A/N: Moved from Wynter's profile to here so it would be easier to find. This is the rewrite of the original Feel So Numb. Complete overhaul with some of the same content. Please enjoy! Written by gypsywoman1 and wynterfae.
Warning: FULL story Rated M for language, sex and violence.
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
June 18, 2008
The sensation never starts out the same, not entirely, and that's the trick to it. There are the stories about how headaches always precede them, there's a blinding white shock that strikes square in the eyes and out the back of the skull before it sucks the mind down into oblivion. Paralysis takes over, kitten weak before it subsides and then there are the questions. What do the cryptic visuals mean in their abstract frenzy? How could it be stopped? It could feel like seconds, when in fact it was minutes, hours, maybe a day or more. That was the case for Von MacKinnon, born more special than most, a psychic, a seer, a witch, a freak, a monster, she had been named all of these and more. But right now she was burdened with a desperate fear that she was unable to completely understand.
An anxiety had spread through all her limbs several hours ago, inescapable and she paced up and down the hall from the backdoor to the basement door of Bobby Singer's house. In fact the anxiety really hit home shortly after she arrived, she knew well enough that it was caused by the energy left behind by Bobby and whoever else had been in the house with him. Von continued her methodical march, piecing the clues together then scrapping the whole thing to start over. She had been having dreams, visions of a recurring nature concerning hunters and demons. It was an old song and dance theme true enough but Von's concern lay in the fact she swore one of them was Bobby, she discerned this only through his voice as the faces in the three man group were veiled from her being too blurred, stretched and distorted to make out any features. With the best of intentions Von had planned on arriving weeks ago, unfortunately things so often never go to plan and she was held up by her own responsibilities as a hunter.
Now she arrived to an empty house and Bobby was not answering his phone, Von tried eight times and always straight to voicemail. She left five messages with each more aggitated than the last. Normally Von would tell herself that Bobby was on a hunt, not to panic because he would be back sooner or later with another story to tell and more wisdom to pass on in his own surly way. "This time is different," she muttered to the emptiness of the hall and paused in concentration when a tendril of shrill cold shot up her spine blossoming into the back of her skull freezing her eyes wide and sightless.
Screaming broke through first that of a man and then she found her own voice overtaking it as she came back to the hallway with her eyes now on the ceiling and the headache from the vision fighting with the blow to the back of the head she had received when she fell to the floor. Hands carefully going to her chest she dared not to look, but her shirt was intact, no tattered cloth, no sticky warmth and no reek of blood. No hellhound hungering over her warm corpse. Sitting up she cleared the tears from her eyes with her sleeves and held in the small sob that threatened to escape, releasing it with a quiet, "fuck," more tears burned and blinded Von, her heart aching. That was it. The climax to the horrible dreams that she had meant to discuss with Bobby was over now, she had no time to stop it. Von had failed.
As she sat there in growing frustration at the tears that refused to stop falling she reached in her pocket for her phone, a bitter curse breaking from her lips at the screen that read 'No Signal'. Dragging herself to her feet Von headed into the kitchen to use one of the phones Bobby had lined up on the wall. The landline had no more luck than her cell had at getting ahold of the elder hunter. Voicemail and Von left no message. Pulling out a chair from the table Von quietly sat down, there was another way to find where Bobby Singer was but Von was too numb to think. She knew the rooms in the house were silent but all she could hear was screaming. That horrible screaming and then nothing.
888
New Harmony, Illinois
Sam cradled his brother for far too long, not wanting to let go and only did when Bobby managed to find him after him not picking up his cell phone. The elder hunter couldn't stand the sight of Dean, the boy he had practically fathered on the side, torn and bloody with that far off look in his green orbs. Seeing Sam quiet and unmoving, staring into oblivion was just as horrible. Not saying a word he took hold of Dean's legs knowing that Sam would follow through to carry the deceased hunter outside and to the car they had parked a ways. Loading Dean into the backseat they got in the car and drove. There had to be a place they could go to bury him. Even though Sam was in no state to do so with it being so fresh, they had to stop somewhere where no one really occupied, patch up the wounds, clean him up and make a pinewood box to go into the ground.
Once they found the patch of land out in the trees in Pontiac they got to work. Sam was almost mechanical but he was different, somber...When the time came to cover up the loaded makeshift coffin there were words that could have been said and yet none left either of the hunters lips. Just guilt riding on the atmosphere changing that land into a foreboding place than another tranquil section of Mother Nature. The drive was a long one, ten and a half hours and when they finally reached the Singer household they were tired, beaten and broken. Stepping through that door without Dean weighed on both and Sam stopped just over the threshold as Bobby continued within. Very little thought went into his next move as he turned, saddled his tall frame into the Impala and took off, somewhere...anywhere...just not with Bobby, not in that house where Dean should be.
888
Von lifted her head from the dark reverie that she fallen into at the sound of a car pulling up the drive, she strained to hear any sounds that followed, the labored shuffling of two sets of feet sounded on the wooden steps. She stiffened feeling the emotions of overwhelming defeat and sadness, there was no will left to fight, only a bleak darkness that encompassed their hearts. As she stood she heard the door open and one set of boots step over the threshold, without waiting Von hurried to the door to meet Bobby and to see a black 1967 Chevy Impala disappear down the gravel road. She knew that car, she had seen it many times in her youth, it was John Winchesters Impala but Von knew that John Winchester was dead. As for his sons, she had heard rumors here and there, but it wasn't a subject Bobby and Von ever discussed on her brief visits to his home. There was always bigger fish to fry and Von cared little for the gossip of hunters unless it suited her needs.
The elder hunter smelled of blood, dirt and death, fresh death. When Von's soulful green orbs landed on Bobby the world crumbled a little more around them as she read the expression on his face. Voiceless, never had she seen the man that was so much like a father to her so broken, the weathered lines on his face were deepened with grief and his eyes so often filled with wit and determination were glassed over from unshed tears. Tears she perceived he could not bring himself to release in front of the other person he was with, he was waiting to get home to drown them out with a strong two-six of whiskey. Taking his hand in hers she wished she could try for a familiar smile but nothing would warm the concern that laced her face, she could not rise above the emotions that emerged from Bobby and flowed against her. Von wrapped her arms around her mentor, squeezing when the old man returned the gesture. She felt the first sob then, a quick rise of his chest before he could stop it, then he pulled himself together for a moment and they eased away from one another before Von closed the door and they found themselves in the study.
"Bobby, what is it?" Von asked gently searching his face and finding nothing but exhaustion there and all the horrible emotions she could feel as if they were her own. Someone had died, she knew that she could feel it in her bones but this was more than spilling some for a fallen comrade, whoever was lost had been family.
Bobby scrubbed a weathered hand down his bearded face, bleary eyes wandering over to the empty bottle of Wild Turkey that had been left on his desk. He walked with the posture of a man who had nothing, who had been beaten down and left behind to watch the ashes of his existence blow away in the bitter wind. A bone weary sigh passed his lips while he pulled out one bottle of many from his liquor cabinet. He was back at his desk and pulling the foil off and then twisting the cap, filling his tumbler up and setting the bottle of alcohol down on his desk next to it.
The amber liquid sloshed around and settled. Bobby wrapped his hand around it, lifting it to his mouth and swallowing half the contents in one go. He hardly felt the burn as it went down, just the welcoming numb that came with it settling in his stomach.
A single tear tracked down his face and he washed it away with another swig of the whiskey he had pulled from the cabinet. He sucked in a breath and filled his glass again, lost in the depths of the amber elixir. Von was silent, allowing the alcohol to work in Bobby and numb the pain that was there for what little good it would do. She had a feeling that soon enough she was going to need a drink herself and maybe an aspirin or something a little stronger to take the edge off.
Bobby shook his head, beneath his ball cap his lips pursed together bitterly, "Didn't think I'd be seeing you anytime soon." His beard entangled another tear as he fell silent once more knocking back a fingerful of whiskey to clear his head. He knew Von was patiently sitting there with him, as unexpected a visit as it was it was a welcome one, he had been figuring she'd stop by sooner instead of at a time like this.
"I was held up, there's been a lot of demonic activity in my area," Von answered somberly, "I'm sorry."
"Just glad you're here, might need the extra set of hands." Bobby fingered the empty tumbler distractedly.
Von nodded, "I'll help any way that I can."
Bobby nodded, he knew Von would do anything for him. All he wanted right now though was for her to leave it be and she knew that was exactly what she needed to do.
888
The road was a long and rough experience without a passenger in the Impala. Sam wasn't even sure if he wanted to keep the vehicle with what it was doing and doing to him mentally. Every time he stopped for the night he swore that he could hear Dean's voice in the car telling him to rise and shine. Sleep evaded him and even if he could he had nightmares of Dean's death. He didn't know what day it was anymore and frankly didn't care. Each day the sun rose he got back into the driver's seat and headed onward. No set location, no nothing until the Impala itself protested against his actions and broke down in Chandler, Arizona. Sam took up his items and locked the car before setting foot to find a mechanic and wait out the fixing. Sure he could do it himself since Dean showed him, but it wasn't worth it when the memories flooded or the fact that Dean would say he was doing it wrong.
Signing a room under Andrew McCallister he shut the door, laying down the salt line and not finishing as well as leaving the half done devil's trap under the rug. Sam sat on the bed with his head in his hands, breathing in and out. "Sam."
He raised his head and stood, looking everywhere for that voice. "Dean?"
No one being there he tightened his fists and yelled, kicking the bed and knocking over the bedside lamp he didn't flinch when the blood trickled from his knuckles or when glass imbedded into his skin from tearing up anything he could. Minutes later he was on the floor drinking a bottle of whiskey he had bought earlier on the road. Leaning against the wall, head tilted back as tears burned his eyes. It was his fault. He should have tried harder to save his brother and he couldn't. He should have known that Ruby wasn't acting like Ruby in that house. Everything he did wasn't good enough, not being a Winchester. Thinking about tossing in pills from the duffel to go along with his sorrows he held them in his hand staring at them with mirth and desperation. Maybe he deserved to die instead of Dean...he should have stayed dead when he was and then this would never have happened. The thought of a crossroads didn't escape his mind but he had a feeling that they wouldn't take him. They didn't want him otherwise they would have kept him when Dean had bargained.
"Sam..."
"SHUT UP!"
The pill bottle flew across the room and hit someone's boot. His eyes lingered there and he searched the toe of the shoe, wondering if he was really seeing this or if it was hallucinations. He couldn't stand if he was going crazy. Trailing up the legs, torso and to the face it was not Dean. "Come here to torture me some more? Hasn't your boss done enough of that?" he growled in a slur as he took a deep swig.
888
September 18, 2008
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Singer Salvage Yard
Four months had passed since the fateful night of May 2, 2008 where Dean Winchester had met his gruesome end at the hands of Lilith and her hellhound. Within those four months Von had come to know everything about the deal the elder brother had made to save his sibling and how they tried to save Dean to the very end. Bobby felt he had lost both boys, one to the fiery depths of Hell and the other had faded away into a rumor. He had called Sam on every phone he had and when the line didn't come back disconnected there was still no answer.
Von offered to use her skills to find Sam, Bobby shook his head, "He don't wanna be found." Meeting her eyes beneath his ball cap he added, "Just tell me if he's alive."
The red head nodded and left the study to gather some supplies from the trunk of her car. It crushed her to see the fire in Bobby's eyes so dimmed, with will alone he continued his days answering calls and reading through his books to help others, he was too important to the community, he could not stop. Von would assist him from time to time, demanding that he sleep while she took over the work load but neither one of them was ever able to catch much sleep. Nightmares ever dogged them. Bobby's desk was littered with bottles of all sorts, from store bought to Singer's rot-gut and sometimes Von would help him with the brew. "It's too sad to see you drinking by yourself," she said one night after dinner and filled one of the empty tumblers half full of Jim Beam. "Tomorrow I'm hiding all your liquor," Von continued nonchalantly with a sip of the dark amber liquid. But she never did and they often had nights where all they would do was sit in silence and drink too lost in their own dark thoughts to bother with much else.
It was early in the morning on September 18th that Von woke from her bed shaken and soaked in sweat. Kicking the sheets off she swung her legs over the side, elbows on her knees and hands fisted in her tangled hair with a tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Taking in a long breath through her nose she exhaled through her mouth. This happened so often she hardly slept with much on aside from panties and a cotton cami. Rising from the bed Von gathered the damp sheets into her arms and softly padded down the hall to descend the stairs to the basement door, gripping the sheets in one arm she opened the door with her free hand and entered the basement turning to the left towards the washing machine.
Stuffing the items into the bin she grumbled when there was less than half a cup of detergent left in the box, looked like she was going to be making a run into town today. Closing the lid she cranked the dial to start the load and ascended the stairs on her way to the kitchen to grab a drink. A sudden chill trickled up her spine, stiffening Von honed in all her senses to every movement and every sound. Quietly she travelled towards the backdoor, there she had a knife stowed on a shelf and sliding it off into her firm grip she stepped warily towards the back door where a sound caught her attention. Whatever she felt was gone, however Von felt no relief because whatever it was it wasn't good. Knife still in hand she returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge door to scrounge for something other than alcohol, unable to find anything she settled for a beer.
The beverage never had a chance to pass her lips as it slipped from her hand and crashed to the hard linoleum floor shattering into glass shards while the liquid inside splashed in all directions. Von hit the floor with a thud the knife held limp in her hand as she lay there motionless. The commotion in the kitchen snapped Bobby into consciousness within minutes he was kneeling next to Von's unconscious form checking for a pulse after he gave her a shaking to rouse her. Her heart was beating but she was out cold. With no sign of external injuries Bobby lifted her up and carried her into the study laying her down on the couch, checking her pulse again to make sure she was still with him.
"Damn it, girl," he cussed. Bobby knew the signs, she had lived here long enough for him to know when she was having a vision, didn't mean he stopped worrying about her whenever she had one. She always came out of them, he wouldn't know what he'd do if she didn't.
888
Flashes of crimson light. Screams as thick as the blood at his feet. Covered in it, his and that of others. The ones he had carved into as more had done unto him. He licked the blood off his fingers, smiling down at the thing that was once a woman. She had made a deal to be beautiful, Helena of Troy beautiful and he had showed her what she really looked like on the inside. Vanity was a sin. Commotion erupted in the background, taking over the constant stream of noises of the damned. This was a different chorus among the cries of despair and agony. Screams of the endlessly dying. The burgundy light fractured and filtered into a thousand glass pieces. The pulsing strobe of darkness and light blinded him and a pained shout burst from his lungs.
Demons roared with rage and pain as they were cut down before something that he could not see. They rendered the man's flesh to hold him fast, fighting against the strong and hotter than white being that grabbed his shoulder, tearing him from his captors lifting him upward. A legion of demons and half-way human souls surged upwards to meet him, climbing with reckless speed like a swarm of locusts. There was a powerful beating of wings, a blazing light followed by the agonized howls of the evil horde burning and feathering away like ashes of charred paper. The stench was overpowering and he struggled to see through the glow of silver fire that threatened to burn his eyes from his skull. His sight could withstand it any longer and he jerked his away with bloodied tears streaking down his cheeks.
Then all was darkness. The first breath. Stiff and aching. Lungs that haven't held air for so long struggled to function. The smell of earth and dank rot filled his nostrils and he gagged. He knew that smell. He sucked in another labored breath and coughed. His instinct was to have light and he felt down his leg at the pocket of his jeans. What little hope that may have blossomed in his chest at the ignition of the small light died as panic overtook him. The flame of his Zippo flickering against the walls of the confined space. Coffin.
"HAL-"Coughing overtook every sense and process. His throat burned raw, the word ripping at his vocal cords. "Help!" he croaked out feebly, the noise barely high enough to make it worthy of a whisper.
Please God don't let them have buried me upside down.
The planks of the coffin were cheap by the feel of them. Handmade. He pushed with what little strength he had, trying to find any kind of hold on the frame to force his way through. Splinters bit into his cold stiff hands until he paused with alarm when dirt began to collapse on top of him and choke him, he pushed harder out of desperation a plank snapping under the strain and he found it was not only dirt he would have to dig through but layers of mud as well. Freezing he struggled with cries and curses, panic striking with every beat of his heart. He could not breathe and he was slowing down, the mud holding him in its frigid grip. Until a single hand felt the sharp sting of rain tickling on its surface.
Straining his legs he pushed with all his might, his head breaching the surface he gasped at the sweet moist air, grunting and choking it out again as he crawled from his grave. Rolling he lay on his back, staring up through the thick canopy of trees at the sky streaked in a grey haze of morning sky. His chest rose and fell rapidly, sucking down the fresh air and throwing it back out into the rain. Weary of the rain pounding into his aching limbs he stood, finding his legs weak and unsteady. What he saw next nearly made him fall again. His heart hammered erratically in his sore chest as he gazed around disbelievingly, fearfully. An ache spread from his stomach to his chest. With slow, pained but determined strides he started to walk. He didn't know much about trees or forests but there was something downright unsettling about how closely knit the trees were and how the limbs and brush wove together. The place creeped the hell out of him and he needed to get as far away from it as he possibly could.
888
Miles City, Montana
115 miles from Ekalaka
Sleep held no peace and the trial run proved that due to the body protesting every action. Alex snapped her eyes open and inhaled sharply from the dream that had been plaguing her for a few years. Though it seemed just like yesterday that she witnessed his death. Instinctively her hand reached for the sweat soaked dog tag around her neck, fingers running along the lettering of his name. Rolling onto her back she stared at the ceiling, knowing perfectly well the time. The annoying voice that usually occupied her thoughts was oddly silent but not for long, which meant it was also going over the dream as well. That was the thing. The very reason why Kayden died. Because of what she was and what was inside her genetics. She had died and come back. Some part of her fractured and not all of her soul was entirely whole, she figured that out once the taunting voice began. The voice she heard in Hell come from her own lips when it was nothing but her. Now it was an it. A parasite.
Checking the clock as she got up, she couldn't believe she had to give into the basic need of sleep after avoiding it for a week already. The job she was on was given to her by a hunter along the grapevine who knew she was close to the area. Bodies were piling up in Ekalaka, Montana and all of them were men. Not much to go on but the evidence was conclusive, it was a Succubus or succubi. Pulling on a pair of jeans and keeping the blue tank top on, the combat boots came next before she loaded up her car.
Oh goody, another adventure. Please say this one will be more interesting. I'd much rather you spilled blood than saving it.
"Shut up you sadistic bitch." Alex climbed into her 1969 red Camaro with two white racing stripes down the middle and pulled off.
