Hey guys, sorry for the horribly long wait, I meant to update this last thursday, but writers block is my constant companion. I tried to work out what I had, still not to sure if I like it (so if you have ideas, send them in, it will help me serve you)
I tried to switch points of veiw and it didn't really turn out. Then my computer was being a royal pain in the ass forcing me to jump through a million hoops. I hope you like it, because i'm starting not to... grrrr!
Walking for hours in uncharted wilderness after waking up from a dirt nap could not in any way be considered 'fun.'
Walking for hours in uncharted wilderness while wearing wet shoes after waking up from a dirt nap in the middle of a fairy ring and having to haul a pack full of lumpy weapons down a hill where there may or may not be civilization, was hell.
"This sucks," Dean groaned after slipping on yet another slime covered rock. The sun had risen high over them and despite the early morning chill it had turned into a warm day, not blisteringly hot, but enough to bring up a sweat.
The creek bed that they were hiking along had little cover but was filled with rocks and upturned roots to trip and slip on.
The magic encyclopedia that was Sam's brain had informed Dean that it was spring time in wherever they were, 'because the snow caps hadn't melted enough to fill the creek', whatever.
"Yeah, well the valley floor should be just over that rise up ahead," Sam mumbled as he pushed a low hanging branch out of his way as he teetered along the rocks trying not to fall into the pool of water that was underneath his feet.
"What if it's not," Dean shot back, his wet boots and pant legs had started to chafe and rub him raw, and it had put him in a sadistic mood.
Even with the risk of falling into the water and twisting an ankle on the rocks the creek bed was easier to hike in than the tangled banks beside it.
"Do you have to be so childish?" Sam asked as he turned around to look at Dean.
"How am I being childish?" snarled as he drew even with Sam not really wanting to have the bitching fit that Sam was coming to.
"A hunt went bad, I'm trying to fix it, and all you can do is moan about it," Sam retorted turning as Dean walked past him.
"How are you fixing it Sammy, we've been hiking for hours and all I've got to show for it is blisters. Now maybe you should try to... pull…" Dean stopped short as he reached the top of the small rise that had blocked their view of the rest of the valley.
Sam quickly hopped over the rocks to stand behind Dean, his jaw slowly dropped open at what he saw.
Spread out below them was a small town, about fifty buildings in all, all in perfect late 1800 (1888) style. The stone and wooden buildings with wood shingle roofs were separated by muddy streets that ran between them, small people in strange clothing moved amongst them like ants in a far away model.
"We're definitely not in Kansas anymore," Dean whispered lowly, as he continued to take in the scene.
"No, no I don't think we are,"
"What should we do?" Dean muttered lowly turning to look at his taller brother. Sam paused for a moment thinking hard.
"Dean we have to go in," He sighed heavily sounding as if it was the last thing he wished to do, "We don't have any sort of food, and we still don't know that much about this place. Our chances of survival are slim to none," Sam reasoned swallowing hard, Dean nodded slowly.
"Well there's no use prolonging the inevitable," Dean muttered as he jumped off the rock that he was standing on and headed toward the old time town.
VH
He was surprised that no one had asked who they were, but most had steered clear of the dark stranger and his companion. The man at the inn had just barely been convinced to give them a room, traveling with the bumbling friar had its uses.
Despite what Carl said, he was a good field man. He couldn't take out the things that went bump in the night, but he could make things a hell of a lot easier.
They had been on their way back to the Vatican in Rome when the Order had contacted them with a new mission.
Without the control of the Vampires the Werewolf population had started to become out of control.
The Vampires had always kept them in check, using their brute strength as a weapon against whoever came against them, always keeping the secret.
Dracula had liked his troops close to home, always within a fortnights travel.
'Straight from the mouth of hell and right back in,' He had told Carl after receiving the message, it was his job to hunt evil, but that didn't mean he always had to like it.
I hate werewolves, his mind mumbled unconsciously as he sharpened his tojo blades to a deadly edge, he loved those things. He had just put down the second hand held buzz saw and was about to pick up the crossbow when Carl barged through the door.
"Come quick, something's happening," and then he was out the door and running down the halls, well that was informative.
The crossbow would have to wait until later; he was out the door running, two pistols in their holsters.
SPN
Maybe coming into the town hadn't been his most brilliant idea ever; they should have just snuck out supplies in the cover of darkness.
Even with the fairly low key appearance of the brothers, in this past time they had been deemed Warlocks, because apparently vampires were extinct.
Maybe they would understand it they tried to explain that they had been taken from the future by a group of fairies.
Yeah, that sounds insane even in my head, Sam grumbled as he parried the blow that a townsman was trying to land with a pitchfork.
He twisted the improvised weapon out of the man's hands and swatted him in the shoulder with it managing to push him off to the side of the fight.
"Sam! Behind!" Dean shouted from his left, where he was holding his own against what looked like the two local drunks. Turning Sam just caught the blow from another pre-modern tool on the shaft of his pitchfork, the strange head of the tool stopping just short of splitting his skull open.
Sam was starting to get a real adrenalin rush as he kicked the guy in the chest, a little less inclined to not hurt him.
Popping the head off the pitchfork he spun it like a bow staff with one hand as he waited for the rest of the gathering villagers to attack.
VH
The two men fought with a skill and moves that even he had never seen. The taller of the two was deftly wielding what looked to have been a pitchfork in his hands while the other used only his hands as weapons.
And they're not hurting anybody, he mused as he leaned against the doorframe of the inn, he could see the butt of a shotgun sticking out of a dropped pack.
"Are you going to help them?" Carl asked looking almost as frantic as the time a village such as this had been attacked by Vampires.
"Which should I help?" He asked nonchalantly staring down at the friar.
"You should help them defeat the Warlocks," Carl said pointing to the two men.
"They're not Warlocks."
"Then what are they?"
It was a good question; he had seen cases like this before, with the Frankenstein Monster. Tainted and stained with evil, just keeping it at bay as it tried to creep in, yet not ruled by the evil. He was about to answer his friend when another townsman entered the fray.
Judging by his clothes and condition he was probably the town blacksmith, body made up of rippling muscle from pounding steel in the fires all day, this made the heavy sapling in his hands even more deadly.
Pistol in hand he was out of the door frame and off the porch as soon as the man pulled the heavy bow from behind his back.
SPN
Sam and Dean tried to stay back to back in the fight but with so many opponents it was nearly impossible. They were constantly getting pushed or pulled away from each other.
Dean's warnings had saved him many times, but this time they wouldn't.
He was down in the mud almost before he registered the pain of something heavy knocking his legs out from under him.
He grunted as the air rushed out of his lungs and his head connected with something solid, his eyes crossed for a second as the darkness almost overtook him.
Sam looked up to see the disturbing grin of a man that looked like he had rolled around in a fire place all his life.
I bet that's what he hit me with, Sam's brain slurred as goliath swung the giant stick up over his head and brought it down like an ax.
MOVE, SAM!
The pitchfork handle splintered and snapped under the force of goliaths blow, it wouldn't be much help anymore. The world seemed to shrink to a pin point as his executioner raised his ax again, and still his body refused to move beyond covering his head.
"Drop it," the command cut through the fog along with the click of a cocked gun.
Sam looked up, it wasn't Dean.
VH
The tip of the pistol was pressed firmly against the man's temple, showing that he was absolutely serious. The man loosed his hands and the sapling fell to the ground as he looked to his captor.
"What are you doing?" the large man asked looking with hatred at the man at his feet. The boy seemed to be okay as he rolled to his knees and looked up at the dark stranger, his mouth slowly fell open at he took him in.
SPN
Van Helsing, thee Van Helsing just saved me from being wacked with a giant stick, Sam's mind rambled as he looked up at the man holding a gun to goliath's head, wait 'til I tell Dean, DEAN!
Sam whipped his head around in time to see his brother kick somebody in the balls and whip a sawed off shotgun out of his backpack.
"Back off!" Dean bellowed waving the gun at any other people that might attack them as he slowly reached back and pulled his favorite hand gun out of his waistband.
"You okay Sam?" Dean barked eyeing Sam's savior. The village people slowly backed away from the insane men with guns, except for the monk, who seemed to staring at them in terror.
"What do you think you're doing?!" the Monk exploded towards the other man with a gun. "You're supposed to be helping the town, not the Warlocks."
Dean snorted as he made his way over to Sam and helped him up off the ground; he still seemed a slow disoriented from the rock to the head.
"You think we're Warlocks? Dude that has to be the funniest freakin thing I've heard all day," Dean chuckled as he held up Sam; the guy was grinning freakishly for some reason.
"Dude, it's him," Sam muttered as he took up a position behind Dean picking up his own dropped pack. Dean shot him a look over his shoulder.
"What?" Dean asked squinting as Sam; he really didn't feel in the mood for guessing games at the moment. Sam just grinned his dorky smile and pointed at the guy in the black duster, who had finally let the bruiser go as most of the people decided to not mess with them.
"It's him!" He said it as if it was some sort of explanation, stepping closer to the man in the duster and gesturing to him dramatically. The Monk regarded them as if they were insane while the man in the duster looked on with mild amusement.
"Who Sam?" Dean ground out glaring at his brother, hating the entire situation more and more by the second.
"Dean," Sam said softly, still caught in his own disbelief, "He's Van Helsing."
If you guys have any ideas at all, i'll take them, this fic is turning out harder than I thought it would be, noobies luck I guess.
I will try to update sooner, but I can't really update if I don't have ideas hint cough sniffle sneeze hint