Chapter 4

At that moment, a massive black dog padded into the room from the shadows of the hallway.

"Cúchulainn! There you are, boy!" Charlie cooed, sitting up in her chair. The dog went to her for a welcoming scratch behind the ear, and then went to Ivy for the same before settling down on the carpet between the two girls. Standing on all fours, his head cleared the top of their armchairs easily; his height, combined with his shaggy black coat and imperious gaze, denoted him as a dog to be reckoned with.

Sam found the scene endearing; he'd always wanted a dog of his own and, for two weeks one time, had been lucky enough to have one as a companion while he was living on his own. He'd never seen a dog so big in his life and wondered if it was somehow part elephant.

Dean and Cas, however, recoiled from the dog with visible looks of horror and detestation, respectively, on their faces.

"What," Cas nearly snarled, "is that doing in here?"

"Freakin' hell!" was all Dean could say.

Sam stared at them, clearly lost, but Ivy and Charlie were immediately on the defense.

"He's not an enemy, Castiel," Charlie said tersely.

"He's one of them," Cas shot back.

The dog rose to his feet, its ears laid back flat against his head and his teeth slightly bared.

"Cúchulainn," Ivy said gently. The dog met her gaze and backed down into a sitting position. But he kept his gaze on Cas and Dean.

"Can somebody please tell me what's wrong with having an Irish Wolfhound?" Sam asked.

Charlie grinned ruefully. "He's not really a dog," she began mysteriously.

"He's a freakin'…demon poodle dog thing!" Dean sputtered. His time in the faerie world had given him the ability to see through the mortal-world disguises the Fey used when they were on this side of the veil.

Charlie was visibly irritated by Dean's classification, but Cas beat her to the punch. "It's a púca, Dean, not a poodle."

"And even if he was a real dog," Charlie snapped, "he would most certainly not be a poodle."

"Whatever. Why they hell do you have one of them as a pet?" Dean demanded.

"Cúchulainn is not exactly a pet," Ivy said. "He's a part of our family. And not in some creepy weird pet-lover way, either - he's one of the Gentry that crossed over from Ireland. He came with our great-great grandfather."

Cas looked at her incredulously. "He managed to...tame a member of the Fey?"

"Not exactly tame. There's a bit of an issue of a debt that needs to be repaid. But he's not bound," Charlie explained. "He chooses to remain with us of his will."

"I am really confused," Sam bleated.

"I'll explain it to you later, short bus," Charlie replied without missing a beat. She turned her attention back to Cas, ignoring Sam's injured, yet indignant, expression. "So what are you proposing? You're all obviously here to hunt, but we're here to protect this town."

Cas fixed her with a steady, steely gaze. "This requires the skills of more than just you two girls," he said, "and possibly even more than the four of you possess altogether. We might need divine intervention."

"Dude, we've tried that whole divine intervention thing numerous times before, and it hasn't exactly worked out yet," Dean said dryly.

"Let him talk, Dean," Sam wheedled.

"Yeah, shut up," Charlie added.

"This is clearly a dire situation, and you are all clearly not up to discussing it tonight," Cas sighed, the exasperation in his voice betraying his impatience and resignation. "I'll be back in the morning."

And he was gone.

Dean pulled off his shirt and sat down on the edge of his bed, raking his hands through his hair. The storm had died down somewhat but the rain continued to come down in sheets; staring out the window, he could barely make out the trees surrounding the property.

What a night, he thought to himself, getting up and turning down the sheets. Indeed, what a day it had been. A stranger pair of hunters he'd never met, a stranger hunt he'd never been on – and that was saying a lot, considering what he and Sam had been through. But aside from the small spats that erupted between the Griffins and the Winchesters so far, he held some respect for the girls. They obviously had a lot more on their plates than he initially assumed, and to be the guardians of an entire town was nothing to belittle. In truth, he felt somewhat guilty for giving them, especially Ivy, such a hard time about everything.

"Whatever," he said aloud to himself as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

There were bigger things to worry about, and most of them could wait until tomorrow.

"What do you think of them?"

Ivy caught Charlie's eye in the bathroom mirror, one delicate eyebrow arched quizzically. Her chestnut hair hung loose over her shoulder as she brushed it out.

"What do you think of the Stooges?" Charlie repeated, laughing. "I must say, that Angel really is a piece of work."

Ivy rolled her eyes, but shared her cousin's amusement with a wry grin. "Well, he normally doesn't interact with us mere mortals," she said. "His people skills need a bit of DW-40."

"We've got plenty of that," Charlie chortled. She pushed her hair back away from her face with a headband and started applying her face cleanser. "And Sam and Dean – what d'ya reckon about those two?"

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Charlie," she said simply in a warning tone as her cousin washed off her face.

"What?" Charlie asked, faking innocence and batting her eyelashes. She patted her face dry and suddenly, over the edge of her towel, her eyes widened and her tone took on a teasing note. "Oh my goodness! You like one of them, don't you?"

"I do not." Ivy deftly plaited her hair into a braid and grabbed her toothbrush. Charlie laughed when Ivy squeezed too much toothpaste onto the bristles: her level-headed cousin was barely managing to remain cool, calm, and collected.

Ivy turned out the lights and snuggled down into her nest of quilts and pillows. Evidently, it wasn't just the creatures that were unseasonable this year: October in Pine Valley had taken on an early chill. Even though they were only halfway through the month, Ivy could feel winter closing in already.

Out in the hallway, Cúchulainn had taken up his normal guarding position between the girls' rooms. He was lying down now, an enormous silhouette against the gentle orange glow of the hallway light. From her bed, Ivy could see his ears twitching alertly even as he snoozed.

"Good night, sweetie." Charlie's voice drifted across the hallway, sleepy and content.

"Sleep well." Ivy curled up into a ball under her covers and was soon fast asleep.

Sam shot up in his bed immediately; a scream had shattered through his sleep. He hit the ground running, handgun at the ready as he raced up to the third floor where Ivy and Charlie slept. The light on the landing was already turned on.

Dean was right on his heels, his hunting knife brandished and his entire body ready to spring into action against whatever possible intruder was inside with him. They made it to the landing and were granted admittance by Cúchulainn, whose agitated whining made it clear that something was amiss.

A light was turned on in one of the rooms as well; upon entering they realised it was Ivy who had screamed. Charlie was sitting on the bed, holding her sobbing cousin and trying to soothe her.

"What happened?" Sam asked, lowering his gun.

"She had a nightmare," Charlie explained in a hushed voice. "She gets a lot of those."

Dean's memory flashed back to that afternoon in the clearing, when they had found Ivy unconscious. He was jerked back to the present by Ivy's sobs. Even when muffled by Charlie's shoulder, they cut into him like a knife. She seemed inconsolable and completely oblivious to her surroundings. What kind of horror movie in her head could make her so distressed?

He and Sam exchanged extremely worried glances.

"Is there anything we can do?" Sam wanted to know, setting the gun on the dresser.

"In the study at the end of the hall, there's a cabinet. The key is in Ivy's jewellery box. Grab one of the black bottles on the left," Charlie instructed. She turned her attention back to Ivy. "Shh, sweetie, you're alright. Hey, everything's okay. Come on now."

Sam returned with a small black bottle. "What is this?"

"A sleeping potion," Charlie said with a dry smile as he deposited the bottle into her open palm. "Valerian, mostly, with some lavender and chamomile for good measure."

"That sounds pretty intense," Dean mused.

"It's the only thing that will soothe her enough to let her sleep through the rest of the night." Charlie opened the bottle and handed it to Ivy, who downed it like a shot of Jack.

Once Ivy was tucked safely back into bed and light was turned out, the three hunters exited quietly.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean demanded on the landing.

"Excuse me?" Charlie flared.

Dean counted on his fingers. "There are freakin' faeries running around everywhere, including in your house. Your cousin has nightmares so bad she needs a drink right out of Grimm to get her back to sleep. The two of you have this really bad habit of making me feel like you're inside my head." He paused. "Yeah, that's about it. Care to explain?"

"Dean," Sam interjected, "it's two in the morning. Surely you can be patient enough to wait until a more decent hour." He turned to Charlie. "Sleep well," he said quietly before heading back downstairs.

Dean backed down begrudgingly and made a move to follow Sam as Charlie returned to her room. But before he could even step onto the stairs, Cúchulainn blocked his way.

"Oh, come on," Dean grumbled. The creature gave him an imploring look and turned his head towards Ivy's room.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Evidently, the dog was not kidding him at all. Dean found himself practically herded into Ivy's room towards another large, squashy armchair.

"Dude, I'm half-naked here."

The animal left and swiftly returned with Dean's T-shirt in its mouth, which it promptly deposited on the floor in front of Dean's feet with a wag of its tail.

"Very funny. Good night." Dean settled into the chair. Goddammit.