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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.
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Flight through Time
Chapter 1
Morning in an Old World
The huge, hairy and dirty man pushed at a bundle of rags half hidden in the straw with his foot.
"Come on, kid." He growled. "Get up."
"What do you have there, Grecco?" another voice intruded.
"Don't really know," the hairy guy answered. "I found him out bothering the horses last night and dragged him in here to take a look."
The bundle of rags rolled over exposing the sweet hairless face of a young boy. The child raised a hand to his head and rubbed at the blood in his hair. He opened his eyes and took in the two creatures staring at him. With a small shriek be scurried backwards, trying to get as far away as he could. His awkward scrambling flight ended against the rough wall of a crudely made horse shed.
"Good job, Grecco. He's still alive."
"What was I supposed to do, Anees?" The one called Grecco replied. "It could have been anything…a wolf, a gnome, a witch or even a spirit out of the hills."
"True, very true. In times like these we must be careful." Anees rubbed his unshaven chin then his still sleep laden eyes. He yawned then hunched down to look at the boy more closely.
Anees was not as big as Grecco but he definitely was good size. His muscles bunched, exposed by the minimal covering he wore. He had a loose, draped shirt of indeterminate color along with a very short skirt like covering over his privates.
Extending a calloused and dirt creased hand he captured the boy's chin and pulled the child's head up to get a better look.
The boy tossed his head from side to side and whimpered. His nose curled up and he hissed at Anees.
"Don't like how I smell, is that it boy?" The man let go of the child's soft face and stood up.
"I don't know why he was wandering in the dark but I'm sure this is no lost peasant child. He might not even be a native. He's too pretty and clean for these dirt grubbing savages."
"I think you should go get the Centurion, Grecco." Anees said. "I'll keep an eye on the boy. Go now."
Grecco left the barn. Anees was still crouched down, within arm's reach of the child. He put out his hand and grabbed the child by the back of his neck and pulled him closer. The child fought, clinging to the stable posts, drawing his soft hands over the rough wood but the man over powered him and drew the boy in close.
Anees breathed deeply. Even after a night under a rough woven blanket sleeping on a pile of straw, the boy still smelled clean, new and young. The soldier thought of his family so far away, in Rome. The boy reminded him of his oldest child. The soldier wondered if Paulus was safe and a longing for home made his gut clench.
When Grecco returned with the Centurion Anees was still holding the boy in his arms.
"Anees," Grecco called out. "Let him go. Make him stand up. Centurion Polonius wants to take a look."
The boy pulled away from his captor and stood straight and proud, wrapped in the coarse blanket.
The Centurion was a middle aged man with calculating eyes. You did not rise easily through the ranks. You had to be clever and good at pleasing your superiors. Sometime in the past perhaps being a good warrior had been enough but the Centurion doubted it.
"Come here, boy," Polonius barked.
The boy said nothing but watched the man's face and hands for clues. He took a cautious step forward, careful to stand just out of comfortable reach.
"Take off the blanket." The man ordered and dipped his hand. The boy stood confused.
"He doesn't speak?" Polonius asked Grecco.
"I haven't heard a word since I found him last night. He makes sounds so he probably can speak. He just doesn't know the language, I guess." Grecco shrugged. The boy was not his problem any longer.
The Centurion suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the boy's blanket, jerking it off. The child stumbled at the unexpected assault and fell to the ground.
There was silence as the men stare at the child's body. The boy was snowy clean even after a night spent on the straw of a stable. He wore a clinging, sleeveless top and soft, billowing white pants closed at the top with a drawstring. Such clothing appeared foreign, strange to the Romans. The boy also had strange tattooed patterns on his upper arms and seamless thin gold bands around his wrists.
"I don't think he's a Roman, "Polonius finally said. "Perhaps I should take him along to Iranis, He is the legion's commander, the legatus legionis. He will have some idea of what to go with the boy.
Taking hold of the boy's arm the Centurion pulled him along behind him through the legion's camp.
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"Frigging witches," Dean complained. He had his band wrapped around the young witch's neck. "Where the hell is my brother?" He shook her literally until her teeth clacked together.
"Let her breathe, Dean." Andy laid his hand on Dean's arm. "She can't tell you squat dead. Let her breathe."
Last night Sam and Dean and a new Hunter Garth had introduced them to, Andy Larch, had gone hunting for a coven in Amesbury, Connecticut. It was supposed to be a cake walk. The coven was young and stupid. Their senior witch was old, old, old and losing her mind after years of self-inflicted abuse.
The coven had been easy to find. They couldn't even hide well. The Hunters had seen the fire easily that had been kindled in the wooded grove. The three men, Dean, Sam and Andy, had charged in, machetes swinging and guns firing. It had not taken but a minute to shut the ritual down. The witches left alive had scattered, leaving their dead Coven leader behind, bleeding out in the fallen leaves under the winter stripped trees.
Dean had immediately gone to the woman tied down as the blood sacrifice on the rough stone alter and cut her bonds. She was naked and the charming witches had carved symbols into her delicate belly skin. Her blood flowed down her sides, staining the stone.
Dean had turned away from her when he heard Sam cry out. The last thing he expected was for the victim to smack him in the back of the head with the neared tree branch she could reach. She hit him just right, more luck than skill, and he fell momentarily helpless to his knees.
When Dean regained his senses and the world stopped spinning, he realized that Andy had come back to take down the blood stained woman. She was now face down in the autumn leaves, like her coven leader.
"Thanks, Andy," Dean allowed the other Hunter to help him stand. "Where's Sam?"
"I don't know," Andy said. "He was right in front of me, chasing one of the coven. She turned and hit him in the face with something; a hex bag or curse or something, and he disappeared." Andy was vibrating with tension.
"I've got her over there, tied to a tree. You want to try and talk to her?"
Dean strode over to the woman kneeling with her head on a tree trunk. Andy had pulled her arms around the tree and tied them together. She wasn't going anywhere.
Dean wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her head around to face him. "Where the hell is my brother?"
The witch was young. She was pale and frightened. It looked like she was just realizing that this stuff was real. Tears started coursing through the ashes she had smeared on her face. Dean knew the ashes ritual. It was to keep the witch's fragile human body safe from other demons. They could not see through her mask. Only her personal demon could find her, or that was the superstition.
"I don't know." She cried. "I don't know where he went."
Dean shook her again then tossed her head against the tree trunk.
"You better come up with something better than that," he snarled. "What happened to my brother?"
"He scared me." She was crying harder than ever. "He was so big and dark and he had that giant knife." She was shaking so hard it was difficult to understand her.
Dean gritted his teeth. "What did you do?" he barked. "Where's Sammy?"
"I don't know." She cried. "Please let me go, I don't know where he went. I threw the bag at him and I heard words whispered in my ear."
"Discedite, fugite, go in lucem, sit parvulus adeo pridem"
"What the hell does that mean?" Dean growled and slammed the witch's head into the trunk of the tree again. "Where's my brother?"
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"What do you want me to do, Dean?" Andy asked looking around at the ritual site. While they had been talking to Andy's captive the ritual sacrifice had evidently go to her feet and run after the fleeing witches. Now they had one body and one captive to deal with.
"Don't worry about it Andy." Dean replied. "I'll take care of it. Thanks for your help and tell Garth I'll call him later. Right now I have to concentrate on finding Sam."
"If you're sure, Dean, I'm glad to stay if you want." Andy replied while wiping down his blade before putting it away.
"I'm pretty sure this coven is toast." Dean shrugged. "We took out the crazy old witch, the rest ran away and I've got the trouble maker right here. I sure as hell don't want to chase the rest of these women through town. Somebody will notice me chasing them for sure."
"Ok, Dean," Andy saluted and headed for his car.
Dean turned back to the witch. Staring at her huddled against the tree he called Bobby Singer.
Dean explained the situation to the older Hunter.
"Damn, boy, you've got yourself quite the problem." Bobby commented after hearing the story. "Do you believe the witch? Does she really not know what she did?'
"I'm telling you Bobby, this one is worthless." Dean glared over at the woman shackled to the tree.
"Boy, I think you should come on up this way and let me try a location spell on your brother. I don't know of anything else to suggest." Bobby paused. "I'll need something personal from each witch. The crazy old girl's body's still there, right?"
"Right here, Bobby. I haven't gotten around to burning her yet. I thought I'd call you first."
"Well get her blood, if you can. It would be easier if it was still liquid but do what you can. The other might be a problem. She's evidently got some juice even if she doesn't know how to use it. How do you feel about cutting her loose? She could be dangerous if she keeps this stuff up."
Dean looked back over at the witch. "What's your name, witch?" he growled.
"Mary Fable," she replied.
"You're telling me." Dean glared. "What do you think, Mary Fable, are you going to keep this stuff up or are you going to be looking for a new hobby? Tell the truth."
"Please, just let me go," her voice quavered. "I'll never even talk to any of these women again. I just want to go home. I don't want to hear the word witch for the rest of my life."
Dean shook his head. "Nice try. You know you've now got a demon interested in you, right? Where did you think that spell came from, Tinkerbell? If I were you I'd try hanging out around churches from now on."
Mary began to cry.
"Well Bobby," Dean turned back to the phone. "Right now she's terrified. I think she'll say anything I want to hear."
"If that's her wailing in the background, this next part will make her faint." Bobby snorted. "You need to get some of her blood too for me. Just cut her and catch the blood on a piece of her clothing. She is dressed, right?"
"Of course she's dressed." Dean responded. "It wasn't that kind of a party, old man."
"Don't' be a smart mouth, boy," Bobby barked back. "It's fairly common for covens to perform rituals naked, you know."
"God, I hate witches," was Dean's response.
"Well, get on your horse boy," Bobby ordered. "You need to get here as soon as you can with the blood. Sam is getting further and further away with each passing minute. People and things get lost in space all the time but they also get lost in time. The longer you take, the further away Sam is going to drift.
