Title: The Fox and the Hare
Description: caution: Dean!hurt
guiltypleasure - December 28, 2007 06:19 AM (GMT)
I had this story rattling around for a bit---finally decided to get it onto the screen.
I see alot of writers start with a disclaimer--so here's mine:
I realize the Winchester and Bobby characters belong to Kripke et al. The story is outa my own head. Sorta takes place somewhere after the whole St. Louis /Dean issue---they've been running from the law for some time.
Oh--and thanks for reading!
The Fox and the Hare
Sam had just finished gassing the car up and had buckled himself in. Dean, returning from the can --came in with a look of pure disgust.
“Man—I really hope that graffiti was just brown crayon on the wall in there….that one tops my list so far.
“—of the grossest gas station cans in the US. I figure triple-A or some travel agency will pay big for that kind of heads up—“
“Pardon the pun—“
Dean’s feet were obscured by the detritus of their last two days of travel. Coffee cups, fast food bags, candy wrappers, newspapers--
There was too much of it to stuff it all under the seat—he grumbled, gathered his arms full and exited again, dumping the lot into the nearest garbage can.. He walked back to his open door, dusting off his hands, when he heard a shout—
“DEAN WINCHESTER! Freeze!! --Put Your Hands Up--NOW!”
He froze in his tracks—a mere second, -staring in disbelief at the state trooper training her revolver straight at him-
“Shit--Sam, Gun it!”
Still in neutral, the engine roared to red-line as Sam stomped the gas in panic,--Dean dove toward his seat as the trooper opened fire. He slammed against his open door, and stumbled to the pavement, the window shattering behind him -
“--Go Go Go!!” he shouted, pulling himself in all the way as the Impala took off, smoke spewing from the skidding rear wheels-
Sam floored it, and the Impala, despite it’s age, bolted forward—eight cylinders screaming--and pulled far ahead of the patrol car—a testament to all the work Dean and Bobby had put into her.
“Where now?!” Sam barked—still shocked—and turning to him in a frantic appeal for direction.
He almost double footed the brakes. Dean had both hands clutched to his side. Blood streamed over his fingers, and was spattered on the door and dash.
His face was contorted in agony-
“Don’t slow down!” he yelled—“ Turn right—here—“
Sam did and they hit the dirt side road in a choking cloud of dust, fish-tailing momentarily before the wheels found their footing in the gravel-
“Jeesus—you’re hit—we have to stop-!“
“No we don’t!—Keep going—Left here--now—“
Sam did as he was told, trying to keep her on the road in the loose stones as he glanced over in shock.
The reality of what had happened was fast making itself apparent to Dean. Adrenalin had given him the brief burst he needed to throw himself into the car, but now he could hardly breathe, as the pain intensified. He held his side tightly—he didn’t know the damage yet—only that it hurt beyond words as he curled away from the cold wind blasting through the shattered window, pressing his feet hard against the floor to stay upright.
“—sonofabitch-“ he ground out,—
“Dean—dammit—let me pull over--!”
“ Just --keep driving--!” he panted- “--we have to---- at least get over the--- state line or--- we’re screwed—“
Sam drove like a jackrabbit zigzagging ahead of the fox---Dean barked directional changes every few minutes so that they managed to stay under the radar on back roads. As long as they weren’t picked up by air surveillance—they were safe so far. After thirty minutes of desperate and convoluted travel, ---they crossed into the adjacent state and finally ground to a halt in front of a derelict barn.
It stood alone in an overgrown pasture, poplar saplings sprouting from its foundation. Sam hopped out and checked around— and when he was sure it was abandoned, he kicked the rusted gate open, sprinted down and pulled open the sagging doors to peer inside.. Satisfied—he raced back to the car, drove it through the field and eased it into the barn. At least it was shelter for the moment—and hidden.
Once safely inside, he shut the car off and pulled the doors closed behind them. And he breathed for the first time—it seemed—in half an hour.
He opened the passenger side and eased Dean’s seat down. Dean was still holding his side—groaning through his tightly clenched teeth.
“---cops---h-how’d they know---?” he shuddered, as Sam pushed aside his jacket and hiked up his sodden tee-shirt to assess.
“—Aw man—Dean—this is not good..” he said—seeing the wounds now.
Dean’s midriff was awash with blood. One bullet had carved a vicious trough across his left side, a second had struck lower, between his last rib and hip. Sam felt for an exit wound , finding none.
He rooted around and found the first aid kit and applied the most useful looking bandages. He bound a tensor wrap as tightly as he could around his middle--but was dismayed as he watched them quickly soak through.
“Dean—if we don’t get to a hospital—you’ll-
“NO!—No, Sam--! We’re all over the freaking radar now—you might as well just--- drive me straight into--- Leavenworth-“
He grimaced and groaned again—fighting the waves of pain that accompanied each breath.
“Well what, then?! Tell me what to do—!” Sam cried in panic- “--You’re bleeding too hard—we can’t wait around—“
“—I—I dunno---—just…..“ -- he gasped, blacking out- “—no hospital—please----“
“Dean?!---Dean!—“ Sam shook him—terrified he was dying in front of him. He felt his pulse—relieved to find it rapid but still strong.
—calm down— think--!
He punched the code—hands shaking, for their old friend. Bobby always knew what to do.
He swore when he got the message-
--customer is not available---please try again-
He hung up and turned back to Dean. He was unresponsive, Sam rechecked his pulse, alarmed by his pale skin. He knew Dean was right—any hospital in the vicinity would be on high alert for any gunshot victim—it was a sure thing that he’d be arrested…but if they didn’t get to one---
He wished doctors still made house-calls. None of them did that anymore—and walk-in clinics were too public as well—no doubt they’d be warned to watch out for them too-- It didn’t leave him with many options. He called info again and got the numbers of clinics in the area anyway—and took a chance calling the first.
It was as he’d feared—they never went out to the patient—and he was sure her manner changed when he described –in vague detail—Dean’s injuries. The nurse suddenly began asking very pointed questions—he stammered, then hung up—afraid they were on to them.
Dean shifted and moaned in the car—Sam put his hand to his bandaged side, hoping the bleeding had slowed. It was saturated, warm---his heart sank—knowing they were in serious trouble now..
Sam’s eyes pricked with tears of panic and frustration…he wracked his brain, settling on a last-ditch and desperate route.
---Bleeding is bleeding—he thought—it’s all treated the same….
He made one more call to information--
He called the first number he’d gotten—it was a paging service---explaining that he had an emergency., and he left his cell number. Then he waited in heart-pounding anxiety for them to call back.
It felt like an eternity, but at last his phone rang.
“Dr Macy, here—what’s the problem--?” an efficient-sounding female voice queried.
“I—was,…uh—trail-riding---my horse went down—I think he was—shot- He’s bleeding from his—from his side—“
He didn’t have to feign the distress choking his voice—he was suffocating with it.
She asked him more questions about the animal’s condition, got some directions—and assured him she’d drive out immediately—explaining what he needed to do in the meantime. He thanked her—and crouched beside his brother—waiting and listening for the sound of her vehicle—she’d said about twenty minutes.
It was the longest twenty minutes of his life.
He checked Dean’s pulse obsessively—it was all he could do. He kept his hand pressed hard against the wounds—hoping to keep his life from draining out while they waited. Dean moaned and frowned tightly, despite his sub-conscious state. He curled up instinctively, but Sam held him flat against the seat—fearful of releasing any pressure.
At last he heard the crunch of tires on the gravel at the roadside.
He peeked out—making sure there were no flashing lights—and when he read the wording on the van door, he left the safety of the barn and jogged out to meet her.
She shook his hand firmly.
“Beth Macy. You called about a horse that’s down--?”
Sam nodded—introduced himself simply as Sam, and explained that he’d gotten the horse into the barn.
“Looks like he’s bleeding pretty heavily—“ she said—noting his red- smeared shirt and hands. “But you got him up and into the barn—that’s a good sign….and you think he was shot?”
She frowned, hauling her field kit out from the van.
“Bloody hunters!—Every deer season it’s the same damned thing---if they’re not out proving Darwinism by accidentally shooting each other--they’re taking out livestock left, right and center---you’re lucky you weren’t hit yourself-“
He went ahead and pulled the door open slightly—allowing her to enter the barn first. He followed closely, pulling the door closed again behind them.
She stopped when she saw the car, looked around warily, and realized with alarm that there was no horse apparent.
“Ok—what the hell’s going on here--? ---Where’s that animal--?!” she demanded.
Beth Macy was a strong woman—she was tall and square-built—and had no trouble looking out for herself. But this was different—she’d been lured to the sticks, alone—and now things were apparently not as she’d been told.. She pulled out her cell and almost completed 911 when Sam convinced her to drop it.
Well—his gun did most of the convincing. The shaky hand holding it was less persuasive—but there was no arguing with the weapon while it was pointed at her chest.
“You stupid bastard--!” she snarled. “What is it? Drugs??—you thought I’d come with a shit-load of tranquilizer or morphine or something--?!”
“No—No—“ Sam stammered- “It’s really an injury—I really do need your help-“
“Then why the gun---?!“
“—I had to….look,—he’s hurt—I couldn’t go anywhere else—I couldn’t take the chance you’d run—“
Sam gestured towards the car.
“I wasn’t lying about him being shot—he’s bleeding badly—please—“
She glanced at the car—now seeing the figure of another young man slumped in the passenger seat.
She stared back at him, incredulous-
”You must be kidding--!”
Sam pushed the hair from his eyes with a trembling hand.
“—I’m not—he’s been shot—he’s bleeding---you can help him-“
“—You’re nuts! I’m a vet—not a bloody doctor!—Get your buddy to a hospital, for god’s sake--!”
“I can’t!” Sam shouted. “He’s-----he’s wanted---he’ll go to prison if I take him there-!”
“So you’re some kind of criminals, then. --You lie to me, you hold a gun on me—tell me you’re wanted—and you expect me to help you—?!“
Sam could see the hostility---the set of her jaw, her arms crossed.
---He was screwing this up---and it would cost his brother’s life---
“—Look, I’m sorry—I’m sorry--please—here take it—“ Sam pleaded, tossing the gun to her.
“I was never gonna hurt you---but right now you’re the only thing standing between my brother and dying— …I’m begging you—“ he said, his voice breaking - “—help him--!”
She stared at the gun in her hand, with a momentary fascination—more than a little surprised at this turn around.
…It wasn’t even loaded. She glared at him, then dropped it into the straw and sighed.
“Well—I can look at him. Get him out of the car—I need more room.”
She hauled a few straw bales down, and lay them side to side, forming a raised bed of sorts--- cleaner at least, than the filthy barn floor...but still rough.
“Do you have anything like a blanket in that car--?”
“---a sleeping bag—in the trunk—I’ll get it—“
He retrieved it and handed it to her, and she unzipped it, laying it over the bales.
Dean was half-conscious, Sam woke him gently-- telling him they had some help. He turned and nodded, moaning slightly.
Sam carefully pulled him up and got his arm under his shoulders, then lifted him forward and out. Dean staggered, but couldn’t stand,--he slid down with a cry, but Sam scooped him up under his knees and carried him over to the straw bed.
The vet opened her kit and laid her implements out.
“Why are you wanted anyway--?” she asked coldly. “What did you do--?”
Sam sighed and crouched beside Dean, making him as comfortable as possible. There was no point in dodging her question.
“My brother—Dean…he’s wanted for murder. ….and now-- I’ll tell you what every fugitive says—so I don’t expect you to believe it---but he’s innocent—he didn’t do what they’re accusing him of…”
Dean groaned and shuddered as Sam lifted his shoulders and pulled off his jacket.
Sam laid his hand gently on his damp forehead for a moment.
“He was shot by state troopers a couple of hours ago. At a gas station in-
“--In Bonneville.” she finished for him. “It’s all over the news. You Winchester boys are famous.”
“—bonnie & clyde—“ Dean murmured..
She raised an eyebrow, looking at him.
Must be the oldest, she thought. The other one—he seemed softer—she didn’t miss the tender concern he showed his brother.
Sam spoke to Dean.
“Dean—this is Doctor Macy—she’s gonna check you out—ok?”
Dean groaned and opened his eyes, trying to focus.
“—you’re a doctor..?”
“That’s right. Well,---technically…Dr. Beth Macy, DVM..” she said, smiling wickedly—relishing the impact that little revelation would have.
Dean’s eyes opened wider—he looked at Sam like he was some sort of assassin, and struggled to sit up
”----Dvm---she’s a---- freaking vet.--!”
“—easy, Dean….” Sam pushed him back down, his firm but gentle hands holding him still.
“Kinda picky aren’t you-?--considering--” she said, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to neuter you.”
She turned to Sam- “Get that tee-shirt off him—“
Sam pulled it over his head as Dean grimaced. She stripped away the sodden bandage and stopped.
When she saw his wounds, she immediately regretted her offhand manner. This was serious---his life could well be in danger.
“—aw, honey—this is just insanity—you really need a hospital--!” she said, dismayed.
Dean shivered in the cool air.
“---please—“ he said—his voice barely above a whisper- “—just--- stop the bleeding, at least we can--- keep going then---“
“—just stop the bleeding--? What do you want me to do –stuff a cork in it?! It’s not that simple---you have to get that slug out along with whatever it dragged in or infection will kill you before you’re even out of state--!” she argued.
Dean tried to reply---but he closed his eyes and moaned as a fresh wave of pain radiated through him.
“Doc, please—“ Sam asked softly.. “You were ready to work on the horse you thought I had—when I told you it was shot---is this really so different…?”
She shook her head, thoroughly appalled.
“Do you know what would happen if your horse died, Sam?? We’d dig a deep hole behind the barn and shove it in. Are you prepared to do that with your brother, here?!”
Sam had no answer. His eyes brimmed, and he looked down.
But Dean spoke up.
“c’mon, doc---think of this as … your once-in-a-lifetime chance to…work on a man, instead of fixing another --- housecat—“ he panted.. “no harm, no foul—if I croak, Sam will just ….cart my dead ass away and….. you’ll never have to think about it again—“
“—You really are nuts!”
But despite his forced glibness, she could see that he was in terrible pain as blood trickled steadily from both the wounds. She relented---time was running out.
“Fine. I’ll do what I can-- But you remember—this was your choice, not mine!”
She saw his taut features relax a little with relief.
----be careful what you wish for-- -
she thought grimly, —you just might get it---.
She slipped on a headband with a bright light attached. Thank god she was prepared for field surgery—there was no power available in the barn. She double-checked that everything she needed was laid out.
She pulled Sam aside…
“Ok—you, Sam—you’re going to have to hold him down—keep him as immobile as possible—and it’s not going to be easy once I start poking around in there—lay across his chest—and hold his arms down.“
“—well—wait—I mean—can’t you ---knock him out...or something…?”
“Sam—I can tranquilize a horse. I have no idea what dosage to inject into a person—or even if it would be safe in any amount. It’d be more dangerous than his getting shot—understand-?”
He was shocked—he hadn’t even considered that. He cast a worried glance but nodded.
When she was ready, Sam crouched beside Dean, leaned across his chest and pinned him with his own weight—holding him as instructed. No point in warning him…
“—wh--what are you--- doing..?”
“It’ll be ok, Dean—it won’t take long—“
It dawned on Dean that he was going to have a front row seat at this little show—
“---aw, no---Sam—jeesus—come on--! --at least give me--- some whiskey or something—“ he whispered fearfully.
Sam released him, nodding grimly and returning to the car.
Dean turned his eyes to her-
“---seriously,--doc—would it help if I said sorry…?” he pleaded.
She looked at him, and her expression softened with sympathy.
“I’m not punishing you, honey----I don’t want to hurt you , but I just can’t safely sedate you. I’ll try to be quick---but you still have the hospital as the better choice--.”
He groaned a curse and shut his eyes.
Sam returned with a bottle, lifted his head and let him drink what he wanted.
Whether it would help remained to be seen---but to Dean’s thinking—it sure as hell couldn’t hurt.
He felt the warmth of the bourbon radiate in the pit of his stomach and it was comforting.
“Come on, boys—we need to do this..”
Sam glanced at Dean, who winced and nodded. Once again Dean found himself immobilized by his brother’s hands and weight.
“I’m going to poke around a bit—to see what’s going on—and then I’ll try to remove the slug. After that, we’ll deal with the other wound. ---Sam—remember what I said—“
He pressed a little harder, making sure he couldn’t squirm away.
“I’m giving you a few shots of a local ---you’ll feel a couple of pricks.”
Unfortunately, that was purely for his psyche—she knew it would have minimal effect once she started in.
When she felt it had taken effect, she mopped away the blood obscuring her view and pushed the probe and tiny mirror into the wound.
The second Dean felt the cold steel enter, he lurched, tensing and choking back a yell. It caught Sam off guard—his abrupt and strong resistance, and he pinned him now as hard as he could.
“Sam—sit on him if you have to—I can’t work if he’s jumping around--!”
“I’ve got him now—“ he said grimly—watching with anguish, as tears welled up in Dean’s eyes and slid away.
“—hang on, Dean—it’ll be over soon—“ he whispered lamely.
She had to sit on his hips to keep him still. Once again she probed, this time Dean couldn’t go anywhere as he felt a searing pain and cried out again.
She had to make sure there was nothing damaged by the bullet’s path—if he’d even nicked any vitals, she’d stop and drive him to the damned emergency room herself. But he was lucky—if you could call it that--it seemed clear in that regard.
She soaked up the blood again and gave him a minute to recover.
He panted, eyes shut tightly and covered now in a sheen of sweat. She saw that Sam was holding his hand—saying nothing as he bore the crushing grip Dean exerted.
She hated causing pain. But she’d warned them, and she was committed now.
“---Ok, Sam-“ she warned softly.
He nodded and tightened his grip.
The forceps were more invasive. She pushed them along what she determined was the path of the slug. It tested Sam’s strength to the limit to keep his brother still—his fingers were turning blue in Dean’s grip.
Dean gasped small ragged breaths as he felt the surgical tool push deeper-
“---wait---stop---stop-----please---“ he sobbed.
But she didn’t stop—she forced it further---there was no point in delaying—he wasn’t going to feel it any less.
She felt the hard lead of the slug scrape against the tip, and opened the forceps to grip it. He let loose a strangled scream as she grasped the offending thing and drew it out.
She examined it in the light—making sure it wasn’t fragmented. Dean buried his face against the warm flannel of Sam’s shoulder and wept, cursing weakly.
Dr. Macy retrieved Dean’s tee shirt, smoothing it out and peering at it carefully. At the center of the blood were two holes –she pressed the fabric edges down precisely—noting with a frown that there was a tiny section of cloth missing from the lower one.
“—sorry, Dean—bit more to go—“
Bullets go in sterile—bits of fabric don’t. If left behind---it was a sure source of infection. She returned to exploring the wound until the foreign bit of black fiber was visible. She glanced at her unfortunate patient—the veins in his neck stood out like rope—she could feel him try to twist away as she worked. He crushed Sam’s fingers involuntarily—but his scream cut short,-- his taut resistance relaxed—and she saw with relief that he’d passed out.
She wished he’d done that ten minutes ago.
Sam extricated his hand from Dean’s, sitting up and shaking feeling back into his fingers.
“--he still with us--?” she asked.
He checked his pulse again and nodded.
Sam watched her now as she completed cleaning and suturing both wounds. He kept a hand on Dean’s chest just in case.
A few moments later she applied adhesive bandages and sat back, watching Dean’s now-peaceful face.
–handsome, for a bad boy---she thought. …what a waste--
She reached out, brushing his forehead-
“…..sorry, guy---that wasn’t very pleasant, was it..?” she said softly.
She turned to Sam.
“---How’s the hand..?”
He smiled ruefully.
“It’s ok. ---feelings coming back…”
He rubbed his other hand over his face wearily.
“—god, that was rough… ..do you think… he’ll be alright?—“
She sighed and stretched—trying to lessen her own tension.
“All I can tell you, Sam---is that as far as I could see—his vitals were ok, and I’m pretty sure I removed everything that shouldn’t be in there. –so hopefully he’ll avoid serious infection. He lost some blood, that’s for sure. But he’s young and strong. Obviously it’s not his first time getting hurt either—judging from those scars. But so far he’s still with us…right?”
“…yeah---so far.”. He wiped away the tears clinging to his lashes.
She leaned over and squeezed his arm.
“You did well there, Sam. –Still should have gone to the hospital---but good job.”
He nodded miserably..
“Now where’s that bottle I saw--?” she said.
He found it and handed it to her, waiting while she took a long draught. She gave it back and he did the same.
“Dr. Macy—I….I can’t thank you enough. We were so, so desperate, I didn’t know what I was gonna do if you —….”
“It’s Beth….and you didn’t exactly give me much choice. Now I think you owe me an explanation, at least.—“
He offered an abridged and modified version of the events that led up to their becoming targets.
She was silent for a while.
“—so this other guy came and killed the girl before your brother arrived for their date…..I guess it would’ve looked pretty damning when they saw him with her blood on his hands, his finger prints everywhere…” she mused.
“Sam-- you’re not shitting me here are you, --? ---He really is innocent--?”
“Dean’s hardly innocent—he’s a pushy, erratic, carpe-diem pain-in-the-ass--- half the time I want to just drive over him with that damn car of his. But the other half of the time—he’s my absolute hero. He’d throw himself in front of a train to save the puppy on the tracks.………He didn’t hurt that girl. And he’ll never, ever be able to prove it. “
He took another draught. and handed it to her.
“We’ve been lucky so far—managing to stay a few steps ahead of the law. I don’t have a clue how they identified him at the gas station. Trigger-happy jerks—he hardly had a chance to raise his hands before they shot him.”
She glanced for a moment at the figure asleep on the straw, then turned back to Sam.
“What about you--? Why can’t you get out of this..?”
“—my involvement with him is---complicated—at the moment. We were actually searching for our Dad, originally—he’d gone missing–- and Dean showed up at Stanford, asking me to help him look. I was in pre-law out there---I hadn’t seen either of them for a few years— “
“--And there’s the aiding and abetting a fugitive, for starters---that alone would give me a few years in a cell.
But he needs me—right now. ….If he was alone when he was hurt today---I think he’d have just driven until he couldn’t anymore, found a nice place to park, put on some Zeppelin and just let himself bleed out, --instead of going to prison. He’s helped put a few guys in there—he knows it would be hell for him if he did get put away. ---God—I wanted to drive him to Emergency this afternoon---but he was dead-set against it. I owed him that much to at least try to keep him out of jail.—“
“—but you can’t keep running, Sam…”
“I know. …..I don’t know how or where this goes, ultimately. …But I guess I’ll go with him anyway.”
Chapter two soon---thanks again for reading.
denisem - December 28, 2007 05:54 PM (GMT)
GREAT START, CAN'T WAIT FOR YOUR NEXT UPDATE!! :cheer
UKsnfan101 - December 28, 2007 08:04 PM (GMT)
That was a great part...great story...looking forward to more!
Evaling - December 28, 2007 08:57 PM (GMT)
Hi :wave guiltypleasure
I like the update :cheer :cheer
I love it Sam very Worried for Dean.... :wub: :wub:
please i need read more :cheer :cheer :cheer
Mayuko - December 28, 2007 09:53 PM (GMT)
Great idea for story! Very intense chapter. I'll definitely be reading the next one.
JennieC - December 29, 2007 12:09 AM (GMT)
I'm really enjoying this and I am anxious to see more!
zuimar - December 30, 2007 12:58 PM (GMT)
Oh my, really amazing story so far, dear! Can't wait for the update!
guiltypleasure - January 8, 2008 12:21 AM (GMT)
Hello again. Sorry for the delay--I meant to update sooner but got side-tracked.
“oh--- “ She glanced at her watch. “Sam—I have to call my son. He’ll need an update on how long I’ll be….”
“Yeah—sure—of course. You don’t need my permission—you’re more in charge right now than I am—“
He checked on Dean as she spoke to her son. If she chose to call the cops now---there was nothing he could do.
“Andy—my son—is manning the phone until I get back. So far it’s been a slow evening—one dog hit by a car and one gun-shot fugitive…typical Tuesday night…”
She pulled the sides of the sleeping bag tighter over Dean’s unconscious form—the air was chilling rapidly with sunset.
“—What now, Sam? That car of his is a target—and your descriptions were pretty accurate from what I heard on the radio. You can’t just drive away now….”
He shrugged, at a loss.
“—didn’t really have a chance to plan that far ahead.”
“Goddammit. –Why couldn’t you be some lousy scuzbag that I could just leave behind in good conscience?! ---Well congrats—you convinced me that you’re worth helping. --Thanks a lot--!”
“Beth—you can’t involve yourself—it’s too much of a risk—“
“That’s very noble, Sam,---now shut-up. It’s only a matter of hours before they find you here. It’s getting cold out—and you can’t drive that car anywhere—you have any flashes of brilliance I’m missing--?”
“Then we’ll do it my way. Get what you need from your car---I’m going to bring the van down. Wrap your brother up in the sleeping bag and when I’m ready—lay him in the back . Then you lay with him—I’m going to throw a tarp over you. They’re more than likely going to do vehicle checks after the press you got. If that happens—shut up—keep him quiet, and let me handle it, ok?”
Sam didn’t have a lot of choice—and this offer was the best he could hope for. Beth Macy was a smart, strong, no-nonsense individual—and Sam felt relief in putting their fate in her hands for the moment.
“—Beth, are you sure--? what if-
She gave him a withering look.
“Sam—do as you’re told.”
She headed back up to the road. Sam quickly loaded a gym bag with any weapons that fit in—they could never afford to replace them. He gathered the rest, --shotguns and other hunting paraphernalia—and dug a deep hole in the moldering straw, covering them back over, in such away that it looked undisturbed. And he grabbed anything sentimental from the car—there was every chance Dean would never see it again.
He heard her van pull up. He wrapped Dean tightly, and carried him over as she shifted the contents around to make room for them.
He laid him on the hard rubber floor gently, hopped up beside and flattened as she tucked the tarp over them. She shut the doors, pulled the barn closed, and got back in.
“You ok, there?”
“Ok—now –silence from now on, got it--?”
Her plan was to take her illicit cargo to an isolated motel—she knew of a likely candidate. It was at least a twenty five minute drive---she crossed her fingers that they’d avoid any road blocks.
She drove along, tense and silent. Dean had shifted and moaned several times—
“Sam—is he ok there--?”
Under the tarp--his muffled voice assured her it seemed so. She reminded Sam that it was imperative that he do whatever necessary to keep Dean quiet should they be stopped.
And they were, just as she’d predicted.
They had a cordon set up, and were politely checking every vehicle before letting them pass. Beth warned Sam.
“—they’re coming up, Sam—“ she hissed.
A burly police officer approached the van.
“Evening, Ma’am. We need to check the vehicle—there are a couple of fugitives in the area—“
“Sure, Officer—absolutely. Just be careful not to touch that dead calf back there, those maggots are probably crawling with disease ---I have to do a pathology—its been dead for few days and it’s getting a little ripe—“
The policeman pulled his head back from her window, with a grimace of distaste. He shone a flashlight over the tarp, nodded to her and waved her on.
When Beth finally allowed herself to breath—she couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“—Jeesus--!” she snorted. “What a pansy--!”
Sam popped his head out from under the tarp.
“Nice work!—although I’m offended that he believed we were a stinking carcass—“
She turned around, still laughing.
“yeah—I’ve learned that most people---especially the big, tough guys---are pretty squeamish about the thought of maggots—“
She grew serious when she heard Dean moan a protest as the van wheels found rougher road.
“I’ve got a motel in mind, Sam—is that ok?”
“Good---it’ll be another fifteen minutes or so—keep that tarp on just in case..”
Sam pulled it over again, leaving just their heads out. He slid his arm under Dean’s neck, raising his head off the hard rubber. He could feel the damp of his sweat through his sleeve---he was anxious to get him laid out on a warm and reasonably comfortable bed.
When his cell rang—both he and Beth jumped.
It was Bobby—deeply concerned, having seen the news. Sam filled him in as to what had happened and what their plans were, promising to call later when they were settled.
“Holy—we’re lucky he didn’t call ten minutes ago!” she said.
“Yeah—sorry —I never even thought about my phone—or Dean’s…I’ll turn both off for now.”
It was a sobering thought—how close they’d come to ruin.
They drove to the motel without further incident. Just before their destination, she pulled over and removed the vehicle magnetics with her name and phone number from the side of the van, just to be safe.
She parked in front of the unit furthest from the office—thinking wisely that she could shield the brothers from view with the van when Sam carried Dean in. She waited while he arranged and paid for their stay, listening for any sounds of difficulty from her patient, but he remained silent.
Sam returned, unlocked the room, and while Beth pulled back the covers on one of the beds and held the door open, he scooped up his heavy, limp burden and brought him in.
“---sorry about the place—“ Beth said—glancing around the shabby interior.
“Don’t apologize—it’s better than most of the dives we rent..” Sam said. “—and a lot better than cold, moldy straw…”
She had to agree with the latter.
When he was satisfied that Dean was well covered and comfortable—he again tried to express his gratitude.
“Look—Dr. Macy---Beth ….Thanks again---for everything….I.—“
He was at a loss for words. She didn’t wait for him to find them.
“Sam--- in all honesty, I can’t deny it was a rush…..and I’m glad I could help---but I have to stress again---rethink the hospital---please… I can’t stick around any longer—I have four footed emergencies waiting---and I am a vet---I did what I could for your brother but there’s after care that he needs—and I just can’t provide it.”
Sam looked at Dean---still silently sleeping.
“I understand….and you did more than I could have hoped for. You need to distance yourself from us anyway, Beth…you don’t want this shit to touch your life—believe me. And to be honest---this stage of things is something we can handle---we’ve been here before..”
She looked at him for a moment. She guessed at his age—under twenty five for sure. But he looked world-weary with the strain of this thing ----maybe the strain of his whole life right now. She found herself feeling –what—maternal--? Something, at any rate—that she didn’t need at this point.
And then the other one……well, --maternal was far from what she thought of him—she was embarrassed to realize. And after seeing him suffer such pain---she felt strange just abandoning them to their fate and moving on.
But she knew Sam was right---she had a good life, she’d worked damned hard to make it so—and staying connected to these two was a risk that she should run screaming from.
She wrote her cell number on a scrap and gave it to him.
“Sam---just…. give me an update sometime, on how you made out—ok? I can’t do anything more for you, in terms of first-aid. If your brother goes downhill—fever, vomiting—anything—you have to get proper medical help---and damn quick, understand--?”
“Yeah—I do. …And I’ll let you know how things turn out---unless you hear it on the news first. Thanks, Beth …for everything”
“---kiss’er for me…” a voice whispered hoarsely from the bed.
They both turned toward the source.---pleased and worried that he was awake. She leaned over Dean’s bed.
“Tell you what---kiss me yourself when you can safely come back to visit.” Beth said.
He raised a brow, and gave her a crooked little smile.
She made her way out to the van, and smiled sadly to Sam.
“Good luck, Sam. I wish you both well…”
I'll update quicker next time--promise!
denisem - January 8, 2008 03:37 AM (GMT)
Great update!! Always looking forward to the next update!! :clap
Demons & Angels - January 8, 2008 10:37 AM (GMT)
Great story :cheer please update soon
guiltypleasure - January 9, 2008 12:39 PM (GMT)
Here's the next chapter---hope you enjoy it.
Sam returned to the silent vigil over his brother—as he had done so many times before. He checked on him—then crawled into his own bed, watching the news with boredom. His attention was grabbed at the mention of their names—and he listened intently to the report---unnerved at seeing their mug-shots flashed across the screen. -------What was it about mug-shots, or driver’s license photos, for that matter---that made even the most normal people look like grim sociopaths--?
He turned the TV off after the report. -Had to call Bobby anyway.
Bobby answered immediately.
“Well—I guess you know what happened from the news reports. I don’t know why we were ID’d. We were just about ready to go—Dean was just dumping the garbage from the car when they called him out—he dove into the car and we took off—but they were so fast—he was hit twice before he was even in his seat..”
“one deep graze over his ribs and one was buried lower in his side. We got the bullet out—and everything’s stitched up—He’s out now—I’m just watching for fever or anthing else wrong.”
--“Damn….So you got medical help --?”
“Sort of---he was adamant we not go to a hospital--I had to call a vet, for shits sake—nobody else would come out.”
Bobby was silent for a moment.
--“Yeah---after the news report, and with everybody on alert—you’d have been picked up for sure the second you got in the doors. –Don’t feel bad, Sam--he wouldn’t be the first hunter to be patched up by a veterinarian---and a lot of those guys are better than some of the hockey-glove handed docs out there. --You sure the guy knew what he was doing--?”
“She. —It was a woman, and yeah—she was top rate—nerves of steel. …It was pretty rough on him, but she saved his ass for sure. She drove us to this place after…she said the Impala was too well known.”
--“Well she’s right about that.--What about you?—you sound shaky…”
“I am. I still haven’t recovered from the whole shooting thing—let alone everything else. God, Bobby—how did they know?? It was going so great lately---we had five good hunts without any problems—two were paid jobs even. And now this…”
--“Mmm. I don’t know what’s going on with that. Somebody had to have tipped them off somehow---or it was just the lousy luck that somebody recognized you from a picture… What about that car, then? Is it safe somewhere?”
“No—well, not for long. It’s still hidden in the barn where the Doc fixed Dean up---I took most of our hardware, and hid the bigger stuff in the straw. I’m without wheels, here.”
--“I’ll come out with something for you to drive for now---but I’d better get my ass in gear or they’ll find that car before I can load it. Gimme directions—“
“Wish you didn’t have to, Bobby, -but thanks. We’re sitting ducks right now.”
Sam relayed the info, and Bobby promised to be out there within three hours.
--“Keep me posted, Sam.”
“I will. See you, Bobby, and thanks again.”
He put the phone down, frowning. He really didn’t like having to drag Bobby out again. It was a risk for him to associate with them as much as it was for anyone else. But he was a good friend---Sam couldn’t have dissuaded him anyway.
His attention was diverted by a sound from Dean.
“—hey—are you ok?” he asked, testing his temp with a hand to his forehead.
Dean opened his eyes and tried hard to focus on Sam’s face. He was somewhat flushed—and sweating.
“---thirsty.” he whispered.
Sam had anticipated that---he had a glass of water ready. He held it for him until it was empty.
“--yeah.” He laid his head back down. “—any aspirin or anything…?”
Unfortunately the first aid kit was still back in the car. And the bourbon was somewhere in the straw. Sam had to break it to him that there was no relief at the moment. But it was hardly an issue as he’d drifted off again almost immediately.
His forehead was hotter than normal—but it was to be expected. As long as his temp didn’t shoot up to dangerous level—he seemed to be heading toward healing. The knot in Sam’s gut loosened a little. Dean always healed fast, thank god.
Sam returned to his own bed, and spent the next while trying to understand how the policewoman could have known they would be there. He knew for a fact that they hadn’t been tailed---Dean would have picked up on it. Was it just bad luck? That was never far away in their experiences---good luck was a rarity for them. But even so---she could hardly have identified him so fast from that distance—so it wasn’t a sudden recognition on her part. And even if it had been---was she so familiar with his exact appearance that she could have known him instantly?? No--she knew who he was already---it was almost as if she had some premonition that they’d be right there at that moment. And as far as he remembered, the guy at the gas bar was completely unconcerned about them ---there was no hint that he was nervous or fearful. None of it made sense---it was frustrating,--- and it unnerved him deeply.
He tried to put it out of his mind and relax. He had a few hours until Bobby’s arrival—he needed to use them to uncoil his tightly twisted nerves.
-- Three Years Before--
Laura Brennen was nineteen when her sister was murdered.
She and Karin were inseparable—as twins often are. They grew up in a rural hamlet—there weren’t many kids around so they relied on each other for company.
They were a contented trio—the twins and their father. Their mother had died at their entrance to the world.
Will Brennen was an uncomplicated man, a mix of Irish and Welsh. He had an acerbic and dead-pan wit—a characteristic that both girls inherited. People often had no idea what to make of him, when they first met him. But soon they recognized the slight curl to a corner of his mouth—the raised brow—the playful twinkle in his eyes. And he was grumbling putty in the girls’ hands.
Karin was preparing to go to college that fall—she wanted to become a teacher. Laura was going as well, enrolled in an fine arts program. The future was set—they waited in happy anticipation for the day school would begin in September..
But that day would never come. A different day would rise in ugly significance.
The August Sunday when he came into their lives.
He was a vicious young drifter. When he came across the pleasant little house, he watched from a hidden vantage point until he knew exactly who lived there, and how easy it would be to get what he decided he wanted.
They never would know his name.
Will was first. He answered the door just past noon, and likely never knew what hit him. Karin was behind him, in the kitchen, preparing lunch. She dropped her tray of sandwiches and screamed in terror when she heard the first shotgun blast. The dog was snarling and barking in fury.
Laura was upstairs. She heard it all, the shots, the barking, -- the screams. Torn between her fear and her family—she panicked and crawled under her bed, curled up in terror until long after the sounds and struggles stopped.
She would never forget those sounds. When she finally dared to leave the safety of her hiding place it was dark. The house was silent---the door left open.
She called for her father and sister, but there was no answer. The dog didn’t come at her voice.
When she dared to turn on the kitchen light—the scene that greeted her was one of horror. Her father was sprawled on his back, eyes wide, and very clearly dead. The dog was a few feet away, it too lay lifeless. Blood was spattered over everything. Gagging, she fled the scene, and ran from room to room in search of Karin, screaming her name until she was hoarse.
Karin wasn’t lying dead like their father. But she was gone.
Laura prayed and prayed in those following days.
Staying with friends—awaiting news of Karin--she prayed so hard that she didn’t even notice when her fingernails pierced the palms of her tightly clenched fists. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard in her fervor that she saw stars.
But still no word came. No divine help brought her sister back to her.
When the police tape came down, Laura returned home.
It had been several weeks, the dust lay thick on everything, the house still smelled like stale disinfectant from the clean-up. She was struck by the absurd and abstract thought—the kitchen floor had never looked so good.
She wandered around the rooms, --numb—deafened by the silence.
She was alone. Dad was gone. And Karin….
They found Karin’s body exactly one week after she was taken.
Forensics determined that she’d survived six days at his hands.
Six days. Laura couldn’t think of anything except that they’d missed her by a day, and that the police had said---well they spared her the specifics, but…Karin had suffered terribly in that time.
Laura leafed through the pile of mail, listlessly. Cards of condolences she’d never open. The usual flyers and bills. And a letter from her college—welcoming her to her first semester.
But Laura’s creative whimsy was now as dead as her loved ones-- she tore the letter up, letting the pieces drop to the gleaming kitchen floor, and retreated to her bed.
Art and beauty were no longer alive within her---but the void that remained was quickly filled by a powerful new force—one that lit a dangerous and unstable fire within.
As she lay on her bed—sleepless, bitter, and hollow inside--Laura Brennen made a decision that would give her a feeling of control over her ugly new world. No one would ever get away with hurting someone like Karin was again—not while she could do something about it. She vowed she would search until her dying breath for the man responsible for shattering her life and family, and kill him with her own two hands. And along the way—she’d punish anyone else who thought they would entertain themselves in that way.
She decided she would apply to the police academy. Tomorrow.
--Six Months Ago—
Officer Laura Brennen had already had the pleasure of arresting three separate men accused of harming women, in her fledgling career. They were not easy arrests---all three had come in requiring serious medical attention. Resisting arrest—threatening behaviour---attempts to flee—all legitimate reasons for using force. She was never questioned regarding the state of her captives---rather—she received citations of merit each time. She was quickly earning a reputation as a smart, tough, and uncompromising police officer.
When the details came down the wire about the murdered girl in St Louis---she tucked the printout into her pocket.
This one was hers.
She was starving with need to punish someone again for that day---and this particular case, the tortured girl—the description of the man---well it all fit. She made it a personal crusade to track the bastard and make him pay. In her twisted and angry imagination, she had found Dad and Karin’s killer-
She burned the details into her mind—keeping close watch for any one or any thing that sounded like it could be significant to the case. Those other three—she barely had a chance to satisfy her need for retaliation—there were too many people around—and she had her career to think of.
But it fed her hate just enough to make her hungry for more.
She spent many months searching –a starving fox with the scent of the rabbit maddeningly close, but her prey elusive.
The accused, —this Dean Winchester bastard—seemed determined to stay out of reach. She searched and hounded, but found nothing. She used every police resource available to her---spent her evenings at home poring over notes, newspapers, the internet.
But she was despairing---it wasn’t working, he was eluding her and the need in her was growing to dangerous levels.
When she couldn’t take it anymore--Laura Brennen, for the second time in her life, turned to fervent prayer.
She prayed hard and passionately, begging for help—offering everything she had for that.
But this time she didn’t direct her prayers towards the heavens.
And this time---they were answered.
Thanks for reading.
Demons & Angels - January 9, 2008 03:00 PM (GMT)
glad Bobby coming to help the boys
zuimar - January 10, 2008 08:36 PM (GMT)
Wow, you updated! Thank you, I really love story! I hope you can update soon again. Don't keep us waiting too long, please?
guiltypleasure - January 11, 2008 02:07 AM (GMT)
There---not too long a wait, hey?
Sleep eluded him. Sam got up and again looked his brother over. Dean seemed restful, and there was still no spike in his slight fever. He dug out a pair of flannel pants and a fresh shirt, and he wrestled off the sticky, bloody jeans and damp shirt in exchange for the clean, dry things. Dean didn’t wake, but he seemed a bit more comfortable. Sam ran some hot water in the sink, sprinkled on some beef tenderizer powder and got the jeans soaking. He was, by now, an expert at getting bloodstains out.
He sat in silence, waiting for Bobby to come.
Bobby. Thank god for him.
Sam’s world was so hard, and so far removed-- from what he had planned and envisioned for himself. He would have found it nearly impossible to navigate these times, when the roles were reversed—when it was he who was responsible for Dean’s welfare—without the help and support of their old family ally.
He’d learned early on not to rely on Dad.
But Dean was always there—defending—providing—supporting. Sam had ultimately escaped to school just to shrug off what felt to him like a suffocating mantle of control---but he was realizing daily now that it wasn’t about control—it was about protection. And it was these times—when it was Dean who needed his protection, rather than the other way around—that he felt his most vulnerable—his most useless. But Bobby always found a way to fill the gaps.
He wished he had asked Bobby to pick up some things he could heat up for Dean. The current incarnation of home-sweet-home had no cooking facilities, but it did have a kettle. He could make cuppa-soup, or broth, or tea, at least.
God he hated all of this. Their lives were so hardscrabble, violent, --sordid, even. It was everything from his youth that he’d fled.
And nobody ever appreciated their efforts. They were ridding the world, one-by-one, of the filth that threatened it---and all they ever got in return was hardship and pain. Especially Dean. He walked into his own tragedies with his eyes wide open---but lately, fate seemed to throw even more at them---at him---as if testing to see just what he could bear. ---Wasn’t fair.
Sometimes he wished he had Dean’s single-minded conviction that what they were doing was ultimately right. It sure as hell would help.
An eternity later, Sam heard a rumble in front of the motel room. He peeked through the drawn curtains and was relieved to see that it was Bobby. He opened the door just as the older man was poised to knock.
“Hey, Sam…” Bobby greeted.
Sam’s eyes radiated his relief.
“—Thanks for coming, Bobby…”
Bobby patted his shoulder and entered---dropping a bulging paper grocery bag on the counter. It was loaded with kettle-friendly food items. Sam glanced at it, and was nearly overwhelmed with the intensity of his appreciation. Bobby understood.
“He asleep?” Bobby asked quietly---gesturing toward the occupied bed.
“Yeah. Just a little hot ---nothing scary so far. And he’s been with-it, when he’s awake.”
Bobby pulled a chair over and leaned over Dean’s bed. He touched his forehead—whispered something, and pulled back the covers to check the damage. When he was satisfied that the wounds seemed pink and healthy---he tucked the blankets back and turned his attention to Sam.
“Ok. For starters—did you have any supper?”
Sam shook his head.
Bobby proceeded to unwrap some subs that he’d picked up. Sam accepted one gratefully—he was starving. He and Bobby sat, eating in silence, and sharing a six pack. The food and alcohol did a world of good for Sam’s frayed nerves.
When they were filled, the discussion turned to damage control.
“I have a Ranger on the truck for you. Not too bad---it’s sound—not too much rust. It won’t out-run anything, though---you can’t drive as if you were in the Impala..”
“Anything, thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll get out to the car—cross yer fingers—in a bit. If it’s safe—we can load her up, and get the stuff you stashed in the straw. The sooner the better.”
Sam agreed. He wanted the Impala to be safe for Dean’s sake. If it was discovered by the law and impounded, they might as well consider it written off, and he knew the effect that would have on his brother.
“Sam—what are you gonna do now? Where are you headed…?” Bobby asked.
“Guess we’ll stick around here for a few days ‘til Dean can travel—then just hit the road until we have some decent mileage between us and this place. I still can’t figure out why this happened, Bobby—none of it’s logical. But we don’t have the luxury of hanging around trying to figure it out…we just need to get the hell away.”
“Amen. --just keep moving for a day or two until the heat’s behind you. Then you can hole up somewhere and get strong again. But wait for a day or two before he moves, ok? You and I both know how he is, and we’ll just have to save him from himself while he’s weak. When he can get up by himself you should hit the road.”
Sam nodded his agreement.
“Yeah—that’s about what I had in mind.”
When they were done—they got ready to retrieve the car. Sam felt very uncomfortable with leaving Dean behind, but there was no way around it. Bobby dropped the loaner truck from the tow-bed while he checked on Dean. He was hoping to find him awake, but Dean was still out of it.
He shook him gently.
“Dean?----Dean, can you hear me..?”
Dean grimaced and turned his head away from the annoyance, but Sam persisted.
When he was sure Dean was cognizant—he got him more water and told him their plans.
“..my car--? Bobby’s taking it--?”
“Yeah, Dean—for safe-keeping. It’s too well known right now---all the cops will be looking for it. Bobby brought a truck for us to use for a while—I’m going with him to load the Impala—ok?—We’ll be back in an hour….are you ok for that time..?”
Dean nodded and closed his eyes.
“…yeah. --watch-out, Sammy. --just be careful…”
Sam smiled a little.
The two men left the motel room, Sam making sure the door was locked.
Officer Brennen watched them leave.
She didn’t want the complication of the brother. If she had to take him too---it could end up a circus—and she’d be forced to bring her quarry in officially—which was the last thing she wanted. She had no real quarrel with the younger one—for all she knew he may not even know what the other had done. She waited patiently for hours, after Daddy had said that this was where they were hiding, until finally, she was rewarded by his departure.
Then, at last---she knew she had him.
And Daddy was never wrong.
Ever since she prayed, and her Dad had been miraculously returned to her---she listened to his wise and knowing words.
Sometimes it was just words spoken softly in her head, ---soothing, instructing. And sometimes he was right there beside her, just as she remembered. His tufts of grey hair—charming and unruly. His twinkling eyes. His warm smile. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she knew that it was real. And together they were going to make Karin’s killer pay.
Officer Brennen drove into the parking lot. She got out, drew her gun, and carried a pry bar in her other hand.
It was easy to force the door—the locks were old, and cheap.
Dean was almost asleep again.
When she saw him—she very nearly succumbed to her hatred, she pointed her gun at his head, her finger easing down on the trigger-- and only Daddy’s soothing whisper kept her from killing him in his bed. He reminded her that she had more satisfying plans laid.
Her voice woke him. He groaned at the disturbance again---turned to it’s source---expecting Sam, but his bleary eyes registered a uniform and a gun instead..
It took a few seconds for that to sink in—he was hardly in top form—but when it did, he sat up in startled shock, and swore at the painful motion, and then again at the unwelcome reality standing in front of him.
She didn’t say it as a question, rather as a satisfied statement. She stepped forward and stood over him, her shining gun unwavering in her hand.
He stared at her for a moment, fighting the creeping blackness at the periphery of his vision, and then dropped back against his pillow—throwing an arm across his eyes with a groan of defeat.
It was her. The trigger-happy cop from the gas station.
“Get up.” she snarled.
“—I can’t----“ he growled back, “—thanks to you-“
She kicked his bed for emphasis.
“I’m not asking!”
Dean glared at her, but he pushed himself upright again, slowly, --sitting up, and gingerly dropping his feet over the bedside. He sat, breathing heavily, and holding his side
“Great---it’s Officer Annie Oakley. Why’d you pull the trigger so damned fast? -You miss that lecture at the academy?! -----I might have wanted to surrender if you gave me half a chance, you bitch—“ he spat.
He was hurting, and saw no need to temper his anger—she had him anyway.
“Shut up!” she barked. “--Stand up,--over there by the wall.”
He knew he probably could—if he had to…but she didn’t have to know it. He made his motions deliberately slow, stalling in the hope that Sam would return.
She saw through it.
“Do you think I’m stupid?? Move! And keep your hands up!” She gestured at him impatiently with the pistol.
He swore and stood up—too abruptly for either of their comfort. She stepped back slightly and tensed—her aim wavering momentarily. It wasn’t lost on him—and desperate, and doomed —he made a wild attempt to grab her weapon.
But he was too slow---too weak--his timing hopeless. She dodged him and brought the butt of the gun down hard against his temple, and he dropped like a stone.
She shouted at him again, kicked his unresisting body. He didn’t react, and she was satisfied that he wasn’t faking. It simplified the rest. He was a dead weight---hard to move---but at least he wasn’t a threat any more.
She handcuffed his wrists together and hauled his limp weight out the door, and forced him with some difficulty into the back of the squad car.
Daddy whispered his approval, and she smiled broadly.
zuimar - January 11, 2008 09:52 AM (GMT)
Oh my, you're for sure on a roll with your story, it's amazing! Can't wait for the next update!
denisem - January 12, 2008 06:59 AM (GMT)
OMG!! You need to come back and update NOW!!! Can't wait for your next update :cry
Great story!! :)
JALOVER - January 13, 2008 12:44 AM (GMT)
I love your story! Please update soon!
MarquessaS. - January 13, 2008 01:11 AM (GMT)
guiltypleasure - January 13, 2008 01:14 AM (GMT)
Well, ok then---as you wish--lol--but it's a bit short--it's all I have so far......
Once on the road, Bobby took the opportunity to get a bead on the situation. He knew Sam’s answers were always a reliable and accurate barometer of the state of things for the brothers. Sam didn’t have the innate caution that his brother had, and as a result, his replies were always complete, and accurate. Dean was inclined to muddy the waters, just to be safe—and he was skilled at subterfuge.
“How are you boys really doing?” the older man questioned. “—I mean—before this happened. Were you living ok?”
Sam pursed his lips and sighed.
“Well—in terms of hunting—it was good. Like I said—we had five real successes….I mean—they’re pretty much always successes in that we walk away the winner, but these last ones put some cash in the kitty and we didn’t have to leave behind any blood this time. In those terms it was all good…”
He stared out into the darkness, unhappily.
“..but we are completely aware that we’re running. This thing in St. Louis---I mean---Dean’s blamed now for the murder that Zack was originally accused of…and they have a shapeshifter body---but they’ve gotta know there’s more to it. If they did any autopsy on that thing they’d have seen that it was a freak---but ---it’s still Dean in the official cross-hairs. He can hardly argue that when he’s been shot dead by the next cop gunning for a promotion. I just don’t know how to squirm out of this, Bobby.”
“I hear you, Sam. Running from anything is a crappy way to live---believe me, I know. ....Any word from your Dad…?”
Sam said that with a bitter tone that made Bobby wince.
---Stupid bugger—he thought of his old friend –--Support your kids a little—they’re hurting because of you---“
"Sam, tell me exactly how it went down at the gas station.”
Sam drew a deep breath—not really wanting to relive that. But he gave a play by play description.
Bobby grunted at the conclusion.
“Yeah---I can see why that would be weird---I mean, that cop had no real reason to know you’d be there at that exact time—yet there she was—“ he mused, puzzled. “No chance that the pump jockey recognized you two?”
Sam shook his head.
“Bobby, there just wasn’t time. The guy was oblivious---just doing his job. Even if he could have made the connection—there wasn’t time enough for him to have called the cops, and had them respond, drive out, and verify it was Dean—and then react. It was as if she knew beforehand that we were gonna be there. I know—I swear—we were not tailed. I’m no expert, but you know Dean---he’d have seen that right off---he’s so paranoid. And she was alone—no partner or back-up—she called him out and pulled the trigger twice before he could have even really reacted. Granted—he did yell to me to floor it, and he dove toward the car—but she’d already shot him before he was even in. Not exactly protocol, as far as I saw—“
Bobby mulled that over. “Sounds odd, for sure. --Too out-of-the-blue. But it doesn’t matter anyway---however she knew. It’s a very public man-hunt now.”
Sam slumped down a little. Bobby saw, and regretted his un-tempered discussion. The kid needed some comforting too---not just frank talk.
“Listen, Sam---you just need to let this die down. When it does, and you get to some safer ground, miles away from this corner of the country—it won’t seem like everybody’s standing on your neck so much—ok? And Dean’s a tough bugger -- he’ll heal up fine—it could have been a lot worse…“
Sam didn’t answer. He simply dropped his head into his hand and nodded.
There was no indication other than the slight movement of his shoulders---but Bobby knew the young man was at the end of his rope and breaking.
Bobby squeezed his shoulder, saying nothing.
After a few minutes, Sam discreetly rubbed his eyes and stared ahead.
“There it is—just on the right, there-“ Sam said, as the grey building loomed in the headlights.
They approached the barn site warily. It was dark by now—the ground had crisped with frost as the temperature dropped. Both men breathed a sigh of relief that the area was undisturbed, and they were alone on the side road. The gate was still open from Beth Macy’s departure.
Sam hopped out and ran to the doors, peeking in, then pulling them open with a wave. Bobby eased the ramp truck down into position.
The dash and seat of the Impala were still sticky with blood. Sam sacrificed his shirt—wiping off the most visible smears in case, god-forbid, the truck was pulled over and the car scrutinized. It would be tricky enough without Bobby having to explain away bloodstains. The loading was done in a matter of minutes.
Sam dug through the straw, retrieving the things he’d hidden. He remembered the bottle of bourbon and grabbed it too.
The two of them tarped the car in thoroughly, leaving nothing visible.
After a quick glance, he climbed back into the ramp truck and they headed back toward the safe haven of the motel.
“Thank god we were in time…” Sam breathed.
The last thing he wanted to have to do was break it to Dean that the Impala was lost to him.
“Amen.” Bobby nodded.
Bobby was just as aware of the significance the Impala held for Dean. He and Dean had worked on her on countless occasions. As a matter of fact---he’d gone with John to check it over and buy it when Dean had successfully passed his drivers test at sixteen. He knew and understood the emotional attachment.
They drove the remaining miles in silence.
The ache in his shoulders brought him around.
He awoke to find himself seated on a wooden chair---his arms crossed tightly and bound to the back of it. His feet were bound to the chair legs.
He was alone, in an empty and windowless cinder-block room. A single, inadequate fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
His head ached sharply where she’s hit him—the blood from that dried and caked down the side of his face. He shook his head a little, to regain some clarity. At least it distracted him from his other wounds.
He didn’t understand the situation---but he groaned miserably at the realization that the jig was up, and despite all their efforts, he was now firmly in the hands of the law.
That knowledge brought a wave of despair, and he dropped his chin back down to his chest.
But he was never one to wallow---after a moment he raised his head again and took stock.
This was no busy room full of cops processing their captives. It looked like a storage unit—there was a garage door, some scattered boxes, and it was cold and damp. A rat, or one well-fed mouse, was scrounging in the shadows.
His brain was still frustratingly hazy and slow. He couldn’t recall anyone questioning him—or fingerprinting him. There were no bars—no holding pen. --No phone call allowance given. There was nothing about this place that suggested a police station at all.
It seemed that his arresting officer had taken a sharp left away from departmental procedure.
It was the more experienced hunter that saw it first. Bobby pulled up to their unit, and put a cautioning hand on Sam’s arm.
“Door’s open, Sam—“ he said grimly.
Sam knew they’d left it locked. He’d made sure—as he was already nervous at leaving his injured brother alone. He glanced at Bobby fearfully.
Bobby pulled a pistol out from under his seat. He opened his door—Sam did the same, and they approached the door tensely. Sam gestured to Bobby, pointing at the pavement. There were dark spots, leading away from the threshold.
Bobby peered into the dark interior through the crack, then kicked the door open. There was nothing—no one, in the room. He nodded to Sam—who switched on the light.
The blankets were half dragged off the bed. Several more dark spots showed on the carpet.
And Dean was gone.
Thanks for reading---more soon.
UKsnfan101 - January 13, 2008 01:01 PM (GMT)
eck not good....hurry and update soon!
zuimar - January 13, 2008 01:18 PM (GMT)
Thanks a bunch for updating! Can't wait for more to see where this story is taking us, so I hope you can update soon again.
Demons & Angels - January 13, 2008 03:24 PM (GMT)
great update your doing good
Deanwinchesterfan1985 - January 13, 2008 03:51 PM (GMT)
Really good story so far, I've really enjoyed it. Looking forward to the next bit to see if Sam and Bobby know what happened and if they can get Dean out of this mess before it gets any worse.
denisem - January 14, 2008 04:42 AM (GMT)
OMG!! Sam and Bobby need to find Dean. who knows what this crazy cop is up to??? :evil
Update soon!! Can't wait!
guiltypleasure - January 14, 2008 01:06 PM (GMT)
Hello again. Here's the next bit.
Sam was in a frothing panic-
“jeesus Christ—he could barely even get up—oh my god--!”
He paced uselessly, frantically, as Bobby searched the room for anything that could offer them direction.
“Bobby—he was sleeping—and he already lost so much blood---it was only a few hours since he had that bullet dug out—Christ-!!”
He sat down, wild-eyed.
”I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone—aw, man—this is my fault—I shouldn’t have left—I should have stayed with him--“
Bobby gripped him by his shoulders and stared at him hard.
“Sam!—Get a grip!! It’s not your fault---but we need to figure out where he is, ok?? Listen to me!!”
Sam spent another moment with his mind in a hopeless spiral—but Bobby’s words penetrated his angst.
“Ok—ok—yeah—“ he acknowledged, visibly clamping down on his emotions and calming somewhat. “But what are we gonna do?!!”
Bobby released him.
“—I don’t know—just give me a minute—“
Bobby was just as upset---but at least he had the steadiness and wisdom of experience shoring him up.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the manager.
“You looking for your buddy--?”
“Well—some bitch cop dragged him outa here like a sack of shit not forty-five minutes ago. He wasn’t givin no help---she was pulling him like a sled of rocks. Listen—I don’t want any trouble coming around here—people around here don’t want that kind of attention--bad for business. I don’t give a shit what’s goin’ on ---just you get the hell out., you hear?? I can call cops too---!”
He stood defiantly—thin, scabby arms crossed,--his greasy comb-over waving in the cold wind.
Bobby answered, casting a warning look at Sam.
“Sure, buddy---no problem. The guy had it coming anyway. We’ll get outa your hair. You didn’t happen to see any car number or anything, now did you…?”
The manager shrugged—mollified a little now that they were respecting his demands.
“Naw—just a chick—brown hair.. Uniformed—but the car was unmarked. One of those dark-blue numbers with pie-plates for hubcaps---like we can’t tell it’s cops--!” he snorted.
Bobby thanked him.
“Well—don’t wanna get anybody in shit—so we’ll head out. Seeya. “
He gestured to Sam---who handed over the key.
The man took it, then tossed it away with a curse.
“Lock’s f~cked now. Bitch used a crowbar.”
He drew a last drag from his stump of a cigarette and threw it onto the pavement, then turned and headed back to his office.
Sam and Bobby exchanged glances. --Horror—and maybe some relief---at least they had a lead.
Bobby took charge.
“Well, best gather up your things. This ain’t gonna be our place tonight.”
He helped the stricken Sam collect everything and stow it in the truck cab.
When they were packed, he put a steadying hand on Sam’s arm.
“We’ll find him Sam. Wherever he is—we’ll sort it out.”
Sam looked at him with the eyes of a deer in the headlights. Bobby steered him toward the cab and they climbed into the ramp truck and drove away into the dark.
It seemed like several hours. Dean wasn’t quite sure---his sense of time was off—he had no frame of reference—no watch within reach,--no view of the outside. He knew his neck and shoulders were screaming from the position he was bound in. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore. He was parched—his throat felt like it was sticking to itself.
And after being dragged around, his side was a deep and steady beat of agony.
He still hadn’t been processed. He was no stranger to the routine that came with arrest. But none of what he’d expected had happened, and at this point he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or worried. But he knew by now that something wasn’t right.
He’d have given his left nad just to lie flat on the floor for a few minutes, rats or no rats.
By his estimation---it was about an hour later when she came back. She had some one else with her—an old fart—looked like her. He raised his head despite the stiffness of his neck as the garage door rumbled up and the two stood illuminated harshly by the fluorescent light. They entered the room and hastily shut the door behind them.
She was out of her uniform this time. Instead she wore jeans and a sweat shirt---perfectly comfortable for an evening’s entertainment. The other one looked like he’d slept for a week in the clothes he was wearing.
She pulled a folding metal chair up in front of Dean, and sat in it.
She stared at him for a moment or two, her hands on her thighs, leaning forward tensely. She was pretty tightly wound. He watched a pageant of emotions cross her features…
He grew impatient.
“..aren’t you supposed to read me my rights or something--?!”
She stood up so fast that the chair skittered backwards, legs screeching against the concrete.
And she back-handed him viciously.
“You have the right to remain silent. Happy now--?!”
Dean shook it off, spitting away the blood from his split lip.
He started his mental inventory of things that he should probably avoid doing in future.
The older man with her sniggered.
She stood back and crossed her arms.
“My name is Officer Laura Brennen. I know who you are. “
Dean stayed silent—waiting for the rest.
“So I guess you’re wondering by now why your arrest isn’t going quite the way you’re used to, huh..? Well, Dean Winchester—this is your lucky day.. Got a new system—arrest, judgment and punishment---all one package.”. she smirked without humour.
Dean never had learned the lesson regarding when to shut up.
“Yeah, I bet your precinct’s real proud of you---“
She hit him again, this time with a fist. He closed his eyes for a moment and silently told himself to shut his big mouth..
“You will, of course, claim innocence. You never did anything,, did you, Dean--? It’s all a misunderstanding, isn’t it? Well here’s a little refresher for you.”
She produced an ugly set of photographs, holding the first in front of him. It was a crime scene photo from St. Louis, it was horrible, and he looked away.
“Daddy—do you want to help him focus?”
‘Daddy’ stepped behind Dean and held the sides of his head—forcing him to look at the image.
The hands holding him were cold, they felt clammy. Dean became aware that the man had an odour about him. But whatever his age and hygiene issues—there was no denying that he was strong, and Dean soon realized it was useless to waste his own precious little strength in resisting. He sighed and stared dully at the pictures as she showed them one by one.
“You know what I’m showing you, don’t you, Dean--?”
“Yeah—I know the situation. I also know who killed that girl, and it wasn’t me.”
“Surprise! See Daddy—Dean Winchester really is an innocent. Gee—maybe we should let him go—“
She sneered as she mocked him. She continued with her picture show.
The next shot was of a different girl—it looked like a grad photo, she was smiling, holding yellow roses. She looked remarkably like the woman in front of him now.
The following picture was of the same girl. It was another crime scene picture, and the image was brutal.
Dean’s eyes widened a little.
“Why are you showing me that?—I don’t know that girl—never saw her in my life!”
She put the pictures down and leaned towards him.
“Yes you do know her.-“ she said with quiet menace. “--Her name was Karin Brennen. You tortured her and killed her nearly four years ago, just like that girl in St. Louis, you filthy sonofabitch.”
Now he did struggle, but those dead fish hands held tight.
“You’re crazy!—I never saw her before—and I sure as hell never hurt her!”
Laura Brennen grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. Her eyes were wild.
“Shut your mouth! You killed my sister—and maybe you don’t remember this either, but you killed my Dad too. But I prayed for him to come back and help me find you, Dean—and my prayers were answered. You see? My Dad is here with me again---and he knew just where to find you. He came back to me, only now he’s stronger, and he can do things. He’s an angel, Dean---he’s your Angel of Death.”
She let go of him roughly, and Daddy did to. Dean dropped his head to his chest, then raised it, staring at the two of them in shock.
She prayed—and he came back.
This wasn’t just her own twisted revenge--What the hell was he dealing with here-?!
Thanks again for your kind comments!
UKsnfan101 - January 14, 2008 08:33 PM (GMT)
great chapter. Love the story..angst and protective Sam...love it!
Deanwinchesterfan1985 - January 15, 2008 02:19 AM (GMT)
Great chapter, poor Dean that police officer just isn't willing to listen is she? Not that I can blame her after all she went through, she is so sure that she finally caught up with her sister's killer. Hopefully Sam and Bobby will be able to get to Dean before she does something really stupid. Looking forward to more.
Clarice Hubert - January 16, 2008 12:07 PM (GMT)
Update, can't wait to see what's gonna happen to Dean :cry
Poor baby, all alone with a crazy cop who is trying to hurt him :cry
Don't you dare leaving me hanging on....
guiltypleasure - January 16, 2008 07:19 PM (GMT)
Hi. Update time---hope you enjoy!
Bobby found them alternative accommodations. He and Sam carried in what they’d need for the next few days and locked the truck.
Sam produced the bourbon he’d rescued from the straw. He still hadn’t developed a taste for the acrid stuff, but he appreciated the effect it offered.
He poured the two of them several refills while he described their experiences with the kind and capable doctor Beth Macy.
Bobby shook his head, muttering something sympathetic. But the conversation quickly turned to the present predicament.
“Looks like he’s been arrested then, and sounds like the same cop, apparently. She seems to have taken some kind of personal interest in seeing him caught..” he mused.
“It was a dark-haired woman officer the first time. So—should we go to the station?—or call? What do you think..?”
“You can’t go near it, Sam—you’re wanted yourself right now. I can go---but I have to figure out what to say. I don’t want to establish any link in their eyes—if they decide to haul me in for questioning, I’ll be useless—can’t help your brother if I end up on the same side of the bars that he is…”
“Anyway of checking for info online..?”
“I doubt it. No, I think I’ll have to get in there on some false pretense—I can claim there was a break-in in my truck or something. That’s small potatoes—they won’t even offer to send an officer—so we’d be ok. While they take my statement—I can look around, maybe ask some things. If he’s in holding—I’d see him. In the meantime you could call the local hospitals—see if a prisoner was brought in for treatment…”
Sam nodded, grateful that Bobby was with him during this crisis. He was so damned worried about it all—Dean’s physical state, and his arrest. Both were serious threats to his brother’s future.
“Sam—can you get me an address for the closest cop shop? I don’t do that computer thing…”
Sam smiled. He knew perfectly well that Bobby had more than the average skill in navigating the net---he was just trying to distract Sam. But he accommodated his request—finding the station that had jurisdiction, and the location. While he was at it he located the most likely hospital, his gut tightening involuntarily.
“Let me call the hospital first-“ he said grimly. “It might save you the trip.”
But after the call—it was clear that no one named Dean Winchester or any injured prisoners were there. That was good….or bad.
Bobby chewed up some mints to counteract the bourbon and prepared to leave.
“I’ll call you as soon as I’m on the road back, Sam. Sit tight in the meantime..”
“It may look like plaid, Sam—but trust me—it’s all Teflon.”
Sam snorted and shook his head.
Bobby played the part of irate bumpkin well. He ranted that he’d left his truck unlocked for only a few minutes while he went in for some smokes—and someone had stolen his stereo. The police had little sympathy, but they humoured him by sitting him down and taking his statement. While that was underway—he scanned the precinct—looking for Dean in the visible holding cells. He also looked the staff over—hoping to see a female officer that fit. But he was disappointed—if that was the right term-- on both counts. But as he was being patronized—he did make note of a name plate at an empty desk.
--Officer Laura Brennen—
They showed Bobby the door, with the assurance that they would treat his complaint with the utmost gravity and would look into it immediately. He nodded and grinned like an idiot.
As soon as he was back on the road, Bobby called Sam.
“B-r-e-n-n-e-n, Officer Laura Brennen…google her, Sam. Hers was the only empty desk that I saw that had a woman’s name plate. There were no other matches as far as I saw. And the pens were empty, except for one drunk---nobody in holding. They said it was a quiet night—not much on the front so far. I’d think that if a televised fugitive were brought in—it’d make a few more waves than I could see. Any word from the hospitals?”
“Nothing---no Dean and no gunshot victims.”
“Ok. Well—I don’t know what to think at the moment, Sam…but we can talk about it more when I get there. Find out whatever you can about her and let me know.”
Sam checked that name. When Bobby pulled up, there was a wealth of information waiting for him.
He sat on his bed after pouring himself a fresh drink.
“Ok—what have you got..?”
“Listen to this: Laura Brennen ---who’s a brunette, by the way--was the sole survivor of a home invasion around four years ago. She and her twin lived with their Dad on a small farm—they were nineteen at the time, and some guy came up to the house—blew away the dad and took the sister, Karin, away as hostage. They found her body a week later—she was beaten and sexually assaulted and left for dead.
Looks like Laura joined the police force a few years later, after college. She’s been written up three times, recently-- for citations of merit, for bringing in accused rapists. Shit--sounds to me like she’s on a mission, Bobby…”
“Hmm—yeah—revenge for her sister. Christ---you’d think they’d see this kind of thing when they do the psych testing of recruits, for shits sake. Looks pretty plain when you see it on paper now---“ Bobby sipped his bourbon—thinking.
Then it struck him.
“Jeesus, Sam—that’s what this is about---think about what Dean’s accused of in St. Louis. It’s a sex crime---that girl was assaulted, and beaten, and Dean’s the suspect. She’s been gunning for him for personal reasons---and if she does have him, but never brought him in---“
“—then she’s got him somewhere else, so she can bring on her own justice--!” Sam finished.
It seemed possible Dean hadn’t been arrested after all.
But the alternative was worse,…he could be in the hands of bitter and unhinged vigilante instead.
She’d turned away from him in disgust. She found herself teetering on the edge of her deep emotion---she was too close to just blowing him away in that chair. But Daddy said it wouldn’t be enough—that she’d regret not making him suffer for his sins. And she already regretted so much, and this was supposed to make her feel whole again.
And there were his feelings to consider too. Dad had been mowed down in his prime---he had his own issues with that bastard. She walked away from her prisoner and picked up the metal chair, righting it and sitting down. She couldn’t deal with him until she was a little calmer.
She glanced at him again. He was still staring at them—still looked shocked.
–good—she thought. Maybe he was finally realizing there were going to be repercussions for what he’d done.
Daddy came up and rubbed her shoulders. It was strange…comforting, but he’d never have done that before. He referred to himself as Daddy—that was strange too. Never in their years growing up could she ever remember them calling him that. It was always Dad, or “Da”. Not that it mattered—semantics, that’s all. The feeling was the same.
But she was concerned by his pervasive and strengthening smell. She would have to insist that he bathe—this was unthinkable for the tidy father she remembered.
Daddy crouched in front of her, touching her cheek.
“You’re tired, aren’t you, love? It’s been a heavy day for us. Look, why don’t you go home and take a break. We have what we want—there’s no rush now, he’s not going anywhere. When you’re rested---we can do this as we’ve discussed, alright..?”
She always found his words compelling, almost mesmerizing. Ever since he’d returned to her---his voice was like a soothing lullaby that she couldn’t resist.
She nodded, smiling wearily.
“Yes…yes, Da. You always know best. Will you come too…?”
“No, dear-“ he soothed. “I’ll stay behind, just to keep watch. There are many conversations I’d like to have with our guest. I promise I won’t finish him without you..”
He kissed her hair and she smiled. She got up and cast a glare of pure hatred towards Dean.
“You and my Dad can talk now. I’ll be back, later.”
And she hauled up the door and left.
Dean was left in the chilly quiet. He could hear his own breathing, fast and inefficient. He was apprehensive—fear growing like an icy blossom in his center.
No sound at all came from Will Brennen.
Will—Daddy—approached him and pulled up the chair. He sat uncomfortably close to Dean, his eyes were twinkling with mirth.
“Alot to digest, isn’t it--?” he smiled.
Dean wrinkled his nose at the smell.
“She prayed,--you came back. Sure—ok…What are you then?---you don’t look like any ghost. Where’d you come back from? You sure as hell aren’t dear old Dad…”
Daddy Brennen sat back and chuckled.
“Sure I am. I’m the spitting image of Will, right down to the whiskers.---Who else would I be?”
“She said she prayed. Who’d she pray to?”
Will stared at Dean. He kept staring, until his eyes changed, flooding with a fathomless black. His smile faded, and he seethed with evil.
“---Who do you think--?”
Dean stared back in horror.
“—you—you’re a demon.” he whispered.
“Aw, you hunters. Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, can we--? Well you’re bang on. Poor little Laura—all alone, abandoned by god. My Master saw fit to help her. And at the same time—we could take care of the annoyance that you’ve been.. You know there’s more to baby brother, I know you do. But there’s so much your Pa never told you. Your brother is headed for greatness, Dean---but you stand in his way. You’re an obstacle—a pothole full of shit in his shining road to destiny. Every time we turn around—you’re there, suffocating him with your ‘protection’. We just can’t have that. So you became a handy target for dear, overwrought Laura. After all—you did kill her sister. And dear old Dad…”
He laughed heartily at that.
Dean shook his head in disbelief.
“---that’s what this is all about, then?! Freeing Sam from me, so you can turn him into some demon freak?! --Nothing to do with her dad, or her sister—none of it??!”
“That right. Poor dumb twit---she opened the portal—now she’s just a handy tool.
See, Dean--when someone prays hard enough to my Master, offers enough in return—it’s like it opens a crack down to us. I was chosen to squeeze through—with this little mission. And hey, she’s happy---she thinks her prayers are answered---her daddy’s back, she gets to see you pay for what happened to her family. And Good Sammy will fulfill his true destiny without having to haul around the dead weight of Big Brother. Everybody wins.”
He smiled unpleasantly.
“---well---everybody except you…”
Dean was trembling with the cold, and with fear. A nebulous panic swirled through him—he felt weak from his wounds and his rough treatment.
--Again with the Sam’s Destiny crap--what the hell was all that about??!!
“Why are you telling me all this-?! Don’t you think I’ll tell her everything you told me?!”
“Go ahead-“ he snorted. “You think she’ll even listen to you? She’s dead sure you’re the one she’s been searching for. You’re the devil himself, as far as she’s concerned. And I’m the one who confirmed it---such tasty irony. -After all—I’m Dad, I was there when it all happened—who would know better but me?!”
Dean closed his eyes hard –fighting off a sickening blackness that threatened his clarity.
He wracked his brain frantically.
“no—you’re lying—you need a living host---and Will Brennen’s been dead for years. You can’t be in him—“
“Yeah-“ Daddy sighed.
He pinched the greyish skin at his wrist, frowning as it failed to spring back.
“You’re right, Dean. Daddy Brennen was just a box of ashes. –Had to make this meat suit from scratch. I pulled every cloying, maudlin little memory she had to put it together---just about made me sick. Missed a detail or two, but a pretty good likeness, I think.
---But yeah--unfortunately it’s got no juice.—“
--no juice---? Then he realized---the demon meant the form he was inhabiting was unnatural—lifeless. Nothing sustained it, and as a result….
Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he recoiled.
“Jeesus, that’s why you stink---you can’t keep it together, you’re rotting in front of her!”
“---man, that’s gross!” Dean grimaced.
“—Yeah, well, --they’re not always glamour jobs. --But you understand then, that I’m on a tight schedule here. Can’t have parts falling off in front of her—that’d get hard to explain.
So---that being said---she’s expecting I’d do you some damage while she’s out. With all our chit-chat, we’re running out of time, and I don’t want to disappoint the poor girl—“
Dean didn’t have time to voice a protest. He was struck instantly by a crushing pressure in his chest. He strained against his bindings with what was left of his strength, but they held tight.
The demon stood, arms crossed, still smiling, as invisible coils squeezed and constricted his prey so relentlessly that the breath and blood were forced from him. Unable to inhale, or scream, Dean writhed against the excruciating pain, --turning ashen,-- until his eyes rolled up and he passed out.
Daddy reluctantly released him. He had, after all, promised Laura her turn.
I won't leave you hanging too long--promise!
alena - January 16, 2008 07:50 PM (GMT)
Hello there, I've just seen this recommended over on the fanfiction discussion thread and decided to pop over and have a read. I'm glad I did! This story is shaping up well- nice creepy demon Will and his ever so slightly crazy "daughter", poor old Dean in their clutches and of course Sam and Bobby desparately trying to find him and starting to put some of the story together- Great! I'm already looking forward to the next update... :D
denisem - January 17, 2008 12:08 AM (GMT)
Wow great chapter!! Can't wait for more!!
Poor Dean, so much torture and I hope this office realizes what she's brought back!!
MarquessaS. - January 18, 2008 12:28 PM (GMT)
guiltypleasure - January 18, 2008 12:32 PM (GMT)
hello again. --here's the next installment.
Bobby and Sam sat and discussed strategy.
“We need to call the station and ask for her---maybe you should, Sam—different voice. We can find out if she’s gonna be there tomorrow.”
Sam nodded and found the number. He spoke to someone who said that Officer Brennen was due in tomorrow at nine.
“Good. We’ll get set up by the station early and stake it out until we see a woman matching her. Then when she goes out—we’ll follow her, see where she goes. I don’t know what to do after that—but it’s a start.” Bobby thought.
“If she does have him in some other place—she’d be checking on him, I’d imagine.”
He hoped. If she no longer needed to check---
He shook that thought away.
When Officer Brennen returned, she found her Dad seated in the metal chair, whistling. He looked up and smiled at her, nodding his head toward their captive. She turned and looked.
Dean’s head hung limply against his chest, he was still,--seemed lifeless.
“Don’t worry, love---I left you some.”
She approached Dean and surveyed him. He was unconscious—that was obvious, his breathing ragged. She saw that his bandaged side, only spotted with red before,-- was now a dark,solid crimson. Bruises were darkening over his chest—odd shaped. She wondered what exactly Daddy had done to him.
As she stood, she felt a flood of mixed emotions.
With the others, those three earlier arrests—she’d felt a powerful feeling of righteousness. But they were never at a disadvantage—the way this one was now. They were at least able to try to flee, or fight, and she beat them justifiably. But this was different…he looked pathetic, slumped there, trembling and bloody.
This scenario was what she’d yearned for, for a very long time—but seeing it now---it was intensely disturbing. ---and even if he deserved everything he would suffer---she couldn’t help but be affected by it. She wasn’t a monster, after all…
Daddy joined her. She noticed again his increasing rankness.
“Ready to have a go?” he smiled.
She wanted to say yes…it seemed to please him. But the truth was, she needed some distance, after seeing the state of her captive. She wasn’t ready to inflict more---maybe this was enough for now. After all, they’d agreed on six days…..
Daddy saw the moral struggle in her. He frowned.
“Now, love—you knew this was going to be harsh---now buck-up. We talked about this---you know he deserves this and more after what he’s done….remember poor Karin. She can’t fight back now---but you can…for her.”
Laura nodded, hesitantly, then with more conviction. Daddy always knew what to say.
“Well—I guess we should wake the bastard then.”
She had a bucket of cold water sitting on the floor, she dipped a cup into it and splashed Dean’s face.
He flinched and drew a sharp breath. He raised his head slowly, focusing with difficulty on the woman in front of him. He licked the welcome moisture from his mouth.
“—please…” he croaked.“---some water---“
“--Don’t.“ Daddy said.
“Dad, I don’t want him to die of thirst---there’s no justice in that.”
She dipped the cup again and let him drink a little, then dropped it back into the pail.
The water revived his senses.
He had to get through to her—show her somehow what she’d really brought back.
“—Laura—“ he whispered..
“Don’t call me that.”
“—he’s not your real Dad, …that thing over there—it’s evil,—demonic---
She got over her qualms and slapped him.
“Shut up. He’s as real as you are---he’s everything I remember…and he came back to help me-“
Dean shook it off and risked her ire again.
“—no—please—listen to me---I know you prayed—but something else answered-
She grabbed him by the throat.
“Stop your lies!” she hissed, her fingers tightening.
“—not lying—“ he choked. “--Can’t you smell it? That body is dead---it’s ---rotting—he knows it—“
Her grip loosened for a moment and he took the opportunity to run with it.
“That’s crazy---you’re crazy--!” she growled.
“—No—hear me out, Laura….I’m not what you think—I never saw Karin—never hurt her. --Doesn’t matter if you believe me or not—you can do what you like---but you have to send that thing back to hell where it came from!” he whispered in desperation. “It’s not your father—it’s evil---Look at it, smell it—for god’s sake--look for all the details that are wrong--!”
He couldn’t say more, as Daddy had come and leaned over her shoulder.
“What’s he saying, love? Eleventh hour repentance?”
Laura backed away from both of them.
“y-yes, just as you’d expect. He’s trying anything—wants mercy…”
But as she spoke, her mind whirled with what he’d said. There were details—‘Daddy’ spoke to her differently—not at all the grumbling softie from her memories. His attentiveness—which she’d appreciated, --was almost fawning—Dad’s affection had always been shy and cloaked in gruffness,…..the dry wit was missing. So was his rich accent, even the timbre of his voice was slightly wrong. It was like she was watching a very skilled actor play a role in full costume—well rehearsed, and utterly convincing….and what of that damned odour--?
But it was too hideous to contemplate. She shook her head, reminding herself of the source of these thoughts---a man who killed her father and sister with remorseless cruelty, and who would say anything now to save his own neck. She couldn’t believe this was wrong now---it had felt so damned right. She looked at her father for reassurance.
Her Dad grinned and winked. Then he made a small gesture, and Dean’s chair was flung over backwards with a violence that sent it sliding across the concrete. The old wooden chair shattered as they struck the wall behind.
He cried out on impact, --but he felt blessed relief as the tight pull on his shoulders was released, and he lay still.
Laura stared at her father in shock.
“—How—did you do that-?!”
“One of my new gifts.” he smiled benignly.
She tore her shocked gaze away from him and approached her captive. He was a tangle of broken chair parts and rope, and he coughed, winded-- against the cold floor.
She nudged him with her foot, and he blinked a few times and caught her eye. He said something to her—she had to crouch down to hear, it was so quiet.
“--bring salt---tomorrow…please---you’ll see why….I’m not the evil here-------.”
He was blacking out. “—salt---pour a ring around me and you—demon can’t cross…look it up--you’ll see-----he knows I’m--- not the one---“
That was all he could manage before he slipped away..
Laura stood up, and stepped back in confusion, her discomfort deepening…
But Daddy was right there behind her, she had no chance—no distance from which to think clearly..
He sensed her turmoil.
“Laura—do you want me to finish this now..?’ he asked her softly, his hands on her shoulders, sympathy and concern dripping from his voice. “ I can see this is too hard on you, love. Would you like me to end it?”
“No…no, Da. --It is hard, I won’t deny it. But I do want what we said. Six days of suffering---just like he gave Karin. It’s just going to be an adjustment for me—please understand….I was schooled in upholding law, this is all so different…” She smiled at him and shrugged apologetically.
“But I’m with you---I want this as much as you do—“
“Good girl.” He patted her arm.
“Dad, it’s getting late---I need to sleep. Let’s get back, we can have tea, you could grab a shower. This trash will keep—“ She gave Dean’s still form a sharp kick, for emphasis.
“Ok, love. Whatever you want.” He stroked her hair again, in a manner that now, under the circumstances, began to irk her. Dad would have chucked her under her chin, at best. He was now touching her so intimately---coaxing—almost like a lover--- and it was starting to disgust her a little. She shrugged him away.
Officer Laura Brennen turned off the meager fluorescent, and they rolled the door down. Tomorrow was another day.
Dean was oblivious. The cold and pain were, for now-- far away.
Sam and Bobby turned in early. They could do nothing more, tomorrow they would pursue their only lead.
Bobby fell asleep quickly, but Sam wasn’t so fortunate. He was too wound up, too fearful. And the older man snored with an impressive resonance that pierced the pillow when Sam held it over his own head to block the sound.
Finally he got up and went back online. He re-read the information he had on Laura Brennen, trying to feel that he had a better grip on the situation. It didn’t help—it simply reinforced the worry that Dean was in deep trouble and that Sam was powerless, at least for now, to do anything about it. He prayed fervently that following Officer Brennen was the right choice---and that it would lead them to him in time. If it was a red herring….
He swore and snapped the laptop shut.
Laura too, slept poorly.
She rarely dreamt at all, after the loss of her family. She figured it was all part of the death of any whimsy and imagination within her on that ugly day..
But she sat bolt upright, sweaty and horrified, at the nightmare that plagued her now.
Daddy was the focus.
He smiled sweetly as he held a struggling wild rabbit. She watched him stroke it soothingly, but still it kicked and screamed in his hands. She became aware of a tapping sound, and she turned away, in slow motion, toward a window. Two figures stood there. They were rapping the glass, trying to speak to her—trying to get her attention. She wandered closer and saw that, strangely, it was Dad again, and Karin stood beside him. They kept speaking to her, but it was if they were under water--she couldn’t hear their words clearly, but their knocking at the glass turned into frantic pounding. It frightened her, --she turned again to Daddy holding the rabbit. He smiled benignly at her and held the terrified creature up by the ears. His eyes transformed, to a solid black, and he continued his languid smile as he raised a knife to its throat, and slit it in one fluid motion.
He held it out to her as blood washed down it’s soft, brown body, held it until it stopped convulsing and was still. He winked at her and dropped it. She tore her gaze away from those terrible black eyes, turning instead to the dead thing at her feet. Blood spread slowly from it, staining that pristine kitchen floor.
But it wasn’t a rabbit anymore. It was Dean Winchester.
Laura turned on a light, got up and poured some water. It was just a dream, it meant nothing, she told herself.
But she was deeply shaken. The damned dream was no less insane than her reality at the moment. She sat, in confused misery, going over everything of the past few days.
None of it was rational. She was a respected cop, who had now kidnapped a man she thought was responsible for killing her family, with the aim of seeing him suffer for his crimes until he was dead. She had no real proof that he was the killer, but she’d been obsessed with the idea that he was the one she sought, and that everything would be right if she made him pay. And she had prayed---she’d cast her pleas indiscriminately---she never worried about who would answer them. And when her father had been miraculously restored to life, she never doubted the rightness of it all.
--And he had confirmed—uncannily, conveniently—that she had the killer in her grasp. He told her exactly what she wanted to hear. She was seduced by her own need for revenge, and it had all worked perfectly in her mind.
But now---she felt more clarity than she had in months.
If all had been perfect---if there weren’t these gaps, these strange inconsistencies, and if he—her damned prisoner--- hadn’t drawn her attention to the very things she wanted to ignore---she might have blithely continued on.
She couldn’t now.
--salt—He said to bring salt—that it was some sort of anathema to demons---a barrier. It was ridiculous—fairy-tale nonsense. Demons! Why was she even listening to him—it was just a desperate ploy.
But she could hardly write this off as fantasy when her own long-dead father now lived and breathed again in the room next to hers.
God,--what was she thinking?? This was wrong, all of it—it was bizarre, sick—
A horrible, nauseating fear gripped her—she fled to the bathroom and vomited.
thanks for reading
zuimar - January 18, 2008 01:36 PM (GMT)
Great, another update! Cookies coming your way right now!
Clarice Hubert - January 18, 2008 02:27 PM (GMT)
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG
Great update :cheer
:evil Daddy - don't like him :fire
:cry Dean is cold, hurt and still want to help Laura :cry
:car Bobby, Sam - fast - Dean needs you guys...
Pls update soon...
guiltypleasure - January 20, 2008 05:35 PM (GMT)
Cool--what kind of cookies?
Dean awoke in darkness. He was nearly convulsing with cold. His blood loss, and the icy concrete on which he lay—chilled him to the bone.
He was so damned thirsty. He focused his hazy thinking, remembering the bucket. He gathered himself and sat up. It was absolutely devoid of light in the room—he had to guess where to turn. He slowly kicked away the broken chair rung that his feet had been tied to, shifting and squirming until he was free of the tangle of rope. He had no luck with his hands. They were now much looser behind him, the spindles of the broken chair-back having fallen away, but his wrists were still connected by a short length of rope. No matter how hard he twisted his hands, they were not going to be freed from the knots. But at least he could feel his hands again. The pins-and-needles were brutal, but welcome.
He managed to get to his knees, and he stayed there, swaying, until he was sure he could shuffle in search of the water. His face felt hot, despite his shivering. He was pretty sure that at least some of the stitches in his side were torn out when the demon crushed him—he knew he’d been bleeding, and lying on the filthy floor was the worst thing he could do. He wished he had a t-shirt on at least. His open shirt and thin pajama bottoms offered little comfort against the cold. Some socks would have been nice.
But he did find the pail, and he stuck his face into it and drank the cold water until he was forced to stop and take a breath. It was so damned good---better than anything he’d ever tasted. He panted for a bit, and drank some more.
The water did him good, he felt a lot clearer. He was hungry—he couldn’t remember when had eaten last—but it had been a while. He sat back in the disorienting darkness, drying his face on his shoulder. He had to get out of this prison, they were going to come back soon—any moment for all he knew. She was under the demon’s influence for the last few hours---if he’d made any headway with her it was gone now. That thing would coax and cajol and convince until she was fully on board with torturing him to death, and he’d prefer not to be around when they came back to start on him. She was one screwed up chick…
He got back up on his knees and shuffled over to a wall, using it to stand. His side throbbed with any movement, but he tried to ignore it. He followed the room’s perimeter until he felt the door, and the switch, fumbling with his bound hands until he turned the light on.
He saw what he’d only felt before—his dressings were slipping down, saturated and useless. He’d have pulled them off if he could reach. He looked over his shoulder, turning his wrists to get a look at his watch.
That meant darkness outside. --good-- He felt safer if he could move around unseen—he was a bit of a spectacle at the moment---didn’t want anyone calling the real cops..
He looked around for anything he could wrap around himself for warmth, but the only things he saw were some cardboard boxes and a plastic tarp. Not exactly cozy. He wondered if the tarp was meant to be used as his shroud, when it was all over.
He figured he’d better get to it. He searched for a latch for the door, no doubt it was locked from the outside, but there’d be a release from the inside for safety reasons. He found it, and rested momentarily, going over his plan, such as it was, in his mind.
--Get as far away as he could, and find a phone—
He turned around and gripped the release, the door popped, and he pulled it up as far as he could. It was open by a couple of feet—just enough to squeeze under.
He did that, cursing at the pain when he rolled.
And then-- he was free. He was outside, in a chilly wind, with a thin dusting of snow swirling around his bare feet---but he was free.
Laura washed her face and sipped some water. She stared at her reflection in the mirror—wanting desperately to go back a few hours to when this all made perfect sense, and felt so right. But she couldn’t.
She decided to go down to her office. ---look it up—he’d implored. Well, she was damned well going to.
“—Trouble sleeping, dear--?”
Her father’s voice caused her to jump. Daddy sat in the darkness. She turned on the light, and saw that he hadn’t stirred from where he’d sat when she’d turned in earlier. His tea sat cold and untouched on the table beside him. She frowned at that---Dad lived on tea---he used to drink it a dozen times a day.
She still felt slightly ill. The room smelled faintly like a bad piece of chicken that had been rolled in baby powder.. She’d insisted that he shower when they’d gotten home, his odour had become impossible to ignore, and she’d hoped…....well, she wanted proof that Dean Winchester was wrong. But the shower didn’t solve it--- it seemed it had only lessened.
And Winchester had said--
…She couldn’t finish the thought, not with her touchy stomach at the moment.
“A bit, Dad. --What about you? You should be in bed.”
“Yes, dear—I should. But I was thinking too much….”
He leaned forward and touched her hand. His palm felt like cold rubber against her skin—she resisted her urge to pull away.
“ --I’m very sad that this thing weighs on you, Laura. I know we wanted justice for our Karin…but I won’t have it at the expense my one remaining girl’s health.. I think---that you should just go to work tomorrow, and forget about all of this. Things can go back to normal for you---you’ve built a life and career for yourself,—it would be adding insult to injury if we let him ruin that. Let me take care of the rest, love. I think it’s best…”
His voice was still so warm, so soothing. She still wanted to believe. She found herself on the verge of agreeing…it would simplify everything, she wouldn’t have to have this terrible dilemma anymore.
But it wouldn’t be right.
“Let me sleep on it, Da. I know you want what’s best for me, but I don’t want to have any regrets later.”
“Of course.” he smiled.
She smiled in return.
“Now Dad—you really must go to bed. It’s no good to sit here in the dark, thinking, alone—you need to rest.”
To her relief, he agreed. As he shuffled away, he said-
“And don’t you stay up too long, I’ll have to come down and send you to bed…”
“I promise, Dad. I’ll just get some hot milk—then I’m back in bed.”
“Good girl.” And he headed up.
When she was sure he was gone—she slipped into the office and began her research.
It took some navigating—but dammit, it was there, just as he’d said. Demons, salting the openings at doors and windows—ways to keep them out. The information, along with a hundred other archaic superstitions, was plainly displayed right there on her screen. He wasn’t making it up.
Her heart beat with a suffocating speed and she shut the computer off.—fearful of being seen.
She wasn’t sure what it meant---why Dean Winchester knew such strange things, but she knew she had to see, to test it. If it didn’t work, then he was a lying killer just trying to derail her. But if it did….if this really was something other than Dad—
She shuddered at the thought. --Demon—he’d said. Something sent from Hell.
She wished she hadn’t been so careless with her prayers. She was angry at god—but she’d never meant to call for help from below. It cast everything in a terrible doubt---including Dean Winchester’s guilt. After all—wouldn’t the devil applaud his sin, if he had done it--?
She went to the kitchen and found the tin of salt in the dark cupboard. Luckily it was almost full. She tucked it into her briefcase by the door, and headed back up to her room.
Thanks for reading.
Deanwinchesterfan1985 - January 20, 2008 06:07 PM (GMT)
Finally got caught up and I enjoyed all three chapters. Man poor Dean is really being put through it in this story...good thing he was able to strike a cord with Laura...making her consider if the thing helping her really is her father...but she still isn't 100% sure about that. Hopefully the dream will kind of make a little bit more sense to her...letting her know that her father and Karin are trying to warn her about the demon pretending to be her father.
And thank goodness Dean was able to sneak away, even though he isn't in the best of shape he can hopefully get far enough away that he can get to a phone and get a hold of Sam and Bobby before Laura or the demon come after him again. Looking forward to the next one.
zuimar - January 20, 2008 06:44 PM (GMT)
You know you're an evil girl right, for leaving us hanging with a cliffie, but you're also a sweety pie for updating so regularly! Do you like chocolate chip cookies? They're my favorite!
UKsnfan101 - January 20, 2008 09:57 PM (GMT)
cool an update...love this story!
guiltypleasure - January 22, 2008 08:32 PM (GMT)
Hi---here's another fix :unsure:
--Ok, Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea -- Dean thought, as he walked through the frost-stiffened grass at the roadside. He drew a sharp breath every time the damned wind sent a swirl of snow up a pajama leg, and his bare middle was freezing. He finally sat down on a guardrail—exhausted. This was stupid, he really needed to cut his hands free---.
He looked down, along the road edge, for anything—a can, or a beer bottle, anything that might have an edge.. He found a piece of a pop bottle, but it was frozen into the mud. He pried at it with his toes, cutting himself. At least he knew it was sharp enough. It resisted his attempts to remove it, however, and he had to abandon it and keep looking. His second find was more useful—he picked up the shattered piece of tail light and turned his wrists awkwardly until he could effectively saw at his rope. It seemed to take forever—the red plastic shard, although sharp, wasn’t as keen as glass, and the nylon rope proved good and tough. His hand cramped repeatedly, but at last he felt the tether break, and he could finally use his hands. His first order of business was to pull off the wet and useless bandages, then to button his shirt. His fingers were stiff with the cold and he struggled with the simple task, but after some heartfelt cursing he finally got it. He felt much better once that was done.
He pulled his shirt collar over his ears, wrapped his arms around his midriff and continued on in search of a phone.
No cars had passed him. He’d been walking for nearly an hour when a gas station showed in the distance. He nearly cried with relief. He picked up his pace, and made it to a glassed-in phone-booth at the corner of the parking-lot.
One inside, he realized that he didn’t have a damned quarter. He nearly gave up right there, he was so tired and cold…
--think, Winchester—he growled to himself-
He punched zero, and when he got a voice he requested a collect call.
Laura was awakened by her father. She squinted, irritated and tired, at the alarm clock.
“I know, love—but I have a feeling we should go back to the storage room—I’m worried he may be escaping-“
As a matter of fact, the demon was sure he was. He was seething with fury—he knew the moment that pain-in-the-ass had sprung himself—but he could hardly keep revealing his demonic talents to Laura---her faith in him was already shaky enough. He shouldn’t have accommodated her---should have stayed behind and finished his job while she’d gone home. He would have gone and taken care of it himself now—but with this failing body, he needed Laura to get him there.
“--well, why? she asked, sitting up, “—how do you know--??”
“Just a sixth sense, dear. Hurry, now, go—before he hurts another Karin!“
Laura was confused and fearful. She had intended to see this through at a safer, more methodical rate, in the morning-- this early hour panic was the last thing she wanted.
She threw on her clothes, grabbed her gun and keys, and her briefcase as they headed out.
They got to the unit, and saw that it was open, light spilling out onto the snow. Laura got out and checked, knowing full well that he was gone. She surveyed the parking lot with a flashlight. It was windy—most evidence of his footfalls would have blown away. But she did see a slight disturbance in the white dusting on the asphalt—a change in the wavy pattern. They weren’t footprints—but they had a definite direction, one which led up toward the road.
She got back in and headed up onto the road in the direction that seemed most likely.
“What does your “sixth sense” say now, Dad?---This way?” she growled. She was very unhappy at this development.
“Yes, Laura, —this way, dear.”
The demon was so sick of playing this smarmy, caring role—as soon as he had accomplished his mission, he was going to squash that bitch—
Sam was awakened by his phone. He’d only fallen asleep an hour ago, but once there—he was so deep that it took six rings before he even knew what was disturbing him.
“Hi—Hello—Yeah—“ he said breathlessly, nearly dropping the cell. Someone—a woman, was asking him something--he agreed to whatever the operator said and then, to his profound relief, he heard Dean’s voice.
“Where are you?—are you ok--?!”
“—uh….up the road from some--- storage place. --- Store-All. I’m at a gas station—wait—“
He squinted through the darkness at the sign.
“—looks like a ….Chevron. I don’t—I don’t know the road.”
“Never mind,—I’ll look it up---are you ok? I mean—you’re not, I know, but—christ we were worried--
“—quit babbling Sam—just get out here—I’m freezing!”
“--Ok. Stay on the line, Dean, we’re coming now-“
Once his goal was reached, Dean was utterly spent. He slid down the glass wall of the booth, his nerveless hand letting go of the receiver—and he rested in a shaking heap on the cramped floor.
Sam heard the sounds, followed by a groan.
“Dean!—Are you still there?—Dean!”
Tucking his arms around himself to stay warm, Dean raised his head and acknowledged, directing his voice toward the dangling receiver.
Sam roused Bobby, who threw on a coat and scurried to the truck to warm it up. He then went online, got an address for the likely storage place, cross referenced it with Chevron stations, and got a street match, then leapt into the vehicle with the elder hunter. They roared out in search of the station.
All the while, Sam kept his brother talking.
“Dean—are you hurt any worse?—”
“—a little. --jeezus Sam—it’s a demon---she—the cop—she thinks it’s her Dad returned from the dead---
“—yeah—that’s right. She thinks I-- killed her sister, Sam—and her dad came back to help her—help get vengeance……. the demon doesn’t really give a shit about that----wants me out of the way—I dunno w-why yet, exactly….but…this is how…he got through…..some freaking demon--technicality---”
He had trouble speaking, he shivered so hard now.
“Stay with me Dean—“
---i’m … tired, sam…”
“I know—but keep talking—“
“—they wanted to …make me pay… for hurting her, --they had me tied in a storage unit—“
Dean stopped, blinded suddenly by headlights.
“---Is that you, Sam--? Turn down your high-beams—!“
“—What? ..No, Dean—we’re still on the highway—“
“Dean! —what’s going on---who is it ?! Dean --!”
Frantic, Sam strained to hear his answer, but what he heard instead froze his blood.
He heard a thump, and then the unmistakable sound of his brother’s howl, followed by an ear-splitting shattering of glass. And then nothing.
“Jeesus, Bobby, floor it!!”
He didn’t have to say it, a grim-faced Bobby, hearing the exchange-- had already red-lined it.
Directed by her father, Laura Brennen had pulled in front of the phone booth. She saw immediately that he was right, --Winchester sat huddled on the floor of the glass enclosure.
For a moment—her rage returned, and she drew her gun and yelled at him to get up and walk out.
But he never had a chance to obey---
Daddy, too—had left the car. He raised his hand---chanting something in words Laura didn’t understand-
Then she stood, open mouthed,-- as her hapless prisoner was drawn up the inside of the booth by a power that was clearly not his own, and pulled so hard against the thick glass, that it shattered under the pressure and he was flung against the hood of her car.
He struggled for a moment, terrified and disoriented, but he stayed there, unnaturally, --crucified like some pinned moth.
She tore her gaze away from him, staring at her father. She saw a fury in him that she had never witnessed before.
“Dad—Daddy---“ she faltered.
“Shut-up, Love! Daddy will handle this now-“
He strode toward Dean, leaned over him, and pushed a hand viciously against his wounded side-
“Beg me!” he snarled, “—Beg my master to spare you!”
Dean’s eyes widened, but he gathered a breath and growled back-
“Go to hell, you stinking sonofabitch--!”
Demon dug his fingers in hard, tearing the cloth and burying his septic yellow nails deep into the gash in Dean’s ribs.
The hunter tore out a strangled scream-
“ENOUGH! Stop it—Dad, please—!“
‘Daddy” laughed and released him, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence and stepping back as Dean slid off the hood and landed, curled up, moaning, on the ground at her feet.
It was the rabbit of her nightmare all over again.
“Fine, my darling Laura. You do it, --Kill him. It’s what you want—you know it is…you brought us all to this”
He stood back with an exaggerated gesture of offering.
His eyes were a solid black.
She was horrified, but she nodded.
“Yes, Dad—it’s what I wanted,--just as you said. But not my gun….I---I want a knife….”
He grinned his approval as she reached into her car, swiftly opened her briefcase and gripped the salt tin.
She pried the lid off with shaking hands and dumped it in a hasty but solid ring around herself and Dean, -finishing the circle in a panic as Daddy came round the car to witness.
She threw the empty tin at him and tucked her limbs behind the safety of the unbroken salt line.
Tears streamed down her face, and she howled at him-
“YOU--- ARE---NOT--- MY ---FATHER!”
What she saw then, she would never forget.
The figure that she had so willingly accepted as her kind and loving Dad now changed.
It screamed in unearthly fury, lunging and clawing at them—but stopping each time just short of the salt line. –he was right, he was right---
She wept in terror and covered her ears, shut her eyes, as it raged all around them. Dean was writhing in pain—she clung to him, whispering and sobbing, --begging him to lie still, to stay within the safety of the circle…for the love of god, don’t break the line--
At that moment, she heard the roaring engine of a truck. It screeched to a stop with a spray of ice, two figures leapt out and when she dared to raise her head, she saw them splatter the demon with water, which steamed and bubbled as the creature screamed. An older man was chanting Latin as the younger one continued to shower it with water.
Any resemblance to her Dad was gone—it distorted, twisted, and it plucked and tore at the dead flesh it inhabited, until black, sulphurous filth spewed from it’s mouth in a final wail, fleeing like smoke into the pre-dawn sky.
What remained, dropped lifeless, with a sodden finality, --onto the pavement.
thanks for your reviews :)