I know, I know, I'm late. Real life is busy; but lo and behold, my early graduation is nearly complete!! Whoo hoo! So onward to college next year for my English degree.
Once again, I do not own Supernatural.
Enjoy!
Eloise expected Dean to be taller.
Sam had spent the last hour with her explaining everything about his family, their profession, their personalities. He'd told her Dean was fast, really fast, and had green eyes. He'd said he could kick in an oak door in one try, could pick any lock, and was terrified of heights. He'd said that Dean was addicted to rock music, women, and infomercials.
She really had expected him to be taller.
But when he stepped off the bus, a man Eloise knew immediately to be his father (they shared the same square jaw, all three of the Winchesters) supporting him by one firm hand on his shoulder, he was really only a little above average height. Odd for someone who Sam seemed to think of as as being above him. But she prepared greet him cordially, graciously. She needed to make a good impression. They had to trust her if her plan were to be successful. But as she approached, Sam following reluctantly behind her, it became clear that Dean would trust her if Sam trusted her. It was the father she would have to win over.
"You must be Dean. I've heard a lot about you." That was the wrong thing to say. John shot a glance at Sam that plainly said you told her about us, how could you, and he stepped in front of his older son, extended his hand instead.
"John." His tone was decidedly hostile. Eloise smiled her most innocent smile, knowing her age would lend her an air of helplessness and a look of grandmotherly kindness that won most people over in the end. Their mistake, she supposed.
"Eloise Mitchell. I run the school here. I'm pleased to meet you. I'd like to speak to you, if that's alright. Privately."
"Of course. Sam, you wait here with your brother. We'll talk later." It was the tone of an adult moving to sit at the holiday grown-up table, leaving their children at the card table in the corner. Cries of protest came wailing from both of the younger parties, Sam appealing to Eloise. She raised a hand.
"Sam, your father's right." She brushed the oldest Winchester's psyche gently. There was an air of satisfaction that she respected his authority. Good. One victory was hers. "You're welcome to wait in the foyer, if you'd like. Ask anyone, they can direct you there." Dean looked displeased, but didn't argue. John handed the safekeeping of his oldest son to Sam pointedly with a look, then stepped into pace next to Eloise. She noted, an internal smile blooming, as they entered the building and began to ascend the large staircase, that he refused to walk behind her. Assertive, that one. He wanted her to know that he was the alpha male of the three-member pack, and that even though she technically was in charge on this property, one move and he could easily take control. Several students started to approach as they strode purposefully down the long marble hallways that led to her office, but stopped, their enthusiasm wilting like roses in the desert at a look from John. Sam, their Monarch, had been a dramatically influential addition to their resistance, but John…she wasn't sure how far the truth about his family would go over, but she hoped it would. The oldest Winchester had an air of command that would be infinitely necessary push in the right direction for the army of FALLEN. She hoped he could be persuaded to be on their side. Heaven knows they needed a man who could command.
"This is it. Please, have a seat." She breezed past him into her office, settling herself lightly onto the corner of her desk. Sam had seemed uncomfortable when she had tried to speak to him from her solemn position behind it, and she could tell now that that spicy tang of spirit in Sam's mind had come from his father. She could taste it on her tongue strongly, now that the source was here in front of her. He chose the simplest chair in the room, as his son had done, and leaned forward on it, a bear protecting his territorial crag. Eloise smiled to herself. That was right. A bear. It suited him.
"You said you could help my son."
"Which one." There were hidden meanings behind every word.
"The only one that needs help." Are you implying something?
"With the Demon on your trail, you all need help. Especially your children. Both your children." This is over your head, John. You need me.
"I mean Dean. Sam says you can tell us a way to help him." I will help him, he is my son, you stay out of it. Give me what I need and my family will leave, together.
"No, I have a way to help Dean. I am the only one who has the connections to pull this off. I need you to come with us, in case things go sour, though." You're powerless here. But I'm offering you a chance to be a part of this.
"What's your plan?" "Are you implying I can't take care of my own children? They're my children!
"It's complicated. There's a coven a hundred miles from here. I think I can persuade them to make a deal. They can find your son's soul. There's a few Shtriga there with them; a simple task, really. The coven comes to life around dusk. We'll need to leave before then. After that, the only hard part is getting the Demon to give it back up."
The silent conversation was over. John shot to his feet, planted both hands on her desk, towered over her like the bear inside was preparing to swat her with one, massive paw. "The Demon!? The Demon has my son's soul?"
"Sam didn't tell you."
He slammed one fist against the desk, turned his back on her, his teeth ground together. "No!" He swore loudly, threw himself back into his chair. "Who does he think he's protecting?!"
"His brother, for one. You, for another. There's a lot more at stake here than just Dean's soul."
"And how did you become such an expert?" He snarled, his anger directed more at his son that at her.
"We should talk. There's a lot you don't know."
Sam tapped one foot on the marble floor incessantly. Dean half-sat, half-lay on the couch across from him, one hand coming up to work at his temples before settling back to his side. He had a speech prepared, an apology speech that would have made Winston Churchill stand up and cheer. This seemed like a good opportunity to use it. The next time Dean's eyes met his, he sat up straight and began.
"Dean, I--really, it was--I didn't have--I'm sorry." He finished lamely. The Winston Churchill in his brain booed.
"Don't. It's fine." Body language said otherwise, but Dean didn't consider body language solid evidence of anything, so Sam couldn't use it against him. Crap. That hadn't turned out well.
"Really, Dean. I shouldn't have left you. It was wrong of me."
"Sam, I already said it's fine, so it's fine, alright!?" Dean's eyes flared emerald for a moment, but whirled back to muted hazel as he sat up straight. "Besides, you hate that movie anyway."
"Yeah, but you've sat through about a million emo lovefests."
Dean nodded slowly, and the air between them cleared a little. "Screamo lovefests, actually."
Sam laughed, relieved. "Yeah, I guess they were a little screamo."
They smiled together. Sam looked at his brother for a moment, a sorrow unexplainable welling up in his throat. "But seriously, I'm sorry. What…what happened?"
"I'm not sure, exactly."
"What'd he do?"
"Got in. My head, I mean. Looked around, shook things up a while, muttered about some gate," --Sam started-- "And left. Some old guy rescued me and…here we are." He lay his head back against the thick, scarlet couch cushion. "I really need a beer. And a bed." He paused a moment, reconsidering. "Well, technically, I need blood circulation to get drunk, so never mind."
"You feeling any better?"
"Loads."
"Right." A gate. "Dean?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"How much do you trust me?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"A viable one."
"Not really, but I'll play along. Okay, Samantha, I trust you, your estrogen fest about over?"
"If I tell you something, do you promise to believe me?"
Dean sat up, consternation knitting his brows together. "What are you talking about?"
"Promise?"
"Yes, okay, I promise! Now you going to tell me what's going on?"
Sam felt the words against his tongue, and the taste of them was metallic and bitter. He told his brother the story about the end of the world, about countless men and women all puppets moved by a master puppeteer, all leading to this culminating point, all leading to them. He left out the part about a few hours ago when he'd had a gun pointed at an innocent woman's head for his brother's sake, and didn't feel guilty about it. Dean didn't need anymore emotional trauma. He pointed out the part about the gate with emphasis. And when Dean's face turned ashen and his eyes were wide, Sam stopped. "And now, you apparently have something to do with that gate between the worlds, so if you could get that look off your face and give your input, here, Dean, it'd be nice. Anytime."
Dean blinked slowly. "Dude."
"Yeah." Sam scuffed his shoe against the floor. "So what'd the Demon say about it?"
"That I knew where the gate was."
Sam looked up, startled. "And do you?"
"Nope."
"Oh."
"But apparently, Mom did."
A bell rang somewhere above them, and Sam frowned. It hurt his ears. He grimaced as the sound grew and grew, until it was a wailing in his brain, swelling and undulating, pounding furiously against his skull, wild and untamable. The world swirled as he felt his seat on the couch slide away and he pitched forward toward the floor. He raised his head long enough to see Dean reaching for him before--
The air was cold and tasted like winter. There was left-over snow from last night's snowfall covering the sidewalks, but melted from the roads, leaving them bare and empty. The town was small, small enough that the woods came almost right to the road, thick and ominous trees. A solitary figure waited beneath the glow of a streetlamp. A man, tall, lean rubbing his hands together to create a spot of warmth. He looked up as a branch somewhere in the woods across the street cracked, stepping forward in anticipation.
"Janet? Honey?" He chuckled lightly. "I didn't think you'd get away from that boyfriend of yours so fast. You really are--" But his cheerful expression didn't last long. Out of the woods came no woman, but a creature a Hunter would have known, but which the man obviously didn't. A wendigo, long claws dripping with melted snow, was crouched down low against the pavement, moving on all fours, in a very un-wendigo way. Almost as though he were following a command to savour the kill. The man made a choking sound and turned to run, but the wendigo was on top of him, twisting his neck until the distinctive pop of a neck breaking and life ending reverberated through the deserted street. The creature howled in triumph. As though on cue, a hundred more identical howls answered.
The woods swarmed. Wendigo, black dogs, ghouls, possessed humans and a thousand more varieties of evil clambered over and under each other, scrambling into the street. Some of their faces, snouts, and hands were covered in blood, and there was little question what, exactly, they had been doing in those woods.
And then he stepped forward. The Demon moved in the center of them. He held up one hand and the victorious howls ceased. "My friends! The hour of our triumph is now!" A wild clamor arose. He stopped them again, and continued. "This day, we hold at our mercy the two remaining Winchesters! Those who have killed your families, plundered your territories!" Cheers and yells. "What say you? Shall we end their lives now?" The beasts howled and the more humanoid monsters screamed "Yes, yes, yes!" The Demon laughed. "Shall I kill them, or give them to you?"
"Us, us, us!"
"What will you do with them?"
"Cut and kill and burn!" The Demon threw back his head and made a sound so terrible, the very trees seemed to shy away from his voice.
"Then they're yours!" And from the trees, a large group of men, bulky with muscle dragged a tall form from the trees. The light jacket on his shoulders was torn, one sleeve almost completely gone. The man, recognizable as the youngest Winchester staggered, blood dripping with ferocious speed from an unknown source, and when they came to a stop near the Demon himself, it didn't take long for a deep crimson puddle to form around him. Soon after, another group appeared, this time, black dogs with rope in their mouth charged forward, surging through the crowd, and while there was a moment of curiosity about the purpose of that rope, it didn't last long. Dean Winchester, tied by the wrists, was being dragged behind them, a modern day Hector. The black dogs raced to the Demon's side, depositing the ropes at his feet. While Sam was covered in bruises, dark and red, his brother was untouched, save for a small trickle of blood coming from his eyes and mouth. There was no wound on his neck.
The Demon stepped away, and both brothers were seized by beings of evil. Some raised hatchets and clubs; others merely used their claws and teeth. Someone lit up the trees with a torch, setting them to blazing. But through the melee, the mob of beating and fire, fallen from the pocket of the poor man slaughtered by the wendigo as he waited for his lover, his telephone began to beep a reminder for some unknown appointment.. It read 'December 26, 2007. 12:00 a.m.---'
Sam opened his eyes. Dean was on his knees, the scarf around his neck loose, exposing the beginning of his death wound. "Sammy!" He was saying, but Sam could barely hear him above the howling of his own mind.
They were going to die.
His family was going to die. He glanced down at his wristwatch. The date read, 'October 11, 2006'. He met Dean's eyes. "I'm okay. It's over."
Dean looked doubtful. "What did you see?"
He had a year. One year to ready himself. One year to be good enough that when whatever circumstance came that had led him to stand helpless at the demon's feet, at the mercy of evil, he would be able to deflect it. One year to find our how he could stop Dean from sharing whatever fate awaited him. One year to become the all powerful Monarch he had been told to be. One year. And he would do it.
Sam swallowed, an odd anticipation swelling in his chest. A challenge, it seemed like. A challenge from the Demon. He could meet it. "In a weird kind of way…our salvation."
Dean insisted on finding Sam some aspirin, after that episode, and they found it with the assistance of several college age girls who'd seemed more than pleased with the idea of helping two, tall, athletic men find their way around campass. The sun had already gone down by the time Dean had managed to cajole them into leaving, and John stomped into the room (a comfortably furnished dorm with two beds) shortly after that, Eloise close behind him.
"Sam, Dean," she said, smiling sweetly, "I'd like a word, if you don't mind." He looked at his father for approval, which was given with a slight nod. The two of them slipped out the door. Eloise shut it firmly behind them, giving one more encouragingly trusting smile at Dean, her movements becoming suddenly frenzied the moment the latch clicked. "Hurry! We don't have much time." She was already several steps ahead when Sam finally understood her intention to move to another location. Dean fell into line beside him.
"Time for what?"
"We're saving your brother tonight. There's a coven nearby. I drew off an entire group of Hunters a few months ago; they owe me a favor. There's Shtriga among them. One of them ought to be able to find your brother's soul. But there's one condition. There's no way they'll allow all of us to go into their nest. Dean, you'll have to go part of the way alone."
"No. No way." Sam looked at her incredulously. For a Winchester to walk into an entire nest of witches was…inconceivable to say the least. Let alone Dean, who was not in the best shape of his life...or death. Witches were the craftiest of all the evil Sam had ever hunted; they wouldn't hesitate to shake your hand with their right, and stab you in the heart with their left. No. Absolutely not. "He's not going anywhere alone. You saw what happened today when I let him." Dean gave him a slightly upset look.
Eloise nodded. "I know, Sam. And that's why we have so little time. I'm going to teach you how to communicate with your brother."
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "We do have phones."
"Yes, of course, but that won't do. I mean with your minds." The older sibling's jaw dropped a little, lips making a surprised 'o'. She ushered them into an abandoned classroom, turning the lights on, using the dimmer until they could just make out the facial features of the other. "Now, we only have two hours before our rendezvous with the mother witch. This is going to be a fast, and probably painless lesson. I can only say things once, so pay attention." She indicated two desks. "Sit and face each other, please." They did so. "Now, understand this is going to be drastically different for each of you. Sam, you'll be able to form actual words, but you'll only understand the combinations of emotions your brother sends to you; Dean, you'll be able to get a vague sense of what Sam means. You won't get exact phrases like he will, and it might be hard to decipher what he means."
Dean swallowed, his eyes betrayed his own discomfort. "Okay."
"Sam?"
"Okay."
"Good. I'm going to enter both of you. This is how it's done. I'll brush my conciousness against yours, and then I'll come in. Kind of a 'knock and enter' policy. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Yes ma'am."
"From there, I'll connect the two of you, like a telephone operator. Eventually, Sam, you'll be able to initiate contact, but for tonight, leave it to me." She closed her eyes. Sam almost got up when his brother went suddenly rigid, his eyes rolling back slightly, but he didn't get the chance, because the next moment, Eloise had brushed and entered him too. Her voice said, ::Sam?:: He tried to form a word, and she laughed at him. ::Don't worry. You'll get it. Words aren't complicated. Just think them.:: He thought, ::Where's Dean?::
He felt her smile. ::Well done! I'm bringing the two of you together. Be easy, Sam. Your brother isn't like us. Whisper. Normal speaking to us is like screaming in his ears.:: He felt her leave, and his blood pounded in his ears, his own thoughts suddenly echoing in the empty space she had just occupied. He waited in the silence until--
::confusion/amazement/confusion!:: And Dean was there. Even if Eloise hadn't told him who she was connecting with him, he'd have known. It was the understanding they had between them in their siblingship a thousand times stronger. He could feel an inclination toward classic rock, toward brunettes, toward family. He vaguely wondered if Dean could sense the same things in him.
::Dean?:: He said, and winced. He hadn't whispered.
The mind beside his flinched away. ::pain/escape/out.::
::Sorry.:: And then came the bundle of emotion-words. Sam stopped. He knew this word. But he couldn't bring it forward to voice it. ::Say it again, Dean.::
::love/friendship/sadness/anger/love/playful/bitter/happiness:: Sam smiled. Now he knew that word. It was his own name. Dean was smart. He was getting vocabulary down they would need later in the night.
::Sam.::
::approval::
::Another?::
::evil/cruelty/hate::
::Witch::
:approval::
::need/fear::
::I don't understand.::
::fear/necessity/fatigue::
::Oh. Run?::
::approval/approval!::
They continued on until they had mastered words like ,"father", "danger", and "help". Sam had been poised to ask for another word when Dean had suddenly disappeared. He wasn't sure if he'd cried out in his head or out loud, but it didn't matter, because Eloise shook him gently, and he blinked out of whatever frame of mind he'd been in. Dean was still across from him, shaking but grinning broadly. She smiled.
"Very well done! You catch on quick, both of you. Sam, you can try and initiate contact; you're very good at this. But remember, when you are hosting a mind, you treat it like you're holding glass. Don't just jump in. Brush first, then enter. Remember. I will see you downstairs in thirty minutes." She swept out gracefully, leaving the brothers alone.
They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them sure what to say. Then Sam laughed exultantly. "So that basically kicked the trash of the Vulcan mind-meld."
"Holy crap! That was awesome! We're like the Professor and Jean Grey! You being the girl, of course."
"In that case, realize you're an old crippled guy."
"Oh. Right. Who else has mind powers?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. All I know is I feel a lot better about tonight."
"Me too, honestly. Witches are nasty buggers."
"Buggers?"
"It's a word."
"Isn't that an English word, though? Like 'chap' and 'bloody'?"
Dean shrugged, rising from his chair. "Don't know. I saw it on TV once." He turned a circle in the hallway, arms in the air above his head, clenched into fists. "But that was intense."
"In half an hour we'll do it again. Hey, Dean?"
"Yep?"
"Our room is this way."
"Oh."
Thanks very much for reading! Please review, and Merry Christmas, everyone!
--Kim Who Knows