I'm a bad person, I know. It's taken me forever to write this chapter. I'll admit it. But it's here now, and that's what counts, right:) Enjoy!
I don't own Supernatural, and I don't make any money doing this. Unfortunately.
The witch watched them. Strangers. Four of them. She had been sent forth from the Ancient Mother to watch these four. They were hunters. She could smell the reek of goodness all over them. And she knew why they were coming. One of them was ailing. His scent was disturbed and ragged. They wanted healing, an ancient witch rite that hadn't been performed in her coven in a hundred years. The witch smiled. They could have the healing. But it would cost them.
She slipped closer, relying on her natural invisibility to keep her unnoticed. She could make out voices as she neared them.
"How much further?" A male. Young. A voice like a faraway thunder clap. She caught a glimpse of his face, hair in his eyes, and etched it into her memory.
"Not long. Another half-mile, maybe." A woman. Old. A voice like leaves skating across a river. These first two walked ahead of the others, ten paces, perhaps. She turned her attention to the last two.
"--like I haven't done this before." The witch smiled. The voice of an undead. Which kind, she didn't know. Too low to be a vampire; too smooth to be a night-walker. But this was the one they wanted healing for.
"I know. But you've never hunted in a coven, Dean. It's a lot different." The witch recoiled. That voice seemed terrible to her ears. She darted away back into the forest, back toward the coven and the Ancient Mother. That voice frightened her. Pained, like the scream of a dying Fellow Sister. Powerful, like the rumble of an earthquake. The Ancient Mother and all her Fellow Sisters had to be warned.
She disappeared into the trees.
"Wait." Eloise stopped. Sam came up behind her, looked over his shoulder . "We're here. Dean goes by himself from now on."
The four of them formed an odd cluster of humanity in the cold, unforgiving woods. John met her eyes. "There's no way we can go with him."
"No. They'd kill us all."
John nodded. "Alright." He whipped a glistening, black Glock from his pocket and cocked it. A bird, startled by the sharp click of the hammer, went rushing away toward the sky. "But we hear one sound that gives me any reason to suspect something's going against us, you and all the armies of heaven won't stop me."
Sam nodded in agreement, pulling a silver pistol from his own jacket. Eloise glared at them both. "If they see those, we're all dead."
Sam shrugged. The adrenaline in his blood shortened his temper considerably. "Fine by me." Eloise eyed them both pensively, then said, "It's time, Sam. Do you want my help?"
Sam opened his mouth to say yes. Dean cut him off, the first words he'd spoken louder than a whisper the entire evening. "No. We'll do it." He turned to face his younger sibling, smiling wanly. "Go ahead."
"Dean, are you sure? Eloise has a lot more experience, and I don't want to hurt--"
"Just do it. I want to be alive again by dawn." Sam wanted to argue. But Dean had that look in his eyes, that look that made those eyes, normally jovial and friendly, turn hard and determined. Sam couldn't argue against that. Little brothers can never argue when a big brother has a look like that. So he nodded and closed his eyes.
It was harder this time. Last time, there had been only Dean and Sam/Eloise, two entities. This time, there were four, and Sam had to sift through them to find Dean. He brushed his father by accident, found it similar to his older brother's, but in the place of youth and vigor, there was age and weariness. Sam realized, with a shock, that his father was getting…older. Sam could feel age in his father's mind; it felt strange, so he backed away. Eloise was easy to distinguish, because her mind thrummed with the same caliber of power his own did. She was shining, and his father and brother were dim in comparison. Not dark, but dimmer, like a star compared to the moon. He skipped past her as well, and there his brother was. He recognized it immediately, and brushed lightly. He felt Dean's mind shy away a little, and Sam almost backed away. But Dean's resolve came over the bond fast and powerful, and the younger brother was left with no choice but to finish the job. He waited for--
:::love/friendship/sadness/anger/love/playful/bitter/happiness??:: Sam smiled. His own name always came easiest to Dean's mind-voice.
::Hey, Dean. I'm here.::
"Are you ready?" Eloise's voice sounded hideous in his ears, like metal grating against concrete. Speaking through his mind was so much…purer. If Sam never had to use his physical voice again, or hear anyone else's, that was fine with him.
"Ready enough." Dean's voice sounded worse than Eloise's had.
::I'll be waiting. Dad too. You call if you need us.::
::assurance/promise::
::I mean it. ::
::assurance/promise!!::
Dean disappeared into the trees.
The witch watched the undead. He walked with assurance that came from inside, sure and steady footfalls. She saw his eyes scan the woods around him as his ears picked up the nearby sound of several of her Fellow Sisters chanting an incantation that would seal off the coven from outside influences. Unless someone already knew their exact location, the incantation would keep them from being seen. There'd been a werewolf in the area a few weeks before, and the Ancient Mother was unwilling to lose more of her Sister Daughters than she had to; werewolves were too stupid to see through a spell like this.
The witch sniffed, then cowered back against a tree. The Ancient Mother was coming. A quick glance at the undead. He didn't look special. More handsome than other humans that had wandered into their territory, perhaps, but why was the Ancient Mother interested enough in this one to view him personally?
The witch didn't have time to contemplate further. Since she'd warned her Fellow Sisters of a possible attack, the coven had spread themselves out, working their way through the trees until they formed a circle around the stranger. A Master Sister raised her hand, and all the lower-level witches prepared to leap from their hiding places. The stranger would already be boxed in. All they would have to do then is transport him to the Coven Heart. The Master Sister dropped her slender hand and the witch heard the stranger make a strange, strangled noise as thirty witches dropped from out of nowhere to stand all around him.
His green eyes darted at each of them, but he was not afraid. Instinctively, the witch knew, he'd killed her kind before. The Master Sister beckoned her forward.
"Come. It was you that discovered him. You may be the Mouthpiece." The witch swallowed heavily. Being the Mouthpiece was a big enough task that if she completed it correctly, it could lead to being dubbed a Master Sister.
She began slowly. "Stranger! Where have you come?"
Her Fellow Sisters threw back the traditional response. "To our coven!"
"What will you find here if you mean us ill?"
"Death, death!"
He looked calmly at all of them. "Who's in charge here?"
The witch glared at him, and all her Fellow Sisters did the same. "You have come to be healed, yes, stranger?"
"Yes." Several witches whispered amongst themselves until they were shushed.
The witch straightened her shoulders. Her duty was to take charge now. "You will follow us to the Coven Heart. You will not speak unless the Ancient Mother wishes it."
"Cross my heart." The witches marched in unison. The Coven Heart was really just a large clearing, with altars and fire pits criss-crossing the ground. The trees here grew tall and provided a canopy of leaves to shield from the moonlight. Twenty more Fellow Sisters were dancing wildly around a towering pillar of flame in the center. Behind the flickering flames, the Ancient Mother's bulk was seated.
She was a millennia old, with magics only dreamed of by witches with less ability. Unnaturally deep wrinkled marred her skin, from her face to her fingers. A large, round form belied her swiftness, and she was very tall. If Sam had been there, she would have towered a foot or two above his head. Her robes glittered a deep, bloody red in the firelight. Those robes were said to have been stained their beautiful color by being steeped in the blood of a hundred innocent men.
It was before her that Dean Winchester was forced to his knees. He did not bow his head like he was supposed to, but met her evil-tinted gaze. The Ancient Mother snorted. "Insolent." Her voice boomed painfully in Dean's ears. Sam, a mile or two away felt it.
::Dean, what's happening?::
Dean could hear the worry in his brother's tone and cursed his primitive means of communication, and said, ::assurance:: The Ancient Mother lowered a hand that was as big as Dean's head, cupped his chin in her sausage-like fingers. "So you wish to be healed? Don't answer. I already know you do. I'm willing to do it."
Several witches gasped and murmured angrily. One spoke up. "But, Ancient Mother, he is a man! What obligation do we have toward a man?"
The Ancient Mother's lips curled up in a sneer. "Even men can have their purposes. And we have a promise to keep. Eloise Mitchell has asked for his salvation." The murmuring stopped. "We will no longer be indebted to her if we do this. Bring the altar."
From behind the crowd, there came a group of the biggest witches, dragging a thick, rocky altar. There were bloodstains crawling down the sides and across the top. It came to a stop directly in front of both Dean and the Ancient Mother. "Lie on your redemption bed, stranger." She instructed. The altar was nearly to Dean's shoulder and he had to half-climb it. He sat and met the Ancient Mother's eyes again. "Lie!" It was against everything a Winchester knew to lie down in the presence of an enemy. Even as Dean's shoulder blades came to rest against the rocky altar, his mind screamed to run.
::What's wrong? What's happening?::
::assurance/insecurity::
The Ancient Mother leaned over him, looming huge and strong. Abruptly, clouds of scent erupted all around him. He turned his head away from the witch above him to the witches around him. Each witch had a lamp, burning oils that, if he would have been alive to be affected, would have made him dizzy and confused. A chant rose up, spiraling through the smoke of the fire. One witch approached. In her hands was a needle made of what looked to be splinters of a finger bone. With it came a spool of thread. Dean'd read about this. Witch thread was made of dead man's hair. She came closer and drew the scarf away from Dean's neck, brushing the pale, dead skin with her fingertips. She joined the chant and threaded the needle.
Now Dean was a little freaked out.
::Dean, answer me! I'm coming to find you unless you answer me!:: Dean couldn't. He was held in morbid fascination as the needle approached his own neck. He didn't flinch away when he heard the slight pop of the needle entering his flesh and the witch proceeded to stitch the gaping maw in his neck. He could feel the skin closing, his air pipe weaving together behind the needle. The chant rose in volume and pitch. The Ancient Mother lowered her hands, put them over his eyes, doing a chant of her own. Not being able to see was worse. The chant rose again--but that chant sounded like screaming. Abruptly, the chant halted, giving way to screams and wails of terror. The Ancient Mother did not panic, but her hands were ripped away from Dean's eyes and she was thrown to the ground. Dean could see who had done it. He sat up and prepared for the worst.
The Ancient Mother spoke first. "Hello, Raziel."
The Demon smiled politely back at her. "I've come to negotiate."
"For what do you wish to negotiate?"
"Well, haggle is really more like it. That man there? He's my property. Your soul-calling ceremony won't work unless I give it the go-ahead."
::heat/evil/loss::
::The Demon is there?! We're coming.::
The Demon's head turned unnaturally fast. "Learned a new trick, Dean? No matter." He turned back to the Ancient Mother. "So you see, I need something in return. A life for a life."
"Will you accept a Fellow Sister?"
"No. Witch souls are so foul. No, if the only trade you can offer me is a witch, I am afraid I'll have to keep my Winchester. But I have a plan. Eloise is off her own property. She's no longer protected. All you must do is finish the ceremony while I do what I must do. I see you've already sewed him up. It's clean work." The Demon smiled with wicked sympathy. "You know, Dean, it's a shame that I'm always right. Especially about your family."
"You don't know anything about my family."
"Of course I do. I told you before that you don't mean as much to your family as they mean to you." He laughed. "Your brother couldn't even kill once for you, and you've killed a hundred times for him. Sad, really."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your brother could have spared your life days ago. If he'd have had the guts to kill one, measly little person. But he couldn't do it. Not even to save you. Might want to talk to your family shrink about it sometime, Dean-o." Dean started to retort about where he thought the Demon could stuff his words, but he disappeared into a cloud of black smoke and the witches started again as though there had been no interruption.
The final stitch in his throat was completed and the witch cut the thread with her teeth. The Ancient Mother covered his eyes again, and Dean felt a tingle start in his chest. What was that? It hurt the first few times it happened, but then it settled in to a rhythm, a thud-thud thud-thud. And suddenly Dean knew what it was.
A heartbeat.
Sam came crashing through the trees and into the coven like an escaped convict running for freedom. His father was behind him. Eloise was some ways back, no doubt trying to keep up. He should have felt guilty about leaving an old woman alone in the woods to go after his young, trained brother.
He didn't.
The clearing was swarming with witches. All kinds of them. They were all chanting and swaying and gyrating wildly. Smoke was everywhere, scents that made his vision blur and his nose sting. He brought up his arm and covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve.
::Dean, where are you!?:: "Dean, where are you!?" The crowd parted slightly, but did not stop their incantation. His father darted forward and began to shove his way through the crowd. Sam followed close behind, his pistol ready to fire. He heard his father cry out and looked up to view the largest witch he'd ever seen. She was looking down at a smaller form beneath her huge hands.
Dean.
John raised his pistol and aimed for her heart, and he wanted to kill her, kill this freak that dared touch his son, this monster with her hands on Dean, but then he heard something.
Dean gasped.
A sharp, intake of breath, followed by a cough that brought up remnants of the blood that had filled his lungs the night Dean had died. John hesitated. Breathing meant alive.The chant slowed then stopped, but stopped as though anticipating something.
"Put those guns down!" Eloise was just coming out of the trees. She crossed the clearing quickly, panting and out of breath. "They're doing it, don't you see?" She was next to the altar now. All the witches eyed her, frozen in that anticipating awareness. "If we interrupt them now, it---" There was a jet of black smoke that streaked in from the sky, whirling down to form into the Demon's slender form in front of Eloise. In one millisecond of eternity, he raised a knife black as night and brought it swinging down into Eloise's heart. A jet of red shot from her mouth.
"No!" Sam screamed and fired off two shots into the Demon's head. It didn't matter. Silver bullets meant nothing. John fired too, almost at the same time, but they had not brought the Colt, expecting witches, not demons. The Demon laughed, giddy, and spun away. He looked at the Ancient Mother. "Now you may finish. A life for a life." The witches cried three more words and from out of the very air around them, there came a whistling howl, a soul returning to its vessel. Light grey dust gathered above Dean's head, then plunged downward into his eyes and mouth. Dean writhed, clenching and unclenching his fists, body shaking in a near epileptic fit. He fell back panting when it was over. Panting.
Breathing.
Sam dropped by Eloise's side, where she sat slumped against the altar's side, the grass beneath her slick with blood. "Eloise? Hey. Hey, we're going to get you out of here." He was vaguely aware of John helping Dean off the altar.
"A life for a life. You know, when I inhabited your husband's body and made it my own, you should have killed yourself like you were going to. It would have made things that much easier. And if Sam would have killed you, I would have left his family out of the war." He shrugged. "Ah, the twisted webs we weave."
Eloise tried to respond, but blood choked her. Sam's eyes were wide. "When she told me you took her husband…"
"You thought she meant kill? No. He was the first in the long line of men I hope to allow my kind to inhabit, and not just inhabit, but join with. We are one being. Although, it is ironic that the hands Eloise used to love so much are the ones that just stabbed her. See you around, Samuel." He disappeared into a black fog that shot away into the trees.
Eloise looked at Sam, her brown eyes wide with panic. But only for a few more heartbeats. Then she was gone. There was a hand on Sam's shoulder. He lowered Eloise reluctantly to the ground then glanced over his shoulder to meet Dean's eyes.
"It's not your fault." That voice. Whole and healed, loud and firm. Dean's voice. Dean was leaning against his father, trembling in the cold he could now feel. Dean's eyes had emotion in them. Full emotion, emotion that came only from having a soul. Sam felt joy leap up in his heart, but it was stained with blood.
"Yeah."
John pulled his youngest to his feet. "We can't stay here." It was true. The Ancient Mother was pointing toward the trees. It was clear she wanted them to leave, now that she had been released from her debt. "We have to get both of you back. Dean needs sleep." Sam cast a glance at his brother. There were pieces of what looked to be string in his neck and his body was sagging tiredly against his father's. "And you need…" He trailed off, but Sam didn't need to hear anymore. Sam slung one of Dean's arms across his shoulders, crouching slightly so Dean didn't have to reach up and they worked their way back into the trees.
Behind them, the corpse of Eloise Mitchell became the feast of the Ancient Mother.
Thanks for reading! Have a wonderful wait for "Roadkill"! (Darn that hiatus!)
--Kim Who Knows