SPN: The Brothers Grimm - Chapter 2
Title:The Brothers Grimm
Beta: skylar_matthews
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, Brothers Grimm verse, Fusion, adventure, horror
Pairings: Dean/Cas, mentions of Dean/Cassie, suggested Dean/Lisa
Spoilers: Some for The Brothers Grimm
Warnings: some sexual situations, violence, abuse of the French language, lots of UST
Word Count: 26 000 (in total)
Summary: Under the new French occupation, Dean and Sam Grimm have made a living conning people into believing that fairytales and monsters are real. But when they stumble upon the village of Marbaden, everything that they thought they knew gets turned upside down and instead of creating fairytales, they find themselves living in one.
A/N: Written as part of the dc-everafter Challenge. This is loosely based on the film The Brothers Grimm starring Matt Damon and Heath Ledger. Some significant changes have been made compared to the film but there will still be plot spoilers for those who have yet to watch The Brothers Grimm.
Special thanks to my lovely beta reader, skylar_matthews, and to talli_approved for creating the challenge. This was an awesome excuse to fuse the SPN universe with one of my favorite films and I had a great time writing this! Lastly, I want to thank h4ppy-fun-b4ll for creating beautiful artwork to accompany my fic. It was fun working with you, darling! <3
Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Epilogue | Art Masterpost
“I’m telling you, this is freaken stupid!” Dean complained, trudging along the path angrily. “What the HELL were you thinking, Sam?!”
Sam struggled to keep up with Dean, his journal clutched to his side. It was now well into the afternoon and by the time Sam had finished recording what everyone had said about the strange sightings and the disappearances, Dean had worked himself into a rage that wasn’t about to be quelled. Moodily, Sam kicked at a rock on the path, trying to keep his own fury in check since a screaming match, in the open field outside the woods, would only attract unwanted attention from the few townsfolk brave enough to venture out into their crops.
“I was thinking, Dean,” Sam started, voice straining with his own anger, “that you dug your grave years ago with this damn farce so maybe it’s about time you lay in it.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?! Make some big, bad wolf appear out of nowhere and slay the fucking thing?!” Dean demanded, pulling out his pistol for emphasis. “Some good these rock salt pellets will do!”
“We could always melt down mom’s silver locket to make bullets,” Sam suggested sarcastically. “After all, you’ve damned our souls for conning every naïve villager in East Germany and it’s not like we’ll be needing it after these villagers skin us alive for lying to them.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Dante,” Dean retorted. “You know just as well as I do the devil’s as real as werewolves and goblins.”
Sam had had just about enough. He roughly grabbed Dean and forced him to turn around, glaring into his brother’s face. “This isn’t a joke, Dean. There’s no way we’re weaseling our way out of this one. You’ve really fucked us over this time!”
“I fucked us over?!” Dean shouted, shoving Sam back roughly. “I’m not the one who agreed to go ‘round chasing magical faeries and pixie dust for these people!”
“No, but you’re the one who just won’t quit!” Sam shouted back. “You’ve been doing this ever since dad-”
“I’m not having this conversation, Sam!” Dean interrupted, turning around and continuing to stalk back down the path towards the worn-looking cottage sitting at the edge of the woods. Sam knew he had pushed Dean too far and it was some miracle that Dean hadn’t punched him in the face, though Sam would be just as tempted to do the same to him.
“We never have this conversation,” Sam mumbled, reluctantly picking up his pace to catch up to Dean.
“Let’s just find the psycho dick taking those kids and get the fuck out of here,” Dean called back, signaling that the conversation was indeed good and over before it had begun.
*
It wasn’t long before they were at the doorstep of the old cottage, its weathered wood having seen better days. The overgrown weeds that covered the path leading up to the doorstep seemed to indicate that the front door was rarely used, something Dean found easy to believe since the villagers claimed the man who lived here was cursed and spat each time he was mentioned in conversation. Dean had cringed while Sam merely shrugged.
Looking around what constituted a “yard” (or really just a practical use for the immediate surrounding field), animal pelts and skins had been strung up to dry out in the sun, leaving a nasty stench hanging in the air. Dean tried not to breathe in too deeply since the smell was starting to make him feel nauseous.
“Why we here again?” he whispered, putting their argument from minutes ago behind them and finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Sam sighed and knocked on the door. “He’s the only witness who saw what took one of the victims. He’s also the brother of the first victim. We need to question him.”
“Yeah well with our luck, he’ll be some axe-wielding psychopath,” Dean mumbled, grumpily. Maybe it was his typical, small city upbringing but the sight of the animal furs scattered around the yard set his skin on edge.
The first knock went ignored. Sam tried again, this time considerably louder. As his hand pounded on the door, it flew open and Sam took a step back in surprise, almost stumbling off the single step. A pair of bright, startling blue eyes regarded the pair curiously, the man standing awkwardly behind the door, impassive expression on his face.
He seemed to size up Sam first before slowly moving his eyes over Dean and as those blue eyes locked onto Dean’s, Dean felt his throat go dry. The man was surprisingly tall compared to the villagers, standing only a few inches shorter than Dean, who was already tall for a German. His pale skin was the color of creamy milk but it was the eyes that got to Dean most, a shade of blue that almost seemed inhuman and that bore into his own, as if able to read into the deepest parts of Dean’s soul. In those few moments, Dean felt bared and exposed and couldn’t help but think that surely this man knew he was nothing but a phony and a liar with little skill other than his penchant for weaving fables to earn his way through life.
Dean swallowed uncomfortably, looking away from the man’s eyes. His gaze drifted to the large, bloody knife the man was wielding and Dean quickly shot Sam an I-told-you-so look. Sam rolled his eyes.
“He’s a hunter, Dean,” Sam said, unable to hide his irritation.
This remark caused the man to tilt his head questioningly at the two brothers and, damn, if that clueless expression coupled with that dark, messy I’ve-just-been-fucked-five-ways-from-Sunday hair didn’t make Dean think strange and uncomfortable thoughts.
“The village is at the end of the road,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice that made Dean shiver all over and heat pool in his core. Dean coughed uncomfortably.
“We, uh, we just came from there,” he offered, somewhat lamely. Sam gave Dean an odd look, waiting for him to continue, but Dean seemed more intent on staring at some random space over the man’s shoulder.
“We heard about the disappearances,” Sam said, deciding that his brother must have gone temporarily brain-dead. It wouldn’t be the first time. “We thought maybe we could help.”
“Then you should return to the village. They will tell you all they know.”
The man moved to close the door but Sam stepped forward, placing a strong hand on the door. If this surprised the man, nothing on his face gave any indication of his shock, though he did avert his eyes to the ground.
“Please, Mr. Novak,” Sam started again, the sincerity in his voice causing Mr. Novak to look up and make eye contact with the younger Grimm. “We know it’s been some time since your sister went missing. We just want to hear what you’ve got to say.”
Mr. Novak stood silently in the doorway, seeming to consider Sam’s words carefully. After a moment, he opened the door wider and motioned for the two brothers to come in.
Once inside, Dean fell out of his earlier stupor and took in the surroundings. The cottage was modestly decorated, with a few, worn pieces of furniture and the far end of the single room set up for skinning animals. A recently skinned rabbit hung from the low ceiling, gutted and bleeding out into a pail placed below it. Dean felt his stomach churn and looked away, focusing on a ladder that led up to the rafters where hay and blankets were strewn across in a makeshift bed.
“Do you live alone, Mr. Novak?” Sam asked politely.
The question detracted Dean from his surveillance and he glanced over at Mr. Novak, watching as pain briefly fitted across the man’s features. But it was gone as quickly as it had come and the man’s expression became neutral once more.
“Yes.” A pause.
They waited for him to continue speaking. Instead, an awkward silence fell between the trio. Sam gave his help-me-Dean look to the older Grimm, evidently tired of being the only one creating conversation in these last few minutes.
“I’m Dean, and this my brother, Sam Grimm. Maybe you’ve heard of us.”
“I have not.”
Well, Dean’s ego just received a kick in the nuts. “We hunt ghosts, witches, demons…you name it.”
Mr. Novak blinked. “Oh.”
It wasn’t an amazed Oh or a surprised Oh. More like an uninterested Oh that was borderline polite.
“We want to stop the thing that’s taken your sister and the other children,” Sam said. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember seeing, Mr. Novak.”
After another pregnant pause, he responded, “Castiel.”
Dean raised a questioning brow. “…you saw a Castiel? What the hell is that?”
Sam elbowed Dean, earning him a glare. “His name.”
Dean felt his cheeks heat up and mumbled, “I knew that,” but Sam already seemed to decide that Dean was being useless and continued addressing Mr. Novak.
“So when did your sister go missing, Castiel?”
Castiel paused again and Dean was starting to think this man thought way too carefully about what he said (a trait Sam often told him he should practice sometime), placing the bloodied skinning knife on the table. The dripping of the bleeding animal suddenly filled the room and Dean shifted from one foot to the other to distract himself from the sound of it.
“It was a few weeks after my brother had…perished in the woods,” Castiel finally said, keeping his back turned to the brothers. Dean noticed his shoulders had tensed and that Castiel struggled to keep his deep voice in control. An underlying sorrow tinged that gravelly tone and as much as Dean argued with Sam, he didn’t even want to think of what it would be like to lose his little brother. “With Gabriel gone, there was only Anna and I. I did my best to take care of her but I also had to continue hunting. It was on a day that I was out in the forest that she disappeared.”
Walking across the room, Castiel stood in front of the single wardrobe that decorated the space beneath the loft where he slept, opening the doors and pulling out a bright red cloak. He sighed sadly and clung to the garment for a moment, lost in a memory that only Dean could guess at, before his deep voice filled the silence in the room.
“Against my advice, she had set out to visit our grandmother in the village on the other side of the forest,” he continued, arms still clutching the cloak but dropping to his sides. “I heard her scream. But by the time I found her, a wolf was dragging her deeper into the woods. All that remained was her cloak.”
He handed the cloak to Sam, who held it up and observed the deep, claw-like marks that had torn into the clothing. Sam gave it to Dean and pulled out his journal, setting his ink on the table beside the knife and pulling out his quill. As Castiel continued recalling the events of that day, Sam began writing.
“I attempted to pursue the wolf but lost sight of them shortly after that. The path became obscured and the trees would not stop shifting. It was…difficult.”
And this was the part of the story that Dean had to resist rolling his eyes to. Shifting trees? The wolf eating a kid…yeah, maybe not the most common way for a kid to go but at least it was possible. The added magic element that everyone in this village seemed to insist on was starting to give him a headache though.
“Shifting trees?” Sam asked, seeking clarification.
“The legends say that our forest is enchanted,” Castiel began, ignoring the incredulous look on Dean’s face. “It is believed that the trees move to mislead intruders, drawing them deeper and deeper into the woods until they are lost forever. These are tales we tell children when they are young, to prevent them from wandering into the woods.”
Sam and Dean waited with bated breath, the unspoken “But…” hanging thickly in the air.
“I have hunted in these woods for many years,” Castiel said. “I always believed the legends to be just that: legends to terrify children. But in these last few months, I have noticed…strange things. Paths disappearing. Animals no longer feeding in the same rivers or occupying the same parts of the woods. It has been…disconcerting. Without my experience, I have doubts that I would find my way back after a hunting excursion.”
“…so you’re saying you’ve actually seen the tree moves,” Dean stated, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.
“Yes.”
There was a hint of irritation in his voice although the blank expression on his face failed to give away any impatience he held for Dean. As much as Dean’s limited education had greatly influenced his doubt in the supernatural, there was a solemnity in Castiel’s eyes that suggested he truly did believe he had seen the trees move. Besides any semblance of honesty Dean could find in Castiel’s brilliant blues, it still made Dean a little uneasy at how controlled Castiel’s expressions were and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the hunter wasn’t telling them the full story.
Sam’s cough interrupted their staring contest and Dean quickly looked away, heat rising to his cheeks. “Mr. Novak, do you think you could take us to the place where you last saw Anna?”
Dean began shaking his head, trying to indicate just how bad of an idea he thought that was.
Castiel hesitated. “I…I would strongly advise against travelling into the woods. The forest is unpredictable.”
“Yeah, and I bet Cas here wouldn’t want us city folk scaring off all the animals,” Dean quickly followed up, forcing a friendly grin.
Sam raised his eyebrows at the nickname and even Castiel couldn’t hide his surprise.
“We’re not trying to intrude, Mr. Nov-er-Castiel,” Sam started again, “but if there is something strange going on here, we need to check out the place where the victim disappeared.”
“You have been to the village,” Castiel responded, “and no doubt you have heard what they say about my family. Except for the few merchants who purchase my pelts, I rarely get visitors. I would, again, strongly advise you reconsider your intentions to enter the forest.”
Sam looked helpfully to Dean but Dean the expression on Dean’s face said he didn’t want to go anywhere with Castiel. Running a hand through his hair, Sam tried appealing to Castiel a final time, “Castiel…if you don’t take us into the forest, we’ll just go in anyway. It’ll save us a lot of time, though, if you assist us. We can pay you as well.”
“What?!” Dean choked.
For all his education, Dean was starting to wonder how Sam failed to account for their dwindling finances every time he tossed their money around.
“That will not be necessary,” Castiel decided. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the venomous look he was boring into Sam’s skull that had any influence. “If you cannot be persuaded to avoid the forest, I will accompany you.”
Castiel walked over to one of the windows, watching the setting sun cast hues of red and orange across the sky. “It is late now. The woods are most dangerous at night. We will have to travel out in the morning.”
Sam thanked Castiel and after exchanging some pleasantries, Dean spending most of this time silently fuming at his brother, the Grimm brothers departed and set off on the path back to the village. Once they were out of earshot of the cabin, Dean was unable to hold back any longer.
“What is it now, Dean?” Sam sighed, interjecting as Dean’s mouth opened to protest their plans for the next day.
“This-it’s a bad idea. That guy’s gotta know the forest better than anyone else. He’ll probably lead us to a cliff and push us off,” Dean complained. “I don’t trust him.”
“I think there’s something off about him too,” Sam said, “but I think he was also being honest with us.”
“…you don’t actually believe any of this crap, do you?”
“I’m not saying I believe it,” Sam argued. Though Dean recognized that tone in Sam’s voice, that underlying curiosity that meant the younger Grimm may have doubts. “I’m just saying I think he believes what he’s telling us.”
Dean wanted to argue further but knew it was a lost cause. Instead, he was left with an unsettling feeling in his stomach and when he glanced over his shoulder, at the forest that lay beyond the Novak home, the unshakable feeling that something more ominous was going on chilled him to his bones.
Chapter 3
Beta: skylar_matthews
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, Brothers Grimm verse, Fusion, adventure, horror
Pairings: Dean/Cas, mentions of Dean/Cassie, suggested Dean/Lisa
Spoilers: Some for The Brothers Grimm
Warnings: some sexual situations, violence, abuse of the French language, lots of UST
Word Count: 26 000 (in total)
Summary: Under the new French occupation, Dean and Sam Grimm have made a living conning people into believing that fairytales and monsters are real. But when they stumble upon the village of Marbaden, everything that they thought they knew gets turned upside down and instead of creating fairytales, they find themselves living in one.
A/N: Written as part of the dc-everafter Challenge. This is loosely based on the film The Brothers Grimm starring Matt Damon and Heath Ledger. Some significant changes have been made compared to the film but there will still be plot spoilers for those who have yet to watch The Brothers Grimm.
Special thanks to my lovely beta reader, skylar_matthews, and to talli_approved for creating the challenge. This was an awesome excuse to fuse the SPN universe with one of my favorite films and I had a great time writing this! Lastly, I want to thank h4ppy-fun-b4ll for creating beautiful artwork to accompany my fic. It was fun working with you, darling! <3
Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Epilogue | Art Masterpost
“I’m telling you, this is freaken stupid!” Dean complained, trudging along the path angrily. “What the HELL were you thinking, Sam?!”
Sam struggled to keep up with Dean, his journal clutched to his side. It was now well into the afternoon and by the time Sam had finished recording what everyone had said about the strange sightings and the disappearances, Dean had worked himself into a rage that wasn’t about to be quelled. Moodily, Sam kicked at a rock on the path, trying to keep his own fury in check since a screaming match, in the open field outside the woods, would only attract unwanted attention from the few townsfolk brave enough to venture out into their crops.
“I was thinking, Dean,” Sam started, voice straining with his own anger, “that you dug your grave years ago with this damn farce so maybe it’s about time you lay in it.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?! Make some big, bad wolf appear out of nowhere and slay the fucking thing?!” Dean demanded, pulling out his pistol for emphasis. “Some good these rock salt pellets will do!”
“We could always melt down mom’s silver locket to make bullets,” Sam suggested sarcastically. “After all, you’ve damned our souls for conning every naïve villager in East Germany and it’s not like we’ll be needing it after these villagers skin us alive for lying to them.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Dante,” Dean retorted. “You know just as well as I do the devil’s as real as werewolves and goblins.”
Sam had had just about enough. He roughly grabbed Dean and forced him to turn around, glaring into his brother’s face. “This isn’t a joke, Dean. There’s no way we’re weaseling our way out of this one. You’ve really fucked us over this time!”
“I fucked us over?!” Dean shouted, shoving Sam back roughly. “I’m not the one who agreed to go ‘round chasing magical faeries and pixie dust for these people!”
“No, but you’re the one who just won’t quit!” Sam shouted back. “You’ve been doing this ever since dad-”
“I’m not having this conversation, Sam!” Dean interrupted, turning around and continuing to stalk back down the path towards the worn-looking cottage sitting at the edge of the woods. Sam knew he had pushed Dean too far and it was some miracle that Dean hadn’t punched him in the face, though Sam would be just as tempted to do the same to him.
“We never have this conversation,” Sam mumbled, reluctantly picking up his pace to catch up to Dean.
“Let’s just find the psycho dick taking those kids and get the fuck out of here,” Dean called back, signaling that the conversation was indeed good and over before it had begun.
*
It wasn’t long before they were at the doorstep of the old cottage, its weathered wood having seen better days. The overgrown weeds that covered the path leading up to the doorstep seemed to indicate that the front door was rarely used, something Dean found easy to believe since the villagers claimed the man who lived here was cursed and spat each time he was mentioned in conversation. Dean had cringed while Sam merely shrugged.
Looking around what constituted a “yard” (or really just a practical use for the immediate surrounding field), animal pelts and skins had been strung up to dry out in the sun, leaving a nasty stench hanging in the air. Dean tried not to breathe in too deeply since the smell was starting to make him feel nauseous.
“Why we here again?” he whispered, putting their argument from minutes ago behind them and finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Sam sighed and knocked on the door. “He’s the only witness who saw what took one of the victims. He’s also the brother of the first victim. We need to question him.”
“Yeah well with our luck, he’ll be some axe-wielding psychopath,” Dean mumbled, grumpily. Maybe it was his typical, small city upbringing but the sight of the animal furs scattered around the yard set his skin on edge.
The first knock went ignored. Sam tried again, this time considerably louder. As his hand pounded on the door, it flew open and Sam took a step back in surprise, almost stumbling off the single step. A pair of bright, startling blue eyes regarded the pair curiously, the man standing awkwardly behind the door, impassive expression on his face.
He seemed to size up Sam first before slowly moving his eyes over Dean and as those blue eyes locked onto Dean’s, Dean felt his throat go dry. The man was surprisingly tall compared to the villagers, standing only a few inches shorter than Dean, who was already tall for a German. His pale skin was the color of creamy milk but it was the eyes that got to Dean most, a shade of blue that almost seemed inhuman and that bore into his own, as if able to read into the deepest parts of Dean’s soul. In those few moments, Dean felt bared and exposed and couldn’t help but think that surely this man knew he was nothing but a phony and a liar with little skill other than his penchant for weaving fables to earn his way through life.
Dean swallowed uncomfortably, looking away from the man’s eyes. His gaze drifted to the large, bloody knife the man was wielding and Dean quickly shot Sam an I-told-you-so look. Sam rolled his eyes.
“He’s a hunter, Dean,” Sam said, unable to hide his irritation.
This remark caused the man to tilt his head questioningly at the two brothers and, damn, if that clueless expression coupled with that dark, messy I’ve-just-been-fucked-five-ways-from-Sunday hair didn’t make Dean think strange and uncomfortable thoughts.
“The village is at the end of the road,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice that made Dean shiver all over and heat pool in his core. Dean coughed uncomfortably.
“We, uh, we just came from there,” he offered, somewhat lamely. Sam gave Dean an odd look, waiting for him to continue, but Dean seemed more intent on staring at some random space over the man’s shoulder.
“We heard about the disappearances,” Sam said, deciding that his brother must have gone temporarily brain-dead. It wouldn’t be the first time. “We thought maybe we could help.”
“Then you should return to the village. They will tell you all they know.”
The man moved to close the door but Sam stepped forward, placing a strong hand on the door. If this surprised the man, nothing on his face gave any indication of his shock, though he did avert his eyes to the ground.
“Please, Mr. Novak,” Sam started again, the sincerity in his voice causing Mr. Novak to look up and make eye contact with the younger Grimm. “We know it’s been some time since your sister went missing. We just want to hear what you’ve got to say.”
Mr. Novak stood silently in the doorway, seeming to consider Sam’s words carefully. After a moment, he opened the door wider and motioned for the two brothers to come in.
Once inside, Dean fell out of his earlier stupor and took in the surroundings. The cottage was modestly decorated, with a few, worn pieces of furniture and the far end of the single room set up for skinning animals. A recently skinned rabbit hung from the low ceiling, gutted and bleeding out into a pail placed below it. Dean felt his stomach churn and looked away, focusing on a ladder that led up to the rafters where hay and blankets were strewn across in a makeshift bed.
“Do you live alone, Mr. Novak?” Sam asked politely.
The question detracted Dean from his surveillance and he glanced over at Mr. Novak, watching as pain briefly fitted across the man’s features. But it was gone as quickly as it had come and the man’s expression became neutral once more.
“Yes.” A pause.
They waited for him to continue speaking. Instead, an awkward silence fell between the trio. Sam gave his help-me-Dean look to the older Grimm, evidently tired of being the only one creating conversation in these last few minutes.
“I’m Dean, and this my brother, Sam Grimm. Maybe you’ve heard of us.”
“I have not.”
Well, Dean’s ego just received a kick in the nuts. “We hunt ghosts, witches, demons…you name it.”
Mr. Novak blinked. “Oh.”
It wasn’t an amazed Oh or a surprised Oh. More like an uninterested Oh that was borderline polite.
“We want to stop the thing that’s taken your sister and the other children,” Sam said. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember seeing, Mr. Novak.”
After another pregnant pause, he responded, “Castiel.”
Dean raised a questioning brow. “…you saw a Castiel? What the hell is that?”
Sam elbowed Dean, earning him a glare. “His name.”
Dean felt his cheeks heat up and mumbled, “I knew that,” but Sam already seemed to decide that Dean was being useless and continued addressing Mr. Novak.
“So when did your sister go missing, Castiel?”
Castiel paused again and Dean was starting to think this man thought way too carefully about what he said (a trait Sam often told him he should practice sometime), placing the bloodied skinning knife on the table. The dripping of the bleeding animal suddenly filled the room and Dean shifted from one foot to the other to distract himself from the sound of it.
“It was a few weeks after my brother had…perished in the woods,” Castiel finally said, keeping his back turned to the brothers. Dean noticed his shoulders had tensed and that Castiel struggled to keep his deep voice in control. An underlying sorrow tinged that gravelly tone and as much as Dean argued with Sam, he didn’t even want to think of what it would be like to lose his little brother. “With Gabriel gone, there was only Anna and I. I did my best to take care of her but I also had to continue hunting. It was on a day that I was out in the forest that she disappeared.”
Walking across the room, Castiel stood in front of the single wardrobe that decorated the space beneath the loft where he slept, opening the doors and pulling out a bright red cloak. He sighed sadly and clung to the garment for a moment, lost in a memory that only Dean could guess at, before his deep voice filled the silence in the room.
“Against my advice, she had set out to visit our grandmother in the village on the other side of the forest,” he continued, arms still clutching the cloak but dropping to his sides. “I heard her scream. But by the time I found her, a wolf was dragging her deeper into the woods. All that remained was her cloak.”
He handed the cloak to Sam, who held it up and observed the deep, claw-like marks that had torn into the clothing. Sam gave it to Dean and pulled out his journal, setting his ink on the table beside the knife and pulling out his quill. As Castiel continued recalling the events of that day, Sam began writing.
“I attempted to pursue the wolf but lost sight of them shortly after that. The path became obscured and the trees would not stop shifting. It was…difficult.”
And this was the part of the story that Dean had to resist rolling his eyes to. Shifting trees? The wolf eating a kid…yeah, maybe not the most common way for a kid to go but at least it was possible. The added magic element that everyone in this village seemed to insist on was starting to give him a headache though.
“Shifting trees?” Sam asked, seeking clarification.
“The legends say that our forest is enchanted,” Castiel began, ignoring the incredulous look on Dean’s face. “It is believed that the trees move to mislead intruders, drawing them deeper and deeper into the woods until they are lost forever. These are tales we tell children when they are young, to prevent them from wandering into the woods.”
Sam and Dean waited with bated breath, the unspoken “But…” hanging thickly in the air.
“I have hunted in these woods for many years,” Castiel said. “I always believed the legends to be just that: legends to terrify children. But in these last few months, I have noticed…strange things. Paths disappearing. Animals no longer feeding in the same rivers or occupying the same parts of the woods. It has been…disconcerting. Without my experience, I have doubts that I would find my way back after a hunting excursion.”
“…so you’re saying you’ve actually seen the tree moves,” Dean stated, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.
“Yes.”
There was a hint of irritation in his voice although the blank expression on his face failed to give away any impatience he held for Dean. As much as Dean’s limited education had greatly influenced his doubt in the supernatural, there was a solemnity in Castiel’s eyes that suggested he truly did believe he had seen the trees move. Besides any semblance of honesty Dean could find in Castiel’s brilliant blues, it still made Dean a little uneasy at how controlled Castiel’s expressions were and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the hunter wasn’t telling them the full story.
Sam’s cough interrupted their staring contest and Dean quickly looked away, heat rising to his cheeks. “Mr. Novak, do you think you could take us to the place where you last saw Anna?”
Dean began shaking his head, trying to indicate just how bad of an idea he thought that was.
Castiel hesitated. “I…I would strongly advise against travelling into the woods. The forest is unpredictable.”
“Yeah, and I bet Cas here wouldn’t want us city folk scaring off all the animals,” Dean quickly followed up, forcing a friendly grin.
Sam raised his eyebrows at the nickname and even Castiel couldn’t hide his surprise.
“We’re not trying to intrude, Mr. Nov-er-Castiel,” Sam started again, “but if there is something strange going on here, we need to check out the place where the victim disappeared.”
“You have been to the village,” Castiel responded, “and no doubt you have heard what they say about my family. Except for the few merchants who purchase my pelts, I rarely get visitors. I would, again, strongly advise you reconsider your intentions to enter the forest.”
Sam looked helpfully to Dean but Dean the expression on Dean’s face said he didn’t want to go anywhere with Castiel. Running a hand through his hair, Sam tried appealing to Castiel a final time, “Castiel…if you don’t take us into the forest, we’ll just go in anyway. It’ll save us a lot of time, though, if you assist us. We can pay you as well.”
“What?!” Dean choked.
For all his education, Dean was starting to wonder how Sam failed to account for their dwindling finances every time he tossed their money around.
“That will not be necessary,” Castiel decided. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the venomous look he was boring into Sam’s skull that had any influence. “If you cannot be persuaded to avoid the forest, I will accompany you.”
Castiel walked over to one of the windows, watching the setting sun cast hues of red and orange across the sky. “It is late now. The woods are most dangerous at night. We will have to travel out in the morning.”
Sam thanked Castiel and after exchanging some pleasantries, Dean spending most of this time silently fuming at his brother, the Grimm brothers departed and set off on the path back to the village. Once they were out of earshot of the cabin, Dean was unable to hold back any longer.
“What is it now, Dean?” Sam sighed, interjecting as Dean’s mouth opened to protest their plans for the next day.
“This-it’s a bad idea. That guy’s gotta know the forest better than anyone else. He’ll probably lead us to a cliff and push us off,” Dean complained. “I don’t trust him.”
“I think there’s something off about him too,” Sam said, “but I think he was also being honest with us.”
“…you don’t actually believe any of this crap, do you?”
“I’m not saying I believe it,” Sam argued. Though Dean recognized that tone in Sam’s voice, that underlying curiosity that meant the younger Grimm may have doubts. “I’m just saying I think he believes what he’s telling us.”
Dean wanted to argue further but knew it was a lost cause. Instead, he was left with an unsettling feeling in his stomach and when he glanced over his shoulder, at the forest that lay beyond the Novak home, the unshakable feeling that something more ominous was going on chilled him to his bones.
Chapter 3