Gwaith i Innas Lain: Quenta Ambarmetto 4/10
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Chapter 3
Sainte-Mère-Église
Having made their battle plans and coordinated times with Thranduil (sent via blackbird), Rufus, Pastor Gideon, and Cas, Team Free Will headed out from Sioux Falls early on the morning of May 15. Bobby had helped Ash set up a radio system to keep all the groups in contact with one another, so he stayed behind at Bobby’s house. Ellen, Jo, and Maglor decided to go straight to the Devil’s Gate and camp there in case Uriel showed up early, while Dean, Sam, and Bobby went to Black Rock, NY, to check through John’s storage unit for anything that might be useful. They arrived in Buffalo late on the 15th and got to the storage unit around 7 the next morning. Bobby stood guard at the open door while Sam started cataloguing weapons and Dean worked through the curse boxes. It was a slow and largely frustrating process; the weapons might be useful enough on monsters, and they did load those into the Impala to take with them, but nothing had any apparent value in dealing with fallen Maiar. And Sam was chagrined when the sheer amount of stuff proved to be more than they could get through in one day. So they went back again the next morning, knowing that they had to be on the road no later than noon to get to Ilchester on time.
Suddenly, around mid-morning, Dean choked out, “Sam.”
Sam turned to see Dean staring at something in a small curse box. He walked over to look at it and saw that it was a man’s ring carved to look like two snakes with emerald eyes, one of which was holding up... and the other one was eating... a crown of... of....
By the time Sam’s brain stalled out, Dean had recovered enough to snap a picture with his phone and was calling someone, with the speakerphone on so that Sam and Bobby could hear the conversation.
“Pedo.”
Dean still sounded half-strangled when he said, “Maglor... tell me I’m seein’ things.”
“I cannot. It is the Ring of Barahir. I remember the day Finrod made that ring-I was shocked that he would give it away, but Barahir and Beren after him were loyal friends and proved worthy of the gift.”
“Is... does it....”
“It is not a ring of power, nor does it hold any special virtue save its age and its meaning. I cannot think how or why your father might have come by it. But Dean... this cannot be only chance, any more than the appearance of your gifts. That ring is yours by right, I deem.”
“Maglor....”
“Take it, Dean,” Maglor said gently. “And may the Enemy tremble to know that the heirs of Isildur ride again.”
“Thanks, dude,” Dean replied absently and hung up, still staring at the ring in shock. Then he tucked his phone back into his pocket and ran a trembling hand over his nose and mouth.
“Dad couldn’t have known,” Sam said.
“The Ring of Barahir, Sammy.”
“You’re the first-born.”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t... I... I guess I just wish there was something for you.”
Sam simply squeezed Dean’s shoulder for lack of anything better to say.
Dean took a deep breath and picked up the ring. “Well, if we find Andúril, it’s yours. Sharp shiny things were always more your deal anyway.”
Sam huffed a laugh. “Okay, Dean.”
Dean handed the curse box to Sam, swallowed hard, and slid the ancient ring onto the index finger of his left hand. And for a split second Sam could have sworn a white flame flickered in the middle of Dean’s forehead.
“Doesn’t that belong to the wrong branch of the family?” an unfamiliar male voice asked suddenly.
The brothers drew and spun in tandem to face a balding, white-haired man in a business suit who wore an infuriatingly smarmy smile and seemed wholly unconcerned that they and Bobby were pointing guns at him. Sam recognized him from his visions as the man who’d looked like Col. Klink.
“Who are you?” Dean demanded.
Klink held up a finger. “Ah. I asked first.”
“If you know enough to ask that question, then you know that Túrin left no heirs. The House of Hador survived only in Tuor, and the lordship of Dor-lómin passed to the Halfelven.”
“And yet here you are... Turambar.”
Dean’s lip curled as he growled, “Who. The heck. Are you.”
Klink stepped forward. “I have a job for you, Dean.”
“Answer me!”
“In Middle-earth, I’m known as Zachariah.”
The humans shot him on principle.
But he showed no sign of even feeling the bullets, frowning in confusion. “Are you letting this abomination corrupt you, Dean?” he asked, pointing at Sam.
“Sam ain’t the one who’s corrupt here, Zach,” Dean retorted. “And you’re not makin’ any points by talking about my brother like he’s trash. The answer is no.”
“You’re refusing to aid the Lords of the West?”
“No, I’m refusing to play your destiny game. I know what you did to my mother. I know you’ve gone rogue. And I’m not gonna sit here and let you and Lilith bring Morgoth back so you can remake the world into your wacked-out idea of paradise, whatever that might be.”
Bobby shifted, and Zachariah suddenly turned and snapped out a hand toward him. And Bobby cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground.
“Bobby!” Sam cried.
“What’s it going to take, Dean?” Zachariah asked, smirking maniacally as he turned back to face the Winchesters. “Paralysis? Stomach cancer? Refuse me, and I guarantee he’ll never walk again.”
Dean’s jaw twitched as he tried to come up with a suitable retort that wouldn’t endanger Bobby’s life-but he didn’t have to.
“Hey, lion-breath.”
Zachariah spun to see Rinc and Cas standing over Bobby with drawn swords. And Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and released tiny, inaudible sighs of relief.
“Rincaro,” Zachariah snarled.
Rinc said something in Quenya that Sam didn’t catch, and Zachariah hissed and recoiled.
“Castiel? You defy me?”
“You have defied the Valar,” Cas returned. “You have fallen into Curumo’s error. I am here at Lord Manwë’s order.”
“Fools!” Zachariah growled. “The House of Húrin lives again. The end is coming.”
“Not if we can help it,” Sam replied.
Rinc stepped forward. “Zach, if you don’t want to die, leave now.”
Zachariah snarled and vanished. Bobby gasped and groaned.
“Bobby?!” Dean stowed his gun and started forward, as did Sam.
Cas stowed his sword... somewhere and bent to pick up the elder hunter. “I do not have the skill to heal him, but I will take him to a hospital.” And cradling Bobby in his arms, Cas disappeared.
“Thanks,” Sam nodded to Rinc.
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Rinc shrugged. Then he caught sight of the Ring of Barahir and grinned. “Wondered where that had run off to! Looks good on you, Dean.”
Dean looked at it and ran his thumb over the band before looking back at Rinc. “That silver sword what you use to kill a Maia?”
“Well, technically, no. Might force him out of his present form, but it won’t force him out of Arda. But that,” he pointed to Maeglach, “might do the trick.”
Dean nodded, disappointed.
“And speaking of swords.” Rinc reached into his jacket and pulled out one of the longest swords Sam had ever seen, complete with jeweled scabbard and sword-belt. “Took me a long time to find this, but I figured Sammy might need it.”
Sam took it from him with a puzzled frown and tugged on the hilt gently. The sword slid out of the scabbard a short way, enough for him to see that it was still in mint condition, whatever its age, still shining as though lit from within, and the part he could see was engraved with a crescent moon, a star, and several runic inscriptions. Wide-eyed, he looked back at Rinc. “Is... is this....”
“The only other heirloom of your house that I could find,” Rinc replied. “The Crown of Gondor and the Sceptre of Annúminas were destroyed when the old kingdoms fell, and Eldarion sent the Elessar and both versions of the Elendilmir into the West with Gimli and Legolas. Why, I’m not sure, but he probably had some foreboding about the fate of at least Arnor and decided to get them to safety while he still could. I thought maybe he’d sent the Ring of Barahir with them as well, but now I see he didn’t. Anyway. Yes, that’s Andúril.”
“Dude,” Dean breathed.
Sam looked at him. “You sure you don’t want it?”
Dean snorted. “You kidding? I’d look stupid haulin’ around a piece of hardware like that.”
“You’re older.”
“You’re taller, Sasquatch. It’ll fit you better.”
Sam swallowed hard, feeling as overwhelmed as he knew Dean had felt about the ring, and slid the sword back into its scabbard. Then he unwound the belt and buckled it on. When he looked up again, Dean was staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just...” Dean motioned toward the middle of his forehead. “Thought I saw something.”
Rinc was smiling at them-not a smirk, quite, but a proud smile. “C’mon, muttonheads. We’ve got a date in Ilchester.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other, took a deep breath, squared their shoulders, and walked out of the storage unit side by side.
The six-and-a-half-hour drive from Black Rock to Ilchester was filled largely with Metallica, AC/DC, and Led Zeppelin. Rinc had opted to ride with them, but none of them felt much like talking after what had happened to Bobby. The only real conversation that occurred was when Ash called to inform them that omens were beginning to pick up around Ilchester. “Southern Wyoming’s still quiet as the grave,” he reported.
Dean sighed. “Okay. Thanks, dude.”
Sam looked at him as he hung up and pocketed the phone. “Dean... don’t even think it.”
“Think what?”
“That Bobby shoulda gone to the Devil’s Gate. None of us know everything. And it’s not like it’ll do us any good to talk about what might have been.”
Dean sighed again. “Just hope he’s gonna be okay. I’ve got a really bad feelin’ about this.”
Rinc leaned forward. “Dean... I can handle transporting the two of you and bringing Maglor and the Harvelles back. Have Castiel stay with Bobby.”
Dean nodded and called.
“I will be glad to guard Bobby,” Cas replied. “He is wandering in a fever, and if I’m not mistaken, it has a supernatural cause. I don’t know what more I can do for him, but I can prevent anything from hurting him further.”
“Thanks, Cas. We’ll get back as soon as we can.”
“Focus on stopping Lilith and Uriel, Dean. If you don’t, none of us may survive.”
Dean snorted. “Thanks for the pep talk, coach.” And he hung up and cranked up the radio once more, as if daring anyone to talk to him again.
Rufus, Pastor Gideon, and Thranduil were waiting for them when the Impala pulled up outside the convent. At least, Dean thought he could make out Thranduil’s shadow, such as it was, but he wasn’t absolutely sure the Elvenking was present until he started briefing them on where the Orcs were holed up. Sam did most of the talking with regard to the team’s plan for holding the convent, and most of what he didn’t say was filled in by Rinc. Dean hadn’t intended to stay mostly silent, but he was grateful not to have to carry the conversation.
Finally, though, Rufus turned to Dean. “Where’s Bobby? I thought Ellen said he was comin’ with you.”
Dean licked his lips and forced himself to answer. “He’s still in Buffalo. In the hospital. Zachariah showed up.”
Rufus and Thranduil cursed at the same time, neither in English, and Pastor Gideon’s kind face grew concerned. “Is there anything we can do for him from here?” the minister asked.
Dean shook his head. “Just pray, Pastor. And keep Lilith out of that chapel.”
Pastor Gideon nodded. “Okay. We’ll do that. Anything we can do for you?”
After a beat, Dean smiled a little and put a hand on the Impala’s roof. “Look after my baby?”
Rufus laughed, but Thranduil replied seriously, “None shall touch her, Dean. You have my word.” Then he added, with an undercurrent of amusement, “Indeed, I think I shall set Rúmil to guard her.”
That made Dean laugh. “Le hannon. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Then he looked at Sam, who looked at Rinc, who snapped his fingers... and suddenly they were outside the Devil’s Gate, where Jo, Ellen, and Maglor were kicked back in lawn chairs waiting for them.
Ellen did a quick head count and jumped to her feet. “Boys, where’s Bobby?”
Sam held up a finger and radioed Ash. “Green Eyes to Goldilocks. We’re in position.”
“Ah, 10-4, Green Eyes,” Ash drawled back. “Good huntin’.”
Sam nodded and looked back at Ellen. “Cas had to take Bobby to the hospital in Buffalo. Zachariah showed up.” And he explained what happened.
After another round of curses in English and Sindarin, Maglor deftly changed the subject to Andúril, and Jo insisted on examining the Ring of Barahir. And about the time everyone finished gushing over the heirlooms, Rinc not-so-gently suggested that they eat quickly and stand their guard.
When Uriel finally did show up three hours later, the confrontation was almost anti-climactic. He simply appeared and demanded that the hunters give way, and Dean shot him with Maeglach twice. Uriel fell, burning from the inside as was usual with the Colt and its reforged counterpart; the smoke that rose from the corpse tried to reform itself into a humanoid shape, but a sudden gust of wind from the west dispersed it. Rinc snapped his fingers, and the remains burst into flame.
Dean quickly reloaded Maeglach while Sam handed his shotgun to Rinc and passed Dagnir-en-Raughoth to Jo. “Gonna need both hands,” he explained.
Dean nodded and radioed Ash that they were done, and Rinc snapped his fingers once more and teleported the team to meet up with the reserve force Pastor Gideon had stationed a short distance from the convent.
“Are we glad to see you guys,” whispered Rob, the reserve commander who reminded Dean way too much of Daniel Jackson. “They didn’t even wait for full dark, just attacked the second the sun went down. We can’t see too much from here, but it sounds pretty bad.”
The battle did indeed sound grim. It was hard to tell who was screaming over the gunfire, but Dean could definitely make out Wargs howling and baying and spiders chittering.
He nodded to Rob. “Let’s go.”
They skirted the edge of the convent grounds to find a good angle of attack. Once they were in position, Sam looked at Dean, who nodded once, then drew Andúril and cried, “ELENDIL!”
The reserves yelled and charged, and the Orcs fell back before them. Sam and Dean kept pace with each other the whole way, Dean firing his shotgun and Sam cutting down anything that got too close. The Sacrament Lutheran crew had portable spray packs of holy water that they used to hose down the demons that ringed Team Destiny; Dean thought he saw Meg and Ruby, two of their old nemeses, in the mix before they vacated their hosts and fled. And before Zachariah could try to turn anyone into a toad, Dean managed to shoot Alatar in the shoulder. Pallando cried out in alarm and caught Alatar as he fell, then ran for the woods.
Lilith and Zachariah turned to face the Winchesters, and Dean switched his shotgun for Maeglach and shot one of the henchdemons that was still trying to guard Lilith. Zachariah paled and disappeared. Lilith shot some kind of energy toward Dean, but Rinc blocked it. Demon and Maia battled for a good minute, but before Dean could get a clear shot at Lilith, she called a retreat and vanished. The remaining monsters fled the field, presumably chased by Thranduil’s contingent, leaving the rest of the defenders in various states of injury and breathlessness-but victorious.
Dean had barely caught his breath when he looked at Sam and said, “We gotta get back to Bobby.”
Rinc nodded. “Go. We’ve got this.”
“We’ll follow as soon as we can,” Ellen added, “put Maglor in your room and Jo and I will take Bobby’s.”
Sam nodded once in acknowledgment, and the brothers walked quickly to the Impala and sped back to Buffalo, arriving shortly before 1:00. Cas met them at the hospital and took them to Bobby’s room, deflecting cries that it was after visiting hours and calling for a doctor on the way. Dean took one look at Bobby’s fever-flushed face and cursed Zachariah in every language he knew.
The doctor who came explained that although Bobby’s fever was dangerously high and wasn’t responding to treatment, none of the tests had turned up a cause. “It’s like he’s fighting some phantom virus or something,” the doctor concluded. “We’re doing everything we can, but if he can’t beat this on his own... I don’t know how long he has.”
Sam thanked the doctor in a manner that was clearly a dismissal. She took the hint and left.
As soon as the door closed, Dean rounded on Cas. “Can’t you do something?”
Cas bristled. “I am a warrior, Dean, not a healer. I don’t have your gift.”
“Oh, like I know what I’m doing. I didn’t exactly study under Elrond, you know.”
“The power is in your blood. Father created Melian to heal and renew, and that gift is the mark of her offspring. You will know what to do when you try, Dean. I believe in you.”
Dean grimaced. He hadn’t had much practice with using his healing power in situations that didn’t involve the psyche being trapped or lost due to supernatural interference, so he wasn’t entirely sure how much good he could do. But he had saved Bobby from a dreamwalker once before, so he knew he could connect with Bobby’s consciousness, wherever it was. And if Cas was useless, Dean knew he probably was their only shot at saving him.
“Soda and chocolate?” Sam asked, his hand on the door handle.
Dean sighed. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Sam sprinted down the hall and sprinted back with an armload of goodies from the vending machine. “Wish I knew where to find athelas-if it even exists anymore.”
Cas looked like he was about to offer to go look for some.
“No time, Cas,” Dean sighed, pulling a chair up to Bobby’s bedside as Sam took up his usual position of support beside him. “I need to fight this now. Just... stand guard, huh?”
Cas nodded once and stood with his back against the door. It would have looked ridiculous had Dean not known that the slight frame hid a powerful spirit.
The emeralds in the ring glinted in the low light as Dean gently laid his left hand across Bobby’s hot forehead. The wrong branch of the family, Zachariah had said, curse him. Here you are, Turambar.
Well, Dean was not about to prove him right. He and Sam might have a lot in common with Túrin, but Mom had looked a whole lot like Tuor, and even though he’d only been around their however-many-times-great grandfather for a day, he could tell the similarities went far deeper than a mere family resemblance. And that was one heritage Dean was proud to claim.
Thus determined, Dean put his right hand on Bobby’s arm and closed his eyes. But what he sensed first wasn’t Bobby’s soul; there was some kind of force around Bobby that was feeding the sickness, whatever it was. Dean pushed, and the force resisted. Dean snarled and pushed harder, power surging forth like it had when he’d called Sam back. A struggle ensued and lasted for what felt like hours, and Dean was dimly aware that his wordless growls were occasionally slipping into Sindarin words he didn’t know and were being joined by moans from Bobby. Sam’s hand gripped Dean’s shoulder, lending him strength he hadn’t even known he needed.
Finally, when it felt like the struggle was at a tipping point, Dean summoned the last of his reserves and gave one final shove, crying, “Ego! Awartho den, edledhio!”
The force snapped and recoiled like a rubber band, and Bobby shuddered and broke into a sweat as the fever fled. Dean tried to keep pushing, to see if something else was wrong, but Sam was shaking him with an urgency that bespoke alarm, and Dean opened his eyes to realize that he was exhausted.
“Spiders, Dean,” Sam said, snatching Dean’s hand away from Bobby’s arm and pushing the opened Mountain Dew into it. They’d both gotten into the habit of using non-vulgar curses around Ben, and most of the ones they’d picked up from Maglor had stuck. “You haven’t looked that pale since... since....”
“The last time I almost died?” Dean croaked and guzzled down a third of the soda, not taking his other hand off Bobby’s forehead. “’Sokay, Sammy, you can say it.”
“You scared me, dude. I wasn’t sure if I could pull you out.”
Dean chugged the rest of the soda and belched out the carbonation. Then he sighed. “I gotta go back in, make sure.”
“No, you don’t, Dean. You broke the fever, and you almost broke yourself. Let the doctors look at him first.”
“Sam....”
“Dean.”
“Hey,” Bobby said weakly. “Let a guy sleep, will ya?”
Dean’s eyes snapped back to Bobby’s face as Sam grabbed the empty soda bottle from him. “Bobby?”
Bobby’s eyes weren’t open, but his color was slowly returning to normal, and he managed a small smile. “’M okay, Dean. Thank you.”
“You sure?”
“Get y’r danged hand off my head, idjit. That ring’s heavy.”
Dean snorted and smoothed Bobby’s damp hair back from his forehead. “See if I ever go dumpster divin’ for you again.”
Bobby chuckled. After a pause, he added, “Dean... if there’s lasting damage... it ain’t your fault. Don’t you go killin’ yourself to try an’ fix it.”
“Bobby....”
“You saved my life, son. We c’n make lemonade from the rest.”
Dean sighed. “If that’s how you want it.”
“’S how I want it.”
“Okay.”
Sam reached across the bed to push the call button, then dragged Dean’s chair back from the bed and slapped a package of almond M&Ms into his hand with a face that said Eat before I force-feed you. Dean rolled his eyes and tore open the package.
By the time Sam had bullied Dean into eating all of the junk food he’d brought back, the doctors had subjected Bobby to another round of pokes and prods and scans. The mystery infection was gone, they concluded, but there was a shadow around two of the lower vertebrae that seemed to be causing paralysis below the waist. Since they couldn’t trace the cause, however, they couldn’t treat the problem or tell whether it was permanent.
Dean stood unsteadily and started to push his chair back up to the bed as soon as the doctors left. “I gotta go back in.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Sam replied, reaching into Dean’s jacket and snagging the Impala keys. “Cas!”
Before Dean could protest, Cas poked two fingers at Dean’s forehead, and Dean found himself in the motel room with a very startled Maglor. Dean grumbled something uncomplimentary about angels.
“Dean?” Maglor asked. “What happened? How fares Bobby?”
Dean explained.
“Labadal,” Maglor murmured when he’d finished.
Dean blinked. “Do what now?”
“Túrin had an odd habit of befriending the crippled... Sador Labadal, Brandir the Lame. Not that he did ill, of course, for they were among his wisest counselors, but still... whether this be another attempt to force the plot, I know not, but it does strike me as strange.”
“So Team Destiny strikes again. Awesome.” Dean scrubbed wearily at his eyes.
Maglor placed a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean. We have forced them to retreat. Bobby will recover, even if he can no longer walk. You must rest.”
“Dude, it’s my fault.”
“No, it isn’t. Bobby would have insisted on joining you even if he had known he would be attacked. You could not have aided him further tonight. And had he not gone, I do not doubt that Zachariah would have attacked Sam instead.”
Dean lapsed into stubborn silence, and a moment later Maglor pushed him to sit on the bed before retrieving his guitar from the closet.
“Oh, what,” Dean snarked, “you gonna sing me to sleep?”
“If that is what it takes,” Maglor replied evenly. “Or would you prefer a sleeping-draught?”
Dean looked downright mulish but slid off his boots and lay back against the pillows. Maglor began to play something soft and gentle, and Dean relaxed without meaning to.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up several hours later with Sam snuggled protectively beside him. And though he groaned inwardly at the indignity of being cuddled, he was still too bone-weary to protest or struggle before sleep claimed him again.
Glossary | Next
Chapter 3
Sainte-Mère-Église
Having made their battle plans and coordinated times with Thranduil (sent via blackbird), Rufus, Pastor Gideon, and Cas, Team Free Will headed out from Sioux Falls early on the morning of May 15. Bobby had helped Ash set up a radio system to keep all the groups in contact with one another, so he stayed behind at Bobby’s house. Ellen, Jo, and Maglor decided to go straight to the Devil’s Gate and camp there in case Uriel showed up early, while Dean, Sam, and Bobby went to Black Rock, NY, to check through John’s storage unit for anything that might be useful. They arrived in Buffalo late on the 15th and got to the storage unit around 7 the next morning. Bobby stood guard at the open door while Sam started cataloguing weapons and Dean worked through the curse boxes. It was a slow and largely frustrating process; the weapons might be useful enough on monsters, and they did load those into the Impala to take with them, but nothing had any apparent value in dealing with fallen Maiar. And Sam was chagrined when the sheer amount of stuff proved to be more than they could get through in one day. So they went back again the next morning, knowing that they had to be on the road no later than noon to get to Ilchester on time.
Suddenly, around mid-morning, Dean choked out, “Sam.”
Sam turned to see Dean staring at something in a small curse box. He walked over to look at it and saw that it was a man’s ring carved to look like two snakes with emerald eyes, one of which was holding up... and the other one was eating... a crown of... of....
By the time Sam’s brain stalled out, Dean had recovered enough to snap a picture with his phone and was calling someone, with the speakerphone on so that Sam and Bobby could hear the conversation.
“Pedo.”
Dean still sounded half-strangled when he said, “Maglor... tell me I’m seein’ things.”
“I cannot. It is the Ring of Barahir. I remember the day Finrod made that ring-I was shocked that he would give it away, but Barahir and Beren after him were loyal friends and proved worthy of the gift.”
“Is... does it....”
“It is not a ring of power, nor does it hold any special virtue save its age and its meaning. I cannot think how or why your father might have come by it. But Dean... this cannot be only chance, any more than the appearance of your gifts. That ring is yours by right, I deem.”
“Maglor....”
“Take it, Dean,” Maglor said gently. “And may the Enemy tremble to know that the heirs of Isildur ride again.”
“Thanks, dude,” Dean replied absently and hung up, still staring at the ring in shock. Then he tucked his phone back into his pocket and ran a trembling hand over his nose and mouth.
“Dad couldn’t have known,” Sam said.
“The Ring of Barahir, Sammy.”
“You’re the first-born.”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t... I... I guess I just wish there was something for you.”
Sam simply squeezed Dean’s shoulder for lack of anything better to say.
Dean took a deep breath and picked up the ring. “Well, if we find Andúril, it’s yours. Sharp shiny things were always more your deal anyway.”
Sam huffed a laugh. “Okay, Dean.”
Dean handed the curse box to Sam, swallowed hard, and slid the ancient ring onto the index finger of his left hand. And for a split second Sam could have sworn a white flame flickered in the middle of Dean’s forehead.
“Doesn’t that belong to the wrong branch of the family?” an unfamiliar male voice asked suddenly.
The brothers drew and spun in tandem to face a balding, white-haired man in a business suit who wore an infuriatingly smarmy smile and seemed wholly unconcerned that they and Bobby were pointing guns at him. Sam recognized him from his visions as the man who’d looked like Col. Klink.
“Who are you?” Dean demanded.
Klink held up a finger. “Ah. I asked first.”
“If you know enough to ask that question, then you know that Túrin left no heirs. The House of Hador survived only in Tuor, and the lordship of Dor-lómin passed to the Halfelven.”
“And yet here you are... Turambar.”
Dean’s lip curled as he growled, “Who. The heck. Are you.”
Klink stepped forward. “I have a job for you, Dean.”
“Answer me!”
“In Middle-earth, I’m known as Zachariah.”
The humans shot him on principle.
But he showed no sign of even feeling the bullets, frowning in confusion. “Are you letting this abomination corrupt you, Dean?” he asked, pointing at Sam.
“Sam ain’t the one who’s corrupt here, Zach,” Dean retorted. “And you’re not makin’ any points by talking about my brother like he’s trash. The answer is no.”
“You’re refusing to aid the Lords of the West?”
“No, I’m refusing to play your destiny game. I know what you did to my mother. I know you’ve gone rogue. And I’m not gonna sit here and let you and Lilith bring Morgoth back so you can remake the world into your wacked-out idea of paradise, whatever that might be.”
Bobby shifted, and Zachariah suddenly turned and snapped out a hand toward him. And Bobby cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground.
“Bobby!” Sam cried.
“What’s it going to take, Dean?” Zachariah asked, smirking maniacally as he turned back to face the Winchesters. “Paralysis? Stomach cancer? Refuse me, and I guarantee he’ll never walk again.”
Dean’s jaw twitched as he tried to come up with a suitable retort that wouldn’t endanger Bobby’s life-but he didn’t have to.
“Hey, lion-breath.”
Zachariah spun to see Rinc and Cas standing over Bobby with drawn swords. And Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and released tiny, inaudible sighs of relief.
“Rincaro,” Zachariah snarled.
Rinc said something in Quenya that Sam didn’t catch, and Zachariah hissed and recoiled.
“Castiel? You defy me?”
“You have defied the Valar,” Cas returned. “You have fallen into Curumo’s error. I am here at Lord Manwë’s order.”
“Fools!” Zachariah growled. “The House of Húrin lives again. The end is coming.”
“Not if we can help it,” Sam replied.
Rinc stepped forward. “Zach, if you don’t want to die, leave now.”
Zachariah snarled and vanished. Bobby gasped and groaned.
“Bobby?!” Dean stowed his gun and started forward, as did Sam.
Cas stowed his sword... somewhere and bent to pick up the elder hunter. “I do not have the skill to heal him, but I will take him to a hospital.” And cradling Bobby in his arms, Cas disappeared.
“Thanks,” Sam nodded to Rinc.
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Rinc shrugged. Then he caught sight of the Ring of Barahir and grinned. “Wondered where that had run off to! Looks good on you, Dean.”
Dean looked at it and ran his thumb over the band before looking back at Rinc. “That silver sword what you use to kill a Maia?”
“Well, technically, no. Might force him out of his present form, but it won’t force him out of Arda. But that,” he pointed to Maeglach, “might do the trick.”
Dean nodded, disappointed.
“And speaking of swords.” Rinc reached into his jacket and pulled out one of the longest swords Sam had ever seen, complete with jeweled scabbard and sword-belt. “Took me a long time to find this, but I figured Sammy might need it.”
Sam took it from him with a puzzled frown and tugged on the hilt gently. The sword slid out of the scabbard a short way, enough for him to see that it was still in mint condition, whatever its age, still shining as though lit from within, and the part he could see was engraved with a crescent moon, a star, and several runic inscriptions. Wide-eyed, he looked back at Rinc. “Is... is this....”
“The only other heirloom of your house that I could find,” Rinc replied. “The Crown of Gondor and the Sceptre of Annúminas were destroyed when the old kingdoms fell, and Eldarion sent the Elessar and both versions of the Elendilmir into the West with Gimli and Legolas. Why, I’m not sure, but he probably had some foreboding about the fate of at least Arnor and decided to get them to safety while he still could. I thought maybe he’d sent the Ring of Barahir with them as well, but now I see he didn’t. Anyway. Yes, that’s Andúril.”
“Dude,” Dean breathed.
Sam looked at him. “You sure you don’t want it?”
Dean snorted. “You kidding? I’d look stupid haulin’ around a piece of hardware like that.”
“You’re older.”
“You’re taller, Sasquatch. It’ll fit you better.”
Sam swallowed hard, feeling as overwhelmed as he knew Dean had felt about the ring, and slid the sword back into its scabbard. Then he unwound the belt and buckled it on. When he looked up again, Dean was staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just...” Dean motioned toward the middle of his forehead. “Thought I saw something.”
Rinc was smiling at them-not a smirk, quite, but a proud smile. “C’mon, muttonheads. We’ve got a date in Ilchester.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other, took a deep breath, squared their shoulders, and walked out of the storage unit side by side.
The six-and-a-half-hour drive from Black Rock to Ilchester was filled largely with Metallica, AC/DC, and Led Zeppelin. Rinc had opted to ride with them, but none of them felt much like talking after what had happened to Bobby. The only real conversation that occurred was when Ash called to inform them that omens were beginning to pick up around Ilchester. “Southern Wyoming’s still quiet as the grave,” he reported.
Dean sighed. “Okay. Thanks, dude.”
Sam looked at him as he hung up and pocketed the phone. “Dean... don’t even think it.”
“Think what?”
“That Bobby shoulda gone to the Devil’s Gate. None of us know everything. And it’s not like it’ll do us any good to talk about what might have been.”
Dean sighed again. “Just hope he’s gonna be okay. I’ve got a really bad feelin’ about this.”
Rinc leaned forward. “Dean... I can handle transporting the two of you and bringing Maglor and the Harvelles back. Have Castiel stay with Bobby.”
Dean nodded and called.
“I will be glad to guard Bobby,” Cas replied. “He is wandering in a fever, and if I’m not mistaken, it has a supernatural cause. I don’t know what more I can do for him, but I can prevent anything from hurting him further.”
“Thanks, Cas. We’ll get back as soon as we can.”
“Focus on stopping Lilith and Uriel, Dean. If you don’t, none of us may survive.”
Dean snorted. “Thanks for the pep talk, coach.” And he hung up and cranked up the radio once more, as if daring anyone to talk to him again.
Rufus, Pastor Gideon, and Thranduil were waiting for them when the Impala pulled up outside the convent. At least, Dean thought he could make out Thranduil’s shadow, such as it was, but he wasn’t absolutely sure the Elvenking was present until he started briefing them on where the Orcs were holed up. Sam did most of the talking with regard to the team’s plan for holding the convent, and most of what he didn’t say was filled in by Rinc. Dean hadn’t intended to stay mostly silent, but he was grateful not to have to carry the conversation.
Finally, though, Rufus turned to Dean. “Where’s Bobby? I thought Ellen said he was comin’ with you.”
Dean licked his lips and forced himself to answer. “He’s still in Buffalo. In the hospital. Zachariah showed up.”
Rufus and Thranduil cursed at the same time, neither in English, and Pastor Gideon’s kind face grew concerned. “Is there anything we can do for him from here?” the minister asked.
Dean shook his head. “Just pray, Pastor. And keep Lilith out of that chapel.”
Pastor Gideon nodded. “Okay. We’ll do that. Anything we can do for you?”
After a beat, Dean smiled a little and put a hand on the Impala’s roof. “Look after my baby?”
Rufus laughed, but Thranduil replied seriously, “None shall touch her, Dean. You have my word.” Then he added, with an undercurrent of amusement, “Indeed, I think I shall set Rúmil to guard her.”
That made Dean laugh. “Le hannon. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Then he looked at Sam, who looked at Rinc, who snapped his fingers... and suddenly they were outside the Devil’s Gate, where Jo, Ellen, and Maglor were kicked back in lawn chairs waiting for them.
Ellen did a quick head count and jumped to her feet. “Boys, where’s Bobby?”
Sam held up a finger and radioed Ash. “Green Eyes to Goldilocks. We’re in position.”
“Ah, 10-4, Green Eyes,” Ash drawled back. “Good huntin’.”
Sam nodded and looked back at Ellen. “Cas had to take Bobby to the hospital in Buffalo. Zachariah showed up.” And he explained what happened.
After another round of curses in English and Sindarin, Maglor deftly changed the subject to Andúril, and Jo insisted on examining the Ring of Barahir. And about the time everyone finished gushing over the heirlooms, Rinc not-so-gently suggested that they eat quickly and stand their guard.
When Uriel finally did show up three hours later, the confrontation was almost anti-climactic. He simply appeared and demanded that the hunters give way, and Dean shot him with Maeglach twice. Uriel fell, burning from the inside as was usual with the Colt and its reforged counterpart; the smoke that rose from the corpse tried to reform itself into a humanoid shape, but a sudden gust of wind from the west dispersed it. Rinc snapped his fingers, and the remains burst into flame.
Dean quickly reloaded Maeglach while Sam handed his shotgun to Rinc and passed Dagnir-en-Raughoth to Jo. “Gonna need both hands,” he explained.
Dean nodded and radioed Ash that they were done, and Rinc snapped his fingers once more and teleported the team to meet up with the reserve force Pastor Gideon had stationed a short distance from the convent.
“Are we glad to see you guys,” whispered Rob, the reserve commander who reminded Dean way too much of Daniel Jackson. “They didn’t even wait for full dark, just attacked the second the sun went down. We can’t see too much from here, but it sounds pretty bad.”
The battle did indeed sound grim. It was hard to tell who was screaming over the gunfire, but Dean could definitely make out Wargs howling and baying and spiders chittering.
He nodded to Rob. “Let’s go.”
They skirted the edge of the convent grounds to find a good angle of attack. Once they were in position, Sam looked at Dean, who nodded once, then drew Andúril and cried, “ELENDIL!”
The reserves yelled and charged, and the Orcs fell back before them. Sam and Dean kept pace with each other the whole way, Dean firing his shotgun and Sam cutting down anything that got too close. The Sacrament Lutheran crew had portable spray packs of holy water that they used to hose down the demons that ringed Team Destiny; Dean thought he saw Meg and Ruby, two of their old nemeses, in the mix before they vacated their hosts and fled. And before Zachariah could try to turn anyone into a toad, Dean managed to shoot Alatar in the shoulder. Pallando cried out in alarm and caught Alatar as he fell, then ran for the woods.
Lilith and Zachariah turned to face the Winchesters, and Dean switched his shotgun for Maeglach and shot one of the henchdemons that was still trying to guard Lilith. Zachariah paled and disappeared. Lilith shot some kind of energy toward Dean, but Rinc blocked it. Demon and Maia battled for a good minute, but before Dean could get a clear shot at Lilith, she called a retreat and vanished. The remaining monsters fled the field, presumably chased by Thranduil’s contingent, leaving the rest of the defenders in various states of injury and breathlessness-but victorious.
Dean had barely caught his breath when he looked at Sam and said, “We gotta get back to Bobby.”
Rinc nodded. “Go. We’ve got this.”
“We’ll follow as soon as we can,” Ellen added, “put Maglor in your room and Jo and I will take Bobby’s.”
Sam nodded once in acknowledgment, and the brothers walked quickly to the Impala and sped back to Buffalo, arriving shortly before 1:00. Cas met them at the hospital and took them to Bobby’s room, deflecting cries that it was after visiting hours and calling for a doctor on the way. Dean took one look at Bobby’s fever-flushed face and cursed Zachariah in every language he knew.
The doctor who came explained that although Bobby’s fever was dangerously high and wasn’t responding to treatment, none of the tests had turned up a cause. “It’s like he’s fighting some phantom virus or something,” the doctor concluded. “We’re doing everything we can, but if he can’t beat this on his own... I don’t know how long he has.”
Sam thanked the doctor in a manner that was clearly a dismissal. She took the hint and left.
As soon as the door closed, Dean rounded on Cas. “Can’t you do something?”
Cas bristled. “I am a warrior, Dean, not a healer. I don’t have your gift.”
“Oh, like I know what I’m doing. I didn’t exactly study under Elrond, you know.”
“The power is in your blood. Father created Melian to heal and renew, and that gift is the mark of her offspring. You will know what to do when you try, Dean. I believe in you.”
Dean grimaced. He hadn’t had much practice with using his healing power in situations that didn’t involve the psyche being trapped or lost due to supernatural interference, so he wasn’t entirely sure how much good he could do. But he had saved Bobby from a dreamwalker once before, so he knew he could connect with Bobby’s consciousness, wherever it was. And if Cas was useless, Dean knew he probably was their only shot at saving him.
“Soda and chocolate?” Sam asked, his hand on the door handle.
Dean sighed. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Sam sprinted down the hall and sprinted back with an armload of goodies from the vending machine. “Wish I knew where to find athelas-if it even exists anymore.”
Cas looked like he was about to offer to go look for some.
“No time, Cas,” Dean sighed, pulling a chair up to Bobby’s bedside as Sam took up his usual position of support beside him. “I need to fight this now. Just... stand guard, huh?”
Cas nodded once and stood with his back against the door. It would have looked ridiculous had Dean not known that the slight frame hid a powerful spirit.
The emeralds in the ring glinted in the low light as Dean gently laid his left hand across Bobby’s hot forehead. The wrong branch of the family, Zachariah had said, curse him. Here you are, Turambar.
Well, Dean was not about to prove him right. He and Sam might have a lot in common with Túrin, but Mom had looked a whole lot like Tuor, and even though he’d only been around their however-many-times-great grandfather for a day, he could tell the similarities went far deeper than a mere family resemblance. And that was one heritage Dean was proud to claim.
Thus determined, Dean put his right hand on Bobby’s arm and closed his eyes. But what he sensed first wasn’t Bobby’s soul; there was some kind of force around Bobby that was feeding the sickness, whatever it was. Dean pushed, and the force resisted. Dean snarled and pushed harder, power surging forth like it had when he’d called Sam back. A struggle ensued and lasted for what felt like hours, and Dean was dimly aware that his wordless growls were occasionally slipping into Sindarin words he didn’t know and were being joined by moans from Bobby. Sam’s hand gripped Dean’s shoulder, lending him strength he hadn’t even known he needed.
Finally, when it felt like the struggle was at a tipping point, Dean summoned the last of his reserves and gave one final shove, crying, “Ego! Awartho den, edledhio!”
The force snapped and recoiled like a rubber band, and Bobby shuddered and broke into a sweat as the fever fled. Dean tried to keep pushing, to see if something else was wrong, but Sam was shaking him with an urgency that bespoke alarm, and Dean opened his eyes to realize that he was exhausted.
“Spiders, Dean,” Sam said, snatching Dean’s hand away from Bobby’s arm and pushing the opened Mountain Dew into it. They’d both gotten into the habit of using non-vulgar curses around Ben, and most of the ones they’d picked up from Maglor had stuck. “You haven’t looked that pale since... since....”
“The last time I almost died?” Dean croaked and guzzled down a third of the soda, not taking his other hand off Bobby’s forehead. “’Sokay, Sammy, you can say it.”
“You scared me, dude. I wasn’t sure if I could pull you out.”
Dean chugged the rest of the soda and belched out the carbonation. Then he sighed. “I gotta go back in, make sure.”
“No, you don’t, Dean. You broke the fever, and you almost broke yourself. Let the doctors look at him first.”
“Sam....”
“Dean.”
“Hey,” Bobby said weakly. “Let a guy sleep, will ya?”
Dean’s eyes snapped back to Bobby’s face as Sam grabbed the empty soda bottle from him. “Bobby?”
Bobby’s eyes weren’t open, but his color was slowly returning to normal, and he managed a small smile. “’M okay, Dean. Thank you.”
“You sure?”
“Get y’r danged hand off my head, idjit. That ring’s heavy.”
Dean snorted and smoothed Bobby’s damp hair back from his forehead. “See if I ever go dumpster divin’ for you again.”
Bobby chuckled. After a pause, he added, “Dean... if there’s lasting damage... it ain’t your fault. Don’t you go killin’ yourself to try an’ fix it.”
“Bobby....”
“You saved my life, son. We c’n make lemonade from the rest.”
Dean sighed. “If that’s how you want it.”
“’S how I want it.”
“Okay.”
Sam reached across the bed to push the call button, then dragged Dean’s chair back from the bed and slapped a package of almond M&Ms into his hand with a face that said Eat before I force-feed you. Dean rolled his eyes and tore open the package.
By the time Sam had bullied Dean into eating all of the junk food he’d brought back, the doctors had subjected Bobby to another round of pokes and prods and scans. The mystery infection was gone, they concluded, but there was a shadow around two of the lower vertebrae that seemed to be causing paralysis below the waist. Since they couldn’t trace the cause, however, they couldn’t treat the problem or tell whether it was permanent.
Dean stood unsteadily and started to push his chair back up to the bed as soon as the doctors left. “I gotta go back in.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Sam replied, reaching into Dean’s jacket and snagging the Impala keys. “Cas!”
Before Dean could protest, Cas poked two fingers at Dean’s forehead, and Dean found himself in the motel room with a very startled Maglor. Dean grumbled something uncomplimentary about angels.
“Dean?” Maglor asked. “What happened? How fares Bobby?”
Dean explained.
“Labadal,” Maglor murmured when he’d finished.
Dean blinked. “Do what now?”
“Túrin had an odd habit of befriending the crippled... Sador Labadal, Brandir the Lame. Not that he did ill, of course, for they were among his wisest counselors, but still... whether this be another attempt to force the plot, I know not, but it does strike me as strange.”
“So Team Destiny strikes again. Awesome.” Dean scrubbed wearily at his eyes.
Maglor placed a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean. We have forced them to retreat. Bobby will recover, even if he can no longer walk. You must rest.”
“Dude, it’s my fault.”
“No, it isn’t. Bobby would have insisted on joining you even if he had known he would be attacked. You could not have aided him further tonight. And had he not gone, I do not doubt that Zachariah would have attacked Sam instead.”
Dean lapsed into stubborn silence, and a moment later Maglor pushed him to sit on the bed before retrieving his guitar from the closet.
“Oh, what,” Dean snarked, “you gonna sing me to sleep?”
“If that is what it takes,” Maglor replied evenly. “Or would you prefer a sleeping-draught?”
Dean looked downright mulish but slid off his boots and lay back against the pillows. Maglor began to play something soft and gentle, and Dean relaxed without meaning to.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up several hours later with Sam snuggled protectively beside him. And though he groaned inwardly at the indignity of being cuddled, he was still too bone-weary to protest or struggle before sleep claimed him again.
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