The Iron Mask

[First Supernatural fic, please please please review!! Reviews equal love, if you love it or even if you hate it give me something please! :D]

Puppet


Sam and Dean slowly and carefully make their way through the woods, guns in their hands and the moonlight on their shoulders.

“Are you sure this is the last place the thing attacked?” Sam asks quietly, not really too fond of the black as pitch woods.

“Sure I’m sure, why else would I be dragging us out here in the middle of the night?” Dean replies indignantly.

Sam doesn’t say anymore, he just hopes that Dean is right about this one.

An earsplitting crack in the distance freezes them both, followed by the sounds of splintering wood and the bending of metal. The brothers move quickly toward the ominous sounds in silence, their eyes wide against the dark as their gun barrels lead them.

They soon reach a small clearing and find a downed oak that must have been the source of the huge noise they had just heard. Leaves and branches litter the ground, making it extremely hard for the pair to move silently.

“What could have done this?” Sam whispers, looking around at the wreckage of the fallen tree.

“Sam,” Dean whispers back in warning. Sam looks over to the other side of the huge oak and crouches down.

On the far side of the tree there’s a car that appears to have been dragged into the clearing from the highway a mile or two away. Two girls are in the car; one is slumped against the cracked passenger side window, the other is fighting to not be pulled from the small sedan.

Both brothers squint to see what the thing is that’s pulling the terrified women out of her car. The full moon is behind it, casting the thing’s features in shadow, but its silhouette is vaguely human and thin, but it’s head looks too big for a normal human body.

The boys get closer as the thing leans over the sobbing women. It presses her against the cold metal of the car and leans over her, stroking her cheek slowly, its fingers trailing down to her cleavage and over her breast. “Please let me go!” she begs through sobs, shivering in the cold night air. The thing doesn’t reply, just keeps trailing its fingers all over her.

But before it can do anything else Dean takes aim and shoots once at its head.

The bullet hits but seems to just deflect off with a metallic ting and a short spark.

“Lets go,” Dean says, and both brothers take off toward the thing, prepared to do what’s needed to save the woman.

The thing lifts its head toward them and then suddenly its right in front of them.

“Oh great it can teleport,” Dean says sarcastically before taking a swing at it.

His fist doesn’t even connect. The thing grabs his wrist before he can make a hit, but it doesn’t stop Sam from knifing it in the side. His blow doesn’t seem to phase it though as it swings its arm toward Sam, connecting on the side of his head and knocking him to the ground a few feet away. Dean grunts and takes another swing at the beast’s head but grunts in pain as his knuckles split on what feels like metal.

He looks closer at the thing’s head and shouts out to Sam, “It’s wearing some kind of mask or helmet thing!” But that’s all he gets out before the thing wraps its fingers around his throat and starts to squeeze.

Sam struggles to sit up and takes aim again, shooting and hitting the metal mask again. The thing doesn’t even seem to notice again; that is until a small crack suddenly appears in the mask, red light shining through and illuminating the thing. It becomes clear that the iron helmet covers the thing’s entire head, leaving only a small slot open for its eyes.

As the brothers watch its previously glazed and empty eyes widen and focus with amazement and panic. It lets go of Dean and he falls to the ground in front of it. They watch as it wedges its claws into the tiny crack and the muscles in its arms shiver as they try to keep the crack open.

Her arms shiver. With the red light from the crack on the helmet it’s obvious now that whatever it is, it’s a female. It’s not wearing any clothes and though it seems more humanoid then actual human, its figure is distinctly feminine.

She strains against the crack in the metal, every muscle struggles to pull it apart. She suddenly looks meaningfully at Dean and Sam, her eyes desperate. She tries to say something but the helmet holds her jaws so tight that all she can get out is a muffled cry.

“What the hell is it doing?” Dean shouts to Sam who doesn’t have an answer.

They look back to her when she gives another muffled shout, then screams when a whip comes out from nowhere and strikes across her back.

The brothers look behind her and see that a chain has appeared that connects to the back of the helmet and stretches 50 feet into the distance where the end is being wielded by a short man shadowed by the bright light of the moon.

The whip flies again and the female thing screams against the iron of the helmet again. Her fingers slip just enough for the helmet to seal itself tight once again. She gives one more sorrowful cry before her eyes go blank and unfocused again. Her muscles relax and her shoulders slump.

“Dean!” Sam shouts, “Take aim at whatever’s holding the end of that chain! It’s what’s controlling her!”

They both pull out their guns and aim toward the shorter thing farther away. But as soon as they pull the trigger, she’s suddenly in front of him, the bullets sinking into her stomach. She staggers and almost falls but manages to keep standing in front of the thing controlling her.

“Don’t shoot Dean, it’s using her as a shield,” Sam says, lowering his gun. Dean looks toward the two with resentment, his finger itching to pull the trigger, but lowers his gun as well.

“Get us out of here,” a weak but definitely male voice says. It must be the thing controlling her. She complies by arching her arm above her head and snaps her fingers once.

They both go up in a burst of red and black flames. Dean and Sam gasp and run toward them, “They’re gonna get away!” Dean shouts just before they disappear, flames and everything.

The boys stare at the place they disappeared from for a few seconds, then both look at each other.

“What the hell was that?” Dean demands.


“The helmet she was wearing is called the Iron Mask. It was once used as a medieval torture device. Apparently if you can get one of these masks in the first place, then find a way to slip it onto someone’s head, you have complete control of them. Even the most powerful of beings can be subdued.” Sam says, reading from the open internet page. The brothers are back in their motel room and the light from the laptop on the table lights the younger brother’s face eerily.

“So what is she? Some high level demon?” Dean asks, pacing the room back and forth.

“She could be anything, actually, except a demon. The thing controlling her too. Apparently the mask doesn’t work on demons unless it has a Devil’s Snare carved in it or something of that nature. I didn’t see any carvings, did you?”

Dean just shakes his head no, “Well how do we kill her then?”

“Dean… I don’t think we should kill her. I don’t think she’s evil.”

“Sam she’s killed two people, maybe more-”

“But everyone who’s gotten a look at her has described her as puppet-like, as if she were on strings. What if it’s not her killing, but whatever’s controlling her?”

Dean grunts, “Whatever. Evil or not we should still know how to kill her if we have to. And that thing pulling her strings.”

“Yeah, easier said then done Dean.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I have no idea what either of them are,” Sam says, a little exasperated. “We know they’re not demons, but that’s about all we have to go on. They could be anything really; shape shifters, vampires… anything that can appear in human form.”

Dean sighs, frustrated, “Well I guess I’ll go see if I can dig up anything from the survivors who saw our puppet, ‘cause I can’t sit around any longer. Call me if you find out anything,” he says and with that grabs his leather jacket and slams the motel door shut behind him.

Sam sighs and goes back to the laptop, mentally preparing for a long haul of pouring over ‘Iron Mask’ lore.

He looks human enough as he makes her lay down on the dingy motel bed in the next city over. In his human form he looks disgusting and ugly; a short balding man with greasy strings of black hair and a smushed in face. He grins as he wraps the chain around his wrist and wills her to reach her hand down and pleasure herself.

Inside her head she is screaming at him; shrieking curses and obscenities about what she’ll do to him when she gets free.

But he doesn’t know that. He thinks she’s asleep, that when he’s in control she’s gone.

It’s almost true. She can’t stop herself from doing his commands, orders he doesn’t even need to speak aloud for her to follow. She doesn’t even have enough control to muster a glare in his direction. All she can do is relax completely so her face turns as blank as the mask covering it. He won’t take pleasure from her expression at least.

He undresses and orders her to move her hand aside and spread her legs for him. She’s seething under the veil of control he has. He’s even worse naked. His stomach protrudes and his pasty skin is slick with sweat. Even as he moves to her and roughly pushes himself into her sex, she only becomes more infuriated.

He orders her to clench her muscles around him and she mentally screams in frustration as her body obliges. He groans and pushes in faster, making the bed creak under them. “Moan for me,” he grunts.

She can’t stop herself as her vocal chords give a very human moan, sounding true even though muffled by the iron sealing her jaws shut. He grins again and pumps into her faster then before, grabbing her hips for leverage.

He will pay for this, is all she can think. He. Will. Pay.

He finishes after about ten minutes and collapses on top of her, breath wheezing from his chest. He rests his head in her cleavage and smiles again, “Oh how I’ve wanted this,” he says. “For so long, I’ve wanted nothing more then for you to love me, and feel my love returned.”

He caresses one of her breasts and pets her arm and the side of her torso with cold, clammy hands.

She can’t stare at him unless he orders it, she can only stare blankly at the ceiling, very much a puppet. But her cold fury lessens just the tiniest fraction. She’s still going to kill him, but now she at least understands his reasoning for imprisoning her.

The sick bastard is in love with her. This is what he considers love in his twisted mind.