Ring of Fire
by: Roony
rating: T
genre: angst/general
summary: 'Monster under bed. Something born dark. Hide.'
'I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down down down
and the flames went higher
and it burns burns burns
the ring of fire
the ring of fire'
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Love Is A Burning Thing
Something wet, warm dripping down. Starts him, but doesn't wake him up. It splatters down on him… And again. His brow crinkles, his body reacting as his mind starts to wake up. What the hell…?
He knew what was there. She was always there. Forever screaming silently, though sometimes she was writhing and screaming. Blood. Flames.
Always there. On the ceiling.
But he opened his eyes. If he didn't, the dream wouldn't end. He knew that. He'd already tried. The dream had to end the same way every single time. He had to look up. He had to see it. Had to watch her burn. Then he'd wake up in a cold sweat. His heart would be pounding, his stomach nauseous. But it'd be over. Until the next time.
There she was. There was Jessica. That frozen look of surprise on her face. Her pink satin nightie stained with thick red blood. Her pose oddly doll like, with her arms and legs arranged, bent, for no real reason. Her blonde hair splayed out, looking oddly angelic. Especially with the bright flames emanating from them.
And Sam just watched. He sat there and watched, screaming and crying, just so fucking sick of this. Tired of shouting his grief to a burning phantom, of trying to somehow save her in the dream, as if that would somehow undo it all, of swearing over and over again that he'd avenge her. It never did anything. Never stopped the dreams, never made him feel any better when he woke up.
Suddenly, he was waking up. Sitting up in bed, gasping in air. The room was dark. Not bright flames. No dripping blood. Still, he looked up just to be safe. Nothing. Just a blank ceiling. He sat back against the headboard and pillows. The dream was over. Again.
Something touched his arm. Sam visibly started, nearly jumping out of the bed. Christ!
"Goddamn it, Dean," Sam sighed, keeping the relieved laugh but still smirking. His older brother always got a kick out of getting the jump on him. But, Sam figured his dream must have woken Dean up. Dean was probably just making sure he was okay without showing it, as was Dean 'Manly Man' Winchester's way…
"Sam?"
A steel chill sliced through Sam. That was not his brother's voice. It wasn't his hand on Sam's arm either. Those hands were nimble, manicured. Those hands were…
"Sam?" Jessica asked again, worry lacing her voice. She leaned closer to him, her body pressing closer against his. The movement very natural. And why not? They were living together. Been sleeping together since…
Sam shook his head, jerking away from her. Her face became a mix of concern and hurt. Oh god. She was wearing that same satin nightie… Not the Smurf's shirt, but that same… And her hair, it was only slightly mussed from bed head. She was just as she'd been when…
"No…" Sam whispered, nearly begging, sliding away on the bed-their bed… "No…" That look on her face.
"Sam, what's wrong?" she asked.
Sam closed his eyes and covered his ears. He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to hear her voice. God, this was just fucking cruel. "No…no… Stop it."
The scene started to fade out, the dorm room mixing and melding together into formless shapes… Dissolving away into nothing…
The only thing that was left, but echoing out into silence, was her voice. Calling his name.
---
Sam snapped his eyes open. He didn't move for a moment; didn't sit up startled like he usually did. He took in what he was seeing, making sure he hadn't fallen into another dream. No. This was real life. This was another motel room with its scratchy blankets and peeling paint and tiny little digital clock on the nightstand with red numbers (5:00 am). And there was Dean, lying flat on his stomach, a little bit of drool hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
Sam breathed. He just focused on that for a moment. Breathing. It tended to work in these kinds of situations. In, out. In, out. The rhythm worked as a sort of mediation technique or something like that and helped him calm down.
Just breathe, he told himself, Clear your head.
It hadn't been like that before. He'd had flashbacks to memories of Jess when she was alive… But interacting with a memory? That was different. And Sam didn't like it.
----
That night, the Winchesters were in another roadside bar. Same smoky atmosphere, same crappy country tunes, same creaky floor boards. Sam found himself nursing a beer, again. Dean was off on the other side of the bar, hustling pool. Again. And, given the raised voices and Dean started to hold the pool cue in a defensive manner, there was going to be a brawl. Again.
Sam gave a heavy sigh as he downed a third of the Budweiser at once. This was getting depressingly repetitive. Motel to motel, bar to bar, and a hell of a lot of nothing in between. That was the problem with the rolling plains of middle America; really, seeing them once was enough. Seeing them for your entire life, hours upon hours, with the same Metallica album playing over and over again was enough to make someone mail themselves to Antarctica, if but only to see something different.
And there hadn't been a single hunt to break the monotony, not for a few weeks. Which didn't really make any sense, now that Sam thought about it. There was always something going on. Something going bump in the night, something paranormally slaughtering people because it got pissed off.
"Heh, heh, yeah, I'll keep that in mind!" Dean called over weakly to the glowering truckers. He turned his back on them, settling himself next to Sam, muttering, "Sons a' bitches."
"Don't be mad because you chickened out," Sam chided with a stony face as he motioned for another beer. It was his sixth one of the night, but who was counting? Wasn't like he was driving or anything.
"Dude, one of those guys threatened to chain me up between his cab and half back!" Dean shook his head. "That's not right." He turned to his brother hopefully. "Anything from Ellen?"
Sam shook his head as he took his fresh Bud. He'd called Ellen to see if anything was going on, any possible hunts. "Nothing. Whole countryside is supernaturally quiet. Totally dead."
Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Which means something HUGE is about to go down." He took a long gulp of his own beer.
"More or less," Sam agreed somberly.
There was a pause. Both brothers were thinking the same thing, but Dean had a feeling Sam wasn't about to say anything. So, he took the lead. It had to be said. "Think, maybe, that…that 'war' Dad talked about might be coming?"
Sam shrugged. "Hell if I know."
Dean cursed, slamming his fist on the bar. "Damn it. Isn't that something that the fucking Powers That Be or whatever should keep you updated on? Kind of important thing to be clued in on!"
"I'll suggest a weekly newsletter," Sam retorted.
Dean smirked. "Okay, well, I'm all for wandering around aimlessly, but seriously, this is getting ridiculous."
"Well, what're we supposed to do?" Sam asked, "I mean, what else do we hunt?"
Dean hesitated, taking a good long drink. "Well… There's one thing."
Sam caught his brother's tone and looked up. He and Dean looked each other in the eye for a moment. The look in Dean's eyes told Sam everything. Sam gave a mirthless laugh. He felt the six beers starting to actually kick in, but didn't acknowledge it. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a fantastic idea!"
"Come on, Sam, I'm serious," Dean said, swiping Sam's beer out of his hands. "I need you sober. Look, I mean it. There's one hunt that's never over."
Sam just shook his head, stood up, and walked away. Dean rolled his eyes in irritation, noting how his brother wobbled on his feet as he headed for the door.
"Just think about it!" Dean called after Sam outside in the parking lot.
"Hunt the Demon, Dean?" Sam yelled back, a humorless smile on his face. "With what? There's just one thing that'll kill it and it's gone!"
"I know," Dean said quietly, an undercurrent of anger in his voice. He really did not have to be reminded of Dad right now. "But look, Sam, we can't just throw in the towel!"
"Bullshit!" Sam spat, "Towel's thrown! Dad fucking threw it for us-"
Anything Sam had left to say was cut off by a hard right hook from his brother. Dean didn't really realize what he'd done until Sam was doubled over on the gravel-covered ground. But he wasn't sorry.
Sam wiped away the blood from his lip. He stared at it for a moment as the realization of what he'd said washed over him. "Oh god," he said quietly, his throat tightening. "Fuck."
Instead of getting up, however, he just sat his ass on the cold ground. "I don't know what I'm doing, Dean," he said quietly, wiping some more of the blood away. "I'm supposed to fight in some fucking war. You might have to kill me? I mean what the hell! Didn't we do enough? Didn't we fucking lose enough?"
Dean took a heavy breath and let it out hard through his nostrils. He rubbed the back of his neck. Why did Sam have to be like this? He liked EMO Sam better than drunk angry Sam. EMO Sam didn't say what he was thinking. What they were both thinking but not saying. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, "Yeah, we have."
Sam closed his eyes and rested his head against the fender of the closest car. "I don't even know what the hell I am."
"Yeah you do," Dean assured.
Sam cracked an eye open. Damn, his head was starting to hurt. "And what am I?"
Dean reached down and grabbed Sam's arm, hauling him up. "The guy sitting on his ass in the parking lot. Don't ask stupid questions, Sammy." He steered Sam towards the Impala. It was time to get to bed. Enough talk of demons for tonight. "But, more importantly, you're my geeky brother. And together…" He unlocked the car. "We're the McGillicutties."
Sam frowned as he got in the car. "That didn't make any sense."
Dean paused as he started up the car. "Yeah, it didn't." He gave his head a little shake. "I must be drunker than I thought. Or out of my mind with boredom." He gave a rough sigh. "We need to do something. I don't care if it's cow tipping, but we have got to fucking busy ourselves."
"Cow tipping sounds fun."
Dean gave his brother a weary glance as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Yeah. Maybe next time."
There was a pause as they drove down the road.
"Dean," Sam said with quiet urgency.
Knowing without even looking what was wrong, Dean pulled over to the side of the road. Sam quickly jumped out so he could puke.
"Man, we have got to teach you to drink," Dean declared.
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"Last chance."
A long driveway leading up to a blue two story house.
"Last chance."
A balding middle aged man in glasses standing at a window in the house.
"Last chance."
Children laughing.
"Last chance."
Flames.
"Last chance."
----
Sam started awake, ghost flashes of the vision popping in front of his eyes. He swallowed as relief and excitement filled him. Relief because he hadn't had another Jessica dream. Excitement because he'd gotten a vision, which meant that they were finally going to go on a hunt. Then guilt followed. People were in danger, apparently this was the 'last chance' to save them, and he was psyched as a kid on his birthday.
Dean mumbled as he started to wake up. He spotted his brother sitting up in bed, an all too familiar pose. A nightmare or a vision. Dean wasn't sure which one he dreaded more. The whole vision thing never really sat right with him. Whenever a vision was involved, things had a habit of ending up in the 'fucked up' category of things. But Dean didn't like Sam having nightmares either.
"Okay," he sighed as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What's up?"
"Vision," Sam answered dully, throwing himself back against the pillows.
Dean grinned as he jumped out of bed and started pulling on some jeans over his boxers. "Thank god. I was seriously thinking we'd end up shooting rock salt at farm animals for entertainment."
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Sadly, the first roadblock of the hunt became painfully clear within an hour of Dean and Sam hitting the road. They'd run from the roadside motel like bats out of hell, glad to finally have an actual goal. However, there was one rather important detail that they realized they hadn't quite obtained. A destination.
So, they'd ended up pulled over, wrestling with road maps in the cramped Impala.
"Dean, where are we? Do you even know where we are?" Sam asked.
"Where we are?" Dean said it like he'd only just realized why they were by the side of the road. "Gee, actually, Sammy, I think I should level with you." His voice got very serious. "Truth is, I've only been looking at these roadmaps for the pretty colors." He concluded with a deadpan look of 'are you fucking kidding me?'
"Sorry," Sam said, messing with the map. How did you fold these things again? This one looked like it was from 1979. No, wait, '77. "I'm just nervous. I want to get there in time." He added in defeat, "Wherever 'there' is."
"Doesn't make sense," Dean grumbled, "You usually get locations plugged in." He tossed his own map away in disgust, grabbing a new one. "Anything else in the vision that gave you a clue where we're supposed to go?"
"No," Sam answered, shaking his head. "Two story blue house."
"Yeah, wow, that makes it easy," Dean drawled sarcastically.
"Just kept saying the same thing over and over again," Sam said, almost to himself. "'Last chance', 'last chance'."
"Sam."
At his name, Sam looked over at his brother. Dean held up a map, pointing to a specific point. When he read the location marker, Sam smirked.
"Son of a bitch."
Last Chance, a small town in Colorado.
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