Supernatural Fic: In Service of the King

[kagedtiger]

Title: In Service of the King
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Oberon/Dean
Author: Kagedtiger
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and the people who make it
Warnings/Spoilers: Graphic sex, somewhat dubious consent, I suppose? In a mis-identity sort of way. Oh, also exhibitionism/voyeurism and orgies.
Series: None; takes place during season 6, episode 9, "Clap Your Hands if You Believe..."
Summary: The missing time while Dean was abducted
Notes: So I watched the faeries episode and I thought to myself, "Huh. I could write a really interesting serious fic answering some of these questions: Who's that guy in the red cap? Could the faeries really have gotten Sam's soul back? Why DID Dean have all that missing time during his abduction?" And then I thought, "...Or, I could just write some shameless smut about Dean and the faeries." Guess which one I picked! (Hint: it's sort of both, but mostly just the smut.)



The beings around him seemed to be made of light. Dean couldn't look at them directly without feeling like he was trying to stare into the sun. They came towards him and grasped at his arms, tugging him forward, encouraging him towards some kind of table or dais or something that he could barely make out ahead of him. Dean tried to wrench his arms out of their grip, but they were deceptively strong and held tight to him. He could orient his limbs well enough to fire the gun though, and did. He couldn't twist far enough around to aim at the beings holding him, but he managed to get a few shots off at one of their escorts.

Suddenly the beings backed off. The ones holding his arms let their grip fall as all of the beings took an uneasy, confused step backwards.

Dean kept his gun flitting from target to target, threatening everyone within range, with a feeling of triumph swelling in his chest. No alien bastards were going to be probing him tonight!

"Tsk, tsk," clucked a voice in his ear, and Dean tried to whirl around to face the speaker only to find nothing but thin air behind him. Nevertheless, the voice continued in his ear.

"Such anger! This will never do for the ball! You can't bring such things to a party!"

Dean opened his mouth to find a retort but never got the chance. From behind him a pale, glowing arm snaked out and closed around the wrist of the hand holding his gun. The metallic grip of the pistol seemed to slide and writhe and shrink in his hand, and then it was a chain of pale, silvery metal with a beautiful watch hanging from the end, its back inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The object was fascinating, and he felt the way the watch drew the weight of the chain down over his fingers, a taught pressure as though he'd just been holding something firmly in his grip. But of course he hadn't - he'd brought out his pocket watch to check the time, because it was very important that he not be late for... something...

The hand from the being behind him drew up the length of his arm and across his shoulders. Fingers feathered over his brow, then down the other arm as the being twirled around from behind him and finally came to a halt directly in front of him. It was a beautiful woman with a laughing face, smiling like she knew a secret. Her dark hair fell in a shining cascade around her shoulders, and she seemed to be wearing nothing but a faint mist that swept in whorls around her when she moved.

She reached into Dean's other hand and removed - what had he been holding, something sharp? - ah, an ornate broach in the shape of a curled leaf. With a giggle she pinned it to the front of the heavy brocade jacket Dean was wearing, the velvet crushing under her small fingers. She met Dean's eyes as she finished and smiled at him, that secret smile.

"Where was I going?" Dean asked her. "It was very important that I get somewhere, I remember..."

"To the ball, silly," she chirped, her voice like birds in the morning. "Everyone's going to be there. You're one of the candidates, you can't very well be late!"

Dean looked around at the room full of young men and women, impossibly beautiful with long, shapely limbs. Other than the woman in front of him they all seemed to be wearing intricate masks with feathers and horns and beads and glittering stones. Of course. The ball was a masquerade, and they were all getting ready. They were getting him ready, because he needed to be prepared for...

"Why am I getting ready?" he asked the tiny, lithe woman. "What am I a candidate for?"

"For Oberon, of course," she grinned. "It's been a while since we had a new candidate. He's been getting bored of the old ones. And you're so beautiful."

Dean felt a swelling of pride. She thought he was beautiful. That he would impress Oberon. Yes, he could do that. He could do this.

"Well then," he said, "what are we waiting for?"

"Just a moment," she chided, putting a pale, moonlight finger across his lips. "There are just a few more little touches. You'll need this, of course." A strange flower fell into her palm as though called from the air, a rose. The body of the petals were white, but the edges were a deep, bloody crimson. She placed it in his lapel, adjusting his leaf broach to keep it pinned into place. "That marks you as a candidate," she reminded him. "Not that we get many humans who aren't, of course." Her giggle was light and musical.

"And of course," she continued, "you can't go in there with such a dreary name, Dean."

Dean felt embarrassed that he'd even for a moment considered it. Of course. What sort of a silly, human name was Dean? So clunky, so unoriginal. "What name should I use?" he asked politely, seeking her advice.

"Hmmm." She titled her head to the side. "How about 'Daerys'? It means 'of blood.' It seems appropriate for you."

"Daerys." He said it out loud and the syllables fell like two drops of honey on his tongue, spreading sweetness through his mouth and sending a tingling warmth down through his limbs. "Daerys," Daerys repeated, and nodded. It did seem appropriate, somehow.

"Alright then." The lithe woman reached up and adjusted the laurel of flowers sitting on Daerys's brow. She smiled and lifted herself up onto her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. "I wish you the best of luck with your candidacy, beautiful Daerys," she murmured. She winked at him and then took his hand, leading him forward into the bright light beyond the dais.

It was a curtain, Daerys saw, entering into an enormous ballroom. Except it wasn't a room so much as it was a forest clearing, trees of marble forming a ring around them and dripping glistening diamond leaves down over their heads. Beyond the shadows of the trees he could see the darkness of the proper wood, with glittering eyes peering curiously out from between the boughs at the spectacle all around them.

And a spectacle it was - masked figures whirled and danced everywhere, each dressed more fantastically than the last. Animal masks with ornate horns and tree masks with leaves that fell down to coat their wearer in a dress of bright green foliage, and everyone laughing and smiling. Eyes turned to look at him as he entered, curious stares and hungry appraisals. Daerys held his head high, because he was a candidate, and they all saw that he was beautiful.

Around the room he began to spot others like him as well. They wore no masks, and the white-and-crimson roses on their chests seemed to give off a perfume that led one to them, drawing the attention of everyone in their vicinity. They were all beautiful but none, Daerys thought smugly, as beautiful as him. Like him they were all dressed in a jacket and trousers that were beautifully decorated but simple in nature. One youth had his jacket open, exposing the lean planes of his torso in an obvious invitation. The masked ladies and gentlemen in a circle around him sometimes reached out a slender hand to touch the soft flesh, only to draw it back again quickly with an amused titter. The youth met Daerys's eyes across the crowded ballroom and smirked at him. Daerys frowned slightly, but then the woman who had prepared him - now wearing a black, feathered mask with raven wings on either side - was grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. "Come Daerys," she called, "you must dance!"

And so began a whirl of dance partners. Daerys felt he must have waltzed with everyone at the ball. Ladies and gentlemen both took his hand and pulled him into the rhythm of the music, swaying and twirling him until he was no longer certain which direction he was facing. The room spun around and around him, his feet clicking over the floor of shimmering glass. Until suddenly across the room he was facing the thrones.

They were enormous chairs - he wasn't certain if they were carved from wood or if two ancient oaks had merely grown into the shape of them. On top of the wood was padding of crimson velvet, and on top of the velvet sat the two most beautiful creatures Daerys had ever seen.

They were both tall and slender, like the other folk at the ball. Around the woman's head was a circlet of diamonds that was not an ornament but grown into her soft bronze skin, elegant drops accenting the shapely curve of her brow. From the man's head protruded antlers, large, like those of a stag. The points seemed to form the ring and spikes of a crown hovering just above him in the air. They were both fair of feature, although they too were masked like the other guests. Instead of the ornate and intricate masks of the others however, they each wore a simple covering that surrounded only their eyes - his was black, hers white.

From the face of Oberon, King of the Faeries, dark, dark eyes met Daerys's across the crowded dance floor.

"Don't get too attached." Came a smug voice from in front of him, and Daerys looked down again to see that the dance had thrown him into the path of a new partner. This fae wore a scarlet bird mask that covered the top of his head and then dissolved its red feathers down into beautiful waves of blond hair that rippled and glistened when he moved like wheat in the wind. His mouth under the mask was cruel, lips curved in a condescending smile. Daerys blinked and focused on him as the man swept Daerys up in his arms to waltz.

"Oberon will not choose you," said the red-masked man. "He's had his favorite candidate for months now, that young gentleman you've certainly seen flaunting himself. You're too old to attract his favor - he prefers youths. Besides," here the masked man smoothed his own hair in a vain gesture, "he doesn't really need anything from you humans anyway. He finds you amusing, but you'll never be attractive to him the way a real fae is. I'm the one who has his true attention. Other than the queen, I'm the only one he'll take into his bed."

Daerys frowned. The certainty of this fae annoyed him - Daerys was better than that. Perhaps this fae was merely jealous, or afraid of his beauty. Daerys smiled coldly and chose not to respond, letting his confidence speak for itself. The man in the red mask scowled, but then he was whisked away and Daerys was faced with his next partner in the dance, a woman with silver skin who moved like moonlight on the rippling surface of water.

The dances blurred into hours, and the passage of time became nothing more than the relentless, endless rhythm of the music as Daerys danced and danced and danced. And then Oberon stood, and a hush fell over the room.

In the sudden silence Daerys saw the other candidates weaving their way through the now-still dancers towards the front of the room. He followed suit. Soon they were all standing in a line of twelve young men, Daerys at one end. The crowd had cleared a semi-circle in front of the thrones where the candidates stood exposed, waiting. With a heavy gesture like the tolling of a deep bell, the King stepped forward off the dais.

Oberon took his time in inspecting them. Everything about his movements was beautiful and elegant, each stride measured, each gesture considered and purposeful. His long robe swirled around him in liquid movements, crimson and gold and glittering like fire. He began at the end of the line farthest from Daerys, gazing at the youths in front of him, sometimes tilting a chin with a finger, sometimes caressing a lock of hair. Daerys's heart shivered in his chest at the sight of the gentle but masterful touches.

Oberon stopped for a longer moment when he reached the youth with the open jacket. Daerys saw a smile flicker across the King's lips as he ran a commanding hand down the boy's chest. The boy shuddered, his lips parting, and his eyes fell respectfully to the floor.

Oberon continued, and Daerys became more and more nervous as he approached. Daerys knew he was beautiful, yes, but Oberon was an otherworldly perfection that he could never hope to touch. Daerys felt suddenly as shabby as his human name, unworthy of the King's attention as Oberon came to a halt in front of him at last, towering over him.

Despite his misgivings, Daerys looked up and met the King's eyes. They were so very dark, those eyes - deep brown pools with no pupil, just a depth like falling forever.

The King smiled at him, and Daerys's heart leapt in his chest just before Oberon leaned down to kiss him. The crowd around them erupted into cheers, although Daerys thought he might have heard some disappointed groans from the other candidates. But he was too dizzy to concentrate, the smell of Oberon overwhelming him; a deep musk of earth and acorns and sunlight through leaves. Oberon drew him forward towards the dais with the thrones, and Daerys was led helpless in his wake.

When they stood in front of the throne, Oberon turned Daerys so that he was facing the audience of guests. Daerys could still feel Oberon's presence behind him - he stood close enough that Daerys could feel the heat of Oberon's chest against his back. Daerys swallowed loudly as Oberon's hand came around him from behind, trailing from his shoulder down his chest all the way to his thigh, where the hand came to rest possessively against him.

Daerys realized he was no longer wearing his clothes - all had vanished but for the laurel of flowers on his brow which Daerys could still see from the corner of his eye. Behind him he felt the flush heat of Oberon's skin against his back where the King's robe was parted down the front. A second, seeking hand slid down his back until a finger slid suggestively down the crack between his buttocks. Daerys shivered.

The finger pressed into him slowly, pointedly, and Daerys suddenly realized also that he was wet - his passage was dripping with moisture, although he wasn't sure exactly where it came from. But it didn't matter because it meant that he was willing, that his body was ready to accept its master with open arms and spread legs.

Daerys braced his legs apart for easier access as Oberon's finger probed him testingly before it withdrew. A moment later Daerys felt the hot spike of Oberon's manhood against his back for just a second before it was aligned with his passage and the King of the Faeries pushed his member slowly, relentlessly into Daerys's slick insides. In front of them, the crowd gasped and murmured with approval.

It was not painful, as Daerys had half feared it might be, but the King's organ filled him with an impossible thickness, as though he would be split in two. Daerys gasped and reached a hand behind him to grab at Oberon's arm, his breath leaving him in a single shuddering exhale as Oberon pushed deeper and deeper into him. Finally, when Daerys was beginning to wonder how much longer it could possibly go on, the King came to a halt, fully buried inside him. Daerys felt as though he would taste the King's cock if he swallowed, he was so full. He was no more than a shell, a covering for the King, a vessel meant to sheathe his master's sword. Everything inside him was Oberon, filling up every nook and cranny of his body.

Through hazy vision, Daerys saw similar acts going on in front of him. Though many of the fae in the audience were gazing at him and Oberon, many more had followed his example. The remaining eleven candidates were on the floor or being held upright, surrounded by writhing masses of the fae. The boy who had been Oberon's previous choice sent Daerys a baleful glare from where he was impaled upon the member of one fae while one of the ladies sucked his cock.

But Daerys couldn't concentrate on that right now, could barely even notice anything other than the incredible feeling of fullness from his master embedded inside him. Then Oberon drew out and began to thrust and it was a new spectacular sort of pleasure, the feeling of that powerful cock ramming home over and over, spearing him like he was nothing, like an insignificant insect. Daerys groaned and writhed on the impaling member, but Oberon was relentless. Daerys reached down to pleasure his own cock, but Oberon grabbed Daerys's wrists and twisted them behind his back, holding him steady as he plundered Daerys's eager body.

Unable to satisfy himself that way, Daerys contented himself with wrenching his hips backwards to meet Oberon's thrusts, trying to maintain that perfect feeling of fullness for as long as possible, as deep as possible, before Oberon pulled back for his next thrust.

Even without pleasuring himself, Daerys saw stars. Each thrust sent pleasure racing through his body, running rampant along every nerve, coursing through him like electricity. Oberon continued unabated until Daerys's cock was weeping for release, begging him to fall, and then fall he did, coming helplessly over the dais with bucking hips.

But Oberon did not stop. Daerys's eyes began to water from over-sensitivity and a pleasure that was starting to border almost on pain. Oberon did not slow down, did not allow him any rest, but continued to thrust like an animal, one hand holding Daerys's arms behind his back, the other resting possessively on his hip to guide Oberon's movements. So long did this continue, in fact, that Daerys's pain finally faded and his cock began to rise once more, helpless against the endless waves of pleasure. Daerys whimpered, and was rewarded with a particularly emphatic thrust that left him breathless.

Only after Daerys had come a second time over the dais did Oberon finally finish - Daerys felt the hot, heavy pulses inside him as Oberon filled him up with seed, flooding him in what felt like an endless torrent of the stuff until Daerys was shaking, babbling incoherent pleas for more.

Daerys had the vague sensation of movement and then falling before he realized that Oberon had moved them both backwards to sit on the throne once more, Daerys still impaled on his now-softening cock. Oberon ran a possessive hand up Daerys's chest before licking softly at the side of Daerys's neck.

"You are a rare one," Oberon murmured in his ear. "You have a spice to you that I have not tasted before, a worldliness. Angels and demons both have touched this skin, I think. Demons have perhaps ravished it as I have, yes? Or ravaged, at least. Who's to say?"

"Hmmm?" Daerys asked vaguely. He couldn't quite concentrate on the King's words, his mind a fog of post-pleasure bliss.

"I do believe I shall keep you, Rare Pet." Oberon's voice was deep and dark like the forest, like his eyes. "I would have you the rest of this night as well, to start with. Will you come with me back to my bed?"

"But the ball," Daerys protested weakly.

Oberon waved a dismissive hand. "No one will miss us," he assured.

As Daerys attempted to focus on the crowd, he realized that Oberon was correct. The dance floor had devolved into a massive orgy, fae writhing in the throes of pleasure, humans lost among them. Even the Queen languidly petted the hair of a young woman at the base of the dais as she watched one of the candidates wrap his lips around a faerie's cock. No one would notice now if Daerys and Oberon disappeared.

Daerys nodded his consent, and a moment later they were on a thick, springy bed of moss in a room that seemed to be made of glistening pearl. Oberon was still behind him, still somewhat inside him despite his now almost-soft member. The King reached a hand around to finger Daery's cock with a light and teasing touch, and Daerys gasped at the over-sensitive prickle of sensation.

Even the King was not ready again yet, it seemed. His finally soft member slid reluctantly from Daerys's passage before he suddenly flipped Daerys onto his back, looming over him and kissing him deeply.

Daerys welcomed it, opening his mouth eagerly for the King's tongue. Oberon left no corner of his mouth untasted, hands pressing Daerys's arms firmly down into the moss to prevent his fingers from wandering. Daerys succumbed to it utterly, reveling in the weight pinning him down, wanting more, wanting desperately to have the King inside of him again despite his knowledge that neither of them had rested long enough yet for such a thing.

When Oberon finally drew back it was to look at Daerys with a fond but inscrutable expression.

"Shall I show you something, Daerys?" he asked. "Something beautiful, to match a beautiful creature such as yourself."

"Whatever pleases you, My Lord," Daerys answered dutifully.

Oberon lay back, leaving space between them, and Daerys was saddened by his withdrawal for a moment until the King brought his hands back together between them. He was holding something in them - a... lantern?

The object was small, with thin golden bars like a tiny birdcage and panels of shimmering glass between them. Peering closer, Daerys could see that there was something in the center of the cage, a tiny fluttering golden object. It seemed agitated, and small tongues of fire occasionally appeared around it, startling it into another direction. Tiny white lines crackled across its surface - fault lines, like spiderweb cracks in glass. It was indeed beautiful, as the King had promised.

"What is it?" Daerys breathed.

"A human soul," replied the King. "A very particular human soul. One I thought might be of some importance to you. This is a window into the cage where it is being held, where it has been lost for some time now. Isn't it lovely?"

"It's broken," Daerys noted, hesitantly, not wanting to offend.

"Ah yes," said Oberon, "but that makes it all the more beautiful. There is nothing so tender and wonderful as a strong will teetering on the brink of destruction. And this soul shall be teetering there for a long time, I think."

Daerys watched as the soul fluttered around the cage, balking at the fire that chased it. It wasn't only the fire, either - if Daerys looked closely, it seemed there were three forces caught in the cage. The flames appeared and disappeared on a whim, but occasionally a soft, feathery white light from near the top of the cage also lashed out. Sometimes it struck the fire, sometimes it struck the soul; it seemed indiscriminate in its attacks. The soul was caught between the other two forces like a dove in a gale, fleeing from the fire while apparently trying to avoid the sight of the white light. Each time the soul was buffeted by one of the two powers another spider-fine crack appeared on its surface, and more of its white inner light spilled through. It was breaking, slowly and beautifully. Something about it seemed dreadfully sad to Daerys, but he wasn't certain what.

"Would you like it?" asked Oberon, offering it to him.

There was something important, dangerous about the question. Daerys looked up into Oberon's eyes, but the King's face was unreadable. He did not want to be rude in refusing the gift, but...

"It's... there's something... painful about it," he tried to articulate.

Oberon was suddenly smiling at him again, the tiny cage vanishing with a thought. Daerys frowned; it seemed to him as though he'd just forgotten something important, that perhaps there was something of interest for him in that soul after all and he should have accepted the gift, but Oberon soon dismissed these fears. "Think nothing more of it," he soothed. His hand cupped Daerys's cheek before sliding down to rest against his chest. "Now, I believe I shall have you again."

Daerys gasped as Oberon's weight suddenly shifted. The King lifted one of Daerys's legs, parting them, and Daerys opened them as wide as he could to give the King access. Oberon slid into him again easily, smoothly, as though he'd never left. Daerys's passage was still slick with the King's earlier leavings, in addition to whatever strange substance had been left inside him before. Daerys's muscles felt the familiar, welcome sensation of being cleaved apart as he was entered, and groaned with eagerness for it.

"So wanton, Pet," Oberon murmured approvingly, pushing Daerys's leg back against his chest to give himself more room to go deeper. "Perhaps I should have left you back at the orgy, hm? Perhaps you require more to satisfy you."

"No," Daerys choked out as the feeling of fullness once again overwhelmed him. "No, this is so perfect. Please, My Lord, please. I want all of you. I want only you."

Oberon did not reply but obliged him by sharply thrusting the last inch or so inside. "You are delicious, Pet," he murmured.

Daerys clutched helplessly at whatever skin he could reach, his trembling fingers seeking across the taught muscles of the King's arms, sliding on sweat. Oberon had both of Daerys's legs pushed back up against his chest now as he began to slam into Daerys's passage, thrust after harsh thrust hitting home.

Daerys panted with the force of it, mouth open and gasping. He wanted to touch, to taste, to somehow allow Oberon into his entire body, to let the King rip him open and push inside and suffuse every cell of his body with the King's presence, with his gaze and with the unrelenting force of him. Daerys's desire left him in a whimper, a desperate unvoiced plea that crawled up the back of his throat and escaped him as sound. It seemed to encourage Oberon, whose thrusts became more fierce, driving Daerys down into the moss beneath them.

Once again Daerys came long before the King. The sheer maddening pleasure was far too much and he spilled himself across his own chest, desperate and needy. The King did not stop for this, although his hand came up to brush away the damp, tangled hair that had fallen into Daerys's eyes in a gesture of tenderness that was at odds with the harshness of his thrusts.

When the King climaxed inside him once more, Daerys's whole body shook with the force of it. His exhausted muscles trembled and screamed but the pleasure dancing along his nerves overwhelmed their cries for a time. It was all he could do to swallow convulsively and attempt to catch his breath.

The King was still a long moment, gazing down at him with his strange, dark eyes. Then abruptly he pulled back and Daerys groaned as Oberon's cock slid out of him, leaving him hollow and empty.

Oberon sat on the edge of the bed a moment, gazing at him, before standing and tying his robe closed. "I must go," he said regretfully.

Daerys half-rolled onto his side, grateful that at least the King seemed disappointed by the idea. "Stay," he protested nonetheless. "Stay, please, and take me again. My body feels empty without you now."

The King smiled and reached down to slide a slow, caressing finger down Daerys's cheek. "I will return," he promised. "Stay here. Recover your strength. You are only human - you cannot continue as long as you feel you might. I must check on my Queen, ensure her satisfaction with the proceedings, and then I will return."

Daerys nodded and lay back in the bed. That did sound good, actually. He could use the time to rest, to catch his breath. Perhaps when he returned, Oberon would let Daerys pleasure him in other ways. Perhaps he would get a chance to touch, to taste...

Daerys smiled as Oberon took his leave, drifting off into a light slumber.

Daerys wasn't sure what woke him. Some strange, unexpected instinct had him throwing his whole body to one side before he was even fully conscious. He opened his eyes to see a crystal dagger embedded in the mossy bed where he had been lying only moments ago. Clutching the handle was a young man, someone he recognized-

The man's head snapped up, narrowed eyes glaring at Daerys, and Daerys recognized him. How could he not? The man was still wearing the elaborate scarlet bird mask he'd worn at the ball. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he wrenched his knife free from the bed and lunged after Daerys. Daerys once again flung himself to the side. His muscles were sore and protested the movement, but Daerys had no time to think about what he was doing, only react.

He scrambled to his feet and along the wall until it curved outward into darkness and then he was outside, at the base of a giant tree, fleeing into the forest. The scarlet-masked man was fast on his heels, dagger flashing in the shadows. Daerys gasped and almost tripped, but found his footing and sped off into the trees as quickly as he could.

The scarlet-masked man was fast, but Daerys was more nimble. He dodged through the trees, weaving and doubling back. At every turn he plunged further into darkness, trying to move away from the flickering lights of the ball that even now still flooded from the glade, trying to lose his pursuer in the shadows and dark.

The adrenaline was like lightning in his veins, and he had something in his hand - a weapon. Good, if he was caught.

He heard the scarlet-masked man howl in anger as Daerys evaded his sight once more, but Daerys did not stop to celebrate, leaping over roots and ducking under branches as the wood grew darker and darker until it was too dark even for him and he stumbled, catching his foot in the undergrowth - behind him the angry spitting cry of his pursuer - "This isn't over, Boy!" - and Daerys twisting to aim the gun back at him - and a flash of light -

And Dean was firing into an empty cornfield, managed to get several shots off before he realized where he was. He was back. The- the aliens, or whatever they were, they had put him back where they'd taken him from.

Dean scowled at the corn, breathing hard, still reluctant to lower his weapon. His mind was foggy - all he knew was the adrenaline pumping through his system. Something had been wrong, seriously wrong. He was running... no, that wasn't right. He was fighting something... He remembered being taken up, remembered fighting them, and then...?

Dean shook his head. Slowly, cautiously, he lowered the gun and the knife in his other hand, sheathing both weapons. Well, if he'd scared them into putting him back, so much the better. He still couldn't help glancing around suspiciously as he started back towards where he'd left the Impala. What a weird freaking night. Aliens. Who knew?

A cold wind like the sound of a distant voice rustled the stalks of corn around him, and sent a shiver up Dean's spine.