Disclaimer: Dean, Sam and the Impala do not belong to us in any way (sadly). We are just playing with the characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired.
(Co-written by CelineNaville and Mariamo.)
Hell - Next Turn on the Right
Chapter One
Dean kicked at the cellar door viciously, frustration rolling off him in waves.
"Goddamn it! It's solid. Friggin' ghosts!"
"The door is locked in case you haven't noticed." Sam responded, not bothering to hide his own mounting frustration. "But why don't you keep kicking it, so that if anybody is in the house they can come down and kill us now? I mean, not like they're going to hear the racket or anything."
"This is no time to be smart mouthed, Sammy!" Dean glowered at him.
Sam ignored his brother. He started down the perilously canted steps, careful to mind his head so he didn't bump it on the exposed beams. "Maybe a window?" He walked into a cobweb and brushed it off his shoulder, still casting around for an escape route.
The cellar was cold and damp enough that there was a thin film of moisture beading on the outside walls and a pervading stench of mold. For a change the electric light was actually working, although the pale glow seeping from the dust shrouded bulb did nothing to improve the ambience. If anything, it merely created dark, menacing pools of shadow behind and between the clutter of randomly stacked boxes and broken washing machines. Dusty, heavy cobwebs and mildew stained cream walls loomed over them, bringing unwanted thoughts of being buried alive slithering into Dean's mind.
Lately, with nightmares of his impending trip to hell making regular visits, he'd been feeling increasingly claustrophobic, almost as though he could already feel the coffin sides closing in around him.
He resumed his assault on the door, the thuds echoing off the damp walls. "I can't…" he slammed his boot into the wood, "...stand…" punctuating the word with another kick, "...being trapped!"
"I just have this feeling that we're going to find dead bodies down here." Sam muttered, feet now solidly on the dusty ground. He was making a circuit around the space, testing the tiny window, large enough for a cat to slip through, but certainly not himself or even his brother.
"Yeah. Well they're not gonna be our dead bodies!" Dean's assault on the door peeled through the air.
"DEAN! Knock it off!"
"Knock WHAT off?!"
"Kicking the door! I already told you that I'm not sure we got everyone. They might hear you and come finish the damn job. Remember we have a ghost and possibly a few psycho humans on our tail."
Dean swung around, breathing a bit heavily. "Bring 'em on! Nothing I can't handle." He prowled restlessly about, tapping at walls and shaking angrily at a grille set in the ceiling.
"Oh my god. You're such an ass." Sam glared at him. "Use your brain for once and help me out, okay?" Sometimes his brother reminded him of a caged tiger, a ripple of barely controlled power shivering just beneath the surface of his skin. "Get out of fight mode. Time for think mode."
"You're the one with the brains, genius." Dean shot back. "You find the way out."
"You're like a...pit bull when you get into that adrenaline fight or flight thing." Sam's hands were pressed against the cold damp wall, testing for a weakness.
Dean stopped in his tracks. "What?" He raised an eyebrow, looking incredulous. "I am so not a pit bull! I am way hotter than that!"
Taken aback by the sheer ludicrous content of his brother's statement, Sam actually turned around to look at him. "Is there some sort of Dog Paradigm of Hotness that I'm not aware of? Like poodles are sexier or something?"
"Para… what? Of course poodles are sexier! What's the matter with you!" Dean began to prowl again, temper visibly fraying.
"Sonofabitch! I've had it with this shit!" He launched himself suddenly off the steps, slamming into the nearest wall with his entire body weight. There was loud crack as the plaster and lathe shattered and he collapsed in a heap, head and shoulders out of sight inside the wall cavity.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked infuriatingly calmly.
"Uhh…" Dean sounded a bit winded, clearly not expecting the wall to actually give way. He pushed himself up on his elbows, shaking plaster out of his hair. "Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah?" The younger Winchester wandered over and leaned down to peer in at his brother. "You okay?"
Dean pointed at a wrapped package lying inside the cavity.
"Oh god." Sam said.
"I don't think god has been down here in a while, Sammy."
"This is like the Cask of Amontillado. Great."
Dean looked at him, bewildered. "Wha… what does that even mean!"
"Well... I think we know where the ghost is coming from. This is probably him." Sam continued.
"You don't say! Great powers of deduction there man."
"I'm really tired of my life being like I'm trapped inside of an Edgar Allan Poe novel." Sam closed his eyes briefly, and started to fish in the pocket of his tan canvas jacket.
His brother was on his feet now, brushing off plaster and cobwebs. "Who the hell was he? A hunter? You got the lighter fluid?"
"Christ, Dean. You scare me sometimes." Sam replied, with the slightest air of condescension. He pulled out a metal zippo lighter and tossed it to Dean. "Try not to burn us down with it okay?"
Dean stared back at him, face sour. "I'm not gonna burn us down, dude." He hunkered down, squirting lighter fluid over the cloth-wrapped corpse, then paused a moment, lighter in hand. "I have heard of him y'know. Miserable sonofabitch, wrote poems."
"The Raven was brilliant."
"That's the trouble with you." Dean squinted up at him. "You always like to look into the dark side of things. Y'think too much, should try havin' a bit of fun sometimes."
"Yeah." Sam looked around them. "Great fun we're having here. Actually for all we know Poe was a hunter. He kind of fits the bill...Alcoholic hermit. Sound familiar?"
"Well he sure spent too much time scribbling in journals…" Dean's voice went up a notch as his brother's words sunk in. "Hey, hang on there, was that a dig at me!"
"No!" Sam's reply was indignant. "Oh my god. Do you have to try to take everything as an insult to you?"
"I'm no hermit, I socialize!"
"I was talking about Bobby and Dad..." Sam retorted. "But go ahead and make it about you, because you make everything else about you."
Dean sat back on his heels, astounded. "Where in hell did that come from!"
His brother looked innocently at him. "What?"
"THAT! Nothin' is about me Sammy! I'm just tryin' to do my job here!"
Sam huffed. "Nothing is about you? Really? Okay. Whatever you say, man."
The lighter didn't seem to be working. "Sonofabitch!" Dean's thumb flicked at it angrily. "Somethin' you want to say here, Sammy? Let's hear it! Tell y'what, let's just forget about the friggin' ghost, the weird-ass psychos, let's do a bit of Sam Winchester counselling!"
Sam crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "Stop being melodramatic and light it up."
The lighter flicked again. "Melodramatic! I'm not the one havin' a meltdown in the middle of a case!" Dean's thumb blurred as he flicked continuously, the lighter sparking but still failing to light. "Dammit!"
Sam raised an eyebrow, watching the display of temperament, arms still crossed. "How am I having a meltdown?" He asked evenly.
"This! All this psycho bullshit you keep layin' on me."
Sam's jaw tensed and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, the artificial display of calm beginning to crack under Dean's verbal assault. "What psycho bullshit?"
Flick. Flick. "THIS!" Dean shot to his feet, hurling the lighter at the wall in frustration. His face screwed up in mock bitch-face as he spoke in a falsetto whine, "Calm down, Dean." He pursed his lips. "Another beer, Dean. Gahhh!"
Sam took a step back as if his brother were crazy. "Oookay."
"OKAY! Nothin' is okay!" Dean swung around. "Where's the fuckin' lighter gone?"
"Where you threw it!"
The lighter was nowhere to be seen. Angry at himself as much as Sam, Dean began to scrabble around in the dim light, muttering plaintively. "What is wrong with you?" He wasn't quite sure if the question was aimed at Sam or himself.
oooo
There was a pause. "Why do you think everything I say is an attempt to hurt you?" The bite had gone out of Sam's voice; the flickering bulb lighting up his boyish features as he stared sadly at his brother.
Dean's fingers had finally closed on the lighter; he straightened up. "You're not big enough to hurt me," he said flatly.
"Whatever that's supposed to mean."
"Nothin' hurts me..." Dean's voice trailed off, his expression softening as his big brother radar picked up a hint of distress in Sam's voice. He tried uncertainly for a joke. "Hey, I'm invincible, like Bat Man, remember?" It fell flat.
"Oh yeah...Yeah." Sam shook his head and put his face in his hands for a moment. He drew in a deep breath.
Dean sighed, resigned. "What's goin' on? What's this all about, huh?"
Sam regained his composure, although he still looked frustrated. He looked up. "Why are we wasting time on these stupid cases?"
"What?" Completely taken aback, Dean stared at him in surprise. "This is what we do, what else would we be doin'?"
That tipped the flimsy facade over. "Finding a way out of your deal, Dean!" Sam exploded. "Every minute we waste on bullshit cases like these is another minute that you're closer to going to hell!"
Hell… Dean flinched nervously, not something he wanted to think about down here, or think about at all. He scrubbed the palms of his hands down his jeans nervously, swallowing. "There's no way out of the deal. We've done this conversation already. I don't want to talk about it."
Sam set his jaw and stance into that stubborn mule posture he got when he used to face off against their father. "Well that's too damn bad because we're finding a way out of it!"
A note of panic crept into Dean's voice. "You can't! You know why you can't!"
Sam paid him no mind. "But I need time to research. And I don't have time. We're wasting time with shit like this!" He swept his hand over the room, breathing heavily.
"This is not shit!" There was a bite of anger now in the words. "This is what we do! We save people!"
"I'm tired." Sam lamented. "I've been spending all night, every night looking for a way to get out of this."
"Don't you think I'm tired too?" Dean took a step back, feeling his hands starting to shake. "Why can't you just leave it alone?" The lighter slipped out of his fingers again. "Just leave it alone!"
"NO! I'm not letting you go to Hell for me! I'm NOT!" The outburst tore across the room in a baritone-like shout. Sam was trembling visibly now.
Concern for his brother and his own anxiety fought for position on Dean's face. Concern won; he reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Sam's arm. "Hey, it's gonna be okay dude."
Sam shook it off almost viciously. "No! No it's not! Can't you understand?"
Dean pulled back, looking a little hurt. "You're gonna be okay. Doesn't matter about me. Maybe now you can have that normal life you want, without me hanging around, huh?"
Sam barked out something that was half astounded laugh and half sob. "Are you...freaking kidding me?" He heaved in a ragged breath of disbelief, still shaking.
"I just need you to be okay, Sammy! Can't you do that for me?" Desperation was leaking into Dean's tone. He fought it down, trying to force a mask of reassurance onto his face.
"I'm not gonna be okay, Dean!" Sam's voice deepened as he yelled again. His sheer stature and power probably would have intimidated anyone else but his brother.
"Yeah man, you will be, you'll get over me. You can go back to doin' what you're good at. Deal's done." Dean broke eye contact, scooping up the lighter.
Sam abruptly turned away, biting a fist to his mouth. His face twisted into rictus of pain, his white teeth bared, his shoulders hunched and taut from the load upon them.
"Aww buddy, dammit…" Dean's voice broke a little as he re-focused on his brother, wanting to reassure him but with no idea what to say to make things right.
oooo
Taking advantage of the distraction, the ghost decided to make its move. The wall behind Dean shimmered, a ragged figure forming out of the rough plaster surface. It hurtled silently towards his back.
Something in his older brother's voice had made Sam turn around to face him. He saw the ghost-like form and reacted instantly, his years of training leaping to the forefront of his emotional distress. "Dean! Look out." He shoved Dean out of the way bodily.
Dean landed heavily, breath knocked out of him in an explosive gasp as he took the full weight of his brother across his chest. A split second later that weight was gone as Sam was snatched up and away, the ghost flinging him across the cellar and into one of the solid outside walls. He hit the wall with a cry, taking the blow with his shoulder and side.
Dragging in a desperate breath, Dean leapt to his feet. Running towards Sam, he hurled a handful of salt from his pocket at the ghost, which sizzled briefly and vanished. It flickered back almost immediately, grabbing hold of Dean as he threw himself protectively over his brother's slumped figure.
Dean fumbled for more salt, cursing the fact they'd had to leave the shotguns in the car, initially thinking the house was occupied by Joe Average rather than vicious, homicidal maniacs. The ghost flicked him easily over onto his back and dragged him away by the throat. He struggled, feeling his windpipe bending inwards as the icy fingers closed around his neck. The lighter skidded away across the floor; a remote voice in a corner of his brain telling him it might be easier to use matches in future, if there was a future.
Sam opened his eyes. "Dean!" He tried to get up and lurch to the lighter, his movements uncoordinated, almost drunken. He couldn't keep his feet. He dropped into a crawl.
Dean felt the grip on his throat slacken momentarily as the ghost swung to look at Sam. He whooped in a desperate breath, managed a strangled shout. "No you fugly bastard, I'm over here! Sam, get outta here!"
"How?" Sam yelled. "There's no exit!" His fingers closed around the lighter even as he remained chest down, crawling on the floor.
Dean choked, black spots swimming at the edge of his vision as the ghost lifted him up by his neck. "Burn the sonofabitch Sammy!" He wasn't sure if the hoarse croak even reached his brother but the ghost hissed at him, furious, throwing him viciously at the wall above the wrapped corpse. This time the wall broke right through, and he went sprawling past the corpse and into a dark root cellar beyond.
The damp earth floor of the root cellar absorbed some of the impact as he landed; in the grand scheme of Winchester bad luck, it could probably even be counted as a lucky break. He sprawled, tucked himself into a roll at the last second and came up on his feet relatively unscathed. He immediately turned back towards the gaping hole in the wall.
Meanwhile, Sam flicked the lighter desperately and shook it. "Oh my god!Why? Come on!" Eventually the tiniest spark caught and Sam pressed it to the accelerant on the corpse. It winked and caught suddenly in an impressive burst of flame. He jerked out of the way, the fire almost singing his eyebrows, but miraculously kept a hold on the lighter, although the hairs on the back of his hand were curled and burnt.
Dean recoiled, dodging back into the root cellar as the first flames leapt high from the desiccated shroud. "Sammy," he hollered through the wall of fire.
"There's no exit!" Sam yelled back, lighter in hand. He rolled away from the fire, wincing at his shoulder.
Completely disregarding his own safety, Dean leapt towards him through the flames. "Sonofabitch!" He swatted at the leg of his jeans, batting away some fiery sparks that had lodged in the material. "You okay there man?" He pulled Sam carefully upright.
Sam went a little limp for a moment, head lolling sideways. "I'm okay." He whispered.
Dean wasn't convinced. He kept a steadying hand on Sam's back, wanting to check for injuries properly. His brother was sitting awkwardly, but the air in the cellar was getting worse by the second. Already dank and stale, the billowing smoke from the burning corpse was making it unbreathable and it was becoming difficult to see.
"We gotta get out of here." He coughed, wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, noticing that flames were blowing towards them in ragged little curtains of fire, suggesting there may be a source of air, maybe even an exit, at the far end of the root cellar.
"I told you not to put so much accelerant on it that we burn down the cellar." Sam admonished when he'd caught his breath.
Dean faced him angrily. "What the hell were you playin' at there anyway? Trying to get yourself hurt? Huh?"
Sam stared at him, a little dazed.
"It's my job to take the hits dude!"
"It's not your job to do anything." Sam pushed out of his brother's embrace and stood up. He was about as steady on his feet as a newborn colt and almost went down.
"Slow down buddy." Dean took hold of his arm again. "Course it's my job. But you're not makin' it easy."
"No it's not. It's that thinking that got us here in the first place." Sam wiped his filthy carhartt jacket sleeve across his forehead, leaving a dirt smear. "'M okay. Little stunned."
"Can't help the way I think." Dean shuddered a little, visibly twitchy. "Let's just try and get outta here." He rubbed nervously at his upper arms with his hands. "I don't want to be stuck in this hole in the ground." If he'd felt bad before about being shut in, it was nothing compared to how he felt now, with flame and smoke added to the mix. He tried unsuccessfully to smile through stiff lips, the tense grimace making him look even more edgy.
oooo
Sam leaned against the wall and closed his eyes wearily.
"Just stay there, I'm gonna have a look in the root cellar." Dean glanced at him anxiously, then climbed rapidly around the waning flames. A few clattering noises drifted back through the wall, followed by the sound of smashing glass and then a distant "Come on!"
Sam followed his brother's lead pliantly, all the fight gone out of him.
"Sure you're okay man?" Dean was looking at him with concern as he broke pieces of smashed glass out of an old skylight. "I'm gonna go up first, stay where I can reach you dude. I'll give you a pull up."
"Okay." Sam said quietly.
Dean rubbed his throat, swallowing painfully as he resigned himself to another week or two with dark bruises around his neck. He pulled an old wooden box beneath the skylight, broke away another piece of glass and then hauled himself up through the dark square into the night. His boots waved wildly overhead for a moment before disappearing, replaced almost immediately by his cheerfully grinning face.
"Hey Sammy! Come on." He reached an arm down towards his brother.
Sam reached up with his good arm and tried to clamber out, a whimper escaping his lips as he moved the other shoulder.
Dean leant in a little further, pulling on the arm raised up to him, trying to be careful. "Easy there dude, I've got you."
"Owww!" Sam whispered, kicking with his feet in an attempt to help get some momentum. "Oh god!" He could barely move his opposite shoulder and it was hampering his progress.
There was a sharp thud outside, Dean's head turned quickly to check behind him; his expression was taut as he turned back. He launched suddenly further forwards, taking a firm grip of Sam, not seeming to care if it hurt or not.
"Sonofabitch! You're coming up now! Now!" He braced his heels against the lip of the skylight and pulled with all his strength on Sam's arm, turning a deaf ear to his shout of pain and the scream that tore from his throat as he was hauled unceremoniously out of the hole and dumped in a heap next to his brother.
Dean's voice was frantic. "M'sorry Sammy… Just get up buddy please! Run!"
"Huh?" Sam attempted to get up, but only made it to his knees. He looked behind Dean.
His brother moved deliberately in front of him, blocking the view as he hauled at him, trying to get him on his feet. "Get up," he growled fiercely. "Sam, get up!"
Sam struggled against his own weight again, still confounded but picking up on his brother's sense of urgency. "What's wrong?"
Dean leant down, still trying to hoist Sam to his feet. He suddenly stumbled forwards a step, almost as though he'd lost his balance. His eyes went huge as he looked at his brother, expression shocked, maybe even scared. He jerked in a little gasp of air, grunting on the exhale, "Sam…Just… get… up and RUN!"
Adrenaline shoved Sam to his feet and he started to take off, fisting his hand in Dean's leather jacket and trying to drag him along.
"Run!" It didn't sound like Dean's voice at all, but he was there, right behind, stride faltering slightly as he ran.
Sam pelted toward the Impala but still kept a grasp on his brother's sleeve. He spared a glance behind them, catching a glimpse of a huge, beefy man who was holding something that looked suspiciously like a crossbow.
"Shit!" Another release of adrenaline gave Sam a surge of speed he didn't know he'd had. He let go of his brother and flew toward the black profile of the car. "Dean, where's your gun?!"
"Under the driver's seat." Dean had fallen behind a little, sounding breathless as he dodged around, somehow making sure he was always between Sam and the crossbow.
Sam slid over Baby's hood with an audible scrape and wrenched open her door. He dove into the driver's seat, hands frantically searching for the handle of Dean's ivory gripped pistol. They settled on the familiar weight and he was up and aiming across the car's roof with deadly accuracy. "Dean, down!" He barked.
His brother flopped sideways into the side of the Impala, taking the impact with his hands. "Get the bastard," he coughed, breath ragged.
Sam lined up and took the shot. His aim was true and the bullet peeled through the man's skull, putting him down nearly instantaneously.
Dean moved unsteadily to his side, bracing his hand against the Impala for balance. "You're hurt, get in." There was a little shake in his voice as he carefully arranged his face into a blank mask, the darkness hiding the white pressure of his fingertips against the Impala's side.
oooo
So Sam's hurt and there's something up with Dean… Hell is waiting, in more ways than one.
Continued in chapter 2.
Thanks for reading! Please review if you have the time. :)
