Chapter Text
“Dean,” Cas strode into the bunker library, holding a newspaper, “I think I found a case.”
“Dude, we’ve talked about using the Internet,” Dean glanced up, “Much more reliable than a newspaper.”
Cas rolled his eyes, plopping the newspaper in front of him. “Look,” he pointed at a headline reading Mysterious Disappearances in Shady Oaks Claims Its 7th Victim.
Dean huffed, “Okay, one, the town’s name is ironic, and two, are these even victims? Maybe they finally decided to skip their creepy town.”
“It’s a retirement home, Dean,” Cas corrected, “Don’t you think that’s strange?”
Dean furrowed his brows. Okay, he can admit that’s strange. “You wanna check it out?”
Cas nodded.
“All right, it’s about a nine-hour drive. We leave now, we can be there before dawn,” Dean said, tucking away his laptop and standing up.
“Should we bring Sam? Or Jack?”
“No, Sammy can stay behind and look after the kid,” Dean remarked. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t trust Jack—he found himself caring for him more every day, but the whole devil’s son thing still kinda gave him the creeps. When Cas glared at him, Dean doubled down, “C’mon, we can handle ourselves. We’ll throw Sam a line if we get in too deep, okay?”
“Okay,” Cas acquiesced. He didn’t seem happy, but Dean knew he’d let it go—he always preferred to protect Jack, or in some cases, protect others from Jack. He was still grasping just how powerful he was, after all, and Dean was certain Sammy could help him gain some control.
“Great, meet me in the car in ten,” Dean replied, making his way to his bedroom.
“So, any hunches about what’s got the hots for old people at Shady Oaks?”
Cas looked out the window, shaking his head before turning to give Dean one of his classic head tilts. “Dean, I don’t think there’s anything sensual going on here,” he continued, more serious, “But I do think that there are a few possibilities.”
“Okay,” Dean let out a breathy laugh at Cas’s seriousness, “Give me the rundown.”
“So, the first victim was Gladys Smith, age 67—she disappeared last Friday night from her locked room on the fifth floor. According to the news reports, there was nothing missing from her room—not even her wallet, clothes, or any valuables—and there was nothing left behind by any supposed criminals. Interestingly, security cameras failed at the time of each disappearance.”
“Dude, first off, did you memorize that?” Dean gave Cas an incredulous look. “Second, is it the same for all the vics? When did they go missing?”
“Yes, I did, Dean,” Cas replied, somewhat smug in his tone. “The same is true for the other victims—there are 3 women and 4 men missing, and ever since Gladys’s disappearance last Friday, it’s been one victim per day.”
“Wow, you’re a nerd,” Dean remarked, “Wait, that means another poor sap’s gonna go missing tonight.”
Cas nodded, ignoring Dean’s first remark. “It appears so.”
Turning over his thoughts, Dean sighed. “So, with practically no evidence to go from, what the hell do you think it is?”
Cas hesitated, “Well, I suppose it’s easier to say what it’s not. I doubt it’s a vampire or a werewolf. Although with the security cameras going out, it might as well be just as easy to say that the victims walked out by themselves.”
Dean raised his eyebrows, chuckling to himself before quipping, “Hell, if that happened, and it’s just some old people going cuckoo for Cocopuffs, you’re walking home.”
The Impala’s engine roared as Dean pulled into the retirement home’s parking lot. Donning his FBI suit, Dean stepped out of the car, gesturing for Cas to follow him.
“Just follow my lead,” Dean practically pleaded, “No going off the books, Agent Lizzo.”
Cas furrowed his brows but followed Dean inside. At the front desk was a young woman, probably no older than 20, twirling a pen in her hand as she stared down at her phone.
“S’cuse me,” Dean smiled. No response.
“Excuse me,” Cas said flatly.
The girl looked up slowly, giving Dean a bitch face that Sam’s was no match for. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Dean smiled anyway. “We’re Agents Plant and Lizzo,” he flashed his badge, eyeing Cas to flash his, “And we’re here to investigate the recent disappearances. Can we speak to the Director?”
The girl rolled her eyes, smacking a piece of bubble gum loudly. “Whatever, weirdos.”
Dean and Cas shared a confused look as the girl wandered off into the back of the office.
A middle-aged blonde woman promptly emerged, wearing a warm smile on her pink, plump cheeks. “Agents,” she greeted, “Thank you for coming.” Her smile fell, “We don’t know what’s going on.”
Dean reached out, offering his hand, “Agent Plant—that’s Agent Lizzo.”
“I’m Mandy Keiffer,” she offered her hand, shaking Dean’s and then Cas’s hand.
“Now, if you don’t mind, do you want to walk us through what happened? Take us to the clients’ rooms?” Dean asked, putting on the most sympathetic eyes he could muster.
Mandy nodded, “Follow me.” She waved them over to the elevator. “First one, Gladys, she disappeared from the fifth floor. It’s the oddest thing,” she said, a wary look on her face, “Seven missing, from the top floor down—in order. See, Gladys’s neighbor, Jerry, went missing Saturday night. Then, on Sunday, Mitchell went missing on the fourth floor, right before Connie, his neighbor, went missing on Monday. The same goes for the folks on the third floor—the victims from Tuesday and Wednesday. And just last night, Marty went missing on the second floor. The day before, his neighbor, Alice, went missing.”
The elevator dinged, and the three shuffled out on the fifth floor, following Mandy.
“That sounds strange,” Cas mused.
“Mandy,” Dean said, “Have you noticed anything strange? Cold spots, lights flickering? Anything that feels…off?”
Mandy turned around, waving them off with a hand as she continued walking a straight line down the corridor. “No, nothing like that. Although I did find something strange…”
The three entered room 503, the first victim’s room.
“What’s that?” Dean asked the woman as Cas began searching the room.
Mandy looked down sheepishly. “Well, you see…I don’t want to get in trouble,” she begged, “I didn’t give it to the police because I didn’t think it mattered. I—”
“Mandy, what did you find?” Dean asked softly, trying to calm the woman down as he put a hand on her shoulder.
Back in her office, Mandy pointed to a drawer in her desk, making the sign of the cross as Dean barely stifled an eye roll. Dean opened the drawer, stunned. “Agent,” he looked at Cas, “Come look at this.”
Cas walked over, looking down into the drawer. “Hex bags,” he muttered.
“What?” Mandy asked, eyes wide.
“Nothing,” Dean smiled, glaring at Cas, “Thank you, Mandy, for sharing this with us. I think it’s best if we take these off your hands—get them properly looked at by our forensics guys.”
Mandy nodded, “Be my guest. They give me the heebie jeebies.”
Dean pulled out a trash bag, shoving the hex bags inside. “Think we should burn these?” He whispered to Cas.
“Yes,” he agreed, “But we should study them first.”
“All right, Mandy,” Dean smiled, “Thank you for your help. Don’t hesitate to reach out, okay?” He offered her his card, and Mandy smiled weakly as she walked the pair out.
“All right, you touch it,” Dean said, standing approximately five feet away from the table that the hex bags were on.
Cas looked back at Dean, mouth hung open at his sudden squeamishness, before turning around and moving each hex bag so it was face-up. “Well,” he remarked, “It appears we have a problem.”
Dean moved closer, peering over Cas’s shoulder for a look, “What?”
Cas turned around, now eye-to-eye with Dean. Dean gulped at Cas’s stony stare. “See for yourself,” he deadpanned.
Dean moved carefully around Cas, squinting at the hex bags. “They all have the same symbol,” he huffed, “Looks like…a chalice?”
“Dean, it makes no sense,” Cas said, “The chalice…it’s a symbol for Hebe, the goddess of youth. But she’s no witch. I don’t understand.”
“Maybe somebody made her their bitch?” Dean offered with a light chuckle. That only earned him an unreadable expression from Cas.
“Not so vulgarly,” Cas said pointedly, “But perhaps somebody is abusing her power. But why? And who would do such a thing?”
Dean’s eyes lit up. “Y’know, your theory that these people just walked out by themselves is growing on me.”
Dean walked out of the motel bathroom, donning his FBI suit again. “Another person went missing last night—Linda Porter, on the first floor.”
“So that means her neighbor will go missing tonight,” Cas stated, standing up.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Dean quipped, doing up his tie. “I say we go back to Shady Oaks, poke around some more about Linda, then stake it out tonight.”
“Yes,” Cas agreed, walking out the door.
“Geez, someone’s eager,” Dean muttered to himself.
“Mandy,” Dean greeted the woman as he walked in. She was standing next to a pair of police officers.
“Oh, Agents,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Agents?” One police officer said. “Don’t remember calling the feds in on this one.”
“We just go where the boss tells us to,” Dean remarked, offering his hand. “Agent Plant—this is Agent Lizzo.” Cas waved stiffly.
The police officers looked him over skeptically for a moment before shaking their heads. “All right, I assume you wanna see the crime scene,” one said, gesturing for the hunters to follow behind, “Can’t say there’s really much to see, though.”
“Cameras get anything?” Dean asked.
The police officer shook his head, “Nope, on the fritz again.”
“Typical,” Dean remarked. “What about the room? Anything out of place?”
“No, same as the others. Here we are, Room 113—have a look for yourselves,” the officer said, before walking back down the hall to his partner.
Dean patted down the undersides of the coffee table, the dresser, and the recliner. Zilch. Cas lifted the mattress, almost immediately finding a hex bag attached to the bedframe.
“Ah, good eyes,” Dean said, “Grab it?”
Cas rolled his eyes at Dean’s aversion. He did have enough run-ins with witches to justify his squeamishness, Cas supposed, as he quickly pocketed the evidence.
“Let’s boogie,” Dean winked.
“Dean, I still don’t see why you require binoculars.”
“C’mon, Cas, lighten up. This is a stakeout. Everyone knows you use binoculars on a stakeout,” Dean said, holding the binoculars up to his eyes.
“Not when they’re parked fifteen feet away from the entrance,” Cas huffed.
Dean shot him a look. “I’m covering our bases.”
“There,” Cas pointed at a dark figure by the side of the building, right next to the emergency exit to the first floor. “They just ran out,” Cas replied, rushing to get out of the Impala.
“Cas!” Dean half-whispered, half-yelled, “Don’t!”
Already halfway to the mystery person who had disappeared in the dark parking lot, Dean had no choice but to follow. Grabbing his gun that was preloaded with witch-killing bullets, he cursed as he exited the car, “Son of a bitch! Cas!”
Running in the direction Cas went, Dean held his gun out in front of him, eyeing his surroundings. “Cas?!”
“Dean,” Came a hushed reply not two feet from him. Ducking behind a car was Cas, gesturing for him to follow. Squatting next to him, Dean grimaced.
“What are we looking at?” He whispered.
“It’s a witch,” Cas stated.
“Okay?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Kinda figured…what are we doing here?”
Cas moved his hand under the car’s bumper as Dean watched skeptically, until finally, Cas pulled out a hex bag. “This is Mandy’s car.”
When Dean didn’t reply, Cas continued, “I saw them. Only for a moment. They were wearing a dark cloak with a hood, so I couldn’t see their face—”
“Cliché,” Dean rolled his eyes.
“But I saw them put this hex bag here as they left the building. Do you think there’s another victim?”
“Cas,” Dean’s eyes went wide. “That—what if that was the victim? You said they disappeared, almost as if they had walked out themselves…”
“Then why put the hex bag under Mandy’s car?”
“Think Mandy’s in on it? Or maybe someone’s worried she’s getting too close? She did help us, after all,” Dean reasoned.
“Maybe we should check in on her,” Cas replied.
“S’cuse me,” Dean said to the bratty front desk girl, “Mandy here?”
The girl rolled her eyes, sighing as she put her phone down. “Mandy?” She yelled, turning her head to the office behind her, but there was no response. “Nope,” she replied.
“Uh,” Dean stuttered, “Well, we saw her car outside, so can you check—”
“Ew, stalker,” the girl spat, rolling her eyes even harder. “I haven’t seen her in the past hour.”
“Okay…thanks.”
“You are not very helpful,” Cas added, squinting at the girl as he turned to follow Dean down the hallway.
“Let’s check on Linda’s neighbor. Could be 112 or 114.”
Dean rapped on Room 112 while Cas, behind him, knocked on Room 114.
An angry-looking man answered Room 114 rather quickly, looking annoyed as Cas stuttered out an apology and something about the wrong room as the guy slammed the door in his face.
“Must be 112,” Cas answered.
“Ya think?” Dean said, trying the doorknob. Strange. It was unlocked.
“Hello?” He called out, looking about the empty room. “Safe to assume another hex bag is in here,” he chimed, as Cas looked under the mattress, finding it immediately.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Cas shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine right now. But with Mandy missing, it’s even harder to make sense of.”
Dean’s eyes widened in realization. “Actually,” he started, “I think that might be the key to cracking this. Time for a house call.”
Dean knocked on the cherry-red door. “Mandy? It’s Agents Plant and Lizzo,” he called out. “You home?”
The door creaked open only a sliver, as a weak voice replied, “Agents?”
“Mandy? That you?”
“Agents, I don’t know what’s going on,” Mandy’s voice quivered, as she sniffled.
“Mandy, we can help. Can we talk?” Cas asked gently.
After a pause, the door opened wider, and Dean stepped in, but Mandy wasn’t there.
“Mandy?” Dean called out. “Look, we’re here to help. I promise that whatever’s going on, no matter how freaky, we’ve seen worse.”
A sound like porcelain on marble came from the kitchen as Mandy replied sheepishly, “I’m so scared.”
Dean and Cas slowly made their way around the corner, and Dean couldn’t help the shocked expression on his face as he took in the sight before him.
“Mandy? You look—”
“I look like a teenager!” She shrieked. “What the heck is going on?!”
“Youth—that’s exactly what Hebe represents. But why—”
Dean shushed Cas as Mandy started looking even more freaked out at his words.
“Look, Mandy,” Dean slowly approached her, “Walk us through what happened, and we’ll help.”
She sat down, an empty look on her face as she tapped the coffee mug anxiously against the counter. “Last night,” she began, “I heard a scream from Janice Finch’s room—she was Linda’s neighbor—so I ran over…Only, what I saw—” She cried.
“It’s okay,” Dean said, placing his hand over hers. “What did you see?”
“I walked in, and Janice wasn’t there. It was a young woman—only, you see, Janice always wears this necklace, it’s so unique, a big Mother of Pearl, and—and the young woman, she was wearing it, and she—she was smiling, saying she was glad I came.”
“The worst part is,” she continued, “She said she was going to give me a gift.” She sniffled, “She took off, running past me—I was so stunned I was useless.” Wiping a tear, she kept going, “After I could move again, I walked to my car to—to collect myself and—”
“And you were thirty years younger?” Dean offered.
Mandy nodded, eyes hollow. “I was too freaked to even drive home! What is going on?” She wept.
“Mandy,” Cas said, leveling with her, “A witch has cursed you. A witch has cursed all your missing residents. What we don’t understand is why. We’re going to do our best to uncover this, and we’re going to help you.”
Mandy’s eyes went wide. She stood up, opening the fridge to grab some rosé. “If this hadn’t happened to me, I would say you’re crazy,” she sipped directly from the bottle, “But I believe you.”
“You heard her, right?” Dean asked as he drove them back to the motel.
“What she said…it seemed like Janice wanted this. So, a coven?” Cas asked.
Dean clicked his tongue, mulling it over for a moment. “I think it makes sense. Bad news is, I don’t think we can take on a whole coven alone. Should we call Sam?”
“That’d be wise.”
“Okay. I’ll loop him in when we get back.”
Dean and Cas entered the motel room. Cas went to sit down on one of the beds, reaching for a book, as Dean lay down on the opposite one, going to dial Sam’s number. Suddenly, both Dean and Cas began coughing. Cas got up, attempting to push his mattress up to locate the hex bag, before he collapsed, with Dean not far behind him.
Dean awoke to a soft light shining through a sliver in the room’s curtains. His vision was blurry, and he blinked it away feverishly as he rubbed his eyes. Holding his hands out in front of him, he had the passing thought that his hands looked…weird. Not unlike his own, just…less weathered. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his head. Remembering that Cas was there, too, he looked over at the other bed.
“Cas?” He croaked out. Okay, so that was weird—his voice sounded a lot less gruff than usual.
From the floor, he could hear Cas groaning—albeit much less deeply than the guy usually sounded. Maybe his ears were just playing tricks on him, he reasoned. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, Cas asked, “What happened?”
“Dude,” Dean said, shocked. Every rationalization suddenly melted away, and panic set in, “I think—oh god.” He rushed over to the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. “Oh my god,” he gasped, touching his too-smooth face, “It’s like a baby’s butt.”
“Dean, what—” Cas stumbled into the bathroom, cutting himself off as he stared, gobsmacked, at himself and Dean in the mirror. “We—we look about twenty years younger, at least.”
“Dude, if I had to guess,” Dean said, “I’d say I was eighteen.”
Cas tilted his head—he was much lankier, his hairless jaw even sharper somehow, and his trench coat literally hung off his body.
“At least we’re still the same height,” he reasoned, glad that his pants weren’t bunched at his ankles, although they certainly were hanging off his hips, now.
“Oh, well, thank goodness for the small mercies,” Dean rolled his eyes. “We have to call Sam. Now.”