"Another Soldier 3/6" by ellipsisblack, commentary by ladyvyola

[ladyvyola]

Another Soldier on the Road to Nowhere
by ellipsisblack (conquest)


PART 2
Part 3: XI-XV. R.

"then something unusual something strange
comes from nothing at all
i saw a spaceship fly by your window
did you see it disappear?"

* *

Michael beat Dean to the lady with the missing poster, but Dean caught him before he could open his mouth.

"Hello ma'am," he said, putting on his best sympathetic but charming smile. "Mind if we ask what happened?"

The woman gave Dean a look up and down and said, "You're new in town, right?"

"Looking for my brother," Dean said. "He disappeared over in Ray Norbut a few months back."

Michael couldn't resist shooting Dean a startled look. Dean's expression was mild and very sincere, no sign that anything was going on under the surface.

The lady was done for. She offered her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Sue. My husband Ray disappeared yesterday morning."

"Out at the park?" said Dean, leaning forward.

"No, just in our yard, actually."

Michael, still watching Dean, saw the second he went into hunt mode like a switch had been hit. His questions became more pointed, and he manoeuvred Sue into sitting down for a cup of coffee.

Afterwards, Sue said, "If you boys don't have anything planned for dinner, feel free to drop by and eat some of mine." She looked them both up and down. "You could use fattening up, the both of you. And-it's sad, eating dinner without Ray, you know?"

Dean did his smile again. "Thank you, ma'am. It would be our honour."

Dean has to do his job and Sam's. Question, soothe, insinuate himself into Sue's life....

Sue gave them an address. "Around seven, then?"

"Dryad," said Dean quietly to Michael, as Sue walked out of earshot. "Chop down the tree, and it'll release him."

"Think that's what got Sam?" asked Michael.

Dean shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. "I know what to look for with a dryad. Originally from Greece, but found all around the place. Prone to waylaying mortals, especially those who threaten their tree. Come on, we need to get some supplies."

"Huh?"

"I figure Ray's got about another day before he starves to death. So we gotta get over to Sue's house and get him outta there."

"But-Sam-"

"Will keep. I don't walk away from a job, Mikey."

I bet his answer was different right after Sam disappeared. It's a sign that Dean's losing hope.

"What about the black dog you were hunting when he vanished?"

Dean's jaw tensed. "Didn't hear from it again the entire time I was here. Whatever it was was on a three-month cycle, so it should come out again at the end of this month, actually."

"I forgot about the cycle thing," muttered Michael. "It's weird. Black dogs aren't usually on a cycle at all."

"Black dogs don't usually maul people either," said Dean. "Their MO is more of the depression leading to unfortunate but fatal accident. That was just a working theory until we came up with something better." His lip twitched wryly. "C'mon, we need salt, pitch, and a big axe."

He strode off towards the general store, and Michael, trailing along behind, noticed that he was favouring his leg a lot less.

"What actually happened to your leg?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh. Someone tried to mug me. Hit me with a baseball bat. Hurt like a sonofabitch."

"Oh," said Michael, vaguely disappointed that Dean hadn't hurt his leg heroically fighting off a...hoard of zombies or something.

Dean stopped and looked back at him. "Too boring? Should I pretend it was almost twisted off by a demon?"

Michael grinned guiltily. "Heh."

Mikey, you hopeless romantic.

* *

XII.

Retrieving a guy that had been taken by a dryad was easy once you had managed to convince the guy's wife that you absolutely had to have a long conversation with the old, strange tree at the back of her yard beside the a little cottage. It was a big old tree, but Michael had no idea what type. The trunk was whitish wood and quite narrow, and it split into two equally sized branches about a foot off the ground. The leaves didn't start until well above Michael's head.

Fortunately, Sue was a believer in the paranormal, and Dean had her eating out of the palm of his hand. There was nothing for Michael to do except watch and learn.

Sometimes, it really is that easy.

So first, there was the ring of salt. Dryads, like all kinds of supernatural critters, didn't like salt, and the ring would stop her from trying to add Dean or Michael to her collection. As the ring closed, the tree became more annoyed. It was funny to think of a tree being annoyed, but this one definitely was.

"Come on out, honey," he said to the tree.

Oh, Dean, don't ever change.

There was an obstinate silence from the tree.

Dean shrugged and picked up a branch from the ground, dipping it in the bucket of pitch at his feet. "Don't make me use this. If I have to, I will."

And he'll enjoy it.

He took out his cigarette lighter and flicked it alight.

There was definite alarm from the tree, and after a moment there was a faint crackling sound, the bark began to take on a shape, and a green, vaguely translucent creature-Michael thought it looked more feminine-with long, wispy black hair stepped out of the trunk. She stopped just short of the salt line and glared.

"You set me on fire and my slave burns with me," she said, her voice rustling through the leaves of her tree.

Sue put her hand on Dean's shoulder. "Don't..." she began.

"Don't worry, ma'am," said Dean. "I have it under control." He addressed the next remark to the dryad, leaning over and picking up the axe. "If I chop you down, though, he'll just pop right out of your trunk, and you'll have to spend the next hundred years regrowing."

"I have it under control." I fear those words from Dean Winchester. :)

The dryad eyed the axe with hatred sparking in her deep black eyes.

"You'll have to put your arm across the circle to do that," she said, flexing her strangely long fingers.

Sue stepped forward, her eyes starry. "Miss...um...I own the house, and I'd be honoured if you stayed in that tree. I won't let anyone chop you down, but you've got to give me my husband back, and promise not to pinch him again."

The dryad eyed her consideringly and stick out a leafy green hand. "Shake on it?" she said.

Sue looked at Dean, who cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. Who knew where a dryad had picked up a habit like that. "She won't take a woman," he said. "It's safe to touch her."

The dryad frowned at Dean as Sue stepped up and shook her hand. As Sue's hand crossed the salt line, the dryad grabbed her and tugged. Michael and Dean both lunged for her; Michael got there first, which was lucky because Dean still had a burning branch in one hand and an axe in the other. He managed to haul Sue back before the dryad could pull her right into the circle.

"I guess she will take a woman," said Dean. "Maybe she swings both ways." The dryad vanished with a pop, and the tree definitely exuded a smug aura. He frowned at the tree. "You are going down." He reached up to where some of the leaves extended beyond the salt circle and set them alight.

You just know that Dean gets years of mileage out of the story of the bi dryad.

The dryad reappeared. "Put that out!" she screeched.

"Honour your deal," said Dean. "Release the mortal."

The dryad stomped her dainty green foot. There was a whoosh and she vanished, then, seeming to push out through the bark there came a confused-looking middle aged man. Sue got very angry when Dean suggested they just let the tree burn. She grabbed the garden hose and put out the flames, then set about trying to explain to her husband what exactly had happened.

Eventually, Sue looked at them. "It's getting late," she said. "You boys sorted out a hotel yet?"

Dean shook his head. "No ma'am. Can you recommend one?"

Sue dragged her husband off to one side and the boys watched as she talked animatedly and he shook his head, nodded, shrugged, and scratched his scalp.

They came back after a moment. "You can stay in our cottage out back, if you like," said Sue, and Dean blinked.

"Beg pardon?" he said.

"It's been empty since Taylor moved out anyway, you might as well use it for a bit. Our thanks for getting Ray back." Sue grinned. "And that way, if the tree girl acts up and tries to pinch someone else, you can give her a talking to."

God, I love Sue. "Tree girl".

Dean looked at Michael. Michael looked back. It was a sweet deal.

"Thank you, we'd be very grateful," said Dean. "We're looking to stay in town for a few weeks at least, if that's okay."

"Sure," said Sue "It's got its own kitchen, but you two are always welcome at the house for meals, hear?"

She sent Ray up to the house to grab the spare key, and walked them across to the door of the granny flat, which was about ten feet away from the dryad's tree. From the outside it looked pretty much like a shed.

"There's a double and a couch," she said. "You boys can fight over who gets what."

They looked at each other. "I'll take the couch," they said in unison.

Sue laughed. "You're both so self-sacrificing," she teased.

Once they had the key, they went back to grab their bags.

Michael had one hefted on his shoulder and another under his arm, and Dean strode out ahead of him balancing three easily, on shoulder, under arm and in his hand. He dumped them in the little living room and flopped down on the couch as Michael shuffled into the flat.

It was simply but pleasantly furnished, with faded cream carpets and walls, and throw rugs and cushions, and a watercolour painting on the wall behind the couch. It completely lacked that take-a-number impersonality of all hotels. Michael liked it.

He looked around, and the bag under his arm slipped out and landed on his foot, the sharp corner of a book hitting his toe hard.

"Oh-" he scrunched his eyes shut and bit off a curse, "-toast."

Dean snorted and Michael opened his eyes to see him grinning widely, like the sun coming out and chasing away the shadows under his eyes.

Michael flushed. "Um," he said, setting the other bag down and kicking them into a corner.

I amend my previous statement. A. Dorkable.

"You-did you just say toast instead of swearing?" Dean's voice was choked with laughter.

"Maybe," Michael said gruffly.

Dean guffawed with laughter, practically clutching his sides. "You're a strange kid, Mikey," he managed to choke out.

Michael scowled, but it was hard to avoid grinning a little. Dean's laughter was infectious. Michael stomped over and shoved at his shoulder.

"You're on my couch," he said haughtily, "and I'd like to get some sleep. It's late."

Dean grinned up at him and Michael's heart skittered. "It's only nine pm."

"We have an early start."

"No, we don't."

"We should."

"We could lie in." Dean's voice dropped and got softer.

Michael froze while adrenalin flooded him from the chest outwards. Dean stood up and Michael backed up slightly. Dean reached out slowly and spun Michael around, then pulled him close, Michael's back to Dean's front. Michael closed his eyes and leaned back, and Dean leaned forward, burying one hand and his face in Michael's hair.

Dean canted his hips, and Michael felt Dean's dick against his ass, and his legs almost gave way, but Dean caught him with an arm around his chest.

Michael twisted so he could put an arm behind him and drag Dean's head down. "Can we-" he gasped.

Dean's breath was scorching on his neck. "Oh toast yeah, we can, Mikey." He felt him grin against his cheek.

Michael spun out of Dean's grip and pushed him towards the bedroom. Dean almost stumbled, putting his arms out and staring at Michael, who grinned, and Dean laughed again, low and pure with lust.

I told you Michael was smart. Sober, sexy Dean is not to be turned down.

Dean led the way into the bedroom, hand burning around Michael's wrist.

He pushed Michael down onto the bed and had his jeans off in a deft movement. Then he knelt between Michael's legs.

Michael squirmed, trying to ease the ache in his dick and said, "We can-I want to-"

"Shhh, we can work up to that," Dean said softly, his every word seeming to vibrate through Michael's whole body.

* *

XIII.

Dean settled himself where he collapsed, spent dick in the groove of Michael's hip, arm underneath Michael's head. Michael turned so they were facing and snaked a hand up
between their bodies to brush his fingers across the bite marks around Dean's neck.

"Never pegged you for a biter, Mikey," he said. "You surprised me."

"Surprised myself," Michael said with a sleepy smile pressing a kiss to the deepest of the bite marks.

Dean, almost purred, winding his hand into Michael's hair.

"Need to get that cut," said Michael.

"Don't."

"Keeps getting caught on things."

"So? It's fucking hot."

There was a long silence as Michael's eyes drifted slowly shut.

"You're upset that I don't remember."

"What?" Michael struggled to pull his brain into focus.

"The hunt when Sam and I saved you and your family."

"No." Michael took a deep breath and lied. "I'm not. I didn't expect you to."

"Yeah, you are." Dean paused, shifting slightly. "I do, you know. Didn't want to tell you because-well, let's just say the whole Shtriga thing is-it's a little hard to think about right now." Michael looked up at him and Dean's face was tight. "I talked to Big Joe, and he'd spoken to Eveline a few weeks earlier. She gave him the whole story. Then I remembered you, and your brother Asher, and your mom, and you hid under the bed while Sammy and I-" he bit the sentence off and Michael felt a sick sinking in his stomach that he'd made Dean talk about it.

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "We're gonna get him back, anyway."

Dean looked down at him. "Sometimes I think you're a lot like him," he said. "Then, other times I think you're a lot like me."

Michael laughed weakly. "Not so good with chicks."

Dean smiled and curled over more so that Michael's head fitted under his chin. "Mikey," he said, his voice vibrating next to Michael's ear, "nobody is as good with chicks as me."

To quote Mikey: "Heh."

* *

XIV.

Michael was learning an important lesson about Dean Winchester. If you wanted to talk to him on issues he was touchy about-like, say, his vanished younger brother-you had to ask him when he was sleepy, well-fed or contented. Otherwise, he just brushed you off. Even though you were only trying to help and he knew it.

The next morning, Michael woke up before Dean did, and slipped out from under Dean's arm without waking him. He dragged on some pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt and went up to the house, knocking softly on the back door. After a second, Sue opened it in her bathrobe.

"Morning, Mikey," she said.

"Morning," said Michael. "I was wondering, do you have any coffee?"

Sue nodded, running a hand through her bed hair in an unconscious attempt to tame it. "Instant or percolator?"

Michael didn't hesitate. "Percolator," he said hopefully.

"I've got some brewing," said Sue. "Ray is a freak about his coffee."

Michael grinned. "Dean is the same."

"Me, I'm fine with the instant stuff." Sue shrugged and set down two more mugs on the kitchen table. "You and Dean, you're... brothers?" she asked, clearly fishing.

Michael shook his head. "Nah. Dean's only got the one brother, the one we're looking for. I'm a family friend."

Calling himself a Winchester family friend gave him a pleasurable tingle. He didn't know what else to call himself. Even though he and Dean were-well, even if they ran together for twenty years, thinking of Dean as his, or anyone's, boyfriend was just weird. Weird, but nice. He flushed. Once they found Sam, he and Dean would be the Brothers Winchester again, and Michael would go solo.

Anyway-Michael pulled himself away from that unproductive line of thought-he wasn't entirely sure whether Sue would toss them out on their asses if he told her they were acquaintances who happened to be screwing in her guest bedroom. Family friend was a nice compromise, after all.

"Ahuh," said Sue, her gaze sharp. "Who ended up sleeping on the couch?"

"I did," Michael replied with a saccharine smile. He wasn't going to get caught by her snooping.

Sue knows a vibe when she feels one. I'd be snooping too.

Dean was stirring and patting the bed beside him when Michael walked carefully back into the bedroom with the two mugs of coffee.

"Got you one," he said while Dean blinked and pulled himself up against the headboard.

"Thanks," mumbled Dean.

"So, I was thinking, about Sam."

Dean looked pained, and took a sip of coffee. "Yeah?" he said.

"A wendigo-"

"Wrong part of the country, Mikey. Besides, I've tracked wendigos. If there'd been one there, I would have caught the trail. Same goes for crocottas, hodags, chupacubras, all those. It's the wrong area-in fact, none of those sorts of critters are native to Illinois-and I'd have found something to go on." He said this with absolute confidence, and took another sip, while Michael digested this.

We keep circling around, touching on all sorts of possibilities but nothing's quite right. We get a picture of the research Dean's been doing since Sam vanished, all the studies that Michael's made during his training. They know so much but they know so little. You can feel Dean's frustration.

"Well-"

"Mikey."

"Yeah?"

"It's too early for this." Dean was waking up, and his defences were clamping down again. Michael stifled an urge to upend the coffee cup in his lap.

After a breakfast of cereal, and corn chips scrounged from Dean's duffel bag, they headed out to Ray Norbut, the park where everything happened. It was about five miles out from Griggsville, on the Illinois River.

Dean parked the car in the designated area. "I hope Evie had you on a cardio program as well as building up those muscles," he said, " 'cause we have a walk in front of us."

Michael flushed. Dean thought he was buff. "I'll be fine," he said. "How's your leg?" The previous night, he'd crawled down and had a look at the mean bruise across Dean's thigh and thought it was a miracle the mugger hadn't actually chipped the bone.

Dean flicked him a pointed look. "I'll be fine," he said.

Fortunately, Michael's training and Dean's leg both held out, and they matched each other over the two-mile hike to a field in the centre of the park. Dean stopped.

"This is it," he said.

Michael looked around. "What happened?" he said.

Dean hiked his bag up on his shoulder. It contained the standard kit for a hunter tracking an unknown enemy: shotgun, handgun, flare, holy water, rock salt, silver bullets, consecrated rounds, machete, throwing knives, wooden stake, rosary-something for everything, as it were. Michael had watched him pack it with a certain amount of awe and jealousy.

"I told you, right, that what we were hunting, it worked on a quarterly basis. End of April, end of July, end of October, end of January, going back since when the area was settled. People didn't get mauled every cycle. It doesn't seem to be seeking them out, it's more that anyone in its path during the week before the end of that month gets killed, eaten, taken, whatever." He walked a couple of paces towards the edge of the clearing.

"It was just before midnight. We were following a trail along here," Dean said, gesturing. "Pretty typical track for some kind of mid-sized monster, probably canine form. Crushed grass, snapped twigs, imprints in the mud, that sort of thing. We got to here, and Sam stopped. Asked me if I'd heard something. I hadn't, and trust me, usually I'm the observant one." He half-smiled, then it died. "He took off running. I followed him. I didn't know what the hell he'd gone after. He went into those trees there and I lost sight of him. By the time I caught up, he was gone. No sign, no trail, pff, nothing." Dean told the last bit like he were reading it off a sheet of paper, intonation flat.

"Okay," said Michael, trying to treat this like he thought he would any hunt. "You checked-"

"Yeah, I checked for holes, traps, anything manmade or natural that could have got him. I checked."

Michael heard the fear in Dean's voice, that they would search and find some kind of ditch that Sam had fallen down and died waiting for help. "Of course," he said, calm and confident. "So he wasn't there anymore."

The recurring nightmare -- to die for a such a stupid, mundane bit of carelessness.

Dean didn't respond, just stalked over to the trees he had pointed to earlier. His hand was in his pocket, and without seeming to notice, he pulled out his cell phone.

Michael caught up with him just inside the tree line. "You going to try calling him?"

"No point. I tried before. Six or seven times. I would have heard it."

"Could you try again?"

Dean glared off into the distance and hit the speed dial by touch. He held up the phone, away from his ear and let it ring.

The woods around them were punctuated only by nature sounds, the occasional bird call, the faint roar of the river a way off, wind through leaves and the rustle of insects on the ground.

Then he heard it, the faint hum that could almost be an insect but seemed slightly off.

Dean flicked the phone shut. "Nothing," he said.

Michael listened again. The hum was gone.

"Do it again," he said with growing excitement.

"Why?"

"I heard-I thought I heard-a noise."

"Oh great, a noise. In a forest. Call the Griggsville Herald," Dean muttered, but hit the speed dial again, this time staring at the phone as if threatening it to give up the location of the other one.

Michael stood still, filtering out the other noises, and he heard it again, off to his left. Or maybe it was straight ahead. It was so faint, he could barely hear it. "Keep the phone ringing," he said, and closed his eyes.

He took a step or two to the left and stopped. The crunching of his shoes over leaf litter completely drowned out the noise.

Once he caught it again, he took another couple of steps.

It took Dean calling four times, rolling his eyes and snorting at Michael's nature-whispering antics before they found it. In the middle of a thicket, a couple of feet away. Michael pushed through the thick branches and stopped dead.

"Dean," he said, "you're going to want to see this. I found Sam's phone."

This is the turning point. This is where Michael changes Dean's life. After this, they're even.

There was a rustling and Dean barged through the bushes, scraping his cheek on the way though. Michael resisted the urge to fuss as blood started oozing out of the cut. He pointed, and Dean stopped dead too.

"Shit," he said.

The phone hung suspended in the air, along with a few coins, some rivets-from a pair of jeans-and a belt buckle, in stasis. They floated, in the centre of a circle of blasted grass that Dean and Michael had just stepped into. The dead zone went right up to where the thicket cleared, like someone had taken a torch and burned a perfect hole in its centre.

"Um," said Michael, at a loss.

Dean reached out for the phone, then snatched his hand back. "I don't really want to do that, right," he said, voice aching.

Hope. It'll killl ya.

Michael shook his head, realised Dean wasn't looking at him and said, "No."

"Come on," said Dean. "We need to get back and do some research."

He backed hastily out of the thicket.

* *

XV.

"I have a theory," said Michael as they hit the outskirts of the town.

It could be bunnies? Sorry. Reflex.

Dean made a noncommittal noise. His features were tight and distant, but the scratch on his cheek had finally stopped bleeding.

Michael took a deep breath. "Fairies," he said, trying to imbue the word with dignity.

Dean nearly swerved the car. "What?" he said, sounding like he couldn't decide whether to scream or laugh until he suffocated.

"I did a unit on fairy lore in junior year."

Dean snorted with laughter. "I thought you told me you were in the closet in school."

"Shut up, we all had to do it, and it was lame."

Dean looked back at the road, lips twitching. "Right, and you think Sam got spirited away by the pixies because..."

"That circle, it looked kinda like a fairy ring. And fairies hate metal."

"Right, yeah, and all the metal Sam was carrying was left in the ring." Dean grinned. "Mikey, I love your work, seriously. You're a hoot. But I have been hunting practically since I was four. And in all those years, I have never heard a peep about there being any kind of fairies in North America. I don't even know if there are any in the world."

You mean like vampires, laughing boy? Dean, for a hunter of ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties, you sure are a skeptic.

Michael wilted. At least he hadn't told Dean about the sphinx theory. That had been a stupid idea.

Dean pulled up outside the town library.

"Books or net?" he asked.

"What?" Michael blinked. "Oh, books, I guess."

"Deal. I'll trawl the internet."

An hour later, they left the library. Michael had smooth-talked the lady on the desk into letting him borrow a couple of books as long as he left his (fake) credit card as surety. Dean had a sheaf of papers of websites he'd printed out.

"Could be a demon," Dean said. "Fire demons are a dime a dozen. It'd explain why the circle looked like someone had done some seriously concentrated back-burning, and demons have been known to kidnap people."

The prospect of kicking some fire demon ass obviously appealed to him.

Dean needs to kill something and get Sammy back. His needs are very, very simple right now.

The next morning they lay in. Dean went through his print-outs, and Michael went through a book on demonology that was as dense as it was boring.

"Hey, you said the cycles went April, July, October, January, right?"

Dean put down the papers and leaned over, bare shoulder brushing Michael's. He looked at the book and Michael flicked casually to the next page. "It's nothing. I'm just trying to work out if there are any demons that work on cycles."

Dean leaned back to his side of the bed without glancing at the book. "Any luck?"

"Nah. None so far."

Dean dumped the papers on the nightstand. "I'm going to head back to the library."

"I'll come." Michael rolled out of his side of the bed.

The fire demon idea really wasn't grabbing him. There were too many things it didn't explain. Sure, a demon could be responsible for maulings and kidnapping, but not why Sam's stuff was floating in the middle of a clearing. Or why there was no other sign of fiery destruction anywhere in the park. Without telling Dean, he hit the catalogue for books on other kinds of lore.

PART 4