Part 1

June 1988

Dean didn't think he'd ever run so far so fast in his whole life.

He didn't even know for sure who or what was after them—kidnappers, CPS workers, or some kind of monster that looked like humans. All he knew for sure was that he and Sammy had been out on the playground by themselves after Dad had dropped them off on his way to do some research when these big men had spotted them from across the street, yelled something, and started running toward them. Dean had grabbed Sammy's hand and started running back to the motel, but they hadn't been able to lose the guys who were chasing them. Even now, as he pulled Sammy out of the woods and into the motel parking lot, he could hear the men crashing through the brush behind them.

They were going to make it, though. They were just a few feet from the motel room, and Dean had grabbed the key out of his pocket several minutes earlier. The men seemed to be far enough behind them that he'd have time to unlock the door and get himself and Sammy inside before the men reached the edge of the woods.

Sammy's face was beet red when they got to the door, and he was panting so hard he could barely stand up straight. Dean didn't even want to know what his own face looked like; his lungs and legs were burning enough as it was. But he got the door open quick as a wink and shoved Sammy inside, then double-locked the door and fixed the salt line they'd scattered. He wasn't tall enough to reach the burglar chain, though, and Sammy had braced himself against the wall and was in no shape to be climbing up on Dean's shoulders, so Dean started toward the table to grab a chair.

And then he froze as he heard the men in the parking lot, talking loudly about which room was theirs.

Dean scrambled for the nightstand, where he knew Dad kept his gun. Once he'd found it and grabbed it, he pulled a petrified Sammy away from the wall and shoved him toward the closet, not even rolling his eyes when Sammy grabbed his teddy bear as they passed their bed. Once they were both inside, Dean pulled the doors closed behind him as best he could, then joined Sammy behind the clothes, their backs pressed against the back wall. And they tried to be as still and breathe as quietly as they possibly could.

Sammy had almost caught his breath when the door was kicked open.

The men ransacked the room, turning over tables and beds and ripping open the mattresses. One of them checked the bathroom, then came back and wondered aloud whether the boys might have gotten out through the window.

"Wait," said another. "Let's take a look at what's in here." And he opened the closet door and started flipping through Dad's clothes before pushing them apart right in front of the boys.

Dean emptied the clip into him, but though he roared in pain, he didn't go down. What did come down was the wall behind Dean's back, making him suddenly stumble backward onto what felt like pine needles under his feet. He glanced back and saw a whole new forest behind them.

There was no time to hesitate. Dean grabbed Sammy's hand again, startling Sammy into dropping his bear, and took off again before the not-man he'd shot could recover enough to follow. They ran and ran, not knowing where they were but headed anywhere but here.

Just as Dean was beginning to wonder whether he could keep going any longer, both brothers glanced back to check their trail—and plowed straight into something solid that hadn't been in front of them a moment before, something that tumbled backward as they tumbled forward, almost like a human.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed a woman's voice with an accent that sounded kind of English. "Are you quite all right?"

Dean righted himself enough to see that the lady speaking was the person they'd knocked down, a pretty lady wearing a garland of branches and pinecones and a woodsy-looking medievalish dress. "Suh-suh-sorry, ma'am," he panted. "Didn't... didn't mean to... wasn't looking..."

She smiled. "That's all right, Son of Adam. No harm done. But here," she continued, looking over at where Sammy was trying to pick himself up but was shaking too bad. She reached over and helped him sit up. "Here, now. What were you running from? You look as though you'd seen a dragon."

"Nuh," Sammy wheezed. "Not a... a dragon... was... these men... big, scary..."

"Don't... don't know what... what they wanted," Dean added, "but... we gotta... get away... gotta fi-... find our dad..."

The lady put a gentle hand on Dean's cheek. "Well, you'll not find him this way. You look done in. But you'll be safe here; we'll make sure of it."

"We?" Sammy and Dean asked at the same time—and then gasped as a big white unicorn with a blue horn came through the trees toward them.

"Dean," Sammy whispered, taking his hand. "... it's so beautiful..."

Dean was too shocked to respond, but he squeezed Sammy's hand and prayed—though he didn't quite know if God was listening—that unicorns, at least, were safe.

"I say," said the unicorn. "The squirrels are raising an awful fuss. What's going on?"

"Sons of Adam," the woody woman said.

The unicorn blinked and looked right at them. "Indeed? And quite frightened, from the look of it. Whatever's the matter, children?"

"W-we're being ch-chased," Sammy stammered.

"Chased!" The unicorn raised its head and looked toward the way they'd come, ears pricked forward and a fierce gleam in his eye as he stamped once. "I don't see anyone following, but you might have outrun them. Eláte, see if Roggin and his brothers have food that's fit for humans; I'll see what I can find about those pursuers."

She nodded.

Then the unicorn neighed, and a bunch of men just... stepped out of the trees around them, with swords in their hands. Dean didn't think his mouth could fall open any further. But the tree-men didn't pay any attention to the boys as the lady—Eláte—stood and scooped Sammy up on her hip like he was a toddler and held out a hand to Dean. They were talking quietly with the unicorn and watching for the men who'd been chasing the boys.

"Come along, Son of Adam," Eláte said gently. "Let's get you some food and rest, and then we'll help you find your father."

Dean hesitantly took her hand and let her lead them away.

"What does that mean?" Sam asked. "Son of Adam?"

She blinked. "Well, you are human, aren't you?"

They both nodded.

"And humans are descended from Adam, are they not?"

"Well, that's the theory," Dean snarked.

"That's what the Bible says," Sam shot back. "And that's what Pastor Jim says. And unicorns are real!" he added, as if that proved the point.

"So it would seem," Dean whispered, suddenly feeling very young.

Eláte laughed quietly—a gentle laugh, like rain in the trees. "So, then, you are of the royal line of Adam... Adam's sons, if you will. Though if you'd rather I call you by your names, you shall have to tell them to me!"

"Sammy," said Sammy. "That's Dean."

She frowned a little. "Sammy and Dean... hmm... where have I heard those names before?"

The older boy's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"It was someone from the court, I think... You're not from Archenland, are you?"

"Where?" they chorused.

She blinked, clearly surprised. "You've never heard of Archenland?"

Sammy shook his head.

"Well, you're never Calormene; where in Narnia are you from, then?"

"Narnia? Where's Narnia?"

But Dean froze, feeling the blood drain out of his face. "No. No way. You're—you're seriously trying to tell me that we're in Narnia?"

"Well, of course," Eláte replied. "Where else would you be?"

"Earth for one!" yelped the boy.

Now it was Eláte's turn to gasp in shock. "Earth? The—the world of Men? You've come from... Aslan's mane!"

Sammy frowned. "No, not from anybody's mane... from South Carolina..."

That startled a laugh out of her. "Oh, mercy, children... I don't know what's happening, but yes, Dean, we are in the land of Narnia, about two days' walk from Cair Paravel, and once you're settled with the dwarfs, I'll send a message there. We've had no guests from your world since the Elder Days, but perhaps Her Majesty will know why you're here."

"Her Majesty...the White Witch?"

Eláte shot him a withering look. "As if a witch could ever claim the throne of Narnia! Queen Swanwhite is human, as is every rightful ruler of this country."

Dean was cowed into silence. A very rare state.

"I have heard of a witch in the Northern Wastes who wears white—likely Jadis, who stole into Narnia with King Frank and Queen Helen and the Lord Digory and the Lady Polly at the beginning. But so long as the Tree of Protection stands, she cannot enter our borders."

Dean's blood ran cold.

She noticed. "Dean? What is it?"

"The Tree..."

"Yes?"

"It's all... it's all real?"

"Yes, Dean."

"But it's just a story..."

"And to many of us, Earth is just a story."

Dean suddenly smiled. "He's out."

Eláte frowned. "What?"

He nodded at Sammy, conked out in her arms, and laughed softly. "He's asleep."

Eláte smiled. "Little wonder, after a run like that. But look, we are here," she added, nodding toward a hill a short way ahead of them that seemed to have a door and windows cut into the front of it. "Roggin! Roggin, are you in?"

The door opened, and a short, stocky man with red hair and a bushy red beard—a dwarf, Dean remembered at last—came out. "Eláte! Good to see you, neighbor! What brings you this way?"

"These Sons of Adam were chased here," she replied. "Have you food and spare beds that they might share?"

"Chased?" he spluttered. "Come, come!"

Dean followed Roggin into the hill-house. Eláte paused to get a better grip on Sammy and then bent forward at the waist to get inside, almost like... like a tree bending in the wind. He shivered at the sight.

Roggin noticed. "What's the matter, lad? Never seen a dryad before?"

"No, sir."

"These children are from Earth," Eláte confided quietly, going over to a rough-hewn bed in one corner and settling Sammy onto it gently.

"Well, sure an' they've got dryads on Earth!"

"Not nice ones," Dean replied, almost ashamed to have to say it. "At least, I haven't heard of any."

The dwarf snorted. "Poor world, your Earth."

"Roggin!" Eláte chided.

But Dean nodded. "Yeah. I'm gettin' that."

Roggin looked awkward for a moment before recovering enough to clap his hands once. "Right! You'll be wanting your dinner soon, I shouldn't wonder—would fish and chips serve? Brickle—that's my brother—caught a couple of nice mackerel earlier."

"I haven't had fish in forever."

Roggin brightened. "Well, then! You just sit down, lad, and I'll have that fish for you in two shakes."

Dean sat down and watched Eláte leave.

She looked back in the door once she was outside. "You'll be safe here, Dean. And one of us will be back tomorrow to let you know what we've heard from Cair Paravel."

He nodded at her. Really, what could he say?

She nodded back with a kind smile. "Goodbye."

"... bye."

Roggin cleared his throat. "Er—Dean, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I, er... I suppose I speak my mind before I think, if you know what I mean. You havin' royal blood and all... I didn't mean..."

"Royal?" He scoffed.

"Why, you're a Son of Adam, aren't you?"

"I'm a human."

"And the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are the right rulers of Narnia. That's how Aslan intended it to be."

"So I'm royal... because I'm human."

"Aye." Roggin got out a cast iron skillet and put butter in it to begin melting.

"Huh." Dean stood and began to do the potatoes.

"Ah, thankee, lad. So, perhaps you'll set an old dwarf straight on a few things. Tell me, what is Earth like?"

"Well... it's... it's just Earth."

Roggin chuckled. "No dryads, you say. Any dwarfs?"

"Just small humans."

"Hm. Fauns?"

"Baby deer."

"Hmm. Well, tell me about your home. Where do you live?"

"A '67 Chevy and a string of motel rooms."

Roggin blinked. "A... a what?"

"A car."

"What's that?"

Dean's jaw dropped.

"What?"

"You don't know what a car is?"

"No, never heard of such a beast."

"It's not a beast—it's a machine."

"A machine? What sort of machine?"

"That... travels."

Roggin frowned in confusion, and Dean did his best to explain while they worked. "Huh!" Roggin said when he finally got the gist of the idea. "Sounds noisy and dangerous to me."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"And where would you need to go that you can't get there on your own two legs?"

"Everywhere."

"How d'ye mean?"

"Where we're from, it's so huge that we can't walk."

Roggin's eyebrows shot up. "So huge? Why, from here to Anvard's nearly a hundred miles. You mean you travel further than that?"

"We sometimes go three, four hundred miles a day.

"You don't say! Whatever for?"

"To hunt." Then Dean slammed his hand over his mouth. Why had he said that?

Roggin frowned—but it was a concerned, confused frown. "Dean-lad... tell me true, and I'll take no offense. Most dumb beasts don't roam that far—indeed, most Talking Beasts don't roam that far, save with the court. What is it you hunt that you would have to chase so... and that would chase you so?"

And Dean found himself telling Roggin... everything. Like it was pulled from him.

Roggin just listened, kind of like Uncle Bobby always would. And when both the story and the fish were finished, Roggin handed Dean a handkerchief to wipe away the tears he hadn't been able to keep from escaping.

"Well," Roggin said quietly. "I never heard that Earth was such a place as that. But by the Lion, I think you're better off here. We've our share of monsters, but there's no call for children to fight them. We've enough grown warriors of all the kinds—gods, nymphs, dwarfs, fauns, Talking Beasts, centaurs, unicorns, and so on."

Dean heard a noise then. "Sammy."

Sammy groaned a little as he rubbed his eyes, not yet fully awake.

"Sammy doesn't know," Dean whispered to Roggin. "So could you..."

Roggin winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Ho there, Master Sammy!"

Sammy rolled over. "Dean... where are we..."

Dean walked over to the bed. "We're in a dwarf's house. Roggin and his brothers are gonna let us spend the night."

"Brothers? How many, six?"

Dean laughed, but Roggin just looked confused. "Nay, lad, just the three of us—Brickle, Woggle, and me."

"So we're not in Snow White?"

Dean laughed again. "Nah, dude, even better. Remember that book I was gonna get you for your birthday?"

"Yeah...?"

"That's where we are. We're in Narnia. A while before that book, but..."

Sammy gasped. "Seriously?"

Dean grinned. "Yup."

Sammy burst into a smile.

Dean patted Sammy's leg. "C'mon. We've got fresh fish for supper."

Sammy bounded to the table. Roggin's brothers returned then, and after another round of introductions, the dwarfs and the Winchesters settled in for a pleasant meal and an early night's sleep.

After breakfast the next morning, Brickle had just volunteered to take the boys for a grand tour of the wood when there was a knock at the door. Roggin answered, and a fox walked in. Sam's face lit up.

"Good morning, neighbors," the fox said, nodding to the dwarfs. "We've just had word from Cair Paravel; the young lords are to travel there immediately."

"How long?" Sam asked.

"How long what, milord?"

"Till we're there?" And then, proving he was a child after all, "And may I pet you?"

The dwarfs looked surprised, but the fox laughed. "I don't mind, milord, so long as you're gentle. As for the journey, it would take two days on foot, but as Her Majesty is most anxious for you to make haste, Fleetfoot the Pegasus has offered to take you. You should be there by nightfall, if not sooner."

Sam's pudgy hand ran gently over his head and back once, twice. Then he stood. "What's a peg'sus?"

"Come and see!"

Laughing, Sammy followed. So did Dean, although somewhat more nervously. He hoped he'd misremembered that a pegasus was a winged horse.

Nope. He hadn't.

"Good morning, little masters," Fleetfoot said pleasantly. "Lovely day for flying, isn't it?"

"No," Dean whispered.

Sammy gasped and turned to him. "Deeean!"

"No... S-Sammy, no."

Roggin frowned. "Why, Dean-lad, whatever's the matter? There's no danger."

Dean looked at Roggin, who saw the raw fear and frowned even deeper in confusion.

Fleetfoot whickered thoughtfully. "We could go by ground for a ways if you'd rather, just so we get to know each other."

"Okay... but I ride behind Sammy." Ever the protector.

Fleetfoot nodded. "Fair enough, milord."

But the older boy was visibly terrified as they started their ride.

Fleetfoot started out at a gentle pace and gave the children pointers on how to ride more comfortably. Sammy chattered with him about everything. Then after a couple of miles, once Dean had relaxed a hair, Fleetfoot picked up the pace to more of a canter, still chatting with Sammy about Narnian history and the names of all the plants and animals and other creatures they were passing. Sam drank it in and soon Dean found himself drinking it in as well.

Fleetfoot continued to slowly increase his speed, until finally he cried, "Now for a gallop!"

Sammy was startled when Dean shrieked. But Fleetfoot didn't leave the ground, just sped forward. Dean adjusted slowly; it wasn't like they were going even as fast as a car in town.

But pretty soon they were charging up to a river crossing. Dean realized they were going to jump, and tightened his arms, burying his face in Sammy's soft hair. He didn't want to see them jump. So he felt, rather than saw, Fleetfoot's wings flare out and beat once, twice, three times before they touched down safely on the other side.

And still he didn't look up. Not even when Sammy was cheering for Fleetfoot to "Do it again! AGAIN!"

"Not just yet, Master Sammy," Fleetfoot replied with a laugh, turning back toward the river and slowing down. "I need a rest, and I daresay Master Dean does, too!"

Dean was trembling. "Yeah... thanks."

Fleetfoot trotted into the shallow part of the river, near the shore, and took a long drink. Dean all but fell off his back.

"Dean?" Sammy gasped. "Are you okay?"

Dean was shivering too hard to reply.

"Dean, what's the matter?"

Instead of answering, Dean whirled away, fell to his knees, and threw up violently.

"DEAN!" Sammy looked around frantically for a way down short of falling.

"M'okay, M'okay..." But he was sobbing, holding his stomach like it was all that kept him from falling apart.

"Here, now!" said a badger, hurrying out from between the trees just upstream and over to Dean. "What seems to be the trouble, Son of Adam?"

"He's a peg... pega... he fl-flies..."

"But flying's fun!" Sammy objected. "And Fleetfoot wouldn't drop us. He's a nice peg'sus!"

Dean curled further in on himself, turning his face away and trying hard to suppress his tears.

"Here, now," the badger repeated, rubbing Dean's back gently. "Is it that flying makes you ill?"

He didn't reply, but he was trembling harder.

"You wait right here. I've something that should help." The badger patted Dean's shoulder and hurried off, returning a minute or two later with what looked like a bottle made out of a gourd and a small, shallow bowl. "Now. This should ease your stomach." She poured some liquid from the gourd into the bowl and helped Dean drink.

Dean turned to thank her, and that's when it hit him that she was an animal.

She, however, didn't seem to notice his surprise. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

She smiled. "Good. Now, how best to help you on your way. Is there need of haste, such that you three ought to fly?"

At the word 'fly', Dean went paler than milk.

"Her Majesty did ask that they be brought to Cair Paravel with all possible speed," Fleetfoot replied, "but it seems Master Dean fears more than just motion sickness."

"But... but Dean's not afraid of nothin'!" Sammy objected.

"All fear something," the badger said. "If they are smart, though, it need not be a weakness."

Dean looked down and away, unable to feel anything but weak.

The badger rubbed his shoulder gently again. "Could you sleep sitting up, do you think?"

"... yes, why?"

"Perhaps it would not be so hard for you to fly if you could sleep through it."

"Maybe... but who'd watch Sammy?

"You would have to trust your steed with that. But as he is charged with seeing you to Cair Paravel, I see no reason to think he would let either of you come to harm."

Dean swallowed.

"The other choice is to continue on the ground, but that will take far longer."

Dean nodded. "Okay... okay."

"Master Dean," said Fleetfoot seriously, "I give you my word: I will not let either of you fall."

Dean nodded again. "Knock me out."

The badger patted his shoulder. "I'll go and get the sleeping draught."

While she was gone, Dean staggered to his feet, and Fleetfoot splashed back to the riverbank and knelt carefully to let him climb back on without causing Sammy to fall off. Dean climbed back on and sighed.

Then the badger came back with a very small cup. "Here you are, Son of Adam," she said, handing it to Dean. "This should cause you to sleep only as long as it takes to get to Cair Paravel."

"Thank you." He drank it quickly, expecting it to taste like cough syrup, and handed the cup back. But while it was sweet and kind of cherry-tasting, it wasn't shuddery-awful like cough syrup; it actually tasted kind of nice and made him feel sleepy in a warm and relaxed way, not a yucky, drugged way. He hugged Sammy and drifted off.

The next thing he knew, Sammy was pulling on his sleeve. "Dean. Dean, we're here."

Dean opened his eyes. Sure enough, they were in the courtyard of a pretty castle, where the walls were hung with blue and white banners with a red lion on them, and he could hear the sea.

"Oh... wow!"

"This is awesome, Dean! C'mon, let's go!"

Fleetfoot was kneeling again, so it wasn't too hard to slide off, though it took Dean a second to get his land legs. As they thanked Fleetfoot for the ride, Dean noticed a bunch of people coming to greet them.

But then he heard a gasp and a cry of "Sammy? Deanie?" and all else was forgotten.

John was at the sheriff's office, asking questions as a reporter about the recent spate of killings, when a dispatcher came on the radio calling all available officers to the Lost Pines Motel—to the Winchesters' room. "Shots fired, repeat, shots fired!"

No matter how stoic a hunter was—no matter how deep the cover was—the one thing John was unable to control was any reaction when his children was involved. The sheriff noticed his face rapidly drain of color.

"I'm coming with you," John stated.

"Sir, I can't allow—"

"Dammit, Sheriff, that's my motel room! They're after my sons!"

A father himself, the sheriff just nodded and headed to his car. John raced after him in the Impala. Even as fast as they were going, though, the drive to the motel seemed to take forever.

Deputies were swarming the scene when they arrived. The room was trashed, and there was blood in front of the closet; Sammy's teddy bear and John's spare handgun were lying on the floor in front of the back wall. But there was no sign of the boys or of whoever had attacked them.

John—without thinking—picked up the teddy bear.

"Sir," said a deputy, "please don't touch anything until we've processed the crime scene."

He nodded and pulled it close.

"Sir. Please put the bear down."

John looked at him, fury in his eyes. "This is my son's. My sons are gone. Leave me alone."

"I understand that, sir, but this is a crime scene, and that's evidence. Please put it back."

He glared for a second longer, then put it back right where it had been.

"Thank you."

He walked over to the sheriff. "What happened?"

The sheriff shook his head. "We need to get statements yet and get the forensics team out here, but it looks like some men chased your kids in here; somebody shot somebody; and everybody disappeared. Can't tell if the boys have been kidnapped or what."

"I can tell you this—Sammy would never willingly have left Pooh-Bear behind."

The sheriff nodded. "I'll make a note of it. I'm sorry, Mr. Quinn, but there's a procedure we've got to follow here, and it looks like nobody saw where the assailants went. As soon as we can get some clues, we'll go after 'em."

"These are my boys..."

"I know. I'm sorry. We're working as fast as we can."

He nodded and—smarting in every cell in his body—moved to the Impala. He sat there for a long moment; then, unable to restrain his impatience any longer, he pulled out and drove back to the playground.

His hunter's instincts were screaming that whatever had attacked his boys wasn't human. Dean was too good a shot to have failed to at least cripple a man if his life and Sammy's depended on it. John couldn't wait for the authorities this time; he had to follow the trail himself.

So he started at the playground. It was clear enough which path the boys had taken to get back to the motel, given the amount of disturbed bracken, but the deputies were already beginning to follow that track back from the other end. Tracking the boys' path back to where they'd started running was harder, but he managed it. From there it was easy enough to conclude where the boys had first seen their attackers, assuming that they'd run in the opposite direction. There were houses nearby, so John started knocking on doors, asking whether anyone had seen strange men or a strange car (other than the Impala) within the last hour.

Nobody had. Nobody even remembered seeing the boys on the playground.

Swearing to himself, John headed back to the library to try to pin down any clues in the hunt that might lead him to a likely suspect. He hadn't found any omens or any sulfur at the motel room, so they weren't likely to have been demons.

Nothing. Nothing. And nothing.

He did, however, come to the conclusion that what he was hunting was a vampire, so he traced likely locations for its nest and went after it.

First location—a bunch of latter-day trippy hippies, too stoned to even register a strange man had burst into their campsite. Second location—an abandoned barn that nearly collapsed as soon as he looked at it. No signs of life anywhere, not even cats or mice. Hopefully, the third time would be the charm.

The house he approached was supposedly abandoned, but there were flickers of light inside, like candlelight. He tried the door and found it locked. A quick peek in the window showed movement further back in the house, so John kicked the door down.

A woman screamed.

"Where are they?" John demanded.

"Who?" the same woman sobbed, cowering next to her friend.

"My sons!"

They looked at each other, then at a man.

The man chuckled. "So, hunter, you've caught up with me at last."

"This your nest or your victims?"

"Supposing I don't tell you."

"He's the only one," one of the women sobbed and pulled her collar open. She'd been fed on.

John pulled his machete and advanced on the vampire. "Where. Are. My. Sons?"

He laughed. "The brats vanished!"

"You're lying!"

"Why would I do that? You'll kill me anyway."

John shoved the vampire against the wall. "Why? Why did you take my boys?"

"I didn't!"

"You went after them!"

"Yeah! But I didn't take them!"

"Why? They're children!"

"They're hunter's children!"

"Last chance! WHERE ARE THEY?"

"I DON'T HAVE THEM!"

"There's no children here," the other woman said in a trembling voice.

The vampire twisted, trying to get in a bite at John's neck. John threw him down and took his head when he tried to get up again.

Both women cowered, clinging to each other convinced they were next.

John set the machete down and cleaned his hands on his handkerchief. "Here. Let me see your gums." He pulled up the corner of his lip to show them what he meant.

The first woman blinked at the second, then released her and raised her upper lip.

Normal gums.

John nodded at her and looked at the other.

She shook her head. "You don't need to see them."

"'Fraid I do, ma'am."

"You'll kill me." There was something eerily calm in her voice.

"Not if you're human."

"I was—until about two hours before you came in. He turned me." Tears welled, but they didn't show in her voice. "I don't want to eat on people. I'll find another way. Just please... let me get her safely home."

John swallowed hard. "You've never killed?"

The human woman stared at her. "He turned you?"

She nodded, grief in her eyes. Then she looked at John. "No, I've never killed."

John nodded slowly. "Have you seen my boys?"

Her eyes remained on his. "No, sir. I haven't. He said he was going after 'hunter's brats' and he came back empty-handed and bleeding from several gunshot wounds."

The first woman confirmed it with a nod.

John sighed. "What's your name?"

"Lenore Johnson," she said. "This is my sister Raven."

"All right, Lenore. I'll take your sister back to town. Wish I knew of a cure, but I don't. But if I have your word that you won't kill, I'll let you go."

"You have more than my word." She lowered her fangs in his sight and then lowered her head—submissively baring her neck. "You have my trust."

Raven gasped.

John's hands twitched, every instinct telling him to kill her now, to end the threat, to put the poor woman out of her misery. But dammit, he had no proof that she'd fed on a human, and he sure as hell wasn't going to kill without probable cause. He wasn't a sociopath like Gordon Walker.

"All right," he said. "Get lost."

She stood and embraced her sister. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Raven said. "B... bye."

"Goodbye." She kissed her forehead and nodded at John.

And she was gone.

John sighed and wiped the blood off his machete before sheathing it. "Okay, Raven. Let's go."

She nodded and followed. In the Impala, she said, "Thank you."

John shook his head. "Just doin' my job, ma'am."

"For not killing my sister."

"Wish I could have made it here sooner, saved her."

"Me too." She turned to look him in the eye as he stopped the car outside the Johnson house. "But you spared her. That's what matters to me. I hope you find your boys."

John managed a sad smile and nodded. "Thanks."

Raven got out of the car and walked inside.

Sighing, John pulled away and drove back to the sheriff's office. There he learned that the few witness statements the sheriff had been able to gather contradicted themselves—some mentioned one attacker, others thought there might have been more than one. But no one had seen anyone leave with the boys. Stifling a curse, he asked for and received permission to use the sheriff's phone.

He called Jim. He called Bobby. He called Caleb and Ellen and Missouri and Annie and anyone, everyone, who might have a clue how to help him find the boys.

Nothing worked. No tracking spell, no scrying, nothing. Missouri said it felt like they'd vanished off the face of the earth.

John returned to the motel room in defeat. Even his own search of the room turned up nothing that the sheriff might have missed. Eyes downcast, he walked into the closet and bent to pick up the bear Sammy had dropped, then stood there staring at it for a long moment. Grief and despair bubbled and roiled in his heart until at last he fell to his knees weeping, pulling Pooh-Bear close to his chest and his other hand coming to rest against the back wall of the closet as if it were a door locked and barred against him.

"Please," he sobbed. "God, please, if You're out there—I'm sorry, I'll do anything, just please, please help me find my boys. I've got nowhere else to turn. Please."

There was a pause—John didn't know how else to describe it or how he knew that was what it was—and then suddenly the wall vanished beneath his hand. Startled, he looked up and saw a dark pine forest spreading away in front of him. He gasped and stared for a moment, wondered briefly if he needed to take more than his boot knife and sidearm, but feared to turn back in case the portal closed as suddenly as it had opened. And then the anxious father won out over the cautious hunter, and he surged to his feet and ran headlong into the forest, following the trail that seemed to be laid before him. He didn't know how he knew to do so or why he sensed that this was his only shot, a special grace, but something deep in the inmost part of his soul just knew that this was the answer to his prayer.

After a mile or so, John burst through the edge of the trees into a sunlit clearing. He stopped and looked around, breathing hard, and his sense of direction deserted him. Back clearly wasn't the way he needed to go, but which direction he did need to take eluded him. A moment later, he heard movement close by and froze, listening. Then he pulled his gun and spun just as something huge emerged from another apparent path.

It took John a few seconds to recognize that the thing regarding him oddly and without any fear whatsoever was a male centaur.

"You have no need of that weapon," the centaur finally stated. "The Sons of Adam are always welcome here; you are in no danger."

"Bull," John replied.

"I am unarmed, as you see."

"Centaurs are wild and violent. They hate humans; they kill the men and carry off the women."

"In your world, perhaps. It is otherwise in Narnia. So as I say—you have no need of that weapon."

John wavered a moment between awe and distrust. Finally, though he didn't lower his gun, he said, "I'm looking for two boys. One's dark blond, green eyes, freckles; one's got brown hair, green eyes, mole by his nose. They... their names are Dean and Sammy."

"The dark one is younger."

John swallowed. "You've seen them?"

"I have. They headed for Cair Paravel three days ago."

John lowered his gun partway. "Where's Cair Paravel?"

"Why, Cair Paravel is on the eastern coast, facing Aslan's Country. It is—"

"Dammit, just get me there! I need to find my sons!"

The centaur looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "I shall take you there myself. And as haste seems warranted, I shall allow you to ride."

Suddenly the scales tipped hard in the direction of awe, and John nearly dropped his gun in shock. "Y-you-you're—a-are you s-s-serious?"

"Of course."

Before John even knew what he was doing, he'd stowed his gun and was clambering onto the centaur's broad horse-back. And while his brain was still trying to process Nice guy—centaur—Narnia—I'M RIDING A CENTAUR WHAT THE—, the centaur turned and headed back the way it had come.

"Nonna!" he called after a short distance. "This Son of Adam needs passage to Cair Paravel to meet with his sons!"

Hoofbeats thundered toward them, and John suddenly found himself under the intense scrutiny of a female centaur who reminded him of Missouri somehow (and who was not topless—thank... whoever for small favors; John wasn't sure what he'd have done if she had been). "Yes," the female said slowly after a moment. "Yes, he is the last the stars foretold." She handed the male a satchel. "It is well, Stardome. Give Queen Swanwhite my regards. Son of Adam, you are welcome in Narnia." And with that, she turned and disappeared among the trees again.

"Provisions," Stardome explained as he slung the satchel strap across his chest. "Now we can depart."

I'm dreaming, John thought as the centaur started moving again. I've lost it—how the hell could this be real...

He still hadn't gotten his head around what had happened when the adrenaline crash hit and he fell asleep for real.

"Son of Adam," were the first words he heard some time later.

John woke with a start to find that it was early morning and that he'd conked out with his head on Stardome's shoulder. The centaur had reached around and was shaking John. "Huh? Uh, s-sorry..." He gulped and sat back.

"It is time to eat."

John looked around; he could smell bacon and sausage cooking, but he couldn't tell where it was. "Where are we?"

"Not far from Cair Paravel. We must eat before we go on."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks." John took a moment to make sure he wasn't dizzy enough to fall before dismounting.

He was fed very well. But it was a little hard to stay patient while the centaur ate a full human breakfast and then ate literally like a horse. John managed it, though—just.

"All right," Stardome said after one final drink of water. "Are you ready?"

John nodded. "Yeah. More than ready."

Stardome waited while he mounted again, then rode toward the castle looming in the distance.

They were met at the gate by a guard—a satyr, it looked like—who asked their names and reason for being there. Once they'd stated their business, the guard let them pass, and they made their way into the courtyard, where Stardome stopped to let John dismount.

A woman in a medieval-looking dress came out and bowed. "Welcome, friends. Queen Swanwhite wishes to speak to you at once. Come this way, please."

John looked at the centaur and then followed her. So did Stardome, and John marveled at how readily he was able to maneuver through the passageways and up a couple of flights of stairs—and how well said stairs were made for horses and the other hoofed creatures they passed on their way.

Then they got to a huge set of double doors that were opened by a pair of cheetahs. John just stared as they entered a huge throne room.

The place was crowded with animals and mythical creatures, but as the woman they were following led them to the foot of the dais, John found himself looking at the most beautiful woman, aside from Mary, that he'd ever seen, with eyes that were both regal and warm. And she appeared to be human.

"Holy..." he breathed.

"Welcome, Stardome," she said, looking at the centaur first. "Many thanks for guiding this Man hither. May Aslan bless you and your family."

The centaur bowed deeply. "May Aslan bless you and yours, dearest queen."

Then she looked at John and smiled, a gentle, kind smile. "Welcome, John. You have endured much to reach us, but by the Lion's grace, you shall find all you seek here."

"I can't believe Narnia is real," he breathed. "I thought it was just a story..."

Her smile grew. "Many tales are truer than we may deem."

"I'm..." He cleared his throat. "I'm here for my boys."

"They are here and safe. But there is someone else who wishes to see you first."

John frowned. "Someone... else?"

The queen nodded. "Someone who has waited for you for no little time."

"I know nobody here."

"There you are mistaken."

He scowled and his hand twitched, but he didn't go for his gun.

"And many who come into Narnia find that they are known better here than they were in their own lands."

"Fine... who?"

"One you have greatly desired to see again."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, lady, I'm sorry but I am not a patient man and I don't suffer word games!"

"Very well." She motioned to a couple of big creatures who stood nearby, and they stepped aside to reveal Dean and Sammy, well and whole and beaming and holding onto...

He didn't see her at first. His eyes were only for his boys. But then his eyes rose and widened and he took a step forward. "... Mary?"

"John," she breathed, beaming. "Oh, John!"

He shook his head and staggered a step back, drawing his gun and pointing it at her forehead with shaking hands. "No... you're a trick!"

"DAD!" the boys cried, jumping in front of her even though they weren't tall enough to make an effective shield.

"'Ere!" said a bear, lumbering up beside John. "None o' that!" And he took John's gun in a single swipe.

John shook his head, unaware and uncaring that tears were coursing down his face. "... she's not real," he whispered to the bear. "... she's not real... she's a shapeshifter... or a djinn... that's it, a djinn has me... I'm dying..."

"No, Son of Adam," said a voice that seemed to resonate through the floor and into John's bones, his heart, his very soul. "There is no illusion here."

He whirled, crouching into defensive mode. But all the creatures were sinking to their knees before this... huge... lion that was looking at John with what could only be called compassion.

Looking at him, John felt all the badness and all the rage just... dissolve. "... who the hell are you?" he breathed.

The lion drew closer. "You know, child. You called to Me to help you find your sons. You asked Me why I took Mary from you. Only here could you hear the answer."

"... that can't be her... what's dead stays dead..."

"Even in your world, that is not entirely true. But you are right that illusion was involved—what you do not know is which Mary is false, the last Mary you saw or the one you see now."

"Ah, Y—er, Aslan," said another voice as a male figure appeared beside the lion, "maybe I ought to explain."

"Yes, you shall," the large head dipped. "And you shall then speak to Me about your misdeeds."

"I said I was sorry," the human-looking male replied glumly.

"And you have been forgiven this. But there are things you have done that must be atoned for. All transgressions have consequences, dear one. And that shall be addressed when we are alone. For now..."

The guy sighed and nodded. Then he took a deep breath and stepped forward. "So, John! Gabriel, alias Loki. That Mary is real and not dead—never was dead. Apparently, 'come with me if you want to live' works on more than just Sarah Connor."

John turned to her.

She nodded and came toward him, the boys trailing after her nervously. "I woke up that night," Mary said, "and Gabriel was standing beside the bed with Sammy in his arms. 'Yellow-Eyes is coming,' he said. 'He doesn't want your soul, but he does want you dead. He plans to do something to Sammy. I can keep you both safe if you come with me.'"

"Sammy's... Sammy's okay?"

Mary nodded. "Gabriel gave him back to Dean that night at the Guenthers' house, after you were all asleep. Then he brought me to a door that led here and promised you'd follow soon."

John rounded on Gabriel. "Why? Why couldn't you just bring her back to me?"

Gabriel looked grim. "No one could know, John. Not even you. Everyone in our world had to think that Azazel had succeeded in giving Sam demon blood and killing Mary. If anyone had found out that Azazel had failed, all of you would have been in even more danger than you already were."

"I... I don't understand."

"The demons have been dropping hints, right? Calling Sammy the Boy King of Hell?"

"Yeah."

"There's more to it than that. Hell was depending on Sam to let Lucifer out of his Cage. And as much as it pains me to say it, some of the idiots in my family were counting on the same thing. Then they planned to force Dean to let Michael possess him while Lucifer possessed Sam—Celebrity Death Match, winner take all. Everyone thought that was Dad's will for the Apocalypse. Turns out it wasn't, exactly, but Dad wanted them to try so Sam and Dean would prove 'em wrong."

"That's still not fair," John stated, dimly aware of the boys clinging to him and Mary sliding a real, solid, warm arm around his waist. Instinctively, he put one arm around her and his other arm around Dean's shoulders.

Gabriel shook his head. "No. It isn't." Then he looked at Aslan. "Aslan and the Emperor-over-Sea didn't think so, either."

John looked at Aslan in turn. "Then... then why..."

"There were many lives you still needed to save," Aslan replied. "And you were not yet ready to heed when I called you hither."

John shook his head. "I—I don't—I thought I called You."

"You would not have called to Me if I had not been calling to you."

John swallowed hard, licked his lips, looked over at Mary, so warm, so real, so alive. Then he looked back at Aslan. "We can't go back, can we?"

"No, child. No world is free of danger, but that world would destroy you all were you to return to it now."

He felt Dean's hand tighten around his belt, then looked down at Sammy—his son, 100% free and clear, and safe now, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Please, Daddy," Sammy pleaded. "I wanna stay."

Every town, every rat hole, every time he had to pull his boys up by the roots again and keep moving, Sammy had always said the same thing. And as much as he'd hated to say it, John had always given him the same answer.

No more.

He reached down and picked Sammy up, something he might not be able to do much longer if he kept growing at this rate. Mary moved her hand up to rest on John's shoulder as John looked Sammy in the eye for a long moment.

"Yeah, buddy," John whispered. "We'll stay."

And over all the cheers and the hugs and the laughter, John would swear to his dying day that he heard Aslan purr.