Finally, oh thank God finally, the signal began to move.
Dean started the car and began the pursuit, following Sam's directions. The necklace must have been carried on a motorbike, it seemed to weave pretty fast through the congested A-roads. It was rush hour, and to their frustration just about every vehicle in England seemed to be out driving at the same time. The fact it had begun to rain fairly heavily didn't help either. Castiel sat in the back grumbling at every red light. Which was about every two and a half minutes.
Dean finally began to catch up as they left London but were still around half an hour behind when the signal became stationary.
"Its stopped…"
"What? Where's that at? Where is it?" Dean was trying to look and drive at the same time and Sam had to elbow him away. He zoomed out of the map, then zoomed back in closer. Looked at the satellite view too.
"So it looks like a detached house near a place called Wickford in Essex. Farmland I think. Big property from what I can see."
"You think maybe Lord Snooty-pants, Snooty-knickers, is starting the weekend early in their country home or something?"
"Could be."
"We need to get there now." Castiel spoke up. "As soon as Haversham opens the box and sees the necklace is a fake...and one with a tracker attached to it, he'll know we're coming."
"He might already have opened the box. Who knows how quickly he can get backup? And remember, this guy is not just British Men of Letters, he also works for the Ministry of Defence..."
Paying no mind to the wet roads, Dean put his foot down on the gas a lot harder.
Six pm, and the sky was inky by the time they pulled up about half a mile from the house. Sam took a 9mm semi, whilst Dean had a shotgun. Plus a couple of knives. Cas had his blade and seemed pretty happy with that. Until he got around a quarter mile away from the house and doubled over in pain.
"It's warded! Heavily so." He tried to take another step forward but Sam pushed him back. "Cas...you've got blood coming out your ears!"
Castiel looked shocked as he touched a finger to his ear and it came away black under the night sky. The heavy rain washed it away within moments. "This place has wardings I've never seen, or felt, before."
"Dammit!"
"We knew there might be wardings."
"We did, but this level of protection is extreme in the...extreme. Take every precaution - we don't know if we've been led into a trap or if all the BMOL's homes are similarly protected."
"Won't know until we get in there." Dean looked furious. "Cas you're gonna have to hang tight until we find a way to get you in. Meantime, circle the perimeter in case any company turns up. We need to go Sammy…"
Slowly, carefully, the brothers crept towards the large farmhouse. It was situated on mostly empty land, with one barn that seemed to serve as a two-car garage. There were two cars parked in there now, an Audi and a Range Rover. With the exception of the front gate, a shoulder-high bramble hedge ran the entire way around the perimeter.
Sam whispered. "So when you and Cas were hunting these guys down over the past few weeks, nowhere else had wardings like this?"
"Apart from the hotel we rescued you from, we never visited any of these guys on their home turf. We always got them in places they weren't expecting. Here…" Dean pointed to a hole in the hedge that foxes must use to wriggle their way through. "This will do." Dean got out a knife and hacked away at the brambles until the hole was just big enough for them to squeeze through.
A little bit muddy and a lot scratched, they emerged towards the rear of the house, not far from the back door.
Sam took his gun out ready. They stood either side of the white wooden door, listening out for any sign of life inside. Sam couldn't hear anything except for the continuous downpour of the rain and the unexpectedly loud thudding of his heart. He and Dean had played out this situation out many, many times in the past, but not since their massive, life-changing argument. He had to put all that aside, and trust they would work together as well as they'd always done.
Dean reached out and tried the door handle. It turned easily, the rain masking the noise as it opened. Sam went low as Dean covered him into the open hallway. It was dark, no lights were on, but someone had to be home, the two cars in the garage and the fact the necklace had led them here were clues enough.
Dean quietly closed the door behind them as they crept down the hallway and into the open kitchen. The small glow from the oven clock and microwave showed them the kitchen was big, but not much else.
They separated as they silently went round the kitchen island, meeting back up again in front of another door. A faint horizontal shaft of light showed underneath. With no idea where it led, they hesitated for a moment before applying their tried and tested door entry technique again.
This time, the room they entered was semi-lit by a small standard lamp set up in the corner of a cosy sitting room, next to what looked like a very comfortable, but empty leather chair.
They glanced at each other for a moment, the soft lighting and wet hair making Dean seem younger and more vulnerable. Sam swallowed a pang of emotion, took the initiative and went past him to explore further on. A narrow corridor took them past a small bathroom and then on to a dining room.
An occupied dining room.
A man, looking every inch like the lord of his own manor, sat at the head of the table. Mid-fifties, with a receding hairline and a nose that looked like it was permanently smelling shit, this had to be the man they were hunting. The man who had been part of Sam's kidnap and imprisonment. And thereby the subsequent death of Mary Winchester.
He was alone, except for about a hundred lit candles and what looked like the remains of a chicken dinner in front of him. He sighed as the Winchesters entered the room, and pushed his plate away. "You made it then." It wasn't a question.
Sam's lips twitched. "Haversham, I take it?"
"It's quite proper to refer to me as Sir Keith." He seemed not to notice the fact that two guns were trained on him as he went over to the sideboard.
"I've never been one for proper" Dean answered.
"Noooo." They way Haversham drew out the word, sneering at them, pissed Sam off immensely.
Haversham picked up a bottle of what looked like brandy, sniffed it approvingly and then poured himself a small glass. Took tiny little sips like it was made from unicorns tears. Which it might have been for all Sam knew.
"You knew we were coming."
"Please. Within half an hour of you dropping off that insult you call a necklace, I had been sent a photo of it, used all of one brain cell to see
that it was a fake, assumed it was being traced and had a plan already set up and in motion. Who do you think you are dealing with? One of your bloody idiot American cowboys? You thought you were coming here to kill me? Me?!"
Dean snarled and raised the shotgun. "Didn't just think it…"
"I think you should look behind you. Go on now…" He fluttered his fingers at them.
Sam half turned and saw two men and a woman standing behind them. That didn't matter though. Not even the guns they were carrying mattered. What did matter was the bleeding and unconscious Castiel that was being held upright by the two men.
And Cas wasn't just bleeding, he was pouring with blood. From what seemed like every orifice in his body. It wasn't a normal red colour either. It had a strange orange tint to it.
"The warding…" Dean choked the words out. "You've forced him in here…"
"Interesting isn't it?" Haversham took no notice of Dean's panicky horror. "The warding is causing something akin to a chemical reaction with his grace. It's converting it to a toxic liquid, which his body is expelling"
"He's losing his grace..?" Sam was sickened.
"Indeed he is. And most painfully too. This poor brute has obviously passed out from the trauma. A shame - I don't get the opportunity much these days to hear the sound of Angels screaming."
"Let him go! Get him out of here!" Dean shouted as Sam struggled to restrain him from attacking the men holding his friend upright.
"Happy to. As soon as you do as I say."
Dean capitulated immediately, desperate to stop Cas from losing any more blood. "What do you want?"
"For you to sit down quietly like good little boys and take a drink with me."
"A drink? What?" Sam was confused.
"Sit. Down." Haversham pointed to the dining table chairs. "Oh, and please do remove your weaponry first. On my sideboard will do nicely."
With immense effort, the brothers did as Haversham asked. It hurt to give in so easily but it hurt more to see Castiel in mortal danger.
Haversham opened the sideboard doors and pulled out two fancy glass bottles filled with clear liquid. It looked just like water.
"It's water. In case you were wondering."
"Why don't I believe you?" Dean growled. He was on the edge of his chair, spring loaded and ready to pounce.
"Because you're an ignoramus, perhaps?" He placed a bottle each in front of the brothers. "Drink, please." He gestured for them to open their bottles.
Sam and Dean hesitated.
"Oh for goodness sake, it's not poisonous. But the warding is. So for the sake of your friend DRINK!"
The moment between reaching out for the bottle and unscrewing the cap seemed one of the longest of Sam's life. A childish part of him wanted to hold on to his big brother as they swallowed the liquid together.
It tasted just like lukewarm water. Sam waited for any funny side effects but nothing seemed to immediately happen.
"What did you just make us drink?" Dean was scared. Sam could see it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Haversham sat down in front of them. "I want you to know I hate you. I hate everything you stand for, everything you do. Your country is riddled with monsters the likes of which we haven't seen in the UK in hundreds of years. You have no Men of Letters left, not that you had any of our calibre anyway. All you have are 'hunters' firefighting against whatever crisis you lurch to next. Which, at a minimum, is just sheer incompetence. But you two? You're actually dangerous. And I don't mean to the monsters. I mean to us...the rest of the human population. The utterly disgraceful way you went about causing the apocalypse had us aghast."
"The hell?! There was no apocalypse, thanks to us!" Dean was mad. "Sam chose to hurl himself into the cage rather than see Lucifer loose - I didn't notice you guys arriving at the cemetery that day to save everyone's asses!"
"Oh we were there, not that any of you would have noticed. And action would have been taken had Sam not chosen to do the right thing. For once. But that's not the only example of you taking credit for patching back up the the thing you broke in the first place, is it? Releasing the Darkness? Hmm? I could go on, but time grows short. For you three, anyway."
"You said you would let Castiel leave if we did what you wanted."
"I lied, obviously. Like I lied about your recent...refreshments…"
"What did you make us drink?" Dean asked again, this time his voice a good octave higher.
"Water. Mmm, plus a little something extra added."
"W..ww...What..?" Sam wanted to know, and didn't want to know all at the same time.
Haversham smiled, and it wasn't pleasant. "A microscopic cellular compound known as XO. Well, I say microscopic, its not anymore. Its growing. Inside of you both."
Dean couldn't take it anymore. "What did you do to us you bastard?!" he shouted.
"XO is a metallic life-form that is similar to bacterium you might see under a microscope. We found a way to grow it to more than a billion times its natural size". He looked specifically at Sam. "Its silver, it's covered in spikes and it's going to rip you apart from the inside out."
"Noooooo no no no..." Sam's nightmare was coming true. One of those little fuckers was inside of him? And Dean? He wanted to be sick. Actually thought he might be. Haversham read his mind.
"Throwing it up won't help, its already attached itself to you. I thought you might recognise the description Sam, I'm led to believe you've been acquainted with one before." He looked at Sam rubbing at the scars on his shivering fingers.
"Why are you doing this to us?" Sam whispered. "Why like this?"
"Why ever not?" Haversham replied.
Consequences be fucked, Sam lost it. He went for Haversham, hurling himself with everything he had at the smug, smiling murderer.
The two guys holding Cas let him drop to the floor like a bag of potatoes as they jumped on Sam. Something sharp poked him on the ass and the next thing he knew he was lying on the wooden floor, staring up at the ceiling and quivering like his nerves were on fire.
The men decided that Sam hadn't had quite enough and began kicking Sam in the head, the ribs...all over. Sam couldn't move, lying rigid as the blows came down over and over again. The last thing he heard before unconsciousness took him was Dean screaming his name.
