Set sometime after 5x22 "Swan Song," but it's not really set anywhere in season 6 in particular.

A/N: I originally wrote "The Drifter" as a stand alone, and it still can be read as one. I just had some inspiration to add more to it, and this chapter is the result.

Thanks to Phx and geminigrl11 for their preview comments.

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The Drifter Chapter 2

Hyannis High School, Room 112

Adam shields his eyes from the blood spatter, then chuckles softly as he looks down at the girl's body—or what's left of it. Even by his standards, that was satisfying.

A whimper behind him makes him turn, facing the Varsity-jacket wearing jock he crippled when he entered the classroom. The boy's face goes pale when Adam's eyes settle on him, and he glances from Adam to the three dead cheerleaders and back, terror contorting his face.

"What?" Adam asks, frowning as he follows the gaze to the three girls' cooling corpses. Their faces are obscured by their blood and tangled hair. Maybe a few bits of bone here and there. He shrugs and turns back to the seventeen-year old. "I told them it'd be mind-blowing."

Adam takes a step toward the boy, and he scuttles back, crying out as his shattering femurs drag along the floor. He's not going anywhere.

"Please…d-don't! Stay back!"

"Shh," Adam coos, crouching in front of the trembling form.

"Don't hurt me…p-please!"

Adam's already hurt him, so that doesn't make much sense. But, given how the slobber is dripping down the boy's chin, Adam doubts he's even aware of what he's saying.

"L-let me go! I won't t-tell anyone!"

"Actually, you will," Adam corrects him. "I need you to deliver a message for me."

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Dean is leaning against the side of the Impala when Sam marches out of the Coroner's Office. Even on the Sammy Scale, his little brother's face looks grim.

Grant County is crawling with Feds of all shapes and colors. FBI, Homeland Security, ATF, even the freakin' National Guard. Fully three-quarters of the population of Hyannis is dead or missing, with no natural disasters to blame it on, and no witnesses to any criminal activity. Dean knows from experience that the authorities—those nameless "theys" and "thems" that run the world—don't like mysteries. Especially ones that seem like horror movies come to life. 'They' like explanations. The simpler the better.

It's one of the reasons hunters are so inclined to fly under the radar.

Sam reaches Dean but doesn't stop, making a beeline for the passenger side door. "Let's go."

Dean frowns at the tone and stands up straighter. He knows fear in Sam's voice when he hears it. "What? Where are we going?"

"Back to the motel."

"Why?" Dean asks as he drops into the driver's seat. Sam's got a manila folder in his hands, which he holds up as way of explanation.

"We need to talk to Cas."

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"We've got a problem." Sam says quietly when the angel flaps into their room.

Castiel, ever ignorant of human interaction, doesn't seem to register the abruptness of the greeting. "Hyannis?"

"You know?" Dean asks, expression dour as the angel joins them by the table.

"Such a sudden migration of souls does not go unnoticed," Cas murmurs as he folds his arms in an all-too-human posture of concern. "As yet, we have no indication of what could have done this."

"Well, we have." Dean motioned to the photos. "That's Enochian, isn't it?"

The question is rhetorical. Sam's already identified the language—having seen so much of it in the past few years—but couldn't translate it. Castiel is intrigued, and sits down across from them.

"Yes. An older dialect." He looks up at them. "This was found in town?"

"On a crucified body," Sam replies glumly. "His legs were broken, then he was nailed to a cross. Can you read it?"

Cas is already reading it. He nods slowly. "Hmm. Bizarre syntax…."

"What does that mean?" Dean leans forward, staring at the bloody lettering.

"It's…it's as though whoever wrote this was not a native speaker. It was an acquired skill, I guess you'd say."

"But, you can make out the words?" Sam asks, arms folded in front of him on the table.

"Um…yes." Cas frowns as he reads. "It reads 'paying back…to be…a female dog.' Hmm."

Sam's brow creases in confusion. "What?"

Dean rolls his eyes, sighing softly in exasperation. "I think you mean, 'payback is a bitch.'"

Cas, oblivious as usual to the intricacies of English, nods agreeably. "Ah, very well. And, then here it reads "'I will see you soon.'"

"'Payback's a bitch, I'll see you soon?'" Sam echoes, glancing at Dean. "Who would write that in Enochian?"

"I don't know," Dean shakes his head, still staring at the mutilated body in the photos. "But, I know we need to track this thing down before it gets to another town."

"That may not be wise."

Sam and Dean both look over at Castiel, who's glaring at a third photo of the body. "Why?"

Cas turns the photo over, so they can see more bloody letters spanning the teenager's pale clavicle. "Because the message begins: 'Hello, Sam and Dean.'"

TBC