Highway To Hell

     [ It’s okay friend, I get you. I understood. 

“Anonymous said: Also Tranquil -Jenny/Dean/Ciaraen“

     [ It’s okay friend, I get you. I understood. 

“Anonymous said: Also Tranquil -Jenny/Dean/Ciaraen“

Reflex had him pull the hunting knife free from his belt and loose it at, what he realized moments later, the source of an amused voice.  He hadn’t noticed the man before.  He could be forgiven that given the ringing in his ears and the spin to the world.

Dean spun himself on his heel with an arm ready to block and the other reaching for the gun he’d lost somewhere between the motel and the forest.  The strange look of the man stole his fuzzed focus.  And the weird fucking black vest.  He narrowed his eyes and did a quick sweep through the underbrush immediately around the man.

     The sting happened before Thranduil could move himself properly away. A wound that would have been much worse had he been any less skilled. Caught between his fingers, the blade had sliced between his index and middle finger, drawing crimson droplets down over his pale hand. Movement of the guards caught his attention, and Thranduil raised his bloodied hand to keep them still and hidden. 

“Don’t think anyone would call me ‘wise’, dude.”  Unarmed, injured, and smelling like Sam’s old gym socks, Dean knew he’d lose any fight if it cropped up.  This man, odd as he was, looked strong.  Fast enough to catch the knife, too.  Not quite angel, but something close.  Maybe something as old.

Not someone he wanted recognizing his name.

arandinnu

The forest he’d woken up in was something else.  It felt nice, almost peaceful, but not as pure as Purgatory.  Something about it was dark.  Ill.  He couldn’t put his finger on why the hairs stood at attention on the back of his neck.  He also couldn’t say how he’d made it from the motel to the middle of what looked like a really old forest.

What he did know, however, was he never made it to the shower after the last demon fight.  And his head hurt.  Dean stood and pressed a hand against the throb.  Wet, sticky, and much more painful with his hand on it.  He looked down and kicked at the rock he must have smashed his head against.

     He looked as if he’d encountered a number of orcs upon the border. Perhaps he’d been forced to flee into the wood. Perhaps it was that his fatigue had caught up with him and he had simply expired where he stood. There could only be speculation until the man was awake. Awake, and perhaps convinced to bathe in the river, for he smelled like his battle with a pack of orcs had ended poorly in his favor. 

     So Thranduil stood back, leaving the man to sleep after assessing that his life was in no immediate danger. He drew his attention back to Alagos, stroking her nose tenderly, feeding her oat treats from his satchel until the man was roused. And still Thranduil said nothing. 

     He stood and only observed the man, taking stock of his strangeness and his outfit. He’d intended to say nothing until he was spotted, lest he frighten the man, but he found himself amused by the confusion and vulgarity.

Reflex had him pull the hunting knife free from his belt and loose it at, what he realized moments later, the source of an amused voice.  He hadn’t noticed the man before.  He could be forgiven that given the ringing in his ears and the spin to the world.

Dean spun himself on his heel with an arm ready to block and the other reaching for the gun he’d lost somewhere between the motel and the forest.  The strange look of the man stole his fuzzed focus.  And the weird fucking black vest.  He narrowed his eyes and did a quick sweep through the underbrush immediately around the man.