Dean and Sam stared at him, both clearly confused.
Henry looked furious. His face was flushed red, his arms dotted with irritated patches from constant scratching. He kept flexing his fingers like he was trying not to rip his own skin off.
"Who else could put itching powder in my bag?" Henry demanded.
Dean lifted a hand slightly. "Ummm… maybe Sammy would pull something like that."
Sam turned his head slowly. "No. I did not. Why would you think I would do that?"
Dean shrugged. "You're the quiet, long-game type."
"I don't do itching powder," Sam said flatly.
Henry dragged his nails lightly over his forearm again and winced. "This isn't funny."
Dean tilted his head. "Did you try bathing?"
"I did," Henry snapped. "It didn't work well."
Sam exhaled and shifted the focus. "Okay, fine. Leave the powder for now. Why don't you and Dean go talk to the victim who had a close encounter?"
Dean frowned slightly. "The campus one?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Something strange is going on on campus."
Henry paused mid-scratch. "Close encounter? Like… probing?"
"Yeah," Sam said calmly. "That also happened on campus."
Henry stood there for a second, thinking despite the itching. "Okay…"
Sam hesitated, then added, "And do you mind giving me your computer?"
Henry blinked. "What happened to yours?"
Sam's jaw tightened just slightly. "Well. Someone used it to watch bustyasianbeauties they forgot where they put it."
Henry slowly turned his head toward Dean.
Dean smiled awkwardly, completely unapologetic.
Sam looked like he couldn't stand Dean anymore—like he genuinely couldn't stand him—and muttered under his breath, "Someone take him away from me."
***
Later that night, Dean and Henry pushed through the door of a crowded bar near campus. Music thumped in the background, glasses clinked, and the smell of cheap liquor hung heavy in the air.
Henry rolled his shoulders. The itching had mostly faded, leaving only faint red marks along his arms. Still annoying, but manageable.
"There," Dean muttered, nodding toward a corner table.
Curtis sat alone with a lineup of empty shot glasses in front of him, working on another. He looked like someone trying very hard not to think.
Dean and Henry slid onto the barstools beside him.
"I heard what happened," Dean said casually.
Curtis didn't look at him. "No, you didn't." He tossed back the shot. "And if you're here to make fun of me, just leave."
"We're not here to make fun of you," Henry said evenly. "We just want to know what happened."
Curtis stared into his glass for a few seconds before answering.
"I was walking back to my dorm. Near Crawford Hall," he said slowly. "It was late. No one was around. Then this light just—" he gestured upward with his hand, "—came out of nowhere. A beam. And next thing I know, I'm not on the ground anymore."
Dean's expression stayed neutral. "Kidnapped?"
Curtis nodded stiffly. "Yeah."
Dean leaned forward slightly. "What did they do?"
Curtis swallowed.
"They, uh… they…" He cleared his throat and finally looked at them. "They probed me."
Henry blinked. "Like… probing-probing?"
Curtis pointed at him emphatically. "Yeah. They probed me. Again. And again. And again and again and again. And one more time."
Henry slowly leaned back on his stool.
Dean made a face. "Yikes."
Curtis grabbed another shot and downed it like he was trying to burn the memory out of his brain.
Dean and Henry exchanged a look. For once, neither of them had a joke ready. If even half of what he was saying was true, the guy hadn't just been embarrassed—he'd been humiliated.
"And that's not even the worst part," Curtis muttered.
Dean blinked. "How could it get any worse? Some alien made you it's bitc—"
"Empathy, Dean," Henry cut in quietly. "He's already spiraling."
Curtis stared straight ahead at the bottles lined up behind the bar.
"They made me slow dance," he said.
Dean frowned. "Slow dance?"
Curtis nodded, jaw tight. "Yeah. Slow dance. With the same… thing that probed me."
Henry stared at him.
Curtis swallowed hard. "There was music. I don't know where it came from. I couldn't move unless it moved me. It held me there. Just… swaying."
Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying not to react the wrong way.
"It was horrifying," Curtis continued, voice shaking slightly. "Slow dancing with an alien who just probed me."
Henry let out a slow breath through his nose.
"Okay," he said carefully. "That part's definitely worse."
They stepped out of the bar into the cool night air. The music thudded faintly behind them before the door shut.
Dean let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Man, that was wild. You think he was telling the truth?"
"Yes," Henry said without hesitation. "He wasn't making it up. He looked genuinely horrified."
Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Then what the hell is going on in this town? First a haunted building, now aliens. Feels like some weirdo's staging all of this. Probing and slow dancing?" He scoffed. "That doesn't even make sense."
Henry stayed quiet for a few steps.
Haunted building. Alien abductions. Over-the-top humiliation. Itching powder in his bag.
The pattern clicked into place.
Trickster.
Gabriel.
Archangel with a god complex and a taste for elaborate pranks.
'Of course,' he thought. 'It's him.'
Explosions of absurdity. Overdramatic punishments. Messing with people for fun. Targeting the Winchesters. And apparently, targeting him too.
'That bastard ruined my rest,' Henry muttered inwardly. 'And turned me into a walking rash.'
*****
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