29. The Fog

Well, this smells big. Way bigger than some of the cases we've been on recently.

This scene should be all too familiar for us: the black van, the body bags, the officers, cop cars, police tape. Sometimes it feels like we should be cops more than hunters.

Our most recent case had been one of the strangest we'd encountered, and we'd encountered some strange things. What do I mean by this? Well, we were in Gunnison, Colorado, where there had been this urban legend called "the chitters". This "lovely" legend told that during the spring equinox people in the town would get consumed by lust—to put it modernly, they got pretty horny. Their eyes would glow green and orgies would happen in the woods.

Yeah, well, what "the chitters" turned out to be was this cicada spirit called a Bisaan that inhabited human hosts by entering their mouths and using the bodies to mate to produce the next generation. On the upside, Sam, Dean, and I got to meet a pair of hunters—and by pair, I mean married gay couple. They'd helped us, one of them had lost a brother to a Bisaan when he was younger.

At one point, we'd considered asking them to lend us a hand with the whole Amara deal, but we let them go. They had a life away from hunting, which is something hunters never usually get.

I personally was more than happy to be done with the Bisaan. Nasty freaking creatures.

There seems to be a pattern that I haven't picked up on yet, with this new case. A man by Wes Cooper had been the first victim, and now this woman and her husband are the newest victims. On Wes's body, according to Sam, in the pictures, Wes had black veins on his skin. To me, that meant nothing, as this is the first time I've seen something like this happen.

I have a feeling Sam and Dean know what this is.

So, naturally, when we got the call about the situation, we put on our FBI suits and made it out to the scene.

"Sorry I woke you folks," says the sheriff.

"No, no, it's all right," I say, half-asleep. "Just, uh, why don't you tell us what happened here?"

"Harris didn't show up for work this morning. We called, tried her CB, nothing. So, I swung by here. I found Art on the kitchen floor, Harris' shotgun right next to him. She...it looks like Deputy Harris shot her husband point-blank in the face. Then left the scene."

The victim before, Wes Cooper, had snapped. Gone from stable to unstable, to now dead. This sounds like the same tune.

"Did you notice anything off about Deputy Harris' behavior the last couple days?" Sam asks her.

"No. Nothing at all."

"When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

"Called in for the last time yesterday. Said something about...seeing some fog rolling in. I don't know why she cared about the damn weather."

Judging by the looks on my brothers' faces, it's something they've definitely seen before.

"Would you get into contact with your dispatch officer? Tell her to let us know if she gets any more reports like that again," says Dean.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, just to be safe."

"And do you have any idea where Harris might be now?" Sam asks the sheriff.

"No. But we can track her vehicle from our office."

* * *

"I can't make heads or tails," says the sheriff. "Harris is...was our computer person."

"Can I give it a shot?" Sam offers. He goes to the computer and starts typing away.

"Sheriff?" says another officer in the building. "Matt and Emmy just called in. They said they saw some fog rolling in by Jasper Hills."

"Did they say where it was headed?" asks Dean.

"West. Towards town."

"Okay, call them back, tell them to get inside, shut their windows or doors and seal it up, and stay the hell away from that fog. Then get the word out to everybody in town. They need to do the same damn thing."

"Hold on. What are you talking about?" asks the sheriff.

"My partners and I have seen this before, okay? Wes, Deputy Harris, were infected by something in this fog. Now, I know it sounds crazy—"

"No, it sounds like we should call the CDC."

"There's no time for that."

"Found Deputy Harris," says Sam. He points to the GPS location of Harris' police van.

"She's on Main Street, heading right this way," says the sheriff.

"All right, we'll handle Harris," I say. My brothers and I head outside. "Just please, get the word out, tell everybody they need to stay inside, seal up their windows, their doors—everything. Do it." I look around to make sure nobody's within earshot. "Okay, what am I vouching for here?"

"This fog...Sam and I have seen it before," Dean tells me as we search for Deputy Harris' van.

"Amara?"

"You know of anything else that can do what you've seen in those pictures?"

I think about the black veins. "I guess not. Wait, look." I nod towards the van and see Deputy Harris begin to leave it.

"Hey, get them out of here," Dean tells Sam, gesturing to the pedestrians around. While our little brother clears the area, I stay beside my older brother. "No sudden movements, Jo."

"She's not a spooked deer, Dean," I retort. Though, I understand his concern. Deputy Harris holds a gun at her side. I also notice the black veins have spread on her body, like they had on Wes Cooper. From the corner of my eye, I see Dean has his gun out.

"I tried to kill myself," the deputy says blankly. "But she won't let me. She has a message—for you, Dean Winchester."

What does Amara want from Dean now? This connection they share is really troubling. Borderline obsessive.

"Amara?" I ask. "Is she here?"

"No. But her words have been echoing in my head ever since I took a breath of that fog."

"Did she tell you to kill her husband?"

"And I watched myself do it."

"So, 'yes', then." I swallow.

"Okay, listen to me," Sam says, and he's magically at my side, "this is an infection. Put the gun down, let us help you—"

"It's not an infection," says the deputy. "She says, it's a mirror. She's showing us all the truth."

"Darkness," Dean whispers.

"The light was just a lie."

I tense, not knowing what to do as the deputy lines her weapon at Dean. But she never fires. Two bullets are thrust into her chest, and her body leans against her car mirror before falling to the street pavement. I look at my brothers, who look just as stunned as I do.

I look over my shoulder to see that the sheriff is the one that shot Deputy Harris. His face says it all.

Dean goes to the deputy, and I watch as their mouths move. I can't read what they're saying, though.

"Jo..." Sam nudges me.

It almost looks like a storm is fast approaching, with how dark it is. But I know better than to assume that this is a storm coming. It's the fog. Amara's fog. The one that gives people black veins. In some deep part of me, fear raises its ugly head. My first instinct is to run. If this is an infection, this isn't something we can counter, not when there's so much fog.

"Dean," I say, trying to get his attention. He doesn't hear me. "Dean!" When he looks at me, I point down the street.

It rolls up the street like an angry herd of wild animals. Out of fear, I find myself taking a step back, another few steps away from taking off for the nearest building.

I look around. Pedestrians are still around. They notice the fog too. Unfortunately, like I'm doing right now, they're standing from the shock of the sheer sight of the dark coming for us. We got to get them inside. Away. Out of reach. She can't get them too.

"Everyone get inside!" I scream at the top of my lungs. People look at me in confusion. "I mean it, go! Now! Block and lock any doors, windows, anything open! Seal it all up!" I look at Sam. "Lend me a hand?"

I feel like we're warning people of an impending apocalypse. In a way, we are. This fog, it's not something you want to be caught in. People won't ever understand why they need to run from the fog, they just have to keep out of its way and don't fall victim to it.

I help Dean clear one side of the street, and then we focus on helping out the rest who are on the side of the police station. I notice a couple in a red car are still so confused that they're putting themselves in danger by sitting there like gaping morons.

"Hey!" I say, pounding on their window. Thankfully, when I pull on the door handle, it's unlocked. "You guys got to go. Like, right now." I roll my eyes when they just stare at me. "Get your asses moving!"

I back off as the driver and the passenger get themselves out. Meanwhile, Sam is at the backseat of the car. I don't realize why until I see him cooing to a little girl in a car seat in the back, getting her unbuckled. For a brief moment, I see the tender side of my extremely tall little brother. I almost forget there's a life-threatening fog rolling its way towards us.

"Ah, crap," I hear him mutter. He looks over his shoulder at me. "Jo, little help?"

"Let me see." I squeeze my way at Sam's side to see the cutest little girl I've seen in my life to date. She has these precious brown eyes, so innocent that it makes my heart squeeze in pain. She doesn't know what's going on, not really. None of these people do. "Ah, okay, here we go. Here we go. Don't worry, sweetie, we got you. We got you. Ah, there we go." Using Sam's help, I get her out of the car seat and into my arms. She's fascinated with the birds tattooed on my neck, I feel her tiny palm smooth over them.

"Thank you," the mom blubbers, reaching out for her little girl. Reluctantly, I hand the child over.

"What's going on?" asks the dad.

"Just get out of here, okay?" Sam tells them urgently.

"What's this fog doing?"

"Just get inside now! Go, go!"

The three take off for the police station. I feel the wind get knocked out of me when I see two people get eaten by the fog. Idiots. We told you to run. Why did you stand there? I notice Sam is frozen like me, transfixed on the people who disappeared.

"Sam," I say gently. "Sammy, let them go. We got to."

Sam and I run for the police station, Dean runs in behind us. From the fog, we hear the people coughing. We make it inside just in time.

"Okay, now what?" I ask. We're all looking around wildly. The sheriff is trying to use the radio.

"You have any duct tape?" Dean asks the sheriff.

"My God," I whisper in horror. I gravitate towards the window. The dense fog is washing over people who aren't fortunate enough to escape it. One person has fallen, an easy picking. The other is still running, but the fog is gaining fast. This seems like a horror movie.

Hunting is one long, endless horror movie.

"Sam? Jo?!"

Dean's yell of my name snaps me out of my stupor. I turn around, barely catching the duct tape in time. Remembering what to do, we Winchesters and the sheriff tape all the cracks we can see. Doors, windows, vents, all get duct tape. The sheriff checks on the others inside with us.

I pull out my phone. No bars. I move towards the window, as though that's going to give me signal. Unfortunately, it doesn't, like I wish it to. I breathe a little bit easier. We've got people inside with us. We're all safe. The cracks are all sealed up.

But my anxiety rises when I hear a noise that can only mean one thing: this isn't over.

"You hear that?" I ask my brothers. All is quiet in the police station, except for the noise I'm hearing.

Having my ears guide me, I find myself going to the front doors. On the other side, I can hear the frantic shouting. Sam runs to lock the door. Through the fog, two people emerge, black veins painted on their skin. They say nothing, just glare at us through the other side.

"Shit," I curse when the two begin smashing at the glass doors.

"Back, back, back," Dean tells me hurriedly, dragging me away as I can hear the glass slowly fracturing.

We run into another room, shutting those doors. We hear the glass from the front doors shatter. There's only one set left separating us from them.

"Dean," I hear Sam say. I spin around, feeling my mouth drop.

A piece of duct tape is flapping as the fog creeps into the room. Everything is falling apart.

Sam and I practically race each other to re-seal the vent. Meanwhile, I hear Dean making a ruckus, probably finding something to brace the doors with. I highly doubt those two at the front doors are the only ones in a mad dash to rip all of us here into bits. I have to jump to help Sam re-seal the damn vent.

I find myself toppling sideways with a sudden bout of vertigo. I lean against the wall, under the vent (not smart, I know). I cry out in horror, my hands shaking as I see the black veins snaking their way around my skin. No. No, no. No.

"Sammy," I whimper as my little brother starts coughing. I go to him, seeing his own matching set of black veins begin to settle on his hands. We both look at each other gravely, with a panicked glint in our eyes.

In the midst of all this, I hear the little girl begin to cry.

**Big, big things are still to come, peeps! Bear with me!**