Happy New Year, folks! Time for Supernatural Sundays to start again. Thanks for all the reviews and well wishes in the last chapter. Here's chapter 3, where some questions will be answered (and more problems will arise, this is me, after all). More notes at the end.
Chapter 3
Roy Trelawney – and with a name like that Dean could not blame him for getting into a life of crime – did not seem as surprised or as taken aback as Alma had suggested he would be about a visiting Fed wanting to talk to him. As soon as Dean waved his badge in front of him, Roy had shrugged, stepped aside to allow Dean to enter, and closed the door behind him.
Roy was in his forties but was obviously trying to look younger and edgier. He was wearing a band T-shirt and ripped jeans and, from the spacey looks he gave his visitor, Dean was sure he had been indulging in a few recreationals before Dean's arrival.
The living room was a mess of discarded clothes and empty pizza boxes. The bin was overflowing with beer bottles. Dean shrugged. What Sam had never understood when he had been searching for his normal in college was that this was how a lot of people's normal looked like.
"Y'know, no one's asked me about the former sheriff for a while."
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"Really? Because I have it on good authority that his daughter contacted you."
Roy scowled.
"Didn't know she was his daughter, did I? Not until the sheriff told me a couple of days ago. Well, the new sheriff, I mean."
"You didn't know she was his daughter?" Dean repeated. "Who did you think she was?"
Roy shrugged.
"Well, she found me on internet, didn't she? We matched, y'know."
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"Excuse me?"
Roy shook his head in exasperation.
"We matched, man. On a dating site. She contacted me for a date. Gave what turned out to be her mother's maiden name. I never suspected a thing. I never would have gone to meet her that night if I'd known who she was. I had enough trouble when the sheriff disappeared, didn't I?"
Dean was beginning to see where Roy was getting at.
"So, she tricked you into thinking you were gonna get lucky…"
Roy nodded furiously.
"Hey man, you don't do that to a guy, y'know? I should have known the moment she walked into the bar she was trouble."
"She wanted to talk about her father then?" Dean prompted.
But Roy shook his head.
"I told you it never got that far, man. But she was distracted. Kept looking around. Asked me if I could hear them too: the hooves."
Dean frowned.
"Did you say hooves?"
Roy nodded.
"Weird, I know. I think she was on some strong stuff."
And you'd know all about that, Dean thought.
"So, walk me through what actually happened during the date?" he asked.
"Well, turns out it wasn't a date, y'know?"
Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten in Latin, reminding himself Sam was going to be upset if Dean beat a civilian to a pulp. That fact was, though, that he didn't know, since Roy apparently lacked the ability to get to the point.
"Well, tell me what happened when you were with her."
Roy scratched his beard.
"She was acting off. I told you that, didn't I? Talking about hooves and someone calling her name. Then she suddenly got up and left the bar. I went after her to ask if it was something I said – although I couldn't remember saying anything, y'know? – and she was walking towards the forest. That's it, man. She went into the forest and just left me there."
"You didn't go after her?" Dean asked surprised.
Roy scoffed.
"Well, I already did that once to this girl I worked with, followed her home and got a restraining order, y'know? One's enough, man. I know where I'm not wanted."
"Right," Dean said. "Now, Annette's father…"
"Annette's father was looking into missing people in the area," Roy said smugly.
This was the first thing Roy had said that actually captured Dean's attention.
"Really?"
Roy nodded.
"I told him people hoofed it out of small towns pretty often. And yeah, some didn't tell their families. But, you know some didn't have nice families. Or maybe they were ashamed they wanted to go and couldn't bring themselves to tell anyone. Sherriff Walker said what about those who came back and lost it and took it out on those around them? I said, well, people lost their minds in small dead-end towns too. Then he asked about those we found dead…"
"I suppose you had an explanation for them too," Dean could not help commenting.
Roy apparently missed Dean's sarcasm.
"Everything has an explanation, Agent. You just have to find it."
I bet, Dean thought unkindly.
"So, mind telling me what Walker's explanation was?"
Roy shook his head.
"He thought there was this freaky cult re-enacting some freaky pagan ritual. He said something about stags and hounds and a lot of other weird stuff that made no sense. I said I had no idea what he was talking about, cults were not my thing. One thing that I'll never touch and that's crazy, y'know? Anyway, he asked me if I wanted to check out the forest with him and I told him to go find his Watson somewhere else. That's the last I saw of him."
Dean nodded thoughtfully. He saw something that Roy seemed to have missed. Both Annette's story and her father's had some similarities – and both were last seen walking into the forest.
xxxXXXxxx
Sam got back to the motel, nodding distractedly to the manager who eyed him critically.
"You still don't look too well, you know."
Sam supposed he was right. The discovery he was sure he would find in his father's journal had him on edge. The idea that it was happening to him and not, as far as he knew, to Dean, worried him even more. Why had Sam been chosen? Was there a reason? Was it the reason that kept him awake at night?
He plastered a smile for the motel manager.
"I'm fine, just tired," he said. "Thanks for last night by the way. I don't remember much but I know we've got a great room because of you, Mr…?"
"Just Alfred. As I told your brother, I prefer we drop the Mr."
Sam nodded, remembering Dean had mentioned something like that.
"Right, first name basis, keeps people from thrashing the place."
Alfred smiled tightly.
"Not that you look like a person who'd want to trash the place."
Sam nodded quickly.
"Course not."
He hoped the signs drawn on the doors and windows were not in permanent marker this time. He was not sure Alfred would see the benefit of demon-repelling markings on his furniture. Most civilians didn't.
After another nod to Alfred, Sam hurried to his room, sighing in relief when he saw his dad's journal on the table. Dean had taken to carrying it everywhere and Sam had been afraid he would have to wait for his brother to return before he could check his information. He did not think he had that much time.
Sam riffled through the journal. It took him a while, but he finally found what he was looking for. He frowned, shaking his head.
"This is not good," he muttered.
The sound of hooves broke into his thoughts. He knew now he could not resist the calling – no one could once they heard it. The only thing he could do was go with it. It would be safer for Dean that way.
Sam took a post-it and wrote his discovery down so that Dean would see it when he arrived at the empty motel room. It was the only thing Sam could do. He wavered, pen poised to finish the note with I'm sorry, but Dean had never accepted his apologies and would surely be furious anyway. After all, Sam saw every day how he was reacting to Dad's sacrifice.
In the end, he dropped the pen and walked out of the room. He paid no attention to Alfred, who gave him a surprised look as he passed by reception again. Instead, he headed out of the motel and made his way towards the woods – towards where he knew something was waiting for him.
xxXXXxxx
Dean wanted to check Annette's house and maybe Henry Ross' too, but he had no desire to do it without Sam. Therefore, he drove to the library, where he found out that he had just missed his brother. Shrugging, Dean drove to the motel.
Sam was not in the room. Dean frowned.
"Now where exactly would you be?"
Was he on route? But no, Dean did not think he had gotten there ahead of Sam. Besides, the room was different. Not meaning that someone had been there and disturbed it, but it did look as if Sam had come in and then gone out again. And, since he had agreed with Dean to meet back at the motel, Dean could not see any reason why he would do such a thing.
Irritated but still not entirely concerned yet, Dean dialed Sam's number. The sound of a ringing cell came from the bedside table. Dean glanced there and saw the phone, together with their dad's journal opened and face down. Next to it was a yellow post it. Dean took it and read the short note – and felt himself grow cold.
"Oh no."
He looked again at the yellow piece of paper, but he already knew the contents would not change: The Wild Hunt.
xxXXXxxx
Sam had reached the woods. He was under a strange sensation, a spell of some kind, or maybe possession of a sort. He knew it was there, but for some reason he could not fight it. Not that he had tried too much. He knew enough about the Wild Hunt to know what kind of candidates it would try to recruit. If it wasn't Sam, then it would definitely have been Dean.
His heart was beating wildly. He could admit in the dark corners of his mind that he was scared – terrified, really. He did not know if this was something he would be able to escape – or if he should break free of it in the first place.
From his research, those taken by the Wild Hunt suffered three outcomes: they returned and, for some reason, turned either violent or suicidal, or both; they ran until they could run no more and died of exhaustion; or they stayed with the Hunt – for all eternity. And that, Sam thought, would be the most favorable outcome when it came to him.
He walked towards where he heard the sound of hooves, a willing sacrifice for the Wild Hunt. It was for the best, he was telling himself. The best for Dean and for the world. If the Yellow-eyed demon did have plans for Sam –there were powers greater than him. Places he probably could not reach. This was one of them. If Sam was really destined to be used by evil, this was a way, perhaps the only way, short of killing him, that would stop it.
xxXXXxxx
Dean had heard vague rumors about the Wild Hunt, but he was sure he had never encountered it before. He could have sworn his father had not either. But he had apparently had Sam research it for him and then wrote about it in his journal. Why, though? Why work a case you did not follow through? That was unlike his father.
"You never did anything without a reason, Dad," Dean muttered. "So what was it this time?"
He went over the information. The Wild Hunt was a European myth. The name originated in Germany, but the myth spread far and wide, from Scandinavia, to England and Ireland, and even to Poland and Belarus. It was, apparently, the Celtic version that had interested John the most.
In essence, the Wild Hunt was a group of spirits on a mad chase after some elusive prey. From what Dean could see, they often dragged the souls of mortals with them – or maybe their whole bodies, as was the case here. Modern versions had the Wild Hunt taking place either at Halloween or at Christmas, but one thing was certain, it took place during cold weather, which fit the pattern.
Dean dropped the journal on the bed. Had Sam anticipated this? Had he and the rest of the missing been dragged to the Wild Hunt? Although, in Sam's case, could one really say he had been dragged? Sam had enough presence of mind to write Dean a note. He could have called Dean, if he wanted to, given a clear indication he was a target before it was too late.
And John Winchester had asked Sam to research the Wild Hunt for him back in the day. Why? A possible connection with the missings in the area? But, if so, why hadn't he followed through? Helping out a fellow hunter? But the Wild Hunt was still on, so why had no one checked it out? Or maybe, the intention had been a different one altogether. Maybe John Winchester had not wanted to stop the Wild Hunt but to keep it going – and to draw Sam's attention to it.
Those that entered the Wild Hunt rarely got out. Some did but came back wrong. Others died. The strongest survived and followed the ghostly hunters for eternity. Never aging, never bothered by what was happening in the world outside. Never troubled by stuff such as visions or demons or abilities they wanted no part of. Never having a chance of turning evil and being killed by the one person who would never want to hurt them.
Dean had no idea if John had really been planning to involve Sam in the Wild Hunt as a last resort – if John had even suspected something about Sam that far back. But as far as Sam was concerned, he would definitely see it as a way to get rid of his visions. And maybe to make sure the Hunt did not pick Dean. Hadn't Sam hinted that very moment at the sheriff's that one thing the victims had in common was that they had been troubled? And hadn't Dean shown just how troubled he was by nearly making a deal with a demon? Sam might have seen his actions as a win-win situation.
"Like hell, Sammy," he said. "Like hell I'm letting you go that easily."
He was out the door ready to move heaven and earth to get his brother back.
xxXXxxx
The woods had a strange quality even in daytime. Sam felt something pressing in on him, the thread of control he still had over the situation getting thinner and thinner. Very soon, he would not be himself anymore.
Something in him rebelled at the thought. He did not want this, he told himself. The thing that had always scared him most was losing control - that was why he could not bear the idea of the visions and whatever they might mean about him. And now he was just going to hand over his autonomy to the Wild Hunt? How did that make sense? How much of it was him, anyway?
Sam's footsteps faltered. He could still go back, he thought. Dean probably knew he was missing by now and was worrying himself sick. Or maybe not. If he had really been that worried about Sam, he would not have been considering making deals with crossroad demons for their dad's soul. Dean had definitely seemed to have no problem leaving Sam alone, so why would Sam be any different?
A sharp intake of breath close by had him freezing. This was not the Wild Hunt, he thought. This was something alive. He took several steps and spotted a figure huddled against a tree. Sam bent down and touched the figure on the shoulder. He noticed it was a young man, younger than him, still dressed in nurses' scrubs.
"Henry?" he asked. "You're Henry Ross, aren't you?"
The man flinched sharply and raised terrified eyes at Sam.
"They're calling to me. You hear them?"
Sam could not hear anything, though. Even the sound of hooves that had drawn him into the forest had faded. But he knew now where the Wild Hunt was and he intended to be there – as soon as he dealt with Henry.
"Listen to me," he told Henry. "You need to get out of here. Get out of the forest."
Henry shook his head.
"I can't…I saw them…"
Sam pulled Henry up and steered him towards the path.
"The way out isn't that far," he said. "You got your phone on you?"
Henry nodded dazed.
"I don't understand…"
Sam could not blame him. Still, he did not have time to explain. Henry had not joined the hunt, which meant he would not get violent or depressed when he returned and he was not in any danger of dying of exhaustion either. It was safe to send him back to the town. The problem was that the Wild Hunt would keep calling to him, especially as long as he remained troubled. Sam could not ask him to pull himself together – he knew you could not wish yourself better when you were in a dark headspace – but he could get Henry the help he needed to escape the Hunt. He took Henry's cell phone and wrote Dean's number in his contact list.
"Listen carefully, when you're out of the forest call this number, all right? Tell him everything. He'll believe you. Tell him you need help to stop the Wild Hunt from coming after you. Got that?"
Henry frowned.
"What? Wild Hunt? Like in that computer game?"
Sam shrugged. Whatever helped him sleep at night.
"Just call that number alright. Dean will take care of you. And tell him…tell him I'll try to put a stop to what's happening from the inside but there aren't any guarantees, right? Tell him that."
He moved to leave but Henry's arm fastened around his.
"No, you should come back with me."
Sam shook his head.
"I can't. Their attention's fixed on me. They're wasting their energy to get me to join them, which means you're safe for now. So go. I can handle this."
"Wait," Henry said. "You don't understand. Klara's father is there."
Sam frowned.
"You saw Sheriff Walker?"
Henry nodded frantically.
"He looks different but…yeah, it was him. Running with the rest."
Sam slapped Henry on the shoulder.
"Good. I'll try to get him out."
If there was anything left of Sheriff Walker to be rescued. If he would even want to be sent back to a world where one daughter had killed the other and then taken her own life. But Henry did not need to know all that right then.
"Just make sure you call Dean," he said, before turning away.
xxxXXXxxx
Dean was getting ready to look for Sam when his phone rang. He debated not answering as he did not know the number but knew that would be a mistake in their line of work. What if it was someone from a hospital somewhere calling to let him know they got Sam? His brother had Dean's contact info in his pocket at all times.
"Whoever you are, I'd appreciate it if you made this quick."
The hesitation on the other end was palpable.
"Uhh…is this Dean?"
Dean rolled his eyes. The caller seemed to be a young man Dean was sure he had never met before. He took a deep breath.
"This is Dean. Who are you and what do you want?"
"I was told to call you. He was actually pretty insistent that I call you."
Dean froze. He. Somehow he knew the caller meant Sam.
"Tell me your name and tell me what happened," he urged.
There was a pause.
"I'm…I'm Henry."
Dean clutched the phone tighter.
"You're the guy who disappeared last night."
"Yeah, that's me. Look, he told me to call you straight away. Said you could help me…"
"Where are you?" Dean asked, interrupting the tirade.
The sooner he could deal with Henry, the quicker he could also start looking for Sam.
"The woods outside town," Henry said.
Dean nodded. He had suspected as much.
"Find your way to the highway. Then stay put. I'll come meet you."
xxxXXXxxx
Sam was now deep inside the forest. All he could hear were the strange whispers pressing in on him, calling his name. The smell of woodsmoke was so strong, he coughed several times. He felt as if he had lost complete control of himself. He was moving because he had to, because something stronger than himself had taken the reigns and Sam had not been aware he was not the one in control until it had been too late.
Suddenly, he was surrounded by shadows. Some were of giant hounds, other were of men on foot or on horseback. Some wore armor, some normal modern clothes. Their faces were all grey and blank. Sam thought they smelled like death and he gagged. Once more, he wished he could turn away, go back to the motel where he could find Dean and the safety that Dean always brought with him. Instead, he took a step forward.
A woman approached him. She was the only one who looked alive, which was paradoxical, since half her face was rotten flesh, although the other was smooth and white. Her blonde hair was long and tangled and Sam was sure he could see spiders in it. The smell of death was stronger now that she was near.
"Your name, my warrior?" she asked.
Sam did not want to give her an answer, he really did not. But she was looking into his eyes and suddenly his lips were moving against his will.
"Sam Winchester. My name is Sam Winchester."
She nodded, pleased.
"I know your name now, Sam Winchester. That means I have power over you."
Sam tried to take a deep breath but felt something obstructing him. He leaned against a tree, gasping, clutching at his throat. Blackness enveloped him, and he was sure he was dead, when suddenly he could breathe again. The unexpected onslaught of air was so painful, he fell to his knees, coughing. The woman watched him impassively.
"You breathe when I tell you to breathe, Sam Winchester. You walk where I tell you to walk. And you kill whom I tell you to kill."
Sam wanted to protest. He wanted to say that he belonged to no one, no matter who knew his name. But a dark veil seemed to have covered his senses. He got up and followed the woman.
"Dean" he thought, then crushed the thought and hid it as deep as he could. It was not safe to think of Dean. It was not safe to want Dean to come to his rescue. He knew that if the leader of the Wild Hunt found out about Dean, that would be the first person she would ask Sam to kill.
As you can see, I'm back to my usual tricks ;)
-The Wild Hunt is a myth found all over Europe, from Scandinavia to Germany, to England and Ireland and even in Eastern Europe as well, as far as Poland and Belarus. There are different versions of it, but the basic idea is that there's this group of people/creatures/whatever, on an eternal hunt. The object of their hunt varies. Sometimes it's a mythical stag, other times a maiden, other times regular people who happen to stumble on it. There are also variations on who the leader is, but more on that in the next chapter. You can't expect me to reveal all my secrets in one go ;)
-Bobby will also be making an appearance in later chapters (maybe not in the next chapter, but he'll definitely show up eventually).
-As usual I've come from vacation with tons of new ideas. Can't wait to share them all with you ;)
