A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! So happy that you're enjoying the story! :)
I made a picture to go with the scene at the end of last chapter and the beginning of this chapter. You can find it on my tumblr (remove the spaces and insert dots, or see my bio for the main link to my tumblr): inderlander tumblr com /post/47229211493/
CHAPTER 7 - "Out of the Frying Pan"
My fist twisted in Raymond's shirt, my elbow practically jammed into Trent's armpit as I heaved upward against the vampire trapping us both to the earth. My desperate attempts to keep him off Trent met with little success and I felt the warmth of blood on my cheek again. Trent's blood.
I tried to wriggle-roll sideways, but whether intentionally or unintentionally, Trent shifted his weight to keep me pinned. "Damn it, Trent, get off!" I wheezed urgently.
Then I felt Trent's tense body jerk as the vampire's weight pitched abruptly to the side. Framed by the pale blue sky above us, I saw Raymond's face replaced by that of Sam Winchester as the young man grabbed the vampire by the coat, bodily dragging him off of Trent and half-throwing, half tackling him to the side as they both pitched out of view.
Trent struggled quickly to his knees, leaning over me on his injured arm, his good one gripping tightly at the mess the vampire had made of his left shoulder. Blood dripped between his fingers and his breathing was rapid and uneven as he attempted to collect himself.
I slid carefully out from under him, easing him sideways into a sitting position as I did. There was so much blood it was hard to see the actual extent of his injuries. "Trent?" I whispered, cupping the side of his down-turned face in my palm and trying to get a look at him. I was disgusted by the light tremble in my fingers and how shaky my voice sounded but couldn't worry about it too much at the moment.
"I'm all right," Trent murmured through grit teeth, half-waving me off and stubbornly keeping his head down. His eyes were hidden behind his bangs, but I could see the rock-like tension in his jaw. I knew he wouldn't meet my eyes because he was not yet in complete control of the pain he must be feeling. He didn't like for people to see him vulnerable or weak. Stupid elf. I didn't believe for a minute that he was anything like all right, but understood that he meant he wasn't dying, at least for the time being.
I needed to check the wound better, but not until I knew we weren't about to be attacked again. My lungs burning from breathing the cold air much too swiftly, I climbed to my feet, staying close to Trent. My hand rested lightly on his good shoulder, both in a gesture of protection and to keep him from trying to get up too fast. I couldn't risk him passing out; I didn't think I could carry him very far. I felt the uneven rise and fall of his breathing under my fingers and the faint tremble of pain he was attempting to suppress. Nearby, I saw Raymond fall under Sam's blade. This time, I didn't look away.
Three of the vampires, including Raymond, appeared to be down now. The others seemed to have finally decided that taking a hike was the healthiest option for them and were scattering into the woods. Or at least, that appeared to be their intention - until something stopped them. One by one I saw them jerk to a halt at the edges of the clearing around the barn. I thought they were going to come back and attack, but then I realized their focus was on the woods, not on us.
No, not the woods ... what was coming out of the woods.
People were appearing in the trees, moving towards the clearing with an eerie quietness. There were a lot of them - twenty or thirty at least, perhaps more, the woods made it hard to judge.
They were dressed in an oddly un-uniform matter, everything from business suits and formal wear to sweats and nightgowns. The one thing they had in common was an apparent disregard for the cold and the fact that the clothing seemed disheveled. Many were stained with what was either mud or dried blood.
I frowned. What now?! Somehow, I just didn't think this was a good turn of events.
Sam and Dean appeared to feel the same because they fell into tense ready stances between Trent and myself and the woods, eyeing the newcomers.
"Uh, Dean? I think we found our missing motorists," Sam said, nodding towards several of the people who had just emerged from the trees, their clothes torn and bloodied although the flesh beneath seemed unmarked. I supposed he must have recognized them from their photos in the news coverage.
"Or at least what happened to them," Dean agreed, backing up slowly.
"Ghouls?" Sam said, the statement only partially a question.
"Looks like. The new and improved kind that want fresh meat," Dean made a face.
"This must be what Bobby meant about how the Mother of All's been stirring them up," Sam agreed, unconsciously rubbing his arm as if in remembered pain. "I think I liked them better when they were sticking to being scavengers."
I only partially tracked what they were saying. Obviously, our definitions of what a ghoul was were very different, but their words sparked the memory of Raymond and Suzette's comments in the barn about the "others" who had been suddenly encroaching on their territory and caused all the media attention. Yup, definitely not a good turn of events, then.
"Get out of here, grave robbers!" one of the vampires snarled. "How many of you do we need to kill before you get the idea that this place is ours?!"
One of the ghouls, a young blond man in a track suit, gave a chillingly empty smile. "Not anymore it's not. You should have left us alone and we would have left you alone. Now, I think with you gone, there will be more for us. My people have been long out of the sun, and we are hungry. So hungry. Our blood does not appeal to you, but we're not so choosy."
One second the scene was still, the next it was in chaos as vampires and ghouls erupted into spontaneous combat. They seemed fairly matched for speed and strength. The vampires were possibly stronger, but they were severely out numbered. It wasn't going to be an easy fight, but I had little doubt as to the eventual outcome. I only had a moment to take in the unfolding violence before someone was gripping my arm and dragging me sideways.
I stumbled to keep my footing, finding Sam holding my arm and practically dragging me along. "Come on, we need to get out of here before they finish up with each other."
I agreed with that sentiment completely, but struggled with his tight grip anyway, not about to leave Trent behind. Before I had a chance to dig my heels in for real, I saw that Dean had Trent on his feet, an arm under his good shoulder as he half-helped, half-dragged him along with us. Trent looked decidedly pissed at the man-handling, but wasn't protesting the necessity of making ourselves scarce as fast as possible.
Trent was moving under his own power and Sam had let go of my arm by the time we cleared the back of the barn. The woods on this side of the clearing appeared to be clear for the moment and we plunged into them at a fairly good clip. Dean snatched up a discarded duffel from the ground as we hurried past it. Judging by the footprints in the light snow back here, this must be the way that Trent and the Winchesters had come in, so I guessed the bag was probably theirs.
Swinging it over one shoulder, Dean slid something out of it as he dodged through the trees. It was a sawed off shotgun. He tossed the gun to his brother, followed by what looked like a bag of shells, then pulled a second shotgun out of the sack. He pocketed a couple of other items, including what was probably another ammo pouch and tossed away the now mostly empty duffel.
These guys took preparedness to a whole new level. "Who are you people and what is going on?" I demanded somewhat breathlessly.
"It's complicated, but we're here to help, okay?" Sam said distractedly as we barreled ahead.
My feet slipping on the loose drifting of snow atop the thick carpet of leaves as we descended a sloping hill, I caught hold of the nearest tree for balance. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that our flight had not gone unnoticed. There were three, maybe four figures hurtling down the hill behind us.
"Not all that complicated," Dean countered, pausing, twisting and sighting up the hill with his shotgun. "We hunt things and save people." He gave me that grin again.
Sam stopped too, swinging his back to a tree and cocking his weapon. "We came here to investigate the highway disappearances," he added, as if feeling that a little more explanation was needed. "Got onto the longer running but better hidden spate of disappearances centering around that restaurant when we started digging and went to check it out."
Dean pumped a round up the hill at the approaching ghouls, winging the man with the first shot and catching him in the face with the next. The man dropped and the others scatter warily. Sam's shot caught another in a the gut, but the man darted behind a tree and the second shot caught only wood.
With unspoken coordination, both brothers pushed into motion again and we were running once more as they reloaded. I glanced over to check on Trent. He was still holding his shoulder, but appeared to be hanging in there. His face was set and pale, but he was obviously doing his level best not to slow us down.
"Figured we had vamps, but the whole vampires vs. ghouls smack down was a twist," Dean commented as we ran.
"They must have been planning to attack all along, then when we showed up they hung back and let us do some of the work for them first," Sam voiced his opinion.
"Maybe so. Never seen this many ghouls in one place before," Dean agreed.
"They're new, I think. The vampires said they were encroaching on their territory and that's why they were trying to increase their numbers," I panted out, shooting increasingly worried glances in Trent's direction. His white shirt was turning completely red. "What are they, exactly?" I'd already learned the hard way that the supernatural element in this world was pretty different from ours, I wanted to cut down on future surprises.
The two brothers paused to pop off a few more shots. Sam downed another one of our pursuers. The boys were very good shots and I began to suspect the only reason more weren't hitting home was because they seemed to be aiming exclusively for headshots and those were tricky to make between the trees at a distance. That distance was closing quickly, though. Our pursuers were catching up fast.
"Ghouls are normally carrion eaters, hunting in graveyards and so forth, but once they venture out and get a taste for fresh meat, that can change," Sam explained. "There's ... someone stirring things up right now and causing that to happen to a lot of them."
"Vamps just want your blood, ghouls want to eat pretty much everything," Dean warned as he and Sam stopped again, swinging to hide between trees spaced a few yards apart. Dean nodded emphatically for Trent and I to keep moving. Seeing their plan, I obeyed. I wasn't sure Trent picked up on it, but he seemed to mostly be following me and as long as I was moving, he kept moving.
We were a few dozen yards away when the remaining two ghouls burst through the trees behind us and found themselves caught in the crossfire directly between the two brothers. The ghouls went down in two quick pops of shotgun fire. Headshots again, confirming my suspicion that the ghouls were a little like movie zombies when it came to what it took to put them down and keep them down.
Dean and Sam rejoined us quickly as we hurried on again. We'd lost our immediate pursuers now, but the shotguns were sure to have drawn attention from others and once they were done with the vampires in the clearing, the rest of the horde would likely turn to hunting us down. We needed to get out of here, quick.
"How far are we from your car?" I asked, remembering what Trent had said about the way they'd come out here.
Dean made a face. "Too far," he muttered, casting a concerned look behind me. I looked back to see that Trent must have slid on the loose, snow-slick ground, because he was clutching a tree tightly for balance. He'd had to let go of his shoulder and the snow by his feet was pink. His wounds were bleeding much too freely. I'd still not had a chance to check him over and the fear that something vital had been damaged and he was bleeding out even as we ran made my stomach tight.
"Dean." Sam looked at Trent, then at his brother, his face meaningful. He'd only said his brother's name, but his meaning was clear. He obviously didn't think Trent was going to make it all the way back to wherever they'd left their car in his current state.
Trent realized we were all looking at him and quickly pushed away from the tree. His hand clamped over his injured shoulder again and his face shuttered in irritation. "I'm all right," he said defensively.
"Like hell you are," I retorted, moving closer and trying to get a look at his wounds.
Trent stepped back and shrugged away from me. "We can't stop here, this is not a defensible location. I just need something to put on this, I'm leaving a blood trail that a blind man could follow."
"You need to let me take a look and make sure he didn't slice some important artery that means you're going to drop dead in a few minutes!" I snapped back. There was way too much blood for the injuries to be as minor as Trent obviously wanted us to believe.
Dean's hand on my shoulder stopped me from trying to wrestle some sense into Trent. "He's right, here isn't good, it's too exposed. The vamps have a cabin just over that hill, we saw it coming in. We'll head there."
The cabin was small and looked more like an abandoned hunter's shack than a vampire nest. I guessed that was intentional on the vamps' part, and since they seemed to be city based, they probably hadn't come out here all that often. I'd hazard a guess that this whole place was just where they had kept their new "recruits" until they were ready to be part of society again. I thought of Kelly and my heart ached. I hadn't seen her die, but I was sure she and the other vampires were all toast. I didn't like this world and I felt an intense swell of homesickness as we paused near the rear of the small cabin.
"Wait here, we'll check it out to make sure it's safe," Sam said as he and Dean started to move away.
"And you don't go wandering off this time," Dean added pointedly to Trent, giving me the impression he was referencing earlier events to which I had not been privy.
"Wait, you said you recognized the missing people among the ghouls, they turn people like vampires?" I asked quickly, needing to know what we were up against in case the Winchesters didn't come back. I didn't like thinking like that, but it had been a very long day so far and Murphy's law seemed in full effect.
Dean gave his head a small shake. "No, they ..." he hesitated for the barest moment, as if not sure he should tell us, before apparently deciding either that we could handle it or simply that we needed to know. "They can wear the skin of the last person they ate." Leaving us with that little gem of knowledge, the two brothers hurried quickly away towards the front of the cabin.
"Well, that's lovely," Trent muttered, echoing my thoughts exactly.
Despite my concerns and Mr. Murphy's pessimism, Sam and Dean were back in almost no time at all. The cabin was clear and they ushered us quickly inside.
The inside was much cozier than the outside made it look, even if it was small. There was a main living room sort of area, a small kitchen and a couple of bedrooms at the back. Definitely not a full time living place, but comfortable enough for its purpose. There was a dying fire in the hearth and other signs that the structure had in fact been recently inhabited and hastily abandoned - probably when the distress call went up at the barn over the hill.
"Isn't this the first place those ghouls will look for us?" I asked uncertainly as I quickly guided Trent into the main room and dragged a chair over in front of the fire place. I had to admit the warmth of the cabin was lovely. Amid all the adrenaline, I'd not been fully aware of how cold I'd been.
"Maybe, but we've got a better chance of holding them off here than in the woods if we need to," Dean told me as he crossed over to the front windows, shifting the heavy curtains just enough to peer out without making himself visible to the outside. "If more haven't followed us already, then like as not they're distracted with the vamps. Feeding time trumps most things. There's way too many of them to be surviving comfortably on the couple of unlucky motorists they've snagged. They're probably all duking it out over the latest spoils. When they wrap up, and the losers realize they're still hungry, that's when we need to start worrying."
Gaze never leaving the window, Dean ratcheted the shotgun barrel swiftly back and forth, cocking the weapon in what looked to be an extremely practiced motion. Sparing a quick glance back into the room, his gaze briefly leveled on us as I helped Trent sink into the chair and crouched beside him, trying to get a look at the bleeding gashes that crisscrossed his shoulder.
Trent's breathing was quick and labored with the pain he was fighting. He tilted his head to the side so I had better access to his wounds. Apparently he was going to deign to let me check him out now.
"He gonna be all right?" the older Winchester inquired, his eyes darting vigilantly between us and the window, his lean frame tense and alert. I saw his gaze catch and linger on Trent's pointy right ear, now clearly exposed by the angle of his head. I hadn't noticed before, but I now realized that Trent must have lost his hat during the fight.
I couldn't spare time to worry about what Dean thought of Trent's ears. My attention was focused on the elf and the fact that the entire left side of his shirt was completely crimson from collar to hem. The stain didn't stop there, spreading down to the left hip and thigh of his pants. Even as he sat here, blood was dripping slowly but surely from his elbow to the floor, forming a small, dark puddle that glittered dully in the flicker of the nearby firelight. I grabbed the torn fabric of his ruined shirt by his collarbone and ripped it the rest of the way from neck to sleeve, pulling the sodden and shredded fabric fully away from his flesh.
Trent sucked his breath in but remained silent as the fabric pulled free from his wounds. I saw that bits of the shirt had been embedded into the ragged punctures and some shreds were left behind.
A raw latticework of nasty, jagged cuts had gouged open the skin across the back and top of his shoulder. Raymond had gotten at the back of his neck too. I could see the red, angry ellipses formed by his bites marring Trent's skin beneath the seeping blood. The sides of his neck were relatively unscathed however, proving that Trent had done a remarkably good job of keeping his attacker away from the more vital areas. Most of the damage was superficial since it had been done by fangs and teeth, but the puncture wounds went pretty deep in few places where the vampire had bitten down the hardest and there were a few places where bits of flesh had actually been torn away.
Fortunately, predator though he may have been, Raymond's jaws weren't the right shape to cause as much damage as something like a wolf or a bear could have in that same amount of time. The bleeding, torn flesh was raw, the injuries wicked looking and bleeding profusely, but the attack appeared to have missed damaging anything vital, including, thank God, any major arteries.
"Yes," I replied, feeling relieved at being able to say it and mean it. "Doesn't look like anything important was damaged." The injuries needed cleaning, proper dressing and probably stitches, but most of that was going to have to wait.
Trent gave a soft snort of laughter at my choice of words. His face was lined with pain but composed, the fingers of his good arm digging tensely into the bicep of his wounded one. "Because of course, I have another shoulder," he agreed somewhat sardonically.
Sam came striding quickly back into the room, shotgun in one hand and a dish towel from the kitchen in the other.
I shot Trent a look. "That's right, cupcake, lucky you," I retorted, my hands trembling with adrenaline and relief as I caught the towel that Sam tossed me and pressed it against the seeping wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood. Trent had risked his life for me back there, and I wasn't sure how to deal with that. Obviously, I was grateful, but it scared me too. I knew Trent had my back and I had his ... but there was a difference between having someone's back and jumping in front of a bullet - or ravening vampire - for them. Trent had bigger things to be worrying about. He had obligations and people back home who depended on him. Those who put themselves between me and danger got killed. Like Kisten had.
"Don't you ever do something that stupid again," I hissed in Trent's ear as I squeezed the towel tightly against his shoulder - maybe a little too tightly judging by the grimace that tightened his mouth and his small grunt of pain. "I can take care of myself, Trent, and I will not let you make Lucy and Ray grow up without you. You get yourself killed and I will kick your ass."
Trent looked at me dryly, his bloodied face tense but unrepentant. "You're welcome."
"The back's clear, but I doubt it will stay that way for long. There's decent cover between the porch and the woods. It's probably at least four miles from here to the car, ten between here and civilization and it will be dark in an hour," Sam reported in answer to a questioning look from his brother.
There seemed to be a whole unspoken conversation going on around the few words, the kind that happened between people who knew each other well and were used to working together. I recognized it from years of doing runs with Ivy and Jenks. The brothers were weighing their options - stay here and make a stand knowing that our location would be easily discovered and that this place would soon be crawling with ghouls, or make a run for it into cover of the woods and hope we could make it back to civilization before nightfall. I may not know much about this world's inderland, but night always favored the predators.
I saw Dean check the pockets of his jacket with one hand. "I've got eight rounds left. You?"
"Six," Sam replied.
Dean grimaced and pushed away from the window. "Okay, we run for it. Assuming they don't know how we came in, they'll be expecting us to head for the highway. I'll lead 'em that way, you three double back and circle around to the mill. Get the car, meet me at the old bridge and keep the engine runnin', I'll probably be coming in hot." Digging in his pocket, he withdrew a handful of rounds and held them out to Sam. "Here."
Sam hesitated, looking at Dean, the expression on his face saying how much he didn't like this idea. They held one another's gazes for a long moment but to my surprise, Sam didn't argue his brother's suicidal plan. Instead he pushed Dean's hand back with a light touch. "Keep it; you're the one playing decoy."
Dean shook his head, having none of it. He grabbed Sam's hand and forced the shells into his palm. "And I'll be able to move ten times faster than you," he jerked his head meaningfully towards Trent and I, obviously thinking we were going to be cramping their style. "You got more backs to watch."
"Dean ..." Sam's long fingers curled around the ammunition, his gaze still on his big brother. He wasn't really arguing, but his eyes were.
"End of discussion, Sammy. Come on, we gotta move." Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder and quickly pushed past him, heading for the back of the house.
Sam started to follow, pausing by me when he saw me helping Trent to his feet. "You got him okay? We have to go, it's not safe here. Those things will find us soon and we haven't got enough ammo for a standoff," he said quickly, I suppose in case we were maybe too stupid or in too much in shock to have grasped the meaning of the conversation he and Dean had just had. He pocketed the shells and switched the rifle to his left hand, clearly ready to offer Trent a shoulder to lean on if it was needed and I couldn't provide it.
Trent shrugged both of us off with a tense expression, wrangling the blood soaked dishtowel from me and keeping it wadded against his shoulder with his good hand, his injured arm clenched tight around his middle. He was pale, but I recognized the bull-headed set of his features. "I'm fine," he said tersely. "I can walk by myself."
Sam simply gave a nod, switching gun hands again and heading towards the doorway to the kitchen, through which Dean had already disappeared. "Okay, good. Follow me."
A few long, distance eating strides and Sam too had disappeared into the rear of the house, leaving Trent and I to hurry after him. I wished there was some way to tie Trent's shoulder up better. The wounds may not be life threatening, but they were still bleeding, even if he wasn't dripping and leaving a trail now. The blood loss could turn into a serious problem if it went unchecked for too long, especially if we were going to be running through the woods with monsters on our heels.
"Keep pressure on it," I told him tensely, resisting the urge to reach out a hand towards him as we moved quickly through the kitchen towards an old screen door that was just sliding shut behind the taller Winchester. "You can't afford to lose much more blood." There was one remaining towel hanging from the door handle on the kitchen's antique oven and I snagged it on my way by, pushing it at Trent.
Trent took it, discarding the saturated one he'd been holding onto the floor and replacing it with the new one, his knuckles white as he squeezed his injured flesh under the towel. "I know. I've got it, all right? I'll be fine, don't worry about it," he added with annoyance. He fumbled for the door latch with his free, bad hand, leaving red smears on it as he got it open and shouldered outside ahead of me.
I followed, stepping out onto a large, old wooden porch sagging with age. The two Winchesters were standing at one edge of the porch, scanning the woods that were only a few stones' throw away across a small weed-choked clearing. The vantage point gave them a clear view of their surroundings while keeping them relatively hidden by the frame of the house. I could see that they knew how to choose tactical positions, as if I needed any further proof that these two had a lot of practice at what they did ... whatever exactly that was. Hunters, Suzette had called them and Dean had echoed that idea a little earlier. The description seemed to fit well enough.
The brothers' heads were bowed together in quick, quiet conversation which ended the moment Trent and I stepped out onto the porch.
Dean cast his gaze quickly across the silent woods before us, scanning the slanting shadows created by the watery, late afternoon sun for any sign of movement or threat. "So what's with the ears?" he asked Trent with apparent casualness as Sam slid silently down the stairs and along the wall of the house, leading with his shotgun and checking swiftly along the right side of the structure to make sure no one was waiting to spring an ambush when we made a break for it.
"You a Vulcan or something?" Dean's inquiring smile was tense. His gaze darted between tracking Sam's movements and Trent who had stopped a few feet away from him. The dark haired man's body language was on edge, but I wasn't sure if it was because of us or because of the whole situation. My chest tightened, feeling like we were somehow pushing out onto thin ice here.
"Or did you just get your ears stuck in a rice picker?" the dark haired man added wryly.
I tried to cough to cover my unexpected nervous laugh at having gotten what was to me a very obscure joke. Although it had only run for one season before being dropped due to the chaos of the Turn and a general lack of interest in space dramas at that time, Star Trek had later managed to acquire a small, dedicated cult following of people that had inspired the restoration and re-airing of the show on some late night stations. I thought it was cheesy as hell, but Jenks' kids had loved to watch it, shouting advice and commentary at the screen in their high pitched little voices. Apparently, the show existed here in this world too and at some point we must both have seen the same time-travel episode that included Captain Kirk's incredibly lame attempt at explaining his non-human companion's features - including his pointed ears. Actually ... given Trent's and my circumstances of having been thrown somewhere we didn't belong and seeking a way home, the reference was almost a little too apropos for it to be funny.
Trent looked at Dean with a hint of amusement. He nodded his chin towards the blood stained towel clutched to his shoulder. "I think you would have noticed if I was bleeding green," he returned and my eyebrows twitched. Trent got the reference too. Huh.
I saw Sam signal to Dean that the right side of the house was clear. Dean acknowledged with a dip of his chin and Sam slid silently around to check the left side.
Trent shrugged his good shoulder, then blanched in pain when even that motion apparently hurt. "It's a genetic quirk. Runs in my family," he replied, which was actually the truth, even if not all of it. I wondered if Trent was being careful in case the Winchesters had any kind of truth detector charms, or if he simply felt that it was the easiest explanation. Trent was pretty good at lying with the truth. "I'm sure I know every ear joke you can think of," he added dryly, making a sour expression that drew Dean's grin a little wider.
"His family wanted him to have plastic surgery," I added. "But I think that Trent secretly enjoys the fact that a lot of ladies have a real weakness for men with pointy ears and blond hair. He blinks those baby greens and expects them to get all stupid." I grinned innocently at him, taking his cue of not entirely lying. His family had docked his ears when he was an infant and I knew the fact that they were back to their original state was actually my fault, but his surprised little flush and the chagrin in the scowl he gave me was way too entertaining. Payback, baby. "You should hear him do his kiss to wake the sleeping beauty routine. Very smooth," I mocked.
"Rachel!" Trent growled, giving me a sour look, a little color showing on his otherwise much too pale face. The obvious honesty of his irked reaction had the effect I'd been hoping for and the unsettling intensity in Dean's gaze eased up just a little.
Dean shot the other man a speculative look. "Chicks dig that, huh?" he asked, making an only somewhat skeptical face. Apparently, he considered himself a fair authority on what women liked and wasn't beyond comprehending the story-book appeal of Trent's subtly unusual ears paired with his pretty-boy features. "Get a lot of play, do you?" he added dryly.
"You have no idea," Trent replied with a smug, boys-club grin, the two of them sharing a moment of common male understanding that was apparently a universal constant across species and realities. Ah, men, so wonderfully predictable sometimes. A thing could go from lame or weird to acceptably brilliant in about five seconds if it was related to getting laid.
"Damn," Dean said wryly, one corner of his mouth twitching in an approving smile. The wariness hadn't completely left his eyes and I wasn't so sure he'd really bought our story, but he at least seemed willing to put it on the back burner for now as Sam returned to the base of the porch stairs and signaled that our pathway out was clear.
Dean jogged easily down the stairs and across the small clearing to the woods. "Well come on then, Legolas. We do not want to be here when the orcs show up," he called glibly over his shoulder. Once in the shelter of the trees he held position, covering Sam, Trent and I as we scrambled quickly after him.
Then we were in the woods and moving fast. The undergrowth was too heavy and the ground too uneven to allow full tilt sprinting, but the two Winchesters navigated the rough terrain like it was second nature, pushing through brambles and jumping obstacles with considerable speed. Sure-footed as cats, they scrambled down one side of a steep incline and back up the other, heads up and alert, rifles clutched ready across their chests.
They set a demanding pace, but I was in good shape and no stranger to running - especially when my life depended on it. The terrain was problematic and my hands and knees quickly became scuffed from catching myself against trees or falling and scrambling back up again when the footing proved too uneven. My hands stung and the air was painfully cold in my heaving lungs, but adrenaline sang through me like brimstone and I had little trouble keeping up.
I probably wouldn't have stumbled quite so often if I wasn't constantly glancing beside me or over my shoulder. I was worried about Trent. I didn't think he could keep this pace in his condition, yet every time I looked around he was always right behind me or a few feet away from my shoulder. He was pale and obviously hurting, but there was that familiar determination in his eyes as he doggedly pressed forward. He seemed completely at home in the woods. Even injured, he moved with a sure, fluid grace that seemed to be keeping him on his feet better than me half the time.
That's when I remembered that Trent was an avid hunter. Sure, he was usually on horseback, but given the familiar way he dodged trees and picked his way along ridges, there must have been plenty of times when the quarry got into undergrowth too thick or into terrain too dangerous for mounted pursuit. Running through the woods quickly and quietly seemed like nothing new for him, although I'm certain he wasn't enjoying being on the prey's side of the equation.
We rushed and stumbled down a steep drop towards a small stream. The water was rapid and shallow, swollen with melted snow but still only ranging between ankle and calf deep. The brothers charged into the stream without slowing, wading out to the middle before finally pausing. Trent followed without hesitation, but I paused at the edge, glancing around for a shallower crossing. My boots were too low for the water and walking any great distance on wet, frozen feet in this weather was a good way to get frostbite.
Trent paused when he realized I wasn't following, turning back with a questioning look. He actually reached his bad hand out to me as if he thought I needed steadying or something. I frowned at him, but Sam was making a "hurry up" gesture at us and I sighed. Unhappy, but not seeing another way across, I ignored Trent's hand and I resignedly trudged into the current, feeling the freezing water fill my boots and drench my socks the instant it crept up over the top. Damn, it was cold!
As soon as we drew level with the brothers, Dean reached over and snatched the blood sodden dish towel that Trent was still clutching to his shoulder. Before either of us could protest the odd action, Dean had jerked the tail of his flannel shirt from under his jacket and torn it off. He pressed the wad of blue-gray plaid into Trent's bloodied hand, obviously intending it as a replacement for the confiscated towel.
"Don't touch anything and don't set one foot outside the stream until Sam says you can, got it?" he commanded us both in quick, clipped tones. His breathing was rapid from exertion, but he did not appear even close to being winded.
Not waiting for a response, Dean charged out of the stream and up the opposite bank ahead, the bloody towel still clenched in one hand and his weapon in the other. I saw him intentionally drag the towel along the steep incline at one point, then brush it against a tree near the top and I realized he was laying a scent trail for our pursuers, making it seem as if we'd all crossed the stream and kept on going in the direction that must lead back towards town. These creatures were flesh eaters, so odds were the scent of blood would attract them. I saw Dean jam the stained rag in the back pocket of his jeans as he disappeared and realized he was intentionally waving a red flag for the bull to follow.
"Follow me, stay in the water," Sam reiterated the warning, gesturing to us as he quickly turned and started splashing downstream through the icy flow. I knew then that the brothers must have been aware of this stream's presence and had intended all along to use it to sell the deception that would allow Dean to act as decoy while we circled around. It was a good plan. I knew zip about these ghouls, but most inderlanders had a much better sense of smell than your average human.
Glancing at Trent who was already slogging along after Sam and carefully staying in the deepest parts of the stream, I realized that he'd understood the plan from the moment the brothers entered the water. The ploy was probably obvious to anyone who had ever hunted with dogs and given my own experiences, I should have recognized it sooner. I just hoped these creatures weren't as smart as Trent's dogs. Geez, I hated being hunted! Why was I always getting hunted? It sucked. Of course, Trent was getting hunted this time too, which made it a little better somehow.
"Is he going to be okay?" I asked as I caught up with the two men, shivering with the cold that was now making my legs numb below the knee and seeming to shoot up into the rest of my body like icy needles. I glanced over my shoulder towards the already dwindling rise where Dean had disappeared.
Sam's broad shoulders ahead of me were tense as he jogged through the water with long, careful strides. "Dean? He'll be fine," his voice was confident, but his body language wasn't and I got the feeling that his conviction stemmed from his need to believe it more than anything else. "Look, I uh ... I know this is all a lot for you to be taking in, but we actually deal with this kind of thing a lot. Dean knows what he's doing. We've got a car and more ammo about three miles downstream. We just have to make it there; then we can circle around, pick him up and get you two somewhere safe and warm, okay?"
He spared a reassuring glance over his shoulder. "Everything's going to be all right," he promised. I wasn't sure whether he believed that, or if he just thought we needed to hear it. I was sure that he was being reassuring and encouraging at least partially because of a desire to keep us motivated and moving. I got the feeling he was expecting us to be fairly traumatized and wanted to stave off any impending meltdowns or panic attacks when the shock of the situation started sinking in. It told me this wasn't his first time dragging random hapless strangers out of danger.
"You doing okay?" the big man asked over his shoulder, risking another glance back with what I recognized as genuine concern on his features. He directed the question to both of his, but his gaze darted to Trent and then away. My gaze went to the elf as well. Trent looked awful. His shirt was soaked with blood, his face much too pale and yet glittering with perspiration from either exertion or shock. Like all of his, his pants legs were now soaked from splashing through the river, his loafers ridiculously unequal to the tasks being asked of them. But he pressed on, like we all did, because we had no alternative.
"I'm great," I responded wryly. "Could do this forever. What's not to love about a nice little winter jog while being pursued by flesh eating nasties that want to feast on your intestines and wear your skin?"
Trent gave a wheeze that might have been a chuckle beside me. "Indeed. This is most bracing. I think I can skip my cardio workout this week."
Sam smiled and I could tell he was a little relieved by the fact that we were able to be smart-ass about the situation, obviously taking that as a sign that we were hanging in there for the present. "Good. Good. We have to stay in the water for at least a mile to keep them from picking up our scent." It was a statement of fact, but the note of apology in Sam's tone said he sympathized with how unpleasant a prospect that was. "Then we can take a little breather before we cut across to the mill, all right?"
"Where we muster the Calvary and cut them off at the pass," I said glibly, grinning grimly around the cold burning in my lungs and legs. "Right behind you, Kemosabe."
By the time Sam finally led us out of the water and stopped to catch a breather under the cover of an old grove of tangled oaks, I was happier for the break than I wanted to admit. My lungs felt blistered from the cold air. My leg muscles burned and I couldn't feel my feet at all anymore. I was trembling with cold, despite my coat.
Trent collapsed to sit on a fallen log, head hanging between his knees as if he were struggling to stay conscious. It was the first real sign of distress he'd given since we started running and I frowned worriedly, stumbling over on painfully prickling legs and laying a hand on his good shoulder.
Trent's body was icy cold and trembled beneath my fingers. I felt a jolt of surprise at that and I realized I had grown accustomed to him always feeling warm. Apparently the injury and blood loss was sapping his usual ability to tolerate the cold.
Cursing myself for not noticing sooner, I started struggling at the zipper of my borrowed coat with numb, painful fingers. I was freezing, but Trent was hurt, and it was my fault to begin with.
Sam beat me to it. I hadn't seen him shrug out of his thick winter jacket, but I saw him now as he moved around behind Trent and wrapped it around his shoulders, careful of the elf's injuries.
Trent stiffened, and I could tell he wanted to reject the gesture, but he didn't. Instead he eased his good arm into one sleeve and burrowed into the body-warmed garment in a way that told me just how badly he was actually feeling. "Thank you," he said quietly in that steady, gracefully proud way of his.
Sam gave a small, easy nod of acknowledgement that clearly said he considered it no big deal. I saw that the tall man was wearing flannel like his brother, two layers thick with a turtleneck and probably a tee shirt beneath. They definitely appeared to subscribe to the idea of layering, which was a good thing given the circumstances. It still had to be freezing cold without a coat, but I was glad he seemed to still have a little protection.
Sam had left his shotgun propped against a tree and he now retrieved it, transferring the extra rounds that had been in his coat pockets into his jeans and shirt pockets instead. I noticed he had a hand gun tucked into the back waistband of his pants and the outline of what was probably a knife sheath showed beneath his armpit, under the top layer of flannel.
Sam turned around and caught me checking out his weaponry. He gave me a slightly embarrassed and weary smile. "Yeah ... hazards of the job. Not actually a serial killer, I swear," he joked, trying to put me at ease.
Just at the moment, his state of preparedness was doing the opposite of making me uneasy. If you were going to be up a creek without a paddle, it didn't hurt to have firepower.
"Taurus 92, huh?" I said, nodding towards the gun in his waistband. Turning my head a little I caught sight of the adjustable rear guard and corrected myself. "No, make that a 99."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, raising his eyebrows slightly. "You know guns?"
I shrugged. "A little." I liked splat guns best, but I was familiar with a number of different makes and apparently those were mostly the same in this world or ours.
Trent smiled a little weakly. "She considers them the perfect birthday gift, actually," he teased me softly.
I shot him an amused glance and would have smacked him except I was afraid it might knock him over.
Sam gave an approving nod and slid the weapon from his jeans. Turning it handle forward, he held it out to me. "Here. You see one of those things, aim for the head."
I nodded, accepting the weapon and automatically checking the magazine. Warm from Sam's body, the gun felt good in my hands for more than one reason. Without my magic I was so damn defenseless and useless. At least now I could do something other than throw rocks at the ghouls if they showed up again.
"Okay, we need to go. It should only be a mile or two further that way," Sam said, nodding towards the woods on our right. I got the feeling he was downplaying the distance, but I nodded, pushing the Taurus into the pocket of my coat and turning to Trent, who was making no motion to rise.
He still only had one arm inside Sam's coat. I held onto the other side and helped him get his injured arm through the other sleeve. Trent groaned softly through his teeth, giving a strangled gasp of pain when his shoulder had to move and quickly curling his arm back to him as soon as the coat was fully on. His breath was quick and ragged. I didn't want to be worried, but I was.
"Trent, we have to go," I urged, taking his good elbow and trying to get him up.
Trent nodded, gathering himself. He started to rise, then rocked back again, head hanging, breath panting between his teeth. "Shit," I heard him murmur very softly and I knew he must really be doing badly, because Trent very rarely swore.
Sam had seen the trouble and come back over to us. He crouched by Trent. "Hey, I know this sucks, I'm sorry, but we gotta move."
"I know that!" Trent said through his teeth, pulling from Sam's grip on his arm. His irritation was obviously directed inward and he lowered his voice. "I know, I just ... I just need a moment and I'll be all right."
Sam gave him about a minute, looking around warily, his body language obviously screaming his desire to be moving. He glanced repeatedly at the much too rapidly darkening sky above and I knew he was worried about the impending night fall. After a minute he touched Trent's arm again, sliding his own through it and tugging so that Trent had no option but to rise.
"Come on, I'll help," Sam said earnestly. "The faster we get out of here, the sooner we can get you fixed up. Come on, man, you can do this."
Trent stumbled and swayed and I caught his other side, helping Sam support him. The pure look of frustration on Trent's pinched face was almost painful. It was obviously killing him to be so weak. Sam half walked, half dragged him along for a few dozen yards, getting Trent's frozen, exhausted limbs working again and giving him some momentum to work with. I stumbled along on the other side, trying to help while at the same time trying not to fall and take Trent down with me.
I knew Trent was starting to recover enough to reassert himself when a few minutes later he tugged away from both Sam and I, leaning one handed against a tree, but holding his feet on his own. "I'm good now, all right? I'm good, I can walk." He proved it by stumbling doggedly forward in the direction we'd been going. Sam eyed him cautiously, but allowed that he seemed to be capable of it and quickly took point again, leaving me to play rear guard and keep an eye on Trent's back to make sure he didn't collapse or fall too far behind.
"I'm sorry," Trent mumbled softly as we worked our way through the woods, moving swiftly, but not nearly as swiftly as we had been when we first started. The elf's voice was bitter with self-recrimination as he glanced over at me. "I'm slowing you down."
I looked down at the ground, remembering the unhesitating way Trent had thrown himself on top of me back there. I didn't know what to say to him. I'd be a lot slower if I were dead, Trent.
"You're doing fine, okay? You're both doing great," Sam encouraged from several yards ahead of us, even though I knew Trent was talking to me. "It's gonna be okay."
"I kind of wish he would stop saying that," I murmured to Trent, keeping my voice pitched low enough that Sam wouldn't be able to hear me. I knew he meant well, and I appreciated what he was trying to do for us, I really did, but ...
"Why, because every time he does, it feels like it's becoming less and less likely to be the truth?" Trent whispered back with a small, weary grin, voicing my thoughts exactly.
The sky was darkening and the temperature falling sharply. It was going to be night soon. Wherever we were headed, we weren't going to make it before that happened.