Beneath the Hollow -- Chapter One: The Shapes Between Us Turn Into Animals (Part One)
Chapter One: The Shapes Between Us Turn Into Animals
This is an AU version of Season Two, diverging after Devil's Trap. Centuries have passed since the sealing of the Grigori, and the children of the Nephilim walk the earth. With the battle lines drawn between the Circle of Enoch and John's Hunters, Dean and Sam work to find the four remaining members of The Twelve.
It is the sequel to Strange Angels.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.
Word Count: 10680
Pairings (Overall): Dean/OFC, Sam/OFC (HET)
Rating (Overall): PG - NC-17 (This chapter: PG-13 - Angst. Language. Some violence. )
Feedback: Absolutely!
Summary: There are times when silence has the loudest voice.
Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who gave me the insight I needed to hopefully give the ending a little more punch. Much thanks also to my lovely brain twin, wenchpixie. She beta'd not one but two stories of mine this week, and I am a wordy girl. She reassured me when I worried about the humor and the action. The good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me. Everything that rocks in this piece is because of them. The mistakes? Those are all me.
Story Links: Strange Angels / Beneath the Hollow
Note: Stories listed in chronological order.
Chapter Links: Prologue / Chapter One / Chapter Two
Being a Winchester meant that you learned to read between the lines.
It was the hazard of growing up one of John Winchester’s sons. The man conveyed more by what he didn’t say - with a look, or the tone of his voice, or the set of his shoulders when he heard something he didn’t like - than through any of the words coming out of his mouth. Sam guessed part of that was being a Marine, using hand signals and body language to get your point across while you were marching through enemy territory and trying not to get killed.
And John Winchester was always marching through enemy territory, from the moment he left Lawrence. Hell, probably even before that - if some of the stories Missouri had told him over the last couple of days had been true. Dad spent months trying to come to terms with how to keep his family safe, and his solution was to raise his sons to be warriors while telling them just enough to hide what they really needed to know. They knew about monsters - Sam had his .45 since he was nine - and they knew they had to take them out.
They just didn’t realize that Sam would become the biggest monster of them all.
Sam’s throat ached, remembering the way his father brushed him off. Been getting Dean’s messages. I know what’s going on, son. That hurt more than he thought it would; that John Winchester had decided to let his sons flounder around figuring out how to deal with the demon in Sam’s belly. There was a recrimination in the silence, a betrayal for discovering the secret before John Winchester was willing to tell it.
Dean didn’t know what was going on; Sam was just as adept at skirting around the truth of something; just as much a Winchester when it came to giving answers that obscured what you really meant. Dean might have been able to tell Dad the particulars - about the Circle and the succubus, a clumsy girl named Charlotte, the demon in Sam’s belly trying to destroy the world, and Dean’s first task. But Dean could never tell Dad about getting hollowed out a little more every day, how it felt to have your insides whittled away until there was nowhere left inside to hide.
At least Sam hoped like hell Dean hadn’t picked up on what that felt like.
Sam wasn’t even sure why he tried to warn his father. Dean was the one driving the car while Sam sat in the back seat, a demon swirling through his hip bones. Ellie was curled up and sleeping on his lap, snuggling in closer whenever Sam shifted to look out the window and Charlotte kept trying to find a radio station she and Dean could both listen to without running commentaries. If Shemhezai was going to blow, those three were sitting in the line of fire.
This jaunt to Nebraska was more than just a road trip.
Dad’s message regarding their trip was loud and clear - I want you boys to get here before the Roadhouse opens; we need some time to talk before there’s a crowd. Sam wondered why his father just didn’t come right out and say that he was setting up some kind of test to figure out whether or not Ellie was a threat, to determine where Charlotte’s loyalties lay; especially when Dad followed it up by saying how safe they would be at the roadhouse. And Sam had some suspicions about what his father was capable of that he knew Dean wasn’t ready to hear.
Dad was good, a master of persuasion when he needed to be - using his voice to soothe like he had done when Sam was a child. His father forgot that Sam would recognize the tactic. A Winchester never came out and said what a Winchester meant because then you’d have to deal with something real. And Winchesters had more important things to do - their mission, saving people, finding the thing that pinned people to the ceiling - than to try and understand each other.
So Sam pulled a page out of the book of Charlotte Webb and just said it. I’m the one you should be worried about now; one day, I’m going to wake up and it won’t be the demon in my belly. It’ll be the other way around. And Dad had just ignored it like it had never been said. The words between them swallowed whole by those empty spaces that said what his father really meant. I didn’t raise you to be a monster.
His father’s stubborn belief wasn’t keeping it from happening.
Sam couldn’t even keep the thing quiet since they crossed the state line into Nebraska. Its voice was singing inside - in that dissonant language that Sam didn’t understand - bringing with it images of Shemhezai’s twisted Paradise. Still photographs of the world’s breaking that Sam tried to block by singing to Ellie while she fell asleep; but those pictures were still there, almost a shimmer behind his eyelids, and the creature was gibbering in his head. Sam wished he had a hammer just to shut the damn thing up.
Dean’s snort was loud enough to rival the demon’s sibilant song, and Sam grabbed onto it like a lifeline. “What are you doing to my car, Charlie?” Dean was demanding, cocking his head with that grimace that he usually directed towards Sam.
“This is Robyn Hitchcock, Dean.” Charlotte returned his grimace with a smile. “Robyn Hitchcock,” she added as if that meant something, eyes going wide as she turned up the volume. “On the radio!” She started singing softly along with the song.
Her hair are like anenomes
That wave beneath the seas
Her fingers are the fingers of
Baboons up in the trees
It said something about whatever was going on between the two of them that Dean kept his mouth shut for about thirty seconds before bellowing, “Oh, hell no!” He patted the dashboard. “I’m sorry, baby,” he managed before giving Charlotte a sidelong glance and popping the cassette back into the stereo. “I’ll make the bad noise stop,” he added as Led Zeppelin began blasting through the car.
“Bad noise?” And there was a hitch to Charlotte’s voice.
“That dude sings almost as bad as you do, and whatever the hell he’s talking about, it made no freaking sense.” Dean snorted again. “Her fingers are the fingers of baboons up in the trees? What the fuck does that mean?”
“Robyn’s a genius,” she returned almost immediately.
“Robyn’s a lunatic,” Dean replied. He turned up the volume just like he would have if he’d been having the same conversation with Sam. “For a smart girl, you sure have some weird ideas about what makes kick-ass lyrics.”
“Whole Lotta Love?” It was Charlotte’s turn to snort. “I want to be your backdoor man?” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re comparing Robyn Hitchcock’s lyrics to a song about screwing some girl up the a - ”
Dean suddenly reached out and dragged Charlotte across the front seat and she curled her legs beside her, leaning against his brother like they’d been doing it for years. His shoulders were shaking as he laughed and put his arm around her. “Once we get settled tonight,” Dean said, “You and I are going to find someplace where I can give you some private lessons on Dean Winchester’s Rules of the Road.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think you need private lessons for that crap about ‘Driver picks the music,' Dean.”
“There are certain points I need to drive home, Sam.” Dean was grinning up at him in the rear-view mirror. “And Charlie’s so good with her mouth that I’m going to make her give me a blow-by - ”
“Dean!” Charlotte yelped, poking Dean in the stomach. Sam didn’t even need to see her face to know that she was blushing.
“It’s hard enough driving without some scrawny chick poking me in the gut with her bony finger,” Dean retorted. “Besides, I think Geek Boy’s already figured out that we’re scre - ” Charlotte poked him again and the car actually swerved. “You want to drive while I’m poking you?” he added.
“I’ll make you listen to every Robyn Hitchcock song I own.” Dean looked down at her, and Sam could see the ghost of a smile cross his older brother’s face. “But there is the added bonus of shotgun shutting his cakehole,” Charlotte added. She couldn’t get the whole thing out before she started laughing.
“You’re too goddamn smart for your own good, Girl Genius.” Dean was laughing, too. “You just keep on talking - I’ve already got remedial lessons planned that’ll keep you up until daybreak.”
Sam grinned, feeling the ache in his throat when she tilted her head up to look at Dean. It was easier to smile - to be happy for both of them; it was better than sitting there remembering Jess. The memory of a feeling, distilled to that moment of wonder when the relationship was new. When he and Jess had barely realized that they had a future together - and it was a future where nothing could hurt them. No ghosts, no monsters. Sam had kept her safe from that, had maintained her innocence despite the truth. A normal, apple-pie life.
When he closed his eyes, he could still see her. Smell her. The char of her flesh as she stared down at him, belly sliced open as her blood dripped slowly onto his forehead. But it was her face he would always remember, the mouth that kissed him in so many places open in that silent scream. And the way she reached for him in the end - holding out one hand like touching it could save her. His brain just shorted out, and all Sam could do was scream. So many people saved by a Winchester, but not the ones who mattered to them the most. Sam remembered that scream, Dean barreling into the room and dragging him out.
When he was lying in a bed by himself with nothing but the memories of Jessica to get him through the night - the way her hair smelled after a show, the way her toes would curl when he was deep inside - Sam wished Dean had never come back for him. It was bad enough knowing that the thing inside of him wanted out, wanted to break the world like it was an egg but it was hard as all hell to know all that without her. Jessica Moore was the only thing that had kept him from crashing and burning; he was losing bits of himself every day as surely as he already lost her.
And every day, Shemhezai got a little bit stronger - more firmly rooted in his rib cage, its song louder than it ever was back in Wisconsin. Back before Sam knew about the prophecy, before he knew the difference between visions and nightmares. When the job was taking out the demon that killed Mom. Before Sam knew the biggest demon of all slithered inside him, waiting to take the world back.
It didn’t help when Dean said something underneath the music that Sam couldn’t hear and Charlotte gave a little laugh, saying something softly back that made Dean pull her closer. Sam felt like an intruder in the car he grew up in, and that goddamn monster in his belly was laughing so loudly it rattled through Sam’s hipbones.
“You okay, Sammy?”
Sam opened his eyes. Dean was actually looking over his shoulder at him, slowing down the car a little. Hazel eyes looking almost the exact same way that they did the night Jess died. Sam’s mouth twisted up to the right, and he hoped like hell his eyes were showing the smile. “Yeah,” he returned. “Just tired.”
He saw Dean’s face stiffen, the little clench around the jaw that only happened when his brother was annoyed, but Dean shrugged his shoulders and put his eyes back on the road.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sam was wound up tighter than a corkscrew, staring out the back window like he was trying to figure out how to disappear. Dean guessed it had something to do with his conversation with Dad - and who the hell knew what the two had decided to fight about this time. Much as he missed his Dad, he never missed those fights. Stepping in and pushing the two apart from each other before they hauled off and belted each other wasn’t a red-letter way to end a hunt.
Sam was definitely hiding something. He was too damn quiet - a couple of smart-ass observations in a couple of hours wasn’t Sam’s speed. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d have said that Sam had the Stanford look in his eyes; the same expression his little brother wore for months before getting up the nerve to tell Dad that he was going to college. It was the look Sam got in his eyes when he was getting ready to leave - and Dean had sworn that the next time he saw it, he’d say something.
But he figured Sam wouldn’t open up until it was just the two of them, so Dean kept his mouth shut while Charlie sleepily butchered most of the first side of Houses of the Holy - sliding further down his side until she ended up with her cheek on his thigh. He turned down the radio when he heard her funny little snore.
Sam chuckled. “She even snores off-key.”
“Don’t make me stop the car and kick your ass. Charlie’s asleep, for Christ’s sake.” But Dean was chuckling himself. “It’s not fun unless she can fight back,” he added. Dean glanced up in the rearview mirror. “So, is there something outside chasing us that I should know about, or are you just digging Nebraska?”
Sam started guiltily. “It’s nothing, Dean.”
“Bullshit!”
“Jesus, Dean. You want to wake up Ellie?” Sam gave a half-shake to his head as the little girl shifted in her sleep; probably at the sound of her name, since she slept through a hell of a lot of music. “Last time I checked, I didn’t see you slipping her a Ding Dong this morning,” Sam added slyly. “And I know for a fact that you’re all of out loose change.”
“Resident Evil never gets old,” Dean replied. “You’re just jealous because I always kick your ass in video games. And don’t change the subject. Something’s up, Geek Boy. I can feel it.”
Sam laughed at that. “Because you’re a freaking empath.”
Dean grinned at him over his shoulder. “Because you’re my freaking brother.” He sighed. Sam had been fine until lunch - had even eaten some beef jerky to tide him over. Might as well get this over with. “You and Dad OK?”
“Yeah.” Sam snorted. “As OK as Dad and I ever are. Tried to catch him up on what’s going on, and he said we’d talk once we got there.” He shifted in his seat, and he frowned.
“So what’s the problem, Sammy?” Sam’s mouth tightened in the rearview mirror when he said it, and Dean knew there was a lot more to that conversation that Sam wasn’t saying. It didn’t matter - Dean would figure it out soon enough, but sometimes it helped knowing when he’d have to step in before one of them threw a punch.
“Are you so sure this is a good idea, Dean?” Sam asked.
Dean snorted. “I’m not sure that anything I’ve been doing since that girl gave you a glowing sword is a good idea. What’s one more thing on the list?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, all we’re doing is checking the place out and Dad’s there. It’s not like he’s going to let anything happen to us.”
“To us,” Sam returned.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. Fuck me… Sam thought that something was up with Dad and that roadhouse - until a realization hit that made his stomach clench. “Did you get a vision about what’s going to happen?” he asked slowly. “I’m serious. If there’s something you’re not telling me, I need to know.”
“No.” Sam scratched his chest. “Even if we can trust Dad, how do we know we can trust the rest of them?”
“Son of a bitch! If we can trust Dad?” Dean was glad he was driving, because he knew that he’d be seeing his father with Azazeal inside taunting him while he bled - which didn’t change the fact that Dad had been its victim, too. Sam just wasn’t willing to see past the chip on his shoulder. “You think Dad’s going to double-cross us?”
“Are you willing to bank Ellie’s safety on the fact that everyone there isn’t some trigger-happy idiot?” Sam returned hotly. And Dean knew he was going to go there when Sam’s jaw clenched. “What about Charlotte? We’re bringing a girl who was raised by the Circle of Enoch with us.” Sam drew the words out slowly. “Bet there are assholes in that roadhouse who think she’s fair game.”
Dean snapped his head quickly, trying to ignore every different way he could imagine Charlie falling backwards with a belly full of bullets. He swallowed. “I won’t let that happen, Sam. Not to either one of them.”
“Look, Dean. All I’m really getting at is that we need to be careful.”
“That’s easier said than done when we’re bringing a six-year-old kid and a chick with her leg in a cast along for the ride,” Dean pointed out. Crap.
“It’s a little late to be worrying about that now.” Sam snorted. “Besides, Winchesters do better when our backs are against the wall. Isn’t that what Dad always used to tell us?” He sighed. “The only way to know if Ellie’s going to be okay there is to see for ourselves how they treat her. But I’m worried that we’re going to get caught in the middle of Dad’s crusade. That’s not our task.”
Dean grinned. “Pretty soon you’ll be throwing out all those fancy words like ‘faith’ and ‘destiny.’ Charlie is a bad influence on you.”
“Were you even listening to Dad when he told us what a prophecy was?” Sam snapped, but there was a smile on his face when he said it. “We’ve got more important things to do, and I have the feeling that Dad’s already got ten different ideas about what we’ll be doing for him.”
“Cut Dad some slack, Sam. You know what’s at stake!”
Sam’s eyes flashed at him. “I know exactly what’s at stake, Dean! I’m the one who’s going to - ” And then he shut his mouth abruptly, getting that same stubborn look in his eye that Dad did whenever they were both unwilling to talk. He’d given them that same look often enough to know what it meant.
“Going to what?” Dean asked. His little brother wasn’t saying anything, just staring out the window with darkened eyes. Dean swallowed, wishing his throat didn’t hurt so goddamn much.
“You don’t know anything about what’s going on with me, Dean. You can’t even begin to know.” Sam’s voice was low, and his shoulders were trembling - and Dean almost thought Sam might open up but the wall slammed down even harder when their eyes met in the rearview mirror and Sam was staring out the window again.
“I probably don’t want to know,” Dean said softly, eyes focused on the road. “But you know you’re not alone, don’t you?” Sam’s eyes were burning holes in the back of Dean’s head, and there was a sneer on his brother’s face - for just a second - that Dean must have imagined because when he glanced at him in the rearview mirror, Sam just looked tired. “Sammy?”
“I know that,” his little brother replied. “I’m never alone.” And Sam gave a laugh that almost sounded like a hiccup.
“Sammy…”
“Just let it go, Dean.” And Dean opened his mouth to say something back, but Sam was grinning at him suddenly. “Or I’ll start telling Charlotte all the really embarrassing stories. Like the time you got drunk and tried writing out all the lyrics to You Shook Me All Night Long in front of that chick’s house.”
“That was something worthy of a chick flick!”
“Oh, yeah, because nothing says class like peeing song lyrics in the snow.”
“Like serenading Suzie Parker with that retarded kissing song from the mermaid movie makes you a real ladies’ man, Geek Boy.”
Sam snorted. “Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean replied, leaning down to turn the music up and gunning the engine.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The only thing Dean blasted louder than Led Zeppelin was Metallica - so it didn’t surprise Sam when Dean popped in another cassette and turned up the stereo right before the opening strains of “Enter Sandman” started bouncing through the car. And although Dean was smiling, rolling down the window as rain-swept air burst into the Impala, Sam knew what the music was really saying. It calms me down.
Dean was just as worried as Sam, occasionally glancing back at Ellie in the rear-view mirror or looking down where Sam guessed Charlotte was sleeping - sometimes reaching down with one hand to touch her when Dean thought Sam was too busy looking out the window. When he wasn’t doing either, Dean was humming deep in his throat, knuckles white as his hands curled around the steering wheel; and it seemed like the prairie was getting ready to swallow them whole the closer they got to Harvelle’s Roadhouse.
Sam wondered if Charlotte could sense it while she was sleeping, if she was dreaming about what to expect - or if she would find a sign in the clouds or from the smell in the air when she woke up. His head jerked forward, and Sam pressed his shoulders against the backseat to straighten them out; he was starting to get cramped, trying not to move so he wouldn’t wake up Ellie. And his freaking eye was starting to blur, aching inside the socket. Like the nerve endings were still trying to join together, or they were coming undone by the same thing that was rattling the windows.
He closed his eyes, seeing spots in his left - it was more sensitive to light since it was ripped out of his skull by the Cordi Peredo - and Sam was hoping that the throbbing would slow down if he wasn’t using it so much. And try as he might, he still couldn’t get past the way they all looked at him when they saw it. Dean looking guilty, Charlotte biting her lip and averting her eyes. Even Ellie told him to get an eye-patch for it - although then she followed it up with asking him to play Captain Jack for her, so he figured the little girl had an ulterior motive.
They still hadn’t really talked about that night - just things in passing, like how lucky they were to have survived one of the Unforgiven Curses. Charlotte had tried, starting her apologies until the Winchester look in their eyes stopped her. And maybe apologies didn’t matter - maybe they had moved beyond words because the memory of that night only seemed to make them closer. Sam was never going to tell Dean what Shemhezai had planned for him and Charlotte; they weren’t going to get the happy ending - despite the wonder Sam could see every time they smiled at each other.
Shemhezai had plans for them all.
He sighed, and he felt Ellie shifting, a small hand landing on each cheek as gentle as dandelion fuzz alighting on his skin. She pressed a kiss on his forehead, just like Charlotte did when he was saying goodnight to her. It’s a blessing my daddy taught me, Sam heard her tell Ellie when Charlotte was putting the little girl to bed, so that the angels will always protect you. Dean’s eyes had gone wide at that, and he turned away from them both with a frown - but that hadn’t kept his older brother from planting a kiss on Ellie’s forehead when it was his turn to say goodnight.
“It’s going to be okay, Sammy,” Ellie said, her dark eyes shining when Sam cracked open his eyes.
She settled into his lap, and Sam’s arms came automatically around her; chin resting on the top of her head as they both looked out the window. “Sammy?” he asked softly.
Ellie nodded. “That’s what Dean calls you.”
“Sammy was a chubby twelve-year-old, Ellie” Dean commented, smirking up at them both in the rearview mirror.
“Then it’s not okay for me to call you Sammy?” she asked, her voice suddenly tiny as she lowered her head.
“It’s absolutely okay,” Sam replied - just as Shemhezai gave him a glimpse of his plans for Ellie Jenkins; her shattered little body thrown against the white altar where they would be making their final stand. He trembled. They were all thrown against the white altar. In pieces. There was a head he thought might be Dean’s, right next to a cardigan-covered arm.
He choked, feeling the bile collecting in his throat. Dean was already pulling the car over to the shoulder by the side of the road, and Sam pushed Ellie off his lap - she made a noise as she toppled against the seat, but Sam didn’t stop to check on her. He slammed to the ground, throwing up the moment he opened the door, and a white light burst against the back of his eyes. The screech of metal against metal, as a girl with long brown hair and a face he could only describe as cherubic threw her arms around him with a wail. Blood on both their hands.
The scream was still echoing through Sam’s head as he dry-heaved, a hand gently rubbing his back as he bent over. He looked up, squinting into the sun, to see Dean holding Ellie while they both watched him. Ellie was crying softly, and started struggling in Dean’s arms. “Are you okay?” Charlotte asked, and she looked a little queasy herself when their eyes met.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam tried to stand, stumbled a little as he grabbed the car door to steady himself. “We’ll talk about it later.” His eyes focused on Ellie, hoping Dean would get the message.
“You don’t look fine,” Dean stated baldly. He’d seen the dance enough times to realize what had happened.
Ellie’s voice was a wail. “Put me down!”
“No,” Dean returned gently. “I know you’re scared, Ellie, but Sam’s going to be okay.” When she looked at him, Dean smiled. “You said so yourself,” he added and Ellie grinned suddenly, returning his smile and throwing her arms around his shoulders to hug him.
Sam snorted when Ellie kissed Dean on the cheek. “See, Ellie,” Sam said, hoping she didn’t realize he was still leaning against the Impala. “Good as new.”
“But now that we’re stopped, we might as well go over our game plan.” Dean frowned when he said it, hazel eyes burning as he caught Sam’s curt nod.
Sam nodded. “Some of the people where we’re going might be scared of us, Ellie.”
“Then why are we going?” Ellie demanded.
“Because our daddy is there,” Dean replied, “And we think it’s the best place to keep you safe. But some people might be scared of what we can do, so we just need to show them that they don’t have to be afraid.” And his smile was bright enough that even Sam found himself grinning back. “Do you think you can do that, Ellie?”
Ellie nodded. “But how?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” Dean finally set Ellie down on the ground, and she immediately ran to Sam. “It’ll be a little like a surprise party. Sam and I will go in first, see if we can find people waiting to surprise us.”
“I can probably help with that,” Charlotte said. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach.
Dean shook his head. “You’re going to stay with Ellie. Can you help her play hide and seek?”
“No.” Charlotte frowned.
“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to go in guns blazing, Dean,” Sam added. “If there is a trigger happy yahoo waiting for his chance, we’re just inviting trouble.”
“Besides, I don’t need Charlie to help me play hide and seek,” Ellie returned, her fingers intertwined with Sam’s. “I’m smaller than she is. She’ll only give away where I’m hiding.” She looked serious.
“You’ve got a point,” Dean returned, a slight twist to the set of his mouth. “You too, Sam. We’ll still go in first. All we need to do is act casual about it. Charlie and Ellie can stick together and follow us.”
Sam rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the pain shooting behind his eye. “Like we did back in Rockford?”
Dean snorted. “That was your fault. I was damn casual!”
“Dude, you went in singing Iron Butterfly.”
“If Charlie sings, she can confuse them with baboon fingers.” Dean grinned. “And goddamn anemones.”
Ellie wrinkled her nose. “If Charlie sings, they’ll really be scared of us.” Dean was already cackling but Charlotte looked so shocked that Sam tried not to laugh. He couldn’t help himself, even though it made the muscles in his abdomen ache. Winchesters always laughed when it hurt.
“How come Ellie doesn’t get stuck on your fiendishly clever revenge list?” Dean asked, wheezing, when Charlotte walked past him.
“She’s six, Dean.”
Dean just gave Ellie a sly glance, and the little girl nodded. “Bring it on, Cowgirl,” Ellie yelped. Charlotte stopped in her tracks, staring at Dean over her shoulder, while Ellie made a face. “But how can you be a cowgirl without a horse?” the little girl asked.
“Lucky cowgirls get a wild stallion,” Charlotte answered, ignoring the way Dean suddenly squared his shoulders and shot Sam a cocky grin. “Really lucky cowgirls get a bucking bronco.” Dean’s grin got wider the more Charlotte’s cheeks flushed. “I got a little pony,” she added.
“With a tiara?” Ellie asked, eyes brightening.
“A big pink one,” Charlotte managed, finally making eye contact with Dean. She turned away so quickly, hair swirling around her shoulders, that she didn’t see Dean’s face change color right before he made a sharp choking noise.
“What’s wrong with Dean?” Ellie asked, tugging on Sam’s hand. Dean recovered quickly, chasing Charlotte around to the passenger’s side of the car and grabbing the sleeve of her sweater to pull her towards him. Ellie rolled her eyes when they started kissing and then smiled up at Sam. “I still don’t know how they breathe like that, Sammy.”
Sam burst out laughing all over again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dad wasn’t kidding when he said that Harvelle’s Roadhouse was off the beaten path. They found the turn-off to the county road about fifteen miles outside of Valentine city limits. It was a dirt road that looked like it had seen a lot of travel if you looked hard enough but Sam suspected most people drove past in their haste to get to town.
The building itself was covered by what looked like small half-cut logs, and Dad’s truck was parked near the right front window - along with a couple of motorcycles that looked like they had seen better days. As Dean pulled the Impala next to their father’s truck, Sam spied a derelict car frame around the back of the bar. There were flickering beer lights in each of the front windows, barely visible in the dusk. Some smaller buildings, the size of small sheds, sat on the edges of the parking lot - lights flickering from behind their curtains.
Sam was tired, and he could still hear Shemhezai - its song a constant whisper beneath the pressure inside of his head, the throbbing in his left eye keeping the beat. “I thought this place was supposed to be consecrated,” he said softly, leaning against the front seat.
Dean glanced back at him. “That’s what Missouri said.”
“Then how come - ” Sam stopped himself when he felt the weight of Ellie’s eyes on his face. The little girl was looking at him with the same frown as the redhead in the front seat.
“It’s strong, Sam.” Charlotte’s voice was gentle, and she touched his arm, bare skin - and not once did she shudder from contact with the thing inside of him. “But so are you,” she added, squeezing her hand.
“You’re a fucking Winchester,” Dean said. He grinned at Sam. “You ready to do this?”
Sam nodded, looking down at Charlotte’s watch. “Just not ready for the lecture.” Sam pitched his voice low. “You’re ten minutes late, boys. I told you to be here by 7:30,” he added.
“Crap.” Charlotte bit her lip.
Dean snorted. “You worry too goddamn much.” He leaned towards her. “Didn’t I already tell you that it wouldn’t be your fault if we’re late?” But then Dean waggled his eyebrows at her. “Except you looked so cute back at the last rest stop that I had to - ” Charlotte stared so sharply at Dean, he closed his mouth.
“Let’s just get this over with,” the redhead retorted. Charlotte cocked her head, and Dean’s mouth twisted - he even took a breath like he was getting ready to say something else, his jaw clenching when their eyes met. “This isn’t going to be pleasant,” she said.
“What are you picking up?” Dean asked. He looked a little sick around the eyes.
“Anxiety, mostly - lots of nervous people are sitting in that room,” Charlotte returned. “There’s a couple of angry people in there - and someone…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “Someone is worried.” She frowned. “And it’s directed at the other people inside.”
“So we might have an ally if things turn south.” Dean’s mouth twisted, and he opened the door. They all started pouring out of the car - Ellie scuttling around to where Charlotte was waiting for her, Dean’s hand checking his back holster. Sam flexed both of his arms, feeling the pressure of his knife sheathes underneath his long sleeves, hoping like hell that whoever was waiting for them would realize they weren’t stupid enough to go in without weapons.
Sam took a breath. Where your feet touch the ground, he remembered Charlotte saying, sink yourself into the earth like roots from a tree. For a girl who didn’t know much about Wicca, she used a lot of natural imagery whenever they had their meditation lessons.
And it worked. The moment he pushed himself into the ground, the whispering song in his head stopped. It was the first time since leaving Missouri’s that the thing was totally silent; even the throbbing behind his eye seemed to slow down, just the rush of blood through his veins instead of a furious pounding that sped up to match its tempo with Shemhezai’s voice.
Dean was looking around them, inching closer to the front door, and he caught Sam’s eye. When another terse nod signaled him, Sam joined Dean on the other side of the door - both of them straining to listen into the building. There was some muffled music playing inside and the low hum of voices. People talking to each other. Nothing seemed abnormal, and Sam thought they might actually get through the next five minutes without any problems despite Charlotte’s observations.
Dean didn’t look so optimistic, waving his hand at Charlotte to come forward with Ellie. He waited until they were right behind him before slowly turning the handle and opening the door. Sam didn’t imagine the rough creak as the door opened, or the way the voices stopped the moment Dean stepped through the doorway and into the bar. Sam followed him, leaving enough room for Charlotte and Ellie to stand inside the doorway. Charlotte’s arms were around Ellie’s neck, holding the girl close.
“You boys are late,” a low voice grumbled from the back of the room. Dad’s head swiveled, and Sam watched as his father tilted his head back - slamming a shot of whatever he was drinking down his throat before he stood up from his chair, the same graceful un-slouching his brother used all the time. Dad glanced at the older woman behind the bar, her dusky blonde hair falling around her shoulders.
The room was peppered with other figures - a couple of survivalist wannabes sitting in the back corner, a lanky blonde girl wiping down tables like it was the last thing in the world she wanted to be doing. A tall woman standing near the jukebox, dressed all in leather. Some more men gathered around a table to the right, drinking beers and playing what looked like Texas Hold ‘Em. And near every single one of them, Sam’s eyes flickered against a weapon within hand’s reach - usually a knife or a gun, but the woman near the jukebox had an honest-to-God quarterstaff. Dean’s eyes were glancing in the same places, the skin tight around his mouth.
“Dean says that’s - ” Ellie began, but Charlotte leaned down and whispered something in Ellie’s ear that made the little girl stop.
“Directions work?” their father asked casually, stepping away from his barstool. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d have sworn his father was drunk the way he was swaying on his feet - but there was no way the man would drink too much around so many people with weapons, especially if John Winchester was the one in charge.
“We found the place all right,” Dean answered, his voice soft. He was already shifting to the balls of his feet, body twisting to shield Ellie and Charlotte from the stares coming their way.
“Those the girls that Missouri told us about?” the woman behind the bar asked. Her voice was husky, smooth like whiskey, and she seemed to be the only one whose hand wasn’t automatically inching towards her weapon.
“Yeah,” Sam said when Dean just looked at him. They both heard the click at the same time, the expulsion of air that followed the nose of a gun that appeared from around the edge of the bar - wielded by someone they couldn’t even see. Something barreled towards them, hard and fast, while every other person in the room held their ground. Watching and waiting.
It was a goddamn test.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean said, pushing Charlotte backwards. She toppled over with Ellie still in her arms, the little girl crying out and struggling against the redhead. Neither of them saw Dean’s eyes go dark or his jaw go slack as his body crashed to the floor right next to them - but they both went still when they heard the slap of Dean’s head against the floor.
And then Ellie screamed, legs kicking as she tried to stand up. Fists lashing out and one of them connected with Charlotte’s stomach with enough force that Charlotte’s entire body arched. Shit. The little girl’s hands were shining, a soft blue glow that echoed the roar pouring through Sam’s veins. Blood calling to blood, a flicker of blue along her cheekbone. Ellie kneeled next to Dean’s body with her hands on his back, head thrown back with a howl as her braids began blowing in their own wind. “Dean, wake up!”
Hands flew towards weapons, and the room was filled with the sounds of cocking guns and chairs falling backwards as hunters moved into their positions. “She’s a fucking demon,” the woman in leather said aloud, quarterstaff in her hand. She looked back at John, who was watching the whole thing and saying nothing. Still watching and waiting like this was the most normal thing in the world - like little girls glowed blue every single day at Harvelle’s Roadhouse.
But not one of those hunters moved. Sam guessed he wasn’t the only one used to waiting for his father’s orders.
“She’s just scared,” Charlotte said as she struggled to get to her knees. She took a breath, pitching her voice low. “Trust me. She won’t hurt you,” Charlotte added, her mouth twisting as she cocked her head - eyes focused on the little girl.
“John!” One of the hunters barked - Sam thought it was the woman from behind the bar.
“Just let us calm her down,” Sam added, keeping his voice just as calm as Charlotte’s had been as he looked directly at his father. Charlotte was limping towards Ellie, whispering something so softly that only the little girl could hear her.
“No,” the little girl said suddenly, shaking her head. “They killed Dean!” The power coming out of her when she screamed her accusation called to the fire inside of Sam. He didn’t know why the sigils weren’t busting against his skin, especially when Ellie stood to face the bar, eyes glowing as blue as her hands and as wild as the wind that whipped her hair around her head. Maybe he was learning to control it after all.
“Fuck this!” It was a man’s voice, followed by another shot. A shower of pellets roared towards Ellie. Rock salt. Sam started to move but Charlotte was closer, body twisting as she tripped on her shoe. She managed to grab Ellie, falling forward and dragging the little girl out of the way like it was the last thing she ever expected to do. Sam heard the soft slap of pellets sinking into flesh, and Charlotte cried out - both arms held firmly around Ellie as Charlotte curled around her; she’d been hit by some strays bouncing up off the floor.
It could have been a lot worse - tripping had actually moved her out of the line of fire.
“Enough.” Sam’s voice was quiet, the weight of his tone sinking every body in the room - weapons lowering automatically. And it was his own voice, unmarked by the power surging through his veins. It was the bark of command he learned from his father’s tutelage, the way a Winchester gave orders no one could refuse. Sam’s eyes met his father’s. “We never knew you, did we?” Sam asked softly. “Not even Dean…”
His father flinched, a flash of guilt flushing across his features before John Winchester squared his shoulders. Body rising to his full height as his jaw clenched, and he got the Winchester look in his eyes. “I had to be sure, son.”
Sam grit his teeth. “And are you?”
“Help me pick up your brother,” his father returned.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ellie had stopped crying, curled up on Charlotte’s lap while they sat together on a hard-backed chair. The blonde girl with the rifle was standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed in front of her stomach - her rifle leaned up against the wall. Charlotte had no doubts the girl wouldn’t pull it on her if she tried something; the blonde wasn’t difficult to read, even without the flashes that Charlotte was getting. The woman from behind the bar pulled the tranquilizer dart from Dean’s shoulder blade, placing it on the table next to the bed.
Sam was close by - probably another nearby room because she didn’t hear him in the hall - and he was livid. Charlotte didn’t actively try to sense more; Ellie was all that mattered, holding on until Dean woke up. The little girl was still shaking uncontrollably, breath a harsh rasp within her lungs, and Charlotte felt like she’d been the one screaming. A burn in her throat as Ellie continued to scream silently in their heads.
“Jo’ll keep an eye on the boy,” the older woman said. “You should come with me. Let me take a look at your back.”
“No.” Charlotte’s refusal sounded harsh, even in her own ears. The older woman started, eyes narrowing. “I won’t leave Ellie,” Charlotte explained. Ellie needed her - and Charlotte was not going to tell them what she and Sam had read in Ellie’s case file, how the police had found her cradled over her mother’s body asking her to wake up. Curled up in her mother’s blood. How seeing Dean had brought all of that back.
Charlotte had stopped breathing herself when she saw Dean lying on the floor.
“I can keep an eye on her, too,” Jo said.
“Thank you, but I’m not leaving Ellie alone with a stranger. I’ll wait here until Dean wakes up.” Charlotte pulled her arms more tightly around the little girl, resting her chin on Ellie’s head; she thought that would make them angry, but Ellen actually smiled at the tone in her voice and Jo looked at her with something a little like respect. “Or until Sam comes back,” Charlotte added, lifting her chin. “It’s kind of you to offer.”
The older woman chuckled, staring at her with an approval Charlotte did not expect. “Given how stubborn Winchesters are, you could be waiting here a long time.” She grinned as she stretched out her hand. “The name’s Ellen.”
It was either a peace offering or a test. Charlotte had no choice but to grasp the hand and shake it. She sucked in a breath as their palms touched, waiting for the metal to slam into the back of her head - for the white light to rupture from beneath her eyelids, to be thrown open by the Call. “Charlotte,” she answered when nothing happened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ellen.”
Ellen shook her head. “Missouri told me you’d be polite.” She cocked her head towards Jo. “Someone could take lessons.”
The blonde girl snorted. “Like someone polite could survive in this place,” Jo snapped back. Both of them laughed, an easy camaraderie that reminded her of the way Sam and Dean teased each other.
Dean began to stir on the bed, his body shifting as his eyes opened. Ellie gasped, wriggling in Charlotte’s lap. Charlotte let go of the little girl, hope flowing through both of them as Ellie cried, “Dean!” She hopped up next to him onto the bed, taking his right hand into both of her small ones.
“At least let me sit up, squirt,” Dean said, laughing a little as he shifted his body up towards the headboard. Ellie didn’t wait - she sat down right in his lap the moment she could. His eyes met hers, and Charlotte felt like they were the only two people in the room - especially when he returned her smile. “Sammy okay?” he asked. Charlotte nodded, the pain in her back flowering through her, and she winced. “But you’re not,” Dean added.
“I’m okay.” Charlotte almost touched him then, leaning forward in the chair, but Jo was watching them closely. Charlotte’s cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes. “Sam says I’m lucky I’m so clumsy,” she added. “Only someone who hasn’t fallen down at the worst possible moments in his life would say something like that.” Dean snorted and returned her grin. “Have you ever tried arguing with your little brother?”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Girl Genius.” He cocked his head. “So what aren’t you telling me?”
“What the girl isn’t telling you, Dean Winchester, is that she’s got a couple rock salt pellets in her back,” Ellen said. Dean’s hazel eyes snapped away from her face, focusing on the older woman; there was a question in them that he was unwilling to ask. “Nothing too serious,” the woman added. “Just some after spray. But she was too goddamn stubborn to do anything about it until you woke up.”
“Goddamn stubborn is an understatement.” Dean frowned.
Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but door burst open; Sam stalked into the room, followed closely by his father.
John Winchester looked like all the pictures she’d seen of him, but those photographs couldn’t capture the strength that glimmered underneath the surface - or the sorrow in his eyes if you looked deep enough. And the man carried his guilt as tightly as his sons, unwilling to let go of whatever caused it.
“Guess we should let the boys have their reunion,” Ellen said lightly, looking at Jo. The younger woman was already picking up her rifle. Ellie refused to move, putting her arms firmly around Dean’s neck - and Charlotte saw battle lines being drawn when John Winchester’s mouth twisted and Dean’s arms came around the little girl’s waist. Shock and anger in both of them, the sting of betrayal still bouncing in Sam’s eyes.
Charlotte stood up. “Would you take a look at my back, Ellen?” she asked quietly. Charlotte squared her shoulders as she stood up, knowing she couldn’t stay. Even with shields up, the Winchesters hurt - and she knew sticking around wouldn’t make it any easier for either of them.
Somehow, she managed to close the door behind her without falling down.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
No one wanted to speak first.
Dad was standing against the wall, hands held loosely in his pockets, while he stared hard at the little girl Dean was holding in his arms. Sam never thought holding a kid would be considered an act of rebellion but Dad looked at Dean like he wanted to take him outside and make him do some kick-boxing - like he used to do when Dean was fourteen, chatting up waitresses twice his age.
“You should have sent the little girl out with Ellen,” Dad said.
“So you could have someone fucking shoot her the way you tried to take out Charlie?” Dean asked.
“Don’t use that tone with me, Dean.” Their father was looking at Dean as though his oldest son had grown two heads.
Dean’s nostrils flared. “Yes, sir.” And there was betrayal in his older brother’s voice, a reproach Sam had never seen before in Dean’s hazel eyes as he stared at their father. Oh, shit…
“I needed to protect my people,” his father returned. “This isn’t a game. And that girl is Circle-trained.”
“She’s a college student, Dad.” Sam snorted. “And her gift isn’t exactly all that threatening.” His father frowned. “Jesus, Dad! You should have warned us.”
“Unless he was testing us, too.” Dean’s voice was soft. Ellie rested her cheek on his chest, looking at their father like she was trying to figure out what was wrong with him. “Trying to make certain we weren’t compromised,” Dean added.
“I should have known you’d make excuses for him,” Sam retorted. Just like a soldier following orders. But Dean was staring hard at their father, and Sam realized the only thing keeping his older brother from leaping off his bed was Ellie Jenkins.
“I’ve been compromised by the Circle.” Dad’s jaw clenched, almost a twin to the expression on Dean’s face. “Neither of you have any idea what it feels like to have that kind of evil inside of you.” Dad brushed his hand through his hair. “You boys have no idea what the Circle of Enoch will do to make this thing happen.”
They didn’t say anything, just stared at him.
“I know that we need to talk, boys,” Dad began, shaking his head sharply. “And we will. Just not…” His eyes flickered towards Ellie; Dad almost acted like he was scared of her. “I need you to trust me for just a little while longer. I need to be certain.” Something in his eyes broke. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep you boys safe.”
And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Alas, it is the inevitable chapter break... Here is the next section.