Chapter Text
As the Impala roared to a stop in front of the quaint home in Washington, D.C., Dean looked over at Sam and sighed. His brother was straightening his tie uncomfortably and a pained expression was on his face.
"You could have stayed back at the hotel, you know," Dean said.
"I know," Sam replied, his hand instinctively rubbing the still-healing wound from where the werewolf had scratched him last week.
They exited the car and began to walk up the stairs to the house, flashing their faux-FBI badges and ducking under the crime scene tape. Dean was feeling good: they'd been tracking one of the most powerful demons that they'd come across in a long time, and Castiel had gotten a tip about a series of odd murders in D.C. that had this particular demon written all over it. They were getting close to the bastard... Dean could feel it.
A detective walked up them. "Can I help you boys?"
Dean flashed his badge again and nodded to Sam. "Agents Henley and Frey, FBI."
The detective sighed and rubbed his eyes, but held out his hand in a friendly way, "Detective Egan. Why are the Feds interested in this case? Is this some sort of international incident? I've already got that other agent in there now!"
Dean and Sam exchanged odd looks.
"Sorry? We're not sure what you're talking about," Sam said. Dean felt his pulse start to pick up: if the FBI was actually on the case, then he and Sam could end up on the run from them... again, and that could seriously hinder their ability to finally take the demon out once and for all.
Detective Egan motioned for them to follow him towards one of the rooms towards the back of the house. As they entered the room, they saw a large, odd stain in the middle of the carpet, with blood spatter painting each wall... and ceiling. There was a faint smell of decomposing flesh in the room. Dean covered his mouth as the stench hit him, and then proceeded to look around the room.
Crouched over the large stain with her back to them was a small, red-headed woman in a black pantsuit and heels. She had rubber gloves on and was using tweezers to examine the carpet. She let out a loud sigh, and Dean could hear her mutter something to herself under her breath.
"Ahem," Detective Egan cleared his throat. "Agent Shepard?"
The woman stood and turned to face them and Dean felt his heart rate pick up: she was beautiful. Her body curved in all the right places, and her red hair fell in waves around her face, framing it and bringing out the green in her eyes. She tilted her head to the side and her plush mouth twisted into a frown.
"Let me guess," she said, crossing her arms, "FBI?"
The brothers nodded.
She rolled her eyes. "I was expecting you two. Agents Henley and Frey, I presume? What, they didn't trust me on this one?"
"Uh, no," Sam stammered, "we weren't expecting you... uh..."
"Shepard. Jill Shepard, CSIS. Thank you, Detective, I got this."
Egan bowed out of the room and gave Jill a small smile.
Dean and Sam looked at each other warily, not knowing for sure if the woman was a hunter or not. She certainly looked official, and if she was law enforcement, then she'd figure them out in no time. It could spell real trouble for them. But there was something else about her that made Dean especially feel wary - he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something in Jill's eyes that seemed as if it was reaching out and touching him. It was an oddly peaceful feeling, like his soul was comfortable, but it shook him deeply, too. Either way, he figured, this woman was trouble.
"CSIS?" Sam finally asked. "As in the Canadian Secret Intelligence Service? What's your interest in this?"
Jill stepped by him and looked out the door and then stepped back in and faced them both, a smirk on her face. "I know who you are, Winchesters. And, I gotta say, I appreciate the assist on this one. I'm at my wit's end. I thought maybe wendigo at first, and then werewolf, but that was strike one and two for me..."
"Wait," Dean interrupted, "are you a hunter?"
Jill chuckled, "Oh, yeah, I am. Sorry; I should have explained myself first... I usually pose as CSIS as I've found that if you have Canadian credentials and look the part, no one really asks many questions. Especially not our friend Egan, there: he just let me right in."
"Uh, we'll keep that in mind," Sam said. "How'd you know who we are?"
She gave him a look, tilting her head and placing one hand on her hip. "Everyone knows who you are... well, every hunter does, anyways."
"And how'd you know we'd be posing as FBI agents?"
"Lucky guess. And I figured you'd use Henley and Frey since we're in D.C. and this is America so, you know, Eagles... I mean, that is your guys's schtick, right?" Jill answered, crouching down over the stain again.
"You do know who we are, then," Dean muttered, "care to bring us up to speed?"
"Meet Wesley Smith, a lawyer at a local firm here in the Capitol," Jill said, motioning towards the large stain on the floor.
"This is our vic? You mean what's left of him?" Sam asked.
"No, this is him... just a little more... uh, torn to pieces and flattened," Jill said, standing up, "this is the third murder in three days. I got here after I heard about the first one. Like I said, I thought it might be wendigo or werewolf, but those leads didn't get me anywhere. Then this one today... I even searched the house or Tibetan ritual symbols or signs that this could be a tulpa or shape-shifter, but there's nothing. Absolutely nothing but this, uh, stain of what used to be a human."
"Did the victims have anything in common?" Sam asked.
"Nothing," Jill shrugged, "except that they all became human puddles. Neighbours didn't hear or see anything, and family and friends didn't comment on any strange behaviour before the vics were killed. It's like they were murdered by the possessed spirit of Edward Scissorhands."
Dean and Sam didn't say anything, but gave each other knowing looks.
"Yes, I know," Jill continued, "it's pathetic, but that's my best theory right now."
"It's not pathetic. You're not too far off on the possessed spirit theory," Dean said.
"Ugh, great. What's possessing it? Demon?" Jill groaned.
"Yeah, and a powerful one. We've been tracking him for months," Dean answered, examining the blood spatter.
"Which one? He must be a pretty big deal if he's able to possess a spirit to do... ugh, that," Jill gulped, swallowing hard as she looked back at the puddle.
Sam gave her a wary look. "We... uh... can't say the name out loud."
"Why not? Who are you hunting? Beetlejuice? Voldemort?" Jill laughed.
"Not far off," Dean dead panned.
Suddenly, it seemed as if realization struck Jill and froze her to the spot. Her lovely green eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, her skin paling.
"Oh, no," she murmured, "not him. Not again."
Jill grabbed Sam's notebook and pen from his breast pocket and scribbled a name on the paper. She showed it to them and Dean's breath hitched as he recognized the name she'd scrawled: ISHTMAR.
He nodded at her and her face fell.
Jill shook her head. "That's... not possible. I sent that bastard back to Hell. How did he get out?"