Chapter Text
"I should get there tomorrow. I don't know how long the angels here will need me. Sorry I couldn't join you for the witch hunt," Cas replied. Dean could hear the quiet rumble of Cas' pimpmobile in the background. The familiar sound brought a small smile to Dean's face as he imagined Cas driving with that intense, focused expression he always wore behind the wheel.
"This case is a milk run. I've already got the witch's address. Then I can start the drive back to the Bunker this afternoon… that is, unless you want me to join you up in Washington?" Dean suggested hopefully. Just because Dean could easily handle this witch by himself didn't mean that he didn't wish that Cas was with him, just because. He'd rather go hang out wherever Cas was then head back to the Bunker. Besides, the Bunker would probably be pretty empty for the next few days anyway. Sam had peaced out a week and a half ago, claiming Eileen needed his help with a case. Dean figured that Sam was probably taking a few extra days with Eileen after the case, assuming there even was a case. Dean hadn't even bothered interrupting Sam's fun to tell him about this witch case here in Evansville, Indiana.
"That probably isn't necessary," Cas replied and Dean tried to bite back his disappointment. The hunter's shoulders slumped slightly as he zipped up his duffel bag with more force than necessary. "This situation is likely also a 'milk run' but will just take some time. Maybe I'll be done in time to join you for the next case you find."
"Yeah I'd like that," Dean said softly, smiling at the hope of seeing Cas again soon. The morning sunlight filtered through the thin motel curtains, casting a warm glow across Dean's face as he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. "You take care of yourself, and call me if you need anything."
"You too, Dean," Cas replied.
Dean grunted as his back hit the wall hard, the witch pinning him in place with her magic. He'd messed up and let the witch get the drop on him. The empty house she’d been squatting in smelled of burnt herbs and something metallic that he couldn't quite place, making his nose wrinkle in distaste.
"You Winchesters can be such pests, always showing up where you aren't wanted," the witch tsked, sounding more bored than worried. Morning light streamed through dusty windows, illuminating swirling particles in the air between them.
"Well, you know what they say about pests," Dean smirked despite his predicament. "Hard to kill and always come back with friends."
The witch rolled her eyes, stepping closer to examine him with clinical detachment. She wore a simple black dress that somehow managed to look both casual and formal, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that accentuated her sharp features. The floorboards creaked beneath her weight as she moved, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise silent room.
"And yet here you are. Alone." She circled him slowly, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Dean strained against the invisible bonds, his muscles tensing uselessly. The pressure against his chest made each breath feel like work. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled, the collar of his shirt growing damp with the effort. "No brother. No angel. Just Dean Winchester, thinking he could take on a witch by himself."
"Lady, I've taken down scarier things than you before breakfast," Dean quipped truthfully. His eyes darted around the room, looking for possible weapons if he could just break free of her magical hold. His own gun with witch-killing bullets had been flung to the other side of the room.
"I'm sure you have," the witch replied sarcastically. She ran her finger along the edge of a nearby empty shelf, collecting dust and examining it with distaste. "Your reputation precedes you. The great Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, savior of the world. But still following your daddy's orders, even from beyond the grave."
"You don't know the first thing about me," Dean replied, trying not to react to her words. The invisible pressure increased momentarily, forcing a grunt from his lips before relaxing just enough to let him breathe again.
"Don't I?" the witch replied with a smirk. She traced a symbol in the air with her finger, leaving a faint golden trail that hung suspended between them. The symbol pulsed with an inner light, casting eerie shadows across her face. "Let's see... abandonment issues, self-destructive tendencies, and a desperate need for approval that borders on pathological. Did I miss anything?"
"Yeah, my winning personality and devastatingly good looks," Dean said, flashing her a defiant grin despite the uncomfortable accuracy of her assessment.
"You know, under different circumstances, I might have liked you, Dean Winchester," the witch laughed. "It's almost a shame to do this."
"Do what?" Dean's eyes narrowed, watching as she retrieved a small vial from her pocket. The glass caught the light, its contents shimmering with an unnatural orange gleam that set Dean's hunter instincts on high alert.
"Just a little something to ensure you'll leave me alone," she said casually, as if whatever she was about to do was of no concern, but Dean knew he wouldn't be that lucky. She sprinkled the contents of the cloth bag into her palm and mixed it with three drops from the vial. Dean struggled harder against the invisible bonds. The mixture in her palm began to smoke slightly, releasing a scent like burning cinnamon and something far more sinister.
"Whatever you're thinking, it won't work. I don't exactly take orders well," Dean said.
"So I've heard," the witch replied, her smile turned predatory as she began to mix the ingredients in her palm. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen around her, as if responding to her magic. "But that's the beauty of magic, Dean. It doesn't care about your rebellious streak."
She blew the mixture toward him, the particles hanging in the air between them like suspended glitter. Dean held his breath, watching the magical mixture with mounting apprehension. The witch stepped back, admiring her work as the particles began to swirl and coalesce. Her expression turned serious as she positioned herself directly in front of him, her hands raised to guide the spell. The swirling particles danced faster, forming intricate patterns that pulsed with an eerie orange light. A cold draft swept through the room, though no windows were open, rattling the glass in their frames.
The witch started chanting, and Dean struggled against the invisible force holding him against the wall. He couldn't budge or make any attempt to dodge the burst of new magic that the witch hit him with. Dean groaned as he felt the magic charge go through his body. It didn't hurt, but whatever it just did to him couldn't be good. The spell made his whole body feel constricted, leaving a tingling numbness in its wake.
"Dean, never tell anyone anything about your curse, no matter what they say. In fact, never tell anyone anything about me, this case, or even Evansville, Indiana, no matter what they say. Never come after me again, or attempt to harm me in any way, no matter what anyone else tells you to do. Never attempt any workarounds or loopholes for anything I've told you. Consider them permanent and unchanging restrictions," the witch said, over-enunciating like she didn't want Dean to miss a word. Her voice carried a strange resonance that seemed to echo inside Dean's skull, each syllable burning itself into his memory.
"Bite me," Dean snapped back. But the witch just laughed like she didn't have a care in the world. She collected her spell components, tucking them into an antique wooden box with practiced efficiency.
"The spell restraining you will wear out in half an hour. Goodbye forever, Winchester," the witch said as she sauntered out the door without glancing back at him. The heavy wooden door closed behind her with a final-sounding click, leaving Dean alone in the dim room.
Dean stumbled into the diner, starved after his failed attempt at catching the witch this morning. He hadn't figured out what his curse was yet. He didn't feel compelled to do anything, and he hadn't been turned into a gnat or something. Part of him wondered if this had just been a psych out instead of a real curse, but since when were Winchesters ever that lucky? The bell above the door jingled cheerfully as he entered, a stark contrast to his dark mood. His stomach growled loudly as he was seated at an empty table.
"Here's your menu, sir. Try our new vegan lentil patty quinoa bowl with wasabi aioli," the waitress suggested. She tucked a strand of graying hair behind her ear as she placed the laminated menu on the table.
"I'll have that," Dean said automatically, then froze when he realized what he'd just agreed to. He wanted to call after the waitress and change his order, but she was already walking away with the menu he hadn’t gotten to read. What the hell? That kind of vegan crap was the last thing he wanted to eat! He must be really off his game this morning, but at least Sam wasn't here to witness his humiliation. Dean would just have to apologize to the waitress the next time she came by, order a burger instead, and pay for both meals. He drummed his fingers anxiously on the worn tabletop, watching the waitress chat with the cook through the service window.
A few minutes later, the waitress sat the vegan monstrosity in front of him. Random overcooked vegetables surrounded the sad-looking brown patty, a large dollop of pale green aioli perched on top like a sad hat. Dean opened his mouth to order his burger, and was shocked when his hand shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. The wasabi burned, making his mouth and eyes water. The rest of it seemed somehow blander than the last time Sam had tricked Dean into eating his cooking, like this had just been an afterthought slapped on the menu as a "healthy alternative" to the stuff the chef usually made.
"Hungry, are we? Eat up and enjoy!" the waitress said with a cheery smile.
Dean had wanted to spit the food out in his napkin. Instead, he found himself shoveling more of the stupid quinoa bowl into his mouth. The flavor of the food hadn't changed at all, but somehow Dean must have misjudged that first bite, because this was delicious. Dean moaned from the flavors like it was a freakin' pie. His fork moved with lightning speed, scraping against the ceramic bowl as he devoured every morsel. Dean heard his phone ring with the special ringtone he set for Cas, but he was enjoying himself too much to pause eating long enough to answer it. He couldn't believe what he'd been missing all these years by not eating vegan food. Should he give up eating meat and just eat this every day? This was absolute bliss, down to the last grain of quinoa!
As Dean swallowed that last grain of quinoa, he suddenly felt like a bucket of ice water was poured on him. The pleasant haze lifted from his mind like a curtain being yanked away, leaving him disoriented and confused.
What… the freakin' HELL was that??????????
Did this curse turn him into some kind of vegan food loving freak like Sam? The residual taste on his tongue was just as disgusting as the first bite had been. So how had Dean been brainwashed into liking all the bites in-between? Dean felt like he was going to be sick. He pushed the empty bowl away with a look of disgust, his stomach churning unpleasantly as reality reasserted itself.
"Can I get you anything else? How was the quinoa bowl?" the waitress asked.
"It was awesome! I really enjoyed it. That's it for today," Dean found himself saying with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. He deserved an Oscar because that performance sounded so convincing, despite not having planned to say it. It made his skin crawl.
Dean was relieved when he was finally able to escape the diner back to the safety of the Impala. He immediately dug out his phone and tried to call Cas back, but all he got was the soothing sound of Cas' voice in his voicemail greeting telling him to make his voice a mail.
"Hey, Cas. I missed your call… which you already know, so I don't know why I'm leaving you a voicemail to say it. I'm on my way back to the Bunker, so give me a call if you need anything. I'm still free to come up to Washington if you've changed your mind about me joining you. Anyway, talk to you later," Dean said. Part of him wanted to tell Cas about the curse, but he wasn’t sure what the curse even was yet. Maybe by the time he stopped in Kansas City, Missouri for the night he’d have another call from Cas.
The next afternoon, Dean hunched over a dusty tome in the Bunker's library, running his finger along the yellowed page as he searched for any mention of compulsion curses. Three hours in and he had jack squat to show for it. Empty beer bottles stood like sentinels around his laptop, where he'd looked at traffic cams from yesterday and today for any signs of the witch. Everything so far had been a dead end.
The heavy metal door of the Bunker clanged open, followed by the familiar sound of Sam's footsteps on the metal stairs.
"I'm back," Sam called out, his voice echoing through the halls.
"In here," Dean shouted back, massaging his temples. He leaned back in his chair with a frustrated sigh.
Sam appeared in the doorway, looking relaxed and well-rested. His hair was particularly bouncy, and there was a lightness to his step that Dean hadn't seen in weeks.
"Well, well, well," Dean smirked. "Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. Must have been some 'case' with Eileen."
"Shut up," Sam said, with a good-natured eye roll and a pleased smile. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and collapsed into the chair across from Dean.
"No, really," Dean continued, enjoying the way Sam's ears reddened at the edges. "I'm genuinely curious about this monster you were hunting. Must have been tough to catch, considering how long it took. Or were you two just taking your time with the, uh, interrogation?"
"You're hilarious," Sam muttered, but his grin betrayed him. He ran a hand through his hair, unable to completely hide the contentment radiating from him. "Fine. We wrapped up the case early and took a couple extra days. Happy?"
"Thrilled," Dean replied, cracking open another beer, the amber liquid catching the lamplight as he took a long drink. "At least one of us had a good time."
"What are you working on? Something come up while I was gone?" Sam asked, gesturing to the books and Dean's laptop. His eyes scanned the titles of the open books with mild curiosity.
Dean was about to tell Sam everything – the witch in Evansville, the curse, the horrifying vegan incident – but his throat closed up. His mouth wouldn't open and no sound came out. He tried again, focusing on just saying "witch," but his mouth wouldn't form the word.
Sam seemed to just assume that Dean's silence meant no new cases. Sam whipped out his phone and started scrolling, completely oblivious to Dean's current struggles. His finger swiped across the screen, stopping occasionally to tap on articles of interest. Dean tried to say "curse" but ended up coughing instead. He couldn't even say "Evansville, Indiana" out loud. Panic began to build in his chest. Why couldn't he tell Sam about the witch? And how the hell was he supposed to get help breaking the curse if he couldn't even talk about it? Dean took a long pull from his beer, mind racing. The witch's words echoed in his head: "Never tell anyone anything about your curse, no matter what they say." He gripped the beer bottle so tightly his knuckles turned white, frustration building with no outlet.
"So get this," Sam said a few minutes later, still not looking up from his phone.
"What?" Dean asked, apparently no longer having any trouble speaking about a different subject. The relief of being able to speak again was almost palpable, though the implications of his selective mutism weighed heavily on him.
"Just saw this article from Oklahoma City," Sam said. "Two bodies found completely drained of blood, throat wounds, the works. Sounds like a vampire to me. Maybe a small nest. We should check it out."
Dean stared at his research materials, torn. He had no leads on the witch, and he couldn't even tell Sam what was happening. Maybe a straightforward hunt was exactly what he needed. Something he could actually fight.
"Yeah, why not. I could use a win right now," Dean replied with a sigh.
"Great. Give me the keys, I'll drive," Sam said, eyeing the empty beer bottles on the table. Dean found himself tossing Sam the keys before he'd even registered Sam's words. Sam snatched the keys in midair with practiced ease before going to get ready, leaving Dean staring at his empty hand in confusion.