SPN fic: "The Hunt" (5.22+)
title: "The Hunt"
author: fannishliss
rated: PG
warnings: spoilers for 5.22. Lisa pov
words: 2247
Author's note: this story takes place in October 2010. Angel Quality of Service.
disclaimer: This story proceeds from the challenging and evocative scenario set forth at the end of 5.22. Thanks to Kripke and everyone at spn for their fantastic work. This story follows on from the Promise verse. Comments and concrit are sincerely appreciated.
Summary: Dean's been at Lisa's for five months when he hears about a spate of suspicious deaths.
Master List for the Promise 'verse (5.22+)
i. " not the burnt and broken" (Dean pov)
ii. " blind, without a blow" (Lucifer pov)
iii. " Ground Rules" (Lisa pov)
iv. " two-edged, golden, sanguine" (Sam in Hell)
v. " Keeping the Promise" (Dean and Lisa)
vi. " illumine our tempestuous day" (Sam's return)
vii. " dayenu" (Lisa pov)
viii. " shades of gray" (Sam and Castiel)
ix. King of the Crossroads (Sam, Castiel, special Guest!)
tbc...
~*o*~
The Hunt (October, 2010)
"What do you mean, a Hunt," Lisa said. She had followed him to the garage, where he stood rummaging around in the Impala's trunk. It seemed mostly empty, but Dean had shoved some random supplies aside to get at the false bottom, which he had propped open to reveal a small assortment of weapons: a sawed-off shotgun and several handguns, and some boxes and cases that Lisa assumed held other tricks of Dean's erstwhile trade.
"I mean, a Hunt. People are dying." Dean dug around and pulled out a wooden box with strange markings painted over it. He rattled it, then flipped it open: empty. Satisfied, he put everything back.
"And you've got to stop it?" Lisa asked.
Dean shook his head, heading back into the house from the garage. "Look, if I could sic someone else on this, I would, but Bobby's in Arizona hunting a chupacabra, and there just isn't anyone else. The Apocalypse took out a lot of Hunters."
"What about those guys who tried to kill you and Sam," Lisa asked.
"You think they'd take my call?" Dean replied drily, brow cocked.
"I guess not," Lisa said. "Okay, so what do you think it is?"
"Cursed object, most likely," Dean answered. "Spate of deaths like this, it's when a spirit is disturbed or a cursed object comes to light. With a spirit, the deaths are usually localized, but with an object, the deaths follow a trajectory as the object moves from person to person. You can see here how it maps."
He gestured to the roadmap on the table that he'd been poring over when she came home from work that afternoon. Red circles marked four places on the map in eastern Ohio.
"Four's a pattern?"
"Two's coincidence, three's a pattern," Dean said, with a sigh. "Four's when a Hunter is slow to catch on."
"So, what. You go throw yourself on it, like it's some cursed grenade?" Tension ran through her body at the thought, and she tried to breathe it out.
Dean frowned. "You think I should just sit back and let people die when maybe I could stop it?"
Lisa shook her head, trying to put her feelings into words. She sat up a little straighter and tried to collect her thoughts.
"Cursed object," she said.
"Yeah?" Dean said, a little impatiently.
"Cursed object. Not, like, demons, or witches, or something that comes after you? An object, you find it, burn it, end of story?"
"Yeah, you can burn it, or put it in a curse box like that one Bobby made. Dad had a whole lock up full of crap like that."
"So, you just track down whatever it is and put it in a box?"
Dean scratched his neck. "Yeah, we...I'd, like, interview people who knew the victims so far, try and figure out what the thing is, and then try to get a hold of it without getting cursed myself."
"Interviews? You don't tell them you're a Hunter," Lisa doubted.
"Usually, we, I'd pose, you know, as FBI or some shit." Dean wrinkled his nose and looked away, embarrassed. Lisa knew Dean was proud of the people he'd saved, but he was shy with her about the criminal side of things.
"You want help?" Lisa heard herself say.
"What?" Dean asked.
Lisa pulled Dean's map closer and looked it over. It was a ways to eastern Ohio. "Well, I could at least spot you driving, help with research, that kind of thing." Was she really getting involved in this?
"Why would you want to do that? What about Ben?" When Lisa looked up, Dean was staring at her, eyes narrowed.
Despite the turmoil of her thoughts, Lisa kept her voice light and tried to seem nonchalant. "Ben's crazy wanting to Hunt, you know, but he's still way too young. I think I should find out for myself what it's like, so I know what I'm talking about. I don't want him to go off half-cocked and get himself killed. You neither."
"Hey," Dean objected. "I'm not going off--"
"That's not the issue here, Dean," Lisa said. She met his eyes again. "I can't stop you from Hunting. I don't even want to, really-- but I'm having a hard time seeing why I would just sit here at home like a good little woman and let you drive off alone. That's not right. Besides, with Ben all hot to Hunt, I want to see it firsthand, what he'd be getting himself into. Does that make any sense?"
Dean was silent, his jaw clenched.
Lisa spoke again. "Is it so wrong to want to be sure that you're not bleeding to death in a ditch somewhere, when I could just as easily have gone along with you?"
Dean opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, "Ben--"
"Ben's not old enough to Hunt, and he needs to know that. He can go to Annette's." Since Annette's daughter had been taken by the changeling, she and Lisa were much closer than when they'd just been casual acquaintances in the old gated community.
"Lisa--" Dean protested, his voice gruff with distress.
"Dean. You're a Hunter. I know that. You told me once that this" -- she swept her hand around --"wasn't your life. But now it is. And all I'm saying is, if you're gonna Hunt, I can't in good conscience let you go off alone, without any backup."
"A Hunt is no place for a civilian," Dean ground out.
Lisa nodded. "I get that. If you're gonna Hunt, I should probably start training. But this Hunt, right now. Do you think I'd be in danger?"
Dean thought about it, hard. He finally mumbled, "No. Probably not. Cursed object, we're just tailing it. It's not like it's a wendigo or something on legs."
Lisa laid out her offer one more time. She took his hand, and said, "Dean, you tell me this Hunt isn't an acceptable risk, then I'll stay home. I don't want to be stupid. But if I can help you, please tell me."
Dean looked deep in her eyes, maybe searching for something. She returned his gaze. Over the past five months, she'd seen him pull himself out of a depression so deep it was nearly a grave. He'd made a place for himself in her home, in her bed. She loved him, and seeing him ready to drive across two states to save strangers from a threat they'd never even acknowledge -- she loved him even more. She knew there would be real danger to any Hunt, but she couldn't just sit back and watch him go.
When he finally gave in, the set of his face was dead serious. "You have to swear to me that you'll stay put when I say -- even if I have to leave you in the next town over."
"I swear, Dean. I trust you," Lisa said. Heaven help them both, she did. She waited for him to go on.
After another minute he finally did. He spoke very seriously. "Hunting alone, it's never smart. But Hunting with a civilian -- that depends. I think, this time, this particular instance, it should be okay."
"Okay, then," Lisa nodded.
Dean looked away from her, down at his hands. Lisa waited.
"This job, it's rough. I've seen a lot of good people get killed. If you, if something happened, I'm finished. You're, like, my one and only final chance." Dean's voice was small, but nowhere near as broken as it had been, months ago when he first turned up.
"I'll hang back. I'll do whatever you say. Hey, you know, I'm not looking to leave Ben as an orphan!" Lisa tried to bring a little levity, but Dean didn't smile.
"If I get the first hint that this is a creature, or a spirit, and not just an object, the deal's off. Objects are dangerous enough, but something with a mind of its own, that might circle around on you? No way."
Grit filled Dean's voice, but Lisa knew it was more than just concern for her-- it was all the losses he'd lived through. Dean was a case study in survivor's guilt.
"Has that happened to you before?" she asked gently.
Dean laughed harshly. "You might say that. I don't even know how many people I've gotten killed."
Lisa sat back. Dean was always ready to take on the sins of the world-- but not this time, not if she had anything to say about it.
"First off, you're not gonna get me killed. If I get hurt, it's the result of my own decisions, not yours."
"But I'm responsible for--" Dean started, then he broke off. His eyes welled up, and he had to look away from her. He started to stand, but she grabbed his arm. He didn't pull away, and Lisa counted it as a win when he stayed seated.
Lisa held tight to his arm, leaning forward. He wouldn't meet her eyes. She spoke slowly, sincerely. "Dean, you've gone into situations most people never see in their worst nightmares. And you do it willingly, just to save people--you've never asked for anything in return. If you never Hunt again, in my book you're already a hero." His eyes flickered briefly to hers, a brilliant green behind his tears. "The things you've gone up against are to blame, not you, for the people you've lost. Can't you see that?"
"God, Lisa," Dean choked. "It's just, it's so... I've lost so many... Sam... " His brother's whispered name was the breaking point, and the tears spilled over as he choked back his sobs.
She pulled him close, holding him tight while the pain washed through him. Every day Dean didn't break down like this was a miracle to Lisa, knowing all Dean feared his brother endured every second in Hell. He had to keep it locked down, living out his promise to Sam as a way of paying tribute to his brother's monumental sacrifice -- living on as a way of somehow making the hope real for Sam, that Dean was alive and trying to make the most of the crap he'd been dealt. That was what Sam had wanted. And Lisa knew Dean clung to the chance that it was different for Sam, that carrying Lucifer into the cage wasn't the same as Hell had been for Dean -- the impossibility of imagining it was a thin psychic cushion for Dean, that helped him live through the loss of his brother day by day -- living on, healing, getting better despite himself.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Lisa whispered.
The storm passed quickly. Dean's wounds were deep, and might never fully heal, but the sharpness of the pain had dulled with time. It helped him, too, that she had made him tell her everything. He knew she understood. She didn't judge him--she loved him. She had never known anyone so ready to be loved--he soaked it in. He trusted her, and she was so grateful for that.
He wiped his face with his hand and sat back. She stood up and poured him a glass of lemonade from the fridge. He drank it down, his gratitude clear as he took her hand and held it.
"All this over a god damned cursed object. And we're not even in range yet," he joked feebly, hoarse.
Lisa just smiled, thumbing the back of the hand that clung to hers.
"You're a saint, you know that?" Dean said.
"Dude, I'm a Jew, we don't have saints," Lisa laughed.
"Bodhisattva?" Dean said weakly.
"Loving you is a mitzvah, that's one thing I know," Lisa said, and Dean, predictably, looked away, but she gathered his head to her body and held him, stroking his soft, short hair.
"If I go, and I do get hurt, it's my own dumb fault, okay?"
"I couldn't stand that," Dean whispered, his cheek pressed to her stomach as she stood beside his chair.
"So I'm just supposed to stay here and keep the home fires burning?" Her fingers moved soothingly through his hair, taking the sting from her words.
"I can't help feeling responsible... even though I know I'm not... it's just how I am, how thing's have always been," Dean said, slowly, trying to work it out. It was as though the storm of emotion had washed him clean inside, leaving a space clear for a new understanding. Lisa knew it worked that way with him; he was a man of high passions-- they had to pass through him before he could make progress.
"You're a good man, Dean. I trust your instincts."
Dean nodded. Lisa knew Dean felt that his instincts had rarely betrayed him.
"My instinct is, you'd be safe. As long as you follow orders, and scram at the first hint of trouble." Dean's voice was steady now.
"Okay then," Lisa tried again.
"Okay." This time, Dean agreed.
"Okay!" Lisa laughed, and pulled away from him to get some lemonade for herself. She drank from his glass.
Dean smiled a tiny smile. "I always kind of dreamed one day I'd have some beautiful woman partner. You know, like Scully. Or Zoe ..." His smile broadened as he mouthed to himself "warrior woman."
Lisa leaned forward. "I'd like to apply for that job, Sir, if it's still open," she said with a smile.
"Maybe," Dean said. "Maybe it is."
author: fannishliss
rated: PG
warnings: spoilers for 5.22. Lisa pov
words: 2247
Author's note: this story takes place in October 2010. Angel Quality of Service.
disclaimer: This story proceeds from the challenging and evocative scenario set forth at the end of 5.22. Thanks to Kripke and everyone at spn for their fantastic work. This story follows on from the Promise verse. Comments and concrit are sincerely appreciated.
Summary: Dean's been at Lisa's for five months when he hears about a spate of suspicious deaths.
Master List for the Promise 'verse (5.22+)
i. " not the burnt and broken" (Dean pov)
ii. " blind, without a blow" (Lucifer pov)
iii. " Ground Rules" (Lisa pov)
iv. " two-edged, golden, sanguine" (Sam in Hell)
v. " Keeping the Promise" (Dean and Lisa)
vi. " illumine our tempestuous day" (Sam's return)
vii. " dayenu" (Lisa pov)
viii. " shades of gray" (Sam and Castiel)
ix. King of the Crossroads (Sam, Castiel, special Guest!)
tbc...
~*o*~
The Hunt (October, 2010)
"What do you mean, a Hunt," Lisa said. She had followed him to the garage, where he stood rummaging around in the Impala's trunk. It seemed mostly empty, but Dean had shoved some random supplies aside to get at the false bottom, which he had propped open to reveal a small assortment of weapons: a sawed-off shotgun and several handguns, and some boxes and cases that Lisa assumed held other tricks of Dean's erstwhile trade.
"I mean, a Hunt. People are dying." Dean dug around and pulled out a wooden box with strange markings painted over it. He rattled it, then flipped it open: empty. Satisfied, he put everything back.
"And you've got to stop it?" Lisa asked.
Dean shook his head, heading back into the house from the garage. "Look, if I could sic someone else on this, I would, but Bobby's in Arizona hunting a chupacabra, and there just isn't anyone else. The Apocalypse took out a lot of Hunters."
"What about those guys who tried to kill you and Sam," Lisa asked.
"You think they'd take my call?" Dean replied drily, brow cocked.
"I guess not," Lisa said. "Okay, so what do you think it is?"
"Cursed object, most likely," Dean answered. "Spate of deaths like this, it's when a spirit is disturbed or a cursed object comes to light. With a spirit, the deaths are usually localized, but with an object, the deaths follow a trajectory as the object moves from person to person. You can see here how it maps."
He gestured to the roadmap on the table that he'd been poring over when she came home from work that afternoon. Red circles marked four places on the map in eastern Ohio.
"Four's a pattern?"
"Two's coincidence, three's a pattern," Dean said, with a sigh. "Four's when a Hunter is slow to catch on."
"So, what. You go throw yourself on it, like it's some cursed grenade?" Tension ran through her body at the thought, and she tried to breathe it out.
Dean frowned. "You think I should just sit back and let people die when maybe I could stop it?"
Lisa shook her head, trying to put her feelings into words. She sat up a little straighter and tried to collect her thoughts.
"Cursed object," she said.
"Yeah?" Dean said, a little impatiently.
"Cursed object. Not, like, demons, or witches, or something that comes after you? An object, you find it, burn it, end of story?"
"Yeah, you can burn it, or put it in a curse box like that one Bobby made. Dad had a whole lock up full of crap like that."
"So, you just track down whatever it is and put it in a box?"
Dean scratched his neck. "Yeah, we...I'd, like, interview people who knew the victims so far, try and figure out what the thing is, and then try to get a hold of it without getting cursed myself."
"Interviews? You don't tell them you're a Hunter," Lisa doubted.
"Usually, we, I'd pose, you know, as FBI or some shit." Dean wrinkled his nose and looked away, embarrassed. Lisa knew Dean was proud of the people he'd saved, but he was shy with her about the criminal side of things.
"You want help?" Lisa heard herself say.
"What?" Dean asked.
Lisa pulled Dean's map closer and looked it over. It was a ways to eastern Ohio. "Well, I could at least spot you driving, help with research, that kind of thing." Was she really getting involved in this?
"Why would you want to do that? What about Ben?" When Lisa looked up, Dean was staring at her, eyes narrowed.
Despite the turmoil of her thoughts, Lisa kept her voice light and tried to seem nonchalant. "Ben's crazy wanting to Hunt, you know, but he's still way too young. I think I should find out for myself what it's like, so I know what I'm talking about. I don't want him to go off half-cocked and get himself killed. You neither."
"Hey," Dean objected. "I'm not going off--"
"That's not the issue here, Dean," Lisa said. She met his eyes again. "I can't stop you from Hunting. I don't even want to, really-- but I'm having a hard time seeing why I would just sit here at home like a good little woman and let you drive off alone. That's not right. Besides, with Ben all hot to Hunt, I want to see it firsthand, what he'd be getting himself into. Does that make any sense?"
Dean was silent, his jaw clenched.
Lisa spoke again. "Is it so wrong to want to be sure that you're not bleeding to death in a ditch somewhere, when I could just as easily have gone along with you?"
Dean opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, "Ben--"
"Ben's not old enough to Hunt, and he needs to know that. He can go to Annette's." Since Annette's daughter had been taken by the changeling, she and Lisa were much closer than when they'd just been casual acquaintances in the old gated community.
"Lisa--" Dean protested, his voice gruff with distress.
"Dean. You're a Hunter. I know that. You told me once that this" -- she swept her hand around --"wasn't your life. But now it is. And all I'm saying is, if you're gonna Hunt, I can't in good conscience let you go off alone, without any backup."
"A Hunt is no place for a civilian," Dean ground out.
Lisa nodded. "I get that. If you're gonna Hunt, I should probably start training. But this Hunt, right now. Do you think I'd be in danger?"
Dean thought about it, hard. He finally mumbled, "No. Probably not. Cursed object, we're just tailing it. It's not like it's a wendigo or something on legs."
Lisa laid out her offer one more time. She took his hand, and said, "Dean, you tell me this Hunt isn't an acceptable risk, then I'll stay home. I don't want to be stupid. But if I can help you, please tell me."
Dean looked deep in her eyes, maybe searching for something. She returned his gaze. Over the past five months, she'd seen him pull himself out of a depression so deep it was nearly a grave. He'd made a place for himself in her home, in her bed. She loved him, and seeing him ready to drive across two states to save strangers from a threat they'd never even acknowledge -- she loved him even more. She knew there would be real danger to any Hunt, but she couldn't just sit back and watch him go.
When he finally gave in, the set of his face was dead serious. "You have to swear to me that you'll stay put when I say -- even if I have to leave you in the next town over."
"I swear, Dean. I trust you," Lisa said. Heaven help them both, she did. She waited for him to go on.
After another minute he finally did. He spoke very seriously. "Hunting alone, it's never smart. But Hunting with a civilian -- that depends. I think, this time, this particular instance, it should be okay."
"Okay, then," Lisa nodded.
Dean looked away from her, down at his hands. Lisa waited.
"This job, it's rough. I've seen a lot of good people get killed. If you, if something happened, I'm finished. You're, like, my one and only final chance." Dean's voice was small, but nowhere near as broken as it had been, months ago when he first turned up.
"I'll hang back. I'll do whatever you say. Hey, you know, I'm not looking to leave Ben as an orphan!" Lisa tried to bring a little levity, but Dean didn't smile.
"If I get the first hint that this is a creature, or a spirit, and not just an object, the deal's off. Objects are dangerous enough, but something with a mind of its own, that might circle around on you? No way."
Grit filled Dean's voice, but Lisa knew it was more than just concern for her-- it was all the losses he'd lived through. Dean was a case study in survivor's guilt.
"Has that happened to you before?" she asked gently.
Dean laughed harshly. "You might say that. I don't even know how many people I've gotten killed."
Lisa sat back. Dean was always ready to take on the sins of the world-- but not this time, not if she had anything to say about it.
"First off, you're not gonna get me killed. If I get hurt, it's the result of my own decisions, not yours."
"But I'm responsible for--" Dean started, then he broke off. His eyes welled up, and he had to look away from her. He started to stand, but she grabbed his arm. He didn't pull away, and Lisa counted it as a win when he stayed seated.
Lisa held tight to his arm, leaning forward. He wouldn't meet her eyes. She spoke slowly, sincerely. "Dean, you've gone into situations most people never see in their worst nightmares. And you do it willingly, just to save people--you've never asked for anything in return. If you never Hunt again, in my book you're already a hero." His eyes flickered briefly to hers, a brilliant green behind his tears. "The things you've gone up against are to blame, not you, for the people you've lost. Can't you see that?"
"God, Lisa," Dean choked. "It's just, it's so... I've lost so many... Sam... " His brother's whispered name was the breaking point, and the tears spilled over as he choked back his sobs.
She pulled him close, holding him tight while the pain washed through him. Every day Dean didn't break down like this was a miracle to Lisa, knowing all Dean feared his brother endured every second in Hell. He had to keep it locked down, living out his promise to Sam as a way of paying tribute to his brother's monumental sacrifice -- living on as a way of somehow making the hope real for Sam, that Dean was alive and trying to make the most of the crap he'd been dealt. That was what Sam had wanted. And Lisa knew Dean clung to the chance that it was different for Sam, that carrying Lucifer into the cage wasn't the same as Hell had been for Dean -- the impossibility of imagining it was a thin psychic cushion for Dean, that helped him live through the loss of his brother day by day -- living on, healing, getting better despite himself.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Lisa whispered.
The storm passed quickly. Dean's wounds were deep, and might never fully heal, but the sharpness of the pain had dulled with time. It helped him, too, that she had made him tell her everything. He knew she understood. She didn't judge him--she loved him. She had never known anyone so ready to be loved--he soaked it in. He trusted her, and she was so grateful for that.
He wiped his face with his hand and sat back. She stood up and poured him a glass of lemonade from the fridge. He drank it down, his gratitude clear as he took her hand and held it.
"All this over a god damned cursed object. And we're not even in range yet," he joked feebly, hoarse.
Lisa just smiled, thumbing the back of the hand that clung to hers.
"You're a saint, you know that?" Dean said.
"Dude, I'm a Jew, we don't have saints," Lisa laughed.
"Bodhisattva?" Dean said weakly.
"Loving you is a mitzvah, that's one thing I know," Lisa said, and Dean, predictably, looked away, but she gathered his head to her body and held him, stroking his soft, short hair.
"If I go, and I do get hurt, it's my own dumb fault, okay?"
"I couldn't stand that," Dean whispered, his cheek pressed to her stomach as she stood beside his chair.
"So I'm just supposed to stay here and keep the home fires burning?" Her fingers moved soothingly through his hair, taking the sting from her words.
"I can't help feeling responsible... even though I know I'm not... it's just how I am, how thing's have always been," Dean said, slowly, trying to work it out. It was as though the storm of emotion had washed him clean inside, leaving a space clear for a new understanding. Lisa knew it worked that way with him; he was a man of high passions-- they had to pass through him before he could make progress.
"You're a good man, Dean. I trust your instincts."
Dean nodded. Lisa knew Dean felt that his instincts had rarely betrayed him.
"My instinct is, you'd be safe. As long as you follow orders, and scram at the first hint of trouble." Dean's voice was steady now.
"Okay then," Lisa tried again.
"Okay." This time, Dean agreed.
"Okay!" Lisa laughed, and pulled away from him to get some lemonade for herself. She drank from his glass.
Dean smiled a tiny smile. "I always kind of dreamed one day I'd have some beautiful woman partner. You know, like Scully. Or Zoe ..." His smile broadened as he mouthed to himself "warrior woman."
Lisa leaned forward. "I'd like to apply for that job, Sir, if it's still open," she said with a smile.
"Maybe," Dean said. "Maybe it is."