This story is a lot of fun to write with all the lore and mythology pertaining. I have done serious research for the story so any lore I mention has a lot of truth to it!

.Three.

Mt. Weather Virginia

"So, we all settled in to the latest digs, Sammy?" Dean asked over a mouthful of tuna melt supreme.

"It's like you were raised by gorillas." Sam said with disgust as a piece of chewed up rye bread flew from his brother's mouth.

"This isn't news. Dean has little self-awareness, you wear too much plaid, and I still sleep with a stuffed animal. Can we move on now?" Clarke interjected, shoving another forkful of shrimp linguini into her mouth.

Sam bemusedly raised an eyebrow.

"Clarke when did you start enjoying seafood? I thought fish was the cuisine of the devil."

Clarke almost flushed at her brother's observation before shrugging her shoulders.

"My palate is open to new things. Is that a crime? Seriously, how's the local inn? Dirty and smelly or this side of dilapidated?"

Thankfully Sam took the change of topic easily and began describing the surprising furnishings of the inn. Clarke internally applauded herself because she'd shoot herself before admitting to her brothers that the seafood she'd always stuck her tongue at had only been taken as a suggestion by Bellamy Blake. And he'd been right. The little restaurant owned by a kind looking man named Jake Turner offered home-cooked meals more pleasant than expected and the shrimp linguini was heavenly.

"Well, a bed without any termite damage will be a nice change. How was the talk with the man of the town?" Dean asked, finishing his meal and pushing the plate to the side before moving his Pepsi closer.

"Mayor Jaha seems like a good guy."

"Elaborate?" Clarke made a hurrying motion.

"He isn't involved with whatever's going on. This town is cursed, that much we know, which is similar to the case in Atlanta, remember?"

"The town sheriff knew the town sat atop an Indian burial ground but he riled up the spirits to strike fear into the townspeople. Somehow he controlled the spirits so they never attacked him but kept his rule absolute. The South doesn't play games." Dean added and Clarke laughed.

"I doubt the North does either. If Jaha doesn't know what's going on, how does he explain the murders?" she asked.

"Naively." Sam said. "He thinks a gang formed, but that doesn't explain the break between kills. Bottom line is this Jaha believes his police chief will handle things because he is as confused as the townspeople."

"Chief Kane doesn't know much. I saw the case file open on his desk and I got him to open up a bit, telling him our dad was a cop and they collaborated on some case in Chicago." Dean shrugged. "He bought it but I gathered the chief is as lost as the mayor."

"Great, no evident leads. We're back at square one." Clarke mumbled.

"Not necessarily. I called Bobby and he dug up some local history."

"Coven of witches? Demon meeting place?" she offered.

"No and no. But there was a prominent tribe native to the area. All of Mt. Weather used to be dirt and forestry. This territory was claimed by a tribe of people known only as 'Grounders'. According to Bobby, they were lethal. They commanded the Northeast and the mighty Iroquois and Algonquian tribes of New York were under the Grounders' order. They basically set up a tributary system in this region of the country." Sam explained.

"So they were the Big Bad of the Native American tribes. What happened to them?" Dean inquired.

"The same thing that happened to most Indian tribes after Columbus' voyages. European conquest. There were thousands of Grounders but their numbers dwindled remarkably and months after the English, Dutch, and Spanish settlers arrived there were only a hundred remaining. The Northeast tribes disbanded after forced assimilation or extinction and European communities flourished."

"The Grounders were wiped out?"

"Not exactly, Dean. The hundred Grounder warriors that survived disease and battles sought out a shaman-supposedly the most powerful shaman in all the realms and the last of his line because the Europeans had killed all chiefs and shaman of the area to make the natives comply with their mandates. This shaman was the last connection to the gods and spirits of nature. The Grounders went to this man and begged him to open the channels to the gods so they could ask for their shaman told them he was sorry but the gods were not responding to mortals anymore. They had abandoned them. In their desperation the Grounders pleaded with the shaman to speak to anyone with the power to help them. The shaman was hesitant but he was tired of the 'White Men' killing his brothers and so he told them there was one god who could still be contacted but his aid came with a price."

"Let me guess… their souls?" Clarke interrupted and Sam nodded before continuing.

"All 100 souls. This god was known as Chibiabos, the God of the Underworld. He spoke through the shaman to the Grounders and promised them victory over the murderers who had stolen their lands and the lives of their loves ones. The 100 warriors gained the strength of the thousands of warriors who had already died and ravaged the lands of the region, specifically the current town of Mt. Weather. Most settlers ran away but even more were slaughtered. For two weeks in May the Grounders killed and killed. When they were done, they killed themselves. They had too much blood on their hands. Mortals are not meant to have so many deaths on their hands. That's what Reapers are for after all."

"But the 100 Grounders who sold their souls, what happened after they died?" Clarke asked.

"They had to have gone to hell. This Chibi-whatever is a keeper of the underworld. He presides over an entrance of hell and he has to report to Lucifer. If he pawned 100 souls he wanted them for himself." Dean assumed.

"From what Bobby and I deduced, he did drag them to the underworld but because they deprived him of collecting their bodies himself he used his hold on their souls to tie them to Earth. Every 10 years the 100 Grounder warriors ascend from hell to kill in the name of Chibiabos for precisely 2 weeks."

"Two weeks like the time it took for the Grounders to carry out their revenge on the European settlers of the area." Clarke said, understanding the story now.

"Yes. What I don't understand, though, is why a god of the underworld who once gave his servants the power to slaughter a whole population of people only asks for 14 deaths."

"It's one per day. Isn't that a representation of power?" Clarke questioned.

"Yeah, but that wouldn't be enough for Chibiabos. This guy's the epitome of blood-thirsty." Sam frowned in thought and Dean suddenly slammed his fist on the table, his lips twisting in excitement.

"I've got it!"

Several people looked over at his outburst and Clarke and Sam were left giving embarrassed smiles. Sam asked for the check and left some crumpled ones on the table as a tip before they exited the bistro.

"Care to share with the class, Dean?" Sam asked when they piled in to the Impala.

"Let me just enjoy this moment of superiority. I've figured out a mystery before the great Sam Winchester. Clarke doesn't even know, but I do!" he gave himself a proud pat on the back and Clarke punched him in the shoulder.

"Tell us!" she ordered and he glared back at her.

"That is the second time you've physically assaulted me today. I don't appreciate it."

Sam sighed in exasperation.

"Alright, alright! You two are like the Party Pooper Squad, you know that? Anyway, I was thinking about the Atlanta case and I realized they are exactly the same. If the god were the one calling the shots, he would send his 100 Grounders out to ice the whole town every decade. More souls and carnage for him. But, if he's not the one calling the shots and someone who stumbled across the same lore we did found a way to control the 100, wouldn't they use these two weeks as the ideal personal vendetta spree?"

Sam and Clarke were following Dean's train of thought diligently. It made sense.

"Who could manipulate a keeper of the underworld? He may not be a true God, since he works for the devil, but a keeper is five times as dangerous as a demon." Clarke said.

"Anyone with the right amulet." Sam said pensively. "Amulets are the only magical items that can be tethered to spirits or supernatural creatures. We've seen a necklace that allowed a woman to control a reaper. There must be some amulet in town used to control Chibiabos."

"We need to destroy it then." Dean stated but Clarke shook her head.

"That wouldn't guarantee the town safety. What if destroying the amulet allows Chibiabos to destroy the whole town again?"

"Clarke's right. We don't know what we're messing with yet."

"So what now, Sam? We keep our thumbs up our asses and let 14 people die every decade because it's the lesser of two evils?"

"No, of course not. I'll call Bobby. Tell him to hit the books on anything relating to Chibiabos. We are still here to save these people. Now that we know a human is harnessing this power to take out his enemies, we have to profile the deceased. Figure out what they have in common and find the killer. Hopefully, by the time we find the culprit, we'll know what to do with the amulet."

"Or else the whole town is screwed." Dean growled.

He turned the key in the ignition, intending to drive towards their inn but with the start of the car, the radio turned on, blasting the channel Sam had designed to tap into local police radios.

"We got another one, Chief… Roma Matthews… Chief, it's bad. There's nothing left of her. I mean, Jesus, we only know it's her cause her purse and clothes are splattered with blood and gunk, but it's a mess down here." one of the cops was speaking.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"We were too late today. Missed the deadline." Dean said.

"There wasn't anything we could do, Dean. Even if we had figured out the story earlier, we have no idea what we're up against or what weapons would have worked. I doubt rock salt would do much damage to a spirit working for the underworld." Sam pointed out but all three Winchesters felt the failure of the job as a blow to the chest.

"We have to go back to the police department. Inspect the area." Clarke decided.

"Agreed, but we're civilians, newcomers to this town. We'd be beyond suspicious showing up to the scene of a murder minutes after the cops find it."

"Lucky for us, I planned for this." Dean spoke smugly, turning the car in the direction of the station.

"What does that mean?"

"You might have known if you weren't so busy flirting with Deputy Dick back there."

Clarke muttered a few choice curse words and Sam glanced back at her with his eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Forget it." Clarke grimaced and Dean just shrugged.

"I'll tell you later. Anyway, as I was leaving the chief's office, I figured I might need another look around his office and I'd need a good alibi so I dropped my wallet. It's behind the chair on the right side of Kane's desk."

"Wow. That was smart, Dean."

"Your disbelief wounds me, Sammy."

Bellamy had been the second one back at the station when the call came in. The first had been Police Chief Kane, of course, but the shock in Miller's voice had forced Bellamy out of his bed and into the closest pair of jeans and long sleeved sweater before hopping into his old Honda Civic and speeding to the station.

The night officers were there, standing in a hushed semi-circle off to one side. There were only three officers assigned to the night shift and though Bellamy got along them okay, he knew they were assigned to the shift for specific reasons. Officer Damien Miller was on probation for involvement in a large-scale bar fight. Officer Monroe Elkins spent the day raising her newborn child on her own and Officer Atom Lawrence couldn't handle the movement of the day shift as he was still in remission after grappling with stage 2 skin cancer.

Chief Kane was questioning the night janitor heatedly but most likely pointlessly. The man seemed severely shaken up and his eyes kept darting to the blood bath cordoned off with yellow tape.

"What happened?" Bellamy approached Miller but Monroe answered for him.

"Another murder. No thanks to you."

Bellamy was taken about by the unrestricted anger and vehemence in her voice. Atom shot her a wary glance and looked back at Bellamy with chagrin.

"We're off kilter, Deputy Blake. Monroe didn't mean any harm."

Monroe grumbled something in Atom's direction before turning back to Bellamy.

"Yeah, sorry."

The apology was lifeless and Bellamy took it for what it was: a half-assed attempt at appeasing him because of his title. Jasper and Octavia had been telling him for months he was letting his new position go to his head and he hadn't really believed it, but seeing fellow officers blaming him for the town murders was another thing.

"You accusing me of being a killer, Officer Elkins?"

Atom opened his mouth to speak but Bellamy raised a hand.

"I'd appreciate some honesty. Elkins?" he prompted.

This time Monroe didn't hold back.

"We're all working our asses off to find this killer but bodies keep piling up and it seems like you and Kane only succeed in gallivanting around town on parade floats or taking pictures for the local paper. Do you have any clue to who's doing this? Do you even care?"

Chief Kane called his name and Bellamy cleared his throat before walking away from Monroe's unrelenting stare.

"The janitor didn't see the killer. He didn't hear any sounds of a scuffle. Roma had no chance to fight back. I'm thinking a man of considerable size and stature."

"I agree, sir, but who would commit a murder in the heart of the police department? It's reckless."

"It's arrogant. The bastard's playing mind games. Killed right under my nose."

"Sir, you couldn't have known-

"Either way, there's not much left here." Kane interrupted. "I'm heading home. Get this cleaned up and make sure the night shift knows what the hell they're doing."

Then he was gone and Bellamy was left staring down at a puddle of guts and blood with a shaking janitor to one side and a trio of officers probably whispering behind his back.

Oh and the sudden appearance of the Griffin family.

"Whoa, you can't just walk in here." Miller stood between the three Griffins and the rest of the room but his height was nothing for Sam and Dean just shoved him aside.

"Already did." He strolled past.

"Back off, Blondie." Monroe's hand moved to her gun and once again it was to Clarke to diffuse the situation.

"That's usually my nickname, officer." She flashed her sweetest smile. "My brother dropped his wallet around here earlier. We were just retrieving it. Oh my God, what happened?"

She raised her hands to cover her mouth at the sight of the blood, throwing in a stunned gasp which immediately drew Miller to her.

"It's not a sight for delicate eyes, miss." He said, touching her arm reassuringly.

Clarke repressed a snort. She had seen so much worse, like the wendigo attack at her friend Annabeth's tenth birthday party. That was gruesome.

Clarke knew they had to scour the crime scene but it wouldn't be easy surrounded by cops and the janitor who must have stumbled upon the remains of the body. The old man was still trembling. Clarke gave Dean a subtle wink before making a show of stumbling in her heeled boots.

"Oh crap, I'm sorry. I'm feeling a bit faint."

She closed her eyes and let her body fall forward. As she anticipated arms closed around her small frame.

"Thank you. I-I need to get away from this. Get some air, please."

When she opened her eyes, she almost gasped. For real this time. She'd assumed the officer sporting a black beanie would rush to her side, but somehow Bellamy standing the furthest away had caught her instead. Logically, she realized this was better than she'd planned because Bellamy was more observant and probably smarter than the other cops and her brothers could get rid of the other cops more easily with Bellamy out of the way. Still, the handsome man's proximity was doing things to her usually steady pulse and her heart must have been beating loud enough to hear.

"I can take you out the back entrance for a few minutes."

"Thank you, Deputy." She gave a gracious smile and he led her out, keeping an arm around her waist.

Though Dean wanted to run after his little sister, he knew she could take care of herself (she had knives and stakes hidden in jacket pockets and in her boots or the particularly sharp blade strapped to her leg) and besides he had a window of opportunity now. The deputy had left the room and two of the other officers were taking the janitor in each arm. Apparently they were going to give him a ride home in the cop car. That left one. The particularly paranoid female officer.

Dean flashed his lady-killer smile.

"You're too beautiful to be a cop, sweetheart. What's your story?"

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean convinced the officer to accompany him to the chief's office to search for his cell phone. He would bet money his brother was doing more than that, but Sam didn't linger on that thought. He crouched beside the police tape and examined what was left of Roma Matthews.

It did align with the profile they'd created of the vindictive Grounder spirits working for Chibiabos. Other supernatural creatures wouldn't bother with so much gore. If they wanted a meal, they only left small bones or hair behind. If they wanted a vessel, they wouldn't have left the body behind. Even a shape shifter didn't leave such a mess behind when taking on a new form. Whoever held the amulet was certainly getting their revenge on the Mt. Weather townspeople.

Sam did a quick scan for sulfur that yielded nothing but his hand barely grazed the EMF scanner when it began screeching at the residual presence of the spirits in the room. He instantly shut it off and put it back in his pocket. There was nothing else to be gained from the room. Their next step was going over all the dead to find the connection to the wielder of the amulet. He was about to stand when a blink of light flashed from his peripheral vision.

Sam crawled away from the cordoned area and on his knees bent his head lower to the floor. The source of the light was an iPhone in a bright yellow case that had slid under the cabinet. It must have been the victim's phone. He hadn't seen it in her purse and the cops hadn't put everything into sealed bags for evidence yet. He hurried forward, slipping one lean arm under the cabinet before fishing the phone out and putting it in his pocket.

When Monroe and Dean emerged from the office, her face red and her hair coming out of its tight braid (not to mention the noticeable hickey on her neck) Sam was leaning against a desk on one side of the room with all the nonchalance in the world.

"Score." Dean smirked and when Monroe gave him a glower, he held up his wallet. "See, I found it, Sammy."

Sam wondered from time to time how he and Dean carried the same DNA.

Clarke gauged that three minutes or so had passed so she shifted her weight so she wasn't leaning on Bellamy's strong frame anymore.

"I'm good. The nausea passed. I've never seen so much blood before, you know?"

Bellamy's arm had moved away from her waist and hung limp at his side again. Clarke briefly wished he'd put it back and then add the other and pull her hard into his chest and then-

"It's fine. My job is to serve the townspeople. That sort of includes you now, doesn't it, Princess?"

"That nickname's here to stay isn't it?"

"Count on it." He said cheekily and she laughed.

"I'm sure my brother found his wallet by now. I don't want to keep you. You must be tired."

"I was sleeping when the call came in, but I'm used to these type of nights. There's supposed to be a day shift and an overnight shift for a reason, but as deputy I'm always here."

"You sound bitter."

"You're the only one to pick up on it."

"Hmm."

"Like I said before, everyone sees what's outside but they don't bother to look past it. One of the officers inside blames me for these murders. Said I'm centered on my promotion and sucking up to Chief Kane. On the other side, the chief's a dick that wears excessive amounts of hair gel and I hate working for him."

Clarke broke into laughter and Bellamy followed with his own chuckles.

"This isn't your fault, Bellamy." She said after they'd quieted.

"Yeah, then whose is it?"

In the moonlight her blue eyes came alive, the dark of her pupils bringing out the glimmering azure of her irises. The deep consideration in her eyes startled him. Clarke had moments of strange passion (all happening in the storm of her eyes) where thoughts and emotions played a beautiful game. When she spoke again, her voice was as easy as usual and whatever Bellamy had seen in her eyes was gone.

"Chief Dick, maybe."

He laughed again and gestured for the door. She let him open it for her as they walked back to the main room.

"I think it's best if we take the second corridor. It'll leave you at the front door and your brothers can meet you there. That way you don't have to see… you know."

She nodded.

"Thanks, Deputy."

"No problem, Princess. I think if we keep meeting like this, I might have to ask you out."

Clarke grinned.

"Then I might have to make sure we keep meeting like this."

They were at the front entrance sooner than he would have wanted and Sam and Dean were already waiting for her there (to Bellamy's dismay). Both had their arms crossed expectantly and Clarke shot them a warning glare.

"Thanks again, Deputy Blake." Clarke said as she pushed her brothers out the door.

Bellamy smiled after the whirlwind of blonde hair and magical eyes. There was something about Clarke Griffin… it might just be the death of him.

He laughed at that before returning to the main floor where Roma's remains still lay. He'd have to bag everything himself and write up the report as well. Shit.