((Follows Save Tonight.))
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June, 2012
One long table, thrown onto its side, was not adequate cover against a couple of dozen seemingly mindless drones hell bent on her destruction, but it was going to have to do for now. On one knee, a rifle c*cked and ready against her shoulder, Nim focused on the door at the top of the stairs down into the root cellar. She could hear the things above them, each shuffling step making the floorboards of the cabin groan. It was only a matter of time until that door opened, and then the fight would be on.
It was too late to regret backing herself into a corner, too late to berate herself for setting up a last stand rather than keep running. Nim wasn't the sort to run away if she could stand and fight, and despite Apollo's protests, it didn't seem as though the god was prepared to leave her to brave this encounter all alone. Awkward though he was with the guns and wicked machete she had given him, he was resolute - if he couldn't use his gods-given gifts, he was going to learn damn fast how to hunt the old-fashioned way. He knelt at the other end of the meager cover, his expression grim as he sighted down the length of Nim's Glock.
There were no exits from this cellar but the door they were both focused on. It was both a good and a bad sign - good, in that anyone coming to their rescue would be able to catch the things between hunters and hopefully wipe them out; bad, in that if no one came, this was where Nim was going to die. She bit down on her lip, close to drawing blood in her anxiety, glaring through the gloom as the door above began to bow inward under the pressure of many bodies pushing against it.
I love you, Dean. Come back whole.
The door burst open, bodies surged through in a tumble that crashed to the bottom of the stairs with barely a sound. Outside in the fields, the only sound to give away any sign of life within the cabin was the staccato exclamation of gunfire, repeated and steady. And not enough.
*~*~*
January, 2016
There are few things that could be considered truly strange in a hunter's household, but the activities in the basement of the Winchester house were definitely among them. The generator had been fired up outside, to illuminate the circle room with electric light, banishing all shadows quite deliberately. The protective circle itself gleamed in the light, a strange contrast to the matte of the blankets piled in the center of it. To one side, the hunters had set up an altar for the summoning itself; to the other, there was a small dining table set for one.
Sammy stood on the chair beside this table, very carefully arranging a handful of dried flowers in a small vase, doing his best to make the set up as inviting as possible as his mother entered the room, bearing a tray from which she took the insulated platter protecting the freshly baked pizza and set it on the table. Casting a glance toward Dean, Nimue put the tray outside the door, drawing the portal closed, and moved to catch Sammy up into her arms, carrying him into the circle before setting him on his feet. "Are we ready to go?" she asked quietly, kneeling down with her son and wrapping a blanket about him, anticipating the chill that was bound to come with the Grim Reaper's presence.
Dean was putting the finishing touches on the preparations, lighting a few candles, despite the glow of electricity that was lighting the room. He had already ground and prepared the spell's ingredients and only needed to add them to the bowl, along with an offering of his own blood, a few words in Latin, and of course, flame to set it all burning. He had found an old army jacket hanging behind the basement door, just as she said it would be, and he'd put in on over a plain white t-shirt and jeans, tucking a gun into a pocket, the journal into another, along with spare cartridges. She'd told him a shot to the head would slow the hybrids down and buy them some time, and he was counting on that information to be accurate. Unless Death gave him some other means of defending himself, he was going to have to rely on his skills as a hunter and a little bit of luck. Fortunately for him, while other kids were learning how to hit a ball, he was learning how to shoot a gun, and it was something he could do in his sleep.
Finished lighting the candles on the small altar, he turned to face Nimue and his son, who were both hundled on the floor beneath a blanket, safe within the protective circle. At least, he was thankful they'd had the foresight and wisdom to build this place, perhaps not knowing at the time how important it might be in the future. "Ready as we'll ever be," he replied, gaze darting to Sammy who seemed to be handling all of this like the young hunter he was.
He reminded Dean of himself. He'd been not much older than the boy when his mother had been taken from him, and he'd been plunged into a world of darkness, a world few knew existed. He wished he could give the boy a normal life, but maybe at the very least, he could give him hope.
Nodding, Nimue tugged Sammy down into the protective curl of her arms. "Okay, little man, just like we practised," she smiled to the little boy. "Your dad's got it covered."
Sammy's big green eyes turned to Dean for a long moment, his expression solemn. "Good luck, Daddy." Then he turned his face away, tucking his head under a fold of the blanket and cuddling close against Nimue.
Her dark eyes found Dean's, her face stark with concern as her arms wrapped about Sammy. "Let's do it."
If there was one thing that could get to him, it was that one single word: Daddy. Not only from the little boy's lips, but from hers, as if the harsh words that had passed between them only a few hours earlier hadn't happened at all, as if he was the Dean she knew and loved, the one who was the father of her children. But there was no time to reflect on this now; he had bigger fish to fry.
"Whatever happens, don't leave the circle," he warned them both, meeting Nim's gaze, his words meant mostly for her. He wasn't even sure if the circle offered any protection against a being as powerful as Death, but there were some rules that couldn't be broken, no matter what. That said, Dean turned away from them and approached the makeshift altar. A dash of this and a dash of that went into the bowl, sensing it wasn't so much the ingredients of the spellcasting that was important but the intent.
"Don't do anything stupid, and I'll stay right here," Nimue promised with a slightly wild look to her smile. She hadn't done anything like this in months, fully in the grip of the rush that came with courting such dangers. She drew Sammy firmly into her arms, settling to wait as Dean worked on the ritual.
June, 2012
One long table, thrown onto its side, was not adequate cover against a couple of dozen seemingly mindless drones hell bent on her destruction, but it was going to have to do for now. On one knee, a rifle c*cked and ready against her shoulder, Nim focused on the door at the top of the stairs down into the root cellar. She could hear the things above them, each shuffling step making the floorboards of the cabin groan. It was only a matter of time until that door opened, and then the fight would be on.
It was too late to regret backing herself into a corner, too late to berate herself for setting up a last stand rather than keep running. Nim wasn't the sort to run away if she could stand and fight, and despite Apollo's protests, it didn't seem as though the god was prepared to leave her to brave this encounter all alone. Awkward though he was with the guns and wicked machete she had given him, he was resolute - if he couldn't use his gods-given gifts, he was going to learn damn fast how to hunt the old-fashioned way. He knelt at the other end of the meager cover, his expression grim as he sighted down the length of Nim's Glock.
There were no exits from this cellar but the door they were both focused on. It was both a good and a bad sign - good, in that anyone coming to their rescue would be able to catch the things between hunters and hopefully wipe them out; bad, in that if no one came, this was where Nim was going to die. She bit down on her lip, close to drawing blood in her anxiety, glaring through the gloom as the door above began to bow inward under the pressure of many bodies pushing against it.
I love you, Dean. Come back whole.
The door burst open, bodies surged through in a tumble that crashed to the bottom of the stairs with barely a sound. Outside in the fields, the only sound to give away any sign of life within the cabin was the staccato exclamation of gunfire, repeated and steady. And not enough.
*~*~*
January, 2016
There are few things that could be considered truly strange in a hunter's household, but the activities in the basement of the Winchester house were definitely among them. The generator had been fired up outside, to illuminate the circle room with electric light, banishing all shadows quite deliberately. The protective circle itself gleamed in the light, a strange contrast to the matte of the blankets piled in the center of it. To one side, the hunters had set up an altar for the summoning itself; to the other, there was a small dining table set for one.
Sammy stood on the chair beside this table, very carefully arranging a handful of dried flowers in a small vase, doing his best to make the set up as inviting as possible as his mother entered the room, bearing a tray from which she took the insulated platter protecting the freshly baked pizza and set it on the table. Casting a glance toward Dean, Nimue put the tray outside the door, drawing the portal closed, and moved to catch Sammy up into her arms, carrying him into the circle before setting him on his feet. "Are we ready to go?" she asked quietly, kneeling down with her son and wrapping a blanket about him, anticipating the chill that was bound to come with the Grim Reaper's presence.
Dean was putting the finishing touches on the preparations, lighting a few candles, despite the glow of electricity that was lighting the room. He had already ground and prepared the spell's ingredients and only needed to add them to the bowl, along with an offering of his own blood, a few words in Latin, and of course, flame to set it all burning. He had found an old army jacket hanging behind the basement door, just as she said it would be, and he'd put in on over a plain white t-shirt and jeans, tucking a gun into a pocket, the journal into another, along with spare cartridges. She'd told him a shot to the head would slow the hybrids down and buy them some time, and he was counting on that information to be accurate. Unless Death gave him some other means of defending himself, he was going to have to rely on his skills as a hunter and a little bit of luck. Fortunately for him, while other kids were learning how to hit a ball, he was learning how to shoot a gun, and it was something he could do in his sleep.
Finished lighting the candles on the small altar, he turned to face Nimue and his son, who were both hundled on the floor beneath a blanket, safe within the protective circle. At least, he was thankful they'd had the foresight and wisdom to build this place, perhaps not knowing at the time how important it might be in the future. "Ready as we'll ever be," he replied, gaze darting to Sammy who seemed to be handling all of this like the young hunter he was.
He reminded Dean of himself. He'd been not much older than the boy when his mother had been taken from him, and he'd been plunged into a world of darkness, a world few knew existed. He wished he could give the boy a normal life, but maybe at the very least, he could give him hope.
Nodding, Nimue tugged Sammy down into the protective curl of her arms. "Okay, little man, just like we practised," she smiled to the little boy. "Your dad's got it covered."
Sammy's big green eyes turned to Dean for a long moment, his expression solemn. "Good luck, Daddy." Then he turned his face away, tucking his head under a fold of the blanket and cuddling close against Nimue.
Her dark eyes found Dean's, her face stark with concern as her arms wrapped about Sammy. "Let's do it."
If there was one thing that could get to him, it was that one single word: Daddy. Not only from the little boy's lips, but from hers, as if the harsh words that had passed between them only a few hours earlier hadn't happened at all, as if he was the Dean she knew and loved, the one who was the father of her children. But there was no time to reflect on this now; he had bigger fish to fry.
"Whatever happens, don't leave the circle," he warned them both, meeting Nim's gaze, his words meant mostly for her. He wasn't even sure if the circle offered any protection against a being as powerful as Death, but there were some rules that couldn't be broken, no matter what. That said, Dean turned away from them and approached the makeshift altar. A dash of this and a dash of that went into the bowl, sensing it wasn't so much the ingredients of the spellcasting that was important but the intent.
"Don't do anything stupid, and I'll stay right here," Nimue promised with a slightly wild look to her smile. She hadn't done anything like this in months, fully in the grip of the rush that came with courting such dangers. She drew Sammy firmly into her arms, settling to wait as Dean worked on the ritual.