Title: Into the Darkness
Author: Cae
Characters: Dean, Sam, John, Shadowy slimy type beastie.
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Injury, violence.
Written for this prompt:
"I'd love for Dean to be blinded for anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of hours, from a spell/curse/whatever. The supernatural creature that did this to Dean is actively hunting and trying to kill Dean. It's up to Worried and helpful!Sam and John, helping Dean not only with everyday activities, but also protecting Dean.
Set either pre-series, or near season one."
In the Hurt/Comfort Dean meme on livejournal
"Sam, lay him down on the couch. I'll go get some hot water."
Dean could feel the panic in his father's voice as he was gently deposited on the ratty old couch in the run down hunting lodge they'd decided to utilise the previous day. The whole place looked as if it hadn't seen a human being in decades and was a sneeze or two away from collapsing.
"You okay?"
"Peachy," Dean grumbled, flailing his arm out until his hand made contact with his brother's shoulder. "Not your fault."
Sam sighed a shuddering breath and sank to his knees on the dusty floor in front of the couch. "I should have stayed closer, I'm sorry."
"Hey," Dean frowned, "I'm pretty glad you didn't. It might have blinded you too and your ass is too big and heavy for dad to have managed us both."
"Jerk," Sam smiled at his brother's teasing tone.
He raised his hand slightly, finger tips ghosting over the red, sore skin around Dean's watery, unseeing eyes.
Their dad had been called about a spate of gruesome murders in Idaho. The bodies of three men and one woman had been found within a five mile radius of each other in a section of the Panhandle. All of them had been stripped of their skin and dumped in water, no clothing or skin remains had been found.
Not really having the first clue about what they were dealing with, the three had gone hunting, armed with amulets, shotguns filled with rock salt, a handgun carrying silver bullets, holy water...Pretty much everything but the kitchen sink.
John had decided they should split up, informing Dean that his top priority was keeping his younger brother safe, much to Sam's annoyance.
Dean may be a few years older, but Sam had already passed him in height and felt more than capable of taking care of himself. He'd opened his mouth to say as much to his father, but one stern glare from John had silenced him. This was an argument for another time.
"It's okay Sammy," Dean had murmured, patting his brother's shoulder lightly. "We'll watch each others backs yeah?"
Only slightly mollified, Sam had huffed and allowed himself to be steered into the darkness.
A few minutes in, Sam's attention had been caught by a fleeting shadow and a small rustle in the bushes to his right. Instinct had taken over and, without thinking, he'd veered off to investigate, his brother unknowingly continuing down the uneven path without him.
Mere seconds later Dean's shout of alarm had echoed through the forest and Sam had turned in time to see a large shadowy figure dragging his brother away into the darkness.
"Dean! No! Dad!" he screamed, taking off in pursuit. "Let him go! Hey! Let him go!"
The figure had stopped, its large clawed hand still gripping Dean's ankle. Sam aimed and fired, not knowing whether the salt in his gun would make even a slight impact, but the shock of it was enough to make the creature let go of Dean with a yell and scurry back into the forest.
Sam ran to his brother, skidding on his knees to a stop in front of the groaning man.
"Sammy?" Dean choked, reaching out blindly. "Sam? I can't...I can't see! What..."
"I'm here Dean," Sam reassured softly, gathering him into his arms and calling out for their dad.
"Okay, let me at him Sam. Let's see what we've got here."
Sam stood, grabbing Dean's outstretched fingers and sitting on the arm of the couch, to give his father room.
John kneeled, sat the bowl of hot water carefully on the floor and dipped the edge of a clean towel into it.
"Close your eyes son," he instructed softly, dabbing gently at Dean's lids when he complied.
Sitting back on his haunches, John examined his oldest son. The boy's long eyelashes were wet and sticky from the water and whatever substance had been thrown at him.
"What happened?"
"I don't know sir. One second I was searching the trees, the next something large leapt out. It flung some kind of powder in my face and it stung like holy Hell. By the time I realised I couldn't see a damn thing, it'd already started dragging me away."
"That thing was huge dad," Sam enthused, his thumb rubbing absently over Dean's bloodied knuckles.
John shifted his gaze down to their joined hands, noticing the additional injuries for the first time. He'd been so worried about trying to figure out what had happened to Dean's eyes, he'd all but forgotten his boy would have other, less noticeable injuries from being dragged through the trees.
"Okay," he breathed, running his hand through his unkempt hair. "Sam, check your brother over, make sure he hasn't been hurt elsewhere. I'm gonna go call someone, see if we can figure out what the Hell this thing is and how we kill it."
"Dad, I'm okay," Dean protested weakly.
"Humour me," John muttered, rolling his eyes at his son's stubborn streak as he went outside.
The lighting in the shack was dim, but adequate. Sam got to work, muttering soft apologies as he ran his large hands over Dean's body, eliciting a soft hiss or wince every time he touched upon a cut or scrape.
"You got some pretty colourful bruises round your ribcage and a few splinters, but you're otherwise okay," Sam breathed in relief.
"I'd be better if I could see."
He heard his younger brother sigh and felt a warm hand pat him gently on his chest.
"I'll get you cleaned up a little," Sam replied, emotion choking his words thickly. "Hopefully dad'll come up with something."
Dean settled down, blinking away the tears that had been almost constantly filling his eyes since that thing had blinded him; his body's natural instinct to try and heal the wound. He breathed deeply, trying to relax and banish the disorientation and fear that had been coursing through him since the attack.
What if this was permanent? What use would he be then? He knew he couldn't live with being a burden to his dad and Sammy. Hell his job, his life, was looking out for his family, his brother especially. He was twenty years old and all he could ever remember doing was being there for Sam, taking care of him. He couldn't trust anyone else to do the job properly.
No, he'd find a way to repair what damage had been done. No matter what.
"I can hear you thinking."
Dean huffed out a laugh at the smile in his brother's voice. "M'not thinking, I'm brooding."
He was suddenly overwhelmed by Sam's scent when the younger man stopped his ministrations and leaned over, enveloping Dean in a crushing hug.
"We'll find a cure," he whispered fiercely, echoing Dean's thoughts. "No matter what."
Dean laughed as Sam pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Get off me you girl!" he grinned, shoving at the larger body.
Sam kissed him sloppily on his cheek before letting him go. "Jerk! I was trying to have a brotherly bonding moment and you totally ruined it," he smiled.
"Sam! Get out here a minute! Bobby wants a word with you, he may have something!"
Sam patted his brother lightly on the shoulder as he got up. "Back in a sec."
"Not like I'm goin' anywhere," Dean grumbled, wiping at his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt.
Unfortunately, his bladder took the opportunity to remind him that there was somewhere he definitely needed to go and with some urgency. He contemplated waiting for his dad or brother to return, but decided against it. If they were close to identifying this thing and, more importantly, finding a solution to combat his blindness, Dean didn't want to distract them.
Sitting up, Dean cradled his aching ribs with one arm, while gingerly feeling around in front of him. Satisfied that there were no immediate obstacles he tried to remember if the living room had a table or any other potentially hazardous furniture, but his mind had pretty much frozen on a loop of large shadowy figures and an underlying fear of his blindness. For all he knew, the creature could come back. Hell, it could be standing right in front of him and he wouldn't know.
'Okay, stop!' Dean admonished himself sternly. 'Dad and Sammy are right outside, nothing's slipped past them. Got nothing to fear here, except maybe walking into a wall so stop being an idiot and get your ass up for a leak.'
He barely made it one step before kicking over the bowl of water Sam had left by the couch, causing him to curse up a storm.
"Dean?"
The concern in his father's voice only added to the hunter's misery. "I'm okay. Need the toilet."
"Well why didn't you yell? Gonna do yourself no good if you trip and break something," his father tutted, grabbing Dean's elbow gently and steering him slowly towards the bathroom.
"Sorry. I didn't wanna disturb..."
"Dean," John sighed, squeezing his son's arm. "Just, just let us look after you okay? Just this once. You don't have to...Just let us help."
"Kay," Dean whispered and allowed himself to be led.
Once John had led him safely to the bathroom, he lifted the toilet seat and left to mop up the water in the living room, telling Dean he'd come get him when he was ready.
It took a little careful aiming, but Dean was able to relieve himself and was washing his hands when he heard a scratching noise at the bathroom window.
He was trying to remember if there were any trees next to the shack on that side, when the noise came again, only louder this time, turning into a more persistent tapping.
A tight knot of fear coiled around his stomach and Dean turned his head frantically, losing his bearings momentarily with the rising panic. He couldn't remember where the window was or whether it was large enough to let something in.
"Dad!"
No sooner had the word left his lips when the shattering of the window broke the stillness, covering him in glass and debris as he felt long, strong arms circle his waist and lift him into the air and out into the cool night.
"Dad!" he yelled frantically, struggling against the large body that was holding him close, filling his nostrils with the acrid smell of ash and decay. "Get off me! Lemme go...Sam! Dad!"
"Ssssh food. Be still now," came the nasal, harsh voice of his captor.
"Fuck you!" he ground out, kicking his legs and redoubling his efforts to get away.
The thing ignored him and held him tighter in its steely grip, striding purposefully and swiftly through the forest, uncaring of the branches smacking into Dean's face and opening fresh cuts.
He could hear the frantic shouting of his father and Sam in the distance and could only hope they'd get to him in time.
For what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes in reality, all Dean was aware of was the wind rushing past his ears and the pain in his ribs where the creature was holding him tightly.
Without warning, his abductor threw him heavily to the rough ground. "Now we play," it whispered gleefully in his ear.
He groaned in pain when it shoved him forwards onto his hands and knees, before kicking him sharply in his side, causing him to roll onto his back.
"This is my favourite part. The fear makes them taste so much sweeter."
"Sick fuck," Dean coughed, sitting upright.
He could hear the thing moving around him, but his head was dizzy from the journey and rough handling; the pain in his ribs spreading throughout the rest of his body.
"I know you've seen them little hunter," the disjointed voice taunted. "You've seen what I do, you know what I'm going to do to you."
Dean scrabbled backwards when a rough, slimy tongue ran up his bloodied face and neck.
The creature smacked its lips and hummed appreciatively. "Nearly ready and ripe. So scared, tastes good."
"I'm gonna kill you, you bastard!" Dean yelled, the volume of his own voice startling him a little.
A sharp sting at the back of his neck made him surge forward in an effort to get out of reach of those claws. He could hear the sickening smack as the thing sucked his blood from its finger.
"So good," it whispered. "So sweet and I'm so hungry. So hungry."
Without warning it was upon him, forcing him onto his back and ripping at his shirt.
"No! Get off me! Get off!"
Dean struggled uselessly against the strong arms that were now gripping his wrists, trying to force his arms above his head.
"Ssssh! Don't struggle. One bite and it'll all go away, you won't feel the rest. Don't fight me little food."
Dean screwed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he pushed against the hold.
"Fuck you! Get off me!"
It released its hold on his wrists, only to reach its long, clawed fingers around his neck, choking him.
"No!" Dean coughed, pulling against the creature's arms and clawing against it.
He could feel its hot, fetid breath against his neck and face as it leaned down, sharp teeth grazing against his skin.
"So hungry," it whispered, snaking its tongue out to taste.
"Get your damn hands off my boy! NOW!"
The creature turned in shock, its hold around Dean's neck loosening.
A shot rang out, shattering the stillness of the forest, the silver bullet finding its mark in the darkness.
Dean huffed in pain when the body slumped down on him, its life oozing out of the fatal wound.
Sam and John quickly rolled the creature off of Dean, Sam gathering him into his arms.
"Are you okay? Dean?" he breathed, frantically checking his brother for fresh wounds.
"Ye...Yeah," Dean gasped, grabbing at Sam's arms. "Well, I've been better."
"Get him back to the house Sam, I'll be along in a minute."
Dean smiled slightly, his father's gruff voice reaching through his weariness, making him feel safe. Grounded.
He found himself being lifted once again, Sam grunting with the effort.
"I can walk," Dean mumbled.
"Shut up," his brother replied, turning to carry his precious burden back to safety.
Dean was feeling slightly better once Sam had finished fussing over him, dressing his wounds and removing his torn clothing, replacing it with a fresh, clean shirt.
"So, did you find out what it was?" he said into the darkness, gratefully taking the warm mug of coffee Sam was pressing into his hands.
"Something called a Dajod," Sam sighed, seating himself next to his brother. "It's a demon from Slavic mythology, derived from one of their Gods. People used to bring live sacrifices to it so it'd leave their villages alone. Apparently it can go into a kind of hibernation for hundreds of years if it's not fed, but has to wake up eventually to eat."
"Great," Dean yawned, snuggling up against his brother's larger frame. "Any news on when I'll be able to see again?"
"Ah...Um..."
"What?"
"Well, the good news is we found a cure."
"Really? Sweet! Wait, what's the bad news?"
"It, um...We have to pour its blood into your eyes," Sam mumbled, shifting uneasily.
"WHAT?"
The door burst open to reveal a grinning John, holding a gun in one hand and a jug of thick, black blood in the other.
"Okay boy, lean back and try not to blink."
The End.