Sanctuary: A Cursed (Netflix) Fan Fic

 

Sanctuary

            After escaping the Red Paladin camp, Squirrel and the Weeping Monk rode through the night and most of the morning.  The horse was weary now, it would be hurt if they pushed it much further, but the Monk feared they could not afford to stop.  There was no certainty how far behind the Red Brothers were, if they were caught it would all be for naught.  Still, they had to give the beast a few moments rest at least, if he went lame they would be found just the same.

            The Weeping Monk reined in the horse and dismounted, catching hold of the saddle horn as his legs threatened to buckle beneath him.  His heartbeat throbbed incessantly in his skull and the edges of his vision began to close in.  Distantly, he heard Squirrel’s voice as he stumbled a few paces forward, trying to ignore the pain that shot through him with every movement.  He leaned over his knees, gagging, but he had not eaten since before his encounter with the Green Knight and could bring up nothing.  He forced out a few quick breaths through his nose, swallowing hard, trying to regain some amount of control of himself.

            He let himself down to his hands and knees, gritting his teeth, biting back a scream of frustration.  God, if you still hear me, I need your help, he begged silently.  I’ve done the boy no good to free him from the camp only to be caught less than a day’s ride away.  You’ve charged us to care for widows and orphans surely you meant the little fey children too.  I can protect him, if you’ll only given me the strength.  He sat back on his heels as some of the dizziness and pain subsided.  Better yet, he felt the peace he’d sought so desperately the day before settling in behind his breast bone.  God had not yet abandoned him after all. 

            The Monk glanced over his shoulder to see Squirrel standing a cautious distance away, eyes wide with fright. 

            “It’s all right,” he assured the boy, licking sweat from his upper lip.  “I’m all right now. We’ll move on again soon.”

                                                                        . . . .

            “Riders up ahead,” Squirrel said, pointing toward a group of half dozen horsemen coming onto view around a bend in the road. 

            The Monk’s hand went to his sword hilt, and he angled their horse’s head away so as to partially shield Squirrel from view. 

            “State your name and business stranger,” the lead horseman barked as they approached.  He was elderly, the Monk noted.  In fact all the mounted men seemed too old or too young to be out on a patrol. 

            “We’re merely passing through,” the Monk answered.

            “Men in robes don’t just pass through of late,” the man said.  “You’ll come with us, to await his lordship’s pleasure.”

            “As his lordship is away,” came a higher pitched voice, “and his return is uncertain, I believe I will see them now, Sagramore.”  

            The older man sighed, his grip tightening on his reins, but he moved aside, allowing a young woman to spur her mount to the front of the group. 

            “You’re the Weeping Monk,” she said, after looking him up and down.  “There have been whispers you were among the slain when Merlin and the Wolf’s Blood Witch wiped out the Red Paladins.”

            Wiped them out?  “All of them?” he asked, his tone guarded.

            “Most, so they say.” Her brow furrowed.  “You did not know?” The young woman studied him more closely.  “You are injured, my lord,” she said.  “My hold is not far from here.  Will you return with us and take some rest?”

                                                                        . . . .

            The Weeping Monk settled back in the chair before the hearth, watching Squirrel voraciously attack the meal that had been brought to them.  He hardly paused for breath until he’d finished more than half of it, when he glanced up at the Monk.  “Are you going to eat?” he asked a little sheepishly. 

            “No.” He shook his head.  He was so tired that even eating seemed like an insurmountable effort, and he was still somewhat nauseous from pain and weariness besides.  “Perhaps later.  Have what you will.”

            He was just beginning to doze off when the young woman entered the room.  “Please, don’t get up,” she said as he started to rise.  She smiled over at Squirrel.  “I trust the fare is to your satisfaction?”

            “Oh yes,” Squirrel muttered from around the chicken bone he was gnawing. 

            “We are very grateful for your hospitality,” the Monk said, “Lady…?”

            “Guinevere,” she answered, sitting in the chair across from him.  “My healer tells me you are badly hurt.  I wanted to assure you, you are both welcome to stay as long as you need to recover.”

            “Again, thank you.”

            “I had hoped to ask you what news you had from Gramaire, but if you did not know about the Red Paladins, I assume you were not there.”

            “I was not, we left shortly before.  It was a rout then?”

            “So we hear,” she said, “but it’s barely been two days, reports are so confused it’s hard to say.  I’m not even certain who emerged the victors.  Or the fate of my father and our other men who marched with Uther.”

            “Your father supports Pendragon?”

            “When the king calls, his vassals answer,” she said, carefully not committing.

            He paused, then asked, “Have your confused reports brought news of Father Carden?”

            Something in her eyes softened, and he knew before she answered.  “This morning I have heard from more than one refugee they’ve seen his head on a pike outside Gramaire,” she said.  “I’m sorry.”

            He nodded, feeling the blow of her words numbly.  Father Carden’s death should strike him harder he thought, but at the moment it hardly felt real.

            Guinevere stood.  “I’m sure you’re both tired, I’ll leave you be.  If you have need of anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

                                                                        . . . .

            Guinevere entered the holdfast’s small chapel, finding the Weeping Monk kneeling before the altar.  She hesitated as he glanced over his shoulder, hearing her approach.  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t realize anyone was here, I did not mean to disturb you.”

            “It’s no disturbance,” he said, “besides the chapel is yours.”

            He started to rise but she motioned him to stop.  “A chapel is meant for more than one.”  She knelt at the altar a respectful distance from him, folding her hands in front of her and they remained in comfortable silence for some time.

            “What do you pray for, my lady?” he asked, seeing her stir from her meditative posture.

            She sighed, sitting back on her heels.  “For my father, for protection.  Mostly, for discernment to know what is best for my people, and the strength to do it.”

            “Noble request,” he said. “God will certainly hear them.”

            “It is a comfort to hear you say that,” she said. “And you?  What do you pray for?”

            “I thank God for the kindness you have shown us,” he answered.  “I pray for guidance. For those that I’ve killed.  And for Father Carden.”

            “You miss him,” she said softly.

            He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

            “It must be difficult,” she said, “when there are many who rejoice at your loss.”

            It was, in a way. Squirrel was thrilled by the new of Carden’s death, and how could the Monk blame him?  Carden was largely the reason Squirrel’s whole family was dead and why he’d been hunted like an animal for weeks.

            “Father Carden was not entirely an evil man,” the Monk said, hesitantly.  “He was misguided, overzealous, and while he’s done things I cannot any longer condone…” He paused.  “He saved my life when I was a boy, brought me up in the church, made me what I am. He was not unkind to me.”

               Briefly, she laid a comforting hand on his arm, then crossed herself.  “I have some business that must be tended to,” she said, standing.  “Good day.”

                                                                        . . . .

            “Keep your weapon up,” the Monk instructed, tapping Squirrel’s blade with his own.  “You can never drop your guard, especially when your opponent has height on you.  Which for you should be everyone.”

            “Oi now,” the boy said, affronted, but he kept his blade up to parry the next blow.

            “Good, better,” the Monk said, rolling the stiffness out of his still mending shoulder. 

            “Well done, Master Squirrel,” Lady Guinevere called as she approached them.  “You will rival most of my knights before long.” She turned to the Monk.  “May I speak with you?”

            He nodded, sheathing his blade. 

            “Walk with me,” she said, and they started off down the yard.  “Your wounds are healing well?”

            “Well enough,” he answered.  This was not what she had come to ask him, but he would let her reach her point in her own time.

            “Then I expect you’ll be on your way soon,” she said.  “Will you return to what remains of the Red Brotherhood?”

            “Are there remains of the Red Brotherhood?” he countered.

            “There must be some, the church does not die.”

            “No,” he agreed.  But hopefully certain members of it had, God forgive him.  “I’ve not yet decided where we’ll go.”

            “There is no rush, I was merely curious,” she assured him.  “A few of the men who marched with my father have finally returned to us.”

            There, this is what she’d wanted to discuss. “The news was not good I take it.”

            “My father was slain,” she said, “along with most of our fighting men.”

            “I’m sorry,” he said.

            “It’s as if I already knew,” she said softly.  “When I did not hear from him within the first days I knew something horrible must have happened.” They continued in silence for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. “With myself the only heir, and most of our menfolk gone, every northern raider and errant lord will see us as ripe for taking.  And we’ve hardly even a king to appeal to now.” She stopped, turning to face him.  “So, if you’ve no pressing business elsewhere, I wanted to ask… would you consider remaining here, just until things settle? A warrior of your skill would be a great help to me in defending my lands and my people.  Your name alone would deter many from attacking us.”

            It had taken a lot for her to ask this of him, he could see that in the set of her jaw, but the earnestness in her eyes spoke to the need that had overcome her pride. 

            Before he could answer, she continued, “I would pay you of course.”

            “I’m not a sell sword,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. 

            “Of course not,” she hurriedly stammered.  “Forgive my offence, I did not mean to suggest-“

            He held up a hand to stop her.  “No offence taken, my Lady.” In truth, the suggestion rankled him, but even as he had denied it, he realized if the Brotherhood was truly lost to him, as he feared it was, a sell sword was all he would be good for.  “As to payment, from where I stand I seem to be in your debt.”

            “I don’t want you to consider that,” she said.  “I’ve only done what any decent person would.  You owe me nothing.”

            “Regardless,” he said. “I would be pleased to serve you, for as long as you have need.”

                                                                        . . . .

            Sagramore entered his family chambers, tossing his sword belt over a chair arm. 

            “Are you meeting with Lady Guinevere today?” his wife asked, straightening the sword belt to hang evenly. 

            “Yes,” he said, falling into the chair. “Once she returns.  She wanted to assess the potential for defenses in the outer towns and rode out early this morning.  In company of the Weeping Monk.”

            “Ah.  That’s the part that troubles you?”

            “She spends over much time with that monk I find,” he grumbled.  “This is her home, she can shelter whom she wills, but why should he be brought into her confidences?  He’s an outsider, and one of the paladins.”

            “You’re only upset because you wanted to be the only voice in her ear,” his wife chided.

            “Her father entrusted her to me,” he said, shifting his weight, her words ringing uncomfortably true.  “I want to help her.”

            “I know, and she knows that,” she said.  “Guinevere’s a clever girl, she knows good council from bad.”

            “Let us hope that she does.”

                                                                        . .  . .

            Guinevere adjusted her grip on the hilt of her sword, feinting to the left of the fence post she had chosen as her stand in opponent, before swinging her blade around to the right connecting with a satisfying thunk.

            “You’ve been taught by a blank swords master.”

            Guinevere started, not having heard the Monk’s approach.  “It shows?” she asked, hastily collecting herself.

            He nodded.  “They have very distinct style; strike hard, strike fast.”

            “My father thought it would balance my natural disadvantages.”

            “To some extent,” he agreed, “but I’ve never cared for their methods.  The flaw is if you’ve not bested your opponent in the first three blows you’ve lost.”

He laid a hand on his sword hilt, giving her a questioning look.  She nodded, and he drew his blade, delivering a low thrust.  She parried the blow, stumbling back, off balance. 

            A hint of a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.  “And they’re wont to neglect their foot work.”

            She righted herself, dropping into a fighting stance and they circled each other briefly.

            “Well your masters seem to have had no appreciation for a full field of vision,” she said.  “I imagine fighting with a hood up must be similar to fighting with one’s hair down.  Does it not get in your way?”

            “No, I don’t find that it does.”

            She feinted for his knee, then pivoted to bring her attack in from the side to test this statement.  Indeed, his blade was there, and very nearly disarming her. 

            They exchanged a few more blows, and while Guinevere found she struggled to keep up, he hardly seemed to expend any effort.  She hoped she never had to face him in earnest, she wouldn’t have a prayer. Their blades crossed, and with a practiced flick of the wrist he brought his sword to the top, forcing the point of her own to the ground.  He reached forward, taking hold of her wrist and gave it a gentle twist.  In fairness, she released her sword, disarmed.  

            They paused, silent but for their rapid breathing, both suddenly becoming aware of how close they stood. 

            “Forgive me,” he said releasing her wrist. 

            “No, it’s…it’s alright,” she said, taking hold of his arm in turn as he started to move away.  “Quite alright.”

            His breath caught as they studied one another and he found he was drawing her closer.  Then her arms were around him, and their lips met.

                                                                        . .  . .

            Dawn light was just beginning to peer over the horizon as the Weeping Monk entered the room he shared with Squirrel, finding the boy sharpening an arrow head on a stone.

            “When a man makes love to a woman, is it like horses?” Squirrel asked without preamble.  “I thought it must be, but I saw a pair in the woods up on a tree the other day and it didn’t look like horses.”

            “Given I am a monk,” he answered, “I’m not really the man to ask that.”

            “But weren’t you with Lady Guinevere last night?”

He paused, startled. He thought they’d been careful not to be seen. “Why would you think that?”

            “Well, you didn’t come back here to sleep and she likes you.”

            He relaxed a little, if that was all. “Maybe I did come back and left again while you were asleep.”

            “No.” Squirrel shook his head.  “I would have heard you.  Besides, you haven’t redone your eyes yet.  They’re all smudged.” He motioned to his own cheeks.

            Damn the boy, he was perceptive. 

            “Was that the first time you’ve been with a woman?” Squirrel rambled on.  “As you said, you are a monk, and an ugly one.  I can’t imagine you’ve convinced too many girls to be that close to you.  Unless you really do do it like horses, and then they wouldn’t have to look at you.”

            The Monk gave Squirrel and smack on the back of the head. “Enough,” he said, then sighed.  “No you don’t always have to do it like horses. Now don’t ask me anymore. It’s a sin.”

            “A nice one though.”

            He gave Squirrel a sharp look, half raising his hand again.

            “All right, all right,” Squirrel relented.  “Can we go find something to eat?”

                                                                        . .  . .

            Guinevere turned from the braid she was twisting into her hair at the sound of a knock on her door.  “Enter,” she called. She smiled when the Weeping Monk slipped into the room.  “You’re astir early.”

            “I needed to speak with you,” he said.

            “You hardly need to schedule an audience,” she said, noting how he hesitated at the door.  It wasn’t as if he had never been in her chamber before.  She motioned to the window seat next to her, but he sat on the far end of the bench.  “Is something wrong?”

            “I came to tell you that I’ll be leaving today.”

            “So suddenly?”

            He nodded, offering no explanation.

            “Would it be related to the reports of a group of Red Paladins approaching?” She straightened, drawing herself up.  “The Weeping Monk has ridden with the Red Brotherhood for as long as I can recall, yet you have made no attempt to rejoin them, and now that we hear they are little more than a day’s ride away you say you must leave.”

            Still he did not answer. 

            “What happened at Gramaire?” she asked.  “That’s what all this stems from, is it not?”

            He nodded slowly.  “I killed a company of Trinity Guard.”

            “Why?”

            “Why hardly matters now,” he said.  “I should have killed Whitlow as well but he slipped away and he will have told the church elders by now.”

            “You must have had reason,” she said, her brow furrowed.  “The church’s justice is seldom delayed, would they not have come for you before now if that was their intent?”  As far as she was aware, the paladins were merely passing through on their way to the coast, the Monk’s presence might have nothing to do with their own. 

            He still would not looking at her, busy with his own thoughts.  Thoughts that did not seem to please him. 

“Something else is troubling you.” She reached out and touched his arm and he pulled away.  “You can tell me,” she prompted gently.

“I should have told you already,” he said.  “I should have told you of my own accord before there was threat someone else would.  What I have done is unforgivable.  I have deceived you, and defiled you horribly.”

“You frighten me,” she said, suddenly in dread of she didn’t know what.

“I’m sorry, Guinevere.  I…I should have told you before, but I’ve kept the secret so long I almost forget myself sometimes.  I’ve never told anyone, but it was unfair of me to keep it from you.” He paused, seeming to steal himself.  “I-“ His voice broke and he took a breath.  “I’m of fey kind.”

“No,” she gasped, moving back from him in spite of herself.  “No that cannot be, every inch of you is human.”

“Some of us show no outward sign.”

“But to have risen so far in the Brotherhood, the Paladins would never have allowed it.”

“Father Carden was the only one who knew.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“Abbot Whitlow suspects.”  The defeat in his voice sounded so final, so unlike him. “I truly am sorry Guinevere.  I had no right to come to you as I have done.  To deceive you into…consorting with my tainted blood. It was-I never should have-”

“Stop,” she said, then more firmly.  “Stop it.” She laid a hand on the side of his face, tilting his chin to finally make him look at her.  Her heart constricted, seeing the pain behind the unshed tears glinting in his eyes.  “Lancelot, I don’t care,” she assured him.

“You don’t care that I tricked you into taking some demon spawn into your home? Into your bed?”

“You are far from a demon,” she insisted.  “How can you even say such things? Do you think so little of me, to fear that it would matter? You are who you are, no matter what you are.”  She leaned forward and kissed him gently. “This changes nothing between us.”  Feeling him tremble slightly as he took in a shuddering breath, she rested her forehead against his until his breathing steadied and some of the tension in him eased.  “But you are right,” she said, pulling away.  “You must go.  The paladins may only be passing about their own business but we cannot take the chance.”

                                                            . . . .

“I’m coming with you,” Squirrel insisted, following the Weeping Monk into the stables. 

“No,” the Monk said again, “you’ll be safer here with Lady Guinevere and she with you.”

Guinevere laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “He is right, you cannot leave me completely defenseless.”

Squirrel relented, if reluctantly.  “You’re coming back though?”

“Yes.” The Monk nodded.

“You promise?”

The Monk paused in adjusting the strap of his saddle, seeing the doubt in Squirrel’s face. “You have my word,” he assured him.

“Be careful,” Guinevere said.  She wanted so badly to go to him, to put her arms around him and kiss him once more, to prove to him that she meant it when she said his confession changed nothing, but they were in the yard and others might see.  Still, an understanding seemed to pass between them as she held his gaze a moment.  He nodded to her, ever so slightly, then mounted and was gone.

                                                            . . .  .

Guinevere sighed and settled back in her bed, her heartbeat still thrumming through her pleasantly.  She pushed the Monk’s hair back from his face, slowly letting the honey colored strands fall through her fingers. “I’ve missed you.” In truth once he’d returned earlier in the evening she could hardly wait for the holdfast to retire so that he could come to her.  

“Missed this?” he asked, his lips finding the pulse point of her throat. 

“Well, yes,” she said, “but I’ve missed you.”

He smiled almost shyly, glancing away from her in a way she always found endearing.

“I was worried about you, if the paladins really had been searching for you-”

“It would take more than a handful of paladins on the road to be a threat to me.”

“I know,” she said, though her hand strayed almost unconsciously to the scarring behind his ear, left by a Trinity Guard mace when he’d fled with Squirrel. 

“I did meet some paladins on the road,” he said.  “They were harassing a fey woman and her children.  I had to kill the brothers, it was the only way to stop them.”  He turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the prospect of further love making dampened by the shift in conversation.  “In the end it may not have even done them any good.”

“It did that day,” she said.  “That’s something.”

He sighed.  “I don’t know what to do.  Father Carden always told me I was God’s weapon, meant to dispel the darkness brought by the fey.  The Green Knight shamed me for hunting my own, and said I should instead use what skill I have to fight for the fey. I turn my blade against my brethren no matter which side I choose.”

Guinevere propped herself up on her elbow so she could face him. “Why choose?” she asked.  “Be both.”

He looked at her questioningly.

“The Red Brotherhood is corrupt, you’ve left them behind.  They’ve been blinded by overzealous teachings, their crusade against the fey is not God’s.  You could change that now. Be the Sword of God, and Defender of the Fey.”

He nodded slowly.  He’d spent much time over the last weeks in prayer and meditation, searching for his place again.  Perhaps the reason a clear answer seemed to evade him was because he had limited the choices he considered.     

“You think you only delayed the inevitable for that woman and her children,” she continued.  “Next time bring them here.  I have been doing a lot of thinking since my father died.  I have come into possession of his holdings for a reason, and there’s a reason that you came here when you did. There is much good you and I could do.  For as long as I’m able to hold these lands, we could make them a safe place for fey kind.”

“We could,” he agreed, considering.  “Avalon, Sanctuary of the Fey.”

Raised From Perdition Part 7

 

Dani thought she’d just imagined the kid’s eyes flashing bright blue, but it happened several more times before he completely lost consciousness just outside of town.  Each time it happened, his demeanor changed, one moment he was frightened and trembling and would accept Dani’s comfort, then he would stiffen, no less scared but more reserved, with some urgency like there was something he desperately needed to do. 

Once they got back to the bunker, Sam pulled him out of the backseat and carried in inside.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Dani asked Dean as she followed close behind Sam. 

“It’s the best option we got right now,” Dean answered.  “I’ll try to get Cas here.  He can fix him.”

“Ok.”  She nodded.  By now they’d reached the first bedroom off the hall and Sam laid Alfie on the bed.  Dani sighed and took his hand again, feeling for a pulse that was barely there.  His skin was ice cold, even though it glistened with a thin layer of sweat.  She wrinkled her nose; his scent was starting to take on a sickly tinge; the way dead people smelled.  “Tell Cas to hurry.”

                                                            . . .

Sam and Dean sat at the table in the bunker’s main room. 

“Come on Cas, we need a hand here,” Dean said. “How long has it been?”  He looked at Sam.

Sam sighed and looked at his watch.  “About twelve minutes.  You know it takes him a while sometimes.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made a show of folding his hands in a prayer position. 

They’d barely gotten started again when someone knocked on the door. 

“There he is.”  Dean got up and came back a moment later, Castiel behind him.

“What’s wrong,” Castiel asked, jumping right to the point.  “There are angels nearby, in town, did they—“ He stopped short, the color draining from his face.  “Samandriel.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded.  “That’s what we called you about.  See--”

“Sam!”  Dani yelled, her voice panicked.  “Sam!”

All three hurried into the room where they’d left her.  Dani sat on the bed, close to Alfie.  She leaned over him worriedly, one hand on the side of his face.  Thick lines of dark blood trickled from each of his nostrils. 

“That just started,” Dani said, glancing up at them.

“It’s the exertion,” Castiel said.  He moved to the side of the bed.  “Samandriel is trying to save them but his grace is nearly spent.”

“Can’t you fix him?” Dani asked.

Castiel shook his head.  “I can’t use that amount of power on another angel’s vessel.  We cannot, it’s why we don’t just vaporize each other when we fight.” 

“So you can’t heal him.”

“No.”  Castiel gazed down at him sadly.  “No, I’m afraid it’s up to him.”

                                                . . .

Dani woke at the movement next to her.  She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.  She’d stayed with Samandriel/Alfie all night.  Sam had offered to take a turn, but she’d refused.  He’d wanted her with him before so she was going to stay now. 

            Samandriel stirred again.  He groaned quietly as he raised himself to his elbows. 

            “Hey, take it easy.”  Dani sat up and put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down.  He didn’t resists.  She swept her gaze over him.  “You look better; not quite half dead.  How do you feel?”

            He sighed and relaxed a little under her hand.  “I don’t know.  Strange.”

            “Well, I guess that’s to be expected.”  She leaned back against the headboard.  “My name’s—“

            “Daniella Webster,” he finished for her. 

            Dani started and averted her gaze.  He’d looked at her like he knew her.  “Actually, I prefer Dani.”  She looked at him crosswise.  “How do you know that?”  No one had said her full name in front of him, she was sure.

            Samandriel’s pale cheeks took on just a hint of color.  “Before my…accident, my next mission was to find you.  It was right after you’d run from your last foster home.  I was supposed to watch over you until the time was right for you to meet the Winchesters.”  He paused.  “I am sorry I wasn’t able to.”

            Dani turned her head away, trying to hide a smile. 

            “Is something amusing?”  Samandriel asked, confused.

            “No,” Dani shook her head.  “It’s just… You’re my guardian angel?”

            “In a sense.”

            “No offence, but you’re not very intimidating.”

                                                                        . . .

            “Well, it looks like the angels have cleared out,” Sam said as he and Dean walked back into the bunker. 

            “Let’s hope,” Dean answered, then called, “Dani!”

            “Shh,” came her voice from another room.  She sat on the couch, the TV playing at low volume.  Alfie lay on the couch as well, curled up with only his legs touching Dani’s, his eyes closed.

            “Is he asleep?” Sam asked.

            Dani nodded.

            “But angels don’t sleep.”

            “Apparently they do when they’ve been mostly dead,” Dani answered.  Her expression softened when she looked back down at Samandriel.  “You know, I know he’s probably centuries old at least, in this vessel…”

            “He just looks like a kid,” Dean finished.  He felt bad about what had happened to Alfie.  Being captured and tortured by Crowley was bad enough, but after was just unfair.  He’d been all right, for an angel, and all he’d wanted to do was help.  Maybe if he and Sam had gotten out there sooner they could have kept Cas from stabbing him.  Before he could continue too far down that line of thought his attention was arrested by the TV.  “What are you watching?”

            Dani shrugged.  “It’s a show I watched when I was a kid.  I found in on Netflix.  They tell bible stories.”

            Sam drew his eyebrows together.  “What are they?”

            “Uh,” Dani fiddled with her hair.  “They’re supposed to be vegetables.”

            “Seriously?” Dean asked.

            “Well what was I supposed to show an angel?” Dani demanded.  “Most of the stuff you watch would traumatize him.”

            Sam chuckled.  “She has a point.  We don’t even want to see those.”

            “Yeah, whatever,” Dean said, stepping toward the door.  “Just remember Dani, he probably is centuries old so don’t get taken in by those big brown eyes.”

            “They’re blue,” Dani corrected.

            “Oops, it’s too late,” Sam teased them both. 

            “Shut up,” Dani hissed, half laughing.  She glanced around looking for something to toss at them, but didn’t find anything.  “Y’all get out of here before you wake him up.”

                                                                        . . .

            Samandriel padded down the hall, trying not to draw attention to himself.  He wasn’t sure any of the Winchesters would let him leave and he was too tired to argue with them.  He just wanted to get outside of the bunker, out into the open air, for a little while.  He was starting to feel trapped in that bedroom, and the bunkers seemingly endless halls were only making it worse. 

            He rounded a corner to find Castiel coming down the hall.  He started, remembering Castiel leaning over him as Samandriel clung to him, thinking that now he might be safe.  But then he’d felt the knife slide into his chest and…

            He stumbled back, cowering against the wall almost before he realized he’d done it. 

            “It’s all right,” Castiel said gently, a mixture of pain and sadness in his eyes.  He held out a cautious hand, like a human would to a snarling dog.  “I don’t wish you any harm.”  Castiel hesitated, then stepped closer.  “Samandriel, I am very sorry for what I did to you.  I—“

            “It’s all right,” Samandriel cut him off, taking a breath and straightening.  Of course it was all right.  Castiel wouldn’t hurt him, would he?  Not again.  “I’m sorry, I know it was Naomi’s fault, wasn’t it.  You were…she was…”

            “Yes.” Castiel nodded and some of the tension between them relaxed. 

            Yes, Samandriel told himself.  That had been Naomi’s fault.  This was Castiel; the one he’d known before all the mess in heaven started.  His brother. 

            But with the lessoning of that anxiety, the guilt that was driving Samandriel outside returned; a gnawing emptiness in his chest.  “Castiel,” he said, his voice small, near breaking.

            Castiel furrowed his brow.  “What is it?”

            “I lost my vessel,” Samandriel said, averting his gaze.  “He’s gone.”

            “Alfie is dead?”

            “Matt,” Samandriel corrected.  “His given name was Matthew Alfred Pike.  He was a good person, a young man of faith.  He had plans, a life ahead of him.  And now he’s dead and it’s my fault.”  His throat tightened and tears welled up in his eyes.

            Castiel moved toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder.  “You tried to save him,” he said.  “I felt the struggle; you did what you could.”

            “But it wasn’t enough.”  Samandriel shook his head.  “I couldn’t save him, it wasn’t enough.”

            “You were very weak.”

            “Then it should have been him,” Samandriel insisted, reaching up to brush away the tears now sliding down his face.  “If only one of us could live it should have been him.  Even if it killed me I should have used the last of my power to save him.  I told him I would protect him. That’s our job.  I should have—“ He stifled a sob and took a shuddering breath, then whispered, “I should have saved him.” 

            “Listen to me, Little Brother,” Castiel said, tightening his grip on Samandriel’s arm.  Samandriel pressed his lips together and looked Castiel in the eye for the first time.  “What happened to him wasn’t your fault.  Mine, Naomi’s, but not yours.  You did what you could.”  Samandriel started to say something else but Castiel continued before he could.  “You say Matt, he was a man of faith; he trusted our Father?”  Samandriel nodded.  “And do you still trust our Father?”

            “Yes.”  Samandriel nodded again, and Castiel was struck by the utter trust, the complete lack of hesitation.  “Of course.”

            “Then you know, and he would understand, that our Father would not have allowed him to die, if it wasn’t his time.”  Castiel held his gaze for a moment, until Samandriel nodded, visibly trying to regain control of himself. 

            He sniffed.  “I suppose you’re right.”

Raised From Perdition Part 6

 

The first thing Dean became aware of was a steady, annoying beeping off in the distance.  He tried to roll onto his side but was stopped by something.  He sighed and forced his eyes open.  Dani sat in a chair next to the bed he lay in.

            She smiled at him.  “Hey.”

            “Hey,” he answered.  His tongue felt thick and the words came out a little muddled. “What happened?”

            Dani leaned forward.  “You got wacked in the head with a shovel and blacked out." 

           "So we came to the hospital? I thought the rule was broken bones and massive bleeding."

           "You were bleeding pretty well," she counted.  "You've got like 17 stitches."

        "Where's Sam?"

            “He’s talking to the doctor,” she answered.  "They want to keep you over night."

            "Well that's not happening." 

            "Sam and I already agreed to it." 

            "You both just decided that without me?"

            She shrugged.  "We would have asked, but you unconscious.

                                                                         . . .

            Sam and Dani headed down the hall on their way to the hospital cafeteria.  This section of the hospital was mostly empty; the only other people visible were the nurse behind the desk at the head of the hall and one orderly mopping the floor.  Dani turned toward Sam, intending to make some kind of comment about hoping they could find something besides Jello but stopped and cocked her head, looking at the door they had just passed. 

            “What?” Sam asked, noticing the shift in her mood.

            “Something’s wrong with this one,” she said moving closer to the door and peering in.  There was a young man lying in the bed inside, completely still, with lots of tubes and wires running between him and the equipment near the bed. 

            “He is in a hospital,” Sam said, slightly amused. 

            “No, something different,” she answered without taking her eyes off of him.  She gently pushed the door open.  She didn’t know what or how she knew, but something was definitely wrong.  She could just feel it.  Dani stepped into the room and cautiously moved toward the bed. 

Sam hung back by the door. “Dani we can’t just go into random rooms.”

“I know, but-“  Then several of the monitors started going off, breaking the strange silence of the room and making Dani jump.  The boy’s body started seizing. 

            She gasped.  “Get help,” she said over her shoulder to Sam, who was already starting down the hall, yelling for the nurse.  Dani took a step toward the bed.  She knew if someone was having a seizure you were supposed to keep them from hurting themselves. 

            As she reached out for the boy his hand shot up, latching onto her wrist.  Dani cried out, instinctively pulling back but finding she couldn’t.  His grip was too strong.  Almost no one was too strong for her since she’d become a werewolf.   She took a breath to shake her surprise and leaned over him, pressing her hands against his shoulders to keep him from smacking his head against the wall. 

            Two nurses and a doctor hurried into the room quickly moving into place around the bed.  One of the nurses starting moving the pillows to pad the bedrails while the other quickly started reading off stats.  Dani tried to step back out of the doctor’s way as he moved to do his work but the boy was still holding her too tightly.

            The nurse who had been talking suddenly stopped, midsentence.  “He’s showing brain activity,” she said, sounding mystified. 

            “Yes, too much activity,” the doctor said.  “1 mg of atvian please.”

            The nurse picked up a syringe and small bottle, lifting it to measure it out.

            The boys eyes flew open and he struggled to suck in a breath, his shaking suddenly stopped. 

            “Never mind,” the doctor said, holding up a hand to the nurse with the needle. They had all stopped, and were staring at him, dumbfounded.  The boy’s frightened gaze locked on Dani and he muttered something.  It was quiet, garbled but she could have sworn he said her name. 

            The doctor leaned over him, “Hello…Alfie? Can you hear me?”

            The boy didn’t respond, just kept panting and staring up at Dani. 

            “All right,” the doctor said, some of the surprise leaving his expression.  “We’re going to need to move him to ICU.  Call Dr. Brenner, tell her to come in.  Tell her that the John Doe woke up.”

            One of the nurses nodded and headed out. 

            “Let’s move him,” the doctor said to the other nurse.     

            As they started to move the bed out of the room, the boy started and tightened his hold on Dani’s wrist even farther, making her wince.

            The doctor looked at her for the first time.  “Do you know him?” he asked. 

“No, I’ve never seen him before.” Dani said, shaking her head.

“We’ll he seems to think he knows you.  Could you come with us, just for a little while, until we calm him down.”

            “Yeah, sure. I guess so.” She glanced at Sam, hanging back by the door, to make sure that was ok.  He nodded and she turned her gaze back to the doctor.  “Ok, for a few minutes.”

                                                                        . . .

            “Is he all right, do you think?” Dani asked the nurse hovering nearby. 

            While the nurse had settled him in the ICU the boy had relaxed enough to let go of Dani’s arm, leaving bruise marks.  He looked like he was asleep now.  He was very pale and thin, with dark brown hair and smallish features.  Dani had always been bad at judging ages, but she guessed he was in his mid-twenties. 

            “He’s stable,” the nurse answered.  “He hasn’t been alright since he got here.”

            “What’s wrong with him?”  Dani turned her gaze away from the patient to look up at the nurse. 

            “We don’t know for sure,” she answered, coming to stand by the foot of the bed.  “He’s been here for almost two years now.  Somebody just found him on the side of the road one night.  He was covered in cuts and burns and had suffered massive brain damage.”

            “What happened?” Dani interrupted her, furrowing her brow.

            “Well they never found out for sure,” the nurse said, “but I was there when they brought him in.  There is no possible way some of that could have been an accident.  They think some psycho must have kidnapped and tortured him and then left him to die.  It’s a miracle he didn’t.”  She looked down at him sadly.  “No one knows who he is; we only know his first name because he was wearing a nametag when they found him.  He didn’t fit any missing person report in the area and no one ever claimed him.  They say an unnamed benefactor pays his bills but no one ever comes to see him.  He’s been in a coma the whole time, barely hanging on, until today.”

            The nurse started when a doctor came in, knowing she’d been saying more than she should.  The doctor either hadn’t heard or didn’t care. She was later-thirties, with wavy dark hair and a confident bearing.  She stepped over to the monitors and looked them over.  “Is this correct?” she asked the nurse, pointing to one of the screens.

            “I reset it three times,” she answered.  “That’s the right reading.”

            “Hum.” The doctor stepped closer.  “I have never seen this type of activity in a persons’ frontal cortex without stimulation in the auditory region.” 

            “Does that indicate a problem?” the nurse asked.

            The doctor shook her head slowly, still studying the screen.  “No,” she said finally.  “I don’t think so.  Everything else looks pretty good all things considered.”  She smiled and shook her head.  “I have never seen such good readings from him.  I never would have thought so before, but he may finally pull through.” 

“So you think he’ll be all right?” Dani asked.

            “We won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”      

                                                                        . . .

            Dani’s ears pricked as she was about to leave the room.  Someone was talking quickly down the hall, sounding agitated.  She focused her hearing in on the sound.

“I’m sorry,” a woman was saying.  It sounded like it wasn’t the first time she’d said it.  “But only family members are allowed in the ICU.”

“Ma’am, this is a federal investigation and we believe this patient has crucial information.”

“Then you’ll have to clear it with the doctor first.”

“The information is also time sensitive.  We need-“

“I can’t just let you in there,” the nurse cut him off.

Dani stood and moved to the front of the bed.  She had a feeling this wasn’t good and wondered which patient they were trying to get to.  Was it Dean?  This would be a good opportunity for any monster or demon to have a go at him.

The nurse’s voice stopped and one set of footsteps quieted. Yep, definitely not good.  Dani looked down at her phone, and pulled up her contacts to call Sam.  Before she could press the phone button, the door flew open.  A tall blond man stood in the doorway, another man just behind him. 

Dani’s gaze flicked to the bed.  Were they here for this guy?

The blond man held out a placating hand. “Step aside please young lady,” he said.  “This need not concern you.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

“We have business to attend to,” he explained.  His tone was pleasant but only on the surface.  “If you could please step aside.”

            Dani felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as the man took a step closer.  Something was not right about these two. There was something about their scent, human but something extra she couldn’t place.  “Actually, I’d rather stay,” she said, dropping halfway into a fighting stance. 

Something glinted in the second man’s hand; a knife, just peeking out from under his sleeve. 

“I asked you politely,” the first man said, a menacing light creeping into his eyes.  “Please don’t make me remove you.”

“Sorry, I’m not letting you in here unless a doctor ok’s it,” Dani said.

“Very well.”  The man stepped toward her.

Dani brought her leg up, kicking the man in the gut with all the force she had.  He flew backward, slamming into the other man and the two of them landed in a heap in the hall.  Dani slammed the door of the room shut and leaned against it, bracing her feet against the floor.

. . .

Sam’s phone buzzed once and he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Who’s that?” Dean asked.

“Dani,” Sam answered, reading the text message that had just come through.  “She says there’s trouble in the ICU.”

                                                                        . . .

  Dani shoved back against the door as the men rammed into it.  She readjusted her feet, getting ready for the next impact.  These guys were definitely stronger than humans.  Unfortunately for them, so was she.  She was sure she could hold out for a few minutes at least, but she didn’t know how long the door could take this. About the time she expected them to ram the door again, she looked up and saw both men standing on either side of the bed.  How did they-?

She sprang at the closest one, the shorter one who had the knife, knocking him, and herself, to the floor.  She tried to shift more of her weight on top of him to hold him down but he came back with his elbow, catching her in the jaw.  She felt the cold floor against her cheek.  As Dani tried to push herself up, the man grabbed her shoulder rolling her onto her back.  He pressed his forearm against her chest, pinning her to the floor.  “You’re strong for a little human girl,” he taunted.

Dani bared her fangs, lunging for the man’s upper arm. 

“Oh,” he said, flinching back for a brief moment.  “That explains it.  You know we really didn’t want to do it this way.”  He drew back his free arm, a long silver knife gripped in his hand, the same kind Dean had given her when she first started hunting. 

Then he stopped, a confused expression crossing his face.  A blue light shone out from his eyes and mouth.  Dani raised her arms to shield her eyes.  She opened them again a moment later, in time to see the man topple off of her.  Sam stood beside her, holding a bloodstained knife just like the one the man held.  He turned and tossed the knife over hand.  It embedded in the other man’s chest.  He dropped his knife, just inches away from sending it into the boy’s body, and grabbed the weapon in his chest with a gurgling cry.  He fell forward, then slid off the bed.

For a moment, Dani stared up at Sam, and Sam stared at the spot the man had been, the only sound their rushed breathing.  Then Sam looked down at her. 

“You all right?” he asked, offering her a hand.

“Yeah.” She took it and let him pull her to her feet. “What were they?”

“Angels,” Sam huffed.

“What do they want with him?” she asked, jerking her head toward the bed.  He must have been out pretty good again, because he hadn’t moved since the altercation started.

“I don’t know.”  Sam slid his knife into his inner coat pocket. “But it’s not good whatever it is.”  He knelt to pick up one of the knives from the floor, then handed it to her.  “This is the only thing that can hurt them.”

“You think there are more?”  Dani asked as she took the blade.

Sam shrugged.  “There usually are.  We need to get out of here, can you get him?”

She nodded. “Not going to be a problem.”

“Ok, I’m going to get Dean.  Meet us by the car as quick as you can.”

“Ok,” Dani nodded but grabbed his arm as he started to go.  “Wait, what do I do if someone stops me and wants to know what I’m doing with him?” 

Sam made a face.  “You may have to just hit somebody.  We don’t really have time to mess around.”

. . .

Dean sat up straighter as Sam hurried into his room.  “What’s up?”

“Angels just tried to kill that guy Dani was with in the ICU.”

“Is she ok?”

Sam nodded.  “They're both fine but we’ve got to go.”

“All right, early check out.”  Dean clapped his hands together.  “Find me some pants and let’s boogey.”

. . .

Dani froze, hands hovering over the boy.  She couldn’t get him out with all this stuff attached.  But they wouldn’t have it here if most of it wasn’t important.  He had been in a coma for years after all. 

“Mmm.”  Dani grunted, waggling her fingers agitatedly.  She just couldn’t make herself pull anything.

She jumped at a noise from down the hall.  Someone was coming.  Things were likely to be bad whether it was hospital staff or those creep’s friends. 

“Fine.”  She reached for an IV.  “Sorry about this.”

Dani quickly removed anything attached to the boy, then hauled him up draping his arms over her shoulders, distributing most of his weight across her back.  Well, he’s still breathing, she thought, feeling his breath tickle the back of her neck.  That’s good at least.

She started down the hall at a quick pace.  There didn’t seem to be anyone else out and about anymore. The halls were actually suspiciously empty and quiet; the sound of the boy’s feet dragging behind them too loud.  Dani tried not to think too much into that, and picked up her pace. 

            Come on, there’s got to be a back exit somewhere.

            She rounded a corner and stopped short.  There was the door out she’d been looking for, but right under the exit sign stood a man in a suit.  He raised one arm ever so slightly out from his side and then a knife slid into his hand from his sleeve. Two could paly at that game.  Dani growled low in her throat and extended her claws.

 

            “Come on Sam, keys.”  Dean held out his hand for them.

            “Nope, I’m driving. I don’t know what all they gave you in there.”

            Dean rolled his eyes, but got in the passenger seat. 

Dani jerked open the passenger door and scrambled in, pulling the boy in behind her.  Sam slammed the door once they were in, then jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine before he had his door closed. 

“You ok?” Dean asked, turning around in his seat to look at Dani as Sam did a rolling stop out of the parking lot. 

“Mmhmm.” She nodded and started rearranging the boy’s limbs so he was more on the seat.  She laid his head on her lap and furrowed her brow.  His breathing was louder now, labored. 

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s following us.”  Dean studied the hospital warily.

“Maybe we got lucky and there were only three,” Sam said.  “What do you think they want with that kid anyway?”

“I don’t know.”  Dean turned his gaze to the back seat.  “Wait…”  He stared at the boy for a moment, looking like he might remember him from somewhere, but the connection wouldn’t quite complete.  Then the light clicked on.  “That’s Alfie.”

“Who?”  Sam and Dani chorused.

“Remember when we went to that auction for the demon tablet?”  Dean asked, looking at Sam.

Sam nodded.  “Right Alfie, the kid angel.  I thought Cas killed him.”

“Maybe he wasn’t dead when he took him back to heaven.”  Dean was thinking out loud.  “Then when the angels fell he ended up here.”

Sam nodded.  “That’s possible I guess.  But didn’t Cas say…”

“Wait a minute,” Dani interrupted.  “You think this guy’s an angel?”

“He was,” Sam said.  “He may not be now.”

“Well if he is, why would the other angels want to hurt him?”

“Who knows,” Dean said.  “But if they want him dead there’s a good chance we don’t.”

“So what are we going to do with him?” Sam asked.

“Go back to the bunker, those stiffs won’t be able to get to him there.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Dani said.  Alfie was starting to shake; not seizing like before, but his hands were trembling and he definitely sounded like he was having to work way too hard to breath.  “Is there another hospital we could take him to?”

“No he won’t last there.”  Dean shook his head.  “He won’t last long anywhere out in the open if these guys are after him.  We’ll take him to the bunker and have Cas fix him there.”

“If we can get ahold of Cas,” Sam said.

“Hey, think positive.”

Dani bit her lip and tried to remember how long it had taken them to get to town from the bunker.  She jumped when Alfie started.  He opened his eyes and for a second Dani thought they flashed a bright blue.  He glanced around, confused, then his unfocused gaze rested on Dani. 

“Where am I?” he mumbled, his words slurred and hoarse.  “What happened?”

 “It’s ok,” Dani said, laying a hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “It’s all right, you’re going to be ok.  We’re friends.  We’re going to take you somewhere safe.”

Alfie moaned and his eyes fluttered most of the way closed again.  His lips moved like he was muttering something but there was no sound. 

Dani’s expression darkened and she took his hand.  “I bet you do,” she whispered, rubbing her thumb against his.  “It’s going be ok.”

“Can you hear him?”  Sam asked, glancing back at them. 

Dani nodded.  “He says he needs to go home,” she said quietly, not looking up.  “To see his parents.  He says he needs to tell them he’s sorry.” 

He moaned again, and there was more pain behind the sound this time.  He squeezed Dani’s hand, but his grip wasn’t as strong as when he’d grabbed her in the hospital.  “I know you do honey,” she said.  “We’ll find out where you live.  Just relax.  It’s going to be ok.”

She thought she saw his eyes flash again before they closed the rest of the way and his hand went limp in hers.