Dawson's Daughter | {BOOK 1}

6|Pagan God

Dean and I slept in the Impala while we waited for morning to call for a tow truck. I was curled up in the back seat while Dean was stretched out in the front. I was pretending to be asleep, but I was really listening in while Dean talked on the phone with Sam. I couldn't hear Sam's side, but I could hear Dean's. Dean was telling him all about the scarecrow and  everything we'd been through since getting into town.

"Yeah, I'm tellin' ya," he said and I could hear his smile. "Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun town... Obviously. I can cope without you, ya know... She's asleep now... We have to wait and call a tow truck in the morning to tow the car that that douchebag jacked up. Nobody messes with my car, Sammy!"

I allowed myself a small smile at that since my face was toward the back of the seat away from Dean.

"No, it's more than a spirit. It's a god. A Pagan god, anyway... The annual cycle of killings? And the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. Like some sort of fertility right. And you should see the locals. The way they treated us. Fattenin' us up like a Christmas turkey... Yeah, I'm thinking ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god."

Technically, I had come up with the idea that it was a Pagan god sacrifice. I had even found us a professor at a nearby community college to meet up with once the car was fixed to talk to about it since Sam was usually the one to do the research on hunts. Dean and I preferred the action parts of the job. Dean relayed the information about the meeting with the professor to Sam, making a crack about how we didn't have our trusty sidekick geek boy to do the research for us.

"I'm not hinting at anything," Dean insisted. "Actually, uh, I want you to know... I mean, don't think... Sam, you were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life... You've always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I- anyway... I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy."

Now I kind of wished I really was asleep, because I felt bad listening into that particular part of the conversation.

"Say you'll take care of yourself," Dean requested. "Call me when you find Dad."

With that, he hung up. I stirred slightly on the backseat, stretching and sitting up as I looked over at him. He was leaning against the driver side door, one leg stretched out and the other bent as he stared into the darkness that surrounded us.

"Was that Sam?" I asked quietly.

He just nodded his head, seeming to be a million miles away.

⁘

"It's not every day I get a question on Pagan ideology," the professor was saying.

Dean had fixed up the Impala himself this time, and we were now at the community college hoping to get some more answers about the scarecrow.

"Yeah, well, my husband here is obsessed with that kind of thing," I replied. "Isn't that right, honey?"

Dean nodded, smirking as he put an arm around my shoulders.

"Oh, yeah. Call it a hobby."

"But you said you were interested in local lore?" the professor clarified.

"Mmhmm."

"I'm afraid Indiana isn't really well known for its Pagan worship."

"Well, what if it was imported?" Dean suggested. "You know, like the Pilgrims brought religion over. Wasn't a lot of this area settled by immigrants?"

"Well, yeah."

"Like that town near here, Burkittsville. Where are their ancestors from?"

"Uh, northern Europe, I believe. Scandinavia."

"What could you tell us about those Pagan gods?"

"Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses."

"We're actually looking for one. Might live in an orchard?"

Inside a classroom, the professor carried a large book over to a table and opened it.

"Woods god, hm? Well, let's see..."

He leafed through the pages, and then we reached one that had a picture of a scarecrow surrounded by a bunch of farmers.

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean stopped him. "What's that one?"

"Oh, that's not a woods god, per se."

"The V-Vanir," Dean sounded out, reading from the page.

The professor nodded his head, and Dean continued to read aloud.

"The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements free from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male and one female."

He pointed to the picture, looking over at the professor.

"Kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?"

"I suppose," the professor nodded again.

"This particular Vanir gets energy sprung from the sacred tree?" I picked up reading where Dean left off, but phrased it as a question.

"Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic," the professor informed us.

"So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it'd kill the god?"

"You two realize these are just legends we're discussing?"

"Oh, of course," Dean nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Listen, thank you very much."

"Glad I could help."

The professor and Dean shook hands and then we started to make our way out the door. However, when Dean opened it up, we were met by the Sherriff of Burkittsville and one of the deputies. Simultaneously, they hit us both over the head with their rifles, effectively knocking us out. When I came to, Dean and I were together in a dark room.

"W-where are we?" I asked, rubbing my head.

"Some cellar in the orchard. They're holding us here until sundown. How's your head?"

"I've had worse."

Dean chuckled, walking over to sit beside me.

"Sorry," he said after a moment. "You wouldn't be in this mess if Sammy and I hadn't shown up at the shop asking for help."

"Don't be sorry. I wanted to be here."

"No you didn't. From the second we walked through that door, you were looking for an excuse to throw us out... You know, I've been meaning to ask you... Did you know who we were? When we came in?"

"Not immediately. I pegged you two as hunters from the moment I laid eyes on you, and your voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I didn't put two and two together until I saw the Impala through the window. I was kind of surprised you guys didn't recognize me right away."

"Yeah, well, it's been nearly a decade, Ellie. You don't exactly look like the mousy little girl we left behind all those years ago."

"Mousy?"

"You were a funny looking kid."

"Yeah, well, you were-"

I was cut off as Dean's lips were suddenly on mine. For a moment, my brain didn't fully register what was happening as one of his hands fisted in my long red hair, drawing me in closer and deepening the kiss. And then I was bringing my hands up to tug lightly at the short hairs at the nape of his neck and I was kissing him back with equal passion. We jumped apart, however, as the cellar door opened and we made out four figures standing there.

"It's time," Stacy spoke.