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

Hunted

It takes Dean a while to get back to the lower park. The lake at the foot of the hill gives way to man-made water installations as he finds himself being welcomed to "Splash Valley", an arcing, painted waterfall forming the entrance to the park region. There's a dried-up log flume to his right just beyond the entrance, making use of the still-sloping terrain with a long chute that descends to the foot of the valley. Only a trickle of rainwater remains in the trough, flowing into a large pool at the bottom that it shares with a few decrepit pedalos anchored to a pier a short way away. That strikes Dean as badly designed.

He walks further down the hillside, passing the entrance to "White Water Rapids" before crossing a wooden bridge which takes him over one of the ride's waterways. The water at the bottom looks very green and very still, he notes, before passing into a small square bordered by the remains of withered palm trees. A sign directing him to "Pirate Cove" accompanies a small display on an elevated platform in the center, and Dean's aware of his pulse spiking as he sees the humanoid figures on it.

A crackling sound breaks the air, coming from the direction of the display, and then music begins to play from some concealed speakers. The song choice is cheesy and mind-numbingly predictable.

Yo ho, yo ho, that's a pirate's life for me...

Nervous though he is, Dean doesn't even try not to roll his eyes.

He's cautious as he approaches, yet the cheap-looking pirate mannequins surrounding a treasure chest remain motionless, giving no indication they're aware he's there. He knows it could be a decoy, just like the very first clown had been, but drawing closer shows him the lack of any joints in the arms or hands. They're just static models: no moving parts.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, lingering briefly to study the models as he ticks off clichés in his head. There's the peg leg, hook in place of a hand, bottle of rum, bushy beards disguising badly painted faces... A parrot sits on the shoulder of the mannequin nearest to him, its open beak giving a clear view of the speaker inside. The music continues to play.

Drink up, me hearties. Yo ho!

No matter how annoying the song is, there's something decidedly creepy about the whole thing. Dean is about to turn away again when the music fizzles out, only to be replaced by a cold, too-familiar voice. "Well, look who's still alive."

Hearing that mocking drawl makes Dean's fists clench. He'd been waiting for her to make a comeback. "Yeah, still here. Sorry to disappoint," he growls, then realises he's snarling at a parrot.

"I wouldn't say I'm disappointed..."

"What about my brother? He still alive too?"

"Yes, Dean." She gives a huff. "I'm in no rush to bleed him out. He's still hanging on. For now."

That confirms Dean's suspicions. He'd had a feeling that if Sam were dead, she'd have been taunting him with it by now, but it still comes as a relief to hear her say it. "Prove it."

Another sigh, then he hears the sound of a heartbeat being played across the speakers again. This time it's faster than his: the weak, fluttering pulse of someone who's lost a lot of blood, but not so much that their heart is on the brink of stopping altogether. That should be encouraging, but rather than unravelling the knot in Dean's stomach, to his surprise it only furls tighter.

She chuckles. "Thought that might make your heart skip a bit. Sammy's might be even stronger than yours, Dean. He's doing very well, all things considered."

"So, looks like we're still playing the game, then?"

"A little presumptuous, aren't we? I think that's for me to decide."