." He hunched over and continued on.

"Harsh man, but I'm glad he did it, it's his mess now, not ours," Dean grasped Sam's arm. "Let's get your sorry ass back and we can get out of here."

As they left the clearing behind, stumbling together through the night, a dark shape glided across the sky and let loose a single shrill cry.

S s S s S

In the most hideous display of déjà vu Sam had ever had the misfortune to experience, he once again found himself face down on the Hawksworth's couch being stitched up by the estimable Dr. Browne. This time there was no audience, the house was subdued, Mr. and Mrs. Hawksworth had disappeared upstairs and Dean was packing up their things and loading the car.

As he lay there, wincing at the tug of the sutures, Agatha's words kept worming their way into his head. Freak. Unnatural. Blasphemy. They spun around and around until it felt like even his thoughts were suffering from vertigo. Four years ago that woodland sprite while seen by several people had only attacked two. One was Agatha; maybe it was trying to stop her meddling.

And the other, one Sam Winchester, valiantly called upon to do her dirty work. Tree guardians were gentle spirits, Sam knew this and yet the sprite had gone after him everything it had. Dean was right; it had obviously thought the worst of him. Why? Because you were trying to kill it, idiot, he told himself sternly. There was no big mystery, no point worrying about it.

Dr. Browne finished up and went silently from the room. Sam pulled his tattered clothing and dignity around him and went to say goodbye.

Dean was waiting by the car and Mr. and Mrs. Hawksworth were on the front step, huddled together. Sam gave them a feeble smile. Mrs. Hawksworth gave a little wave, remaining red eyed and silent. Rudy shuffled down the steps to shake his hand, and for the first time since meeting, he was an old man, shrunken and frail.

He shook Dean's hand. "Take care on the road, boys," and he returned to his wife's side and they slipped back into the house.

"Where to?" Dean eased the car into gear. Sam was sprawled uncomfortably on the back seat, keeping the weight off his backside.

"I don't care, as long as it's a long way from here. How about the other side of the country?" Sam closed his eyes and slid down the seat.

"Okey dokey. Hey Sammy, don't let this get to you. The way I see it, bitch was a complete freak," Dean told him a little too cheerfully as he adjusted the rear view mirror.

Sam swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat. "Yeah. Sure. I know."

The End