Supernatural Fan Fiction:
I don't own the boys. This is just a taster of my next project…
Witch Finder
Sam glanced up at the clock on the wall; 5.30pm. He checked his phone: no messages and no missed calls. He drummed his fingers nervously on the sticky diner table. Where the hell is Dean? He thought to himself, he should have been back by now.
Just then he heard the roar of an engine and the screech of tires. Sam winced.
Now, it could be that his brother was just pissed off about something.
But there was at least an outside chance that he was in a good mood; and that thought was more terrifying to Sam than anything else.
Dean Winchester, in any mood, was trouble.
Dean Winchester in a good mood meant that the shit had really hit, and was about to be smeared all over the bathroom wall.
There was the sound of a car door slamming, and then running footsteps. Dean appeared at the door to the diner. Unfortunately, as Sam had feared, he was grinning.
"I have our next case!" Dean announced as he dropped into the cheap plastic seat in front of Sam. "I'll have the pancakes. And coffee".
Sam grimaced as he drained his own cup. "I really wouldn't. They call it coffee, but really it's just mud in disguise, and the best thing you can say about the caffeine content is that it's in there somewhere". He nodded to the brown envelop in Dean's hand. "What's the case?"
"It's in New Mexico." Dean suddenly glanced around, an expression of distaste rapidly developing. "What's that smell?"
"That would be the chef. I don't think he bathes".
"Huh. I think I'll pass on the pancakes."
"Wise decision. Now quit changing the subject and tell me about this case."
"Local priest claims to have spoken to Gabriel. He also claims to have been sober at the time but reports are a little sketchy."
"I'll bet. A conversation with the Archangel Gabriel? What's his niece say about all this?"
Dean had the grace to look embarrassed. "You read it huh?" He held his hands out in a "so what?" gesture. "Ok. I just thought a vacation would do us some good. I also thought that pretty little niece might do me a LOT of good." The Dean Winchester shit-eating grin was out in full force, causing Sam to sigh heavily.
"Dean…"
"Look Sammy, I just don't think the English case will lead us anywhere" he paused in consideration. "Except England. Besides, I don't like even like the place".
"You've never been there!"
"That's not the point. And how are we supposed to get there huh? Walk on water? Because seriously dude, I don't think fake passports are gonna impress anyone." He paused again to reconsider "except mine. I always look good in passport photos!" He grinned again, causing Sam to seriously consider how good it would feel to throttle his brother right now.
"Dean, I'm just saying that this could be one of the most important cases we'll ever get. Matthew Hopkins and the witch trials? I think there's something going on here, and we need to at least check it out"
"That's a hell of a long way to go just to "check it out". And you know I hate planes."
"No. You're afraid of flying. There's a distinct difference." Sam heaved another sigh. "It could be like that vacation you wanted. A change is as good as a rest huh?" He stared beseechingly at Dean for a long time.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Then he drummed his fingers on the table, trying to avoid his younger brother's beseeching gaze. That gaze had been the bane of Dean's life ever since he'd virtually kidnapped Sam from Stanford eighteen months ago.
"Sam!" Dean said sharply, trying to keep his voice down. "Don't look at me like that ok? That's not fair! It's expensive, dangerous and time consuming trying to ……" but seeing the expression on Sam's face change to one of stubbornness, which was fast becoming a common appearance where his little brother was concerned, Dean's head dropped to his chest whilst he took a deep breath. "
"ALRIGHT! I'll speak to Bobby about getting us some passports and credit cards. But if we get caught up at customs? Just ONE SIGN of a rubber glove and you go first!"
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"Are you boys sure about this? It's a long way from home should you need back up" Bobby was leaning in through the car window.
"It's ok Bobby; Dean and I have discussed this. We can handle it." Sam turned to his brother who was sulking in the driver's seat of the Impala. "Isn't that right Dean?" Sam gave him a bright smile that had more than a tinge of malice to it.
"You're really enyoying this huh? You won't be enjoying it when I throw up all over you". Dean turned to stare out of the window whilst Bobby handed over the fake IDs and passports to Sam.
"Come on Dean, you don't get travel sick. And besides, they provide sick bags for all flights," Sam replied whilst checking through the documents.
"Yeah? Who say's I'll need to use one with you sitting next to me?"
Bobby shook his head half in amusement and half concern. "Just take care and watch your backs. The British may seem polite and easy to push around, but just remember they once conquered a quarter of the globe. Plus they get real mean when they get drunk." Bobby looked at Sam, the message in his eyes clear be your brother's eyes and ears; keep his temper in check! Sam nodded his understanding.
"Ok Dean" In a phoney upper class English accent Sam followed it up with "To the airport old chap!" earning himself an even deeper scowl from his brother.
All Bobby heard as the Impala pulled away was Dean and Sam arguing:
"I can't believe you talked me into this"
"Stop whining. You said you wanted to see the world"
"I said I wanted to see the Grand Canyon, not a tiny island off the coast of Europe that suffers from a lot of rain and warm beer."
Their voices were soon drowned out by the engine noise as the car gathered speed. Bobby shook his head once more and strode off towards his workshop. He would have to remember to pick up the Impala from the airport later on but right now he had work to do. As soon as he had made himself comfortable in his office he picked up the phone and dialed. After a few seconds he spoke.
"Jay? It's Bobby." He listened and nodded to himself. "Yeah, I gave them the folder. They haven't had much of a chance to look through it yet though." He listened again.
"Sure, they just left for the airport. They don't know about you yet and it's probably best to keep it that way for now. I'm not sure how they'll react." He listened again, his expression darkening. "I hope you know what you're doing little lady. I'm not sure those boys are ready for this". There was a pause in the dialogue at the other end before the speaker continued. Bobby's expression softened a little but still looked worried, "I know you'll do your best to protect them, but if things go wrong……well, they've both been through a lot".
He listened intently one last time. "I'm glad you have faith in them. I do too." He said his goodbyes and hung up, and in spite of his last words to the caller he wondered if he'd done the right thing.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
As they parked up at the airport Dean popped the trunk and lifted out two travel bags.
"Bobby said that his contact will arrange a meeting place as soon as we're settled. I guess we'll have to pick up some weapons, seeing as we can't take any on the flight."
Sam checked his watch "Apparently, we won't need to worry about weapons. Already taken care of."
They walked towards the departure gate and checked the flight times. Dean glanced nervously around, tapping his feet irritatingly.
Sam frowned at him. "Will you quit looking so nervous? We'll never make it through security."
"I can't help it. These places are worse than hospitals."
"Well, considering the last time you were in hospital you were a spirit about to pass on to wherever spirits go, I find that kinda hard to believe."
"Car crashes are different; you're more likely to survive them for one thing. But if a plane goes down…" Dean took a deep calming breath "…I think the phrase 'kiss your ass good bye' springs to mind".
"Yeah, but plane crashes are statistically less likely to happen," Sam noticed the murderous expression on Dean's face and raised his hands in a placating gesture "Ok, I'll be quiet if you try to relax."
"Deal. And just remember what I said about the rubber glove".
Some time later Sam and Dean were seated on the plane, waiting for take-off.
"Ok, it's time to go over the details of the case." Sam produced a folder and placed it on the tray in front of Dean.
"Hey take that off! I need room for all the liquor bottles I'll be drinking my way through." Dean glared at his brother but didn't touch the folder. He was sat rigidly in his seat, hands clasping the chair arms so tightly the knuckles were white. Then he turned his head to face forward.
Dean had severely embarrassed Sam at arriving on the flight; by pushing his younger brother face first into the window seat and declaring that he should have the aisle seat in case he needed the restroom. Sam had felt it was wise not to argue at this point. He was still surprised that he had managed to get Dean on the flight to begin with, though the promise of free alcoholic beverages had certainly helped, there was no denying that.
"Later. I need you sober for now so listen. Matthew Hopkins was famous for claiming to be the Witch-Finder General of the Eastern counties of England during the 1600s." Sam continued reading aloud. "Between 1645 and 1646 he and his associate, one John Sterne, were responsible for the torture and execution of over 200 alleged witches."
"Ok I get it. He was a bastard." Replied Dean. He carried on staring straight ahead as the plane began to taxi out to the runway.
"Oh god" Dean shakily announced as the plane came to a stop.
Followed by "Oh shiiitttt!!!!!" As the engines roared and the plane itself suddenly swept forward, gathering speed until with a final burst of power it took off and became airborne. With one rather pissed off, and altogether too sober for his liking, Dean Winchester, desperately trying to hold onto his dignity and not blubber like a little girl.
Sam carried on reading, ignoring the abject terror currently afflicting his brother.
"It seems that he lived and worked in the area around Manningtree and Mistley in North Essex. Though he may have spent sometime being educated in Holland. He frequented a local pub called the Thorn Inn at Mistley, which is where he plotted his persecution of witches. It's possible he may have resided there".
Dean let out a long breath as the plane leveled out. "So why did he do it? Was he a woman-hater or something?"
Sam smiled "he may well have been. There certainly doesn't seem to be any record of him being married, though most of the details on his life are pretty sketchy. But at the time of the witch trials there was a civil war raging in England, with the Catholics going head to head with the Protestants. It seems that some of Hopkins's compatriots were staunchly anti-Catholic."
"Ah. Religion again. Why do most of mankind's wars seem to stem from that word?" Dean put up his hand and pressed a button above his head. A smartly dressed and attractive stewardess started to make her way down the aisle towards him.
Sam continued turning pages, his memory shuffling and filing the information he'd researched on his laptop before the flight. Dean swore he could hear the cogs in his brother's brain turning above the engine noise.
Sam huffed. "Yeah. I guess everyone thinks that their interpretation of God is the correct one, and everyone else in the world is wrong. But the English civil war was made up of 3 periods of history, and it didn't just come down to a difference in religious beliefs, though tensions still exist today. It was also a divide between those who felt that Parliament should rule the Kingdom and those that believed it should have been under supreme rule of the monarch King Charles I and his descendents". He frowned. "Hopkins saw an opportunity to make a lot of money during times of turmoil. He charged a lot of money to put accused witches on trial, to torture and kill them. Few people were going to argue with him whilst they were fighting a war."
"In other words, he used the civil war as a diversion so he could go on a lucrative killing spree" Dean gave the stewardess his full wattage charm-the-the pants-off smile "Could I order three large bourbons please?"
"Certainly sir. Would you like ice with that?"
Two hours later the tray in front of Dean was laden with empty miniature Jack Daniels bottles, whilst the consumer himself was happily sitting comatose in an alcoholic haze. Sam nudged Dean. "Hey! Dinner's being served" earning a drunken moan from the creature next to him. "Come on Dean. Wake up!" This last was a semi-shout, startling the nearest passengers.
Dean tentatively opened one eye. "I've been told about airline food, and I gotta tell ya, I'm not impressed with what I heard".
"With the amount of Jack you've drunk you probably won't even taste the food". Sam turned back to the documents. "According to this newspaper article 'Colchester, Manningtree, Mistley and surrounding villages have been subject to a copy-cat witch-finder. People have been going missing, and then showing up dead a few days later having been subjected to what appears to be torture and execution similar to that of the witch trials' but so far the police have no suspects".
He rubbed his eyes, put down the folder and grabbed the plastic cutlery. Something feels wrong about all this, Sam thought to himself as he chewed on the cardboard commonly referred to as "food". And once Dean's stopped being distracted by his fear of flying, not to mention when he sobers up a little, he'll feel it too.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
About halfway through the in-flight movie Dean woke up with a start. He looked around him blinking sleepily, still tasting the bourbon in his mouth, and noticed that the file Sam had been reading had fallen on the floor, spilling half its contents everywhere.
Sam was no where to be seen. Dean reached down and picked up the file and shuffled the papers back in as neatly as he could.
Just as he was about to close it something caught his eye. He pulled out a few pages of what appeared to be copies of crime scene photographs and began looking through them. After studying a few he realised what he was looking at; they were close-ups of the bodies of the victims.
"Jesus Christ" he muttered to himself in horror. He read the records attached to each photo as he glanced through. All the victims had been tortured before being burnt alive, and he could only just make them out to have once been human.
"Man, that's nasty!" Dean glanced up and saw Sam making his way back down the aisle, staggering slightly, his face pale and beaded with sweat.
"Dude! You ok?" Dean stood up to help his brother into his seat.
"Yeah, now that I've just been reintroduced to dinner. Never eat airline food whilst studying crime scene pictures of charred bodies. It was a little too close to the chicken chasseur!" Sam gently laid his head on the head rest before reaching up to turn on the cold air.
Dean grinned. Whilst sympathetic he could never resist the opportunity to be a right bastard to his brother. "Well Sammy, next time try the roast beef!" he announced smugly and slapped his brother on the shoulder, causing Sam to lean forward, desperately searching for the sick bag. As Dean went back to study the last photo, his smile faded and his expression turned to stone. "Sam? You look at the last photograph?"
Hearing the change in Dean's voice Sam opened his eyes and looked at him. "No. I didn't get that far before feeling the urge to imitate Roadrunner. Why?"
Dean, his expression filled with barely compressed rage, turned the documents round so that Sam could see the remains of the last victim and its appropriate record.
"Because this last one was a 12 year old girl".
