Hell's Hold

The Impala’s engine coughed to life as Dean twisted his set of keys in place. His brother, Sam, had been babbling on for the last ten minutes about a potential hunt somewhere in the in the mountains of Colorado Springs. Dean had tuned him out long ago; wishing that he had taken the chance to get the waitress’s number and another piece of that mouth-watering apple pie before hitting the road.

“Dean?”

“Sammy?”

His brother sighed knowing fully well that Dean was lost in another daydream. It has gotten to the point where he didn’t even bother getting upset anymore – it would only make their situation worse. “I was saying that this could be a Nephilim.”

Not taking his eyes off the never-ending pavement, Dean racked his brain for a mental image. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

“Probably because they are mentioned in the Book of Genesis,” Sam paused, flipping through the worn pages of their father’s journal cradled in his lap. “Dad had a few notes on these things. Ah! Here it says, ‘Nephilims are beings, who appear in the Hebrew Bible. They were called fallen ones because men’s hearts would fail at the sight of them. Some view of them as the hybrid offspring of fallen angels and human women.’”

“Hold up. Aren’t angels supposed to be on our side?”

Sam clucked his tongue against his teeth, trying as hard as he could to not reach across the passenger’s seat and strangle his older brother. “Wow. I can’t believe you just asked me that.” Dean was silent – not knowing whether he should admit it was a serious question or go the latter route and pretend he was just pulling his leg. “You, above anyone, should know that most Fallen Angels have done wrong by God. Didn’t dad teach you that when we first started hunting?”

His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and Sam knew he struck a nerve. Anything that was even remotely referenced the boy’s father pulled at Dean’s heart strings. He hardly ever showed his younger brother any real emotion other than being an asshole or a smartass. He refused to show a weakness to the public eye; it was his only way to survive in this hellhole of a job.

“Dean -”

“No. You’re right Sammy. I shouldn’t forget the basics.”



After a very long and quiet car ride, the boys finally arrived at their destination. They thought about driving up the mountain, but it wasn’t a guarantee the car could make it that far; so instead they found the rangers office and booked a cabin for a week.

Sam tried to be more lighthearted about the situation, stating that if there wasn’t any real threat then they could at least get a break from the constant travelling. Dean was silent for most of the hike – just running a mental checklist of all the things they would need to take down this creature. Well, at least, he made sure they had the basics. Items like salt, silver and a flask or two of holy water just to be on the safe side. The guns and knives they brought were just a precaution if things were to get out of hand, since they still didn’t know what they were dealing with.

His younger brother stopped and looked around, “The ranger said lot number 67, right?”

Glancing at the crumpled paper in hand, he smoothed it to the best of his ability before reading it aloud, “Yep, 67.”

“Then we have a problem.”

The place where their cabin was supposed to be, seemed to already be occupied; there was a smoke pit with ash swirling in the wind, a beautiful Hurley with a Utah license plate only a couple feet away and a set of boots on the make-shift porch. “Well shit. That’s one hell of a bike.”

“Dude, really?”

“C’mon – I’m allowed to appreciate a chopper like this. It’s so beautiful, curvy and clearly very well taken care of.”

“You make it sound like you want to make love to the thing.”

As he approached the bike, Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Sam. He ran his hand up and down the seat feeling the cool leather against his fingertips. It gave him goose bumps as he tried to picture the kind of person who could ride such an amazing piece of art.

“Are you done yet?”

“I guess.” He turned attention away from the bike to the small log cabin glaring at him. “Sammy, you knock.”

“What? No! You’re closer to the door.”

“Chicken!”

It wasn’t hard to get under Sam’s skin – especially when playing the chicken card. It got him every time, not that Dean didn’t want to knock on the door, but it made more sense that he lagged behind with the weapons, in case something happened. Sam quietly stepped on the porch, his boots barely making a thunk, while he looked both ways down the porch almost like he was about to cross the street. Satisfied with what he saw, he knocked on the door.

No answer.

He knocked again, this time waving over Dean while pushing his ear against the door, listening for any sound that there was an occupant in the room. Still no answer, not even the wind was heard through the oak.

“Hold the bag.”

“Dean, I don’t think -” before he could rush out the rest of the sentence, the door pooped open and Dean was smirking cockily at his brother, paperclip in hand. “You know one day you’re going to have to teach me how to do that.”

Taking a giant step through the door, Dean turned to face him. “Years of practice brother, how else do you think I found your ‘secret’ porn collection in high school?”

As Sam opened his mouth in embarrassment to protest, a dark shadow appeared over his brother’s shoulder. Dean must have seen the fear in his brother’s eyes before he quickly turned around, reaching to his waistband for his gun.

What he saw standing before him wasn’t any sort of monster he was prepared for; unless that monster had deep red hair, bright green eyes with fair skin covered in dusting of freckles. And what kind of evil creature can stand you off on gun point?

“Put the gun down. Now.” Her voice was velvety smooth and stern as she stared directly at Dean, challenging him to disobey her orders.

Normal male instincts took over as he drank in this woman and from Dean’s stand point – she had a banging body. She was fairly tiny in stature, but had very bodacious curves. “What makes you think I’ll listen to you, sweetheart?”

“Ah, because if you take one more step towards me,” she laughed quietly to herself as she adjusted the shotgun in her hand. “I can take you and your brother out in one bullet.”

For once they didn’t doubt the person they were dealing with. If they ran, she could easily still come after them on the bike. If Dean took the shot – they could kill an innocent person or end up in a body bag themselves. Sam carefully walked through the door, palms up as Dean placed his handgun on the floor and lightly kicked it over. She bent down to pick it up before placing both of her weapons on the small coffee table to her right. “Toss me the bag.”

Sam obeyed once again only to get a swift smack on the wrist from his brother. He just shrugged and went back to staring at this oddly familiar woman before him. It was the eyes. He recognized them from somewhere – they were pretty hard to forget.

He sucked in some air before taking the plunge, “Amber?”