A/N: Thank you Guest for your review! A lot more Dean for you in this chapter. ^_^ Also, I have another one shot I'll be posting Wednesday.
Chapter 7
Frey let out a roaring bellow and threw his mug at the wall, shattering its amber liquid down the wainscoting. The pagan god whirled on Crowley. "Your hound attacked my Gullinbursti!"
Crowley slammed his own drink on the counter and surged to his feet. "He attacked her first!" he shouted back. "She was about to take out the angel when your blundering boar mucked it all up!"
In truth, though, Crowley could not have planned the fiasco better. Not only had Frey been humiliated, but his idiot Gullinbursti had provided the perfect distraction to keep everyone's attention off the Winchesters and Castiel as they read Crowley's covert message. The camera angle wasn't even focused on the trio at the moment, but on the hideous boar's leaking corpse on the forest floor, not that anyone was looking at the monitor.
Snickers trickled through the crowd, and Frey's face reddened as others began to mock his boar's pathetic battle charge, going so far as to compare Gullinbursti's incompetence with Frey's own prowess—or lack thereof. Which of course the Norseman could not abide.
"I will go in and defeat the Winchesters and their worthless angel!" he yelled to be heard over the raucous jeering. Frey then turned and sneered at Crowley. "Your pretty hellhound is fair game in the arena as well."
Crowley scoffed. "Careful you don't trip over her."
The crowds reacted with boisterous guffaws.
Nostrils flaring, Frey stalked off to ready himself.
Crowley watched him go, the hint of a satisfied smile attempting to break out on his face. He maintained a stoic countenance, however, and retook his seat at the bar, casually lifting his glass to his lips.
Rowena sauntered up to him, hips sashaying in her finely fitted gown. She eyed him shrewdly for a moment before asking, "Just what are you up to here, Fergus?"
"What I'm always up to, mother," he replied blithely. "Winning."
Even though he had been the one to suggest it, Dean could not believe they were following a freakin' hellhound like it was Lassie. Every one of his instincts was screaming at him to run in the complete opposite direction. But Cas said this was the way out of the mountains, and since it coincided with where the hellhound was supposedly leading, they kept at it.
Besides, it wasn't like they were in a position to turn down potential help, even if they couldn't be certain they weren't being led into a trap, and it involved trusting a fiend from the Pit. That was just what their lives had become.
They came across another river, and so stopped to refill the flask and drink their fill with Cas purifying it each time. Dehydration was a more immediate threat than starvation, but Dean's stomach was still cramping from hunger and he had a killer headache from caffeine withdrawal. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose while Sam and Cas took their turns drinking.
Cold fingers touched his temple, and Dean startled, eyes flashing open to find Cas standing right there. "Warn a guy would you?" he snapped, jerking back a step to reclaim his personal space. He thought the angel had gotten better with that shit.
Cas's expression fell. "Sorry. You looked in pain."
Dean realized his headache was gone, as was a little of his hunger pains. He sighed. "Yeah. Thanks."
Cas pressed his mouth into a pensive line. "You used to ask me to heal you all the time."
Dean frowned; what was he talking about? He'd asked Cas to heal them not that long ago, after they'd saved Sam from that British Woman of Letters. Okay, he hadn't actually asked; Cas just walked right over and did his thing, because Sam had been in rough shape, and Mom had gotten a bit banged up. Dean's injuries from being used as a punching bag weren't that serious, but he'd let Cas heal him last because he didn't want to make a scene in front of his mom…
But if Mom hadn't been there, yeah, Dean might have brushed off the offer of healing. And it didn't really have anything to do with Dean's guilt over nearly beating the angel to death anymore. He'd just…gotten used to Cas not being around since Lucifer had moved in.
"I used to ask a lot of things of you," Dean said. Demand, really, which was apparently something that had reinforced Cas's belief that his value was only in his usefulness, which was why he'd said yes to Lucifer in the first place.
"But I don't want you doing that," he added. At Cas's confused look, he realized the angel hadn't heard the monologue in his head. "I don't want to be demanding things of you," Dean tried to explain, feeling woefully inadequate when Cas's expression only furrowed more.
"I don't like seeing you suffer," Cas said.
Dean deflated some. "Yeah, but the same goes for you. Just…even if you couldn't have healed me just now, know I wouldn't kick you to the curb because of it, or value you less."
Cas nodded slowly. Dean hoped he really was starting to get it, but knew it was gonna take time and a lot of reinforcement to break down the bricks of guilt and self-loathing the angel had built within himself. Bricks that Dean had helped lay.
He exchanged a look with Sam, who'd been listening as unobtrusively as possible. They needed to figure out what to do once they were out of this hellhole, because Dean suddenly realized that letting Cas go his separate way like usual probably wasn't a good idea, and why hadn't they ever invited the angel to actually move into the bunker with them when he wasn't injured or recovering from something? Dean had just assumed Cas knew he was welcome, another thing he'd taken for granted. Some family they were.
Cas suddenly stiffened, looking at something over Dean's shoulder.
He went rigid in response. "Cas?"
"The hellhound," he said quietly.
Dean's hand drifted to his gun. "Where?"
"On the rise." Cas dipped his chin, and Dean followed the direction of his gaze. He couldn't see anything, of course, but if he was looking in the right place, the hellhound was actually pretty far away. It wasn't baying, either, so that was something.
"I think…" Cas said tentatively. "It's waiting for us to keep moving."
Sam let out a soft snort of disbelief, but bent down to fill the flask one last time.
Dean took a deep breath. "Then let's not try its patience."
Sam passed the flask to Cas, who held his hand over the top for a brief moment before handing it back. Then the angel turned and set off, presumably in the direction of the hellhound.
It was slow going, as they were all being cautious with their "guide." A short distance later, Cas pulled up short, brow furrowing.
"It changed direction," he said.
"Okay…" Dean glanced around. The woods seemed quiet and still like they normally did.
Cas pointed to the ground, and it took Dean a moment to notice the flecks of black blood. "It abruptly turned north here."
"So we've been randomly following it for nothing," Sam groused.
"Or maybe this is as far as it'll take us," Dean countered. He took a step forward, and then froze as a vicious snarl sounded through the trees. Dean whipped around, expecting some invisible beast to come barreling out at them, but he couldn't see anything.
Cas was standing rigidly, gaze fixed on something to their left. He moved a step toward Dean, and a low growl reverberated in response. Cas stopped, hesitated, and then took a step north following the blood trail. The hellhound didn't make a sound.
"I believe it intends for us to go this way."
"You can't be serious," Sam hissed. "You said that's the wrong way."
"It must have its reasons," Cas replied. For an angel, he seemed much more accepting of this whole arrangement than the brothers.
Dean shook his head. "Let's just…go a little ways and see what happens."
Sam shot him a bitch-face, but didn't protest as Cas started forward again, leaving the Winchesters to either fall in step or get left behind. It turned out they only went about six yards before the trail turned east again, then south a short ways after that. Dean was beginning to wonder whether Crowley was toying with them for kicks, when he happened to glance over his shoulder and caught sight of the backside of a wooden rack lined with spikes, set vertically on the other side of some bushes. Had they walked down the middle as they'd planned, they probably would have sprung the booby trap and been caught in the mouse trap.
Dean tapped Sam's shoulder and pointed. A muscle in his brother's jaw ticked when he spotted the contraption. Cas's mouth was pressed in a thoughtful line as he gazed back as well. Guess the hellhound knew what it was doing.
They continued on a bit longer, and then Cas slowed to a stop and started twisting his head around.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked, tensing once again. He almost wished he could see the hellhound to know what was going on, though part of him knew it was better that he didn't.
"I'm not sure," Cas replied. "The hound disappeared."
Now Dean started turning this way and that. "What?"
"It's been staying a certain distance ahead of us, but I've been able to sense it. Now it's gone…as though it doesn't want to be found."
That didn't sound good.
"So what do we do?" Sam asked.
Dean shrugged. "Keep going? We have to be getting close, right?"
Cas narrowed his gaze. "I think something else is out here." His angel blade slipped into his hand.
Dean wanted to moan. Of frickin' course there was.
"What is it this time?" he muttered under his breath.
Cas started moving forward again, cautiously, eyes peeled. Dean withdrew his own angel blade, while Sam nervously kept a hand on his gun. Maybe Cas was just being paranoid and it was a regular animal, like a bear. A grizzly would scare off a hellhound, right?
Yeah, right.
They passed by an escarpment when a war cry rang out from above. Dean whipped his head up just as a hulking dude with a sword came leaping off the ledge. He hit both Dean and Cas, sending them sprawling on the ground.
Dean rolled to his feet as quickly as he could, and then twisted to avoid the sword that came arcing down toward his head. The blade struck the ground with enough force that it sent chunks of dirt flying. Dean scrambled away from it, his angel blade too short to stop a blow from that.
Their attacker wrenched his sword free and twirled it in his hand, obviously showing off. Dean stared dubiously at the guy's leather pants and vest, not to mention the helmet with horns on his head. Great, they must be in gladiator mode.
Cas pushed himself up and charged at the Viking wannabe, who spun around to meet the attack. Metal collided with a discordant screech as the two blocked and parried in a duel of steel. The guy—Dean was gonna guess pagan deity—obviously possessed brute strength, but Cas was quick and agile and holding his own. Until the brutish man rammed his shoulder straight into Cas's chest, propelling the angel back until he slammed against a tree. There was a resounding crack as wood splintered from the impact, and the pine groaned under the strain. Their assailant grabbed Cas's throat and squeezed.
Dean raised his blade and rushed in, stabbing the Viking in his beefy bicep. The Viking roared, releasing Cas, and backhanded Dean so hard he went flying. He hit the ground with a jarring thud that radiated up his spine and darkened his vision for a few precious seconds. He heard Sam yell in pain, and rapidly blinked to clear his sight. A blur flew through the air, followed by a thud and grunt.
Dean pushed himself up in time to see Cas striking at the Viking again. The angel ducked under a hefty swing and scored a slash across the guy's ribs. The pagan god bellowed with rage, and pivoted sharply, ramming the hilt of his sword into Cas's face. Cas stumbled back, dazed, blood streaming from a cut across his eyebrow. Before he could recover, the Viking clamped a meaty hand around the back of his neck, and flung him head first into the side of the scarp. The rock cracked and loosened silt spilled. Cas crumpled to the ground, unmoving.
Dean's heart leaped into his throat. He hesitated a fraction of a second as Sam also regained his feet, and then they attempted to tag team the hulk. But the Viking kicked his foot out, catching Sam in the stomach with a blow that instantly dropped him to his knees with a guttural gasp for air.
Dean stabbed his blade toward the deity's exposed back, but the dude spun and caught his arm mid-air. With one crank, Dean felt his bones snap. A cry tore from his throat as his vision whited out with blazing pain.
The Viking held him by his broken arm, dangling it at an unnatural angle. He leaned in close to Dean's face and snarled. "You're the one who shot Gullinbursti."
Dean was in too much pain to ask what the hell a Gullinbursti was, and what idiot had named it.
The Viking swung him around and tossed him several feet away. He rolled over his busted arm twice, which nearly sent him out of orbit, but he clung desperately to consciousness, sprawled on the ground in a moaning heap. Even through the haze of his own agony, he could still hear the wretched sounds of his brother choking on oxygen. Dean gasped, trying to force himself up. Out of the corner of his vision, a huge blurry figure stomped toward him.
"You will die first," a deep voice rumbled.
There was a metallic click, and then a thunderous bellow that shook the trees.
Dean rolled onto his side and lifted his head, blinking dazedly at the sight that greeted him. Only five feet away, the Viking stood with one leg suddenly caught in a steel bear trap, the ragged jaws clamped viciously all the way up to his thigh. This close, Dean could make out glimpses of sigils engraved in the metal.
So it'd been meant for an angel, but apparently worked on demigods, too. Small miracles.
Gritting his teeth, Dean slowly pushed himself upright, then onto one knee. He swayed, and the pain threatened to take him out, but he refused to let it. Sam and Cas were down for the count, and if Dean didn't do something, they could die.
The Viking had dropped his sword and was currently trying to pry the steel jaws apart with his bare hands. His head was thrown back and eyes squeezed shut in the extraneous effort. This was the only chance Dean was going to get.
He dragged himself forward, broken arm dangling uselessly at his side, and snatched up the Viking's forgotten sword. The angle was awkward with his left hand, but he somehow managed to stagger the last step and plunge the blade through the pagan's chest.
Thor or whoever the crap he was went rigid in shock, eyes and mouth flying open. There was no fanfare like when angels or demons died. Just a gargled gasp, and then he fell forward. Dean let go of the sword and let it fall with him as he toppled, blood from his various wounds spreading across the grass.
Dean stumbled back a step and almost collapsed. His vision was still fuzzy around the edges and the pain in his arm was making him violently nauseous. But he swallowed against it and turned toward Sam, who was curled up on his side, clutching his stomach and moaning.
Dean took a step toward him, but his leg buckled and he hit the ground, jarring his broken arm. Bile surged up in his throat, nearly choking him. Coughing, he managed to crawl forward until he reached his brother.
"Sammy?" He grasped Sam's shoulder and tried to get him to unfurl from his tight position. Sam cried out as Dean lifted the bottom of his shirt to get a look at the damage. He nearly threw up again at the mottled black and purple blossoming across Sam's abdomen. Shit, that was bad. Really bad.
Dean whipped his head up, which made his vision go blurry again. "Cas!" He heard a distant groan, and when he could see again, he spotted the angel pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. "Cas!"
Cas groggily turned his head slowly from side to side, as though searching for the source of Dean's voice. The entire side of his face was painted in blood.
Shit.
"Cas," Dean called. "We're over here."
Please be okay. Please be able to heal Sam.
Cas turned toward them, and then staggered to his feet. He drunkenly made his way over, collapsing to his knees once he reached them. He stretched out two shaky fingers to Sam's forehead, but before he could make contact, Dean grabbed his wrist.
"Listen to me, you heal the life-threatening stuff and no more. You hear me?" Dean was nearly yelling with intensity, and as much as he wanted Sam to just jump right back up from this, he would not let Cas hurt himself further to do it. They just needed to make sure Sam wouldn't bleed out internally, and the rest they could take their time with.
"Cas, do you understand me?" Dean demanded, fear making him abrasive. He just couldn't stand the thought of losing either of them.
Cas nodded slowly. "I promise," he said gravely, at least sounding lucid.
Dean released his grip and held his breath as Cas touched Sam's forehead, his eyes closing as though in concentration. The healing wasn't instantaneous like normal, but then, Dean had ordered Cas to be selective, so maybe that took more effort. Though hopefully not more energy.
After a moment, Sam started to uncurl from the fetal position, a series of ragged coughs wracking his body. He spat some blood onto the ground.
Dean's heart seized, and he gripped his brother's shoulder with his good arm. "Easy, easy." He looked back at Cas. "How bad is it?"
Cas was looking a shade whiter, a horribly pasty color in comparison to the bright red blood streaming down his face, and Dean was glad he'd forced the angel not to overdo it.
"I healed the internal hemorrhaging," he said, voice fainter too. "His system is still in shock, and there's some bruising…" Cas let out a raspy breath. "I just…need a minute."
"Take as many as you need," Dean said.
Cas's brow furrowed. "You're hurt too."
"We're in no hurry."
Well, they kind of were, except that the pattern was one fight and then a respite before the next one, so they were probably okay for the moment.
Sam moaned. "Ungh, Dean?"
"Yeah, right here." He squeezed his brother's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't move, okay? You'll be fine, but Cas needs to recharge his mojo before he can fix the rest."
Sam frowned at him, then turned his head to find the angel. "Cas? Are you okay?"
The angel had his eyes closed as he braced his palms on the ground, and looked as though he was either trying to keep from throwing up, or mustering his grace so he could start healing. Maybe both, given that blow to the head he'd taken. Speaking of which, Dean wasn't feeling so hot himself. But he refused to say anything that would make Cas feel rushed. Dean was no stranger to pain and could take it.
"Just give him a minute," Dean said when Cas didn't respond.
A minute turned out to be more like five, but when Cas opened his eyes, they were clear of the cloudy film they'd had before, and he straightened without looking as though a light breeze would knock him over. He reached out to touch Sam's forehead again, and Sam let out a relaxed sigh as the rest of his injuries were healed. Cas turned to Dean then, who eyed him skeptically.
"If you need another breather, I'm good for a bit longer." It might have sounded more convincing if he hadn't nearly choked on bile halfway through saying it.
"You might have a concussion," Cas replied, and reached over, pressing his fingers into Dean's skin.
He felt his bones snap back into place with a painful crack, and gasped at the shock of it. Definitely not normal healing. When Cas pulled away, there was a wearied slump in his shoulders again, but at least he didn't look on the verge of collapse.
Sam sat up and took Cas's arm, giving him a worried once-over, particularly the blood still coating his face. Without asking for permission, he reached up to brush some of Cas's matted hair back and get a look at the gash. Sam sucked in a sharp breath. "That's, um…freaky."
"What?" Dean asked.
Sam's throat bobbed and he glanced over. "His skull is fusing back together."
Dean's stomach lurched again, but not from his earlier pain. He swallowed hard. "Okay, well, as long as it is…" Ugh, that was too disgusting to think about.
He climbed to his feet and went back over to the Viking's body. That sword would probably take down some of the bigger heavyweights in this perverted game. Dean leaned down and yanked it out, then wiped the blade clean on the demigod's pants. When he turned back, Sam was helping Cas to stand, and the angel was miraculously free of blood once more.
"So what now?" Sam asked. "Our breadcrumbs are gone."
"Yeah, too bad Crowley's pet couldn't have stepped in back there," Dean muttered, though more out of exhaustion than any real heat.
Cas nodded over his shoulder. "Actually, the hellhound is back."
Dean and Sam both stiffened and looked around, even though it was futile.
"And what's it doing?" Sam asked nervously.
"Waiting."
"Let me guess," Dean scowled. "On us."
Cas shrugged.
Dean took a deep breath, and let it out. "Alright, it's brought us this far." He exchanged grim looks with Sam and Cas. Once again, they didn't have much choice. "Let's go, kids."
The lodge had been a cacophony of cheers and jeers as Frey attacked the Winchesters with ferocious prowess, and it seemed as though the trio had finally met their match. But then a stunned silence had overtaken the room. Frey's corpse was displayed prominently on the screen, a victim of one of the game's own booby traps. Small mutters began running through the crowd, some expressing their disbelief at the Winchesters' luck, others saying Frey was a bumbling fool just like his boar.
Others, however, began to murmur that the games were fixed.
Crowley sipped his drink slowly as he basked in the increasing malcontent.
"Send in more hellhounds!" someone shouted.
"Send in all the hellhounds!" echoed another.
"Now, now," Coyote responded. "Just calm down, gents."
Crowley set his glass down, rubbing his thumb across his forefinger.
The television monitor suddenly fritzed and went black, drawing everyone's attention.
"Oy, what happened?"
"What kind of game are you pulling here, Coyote?"
The pagan Trickster stormed over toward the AV guys and began gesturing sternly at them as they practically fumbled over themselves in search of a solution. The entire room was becoming more ruffled and agitated, but Crowley merely sat back on his barstool and returned to nursing his drink.
Rowena leaned toward him. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with this, now would you, Fergus?"
He didn't deign to give her an answer.
"Hmm," she hummed, but then she, too, settled back to watch the drama unfold.
A/N: Just one more chapter. How ARE the boys gonna get out of this?
