To The Beat Of The Devil's Drums [Supernatural]

Skin

Dean's breath comes short and fast as he suddenly goes still.

He's without his skin, the next line says.

If he sees yours, he'll want to take it for himself.

A chill rakes down Dean's spine. He resists the urge to turn and view the creature straight on, his head directed forward, hands curled onto the desk. Sam's jacket feels like a protective cloak as he waits it out, not daring even a slight turn of his head and risking giving the creature a glimpse of his face. So...it won't attack unless it sees skin?

He waits for the next line: an instruction, a taunt...but there's nothing.

The creature's details are obscured by the dullness of the reflection, but Dean can see enough that his heart is thumping hard with fear. It's a bare skeleton; the clown beneath the mask. He never thought he'd rather see one of those pale, grotesquely painted faces, but it's better than something that wants to rip off his.

Dean waits. Counts. 100 heartbeats. 200. It's too fast to allow him to count seconds, the rhythm dominating everything in his head. Then, after 360 heartbeats, the creature turns and begins to walk away down the corridor again.

Dean lets out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He gives it another few seconds before he dares get up, crossing to the door and tentatively inching his head outside. He can hear nothing; the monster vanishing as silently as it had appeared. Only when he sees the corridor is empty in both directions does he step back into the room and closes the door. There's there soft click of the electronic lock securing and then he's plunged into darkness. He doubts mechanical fingers and a bladed hand will do well with the keypad.

Breath blows heavy past Dean's lips as he turns to face the room again. Only the green-tinged camera feeds provide light now, his eyes flitting over the computer screen. Her words have vanished, instead replaced with a clunky interface of text menus, "Camera 1" currently highlighted in green. Willing his heart to slow down, Dean crosses back to it.

The mouse isn't connected, but the keyboard seems to work as he tabs through to camera three, relieved when selecting it gives him the option to rewind. When did we get here? 3pm yesterday...? That seems to be about right as he skips back, holding down the left arrow and watching the feed on the monitors crackle with noise as it rushes in reverse. For the most part, nothing changes, the screen showing a static image of one of the pathways near the entrance, until suddenly Dean sees movement.

His finger flies off the key, watching at regular speed as he sees himself appear in front of the camera and then walk by off screen again, oblivious. It's a slightly surreal feeling. He recognises the area, unfamiliar from this angle, and guesses the part with the first clown mannequin must be in a blind spot round the corner. He skips back further, watching the time stamp reverse until he sees it again: there.

His heart skips as the clown comes into view, dragging on the floor behind it a familiar figure. Sam is unconscious, ankle gripped tightly in the clown's non-weapon hand, mane of hair tangling as it gathers dirt from the ground. The resolution isn't good enough for him to see in any detail, but Dean's fists clench. The sight of his little brother being dragged like a ragdoll makes something wrench horribly inside him. He notes the difference in time stamps: two hours between Sam being taken and Dean waking up to find him gone. Enough time that they could have taken him anywhere.

The clown and Sam vanish off screen again, another automaton following soon after. Dean glances over at the map. There are about half a dozen pathways beyond that point they could have taken before he sees a camera sticker again.