i_carry_on (i_carry_on) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2013-01-01 15:21:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | dean winchester, sam winchester, zz:status complete |
Killing a myth (Sam/Dean, log, complete)
After the information garnered from the CBI agent, it wasn’t hard to follow the breadcrumbs and surmise that it was tied into the feud between the two families that owned the buildings involved. From there, they had both started researching. When Sam came across the Greek mythology involving Alastor, the god of blood feuds. A little bit of digging gave Sam all of the answers that he needed. Once the two brothers traced the family trees, it was easy to pinpoint the next victim. It would seem that the spirit was working his way down the branches of the family tree. Those that were the closest relations to the source of the feud had gone first and then it had continued to work its way outward.
What Sam didn’t bother to tell Dean was that Alastor could only be killed immediately after he’d taken a life. The next victim wouldn’t be saved, but would instead be bait for the trap. Sam had no emotions either way about the collateral damage, but he imagined that Dean might have a problem with it. It was better to at least keep up the appearance of trying to save that next victim.
Both brothers had armed themselves with a stake before setting off for the separate apartment buildings, but Sam was pretty sure that Dean wouldn’t be in much position to use it since he was focused on saving the victim as well as killing the demi-god.
----
Dean had discovered along with his little brother that there was more than a ghost or a curse going on. A godling, demi-god, god, whatever the hell it was could be dealt with. It wasn’t like they hadn’t dealt with them before. Of course, they also had to keep the morons’ family member alive. They couldn’t let the Alastor, that sounded much too like a name Dean would have liked to forget forever, get another one.
The two entered separate buildings, covering more ground. It didn’t mean that Dean liked it. Something wasn’t clicking with Sam. He was good, but he was...Dean didn’t know what Sam was; denial kept him from actually letting the pieces click. No, he would just keep working on assumption that Sam was mad or had gotten too used to being on his own to be normal. Not that Sam was really normal, ever. They were doomed to be abnormal.
So, he headed up to his target. He pulled out his phone, checking the text section. He glanced at Dinah’s text, wondering why it bothered him. He was glad she wished him luck but still. Then he sent something to Sam: Here. Ready?
----
Their research into the deaths confirmed that they happened in pairs. Alastor seemed to be really into balancing the skills. He was systematically eliminating everyone connected to the blood feud. These two were next on the docket if their research was right. And Sam was sure it was. He had a knack for spotting patterns now and he was confident in that ability.
He read the text once he was in position and sent his own back.
Ready.
From what they knew, the demi-god would appear to one victim and then another. So each of the brothers had a shot at it. Sam waited just outside the door to the apartment, listening for the screams that were sure to come.
----
Dean put away his phone and knocked on the target’s door. He waited, certain that Frank Capfield - Dean still winced at the names - was in. They’d been casing these idiots for a day or so, maybe not as long; time ran differently in the City.
He knocked again, and then stopped. His head turned slightly before he glanced at the door. He knew that sound or lack of it. It was a feeling more than anything. He would have preferred having the Sasquatch feet of door death, but he had to settle for a few good shoulders to the door. It was on the third time he go the door open.
There was Frank twisting in a cord while some...thing hovered over him. “You gotta be kidding me.” The door opening hadn’t caught the creature’s attention, but his voice did. He was soon flying through the air, hitting the wall.
A groan, and Dean was up, sort of. He pulled out his Colt, shooting a few rounds at the monster, hoping that would distract it long enough to attack. Just a quick stabbing, that was all he had to do, right? The shooting did seem to distract, but Dean didn’t move fast enough. Or maybe he moved just right.
The creature disappeared, vanished as Dean attempted to impale it with the stake. Fortunately, as Dean stopped himself just short of stabbing the victim, or would-be victim, once Alastor disappeared. He had to shift his body, and ended up in a heap on top of good ole Frank, who had stopped fighting the cord. It took Dean a moment to figure out that he Al wasn’t moving, but once he did, he was on his knees beside the guy, working to get the cord off.
“Shit, you better not be dead! You better not!”
----
Sam had no qualms about shooting off the door once Helena Montcoy started screaming. The petite Italian woman was tangled up in cord, being dangled from the air by Alastor himself. The demi-god resembled a human though he didn’t have the classic Grecian good looks. Instead, he looked more like someone that was perpetually angry, which made sense since he was a creature that fed on rage and vengeance.
The woman clawed at the noose and looked at Sam with terrified eyes as she dangled, gasping for air. Sam merely gave the woman a passing glance and then looked at the demigod and waited. The stake was behind his back, though he was pretty sure that if the god had stopped in at Dean’s building first, he knew what was coming.
Fortunately for Sam, Alastor’s compulsion to exterminate the family trees involved in the blood feud was stronger than any fear he might have of hunters. Then again, a god didn’t generally fear mere mortals. Even mere mortals who were trying to kill him.
As the woman took her last dying breath and went limp, Sam moved quickly. The window of time wherein the godling would be weakened after expending so much energy on this latest kill was a brief one. He stabbed the stake directly into his heart and watched as the god keeled over next to his victim, who had dropped to floor and was now sprawled out. The cord, being a manifestation of the god’s powers, had disappeared entirely.
Sam picked up the phone and dialed his brother.
“It’s done,” he said simply whenever the older Winchester answered the phone.
----
Dean relaxed a little with the news. He gave old Frank a soft pat on the shoulder. “Buck up. You’re alive. You could be toast.” Frank had lived through the ordeal, which helped matters. Dean hated getting to victims too late. He didn’t need another death on his conscience, and he didn’t think Sam did either. Both boys had seen too much death in their relatively short for normal humans yet seemingly long for hunters? Depending on the hunter.
“Beer and burgers.” He said into the phone, then glanced at Frank. “You may want to lay off the greasy diner food, Franky.” With that Dean checked to make sure the man would live before finding his way out of the apartment and eventually the building. He felt like crap, and while normally this meant he would go home to his own personal superhero hottie, he thought he’d take at least one more night with his brother. It felt almost like old times. The more permanent apartment was throwing the old times feeling off a bit.
It took less time to get back to his brother than it had to get to the buildings in the first place. Dean’s lips pursed for a moment when he realized Sam didn’t look all that disheveled, and the older Winchester was pretty certain he looked like he’d been tossed about a little. But, then Sam might have gotten the better of the godbastard. It was always possible, right?
“So, he go down without a fight?” Okay, so Dean couldn’t let that go.
----
Sam had made it back to his apartment pretty easily. It was the most sensible meet-up point for after the hunt. He did his best to take on the guilty look of someone whose hunt hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped.
“Helena didn’t make it,” he said. “I tried, but...” he left that sentence hanging in the air and shrugged.
He headed toward the fridge and got out a pair of beer bottles for the two of them.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
That was the Winchester way, after all. Carry your pain in secret. He figured he could count on his brother to understand the request to shove it aside.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, holding out the beer bottle. Dean did look a little roughed up after all and he was supposed to care about that, he reminded himself.
----
Dean wasn’t all that worried about how he felt or looked. He was stuck on Sam’s target dying. How? He had had time to save Frank, unless Alastor started earlier on Helena. His jaw tightened a little, but he would let it go for now. There was beer to be had after all.
“Yeah, just the usual.” He shrugged; it really was a usual hunt in a way. At least one of them had to end up bloodied, knocked out, or very uncomfortable/unhappy. He settled on the couch and took a sip of beer, legs stretching out in front of him.
“I’m going home tomorrow.” He sighed softly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go home, but he wasn’t sure how that was going to work. He pulled out his phone and thought twice about calling Dinah, instead: Will be home tomorrow. Saved the day.
----
Well, Sam had dodged that bullet. Dean seemed to be willing to let the news about Helena dying drop for now. Sam was relieved. He sat down on the couch himself and took a healthy pull from his beer. He knew that he was supposed to say something to the announcement that his brother was going home.
He nodded.
“Good luck. At least the fridge is stocked with beer for tonight,” he said with a small smile.