Only one chapter to go. I must admit this has turned out different than what I initially planned, but it's still been a lot of fun. Thank you for all your reviews :) This chapter is also going to be a wild, wild ride.

Chapter 8

After a moment of hesitation, Sam ran to Dean. He frantically checked for a pulse,

"Come on," he said. "Come on, you can't do this to me."

Dean's pulse was weak and fading fast, and Sam had the impression he was not breathing right. He'd forgotten everything in that moment: Holda, his anger at Dean, the doubts planted into his mind that Dean might kill him. In fact, he did not care about that last part one bit. If Dean wanted to kill him that was fine – as long as he woke up. Sam would take anything from Dean as long as Dean stayed alive.

"You can't let her do this to us, you understand me?" Sam said fiercely. "You can't…"

He broke off. It dawned on him that he was alone in the forest and Dean was dying, and if he died then that would be it. Sam would have no one left.

"Listen to me," he said, bending over Dean and clutching his shirt. "I don't care, you understand? I don't care about Dad and whatever quest you seem to be on or your goddamn self-sacrificial martyr complex. I don't give a damn about all that. But you're gonna stay with me, you understand? If you think I'm letting you go that easily, then you don't know me at all."

"Sam?"

The voice had him twisting round, even though he did not move away from Dean. Sam stared in horror and confusion, at the figure approaching from the woods. It was Dean or, at least, it looked like Dean. Sam glanced at the figure lying on the ground next to him, then back at his approaching counterpart. Shakily, he took out his gun and pointed it at Dean, who stopped dead in his tracks.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean asked.

Sam did not lower the gun.

"You're not Dean," he hissed.

Dean raised his hands, his eyes not leaving Sam's.

"Sam, I don't know what's gotten into you, but unless you need your eyes examined, you can see it's me."

Sam shook his head. The words were Dean's alright, but Holda had seen into their heads, so she would be able to use every trick she had up her sleeve.

"You're not Dean," he said. "Dean's dying and you're here to distract me from it. And I don't have time for this right now."

xxxXXXxxx

Bobby and Alfred walked through the forest. Alfred had looked askance at the weapon Bobby claimed would work on Holda, and he had doubts even now.

"So, how reliable is that source of information of yours?" Alfred asked. "The one who gave you that stick?"

"Rufus? He's no saint and he annoys me to hell and beyond, but he knows his stuff. In fact, he's the one who taught me all I know."

"Since I have no idea what you know or how you know it, I don't know if that's really a comfort."

Bobby scowled.

"Don't forget that I didn't drag you here. You came of your own free will."

"This thing…what did you call her?"

"Holda," Bobby replied cautiously.

Alfred nodded.

"Holda. She goes after troubled people, right? People she thinks are in conflict with each other? Then what do you think she'll do to my son now that he knows I've been hiding from him the fact that his mother tried to kill him – or that I had to kill her because of that?"

Bobby sighed. That was a can of worms he did not want to open.

"Do you know what he said to me?" Alfred went on. "Right before you came?"

"What?" Bobby asked despite himself.

Alfred sighed.

"He asked me if I resented him. After all, according to him, he was partially responsible for his mother's death. I had to choose between her and Evan."

Bobby thought back to his own initiation in the ways of the hunters, when he had been forced to kill his possessed wife. At least they did not have a kid. At least he had not found himself in Alfred's situation.

"And do you?" he asked.

Alfred shrugged.

"I love my son and I did the only thing I could do. He was six. He could not defend himself and it certainly wasn't his fault."

Bobby looked at him shrewdly.

"But…?"

Alfred sighed.

"But I wish things were different. That doesn't mean I want my son dead, but if this Holda of yours is indeed as implacable and inflexible as you make her out to be, then she'll look into my mind and believe that I do resent Evan – or want him dead."

Bobby nodded. For someone who had only gotten that day official confirmation that the supernatural existed, Alfred had quite the grasp over how these things work.

"So," he guessed. "You're not here for revenge."

Alfred's mouth tightened.

"I'm here to protect my family." He paused and looked knowingly at Bobby. "As, I suspect, are you."

Bobby felt the automatic defenses rear up.

"Sam and Dean aren't…I mean, I'm not their father."

Alfred shrugged.

"Maybe not, but you don't strike me as the type to drop everything and come chasing halfway across the country unless it's for family. Dean needed you, you were there…"

"You think you know everything, do you?" Bobby mocked.

He wanted to ignore the feeling in his heart – after all, he and his heart had not been speaking since…well, forever. Analyzing your emotions too much led to nothing but a world of pain. At least they did to Bobby.

"There's something I don't know," Alfred admitted. "How you plan on using that stick to kill Holda."

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief, glad their Doctor Phil moment had passed. He was beginning to get uncomfortable. He always did when people saw through him like that.

"It's not a stick. It's a branch from a very ancient tree, a relic from the time of the druids."

Alfred gaped at the branch.

"You're snowing me, aren't you?"

Bobby shook his head, smirking.

"No, it's the truth. It's been blessed by a high priest and all. It's supposed to protect people."

"From the Wild Hunt?" Alfred wanted to know.

Bobby shrugged.

"From all kinds of critters. Usually, just having one in the house would deter most supernatural entities."

Alfred was looking at the branch with new eyes.

"What's so special about it?"

Bobby's mouth thinned.

"Legends have it that it was dipped in the blood of a hundred warriors. It's designed to kill a god – any god."

The forest seemed to close in on them menacingly after Bobby's statement.

xxXXXxxx

Alma groaned as she came back to consciousness. She was lying on the forest floor and her entire body felt like she had taken part in a stampede. No, wait, that was exactly what had happened, she remembered now. She could see it all in her mind's eye: the strange procession, Sam pushing her down, those things riding over them.

Alma struggled to sit up. It was fully dark now, and, by the looks of it, she was completely alone.

"Sam?" she asked.

There was no answer. Sam was nowhere to be seen. Alma knew he had been there and had tried to protect her during the stampede, but she had lost track of him.

She tried to make sense of the little that she could remember. Sam seemed to know what was happening, but he behaved unlike any federal agent she knew. Not that she knew that many, but now she could finally admit what she had been suspecting all along: whoever Sam and Dean were, they were most definitely not feds.

"Always like you to fall for the weirdoes, Alma," she muttered.

She got up shakily. Thankfully, she was still armed, although Sam had seemed to think that was not going to do any good. Then again, she thought uncharitably, if Sam wasn't who he said he was, why the hell did she bother trusting anything he had said?

A twig snapped behind her. She whirled round, gun in hand. Someone was coming, she could feel it.

"Who's there?" she shouted.

xxxXXxxx

Sam was staring at Dean, or the thing he knew was not Dean, could not be Dean, even though if someone had asked him how he knew that for certain, he would have been at a loss to answer. How did he know? On the surface, everything was as it should be. The person standing in front of him certainly looked like Dean down to the smallest detail. It was all there: amulet, ring, leather jacket. He had Dean's stance down to pat, the slight tension and alertness permanently there, the steel that could always be seen in Dean's eyes, even though now it was tinged with worry and confusion. The voice, the tone, the language, everything was Dean. Only, in some way Sam could not explain, it also wasn't.

He doubted anyone else would have been able to notice the difference. Not even Bobby. Maybe not even their dad, not right away at least. But, then again, no one else knew Dean the way he did.

There were looks Dean reserved only for Sam. A certain tone that he had only for his little brother. A something that Sam had never paused to analyze, that he was certain Dean was not even aware of, but that was so much part of his brother that Sam could feel its absence keenly in the facsimile standing in front of him. So, there could be only one explanation for him. This was not Dean.

Dean – the thing that could not be Dean – took a step towards him. His stance was still non-threatening, his hands up, as if to show Sam that he did not want to harm him. Sam only tightened his hands on the gun.

"I'm warning you, don't come any closer."

"Sam," Dean said. "You're really starting to freak me out, you know that. It's me. Which part of that don't you understand?"

Sam shook his head.

"It's not you. You're…you're…"

He jerked his head towards where the other Dean was lying, the one he suspected was his real brother, the one he needed to get out of there and get to safety, only this…this thing, that phantom conjured up by Holda was wasting his time.

Dean, meanwhile, glanced at his other self and scoffed.

"Sam, that doesn't mean anything. That's a trick. Holda's messing with your brain. She's trying to get you to shoot me."

Sam wavered. What if what he was saying was true? What if the only reason why he doubted this was Dean was because Holda was inside his head, telling him not to trust the figure in front of him? He knew already that Holda could mess with his perception, that he could order him what to think. She had made people kill their families, after all. She had made him nearly stop breathing. It would not be too far-fetched to believe that she could make him mistake the real Dean for something else.

Dean noticed the wavering and took a step forward.

"That's right, Sammy. Give me the gun."

For a moment, Sam was ready to obey. He did not want to risk shooting him. If it turned out that he was wrong, he would never be able to live with himself. The hand holding the gun lowered.

Then he spotted something in the other's eyes. a glint of satisfaction, a hint of malice that he would never see in Dean, especially not directed at him. The jolt of fury that he had been close to being deceived in such a manner nearly overwhelmed him. He tightened his hand around the gun.

"You're not Dean," he said through clenched teeth. "And no matter how hard you try to fool me, you will never be him."

He pulled the trigger.

xxxXXXxxx

There was no sign of the Wild Hunt and that worried Bobby. He had been expected Holda to have some tricks up her sleeve. After all, she could probably sense that they were in her domain, not to mention that Bobby was currently carrying the only weapon that could make a dent in her.

"It's too quiet," Bobby said. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Alfred replied, his voice tense. "I was expecting something that would clear things up once and for all."

Bobby glanced sideways at Alfred. He was calm, but Bobby was sure he was beginning to have regrets – probably not about following Bobby, but more about buying the whole "mythical goddess chasing people and causing them to go mad" line.

"You're taking all this in a lot better than civilians usually do," he remarked cautiously.

Alfred snorted.

"Tell me, what would you believe: that your wife one day snapped so hard that she decided to kill her own child – or that some external, unnatural force took over her and made her do it?"

Bobby swallowed harshly against his own memories. The question was too close to his experiences and, as far he was concerned, remembering his past was dangerous territory.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," Alfred went on. "The thought that you're a bunch of weirdoes luring me to my death with talks of mythical hunts did cross my mind."

Bobby nodded. Of course it had.

"And you haven't seen any proof that we aren't that, I guess."

Alfred shrugged.

"If it makes you feel any better, I haven't seen that you are, either."

This was as good as Bobby was going to get, he supposed. If Alfred got suspicious and paranoid and turned on him, well, Bobby would just have to deal with it when it happened – if it happened. Although, he did not put it past Holda to try to sow some doubt between them, as a means of self-defense. One got creative when one lived for thousands of years.

Bobby tensed. He thought he heard something, the rustle of leaves that could not belong to an animal. He reached out and grabbed Alfred, forcing him to stay still.

"What is it?" Alfred asked.

Bobby shushed him.

"Something's coming."

He had the branch at the ready. Then, a woman's voice sounded in the darkness:

"Who's there?"

Boby heard Alfred gasp in surprise. He clearly recognized the voice. The two approached the clearing and Bobby found himself face to face with the muzzle of a gun. He looked up at the woman holding it. If this was Holda, he thought, she really had a strange style.

"Sherriff?" Alfred asked. "Alma?"

"Balls," Bobby muttered.

It wasn't Holda then, but things weren't looking too good for them, either. He was going to be no use to Sam and Dean in lockup.

Alma, meanwhile, was looking from Alfred to Bobby. She still had not lowered her gun, but she was starting to look more puzzled than aggressive.

"Alfred, what the hell's going on?" she asked.

"What are you doing here?" Alfred asked in turn. "You've gotta know it's not safe."

Alma shook her head.

"I know there's a lot of weird around, and if either of you has an explanation, I want it." She paused and looked at Bobby. "And who the hell are you and what on earth do you think you're doing with that tree branch anyway?"

Bobby clutched the branch tighter.

"Look, lady," he began. "I lower mine if you lower yours, how's that?"

Alma was about to say something scathing, when the sound of hooves interrupted her. She tensed.

"Not again!"

"Is that it?" Alfred asked. "Is it coming?"

Bobby had not imagined his night would go like this. He had been sure he would be with Dean, helping him get to Sam, not tracking the two idjits himself with not one but two civilians in tow.

"There's nothing we can do now," he said harshly. "Run!"

He was glad when they both obeyed him, although the sheriff lady still looked far from convinced. No matter, Bobby thought. She would get it soon enough. Because the Wild Hunt had found them. And it looked like they were now the prey.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam watched as Dean staggered, blood on his chest and a look of utter betrayal in his eyes, and for one horrifying moment, he was sure he had made a mistake. He had been convinced it was not Dean, so much so that he had been willing to shoot the figure just to prove it. And now he was assaulted with doubt.

Sam gasped. He found himself shaking from head to foot. The hand holding the gun dropped. All he could do was stare at Dean's body and wondered if this was the moment he snapped, like Max, like Andy. If he had been tricked by Holda into killing Dean, how was he going to live with himself after causing the end of his entire world?

"Sam?"

Sam spun round. Dean was there, the real Dean, the one he had seen lying on the ground before now standing a few paces away, eyeing Sam cautiously. He must have woken up – in time to see Sam pulling the trigger on someone who had looked very much like him.

Things have gotten quite heated. I wonder what will happen next ;)? The groups are all going to be converging soon, and we'll have an explosive finale next Sunday. I can't wait to share it with you!