AN: I know. Finally. I think/hope the next chapter will be a little faster, because it's planned out. Until this one grew out of control, it was supposed to be included, so I have a pretty decent idea of how it will go. In theory.
Janice did her beta/cheerleader/motivational speaker thing and I don't think she realizes just how much I rely on her. Thanks, my friend!
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Dean was wrapping his mind around the fact that a whiny demon wearing a skinny, nerdy meatsuit was about to shoot him with a Dirty Harry gun when Vaughn screamed and his shot went up instead of at Dean. Of course, by then Dean was already throwing himself to the side, smashing even more of the holy water saline bags that he had strapped all over himself. It seemed like one of the hellhounds had turned on their master with impeccable timing. Dean didn't wait to see who won. Not that he could see the infernal mutts, which was a big part of the problem.
Dean scrambled for the door, dripping everywhere; he didn't exactly have time for an exorcism. He cursed when he found it locked. Though the sound of Vaughn yelling and carrying on behind him was positive, he knew he couldn't count on the demon being down for the count. Dean threw his shoulder into the door and bounced back. Overhead, there was the bark of a rifle and Vaughn howled. Good job, Sammy. Dean threw himself at the door again, and this time it started to crack around the lock. A hellhound growled to Dean's left, then yelped, and a wisp of steam rose from a small puddle of holy water that Dean had left behind. He had a feeling that it wouldn't keep the mutts at bay for long, so he threw himself at the door a third time.
Even as the door finally broke open, a bullet struck the jamb only a foot from Dean's head. Sam must have shot at the same time, because Vaughn bellowed, "Stop it!" like the whiner he was.
Dean didn't wait or look back. He didn't have any bullets that would bother Vaughn or his pets, and he was really sick of being at such a disadvantage. He knew there was a time to make a stand and a time to run like hell, and this was definitely one of the latter. He ran into the massive foyer, boots slipping against the marble floor as water was literally still pouring out of his pant legs.
Dean had to grab a balustrade to keep himself from sliding right past the staircase that he wanted. Of course, that was when a dude in an actual top hat showed up. A dead dude, all see-through. What the –?
"Mr. Dean Winchester, I am Hiram. This was my home. The hostages are in danger," ghostie said in a stiffly formal voice. "Sam is secure but still holding off the forces of evil from the roof. I cannot assist you much, but I can show you the way and I can see the hounds of Hell. I apologize for the hasty instructions but – drop!"
Dean had been about to tell Hiram where he could put his "help" when the last word was snapped and he obeyed automatically. He felt the air displacement as something (a damn hellhound, naturally) flew over his head. As Dean popped up, he could hear its nails clacking on the floor.
"Directly ahead," Hiram said tightly. "Arriving in 3...2...1."
Dean took him at his word and did a kind of roundhouse punch, only with the demon killing knife in his hand. The knife sank into something big and heavy. The impact knocked him over, but the hound howled at the strike and fell silent.
"Nice strike, that!" Hiram praised. "You and your brother are formidable warriors!"
Dean climbed to his feet and glared at the ghost, who was still blocking the stairs. "Look, I don't know who you are or why you don't want me to go to Sam, but I'm not going for it even if you did tell me about bad-breath hellhound there."
Hiram nodded, not offended. He might be dressed like some dandy but he seemed to have his head on straight so to speak. Of course, Dean wasn't in the habit of trusting anyone who was dead and buried, so he started up the steps anyway. "Sam said to tell you that I am 'a Casper, not a Zuul' and to 'protect the civvies.'" Hiram's tone made it clear that he didn't understand any of what he'd just said. In fact, the way he delivered the words reminded Dean of Cas, the early years.
Dean stopped, torn, then swore under his breath and turned around. That message was so Sam that he couldn't deny it. In fact, it referenced a conversation he and Sam had had about a year ago that nobody else could have overheard.
They weren't even looking for a ghost, the hunt they'd come to Georgia for apparently a bust, but it was still habit to scan any motel room for EMF before they went to sleep thanks to an incident outside of Durango involving a motel that had been built over a literal pit full of smallpox victims, including some of whom had been buried alive. In any case, they were hardly inside room 4 of Stay 'n' Sleep before Dean's meter was screaming.
Just like that, there was a woman dressed for a night of working the town sitting on the nearer bed staring vacantly at the wall. There was a big, bloody hole right through her chest. "Whaddaya think, Sammy?" Dean asked, dropping the meter in his duffel and digging out a handy iron knife. "Casper or Zuul?"
The chick turned out to be neither. She just sat there until they dug a bullet with dried blood on it out of the wall. She didn't even scream when she went up in flames. Sam later harassed Dean for the way he phrased things, calling him a 'pop culture menace.'
"Show me how to get to the basement, then," Dean said through gritted teeth. He hated being separated on a hunt, especially when Sam had already been so hurt, but Sam had the means to protect himself and Charlene and the other civilians did not.
"Excellent." Hiram moved to lead the way and fortunately, he didn't dawdle. "I am trusting you and your brother will release me and my compatriots once you've ousted these deranged intruders from my home. That was the deal I made with him." His fists clenched as he said deranged intruders, but he seemed to gain control of his temper after that.
"Yeah. How – and when – did Sam recruit you?" he had to ask even as they ran down a hall and through a door (literally through it in Hiram's case) that hid a narrow downward staircase.
"I reside in the old family cemetery," Hiram explained. "My great-nephew – well, perhaps that story should wait."
Dean heard the low growling then. "How many dogs?" he demanded in a whisper-yell. "And how many hostages?"
Hiram had stopped halfway down the steps. "I do not know. I do not seem to be able to go farther than this. I apologize."
"Figures," Dean muttered, moving farther down the stairs. His boots squelched with every step, but he could hear something else that sounded like water running. In addition, there were the soft sounds a group of people makes even when they are trying to keep quiet – shifting, fabric rubbing, breaths. And under all that was a nearly constant low growling.
The stairs ended in a short hallway. Before looking around the corner, Dean untaped the last intact saline bag from his torso. He was as quiet as he could be even when it removed a layer or two of skin. Holy water in one hand and demon-killing knife in the other, Dean peeked cautiously around the corner. His eyes widened.
Clearly, the basement was the party floor. There was a massive room with chairs and small tables clustered to one side and a full bar behind it. Across from that was a raised DJ platform, and the center was clearly designed to be a dance floor, complete with disco ball hanging overhead. One entire wall of the place was made up a giant aquarium full of colorful fish of all sizes. And sitting in the center of the dance floor in a miserable huddle was a group of people. Dean couldn't see the animals that were growling, so they must be hellhounds instead of helldogs. Dammit. Too bad Sam's pet ghost couldn't carry the treated glasses to Dean or even get down here to let him know where the hounds were.
A guy who looked vaguely familiar saw Dean. His eyes widened and he ignored Dean's finger-to-lips warning to keep quiet and yelled out "Help us!"
Double dammit. Dean threw the idiot a glare intended to convey, Well, thanks for the vote of confidence and no thanks for letting the invisible mutts know where to find another living steak dinner.
He'd intended to try to draw the hounds away from the civilians, maybe even one at a time, but the clicking of nails against the wooden floor cued him in on the fact that they were charging him. And he knew from painful experience that a human could not outrun a hellhound.
Hoping he'd get lucky and there were only one or two of the hounds guarding the hostages, Dean sprayed the last water in front of him, relishing the howl he heard in response. He swung the knife blindly with the other hand and a glancing impact with something knocked him back into the doorjamb, his head impacting hard enough to make him wince. Dean scored another (lucky) hit with the knife, getting a pained yip from one of the hounds. He was pretty sure there were two.
At the end of Dean's awareness, some guy muttered, both confused and amazed judging by his tone, "Holy crap! Isn't that the…wedding planner?"
Dean expected to feel tearing claws or teeth any second, so he acted on instinct and sprinted to a narrow door between the bar and the aquarium, sliding as he went. If he got the hounds distracted and away from the exit, just maybe the hostages would take the opportunity to get out.
He hurtled through the door he'd seen and fell onto metal steps that were going up, somehow managing to pull the door closed behind him. A heavy body thudded into the other side of the door before it was even entirely closed. He had to hope the hounds didn't turn on their charges while he figured out a plan of attack, but he expected they'd been instructed to leave the hostages untouched, which is why nobody was hellhound chow yet. Besides, he kind of thought he'd pissed them off.
Except, where was he?
Dean was on a small mesh staircase that was designed to allow access to the fish tank. He had the rosary in his pocket that Sam had found in the hospital. If they could make saline into holy water, why not holy fish water? He forced his aching body to get up and run up the few stairs. Luckily, the top of the tank was open. He pulled out the rosary and plunged his hand into the water.
"Exorcizotecréaturaaquaeinnomine –" Dean started as fast as he could. Below him the door crashed open. He drew his feet beneath him and braced the Kurdish knife with the point toward the threat. The steps shook, but Dean never stopped the blessing. "DeiPatrisomipotentisetin –" There was an impact, then Dean's mouth was full of water. Something was thrashing in the water next to him.
Twisting and kicking, Dean managed to pull the knife out of his invisible opponent and get his head above the water. "Spiritus –" A weight that could only be another hellhound landed on Dean, pushing him all the way to the bottom of the tank and stunning him. There was a line of fire down his leg and he couldn't tell which way was up.
Fighting panic, Dean struck out with the knife and hit glass. The next thing he found was gravel. The bottom of the tank. He pushed his feet down, his lungs protesting. Dean launched up, hit a flailing body, stabbed it, and launched himself again. He was so damn close to finishing the chant!
Dean starting inhaling a split second too early and coughed hard as he fought to pull in enough air. "Sancti!" he shouted, and it ended in a bellow of pain as heavy jaws closed on his foot. He could tell that his boot had protected his foot from being crushed, but some of the teeth had penetrated the top of his foot.
Though Dean grabbed for the side of the tank, the weight of the hound pulled him down again.
Dean's foot was released almost immediately and everything went batshit. The water churned all around, and Dean was pummeled by flailing paws and bodies as the hounds literally screamed under water. He couldn't make any progress toward the top of the tank. Hell, he was getting battered so constantly that he couldn't see a thing. He pulled his gun with a plan to shoot the glass out like Riggs in Lethal Weapon 2.
He fired high to make sure he didn't accidentally shoot someone, but a hound collided with him before he could see what happened. The collision sent him crashing into the side of the tank, leaving him even more disoriented and pushing that last of the air out of his lungs. It happened again, and he couldn't fire without being able to see. Black spots were dancing in Dean's vision. He couldn't get away from the madly scrambling limbs of the hellhounds to get some air. He was swinging his arms, trying to stab it or crack the glass with the butt of his gun or anything just to be able to breathe again.
Dean thought his feet touched the bottom of the tank and he tried to propel himself up again, but his movements were getting sluggish. He knew he couldn't hold his breath more than a few more seconds. His vision was almost completely gone. Unable to stop himself, he sucked in water and felt his whole body spasm at the wrongness of it.
Then there was a sudden change in pressure, and Dean was flying a different direction. He hit something hard and flat and gasped...and was breathing air.
In fact, he was lying on the floor with flopping fish and broken glass everywhere. He coughed and puked out a bunch of water, which hurt just as much coming out as it had going in. From there, it was just a whole lot more coughing. Somebody – Charlene? – was talking to him and trying to help him. He sort of waved her off. His job wasn't done.
Still coughing, Dean got onto his hands and knees. He could hear the hellhounds caterwauling and there were two places where the debris on the floor was being flattened and moved around, as if the hounds were rolling around on the floor. He would check in with all the people soon, but Dean had been trained from a young age first eliminate the threat, then see to the civilians. He climbed to his feet, went back to a knee, got up again, and staggered toward the ruckus, going right up to first hound was throwing its tantrum. He was still coughing and sort of seeing double, but he managed to stab the SOB. When it fell silent, he stumbled to the other one and did the same thing.
Then, finally, he let himself look around a little more, poured the remaining water out of his Colt and tucked it away, silently promising it an extra careful cleaning.
All around the piscine carnage, there were former hostages holding chair legs and other improvised weapons. Charlene, of course, and Cindy and the moron who'd given away Dean's arrival and maybe eight more. "Did you break me out of there?" he asked, wincing from speaking. It felt and sounded like he'd swallowed a handful of gravel.
"We tried," Charlene told him. She was soaked from about the waist down. "You started the crack when you shot the glass. I don't know if we actually helped or not. You – you need to sit down, and we have to find a first aid kit –"
Yeah, Dean didn't have time for that. His leg was bleeding, and his foot, lungs, and head ached, (actually, most of his body hurt), but nothing was major enough to keep him from finding Sam and finishing the job. "Later. The threats aren't gone, I need you to lead everybody upstairs, find a room you can lock, and stay there until somebody comes to get you." He ignored the questions other people were trying to ask, trusting Charlene to wrangle them and fend off hysteria.
But she hesitated, looking very worried.
"I'm fine. Sam's fine too. Just a couple things to clean up," he promised. Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. He was, of course, dripping wet. There were small cuts on his face and hands, and the latter were shaking. He was slouched against the wall with some kind of blue fish draped over the toe of one boot and one pant leg was bloody. He'd had better looks.
Dean kicked the fish off his foot and stood up straighter. "Go. All of you, follow Charlene. We'll come get you when it's safe," he called. He still sounded like crap, but people who were scared and confused usually wanted somebody to tell them what to do, so he was hoping they'd go along without too much arguing or asking questions. They all looked a bit shell-shocked, but he didn't see any obvious injuries. Dean had a pang of guilt for not checking sooner. Demons weren't exactly known for being kind and gentle. "Everyone okay?"
There were some general sounds of assent and Charlene started herding them toward the stairs. Somebody muttered about Dean not being okay, somebody else snarked that they didn't know wedding planners carried guns. Most were quiet and wide-eyed though, and all moved out of the room obediently. But they didn't get very far before somebody wailed, "There's a ghost."
Dean's fight-or-flight reflex nearly gave him whiplash as it ramped up and calmed right back down. Right. His brother had, for some unknown reason, invited a ghost to the hellhound/helldog/demon party. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go up the farthest north steps you can find, then. Cindy, you know where those are? Hiram, go check on Sam," he called. He was kind of proud that his brain was working as well as it was after all the abuse he'd just taken. Yelling made him cough, but after that, he finally started to catch his breath. He felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of elephants, but he could handle it. Vaughn was still out there, and it was time to fight side-by-side with his hunting partner, even if the guy had sent him a spook to baby-sit.
People were asking more questions now, and some (most) were kind of freaking out but they were also following the two women so he could afford to ignore them and figure out his next move. The original plan had him meeting up with Sam in the entryway, but that plan also included a few steps they'd missed when things had gone sideways. Like, Vaughn getting stuck in the Devil's trap and ventilated by Dean's knife.
"Er, Dean? The demon-man with the twisted face is, er, throwing things at your brother," Hiram announced, suddenly in Dean's face.
Dean was moving before the sentence was finished, heading for stairs he'd come down. He was glad the civvies were out of sight. They'd suffered enough trauma. "Throwing what kinds of things? Why can you get all the way down here now? And is Sam okay?"
Hiram followed him. "The answer to all three of those questions is the same," he said hesitantly. "Sam is no longer on the roof."
"Spit it out," Dean snapped. "And show me where he is." He reached the main floor and froze. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded of nobody in particular. The door he'd come through to get inside was broken in, literally hanging from one hinge, and standing between him and it was a Doberman Pincer on steroids. Its hackles were much larger than any ordinary dog's, arcing up behind its head like a triceratops' bony ridge. It growled, a sound so deep it seemed to reverberate through Dean's tired body.
"I don't have time for you!" he growled back, then literally growled at it. He was so done with helldogs and hellhounds and all of the carnage Vaughn and his pets had caused. He adjusted his grip on the still-wet demon-killing knife. "I've been to Hell, puppy, torn apart by a lot scarier dogs than you, and here I am, back, alive and well. I've killed demons. Demon princes. I've stared Lucifer in the face and sat down for a meal with Death. Oh, yeah, and I smoked Hitler. And. I'm. Still. Here.
"You wanna take your shot? Come on, then." Dean spread his arms wide, knowing his expression had to be pretty close to feral. The dog (dog-adjacent monster?) hesitated and Dean grinned maniacally, silently acknowledging that he might be on the verge of losing it completely. "No? Then lie down."
For one fraught moment the dog did a little kind of dance of indecision, then it lowered its head, sat down, then laid down and put its chin on its paws. Its hackles went down and it looked up at Dean almost innocently.
"Holy shit," Dean whispered.
"That was impressive, indeed," Hiram, who he'd completely forgotten for the moment, said. "It seems you and your brother were worth assisting after all."
"Speaking of Sam, where is he?" Dean asked.
Hiram hesitated in a way Dean was learning to hate. "Well…"
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AN: This chapter grew completely out of control, with so much more action than it was intended to have. That's part of why it took so long to get out; the ideas wouldn't stop coming. It's a bit Keystone Cops, a bit Scooby Doo, and a bit just straight-up nuttiness. Originally, Dean was supposed to bless the water, shoot out the side of the aquarium, and move on. But he can be a bit headstrong and insisted on the whole underwater fight scene, so now you have to wait to find out that Sam's – oh. Right. Can't tell you that yet.
By the way, if you've ever seen the TV show Ghosts (the American version), I based Hiram's appearance loosely on Elias Woodstone, Hetty's husband.
Casper or Zuul refers to 2 different ghosts. "Casper the Friendly Ghost" was the name of a cartoon back when I was a kid. Casper was very friendly. Zuul was a character in the original "Ghostbusters" movie. He was decidedly not friendly.
I took the holy water blessing from Supernatural Wiki, one of my favorite research spots for all things SPN. I like to imagine little kid Sammy Winchester trying to figure out if a whole lake or even ocean could be holified.
Timelady66: Oh. My. Gosh. Your little snippets just kill me. "The bitchin' ride will be quite useless now." Why is that so funny in Cas' voice? Also, poor Crowley losing his street cred because of a Barb hug. LOL. Janice pointed out that they used crossbows too. I think they are just about the coolest weapons.
Gunpowder and Whiskey: Good memory! That's a weapon I would've liked to have seen again. I find the whole concept very cool.
Atlasina: Nice to have you, lurking, commenting, any and all of it! Thank you for taking the time to let me know that you're enjoying it. Also, I'm so happy you like the author's notes. I really like sharing the info I find and it's nice that others like to read it.
muffinroo: Love me some badass Sam! That scene with the little dog was so funny. "I want the big 'un!" LOL. You could have whined about the cliffie because I accidentally made you wait so long for a resolution. (I blame Dean. He was being a very difficult character.)
Colby's girl: Good call! I totally forgot that, which is weird because I adore the idea of them using a crossbow. Thanks for your nice comment. :-)
Jenjoremy: Writing late at night very definitely increases the snark factor. The weird factor, too, which may be why Dean had a fight scene literally inside an aquarium. Maybe some day I will remember how to write a straight-up case fic without pocket ghosts and hybrid monsters, but it's not looking good.
Long live BRUCAS: I just loved giving Dean a big entrance. Like so many other parts of this story, it wasn't really planned that way, but he's a bigger-than-life character and these things just happen sometimes. I think I was giggling as I wrote it! Don't worry...Vaughn isn't long for this world.
SeacalDubh: Thanks! I appreciate your very kind words so much! Putting out writing feels like putting a piece of yourself out there; it makes you feel vulnerable. So praise and support mean more than most people probably realize. Gracias!
Kathy: Dean is so fun to write! There was one episode where a demon greeted them "The famous Winchesters" and Dean was like "some random demon." I think by season 12 the guys were seriously unimpressed by normal demons because they'd faced so many of the big ones – Lilith, Azazel, etc. – and other really big bads from Lucifer to Leviathans. The whole pocket ghost idea has been in my brain for a while. I feel like if ghosts didn't go nuts after a while, it would be really handy to have one along on hunts. He could scout ahead, invisible and would be immune to most attackers. Anyway, Vaughn has actually been hiding from Crowley (hope that's not a spoiler) all this time. His badassery is 99% in his head. Hehe
stedan: Right?! They should all be forced to listen to Crowley's little speech about being the only one who doesn't underestimate the "denim-wrapped nightmares." I thought about having Sam think about Dean's entrance in "Swan Song" but left it out...then Janice suggested the same thing and I figured it was meant to be. I am way happier than I should be when people say they like the notes after each chapter because I love learning those tidbits and sharing them.
Visionary: Your use of Rambo as a verb is fantastic and I may have to steal it some time. Wouldn't a pocket ghost be a wonderful ally? Imagine Bobby popping up and scaring a werewolf as a distraction. "Ha! Those claws can't touch me, wolfie and my boys are about to show up and send you to Purgatory. Don't worry. You won't be there long. Those monsters there'll pick their teeth with your bones. Hey idjits! I got a live mutt here! Not much to worry about though." OMG. That's too fun to imagine. Sorry for the long wait but thanks for your nice words!
Spnlady: Barb the badass. I'm so so glad that you love her – because I love her! I know you had to wait a long time, and there's no Barb or Cas or Crowley in this one, but they are coming back, promise. I have every intention to have one or two more dramatic entrances.