Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor the Discworld, or any characters from either. I don't claim them to be mine, and I won't ever make money from this – so this story comes under 'Fair Use' of Copyright Laws. This disclaimer stands for the whole story.
Please enjoy.
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They were in mortal peril. Then again, when were they not? Sam and Dean Winchester; battling evil and risking life and limb for the sake of... well, if not the world, then at least the towns and cities inhabited by creatures with supernatural killing abilities.
This time it was a witch... or, more accurately, a coven of witches. A coven of weather witches. And they weren't happy in the slightest. The Winchester brothers had managed to cut short a ceremony that would have killed a nosy neighbour with a strike of lightning. It wasn't like Sam and Dean had much trouble finding them though, with the trail of bodies left in the wake of the coven's wrath: they'd frozen a cheating husband with a very localised blizzard in the office where he was 'working late', they'd killed a loan-shark that was owed money from half the coven – drying and superheating the air in his bedroom while he slept, and they'd even summoned a tornado that touched down on only the houses of people who were threatening the job security of the coven members.
Sam and Dean were tied together, sitting uncomfortably in the middle of a stone circle that the witches had constructed to magnify their powers. Even though it was the middle of July in a clearing of the woods just outside of the town of Wellsboro in Pennsylvania,* it was starting to snow. The little white flakes were drifting down from the cloudless sky and settling on the ground (and, by extension, Sam and Dean) within the stone circle. The brothers could only just make out the silhouettes of the witches around outside of the stone circle, but it was easy to hear the chanting.
"This is a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it Sam?" Dean hissed to his brother, trying to loosen the bonds with as much wriggling as he could manage inconspicuously.
"We wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't gone charging in without knowing how many of them there were first." Sam hissed back, trying to think of a way to survive their predicament. "Dean, you wouldn't happen to have anything sharp at hand, would you? We could really use it right now."
"Do I look like I have anything sharp?" Dean snapped irritably, shaking his head to dislodge some snow. "Do you think I'd just be sitting here waiting to freeze if I had something sharp to cut these ropes?"
Sam shrugged, causing a mini avalanche off his shoulders. The snow was getting heavier now as the witches' chanting was rising in volume. The grass inside the circle was becoming well and truly covered with snow and the brothers' breaths were forming little clouds that rose up and drifted away. It was really cold now.
And then there was a tug... a strange pulling feeling as if an invisible person was trying to lift the brothers to their feet but wasn't strong enough to do so.
Sam frowned. "Do you feel that Dean?"
"Yeah I feel that. What is it?" the older brother said, turning his head to look for the source.
"It's definitely not weather magic, that's for sure." Sam replied steadily.
The tugging continued insistently, then disappeared when everything suddenly went silent. The snowflakes stopped in midair, hovering motionless with no apparent effort. The witches' silhouettes were no longer moving either, halted in utter stillness that was obviously not natural. It was as if time itself had stopped. Both brothers' eyebrows rose to their hairlines – surprise completely overwhelming them.
"You still with me, Sam?" Dean said, his voice breaking the eyrie silence.
"Yeah, but... what is going on?" Sam asked, bewilderment evident in his tone. "This is completely beyond these weather witches, and nothing's jumping out at us now. Maybe whatever did this doesn't want to hurt us."
"Yeah?" Dean shot back sarcastically, "When have we ever been that lucky?"
The world lunged sideways, throwing the brothers into the snow drift and everything started to move again. Well, the snowflakes began to fall again. There didn't seem to be the sound of a dozen chanting witches nearby... or anything much. However, there was the sound of hoof beats in the distance, carried across the snowy air with unrealistic swiftness, and they were getting closer.
"You just had to say it, didn't you Sam?" Dean said, muffled by the snow in his face but loud enough for his brother to hear. "You had to say that it might not want to hurt us."
"I'm sorry for living in hope, Dean." He grumbled back, trying to wriggle to an upright position. "And why is your back so uncomfortable anyway?" Sam snapped, finally fed up with the feeling of a cold, hard object pressing into his spine.
"Oh, it's just a horseshoe. Sort of a good luck thing." Dean said a bit sheepishly. "And also in case we ever needed the iron." He added hastily to stop his brother accusing him of believing in luck.
The hoof beats were close now, and as Dean and Sam struggled upright a mounted figure approached them. The first thing they noticed was the rather large horn on the horse's head. It was, the brothers realised together, exactly what a child would expect a unicorn to look like – beautiful, pale, with a silvery mane and equally silvery horn... just without the rainbows and fluffy kitten companion. And then they saw the unicorn's rider. He was... pointy. He had pointed ears, a pointed nose, a pointy little chin, and blond pointy hair that male models and teenage boys would kill for. And he was beautiful... in a pointy, male way of course.
The elf, for there was no doubt in either of the Winchester boys' minds that the creature was an elf, looked down at them with disgust on his pointy features. He slid effortlessly off the unicorn and bent down to look more closely at Sam and Dean.
"How did you get here?" The elf asked, his pointy voice (How could a voice be pointy? Sam wondered) leaving no room for anything but answers.
"Witches." Dean said simply, finding the easiest explanation.
The elf hissed, clearly displeased by the answer. He unsheathed a beautiful (and, of course, pointy) silver sword and cut the ropes that bound the brothers without a word, but with a cruel glint in his eyes that promised pain.
"Can you be amusing?" The elf said as Sam and Dean got up and dusted the snow off themselves.
"Can you go screw yourself?" Dean shot back the elf, clearly unimpressed at the question.
Sam almost laughed, and in an instant the thought couldn't have been further from his mind.
This elf is just so good, the thought floated through Sam's dazzled brain completely unbidden, how can Dean say something like that to something that is just so clearly better than us?
"Sam, stop making googly eyes at the elf boy!" Dean hissed, punching his brother in the shoulder.
Sam shot him a filthy look before gazing at the elf in awe again.
The elf (or Mr. Pointy, as Dean had begun mentally labelling him) focused intently on the older brother, eyes roaming over him in a menacing manner. The unicorn behind him pawed at the ground impatiently.
"How do you resist, human?" The elf spat, lifting his sword threateningly.
"I have a strong will." Dean said stoically, watching the weapon with caution. Slowly and deliberately, he reached for Sam's arm. "Stronger than my brother's will, that's for sure."
"No." The elf said quietly, a frown marring his pale features. "My glamour should have you begging me for attention. You should be dizzy under it."
"You're frying Sam's brain?" Dean asked, anger lacing his voice. He grabbed hold of his brother's forearm slowly.
"That's not important." The elf dismissed, stalking towards the brothers. Sam's eyes lit up with a mix of happiness and disbelief at getting closer to the most important thing ever. "What is important is-"
"Don't you dare say he's not important." Dean hissed. And then he did the only thing he could think of – he tore the string around his neck that held the horseshoe in place, lifted it out of his jacket, tossed it at the elf and then turned and ran with Sam in tow.
All in all, it worked a lot better than he had thought it would.
The elf screamed as if burning, and the unicorn turned and fled in the opposite direction. Sam snapped out of his happy-daydream-stupor and began to run with a fervour matching Dean's own, no longer being dragged along. Charging through the snow together as they ran, they aimed for the only noticeable thing in the distance – a row of standing stones. There was green grass and sunlight on the other side. It looked like a positive place to go.
They ran, and Dean thought that maybe the horseshoe did bring him luck. They were getting close to the stones now and Dean risked a look behind them to see if they were being pursued. To his immense surprise, they weren't. It was as if the snowy landscape had swallowed the elf whole, leaving no trace.
They passed through the stones, just as a pair of birds flew over their heads and into the snowy land of the elves.
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The witch known as Granny Weatherwax was on edge. It was circle time again, and she was remembering the last incident around that time with the... lords and ladies, and she had been the best of the best that night – becoming part of the swarm, shoeing a unicorn and bringing an elf queen to her knees. Fortunately, as far as she was aware, there had been no silly happenings around the Dancers that could call to the Queen and her people, but Granny was on edge regardless. Something felt wrong in the world, as if even though the lords and ladies hadn't been called something was passing through from their world anyway. It was a disconcerting feeling to say the least.
She made up her mind, then and there, to go visit the standing stones known as the Dancers, and just before she left her cottage she retrieved her solid iron poker and a spare horseshoe that she stored in the privy – which was there because you never knew when you might need the iron.
On her way up to the Dancers there was nothing out of the ordinary. Birds were singing, the breeze was blowing, harmless little things were rustling in the bushes, the sun was shining – the perfect example of a completely normal day. Granny Weatherwax walked over the peak of the hill, the moment she was looking directly at the Dancers, a pair of birds flew between the stones and a pair of people stumbled out. They were covered in snow.
Horror crept up Granny's spine – if they were coming out of her land then they were almost certainly part of the fair folk, and if they were able to come through even when they weren't called... well that meant they were getting more powerful. Much too powerful for witches like Granny and Nanny Ogg and Magrat Garlick and Agnes Nitt to handle, even if they could get along for long enough to present a united defence. Granny steeled her face into the most fearsome expression she could muster (which was quite fearsome) and strode towards the newcomers with purpose.
Granny Weatherwax wasn't happy, and she didn't care who knew it.
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A/N: Well, this is the first chapter in my Discworld-Supernatural Crossover Fanfic, and as you might have guessed it involves the witches. I had tried another starting point in a crossover fic of these, but it didn't go anywhere, so you're welcome to one that did work out. Anyway, I realised that this is the first Supernatural X Discworld fanfiction that isn't intended to be a crack fic. I truly do intend for this to be a serious (or as serious as Discworld can get) crossover. Sorry if this bursts anyone's bubbles.
*This place was chosen at complete random – if any readers are from this area, I have no experience with it (or with practically anywhere in America, to be honest) and I'm not trying to say anything about it. It was just a place I happened to pick out, out of dozens of possible alternatives.
Also, I probably won't update in a while. Probably. Hopefully it will only take a couple of weeks, max, but there's no guarantee.
But, no matter how long it takes, it will come.
