Dean Winchester's extraordinary adventures 2
Asmodée de Saint Hubert takes a look at postcards of the Eiffel Tower while Balthazar puts the last touch to the quick cleaning up he had to do. It's not very thorough and the smell is still disgusting. He's pretty sure he'll have to throw his suit and hat away. And to make things worse, a young and pretty waitress walks hastily to him to announce they're out of rillettes.
"You know," Saint Hubert turns to him then, "there are only three places close enough where the pterosaur could have found the sheep it ate. At the feet of Montmartre, in Vincennes, and the Jardin des Plantes. So why don't we visit those places ?"
Because a criminal might revisit the place of his crime. Or a pterosaur might revisit the herd it knows it can feed from. Balthazar is not about to admit it aloud, but it's a good idea. One he should have had first. One he would have had, if he wasn't so hungry.
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"Thank you, my son," the priest says evenly as he enters the prison and passes the guard at the door, bowing his head in such a way that the hood he's wearing slides forward and hides his face even more.
He follows a second guard who doesn't realize the bunch of keys at his waist is gently lifted and stolen, nor that the priest suddenly takes another corridor and runs directly to a particular cell that he opens before the prisoner even realizes he's got a visitor.
"Donatello," the priest urges in a much deeper, pressing voice, "hurry up, we're leaving !"
They don't manage to go far before they're surrounded. Professor Redfield is locked away again in his cell and Dean is thrown out of the prison.
It's getting old, he thinks. Then he remembers one of his Dad's favorite sayings.
"A seemingly lost combat is the only one really worth fighting for. Chin up, Dean !"
With a resolute pace, Dean goes back home already thinking about the next disguise that will allow him to get inside the prison.
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Saint Hubert mimics shooting at one of the windmills over the hill of Montmartre. He targets right at the center of the wings and imagines sending the whole thing spinning out of control, sharpshooter extraordinaire. It'd roll over the place, slicing and dicing humans and animals alike. And then Vlad and Spike would bring him back today's kill, lay it at his feet to show everyone Asmodée is the best hunter out there.
Boldieu joins him to say the farmer is sure, he counted his flock twice, no sheep is missing.
"Okay," Saint Hubert accepts, "let's go to Vincennes."
He lowers his rifle but, for some reason he prefers not to dwell on, the shot just goes off by itself.
A sheep collapses in the field below.
"Raphaël," Boldieu shouts to one of his deputies, "fetch the veterinarian !"
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The doctor is sporting a big beard and sideburns, and he holds just as big a syringe.
"Special treatment for a special prisoner," he explains in the weirdest southern accent the guard's ever heard.
They don't go that far into the prison before the guard feels the needle planting itself in his left ass cheek, and soon he crumples to the floor with a high-pitched cry that he will deny ever uttering till the day of his death even though this is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.
Dean makes it without problem to the corridor he's looking for, and then to the professor's cell. Soon, he opens the door and shakes the prisoner's arm to wake him up.
"Come back later," Redfield grumbles, the ungrateful bastard. "I'm too tired."
Donatello turns away from him and snores for good measure. Dean stands there, mouth agape in the middle of his fake bushy beard.
"Well, that takes the cake !"
He wants to shake Donatello awake, urge him out, but suddenly feels bad about all of this. It's true that the older man has a bad heart, and the whole ordeal must have taken its toll on him. Controlling the beast, worrying about being arrested, it's bound to make him tired. Donatello does need to sleep.
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Saint Hubert (and his dogs) is out at night with Balthazar (and his three deputies), checking the fields of the farm in Vincennes the pterosaur might have raided for food.
But once again, the farmer is positive that all his animals are accounted for.
Which means there's only one place left where they stand a chance to find the pterosaur : the Jardin des Plantes, next to the place where it was born.
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Sam can't sleep and he's worried. So far, Dean has been thrown out of the prison every time he managed to get in under a new costume. But Sam fears they might keep him in after a while, to prevent any other attempt that will ridicule them a bit more every time.
He doesn’t want Dean to end up in a French prison where burly prisoners will take a shine to his beautiful brother and try to seduce him, to say it politely. Dean’s very good at making friends everywhere he goes, and he knows how to defend himself, but his French is not that great that he’d be able to diffuse an explosive situation easily. On the contrary, he might just piss off the wrong persons. It might be bad, very bad.
And where will that leave Sam if Dean is locked away in a cell ? Dean is the only one able to bring him back from his fugues, but he doubts the French penitentiary system would allow for spousal visits between brothers, especially if Dean has to come to Sam. And though he doesn’t say it in front of Dean, chances are that he’s slowly dying, living his last months or days on this planet. It's in fact a very likely possibility.
He doesn’t really want that life anyway, being a constant worry and a burden to Dean or Bobby who have to take care of him as if he were still a small child unable to wash and dress himself. Not even mentioning the most unsavory parts of caring for a sick person. Sam just doesn’t want to go there.
What he wants is to spend his last days in Dean's arms. Fading away for the last time feeling Dean's lips on his own.
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"Changing of the guard !" an old, paunchy man announces.
The young guard, fast asleep on the other side of the bars, jumps on his bench as the older man hits the big key he's holding up against the metal.
It's six in the morning, and the young guy loses no time leaving his post to his colleague's care and hurrying to his bed, hastily throwing behind his back mumbled words that might have been 'Hang in there !'
The pot-bellied guard begins his round, leisurely, but as soon as he's turned behind the first corner, out of anyone's eyes, the man suddenly runs toward the corridor where Professor Redfield has been imprisoned and opens the door.
"Donatello, I hope you've slept to your heart's content, because this is now or never !"
The sleeping form gently moves to sit, blanket falling away, and this is not the face of Donatello Redfield that looks back at Dean.
"Who are you ?!" Dean asks. "This is Professor Redfield's cell."
"Sorry," the young convict yawns, "they transferred him. They do that for the condemned prisoners. They spend their last day in a special cell."
"No," Dean denies, "it can't be. It's too soon. He was just arrested."
The guy seems to understand Dean's fear and offers the only kind of support he can.
"You never know, maybe the president will pardon him."
Dean keeps looking at him, willing his brain to engage but unable to do so for a moment. If they behead Donatello, all of Dean's efforts will have been for nothing, and Sam… No, Sam is going to be better soon, and Donatello will help. Dean just has to find a way to get to him. Unless he might talk to the president…
"Thanks," he says to the prisoner for giving him the idea that might be his last chance to solve this impossible situation.
He runs the other way without looking back, ready to leave the prison on his own terms this time.
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President Gaëtan Malvy has been in office for a few years already, and it's an open secret, especially at the Élysée Palace, that he enjoys the company of men as much as he adores women.
Dean's met him at a gala or three where Benny dragged him, kicking and screaming. Benny claimed that showing Dean's face around was the best publicity he could come up with, along with his charming accent and deep voice, the whole package that would make all the ladies swoon and buy his books in a hurry. Benny was also pretty sure that Dean's erotic stories would make a big splash in the good society, among women kept in leash by their husbands and priests and left to feel undesirable and frustrated.
It seems Benny was right, for his books have been selling like hotcakes, but they were not only bought by women. President Malvy is a big fan too.
Dean has taken great care of looking extra good before visiting the Élysée, so much so that Sam asked questions Dean knew he wouldn't like the answer to. He insisted on coming with Dean, pretending to want to see the presidential palace, but Dean's pretty sure it was in fact to make sure Dean wouldn't succumb to the presidential lure.
Sam has nothing to worry about, really. Malvy seems like a nice enough fellow - for a country's president and everything the title implies - but the bushy grey beard and the swirly mustache are not that attractive. The facial hair fashion men follow these days is straight out of a collective nightmare and Dean has no wish to get closer acquainted with Malvy's face. The only lips he dreams about are Sam's, the only cheeks he likes to nuzzle are also on Sam's muttonchops-free face. Power and money are not attractive enough to Dean to overcome his total lack of desire for the head of the French government.
But he lets Sam tag along. He figures fresh air might be good for his little brother, and Malvy won't make a move on him in another man's presence. Dean can promise the president anything in order to secure Donatello's pardon, and then come up later with any kind of excuse to renege on their deal. Once Sam is cured, they won't need to stay in this country anyway. It's only because the doctors have forbidden Sam to travel after his accident that they're still here, on the wrong side of the Atlantic Ocean.
The Élysée palace is something they clearly won't forget anytime soon. Dean doesn't know how someone would want to live in a place so full of art and gold that it looks like a museum. He sure wouldn't like it. He wants to feel somewhat at home wherever he chooses to settle down, to be able to put his feet on the table and balance on his chair. He's pretty sure such things would be frowned upon, here.
Of course, Sam looks at everything in awe, admires the paintings and furniture, asks clever questions that endear him to the guy in tailcoat showing them the way to the president who, as they learn, is taking a break in the garden, playing with his dog.
"Mr. Winchester," Malvy greets him, "what an unexpected pleasure to welcome you to my humble abode."
"The pleasure's all mine, Mr. President," Dean answers almost unctuously. "Allow me to introduce my little brother, Samuel, who was eager to meet you and see this humble abode of yours."
"Mr. Winchester," Malvy offers his hand to Sam this time, "I'm delighted to meet you too, and sincerely hope my house lives up to your expectations."
"It does, and then some," Sam answers with his most alluring smile. "Mr. President, it's a great honor for me to be here, thanks for having me."
Dean doesn't really like the calculating way with which Malvy admires Sam. He feels proprietary all of a sudden and decides it's time to delve into the reason why they're here. But not before he tries to get Sam far away from Malvy's paws that still haven't let go of Sam's hand.
"Your parents must have been both very beautiful to gift the world with two perfect boys like you," the president compliments them both.
Dean puts a hand on Malvy's arm, who turns back to him with the same hungry look. Dean's pretty sure the man wouldn't be averse to getting them both inside his bedroom for a bit of private fun. A "partie fine" as they call it here, which translates into thin party and means nothing, unless you realize that the only thin thing there is the space left between naked participants.
Dean doesn't like this idea one bit when Sam is included. He really needs to get his brother away.
"Sam's handsomeness is nothing next to the power of his brain," Dean brags. "Give him a book and you'll have made a friend for life in him."
Malvy falls immediately into Dean's trap.
"The palace does have books. Our library is nothing huge but I think you might enjoy it anyway. Would you like to see it ?"
"I would love to," Sam smiles, delighted.
Sam is a lot less happy when he realizes Dean and the president are staying behind. The guy in a penguin suit is back to lead him to the Bibliothèque Napoléon III so Sam has to follow, but not before sending Dean a withering look that seems to say 'Be careful' and 'You will pay for this' all at the same time.
Dean loses no time waiting for an opportunity. He links his arm to Gaëtan Malvy's and leads him further inside the garden, farther from the republican guards' ears. Napoléon, the president's tiny dog, runs in front of them, smelling each blade of grass and marking his territory on quite a few of them.
"Mr. President," Dean begins, "ever since your election, you've been a strong advocate against death penalty."
"Absolutely. So far, while in office, I pardoned twenty men and women."
"Which is exactly the reason for my presence here today. I know you'll want to avoid killing an innocent."
"You sound pretty sure. Who's the man we're talking about ?"
"Professor Donatello Redfield. He's been unfairly accused in the first place, and then the haste with which he's been condemned should tell you how bad this trial smells."
"I see. This professor is a compatriot of yours, isn't he ? I understand why you would feel bad about it, but this affair can't go unpunished. Two people died, one of them a renowned politician, in the pterosaur's attack."
"Exactly ! The bird's attack, not the professor's ! On the contrary, he's the only one who knows how to rein it in. Think about it, Mr. President. If the professor is beheaded, who can tell how many more will die ?"
Dean can see he gave Malvy food for thought, but the man's not convinced yet. The Yorkshire terrier brings his master a ball he found in a bush and Malvy absently throws it away.
"I put my best men on this case," he answers Dean. "They will catch the bird."
"I'm sure you did, but what if they don't catch it soon enough ? I know you don't want that burden on your conscience. Not someone like you, who's really invested in the needs and well-being of his electors."
Dean goes for the kill, putting his hand on the president's arm again and squeezing.
"Professor Redfield is one of the best scientists out there, and he loves this country so much that he decided to live here and train French students to achieve the best they can do, in their career as well as their personal lives. You need him alive, sir."
Once again, the Yorkie brings the ball to play and Malvy obliges.
"And what's in it for you ? What's your relationship with the professor ?"
Dean hesitates. The complete truth will make him look like a lunatic, but he thinks Malvy might be able to tell if he tries to pretend to be there only to do the right thing.
"My brother," he stammers, still unsure, "Sam, he's sick."
"Sick ? He's tall, and strong," Malvy says, licking his lips. "He doesn't look sick."
"Not always, you're right. Not today. But he's… catatonic. More and more, he falls into a state that looks like sleep, if not for the staring spell, and there's nothing you can do to wake him up. We fear his brain won't be able to keep working if this goes on for too long. That his body will waste away."
"And you believe the professor to be able to do something for him ?"
"I know so. I've been searching for the ingredients Donatello needs to cure him and I'm ready at last. But I need the professor alive to work his magic."
This time, it's Malvy who puts his hand on Dean's arm in support.
"So you see," Dean continues, "if you let this parody of justice follow its course, you can already expect one more death."
Unless Malvy is familiar with Donatello's life and work, there's a good chance he's wondering when a physics professor became an expert about the cure for catatonia. But he's mostly a good guy, and Dean's sorrow shuts him up.
"I promise I'll think about it," he offers.
The president throws the ball away again, as far as he can, and Napoléon uses the whole power of his very short legs to catch it. Dean and Malvy watch him at first, but soon turn at the same time upon hearing a door in the palace open violently, closely followed by a warning scream.
"Dean !" Sam shouts as he runs toward them.
"Sam, calm down !" Dean orders, not knowing what's got Sam beside himself with such obvious worry, just that the doctors said he needs to avoid that kind of stress. "You know you can't exert yourself like that !"
The republican guards have begun to run after Sam, sensing a possible threat to the president, and Dean fears a giant melee that will hurt Sam more than he can take.
But then a shadow blocks the sun that so far was shining over Dean and the president, and he can see what got Sam's panties in a twist. The pterosaur is here, flying right toward them like a cannonball, huge wings fully deployed.
In a final effort to get Dean out of danger, Sam throws himself at him and the president. His long arms manage to grab them both and they all end up sprawling on the lawn. Dean's breath leaves his lungs in a rush with the shock of landing on the ground but his hands grab Sam on their own volition, making sure he won't hurt his head more than it already is.
"I saw it from the window," Sam explains, panting, "and I thought it was going to attack you."
"I know, sweetheart, I know."
His eyes still lost in Sam's, Dean caresses his selfless little brother's face with all the love he feels for him. But then Sam is torn away from him by two guards while two others help the president to his feet and make sure he's not hurt.
Once Dean is up too, the guards are now a physical barrier between him and President Malvy.
He wonders why the pterosaur showed up here when it could have gone anywhere in the biggest French city and found something much more interesting to eat that a scrawny dog, which seems to have been the bird's goal all along since Napoléon and his ball are nowhere to be seen.
Dean just hopes the president won't realize his four-legged companion has disappeared before they're far, far away.
"Let that man go," Malvy says to the guards securing Sam, who immediately obey and release him.
And Sam falls back down in Dean's arms, unconscious again.
Dean falters under his weight but he hangs on. The needle in the middle of Sam's forehead is there for everyone to see, bangs disheveled after the way Sam threw himself at them before he was manhandled by the guards. Dean turns to Malvy to explain it all, but Malvy is not looking at them.
"Poléon ?" the president suddenly calls, and Dean sighs with disappointment that his plan is going more and more haywire.
The ball the dog was playing with the last time they saw him falls at their feet, just like Sam did. Everyone looks up to see Napoléon carried away, stuck inside the big claws of the Jurassic monster.
Dean's pissed. It's not bad enough that his worry about Sam has ratcheted up again, now the president's going to think he led the bird here and Sam's got to bear the brunt of the president's anger about the pterosaur's attack.
But then Malvy surprises Dean.
"I'll have Professor Redfield immediately released," he says as he turns toward Dean a very worried face. "Under one condition. Mr. Winchester, do what you need to do about your brother, but promise me you'll bring Poléon back."
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It was Asmodée de Saint Hubert's idea to put sheep decoys in plain view for the bird to come close enough that he could shoot it. But it's Balthazar the three decoys, namely his three deputies Gabriel, Raphaël and Mickaël, hold responsible for decking them out with fake sheep fur. Wool. Whatever.
They do look dumb like that, walking around on all fours, hidden under some dirty-grey, curly fleece, and Balthazar wishes he could get a photograph for next year's police calendar. Or maybe next month's almanac, he's not picky.
It feels good to mock his men ; it's partly revenge for being so hungry he could eat one of the fake sheep himself. Instead, he takes naps as often as he can because he hasn't slept nearly enough either. If the bird finally shows up, Saint Hubert is armed and ready, he doesn't need Balthazar.
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The pterosaur lets the little dog go before it lands next to him inside the pen. Instantly, while the Yorkshire terrier begins to sniff around, the bird walks over to the nest that has been prepared for it on top of a small hummock and inspects it at length before finally settling in the middle of the branches and leaves for a nap.
"Incredible !" Professor Quetsche says from his hiding place behind the bushes. "How did you manage that ?"
"Well," Mick answers, "I did a little research. I read pterosaurs were sedentary creatures, so I gathered all the pieces of eggshell left at the museum and brought them here. To give the dinosaur a sense of home, you know."
"Good instinct !" Quetsche praises him. "You'll go far, lad, I can tell."
"Thank you, Professor. It means a lot coming from you."
"So now, what do we do with the pterosaur ?"
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The first thing Dean sees back home is that Bobby took the mummy out of the box and put it inside the glass cabinet. Patmosis is very still, too still. He looks right inside Sam's bedroom through the open doors, unseeing eyes of the mummy staring deep into the unseeing eyes of his brother as they set Sam down on the bed.
Dean would normally let Sam sleep his exertion off a lot longer before he tries to wake him up. But they don't have time today. He needs Sam alert, or at least conscious enough that he'll be able to play his part if need be once Donatello's here.
So with Bobby's help, he disrobes Sam, explaining to their friend everything that happened at the Élysée while they tend to his little brother and run a bath. Once everything is ready, they lift Sam up again and put him in the bathtub, and then Dean sends Bobby away under the sketchiest pretense.
As soon as Bobby's gone, Dean undresses and slips into the tub, right behind his brother's gorgeous body. He doesn't touch at first. He watches. Fills his eyes and soul with the beauty that makes his blood rush through his veins, the man he fell in love with so many years ago. He knows he's failed him, in many ways, but he hopes he'll get the chance to redeem himself today. God willing, and Donatello succeeding, Sam will be safe at last, ready to live again just like a young man should.
And that includes of course being made love to at every opportunity.
Dean leans down and gently pinches Sam's right nipple. Sam is so sensitive there, it's always a good place to start waking him up. It used to be the same, back before Sam got injured, and Dean loves to keep some semblance of normalcy in their lovemaking.
Sam's left nipple is just as sensitive, if not more, and Dean spends a few long seconds showing it how much it is loved while his other hand begins to remind Sam's whole body that he's alive and needed.
Dean hears Sam taking a deeper breath and rejoices. Maybe the fact that Dean didn't let him dwell too long inside his own head will help in the end, whatever the doctors told him. He perseveres, kissing Sam's nape and rubbing both nipples harder, faster, doing his best to entice Sam into opening his eyes again.
He lets his left hand slide in a firm caress down Sam's abdomen until it reaches his big, already half-hard cock and grips it amorously, immediately stroking the shaft in the way Dean knows pleases Sam the best. And once again Sam's breath hiccups.
His right hand slides down too but takes another path, going around Sam's hip to find his ass and then Sam's hole. Two fingers rub at it, quickly earning an answer with the clenching and unclenching of the sphincter that soon opens to let them in.
That's when Dean sees it, the fat head of the pin stuck into his brother's head. He sees it so clearly, the way they sit against each other, and he can't help the images flooding his mind.
The transatlantic steamer is by far the biggest boat, ship, whatever - hell, the biggest anything ! - they've ever been in. They're sailing toward France, and it's not a prospect that makes Dean that happy. He doesn't know a word of the language, for one thing, and then he heard they eat strange things like snails over there. But the crew is French, and some of the guys and waitresses are quite cute, not to mention that there's been no snail so far on the first class menu, so maybe he'll be able to survive the experience. His French publisher seems like a great guy who enjoys their stories very much and Dean looks forward to meeting him. And then, as Sam says, they're not heading there to live the high life, but to chase the monster that got away.
It doesn't stop Dean from grinning hard every time someone he interrogates about the guy they're looking for smiles at him and gives him the once-over, discreet or shy but clearly interested. He smiles even more when Sam, jealous but refusing to admit it, drags him back to their cabin to remind Dean that he's spoken for and demands to be taken hard and deep.
On the fourth day, as they come always nearer to their destination, they spot a familiar figure - they don't know his face but they'd recognize this silhouette and the mocking laugh anywhere - that they trail inside the machinery. But then the trail turns into an ambush.
They're outnumbered, six against two, but they don't back down. The guys are big and muscled, dirty and sweaty, workers taken over by black-eyed demons forcing them to attack. Only the guy they were looking for stands on the side, face still in deep shadows, probably waiting for Dean and Sam to be subdued to enter the fray.
But things don't go his way. Sam and Dean put up one hell of a fight. Dean uses the demon knife on two workers and Sam manages to exorcise the four others. Their prey is left unaffected by the exorcism - probably human, then - and soon he comes closer.
That's how they meet Azazel. The man is short and his face is nothing remarkable. He's holding something in his right hand that looks like a magician's wand, only much thinner.
"Mr. and Mr. Winchester. It's an honor to make your acquaintance and to be the one you're chasing."
"And you are ?" Dean asks.
"Azazel, sorcerer extraordinaire. I hope you've heard of me ?"
"Not in the slightest," Sam spits.
"I'm very disappointed."
These words are said in the tone of a professor who thought his students to be far more brilliant and Dean can see his nerdy brother bristle at the thought.
"Well, maybe your actions didn't speak loud enough to warrant interest among hunters," Dean suggests.
"Really ? So killing your mother wasn't enough ?"
There's no power in the world that would be able to stop Dean or Sam from launching themselves at the man. But Azazel raises his hand, muttering words in Latin, and they both go flying against the greasy, hot machines.
By the time Dean manages to open his eyes and look around for danger, Azazel is gone, and Sam is still lying on the floor.
Dean crawls toward his little brother to find him eyes open but unresponsive to the shaking or Dean's anguished shouts.
"No, no, no, no," Dean chants, feeling for a pulse.
Sam's still alive, that much Dean can tell, but he can't seem to move or even see. And there's something pointing out of his forehead. Something embedded from the other side of his skull, going through Sam's brain. Something Azazel was holding in his hand when Dean first saw it.
"Somebody calls a doctor ! Docteur !" Dean yells, terrified.
"Dean," Sam moans, bringing him back to the present.
Sam wiggles on the three fingers impaling him, getting across better than clearly that he wants more.
And Dean resolutely turns away from the bad memories to take his fingers out and replace them with his dick.
No doctor ever told him that piercing Sam that way might do him harm, not like the needle in his brain is going to kill him sooner or later. No doctor ever said that sex was forbidden to his sexy little brother, like traveling to get back to their country is. No doctor will ever prevent him from loving Sam so much that he'll have no other choice than coming back to him if he ever does die.
No doctor was able to tell him either that the needle is not some random object you can find on a ship, whatever its size. Bobby was the one who found out when Dean called to tell him about Sam's catatonic state and ask for his help.
The needle is a demonic tool. That's probably why Sam is not dead yet. But there's no way to tell what it's doing to Sam, screwed inside his head for the better part of a year now.
"Dean, make love to me," Sam demands in his drowsy voice, the one Dean can't quite disobey for its weakness totally disarms him.
"I love you," he murmurs in Sam's ear, leaning over to avoid the view of the needle.
In answer to Sam's pleading, he thrusts deep and hard, aiming for the prostate again and again. Sam gasps, his hand looking for his cock. It moves slowly, haphazardly, as if he's still mostly asleep but knows what he needs enough to reach for it. And it's not long before Sam comes, whereas Dean keeps on going after his own pleasure. The feeling of the water all around them, Sam's body completely relaxed against his but moving in time with him, responsive, Dean doesn't want any of it to end.
It doesn't last nearly long enough, whatever Dean might wish. It's never enough, not when he wants to claim Sam for all time, tether them to each other for all eternity to make sure Sam won't die alone, and knows he always falls short of the mark.
Climaxes are bittersweet, fulfilled body and worried soul.
"I won't leave you," Sam reassures him, sensing his mood.
"You better not, or I'll have to find a way to bring you back. And you know I'm prone to make a big mess without you by my side."
"I know," Sam confirms in a chuckle.
"How do you feel ?" Dean asks, grabbing the soap to get to the washing part of the bath.
"Still half-asleep. How long was I out ?"
"A few hours. I just brought you back from the Élysée before we got you into the bath."
"What did the president say ?"
"He agreed to free Donatello so that I can get his Yorkie back."
"What ?"
"You heard me. You saved us but I think the pterothor was after the dog rather than us. I'm not sure if Poléon's still alive or already digested chow mein, but I promised the president I'd bring him back. To be honest, I'd have promised to send him to the moon to get Donatello released."
It's a proof of Sam's exertion that he doesn't pick up on Dean's voluntary mistaken name for the dinosaur. Making love wakes him up, but it also takes a toll. So Dean keeps washing him energetically, to ensure he doesn't fall asleep again.
"Come on," he says once he's done with both Sam's and his washing. "Donatello will be here soon, we need to get ready."
Sam mobilizes all his strength to help Dean get him out of the bathtub.
"Wait here !" Dean orders once Sam is propped against the sink, and then leaves for the living room with a towel that he spreads over a chair and its armrests.
He's going back to the bathroom when he spots a letter on the floor, one that has evidently been pushed under the door. He detours to fetch it, but throws it on the couch as soon as he reads the sender's name. Mick Davies is one persistent stalker, that's for sure !
He takes the time to dry himself and dress before taking Sam to the living room and sitting him on the chair. There, he busies himself with drying off his brother before he can dress him too. He hardly has enough time to kiss him once he's done before the doorbell chimes. It better not be Davies !
Two police officers flank Donatello, as if the professor is not exactly free. The president probably gave strict orders to deliver him to Dean only, and Dean can't say that he minds. In fact, it might make his life a lot easier.
"Thank you, officers. That'll be all." Dean says before he grabs Donatello by his coat to get him inside and closes the door on the two other startled men.
"Dean," the professor begins, "I guess I have to thank you for being free, and not headless, but you know I need to…"
"You need to take care of Sam's problem. I promised the president I would take care of the bird."
"Really ? How do you propose to do this ?"
Donatello sits down on the couch and makes a little wave to acknowledge Sam's presence, that Sam answers in the same fashion.
"Well," Dean answers as he stands next to Sam, "I figured with your link to the bird you could find out where it is and I'll go fetch it."
"First, the pterosaur is a girl, and I'm sorry, Dean, but that's not the way it works."
"Then do you have a better idea ?"
"Not really. You have to remember that this is not some regular pigeon we're talking about."
"But you said you were able to control it. You have to sense it somehow, don't you ?"
"I do, but it doesn't tell me where she is, nor does it make the pterosaur susceptible to answer my call if she doesn't want to."
"So what kind of communication do you share ?" Sam asks.
"I send her peaceful images. Forests mostly, rivers and plains. Eggs, too, like her own. I try to keep her calm, force her to ignore her appetite."
"Hopefully, it worked and Poléon is still alive," Dean mutters.
"I'm sorry ?" Donatello inquires.
"Nothing. So, since we can't do anything about the bird, now might be a good time to wake up Patmosis."
"Not yet, Dean. I told you, I can't divide my attention. We need to solve the pterosaur's problem before I can help you and Sam."
Dean can see that the professor is exhausted, but it doesn't make him more patient. With a sigh and a pout, he lets himself fall into the comfy cushions of the couch to sulk and think of a way to possibly change Donatello's mind.
There's something under his ass. Something squeaking until he retrieves it and brings to light the latest letter Davies wrote him. He's about to throw it away when he remembers how he learned about Donatello's arrest thanks to his fan. He's quick to open the envelop and unfold the paper covered in a neat handwriting and a short message.
Mr. Winchester,
I'm sorry to act like a crazy stalker, but I thought you might find it entertaining, or maybe even interesting for your next book, considering what you like to write about, to know that I've located the prehistoric monster lurking around Paris. If you'd like to see it, I'll be waiting for you at the Jardin des Plantes, in the pen close to…
Already getting to his feet, Dean quickly browses through the end of the letter.
"Professor, I need to go. Please, take care of Sammy. Bobby Singer will be back soon."
"What ? Where are you going ?" Donatello worries.
"I'm answering nature's call."
Sam turns his tired eyes toward him.
"I don't think that means what you think it means."
"Yeah ? Well, whatever. Don't go anywhere, you two."
Dean's out before Sam has time to protest anymore.
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Dean easily hails a cab and then the drive to the Jardin des Plantes only takes a few minutes. Once there, he has to ask twice for the pen and other milestones Davies indicated in his letter, but finds his way in record time.
Only to find himself behind a man dressed in strange attire that would feel more at home in some faraway, wild African country than in a tame park in the middle of Paris. But the man might look ridiculous, he's aiming for the bird Dean's been searching for !
Dean doesn't even stop at the idea that killing the pterosaur could be the end of his problems. Something tells him to act right now, so he does.
He picks up a rock and then whistles. Surprised, the masquerade hunter looks at him only to see Dean kicking the light out of him with a hit right to the head. As the man goes down like a sack of bricks, his rifle goes off, but the bullet gets lost in the branches, right over the head of the two men standing vigil in front of the dinosaur bird.
Davies and his companion drop down as if to take cover, before they turn toward Dean and discover, unconscious on the ground, the man who was about to kill the quite special reject from the past they've been trying to hide.
"Dear God," the older man next to Davies says. "That's Asmodée de Saint Hubert."
"You know that guy ?" Dean asks, wary.
"I do. I even recommended him to the police to track the pterosaur. But I didn't think the ruffian would try to kill such a wonderful specimen."
"Mr. Winchester," Davies intervenes, "allow me to introduce my mentor, Professor Arthur Quetsche."
"Quetsch ? As in that great schnapps they do in the East of the country ?"
"Almost. Quetsche with an e at the end, like the fruit."
"So do your lovers say you're a real plum ?" Dean asks with a cheeky grin.
"No doubt they would, provided the joke would work in French too."
Dean can see he hit a nerve, so he keeps on the tip of this tongue the next pun about the professor's plum job and does his best to put a serious expression on his face.
"So, this is the big bird everybody's talking about ?" he says as he walks to the pterosaur.
Immediately, the beast's eyes lock on him and Dean feels the power emanating from it. From her, since the professor insisted the dinosaur was a lady.
"Careful, Mr. Winchester," Davies warns him, but Dean ignores the advice.
"Hey, girl," he murmurs as he keeps approaching. "I have a friend who's eager to see you. How do you feel about coming with me ?"
The pterosaur extends her long beak toward Dean's raised hand and waits all of three seconds before resting the appendage on it. Behind his back, Dean hears Davies and Quetsche release the breathe they were holding.
"How did you do that ?" Quetsche inquires, almost indignant.
Dean turns a smug face at him but before he can answer, four men raising their guns run into the pen, three of them dressed with bizarre suits that seem to be made of fleece.
"Police ! Hands up, everyone !" the one wearing a simple black coat yells.
The pterosaur doesn't appreciate being jostled by Dean's movement in answer to the order. She screeches in reply and the police officers cower.
Before Dean has time to calm her down, she flaps her wings and takes flight, disappearing behind the trees that hide the pen from the public visiting the garden. It's all Dean, Davies and Questsche can do to raise their arms higher to try and protect her from the armed men.
And then the guy Dean knocked out stumbles next to him.
"This man !" he shrieks, pointing at Dean, "this man attacked me to protect the pterosaur. He's in collusion with the bird monster. Arrest him !"
Saint Hubert's last word is lost into a scream when a small dog ferociously bites his ankle.
"Poléon !" Dean exclaims. "The president's worried about you, boy. You can't just go and have fun on your own."
The pterosaur's interest for Dean seems to have rubbed off on the Yorkie. The dog releases Saint Hubert and scampers about toward Dean who scoops him up in his arms.
"Raphaël, Gabriel and Mickaël, take this man into custody," the lead inspector orders.
And that's how Dean is taken to the Quai des Orfèvres by an uptight cop, a safari hunter and three sheep-men named after archangels.
The worst part is that nobody is ever going to believe him when he tells this story.
-------------
There's a weird, disheveled guy half-asleep on the couch when Bobby comes back to the Winchester's apartment.
For his part, Sam is totally under. Bobby needs to get him into bed, but he's not about to do it alone since there's another man able to help.
He shakes the man's shoulder none too gently.
"Hey !" he says loudly to make sure to catch the guy's attention. "Where's Dean ?"
"Oh, he had to check on the pterosaur. I'm here to keep an eye on Sam."
So that guy is probably the infamous Professor Redfield.
"Well, let's get to work then. Help me put his giant ass to bed."
Together, they lift Sam who never opens his eyes and lets himself be dragged toward the bedroom where they take his clothes off and tuck him in. At least, Bobby thinks, the boy is really asleep this time, not just catatonic.
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This time, Asmodée takes his bloodhounds with him. Maybe if he'd had them at the Jardin des Plantes, Dean Winchester wouldn't have had the drop on him. But that moron Balthazar insisted that they might frighten the pterosaur, so Vlad and Spike had to stay in the car.
They provide a good excuse for Asmodée to go his own way when it appears that there's no place left for the four policemen and the man they have arrested. Asmodée plays the part of the concerned citizen and offers to take a cab, watching the others leave.
He waits all of thirty seconds before another car stops in front of him, driven by Rubis.
"So," she begins as Asmodée gets the dogs inside and then closes the door behind them, "where to ?"
"Rue de Rivoli," he answers, remembering the address he saw on the papers Boldieu found in Winchester's wallet.
They've been looking for the Winchester boys but the place they're living in has been warded, it seems. Now that they know where to look, and while Dean Winchester is stuck with the police, Asmodée is going to have a meaningful conversation with his little brother.
The drive is short - it amuses Asmodée when the other drivers they cross look so surprised to see a woman behind the wheel - and they park easily. The concierge looks disdainfully at Rubis, dressed like a harlot with her huge feathery hat and ruby-red dress, but she responds well to Asmodée's flirty manners and tells them what floor the Winchesters occupy as well as the apartment number. She's even all smiles when she accepts Asmodée's ten francs banknote to ignore the dogs she fears might dirty the stairs.
Once on the right story, Asmodée and the bloodhounds stay behind while Rubis goes to knock on the door. They don't know who's in there, but a pretty woman won't raise suspicion.
"Hello," he hears Rubis say to whoever opens the door. "I'm Rubis, Dean's girlfriend. He's waiting for me."
"Really ?" a male voice replies. "I doubt that very much."
So much for the no suspicion approach. But before Asmodée has time to move and take control of the situation, Rubis raises her hand and soon after some furniture cracks under the weight of a flying body.
When Asmodée, Vlad and Spike walk into the apartment, two older men are lying unconscious on the floor, more or less on top of each other, in the debris of a glass cabinet. As for Sam Winchester, like sleeping beauty, he's waiting for Asmodée to wake him up.
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Poléon is not anymore enamored of Dean than Dean is with him. He just smelt the beef jerky that Dean always keeps in his pocket for munchies emergencies, and he now refuses to leave his side, annoying little monster asking for food as soon as he's finished chewing on the previous treat.
At least, the Yorkie offers a distraction when all the police can do is repeat the same questions again and again.
"How did you get the egg to hatch ?" Balthazar Boldieu asks.
"What were you trying to achieve with the pterosaur ?" Raphaël Coldieu wonders.
"Where did the lady bird fly ?" Gabriel Foidieu smirks.
"How do you take the disgusting smell of fleece out of your suit and hair ?" Mickaël Beldieu sulks.
They keep at it like a well-oiled device, or a well-rehearsed quartet, hardly offering any respite for Dean to answer their queries. They don't even realize Dean might be overplaying his bad understanding of the French language.
"Américain," he says every time he doesn't want to answer, like an open sesame or a mantra.
"Bloody foreigners," Inspector Boldieu always replies.
It goes on and on until the office door opens and all four police officers stand at attention.
-------------
Asmodée and Rubis enter Winchester's bedroom without waking him. Not even their standing at his bedside, looking at him, makes him stir in the slightest.
Asmodée grabs the sheet and takes if off to reveal the naked body of the Boy King. Sam Winchester is big and tall, a force of nature despite his ailing health, and he'll make a formidable ruler of hell. If it ever comes to that.
Obviously, Rubis' interest is more… down to Earth.
"He's pretty," Rubis says, sitting next to Sam and rubbing her hands over his chest, "can I keep him ?"
She leans down and pecks his lips.
"You think you can "keep" the Boy King ?" Asmodée snorts. "If you're lucky, he'll take you as a concubine, that's the best you can hope for."
"Well, that's too bad," Rubis concludes, caressing the length of Sam's cock with the tip of her index finger. "I'd have had a lot of fun with this one, I just know it. A lot more than with that old, crazy Devereaux ! Do you know I had to imagine fake conspiracies for him to get it up ?"
"Too much information, woman. Give it a rest. Devereaux's dead."
"Suit yourself, but let me tell you, I have a wild imagination. I'm sure Sammy here will appreciate it."
-------------
"Poléon !" President Malvy cries in joy when he spots his dog lying at Dean's feet.
At last, the little dog abandons Dean and runs toward his master, yapping all the while.
Behind the president and his guards, a tall man with a horsey face keeps bending down to show his respect to the head of the government and sends murderous looks in between to the inspectors who stand ramrod straight. Probably the police chief, then.
Behind come two people Dean wasn't expecting, Arthur Quetsche and Mick Davies.
"Mr. Winchester," the president finally acknowledges him, "I don't know how to thank you for finding my Poléon."
"Mr. President, there's no need for…"
"I insist. This is a great day for the friendship uniting our two countries. Rest assured I won't forget what you did for me."
The president turns toward the inspectors to look down on them.
"Professor Quetsche alerted me when you were unfairly arrested. Even though you saved my dog ! I can guarantee that it will not happen again. Hack, remember to hold these officers' pay for a week, in retribution for their blunder. Gentlemen, Mr. Winchester is tracking the pterosaur on my order. Considering it took him only a few hours to find Napoléon, I want you to stand down from your own investigation, but you will make yourself available in case Mr. Winchester needs you. Is that clear ?"
"Absolutely, Mr. President," Police Chief Hack answers for them all with a new bow. "He has but to ask."
"We already have a hunter working the case for us," Balthazar Boldieu is brave enough to remark out loud.
"Then you will tell him to stand down too."
Soon the president is on his way out, closely followed by the police chief. Dean is quick to grab his hat and leave the room with the professor and Davies.
"Can you drive me back to the Jardin des Plantes ?" he asks them.
He needs to get on with his own mission now. The more he delays, the more Donatello will be exhausted and the less he'll be able to help Sam.
Dean doubts the pterosaur is the monster she's rumored to be. She looked to him more like a baby in need of a mother. He's pretty sure it won't be that hard to rein her in. Once they've found her again, of course.
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Asmodée rummages inside the haversack he carries with him until he finds what he's looking for. Vlad and Spike instantly whine and retreat in the living room, far from the key, a 14-inch-long, golden masterpiece created many centuries ago.
"What's that ?" Rubis worries.
"The Saint Hubert's key."
"Some kind of heirloom ?"
"In a sense, yeah. It's been in the family for a long while. To be honest, it gave us our name."
"Really ? I thought that kind of thing went the other way. You know, the family object taking the name of the family it belongs to."
"You thought right. But then the key isn't your usual kind of heirloom."
"What do you mean ?"
"It was created a long time ago, as a sacrament to hold a memory of Saint Peter's chains. There's a legend attached to it, that Saint Peter appeared in front of Hubert as he was saying mass and offered him this key, as 'a sign of his power to bind and unbind, and to cure the lunatics and the furious.'"
"And humans let your family keep such an invaluable tool ?" Rubis wonders.
"Not exactly. They might believe they still have the original key in Liège and this one to be just a copy. They might be wrong on all accounts."
Asmodée sits on the bed, on the other side of Sam Winchester, and admires the key to all his problems.
This is the moment he's been waiting for. The reason why he decided to wear that fool Saint Hubert's meatsuit in the first place. Why he trusted this family, for centuries, with keeping the key, so that he would be able to use it on a distant day when the Boy King would be in need of his assistance. The day when the relic of the holy chains would be used to unbind him from his earthly bonds.
The needle has been stuck in Winchester's brain for almost a year. It's time for Asmodée to act on it. Before the deal is done and Winchester turns, once and for all.
Asmodée raises the key to insert the bit of the needle jutting from Winchester's forehead inside the tiny hole at the end of the shaft. Then he turns it like he would a key inside a lock to close it. One complete, backward turn.
Winchester frowns first, and then his face is contorting and it's not long before he opens his mouth to scream in obvious, terrible pain.
"What are you doing ?" Rubis shrieks.
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Part 3