The Witch and the Wolfen, Sam/Dean, 2/10
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Chapter 2 - The Journey
A hand on his shoulder woke him.
Dean jerked upright, his hand automatically reaching for his blade under his pillow as he sniffed the air for danger. Sam’s scent was calming and held no threat, but it was the second delicious aroma that filled the room that gave Dean pause. He shook his head, disoriented.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s Sam.” The witch’s voice was calm in the dim light. The touch withdrew, and Dean sat up. He could see the spellcaster was already packed. He had slept through all of it. Usually, the least thing would wake him. He sat there in mild shock.
The witch handed him a slab of still warm, thickly-buttered bread stuffed with thin cut meat, probably more of the moose meat from last night, and a warm mug of what could only be coffee in the other.
“Coffee!” Dean squeaked in an undignified manner. It had been months since he’d been able to trade for any. The spellcaster must have strong powers indeed to lay hands on the brew.
In the dim light his wolfen vision could see the spellcaster smile. “Thought that would get your attention. We need to hustle, though. The storm’s let up a little, but that won’t last long.”
He glanced out the window. It was early, but still dark and blowing steadily outside. “You really okay to travel in this?” He arched a brow at the witch. “I could travel in wolf form and carry you,” Dean heard himself offering.
The witch glanced out the window. “I’m hoping we can outrun it. My protections will get us through the worst of it. My place is about a day’s hike from here. Besides, I’ve got Cas to contend with. He won’t like you much in human form, let alone wolfen. Will you be okay if you stay in this form? I can extend protection against the wraiths to us all, so you should be safe.”
Dean nodded. His sputtering wards might see him through the storm, but it was good to know the witch had it covered. Even without the additional layer of fur and bulk in his wolf form, he had a higher internal temperature than a normal human, so the cold itself would be no problem. He just wondered what a ‘Cas’ was. He nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
The two men made quick work of their sandwiches, and Dean might have moaned out loud as he took his second sip of coffee. “Damn, that’s good! I should be paying you just for the coffee.”
“I supply it to Roxy as a thank you for letting me use her space.”
“Damn, you could rent the whole town for a cup of this.” Dean inhaled the rich scent, his nose twitching. He packed as he ate. It didn’t take long. He usually travelled light.
When they were done, the witch rose, shouldered on his coat and stetson, and strapped a foot-long blade onto his thigh before grabbing his own backpack as well as two large black leather bags. Beside them were two even larger canvas-wrapped bundles tied with rope.
“That all your witchy stuff?” Dean jutted his chin at the black leather bags.
“Yeah, some of it. Would you mind carrying the supplies?” The spellcaster nodded toward the canvas bundles.
The witch’s green kimono was packed away this morning in exchange for a long black wool coat with a fur lined hood, a Stetson hung down his back, a grey beanie on his head. A bandolier was strapped across his chest, gun visible at his side. Sam might be a witch, but he apparently also used more traditional methods for protection. Dean nodded approvingly and took a final swig of his coffee, finishing it off. He just barely stopped himself from licking the empty cup before he shrugged into his own greatcoat, adjusted the dark green knitted hat his dad had traded one of his favorite knives for and put his Stetson on over it. He practically lived with the green cap on when he was around humans. He adjusted his pistols and knives and grabbed up the witch’s canvas bundles. “Lead on, MacDuff!”
They left Roxy’s by way of an underground tunnel that joined the bar to the stable. The stable was full of both the two- and four-footed, and a large potbellied stove provided heat. As they picked their way through the sleeping bodies, the witch whispered, “They stay holed up here until the storm passes.”
Turned out a “Cas” was a grey and white donkey. An apple magically appeared in the witch’s hand and the donkey nuzzled his chest before chomping down on the treat. “Ready to go, boy?” The witch patted the donkey’s side. Cas snorted.
Cas reared his head when Dean came close to the stall. “Now, none of that!” Sam chided as he slid a padded blanket on Cas’s back. “He’ll be travelling with us.”
Cas shook his head and huffed. Dean chuckled. Obligingly, he didn’t go any closer, just leaned against the stall’s entrance, his arms crossed. He’d never been around horses or mules or their kin because of their reaction to his wolf half, but this Cas had quite the attitude. It was kinda cute.
The witch added the pack harness on top of the blanket and adjusted the straps. Cas stood docilely through the process. They’d probably done it a hundred times before. Once all the bags were secured, Dean passed him the sacks of supplies he’d carried. The witch adjusted the weight and straps one more time before producing another apple. He patted Cas’ neck affectionately. “Okay, boy, storm’s still on, so you know the drill. Stay close. That goes for you, too.” He glanced over at Dean. “I don’t want the wraiths tracking us back to my base. So, stay within 20 feet. These magics can only go so far.”
Dean opened his mouth and then shut it. He’d only had problems being tracked in the last few months, but then he’d never let his protections run so low, either.
The witch brought out a small pot of something from his knapsack and dipped his fingers in it. He drew sigils on the crossbars of the pack harness and on Cas’ ass. Next, he came to Dean. “Turn around.” He drew more sigils on the back of Dean’s coat. Then he handed Dean an amulet on a black-dyed leather thong, a blazing sun with a pentagram inside. “Keep this on, even if you have to shift.”
“I ain’t leavin’ you short, am I?” Dean asked as he slipped it over his head and dropped it inside his shirt.
“I got my own.” The witch opened a button on his flannel shirt and pulled it back to show the same symbol tattooed below his left collar bone. “And so does Cas. This is just extra.” He patted Cas’ rump, where the same sigil had been branded.
Once satisfied he’d done as much as he could, the witch led Cas to the barn door. He put on his Stetson and drew up his collar. Dean did the same, as both men wound long thick scarves around their necks and faces.
“Okay, go time.” The spellcaster’s muffled voice reached him as he slid the barn door open a Cas-sized width.
The first few steps outside were like trying to move through a tornado. Both men were forced to grab onto the crossbars of Cas’s pack just to stay upright. Visibility was next to zero. Dean knew where he was in town because of his wolfen senses. The witch must have been relying on his witch ones as he steadied himself, before tugging on Cas’s lead to move through the storm.
Dean had to focus all his energy on putting one foot in front of the other as wraiths buffeted and pushed against his shields. The grey-white, misty ghosts packed a punch. They had clawed hands and large, gaping mouths, and though their eyes seemed sightless, they could track a human through the storm easily. Their bodies were vaguely human, but from the waist down they turned to a trail of smoke. They traveled through the air in packs, winding and flowing over each other, each whispering in his ears, offering sweet promises or dire consequences if he didn’t come to them. Same old demon-fueled promises. He squeezed his eyes closed and focused on clearing his head, then took another step forward.
The witch kept near the edges of the streets, using the abandoned cars there as a wind break. Things got better once they finally left the town proper and reached the surrounding tree line. The woods shielded them from the worst of the wind, and the whispering died down to a manageable volume. Dean was even able to glance ahead occasionally. He kept one hand on the crossbar of Cas’s pack, holding his coat and scarf tight with the other.
And so it went, one exhausting hour after the next. They took turns plowing a path through the hip-deep snow. The witch would give Dean a landmark to head for, and Dean would spell the witch for a time. Finally, he led them down a hollow to a small cave in the side of the hill, where they were able to take a break. Dean took off his Stetson and unwound his ice-crusted scarf from his face and took a deep breath.
He watched as the witch pulled a bag of salt out of one of the bags on Cas’s back and lined the entrance to the cave. He murmured a few words before packing the bag away. Nothing visibly happened, but the wind and the sound of the storm receded, and the cave felt warmer.
“Damn.” Dean whistled. He watched as a random wraith tried to throw itself against the salt-lined opening, but was repelled by the witch’s magic.
“That was worse than usual.” The witch shrugged out of his backpack and rooted around. He came up with a paper wrapped bundle. Unwrapping it produced two more of the delicious sandwiches.
“Wish I had my thermos.” he muttered.
“Oh God. I’ve heard of those. Did you actually have one?” Dean took off his own pack, set it on the ground against the cave wall, and sat on it.
The witch smiled softly, doing the same. “Yeah, hot coffee. What I wouldn’t give.” He shook his head. “I left it at home. Had too much stuff to carry already.”
“I could kill for some hot coffee right now.” Dean glanced up shaking his head. “Any chance a’ magickin’ some up?” Dean looked at Sam hopefully, but the witch only shook his head.
“Sorry, nothing I know can do that.”
“Damn shame, that.” Dean focused his attention on the sandwich. Sam rolled his eyes.
Dean looked over at Cas speculatively. “So, uhh, why a donkey? Why not a horse, or a mule?”
The spellcaster looked over at Cas placidly chewing the few weeds along the sides of the cave. “He saved my life.”
“Oh yeah?”
The spellcaster chuckled, “When I, when I first got here. The first time I tried to go into town I got followed by a mutey-boar.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, the thing was five feet tall and in a bad mood. I tried shooting it, but it only bounced off its hide.”
Dean nodded. The mutated boars that roamed the woods now had somehow developed plated skin. They were like moving tanks, hard to kill, harder to escape.
“I dropped my packs, and emptied both guns, but the thing was still coming at me. None of my spells worked. Then my foot caught on a root, and I go tumbling ass over tea kettle, flat on my face. I’m a goner. Then comes Cas!” He glanced fondly over at the beast. “He appeared out of nowhere and turned and kicked that mutey-boar right in the face. Kicked it so hard it fell over unconscious.”
“What did you do?” Dean grinned as he took another bite of his sandwich. His estimation of Cas rose higher by the second.
“I quickly refilled both my guns, went right up to the thing and nailed it through the eye socket five times. Made some mighty fine eatin’, and I had something to trade with the locals. He’s looked after me ever since.”
“A man and his ass aren’t soon parted.” Dean quipped
“What about you? Any good war stories?” the witch asked.
Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Most of my stories are sad. My mom was a hunter. After she died on a hunt, Dad and I kind of took up the torch. Our first job was to kill every last one of the vamp nest that attacked Mom. Dad taught me everything he’d learned from her.” Dean scratched at his chin. “There was this one time I got caught in a church with a pack of vamps outside and a full-on dust storm raging. The storm went on for days, no sunlight, they had me cornered. I was running out of food and didn’t know how I was going to get out. I searched the whole church - no tunnels, no other exits. The only thing there was the dead body of some old lady- fresh too, rosary still wrapped around her fingers. Looked like she’d died of starvation.”
The witch nodded. After the Fall so many people died that way, simply not enough food.
“What did you do?” The witch watched him. a half smile playing on his lips.
“Well, my daddy always taught me to be prepared, so I had a syringe. I filled it with the dead woman’s blood and injected myself. Then I opened the church doors. I took out almost half the bastards before one got me. I made note of which one he was. When he dropped, paralyzed by the dead man’s blood, it spooked the others. Gave me time to take out another few. Then the last of ‘em took off. And I was able to behead the one that bit me and take the cure and get the heck out of there.”
The witch perked up. “You know about the cure?”
“Yeah, old Campbell family recipe. Not fun, but better than turning into a bloodsucker.” All here in Dad’s journal.” Dean patted his knapsack between his knees.
“I’d love to take a look once we’re back at my place.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Dean swallowed that last bit of sandwich and balled up the brown paper his sandwich had been wrapped in.
The witch finished up, too, and then looked out at the storm raging around them and dusted off his hands. “Way I see it, we have two options. We could stay here tonight and hope the storm lets up some tomorrow, or we keep slogging. We haven’t made great time, but I could still see us making it sometime after dark.”
“Your call, but if it was up to me, I’d like to wake up somewhere warm tomorrow and not have to move. I’m up to keep going.”
He nodded. “’kay then.”
They bundled back up and led a cranky, braying Cas back into the storm.
Dean knew there was something wrong as soon as the wraiths tapered off. The storm was still howling, but the ghostly figures were just gone. The lack of their wailing pleas made the storm decibels quieter. Dean sniffed the air; he knew immediately what was wrong. He could smell them. Still a ways off, but a pack of wolves was nearby. The wolves were upwind right now, but a simple shift of the wind’s direction could change all that. It remained to be seen if they were wolfen or the regular variety.
Dean shuddered. If they were wolfen and more than one, they wouldn’t stand a chance in a showdown. Dean alone might be able to outrun them. He had several times in the past, but not with a spellcaster and a donkey in tow.
“Sam, Sam!” he yelled through the storm. The witch stopped breaking trail and turned back to him.
He leaned in close to hear above the storm. “Yeah?”
“We got trouble. Wolves. Maybe wolfen. Can’t tell. They don’t have our scent yet, but…”
“Damn.” The witch closed his eyes a look of concentration on his face. He took a large white crystal on a chain like a pocket watch out of his coat and whispered a few words. The crystal began to glow softly and took on a golden colour. The spellcaster’s brows furrowed, and Cas crowded in closer as if to protect him. The crystal changed to a dark orange, then red. Dean kept looking from the witch to the crystal with no idea of what was going on.
The witch’s eyelids opened, his irises glowing pure white as he spoke. His voice was clear, but slow and soft like he was miles away. Maybe he was, Dean thought.
“There are five of them. They’re wolfen. Looking for something, someone. I think they’re looking for you, Dean.”
The witch shook his head and sagged like a puppet with cut strings. The eerie white colour bled away to hazel green and Dean grabbed him before he could hit the ground. When he finally steadied, he waved Dean off. He braced his hands against his knees, panting like he’d run a race.
“Definitely wolfen. If we could get to the vicinity of my base, it’s warded against them.”
“How far are we from there?” Dean knew it was dark now, no idea where they were going.
“It's only about an hour and a half from here, but I’m not sure we can make it in time.”
“I could shift, try and distract them. Lead them away, and then rendezvous with you at your place once I’ve lost them.” Dean offered.
“Won’t work. My place is protected. Without the right sigil it will never let you see it.”
“Well, we could just try and make a run for it. They haven’t picked up our scent yet.”
“Right.” The witch nodded and tugged on Cas’s lead.
“But Sam,” Dean caught the man by the shoulder. “If things go south there’s only one thing we can do.”
The witch side-eyed him.
“I’ll need to shift, so you and I can make a run for it,” Dean tried to gentle his voice. “We’ll need to leave Cas behind. They might not even hurt him. Especially if they’re after me.” Dean could taste the lie on his tongue as he said the words.
The witch shook his head, a grim look on his face. “Let’s get moving and hope it doesn’t come to that.”
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It was well and truly dark now. The final tendrils of the storm had passed, and the night sky was clear. They hadn’t heard anything from the wolves in over an hour. He picked up excitement coming off Sam when he called out, “Just over this hill, maybe another 20 minutes.”
Dean huffed out a relieved breath.
Of course that’s when everything hit the fan.
The first wolfen they saw was jet black with gleaming yellow eyes, wolf like in appearance but several hundred pounds heavier than any normal wolf with the brains of a man behind all that muscle. It appeared just ahead of them, a hundred feet or so. Dean sniffed the air. The wind shifted, and he could scent two more behind him, coming up fast. Cas brayed in fear. Dean could sense two more still in the woods but moving closer. It was only a matter of minutes before they would have them surrounded.
“Sam!” he cried, already tearing at his hat and clothes, dropping them in an unceremonious pile in the snow beside Cas.
As he shifted he could see the Sam’s devastated expression as he stared at Cas. He was speaking, Latin, a blue shield slowly rising up around the donkey, shimmering in the darkness. Protective runes appeared and circled the beast just as Dean finished shifting. He stepped toward Sam. In his wolfen form, his head was even with the top of the witch’s head.
“Stay, Cas. Don’t move.” The witch’s voice was a thready wreck as he grabbed fistfuls of Dean’s fur and hauled himself up onto his back. Dean didn’t think Sam even had time to look back as they exploded away from the scene. The spellcaster hunkered low, keeping his face close enough to Dean’s ears to shout directions. Dean could only hope he would be fast enough.
Dean heard crashing and braying in the background and prayed the witch’s wards would be enough. He ran like his tail was on fire. He could feel the large black wolfen behind him, gaining ground, massive paws eating up the distance between them. Dean snarled and put everything he had into it. He was concentrating so hard he almost didn’t hear the Sam’s voice. “...far you can jump?” Dean growled. Somehow Sam understood.
“There’s a ravine, it will be covered with snow. I can tell you when to jump, but it’s a long one. Maybe he won’t be so lucky.”
Dean nodded and gathered his strength. If the witch thought it was a long jump, it probably was. He zigged and zagged through the forest trying to delay his pursuer. “Just around this bend,” Sam warned.
Dean lengthened his stride and waited for the signal. He almost didn’t hear the witch as he concentrated on his footing down the steep incline.
“NOW!” he yelled, and Dean leapt. Farther than he had ever jumped in his life, every muscle in his body releasing in time together. He looked down as he sailed across the snow-covered ravine, and, sure enough, in the center he could see where the snow had fallen through and gave a glimpse of the depths below. His paws scrambled as he hit the other side, working for purchase and finally finding enough traction to climb up the side of the slope. Sam hung on for dear life.
Behind them he heard the great black wolfen snarl in anger as it crashed through the snow. Dean grinned, and the witch chuckled in glee. “Take that, big bad.”
He was murmuring something again. Dean couldn’t make out the words. He just trusted Sam was doing his best to protect them. He directed Dean to the north and then did a sudden dogleg northeast. In the distance, he could hear the pack howling in rage as they regrouped to follow.
Dean didn’t know how long he could keep this up, but he wasn’t going to let the witch be ripped apart because of him.
After what seemed like forever, fleeing through the night, there was a strange popping in Dean’s ears.
Sam sagged against Dean’s back. “We’re here. They shouldn’t be able to track us from here.”
Unwilling to simply take his word for it, Dean kept up the same pace. Fifteen minutes later a building appeared in the distance. Dean slowed unconsciously. He glanced back. He couldn’t hear the pack anymore and when he looked down at the snow, he couldn’t even see his own pawprints. The witch’s magic had been shielding their tracks. Dean huffed in relief and finally slowed his pace, his gaze concentrating on the new structure beyond.
It was like no home he’d ever seen before. Certainly not like the structures in town. This was more like something he’d see in some of the old magazines. It was made of concrete, like in the big cities.
The first few floors were a fortress, small windows and all concrete, but three floors up, there was a balcony the width of the building and a wall of glass running the length of the building. Dean wondered how the witch could possibly keep the huge building warm.
This witch must have some kind of powerful magic to keep a magnificent place like this secret. He padded closer.
The witch jumped off as they approached a high metal fence surrounding the structure. At the top of the fence was razor wire. He whispered a spell as he pressed his hand on a control panel by a gate. The panel glowed green, and the gate swung open.
“The Men of Letters Lawrence Bunker,” he announced and waved one hand to usher Dean in.
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