"You going to finish that?" Hansel asked, forking up a bit of sausage Dean had left on the plate even as he was asking. He'd finished off his farmer's breakfast in record time, sopping up the last of the gravy with a biscuit and now was starting in on Dean's food.
"Yes." Dean nudged Hansel with his elbow, pushing him away as they sat in the diner's booth. "Order some more if you're still hungry. You'd think we were starving you or something."
"Eat when you can, that's my motto." Hansel sipped his tea; they'd managed to get up and going relatively easily, considering the dance for the bathroom with three of them, and found a diner that was served all day breakfast. The faire didn't open until 11 a.m., so they had some time to lay out a plan of attack. "I hate to see good pig go to waste."
With the proximity to the faire, no one gave a second glance at their outfits, chainmail and leather and real swords fixed up to look like fake. No one noticed the bulge of the shotgun along Hansel's side or the shoulder holster tucked under Sam's blue F. B. I. suit. The guys at the next table had a two headed battle axe leaned against the wall, and there were longbow men in the back booth, eating French toast with strawberries and cream.
"Hello?" Sam's phone rang and he picked it up, pushing his plate towards Hansel who had no problem finishing what was left of the short stack. "Hey, let me call you back in five." He cut the connection. "Bobby's got something."
Rising, Dean tossed money on the table to cover the bill, and they headed out to the car, Hansel sliding into the backseat, before they got Bobby on the line again. Sam put the call on speaker phone; Hansel was surprised to hear the tinny voice, but, in the grand scheme of all the new things he'd seen, he just rolled with it.
"You boys aren't going to want to hear this, but we're in a lot deeper shit than I first thought," Bobby said, getting straight to the point. "That spell we were talking about? It's been done already. 1787 in a little town near Hapsburg, Germany. Thirteen missing kids and the whole town nearly blown off the map with the bang."
Hansel's face paled at the news; sinking back into the seat, the man took a few deep breaths, obviously trying to hold it all together. "Merlsag," was all he said.
"Yeah, that's the place." Bobby's voice responded. "I found some old hunters' journals, and they say the witches were successful in calling up Circe."
"Any mention of survivors?" Hansel asked, and Dean could see the grief on his face at the thought of his sister.
"I'm sorry, boy, but there's nothing. One newspaper article mentioned that you'd been called in, but that's it." Bobby paused, seemingly aware of Hansel's pain.
"It makes no sense," Sam broke in, changing the subject. Dean wished he could reach Hansel to at least put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it was probably for the best. He could see Hansel's shock translating into anger even as Bobby continued talking.
"Yeah, actually it does. See that spell to call Circe? It was based upon an older spell, one that had been corrupted through the centuries. I mean really old, like moldy Babylonian gods old, and nobody's seen it since Circe's time. It's a spell to destroy all of your enemies in one fell swoop and make you invulnerable. You need twelve 'spawn of your devils' to weave a protective spell around the witch."
"The children of the witches' enemies?" Dean asked.
"Or other witches, anyone who opposes the coven. I bet if you start searching the families of these kids, you'll find the connections. Cassandra had to get Circe to find the original." Bobby coughed a little, the familiar sound of him sipping whiskey carrying over the phone. He was hitting the hunter's helper pretty early. "And here's an interesting bit of news. Seems there was an explosion at the hospital where the witch works about two months ago. A kid went missing during all of the commotion. That would make three there in town that they've taken, but she still needs three more for tonight."
"The numbers just aren't adding up right," Dean noted. That was bothering him.
"But that's not the really weird part," Bobby continued. "The thirteenth has to be … and this is exactly what it says … a virgin blood of a child of untapped white magic. Whatever the hell that means."
If Dean hadn't been watching Hansel in the rearview mirror, he would have missed the slight widening of his eyes. Aw hell, he knew in a second of clarity; that was exactly why the bitch had sent Hansel here. And then he was laughing, the absurdity of it hitting him.
"Dean?" Sam asked, giving his brother the 'are-you-going-crazy-finally?' glare.
"Well, I think we can be pretty sure that old number thirteen isn't going to happen, right?" His laughter hid the stab of anger, a creeping doubt. What else hadn't Hansel told them?
"You finally gone around the bend, boy?" Bobby asked. Sam got it, shaking his head.
"My mother was a white witch," Hansel admitted. "It's why the witch wanted to eat us, to take our magic. Neither one of us have ever touched it."
"Hey, at least we don't have to worry about the whole virgin thing, right?" Dean's voice was harder than he intended it to be, but he was simmering, more about his own stupidity than anything else. Drop a handsome blushing guy in his way and all of Dean's blood drained from his head and voted to put his dick in charge. "So number 13 is a wash."
"Listen, boys. Somewhere this bitch has got at least three scared kids and she intends to carve them up tonight along with Hansel. Get your head straight and figure this out. Focus on the families. I'll do more checking here." Bobby said and then hung up.
Dean gripped the steering wheel, his usual dislike of witches mixed up with his frustration at his own stupidity. "Fine, let's talk to some grieving parents and see what we can find out. Sam, you take the Walters. Candy Boy and I will take the Smiths."
Hansel gave him a curt nod in response; Dean could see he wasn't the only one upset. He should reign himself in; the man had just learned that his sister had probably died by the same witches who were now after him. But for some reason, Dean couldn't let it go; if it had just been mindless sex, he'd shrug it off, but he was starting to really like the guy, only to find out that he was a witch, warlock, whatever. Damn it all to hell. He didn't know if he could trust Hansel at all.
…
"Who did you say you were again?" Patricia Smith was a small woman, no more than 25-years-old, with a long blonde ponytail, a Pittsburgh Steelers tank top and a pair of green plastic flip flops under the ragged edges of her jeans. "From the Renaissance Faire?"
Dean had taken off the mail, but he and Hansel were both still dressed like something out a medieval story. It wasn't the best way to handle an interrogation, but they didn't have time to go back and change; the Smiths lived pretty far out in country, small house surrounded by forest. Plus, Dean wasn't really sure he wanted to be in back in the hotel room with Hansel at the moment; they'd probably end up 'talking about it' and Dean hated those kinds of conversations. His preferred way of dealing with emotional turmoil was to just pretend it was a nasty hangover that would eventually go away. He'd remained silent for the whole drive, right up until the car turned on the rutted gravel driveway.
"Yes, ma'am, we're with faire security. In fact we're on our way back there now, but we just wanted to stop to ask a few follow up questions about Betsy." Hansel took the lead, and Dean had to admit, the man was good, right up there with Sam when it came to a making people feel comfortable. "I know this is difficult, but it's very important and may help us find your daughter."
"I've told the police and F.B.I. everything I know," she started, a tremble in her voice. Oh, god, she was going to cry, and Dean really hated dealing with teary-eyed women.
"Look, we have a few new leads to track down, and we think your family may have specifically been targeted. Any reason someone would be out to get you?" Dean could play bad cop with the best of them; Hansel gave Dean a 'really? That's your play?' look, and, hell, when did he start knowing how to translate Hansel's looks?
"Me? What do you mean my family? I have no idea what you're talking about." That only served to upset Patricia, and she began to sob in earnest. Hansel dropped a hand on her knee and patted her consolingly.
"What about that hex bag there? The peppers over the door? Those are protective elements, aren't they?" Hansel asked gently. Patricia jerked, eyes going wide.
"My grandmother did that. You have to understand; she's almost ninety-two and she has some strange ideas about things, but it's harmless, you know. I just let her do it to make her happy." She swallowed nervously. "You don't think that has anything to do with Betsy? Some crazy witchcraft haters or something? Granny wouldn't hurt a fly. She's a midwife, spent her whole life helping others. She even delivered Betsy."
"There are very bad people in the world," Hansel tried to assure the woman. "It's our job to take care of them."
"Thank you Ms. Smith. You've been very helpful. We'll be in touch." Dean stood, ready to leave.
"But … but ... what about Betsy?" She followed them, clutching at Hansel's coat. He unlaced her fingers and kept moving.
"We'll find her for you." Hansel promised; it was what parents always wanted to hear.
"Okay, so Granny's a white witch," Dean said as they walked to the car. "Looks like Bobby was right."
"Dean." Hansel drew his shotgun out from under his jacket, eyes trained on the edge of the woods. Two women and one man stood there dressed like models from Abercrombie and Fitch, young bodies half-naked, khaki shorts and tiny tanks revealing tattoos winding up their legs and arms. All of the problems between them fell away in the face of the witches; Dean drew his sword, pulling the sharpened steel out of the wooden cover. "Take their heads. It's the only way to be sure."
The blonde haired witch spread her hand out and a fine mist enveloped Dean, spraying over the front of his jerkin; the droplets hit the leather and began to sizzle, burning tiny holes as they burrowed their way towards his chest.
"Fuck. I liked this!" Dean jerked at his belt, trying to hold onto his sword while he tore off the leather; the acid had worked as far as the linen shirt and that too was flung over his head. Hansel's shotgun blasted and the brunette danced out of the way as the warlock rushed forward. Stepping in front of the oncoming body, Dean swung the sword up and caught the man's midsection, sinking the sharp edge deep into the soft belly, drawing a red line as Dean followed through and yanked it back out. The man staggered, but then a wicked looking curved dagger appeared in his hand and he lashed out, stabbing Dean's forearm with the tip. Kicking out, Dean knocked the warlock back another step, throwing him against the Impala. With one swing, Dean's sword took the Warlock's head, blood spattering over the trunk as it sailed over the car.
"Now look what you made me do," Dean complained as he turned back to see Hansel grappling with the brunette witch; hauling back, Hansel slammed his forehead into hers and she reeled, distracted long enough for Hansel to put the shotgun right in her face and pull the trigger. Dean called out, tossing the sword to Hansel who used it to take off her head. Well, hell, the man was a seriously good at this, a real badass. Dean was half-aroused just watching him.
"Watch out!" Hansel pushed Dean up against the car, the leather of his vest crushing against Dean's bare skin, buckles pressing into his chest. Sweat gleamed on Hansel's face, the morning already warm; Dean could feel the recoil of Hansel's body as the spell smacked him squarely in the back. Over the leather clad shoulder, Dean saw the blonde witch, her eyes burning with hatred, and a crackle sounded, little tendrils of electricity as the spell hit the wardings on Hansel's coat. Grabbing the shotgun from Hansel's hands, Dean brought it up and fired as soon as Hansel swung out of the way while Hansel struggled out of his smoking coat. The witch darted to the side, avoiding the blast, taloned fingers scoring across Dean's chest as she slammed into him.
"Watch the car, bitch," Dean growled, kicking out and catching her knee; she folded, and he raised the shotgun, burying it in her stomach before he pulled the trigger. As her body recoiled, Hansel brought the sword up; even as the sharp steel bit into her throat, she was chanting another spell, and then her head separated from her body.
"Acid spray?" Dean looked his baby over for marks, let out a breath when he didn't see any pits in the paint job; the rush of the fight made him really pissed off.
Hansel shrugged, bending down to wipe the blood off the blade with the witch's plaid shirt. "Witches. Kill 'em all and let the devil sort 'em out."
Dean glanced at the other hunter, noticing the lines of tension around his eyes and the angry set of his mouth. Yeah, looked like Hansel felt the same way he did; could this day get any more fucked up? Dean let Hansel bundle Patricia Smith out the back door and into her car, sending her off to her grandmother's house for protection; he dragged the bodies into the woods and started digging a pit. After she'd left, they'd worked in silence, shoveling up the heavy clay in the now afternoon heat until they were both grimy, sweating profusely, along with being speckled with blood. Hansel had taken off his vest and shirt, tossing them in the car, and even the distraction of muscles flexing with each lift of his arms wasn't distracting Dean from his thoughts. The more quiet things got, the more he dwelt on the situation. As they tossed the bodies in, salted them, lit the fire, Dean knew he was angry. Really angry.
"We need to take care of those scratches fast before they become infected," Hansel said. As Dean leaned against a tree, wiping the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand, Hansel got the first aid kit out of the car. Now how the hell did he know where that was, Dean wondered? Had Hansel searched the Impala?
"Good thing you got your shirt off pretty quick." Hansel's voice had an edge, a bit of a sneer to Dean's ears; he cracked the lid of the box and reached it to Dean. Grabbing some antiseptic wipes, he tore one open and started cleaning up the long red trails the witch had left behind, noticing Hansel's moment of hesitation before he took one to work on the puncture wound on Dean's arm. Dean hissed as Hansel cleaned and covered it with a bandage.
"I kind of like my lungs without smoking holes, thank you." He'd thought he'd cool down after dropping the shovel, but he was still burning up, heat affecting his thinking. Pushing Hansel back, he strode to the car and pulling a bottle of water from the cooler on the floorboard in the backseat. He cracked the seal, drank almost half of it in one gulp, then dragged another out and tossed it over.
"You're still pissed that I didn't tell you about my mother." Hansel sat the kit on the hood of the car. "Like you've told me everything about you? Self-righteous much?"
"Since we're dealing with witches, it's relevant. You should have told me." That's what Dean was telling himself, anyway, the angry voice in his brain that was drowning out all the others; if he was honest, he was more upset that he'd pretty much decided to trust the guy way too fast.
"You sure it's not because you had this whole virgin thing going? Teaching me what to do, being all dominant and in charge?" Hansel's eyes were hard and a fury was beginning there. "You're upset because you fucked a witch's kid?"
"Fine. I'm pissed that I let my dick cloud my judgment," Dean said. "You could have been lying about all sorts of things. Hell, you still could. But that didn't stop me from fucking you the first chance I got." Goddamn it, but Dean was sweating again, the harsh words tumbling out of his mouth, and he wasn't really all that upset about the mother thing.
"I could say the same about myself. I just jumped right in; you could have been a warlock or anything else. But I'll admit I damn well enjoyed it." Hansel made the first move, boxing Dean in against the hood of the Impala, resting his hands on warm metal.
"Ah, I see. Big fight, lots of adrenaline, and now you're feeling the after burn?" Dean caught Hansel's hips, grinding his already aroused cock against Hansel's. Yeah. Dean was so going to do this. Right here. The roiling emotions he was feeling – anger, frustration, heat – all funneled easily into pure lust.
"Always feel it, but usually it's just me and my hand." Hansel leaned in, closing the distance between their faces. "Think I might want to try something different this time, damn the consequences."
"You want me to bend you over and take you right here?" Dean's voice grew husky and deep. "'Cause I can do that, but it will be rough. Hard and fast."
"Actually, I was thinking of you spread out underneath me." Hansel watched as Dean closed his eyes at the words, letting out a heavy exhale before he opened them again. "My mother being a witch going to keep me from fucking you?"
"So Candy Boy wants to be on top? You can try." Dean lunged forward, hands circling the neck as his mouth attacked Hansel's. They came together in a tangle, brains still telegraphing the urge to fight. The energy channeled into need – to touch, to have, to fill. An age-old battle of dominance fought with pleasure as strategy and mouths as weapons. Tongues circled, heads tilted, lips nipped until they stopped to suck in air; hips flush, cocks rubbing, fingers digging in, leaving bruises. Defying each other, trying to be in control, to occupy the same space on their own terms; Hansel gripped Dean's short hair and tugged his head back, just at the edge of pain, baring the smooth column of Dean's neck to suck little bruises along as he worked his way down to the collarbone, each pull a little jolt of pleasure mixed with ache. Dean sunk his fingers into the curve of Hansel's hip bones, thumb bearing down, forcing him still as Dean ruthlessly straddled one of Hansel's thigh and rode it, shoving his own thigh against the very hard bulge of Hansel's cock. Short breaths, clenched teeth, bites and licks as things quickly spiraled out of control, bodies slick with sweat sliding along skin and metal and glass, the ache of Dean's dick throbbing in time to the pounding in his head. Dean hooked his knee around Hansel's leg and took him over, flipping them and slamming the man back. "Going to have to work for it, Stroker."
"Fuck you, Dean. And I mean I'm going to."
A tug of laces ensued as they grappled together, tearing at their pants as their mouths skirmished again; when Hansel palmed his balls and stroked his cock, no light touch but a heavy pressure, Dean was torn between how damn good it felt and a sharp stab of something akin to hate. He had little time to wonder what that was before Hansel's thumbs skimmed over the long scratches on his stomach; Dean hissed at the pain, the need to retaliate overwhelming. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hands were around Hansel's neck, grip tight, squeezing; Dean's brain felt like it was on fire, the desire to choke the life out of the man before him so real and intense he could almost breathe it in.
"What the …" Dropping his hands as if scalded, Dean looked at them in confusion. Hansel took the moment to reverse their positions, shoving Dean down on the metal hood.
"When did you get so damn bossy?" Dean demanded, bucking up against the hold, the second of clarity lost again amid the agitation; Hansel dropped his forearm across the small of Dean's back and held him down, yanking at the waistband of Dean's pants, baring his ass.
"Been getting lessons from you. You keep doing that and I'll get the impression you want me to fuck you right now." Teeth sank into Dean's shoulder, not breaking the skin, but hurting like the devil; snapping out a curse, he tried again to throw Hansel off.
"Then do it." Dean wanted it, needed it right then; trapped beneath Hansel's weight, Dean felt the anger recede, passion replacing it and swamping the strange feelings. Sweet and easy had been nice and all, but there was something to be said for rough and hard. Dean's muscles bunched under Hansel's arm and he arched his back, feeling the outline of Hansel's cock against his ass and knowing just how much Hansel was turned on by it all. Weighing Dean down even more, Hansel squeezed out the lube and then his fingers slipped between Dean's cheeks until he could circle the tight muscle, stroking before he pushed one finger in.
"You some sort of Boy Scout? Got the lube and condom out of the kit didn't you?" Dean didn't really care anymore about anything but his cheek against the metal, Hansel's warm skin on his back, the edge of the fender that was pressing into his hip bone, and that damn finger that was exploring. In and out, Dean moved his hips in concert, enjoying the drag of his cock over the smooth paint, and then Hansel add a second finger, circled and twirled and scissored, touching every crevice and bend until he found the right spot, just like he knew exactly what he was looking for. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," words spilled out of Dean, taking some of the anger with each one.
"You know," Hansel bent down to whisper in Dean's ear as he ruthlessly pressed the same spot again and again. "Yours is the only ass I've had my fingers in beside my own. Thought you might like that."
"Fucking hell, Candy Boy," Dean punctuated each word with a groan as his breathing grew ragged. "You have no idea how hot that is, how much I need to hear it."
"You like being the first?" Hansel stretched Dean even more with a third finger, but Dean was almost at the end of his patience.
"Hell, yes." Dean moaned as Hansel pulled his fingers out, condom package crinkling and a muttered curse. "Need help there, fairytale boy?"
"Oh, I think I can handle this. Pretty good at hitting my target," he said. The tip of Hansel's cock brushed against Dean as his hands slid up Dean's back, and then he felt the breach, Hansel filling him, slow despite the angry words, taking his damn time to work his way in as far as he could, until he was so deep that Dean thought he could feel him in the back of his throat. Or maybe that was the irrational rage melting away as Hansel dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder blade, shifting a little to change the angle, to make the connection more solid. For a few breaths, he was still except for his hands, flexing and clenching around Dean's waist. "Oh. Oh, god. Fuck," Hansel groaned.
"You okay?" Dean turned his head and saw the blissed out look in the blue-grey eyes, the flush of skin. How could he have forgotten this was Hansel's first time being inside someone? God, that thought curled into his groin, driving his own tension higher, and he clenched his abdomen to keep from coming right then and there.
"Damn fine. Better than fine. Holy hell, I didn't know you'd feel like this. Why didn't we do this before?" Hansel wondered aloud.
And like that, Dean's thoughts were clear again, Hansel's words so good and hot and frickin' awesome. "You going to stay there or are we still doing this thing?" Dean asked, and even he could hear the good humor back in his voice.
"Shut up and let me enjoy this," Hansel absently smacked Dean on one cheek; the sting shot right into Dean's cock and he didn't, absolutely did not whimper just a little bit at the feeling. "Oh, we are so going to explore that little kink later." Groaning, Hansel pulled out, leaving just his sensitive head inside before he pushed back, a smoother motion this time. Experimenting, Hansel tried different ways to move, shallow thrusts, all the way out, one long stroke, and small increments; he changed angles, shifting his hold, putting his hands down on the metal for balance, holding tight to Dean's hips, pulling Dean up until they were both almost standing. Dean let it go on for as long as he could stand it.
"You are going to fucking kill me," he finally complained, words chased by a cry as Hansel found a good purchase and slammed in with one hard thrust. "Stop teasing."
"Pretty demanding bottom," Hansel groused, but he obviously agreed with Dean because he angled their bodies over the hood, one arm holding Dean's back to his chest and picked up the pace, steady thrusts that used up their earlier adrenaline, sweat covering their bodies again. Reaching down, he wrapped his still slicked hand around Dean's cock and began to work it up and down.
"Yes, damn, that's it. Harder," Dean groaned the words, his mouth keeping up a running litany of begging alternating with demands. The shiny wax of the car acted as a mirror and he could see them together, the bruises already forming on his skin, the way Hansel's eyes rolled closed as he got ready to come.
"Dean, so hot, so tight, so good, so, so …. So damn sweet," Hansel was saying against the hot skin of Dean's back; Dean's hand joined Hansel's as his hips stuttered, orgasm building. With two last thrusts, Hansel buried himself as deep as he could and came in waves; with a groan of release, Dean came, dropping his head back onto Hansel's shoulder as he closed his eyes and rode it through.
"We are doing that again, I just want to say." Hansel pulled out and rolled off of Dean, flopping down on his back on the hood, letting his knees hang over the edge. He looked completely debauched, pants bunched on his thighs, chest still heaving with exertion. A ring of dark spots wove around his collarbone and Dean blanched as he realized those were bruises from his hands.
"Dude, I don't know what came over me, I got so angry." He reached down and lightly touched his thumb to one of the largest ovals. It was a perfect fit.
"Spell, I think. That last one was weaving it as I killed her. Seen it before – make people turn, tear each other to bits. I don't think she finished it though; it was too easy to break." Hansel gave Dean a lopsided grin. "Figured it out about the time you offered to bend me over."
"Wait, so what was that? Fuck therapy?" Dean raised an eyebrow at the rather unorthodox strategy, actually pretty impressed.
"Just 'cause I haven't done it doesn't mean I don't know about angry sex and its therapeutic benefits." He got up and started to pull himself back together.
"Okay, so now I can officially say that fucking me broke a witch's spell? Hot damn. Sam's never going to believe it."
They kept baby wipes under the seat of the Impala – the same place the first aid kit was when it wasn't on the floorboard where anyone could see it – and they used them to clean up as much as they could. What they really needed was a shower, but they'd lost time to the, um, therapy, so they made do. Hansel gave Dean his shirt – with the belt, scabbard and chainmail, Dean could still pull off the look even if the fit was a little too snug – and Hansel went sleeveless in just his vest, the long coat now marred by circular marks across the back. As they got in the car, Dean's phone rang and he knew it was Sam checking in; they should have already touched base with his brother.
"Hey, Sammy, what did you find out?" Dean turned on the speaker so Hansel could hear.
"Sam found out quite a few interesting things," Cassandra answered. "In fact, he's rather anxious for you to join him so he can share his discoveries."
"If you hurt my brother, bitch, I'll …." Dean started.
"Oh, not yet. Consider this my invitation to tonight's little party. I'll be sending you some GPS coordinates in a bit so you can find the place. We'll be all ready by then."
"We're going to kill you, Cassandra." Hansel's voice was clear and steady. "That's a promise."
"Oh, baby, don't make promises you can't keep. My little Hansel. How we've missed you." She laughed. "Haven't we, dear?"
"Hansel, don't you dare come here …" the familiar voice was cut off too quickly.
"Gretel?" Hansel asked, incredulous.
"I do look forward to seeing the reunion," Cassandra purred. "Such love and devotion between siblings. Two sets! Imagine that."
"Dean! We're the …" the sound of fist hitting flesh ended Sam's attempt to get a message through.
"Sam!" Dean called.
"Sorry, boys. We're done talking. Got to get ready for the big date. See you soon." She hung up, leaving both of them staring at the phone.
"She's got Gretel and Sam," Hansel said, loading the shotgun with shells.
"Bitch is going to pay," Dean growled. He took the pistol from the glove compartment and laid on the seat in full view as he started the car and spun out on the gravel driveway in his haste to get back to town.