Title-THE DARKNESS
Disclaimer- Nope, I don't own them. Although I want to, they belong to genius Kripke, who we all must thank for making such awesome characters to manipulate into our own desires.
Summary- When renting a motel room for the night, the brothers find that a creature lurks in the corners of the room, or is it the corners of their minds? Secrets are revealed, promises broken, and now the brothers face an evil that they had never witnessed in their lives. And if that isn't hard enough can they cope in the dark?
"A lot of people would say that fear of the dark is nothing but a phenomenon of childhood. A child fears the dark simply because he or she does not have the experience to know that in fact there is nothing there. But, fear of the dark was common in many adults. Indeed, the human need for sight was often as basic as the need for food. But no fear was seen more irrational- or more innate in man- than the fear of the dark. Academic theorists and weary parents had been saying for centuries that there was nothing in the dark that was not there in the light…"
MATTHEW REILLY- CONTEST.
Dean had adapted to the hunting lifestyle well. After Mary had died, he'd become caught up in the hunting lifestyle that John had chosen, never getting the chance to live as a normal child might. He had his fathers' stubbornness, a stubborn streak that never failed to get him into danger. AS it seemed trouble followed him around, always had and always would. Dean had been walking a fine line between life and death; he had been defying death since childhood. Even in Dean's sleep his posture exuded the impression that he was actually never fully relaxed, always ready to move at the first sign of danger. In sleep, his hand was habitually under his pillow, gripping his razor sharp hunting knife, which was also ready to kill at the first signs of danger.
So, wouldn't the hunting lifestyle be easier to follow for Sam Winchester? Sam was only 6 months old when his mother died, not the 4 years old that Dean had been. Hunting should have come easily for him; he'd been raised into a family that had the unfair knowledge that there were things out there in the dark, things that actually did go bump in the night.
Sam did follow the lifestyle with what he had to give, his mind. He usually did the background research for the gigs. After Dean had brought him a laptop for his 15th birthday, he had forgiven his older brother about all the missed birthday presents, now realizing it was because Dean had been saving up for the one thing that Sam really wanted. His laptop.
And damn, that computer made research so much easier. No longer did they actually have to go to a library to collate information, well, maybe is if they had to research local incidents that were not on the internet, but the whole Winchester family liked the computer.
And
now, a 23 year old Sam Winchester sat at the diner table on a plastic
chair that the motels had, looking up any new trials that they could
follow. Hunting the supernatural did take it's toll on them, for a
perfect example, look no further than Dean. His body was littered
with scars, eyes that showed that they'd seen too much and his
gaunt face showing he hadn't slept peacefully in a couple of days.
Well, Samuel Winchester knew he was to blame for that.
Ever since
he had been getting visions, he had been freaking out majorly. He
would never admit it, because John had always taught his boys that
emotions belonged on the inside[because 'real men don't cry',
and feelings always resulted in trouble.
Dean knew that Sam was
freaking out, and the strain on many a sleepless night had begun to
show. The bags under his eyes were becoming bigger by the day, a
result of always being there for his baby brother when he had woken
from his visions, crying out in anguish.
Not even sleep was relaxation for the Winchesters. Nightmares weren't nightmares anymore.
Dean walked in from the motel door, carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of coffees.
Sam looked up from the laptop at the noise of the door opening, hunter instincts on edge.
Another thing that John had taught them. Always be ready for the unexpected, the unexplained, and the demented.
Placing the paper bag down on the table, Dean took a seat opposite his baby brother and slipped a coffee from the tray before placing it down next to the bag.
Sam gave a small murmur of thanks and took his own coffee out, sipping the caffeine, and letting out a soft sigh.
"So, how's your half-caf double vanilla latte over there, Francis?"
"Oh,
shove it Dean." Sam replied, ignoring his brothers cocky grin.
Dean cocked his head and said, "Yes, Gum-"
"Dean, don't you-"
"Gumby!"
Dean's
hearty laugh sounded around the room and Sam couldn't help but
smile.
It had been ages since Dean had laughed so sincerely.
"Dean, I swear I'm gonna get you back."
"Whatever, those disastrously long legs are gonna be the end of you, you hear me? The end!."
There
was silence save for Sam's typing on the laptop, and Dean looked
around the room, slightly bored as he swished his coffee around his
mouth. Looking at Sam discreetly, he started to tap his foot on the
table leg and also drummed his fingers. The reaction he wanted came
almost 5 seconds later.
"Dean!"
Dean looked at Sam sideways
and forced an innocent smile on his face. "Yeah?"
"Stop
it!"
Dean groaned. Looking around again, he finally said, "Got
anything?"
Sam took a deep breath and sorted through the page of
information he had collected.
"Well, there's this motel room in Fitchburg-"
"As in the Wisconsin, Fitchburg?" Dean interrupted, raising his coffee to his mouth and drinking deeply.
"Yeah…" Sam trailed off, waiting for Dean to speak.
"I swear that whole state is haunted."
"What?
So?"
"Seriously, think about it, Sammy; think about how many
times we've been there." Dean put his coffee down and started
counting on his fingers. He was on a roll. "Well, there was that
spirit in the lake that was drowning people, you know, like the guy
in the sink," Dean waggled his eyebrows in amusement and continued.
"There was that Shtriga, woo! Man I hate them things-"
"Dean." Sam said, cutting in with an exasperated look on his face.
Dean stopped talking and lowered his head muttering, "Oh, right, don't interrupt college boy when he's lecturing…"
Sam rolled his eyes and ignored his annoyance. Dean was a great hunter, a great brother too, but sometimes he just managed to push those buttons like no one else could. And he knew it too.
"As I was saying before you interrupted," Sam started, seeing Dean roll his eyes and resume staring blankly into his coffee, "Fitchburg, Wisconsin. A haunted motel room. Never seen anything like it."
"Huh?" Dean asked, head springing up. If Sam had never heard or seen anything like this, this was something he should listen to. "Why is it different?"
Sam paused, scrolling down the page. His eyes darted and were dancing, he was in his element. "Well, first of all, this thing, whatever it is, only haunts this one motel room. I've been looking for any mysterious deaths in the area, you know that would cause something like this to appear specifically the room, and…"
Sam drew the word out, eyes still zipping over the information.
"And?" Dean pressed, tapping his foot again.
"And
I found nothing." Sam said leaning back in his chair and locking
his hands behind his head. His warm brown eyes reflected sleepiness,
and his shaggy brown bangs fell about the place, desperately in need
for a wash.
Dean looked at his watch. It was 8:15 in the
morning.
Sam closed his eyes and yawned before opening them and
focusing on his older brother. Dean was staring into the distance, as
if lost in some memory.
"Dean?"
Sam said, clicking his fingers in his brother's face to get his
attention. Dean jumped and looked at Sam, a frown creasing his
weathered face.
"What!?"
"I haven't finished."
"Finished what?"
"Telling you about the Gueydan."
"Come again?"
"Gueydan. It's Indian."
"Gueydan." Dean said rolling the word around in his mouth as if tasting it.
"Well, actually 'Gueydan' is a Cree Indian word. It mean's 'evil that manipulates'. It kinda has the same sort of story as the Wendigo lore. I mean, during some harsh winter some guy finds himself dying from hunger, cut off from supplies and help. But, instead of becoming a cannibal to survive, it uses others to run suicide missions trying to find a way out of the trap. You know, like trying to dig themselves out of their cave they might be stuck in, causing the rocks to crush them, that kind of thing." Sam motioned with a hand and took a sip of coffee, choking slightly before continuing, ignoring Dean's grin. "It kinda uses people's emotions and thoughts to control it's victims."
"What kinda like your 'Shining'?" Dean said, looking sharply at his brother. Sam was enjoying this.
"Kinda. But instead of my premonitions, it can put thoughts into people's heads, make them do things."
"Like Andy?"
"Yes Dean." Sam sighed, getting annoyed with his brother's interruptions. "Like Andy."
"Then how is it like the Wendigo lore?" Dean said, totally changing the direction of the conversation.
"Well,
it the person always manages to figure a way to become telepathic,
but sometimes it comes naturally. The person then gets the certain
abilities that a Wendigo gets from eating enough human flesh." Sam
explained, wiping a hand across his mouth.
"Cultures all over
the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person abilities;
speed, strength, immorality..." Dena trailed off, and Sam nodded.
"Right, so anyway, the Gueydan has strength, speed and immorality on their side, but the also have E.S.P. I was looking up information on Gueydan's earlier, and I found out some interesting things. They, and like the Wendigo's, hibernate. But instead of hibernating for years at a time, they hibernate for a certain period of about half a year, then they wake up to kill people using their minds. Apparently, they wake up every year around the same time, after lying dormant for almost a year. They wake, they kill, torture, then they go back to sleep. It's the same thing every year."
"Ok, why can I feel you're gonna say something that means something to you?" Dean asked, eyes staring out the window.
"Well, I just can't find the reason why they just appear out of nowhere and kill. I don't understand where they come from, and why they suddenly disappear. It doesn't make any sense, Dean!"
"Well, have you tried to contact Caleb or something? Maybe Pastor Jim?"
Sam cocked his head. He actually hadn't thought of doing that.
Standing, he said, "Maybe you can call them, I need to have a shower."
"I
know, dude," Dean said, pinching his nose in mock disgust. "You
smell terrible!"
Sam grinned and grabbed fresh clothes, heading
to the bathroom. As he walked through the door, he paused and said,
"Oh, by the way, this thing only tortures and kills pairs staying
in the room."
Dean blanched and turned. "What? I thought you
said-"
"Yeah,
I said that they kill people. They kill anybody, but this thing
tortures
and kills pairs staying in the room."
Dean made an 'o' with
his mouth and picked up his cell phone, heart beating uncomfortably
in his chest. Something about this gig didn't feel right, he just
knew it.
When Sam stepped out of the bathroom, cleaned and washed, he set his eyes on his brother.
Dean was sitting at the laptop, absently sucking at a pen lid as he riffled through the information on the laptop screen.
"Find anything?" Sam asked, throwing his towel on the bed as he sat down in the chair opposite Dean's.
Dean
himself leaned back, stretched and yawned and shook his head, never
taking his eyes from the screen once. "Aside from a whole new level
of frustration, nada."
Sam smiled. The last time he'd pulled
that line on him was when they were hunting Bloody Mary, who had been
haunting a small town.
"oh, well, we better call some people."
As he picked up his phone, Dean said from behind the laptop, "No need. I already called every one of dad's contacts."
Sam,
who was in the act of scrolling down his phone book for names, put
the mobile back on the table and said, "So. You said you found
nothing?"
Dean cocked his head. "Well," he said, drawing the
word out as he looked up at Sam. His hazel eyes glistened with
boredom as he said, "I found nothing, but the others gave me some
pretty interesting information."
Sam gave a short nod, watching his brother. With almost practiced dullness, he reached forwards and picked up a piece of paper that was sitting in front of him. On it were Dean's scribbles, a display of his uncaring academic ability. The only things that Sam could make out were the protection symbols drawn on the white sheet of paper, drawn out of habit from a lifetime of hunting.
Sam
leaned back as Dean gave a sigh, reading.
"Well, I rang Caleb
first. He had some information to do with the killing of the Gueydan.
Apparently, only a brass knife to the brain can kill this thing. It
hates brass," At this, Dean looked up at Sam and gave a smile. "Coz
burns like hell."
Sam nodded, and said, "So, we can kill it,
right?"
Dean nodded and said, "Yeah, we have brass knives in
the boot. Anyway," He continued, looking at his handwriting and
squinting as if he himself was having a hard time of reading it.
"That was all Caleb had. So after Caleb I called Pastor Jim. He had
nothing much to go from, this Gueydan thing is a really rare demon;
Jim's never had to kill one before. But he did tell me that it
likes to drive couples crazy, you know, makes them loose their minds.
Pastor Jim also told me that no protection amulets, no symbols can
repel it."
"Not even a devil's trap?"
Dean shook his
head and Sam blanched.
"No key of Solomon can trap it?"
"Nothin'." Dean said, and returned his attention to the paper.
"Well, got anything else?" Sam asked, wiping a hand across his face.
"After
them, I called Ellen. At first, all she told me was the stuff that I
told you. Then after she talked with Ash about it, she called me back
and told me about some survivor. Told me exactly where they are. We
can go visit him, if that might help."
Sam nodded and said, "I
thought the Gueydan drove the victims to insanity."
Dean looked
away, taking a while to answer.
"No, that was in the case of couples. In the survivor's case, he drove one of the brothers to insanity, and made him kill the other."
There was a short silence. None of the Winchesters wanted to admit to the other that they were worried. If there ever was a time for not doing this hunt, now would have been the time to object.
But,
there was no objection. Sam's lips tightened in a line, not saying
anything. Dean scratched his ear with one hand, looking at the sheet
of paper he had drawn on, as if this case was nothing out of the
ordinary.
"So, uh, when should we go visit this nutcase?"
Dean asked, now attending to the itch on his nose.
"I
think we should go now. We've got a 45 minute drive to Wisconsin,
so we'll get there around lunchtime. How bout it?"
Dena nodded
and shut the laptop, sliding it carelessly across the table to his
brother. Sam caught it just before it fell off the edge of the table
and glared at Dean.
"Hey! Watch after my stuff, Dean!"
"Well, the way I see it, you didn't exactly look after my Boston tape when you used it to pry the chewing gum off your shoe."
Sam sighed. "Dean, that was 5 months ago!"
"Yeah, well the wounds are still fresh Sammy." Dean faked a stabbing pain to his heart.
"Grow up, Dean." Was all Sam had to say, and he watched Dean feigned a look of hurt.
"Ok, so I'm vertically challenged, so what? It's like a disability!"
"Having you for a brother is like having a disability." Sam muttered, and grabbed his duffel bag from the bed.
Dean wagged a finger at Sam as he took up the weight of his own bag. "You wouldn't go picking on a crippled would you? That's just cruel. No making jokes about the cripples."
Sam just shook his head and waited until Dean had slipped past him out of the motel room door, before shutting it behind him with a snap.
TBC…
So? Worth continuing? I hope so. I've got brain constipation and can't think of anything to write about. It hurts so bad, not being able to write! Ouchies!
