Title: Livin' On The Edge
supernaturalsam - November 14, 2007 02:50 AM (GMT)
A once imprisoned evil threatens to push the Winchesters over the edge...
This is a new fic that I am co'ing with Tree66 and we are very excited about it. We can promise you some good angst, a terrifying evil, and some brotherly love. We really hope that you enjoy this and please don't hesitate to let us know what you think!
Spoilers for Bad Day at Black Rock and season 2 so you have been warned!
We own nothing except the twisted thoughts in our head...but we're working on our master evil plan as we speak... :fire
Many thanks to our awesome beta, Bayre...she really does rock our world!
CHAPTER ONE--You Can't Stop Yourself From Falling
“You know, for a man who constantly stayed on the road, Dad sure did have a lot of crap.” Sam Winchester set down the large cardboard box on Bobby’s haggard-looking kitchen table. Pulling out a chair, he plopped down on it and looked across at the grizzled demon hunter.
Bobby grunted. “I’d forgotten how much stuff your daddy put in that locker.” Bending down, Bobby pulled out a few letters bundled up with a rubber band. Peering at the writing, he smiled at Sam. “And I never knew what a sentimentalist John was.”
Sam took the bundle from Bobby and couldn’t stop the smile gracing his lips. “Old love letters…from Mom.” The youngest Winchester felt a rush of sadness wash over him, immediately followed by a rush of happiness. He knew his dad always put up a front and never let anyone see his emotions, most of the time coming off as cold. But these letters told Sam differently; they told him a long time ago, his dad did have feelings and love and warmth in his heart.
“So, what’s in that box?” Bobby nodded his head towards the box Sam just brought in.
Sam cleared his throat to get rid of the lump settling there. “Um…I think they’re books. Maybe some papers and weapons.”
“How many more you got in there?”
“I think about six.”
Sam let out a laugh as he stood up and began pulling things out of the box. “Bobby—thanks again for doing this for us.”
For the past couple of days, Sam and Dean had been removing things from John’s old storage locker in Buffalo, New York to Bobby’s place in South Dakota. It had been a long, arduous process of carefully transporting the items piece by piece, but they’d managed to do it so far. Dean was making the last trip to Buffalo to get the most dangerous of the items while Sam stayed back with Bobby and helped the salvage yard owner sort through everything, determining what should be kept and what needed to be destroyed.
“Hey, you boys needed help and there was no way I was going to let this stuff sit in that locker, especially now Bela knows where it is and what’s in there. Though how she figured out that rabbit’s foot was in there is beyond me.”
“She told Dean she used a Ouija board—contacted past victims and they let her know where to find it.”
Bobby shook his head and Sam swore it was in somewhat wonder. “That girl always had a way of getting what she wanted.”
“Have you dealt with her before?”
“Not personally, no. But I’ve heard talk about her from other hunters. A major pain in the ass from what I’m told.”
Sam huffed as he gingerly rubbed his left shoulder where Bela’s bullet grazed him. “Yeah—I’ll attest to that.”
The two hunters, young and old, continued to sort through the boxes as a silence settled in the room.
“Hey, Bobby…” Sam’s voice trailed off.
Bobby looked up from an old tome he’d been paging through. “Yeah?”
Sam shook his head. “It’s nothin’.”
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”
Sam looked up in mild surprise at Bobby. “How did you know?”
Bobby let out a chuckle. “Are you kidding? I know you boys like the back of my hand—you two worry about each other as bad as a mama worries about her kids.” Bobby leveled his gaze at Sam. “He’s gonna be okay, Sam. He’ll be back soon, you’ll see.”
“That’s not exactly what I’m talking about.”
Bobby nodded and put down the book. Walking into the kitchen, Sam heard the refrigerator door open and the sound of two clanking bottles before it was closed again. He then heard the soft hiss as the tops were popped off the bottles. Bobby came back to the table and after handing one of the beers to Sam, he took a seat beside the young hunter.
“You’re still obsessin’ over that deal?”
Sam took a sip of the beer and shrugged. “I can’t help it, Bobby. I mean, every morning I wake up, I can’t help but think I let another day get away, another day I could’ve saved Dean.”
Bobby let out a sigh. “Sam, I told you this was going to take some time.”
“That’s just it, Bobby—I don’t have time. Dean doesn’t have time.” Sam slammed down his beer bottle in frustration, the foamy beverage splashing onto the table.
“Sam, we are looking at every viable option we have here, and I have to be honest with you. There’s not a lot of information out there about getting out of a deal once it’s been made.”
“Dean was able to get Evan Hudson out of his deal, Bobby. Why can’t it be that easy for me?”
“As I understand it, your brother blackmailed that demon to get Hudson out of his deal. I can tell you one thing, Sam—demons learn from their mistakes and rarely do they make the same mistake twice.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Bobby, it’s just so damn frustrating. I have been through every single book, every single internet source, hell, even Dad’s journal inside and out and there is nothing out there telling me anything.”
“Sam, if it was really that easy to get out of one of these crossroads deals, you really think they’re gonna advertise it?”
“No, I guess not. But, Bobby, that’s not the only thing—it’s Dean.”
“What about Dean? Is something else wrong with him?”
Sam gave a half shrug as he took another swig of his beer. “I’m not sure of that myself. I mean, he acts as if this deal isn’t anything, as if it doesn’t bother him. I hate to say it, but it’s almost as if he’s ready to give up. He even told me that he was tired and it’s not the first time he’s told me that.”
“When else did he tell you this?”
“A few months ago, back in Oregon when we were dealing with the demonic virus, he said he was tired of it—the job, the life.”
Bobby leaned forward in his chair and patted Sam on the leg. “I hate to say it, Sam, but maybe your brother’s telling you the truth.”
Bobby held up a hand to stop Sam. “Now, I’m not saying that I agree with it, Sam. I’m just saying, in Dean’s mind, maybe he is tired of it all. You’re daddy raised him to follow in his footsteps and by God, if Dean didn’t do just that.”
“I know, Bobby, but I want to give Dean the chance to do more. I want him to give a crap about what I’m trying to do for him.”
“You know that’s not Dean—he doesn’t like people giving up things for him, going out of their way for him and the same goes for you too, Sam. Dean’s never wanted that kind of attention on him.”
“He did it for me,” Sam said softly.
“And he’ll continue to do it for you until his dying breath, Sam. It’s just who your stubborn, stupid, pigheaded brother is.”
Sam smiled and looked up at Bobby. “But we’re still going to look for a way out of this, right?”
Bobby took a hearty swig of his beer and nodded. “I’m actually working on something.”
Sam’s eyes instantly lit up. “What is it?”
Bobby didn’t say anything as he stood up and walked into what sufficed as his living room. Sam quickly followed the older man to his desk. Once there, Bobby unwrapped a white cloth and stepped back so Sam could see.
“Bobby, is that—“
“The Colt? That it is, Sam.”
“So you think—“
Bobby held up a hand to stop Sam. “Now, son, I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but there may be a way where the gun can be useful once again. I’ve been reading up on it and I think I can get it working, but it’s gonna take some time.”
“But if you do fix it, you think we can use it on the crossroads demon? We can force her to break the contract with Dean?”
“I’m not promising you anything, Sam, but it’s a possibility. But I don’t want you to give up looking into other options, either—just in case.”
“Thanks, Bobby. This—this is big.”
“No promises, Sam.” Bobby folded the gun back into the cloth and went back to the table.
Sam watched him walk away and couldn’t help the fleeting moment of hope washing over him. Yes, it was a very big possibility that the Colt wouldn’t work again and he’d be back to square one. But the hope was the only thing Sam had going for him right now and he’d be damned if he was going to let it get away from him.
“Sam, you going to get your ass back in here or not? ‘Cause I’m not going through the rest of this shit by myself.”
“Yeah, I’m coming, Bobby.”
Dean scanned the now barren storage room one final time, walking around the empty shelves and bare workbench, double checking that every last trace of his father’s work had been removed. It had taken nearly a week to cleanout and transport the myriads of collected supernatural paraphernalia, not to mention carefully dispose of the munitions the ex-marine had left behind. Each time he and Sam came back to retrieve another load had been no less surprising than the first visit to their Dad’s secret cache.
Even now, even with the place vacant and musty, Dean had to smile. “You sneaky bastard, so full of secrets. Couldn’t you have trusted us just one little bit? Would it have killed you to have mentioned this place over a beer?” he grumbled.
A noise to his left made the young hunter spin around, .45 immediately out and fanning the dark room. He grimaced slightly, lowering the weapon as he spotted the rat skitter underneath one of the shelving units. Dean startled again when his cell phone warbled alive in his pocket. Retrieving it, he tapped the call on after seeing it was Sam.
“How’s it going, Dean? You almost done?” his brother’s voice questioned.
“Yeah, just finished loading the last box into the Impala. I was giving the place the once over before I leave. Don’t want to accidentally leave anything behind for that bitch Bela to get her paws on. Hmm, except maybe that…”
“What, Dean? Did you forget something?”
“Yeah, a box of rat poison. Do you think if I lock it in a curse box, she’ll come and get it? Probably couldn’t be that lucky could I?” Dean mused.
Sam’s chuckle sounded through the phone as Dean paced back toward the sliding door to the storage room. He looked over his shoulder once more, feeling as though a set of unseen eyes were on his back, sending a chill down his spine and making him want to be free of this place and the secrets that it held.
“Ya’ know Sam, I just can’t get over how Dad kept this place for so long and never said a word to us about it. Do you think he had any others?” he asked, standing in the doorway and turning to look one last time at the interior room. He shivered unconsciously, and for the briefest moment, his mind’s eye tricked him into visualizing his dad working in the dark quarters, prepping for a hunt or even doing his own strange version of debriefing following one.
There was still so much they didn’t know about their Dad. Would never know now, not unless there truly was an afterlife, in which case, Dean still wouldn’t know thanks to his impending one-way trip to the pits of Hell. Still, he’d seen his Dad crawl out of the Gate, seen him fight the yellow-eyed demon, even seen him erupt in brilliant, sparkling lights and fly heavenward. So, if he never stood the chance of catching up with dear old Dad in whatever passed for the hereafter, at least he’d given Sam a chance at it. That was good enough, he’d convinced himself.
“Dean? You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just one last check,’ he replied quickly, pulling the door closed. “I’m heading out, bro. Should be there by tomorrow afternoon, okay? Just tell Bobby to have a couple of cold ones waiting for me.”
“You got it. And hey, call me if you want. If you get tired or something,” the younger sibling offered.
“Okay Mom. Seriously, dude, I’ll be fine. Been driving a helluva lot longer than you and um, lets see, I’ve never gotten the Impala smashed to bits by a demon-driven semi,” Dean teased.
“Whatever! I’ll see you here tomorrow then,” Sam snapped back.
Dean replaced the phone in his pocket and slowly walked down the empty hallway to the awaiting Chevy. Stepping outside, the morning sunshine had given way to a cold afternoon drizzle, the sky an ominous gray that alluded to an oncoming storm.
“Just friggin’ great!” he bemoaned, pulling the collar of his jacket up closer to his neck and dashing towards the waiting car.
The drizzle turned into a full-fledged downpour and then, just to spite him, mixed with an icy slush that clung to the Impala’s windshield and defied the wipers to remove the freezing precipitation. In and of itself, Dean wouldn’t have minded the change in weather, after all the years behind the wheel, he was used to driving in nearly anything. But the detour off I-90 just outside of Buffalo, courtesy of a ten car pileup, had been more than just an annoyance. Forcing him onto the mountain roads in northern Pennsylvania, it added at least an extra two hours on to the trip back to Bobby’s, not to mention that the remoteness took him away from anything that resembled a decent place to get something to eat.
His stomach growled, reminding him that now was not the time for Dean to become “picky” about what he chose to shove in his mouth. He stretched across the front seat, reaching into the glove compartment and rooting through the contents until he came across the half eaten one-pounder bag of peanut M&M’s. He couldn’t remember when he put the bag in there, but they weren’t stale, although peanut M&M’s never had the chance to go stale when in his possession. That was just sacrilegious after all. Tossing a handful into his mouth, he crunched on them mindlessly as the wipers continued their staccato beat, completely out of time to ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man.
He leaned forward and in a rarely occurring move, turned off the music, unable to stand the cacophony of noise any longer. As he blindly reached for another handful of candy, his hand brushed against the small shoebox sitting on Sam’s vacated shotgun position. Containing a smattering of smaller items that he picked up from the shed, it was the last of the trinkets their dad had sequestered in the secret place.
Stealing a glance inside, Dean spotted Sam’s soccer trophy peeking above some of the other pieces. Dusty and slightly tarnished from years of neglect, he could still remember the day his twelve year old brother had received the award. A gangly, dirt-covered, but grinning from ear to ear, Sam, rushing off the soccer field proudly raising the trophy as he scurried to his waiting family on the sidelines. The real magic in that day hadn’t been that the kid’s team had won the division championship, the real wonder had been that for the moment, they had almost seemed like a normal family. Settled in one spot long enough that Sam could participate in team sports, even John managed to take the time to make an appearance at what was one of the most important moments of the young boy’s life at the time. Hell, they’d even gone out and celebrated afterward, eating pizza, going to a movie, acting like any other middle-class American family. At least, any other family that hadn’t lost a wife and mother to demon fire and then spent the rest of their days hunting down and disposing of every thing that went bump in the dark.
He pulled the trophy from the box, balancing it on top the steering wheel while he looked at it more closely. Part of him was surprised that Sam hadn’t snatched the thing up on one of their previous trips. He knew his brother had cared about the keepsake, knew that in their vagabond childhoods, items like the award were few and far between. He also knew there were a few things that Sam had fiercely clung to no matter how many times they moved or how much Dad had insisted they didn’t have the time or space to be toting extra items around. The trophy had been one of those items. Had been, that was, until just before that fateful argument and Sam stormed off to California. When he left for Stanford, it had been with little else than the clothes on his back and the spares in his bag. Things like the trophy were casualties in the battle of wills between John and Sam Winchester. Trophies and Dean.
Broken from his memories by the music from his cell, Dean gently replaced the trophy to the box before answering. He glanced at the caller ID and groaned. Sam again!
“What Sam?” he snapped.
“Just checking to see where you were. Did you stop to eat yet? Is it still raining?”
“I’m still in the Impala, yes I’ve eaten, well sorta and no, it’s not raining; now it’s sleeting. Happy now, Mom?” Dean replied in one breath.
“You don’t have to be a smart-ass, Dean.”
“Well, that beats you calling me a dumbass I suppose. Seriously, Sam, its sleeting, the weather sucks, the road sucks, and I haven’t seen the first sign of life for the past fifty miles.”
“Are you lost?”
“I’m not even gonna dignify that with an answer, Sam. Is Bobby with you?” the older hunter asked with irritation.
“Yeah, why?” Sam questioned suspiciously.
“Cause you better get him to build one of those boxes around your ass to protect you if you ever ask me a question like that again,” Dean warned.
“It was just an honest question. It’s not like the Impala has a GPS in it and I know how some of those old highways up in the mountains can be. Besides, it’s my job to be worried about you,” Sam refuted.
“No, actually Sam, it’s your job to be going through all that stuff from Dad’s locker. How are you guys coming with it?”
“We’re plugging along. Bobby’s been dealing with some of the curse boxes. We’re saving the disposal of the grenades and landmines till you get here. Bobby figured you’d enjoy that.”
Dean chuckled. “He knows me too well. Just tell him to have a picture of Bela handy. I want to blow it all to hell. Actually, go to Kinkos and make several copies, Dad had a lot of grenades to get rid of.”
There was a moment of silence before Dean heard his brother’s voice again.
“So, um, I’ve been kinda going through some papers of Dad’s too,” Sam began.
“Oh really? Notes on hunts?” Dean asked.
“What are they then?”
“They’re letters from Mom to Dad and vice versa. Love letters, some of them.”
“You’re reading Mom and Dad’s love letters? Dude, isn’t that kinda… I dunno, personal. I mean, don’t you think its kinda weird reading that stuff now?” Dean questioned.
He pictured in his mind those times when his dad would sneak in the backdoor, grabbing his mom around the waist as she stood cooking dinner. He could hear his mother squeal in surprise, whirling around and feigning anger just before she would throw her arms around his strong neck and be swept up in a passionate kiss. Dean could remember the two of them, frequently kissing, always holding hands when walking, secretly whispering in each other’s ears only to be followed by a soft giggle by his mother or even a warm embrace from his dad.
Had there ever been a doubt about the fact that his parents were madly in love? Hadn’t he seen the agony in his father’s eyes for over two decades every single time his mother’s name was mentioned? Yeah, he knew they loved each other, he didn’t need to read letters to prove it.
“I guess it just helps me know them better,” Sam justified. “I mean, I know Dad loved Mom, but he never really talked about her. I don’t really know how they met or anything about when they first were married. Hell, I don’t really know that much about Mom at all. Getting Dad to talk about her was about like getting Dad to talk… well, about anything.”
Dean didn’t reply, still absorbed by the memory of his parents before that fateful night Sam’s nursery.
“Dean? Hey, if it bothers you, I mean, I don’t have to read them…”
“Nah, it’s alright. Go for it, Sammy.”
“Well, if you’re okay with it”
“SAM…” Dean’s voice rose, irritated. “Just read the friggin’ letters. It’s no big deal. Hey look, it’s getting dark and the roads are turning to shit. You mind if we wrap this up for now?”
Dean cringed inwardly when he heard or rather didn’t hear his brother immediately answer. He hadn’t really meant to snap so sharply at Sam. He knew that he was the ever present source of mental and emotional anguish for his younger brother, the crossroads deal and all, but that didn’t excuse him for being a callous ass in other things as well.
“Sam, look, I should be coming back up to I-80 before too long. I’ll call you when I get there and stop for gas, okay?” he suggested.
“Yeah, okay, that sounds good. Just be careful, alright,” his brother implored.
“I will. Talk to you later,” Dean finished, ending the call and sighing with relief as he tossed the cell onto the seat beside him. It struck the small box and bounced onto the floorboard on the passenger’s side of the car causing Dean to curse.
With one hand on the steering wheel, he leaned over to the right, straining to reach the phone. His fingertips grazed the edge of the Motorola, but couldn’t close around the thin cellular. He sat back up to catch a quick glimpse of the road before diving down after the phone again. Grunting with the effort, the cell was still just barely out of reach.
Dean was about to give up when the phone slid ever so slightly toward his hand. He would have been grateful except at that same moment, the shoebox slid over and smacked into him as well. Had the movement been some generous twist of fate, Dean might have just figured this to be his lucky day. But no, if there was one thing he knew to be true, cursed rabbit’s feet aside, was that words like “Winchester” and “luck” were rarely used in the same sentence.
As he bolted upright in the seat, he immediately knew what accounted for the sudden shift of contents in the car. The Impala itself was shifting on the roadway, the tires losing their grip on the wet pavement. Dean’s hands automatically tightened on the steering wheel and his foot lifted slightly off the gas pedal. He knew better than to react by pressing on the brake, that would only make the Chevy’s slide much more exaggerated.
He waited for the car to come back under control and for a moment, he thought it was going to happen as the speed began to decrease, until he saw the sharp curve ahead of him in the road. With no choice, he was forced to brake now, his foot pressing intermittently but firmly on the pedal as he silently prayed for the heavy muscle car to stop.
Dean cursed again as he realized that the sleet that had been pelting his windshield had created black ice on the highway and his Winchester luck had managed to find it. The Impala fishtailed violently, the back end swinging nearly around and dangerously close the mountain of rock that loomed on the right side of the highway. Dean managed to steer the car back around but not before the rear fender glanced off the guardrail with a screech of metal on metal.
He pressed down on the brakes again, feeling the car respond, lacking anything that resembled traction and angling off to the left this time. Panicked as the edge of the road loomed ahead of him, Dean steered back towards the side of the mountain, preferring to run into one instead of off of one.
The Impala struck the guardrail again, throwing him forward violently into the dash. He felt his left shoulder strike the side of the door just before he slammed into the steering wheel. Ahead of him, he saw the road disappear into nothingness as the pavement gave way to dirt and then open sky.
With the car’s momentum still being perpetuated by the slick road and carrying him dangerously closer to the edge, Dean jammed both feet down on the brake pedal using all his weight, strength and desperation to get the car to stop as he tried to force the metal beast to change directions.
The Chevy hit the dirt shoulder of the highway still skidding but slower, yet not enough to prevent it from rupturing the last line of protection as it tore through the guardrail at the edge. With both legs still extended, Dean sucked in a deep breath as he watched the terrain in front of him vanish, bracing himself for the impact that he knew would be painful, even if it was only for the briefest second.
“So much for that friggin’ deal…” he mumbled just before his head, chest and a good portion of the rest of his two-hundred and six bones, slammed forward against the dash.
cooldudet - November 14, 2007 05:18 AM (GMT)
that was awesome
am in love already
so update soon
this is really good
JennieC - November 14, 2007 01:03 PM (GMT)
Holy cow - what a great start! You must come back with more, soon, please!
iluvsprntrl - November 14, 2007 01:04 PM (GMT)
:cheer that was a wonderful start! can't wait to see what happens.
ziggy - November 14, 2007 01:29 PM (GMT)
First of all thanks so much for the PM alerting me to this story Stephanie, really appreciate it! :)
Wow what a dramatic start, didn't expect Dean to veer off the road and over the edge - just hope that he and the impala are okay! :o :car Why did he not just stop the car and retrieve the mobile, but there again, hindsight is a wonderful thing! :rolleyes:
Sort of bittersweet Sam going through the boxes and finding his Dad and Mum's love letters, it might be upsetting to read them but at least they will give him more information about his Mum especially! :( :)
Can see why Sam keeps ringing Dean, reassuring himself his brother is okay when out of his sight :mellow: And poor boy, he's still worried sick that he won't find a way to get Dean out of that deal! :(
What a cliffy to leave us with girl! :car :thud
xgetawayxcar09 - November 14, 2007 07:15 PM (GMT)
omgah! YOU MUST UPDATE LIKE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
dean!hurt: i sense it
and im happy!!
of waiting for it to happen
i love it
chrisdawican - November 15, 2007 12:57 AM (GMT)
Wow that was great. I hope Dean is ok. Update asap i can't wait.
supernaturalsam - November 20, 2007 05:56 PM (GMT)
Thanks you so much for reading and letting us know what you think, everyone! As for the cliffie...I would apologize for it but where's the fun in that?? :fire
Many thanks to Bayre for putting up with our grammar...we only went to school for how many years?
Here's the next chapter...Enjoy!
CHAPTER 2- Tell Me What You Think About Your Situation
Sam sighed as he hung up the phone and set it down on the table. He could tell by the tone of Dean’s voice his brother was bothered by the fact Sam was reading the letters, but the young hunter didn’t care. He didn’t really see what the problem was. After all, it’s like he told Dean—he didn’t know much about their mother, just what Dean remembered from when he was younger and the few mentions from his dad as Sam was growing up.
“I told you Dean wouldn’t like you calling him again,” Bobby’s voice called out from the other room.
Sam smiled as he rose from his chair and went to stand in the doorway of Bobby’s living room. “He’ll get over it.”
Bobby snorted. “Either that or kick your ass when he gets here.” He kept his attention focused on the Colt, spread out in pieces on his desk. A desk lamp lit up the workspace and Bobby had a large, free-standing magnifying glass sitting in front of him. “Where was he at?”
Sam’s smile grew a little wider as he heard the concern in Bobby’s voice. Sam knew Bobby was just ribbing him about calling Dean again, but the truth of the matter was Bobby was just as concerned about the elder Winchester as Sam. “He said he was about to hit I-80, but it was starting to sleet.”
Bobby nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been listening to the weather reports. The front that moved through here was heading his way.” He glanced up at Sam from under the brim of his ballcap. “I just hope that brother of yours knows to be careful.”
“He should be fine. He’s driven in this kind of weather before.” Sam smirked. “Besides, he wouldn’t purposely put the Impala in jeopardy if he could help it.”
The grizzled hunter chuckled, but it came out more as a throaty growl. “You’re right about that. I swear if your brother ever loved a woman the way he loves that car, that girl would be in some serious trouble.”
“Yeah.” Sam pushed off the wall. “I got the last box finished—there were quite a few books in there so I just put them with all your others. I really didn’t go through them and see what they were but I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“They ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Bobby said with a wave of his hand.
“I thought I would head up the road and grab us a bite to eat—unless you’d rather I cook something while you work on the Colt.”
Bobby stopped fiddling with the old weapon long enough to look up at Sam. “Son, do I look like I have a death wish? The keys to the truck are on the kitchen counter.”
“Anything in particular you might want?”
“Yeah, anything you don’t put your paws on.”
Sam shook his head as he headed towards the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Bobby’s grunt was Sam’s reply as the young hunter grabbed the keys from the counter. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the letters from his parents sitting where he’d left them on the table. Scooping them up, he stuffed them into his jacket pocket and after shrugging it on, he walked out into the chilly night.
Bobby’s old pick-up started with relative ease, only taking two tries. Turning on the headlights, Sam eased the truck down the dirt drive and pulled out onto the main road heading into town. Just on the outskirts of Sioux City, South Dakota, Bobby lived far enough away from town in order to have his privacy and close enough where he didn’t have to travel out of his way to get whatever he may need.
As the full moon above cast a luminescent glow on the scenery around him, Sam couldn’t help but feel at ease. Being at Bobby’s for the past couple of days had helped take away some of the stress he’d been feeling as of late. It was hard enough trying to deal with all the demons that escaped from hell as well as trying to find Dean a way to get out of his deal. Not to mention the fact Dean telling him if he found a way to get his older brother out of the deal, it could very possibly result in his own death…again.
Sam was willing to take that chance, though. The youngest Winchester was so tired of Dean sacrificing everything—his childhood, his sanity, his life—for him. Sam wanted his brother to see that he was also worth saving, the world didn’t revolve around Sam and his needs. Dean was very much part of this world as well and someone needed to show him that.
Then there was the fact Dean seemed upset with Sam after he’d told Dean he’d been reading the letters. Again, he didn’t see the harm in it but how could he explain that to Dean? How could he explain to Dean this was something he needed to do, if only to feel closer to the mother he never really knew and the father who spent most of his time away from the brothers? Dean got to have those four precious years of no monsters, no demons, no hunting with two loving parents while Sam never got the chance of that—unless you counted the first sixth months of his life, which he didn’t. Sam didn’t remember that time so it didn’t make it real to him. If you asked him, it was all a fantasy and the life he had now—that was what was real, the life he was meant to have all along.
Spotting a little park, Sam signaled and turned off the road. Pulling up under the canopy of one of the security lights, Sam killed the engine and got out of the truck. Pulling the letters from his jacket pocket, he made his way to one of the many wooden park benches dotting the property. Climbing on top of it and sitting down, he picked up where he’d left off before calling Dean.
As his eyes took in the feminine scrawl on the outside of the letter, he nearly dropped it. There was his name staring back at him written in his mother’s handwriting. Sam’s heart leapt into his throat and he suddenly felt as if he would pass out. It was a letter addressed to him…Sammy.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the old letter and felt tears instantly well up in his eyes.
My sweet little Sammy,
Today is the day I brought you into this world and into our lives. When you were placed into my arms and opened your eyes to me, I could see by looking into those hazel depths you were destined for great things.
You have a mother who will always be there for you no matter what. Always remember that, Sammy—no matter where you or I may be, I am always going to be there for you. I want so much for you and I want you to be everything I know you can be. There will be times when life tries to throw you curves, but you just have to learn to dodge them and pick yourself up off the ground. Life is always going to be full of challenges—you just have to pick which ones you’re going to let get the best of you and even then, you’ll find your way past them.
You have a father who has the kindest heart of any man I know. Don’t let his gruff voice and tough love fool you because beneath all that is a man who will give anything for his family. If you are anything like the man I know John to be, you will go far in your life, Sammy. Your father has a deep soul, one that is so pure and true it shines brighter than any star in the sky. He will be there to guide you always, Sammy—never forget.
Most importantly you have Dean—a brother who is so full of life and love in his heart, He will guide you along, take you by the hand and show you the world. He loves deeper and has a kind soul unlike anyone else and his smile can truly light up the world. If there is anyone out there I would want you to strive to be and to shadow, it would be Dean. Let him guide you, Sammy, for as long as you can because when you have Dean, you will have the world at your fingertips. He will never steer you wrong and though he is still so young himself he will give you everything he has—his strength, hope, devotion, courage, and most of all his love. Remember that always, Sammy, and I will have no worries about where you go in life.
I love you with all my heart,
Sam let out a hitched breath as he came to the end of the letter. The last paragraph struck him deeply for he knew everything she said was true about Dean. If she could have seen the man Dean was now, the man she knew he could be, she would be so proud—Sam had no doubts about it. Feeling a tear run a trail down his cheek, he wiped it away and took a deep breath.
He now had something in his hands that was his mother’s—her words. It meant more to him at that very moment than anything else in the world possibly could. Gently folding the letter back up, he put it into his pocket and glanced down at the next one in the stack. It was in the same gentle writing as his, but it was addressed to Dean.
Sam wasn’t going to read it—he couldn’t do that to Dean. It was Mary’s private words to her eldest son and Sam couldn’t betray his brother like that. Dean deserved to have this moment, especially now.
A sudden chirp pierced the quiet night, causing Sam to jump. Realizing it was his phone, he quickly dug it out of his pocket. Thinking it may be Dean telling him he was getting gas, he felt slight disappointment when he saw it was Bobby’s number on the Caller ID.
“Bobby, what is it?”
“Where the hell are you, Sam?”
“What are you talking about? I told you I was getting us something to eat.”
“Yeah, and that was an hour ago. What the hell’s taking you so long?”
An hour? Had he really been sitting out here that long? “I kind of got sidetracked.” Jumping down from the table, Sam gathered up the letters and walked back towards the truck. “I’m about to be at the diner so I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”
“Just be careful.”
“Sure thing, Bobby.” Sam hung up the phone and continued his way towards town.
“Bobby, I’m back!”
Sam closed the door with his foot as he balanced a couple of carryout bags in his hands. Making his way towards the kitchen, he placed them on the table just as Bobby came in from the living room.
“What took you so long?”
“I was just doing some thinking.” He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across the chair. “Sorry I made you worry.”
Bobby smirked as he grabbed a couple of beers from the refrigerator. “Hell, I wasn’t worried about you—I was worried about my truck.”
Sam smiled as he took one of the beers from Bobby. The demon hunter could come up with any cover-up he wanted, but Sam knew he was worried. He could tell by the sound of Bobby’s voice when he called him earlier. Digging into the carryout bags, Sam handed one of the containers to Bobby. “Have you heard from Dean, yet?”
Bobby shook his head. “Nope—you?”
“No. He told me he’d call when he stopped for gas.”
Bobby opened his container, the aroma of country fried steak instantly filling the room. “He’ll call as soon as he can, Sam.”
Sam shook his head as he took a swig of his beer. “No, he should have called by now.”
Bobby glanced up at him. “You said the weather was acting up, didn’t you?”
“He probably got delayed then.” He put a bite of the meat in his mouth. When Sam didn’t make a move towards his food, he let out a sigh. “If it will make you feel better, call him.”
Sam didn’t know why he wanted Bobby’s permission to call Dean, but he wasn’t about to waste time dwelling on it. He made a frantic grab for his phone and hit the speed dial for Dean’s phone. Sam’s worry for his brother increased with every passing ring.
“This is Dean. I can’t come to the phone right now so leave me a message.”
Sam disconnected the call and leaned back in his chair.
Sam shook his head.
“Maybe he’s in the store, paying for gas or getting something to eat.”
“No, I don’t think so.” He looked up at Bobby. “I don’t know how to explain it but I feel like something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean you feel like something’s wrong?”
Sam shrugged. “I told you I couldn’t explain it, Bobby.” He hit the speed dial for Dean again and was met with the same end result as before.
“This is Dean…”
“Dammit.” Sam slammed the phone down on the table.
“Sam, you need to calm down and stop overreacting. There has to be a good reason Dean’s not answering his phone.”
Sam shook his head once more and fixed Bobby with a piercing glare. “It’s the only explanation, Bobby. Dean carries his phone with him everywhere.” He took a deep breath, trying desperately to push away at the fear threatening to overcome him. “Dean’s in trouble.”
Squeeeeeeek … swwiiissshhhhh … squeeeeeeek … swwiiissshhhhh … squeeeeeeek … the irritating sound repeated over and over, obnoxious enough to his unconscious mind it helped bring him back awake if for no other reason than to seek it out and make it stop. He reached out with a shaking hand, swiping blindly, hoping to make contact with whatever was causing the racket in an effort to silence it. Instead, his hand struck the steering wheel in front of him.
Steering wheel? What the hell? Squeeeeeeek … swwiiissshhhhh … That sound again!
Dean forced his eyes open and was greeted to … darkness. Brief panic engulfed him, but as he forced himself to take a deep breath, then another, the soft glow from the dash created enough illumination he quickly realized he wasn’t blind, rather it was just a moonless, dark night enveloping the Chevy.
Squeeeeeeek … swwiiissshhhhh … He pushed the base of his hands against his eyes, forcing them to focus in the dim light as he sought out the annoying noise. Dean watched with fascination as the windshield wipers swiped across the tempered glass. Now devoid of any precipitation, the rubber of the blades caught against the dry glass, squealing in protest as the wiper motor continued to force the motion. Dean reached forward with a groan and turned them off.
Memory rushed back as he slumped against the cool leather of the seat. The detour and crappy weather, the black ice and losing control, the guardrail and breaking through it… wait… why the hell was he still alive? He struggled to sit up, needing to look out the windshield when the first wave of unadulterated pain drove upward through his leg like someone had struck him with a sledge hammer. Biting his lower lip, Dean stopped moving and froze in place while he waited for his lungs to expand and accept another breath.
Panting now, his heart pounding and a fine sheen of sweet appearing on his forehead, Dean attempted the tiniest movement of his right leg. The resultant pain was instantaneous and excruciating accompanied by a shockwave of blinding heat that brought bile up to the back of his throat. He cried out this time, unable to stifle the verbal response, uncaring at this point.
With a trembling hand, Dean fumbled in the pocket of his jacket until his hand enclosed on the mini Maglite inside. He twisted the flashlight on, quickly shining it down toward the floorboard and his legs. In the back of his mind, his brain was working on the “why” of him still being alive, but as he took in the bloodied denim and obvious deformity of his right lower leg, “being alive” seemed like a lesser question to consider. Wedged between the brake and gas pedal, his booted ankle was twisted at a sickening angle and even if the blood hadn’t been an indication of it being broken, Dean was fairly certain the agonizing pain and the angulation was a dead giveaway.
With the flashlight still in hand, Dean slowly scanned the Impala’s interior. The small shoebox was gone from its place beside him, as was the remnant of his bag of M&M’s, now scattered like primary-colored marbles across the seat and floor. He stole a quick look over his shoulder into the rear, seeing the items from his dad’s shed once on the back seat were mostly now on the rear floor as well. The car itself was canted forward at an angle that indicated the Impala had indeed gone over the edge after smashing through the guardrail, but apparently not plummeted hundreds of feet to a fiery explosion of twisted metal and smashed bones as he’d initially anticipated. Well, at least one smashed bone maybe?
He aimed the beam of light out the front windshield, curious to see where the car had landed, but the darkness was too much for the meager ray. Shining it out the driver’s side window, Dean saw a patch of ground just outside and assumed there must have been a secondary ledge just beyond where he’d skidded off the icy pavement.
“Maybe the Winchester luck is turning?” he mumbled aloud. Although a portion of him realized he was still in some fairly deep shit at the moment, it was a far cry from where he thought he was gonna be when his head hit the steering wheel a some time before.
“Okay, think Winchester. Where do you start with the mess you got yourself into now?”
As if in answer, the first notes of Dean’s latest ringtone sounded from his cell phone. Twisting suddenly to the noise, he gasped when both his ankle and his ribcage shouted out in a chorus of pain to the movement. Dean leaned back against the seat, his breath becoming ragged and shallow as he once again fought down the blackness following on the heels of hurt. The music played a moment longer then his phone went silent as the voicemail picked up the call.
Dean’s head sagged back against the seat but immediately jolted upright when his phone went off once more. He aimed the flashlight towards the passenger’s side floor where the phone had fallen right before the wreck. Slightly muffled, he knew it must still lie there underneath the contents of the shoebox that had been tossed from the seat during the impact. As Rush played on, Dean knew on his best day he’d never make it to the phone before it went to voicemail again, especially not in his current condition. He knew it was Sam calling him, checking up on him like the worried mother hen only Sammy could be. Yet as the phone ceased its music, for once, Dean was grateful for his baby brother’s chronic concern and he was silently praying Sam’s over-active paranoia might kick into gear right now.
“Come on, bro. Call me back. Figure it out. You know I’d answer if I could,” Dean pleaded in the direction of the out of reach phone. “I’m in some serious shit here and I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get myself out of it without a little help. So, now would be a really good time for the psychic wonder to make an appearance again.”
He waited for the phone to ring again, nearly holding his breath in anticipation, the flashlight shining down toward the floor as he watched. One minute, then five passed, but the cell remained silent.
Ten minutes passed and Dean’s hope began to wan. Maybe he’d been too harsh with Sam before, gave him too much crap about checking up on him that now, Sam figured Dean was ignoring him. Or, maybe Dean’s lack of answering the previous two calls already spurred his uber-fearful brother into action. Then again, back to the Winchester luck, maybe they had been nothing more than wrong numbers?
The young hunter shined the flashlight onto the face of his watch. Just a bit past eight, it was going to be a long cold night if he was stuck out here in the Impala, in the dark, on the side of a mountain, alone and injured.
“Great! Nice fix you managed to get yourself into, Dean! Now how you gonna get yourself out of it? Can’t rely on Sammy to save your ass. Even if he left Bobby’s right now, he’s a good fifteen hours away.”
Dean carefully laid the flashlight on the seat beside him, allowing the beam to cast a broad ray throughout the front of the car. Sucking in a deep breath, he next reached down with both hands to grasp the sides of his lower right leg. Taking a firm hold of the denim, ignoring the pain in his bruised ribs as he bent forward, he couldn’t disregard the dizziness that caused his vision to blur as his head tipped downward. Closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe in slowly through his nose, Dean waited till the vertigo passed.
“Wonderful, head, chest, broken leg, what the hell else did I tear up?”
As though the Chevy heard his comment and empathized with his physical pain, the black car shifted slightly on its precarious perch, groaning as the metal undercarriage scraped along the rocky ledge that held it. Inside, Dean froze, momentarily worried the fierce pounding of his heart might be enough to send the Impala over the precipice. When the classic car didn’t move any further, he let out the breath he was holding and slowly inched his hands further down his leg until they reached the top of his CAT boots.
His fingertips met wetness there, blood, followed by torn fabric, flesh and the sharp edge of bone that had pierced through just above the boot. Moving as delicately as possibly, he grabbed the top of the boot and pulled upward. The pain induced nausea from earlier returned, along with the blackness that threatened to overtake him. Dean stopped abruptly as the boot caught on the edge of the pedal jarring the fractured bone. Letting go of the leather, he reached up and stuffed the collar of his jacket into his mouth and went at it again. Inhaling through his nose, he grasped the boot, did a mental three count and pulled in one relatively fluid motion. His foot came free with an audible “pop” that did nothing to reassure Dean of the condition of his leg. Gently releasing it to rest limply against the floor, he sagged back against the seat, spitting out the fabric of his jacket, and closing his eyes as the sweat trickled down the side of his face.
He sat that way for several minutes, too exhausted to move, too afraid to move too far for fear whatever was holding the car might suddenly give way. It was finally the continued seeping of wetness into the boot that spurred him into further action. Knowing he needed to take care of the leg, knowing he needed ultimately to get his ass off the side of this mountain, Dean leaned over slightly in the seat. With his upper body lying nearly flat across the front seat, the temptation to just succumb to the darkness was almost overwhelming. He could feel his eyelids becoming heavy, his brain signaling the rest of his body to simply slow down, his breathing evening out as his muscles relaxed from their taut contracture.
“Shit!” he shouted, jerking alert. “King of the friggin’ concussion, I should know better. Dammit, Dean, stay the hell awake!”
Refocused, he grabbed the flashlight and aimed it down toward the floor where he’d last seen his cell phone. Buried under the upended contents of the shoebox, the cellular was no where to be seen, but Dean knew it was there, he’d heard it ringing earlier.
“S’pose it’d be too much to ask for if you’d call back right about now, Sam? I swear I won’t bitch at you. Hell, call me back and I swear I won’t ever bitch at you for checking in on me again.”
But despite his wishful thinking, the cell remained silent. “Okay, fine. I take it all back. Call me back or I’m gonna kick your ass Sam!” And still, the cell remained obstinately quiet.
With no other options, Dean leaned over the edge of the seat, stretching his arm out and began rooting through the miasma of items on the floor. Some scattered notes, retrieved from underneath the workbench, blanketed the other items. He tossed them aside and came next to Sam’s trophy. Despite the gravity of his situation, Dean took the extra minute to gaze at the cherished keepsake in the beam of the Maglite before gently placing it up on the seat next to him, thankful this one thing wasn’t damaged in the crash. He sorted through some other odds and ends until he finally spotted the Motorola, groaning as his eyes landed on its position.
“Friggin’ fantastic! Why the hell didn’t it just land in the back seat while it was at it?” he grumbled, looking at the cellular which was wedged partially underneath the far corner of the floor mat.
Groaning, Dean rolled slightly on his side to lengthen his reach. Extending his arm out, fingers straining, he reached for the phone. He wasn’t even close! Relaxing briefly, he sucked in a deep breath and tried again, unconsciously pushing off with his feet to elongate his body further and accidentally jostling his broken leg.
“SONOFABITCH!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, his head slamming back against the leather as he pounded the seat with his fist. If moving his leg had been a mistake, then banging his already concussed skull was the next dumbest thing he’d done as flares of light blossomed behind closed eyelids. He lifted his head slightly, opening his eyes to mere slits, but the flashes continued like an army of photographers snapping off countless pictures one after another. Reaching a hand up to his head, his fingers touched the gelling stickiness of coagulating blood at his hairline.
“Can’t lay here, dude. Get up, gotta get up, gotta get the phone, get help, get Sam, get the hell out of here, get the hell out of hell, not going to hell a day earlier than I’m due, no early check in…” he rambled. “Dammit, stop! Stopstopstopstopstop.”
Dean pulled in a full breath, hands returned to his sides as he willed himself to get under control. He recognized the signs of a head injury, knew his inability to concentrate was also hampered by the blood loss from the open fracture in his leg. His survival depended on reaching that phone, getting help, stopping the bleeding, staying awake; and generally in that order.
“Okay, going for broke. Do or die. Suck it up, Winchester. It’s just a flesh wound,” he chastised himself.
Rolling over slowly to his right side again, ignoring the tenderness in his chest, forcing himself to breathe through the pain, he spotted the cell phone. Crimping his eyes tightly shut, he took in several long breaths, holding the last one before pushing off with his left foot only and launching toward the elusive device. His cry of agony would have raised the hair on the neck of anyone hearing it, had there been anyone within screaming distance. But the effort paid off as his fingers closed around the phone and he drew it back to his chest, securing it there and clinging to it with a trembling hand.
Dean ran a forearm across his head, wiping away perspiration and caked blood. He considered attempting to sit back up but even the slightest movement in that direction made the interior of the Impala swirl crazily in his field of vision. Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, he lifted the cellular and tapped the scrolling button, illuminating the screen. He keyed down until he came to Sam’s programmed cell number, accidentally went one past it swearing quietly. He tapped the key back up until it highlighted Sam again and quickly hit the “send” button, nervously waiting for the call to connect as he felt darkness beginning to eat at the edges of his consciousness.
“Answer Sammy, please answer,” he pleaded, feeling the cold numbness crawling up from his extremities and threatening to drag him down into its icy embrace.
Then, just as his eyes gave up the fight to remain focused on the small screen and his mind gave in to his body’s screaming demand to shut down, he heard the ringing end and his brother’s frantic voice calling out his name.
“Dean? Dean, where are you? Are you okay?”
As the blackness engulfed him, Dean managed one last word. Relief and rescue in two syllables, he called out, “Sammmyyyy….”
“Sam, I swear to all things holy if you look at that phone again I will take it away from you and throw it in the yard.”
Sam put down his phone, pushing it away as he glanced up at Bobby. “Don’t you think that’s a little childish, Bobby?”
Bobby glared as he pointed his fork at Sam. “You think I won’t do it?” There was a challenging tone to Bobby’s voice as if he dared Sam to tell him otherwise.
Sam quickly ducked his head for nothing more than to get away from Bobby’s penetrating glare. “No, I know you would do it.”
“You’re damn right I would.” With that, the elder hunter shoved another bite of meat into his mouth.
Sam wished he could stop worrying about Dean but it was proving to be hard to do. No matter what the young hunter tried to tell himself, to convince himself Dean was okay, a million bad thoughts ran through his head. What if Dean got into trouble? What if he was hurt and couldn’t get to his phone? What if Dean was…dead? As soon as the thought entered Sam’s mind, he stubbornly pushed it away. He wouldn’t believe Dean was dead, not even for one second, no matter how many times the thought popped into his head.
Picking up his own fork, Sam absently played with his food, but his mind stayed on Dean. He knew he never should have let Dean go back to New York alone to gather up the last load. He should have insisted going along with his brother, instead of agreeing to stay behind with Bobby. That’s not saying Sam didn’t put up an argument when Dean told him to stay back, because he did. But when you had both Dean and Bobby teaming up on you, it was difficult to get your way—even his patented so-called “puppy dog eyes” didn’t work this time.
Bobby let out a loud sigh and put down his fork. Grabbing up his beer, he rose from the table and walked around to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m not about to sit here and watch you do this.”
Sam looked up. “Do what?”
“Obsess over this. Your brother will call you as soon as he’s able, so in the meantime eat somethin’. You’re not gonna be any good to me tomorrow if you don’t eat.”
Sam reluctantly stabbed at a piece of meat and shoved it into his mouth. “Happy?”
Bobby grunted. “I swear, you’re more like your brother every time I see you.” With that, he turned from Sam and went into the living room.
After making sure he couldn’t hear Bobby moving around anymore, Sam picked up his phone and began to scroll through the numbers once again.
“Sam, put that damn phone down!”
What the hell…Sam quickly put the phone down and picked up his fork, spearing a potato onto the utensil. As he was bringing it up to his mouth, his phone rang. He couldn’t put down the fork quick enough as he made a frantic grab for his phone and glanced at the screen. Dean!
“Dean? Dean, where are you? Are you okay?” Sam couldn’t keep the frantic, panicked tone out of his voice.
At first, Sam didn’t think his brother heard him until he heard a faint voice that made his blood run cold. “Sammmyyyy….”
“Dean! Dean!? Dean, answer me!”
The call ended as a dial tone met the young hunter’s ears. Jumping up from his chair, Sam rushed into the living room, startling Bobby. “Bobby, I need your keys.”
“What—Sam, what’s going on? Was that Dean?”
Sam didn’t answer him as he walked back into the guest room and began to pack his duffel. He didn’t even look up at the sound of Bobby’s booted feet coming to a stop in the doorway.
“Sam, what the hell is going on?”
Sam shoved a shirt into his bag and finally turned to look at Bobby. “I don’t know—Dean, he only said my name and then the call got lost.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know.” Sam shoved past Bobby and went back into the kitchen to grab his jacket from the chair. Bobby didn’t let up as he followed Sam.
“Did you try to call him back?”
“No, I’ll call from the road.”
“You don’t even know where he is—you’re going in blind.”
“Look, I don’t care, Bobby. I know where he told me he was headed, so I’ll go there.” Shrugging into his jacket, he held out his hand. “Can I have the keys or not?”
“No, Sam—I’m not about to let you drive over there by yourself. It’s fifteen hours away and knowing you, you won’t stop to take a break. You’ll run yourself ragged and you’ll be no good to your brother.”
“Bobby, I have to get to him.”
“Then I’ll come with you.”
Sam stubbornly shook his head. “Bobby, I need you to stay here and keep working on the Colt—the sooner you can get it finished, then the sooner we can use it to get Dean out of his deal.”
“I still don’t like you going after Dean alone, Sam. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“I’ll be careful, Bobby. Please…let me do this. I’m begging you.”
Bobby stared at him for a few moments and Sam could only imagine the thoughts running through the older man’s head. Bobby was worried about them and the last thing he wanted was for the both of them to land in trouble and unable to do anything to help them. Bobby could fool anyone with his gruff appearance and demeanor, but under all that was a caring man who would do anything for him and Dean. Sam knew it and Bobby knew it, too.
Finally reaching into his pocket and pulling out the keys. Placing them in Sam’s hand, he didn’t relinquish his grip. “You’ll call me every couple of hours and let me know what’s going on.” It wasn’t a question.
“You have my word.”
Releasing the keys, Bobby followed Sam to the door and walked with him to the truck. After Sam climbed into the driver’s seat, Bobby leaned into the window. “You be careful, son. The last thing I need is for you to land in trouble, too. One of you boys is enough.”
“I will, Bobby.”
Bobby stepped back and patted the window frame. “You just make sure you bring your brother back—preferably, in one piece.”
“Yes sir.” Sam started the truck and with one last wave at Bobby began making his way towards Dean, with one thought replaying in his mind over and over.
Please let Dean be okay…
cooldudet - November 20, 2007 10:06 PM (GMT)
lcaron3 - November 21, 2007 01:52 PM (GMT)
What a great story so far.
Poor Dean, trapped in the car. :o
Can Sam find him? :o What will happen next? :o
Please post more soon. :D
ziggy - November 21, 2007 03:17 PM (GMT)
Great chapter :) So heartbreaking Sam reading the letter addressed to him from his mum, surprised he held his emotions in check so well! :mellow: And she wrote one for Dean too, just know he won't be able to hold the tears back reading it! :cry
Sam's worry for Dean was totally right; at least he managed to get his phone and make the call, even though he passed out after saying his brother's name! :o Hope Sam can track him using GPRS as he's not on the route he said he would be as he had to take a diversion - that will delay Sam finding him! :o
Good old Bobby, worried about the both of them, hope Sam remembers to check in as promised every two hours! :)
More soon please! :)
jared.is.fit - November 22, 2007 09:55 AM (GMT)
great start...poor dean..poor worried sammy :(
chrisdawican - November 24, 2007 01:33 AM (GMT)
Oh god. What will happen next? Update soon I'm dieing for the next chapter.
mizpah - November 25, 2007 02:26 AM (GMT)
Loved the bit about Bobby having eyes in the back of his head and telling Sam to put down the phone.
My heart was in my mouth at the end of the first chapter when the Impala (and my beloved Dean) went over the edge....
And I really loved the descriptions when Dean came to, and began to take stock of his situation. I could see everything so clearly, it was like I was watching it on a screen.
Great job, as usual, hon - your writing just gets better and better. And good job to Tree, too.
Looking forward to where you are going to take this.
supernaturalsam - December 6, 2007 03:20 AM (GMT)
Thanks again everyone for sticking with us and letting us know what you think! Your reviews mean everything to us and we love writing this for you guys!
Many thanks to Bayre for putting up with our endless grammar mistakes!
Something’s Wrong With Our Eyes
The early morning sunshine bore through the frosted windshield casting prisms of light throughout the interior of the Impala. Dean cracked open one eye, then another, annoyed first by the chill that gnawed on his exposed skin and then by the kaleidoscope that bombarded his vision. He raised his hand to block the sunlight, squinting his eyes and silently wishing he hadn’t drunk so much the night before and passed out in the car. Sammy was gonna be pissed and sure to give him a hard time about it. Lately, he’d been living it up, cramming as much into the time he had left; crossroads deal be damned, one year to live be damned, Dean Winchester be damned. So, it wasn’t surprising to his fogged head he was waking up to one hell of a brain-pounding hangover or that he’d spent the night in the Impala rather than face the judgmental scowl of his baby brother.
Until he moved!
It only took the slightest shift of his lower body for pain to bring back total recall in all its Technicolor and sensory glory.
“DAMMIT!” he shouted, one fist slamming into the roof of the car as the other hand reached out to grab at his right leg which instantly came alive with a violent wave of agony sweeping up and over his entire body.
He tried to focus on the abuse he was doling out on the knuckles of his left hand, but the pain in his broken right leg and the accompanying bile rising in his throat was fast winning over. Desperate not to throw up in the Impala, even more determined not to be stuck in the car with a putrid mess, Dean quickly rolled down the driver’s side window and let the mountain chilled air rush in.
He sucked in several deep breaths, closing his eyes, begging for his stomach to settle, praying to whoever would listen to make the pain subside even just a little. He listened to the echo of his heart pounding within his chest, tried to ignore his leg throbbing in time with it. He sighed deeply after a few minutes passed and it appeared his intestines were content to remain on the inside.
“Okay, that was close. Soooo not gonna do that again.”
He chanced opening his eyes, squinting once more until they adjusted to the brightness and then regretting it again when he finally saw his surroundings. In the daylight, he could take in the narrow outcropping of ground where the Impala apparently came to rest after skidding off the highway, crashing through the barrier and off the edge of the mountain. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder and out the back window, he could just see the edge of the roadway and the ruptured guardrail a few feet above the rear of the Chevy. It had slowed enough to have kept it from launching out and over the cliff, thankfully coming to rest on the small ledge just below the highway. Surrounding the car were several larger boulders and Dean assumed it had been those rocks that had finally brought the Chevy to a life-saving halt.
As the rising sun melted the frost on the windshield, he saw the valley some two hundred feet below the rocky shelf. Vertigo threatening to overtake the relief he was even alive, Dean looked away. It was enough to know he’d survived the crash, he didn’t need to know the details of how or why at the moment. Not to mention, he wasn’t altogether comfortable with how well the car was situated on its mountaintop perch to begin with as he recalled the sudden lurch the Impala made the night before.
“Alright, so obviously getting out of the car and going for help is out of the question. Not that I could climb up those rocks if my life depended on it. But if I stay here, then I risk taking the long swan-dive over the edge,” he mused. Just then, the Impala groaned, metal shifting against rock underneath the heavy car. Dean stiffened, eyes shifting rapidly as he tensed at the sudden noise. When the Chevy remained stationary, a nervous smile creased the hunter’s face as he ran a forearm across his mouth.
“Aw, Baby, did you think I’d just let you go over the edge? Never! We’ll just sit this out together till Sammy gets here. He’ll get us out of this mess. Drag both our asses back up top. We just gotta hold tight, not move … you hear me, Baby, no sudden movements… and we’ll both be just fine!”
Satisfied his beloved car, not to mention his beloved ass, wasn’t about to plunge over the edge, Dean relaxed and considered his situation. While his right leg and head were still playing their own version of Battle of the Bands via the painful throbbing raging through him, a quick exam revealed at least he wasn’t bleeding freely any longer from either injury. Still, he needed to do something about his leg, if for no other reason than to prevent the broken bone ends from shifting and reopening the wound. And of course, there was the whole excruciating pain, make you wish you could gnaw off the limb, sell your soul to the devil to make it stop hurting, reason to fix the leg.
“Wait, I already sold my soul. Guess I better take care of it on my own then,” Dean joked aloud.
Glancing around the interior for something to brace the fracture, Dean rifled through the remnants of the box that had spilled onto the passenger’s side floor. His stomach growled angrily in response to spotting several of the scattered M&M’s and for a moment he was tempted to toss them into his mouth, not one to be picky about where the candy had been. In the end, he simply gathered up a handful of the multicolored chocolate and stuffed them into the pocket of his jacket.
“Better ration the provisions; it’s gonna be a while before Sammy finds his way here. If he can even find me. I better call him and tell him where I was when I went off the road, guide him in. Aw crap, the cell phone!”
Dean spotted the cellular right where it had dropped from his hand when he passed out last night. He briefly remembered making contact with his brother … good news, but then had left the phone on, draining the battery while he was out cold … bad news.
“Just friggin’ great. Alright, no need to panic, just gotta get the car charger and hope like hell it charges the bitch up.”
Biting his bottom lip as he stretched to reach the glove box, Dean managed to open it and pulled out the black cord. Plugging it into the bottom of the cell, then shoving the opposite end into the empty cigarette lighter, he watched anxiously as the screen flashed the little battery symbol indicating the phone was charging and powered for use.
Scrolling down, he found Sam’s number and tapped the call button, waiting for his sibling’s voice to answer on the other end. His brother’s phone rang for several long seconds and Dean briefly panicked, thoughts of being stranded on the side of the mountain, bleeding to death, or worse yet, starving, filling his over active mind.
“Dean!” Sam’s anxious voice blared over the earpiece. “Are you alright? I’ve been losing my freakin’ mind all night. What happened to you? Are you okay, are you hurt?”
Way to go, Sammy, jump right in and bombard me with twenty questions, mother-hen version, Dean thought to himself, his eyes rolling as he listened to his brother ramble on.
When Sam’s onslaught of questions finally stopped, Dean took a deep breath and considered how much to tell his overly worrisome brother. Getting Sam’s help was a necessity, but having him shower Dean with annoying questions was another. All his brother needed to know right now was how to get here. Knowing how bad Dean was hurt or that he and the Impala were hanging near the edge of cliff wasn’t going to help Sam get here any faster.
“Sammy, I’m alright. Just had a little fender-bender,” he explained calmly.
“Fender bender. Yeah right! So why then did you pass out when you called on the phone last night? Where are you hurt, Dean? And don’t bother wasting your time lying to me,” Sam barked back.
“Okay, okay, I hit my head, no big deal, standard concussion,” the older brother gave in.
“Where else are you hurt? Can you still drive?” Sam asked.
“Nothing else is hurt, Sammy. But no, I can’t drive. The Impala’s… uh… I can’t get her started,” Dean lied. Now he’s gonna wonder why I just don’t walk for help.
“Can you walk for help?” Sam suggested as though he still possessed some sort of psychic connection.
“Uh, no. I mean, I probably could, but I didn’t pass anything close last night and dude, it’s friggin’ cold outside,” Dean quickly covered. And did I mention that there’s a little problem with this bone that’s half stickin’ out the bottom of my friggin’ leg right now? No, probably wouldn’t do any good to mention that.
“Yeah, don’t do that, Dean. I think there’s more bad weather heading your way. I’ve been driving through some rain and sleet mix since about midnight,” the young hunter advised. “Stay warm, stay put in the car.”
Hmm, stay put, like I have a choice?
“Okay,” Dean acquiesced, regretting it as Sam became suspiciously quiet on the other end. He’s not buying it. He knows I gave in too easy, he knows I wouldn’t do that. “Where are you now, Sam?” He asked, hoping to divert the conversation.
“Uh, I-90 right now, almost to South Bend. I’ve been sticking to the interstate to make time and ’cause I figured the roads would be in better shape. When I couldn’t get you back on the phone, I figured I’d cut over to I-80 then backtrack my way up to you.”
Yeah, backtrack and rappel. “Well, I’m not entirely sure where I am. I didn’t see any mile markers, but I was on 219 and I think I remember some Podunk town called Brockway that was supposed to be up ahead. I’m not sure how far though,” Dean answered.
“Have you seen any other cars? Hasn’t anyone else stopped to help?”
Well, there was this mountain goat…
“No, haven’t seen a soul. The roads are a mess. I don’t think there are too many people living up this way, at least not ones that aren’t related to the Benders.” Dean quipped.
“That’s really not funny, Dean,” Sam chastised. “Seriously, can you just do me favor, for once, please just wait for me to get there and don’t do anything stupid.”
“I think I can manage that,” the older brother agreed. ’Cause I have so many other options at this point. “Just get here, okay?” Yeah, cause that didn’t sound too desperate.
Dean waited for Sam’s reassurance or his even his brother’s usual irritating persistent concern to be verbalized again, but instead, the cellular remained silent. He called out to his brother, but even before he glanced at the screen, he knew the call had been dropped.
“Damn, Sammy must’ve hit a dead spot,” he grumbled, strangely disappointed despite having to tolerate his brothers often exasperating worry, he’d lost the comforting connection of Sam’s voice.
He closed the cell, leaving it connected to the charger before tossing it on the seat beside him. Dean looked at it for a long moment, deep down willing it to ring again, suddenly feeling very alone in the quiet car. He was tempted to call Sam back, but that would most certainly make his brother more suspicious to his situation.
A sharp spike of pain in his lower leg helped make the decision for him. Deciding there was no time like the present to deal with the injury, Dean twisted around in the seat to scrounge in the back, looking for anything that might be useful in splinting the broken bone. He regretted the contortion, the strain it put on his ribcage was instantly painful, but in comparison to everything else, he could tolerate it.
He spotted a small fleece blanket rolled in a ball on the back seat and just beyond it, his duffle was nearly within reach if he boosted himself up a little further. The blanket he could cut into strips with the Bowie in his bag if only he had something long and rigid to use as a splint.
Straining to look further, he spotted the curse box lying upside-down on the rear floor. The ornate case was on top of a couple of thick books and as his hand strained to peel the wreck-tossed items away, he brushed against a sheath of crossbow quarrels.
“Okay, I can work with that. Just gotta get to it.”
Deciding to begin with retrieving the more easily reached items first, Dean pushed up against the cold leather to boost himself into position. Gingerly, he lifted his right leg slowly onto the seat beside him, his head swimming slightly between the spatial change and the coppery waft of blood that assailed him. Leaning back against the door, he closed his eyes and encouraged his body to come to some sort of agreement within itself.
When he opened his eyes again, the faintest hint of a figure seemed to hover in the backseat, watching him. Shaking his head, the blurred image disappeared, leaving nothing but the empty car and Dean’s own groan lingering. He ignored the ghostly image, chalking it up to the glare of the sun off the ice still clinging to the Impala’s windows.
Clenching his teeth and stretching over the seat, he grabbed the blanket then grunted through hefting his duffle up, over and into his lap. Exhausted by the effort, Dean forced himself to push on. Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out his trusted blade, still sheathed from the last time he’d slept in a bed and it had rested in its customary place beneath his pillow.
Pulling it from its holder, he laid it almost reverently in his lap, pushing his duffle out of the way before he went to work on the blanket. Delaying the inevitable need to reach for the crossbow bolts, he instead worked to cut the fleece into a half dozen long strips, saving larger pieces to use as bandages since the first aid kit was well out of reach within the trunk.
Laying out the strips and placing the knife within reach, Dean sucked in a deep breath and looked over the back seat at the remainder of his father’s belongings that lay in a pile.
“Gotta do this,” he said, hoping to convince himself.
His first attempt to grab for the sheath of quarrels ended in a scream of pain as the stretch over the seat pulled on ribs cracked from their impact against the steering wheel. Clutching his chest while he panted against the throbbing, Dean steadfastly made attempt number two, knowing full well the compound fracture in his leg was a more immediate threat than anything else.
Holding his breath and biting his bottom lip, Dean pushed himself up and partially over the seat to reach for the bolts. With the additional pressure on his leg, the pain was nearly unbearable, threatening to subdue him and tugging at the edges of his consciousness. He fought against it like he had so many times before, rechanneling the endorphins the pain released and continuing on his mission, frantically pushing aside the dust-laden curse box until he dislodged the case of crossbow ammunition. His hand wrapped around the leather strap at what felt like the last moment, yanking the sheath back over the seat as he collapsed back against the leather.
He felt the wetness even before he reopened his eyes from the pain. Even then, when he did, he knew that his supply gathering calisthenics had jostled the broken bone even before he spotted the growing patch of fresh red on the denim above his boot.
“Shitshitshitshitshit…” he groaned, one hand reaching down to press against the open wound. “Aghhh… dammit,” he quickly added as the slightest touch on the wound set off another volley of torturous agony raging up from the extremity. Pa Bender and his red-hot poker didn’t have anything on the current lava-like, flesh-consuming river of misery washing over Dean right now.
Breathing in gasps, his vision strangely darkening despite the brightness of the sunlight beaming into the car, Dean dug his fingernails into the flesh of his thigh, desperately trying to force himself to fight against the shock the blood loss and pain were creating. He leaned forward again, eyes struggling to guide hands that were shaking far too much to make anything more than a weak snatch at one of the squares of cut-up blanket.
“Stop the bleeding… realign the bones… splint them… be okay…” he ran through the familiar field medicine, recalling his dad’s Marine Corp teaching despite the fog gathering at the corners of his mind.
He tried to rip open the leg of his jeans but couldn’t find the strength to do it, opting instead to slide the edge of his trusted knife underneath and yanking it upward, silently hoping he didn’t accidentally lay open the flesh on his calf.
“Yeah, just my friggin’ luck, fix a broken bone, and amputate a leg…”
With the skin now exposed, Dean considered rolling down the window again as his stomach rolled violently in response to the sight. Under the pulse of thick red, a gleam of jagged white peeked out from the torn edge of his flesh not far above where his ankle would have been. His stomach flopped once more when he saw the gooey mass of congealed blood that saturated his sock and collected at the top of his boots.
For a second, he considered trying to remove the boot, then thought better of it, his dad’s words echoing at the back of his head, reminding him the thick leather would help with splinting.
“No sense putting this off then…” Dean muttered, wiping a still-shaking hand across an all-too-dry mouth.
Leaning forward so he could hook the tip of his foot underneath the handle on the passenger’s side door, Dean placed his good leg as a brace against the dash, silently apologizing to the Impala for the mistreatment. Then, with both hands clasped around his knee, he inhaled deeply and held the breath as he yanked up sharply away from the lower end of the injured leg.
There was the softest of “snaps”, followed by a howl of pain unequaled by any Dean thought he’d ever let escape his mouth before. He tried to lift his head, gave up, tried to lift his hands to wipe the perspiration accumulating on his forehead and gave up on that too when even his arms suddenly felt as though they weighed as much as the mountain of rock surrounding him.
“Sorry Dad… know you’d be busting my ass right now… know I need to finish this… know I need to stay awake… just a little easier said than done…” he groaned, his head swimming as he stared up at the ceiling of the car.
As Dean’s eyes flicked back and forth striving for focus, he locked on a set of red eyes set amid an ethereal white form quietly watching him again from the back seat. Devoid of emotion, the figure merely looked at Dean as though it was simply waiting.
Not trusting his eyes and not entirely caring, he mistook the apparition for just one more in a long line of Reapers.
“That didn’t take long…well, take a number you bastard. Others before you have tried for my ass…and I got worse than you that have dibs on me right now…” he snarked, closing his eyes and letting the darkness steal away any further concern.
“Just get here, okay?”
Sam growled in frustration as his cell phone chirped out three beeps, signaling his call had been lost. Pulling it away from his ear and daring to take his eyes off the road for a few seconds, he saw it indeed had been lost and there was currently no signal.
“Great…hit a friggin’ dead spot. Reliable service, my ass.” Throwing the phone on the passenger seat, Sam returned his attention to the road just in time to see he’d inadvertently crossed over into the next lane. A horn blared angrily and Sam held out a hand in apology as he merged back into his own lane. The irate driver sped by Sam, but not before giving him a wave of his own, minus four fingers.
“You have a great day, too, jerk wad,” Sam muttered, his eyes slightly narrowing.
Sam knew he wasn’t really mad at the driver—he was mad at himself. Ever since leaving Sioux City, he’d been beating himself up about letting Dean go back to Black Rock by himself. Sam knew he should have went, should have argued with Dean a little more in order to get his way, but he didn’t and now Dean was crashed on the side of the road, injured.
Sam wasn’t only mad at himself, though. No, some of his anger was channeled towards his older brother, as well. He could tell from the sound of Dean’s voice he was injured more than he was letting on and it pissed Sam off. Yet again another example of Dean trying to protect you from something, Sam…
When was Dean going to realize he didn’t always have to protect Sam? What was Sam going to have to do to convince his brother of this? Did Dean really think he was that fragile, he couldn’t handle the truth? Sam was so tired of Dean trying to cover up everything with a smile and a sarcastic crack. Everything in the world of Dean Winchester was a punch line, and lately it seemed as if Dean was the only one who was laughing.
Sam’s anger towards Dean quickly turned into fear and anxiousness. What if Sam was right and Dean was injured more than he was letting on. The younger man had been driving through some pretty nasty weather and it was headed in Dean’s direction. What if Dean didn’t have suitable protection against the cold? After all, he said the car wouldn’t start so his most readily available heat source was gone. Sam couldn’t remember if there were any blankets in the car with Dean, though there might have been a couple of cheap ones in the trunk they’d procured from motels. But would Dean get out and actually get them or would he try to brave it out?
“He’d brave it out, the dumbass…” Sam muttered as he spotted a gas station coming up. Looking at the gas gauge, he noticed the truck was on about a fourth of a tank. Figuring he might as well fill up now and grab a coffee in order to stay awake, he pulled off the interstate and towards Mickey’s Quick-E Mart.
He made quick work of the gas and walked inside to pay for it. Grabbing the largest cup of coffee he could find and a honey bun—for the added sugar rush—he paid for his purchases and got back inside the truck. Just as he was pulling out, his cell phone rang. Hurriedly setting the cup into the cup holder, he reached for his phone, praying it was Dean. He tried to stifle his disappointment when he saw Bobby’s number flashing across the screen.
“Sam, where are you? Why the hell haven’t you called me?”
“You were being literal about the every two hours thing?” Sam looked both ways before pulling out onto the highway leading back towards the interstate.
“You’re damn right I was. I told you that is my truck you’re in—I don’t want to find it wrecked on the side of the road.”
“Your concern for me is overwhelming, Bobby,” Sam muttered as he eased back onto the interstate.
“Speaking of you, did you bother to stop off at a motel for the night?”
Sam seriously considered lying to the mechanic, but really, what good what that do him but piss Bobby off? Sam would gladly take a demon over a pissed off Bobby any day of the week. “No, Bobby. I didn’t have time to stop for the night. I have to get to Dean.”
“Dammit, Sam, I told you, you would be no good to your brother if you get yourself into a wreck and get yourself injured or killed.” Bobby sighed. “I swear to God, one day you boys are gonna listen to me.”
“Well, it doesn’t look like today is going to be the day, Bobby,” Sam muttered.
“Don’t get cute with me, Sam. I can drop everything right now and be there before you even made it to Dean.”
Sam sighed, knowing Bobby would do just that. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m just a little frustrated right now and this weather isn’t helping anything.”
“Have you talked to your brother?”
“Yeah, I was talking to him before the call got dropped. He told me about where he was so I should be arriving there within the next several hours. He said he just had a little fender bender but I’m not buying it.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t either.”
“Are you getting anywhere with the Colt?”
“Nah, it’s still slow going, but I’m gonna keep at it.”
“Don’t mention it.” Sam heard Bobby sigh on the other end. “Just let me know when you get to Dean. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“I will, Bobby.” Sam hung up the phone and grabbed his coffee from the console. Taking a long sip, he let the hot liquid run its course down his throat, stimulating his sleep-fogged brain cells. The caffeine was doing its part to provide him with another adrenaline rush and he was grateful for it. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was a heavy coffee drinker like Dean, but Sam could say he saw why Dean chugged it down like it was liquid oxygen.
“Oh, crap! Dean!”
Quickly putting down the coffee, Sam once again grabbed up his phone and dialed Dean’s number, keeping his eyes on the road at the same time. As the phone rang, Sam couldn’t help but remember what Dean said before the phone cut out. “Just get here, okay?”
If Sam didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he’d heard a hint of desperation in Dean’s voice, which was odd for Dean. The older man rarely asked for help and Sam knew if Dean was doing that, it meant he was hurt more than he was letting on, which pissed Sam off even more.
“Dammit, Dean,” Sam muttered as the phone went to voice mail. Not one to be easily deterred, Sam immediately dialed the number again and listened with bated breath as the other end continued to ring. This time though, Sam didn’t hang up when the voice mail clicked on.
“Dean, it’s me. I’m not sure what happened earlier, I guess I must have hit a dead spot or something. Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone? I swear to God, if you are doing something stupid, I will kick your ass as soon as I get there—I don’t care if you’re hurt or not.” Sam sighed. “Listen, just call me when you get this, okay? Please? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Hanging up the phone, Sam threw it on the seat beside him. Biting his bottom lip, Sam couldn’t help the uneasiness boiling up in his chest. There was no reason Dean shouldn’t be answering his phone, considering he just got off the phone with him not even twenty minutes ago. Sam truly hoped Dean wasn’t going to try to take care of himself and injure himself further, that he was going to listen to Sam for once.
Then again, Sam knew that damn stubborn Winchester pride. His dad had been a master at it and Dean was perfecting the art on a daily basis. Dean was never one to accept help, even if it was from his own family.
Sam pressed down on the accelerator, a determined expression on his face. He needed to get to Dean before his brother did something to get himself killed. No way in hell was Sam going to let his brother die before his contract expired.
Sam wasn’t going to let his brother die at all.
cooldudet - December 6, 2007 03:31 AM (GMT)
ziggy - December 6, 2007 07:27 PM (GMT)
The red eyes of the ethereal form in the back seat of the impala does not sound good! :o Guess Dean just thinks it's an hallucination from the pain he is in at the moment! :huh: Good thing though he could reach the phone charger and that it actually worked and he could call Sam :) And although Dean was more than economical with the truth about the fender bender on the impala and his injuries at least Sam has some idea where to find him now! :)
Dean must have nerves of steel to try and splint the broken bones himself, but guess he really has no choice as something needs to be done about it! :rolleyes:
Good of Bobby to check up on Sam and at least he had the good grace not to lie to the older hunter about not stopping in a motel for the night. Hope the coffee can keep him awake enough to keep going, that and his concern for Dean! :mellow:
Another great chapter, this story is superb! :bow
mizpah - December 7, 2007 01:17 PM (GMT)
So, something escaped from the lock box, and now it's sitting in the back seat, watching Dean....
That was chilling.
Loved Sam's answer to Bobby's request that one of these days the boys would listen to him - "guess it's not gonna be today" :lmao
So, Sam - put the pedal to the metal and go find your brother - before that thing makes its move.
Great story girls - really ramping up the tension until it squeaks.
jeanne - December 12, 2007 01:07 AM (GMT)
Just found this story and I'm loving it.
Enjoyed Sam reading the letter from his mom. Very sweet. Can't wait to hear what she wrote to Dean.
I can feel Dean's pain..... Ouch!!!
And whats with the creepy thing in the back seat???
Can't wait to read more.
supernaturalsam - December 16, 2007 09:43 PM (GMT)
Thanks again everyone for all the awesome reviews. I wish I had time to respond to each of you, but just getting out of finals has kind of exhausted me quite a bit. But we really do appreciate all of you taking the time and letting us know what you think! :D
So, we're ending this chappy on a cliffie...send your hate mail to Tree...she thrives on it! (Besides, I need to share the blame!)
CHAPTER FOUR – I Don’t Know What It Is…
Being injured sucked out loud, being injured and cold sucked louder than country music in Dean’s mind as he shivered against the chill permeating the car. Outside, the sun from earlier had been abducted behind the clouds as the front Sam had warned him about was now dumping another load of rainy mix on the mountainside. All in all, at least the dreariness of the weather matched his overall mood.
Exhausted from spending what remained of his energy on applying the splint to his leg, he wanted nothing more than to curl up, get warm and sleep. But he knew it was a mistake he couldn’t afford. Sleep was the enemy right now. It was bad enough that he succumbed to passing out twice already and lucky actually, that he’d even managed to regain consciousness considering the blood loss and the other injuries he’d sustained. Still, the last thing Dean knew he needed was hypothermia on top of it all. He had to find a happy medium, at least till Sammy got there.
“Where the hell are you little brother?” he muttered, anxiously looking at his watch even though he knew Sam was still several hundred miles away.
He rubbed absentmindedly just above his knee, the sharp pain of his broken leg now mercifully reduced to a constant throb, but one he could tolerate so long as he didn’t move or bump the makeshift splint. Pulling his jacket tighter around his chest, he thought about starting the Impala and turning on the heat, his hand even reaching toward the key dangling from the ignition. He stopped just before touching it, his mind considering whether there was any other damage to the Impala he might not know about. Surely the front end had taken a beating from hitting the mountainside, not to mention the guardrail. Then there was the possibility of damage to the undercarriage. Suspended by the sharp rocks, Dean had no idea what, if any, harm could have been done to the under side of the car.
“Hmm, a fuel line leak… one spark… that could ruin my day. Not to mention, I don’t need to gas myself to death with carbon monoxide. Still, freezing my ass off isn’t exactly the way I planned on checking out either,” he mused.
Deciding to not tempt fate and considering his recent run of bad luck, Dean elected to forego any attempt to start the Chevy. Instead, he pulled his duffle bag back up from the floorboards and rummaged through the contents. He pulled out a couple of his Henleys, thought about layering them over top the shirts he already had on, but the effort of taking off his jacket just to add the shirts seemed not entirely worth the potential for resulting pain.
Rooting through the bag some more Dean’s hands came in contact with softer feel of fleece. Tugging the piece of clothing out, he held it before him, over-sized brown material stretched from sleeve to sleeve. One of Sam’s zippered hoodies had ended up in Dean’s duffle, strange enough considering that under normal circumstances Dean rarely if ever wore any of his brother’s clothes, even when all of his were dirty. But finding the thick hoodie now was nothing short of a godsend. He pulled the sweater closer to his chest, catching a brief whiff of Sam’s aftershave still clinging to the fabric. Unzipping it, Dean opened it backwards and laid it across him like a small blanket, chuckling slightly.
As the warmth of the added layer enveloped his upper body, Dean loosed a contented sigh. “Okay, no more comments about your choice in clothing, Sasquatch. Or for that matter, maybe I’ll even cut back on the Sasquatch comments too.”
Closing his eyes as the first drops of sleet began to pelt the outer body of the car, Dean listened to the staccato beat play against the metal and tried not to think about his brother driving in the inclement weather. Sam had warned him about the front heading his way, even told him he’d been driving through it when their call had been cut off. Dean’s eyes flew open, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. What if?
He’d assumed the call had been dropped, Sam just hit some cellular dead spot. But what if? What if instead, rushing to get to Dean, Sam had gotten into a wreck? What if Sam was now lying on the side of some ice covered highway, bloody or worse? He hadn’t called back. Wouldn’t worry-wart Sammy have called back by now if it had only been a dropped call?
Dean lurched forward, his hand scrambling for the cell phone that laid on the dash still attached by its umbilical to the charger. He pulled it free and flipped it open, immediately relieved when he spotted the icon that showed a missed call and a new voicemail.
He skipped the missed call, knowing it was Sam and opted for listening to the voicemail instead, relief filling him once more when Sam’s voice came across the receiver.
“Dean, it’s me. I’m not sure what happened earlier, I guess I must have hit a dead spot or something. Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone? I swear to God, if you are doing something stupid, I will kick your ass as soon as I get there—I don’t care if you’re hurt or not.” Dean listened to Sam’s long, drawn out sigh and could even picture his brother’s brows creased together in his characteristic look of worry, before his voice continued. “Listen, just call me when you get this, okay? Please? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Dean erased the message then scrolled down to redial his brother. He was about to hit the “send” button when a whisper caught his attention.
He shivered uncontrollably, despite the added layer of Sam’s fleece sweatshirt, looking around the confines of the classic car for the origin of the unfamiliar word. As before, it remained empty except for him.
“Okay, you’re losing it for sure now, Winchester. Crap, maybe the concussion was worse than I thought. Yeah, that’s it. First the Reaper, now I’m hearing shit?”
“Svetlana, Svetlana, alright already. What’s with Svetlana?” Dean yelled, dropping the cell into his lap and pressing the base of both hands tightly against his ears in an effort to block out the annoying sound.
Waiting for a silent ten count, Dean tentatively lowered his hands, listening for the strange words. When nothing but the steady tapping of the sleet against the Impala greeted him, he lowered his hands the remainder of the way and looked around the interior nervously.
The old Chevy was the one place he’d always felt safe and secure. It was the closest thing to a steady home Dean had ever known, but suddenly now, he felt as though his ‘home sweet home’ had been compromised.
“Concussion! It’s just the concussion. And blood loss… yeah that too. Got a bone stickin’ out of your leg, you’re bound to think you hear and see things that aren’t there,” he tried to convince himself. “Probably delusional from hunger. When did I eat last? Don’t people get a little loopy when their blood sugar gets low?”
But deep down inside, all the medical rationale didn’t completely set Dean at ease. He knew the head injury and compound fracture could certainly account for some of his mental status – or lack thereof – but at the end of the day, he was a hunter and he’d been hurt worse before. Deep down, Dean just knew he wasn’t seeing or hearing things.
Snatching the cellular back up, he continued with his call back to his brother. Hitting the send button now, he held his breath, hoping Sam wasn’t in the middle of nowhere again where cell service was considered luxury.
“Dean! Oh thank God! Where the hell have you been?” Sam’s voice bellowed out.
“Sorry dude, I musta just missed your last call.”
“Missed my call? How the hell, Dean? Where were you? Stuck in a board meeting or something, cause honestly, how the hell do you miss your cell phone ringing? You always have that phone on you.”
“I was taking a leak, Sam. Can’t a guy have a little privacy?” Dean quickly covered.
“Taking a leak, huh? For how long Dean? I called you back and left a voicemail nearly four hours ago. I’ve even tried you a couple of times since then. Where have you been?” Sam demanded his voice tinged with a mixture of anger and suspicion.
“Sam, seriously. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve been in the car the whole time. I was charging my cell. I never heard the phone ring, maybe the battery was too dead.” Come on Sammy, buy that excuse, please! I don’t need you pissed at me right now.
“You’re so full of crap, Dean…” Sam muttered softly, but Dean heard him anyway.
“Sam, I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere. It’s sleeting again here. The weather sucks, it’s freezing cold and the sun will be going down before too long,” he promised. “So, where are you now?”
There was a prolonged silence before Sam spoke again. “I’m just an hour or so into Ohio now. It’s been slow going ‘cause of the weather, but I’m trying to get there, Dean.”
Dean could hear the worry in Sam’s voice, knew his brother was franticly trying to get to him, having picked up his own desperation from their previous conversation. He wanted nothing more than to tell his brother everything was alright, but he knew his own voice would betray the lie.
“I know you are, Sammy. Just be careful, okay. I got enough to wor….”
“Svaatanya…” The mysterious whisper interrupted him mid-sentence, seeping from the back of the car on the tail of a sudden icy tendril that bit into Dean’s exposed skin.
“What the hell…” Dean grumbled, his head shifting towards the rear seat as the whisper turned into a full-fledged moan.
As Dean peered into the back of the car, vibrant red eyes set amid a ghostly white shell materialized in the corner of the back seat. He reared away instinctively, his back wedging against the steering wheel and the door frame in an effort to create as much distance between himself and whatever the thing was that had just appeared in the car.
“Dean… DEAN? Answer me, dammit!” Sam’s voiced blared out.
“What the hell are you?” Dean demanded through teeth clenched against the pain of his sudden movement.
“BubhukSaa…” Red eyes widened and despite the transparency of the specter, Dean could see long fang-like teeth glimmering from its mouth when it spoke the strange words. “Svaatanya… bubhukSaa…”
“Well, Svetlana, hope you don’t mind me calling you that, I don’t know what the hell you’re saying, but I’ll make you a deal, you stay in the back seat and I’ll stay in the front. How’s that?” The wounded hunter jokingly offered.
“Goddammit Dean, I can hear you talking. Who are you talking to? What the hell is going on?”
“BubhukSaa…” Fangs bared even further as red eyes now narrowed, sizing up the warm-blooded prey mere feet away.
With a shaking hand, Dean slowly raised the cellular back to his ear, Sam’s voice shouting in near panic. His eyes never leaving the thing in the back seat, Dean squeezed himself into the last millimeter of space available in the farthest point away from the creature.
“Sammy…” Dean’s voice broke through his brother’s tirade, silencing the younger man’s on-going rant.
“Dean, what the hell? Is someone there? Did someone stop to help you?”
“Not exactly. How far away did you say you were again?” Dean asked as his free hand slowly closed around the hilt of his Bowie.
Sam felt as if someone sucker punched him in the gut. He didn’t miss the slight fear in his brother’s voice even though he knew Dean was trying to mask it. “Dean, what the hell does that mean? Are you in trouble?” Sam’s hand clenched tighter onto his phone, so much so he was afraid the cell would shatter in his hand.
“I’m not sure…”
“Dean, would you stop talking in riddles and tell me what is going on?” Sam slammed on his brakes as a motorist suddenly cut him off. “Shit!”
“What? Sam, are you okay? What happened?” Dean’s voice seemed to lose all fear as he switched to automatic protective mode. “Sammy, answer me!”
Sam took a deep breath to calm his jittery nerves. “I’m fine, Dean. Some jackass just cut me off on the interstate.”
“Are you sure?”
The young hunter rolled his eyes as he realized what Dean was trying to do. He was diverting the attention from himself, and instead focusing on Sam which was the last thing Sam wanted him to do. He needed to know what was going on with Dean because there was no denying the fear in Dean’s voice before. “Dean, quit trying to change the subject and answer me—is there something out there with you?”
“I don’t know what it is, Sammy. Hell, it may just be my imagination playing with…” Dean’s voice abruptly cut off.
“Dean!” Sam once again felt the fear grip him, like an ice cube running down his back. He took the phone from his ear to see if he still had a signal and let out a sigh of relief when he saw it was strong. But the fear’s grip only tightened when he began to wonder if Dean actually was hurt more than he was letting on. Leave it to Dean to be hemorrhaging from some massive wound, all the while lying to Sam about it. Damn jackass was probably passed out, unconscious from blood loss and dying, just to be stubborn and spite him. “Dean, will you answer me, dammit!”
“It’s gone…” Dean’s voice seemed to hold a trace of bewilderment.
Relief washed over Sam as he heard his older sibling’s voice. Dean wasn’t dead—he was still alive, but it still didn’t allay his fears of Dean being seriously injured. “What’s gone? Dean, what are you talking about?”
“Whatever was in here with me—it’s not here anymore.”
“What was it?”
“It almost looked like a spirit…had these red eyes and kept saying something to me.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know…Svetlana, or something like that.”
Sam’s brows creased together, first in frustration then in annoyance. “Svetlana? That sounds like some Russian chick you found at a local bar, Dean.”
“Believe me, Sammy, I would take the Russian chick right about now.”
Sam was about to answer when his phone beeped, signaling another call. Glancing at the screen, he saw that is was Bobby and his frustration level only rose. “Dean, hold on a sec—Bobby’s beeping in.”
“Bite me.” Switching over, Sam didn’t even give Bobby time to say anything. “I’m fine, Bobby. I just got into Ohio.”
“Have you talked to Dean?”
“Yeah, actually I have him on the other line, so let me call you back.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know, Bobby.” Sam rotated his neck until he heard a few satisfying pops. “He keeps telling me he’s seeing something, but I think he may be hurt. I think I was right before when I said he was hiding something from me.”
“What is he telling you?”
“He says there’s something in the car with him, some spirit or something.” Sam shrugged though he knew the burly hunter couldn’t see him. “He said it had bright red eyes and it kept saying something to him.”
“What is it saying?”
“Svetlana.” Sam chuckled.
“Yeah, see what I mean—Dean’s talking about Russian women while I’m risking my neck trying to get to him as fast as I can. I know he’s trying not to worry me, Bobby, but I just wish he’d quit jerking me around.”
Sam went on as if he didn’t hear him. “I mean, he’s always trying to shield me from everything, but if he won’t stop and let me help him, what good is it gonna do? What am I supposed to do if I can’t get to him in time, Bobby?”
“I just wish he’d quit putting up his stupid ass walls and ask for help every now and then? Is it really such a bad thing to ask for help? Need someone?”
Sam recoiled in shock from the gruff, loud voice. “What?”
“What did Dean get from your dad’s storage locker?”
“Just a few odds and ends, I think. Why?”
“Make sure—ask him.”
“Hold on just a sec.” Sam clicked over to the other line. “Dean?”
“What the hell, Sammy? Can’t you call Bobby back later and discuss whatever the hell it is you’re talking about? Battery only lasts for so long, dude.”
“Dean, just shut up and listen to me. What did you get from Dad’s locker?”
“What? What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Sam felt his patience ebb away. “Just answer the question, Dean.”
“There were a few weapons, some things of Dad’s, and that last curse box.”
Sam ignored him as he went back over to Bobby. “Dean said he grabbed a few weapons, some of Dad’s personal things, and a curse box we’d forgotten when we grabbed all the others.”
Sam was seriously considering giving the fear that insisted on creeping up a permanent residency in his gut. “Bobby, what’s going on? You think something is in the car with Dean?”
“Sam, you pray?”
“You better start praying to all things holy that box didn’t come open.”
So, we're not gonna tell you the translations yet, but they are coming...
JennieC - December 16, 2007 11:55 PM (GMT)
you must come back, please - I need to know - I need Sam to get there - I need more, please!!
mizpah - December 17, 2007 07:21 AM (GMT)
...and I think I might get right down on my knees beside Sam....
Oh my goodness! First the thing materialised, and now it's talking to Dean, and sizing him up as if he's going to be a next meal!!!
Probably not the wisest update to read on a rainy, stormy night....*looks nervously toward the windows*....
Girls, you are doing a fantastic job on this - your writing styles mesh so seamlessly - I'm hard-pressed to know who wrote what, and I'm pretty familiar with my daughter's style by now.
And how tense is this getting - flipping heck! By the time Sam gets there, I don't think I'm going to have any fingernails left!
Awesome job, girls - just awesome.
chrisdawican - December 17, 2007 04:26 PM (GMT)
jesus I need more. Please update soon the surspence is killing me. I so hope dean is ok and that Sam get's there in time. great writing girls keep it up.
ziggy - December 18, 2007 11:05 PM (GMT)
What an evil cliffy - even tried to google the words but nothing matching came up! :rolleyes: :rotfl Just what was it in that curse box that Bobby is saying better not have come open - obviously something with red eyes and fangs! :bang If it has Bobby worried it can't be good, which will in turn give Sam something else to worry about other than the fact that his brother is probably injured far worse than he is letting on!
Just hope Sam can speed up a bit despite the weather conditions, sounds like Dean needs him now! :o
Superb chapter, awesome writing, this story has me totally gripped! :hi5
jeanne - December 20, 2007 01:02 AM (GMT)
Holding my breathe.... I keep watching for more. Please don't let me pass out!
supernaturalsam - December 30, 2007 02:06 AM (GMT)
So sorry for the lull in the update, but with the holidays it kinda got a little hectic in our lives. We're really happy you are enjoying this and yes, there will be another cliffie at the end of this chapter, but come on! We're so good at it!
Big thanks to our awesome beta, Bayre!
And God Know It Ain't His...
Sam felt as if the air was pushed out of his lungs and there was no hope for another breath. It was like a steamroller mowed him down, cutting off the vital air he needed in order to survive as Bobby’s words played over and over in his head. “You better start praying to all things holy that box didn’t come open.”
“Sam, you still with me?” There was a slight tinge of worry to the grizzled hunter’s voice.
“Bobby, let me call you back. I need to pull off the interstate.”
“Call me as soon as you do.”
Sam hung up the phone, and after driving for a couple more miles he flashed his right turn signal and eased off the interstate, pulling into a rest stop. There were very few cars in the lot and the younger hunter was grateful for it. He needed the quiet in order to get his thoughts straight. Everything threatened to overwhelm him and he just didn’t know which direction to go in.
His silence was short-lived as his cell phone chirped. Glancing at the screen he saw it was Dean and alarm bells immediately went off in his head. Great…something else to compete with everything currently waging a war up there…
“Dean, are you okay?”
“Sam, what the hell are you doing hanging up on me?”
Sam rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, I must have lost the call. I was about to call you back.”
“What did Bobby say? Why did you need to know what I picked up?”
Sam didn’t want to tell Dean what Bobby had just said. He still needed to talk to the salvage yard owner, to find out more about what Dean was dealing with before he alarmed his brother even farther. He just wasn’t willing to risk that. “He was just curious, Dean.”
“You’re not telling me something, Sammy.”
Sam cringed. He should have known Dean would catch that—his brother had an annoying habit of knowing when Sam wasn’t telling him everything. “Listen Dean, I’m gonna have to call you back in a few minutes.”
“No, Sammy—don’t you dare hang up on me!”
Sam did precisely that, cutting Dean off before he could begin to issue threats. He didn’t have time to deal with them he needed to get Bobby back on the phone and get some answers—fast.
Bobby answered on the first ring. “You okay, Sam?”
“Yeah, Bobby. Now, tell me what you meant by your praying comment. What’s in the curse box?”
“It’s not anything good, Sam.” He heard Bobby exhale a deep breath and imagined the bearded hunter removing his cap and rubbing at his forehead. “It’s called a Pishacha.”
Sam frowned. “Pishacha? What the hell is a Pishacha?”
“A very nasty SOB. It’s a Hindu flesh-eating demon that haunts cemeteries. It can turn invisible, but can also possess people on a whim. It thrives on driving its victims insane before consuming them—it wants to leave them defenseless.”
“Why haven’t I heard of this thing before?”
“To be honest, there’s really not a lot of lore on it. The only reason I know this much about it is because of your daddy.”
“How did Dad get a hold of it?”
“About two or three years ago it was wreaking havoc on a small town in Nebraska. He went over to investigate and called me down to help because it was just impossible for him to handle by himself. The thing kept turning invisible and when it got bored with that, it jumped from person to person. By the time I got there, it’d worked your daddy over pretty well. He managed to get control of it—I don’t know how and he never said...”
“That doesn’t really help me now, Bobby. That thing is in there with Dean.”
“Look, Sam, I’ll go through some books here and see if I can find anything.”
“Maybe Dad put something about it in the journal.”
“I don’t know, Sam. Putting that thing in the box was John’s way of getting rid of it. He may not have thought he’d need it for future reference. Hell, he may have just forgotten to put it in there.”
The young hunter reached down to the floorboard for his duffle before remembering he no longer had the journal. “Dammit, the journal’s with Dean!”
Sam brought a hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Just once Sam wished good fortune could be on their side and help them. God knew they did enough for the good guys, couldn’t they get something good in return for once?
“What do I do about Dean? What can he do until I get there?”
“The best thing for him is to get his ass out of the car and somewhere safe. He can’t go up against this thing, Sam, not alone.”
“Why the hell was this thing put in a curse box in the first place? Why didn’t you and dad just kill it? It would be saving me a hell of a headache right now.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Sam—we couldn’t find a way to kill it for sure. Hell, I don’t know if there even is a way to kill it.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Look Sam, I’ll look around my books and see if I can find some information. Just hang in there, okay? You can’t afford to lose your head right now.”
“All right, call me back as soon as you know something.”
“You be careful, Sam.”
Sam hung up the phone and hit the steering wheel in frustration. He didn’t like the thought of Dean being alone against some demon they had no idea how to kill. He also didn’t like the idea he was still hundreds of miles away from his brother. He’d give anything to be in the car with Dean right now—at least then he could help Dean and keep an eye on him.
Sitting back in the seat, he dialed Dean’s number, bracing himself against the onslaught of anger he knew was coming his way.
“Sam, what the hell were you thinking about hanging up on me? I swear to God, I am so ready to kick your ass! I’m out here freezing my ass off and you hang up on me? It better have been for something important!”
“Dean, just shut up and listen to me!” Sam didn’t mean to snap at his brother, but he was frustrated and tired, running on nothing more than the last fumes of coffee from a few hours ago and adrenaline.
“What?” Dean’s voice was barely above a growl.
Yep, way to go Sam…piss Dean off as much as you can while he’s in trouble. “I think you’re in a lot more trouble than we thought, Dean. You need to get out of the car right now and get somewhere safe.”
“Come on, Dean—just don’t argue with me, okay? Get out of the damn car now!”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on!”
Sam sighed. “Bobby thinks a demon might be out there with you, so get out of the car and get somewhere until I get there.”
Dean was silent for a few moments before he slowly said, “I think that may be a problem, Sammy…”
Dean could hear Sam’s audible gulp of air as the younger Winchester absorbed his words. He’d been dreading this moment, hoping to prolong the inevitable, hoping to even keep Sam from finding out the true extent of his injuries and the precarious nature of his situation until he got there. But there was no way to hide it any more. No way to convince his brother he was getting out of the Impala and to some semblance of safety when not only couldn’t he move more than a inch with his broken leg, but even if he managed to drag himself out of the car, there was no way he was climbing up the side of the cliff without help.
“Dean, what haven’t you told me?” Sam’s voice was tinged with hesitation.
The elder brother took a deep breath, his free hand unconsciously moving down toward his injured leg, gently rubbing back and forth just above his knee. He cleared his throat, trying to decide exactly where to begin and silently wondering why it was so difficult to tell Sam. In the end, it was Sam’s irritation and anger that finally drove the words from him.
“Dammit, Dean, just cut the bullshit and tell me where you’re hurt,” Sam demanded, his voice now holding no trace of tremor or weakness.
Okay, so little brother figured it out, huh? “I broke my leg, Sammy,” Dean blurted out.
There was another moment of silence over the cell phone and in his mind’s eye, Dean could picture Sam chewing his bottom lip as he acknowledged the admission.
“How bad is it, Dean? Can you still walk on it or are we talking bones sticking out?”
“I’ve had worse…” Dean began.
“Okay, so we’re talking compound fracture then,” Sam interjected. “Have you stopped the bleeding, got it splinted? Is that why you didn’t call me back earlier? I knew you were lying to me, you stubborn jackass.”
“Sam, I would have told you, but I ...”
“Save it, Dean. It’s always the same crap. How bad is it? And don’t leave anything out, ‘cause I’m telling you, I’ll damn well break your other leg when I get there if you lie to me one more time.”
“Alright, alright, just relax, Sam. Don’t get your tighty-whities bunched up…”
“Stop it, Dean. I’m tired and I’m not in the mood and I’m trying my damndest to save your ass here. Can you please just work with me, just once?”
Dean considered pushing Sam more, but the weariness in his brother’s tone and the pleading in the request were more compelling than his normal penchant for tormenting his younger sibling. Besides, right now, he really did have bigger issues than pushing Sam’s buttons.
“Sammy, look, I’m sorry bro, I am. I know you’re just trying to help and I never meant to… well… I know you’re busting your ass to get here. I just didn’t want to make you worry more when there was nothing you could do about it,” he offered. “Okay, honestly, it’s my right leg and yeah, I’ve got it pretty well taken care of, but no, dude, I don’t think I’m gonna be getting around on it very far.”
“What else, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice still hedged with wariness.
The hunter sighed audibly before running down the catalog of injuries both major and minor. When he finished, Sam mimicked the huff of air and Dean was fairly certain he could hear his brother’s fist slamming into the steering wheel of whatever vehicle he was driving.
“Dean, there’s gotta be a way to get you out of the Impala. You can’t stay in there.”
“Whoa, back up here a second, Sammy. What the hell did Bobby tell you exactly? What is this thing? ’Cause if it’s a demon, just getting out of the car isn’t gonna help me much. The damn thing will just chase me down if it wants me that bad. I need some way to keep the damn thing off me. Or better still, I need a way to put it down permanently.”
“Bobby says it’s something called a Pishacha, some Hindu flesh-eating demon, and that it nearly killed Dad when he went after it the first time. Dad couldn’t destroy it so that’s why he sealed it in the box. Bobby’s checking to see what he can find out, but Dean, this thing isn’t something to be screwing around with,” Sam explained.
“Yeah, but it hasn’t done anything yet but sit and groan at me. Maybe it’s been locked up too long, maybe its too weak or something. Maybe Dad put a binding on it before he sealed it up,” Dean offered back.
“Humor me, Dean. If the thing is weak right now, then all the more reason to try to get you as far as possible away from the damn thing while we can. Can you at least get out of the car and make it to the trunk? Maybe you can get to some weapons, holy water, something? I’m probably still five hours or so away, but at least you’d have some protection till I got there.”
“I dunno, Sam. I don’t think so…” Dean began. He wasn’t about to tell his brother that in addition to his broken leg and the now-released demon, that his cherished Impala was hanging precariously on the edge of the mountainside.
Dean waited for his brother’s response and was surprised again when Sam didn’t relent on him about getting away from the wrecked Chevy.
“Come on, Dean. Don’t puss out on me. I’ve seen you walk on a busted up leg before. How ’bout that time Dad took us with him to hunt those two spirits in the Ozarks. You walked on that broken leg for two days before we got out of the woods and back to civilization. I know this is worse, but…”
“Sammy, that was different, I didn’t know my leg was broken. Besides, someone had to carry Dad out and since you decided to let that damn spirit dislocate your shoulder, one of us had to take care of business,” Dean refuted. “Look, you wanted the truth and the truth is that I can’t walk on my leg. First you chew my ass out when I don’t tell you I’m hurt and now when I tell you how bad it is, you’re still busting my balls. Give me a break, dude! Its not like I enjoy sitting here feelin’ like someone is using a chainsaw on my leg.”
Dean listened to the deafening silence, feeling only the slightest amount of guilt knowing he was playing on Sam’s emotions. He knew full well he was doling out just enough information to appease his younger brother and that once Sam got there and saw the full extent of his predicament there would be hell to pay. But, what Sam didn’t know, and couldn’t do anything about right now, wouldn’t hurt him. At least that’s what Dean rationalized. Sam’s long sigh across the cellular let Dean know he’d won this round, at least for now.
“Any chance you have your flask on you? At least that might be some protection for a while. Bobby’s checking all his sources, maybe he’ll come up with something that will help,” Sam acquiesced.
“It’s in my gear bag. I can get to it. Do you even know if holy water has any effect on this thing?”
“I dunno. Even Bobby said he didn’t know much about the damn thing other than it was one tough bastard. Seriously, Dean, Dad put that thing in that box ’cause he had no other choice and it’s out now. And you’re hurt and trapped with it, served up like a damn…”
“Cut it out, Sammy. How ‘bout we don’t serve me up like anything just yet, okay? I haven’t seen good ole Svetlana for a while now. Wherever it is or has gone, it hasn’t made any move on me. Maybe it really has just been cooped up in that box too long. Maybe we’re just worrying for nothing. Besides, five hours is nothing. I can hold my own for five hours, no sweat,” Dean insisted, forcing confidence into his voice.
“Dean, I… please, just promise me, do whatever you have to and get away from the damn thing if it comes down to it,” Sam begged. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”
Dean cut off the sarcastic reply, despite being tempted to tell his younger brother that in general, Sam had a “bad feeling” about nearly everything lately. He had to admit though, this was probably one of those instances where his little brother might be right, that or Sam’s intuition was rubbing off on Dean. Regardless, Dean wasn’t about to add to Sam’s worries by allowing his brother even one more glimpse of weakness on his part.
“Dude, just chill. I got this pistachio thing under control. I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse and yeah, before you go getting all emo on me, I promise I’ll drag my ass out of the car somehow if things get bad. Cross my heart and hope to die,” Dean promised.
“Bad choice of words, Dean…”
“You know what I mean.” Dean replied, then for effect he quickly added “Bitch!”
“ I’m not saying it… you’re not getting me to make light of this whole situation, Dean,”
“Aw, come on, Sammy. You know you want too,” Dean teased.
“No Dean, it’s not funny…”
“Saaam- saaaayy iittt…”
“Come on, you can do, it’s screaming to get out. Just give in to it,” Dean taunted.
“You’re a jackass, Dean. You know that? I’m driving through shit weather, killing myself to get to you, worried about saving your ass from some cannibalistic demon. Can’t you ever take anything serious? You’re hurt, can’t even move, probably lying to me even about how bad you’ve been injured and you don’t even seem to give a damn about that. I don’t even know why I waste my time worrying about you when you don’t seem to care anymore,” Sam rattled off, his voice filled with exasperation.
Dean remained quiet for a second, knowing he’d once again pushed his brother too far. Still, it just wasn’t in his nature to sit around and cry about his situation.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I was being a jerk wasn’t I?” he admitted solemnly.
“Yeah, you are,” Sam agreed readily.
“Huh? What was that, Sam? You cut out for a second.”
“I said, yeah you are,” Sam repeated.
“I am what?”
“You’re a JERK!” Sam shouted in frustration.
Dean’s laughter filled both the cell phone and the interior of the Impala as he relished the small victory. He could hear his brother’s grumble over the phone followed soon after by a half-hearted chuckle.
“Alright, seriously Sam, I really will watch out for the Pishacha and I’ll call you if it makes another appearance. I’m gonna dig out my flask and see if there’s anything else useful I can reach here in the car. You’ll call me if you hear back from Bobby?”
“You know I will, Dean. I’m gonna pull off here in a minute, fuel up the truck and grab something to drink. I should be back on the road again in twenty minutes. I’ll give you a call once I’m underway again,” Sam informed.
“Okay, dude, have a hot cup of coffee for me too. And Sam,”
“Thanks, dude. I know you’re trying…”
“Just watch your ass, Dean. This Svetlana ain’t nobody you want to spend quality time with in the back seat,” Sam teased, trying to match his brother’s light-heartedness.
“I think I got that, bro,” Dean answered, stealing a nervous glance into the rear of the Impala as he reluctantly pushed the button on the cell phone ending the call.
As the silence of the car settled over him once more, the safety and self-assurance Dean had felt while talking with Sam melted away as the coldness of the interior nagged for at his attention. It wasn’t as though he needed the security of his brother’s voice; he’d spent plenty of time alone on the road over the years. But somehow, just now, stuck on the side of a mountain with a demon in his car, his sanctuary of sorts, chewed away at his so carefully crafted stalwart exterior leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He hated that feeling; a weakness just as tangible as any physical ailment ever was, even more so in Dean’s mind.
He shivered violently, muscles twitching in full-body concert, and tried to convince himself it was only a response to the temperature. Pushing back the sleeve on his left arm, he looked at the time on his watch.
“Five hours! I can do five hours. Piece of cake.” But even as he spoke the words, he was already reaching for the duffle on the floorboards, pulling it up and reaching inside, his hands frantically seeking out the small silver flask that contained the precious liquid. His hand closed on the metal container and he drew it out, pulling it up close to his chest protectively.
Dean closed his eyes, curious that his heart was pounding against his ribcage. He hated this feeling; trapped, helpless, insecure. Even worse was being essentially weaponless and in the dark about the demon.
His eyes shot open and Dean lurched forward, his free hand stretching for his gear bag once more. He yanked it back onto his lap, stifling the groan behind his teeth when the bag sent a jostling wave down his injured leg.
He let the silver flask slide off to the side as he rummaged through the duffle, pulling clothing and even his shaving kit out and casting those articles off to the side in his quest for one particular item.
It took just a second longer when Dean finally came to the thing he was looking for. Sighing audibly, he sank back against the driver’s side door, a feeling of relief washing over him as he held the leather journal in his hands.
“I sure hope you have some words of wisdom in here about this thing, Dad. ’Cause I sure could use a little help,” he muttered, flipping open the cover.
Dean opened the diary and stared at the first page. He’d read every page of this book at one time or another but couldn’t claim to have committed the entire thing to memory. Admittedly, since his father’s death, he’d been disinclined to even touch it, even seeing the familiar handwriting brought back memories that opened a wound like a massive knife in his heart. But since seeing his dad climb out of the very pits of Hell and come to his rescue yet again and help destroy their life-long nemesis, somehow had softened the loss.
Still, dead and gone was dead and gone and looking at the journal was a constant reminder that his dad was not here because of him, just like he would soon be gone himself.
“Yeah, but not now, and not courtesy of some damn demon in my own damn car,” he refused stubbornly.
Thumbing through the pages, Dean skimmed past references to everything from reapers to skinwalkers. He came across a brief paragraph about a rabbit’s foot and chuckled openly.
--- Managed to get the foot away from the family before it caused any more harm. Couldn’t find a way to break its curse before it was too late for the uncle. At least it will be locked up safe where no one can touch it. ----
“Yeah, that’s what you thought, Dad. But then, I ’spose you never counted on needing a rat trap to keep the likes of Bela Talbot out of it,” Dean mused. “Course, maybe if you would have trusted your own flesh and blood with your little secrets, maybe we wouldn’t have ever gotten into this mess.”
He turned several more pages, casually scanning each as he flipped past them. Notation on every imaginable creature, spirit and demon filled the sheets, but Dean saw nothing that specifically mentioned the Pishacha.
“Did you even know what the hell the thing was, Dad?” he mumbled as he flipped another page. “Of course you did. You wouldn’t have gone into a hunt without intel. You were never that careless.”
Deft fingers flipped over more pages as he tried to focus on the writing before him. Fatigued eyes burned and blurred, and Dean was just about ready to give in when he caught a glimpse of the word “pishacha” scrawled midway across the yellowed sheet. He ran his finger down the page, stopping as he read his father’s comment.
…Reminded of the unnamed demon in the Testament of Solomon, who creeps “beside the men who pass along among the tombs, and in untimely season, I assume the form of the dead, and if I catch any one, I at once destroy him with my sword. But if I cannot destroy him, I cause him to be possessed with a demon.” …
Dean turned the page over and back again, a disgusted grunt escaping his lips as he sought more of his dad’s writing.
“Oh just friggin’ great. This is what you leave me with? How about, here’s what the thing is, or how it attacks, what it hunts. Oh and God forbid, would it have killed you to have mentioned how the hell you caught the damn thing? Maybe how you fought it? A couple tricks of the trade?”
Dejected and with no more information on the thing that had been contained in the now-opened curse box, Dean slammed closed the journal and was about to toss it back into the duffle.
Dropping the leather book into his lap, Dean’s right hand immediately closed on the silver flask while his left sought out the familiar solidness of the Bowie. Instinctively, he shifted further back against the door as he reacted to the hissed out word, his eyes darting to the back seat as the ghostly white shadow of the demon appeared once again.
“Svaatanya… palaayana.” It spoke directly at Dean, red eyes capturing his hazel in a piercing predatory stare.
Dean stealthily began to twist off the cap to the flask with his thumb, his other hand more tightly gripping the hilt of the blade. He tried to ignore the slight tremor in his arms, electing to blame it more on the cold in the car than admitting any fear.
“This is getting kinda boring, Svetlana. Don’t you know any new words?” Dean snarked, silently flipping the cap off. “I mean, we got five hours together, we need to find something more interesting to talk about.”
Long fangs dropped from behind lips that became more solid as Dean watched. He recoiled slightly as the demon gained corporeal form, its body filling out with a tangible mass. It raised one arm slowly towards the young hunter, a clawed fingertip pointing at his chest.
“BubhukSaa,” it repeated, saliva dripping from it’s fangs as it leaned forward toward the front seat.
His heart racing, Dean lifted the flask and with a determined flick of his wrist he splashed holy water across the closing creature.
“I told you, you stay in the back seat, I get the front…” he sneered as the demon retracted with a screech and the hiss of the sacred liquid as it struck flesh that was quickly dissolving back into it’s prior ethereal form.
Dean watched the demon fade back into nothingness again, holding his breath as he waited for the last vaporous tendril to disappear from the rear of the Impala. When the Pishacha was gone once more, he exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, sagging back against the door, unmindful of the handle digging into his spine.
He sat there listening to the wind howl outside the Chevy while the wild thrum of his heart pounded within his ears. Wanting nothing more than to grab for the cell phone and hit the speed dial to his brother, needing to hear Sam’s voice to calm his frazzled nerves, the only thing stopping him was the lack of a third hand. But since he wasn’t about to relinquish his grip on either the knife or the flask, reaching for the cellular was currently out of the question. Not to mention, he wasn’t about to admit that he was going to run to his little brother just because some demon pointed a finger at him.
Dean laughed, shaking his head and silently chiding himself for the momentary slip. He sucked in a couple of deep breaths, willed his heart to slow and glanced down at the watch on his wrist.
“Four and a half hours to go,” he observed, turning to look out the window as the soft pelting of snowy mix began to fall yet again.
The icy chill that engulfed him would have been warning enough, eating into his skin despite the added clothing and the leftover fleece blanket. Dean didn’t even bother to pull the coverings up closer, his gut immediately causing him to react defensively even before the words struck his ears.
“BubhukSaa… pratikaara…niryaaNa…” (hungry… revenge… death…)
Dean lifted the flask, his arm pulled back in preparation to fling the contents at the demon that loomed just a few feet from him. Red eyes glaring, fangs fully bared, it reached out towards him, seemingly unthreatened by its previous encounter with the holy water.
“Sonofabitch…” Dean snarled as the creature launched over the top of the seat towards him.
ziggy - December 30, 2007 11:56 PM (GMT)
Wow Stephanie, put Dean through the wringer won't you! :rotfl Now the holy water won't work on the pishacha! :o :thud And all this while the impala is perched precariously on the cliff! :thud Sam is going to be well p*ssed with Dean when he gets there and sees the situation his brother is in! :o
Hope Bobby comes up with some research quick which Sam can pass onto Dean, but there again if Dean doesn't have the items he needs to hand he is screwed! :rolleyes:
Did like the little moment of light relief when Dean got Sam to reply jerk to his bitch, even in a difficult situation Dean still has his sense of humour! :)
And you leave us with the not so little cliffy of the pishacha coming after Dean and him defenceless! :thud Sam put your foot down and get there yesterday, and Bobby ring with some useful information! :wacko:
Awesome update hon, superb, this story is amazing! :)
Hope you had a great Christmas and hope that 2008 is a fantastic year for you :hug
jeanne - January 3, 2008 01:10 AM (GMT)
I'm loving this story. I check everyday for an update.
I'm waiting...... waiting..... waiting.......
Okay, so I've never been very good at waiting.
Please update soon!
jeanne - January 17, 2008 01:33 AM (GMT)
You can't just leave me sitting " on the edge" like this!!
My fingernails are getting short!
mizpah - January 17, 2008 04:04 AM (GMT)
Daughter...YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE AND FIX MY BOY!!!!!!!!
Goodness me, you're going to give me a heart attack, leaving it like that!
The holy water isn't working - Dean hasn't got anything else apart from his wits, and the demon really doesn't seem all that interested in a heart to heart - unless it's Dean's heart it wants to devour....
Oh, holy crap.... :thud
Sam - go flipping cross-country if you have to, but get there NOW!!!!!!
will just hide behind here and wait, biting off every fingernail I have, until you update..... :hide
just remembered - she's off to meet Jared at a convention this weekend - that means no update :bang :bang :bang :bang
supernaturalsam - January 26, 2008 04:30 AM (GMT)
Sorry about the lack of updates, guys! Things have been a little hectic around our neck of the woods. As Mizpah mentioned, I did meet Jared this past weekend and on top of that Tree and I are gearing up for the Virtual Season, so we're getting a little behind on Edge.
We hope to have an update out pretty soon so please stay tuned!
mizpah - February 17, 2008 06:06 AM (GMT)
POKE POKE POKE
Define "pretty soon"
POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE
Come back and fix Dean
POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE
ok, if I must resort to begging (my poor arthritic knees....) *gets down on knees*
pretty please, I need an update
POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE
ziggy - February 21, 2008 12:19 AM (GMT)
|QUOTE (mizpah @ Feb 17 2008, 06:06 AM)|
| POKE POKE POKE|
Define "pretty soon"
POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE
Come back and fix Dean
POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE
ok, if I must resort to begging (my poor arthritic knees....) *gets down on knees*
pretty please, I need an update
POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE
Ditto Jules - but without the arthritic knees! :rotfl :hide
Time for an update Stephanie, or are you still on cloud 9 after meeting Jared! :cloud9
mizpah - February 21, 2008 01:40 AM (GMT)
And to think that you got a hug from that 6'4" hunk of lovliness....
And without further ado - here is a bribe...update please..... :hug:
ziggy - February 21, 2008 02:46 PM (GMT)
Another bribe - and as Jules says UPDATE PLEASE! :)
supernaturalsam - February 23, 2008 03:37 AM (GMT)
Okay guys, I may have some good news on the horizon for you!
My co-author, Tree, wants me to let you know that an update will be coming soon. With the Virtual Season premiering next week she's had to focus on that but she said as soon as she completes episode 2, we'll get cracking and have another update out!
So bear with us and thanks for the bribes! You two know me so well! :D :lol:
Oh, and yeah, Mum...still on that Cloud 9...kind of hard to come down from that!
catchme21 - February 23, 2008 07:31 AM (GMT)
Lol you aren't bribing hard enough ladies...
Yes, this is Jared:
Heh heh heh...glad to hear an update is on the horizon...also excited for the VS to start so you girls take your time.
supernaturalsam - February 23, 2008 09:23 PM (GMT)
|QUOTE (catchme21 @ Feb 23 2008, 07:31 AM)|
| Lol you aren't bribing hard enough ladies...|
Yes, this is Jared:
Heh heh heh...glad to hear an update is on the horizon...also excited for the VS to start so you girls take your time.
Yes, now that's a great bribe! You only make me go back and relive that moment all over again in Austin... :cloud9
*Drifts off to lala land*
Update coming soon!
supernaturalsam - February 23, 2008 09:26 PM (GMT)
|QUOTE (catchme21 @ Feb 23 2008, 07:31 AM)|
| Lol you aren't bribing hard enough ladies...|
Yes, this is Jared:
Heh heh heh...glad to hear an update is on the horizon...also excited for the VS to start so you girls take your time.
Yes, now that's a great bribe! You only make me go back and relive that moment all over again in Austin... :cloud9
*Drifts off to lala land*
Update coming soon!
jeanne - March 12, 2008 12:46 AM (GMT)
It's now March and still no update....... :( :(
Poor Dean. He's been left in a very awkward position.
Please come back and fix him.