A Supernatural x Reader Story

Chapter Thirteen: Malleus Maleficarum

From the backseat of the Impala, your fingers rifle through a folder of newspaper articles by the soft yellow glow of the flashlight you hold between your teeth, cutting through the darkness of the night.

"Well, I'm already sold on that Elizabeth chick," Dean announces, referring to the woman whose house the three of you visited with the suspicion of her being a part of a coven of witches residing in the small town of Sturbridge, Massachusetts, where already a woman has died, as well as the witch who killed her, Amanda.

"Did you see that victory garden of hers?" Dean continues.  "Belladonna, wolfsbane, mandrake.  Not to mention that little flinch she threw when we mentioned the occult."

"Well, she's definitely had a good run lately," Sam comments, also flipping through a pile of papers.  "Gone up a few tax brackets, won almost too many raffles – the kind of thing a little black magic always helps with."

"I don't think she's alone either," you add after taking the flashlight out of your mouth.  "Looks like this Mrs. Renee Van Allen has won almost every craft contest she's entered in the past three months."

"A regular Martha Stewart, huh?  Except for the devil worship," Dean mumbles.  "I'm thinking that was the coven we met back there, minus one member."

"Amanda was clearly going off the reservation," Sam observes.  "You think they killed her to keep up appearances?"

"Seems like an appearance kind of crowd, don't you think?" Dean says.  "If they killed a nut job, should we thank them, or what?"

"They're working black magic too, Dean," Sam speculates.  "They need to be stopped."

The beam of your flashlight, which you replaced between your teeth, moves forward when you look up at him in surprise – at Sam, who has always been one to feel the most guilt over killing anything, especially a human.  A living, breathing, two-eyed, ten-fingered person.

"Stopped, like stopped?" Dean questions him, surprise in his voice as well.

Sam nods, looking at Dean like the answer is obvious.

"They're human, Sam," he justifies his questioning gaze.

"They're murderers," Sam says.

Dean looks like he wants to say something further, but only shrugs.  "Burn, witch, burn."

"What I can't figure out is why –"

As the words escape your lips, you feel the car bounce up and down as if going over large bumps, though you see none on the road, as the engine sputters and eventually comes to a stop in front of a familiar metallic-colored jacket, its arms crossed and tendrils of long blonde hair fluttering in the wind.

"Ruby," Sam speaks the name you were thinking as the three of you step out of the car.

"Sam, listen to me," she pleads.  "There's no time."

"For what?" Sam asks.  "What are you talking about?"

"You have to get out of town," she insists.

Dean slams his door shut, looking at her from head to toe.  "So, this is Ruby, huh?"  Before anyone can respond, he releases the safety of the Colt and aims it at her head.  "Never had the pleasure."

"Dean," Sam exclaims.

"I was hoping you'd show up again," Dean continues as if not hearing him.

You are sure that Ruby's glare as she turns to him could stop a heart.  "Point that thing somewhere else."

Dean lets out a laugh so cold and so sudden that it causes you to jump, and you hope no one notices.

"Sam, please," she begs, turning her attention back to the younger of the Winchesters.  "Go.  Get in the car and don't look back."