Fic: The Winchester Edda - chapter one
Title: The Winchester Edda - a Tale Told in Fragments
Chapter title: Wolves in Hell
Author: oneiriad
Disclaimer. SPN is not mine.
Spoilers: All of season 5 - goes AU after that.
There’s something warm and wet on his face, and it’s filling Sam’s dreams with blood. Still, he clings to them, clings to nightmares that are nevertheless better than the waking world.
Eventually, inevitably, he loses the fight.
He comes awake sputtering, blinking rapidly to clear the wetness from his eyes, while at the same time backing away and trying to climb to his feet, because whatever has awoken him, it can’t be anything good. Not here.
Never here.
But nothing comes after him, no slashing or ripping or tearing pain. He gets to his feet unmolested, pressing his back against the huge rock he went to sleep next to, blinking until his vision clears.
Then he blinks some more.
In front of him is a wolf. At least he thinks it’s a wolf, all golden-brown fur and eyes a shade of amber that he could swear he’s seen somewhere before - but how can it be a wolf? There are no animals here, just demons and worse things, twisted mockeries haunting the landscape. None of which changes the fact that there is a wolf sitting in front of him, head cocked as if studying him, making him feel acutely aware of his nakedness for the first time in - he’s not even certain how long.
Having waited for him to get a good look at it the wolf stands and turns, walking up the side of the hollow that he had taken shelter in. At the top it stops, looking back over its shoulder and wagging its tail. Sam just stares at it, still not quite believing his own eyes.
The wolf makes a huffing noise, then lopes back down and next thing Sam knows, it’s closing its jaws daintily around the wrist of the hand he’s self-consciously using to cover his groin. Then it backs up and Sam yelps and follows, step by step, rather than letting those white teeth slice through his skin.
Halfway up the slope the wolf lets go, bounds the rest of the way up and once more looks back at him. Sam sighs and follows, nursing his tender wrist, because really, it’s not like he’s had any idea where he’s been going so far, so it’s not like following the wolf will make him even more lost.
The wolf just wags its tail.
***
Hell is a barren wasteland, rocky and inhospitable, red like the surface of Mars and hot like - well, like Hell. Distant screams echo from time to time, the blood-red sky pulsing sickly like the inside of a giant heart.
Sam follows the wolf.
It’s slow going, carefully planting his naked feet among the razor-sharp stones and thorny plants that uncurl their tendrils to reach for him as he passes. He’s thirsty, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, skin dry and burning, but there’s no water here.
Still, he follows the wolf.
From time to time, Sam will collapse, thirsty and tired and simply exhausted, and the wolf will settle down next to him, watching over him as he sleeps. In the last moments before drifting off he will think of Dean - he likes to imagine his brother’s reaction if he was to see him like this, bare-ass naked and cuddling a wolf.
He’d like to imagine that Dean would be laughing his head off.
He’d really like to.
***
Four times has Sam woken up next to the wolf, four times has he climbed to his feet and set out again, almost as weary as before he fell asleep.
Sometimes he sees things moving in the distance, twisted images flickering closer, all yowls and brimstone stench. So far he’s managed to duck behind a rock or into a ditch, collecting cuts and bruises and waiting with baited breath and hammering heart for it to pass him by.
So far they have.
And then one doesn’t.
He’s following the wolf through a narrow canyon when it suddenly stops, ears flattening and teeth baring in a growl.
An avalanche of pebbles makes him look up.
At first glance it could almost pass for human.
Almost.
There’s something subtly wrong about it, limbs ever so slightly out of proportion, fingers too longs, head too high and narrow. Then its eyes meet Sam’s and its mouth opens and opens, shark teeth parting to let out a shrill shriek.
Then it leaps.
Sam is scrambling, caught between a lifetime’s instinct to fight back and the bitter realization that he’s naked and unarmed and doesn’t have a chance against the thing that lands in front of him. He grabs a rock and hurls it at it, slicing his palm open in the process, but it just casually plucks the projectile out of the air.
He can see his blood on the rock as the thing lifts it, considers it. A tongue flickers out, obscenely slithering over the rock, licking the blood off, drop by drop by drop.
The thing moans.
Then it throws the rock away and turns its attention back to Sam, who has been backing away, glancing around, desperately seeking something, anything that he can use as a weapon. It leers and crouches, preparing to leap at him - and the wolf is hurtling past him, staying low to the ground as it attacks, snapping at the thing’s throat.
It tosses the animal aside as if it’s less than nothing, backhanding it with a hand full of black talons. The wolf slams into the canyon’s side and lies still.
Very still.
Once more the thing turns toward Sam, ignoring the rocks he’s hurling at it, and leaps. The world slows down around him and for an endless moment the thing hangs suspended in midair, claws stretching out towards him.
Jaws snap shut around it, splattering yellow-black blood and errant limbs everywhere.
Sam’s eyes focus on something that might have been a tail and might have been a tentacle, twitching and writhing on the ground about three feet away. Then his feet give way under him and he finds himself sitting on the ground, looking up.
And up.
Wolf seems too small, too insignificant a word to even begin to encompass the grey vastness in front of him.
A low whining noise has him turning his head to see the wolf, his wolf, limping towards the giant beast, and the nauseating realization that it doesn’t have a prayer against the giant beast makes him push against the ground, even as his heads starts spinning in protest and spots start dancing before his eyes.
Except.
Except all the grey wolf does is lower its head, vast snout lightly touching the smaller animal’s. His wolf stretches, licks the other’s chin.
He allows himself to collapse back down, breathing a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
When he opens his eyes again, both wolves have turned to look at him. Eyes of amber - still so very distressingly familiar - and eyes of bright yellow, staring at him without blinking.
His wolf looks back up at the grey and yips and the huge beast moves forward, jaws sliding open as it approaches.
Panic floods him yet again, as something close to realization dawns on him, but it’s too late and he’s too tired, too tired by far.
Teeth close around him, a bright white cage trapping him, holding him tight, pressing his head against something warm and wet and filling his nose with the stench of old meat. The world moves around him, dizzying, nauseatingly, shaking him like a toy.
Then the darkness rises and drags him down.