I don’t own Supernatural or Artemis Fowl – but if I did I’d be the happiest little otaku in the world. This is pre- book 1, and Artemis is 11 and a bit dumber than y’all know him. Enjoy.
“I went to the library while you were asleep,” Sam said.
“Oh God, not again,” Dean groaned, rolling over on the musty-smelling motel bed so that he faced the wall and not his nerdy brother. They were on a well-deserved vacation in Ireland after a month and a half of around – the – clock vampire hunting, and Sam was making a point of digging up the local lore.
“I found a book by a British hunter called Thomas Ward,” Sam continued. “It’s mostly about boggarts. They’re pretty similar to our poltergeists, but more dangerous. Apparently, some of them are blood suckers or throw boulders.”
“Wonderful,” Dean grunted, doing his best to fall back asleep. He’d been out all night at the local bar and intended to do it again tonight, with two or three hunters he’d met last night, and a very pretty waitress. They (hunters, that is) were a lot more common here, for some reason.
“And it looks like they’re more stubborn than poltergeists,” Sam said thoughtfully.
“Okay,” Dean said.
Sam looked up. “You aren’t paying any attention, are you?”
“Nope,” Dean said.
Sam rolled his eyes and Dean heard him open his laptop, probably to crosscheck his book. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms under his head. The motel room was rather peaceful – no pressure to go find a demon to kill, none of the noises of battle, no traffic outside. Dean thought that if he ever retired, he’d come back to Ireland. Preferably without a nerd who insisted on homework during a vacation.
He fell into a doze, listening to Sam tap at his keyboard and the ceiling fan whir. His eyes drooped and he was on the edge of sleep when
He stirred irritably.
“You gonna get that?” he asked.
“Nope,” Sam said.
Dean rolled over and glared at him before flipping his phone open.
“Dean Winchester.” He said.
“Mr Winchester? I’m Angeline Fowl.”
Dean sat up. “How’d you get this number?” he demanded.
“I understand you are a demon hunter, Mr. Winchester,” Angeline continued. “My home seems to be inhabited by a supernatural being of some sort, and I want you discover and eradicate it. I live in Fowl Manor – any local can give you directions. I’ll expect you tomorrow, with your brother.” She hung up without waiting for a reply.
Dean fell back against the headboard and sighed. “Pack up, Sammy. We’ve got a job tomorrow.”
He didn’t even know why he had attempted a vacation at all, just then.
Artemis Fowl screamed.
This was a fairly rare occurrence, and as such, Butler came hurtling through his ten year old charge’s bedroom door not quite a sixth of a second later.
“Get down!” he cried, his finger already on the trigger of his rifle. Artemis was huddled on the side of the bed opposite the windows. His hands were clamped over his ears, and his eyes were screwed shut. Butler took a look around the room. There was no broken glass from the windows, and there was no sign of intrusion. There was nothing and nobody dangerous in the room and, reassured of Artemis’ safety, Butler knelt next to him.
“Artemis,” he said gently, “There’s no danger.”
Artemis opened one eye cautiously. “Are they gone?” he asked, labouring to compose himself.
“Yes,” Butler said. “They’re gone. Who were they?”
Artemis stood up and left the room at a dignified dash, keeping well away from the huge picture windows that overlooked the grounds. “Please ensure that all of our security systems are fully operational, and sweep the grounds for intruders,” he said, ignoring the question entirely. His face was even whiter than usual, and his hands shook slightly as he brushed wrinkles out of his Armani suit. Butler decided against questioning him further just then – Artemis would tell him what had happened when it was necessary. After one more sweep of the bedroom and hallway, Butler did as he was told and went to the security booth.
Artemis went to his lab in the basement. There was no point of access besides the door, which had several extremely sturdy manual locks and an electromagnetic lock – a miniaturized version of the sort used for bank vaults. In addition, every inch of the room was covered by security cameras and infrared detectors on a closed feed. The contents of Artemis’ lab were entirely valuable enough to warrant such protection, and Artemis was very glad just then that he had indulged in it. He took his laptop off of a workbench, sat in his preferred office chair in the corner, and opened the security program. He opened the infrared feed and set the laptop down.
Then he took out his cell phone and dialed a number he had found yesterday on the internet. The website had claimed it was the number of a supernatural investigator, some American man called Dean Winchester. When Dean answered the phone, Artemis played a recording of his mother’s voice he had constructed over the past few days in case he decided to call in an expert.
I do apologize, but I can’t get chapter 2 to insert properly. Therefore, the last chapter has been bolded and this message inserted.
Sam and Dean were on the road bright and early the next morning in a navy blue convertible of Sam’s choosing. He was also driving it, due to several near collisions that Dean swore up and down were not his fault. He’d had a bit of trouble driving on the left side of the road, though Sam did not.
They arrived at Fowl Manor shortly after ten o’clock, and Dean gaped openly at the vast property, surrounded by an ancient stone wall. Inside the walls he saw several outbuildings; a barn, a tower of some sort, and a carriage house. As Sam drove up the white gravel drive, Dean turned his attention to the Manor itself. It was huge and imposing, a brick faced palace sitting dignified on the rolling green hills. Ti made Dean slightly uneasy, though he couldn’t tell exactly why.
Sam parked in front of the marble steps leading up to the front door, and they exited the car. Dean briefly considered putting the top up, but the gathering rainclouds were still a ways off. They mounted the steps and before they could ring the bell, the door swung open. They both stopped dead.
The man who had opened it was huge. He was at least a head taller than Sam, and roughly three times as wide. His blond hair was buzzed brutally short, and he had the self-confident precision of a soldier that matched it. Dean tried to swallow inconspicuously. The man was overtly threatening as he assessed them, and if he decided they were a threat, he’d probably just crush them both with his cinder-block sized hands.
The man stepped aside and said “Come in, Mr Winchester and Mr Winchester. Master Artemis had been expecting you.” His voice was remarkably deep and gravelly. Dean and Sam followed him through the cavernous black-and-white marble entrance hall and up the elegant and heavily polished mahogany staircase at the far end. At the top of the stairs, the man opened a door and waved the brothers through. He stepped in behind them and shut the door.
The room was a richly (but tastefully) furnished study. The walls were lined on the north side with tall windows covered by dark velvet drapes, casting the rest of the room into shadow. The opposite wall was lined in bookshelves. The ceiling was high, and the floor was carpeted in plush olive green patterned with vines. At the far end of the long room were two dignified armchairs upholstered in emerald, and they faced a large black desk. It was bare except for a stack of paper and a computer, which cast a ghostly light on the face of the boy behind it.
Dean estimated his age at around eleven, maybe ten. He was small enough to be seven, but his face . . . his face was oddly mature. It was a bit off-putting. The thousand-dollar suit he was wearing and the fact that his hair was meticulously neat probably had something to do with his aura of adulthood. The boy looked up at them and raised an eyebrow.
“Please, sit down,” he said in a clipped Irish accent. “I am Artemis Fowl the Second. I called you yesterday, Mr. Winchester.”
Sam and Dean looked askance at each other and took their seats in the armchairs. “Are you secretly a woman?” Dean said jokingly.
“No, Mr Winchester,” Artemis frowned. “That was a recording of my mother you heard. A necessary deception, I fear; I doubt you would have responded to a call from a child. The contents of the call were entirely truthful, though. I am being haunted.”
“I see,” Sam said.
“We’re here to help,” Dean said with a slightly forced smile. “Have you noticed any cold spots, or maybe the smell of sulphur in a particular room?” he asked.
“Twenty-two cold spots as of this morning,” Artemis said. “The smell of sulphur, no. Have you noticed anything, Butler?”
“The wine cellar definitely smells like sulphur,” Butler said from behind the desk. Dean jumped slightly – he hadn’t seen him move.
“Very well,” Artemis said. “Gentlemen, Butler will assist you in any way he can. Please do not disturb me unless it’s important.” He turned again to his computer and began to type furiously.
Thus dismissed, the Winchesters left the office and went back outside. Dean opened the trunk and tossed Sam a duffel bag. Butler snatched it out of the air and unzipped it. Sam and Dean stood speechless as rock salt, a canteen of holy water, holy oil, a bag of chalk and two shotguns fell onto the gravel.
“What the hell?!” Dean exclaimed.
“I cannot allow Master Artemis’s safety to be endangered,” Butler said as if it were obvious. “You’re clean.”
Dean glared at him as he and Sam picked up their scattered tools. Sam shouldered the duffel and Dean stuck a pistol in his pocket.
“We’ll see the wine cellar first,” he said over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs.