Chapter title is from song by Muse.

53

Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

She would have pitched head first into the black hole at their feet had Dean not snagged her by the collar. He had Sam by the same Momma cat grip, Sam's toes hanging precariously over the edge of the dark abyss that had suddenly opened up where the Wodehouse's grand foyer was a moment ago.

"I thought we were invited." Dean hissed at her, eying the pitch darkness at their feet. "That doesn't look very inviting."

She edged her weight back onto her heels, onto the narrow strip of floor left to them between them and the door.

"To come." She hissed back. "We were invited to come. No one said anything about leaving."

"And you're telling us this now?"

She shrugged. "It's this or nothing. You wanted in, we're in."

Sam craned his neck out, looking into the pit. "What is that?"

"Poltergeist's version of dungeon." She replied. "Possibly a hell dimension."

Two heads riveted simultaneously in her direction. She shrugged again. "It's a very cranky poltergeist. The Wodehouses tied it to the manor by enchantments. They tend not to like that." She reached around and took a plain stuff human shaped doll out of the duffel she had slung over her shoulder and tossed it into the pit.

With deep, pleased creaking noise, the Manor rumbled, and the pit closed. The polished marble floor of the foyer reappeared, solid looking, but Dean yanked Sam back and put a toe out himself to test it.

It held his weight.

He let go of Sam and faced her.

"And what the hell was that?"

"My effigy." She said shortly, rummaging through her kit. "Illusion. They want me, and now it thinks it has me. At least, it'll be fooled for a minute. Come on, we've gotta move."

Dean stared at her in horror. "What the hell do you mean they want you? In THAT?"

She shoved a muslin doll and two hex bags impatiently into his startled hands, and a duplicate doll and another hex bag into Sam's.

"I mean it wants me, alive. So hang on to those, because it'll think you're me, and at least it'll try to trap you instead of killing you outright. You. Take the north and west wings. Sam, the south wing." She pointed at Dean, then at Sam, and kept the last hex bag to herself. "Hurry. We haven't got much time."

She was punching a hole into the wall at the Manor's east corner when a scream of rage echoed through the house. The walls shuddered. Behind her the area rug disappeared suddenly with a sucking whoosh, replaced by a deepening pit of nothingness. Air sucked into that pit, pulling portraits and tapestries off the wall. She was pulled off her feet when the rug slid out from under her. She reached with her dagger for the hole she had made in the wall, trying to hook on, but her feet slid. She went sprawling onto her stomach, scrabbling at the floor and sliding precariously backwards.

An end table careened across the floor past her, tumbling end over end and disappearing into the dark.

With a second desperate jab she dug the tip of her dagger into the polished wood, and hung on. She kicked her feet against a divan screeching past, trying to find a foothold, some way to propel herself forward.

Her dagger wobbled.

Without warning something tackled her, pinning her to the ground.

She kicked reflexively. An arm snaked around her waist, yanking her solidly into a wall of flannel and muscle in an all too familiar way.

Dean.

They started to slide backwards.

Dean tugged her closer to him. He reached over her head, and jabbed his bowie into the oak flooring hard, wedging it in firmly. He threw one leg over her rear, but the dark vortex pulled at her boots insistently. With an audible click of his jaw he threw himself all the way over her, his chest to her back, a hot and heavy weight securing her against the floor, finally stopping her backwards slide. His hand spanned over her waist and the flat of her stomach, holding her tightly against him.

Heat pooled, low and sudden, unexpected, and she squirmed.

He swore. Shifted. And swore again.

Her breath stuck in her throat.

Dean blew out a strained breath, and grit his teeth.

"You know, normally I'm the last person to say this, but…just…ignore it."

She almost turned her head to look at him in disbelief, because, well, just because.

A heavy credenza waddled by, clawed feet screeching on the wooden floor. She squeezed her eyes closed. Focus. Hell dimension. Poltergeist. Bad. Opening her eyes a crack, she looked up at the pale yellow wallpaper less than a foot away. It wasn't that far. If she could ignore the way his breath was feathering against the nape of her neck—she really should—and she could crawl forward and drop the hex bag into the hole.

Focus.

She locked her grip on her dagger and squiggled forward.

The arm around her waist clamped down like a vise.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

He spoke the words with his face buried against the back of her neck, sounding tormented and severely put upon, his lips moving against her skin, the sensation tingling all the way down her spine. She sucked air desperately and tried to shut it out. She glanced upward, gauging the distance between her outstretched hand and the hole in the wall and snapped, "I just need… a few more inches."

The minute the words came back to her ears she clamped her lips shut.

Crap.

The polite thing to do would be to ignore her outburst. Keep calm and carry on. She very carefully didn't move further when the silence went on and on.

She chanced a look over her shoulder warily.

He had his eyes squeezed shut, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, biting down on his lip. He cracked one eye open when he felt her turn and convulsed, one great big whole body spasm that tightened his arm around her waist. He snickered, then lost the plot completely and busted out guffawing. He tucked her closer into him, into the laughter bubbling uncontrollably out of him.

She stared at the laugh lines fanning out around his eyes.

Aw. Shit.

With one last helpless gasp he rested his forehead against her shoulder before he finally collected himself. With a deliberate move he leaned closer, close enough that his lips brushed her ear.

"Oh, sweetheart. I can do better than that."

Aw. Shiiiiit.

It was hard not to shiver, and hard not to lick her lips.

"Son of a…" His hand wandered warm and lower, and she could feel his quick pull of air, like he needed it.

A figurine crashed down next to them, the pieces scattering, tinkling along the floor as they were pulled into the vortex behind. She blinked. The rough burlap of the hex bag was still in her hand. She swallowed.

"Wall." She said.

He let out a shuddery breath. "Yeah."

His arm around her waist loosened a fraction. The wall was still an inch away. She turned her head back around and gauged the distance with one eye. She gripped her dagger firmly for leverage, and inched forward. The splay of his hand slipped over the waistband of her jeans, his palm heated even through the denim.

From around her shoulder blade came a strained croak.

"Are you… there yet?"

Nope. Nope. She was not answering that. The vortex pulled at them, the wind speeding up until it lifted them bodily off the ground, the only thing keeping them from being sucked into it was Dean's grip on his bowie. She kept her eyes on the hole in the wall, straining to reach that last half inch, squirming against him because there was no other option, way too aware of every fractional movement, and chucked the hex bag desperately through the torn drywall with a thump.

With a whomp the deep pit sucked closed and they thudded down to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Her heart was beating too fast, and she was sure he could feel it, like the way he could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breaths, smoky green eyes intent on the tip of her tongue as she wet her lips.

He dropped her like a hot potato. He rolled away on a sharply indrawn breath that sounded vaguely like a curse.

Well.

Before she could blink, a shout came from down the hall.

"DEAN! ZEE! "

She heard Sam's footsteps pounding down the hallway and rolled away a second before Sam rounded the corner, still looking behind him.

"The scroll of life isn't it!" Sam blurted as he ducked a still swinging chandelier. "I got a look at it, and it's not The Book!"

Sam swiveled around, catching sight of the both of them lying on the floor.

"Dean?"

Dean coughed, and coughed again. "Yeah. Sammy." Dean's voice was husky, low, and she did not shiver at the way he sounded.

Sam's eyes darted over to her.

She ducked her head on the pretense of dusting off her jeans.

"We're…good. Just, " Dean hacked again, still sounding a bit strained, "give us a minute, will ya?"

Sam's eyes grew in size, and Sam started backing up, dashing glances down the hall, as if he could magically make himself disappear. "Yeah, um, you know what? I think that poltergeist is gone now, so I'll just go see what is …um… I'm just gonna go… uh…that way…."

Sam disappeared.

The manor's walls creaked ominously.

She directed her gaze a foot over Dean's head, avoiding the heated glance he stole her way.

"Get a move on, sunshine. Let's hightail it out of here while we still can."