Janiekm is really, really mad at me now. Heeelllppp! :(
Chapter 10
-oOo-
Barely able to reach the top bookshelf, Father Hanrahan used his fingertips to snag the ancient and battered soft brown leather sheet music wallet he was after. He successfully managed to creep the wallet to the front edge of the shelf, enabling himself from where he a slightly better grip on it when the single ring of a non-existent church bell exploded around the sleepy quiet of the sitting room. The startled priests' stomach lurched in shock, the tiniest fraction of a moment ahead of the rest of his body going for lift off. The unsecured music wallet flipped open as it sailed through the air, releasing a mass of church documents behind itself before it flopped down neatly onto Sam's chest.
-o-
The Hunter mumbled as he rolled onto his side, sending the folder sliding to the floor, then continued sleeping peacefully. Father Hanrahan gazed at Sam, the only way he could possibly still be sleeping was if, like his brother, he too had reacted to the drugs. Father Hanrahan vowed to himself he would throw the rest away the first chance he got. It crossed his mind that a soundly sleeping Hunter wasn't particularly helpful. The priest instantly admonished himself, reminding himself that Sam was injured, Dean was missing, and that both men were in the position they were because he had asked for help, and they had willingly responded to a stranger's call. The bell rang it's one note again as the priest knew it would. Ignoring it, the Father gazed at the documents strewn around the room and wondered to himself, was God sending him a message? Was it something about the Hunters? Father Hanrahan didn't think so. What then? All at once it came to the priest and he smiled. It was so obvious! The Father glanced over to Sam again. That has to be it! Of course! God wanted him to confront this thing, whatever it might be. He was being tested...As Father Ipswich had been. It all made perfect sense to the priest and, if God had chosen this moment to test him, then he could not, would not, refuse. It was all so clear...God was asking him to demonstrate how immovable his faith was. God had created the opportunity for him to step forward and challenge the foul and unnatural beast, and to drive it screaming from this holy place. The priest smiled grimly, he intended to start by blessing each room in the lodgings, and then to do the same inside the church itself. He meant to leave the daemon spawn with no place to hide nor claim sanctuary. He meant to banish it right back to Hell, where all unnatural things surely belonged?
-o-
The bell continued striking it's sombre tone at regular intervals while, jogging, the priest turned onto the narrow corridor which took him past the guest room and on to where a further turn led the short distance to his own bedroom. Drawing level with the guest room, he paused long enough to knock loudly and shout through the closed door.
"Daniel! Wait for me in the sitting room!"
Hurrying onward, Father Hanrahan's mind was entirely focused on what he needed to do, his thoughts never sidetracking to consider how odd it was that Daniel was apparently still within the room, when surely the deafening sound of the bell should have woken him, sending him racing to the sitting room already?
-o-
The evenly paced sound of the bell chime continued tormented him while the Father hurriedly donned his cassock and quickly kissed the embroidered cross on his purple stole before draping it haphazardly across the back of his neck and over his shoulders to hang down the front of his cassock. Striding to his bedside cabinet he grabbed a simple silver crucifix off the top, hanging it around his neck while picking up his own well thumbed, and undeniably tatty, copy of the bible. Yanking open the cabinet's single drawer, he pulled out a small, plain silver bottle with a screw top. Satisfied, he left his room and, lifting up the skirt of his cassock, jogged back towards the sitting room, the sound of the bell seeming to adapt and be taunting him about being unable to run faster. The bell sounded again at the same time as the priest entered the sitting room, where he came to a sudden, heart sinking, stop.
"Daniel?"
-o-
Despite his persistence, the soft layer of greasy, slick slime underlying the muddy, stinking pool of decay made it impossible for Dean to get the grip he needed to be able to push himself upright using only one leg and one hand. Each time he slid back into the stinking mush, he became more coated in it and managed only to jar either his ankle, his wrist, his shoulder, the bruising, or all of them together. Dean yelled out loud in his frustration and rage.
"Goddammit! Goddamnfreakinshithole! WhotheHell gets dumped inna toilet an' lefttorot? S'right.DeanfreakinWinchester. Every time!"
As he sat panting from his exertions and his shouting, Dean listened, more than half hoping his noise had managed to draw a reaction from somebody or something. Sick of sitting around in the dark, stuck in the middle of some kind of prehistoric stew and constantly feeling like he'd peed his pants, he didn't care anymore if he attracted the attention of a human or a fugly. He wanted out of this cess pit. Unfortunately, his shouting didn't appear to have disturbed anyone.
-o-
Dean slowly and painfully slid and sloshed himself backwards on his butt, keeping going until his back bumping against the pit's side stopped him. Reaching out in the darkness, he grimaced as he ran his left hand over the wet, undulating, slimy surface of the steep clay soil wall, his hope of finding any solid handholds of any sort quickly dashed. He desperately needed to get up and moving, his feet were already numb from the cold, his denims heavy with dirty water, thick clay mud and clinging clumps of rancid debris and at some point, he assumed, it was almost guaranteed that he would be visited by the thing that had dumped him here. Dean was sure that his brother would be searching for him, but he wasn't the sort to sit around and wait. Like in those old prisoner of war films, he felt it was his absolute duty to escape. Dean wriggled around until his left hand side was up against the wall. He pulled the penknife out of his jacket pocket, and stilled, almost sure he had heard something. Holding his breath he concentrated on listening, and a few seconds later, there it was again, the single ring of a church bell off in the distance.
-o-
Another two rings told Dean the bell was sounding at five second intervals, a slow, mournful pace he couldn't help associating with funerals. Hearing the sound reassured Dean that he was still somewhere in the vicinity of St Augustine's, however, it also reinforced his separation. Something was happening back where Sam was, and Dean was horribly, sickeningly aware of being unable to help. Angrily, he rammed the blade of the penknife against the slick clay wall much harder than he intended, nearly losing the blade in the process when it sank so far into the wet soil that Deans knuckles were flush up against the clay. Ensuring he didn't lose his grip on the handle, he carefully eased the penknife back out of the clay, wiping it off as best he could on the damp, muddy, front of his jacket before putting it away again. His hopes of it lodging into the wall and being stable enough to provide him with a solid handhold having been dashed.
"Fine. No problem. Plan B's good...You hear me bitch? Soon as I get outta here? I'm comin' for you!"
-o-
The sitting room was empty save for the sleeping Hunter. A chill ran down Father Hanrahan's spine. This wasn't right, not one bit. Daniel should be there, fussing over the Hunter. Why wasn't Daniel here fussing? The priest's already over stretched nerves stretched further still. Dear God. Please, let him be alright! Crossing quickly over to Sam, the Father leaned over him and, making the sign of the cross over the younger man, placed his bible on the Hunter's chest. Straightening up again, he fished out the silver bottle from his cassock pocket and rapidly unscrewed it's lid, as he began a fervent invocation.
"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our defence against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the other evil spirits who roam about the world, seeking the ruin of souls...Amen."
He poured a small amount of Holy water into the palm of his hand and with a flick of his wrist, splashed the holy water into the centre of the room. Hurrying out of the sitting room he could feel his own heart beating harshly against his chest wall the whole time he was making his way once again in the direction of the guest bedroom. He had to battle with himself in order to refrain from running and, instead, continue to deliver the blessing, along with regular splashes of Holy Water. His teachings promised that, if he repeated the invocation a total of nine times, then the might of the Archangel Michael would be with him and would stay by his side, lending his power and strength for the battle ahead. Firm in his belief and in his faith, Father Hanrahan was completely ignorant of the fact that Michael was unable to respond to anything other than his one companion, trapped as he was in a cage, alongside Lucifer. It wasn't actually until he stopped at the door to the guest room and reached for the doorknob that he realised that the bell had stopped ringing.
-o-
Sam frowned while he slept. Deep within the cortex of his brain, his instincts tugged at him, cried out to him, demanded he notice them. Within his dream, Sam turned away, ignoring them, much preferring to continue sitting and watching the pretty blond girl chatting amongst a group of her girl friends. He loved the way she threw her head back whenever she laughed. And the girl, he thought her name was Jessica, laughed a lot. Suddenly his view of the girl was completely blocked, and he stared upwards, intending to tell the owner of the denim clad legs to move on, only the words died on his lips.
"C'mon Sammy, pay attention dude."
-o-
Whatever it was he had been dreaming about had faded from his mind, floating away like a soap bubble on a breeze, and his eyes gradually blinked half open. It took him a moment to start to arrange his thoughts before he could recall where he was. There was a weight on his chest, not heavy. Peering at himself, Sam made two passes at the Bible with his hand before he managed to home in on the real one out of the three images his sleep blurred eyes were seeing. His mouth and throat felt horrible, unnaturally dry. Twisting his head, he couldn't see anyone else close by. His puzzled gaze roamed slowly over numerous sheets of paper and documentation, some typed, some full of handwriting, some that looked like building plans, all for some reason scattered about the floor. He was trying to work out what they were and why they might have been so carelessly thrown around, when a man's cry, wordless and yet filled with devastation and anguish, pierced through the fog of Sam's mind, sending him quickly and automatically to his feet. He knew the sound didn't come from his brother, he always recognised the sound of Dean, so that left either Father Hanrahan or Daniel.
-o-
Sam's brain now woke up to the fact that he was standing, and promptly had a word with his ears, who eagerly threw his sense of balance out of kilter. Sam was helpless to stop himself from wobbling and tottering to one side, then tottering back again as though the floor was rising and falling beneath his feet. Adding to the effect of him being at sea was the wave of nausea and the spinning sensation in his head. Sam locked his knees and grabbed hold of the sofa back, waiting for the spinning to subside before he dared try any further forward motion. Setting off again, he continued to veer drunkenly from side to side, his progress slowed further by him slipping and sliding over the loose sheets of paper scattered randomly along his route. When he finally exited the room, it was to the sound of a man repeatedly begging No! Sam let the heartbroken sound be his compass and he stumbled towards it, helping himself stay in a mostly straight line by keeping one hand against the wall.
-oOo-
Chick xxx
Special hug for Janiekm :)