A Nasty Nest 10
In a sudden flurry, the group sorted itself out. Sid headed toward the stables, beckoning to Tristan and his hens. The king swept the rest of them into the castle, detailing his plans for the cockatrice in an excited voice to Sporin, who wrung his hands in response. Sam and Dean slid past Galavant, trying to keep near the healer who had brought them here. Gareth trailed after, frowning and murmuring, "'Killer' woulda been a much better name. Suits 'im, it does. 'Tristan'. Pah!"
"But - but - but, Your Majesty!" Sporin said in a fussy voice. "Really! Cockatrices?! He doesn't look like a very...patient...bird, Sire. And - and - " He fluttered his hands. "Fledglings! Oh, my!"
"There, there, Neo, everything will be just fine," Richard crooned. "Trust me!" In response, the small man just wrung his hands even more. Dean, watching, figured if he did it much more, he'd wring them off. And, since he really, really wanted to get home, maybe it was time he intervened. On that thought, he reached forward to tug at the little healer's arm as they all entered the throne room.
"So. You're the magic dude who brought us here, eh?" Dean looked down at him with a dangerous glint to his eyes. Sporin flinched.
"Um. Er. Um. Yes?" he quavered, his voice cracking.
Dean poked him squarely in the middle of his chest. "So. You've got a plan to get us back. Right?" He poked him again. Sam, as eager as Dean to hear the answer, still thought that intimidating the healer wasn't the best of ideas, so held him back from poking him a third time.
Sporin drew himself up to his full height in the center of the throne room. He tilted his head up haughtily so he could look down his nose at Dean. Dean found himself with a very good view up Sporin's hairy nostrils and did his best to swallow an amused snort.
"Of course!" he sniffed. Then he ruined the effect by adding, "Of course, it's all experimental, and we won't know if it really works until you find yourselves home, but my spell did work to bring you here, so..." He peered at Dean with bright eyes. Talking about his work, it seemed, drained his fear. Dean narrowed his eyes at him.
"So what you're saying is we might end up home again...or we might not. Have I got that correct?" His voice dripped acid. Sporin flinched momentarily, then returned to his confident mad scientist pose. Music started in the background, the sound of wind and jingling bells. Dean ground his teeth, but then, as it continued, his eyebrows rose. It was a single steel-stringed guitar, playing a series of descending notes in groups of four, like a rippling waterfall, that ended in two longer-held notes, then repeated. Dean's eyes widened. Sam tilted his head, listening, and frowned.
"Wait a minute," Sam muttered. "That's not right. Doesn't fit at all!"
Dean grinned at him. "Hah! I know this one! And, yes, it does fit in, dammit! You even went with me to see the damned show." Sam shook his head, puzzled. "Dude. 'Rock Of Ages'? Musical with classic rock?" Sam blinked. Dean started strumming air guitar.
The descending waterfall of notes had continued. Sporin ignored them and struck a pose as the throne room lights dimmed and a blue spotlight fell on him. He started wailing with the guitar, "I brought you here...usin' a special spell..." This time, it was Sam who dropped his head into his palm. He groaned.
"It isn't right, dammit!" he muttered. Dean just grinned a manic grin, and continued whaling on the air guitar like all his favorite rockers from the '80s.
Sporin continued, "To find the fiend...killing all our folks...And y'found 'em...in under a day - and so...I'll work all night..." He paused. "Just to get y'back home." He splayed out his arms with his head tilted back, his deep blue cloak shimmering in the spotlight, drooping off his arms. A gout of smoke rose behind him. "I'm a healer! With a silver bowl I try...to fix 'em - "
Dean jigged around with his air guitar to face him and echoed, "Fix 'em..."
Sporin nodded to him. "Dead or alive!" they sang in chorus. Sam just blinked at his brother owlishly and shook his head. Dean could tell he was baffled, but, damn! It was just like karaoke night! And with lights and everything! For the first time since they had arrived in this nuthouse, Dean felt willing - and able - to join in the insanity.
The ripple of descending notes played again, bells and wind in the background. Sporin dropped his arms and began singing. "Sometimes I fail...sometimes I just wanna play...The people I heal...always tryin' to find their way. Sometimes I tell them all...to pay me with a drink...and times I'm alone, I write up spells and think."
He struck a pose again. Dean stood back to back with him, the smoke blooming behind them. They sang together, "I'm a healer! With a silver bowl I try...to fix 'em - "
Dean threw his head back and howled, "Fix 'em!"
Sporin's light tenor and Dean's rougher, deeper voice blended: "Dead or alive! Dead or alive! Dead...or...alive!"
Wind, chimes, and descending melody rang out one last set of times, the melody trailing off, leaving just the chimes, and then just the wind. Sporin bowed his head, Dean slumped, the blue spotlight vanished, and without warning, everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as it ever was here.
Dean slapped Sporin on the back. "Dude! That was awesome!" The smaller man blushed, shuffled his feet, and ducked his head with a shy smile.
"Well. I'll do my best to get the two of you back home, safe and in one piece. Since the theory got you here, it should be enough to get you back." He straightened, ran a finger along his neatly waxed mustache, and added, "And if it doesn't work the first time, well - ! Try, try again, eh?" He nudged Dean with an elbow.
"All right, man!" Dean enthused. He caught Sam's eye, beamed, and bounded over to stand by him.
"Did you see that?! Damn! Like - like - being a fucking rock star, Sam!" He looked around the throne room, grinning. "Y'know, I could get to like it here." Sam gaped at him. Dean, about to shuffle around and start singing again, shut his mouth with an audible click and frowned at his brother. "In small doses, mind you! Like - for a visit...now and then...for a day or two..." His voice trailed off.
Sam gripped his elbow and hissed, "Home. Remember? Vamps to kill? People to save? Friends? Jody? Charlie? Cas?!" Dean flushed and his shoulders slumped.
"Yeah, yeah," he sighed. "Reality. Right. Awesome." This time, the word was not full of enthusiasm. He looked around the throne room, at Galavant lounging against the throne and chatting with Richard, at Sid leading the proud cockatrice in, at Gareth looming grimly beside an awkward young guardsman, making dour comments. He braced his shoulders. "Home. Yeah."
Galavant noticed them, and gestured them forward. "Dean! Sammy!"
Sam's face turned bright red and he gritted his teeth, muttering, "Just how hard is it to use 'Sam' instead?!" They walked to the throne.
"Good news!" Galavant announced as they came close. "Richard and I have been talking, and we've decided to sponsor you as members in the Association of Heroic Knights, and to nominate you for certification as heroes!" He looked absurdly satisfied with himself, as if he had pulled not one, but two, rabbits out of his hauberk. Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Sam shrugged, spreading his hands.
"Well, thanks, I guess," Dean said, raising his eyebrows.
"We'll have Dr. Sporin get the certificates to you, somehow," the king said, beaming. "The least we could do for you two!" He stood up and wrapped and arm around both their shoulders, aiming them at the door to the corridor to the outside. Galavant pulled himself out of his nonchalant slouch and strode after them. "Now. Sid, bring Tristan along!" he called out.
"Yes, Sire!" Sid caroled.
"I want you to be there when we introduce Tristan to Tad Cooper..." Richard said, guiding them out into the castle foreyard. "Two monstrous beasts out of legend! The bards will sing of this meeting!"