Blood that Binds Us (SPN, Gen, Part 2 - complete)
Title: Blood that Binds Us (Part 2 or chapters 3-5)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Teen
Words: ~13,000
Category: Gen, case fic, h/c (heavy on the hurt, not so much comfort)
Characters: Dean, Sam, Katie (OFC, age 22), Shelly (OFC, age 16)
Summary: Set mid season 2. While researching the case of a missing circus acrobat, Dean also goes missing.
Also prompt: Exorcism @ Paranormal25
Part one is here
Chapter 3
Dean finished a second circuit of their prison, lightly bumping into Shelly who had been circling the other way. She put a hand on Dean’s arm.
“Solid rock, right? But it opened before somehow.” There was an edge of desperation to Shelly’s voice - the let down that followed adrenaline and hope. They had seemingly freed themselves from their bonds only to find their prison to be made of inescapable solid rock. Dean thought for a moment, placing a comforting hand on Shelly’s tense shoulders. “Didn’t you say the creepy dudes entered the room before in order to retrieve that other girl? And you saw them bring me in, right?”
“Yeah?”
“So, how did they do it? Which way did they come from?”
“Dean, it’s pitch black in here.” Shelly huffed out a defeated sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Just try, anything you remember.” Dean squeezed Shelly’s shoulder, giving a small shake. “It’s important.”
When Shelly spoke again, there were tears in her voice. Dean had wondered how long the teenager’s bravado could hold up against the odds and it seemed she’d finally reached her limits.
“There was a grinding noise,” she finally stated. “I guess there’s a doorway that opens up somehow, but it sounded heavy. I bet the mechanism for opening it is on the other side too.” Shelly seemed to deflate suddenly. A harsh sob echoed in the darkness. “We’re gonna die Dean. They’re gonna come for us and there’s not going to be anything…”
Dean pulled the girl in, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He felt her hands grip into his shirt as she hid her face against his sternum and hitched a sobbing breath.
“Hey, none of that. No one’s dying, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here. We are getting out of here. I promise, alright and I never break a promise.” Dean soothed the sobbing girl, cutting off the negative thoughts that were running through his own mind in favour of repeating the gentle mantra to Shelly.
He tilted his head back toward the ceiling, eyes closed tight as he took a deep calming breath; his thoughts were anything but calm though: Think Dean. There’s got to be a way out of here. Please, let there be something.
A slight breeze drifted over them, shifting Dean’s hair and tickling at his eyelashes. Dean went completely still, every hair on his skin suddenly sensitive to the movement of the air. There was definitely a draft. But where was it coming from?
Shelly stilled in Dean’s arms, her breath still hitching a little as she snuffled, trying to find some modicum of control again. “What is it?” she whispered, Dean’s sudden stillness putting her on edge.
“Do you feel that?” Dean asked. “I think there’s a draft coming from somewhere above us.”
Shelly took a deep breath and stopped moving too, still standing in the comforting circle of Dean’s arms. She raised her head, tilting it back and then held her breath a moment. The two of them stood quiet and still as a statue for a moment, before Shelly broke the silence.
“I can feel it too.” Shelly’s voice was an awed whisper, as if speaking any more loudly might break the small grasp she’d just regained on hope.
She pushed gently out of Dean’s arms and maneuvered him closer to the wall, prodding and poking gently, and Dean allowed himself to be moved while his brain worked on how to use this new knowledge to the best of their advantage.
“Put your knee out a little and… there. Stay just like that,” Shelly stated.
Before Dean knew quite what was happening, Shelly was boosting herself up, one foot braced on his thigh above his knee and then she was somehow swinging herself up onto his shoulders, climbing into a standing position. Dean reached up to hold her ankles and tried to stay very still.
“Warn a guy next time,” he exclaimed lightly, remembering she was an acrobat a few moments too late. “Anything?” he asked hopefully.
“Can you take a couple of steps to your right?”
Dean took two careful steps sideways, making sure to keep the rest of his body very still. “That better?”
“Yeah. I can feel an opening. Just, a tiny bit more to the right.” Dean obliged and was rewarded with an excited “Yes, there’s an opening of some kind up here,” from Shelly, as she suddenly pushed off from his shoulders and disappeared up into the dark.
“Shelly? Shelly, what is it?” Dean asked, wishing like hell that he was the one crawling into the dark spaces above them.
“Ugh, it’s a dead end. Shit! There’s a metal grate and I can’t…”
A grumbling, scraping sound sent Dean spinning around to face the other direction as a large section of rock slowly ground open and torch light flooded into the room.
O
Sam felt the trip wire against his leg at the last moment, too late for him to stop his forward momentum. He simultaneously tripped and felt something smack him hard inbetween the shoulder blades. A few steps in front of him (having stepped over the trip wire through random luck), Katie screamed and Sam managed to roll to his feet in time to catch the red lights looming ahead in the darkness.
A stabbing pain from the blow between his shoulders had Sam reeling slightly but he stayed on his feet, determined to face whatever was coming head on. He pulled a gun from the back of his pants, checked it and aimed toward the red lights that, for the moment, were just floating there. The flash light he’d dropped when he went down now only haphazardly lit the tunnel, but Katie quickly brought hers up, giving them their first glimpse of the horror ahead.
A face floated in the tunnel, three red eyes blinking each in turn. The black darkness of its surface seemed to writhe and move in the light, giving the impression of something moving below the surface. It was like a trick of the light that Sam couldn’t quite seem to focus on. The mouth opened to reveal nothing within but dark empty space and, as it rushed toward them, the thing screamed.
Sam let off all six iron rounds into the screaming mask, the sound reverberating loudly around the enclosed space, before he felt the empty click at the end of his ammunition. He ducked down, dragging Katie with him, as the thing carried right on past them over their heads, seemingly having just absorbed the bullets like nothing. It spun around, still screaming, and came at them again. And again.
“Jesus! Sam, what do we do?” Katie ducked down lower again as the hideous mask made yet another pass, her voice barely audible over its screaming.
“I think we just tripped someone’s alarm system. We have to get out of here. Come on.” Sam clutched at Katie’s hand and, still bent over to avoid the flying three-eyed menace, they ran.
O
Dean had to close his eyes against the sudden light, but he forced himself to squint and managed to catch glimpses of his captors as they spilled into the room en masse. They were scary son’s of bitches with dark robes and black masks that seemed to writhe and move in the torchlight, their red eyes blinking.
And then they were upon him. Though still blinded, Dean kicked and thrashed and used every dirty trick he’d ever learned, but there were too many of them. The concrete confines of their prison were too enclosed and it seemed like mere moments before he found himself forced to his knees, helpless, his arms locked behind his back and his head throbbing anew as his chest heaved with exertion.
He strained against their hold as one of the masked men leaned down, squatting in front of him. The man’s head tilted to the side, reminding Dean of a vulture - the red eyes blinked as if quietly studying the captive before him. Dean could do nothing but watch, cursing and straining, as the man raised a knife. Its silver blade flashed in the torch light, but the expected pain didn’t follow. Instead the man used it to slice Dean’s t-shirt, slowly, from bottom to top. He pushed the ruined material to one side and then ran his free hand appreciatively down and across the skin he’d just exposed. Dean tried to flinch away from the touch, but he was held fast.
“You are a pretty one,” muttered the man, his voice sounding old and frail. “Such a lucky find. Stumbling and bumbling along the corridors of our place of worship. Yes, you’ll do just fine.”
The man suddenly brought the knife down again, this time nicking Dean’s side with the sharp blade. Dean sucked in an involuntary breath at the sudden attack and the man chuckled, petting at Dean’s chest.
“See, not so bad,” he muttered.
“You sick bastard,” Dean spat back. He may as well not have spoken at all for all the man paid him any heed.
He proceeded to slick his fingers in Dean’s blood, drawing something with it on Dean’s chest, then lower on his belly, the blood cooling sticky and wet against his skin. With each symbol drawn, Dean felt his body turn suddenly icy cold and numb, while his limbs, it seemed, were becoming loose and pliable. As the masked man reached up to paint something on Dean’s forehead, Dean whimpered slightly, brows creasing in frustration and fear as he felt the last of his control slip away. He was sure that the only thing now holding his body upright were the arms that kept him pinned there.
The man cackled madly, a last disgusting, gentle slide of a finger slid across the line of Dean’s cheek bone, before the man stood again and snapped his fingers. He pointed up.
“No point in hiding, my dear,” he purred. “Get her down,” he ordered and the robed figures around him snapped to work.
The man turned back to face Dean, waving at the two men who still held him in place and Dean found himself suddenly dropped flat to the floor. The leader’s robed form physically blocked Dean’s view of events, but he could hear Shelly screaming, hear her muffled sobs as she called out to Dean to help her, because he’d promised. Dean could feel his rage building, but his body simply wouldn’t do as he commanded. No matter how hard he tried to move, to turn his head, to get the fuck off the floor… his limbs just refused to cooperate. About the only thing he found he could do was blink and move his eyes.
There was a sudden small squeak of pain and then Shelly suddenly fell silent. Dean closed his eyes for a moment in defeat, blinking back the tears that threatened to come.
“Pretty, pretty one. So pretty,” the old man mumbled.
Don’t you touch her, you evil sonofabitch, Dean thought, but even the words refused to come, his mouth as unable to respond to his commands as the rest of him.
“Get up now, my pretties,” the man commanded and Dean’s body obeyed. Dean watched in horror from a place of no control. He saw his body push itself up on arms he couldn’t feel and stand using muscles he couldn’t control.
“That’s right. Now follow me. Follow me,” the man continued, and Dean’s treacherous body walked right along behind its masked captor, casual as can be, while inside the prison of his own body Dean tried and failed to scream, silent and unheard in the catacombs of tunnels.
Shelly’s quiet footsteps followed behind him.
O
Sam pressed his aching back into the concrete behind him feeling an odd sting near his neck as he did so, his shoulder was pressed into Katie’s and she’d slid her hand into his, squeezing reflexively as she attempted to control her fear. They waited, so still and quiet that they barely dared to breathe. Yet another group of robed figures swept past their hiding place heading toward the sound of screaming; the mask’s frightening cries still echoed along the corridors, loud enough to reach Sam and Katie despite how far they’d already run.
When the figures had finally passed, Sam gave Katie’s hand a reassuring squeeze and made to stand up. If they kept moving they’d have a better chance of avoiding the patrols and he was now positive that they were moving in the right direction - toward finding Dean and Shelly.
But he felt weak, his limbs heavy and, when he stood, he felt himself sway as the room suddenly tilted and warped in his vision. Sam put his free hand out to the wall, closing his eyes tightly against the sudden vertigo.
“Sam?” Katie whispered, concern and panic warring in her tone. “What’s wrong?”
Sam released her hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily as he tried to regain control of his reeling senses. “I don’t know; feels like I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer or something.”
“Shit, sit down, Sam or you’re gonna fall down. Besides I think I may know what the problem is. I can see something…” Katie tugged at Sam’s arm until he slid back down to the floor.
“We’ve got to keep moving, Katie. They’ll double back and start looking for us soon.”
“Shut up. Just let me look. Here.”
Sam could feel Katie’s hands prodding between his shoulder blades and along the bruised area where the booby trap had hit him. It was definitely only his height that had saved him from being knocked out cold from that one. There was a sharp sting that made him grunt and then Katie held a small dart in front of his face.
“You have been drugged, Sam. It must have been a back-up booby trap or something, but it looks like it was mostly stopped by your collar. I don’t think you got a full dose.”
Sam looked at the dart, his eyes struggling to focus.
“Well, fuck!” was all he finally managed. The expletive wasn’t exactly an eloquent response, he knew - more of a Dean response really - but it did adequately express his thoughts at that moment.
“Do you think you can keep going?” Katie asked, her voice strangled a little as if afraid of the response.
Sam started to nod, but stopped when it caused a wave of nausea. He swallowed and forced himself to breathe. He struggled to his feet, lurching as the room continued to tilt and sway, but between the solid wall he pressed himself into and Katie’s grip under his elbow, he thought he could keep moving. He had to. Dean and Shelly were depending on them.
“Yeah, ’m good. Let’s go”
Sam stared at his feet, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other, while Katie kept a hand at his elbow. They lurched down the tunnel, hopefully heading ever closer to their goal. To Dean and to Shelly.
Chapter 4
Dean watched, a silent spectator inside his own body, as robed figures stripped him down and redressed him in something resembling a white toga. He noted impassively how they were careful at all times not to disturb the bloody symbols inscribed on his skin, wrapping carefully around and over them.
He got his first look at Shelly and was relieved to find that they were wrapping the toga-thing over a bright pink bikini; the bloody symbols etched on her stomach, chest and forehead. The sick fuckers had at least left her with a little dignity. The teenager stood loose-limbed and pliable as they dressed her, even brushed her long dark hair and cleaned her bare feet. When he met her blue eyes, though, he could see the same panic and fear that was racing through his own veins, the evidence right there in her terrified stare; she was just as trapped as he was.
Shit, shit, shit! They had to get out of here.
Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the fingers of his right hand, willing desperately for them to twitch, to move, to do anything at all… When nothing happened, he forced himself to stop thinking, to regroup, to relax... to get his shit together the way he’d been taught so many years ago.
He forced his mind onto the very first relaxation exercise his father had taught him. With his eyes shut, he willed his father’s comforting low rumble of a voice into his mind, blocking out everything else around him.
‘Concentrate, Dean. Let everything slow down. Concentrate on your breathing - in and out. Don’t try to control it, just make yourself aware of each breath. Then let that awareness move to the rest of your body, from your toes to the top of your head, just let yourself become aware of your whole body.’
Dean had found it amusing at the time, though he’d tried not to show it. His Dad. ‘Mr-No Nonsense, don’t give me that shit’ himself, sounding for all the world like some incense-burning, new age yoga teacher. But as he’d let himself relax and listen, tried to do as his Dad instructed, he had realised that it worked. And when he’d opened his eyes, he’d found he was calm and relaxed and completely focused. He’d practiced ever since.
This time it was different. He was aware he was breathing. He could count the breaths in and out. He could concentrate on the sound. And yet the numbness continued. He couldn’t feel any of his body. Frustrated, he tried a different tactic, this time just letting himself imagine his body. He imagined feeling his feet and hands, imagined his fingers moving and his lips tingling. He imagined his body was his own to command.
And his skin started to feel hot. At first, it was just a strange sensation - a tingling like pins and needles - but it intensified to a burning heat like plunging his cold body into a too-hot bath.
Dean gasped, his eyes flying open as he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was choking, gasping, staring up at the curving concrete roof of the dirty sewer tunnels, but he had control. He was doing it; he had control. And with that thought his concentration fled entirely and he dropped back into numb stillness. The lack of pain was both a relief and a torture.
Fuck! Dean let his eyes droop closed, fatigue making him want to just give up and cry… not that he’d ever be caught being such a baby, but it was fucking tempting.
“Don’t fight it my pretty. You are a strong one, yes, yeees, but it’ll only cause you pain,” the old man’s voice sing-song-ed and Dean would have growled if he could have.
Instead, Dean tried to calm his mind again, concentrate on his hijacked body. He could do this. He had to.
O
“Shh,” Katie warned and she and Sam slipped into a side corridor, silently pressing themselves into the darkened walls and all but holding their breath - completely still.
Yet another robed figure passed the side tunnel by without a second glance and Sam felt himself relax. For evil dudes that had somehow overpowered his brother, these guys were incredibly unobservant - or maybe just completely full of themselves, Sam reflected. Whatever the case, he was glad. He’d already managed to drink his way through a bottle of water, but his mouth still felt like cotton wool. His muscles still felt heavy and he knew his reactions had to be slower, but his head had been slowly clearing and he could walk a straight line now without too much conscious thought to the matter. It still didn’t change the fact that his drug-induced clumsiness should have had them caught several times by now, but these guys were as observant as Storm Troopers.
Sam peered around the tunnel cautiously, only to see more bad guys coming back the other way; their torches preceded them with an eerie glow that bobbed and moved as they walked. He placed a hand on Katie’s shoulder, squeezed a little in what had quickly become their silent cue for ‘danger.’ They pulled back into the side corridor to wait again, watching the group pass by.
Sam and Katie both sucked in a shocked breath as the white clad figures walked docilely down the corridor following the robed figure in front of them. Sam glanced down at Katie and swallowed thickly. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness but he felt her body tense and begin to shake.
Shelly looked just like her picture - short, dark hair, blue eyes, though the bloody symbol on her forehead was new - before bringing his attention back to his brother. A huge sense of relief washed over Sam and he realised that, until that moment, he’d been unconsciously preparing himself for the worst. But Dean was alive and so was Shelly.
Dean and Shelly didn’t even try to struggle or run. There was something off about it all - apart from the obedience - and then Dean passed the entrance to the side tunnel and Sam got a good look at his face. More particularly, at his brother’s eyes.
Shit, Sam stared at his brother in horror. Dean’s eyes were calculating, desperate, belying the calm way he was walking. His eyes flicked from left to right, a captive soul taking everything in like a caged animal. He seemed to be observing every nook and cranny, every side tunnel, brick and exit-point, looking for a way out. And then Dean was looking down the side corridor, somehow looking directly at Sam and there was a flicker of hope and recognition there, followed by fear. Sam knew what Dean was thinking: if he could see Sam then his captors might too.
We’re coming. Sam mouthed the words, not daring to move his body enough to make a hand signal. Dean’s eyes hardened and like that he was back all business again. Sam watched his brother consciously force himself to look straight ahead so he wouldn’t give Sam’s position away. He need not have worried; the robed figure carried on past as clueless as all the others that came before them.
“B-,” came Dean’s voice from further up corridor. “Bl-ud m-mag-ik-ik,” Dean said. His voice sounded like it was forced out of his lungs and through his vocal chords with great effort as he struggled to form the words, but the sound carried back along the corridors clearly.
“Oh, do give up, my pretty,” followed another voice. “There’s no one here to hear you and your little rebellion has become tiresome. Just give up.”
Sam leaned heavily into the wall behind him until all signs of the robed men had passed them by. He mouthed the words “Blood magic.” He whispered the words aloud and Katie looked at him, her face clearly showing her shock at seeing her sister like that, but she had enough composure to remain still, and Sam was grateful that she wasn’t stupid enough to rush out into the corridor without a plan.
“We have to save her,” she murmured, added “them, I mean them,” as an afterthought. “Oh my God, Sam. Come on.” She shoved at Sam’s shoulder and Sam simply nodded, held her back until he’d checked the corridor again, and then set out after their captive siblings, following as close to the creepy robed guys as they dared.
O
Dean walked out into the circular chamber, Shelly close behind him. They both stopped when the old man gave the command. The chamber was fairly deep underground judging by the downward slope they’d been traveling for about an hour now, their path twisting and turning through a convoluted route of sewer tunnels and old stone passages.
At a gesture from the old man, one of the robed figures scurried to the wall and touched a torch to the statue there. Like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, the flame caught with a low whoof sound, spreading out around trough-like grooves built into the walls and casting the room in flickering light. Dean had to admit that was pretty cool, but while his brain conjured up wise cracks involving whip-wielding archaeologists, his body stood calm and still and he just couldn’t bring himself to concentrate hard enough to make himself speak. If he were honest, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed it earlier in the corridor.
The robed figures moved around to line up at even spaces around the room. Each member stood beneath one of the symbols Dean now noticed were carved into the walls and filled with some sort of crystals that caused them to twinkle and glow in the fire light.
Every hideous masked face stared in one direction, sets of three red eyes staring directly at Dean and Shelly.
“This way,” the old man told them, and Dean and Shelly moved toward the center of the room, toward something that looked like a large well that was raised up upon a dais. Dean really didn’t want to look at what was down there. Seriously, he did not need to know.
“See your future,” the old man proclaimed and Dean’s body bent forward, his head tilted down and Dean found himself looking directly down into the inky black pool of darkness at the bottom of the well. A darkness that writhed and shifted…
Chapter 5
Sam stared at the gathering of black-cloaked crazies through a metal grate, Katie pressed close beside him. After following Dean and Shelly’s entourage downward for close to an hour, they’d finally come to a guarded entrance and been forced to look for an alternative vantage point. Their task now was recon and then they needed a plan. If they were to assume they’d all gathered for… whatever the hell this was, then the - sect, cult, coven? - was relatively small. It must have just been the fact of them all dressing the same that made Sam assume larger numbers back in the tunnels.
As Dean and Shelly’s bodies walked themselves into a chamber - with a ceiling high enough he couldn’t see it in the ominous flame-lit glow - Sam noted a few stragglers joining the main group, but there were still only twenty warlocks (maybe a witch or two, but it was hard to tell with the masks in place) present. Assuming there were still a few more guarding the entrance below, Sam made figured there to be a total of twenty-five at most.
They could take twenty-five craggy old warlocks out, right? Oh God did they ever need a plan. Sam closed his eyes, briefly lost in his thoughts.
“Sam, what are we going to do?” Katie’s breath was warm against Sam’s neck and when he turned to face her, he found himself staring directly into her big brown eyes.
“We need a plan,” Sam said, not really answering her question, but damned if he had a better answer right at that moment. “We need a plan and we need it quickly.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this what you do? You and your brother? I mean you never really said and I just assumed you were private detectives or something, but-” Katie looked back down through the grate. “I mean, you don’t seem thrown by the creepy masks and the people in capes, and your brother… he said blood magic as if it would mean something to you.”
“Sort of.” Sam shrugged, having learned the hard way that the truth was very rarely the best option when it came to civillians. Most civillians didn’t want to know the whole truth, they’d come to their own conclusions, find their own comfort level.
“Sort of, how?” Katie asked quietly.
“As in, yes; this is sort of what we do.” Sam watched her expression closely as Katie faced him again, a wrinkle creasing her brow. “We hunt down things, save lives where we can.” Sam shrugged once more, hoping Katie would fill in the blanks for him.
“You hunt down cults and stuff?”
“Yep.” Sam nodded, deliberately not explaining any further than that, although something told him Katie might be more open than most.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Sam asked, confused; most people didn’t take this kind of thing so well.
“Okay, I don’t claim to understand why or how, but I trust you Sam and you’re the expert here and that’s good because I’m going to ask you a lot more questions when we get out of here, but for now …we need to rescue them. So what’s the plan? And what’s blood magic?”
Sam answered the second question first; the one he had an answer for already. “Basically, magic that involves blood. Blood represents the essence of life, the physical manifestation of the spirit and so it’s been used in various cultural, magical and religious traditions for - well for as long as we have a recorded history at least. Blood sacrifice, blood letting, sharing of blood, blood ties… It’s not good or evil in itself, but it is powerful, since it’s all about life and death.”
“And here?” Katie asked.
“I’d say they’ve bound Dean and Shelly to one of the Warlocks and it more than likely has something to do with the symbol I noticed painted on their foreheads. Dean would never be that pliant, not even if you drugged him, but blood magic can be strong enough to overcome free will… at least to a certain extent. But more to the point, the use of blood in their rituals tells us these guys are into hard core magic. We’re going to need a pretty good distraction to get past the chanting crazies.” Sam ducked his head, indicating the scene below, where the warlocks had spread out and begun to chant.
Katie’s forehead creased in a pensive frown and, though she opened her mouth to speak again, turning toward Sam, she stopped suddenly and turned to face behind them instead. “Sam, behind you!” she warned.
Sam spun around, still crouched in a squat position. He dove to the side as something resembling a ball of lightning dissipated into the spot where he’d been just a moment before; it did so without a sound. The masked warlock, who had just thrown the ball of energy, huffed as if he couldn’t believe he’d missed and then raised his hand again.
So much for the element of surprise, Sam thought, as he scrabbled for the gun at his back, realizing full well there wasn’t any time. Their masked assailant suddenly collapsed forward with a grunt; Katie stood on the other side of the collapsed warlock clutching a rusty piece of pipe. The surprised look on her face told Sam she hadn’t expected it to be that simple. She grinned, wiping her hands against her jeans before bringing one hand up to muffle a manic giggle.
“Wow, I cannot believe that worked,” she whispered; Sam nodded and grinned back at her, just as shocked at how easy these guys were to take out, but probably twice as relieved.
“Thank you,” he said.
Sam turned around to peer out the metal grate again. The warlocks below were still chanting and Dean and Shelly were now standing in front of something that looked like a large well. No one was running their way and it would appear the alarm had yet to be raised. Katie peered around the exits to their hidey-hole, shaking her head with a relieved smile. No bad guys following that way either. The warlock they’d taken out must have been pretty confident of his success.
But they still needed a plan.
Turning back to the prone warlock, Sam reached down toward the ugly mask, thought better of it and instead nudged at the thing with his boot. The surface rippled, black and oily and Sam suddenly thought he had some idea of what was going on here; what was possibly a very bad idea was forming his mind.
“I may have a plan,” Sam said. He smiled at Katie, picking up the weapons bag as he went. “How are you with a shot gun?”
Katie frowned, but smiled at Sam’s sudden, earnest look of interest, his flash of a grin.
“I’m a top shot at Wild West Shootout,” she replied, and at Sam’s confused look, she added: “The shooting gallery at the fair. You know, shoot the metal ducks, win a stuffed elephant.” Sam nodded, seeming not at all reassured. “And I’ve been plinking now and then since I was a kid,” she continued, “- with Alfred and some of the other guys. Not like there’s much to do between towns. Shooting bottles is like a pastime for carnie folk.”
“Okay, great.” Sam pawed through the weapons duffle he’d carried unopened so far and handed Katie a shotgun and some extra rounds. “Think you’ll be okay with this? They’re salt rounds, so just aim in the general direction of bad guys, make some loud bangs and hopefully we’ll create a bit of havoc.” Katie frowned, as Sam dug further into the duffle, taking out a small leather bound book, before moving over to strip the warlock of his cape. She checked the shotgun was loaded, felt around to check the safety and tried out the feel of it - sighting down the weapon briefly. She resisted cocking the gun for fear of making too much noise. To be honest, she’d never handled a shotgun. Alfred had always set her up with smaller lighter weapons, 9mm handguns and the like, but she figured if she lay down a little and propped the shotgun through the bars of the grate, then maybe the kickback might not be so bad. It would certainly help her aim.
“What are you going to be doing while I create this havoc?” she asked, turning back to take in Sam’s actions.
“Oh, you’ll see,” Sam answered, enigmatic at a time she really just wanted a straight answer. Katie rolled her eyes in exasperation.
Sam had bound the warlock’s hands and feet, just in case he came to while Katie was preoccupied with loud firearms. He then used the cape he’d stolen to pick up the ugly mask.
“If it works, start shooting when you see the smoke,” he told her cryptically. “Otherwise, I’ll find another way to signal to you.” With that, he headed out into the tunnels again.
“Sam?” Katie whispered harshly.
Sam turned back a moment, a frown on his face.
“Just be careful, okay?”
“You too. Keep your eyes open.” With a determined look, jaw clenched, Sam strode back into the tunnels.
O
Dean stood, looking down into the writhing darkness at the bottom of the well and felt a cold dread form in the pit of his stomach. With sudden clarity, he knew exactly what he was looking at. The shifting mass of hazy black shapes moved too smoothly to be smoke and too lightly to be oil; individual entities moving purposely within a seething whole - Demons.
At that moment, Dean would have done anything to be able to pull out the holy water and an exorcism ritual or just run like Satan himself was after him. Hell, he’d even settle for being able to look away, but all he could do was stare down in horror, and hope that somehow, somewhere nearby, his brother had a plan to get him out of here.
O
Sam knelt down close to the entrance of the large chamber, just out of earshot of the guards. It appeared the entrance was only guarded by two cloaked figures, both of whom were paying little attention to their duty as they looked instead toward the main event inside the room.
Sam huffed a silent laugh at finding the guards even less observant than usual. A small piece of luck coming his way this late in the game was more than he’d hoped for. He placed the mask he’d taken from the warlock earlier down on the floor beside him, noticing as he did so that his hands were shaking with adrenaline and fatigue and he clenched them into fists until it stopped. There wasn’t time for a better plan, Dean and Shelly needed him now. He placed his shotgun and a flask of holy water within easy reach, opened up the journal, flipped through it to find the correct page and started to recite the exorcism.
As he read, a black cloud started to form above the mask, seeping and then billowing out from its surface, seemingly expelled by Sam’s steady, quiet chanting. The dark oily cloud hung ominously above the simple wooden mask that it had previously occupied. It stayed there for a moment before, with a loud screech, it shot toward the main entrance of the cavern like one magnet drawn to another.
A moment later the sound of shotgun fire reverberated around the enclosed space of the chamber as Katie took her cue.
His position now compromised anyway, Sam quickly moved closer to the guards, whose attention was now split between the demon and gunfire, and finding where the demon had come from. Sam all but stepped out of hiding and began to chant a little louder, watching as the guards’ masks also began to morph and slip, black demon smoke bubbling and flowing away from the surface. The guards reached up, clawing in horror at their faces and crying out as the black demon substance burnt their hands.
Sam smacked the nearest guard out with a clean right hook, watching as the second guard stumbled backwards and into the chamber, still yelling and screaming in pained confusion.
Sam concentrated on keeping up a running litany of Latin chanting as he backtracked a short way into the tunnels to retrieve the stolen robes and the now plain wooden mask. He quickly donned his warlock disguise and walked confidently into the main chamber, keeping close to the walls and out of action, Latin still falling from his lips. Between the disruption of the screaming warlock and the steady shotgun fire Sam hoped he had a chance of getting to Dean and Shelly.
O
The room was hot and sweaty, making Dean feel claustrophobic, like the air had become thick and hard to breath. Smoke and flames, chanting that was almost hypnotic in its repetitive low drone, and then silence. All eyes once again turned expectantly to the robed man leading the proceedings and to Shelly and Dean. This was it. Dean’s mouth felt dry, eyes watering against the smoke and heat. Unable to move or speak or run, the panic began to swell up inside him. He was helpless. He couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t save Shelly. The screeching from the well seemed to swell as if the demons below could sense the sacrifice about to take place. A trail of demon smoke streamed in from somewhere outside the room.
And all hell broke loose.
Repeated shotgun fire reverberated around the room. Dean tried instinctively to duck and run, only to find his body still calmly standing in place. He settled instead on trying to figure out what was happening, to be ready to help in any way possible. The warlocks were scattering; one of them had entered screaming and clutching at his face. The shotgun blasts were apparently coming from a grate overlooking the chamber and were seemingly targeting any warlock who looked to be preparing to fight back or who just happened to be an easy target. The white marks the successful shots left on the black robes told Dean all he needed to know about the shooter and the weapon - salt rounds. The shooter was aiming for a distraction, not destruction, and so far it was working.
Scouting around the chamber at eye level, Dean caught sight of a particularly large robed figure moving quietly around the edges of the chamber. The shaggy brown hair, calmly calculated movements and the shotgun clutched in the figure’s hand gave Dean all the clues he needed to know about what was going on. This didn’t seem like a particularly well-thought-out, Sam-like plan, but Dean wasn’t about to complain. Just the sight of that shaggy mop of hair was cause for a warm spark of hope to erase the previous moment of despair.
‘Come on, Sammy! Shit move!’ Dean willed Sam on, eyes widening in apprehension as a warlock cupped his hands to produce a glowing ball of energy and promptly aimed it Sam’s way. Sam ducked just in time, losing the mask as he did so and revealing his game as more warlocks began taking pot-shots at the intruder. Sam gave up sneaking and ran instead, shooting where he could and relying on his ally above when he couldn’t. It was not a sane game plan, but so far it was working. The next shot from Sam was aimed squarely at the leading robed figure, and Dean knew the moment it hit its target as feeling began flooding back into his body in welcome waves of pins and needles.
Dean raised a heavy arm and quickly did away with the bloody symbols etched upon his body using spit and the white fabric of his robes.
“Sammy!” Dean’s voice came out sounding hoarse, but it was his own again.
“Dean! Can you move; we have to get out of here. Katie’s going to run out of ammo soon.”
Dean nodded, reaching to relieve Sam of the hand gun that was thrust toward him. The absolute relief at being armed and able to act of his own free will filled him with a rush of energy. He grabbed Shelly’s hand and pulled her toward him, trying to shield her and run at the same time. Sam’s footsteps echoed close behind them and Dean thought he heard his brother mumbling something in Latin as he ran.
They were almost to the exit when there was a crackle of energy, enough to raise the hairs on Dean’s neck, and a smell of burnt flesh. Dean pushed Shelly out into the tunnels and spun around. Sam was doubled over in pain, his free hand clutched at his side. Dean was in motion immediately, shooting the old warlock three times in quick succession, the movements so well trained into him that he didn’t hesitate for a moment. He couldn’t believe he’d turned his back on the robed mother fucker without making sure he was dead. The shots sent the warlock tumbling backward, as he tripped, toppled and fell silently down into the pit of demons.
And with the demise of their leader, the failure of their sacrifice, something started to happen. Whatever had been holding the demons was broken. Hungry black forms flew from the well, circling and screeching as the robed figures clutched at their faces, scratching, howling and screaming as the masks melted in to their skin. The demons cut a hissing black path between the brothers and their exit and Dean realised he wasn't carrying anything with which to ward them off.
“Sam? We gotta move. Come on.”
Dean heaved his brother to his feet, holding him to his side as they stumbled through the demon clouds and howling warlocks toward the tunnels beyond the chamber. The demons swept down near to the brothers, but kept turning away at the last moment. It was only when they’d reached the relative safety of the adjoining tunnels - finding Shelly still standing exactly where Dean had left her - that Dean realised Sam was still mumbling in Latin. Dean recognised enough of the exorcism ritual to realise that the continued incantation was probably the reason the demons had let them be so far, going instead for the warlocks that had trapped them.
“There's salt in the bag.” Sam dropped the weapons duffel at their feet and waved his free hand at Dean, pushing him on. Dean made sure his brother was propped up against the tunnel wall before digging out the salt canister and back-tracking down the tunnel to the chamber. He made quick work of marking out a thick white line in front of the entrance, trying not to concentrate on the inhuman sight and sounds of the warlocks dying inside. He turned his back and retracing his steps to his brother.
Sam's pained frown quickly morphed into an attempt at blankness on Dean’s return. Dean noted how Sam’s hand was still pressed to his side and his breathing was deliberately careful and even, his skin sweaty and pale.
"How're you doing, Sammy?" Dean moved to his brother's side, gently lifting Sam's hand from the wound in order to get a look at the site. Parts of Sam’s clothes, including the black robes he still wore, were stuck to the burns, making it impossible to gauge how bad they might be and Sam hissed, batting Dean's hands aside. "Sam?"
"I'm alright, Dean. Hurts like a sonofabitch, but it's not gonna kill me. We need to find Katie and get to the surface."
"Alright." Dean backed off, holding his hands up in mock surrender, his frown ensuring that Sam knew he would be getting the full Winchester first-aid experience as soon as possible. “Where to?”
"Katie's here?" Shelly's quiet voice surprised both men. The teenager hadn’t said a word since regaining the ability to speak.
"Yeah; who do you think was doing the fancy shooting back there. You must be Shelly." Sam gave a tense smile that didn't manage to reach his eyes, pain evident in his movements as he reached out to pat Shelly’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I’m Sam.”
“It was fancy? Why, thank you.”
Katie’s voice carried, quiet but sure, from further up the corridor. She had emerged quietly from the cross-tunnel that lead to their earlier vantage point and shooting position. She smiled, speeding up her steps to take her to Shelly and envelop her in a huge hug. In response, Shelly teared up, pressing her face into her big sister’s shoulder and sniffling quietly.
“God, I was so worried, Shell. You’re okay. We’re going home.” Katie ran her hands in a soothing motion down Shelly’s back, her eyes seeking out first Sam and then Dean. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Dean smiled, moving close enough to Sam that their shoulders touched. He slung an arm over Sam’s shoulders. “Come on. How ‘bout we blow this joint.”
“Fuck yeah,” Shelly agreed, voice muffled by her sister’s shoulder. She sniffled and straightened enough to lean into her sister’s side. “Best idea ever!” Slightly hysterical laughter bubbled up from her lips and caught in a contagious fashion until they were all grinning stupidly, leaning on each other in an effort to get enough air.
And with that, two sets of siblings made their way up and out of the tunnel systems into the first rays of morning sunlight.
*********
That's all folks. I may one day write a coda to this, but right now I'm just happy I finished it.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Teen
Words: ~13,000
Category: Gen, case fic, h/c (heavy on the hurt, not so much comfort)
Characters: Dean, Sam, Katie (OFC, age 22), Shelly (OFC, age 16)
Summary: Set mid season 2. While researching the case of a missing circus acrobat, Dean also goes missing.
Also prompt: Exorcism @ Paranormal25
Part one is here
Chapter 3
Dean finished a second circuit of their prison, lightly bumping into Shelly who had been circling the other way. She put a hand on Dean’s arm.
“Solid rock, right? But it opened before somehow.” There was an edge of desperation to Shelly’s voice - the let down that followed adrenaline and hope. They had seemingly freed themselves from their bonds only to find their prison to be made of inescapable solid rock. Dean thought for a moment, placing a comforting hand on Shelly’s tense shoulders. “Didn’t you say the creepy dudes entered the room before in order to retrieve that other girl? And you saw them bring me in, right?”
“Yeah?”
“So, how did they do it? Which way did they come from?”
“Dean, it’s pitch black in here.” Shelly huffed out a defeated sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Just try, anything you remember.” Dean squeezed Shelly’s shoulder, giving a small shake. “It’s important.”
When Shelly spoke again, there were tears in her voice. Dean had wondered how long the teenager’s bravado could hold up against the odds and it seemed she’d finally reached her limits.
“There was a grinding noise,” she finally stated. “I guess there’s a doorway that opens up somehow, but it sounded heavy. I bet the mechanism for opening it is on the other side too.” Shelly seemed to deflate suddenly. A harsh sob echoed in the darkness. “We’re gonna die Dean. They’re gonna come for us and there’s not going to be anything…”
Dean pulled the girl in, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He felt her hands grip into his shirt as she hid her face against his sternum and hitched a sobbing breath.
“Hey, none of that. No one’s dying, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here. We are getting out of here. I promise, alright and I never break a promise.” Dean soothed the sobbing girl, cutting off the negative thoughts that were running through his own mind in favour of repeating the gentle mantra to Shelly.
He tilted his head back toward the ceiling, eyes closed tight as he took a deep calming breath; his thoughts were anything but calm though: Think Dean. There’s got to be a way out of here. Please, let there be something.
A slight breeze drifted over them, shifting Dean’s hair and tickling at his eyelashes. Dean went completely still, every hair on his skin suddenly sensitive to the movement of the air. There was definitely a draft. But where was it coming from?
Shelly stilled in Dean’s arms, her breath still hitching a little as she snuffled, trying to find some modicum of control again. “What is it?” she whispered, Dean’s sudden stillness putting her on edge.
“Do you feel that?” Dean asked. “I think there’s a draft coming from somewhere above us.”
Shelly took a deep breath and stopped moving too, still standing in the comforting circle of Dean’s arms. She raised her head, tilting it back and then held her breath a moment. The two of them stood quiet and still as a statue for a moment, before Shelly broke the silence.
“I can feel it too.” Shelly’s voice was an awed whisper, as if speaking any more loudly might break the small grasp she’d just regained on hope.
She pushed gently out of Dean’s arms and maneuvered him closer to the wall, prodding and poking gently, and Dean allowed himself to be moved while his brain worked on how to use this new knowledge to the best of their advantage.
“Put your knee out a little and… there. Stay just like that,” Shelly stated.
Before Dean knew quite what was happening, Shelly was boosting herself up, one foot braced on his thigh above his knee and then she was somehow swinging herself up onto his shoulders, climbing into a standing position. Dean reached up to hold her ankles and tried to stay very still.
“Warn a guy next time,” he exclaimed lightly, remembering she was an acrobat a few moments too late. “Anything?” he asked hopefully.
“Can you take a couple of steps to your right?”
Dean took two careful steps sideways, making sure to keep the rest of his body very still. “That better?”
“Yeah. I can feel an opening. Just, a tiny bit more to the right.” Dean obliged and was rewarded with an excited “Yes, there’s an opening of some kind up here,” from Shelly, as she suddenly pushed off from his shoulders and disappeared up into the dark.
“Shelly? Shelly, what is it?” Dean asked, wishing like hell that he was the one crawling into the dark spaces above them.
“Ugh, it’s a dead end. Shit! There’s a metal grate and I can’t…”
A grumbling, scraping sound sent Dean spinning around to face the other direction as a large section of rock slowly ground open and torch light flooded into the room.
O
Sam felt the trip wire against his leg at the last moment, too late for him to stop his forward momentum. He simultaneously tripped and felt something smack him hard inbetween the shoulder blades. A few steps in front of him (having stepped over the trip wire through random luck), Katie screamed and Sam managed to roll to his feet in time to catch the red lights looming ahead in the darkness.
A stabbing pain from the blow between his shoulders had Sam reeling slightly but he stayed on his feet, determined to face whatever was coming head on. He pulled a gun from the back of his pants, checked it and aimed toward the red lights that, for the moment, were just floating there. The flash light he’d dropped when he went down now only haphazardly lit the tunnel, but Katie quickly brought hers up, giving them their first glimpse of the horror ahead.
A face floated in the tunnel, three red eyes blinking each in turn. The black darkness of its surface seemed to writhe and move in the light, giving the impression of something moving below the surface. It was like a trick of the light that Sam couldn’t quite seem to focus on. The mouth opened to reveal nothing within but dark empty space and, as it rushed toward them, the thing screamed.
Sam let off all six iron rounds into the screaming mask, the sound reverberating loudly around the enclosed space, before he felt the empty click at the end of his ammunition. He ducked down, dragging Katie with him, as the thing carried right on past them over their heads, seemingly having just absorbed the bullets like nothing. It spun around, still screaming, and came at them again. And again.
“Jesus! Sam, what do we do?” Katie ducked down lower again as the hideous mask made yet another pass, her voice barely audible over its screaming.
“I think we just tripped someone’s alarm system. We have to get out of here. Come on.” Sam clutched at Katie’s hand and, still bent over to avoid the flying three-eyed menace, they ran.
O
Dean had to close his eyes against the sudden light, but he forced himself to squint and managed to catch glimpses of his captors as they spilled into the room en masse. They were scary son’s of bitches with dark robes and black masks that seemed to writhe and move in the torchlight, their red eyes blinking.
And then they were upon him. Though still blinded, Dean kicked and thrashed and used every dirty trick he’d ever learned, but there were too many of them. The concrete confines of their prison were too enclosed and it seemed like mere moments before he found himself forced to his knees, helpless, his arms locked behind his back and his head throbbing anew as his chest heaved with exertion.
He strained against their hold as one of the masked men leaned down, squatting in front of him. The man’s head tilted to the side, reminding Dean of a vulture - the red eyes blinked as if quietly studying the captive before him. Dean could do nothing but watch, cursing and straining, as the man raised a knife. Its silver blade flashed in the torch light, but the expected pain didn’t follow. Instead the man used it to slice Dean’s t-shirt, slowly, from bottom to top. He pushed the ruined material to one side and then ran his free hand appreciatively down and across the skin he’d just exposed. Dean tried to flinch away from the touch, but he was held fast.
“You are a pretty one,” muttered the man, his voice sounding old and frail. “Such a lucky find. Stumbling and bumbling along the corridors of our place of worship. Yes, you’ll do just fine.”
The man suddenly brought the knife down again, this time nicking Dean’s side with the sharp blade. Dean sucked in an involuntary breath at the sudden attack and the man chuckled, petting at Dean’s chest.
“See, not so bad,” he muttered.
“You sick bastard,” Dean spat back. He may as well not have spoken at all for all the man paid him any heed.
He proceeded to slick his fingers in Dean’s blood, drawing something with it on Dean’s chest, then lower on his belly, the blood cooling sticky and wet against his skin. With each symbol drawn, Dean felt his body turn suddenly icy cold and numb, while his limbs, it seemed, were becoming loose and pliable. As the masked man reached up to paint something on Dean’s forehead, Dean whimpered slightly, brows creasing in frustration and fear as he felt the last of his control slip away. He was sure that the only thing now holding his body upright were the arms that kept him pinned there.
The man cackled madly, a last disgusting, gentle slide of a finger slid across the line of Dean’s cheek bone, before the man stood again and snapped his fingers. He pointed up.
“No point in hiding, my dear,” he purred. “Get her down,” he ordered and the robed figures around him snapped to work.
The man turned back to face Dean, waving at the two men who still held him in place and Dean found himself suddenly dropped flat to the floor. The leader’s robed form physically blocked Dean’s view of events, but he could hear Shelly screaming, hear her muffled sobs as she called out to Dean to help her, because he’d promised. Dean could feel his rage building, but his body simply wouldn’t do as he commanded. No matter how hard he tried to move, to turn his head, to get the fuck off the floor… his limbs just refused to cooperate. About the only thing he found he could do was blink and move his eyes.
There was a sudden small squeak of pain and then Shelly suddenly fell silent. Dean closed his eyes for a moment in defeat, blinking back the tears that threatened to come.
“Pretty, pretty one. So pretty,” the old man mumbled.
Don’t you touch her, you evil sonofabitch, Dean thought, but even the words refused to come, his mouth as unable to respond to his commands as the rest of him.
“Get up now, my pretties,” the man commanded and Dean’s body obeyed. Dean watched in horror from a place of no control. He saw his body push itself up on arms he couldn’t feel and stand using muscles he couldn’t control.
“That’s right. Now follow me. Follow me,” the man continued, and Dean’s treacherous body walked right along behind its masked captor, casual as can be, while inside the prison of his own body Dean tried and failed to scream, silent and unheard in the catacombs of tunnels.
Shelly’s quiet footsteps followed behind him.
O
Sam pressed his aching back into the concrete behind him feeling an odd sting near his neck as he did so, his shoulder was pressed into Katie’s and she’d slid her hand into his, squeezing reflexively as she attempted to control her fear. They waited, so still and quiet that they barely dared to breathe. Yet another group of robed figures swept past their hiding place heading toward the sound of screaming; the mask’s frightening cries still echoed along the corridors, loud enough to reach Sam and Katie despite how far they’d already run.
When the figures had finally passed, Sam gave Katie’s hand a reassuring squeeze and made to stand up. If they kept moving they’d have a better chance of avoiding the patrols and he was now positive that they were moving in the right direction - toward finding Dean and Shelly.
But he felt weak, his limbs heavy and, when he stood, he felt himself sway as the room suddenly tilted and warped in his vision. Sam put his free hand out to the wall, closing his eyes tightly against the sudden vertigo.
“Sam?” Katie whispered, concern and panic warring in her tone. “What’s wrong?”
Sam released her hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily as he tried to regain control of his reeling senses. “I don’t know; feels like I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer or something.”
“Shit, sit down, Sam or you’re gonna fall down. Besides I think I may know what the problem is. I can see something…” Katie tugged at Sam’s arm until he slid back down to the floor.
“We’ve got to keep moving, Katie. They’ll double back and start looking for us soon.”
“Shut up. Just let me look. Here.”
Sam could feel Katie’s hands prodding between his shoulder blades and along the bruised area where the booby trap had hit him. It was definitely only his height that had saved him from being knocked out cold from that one. There was a sharp sting that made him grunt and then Katie held a small dart in front of his face.
“You have been drugged, Sam. It must have been a back-up booby trap or something, but it looks like it was mostly stopped by your collar. I don’t think you got a full dose.”
Sam looked at the dart, his eyes struggling to focus.
“Well, fuck!” was all he finally managed. The expletive wasn’t exactly an eloquent response, he knew - more of a Dean response really - but it did adequately express his thoughts at that moment.
“Do you think you can keep going?” Katie asked, her voice strangled a little as if afraid of the response.
Sam started to nod, but stopped when it caused a wave of nausea. He swallowed and forced himself to breathe. He struggled to his feet, lurching as the room continued to tilt and sway, but between the solid wall he pressed himself into and Katie’s grip under his elbow, he thought he could keep moving. He had to. Dean and Shelly were depending on them.
“Yeah, ’m good. Let’s go”
Sam stared at his feet, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other, while Katie kept a hand at his elbow. They lurched down the tunnel, hopefully heading ever closer to their goal. To Dean and to Shelly.
Chapter 4
Dean watched, a silent spectator inside his own body, as robed figures stripped him down and redressed him in something resembling a white toga. He noted impassively how they were careful at all times not to disturb the bloody symbols inscribed on his skin, wrapping carefully around and over them.
He got his first look at Shelly and was relieved to find that they were wrapping the toga-thing over a bright pink bikini; the bloody symbols etched on her stomach, chest and forehead. The sick fuckers had at least left her with a little dignity. The teenager stood loose-limbed and pliable as they dressed her, even brushed her long dark hair and cleaned her bare feet. When he met her blue eyes, though, he could see the same panic and fear that was racing through his own veins, the evidence right there in her terrified stare; she was just as trapped as he was.
Shit, shit, shit! They had to get out of here.
Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the fingers of his right hand, willing desperately for them to twitch, to move, to do anything at all… When nothing happened, he forced himself to stop thinking, to regroup, to relax... to get his shit together the way he’d been taught so many years ago.
He forced his mind onto the very first relaxation exercise his father had taught him. With his eyes shut, he willed his father’s comforting low rumble of a voice into his mind, blocking out everything else around him.
‘Concentrate, Dean. Let everything slow down. Concentrate on your breathing - in and out. Don’t try to control it, just make yourself aware of each breath. Then let that awareness move to the rest of your body, from your toes to the top of your head, just let yourself become aware of your whole body.’
Dean had found it amusing at the time, though he’d tried not to show it. His Dad. ‘Mr-No Nonsense, don’t give me that shit’ himself, sounding for all the world like some incense-burning, new age yoga teacher. But as he’d let himself relax and listen, tried to do as his Dad instructed, he had realised that it worked. And when he’d opened his eyes, he’d found he was calm and relaxed and completely focused. He’d practiced ever since.
This time it was different. He was aware he was breathing. He could count the breaths in and out. He could concentrate on the sound. And yet the numbness continued. He couldn’t feel any of his body. Frustrated, he tried a different tactic, this time just letting himself imagine his body. He imagined feeling his feet and hands, imagined his fingers moving and his lips tingling. He imagined his body was his own to command.
And his skin started to feel hot. At first, it was just a strange sensation - a tingling like pins and needles - but it intensified to a burning heat like plunging his cold body into a too-hot bath.
Dean gasped, his eyes flying open as he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was choking, gasping, staring up at the curving concrete roof of the dirty sewer tunnels, but he had control. He was doing it; he had control. And with that thought his concentration fled entirely and he dropped back into numb stillness. The lack of pain was both a relief and a torture.
Fuck! Dean let his eyes droop closed, fatigue making him want to just give up and cry… not that he’d ever be caught being such a baby, but it was fucking tempting.
“Don’t fight it my pretty. You are a strong one, yes, yeees, but it’ll only cause you pain,” the old man’s voice sing-song-ed and Dean would have growled if he could have.
Instead, Dean tried to calm his mind again, concentrate on his hijacked body. He could do this. He had to.
O
“Shh,” Katie warned and she and Sam slipped into a side corridor, silently pressing themselves into the darkened walls and all but holding their breath - completely still.
Yet another robed figure passed the side tunnel by without a second glance and Sam felt himself relax. For evil dudes that had somehow overpowered his brother, these guys were incredibly unobservant - or maybe just completely full of themselves, Sam reflected. Whatever the case, he was glad. He’d already managed to drink his way through a bottle of water, but his mouth still felt like cotton wool. His muscles still felt heavy and he knew his reactions had to be slower, but his head had been slowly clearing and he could walk a straight line now without too much conscious thought to the matter. It still didn’t change the fact that his drug-induced clumsiness should have had them caught several times by now, but these guys were as observant as Storm Troopers.
Sam peered around the tunnel cautiously, only to see more bad guys coming back the other way; their torches preceded them with an eerie glow that bobbed and moved as they walked. He placed a hand on Katie’s shoulder, squeezed a little in what had quickly become their silent cue for ‘danger.’ They pulled back into the side corridor to wait again, watching the group pass by.
Sam and Katie both sucked in a shocked breath as the white clad figures walked docilely down the corridor following the robed figure in front of them. Sam glanced down at Katie and swallowed thickly. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness but he felt her body tense and begin to shake.
Shelly looked just like her picture - short, dark hair, blue eyes, though the bloody symbol on her forehead was new - before bringing his attention back to his brother. A huge sense of relief washed over Sam and he realised that, until that moment, he’d been unconsciously preparing himself for the worst. But Dean was alive and so was Shelly.
Dean and Shelly didn’t even try to struggle or run. There was something off about it all - apart from the obedience - and then Dean passed the entrance to the side tunnel and Sam got a good look at his face. More particularly, at his brother’s eyes.
Shit, Sam stared at his brother in horror. Dean’s eyes were calculating, desperate, belying the calm way he was walking. His eyes flicked from left to right, a captive soul taking everything in like a caged animal. He seemed to be observing every nook and cranny, every side tunnel, brick and exit-point, looking for a way out. And then Dean was looking down the side corridor, somehow looking directly at Sam and there was a flicker of hope and recognition there, followed by fear. Sam knew what Dean was thinking: if he could see Sam then his captors might too.
We’re coming. Sam mouthed the words, not daring to move his body enough to make a hand signal. Dean’s eyes hardened and like that he was back all business again. Sam watched his brother consciously force himself to look straight ahead so he wouldn’t give Sam’s position away. He need not have worried; the robed figure carried on past as clueless as all the others that came before them.
“B-,” came Dean’s voice from further up corridor. “Bl-ud m-mag-ik-ik,” Dean said. His voice sounded like it was forced out of his lungs and through his vocal chords with great effort as he struggled to form the words, but the sound carried back along the corridors clearly.
“Oh, do give up, my pretty,” followed another voice. “There’s no one here to hear you and your little rebellion has become tiresome. Just give up.”
Sam leaned heavily into the wall behind him until all signs of the robed men had passed them by. He mouthed the words “Blood magic.” He whispered the words aloud and Katie looked at him, her face clearly showing her shock at seeing her sister like that, but she had enough composure to remain still, and Sam was grateful that she wasn’t stupid enough to rush out into the corridor without a plan.
“We have to save her,” she murmured, added “them, I mean them,” as an afterthought. “Oh my God, Sam. Come on.” She shoved at Sam’s shoulder and Sam simply nodded, held her back until he’d checked the corridor again, and then set out after their captive siblings, following as close to the creepy robed guys as they dared.
O
Dean walked out into the circular chamber, Shelly close behind him. They both stopped when the old man gave the command. The chamber was fairly deep underground judging by the downward slope they’d been traveling for about an hour now, their path twisting and turning through a convoluted route of sewer tunnels and old stone passages.
At a gesture from the old man, one of the robed figures scurried to the wall and touched a torch to the statue there. Like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, the flame caught with a low whoof sound, spreading out around trough-like grooves built into the walls and casting the room in flickering light. Dean had to admit that was pretty cool, but while his brain conjured up wise cracks involving whip-wielding archaeologists, his body stood calm and still and he just couldn’t bring himself to concentrate hard enough to make himself speak. If he were honest, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed it earlier in the corridor.
The robed figures moved around to line up at even spaces around the room. Each member stood beneath one of the symbols Dean now noticed were carved into the walls and filled with some sort of crystals that caused them to twinkle and glow in the fire light.
Every hideous masked face stared in one direction, sets of three red eyes staring directly at Dean and Shelly.
“This way,” the old man told them, and Dean and Shelly moved toward the center of the room, toward something that looked like a large well that was raised up upon a dais. Dean really didn’t want to look at what was down there. Seriously, he did not need to know.
“See your future,” the old man proclaimed and Dean’s body bent forward, his head tilted down and Dean found himself looking directly down into the inky black pool of darkness at the bottom of the well. A darkness that writhed and shifted…
Chapter 5
Sam stared at the gathering of black-cloaked crazies through a metal grate, Katie pressed close beside him. After following Dean and Shelly’s entourage downward for close to an hour, they’d finally come to a guarded entrance and been forced to look for an alternative vantage point. Their task now was recon and then they needed a plan. If they were to assume they’d all gathered for… whatever the hell this was, then the - sect, cult, coven? - was relatively small. It must have just been the fact of them all dressing the same that made Sam assume larger numbers back in the tunnels.
As Dean and Shelly’s bodies walked themselves into a chamber - with a ceiling high enough he couldn’t see it in the ominous flame-lit glow - Sam noted a few stragglers joining the main group, but there were still only twenty warlocks (maybe a witch or two, but it was hard to tell with the masks in place) present. Assuming there were still a few more guarding the entrance below, Sam made figured there to be a total of twenty-five at most.
They could take twenty-five craggy old warlocks out, right? Oh God did they ever need a plan. Sam closed his eyes, briefly lost in his thoughts.
“Sam, what are we going to do?” Katie’s breath was warm against Sam’s neck and when he turned to face her, he found himself staring directly into her big brown eyes.
“We need a plan,” Sam said, not really answering her question, but damned if he had a better answer right at that moment. “We need a plan and we need it quickly.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this what you do? You and your brother? I mean you never really said and I just assumed you were private detectives or something, but-” Katie looked back down through the grate. “I mean, you don’t seem thrown by the creepy masks and the people in capes, and your brother… he said blood magic as if it would mean something to you.”
“Sort of.” Sam shrugged, having learned the hard way that the truth was very rarely the best option when it came to civillians. Most civillians didn’t want to know the whole truth, they’d come to their own conclusions, find their own comfort level.
“Sort of, how?” Katie asked quietly.
“As in, yes; this is sort of what we do.” Sam watched her expression closely as Katie faced him again, a wrinkle creasing her brow. “We hunt down things, save lives where we can.” Sam shrugged once more, hoping Katie would fill in the blanks for him.
“You hunt down cults and stuff?”
“Yep.” Sam nodded, deliberately not explaining any further than that, although something told him Katie might be more open than most.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Sam asked, confused; most people didn’t take this kind of thing so well.
“Okay, I don’t claim to understand why or how, but I trust you Sam and you’re the expert here and that’s good because I’m going to ask you a lot more questions when we get out of here, but for now …we need to rescue them. So what’s the plan? And what’s blood magic?”
Sam answered the second question first; the one he had an answer for already. “Basically, magic that involves blood. Blood represents the essence of life, the physical manifestation of the spirit and so it’s been used in various cultural, magical and religious traditions for - well for as long as we have a recorded history at least. Blood sacrifice, blood letting, sharing of blood, blood ties… It’s not good or evil in itself, but it is powerful, since it’s all about life and death.”
“And here?” Katie asked.
“I’d say they’ve bound Dean and Shelly to one of the Warlocks and it more than likely has something to do with the symbol I noticed painted on their foreheads. Dean would never be that pliant, not even if you drugged him, but blood magic can be strong enough to overcome free will… at least to a certain extent. But more to the point, the use of blood in their rituals tells us these guys are into hard core magic. We’re going to need a pretty good distraction to get past the chanting crazies.” Sam ducked his head, indicating the scene below, where the warlocks had spread out and begun to chant.
Katie’s forehead creased in a pensive frown and, though she opened her mouth to speak again, turning toward Sam, she stopped suddenly and turned to face behind them instead. “Sam, behind you!” she warned.
Sam spun around, still crouched in a squat position. He dove to the side as something resembling a ball of lightning dissipated into the spot where he’d been just a moment before; it did so without a sound. The masked warlock, who had just thrown the ball of energy, huffed as if he couldn’t believe he’d missed and then raised his hand again.
So much for the element of surprise, Sam thought, as he scrabbled for the gun at his back, realizing full well there wasn’t any time. Their masked assailant suddenly collapsed forward with a grunt; Katie stood on the other side of the collapsed warlock clutching a rusty piece of pipe. The surprised look on her face told Sam she hadn’t expected it to be that simple. She grinned, wiping her hands against her jeans before bringing one hand up to muffle a manic giggle.
“Wow, I cannot believe that worked,” she whispered; Sam nodded and grinned back at her, just as shocked at how easy these guys were to take out, but probably twice as relieved.
“Thank you,” he said.
Sam turned around to peer out the metal grate again. The warlocks below were still chanting and Dean and Shelly were now standing in front of something that looked like a large well. No one was running their way and it would appear the alarm had yet to be raised. Katie peered around the exits to their hidey-hole, shaking her head with a relieved smile. No bad guys following that way either. The warlock they’d taken out must have been pretty confident of his success.
But they still needed a plan.
Turning back to the prone warlock, Sam reached down toward the ugly mask, thought better of it and instead nudged at the thing with his boot. The surface rippled, black and oily and Sam suddenly thought he had some idea of what was going on here; what was possibly a very bad idea was forming his mind.
“I may have a plan,” Sam said. He smiled at Katie, picking up the weapons bag as he went. “How are you with a shot gun?”
Katie frowned, but smiled at Sam’s sudden, earnest look of interest, his flash of a grin.
“I’m a top shot at Wild West Shootout,” she replied, and at Sam’s confused look, she added: “The shooting gallery at the fair. You know, shoot the metal ducks, win a stuffed elephant.” Sam nodded, seeming not at all reassured. “And I’ve been plinking now and then since I was a kid,” she continued, “- with Alfred and some of the other guys. Not like there’s much to do between towns. Shooting bottles is like a pastime for carnie folk.”
“Okay, great.” Sam pawed through the weapons duffle he’d carried unopened so far and handed Katie a shotgun and some extra rounds. “Think you’ll be okay with this? They’re salt rounds, so just aim in the general direction of bad guys, make some loud bangs and hopefully we’ll create a bit of havoc.” Katie frowned, as Sam dug further into the duffle, taking out a small leather bound book, before moving over to strip the warlock of his cape. She checked the shotgun was loaded, felt around to check the safety and tried out the feel of it - sighting down the weapon briefly. She resisted cocking the gun for fear of making too much noise. To be honest, she’d never handled a shotgun. Alfred had always set her up with smaller lighter weapons, 9mm handguns and the like, but she figured if she lay down a little and propped the shotgun through the bars of the grate, then maybe the kickback might not be so bad. It would certainly help her aim.
“What are you going to be doing while I create this havoc?” she asked, turning back to take in Sam’s actions.
“Oh, you’ll see,” Sam answered, enigmatic at a time she really just wanted a straight answer. Katie rolled her eyes in exasperation.
Sam had bound the warlock’s hands and feet, just in case he came to while Katie was preoccupied with loud firearms. He then used the cape he’d stolen to pick up the ugly mask.
“If it works, start shooting when you see the smoke,” he told her cryptically. “Otherwise, I’ll find another way to signal to you.” With that, he headed out into the tunnels again.
“Sam?” Katie whispered harshly.
Sam turned back a moment, a frown on his face.
“Just be careful, okay?”
“You too. Keep your eyes open.” With a determined look, jaw clenched, Sam strode back into the tunnels.
O
Dean stood, looking down into the writhing darkness at the bottom of the well and felt a cold dread form in the pit of his stomach. With sudden clarity, he knew exactly what he was looking at. The shifting mass of hazy black shapes moved too smoothly to be smoke and too lightly to be oil; individual entities moving purposely within a seething whole - Demons.
At that moment, Dean would have done anything to be able to pull out the holy water and an exorcism ritual or just run like Satan himself was after him. Hell, he’d even settle for being able to look away, but all he could do was stare down in horror, and hope that somehow, somewhere nearby, his brother had a plan to get him out of here.
O
Sam knelt down close to the entrance of the large chamber, just out of earshot of the guards. It appeared the entrance was only guarded by two cloaked figures, both of whom were paying little attention to their duty as they looked instead toward the main event inside the room.
Sam huffed a silent laugh at finding the guards even less observant than usual. A small piece of luck coming his way this late in the game was more than he’d hoped for. He placed the mask he’d taken from the warlock earlier down on the floor beside him, noticing as he did so that his hands were shaking with adrenaline and fatigue and he clenched them into fists until it stopped. There wasn’t time for a better plan, Dean and Shelly needed him now. He placed his shotgun and a flask of holy water within easy reach, opened up the journal, flipped through it to find the correct page and started to recite the exorcism.
As he read, a black cloud started to form above the mask, seeping and then billowing out from its surface, seemingly expelled by Sam’s steady, quiet chanting. The dark oily cloud hung ominously above the simple wooden mask that it had previously occupied. It stayed there for a moment before, with a loud screech, it shot toward the main entrance of the cavern like one magnet drawn to another.
A moment later the sound of shotgun fire reverberated around the enclosed space of the chamber as Katie took her cue.
His position now compromised anyway, Sam quickly moved closer to the guards, whose attention was now split between the demon and gunfire, and finding where the demon had come from. Sam all but stepped out of hiding and began to chant a little louder, watching as the guards’ masks also began to morph and slip, black demon smoke bubbling and flowing away from the surface. The guards reached up, clawing in horror at their faces and crying out as the black demon substance burnt their hands.
Sam smacked the nearest guard out with a clean right hook, watching as the second guard stumbled backwards and into the chamber, still yelling and screaming in pained confusion.
Sam concentrated on keeping up a running litany of Latin chanting as he backtracked a short way into the tunnels to retrieve the stolen robes and the now plain wooden mask. He quickly donned his warlock disguise and walked confidently into the main chamber, keeping close to the walls and out of action, Latin still falling from his lips. Between the disruption of the screaming warlock and the steady shotgun fire Sam hoped he had a chance of getting to Dean and Shelly.
O
The room was hot and sweaty, making Dean feel claustrophobic, like the air had become thick and hard to breath. Smoke and flames, chanting that was almost hypnotic in its repetitive low drone, and then silence. All eyes once again turned expectantly to the robed man leading the proceedings and to Shelly and Dean. This was it. Dean’s mouth felt dry, eyes watering against the smoke and heat. Unable to move or speak or run, the panic began to swell up inside him. He was helpless. He couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t save Shelly. The screeching from the well seemed to swell as if the demons below could sense the sacrifice about to take place. A trail of demon smoke streamed in from somewhere outside the room.
And all hell broke loose.
Repeated shotgun fire reverberated around the room. Dean tried instinctively to duck and run, only to find his body still calmly standing in place. He settled instead on trying to figure out what was happening, to be ready to help in any way possible. The warlocks were scattering; one of them had entered screaming and clutching at his face. The shotgun blasts were apparently coming from a grate overlooking the chamber and were seemingly targeting any warlock who looked to be preparing to fight back or who just happened to be an easy target. The white marks the successful shots left on the black robes told Dean all he needed to know about the shooter and the weapon - salt rounds. The shooter was aiming for a distraction, not destruction, and so far it was working.
Scouting around the chamber at eye level, Dean caught sight of a particularly large robed figure moving quietly around the edges of the chamber. The shaggy brown hair, calmly calculated movements and the shotgun clutched in the figure’s hand gave Dean all the clues he needed to know about what was going on. This didn’t seem like a particularly well-thought-out, Sam-like plan, but Dean wasn’t about to complain. Just the sight of that shaggy mop of hair was cause for a warm spark of hope to erase the previous moment of despair.
‘Come on, Sammy! Shit move!’ Dean willed Sam on, eyes widening in apprehension as a warlock cupped his hands to produce a glowing ball of energy and promptly aimed it Sam’s way. Sam ducked just in time, losing the mask as he did so and revealing his game as more warlocks began taking pot-shots at the intruder. Sam gave up sneaking and ran instead, shooting where he could and relying on his ally above when he couldn’t. It was not a sane game plan, but so far it was working. The next shot from Sam was aimed squarely at the leading robed figure, and Dean knew the moment it hit its target as feeling began flooding back into his body in welcome waves of pins and needles.
Dean raised a heavy arm and quickly did away with the bloody symbols etched upon his body using spit and the white fabric of his robes.
“Sammy!” Dean’s voice came out sounding hoarse, but it was his own again.
“Dean! Can you move; we have to get out of here. Katie’s going to run out of ammo soon.”
Dean nodded, reaching to relieve Sam of the hand gun that was thrust toward him. The absolute relief at being armed and able to act of his own free will filled him with a rush of energy. He grabbed Shelly’s hand and pulled her toward him, trying to shield her and run at the same time. Sam’s footsteps echoed close behind them and Dean thought he heard his brother mumbling something in Latin as he ran.
They were almost to the exit when there was a crackle of energy, enough to raise the hairs on Dean’s neck, and a smell of burnt flesh. Dean pushed Shelly out into the tunnels and spun around. Sam was doubled over in pain, his free hand clutched at his side. Dean was in motion immediately, shooting the old warlock three times in quick succession, the movements so well trained into him that he didn’t hesitate for a moment. He couldn’t believe he’d turned his back on the robed mother fucker without making sure he was dead. The shots sent the warlock tumbling backward, as he tripped, toppled and fell silently down into the pit of demons.
And with the demise of their leader, the failure of their sacrifice, something started to happen. Whatever had been holding the demons was broken. Hungry black forms flew from the well, circling and screeching as the robed figures clutched at their faces, scratching, howling and screaming as the masks melted in to their skin. The demons cut a hissing black path between the brothers and their exit and Dean realised he wasn't carrying anything with which to ward them off.
“Sam? We gotta move. Come on.”
Dean heaved his brother to his feet, holding him to his side as they stumbled through the demon clouds and howling warlocks toward the tunnels beyond the chamber. The demons swept down near to the brothers, but kept turning away at the last moment. It was only when they’d reached the relative safety of the adjoining tunnels - finding Shelly still standing exactly where Dean had left her - that Dean realised Sam was still mumbling in Latin. Dean recognised enough of the exorcism ritual to realise that the continued incantation was probably the reason the demons had let them be so far, going instead for the warlocks that had trapped them.
“There's salt in the bag.” Sam dropped the weapons duffel at their feet and waved his free hand at Dean, pushing him on. Dean made sure his brother was propped up against the tunnel wall before digging out the salt canister and back-tracking down the tunnel to the chamber. He made quick work of marking out a thick white line in front of the entrance, trying not to concentrate on the inhuman sight and sounds of the warlocks dying inside. He turned his back and retracing his steps to his brother.
Sam's pained frown quickly morphed into an attempt at blankness on Dean’s return. Dean noted how Sam’s hand was still pressed to his side and his breathing was deliberately careful and even, his skin sweaty and pale.
"How're you doing, Sammy?" Dean moved to his brother's side, gently lifting Sam's hand from the wound in order to get a look at the site. Parts of Sam’s clothes, including the black robes he still wore, were stuck to the burns, making it impossible to gauge how bad they might be and Sam hissed, batting Dean's hands aside. "Sam?"
"I'm alright, Dean. Hurts like a sonofabitch, but it's not gonna kill me. We need to find Katie and get to the surface."
"Alright." Dean backed off, holding his hands up in mock surrender, his frown ensuring that Sam knew he would be getting the full Winchester first-aid experience as soon as possible. “Where to?”
"Katie's here?" Shelly's quiet voice surprised both men. The teenager hadn’t said a word since regaining the ability to speak.
"Yeah; who do you think was doing the fancy shooting back there. You must be Shelly." Sam gave a tense smile that didn't manage to reach his eyes, pain evident in his movements as he reached out to pat Shelly’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I’m Sam.”
“It was fancy? Why, thank you.”
Katie’s voice carried, quiet but sure, from further up the corridor. She had emerged quietly from the cross-tunnel that lead to their earlier vantage point and shooting position. She smiled, speeding up her steps to take her to Shelly and envelop her in a huge hug. In response, Shelly teared up, pressing her face into her big sister’s shoulder and sniffling quietly.
“God, I was so worried, Shell. You’re okay. We’re going home.” Katie ran her hands in a soothing motion down Shelly’s back, her eyes seeking out first Sam and then Dean. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Dean smiled, moving close enough to Sam that their shoulders touched. He slung an arm over Sam’s shoulders. “Come on. How ‘bout we blow this joint.”
“Fuck yeah,” Shelly agreed, voice muffled by her sister’s shoulder. She sniffled and straightened enough to lean into her sister’s side. “Best idea ever!” Slightly hysterical laughter bubbled up from her lips and caught in a contagious fashion until they were all grinning stupidly, leaning on each other in an effort to get enough air.
And with that, two sets of siblings made their way up and out of the tunnel systems into the first rays of morning sunlight.
*********
That's all folks. I may one day write a coda to this, but right now I'm just happy I finished it.