Heya! Okay so this was supposed to be a part of Winchester Single Shots Darksupernatural set up… but me and Merisha decided to post it here too. Like this. Ummm, my part is written like this, and Merisha's part is written normal. LOL. Merisha did a great job continuing where I left off, didn't she? Yes, she did. nods
What else to say!? I don't own anything, and all the grammar mistakes you spot are mine. All mine.
Oh and btw if any of you are reading Back Roads Running Through The Forest… 'm gonna update that this week. Just so you know that I haven't abandoned that story.
Scene Writer: Soncnica
Responder: Merisha
Enjoy…
---
"Dean…" Sam whispered somewhere on Dean's left, making the leaves of the bush swirl slightly in the breeze of his breath. It was a hazelnut tree, spreading its branches low on the ground and high in the air. It was a perfect cover for Sam and Dean, a perfect hideout for them to spy on the ghost.
"Yeah, I see it…"
And Dean sure could see it. In the wee hours of the morning, when the sun hadn't even peeked up from the horizon, the ghost glided over the wet grass… a reminder of a heavy storm that the night sheltered with its darkness.
It wore a purple dress, a silky purple dress with some whiteness that enveloped its waist. Its hair was long, reaching all the way down to the ground, white hair that looked like moon rays… silver in the first rays of the sun.
It was showing its back to Dean, but he knew just what he would see if it would turn around and look at him.
They'd seen the pictures, they knew what happened, they knew that it would kill them with a snap of its fingers… the thing moved fast, too fast for a normal ghost.
"Sam…" but before Dean could finish his sentence, the ghost spun around, digging its crazy white eyes directly at him.
Dean crouched there, his muscles hard, his breath locked up in his lungs, not even blinking. The ghost heard, but it didn't see.
Don't move, don't move, don't move…
Dean didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't move a muscle.
It turned around completely, its eyes like probes being stuck into Dean's face, chest, eyes.
Don't move, don't move, just stay still…
His lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, his eyes started to water up because he didn't dare to blink, his muscles were cramping up, the position hard on his knees.
Dean would shoot the son of a bitch if he could, but one move now and he would be the ghost's breakfast, before he could blink.
Dean knew that Sam was in the same position as he was and it was just a matter of time before one of them would make the fatal mistake of moving.
Moving… so ironic. A body had to move to live. But right now, moving would bring death and nothing more.
The gun in Dean's hand was a solid presence of his escape from this situation, but he couldn't use it. His palms were starting to sweat; his face was soaked in sweat, tickling his eyelashes, his temples, his upper lip.
Don't move, don't move, don't move…
Dean knew that they couldn't stay motionless like this forever, either the ghost had to move, or they needed to make a move.
Dean just hoped that Sam had the same thoughts.
The ghost shuffled its feet a little over the soggy ground, and bore its eyes deeper into Dean's. He knew that it couldn't see him... not unless he moved and he had no intention on doing that.
Maybe they could just stay here, unmoving until the ghost decided that there was no one there, that all it had heard was just the wind.
Sam, Sammy, Sam… don't move…
Dean wanted to whisper to Sam, he wanted to see the state his brother was in, crouching next to him… so close, yet so far away. He could feel Sam's elbow on his forearm, that sharp bone adding more pain into his already locked up muscles.
His lungs were starting to burn, the need to breath was becoming too strong for him to deny, his chest was seizing up, the pain an unbearable pressure on his breastbone… it was like someone dumped a weight on his sternum. He needed to breathe, or else he would pass out and passing out would be movement. He wondered how bad Sam was.
Locked inside his brain, his eyes transfixed on the ghost's, the silence of the world around him was deafening.
No one breathed, no one moved, not even the wind. And then… Sam breathed and the ghost locked his eyes with him… damn.
The apparition was on top of them before either of them could blink. It was the fastest thing Dean had ever seen. He didn't even get a chance to grab hold of Sam, never mind aim his shotgun and fire. All he could do was watch in horror as a translucent, bony hand snagged Sam around the ankle and yanked him off his feet, pulling him away and out into the open field.
Sam yelped, being dragged unmercifully behind the fast moving creature. Dean was after them in a shot, a row of expletives following in his wake, but even at a full out sprint he was having difficulty keeping up.
"SAMMY!"
Sam was being bumped along at the unyielding pace, hands trying to find purchase, but instead being ripped and torn by the rough surface. He'd lost his gun a few feet back, hadn't been able to hold onto it. All he could do was pray that his brother could catch up, get to him in time.
"DEAN! Ow! Sonnavabitch! Ow!"
The echo of the shotgun reverberated in the morning air, missing its target. Dean couldn't seem to keep the thing in his line of sight for longer than a few seconds before it disappeared. He was running flat out, he had to get to Sam before the spirit began to feast on his brother. God, he'd seen what this thing did to its victims, and he'd be damned if he'd let that same thing happen to Sammy.
He found that he was just following the sounds of Sam's voice now, a pang of dread hit him as he realized that the sound was becoming fainter. Shit! Shit! Shit!
He fought back a rise of panic, quickly scanning the area again. They were just on the outskirts of the old cemetery, where he and Sam had dug up the crumbling old grave earlier. They hadn't been sure it was the right place, unmarked, except for a strange symbol on the headstone. They'd salted and burned the remains anyway, just in case, and decided to stake out the location where the victims had all been found, the open field next to the grave site. They had almost given up; convinced they had gotten rid of the spirit, when they spotted its hazy form drifting across the dewy grass. Something was obviously still keeping it here, something they'd missed, and now that thing had its fugly paws on Sammy.
Think Dean, think!
Thoughts and game plans were rushing through his head, trying to gage where it would take Sam. He instantly changed direction, veering to the left as he hurdled over tombstones, making his way towards the still open grave.
"Hold on Sammy, I'm coming," Dean huffed as he ran; adrenalin and fear pumping like molten fire through his veins.
Seconds later he was at the smoldering ruins of the burnt-out coffin, his heart nearly stopped when he spotted his brother's form, that thing leaning directly over him. It seemed to be sucking the life force out of Sam, a thin trail of glimmering mist hitching from his brothers slightly parted lips. Some sort of Sthriga type spirit. Oh shit. Sam's body was arching slightly, trying to fight for breath, and that was all the motivation Dean needed to raise his shotgun and blast two consecutive rounds into the apparition.
"Get away from my brother, you son of a bitch!"
The rounds of salt blasted into the creature, making it instantly dissipate, but Dean knew that it was only temporary, it would be back to finish the job. He couldn't worry about that now though, Sammy needed his help.
His brother was trying to gulp in mouthfuls of air, pretty unsuccessfully, as Dean tried to lift him up, thumping his gently on the back.
"Slow breaths, Sammy, nice and easy …"
"… need … to go …"
Dean was leaning forward, looking into Sam's glazed eyes.
"We will, just need to check you over quickly … how many fingers?"
Sam tried to focus on the hand swimming in front of his face before his body attempted to fall over again.
"Woa, woa … we're not going anywhere, except the hospital."
Sam grabbed Dean's shirt collar, eyes desperate.
"No … won't help … need to kill it first … I won't … won't get better … unless it's … dead …"
"Shit!"
Dean knew that Sam was right. There was no point taking him to the hospital just yet, the doctors wouldn't be able to help. Whatever the creature had done to Sam, no medication could fix it; he needed to destroy the spirit first. Hopefully then, whatever it had done to Sam would be reversed. He hated this plan, but he also knew it was their best option.
"Okay, this is how it's going down. You stay here, don't you dare move. I think the symbol on the tombstone has something to do with why that spirit isn't toast yet, so I'm going to destroy it."
Sam could only smile weakly, Dean was rattling off instructions, a sure sign that he was beginning to panic.
"For the love of god, you keep breathing Sammy, ya hear me!"
He managed a slight nod, before Dean's hand clamped around his jaw, forcing him to look into worried eyes.
"If you think you're gonna pass out, hit this as loud as you can against this headstone, alright? I need to hear that you're safe. Okay, you hearing me, Sam?"
He was pushing a hand-sized iron cross between lax fingers, making sure Sam could hold it before he let go.
"There's also a shotgun next to you, if that fugly gets away from me and comes after you, you know what to do. Just don't you friggin' pass out on me, okay, Sam?"
"Yeah … already … sheesh."
Dean snorted and Sam half smirked as he let his too heavy head roll back against the stone behind him. Dean quickly patted him on the shoulder before standing up. Sam kept half mast eyes on his brother as he watched him go to work.
Dean shucked off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and picked up the abandoned shovel, but at the first damaging swing against the headstone, the furious spirit immediately reappeared.
Sam tried shouting a warning but he just didn't have enough energy. Luckily Dean had been expecting an attack, and was prepared, swinging the iron shovel in an arc, but the thing was still too fast and managed to throw Dean up in the air and a few feet away from the grave site, before dissipating into thin air again.
"Dean?"
Sam was wheezing, trying to push himself up, instincts kicking in, the urgent need to help his brother, overwhelming, but before he could even turn to get to his knees, the spirit was suddenly in front of him again.
His hand went lax from the shock of contact, dropping the iron cross. He knew he would never get a chance to shoot off a round from the shotgun. Oh shit, Dean was gonna kill him.
He felt the intense cold envelope him, falling back into the fathomless depths of dead eyes as the creature continued where it had left off. He knew he was in serious trouble, could feel his life slipping away, but he just didn't have the will to fight. His eyelids were growing heavy and somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered feeling like this before. When he and Dean were kids, and the Sthriga had tried to kill him, it felt like this, he'd almost forgotten the sensation. Dean. God, Dean was gonna be seriously pissed.
"SAMMY!"
He heard his brother's desperate cry, then a distant sound of smashing rocks. The intense shockwave as the creature above him disappeared, but then the welcoming darkness finally descended and dragged him away with his last shallow breath.
Dean rushed over to Sam, falling to his knees next to his sibling, who had stopped moving completely. His hand instantly snaked out to search for a pulse in Sam's neck. Finding one, he sighed with relief, until he noticed that Sam's lips were turning an unnatural shade of blue.
"SAMMY!"
He leaned down, listening for a breath and watching for the telltale rise and fall of Sam's chest. Nothing.
"Oh god, oh god … Sammy?"
He pulled his brother forward, positioning him to lie flat on the ground, before loosening the buttons of his shirt and pulling the material away to expose his chest. He was hoping to get his brother to breathe before he went into full cardiac arrest. Quickly pinching his nose closed, he tilted his chin back and gave three quick breaths, watching as Sam's chest expanded.
He felt the exhaled air brush against his cheek, but there was no accompanying inhale.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Don't you do this to me, breathe damnit!"
He continued with the resuscitation, counting off each quick breath, letting his fingers search for a reassuring pulse every few minutes.
"Come on kiddo, breathe ... please!"
He could feel Sam's pulse getting weaker beneath his probing fingertips. He was becoming more desperate with each minute that passed, praying, begging, and still nothing. But he wasn't going to give up, wouldn't let Sam die, so he continued with his lifesaving techniques, ignoring the unshed tears blurring his vision.
He covered cold lips with his own again, blowing in another life giving lung-full of air, when Sam suddenly jerked. Dean almost fainted with relief when his little brother gasped, before coughing uncontrollably, desperately trying to inhale as Dean rolled him onto his side.
"Easy, easy … nice and slow, just breathe in, that's it."
He coaxed his brother, waiting for him to regain control, watching as confused eyes fluttered open.
Sam blinked, eyes locking with his brothers, barely registering what was happening as Dean succumbed to the need to pull his brother up into a sitting position and wrap him in a tight hug.
"Don't ever do that again, Sammy … not ever."
Sam almost laughed, but Dean was rocking him slowly, clinging to him like his life depended on it.
They sat like that, quietly, Dean just enjoying the sound of his brother breathing, and Sam realizing just how scared Dean had been.
Dean finally broke the contact, chuckling nervously before smoothing Sam's bangs away from his face.
"You doing okay, kiddo?"
Sam nodded, watching as Dean got to his feet unsteadily. He knew his stubborn brother was probably hurt, but he just watched him as he collecting all their supplies, noticing for the first time that the headstone with the strange symbol was completely obliterated. Dean must've smashed it to smithereens in an adrenalin surge, the spirit obviously gone for good.
"Hey … thanks."
Dean looked back over his shoulder. A relieved smile tugging at his lips. He looked exhausted.
"Thanks for what? The mouth-to-mouth? 'Cause seriously, dude, you owe me big time for that."
Sam chuckled, coughing, still holding his tight chest.
"For saving my life, asshole."
Just for an instant, Sam could see a brief flash of fear in Dean's eyes, and he suddenly knew, with instant clarity, that no matter what, Dean would always be there for him, risk anything, do anything to bring him back, no matter the cost. He felt that same fear grip his heart at the thought.
His big brother moved over, reaching down to pull him slowly to his feet. Sam leaned heavily on Dean while strong arms supported him, both starting their arduous trek back to the Impala.
Dean's next words were a whisper soft promise that always managed to make Sam feel safe in any situation.
"Every time, Sammy … every time."
---
The End