The Coming Storm (R)
Chapter 1 Blood Horse
Horses burst into the clearing. The shadows cast were long and eerie in the twilight. There were two, galloping breakneck across the expanse of long grass, away from the forest. It seemed to be late autumn or maybe winter; only the pines were covered, the other trees bare. The first horse was a deep red, with creamy tail rippling the air in his wake, the second a deep tan, with black legs.
Sam squinted at the riders, but couldn’t make out their faces. Only that the lead horse carried a woman. She reined the horse in, letting the second rider overtake her. Breath from the galloping horses puffed a lead trail of big, white clouds. Something or rather several somethings flickered and jerked, skimming the ground.
Fleeing the riders.
Someone on foot flashed in from another direction just out of Sam’s vision. A taller man stood blocking the path of the apparitions. He ran at the specters.
Taking the reins in one hand the male rider raised the other, revolver held firm. He fired.
One apparition gone.
The runner stopped, took aim………another apparition bit the afterworld dust. A split second later the man was running again. The blood-colored horse slowed even more, direction changing toward the runner. She approached, held out an arm. The man grasped hers firmly, bounced two steps and leapt onto the horse behind her. Immediately the animal sped up, catching the male rider. The taller of the runners waited, looking as if he was in pain. The blood horse, now traveling a relaxed canter circled him once then stopped, his second rider dropping to the ground.
Was that??
…Dean!
“Dean…” The shout in Sam’s vision was nothing more than a mere wheeze in reality. Jackhammers hopped around the inside his head with enthusiasm. Thumbs ground against his forehead, and in some distant sort of way he wondered why he bothered, nothing made the pain go until it was damn good and ready to go.
The car stopped, Sam was vaguely aware of that. He nearly fell out when the door beside him vanished. “Arrgghhh…” Yeah, an intelligent response.
Gratefully the door somehow was magically replaced by hands. Familiar, reassuring, not terribly steady hands. With a bit of help from the hands he was able to swing his legs out, so he could lean over and rest his elbows on his knees. Dizziness slammed through him. Sam knew it would, but that didn’t lessen the impact any. He reached out, knowing there’d be something to grab, balled his fist in soft leather and groaned louder.
OOOOOOOOOO
Dean had to shift his weight quick to avoid being slammed face first into his car when Sam grabbed his jacket and lurched at him. One hand firmly on Sam’s shoulder, his other shot out then connected with the car with a loud ‘thwank.’
“Whoa, Sam…..don’t beat up the car, dude.”
“Sorry.”
Dean let out a breath, the tightness in his chest easing only slightly. Once he started getting responses from Sam, Dean knew the vision was fading away. When Sam’s body jerked a bit Dean sidestepped, avoiding having the contents of Sam’s stomach land on his boots.
Again, “sorry.”
Still holding Sam’s shoulder, Dean dropped his other hand lightly on top of Sam’s head and cautiously crouched directly in front of Sam again. “It’s going away, just another few minutes.”
“Dean?”
“I’m here.”
“Move.”
Dean sidestepped again. He heard Sam’s breath catch a bit, saw his hands shake more when Dean left a bit too quickly, retrieving water from the car’s trunk.
“Hey.” Dean’s voice was soft, gentle. One hand was back Sam’s shoulder. “Look at me.”
Sam moved his head slowly till he could look into his brother’s eyes. Dean held the bottle between them. He was offered a small, grateful smile before Sam took it. The first gulp he swished around his mouth and spit it out. The rest he drank.
“Uh…no, not too fast.” Dean held the other end of the bottle, tipping it away from Sam, then squatted in front of him, one hand against his shoulder, propping him up, the other one resting on his knee. After another minute Dean hooked one finger under his brother’s chin and lifted his head to look directly into his eyes. “A little less glazed. Vision gone?”
Sam nodded weakly.
In the past year and a half or so he’d been having these visions Dean, defender of the universe—well Sam’s universe, had devised what he cheerfully called Shining first aid. He’d even identified each part of a vision and named them. Sam once told him he needed more hobbies, well, a hobby. It became routine. The after effects were lessened if Sam could be kept still. This generally wasn’t too difficult since it was a rare vision that allowed Sam to continue walking and talking. Dean learned quickly to get him somewhere easily cleaned since Sam would almost always throw up at some point. Dean’s only choice was to wait out the vision, and he hated that part more than anything. Standing there, watching, feeling useless. Though Sam told him time and time again, his presence was by and far the single most important thing to Sam when the visions struck Dean still hated it.
Dean stood, gazed at their surroundings and rubbed the back of Sam’s neck. The road was thankfully deserted. “How ya doing kiddo?”
Sam took a few deep breaths, slowly straightening. “Better.”
Dean eyed him carefully, then spread his hands wide, cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrows.
Sam smiled and held up one hand. “Dude, I intend to tell you, just give me a minute. Unless you want me to hurl at you again?”
“Better not jerk.”
“Bitch.” Sam came back with half a laugh. “Maybe we could not talk about this in front of a puddle of vomit?”
Dean shrugged, helped him swing around back into the car then jogged to the driver’s side. A few miles further they found a rest stop. It was a cool, sunny June afternoon. The place was mostly empty and there were picnic tables. Dean went inside and grabbed some ginger ale for Sam, coke and M&M’s for himself. Sam was settled at one of the tables by the time his brother returned.
“Thanks.” He took the offered can of pop. “Dean, that vision, it was….I dunno how else to say it…Weird.”
The hand holding Dean’s pop stopped halfway to his mouth. He arched one eyebrow and snorted a laugh. “Cause all the other visions are so normal.”
“No, I meant, not a normal vision. There were two people, in a clearing, on galloping horses. Chasing something, a few somethings, spirits of some kind I think. Ok, I don’t know what they were. There were two other men with them, on foot, but I couldn’t see their faces, any of their faces. I don’t know what they look like. One guy, one on foot reminded me of you, but I’m not sure it was you. And nothing about the scenery stood out.”
Dean nodded thoughtfully, “so what happened to them, what killed them?”
“Nothing.” Sam took another drink. “That’s part of it being weird. Whatever they were fighting, Dean…..they won!”
“Well, that’s good… new… but good.” He held out the bag of M&M’s.
“One of the riders used a revolver to kill a spirit.” Sam waved off the candy. “No thanks. And, dude, they were hunters, like us, I’m sure. But they were on horses.”
“Maybe a connection to the Colt? Dad said there had been hunters back then, on horses. Maybe it was the gun your vision was really about, not the people?”
Sam shook his head, then when the world swam around for a few seconds wished he hadn’t. “No. This was now, modern clothes, their other weapons were modern. It wasn’t the Colt. And one wasn’t a man.”
Dean grinned a positively wicked grin, his eyes lit up. “Was she hot?”
“I don’t know!” Sam’s voice cracked a bit.
“Well, damn Sammy,” Dean’s hand thumped the table, “the best vision you’ve had yet. A hot hunter chick on a horse. So, how do we find her…ermm...them?”
“I don’t know. I never saw a face. And how many horses do you suppose we see in a week?”
“What did the horses look like?”
“One was dark red, almost blood colored, and had a whitish mane and tail….” He shivered a bit at the thought. “A blood horse.”
Dean cut in, “liver chestnut with flaxen mane.”
Sam stared at him a moment, then continued when Dean poked his arm. “The other had black legs and the rest of him was tan, almost gold.”
“Buckskin.” Dean grinned even more, downed the rest of his pop, stuffed the bag of M&M’s in his pocket and stood up. “Bonanza. That was Ben Cartwright’s horse, a buckskin.” He shrugged a bit. “So I like westerns. Never know what you’ll learn from them.” He swung one long leg, then the other over the table seat, reached across the table and thumped happily on Sam’s shoulder. “Come on, we need to find us a couple of horses with a hot chick.”
They looked for the horses for weeks. The vision never repeated, and horses matching those in Sam’s vision were never found. It faded from Sam’s memory, and after a month or so, with no way to track any of it down, he’d all but forgotten it.
But Dean didn’t forget. Not one of Sam’s visions did he ever forget.
+++++
Chapter 2 A Journey of a Thousand Lifetimes Begins With But One Ride
It’s funny how things come about. How patterns and lives fit together. How long it had taken put the pieces together.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Bobby Singer didn’t mean that in the literal sense of course, just an expression.
Demons were on the increase.
Or maybe they weren’t hiding as much as they once did? More and more reported every year and seemingly with a plan. The Demon plan still eluded him, but he’d discovered some truths, hunters, and hopefully the right combination, the elements. He had a plan of his own. Eighteen years he’d been studying and planning. Eighteen years paid off. He kicked himself for taking so long. Quite a while, maybe ten years now, he’d suspected Dean and Sam Winchester were significant parts of the puzzle, but demon hunters of the power he sought always came in four. He had two, he needed four. Funny thing was the other two were right under his nose all along, just as Dean and Sam. Always focusing on the differences he’d suspected, but dismissed them. The day he looked at the similarities was the day it clicked into place. Where once he had two, he now had four, all four elements. One even came with horses, now that just had to be a sign.
There was one slight problem. But he could fix it, he was sure. Bring them together, maybe he couldn’t create the exact force, but would he really have to? It dawned on him slowly all he really had to do was get them to be friends. The rest would follow. First he had to make them friends. He considered his options, writing them down as he went, settling on the best plan he could devise.
Bringing them together wouldn’t be such the chore. They’d known him their entire lives, all he had to do was ask. It was their differences that was their strength. It was their likeness, he hoped, which would eventually build the trust.
Dean, older of the Winchesters, would be the hardest sell. Dropped into the world of hunters at the ripe old age of four he’d actually thrived. He’d been a child raising another child, and himself. Their father taught them to hunt, and defend themselves; it was possibly the only way he’d left to love his boys. But it was Dean who’d taken care of Sam and himself. As far as Bobby could see he’d done a fine job of it too. Childhood left Dean almost to savvy. If the set up wasn’t just right he’d see through it in a second. If Bobby lost Dean’s trust, well…..he didn’t even want to think of that.
Sam would be the second easiest of the four. The only thing needed was for him to sense Dean knew this was what was right and he’d willingly follow his brother without reservation. Sam Winchester would follow his brother through the gates of hell if Dean asked, even if he didn’t ask. The flip side was the fastest way to lose Dean would be to put Sam in harm’s way, so he’d have to be damn sure of how things played out. Bobby knew something of Sam’s psychic abilities, and had a good idea of how far Dean would go to keep his kid brother safe from what those abilities could bring down on them. Bobby saw the great need of those abilities, but no less so than Dean’s uncanny ability to create a safety net for Sam, and sniff out the evils in the supernatural world.
Dante West would only be a slightly easier sell than Dean Winchester. He’d also raised a younger sibling. However he hadn’t been a child raising a child. His parents had died when he was 19, his sister, Concha 11. Unlike the Winchesters this set of siblings had been born into the world of hunters, more precisely trackers. They’d never had to hustle pool or poker to make money for food. And Bobby doubted either one of them would know how to commit credit card fraud. Dante grew up and went off to fight another type of demons on a second from, demons known as terrorists. On second thought Bobby decided the two were the same thing in different skins. Dante however was a team player. Years in the Army had instilled that in him, a big advantage to Bobby’s plan.
Last, but certainly not least, was Concha West. She would be the easiest. The simple reason being Bobby was going to need her help, she’d be his ally. There was no way he could pull anything over on Dean or Sam. And the second Sam found out what sort of education Concha had, he’d put it together. Those boys were smart. Dante’s mantra had always been, “knowledge is power, power is protection and protection is safety.” Bobby figured Concha West was the safest person on the planet.
If the image of Dean Winchester came to mind when Bobby thought hunter, the image of Concha West was what came to mind when he thought tracker. She had a gift, and for her it was truly a gift. Growing up in the world of the hunter hadn’t seemed to dampen her spirit, like Dean she’d thrived, just in a different way. A happy, albeit a bit willful, child she’d become a confident young woman with a quick smile and an understanding of the things hunters fought which at times was almost too deep. Her brother decided early on if she was to be a part of that world, she’d have to learn to function within it. He’d taken an entirely different view of raising a child than John Winchester. Dante literally forced his sister into the ‘real’ world, giving her freedom and autonomy. He’d had to, considering he’d needed to spend time away from home, fulfilling his obligation to the Army. He’d also taught her the ways of hunters. And she learned her lessons well. Not only to handle weapons, spot demons and strike down poltergeists. He’d taught her to live in a world dominated mostly by men, sometimes not very nice men. Dante showed her to fight not with her fists (she’d never be strong enough to out muscle a man’s upper body strength), but her legs and weight. To use her head, and practical things like tie her long hair back so it couldn’t be used against her. To use the fact she was female against anything that might harm, the element of surprise. But when she’d strike, Bobby knew it was like a being attacked by a tigress. Most importantly he taught her to use the weapons she’d been born with.
It wasn’t so long ago Bobby became really aware of Concha’s own brand of weaponry. He’d suspected things of course. Growing up she’d spent a good deal of time with him, though, oddly enough, never crossing paths with the two other children frequenting his life, the
Bobby leaned back and made the first call. It was Monday night now, by Tuesday night Concha’s flight would arrive, by Thursday she’d be on her way into the Grand Tetons to the cabin she and her brother shared. If he was really lucky she’d have Dean and Sam Winchester in tow. Course he only told her about 90 percent of his plan. For that last bit to work, really work her reaction had to be real, no warning. He’d cross that frightening bridge when he got to it.
Two more calls later and Bobby was enormously satisfied with himself. He leaned back, folded one arm behind his head and clicked the TV remote. Yep, life was good; an old movie had just started. He loved old movies, especially this one.
Bobby Singer was a big believer in signs.
If this wasn’t a sign he didn’t know what was.
He sipped his beer and happily watched…..The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Dean shot another glance at Sam, not getting too much of the phone call from Sam’s responses. He thought he’d have to throttle the kid if he didn’t hang up and fill him in soon. As if reading his thoughts Sam flipped the phone closed and twisted in his seat to face Dean, giving his brother an eyes on the road, dude look.
“That was Bobby.” Sam said simply. He finished writing something on a scrap of paper.
Definitely Dean was going to have to pull over and kill him. “So, he just missed us?”
That got a smile from Sam. “I don’t think so. He was asking us to join him, and a couple of other hunters on a job. He said it’s big. There’s a place up in the
Gripping the steering wheel a bit harder than necessary, Dean’s eyes slid to his brother, then back to the road. He knew the look Sam wore. “So, what’s the catch?” Stupid question really, since he already knew.
“Nothing,” Sam shrugged a bit, “just a remote place and a few other hunters and Bobby.” He faced forward again.
The realization hit Dean about the same time it did Sam. Dean could see it all over Sam’s face. “Look, dude, Bobby knows, and he wouldn’t ask us to be around anyone who wouldn’t think first. I’d kill him, and he knows it.”
“They’re hunters Dean! And I just might be-“
“No!” Dean cut him off. “You’re not. We’ve been through this, you’re just not the same thing.” He reached over and smacked Sam’s closest knee. “It’ll be ok. We’ll make sure it’s ok. You and me.”
Sam blew out a breath and nodded, and didn’t look too convinced. “He gave me directions, asked if we could be there by Thursday. I told him I thought we could.”
“We’ll have to take turns and drive straight through.” Was all Dean had to say after looking at the directions.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Two days later they arrived at their destination. Sam was out of the car almost before Dean had it in park, stretched, then hands on the small of his back twisted side to side, cracking it. This was certainly not what he’d expected. Bobby had given them directions and an address to meet their guide up the mountain to this cabin o’info place. Here, in the middle of nowhere
“Do NOT do that!”
Dean grinned, then shoved Sam’s arm with his elbow. “Sam, that’s…..”
“Yeah. A horse Dean.” Leaning sideways, examining the closest horse for a second, he whispered in his most conspiratorial tone, as if imparting the greatest secret known to man onto his brother, “a boy horse.”
“That,” Dean pointed at the horse’s neck, “is a buckskin. Like in your vision.”
“Those too.” Sam tilted his head in the direction of one of the paddocks. Three, similarly colored horses stood at the fence, gazing back at them.
“Great.” Dean shrugged a little. “There was another horse, so not a big deal till we find the other one.”
Sam nodded, not sure he entirely agreed.
“BJ.” A female voice announced from behind them.
They turned at the same time, surprised to find a young woman standing behind them, smiling. A brief glance at Dean told Sam his brother was thinking the same thing as he…..how the hell did neither of them hear her?
“Pardon?” Dean turned on his most charming smile.
“The horse, his name is BJ. Well, Betetlgeuse actually, but BJ is easier.” She smiled back, but Sam saw immediately it was nothing flirtatious or seductive, just an open, honest smile. She flipped a chunk of dark red-brown wavy hair over one shoulder, a totally unconscious act and sized Sam and his brother up with startlingly pale blue eyes in a matter of seconds.
Dean laughed, and arched one eyebrow, “you named your horse after a ghost in a movie?”
“No, that was Beetlejuice, his name is pronounced Batelgeese, a star in the constellation Orion. Something I can help you with?”
Sam had the distinct impression her question was merely to be polite. He idly watched Dean dig in his jacket pocket.
“Ah yeah,” a piece of paper was produced from the leather jacket, motioning to Sam, “I’m Dean, my brother, Sam and I, we’re here to meet a C. West. He’s supposed to guide us to a cabin somewhere up in the mountains.”
“The ‘C’ stands for Concha.”
And did she have the same slick smile Sam’s brother had? Sam was going to enjoy this. He eyed Dean as realization spread across the older man’s face. Yep, gonna be fun.
“You’re…” Dean raised one hand the height of his hip, and let it drop.
“I would be. Bobby sent you both?” She looked from one to the other. “And you’ve never really ridden a horse, have you?”
“A little when I was a kid.” Dean drawled.
“Ponies at the fair when you were two don’t count.” Concha said pleasantly.
Sam’s chuckle earned him a murderous glare from Dean, who stepped past him, muttering, “I was three and it was a birthday party.” This just made Sam laugh in earnest.
“You can put your car in there,” she pointed to a large building off to the left and away from the barns. “It’s heated, there are even car blankets if you want.”
More laughter from Sam. Dean grumbled something unintelligible, stomping off to move the Impala. He returned a few minutes later, a duffle bag slung over each shoulder. Sam relieved him of one bag, leaving it hooked in one hand. His other hand reached out to stroke the sleek, burnished hair of the horse. Fingertips stopped just short of their target, he shivered slightly and let his hand drop.
Dean casually moved closer to the horse, himself now between Sam and the animal. “Can I ride this one?”
“Sure.” Concha shrugged just the slightest bit. She hadn’t seemed to notice. Holding the bridle, she waited patiently while Dean clamored into the saddle. Her fingers curled around the straps of Dean’s duffle, “you can tie this behind the saddle.”
Sam smiled a bit as Dean jerked the duffle higher on his shoulder. Dean loved his weapons. “I’ll carry it.” His tone said to Sam he hadn’t meant to seem as freakish about it as it probably looked to anyone else.
Again another half shrug. “Whatever. But it’ll be fine there if your shoulders get tired. Take your feet out of the stirrups for sec, they’re too short, you’ll cramp up.” She fussed with the leather next to Dean’s leg, making him look decidedly uncomfortable. He gazed off in the opposite direction, and squirmed a bit. Sam was really, really going to enjoy this.
Sam was next. The other horse was a non-descript brown. He patted the animal’s neck. “What’s this one’s name?”
“This,” she fiddled now with his stirrups, “is Tug.” Two steps back, studying Sam’s leg for a few seconds longer, her expression as if she was trying to decide something. “How’s that feel?” She showed them how to hold the reins, and gave them quick instructions in getting the animals to go, stop and steering.
Glancing down at his feet, and a bit of nod. “Fine. Thanks.” That earned him a dazzling smile, damn she is pretty. He couldn’t resist giving Dean a smug look. “Are you…uh….riding with…??”
“No. Be right back. Try not to wander off without me.”
Concha jogged to the farther barn, shoved the door along its track till it opened fully and vanished inside. Barely a minute later she reappeared, clapped her hands, spoke to someone/something just inside the darkened building and jogged back to them. Sam went completely still, and he supposed lost some color when he saw what followed her.
“Dean?” He rasped out.
“Ye-aahh.” Dean hissed. “Is that?”
Sam didn’t have to see his brother’s head incline toward the horse to know how he’d gestured. Sam swallowed and nodded, glancing back to meet Dean’s eyes. But Dean wasn’t watching him, Dean was watching the horse following Concha. It might have been the biggest horse Sam had ever seen. Solid muscle moved in fluid waves beneath a sleek coat the color of thickening blood. When Concha stopped next to the bed of a pick-up the horse immediately halted behind her. Crimson head turned, the ears flicked forward and the horse stared right at the brothers, as if considering them. Which Sam knew was silly, but….still…..
Concha retrieved a saddle and carried it closer to where Dean and Sam waited. She caught sight of Sam as she flung the saddle over the horse’s back. “You ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“That’s a really BIG horse.” Dean said a little too quickly.
“He’s a good boy.” Concha rubbed under the horse’s chin. “I’ve had him since he was this….” She held one hand down around her knee, “high. Nothing but a big puppy really. My buddy.” Without warning her entire stance changed, no longer relaxed, easy, she suddenly became wary, tense. One, two, three deep breaths, and a groan.
“Conchita West!” A woman’s voice barked from the barn.
Concha’s head dropped so her chin almost touched her chest for just a second, when she looked up she had her eyes closed, two fingers rubbed between her eyes and she shook her head a bit. She opened her eyes, made a pissy face, then quick as can be put on a sweet smile and turned to the voice. “Margaret. Hey.” Saddle girth quickly buckled snugly in place.
Sam had to consciously keep from laughing, cause damn, she was wearing the same look Dean did when he hustled pool…….the darlin’trust me smile.
“What the hell are you doing riding up the mountain with two strange MEN?!”
“Dante asked me to, that’s what.” Concha avoided eye contact with the other woman, skirted around her back to the pick up. She came back to the horse, Margaret on her heels, grilling her, with an armload of guns. Guns?? Was that a saber?
“You’re brother is an idiot who should be filled with buckshot.”
Concha seemed to consider that option, “Possibly. Knock yourself out.” Sawed off shot gun, loaded, check, secured in its holster to the left side of her saddle, sidestepped the older woman.
“What if they try…..something?”
Sam felt Dean sort of bristle up at that one. Concha stopped, opened her jeans jacket, checked the magazine of a Glock, and slipped it in a shoulder holster, arched one eyebrow and gave Margaret a pained look. When she strapped a Bowie knife to her right calf Sam glanced back at Dean, who was sitting there with his mouth partially open. The way Concha moved, handled the weapons, it was natural, second nature, nothing self-conscious about it. Like she’d been doing it since she was six.
“Dude,” Dean whispered to Sam, “she’s got more weapons than…well….” He pulled a face. “ Me.” Sam thought his brother looked a little sick, or was that jealous?
Finally a long, elegant rifle, Sam smiled a bit, a Winchester Rifle, and a very nice one too. With sniper sights? She checked to see if it was loaded, and as she slipped it into the saddle holster she caught sight of the brothers and froze. She grinned mischievously. “Grizzlies.” A slight nod, as if agreeing with herself. “Lots of grizzlies…..big, mean, hungry grizzlies.” The saber’s sheath was secured to the saddle, in a place it would sit under her right leg.
“Of course.” Came Dean’s reply.
Next supply packs were quickly tied behind her saddle. It was obvious she was trying to get away from this Margaret. Foot in stirrup and in one swift, easy motion she was on the giant horse. “Look, you have his cell number, call him and bitch about it if you want to.” Then she turned to Sam and Dean, spreading her arms wide in a questioning way. “Axe murders? Cannibals? Play inappropriately with chain saws?”
“Um….no.” Dean handed over his own oil slick smile.
“See?” Concha’s hands dropped to her thighs. “Perfectly normal and harmless. I’ll be fine.” She collected her reins and turned the horse away from the woman.
Sam had a hard time not laughing outright. He didn’t think either he or Dean neither normal nor harmless. But that wasn’t what made him smile stupidly. A month or so back, he remembered sitting in one of the endless bars they frequented, watching with only mild interest his brother hustle pool. He’d observed the other men in the place, grumbling, annoyed, agitated with his brother. Every woman in that particular bar was buzzing around Dean. It was something he managed without even trying. That particular night, bored, and with one too many beers in him Sam had idlely wondered what Dean would be like if he’d been born Diane.
Now he knew.
An image burst into his head of his surly big brother sporting a skirt, three-quarter length leather jacket and a cross-bow, which made him sort of giggle, he knew his shoulders must have twitched a bit.
“What you so freakin’ smiley over?” Dean didn’t sound amused.
“Dude, it’s a gorgeous day, we’re in beautiful mountains, and we have a pretty girl to have pleasant conversation with. What’s not to smile about?”
“I’m on an effing horse Sammy! And my car has to live in a barn!”
“You guys ready?”
Sam burst out laughing, barely wheezing out a “Yes.” And along the way if they happened upon a small country in the midst of hostile take over, between what was in Dean’s bag and stowed on Concha’s horse, they could ward off the invasion.
She looked at them, curious, as if wondering what she’d missed. Leaning over she reached for the bridle of Sam’s horse, giving a gentle pull and clucked. BJ plodded along to keep up with the other two. “So, you guys known Bobby long?” Concha let go of Sam’s horse as they left the road and headed into the forest.
+++++
Chapter 3 Orion, the Hunter
Concha only half listened to Sam’s polite answer to her question. She’d laid out their ‘cover’ story of them being archeology students for Bobby after all, but it gave her a few minutes to consider the two men. Bobby had clued her in on a few things about them, and the dynamics of their relationship, but she would have figured it out on her own pretty quickly. She’d seen Dean step oh so casually between Sam and BJ, and the fact she’d taken Tug’s bridle hadn’t slipped past Dean. Ok, so the ghost crack might have been a bit out of line, but if one couldn’t have fun, what was the point? And she knew damn well chain saws were used to kill vampires, so maybe that was a bit much too? Maybe things of that sort, hints, were too subtle. These were men. Men didn’t do subtle. But she wanted them to tell her what they did. Not for her to just blurt out to them she knew about hunting. She wanted them to trust her enough to confide in her.
And she had two days to do it in. Peachy.
Dean was easy. Mildly aggressive, highly protective of his brother, with a major big brother complex she knew right away that once his ten thousand or so layers were peeled away underneath was a gentle soul with a heart of gold and desire to do what he saw was good. She knew all about Dean, because hell, she had one of her very own. Dante. Dean she could handle. She had a sizable repertoire of little girl lost looks, and a bigger gun.
Sam might not be so easy. Ok, so they had the younger sibling thing, and love of debating finer points of some demon trivia no doubt. Her big brother referred to that as her being a geek. Sam probably wouldn’t be so quick to fall for the lost child expressions, and didn’t seem to care about the gun at all. She’d be winging it in definitely new territory with Sam. Good thing she liked a challenge.
“Huh?” Concha turned to Dean, realizing a few seconds too late he’d asked her a question. She hoped it wasn’t too important.
“How long will it take to get to the cabin?”
“I can get there by tonight. We won’t be getting there till tomorrow evening, or maybe the following morning.”
“How come?”
“Two trails up. And nobody who’s not ever been on a horse has any business trying to ride one up the shorter, steeper one. My horses might get hurt. So, we’re taking the scenic route, slower but a zillion times safer and easier. And I’m all about the easier.”
“And your brother is ok with you riding for two days with two guys you don’t even know?” Sam asked quietly.
Concha nodded a bit. “Bobby asked him and Dante asked me. They flew up there yesterday. But the plane only seats two. Besides, in about an hour neither of you will be able to move much from the riding. And since I can ride a lot better, I could get away, hell I’ll be able to out-
“Your brother’s name is Dante, as in….” Sam quickly changed the subject.
“Yes. As in that. My parents apparently had a perverse sense of humor.” Name a demon hunter Dante, now that was just so wrong on so many levels.
“Is he a student too?” Dean asked.
“No. No he’s not. He just flew Bobby up to the cabin. Why is it you need to go all the way up there again?”
“Extra credit.” Dean gave her a slick smile.
“Graduate project.” Rolling his eyes Sam offered a more reasonable excuse then changed the subject again, “that saber is interesting.” Concha didn’t stop him.
Her attention momentarily drawn down to the old weapon lying comfortably under her thigh, she looked up, beaming. If there was anything other than her horses she was thrilled to show off it was her saber. Pulling it from the sheath, she held it so the point of the blade was up. “This is just the coolest thing I own.” Concha checked herself, she was actually gushing. “Dante got this for me. It’s an actual Civil War Cavalry saber. He had the inscription added,” she turned it and held it out to Sam, not missing the fact that he handled it easily. The man had slung around a few swords himself she was sure. “He’s really a sweet guy. And if you tell him I said that I’ll run that saber through your heart.”
Sam sort of stilled and Dean’s horse was immediately urged forward, now nose to nose with her horse. Concha pretended not to notice. She pointed out the sentence near the base of the blade. That had Sam laughing, and the tension broke.
“Today is a good day to die.” Sam had to laugh again. Now Dean was leaning over, honestly curious about the saber. Concha took it, and passed it along to Dean. He wasn’t as easy with the weapon as his brother. Where Sam liked something he could swing, Dean liked to shoot.
“Worf’s my hero.” She said. That had been a blatantly honest statement.
“He’s one cool dude.” Dean handed her back the saber.
Two more hours and Concha stopped them with the pretext of checking a map. She didn’t need a map, she knew the way. But she was going to try one more hint. The look on Dean’s face was beyond priceless when he saw the crude, handmade sign she’d attached to a tree more than a decade ago to give tourists a thrill. Made of wood, with letters burnt into it along with arrows pointing out directions and mileage she was surprised it still hung there. The man had barely regained his composure when Sam turned to see what momentarily addled his brother. Eyebrows shot up under his long, brown bangs and he actually snorted some sort of noise she was sure was supposed to sound like a cough. Ok, another dirty trick. Time to quit being subtle and coy and just fess up.
Listed on the sign were the words, Wendigos (50 miles south), Sashquash (arrow pointing down indicating ‘you are here’) and Aroks (18 miles north).
“I was fourteen when I put that up.” Deep sigh. “Look guys,” she glanced from one to the other, “I doubt Bobby has seen the inside of a classroom since the first part of the last century. I’ve seen the artwork on his ceiling, I know what the sigils on his walls mean and are for, and I know what this,” before her hand could be brushed away she grasped Dean’s amulet and held it out, “is and what its purpose is. I grew up in these mountains, I’ve heard every damn legend. So why don’t you just tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can point you in the right direction, you can kill it and we can get on with our lives?”
“Not sure what you’re talking about.” Sam said just so incredibly smoothly. “We told you, we’re students, working on our thesis. But if you have some good legends to share, that’d be great.”
Concha rubbed the back of her head. “Ok. Well for the record, there hasn’t been a Wendigo around here for, I don’t know, forty years, the Sashquash are mostly harmless, and the Aroks really are Indian legends and honestly don’t exist.”
“Really? Neither do Wendigos or Sashquash.” Sam said mildly. “They’re all just myths.”
“M’k.” She smiled politely, gave him a definite, unmistakable ‘says you’ look and got the horses moving again. That went over REALLY well.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
Two hours more and Dean was glad they’d stopped for a break. He was bored with Sam’s constant questions about the horses, and why her saddle was different from theirs. And what sort of work did she and her brother do, which Dean noticed had never really been answered. The sun was already past zenith when Concha asked if they’d wanted to break for lunch. His stomach had been rumbling for a half hour or so and the clearing she chose for their break was a welcome sight indeed. He stretched and twisted side to side a bit. She’d been so right, his back and legs were getting achy and crampy, he felt sluggish, stiff. Flicking his feet out of the stirrups he tried easing some of the kinks from his thighs.
Concha’s horse stopped, she dropped the reins, feet coming free of her stirrups she leaned back a bit and swung her right leg over the horse’s neck, dropping easily and lightly to the ground. Never missing a beat she started walking to Sam’s horse, “hope you guys like roast beef?”
“Yeah, that sounds great!” Sam’s tone told Dean he meant it too, and was probably just as hungry as Dean.
It was time to get the hell off this damn horse. Dean really needed to unbend his legs. And Concha made it look so damn easy, getting off the damn horse. Dean however landed, ungracefully, and loudly on the ground. Sam and Concha’s conversation abruptly halted when they both looked over at him. Concha smiled for a second, then was at least nice enough to try looking nonchalant. Sam, the little bastard, just doubled over laughing. Should have killed the kid when I thought of it on the drive here.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my fault.” Concha sort of wheezed out the words, really trying not to laugh. “I should have showed you the right way off the horse.”
Dean had some snappy come back all ready, which flew right out of his head when her boots appeared on the ground in front of him. He ventured a glance up, she was holding out her hand to him. Yeah, right, like she could pull me up. But a few simple facts remained, he couldn’t actually get up, his legs were that stiff. And it would be impolite, down right rude, just not nice (and Dean was always nice to women not possessed) to refuse her offer. Well, he’d help her out, and no one would be embarrassed. Except of course Sam, who’s ass was going to get yanked off that horse just as soon as Dean could stagger over there. The sinister glare he directed at his brother just brought another fit of laughter. I’ll have to remember to kill him slowly and painfully. Dean sighed, and grasped her hand.
“Ya know, I really don’t want you to get hurt, cause I’m a lot heavier than……” his smooth speech stuttered, and he realized as she stepped one step back he was now looking down at her. “…….I look.” And damn didn’t it feel good to have his legs straight? He thought he heard his pelvis actually crack.
Sporting possibly the sweetest smile he’d seen yet from her, she patted both his shoulders, stepped back another few paces, cocked her head to one side, “handle it from here?”
“Absolutely.” He let his duffle bag slide from his shoulders. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Sam had managed to get himself off his horse, and was now bracing against the animal, pretending to pet its neck. Dean walked stiffly past, thinking one good shove and Sam would be on his happy, giggly ass. But then Dean would just have to scrape him off the ground, and frankly he was too achy for that. He settled on grumbling in Sam’s ear, “As soon as I can move again, I’m going to kick your ass.” He moved his shoulders in a circle, they hurt too.
“And when would that be?” Sam’s comeback was good natured. “Next week?”
An hour later they were back on the horses, the trail definitely getting steeper with each passing mile. Before they’d restarted however, Dean quietly secured his weapons’ bag to the back of the saddle. The sun was setting, and long shadows flowed across the ground. All day, every clearing they’d come to Dean glanced at Sam, asking the unspoken question. Every time Sam’s response was a bit of a shrug and just the barest shake of his head. If they’d traveled through the clearing of Sam’s vision he didn’t recognize it. Dean made sure to get off the horse the right way when they stopped for the night.
While Concha took care of the horses, he and Sam wandered a bit, stretching their legs and collecting wood for a fire. He’d grown very tired of trying to communicate with his brother using only glances and nods.
Just out of Concha’s sight and hearing Sam stopped, one hand against a tree, the other against one thigh and did a couple of knee bends. “Ouuwww….I’d never have thought sitting on a horse would hurt so much.”
“Yeah, makes you wonder why someone tried it a second time.” Cracking his back, Dean looked around. “Anything familiar here Sammy?”
“Just the horses.” Sam shrugged a bit, “but honestly, Dean, one clearing looks the same as the next.” He straightened and rubbed the knot in his shoulders. He reached up and pulled a few loose branches from a tree. “Don’t take them off the ground, they’ll be too wet.”
“I know dooffus.” Dean shoved playfully against his brother’s side with one shoulder.
Any retaliation from Sam was cut short when they heard a soft whoosh from the clearing Concha and the horses were in.
“We shouldn’t leave her alone.” Dean started back to the clearing, Sam right behind him.
“Dean, I think we’re the ones who shouldn’t be left alone here.”
Concha just looked up at them mildly when they appeared carrying a few small branches and looking worried. “Starter logs.” She said simply when Dean’s eyes fell on the very well burning fire. And she didn’t seem to notice how his gaze narrowed for just the briefest time.
They cooked burgers, and Concha had come complete with the fixings for s’mores, which thrilled Sam to no end. Dean too, actually, but he wasn’t going to really admit it. However managed to get two more than Sam did. Dean had no idea what time it was when he dozed off. The mountain air was very pleasant, he was dog tired and the camp fire glowed warm and steady. Camping out wasn’t such a bad thing after all, maybe he and Sam should do this just for fun once and a while. A few beers, some burgers and s’mores….maybe some fishing….yeah, they’d do that….it’d be fun.
One minute Dean was happily dreaming about beer, trout and s’mores (ick!) and the next he was literally wrenched from sleep by screaming. In the first few seconds he’d thought, more out of habit than anything, it was Sam having a nightmare. Yeah, like one he’s never had before, ‘cause he’s never screamed like that! The next two seconds had him on his feet, knife in hand, realizing it couldn’t possibly be Sam, because no human ever made such a sound, then praying it wasn’t Sam possessed or some stupid shit. Something moved to his right, he swung in that direction and froze. The movement next to him registered. It was familiar, not possessed, long-limbed and looking decidedly freaked.
Another scream, but it was impossible to tell from which direction it came. Then a soft groan, most assuredly human in origin. Sam must’ve had the same thought at the same time because just as Dean pivoted around, his brother did the same thing. Toward the sound of a female voice.
Concha sat up in her bedroll. Knees bent, elbows resting on them, chin against her palms, watching the brothers. She shook her head a bit, reaching up with one hand and brushing it through her long hair before returning to her original position.
Another scream.
Concha flopped back on her back, craned her head back and hollered, “Shut… the HELL….. UP!”
Another scream.
Concha blew out a disgusted breath. “I hate when they do that.” She motioned to Dean’s knife. “You actually think a knife would be helpful?”
“Whaaaa….???” Smooth Dean, real smooth.
Another huffed out sigh. “That, or rather they,” she held up one finger, “would be the Sashquash that doesn’t exist, except in myth. It’s mating season. Or the kids are fighting again, I don’t know. Oh, sit down and relax. They’re VEGITARIAN, and unless one steps on you, ‘cause they aren’t called Big Foot for nothing, and weigh like a eleventy-million pounds, they’re harmless. Just freakin’ noisy! They smell bad too.”
It took a full minute for the complete meaning of her words to register in Dean’s head. He glanced at Sam, who was a bit pale, hands balled in fists, body tense looking like a coiled serpent ready to strike. Dean imagined he didn’t look much different.
“And sticking one with a knife would be sort of like poking it with a toothpick.”
Dean took a few big, deep breaths, and put the knife away. “Well that’s just gonna get annoying if they keep that up all night.” Behind him Sam laughed softly, a small, shaky laugh. It was then he noticed the horses had barely moved, and were dozing again.
“They’ll quite in a bit.” Concha poked at the fire, then rolled to the side and snatched a water bottle.
“I’m going to take a quick look around.” Dean retrieved a flashlight and small canister from his bag, “I’ll be right back.” He would have certainly liked to have Sam come with him, but there was no way either of them would leave Concha sitting alone until they were convinced she was safe. Sam would know Dean’s other motive of laying down a ring of salt. He didn’t go far, and could hear their voices, Sam was purposely engaging her in conversation so Dean would hear, and know they were doing ok. Creating with words a comforting life-line of contact.
Returning to the camp he glanced briefly at Concha, who hadn’t moved from her spot, then his eyes flicked to Sam. His brother had stretched out on the opposite side of the fire from Concha. To anyone else he would look relaxed propped on his elbows, almost casual. But Dean knew better. A brief glance between them went totally unnoticed by Concha who was now gazing up at the stars. Sam’s eyes met his, and Dean saw some of the tenseness replaced by relief. They both relaxed by slow degrees. Sam’s gaze shifted periodically between Dean’s and the sky. Concha was pointing things out and Sam, Dean could tell, even wound up and tense as he was, was also interested in what she was saying. “You’re such a geek.” Dean muttered, probably only Sam heard him, as he settled himself on the ground in a position that put him between his brother and the fire, and Concha.
Dean studied her. She was looking up at the myriad of bright points in the sky. There were far more visible out here than closer to the cities, what he was used to. He couldn’t pick out much. That’s what she was doing, tracing constellations with her finger. Now that Dean had returned she had Sam’s full attention. She seemed oblivious to the fact Dean watched her, almost carefully, purposefully oblivious. She was a nice woman, he liked her, more to the point he wanted to like her. There was something about her that niggled at the back of his brain. Concha seemingly was harmless. On the other hand she was far too comfortable with screaming monsters in the night and jokes about Wendigos. And sweet lord she had enough guns for all of them! Without warning Sam shifted positions behind him, sitting up straighter, knees bent, forearms draped across. That was Sam in full attention to what she was saying mode. Dean’s own attention snapped to her, curious to what was alerting his brother so.
“And that one there,” she pointed to a group of stars. It was the tone of her voice Dean realized captured Sam’s undivided attention. “That’s my favorite. There’s the belt, those three stars, and they point down to Sirius, the dog star. Those up there, the shoulders, and that one is Betelgeuse.” Concha smiled softly. “Orion, the hunter.”
Dean’s attention was completely on her now too. There was something way she said the word ‘hunter’, softly, lovingly?
“I bet you didn’t know that in most of the world’s major civilizations that particular grouping of stars is basically the same thing?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Guardian, protector, hunter…the chaser away of all things evil.” Her eyes slid, for the briefest second to Dean and Sam, then back up to the sky.
Dean ventured a glance back at Sam, and his opinion of Concha did a complete one-eighty. He owed her, he owed her big time. She had, in one simple, heartfelt, honest statement driven home to his brother what he’d been trying to get across for years. A pride he’d thought he’d lost swelled in his chest and for the first time in a very long time he felt good about what he did. There were people he and Sam helped, people who appreciated what they’d done, people who said Thank You! He knew sort of all of a sudden she had seen, at some point in her life, the things that went bump in the night. She knew what they were, or at least what some of them were. And someone had helped. Someone like him and Sam. Hunter. The chaser away of all things evil. Dean liked that, he’d have to remember that! She knew exactly what he and Sam where, and yes, they did sometimes see ghosts and play inappropriately with chain saws.
Leaning forward a bit, Dean took a deep breath. Time to come clean. “We’re not students.” When Sam sucked in a breath Dean dropped his hand onto his brother’s ankle, pressing his thumb in just a bit. The gesture got him exactly what he knew it would, Sam’s trusted silence.
“Really?” Concha asked mildly.
“And we don’t know exactly why Bobby wanted us to go to that cabin. He said he’d fill us in on everything when we got there. A, ah, bit of a job to do.”
Then she dropped the next bombshell, and he thought maybe he should bottle a few of these gems for the next time Sam got pissy on him about hunting. There was no two ways around it, she was definitely getting points across, and she didn’t have to use the sledge hammer Dean generally did.
“Meet with Bobby and my brother. He, my brother, he’s a hunter too.”
Another glance back at Sam, because Dean thought maybe his kid brother had stopped breathing he was so quiet and still, told him she’d hit an even deeper chord with Sam. Wasn’t so much the two words in the same sentence, brother, hunter, it was the tone she’d used. It wasn’t a bad thing to her, she admired it. A brother, Dean realized, for whom she’d travel up the side of a mountain with two strangers for, just because he’d said it was important. A brother she’d follow through the gates of hell if he’d asked….or even if he didn’t. Sam’s gaze dragged to Dean, for once Dean wasn’t quite sure what he saw in there, but it was good, very good, whatever it was. It made him feel good again. He gave Sam’s leg a gentle squeeze before leaning back, arms folded under his head.
It was how it happened then. They came to an understanding, the three of them. The beginnings of friendship cemented.
“Good night.” Concha rolled over, snuggled down into her bedroll and smiled to herself. She’d done something she was pretty sure no one else had done before, and might not likely do again.
She left Dean Winchester speechless.
+++++
Chapter 4 Oh Yeah, and Tartums Can
If it were even possible Dean was even more sluggish and sore in the morning. When he grumbled something to that effect Concha cheerfully informed him she’d been riding since she was three or four. She didn’t even remember the days of aches and pains.
Well bully for her!
As a matter of fact the change in Concha since the day before was dramatic. She didn’t seem to have the need to be cautious with her words anymore, probably feeling she’d gotten the proverbial beans spilt. She was downright chatty! Dean was cheerfully informed about a lot more of her life than he really wanted to know. She possibly out-shone Sam in the question asking department. For an hour or so that morning he honestly thought they were having a contest, which one could ask more questions and spew forth more mundane information. Feeling his gun comfortably in his waistband he thought maybe he should put a slug in them both, just to shut them up. She’d lived most her life in this area, he learned. Her parents died, together, in a car crash when she was eleven (ok, he felt badly about that), probably nothing supernatural related she added as almost an afterthought. Sure, just bad luck. Her mother had done research, though Dean never quite figured out for whom, or in what, and Concha had followed along in her footsteps. Something the woman was obviously very proud of. When she started babbling about what colleges…..colleges??? plural???...and one was the one he and Sam were supposedly from, wonderful! Good thing he didn’t have to keep up that stupid rouse… she’d attended and Dean saw Sam sink a bit into his saddle and decided it was time to put a stop to this.
“So, you never did tell us, what’s your horse’s name?” Dean reached over, grabbed a fist-full of her horse’s mane and jostled it for a few seconds before letting go.
Smiling shyly Concha said, “Orion.”
‘Nuff said.
When lunch time rolled around Dean said a silent prayer to whatever deity lived in these mountains, at least when they were eating Sam and Concha didn’t talk… much. Dean considered sneaking off to quietly check how many rounds he had left in his gun. A brief rest, not nearly long enough to work out the kinks in his legs that kinked yesterday’s kinks and they were off again.
They’d ridden maybe another hour. Dean was bored, he yawned and wondered if anyone would mind if he found Bambi and shot it? Oh yeah, Sam probably would, he liked fuzzy critters. And Concha probably would too. Dean was willing to bet she liked cute and fuzzy critters. Damn, he was surrounded, no escape, no hope of survival, best he just shoot himself. Problem was, he was so damn sore, he’d supposed he’d just miss and take out a sparrow. Which would no doubt make Sam irritable. That whole liking little fuzzy critters thing. He’d try taking Dean’s gun, the little scene played out in Dean’s head. Somewhere around the time he got his gun back and was taking pot shots at that damn annoying, infernally noisy Sashquash…Dean’s horse stopped so fast….Did Concha say ‘stay?’….he was jolted against the animal’s neck. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Concha’s hand reaching out and flattening against BJ’s chest for the briefest of seconds. She repeated one word, “Stay.”
Leaning forward she whispered into her horse’s ear…..”Sshhhhhh…”
When Sam grabbed his arm and tugged, dude! Yank me off the horse already! Dean’s attention immediately shifted, Sam mouthed the words, ‘gave them a command,’ pointing down at his horse.
Concha rode maybe twenty yards further before stopping. Looking around, then up, one hand dropped to the rifle at her right, unsnapping the strap holding it in the holster. Dean looked one direction, Sam another. He’d seen the look she wore, he’d seen it a million times, on Sam’s face, his father’s, others, in the mirror………not exactly hunter mode, not yet, but wary, maybe stalker was the more accurate term.
“I don’t hear anything.” Dean kept his voice low.
Concha turned to him, her voice soft, rifle easing free, “that’s the problem. It’s never this quiet in the woods. There’s some-“
A growl heard, not terribly loud, not right up behind them either, then a roar. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rose.
“Ahhh....” Concha’s head dipped back in an obvious flood of relief. Her entire posture changed from tense to what Dean was used to seeing. She smiled back at them, but a little pale. “Just a grizzly.”
“
Concha shrugged, “way better than some of the alternatives, and we can go around a bear.”
As if to punctuate her statement, the bear roared again, this time it was cut rather abruptly short, ending in some sort of strangled, wet gurgle. That sure couldn’t be good.
“Crap!” Concha spat out, yanking her rifle from the holster. “Crap, crapcrapcrap!”
Yeah, that was really not good.
“Ya know, once, just once, “ Concha reached into a small ammo pouch strapped behind her left knee and replaced the rifle’s rounds, “I’d like to spend a week in peace without some slathering, ghoul thing sneaking up behind me wanting to eat my spleen!” She looked up, gaze trained on a break in the thick trees to her right. “I mean, really, is that just too much to ask?”
“Yes!” Dean and Sam answered. Which brought a small smile to Concha’s face.
“Ever hear of a tartum?”
“I’ve seen the name mentioned in some older literature, but don’t really know much.” Sam offered. “They’re mostly mountain spirits?”
“Not spirits, not in the traditional sense, but entities. And yes, I think they only are in mountain regions.” Concha stopped, turning to Dean, nodding at his side, “you got consecrated rounds in that gun you have hidden under your jacket?”
“You bet I do.”
Concha turned to Sam, looking pointedly at him. He grinned, holding open his hoodie so she could see the knife strapped to his belt, “lined with blessed silver.”
She nudged Orion closer to the break in the tree line, till she could get a good view. “Tartums aren’t exactly corporeal, they’re not exactly not, they’re something in between. Only thing I know of that can take out an adult grizzly. You can kill them with just about anything, but the consecrated rounds gets through their hide, it’s almost like armored scales, a lot better.” Her words came out in a rush. She stopped briefly to sight something beyond the trees. She clicked her fingers twice and the other horses moved closer to her position. “Too far.” The last was said so softly neither of them would have heard had they not been so close to her. “Take a look.” She nodded at the trees.
Dean had to lean over a bit to see, Sam stood in the stirrups, looking over Dean’s shoulder. What they could see between the trees was a steep, rocky trail cutting down to a narrow, deep ravine. Close to the bottom was a bear, more exactly half a bear, the other half was at the very bottom. Flickering over the bear, in a way that brought it into vision, then it was vanish briefly, then reappear was something ripping into the bear’s flesh, feeding. Small front legs had surprisingly large hand like appendages with clawed ‘fingers.’ The hind legs were longer, jointed like a dog’s leg. The creature sat back on heavy, muscular haunches. It had a snake-like head with small, pointed ears along a center crest, which gave the impression of horns, other than with every tiny sound the ears moved back and forth, constantly twitching. Oddly it had a round, almost roly-poly middle, which seemed very out of place.
“It’s fat!” Dean snorted, in another type of situation it would have been comical.
“SHE is pregnant.”
“Great.” Dean pulled free his gun, double checking its load. “It’ll take a damn hour to climb down there. Got any rope?”
“No. And it’ll only take me ten minutes to get close enough. That’s part of a trail,” she pointed to the narrow spot between the trees. “There’s a race run through there every year. I’ve been down it so many times I could go blind-folded.”
“Going down there alone would be suicide.” Sam said quickly.
“I’m not going far, just close enough to get a shot at her. Believe me I have no intention of getting one inch closer than I need to. These things almost always come in pairs, and her mate is around here somewhere. And he’s gonna be pissed! He’ll probably come through there…” she pointed to a spot farther along the ridge, “I’d really appreciate it if you’d not let him through, and not let him eat me.” When Dean opened his mouth she cut him off. “Look, we don’t have time to debate, her mate is around here somewhere. The horses can out run them, you’re safer on the horse than on foot. Aim for the underside if you can, the armor is thinner there, or go for a decap. They’re not poisonous or anything like that, but they can camouflage, that’s the flickering, they sort of get invisible, but only for short periods, a minute tops.”
Before Dean could argue she wheeled the horse, pressing him to a fast canter in one stride. “God dammit, you can’t go down there alone!” Dean growled, wanting to shout, but knowing that would just alert the beast in the ravine.
She patted Orion’s shoulder, winking, “I’m not.”
OOOOOOOOOOO
“Oh, yeah, and they can fly!” Concha called over her shoulder as Orion sprinted into the ravine. Geez, she’d almost forgotten to tell them the important part.
Clearing the edge of the trail, Orion sat back on his haunches and slid twenty feet to a short outcrop. Another ten or so feet to one side and she guided the horse down the second step of the trail. She’d ridden it enough to know the way without hesitation. Dirt and stones slipped farther down the ravine wall in front of her, dislodged by the 1600 pounds of horse she was riding. She hoped the female tartum was too interested in feeding to notice, or at least not to care. A short, quick gallop across the only level part of the trail down and another slide to an outcrop covered by trees and she was in position.
The tartum looked up. Looked right at her. Snarled, then a low, loud growl to a hiss.
Breathing in short, raspy gulps Concha shouldered her rifle, centering the creature in her sights. Crazy, crazy, crazy, this was insane, stupid crazy. She tracked. Dante hunted. She went and backed him up, but trackers found, sought. They goddamn tracked, they didn’t hunt! This was just the most freaking idiotic, thing she’d ever done! Concha tracked, not hunted! She found them, flushed them, sometimes led them, and when the situation called for it baited them. In the blink of an eye she was fifteen again, and hunting for one of the first times with her brother, Dante. He was screaming, at the top of his lungs in the you’re going to die sort of way screaming at her to take the shot! The thing they’d been hunting bore down on her, and Dante was too far away to do it himself. In the end she’d not been harmed, the thing, think it was a werecat, died (because Concha West wasn’t defenseless by any means). Years and hunts passed, she and Dante developed their ‘system.’ It worked. It was a fine system, and it served them well.
Concha supposed the
The tartum swung her head higher, its swollen belly bouncing a bit. Was it pregnant, or had it just delivered? Crap!
Dante’s voice echoed through her again, shoot it, shoot the mother-effing thing!!! Dante swore too much sometimes.
The tartum lumbered over the bear remains, moving closer. Concha’s fingers opened and flexed closed against the rifle barrel. Blinking back tears, trying to calm her hammering heart. She could hit the thing from here, she’d practiced shooting until Dante would tell others was that pride in his voice? His little sister could shoot a mosquito off a bush at fifty paces. Not worried she’d miss at all. Christ I sound like Yoda. Stupid, stupid, just dumb. The men on the trail above would never get down here in time if she needed help, And where the HELL was her idiot brother when she needed him? Probably sucking down a beer with Bobby and watching a Cavs game. Bastard! With all the trees and underbrush, they probably couldn’t even see her. Well, at least she’d be saved the embarrassment of having them (and later Dante) know she’d just stood there, pointing a rifle at a tartum, watching it waltz over and dig out her spleen and whatever other organs it found tasty. The rifle lowered a bit, then she snapped it back up to re-site.
LIKE HELL!!
If nothing else in her life she could say she was Dante West’s kid sister, which had to stand for something, which when it came down to it, it did. She could do this. Another couple of deep breaths, aim true, tracker, not hunter, tracker, tracker….finger squeezed the trigger and she closed her eyes. Or maybe it was the other way around.
The sound of the rifle shot cracked the mountain air. The tartum screeched. There was a sickening thud.
In the next instant the forest around her erupted in a flurry of violent activity.
Concha wheeled her horse around, grateful the animal could climb the distance in bounding strides. Leaves and twigs and dirt flew in all directions when Orion made one final jump and exploded onto the upper trail straight at Sam and Dean.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
Sam couldn’t tell at first which way the creature came at them from. Stay on the horse, horses are faster than tartums! Yeah, as if he or Dean would actually run away from it, even if she weren’t there. The second meaning, probably what she’d really been trying to telling them, the horse could catch up to it! He was totally unprepared for the size of the thing. Judging the size of the other one hadn’t been easy, with her distance from them. This thing seemed to take up the entire sky.
The horses skittered one way, then the other, bumping into each other. Sam grabbed the saddle horn.
“You see it?” Dean barked. Sam just mutely shook his head. It would be there one second, then not the next.
Without warning Sam’s horse jumped sideways, he felt something brush his leg. The horse’s front end went straight in the air. Sam was pretty decent in a fight, and there weren’t a lot of weapons he couldn’t use, granted some better than others. He knew dozens of rituals and incantations useful for all sorts of bindings and exorcisms by heart. He wasn’t a bad computer hacker, and he could pick locks damn well. He could even, on occasion see the future, though that he didn’t consider particularly useful. Sam Winchester could do a lot of things. What he couldn’t do however was ride a horse. When the horse reared up he didn’t stand a chance.
The world flipped over on itself a few times before he landed flat on his back, cracking his head on the ground. It was very disorienting. And it hurt, considering the horse’s height, combined with his own, well, his head had gone a ways before hitting ground. Out of reflex more than anything…..and Dean yelling at him to
Somewhere off to his right, Dean was yelling at him. He glanced in that direction, pulling his knife free from its sheath. Dean had gotten off the horse, but somehow managed to be in between them. Trying to move the horses wasn’t working, Sam could see the utter frustration on Dean’s face. He would have just roared with laughter, had they not been under attack by something he’d known little of before now, when Dean finally hauled off and punched one of the horses in the haunches. That made the animal move. Dean took aim and fired, but Sam couldn’t tell if it did any good or not.
In the next instant Dean was hollering at him to get down, man, is this church? Make up your mind, up, down, pick! The tone of Dean’s voice registered in Sam’s slowly functioning brain. It was the deep, guttural tone Dean reserved for use only on possessed beings, intruders, evil in general. The tone which always made Sam wince inwardly, because something was in deep shit, big trouble. The tone Dean had never, ever turned on Sam (for which Sam was always very glad).
Yep, Sam realized, he was gonna die!
All of a sudden the fog in his head evaporated. A thing he’d barely ever heard of with the approximate body mass of an RV was careening out of the sky at him. As if that wasn’t enough of a challenge, nearly a ton of horse was aimed at him too. He watched, in utter fascination, as the horse literally launched into the air, Concha kicked her feet free of the stirrups, dropped her reins, and held her saber in both hands. One more brief second of thinking that a bit odd and it all snapped into place. She wasn’t strong enough to drive a saber through the tartum’s neck with one hand, probably not with two. Hell, he probably wasn’t strong enough either! Sam dropped, rolled to one side, coming up on his knees. The tartum missed taking off his head by a fraction of an inch. The horse, which had apparently grown frikkin’ wings sailed through the air, clearing over the tartum’s back. He was so close he could feel the movement of air from them against his neck. Concha’s saber hit its mark, driving partway into the tartum’s neck, just behind its head. She was using the momentum of the horse to try and drive it though.
And Christ! These things did have tough hide! The saber stuck, Concha was whipped back, somersaulted away from the horse with a short yell, and flung a good ten feet when the tartum snapped its head around. Sam saw his chance and took it, springing at the entity with his knife, burying it to the hilt in the tartum’s face.
Which really just pissed it off.
The thing flickered in and out of vision, Sam dodged slashing claws more from feeling them come at him than anything else. When it became visible again it looked almost ridiculous with Sam’s knife in its snout and Concha’s saber in its neck, flinging itself side to side.
“Down!”
Sam didn’t question his brother for an instant, dropping flat to the ground. He looked around for Concha, who probably wouldn’t have the same blind faith reaction, but she was still well away, pushing off the ground on one arm, shaking her head a bit.
Dean leveled his pistol, having a good, clean shot at the tartum’s belly and fired……eight or ten times. Sam reasoned the thing must have freaked Dean out a bit for him to fire so many times. Each of the bullets hit true, shoving the tartum back, jerking it to one side, then another forcing Sam to roll clear twice. The second time he rolled at Dean, stopping just short of his brother’s feet.
“You ok?” Sam panted as Dean’s fingers curled around his arm, hauling him to his feet. Dean just gave him a cocky look and blew at the end of the pistol. He watched as his brother then moved closer to the tartum’s head, putting a few more rounds, point blank, into its head, just to be sure. Pulling first Sam’s knife, then Concha’s saber from the thing he wiped the weapons across the tartum’s side, cleaning off some of the blood.
“I’m good, Sammy, thanks. How ‘bout you?”
Sam looked down at his arms, patted his legs. “Got everything I should have. Just great.”
“We have to get the horses.” Concha sounded a little shaky, and looked even shakier. Holding her right arm against her side, she’d pushed herself onto her feet and was leaning against a tree.
Dean skirted around the tartum, Sam right behind him. “Hey,” Dean took her left arm, “sit a few.”
“I’m ok.” The briefest shake of her head. “We really need the horses.”
Sam bit back a smile when Dean suddenly got a whole lot firmer. “I’m thinking you know better, now SIT DOWN.”
Concha contritely sat, her gaze shifting to Sam who just shrugged a bit at her. “Welcome to my world.” He mumbled, ignoring the look Dean shot him.
“Lemme see.” Dean took the collar of her jacket, trying to slide it down.
“Don’t even pal!”
“Oh for the love of…..we’re not EVEN going to go THERE! Take the damn jacket off so we can see how bad it’s hurt.”
Concha opened her mouth, then shut it when Sam touched her other shoulder lightly. “Let him see, it’s just easier that way, trust me.”
Sam thought Dean looked rather smug when Concha took off her jacket. Blue and purple spots were blossoming along her shoulder and upper arm. She’d be pretty darn sore in a day, but no bleeding, and nothing broken, though she still trembled. It looked painful.
“My horses.” She repeated, this time Sam caught a hitch in her voice.
“I’ll go look for them.”
“We should stay together, Sam.” Dean said.
“He’s right. And my mouth is just too dry right now.” She pulled a dog whistle from her jeans and held it up. “One of you guys able to give a toot?”
An hour later they’d collected Concha’s horses and moved a mile or so from the tartum corpses.
“Look, guys, here’s the deal. We won’t be able to get to the cabin before dark. But I really don’t want to spend another night out here. We should be able to pass the steepest part of the trail before sundown. But riding it at night still isn’t the best idea, and I’ve never done it before.” She stopped, looked from one to the other. “But I’d really like to get there.”
Sam felt for her, he could tell Dean did too. Glancing at his brother, seeing Dean nod just by the smallest degree, he figured they could give it a shot. However, he seriously wondered if she could ride for long without resting. “Why don’t we just go on, and if we need to stop we will, otherwise we won’t.”
One thing he had to admit, and was sure Dean would too, she was a little more than acquainted with the concept of hunting.
+++++
Chapter 5 I Hate Demons and Beer!
When Dean mumbled something about stopping for the night yet again Sam just shook his head. Concha, insisting she was fine to continue on ignored him. She’d said it was better to keep moving after killing the tartums, but Sam knew better. He knew damn better, and he also knew Dean just wasn’t going to really grasp it unless Sam clobbered him over the head with it. That would just embarrass Concha, he was sure. So he simply opted for her strategy and ignored Dean. Probably a mean thing to do, since Dean was only trying to do what Dean always did, and frankly did best. Take care of things, look out for someone (mostly Sam, but anyone else around as well), who needed looking out for. Dean was a fixer, Concha was hurt, and Sam was exhausted and stopping and sleeping was the best fix. Sam and Concha of course knew that, but Dean was the only one pointing it out.
Sam would, at first opportunity, explain it to his sibling. Though, truthfully it annoyed Sam a bit Dean hadn’t picked up on Concha saying she wanted to get to the cabin, the one she’d told them she shared with her brother. It was crystal clear to Sam, Concha simply wanted to be where her brother was. But Dean sometimes was so single-minded in his drive to fix, take care of, he missed the fact, some fixes needed a little effort. Concha was willing to put forth the effort, and Sam was more than willing to let her, help her. From his view point she seemed to have a firm grasp on what she could and couldn’t do, and what was pushing the bounds of safety in these mountains. He had a good sense she’d stop short of endangering someone else for her own needs.
But Dean, being Dean just wasn’t going to let it go. And Sam’s brother, being Sam’s brother was nothing if not adaptable. So, when Dean’s tactic was to sulk, on horseback no less, Sam had to consciously keep himself from chuckling.
When the trail widened enough for the brothers to ride side by side, Sam leaned over and whispered in Dean’s ear, “sulking only works for me…with you. I think she’s got an immunity.”
“Harummppffff”
“You are so articulate.”
“And I’m gonna kick your ass Sammy.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sam affectionately patted Dean’s back. “And just so you know, next time, whine first, then sulk, much more affective.”
Sam could literally see the light bulb go off over Dean’s head. His brother was going to make one more last ditch effort.
“I really wouldn’t mind stopping for the night, legs are all cramped, and my butt hurts.”
Concha brought her horse to a stop, twisting a bit to look back at them. “Actually, we should be there in about 45 minutes.”
Dean sighed in the way Sam knew meant he was admitting defeat. “Ok, an hour, not a minute longer, then we stop.”
“Deal.” Concha smiled a bit.
“You’re so easy.” Sam said only loud enough for just Dean to hear him.
“Ass kicking, Sammy, major ass kicking.”
Fifty minutes later, true to her word, they arrived at the cabin. It was just after eight-thirty in the evening, but pitch dark in the mountains. The cabin turned out to be a three story house, with a barn and air strip. Cheery lights shone in some of the windows. Japanese paper lanterns were strung along the front, and Sam could seem some in the back too. The aroma of grilled steak wafted from behind the cabin as did a feint plum of smoke. Sam’s stomach grumbled, and then sort of snarled at him. He was hungry. Glancing at Dean, who smiled in an almost predatory way told Sam his brother noticed the smells too, with pretty much the same reaction.
Concha was less subtle about it. “Ohhhhh…..fooooodddddd!!!! I don’t know about you guys, but damn, I’m starving. Not stopping to eat was worth the wait.” She slipped, somewhat stiffly Sam thought, off the horse, and shouted. “Dante!” She grabbed Tug’s bridle, and motioned to Sam, “come on down.” Then grinned mischievously at Dean.
“Oh, I’m not making that mistake twice,” came his very casual reply. Pointing at his sibling. “You’re in cahoots with him, aren’t you?”
“I don’t need to be.” She laughed. “You guys can have the third floor,” she motioned to the cabin, “it’s a dormer room, but it has its own bathroom and shower.”
“Thanks.” Sam’s gratitude was earnest; he was done with sitting on the horse and sleeping on the ground.
Two men rounded the side of the house, they’d obviously been in the back. One Sam instantly recognized was Bobby, giving him a broad grin. Dean was a little more reserved. Just a nod and slight smile. The second man was about his height, maybe an inch less, in his mid-thirties, broader, more filled out than Sam. He had short, coal black hair, and lighter colored eyes, but Sam couldn’t tell the exact color in the dim, outdoor lighting. He greeted them pleasantly enough, confirming yes, he was Dante West. Concha seemed to be trying to melt into the shadows, she put a few feet distance between the men and herself, caring for her horses. Sam could tell she was moving in such a way trying to hide her hurts.
“What the hell are you doing riding up the trail in the dark? You know better.” Dante had, in a few long strides, moved to Concha and the horses.
Sam bit back a laugh, he felt for her, he really did. He’d only seen that look on his own older brother’s face about a million times. He tried some deflection tactics. “Our fault, we were anxious to get here.” He earned him Dean’s elbow jabbed forcefully into his side, and a grateful smile from Concha.
“Speak for yourself, I was perfectly happy to stop for the night. It made far more sense.”
“She knows better.”
“Ya know, Dante, I’m willing to bet you can bitch and unsaddle a horse all at the same time.” Concha angrily grabbed his wrist and slapped the reins of one of the horses across his palm. Taking the other two horses, in her left hand, she stalked off to the barn. Dante huffed something sounding like obscenities and followed.
When they’d disappeared into the barn, arguing, Bobby turned to Sam and Dean. “Remind you of anyone we know?”
“No.” Dean said, completely serious.
“Who?” Came Sam’s curiosity at almost the same instant. Bobby just shook his head, leading them into the cabin, to their room.
OOOOOOOOO
Dean trailed behind Bobby up the two flights of stairs to the room he and Sam would call home for the next week or two. Much nicer digs than they often had, he readily admitted to himself. Though he nearly passed out when he saw the room. It was sort of average, obviously for guests. One end was a bath with a shower. Two beds were in the room, none of which was really a problem. It was the outer wall of the room that literally turned Dean’s stomach.
“What the hell kind of people are they?” He sputtered staring at the wall of solid windows.
Bobby sort of chuckled, “I wouldn’t stay in this room.”
“We can move the beds to the other wall.” Sam sounded sort of lame. He edged up to the glass wall, pulled on a chord at the far side, blinds dropped. A small smile came and went quickly, he pointed to the floor, “salted.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” Bobby kindly tapped Dean’s shoulder, “lemme know how it works out for you.” He ducked out the door.
“Get away from there.” Dean stretched, snatching Sam’s sleeve and pulled him back a few steps.
“Ok, sheesh, Dean, it’s not so bad with the blinds down, we’ll just leave the blinds down. We won’t be up here much anyway.”
“I suppose.” Dean grumbled. He didn’t say much while he helped Sam move the beds away from the offending window. Though he was happy to have somewhere away from the rest. After spending two days not being able to have a private conversation with his brother he was a bit cranky. And wouldn’t that just make Mr. Sam-sharemyfeelingstalkitout-Winchester laugh if he knew his older brother missed being able to talk to him without censoring his words. Not that it was something Sam would ever know about. More importantly he doubted anyone would hear much should Sam have one of his nightmares, not that he really did anymore. Dean didn’t even know why he kept thinking about them. Now they were visions coming to him when he slept. The visions he had when awake might be more of an issue. But there was nothing Dean could do to stop the visions, nor could his brother, lord knew they both wanted to. All either could do was hope no vision picked now to rear its ugly head.
“So what do you think about all this?” Dean leaned casually against one wall, bumping into a fire extinguisher.
“I think I’m hungry.”
Giving the now covered glass wall one more dirty look Dean trailed behind Sam down the stairs and outside. Bobby was piling food up on one of the outdoor picnic tables.
He could hear Concha’s voice, and spotted her and Dante walking over from the barn. “And when, Dante, was the last time anyone ever accused me of being sane?”
Dean wondered how much of their encounter with the tartums she’d told him, since she hadn’t seemed too quick to go into it earlier. Whatever prompted her statement as they crossed the yard remained privately theirs. Dinner was delicious, and conversation pleasant enough, though the Concha he’d seen the past few days had been more relaxed and outgoing than she was now. She was sort of fidgety, and hadn’t he seen her expression on Sam only about a million times? Dean didn’t miss the few glances her brother turned her direction, carefully, when she wasn’t looking. She was hiding something, and he was determined to find out what. They’d get started on their research a bit later, everything was inside, for now it was nothing but relax and get to know one another a bit. Dean and Dante shared a few hunting stories, Bobby too. Sam looked, predictably, a bit bored and Concha seemed incredibly entertained by the grain patterns of the wood the table was made from. Concha was the only one among them without a beer, she’d informed him she hated beer, preferred iced tea when he’d offered her one from the cooler next to the table.
Then, leaning back a bit, cracking open another beer Dante moved in for the kill. Dean sort of admired the man, it was slick. “So, Conchita, just exactly how did you get all the bruising?”
“I…um…fell.” She almost met his gaze.
Beer stopped midway along to another sip, “off a cliff?” He asked lightly. Dean smiled to himself, but he sure wouldn’t let her take the blame, he and Sam had been there too, and he was readying himself to fess up.
A slick smile crossed Concha’s lips for a few seconds, “no, smartass off Orion.”
“Beee-cauuse he was falling off a cliff? Concha, you don’t get bruises like that from falling off a walking horse. And you haven’t fallen off any horse since you were fourteen.” He had her locked in his gaze, never shifted to the other three at the table.
“Well, ermm….he was sort of jumping over a tartum at the time.”
The beer bottle thunked onto the table. “A tartum? You and the horse jumped over a tartum?!” His voice rose just a bit by the time the sentence was done.
“Well, I figured I could use the momentum to get my saber through his neck that way.” She scratched the back of her head, “really it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Standing she started gathering abandoned plates. “Dean shot it.”
“And you couldn’t use a gun because why?”
“I didn’t think it would be sharp enough.” Then before her brother could reply she retreated to the house.
“Those things sure don’t die easy.” Dean sort of half laughed.
Once in the house Dean took more notice of their surroundings. The main room had two couches, a decent sized TV, entertainment system. A large area rug sporting moose, bears and wolves in squares covered the majority of the wooden floor. Dean casually glanced at the ceiling, no drawings. He did notice the wards at the doors and windows, and the symbols carved into the thick wood of the front door. Whoever did that must have done it long enough ago that there was no discoloration, just the change from smooth wood. And a fire extinguisher was tucked discreetly into a corner at the opposite ends of the room. Double, solid wood doors led to somewhere farther into the house, but were closed. A fireplace took up most the rest of the wall. The kitchen was off the opposite end of the room. A hallway to the upper floors, and Dean remembered seeing another few doors off the hall, a bathroom was one, the other a dining room which didn’t look like it was used much. A third door partially open, but he couldn’t see in from his vantage point.
“I’m going to take a shower.” Concha announced.
“Hey.” Dante caught her attention, but there was no malice in his voice. When she turned, he grabbed a bag off one of the couches and pitched it to her with force enough force to strike out a batter. Her arm shot out, and just before the bag slammed into her it seemed to dip right into her palm. “Got you something.”
Dean grinned a bit, if the man wanted to quit hunting, he sure could take up baseball and pitching.
Concha peered inside, then her eyebrows shot up and an ecstatic smile appeared on her face. “You actually went into a bath---“ She pulled out scented shower gel and shampoo.
“I ordered online. Wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those places.”
She stopped next to him, on her way to the back half of the house, her shoulder next to his. She smiled up at him, speaking softly, “thank you.”
“No more tartum jumping, or I send it back!”
The offer of checking out the weapons locker (which doubled as a game room, and was behind that partially opened door) was a welcome diversion, especially since Sam had taken off for the third floor and the shower there. Dean had just about decided to find some excuse to go check on his brother; sure something had wafted through that glass wall when Concha reappeared, hair still damp and smelling of citrus and melon. She’d changed into clean jeans and wore a sleeveless top which showed off her rather colorful and extensive bruising along her shoulder and upper arm. Dean winced, that had to hurt, but her movements weren’t too far off normal. It was a minor injury, really, and they’d been lucky. He didn’t miss the dark look Dante turned on him for a few seconds. Tensing, ready for either verbal or physical assault or both Dean tried to be smooth and lean casually against a wall, bumping a fire extinguisher…do they have enough of these things here? His mood immediately changed when Sam picked that moment to appear, miniscule water droplets from his hair landing on Dean’s arm.
“Sorry.” Sam sort of smirked. “Your turn.”
“No problem.” Rolling off the wall Dean gave Dante and Concha a nod. He had to seriously admire the man’s restraint. Had Sam been the one sporting those bruises, well, suffice to say someone-not him-would have a bloody nose and someone – not him – would have busted up furniture about now. He deserved anything Dante cared to dish out, he, they, all of them should have been more careful. But an instant after it had flashed, the moment passed, and things were back to normal. Concha chattering about something, he wasn’t sure what, distracted Dante. Whether that was her intent or not, Dean had no clue, but took it for what it was worth.
An hour or so later they, being Dean, Sam, Dante and Bobby were gathered around the large kitchen table. Bobby had some pictures, notes, a small sheaf of paper scattered about in front of them. Concha appeared from behind the double doors, leaving them partially open, but Dean couldn’t see inside without being obvious about it.
Snatching her jacked from the rack beside the door, she reached for the door handle.
“Where you going?” Dante didn’t look up.
“Just out to feed the horses, I’ll be back in a half hour, less if I can.”
This time Dante looked up, “forgetting something Conch?”
“I don’t really need to be armed just to feed the horses.” She turned the door handle.
“Conchita!”
“Oh fine!” Striding to the double doored room, she returned a few seconds later, this time wearing her shoulder holster with gun. Holding both arms up as she walked by, turning a quick circle, she gave him a ‘happy now?’ sort of smirk and disappeared out the front door.
A short time later she reappeared without comment, settling herself on the couch, attention to the TV. They hadn’t much success so far with figuring out the evidence Bobby had brought for his ‘case’ and it was giving Dean a headache. He would have very much liked to go watch whatever movie she had playing too. It sounded like his kind, he’d already heard gunfire and explosions.
“You gonna help us?” Dante asked mildly. Her only response was the briefest glance in his direction before she turned her attention back to her movie. After a few minutes he made another attempt. “You going to just sit there sulking all night?”
“No, I’m watching one of the movies Bobby brought me. He’s nice. But I could work some sulking in just for you.”
Dean was amused by them. Sam, he noticed was buried in some beyond ancient looking book, oblivious.
“Ya’ know,” Dante drawled good naturedly, “I didn’t send you to that big, fancy, expensive, school to sit and watch movies.”
Concha was on her feet with a huffed out breath. “Whatever.” She covered the distance between the living room and kitchen quickly, stopping behind her brother’s chair. “Big, fancy, expensive prison is more like it.” She grumbled, folding her injured arm across Dante’s shoulder, leaning over to look down at what was spread about the table. “What is all this?”
“This…” Bobby waved expansively at the mess, “is a string of deaths, murders really. Over the past three years, that’s as far as I’ve been able to track back. All over the continent, some in
“Branded? How? Vengeful spirit?”
Dante shrugged, silently handed her a picture, a young man, throat slashed, bare-chested, across his lower abdomen was a symbol, maybe three inches in length. From the welts it was obvious it had been seared into his skin. Concha made a face, mumbling something sounding like crispy critters, then, “No way.”
“Way. Way so way.” Dante craned his neck to look sideways at her.
“Way so way?” She rolled the paper and smacked him on top of his head with it, “what is this, the sixth grade?”
“I’ve tried finding this, but can’t find an exact match to the symbol. It’s about our only real clue.” Sam raised his hands, and let them drop to the table. “This one is a bit better, and here’s a drawing of the symbol.”
Reaching across Dante she took the offered paper. She straightened, studying it. “I dunno, this looks familiar, but damn if I can’t place it.” Probably a minute passed before a smile spread slowly across her face. She turned the paper sideways, and flipped it over, holding it up to the light. “It’s upside down and backwards. Be right back.” Stopping after two steps she stopped, reached over and tugged lightly on Sam’s shirt. “Come on Sam, have I got a research library to show you!”
“Ok.” He agreed amiably. Dean felt a warm glow in his middle, seeing Sam’s face light up at the word library.
Twenty or so minutes later they were back, armed with several books. “I think,” Concha plunked one down, open, in the middle of the table, “that it may not be something supernatural. The symbol is Mayan, long before the Spanish invasion, very early Mayan, and represents an emperor. Which sort of begs the question, why would a ten thousand year old spirit kill these people, why would he care, and why would he put his own symbol on them the wrong way?
“That’s three questions.” Sam pointed out, “but really good ones.”
Debating it a while longer, and getting nowhere, when their theories finally dissolved to downright silly everyone agreed it was time to turn in for the night, start fresh in the morning. Frankly, Dean couldn’t wait to get to bed, even if it was in a room with one entire wall being glass, he was beat.
“You awake?” Sam’s voice was that tone of softness that told Dean he wanted to talk about something.
Dean groaned inwardly, of course his brother wanted to talk, he seemed to have some kind of radar knowing when Dean was at his most tired. “If I said no, would it stop you?” He turned his head to Sam, seeing the grin.
“No. You’re mostly zoned out or asleep when I talk to you anyway.”
“You gonna torture me, or just tell me what’s on your mind?”
“You should check out Concha’s library tomorrow. She’s a PhD. Got hundreds of hunter’s journals. Manuscripts going back thousands of years, or copies of them. Even a copy of dad’s. She said Bobby and Dante convinced everyone they knew to let her copy their journals for her dissertation. She didn’t know how they did that, said she didn’t want to know. Tracker, that’s what she says she is, what her mother was. That’s the research she told us about. Finds patterns, information for hunters all over the world. Her degree is in some kind of mythology, demonology, basically she’s the only demon hunter with a degree in it.”
Dean rolled on his side, able to see enough of Sam’s expression in the moonlight filtered through the blinds to know how that was affecting his brother. Their father didn’t want Sam attending college, but had handed over his journal to a complete stranger to help with her education. It hurt Dean, he could only imagine how it felt to Sam.
“You’re asleep and didn’t hear a word, aren’t you?” Sam snorted.
“No, I’m awake, I heard you.” He took a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t going to really regret what he was about to say. Somehow he just knew Sam would take this the wrong way. “Look, Sam, you want to go back to school go. We’ll work it out,” laughing a bit, “hell, kiddo I’ll get a job if I have to. We’ll pay for it, you got one scholarship, you can get another one, and if not…..we’ll work it out.”
“You would do that?”
“Sam, come on, yes. And it’s not like you’d be in school forever, we’re talking what, a few years? Trade off is, we hunt over breaks. And you don’t get to just take off and not talk to me for a few years.” He repositioned himself onto his stomach. “Just a thought, think about it.” He heard Sam sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, felt his brother’s gaze on him. Sleep was something Dean was apparently not going to get tonight.
“You would really do that for me? I don’t know what to say….where did this come from?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. It could have its perks, there are sororities at colleges. Ask me one more time and I’ll change my mind. Now, just say sleep well Dean. Shut up and quit being a girl and let me sleep.”
He heard Sam resettle in bed. “Thank you.”
“How do you expect to study when you can’t even follow my simple directions? Now shut it.” Dean got his sleep, but not before he got to feel quite proud of himself.
Concha, they discovered the next day left before breakfast, Dean felt no such compunction at anytime. Not only did he have breakfast with Bobby, he then had it again with Sam. Partially because Bobby could actually cook and the food was good, and partially because he was happy that for once Sam actually slept undisturbed, and late. Besides waiting for Sam was a sure way to get seconds. He rolled his shoulders, and fixed his third, no fourth cup of coffee.
“Damn, Bobby, I don’t think I’ll ever be normal again after two days on that horse.” Movement in the doorway made him turn. “Morning sunshine, it’s nearly….” Glancing purposefully at his watch, “
“Thank you Chronos.” Sam said dryly, but he was grinning, and accepted the offered coffee from Dean.
“Eat up, I want to check something out.” Dean happily attacked his plate of food.
“What?” Sam took the offered plate of food from Bobby, “thanks.”
“Just the area around here. I need to do some serious stretching and sitting around won’t cut it. Besides I want to see where we are, check over the terrain.”
Sam shrugged, “Ok.”
Wandering through the woods an hour later didn’t bring them any closer to finding the clearing of Sam’s vision months ago. Dean couldn’t find anything unusual, out of place, nothing. They hiked a few miles, circling around so the cabin was in the center of their path. There was an air strip, and closer to the house a workout area, sparring ring included. Sam fended off Dean’s few, half-hearted jabs, promising he’d beat Dean up in a few days.
“Yeah, on what planet? Eh, Sammy boy, got you on that one, didn’t I?” Dean turned around, expecting Sam’s finger up his nose or some other gesture of brotherly love, only to discover he was talking to himself. “Sam?” Turning in a half circle, “Sa-umm!” Something crunched over branches and whatnot on the ground, from behind him. He spun, “Sam!” Then started running. “Shit!” Ran a bit faster, “Samsamsam…” Dean managed to loop one arm around his brother’s middle, skid to a halt and brace himself to take the extra weight all at the same time.
Sam’s knees buckled, not that he’d notice any. Head bent down, heel of his palm pressed against the spot right between his eyebrows he winced and made a funny noise when Dean grabbed him, stopping him from hitting the damp ground. Dean wheeled him around, aiming for a tree to set him against. It never ceased to amaze him how Sam having a vision was Sam all of a sudden gaining about eighty pounds, extra sets of arms and legs, no sense of direction (any of them, up, down, sideways, compass points), and complete loss of coordination. In short, hefting around his already large sibling, with little or no warning, and with no help from said sibling was a challenging pain-in-the-ass. Some days more so than others. It was much more convenient when Sam was thoughtful enough to do this in the car, or in a chair.
Luck wasn’t totally abandoning him however. There was a tree with a few chunks of fallen trees jammed up against it. Perfect. Dean hauled Sam, somewhat unsteadily, the few feet, leveling him as gently as possible onto the logs. For a brief instant the image of a Sashquash flashed through Dean’s mind, one having a vision. His smile formed and faded in almost the same instant. Sam’s forehead almost rested against his knees, gulping in air, and making the occasional strangled noise. Dean squatted in front of him, hands firmly on either of Sam’s shoulders. The way Sam’s face contorted, it made Dean hurt just to watch.
“What do you see Sam?” He winced when Sam’s fingers curled around his forearm, tightening, gripping. “Hey, Sam, talk to me.”
Nothing.
Dean had no clue why it seemed so important to him he get Sam to talk. It was as if he didn’t get a response Sam would be stuck in the vision forever. There was nothing to base it on, that never even been close to happening. However, some instinct told him, drove him, to get Sam to focus away from the vision and onto Dean.
Sam shuddered, and then flinched, again making the strangling noise in his throat.
“Sammy!”
That got him a nod. Dean relaxed just a tad. When the hair on the back of his neck rose, his focus shifted from centered on Sam to centered on Sam and the woods around them. He stood slowly, still holding Sam’s shoulders, not getting out of the uncomfortable (ok, painful) grip his brother had on his arm. He looked around, twisting on his heels enough to get a complete three-sixty view. Sam’s entire body lurched a bit, causing Dean, out of sheer reflex, to step sideways. Poor Sam, his wonderful breakfast was now on the ground. Dean kindly patted the back of his neck.
“Well, Sam, we have one secret weapon. When we find ole’ yellow eyes he’ll never see it coming when you’ll hurl on him. It’ll throw him off his game, and…” Dean’s hand mimicked a pistol, “POW!”
That got a reaction. Sam half straightened, offered him a weak smile and a small, shaky laugh. “Oh, hurts, stop.” Leaning forward he rested his head against Dean’s belt. “Trees. A tree.”
“Huh?”
“Vision is a tree.” Sam gasped out.
“Great, demon trees now. Don’t suppose he’s hanging from one?” Dean relaxed a bit more when Sam’s grip on his arm loosened, then dropped off. He couldn’t help himself, he wrapped his knuckles against their tree, half expecting it to be hollow and sprout yellow eyes. But the tree was solid and just a tree. Sam supported himself on his elbows, propped on his knees, oblivious to the fact Dean’s gaze was trained at the woods surrounding them. “You stay here, don’t move, and behave yourself for a few minutes.” Another pat on Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
“Y-you’re leaving?” Sam tried pushing to his feet.
“Oh for petessake Sam, we’re not breaking up, I’m going over there, I got that being watched feeling.” Dean easily held Sam in place, pointed to a spot where the trees thinned, “look, I’ll be right over there,” he jostled Sam’s shoulder a bit, pointing with his other arm, until his brother turned his head and looked, “I won’t let you out of my sight, promise. Now just sit here, behave and try not to drown the chipmunks in vomit.”
His brother just nodded a bit, and seemed to scrunch down slightly, shivering. Dean stopped a few paces away, glancing back. Sam didn’t usually get cold during his visions, they followed a pretty predicable pattern once they hit, which was the only nice thing he could say about them. He didn’t like new things added. New things were not acceptable; he was having enough of a time with the old things. “Doing ok?”
Another nod from Sam, who’d turned his head, watching his brother intently.
Feeling a more than slight tinge of guilt, gun held ready, Dean stepped quietly through the woods, looking left, then right, then up, senses in overdrive. Neither of them could predict the when, or length, but they’d been incredibly lucky so far. Very few of Sam’s visions happened when the kid was alone. And while Dean may not have always been close enough to grab, he’d almost always been within at least shouting distance.
Almost. Not always.
There had been a few times, three to be exact where Sam had been out somewhere, in public, by himself. They’d explained the visions to any witnesses as seizures, or migraines, something similar. But once, some well meaning do-gooder called an ambulance, and Dean had a heck of a time finding Sam and then emancipating him from the hospital. As if the visions in general didn’t make Dean’s day complete. Imagining how frightening it must have been to have those visions wasn’t too much of a stretch for Dean, he knew full well the cold feeling he’d gotten when Sam told him. Not to mention the time he’d gotten a call from Sam’s cell from a nurse at the hospital. Yeah, that caused a few minutes of panic he didn’t want to relive anytime, ever. So leaving Sam sitting there, alone, might not have been the kindest thing to do, but it was necessary. However, he didn’t have the luxury of too much time, glancing at his watch, realizing he might have over extended his time. He thought about just calling out, asking Sam if he was ok, which would settle his brother and give him a few more minutes. Problem with that plan was whoever, whatever else was there with them would hear, and be alerted.
Sam’s visions followed a set pattern, each one of them pretty much the exact same. One glance at him told Dean the last phase had hit like a wall. Irrational phase. While Dean could still see Sam, he’d promised not to go so far he couldn’t see his brother, Sam had lost sight of Dean. Swearing under his breath, “shit.” Dean moved faster, in a straight line between him and the tree Sam was using to get himself up to this full height. “Sam.” He kept his voice low, but Sam didn’t hear him, and was about to do just what Dean didn’t want him to do, go wandering around looking for him. Sighing heavily, he didn’t want to have to wrestle the eight sets of fourteen foot limbs again, once was enough thank you very much, gun pointed down he ran the last few feet.
“What is it about the concept of sit and stay you just don’t get?” Dean snapped, grabbed Sam’s arm and roughly jerked him back down.
“Guess I missed that day of training class.” Sam grumbled in a tone nasty and confrontational.
Oooppss…….irrational phase, for sure. Dean backed down, getting into a verbal match now would just complicate things, it always did. “I didn’t mean it that way. Sorry.”
Sam shot him a dirty look, but leaned his head back against the tree. The apology seemed to pacify him. Dean settled himself on one of the tree chunks next to his brother and waited patiently, reminding himself, yet again of the pattern, checking off mentally, looking for any changes, which were unacceptable, but he looked anyway. Clicking them off on mental fingers in his head, one—headache, discernable from regular headache by the fact that it went from zero to blindingly painful in somewhere around five seconds and usually drove Sam to the ground. Check. Two—actual vision, easy part to spot. Check. Three—vomit, even easier to spot. Check. Four—Exit vision, Sam starts to speak real words again. Check. Then there was five—the irrational phase. It was five that caused the most trouble. It was five that took Dean nearly six months to figure out, and caused them some unneeded trouble before he did. Sam told him he often had a hard time distinguishing real from vision in the middle of the vision, which would be disorienting in the least. He didn’t want to think about the worst. What it also did, Dean reasoned after a bit of research into a human body’s reaction to various types of trauma, was send his flight or fight response into overdrive. But with the visions Sam could do neither, which probably confused the shit out of his primal brain, which in typical Sam fashion made up a third response. Dean figured it could have done a better job than irrationality. The change was subtle, probably Dean was the only person ever who noticed, and was able to pick out normal Sam from not-normal-post vision Sam. Dean preferred the visions Sam had in his sleep. No pain, no vomit (bonus!), and at the most a minute or two of being irrational. His mouth still ran afterwards, but that was ok. The waking ones sometimes had that final after affect for a few hours. The tricky part was not making it worse. Sam might be the one getting the visions, but Dean was the one to do damage control with the visions and the responses they produced in a practical sense.
And Dean definitely made it worse on a few occasions.
Twice he’d been goaded into nearly disastrous actions simply because he trusted, without really thinking about, what Sam was telling him. The second time he’d flat out screamed at his brother this was irrational, which was sort of when he started figuring it out. And gave him the name for that phase. Fortunately early on he’d started keeping a log of the visions, and what went with them. During that phase trusting Sam’s information was all good, trusting Sam’s motivations and logic needed careful consideration. The problems came because Sam was so damn convincing. The visions scared Sam, and Sam’s brain scared by a vision was a truly unique thing. Dean reasoned if he could harness some of that energy and sell it, they’d be obscenely rich, and the world would have lights for a millennium. Sam scared-by-vision was Sam’s mouth running at light speed, but his brain hit warp ten. Whatever thoughts stopped long enough to take form and hold came shooting out of Sam’s mouth. That in itself wouldn’t be so bad, but Sam had a true gift. He could talk circles around possibly anyone or anything, Dean included. The kid could take logic, and illogic bundle it all up in one big ball and toss it out in a way almost making sense. He could talk squirrels out of their acorns, and fleas off a dog. Really, not a good thing when one was in one’s irrational phase. Irrational phase was a pesky thing. Dean hated irrational phase the most.
Dean learned, not quickly enough, taking everything Sam said about a vision in the first hour or so at face value wasn’t the best thing to do. Sam being Sam of course immediately turned this into Dean not trusting him. Which was not at all true. Sam had been horribly hurt by those thoughts. What Dean didn’t trust was how some of the information got distorted, especially if vision events overlapped. Sam had almost no sense of the passage of time within a vision, so what he saw taking place over seconds might, in reality occur over hours. They made Sam irritable too, also not helpful. At first Dean tried explaining it to Sam, which might have worked had he not done so while irrational phase was still lingering. A second attempt, waiting a day, worked better, but still there was a bit of a wounded look to his brother’s face. Dean figured better he have a few hurt feelings than be dead.
The plus side of irrational phase, capable of leading to the dark side, was Sam running his mouth. He’d launch into what the vision was, giving Dean every tiny detail, which in turn were dutifully stored away in Dean’s brain for sorting and further use. Sam had had to prove the validity of the first few visions, which he’d done. Which in turn interfered with Dean’s spotting sooner of the whole irrationality thing. Funny thing was, as much as Sam could tell him about the visions, what he never told Dean, and what Dean wanted to know most, was how the visions affected Sam himself, beyond the vague ‘it freaked him out.’ That took him a bit to piece together too, but the answer was so simple it was funny he didn’t see it sooner. It was easy to find out what went on in Sam’s head, just ask. Even faster and easier was pretend he didn’t want to know. So, Dean concluded, Sam hadn’t told him how he felt during (and immediately after) his visions because Sam didn’t have a clue himself. And people, Sam included, wondered why Dean was so protective.
A couple of deep breaths from Sam made Dean turn towards him. “Any better?”
“I couldn’t see you, I thought something happened.” Stronger voice, not normal, but closer, still a bit tense.
“Sorry. I told you I wouldn’t go so far that I couldn’t see you, and I didn’t. Just believe me next time, ok?”
“Like you trus---“
“Shut it Sam. We are not having this discussion, not now, not ever. You damn well know I trust you. Baiting me won’t work.”
Irrational phase was not entirely gone.
“Did you find anything?”
“No. Nothing, no one. I had that someone’s watching type of feeling.”
“Irrational phase contagious?” This time there was a mischievous grin with Sam’s words. One brother back safe and whole. One more vision defeated.
Dean laughed outright, “now that would create some problems.” He stood and stretched, holding out one hand to his brother. “Walk ok now? Because I’m sure as hell not going to carry you back.”
Pulling himself up on Dean’s hand, brushing off his jeans, “yeah, I think so.”
“So, tell me about these demonic trees.”
OOOOOOOOO
“Bobby,” Concha found him in the game room. “We need to talk.”
“Sure, sweetie,”
Concha was immediately alerted, guarded, taking in more of the room. Bobby never called her sweetie. She groaned inwardly, stupid of her to blurt out words before knowing for sure the man had been in there by himself. She caught sight of Dean out of the corner of her eye, watching her, a bit suspiciously she thought.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dante asked, setting down the gun he’d been cleaning.
Concha imagined she looked like she’d been hit by a freight train…in the head. Just when she needed to think fast, she couldn’t. Her muddied mind scrambled around for something to get rid of Dante and Dean, she needed information from Bobby. She settled on her tried and true method of getting rid of the younger men. “Headache, nasty sinus and hormone headache. PMS headache. Please, I need caffine, pretty please?” Her words sort of babbled at Dante. Well, the headache part had been true at least. Dean was really giving her funny looks, but she didn’t really care just then.
“Why don’t you just go lay down?” Dante was already heading for the door however, coffee was her best cure for hormone headaches.
“Because standing is way more better, things spin less.” She shot Dean a look after Dante had disappeared.
“I’ll…umm…I have to…..ummm….” He waved in the general direction of the bathroom.
Concha hopped onto the pool table, thinking that had been a BIG mistake, smiled in spite of her pain and almost giggled when Bobby watched the door push closed. “I don’t care how big a bad ass he is, mention menstrual stuff and they turn tail and run.” She rubbed her forehead. “Damn, another headache like this and one of us gets a bullet in the brain, I am not doing this again. I mean how the HELL does he put up with that crap?! You said Sam was psychic, not a mental wrecking ball. Explain this to me a bit more.”
“I told you everything I know. He sees things, mostly people before they die. Sometimes he’s awake, sometimes asleep. The only reason I know is because he had one at my house one time. Didn’t last more than ten minutes. Leaves him pretty much out of it for the whole time though.”
“You could have forewarned me about the headache.”
“Did it work?”
Concha shook her head. “No. Unless you count the headache, which isn’t really going to be useful. It appears my only contact is going to remain with Dante. And not get any better than what it’s always been. I keep telling you, Bobby, I’m not a psychic.”
“It was worth a shot.”
“Look, I’m going to get my coffee to go, I need to get away from him for a bit. If we’re going to be working together that man really needs to put a cork in it.”
“You know, you’re really not making much sense.”
“I’ll be back later.” With that she left him there, got her coffee from her brother, gave him a kiss on the cheek and a reassurance she’d not go far, and would be back soon, just needed some air.
She retraced the path Sam and Dean had taken earlier, not having much luck sorting anything out in her head. An hour later the headache was blissfully gone, she had to pee, it was getting dark and it was time to head home. Climbing the slight rise to the cabin the first thing she noticed was the flickering lights. FLICKERING LIGHTS!!!!! Crapcrapcrap Flickering lights was never a good thing. Especially combined with the unmistakable odor of sulfur hitting her a few seconds later.
Crouching down she approached the house, peering through one front window. How the hell did a demon get in THERE? Things were odd, even for a demon. This one was a high enough level to manifest itself, not need someone to possess for short term. But it was obviously on the search for a decent possessee. She needed a plan. The four men were inside, that she could see, but she didn’t take the time just then to assess anything else. The only plan she could come up with was simple enough, but she’d need a bit of prep work. Moving away from the house she ran to the back, near the barbeque area. There, as she’d hoped were a few half drunken bottles of beer.
She hated beer!
She dumped them over her jacket and some in her hair. The demon was going to suffer for this. Next she headed to the barn, an emergency weapons cache was there. In her back pocket went a flask of holy water. She snatched her brother’s hunting knife, large curved blade; a line of blessed silver ran along it from hilt to tip. Using a rag she rubbed it with some holy water, it went into a sheath which she strapped around her middle, under her jacket.
Set as she was ever going to be she headed back to the house. This time she took more stock in who was where in the large living room, and said a quiet thank you they were all there. First was Dante, and she was almost happy he was securely tied to a chair. Her plan depended on her sticking her tongue down one of their throats, and it was, under any circumstances, NOT going to be her brother. If saving the world meant frenching Dante, well, sorry world, on your own, if you implode, you implode. Eyes sliding from Dante, he was alive and well and pissed off, she continued on around the room. Next was Bobby, also tied, looking sort of dazed. Now that just made her think ‘euuwwww,’ but she’d take one for the team if really necessary. Then she looked for the Winchesters.
Well at least neither of them invoked the ‘euuwwww’ response.
Sam was against the far wall, standing, not tied, but not really bearing his own weight either. She watched as Dean was hauled to the middle of the room. It was bad enough demons felt the need to torture, but even worse they seemed to feel the need to pontificate about it while doing it. Really, couldn’t they just torture quietly? All the rambling on before, during and after was just… mean. This one was apparently filling Dean in on some details. Dean was doing his best to look bored. He actually yawned. Good grief she had to give the man credit, he really was good. And probably honestly bored by the demon’s monologue.
Shoulders squared, taking a moment to steady her nerves, tracker, she flushed, distracted, baited, delivered evil things to hunters….small smile playing on her lips. This truly was what she did best. One more deep breath and she flung the front door open with enough force to make it bang loudly against the wall, but not splinter and shatter the wood. Lurching drunkenly inside she was satisfied to see even the demon had jumped at the noise.
“Wow!” Staggering around the room, turning an unsteady circle, “this is just too good to be true! A whole house full of MEN!” She giggled and waved both arms in the air. Dean was just outside of the pentagram trap etched into the floor boards, but he didn’t know it, a large rug covered it up. All she had to do was get her, Dean and demon to the right spot. The demon being what looked like a bald, middle aged man with skinny lips, a pot belly, and barely taller than Concha’s five-foot-nine.
“Ya’ll got booze too, ‘cause that would just be wuunnderfullll…” Reaching to Dean, she grabbed his shirt collar, yanked him towards her which caught him off balance and he stumbled, falling into her. “I like YOOOOU!” A few more drunken steps, rocking up on tiptoe and before he could do or say anything she kissed him, pushing her tongue past his teeth and against his. Arching one eyebrow he gazed down at her, and she could tell he was realizing she might smell like a brewery explosion, but she didn’t taste like one. Jerking away just enough to make him have to step forward another pace, hoping he wouldn’t drop her from sheer surprise she leaned away quickly so he’d have to catch her. His hand came to rest against the small of her back with barely any pressure, as if she’d break.
An inch or so below the knife.
Damn.
She dropped her eyes for the briefest second to the floor, then gazed up at him with what she hoped looked like a drunken leer. His eyes dipped to the floor also, and then met hers. He was beginning to get the idea.
Still needing the demon a bit closer she’d have another shot at getting Dean’s fingers around that knife. Letting go of Dean with one hand she reached across his chest, grabbing the demon and yanked it right up to the two of them. “I waanntt twoooooooooooo.” With another silly giggle, another lurch back, she again threw Dean’s weight off balance, and toward her. This time she succeeded. His hand, out of reflex to steady himself slid higher on her back, and froze.
Bingo!
The second his finger tips touched the cool hilt of that knife everything in him changed. Literally she could feel him transform into a man ready to battle. Plastering a slick smile on his face he pulled the knife free, but not out from under her jacket. “Naw darlin’ I think it’s going to be just you and me.” Winking at her, he moved in one smooth, fluid motion. Grabbing her shoulder he turned her slightly, forcing her to back up a few steps, knife pulled free, he spun so fast he had the blade against the demon’s throat before it even moved. He sliced the blade right on through.
The demon was manifesting, not possessing, so there was no blood. There was however screeching. Concha took her flask and dowsed the wailing demon with holy water. It was trapped in the circle under the rug. Dean backed away, pushing Concha along as he went until she squeezed his elbow, “we’re out.” She whispered. The demon evaporated into black haze, bounced around the circle for a few seconds, making its horrible screeching noise exploding and coalescing several times before blasting apart, falling to the floor in a harmless heap and vanishing.
Dean’s eyes met hers. “That’s new.”
Sam had at some point gotten to their part of the room. He closed the door and untied Bobby, then Dante. Concha started when Dante’s hands rested on her shoulders. She turned, they looked at each other for a minute, then at the same time, “you let a demon in here?!”
“Me? I didn’t let one in.” Dante said.
“Well, I sure didn’t. So how did it get in here? We’re locked up tighter than
“Maybe came in on something?” Bobby suggested.
“What? How? And why would anyone here bring one in?” Dante asked, attention turning back to his sister. “You stink.”
“Arrggghhh………..I HATE beer almost as much as demons.” Shedding the jacket Concha threw it to the floor. “I need to shower, right now.” Spun on her heels and heard Dean say to her brother, “dude, I didn’t enjoy it!” On the way up the stairs she caught a glimpse of Sam. He was in pain, one hand pressed to his forehead, headache, nasty headache. Dean was somewhat helping him stand. A thought started to form, it took more shape under the hot water. Once done she headed for her library.
She had work to do.
The demon had been called, brought in, and she was starting to see how and why.
She had lots of work to do.
+++++
Chapter 6 Sibling Glue
Today was the day.
Bobby knew it in his gut. The appearance of the demon, of that particular type of demon, the night before convinced him. He’d been waiting for the right time, today was it. Preferably the four of them would’ve had more time together, strengthen bonds just beginning to cement and grow. He’d run out of the luxury of more time, however. The demon getting into this house where the four of them stayed for several days now scared him. If a demon was bold enough to do that, Bobby shuddered to think what else it might try. Concha hadn’t given herself away yet, but it was only a matter of time before it happened accidentally. Sam’s vision the evening before, just a short time before the demon’s appearance Dean explained away as a migraine. Again, it was only a matter of time before there was a vision they couldn’t cover up. Everything had to be brought out into the open.
Bobby was painfully aware of how many spectacular ways this could back-fire on him. The most spectacular was loss of his life. He’d been casting around for days, weeks even, trying to come up with a different way to do this. But damn if he couldn’t find one. He’d thought of having Concha just quietly demonstrate, but he realized Dean and Sam would forever question just how far she could go, and what she could do. It was imperative they all be caught off guard. Without trusting her, the
Good thing she couldn’t read minds. Or this would never work.
Hunting Concha down wasn’t so much of a chore, she was in her library, working on something. She’d been there late into the last night and most of today, promising to share what she was working as soon as she made some sense of it, and put it together. Concha did like to have her research organized before presenting it.
“Come on,” Bobby coaxed cheerfully from the door way. “You need to get outside and get some air.”
“In a bit.”
“No, now. Go take a ride, get some exercise, ‘cause we’ve got some training to do. And you need a decent meal girl. You can’t live off cookies and nuts for much longer.”
Concha leaned back, tipping her head back, looking at him upside down. “Watch me.” Her feet were propped on her desk, she dropped them one at a time to the floor. “Ok, don’t give me that look.”
“I’ll expect you on the horse in ten minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She smiled and waved him off. “I’ll be there.”
True to her word Concha showed up an hour or so later at the workout area. Still on the horse she watched the three men spar, smiling at the moves they tried pulling on one another. She and the horse had a fine sheen of sweat from her solitary workout, which Bobby presumed involved splitting melons mounted to large poles with that saber of hers.
“You gonna join in?” Bobby was examining a crossbow as he spoke, holding it up, turning it for views from different angles.
“Nawww….Dante’s the only one who’d fight with me anyway. Besides it’s more fun watching three young, in shape, half-naked sweaty men, even if one is my brother, than it would be beating on them.”
Bobby couldn’t help laughing at her. “In all seriousness, they, Sam and Dean, have to know you can take care of yourself, or they might be too distracted feeling the need to watch you on a hunt. Even if they see Dante doesn’t, I think they need some proof.”
Concha slid from her horse, patting his neck fondly. “I suppose you’re right. Besides, it’s fun, and I’m getting out of practice.” She stretched for a minute, glancing at them every few seconds, inched closer to the mats laid out on the ground. Edging up until she was just at their rim, she’d barely been noticed by the three men. One more roll of her shoulders, dipping her head side to side, she sidled close enough to take Dante’s feet right out from under him. Dean was well out of reach, but Sam wasn’t and he was her next victim, landing solidly with a surprised ‘harruummppp.’ Dean outright laughed, backing out of the ring and settling himself on the ground to watch, holding up one hand briefly, he was out of this. Sam rolled agilely around, then crab-walked back to sit beside his brother. Both obviously amused, but not quite willing to take punches at a woman if they really didn’t have to.
It took a few minutes warm up before it was all out war between Dante and Concha. She didn’t throw punches, hit with her fists as most men did, but she sure could block her brother’s. Concha used her legs, and weight more and even Bobby was impressed by how she could still dump him on the ground. Dante had done a good job, teaching his sister these skills. And Bobby sure gave him credit, the man didn’t hold back because she was smaller, and female. Sam leaned over, said something in Dean’s ear, jabbing him under the arm. Whatever it was amused Dean, he laughed a bit, shoving Sam back, shoulders still shaking and he tried to stop himself from laughing. Dean pushed Sam a second time, hard enough that Sam had to use one arm to stop himself from being rolled on his side. Which in turn earned Dean a smack to the back of his head. Dante and Concha finally decided it was a draw, both lying on the ground. Well, almost a draw, Concha rolled on her stomach, hit Dante square in the solar plexus, bounced to her feet and took off. Dante was up a second later, in pursuit, grabbing her about the waist just as she vaulted at Orion.
“Oh no you don’t princess, you don’t get off that easy.” This time Dante had her firmly around the middle with one arm, and tickled with the other.
“Ok, ok..give, give.” Concha panted between fits of laughter.
God, Bobby loved these kids, all four of them. He’d watched them grow up, marveling all over again each time he’d see one of the sets at how well they’d really done, what fine people they’d become. And the bonds, the sibling glue holding Dean and Sam, Dante and Concha together through thick and thin, even if they weren’t with one another, they were always with each other in some sense. It was that glue he found most fascinating, and comforting. He watched them, all four of them for a few minutes, waiting for his chance. He wanted to memorize them as they were now, relaxed, happy, enjoying the moment. How much he hoped what he was about to do wouldn’t forever banish him from their lives.
Or get him killed.
He loaded the crossbow.
Dante had wandered away, closer to the
Concha was clear, away from the men, away from her horse. Now was the best he would have.
Bobby raised the crossbow and fired at Concha.
He’d made enough noise doing so and the whoosh when the bolt let fly was plain enough, but most people wouldn’t be fast enough.
“Whoa!” Concha arched her back, going forward, the bolt sailed by clattering harmlessly to the ground. “Bobby, watch it, those things have safeties for a reason.”
“Jeeesus Bobby, be careful.” Sam warned from somewhere behind him. “You could kill someone that way.”
That was sort of the point.
He fired two shots one right after the other this time. She was looking right at him. Confused, scared, hurt. Covering her head with both arms, no time to get out of the way this time, gasping loudly she half knelt down.
The arrows hit an invisible wall a few feet from her, dropping to the ground.
Somewhere behind him he heard Dante shout, “what the HELL are you doing?” and Dean’s “Christ, sonofabitch, Bobby what
Daring a glance away from Concha for just long enough to assess where the men were, Dean and Sam were pretty much where they had been only, Dean was on his feet, hauling Sam up with him. Both looked a bit stunned. Dante was moving at him. And Concha was keeping her reactions mild. He needed to illicit something more. Prove to the Winchesters she wasn’t something evil. He swung the crossbow away from Concha and onto Dante. He ignored whatever it was Sam and Dean yelled at him. Dante skidded to a halt, arms raised.
Shifting so he could look at Concha and still keep Dante in his sights he fired the crossbow. The next few minutes’ events happened so fast Bobby could barely keep up.
Bobby could swear he saw the air in front of Dante shimmer and ripple just the slightest before he was shoved back and to the side, snarling, “don’t you goddamn push me!” Though he was obviously ready for it, because even with the invisible shove he didn’t miss a step or stumble, just moved along with whatever force was moving him. He barely flinched when the arrow stopped a few feet from his forehead, splintered into a half dozen pieces and dropped to the ground. The same force was at work on Dean, moving him away. He was not so willing to go back and surged forward, getting him nowhere. Sam grabbed him from behind and yanked him back with far less gentleness than the rippling air in front of him. Dean didn’t bother shaking off Sam’s grip on his arm.
Looking back at Concha, Bobby realized he’d gone too far, made a huge mistake turning the weapon on Dante. Everything about Concha changed. Her eyes were cold and flat, predatory. Standing, turned to the side (make yourself a smaller target), feet solidly planted shoulder distance apart. Bobby realized, with frightening clarity the few demonstrations she’d given him many months back were mere parlor tricks compared to all she was probably capable of. And he had no clue as to what all of it was. Stalking slowly around him, Bobby recognized she was drawing him away from her brother and the other two men.
“Devil got your tongue, Bobby?” Her voice was low, tense.
Dante moved away, backed himself up to a tree, one leg bent at the knee, foot casually propped against the tree, arms crossed loosely over his middle. He cocked his head to one side and waited, watched. Which was not the reaction Bobby was expecting, and probably about as far from what Dean and Sam were expecting. But then Dante was used to all this; well except for the part where Bobby shot at him. He wouldn’t even bother fighting Concha’s barrier. He’d know it was useless. He’d helped her learn how to use her gift, honed her skills after all, he knew all about it.
Concha was a fast learner, learned her lessons well, and one she’d learned above all else was don’t let the enemy, no matter if it was human or supernatural ever see your fear. Fear was good to have, it kept you alive, but showing it to the adversary was death. Look the enemy straight in the eye, and don’t flinch. Concha returned Bobby’s gaze and didn’t flinch.
“Crap!” Dean hissed, moving again. Sam didn’t let go, tried stopping him, but Dean wasn’t going to be stopped. He didn’t free himself from Sam’s grip, so pulled Sam along with him. Dean didn’t get more than a few steps before Concha’s gaze flicked to him and Sam for the briefest instant. She mouthed the words, “really sorry.”
A ring of fire several feet high erupted around the three men, effectively trapping them.
“Well?” She snapped at Bobby.
Dean backed away from the fire, pushing Sam along behind him until, shouting his name Sam shoved roughly against Dean’s back. Spinning to see why Dean’s expression turned horrified, grabbing his brother’s shoulders he jerked Sam around, again putting himself between Sam and the fire. In backing away from the fire in front of them, he’d almost pushed them right into the one behind them. They were close enough to the tree Dante was propped against, for him to tap Dean’s arm lightly, causing the younger man to jerk in his direction. Dante shook his head slightly and motioned with one hand for them to stand still.
“I have no idea, but just trust me for a few minutes.” Bobby heard Dante tell them.
“Trus---“ Dean sputtered.
“Dean, we don’t really have a choice right now, and he’s stuck here just like us.” Sam said in a hurry. Dean gave him an odd look, but nodded and stood still, Sam’s shirt sleeve still wadded in his fist.
“No,” Bobby sighed, “I’m still me, just me.”
In response Concha spread her arms wide and shook her head a bit at him, “then what the hell?”
“They had to see what you do, and what you aren’t.”
“That doesn’t even make sense! And you couldn’t just ask for a demonstration?”
“Would you have?”
That caught her off guard. For a minute her eyes met Dante’s, he shrugged just the slightest bit. She relaxed just a fraction, “no.”
The flames she’d created lapped up one of the nearby trees, they were still too wet to catch immediately, but some of the smaller branches sparked, shooting little embers raining down around the three men. Dean and Sam looked up, had to side step to keep the embers fall on them. Dante glanced up, sighed heavily and muttered, “this is just goddamn stupid. And over.”
He snatched one of the towels left laying near the sparring ring, stormed to the fire’s edge, slapped at it angrily, shouting, “Conchita! Right
“Huh?” She seemed surprised he was there, at first looking down at his hand on her arm, then up where he pointed. “Oh, sorry.” Swirls of dirt lifted off the ground in wave-like motions, patting out the fire.
Then to Bobby, “you mind explaining to me before I rip your damn head off!” Dante literally shook, voice rising with each word. He jerked Concha’s arm again, forcing her to step behind him.
“She never saw it coming.” Bobby ignored Dante and Concha, stepping past them, closer to the Winchesters. He stared at Sam, pointing back at Concha, “she never saw it coming,” his voice was calmer, “and never once has she used it other then when threatened.” Taking another few steps, he stopped when Dean pushed Sam back another couple of steps. He twisted around to face Concha and Dante, “he sees it coming.” This time he pointed at Sam. Dean swore something incredibly nasty in a hoarse whisper, all of which Bobby didn’t catch, deciding it was probably a good thing.
“Well, thanks a lot, you could have warned me.” Concha stared a bit at Sam, but there was no harshness to her words.
“It doesn’t really work like that. I didn’t know.” Sam said simply. Dean shot him a look, opened his mouth, but when Sam met his gaze he shut it again.
Bobby laid the crossbow on the ground; it immediately took flight, slamming into a nearby tree with enough force to crack it in two. Each of the pieces were flung into the same tree, completely shattering it.
Dante watched, turning to Concha, annoyed. She glared at him, “because I can!” She spat.
“Murdering a perfectly good crossbow won’t help.” He snapped back, “and don’t you EVER shove me again….ever! And really! No fire, ever!”
“Sorry.” She mumbled.
“Bullshit!” Dante shouted, “you know the rules, unless you’re aiming at a barbeque pit, NO
“Well, gee, Dante, having arrows flying at me seemed like an emergency, and I didn’t have a lot of time to think about things.”
“You know what,” grabbing her shoulders he spun her around, moving her toward her horse. “Go, just go. Get on Orion and go somewhere for a while.”
“Go where?!” Concha was shouting, glaring at him.
Stabbing one finger in the air at her, Dante barked, “don’t even!” He seemed to collect himself, taking a few deep breaths. Bobby saw him relax. “Just make yourself scarce for an hour or two. Please.” The last word was spoken so softly none of them would have heard if they’d not been so close. “Give me an hour.”
Concha took her own deep breaths, glanced around at Bobby, Sam and Dean, gaze settling back on her brother. She shrugged one shoulder, “fine.” Taking Orion’s reins, standing beside the horse, “give me a leg up?”
“Sure.” Dante held her ankle, pulled up a bit when she vaulted onto the horse. Palm flattened briefly against the horse’s side, just behind her calf.
“An hour.”
He nodded, and patted her knee. “It’ll be ok. Go on.” He waited until she was out of sight, turning first to Dean and Sam, “You two ok?”
“Yeah. A little surprised, but yeah, ok.” Sam said softly, after a brief glance at Dean.
Looking to Bobby, “do you have some kind of bizarre death wish? Cause I’m telling you that was just stupid. And I’m sure I don’t even have to mention anyone gets any ideas about her being something to hunt-“ he glared pointedly around at the others.
“It’s not even something we’d think of.” Dean said earnestly. Bobby could tell, he meant it, believed it, and was relieved Dante seemed to honestly believe it also.
“You must have really freaked her out, because she’s never done that, the fire, ever. Strictly forbidden, and she’s always stuck to that. The only fires she lights are the kind in a pit.”
“When did it start?” Sam asked.
Dante frowned then shrugged. “I dunno, she was really young. When she was a baby, even before she could talk, she’d cry when she was hungry, and things would fly around the room.” He laughed a bit, “not really exciting at the time, but funny now. What difference does it make?”
Sam shrugged, “just curious.”
They started walking back to the cabin. Bobby hung back a bit; wanting to hear all that was said. For once Dante seemed in a mood to explain a few things about his sister. The barn came into view first as they approached the cabin. Dante pointed at it. “See the patch job on the barn?” He stopped, facing Dean and Sam, talking mainly to them.
Dean nodded.
“I decided, a long time ago, if she had this, ignoring it wasn’t really an option, or a good idea. Our parents just wanted her to hide it, bury it away, pretend she didn’t have it. And I understand why. Don’t agree now, didn’t then, but that’s beside the point. I was afraid of what would happen if she couldn’t control it, or was uncomfortable with it, if it just happened one day. Concha, even from the time she was very little, never wanted to hide away, it’s part of her, and I think on some level she’s always taken it as that. Scared the hell out of me more than once, but she’s never been afraid of it. After our parents died, she didn’t have any reason not to use it. So, we came up with a plan, a method. I’m a soldier, it’s all I know, like I was born knowing only that. The only thing I could think of was do the same as I would with any weapon or skill. We practiced, and worked with it, sort of working out but without the weights. At first we used the barn. Until she put me through that wall,” he grinned sheepishly, holding up two fingers, “twice. That’s when we moved the practices outside.”
“Ouch.” Dean grimaced.
“Tell me about it.” He stopped, leaning back against the paddock fence. “The point is, for her it’s no different than knowing marshal arts, or being able to paint, or fix a car. It’s just a talent, something she can do, no more no less.”
OOOOOOOO
“Dean, come on, just a little space. We shouldn’t be here. This is her home. We need to stay somewhere else, that’s all I’m asking for.” Sam stood in their room, in front of the glass wall. He casually peeked through the blinds, turning as he did so, most of his back to his brother.
Dean seriously considered demons had indeed taken over Sam, turned him evil and implemented their master plan. Drive Dean slowly insane. Just make him a crazy, babbling, dribbling shell of his former self. Yeah, cause that would really do the world in and turn it all to the dark side. “And you know what? It’s not going to work Sam, no, not this time. Not gonna work.” Oh yeah, so coherent. Babbling shell. Get a grip
Dean knew perfectly well what Sam was up to. Claiming some notion Concha would be afraid with two the hunters in her house. Dean agreed she’d looked a bit apprehensive when she’d ridden away from the sparring ring a few hours earlier, but not afraid, not by any means. She didn’t seem the scare easy type of woman. Bobby’s actions were for a reason. Dean was sure there was more he wanted to show them, something not having to do with ancient Mayan sigils branded into dead bodies. Sam wanted to go a few miles from the house and pitch a tent, be out of the house. Dean didn’t see the purpose of sleeping on the ground if there was a perfectly good bed to sleep in, even if it was in a room with a creepy glass wall.
Long ago and far away, by the time Sam was maybe two, Dean learned all his brother’s tricks. All the things Sam could (and would) do to cajole Dean into doing whatever it was he wanted. These days, now that they were beyond puberty mostly it was something along the lines of stopping to eat when Dean wanted to drive a bit further, or getting silly costumes to interview people in. The majority of the time Dean gave in, knowing full well he was being manipulated, and knowing Sam knew it too. It was, in general, not something Sam abused, unless he felt threatened somehow, more precisely felt Dean was threatened. Most times all Sam had to really do was ask, knowing Dean was apt to comply. And Dean did so for one simple reason, he loved his brother and one way he said it was to provide. The fact Sam was now pulling out some pretty big emotional manipulation stunts set off somewhere around a dozen warning bells in Dean’s head. Sam didn’t do this just because he could, or without reason, he did it because he felt driven to change their situation for some reason, and felt asking wouldn’t do the trick. Dean had a pretty good idea what the reason was. Steeling himself, he knew what was coming, he’d get hit square between the eyes with it as soon as Sam decided to face him. He didn’t want all his resolve flying out the obscenely large window Sam had planted himself in front of to rattle Dean.
May as well get it over with. “Sammy, look at me.”
Obediently Sam let the blinds slide off his fingers, turned to face his brother, which in and of itself was another of his tricks. Sam was only this compliant and obedient when he was trying to placate or influence Dean somehow. Dean just needed to confirm why. If Sam wanted out of the house because of something for himself he’d have simply argued his point, told Dean his reasons, no subversive methods. And, in all honesty, Dean probably would have given in just to make Sam feel better. But this wasn’t about Sam, it was about Dean. Sam’s greatest fear, possibly his only true fear was the same as Dean’s. Not close, not similar, the exact same. Each feared loss of the other, everything else was petty annoyance on the fear scale by comparison. He considered letting Sam win this one, just giving in to the kid out of kindness and a real want to scale his brother’s anxiety back a bit. But not before he got to the root of the problem. Besides, sleeping on the hard ground was unnecessary and plain silly.
Sam watched him quietly, looking all of ten years old and like someone had just blown away his puppy with an AK-47, then splashed him in the blood and pinned said puppy’s ears to his shirt. Dean couldn’t help thinking they should just leave now, give up this hunting business, and he should drive the boy straight to
“If it’ll make you feel better, then I’ll help you get some stuff together and go camp out. I’d consider it a favor however, if you not go too far. I’m staying here.” He said it as gently as he could, adding, “if she’d wanted to hurt either one of us, for any reason, she had far better opportunities up to now. She could have tossed us both off a cliff on the way up here, and no one would know the difference.” Then just for sheer effect he let his hands drop from his brother’s shoulders, and took a step back. Sam’s expression told him he’d hit the right nerve.
Others they’d met, all the same age as Sam, who’d had similar abilities (Dean refused to think of them as powers), had been, in a nutshell, crazy flippin’ lunatics. A few were pleasantly crazy, but the majority were violent and dangerous, seriously out of control individuals. Very scary individuals. While Sam seemed mostly immune physically to what those seriously disturbed and scary individuals could dish out, it not so with Dean. In each and every case he’d been wounded somehow. In reality they’d all been small things, some not even leaving real scars. Though he tried very hard not to think of what his rifle tasted like when it got shoved into his mouth by one of them; that still made him shiver a year later. But in the end the damage to Dean had been little more than cuts and scrapes, some not even needing so much as a band aide, and left almost no lingering effects on him. The scars left on Sam were totally different. Nasty, festering emotional wounds caused when Sam witnessed what happened to his brother, powerless to prevent Dean’s physical wounds. Those scars were rearing their ugly heads and plain messing with the kid. Nothing and nobody messed with Dean Winchester’s little brother, not even the little brother himself, so time to get all this out and resolved.
Yes, Sam had been a bit nervous (Dean too) being with these hunters at first, and who could blame him? Some hunters thought Sam was something to hunt. Both worried Sam might have a vision they couldn’t cover up. But they’d been in this house a full week now, and before that three days riding up the mountain with Concha, and Sam hadn’t appeared overly anxious, in fact until today Sam seemed to have put it out of his mind all together. Dean didn’t even have to guess why. Sam’s trust and faith in Dean’s ability to watch out for him was absolute, unquestioning, without doubt and unconditional. Sam’s trust and faith in Dean’s ability to take care of Dean had great big holes in it. Some days Dean wondered if it existed at all. If Sam wanted out of the house because of himself, they wouldn’t be here talking right now, but Sam wanted out of the house because of Dean. Which meant simply if he couldn’t get Dean to leave, Sam would stay too, dynamite wouldn’t blow him away. Dean’s little test proved his suspicions.
“Dean we don’t usually live in the same house with-“
“Point taken, no we don’t.” He nodded at Sam’s bed, “sit down.” He took a couple of deep breaths, collecting his thoughts. Sam cocked his head to one side and just stood there looking at him, making Dean smile a bit. “Please. So we can get this sorted out.” Sam stood for another couple of seconds then quietly sat. “Dude, did you notice there is a big difference between Concha and others we’ve met? She was scared by Bobby shooting at her, but that was it. Not scared by what she could do and she obviously has control over it, and when she uses it. I didn’t need Dante telling me, and neither did you. We both saw it. And Sammy, one thing keeps coming back to me. She’s happy.”
“You think she’s got any connection to the demon?”
“No.”
“What about my visions? Those are her horses, and the one yesterday? They’ve always been demon-connected. And the people have mostly been-“
“Crazy, insane, walking disasters, death on feet, I know, another point taken. But I’m thinking we might need to take a look at this, some things from another angle. Starting with these visions. Sam, they aren’t just your visions. They’re mine too. You see the images, but I’m the one who gets to sit and watch and wonder if this will be the time you don’t come back. I’m the one who deals with the real world when you have them. I’m the one who gets to deal with the crazy, insane, walking disaster people. I get to want some answers too. You maybe who sees the visions, but we both have them, Sam, you don’t get to think they’re your visions any more, they’re our visions, we’re both affected. You don’t get to do that anymore, Sam, you just don’t.”
“I’m sorry. I-I never thought, that it was like that, or how it is for you.”
Dean shrugged a bit, “I probably wouldn’t think of it that way either, but that’s how it is.” Deep sighed. “I’ll make you a deal, I’ll go find Dante and ask him. If he thinks it would be better we put some distance between them and us, then we will. If not, we get to keep sleeping inside. But either way, Sam, I’m going to find out all I can about this.”
Sam nodded, agreeing.
Splitting up, Sam sought out Bobby for some answers, Dean went to find Dante.
Dean didn’t know how Sam was fairing, but he wasn’t having such luck with his project and it was starting to look like he might have to sleep outside after all. First he checked the airfield, Dante fussed with his plane as much as Dean did his car, but no luck. Then the barn. Zip. It was evening, the time beyond twilight, but not completely pitch black yet when he started across the yard, wondering how Sam was doing. Thinking he’d look through the house again. Voices made him look up. He was still twenty yards for so from the barbeque pit, which placed him another twenty after that from the house. He was in the shadows created by the surrounding forest and barn behind him, hadn’t planned it that way, it simply happened.
Concha was stretched on a lawn chair, Dante heading toward her. Dean was about to call out when he saw Dante hesitate a few seconds, cleared his throat, then stepped forward. Dean squinted at them. He could swear he saw the air around her shimmer ever so slightly, a rip in the shimmer, then close after Dante walked forward. Hanging back in the shadows he felt a bit guilty spying on them, but he couldn’t get to the house without being seen, and he was curious about what he’d just witnessed.
Dante sat on the ground beside his sister, turning his gaze up to the sky as was hers. “How many you count so far?”
“Just a few. Won’t get too many meteors till after
“I remember that now.” He was quiet for a few minutes. “You ok?”
Concha smiled at him, turning her head to face him. “Yes.”
“Where’s your hunter?” Dante was looking up now too.
“Not late enough for him to be up yet, not till later tonight. They didn’t get burnt, did they?”
“Naaa….no harm, no foul.”
“You know, I might not look so different from the things they hunt.”
That had Dean’s full attention. He was hearing Sam’s words almost exactly repeated back out of Concha’s mouth. A slight stab of pain in his jaw made him realize he’d had it clenched tight. He’d seen her expression of apprehension, doubt, some fear on Sam’s face. Heard the hitch in her voice in his brother’s more times than he was willing to admit. Worn Dante’s expression many times himself.
“Anyone and I mean anyone gets any stupid ideas about hunting you, they’ll have to go through me first. They’ll be very sorry. And very dead.” Leaning over he put one hand on her head, then kissed her forehead. “Don’t stay out here too late, ok? No falling asleep, remember the barriers come down when you sleep.” Standing, he stretched a bit. As he moved away he glanced back at her, again Dean saw the air shimmer just a bit. Dante hesitated a half step then stepped through something.
Dean slunk back farther in the shadows, he’d have to take the long way around and back to the house, find Sam and tell him everything he did, and didn’t find out.
OOOOOOOOOO
Concha’s eyes snapped open. It was chilly and damp. She’d predictably fell asleep outside on the lawn chair, just as she’d promised she wouldn’t. Dante would be irked. Yawning, then stretching she hoped she could sneak in the house without him realizing she’d dozed off. She could tell by the movement of the stars above her it’d been a couple hours. Lazily turning her head to one side, her neck was stiff; she was met by a pair of glowing yellow eyes.
Gasping involuntarily Concha was immediately in motion. She rolled away from the eyes, dropping down to the ground, lawn chair between her and the eyes. Yeah, because a lawn chair is such great cover! Peering over when the eyes chattered and waddled away she laughed nervously. A raccoon. Standing, shaking her head and stretching some more, Concha decided to not push her luck. She headed into the house.
The place was dark, she had no clue where the men were, but figured they were probably all in bed, asleep. Fine bunch of hunter/protectors they turned out to be, leaving her to face the evil yellow-eyed raccoon alone. Padding silently through the house to the kitchen, she rubbed the night chill from her arms and headed for the refrigerator. A minute or two prowling around in its depths produced a can of soda. She shut the door, stepped back, nearly jumped out of her skin and juggled the can of pop for a few seconds before saving it from a disastrous meeting with the floor.
“Oh, shit, don’t do that!” She slugged Sam’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, I’m going to go buy you a damn bell, and you’re wearing it! Quit slinking around here.”
Sam smiled, then chuckled, his shoulders shaking a bit as he kept his voice low. “Sorry, but you slink a bit yourself you know.”
“Whatever!”
“Any more in there?” He nodded to the soda.
Stepping away from the refrigerator, she opened the door wide for him, waving one hand at its insides. While he reached in, Concha stuck her head around the kitchen door leading to the living room. The other one was no where to be seen, but she knew he was probably lurking around somewhere. The brothers never seemed to be too far apart. She hadn’t missed the expressions on either of their faces for the first few minutes of Bobby’s little demonstration. Those expressions, while not threatening hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy. Had it been her and Dante in their position Concha doubted very much she’d be going very far alone. The only reason he’d left her in the yard was because she’d put up her barriers, and he knew nothing could get through without her allowing it. If anything she imagined Dante might be a bit less protective of his younger sibling than was Dean. Concha had an advantage most people didn’t. So she fully expected Dean to be doing some of his own slinking about.
When Sam straightened he held only one can of pop, so maybe Dean was asleep upstairs. But then again Sam was far too smart to tip her off by taking two cans. He smiled at her, almost shyly, nodded, mumbled a thanks and a good night and stepped away, heading for the doorway.
“Sam,” she caught his forearm, feeling him stiffen and flinch a bit. “Wait. Gotta minute?”
He glanced at his watch, scrunched his nose, the corners of his mouth twitched up. “It’s
Ok, this was good, he was uncomfortable around her, but at least not so much so he couldn’t quip a smart ass answer. She sat at the table, her back to the middle of the room, purposely leaving herself open and unprotected. Sam took a chair with his back against the wall. He sipped his soda, looking at her patiently over the rim of the can.
“Boy this is a bit awkward,” Concha giggled nervously. “I’m sorry, really sorry about the fire. It was sort of a knee jerk reaction. I’ve never actually done that before.” She didn’t add if he and his brother had stood still she wouldn’t have done it at all.
“So your brother told us.” He took a deep breath, ran his finger around the top of the can a few times. “When did it start?”
That surprised Concha, she shrugged, “I don’t know, really young. Ask Dante, he might be able to pin it down for you. I don’t remember. That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?”
“I get these visions, mostly of people dying, or about to die, anywhere from hours to minutes beforehand. But I didn’t start having them until I turned twenty-two.”
“That’s a little odd. And no offense, but not very useful.”
Sam snorted, “tell me about it.”
“Nothing else, psychically speaking?”
“No.”
Concha laughed, “hey, at least I can swipe the ketchup off the next table at a restaurant without leaving my table.” That got her a grin from Sam. More of the tenseness left his shoulders, but she doubted it had much to do with her joke and more to do with the footsteps she heard moving through the kitchen behind her. The door to the refrigerator opened, followed a minute later by the distinct sound of yet another can of soda being cracked open. Someone leaned back against the counter, settling himself there, making no effort to be quiet, making an effort to be noisy. Someone she knew without even looking was not Dante or Bobby. She spent another few seconds drumming her fingers against her own soda, took a deep breath, looked up and met Sam’s gaze steadily. “You know I never killed anything, not even bugs, I make Dante kill them, until I shot the tartum while we were riding up here? But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. When I was in college, I met this guy, Matt. And we were involved. Then one day he up and left, tore my heart out, broke it in tiny little pieces and left.”
“What did you do?” Sam’s voice was soft and calm. He glanced for the briefest instant at some point behind her, and then focused completely on her once again.
“Honestly?”
He nodded, maybe a bit hesitantly, as if he really didn’t want to know.
“I cried for about a month, maybe a bit more. I shoved this little stuffed toy he’d won for me at a fair down the garbage disposal,” she wiped a tear away, and laughed a short, sad laugh. “And try explaining that plumbing bill to your big brother without really explaining anything. Anyway it really didn’t make me feel much better, but eventually I did. Not great, but better. And the world kept turning, and I had a master’s degree to finish, and a friend who kept dragging me to really sucky parties. Then a couple, maybe three years ago now I was sitting around, watching TV, minding my own business, and the news comes on. There’s this story about how this guy, who’s wife is four months pregnant by the way, stops on his way home from work at an ATM machine. Takes out forty bucks, gets held up by some freak that puts a bullet in his head and kills him. For forty dollars. I’m sitting there thinking, demons I get, sickos like that, they don’t make any sense to me. They put up a picture of the guy on the screen. It’s Matt. That was just not right. So, we broke up, but people do that all the time. He never deserved to die over forty freaking dollars. His wife didn’t deserve that, and his kid he’d never even seen certainly didn’t. No one arrested.
“I’m a hunter, a tracker. So I did what I do. I hunted the bastard down and I set him up. When the cops got there they caught him red-handed with his gun planted firmly here…” she tapped her left temple. “It left a bruise as a matter of fact. He kept babbling at them he’d been forced somehow to stand like that for nearly a half hour. And I’m sure they still tell the story about how the gun just never discharged…a miracle. Wasn’t I lucky?” She stopped long enough to take another drink of her pop. “He got off on insanity in my case, but he did confess to the robberies and murders of seven other people, one of which was Matt. He’s on death row. I could have quietly taken care of the scum myself, in about twenty different ways, and no one would have known. I could have just ignored it, but that didn’t seem right. So I did what just felt right, and that was it.” She turned in her chair, getting up as she did so. Looking first at Sam, then twisting to meet Dean’s eyes. “Cause you know, that’s what monsters do.” Not really intending her last statement to come out sounding so venomous, but it did.
Not getting more than a few steps toward the door before Dean stopped her, grabbing her wrist as she walked past him. “Neither of us ever said you were a monster.”
She glared pointedly down at his hand, and was surprised he didn’t remove it, though his grasp did soften a bit. “You didn’t have to, either of you. It was written all over your faces this afternoon.”
“Then you read wrong. Because neither one of us would think that, I’d even venture to say we’d be the last two people to have those thoughts. Surprised, yes, a bit startled…”
Concha smiled, “startled? How about scared?”
“Star—tled.” Dean emphasized each syllable. “But not you’re some kind of monster. Hell, Sam wanted to go pitch a tent and camp out so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with us in your house.”
That surprised her. She looked back at Sam, who just nodded.
“Wow, what a nice thing to think of. Not necessary, but very nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Sam said.
Letting go of her arm, Dean reached to the sink and grabbed a spoon. “Bend this.”
Concha burst out laughing. “You’re kidding right?”
“No, sometime, somewhere I want to see someone bend a spoon.” He waved at Sam, “he can’t, I keep asking.”
Sam rolled his eyes and groaned.
She shook her head, relaxed a bit more. “You sound like Dante, bend a spoon. Ok, why not. Let go of it.”
Dean did, first his expression was shock, and she wondered what he actually expected, she’d let the spoon drop? Then pure delight when it hovered in the air, just in front of his nose for a minute before folding up on itself into a bow skimmed the air and landed in the trash.
Concha threw both hands in the air, “she shoots, she scores the crowd goes wild.”
“Now that was just cool.” Dean plunked himself down in the chair Concha had vacated, grabbed Sam’s arm and jostled it, “Sammy, you got to admit that’s cool.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You sound like Dante, bend a spoon, bend a spoon. It was one of the exercises he devised. Spoons, forks, knives, do you know how much cutlery we went through before he found something else for me to mutilate?” Finishing her pop, and yawning, “I really am going to bed this time. Forget any silly ideas of moving to a tent. There’s no need. If you want though, I’m sure Dante or I could fly you back down, if you really want to go tomorrow. We’d have to make two trips the plane only seats two. I’m sticking it out for a bit as pissed as I am at Bobby, I still want to know what he’s found out.”
“Ha, ah, no not flying anywhere.” Sam said quickly. “We’ll leave the same way we got here. It wasn’t so bad, sort of fun.”
“Hummmm…….you both looked pretty darn happy to be off the horses. But ok, whatever you want.” Smiling at them, she added, “good night.”
Concha was up early the next morning, hard at work in her library. Hearing movement in the house, she knew the others were up and about. No one was overly concerned she kept to the library. Dante simply told them she was on the trail of something. True enough, he didn’t know what, and didn’t ask. He rarely did unless it was their case and concerned him. What she did for others he stayed out of unless she chose to share. She was now working on a bit of detail Sam provided last night. Things hadn’t quite added up, until he told her the details of his visions. Rifling through what seemed like reams of paper a few things jumped off the pages at her. It all clicked into place.
“Dante! D-aaannnn-ttteeeee!!!!!” Sprinting across the living room, she stopped by the stairs, having no idea where he was. “Da-AN-TE!”
In her zeal to share her ideas with her brother she’d forgotten she was in a house literally filled with hunters. And her running through said house, yelling at the top of her lungs for said brother caused a bit of a stir. Bolting into the kitchen, she skidded to a halt, dropping her papers in a flutter of white, and threw both hands in the air.
“Whoa!” Nose to nose with Dean’s pistol she back pedaled. “Don’t shoot!”
“What is it, where is it?”
“Huh?” Should blades slammed into something. “Holy crap, Sam!” She spun to meet a sawed off shotgun.
“Are you ok?” Sam shouted at her.
“I…um….Dante, put that thing down!” Another gun had appeared. Bobby, blissfully unarmed, a mere few steps behind Sam. “Ok, everyone needs to calm down.” She held out one hand to Dante, wiggling her fingers, “gun.” She curled her fingers around Sam’s shotgun, pushing it down. “Sorry.”
He relaxed and let it drop to his side, then placed it in her hand. Dean rolled his eyes, and lowered his pistol.
“What the hell were you screaming for?” Dante snapped.
“I was looking for you.” Concha offered meekly. She reached for Dean’s pistol, he gave her a dirty look, she backed up a bit, and he stowed it away in his belt. Concha placed the rest of the weapons on the counter. “Sorry.” She patted the air with her palms, “so sorry…” pulling out chairs, “just sit, please…sorry….You guys are all switching to decaf.” Taking a minute to collect her papers, which gave her time to collect herself, staring at all those guns was a bit unnerving, “let’s just lower the testosterone level in this room by a few gallons ok?” Concha smiled her sweetest smile at them, “be calm.”
One by one they sat, they grumbled, but they sat.
“I figured it out. How our friend Sparky the demon is operating, what it’s doing.” She turned to Dante, focusing on him. “What is it you always told me terrorists, their attacks, how they orchestrated them?” Not waiting for his answer she plunged ahead, “maximum destruction, minimal effort!” She grabbed a chair, sat down, put her feet up on the counter and grinned proudly at them. Smile sliding from her face when she was met with four blank stares. Chin dropping to her chest for a few seconds, she looked back up, rubbing the back of her head.
“Ok, I can see I’m going to need visual aids.” Standing, she turned to Sam. “Don’t freak out on me, alright…just stay calm….I’m just making a point, like overheads in school.”
“Um….ok.” He and Dean exchanged terribly confused looks. “I think I can remain freaked free for a few minutes.”
“How much energy do you think it requires for a demon to maintain a possession, not just for a few minutes, but a real, honest to goodness long term possession? Probably lots, buckets o’lots. So, if you’re Sparky, and you want to do some destruction, what do you do? You find a way to possess and destroy and not expend all your energy.” She moved to the center of the room. “I can do this…” the cupboards opened, then slammed shut, “and I can do this…” the lights flickered, “and this..” the tap turned on, water flowed, then shut off, “and on a good day, with lots of adrenaline in a BIG emergency I can blow up a respectable breeze for a minute or two. But I don’t make those things, I don’t create them, I manipulate them.” A positively wicked smile spread across her face, “but, I can make this!” She held out one hand, palm up. A flame shot up, dropping bits of itself onto the table.
Dante jumped up, slamming a towel onto the sparks. “Concha are we going to have this talk again?! Stop lighting the house on fire!”
“It was a room, I was five and the neighbor had just plowed over my dog with their tractor. Get over it!” Suddenly she jerked her hand up and down, “shit! Putting it out is marginally more difficult.”
Dante grabbed her wrist, hauled her to the sink and ran cold water over her hand.
“I can make fire, demons can make fire. Not so much effort goes into making fire, and demons don’t care about putting it out. And it’s mass destruction, not easily controlled, and everything alive is afraid of it!”
“You have a real gift, the more you talk the less sense you make.” Dante said.
“Why do the lights flicker when there are demons, or any other type of spirits around? Ok, some spirits I can see, they don’t mind, but it’s announcing they’re here! How stupid is that? You’re gonna sneak around causing pain and destruction, but do something that lets everyone know you’re about to show up? I don’t’ think so. I’ll tell you why the lights flicker, they don’t make them flicker out of choice, it’s because they’re drawing off the power, using the electrical energy.”
“Like feeding?” Dean sputtered.
“Yes! Exactly!” Shuffling through the papers, she extracted a few, “look at this. It’s a list of all the activity related to the demon in 1983. Every bit of it in big cities, nothing in Podunk nowhere. Bobby told me there are more demons among people than ever before, and I used to think we’re just communicating about them better, the word spreads faster. But he’s really right. There are more, because they have a source of energy they never had before a hundred-fifty or so years ago. But it’s not 1983 that was really the magic year, it was 1982….more exactly between mid-1982 and the beginning of 1983.” Rifling through more of the papers she shoved one at Dante.
His eyes skimmed down the page, shaking his head, shrugging. “I’m sorry, Conch, just dates, random dates. I don’t get it.”
“Not random dates. Solar flares. The biggest collection of the largest solar flares in recorded history. Solar flares really screw with our atmosphere, and excite all sorts of atoms and molecules, and things we don’t really notice just walking around day to day, but they make a lot of energy.” She swung her gaze to Sam, “it wasn’t because you were born in 1983, it’s because you were conceived in 1982! And then what does Sparky do? It wants to allow possessions, mass possessions for whatever reason. And there’s all sorts of children being conceived during this time of massive energy spikes. A percentage of them will be born naturally with some kind of physic, or telepathic traits.” Pulling away from Dante she started to pace, talking rapidly. “So, Sparky does something to them, makes them latent. First it takes away their support system in a big flaming ball of spectacular. Then bam, these abilities all of a sudden come out, it’s like gang mentality!” Twisting hard on her heels she was back in front of Dante in two steps, gripping his shoulders. “What happens to a child born with one arm?”
“I don’t know, most kids are resilient, probably just learn to deal.”
“Exactly. What happens when you take a twenty-two year old man and CUT off his arm?”
“Trauma.” Sam said very quietly. He looked up at them.
Concha nodded, raising her eyebrows, “Uh huh. I grew up like this, nothing messed with it, with me. I had a lot of time to learn and deal, and I never knew any different. 1982-83 lots of solar flares, 1978-79 not so very much. So I slipped through the demonic cracks so to speak, simply because I was born in the wrong year. Sam, not so lucky. He was born psychic, and probably if he was a year or two younger or older it wouldn’t have been an issue, he would have just grown up with it. Not gotten bitch-slapped in the head with it when he woke up one morning at age twenty-two.”
“That still doesn’t explain why.” Sam said.
“I’m getting to that part. So, said demon, ole’ yellow-eyed Sparky, it’s got all these kids prepared for whatever. You have natural telekinetics and natural telepaths, ripe for the taking over because they’re basically alone in the world. And using them it doesn’t have to expend as much energy doing what demons can also do, the manipulating and creating fire. Those kids can do it themselves, they don’t know it, but they can. But Sparky needs a way to find them, because it’s likely they’re not in the same geographic place they were when this started. Enter group number three. The demon uses people like Sam to find people like me.” She slapped the back of one hand against the palm of the other, “its own personal psychic bloodhound network!” She looked around at the Winchesters. Sam looked a bit stunned. Dean just looked plain pissed off. “Demons don’t need to book flights, get through customs, get on an airplane and find a taxi to these people, which explains why Sam’s visions happen when he’s close enough to one of the other ones, and why there is such a short period of time between vision and whatever happens.”
“That’s brilliant.” Bobby said.
“No, it’s really scary.” Concha pointed out. “I didn’t come up with the idea, just uncovered it.”
“Except for one, all the others we’ve met, have died, and before that were nuts, dangerous nuts.” Dean’s voice was almost a growl.
“Yeah, because I think this is new. There’s nothing like it in any of the literature going back a long time. Demon, or demons are still working out the bugs. Between making the abilities latent, and all the rest I don’t know, but these kids were screwed up, royally screwed up. Or at least some of them were. So much so they’re just unstable, they melted down.” She moved closer to Sam, dropped one hand on his shoulder, “but not you.”
“How can you know that?” Sam rasped out.
Concha smiled, “for the same reason it would never be me. How many people are like your father and fought back? A handful maybe? How many teach their children to fight back? Even less? How many have you come across who have someone that loves them, and accepts them,” her voice softened, her words came more slowly, “ looks out for them and isn’t afraid of them, even….” Her gaze first settled on Dante, then she stared straight at Dean, “even when things get a bit….fiery? My head count so far, no pun intended...” holding up two fingers, “Sam and me, just Sam if you want to look at who was born in 1983.”
“Not to be a damper or anything, but if these demons are using some people as tracking devices, maybe the two of you shouldn’t really be in the same room.” Dante said.
“Na, they’re not looking for me. And I doubt one would really try any kind of possession on me either, I was born in 1979, what would they care?”
Dean smacked Sam’s back, making the younger brother jump, then left his palm pressed against Sam’s spine, “Well, there you go Sammy, problem solved, demon defeated, she was born in 1979, hell junior we’re going to Disney World.” He turned a rough gaze back on Concha. “That’s pretty damn arrogant, and maybe just dangerous.” He snapped.
“I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t think I’d be worth the effort, the energy expended. I’ve got too many ingrained defenses. Maybe for the short term one would, but there’s plenty of easier targets for a long term.”
“Sooo…..Sam can find demons? Track them down?” Dante asked, but didn’t sound overly excited about the idea. He’d found antiseptic cream and was spreading it over his sister’s singed palm.
“No!” Dean barked, starting to stand up.
Sam quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. “Dean, it makes sense. It makes more sense than anything else.”
“Nobody is using you for some tracking device.”
“No, he’s right no.” Concha added quickly. “I mean Dean’s absolutely right.” She could tell that surprised Dean, he gave her a grateful smile which vanished when the impact of her next statement drove home in his head. “He gets those visions, and while they last he’s defenseless, and I do mean in anyway you care to look at it.”
“How do you know?” Sam asked, frowning, leaning forward, resting his arms on the table.
“Yeah, just how the hell do you know?” Dean’s fists were bunched, his jaw tense and white.
“Concha?” Dante asked quietly.
“I saw it.”
“You weren’t there, no one but Sam and me were there.”
Concha met Dante’s gaze and held it with her own. “Dante, I saw it.” She spoke slowly, pronouncing each word deliberately.
Dante straightened slightly, letting go of her hand, his own dropping to his sides. Sam sucked in a breath, this time not stopping Dean from rising to his feet so fast the chair would have tipped over had Bobby not caught it.
“Dean! Give her a chance. What do you mean you saw it? You saw my vision too? Dean said he had the feeling someone was around.”
“It was trees, a tree. Right?”
Sam nodded slowly. Dean actually growled. Concha stepped a bit closer to her brother.
“You were squirreling around in my brother’s head?” Dean literally shook, his voice escalating to a shout.
“No! No, no..nnooooooooo. Can’t do that, not even close. Wouldn’t if I could.” She took a few deep breaths, “sometimes, very rarely when I’m really stressed, as in scared silly I’ve been able to get a message…”
“More like a feeling, vague feelings.” Dante cut in.
“To Dante. I was curious. Sam’s psychic, Dante isn’t. I wanted to see if it would work. It could be a handy thing to do. So, I sat and stared at a stupid tree for three hours and was rewarded with a monster headache. I never meant to trigger anything.”
Sam jerked straighter in his chair, “what is that supposed to mean?”
Looking even more uncomfortable, running her hand over the back of her neck. “Yeah, about that demon, I’m really, really sorry, in the please don’t hate me forever, I didn’t have a clue, wouldn’t have done it if I did sort of sorry way.”
Now Sam was on his feet, shouting at her, “you called a demon to prove your damn theory?”
“No.” She made a bit of a face. “I triggered your vision by accident.”
“Then who called the demon?” Dean demanded.
“Sam did.”
+++++
Chapter 7 The Elements
“Come again?” Dean sputtered.
“Oh, hell no I wouldn’t call a demon, I’m scared to death of demons.” Concha said. “But it was my fault, because I triggered that one particular vision.”
“So, you mean to say when he has a…”
“Yeah. Potentially. In theory.”
Dean abruptly sat down. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He sort of wished Sam would sit down too instead of standing there, looming over him, but forgot to ask. Sam looked confused; it seemed Dean connected all the dots Concha was laying down a step faster than Sam. Which was fine by him, it would give him more time to work out how to deal with the fall out soon to come. Mostly fall out from Sam. Dean’s mind was already working out the words, how to convince his brother he’d been the victim, not the cause. Because most assuredly Sam would somehow decide this was his fault.
“What are you talking….” Sam’s words faded from shouting to nothing. Dean figured he’d connected the dots.
“Not calling in the traditional sense of course, more like a conduit. It will only happen when the conditions are right. Has it ever happened before?”
“I don’t think so, not like the other night where one got in here, somewhere protected.” Dean looked up at Sam, raised his eyebrows a bit silently questioning his brother. Sam had moved on from looking stunned to shell-shocked. He just turned a vacant gaze from one to the other. Finally, wanting him to focus better than he was Dean reached over, grabbed Sam’s wrist and gave it a healthy shake. “Sam!”
Sam’s attention at long last focused again, his head jerked looking down at Dean as if only now realizing his brother was there. “They, the visions, they’re always demon related somehow, but more taking me to it, or someone else connected to it, not the other way around.”
“That’s very good!” Dante said. “Which means maybe the other night was an isolated incident and unless you purposely try it again, it won’t just happen on its own.”
Dean decided he really did like that man.
“Oh, trust me, not getting that headache again.” Concha turned to Sam, “just how do you put up with those? They’re awful!”
Shrugging a bit Sam said, “not much I can do about them.”
“This all just goes to show I’ve been right all along!” Bobby announced, coming back into the kitchen, though Dean didn’t realize he’d ever left. Dropping one of his ancient texts, Bobby seemed to have an endless supply, on the table between them all he waved grandly at it. Then, taking Dean’s shoulders lightly, he turned him in the chair to face the book. “This passage here, it describes the combination of men,” he smiled at Concha, “humans needed to kill a demon.”
“People can’t kill demons, just exorcise them and send them back to hell.” Sam pointed out.
“Not so. There was once a proper combination of humans, all men in that case, who by working together, each with given talents…abilities, were able to kill demons. I like to think it’s where the horsemen of the apocalypse legends came from. I also believe the demon here the other night wasn’t just vanquished, but was actually destroyed.”
“It just evaporated when I knifed it.” Dean said. He’d still not figured out quite what happened, it was odd how the demon just turned to dust then vanished, but he wasn’t going so far as to believe he’d actually killed the thing.
“I think that was demon death.” Bobby had written a passage from his book on a piece of paper. He grandly held it up, “I had this translated years ago. Their mother,” waving at Dante, then Concha, “did most of it. Read this Sam, out loud, for me, will you?”
Sam took the offered paper, “Those with the ability to destroy a demon, not just return it to hell, come together in a set configuration of elements. Siblings, two sets of two, the one who….holy crap!” He stopped, staring at Bobby. “How long have you known this, had this?”
“Almost two decades.” Bobby cracked a grin. In a soft voice he urged, “Sam, read it to them.”
After a few deep breaths Sam continued. “Siblings, two sets of two, four elements together. The one with gift of foresight, and with that foresight the ability to call forth demons, lead them to their own destruction unknown. The one not a demon, but with power such as a demon has. Power that allows the trap be made by man, not symbols. With each their champions who protect them, warriors granted the power to bring a demon to end.”
This was certainly a turn Dean didn’t expect.
Happily it derailed his need to deal with Sam-fall-out, at least for now. One little passage from one very ancient text gave them all a purpose, more importantly defined roles that certainly seemed to fit. For a minute or more Dean was sure if a feather dropped they’d be able to hear its settling against the floor tiles in the stunned silence enveloping the room.
Then Bobby began explaining.
“The demon here the other night, you didn’t vanquish it, or just drive it away. You killed it! It came here following Sam’s….” Bobby stopped, seemed to grope for a word, “…signal. Concha grabbed it, literally pulling it into a trap etched on the floor, but you probably didn’t really need the circle. Dean used a knife Dante had fashioned specifically for use with supernatural quarry to kill it. Now, granted it was only a moderate level demon, and trapping one of a higher level will be trickier, but if this text is right, and I damn well think it is, it can be done. I’ve had this for nearly twenty years. I’ve known, don’t ask me how, but I’ve known since you two boys were little,” he looked first at Dean, then Sam, “you two were one of the sets. Every time I saw you it just screamed out from you. These two,” he waved two fingers at Dante, then Concha, “they were a little more difficult to peg. Honestly the age difference is what threw me. I was expecting at least one of the second pair to be Sam’s age, and have similar circumstances.”
“So we have to figure out this symbol thing, and how to bring the demons when we want them. Or be prepared when one arrives, to do what we do and take it out?” Concha leaned against the counter.
“Ok, then,” Dante was suddenly in motion, going around the room, gathering the books, and papers. Piling them all up he dumped them in Sam’s arms. Reaching out he snatched Concha’s arm, pulling her along, nudging Sam ahead of them. “Guess it’s time you two hit the books.” Waving at them in a ‘shooing’ type motion, “go on, get the homework done.”
Dean cracked one eyelid up when the door to their room opened just wide enough for Sam to slip in. He listened to Sam move around the room, knowing his brother wouldn’t bother making too much effort to be quiet. Almost any movement in the room would wake Dean up. He was touched by Sam’s consideration; he hadn’t turned on any lights. Smiling in the dark when he heard a mushy ‘clunk’ and Sam swear softly he rolled over, stretched and mumbled, “Sammy you should turn a light on before you hurt yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah…..” another clunk, “God bless it.”
Laughing softly Dean rolled over, and flipped the light beside his bed on. “Dude, really, you always do this. You know I’m going to wake up when you start tripping over things in the dark, so why not just turn on the lights and spare us both?”
“It’s called being considerate Dean!” Dropping on the bed Sam rubbed one foot, mumbling something else Dean couldn’t quite make out.
“What?” He yawned, rolled on his back, flinging one arm over his eyes to shield them from the light.
“What, what?! Nothing!” Sam barked.
Sighing, Dean sat up, looking squarely at Sam, wishing he’d done so sooner. Or had the foresight to be more of a presence while his brother and Concha worked on their research. At least then he might have been able to put a stop to this nonsense before Sam had had much time to brood and think over it. Too late, now it’s fall out time. Sam almost never raised his voice at Dean in anger. It was generally deeper than anger, it was generally fear. Anger had a whole different pitch and tone, not to mention flapping arms and Sam right up in his face.
Dean bravely plunged right in. “Sam, what’s the matter, why you pissed? I didn’t do anything.” He silently ran over the events of the last few days, deciding, no he hadn’t done anything to anger anyone. Must be slipping.
Sam glared at him. Dean gave up, shook his head, waving one hand half-heartedly in the general direction of his brother and laid back down, rolling on his side away from Sam. “Whatever. Tell me or not.”
“I’m not angry with you, or at you.”
Dean snorted, “hummppffff…..could have fooled me.”
“Why do you always have to be such a pig headed ASS?!”
“Me? Sam, what the hell did I do? I was here, sleeping, minding my own business, not bothering you or anyone else.” Tossing off the covers he sat up, swung both legs around the side of the bed, spread both arms wide and shouted, “what the hell is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?!” Sam was on his feet in a heartbeat, he began to pace. Dean bit down the urge to laugh at him, since he really was funny to watch when he’d gotten himself this worked up. “Oh, shit, Dean I don’t know….maybe the fact that I’m a walking demonic homing beacon sort of upsets me just a tad! Because anywhere I am this thing could show up and land on…”
Dropping his head, locking fingers of both hands together behind his neck, elbows rested on his knees. “On what? On me? That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?” He looked up, trying to meet his brother’s eyes, and failing, miserably. That just pissed him off. “Look at me!” He snapped in such a low, venomous tone Sam stopped his pacing, a shiver running down his entire frame. Dean would feel guilty about that another time. He purposely kept himself rooted to the bed, if he got up he knew one thing for sure, he’d put Sam right through the glass window-wall they both disliked so much.
Sam stood stock still, staring at him, Dean rarely raised his voice at his brother, rarely had to. This was an exception. Taking full advantage he forged on, “Stop being so dramatic, this is old Sam, this whole conversation is getting GODDAMN OLD! I’m done with it. Let a demon drop on me, because you know what? At least I have a chance, I can defend myself, most people can’t. The bastard hasn’t gotten me yet, and it’s had plenty of chances up to now.”
“But I’m the one who can lead it right to you.” Sam said softly, taking a step back.
“And that’s different from the past couple of years how? Because we have some more information suddenly the situation is worse? I don’t see it that way Sammy, not at all. The more we know the safer and better prepared we’ll be. Any idiot ideas you have of me being better off, or safer without you and so help me…”
“What?” Sam cut him off. “Or what, don’t come back?”
That threw Dean totally off guard, he straightened, watching Sam for a few seconds before speaking, making sure there was not a glimpse of harshness in his voice. “No, Sammy, I’d never say that, not to you, not to anyone. Especially not to you.” He smiled wickedly, “what I would do though is track you down, hog tie you, gag you and keep you in the trunk of the car, letting you out once a day to eat and pee.”
Sam blinked at him, stunned into silence. Then smiled, his face nearly splitting in two. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You couldn’t even do that, I wouldn’t fit!”
Standing slowly, crossing forearms over his chest Dean tipped his head to one side and put on what he hoped was a seriously sinister expression. “Try me.” He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at Sam’s expression, obviously not sure if he should believe Dean or not.
Relaxing, Sam sat in the one chair in the room, shrugging a bit. “I dunno, some days, not all of them, just some, feels like…I don’t even know what.”
“Sammy, none of this is your fault. You’re a victim, not a cause. I’m a victim too. But that doesn’t mean either of us has to live our lives worried about what might happen. Arguing with each other over who is going to cause what, and what could happen doesn’t get us anywhere. You’ve got to stop worrying about it, you really do, it’s not helping, Sam, it’s really not. And it won’t make a bit of difference. Put it to rest already, what happened happened. You can’t change it, neither can I. All we can do is try to make the future better.”
“You seriously wouldn’t lock me in the trunk.”
Dean shrugged casually. “Dunno, maybe, if I had to. Guess we’ll have to see if I will or not.”
“You’re such a control freak.” Sam eyed him warily.
“If called for, yes,” Dean said, stretching out on his bed once again. “I’m going back to sleep. Maybe you could keep the grumbling and all sort of quiet?”
“Night Dean.”
Dean huffed a laugh at Sam, as he drifted off to sleep he heard Sam move to his own bed.
OOOOOOOO
Concha’s eyes were the only thing moving, hand holding coffee mug poised midway between her desk and mouth. She tracked Sam, plate of food in one hand, his own mug of coffee in the other, as he stalked across the room. The plate was dropped, less than gently, onto the long table snuggled against the opposite wall as her desk. He dropped himself into the chair next to the table with even less care. The coffee, she noticed with a smile, was treated with far more respect. He muttered something under his breath about car trunks.
“Good morning.” She offered.
Sam started, looked over at her, surprised. “Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head self-consciously, “morning.”
Concha leaned back so she could see between the double doors out into the living room.
“He’s taking a shower.”
“Ah.” Concha glanced at the doors again, this time they slid quickly and quietly closed. That got Sam’s full attention, she laughed outright at his expression. “What, you think I don’t use it? I just generally don’t use it in public, it sort of weirds most folks out.”
Frowning a bit, Sam grumbled, “it weirds me out.”
Concha just smiled, “you’ll get used it. Anyway I’ve found it’s much wiser when venting to not let the object of your venting hear you. Only causes problems later, have to make apologies for things you didn’t really mean to say and all.”
Sam’s expression turned sheepish. “You heard last night? I’m so sorry.”
“Sam, I think they heard you and Dean all the way over in Idaho. Which is nothing, you should hear Dante and I when we go at it. We’re probably heard all the way in Connecticut.”
That earned her a laugh, she saw Sam relax.
“He’s so busy worrying about me; he never stops to think what might happen to him. Some days I’m not even sure he cares what happens to him.”
Concha was silent for a minute, took a few deep breaths. “I highly doubt that’s true. Your brother seems pretty darn stable to me, not reckless at all. As a matter of fact I’d have to say he might be the most stable hunter I’ve met, aside from Dante.” She turned back to her computer, reading through emails as she spoke. She shrugged a bit, “I suspect it’s like a parent being more tuned into danger to their child than to themselves. Easier to lose one’s self than one’s child.”
“I’m not a child, and I’m not Dean’s child.”
She turned back to him. “Technically that’s true. But I mean, who really did all the things for you a parent does, when you were little? Who really raised you?”
Sam scrunched his eyebrows together, not looking at her, but the ancient text he’d been studying the evening before. “My da—“ from Concha’s perspective it looked as if it was almost involuntary, his response and how it stuck in his throat. He looked back up at her, studying her now. “Dean.”
She nodded. “So from his view point it’s probably nothing more than carry over from when you were kids, from when he really had to take care of you. I bet it’s nothing he even thinks about consciously, just reflex. I have seen one thing, he sure has a lot of pride because of you.”
“Yeah, he even tells me once and a while.”
“Not in you, which I’m sure he has that too. But because of you. I’d bet if you asked Dean Winchester what his single greatest accomplishment in life is, he’d tell you Sam Winchester. I see a guy who’s very proud he got the two of you through childhood in general and you both managed to be pretty decent people.”
“I just want him to be a little more concerned about what can happen sometimes. I mean, I don’t think he’s got a death wish or anything. It’s just I’d like him to realize some things work both ways.”
“Well, if you find a way of getting that message through, share it would you? I’d like to give it to Dante too.”
Sam laughed softly, “okay, deal.” He scooted his chair closer to hers, the book on his lap. “Here, look at these.” He pointed to one symbol. “See this one here, I’ve used this before. Anything you put it on a demon can’t open, or get into. I used it on the car once, like a lock box. When I drew it on the trunk I thought Dean was going to give birth to a cow right then and there. He made me wash the car daily for a month after he did some restorations on it. We could use this ourselves, to help stop a demon from getting inside. Maybe even have it tattooed on somewhere.”
Concha gave him a foul look. “I am not getting a tattoo. Never gonna happen, end of conversation.”
Sam stared at her for a minute, grinned. “Ok, you’re kidding, why not?”
“Dude, it would hurt!”
Sam shook his head, smiling, focusing down at the book again. “Well, maybe some kind of temporary one, or a necklace or something.”
“Hummmmm…..what else you find in there?”
Sam showed her a series of symbols, each with corresponding crystals or gems. “Each one of these represents the four elements, earth, air, fire and water.”
“Five.”
“Huh?”
“There are five elements Sam, earth, air, fire, water and metal. Do you think we need to figure out who is who? Cause your brother is metal, all those guns.”
“He says I’m an airhead. Demons would be fire.” He scanned more of the translations. “There doesn’t seem to be anything important about who is what element. I don’t think it matters so long as all are present.”
“If the demon is fire, and Dean is metal and you’re air, I get to be water and since Dante isn’t in here right now to defend himself, he gets earth, ‘cause I don’t want dirt for mine.”
“We’ll each need something representing an element, lucky Dante he gets a pocket full of mud. And each element has a corresponding symbol. Then the symbol that locks a demon out, I think we should use that too.” Sam spoke without looking up at her, still turning pages.
“But the passage said a trap of men, not symbols.”
“I’ve been thinking of that. I think it’s a certain way we stand, using the elements and symbols. And there’s this.” He swung the book around to show her. “An incantation.”
“Read by the one who calls.” Concha read the note next to the incantation.
“That would be my job then I guess.”
“And oh, I don’t really like this little gem.” Concha pointed to a passage farther down the page, then showing Sam the same passage on the translated pages. “Held in the trap of men by one with the power such as a demon has.” She scrunched her nose. “I gotta grab another one, I don’t want to touch another one.” Deep sigh. “Peachy. Not using beer again.”
“Then you really need this, on you, somehow, at all times.” Sam pointed to the protection/lock-out symbol.
“No tattoo. I’ll get it engraved on something, but no tattoo.”
“I think as long as it’s on you somehow it’ll be ok.” He smiled at her.
“Better be.” She slapped his knee, “because if not, and I get possessed, you’re the first one I’m coming after.”
“We need supplies. And to get all this worked out before we tell them.”
“Guess it’s time to head back to civilization.” Concha said.
“Guess it’s time to hunt.” Sam added.
+++++
Chapter 8 Crystals and Car Trunks
“No, really, Dean, it’s not a big deal. I’ve ridden by myself up and down the trails hundreds of times. You and Sam fly back down, I’ll be fine. Don’t be silly.” Concha moved around the small barn, collecting things Sam presumed she planned to take with her on the ride back to the stables.
“How will you get all three horses down?” Dean asked, shooting Sam a look.
Sam knew the look, it was the help me out or you’ll suffer later look. Sam sat on one of the partitions between stalls, feet dangling, heels bouncing softly off the wood. He grinned happily at Dean and mouthed the words ‘car trunk’ when Concha wasn’t looking.
“I’ll lead them, not that hard. I’ve done that a lot before too.”
The opportunities here were far too much for Sam to resist. Concha was talking to them, but not looking at them, not focused on them. Sam added his own facial commentaries to the conversation his brother and she were having, just to piss Dean off even more. Sam stuck his tongue out this time, watching Dean practically squirm trying to get out of getting into a two-seater plane.
Dean wandered over, leaned next to Sam, draping one arm over Sam’s knee, “well, Sammy here would probably be scared in the plane without me.” Grinning in a way that made Sam suck in his breath and become instantly wary. Before Sam could move so much as a muscle, Dean’s hand shot down, hooked around the ball of Sam’s foot and jerked up.
Sam’s reply of “would not!” garbled as he tumbled backwards off the partition into the empty stall, landing in a heap on straw and stuff he didn’t want to think about.
Concha stopped talking, leaned over the partition to gaze down at Sam.
“Geezzzz Sam, I told you not to sit up there, you’d get hurt.” Dean darted into the stall, reaching down to grab Sam’s arm. A distinct squish noise came from his foot landing solidly in a large pile of manure. “Aww…sonofabitch!”
Brushing Dean’s hand away Sam climbed to his feet, laughing, whispering in Dean’s ear as he walked by, “and deserved that.”
Shaking straw out of his shirt, then hair, Sam straightened and faced Concha. “Flying is ok, but really, we wouldn’t feel right letting you go down by yourself. Besides Dean is worried he might miss being able to shoot more tartums or something.” Sam shot his brother an ‘owe me big time’ look, smiling innocently. He reached for Dean’s elbow as his brother hopped on one foot out of the stall, mumbling all sorts of unkind things about horse shit and pain-in-the-ass little brothers in general. The glare Dean turned on him caused his hand to retract, stuffed into his pocket.
“Whatever you want, I won’t mind the company.”
A few hours later Sam was back on the horse. He’d been prepared to ride BJ, the buckskin in his vision, but Dean’s retaliation for earlier seemed to end with the toss into the stall. He’d not even been given the choice; Dean had simply taken the horse’s reins from Concha. Some days, Sam reminded himself, his brother really was a great guy. He discovered going down mountain was easier than going up mountain. By the time they stopped for the night he was sore, but not in the same stiff, incapacitating way he’d been on the way here.
He and Dean headed into the woods collecting firewood. Walking around loosened muscles and eased the kinks. Besides it made Dean happy to have a look at his surroundings, lay a ring of salt, generally check things out. Sam just trailed behind, carrying the wood. When they’d finished, they stacked the wood for a fire, Dean extracted from his jacket pocket a book of matches.
They both turned their attention to Concha when she burst out laughing. “That’s a joke, right?”
“Huh?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at her.
“The matches.”
“No, gonna light this. Did you bring starter logs again?”
“Oh, please, do you really think I actually use starter logs, or even carry matches, lighters?” Laying one arm across Dean’s chest she forced him back a step or two. Her other hand flicked out, a small, slender flame leapt away and the pile of wood was instantly ablaze.
When Sam flinched involuntarily Dean’s elbow pressed against his side for a few seconds.
Concha looked from one to the other. “Well, at least I amused myself.” She patted Dean’s shoulder, “you’ll get used to it.”
“Doubt that.” Dean mumbled, glancing back at Sam.
The night was blissfully quiet and uneventful, the Sashquash apparently taking the night off. It was late in the evening when they arrived back at the stables. There were loft rooms in the building the Impala was still stored in. Dropping their gear in one then headed to the car, met Concha there and drove to the nearby town for some dinner. Concha pointed out a few things along the way. The stores they could collect their supplies in were already closed for the night. They’d have to work on that project tomorrow. Dante and Bobby would be along the next afternoon.
The next morning Sam woke to an empty room. Showering quickly he packed up what was left of their gear and headed outside in search of his brother. Dean was, predictably, with his car. The trunk hood was up, Dean bent over, Sam could see his arms moving. Wandering around to stand beside his brother he unceremoniously dumped the duffle bags he carried into the open trunk.
“Dude.” Dean sputtered.
“What?”
“I just got things rearranged and you just toss shit in there with no regard to where it should go.”
Glancing down, actually looking at the trunk this time, Sam saw a distinct empty spot, or had been empty till he’d dumped stuff there. He looked over at Dean, raised his eyebrows, shrugged a bit and questioned with his eyes.
Dean grinned, clapped him on the shoulder, moving him away to close the trunk. “Never know when you’ll need extra space.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed before huffing a snort through his nose. He spun on his heels, stalked around the car, slammed himself into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind him. Dean’s laugher grew louder as he opened the driver’s side door, and lumbered into the car. The car’s engine turned over, and Dean pulled around to the other side of the building, honking a few times. Concha appeared, all bubbly and bright, sliding into the back behind Dean. Sam barely listened to their conversation on the drive to town. When he heard Dean tell Concha Sam wasn’t pleased with how he’d rearranged the trunk Sam stopped listening.
The town was White Water City, Wyoming….population two-thousand-eight. It was typical small town. Parts restored to look as they had a hundred-fifty years ago. Sam was thoroughly amazed they had shops with the supplies the four of them would need. But then he figured with the legends, American Indian as well as from the original settlers, abound in the area it made sense. After breakfast the three of them set out on foot, down the street the half dozen buildings to their first stop. Sam ignored Dean, who wandered aimlessly around the store as he and Concha gathered the ‘supplies’ on their list. Twice he caught Concha’s eyes first on him, only to slip to his brother. She smiled, Sam knew she found them amusing. When her cell phone chimed he moved away from her, giving her some privacy. This took him closer to Dean. He immediately got Dean’s toe jammed against calf.
“I saw that waitress back in the café checking you out.”
“Shut up.” Sam felt his cheeks flush a bit. Dean just sniggered and nudged his side. When Sam finally looked at him, he couldn’t help himself, he grinned. Remaining angry with Dean for any length of time was for him, a near impossibility.
“How much more of this crap do we need?” Dean’s forefinger looped around bags of ‘charms’ hanging on a display, pulling one out slightly, then letting it drop back to place. “I can’t believe some people really think this fake-ass shit works.”
Sam shrugged, “there’s something behind all of it, just not accurate I suppose.”
“Hmm.” Whatever else Dean was going to say he stopped as a man stopped close by them, glanced around the store, but not at any of the items in the store, then stepped away, and out the door. Sam exchanged a look with his brother. Dean shrugged, eyes still following the man’s progress down the street until he was out of view of the front window. “Probably looking for someone. You must’ve scared him.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“Hey, Dean, do me a favor?” Concha reappeared.
“Sure. What?”
“Can you go pick up Dante and Bobby? I guess Dante’s car battery died. We’ll meet you…” taking his arm she led him to the store front window, pointing to the corner, “there, that bar. World’s absolute BEST onion rings!”
“Ok, sure.” Dean took a few steps before stopping, looking back over his shoulder at Sam.
Smiling, Sam nodded. “It’s a small town, everyone knows everyone.”
“Be careful.” Dean reached out and poked his brother’s arm.
“Will do.” Sam scrunched his nose, “and I’ll even try not to get high on this incense.”
That got him a smile from Dean, who then waved at Concha and headed to his car.
Sam and Concha finished their mission. Next was the library. They walked along the street, Sam taking as much of the pleasant little town as he could. They stopped at a corner, waiting for a few cars to pass. Twisting side to side a bit to crack his back he caught a glimpse of the man from the store in another window. Stepping away from the curb, only half listening to Concha he glanced back briefly.
Yep, being followed.
And good glory, Starbucks is everywhere!
Grabbing Concha’s elbow with his free hand he abruptly steered (more like shoved) her inside. To her surprised expression he shrugged, and gave her a small, almost embarrassed smile. “I really need a caffeine fix.”
“Coulda just said something.”
“I just did. What you want?”
Concha eyed him curiously, but said nothing. They ordered coffee and took a seat at one of the high, round tables peppering the place. Sam glanced around, trying to be as casual as possible. The man was now planted at one of the outdoor tables. He scooted the stool over a bit, so he was between the window and table. Touching her arm, he leaned in and whispered, “you know that guy outside? The one with the red hat?”
Not moving anything but her eyes, Concha took a look, shook her head the slightest bit. “No.”
“I think he’s following us.”
“Lean a bit to the left, I can see him without looking like I’m looking that way.”
Sam obliged. In the next instant his nostrils were literally assaulted by the smell of perfume strong enough to over power the coffee aromas.
“Concha, ohmygoshhowareyou? It’s been ages girl, wherehaveyoubeen? And who is this handsome guy with you?”
Concha was barely able to get out the, “hi Kelly,” before the new arrival flung both arms around Concha, hugging her, flinging her side to side. “This is Sam, he’s an anthro student.”
Kelly poked Concha’s side, nodding knowingly, “taking on students now?”
Nodding Sam said, “hi.”
“Something like that.” Concha mumbled. “Kelly and I went to high school together.”
Sam wouldn’t have guessed they were friends. Where Concha was settled, calm, this woman was a fireball. Short cropped, greenish hair, nose ring with matching eyebrow ring, and Sam saw a hint of tongue piercings too, her voice squeaked and she bounced as she talked. She wore a name tag, and uniform, she worked here.
“Hey, Kel, you know that guy out there at table three?”
One quick glance by Kelly, then jubilant shake of the head. “Nope. Why?”
“No reason, just curious. Thought he looked familiar and I couldn’t place him.” Concha nonchalantly sipped her coffee.
“Probably one of those crazy hunters which have converged on us.”
Sam’s eyes met Concha’s and locked for a few seconds. “Hunters?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, big game, creepy as all get out, every one of them.”
“Why are they here?” Concha asked.
“Oh girl, you haven’t heard?!”
Concha just shook her head.
“Well,” Kelly leaned forward, “word has it there’s a cougar on the prowl. Killed a few campers a week, no ten days or so ago, and got into the Wilson’s barn and went after their new foal, that was sad. Then a few days ago got into one of those cabins higher on the ridge, the ones the tourists like so much, an entire family, ripped them up. Shelly gave me some crime scene shots,” Kelly was gone before either of them could speak, scooting around the counter, to the back room. She returned with 8x10 glossies, slapping them down on the table. “Council put out the word, open bounty. Better keep your horses stabled.”
“Oh dear lord those are nasty!” Concha said. “Kelly, you know as well as I do, cougars don’t do this, and they don’t go into cabins after people.”
But that didn’t stop either her or Sam from looking. Three children, one a baby in a crib, two toddlers, and their parents, slashed, faces beyond recognition. Obviously something had fed on them.
“The hash marks are too small for grizzlies, no one has a better explanation. Shelly couldn’t really do a match, the bodies were too mangled.”
“Who is Shelly?”
“Oh, sorry. My twin sister, she’s the county coroner.”
“Think I could ask her a few questions, for my dissertation?” Sam asked.
“Oh, she loves when people are interested in what she does. Don’t be shy about telling her to clam up, she tends to go on a bit much. Go left down this street, then another left at the first intersection and it’s the second building on the right.” Kelly’s head snapped around when she heard her name from the counter. “Opppss, better get back to work.”
“Thanks, nice meeting you.”
“Hey you too, don’t be a stranger in here.” Kelly waved at them as she headed back to work.
“Mystery guy is gone.”
“Good. Keep an eye out for him. I’m going to go talk to Shelly, see what she knows. You round up the rest of our stuff.”
“Sam, maybe we shouldn’t split up if we were followed.”
“We need that stuff, don’t want to be caught off guard again. Dean and Dante still don’t know all the details and we need time to explain and show them.”
Concha nodded, somewhat reluctantly Sam thought. She totally surprised him by reaching out and curling her fingers around his wrist. “When we do this, and I have to hold that thing, I don’t know if I can.”
“Hey,” Sam said softly, patting her hand with his, “it’s not like you’ll be alone, I won’t leave and neither will they. We’ll be fine.”
“You really believe that?”
Sam tilted his head, gave her a smile, tapped the table top, and said, “I’ll meet you at the bar in an hour.” He left the coffee shop, stepping out into the bright autumn sunlight.
Both hands stuffed in his pockets, he glanced around, wary of everyone. No one seemed to take the slightest interest in him, and by the time he’d reached the intersection he’d relaxed some. The town would be crawling with hunters and not the big game kind either. Great. Dean worried he’d go off alone to protect his older brother from a demon attack. Sam seriously considered chaining himself to the man. Being alone held no appeal at all, it never had, and he suspected it never would. His days of running away were done, life was much safer with he and Dean together. He scanned the streets, hoping to see the Impala, maybe Dean had returned already. But no such luck. He planned on talking to this Shelly woman, and getting back to meet with his brother just as soon as he could.
The minute Sam stepped into the building, the coroner’s office, the hair along the back of his neck rose. He felt a tingling along his spine, and gooseflesh rippled to life along his arms. He shivered involuntarily. The place just seemed wrong, off, and Sam suspected it had nothing to do with it being a morgue. He shook off the feeling, which merely bounced back to slam him between the eyes when he reached the door to the coroner’s autopsy suit. It was partially ajar, he heard movement inside.
Pushing the door open wider he stepped through. And stopped. His stomach lurched, every thing in him screamed run! The sight fixated him. His palms became immediately sweaty, heart hammering, breathing short.
There was blood, everywhere. Across the floor, the tables, the counters, splattered on the walls. The movement he’d heard was who he presumed was Shelly, or at least what was left of Shelly in a chair, one arm dangling over the side, swinging back and forth.
“Shit. Crap!” Pulling out his cell phone, flipping it open to call Dean, spinning on heels some movement to his left caused him to look up in time to see the butt end of a rifle coming at him. He tried to duck, but wasn’t quite fast enough. A sharp thud, his head snapped back, Sam had some stray thought about his neck going to hurt later before blackness closed in.
OOOOOOOOOO
Dean dropped Bobby off at the stables, he’d wanted to return some phone messages, check emails. Then he turned the Impala onto the road to town.
“Can I ask you something?” Dean glanced at Dante, in the seat next to him.
“Sure. Ask away.”
“How do you deal with the other hunters?” Dean shook his head slowly. “Sam’s only had this a few years. Word got out. It was bound to happen, no matter what we did to keep it secret. Guess I was just stupid to think it wouldn’t. Sam’s too damn honest sometimes. Some of them, they just see him as some kind of freak, monster. A few have taken a crack at getting him. We’ve been lucky so far.”
“Oh I doubt luck had so much to do with it. Probably more like skill.”
Dean smiled, grateful for the compliment. “How do you keep her safe?”
“Concha’s a bit different. She does have the advantage of controlling when and where she uses her abilities. Luckily too, unless she chooses to make it obvious she’s the one…doing things…no one can tell by looking at her. I think your job is a bit more difficult, never knowing when one of those visions will strike. Sam’s visions are pretty obvious. He’s a nice kid.”
Nodding, smile widening, Dean glanced over at Dante, “yeah, he is. Thanks.”
“Anyway, what do you think we have a house way up there for? My parents’ house was in White Water, but sold that a few years ago. Hey, anytime you and Sam need to go up there, go, in the barn, under inside the door to the first stall there is a set of keys.”
Dean didn’t quite know what to say, Dante’s offer truly touched him. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“There are some real dickheads out there.”
“Gotta agree with that.” Dean paused for a few more minutes. “We try to stay clear of other hunters, as much as we can. Some days it works better than others.”
When they arrived at the bar Dean was surprised by how crowded it was, but it was lunchtime and Concha had told him how good the food was, so he figured it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. Until Dante made some off hand comment about where did all these people come from? Dean took a better look around, men, these were mostly men, yet the place was very obviously family oriented. Most of them didn’t look like guys out on lunch break, they were rougher, as crowded as it was the conversations, what few he heard were spoken in hushed tones. A hard, hot acorn started forming in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He tried convincing himself he was being paranoid. Neither Sam, nor Concha was there, and that’s what bothered him. Or at least that’s what he tried desperately to convince himself. In fact the place was eerily quiet for the number of customers. Dante’s head jerked to a booth along the back, Dean lead the way, winding through the few standing around. The hot thing in his stomach ratcheted up a few notches when he could swear there were curious stares, and a few not so curious stares from some of the patrons.
Get a grip Winchester.
Relief washed over him in tidal waves when he saw Concha waiting at the front door, probably giving her eyes a chance to adjust. The relief was replaced by sheer dread as she spotted them, returning Dante’s wave, and wound her way to their table. Sam was no where to be seen. As she approached Dean felt slightly better, she didn’t look distressed, was even smiling a bit.
“Onion rings on the way.” Dante said before she could say anything. Concha slid into the booth next to him. “Quite the crowd.’
“Hmmm….have you seen this?” She produced a flyer.
“Where’s Sam?” Dean could barely get the words out in a normal fashion, his throat was dry and tight, all sorts of warning alarms clanged in his head.
“Oh, he should be here any minute.”
Dante looked up from the flyer, “you’ve got to be kidding? Mountain lions don’t do this.” He handed the paper across the table to Dean.
“I wish I were, and I went and checked my emails, I’ve got somewhere around twenty requests for information. So every yodamoke with a gun who thinks he or she can hunt big game is going to be crawling around, not to mention the hunters who know this isn’t a cougar.”
The hot acorn in Dean’s stomach grew to the approximate size of a grapefruit. His mouth dried up completely.
“We ran into Kelly at the coffee shop and she told us Shelly has photos of some of the victims. Sam wanted to see them, so he went over there.”
“Uh, Conch, do you think Sam is actually old enough to be left alone with Shelly?”
Concha scrunched her face, “ooh.” Ducking her head down a bit she put two fingers across her lips, “I forgot about that. Dante, she’s at work, she wouldn’t at work…”
“Wouldn’t what?” Dean asked, though pretty sure of the answer.
Dante just looked at her, raising both eyebrows. The tension in Dean’s shoulders slid away just the smallest amount.
“I forgot about that.” Waving one hand dismissively at the men, Concha laughed a bit, “he’s a big grown up boy, he’ll be fine. You both are just….” Her words faded away as her gaze tracked a man from the door, making his way to the bar. “On second thought maybe we should go meet him.” She tapped Dean’s arm, chin motioning in the direction of the man, “you know that guy? The one in the red hat?”
Dean casually turned, as if to look for a waitress. He scanned the room, then slipped around to face Dante and Concha again. “No.” He shook his head. “Why? I saw him earlier, before I left.”
“That’s how we ended up in the coffee shop and talking to Kelly, she’s Shelly’s twin sister, I went to school with them. Anyway Sam thought that guy was following us, so we ducked in there. He sat outside at one of the tables for a bit, then left.” Shrugging a bit. “It’s a small town, people are bound to see each other a lot.”
Dean flipped open his cell phone, and ground his teeth when all he heard was Sam’s voice mail. “Where is the coroner’s?” Hopefully all that he would do is catch Sam in an embarrassing position.
“We’ll show you.” Dante nudged Concha out of the booth. They stopped by Dean’s car on the way, dropping off Concha’s bags and picking up guns.
Dean slammed to a halt two steps inside the door to the autopsy room. Somewhere behind him he heard Concha’s gasp issued almost simultaneously as Dante’s cursing. One swift glance around the room and Dean had taken it all in. Bile threatened, burning his stomach and throat. One body, only
Stooping down, she picked up what caused her to skate a foot or two, ‘oh my God.” Concha held out one hand in Dean’s direction, it took him a minute to process her stricken expression.
She held Sam’s cell phone.
OOOOOOOOOOO
There was a definite difference between waking up and regaining consciousness. Sam could list them off, not that he wanted to just then. There was even a bigger difference between coming to in a warm, soft bed with your brother hanging around to give you a hard time, water and aspirin and coming too…Sam had to take a minute to take stock of things. First he tried moving his head for a look around, feeling the pull on the skin of his face. The sensation seemed to wake up a few more. Like how his arms were bound behind him, he was bent so his knees were close to his chest, his ankles bound painfully together, he was on his side, shoulder he laid on aching…..all wrapped up….in duct tape.
Sam hated duct tape. As a matter of fact he decided he hated duct tape more than, well, a lot of things. If he lived, he was going to track down the sick bastard who invented duct tape and he might just forget his rule about killing innocents, after torturing him of course. With the duct tape. And then, after he’d finished with the duct tape he’d use the cardboard the evil stuff was rolled around. Then he’d get serious. Maybe use a knife, or duct tape! Duct tape, Sam decided was demonic.
Light filtered through small cracks above him brought more nastiness to his predicament. It wasn’t dark in there, wherever there was, more of a murky gray. An attempt at lifting himself off the floor earned him a whacked head before he’d barely moved a few inches. Realization he was in something small, smaller than him made him choke and gag on whatever was rising up his throat. He fought it back down, taking big, huffing breaths through his nose. The only thought he had was a coffin, someone had put him in a coffin and buried him. The urge to shout, scream, through the damn duct tape almost over took him. His chest heaved and his eyes blurred, he couldn’t make noise and draw unwanted attention.
As distraction he traced the thin rays of light, moving his head. His coffin shifted ever so slightly beneath him. Maybe not a coffin? The floor he laid on was hard, covered by a thin layer of what felt and smelled like old, moldy carpeting. A few more deep breaths and he could pick out the scents of oil, gas, something he didn’t want to identify. Above him the light came through in a rectangle pattern. Then it came to him. He was in a car. The trunk of a car.
Perfect.
Sam almost wished it was a coffin he’d been trapped in, at least then Dean would have some sympathy for him. This he would never live down, Dean would never ever let this one go. Dean. Dean would be looking for him by now, or would he? Sam had no idea how much time passed, only that it was daylight outside. No, Sam decided with complete faith and conviction, when he didn’t appear at the bar in the hour he’d promised Concha, at an hour and one minute Dean would be looking for him. The thought offered him only a small comfort, since he had no idea how far he’d gone, or where Dean would even begin to search. Dean would find him nonetheless. Dean always did. When it concerned Sam, Dean was some sort of steroid enhanced bloodhound.
Muscles cramped, feeling silly and scared and claustrophobic all at once Sam wished Dean would put a move on and find him…..now.
OOOOOOOOOO
“How many times did you see that guy?” It was a real effort for Dean not to shout.
“I only saw him once, when Sam pointed him out. But in a town this size you can pass someone three times every hour and it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah, well he’s as good a place to start as any.” Dean brushed past them, heading back out to the street.
Dante grabbed Dean’s shoulder, “you can’t go busting in there starting a fight.”
Dean whirled on him. “I can’t let him get away either! He’s the only lead there is.”
“Granted, but let’s be cool. There’s three of us, trailing him won’t be too difficult. He’ll either lead us to Sam, if he’s responsible, or we’ll catch him alone and beat it out of him.”
Dean really did like that man. On the street they stopped for a minute while Dante placed a call to the sheriff’s office reporting yet another attack. The honking of a car horn made Dean start, turn his head, looking over his shoulder. The man wearing the red hat drove by, slowed down, tipped his hat at Dean and nodded. Smiling broadly the guy sped up, hung a right and drove out of town.
“Oh, he did NOT just do that!” Dean barked.
Concha reached behind her, grabbing Dante’s shirt sleeve to pull him along, then sprinted after Dean. They reached the Impala a few steps behind Dean, but he’d already gotten in and had the engine turned over.
“Where’s that road go?” Dean hung the same right, foot pressed down against the gas pedal, the car surged faster along the road.
“Eventually to a mine. There’s only one turn off between there and us, and it leads to a camp ground.” Dante said. “If we lose him, he’s only got one way back, other than off-roading it.”
Yeah, small favors and all.
Dean stopped at the one junction of roads. There was a sign, happily announcing they were at Sunshine Lake Camp Grounds.
“I’ve got an idea.” Concha was out of the car before either of the men could even turn to look at her. She leaned in Dean’s window. “You two go check out the campground. With that car he’ll have to stick to the roads, only go cross country on foot. I’ll stay here, keep watch, in case he comes back down.”
“You can’t—“
“Yes,” Dante cut Dean off, “yes, she can. She can put up barriers, no one will get close enough to her.” Dante lightly slapped Dean’s bicep, “trust us on this. Go.”
Dean spent a few seconds looking from brother to sister. Then nodded, put the car in gear and zoomed into the campground.
OOOOOOOO
The tiny wisps of light were fading, growing thin. Then they winked out completely. Sam was left alone in the dark. The dark and the cold. Shivering violently, trying yet again to squirm around, get his weight off his shoulder, find a warmer position. But warm wouldn’t quell all his shivers, only some. He’d heard the voices, caught bits and pieces of the conversation. Bait. He was bait. Bait for the thing, or things, attacking and mauling entire families. No cougar did it, the man who’d left him in a trunk knew. They would come for an easy meal. One young man bound and gagged in a trunk. How many hours ago had that been? Sam had no idea. Fresh tears dripped, he couldn’t even wipe them away. At least his captor with the cruel, raspy voice hadn’t seen him, after stuffing him in the trunk the man never opened it, never checked. Once there’d been a loud thud, something hitting the side of the car. Sam wanted to cringe away, but could barely move.
Then silence. Now dark.
He was alone.
He’d been trying to remember the man he’d seen in town, but nothing came. He had no idea who he was, or how he knew Sam. Well, when he really thought about it, he knew how the guy knew Sam. Hunters they’d never even known existed seemed to all of a sudden know Dean and Sam, worse yet seemed to have known a lot about them for a long time. He and Dean always kept to themselves, away from the hunting community in general. Now, now even more so, now when it was becoming less a secret, Sam’s ability, now Sam was something they hunted. They did so for a variety of reasons he’d learned over the months. Some, not many, really thought he was some kind of threat. Mostly it was less supernaturally inclined reasons. For some reason neither he nor Dean could fathom Dean had become the man to beat. Hunters, younger ones especially, wishing to make a reputation wanted to best Dean Winchester, one of the acknowledged best. A good many of them went after Sam for the simple reason they were afraid of Dean. The same hunters who respected Dean also feared him. It was commonly known, Dean didn’t make threats, he made lethal promises. Sam it seemed didn’t inspire the same fear.
Yeah, cause Dean was so interested in THAT title.
The fastest way to Dean, to make him slip up, make a mistake, or so it was thought, was through Sam. Kill two birds with one stone. Some had an axe to grind with Dean, one or two with Sam. Little did these people realize the fastest way to bring wrath as they’d never experienced down on themselves was to irk Dean through Sam. Dean didn’t make mistakes, and he didn’t take kindly to anyone threatening Sam. He sure wouldn’t take kindly to Sam being used as monster bait.
Sam’s attention jerked to the trunk door above him. Something was up there, scratching the metal, sniffing along the narrow cracks where the lines of light had come from. He wanted to shout, scream, but the tape over his mouth was a blessing just then, keeping him mostly quiet. The blood from his pounding heart rushed in his ears, beads of sweat blossomed along his back, making him shiver even more. Bile rose and then dripped back down his throat as he pushed as far away from the noise as he could, which in reality wasn’t more than an inch or two. Maybe Dean wouldn’t get there in time, maybe this would be the day.
Or maybe not.
Something screeched, then gun fire, the sound of Dean’s voice….Sam clung to that sound. The trunk door was flung away, bright light flooded…..when had it gotten so bright?.... Dean’s form right there, reaching out to pull him free. “Aww geez, Sammy, you’re such a pain, get out of there.” Two smaller forms behind Dean….turn around…God turn around!!!! Sam’s mind screamed, but his mouth was securely shut with the tape, he couldn’t even wave an arm or knock Dean clear. The forms descended on his brother, ripping him to pieces before Sam, who was powerless to help…..Deaaaaann!!!!
Sam jerked awake with a velocity he’d never experienced, enough to cause his whole body to raise off the trunk floor the few inches it could and slam down with painful and startling clarity. Pain jarred straight through him. He panted and huffed against the tape stuck to his raw lips. Every inch of him strained against what bound him, everything blurred for a minute more from the liquid in his eyes.
He was back to the cold, dark, alone. No Dean. No Dean intestines strewn before him, no Dean’s chest ripped open so Sam could see his still beating heart, then watch it stop. No Dean. And for once Sam was immeasurably happy for that. Sam was left alone once more, locked in a truck, unable to move more than a fraction of an inch, now shuddering from cold. His stomach roiled and bucked from hunger, if he vomited he would surely die of asphyxiation. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t tell if his tongue stuck to the inside of his cheeks or not.
Cold, dark, alone…..so alone….terrified.
OOOOOOOOOO
As soon as Dean swung the Impala onto the main road Concha was there, before he’d even stopped completely.
“Any luck?”
Dean shook his head, “no, you?”
“Not a soul, living or otherwise went by.” Concha slipped into the back seat.
“That bastard is going to pay.” Dean snarled, gunning the engine so hard the car fishtailed a few yards before straightening.
The mine was old, one of the original reasons people settled here in the first place. Now it attracted mainly those who wanted to spend a week or two pretending they lived in the days of the old west, panning for silver. Or those who wanted to see a bit of history up close, touch some glorious past that probably wasn’t really so glorious. This time of the year no one was around. Almost no one. Off the road, tucked under a tree was a car. The same car they’d seen earlier in town. Dean pulled up behind it. Concha was out before the men, crept up to the car, and knife in hand, slashed the tires. Dean and Dante collected pistols and extra rounds from Dean’s trunk, Concha took her rifle.
The three of them stalked silently through the outer part of the mine. Far to the back, near the main shaft entrance they saw a fire, could hear a voice and the distinctive click of a walkie-talkie. “Yeah, he’s there, locked up good and tight, won’t be getting out. They’ll smell him, and when they move in, we can.”
Dean’s stomach twisted viciously. He, this man, and his buddies were using Sam as bait for who knew what. The next words he heard sent his brain reeling.
“No way will he get loose and out of the trunk.” A short laugh, “hell I used three rolls of duct tape on him.”
Heart clenching, Dean hated himself. He’d done nothing but tease his brother for the past few days over locking him in the Impala’s trunk. Goddamn them! He jerked around when he felt Dante’s hand on his arm. He’d almost forgotten they were there, and was at once so very grateful they were. Red, hot anger was all Dean could see through, and that would do neither him nor his brother any good.
“Conch,” Dante nodded to some boxes and general junk on a scaffolding a few feet above the man. A few boxes and tools took flight, landing all around the man.
“What the fu----“ The guy jumped away. “I’ll get back to you.” Rising slowly, shotgun in hand the man turned a slow, methodical circle.
Dante and Dean separated, each coming at him from opposite directions. The man, large, full salt and pepper beard, one ear lobe cut off and generally scruffy in appearance turned, raising his shotgun until it was just inches from Dean’s chest.
“Where is my brother?” Dean growled. “What did you do with Sam?”
“You’re brother is a threat, and I’ve made sure he can die doing some good.”
“The man asked you a question.” Dante stepped up behind the hunter, pistol placed firmly to the back of the guy’s head. “You should answer.”
“We can see who’s faster.” The man didn’t lower his aim at Dean.
“I am.” Dante’s voice was low, dangerous.
Concha sat near the fire, keeping quiet. Dean caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes. He all of a sudden realized how they worked. The next instant had Dean flinching involuntarily as the guy squeezed the trigger. Looking down at his chest, then one hand flying there, Dean’s breath caught. Nothing. The gun hadn’t discharged. In one fluid motion Dean grabbed the end of the shotgun, flung it from the man’s grasp and landed a solid punch to the man’s face. Decking him. Actually first the guy somersaulted backwards, then was decked. Reaching down Dean grabbed the guy’s collar, hauling him up, and punching him again, sending him back to the ground.
“Now, I’m gonna ask you again, nicely. Where’s my brother, asshole?!”
The guy scrambled back, straight into Dante’s legs. Dante holstered his pistol, reached down, pulled the guy up and off the ground. Dean had to actually remember not to laugh when the man’s feet left the ground. “Ya know, Dean, I’m getting tired of this.” Letting go with one hand, Dante drove his fist into the man’s middle, sending him flying again. This time to land in a heap at Concha’s feet.
Leaning her elbow on her knee, she rested her chin in her palm and looked down. “Just tell them, is one somewhat, sort of, almost psychic kid really worth this? Having the stuffing beat out of you?” Tipping her head toward Dante, “he learned torture techniques in Iraq, from the best.” Then nodding at Dean, “and him you just plain pissed off, which probably makes him even more dangerous. Dude, really, is it worth this?”
Coughing, rasping, spitting blood the man rolled partially on his side, struggling to get up. When both Dante and Dean shifted weight to one foot, preparing to kick, the guy held up one hand, trying to crawl away. “Stop. Camp grounds. About a mile behind the office, there is a side road, it dead ends, we pushed the car into the woods there.”
Dante’s eyes met his. “Go on, Conch and I can take care of him and the rest of the dickheads.”
Dean’s feet barely touched the ground as he ran to his car.
+++++
Chapter 9 One Brother Safe, and Whole.
Every breath brought streaks of pain across Sam’s chest. His legs alternated between painfully numb and shooting, stabbing tendrils of agony working their way up his spine to his stomach, chest. He shuddered uncontrollably from the cold and damp surrounding him. His only consolation was he still could shiver from cold, when he stopped he knew he’d be in real trouble.
Cause this just wasn’t enough of a challenge.
He’d lost count of the number of times he’d heard scratching around the car, something picking at the hood of the trunk, trying to get in, trying to get him. Lost count of the number of times Dean appeared only to be mauled to death by things he never saw, or to simply leave him in the small, dark trunk. He couldn’t even maneuver himself around to kick open the trunk, not that he could anyway, his legs lost their usefulness a while back. Keeping his eyes open was a struggle, he was so tired. Letting his eyelids close would be admitting defeat. That would be so easy, to let himself sink into the ever threatening dark looming at the edges of his vision. Lurking, trying to break into his mind. Defeat wasn’t something he’d admit to, now or ever. Defeat meant dying, and Sam wasn’t ready to die yet. Staying awake and lucid in his dark, little prison wasn’t easy. He desperately needed something to focus on, and there was precious little in the space confining him. So, out of desperation, and a real need to stay connected to the real world, he’d turned keen hearing to the outside. The exercise turned out to be almost as frightening as being locked in this cold, dark place. Every snap of a twig, odd breeze, rustle of leaves was an unknown.
Things had gotten noisy out there in the last few minutes, and again he heard his brother’s voice, but didn’t trust himself enough to believe he was hearing correctly, or dreaming it. He listened, between the tightening stabs of pain along his ribs. The voice didn’t go away. It was telling….no asking….demanding something. But Sam couldn’t figure out what. One word kept repeating, back…BACK, and again the plea…Sammy! Trying to answer was futile, but he did so anyway, shouting hoarse sounds from behind the bindings. He wondered if his voice was anything but whispers, or just his imagination.
Some little voice in his brain nagged at him…back…back…Sam…
In the next instant the chiseled end of a crow bar rammed through the lock of the trunk, then was jerked away with enough force to spring the hood up.
OOOOOOOOO
The Impala skidded to a stop at the end of the dirt road, which was more like a wide, gravel path. Barely making out the car fifty or so yards ahead Dean was out and into his trunk in seconds. The car imprisoning his brother had been pushed off the path, and sat at a forty-five degree angle to the path, wedged between trees and shrubs. Putting two pistols in his waistband, extra rounds in his pockets, along with a knife and water bottle, grabbing a crow bar and blanket, Dean slammed the trunk closed and sprinted the last bit of distance.
“Sam!” He thudded on the trunk hood, “Sammy, you in there? Answer me.” He tried first to pry the trunk open. “Sammy!” Hearing hoarse, muffled cries fueled Dean’s efforts. “Saa—umm.”
Dean stopped, panting. The hood wasn’t budging. Options were limited. He could try shooting the lock; that would open the trunk for sure. But he had no way of knowing where exactly his brother was, figuring he was pretty close to the lock. Car trunks weren’t really that big. Not wanting to risk shooting Sam along with the lock gave him another idea.
“Back up, Sammy get back as far as you can.” Dean ordered, again the hoarse, wordless pleas from inside. “Back up, you back UP!”
Raising the crow bar over his head like a spike, squeezing his eyes shut, Jesus, if Sam was too close, angling the tool as steeply as he could, Dean drove it down against the lock with everything in him. The lock popped out, broke free, the hood was ajar. Yanking the crow bar full force back and toward the ground the trunk flung itself open completely.
“Aww, sweet Jesus.” Dean dropped the crow bar at his feet and reached into the trunk.
Sam had tried to turn his head away from the trunk rim as best he could; really only managing to end up looking straight down to the floor. He winced away when Dean’s hands slid under his head, helping him turn so he could see Dean. “Hey, it’s ok now.” Dean’s voice came out in barely more than a rough whisper. “You’re ok.”
Dean couldn’t move him much without getting some of the bindings off. As gently as possible he began peeling the tape from Sam’s face. Sam was shuddering from cold, making him pull away as the tape came free. He made a strange half-crying half-choking sound deep in his throat that sent Dean’s stomach lurching, his chest tightening. The blanket was draped around Sam’s shoulders, but he’d have to wait till he was able to sit up to be wrapped in it.
Sam’s voice stuttered to life the second the tape was off. “D-d-de-d-Dean?” Now chattering teeth joined his shudders. “B-b-b-ait….I..I a-a-am bait.”
“I know Sammy. I’ll get you outa here.” Dean reached in his pocket, pulling out the water bottle.
“He-h-h-here.”
What Sam was trying to tell him sunk in. Dean froze, put one finger to his lips, “shh shh…it’s ok.” Then his hand suspended in mid air for several seconds. Sam understood. He could see it in his brother’s eyes as they followed Dean’s every move. Turning almost silently on the balls of his feet Dean reached his hand out, and gently laid it on Sam’s arm, thumb moving in circles, feeling the awful tremors, and knew Sam clenched his jaw tight trying to silence the chattering. Nothing seen in the murky dark, nothing unusual heard. For the moment at least they were safe. Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder firmly, “we’re ok for now.” Attention once again riveted to Sam and all Sam’s duct tape, first lifting his head and held the water bottle for him to drink. After a quarter of the bottle was gone, Dean set it aside. “Just a little at a time.” Pulling out his knife, taking another assessment, he again squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Hold still.”
Sam blinked at him, making a noise Dean took for a laugh, but in reality sounded more like a hiccup. “M’k-k…..t-t-try t-to.”
Dean started at Sam’s ankles. He kept his back to his brother, watching for any movement in the woods. Sam’s ankles had been crossed and wrapped, making it difficult for Dean to cut quickly. The job had been done well. Sam was not only bound in such a way he’d never escape, it assured he’d lose use of his arms and legs for quite a bit too. Thirdly it had to be painful. For the umpteenth time Dean silently and generously cursed the men who’d done this, and himself for teasing Sam about locking him in the Impala’s trunk.
“Still with me Sammy?” Dean didn’t take the time to look back, kept working his knife through the bindings.
“Y-you rreeeally h-h-here tis t-t-time?”
Those words made Dean stop and look back for just a few seconds. Pulling his knife away for a few beats as Sam’s body quaked violently, easing off almost as soon as it’d started. “Was I here before?” He wanted Sam to talk to him, knowing it would ease the kid’s fear. Clutching the knife with enough force to hurt the muscles of his arm Dean went back to cutting off the tape.
“F-few tiiimmes. Th-th-t-they gotyouIhadtow-w-watch.”
Dean found his grip on the knife unsteady, his hands shook. He clamped his eyes shut, fighting back angry tears. Taking deep breaths to calm his more than jangled nerves he turned to look at Sam, which nearly broke his heart. Sam’s skin was pale, hair hanging in more than usual unruly strands over his forehead, eyes dark and wide making him look so very young, scared. Laying the knife down, Dean stepped closer to Sam’s head, knelt down, so they were eye to eye. Reaching into the trunk he pressed his palm to Sam’s neck, fingers curving around, “hey, Sam, nothing’s going to get me, or you. I mean it, promise.”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, nodded and opened them again.
“That’s my boy. You keep watch, ‘cause the faster we get this shit off you, the faster we get to leave.”
“Ok-k-kay.”
“What is you’re baiting, you know?” The tape around Sam’s ankles cut in two, “try moving your feet.”
“N-no. Just g-g-got a glimpse of a dead one. They’re little, nasty.” Sam used deep breaths to get the words out without stammering.
Dean wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but Sam seemed to be shivering less, which could mean he was getting warmer; it could also mean he was getting colder. But Sam was making sense when he talked, and his attention followed Dean with keen accuracy. Dean was inclined to think his brother was warming not cooling. Another five minutes and Dean had the tape around Sam’s calves cut, and his legs free. Laying the knife off to one side, “come on, let’s get you up.” He grabbed Sam’s shoulders, lifting him enough to get one arm around his brother and sit him up.
As his legs unbent Sam sucked in a breath, and panted it out in big, harsh puffs. Dean gripped his legs just below the calves and eased them straight. Sam yelped through gritted teeth, “shit…hurts.”
“Yeah, well that’s good you can still feel.” Dean eased his brother’s legs down so they dangled over the edge of the trunk. When he reached for the blanket, to pull it back over Sam’s shoulders Sam wedged himself under his arm, pressed against his side, forehead bent down, onto Dean’s shoulder. “Now let’s get the rest of this crap off.”
Nodding against Dean’s shoulder, Sam said, “not as nice as you, wasn’t even g-going to let me out once a d-day to pee.”
“Dude,” chuckling, Dean had to stop cutting, “don’t make me laugh while I have this huge, SHARP knife right along your spine.” He didn’t have to tell Sam to sit still again. The way Sam settled against him let Dean know his brother had no intention of moving or going anywhere for a while yet.
Another ten minutes and all the tape had been cut loose. It would take more time to actually peel the stuff off Sam’s clothes completely, but at least for now he was free. Sam was barely able to move his arms, but managed to get one hand up and wrapped in Dean’s shirt. Dean’s palms rubbed up and down his brother’s arms and shoulders, trying to quicken the return of feeling and total circulation. Sam’s shuddering calmed after a few minutes, then died completely except for the occasional slight shiver. Dean stepped back a bit, taking closer stock of his brother’s condition. Sam looked up at him.
“They hurt you Sammy?”
“J-just hit m-my head.”
“You sure?” Dean turned Sam’s head to one side, getting a better view of the welt and bruise on his forehead. Sam watched him patiently, not trying to squirm away.
“Yeah.”
Noise from the woods drew their attention. Dean placed the knife next to Sam’s leg. Prying Sam’s fingers from his shirt, easing his gun from his waistband Dean stepped farther away getting a better view of the sides of the car, the distance between them and the Impala. Dean couldn’t get to his car without leaving Sam, who was right now, pretty defenseless. It would only take him a few minutes, but he wasn’t sure those few minutes would be fast enough. It would be a bit yet before Sam could walk, even with help.
Something moved through the underbrush to his right, small, maybe only two feet high, running on longish legs was all he saw of the brief flash. When Sam sucked in his breath Dean pivoted attention back on his brother. Sam watched him, every move Dean made. Their eyes locked for a few seconds before Dean again scanned the area. It was eerily quiet, and Concha’s words about it never being quiet in these woods came roaring into Dean’s head. Movement from the car pulled his eyes back to his brother, who was fidgeting, trying to get off the car. Raising one hand, Dean shook his head the slightest bit, mouthing, ‘stay put.’
The horrible pleading look on Sam’s face sent off all sorts of alarms in Dean. Sam had seen this; he’d seen it while locked in the trunk. Not a vision, not a regular one, maybe more hallucination, or nightmare, but he’d seen something close enough. Dean sure wasn’t going to let him have to see it for real.
Slouching down a bit, eyes liquid and wide, Sam shook his head just a fraction, he said quietly, “Dean.”
Dean froze. He’d have one chance of reaching the car. “Where are they Sammy?”
His answer was Sam’s gaze shifting just the slightest to some point behind Dean. Tipping his chin down and then up a fraction, Dean seriously considered shoving Sam back in the trunk to keep him on their only small island of safety. At this point even getting in the car wasn’t an option. Then he decided the trunk was a brilliant idea.
Sam apparently developed the ability to read minds in those few seconds because his eyes widened even more, which Dean thought impossible, shook his head, sucked in a harsh, shaky breath, and said, louder this time, “No. Dean, no. Please!”
Scratching and footfalls, barely audible behind him caused Dean to hold his breath. Meeting Sam’s eyes steadily, willing Sam to trust him, Dean nodded just the smallest bit. Exhaling, taking another, deeper one and exhaling immediately Dean sprinted forward from stand still to a full run in one stride. Covering the distance between himself and Sam in seconds, fully aware of the scrabbling, growling things in pursuit, Dean flung himself at Sam, hitting him square in the chest, knocking him back down into the trunk, hoping Sam didn’t accidentally stab one of them with the knife he held.
“Noooo…” Sam frantically grabbed for him, misreading Dean’s intentions. His arms and legs had been locked in one position too long and he was dumped back into his prison.
Dean vaulted in after him, hooking one finger through the hole left when he’d taken out the lock and pulled the trunk hood down, pinning Sam to the trunk floor with own body. “Knife!” It was shoved along the moldy carpet at him. One of the things had gotten its head in, hissing, snarling right in their faces. Dean recognized it as a smaller version of the tartum he’d seen on the ride up the mountain. He drove the knife, up to the hilt into the small tartum’s neck. It screamed, thrashed about and dropped to the ground, blood spurting from the wound. Two more descended on it, ripping and tearing the still living tartum. “Nice family.”
Cracking the trunk hood open wide enough for he and Sam to peer out, Dean’s pistol discharged three times, each accurate and true. All three of the things lay in a heap. Cautiously Dean extended his arm, opening the trunk fully. Leaning out, gun ready, he looked as far in each direction as he could. Slowly he climbed out. Another quick search and he turned back to Sam, helping him sit up again. Grabbing the crowbar from where he’d dropped it on the ground Dean sprinted to the driver’s side door of the car. Locked. He fixed that with one swing of the crowbar, shattering the window, inside a few seconds later. Nothing happened, the engine didn’t turn over when he tried hot wiring the car. Back out, and around to the front he popped the hood up.
“God damn IT.” Dean shouted through clenched teeth.
“What?”
The car moved up and down. Dean ran his hands through is hair, “Sam, stay put. It’s ok. The bastards took the battery.”
“Man, don’t do that to me, I thought…”Sam’s voice cracked and trailed off.
“Sorry.” Dean dropped one hand onto his brother’s shoulder as he rounded the back of the car again. “I should have killed that bastard, locking you up in there.”
Sam was bent at his middle, rubbing his legs as best he could with stiff, mostly unresponsive hands and arms. Without lifting his head, Sam looked up, “sort of entertained you for a while.”
Feeling like he’d been kicked Dean could only stare at Sam.
Smiling meekly, Sam straightened, “sorry, I was kidding.”
“You don’t think I’d actually lock you up in a trunk!?”
“No.” Sam shook his head, smile broadening, warming, “not for long anyway.” He eased off over the rim of the trunk, “I can feel my legs and feet. Hurts. But enough to walk, maybe.”
Before Dean could stop him Sam pushed away from the car. Standing there, looking down at his feet, he remained upright for about three seconds before his legs betrayed him and he dropped to the ground. “Maybe not.”
Crouching next to Sam he looped Sam’s arm over his shoulders, grabbed him under the arms and hefted him up. “Ya know you’re too big for this.” Sliding one arm across Sam’s back, taking most of his weight he said. “Try now.”
Able to take a few shaky steps, clutching onto Dean, Sam looked at him, nodding. Dean nodded in return.
“Ok, Sammy. Let’s do this.” Taking a few practice steps, they were less than organized and graceful, but forward none the less, Dean was satisfied. “Here’s the deal, more of those things show up, I’ll have to let you go. You hit the dirt and stay there. Got it?”
“I will.”
It took some doing, they staggered more than walked and Sam was little help at all. Twice his foot caught in branches and nearly sent them both tumbling to the ground. Dean hissed and cursed the whole fifty yards. Finally they made it to the Impala, sweat rolling down them and Dean’s arms shook from the effort of lugging Sam the distance. He got the car door opened, and Sam deposited in the passenger seat. Dean reached in and retrieved another bottle of water from the back for his brother, which Sam promptly chugged.
Flipping open his cell phone, other hand resting on Sam’s arm, Dean called Dante, who answered on the first ring. “How you two doing?”
“Hey, just great. Did you find him? He ok?”
“Found him,” Dean smiled down at Sam, who hadn’t given up his mission of watching every move Dean made. “Cold, scare and tired, but otherwise ok. We saw what looked like small versions of that tartum.”
“Damn, I was afraid of that. Our friends gave us a description, and Concha told me what she had in some emails she’d gotten earlier.”
“And hungry.”
“And hungry.” Dean repeated into the phone. He glanced at his watch, 3 am. “You need us to come get you?”
“Nawww…we’re good. Seems these gentlemen insisted on giving us a ride to the sheriff’s office. We’re back in town. Had a nice little group to take in. There’s a small kitchen at the end of the row of rooms where the stables are, should be able to rustle up something.”
Dean couldn’t contain the sigh of relief. “Thanks, not real anxious to go back into the town just now.” He supposed there was nothing open anyway.
“Call me if you need anything. We’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Again.” He snapped the phone shut, fingers squeezing Sam’s arm before he let go, shut the door and sprinted to the driver’s side. He started the car, letting it idle for a few minutes. “You ok?” He studied Sam who had twisted in the seat, curled so his head rested on its back, facing Dean. Sam nodded. Heat turned up, he put the car in gear, guiding it back to the main road of the camp ground. Reaching over he patted Sam’s shoulder one more time, leaving his hand rest against his brother’s bicep. By the time they reached the entrance to the campground and Dean stole a glance to the other side of the car, Sam was soundly sleeping.
One brother back safe and whole. Dean allowed himself to relax.
OOOOOOOOOO
Sam rousted from sleep, barely, when Dean hoisted him from the car, and told him to move his feet, to try to walk. It was easier than the last time he’d tried. The burning, tingling feeling was down to a dull thrum, not the sharp, stabbing pains of an hour ago. He staggered against Dean drunkenly, but finally made it to the bed where Dean dumped him. He kicked off his boots, again mostly because Dean told him to, stretched out, under the blankets and sank gratefully back to sleep.
Dean coming back into the room….when did he leave???....woke him up again. This time the smell of food encouraged him to stay awake. Pushing up against the head board he yawned and smiled gratefully at his brother.
“This was all I could find and heat up quick in the microwave.” Dean sat on the bed next to him, setting the food down carefully. A bowl of soup he set on the night table. “It’s alphabet soup,” he rolled his eyes, “but it’s something warm.”
“Dean, this is great. Thanks.” Sam’s stomach snarled viciously at him.
“Eat up.” Dean had made a few sandwiches, he bit into one, handing Sam the other. “You have any idea how many of them there are? They’re tartum, cubs… pups… spawn…. whatever.”
“No. I mostly heard them, sniffing around the outside of the car.” Sam shivered, and took the mug of soup Dean offered.
“Well, at least there are three we won’t have to worry about.”
Sun streaming through the window woke him up the third time. It was just after noon. A glance across the room, Dean was still sleeping in the other bed. When Sam stood, gingerly trying a step or two Dean mumbled something Sam could have sworn was in Sumerian, part of some ritual, which made Sam smile. He was wobbly, but could stand on his own. Hot shower was defiantly the first order of business.
He leaned against the shower wall, letting hot water pour over him, easing still tense muscles until the bathroom door cracked open a fraction. “Sammy, you ok?”
“Fine, I’ll be out in a minute.” Actually it was more like five, but Dean didn’t seem concerned.
“Better?”
“Much better.” Sam agreed.
“Get dressed, Concha just called, she’s on her way over with some food so we don’t have to go back to town for a few days, or at all.”
Sam nodded, fishing clean clothes from his bag. He knew Dean probably enlisted her help, and was grateful. The gratitude extended beyond that to the true meaning of Dean’s simple comment. Sam still needed another day or two recuperation time, they both knew it. There was still the remaining tartum litter to be dealt with. Dean wasn’t going along with any hunts without his brother. Sam would have never asked Dean for that, but was so very appreciative for the sentiment.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with Concha, carving the appropriate symbols into its corresponding element. Sam carved the protection symbol onto a round piece of wood, punctured a small hole in it, and strung a thin chain of silver through. Silently he held it out to her.
“You’re not half bad at this.” Concha turned the charm over in her hand.
“Thanks. Now be sure my efforts don’t go to waste and wear the thing. All the time.” He tossed a similar one to Dean, along with his element charm. “You too.”
Dean turned the items over in his hand before holding them up, one and a time, to the light for closer inspection. “What are these? I recognize this one.” He held up the carved wooden charm.
“Metal is one of the elements, we each get a different one, with its own symbol. That’s what you’ll use to create your part of the trap when we need it.” Sam explained. “That other one is the same thing I drew on the Impala trunk to keep a demon, or possessed person out of it, remember?”
Dean nodded.
“So keep it on you, always. I still think we might want to consider tattoos.”
“No tattoo Sam, get over it.” Concha waved one hand in the air as she spoke.
“Maybe we should go after the tartums, not wait. I’ll be ok.” Sam looked up at Dean.
“We still haven’t found the nest, Dante and I’ll scout around more this evening. They’re diurnal, so we’ll check closer to dusk. You guys got three, generally their litters are no more than five or six, they might already be done. Besides we’ll need the time for the sheriff to chase the rest of the hunters, big game and otherwise away. Dante convinced him they weren’t really a good solution. And what happened to you wasn’t the only problem, they’re not the most congenial bunch. I don’t know about you guys, but I sure don’t want to be out in the woods getting shot while we’re trying to find the rest of the tartum litter.”
“You need another day Sam.”
Sam knew better than to argue with the finality of Dean’s tone. In all honesty he really didn’t want to argue.
A short time later Dante arrived. They spent time ‘rehearsing’ how to set up the trap, what to do. Still there was no reliable way for them to bring the demon when they wanted it to come, so they’d have to be prepared to implement their plan with little or no warning.
+++++
Chapter 10 A Hunting We Will Go!
“Dean, come on, man, I wouldn’t go if I wasn’t ok.” To prove his point Sam swung his arms around, and did a few deep knee bends.
Dean really hated when Sam whined. “Don’t whine.”
“Not whining.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Not.”
“And now you’re acting like you’re two.” He knew that would shut Sam up in a huff. Actually what it did was get him an eye roll, which annoyed Dean almost as much as the whining.
The tartum nest had been located, luckily there’d been no more deaths, but it was only a matter of time. Dante and Concha were certainly capable of dealing with the snarly little creatures on their own, they’d done so several times in their past, having grown up in this area. Dean didn’t feel right about that. Two more on the hunt would make it go that much easier and faster. Not totally convinced Sam should be out there, or was Dean being what Sam accused him of being, over protective? Probably, he had to admit, but only to himself. Leaving Sam behind, if he’d actually get away with that, which he highly doubted, wasn’t an option anyway. Not that either would admit it to the other, but they’d both been shaken by how easily Sam had been found here and snatched.
Sam, the annoying little twit, would just stand there looking at him with his damn infernal ‘you’re my big brother and nothing will hurt me with you around’ look he was just so good at. Dean hated that look too. Well, maybe not so much, not that he’d admit it out loud, ever. Sam, he thought, sometimes just had way too much faith in him. The honest truth, Dean knew, was there was no reason for them not to go. Sam was fine, a bit sore, but otherwise fine. Dean really didn’t have a solid argument to fall back on; other than he didn’t like it, had a bad feeling. And that was the fastest way to get Sam to disagree with him.
“Dean?”
Dean sighed heavily. Even now, after all this time he was somewhat amazed Sam needed his permission, or blessing or whatever. He wondered if he’d said no, just what would happen. But he couldn’t say no and be honest about it. “Ok, Sammy, fine. But—“
“I know,” Sam waved one hand in the air, chanting, “stay in sight, stay close, be careful.”
“As long as we’re clear on that.”
“We are.” Sam said softly.
As it turned out Dean wanted to solidly kick himself for not following his original instincts, Sam neither stayed close, nor was too terribly careful. He should have known.
After another crash course in tartum hunting, this time from Dante, they went on foot to an area less than a quarter mile from the nest. They walked across a clearing, aware of every movement in the woods beyond.
“Have we been here before?” Sam stopped, turned in a circle, and faced Dean.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Looks familiar.”
Dean’s mouth was open to ask if it was the clearing of Sam’s vision months ago when the walkie-talkie they each carried cracked to life. “Coming at ya!” It was Concha’s voice. In the next instant something small and vicious burst out of the woods at the far end of the clearing. A second, then third came out closer to where the brothers stood.
“I’ll get that one,” Sam pointed to the farther tartum cub…spawn….whatever….”You get the other two!” He sprinted to the opposite end of the clearing before Dean could say a word, stop him.
Swearing under his breath Dean turned, the tartums flickered into and out of his vision. The younger ones were apparently able to stay invisible longer than the adults. Horses crashed through the woods, into the clearing, their breath blowing lead trails of steam in the cool, autumn air. Concha, on Orion, was in the lead, but she pulled the horse back allowing Dante, on BJ, to overtake her. For a few brief seconds the two horses appeared as one with eight legs until BJ moved slightly ahead. Reins in one hand, Dante took aim, firing. One young tartum squawked, flipping over on itself a few times before landing, dead in the tall grass of the clearing.
The one Sam chased doubled back, heading straight for the riders. It flickered out of sight. Dean stopped, breathing hard, watching, waiting. He saw a flicker; it had turned again, this time heading back to Sam. The third one flashed in from Dean’s right, coming at him, airborne. Dean spun, out of reflex more than anything, brought his pistol up and fired. The tartum bit the dust, like its littermate rolling and screeching for a few feet before dying.
Dean’s heart leapt to his mouth when he saw the third tartum bear down on Sam. Sam who was standing there, stiffened, not preparing to take the weight of the thing launching at him, attacking him. Dean could tell by his brother’s body language Sam’s eyes probably weren’t too focused. Then the tell tail sign, Sam half ducked, one hand pressing between his eyebrows.
“Shit. Goddamn. Not a good time for a vision Sammy!”
He was too far away. He’d never reach Sam before the tartum munched his brother to pieces. And whether or not Sam would be able to fend off the thing Dean didn’t know. He started to run. Dante fired at the tartum, but it winked out of sight the briefest second before, and he missed. Concha had dropped back farther, which gave her a much better view of the entire clearing, and the situation.
She turned the horse, now coming at Dean at a hard gallop. It seemed Dean would owe her yet again. Horses could outrun a tartum he remembered.
OOOOOOOOO
The look on Dean’s face was some mixture of panic and horror. Concha tried to figure out just what the hell Sam was doing, standing there, watching the tartum come at him, probably intending to make a meal of him when realization spread through her. He was having a vision. Which wasn’t good. Dean changed direction, running full bore at Sam.
He’d never make it in time.
Concha pulled Orion up, changing direction, then giving him his head, the horse went at Dean full speed. When she was close, she turned the horse so he was alongside Dean.
Holding out one arm, “Dean!” She slowed the horse’s pace to match the man’s.
He understood her intention. Grabbing her forearm with a powerful grip Dean bounced a few steps beside the horse, leapt up, pulling himself against her arm and swung onto the horse behind her.
“Get me there.”
The raw emotion in his voice startled Concha, though it shouldn’t have. She’d seen almost from the first how close these two brothers were, that the only thing which could truly frighten Dean was the threat of losing Sam.
Glancing back briefly, then attention forward again, “hang on!”
“To what?!” Dean’s hands were lightly on her waist.
“To me!” Concha leaned forward just a bit, Orion charged ahead. “Push all your weight into your heels.”
When Orion hit full speed, Dean’s weight was thrown back, and he almost fell off. His arms snaked around her middle, holding on tight now. The horse and tartum raced, neck and neck across the clearing. Concha considered getting Dean’s pistol and taking a shot at the tartum. She knew he probably couldn’t hit it while on the moving horse, but it was something she’d practiced, she could. However, that would involve slowing down a bit. She opted for speed. They reached Sam mere seconds before the tartum. Slowing Orion just enough for Dean to jump down, she circled around Sam to slow down even more, and hoping to distract the tartum.
Dean hit the ground running, stumbled from sheer momentum he wasn’t ready for, hit the ground, rolled up the next second and got himself between Sam and the attacking tartum with barely the time to pull his pistol up and fire. The dead tartum hit Dean’s chest, sending him back, staggering into Sam. The two of them landed in a heap, Dean shoved Sam down completely, covering his brother with his own body, firing at the tartum again, being sure it was dead.
“Sam, come on. Talk to me.” Dean pulled Sam up, bracing his brother against his shoulder.
Dante brought the other horse to an abrupt stop beside them; he dropped to the ground, helping Dean wrestle Sam to his feet. “That should be all of them. We’ll know in a day or two if we missed any, but couldn’t find more.” Dante said, mostly to Dean.
It seemed to Concha they all had the same thought at the same time. Sam straightened, grabbing at Dean’s jacket collar, tugging on him, gasping out his brother’s name. Dante’s eyes met Concha’s, then Dean’s. Dean and Dante looked around. Concha turned Orion in a circle, feeling as if they weren’t the only presence there.
“Dean!” Sam’s shout made Concha jump. His voice sounded funny, not just from the pain, but something else, something that made Dean focus completely and immediately on his sibling. She followed the line of Sam’s free hand as it extended out.
“What? What is it?” Dean said, cupping Sam’s chin so he looked at Dean. Concha could hear the frustration and twinge of fear in Dean’s voice.
Dante now focused as much on Sam as Dean, neither of them paying much attention to Concha. Concha was paying attention to someone…..something….just inside the tree line.
Sam had realized, almost immediately, this is what might happen. They’d tried to plan for this contingency, she and Sam, but no plan was found. Concha realized Sam hadn’t bothered to fill Dean in on this part. Sam’s visions were connected to the demon, when Sparky decided to appear it was logical to think a vision would appear too. Sam’s visions had the annoying habit of incapacitating him pretty thoroughly. That was a problem, since it was Sam who needed to recite the incantation, while Concha trapped the demon. She hadn’t really figured out how she was supposed to trap it. Sam had memorized the incantation, but he wasn’t exactly in reciting shape right then. Concha needed to buy them some time. Dean needed a few minutes to get Sam into position and coherent enough to do what he needed to do. Problem was, neither she nor Sam had told their older brothers those details. Both had done so for the same reason she was sure. Because neither Dean nor Dante would agree to anything had they known. Not that any of them really had a choice she could now see.
Nudging Orion with both heels made the horse lurch forward, closer to BJ. She slapped BJ’s rump as hard as she could with the flat of her hand, shouting at him. The horse did exactly as she expected, bolted away.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Dean jerked around to watch the other horse run off.
Spinning Orion around so his haunches connect squarely with Dean’s chest, sending him sprawling on the ground, and Sam staggering after, trying to catch him, Concha yelled, “I can buy you maybe five minutes.” She pointed to the tree line. All three men looked, she could tell by their expressions they saw what she’d seen.
Concha spurred Orion forward to a full gallop. She crossed the clearing in less than a minute, not even stopping the horse completely before jumping from his back. A slap to his hind quarters kept him going, galloping away from her, and the shadowy figure just inside the trees. She stood and stared at it. It stared back. She didn’t want to go into the trees, somehow feeling safer out in the open. Yeah, cause arm wrestling demons was so safe. There were great, big, gaping holes in the plan she and Sam, mostly Sam, had devised, but neither could find solutions to those problems. While she was quite good at gathering the information, and a master at being bait, she discovered Sam was much better at putting together working plans, especially of this sort. Part of their plan required her to follow Sam’s voice, as he recited the incantation, to the right spot between Dante and Dean. The four of them formed the trap. As she stood considering this, and the thing, demon, in front of her it all of a sudden came to her how she’d hold the demon.
Her barriers.
She’d have to get the thing close enough to her to encircle it within her barriers, lead it to the preordained position among the men. But at the moment the demon wasn’t moving and Sam wasn’t talking. Wishing she hadn’t called attention to the fact it was right here, we’re not ready, she stole a glance back at the men. Too late now, if she’d kept her mouth shut Sam wouldn’t have been able to tell his brother and hers the demon had been right there until it was gone. Probably. Maybe. Maybe it wouldn’t have left, and attacked them anyway. Maybe this was giving her a headache and getting her nowhere.
Maybe she should stop talking to herself and actually do something about the demon who no doubt knew she was right there.
Taking a few deep breaths she tried to clear her mind. Be a target, be a victim, want to be possessed. It coalesced into a shape, a man. A man she’d find physically attractive, tall, lithe, deep dark pools for eyes…..demons were tricky bastards. He smiled, innocent and sexy all at once. He stepped closer to her, just away from the trees.
Come get me….get me. Was her silent plea to the demon. Take me. She backed up another step and stopped. They were behind her, she knew it, she could feel them. They were setting the trap.
The demon stalked a small circle around her, she could feel how he looked her up and down. She turned only her head, to watch him, and in doing so caught a glimpse of the three men. Dante looked like she’d never seen him look before. Terrified. Not because of the demon, or for himself she knew, but for her. Dean’s face was more surprised, maybe a bit of horror. Sam’s face she couldn’t see, he was kneeling, head bent down, bangs covering his eyes, but she could see his lips moving. Dean stood next to him, one hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Then bless his heart, Dean started to talk. Sam could barely whisper the incantation, so Concha couldn’t follow his voice. But nothing was stopping Dean from talking, and did he ever! He’d been in and out of the room the day she and Sam carved the symbols, worked on their plan. Dean, she realized with sudden clarity, knew a whole lot more than he’d let on.
“Sam, stay right there, keep reciting, you keep it going Sammy, don’t stop. I’ll just be over here. Stay put Sam, I’m going right over here, just like I should.”
Concha focused on Dean’s voice, he kept it up, talking to her through Sam, telling Sam every move he was making. She followed his voice, she could tell where he moved, when he was in position because his voice stopped moving. Then he started on Dante, who answered immediately, understanding what Dean was doing.
The demon gave up its shape, returning to its natural form of black, grainy mist. It flowed around her, not quite touching, but swarming all around. She had the definite impression it was sniffing at her. It pulled back, regrouping to a smaller, tighter form of black, then stretched out again, to her, circling, almost settling in her hair, on her shoulders, but pulling back.
It couldn’t get in. And wouldn’t stay close enough. Did it know? Each time it got close enough and she tried to erect her barriers around them both the demon would slink away. Not leave, it wanted her.
Maximum destruction. Minimum effort.
Concha’s hand reached to her neck. Her fingers curled around the silver chain holding the symbol Sam had made for her. The symbol to prevent the demon from possessing her.
Sam’s head snapped up. “No! Nonononononono……!!!”
Concha pulled the necklace over her head, holding it in one hand, arm extended. No resistance. She stared straight at the demon. Both arms out and up.
“Sam incantation!” Dean shouted. She caught a glimpse of Dean’s outstretched hand, motioning Dante to stay in place.
Concha’s fingers opened. The necklace fluttered to the ground.
The black mist flowed straight at her, like some sort of hellish tidal wave. This was gonna hurt like a bitch! The collision made her gasp, then clench her teeth, refusing to scream, sending her to her knees.
The world erupted in flames.
OOOOOOOOO
Dean was torn, but ultimately picked Sam first. Crossing the short distance between himself and his brother, sliding down beside Sam, he grabbed Sam’s shoulder, shaking him until Sam looked at him, focused on him, still whispering the incantation.
“Keep going Sam, don’t stop! And you stay there, whatever happens you have to promise me you’ll stay right here till I come get you.” Another shake, rougher than he’d intended, to Sam’s shoulder. Sam’s eyes met his, hand coming up and fingers briefly curing around Dean’s wrist before he nodded. “Good boy.” Dean patted Sam’s shoulder, on his feet, running in the next instant.
His current to-do list, stop Dante from going into the fire and burning, stop Concha from burning by getting her out of the fire, and oh, yeah, kill a demon. Eh, just a regular day, piece of cake. The whole trap plan had sort of gone to hell, almost literally, when the damn demon swirled around Concha, then ignited and Dante took off after his sister. Not that Dean blamed him, he’d have done the same for Sam.
Catching up to Dante just before the man went headlong into flames, Dean tackled him, both of them landing in a tangled heap on the ground. The second they were both on their feet Dean had Dante firmly by the shoulders, blocking him. Years of restraining and handling the bulldozer that was his brother when pissed off at their father paid off. Dante couldn’t get by him.
Dante, seeing he couldn’t fight Dean off so easily, shouted at him. “She’s burning!”
“No! Stop! The trap, we have to reform the trap, that’s what will get her out!” Dean pointed to the fire, “look….look…there’s a break in the flames. And you’ve reached her before, in here…” Dean’s hand tapped his own head with one finger. “Make the trap, and do it again.”
Dean wasn’t quite sure what coursed between he and Dante at that moment, something unspoken was all he knew for sure. He let go, and they both ran, away from each other, to their positions. Dean closer to Sam, Dante nearer Concha.
OOOOOOOOO
Concha heard far too many voices in her head. There was hers, and Sam’s which was interesting that she could plainly hear his constant reciting of the incantation. There was It, demanding she sink away, let go. Finally there was the loudest, strongest voice. Dante.
On hands and knees, Concha faced a decision, let go, or fight. She coughed, it was smoky, hot, fire all around.
Dante’s voice. He demanded she listen to him, only him, trust him as she always had. He’d get her out. He told her what to do. Live! LIVE! He demanded, challenged, begged.
So she did.
OOOOOOOOO
Dean barely had time to collect his thoughts when the small, clear bubble containing Concha ignited, and exploded away from her. Flames shot in all directions. The force of the explosion impacted him, knocking him several feet. He caught sight of Dante being blown backwards as well. Instinctively Dean rolled to his side, struggling up, looking for Sam at the same time.
His heart nearly stopped beating when the black cloud seared from Concha across the short expanse straight at Sam. Flames and demon hit Sam’s chest, flinging him farther away. Sam managed to get to his feet for the briefest second before crumpling to the ground. Horrified Dean watched as black soot and flames swirled around his brother, at times completely obliterating him from view. Screeching from the demon mingled with screaming sirens. Dean staggered to his feet, running faster than he thought he could at Sam, and the demon.
Catching Sam around the chest, Dean wrapped both arms around his brother and rolled, all the while inventing some new swear words. His befuddled brain finally registered what was happening. Concha had tossed away her protection symbol, none of them had. The demon could only swirl around Sam, and his human shield Dean, screeching. When Dean rolled Sam away, putting out the flames lapping his brother’s clothes the demon flung itself away, disappearing along the horizon.
Dante pulled Concha from the remnants of her protective bubble before the flames closed in. Dean wasn’t sure when fire trucks, and helicopters and paramedics showed up, but they had. Concha was laid flat on the ground, all sorts of people swarmed around her.
Dean rolled up, sitting, still holding Sam. He pulled his brother against his chest, one arm across Sam’s chest, the other bent so his hand rested on Sam’s head, which was on Dean’s shoulder.
“Dean?” Sam barely whispered.
In response Dean’s arms tightened, “here.”
“We get the demon?” Sam’s hands hooked around Dean’s forearm.
“I think we’re going to have to call this one a draw kiddo.”
Dean watched, chin against Sam’s head, as Concha was loaded onto a stretcher, then into a helicopter. Water was being sprayed along the line of flames. He met Dante’s eyes briefly, nodding, just before Dante climbed into the helicopter after his sister. Dean then bluntly told a paramedic he was afraid of flying and not getting in any helicopter. If the guy thought he was putting Sam in one he could just pick his head up on the far side of the clearing after Dean removed it from his shoulders and drop kicked it as far as he could. The medics decided Dean and Sam were fit enough to ride to the hospital in an ambulance.
Dean got them out of the way, waiting patiently for the ambulance, and held tight to his anchor that was his brother Sam.
+++++
Chapter 11 Into the Storm….
Dean seriously hated hospitals. He even more seriously hated ICU floors of hospitals, because having someone you cared about there was never good. He was a mixture of guilt and worry at the moment. Worry because Concha was on the dreaded ICU floor, guilt because he was ridiculously happy it wasn’t Sam up there. Sam stood right behind him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel his every movement, every breath.
Smiling as much to cover up his discomfort at this place as to charm some information from the nurse behind the desk Dean leaned over it the smallest amount, making a big deal out of reading her name tag.
“Maybe…Marissa, you could help us out. We’re here to see Concha West? She was brought in last night.”
Nine hours. Nine long, freaking hours it’d taken him and Sam to get here. He silently chided himself for not biting the bullet and getting on the helicopter. He would have if he’d realized then how long it would take to get here. Neither of them needed any treatment, so once out of the ambulance, they’d gotten the once over by a doctor and sent on their way.
Their way up to the ICU.
Marissa smiled, flipped through a large stack of papers, meeting first Dean’s then Sam’s eyes. Dean immediately liked her. She seemed honest and direct and genuinely caring. “Are you relatives?” The standard question.
Feeling Sam’s nod, and hearing his smooth reply, “cousins.”
“Well, she’s had a lot of smoke inhalation, no real burns though, which is probably some sort of miracle.”
You’ve no idea lady.
More paper turning, then a brief glance at the computer screen next to her produced a small frown. “I don’t have either of you listed for visitation.” She glanced up, smiling with honest sympathy, “but I can probably fix that. Give me a minute.” She slipped out from behind the desk, headed down the hall. Key card gained her access to the main part of the floor. It was nothing more than a few minutes before she returned. “Concha is still unconscious, not unexpected. Her brother is sleeping, I’ll have to get his permission to add you to the list. I didn’t wake him. Should I?”
“Na, no.” Dean glanced back at Sam, “is there somewhere we can wait, get something to eat maybe?”
“We could check back later?” Sam asked.
“Yes on both.” Marissa dug through a drawer, “here, take these. They’re meal passes for the hospital cafeteria, not the greatest food, but won’t kill you either.” She gave them a short laugh, “and free.”
Taking the passes Sam tapped one finger on the desk top, “thank you, very much. We’ll be back in a while.”
“Remind me to come here the next time I’m hurt.” Dean said to his brother as they walked back to the elevator, “they’re nice.”
The cafeteria turned out to be on the first floor, right next to the emergency room, where they’d started out. The front of the hospital was windows, the surrounding buildings easily seen. Dean stopped so fast when something across the street caught his eye, just as he was heading into the cafeteria, Sam collided with his back.
“Signal next time, will ya?” Sam groused.
“Next time pay attention and react faster.” Dean smirked, poking Sam’s ribs. Tipping his chin at a point across the street, “I’m going over there for a minute, coming?”
Sam followed Dean’s gaze, eyebrows bouncing up under his bangs, “Hell yeah! You actually want to go willingly into a bookstore?”
Dean huffed a breath and shook his head before stepping out of the large double doors of the hospital, into cool, clear autumn mountain air and crossing the street, mumbling, “smart ass.”
Winding his way through the store, having lost Sam not too soon after they went through the front door, Dean found, near the back what he searched for. He spent a few minutes picking out the right one. There was a card section, he headed there next, again spending a few minutes more picking out the right one. Glancing around the store every few minutes, checking on Sam, he’d smile a bit when his eyes fell on his brother. Sam loved these stores, was like a little kid in one. Dean snagged a magazine and found a chair fairly centrally located in the store, and settled there, no harm in letting Sam have time in here.
He was three quarters of the way through the magazine when Sam appeared in front of him. “Did you find what you wanted?”
“About five minutes after we got here.” Dean smiled, stood and stretched, glancing at his watch, “nearly an hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Dean shrugged, “no reason not to hang out here. Find anything?”
“Not that I want to take with me.” Sam pointed at what Dean held. “So you gonna share?”
Silently Dean held out the card, which made Sam smile and nod, the other item was a small poster. Unrolling it Sam glanced at it, then stared at Dean, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Dean, this is totally cool, man.”
They paid for their items, heading back to the hospital. In the cafeteria they signed the card, the front horses on a background of stars, blank on the inside, with a simple message…’Get better fast. Love Dean and Sam.’ Ate a quick meal and headed back to the ICU.
Marissa was still there, “sorry, I still couldn’t get your names added.”
“That’s ok. Could you let Dante know we’re here, he can call us when we can visit. And would you be able to put this where Concha will be able to see it when she wakes up? Leave this card for her?” Dean held out the poster and card.
“Sure. I’ll do it right away.” Marissa smiled at them, taking the card and poster. “What is this?”
“You can look.” Sam said.
Unrolling the poster Marissa looked at it for a minute, then cocked her head to one side. “This is an interesting thing to give someone. Some special meaning I take it?”
“It’s her favorite.” Dean explained. “She’s into astronomy. That’s Orion.”
“Yes, I know, the hunter.” Marissa said before heading off to the main part of the floor and Concha’s room again.
“Chaser away of all things evil.” The brothers said together.
OOOOOOOOOO
The flames and haze and smoke cleared slowly, withdrawing in layers. Concha heard a rustling sound before she dared try lifting her eyelids. Vision swam in unsteady waves for a few minutes then cleared, focused. Someone was hanging something on the wall across from her, she realized then she was on a bed. A smile, tired and not too ambitious made its way across her face.
The nurse turned, seeing Concha’s open eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful.” Concha’s voice felt raspy, like it didn’t want to work. Lifting one hand off the bed at a slight angle, she pointed to the poster. “Chaser away of all things evil.”
Smiling, the nurse finished taping it to the wall, “so I was told.” She held out a card. “They left you this. I can add them to your visitation list?”
“Huh?” Concha looked up from the card. “Who? What list?”
“You’re in intensive care, only family can get in. Your cousins weren’t on the list.”
Concha’s head turned, she was sore. Dante, stretched in a reclining chair a few feet away, sleeping, came into her view. “Cousins. Dean and Sam?”
“That would be them.”
Swallowing, nodding, “yes. Ask them to wait an hour or three, I need a nap.” She let her eyes close.
The sun was slanting through the window of her hospital room at a different angle than it had earlier, when the nurse—Marissa—hung the poster on the wall across from her bed. Concha had slept for several hours, the sun was setting, it would be dark in another hour. Pushing up on sore arms, Concha sat on the bed, then swung her legs over and waited for the room to settle into one place. A few deep breaths, a glance at Dante, maybe she could make it across the room before he woke up.
As her feet hit the floor and she stepped away gingerly, one hand on the bed rail to gain further steadiness, standing there for another minute, getting her balance before beginning her journey, which looked like a few hundred miles, not a few feet. She’d gotten just a few steps from the bed when Dante stirred, sat up, rubbed his eyes and frowned at her.
He was on his feet, crossing the space between them in seconds. Concha froze. It was pointless to try to escape, on her best day she couldn’t out run him, it definitely wasn’t going to happen this day. She smiled up meekly at him when his fingers curled around her shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“I…umm…” Concha waved at the bathroom door, “wanted to go there.”
Dante’s expression changed, softened, became aware of what she was telling him. “Oh. Right. Yeah.” Sliding one arm around her shoulders he turned her toward the bathroom. “Ok, then, let’s go.”
“No.” Turning back to face him, palm flattened against his chest, “no, Dante. You’re my brother, I love you more than anything in the universe, but you are not going to the bathroom with me now or in our next lives.”
“Well, I’ll just get you to the door, and stop there.”
“Good plan.” Her response was muffled when he pulled her to his chest, holding her tight.
OOOOOOOO
Sam’s chin dropped against his chest for a second or two before he ventured a glance up again. Sitting on Concha’s bed, silently, amused by the exchange between Concha and his brother.
“He says,” Dean pointed at Sam.
“Don’t involve me.”
Dean snorted some odd noise, and continued. “AS I was saying, he says you got yourself, no let yourself get almost possessed just to catch that thing and accomplished that by taking off your charm. Do that again, and we can and will hold you down while it’s tattooed on your forehead. There are more of us, and we’re bigger.”
Arching one eyebrow, Concha folded her arms over her middle in mock indignation. “Really? You and what army pal?”
A pillow took flight aimed at Dean’s head. He caught it, throwing it back to the bed before getting smacked with the thing. “Do no do that. It’s just creepy.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“No, no I really won’t.”
Sam had to turn away so Dean wouldn’t see the smile broadening his features. He glanced up without moving his head when Dean blew a huff through his nose and waved one hand in Sam’s direction.
“You talk some sense into her Sammy. I’m going to bid the fair Marissa good-bye.” Dean gave the recently animated pillow a stealthy glance as he skirted around the bed, “I’ll be back in a bit.” And out the door he went.
“We are bigger than you.” Sam teased.
“Hummmm…..whatever. I’ve been hearing about it for a full day from Dante.”
“Seriously, don’t do that again. Those things we made are important.” Sam held out the necklace with her carved symbol dangling from it. “And yes, I’m a bit touchy on the subject of possessions.”
“Ok, ok, fine.” She slipped it around her neck. Standing in front of the room’s window, she glanced out then turned back to Sam, the sunlight coming through causing some glare, he couldn’t clearly see her face, her expression. “Anyway I have something to tell you.”
The way she’d spoken, how he couldn’t see her face very well, it was a bit unnerving. Hoping she didn’t notice him tense up a bit, he resisted the urge to look behind him, see if Dean was in the hall outside the door. “What?” He made sure to keep his voice soft, neutral, but didn’t know why it was suddenly important.
But, of course he really did know why, she had, if only for a few brief moments been possessed. Not exactly as others had, she had too many unconscious defenses and the demon gave up, but it had been in there, with her. Sam knew, possibly more than any of them, what that felt like, and how you just didn’t get over it in a day or two.
His heart rate probably doubled, and he couldn’t keep his smile from dropping off his face when she said simply, as if commenting on the weather, “it left me something, left something behind.”
Yep, that would be what he was worried about.
Finding his voice suddenly not working, probably had something to do with his constricting throat, Sam spread his hands out in the universal question gesture. He slid off the bed, straightening to his full height and slowly edged along it, he needed to get out of the room.
Concha frowned, “what’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a…….oohhh….” She darted forward, grabbing his arm.
Sam froze, not exactly sure what to do.
Laughing, nervously Sam thought, she smiled, nothing evil, a regular Concha smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It left me something, probably something it never intended to, and wouldn’t want either of us to have.”
“What?” Sam croaked, his voice finally deciding to work.
“How to hide from it, them. In the few seconds it was in me, “ she shivered, “and I never ever want to do that again, I got a little glimpse. I got one of its secrets. And the best part, I can show you too. You can stay off its radar,” her gaze shifted for just a second to the door, then back to Sam, “which means you keep Dean off it too. It can’t find him without being able to find you first. One more weapon.”
“You mean I can stop the visions?” Sam suddenly felt too heavy, he dropped back onto the bed, doubting his legs would support him much longer.
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t really know. But even with the visions, you won’t be…I don’t know the word to use…visible I guess, to the demon, any demon unless you choose to be. But you have to practice, ‘cause it’s important you can control it, use it when you want or don’t want, whatever the case may be.”
Sam was amazed, truly amazed at how simple a task it turned out to be. He silently chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner. Now he had his own, internal, mental protection symbol, and he really never intended to turn it off. That brought him to another bit of information he’d been mulling over the last few days. “I think I found something too.”
“What?” Concha sat beside him, waiting for him to continue.
“My visions mostly had to do with the other kids like me, the ones the demon has plans for. Except the visions I had when I was around you. Those just called the demons, presumably to you, but you aren’t one of those kids. So I was trying to find something in common each of the times a demon appeared when I had a vision here. It’s stress, opens the door sort of. The first one, the one you triggered, I was stressed just because it happened. You were stressed because of what it did to you. A few days ago, when we were hunting the tartum cubs, we were all…” he smiled, then chuckled, “stressed.”
“But it didn’t happen every time. It didn’t happen when we were riding up there and found the adult tartums, and it didn’t happen when Bobby shot arrows at me. Which was definitely stressful.”
“We don’t know for sure it didn’t, we may not have seen it is all. And I think there’s more to it, I think Dean and Dante fit in somehow too, because in each instance they were there too.” He raised his shoulders a fraction, letting them drop immediately, “it’s something to think about, the only common denominator I’ve found so far. We’ll have to keep working on it. But I do think we should put some distance between ourselves, at least for a while.”
“I think you’re right on that, and I think you have something. More fine tuning I guess. It makes sense that if we can form a human trap we can also make the thing come to us when we want.”
OOOOOOOO
Dean loosened his tie, removed it and his suit jacket, dropping them both over the back of the nearest chair. He reminded himself once more of the total evilness of ties. He glanced at Sam, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet today, not unexpected, but his near total silence Dean found unnerving, Sam was a talker. But since this morning Dean hadn’t heard six consecutive words come out of his brother’s mouth. The entire day Sam had only responded to someone else speaking to him, which since they knew almost no one in this town were few and far between. Dean didn’t bother asking what the problem was, he knew, had known since Sam started trailing behind him hours ago.
Sam flopped back on his bed, legs dangling off the end, one arm over his face. Dean wanted to comment on how he’d be a lot more comfortable without the evil tie strangling him, but instead asked, “you ok?”
“Yeah. A little tired.” Sam’s voice was thick, gravelly. Pushing up on his elbows Sam finally took off the tie, tossing it across the room to the chair Dean’s draped over. “It was a nice memorial for Shelley.”
“It was.” Dean had to agree, but didn’t comment further. He knew Sam was working up to say something, and having a good idea what bothered his brother Dean just waited until Sam put together in his head what he needed to say. For something to do, other than stand there and watch Sam, he started sorting their laundry.
“I’m a terrible person.”
It was said so softly Dean wasn’t sure he’d actually heard correctly, or that Sam had actually spoken. “What? You are not. Where do you come up with this stuff Sammy?”
Sam looked around the room, looked everywhere but at Dean, dropping his gaze to his lap. “The whole day, there’s this poor girl who lost the only family she had, Kelly is a nice girl. And I felt really badly for her, but I couldn’t help feeling…”
When Sam’s words trailed off Dean finished for him, “feeling happy it wasn’t your brother?”
Sam nodded, looking miserable.
Dean took a deep breath, “you’re in good company I guess. I felt the same way. And when we were waiting to see Concha in the hospital, all I could think of was how it wasn’t you in there.” Stopping for a minute, watching Sam’s expression soften, relax, he added, “I think it’s a natural, very human reaction.”
“Like survivor’s guilt?”
“Yeah. Like that.” He was silent for a few minutes more. “At least no one else will suffer from those things, we stopped it.”
Sam didn’t say any more, and Dean let him be. A while later when Dean glanced over at his brother, Sam was sleeping. Deciding that wasn’t a bad idea at all, Dean took a quick shower and dropped into his own bed, asleep in no time.
Waking up early the next morning, Dean felt better, the gloom from the day before having lifted. He could see Sam felt better too when they headed into town, to a diner in search of breakfast. Sam put away enough food for three people, Dean idly wondered if the kid would stop growing if Dean stopped feeding him, then decided a hungry Sam might be a bit too dangerous, even for Dean. Laptop on the table between them and to the side Sam rattled off some possible cases to Dean as they ate, explaining along the way why they needed some distance for now from Concha and Dante, sharing with his brother all the theories he and Concha had formulated.
“Guess what?” Dean said when Sam finally stopped and took a breath. “We get paid for that little hunt. There had been a reward for getting rid of the,” he made quote marks with both hands, “mountain lion.”
Sam’s face lit up, “really? How much?”
“Ten grand.” Dean drawled as casually as he could, sipping his coffee.
Going completely still Sam just stared at him.
“Shut your mouth Sammy you look sort of silly.” Dean had one more little surprise to spring on his brother, but for that one he’d wait for Concha. Sam asked him twice what had Dean smiling so much, but Dean merely shrugged and raised one hand in a ‘who knows?’ motion.
A half hour later, right on time, Concha appeared, sliding into the booth next to Dean, so they both faced Sam. He could tell by Sam’s slightly raised eyebrows he’d seen the small, rectangular book Concha laid in Dean’s hand, and that Dean quickly tucked in the pocket inside his jacket. Not that either one had really been trying to hide anything anyway.
“So, what’s good today?” Concha made a big show of examining the menu.
“Nothing, he ate it all.” Dean waved at his brother.
“Ha, ha, very funny. What are you two up to?” Sam’s eyes narrowed, he glanced from one to the other.
“I was hungry, wanted breakfast.” She nudged Dean’s side. “Go ahead, tell him.”
“Na, you did all the work, you tell him.”
“It was your idea, and he’s your brother, you should tell him.”
Looking from one to the other, Sam said, “one of you tell me before I have to choke it out of the both of you.”
“You tell him, I’ll just miss some important detail. Please?” Dean met Concha’s gaze for a few seconds. He really wanted to watch his brother’s reaction, and not be distracted by having to explain things too. She seemed to understand that now.
“Ok.” Concha shrugged. Laying both hands, palms down on the table in front of her, she took a deep breath. “Here’s the deal, if you’d like it. My advisor at Cornell knows stuff, stuff about us, well hunters in general, and he can cover computer tracks like nobody’s business. His name is Marcus Crandall, but he likes to be called Craven,” she held up one hand, “don’t even ask, it’s just weird. Anyway he can get your records transferred from Stanford and if you want to finish your degree, you can, through Cornell, most of it you can do online, just go there to take a test or two. The degree will actually be from Cornell, not Stanford, but Cornell has graduated some pretty upstanding students.” She stopped and slapped Dean’s hand away when he waved his thumb in her direction. “Then, if you wanted you could go on, do the same thing I did. Again most of it you can do online, and you’d only have to show up at Cornell a few times a year. All his and my research materials can be downloaded, or put on disks or again just accessed directly online, securely too. Besides me there are a grand total of two other people on the planet that do what I do. One is this old lady in Nepal, she’s like a hundred and six, hates Americans and thinks we’re all already burning in hell, so not forthcoming with help. Then there is this guy in South America somewhere. Let’s just say he’s got issues with drug lords. It’s not a happy thing. The good guys could use more help.”
Dean just couldn’t hold it in any longer, he hadn’t felt like smiling this much in…..he couldn’t remember when. The sheer stunned look on Sam’s face just made it all that much sweeter, the kid really had been surprised, had no idea what was coming. After a few minutes of Sam’s complete silence, he got sort of impatient watching his brother watch them, “Sammy, say something!”
Sam’s eyebrows disappeared into his bangs, he opened his mouth, then shut it again, then took a deep breath. “You did this? For me?”
“Told you I’d work it out, didn’t I?” Dean lightly tapped the back of Sam’s hand with his fingers.
Concha slid a folded paper across the table to Sam. “Craven’s email, he’s expecting to hear from you, and your secure
Sam laid his hand over the paper, but didn’t really take it, still looking at Dean. “But how?…This stuff costs….a lot.”
Laughing out right Concha said, “so Dante keeps reminding me.” She and Dean exchanged a brief glance then said together, “you got a scholarship.”
“So you want to do this?” Concha asked.
“We can go to Cornell, it’s ok?” Sam was still mostly talking to Dean, who nodded.
“Whenever you want.” Dean twisted to face Concha, who looked confused at this point. “That’s Sam-speak for yes.” He explained, reaching under the table to rub his shin which at that moment had an unfortunate meeting with the toe of Sam’s boot.
And damn didn’t Dean Winchester feel just wonderful on that bright and sunny morning in a small town in Wyoming.
OOOOOOOOO
Craven leaned back comfortably in his heavy leather chair, puffed his pipe, enjoyed a freshly brewed cup of tea and scanned his email, as was his ritual every morning. He always looked at the senders first, deciding which was more important to open and read first. This morning he smiled warmly, picking one halfway down on the second page.
There were two attachments, pictures. One was a red horse, and why was it Concha insisted on sending him pictures of that stinky animal, and more importantly why did she love it so much?
The second was a recent one of Concha in front of a Cessna plane with three men. One he immediately recognized as Dante, the other two he supposed were Sam and Dean Winchester, but wasn’t that just like Concha to not bother telling him which was which? No matter he’d find out soon enough.
There was one single sentence in her message…….All debts have now been paid. Love Conchita.
Craven downloaded the picture of the four young people, and deleted the rest.
OOOOOOOOO
Bobby loaded his truck. He’d be leaving to drive home in a few hours. He watched Dean put the last of their gear into the Impala and wondered yet again what it was that had both he and Sam so chatty all of a sudden. He shrugged off his curiosity, if they wanted to tell him they would. Probably some joke they shared between them no one else would even understand.
Dante and the Winchester boys seemed to have forgiven him completely. And if they didn’t well, they never let on, acting as they always had around him. As for Concha, that would take some more time. She’d been nice enough to him, but was missing the openness and warmth that had once been there. It would take her time, he did after all shoot at her, and could have seriously injured or killed her. Dante said she’d get over it, and he trusted the man to know his sister well enough to know this to be truth. When she was ready, Bobby would be there, happy to be her friend again.
Twice he’d heard the Winchesters mentioning heading to Ithaca, New York, but when he’d asked what they were hunting down Dean merely replied some leads they’d picked up. So Bobby had dropped the issue.
Concha appeared from one of the rooms behind the stables, carrying two duffels. She tossed one at Dante, who sort of hugged it when it hit his chest, not actually catching it. That made Bobby laugh.
“Guess you’d better fire up the bird, big guy,” she patted his shoulder as she walked by.
“Because why?”
Concha smiled up at him, “got a little job in Shreveport, we should be able to be in town by this evening, even if we have to stop somewhere to refuel. It’s been two whole weeks since you’ve killed anything, don’t want you going through withdrawal,” she winked at Sam, then did a fake shiver, “that would just be ugly.”
“What’s there?”
Actually giggling Concha announced, “shtrigas….who knew?”
Dean barked a short laugh, “that’s just wrong.” He tapped Sam’s shoulder lightly, “come on kiddo, you want to be in Ithaca by the end of the week, we’d better put a move on.”
“You know, we could….” Dante pointed at his plane.
“No.” Sam and Dean said together, “we like to drive.”
“Probably heard your nickname is Captain Crash.” Concha teased.
Dante smacked her in the back of the head, “one more word and you walk. Get your ass in the plane.”
Once in the plane Dante had it fired up and taxiing along the landing strip in short order. Dean and Sam bid a final good-bye to Bobby before Dean shoved at Sam’s back telling him to get in the car. Sam just grinned and complied.
Bobby watched the Impala pull away from the stables, as the Cessna was airborne, circling around to head east. Sam hung his upper half out of the car window, waving. Bobby had to laugh when he saw Dean’s hand reach over and literally grab Sam by the shirt collar, hauling him back into the car, thunking Sam’s head in the process. Bobby could just hear Dean’s words chastising his brother for defiling the coolness of the Impala, and Dean. He could see Concha waving back, until Dante maneuvered the plane into a flip and roll, making her grab at the flight panel to steady herself.
For a few brief minutes the car and the plane traveled the same path, nose to nose before the plane veered off east, and the car had to go slightly north to catch the highway.
Bobby waved one more time. That was how he sent them out…into the coming storm.
End
