❰❰ ୧ ⋅ ˚ ₊ ·┊ೃ ' 🏹 019.
ACT ONE ✩ ‧ ₊ ૪
❛ my personal hound dog! ❜

𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐆 had fallen asleep before he left. He hotwired a car in the parking lot, it was a rental provided by the bus station for sale, so he didn't feel as guilty for taking it. However, a part of him wondered if he should've warned Sam about him abruptly leaving this way, but Bowie was sure he'd figure it out sooner or later why.

By the time he had arrived in Indiana by early that morning on April 13th, his birthday. Within that time, Bowie had downed one of the mini alcohol bottles and was feeling buzzed enough to function.

He had texted Dean about his whereabouts and by eleven that morning they had met up at the college.

"You look like shit," Dean comments lightly, his eyes dragging across his brother's face. He paused, leaning forward and taking a dramatic whiff, "You drinking again, Bowie James?"

Bowie hums, "I think today is a special occasion for it."

"Oh, totally. Pagan God killing is very special," Dean replies sarcastically. However, just for a split second, he shows concern in his eyes, hoping his little brother wasn't going to make this a new habit, "We can grab a bite to eat after if you're hungry."

"I'll worry about food after we figure out how to kill this thing," He responds, smiling tightly.

They met with the Professor, conversating with him about Pagan Gods, which he seemed to know a lot about. Buttering up a person wasn't hard for the brothers, especially when they needed information. People-pleasing was something they learned to do at a young age for lots of things.

It seemed to be working.

"It's not every day I get a research question on Pagan Idolatry," says the Professor, chuckling.

"Yeah, well, call it a hobby," Dean replies with a smile.

"But you said you were interested in local lore?" He asked, "I'm afraid Indiana isn't really known for its Pagan worship."

That you know of, Bowie thought.

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

The Professor nodded hesitantly, and Bowie couldn't help but notice how shifty he was being now.

"Like that town, Burkittsville," Bowie tested, "Do you know where their ancestors are from?"

"Erm, Northern Europe, I believe." He responds.

"You sound unsure," Bowie raised an eyebrow.

"Scandinavia," The Professor adds in, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

"What could you tell me about Pagan Gods?" Dean questioned.

"Well, there are hundreds of Norse Gods and Goddesses," He explained, ready to jump into a different topic.

"We're actually looking for one, might live in an Orchard," Dean corrects.

Reluctantly it seemed, the Professor led them into his office where he opened a large book, it looked old, like touching it would make the pages crumble.

Bowie leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the Professor flip through the pages, pulling out his glasses, "A woods God. Well, let's see."

"Wait, wait," Dean holds his hand on a page, "What's that one?"

He takes off his glasses, "Well, that's not a woods God, per se." He shook his head, looking jumpy.

Bowie narrowed his eyes, "Read it, De."

"The Vanir?" He pronounced, "The Vanir were Norse Gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice, one male and one female."

He pushes off the wall, their eyes locking in shock as Bowie leaned over the paper, "It looks like a scarecrow, doesn't it?"

The Professor gave an airly chuckle, "Uh, well, I suppose."

"This particular Vanir, its energy sprung from a sacred tree," Bowie read softly, almost in a mumble as he looked up at the Professor, allowing him to confirm.

"Well, Pagan believed all sorts of things were infused with magic," He nods.

"So, what would happen if the scared tree was touched?" Dean questioned, "You think it'll kill the God?"

He chuckled in discomfort, "Son, these are just legends we're discussing here."

"Then humor us," Bowie orders.

He hesitates, "Yes, I suppose it would."

"Alright," Dean nods, "Listen, thank you very much."

"Glad I could help."

Bowie frowned suddenly, "Someone's coming," He muttered to himself.

Dean, who had heard him, turned back with a matching frown, hand on the doorknob, "How would you know that?"

He opens the door and the butt of a gun is slammed into his temple, knocking him out instantly. Bowie jumps back, eyes wide at the Sheriff who stood before him.

"Dean!" He bellows, crouching down to check on him. Bowie's hands instantly reach for the knife in his sock.

"Stay down!" The Sheriff pointed the nuzzle forward.

Bowie didn't. He pulled the knife from between his sock and flung it forward so fast the Sheriff didn't even register to pull the trigger before the sharp end sliced into his arm.

The Sheriff screams in pain, shooting the shotgun.

The bullet lands on Bowie's side, thankfully straight through the skin and grazing just slightly near the rib. It wasn't a fatal hit but with enough time and enough bleeding out, he'd be lucky not to drop.

The Professor crouched away from their fight, not wanting to be involved as he tried to make his escape.

"Dean! Wake up!" Bowie grunts, grabbing his torso and pressing his palm firmly against it. Dean didn't stir.

"I said stay down, damn it! Or I'll kill you!" The Sheriff says shakily. It was clear he had never killed anyone in his life, at least not directly.

Bowie weighed his options. Even if he did kill the Sheriff, he couldn't drag Dean out in his state now, which would give the people involved more time to show up and finish the job. It was too risky.

So, the hunter got down on one knee and raised his hands up in surrender, one hand soaked with his own blood as he said, "If my brother dies, I'll kill you myself." He vowed.

In a panic, the Sheriff slams the butt of his gun against Bowie's forehead, knocking him out.

On the other side of Indiana Sam sat at a table in a bus station, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and looking down at his phone where Bowie's name stood on display. Five missed calls. He called Dean. Seven missed calls. Sam felt his stomach churn. They would've texted him by now, right? They would've answered, said anything.

Something was wrong, really wrong, he could feel it.

The bus for California had pulled into the station and everyone around him was getting their things together, yet, he continued to sit, worried.

"Hey," Meg calls out, "Our bus came in."

Sam shook his head, "You better catch it. I gotta go."

"Go where?" She asked, watching in concern as he hauled the duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Burkittsville," He answers.

Meg follows after him, "Sam. . .wait!"

"I've been trying to call my older brothers for the last three hours," He explains, "I'm just getting their voicemails."

"Maybe their phones are turned off," She suggests.

Sam shook his head, "No, that's not like them. I know Bowie probably went back last night. Meg, I think they might be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" She pressed.

"I can't really explain right now, I'm sorry," He motions behind her, "Look, I don't want you to miss your bus."

She reels back, stunned, "But I-I don't understand," She stammers, "You're running back to your brother? The guy you ran away from? Why, because he won't pick up the phone? Because your other one got scared and retreated?"

"Bowie never retreats," Sam had never said something so firmly, and it had taken Meg by surprise. She can see he thought highly of the quiet man, and she couldn't place why.

"Sam," She changes her approach, "Come. Come with me to California."

"I can't, I'm sorry," He settles.

"Why not?"

"They're my family."

He had never meant that more genuinely before, and with a sorry nod to Meg, he had turned his back on her and left the Bus Station, going back to the only thing he ever knew.

*·˚ ༘ ➳〔 𝙗𝙤𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 〕 ࿐ ࿔*:

𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 harsh slap in the face. His eyes widen, stunned so badly that he had to take a sharp inhale, looking around the dark cellar that they seemed to be locked in. Dean was standing over him, his eyes bulged with worry and if Bowie looked closely, he could almost see tears.

"You stopped breathing," Dean explained, almost choking on the words as he took a step back.

Bowie needed a moment to register his surroundings, feeling a sharp sting on his torso. He was shot. His eyes drag down to his wound where a ripped cloth was wrapped over his shirt, the knot directly on his wound for pressure. It was Dean's t-shirt, the eldest brother having a jacket to cover the rip.

"How long have I been out?" Bowie asked, mouth dry and voice raw as he smacked his lips together and sat up. He never looked so pale.

"An hour, maybe two," Dean responds, "We've been here for a while. I woke up to you bleeding out, those sons of bitches didn't even bother to patch you up. Thought these sacrifices got the golden treatment?"

Bowie groans, "Yeah, well, I think they were hoping I'd bleed out and die so they'd still have one man and one woman to kill."

"Well, there's no chick down here, so maybe they mistook you for a butch," Dean jokes.

Bowie cracked a soft genuine smile.

The doors to the cellar are opened from above. The Sheriff and two others are standing over it, holding down a younger girl. She blonde, crying for them to let her go but they didn't listen.

"Aunt Stacy! Uncle Harley, please!" She cried.

They placed her down with them and rushed back up.

"Hey!" Dean snapped, "My brother is bleeding out down here!" He tells them, "So help me God, if he dies I'll kill all three of you!" He warned.

They ignored him.

"Why are you doing this?" The girl sobbed.

"For the common good," Aunt Stacy replies and slammed the doors closed.

"Damnit," Dean cursed, moving to crouch down in front of Bowie, "You think you can stand? Do anything?"

Bowie nods, "Can I? Yeah. Do I want to? Fuck no."

"Emily, this is your Uncles place, right? Is there anything in here to keep this from getting infected? Rubbing alcohol, anything?"

In her hysteria, she nods, rushing toward the wooden shelves and moving things aside quickly. She pulls out a metal toolbox, inside looked like every medical supply under the sun.

"Uncle Harley's stash," She admits, seeming to calm down as she dragged it over, "You're a medic?"

Dean scoffs, "Nah," He pours everything on the floor to make things easier, "I'm just used to this stuff."

"Morphine," Bowie mutters, pointing to the discarded bottle on the ground, "Morphine," He exclaimed, sitting up, "That'll help."

Emily shook her head, "That could be old. Besides, if the dosage is too much, you'll go into shock, maybe even hallucinate. If there's a single bubble in that and it enters your bloodstream, you'll die."

"Are you the medic?" Dean asked rhetorically.

Emily blushed, "This, uh, new show called Greys Anatomy came out last month. I learned a lot."

"Well," Dean grabbed the needle, and pushed it into the bottle, "Let's hope the hallucinations aren't too bad."

Needle.

"Fuck," Bowie whined, subconsciously moving away, "Just let me drink it-"

"That's not how this works and you know that," Dean says firmly, "Come on Bow. It's this or pain, and we can't fight these guys when you can barely stand."

"De," Bowie shakes his head, "That needle is bigger than my pinky, I'll stab you with it before I let you put it near me."

"Bowie," Dean snapped, "Look at me." He grabs his brother's face, squished his cheeks together until his lips involuntarily puckered, and looked him dead in the eyes, "You are a grown-ass man who just turned 25 today, you have survived more things than anyone I have ever met in my damn left, are you seriously going to let a stupid little needle take you down when a literal vampire at sixteen couldn't?"

Emily frowned, "Vampire-?"

Bowie's eyes watered a little, sucking a harsh breath through his nose, "You remembered it was my birthday?" He asked softly, lips tugging down into a slight pout.

"Of course, I did," Dean sobered, "I was the first one to hold you after mom. I just," He hesitates, "I know you don't like your birthday so I didn't say anything. Thought I was doing you a favor."

Dean moved back, "Oh, I already did it."

Bowie's eyes snapped down to where the little dot on his arm showed, "You son of a fuck-?!"

"What is going on?!" Emily bellowed.

The brothers glanced at each other, silently contemplating. Then, Dean broke the silence and explained everything that had happened in the last three days since he arrived in the town. Even the part where he was escorted out of it by the same Sheriff that shot Bowie.

Emily had never looked more stunned, "I don't understand. They're gonna kill us?"

"Sacrifice us," Dean corrects, stopping his banging on the wooden doors, "Which is, I don't know, classier, I guess."

Bowie, who had gained some color on his face, was quick to stand on his adrenaline, "You live in this town and you really didn't know anything about this?"

Emily shook her head, "About what? The Scarecrow God?" She asked sarcastically, "I can't believe this."

"Well, you better start believing," Dean responds, "Because I got half a functioning brother and I'm gonna need your help."

"Okay," She agreed.

Bowie scoffed, leaning against a pillar, "My half functioning is better than you on a good day."

Dean ignores that, "We can destroy the Scarecrow, but we got to find the tree."

"What tree?" She asked.

"Maybe you can help us with that," He says, "It would be really old-"

"As most trees are," Bowie muttered to himself.

". . .the Locals would treat it with a lot of respect," He continued, "Like it was sacred."

Emily thought for a moment, "There was this one Apple Tree. The immigrants brought it over with them. They call it "The First Tree"."

"Is it in the Orchard?"

She nods, "Yeah, but I don't know where."

"That's what Bowie is for," Dean says, smiling mockingly as he patted his brother's shoulder really hard, "He's my personal Hound Dog, think Copper but less curious."

"Does that make you my Tod?" Bowie asked genuinely.

"Obviously."

The doors to the cellar are pulled apart, and the Sheriff stands tall with the gun in his hand, pointed at them.

"It's time," says Aunt Stacy.

Bowie walks forward, looking solely at the Sheriff, "I'd like to see how big you are when you aren't hiding behind that shotgun, Sheriff," He mocked him, arms crossed, "Don't think you can get a hit in even if you tried."

"Shut up, let's go." He orders, cocking it, "I ain't going to ask you twice."

They had tied the brothers to the same tree, while Emily was tied to the other, all three of them on different sides of the thick bark. Bowie said nothing as the Sheriff tightened knots on his wrist, looking smug too.

"If I didn't know any better," Bowie drawled, "I'd say you're a little bitter about that gash on your arm. I nicked you good didn't I?" He motioned to the gaze shown through the cut in his uniform.

The Sheriff clenched his jaw, "I could say the same about you," He responds, looking down at the wound on Bowie's torso, "I was hoping you'd bleed out."

"If killing me was that easy, I'd be dead," Bowie rebuttals.

"How many people have you killed, Sheriff?" Dean questioned, "How much blood is on your hands?"

He swallowed thickly, "We don't kill them."

"No, but you sure cover up after," Dean corrects, "I mean, how many cars have you hidden or clothes have you buried?"

The man didn't respond.

Emily tries to beg her Uncle for the last time, but with regretful eyes, he doesn't budge.

"Try to understand," Aunt Stacy says, "It's our responsibility and there's just no other choice. There's nobody else but you."

"I mean, there's always you," Bowie says with a bright sarcastic smile, "But I guess you're too selfish for that. It's not like you have much time left on your clock lady."

"Shut up!" The Sheriff orders.

"But, I'm your family!" Emily cried.

Stacy shook her head, "Sweetheart, that's what sacrifice means, giving up something you love for the greater good. The town needs to be saved. The good of the many, outways the good of the one."

With that, they start to walk away.

"I hope your apple pie was fuckin' worth it!" Dean bellowed after them.

Bowie outwardly laughed.

Emily stopped her sniffling, "So, what's the plan?"

Bowie dropped his head back on the bark, unable to hear them well with all the background noise, especially when he couldn't see their lips moving, "Honestly? Not how I wanted to spend my birthday. I thought I'd get to relax, you know? Take a nap–"

"Plan! What's the plan!" Emily repeats, cutting him off in annoyance.

"I'm working on it," Dean responds calmly.

Night fell quicker than they thought, now being tied to those trees for what felt like a good three hours now.

". . .thrity-eight bottles of beer on the wall, thirty-eight bottles of beer," Bowie continued on, "You take one down, pass it around, thirty-seven bottles of beer on the wall."

"You don't have a plan, do you?" Emily deadpans, talking over the deaf boy.

"I'm working on it," Dean replies again, wincing.

"Thirty-five bottles of beer on the wall-"

"Can you see?" Dean asked her.

She frowned, "Huh?"

"Is he moving yet?" Dean adds.

"I can't see."

"You take one down, pass it around-," Bowie feels the ground vibrate, the sound of shuffling in leaves catching his attention to his far left, he's on high alert.

"Thank God, I hope he passed out again," Dean closes his eyes, savoring the silence.

A tall lanky young man emerges behind a tree, looking confused as ever. It was Sam.

"Sam!" Bowie calls out.

"Bowie?" He rounds the tree, "Dean?"

"Oh!" Dean relaxes instantly, "Oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you, punch Bowie in the face."

Sam chuckled.

"How did you get here?"

"I stole a car," The youngest admits, "Then followed Bowie's obnoxiously loud show tunes."

Dean laughs, "That's my boy!"

"It's more of a shanty," Bowie corrects, rubbing his sore wrists as he moved to untie Emily.

"Keep an eye on that Scarecrow, alright? It could come alive any minute!" Dean orders.

"What Scarecrow?" Sam asked.

The brothers turn around quickly, and Bowie felt his heart stop when he saw the cross was empty and the scarecrow was gone. Shit, now he had to take this seriously.

"Alright, follow me," He orders.

The group had hastily followed Bowie through the Orchard, not questioning it.

"How does he know where to go?" Emily asked breathlessly, "I've lived here all my life and all these trees look the same."

Dean shook his head, "We stopped questioning it years ago."

"Now, this sacred tree you're talking about?"

"It's the source of its power," Dean explained.

"So, let's find it and burn it!"

"Trying!"

"It's an Apple tree," Bowie reminded, keeping his eyes on the ground as he scans and runs at the same time, "It's an old Apple tree which means it most likely produces red apples which means all the other trees around it aren't red apples which makes that tree special. You people make apple pie, which means you pick the apples from the trees."

"Your point?" She pressed.

He sighed, hated having to explain himself, "My point is, the more red apples we find on the ground, the closer we get to the tree, the trail behind us was mostly green and yellow apples, hardly a few red ones, but the closer we go this way the more red apples we see on the floor."

Emily frowned, "And how do you know that logic would work?"

Bowie stopped abruptly, so fast that Sam knocked into him. The deaf man holds his hand out, pointing down the trail and towards the large Apple Tree on the other side of the Orchard, clear as day– or in this case, night.

"Because it always works," Bowie responds.

"Hound Dog," Dean mutters low enough for Bowie not to hear it.

"Shut up," He says without looking back.

Dean reels back, "How'd you know I said something?!"

"I can just smell your stupidity," He responds.

Sam chuckled, "I admit, I miss this."

Flashlights blind their eyes, and before they could try and escape they were cornered by the Sheriff and the few townspeople around them. Growling in the distance caused them all to look around, except Bowie, who couldn't hear the low noise.

"Please," Emily begged her Aunt and Uncle, "Just let us go!"

"It will be over quickly. I promise," Harley says, "Emily, you have to let him take you. You have to-"

A curved blade cuts straight through his chest, causing everyone to move back in fear. Stacy screams in horror as her husband's body was lifted from the ground.

The Scarecrow had taken both of them. A man and a woman is this year's victim.

The others had run into the woods away, too scared to face anything.

Emily never looked so hurt.

The four had stood in front of the Apple Tree that morning, a bottle of gasoline and a match. Bowie's wounds had been sewed shut with dental floss and rubbing alcohol, courtesy of Sam.

Now, all they needed to do was torch it.

"Let me," Emily says, taking the stick with a firm face.

"The whole town is gonna die," Dean reminds her.

"Good," Emily responds.

From there, the brothers packed up and got into the Impala, where they had stopped at the same bus station that Sam and Bowie had run off to, to see Emily off on a bus to Boston.

"So, not how you wanted to spend your birthday?" Sam questioned.

Bowie reeled back, "You remembered, too?"

Sam smiled, "Course I did."

"Okay," He raised his finger, "From this point on, we acknowledge that it's my birthday so I don't feel like shit, got it?"

"Got it," They synced.

He smiled a little.

"You think she's gonna be all right?" Sam asked them.

"I hope so," Dean responds.

"And the rest of the townspeople, they'll just get away with it?"

"What's gonna happen to the town is punishment enough," Bowie sighed, "Everything has a chain reaction and those people are going to be miserable for a long time."

"So. . ." Dean hums, "Can I drop either of you off somewhere?" He was testing the waters, seeing if they'll leave again now that the case was done.

Sam scoffed, "No, I think you're stuck with me."

"Me too," Bowie adds.

"What made you change your mind?" Dean asked.

"I didn't," He says, "I still want to find Dad. And you're still a pain in the ass," He tells Dean, looking to Bowie next, "And you're still always right."

"Well, obviously," Bowie smiled.

"Jess and Mom, they're both gone," He sighed, "Dad is god knows where. You and me, us," Sam looked between them, "We're all that's left. So, like Bowie had pointed out to me if we're gonna see this through we're gonna do it together."

"Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful," Dean says blankly, trying to grab at his face.

Bowie laughed.

"You two should be kissing my ass! You were dead meat if it wasn't for me!" He tells them.

Dean scoffs, "Yeah, right! I had a plan. I'd have gotten out."

"No way! How?"

"Personally, I would've gone nonbinary," Bowie says, "It couldn't have killed me if I identified as not a dude, right?"

Dean furrows his eyebrows in awkwardness, "What's a not-burry?"

"I don't really know," He admits, "But Jasper texts me about it all the time."

"Tell that kid to get a hobby."

Sam laughed loudly at Dean's expression, thinking it was funny that he didn't understand how the world was changing this time around.

Bowie leaned back against the bench seat with a satisfying groan, missing the car more than he cared to admit. The man placed a pair of sunglasses over his eyes and said;

"Just shut up and drive."

[ HOW WE FEELING? this chapter was pretty lighthearted all things considered, I think it's time
to change that <3 ]