Chapter Text
There are very few things that can scare an Angel of the Lord, which is something Dean’s learned the hard way over his association with Castiel and the various other assholes that tended to call themselves the Divine Messengers of the Lord. Castiel is often more annoyed or confused, a few times angry, but he’s only been scared a few times.
So having the Angel who pulled you out of HELL, let alone who is now on every shit-list that Heaven had to offers, appears in your hotel room against the wall, shivering and flinching from various sounds and looking ready to bolt if you approached him wrong, Dean had stayed with him, done his best to calm him down, and made sure Sam got a text to bring food and stay away for a little while.
Castiel had calmed down enough by the time Sam had returned with food, mostly hamburgers and fries, and for Dean to get most of the story out of him, much of it to be repeated when Sam returned so he could help with figuring out just what was going on.
“I went to England, to Dartmoor,” Castiel said, still a bit shaky as Sam got out the food and put it down on the small table nearby, “There’s a place there, Baskerville, a research facility. I had heard, as well as felt, that possibly something dangerous…or powerful…was in the area, but that because of all the chemicals and experiments, it’s hard for an angel or demon to walk into, not without pretending to be a human with the access.”
Dean looked impressed as Sam finished putting the food down, getting a bottle of water for the angel. Despite not needing it, Castiel still took it, holding it in his hands. “I found out about a young man there, Henry Knight. He witnessed his father being murdered, he said, by a being that had escaped from Baskerville – a large hound.”
The two Winchesters were silent as Castiel looked at the bottle of water, moving it around before he said simply, “I followed him to the place where his father died, an ancient area called Dewer’s Hollow. After that…I saw something. A beast, I believe, or something else…”
Dean noticed Castiel’s hands shaking a bit, and reached over to touch his arm, silently giving his support to the Angel. Of all of them, even after being taken back to drink the Kool-Aid, Dean trusted Castiel the most, and Castiel’s search for God, along with his status as a Fallen Angel, made it hard at times for him. Dean knew that – both he and Sam were wanted by Heaven for not conforming to their plans, and by Hell because of all they’d done over the years, but it often hurt to see his brother, who had the chance to be a great lawyer, or Castiel, who in Dean’s mind was the best of a bad lot of Angels, in pain or suffering.
Sam, analytical mind and holder of so much knowledge, frowned and now began to ask questions. Castiel seemed happy about it, describing a large, calf-sized dog with black fur, red eyes, and the feel of a vengeful spirit or an angry demon. Despite the fact that Castiel had dragged Dean out of Hell and could see Hell-Hounds, Demons, and everything else remotely scary to any human, he was obviously shaken by the dog he’d seen, Sam frowning at the repeated use of the word ‘hound’. He returned and brought Dean the food before clearing off that area and beginning the search, looking for the information that Castiel had given them as Dean kept his hold on the Angel, eating his hamburger one-handed. Castiel looked a bit happier about the support and the silence, so it continued until Sam took in a breath and said, simply, “Cas, have you heard of something called the Beast of Dartmoor?”
Both Dean and Castiel frowned, Sam continuing, “It’s a type of Black Dog that’s specific to that area. The story goes back to the 17th century or so, and the original story is also attached to Baskerville.”
“I don’t think labs were around then, Sammy,” Dean pointed out, earning a look as Sam continued.
“It’s not a lab, originally. Up until the late 19th century, it was a family line. Baskerville Hall was in the area, and there are some questions about what happened to it, but Baskerville, the Military Lab, is considered to be on or near the original site.”
Castiel managed to drink some water before asking, a bit warily, “What’s the story?”
Sam was silent a bit before telling them. “So back in the 17th century, the Hall was occupied by Sir Hugo Baskerville, and the story goes that he was all the stereotypes of a horrible landholder in the time – abused the peasants and his fellows alike, ran around with the wrong crowd, even possibly some witchcraft and devil-worship. One day, he goes into the Moor and finds a peasant girl that he decides should come and…well, ‘entertain’ him and his friends. The girl’s dad tried to save her, but ended up getting killed and dumped into the hollow nearby. So the drinking and such starts up, while Hugo puts the girl in his bedroom for later. She manages to escape, and Hugo, in a rage, goes after her with his dogs, saying that he’ll get her back or the Devil take him.”
“Lovely choice of words there,” Dean quipped, earning a nod from Sam.
“Five of his friends got sober enough to follow, and found the dogs afraid of something, the girl’s body a few feet away, dead, but no sign of Hugo. When one started to head down into the hollow, though, he gave a scream and died. The other four didn’t ever say what they saw, and Hugo’s body was never found, but the men never went out on the Moors at night, and the Baskerville family was said to be cursed by a demonic hound.”
Dean guessed it wasn’t Hell Hounds, though.
“On the deathbed of one, though, he described a gigantic hound, like what Cas described, but he didn’t call it a Black Dog. This became known as the Hound of the Baskervilles, until the lined died out with the death of Sir Henry Baskerville and his cousin, Jack Stapleton. Apparently, who got what was up for debate with Stapleton, since there were few official documents saying he was related to the Baskervilles, and he tried to get Henry killed by getting a big dog, covering the dog with phosphorous and letting him out when Henry was walking home from Stapleton’s house. Stapleton’s wife, who he’d abused, tried to stop him and save Henry, but she was attacked by the fake hound and fell into the hollow. Henry went after her, and when Stapleton came to find them, he only saw his wife’s body and the mangled body of the dog he’d gotten. He did go to get the police, and when he and they came back to his house, somehow Henry’s body was in there. The dispute and the documents, as well as a few other bits of evidence, came up later…after Stapleton ran towards the hollow, made a wrong turn, and ended up in the Grimpen Mire. Police witnessed him fall in and sink down, screaming all the way about a demonic hound.”
“So if the line’s dead, why show up with Castiel? Don’t tell me there was another branch?”
“No. See, Baskerville the Lab was set up a little after World War II, to start researching…well, anything they could, though officially it’s weapons and chemical research. It’s a government lab so they do a lot of things, and some of it is actually used or declassified later.”
“The rest goes in the same storage bit as the Arc and everything else?” Dean asked.
“Something like that. Anyway, the hollow in question got the name Dewer’s Hollow, and supposedly the Devil resided there, but considering how close it is to Baskerville and the Mine field, as well as the stories, not a lot of people wandered around there. Then, in the 80’s, a kid named Henry Knight is found on the Moor, afraid, confused, and hungry, and screams when he sees the dog of the woman who found him. In fact, anytime young Henry sees a type of dog, he’s scared. The police find out that he and his dad took walks on the Moor at night, and Henry’s only memory of that time is seeing his dad get attacked by a, and I quote, ‘gigantic hound’. He did drawings, everything. A family friend took care of him for a bit before relatives did, but Baskerville now had a reputation, and people brought up the Hound again, only now calling it the ‘Beast of Dartmoor’. A few pointed out myths about that particular Hollow, and the dog apparently comes up from further back than Sir Hugo and his run-in, though that one is the most famous.”
Dean frowned, “That doesn’t explain the fear-factor that Cas ran into.”
“Considering it wasn’t the hound I was afraid of,” Cas pointed out, earning the Winchesters attention before he shifted, taking another drink then saying, “I saw the Hound on the ridge, just…pacing. It appeared to be trying to keep something inside the Hollow. When I moved, it headed down into the area, moving around where I and Henry Knight had been, then into some of the fog to one side. When I tried to follow it, to figure out what it was, I ran into…one of my brothers.” Dean guessed it had been Raphael, the archangel that had watched over Chuck and also killed Castiel the one time. Granted, Raphael was not exactly the nicest of the angels either – he was as big on starting Armageddon as some of the other Angels they’d had to run into, but this guy was just a straight-up DOUCHE, and Dean got that from one fateful and decently violent meeting with him after Cas had returned, cut off from Heaven and Not Pleased. Dean hadn’t been happy about the situation either, and a trip to Alternate Future Land (because he’d be damned if he’d let that happen, no matter what God or anyone else said) had only made him even more resolved to protect his very messed up and somewhat adopted family.
“What happened?” Sam asked softly, looking concerned.
“He…didn’t speak, simply…it was frightening, is all, and I went to the first place I could think of, trying to find you both. I got lucky.”
Dean nodded, hand still on Cas’ arm. “Considering that no angel’s been able to find us ‘cause of those marks on our ribs, I’d say you were damned lucky.” He frowned, considering. “Do you remember getting here or anything else? The report said the kid was out of it for a night.”
“I…recall coming here, but it’s…jumbled. I was afraid, first of my brother, then that I had led him to you…at other times, things seemed…different, but that faded quickly...not as quickly as the fear, though.”
Sam considered for a long while before picking up his phone. “I’m going to call Bobby about this. Considering that you can’t get into Baskerville, and neither can other angels or demons, I’m guessing there might be something that either affected the Beast, or it’s pulled out something new. But whatever the reason, it’s probably fixated on that Henry Knight guy, and we’ll have to figure this out.”
Dean sighed, glancing at Cas then at Sam as he headed out to give Bobby a call, “Lovely. So, I guess it’s a trip to England on Angelic Airlines?”
--
It was somewhere much later that day that they made it to England, as whatever had been in Dewer’s Hollow, or whatever had been in the nearby Baskerville facility, really messed up Cas’ powers, to the point that Dean managed to get him to lie down once and both Winchesters had watched as he SLEPT, waking once in a panic and not open to discussing what he’d dreamed about. Dean stays with Cas, mostly because he and the angel are fairly close and because he honestly wants to make sure Cas is alright. The run-in with the Buruburu had drawn up a lot of Dean’s fears, ones that he’d not realized he had and others that he buried as deeply as he could in order to function. Castiel had gone from being a bit uptight and following all the rules to breaking more rules, rebelling against Heaven, pissing off an Archangel, and generally being one of the few people that could really make Dean laugh. As such, he felt turnabout was fair play in this case, and Sam was more interested in trying to do research on what might bring up a ghost or being that could trick an angel into feeling fear, as well as more about Dartmoor, Grimpen, and the area in general.
Considering that Dean wasn’t about to get pulled over to try to drive in England, they’d had to pack most of the things needed in two larger hiking packs, along with a duffel bag of the usual random items. Despite Dean hating to fly, no matter what the circumstances or who was doing it, he’d allowed Castiel to get them near Grimpen, so they could at least hike into town and appear ‘touristy’ before getting rooms. Sam had managed to get information about a place called the Cross Keyes, one of the few places in the town that had rooms, and they’d walked in, moving off the road as a black Land Rover passed them, the two passengers parking next to a guide group with a sign out that said “Beware the Hound!”
“Classy,” Dean muttered, the trio walking into the apparent Bed-and-Breakfast as he also groaned, though softly, while Sam went up to get rooms, followed shortly after by a short, nondescript man that was a bit hard to really describe beyond ‘average’. A taller, dark haired man with pale skin walked past them as Castiel asked, “What?”
“Vegetarian,” Dean muttered, “I hate this place already.”
Cas frowned, Dean letting out a sigh before he said, “I like burgers, ok? Not that whole…salad…thing.”
Sam and the nondescript man, it seemed, got the last two rooms, Dean hearing the owner say something about ‘double rooms’ before he shook his head, waiting for Sam to get over there with beer and the key while Sam and the nondescript man played Twenty Questions, almost all about the Moor.
“Ever seen the Demon Hound?” the nondescript man asked the owner as he got some of the beers.
“No, but Fletcher has.”
Dean and the taller man looked out at the kid on the cell, the two talking a bit more as Dean followed the taller man out, the tall man getting himself a used and abandoned half-full glass of beer as he walked over.
Dean managed to make eye contact, then glanced to see Sam was talking with Castiel nearby, apparently asking what the hell Dean was doing, and he finally hung back a bit, going to drop his pack off with Sam after a quick, “Gotta see a man about a dog,” before heading back, saying as he arrived, “So I talked to--.”
“Bets off, sorry.”
“Crap.”
“Wait…”
“We’ve got about an hour until dark, think it should work then?”
“I still think--.”
“WHAT BET?”
Hook, line, sinker.
--
“I bet my American friend here 50 quid that you couldn’t prove you’ve seen the Hound.”
Sherlock hoped John would take a hint as the man snorted. “I hope it’s good. Barkeep said you’d seen it, but I’ve met guys who saw Bigfoot.”
Fletcher looked cocky, pulling out his phone as Sherlock glared at the American, who shrugged, saying, “Sorry, man, but I have. Betcha another ten I know the first three things he’s going to use.”
Fletcher still smirked at Sherlock as he snorted. “Considering it has to be believable and I’m skeptical…”
Fletcher said, “You’re still going to lose. I did see it. ‘Bout a month ago. Mind you, it was foggy…”
“No other witnesses?” Sherlock asked, as the American snorted.
“When are there EVER more then one witness?”
“Wait, but…” Fletcher found it, showing them both a grainy, far-away photo.
Both snorted again. “I’ve seen better UFO shots,” the American pointed out, letting out a sigh. “Know what? Screw the bet. He’s obviously not got anything.”
“Agreed, bet’s off.”
“Wait, wait, that’s not all.” Fletcher pointed out, taking on the look that most people did when they were being ‘serious’ about something supernatural. “People don’t go out there, to the Hollow.”
“Most people don’t like going into Haunted Houses,” the American said, “that’s why they’re so lucrative…get in a camera crew and you’re Jake.”
Sherlock and the American waited as Fletcher tried to convince them, Sherlock finally asking, with air of someone who was confident he’d won his bet, “Is that the best you got?”
The shy look, as if he was forced to finally pull out the ‘stunning’ part. Excellent.
Fletcher went into a story about his friend, serious, and he pulled up his backpack, still speaking before he pulled out the last thing…
Sherlock and the American blinked at the plaster, glancing at each other before the American said, “I think just the fifty…”
Sherlock reluctantly handed it over, the American looking pleased as they walked back, Sherlock joining John from nearby as the American went back to the other two (one’s a brother, younger, smarter and a bit more privileged, the other’s a friend, possibly close…Odd…)as John asked, “So, who was that?”
“Some cocky American tourist who thought we worked well together. Apparently he, his brother, and his friend hunt ghosts.”
--
“Who was that?”
“Huh?”
“The guy…the one who paid you?” Sam reminded him, nodding towards the two men.
“Oh,” Dean watched the tall guy and the nondescript one head out in the black Land Rover. “Dunno. I did get fifty quid off him, and apparently things got really weird.”