City of Fear

Chapter 13

A/N - APRIL FOOLS!

(kind of) (and yes, it is a bit late)

We hope you noticed the date of publication for the last chapter, or else you might be very, very confused. And if you still are, we don't blame you.

The events of the last chapter are still, however, semi-canon to our fanfic. See, Gwaine is now un-potion-ified, but we'll leave it up to your interpretation whether or not Cas and the Doctor were really there.

Now that you have an explanation for "Chaporer tWelbw," here's this chapter, no strings attached.

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Clop clop, clop clop.

Garman stared at the ground, allowing himself to fall into the rhythm of the monotonous sound of the horse's hooves on the dirt path, trying not to think too much about getting home. As he'd lain in Gaius' chambers, he'd had plenty of time to reflect between bouts of unconsciousness. He'd run through the scenario of his brother's death, analyzing a thousand times every moment he could have done something more to prevent it. Three clammy nights and delirious days of this, and then Gaius had declared him fit enough to make the trip home he was on now, as long as he rewrapped his side regularly and kept off his feet. Garman knew he'd made a speedy recovery, and accounted it some on the sweet-tasting mixtures Gaius had fed him, though Garman wasn't sure if he'd imagined them or not.

Despite his physical regeneration and the fact that he was going home, the hollow feeling in his gut made Garman feel less than whole. Garman wasn't even sure that, as long as his brother was buried there, he would ever feel at home in his own village again.

But at the same time, Garman wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep, even if Edgar would not be sleeping in the identical straw mattress across the room ever again.

Garman wasn't so damaged that he wasn't thankful, though. He was especially thankful for the rock in his left boot that dug into his heel. Its physical presence distracted him from the bitter thoughts he could feel pressing on his mind on all sides, ever-present.

His horse halted suddenly, jerking him forward, and bent its head to drink out of a stale-looking puddle of brown water on the side of the forest trail. Wrinkling his nose, Garman yanked up on the reins. Spotting a well through the trees up ahead, Garman dismounted the horse and patted its neck. "We can do better than a puddle," he said, leading it forward by the reigns.

As he reached the well and began to lower the bucket, it occurred to him how refreshing it was to be doing a menial task that occupied his brain and muscles. He was able to focus on the creaking sound of the rope and the squeaking metal-

"Hey!"

Garman's head whipped up, and he released the wooden handle of the crank. The wood clattered around as the bucket fell to the bottom as he scanned the forest around him, searching for the source of the voice.

There was a thunking noise from the bottom of the well, quickly followed by a series of splashing noises and curses.

Garman flinched and crept to the wall of the well, peering over.

"How... Who-"

"Grab that rope!" a deep voice called from the bottom of the well. Garman narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher anything in the darkness of the well.

"But who-"

"I don't have time to answer questions!" the voice snapped. "I have hold of the rope. Pull me up!"