Lambs to the Slaughter.

The alter cross was still lying at his feet, solid gold staring up at him from the dusty floor like a beacon of hope. He scooped it up quickly, brandishing it club-like at the door and listening as the golum began to pound at the doorway, roaring like something out of Jurassic Park. Figures.

Wrapping his fingers closer around the base, Dean shifted his weight, feeling as the adrenaline began to pump around his veins, coursing through every part of him. He was ready.

"Come on you unholy son of a bitch," he hissed, "Come on."

"What's the plan?"

As Father Charles' sudden hushed whisper floated past his ear, Dean jumped in surprise, whirling around with the alter cross brandished in his hands to find the Priest standing just inches away from him, looking wide-eyed and breathless.

"What the hell – I thought I told you to get into the passage!"

Was the man trying to give him a heart attack? Father Charles just blinked in response,

"No," he replied after a pause, unable to keep the haughtiness from his tone, "You told me to get the children into the passage. Which I did."

"So go join them,"

As the door trembled viciously under the weight of a sudden blow, Dean grit his teeth, trying to keep his temper. Of all the times to be a have-a-go hero…

Despite flinching every time the door banged, Father Charles still managed to draw himself tall with indignity,

"I want to help."

The retort was scathing, dripping with patented Dean Winchester sarcasm,

"Great, got a case of dynamite stashed under your cassock?"

"Now look here, these boys are my responsibility! If I can do anything, anything to protect them then I will," and there it was again, the strength of character he'd underestimated, "Just tell me what to do."

Dean took a deep breath, not liking what he was going to have to explain next and strangely wishing that he had been able to keep the truth from the Priest at least a little longer,

"Stay behind me and the kids will be fine."

Father Charles frowned,

"And you know that how?"

"Because – ," there was going to be no sugar-coating this one, "Because it's not after them."

"Oh?" It came out as an angry demand for explanation, but as Dean continued to gaze at the Priest before him the implications slowly set in and for the first time Father Charles realised what was truly at stake. It wasn't a pretty revelation, "Oh, I see. It's – it's after me isn't it?"

He sounded calm, matter-of-fact even, but Dean could see from the shine in his eyes that he was on the verge of breaking. The sight made Dean's resolve strengthen again and he set his face in determination, turning back to the door and raising the alter cross.

"Not if I've got a say in it."

Behind him Father Charles smiled, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone despite the situation as he nodded towards the object clutched in the hunter's hands.

"That's church property you know."

Dean grinned back,

"Just this once I think the big guy might understand."

"Agreed."

As the ceasefire between Dean and Father Charles reached new levels of understanding, the pounding that had been shaking the walls promptly picked up a pace and the table Dean had hoped would bear some of the brunt abruptly exploded across the room, forced clean off its feet by the power of the door blasting in off its hinges towards them.

It was as Ben stuck his gigantic head in through the gap however that Dean realised just how useless the alter cross was really going to be. If a bullet was no good, what use was flimsy metal going to be? Still, he had a front to maintain and Father Charles was counting on him to at least pretend he knew what he was doing, he could give him that at least.

Shifting his weight onto his back leg, Dean burst across the room at a run, watching as Ben struggled to force himself through the narrow doorway, limbs concentrating on breaking apart the walls in his way. It was about the only chance Dean was going to get. Ducking in low, he let out a growl of anger, using it to gather all the force he could into his arms as he drove the alter cross forward into the golum's middle, sliding it between two of the stacked blocks making up it's torso and producing a satisfying roar of pain for his troubles.

It didn't incapacitate Ben for long however, and Dean only just managed to duck in time as a giant hand swung in through the wall with the aim of knocking off his head, sending a cloud of rubble and dust spilling into the room like a sandstorm.

Dean coughed, rolling backwards and finding his feet while pulling the gun free from his waistband once more. The golum was still sporting a fracture line from the gunshot earlier, and the golden cross was still protruded from its middle. Perhaps the beast wasn't as impenetrable as he'd first thought, even if his next plan was going to pretty much make or break their chances.

"Cover your ears!" he shouted back into the room as he pointed the weapon up, aiming it squarely at the point where the creature's arm joined its body and pulling the trigger, quickly and sharply.

Bang – bang – bang – bang – bang – bang – bang – click –

The sound of the empty chamber co-incided with a roar of pain, and as the gunshots continued to echo in off the walls they turned to stare at the golum, thrashing about in the doorway with a new source of discontent.

It's shoulder was cracked, fragmenting and crumbling, and as he staggered forward through the narrow doorway catching it on the stone-work arch, the limb broke into a thousand pieces and dropped to the ground, exploding across the floor like a china vase.

Dean couldn't hold back his grin of elation. Now they were getting somewhere.

"Ha, ha! Check it out Chas, good old Ben here's a floor short of a skyscraper!"

Father Charles however seemed to sense the bigger problem.

"Have you got any more bullets?"

"Sure," Dean shrugged, dropping his voice slightly in hesitant admittance, "Back in our room."

Swiftly, Father Charles began to cross himself, mumbling something in Latin and shutting his eyes in silent prayer. Dean rolled his eyes, great.

The sudden shower of rock work caught them both by surprise as the golum burst in through the last of the doorway, his mission suddenly resumed albeit minus an arm. As a heavy piece of stone struck Dean hard on the back, he staggered forward, toppling so heavily onto the ground that it drove the wind clean out of him, his back alive with the fire of sudden pain. He coughed breathlessly, forcing air back into his lungs despite the protest.

Ben was moving towards Father Charles, watching the Priest back up helplessly as the bell-bottomed feet stamped towards him with shattering force into the flooring, it's one remaining arm outstretched, stubby fingers curled into a claw.

As Charles' Latin praying picked up a notch in desperation, Dean rolled onto his side, trying to ignore the pain in his body and the new desperation of events. As he absently shook the dust from his jacket, a silent prayer of his own escaped his lips, mumbled and said through a wince but still very much a plea,

"Come on Sam!"

Well there you go, a little something short to get back into the swing with!

I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas – and didn't eat as much chocolate as I did/will/still am!