Wanted Chapter 3

Don't own 'em, Just love 'em. Wished ta hell I worked for Kripke


The twinkling lights kept swooping over their heads and brushing by irritatingly close. Dean tried to swat at one but Bobby stopped him saying, "They're just messing with ya, testing you." Then one of them landed on the rim of his Urn and paused to sip a little off the top before zig-zagging off in a drunken fashion.

Sam agreed but puffed a gust of air at one that was buzzing around his head, " Seems personal to me." He said and then quirking a brow at Dean added, "you don't suppose they know what you did to 'Tink' back at the motel?"

"Nah," Dean answered as they kept moving deeper through the crowd of guests, " they're probably always irritating a**holes." Then "Ow!" as one flew right up to his eye kicking a spray of sparkly dust into it.

"Or Not." Bobby intoned. "The little one's seem to be Pixies and they look pissed at us in particular." He said as he ducked another fly-by.

The response from the lights sounded like a high pitched "uh..huh!" sung by several as they buzzed the humans again.

"Well, I'm not sorry...ya hear!" Dean said as he spun around to face little lights suddenly surrounding him.

Bobby grabbed his shoulder to reign him in and addressed the offended Fae. "The boy was a tad upset after he got kidnaped the first time." One of the lights broke away from the formation and scooted up close to Bobby's face bathing it in soft greenish light. The older hunter stood his ground and continued, "Yep, he's the one that got away, you might have heard of him. Now you seem like intelligent beings to me, and you'll find that the Winchesters here, they don't take kindly any more than you do about being caught as prey; so with all due respect we just want to get on with our 'service'."

The light paused in front of Bobby's nose for a heart beat... or two, then buzzed back to join it's friends darting about the ceiling.

"What d'ya suppose that was about?" Dean asked.

Bobby looked around then said, "I guess we "Passed."

"Nah, they were just messing with ya." said a female voice to their right.


She was about five foot zip, dark hair, ageless deep blue eyes and was dressed in a green, hooded robe. It bore the emblem of the castle they were in so they surmised she was captive help just like them.

Sam said, "You speak English?"

She smirked and replied, "I speak 132 of the dialects our guests speak and 427 of the languages in the nine known dimensions." She turned around to gather used glasses onto a tray then added, "So, yeeahhh."

Bobby offered his had to shake, "My names Singer, Bobby Singer."

She looked at his hand like it was coated in poison and hefted the tray onto her shoulder saying over it, "We try not to touch here, the stuff you got may not mix with what I'm cleaning up." And she moved to another table covered in discarded drinks.

Dean snarled over to her, "What's the worse that could happen, you get 'sticky' on your fingers?"

She moved to face him, smirk gone, "chemical burns, explosions, you'd be lucky to have fingers left." Then she turned and with a few steps blended back into the crowd.

Dean looked down at the Urn he was carrying and mumbled, "Remind me not to ask for the 'house special'."

Sam pressed through the milling guests to follow her. "Hey...wait up! Miss...Miss..." But came to a quick halt to avoid colliding with her.

A little of his libation splashed down and it splattered onto the hem of her robe causing a small puff of acrid smoke to waft up from the floor.

The woman sighed, "I supposed it would have been too much to ask to get through this night without ruining another uniform," she then cast an irritated look at Sam and said, "What?"

"I..er...um...uh...er...Sorry." He said as he pulled the Urn in toward his bare chest like he was carrying gasoline.

Her frown quickly turned back to that smirk again when she saw his discomfort.

"Um, I never got your name Miss...?"

She finally looked him over and thought "Damn!" as she took in the tall man with the boyish face and the impossibly chiseled chest. 'He looks so...so', she decided to go with 'out of his element' as he stood before her in the skimpy loin cloth, muscular long legs and the noticeable care in the way he now held the Urn so gingerly; her smile widened, "Gwen, my name is Gwen."

Sam smiled back while standing awkwardly still.

"Oh, and don't worry about spilling any of the Ichor on yourself, it won't burn you, the Fae match up servers to those being served and the drinks they dispense. But don't mix the drinks..." She winked, "Anything could happen."

That's when Dean elbowed his way up to stand beside Sam and shortly Bobby stood by him too. And her first thought as she looked at the men in matching loin cloths was 'Hhmmm...bookends.'

The shorter handsome man seemed mad at the tall one called Sam, "Don't go off like that!" his tone almost hiding a scold.

With long suffering practice Sam lifted his broad shoulders up and down in a silent huff and told the other men, "Dean, Bobby I'd like you to meet Gwen!"

She noticed how fast Dean's frown at Sam turned into an appraising smile as he focused on her. His quick head nod and wink could have made the handsome man pass for Fae he was so uncannily handsome. But while Sam seemed uncomfortable in his servers uniform Dean appeared unfazed and more concerned with Sam's well being than his own. 'Hhhmmmm.' she thought.

The older man who had tried to introduce himself before was standing a respectful distance away. Even curiouser, and way more impressive to her, was the intent look in his eyes that told her she was being appraised not for her beauty but for her potential as a threat. 'Hhhmmm again, these men are different from anyone the Fae have brought here before.' And as she nodded back to the both of them she thought, 'perhaps they will prove useful after all.'


Dean moved to get closer to her as she returned to collecting empty glasses, she noted that his smile was easy on the eyes. "So," he said as he moved to get in front of her. "You seem to know your way around..." then nodding to the other two men he added, " we're...uh...new here."

She smiled to herself but didn't turn, "No kidding."

He snorted softly, but kept pace with her as she headed back through the crowd toward the kitchen, Bobby and Sam followed in tow.

All of a sudden one of the guests hailed them over with a shout, "More drink!" And before Dean knew it a large squishy tentacle slithered out from the guest's gem studded robe and wrapped around his leg. The pull of the creature was surprisingly strong for something so fleshy and out of shape. Then to Dean's utter disgust it's mouth opened and out slid a long tongue and it lapped the side of the hunters face then suggestively licked the rim of the urn he was carrying!

Dean made an 'ewe' expression and tried to tug his leg free from the sickening grasp which kept pulling him closer and closer to it's waggling tongue. Sensing a building confrontation a small swarm of Pixy's began to fill the air around the guest as if to distract it. Dean started to panic as the tentacle oozed up high enough on his thigh that it looked like the guest might ask Dean to "cough" for him. Just then Gwen suddenly reappeared bearing an Urn three times the size of the one the bejeweled guest was lapping at.

"Prithy Sir, mayhap this size goblet would quench your admirable thirst better?" As she took the urn from Dean's hands and expertly poured it's contents into it's depth, then indicated Sam and Bobby to do the same.

The creature slurred some response in a language foreign to their ears all the while trying to adjust it's clutch even higher on Dean's leg.

And Gwen sternly chided back, "As our honored guest knows it is not the flavor of their thoughts that is being offered tonight but this castles finest Ichor."

There was another slurred reply but the tentacle released its grip around Dean's thigh and the hunter made a quick move to distance himself from the being's grasp.

As the creature began to disgruntledly sip from the large Urn, Gwen motioned the men to follow her and she lead them back toward the kitchen.

As soon as they passed through the swinging doors she barked some orders to the staff in an old sounding language and then passed each of the hunters a green bottle telling them, stay clear of the Quaydoes...those big, tentacled things that like to lick you; and serve this to the tall three eyed Perfids they are the ones that have a mane of feathers around their necks. They are less likely to want to drink your thoughts like the Quaydoes always desire.

A mist began swirling out of Dean's bottle and he sniffed it experimentally making a face of disgust, then he quirked his eyebrow at her, "drink my thoughts?" he asked.

Sam looked both horrified and curious at the same time, "How do they...?"

Bobby was more direct, "Is it a Vampire thing?"

Gwen looked over her shoulder at the bustling kitchen staff but everyone there seemed too absorbed in their duties to eaves drop on them. She grabbed a tray that held what appeared to be living appetizers and pretended to add more garnish around the squirming forms while she told them of their fate.

"I tell this to you," she whispered conspiratorially, "in hope that you might aide me and thus I may aide you in making your escape." She moved the men with her to a farther part of the kitchen. "The Fae are an old race, older than humankind, older than the angels. They are known as the "Olde Ones" and may have existed before God. Over time they lost their ability to feel emotions. So they prey on other races, those more short lived than their own, whose very lives are intense with feeling and passion, to experience feelings of love, lust, happiness, even sadness and fear from the memories that they siphon off."

"Brain juice is like cocaine to them?" asked Dean.

"Yes, it is like a drug to them and they often have parties to do just that. They treat captives as a supply of living emotions until the victims are drained to dry empty husks inside. And while body of the drained one still lives on, who they were is gone, everything they ever felt having been drained out of them." Her voice softened further, "These around us," She lifted her head and nodded with her chin to the kitchen staff bustling around. "are some of 'The Lost Ones' and they serve in this caste forever."

The mens eyes widened as they noticed that all the humans among them did have blank expressions and seemed to move more like automatons and not real people.

Dean gulped and then asked, "Is that what they plan to do to us?"

"Eventually." she answered. "The Fae have glommed on to your twentieth century culture as their new Fad. Especially American culture with its passion for individual freedom, unique creativity and even it's violence.

Sam solemnly interrupted, "Like that weird music we've been listening to..."

"Yes!" she agreed, " They even try to copy the current music trends because nothing in their own lives inspires them anymore besides infighting and intrigue."

Bobby glowered, "So it is a Vampire thing."

Gwen sighed, "for all intent and purposes...yes"

Bobby squinted a quizzical look at her and asked, "So how long have you been here?

"Many in my village were taken to this realm over 500 years ago." She answered softly.

Bobby pressed on, "so how is it that you remained with them this long without hav'in your brain drained?"

"They discovered I had a penchant for languages..." and she lowered her head.

Bobby pursed his lips and asked, "You just hear a phrase or too and catch on real quick do ya?"

Gwen lifted her chin defiantly, "Not exactly."

Sam's voice was laced with suspicion, "Exactly how?"

"I've been administered the distilled language of captives memories so that they are my own now." Then she added sadly, "not just their language but often in the mix are their thoughts of family left behind..." she trailed off. Then sighed and gave a head nod to the kitchen staff once more. "The head chef was mourning a wife and small child he would never see...over there the man stirring the soup was wishing he could just be with his brother one more time."

Dean broke the silence, "So we're the flavor of the month now?"

"Yes, and if the buzz is correct from the Leprechaun about you being hunters," Gwen explained, "The Fae will consider you like fine wine for all your exciting memories of fighting monsters and surviving the pain as the result of those battles."

Sam quirked his eyebrow and adjusted his stance and asked, "so they thrive on pain too...memories of pain?"

"Only up to a certain extent." She answered, "They have grown to be cowards, they distill a frightening memory up to a point then cap it off so as not to experience all the fear of it, just the thrill."

Upon hearing that the men all gave each other a meaningful glance, then noticed that Qwen was doing the same back to them.

to be continued

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