I´m back with another translation, you know the drill by now.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke. This original work belongs to Viviana Stellata from Wattpad and I am translating her story with permission. Enjoy, you vultures. We´re brothers and sisters in this adventure. Chapter 1 – Prologue: The First Step
Dawn was breaking. The house by the lake was ablaze.
Wisps of pungent smother from the fire were slowly mingling with the fog languidly rolling above the dark water surface. The flames were lashing out high against the sky, outshining the beauty of the early daybreak.
The fire appeared in the children´s room first, right after a short light show not connected to the flames just yet. It grew rapidly, consumed the planks covering the window and burst right out with a wild crackle. Engulfed the wallpapers covered with dozens of complex symbols and sigils. Spread through the house with staggering speed, swallowed the roof, gnawed on furniture and spilled across the linoleum floors. The papers on the kitchen table went up in flames, blackened, and disintegrated into ash. A nearby laptop was dripping down into a plastic puddle in the raging inferno.
It was a wooden house, and yet the flames seized it in suspiciously short amount of time. The fire couldn´t be spreading faster even if someone covered the entire building in gasoline. Which indeed wasn´t the case, and the subsequent investigation wouldn´t find traces of any burning catalyst.
Only a residue of sulfur in the vicinity of the fire site, insufficient for a legitimate explanation.
The sole person who could provide any information regarding the whole thing disappeared in the dark amidst the trees, just as the foundations of the house gave out.
A figure, resembling a human only at first sight.
A son of a mortal woman and a fallen archangel.
Jack.
xXx A
"Not to be a drama queen, but if you´re reading this, it means..."
Sam gaped at the unfinished sentence and tapped the tip of the pen against his left palm. For a few minutes now.
Come on, it can´t be that hard to put together one dumb note.
He frowned, quickly glanced to the door of the children´s room and begun to write. Again, on a new sheet of paper.
"Dean, if you´re reading this, it means..."
Dammit, what exactly does it mean?
A new sheet, a new beginning.
"I know you went out to find a way to bring Cas back. You´re not as cryptic as you think you are, Dean. And I couldn´t just sit here and wait, not when I finally managed to get something out of Jack. If you´re reading this, then this was my mistake and my failure. But I believe..."
He imagined Dean´s skeptical expression. "Seriously? You believe this damned thing? And I´m the one who´s going nuts? You gotta be kidding me."
He crossed out the beginning of the last sentence and started again differently. He was intent on finishing this attempt, content with it or not.
"...mistake and my failure. But I have to try. I´m not relying only on Jack´s strength. And no, I don´t trust him, I took precautions so that he can´t lie to me. I started out from a Sumerian ritual and combined it with more modern methods, the whole file is in my laptop in a folder called Blood Bond. In short: working with Jack was a lot like working with a ouija board, but I can´t ignore the outcome. Apparently mom is still alive in that other dimension and with what I got together and with Jack´s help, I should be able to get her out of there.
Anyhow, if that blows up in my face..."
He wasn´t sure if he even needed to write that sentence. It felt as if he would be placing a ´no littering´ sign right in front of a long-standing and frequently-used illegal waste dump.
"...if it blows up in my face," he wrote in the end, "please, don´t try to repeat the ritual. If I get stuck there, I have to make it back alone. You´ll have your hands full here with Jack. Because in that case, it´ll be up to you to eliminate him. Which could at least make you a bit happy. Everything I found out about him is saved in a folder right next – Insurance. And of course I backed the data up on Cloud. You have the access.
I´m sorry Dean, I know I should´ve waited for you.
I hope you´ll have the opportunity to rub that in my face personally after you come back. After I´ll be waiting here for you with mom, instead of a stupid note."
He hesitated. Then he added his signature and weighted the paper down to the middle of the kitchen table with a salt shaker.
Although he could dispose of the message same as he did with the previous versions, Sam had a feeling that by sealing his decision like this, he couldn´t back out anymore.
Maybe because, the ritual itself aside, this message for Dean represented the only thing that was left to do before it started.
He stood up, rubbed his hands.
"Alright, let´s do this," he mumbled to himself and set off to the door of the children´s room.
xXx
Spending time in Jack´s presence was like having a picnic next to a molten core of a nuclear reactor.
It was also a matter Sam didn´t discuss with his older brother yet. Being near Lucifer´s son probably affected both of them – vertigo, nausea, buzzing in their ears, blurry vision. But it appeared that Dean blamed the symptoms to his own hate and disgust; in short he refused to spend more time than absolutely necessary in the presence of the nephilim.
Sam didn´t feel the need to explain that felt the same. Each second of the long hours he spent with Jack. He could do the math, if he told Dean, he´d insist they solve the problem. But Sam also had a clear idea of what kind of solution Dean would propose.
Either way, he could take a rest in this matter now. Of course, even if the plan succeeds – no, once it succeeds – the question of what to do with Jack will remain. But the tens of minutes counting down to the dawn, the magical divide between night and day, they will be the last minutes when Sam has to handle the devil´s offspring by himself.
Don´t rush anything now...
As an appetizer before the unpalatable main course remained an arduous, repetitive slog.
For what was perhaps the hundredth time, he had to go through all the safety measures, check the concord of the protective sigils, make sure not even a cranny was left, no hypothetical icebergs hidden under the surface, no ploy leading to failure.
And only then, to repeat the process of questions and answers. And to carry out the ritual.
xXx
He planned this moment down to the last detail. During dreamless nights and gloomy days, where only the thought of a rescue mission provided him with with an escape from the stifling atmosphere of sadness and despair.
And yet Sam hesitated for a second outside of the children´s room´s door, before he pressed the handle.
The nasty impact on the physical aside, staying inside had one more unwelcome aspect. Sam wasn´t sure if Dean even perceived it – his brother only ever displayed hatred and repulsion, if he sensed anything else, he didn´t show it.
Fear was rising out of Jack like an invisible fluidum.
An animalistic, primal instinct. The feeling of an animal in the presence of a predator.
Flee. Defend.
This time, when Sam entered this repeating nightmare, the subconscious horror melted into a combination of both: the urge to get this over with as soon as possible.
He entered with suppressed impatience.
xXx
He welcomes him as usual. With a derisive sneer on his inhuman face.
This is the last time. Whatever comes out of this, this is the last time, get your act together...
Everything is ready. Thirty minutes till sunrise. Sam breaths in deeply and slowly breathes out, everything inside him is rebelling. He´s overcoming his instincts and natural defense mechanisms with pure rationality. He´s calming down.
He goes through the basic enchantments. Questions and answers, new confirmation of the same agreement. When they finally move on to something more substantial, Sam´s forehead is sparkling with sweat.
"Mary Winchester, my mother, is alive and is herself."
A well-known whisper answers him. Jack´s voice sounds as if it was coming out of cold depths, a cave in the mountains, desolate... A stray echo: "Yes."
"The prize for opening the gate to her is my blood."
"Yes."
"Nothing more."
"Nothing more."
Sam closes his eyes.
Concentrate. You´re almost there.
"Both of us will be able to pass through it on our way back," he says and his throat is constricting. Not out of mere nausea. Out of longing and sadness.
"Yes."
"Without further conditions. Without further consequences."
The nephilim tilts his head slightly to the side and repeats the two sentences in a voice uncomfortably similar to Sam´s own.
And as always when he does this – it appears he´s really beginning to enjoy these provocations – Sam is seized by doubt.
He can´t lie. He simply can´t. I made sure with every conceivable way.
But what if it´s not enough?
"Is... is this a mistake?" He mumbles. He opens his eyes – Jack is sitting calmly in multiple circles of symbols and sigils meant to keep him in place, under control. His grimace remains unchanging as well, cruel and bemused, as if he was finding humor hidden for everyone else in this predicament.
"A mistake," he repeats instead of answering. "Is this a mistake?"
Shit...
Sam keeps calm only with the force of his will.
Dammit, I should know by now that this leads nowhere.
He has no idea whether Jack actually isn´t able to answer more abstract questions, whether he isn´t able to communicate beyond yes and no, or if it´s just pure malevolence on his part. Sam doesn´t know, and he definitely can´t occupy himself with that right now.
Daybreak is drawing near.
He needs to go through the remaining questions, less important. And Sam does that, he´s concentrated, trying to break away from all the disruptive emotions. A question after question, until he arrives to the last one. The one that feels the most essential and at the same time makes him doubt if this whole thing is a good idea.
He has to ask it. And get the correct answer.
We created a colossal pile of mess in our attempts to save one another. I don´t want to add on to that pile. No matter what.
"You´ll immediately close the tear if Lucifer appears," he proclaims and forces himself to look into Jack´s eyes. He continues, meticulously adhering to the procedures from the original rituals. "No matter what, under all circumstances, you shall not allow Lucifer to return back to this world, you shall close the road for the fallen archangel."
"I shall close the road," the nephilim whispers.
"Whether you call him Lightbringer or Devil, Morning Star or Satan, you shall close the road for him."
"Yes."
In this moment, Sam has the last opportunity to back away. To stand up, leave and leave the dawn to be. Wait for Dean. And try again, with more insurance...
But when it comes down to it, not even an entire army would make a difference. The rules were clear, he himself set them up.
"Doubts," the whisper sounds again, freezing every cell in his body. The word that is neither yes nor no surprises Sam, but doesn´t stop him.
"No. The deal stands," he replies and clenches his teeth.
Don´t drag it out.
The last seconds dash by way too fast.
A brief stroke with a blade. Hot blood fills the palm. Jack is watching, seemingly calm, but Sam feels as if the air itself started vibrating with avidity.
Yet he doesn´t hesitate. He stretches out his hand over the areas of protection.
The nephilim is gulping down the crimson liquid, scooping it up with his tongue, like a thirsty dog.
The darkness outside is diluted by the daybreak, at the same time, a shiny gold line cuts through the fabric of reality in the children´s room, glimmering and shining behind Sam´s back.
Sam doesn´t wait, the time of hesitation long gone. He pulls back his bleeding hand, stands up; in a single step he covers the distance between two dimensions.
A notional border between a familiar world and a realm of utter madness.
xXx Don´t create assumptions. Expect literally anything.
During his preparations, Sam kept endlessly repeating these two sentences. Fully knowing, that even if he did strictly abide by them, still the place where he would appear, could catch him off guard. He still thought this could help him stay on guard and act fast.
But no matter how he tried to rationalize it, he couldn´t avoid the simple human need to imagine the future. And to assume. He stepped into the unknown with a conception of something terrifying; darkness, destruction, chaos. Going by what little he knew about this other dimension, it was supposed to be some kind of post-apocalyptic war inferno.
With a raging Lucifer thrown into the mix.
So when Sam appeared on the other side of the tear, all the preparation in the world didn´t stop him from doing an incredulous double take.
He expected literally anything.
Alright, but... normalcy?
He wasn´t exactly standing on a meadow filled with flowers and butterflies, in his world, this place couldn´t exactly compete for the front ranks of the world´s most popular holidays destinations. But in this lost, ravaged reality... actually it more reminded him of Crowley´s version of Hell as an endless queue.
Or a scene from a cheap horror set in a psychiatric hospital.
Padded cell. The walls, the ceiling, the floor and even the sturdy door painted in hospital green. A blinking headlight with the necessary dead flies under the plastic case, protected by a tarnished grating. The dark brown stains of dried blood on the walls and floor gave a disquieting impression, but at the same time, it was as if even those resembled a decoration, a propriety the designer deemed essential.
A mental hospital. In a world ravaged by a war between Heaven and Hell where humanity fell down to the level of game animals. Really?
More like an institution that is now being used by someone for something entirely else than it was originally intended for.
Before Sam scanned though the cell and arrived to this thought, barely few seconds have passed. He shook his head, chased out the questions which were pointless at this moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he checked the tear behind his back and focused on the important matters, the reason he came here.
The sleeping woman in the filthy hospital gown, huddled in a corner of the cell.
Mary.
"Mom." Although he felt the need to rush and not waste a single moment, he couldn´t make himself to shake his mother awake. He merely lightly grabbed her by the shoulder. "Wake up. Hey... mom!"
She didn´t even stir, just her pale, cracked lips moved, she whispered something. Her eyelids were fluttering.
Only now, Sam noticed the details he missed before with trepidation: dry, ghastly pale skin, lank hair glued together into pitiable wisps, dark circles under her eyes... and broken nails on her hands with bloody grazes. Stains of who-knows-what on her clothes.
"Wake up, we need to get out of here. Mom!"
He shook her with more force. This time she flinched and her eyes opened a bit. For a while she tried to focus her gaze, alternating between Sam and the door with the window made out of thick and dirty glass.
"Sam?" She stuttered out at last. "Yo-you´re not here. Not for real." With dazed movement, she scrambled up into a sitting position and pressed her back to the wall. She closed her eyes again.
"It´s just in my... just in the head, yeah," she rasped. "Still the same."
She´s alive, Sam thought bitterly, okay, that fits. But what about being herself? Does that hold true when she´s chock-full of god-knows-which crap?
"Mom," he tried once more, not trying to hide the impatience in his voice this time. "I´ll get you out of here, okay? But you have to try focus on me."
She tried, and that was the most tormenting thing in this entire situation, she tried with all her strength to force her way out of the drug-induced fog. She nodded wearily, tried to look at him again, but her gaze was slipping sideways.
"Sammy, you shouldn´t have... Will we go away?"
"Yeah," he breathed out in relief, "we´ll get out of here."
He was ready to simply snatch her and drag her to the dimensional rift.
"I don´t know..." she whispered and dryly swallowed. "I don´t know if this is... I can´t think!"
"We´ll solve that later," Sam interrupted her, nervously glanced towards the door and to the entrance to his reality. "Now we have to hurry up, okay?"
"Yeah."
He tried to bring her to her feet, but she was so weakened she couldn´t even stand up. She practically fell into Sam´s arms. He lifted her, she was light as a feather.
I should´ve done that right away, he realized, eyes fixed on the dirty door window. Along with that thought, he spotted a shadow on the other side, nothing concrete, just a movement. He stopped breathing for a moment. The light bulb flickered.
Dammit!
Buzzing, crackling, darkness and light again.
And then darkness.
"No, not this," his mother mumbled. She was wording Sam´s thoughts. "They´ll come now... they can´t..."
He wasn´t paying attention to her. He stopped caring whether he was handling her roughly, he just threw himself to the shimmering gold line, dragging Mary with him.
In that moment he knew he was late.
And maybe he knew it all along.
Oppressive constriction around his stomach, a silent voice in his subconscious. Never.
You should´ve known. When was the last time something with the potential of going into utter shit went well?
With a muffled gasp he collided with a padded wall, managing to twist his body so that he wouldn´t crush Mary under him.
Admit it, it wasn´t just an inkling. You were expecting failure. Alright, maybe not consciously, but somewhere deep down you reckoned with this.
He didn´t even have to search for the glimmer of gold glow in the darkness that fell. It was gone. The way back ceased to exist.
"Sam?" Mary´s voice suddenly sounded almost sane. "What happened?"
Either there´s Lucifer walking around or I was just betrayed by his son – nothing special, mom...
"Just... it just got a bit complicated now," he said aloud. With his back to the wall, he slowly slid down and helped his mother sit next to him. Her head fell on his shoulder. Although she was still fighting with the effects of whatever was coursing through her veins, it didn´t exactly look like she was winning.
"You shouldn´t have come here," she muttered barely intelligibly. "If you... if you´re really here."
"Come on," he pulled her into his arms. "Of course I´m here for real. We´re still getting out of here together, mom. We can make it together."
She released a sound that sounded like something between a sob and a chortle, in which the beginning of the next sentence was drowned: "...very useful, boy."
"You´ll get out of this," he tried to encourage her, but it sounded stupid even to him. He didn´t believe they will get the time to relax here, before either those who got Mary into this state arrive, or even Lucifer himself.
Whomever was the owner of the shadow behind the door.
"Do you... um, know something about where we are now?" he asked with little hope for a usable answer.
"I´m not sure," his mother surprised him, she sounded less out of it now. "Maybe it´s Hell, just masquerading as some... some freaky madhouse." She paused. "Or the other way around," she added. "A madhouse which... which changes into Hell."
"No. That can´t be... How long, mom? How long have you been here?"
"I don´t know," she whispered. "I don´t know, sorry."
"It´s okay," he lied and patted her on the shoulder. His head felt as if it was about to explode any second, as he tried to think through their current options – although he couldn´t see many – and at the same time put together what actually happened and who they´re dealing with.
He didn´t think this place was Hell. Another dimension or not, Sam was pretty sure that if he once again found himself in Hell, he´d know damn fast.
"Days," Mary spoke up at last. "Maybe. A few days."
Sam nodded to himself. So he wasn´t wrong. Time here corresponded to their home dimension.
"That fits," he replied. He shortly hesitated before asking another pressing question: "And Lucifer?"
Mary flinched, then stiffened, like she was trying to straighten up, regain her strength and mettle. "I thought... I was going to die, that there was no other option, he was so furious..." She paused. "I was expecting the worst. You know... I made peace with that. And then... then I only knew I was here. I don´t know what happened to him."
"It´s alright," he caressed her shoulder reassuringly.
"I´m sorry, Sam," his mother peeped, "I... can´t think clearly. I´m losing... I don´t know what´s real and what isn´t."
"We lived through worse," he forced himself to an encouraging tone. But he couldn´t bring himself to believe his own words.
"Sam," she continued, probably not even listening to what he just said. "Listen to me... When they come, soon... when the light went out, you know. When they come, we´ll have to... play smart."
He could only agree.
"Pretend," she added. Then she let out a long sigh, Sam reckoned that she was resisting sleep with the last of her strength.
"Okay," he nodded.
"Don´t fight. Not right away."
"I understand."
"...angry," she whispered softly for the last time. "Really, Sammy. That you´re here. Stupid idea. But... glad."
"I know," he sighed. "I know, mom."
And then he was left only with his thoughts.
Not for long.
As Mary predicted, they appeared soon, right after she fell into a drug-induced stupor once more.
Their entrance was announced first by dim light behind the door glass, then by muffled voices. Sam looked up, carefully pushing his mother away from him – she nestled against the wall, into a similar position in which Sam first found her. Deciding whether he should wake her up was simple.
Mary Winchester in her current state presented a handicap. This truth remained, no matter how cruel or unwelcome.
"...but how the hell would a guy get into the female ward? Not to mention into isolation?"
A voice from the outside, near the door. Sam stood up and positioned himself with his back to the wall right next to the door hinges, where the handle would be under any other circumstances.
"How should I know," the second voice rang out. "Why should that be my problem? It´s just more fucking work."
A click of keys in the lock.
The door opened.
"Come on, hunk," he heard, and then Sam was blinded by a flashlight aimed straight into his face. These two – he assumed they were men – we no dumb muscle, while one stayed back, the other one easily reached for Sam. "Nice and slow, and hands up."
"And no fooling around," the other added, with the same authoritarian tone. "It´s not only the flashlight he´s aiming at you." Alright, mom, you were probably right...
Don´t fight. Not right away.
Originally he meant to attack right as one of the two would step through that door – a quick, unexpected ambush, knock both of them to the ground, grab mom and finally piss off from there.
The chance for success dropper to near zero when they lost their way back to their world. And if he lets himself be separated from Mary, their odds will go from minuscule to infinitesimal.
Calm down. I can still... well, play it smart.
"Move, hotshot," the man with the flashlight spurred him. "We don´t have the whole day."
Aside from thinking through his next course of action, Sam used the short time span since the door opened to let his eyes get used to the light – he still might have been helplessly squinting against the bright light, but the strip lights on the corridor in front of the cell no longer blinded him.
He slowly peeled his back off of the wall, hands above his head, his palms open and conjured up a confused smile on his face.
I´m sorry, guys, I have no idea what´s happening and I´m not dangerous at all, his face was supposed to say.
He was using every available moment to carefully observe the space around him.
Two men, he was right. One with a full beard, black hair, standing right against the door, keeping his distance few steps away from Sam. The second one, close-cropped hair, militaristic type, aside from the flashlight, he also held a gun in a position typical for someone with training. It wasn´t a classical firearm, as Sam realized, it was a stun gun; which didn´t mean he wanted to get hit by that.
At least they don´t intend to kill me, he thought. And right next, almost blasphemously: only if that´d actually be an advantage...
He rather chose to focus on other briefly gathered observations.
The uniforms of military personnel. Long police batons and... yes, high military lace-up boots, The white trousers tucked into them looked almost comically.
Someone call the fashion police...
"Come on," the one with the beard nudged him on, his baton ready as if for a hit in baseball.
"Okay," Sam spoke up at last and put on his best meek face, "okay, just keep calm, I... I don´t want any trouble."
"Bit late for that, bro," Mr Baton growled, but relaxed a bit nonetheless.
Just two more steps.
One.
No fast movements. Now!
The exact moment the beard guy reached out, undoubtedly to twist Sam´s hand behind his back and pacify him for good, Sam dropped his charade.
Turn, slip away from beard guy, don´t forget to take down Mr Flashlight with his shoulder at the same time, once his head smashes into the door frame, eliminate the taser threat.
"You damn bastard!"
Who wastes their breath on curses won´t have time to block a strike.
Which Sam conveyed to the beard guy pretty clearly.
His left side exploded with pain when he caught a heavy blow to the kidneys with another baton – the still swearing flashlight guy reconsidered his equipment.
Don´t heed the pain. Catch the outstretched weapon of one opponent, throw him into the other one. Don´t ease up. Exploit the moment of dominance, get at least one on the ground.
A moment where Fortune´s balance scales finally tipped into Sam´s favor.
And a moment where Mary came to again.
He didn´t catch the quiet moan. Fully focused on his effort to keep his opponents on the defensive before he manages to knock them out for good.
He didn´t catch the rustling as his mother tried to scramble up on her feet.
He did catch the shout.
"Sam?!"
He turned around on reflex. It was a split second before his conscious mind drowned out the instinct, to inform the brain that this is a bad idea.
But these few moments were all it took.
A whoosh, Sam still managed to raise his hand in an attempt to block a punch. He missed millimeters. He felt the baton almost brushing his forearm, perhaps just a waft of air and then only the crushing blow across his ear and jaw.
A crack. Supernova exploding inside his head.
He barely registered himself swaying and falling to his knees, unable to control his body. With the same vagueness, he registered the other blows raining on him. As if everything was happening underwater.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw mom, who by some miracle managed to stand on her feet and stagger towards the door with a tenacious expression.
Which the beard guy slammed right in front of her face.
Mom, Sam tried to speak. He could speak about as well as if he was on the bottom of the ocean.
Ultimately, right then it didn´t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.
20,000 volts coursed through his body. He didn´t lose consciousness, the shot just moved him closer to total darkness.
"Freddy..." he heard somewhere from a distance. "Isn´t this a bit of an overkill? The bastard had enough."
"He broke by dose, botherfucker!"
Another discharge.
Awareness of reality was fading elsewhere. Thrumming undersea currents were pulling Sam apart. He tried to resist them, escape the horrible pain they brought."
"Dot edough for hib, huh?!"
"Leave him. Freddy, we can´t do him in..."
"Last tibe."
What´s a firework doing underwater?Don´t want it... hurts...Each sparks ripped chunks of meat out of Sam´s body. And when the last one was gone, they left a shell, floating in darkness, exhausted, without will.
If he found a speck of strength in him when the two met were dragging his body past the locked cells, if he could turn his head, maybe he´d catch a glimpse of a shadow of a familiar figure. With hands folded on chest and a satisfied smile on face. The one who observed everything and remained unseen.
But Sam was lost deep under the surface of consciousness. And he wouldn´t emerge for some time.
xXx Shit escalates with each chapter so stay tuned :)