Fic: The Hessian of the Hollow: Part VI

[jedisapphire]

Masterpost
Part V

Part VI: That’s What This Is About

Dean felt the jerk as something shifted in his head, the faint cold he’d been feeling for the past couple of days morphing into warmth.

Then, suddenly, sounds were filtering into his brain. He hadn’t realized how loud the world was until now, until the ticking of his watch and the chatter of the other people in the diner and the clink of silverware invaded the perfect silence.

He fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears.

And now there was light. The room was bright, so bright, too bright, the harsh glare from the bulbs pounding into his skull like lasers -

It was terrible, but it was also wonderful, after the darkness and the silence. Dean had never felt so alive.

Sam had done it.

Dean had known he would, he hadn’t had the slightest doubt, and it was nice to be proven right.

Sam had done it.

Sam.

Dean glanced at his watch. Just going on four. Dean didn’t think Sam would have to go far, he’d almost certainly have told Dean if so. But he’d probably have a bit of cleanup to do before he could leave. Dean would’ve hotwired a car, but there wasn’t much sense causing a stir when Sam would be here soon anyway.

Sam would come for him.
An hour, four cups of coffee, a short stack of pancakes and two pieces of cherry pie later, Dean was starting to worry. Not that Sam hadn’t come yet, because he’d probably wait for the fire to burn itself out.

But Sam hadn’t even called, and that wasn’t like the kid at all.

What was worse, Sam hadn’t been answering his calls.

“More coffee?” he heard. “Or anything else?”

Dean looked up to smile at the waitress. His smile widened automatically at the sight of mile-long legs under a tiny skirt. It was good having his sight back.

“Depends. What else do you have on offer?” he asked, and promptly winced.

He’d intended the words to come out light and flirtatious, but instead they sounded skeevy. The waitress clearly thought so too, if the way she rolled her eyes and flounced away was any indication. That was what he got for trying to pick up a girl when most of his mind was on his MIA brother.

Dean didn’t know why he’d even been trying to kid himself. He threw some money down on the table - the money Sam had taken off Jed. Dean grimaced. He wasn’t letting Sam hustle a creep like that next time, it was totally not worth it.

He got to his feet, half-hoping they’d run across Jed before they left town so Dean could teach him how to be a good loser. And also how calling someone’s little a brother a boy toy could cause you to end up with your intestines tied in a bow around your neck.

Sam had left his GPS on, so Dean just had to help himself to a car and then follow the blinking red dot on his cell phone screen.

He smelt the smoke first, and then he saw the Impala pulled up to the shoulder of the road. The fire in the grave was just starting to burn low, its light silhouetting a bundle on the ground -

A bundle that wasn’t equipment.

Dean’s heart stopped, and then started again when the bundle staggered to its feet.

And then it just about beat itself out of his chest, because the man standing and looking around like he was lost wasn’t Sam, and there was still a large unmoving shadow on the ground.

Dean got out of the car.

The standing man turned, and Dean caught a glimpse of his face in the firelight.

Jed.

God no.

He was going down.

“Hey!” Dean yelled, breaking into a run.

Jed had meddled with Dean’s baby brother one time too many. Dean was going to shoot him.

No, stab him in the heart.

No, shoot him. Right through the brain.

Or, actually, he didn’t need weapons at all. Dean was just going to use his bare hands.

His face probably showed his emotions, because Jed scrambled away from Sam with an expression of abject terror.

“I didn’t do it,” he yelped. “I didn’t do anything to him. I didn’t touch him, I swear. I found him like that. I was just -”

He was cut off abruptly when Dean’s fist connected with his chin.

“Man, that feels good,” Dean grunted, grabbing Jed and slamming him against a tree. He held him there with one hand, pulling out his gun with the other and jamming the barrel under Jed’s chin. “So here’s the deal. I’m letting you live, mainly because I need to help Sam right now and I don’t have time to worry about getting rid of a body. You make trouble for us, you even look at Sam ever again, I might change my mind. Am I making myself clear?”

Jed made a strangled sound. Dean let him go. He collapsed to his knees, breathing in harsh pants.

“You’re crazy,” he gasped.

Dean was torn. He didn’t feel a lot of sympathy for Jed - the son of a bitch had hurt Sammy, had threatened worse, and that meant he deserved whatever happened to him as far as Dean was concerned - and there was a part of him, the protective big brother part, that urged him to empty a full clip into the guy’s head just to be safe, but…

Jed was human. A miserable, pathetic excuse for a human, maybe, but human. And currently he was unarmed and helpless. Sam would be upset if Dean killed him.

At the same time, he needed to focus on Sam, now, and he couldn’t do that if he was worrying about what stunt Jed might pull.

“Your friend,” he said at last. “Mark. The one who disappeared. He’s probably back now. You should go check.”

“I knew it was you guys -”

“You really want to go into that?” Dean kept his voice emotionless. It would be scarier that way. “We didn’t touch him. You can go check on him, or you can stay here and I’ll have to kneecap you to make sure you don’t cause trouble for me. What’s it going to be?”

Jed scowled and stumped away, and Dean turned his attention to his brother, who was just starting to stir.

“Sammy?” He dropped to his knees by the kid’s side. Sam’s face was bruised, and he was going to have an impressive black eye in the morning, but he didn’t seem bad enough to need a hospital. “Come on, wake up. I need to know where you’re hurt.”

Sam’s eyes opened. “Dean?” He tried to sit up, but fell back with a soft moan. “Dean. OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. How about we worry about you now?” He patted Sam’s chest, and stiffened when his fingers encountered damp fabric. “Sam?”

“Knifed me. Don’t think… Not fatal. Just… bleeding.”

Dean unbuttoned Sam’s shirt to find that his brother was right. The cuts were deep, and they were bleeding a little too much for comfort, but they had clearly missed his heart and lungs. Sam’s breathing was shallow, but that was probably because of pain. And his heart beat a reassuring, if slightly fast, rhythm under Dean’s hand.

Dean ran a hand through Sam’s hair, feeling for bumps. There were a couple, but Sam’s eyes were clear and his pupils were dilating normally.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, shrugging out of his jacket. He stripped off his shirt and balled it up, pressing it over the deepest cut to stem the flow of blood. “You were lucky. You’ll be fine.”

Sam shot him an I told you so look and Dean laughed. Even injured, his brother always had the energy for a bitchface.

“Who did it?” he asked. “Jed?”

“Don’t know… Couldn’t see.”

“We’ll figure it out. C’mon, now, need to get you back and patch you up. You’re going to need stitches, even if it isn’t fatal. Hold this.”

Sam took over holding Dean’s shirt to the gash, so Dean could wrap his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pull him up. Sam actually managed to support some of his weight once he was standing. They made it back to where he’d parked the Impala without too much difficulty.

“Keep holding that,” Dean ordered as he lowered Sam to the passenger seat.

He got into the driver’s seat and put the car in gear. “Yeah, baby,” he crooned. “I’m back.”

“God, get a room,” Sam grumbled.

And then he promptly ruined the effect by slumping onto Dean’s shoulder.
Dean was focused on Sam, on keeping him talking and making sure he kept pressure on the wound, so he didn’t notice the change in scenery until he braked the car and looked up to see that they seemed to have been dropped into the seventeen hundreds.

He blinked.

This was supposed to be over. Sam had ganked the ghost, that was it. Dean could see and hear. That meant it had worked.

Except, apparently, it hadn’t. Not entirely, not if the cottages and stores with horses tethered outside were any indication.

One thing was certain. They weren’t setting foot in the motel again until this was sorted out. Dean didn’t like roadside surgery, especially when it was Sam he was patching up, but they didn’t have much of a choice.

Dean didn’t see any people. He didn’t wait to find out where they were. He backed the car away from the town and drove a mile or so out before he stopped.

“C’mon,” he grunted, sitting Sam up. “Get out.”

Sam was pliant, letting Dean get him out of the car and sit him down on a grassy knoll. Dean went back for the first-aid kit from the back seat - and that, thank God, was still a normal twenty-first century first-aid kit.

He’d just gotten back to Sam when they heard hoofbeats.

Dean scowled. His gun, which he’d grabbed when he got Sam to the Impala again, was still tucked into his jeans. He pulled it out and stepped in front of his brother.

When the figure of a horseman appeared, this time with the head intact, Dean raised the weapon -

“Wait!” the man cried. “No! Wait! I am not here to harm you. I am not a spirit.”

Dean hesitated.

“Dean… Truth.” Sam tugged at his sleeve. “Dean.”

“Sammy -”

“Dean. No… fog.”

Dean paused. Sam was right. There was none of the fog that had always accompanied the ghost before.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Dean demanded, keeping himself between his brother and the stranger.

“He is injured.” The man gestured at Sam. “Let me help you.”

Dean stiffened. Giving him a hearing was one thing. He wasn’t about to trust this guy near his little brother -

“Please,” the guy said. “He saved me. I owe him a debt of honour. I can help.”

He reached for his belt, and suddenly Dean noticed a scabbard.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Don’t move!”

The guy stopped, hands held up. “I only want to cut myself. To prove myself. Spirits cannot bleed. I promise I mean you no harm.” He nodded at Sam. “I mean him no harm. I want to help.”

He took several steps back and dropped a hand to his sword hilt. When Dean didn’t object, he drew the sword, pulling the edge down his palm. Then he held up his hand so Dean could see the blood.

“You see? I am human.” When Dean nodded, he came closer. “My name is Johann.”

“You -”

“Yes. I was the Hessian of the Hollow. I promise I mean you no harm. I never meant anybody harm. Let me help you. I will tell you everything.”

Slowly, Dean tucked the gun into his jeans again.

“My brother’s hurt.”

“It was not my doing. The man who hurt him is an old enemy of mine as well. I would have helped your brother if I could.” He sighed. “What happened to you was my doing, however unintentional. I am sorry. I am glad you are well.” He nodded at Sam. “You should not do this here. At least let me take you somewhere clean. And safe,” he added, when Dean opened his mouth to object.

“You know somewhere safe?”

Johann smiled. “Follow me.”
Dean drove down a winding dirt track, following the figure on the horse, and stopped in a little clearing next to a small but well-kept cottage.

Johann tied his horse to a railing that was clearly meant for the purpose. Then he came to help Dean with Sam. They got him into the cottage, which was empty, and sat him down on a wooden bench.

Johann was an efficient assistant, handing Dean what he needed without being asked, though he did spend a few moments studying the bottle of antiseptic like he hadn’t seen such a thing before. Maybe he hadn’t.

When he’d taped down the last bandage, Dean took the time to look around. The floor was stone, the walls plain brick, undecorated but clean. A few feet away from them was a fireplace with a pot hanging on the hob. A staircase led to what were probably bedrooms upstairs, and through a door on the other side Dean could see an old-fashioned living room.

He turned to Johann.

“Is this your house?”

“Mine? No. It belonged to my… my wife’s grandmother. Nobody lives here now. Lived here. I… Forgive me. You must be curious.”

“You could say so. What’s going on? Are we in the past?”

“We are in your present. Ichabod is responsible for this… this hole in the fabric of time.”

“Ichabod? Ichabod Crane? You know him?”

“I know him. He was the one who cut off my head.”

“Your… OK, this is crazy. The story says you’re the one who killed Ichabod, or gave him a heart attack or whatever. You know, you as a ghost.”

Johann laughed bitterly. “The story says one of the village lads frightened him to death. I wish that were true. Gladly would I have killed Ichabod Crane, killed him ten times over and then again for good measure. But I never had that skill. Perhaps you will help me now.”

“Why would I help you kill Ichabod Crane?”

Johann raised his eyebrows. “You do not have to help, of course. I thought you might want to.” He gestured at Sam, sitting on the bench bruised and bandaged and only half conscious. “Ichabod did that.”

“Ichabod? Not Jed?”

“I do not know any Jed, but I know who attacked your brother. I could never forget that face. It was Ichabod Crane.”

“Why would Ichabod hurt Sam? He wanted us to… you know…”

“To give me rest?” Johann shrugged. “So he did. But he is also afraid of you. Ichabod is fond of letting other people do his work and killing them when their purpose has been served.”

“Ichabod Crane did this?”

“He did.”

Dean cupped Sam’s cheek, tilting his head up to get a better look at his face. Then he turned back to Johann.

“Do normal bullets work on Crane?”
Johann provided bowls of stew, and they sat on the ground around the fireplace. Even in late spring, the night was chilly.

“So what’s the story?” Dean asked, once he was sure Sam was awake enough to eat. “Why are you and Crane lifelong enemies? Why’d he cut off your head?”

“And what does it have to do with Washington Irving?” Sam piped up.

Dean laughed. “Geek.”

Johann smiled. “Irving is the one who wrote my story? I… knew him. I could not see, then, I could not hear, but I knew things. Perhaps I sensed them.”

“So… what happened?” Sam asked.

Johann’s smile softened as he studied Sam. “You remind me of…” He broke off, turning to look into the fireplace. “What did Ichabod tell you?”

“He told us about Wanda,” Sam said. “That you loved her, and after you died her father… sent her away.”

“He twisted the truth. It was true I loved Wanda.” He glanced at Sam. “You remind me of her in some ways. She could be fierce, but she believed the best of everyone until they proved her wrong.” He shrugged. “Sometimes even after they proved her wrong. Wanda would have tried to hunt down a ghost that had hurt her brother, and she would have let herself be persuaded that the ghost only needed help.”

“So what happened to her?” Dean asked, jostling Sam’s shoulder lightly.

“I loved her. We…” He turned away, face burning. “There was a child. I know it was wrong, I know it was a sin, but Ichabod wanted her as well, and everybody feared him. I did not know why at the time. The priest would not marry us and risk his anger.”

“And then you and Wanda…”

“If Ichabod had been worthy of her, I would have left her to him and prayed for her happiness. What more did I want? But he only sought her as a prize. He did not love her, he would not have cherished her as she deserved. And then I was ordered to leave with my regiment. Wanda promised to wait for me, but I was afraid I might never return to her, and the night before I left…”

He trailed off, flushing. Sam’s face was scarlet. Dean rolled his eyes.

“We’re all grown men. Move on. You went away to war, and Wanda was left with the baby. Literally.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed, and Dean ruffled his hair.

“Eat your stew, kiddo.”

Johann went on, “When Wanda realized she was… expecting a child, she wrote to me at once. We were travelling, and conditions were difficult. It was some weeks before I received her letter. In the meantime, she grew anxious at not having heard from me. She did not fear my faithlessness, you understand. She knew me too well.”

“She thought you were dead,” Sam said quietly.

Johann nodded. “Ichabod came across her one day when she was weeping by herself. She had run into the woods to be alone. He claimed to be her friend and persuaded her to tell him the truth. My poor Wanda was lonely and desperate enough to believe him. She told him everything but the name of her lover.”

“And Ichabod didn’t take it well when he found out?” Dean asked.

“He was furious. His prize had been snatched from him. It hurt his pride. He went straight to Wanda’s father and told him everything that my love had confided to him. They both believed I was the father of her child, but without Wanda’s word for it they had no proof. And she refused to admit it, however much they pressed her. She thought I was dead; she wanted no dishonour brought to my name.”

Dean felt Sam shift next to him, and wrapped an arm around his brother. The kid had always been a sucker for tragic life stories.

Johann shot them a sad smile. “When she persisted in concealing my name, her father turned her out. She was trying to make her way to her grandmother’s cottage - to this place, where she hoped to be greeted with kindness - but she lost her way in the dark, and tumbled into the river.”

“Did Ichabod push her?” Dean demanded.

“I do not know. If he did, I have no evidence. I eventually received Wanda’s letter. Naturally, I left my regiment and rode straight back to her. I was too late. By the time I returned, she was dead. They had buried her at the crossroads. The priest said he suspected suicide. No doubt Ichabod ordered it.”

“Why was he scared of Ichabod?” Dean asked. “If we know that…”

“If you know that, you will know how to kill him.” Johann shook his head. “I have learnt things over the centuries. Ichabod is… You must have guessed it by now. Ichabod is immortal.”

“What happened to you?” Sam asked. “After you came back and found Wanda dead?”

“I went to Ichabod. I challenged him, for my honour and the life of my love and my unborn child. He accepted. When we met…” Johann looked into the fire. “He never intended to answer my challenge like a gentleman. He had men with him. Hired men. They held me still, and he shot me through the heart. Then he cut off my head, and…” Johann grimaced. “You know the rest of the story. I could not find rest until my head and body were reunited. And, apparently, burned.” He smiled at Sam. “Thank you.”

Dean tightened his arm around Sam.

“If he knew where you were buried… Why didn’t he tell us?”

“Suspicious,” Sam mumbled. Dean considered that for a moment, and then nodded. It probably would have made them suspicious if Ichabod had had too many answers. He’d counted on Sam being a kickass hunter, giving it his all when his big brother’s life was on the line, and he’d been right.

“What’s happening now?”

“Dead, I frightened Ichabod more than I ever had alive. He fled from me when he saw me. He did not leave the town at first. Years later there was another girl… Katrina, the schoolmaster’s daughter. She was nothing like Wanda, she was proud and brash where my Wanda had been gentle and innocent. But for all that, Katrina was a harmless girl, and I could not allow Ichabod to ruin another life. I could not harm him, but I harried him. Eventually he gave up. He left the town and moved to a small cottage deep in the woods. The townspeople were persuaded that he had been taken by the Hessian of the Hollow.”

“Does he still live there?”

“No. When enough time had passed for the town to have forgotten him, he returned, changed his name, and lived among them. I had not found rest after Ichabod’s disappearance, but I had ceased to ride abroad. One day, some years ago - not many - a dog digging in the dirt disturbed my grave. That woke me again.” Johann looked guilty. “I believe I hurt the man who owned the dog, though I did not intend to. I could not see or hear or speak, but I could sense things. I could sense what Ichabod was doing.”

“Did you… kill them too? All the people you touched?”

“My touch harmed people, but it did not kill. That was Ichabod. I thought at first it was mercy, but I soon realized he was trying to attract the attention of hunters. He wanted them to finish me.”

Sam moved again. He was practically snuggled against Dean’s side, and if the kid hadn’t been hurt Dean would totally not have been allowing this. But he thought having been roughed up by an immortal douchebag entitled Sammy to a little leeway.

“Just for tonight,” Dean muttered, trying to summon a scowl. He gave up when Sam grinned at him, all adoring little brother, and settled for rolling his eyes. “Whatever, princess.”

Johann was watching them with a slight, amused smile, which widened when he met Dean’s eyes. “Wanda was much the same,” he said. “Nobody could refuse her anything.”

“I always knew Sam was a girl.”

Johann laughed, and sobered quickly. “When I woke again, I realized Ichabod was… busy. I was drawn to him, in a way.”

Dean felt Sam stiffen.

“Sammy?”

“So that’s what this is about,” Sam said quietly, meeting Johann’s eyes. Ichabod’s a witch. Isn’t he?”

Part VII