"Told you so," were the first words Sam said to Gretel when Dean and Hansel walked into the circle of firelight, and Dean had to laugh out loud at his brother's cockiness. Granted, the two of them swaggered right into gathering of witches, shotguns in their hands, machetes, crossbows and a fair assortment of weaponry arrayed around their bodies. Hansel had that damn sexy coat on and Dean had kept the chainmail and the sword, a nice touch he thought. So, maybe, a little attitude was called for.
"Well, well, they were dumb enough to come alone after all," Cassandra looked at them, slightly surprised. "You know you're outnumbered? And yet here you are. Ah, the love of family. Such a weakness among humans."
Hansel simply ignored the witch and walked over to where Sam and Gretel were tied up to thick posts of a wooden fence. "Looks like you've tried to escape," he said with a smile as he examined his sister's face; her lip was bloody and a large purple and red bruise covered part of her forehead. Leaning in, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, and Dean could see that she'd gotten the same good looks as her brother, all dark-haired and dark-eyed beauty.
"Every damn day. Killed four of them along the way," she returned, good humor evident in her voice.
"You okay, Sammy?" Dean stopped next to his brother, hand under Sam's chin, tilting his head up to look at the gash just below his hairline. "They mess up your hair?"
"Lovely, Dean. I assume your plan is just to walk in and kill everything?" Sam huffed in exasperation.
"Yep. Candy Boy was down with it," Dean grinned and winked at Gretel, whose eyes widened at the pet name.
"I'm not going to ask," she said, shaking her head at the two men's antics, but she definitely continued watching Dean.
It was a conversation they might have had over dinner or drinks, not in the center of a clearing on a civil war battlefield surrounded by witches. But Dean always felt a sassy mouth was his trademark and what better time to shine than when a massive magical ritual was about to go down? Standing by Sam, he could survey the area; a large fire was burning in a pit, and at least 20 people milled around. For the world, except for the captives, it looked like nothing more than a friendly bonfire; food tables were filled with pulled pork bbq, potato salad, a ton of casseroles, and a couple kegs of beer that were freely pouring into red Solo cups. Marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers sat on a table closer to the fire; yep, after they sliced and diced their sacrifices, they planned to make s'mores. It took a minute for Dean to realize the children were being kept in the back of a black Suburban in the parking area, tied up, heads lolling to the side, knocked out.
"Looks like a great party!" Dean shifted his stance, cocking the shotgun. "Free the kids, my brother and Gretel, and we'll let you live to enjoy it."
"Now what the hell do you think the two of you are going to do?" Cassandra laughed.
"We can take out quite a few of you first." Hansel's crossbow was at the ready.
"Oh, go ahead. What are a few witches in the grand scheme of things?" She was completely unperturbed.
"Mistress," Roy Montgomery ambled up, head bowed as he approached. "If I may?"
"What is it now? Is Brittany still bitching about the choice of caterers?" Cassandra snapped at the heavy set man.
"There are those questioning the timing; Holson still says that words translate as 'nigh upon' midnight and Robert says it means 'just past.' We're only 20 minutes away from midnight and they're getting antsy." Roy turned to Dean. "Ah, Fredrick … or should I say Dean? What a bad boy you were! I would never have hurt little Hansel. I was just so excited to see he was there." The smile he gave them blasted past the borders of creepy and went right into insane.
"Okay, bub. Whatever," Dean rolled his eyes at Hansel. Yeah, no, Roy had been drooling over the hunter; he probably just didn't want Cassandra to know that.
"Roy. Please announce that the final three are ready and send me Holson, Richards, and Bridges to help get them arranged." She dismissed him casually. "We'll start at the stroke of midnight. Not a second sooner or later."
"You know your numbers are off, right? Those three make 8." Dean nodded to drugged kids.
A startled laugh fell out of her lips, and she smiled, honestly amused by Dean's words. "You really are as dumb as you look, aren't you? Too bad because I have a weak spot for dumb pretty boys like you."
"Dean, I tried to tell you," Sam said in his 'you-are-a-moron-sometimes' tone. "We're the last three sacrifices. You, me and Gretel. Children of enemies, dude."
"But … we're not kids?" He lamely asked; he'd completely missed the implications of that.
"Age doesn't matter; that's why I could use that poor homeless veteran down in Texas. Nobody even noticed. We just prefer little kids; they cry so prettily when they beg. Now you boys will lay your weapons down and be good little white hats, and I'll leave those kids fast asleep through the whole thing. Resist, and I will wake those kids up, and you can listen to their screams as we carve into them. You can save them a lot of pain."
"You're going to kill us all anyway. I'd rather go down shooting." Hansel nodded in agreement with Dean.
"Boys, boys. That was a moot question." With one motion of her hand, Dean and Hansel slammed backwards into the fence, the heavy wooden rails knocking the breath out of them. Dean kept his hold on the shotgun, and he tried to aim, but the weapon was wrenched out of his hands, flying to the side. "Tie that one with the other two. Hansel gets a place of honor."
He couldn't fight, couldn't raise his arms, and to make things worse, one of the men helping tie him up was the sexy blacksmith from the faire. "Damn, man, I thought we had a connection, chemistry," Dean complained as the blonde tightened the rope around his hands.
"You aren't half as cute as you think you are," the man said, but he was smiling as he searched Dean for weapons, taking his time and palming Dean's cock intentionally. "But I'll admit it's too bad you'll be knife bait soon. I'd have enjoyed tying you up in a completely different way."
"Well, maybe it's not too late to talk about?" Dean dropped his voice, hoping to charm his way out of this.
"Oh, hell, no. I'm terrified of the bitch, and I like my balls right where they are. No lay is worth pissing her off." He shook his head as he took the knife from Dean's boot, shooting a scared glance Cassandra's way.
They dragged Hansel closer to the fire, taking his coat and vest, leaving his chest bare before tying him spread eagle on stakes driven into the ground, his back arched upon a large rock. Striding over, Cassandra called out in a ringing voice: "The time is finally upon us! Tonight, we make ourselves invincible from our enemies. First, we begin with the Key!" Drawing a knife, she drew the sharp silver tip along Hansel's rib, leaving a ribbon of red for her to trace a finger through, scooping up the blood and painting two stripes along her cheekbones. Another slice and she collected the thick red liquid in a vial; a large wooden bowl sat on a nearby picnic table, and she added the blood to the ingredients inside.
"If my brother gets hurt, I'm going to be supremely pissed," Gretel hissed at Dean and Sam.
"Trust me on this," Dean whispered back. "Spells are fickle things. Get one part wrong and you lose control over them."
"Wrong? You don't understand. Hansel's the …." Her eyes widened at Dean's smirk; she glanced at Sam for confirmation, and he gave a tiny nod as he rolled his eyes. Dean watched for her reaction when the truth set in; he might not like finding out his little brother had been well and truly deflowered in the last day or so, depending upon the situation, and this was one weird scenario, he had to admit. She closed her eyes, body shaking slightly, and he realized she was laughing quietly; when she finally looked back at him, and her eyes sparkled. "Well, damn, when this is over, you and I have to have the talk."
"Talk?" Dean was confused. She seemed to be handling the news well.
"The 'you hurt my brother, and I'll kill you' talk, Dean," Sam explained.
"Oh, that talk. Don't worry. Candy Boy can take care of himself from what I've seen."
A murmur of the crowd drew their attention; Cassandra held the bowl aloft, her hands beginning to glow as she chanted:
Τ είναι αλήθεια,« είναι βέβαιο t?
Άνθρωπος αν και διατηρεί νεκρούς
Μέρος του εαυτού του:
το μυαλό παραμένει αθάνατο
With each word, the breeze whipped up a little more; by the last line, small whirlwinds danced around the witch, circling Hansel, making it difficult to see. Some of the others began to fall to their knees, hands held high in supplication, swaying to an unheard beat.
"Greek?" Gretel muttered. "That was Euripides I think."
"Homer," Sam calmly replied. God, they'd seen so much that this was getting to be old hat.
"Oh, you cannot know that!" Dean just knew his brother was shitting him. How the hell could he identify the specific author?
"I read, Dean," Sam shot back.
"Get ready," Dean warned.
"We beseech you, defeat our enemies, make us strong, let only the immortal remain!" Cassandra shouted and flung the contents of the bowl into the fire.
All three of them closed their eyes and ducked their heads just before the explosion; Dean hadn't seen a blast that powerful since the last time he watched Mythbusters. Flame geysered upward and spewed out, sending a blanket of glowing sparks as far as the edge of the trees, heavy clusters landing and igniting clothing and table cloths. Screams broke out; if there was one thing witches really hated, it was burning – and the coven went up like a tinderbox, going from soft skin to crackling black crisp with agonizing shrieks. Cassandra's howls overrode the others as her hair combusted, the long blonde locks gone in seconds, a halo of orange/red wreathing her head.
"Hansel!" Gretel called; he was right in the blast radius. The grass smoked around the rock; smoldering cinders were smacking into his leather vest, little holes with red edges developing. With a strong pull, Gretel yanked her hands free and bent to untie her feet. Sam was struggling with his ropes, using the edge of the square post to cut through the heavy hemp just as Gretel had. Soon as she was free, she stopped by where the witches had piled the weapons they'd confiscated earlier, tossing a knife to Sam and taking the crossbow for herself. In a few seconds, both Sam and Dean were free, grabbing shotguns and pistols and knives. Dean took the sword and headed right into the midst of the free-for-all, taking the head of the first witch he came near, a woman who would look at home in a knitting circle rather than a sacrificial rite except for the lightning that danced through her fingertips. The two Winchesters waded through the scattered and confused coven, killing most without any resistance. Gretel headed for her brother, fighting her way towards him. Cinders covered Dean's shirt and he yanked it off in one pull, tossing it aside; Sam lost his outer coat before things settled down, but none of them got even so much as a red mark from fire on their skin. The witches, blazing like torches, fell right and left beneath their onslaught; a few fought back, but that only made the battle more interesting and, if Dean would admit it, more fun. Not that he enjoyed killing, not really, but ending a few witches was definitely a perk of the job.
"Son of a bitch!" Roy Montgomery came out of nowhere, hands raised, and clothing on fire. Dean felt the spell take hold, phantom hands closing around his neck, cutting off his air and dropping him to his knees. His sword fell to the ground as he tried to alleviate the pressure, fingers scrabbling at his neck, but the spell was merciless, pressing against his throat. Then Hansel was there, scooping up the hilt of the weapon and with one strong swing, impaling the witch, pushing him backward where he fell as he combusted.
"You okay?" he helped Dean up, hand under his arm as he steadied him. At Dean's nod, Hansel gave him a knowing smile. "Don't worry; you can pay me back later."
"That is quite enough." The voice rolled over them, power pouring into the air around them, and Dean felt tired, the gun in his waistband weighing him down, the ache in his windpipe suddenly too much. Cassandra was beautiful no longer. Skin a quilt of black and red patches, hair gone, glamor wiped away from her face; she was an image from a horror movie, smoke rising from her misshapen body. No illusion any longer, the darkness of her soul was bared to the light of the flaming corpses around her.
"Wow, if I were you, I'd fire whoever suggested that make over." Dean just opened his mouth and out rolled that terrible pun.
"I am done playing with you," the witch replied.
"Tell us how to get back to our time," Gretel demanded.
"There is no 'back' for you. The spell only sends people forward in time. Everyone knows that time travel into the past is a scientific impossibility!" Cassandra laughed at her before she turned and pointed at Sam. "You. Explain now."
Sam struggled to not answer; Dean could see the inner battle on his face, but she was too strong. "The ingredients for the spell ..."
"They were perfect! I made sure myself." Her eyes flicked between them all, catching the interplay between brothers, the amused look between brother and sister. "Everything has been in my possession, untouched and …." Her clawed grabbed the buckle on Hansel's vest and hauled him forward, bringing them face to face. "No. You've not been near a woman. I made sure of that."
"No women. You're right about that." Hansel calmly agreed, but he couldn't keep from grinning at such a simple thing being her downfall. "But I do thank you for throwing me into the Winchester's path. This age is much more open about sex, isn't it?"
"No. No, no, no!" Her temper flared and green lighting danced up her hands. As her anger grew, Dean felt her hold on him loosen, and he slid his hand slowly back to grab the hilt of the gun. "I won't stand for it."
"Well, sweetheart, you don't have to stand for it at all. There's a bed, the hood of a car …" Dean drawled, enjoying the way she blazed even brighter, all her power focused on her hate. When she blew, it was going to be bad, but now they had a chance if they worked together.
"SHUT UP." Not just words, this was a command, aimed at Dean. His lips moved, but no sound came out as he tried to reply. Lashing out, her energy rained over Hansel, sparking along his forearm, rolling up to his shoulder. "Burn, damn you."
Dean might not be able to speak, but he could shoot; he emptied what was left of the clip into Cassandra, the force driving her backwards. In her current state, she was more vulnerable, but she was still very old; a few bullets wouldn't kill her but would buy them precious seconds of time. Hansel broke her hold and lunged, but she dodged, throwing more green fire at Dean. Two crossbow bolts struck, one in her throat, another in her chest. Sam added a head shot, and Hansel gave the final stroke that assured she was dead.
"Back up!" Hansel shouted, and they fled for cover as the spell's energy discharged, jumping to the closest surfaces, charring anything it touched. It took a full two minutes before her body stilled; Dean stuck his head out from behind a leaking keg.
"I thought that bitch would never die," he complained, pulling himself up; there was a stack of cups that somehow survived, so he filled one up from the slow leak, taking a long drink. "Damn fireproof ward makes me thirsty."
"That was the touch," Sam rubbed at his chin where Dean's fingers had brushed him earlier. "It stings a little."
"One of our old tricks," Gretel said; she was wearing leather, still dressed in clothes from her time. She looked at Hansel with pride and cuffed him on the shoulder as she passed. "You have been eating well? You know how you get if you don't have regular meals."
"Good god, Gretel, I'm quite capable of looking out for myself." Hansel pushed her away, but he was smiling at her; this was obviously a family thing between them.
"We fed him, don't worry." Dean laughed, even as he was making himself a sandwich; at Sam's look, he shrugged his shoulders and tossed another bun to Hansel. "What? It's just going to go to waste and I worked up an appetite."
"We need to get those kids home and clean up here," Sam said, "but I don't imagine a quick sandwich would hurt anything."
"Then we find a way home," Gretel added, snagging another cup of beer.
Dean lifted his eyebrow, silently asking Hansel what he wanted; Hansel replied with his 'she's my sister, what do you want me to do about it' shrug. And, yeah, Dean could definitely read Hansel's looks. Wasn't that a kicker?
"Then we start looking for a way to get you home," Dean agreed.
'T is true, 't is certain; man though dead retains
Part of himself: the immortal mind remains.
The Iliad
Book 23.