Set in Season 4 between 'On the Head of a Pin' and 'It's A Terrible Life', so all is not well with our favourite dynamic duo.
Expect some whumped Dean, angry Sam, a dash of demon, angel and other Supernatural shenanigans.
Health warning: There is swearing, no sex but mention of it, and violence. Of course.
Length - roughly 13000 words. Does this still count as a one shot?
The Hollow Hills
By
Amberdreams
If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On a summer midnight, you can hear the music
Of the weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire
T S Elliot
After nearly three days and nights of fruitless searching, Sam finally rang Bobby. He didn't know what else to do. Ruby had failed him; her burning map trick had produced nothing but ashes this time, and he had nearly blasted her back to Hell in frustration and rage. That was two days ago, he hadn't seen her since, and she wasn't answering her cell.
His veins were still humming with a thousand volts of electricity from his last dose of Ruby's blood, taken the night Dean went missing. He knew this feeling would last for a couple of weeks, but the demon-blood high wasn't helping his concentration. He was unravelling and needed something more human to hold himself together; Bobby was the only person he could trust. The only person who was smart enough and wise enough to find the solution he was blatantly overlooking, and find his stupid, reckless, pain in the ass brother...
"You stay put, boy, don't do anythin' stupid. I'll be with ya in less than two days."
"This Cave of Kelpies is for real then? I thought you were making it up,"
Dean took a left as instructed, Sam's long finger on the map commanding them through the maze of Philadelphia suburbs that surrounded the green oasis of the Wissahickon Valley. The Wissahickon, as Sam helpfully informed him, was a small tributary of the Schuylkill River that ran down to join the mighty Allegheny as it wove its way through the heart of the City of Brotherly Love.
And wasn't that just ironic, Dean thought bitterly, given the current state of the sibling relationship of the Winchesters. Only two days after discharging himself from hospital in Cheyenne, Dean's external injuries from the beating Alastair had administered were still clearly visible, which made sweet-talking diner waitresses a little more difficult than usual. So it was just as well his heart wasn't in it. He left Sam to wield his potent weapon of puppy dog charm, and concentrated on – well, nothing very much really – except staying awake while he was driving, and not thinking too much. Not thinking was good, in the circumstances.
He was finding it difficult to muster up any enthusiasm for this job Sam had dug up like some dusty archaeological relic. His still-healing ribs ached in the persistently cold damp winter air, and he felt old and weary.
Both brothers were still silently aching and bruised from the fight the siren had instigated before they got to Cheyenne, and although those physical injuries had all healed weeks ago, there was a lingering internal bleeding of the spirit neither Winchester was willing to acknowledge. The silence in the Impala had been deafening as they had passed back through Iowa, carefully bypassing Bedford.
Dean didn't need to spare a sideways glance to see if Sam was making the expected bitch-face at his deliberate mangling of the place-name, he could hear the expression in Sam's voice as he impatiently corrected his older brother.
"Cave of Kelpius, Dean, not kelpies, kelpies are water-spr…"
"I know what a freakin' kelpie is Sam! Saved your lily-white butt from one back in Lake Lansing, if you remember."
Dean found his grip tightening on the steering wheel and made a conscious effort to relax. Being with Sam these days was like chewing silver paper on metal fillings, like the scrape of fingernails on a blackboard, it set his teeth on edge and he hated that feeling. It was wrong in so many ways, and he wanted – no – longed – to restore the easy banter they had shared before.
Before Hell. Before the entrance of Ruby the two-faced bitch demon. Before the lying and the secrets and the whole heap of crap that had been heaped on their shoulders. Before words had been spoken that could not be recalled, no matter how badly they both wished it. Before Alastair had beaten the living crap out of him and left him a bleeding mess on the floor. Before Sam had killed a high powered demon, the Torquemada of Hell, with nothing but the power of his mind.
Before a demon had told him it was all his fault, and an angel had said that only he could stop it. The Apocalypse.
There was an awkward silence for a few moments, not even slightly filled by the raw tones of James Hetfield as the cassette tape launched into Until it Sleeps. The two-day drive had been filled with too many of these painful moments, Dean thought, wearily. He swung the Impala hard right as they reached an official-looking sign announcing the Fairmont Park main trail, and below it a hand-painted billboard advertising the Forbidden Drive Motel. He bit back a joke about fair (and forbidden) mounts he had known, feeling that it would not help lighten the atmosphere, laden as it was with guilt and anger.
It was hard to see how they were doing more than papering over the cracks…and the fucking holes just kept getting wider and wider every day. More like the Grand Canyon than hairline cracks in flaking plaster.
The dense woodland of Fairmount Park closed in around them, making it feel as though the low winter sun had already set, even though it was barely 3pm. The dark, damp scent of rotting leaves and earth filtered through the Impala's air vents, pushing away the more industrial smells of exhaust and concrete, replacing the man-made with something infinitely more atavistic. Primeval. Like that British TV show with the dinosaurs he'd seen one time on cable; he half expected a ginormous pterodactyl to come swooping down over the tree tops to pick up the Impala in its giant claws…
"You aren't fantasising about dinosaurs again are you, Dean?" Sam interrupted his train of thought with shocking prescience. Sometimes it was less about Sam being psychic and more about his little brother being under Dean's skin in a way he didn't even like to think about. So he blustered something incoherent in denial, perfectly aware that Sam wasn't fooled one little bit. Again he didn't need to look to feel the grin on Sam's face at catching his big brother out, and somewhere deep inside Dean's chest, a knot loosened and his shoulders relaxed, just a fraction.
He pulled into the Motel car park and shared a brief raised eyebrow with Sam as they took in the cutesy pseudo-period décor. The building looked as though it hadn't been able to make a decision between a genuine 17th century inn (which it's signs claimed it to be) and the ginger-bread cottage from Hansel and Gretel. Dean felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Shit, I hope this place is run by the wicked witch from Snow White, dude – she was hot…"
Sam snorted, and Dean was secretly delighted to see him unable to suppress a laugh.
"I assume you mean the porn version," Sam made a feeble attempt at sounding disapproving.
"And you said you never watched it…I knew you were lying!" Dean crowed, as Sam blushed.
As they unloaded their duffels from the trunk after checking in, Dean didn't even notice how he was absently fingering his bruised ribs as he basked in the warmth of being shoulder to shoulder with his little brother in a way they hadn't experienced for days (or maybe longer).
Sadly that old habit of easy camaraderie was all too short-lived.
It was with some relief that Sam watched Dean slowly unwind. His brother had been as tangled and sharp-edged as a razor-wire fence since Cheyenne – since Alastair had revealed Dean's part in breaking the first seal, and then Castiel had added to his burden by feeding him that Nostradamus crap about the righteous man being the one to end it all. When Sam thought about it, his heart ached for Dean. The enigmatic angel had been conspicuous by his absence since dumping his revelation on the elder Winchester while refusing to heal him. Sam had been left alone to cope with a shattered wreck of a man, helpless to do anything but watch as his once indomitable big brother tried to painfully piece himself back together both physically and mentally.
And all the while, underneath the genuine pity and compassion he felt, ran a fiery undercurrent of resentment, rage and a barely acknowledged contempt for the weakness he saw in every glance of his brother's shadowed hazel eyes. Sam was like a volcano these days, full of slow moving molten lava overlaying an ominously building pressure, just waiting for the right trigger to be released. Every now and again Sam caught himself wondering if Ruby's blood was exacerbating the simmering undercurrent that tingled through him like electricity, then he'd dismiss the idea as a sign of his own weakness. Man up, Sam Winchester, he'd think angrily, you know it is all up to you now, you gotta be strong.
Sam loaded the small fridge with Team Winchester essentials, a crate of bottled beer and a couple of pints of milk. He chucked their other supplies, a box of Lucky Charms and some bread, onto the worktop next to the sink, then flung himself into the room's single semi-comfy chair, that was clearly intending to be a sofa but failing miserably.
He watched in silence as Dean methodically unpacked his duffel, laying out his favourite .45 on a piece of newspaper on the small kitchen table, ready for the daily weapon-cleaning ritual. Dean was moving with a degree of stiffness that telegraphed to Sam that he was still in a fair amount of pain, though of course the stubborn ass had stopped taking the pain-killers the doctor had prescribed the minute he walked out of the hospital doors in Wyoming. "Can't take that shit and drive, Sammy" had been the response to Sam's protests, and the younger man hadn't bothered to point out the obvious answer was to let him shoulder some of the burden and drive the Impala, because he knew it would be wasted breath.
He thought about the last time he'd seen Ruby. The last time he'd dosed himself up on demon blood. It had been over a week now, and he could feel the tug (insistent, ever present, insidious) of want, of need. He knew he wasn't addicted; this was a necessary evil. In fact, he wasn't entirely convinced it was even evil, not if it meant he would be ready to kill Lilith when the time came. After all, the angels were a bunch of douche-bags, even Dean said so. Why worry what a bunch of douche-bags thought or said…?
"So, we checking this cave out later tonight then?" Dean asked, as he pulled an oily rag that might once have been a Metallica t-shirt out of his bag with a flourish.
Sam nodded in reply. He'd probably swing by the cave himself after he'd met up with Ruby, so it wasn't an out and out lie.
While Dean settled down to dismantle his guns, Sam slipped into the bathroom with Dean's untouched tub of heavy-duty painkillers and a bottle of beer. This was for Dean's own good. Sam knew his big brother hadn't been sleeping – the lingering pain of his recent injuries combined with the ever present nightmares from Hell meant the elder hunter rarely slept for more than an hour at a time these days; and since leaving Cheyenne, Sam didn't think Dean had hardly even managed a straight hour, let alone two consecutive ones. The results were clear to see in the increased pallor of his brother's skin, emphasising the dark shadows around tired eyes.
Sam crushed three tablets into a fine powder and carefully dosed the cold beer, trickling the powder in slowly to stop the tell-tale fizz. He didn't think about how much easier it was getting each time to lie to his brother, or how freaky smooth he was becoming at subterfuge and deception.
An easy smile plastered on his face, he strolled over to the fridge and made a show of pulling out two cold ones and pretending to flip the caps off both before offering Dean the pre-prepared bottle. Absorbed in the pleasantly mechanical task of weapons maintenance, Dean took his bottle absently and downed half of it in a couple of thirsty gulps. Sam sipped his own beer thoughtfully and slowly, surreptitiously watching his brother over the top of his laptop as he tapped in a few random searches, waiting for the drugs to take effect. It didn't take long.
He saw Dean's sure hands falter over reassembling the colt, felt a brief satisfaction as he saw those long lashed eyelids begin to droop. He snapped the lid of the laptop closed and made a show of yawning. He glanced at his watch. 8pm.
"Don't know about you, but I'm whacked. Think I'll grab a few minutes before we go out." He made his way over to the bed he'd claimed earlier, beating Dean to the one nearest the door for a change, and stretched himself out, arms behind his head. He studiously kept his gaze fixed on the cracks in the ceiling and listened with silent amusement as Dean followed suit, muttering something about Sam being a wuss, not having the stamina of lettuce in a microwave and…
His brother's mumblings tailed off and after the briefest of pauses were followed by a dull thump as Dean planted himself face-first into his pillow. After a few seconds, Sam was greeted by a soft snore, and he smiled. He should have a few hours grace before Dean would be stirring again.
Sam sat up. Time to go. Ruby would be waiting for him.
It was the scream let out by that pretty blonde chick (who was always running round in her underwear… mmm) as the pterodactyl dive-bombed her that finally woke him. He was face down, half smothered in a downy pillow now unpleasantly soggy with drool where he'd been sleeping with his mouth open. He lay there for a second, trying without much success to gather his thoughts together into some sort of sensible order. His head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool and his mouth tasted like crap. He fumbled under the pillow with one hand and came up empty – no gun, no knife. And the room was too quiet, had that unmistakeable hollow feel of unoccupied.
What the hell? Where was Sam?
He sat up in a hurry, and instantly regretted it as his head swam alarmingly. He recognised that feeling and found his brain clearing rapidly as a wave of adrenaline, fuelled by angry realisation, swept over him. Sam must have slipped him a mickey in his beer. Knocked him out to get him out of the way – and he had a very good idea why.
Ruby.
Little brother had sneaked off to cosy up to his hell-whore. Fuck.
Dean glared around the empty Motel room, registered the time – just gone midnight. He'd been out for the count for nearly four hours.
A look of determination settled on his face. Sam had said they'd check out that cave tonight, so check it out he would; on his own as Sam had seen fit to find his entertainment elsewhere. Controlled fury in every movement, he stuffed his duffel with everything he could think of that might be needed for a recon – holy water, salt loads and shot gun, bags of goofer dust, knives – and tooled himself up to match with his reassembled colt 911 down the back of his jeans, knife in his boot, the usual. Grabbing a flashlight, he stomped out of the Forbidden Drive Motel and headed for the trail to the Cave of Kelpius on foot, grimly noting the absence of the Impala in the Motel lot as another black mark in Sam's copy-book.
As the wooded darkness swallowed him up, he muttered under his breath "He'd better not be banging that demon in the backseat of my baby, that's all…"
It was darker on the trail that he had anticipated, and he had to use the flashlight nearly the whole way to the cave, which rather messed up his plan to arrive inconspicuously. But there was no moon, the sky was heavy with cloud, and the woodland was packed with massive rocks and a dense undergrowth of tangled evergreen vines, so in spite of the fact that most of the venerable oaks were bare of leaves, it felt oppressive and was virtually devoid of any ambient light. The sense of closeness was emphasised by the lack of any breeze; the air was very still and very cold, so all Dean could see when he did switch on the flashlight was black shadows and the whiteness of his own breath clouding in front of his face. He left Forbidden Drive for Hermit Lane and then spent some time crashing about up the hill in the mass of Japanese knotweed that was overgrowing the trails before he finally stumbled across the right track to the ancient chamber.
By the time he reached the cavern, his bright magnesium flare of anger was largely burned out. He was regretting his hasty decision to come alone, though he'd never have admitted it. The painkillers had left a residual fuzziness in his head that was dangerous when hunting alone, and if he hadn't been so mad with Sam, it would have made him think twice about this being such a good idea.
The white beam of his flashlight swept over a tall rectangular stele with some lettering carved on it standing next to the extra-dark man-made doorway to Kelpius' cave. He didn't bother reading it. He'd seen the information about the Rosicrucians on the website Sam had found, and he knew as much, if not more than he wanted to, about Joseph Kelpius and his Germanic meditations on the Second Coming, thank you very much.
The night was very still, nothing was stirring as Dean dumped his duffel on the earth by the monument and swiftly loaded the shotgun with salt cartridges before shouldering the bag again in preparation for entering the cave. As he snapped the shotgun closed, he thought he heard something and froze. After a few seconds, his face creased in puzzlement.
Music. It was music he was hearing, and it appeared to be coming from inside the cave.
Dean shouldered his bag and cautiously approached the gaping stone doorway, flicking off the flashlight as he did so. No point in announcing his entrance by lighting himself up like an amateur dramatics performance. Holding the shotgun locked and ready in his right hand, he used his left to track his progress through the doorway into the pitch-dark chamber beyond, trailing his fingers over the rough stone surface of the wall as he went. The music he had heard outside was definitely getting louder, and as his eyes began to adjust, he thought he could see a faint golden light - more of a glow, really - coming from the rear of the chamber. His puzzlement grew as he moved closer to the source of the light, which seemed to indicate that there was another room off this one – totally contrary to the information they had garnered about the Cave, all of which only mentioned a single chambered area. Just as he reached the back wall, he heard voices. He quickly pressed himself into the darker shadows to one side, as their owners suddenly tumbled into the room, laughing and talking animatedly, and seemingly totally oblivious to his presence.
He lowered the shotgun and concealed it by his side as he saw the two revellers outlined against the outside doorway – they were clearly kids – giggling and kissing each other as they ran out into the night. He sighed as he realised this excursion was now most definitely a bust. Evidently he had run slap bang into the middle of a student slumber party, as he could still hear the sounds of revelry coming from the backroom. They must have come over from the nearby University of Philadelphia, whose grounds were just over the Wissahickon river from here.
The couple who had just fled outside hadn't gone far and were getting more loudly amorous, the girl having apparently allowed herself to be caught by her pursuer just on the doorstep, from the sound of it. Dean carefully broke the shotgun and put it away in the duffle. Time to make a quick exit of his own, he thought ruefully. And there was no way he was telling Sam what a waste of time this solo trip had been. His brother would be insufferable with 'told-you-so's if he found out.
He had only taken one step towards the doorway when he realised he was no longer alone in the room. He felt a breath of cool air touch his cheek as someone slipped out of the inner chamber alongside him, and automatically slid his hand round to grasp the colt from the back of his jeans. Then his hand fell away from the gun as a warm, slim fingered hand gently touched his cheek and equally warm, soft lips were pressed against his partly opened mouth. Whoever she was, she was nearly as tall as he was, smelled sweetly of flowers, and kissed him with a familiarity that took his breath away. His heart that had been beating quickly in fight or flight mode a moment before, was now beating fast for an entirely different, more enjoyable reason.
After a few seconds of pure pleasure that tingled through his body from lips to groin, Dean reluctantly disengaged from the unseen woman. She made a small inarticulate moan of protest and he closed his eyes, hardly believing that he was turning down a beautiful willing woman in favour of getting some sleep – he must be getting old, but he really couldn't face the shrieking that was bound to ensue when she realised she wasn't kissing the frat-boy she thought she knew, but a hardened hunter instead.
Well, maybe he wasn't that old, but he was probably too way old for her anyway, he thought as he neatly side-stepped out of her embrace. She followed him, pressing warm curves up against him provocatively.
"Oh unfair," he protested in a whisper as he felt his own body respond against his will. It had, after all, been a long while since the backseat of the Impala had been graced by an angel, and even longer since the very lovely Jamie had given him his happy ending, and abstinence wasn't really a habit for Dean Winchester. He tried again to move out of her range by taking a step back – and found himself falling in an undignified manner onto his ass as the wall gave way into a second doorway that should not have been there.
As he landed on the hard ground, he was suddenly overtaken by a wave of dizziness. The music that had been a constant undercurrent since he'd entered the cave became momentarily loud and discordant, and he was briefly dazzled by a blaze of light. Disorientated, somewhere in the proceedings he had lost his grip on the duffle bag (and more oddly, his leather jacket), and as he shuffled backwards on his bottom into the rear chamber, the unknown woman followed closely, her hands fluttering over him as she made as if to help him regain his feet. He was surrounded by a flurry of movement and voices as the students gathered curiously around him. Then the flare of light died down to more reasonable levels that allowed his eyes to recover, and he was finally able to see where he was.
The demon took a long time to die. Throughout its writhing, gibbering and screaming Sam felt nothing but a grim satisfaction at its pain. He knew deep down that taking his frustrations out on a demon's helpless host was not something he should be feeling happy about doing, but right now, he didn't care. Ruby's fresh blood was fizzing through his veins and he could still taste iron mixed with a hint of sulphur on his lips. He felt strong, powerful and alive, and it all felt too good to worry about why those particular thoughts reminded him of something Dean had told him ages ago - what Pa Bender had said when describing the deranged joy of hunting humans…
Besides, he knew that with each dose of tainted blood, every time he practiced, the exorcisms got easier and easier, and his confidence was growing exponentially. When he finally faced Lilith, he would be ready. More than ready. Hell, if she walked in right now he knew he could blast her to oblivion with one flex of his fingers. He smiled, and Ruby smiled right back, a look of pleased pride at her pupil's prowess clear in those dark sultry eyes.
The demon finally tore free of its host in a writhing column of black smoke, and the man's body crumpled to the floor with a soggy-sounding thud. Sam made a cursory show of checking for a pulse, knowing that it was pointless. This demon's human body had clearly been damaged beyond repair long before Sam and Ruby had found him. He felt a brief regret for another human life cut short by Lucifer's unholy horde's plans, then sternly thrust the thought away. He could not afford to be weak. Weak - like Dean. Not now, when so much rested on his shoulders.
Dean. Damn. He looked at his watch, grimaced. This little outing had taken him away from his drugged and sleeping brother longer than he had planned. He hoped that Dean would still be out for the count, but he couldn't guarantee it. He knew his big brother too well, even unconscious he was a stubborn ass, and would in all likelihood struggle his way out of the drugged stupor at least an hour earlier than a normal person would.
He took a brusque leave of his own personal demon, ignoring her parting bitchy dig about being in big brother's pocket still, and jumped into the Impala. He had a feeling in his gut as he pulled up at the Forbidden Drive Motel that their room would be empty, and it gave him no satisfaction to find that he was right.
It took him a couple of minutes to find Dean's hastily scrawled note confirming Sam's fear that his idiot of a brother had gone hunting alone, with bruised ribs and probably still groggy from his unasked for dose of meds – my fault…. but damn it, Dean! Can't you just take care of yourself for a little bit, just for a little while… and trust me?
Distracted, Sam ran an agitated hand through his hair. It was just gone 1am and he didn't think even Dean would have come round from three of those powerful suckers much before four hours was up, so he probably hadn't been gone that long. With any luck Sam would catch him up somewhere on the trail.
God, but he hated going into a situation half cocked like this, research only part done and no real pointers as to what they were dealing with here. Bobby had had a few theories when he'd tipped them off to this job, and Sam had his own ideas but he knew full well Dean hadn't given it any thought at all; the elder Winchester liked to do his research with a more personal touch, liked to see and touch and smell everything for himself – hands on. So he would have gone straight to the place all the victims (if they were indeed victims and not just people who had had their own reasons for wanting to disappear from their lives) had all apparently gone missing – the Cave of Kelpius.
Just as Dean had done earlier, Sam made sure he was equipped with every kind of supernatural weapon he could think of before heading out into the night after his errant brother.
Sam promptly encountered the same problem as Dean had faced earlier that night in navigating Fairmount Park. The gloom under the trees was still as deep and impenetrable, the winter dawn was still hours away, and Sam wasted precious time stumbling frustrated around in the dark with his inadequate maglite, trying to find the right trail. As a result, he didn't reach the Cave until nearly 2.30am, tired, angry and ready to swing for Dean when he found him.
All his fire was leached away when instead of his brother, all he found was Dean's duffle, neatly zipped up with Dean's favourite pistol (the pearl handled Colt 911) sitting on top of the bag, next to Dean's favourite knife, the bowie he liked to sleep with under his pillow. Dean's beloved battered leather jacket was on the ground next to the bag.
Sam stared in cold disbelieving silence at the small heap that represented Dean Winchester's prized possessions before casting the thin but bright beam of the maglite round the small, silent chamber, as if Dean might suddenly materialise out of the shadows, shouting "Gotcha!". Nothing greeted his increasingly anxious gaze but blank rock walls and dust and a dark earthen floor. The cave was too small to conceal anything even as large as a rat, let alone a six-foot tall, well-muscled hunter.
Sam had to acknowledge the cold hard fact that wherever Dean was, it was not here.
First impressions were that he had stumbled into a midnight Goth-cum-renaissance student festival. The curious faces that surrounded him, blocking out the light, were almost uniformly pale, with long dark hair and eyes that appeared to be outlined with eye-liner, they were so dark-lashed. At first glance, with only faces to go on, he would have been hard pressed to say which were male and which were female, all of them were so very – beautiful. There was no other word for it. Male or female, they were all dressed in black; rich velvets, leather, silks and satins laced here and there with bright ribbons of colour - scarlet, azure, aquamarine or violet.
It didn't take much longer for the realisation to hit him.
"Oh holy crap. This isn't a student thing, is it?" He muttered, as he pushed with his hands and sprang as gracefully as possible to his feet, while feeling behind him in his waistband for the comfort of his gun – which was no longer there. He risked a quick glance on the floor but there was no sign of the pearl-handled colt. Or his weapons bag. Or his heavy leather jacket. Feeling somewhat exposed and vulnerable, hands outstretched he fended off the strangers' seemingly non-aggressive physical advances – whoever (whatever) they were, they were much too touchy-feely for comfort and obviously had even less idea than Cas about the concept of personal space.
He began to take in more details about the group that were crowding round him, murmuring with low musical voices as they touched his face and tugged at his plaid overshirt with gentle but insistent hands. It was becoming evident that there were definitely both men and women here, though all seemed to be slim and well muscled and at least as tall as he was. The men were largely clad in leather trousers with either waistcoats or an arrangement of straps barely covering their sculpted torsos. Most had one or more intricate tattoos, some were also sporting various piercings of gold and silver, so as they moved the flickering light made them spark and glitter.
The women were showing a fraction less bare flesh than the men, but none of them looked any the less sultry for it. There was less leather and more satin and velvet in evidence, with dresses cinched tight round the bodices and criss-crossed with the colourful ribbons in a way that accentuated both slim waists and full breasts until Dean didn't know where to look that wasn't likely to get him into a lot of trouble. Well, a lot more trouble than he was already in, that is, he thought ruefully.
"Whoa, careful with the merchandise!"
He jumped back involuntarily as several pairs of hands found their way between his layers of clothing to touch flesh, and was relieved when the crowd backed away. A relief that was short-lived, as it became apparent they had only backed off in order to allow an imposing newcomer to make a grand entrance. They parted ranks for an alpha-male who seemed to epitomise everything that was alluring about these people. As the man approached, Dean found his breath getting short and his heart-beat increased exponentially with the strange man's proximity. At that moment, he would have been hard put to say whether it was fear or excitement that was running through his veins.
The man was as tall as Sam, though more slender in build. His skin was warmer toned than the others, and he sported a complex pattern of red and black tattoos all down his left arm and side. His long straight dark hair hung over one eye, shadowing his face and giving him an air of menace that Dean felt could not bode well. It was hard to read the expression on his face in the deep shadows that were being cast by the veil of hair and the flickering lights in the cavern. The hunter found himself quite literally with his back to the wall, having unconsciously backed up as far as he could go.
The man stopped in front of Dean, like Cas, right inside his personal space, but the hunter didn't feel inclined to tell the guy to back the hell off, like he would do his personal angel. Instead he made a conscious attempt to relax and ready his body for anything, even though he felt more naked than the half-clothed guy in front of him without any of his normal weapons to hand.
"Who allowed this human into my court?" The man asked, glaring around at the now silent crowd, his low voice full of scorn and anger combined. Cowed, the rest of the gathering backed off, finally giving Dean some air to his silent relief. It didn't last long. The one who had spoken didn't wait for a reply from the mob before returning his dark gaze back to immobilise Dean against the wall with a single look.
"I am Lugh of the Long Hand, and this is my Queen, Buí. What is your name, mortal?"
Dean had been barely able to still an inadvertent snort of laughter when the man embellished his name, and was severely tempted to make a flippant remark about the length of an intimate part of his own anatomy in response. Yeah, well I'm Dean of the Long … Especially as he realised that Queen Buí was the woman who had virtually pushed him through the doorway into this strange place whilst very enthusiastically feeling up his manly attributes. Although some innate warning bell was ringing in his head about not gifting supernatural beings with the power of true names, Dean somehow found himself unable to lie in the face of that black burning gaze, and blurted out "Dean Winchester" in one breath.
This whole thing was taking on a surreal quality that had him half wondering if he'd ever left the motel at all, and wasn't still sprawled out on his bed where Sam had left him, having a really trippy dream on his painkillers.
He decided it was about time he took the initiative, and straightened his shoulders aggressively.
"Who the hell are you guys anyway? Holed up in some cave dressed like refugees from a Goth convention."
Lugh smiled. The young hunter did not like the look of that smile, not one little bit. There was nothing happy about that smile. It promised a whole world of cruelty, and Dean would know all about that. He was an expert on cruelty since Hell, after all. He swallowed convulsively, wondering once again what he had got himself into.
"We are the Aes Sídhe, and this," Lugh gestured with his 'long hand', "this is Tír na nÓg. Humans know it as the Land of the Young."
Dean's gaze was caught by the regal sweep of Lugh's arm and he was able take his first real good look at this inner chamber that Buí and her gang had brought him to. He was momentarily stunned by the sheer impossible scale of the place. If he had had any doubts previously about the unnatural nature of his surroundings, he was immediately disabused. The cave was vast, far bigger than the low hill above the Wissahickon he had seen from the outside. Huh, like Dr Who's Tardis, it's bigger on the inside, he thought, randomly. The roof of the cavern swept up and up until all was lost in deep shadow and darkness and an impression of almost infinite height. It seemed to be supported by great sweeping arches of stone that twisted in organic shapes reminiscent of a Gaudi cathedral he'd once seen on the info channel. The space was lit by hundreds of golden lamps, some of which seemed to be hanging suspended in thin air, others from metal chains that glinted in the flickering light.
Dean being Dean, a sense of wonder did not impair his ability to process information, or stay alert to anything that would be of use to him in his constant fight for survival against the odds. Two key facts were clamouring for his attention right now – firstly (and worryingly) he couldn't see any exits – no windows, doors, archways, anything that even remotely resembled a way out of there. There was not even any visible sign of the doorway Buí had pushed him through from the Cave of Kelpius. Secondly, Aes Sídhe definitely rang a bell.
"So," he said slowly, "Not Goths (obviously), or vampires, or demons…" he rolled the name around silently on his tongue, waiting for his brain to sort through his mental hunting catalogue of the supernatural (he might call Sam a walking Encyclopaedia of Weirdness, but it takes one to know one) to find the reason for the nagging familiarity of it - Aes Sídhe. Then he had it, and the incongruity of it made him laugh out loud, much to the evident displeasure of the Lord of Tír na nÓg.
"Oh my god, you're fairies. Fucking Fairies!"
Sam's magma pool of anger was cooling into a nasty congealed mess of worry after two hours of futile bumbling around the cave and its immediate vicinity. Apart from the bag and weapons, there was no sign anywhere that Dean had ever been there. Sam had searched, albeit limited by the narrow beam of his maglite, every inch of the damned cave, and found absolutely nothing. He didn't know whether he was relieved there was no sign of a struggle, no blood, no threads of fibre from torn clothing, or frustrated there was no trail to follow. He stood still, chewing anxiously at a roughened fingernail, as the sun finally started to rise and a pale grey light gently dusted the entrance of the cave. He felt completely lost.
"Dean," he whispered to himself. "Where the hell are you?"
Taking one last futile look around the interior, Sam admitted defeat – for the time being at least. He shouldered Dean's duffle bag and slowly made his way back to the motel, taking care as he walked to scrutinise every detail of the trails he followed, on constant alert for any sign of his brother passing that way.
After nearly three more days and nights of fruitless searching, Sam finally rang Bobby. He didn't know what else to do. Ruby had failed him; her burning map trick had produced nothing but ashes this time, and he had nearly blasted her back to Hell in frustration and rage. That was two days ago, he hadn't seen her since, and she wasn't answering her cell anymore. In his more rational moments, he supposed he couldn't really blame her.
His veins were still humming with a thousand volts of electricity from his last dose of Ruby's blood, taken that night Dean went missing. He knew this feeling would last for a couple of weeks, but the demon-blood high wasn't helping his concentration. He was unravelling and needed something more human to hold himself together; Bobby was the only person he could trust. The only person who was smart enough and wise enough to find the solution he was blatantly overlooking, and find his stupid, reckless, pain in the ass brother.
Damn it Dean, what the hell have you gotten into this time?
He listened in guilty silence as the old hunter tore him off a strip for not calling earlier, told him he was throwing all his hunting gear into the nearest working vehicle in the yard and setting off for Philadelphia as they spoke. Sam could see him in his mind's eye, phone tucked under his bristling beard, steering one handed, battered baseball cap clamped down on his head as if it had grown there. A knot in his chest he hadn't even known was there eased slightly.
"You stay put, boy, don't do anythin' stupid. I'll be with ya in less than two days."
By the time Bobby arrived at the Forbidden Drive Motel, somewhat frazzled and worse for wear after driving virtually non-stop from South Dakota, Sam was practically climbing the walls. He had researched until he was nearly blind from staring at his computer screen without blinking for hours on end; he had been up to the Cave of Kelpius both in the night time and in the day time with the same result – nothing, nada, zip. Just after he'd called Bobby on his cell, he'd thought he had heard something, the very faintest sound of music maybe, coming from inside the cavern, but as soon as he had ducked inside the doorway, the thread of sound, if it had ever been there at all, had just vanished. He was left wondering if he had imagined it, or perhaps it had been the wind carrying the sound of someone's radio down the hill.
So poor Bobby got the brunt of this, and Sam was right in the old hunter's face the minute he stepped down from the rusty old pick-up.
"Bobby! I just can't work out what could have taken him; there's no sign of anything at all up at the cave, and I've searched every inch of the trails all around that part of the valley…" Sam didn't even notice when Bobby Singer just kept walking round the pickup to get his bag. He just kept following the old hunter all the way from the truck to the Motel reception, kept talking the whole time as Bobby signed the register, picked up his room keys, walked right up to his motel room door and put the key in the lock. At that point, Bobby Singer decided enough was enough.
"Kid. I just drove one thousand three hundred miles to get here. You ain't gonna get anything but crap outta me until after I've had at least a coupla hours kip." He pushed the door open with his foot, laid a firm but gentle hand on Sam's bicep, as the tall hunter closed his mouth with an audible snap and finally fell silent. The gruff old soldier's face softened in a way that Sam knew it never did for anyone but the Winchester boys, who were like sons to him. "Sam, Dean's been missing for nearly five days now – another coupla hours ain't gonna make much difference to him now. Wake me at 3pm, and make no mistake, we will find your brother. Together, eh? Two heads and all that."
Sam found himself nodding, smiled apologetically and backed off the step. Bobby was right, there was nothing to be gained from applying tired minds to the problem. He would just have to be patient, for a couple more hours.
Lugh did not look particularly amused by Dean calling his people fairies.
"We prefer Tuatha Dé Danann, but humans have been known to call us faeries, yes. And fucking is indeed something we do well."
Dean thought that was probably the first time in his life when a promise of a fuck felt more of a threat than potential pleasure, and for once, managed to bite back any attempted smart-arsed come back. It was becoming pretty clear that whatever had happened to the three missing people whose disappearances had brought the brothers to Philadelphia was likely to be something to do with the Aes Sídhe. His familiarity with stories involving Fairies was sketchy at best. They were one of those things, along with Vampires, he thought ruefully, that he had assumed were either extinct or totally imaginary. He sighed silently. He should have known better. When in Winchester experience had anything ever been what it seemed? Even bedtime stories had a kernel of truth, as they had found to their cost many times in the past. Why should freaking fairies be any different?
What little he did remember though, didn't include murder, just mayhem. He looked around the group again, paying a bit more attention to detail, searching for anyone resembling the pictures Sam had appropriated from hacking the police files of the missing people. None of the faces surrounding him were even remotely familiar.
"Look, this is very nice and all, making your acquaintance like this, but I think you might be holding some 'mortals' here whose families want them back. Three people have gone missing round here over the last six months – you guys know anything about that then?"
It was Queen Buí who answered him, her lovely face open and smiling.
"Oh yes, those three. They are gone now."
"Gone? Gone where? What happened to them?" Dean demanded.
A tiny frown marred her perfect features as she contemplated the young hunter's tense face. She sighed.
"They were very tedious. Constantly whining about wanting to go home. They ceased to be amusing, so we released them to the hunt."
A chill ran down Dean's spine at her matter of fact tone. He didn't like the sound of this, not one little bit.
"The hunt? What do you mean?" Fearing he already knew the answer.
"Our cousin, Arawn, has some fine hounds – beautiful animals, so very white with red ears – sometimes we hunt with him. Your mortal friends made good sport." Lugh replied, satisfaction running through his voice.
Anger coursed through Dean like a cleansing fire.
"You bastards hunted those people down like animals!"
Jesus. It was like the Benders all over again. Fucking Fairy Benders, except these were a lot prettier to look at than the crazy human versions. He had to get out of here and find a way to stop these fairy freaks. He needed Sam. This was not a solo job and he was deeply regretting the stupid impulse that had brought him here alone. He risked a glance at his watch. 4am. He had been here for nearly four hours, and by now Sam would have found his note and probably have come looking for him, as unprepared as he had been for dealing with something as strange as this. He had to get out of here, regroup, stop Sam from blundering into danger until they knew exactly what they were dealing with, and how to defeat them.
Lugh seemed to read his mind as his eyes cast desperately around for the way he'd come in – the door that shouldn't have been there.
"There is no way out of here for you, Dean Winchester. You foolishly failed to keep the gate open for yourself when you entered at our invitation, and all your iron weapons that could have harmed us are still out there, in your world." The tall man snapped his fingers in a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of the Trickster, and a tall spear appeared out of thin air into his right hand. Lugh planted the butt of the long, carved wooden shaft on the floor by his foot, looking every inch the deadly warrior with his bare torso gleaming in the lamp-light. Dean blinked as the leaf-shaped blade shone with a bright white light that seemed to come from the blade itself, not any reflection. He could see that the metal was etched with intricately carved symbols similar to the ones carved onto the shaft. He didn't know if it was a trick of the light but it seemed that the spear was quivering in Lugh's hand as if it was a living thing, as eager to get free of this place as Dean was.
"Anyone holding this spear cannot be defeated in battle." Lugh said. "It never misses its target and will always return to the hand of the one who threw it. So do not think to try to escape from Tír na nÓg, mortal. You will stay here until you no longer amuse us, then we will hunt you and you will die."
Dean gritted his teeth as Buí stepped forward and touched his cheek.
"Do not worry, Dean Winchester. I think you will prove very diverting for quite a while yet."
Dean flinched. For while the lustful promises in Buí's dark blue eyes might in other circumstances be arousing, it was vastly disturbing to see the same lust echoed in her husband's. And he wasn't at all keen to find out if Lugh's other 'spear' was as large as the weapon currently in the Fairy King's hand.
Bobby was as good as his word and emerged from his Motel room almost two hours to the minute after disappearing to have his rest. Sam supposed he should have been grateful for the older man's punctuality, but he was too hyped up to feel anything other than an urgent drive to be out there, preferably killing something evil. If he had been capable of objective thought at that moment, he probably would have been struck by the irony that imbibing Ruby's blood made him more like Dean – a man more of action than intellectual introspection. Maybe he would even have wondered why that should be a good thing, given that he had always found that one of the most worrying aspects of his elder brother's nature.
Bobby's first step however, was to have Sam sit down with him and run through all his research, seemingly oblivious to the way the big man's knees were jigging frantically under the table and his large hands clenched and unclenched impatiently as he was forced to run over the facts. Sam eventually acknowledged that the time spent was worthwhile, when Bobby finally sat back in the rickety chair and nodded with satisfaction.
"Yup, thought so." The bearded hunter said. "We are dealing with the Aes Sídhe." Before Sam could open his mouth to speak, Bobby pointed at the picture of the man-made stone doorway of the Cave of Kelpius on Sam's laptop screen. "This here is a Hollow Hill, son." It was a measure of Sam's agitation that he didn't even flinch at the greasy fingerprint Bobby's finger left smeared on his screen. Dean would have smiled at that.
Dean.
Snatched by – what? Did Bobby really say his brother might have been taken by the Sídhe? Suddenly Sam was overwhelmed by a hysterical giggle.
"Faeries. Dean's been snaffled by a bunch of Tinkerbells!"
He chortled, ignoring Bobby's disapproving glance, remembering the ribbing Dean had given him for knowing about Cinderella back in Maple Springs.
"Dude, could he be any more gay?"
Shooting him a look that said as clearly as words "get a grip, boy", Bobby continued as if Sam hadn't spoken.
"This makes getting Dean out easy and tricky all at the same time." The grizzled hunter scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "Ok, son, here's what we are gonna do."
Sam rapidly sobered up as Bobby ran through his plan. It was hard to grasp the fact that while days had passed for them, for Dean it would likely seem that he had only been there for a matter of minutes or maybe a few hours at the most. There were numerous stories of how time moved at a different pace inside Hollow Hills, and how men had reappeared many years after they had first vanished, often to find all their friends and families were long dead and gone, while they had thought they had only spent a few days away from home.
One advantage that gave them was that there was a limit (surely) to how much trouble his brother could have got himself into in what would be for him, such a short space of time. It also took some of the sense of urgency out of their preparations, as Bobby reckoned that the time lag was probably something in the nature of an hour in Tír na nÓg to a day outside, going by the stories.
"So Dean will feel like he's been there for maybe five hours while five days have passed for us?"
"Near as I can calculate it, yup."
"That's insane, even for us." Sam observed, fascination for the mechanics of it momentarily distracting him from both the fizzing effects of the demon blood in his veins and the possible plight of his errant brother.
"Maybe, but it is largely irrelevant really, other than it means when you go inside, I'll have to wait a few hours outside while you take the few minutes you need to rescue your idjit brother. So I'd better take a book to read."
Sam nodded thoughtfully. Given that it would only take a couple of minutes passing in Tír na nÓg for a whole hour to pass out in the real world, he could see Bobby's point.
"So what do we need to do?"
"Opening the gate to Tír na nÓg is the easy part, all we need to do is walk widdershins round the mound, or as near to the entrance of the cave as we can manage. Keeping it open while you get in there and get Dean out is a bit trickier, but I'll take care of that. All we need is an iron knife stuck in the doorframe, and make sure it stays there. Shouldn't be a problem as long as you can keep them fairies occupied while you are in there."
Sam leapt to his feet, adrenaline pumping again after sitting still for far too long.
"What are we waiting for then? Let's go!"
Inside the Hollow Hill, Dean was having a light bulb moment as something Lugh had just said sank in. Your iron weapons are outside…but the knife in his boot had a silver blade, just like Lugh's precious Spear…so it should have made it through the Fairy airport security that had trapped all his other gear on the other side. He was armed after all. Okay, it was one small silver knife against twenty or more Sídhe armed with who knew what weapons and who knew what kinds of magic, but all of a sudden, Dean felt happier than he had done for a long time. All of a sudden, the odds were still overwhelming but he didn't care. He was spoiling for a fight – and if he couldn't take out a few dozen freaking fairies before they took him down - well, then he deserved to have his ass whupped, didn't he?
He saw quizzical expressions crossing the faces of the Aes Sídhe as he took a couple of steps backwards and flipped his foot up quickly to palm his knife into his right hand, pretending he was fiddling with his laces to disguise the gesture. A manic grin crossed his face as he took a fighting stance.
"Entertainment, eh? Well, let's see how watching your own blood flowing entertains you, shall we? Who wants to be first?"
The leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann was smiling (fuck him) as he also took a step back to allow one of his entourage to take up Dean's challenge. The hunter was secretly relieved the fairies hadn't decided to mob him, at least not straight away. If they came at him one at a time he could certainly do some damage, though he still had no idea how he was going to find his way out of there.
A feeling of exhilaration swept over him as the bare-chested warrior lunged at him empty-handed, and felt no compunction at having concealed his knife until the last second. If these immortal idiots were stupid enough to come at him for a little hand-to-hand, he wasn't above fighting dirty, and any trick that gained him an advantage was permissible in Dean's Book of Fighting Monsters. He was well aware that this trick was something he would only be able to use once, and fully intended to make the most of it. He allowed the tall Sídhe to come inside his reach, feinted to the left and brought his knife hand round as the Fairy man dodged away from his blow and to his right. The short silver blade slid deep between his opponent's ribs and Dean's grin grew wider and wilder as the tall Sídhe fell back with a cry of pain, blood streaming down his side through his fingers as he clutched at the wound.
So, they can be hurt, and they do bleed, Dean thought with some satisfaction. It looked likely to be a short-lived emotion, (par for the course today) as the Aes Sídhe in the ring around the two fighters gave a collective hiss at seeing the concealed blade, now dripping red with blood. The next one to step forward was Lugh himself, and, Dean thought with a frisson of fear, the King of the Fairies looked pissed. Lugh also had a knife – no, correction Winchester, that is not a knife, that is a freaking huge sword – and he looked like he knew how to use it. Dean swore quietly under his breath and raised himself onto the balls of his feet in anticipation. This was not going to be pretty. Lugh was already taller than the hunter and had a longer reach, so the extra length of his weapon was a real problem.
Within a few seconds of this new fight starting, Dean was in trouble. The bastard was fast, much faster than him, and had already come inside Dean's guard twice, so close he had felt the cold of the blade as it had slit though his loose button-down shirt, scoring his side. The hunter was starting to sweat with the effort of dancing out of the way of the King's wicked bronze blade, and he knew he wouldn't be able to maintain this for long. Even as he dodged a downward sweeping blow from his right, and tried to make a counter attack of his own coming in under Lugh's guard where he thought he had seen an opening, he realised his mistake. It was an expensive one. Lugh's blade flashed through his guard and Dean gasped in pain as it slashed into his left bicep. He danced out of reach, grimacing as he felt the blood flowing freely from the deep cut. Bad news, Winchester…
Lugh didn't press his advantage, stood back with his sword still raised, smiling. Dean grunted angrily, and felt an urge to wipe that smug smile off the handsome immortal's face.
"What's the matter, big boy, scared of a mere human?" Dean goaded the Lord of the Aes Sídhe, and for a moment, he thought that the sudden tension in the atmosphere was anger at his rash words.
Until he saw the actual source of the changed atmosphere, over on the far side of the chamber. A lone figure had somehow entered Tír na nÓg from the outside, and was standing silent and still, framed by the doorway that had opened behind him.
Sam.
Dean found the hand that held his knife had begun to shake. His brother was radiating danger from every pore and the Aes Sídhe were responding to it. Dean swallowed. He recognised this – he had seen it once before, when he had witnessed Sam pulling a demon from that bound man not long after Dean had been dragged out of Hell, with that demon-bitch Ruby looking on with approval mixed with pride in those demon-black eyes. Not a memory he cherished.
He took a firmer grip on the hilt of his silver knife, wishing more vehemently than ever that it was a big fucking sword instead of a pitifully inadequate pig-sticker. He wanted so badly to wipe the smiles of these fairy fuckers' pretty faces. He watched as Sam scanned the room, saw with pride how swiftly his little brother absorbed the situation and hoped that Sam being Sam, he was better prepared than his big brother had been. Then anxiety swept over him as Sam held both hands out before him, showing the gathering of Aes Sídhe that he was unarmed.
It was then that Dean noticed a strange, low humming sound, a bit like a distant swarm of bees.
Shit, shit, shit. It was Lugh's Spear. The Fairy King had clearly not bought Sam's open hand routine, and had summoned the Spear from whatever dimension it resided, and Dean could see it vibrating in Lugh's grip like a living thing. Its humming was raising the hairs on the back of Dean's neck and making him feel dizzy, though of course, that could have been the blood loss from the almost forgotten deep gash on his arm. All the Sídhe's attention was now focussed on Sam, who they clearly saw as the greater menace, and Dean saw his opportunity to take advantage of this lapse.
Even as the Leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann moved towards his brother, Dean was on the move. Like quicksilver he appeared at Sam's side, in time to stand shoulder to shoulder and confront Lugh.
"Mortal, you enter my realm uninvited," The Fairy King wrinkled his fine nose in disgust. "And you contaminate our home with the blood of the Fir Bolg."
Dean didn't have to understand the terminology to realise that the Aes Sídhe must have their own words for demons, and that there appeared to be no love lost between the two races of beings. At any other time, perhaps Sam would have been talking about making an alliance against Lilith, but the hostility was too evident here, and it was all concentrated on Sam's demon blood. Might-have-beens were irrelevant as Dean focussed on the one fact that mattered now – the Lord of the Tuatha Dé Danann was about to release the deadly magic spear that never missed its target, and its target was going to be Sam.
He couldn't allow that to happen. Whatever had occurred between them, however rocky their relationship had got, Dean would always die for his little brother – and this time he was so tired of fighting, death would feel like a release.
The instant Lugh let go of the spear (he didn't cast it, just released it to find its own deadly way), Dean was moving again. The spear was like a bolt of light, streaking towards Sam's broad chest, but Dean was quicker. Quicker than a thought, he flung himself into its path.
Sam had stepped through the doorway that had appeared in the back wall of the Cave of Kelpius just as Bobby had predicted, thinking he was ready for anything - but he wasn't prepared for the incredible vista that opened up in front of him. He was so dumbstruck it had taken him a few precious seconds to register firstly a bloody Dean, and secondly the hostile crowd gathered around his brother. The attention of the crowd turned on him as one, as if they had all sensed him somehow instantaneously, and unthinking he raised his hands in a universal gesture of peace.
After that, everything seemed to happen at great speed but also in slow motion, like one of those martial arts movies. Dean moved free of the Aes Sídhe with the old speed and grace that Sam had always envied and had missed these last few months. Sam opened his mouth to tell his brother to stay away, he had a plan that didn't entail Dean flinging himself headlong into danger, yet again – but there was no time.
Both his brother and the tall regal-looking figure who had leader written into every flex of his muscled form were just too damned quick. Sam managed to get his (Dean's actually) large steel bowie knife into his right hand, the left remained outstretched, his fingers already tingling with the demon blood power, ready to be launched at any Fairies who got too close, whether it would do any damage or not. The power was positively fizzing through him now, he was so wound up he felt like a hundred thousand volt cable coming straight out of an electricity generating station. He didn't know how long he could hold it in before he imploded.
It was the one thing he hadn't discussed with Bobby, and he had no idea if this demon-killing force would have any effect on other supernatural beings such as the Tuatha Dé Danann, but really he didn't care. Since he had last been dosed up by Ruby he had been bursting to vent this crazy energy built up inside him. Now seemed as good a time as any to release it, and surely it could do no harm to try.
So as Lugh released his spear and Dean made his crazy self-sacrificing dive in front of him, Sam let loose his dogs of war in the shape of a bolt of demon energy. He was gratified to see it send the massed Sídhe flying as if struck by hurricane force winds. But it did nothing to stop the shining Spear of light.
Horrified, Sam watched helplessly as the point of the spear took Dean in the chest, just below the diaphragm. Sam knew exactly where it had struck even though Dean had his back to him, because the spear just kept on coming through his brother, moving inexorably towards him, poking obscenely from Dean's back. Its bright silver blade was somehow undimmed by his brother's blood as it protruded some six inches out of Dean's back, just below his shoulder blade. Impossibly, Dean was still on his feet, though wavering, and Sam could see he was grimly holding onto the spear-shaft to effectively stop it from working its way right through his body and reaching its intended target. Sam.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, as he grabbed for his brother to support his falling body. Belatedly, he realised Dean was trying to speak, and tried to quiet his own frantic heart beat and panting breaths to listen.
"S'door still open?" Dean managed through clenched teeth. Sam held him tightly, Dean's weight getting heavier as the elder Winchester struggled against the pain and simultaneously fought to hold onto the spear that was moving in his bloody hands as if it was capable of independent thought and motion (which perhaps it was). Dean's whole body was shuddering, and Sam was already backing them bothe towards the doorway as he replied. Fortunately the Sídhe were still in too much disarray after impact of the demon wind to muster themselves to stop the brothers.
"Yes, Bobby's…"
Dean cut him off in mid sentence. "Get me through it…I can't hold this spear much longer…" His voice was hoarse, and his words interrupted by gasps of inarticulate agony and Sam's fists clenched even tighter on his brother's shirt as he dragged him towards the gate between the worlds. It seemed the stubborn idiot was determined to fill Sam in on the details.
"That tall guy, Lugh…his spear…"
"Shut up, Dean!"
"Spear's alive, Sammy. 'F let go, it'll come for you…you're its target and …never misses.."
"Dean.."
"Important, Sammy. Think the spear will loose its power… outside."
"Okay, Dean, it's okay, I get it. Don't speak. Just hold on."
He meant hold on to life not hold onto the spear, but Dean could take both meanings, Sam supposed.
Sam's relief that Dean had finally stopped trying to talk was replaced by a pang of concern as his brother sagged in his arms, close to passing out altogether. Now Sam had reason to be grateful that Dean Winchester was one stubborn son of a bitch, because, in spite of his terrible wounds his big brother was clinging onto the last remnants of awareness and the magical spear with equal tenacity. It felt to Sam like an age, but in reality it was only a few moments later that he finally crossed the threshold into the Cave of Kelpius, Dean and the spear a dead weight in his arms.
A terrible cry went up from inside the Hollow Hill as the Aes Sídhe, regrouping too late, realised that not only had their infallible Spear failed to take out its target (an impossibility in itself) but also they were about to loose their precious heirloom altogether. With it they would loose their one remaining doorway into the world of men.
Dean's instincts had been right about the importance of the Spear. Sam had recognised it from Bobby's research as one of the four treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and thought that keeping it this side of the doorway would most likely seal the immortals inside their Hollow Hill forever. He was proved right the instant Dean and the whole of the spear were on the human side of the door, the opening disappeared as if it had never existed, and the terrible eerie wailing was cut off. Any celebration or even feeling of satisfaction Sam might have felt was gone just as quickly as he took the entire weight of his brother as Dean finally let go of both spear and consciousness. Dean might be shorter than Sam but he was still a big guy, and solid muscle. Sam lowered him tenderly to the ground, careful not to jar the point of the spear that was still protruding from his brother's back. Even as he settled his brother across his knees, the intricately carved deadly spear morphed into a more mundane-looking if equally lethal chunk of base metal – as if its immortal, magical nature was leached out of it by contact with the more prosaic 'real' world. Unluckily for Dean, the spear didn't dematerialise altogether.
He looked around for Bobby, only then taking in the fact that it was dark and must be night-time, though when he and Bobby had arrived at the cave, it had been full daylight. He had known intellectually that this had been likely to happen, but was still taken by surprise as it had been only a matter of no more than twenty minutes or so since he had entered the land of the Sídhe. He opened his mouth to call for Bobby's help, but the gruff old hunter was already there, bright storm lantern in one hand, duffel in the other. Bobby Singer was always prepared for anything.
But Sam could see that their old friend wasn't prepared for the sight of Dean impaled on what looked like an eight foot long metal rail, bleeding freely from abdomen, back and arm. Bobby hesitated for a second, a look of horror on his grizzled face, before shaking it off and crouching down to help Sam tend to his brother.
"God, son, what have they done to you?"
Castiel was fairly humming with suppressed agitation, but his new superior held him back when he would have leapt forward to help. Clad in his carefully chosen vessel, a tall, well-built imposing middle-aged executive, the Seraph Zachariah cut an imposing figure as he watched with irritated interest as events unfolded around these two troublesome humans Heaven had marked for a higher purpose. As Zachariah was keen to point out to Castiel, their unfailing ability to get themselves into the most absurdly dangerous situations was not only baffling for the Seraph, but also annoying in the extreme. It really looked as though he was going to have to intervene, but fortunately, unlike his lesser colleague (who was merely a weak, easily influenced, lower ranked Elohim) he, Zachariah, had a plan to get the Winchester brothers back on track. Whether they liked it or not, they had destinies to fulfil, and he, Zachariah, was there to make sure that they ended up singing from the same hymn sheet. He allowed himself a small smile at his witty analogy before he decided enough was enough, it was time to step in and sort out this sorry mess Castiel had left him.
After all, it would be very inconvenient to have to drag the elder Winchester out of Hell a second time, and the pathetic human was very close to death at that moment. In fact, the Seraph could see the surprisingly pure white glow of Dean Winchester's spirit fluttering beneath his increasingly transluscent skin as his breath rattled his ribs, and his lung steadily collapsed.
Smoothing down his suit jacket, Zachariah set about clearing the loose ends before tidying up his key pawn's mess.
Bobby's heart gave an unpleasant leap in shock as a strange man dressed incongruously in a business suit suddenly appeared out of thin air by his side as he knelt next to Sam, trying not to despair as he listened to Dean struggling to breathe. Before the old hunter could even formulate a thought let alone an action, the man's large hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder.
"Best you just forget you were ever here," the stranger said, and instantly Bobby wasn't there, and didn't remember a thing about any trip to Philadelphia, or a cave with some fairies, or think anything of it when he blinked and was back in his kitchen in South Dakota, a fresh mug of steaming hot coffee in his hand. He was somewhat puzzled when later that day he realised one of the pickups he'd been working on had seemingly vanished, along with a whole set of demon-hunting tools and a fully stocked first aid kit, but in the end had to write it off as being stolen. Though why any idjit would want a wreck like that old jalopy was beyond him.
Sam was turning his head to see what was going on when Zachariah turned his attention to the younger Winchester. Zachariah nodded to the as yet invisible Castiel, who immediately materialised, ready to take Dean's weight.
"I realise motivation is not a problem for you at the moment, Sam Winchester, but all the same, I need you in this game to make it work for your brother – so…" The Seraph reached out two fingers and placed them in the centre of Sam's frowning forehead, and instantly the young hunter was gone. Castiel gently wrapped his arms around Dean, so that even for this very shortest of moments, the dying man would not suffer any more agony by having his body dropped on the ground and the spear driven any further into his torso. He saw that Dean's pain-filled gaze was aware and screaming questions at him that he couldn't answer, but he paid his friend the courtesy of holding his gaze while Zachariah knelt down to despatch the older Winchester into the little scenario he had planned.
Castiel would take the time to muse about that alien concept of friendship afterwards, not understanding when and how this might have crept up on him.
But for now, this was all about straightening out Dean Winchester's angsty little noggin, as the demon Alastair had so accurately labelled it. He was told it was God's will.
"Dean Winchester. We meet at last." Zachariah was prone to pompous declarations, and Castiel allowed himself a moment of annoyance, made it visible in his piercing blue eyes, only to be ignored, as usual. Zachariah continued to deliver his monologue, oblivious.
"You really are a most bothersome, pathetic specimen. I fail to see why any archangel could be interested in you, but - orders are orders." The big man gave a theatrical sigh and reached out to touch Dean into the alternate reality the angel had prepared for him.
Dean wanted to speak, but the damned chunk of fairy metal impaling his lung had finally deprived him of all his breath, and the world was getting dark in a way he found all too familiar. Death was at his shoulder once again, and the earnest face of his own personal angel was dimming in his sight. Finally he managed a feeble croak.
"Sam…?"
Fortunately, Cas understood straight away and answered his concern even as the other dick-angel's ham-like hand was approaching his pale sweating face. Just what they needed - another arrogant know-it-all trying to push them around like pawns on a chessboard, to meet some half-assed heavenly agenda. Bastard wouldn't even let him die in peace.
"Sam is safe, Dean. You will be joining him shortly, and Zachariah will heal you where I cannot."
Dean struggled to keep his glare fixed on the new angel on the block, but failed miserably as two blunt fingers touched his forehead and his lead-weighted lids closed.
Dean Winchester closes his eyes in the Cave of Kelpius in the Wissahickon Valley; Dean Smith opens his eyes with a feeling of blank contentment to the sound of A Well Respected Man on his radio alarm clock, somewhere in a swanky apartment block in downtown Cleveland, Ohio.
Unseen, the watching Zachariah claps Castiel on the lesser angel's trench-coated back and gives him a smug smile.
"Let the lesson begin."
THE END...well of this little filler story anyway. Hope you enjoyed it and will let me know what you thought!
If anyone is interested there is a picture I did to go with the story on my LJ site & on Supernaturalart on LJ. I'm amber1960 over there.