#cassiesclassicchallenge

You couldn’t see anything in the dark, but you could hear it. The creaking of the door that opened, the footsteps as they came towards you. Finally, the light of a mobile phone screen gave a small degree of illumination to the room, and to face of the man holding the phone.

“Let’s call your little boyfriend, shall we? He was quite fond of you last night. Let’s see if you put on a good enough performance to be saved now.”

Swallowing hard, you suddenly regretted saving Dean’s phone number. You never used it, only kept it for emergencies – emergencies like this one, which had never come up. The two of you had met when he came to get rid of a ghost problem in your town a couple years ago, and you got together whenever he passed through. If you hadn’t worked in the place that was haunted, you probably wouldn’t have known what it was that Dean did with his life.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dean answered the call, a tinge of concern in his voice. After all, you never called him. “How’s it going?”

The man shoved the phone in your face. Trying to keep yourself composed, you glanced up at the man before speaking. He gave a single nod; you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Dean, I’m in trouble. I’ve been taken by –”

“Where are you?” Dean demanded, his voice suddenly angry. “Who has you?”

Before you could say anything else, the man took the phone several steps away. “I do, Dean. My name is Greg. You killed me brother not that long ago.”

“I kill lots of things,” Dean answered through clenched teeth. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“A werewolf, in Springfield. Just a couple of weeks ago. I ran into you just before you left town and told you that I would get revenge. Well, it took a few days to track down whatever was most important to you, but thanks to some phone calls you made in town and tracking your number, I see little missy here is the number you call most frequently. And all those text messages … she must mean a great deal to you.”

You heard a click and a dim lamp added more light to the room. It was the first you had seen of it since you came to; a small basement room, it looked like, with a cement floor and cement walls. Washer and dryer hook-ups had been abandoned on the far wall. Otherwise, there was nothing in the room but you and Greg.

And the knife in his hand.

“Listen to me,” Dean said, a growl accentuating his words. “If you let her go now, that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you. Just like I killed that disgusting, pathetic creature you called a brother.”

Greg looked at you, and you read fury in his eyes. He tossed the phone to the side, still on speaker, and came at you with the knife.

“I’ve got the knife on her right now,” Greg yelled so Dean could hear. “I’m not letting her go, Dean. Not until I have my revenge.”

The blade drew a dark crimson liquid from your thigh and although you did your best not to cry out, it was just too painful.

“You better not lay a hand on her, you son of a –”

The last of Dean’s sentence was gone, the phone crumbled to pieces under Greg’s boot. He looked at you, at the knife, and back to you. Whatever was coming next, you knew you weren’t going to enjoy it.

 Dean hated the time that it took for your mobile phone to be tracked. Sam told him that it had been powered off or died, and tracking the location of that last phone call made to Dean wasn’t going to be the easiest feat.

Two days and lots of questioning later, Dean found the place where Greg was keeping you. He wanted to charge right in and rip Greg apart, limb by limb, but this wasn’t some sadistic, inhuman creature they were dealing with. This was a man who had come to accept his brother for the monster he was, and was dealing with losing his brother.

“We have to call the police on this,” Sam told him.

“You call the police,” Dean told him, getting out of the Impala, “I’m going in there to get her. Not gonna wait around for PD to decide they’re ready to deal with this.”

Sam dialed quick, knowing things could go in the wrong direction very quickly. As Dean picked the lock on the front door of the house, Sam was telling the dispatcher where they were and what had happened.

Dean kept his gun at the ready as he maneuvered through the house. Everything seemed quiet upstairs, and then he heard the scream coming from the basement.

He hurried down the steps, two at a time. The door to the room where Y/N was being kept had to be the one straight ahead. Dean pulled the door open and aimed his gun at Greg.

“I told you I would find you and I would kill you,” Dean said, glancing at Y/N and taking note of the cuts and bruises littering her body. “One more chance, Greg, only because my brother’s already called the cops. What’s it going to be? You going to let my girl go, or you gonna do this the hard way?”

Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer. Greg’s arm slipped around Y/N’s waist, and the knife went to her throat. “Call ‘em off! I’ll kill her before they get here!”

Dean watched Y/N close her eyes, forcing tears down her dirt-and-blood-stained face. If he shot now, if he killed Greg, there would be a lot to answer for with the police already on the way.

Bang. The bullet ripped into Greg’s leg, just above the knee. The man was not ready for the shot; he dropped the knife and his hold on Y/N as he crumpled to the ground in pain.

Y/N ran into Dean’s arms, and he held her as close as he could. He apologized over and over for getting her into this mess.

“It’s my fault,” she cried, “I gave you away. I didn’t mean to, I just – he was coming on to me, and I told him I was seeing someone. When he asked who, I told him it was you. He remembered from when you were here before …”

She broke into sobs again, and Dean held her while she cried. When Y/N was calm enough to understand him, while the police took care of Greg, Dean held her face in his hands.

“This was not about you, understand? This was about me. This was something I did, and it came back to bite both of us in the ass.”

~*~

Her name was Dylan McKenna. Irish by birth, bad-ass by choice. This was not the life her family wanted for her, but by the time she had turned twenty-five, her father knew he had lost that battle.

Robert McKenna had trained his daughter, his only child, well. It was two years after his death on her twenty-third birthday that he could no longer control himself and she finally found the item that had been keeping him grounded to their family homestead; her mother’s wedding ring.

Maura McKenna had died in childbirth and left Robert to raise Dylan on his own. Robert had given the ring to Dylan when she turned thirteen, after wearing it around his neck all those years. She remembered that moment clear as day as she lit the small fire she has built in the fireplace.

“Daddy?” Dylan called quietly.

“I’m here Dyllie.” Robert McKenna answered his daughter.

“Dad, don’t call me that.” Dylan sighed.

“I only call you that when you call me Daddy, so I guess we’re even now.” He stood in front of the fire like he had done a hundred times before.

“Dad, I know what is keeping you here; it’s Mom’s ring.” Dylan stood by her father’s side, like she had done a hundred times before.

“I know, Dyl, but there is something I have to tell you before I go. Your grandfather was an important man, but he died young, younger than me. He left a box for me and now it is time for me to pass the box on to you. You’ll find it in my safe, along with a couple other special items. In that box, there are secrets, deep, dark secrets. Secrets about him, about me, about you, too. You’ll find a key in this box, go to the coordinates and discover your legacy, Dyl. But be careful, remember the way you were raised, remember what I taught you. And most importantly, trust your gut, Baby girl.” Robert spoke to her as he continued watching the fire.

“I will Dad. I promise I will never forget what you taught me. I love you Daddy.” Dylan turned to her father.

“I love you, too, Dyllie.” Robert whispered and wrapped his daughter in his arms one last time. It didn’t matter that he had been dead for two years, she now had to mourn him all over again.

Dylan tossed her mother’s wedding ring in the fire and gave her father one last kiss as he burst into flames before her. “Bye, Dad.”

~*~

Dylan cracked a beer and pulled the top off the dusty box she found in her father’s safe. She poured over the box for hours learning everything she could about her grandfather, Seamus McKenna. She memorized the coordinates and burned them. She knew what she had to do and within the week, the furniture was covered and her belongings, along with the few special items her entrusted her with, boxed and packed in the bed of her pick-up. She drove to the geographical center of the lower forty-eight states.

~*~

He had been following her since she left her hometown of Bloomington, Illinois. He had to admit, she made good time but he couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when she showed up at their door.

~*~

Dylan glanced at her watch as she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat of her truck. It was just after midnight.

“Sure doesn’t look like much from the outside. Certainly not what Grandpa Seamus eluded to in his journal.” Dylan talked to herself all the way to the door. She reached for the key she had stowed inside her jacket pocket and eased it into the lock on the ancient looking door. The lock turned easily, she pulled the steel handle and stepped over the threshold, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.

The lighting was dim, but she hadn’t expected any lights at all. She reached into the waistband of her jeans for her gun, dropped her bag and slowly made her way down the spiral staircase. Dylan stopped, eyeing the large, lighted map table in the middle of the cavernous room. She took note of what looked like a library and a hallway. She walked the extra steps up into the library but stopped suddenly when a gruff voice bellowed from behind her.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?!” She pivoted on one foot to come face to face with a large man and a pearl handled Colt gripped in his enormous hands.

“I could ask you the same thing Goliath!” Dylan shot back, her gun leveled at the large man’s chest.

“This is our home and you are trespassing. Whaddya say you get out now and we don’t kill you?” A second voice boomed from her right, another gun pointed in her direction, but she could only focus on the evergreen eyes now trained on her.

“Okay, boys, why don’t we all calm down just a little bit?” Dylan spoke calmly, uncocking her pistol and placing back in her pants slowly, then put her hands in the air.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? I am not asking a third time.” Goliath repeated, although he had lowered his gun slightly and she noted less anger in his hazel eyes.

“My name is Dylan McKenna, my father sent me here. Well, guided me here, I guess is more like it. My grandfather was Seamus McKenna, Man of Letters. I guess I belong here, now.” Dylan told them as she looked around.

The second man, with death glare, lowered his gun as well. “Sammy, check the records, see if this guy was a member. I’ll keep on eye on the leprechaun lady.”

“Dylan. My name is Dylan. What should I call you?” Dylan asked as she lowered herself into a sturdy wooden chair at the long table.

“Dean. I’m Dean Winchester. That, is my brother Sam. Our grandfather was also a Man Of Letters.” Dean took a seat across from you, laying his gun on the table and picking up a tumbler of amber liquid.

“Winchester…” Dylan pondered aloud, “Henry? Henry Winchester was your grandfather.”

“How could you know that?” Dean was on the defense once again.

“I told you, my grandfather. I read his journal. He mentioned Henry Winchester in his notes. But then they just stopped and I don’t know why.” Dylan pulled the journal from her jacket and slid it across the table to Dean.

Dean kept his eyes on her as he pulled the journal in front of him and opened its yellowed pages. Sure enough several pages in, Seamus makes mention of Henry and also Josie Sands. Dean was guessing that was before she became Abaddon.

“She seems legit, Dean. I found a record of a Seamus McKenna, from Bloomington, Illinois. Married, one son; he was initiated the year before Henry was to become a full member,” Sam recited from the file, stopping once he noticed Dean and Dylan sitting at the table.

“Yeah, basically same thing here in Grandpa Seamus’ journal.” Dean tossed it back on the table and took another sip of what Dylan guessed was scotch.

“You, ah, got any more of that scotch?” Dylan posed as she watched Dean wrap his full lips around the glass rim.

Without saying a word, he rose and took a couple of long strides to a serving cart, grabbed another glass and the bottle, bringing them back to the table. He poured two fingers for Dylan then refreshed his own and Sam’s before setting the bottle on the table and reclaiming his seat.

“So, can I get a tour or something? This place is huge and one is bound to get lost a time or two, huh?” Dylan looked pointedly at Sam.

“Um, Dylan, excuse us a moment, would you please? Dean?” Sam exchanged a look with his brother as Dean rose and they exited the room. Dylan wasn’t sure where the hall lead, but one thing was certain, sound really carried in this place. She sipped her scotch and listened as the brothers argued about her staying or going.

“You’re actually thinking about it, aren’t you?” Dean snapped at his brother.

“And you’re not? If she is who she says she is, Dean, she has just as much right to the Bunker as we do. There is more than enough space and it might be nice to have someone to talk to other than each other and Cas all the time!” Sam retorted.

“Whatever, but she can’t hunt with us, Sam, and that is final.” Dean argued.

“I never insinuated she would, Dean. But she does seem well trained.”

“You’re already thinking it! Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“You guys argue about everything?” Dylan inquired as the brothers returned to the library.

“No,” Dean responded.

“Yes,” Sam offered at the same time as his brother.

“Dylan laughed, “I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.”

“Suffocating,” Sam admitted. “Dylan, what brought you here?”

“Well, a couple years ago, my dad died on my birthday. He was a hunter and he trained me well, but I have never hunted or killed anything in my life, other than my father.” Noting the concerned looks on their handsome faces, she clarified, “He died of natural causes at home. I salted and burned his body, but he never left. It took me two years, but I found the anchor and burned it last week. Now he is gone.

“He told me before he moved on about this box his father, Seamus, had left him. I read the journal a couple of times, discovered all the secrets he had hid away in the box. I packed what I could and here I am.” Dylan raised her arms out to the side, gesturing to her surroundings.

“Well, let’s give you a nickel tour and then you can get settled. We can show you everything tomorrow.” Sam offered and rose from his chair.  Dean stayed put, rolling the scotch in his glass.

“Awesome!” Dylan grabbed her bag and followed Sam, eyeing Dean over her shoulder.

~*~

More than a few weeks had passed since Dylan’s arrival at the Men of Letters Bunker. She and Sam had become bosom buddies early on. She joined him on his morning runs, but prefered a real meal to rabbit food. She was an excellent marksman and proved herself time and again at the range against both Dean and Sam.

Dean appreciated Dylan for her feisty attitude and preparedness, not to mention, she was pretty easy on the eyes. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow himself to go down that path, but he admired her nonetheless. The tension in the Bunker seemed to be dissipating with her around and he and Sam both seemed lighter because of it, or maybe it was because of her.

Sam had found them a case, what appeared to be a vamp’s nest in Oklahoma. They were packed and ready to head out within the hour. The boys said their goodbyes to Dylan and headed for the garage.

“Listen, Dyl, don’t leave the Bunker, okay? It’s not safe out there. Where you are from, where you grew up, that was safe. Now that you are here, you may not be safe anymore if you go out alone.” Dean shifted his gaze between her piercing blue eyes and his boots.

“Dean, I appreciate your concern but I was trained as a hunter, I just don’t hunt. I can take care of myself and you know it, only maybe you blocked out the fact that I took you down just yesterday when we were sparring in the gym,” Dylan gave Dean a cheeky wink.

“Oh very funny, Dylan. I remember very well and so does my knee. Just...be careful, okay?” Dean’s moss green eyes pleaded with her.

“Please don’t worry about me, Dean. I will be fine. I have enough to keep me occupied and don’t plan on leaving,” Dylan finished, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder, before pulling him in for a quick hug. “Be safe, come back in one piece okay?”

“Always. We’ll check in later,” Dean released her and headed out to the garage.

~*~

Sam and Dean had checked in a couple of times over the last few days and said they should be done today and home tonight. She planned a nice dinner and even made a pie. While dinner was in the oven and the pie cooled, Dylan decided to take a quick shower. While singing softly to herself, she rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, thinking about the circumstances that brought her here.

Dylan finished her shower quickly and got dressed, letting her damp hair hang down her back to dry naturally. She checked on dinner, then returned to the library to finish the book she had been reading. After a couple chapters, she heard the heavy garage door slam shut and the thud of boots on the concrete floors.

“You’re right on time, boys!” Dylan yelled through the halls. “You have time for a quick shower before dinner.” Dylan rose and made her way back to the kitchen only to find someone already there.

“Who the hell are you?!” Dylan shouted at the intruder.

“Hello Darling,” the stranger practically cooed at her in his thick British accent. “I am the King, love. Crowley, King of Hell. I have been watching you for quite sometime. You have captured my attention, Ms. McKenna.”

“Well, now that we have been properly introduced, please, come in; would you like to stay for dinner?” Dylan rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front her and staring him down.

“Well, that was dramatic, dear.” Crowley retorted.

“Tell me what you want.” Dylan stood her ground.

“Look, I’ll make this expeditious; I know Moose and Squirrel have returned. You have piqued my interest and I wish to offer you a deal, no soul needed.” Crowley replied. “You have something I want.”

“And what exactly do I have that you want?” Dylan stood her ground against Crowley, staring him down.

“Something that was taken from us many years ago and I want it back. It will be very important in the near future,” Crowley told her.

“Listen, Crowley, I get that you’re miffed something was stolen from you, but I don’t have it. How could I?” Dylan questioned him.

“You probably don’t even know it’s value, Darling. It’s a ring, a very old ring. Just give it to me and I will go. Keep it from me and I will be forced to get creative in my methods of persuasion,” Crowley threatened.

Dylan heard the boys heading toward the kitchen, but before she could yell for them, Crowley was gone with a snap of his fingers.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Dylan murmured under her breath just as they entered the kitchen.

“What did you say, Dyl?” Dean asked as he came up beside her.

“Um, Crowley, King of Hell, apparently wants something from me.” Dylan mumbled.

“Did he hurt you?” Sam’s voice was filled with concern.

“No, he implied he may, if he doesn’t get what he wants, though.”

“What does he want Dyl?” Dean looked her straight in the eye.

“A ring. The only ring I have belonged to my grandmother, Seamus’ wife. What could he possibly want with a family heirloom?” Dylan wondered.

“Can I see it, Dylan?” Sam asked quietly.

“Um, yeah, I guess. It’s nothing special. It’s just an old signet ring she had that was passed on to my father when she died. I’ll go get it.” Dylan left the kitchen, but returned quickly with the ring in her hand and handed it to Sam.

“I don’t know why he would want that. Or this,” Dylan handed Sam another ring.

~*~

“Dylan!” Sam’s voice rang out through the Bunker as he searched for Dylan. “Dyl! WHere the hell are you?” Sam rounded the corner to the hall leading to the shooting range when he rang smack into Dean.

“Son of bitch, Sammy! Slow the fuck down!” Dean shouted at his brother.

“Where is Dylan?” Sam probed Dean for her whereabouts.

“She is just finishing up in the range. What’s the big rush?” Dean asked.

“The ring; I know why Crowley wants it. This is huge and it is how we are going to beat him, maybe Lucifer, too.” Sam told him excitedly.

~*~

“Crowley, we know you were here, Dylan told us. Now get your ass here now. We think we have what you are looking for.” Dean abruptly ended his call to Crowley.  He turned his eyes on Sam, silently asking if he was ready, and Sam nodded in reply.

“Dyl? You got this, and we got you. Just breathe.” Dean reassured Dylan, rubbing his large hand down her arms to calm her.

“Yeah, totally. I’m fine.” Dylan said, more to convince herself than Dean or Sam.

Crowley arrived just as expected and immediately turned to Dylan expectedly, “Well, Love, where is my ring.”

“Oh, this ring?” Dylan held up her right hand, showing the simple silver ring on her finger.

“Yes, that ring. Your grandfather took that from off a demon he had exorcised and I want it back.” Crowley growled and lunged at Dylan, just as Sam shot him in the leg.

“Devil’s trap bullets, Jackass. Have a seat.” Dean grinned as Sam pushed Crowley into the chair.

“So Crowley,” Sam began, “We did some research on this little ring that Dylan had. The Seal of Solomon huh? Hey, Dean. Did you know that the Seal of Solomon is rumored to be able to imprison a demon with it’s power?”

“I did not know that, Sam! That is fascinating!” Dean quipped, turning to Dylan. “Carpe Diem, Dyl.”

“Seize the day, boys. Let’s make our lives extraordinary.” Dylan chuckled, harnessing the power of the ring and the three of them watched Crowley vanish as the ring absorbed his essence.