hello again. thank you all so much for the great reviews, they really mean the world to me. this chapter is a little on the short side, but many questions will be answered. including the identity of the mystery hunter. enjoy. :)

ETERNAL

Chapter 15

Dean rounded the corner, struggling to fight the music, to fight the pull of the painting. His mind was screaming at him to turn away, to block it all out and run, but his body was doing the opposite. He couldn't stop from walking, couldn't turn himself in a different direction. He was going to the painting, whether he liked it or not. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, to dampen the harmonies that were dulling his senses. He needed to stay focused, needed to stay alert, stay sharp.

He refused to let himself believe that Kerri was already gone, that the twenty nine year old he knew was lost forever. He would have felt it, he didn't know how or why, but he knew he would have felt it, creepy painting or not. He just knew, and that was all there was to it. He'd find her, safe and sound, well, not dead at least, and then he'd figure out some way out of this whole stupid mess.

He rounded another corner a few moments later, the music growing all around him, warm, sweet smelling, summer air reaching out towards him, pulling him forward, wrapping his body is a soft embrace. And once again, he could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, smell the grass, hear the voices as though they were singing from within his very soul. And, instantly, all his troubles melted away. Sam was safe, Kerri was happy, and all those he'd loved and lost were there with him, relaxing in the warmth of the summer day.

"Dean!"

Dean was drawn back to the hall by the sound of his brother's voice, his heart pounding with both adrenaline and fear.

"Dude, snap out of it." Sam spoke again, and Dean was startled to feel both his brother's hands on his shoulders, shaking him.

"Huh?"

"Are you with me?"

"I never left, Sam."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"What?"

"You were like a freaking zombi, Dean."

"Sam, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked curtly, shrugging out of his brother's tight grip, just as the lightning flashed. "What the hell happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

"Bull, what happened?"

"Like I said, you were like a zombi."

"I hit you?"

"At least you didn't try to eat my brain."

"That's not funny."

"Look, I tried to stop you, you didn't really seem to agree, it's no big deal."

"Why the hell am I drawn to that thing and not you?" Dean mumbled, turning once more towards the painting. He was really getting sick and tired of the whole damn hunt.

"Huh, that's a good question."

"You think it's your freaky Haley Joel thing?"

"I guess." Sam mumbled, now taking the lead, much to Dean's dismay.

"Yo, dude, I don't need protecting."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to get punched again."

"I said I was sorry."

"Actually, you didn't."

"Didn't I?"

"No."

"Huh." Dean shrugged, following his brother down the hall.

"Thanks for the love."

"You're welcome."

"Do you still feel it?"

"Yeah." Dean answered absentmindedly, his senses being drawn towards the painting again.

"Dean!"

"What?"

"Can't you ignore it?"

"Apparently not."

"Well, try."

"I am trying, smart ass."

"Well try harder."

"You don't know what it's like."

"Tell me."

"It's like…. It's like going home again. It's perfect, Sammy." Dean answered, his voice breaking with the sheer honesty of the statement. It was like going home again, and, whenever he was near it, he felt a joy he hadn't known for a very, very long time. "It's warm, like summer. It's beautiful."

"Focus on something else then, like the walls, or the storms."

"Yeah, I'll try." The painful truth of the whole situation was that Dean wasn't sure he wanted to try and block out the perfection of Tir-na-nog. Because, in all reality, it was more than just a place, it was everything in life he missed, everything in life he'd been forced to give up for the hunt.

It was his childhood, his every dream, all rolled into the beautiful sun-drenched fields of a mythical paradise. It was happiness, pure and untainted happiness. There were no hunts there, no loss, it was just safe, warm, home. It was the sort of perfection he had with his mother, and it was the childhood he relished in Valley. And, it took every once of strength he had to push it all away.

"Oh thank god." Sam sighed, pulling Dean back from his mind once again.

He was startled to see that they were back in the hall he'd been trying to avoid all night, and he was even more startled to see Kerri standing beside the long painting. It wasn't that he was really surprised to see her there, it was just that he had been hoping against hope that she would be somewhere, anywhere else. But no, she was standing in front of it, back to the canvas, pajama clad and seemingly fine. Except, that is, for the look of unabashed terror in her sharp blue eyes. But before he could speak, before he could even turn to see what she was starting at, he heard a cold voice rise behind him.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel." It sneered, and Dean immediately wanted to kick himself. He should have known.

"It's always the butler." He mumbled, turning slowly to face the man behind him.

And there Chetling stood, a triumphant smirk plastered across his snide face, two guns trained on the brothers.

"I know, a bit cliché, Dean, but it seems to have served its purpose."

"Wow, Sammy, I feel like a celebrity, everyone here seems to know us."

"More than you know, Winchester."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's a hunter." Kerri spoke up, her voice soft and shaking.

"What?" Sam breathed, his eyes shifting between the other three.

"I'm impressed, Kerri. I thought one of the famous Winchesters would have figured it out first."

"You're no hunter." Dean broke in, his voice shaking with barely controlled anger. "Hunters fight evil, they don't help it along."

"Bite your tongue, kid. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're helping him kill, helping him take Kerri."

"Hey, I tired to get you two to leave, tried to shoo you away before Bramhurst saw you. It's not my fault you made up that stupid story to get yourselves in here."

"You're trying to stop him?" Sam asked, understanding finally dawning on him.

"I've been undercover with him for five years."

"How many girls has he killed while you watched?" Dean broke back in, his opinion of Chetling not changing in the least.

"There are casualties to every war, Dean."

"Not if I can help it."

"Some day, you'll understand."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Then you're not the hunter everyone says you are."

"I don't really give a damn who or what people think I am. I'm not going to sit by while innocent people die."

"A bit hypocritical, wouldn't you say?"

"What's the supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're the one that offered Kerri there up as a midnight snack."

"You sick son of a bitch." Dean growled, advancing towards the man before him, all restraint gone as anger flooded through him. And, as his rage spiked, so did the pull of the painting.

"Ah, ah." Chetling began, tightening his grip on the guns, causing Sam to reach out towards his brother, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Now, how about you and your brother drop those guns of yours and slide them over here."

Sam and Dean slowly complied, Dean keeping one eye on Chetling and the other on Kerri as he slide the gun across the marble floor. He didn't like the way this was all turning out, a feeling of foreboding growing in his chest. Chetling had let countless other girls die during the course of his self made mission and Dean knew that Kerri life didn't matter to the wayward hunter. He was going to get what he wanted, no matter who stood in his way.

"So." Dean began, trying to keep the pseudo butler talking. He needed to figure out what was going through his twisted mind, needed to know what he was trying to accomplish. And why it was taking him five years to do it. "What? You start hunting this guy, but like the high you get from the painting to much to stop him?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Only Bramhurst can feed from it."

"Bull, I've been getting its weirdo vibes ever since Kerri got hit by it."

"That's impossible." Chetling breathed, his calm and cool demeanor all but gone. And Dean couldn't help but look at his brother with nervous eyes. Apparently, it wasn't Sam's psychic abilities that were keeping him safe.

"What?"

"It can't transfer youth to just anyone, it has to be a specific person."

"Well, buddy, I hate to tell you, but you must have missed something in all that research of yours."

"No." Chetling began absently, eyes sliding towards Kerri. She was still standing by the painting, stock still, her eyes never leaving the brothers. "No, I'm certain."

"Then how's Dean feeding off it?" Sam asked, his voice shaking.

"How indeed." They all turned back towards the painting at the voice, Bramhurst appearing from the opposite end of the hall, speaking so calmly that Dean wouldn't have been surprised if his next statement involved the weather.

"So. I see you've met my hunter."

"Oh yeah, we're becoming pals." Dean cut back, feeling more than a little cornered.

"I thought you said only you could feed, William." Chetling broke in, guns still trained on the brothers. Obviously this wasn't a part of whatever wacked out plan he had.

"I was the only one to feed, because the painting requires a certain trigger. And, until now, that hasn't been present."

"What changed?"

"Nothing other than the participants." William smiled, eyes drifting between Dean and Kerri. "And I do have to say, that's it's quite an intriguing development. It definitely isn't something I was expecting."

"Care to share?" Dean asked, trying to inch his way towards Kerri, but Chetling waved him back towards his brother with the end of the gun.

"Let's just say, that the painting takes more than just youth."

"It takes talent, too." Sam broke in, causing William's smile to grow.

"Well, well, Sam, I see you've been studying. It takes youth, it takes talent, it takes dreams, it takes desires. It takes souls."

"What?"

"It takes the entire soul. No going to heaven, no going to hell. The soul just gets swallowed up by whomever the painting has linked itself to."

"Then why you? Why Dean?"

"Like I said, it takes a specific soul to unlock the painting's power. After that, you can feed of any woman, as long as she shares certain characteristic of the first woman. And it can work for multiple couples at any one time."

"I still don't understand."

"It took the soul of someone very dear to me, Sam. The painting can see straight into your soul, no matter how many lies you wrap around it. There is more to life than black and white, more than just love and hate. And Tir-na-nog can sense all of the grey we refuse to see."

"Thanks, yoda." Dean broke in, his mind swimming. He still didn't understand why the painting was reacting to him, and he really didn't care. All he knew was that it had to be stopped, and talking about it wasn't going to do the trick.

"Oh, Dean." Bramhurst smiled, his sharp eyes narrowing as he moved towards a stunned and silent Kerri. She was obviously just as confused as Dean. "The hunting world will be losing two good men today. Bruce." William motioned towards Chetling, before turning once more to Kerri.

Dean's heart beat wildly in his chest. They were so screwed, and, for once, he couldn't see a way out of the mess he had gotten them all into. But, just as the thought crossed his mind, just as he was sure he was taking one of his final breaths, Bruce Chetling spoke.

"Never could teach you how to read a bluff, could I, William."

"Excuse me?" Bramhurst turned, confusion and fear written across his face.

"Checkmate." And with that, the hunter fired.

No one had even a second to react as the shot echoed through the ornate corridors, the gunshot sounding louder than any Dean had ever heard. And the blast was made even more deafening, when he saw that the bullet was not meant for William.

Dean was sure his heart had stopped, the pain that was overwhelming him was just too much for his body to still be working properly. He watched, horror struck as the bullet met its target, Kerri falling back against the painting, a trail of blood streaking across the canvas as she slid slowly to the floor.