A.N. Sorry for the delay, had to focus on writing a training pack ready to deliver yesterday. Real life! What a bitch.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
For a split second it appeared as though the figure had suddenly freeze framed, before he rapidly spun around to face Sam. Two thoughts cut through the relief Sam had felt at his first sight of the man's back. Those being It's not Dean closely followed by Crap…I'm so screwed! The sheer rage in the stranger's expression seemed to pulsate in waves along the corridor towards Sam and he had the crazy urge to duck. Without a word, the man turned back on his heels and hurried to the door on the opposite side of the corridor. He quickly entered the room and firmly closed the door again. Shock hindered any movement as Sam stared at the door which the stranger had gone through. In his mind was the recent image of an older male, dark haired, sporting a goatee and, totally weirdly, wearing his brother's clothes. Sam had no doubt that he had just had his first unexpected and at this point, unwanted, first encounter with Bobby's Necromancer. His initial confusion as to why the bastard was wearing Dean's clothes gave way to a rush of anger fuelled adrenaline and Sam headed swiftly down the corridor towards the door his target had gone through.
Dean gave up. There was no way he was getting out of these bonds. All he could do was wait and hope that by the grace of a miracle some small opportunity for him to escape presented itself sooner, rather than later. The door to the room opened and he twisted his head around to look. The Necromancer stormed over to Dean and the three Lytch; his face like thunder. He briefly glared at Dean before rapidly speaking to the Lytch in a voice too low for Dean to catch what was being said and to know why the Necromancer appeared to be in such a rage. The Necromancer jabbed a finger back towards the door, and the two nameless Lytch immediately moved off in unison and exited the room.
Not taking the time to consider the possible implications, Dean's focus remained exclusively on the Necromancer. In particular, on the way he was now dressed.
"What the..? You're... What the fuck are you doin' wearing my clothes ass wipe? I swear, if you've damaged that jacket I'll….."
The Necromancer was by Dean's side in two strides. Bending down to him until his face was just inches from Dean's, his eye's bored into Dean as he snarled,
"You'll whatWinchester?"
Dean took the opportunity to spit heartily into the Necromancer's face.
"What happened to Mr? Jerk off."
The solid back hander Dean received across his face made him gasp.
"For your information….the only reason I have lowered myself to even touch these stinking rags of yours, is that the ritual demands that I wear the clothes of the one who's soul I intend to extract. Oh...and just in case we are still not yet clear, that would be your soul and I see no reason not to get on with it."
The Necromancer reached across Dean and up to the alter. As he did so, an over sized gold locket set with one large central ruby swung forward from where it hung on a thick gold chain around the Necromancer's neck. As the Necromancer straightened up again, holding the highly decorative ivory handled dagger which Dean had earlier predicted would be there, Dean nodded his head toward the locket.
"Gotta tell you, shit-for-brains….That really doesn't go with my outfit."
As Dean spoke, there was a frame shaking thud against the door, quickly followed by a shout.
"Come on then dog breath! Try it!"
Dean immediately began a vigorous and renewed struggle against the straps which held him.
"Sammy! Sam! In here!."
The response was the sound of something hitting hard against a solid object, followed almost instantaneously by the sound of splintering wood and a cry of pain that Dean recognised as coming from Sam. A tsunami of fear and fury drove Dean's struggles on to a frantic level, so much so he didn't actually notice the sudden give in one of the straps around his ankles.
"Mr Willerton. If you would please?"
Strong hands clamped down hard onto Dean's shoulders and had no problem at all pinning him to the table. The sounds of the desperate hand to hand battle happening outside the room competed with the threats and curses being spat out at the Necromancer by Dean.
"You shit eating piece of scum….I'm gonna' rip your freaking heart out and shove it down your throat, I swear! I'm gonna' make you eat it whole, right before I torch you. You die today. Do you get me? You puke faced, maggot riddled pile of…"
Dean's shouts suddenly cut short and the breath caught in his throat. Every one of his muscles went into spasm, the veins in his neck corded and his body involuntary bucked against the onset of near perfect pain; as the Necromancer stabbed the dagger he held into Dean's chest and began to hurriedly and roughly carve the sigil for the ritual deep into his skin.
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