Dark Prospects
By AJ Wesley
For my dear friend Kati on her birthday. Thanks for everything!
~oooOOOooo~
Chapter 1
Sam stumbled, falling to his hands and knees in the rock-strewn dirt. His aching body protested the new abuse by sending lightning bolts of pain up each limb. He gasped, closed his eyes, and rode it out.
The car wasn't much farther. He could make it. Coop's phone was there. Sam pushed back to his feet, staggering on shaky legs. He grabbed the closest tree for support, afraid of falling again. Afraid he might not be able to get up again. His strength was waning, fast.
It was dark, black as pitch, but Sam knew the way. He stumbled on like some drunken frat boy after a binge, only there was no alcohol in his system. There wasn't much of anything. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and the metallic-tasting water had been sparse.
How long had it been? He had no idea. Dean would be worried.
Dean.
This time the ache in his gut had nothing to do with hunger. He hadn't felt this way since he'd lost Dean six months before. The hurt had been too much to bear then, and Sam had hardened himself, felt little, lived for the hunt.
He'd promised Dean he would go to Bobby's…after. And he had, for a little while. Bobby had helped Sam bury Dean, but only after a heated argument about salting and burning his brother's corpse. After that, it had been hard, the way Bobby had walked on eggshells around him, the way the man had looked at him with such pity. The way Bobby drank. Like Dad. Sam couldn't handle it, so he'd struck out on his own.
But truthfully? Sam found the bottle as much comfort as Bobby did. Understood now why Dad had turned to it. The pain, the emptiness, was overwhelming. Things had kind of spiraled out of control after that.
After a while he'd found Ruby, or rather, Ruby had found him. Then the training had begun, the headaches, the hunts, all focused on a single goal: finding Lilith and saving his brother from Hell. For a long time, Sam had felt like he'd betrayed Dean's memory by using his powers, but then he'd saved a victim, and another, and another. In that, there was a euphoria he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He could finally make something good of the evil that had been thrust upon him.
And then Dean had returned. Sam hadn't believed it at first. He had prayed every day, pleaded with God to give him his brother back, and those prayers had been answered.
It took Sam a while to get used to it, to readjust to having his brother there. The next few days, he'd been afraid to open his eyes when he woke for fear it had all been a dream. But it wasn't. Dean was back.
Now, Sam was praying he would see his brother again.
An ache pounded behind his eyes, radiating through his head. Sam fell to one knee, and this time he had trouble getting up. Come on.
It had been a mistake to go with Cooper. He knew that now. He'd met the other hunter over the summer, and while Coop was a great guy, he wasn't Dean. Didn't work in tandem with Sam the way Dean did. Maybe that was why the spirit had gotten the jump on them.
That wasn't fair. He shouldn't blame Cooper. Sam was just as much at fault.
And right now, he wanted his brother. Sam had spent months cutting himself off from others, focusing on the hunt, shutting himself down against the hurt. Now that Dean was back, now that Sam had a big brother again, the barriers were dropping. Dean made him feel alive again. Dean made him feel. It was like Sam had died when his brother had, and now he was reborn as well. It wasn't a dream; it wasn't some demon's scheme. Dean was back.
And, God, Sam needed him now.
He broke from the woods and nearly toppled with no more trees to latch on to. But there it was, awash in moonlight: Cooper's Land Rover. The satellite phone Coop kept for emergencies was inside. Even if their belongings hadn't been taken from them, the phone the hunter had had on him would have been no use so deep underground.
Sam collapsed against the car, fumbling for the door handle. He barely had the strength to open it, and he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't locked. Sam rolled on his shoulder, never losing contact with his support, and grabbed the open door. He dropped to his knees and slid his hand under the driver's seat.
Small bits of paper, probably old gas receipts. Glass bottle. Beer? Water bottle. Ow…knife. Damn it, Coop. Phone. Thank God.
Sam pulled it from its hiding spot, twisted around, and sank down to sit in the open doorway. He squinted at the display, trying to bring it into focus. 10:09 p.m. But what day? His hands were shaking so badly, he could barely dial. Somehow he managed, punching in the number he had never dropped from service.
After the third ring, he wondered if Dean would answer. His brother wouldn't recognize the number. What if—?
"Hello?"
"Dean," he said, but it came out a rasp. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dean."
"Sammy, that you?"
Sam smiled. He couldn't help it. "Yeah."
"Where the hell have you been?" There was anxiety in his brother's voice. And maybe a little hurt. "It's been almost a week. What, you couldn't give me a call, Mr. Independent?"
Almost a week. "Dean…"
There was a pause, then, "You okay?"
"Found the mine. Vengeful spirit. It got…uh…" Damn it, he couldn't focus.
"Sammy, are you okay?" More urgency now. "You need help?"
Oh, God, yes, please. But "Dean" was all he could manage.
He thought he heard the sound of a car horn, then: "Where are you?"
Sam had to think about that a moment. "Colorado."
"Yeah, no kidding, genius. Where in Colorado?"
Sam's muddled brain wouldn't respond. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to lessen the pounding in his head. "Idaho…," he said finally.
"Idaho?" Frustration now, born of fear. "Sam, you just told me Colorado. That's where you were going with Cooper, right?"
"Yeah."
"Sammy, come on, man. Help me out here."
A burst of static followed Dean's plea, and in it, Sam heard a single word. "Interloper."
No.
Sam's eyes shot open, his breath quickening. Most people would have missed it, but Sam knew. The figure was darkness upon darkness. It moved closer, and Sam couldn't stop the tremors shaking his body. "It's here," he said on a breath.
He heard Dean shout his name before the phone went dead, its power sucked dry by the black hole that was looming closer.
Sam let his arm fall, his strength gone. The shade flickered, solidifying into the miner that had held him captive for the past seven days. Forced him to work that damned mine.
"Claim jumper," it wheezed.
Sam shook his head, squinting in the light of the lantern it held. "No. I don't want your gold. Please, you have to—"
Something—the lantern?—swung at him, connected with his temple. The blinding pain had him gasping for air as he slid sideways along the Land Rover and hit the ground. Sam tried to push himself up, throbbing hands clenching in the dirt as he grit his teeth and fought to stay conscious. He couldn't go back there. He just couldn't.
A second blow landed across his shoulders, slamming him back to the ground and knocking the air from his lungs.
The light from the moon faded, handing him back to the darkness he'd so desperately tried to escape.
~oooOOOooo~
"Sammy!"
Damn it! He never should have let Sam go. This hunt was just a favor for a friend, an IOU that had been called in. He and Sam had been back together for less than two months; he wasn't about to lose his brother now.
Bobby had pulled over when Dean had honked his horn at him, and now the older hunter was jogging back to the Impala. Dean quickly rolled down the window.
"What's up?" Bobby asked, leaning one arm on the door.
The words came out like a shot. "I just got a call from Sam. He's in trouble, Bobby. I gotta go. Think you can handle your hunt on your own?"
The worry was clear in his friend's face. "Yep. You all right?"
"I heard it. Sam said it was a vengeful spirit."
"You want me to come with you?"
"No, I got it. I just…" Dean ran a hand over his face. "Sam said he was in Colorado, then he told me he was in Idaho."
"Idaho."
"Yeah. He sounded messed up. Bobby, if anything happens to him…" He couldn't finish the thought.
"Wait. Idaho…" Bobby's gaze lowered, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought it out, remembered. He shook a finger at Dean. "Idaho Springs. That was on the map I gave Sam. Big gold mine area."
Dean perked up at that. "Gold mine. That's it. Sam said Cooper had a lead on some disappearances in the same area where people saw an old miner." Dean put the car in reverse. "Thanks, Bobby."
"You be careful. I'll head on up as soon as I'm finished."
Dean gave him a nod, checked the highway for traffic, then did a U-turn to head back the way they'd come. The way to Sam.
And suddenly the fact that his little brother still needed him was no comfort at all.
~oooOOOooo~
Something dripped onto his forehead.
Sam stirred, a groan rumbling his dry, aching throat. What…?
Another drip hit his forehead, and Sam bolted upright with a gasp, the memories that sensation invoked sending his heart racing and his hands fumbling to wipe the wetness away.
Feeling and sound and pain all assaulted him at once, overloading his mind until he curled forward over drawn-up legs and grabbed his head in his still-shaking hands. It took a few moments before Sam was able to regain control.
The sporadic dripping, the way it echoed…the dank smell…the cold dampness that chilled him to the bone. He was back in the mine, and it was all he could do not to sob in dismay. He'd made it so far, been so close. But…
Dean. He'd contacted Dean. His brother would come, Sam was certain. That single thought gave him strength to lift his head in the inky blackness and draw a deep breath. He could do this.
Reaching out to brace himself so he could stand, Sam heard another new sound: the chink of metal, of chain. He lifted his hands and heard it again, and his stomach clenched. He'd thought, at first, that the heaviness of his limbs was simply due to exhaustion, but it was more than that. His searching fingers closed around the length of chain and followed it to the shackles around each wrist. Further investigation revealed that the cuffs were not merely locked; they were welded shut. His ankles were secured as well. There was about two feet of chain between both sets of cuffs.
"No," he growled through clenched teeth. "No!"
He didn't miss the irony of the situation. The shackles were iron. A spirit using iron. Sam almost laughed. Wonder if Coop—
Cooper. Where the hell was Cooper? He'd insisted on staying behind, keeping their captor busy so Sam could escape. Now…
"Coop?" Sam called, blinking into the darkness. He couldn't see a thing; there was no ambient light down there at all. Sam was used to working under cover of darkness, but this…this was like being blind. Where was the lantern? "Cooper?"
Almost instantly, the lantern lit itself, making Sam's shadow bounce along the wall. Sam squinted, even that small amount of light seeming harsh to his eyes. He sucked in a breath and waited. If the lantern was lit, that meant—
He saw it standing in the far corner, near the shaft that led to this stinking hole. Sam's research said that the spirit was one Jedidiah Parker, a man who had left his life as a banker to stake claim on this mine in the hopes of finding the mother lode. Parker had gone missing back in 1852, and no one had known what had happened to him, until now. Sam's gaze shifted to the right, where what was left of the miner sat propped against the back wall, a pickax still embedded in his skull. The skeleton's jaw hung open, almost as if it were laughing, mocking Sam, a constant reminder of how close he had been to getting rid of the thing.
He returned his attention to his visitor. It stared at him impassively. Sam glared back. "Where's Cooper?" he demanded.
Parker didn't answer.
Ice cold fingers of dread raised the hairs on Sam's arms and the back of his neck. "Where is he?"
Jedidiah stepped toward him, pickax firmly clenched in his hand. "Back to work, claim jumper," it rasped.
"I'm not—"
Sam didn't even see the spirit move. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted from the floor and tossed across the room. He bounced off the wall and hit the floor with dazing force.
When he opened his eyes, Parker loomed over him, ax poised to kill. "All right!" Sam yelled, holding up his hands in supplication. "All right." He waited, tense, for the blow to fall.
It never came. The old miner was gone in the blink of an eye.
Sam winced, letting go a ragged breath. Crawling on hands and knees, he searched for the pick he'd used for the past week, found it near the lantern. The old, rough wood of the handle had blistered his hands, broken those blisters, worn away layer upon layer of skin until his hands bled. He could see the dark stains on the implement. He picked it up, its weight now familiar.
His adrenaline spike was fading, leaving him even more exhausted than before. Sam pushed to his feet, leaning against the damp rock wall for support. He wasn't even sure he had the strength to lift the pick, but if he didn't…
Dean, please hurry.
TBC