As always, your reviews are much appreciated, so thanks for last week's feedback! Here's the next chapter, where things get even more complicated, but where we do get a few answers. Happy reading! There are some dark stuff in this chapter, though. Just remember, I never kill characters that aren't my own. Well, not permanently, at least…
Any spelling mistakes are due to sleep deprivation, my new neighbors have been partying almost 24/7for a week. I'm hoping the novelty of having a new apartment will wear off soon…
Chapter 5
The Wild Hunt never stopped. Sam was not sure what day it was anymore. Was it the same day he had joined them? Had three days and nights passed already? Was it still safe for him to return?
Two more people joined from different towns. One must have been a homeless person, the other was a police officer. None of them seemed at all inclined to oppose the call. They did not pay attention to anyone either. In fact, none of them did. They all seemed under Holda's spell. So why was Sam resisting?
He could feel Holda burrowing into his mind from time to time, trying to guess what made him tick. He did not know if she realized he was a Hunter, one that took down those like her, which was why he could fight her better than most. That did not mean it would last, though. Sam still did not think it would be safe for him to return to Dean. Not unless he did something first.
Stopping the Wild Hunt from the inside was risky. Still, who would have more chances than someone following Holda? Sam knew he was still armed. Maybe, he thought, maybe he could try. At least he would find out whether normal bullets worked on Holda or not.
He inched his way slightly closer to the front, gun in hand. No one would probably try to stop him, he thought. Most of them were acting like automata, reacting only when Holda ordered them to. If Sam could just take Holda by surprise maybe this would be over, and he would be free to return to Dean without repercussions.
Sam took out his gun and shot towards Holda. The sound exploded in his own years. He thought briefly he saw the procession halt and disintegrate before his eyes.
Then he was falling, tumbling into a bottomless abyss. The last thing he heard was Holda's voice.
"You shouldn't have done that, Sam."
He knew there would be repercussions. He hoped this time he was the olnly one to face them.
xxXXxxx
Alma was happy to help Dean, although she did not bother to hide that she was disappointed that Sam was not with him.
"Your partner not here?" she asked.
Dean shrugged and smiled disarmingly.
"He's following a lead of his own."
That wasn't even a lie, Dean thought ruefully. It was just that usually Sam pursuing leads on his own meant Sam getting into trouble.
Alma shook her head.
"He's avoiding me, right? I was too forward the first time."
Which also wasn't far from the truth, but Dean suspected sheriff Alma Larson's forwardness was the last thing on Sam's mind right now.
"Sam's been…going through some stuff," he finally said. "Personal stuff. So it's not really you."
Alma shrugged.
"If you say so. So what can I do for you, Agent?"
If this was any other time, Dean would have responded with a wiseass crack and some flirting of his own. But Sam was missing, and he was only focused on that right now.
"I need as much information about the missing people as possible," he said.
"What sort of information?" Alma asked. "We don't even know if the disappearances are connected. We don't know which of them are."
"I want to know about the people that were troubled. I think these are the targets they choose."
Alma raised her eyebrows.
"They? You know who's doing this?"
"We think it's an organized group. A cult."
His father would be proud of how he could handle civilians, Dean thought. Plant enough truth in the lies you tell them and they're more likely to believe you. That had been one of John's favorite pieces of advice. Not that Dean felt like following John's advice after his ultimatum, but maybe this time it could really lead him to save Sam.
"I'll see what I can do," Alma said.
Dean grinned.
"Good. I appreciate the help, sheriff."
Alma winked.
"Bring your partner next time, and I'll help more. Tell him I won't bite unless he asks."
Dean knew Sam would have been mortified to hear that. He would just have to tell him when he found him. Dean almost thought if he found him, but that was not an acceptable option. He would find Sam and he would save Sam.
"Always, Dad," he muttered. "You hear me? I'll always save Sam."
xxXXxxx
Dean pulled up in front of a house that overlooked the town graveyard. He shook his head at the location, then got out of the car and walked down the lane. The house looked badly maintained, the front yard full of weeds. It made Dean feel uncomfortable. He did not like being reminded of how much grief could rob someone of their will to live, of how long this could last, how it never really let you go. He knocked on the door, bracing himself for the encounter.
The door was opened by an old woman with unkempt hair. Dean could smell the alcohol on her breath.
"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," she snapped.
Dean showed her his badge.
"I'm here to talk about your son, Mrs. Lattimer."
Mrs. Lattimer scowled.
"What's to talk about? He's dead. Where the hell were you when he died?"
Dean took a deep breath. Every minute wasted was a minute more Sam had to spend inside the Wild Hunt.
"Listen, I know what you're going through…"
Mrs. Lattimer scoffed.
"Like hell you do."
Dean nodded slowly.
"Alright. Maybe I don't. But your son's isn't the only disappearance in town and you know it. You need to tell me what happened."
Mrs. Lattimer looked about to tell him to take a hike. Then she seemed to change her mind and stepped aside.
"Come right in. It's not as if I have a choice, do I?"
Dean nodded to her.
"Thank you," he said earnestly.
He knew from first hand experience how painful dragging such griefs out in the open could be, especially when time passed and people no longer knew how to treat you and all you had left were questionable coping mechanisms and clinging too much to the past.
Mrs. Lattimer's dining room looked like she was doing quite a lot of both. There were several bottles of alcohol on the table, and a full ash tray. The room was in disarray, with dust on the furniture and cat hair on the floor – although Dean could not see any cat. Only one spot was clean – the mantelpiece, that had several family picture and a candle burning in the middle.
Dean walked to it and took a picture of a young boy. He was smiling broadly, but Dean could sense an uneasiness beneath the smile.
"Is this your son?"
Mrs. Lattimer nodded.
"He was fourteen, then, so two years before he ran off. Or got taken, whichever you prefer."
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"Which one do you think happened, Mrs. Lattimer? What did he say when he returned?"
Lattimer looked away.
"The doctors said he was delirious. Nothing he said made sense."
Dean set the picture back on the mantelpiece, handling it with care. He turned to the mother.
"Mrs. Lattimer, it's really important that you tell me. We're looking into the investigation from a different perspective now. Anything you may know could help."
"He kept talking about a procession. Of ghosts and spirits and whatnot. He said there were some people with masks. Deer masks or something." Lattimer stopped and shook his head. "Really, he was delirious."
"What else?" Dean insisted, not willing to compromise, not with Sam's life on the line.
"He was talking about a woman. He called her Holda or something like that."
Dean made a mental note to check Dad's research again and see if the name popped up.
"He said something really strange about that woman," Mrs. Lattimer said.
Dean watched her carefully. The old woman was clenching her fists, clearly affected by the memory. He leaned forward.
"What he said could be very important, Mrs. Lattimer."
Her eyes flashed.
"The cops back then did not think so. They laughed in my face."
Dean nodded, accepting that.
"Well, that was them. This is me, Mrs. Lattimer, and I swear to you, I won't laugh."
He watched as her defenses crumbled.
"He said he would die because this woman wanted him to die. He said that once you joined her hunt, she owned you. That she could make people kill, make them stop breathing if she wanted to. He said once you heard the call you belonged to her – in life, and in death."
Dean stared at Mrs. Lattimer in horror. He wondered now just how much Sam had been in control of himself when he decided to walk out into the woods – and whether he had truly known what he was walking into.
He was leaving Mrs. Lattimer's house when he stopped short. He could hear it in the distance: the sound of hooves and the blowing of horns. The Wild Hunt was calling for him.
xxXXxxx
Sam was surrounded by darkness. He was alone, he thought, and he could not understand how that had happened, since the last thing he remembered was being with the Wild Hunt. He had tried to shoot Holda – and had no idea what had happened after that. It was too much to hope that he had succeeded though and he had put a stop to the Hunt for good.
He took several steps and nearly knocked himself out against a low tree branch. He staggered backwards and hit the back of a trunk. He was still in the forest then. Where were the others? Where was Holda?
A horn somewhere behind him seemed to provide his answer. The howling of dogs quickly followed – hunting dogs who had caught on some scent. Sam froze. He knew instinctively it was him they were after.
He broke into a run. He could hardly see anything in front of him, but he knew he could not allow himself to be caught. He stumbled several times and fell to his knees, but he always got up. "Dean," he thought. If he could reach Dean, this would be over. If he could reach Dean, he would be safe.
He could hear galloping horses behind him and the barking of dogs, and he knew they were getting close. Sam ducked under a tree and tried to get to higher ground. He'd been raised by hunters himself, after all. Of a different kind, but the survival principles were still the same. Sam knew how to elude pursuit. John Winchester had prepared his sons well, after all.
Sam had reached the foot of the hill when suddenly the dogs where no longer behind him but in front. He twisted round, intent on finding another means of escape, when he saw misshapen shadows running towards him. An arrow swished by, too close for comfort. Another slammed against his leg. The pain was so sharp it stopped him in his tracks.
Sam staggered backwards, his foot catching against a root. He fell down hard, the impact with the hard ground taking his breath away, the pain in his leg briefly robbing him of consciousness. He could make out shapes through the fog in his mind. He had to move. He was dead if he didn't move.
One of the hounds slammed against him, bringing Sam down again. He looked up to see Holda spear in hand. Sam tried to get his hands under him and push himself up when another arrow hit him in the shoulder. Then the dogs were on him, smelling his blood. Sam cried out and struggled, but he knew there was no way he would be getting out of this alive.
xxxXXXxxx
Sam gasped himself awake, surprised that he was still alive. He was lying on the wet ground, the smell of the forest all around him. He was shivering and it was not just from the cold. He could still remember the moment the hounds' teeth had sunk into him, could still feel the pain in his leg and shoulder from where the arrows had struck, even the dizziness of blood loss. When he put his hand on his shoulder, however, he found it free of any blood. He was not hurt.
"What the hell just happened?" Sam muttered.
Holda's voice sounded close to his ear.
"For you, it really was hell."
Sam squinted at the shadows gathered all around him. He wondered if they had seen the same thing, if they had taken part in his hunt.
"What did you do?" he asked, glaring at Holda. "Was any of that real?"
Holda smirked.
"It was real for you. And it's your fault. You tried to shoot me. I made you face the consequences."
She knelt in front of Sam and placed her hand on his shoulder. Sam shuddered at the touch, something which did not escape Holda.
"We could do so many wonderful things together," she said.
"I think I'll pass," Sam quipped.
The hand moved to the back of his neck. Sam felt his skin crawl.
"You're a fine specimen, Sam. A hunter in the true sense of the word."
Sam snorted.
"Lady, you have no idea."
Holda let her hand drop. Sam fought to hide how relieved he was that she was not touching him anymore.
"But you're not the only one," she said. "You didn't come alone, did you?"
Sam froze. One of the reasons he had joined the Wild Hunt was to spare Dean from the same fate. Holda could not do this.
"Leave Dean out of this," he said. "You've got me, you don't need Dean."
Holda shook her head.
"I need to keep you in line, do I? Besides, I might be in the mood for a special kind of sport."
Sam stared at her in horror.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Holda bent over him and whispered in his ear:
"I can make you do anything, Sam. I can make you hunt your brother – and I might even make your brother hunt you. I wonder – if I were to pit you against each other, which of you would give in first and kill the other?"
Sam shook his head frantically.
"No, that will never happen."
He froze when he noticed Holda's look.
"I looked into your mind, Sam," she said. "And his. Trust me, it very well might."
Sam was left wondering what the hell she meant.
xxxXXXxxx
Ted's hands were shaking. He heard the knocks on his bedroom door but he ignored them. His wife's voice sounded again, frantic:
"Ted, please, open the door. We'll talk about this, please."
Ted shook his head. Lydia could not understand. This was for the best.
Lydia tried the door. The chair Ted had placed against it, just in case she managed to break the lock, rattled unnervingly.
"Ted, please don't do this," she begged.
Ted looked at the knife in his hand and closed his eyes against the image of him plunging it over and over into Lydia's chest.
"It has to be this way," he said.
He could hear the sound of sirens from outside. Lydia had obviously made true on her threat of calling the police. Ted did not have much time.
"You have to understand, Lydia. I swore to protect you at all costs. I'm doing this to protect you."
The door knob ratted frantically.
"Ted, please open this door."
Ted shook his head.
"This is the only thing I can do that will break her control."
xxxXXXXxxxx
Dean was driving away from Lattimer's house when his phone rang. He answered it without stopping.
"Agent," Sherriff Larson's voice sounded breathless and tinged with frustration. "I thought you should know there was a bit of trouble in the nearby town. We think it's connected to the disappearances."
"What kind of trouble?" Dean asked.
He heard Alma hesitate.
"Two things: one, we have a forty-two year old postal worker recently declared missing who just return last night. He locked himself in his room this morning and stabbed himself. His wife said he was talking about someone named Holda. and how she was going to make him hurt his wife and kids."
Dean nodded. He had been expecting more victims.
"He's not still alive, is he?" he asked. "I wouldn't be able to talk to him?"
"No, I'm afraid no one's talking to him unless they have an Ouija Board," Alma said dryly.
Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
"Damn it, this is starting to piss me off. What about the other piece of news. Is it any good?"
"You tell me," Alma drawled. "I've got this camper here with reports of a weird procession. Now, I grant you he might have sampled some of the local flora, if you get my drift, but some of the things he said piqued my interest. He described some of the members of this procession and one of them looks remarkably like your partner."
Dean froze.
"Look, Alma…"
"If you're about to tell me to stay out of it because it's Fed business, I'll come find you and toss you in lockup," Alma interrupted. "You're in my town, Dean."
Dean took a deep breath.
"And you're right: your town has a problem. We're trying to solve it. Sometimes, that means solving it from within, if you get my drift."
He heard the sheriff pause.
"Usually it's customary to let the local authorities know when you're running an undercover operation. Professional courtesy and all that."
Dean swallowed his impatience.
"I don't have time for this right now."
Alma cut him off.
"Make time. Come to the station and explain everything to me: what you're doing, what your partner is doing and whether you two intend to fix things or make them worse."
The phone clicked shut. Dean tossed it on the passenger seat.
"Damn!" he swore.
Had he known how things were going to turn out, he would have steered clear of the place. He believed in the hunt and in helping people, but after John's death he also believed he had the right to keep the only family he had left safe. Sam would not want to be put above others, but Dean could not have it any other way.
"You'll always come first, Sammy," Dean said.
He needed reinforcements, though – and information on why John had researched the Hunt so thoroughly and then simply let it be. And he hoped he knew where to find both.
Dean stopped the car and picked up the phone, quickly dialing a number that was beginning to become almost as familiar to him as Sam's.
"Singer Salvage."
Dean leaned his head against the seat, suddenly dizzy with relief at the sound of the gruff voice.
"Hey, Bobby, it's me."
Bobby was suddenly alert.
"Dean? Everything alright on your end? What do you need?"
Dean shook his head, angry that he could feel tears in his eyes. Bobby was always like that: offering help without reservation, always firmly on Dean's side, no matter what Dean was doing. No matter Dean's decisions. Even John Winchester himself had not always done that. He strove not to think of what that meant.
"Bobby, something's happened to Sammy. And I need your help. I don't think I can do this alone."
This has turned up to have so many twists and turns it's surprising even me. We'll see Bobby next week, and we'll have some more revelations coming on ahead. We're in the middle of things, though. I think this story will have about 8-9 chapter in total, so we're definitely not even close to out of the woods, yet.
Side note: Remember you can also find me on AO3 as Star_Wanderer in case there's a Sunday when you don't see an update and I haven't announced in advance I'll be gone. has been a bit temperamental of late, so any unannounced delays aren't on me. And if a chapter's ever published with weird letters or something of the kind, do let me know and I'll try to edit asap.
