amberdreams (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amberdreams) wrote2010-07-21 02:21 pm
amberdreams) wrote2010-07-21 02:21 pm
The Hollow Hills - A fic. Part Two
Back to Part One amber1960.livejournal.com/14904.html
Sam’s magma pool of anger was cooling into a nasty congealed mess of worry after two hours of futile bumbling around the cave and its immediate vicinity. Apart from the bag and weapons, there was no sign anywhere that Dean had ever been there. Sam had searched, albeit limited by the narrow beam of his maglite, every inch of the damned cave, and found absolutely nothing. He didn’t know whether he was relieved there was no sign of a struggle, no blood, no threads of fibre from torn clothing, or frustrated there was no trail to follow. He stood still, chewing anxiously at a roughened fingernail, as the sun finally started to rise and a pale grey light gently dusted the entrance of the cave. He felt completely lost.
“Dean,” he whispered to himself. “Where the hell are you?”
Taking one last futile look around the interior, Sam admitted defeat – for the time being at least. He shouldered Dean’s duffle bag and slowly made his way back to the motel, taking care as he walked to scrutinise every detail of the trails he followed, on constant alert for any sign of his brother passing that way.
After nearly three more days and nights of fruitless searching, Sam finally rang Bobby. He didn’t know what else to do. Ruby had failed him; her burning map trick had produced nothing but ashes this time, and he had nearly blasted her back to Hell in frustration and rage. That was two days ago, he hadn’t seen her since, and she wasn’t answering her cell anymore. In his more rational moments, he supposed he couldn’t really blame her.
His veins were still humming with a thousand volts of electricity from his last dose of Ruby’s blood, taken that night Dean went missing. He knew this feeling would last for a couple of weeks, but the demon-blood high wasn’t helping his concentration. He was unravelling and needed something more human to hold himself together; Bobby was the only person he could trust. The only person who was smart enough and wise enough to find the solution he was blatantly overlooking, and find his stupid, reckless, pain in the ass brother.
Damn it Dean, what the hell have you gotten into this time?
He listened in guilty silence as the old hunter tore him off a strip for not calling earlier, told him he was throwing all his hunting gear into the nearest working vehicle in the yard and setting off for Philadelphia as they spoke. Sam could see him in his mind’s eye, phone tucked under his bristling beard, steering one handed, battered baseball cap clamped down on his head as if it had grown there. A knot in his chest he hadn’t even known was there eased slightly.
“You stay put, boy, don’t do anythin’ stupid. I’ll be with ya in less than two days.”
By the time Bobby arrived at the Forbidden Drive Motel, somewhat frazzled and worse for wear after driving virtually non-stop from South Dakota, Sam was practically climbing the walls. He had researched until he was nearly blind from staring at his computer screen without blinking for hours on end; he had been up to the Cave of Kelpius both in the night time and in the day time with the same result – nothing, nada, zip. Just after he’d called Bobby on his cell, he’d thought he had heard something, the very faintest sound of music maybe, coming from inside the cavern, but as soon as he had ducked inside the doorway, the thread of sound, if it had ever been there at all, had just vanished. He was left wondering if he had imagined it, or perhaps it had been the wind carrying the sound of someone’s radio down the hill.
So poor Bobby got the brunt of this, and Sam was right in the old hunter’s face the minute he stepped down from the rusty old pick-up.
“Bobby! I just can’t work out what could have taken him; there’s no sign of anything at all up at the cave, and I’ve searched every inch of the trails all around that part of the valley…” Sam didn’t even notice when Bobby Singer just kept walking round the pickup to get his bag. He just kept following the old hunter all the way from the truck to the Motel reception, kept talking the whole time as Bobby signed the register, picked up his room keys, walked right up to his motel room door and put the key in the lock. At that point, Bobby Singer decided enough was enough.
“Kid. I just drove one thousand three hundred miles to get here. You ain’t gonna get anything but crap outta me until after I’ve had at least a coupla hours kip.” He pushed the door open with his foot, laid a firm but gentle hand on Sam’s bicep, as the tall hunter closed his mouth with an audible snap and finally fell silent. The gruff old soldier’s face softened in a way that Sam knew it never did for anyone but the Winchester boys, who were like sons to him. “Sam, Dean’s been missing for nearly five days now – another coupla hours ain’t gonna make much difference to him now. Wake me at 3pm, and make no mistake, we will find your brother. Together, eh? Two heads and all that.”
Sam found himself nodding, smiled apologetically and backed off the step. Bobby was right, there was nothing to be gained from applying tired minds to the problem. He would just have to be patient, for a couple more hours.
Lugh did not look particularly amused by Dean calling his people fairies.
“We prefer Tuatha Dé Danann, but humans have been known to call us faeries, yes. And fucking is indeed something we do well.”
Dean thought that was probably the first time in his life when a promise of a fuck felt more of a threat than potential pleasure, and for once, managed to bite back any attempted smart-arsed come back. It was becoming pretty clear that whatever had happened to the three missing people whose disappearances had brought the brothers to Philadelphia was likely to be something to do with the Aes Sídhe. His familiarity with stories involving Fairies was sketchy at best. They were one of those things, along with Vampires, he thought ruefully, that he had assumed were either extinct or totally imaginary. He sighed silently. He should have known better. When in Winchester experience had anything ever been what it seemed? Even bedtime stories had a kernel of truth, as they had found to their cost many times in the past. Why should freaking fairies be any different?
What little he did remember though, didn’t include murder, just mayhem. He looked around the group again, paying a bit more attention to detail, searching for anyone resembling the pictures Sam had appropriated from hacking the police files of the missing people. None of the faces surrounding him were even remotely familiar.
“Look, this is very nice and all, making your acquaintance like this, but I think you might be holding some ‘mortals’ here whose families want them back. Three people have gone missing round here over the last six months – you guys know anything about that then?”
It was Queen Buí who answered him, her lovely face open and smiling.
“Oh yes, those three. They are gone now.”
“Gone? Gone where? What happened to them?” Dean demanded.
A tiny frown marred her perfect features as she contemplated the young hunter’s tense face. She sighed.
“They were very tedious. Constantly whining about wanting to go home. They ceased to be amusing, so we released them to the hunt.”
A chill ran down Dean’s spine at her matter of fact tone. He didn’t like the sound of this, not one little bit.
“The hunt? What do you mean?” Fearing he already knew the answer.
“Our cousin, Arawn, has some fine hounds – beautiful animals, so very white with red ears – sometimes we hunt with him. Your mortal friends made good sport.” Lugh replied, satisfaction running through his voice.
Anger coursed through Dean like a cleansing fire.
“You bastards hunted those people down like animals!”
Jesus. It was like the Benders all over again. Fucking Fairy Benders, except these were a lot prettier to look at than the crazy human versions. He had to get out of here and find a way to stop these fairy freaks. He needed Sam. This was not a solo job and he was deeply regretting the stupid impulse that had brought him here alone. He risked a glance at his watch. 4am. He had been here for nearly four hours, and by now Sam would have found his note and probably have come looking for him, as unprepared as he had been for dealing with something as strange as this. He had to get out of here, regroup, stop Sam from blundering into danger until they knew exactly what they were dealing with, and how to defeat them.
Lugh seemed to read his mind as his eyes cast desperately around for the way he’d come in – the door that shouldn’t have been there.
“There is no way out of here for you, Dean Winchester. You foolishly failed to keep the gate open for yourself when you entered at our invitation, and all your iron weapons that could have harmed us are still out there, in your world.” The tall man snapped his fingers in a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of the Trickster, and a tall spear appeared out of thin air into his right hand. Lugh planted the butt of the long, carved wooden shaft on the floor by his foot, looking every inch the deadly warrior with his bare torso gleaming in the lamp-light. Dean blinked as the leaf-shaped blade shone with a bright white light that seemed to come from the blade itself, not any reflection. He could see that the metal was etched with intricately carved symbols similar to the ones carved onto the shaft. He didn’t know if it was a trick of the light but it seemed that the spear was quivering in Lugh’s hand as if it was a living thing, as eager to get free of this place as Dean was.
“Anyone holding this spear cannot be defeated in battle.” Lugh said. “It never misses its target and will always return to the hand of the one who threw it. So do not think to try to escape from Tír na nÓg, mortal. You will stay here until you no longer amuse us, then we will hunt you and you will die.”
Dean gritted his teeth as Buí stepped forward and touched his cheek.
“Do not worry, Dean Winchester. I think you will prove very diverting for quite a while yet.”
Dean flinched. For while the lustful promises in Buí’s dark blue eyes might in other circumstances be arousing, it was vastly disturbing to see the same lust echoed in her husband’s. And he wasn’t at all keen to find out if Lugh’s other ‘spear’ was as large as the weapon currently in the Fairy King’s hand.
Bobby was as good as his word and emerged from his Motel room almost two hours to the minute after disappearing to have his rest. Sam supposed he should have been grateful for the older man’s punctuality, but he was too hyped up to feel anything other than an urgent drive to be out there, preferably killing something evil. If he had been capable of objective thought at that moment, he probably would have been struck by the irony that imbibing Ruby’s blood made him more like Dean – a man more of action than intellectual introspection. Maybe he would even have wondered why that should be a good thing, given that he had always found that one of the most worrying aspects of his elder brother’s nature.
Bobby’s first step however, was to have Sam sit down with him and run through all his research, seemingly oblivious to the way the big man’s knees were jigging frantically under the table and his large hands clenched and unclenched impatiently as he was forced to run over the facts. Sam eventually acknowledged that the time spent was worthwhile, when Bobby finally sat back in the rickety chair and nodded with satisfaction.
“Yup, thought so.” The bearded hunter said. “We are dealing with the Aes Sídhe.” Before Sam could open his mouth to speak, Bobby pointed at the picture of the man-made stone doorway of the Cave of Kelpius on Sam’s laptop screen. “This here is a Hollow Hill, son.” It was a measure of Sam’s agitation that he didn’t even flinch at the greasy fingerprint Bobby’s finger left smeared on his screen. Dean would have smiled at that.
Dean.
Snatched by – what? Did Bobby really say his brother might have been taken by the Sídhe? Suddenly Sam was overwhelmed by a hysterical giggle.
“Faeries. Dean’s been snaffled by a bunch of Tinkerbells!”
He chortled, ignoring Bobby’s disapproving glance, remembering the ribbing Dean had given him for knowing about Cinderella back in Maple Springs.
“Dude, could he be any more gay?”
Shooting him a look that said as clearly as words “get a grip, boy”, Bobby continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken.
“This makes getting Dean out easy and tricky all at the same time.” The grizzled hunter scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Ok, son, here’s what we are gonna do.”
Sam rapidly sobered up as Bobby ran through his plan. It was hard to grasp the fact that while days had passed for them, for Dean it would likely seem that he had only been there for a matter of minutes or maybe a few hours at the most. There were numerous stories of how time moved at a different pace inside Hollow Hills, and how men had reappeared many years after they had first vanished, often to find all their friends and families were long dead and gone, while they had thought they had only spent a few days away from home.
One advantage that gave them was that there was a limit (surely) to how much trouble his brother could have got himself into in what would be for him, such a short space of time. It also took some of the sense of urgency out of their preparations, as Bobby reckoned that the time lag was probably something in the nature of an hour in Tír na nÓg to a day outside, going by the stories.
“So Dean will feel like he’s been there for maybe five hours while five days have passed for us?”
“Near as I can calculate it, yup.”
“That’s insane, even for us.” Sam observed, fascination for the mechanics of it momentarily distracting him from both the fizzing effects of the demon blood in his veins and the possible plight of his errant brother.
“Maybe, but it is largely irrelevant really, other than it means when you go inside, I’ll have to wait a few hours outside while you take the few minutes you need to rescue your idjit brother. So I’d better take a book to read.”
Sam nodded thoughtfully. Given that it would only take a couple of minutes passing in Tír na nÓg for a whole hour to pass out in the real world, he could see Bobby’s point.
“So what do we need to do?”
“Opening the gate to Tír na nÓg is the easy part, all we need to do is walk widdershins round the mound, or as near to the entrance of the cave as we can manage. Keeping it open while you get in there and get Dean out is a bit trickier, but I’ll take care of that. All we need is an iron knife stuck in the doorframe, and make sure it stays there. Shouldn’t be a problem as long as you can keep them fairies occupied while you are in there.”
Sam leapt to his feet, adrenaline pumping again after sitting still for far too long.
“What are we waiting for then? Let’s go!”
Inside the Hollow Hill, Dean was having a light bulb moment as something Lugh had just said sank in. Your iron weapons are outside…but the knife in his boot had a silver blade, just like Lugh’s precious Spear…so it should have made it through the Fairy airport security that had trapped all his other gear on the other side. He was armed after all. Okay, it was one small silver knife against twenty or more Sídhe armed with who knew what weapons and who knew what kinds of magic, but all of a sudden, Dean felt happier than he had done for a long time. All of a sudden, the odds were still overwhelming but he didn’t care. He was spoiling for a fight – and if he couldn’t take out a few dozen freaking fairies before they took him down - well, then he deserved to have his ass whupped, didn’t he?
He saw quizzical expressions crossing the faces of the Aes Sídhe as he took a couple of steps backwards and flipped his foot up quickly to palm his knife into his right hand, pretending he was fiddling with his laces to disguise the gesture. A manic grin crossed his face as he took a fighting stance.
“Entertainment, eh? Well, let’s see how watching your own blood flowing entertains you, shall we? Who wants to be first?”
The leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann was smiling (fuck him) as he also took a step back to allow one of his entourage to take up Dean’s challenge. The hunter was secretly relieved the fairies hadn’t decided to mob him, at least not straight away. If they came at him one at a time he could certainly do some damage, though he still had no idea how he was going to find his way out of there.
A feeling of exhilaration swept over him as the bare-chested warrior lunged at him empty-handed, and felt no compunction at having concealed his knife until the last second. If these immortal idiots were stupid enough to come at him for a little hand-to-hand, he wasn’t above fighting dirty, and any trick that gained him an advantage was permissible in Dean’s Book of Fighting Monsters. He was well aware that this trick was something he would only be able to use once, and fully intended to make the most of it. He allowed the tall Sídhe to come inside his reach, feinted to the left and brought his knife hand round as the Fairy man dodged away from his blow and to his right. The short silver blade slid deep between his opponent’s ribs and Dean’s grin grew wider and wilder as the tall Sídhe fell back with a cry of pain, blood streaming down his side through his fingers as he clutched at the wound.
So, they can be hurt, and they do bleed, Dean thought with some satisfaction. It looked likely to be a short-lived emotion, (par for the course today) as the Aes Sídhe in the ring around the two fighters gave a collective hiss at seeing the concealed blade, now dripping red with blood. The next one to step forward was Lugh himself, and, Dean thought with a frisson of fear, the King of the Fairies looked pissed. Lugh also had a knife – no, correction Winchester, that is not a knife, that is a freaking huge sword – and he looked like he knew how to use it. Dean swore quietly under his breath and raised himself onto the balls of his feet in anticipation. This was not going to be pretty. Lugh was already taller than the hunter and had a longer reach, so the extra length of his weapon was a real problem.
Within a few seconds of this new fight starting, Dean was in trouble. The bastard was fast, much faster than him, and had already come inside Dean’s guard twice, so close he had felt the cold of the blade as it had slit though his loose button-down shirt, scoring his side. The hunter was starting to sweat with the effort of dancing out of the way of the King’s wicked bronze blade, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain this for long. Even as he dodged a downward sweeping blow from his right, and tried to make a counter attack of his own coming in under Lugh’s guard where he thought he had seen an opening, he realised his mistake. It was an expensive one. Lugh’s blade flashed through his guard and Dean gasped in pain as it slashed into his left bicep. He danced out of reach, grimacing as he felt the blood flowing freely from the deep cut. Bad news, Winchester…
Lugh didn’t press his advantage, stood back with his sword still raised, smiling. Dean grunted angrily, and felt an urge to wipe that smug smile off the handsome immortal’s face.
“What’s the matter, big boy, scared of a mere human?” Dean goaded the Lord of the Aes Sídhe, and for a moment, he thought that the sudden tension in the atmosphere was anger at his rash words.
Until he saw the actual source of the changed atmosphere, over on the far side of the chamber. A lone figure had somehow entered Tír na nÓg from the outside, and was standing silent and still, framed by the doorway that had opened behind him.
Sam.
Dean found the hand that held his knife had begun to shake. His brother was radiating danger from every pore and the Aes Sídhe were responding to it. Dean swallowed. He recognised this – he had seen it once before, when he had witnessed Sam pulling a demon from that bound man not long after Dean had been dragged out of Hell, with that demon-bitch Ruby looking on with approval mixed with pride in those demon-black eyes. Not a memory he cherished.
He took a firmer grip on the hilt of his silver knife, wishing more vehemently than ever that it was a big fucking sword instead of a pitifully inadequate pig-sticker. He wanted so badly to wipe the smiles of these fairy fuckers’ pretty faces. He watched as Sam scanned the room, saw with pride how swiftly his little brother absorbed the situation and hoped that Sam being Sam, he was better prepared than his big brother had been. Then anxiety swept over him as Sam held both hands out before him, showing the gathering of Aes Sídhe that he was unarmed.
It was then that Dean noticed a strange, low humming sound, a bit like a distant swarm of bees.
Shit, shit, shit. It was Lugh’s Spear. The Fairy King had clearly not bought Sam’s open hand routine, and had summoned the Spear from whatever dimension it resided, and Dean could see it vibrating in Lugh’s grip like a living thing. Its humming was raising the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck and making him feel dizzy, though of course, that could have been the blood loss from the almost forgotten deep gash on his arm. All the Sídhe’s attention was now focussed on Sam, who they clearly saw as the greater menace, and Dean saw his opportunity to take advantage of this lapse.
Even as the Leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann moved towards his brother, Dean was on the move. Like quicksilver he appeared at Sam’s side, in time to stand shoulder to shoulder and confront Lugh.
“Mortal, you enter my realm uninvited,” The Fairy King wrinkled his fine nose in disgust. “And you contaminate our home with the blood of the Fir Bolg.”
Dean didn’t have to understand the terminology to realise that the Aes Sídhe must have their own words for demons, and that there appeared to be no love lost between the two races of beings. At any other time, perhaps Sam would have been talking about making an alliance against Lilith, but the hostility was too evident here, and it was all concentrated on Sam’s demon blood. Might-have-beens were irrelevant as Dean focussed on the one fact that mattered now – the Lord of the Tuatha Dé Danann was about to release the deadly magic spear that never missed its target, and its target was going to be Sam.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. Whatever had occurred between them, however rocky their relationship had got, Dean would always die for his little brother – and this time he was so tired of fighting, death would feel like a release.
The instant Lugh let go of the spear (he didn’t cast it, just released it to find its own deadly way), Dean was moving again. The spear was like a bolt of light, streaking towards Sam’s broad chest, but Dean was quicker. Quicker than a thought, he flung himself into its path.
Sam had stepped through the doorway that had appeared in the back wall of the Cave of Kelpius just as Bobby had predicted, thinking he was ready for anything - but he wasn’t prepared for the incredible vista that opened up in front of him. He was so dumbstruck it had taken him a few precious seconds to register firstly a bloody Dean, and secondly the hostile crowd gathered around his brother. The attention of the crowd turned on him as one, as if they had all sensed him somehow instantaneously, and unthinking he raised his hands in a universal gesture of peace.
After that, everything seemed to happen at great speed but also in slow motion, like one of those martial arts movies. Dean moved free of the Aes Sídhe with the old speed and grace that Sam had always envied and had missed these last few months. Sam opened his mouth to tell his brother to stay away, he had a plan that didn’t entail Dean flinging himself headlong into danger, yet again – but there was no time.
Both his brother and the tall regal-looking figure who had leader written into every flex of his muscled form were just too damned quick. Sam managed to get his (Dean’s actually) large steel bowie knife into his right hand, the left remained outstretched, his fingers already tingling with the demon blood power, ready to be launched at any Fairies who got too close, whether it would do any damage or not. The power was positively fizzing through him now, he was so wound up he felt like a hundred thousand volt cable coming straight out of an electricity generating station. He didn’t know how long he could hold it in before he imploded.
It was the one thing he hadn’t discussed with Bobby, and he had no idea if this demon-killing force would have any effect on other supernatural beings such as the Tuatha Dé Danann, but really he didn’t care. Since he had last been dosed up by Ruby he had been bursting to vent this crazy energy built up inside him. Now seemed as good a time as any to release it, and surely it could do no harm to try.
So as Lugh released his spear and Dean made his crazy self-sacrificing dive in front of him, Sam let loose his dogs of war in the shape of a bolt of demon energy. He was gratified to see it send the massed Sídhe flying as if struck by hurricane force winds. But it did nothing to stop the shining Spear of light.
Horrified, Sam watched helplessly as the point of the spear took Dean in the chest, just below the diaphragm. Sam knew exactly where it had struck even though Dean had his back to him, because the spear just kept on coming through his brother, moving inexorably towards him, poking obscenely from Dean’s back. Its bright silver blade was somehow undimmed by his brother’s blood as it protruded some six inches out of Dean’s back, just below his shoulder blade. Impossibly, Dean was still on his feet, though wavering, and Sam could see he was grimly holding onto the spear-shaft to effectively stop it from working its way right through his body and reaching its intended target. Sam.
“Dean!” Sam yelled, as he grabbed for his brother to support his falling body. Belatedly, he realised Dean was trying to speak, and tried to quiet his own frantic heart beat and panting breaths to listen.
“S’door still open?” Dean managed through clenched teeth. Sam held him tightly, Dean’s weight getting heavier as the elder Winchester struggled against the pain and simultaneously fought to hold onto the spear that was moving in his bloody hands as if it was capable of independent thought and motion (which perhaps it was). Dean’s whole body was shuddering, and Sam was already backing them bothe towards the doorway as he replied. Fortunately the Sídhe were still in too much disarray after impact of the demon wind to muster themselves to stop the brothers.
“Yes, Bobby’s…”
Dean cut him off in mid sentence. “Get me through it…I can’t hold this spear much longer…” His voice was hoarse, and his words interrupted by gasps of inarticulate agony and Sam’s fists clenched even tighter on his brother’s shirt as he dragged him towards the gate between the worlds. It seemed the stubborn idiot was determined to fill Sam in on the details.
“That tall guy, Lugh…his spear…”
“Shut up, Dean!”
“Spear’s alive, Sammy. ‘F let go, it’ll come for you…you’re its target and …never misses..”
“Dean..”
“Important, Sammy. Think the spear will loose its power… outside.”
“Okay, Dean, it’s okay, I get it. Don’t speak. Just hold on.”
He meant hold on to life not hold onto the spear, but Dean could take both meanings, Sam supposed.
Sam’s relief that Dean had finally stopped trying to talk was replaced by a pang of concern as his brother sagged in his arms, close to passing out altogether. Now Sam had reason to be grateful that Dean Winchester was one stubborn son of a bitch, because, in spite of his terrible wounds his big brother was clinging onto the last remnants of awareness and the magical spear with equal tenacity. It felt to Sam like an age, but in reality it was only a few moments later that he finally crossed the threshold into the Cave of Kelpius, Dean and the spear a dead weight in his arms.
A terrible cry went up from inside the Hollow Hill as the Aes Sídhe, regrouping too late, realised that not only had their infallible Spear failed to take out its target (an impossibility in itself) but also they were about to loose their precious heirloom altogether. With it they would loose their one remaining doorway into the world of men.
Dean’s instincts had been right about the importance of the Spear. Sam had recognised it from Bobby’s research as one of the four treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and thought that keeping it this side of the doorway would most likely seal the immortals inside their Hollow Hill forever. He was proved right the instant Dean and the whole of the spear were on the human side of the door, the opening disappeared as if it had never existed, and the terrible eerie wailing was cut off. Any celebration or even feeling of satisfaction Sam might have felt was gone just as quickly as he took the entire weight of his brother as Dean finally let go of both spear and consciousness. Dean might be shorter than Sam but he was still a big guy, and solid muscle. Sam lowered him tenderly to the ground, careful not to jar the point of the spear that was still protruding from his brother’s back. Even as he settled his brother across his knees, the intricately carved deadly spear morphed into a more mundane-looking if equally lethal chunk of base metal – as if its immortal, magical nature was leached out of it by contact with the more prosaic ‘real’ world. Unluckily for Dean, the spear didn’t dematerialise altogether.
He looked around for Bobby, only then taking in the fact that it was dark and must be night-time, though when he and Bobby had arrived at the cave, it had been full daylight. He had known intellectually that this had been likely to happen, but was still taken by surprise as it had been only a matter of no more than twenty minutes or so since he had entered the land of the Sídhe. He opened his mouth to call for Bobby’s help, but the gruff old hunter was already there, bright storm lantern in one hand, duffel in the other. Bobby Singer was always prepared for anything.
But Sam could see that their old friend wasn’t prepared for the sight of Dean impaled on what looked like an eight foot long metal rail, bleeding freely from abdomen, back and arm. Bobby hesitated for a second, a look of horror on his grizzled face, before shaking it off and crouching down to help Sam tend to his brother.
“God, son, what have they done to you?”
-*-*-*-
Castiel was fairly humming with suppressed agitation, but his new superior held him back when he would have leapt forward to help. Clad in his carefully chosen vessel, a tall, well-built imposing middle-aged executive, the Seraph Zachariah cut an imposing figure as he watched with irritated interest as events unfolded around these two troublesome humans Heaven had marked for a higher purpose. As Zachariah was keen to point out to Castiel, their unfailing ability to get themselves into the most absurdly dangerous situations was not only baffling for the Seraph, but also annoying in the extreme. It really looked as though he was going to have to intervene, but fortunately, unlike his lesser colleague (who was merely a weak, easily influenced, lower ranked Elohim) he, Zachariah, had a plan to get the Winchester brothers back on track. Whether they liked it or not, they had destinies to fulfil, and he, Zachariah, was there to make sure that they ended up singing from the same hymn sheet. He allowed himself a small smile at his witty analogy before he decided enough was enough, it was time to step in and sort out this sorry mess Castiel had left him.
After all, it would be very inconvenient to have to drag the elder Winchester out of Hell a second time, and the pathetic human was very close to death at that moment. In fact, the Seraph could see the surprisingly pure white glow of Dean Winchester’s spirit fluttering beneath his increasingly transluscent skin as his breath rattled his ribs, and his lung steadily collapsed.
Smoothing down his suit jacket, Zachariah set about clearing the loose ends before tidying up his key pawn’s mess.
Bobby’s heart gave an unpleasant leap in shock as a strange man dressed incongruously in a business suit suddenly appeared out of thin air by his side as he knelt next to Sam, trying not to despair as he listened to Dean struggling to breathe. Before the old hunter could even formulate a thought let alone an action, the man’s large hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder.
“Best you just forget you were ever here,” the stranger said, and instantly Bobby wasn’t there, and didn’t remember a thing about any trip to Philadelphia, or a cave with some fairies, or think anything of it when he blinked and was back in his kitchen in South Dakota, a fresh mug of steaming hot coffee in his hand. He was somewhat puzzled when later that day he realised one of the pickups he’d been working on had seemingly vanished, along with a whole set of demon-hunting tools and a fully stocked first aid kit, but in the end had to write it off as being stolen. Though why any idjit would want a wreck like that old jalopy was beyond him.
Sam was turning his head to see what was going on when Zachariah turned his attention to the younger Winchester. Zachariah nodded to the as yet invisible Castiel, who immediately materialised, ready to take Dean’s weight.
“I realise motivation is not a problem for you at the moment, Sam Winchester, but all the same, I need you in this game to make it work for your brother – so…” The Seraph reached out two fingers and placed them in the centre of Sam’s frowning forehead, and instantly the young hunter was gone. Castiel gently wrapped his arms around Dean, so that even for this very shortest of moments, the dying man would not suffer any more agony by having his body dropped on the ground and the spear driven any further into his torso. He saw that Dean’s pain-filled gaze was aware and screaming questions at him that he couldn’t answer, but he paid his friend the courtesy of holding his gaze while Zachariah knelt down to despatch the older Winchester into the little scenario he had planned.
Castiel would take the time to muse about that alien concept of friendship afterwards, not understanding when and how this might have crept up on him.
But for now, this was all about straightening out Dean Winchester’s angsty little noggin, as the demon Alastair had so accurately labelled it. He was told it was God’s will.
“Dean Winchester. We meet at last.” Zachariah was prone to pompous declarations, and Castiel allowed himself a moment of annoyance, made it visible in his piercing blue eyes, only to be ignored, as usual. Zachariah continued to deliver his monologue, oblivious.
“You really are a most bothersome, pathetic specimen. I fail to see why any archangel could be interested in you, but - orders are orders.” The big man gave a theatrical sigh and reached out to touch Dean into the alternate reality the angel had prepared for him.
Dean wanted to speak, but the damned chunk of fairy metal impaling his lung had finally deprived him of all his breath, and the world was getting dark in a way he found all too familiar. Death was at his shoulder once again, and the earnest face of his own personal angel was dimming in his sight. Finally he managed a feeble croak.
“Sam…?”
Fortunately, Cas understood straight away and answered his concern even as the other dick-angel’s ham-like hand was approaching his pale sweating face. Just what they needed - another arrogant know-it-all trying to push them around like pawns on a chessboard, to meet some half-assed heavenly agenda. Bastard wouldn’t even let him die in peace.
“Sam is safe, Dean. You will be joining him shortly, and Zachariah will heal you where I cannot.”
Dean struggled to keep his glare fixed on the new angel on the block, but failed miserably as two blunt fingers touched his forehead and his lead-weighted lids closed.
Dean Winchester closes his eyes in the Cave of Kelpius in the Wissahickon Valley; Dean Smith opens his eyes with a feeling of blank contentment to the sound of A Well Respected Man on his radio alarm clock, somewhere in a swanky apartment block in downtown Cleveland, Ohio.
Unseen, the watching Zachariah claps Castiel on the lesser angel’s trench-coated back and gives him a smug smile.
“Let the lesson begin.”
-*-*-*-
The Hollow Hills
By
Amberdreams
Part 2
If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On a summer midnight, you can hear the music
Of the weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire
T S Elliot
-*-*-*-
Sam’s magma pool of anger was cooling into a nasty congealed mess of worry after two hours of futile bumbling around the cave and its immediate vicinity. Apart from the bag and weapons, there was no sign anywhere that Dean had ever been there. Sam had searched, albeit limited by the narrow beam of his maglite, every inch of the damned cave, and found absolutely nothing. He didn’t know whether he was relieved there was no sign of a struggle, no blood, no threads of fibre from torn clothing, or frustrated there was no trail to follow. He stood still, chewing anxiously at a roughened fingernail, as the sun finally started to rise and a pale grey light gently dusted the entrance of the cave. He felt completely lost.
“Dean,” he whispered to himself. “Where the hell are you?”
Taking one last futile look around the interior, Sam admitted defeat – for the time being at least. He shouldered Dean’s duffle bag and slowly made his way back to the motel, taking care as he walked to scrutinise every detail of the trails he followed, on constant alert for any sign of his brother passing that way.
After nearly three more days and nights of fruitless searching, Sam finally rang Bobby. He didn’t know what else to do. Ruby had failed him; her burning map trick had produced nothing but ashes this time, and he had nearly blasted her back to Hell in frustration and rage. That was two days ago, he hadn’t seen her since, and she wasn’t answering her cell anymore. In his more rational moments, he supposed he couldn’t really blame her.
His veins were still humming with a thousand volts of electricity from his last dose of Ruby’s blood, taken that night Dean went missing. He knew this feeling would last for a couple of weeks, but the demon-blood high wasn’t helping his concentration. He was unravelling and needed something more human to hold himself together; Bobby was the only person he could trust. The only person who was smart enough and wise enough to find the solution he was blatantly overlooking, and find his stupid, reckless, pain in the ass brother.
Damn it Dean, what the hell have you gotten into this time?
He listened in guilty silence as the old hunter tore him off a strip for not calling earlier, told him he was throwing all his hunting gear into the nearest working vehicle in the yard and setting off for Philadelphia as they spoke. Sam could see him in his mind’s eye, phone tucked under his bristling beard, steering one handed, battered baseball cap clamped down on his head as if it had grown there. A knot in his chest he hadn’t even known was there eased slightly.
“You stay put, boy, don’t do anythin’ stupid. I’ll be with ya in less than two days.”
-*-*-*-
By the time Bobby arrived at the Forbidden Drive Motel, somewhat frazzled and worse for wear after driving virtually non-stop from South Dakota, Sam was practically climbing the walls. He had researched until he was nearly blind from staring at his computer screen without blinking for hours on end; he had been up to the Cave of Kelpius both in the night time and in the day time with the same result – nothing, nada, zip. Just after he’d called Bobby on his cell, he’d thought he had heard something, the very faintest sound of music maybe, coming from inside the cavern, but as soon as he had ducked inside the doorway, the thread of sound, if it had ever been there at all, had just vanished. He was left wondering if he had imagined it, or perhaps it had been the wind carrying the sound of someone’s radio down the hill.
So poor Bobby got the brunt of this, and Sam was right in the old hunter’s face the minute he stepped down from the rusty old pick-up.
“Bobby! I just can’t work out what could have taken him; there’s no sign of anything at all up at the cave, and I’ve searched every inch of the trails all around that part of the valley…” Sam didn’t even notice when Bobby Singer just kept walking round the pickup to get his bag. He just kept following the old hunter all the way from the truck to the Motel reception, kept talking the whole time as Bobby signed the register, picked up his room keys, walked right up to his motel room door and put the key in the lock. At that point, Bobby Singer decided enough was enough.
“Kid. I just drove one thousand three hundred miles to get here. You ain’t gonna get anything but crap outta me until after I’ve had at least a coupla hours kip.” He pushed the door open with his foot, laid a firm but gentle hand on Sam’s bicep, as the tall hunter closed his mouth with an audible snap and finally fell silent. The gruff old soldier’s face softened in a way that Sam knew it never did for anyone but the Winchester boys, who were like sons to him. “Sam, Dean’s been missing for nearly five days now – another coupla hours ain’t gonna make much difference to him now. Wake me at 3pm, and make no mistake, we will find your brother. Together, eh? Two heads and all that.”
Sam found himself nodding, smiled apologetically and backed off the step. Bobby was right, there was nothing to be gained from applying tired minds to the problem. He would just have to be patient, for a couple more hours.
-*-*-*-
Lugh did not look particularly amused by Dean calling his people fairies.
“We prefer Tuatha Dé Danann, but humans have been known to call us faeries, yes. And fucking is indeed something we do well.”
Dean thought that was probably the first time in his life when a promise of a fuck felt more of a threat than potential pleasure, and for once, managed to bite back any attempted smart-arsed come back. It was becoming pretty clear that whatever had happened to the three missing people whose disappearances had brought the brothers to Philadelphia was likely to be something to do with the Aes Sídhe. His familiarity with stories involving Fairies was sketchy at best. They were one of those things, along with Vampires, he thought ruefully, that he had assumed were either extinct or totally imaginary. He sighed silently. He should have known better. When in Winchester experience had anything ever been what it seemed? Even bedtime stories had a kernel of truth, as they had found to their cost many times in the past. Why should freaking fairies be any different?
What little he did remember though, didn’t include murder, just mayhem. He looked around the group again, paying a bit more attention to detail, searching for anyone resembling the pictures Sam had appropriated from hacking the police files of the missing people. None of the faces surrounding him were even remotely familiar.
“Look, this is very nice and all, making your acquaintance like this, but I think you might be holding some ‘mortals’ here whose families want them back. Three people have gone missing round here over the last six months – you guys know anything about that then?”
It was Queen Buí who answered him, her lovely face open and smiling.
“Oh yes, those three. They are gone now.”
“Gone? Gone where? What happened to them?” Dean demanded.
A tiny frown marred her perfect features as she contemplated the young hunter’s tense face. She sighed.
“They were very tedious. Constantly whining about wanting to go home. They ceased to be amusing, so we released them to the hunt.”
A chill ran down Dean’s spine at her matter of fact tone. He didn’t like the sound of this, not one little bit.
“The hunt? What do you mean?” Fearing he already knew the answer.
“Our cousin, Arawn, has some fine hounds – beautiful animals, so very white with red ears – sometimes we hunt with him. Your mortal friends made good sport.” Lugh replied, satisfaction running through his voice.
Anger coursed through Dean like a cleansing fire.
“You bastards hunted those people down like animals!”
Jesus. It was like the Benders all over again. Fucking Fairy Benders, except these were a lot prettier to look at than the crazy human versions. He had to get out of here and find a way to stop these fairy freaks. He needed Sam. This was not a solo job and he was deeply regretting the stupid impulse that had brought him here alone. He risked a glance at his watch. 4am. He had been here for nearly four hours, and by now Sam would have found his note and probably have come looking for him, as unprepared as he had been for dealing with something as strange as this. He had to get out of here, regroup, stop Sam from blundering into danger until they knew exactly what they were dealing with, and how to defeat them.
Lugh seemed to read his mind as his eyes cast desperately around for the way he’d come in – the door that shouldn’t have been there.
“There is no way out of here for you, Dean Winchester. You foolishly failed to keep the gate open for yourself when you entered at our invitation, and all your iron weapons that could have harmed us are still out there, in your world.” The tall man snapped his fingers in a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of the Trickster, and a tall spear appeared out of thin air into his right hand. Lugh planted the butt of the long, carved wooden shaft on the floor by his foot, looking every inch the deadly warrior with his bare torso gleaming in the lamp-light. Dean blinked as the leaf-shaped blade shone with a bright white light that seemed to come from the blade itself, not any reflection. He could see that the metal was etched with intricately carved symbols similar to the ones carved onto the shaft. He didn’t know if it was a trick of the light but it seemed that the spear was quivering in Lugh’s hand as if it was a living thing, as eager to get free of this place as Dean was.
“Anyone holding this spear cannot be defeated in battle.” Lugh said. “It never misses its target and will always return to the hand of the one who threw it. So do not think to try to escape from Tír na nÓg, mortal. You will stay here until you no longer amuse us, then we will hunt you and you will die.”
Dean gritted his teeth as Buí stepped forward and touched his cheek.
“Do not worry, Dean Winchester. I think you will prove very diverting for quite a while yet.”
Dean flinched. For while the lustful promises in Buí’s dark blue eyes might in other circumstances be arousing, it was vastly disturbing to see the same lust echoed in her husband’s. And he wasn’t at all keen to find out if Lugh’s other ‘spear’ was as large as the weapon currently in the Fairy King’s hand.
-*-*-*-
Bobby was as good as his word and emerged from his Motel room almost two hours to the minute after disappearing to have his rest. Sam supposed he should have been grateful for the older man’s punctuality, but he was too hyped up to feel anything other than an urgent drive to be out there, preferably killing something evil. If he had been capable of objective thought at that moment, he probably would have been struck by the irony that imbibing Ruby’s blood made him more like Dean – a man more of action than intellectual introspection. Maybe he would even have wondered why that should be a good thing, given that he had always found that one of the most worrying aspects of his elder brother’s nature.
Bobby’s first step however, was to have Sam sit down with him and run through all his research, seemingly oblivious to the way the big man’s knees were jigging frantically under the table and his large hands clenched and unclenched impatiently as he was forced to run over the facts. Sam eventually acknowledged that the time spent was worthwhile, when Bobby finally sat back in the rickety chair and nodded with satisfaction.
“Yup, thought so.” The bearded hunter said. “We are dealing with the Aes Sídhe.” Before Sam could open his mouth to speak, Bobby pointed at the picture of the man-made stone doorway of the Cave of Kelpius on Sam’s laptop screen. “This here is a Hollow Hill, son.” It was a measure of Sam’s agitation that he didn’t even flinch at the greasy fingerprint Bobby’s finger left smeared on his screen. Dean would have smiled at that.
Dean.
Snatched by – what? Did Bobby really say his brother might have been taken by the Sídhe? Suddenly Sam was overwhelmed by a hysterical giggle.
“Faeries. Dean’s been snaffled by a bunch of Tinkerbells!”
He chortled, ignoring Bobby’s disapproving glance, remembering the ribbing Dean had given him for knowing about Cinderella back in Maple Springs.
“Dude, could he be any more gay?”
Shooting him a look that said as clearly as words “get a grip, boy”, Bobby continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken.
“This makes getting Dean out easy and tricky all at the same time.” The grizzled hunter scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Ok, son, here’s what we are gonna do.”
Sam rapidly sobered up as Bobby ran through his plan. It was hard to grasp the fact that while days had passed for them, for Dean it would likely seem that he had only been there for a matter of minutes or maybe a few hours at the most. There were numerous stories of how time moved at a different pace inside Hollow Hills, and how men had reappeared many years after they had first vanished, often to find all their friends and families were long dead and gone, while they had thought they had only spent a few days away from home.
One advantage that gave them was that there was a limit (surely) to how much trouble his brother could have got himself into in what would be for him, such a short space of time. It also took some of the sense of urgency out of their preparations, as Bobby reckoned that the time lag was probably something in the nature of an hour in Tír na nÓg to a day outside, going by the stories.
“So Dean will feel like he’s been there for maybe five hours while five days have passed for us?”
“Near as I can calculate it, yup.”
“That’s insane, even for us.” Sam observed, fascination for the mechanics of it momentarily distracting him from both the fizzing effects of the demon blood in his veins and the possible plight of his errant brother.
“Maybe, but it is largely irrelevant really, other than it means when you go inside, I’ll have to wait a few hours outside while you take the few minutes you need to rescue your idjit brother. So I’d better take a book to read.”
Sam nodded thoughtfully. Given that it would only take a couple of minutes passing in Tír na nÓg for a whole hour to pass out in the real world, he could see Bobby’s point.
“So what do we need to do?”
“Opening the gate to Tír na nÓg is the easy part, all we need to do is walk widdershins round the mound, or as near to the entrance of the cave as we can manage. Keeping it open while you get in there and get Dean out is a bit trickier, but I’ll take care of that. All we need is an iron knife stuck in the doorframe, and make sure it stays there. Shouldn’t be a problem as long as you can keep them fairies occupied while you are in there.”
Sam leapt to his feet, adrenaline pumping again after sitting still for far too long.
“What are we waiting for then? Let’s go!”
-*-*-*-
Inside the Hollow Hill, Dean was having a light bulb moment as something Lugh had just said sank in. Your iron weapons are outside…but the knife in his boot had a silver blade, just like Lugh’s precious Spear…so it should have made it through the Fairy airport security that had trapped all his other gear on the other side. He was armed after all. Okay, it was one small silver knife against twenty or more Sídhe armed with who knew what weapons and who knew what kinds of magic, but all of a sudden, Dean felt happier than he had done for a long time. All of a sudden, the odds were still overwhelming but he didn’t care. He was spoiling for a fight – and if he couldn’t take out a few dozen freaking fairies before they took him down - well, then he deserved to have his ass whupped, didn’t he?
He saw quizzical expressions crossing the faces of the Aes Sídhe as he took a couple of steps backwards and flipped his foot up quickly to palm his knife into his right hand, pretending he was fiddling with his laces to disguise the gesture. A manic grin crossed his face as he took a fighting stance.
“Entertainment, eh? Well, let’s see how watching your own blood flowing entertains you, shall we? Who wants to be first?”
The leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann was smiling (fuck him) as he also took a step back to allow one of his entourage to take up Dean’s challenge. The hunter was secretly relieved the fairies hadn’t decided to mob him, at least not straight away. If they came at him one at a time he could certainly do some damage, though he still had no idea how he was going to find his way out of there.
A feeling of exhilaration swept over him as the bare-chested warrior lunged at him empty-handed, and felt no compunction at having concealed his knife until the last second. If these immortal idiots were stupid enough to come at him for a little hand-to-hand, he wasn’t above fighting dirty, and any trick that gained him an advantage was permissible in Dean’s Book of Fighting Monsters. He was well aware that this trick was something he would only be able to use once, and fully intended to make the most of it. He allowed the tall Sídhe to come inside his reach, feinted to the left and brought his knife hand round as the Fairy man dodged away from his blow and to his right. The short silver blade slid deep between his opponent’s ribs and Dean’s grin grew wider and wilder as the tall Sídhe fell back with a cry of pain, blood streaming down his side through his fingers as he clutched at the wound.
So, they can be hurt, and they do bleed, Dean thought with some satisfaction. It looked likely to be a short-lived emotion, (par for the course today) as the Aes Sídhe in the ring around the two fighters gave a collective hiss at seeing the concealed blade, now dripping red with blood. The next one to step forward was Lugh himself, and, Dean thought with a frisson of fear, the King of the Fairies looked pissed. Lugh also had a knife – no, correction Winchester, that is not a knife, that is a freaking huge sword – and he looked like he knew how to use it. Dean swore quietly under his breath and raised himself onto the balls of his feet in anticipation. This was not going to be pretty. Lugh was already taller than the hunter and had a longer reach, so the extra length of his weapon was a real problem.
Within a few seconds of this new fight starting, Dean was in trouble. The bastard was fast, much faster than him, and had already come inside Dean’s guard twice, so close he had felt the cold of the blade as it had slit though his loose button-down shirt, scoring his side. The hunter was starting to sweat with the effort of dancing out of the way of the King’s wicked bronze blade, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain this for long. Even as he dodged a downward sweeping blow from his right, and tried to make a counter attack of his own coming in under Lugh’s guard where he thought he had seen an opening, he realised his mistake. It was an expensive one. Lugh’s blade flashed through his guard and Dean gasped in pain as it slashed into his left bicep. He danced out of reach, grimacing as he felt the blood flowing freely from the deep cut. Bad news, Winchester…
Lugh didn’t press his advantage, stood back with his sword still raised, smiling. Dean grunted angrily, and felt an urge to wipe that smug smile off the handsome immortal’s face.
“What’s the matter, big boy, scared of a mere human?” Dean goaded the Lord of the Aes Sídhe, and for a moment, he thought that the sudden tension in the atmosphere was anger at his rash words.
Until he saw the actual source of the changed atmosphere, over on the far side of the chamber. A lone figure had somehow entered Tír na nÓg from the outside, and was standing silent and still, framed by the doorway that had opened behind him.
Sam.
Dean found the hand that held his knife had begun to shake. His brother was radiating danger from every pore and the Aes Sídhe were responding to it. Dean swallowed. He recognised this – he had seen it once before, when he had witnessed Sam pulling a demon from that bound man not long after Dean had been dragged out of Hell, with that demon-bitch Ruby looking on with approval mixed with pride in those demon-black eyes. Not a memory he cherished.
He took a firmer grip on the hilt of his silver knife, wishing more vehemently than ever that it was a big fucking sword instead of a pitifully inadequate pig-sticker. He wanted so badly to wipe the smiles of these fairy fuckers’ pretty faces. He watched as Sam scanned the room, saw with pride how swiftly his little brother absorbed the situation and hoped that Sam being Sam, he was better prepared than his big brother had been. Then anxiety swept over him as Sam held both hands out before him, showing the gathering of Aes Sídhe that he was unarmed.
It was then that Dean noticed a strange, low humming sound, a bit like a distant swarm of bees.
Shit, shit, shit. It was Lugh’s Spear. The Fairy King had clearly not bought Sam’s open hand routine, and had summoned the Spear from whatever dimension it resided, and Dean could see it vibrating in Lugh’s grip like a living thing. Its humming was raising the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck and making him feel dizzy, though of course, that could have been the blood loss from the almost forgotten deep gash on his arm. All the Sídhe’s attention was now focussed on Sam, who they clearly saw as the greater menace, and Dean saw his opportunity to take advantage of this lapse.
Even as the Leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann moved towards his brother, Dean was on the move. Like quicksilver he appeared at Sam’s side, in time to stand shoulder to shoulder and confront Lugh.
“Mortal, you enter my realm uninvited,” The Fairy King wrinkled his fine nose in disgust. “And you contaminate our home with the blood of the Fir Bolg.”
Dean didn’t have to understand the terminology to realise that the Aes Sídhe must have their own words for demons, and that there appeared to be no love lost between the two races of beings. At any other time, perhaps Sam would have been talking about making an alliance against Lilith, but the hostility was too evident here, and it was all concentrated on Sam’s demon blood. Might-have-beens were irrelevant as Dean focussed on the one fact that mattered now – the Lord of the Tuatha Dé Danann was about to release the deadly magic spear that never missed its target, and its target was going to be Sam.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. Whatever had occurred between them, however rocky their relationship had got, Dean would always die for his little brother – and this time he was so tired of fighting, death would feel like a release.
The instant Lugh let go of the spear (he didn’t cast it, just released it to find its own deadly way), Dean was moving again. The spear was like a bolt of light, streaking towards Sam’s broad chest, but Dean was quicker. Quicker than a thought, he flung himself into its path.
-*-*-*-
Sam had stepped through the doorway that had appeared in the back wall of the Cave of Kelpius just as Bobby had predicted, thinking he was ready for anything - but he wasn’t prepared for the incredible vista that opened up in front of him. He was so dumbstruck it had taken him a few precious seconds to register firstly a bloody Dean, and secondly the hostile crowd gathered around his brother. The attention of the crowd turned on him as one, as if they had all sensed him somehow instantaneously, and unthinking he raised his hands in a universal gesture of peace.
After that, everything seemed to happen at great speed but also in slow motion, like one of those martial arts movies. Dean moved free of the Aes Sídhe with the old speed and grace that Sam had always envied and had missed these last few months. Sam opened his mouth to tell his brother to stay away, he had a plan that didn’t entail Dean flinging himself headlong into danger, yet again – but there was no time.
Both his brother and the tall regal-looking figure who had leader written into every flex of his muscled form were just too damned quick. Sam managed to get his (Dean’s actually) large steel bowie knife into his right hand, the left remained outstretched, his fingers already tingling with the demon blood power, ready to be launched at any Fairies who got too close, whether it would do any damage or not. The power was positively fizzing through him now, he was so wound up he felt like a hundred thousand volt cable coming straight out of an electricity generating station. He didn’t know how long he could hold it in before he imploded.
It was the one thing he hadn’t discussed with Bobby, and he had no idea if this demon-killing force would have any effect on other supernatural beings such as the Tuatha Dé Danann, but really he didn’t care. Since he had last been dosed up by Ruby he had been bursting to vent this crazy energy built up inside him. Now seemed as good a time as any to release it, and surely it could do no harm to try.
So as Lugh released his spear and Dean made his crazy self-sacrificing dive in front of him, Sam let loose his dogs of war in the shape of a bolt of demon energy. He was gratified to see it send the massed Sídhe flying as if struck by hurricane force winds. But it did nothing to stop the shining Spear of light.
Horrified, Sam watched helplessly as the point of the spear took Dean in the chest, just below the diaphragm. Sam knew exactly where it had struck even though Dean had his back to him, because the spear just kept on coming through his brother, moving inexorably towards him, poking obscenely from Dean’s back. Its bright silver blade was somehow undimmed by his brother’s blood as it protruded some six inches out of Dean’s back, just below his shoulder blade. Impossibly, Dean was still on his feet, though wavering, and Sam could see he was grimly holding onto the spear-shaft to effectively stop it from working its way right through his body and reaching its intended target. Sam.
“Dean!” Sam yelled, as he grabbed for his brother to support his falling body. Belatedly, he realised Dean was trying to speak, and tried to quiet his own frantic heart beat and panting breaths to listen.
“S’door still open?” Dean managed through clenched teeth. Sam held him tightly, Dean’s weight getting heavier as the elder Winchester struggled against the pain and simultaneously fought to hold onto the spear that was moving in his bloody hands as if it was capable of independent thought and motion (which perhaps it was). Dean’s whole body was shuddering, and Sam was already backing them bothe towards the doorway as he replied. Fortunately the Sídhe were still in too much disarray after impact of the demon wind to muster themselves to stop the brothers.
“Yes, Bobby’s…”
Dean cut him off in mid sentence. “Get me through it…I can’t hold this spear much longer…” His voice was hoarse, and his words interrupted by gasps of inarticulate agony and Sam’s fists clenched even tighter on his brother’s shirt as he dragged him towards the gate between the worlds. It seemed the stubborn idiot was determined to fill Sam in on the details.
“That tall guy, Lugh…his spear…”
“Shut up, Dean!”
“Spear’s alive, Sammy. ‘F let go, it’ll come for you…you’re its target and …never misses..”
“Dean..”
“Important, Sammy. Think the spear will loose its power… outside.”
“Okay, Dean, it’s okay, I get it. Don’t speak. Just hold on.”
He meant hold on to life not hold onto the spear, but Dean could take both meanings, Sam supposed.
Sam’s relief that Dean had finally stopped trying to talk was replaced by a pang of concern as his brother sagged in his arms, close to passing out altogether. Now Sam had reason to be grateful that Dean Winchester was one stubborn son of a bitch, because, in spite of his terrible wounds his big brother was clinging onto the last remnants of awareness and the magical spear with equal tenacity. It felt to Sam like an age, but in reality it was only a few moments later that he finally crossed the threshold into the Cave of Kelpius, Dean and the spear a dead weight in his arms.
A terrible cry went up from inside the Hollow Hill as the Aes Sídhe, regrouping too late, realised that not only had their infallible Spear failed to take out its target (an impossibility in itself) but also they were about to loose their precious heirloom altogether. With it they would loose their one remaining doorway into the world of men.
Dean’s instincts had been right about the importance of the Spear. Sam had recognised it from Bobby’s research as one of the four treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and thought that keeping it this side of the doorway would most likely seal the immortals inside their Hollow Hill forever. He was proved right the instant Dean and the whole of the spear were on the human side of the door, the opening disappeared as if it had never existed, and the terrible eerie wailing was cut off. Any celebration or even feeling of satisfaction Sam might have felt was gone just as quickly as he took the entire weight of his brother as Dean finally let go of both spear and consciousness. Dean might be shorter than Sam but he was still a big guy, and solid muscle. Sam lowered him tenderly to the ground, careful not to jar the point of the spear that was still protruding from his brother’s back. Even as he settled his brother across his knees, the intricately carved deadly spear morphed into a more mundane-looking if equally lethal chunk of base metal – as if its immortal, magical nature was leached out of it by contact with the more prosaic ‘real’ world. Unluckily for Dean, the spear didn’t dematerialise altogether.
He looked around for Bobby, only then taking in the fact that it was dark and must be night-time, though when he and Bobby had arrived at the cave, it had been full daylight. He had known intellectually that this had been likely to happen, but was still taken by surprise as it had been only a matter of no more than twenty minutes or so since he had entered the land of the Sídhe. He opened his mouth to call for Bobby’s help, but the gruff old hunter was already there, bright storm lantern in one hand, duffel in the other. Bobby Singer was always prepared for anything.
But Sam could see that their old friend wasn’t prepared for the sight of Dean impaled on what looked like an eight foot long metal rail, bleeding freely from abdomen, back and arm. Bobby hesitated for a second, a look of horror on his grizzled face, before shaking it off and crouching down to help Sam tend to his brother.
“God, son, what have they done to you?”
-*-*-*-
Castiel was fairly humming with suppressed agitation, but his new superior held him back when he would have leapt forward to help. Clad in his carefully chosen vessel, a tall, well-built imposing middle-aged executive, the Seraph Zachariah cut an imposing figure as he watched with irritated interest as events unfolded around these two troublesome humans Heaven had marked for a higher purpose. As Zachariah was keen to point out to Castiel, their unfailing ability to get themselves into the most absurdly dangerous situations was not only baffling for the Seraph, but also annoying in the extreme. It really looked as though he was going to have to intervene, but fortunately, unlike his lesser colleague (who was merely a weak, easily influenced, lower ranked Elohim) he, Zachariah, had a plan to get the Winchester brothers back on track. Whether they liked it or not, they had destinies to fulfil, and he, Zachariah, was there to make sure that they ended up singing from the same hymn sheet. He allowed himself a small smile at his witty analogy before he decided enough was enough, it was time to step in and sort out this sorry mess Castiel had left him.
After all, it would be very inconvenient to have to drag the elder Winchester out of Hell a second time, and the pathetic human was very close to death at that moment. In fact, the Seraph could see the surprisingly pure white glow of Dean Winchester’s spirit fluttering beneath his increasingly transluscent skin as his breath rattled his ribs, and his lung steadily collapsed.
Smoothing down his suit jacket, Zachariah set about clearing the loose ends before tidying up his key pawn’s mess.
-*-*-*-
Bobby’s heart gave an unpleasant leap in shock as a strange man dressed incongruously in a business suit suddenly appeared out of thin air by his side as he knelt next to Sam, trying not to despair as he listened to Dean struggling to breathe. Before the old hunter could even formulate a thought let alone an action, the man’s large hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder.
“Best you just forget you were ever here,” the stranger said, and instantly Bobby wasn’t there, and didn’t remember a thing about any trip to Philadelphia, or a cave with some fairies, or think anything of it when he blinked and was back in his kitchen in South Dakota, a fresh mug of steaming hot coffee in his hand. He was somewhat puzzled when later that day he realised one of the pickups he’d been working on had seemingly vanished, along with a whole set of demon-hunting tools and a fully stocked first aid kit, but in the end had to write it off as being stolen. Though why any idjit would want a wreck like that old jalopy was beyond him.
-*-*-*-
Sam was turning his head to see what was going on when Zachariah turned his attention to the younger Winchester. Zachariah nodded to the as yet invisible Castiel, who immediately materialised, ready to take Dean’s weight.
“I realise motivation is not a problem for you at the moment, Sam Winchester, but all the same, I need you in this game to make it work for your brother – so…” The Seraph reached out two fingers and placed them in the centre of Sam’s frowning forehead, and instantly the young hunter was gone. Castiel gently wrapped his arms around Dean, so that even for this very shortest of moments, the dying man would not suffer any more agony by having his body dropped on the ground and the spear driven any further into his torso. He saw that Dean’s pain-filled gaze was aware and screaming questions at him that he couldn’t answer, but he paid his friend the courtesy of holding his gaze while Zachariah knelt down to despatch the older Winchester into the little scenario he had planned.
Castiel would take the time to muse about that alien concept of friendship afterwards, not understanding when and how this might have crept up on him.
But for now, this was all about straightening out Dean Winchester’s angsty little noggin, as the demon Alastair had so accurately labelled it. He was told it was God’s will.
“Dean Winchester. We meet at last.” Zachariah was prone to pompous declarations, and Castiel allowed himself a moment of annoyance, made it visible in his piercing blue eyes, only to be ignored, as usual. Zachariah continued to deliver his monologue, oblivious.
“You really are a most bothersome, pathetic specimen. I fail to see why any archangel could be interested in you, but - orders are orders.” The big man gave a theatrical sigh and reached out to touch Dean into the alternate reality the angel had prepared for him.
-*-*-*-
Dean wanted to speak, but the damned chunk of fairy metal impaling his lung had finally deprived him of all his breath, and the world was getting dark in a way he found all too familiar. Death was at his shoulder once again, and the earnest face of his own personal angel was dimming in his sight. Finally he managed a feeble croak.
“Sam…?”
Fortunately, Cas understood straight away and answered his concern even as the other dick-angel’s ham-like hand was approaching his pale sweating face. Just what they needed - another arrogant know-it-all trying to push them around like pawns on a chessboard, to meet some half-assed heavenly agenda. Bastard wouldn’t even let him die in peace.
“Sam is safe, Dean. You will be joining him shortly, and Zachariah will heal you where I cannot.”
Dean struggled to keep his glare fixed on the new angel on the block, but failed miserably as two blunt fingers touched his forehead and his lead-weighted lids closed.
-*-*-*-
Dean Winchester closes his eyes in the Cave of Kelpius in the Wissahickon Valley; Dean Smith opens his eyes with a feeling of blank contentment to the sound of A Well Respected Man on his radio alarm clock, somewhere in a swanky apartment block in downtown Cleveland, Ohio.
Unseen, the watching Zachariah claps Castiel on the lesser angel’s trench-coated back and gives him a smug smile.
“Let the lesson begin.”
-*-*-*-
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Ok. Will tone down the exclamations for a moment. I'm going to back up and read part 1 first, but in the mean time, the text of part 2 is missing a cut. Just thought I'd let you know.
But.. AAAK! I spoiled myself a little and this comes in handy since I have to take the hubbie to a doc's appointment tomorrow where I get to do nothing more than wait for EVER. I'll now have something to read :D... And I'm going to track this story so I get alerts from now on.
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The formatting on the second part went a bit funny but I think it is all there.
Oh and the story only has the 2 parts (it would have had one but LJ said it was too long).
I fear the picture was more exciting than the story but never mind.
I'd love to know what you think when you read it all the right way round.. :D
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About the cut, I think she meant a lj-cut, the thing we use so that the whole body of the text doesn't show up in yor F-Lists pages, like it's doing now.
You can do it either by clicking on the lj-cut button in the posting area, or add (<)lj-cut(>) to the beginning of the text you wanna hide and then the same thing at the end, only with a / before the words lj-cut.
*crosses fingers that posting doesn't eat up all the codding info, like it usually does*
... ok, it did eat it. Lemme try again. Remove the () part.
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Feels cowardly and a bit of a technophobe..!
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And I love that you've managed to weave this right into the show. Very well done!
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I only realised after I posted it up everywhere this is actually longer than two of my other 3 longer stories that ended up as multi-chapter fics. So maybe either they should have been one shots or this one should have been a multi-chap...
Anyhow glad you enjoyed it!
I'll brush over the fact that Irish faeries were living in a Hollow Hill in America...no doubt Irish immigrants brought them over during the potato famine.
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A good read. =]
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I loved Zachariah, he was such a great villain...for an angel!!
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Thanks for taking the time to comment!
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Nice fit to put this in between those two episodes, also.
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And wonderfully creepy fairies - thanks for the link!
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It was actually a bit of an accident placing it where I did in the timeline, I was looking for a suitable gap and that was the only one available; so the Zach intervention was actually a late addition!
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Awesome!
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Glad you liked the angst!!