[SPN/BoB Big Bang] Free Until They Cut Me Down (5/6)
November 9, 1943
Long Beach, California
Calhoun’s gramophone is playing a cheery jazz number when Dean comes in the front door. The Cove of the Extraordinary is deserted late on a Tuesday afternoon. Sam is nowhere in sight, not even at the back near Calhoun’s office. It takes Dean ten minutes to find him near a collection of old-fashioned manual typewriters. He nods at Sam’s empty hands. “What, no book today?”
Sam shakes his head. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
Dean slips his hands into the pockets of his work jacket. “What’s up?”
“You promise to keep this secret?”
Dean laughs. “Sam, what is this? Are you planning something?”
“Yeah. I am.” Sam lowers his voice. “Look, do you think Dad’s been gone a lot more lately?”
Dean frowns at Sam’s seriousness. “He’s got a second shift job at the base.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He peers down the long aisle toward the back of the store. “Do you think Bobby has heard of this guy?”
“What, Calhoun?” Dean cants his head. “Sam, where are you going with this?”
Sam sets his jaw. “I think he’s using Dad.”
“What?”
“I think he’s not as big as he wants us to think, and I think he knows Dad is good, so he’s sending him out on dangerous jobs. Come on!” he insists at Dean’s eyerolling. “Dad just got back from Bakersfield and now he wants him to go to San Diego. Doesn’t he have anyone else who finds him stuff to sell?”
Dean snorts. “What are you saying, that Dad is doing his legwork so he can get all the credit? Dad said it himself, Calhoun’s the big leagues. This is what that looks like.”
Sam shakes his head. “Guys in the big leagues have big teams, Dean. We need to know for sure if he’s worth the trouble. And I need you to back up me up when we tell Dad.”
Dean sighs. “And assuming I agree to this, how do we pull that off?”
Sam shrugs. “We look at his stock.”
Dean cocks an eyebrow. “You want to break into his storeroom?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You just want to see what he’s hiding.” Dean has to laugh again. “Sammy, this is not one of your brighter ideas.”
“Five minutes, that’s all it’ll take.” He smiles. “Come on, you’re like Lamont Cranston, Dean. No one will even know we were there.”
Dean pauses, and glances over his shoulder. The store is still quiet and empty. “Where is Roland anyway?”
“Meeting with Dad. He said they’d be going over some stuff. We’re safe.” Sam watches him. “Plus, yeah, I bet there is neat stuff in there.”
Dean looks back at him, a little smug. “I am kind of Lamont Cranston with a sawed-off.”
Sam grins. “Five minutes,” he promises, and starts toward Calhoun’s office.
Dean grabs Sam by the jacket. “Hey, on one condition: we drop this the minute it looks like trouble. Any time, you got that? That includes before we’re in.”
“I got it,” says Sam, a touch defensive, and they head back together.
Dean keeps watch as Sam crouches in front of the lock. “Be careful,” he murmurs. “Could be rigged on the other side.”
“We’re in,” Sam hisses back. He cracks open the door, peers in, then gets to his feet. “We’re good.”
Dean pushes past him and slips in first. He stops and stares. The place is ceiling to floor with occult objects: it’s like a ransacked museum. “Think you’re wrong, pal,” he says softly as Sam slides in behind him. “Looks like pretty big game to me.”
Sam’s eyes are wide as saucers as he ventures closer. “Holy shit.” His breath fogs on a case labeled Ensorcelled rope.
“Nose back,” warns Dean. “Smudge marks are kind of a giveaway.” Sam steps away, craning his neck. On top of a high cabinet sits a mask, mounted on a mahogany stand and fashioned entirely out of delicate crystal. Inside is row on row of tiny glass bottles, each powder, liquid or object within carefully identified.
“This is incredible,” he says, somewhat humbled.
Dean smirks. “Yeah, and he wants Dad to get him this stuff. How’s them apples?”
“All right,” Sam concedes. “We can get out of here now.”
One of the cases catches Dean’s eye. “Hang on.” The glass is spotless: underneath it lies a row of revolvers. He leans close. The guns are Colt-era, with an array of maker’s marks. “Jesus,” he breathes. “You think he’d have it?”
“Nobody has the Colt, Dean,” says Sam. “He may be a big deal, but he’s not that big a deal.” He steps high to avoid a squat statue of a stylized bear. “Okay, seriously, I’m done now. Can we get out of here?”
Dean stays in a half-crouch in front of the revolvers. “I thought you said we were safe in here.”
“Yeah, but not that safe.” He pushes back his sleeve to check his watch. “I was wrong, this is stupid, I should have trusted Dad, okay? Can we go?”
Sam is hemmed in by another statue and the tall cabinet full of glass vials. He tries to negotiate the space, all elbows, knees and feet. “How you ever made it to fourteen I’ll never know,” Dean says, shaking his head.
The floorboards on the other side of the entrance creak. Sam and Dean both go still. A key scratches at the lock. The office isn’t large, and has no other exits and no place to stay hidden long. “Shit!” hisses Dean, and yanks Sam away from his corner. Sam’s arm flails out, smacking the tall cabinet. The bottles inside rattle and topple. The crystal mask wobbles on its stand for a long, agonizing instant, then pitches forward. It knocks Sam on the shoulder before it hurtles down and smashes all over Roland Calhoun’s floor.
The door opens. Calhoun towers in the entrance, his knuckles white as he grips the handle. He takes in the corona of shattered crystal on the floor. Dean moves instantly between Calhoun and Sam. Quietly, Calhoun steps forward and shuts the door.
“Never mind that you have broken into my private office,” Calhoun says, the rage in his voice silky and deathly still. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just cost me?”
“We’re sorry,” Sam blurts out. Dean can feel him trembling behind him. “It was my idea. It was dumb. I’m so sorry.”
“Sam, shut up.” Dean keeps his eyes on Calhoun. “We weren’t here to steal anything. It was just to look, I promise.”
“How reassuring.” Calhoun nods at the shards on his floorboards. “It doesn’t excuse your astounding foolishness. Your father, is he this reckless?”
“Fine. How much was that?” Dean swallows. “Look, we’ll make it up to you.”
“Movie studios could go broke doing as much.” Calhoun’s jaw tightens. “I was nursing a buyer for that mask too.”
“What’re you going to do?” Sam asks, his voice small.
“What are my options?” Calhoun spreads his fingers. “I will call the authorities. Your freedom is all that someone like you has to give.” Dean’s eyes widen, and Calhoun sees it. “Do you want to know why hunters come and work for me, Dean? It’s because I can make them disappear. No more arrest warrants, no more official records, nothing. Not a trace. You see, I require full disclosure from all my business partners before I sign them on.”
Dean hears Sam moan softly. “And what does that mean?” he asks, standing straighter to hide Sam.
Calhoun runs a finger along the lines of his palm. “I know there are warrants in five states for your father’s arrest. I know that two of them are for aggravated homicide. I know that you’re not welcome in Cape Girardeau for that unfortunate business with the Robinson family. I can bring any number of law enforcement agencies down on your heads and on the heads of everyone you know or who has sheltered you.” He examines his hands. “Sam will be placed in a suitable home, of course.”
Dean’s face twists. “You leave him out of this,” he snarls. “He’s just a kid, he’s never hurt anybody.” Calhoun says nothing: he just observes. “Looks,” says Dean, “you can set your terms, you can do whatever you like. I will get you your money, but you do not touch a hair on my brother’s head, you hear me?”
For a minute, Calhoun doesn’t answer. He makes no effort to hide how nakedly he’s weighing his options. “Very well,” he says at last. “Let’s you and I make an accord. You’re of age, I take it?”
“Dean-”
“Yeah,” he interrupts, lowering his arm. Sam still doesn’t move out from behind him.
“Excellent,” says Calhoun. He nods. “Sam, if you’d give us the room.”
“No,” Sam says, his voice low and ragged.
“Scram, Sammy.” Dean stands back, his heart pounding. “Wait for me outside.”
“It’s my fault,” he insists, struggling against tears.
Dean glares at him. “Don’t talk to anybody. Go.”
Calhoun circles around them to his desk, which teems with neatly ordered papers and artifacts. Sam slinks out, furious and terrified. Dean knows he’ll go no further than the door. He waits for what comes next, but Calhoun is taking his time.
“I want you to do something for me tomorrow,” says Calhoun, taking a seat and pulling open some drawers. “I want you to go to the recruitment center first thing. And I want you to join the United States armed forces.”
The knot in Dean’s back dissolves, something chill and sharp taking its place. “What?”
Calhoun removes a small casket from the desk and sets it in front of him. He pushes back the lid and picks out an object on a black leather cord. “Tomorrow you will go to war,” he says calmly. “And you will keep this on your person the whole time.” He holds it out. Dean hangs back. It’s a bronze pendant, a face with horns and a crown on it. His frown deepens. “That’s it?”
“For the most part, yes.” Calhoun leans forward. “It’s a protection charm - or rather, it will be. It switches on, as it were, with the blood of a virtuous warrior.”
The implication socks Dean hard in the gut. “You’re asking me to go be cannon fodder,” he says, hoarse.
“No.” He arcs his eyebrows. “Mere cannon fodder will not do. I should insist that you join the paratroops. They are our nation’s elite fighting force. And they earn an extra fifty dollars a month, I hear.”
The Airborne begin their battles jumping out of planes. It’s suicide on all sides. He gulps. “This is all you’ll accept?”
“This is all that could recover my losses.” Calhoun leans back in his seat. “Otherwise the reward money on you and your father will have to suffice.”
Dean closes his eyes.
Calhoun sets the amulet on the desk and steeples his fingers. “The charm is bound to you when you prick your finger on the horns. From that moment on, you have one year to wear the amulet. If you should die in combat, then the protection is set and your debt is paid.”
Dean takes a breath. “I could beat the war,” he says, mustering up a smile. “What if I don’t die?”
Calhoun’s eyes glint. “Then you have defeated the Axis enemy, and you come home a war hero.”
Dean doesn’t look away. “And you won’t pursue us?”
He shakes his head. “If you survive, I will do as I would otherwise: I will erase your family from public knowledge. The Winchesters will have never existed, and they can go on with their lives as they choose. Either way, though, the amulet comes back to me.” He stays seated. “Those are my terms, Dean. What is your decision?”
Dean takes the amulet; it’s cold and leaden in his palm. He stares at the bronze face, trying to divine its expression. The door is too thick to hear Sam behind it. A moment later he’s squeezing his eyes shut and sucking the end of his thumb. Calhoun rises and holds out his hand.
“You have the thanks of a grateful American,” he says, smiling. Dean shakes, his whole body numb. He slips the necklace over his head.
“Oh, and one other thing.” Calhoun leans over his desk. “List me as your next of kin, in the event that your debt is paid. I will send your remaining effects to John.” He reaches into his breast pocket. “My card, so you will not forget the address.”
“What happened?” Sam asks as soon as Dean steps out the door. Nervously he eyes the amulet. “What is that?” He swallows, searching his face. “Dean?”
“Let’s just get home,” Dean says, his hand on Sam’s back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
August 3, 1944
Aldbourne, England
Winters looked up from the diagram he’d sketched in the dirt. “Everyone know their job?” The men of Second Platoon nodded with a chorus of Yes sir. Winters rose to his feet. “Good. That was good today. Except for those few mistakes, but we can iron those out. Dismissed.” He saluted the sergeants, and the platoon began to scatter.
“I can’t wait to do all this for weeks on end with no showers,” said Dean, scrubbing at the dirt packed on his elbows.
“Get ready for it,” said Babe, leaning in. “I been hearing rumblings.”
Dean looked at him. “Rumblings?”
“Yeah.” Babe hitched his rifle back on his shoulder. “Nothing gets out of command, of course, but some guys who’ve seen it before are gettin’ suspicious.”
“It’s nothing,” said Giddy behind them. “There won’t be a jump.”
Babe turned and blinked at him. “Jesus, where’d you come from?”
Giddy clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Wait up a minute, would you? I’ll be right back?” He pushed toward Winters without a backward glance.
“Weird friend you got there,” Babe said. “What’s he want?”
Winters looked up at the sound of his name. “Hey, Giddy, how are you?” he said as they saluted. Dean watched the two of them converse.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but you’d better go ahead. See you at dinner?”
“Yeah, okay.” Babe swiped a muddy streak off his face with his sleeve and took off after the rest of the platoon. Dean stood by until Giddy and Winters parted.
“I gotta talk to you,” Giddy said as he came back. “I was right. It’s happening tomorrow.”
Dean started walking with him. “How do you know?”
“I saw it. Dreamed it.” He reached into a pocket and came up with a rumpled pack of cheap Woodbines. He tapped one out and glanced at Dean. “You smoke?” Dean shook his head, and Giddy smiled. “Yeah, me neither.”
“So what is it?” he pressed as Giddy lit his cigarette.
“Don’t know what to call it.” Giddy’s hand shook. “It came up from the ground, right in the middle of the house where he’s quartered. It had teeth, though. And it was bigger than the house. I wouldn’t want to see it.”
“Jesus,” said Dean, his mouth dry.
“Yeah.” Giddy took a deep drag. “You know, it hasn’t been that quiet, either. I know I told you not to worry, but…” He squinted off to the side. “There are owls. Snakes. All these little things happening. It’ll be tomorrow.”
Dean quickened his pace. “Giddy, how do we stop a thing with teeth that comes up from underground?”
Giddy said nothing for a moment. He studied the end of his cigarette. “You know, back in that hospital ward, the scariest thing I did all evening was turning back around again.” He smiled a little. “I was so afraid to see what your face would be once you knew what I am now.”
Dean fell silent. He kept his eyes on his boots. “Can you really do the things Nurse Morgan thinks you can?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I really don’t want to find out.”
Dean thinned his mouth. “Think we’re gonna have to.”
Giddy quirked a rueful smile. “Yeah, I think so.” He shook his head. “This whole thing, I don’t know how to explain it. I’m still a Christian, I still believe in God, I’m still me. But now there’s this other thing too. It doesn’t feel like me. I don’t know if it ever will. I don't know if I want it to. But if I let it, will it go away?”
Dean pushed his shoulders back. “I can’t answer that, sorry.”
“I know you can’t.” He sighed and tossed away the smoke. “Look, forget I said anything.”
They tramped toward the barracks in silence. “Can I ask you something?” said Dean.
Giddy looked at him. “Go ahead.”
“If you really can, you know…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Take out battalions in a single bound, why wouldn’t you? If it could end the war?”
“Because,” said Giddy, with surprising vehemence, “I’m not in a fistfight alone with the whole German army.”
Dean stopped. “What does that mean?”
Giddy turned. “Everyone is fighting this war. Everyone. We trained for two years together before we dropped in Normandy. If we don’t earn that victory together, what are we? And it’s no guarantee it ends anything. What do the Germans do if they think just one guy was all that kept them from winning?” He stopped himself, and took a deep breath. “Besides,” he continued, more subdued, “I don’t want the attention. It’ll just attract a lot of trouble that I don’t need.”
Dean found himself struggling with his words. “You could help people, though, couldn’t you? If there was trouble.”
Giddy started walking again. “That’ll take practice,” he said quietly.
Dean set his eyes forward. “I guess it will.” They came up on the barracks. Dean paused in front of his quarters. “Hey, what were you talking to Winters about back there?”
“Nothing important.” He shrugged. “I dropped a charm in his pocket. It’s not much, but it keeps him even a little safe and it’s not wasted.”
Dean dipped his head. “So, tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” said Giddy. “Tomorrow.”
December 29, 1943
Long Beach, California
This is the first dinner they’ve had as a family in a solid week. They laid out place settings after clearing the table of guns. Sam is picking at his boiled mutton and peas, while Dad wolfs his serving down. Dean holds his fork in one hand, unable to move it. The amulet feels heavy on his neck; the points of its horns rest delicately against his skin. “I enlisted,” he says, and Dad looks up, his mouth still full.
“Pardon?” he says, while Sam scowls at the tablecloth.
“I signed up,” says Dean. “With the Airborne. I just got called up. They want me at the induction center tomorrow.”
Dad swallows and sits back, still holding his silverware. “You lose a bet with someone?”
Dean shakes his head. “No, sir.”
Dad grunts, then turns back to his meal. “This is our Christmas, Dean. We’ll discuss this later.”
“I’m not dodging,” says Dean, gripping his fork. “I’m going.” Sam slouches, his hair shielding his face.
Dad looks up again. Dean’s clenching his jaw so tight his whole head hurts. “You’re not,” says Dad, his voice far too calm. “We’ve talked about this.”
“You need me here, I know.” He swallows. “But I have to.”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “We have no fixed address, Dean, they weren’t going to draft you.”
He forces himself to speak clearly. “I went to them before they came for me.”
Dad sets his knife down on his plate, staring at him. “I know you’re not a moron. What is this about?” Dean looks away. “Dean,” his father says, and it’s an order.
“I’m protecting you and Sam.” He can’t look at either of them.
“Protecting us?” Dad gives a short, bitter laugh. “From what? From Hirohito? From Hitler?”
“Dad,” ventures Sam.
“Shut up, Sam,” snaps Dean, shooting him a warning look.
“No! You don’t have to do this!” Sam yells. “We can go! We can hide! We’re good at that!”
“Sam, that’s enough.” Dad leans on his forearms. “What’s gotten into you?” he says, his voice quiet. “You think that war’s more important than ours?”
“It’s not like that,” Dean tries.
“Dean, anyone can fight people,” he says tightly. “You save more lives over here than you ever will on a battlefield.”
“I can’t talk about it. You wouldn’t understand.” He regrets it the moment his father’s face changes.
“No, I guess I wouldn’t,” he says. “Too bad I learned nothing in the Somme and the Argonne and Verdun.”
Dean’s stomach roils. His face burns and his limbs shake. He gets up out of his chair. “Sit back down!” Dad barks, standing up. Dean knows that now is when the shouting begins. Sam braces himself but won’t leave.
* * *
The house is storm-wrecked quiet. Dean picks through the room he shares with Sam. The bag he packed this morning is in the corner next to his bed. The floor creaks behind him. He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder.
“You heard the man,” he says softly. “If I’m out, I’m out.” He hefts the bag onto his mattress. Sam pads behind him and waits in the gap between the two beds, unspeaking. “Don’t worry about me,” Dean continues, forcing his cheer. “I’ll just show up at the station first thing. Twelve hours is nothing, I can keep myself busy no sweat.”
Sam doesn’t speak. His arms hang limply at his side. Dean stops digging through his bag. “Hey,” he says. “We knew this was coming. No use pretending otherwise.” He can’t bear the look on his brother’s face, though, and goes back to his things. “This is what’s best, Sam. You can’t think about it any more than that.”
He pulls up the corner of his mattress. Two envelopes sit atop a pile of pulps and comics. He picks them up and examines them, then sets the letters on the bed. “I wrote these,” he says, feeling useless in the glare of Sam’s misery. “Make sure he gets his, will you?”
Sam’s breath hitches. He tries to answer, but he has to settle for nodding. Dean tries to give him a reassuring smile, but lingering is more painful by the moment, so he slings his bag over his shoulder and starts toward the door.
“Come back,” Sam blurts.
Dean pauses. He’s never wanted to promise so badly in his life. He hopes Sam sees him nodding before he turns the corner and steals out through the back of the house. There can be no more harm done if he hasn’t.
August 4, 1944
Aldbourne, England
The full moon sat enthroned in a cloudless sky. Dean scanned the hollow, trying not to fidget. “You’re sure he’ll come?”
“He’ll come,” said Giddy, eyes fixed on the line of trees. “I’ve never summoned him before. He’ll notice that. He’ll come.”
He shifted his weight. “If we knew where he was coming from, we could get that perimeter ready now.”
“He’d see,” said Giddy. “Wait for it. Nurse Morgan will do her job.”
Dean glanced at him. “Should we still be calling her that?” Giddy didn’t answer.
“There he is,” he said. Dean followed his line of sight. A powerful figure leaning on a cane emerged from the copse in front of them.
“Well met, Corporal Orland!” Willand called. His enthusiasm flagged as he neared them. “And Private Winchester too,” he said, still smiling. “I was not expecting you to join us. You look hale.” He turned to Giddy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”
“What are you sending after Captain Winters?” he asked quietly.
Willand’s teeth flashed beneath his beard. “You have seen it.”
“I’ve seen what it does,” said Giddy. “What is it?”
“It is a wyrm,” said Willand, sounding pleased. “An incredible beast. Earth is like water to it. This one that I found is particularly hungry.” Dean grimaced, and pressed his hand against his leg. Willand’s attention fell on him. “Not armed?” he asked. Dean glowered and fell back a pace. Willand smiled. “I am reassured, though I will warn you, I am hard to harm.”
Giddy nodded, almost as an afterthought. “I’m giving you one chance to call it back,” he said.
Willand eyed him. “Or?”
Giddy thinned his lips. “You keep telling me what a weapon I am, Smith. I don’t want to prove you right, but I will.”
In every direction, branches rustled. Five soldiers emerged from hiding, Normandy vets, all of them unarmed. They came to a stop a dozen yards from the trio. Willand crooked a bushy eyebrow. “This is to stop me?”
Giddy nodded. “Yes.”
A white glow flared out between each soldier, connecting one to the other. It faded quickly, resolving itself into a panorama of ghostly images. Troopers played out scenes on loop: in training, at pubs, running up a mountain, defending each other in combat. The dim pictures made no sound, and the men at each point seemed unaware of them. “These are my friends,” said Giddy. “You’re done harming them. You can’t cross this line that they’ve made.”
Willand regarded the barrier. “No,” he conceded. “I cannot.” He narrowed his eyes at Giddy. “They are quite calm, your brothers in arms. They agreed to this strange act willingly?”
“They’ll forget in the morning.” Giddy didn’t flinch. “Call off your beast.”
Willand clasped the top of his wooden cane. “Gideon, please allow me to tell you in the flesh how very proud I am of you in this moment. You will make a fine adversary to the German threat when you are called.”
“He gave you a window,” said Dean, stepping forward. “I suggest you take it. Make your dragon back off.” He paused. “I don’t believe I just said that,” he muttered.
“And what do I gain from it?” Willand pointed at Giddy. “This man refuted my gifts and insulted my honor.”
Dean shrugged. “How about not being a dick for starters?”
Willand turned to Giddy, ignoring Dean. “My offer stands as it first did,” he said. “Your oath to honor what the Great Ash did for you and fight as you were made to do.”
Giddy sighed and shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you. That’s not what I came here for.” He raised his right hand. “I’m sorry.”
Giddy’s eyes slipped shut. He began murmuring words. They came slowly at first, then tripped off his tongue like native speech. Dean crooked his eyebrows at Willand. “Should have taken his offer, pal.”
“If he demonstrates his might on me, I am satisfied.” Willand lifted his chin. “No fear moves me.”
“Fear is a means of survival,” called a new voice from outside the ring of troops. Willand turned and peered through the glow. He began to chuckle.
“Gladys, on my life. Such a delight to see you here.”
“Save your breath, Wayland,” Nurse Morgan retorted, circling the perimeter. “We’ve little time for little lies now.”
Giddy opened his eyes and lowered his hand. “Captain Winters is safe,” he said, looking straight at Willand.
“I am glad of it,” Willand said, bowing his head. His eyes brightened. “What has become of the wyrm?”
“It’s on its way,” said Giddy. “It’s coming here for you.”
The silence stretched. Willand’s face grew wan under his beard. “What have you done?”
“‘A sixth I know,’” said Giddy. “‘When some thane would harm me, on his head alone shall light the ills of the curse he called upon mine.’ I really should be carving it on a tree root, but I don’t have that kind of time.”
A flock of birds fled the copse, their calls troubled. Dean watched them uneasily. “Damn, that thing moves fast.”
Beyond the line of men, mounds of dirt began to shift and rise. The troopers appeared to notice, but did not take fright. Nurse Morgan began her own stream of words; they sounded nothing like Giddy’s.
“It’s here,” said Giddy. “And it’s after you. What are we going to do about this?”
Willand’s tongue flicked over his lips. “I am happy to be reasonable about this,” he said. “But not with you. And not with her.” He shot Nurse Morgan a nervous look as she worked to keep the wyrm at bay. “Dean Winchester, I will offer you a boon. I cannot deal with these others, but you are their companion and my love for you is my love for them. They’ve both crossed me, but you I may trust. You I will give a gift, if Corporal Orland will let me leave.”
Dean glanced at Giddy, who nodded. “All right,” he said. “What exactly constitutes a boon?”
Willand laughed. “Private, I am a god. I can grant many things. What would you like? An officer’s commission? A woman?” He held up a finger. “Ah, but you could gain those on your own if you desired. I offer you greater goods. I can ensure that you live through this war, Private. I can get you home to your family again.”
Dean stood silent at Giddy’s side. His breathing became shallow. Willand dipped his head. “Perhaps you are like Corporal Orland, though. Perhaps you believe you should make it out on your own talents. Perhaps there is nothing you want for yourself. But there is nothing like a gift given, is that not so? I might bring a petition to another power and ensure it. You might restore your friend Gideon to his human state.”
He began to prowl the space in front of them. “Think of it, for your comrade’s sake. He would be free of the knowledge that plagues him now. He could be ordinary again: he could age and die again.” Willand straightened. “Did you know that, Private? The gallows-gift is deathless. He is condemned to an eternity he did not choose. All this I could give you and your companions. I only ask that I be allowed to go free and unharried.” He licked his lips again. “What is your word?”
A breeze ghosted over Dean’s face. The sound of Nurse Morgan’s spellwork and the wyrm’s rumblings underground seemed muted. As the quiet grew, Giddy glanced over at him, brow knit. Dean’s eyes were on the phantom men. “I want you to cut this bullshit out,” he said, his voice steady. “You stop hassling Giddy, and you leave Easy Company alone. That’s my boon.”
Willand slumped, just slightly. “I agree to your terms,” he said, resigned, and thumped his cane three times. “I stand before you finished. There will be no further satisfaction.”
“Okay then.” Giddy lifted his left hand and spoke again, closing a fist and lowering it to his waist. “It’s off you,” he said softly. “I could’ve done more. I didn’t. And I won’t.” Outside, Nurse Morgan stopped as well. The lines of the protective circle flickered out. “You guys get out of here,” said Giddy to the soldiers. “Go sleep this off.” They nodded to him, looking incredulously at the group remaining, and headed out of the hollow back toward town.
Giddy turned to Willand. “One more thing.” He looked over at Nurse Morgan, who stepped back and stood by Dean’s side. The ground beneath began to rumble; muffled roars came closer and closer. All at once, an enormous head broke through the surface, showering them with dirt. It rose high above them on an endless serpentine neck, jaws open and crowded with teeth. The wyrm gave a piercing cry, and lunged straight for them. Willand stood transfixed; Dean squeezed his eyes shut.
Giddy watched it descend, until its breath was hot on their faces. He made a quick flick of his wrist, the movement too complex to track. The wyrm was thrown sideways, its bulk crashing to the ground. It lay still for a moment, throat pulsing. It withdrew, wheezing, and slipped back underground. Giddy turned to Willand in the new silence.
“I understand,” said Willand. He bowed his head, first to Giddy, then to Dean and Gladys. “Good luck and long days to you all.” He turned and hurried off, vanishing between dark trees.
“Holy shit,” Dean said, drawing in a shaky breath. “Is it over?”
“Yes,” said Nurse Morgan, still watching the wood.
“Holy shit,” he said again, looking first at Giddy and then at Nurse Morgan. “You kept that thing away from us that whole time.”
She turned to him. “I did.”
Dean swallowed. “Okay. Yes.”
Her eyebrows rose. “This is regarding our discussion?” Dean nodded. Nurse Morgan smiled. It illuminated her whole face, and Dean’s heart caught in his throat. She reached for his hands and clasped them. “I thank you for it.” She looked to Giddy, beaming. “I am pleased with tonight. You both did very well.”
“I can’t believe that happened,” Giddy marveled. “That happened just like you said it would.”
Nurse Morgan’s smile took on an edge. “Gods are simple. They are easy to predict. It is people who cause the real trouble.” She slipped her hands out of Dean’s. “You both had a victory tonight. Wayland Smith will be no more trouble here.” She looked to them both. “I ask your pardon, but I am due at the hospital. Some men can wait, but not all.”
“Thank you,” said Giddy, his earnestness quiet.
She dipped her chin. “You are most welcome.”
Dean and Giddy watched her go. “I think we did the right thing here,” said Giddy. Dean didn’t answer. Giddy looked at him. “You don’t think so?”
“No, no, I do.” He swiped his palm over his face. “I still don’t like that dream-state stuff, but those guys can’t remember this. It was the best we could.” He exhaled slowly. “I dunno, I guess I wasn’t expecting some of that stuff he said.”
“Look, it’s done,” said Giddy. “You just move forward and do your job.” He glanced at Dean, who mustered up a smile, which faltered a moment later.
“You really are done with all that, right? I have to tell you, that shit was scary.”
Giddy dropped his eyes. “You’re telling me.” Neither of them spoke. Giddy slipped his hands in his jacket pockets. A moment later, a smile flickered across his face. “Come on, enough of this crap. I am done. Let’s get out of here.”
“Hell yes,” said Dean, and they left the empty ground behind.
part six
Long Beach, California
Calhoun’s gramophone is playing a cheery jazz number when Dean comes in the front door. The Cove of the Extraordinary is deserted late on a Tuesday afternoon. Sam is nowhere in sight, not even at the back near Calhoun’s office. It takes Dean ten minutes to find him near a collection of old-fashioned manual typewriters. He nods at Sam’s empty hands. “What, no book today?”
Sam shakes his head. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
Dean slips his hands into the pockets of his work jacket. “What’s up?”
“You promise to keep this secret?”
Dean laughs. “Sam, what is this? Are you planning something?”
“Yeah. I am.” Sam lowers his voice. “Look, do you think Dad’s been gone a lot more lately?”
Dean frowns at Sam’s seriousness. “He’s got a second shift job at the base.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He peers down the long aisle toward the back of the store. “Do you think Bobby has heard of this guy?”
“What, Calhoun?” Dean cants his head. “Sam, where are you going with this?”
Sam sets his jaw. “I think he’s using Dad.”
“What?”
“I think he’s not as big as he wants us to think, and I think he knows Dad is good, so he’s sending him out on dangerous jobs. Come on!” he insists at Dean’s eyerolling. “Dad just got back from Bakersfield and now he wants him to go to San Diego. Doesn’t he have anyone else who finds him stuff to sell?”
Dean snorts. “What are you saying, that Dad is doing his legwork so he can get all the credit? Dad said it himself, Calhoun’s the big leagues. This is what that looks like.”
Sam shakes his head. “Guys in the big leagues have big teams, Dean. We need to know for sure if he’s worth the trouble. And I need you to back up me up when we tell Dad.”
Dean sighs. “And assuming I agree to this, how do we pull that off?”
Sam shrugs. “We look at his stock.”
Dean cocks an eyebrow. “You want to break into his storeroom?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You just want to see what he’s hiding.” Dean has to laugh again. “Sammy, this is not one of your brighter ideas.”
“Five minutes, that’s all it’ll take.” He smiles. “Come on, you’re like Lamont Cranston, Dean. No one will even know we were there.”
Dean pauses, and glances over his shoulder. The store is still quiet and empty. “Where is Roland anyway?”
“Meeting with Dad. He said they’d be going over some stuff. We’re safe.” Sam watches him. “Plus, yeah, I bet there is neat stuff in there.”
Dean looks back at him, a little smug. “I am kind of Lamont Cranston with a sawed-off.”
Sam grins. “Five minutes,” he promises, and starts toward Calhoun’s office.
Dean grabs Sam by the jacket. “Hey, on one condition: we drop this the minute it looks like trouble. Any time, you got that? That includes before we’re in.”
“I got it,” says Sam, a touch defensive, and they head back together.
Dean keeps watch as Sam crouches in front of the lock. “Be careful,” he murmurs. “Could be rigged on the other side.”
“We’re in,” Sam hisses back. He cracks open the door, peers in, then gets to his feet. “We’re good.”
Dean pushes past him and slips in first. He stops and stares. The place is ceiling to floor with occult objects: it’s like a ransacked museum. “Think you’re wrong, pal,” he says softly as Sam slides in behind him. “Looks like pretty big game to me.”
Sam’s eyes are wide as saucers as he ventures closer. “Holy shit.” His breath fogs on a case labeled Ensorcelled rope.
“Nose back,” warns Dean. “Smudge marks are kind of a giveaway.” Sam steps away, craning his neck. On top of a high cabinet sits a mask, mounted on a mahogany stand and fashioned entirely out of delicate crystal. Inside is row on row of tiny glass bottles, each powder, liquid or object within carefully identified.
“This is incredible,” he says, somewhat humbled.
Dean smirks. “Yeah, and he wants Dad to get him this stuff. How’s them apples?”
“All right,” Sam concedes. “We can get out of here now.”
One of the cases catches Dean’s eye. “Hang on.” The glass is spotless: underneath it lies a row of revolvers. He leans close. The guns are Colt-era, with an array of maker’s marks. “Jesus,” he breathes. “You think he’d have it?”
“Nobody has the Colt, Dean,” says Sam. “He may be a big deal, but he’s not that big a deal.” He steps high to avoid a squat statue of a stylized bear. “Okay, seriously, I’m done now. Can we get out of here?”
Dean stays in a half-crouch in front of the revolvers. “I thought you said we were safe in here.”
“Yeah, but not that safe.” He pushes back his sleeve to check his watch. “I was wrong, this is stupid, I should have trusted Dad, okay? Can we go?”
Sam is hemmed in by another statue and the tall cabinet full of glass vials. He tries to negotiate the space, all elbows, knees and feet. “How you ever made it to fourteen I’ll never know,” Dean says, shaking his head.
The floorboards on the other side of the entrance creak. Sam and Dean both go still. A key scratches at the lock. The office isn’t large, and has no other exits and no place to stay hidden long. “Shit!” hisses Dean, and yanks Sam away from his corner. Sam’s arm flails out, smacking the tall cabinet. The bottles inside rattle and topple. The crystal mask wobbles on its stand for a long, agonizing instant, then pitches forward. It knocks Sam on the shoulder before it hurtles down and smashes all over Roland Calhoun’s floor.
The door opens. Calhoun towers in the entrance, his knuckles white as he grips the handle. He takes in the corona of shattered crystal on the floor. Dean moves instantly between Calhoun and Sam. Quietly, Calhoun steps forward and shuts the door.
“Never mind that you have broken into my private office,” Calhoun says, the rage in his voice silky and deathly still. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just cost me?”
“We’re sorry,” Sam blurts out. Dean can feel him trembling behind him. “It was my idea. It was dumb. I’m so sorry.”
“Sam, shut up.” Dean keeps his eyes on Calhoun. “We weren’t here to steal anything. It was just to look, I promise.”
“How reassuring.” Calhoun nods at the shards on his floorboards. “It doesn’t excuse your astounding foolishness. Your father, is he this reckless?”
“Fine. How much was that?” Dean swallows. “Look, we’ll make it up to you.”
“Movie studios could go broke doing as much.” Calhoun’s jaw tightens. “I was nursing a buyer for that mask too.”
“What’re you going to do?” Sam asks, his voice small.
“What are my options?” Calhoun spreads his fingers. “I will call the authorities. Your freedom is all that someone like you has to give.” Dean’s eyes widen, and Calhoun sees it. “Do you want to know why hunters come and work for me, Dean? It’s because I can make them disappear. No more arrest warrants, no more official records, nothing. Not a trace. You see, I require full disclosure from all my business partners before I sign them on.”
Dean hears Sam moan softly. “And what does that mean?” he asks, standing straighter to hide Sam.
Calhoun runs a finger along the lines of his palm. “I know there are warrants in five states for your father’s arrest. I know that two of them are for aggravated homicide. I know that you’re not welcome in Cape Girardeau for that unfortunate business with the Robinson family. I can bring any number of law enforcement agencies down on your heads and on the heads of everyone you know or who has sheltered you.” He examines his hands. “Sam will be placed in a suitable home, of course.”
Dean’s face twists. “You leave him out of this,” he snarls. “He’s just a kid, he’s never hurt anybody.” Calhoun says nothing: he just observes. “Looks,” says Dean, “you can set your terms, you can do whatever you like. I will get you your money, but you do not touch a hair on my brother’s head, you hear me?”
For a minute, Calhoun doesn’t answer. He makes no effort to hide how nakedly he’s weighing his options. “Very well,” he says at last. “Let’s you and I make an accord. You’re of age, I take it?”
“Dean-”
“Yeah,” he interrupts, lowering his arm. Sam still doesn’t move out from behind him.
“Excellent,” says Calhoun. He nods. “Sam, if you’d give us the room.”
“No,” Sam says, his voice low and ragged.
“Scram, Sammy.” Dean stands back, his heart pounding. “Wait for me outside.”
“It’s my fault,” he insists, struggling against tears.
Dean glares at him. “Don’t talk to anybody. Go.”
Calhoun circles around them to his desk, which teems with neatly ordered papers and artifacts. Sam slinks out, furious and terrified. Dean knows he’ll go no further than the door. He waits for what comes next, but Calhoun is taking his time.
“I want you to do something for me tomorrow,” says Calhoun, taking a seat and pulling open some drawers. “I want you to go to the recruitment center first thing. And I want you to join the United States armed forces.”
The knot in Dean’s back dissolves, something chill and sharp taking its place. “What?”
Calhoun removes a small casket from the desk and sets it in front of him. He pushes back the lid and picks out an object on a black leather cord. “Tomorrow you will go to war,” he says calmly. “And you will keep this on your person the whole time.” He holds it out. Dean hangs back. It’s a bronze pendant, a face with horns and a crown on it. His frown deepens. “That’s it?”
“For the most part, yes.” Calhoun leans forward. “It’s a protection charm - or rather, it will be. It switches on, as it were, with the blood of a virtuous warrior.”
The implication socks Dean hard in the gut. “You’re asking me to go be cannon fodder,” he says, hoarse.
“No.” He arcs his eyebrows. “Mere cannon fodder will not do. I should insist that you join the paratroops. They are our nation’s elite fighting force. And they earn an extra fifty dollars a month, I hear.”
The Airborne begin their battles jumping out of planes. It’s suicide on all sides. He gulps. “This is all you’ll accept?”
“This is all that could recover my losses.” Calhoun leans back in his seat. “Otherwise the reward money on you and your father will have to suffice.”
Dean closes his eyes.
Calhoun sets the amulet on the desk and steeples his fingers. “The charm is bound to you when you prick your finger on the horns. From that moment on, you have one year to wear the amulet. If you should die in combat, then the protection is set and your debt is paid.”
Dean takes a breath. “I could beat the war,” he says, mustering up a smile. “What if I don’t die?”
Calhoun’s eyes glint. “Then you have defeated the Axis enemy, and you come home a war hero.”
Dean doesn’t look away. “And you won’t pursue us?”
He shakes his head. “If you survive, I will do as I would otherwise: I will erase your family from public knowledge. The Winchesters will have never existed, and they can go on with their lives as they choose. Either way, though, the amulet comes back to me.” He stays seated. “Those are my terms, Dean. What is your decision?”
Dean takes the amulet; it’s cold and leaden in his palm. He stares at the bronze face, trying to divine its expression. The door is too thick to hear Sam behind it. A moment later he’s squeezing his eyes shut and sucking the end of his thumb. Calhoun rises and holds out his hand.
“You have the thanks of a grateful American,” he says, smiling. Dean shakes, his whole body numb. He slips the necklace over his head.
“Oh, and one other thing.” Calhoun leans over his desk. “List me as your next of kin, in the event that your debt is paid. I will send your remaining effects to John.” He reaches into his breast pocket. “My card, so you will not forget the address.”
“What happened?” Sam asks as soon as Dean steps out the door. Nervously he eyes the amulet. “What is that?” He swallows, searching his face. “Dean?”
“Let’s just get home,” Dean says, his hand on Sam’s back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
August 3, 1944
Aldbourne, England
Winters looked up from the diagram he’d sketched in the dirt. “Everyone know their job?” The men of Second Platoon nodded with a chorus of Yes sir. Winters rose to his feet. “Good. That was good today. Except for those few mistakes, but we can iron those out. Dismissed.” He saluted the sergeants, and the platoon began to scatter.
“I can’t wait to do all this for weeks on end with no showers,” said Dean, scrubbing at the dirt packed on his elbows.
“Get ready for it,” said Babe, leaning in. “I been hearing rumblings.”
Dean looked at him. “Rumblings?”
“Yeah.” Babe hitched his rifle back on his shoulder. “Nothing gets out of command, of course, but some guys who’ve seen it before are gettin’ suspicious.”
“It’s nothing,” said Giddy behind them. “There won’t be a jump.”
Babe turned and blinked at him. “Jesus, where’d you come from?”
Giddy clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Wait up a minute, would you? I’ll be right back?” He pushed toward Winters without a backward glance.
“Weird friend you got there,” Babe said. “What’s he want?”
Winters looked up at the sound of his name. “Hey, Giddy, how are you?” he said as they saluted. Dean watched the two of them converse.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but you’d better go ahead. See you at dinner?”
“Yeah, okay.” Babe swiped a muddy streak off his face with his sleeve and took off after the rest of the platoon. Dean stood by until Giddy and Winters parted.
“I gotta talk to you,” Giddy said as he came back. “I was right. It’s happening tomorrow.”
Dean started walking with him. “How do you know?”
“I saw it. Dreamed it.” He reached into a pocket and came up with a rumpled pack of cheap Woodbines. He tapped one out and glanced at Dean. “You smoke?” Dean shook his head, and Giddy smiled. “Yeah, me neither.”
“So what is it?” he pressed as Giddy lit his cigarette.
“Don’t know what to call it.” Giddy’s hand shook. “It came up from the ground, right in the middle of the house where he’s quartered. It had teeth, though. And it was bigger than the house. I wouldn’t want to see it.”
“Jesus,” said Dean, his mouth dry.
“Yeah.” Giddy took a deep drag. “You know, it hasn’t been that quiet, either. I know I told you not to worry, but…” He squinted off to the side. “There are owls. Snakes. All these little things happening. It’ll be tomorrow.”
Dean quickened his pace. “Giddy, how do we stop a thing with teeth that comes up from underground?”
Giddy said nothing for a moment. He studied the end of his cigarette. “You know, back in that hospital ward, the scariest thing I did all evening was turning back around again.” He smiled a little. “I was so afraid to see what your face would be once you knew what I am now.”
Dean fell silent. He kept his eyes on his boots. “Can you really do the things Nurse Morgan thinks you can?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I really don’t want to find out.”
Dean thinned his mouth. “Think we’re gonna have to.”
Giddy quirked a rueful smile. “Yeah, I think so.” He shook his head. “This whole thing, I don’t know how to explain it. I’m still a Christian, I still believe in God, I’m still me. But now there’s this other thing too. It doesn’t feel like me. I don’t know if it ever will. I don't know if I want it to. But if I let it, will it go away?”
Dean pushed his shoulders back. “I can’t answer that, sorry.”
“I know you can’t.” He sighed and tossed away the smoke. “Look, forget I said anything.”
They tramped toward the barracks in silence. “Can I ask you something?” said Dean.
Giddy looked at him. “Go ahead.”
“If you really can, you know…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Take out battalions in a single bound, why wouldn’t you? If it could end the war?”
“Because,” said Giddy, with surprising vehemence, “I’m not in a fistfight alone with the whole German army.”
Dean stopped. “What does that mean?”
Giddy turned. “Everyone is fighting this war. Everyone. We trained for two years together before we dropped in Normandy. If we don’t earn that victory together, what are we? And it’s no guarantee it ends anything. What do the Germans do if they think just one guy was all that kept them from winning?” He stopped himself, and took a deep breath. “Besides,” he continued, more subdued, “I don’t want the attention. It’ll just attract a lot of trouble that I don’t need.”
Dean found himself struggling with his words. “You could help people, though, couldn’t you? If there was trouble.”
Giddy started walking again. “That’ll take practice,” he said quietly.
Dean set his eyes forward. “I guess it will.” They came up on the barracks. Dean paused in front of his quarters. “Hey, what were you talking to Winters about back there?”
“Nothing important.” He shrugged. “I dropped a charm in his pocket. It’s not much, but it keeps him even a little safe and it’s not wasted.”
Dean dipped his head. “So, tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” said Giddy. “Tomorrow.”
December 29, 1943
Long Beach, California
This is the first dinner they’ve had as a family in a solid week. They laid out place settings after clearing the table of guns. Sam is picking at his boiled mutton and peas, while Dad wolfs his serving down. Dean holds his fork in one hand, unable to move it. The amulet feels heavy on his neck; the points of its horns rest delicately against his skin. “I enlisted,” he says, and Dad looks up, his mouth still full.
“Pardon?” he says, while Sam scowls at the tablecloth.
“I signed up,” says Dean. “With the Airborne. I just got called up. They want me at the induction center tomorrow.”
Dad swallows and sits back, still holding his silverware. “You lose a bet with someone?”
Dean shakes his head. “No, sir.”
Dad grunts, then turns back to his meal. “This is our Christmas, Dean. We’ll discuss this later.”
“I’m not dodging,” says Dean, gripping his fork. “I’m going.” Sam slouches, his hair shielding his face.
Dad looks up again. Dean’s clenching his jaw so tight his whole head hurts. “You’re not,” says Dad, his voice far too calm. “We’ve talked about this.”
“You need me here, I know.” He swallows. “But I have to.”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “We have no fixed address, Dean, they weren’t going to draft you.”
He forces himself to speak clearly. “I went to them before they came for me.”
Dad sets his knife down on his plate, staring at him. “I know you’re not a moron. What is this about?” Dean looks away. “Dean,” his father says, and it’s an order.
“I’m protecting you and Sam.” He can’t look at either of them.
“Protecting us?” Dad gives a short, bitter laugh. “From what? From Hirohito? From Hitler?”
“Dad,” ventures Sam.
“Shut up, Sam,” snaps Dean, shooting him a warning look.
“No! You don’t have to do this!” Sam yells. “We can go! We can hide! We’re good at that!”
“Sam, that’s enough.” Dad leans on his forearms. “What’s gotten into you?” he says, his voice quiet. “You think that war’s more important than ours?”
“It’s not like that,” Dean tries.
“Dean, anyone can fight people,” he says tightly. “You save more lives over here than you ever will on a battlefield.”
“I can’t talk about it. You wouldn’t understand.” He regrets it the moment his father’s face changes.
“No, I guess I wouldn’t,” he says. “Too bad I learned nothing in the Somme and the Argonne and Verdun.”
Dean’s stomach roils. His face burns and his limbs shake. He gets up out of his chair. “Sit back down!” Dad barks, standing up. Dean knows that now is when the shouting begins. Sam braces himself but won’t leave.
* * *
The house is storm-wrecked quiet. Dean picks through the room he shares with Sam. The bag he packed this morning is in the corner next to his bed. The floor creaks behind him. He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder.
“You heard the man,” he says softly. “If I’m out, I’m out.” He hefts the bag onto his mattress. Sam pads behind him and waits in the gap between the two beds, unspeaking. “Don’t worry about me,” Dean continues, forcing his cheer. “I’ll just show up at the station first thing. Twelve hours is nothing, I can keep myself busy no sweat.”
Sam doesn’t speak. His arms hang limply at his side. Dean stops digging through his bag. “Hey,” he says. “We knew this was coming. No use pretending otherwise.” He can’t bear the look on his brother’s face, though, and goes back to his things. “This is what’s best, Sam. You can’t think about it any more than that.”
He pulls up the corner of his mattress. Two envelopes sit atop a pile of pulps and comics. He picks them up and examines them, then sets the letters on the bed. “I wrote these,” he says, feeling useless in the glare of Sam’s misery. “Make sure he gets his, will you?”
Sam’s breath hitches. He tries to answer, but he has to settle for nodding. Dean tries to give him a reassuring smile, but lingering is more painful by the moment, so he slings his bag over his shoulder and starts toward the door.
“Come back,” Sam blurts.
Dean pauses. He’s never wanted to promise so badly in his life. He hopes Sam sees him nodding before he turns the corner and steals out through the back of the house. There can be no more harm done if he hasn’t.
August 4, 1944
Aldbourne, England
The full moon sat enthroned in a cloudless sky. Dean scanned the hollow, trying not to fidget. “You’re sure he’ll come?”
“He’ll come,” said Giddy, eyes fixed on the line of trees. “I’ve never summoned him before. He’ll notice that. He’ll come.”
He shifted his weight. “If we knew where he was coming from, we could get that perimeter ready now.”
“He’d see,” said Giddy. “Wait for it. Nurse Morgan will do her job.”
Dean glanced at him. “Should we still be calling her that?” Giddy didn’t answer.
“There he is,” he said. Dean followed his line of sight. A powerful figure leaning on a cane emerged from the copse in front of them.
“Well met, Corporal Orland!” Willand called. His enthusiasm flagged as he neared them. “And Private Winchester too,” he said, still smiling. “I was not expecting you to join us. You look hale.” He turned to Giddy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”
“What are you sending after Captain Winters?” he asked quietly.
Willand’s teeth flashed beneath his beard. “You have seen it.”
“I’ve seen what it does,” said Giddy. “What is it?”
“It is a wyrm,” said Willand, sounding pleased. “An incredible beast. Earth is like water to it. This one that I found is particularly hungry.” Dean grimaced, and pressed his hand against his leg. Willand’s attention fell on him. “Not armed?” he asked. Dean glowered and fell back a pace. Willand smiled. “I am reassured, though I will warn you, I am hard to harm.”
Giddy nodded, almost as an afterthought. “I’m giving you one chance to call it back,” he said.
Willand eyed him. “Or?”
Giddy thinned his lips. “You keep telling me what a weapon I am, Smith. I don’t want to prove you right, but I will.”
In every direction, branches rustled. Five soldiers emerged from hiding, Normandy vets, all of them unarmed. They came to a stop a dozen yards from the trio. Willand crooked a bushy eyebrow. “This is to stop me?”
Giddy nodded. “Yes.”
A white glow flared out between each soldier, connecting one to the other. It faded quickly, resolving itself into a panorama of ghostly images. Troopers played out scenes on loop: in training, at pubs, running up a mountain, defending each other in combat. The dim pictures made no sound, and the men at each point seemed unaware of them. “These are my friends,” said Giddy. “You’re done harming them. You can’t cross this line that they’ve made.”
Willand regarded the barrier. “No,” he conceded. “I cannot.” He narrowed his eyes at Giddy. “They are quite calm, your brothers in arms. They agreed to this strange act willingly?”
“They’ll forget in the morning.” Giddy didn’t flinch. “Call off your beast.”
Willand clasped the top of his wooden cane. “Gideon, please allow me to tell you in the flesh how very proud I am of you in this moment. You will make a fine adversary to the German threat when you are called.”
“He gave you a window,” said Dean, stepping forward. “I suggest you take it. Make your dragon back off.” He paused. “I don’t believe I just said that,” he muttered.
“And what do I gain from it?” Willand pointed at Giddy. “This man refuted my gifts and insulted my honor.”
Dean shrugged. “How about not being a dick for starters?”
Willand turned to Giddy, ignoring Dean. “My offer stands as it first did,” he said. “Your oath to honor what the Great Ash did for you and fight as you were made to do.”
Giddy sighed and shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you. That’s not what I came here for.” He raised his right hand. “I’m sorry.”
Giddy’s eyes slipped shut. He began murmuring words. They came slowly at first, then tripped off his tongue like native speech. Dean crooked his eyebrows at Willand. “Should have taken his offer, pal.”
“If he demonstrates his might on me, I am satisfied.” Willand lifted his chin. “No fear moves me.”
“Fear is a means of survival,” called a new voice from outside the ring of troops. Willand turned and peered through the glow. He began to chuckle.
“Gladys, on my life. Such a delight to see you here.”
“Save your breath, Wayland,” Nurse Morgan retorted, circling the perimeter. “We’ve little time for little lies now.”
Giddy opened his eyes and lowered his hand. “Captain Winters is safe,” he said, looking straight at Willand.
“I am glad of it,” Willand said, bowing his head. His eyes brightened. “What has become of the wyrm?”
“It’s on its way,” said Giddy. “It’s coming here for you.”
The silence stretched. Willand’s face grew wan under his beard. “What have you done?”
“‘A sixth I know,’” said Giddy. “‘When some thane would harm me, on his head alone shall light the ills of the curse he called upon mine.’ I really should be carving it on a tree root, but I don’t have that kind of time.”
A flock of birds fled the copse, their calls troubled. Dean watched them uneasily. “Damn, that thing moves fast.”
Beyond the line of men, mounds of dirt began to shift and rise. The troopers appeared to notice, but did not take fright. Nurse Morgan began her own stream of words; they sounded nothing like Giddy’s.
“It’s here,” said Giddy. “And it’s after you. What are we going to do about this?”
Willand’s tongue flicked over his lips. “I am happy to be reasonable about this,” he said. “But not with you. And not with her.” He shot Nurse Morgan a nervous look as she worked to keep the wyrm at bay. “Dean Winchester, I will offer you a boon. I cannot deal with these others, but you are their companion and my love for you is my love for them. They’ve both crossed me, but you I may trust. You I will give a gift, if Corporal Orland will let me leave.”
Dean glanced at Giddy, who nodded. “All right,” he said. “What exactly constitutes a boon?”
Willand laughed. “Private, I am a god. I can grant many things. What would you like? An officer’s commission? A woman?” He held up a finger. “Ah, but you could gain those on your own if you desired. I offer you greater goods. I can ensure that you live through this war, Private. I can get you home to your family again.”
Dean stood silent at Giddy’s side. His breathing became shallow. Willand dipped his head. “Perhaps you are like Corporal Orland, though. Perhaps you believe you should make it out on your own talents. Perhaps there is nothing you want for yourself. But there is nothing like a gift given, is that not so? I might bring a petition to another power and ensure it. You might restore your friend Gideon to his human state.”
He began to prowl the space in front of them. “Think of it, for your comrade’s sake. He would be free of the knowledge that plagues him now. He could be ordinary again: he could age and die again.” Willand straightened. “Did you know that, Private? The gallows-gift is deathless. He is condemned to an eternity he did not choose. All this I could give you and your companions. I only ask that I be allowed to go free and unharried.” He licked his lips again. “What is your word?”
A breeze ghosted over Dean’s face. The sound of Nurse Morgan’s spellwork and the wyrm’s rumblings underground seemed muted. As the quiet grew, Giddy glanced over at him, brow knit. Dean’s eyes were on the phantom men. “I want you to cut this bullshit out,” he said, his voice steady. “You stop hassling Giddy, and you leave Easy Company alone. That’s my boon.”
Willand slumped, just slightly. “I agree to your terms,” he said, resigned, and thumped his cane three times. “I stand before you finished. There will be no further satisfaction.”
“Okay then.” Giddy lifted his left hand and spoke again, closing a fist and lowering it to his waist. “It’s off you,” he said softly. “I could’ve done more. I didn’t. And I won’t.” Outside, Nurse Morgan stopped as well. The lines of the protective circle flickered out. “You guys get out of here,” said Giddy to the soldiers. “Go sleep this off.” They nodded to him, looking incredulously at the group remaining, and headed out of the hollow back toward town.
Giddy turned to Willand. “One more thing.” He looked over at Nurse Morgan, who stepped back and stood by Dean’s side. The ground beneath began to rumble; muffled roars came closer and closer. All at once, an enormous head broke through the surface, showering them with dirt. It rose high above them on an endless serpentine neck, jaws open and crowded with teeth. The wyrm gave a piercing cry, and lunged straight for them. Willand stood transfixed; Dean squeezed his eyes shut.
Giddy watched it descend, until its breath was hot on their faces. He made a quick flick of his wrist, the movement too complex to track. The wyrm was thrown sideways, its bulk crashing to the ground. It lay still for a moment, throat pulsing. It withdrew, wheezing, and slipped back underground. Giddy turned to Willand in the new silence.
“I understand,” said Willand. He bowed his head, first to Giddy, then to Dean and Gladys. “Good luck and long days to you all.” He turned and hurried off, vanishing between dark trees.
“Holy shit,” Dean said, drawing in a shaky breath. “Is it over?”
“Yes,” said Nurse Morgan, still watching the wood.
“Holy shit,” he said again, looking first at Giddy and then at Nurse Morgan. “You kept that thing away from us that whole time.”
She turned to him. “I did.”
Dean swallowed. “Okay. Yes.”
Her eyebrows rose. “This is regarding our discussion?” Dean nodded. Nurse Morgan smiled. It illuminated her whole face, and Dean’s heart caught in his throat. She reached for his hands and clasped them. “I thank you for it.” She looked to Giddy, beaming. “I am pleased with tonight. You both did very well.”
“I can’t believe that happened,” Giddy marveled. “That happened just like you said it would.”
Nurse Morgan’s smile took on an edge. “Gods are simple. They are easy to predict. It is people who cause the real trouble.” She slipped her hands out of Dean’s. “You both had a victory tonight. Wayland Smith will be no more trouble here.” She looked to them both. “I ask your pardon, but I am due at the hospital. Some men can wait, but not all.”
“Thank you,” said Giddy, his earnestness quiet.
She dipped her chin. “You are most welcome.”
Dean and Giddy watched her go. “I think we did the right thing here,” said Giddy. Dean didn’t answer. Giddy looked at him. “You don’t think so?”
“No, no, I do.” He swiped his palm over his face. “I still don’t like that dream-state stuff, but those guys can’t remember this. It was the best we could.” He exhaled slowly. “I dunno, I guess I wasn’t expecting some of that stuff he said.”
“Look, it’s done,” said Giddy. “You just move forward and do your job.” He glanced at Dean, who mustered up a smile, which faltered a moment later.
“You really are done with all that, right? I have to tell you, that shit was scary.”
Giddy dropped his eyes. “You’re telling me.” Neither of them spoke. Giddy slipped his hands in his jacket pockets. A moment later, a smile flickered across his face. “Come on, enough of this crap. I am done. Let’s get out of here.”
“Hell yes,” said Dean, and they left the empty ground behind.
part six