The Hunt for superbadgirl
Title: The Hunt
Author: just_ruth
Recipient: superbadgirl
Prompt: The Wild Hunt, Winchester style.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU from “I Know What You Did Last Summer” includes bits and pieces from many episodes. Alternate fate for Ash.
Author's Notes: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. Characters/Situations are being borrowed for entertainment purposes only. You think anyone would pay me for this? Kane Adams played by Christian Kane (a girl can dream) “How Bad Do You Want It?” performed by Tim McGraw on his 2004 album “Live Like You Were Dying” There’s more going on behind the scenes, but those tales are for another time.
Word count: 4171
Summary: “No one is killing Lilith except me.”
Thanks to: randomstasis for much cheerleading and beta and to briarwood for a last minute polish.
******
Then:
Midnight couldn’t come fast enough.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, buddy?” asked the bar tender as he poured Sam Winchester another shot.
Sam downed the fiery liquid without drawing a breath. “No,” he snarled. He slapped another bill on the bar. “Again!”
The bar tender shook his head and tipped the whiskey bottle to fill the glass.
A patter of applause behind him made Sam turn to look. A man carrying a guitar got up on the small stage. “Hello, folks,” he said. “My name is Kane Adams. This is Simon,” he nodded to the blond man pulling up a stool next to him. “That’s Joe on the keyboard back there.” The shadowy figure waved.
Sam turned back to the bar. “Again!” He barked, the glass clattered in his fingers.
“You better not be planning on driving,” warned the bartender.
“I’m not,” Sam said flatly. He looked away into the grim phantoms of his past. “Not planning on driving away from here, no.” He swallowed the shot.
“Whatever,” muttered the bartender. “I’ll just leave the whole bottle. You’ve already paid for it.”
“Fine,” Sam muttered.
An eerie, distant sound like hounds baying on a scent silenced the mindless chatter in the room. Sam spun around, the hairs on his neck rising, but it was the keyboardist manipulating the sound.
“This here’s a song that’s said to have a basis in truth,” said Kane Adams.
“Robert Johnson went to the crossroads.
“So the legend goes.
“He came back with a guitar, but the devil took his soul.
“Yes, the devil took his soul . . .”
The singer’s low voice made Sam shiver involuntarily. Robert Johnson; Greenwood Mississippi; crossroads demons and the hounds. . . The hellhounds. . .
His hands were shaking as he poured his own shot and downed it in a gulp. Not the hell hounds, he would not think about the hellhounds. . . but the demon, oh yes, come midnight he would be meeting the red-eyed demon. It was the only way he had left.
Since May second, Sam had spent hours pouring over all of Bobby’s books that had the slightest scrap of knowledge about hell-trapped spirits; called every contact the older man had - and every contact those contacts had suggested until . . .
“Sam,” Bobby said sadly. “Barring a miracle, there’s no way to bring Dean back.”
No way to bring his brother back from hell - when it was Sam’s fault he went there. He couldn’t bring himself to pray for a miracle. That’s why he was here, to go to the crossroads.
“There's always a price you pay no matter what you do
If you're gonna climb that mountain to the top
It always comes down to --
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Are you eating, sleeping, dreaming
With that one thing on your mind?
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Cause if you want it all
You've got to lay it all out on the line.”
This time Sam threw the shot glass to shatter against the wall behind the bar. “What the fuck do you know about it?” He screamed at the man onstage, surging from his stool to beat that voice to silence.
“Hey! Hey!” yelled the bartender. “I don’t want any trouble!”
Two men in black leather jackets flanked Sam. “It’s okay,” said the one. “There isn’t going to be any trouble.”
“Right; we’re just going to step outside for some air, right, Sam?” said the other, his face hidden by a hood attached to his jacket. His voice seemed familiar.
Sam blinked. How did they know his name? He started to shrug free, but couldn’t break their grip. Shit Cold sweat ran down his back. He’d been stupid and careless. Shit.
He thought about yelling, but the two men moved quickly and he was soon standing in the parking lot. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Easy, Sam,” said the one on his right, letting go of his arm. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” Sam blinked. “Why?”
He pulled down his hood. Sam knew him. It was Ash, the computer sage from the Roadhouse.
“Ash?” Sam gaped, “but - but you’re dead!”
“I was offered the Hunter’s Choice.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
“As soon as Kane finishes his set everything will be explained,” said Ash’s companion. “Long as we’re waiting . . .” He pulled out a flask. “Have a drink? Better than that rot-gut you were putting down.”
“Jamie is okay,” Ash took the flask from him and took a swallow. He held it out to Sam.
Sam took the silver bottle and put it to his mouth. He intended to fake it. Ash jostled his arm and he found himself with a mouth filled with sweet and gingery flavored liquid. He swallowed involuntarily and coughed. Everything started to blur. He felt dizzy and swayed on his feet. Jamie caught his arm and let him lean against him.
“N-no,” Sam’s tongue felt thick and clumsy. “Don’ tosh me!” He tried to squirm away. ‘Dean, the guy in my cell keeps staring at me.’ He confided in a low voice as they sat at the table in the Green River prison yard, surrounded by other prisoners in orange jumpsuits. ‘Sounds like you’ve made a new friend.’ Dean joked.
“It’s going to be okay, Sam,” Ash’s voice faded in and out like a bad connection. “It’s going to be okay.” He held the flask to his lips. “Come on, one more swallow. That’s it.”
Gulping obediently, Sam sank into a gray cloud. He should be . . . doing something. He wasn’t sure what. He’d come here to do something at midnight.
“Sam!” an unfamiliar voice echoed in his head. He forced his eyelids open to see Kane Adams frowning at him. He was holding Sam’s face between his palms. “Damn it, how much did you guys give him?”
“Two swallows, just like you said,” Ash protested. “How much did he drink before we pulled him out?”
“Simon, what do you think?”
The blond guitarist looked closely into Sam’s eyes. “I think we better get this over with fast, Kane. Don’t worry, it will sober him up the hard way.”
“Damn straight it will,” said someone else.
“Right then,” Kane slapped him and the sting forced his eyes open again. “I’m putting him in the side car. Stay with us Sam.” Sam felt his legs bent up at an awkward angle as he was settled into the vehicle. “Damn! How big is he? Okay, this won’t take long. Just relax, Sam.”
A motor roared to life. Sam sank into the gray cloud again, only dimly aware of many motors around him. A motorcyclist passed them; Sam could see the back of his jacket with ‘The Hunt’ lettered on the black leather over the head of a snarling fu dog.
The motors slowed and stopped.
“Okay, guys, all together now . . . Holy--! Damn it, you idiots drop him and I’ll kick all your asses to Jerusalem and back!” Kane roared.
Sam was glad of the support. He couldn’t seem to make his legs work. Simon peered into his eyes again, pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Tom, Billy, help Jamie and Ash, we’re going to have to carry him.”
“Okay, one, two, three . . .”
“Shit, this guy’s a moose.”
There was the sound of a scuffle.
“Oh, for . . . What the hell’s going on?” Kane motioned over someone to take over his grip on Sam.
“These two were in his hotel room.” A man and a woman struggled with more of the bikers.
They were in his hotel room? Sam blinked. The woman’s face swam in and out of focus.
“You’re making a big mistake,” snarled the man, his eyes turned black. He shook off his captors and lunged at Kane. Simon stepped in front of him and threw something in the demon’s face. It staggered back, screaming.
“You made the mistake,” Kane declared. “Hold him!” He pulled a bag from his belt; dumped a handful of crystals into his hand and forced it down the demon’s throat, growling something in what sounded like Aramaic. The demon choked, convulsed and went to his knees - vomiting black smoke and sour beer. “He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Red, Molly, Get him a room.” Kane turned to the second intruder.
“Sam!” she shrieked. “Tell him you know me!”
“Huh?” he tried to focus on her face; something about her voice . . . “Ruby?”
“Ruby?” Kane burst out laughing. “Oh, it’s Ruby is it?” His smile was the bared teeth of a savage beast. “Ruby, darling, you want to tell me why you’re here?”
Her eyes turned black. “You can’t stop what’s going to happen.”
“Want to bet, sweetheart?” Kane grabbed her chin and snarled into her face. “You just watch me. Simon! Give me that oil.” Despite her struggles, Kane marked her forehead. “Now you get to see everything and tell that bitch you serve all about it.”
They dragged both of them into Sam’s hotel room.
“Get him ready.”
They pulled his shirt off. Jamie whistled. “That is some sweet ink.”
“Won’t disturb it then,” said Kane. “Put it on the other side. Okay, get him down.”
“Ash?” Sam tried to think. They were laying him down on the bed that had been stripped to its mattress. “Ash!” He started fighting in earnest as they tied his arms to the headboard. ’You’re not only big, you’re pretty,’ whispered his cell mate.
“No!” he shouted at the memory.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Ash reassured him. “It’s okay. It’s going to hurt but it’s gonna be okay.”
“But why --!” his confused cry was muffled by a belt forced between his teeth. The right side of his chest exploded in red-hot pain. He could smell his own skin sizzling and screamed through the improvised gag. The pain burned away the gray fog.
“Nice,” Kane remarked somewhere over his head. “You’ve got a real steady hand, Joe.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.”
“What have you done?” Ruby cried.
Sam panted and swallowed hard as the belt was pulled from his teeth. Tucking his chin in, he could just make out the strange mark weeping red on his skin. He’d never seen anything like it. Ash mumbled soothingly as he untied his wrists.
“Take a good look, bitch,” said Kane calmly. “It’s my mark. Tell her she blew it; tell her he’s mine.” He grabbed Ruby’s chin again. “And make sure she knows. No one is killing her except me.”
Ruby shuddered. The black smoke exploded from her host’s mouth and through the ceiling. The woman screamed before collapsing. Simon ran over, swearing. “She’s not breathing!” In between rescue breaths, Simon yelled for someone to bring his bag.
“What’s happened to me?” Sam found his voice. His throat was sore. He struggled to his feet. Ash helped him as did a dark haired woman Sam vaguely remembered from the Roadhouse. “What have you done?”
“Well, son, it’s simple. You came looking for a deal. You got one.” said Kane, smiling with a nasty twist of his upper lip. “You’re one of us, now, Sam, one of the Hunt. We catch the bad guys and send them back to hell. You can get a whole lot of payback while getting what you want.”
“Who -?”
“I’m Kane Adams, son; also known as Cain, first son of Adam. I’m the Master of the Hunt.” Kane’s eyes took on an unearthly glow. “Take a look outside.”
Sam staggered to the door. He struck aside helpful hands. “Don’t touch me!”
There was a sleek, polished black motorcycle and a large jacket bearing the snarling head of a hound with slanted green eyes.
“It’s all yours, Sam. Want to ride?”
Now:
Dean Winchester entered the bar, only glancing at the name overhead, “Gabriel’s”. Months ago, the angel Castiel burned out the eyes of Bobby’s friend, Pam revealing that he was the one who had pulled Dean from hell because God had work for Dean to do.
Screw God. He was going to find Sam.
“He’s gone, Dean,” Bobby said. “He’s joined the Hunt.”
The Wild Hunt; on one level a motorcycle club, on another - the original hunters of things dark and dangerous. It wasn’t hard to find them; whenever the Hunt rode into town people disappeared before they rolled out. Catching them was another matter. For months, he had dodging angels and demons, only a step behind the Hunt, until tonight. Rumor said ‘Gabriel’s’ on the outskirts of Sturgis was a hangout of theirs, run by a former member who had left the road and settled down. As soon as he entered, most of the patrons turned and looked at him. Dean counted thirteen members with the snarling hound logo of the Hunt on their jackets, about another nine in the logos of other clubs. He walked through the suspicious stares to the bar and ordered a shot of Jack.
Groans and curses sounded from one of the pool tables. A tall, dark-bearded thug in the jacket of the Hunt reached for the pile of money on the table. A biker wearing other colors stopped his hand and the tall man titled his head back to give a familiar laugh. He had never seen Sam look as rough and unkempt as this. Well, Dean was pretty scruffy himself except his beard grew in red and the leather jacket he wore was John Winchester’s.
He knocked back the shot and headed for the table.
“Sam,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Sam finished his shot - sending the number thirteen ball into the far corner. “Who wants to know?” He didn’t even turn around. The biker who had challenged Sam stepped away from the table as other members of the Hunt started to stand up and drift over.
“Sam,” Dean repeated.
Sam looked at him. Dean ducked the pool cue flying at his head.
“Damn it, Sam! It’s me!”
“The hell it is.” Sam made a gesture. “Clear off! This shifter’s mine!”
Dean grabbed a second cue and blocked the next three swings. Wood clatter on wood as his fingers went numb. “I’m not a shifter!”
“Yeah, right!”
“Give me a silver knife and I’ll prove it!”
“You’ll get silver all right.”
Dean slammed his cue against Sam’s knee and swept his legs from under him. Sam grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him down with him. Dean got in another punch before they hit the floor. Dean ended up pinned with Sam’s knee on his chest.
“You’re. Not. Dean.” Every word was punctuated with a punch.
“Sammy . . .” Dean panted, tasting blood.
Sam hesitated.
“What’s going on?” asked a rough voice. Dean followed Sam’s glance to see a man push through the circle of watchers. He was shorter than either Sam or himself, with long brown hair and pale blue eyes with an unearthly glow.
“Cain. Got a Shifter,” snarled Sam, easing the pin.
“I am not!” Dean shoved his hands away and staggered to his feet. “Give me a silver knife.”
“Sounds fair enough,” the newcomer held out his hand and one of the audience handed him a knife. Dean held out his hand. His wrist was grabbed and the blade sliced open his palm.
“Shit!” Dean jumped back, blood dripping from his hand. Someone flipped him a cloth.
Sam’s eyes went huge. “H-how?”
“I bet I can guess.” Cain wiped off the knife and gave it back. “It’s all in the game, son, put together the puzzle box and out pops the prize.” He smiled mirthlessly. “I’ve played it before. I’m the Master of the Hunt.”
“Cain,” Dean breathed. “That Cain.”
“I don’t understand,” Sam turned.
“Don’t try, son, it’ll make you crazy. Right now? I want to know what brings your brother here. What do you want, Dean?”
Dean swallowed. “I want to get my brother out of here. We’ve got things to do.”
Cain grunted. “Sam? What do you want?”
Sam swallowed. He looked down at the floor. “I’m one of the Hunt. I can’t leave.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t ever leave,” Cain shook his head, “but there’s consequences. Right, Gill?”
“Right,” nodded the bartender. “You can stay in one place for a year. Can’t go outside the boundaries - no matter what.”
“Seems to me that’s not your style, Sam. Yours or Dean’s not, when you think you’ve got ‘things to do’.” Cain circled the brothers. “There’s another way.”
“Yeah?” Dean challenged.
Cain’s lip curled. “You run. We hunt you. I pick the ground. Evade the Hunt until dawn and you walk away with your prize, but if you fail? Dean takes my mark and you both ride with me. Right, Molly? She almost made it.” He grinned at one of the few women wearing jackets.
Molly, her leather jacket covering lace and red velvet, nodded. She took the hand of the biker next to her. The hounds on their jackets had eyepatches and tricorne hats.
“What do you say, Dean?”
“Don’t.” Sam whispered.
“Bring it.” said Dean.
“Have a drink and we’ll set the rules,” Cain gestured. Dean accepted the shot from Gill. He knocked it back. Set the glass on the bar and bolted for the door. The bikers started after him, yelling. He threw over one of the small tables, cut sideways and jumped the bar.
“Over there,” Gill pointed at a battered old door.
Dean threw it open and fell through. . . into a wooded path. He sat down in surprise, hearing the soft chirr of crickets all around him. He looked around. He recognized this clearing; this was where he, Sam and Haley camped before they confronted the wendigo, in the old mine.
If he remembered right, there would be a river over that way. He wasn’t sure how much of a head start he had, but time was wasting.
*******
He ran through the woods blindly, gasping for breath. He was looking for a sanctuary but behind him he could hear the howling of the Hellhounds getting closer and closer . . .
Dean leaned gasping against the tree. He was living his nightmare. He could remember running from the Hellhounds night after night, but not afterwards. He shook his head.
The baying began again. How were they doing that? He had doubled back during the run and knew that he faced Cain and the bikers on foot. At least the sound wasn’t the blood curdling drawn-out howls of the Hellhounds, Cain’s hounds sounded off in short barks and yodels, like a pack of beagles.
Dean switched trails, his flashlight jumping wildly ahead. He could hear running water ahead; if he remembered right, the Wild Hunt couldn’t cross running water. There had been no more than a sliver of a moon peeping through the branches of the trees when he started his run. Now, he put the setting moon behind him and was running towards the sun.
He heard someone running behind him. He ducked aside and as he passed, he slammed his tracker against a tree. It was Sam.
“Damn it, Sam! I thought they left you behind!”
“I snuck out. Dean, my bike is back this way. You can get out of here.”
“No, we both get out of here.” Dean said as he changed trails to follow Sam.
“I can’t.”
“Why not, damn it?” Dean looked behind him. The hounds sounded louder.
“Dean; the Hunt rides to redeem themselves.” Sam paused, swallowing. “I have to stay. Dean, I sent you to hell. I have to pay for that - ow!”
Dean slapped him on the back of the head. “Jesus! I went to the crossroads. It was my idea, you idiot! You don’t have to pay for anything . . .”
They both stopped dead as another sound filled the night. This was a long, eerie howl.
“That’s not the Hunt.” Dean felt the color drain from his face. “That’s - that’s a Hellhound.”
“How -?”
“I don’t know - this way!” Dean dragged Sam after him. The sound of water grew louder, but so did the baying of the Hunt and the howl of the Hellhound.
The woods stopped abruptly, leaving them on a wide point of stone next to a waterfall. The falls was no more than six feet across, but the white water dropped into shadows so there was no way to gauge the height of the falls.
“Dean!” Damn it, it was God’s holy tax accountant, accompanied by two other men in trench coats; one in beige, one in black on their right. “You must come with us.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” There was something about that drawl that made Dean’s skin crawl. A tall, distinguished looking man stood to their left along the drop. Two women stood with him; one blonde and young enough to be jailbait. The other was dark haired and there was something familiar about the curl of her lip. She seemed to be holding something large and invisible next to her hip.
“The Winchester boys,” she snarled. “I should have had your spleens when I had the chance.”
‘Well, you blew it, bitch,” Dean snapped. “I like your other meat suit better, Meg.”
As if on cue, Cain and a half-dozen members of the Hunt came out of the woods directly at their backs.
“Oh, look at this, we got a party!” he grinned.
“This isn’t any of your business, Cain,” snapped the tax accountant in black.
“Uriel! Does someone need a hug?”
“Blasphemous as ever!”
“And you’re supposed to be the angel with the best sense of humor.”
“Amusing,” said the distinguished man. “Dean is coming with us. We’re not finished with him yet.”
Dean pushed Sam behind him as they stood near the edge of the drop. He swallowed hard as a memory of smoke, chains and pain oozed out from a hidden place in his brain to make him shake and taste bile in his mouth. Sam looked down into the shadows by the waterfall and Dean heard him gulp.
“I’m surprised you let him go so soon, Al,” jeered Cain. “Oh, wait, that’s because I spoiled your little plans, didn’t I? It’s the old story isn’t it, Lilly-bell? You need a pair of brothers to open the cage and let your boyfriend out.”
“Don’t call me that!” The tiny blonde snapped.
“Oh, darlin’ I know you miss me. It’s the old game,” Cain said to the Winchesters. “Michael and Lucifer want to duke it out but they can’t do it face to face. They need vessels and because they’re such picky bastards, nothing but a pair of brothers will do. This makes, what, six-seven times they’ve tried it.” He smiled. “Who’s the fifth columnist in heaven that’s been tipping off hell this time?”
The balding angel in the beige coat snarled, “I serve a higher purpose.”
“Oh, of course you do,” drawled ‘Al’ Alasdair Dean’s nightmares whispered. “You think you’re stabbing us in the back to bring heaven on earth and we poor little demons are too stupid to know what you’re doing.”
“Saw you coming a mile away,” growled Meg.
“Dean,” said the angel in gray. “Please come with us. If you do not, everything will be lost.”
“Castiel, I’m not sure that’s the smart thing to do,” said Dean. He backed up just a bit. Sam shifted his feet, knocking a pebble that bounced over the edge. A thin sliver of grey light just touched the eastern horizon.
“Well, son,” Cain folded his arms. “You see your choices; heaven, hell or me. What’s it going to be?”
Dean looked from one side to the other. Sam put his hand on his shoulder. Dean turned, knowing without words that Sam was with him. They bumped fists - and jumped.
Cain’s laugh followed them all the way down.
******
. . .but if ya think you’re coming in here with some kind of attitude. Ya better read the house rules! sang the alarm clock between the beds.
Dean and Sam lunged for it at the same time. The clock bounced to the olive drab rug.
They stared at each other.
“Dean?”
“Yeah.” Dean shook his head.
Sam yanked open his shirt. The flaming pentacle tattoo was still on the left side of his chest.
“Cain put his mark right here,” Sam touched the right side of his chest.
“So we won,” Dean frowned, “but we’ve got heaven and hell on our asses.”
“So what now?”
“What do you think? We knock down as many evil sons of bitches as we can and if the angels or the Wild Hunt get in the way, we knock them down too. We’re nobody’s vessels or meatsuits - we’re the Winchesters!”
Author: just_ruth
Recipient: superbadgirl
Prompt: The Wild Hunt, Winchester style.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU from “I Know What You Did Last Summer” includes bits and pieces from many episodes. Alternate fate for Ash.
Author's Notes: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. Characters/Situations are being borrowed for entertainment purposes only. You think anyone would pay me for this? Kane Adams played by Christian Kane (a girl can dream) “How Bad Do You Want It?” performed by Tim McGraw on his 2004 album “Live Like You Were Dying” There’s more going on behind the scenes, but those tales are for another time.
Word count: 4171
Summary: “No one is killing Lilith except me.”
Thanks to: randomstasis for much cheerleading and beta and to briarwood for a last minute polish.
******
Then:
Midnight couldn’t come fast enough.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, buddy?” asked the bar tender as he poured Sam Winchester another shot.
Sam downed the fiery liquid without drawing a breath. “No,” he snarled. He slapped another bill on the bar. “Again!”
The bar tender shook his head and tipped the whiskey bottle to fill the glass.
A patter of applause behind him made Sam turn to look. A man carrying a guitar got up on the small stage. “Hello, folks,” he said. “My name is Kane Adams. This is Simon,” he nodded to the blond man pulling up a stool next to him. “That’s Joe on the keyboard back there.” The shadowy figure waved.
Sam turned back to the bar. “Again!” He barked, the glass clattered in his fingers.
“You better not be planning on driving,” warned the bartender.
“I’m not,” Sam said flatly. He looked away into the grim phantoms of his past. “Not planning on driving away from here, no.” He swallowed the shot.
“Whatever,” muttered the bartender. “I’ll just leave the whole bottle. You’ve already paid for it.”
“Fine,” Sam muttered.
An eerie, distant sound like hounds baying on a scent silenced the mindless chatter in the room. Sam spun around, the hairs on his neck rising, but it was the keyboardist manipulating the sound.
“This here’s a song that’s said to have a basis in truth,” said Kane Adams.
“Robert Johnson went to the crossroads.
“So the legend goes.
“He came back with a guitar, but the devil took his soul.
“Yes, the devil took his soul . . .”
The singer’s low voice made Sam shiver involuntarily. Robert Johnson; Greenwood Mississippi; crossroads demons and the hounds. . . The hellhounds. . .
His hands were shaking as he poured his own shot and downed it in a gulp. Not the hell hounds, he would not think about the hellhounds. . . but the demon, oh yes, come midnight he would be meeting the red-eyed demon. It was the only way he had left.
Since May second, Sam had spent hours pouring over all of Bobby’s books that had the slightest scrap of knowledge about hell-trapped spirits; called every contact the older man had - and every contact those contacts had suggested until . . .
“Sam,” Bobby said sadly. “Barring a miracle, there’s no way to bring Dean back.”
No way to bring his brother back from hell - when it was Sam’s fault he went there. He couldn’t bring himself to pray for a miracle. That’s why he was here, to go to the crossroads.
“There's always a price you pay no matter what you do
If you're gonna climb that mountain to the top
It always comes down to --
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Are you eating, sleeping, dreaming
With that one thing on your mind?
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Cause if you want it all
You've got to lay it all out on the line.”
This time Sam threw the shot glass to shatter against the wall behind the bar. “What the fuck do you know about it?” He screamed at the man onstage, surging from his stool to beat that voice to silence.
“Hey! Hey!” yelled the bartender. “I don’t want any trouble!”
Two men in black leather jackets flanked Sam. “It’s okay,” said the one. “There isn’t going to be any trouble.”
“Right; we’re just going to step outside for some air, right, Sam?” said the other, his face hidden by a hood attached to his jacket. His voice seemed familiar.
Sam blinked. How did they know his name? He started to shrug free, but couldn’t break their grip. Shit Cold sweat ran down his back. He’d been stupid and careless. Shit.
He thought about yelling, but the two men moved quickly and he was soon standing in the parking lot. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Easy, Sam,” said the one on his right, letting go of his arm. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” Sam blinked. “Why?”
He pulled down his hood. Sam knew him. It was Ash, the computer sage from the Roadhouse.
“Ash?” Sam gaped, “but - but you’re dead!”
“I was offered the Hunter’s Choice.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
“As soon as Kane finishes his set everything will be explained,” said Ash’s companion. “Long as we’re waiting . . .” He pulled out a flask. “Have a drink? Better than that rot-gut you were putting down.”
“Jamie is okay,” Ash took the flask from him and took a swallow. He held it out to Sam.
Sam took the silver bottle and put it to his mouth. He intended to fake it. Ash jostled his arm and he found himself with a mouth filled with sweet and gingery flavored liquid. He swallowed involuntarily and coughed. Everything started to blur. He felt dizzy and swayed on his feet. Jamie caught his arm and let him lean against him.
“N-no,” Sam’s tongue felt thick and clumsy. “Don’ tosh me!” He tried to squirm away. ‘Dean, the guy in my cell keeps staring at me.’ He confided in a low voice as they sat at the table in the Green River prison yard, surrounded by other prisoners in orange jumpsuits. ‘Sounds like you’ve made a new friend.’ Dean joked.
“It’s going to be okay, Sam,” Ash’s voice faded in and out like a bad connection. “It’s going to be okay.” He held the flask to his lips. “Come on, one more swallow. That’s it.”
Gulping obediently, Sam sank into a gray cloud. He should be . . . doing something. He wasn’t sure what. He’d come here to do something at midnight.
“Sam!” an unfamiliar voice echoed in his head. He forced his eyelids open to see Kane Adams frowning at him. He was holding Sam’s face between his palms. “Damn it, how much did you guys give him?”
“Two swallows, just like you said,” Ash protested. “How much did he drink before we pulled him out?”
“Simon, what do you think?”
The blond guitarist looked closely into Sam’s eyes. “I think we better get this over with fast, Kane. Don’t worry, it will sober him up the hard way.”
“Damn straight it will,” said someone else.
“Right then,” Kane slapped him and the sting forced his eyes open again. “I’m putting him in the side car. Stay with us Sam.” Sam felt his legs bent up at an awkward angle as he was settled into the vehicle. “Damn! How big is he? Okay, this won’t take long. Just relax, Sam.”
A motor roared to life. Sam sank into the gray cloud again, only dimly aware of many motors around him. A motorcyclist passed them; Sam could see the back of his jacket with ‘The Hunt’ lettered on the black leather over the head of a snarling fu dog.
The motors slowed and stopped.
“Okay, guys, all together now . . . Holy--! Damn it, you idiots drop him and I’ll kick all your asses to Jerusalem and back!” Kane roared.
Sam was glad of the support. He couldn’t seem to make his legs work. Simon peered into his eyes again, pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Tom, Billy, help Jamie and Ash, we’re going to have to carry him.”
“Okay, one, two, three . . .”
“Shit, this guy’s a moose.”
There was the sound of a scuffle.
“Oh, for . . . What the hell’s going on?” Kane motioned over someone to take over his grip on Sam.
“These two were in his hotel room.” A man and a woman struggled with more of the bikers.
They were in his hotel room? Sam blinked. The woman’s face swam in and out of focus.
“You’re making a big mistake,” snarled the man, his eyes turned black. He shook off his captors and lunged at Kane. Simon stepped in front of him and threw something in the demon’s face. It staggered back, screaming.
“You made the mistake,” Kane declared. “Hold him!” He pulled a bag from his belt; dumped a handful of crystals into his hand and forced it down the demon’s throat, growling something in what sounded like Aramaic. The demon choked, convulsed and went to his knees - vomiting black smoke and sour beer. “He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Red, Molly, Get him a room.” Kane turned to the second intruder.
“Sam!” she shrieked. “Tell him you know me!”
“Huh?” he tried to focus on her face; something about her voice . . . “Ruby?”
“Ruby?” Kane burst out laughing. “Oh, it’s Ruby is it?” His smile was the bared teeth of a savage beast. “Ruby, darling, you want to tell me why you’re here?”
Her eyes turned black. “You can’t stop what’s going to happen.”
“Want to bet, sweetheart?” Kane grabbed her chin and snarled into her face. “You just watch me. Simon! Give me that oil.” Despite her struggles, Kane marked her forehead. “Now you get to see everything and tell that bitch you serve all about it.”
They dragged both of them into Sam’s hotel room.
“Get him ready.”
They pulled his shirt off. Jamie whistled. “That is some sweet ink.”
“Won’t disturb it then,” said Kane. “Put it on the other side. Okay, get him down.”
“Ash?” Sam tried to think. They were laying him down on the bed that had been stripped to its mattress. “Ash!” He started fighting in earnest as they tied his arms to the headboard. ’You’re not only big, you’re pretty,’ whispered his cell mate.
“No!” he shouted at the memory.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Ash reassured him. “It’s okay. It’s going to hurt but it’s gonna be okay.”
“But why --!” his confused cry was muffled by a belt forced between his teeth. The right side of his chest exploded in red-hot pain. He could smell his own skin sizzling and screamed through the improvised gag. The pain burned away the gray fog.
“Nice,” Kane remarked somewhere over his head. “You’ve got a real steady hand, Joe.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.”
“What have you done?” Ruby cried.
Sam panted and swallowed hard as the belt was pulled from his teeth. Tucking his chin in, he could just make out the strange mark weeping red on his skin. He’d never seen anything like it. Ash mumbled soothingly as he untied his wrists.
“Take a good look, bitch,” said Kane calmly. “It’s my mark. Tell her she blew it; tell her he’s mine.” He grabbed Ruby’s chin again. “And make sure she knows. No one is killing her except me.”
Ruby shuddered. The black smoke exploded from her host’s mouth and through the ceiling. The woman screamed before collapsing. Simon ran over, swearing. “She’s not breathing!” In between rescue breaths, Simon yelled for someone to bring his bag.
“What’s happened to me?” Sam found his voice. His throat was sore. He struggled to his feet. Ash helped him as did a dark haired woman Sam vaguely remembered from the Roadhouse. “What have you done?”
“Well, son, it’s simple. You came looking for a deal. You got one.” said Kane, smiling with a nasty twist of his upper lip. “You’re one of us, now, Sam, one of the Hunt. We catch the bad guys and send them back to hell. You can get a whole lot of payback while getting what you want.”
“Who -?”
“I’m Kane Adams, son; also known as Cain, first son of Adam. I’m the Master of the Hunt.” Kane’s eyes took on an unearthly glow. “Take a look outside.”
Sam staggered to the door. He struck aside helpful hands. “Don’t touch me!”
There was a sleek, polished black motorcycle and a large jacket bearing the snarling head of a hound with slanted green eyes.
“It’s all yours, Sam. Want to ride?”
Now:
Dean Winchester entered the bar, only glancing at the name overhead, “Gabriel’s”. Months ago, the angel Castiel burned out the eyes of Bobby’s friend, Pam revealing that he was the one who had pulled Dean from hell because God had work for Dean to do.
Screw God. He was going to find Sam.
“He’s gone, Dean,” Bobby said. “He’s joined the Hunt.”
The Wild Hunt; on one level a motorcycle club, on another - the original hunters of things dark and dangerous. It wasn’t hard to find them; whenever the Hunt rode into town people disappeared before they rolled out. Catching them was another matter. For months, he had dodging angels and demons, only a step behind the Hunt, until tonight. Rumor said ‘Gabriel’s’ on the outskirts of Sturgis was a hangout of theirs, run by a former member who had left the road and settled down. As soon as he entered, most of the patrons turned and looked at him. Dean counted thirteen members with the snarling hound logo of the Hunt on their jackets, about another nine in the logos of other clubs. He walked through the suspicious stares to the bar and ordered a shot of Jack.
Groans and curses sounded from one of the pool tables. A tall, dark-bearded thug in the jacket of the Hunt reached for the pile of money on the table. A biker wearing other colors stopped his hand and the tall man titled his head back to give a familiar laugh. He had never seen Sam look as rough and unkempt as this. Well, Dean was pretty scruffy himself except his beard grew in red and the leather jacket he wore was John Winchester’s.
He knocked back the shot and headed for the table.
“Sam,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Sam finished his shot - sending the number thirteen ball into the far corner. “Who wants to know?” He didn’t even turn around. The biker who had challenged Sam stepped away from the table as other members of the Hunt started to stand up and drift over.
“Sam,” Dean repeated.
Sam looked at him. Dean ducked the pool cue flying at his head.
“Damn it, Sam! It’s me!”
“The hell it is.” Sam made a gesture. “Clear off! This shifter’s mine!”
Dean grabbed a second cue and blocked the next three swings. Wood clatter on wood as his fingers went numb. “I’m not a shifter!”
“Yeah, right!”
“Give me a silver knife and I’ll prove it!”
“You’ll get silver all right.”
Dean slammed his cue against Sam’s knee and swept his legs from under him. Sam grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him down with him. Dean got in another punch before they hit the floor. Dean ended up pinned with Sam’s knee on his chest.
“You’re. Not. Dean.” Every word was punctuated with a punch.
“Sammy . . .” Dean panted, tasting blood.
Sam hesitated.
“What’s going on?” asked a rough voice. Dean followed Sam’s glance to see a man push through the circle of watchers. He was shorter than either Sam or himself, with long brown hair and pale blue eyes with an unearthly glow.
“Cain. Got a Shifter,” snarled Sam, easing the pin.
“I am not!” Dean shoved his hands away and staggered to his feet. “Give me a silver knife.”
“Sounds fair enough,” the newcomer held out his hand and one of the audience handed him a knife. Dean held out his hand. His wrist was grabbed and the blade sliced open his palm.
“Shit!” Dean jumped back, blood dripping from his hand. Someone flipped him a cloth.
Sam’s eyes went huge. “H-how?”
“I bet I can guess.” Cain wiped off the knife and gave it back. “It’s all in the game, son, put together the puzzle box and out pops the prize.” He smiled mirthlessly. “I’ve played it before. I’m the Master of the Hunt.”
“Cain,” Dean breathed. “That Cain.”
“I don’t understand,” Sam turned.
“Don’t try, son, it’ll make you crazy. Right now? I want to know what brings your brother here. What do you want, Dean?”
Dean swallowed. “I want to get my brother out of here. We’ve got things to do.”
Cain grunted. “Sam? What do you want?”
Sam swallowed. He looked down at the floor. “I’m one of the Hunt. I can’t leave.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t ever leave,” Cain shook his head, “but there’s consequences. Right, Gill?”
“Right,” nodded the bartender. “You can stay in one place for a year. Can’t go outside the boundaries - no matter what.”
“Seems to me that’s not your style, Sam. Yours or Dean’s not, when you think you’ve got ‘things to do’.” Cain circled the brothers. “There’s another way.”
“Yeah?” Dean challenged.
Cain’s lip curled. “You run. We hunt you. I pick the ground. Evade the Hunt until dawn and you walk away with your prize, but if you fail? Dean takes my mark and you both ride with me. Right, Molly? She almost made it.” He grinned at one of the few women wearing jackets.
Molly, her leather jacket covering lace and red velvet, nodded. She took the hand of the biker next to her. The hounds on their jackets had eyepatches and tricorne hats.
“What do you say, Dean?”
“Don’t.” Sam whispered.
“Bring it.” said Dean.
“Have a drink and we’ll set the rules,” Cain gestured. Dean accepted the shot from Gill. He knocked it back. Set the glass on the bar and bolted for the door. The bikers started after him, yelling. He threw over one of the small tables, cut sideways and jumped the bar.
“Over there,” Gill pointed at a battered old door.
Dean threw it open and fell through. . . into a wooded path. He sat down in surprise, hearing the soft chirr of crickets all around him. He looked around. He recognized this clearing; this was where he, Sam and Haley camped before they confronted the wendigo, in the old mine.
If he remembered right, there would be a river over that way. He wasn’t sure how much of a head start he had, but time was wasting.
*******
He ran through the woods blindly, gasping for breath. He was looking for a sanctuary but behind him he could hear the howling of the Hellhounds getting closer and closer . . .
Dean leaned gasping against the tree. He was living his nightmare. He could remember running from the Hellhounds night after night, but not afterwards. He shook his head.
The baying began again. How were they doing that? He had doubled back during the run and knew that he faced Cain and the bikers on foot. At least the sound wasn’t the blood curdling drawn-out howls of the Hellhounds, Cain’s hounds sounded off in short barks and yodels, like a pack of beagles.
Dean switched trails, his flashlight jumping wildly ahead. He could hear running water ahead; if he remembered right, the Wild Hunt couldn’t cross running water. There had been no more than a sliver of a moon peeping through the branches of the trees when he started his run. Now, he put the setting moon behind him and was running towards the sun.
He heard someone running behind him. He ducked aside and as he passed, he slammed his tracker against a tree. It was Sam.
“Damn it, Sam! I thought they left you behind!”
“I snuck out. Dean, my bike is back this way. You can get out of here.”
“No, we both get out of here.” Dean said as he changed trails to follow Sam.
“I can’t.”
“Why not, damn it?” Dean looked behind him. The hounds sounded louder.
“Dean; the Hunt rides to redeem themselves.” Sam paused, swallowing. “I have to stay. Dean, I sent you to hell. I have to pay for that - ow!”
Dean slapped him on the back of the head. “Jesus! I went to the crossroads. It was my idea, you idiot! You don’t have to pay for anything . . .”
They both stopped dead as another sound filled the night. This was a long, eerie howl.
“That’s not the Hunt.” Dean felt the color drain from his face. “That’s - that’s a Hellhound.”
“How -?”
“I don’t know - this way!” Dean dragged Sam after him. The sound of water grew louder, but so did the baying of the Hunt and the howl of the Hellhound.
The woods stopped abruptly, leaving them on a wide point of stone next to a waterfall. The falls was no more than six feet across, but the white water dropped into shadows so there was no way to gauge the height of the falls.
“Dean!” Damn it, it was God’s holy tax accountant, accompanied by two other men in trench coats; one in beige, one in black on their right. “You must come with us.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” There was something about that drawl that made Dean’s skin crawl. A tall, distinguished looking man stood to their left along the drop. Two women stood with him; one blonde and young enough to be jailbait. The other was dark haired and there was something familiar about the curl of her lip. She seemed to be holding something large and invisible next to her hip.
“The Winchester boys,” she snarled. “I should have had your spleens when I had the chance.”
‘Well, you blew it, bitch,” Dean snapped. “I like your other meat suit better, Meg.”
As if on cue, Cain and a half-dozen members of the Hunt came out of the woods directly at their backs.
“Oh, look at this, we got a party!” he grinned.
“This isn’t any of your business, Cain,” snapped the tax accountant in black.
“Uriel! Does someone need a hug?”
“Blasphemous as ever!”
“And you’re supposed to be the angel with the best sense of humor.”
“Amusing,” said the distinguished man. “Dean is coming with us. We’re not finished with him yet.”
Dean pushed Sam behind him as they stood near the edge of the drop. He swallowed hard as a memory of smoke, chains and pain oozed out from a hidden place in his brain to make him shake and taste bile in his mouth. Sam looked down into the shadows by the waterfall and Dean heard him gulp.
“I’m surprised you let him go so soon, Al,” jeered Cain. “Oh, wait, that’s because I spoiled your little plans, didn’t I? It’s the old story isn’t it, Lilly-bell? You need a pair of brothers to open the cage and let your boyfriend out.”
“Don’t call me that!” The tiny blonde snapped.
“Oh, darlin’ I know you miss me. It’s the old game,” Cain said to the Winchesters. “Michael and Lucifer want to duke it out but they can’t do it face to face. They need vessels and because they’re such picky bastards, nothing but a pair of brothers will do. This makes, what, six-seven times they’ve tried it.” He smiled. “Who’s the fifth columnist in heaven that’s been tipping off hell this time?”
The balding angel in the beige coat snarled, “I serve a higher purpose.”
“Oh, of course you do,” drawled ‘Al’ Alasdair Dean’s nightmares whispered. “You think you’re stabbing us in the back to bring heaven on earth and we poor little demons are too stupid to know what you’re doing.”
“Saw you coming a mile away,” growled Meg.
“Dean,” said the angel in gray. “Please come with us. If you do not, everything will be lost.”
“Castiel, I’m not sure that’s the smart thing to do,” said Dean. He backed up just a bit. Sam shifted his feet, knocking a pebble that bounced over the edge. A thin sliver of grey light just touched the eastern horizon.
“Well, son,” Cain folded his arms. “You see your choices; heaven, hell or me. What’s it going to be?”
Dean looked from one side to the other. Sam put his hand on his shoulder. Dean turned, knowing without words that Sam was with him. They bumped fists - and jumped.
Cain’s laugh followed them all the way down.
******
. . .but if ya think you’re coming in here with some kind of attitude. Ya better read the house rules! sang the alarm clock between the beds.
Dean and Sam lunged for it at the same time. The clock bounced to the olive drab rug.
They stared at each other.
“Dean?”
“Yeah.” Dean shook his head.
Sam yanked open his shirt. The flaming pentacle tattoo was still on the left side of his chest.
“Cain put his mark right here,” Sam touched the right side of his chest.
“So we won,” Dean frowned, “but we’ve got heaven and hell on our asses.”
“So what now?”
“What do you think? We knock down as many evil sons of bitches as we can and if the angels or the Wild Hunt get in the way, we knock them down too. We’re nobody’s vessels or meatsuits - we’re the Winchesters!”