Beyond Death Chapter 2
AUTHOR:Scullspeare
SPOILERS: Set in Season 7, but no spoilers.
RATING: PG-13, for some swearing
GENRE: H/C, case-fic
WORD COUNT: 14K
DISCLAIMER: Still don't own the Winchesters - they're way out of my budget. Continued gratitude to Kripke & Co. for allowing us to play in their sandbox with their awesome toys.
Link back to Chapter 1 Here.
BEYOND DEATH CHAPTER 2
The door to the motel room flew open and Grant Howe stumbled in, courtesy of a good shove from Dean, who followed closely behind.
Sam, sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows with the computer on his lap, looked up in surprise.
Grant’s eyes widened when he took in Sam’s battered face, and the bandages on his neck and hands. “Dude, what happened to you?”
“Meet the last guy who pissed me off. And most of the time, I like him.” Dean clapped a hand on Grant’s shoulder and steered him to the table by the window, shoving him down into a chair. He winked at Sam once his back was to Grant. “How you doing, Sammy?”
“I’ll live.” Sam fought to keep a straight face. “No thanks to you.”
Dean shrugged off his jacket, dropped it on the bed and loosened his tie. He leveled a glare at Grant before moving to their cooler, pulling out a Gatorade, and taking it to Sam. “Seriously, you hanging in there?” When Sam nodded, he motioned to the computer. “What’s with that? You’re supposed to be resting - or do I need to beat you up some more?”
“M’okay.” Sam winced as he reached up to take the drink from Dean. “But I couldn’t sleep, and lying here thinking about everything was just making my headache worse, so I’m trying to put the pieces together.”
“Uh-huh.” Dean glanced at his watch, then grabbed the amber pill bottle from the nightstand, dumped out two orange capsules, and passed them to Sam.
Sam shot Dean a look. “How’d you know I didn’t take them already?”
“’Cause I know you.” He waited ’til Sam took the pills, then pulled the Gatorade from Sam’s hand, twisted off the lid, and returned the drink to his brother. “You need anything else.”
Sam tossed the pills in his mouth, washed them down, then shook his head.
Dean nodded, returned to the cooler to grab a beer for himself, then settled into the chair across the table from Grant. “Now, as I explained on the ride over here, someone is out to kill you, just like they killed all of your high school pals. For reasons that escape me right now, we’re gonna try to stop that from happening - but we can’t do that if you keep up the I-don’t-know-why-they’re-out-to-get-me bullshit. Capice?”
Grant stole a glance at Sam, then nodded.
“So,” Dean took a long drink, set the can on the table, and smiled at Grant, “let’s forget all the crap and excuses you tried to feed me in the car. You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me why someone would want to wipe out your lame-ass gang of bullies, or I’m gonna drag you to the site of Billy Price’s accident, tie you to a tree, hammer a sign over your head that says Come get me, then sit back and watch what happens.”
Grant shifted nervously in his seat. “You can’t do that. You’re…you’re feds.”
Sam offered an exaggerated groan to get Grant’s attention. “The bureau tends to frown on beating the crap out of your partner, too, but Agent Smith here isn’t exactly a by-the-book kind of guy.” He dropped his head back onto the pillows and allowed his good eye to close. “Just something you might wanna keep in mind.”
“And here’s something else for your sorry excuse of a brain to process.” Dean leaned toward Grant. “You’re it. The last one. And that means whoever killed your buds, is coming for you next.” He sat back. “And since you’re kind of the runt of the litter, you really think you can fight off something none of the others could?”
“I…I…” Grant’s eyes widened as his focus jumped from one brother to the other. “This wasn’t my fault - just so we’re clear on that - I was in the back seat… But, I think…I think someone knows what we did - that…that we caused the accident that killed Jake Halvorsen ten years ago.”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances; Jake’s spirit might not be the killer but his death still seemed to be the linchpin of the case. Dean turned back to Grant. “Go on.”
“We didn’t mean to.” Grant wiped sweaty hands on his jeans. “Jake worked at Burger Barn after school and on weekends. We went in there one night and Johnny - Johnny Montgomery - he decided he didn’t wanna pay for the food, that Jake should give us whatever we wanted free, any time we went in there. The kid had stones, I’ll give him that - he stood up to Johnny, said no. When Johnny threatened him, Jake just picked up the phone and said we either paid for what we ordered or he was calling the cops. You could tell he meant it, too.”
Sam winced for real as he reached over to place the Gatorade bottle on the nightstand. “I’m guessing Johnny didn’t much care for Jake’s defiance.”
“Hell, no.” Grant shook his head. “He decided we were gonna teach him a lesson. We were gonna wait until he finished his shift, then follow him home, force him off the road and beat the crap out of him. If he showed up at school the next day looking like…” he waved a hand toward Sam, “well, looking like you, then everyone would know you didn’t mess with us.”
“Six against one.” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Color me impressed.”
“It all went wrong.” Grant looked like he was going to be sick. “Jake lived outside of town, so there were no houses, no traffic. We had two cars and we could hassle him all we wanted. We were honking the horns, pulling up beside him then pulling back… Johnny loved scaring the piss out of him.” He shook his head. “Then… a deer, a huge freaking buck, ran right in front of Jake’s car. He swerved, lost control…” Grant swallowed. “He went off the road, slammed into a tree… and the whole car went up in a fireball.”
Dean stood up and glared down at Grant. “Don’t suppose it occurred to any of you ass-wipes to try to help him.”
Grant was rubbing his palms on his jeans again. “Johnny was driving, not me - he wouldn’t even stop. He made us promise to never say a word, to never admit we were even there.”
Dean snorted, his eyes glinting furiously. “Made you, huh?”
Sweat beaded across Grant’s forehead. “Look, we felt guilty - really we did. Even after all this time. Our ten-year high school reunion is coming up and Billy Price, he said it was time we came clean, that we owed it to Jake and his family… that it would be hard to look our kids in the eye if we didn’t.”
He shook his head. “Johnny wanted no part of it. He told us all to meet him at Jake’s grave. When we got there, he said Jake was dead and buried, and nothing we did was gonna bring him back… He said admitting we were guilty would just put us behind bars and leave no one to look after our families.”
Dean was pacing now, trying to rein in his anger. “I’m gonna disagree on ‘Nothing you did could bring Jake back,’ but keep talking.”
Grant now seemed truly terrified of Dean. “Johnny gave us all a beer and made us swear we’d never tell - and that if one did, the other five would hunt them down. We took a drink, then poured the rest of our beers on Jake’s grave to seal the pact.” He swallowed. “Johnny was killed two nights later - he was the first.”
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. But even with Johnny dead, the guy who forced you to keep what you did a secret, you clowns still said nothing.”
“We…we made a pact,” Grant offered lamely.
“Un-fucking-believable.” Dean shook his head and turned to Sam. “I will take great pleasure in hauling this sorry sack of crap down to local cop shop, but we’ve still got nothing to explain what’s behind all this. Right cause, wrong killer.”
“But now we’ve got the missing piece of the puzzle.” Sam glanced over at Grant. “When they made this… pact, they all poured their beers on Jake’s grave. That’s desecration.”
“True - and please don’t take this the wrong way - but, so?” Dean walked toward his brother; Sam’s face may have been beaten to a pulp but he still recognized the light bulb sparking behind bloodshot eyes. “Sammy? What’ve you got?”
Sam grunted in pain as he tried to grab the yearbook which had slid beyond his reach. “Pass me that.”
Dean did, and Sam flipped backwards through the pages until he reached the graduating class. He glanced through the photos, then tapped one and passed it to Dean. “He doesn’t look much like this any more, but I’d bet good money this is our killer.”
Dean’s eyes widened as he glanced at the photo Sam had indicated. “Jens Halvorsen - Jake’s big brother?”
“But he’s dead.” Grant’s terrified gaze jumped from one brother to the other. “The governor came for his funeral and everything.”
“You - shut up.” Dean jabbed a finger at Grant, then turned back to Sam. “Let’s forget for a moment this guy died eight years ago, that there’s no direct link between him and the victims which would allow his spirit to pinball all over town and that Mr. All-American here looks nothing like the long-haired, bearded giant you said beat the crap out of you - you told me the thing in the alley was solid. If big bro is avenging Jake’s death, how’s he still wearing a meatsuit?”
“’Cause he’s not a spirit.” Sam turned back to his computer. “I’ve been punching in everything we know about this case and one thing kept coming up - zombies and revenants.”
“What?” Grant’s eyes were wide.
Dean shot him a glare. “Shut up, or I’ll shut you up. Sammy, go on.”
“The smell of decay, the eating flesh, the drinking blood - they all fit. We know it can’t be Jake, so his parents and brother are the next logical suspects. But, like you said, there was no direct link between them and the victims - until now.”
Dean nodded as he ran this new information through his head. “A revenant can’t come back without being called back - intentionally or otherwise. But grave desecration - that’s an open invitation.” He sat on the edge of his bed, opposite his brother. “But we’ve dealt with zombies before, Sammy. They couldn’t smoke out and they sure as hell didn’t grow.”
“There’s all kind of zombies, all kinds of revenants.” Sam punched a few more buttons on his computer. “I looked into Jake’s family background. He and his brother are first generation Americans. His parents moved to the U.S. from Denmark and settled here in Minnesota. In Viking lore, there are revenants known as draugr who guard the graves of warriors. Historically, if a Viking warrior died in battle, he was buried with his earthly treasures, which made the grave a prime target for robbers. But if the grave was desecrated, lore states the Viking would rise as a draugr to exact revenge.”
Dean waved a hand at Grant. “So that’s what’s been picking off these clowns - a Viking zombie?”
Grant stood slowly. “You guys are insane. I’d like to go now.”
“Sit!” The brothers issued the command in stereo.
Grant sat.
Sam turned back to Dean. “Jake’s brother was a decorated soldier - a modern day warrior with Viking blood in his veins. Everyone we talked to said the Halvorsens were tight-knit - the treasure buried with Jens was his family.” He pointed a finger at Grant. “When they admitted over the grave that they killed his brother, and poured beer on his final resting place…”
“They desecrated his grave and big brother came back as one of these… draugr to protect his family, to avenge Jake’s death.” Dean looked at Grant in disgust. “I can relate. But,” he turned back to Sam and frowned, “what about you? Why’d he come after you?”
Sam shrugged. “I desecrated the grave, too - we both did, when we torched Jake’s remains. Walking to the diner, I was alone - all his attacks seem to be one-on-one, so I guess that bumped me to the top of the list. But I’m guessing he’s coming for all three of us.”
“Awesome.” Dean glared again at Grant. “Thanks to these bozos we torched a kid we didn’t need to touch, and now we’ve gotta take down a war hero for protecting his little brother. I know I’m repeating myself but I hate this gig.”
Sam hissed as he shifted in a futile attempt to get comfortable. “It has to be done. This draugr may have noble roots, but he’s still a revenant, still the walking dead. Just like a spirit, it’ll get angrier over time, and hungrier. Pretty soon anyone will be fair game.”
“Super.” Dean sank back down onto the bed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “What about the growing thing?”
Sam scanned through the information on his computer. “It says here the draugr can change size at will and can move through solid objects, often in the form of black smoke - that’s how they leave the grave without disturbing it. They also have shape-shifting abilities and can enter the dreams of their victims.” He snorted. “It showed up in my nightmare as a cat.”
Dean’s eyebrow quirked. “A cat? Like a kitty-cat, or a, you know, manly lion…cat.”
He got a classic bitchface for that one.
“Oh.” Dean pushed himself up. “Well, no zombie kitty is using my head for a litter box. How do we take it out for good?”
“Gimme a minute - or five.” Sam sifted through the on-screen information with Dean pacing at his side. “Here we go. It takes a hero to call him out, and wrestle him back into the grave.”
“A hero, huh?” Dean scowled at Grant. “That rules him out. And by wrestle, you mean…”
“Hand-to-hand combat.” Sam shrugged. “Weapons, as a rule, won’t kill it but they can injure it, which is why my knife took it down, I guess. According to what it says here, an iron knife to the heart works best. That’ll keep him down and stop him from smoking out. Then, to make sure he doesn’t rise again, you chop off his head, burn the remains and scatter the ashes in the sea.”
“The sea?” Dean stared at Sam in disbelief. “Dude, we’re in Minnesota.”
Sam shrugged again. “The lake will have to do. Sooner or later, it empties into the Atlantic, so - Dean!”
Dean spun around at Sam’s warning shout to see Grant making a break for the door. Grant was closer, but Dean was faster, slamming the door shut just as Grant got it open, almost taking off the smaller man’s fingers in the process.
Grant looked up at Dean in genuine fear. “You two are fucking nuts. I mean zombies, Vikings, chopping heads off - what the hell kind of feds are you?”
Dean leaned in, his face inches from Grant’s. “If it wasn’t for you ass-clowns getting your rocks off in high school by picking on anyone who didn’t fit your screwed-to-hell definition of cool, none of us would be in this mess.” He grabbed Grant by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. “Trust me, if I had my druthers, I’d let you go, let this Viking zombie find you and turn you into an appetizer. The problem, as my brother just pointed out, is that snacking on you won’t stop it and then more innocent people will die. And that’s on me, as well as you, so it ain’t gonna happen.” He gave Grant a shove towards the chair. “Now park your ass there while I get changed, then the two of us are going to put an end to this for good.”
“Three of us.” Sam grimaced as he swung his legs off the bed, pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the nightstand to steady himself as the color drained from his face. “I’m coming, too.”
“The hell you are.” Dean shook his head. “Look at you, Sammy - you can barely stand up.”
Sam’s jaw set stubbornly. “I don’t have to be standing to hold a gun. Besides, all three of us are targets. If you two take off, there’s nothing to stop it showing up here. It’s best we stay together.”
Sam was right, but it didn’t mean Dean had to like it. “Son of a bitch.” He pulled out his gun and handed it to his brother. “Keep that pointed at asshat over there while I get out of this suit, then let’s get this over with.”
xxxXXXxxx
“Why are we here?” The cuffs on Grant’s wrists jangled as he fidgeted nervously and surveyed the cemetery from the backseat of the car. “You were just yanking my chain when you talked about wrestling something into a grave, right? ’Cause, if not, that is seriously messed-up.”
Dean ignored him. He turned off the engine, his attention focused on his brother. “You shouldn’t be here, Sammy. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but if it was you and crap in a beauty pageant, you’d be first runner-up.”
“I’m touched, Dean, really, but we’ve been over this.” Sam didn’t look up from his computer. “And if you’re gonna take on this draugr, I need to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
“You went up against it knowing squat and walked away.” Dean took in Sam’s battered face. “OK, maybe you were carried away, but you’re still breathing. Now, we know what it is, we know what we have to do… I’ll be fine.”
“I need to be sure.” Sam kept scanning the document on the laptop’s screen.
Dean shook his head. What little color Sam had left had disappeared soon after he’d folded himself into the car, and his cracked ribs and concussion had obviously hated the trip along the pothole-filled gravel road into the cemetery. He’d offered to pull over twice when it looked like Sam was about to lose his lunch, but his little brother was nothing if not stubborn. “Fine.” Dean reached over and snatched the laptop from Sam. “We need to cross-check our intel, I’ll do it.”
“Dean, give- Son of a bitch.” Sam’s injured ribs quickly foiled his attempt to grab back the computer. He leaned back against the seat, cradling his ribcage and breathing slowly and deliberately as he rolled his head toward Dean. “Dude, come on.”
“Sammy, chill.” Dean scanned the draugr lore his brother had been studying. “I can read this just a well as you, probably better since both my eyes are open.” He shook his head. “I’m not seeing anything here we haven’t already talked about. I’d say the biggest question mark is whether I qualify as a hero.”
Sam exhaled loudly in exasperation. “Dean, why would you even-”
“Oh, don’t get you panties in a bunch, Samantha. This isn’t about self-worth - this is about spending half our lives impersonating the law and the other half breaking it. It’s a legit concern.” His gaze jumped from his brother to the rear-view mirror. “But since you’re on the DL and Chuckles the Clown back there isn’t even in the ballpark, it looks like I’m up to bat.”
Grant leaned forward, eyes wide. “Wait, you’re not really feds?”
Dean turned to glare at him. “When it comes to tossing your ass behind bars for contributing to the death of Jake Halvorsen, we’re as real as we need to be. And if you wanna make it to the safety of a jail cell, that’s the last thing you’ll say to me until the door clangs shut.”
Grant may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew Dean meant it. He shut up.
“OK, then.” Dean closed the computer, dropped it on the seat between them, then pulled out his gun and gave it to Sam. “Keep that safe. It may be useless when it comes to hurting the draugr, but I don’t want him grabbing it and using it on me.”
Sam nodded and passed Dean the iron dagger they’d taken from the trunk. “Don’t drag things out. Just get him close enough to use this.”
“That’s the plan.” Dean pushed open the door and climbed out of the car. He watched worriedly as Sam did the same, but with a great deal more difficulty. As his brother caught his breath, Dean yanked open the back door and motioned to Grant. “You - out!”
Grant shook his head. “I don’t wanna come out.”
Sam, on the far side of the car, tapped the window with his gun; that was enough to get Grant moving.
Once he was out of the car, Dean stopped to get their duffel and two shovels from the trunk, then grabbed Grant by the jacket and marched him toward the Halvorsen family grave. “Now, you’re gonna earn your keep.” He unlocked the smaller man’s cuffs, jammed a shovel into his freed hands and pointed to the grave. “Dig.” He smiled dangerously at his prisoner. “Try anything stupid, and Agent Johnson here will shoot you.”
Grant glanced nervously from one brother to the other. “You can’t do that. You wouldn’t.”
Sam chambered a round. “Try me.”
Grant moved immediately to the grave and started digging. Dean joined him and ninety-some minutes later, they had Jens Halvorsen’s empty casket open. Dean glanced over at Sam. “If we needed more proof the draugr is Jens, I’d say this goes a long way.”
He gave Grant a shove toward Sam. “Stand over there and keep quiet. Then maybe, just maybe, we’ll all get out of this in one piece.” He glanced around the cemetery. “OK, Sammy, grave’s open. How do we get the guest of honor to join us?”
Sam shrugged. “You call him out.”
“Call him out?” Dean snorted. “How? ‘Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.’”
Sam ignored him. “Look the lore says the draugr retains most of the memories and intelligence from its human form. Talk to him. Try to connect with the man he was.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, there’s a reason they don’t show Romero flicks on Masterpiece Theater - you don’t talk to zombies.”
“Dean…”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean tossed aside his shovel, turned to face the Halvorsen grave, and huffed out a breath. “Hey, it’s Jens, right? Look, I understand the need to protect your little brother, believe me I do - and what happened to Jake was all kinds of wrong. Trust me, I’ve got no love for the pieces of crap who did that to him, but the killing has gotta stop. So, let’s you and me go at it, mano y mano, settle this once and for all. What do you say?”
Dean waited, but there was no answer, no black smoke rising from the grave, nothing. The cemetery stayed silent. He turned back to his brother. “How long’s this supposed - Sam!”
The draugr appeared suddenly behind Sam and Grant. It grabbed Sam before he had a chance to turn around and threw him across the cemetery. The younger Winchester sailed through the air, slammed into a granite headstone and crumpled to the ground. He didn’t get up.
The revenant then turned his attention to the terrified Grant who was frozen in place.
“Wait.” Dean moved toward the draugr, stealing a glance at his brother, hoping for any kind of movement, but there was none. He waved a hand at Grant. “Don’t waste your time with him. He’s so not worth the effort. Me on the other hand - you’ll get your money’s worth, I guaran-damn-tee it.”
The draugr hesitated for a moment, glancing between Grant and Dean before making up its mind; it swung a beefy arm at Grant, the blow lifting him off the ground before gravity slammed him back into it. Like Sam, he didn’t get up.
Dean swallowed. “OK. Now it’s just you and me.”
The draugr vanished, then reappeared almost instantly right in front of Dean, throwing a punch before the hunter even had a chance to raise his fists. Hurled through the air and falling in what felt like slow motion, Dean would later swear he felt his brain slam into the side of his skull from the force of the blow. He landed hard on his back, the impact forcing every last bit of the air from his lungs.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean coughed as he rolled over and staggered to his feet, sucking in air and shaking his head to clear his blurred vision. His eyesight slid into focus in time to see the draugr throw back its head and grow a full foot in height, bones cracking and muscles popping as his shoulders widened and chest expanded. He cracked his neck and smiled at Dean as, behind him, the sky clouded over and darkened.
“Now that’s just showing off.” Dean smiled back. “How ’bout we stow the parlor tricks and just stick to fighting.”
The draugr vanished, but this time Dean was ready for its attack, throwing his punch before it reappeared. As it solidified, Dean’s fist connected with the side of its nose and he got the satisfaction of a loud crunch of bone as the revenant’s head snapped to the side
As the draugr turned back and snarled at him, Dean shrugged. “I’ve got a little brother, too. That’s for breaking Sammy’s nose.” He dodged the first counter-punch but zigged instead of zagged on the second, taking the full force of a meaty fist to the gut.
Dean doubled over as his lungs emptied again, then went flying sideways when another punch smashed into his cheek. He felt bone shatter, and the pain fueled a wave of nausea that left him heaving as he hit the ground. He spat to clear his mouth and rolled onto his back but before he had a chance to sit up, the draugr was on him again, grabbing him by the neck and hauling him to his feet. He coughed and choked as the draugr tightened his grip, but Dean saw his chance; he yanked the knife from his belt and buried the iron blade hilt-deep in the draugr’s heart.
The revenant’s eyes widened in surprise. It glanced down at the knife sticking out of its chest and dropped to his knees, dropping Dean in the process. Coughing, Dean dragged himself up and as quickly as his battered state allowed, got his bearings. The open grave was just to the draugr’s right. As the revenant began to topple, Dean grabbed him by the arms, turned him and shoved him backwards.
The draugr fell into the open casket, landing on its back, one hand wrapped around the knife in his chest, his eerie blue eyes open and fixed in an unseeing stare.
Dean unsteadily stood up, his own harsh breathing the only sound in the suddenly silent cemetery. “So far, so good, Sammy,” he rasped. “Looks like the lore’s solid.”
When there was no answer, he quickly scanned the ground around him, searching for his brother. Dean’s stomach lurched when he found him; Sam still hadn’t moved. “Damn it.”
He stumbled over to where Sam was lying on his side at the base of a headstone. Dean quickly triaged him; his pulse was slow, but not dangerously so, one of his cracked ribs now gave way under gentle pressure and fresh blood coated the side of his face from a new, jagged cut. He groaned softly as Dean rolled him onto his back, his good eye flickering open.
Dean smiled. “You slept through the main event, Sammy. I took down a Viking zombie - I was expecting at least a round of applause.”
As consciousness returned, Sam’s face crumpled in pain. “Son of a bitch…”
“Yeah.” Dean grimaced in empathy. “One of your cracked ribs has been promoted to broken. You’re gonna be in a world a hurt for the next few days. But once we’re done here, we’ll go back to the hospital, see that nurse who was crushing on you and get her to upgrade your painkillers.”
“Dude.” Sam weakly swatted Dean. “She was like Mom’s age.”
“And you, my brother, are catnip to the cougar set.” Dean shrugged at Sam’s bitchface. “I know - I can’t figure it out either.”
Sam hissed as he tried to push himself up.
“Whoa, whoa…” Dean placed a gentle hand on Sam’s chest to stop him. “You’re gonna need my help to get vertical.” He scrambled to his feet, then hooked his arms under Sam’s. “You know the drill - exhale and push up on three. Two…three.”
Sam couldn’t stifle a yell, but he was up and standing beside his brother, breathing the short, shallow breaths that tormented his injured ribs the least. He nodded his thanks to Dean, his expression darkening when he got his first good look at his brother. “Your face.”
Dean grinned, his arm staying around Sam’s back until he was sure his brother was steady. “Handsome, I know.”
Sam shot him a look. “The zombie broke it.”
“What?” Dean reached up, hissing as he touched his cheek. Bone grated under torn and rapidly swelling skin and his fingers came away sticky with blood. “Oh, son of a bitch…”
Sam studied him worriedly. “Seriously, you OK?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Date night’s screwed, but yeah.”
Sam grinned as he stumbled toward the Halvorsen grave, one arm locked around his ribs. “Maybe the nurse has an older sister.” The grin faded as he caught sight of the draugr lying in the casket with the knife protruding from its chest. “So, it’s over.”
Dean nodded slowly. “All but the dirty work.” Now sure that Sam was steady on his feet, he walked over to their duffel and pulled out a large axe.
A whimper to their left told Dean Grant was conscious again. The smaller man stood up with a groan, and shakily walked up to the grave. He looked like he was going to be sick when he caught sight of the massive draugr with a knife in its chest and Dean walking up to the grave wielding a large axe.
Dean pointed the axe at him. “You - stay.”
Grant didn’t move.
Dean glanced down into the grave and shook his head. “Damn, I will be glad when this gig is done.”
Sam was staring at the draugr, too. “There’s another way.”
Dean frowned. “What?”
Sam’s focus stayed on the revenant. “According to lore, we can drive nails into the soles of his feet and rebury him. As long as the nails stay in place, he can never walk the earth again.”
“No.”
The brothers glanced at each other in shock; the response came from inside the grave. The draugr was conscious and talking, although it seemed unable to move.
Dean dropped into the open grave and stared down at the revenant. “You said something?”
The draugr rolled his head to face him. Its eyes had lost their eerie glow; now they were a soft gray-blue, young and tormented - they were those of Jens, the man the draugr used to be. “End this, please.”
Dean swallowed. “You know what we plan to do?”
The draugr - Jens - nodded. “Know that this… what I am now… it’s through some curse of bloodline, not conscious choice. Help me move on.”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “You killed five people. You make not like where you’re moving on to.”
Jens met Dean’s gaze. “I want to see my family again. God willing, I will. If not, I accept that - but I won’t exist like this.” He rolled his head and stared up at Grant, who blanched in terror at the attention.
“Don’t you worry about him.” Dean shot a glare at Grant. “He’s not getting a free pass when it comes to Jake.”
“Thank you.” Jens nodded at Dean, then closed his eyes.
Dean exhaled slowly, adjusted his stance, and swung the axe.
xxxXXXxxx
“Dean, gimme the computer.”
“No.”
“Dean-”
“Whine all you want, Sammy, but the answer’s the same - no! The doc told you - no TV, no computers, no reading until both eyes are working and your head’s not dented anymore.”
“But-”
“But nothing.” Dean shot Sam a look from his seat at the table by the window. “I don’t like getting chewed out by a nurse half my size for letting you get eyestrain, for letting you trip and fall when you’re still recovering from a mugging. Letting you - that’s rich.”
Sam sank back into the pillows propping him up in bed. “Dude, come on. I’m bored out of my skull here.”
Dean waved a hand at Sam’s iPod. “Listen to your crap music.”
Sam scowled at the laptop on the table in front of Dean. “Is there anything in the news about the case?”
“It’s all over town.” Dean tapped a few buttons. “Grant spilled his guts when we dropped him off at the police station. The cops are reopening Jake Halvorsen’s accident file, looking to charge Grant with vehicular manslaughter, conspiracy to conceal a crime - whatever they can get to stick. Some sleazy lawyer may still get him off but the town’s at least gonna know what really happened. And, as far as I can tell, Grant hasn’t said anything about us or what he saw at the cemetery. Guess he prefers jail to the loony bin.”
Sam was quiet for a moment. “The draugr - Jens - called what he’d become a curse. Think he meant that literally?”
Dean snorted. “Damned if I know. I’m not exactly an expert in Viking lore. But if it’s a curse of the bloodline, why didn’t the whole family turn into Viking zombies?”
“That’s what I want my computer to find out.” Sam exhaled in frustration. “Maybe it only affects first-born sons… maybe it’s because Jens was a trained soldier, a warrior. Whatever the reason, it sounded like when Johnny Montgomery and his gang admitted at the grave they killed his brother, he rose as a revenant against his will to avenge him.”
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, wincing as his fingers ran over his broken cheekbone. “It’s a little early in the day for that kind of philosophical debate, Sammy.” He turned to face his brother. “It’s the whole destiny versus free will argument dressed in Viking armor.”
“True.” Sam nodded. “And the only one who really knows the answers has been AWOL upstairs since before we met Cas.”
“God.” Dean grabbed his duffel. “If this is what web withdrawal does to you, I’m gonna be the one with a dented head by the time you’re better - from banging it against the wall.” He held up the deck of cards he’d pulled from his bag. “Poker? Winner gets to pick dinner.”
Sam started to push himself up. “Sounds good.”
“Uh-uh.” Dean motioned for Sam to stay put. “I’m coming to you. Sitting in these chairs won’t do your ribs any favors. You take your meds?”
Sam exhaled loudly in mock annoyance. “Please tell me you’re not gonna mother me until my ribs knit.”
“I do not mother, Sam.” Dean scowled as he sat on the end of his brother’s bed, shuffled the cards and dealt two hands. “The only time that word applies to me is when bad guys use it. Now shut up and play.”
Sam grinned and, for once, did as he was told.
xxxXXXxxx
A/N: I haven’t seen the series The Walking Dead (yet) but one of my colleagues is a big fan and described it as a ‘human drama that just happens to have zombies.’ I loved that idea and tried to take the same approach when I found the fascinating draugr lore from Norse mythology. It was fun to play with the concept that these revenants retain some memory/intelligence and, of course, the parallels between the Winchester brothers and the Halvorsen brothers. Hope you enjoyed. If you have a moment, I’d love to hear from you. 'Til next time, cheers.
SPOILERS: Set in Season 7, but no spoilers.
RATING: PG-13, for some swearing
GENRE: H/C, case-fic
WORD COUNT: 14K
DISCLAIMER: Still don't own the Winchesters - they're way out of my budget. Continued gratitude to Kripke & Co. for allowing us to play in their sandbox with their awesome toys.
Link back to Chapter 1 Here.
BEYOND DEATH CHAPTER 2
The door to the motel room flew open and Grant Howe stumbled in, courtesy of a good shove from Dean, who followed closely behind.
Sam, sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows with the computer on his lap, looked up in surprise.
Grant’s eyes widened when he took in Sam’s battered face, and the bandages on his neck and hands. “Dude, what happened to you?”
“Meet the last guy who pissed me off. And most of the time, I like him.” Dean clapped a hand on Grant’s shoulder and steered him to the table by the window, shoving him down into a chair. He winked at Sam once his back was to Grant. “How you doing, Sammy?”
“I’ll live.” Sam fought to keep a straight face. “No thanks to you.”
Dean shrugged off his jacket, dropped it on the bed and loosened his tie. He leveled a glare at Grant before moving to their cooler, pulling out a Gatorade, and taking it to Sam. “Seriously, you hanging in there?” When Sam nodded, he motioned to the computer. “What’s with that? You’re supposed to be resting - or do I need to beat you up some more?”
“M’okay.” Sam winced as he reached up to take the drink from Dean. “But I couldn’t sleep, and lying here thinking about everything was just making my headache worse, so I’m trying to put the pieces together.”
“Uh-huh.” Dean glanced at his watch, then grabbed the amber pill bottle from the nightstand, dumped out two orange capsules, and passed them to Sam.
Sam shot Dean a look. “How’d you know I didn’t take them already?”
“’Cause I know you.” He waited ’til Sam took the pills, then pulled the Gatorade from Sam’s hand, twisted off the lid, and returned the drink to his brother. “You need anything else.”
Sam tossed the pills in his mouth, washed them down, then shook his head.
Dean nodded, returned to the cooler to grab a beer for himself, then settled into the chair across the table from Grant. “Now, as I explained on the ride over here, someone is out to kill you, just like they killed all of your high school pals. For reasons that escape me right now, we’re gonna try to stop that from happening - but we can’t do that if you keep up the I-don’t-know-why-they’re-out-to-get-me bullshit. Capice?”
Grant stole a glance at Sam, then nodded.
“So,” Dean took a long drink, set the can on the table, and smiled at Grant, “let’s forget all the crap and excuses you tried to feed me in the car. You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me why someone would want to wipe out your lame-ass gang of bullies, or I’m gonna drag you to the site of Billy Price’s accident, tie you to a tree, hammer a sign over your head that says Come get me, then sit back and watch what happens.”
Grant shifted nervously in his seat. “You can’t do that. You’re…you’re feds.”
Sam offered an exaggerated groan to get Grant’s attention. “The bureau tends to frown on beating the crap out of your partner, too, but Agent Smith here isn’t exactly a by-the-book kind of guy.” He dropped his head back onto the pillows and allowed his good eye to close. “Just something you might wanna keep in mind.”
“And here’s something else for your sorry excuse of a brain to process.” Dean leaned toward Grant. “You’re it. The last one. And that means whoever killed your buds, is coming for you next.” He sat back. “And since you’re kind of the runt of the litter, you really think you can fight off something none of the others could?”
“I…I…” Grant’s eyes widened as his focus jumped from one brother to the other. “This wasn’t my fault - just so we’re clear on that - I was in the back seat… But, I think…I think someone knows what we did - that…that we caused the accident that killed Jake Halvorsen ten years ago.”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances; Jake’s spirit might not be the killer but his death still seemed to be the linchpin of the case. Dean turned back to Grant. “Go on.”
“We didn’t mean to.” Grant wiped sweaty hands on his jeans. “Jake worked at Burger Barn after school and on weekends. We went in there one night and Johnny - Johnny Montgomery - he decided he didn’t wanna pay for the food, that Jake should give us whatever we wanted free, any time we went in there. The kid had stones, I’ll give him that - he stood up to Johnny, said no. When Johnny threatened him, Jake just picked up the phone and said we either paid for what we ordered or he was calling the cops. You could tell he meant it, too.”
Sam winced for real as he reached over to place the Gatorade bottle on the nightstand. “I’m guessing Johnny didn’t much care for Jake’s defiance.”
“Hell, no.” Grant shook his head. “He decided we were gonna teach him a lesson. We were gonna wait until he finished his shift, then follow him home, force him off the road and beat the crap out of him. If he showed up at school the next day looking like…” he waved a hand toward Sam, “well, looking like you, then everyone would know you didn’t mess with us.”
“Six against one.” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Color me impressed.”
“It all went wrong.” Grant looked like he was going to be sick. “Jake lived outside of town, so there were no houses, no traffic. We had two cars and we could hassle him all we wanted. We were honking the horns, pulling up beside him then pulling back… Johnny loved scaring the piss out of him.” He shook his head. “Then… a deer, a huge freaking buck, ran right in front of Jake’s car. He swerved, lost control…” Grant swallowed. “He went off the road, slammed into a tree… and the whole car went up in a fireball.”
Dean stood up and glared down at Grant. “Don’t suppose it occurred to any of you ass-wipes to try to help him.”
Grant was rubbing his palms on his jeans again. “Johnny was driving, not me - he wouldn’t even stop. He made us promise to never say a word, to never admit we were even there.”
Dean snorted, his eyes glinting furiously. “Made you, huh?”
Sweat beaded across Grant’s forehead. “Look, we felt guilty - really we did. Even after all this time. Our ten-year high school reunion is coming up and Billy Price, he said it was time we came clean, that we owed it to Jake and his family… that it would be hard to look our kids in the eye if we didn’t.”
He shook his head. “Johnny wanted no part of it. He told us all to meet him at Jake’s grave. When we got there, he said Jake was dead and buried, and nothing we did was gonna bring him back… He said admitting we were guilty would just put us behind bars and leave no one to look after our families.”
Dean was pacing now, trying to rein in his anger. “I’m gonna disagree on ‘Nothing you did could bring Jake back,’ but keep talking.”
Grant now seemed truly terrified of Dean. “Johnny gave us all a beer and made us swear we’d never tell - and that if one did, the other five would hunt them down. We took a drink, then poured the rest of our beers on Jake’s grave to seal the pact.” He swallowed. “Johnny was killed two nights later - he was the first.”
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. But even with Johnny dead, the guy who forced you to keep what you did a secret, you clowns still said nothing.”
“We…we made a pact,” Grant offered lamely.
“Un-fucking-believable.” Dean shook his head and turned to Sam. “I will take great pleasure in hauling this sorry sack of crap down to local cop shop, but we’ve still got nothing to explain what’s behind all this. Right cause, wrong killer.”
“But now we’ve got the missing piece of the puzzle.” Sam glanced over at Grant. “When they made this… pact, they all poured their beers on Jake’s grave. That’s desecration.”
“True - and please don’t take this the wrong way - but, so?” Dean walked toward his brother; Sam’s face may have been beaten to a pulp but he still recognized the light bulb sparking behind bloodshot eyes. “Sammy? What’ve you got?”
Sam grunted in pain as he tried to grab the yearbook which had slid beyond his reach. “Pass me that.”
Dean did, and Sam flipped backwards through the pages until he reached the graduating class. He glanced through the photos, then tapped one and passed it to Dean. “He doesn’t look much like this any more, but I’d bet good money this is our killer.”
Dean’s eyes widened as he glanced at the photo Sam had indicated. “Jens Halvorsen - Jake’s big brother?”
“But he’s dead.” Grant’s terrified gaze jumped from one brother to the other. “The governor came for his funeral and everything.”
“You - shut up.” Dean jabbed a finger at Grant, then turned back to Sam. “Let’s forget for a moment this guy died eight years ago, that there’s no direct link between him and the victims which would allow his spirit to pinball all over town and that Mr. All-American here looks nothing like the long-haired, bearded giant you said beat the crap out of you - you told me the thing in the alley was solid. If big bro is avenging Jake’s death, how’s he still wearing a meatsuit?”
“’Cause he’s not a spirit.” Sam turned back to his computer. “I’ve been punching in everything we know about this case and one thing kept coming up - zombies and revenants.”
“What?” Grant’s eyes were wide.
Dean shot him a glare. “Shut up, or I’ll shut you up. Sammy, go on.”
“The smell of decay, the eating flesh, the drinking blood - they all fit. We know it can’t be Jake, so his parents and brother are the next logical suspects. But, like you said, there was no direct link between them and the victims - until now.”
Dean nodded as he ran this new information through his head. “A revenant can’t come back without being called back - intentionally or otherwise. But grave desecration - that’s an open invitation.” He sat on the edge of his bed, opposite his brother. “But we’ve dealt with zombies before, Sammy. They couldn’t smoke out and they sure as hell didn’t grow.”
“There’s all kind of zombies, all kinds of revenants.” Sam punched a few more buttons on his computer. “I looked into Jake’s family background. He and his brother are first generation Americans. His parents moved to the U.S. from Denmark and settled here in Minnesota. In Viking lore, there are revenants known as draugr who guard the graves of warriors. Historically, if a Viking warrior died in battle, he was buried with his earthly treasures, which made the grave a prime target for robbers. But if the grave was desecrated, lore states the Viking would rise as a draugr to exact revenge.”
Dean waved a hand at Grant. “So that’s what’s been picking off these clowns - a Viking zombie?”
Grant stood slowly. “You guys are insane. I’d like to go now.”
“Sit!” The brothers issued the command in stereo.
Grant sat.
Sam turned back to Dean. “Jake’s brother was a decorated soldier - a modern day warrior with Viking blood in his veins. Everyone we talked to said the Halvorsens were tight-knit - the treasure buried with Jens was his family.” He pointed a finger at Grant. “When they admitted over the grave that they killed his brother, and poured beer on his final resting place…”
“They desecrated his grave and big brother came back as one of these… draugr to protect his family, to avenge Jake’s death.” Dean looked at Grant in disgust. “I can relate. But,” he turned back to Sam and frowned, “what about you? Why’d he come after you?”
Sam shrugged. “I desecrated the grave, too - we both did, when we torched Jake’s remains. Walking to the diner, I was alone - all his attacks seem to be one-on-one, so I guess that bumped me to the top of the list. But I’m guessing he’s coming for all three of us.”
“Awesome.” Dean glared again at Grant. “Thanks to these bozos we torched a kid we didn’t need to touch, and now we’ve gotta take down a war hero for protecting his little brother. I know I’m repeating myself but I hate this gig.”
Sam hissed as he shifted in a futile attempt to get comfortable. “It has to be done. This draugr may have noble roots, but he’s still a revenant, still the walking dead. Just like a spirit, it’ll get angrier over time, and hungrier. Pretty soon anyone will be fair game.”
“Super.” Dean sank back down onto the bed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “What about the growing thing?”
Sam scanned through the information on his computer. “It says here the draugr can change size at will and can move through solid objects, often in the form of black smoke - that’s how they leave the grave without disturbing it. They also have shape-shifting abilities and can enter the dreams of their victims.” He snorted. “It showed up in my nightmare as a cat.”
Dean’s eyebrow quirked. “A cat? Like a kitty-cat, or a, you know, manly lion…cat.”
He got a classic bitchface for that one.
“Oh.” Dean pushed himself up. “Well, no zombie kitty is using my head for a litter box. How do we take it out for good?”
“Gimme a minute - or five.” Sam sifted through the on-screen information with Dean pacing at his side. “Here we go. It takes a hero to call him out, and wrestle him back into the grave.”
“A hero, huh?” Dean scowled at Grant. “That rules him out. And by wrestle, you mean…”
“Hand-to-hand combat.” Sam shrugged. “Weapons, as a rule, won’t kill it but they can injure it, which is why my knife took it down, I guess. According to what it says here, an iron knife to the heart works best. That’ll keep him down and stop him from smoking out. Then, to make sure he doesn’t rise again, you chop off his head, burn the remains and scatter the ashes in the sea.”
“The sea?” Dean stared at Sam in disbelief. “Dude, we’re in Minnesota.”
Sam shrugged again. “The lake will have to do. Sooner or later, it empties into the Atlantic, so - Dean!”
Dean spun around at Sam’s warning shout to see Grant making a break for the door. Grant was closer, but Dean was faster, slamming the door shut just as Grant got it open, almost taking off the smaller man’s fingers in the process.
Grant looked up at Dean in genuine fear. “You two are fucking nuts. I mean zombies, Vikings, chopping heads off - what the hell kind of feds are you?”
Dean leaned in, his face inches from Grant’s. “If it wasn’t for you ass-clowns getting your rocks off in high school by picking on anyone who didn’t fit your screwed-to-hell definition of cool, none of us would be in this mess.” He grabbed Grant by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. “Trust me, if I had my druthers, I’d let you go, let this Viking zombie find you and turn you into an appetizer. The problem, as my brother just pointed out, is that snacking on you won’t stop it and then more innocent people will die. And that’s on me, as well as you, so it ain’t gonna happen.” He gave Grant a shove towards the chair. “Now park your ass there while I get changed, then the two of us are going to put an end to this for good.”
“Three of us.” Sam grimaced as he swung his legs off the bed, pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the nightstand to steady himself as the color drained from his face. “I’m coming, too.”
“The hell you are.” Dean shook his head. “Look at you, Sammy - you can barely stand up.”
Sam’s jaw set stubbornly. “I don’t have to be standing to hold a gun. Besides, all three of us are targets. If you two take off, there’s nothing to stop it showing up here. It’s best we stay together.”
Sam was right, but it didn’t mean Dean had to like it. “Son of a bitch.” He pulled out his gun and handed it to his brother. “Keep that pointed at asshat over there while I get out of this suit, then let’s get this over with.”
xxxXXXxxx
“Why are we here?” The cuffs on Grant’s wrists jangled as he fidgeted nervously and surveyed the cemetery from the backseat of the car. “You were just yanking my chain when you talked about wrestling something into a grave, right? ’Cause, if not, that is seriously messed-up.”
Dean ignored him. He turned off the engine, his attention focused on his brother. “You shouldn’t be here, Sammy. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but if it was you and crap in a beauty pageant, you’d be first runner-up.”
“I’m touched, Dean, really, but we’ve been over this.” Sam didn’t look up from his computer. “And if you’re gonna take on this draugr, I need to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
“You went up against it knowing squat and walked away.” Dean took in Sam’s battered face. “OK, maybe you were carried away, but you’re still breathing. Now, we know what it is, we know what we have to do… I’ll be fine.”
“I need to be sure.” Sam kept scanning the document on the laptop’s screen.
Dean shook his head. What little color Sam had left had disappeared soon after he’d folded himself into the car, and his cracked ribs and concussion had obviously hated the trip along the pothole-filled gravel road into the cemetery. He’d offered to pull over twice when it looked like Sam was about to lose his lunch, but his little brother was nothing if not stubborn. “Fine.” Dean reached over and snatched the laptop from Sam. “We need to cross-check our intel, I’ll do it.”
“Dean, give- Son of a bitch.” Sam’s injured ribs quickly foiled his attempt to grab back the computer. He leaned back against the seat, cradling his ribcage and breathing slowly and deliberately as he rolled his head toward Dean. “Dude, come on.”
“Sammy, chill.” Dean scanned the draugr lore his brother had been studying. “I can read this just a well as you, probably better since both my eyes are open.” He shook his head. “I’m not seeing anything here we haven’t already talked about. I’d say the biggest question mark is whether I qualify as a hero.”
Sam exhaled loudly in exasperation. “Dean, why would you even-”
“Oh, don’t get you panties in a bunch, Samantha. This isn’t about self-worth - this is about spending half our lives impersonating the law and the other half breaking it. It’s a legit concern.” His gaze jumped from his brother to the rear-view mirror. “But since you’re on the DL and Chuckles the Clown back there isn’t even in the ballpark, it looks like I’m up to bat.”
Grant leaned forward, eyes wide. “Wait, you’re not really feds?”
Dean turned to glare at him. “When it comes to tossing your ass behind bars for contributing to the death of Jake Halvorsen, we’re as real as we need to be. And if you wanna make it to the safety of a jail cell, that’s the last thing you’ll say to me until the door clangs shut.”
Grant may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew Dean meant it. He shut up.
“OK, then.” Dean closed the computer, dropped it on the seat between them, then pulled out his gun and gave it to Sam. “Keep that safe. It may be useless when it comes to hurting the draugr, but I don’t want him grabbing it and using it on me.”
Sam nodded and passed Dean the iron dagger they’d taken from the trunk. “Don’t drag things out. Just get him close enough to use this.”
“That’s the plan.” Dean pushed open the door and climbed out of the car. He watched worriedly as Sam did the same, but with a great deal more difficulty. As his brother caught his breath, Dean yanked open the back door and motioned to Grant. “You - out!”
Grant shook his head. “I don’t wanna come out.”
Sam, on the far side of the car, tapped the window with his gun; that was enough to get Grant moving.
Once he was out of the car, Dean stopped to get their duffel and two shovels from the trunk, then grabbed Grant by the jacket and marched him toward the Halvorsen family grave. “Now, you’re gonna earn your keep.” He unlocked the smaller man’s cuffs, jammed a shovel into his freed hands and pointed to the grave. “Dig.” He smiled dangerously at his prisoner. “Try anything stupid, and Agent Johnson here will shoot you.”
Grant glanced nervously from one brother to the other. “You can’t do that. You wouldn’t.”
Sam chambered a round. “Try me.”
Grant moved immediately to the grave and started digging. Dean joined him and ninety-some minutes later, they had Jens Halvorsen’s empty casket open. Dean glanced over at Sam. “If we needed more proof the draugr is Jens, I’d say this goes a long way.”
He gave Grant a shove toward Sam. “Stand over there and keep quiet. Then maybe, just maybe, we’ll all get out of this in one piece.” He glanced around the cemetery. “OK, Sammy, grave’s open. How do we get the guest of honor to join us?”
Sam shrugged. “You call him out.”
“Call him out?” Dean snorted. “How? ‘Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.’”
Sam ignored him. “Look the lore says the draugr retains most of the memories and intelligence from its human form. Talk to him. Try to connect with the man he was.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, there’s a reason they don’t show Romero flicks on Masterpiece Theater - you don’t talk to zombies.”
“Dean…”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean tossed aside his shovel, turned to face the Halvorsen grave, and huffed out a breath. “Hey, it’s Jens, right? Look, I understand the need to protect your little brother, believe me I do - and what happened to Jake was all kinds of wrong. Trust me, I’ve got no love for the pieces of crap who did that to him, but the killing has gotta stop. So, let’s you and me go at it, mano y mano, settle this once and for all. What do you say?”
Dean waited, but there was no answer, no black smoke rising from the grave, nothing. The cemetery stayed silent. He turned back to his brother. “How long’s this supposed - Sam!”
The draugr appeared suddenly behind Sam and Grant. It grabbed Sam before he had a chance to turn around and threw him across the cemetery. The younger Winchester sailed through the air, slammed into a granite headstone and crumpled to the ground. He didn’t get up.
The revenant then turned his attention to the terrified Grant who was frozen in place.
“Wait.” Dean moved toward the draugr, stealing a glance at his brother, hoping for any kind of movement, but there was none. He waved a hand at Grant. “Don’t waste your time with him. He’s so not worth the effort. Me on the other hand - you’ll get your money’s worth, I guaran-damn-tee it.”
The draugr hesitated for a moment, glancing between Grant and Dean before making up its mind; it swung a beefy arm at Grant, the blow lifting him off the ground before gravity slammed him back into it. Like Sam, he didn’t get up.
Dean swallowed. “OK. Now it’s just you and me.”
The draugr vanished, then reappeared almost instantly right in front of Dean, throwing a punch before the hunter even had a chance to raise his fists. Hurled through the air and falling in what felt like slow motion, Dean would later swear he felt his brain slam into the side of his skull from the force of the blow. He landed hard on his back, the impact forcing every last bit of the air from his lungs.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean coughed as he rolled over and staggered to his feet, sucking in air and shaking his head to clear his blurred vision. His eyesight slid into focus in time to see the draugr throw back its head and grow a full foot in height, bones cracking and muscles popping as his shoulders widened and chest expanded. He cracked his neck and smiled at Dean as, behind him, the sky clouded over and darkened.
“Now that’s just showing off.” Dean smiled back. “How ’bout we stow the parlor tricks and just stick to fighting.”
The draugr vanished, but this time Dean was ready for its attack, throwing his punch before it reappeared. As it solidified, Dean’s fist connected with the side of its nose and he got the satisfaction of a loud crunch of bone as the revenant’s head snapped to the side
As the draugr turned back and snarled at him, Dean shrugged. “I’ve got a little brother, too. That’s for breaking Sammy’s nose.” He dodged the first counter-punch but zigged instead of zagged on the second, taking the full force of a meaty fist to the gut.
Dean doubled over as his lungs emptied again, then went flying sideways when another punch smashed into his cheek. He felt bone shatter, and the pain fueled a wave of nausea that left him heaving as he hit the ground. He spat to clear his mouth and rolled onto his back but before he had a chance to sit up, the draugr was on him again, grabbing him by the neck and hauling him to his feet. He coughed and choked as the draugr tightened his grip, but Dean saw his chance; he yanked the knife from his belt and buried the iron blade hilt-deep in the draugr’s heart.
The revenant’s eyes widened in surprise. It glanced down at the knife sticking out of its chest and dropped to his knees, dropping Dean in the process. Coughing, Dean dragged himself up and as quickly as his battered state allowed, got his bearings. The open grave was just to the draugr’s right. As the revenant began to topple, Dean grabbed him by the arms, turned him and shoved him backwards.
The draugr fell into the open casket, landing on its back, one hand wrapped around the knife in his chest, his eerie blue eyes open and fixed in an unseeing stare.
Dean unsteadily stood up, his own harsh breathing the only sound in the suddenly silent cemetery. “So far, so good, Sammy,” he rasped. “Looks like the lore’s solid.”
When there was no answer, he quickly scanned the ground around him, searching for his brother. Dean’s stomach lurched when he found him; Sam still hadn’t moved. “Damn it.”
He stumbled over to where Sam was lying on his side at the base of a headstone. Dean quickly triaged him; his pulse was slow, but not dangerously so, one of his cracked ribs now gave way under gentle pressure and fresh blood coated the side of his face from a new, jagged cut. He groaned softly as Dean rolled him onto his back, his good eye flickering open.
Dean smiled. “You slept through the main event, Sammy. I took down a Viking zombie - I was expecting at least a round of applause.”
As consciousness returned, Sam’s face crumpled in pain. “Son of a bitch…”
“Yeah.” Dean grimaced in empathy. “One of your cracked ribs has been promoted to broken. You’re gonna be in a world a hurt for the next few days. But once we’re done here, we’ll go back to the hospital, see that nurse who was crushing on you and get her to upgrade your painkillers.”
“Dude.” Sam weakly swatted Dean. “She was like Mom’s age.”
“And you, my brother, are catnip to the cougar set.” Dean shrugged at Sam’s bitchface. “I know - I can’t figure it out either.”
Sam hissed as he tried to push himself up.
“Whoa, whoa…” Dean placed a gentle hand on Sam’s chest to stop him. “You’re gonna need my help to get vertical.” He scrambled to his feet, then hooked his arms under Sam’s. “You know the drill - exhale and push up on three. Two…three.”
Sam couldn’t stifle a yell, but he was up and standing beside his brother, breathing the short, shallow breaths that tormented his injured ribs the least. He nodded his thanks to Dean, his expression darkening when he got his first good look at his brother. “Your face.”
Dean grinned, his arm staying around Sam’s back until he was sure his brother was steady. “Handsome, I know.”
Sam shot him a look. “The zombie broke it.”
“What?” Dean reached up, hissing as he touched his cheek. Bone grated under torn and rapidly swelling skin and his fingers came away sticky with blood. “Oh, son of a bitch…”
Sam studied him worriedly. “Seriously, you OK?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Date night’s screwed, but yeah.”
Sam grinned as he stumbled toward the Halvorsen grave, one arm locked around his ribs. “Maybe the nurse has an older sister.” The grin faded as he caught sight of the draugr lying in the casket with the knife protruding from its chest. “So, it’s over.”
Dean nodded slowly. “All but the dirty work.” Now sure that Sam was steady on his feet, he walked over to their duffel and pulled out a large axe.
A whimper to their left told Dean Grant was conscious again. The smaller man stood up with a groan, and shakily walked up to the grave. He looked like he was going to be sick when he caught sight of the massive draugr with a knife in its chest and Dean walking up to the grave wielding a large axe.
Dean pointed the axe at him. “You - stay.”
Grant didn’t move.
Dean glanced down into the grave and shook his head. “Damn, I will be glad when this gig is done.”
Sam was staring at the draugr, too. “There’s another way.”
Dean frowned. “What?”
Sam’s focus stayed on the revenant. “According to lore, we can drive nails into the soles of his feet and rebury him. As long as the nails stay in place, he can never walk the earth again.”
“No.”
The brothers glanced at each other in shock; the response came from inside the grave. The draugr was conscious and talking, although it seemed unable to move.
Dean dropped into the open grave and stared down at the revenant. “You said something?”
The draugr rolled his head to face him. Its eyes had lost their eerie glow; now they were a soft gray-blue, young and tormented - they were those of Jens, the man the draugr used to be. “End this, please.”
Dean swallowed. “You know what we plan to do?”
The draugr - Jens - nodded. “Know that this… what I am now… it’s through some curse of bloodline, not conscious choice. Help me move on.”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “You killed five people. You make not like where you’re moving on to.”
Jens met Dean’s gaze. “I want to see my family again. God willing, I will. If not, I accept that - but I won’t exist like this.” He rolled his head and stared up at Grant, who blanched in terror at the attention.
“Don’t you worry about him.” Dean shot a glare at Grant. “He’s not getting a free pass when it comes to Jake.”
“Thank you.” Jens nodded at Dean, then closed his eyes.
Dean exhaled slowly, adjusted his stance, and swung the axe.
xxxXXXxxx
“Dean, gimme the computer.”
“No.”
“Dean-”
“Whine all you want, Sammy, but the answer’s the same - no! The doc told you - no TV, no computers, no reading until both eyes are working and your head’s not dented anymore.”
“But-”
“But nothing.” Dean shot Sam a look from his seat at the table by the window. “I don’t like getting chewed out by a nurse half my size for letting you get eyestrain, for letting you trip and fall when you’re still recovering from a mugging. Letting you - that’s rich.”
Sam sank back into the pillows propping him up in bed. “Dude, come on. I’m bored out of my skull here.”
Dean waved a hand at Sam’s iPod. “Listen to your crap music.”
Sam scowled at the laptop on the table in front of Dean. “Is there anything in the news about the case?”
“It’s all over town.” Dean tapped a few buttons. “Grant spilled his guts when we dropped him off at the police station. The cops are reopening Jake Halvorsen’s accident file, looking to charge Grant with vehicular manslaughter, conspiracy to conceal a crime - whatever they can get to stick. Some sleazy lawyer may still get him off but the town’s at least gonna know what really happened. And, as far as I can tell, Grant hasn’t said anything about us or what he saw at the cemetery. Guess he prefers jail to the loony bin.”
Sam was quiet for a moment. “The draugr - Jens - called what he’d become a curse. Think he meant that literally?”
Dean snorted. “Damned if I know. I’m not exactly an expert in Viking lore. But if it’s a curse of the bloodline, why didn’t the whole family turn into Viking zombies?”
“That’s what I want my computer to find out.” Sam exhaled in frustration. “Maybe it only affects first-born sons… maybe it’s because Jens was a trained soldier, a warrior. Whatever the reason, it sounded like when Johnny Montgomery and his gang admitted at the grave they killed his brother, he rose as a revenant against his will to avenge him.”
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, wincing as his fingers ran over his broken cheekbone. “It’s a little early in the day for that kind of philosophical debate, Sammy.” He turned to face his brother. “It’s the whole destiny versus free will argument dressed in Viking armor.”
“True.” Sam nodded. “And the only one who really knows the answers has been AWOL upstairs since before we met Cas.”
“God.” Dean grabbed his duffel. “If this is what web withdrawal does to you, I’m gonna be the one with a dented head by the time you’re better - from banging it against the wall.” He held up the deck of cards he’d pulled from his bag. “Poker? Winner gets to pick dinner.”
Sam started to push himself up. “Sounds good.”
“Uh-uh.” Dean motioned for Sam to stay put. “I’m coming to you. Sitting in these chairs won’t do your ribs any favors. You take your meds?”
Sam exhaled loudly in mock annoyance. “Please tell me you’re not gonna mother me until my ribs knit.”
“I do not mother, Sam.” Dean scowled as he sat on the end of his brother’s bed, shuffled the cards and dealt two hands. “The only time that word applies to me is when bad guys use it. Now shut up and play.”
Sam grinned and, for once, did as he was told.
xxxXXXxxx
A/N: I haven’t seen the series The Walking Dead (yet) but one of my colleagues is a big fan and described it as a ‘human drama that just happens to have zombies.’ I loved that idea and tried to take the same approach when I found the fascinating draugr lore from Norse mythology. It was fun to play with the concept that these revenants retain some memory/intelligence and, of course, the parallels between the Winchester brothers and the Halvorsen brothers. Hope you enjoyed. If you have a moment, I’d love to hear from you. 'Til next time, cheers.