Fan fic is acting up again and won't format properly, so I'm apologzing right now but the italics aren't working... I'll try to fix it again tommorrow. This is a two parter - I hope you enjoy this!
Running Late
Chapter 1
As soon as twenty-three year old Sam Winchester opened his eyes he knew he was screwed.
It was either dawn or dusk depending on how long he'd been knocked out, however there was a certain nippy dampness in the air that leaned more towards early morning. Especially since his last memory was of being on a hunt in the middle of the night. We really need to get day jobs…
Sam was face down on a gravel road and his hands were bound outstretched in front of him by thick rope. Freakin' great.
Groaning as he lifted his aching head Sam saw that the other end of the rope was tied to the bumper of - God help him – the Impala.
"Shit," he cursed, forcing the word past his dry mouth with a cough. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Oooh Sammmmy?" an all too familiar voice sing-songed from somewhere ahead of him, "You doing all right back there, little brother?"
Well there really was no good way to answer that. Being tied to the back of a car was not exactly what Sam was supposed to be doing right now, however he was supposed to be the distraction and this could definitely be considered distracting. Now if only his older brother wasn't possessed and Sam wasn't tethered, things might have actually been looking good. "Uh," he grunted out shifting to push up on his knees. He needed to get to his feet. "Not really."
A hearty laugh made the hunter cringe as he forced one leg to bear weight and then the other to stand. He swayed for a moment then leaned over, his bound hands on his knees, as his stomach lurched and rolled. Swallowing hard, he managed to keep the bile down and slowly straightened. This is not going to be fun.
The sound of the engine rumbling to life spat urgency and Sam fought against the rope, twisting, pulling, and even biting on it but, damn it, the knots were too good.
And then the car started to move.
"Oh shit," Sam whispered – what the hell was taking Bobby so long?
It was supposed to be a simple hunt. A freakin' haunted house of all things; a 'milk run' according to his wise-ass older brother. But then Dean got possessed by the spirit, a woman no less, which Sam intended to never let him live down. And, of course, it wasn't just any ol' woman but a homicidal psychopath who hated men… Things kinda went way fucked up after that.
'Keep yer brother busy, while I salt'n burn the bitch.' Bobby's plan sure sounded a hell of a lot easier one less concussion ago.
"Hey Sambo," his 'brother' taunted, "lovely morning for a run ain't it?" The car accelerated slowly, forcing Sam to keep up or be dragged.
Stumbling slightly the young hunter lengthened his stride to keep pace with the vehicle as it slowly continued to pick up speed. Gifted with long legs, Sam was a natural runner who excelled over distance, normally, to his older brother's chagrin, however this was anything but normal. This was against a car; a ton of metal powered by a V8 engine and a possessed hunter. If Bobby didn't find the grave and finish the spirit quickly, this wasn't going to end well for Sam.
The car moved faster.
Sam started to breathe harder; his legs stretched further, his head pounded –
And then Dean slammed on the brakes.
Whoa!
Backpedaling Sam barely kept from slamming face first into the car.
Shit!
"How was the warm-up?" Dean hollered as he leaned out the driver's side window to get a good look at Sam.
Sam bent over, his bound hands on his legs again as he gulped air. He glanced up through sweat soaked bangs, Dean laughed, twisted back in his seat and revved the engine –
The sound drove a spike of terror through Sam.
Oh crap. Not again!
"Ready for round two, little bro?" the spirit tormented. "'Cause I sure am!" And that was all the warning Sam got before the car was shoved into gear and the tires chewed road, again.
Bobby Singer was not having a good time. He'd had no trouble finding out which cemetery Moira Smith was buried in but that was the easy part. The graveyard itself was in terrible need of repair and most of the markers on the plots were either eroded beyond readability, broken or just outright missing, making finding Moira's grave much more difficult than it should have been. It was taking too long. Time that he wasn't sure Sam had.
Dean getting possessed had certainly taken the fun out of the hunt. Not that Bobby would ever consider what they did, fun. However this seemed to be a fairly straight forward haunting, and in truth the older man had enjoyed working with the boys, spending a little time with the younger hunters he considered as his own… well right up 'til the whole possessed thing.
Bobby would have, in a heartbeat, agreed to be the distraction but as much as it pained him to admit it, he wasn't in any shape to go toe-to-toe with Dean Winchester. Sam stood the better chance and even then it wasn't going to be a cakewalk. All the seasoned veteran could hope was that Moira didn't get the drop on Sam; by possessing one, she'd effectively neutered the other. Sure Sam wouldn't let her hurt anyone else but he'd hold back and that could be costly.
And then the seasoned veteran finally saw it.
The gravestone was badly busted up. The whole top left corner looked like it had been cleaved off but he was pretty sure IRA SMITH was his gal. In fact he was betting the Winchesters lives on it.
Now came the real fun part. Digging.
Yippee.
Sam ran.
His long legs stretched out as his bound hands desperately tried to keep his balance.
His lungs screamed; his muscles quivered and burned.
But Sam still ran.
The car picked up speed –
And then slammed to a stop.
Once again, Sam scrambled to keep from slamming into the rear of the car.
Once again, Dean leaned out the window, smart-assed something, gave him a moment, than started again.
After the third time, the exhausted hunter knew the game.
Bobby… c'mon…
He also knew he couldn't last much longer.
By the time Bobby's shovel split the wooden lid on the coffin the hunter was exhausted, he'd never dug a grave so quickly in his life. The back of his shirt clung to him, heavy with sweat as his heart pounded and he had to lean against the cold, damp dirt side of the hole for a moment to catch his breath.
Not as young as I used to be, he mused bitterly and then wasted no more time.
Sam lost track of how many times they'd done this; his life narrowed down to a twisted game of cat and mouse. She was playing with him.
"C'mon, Sammy," he was goaded as the stopped Impala revved its engines, "I could do this all day!"
With nothing left to expend on an answer, Sam staggered, weaved and almost fell when the car started to move.
Stop. Go.
Stop. Go.
Stop –
Sam's legs gave out as Dean stomped on the brakes one more time. Unable to stop the collapse, the younger man was jerked forward and hit the car. Hard.
Fire burned through his wrists as he tried to brace himself; bitter agony, ripped from his throat, cut off as his face smashed into the top of the trunk.
Blood exploded –
His vision bled black and Sam was unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Good-bye, bitch."
Bobby dropped the match.
Dean burst from the car, fell to the ground and vomited. His body heaved, his arms shook and threatened to drop him face first into the bile as the cold gravel dug into his knees and palms.
"S-Sam?" he choked and gasped. "Sammy…"
Muddled memories tore at him, vivid images of his brother, the car, his brother running behind the car and he heaved again. Oh, God, Sammy.
Pushing himself up on his knees, Dean fought every instinct to stay down, one thought propelling him beyond exhaustion. Sam. He knew his brother was hurt, possibly even – Dean slammed down that thought, Sam needed him. Bracing himself against the cold metal of his beloved, the hunter forced himself the rest of the way to his feet and staggered towards the trunk and then stopped. Christ.
Sam lay limp; bound, bloodied and face down in the gravel behind the car. Horror struck, Dean followed the length of rope from his brother to the bumper –
Oh, God. It had happened.
Bobby scrabbled for his cell phone, dirty thick fingers pounded speed dial 2.
"C'mon, c'mon," he barked, impatient and needing to know the boys were all right, terrified he was too late.
It went to voice mail.
You've reached Sam Winchester. I'm sorry…
"Shit." Not bothering to leave a message, Bobby didn't even pause, he hit speed dial 1 and prayed.
Dean crouched next to his brother and reached out hesitantly. God the kid was a mess, thick blood marred one side of Sam's face but it seemed to be all coming from his nose and busted lip. No gushing gashes or jutting bones but Dean had no idea what might be going on with the other side of his brother's face yet. "Sammy?" he whispered resting his hand gently on the injured man's back. He felt the steady rise and fall of the warm body beneath his touch and something inside, tight and sickly, unwound. Sam was alive, everything else he could work around. "Sam?" he pressed, his voice louder this time as he leaned in closer to hear a breathless whimper. "You with me, bro?" From somewhere in the car, his cell phone started ringing but Dean ignored it.
"D'n…" the slurred moan had to be his name. Sam coughed and moved his head slightly against the gravel pressing into his cheek. "Z'ou?"
"Yeah, kiddo. It's… me." The word stuck in Dean's throat as he remembered being possessed. He remembered Moira's rage, her hatred and shivered. "Just me."
The cell stopped ringing.
"G'd."
Good or God, Dean didn't know which but either fit. Sam moved again, struggling to get up. "Whoa, easy, Sammy. Easy." Keeping one hand on his brother's back, Dean quickly unsheathed his belt knife and started to work on the thick rope binding his brother's wrists, not willing to take the time to untie them, although with the way his own hands shook… Dean stopped. Closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He couldn't handle it if he cut Sam even by accident, right then. He'd done enough hurting his little brother for one day. Letting out the breath slowly, he forced a calm he didn't feel, steadied his hands and released Sam. Big brother was back.
The damn phone was ringing again. It was aggravating and didn't go to voicemail soon enough.
The ropes fell away from the younger hunter as Sam moaned and curled in on himself, pulling his arms in towards his body and shifting away from Dean.
Swallowing the rejection, Dean sat back on his heels and followed his brother's movements with a frown. He needed to know how badly Sam was hurt. "Sammy?"
"Shit." A breathless curse and a bit more restless scrabbling later, Sam was panting hard but seemed to know what Dean was asking. "Wrists," he grit out. Dean winced. "Face."
Using the car as leverage Dean slowly pushed back to his feet. "Wrists… Face," he repeated as he yanked the car keys out of the ignition and moved back towards the rear of the car. "Anything else?" Unlocking the trunk, he found the first aid kit and then returned to his brother, thankful beyond reason that Sam was conscious. Slipping out of his coat, Dean gently draped it across the trembling hunter as he sank back down beside him. Shock was a real threat. "Sam?"
His brother didn't answer just quieted beneath the body warmed leather jacket and panted softly. Sam's eyes were half opened but Dean was pretty sure he wasn't looking at anything.
The cell started again and this time Dean cursed out loud.
Curiously enough that got a response from Sam. "Z'its Bobby…."
"I know," Dean admitted feeling a prickle of guilt for ignoring the calls even as he gently palpated Sam's wrists, first the right then the left. Sam's nose had stopped bleeding, at least.
Both wrists were hot and swollen. Damnit. Sprained, probably broken.
"Get it." Even hurt and half conscious Sam could be bossy. That boy was pure Winchester and it reassured Dean more then he'd ever admit. Sam was hurting but he'd be okay. "Tell 'em, I'm 'kay."
"You want me to lie?" Dean asked, forcing lightness into his tone as he dug through the first aid kit to find something to use as temporary splints. Towels. Tape. He was in business. "To Bobby?"
"Dean," his name was a sighed exasperation.
Giving his brother a gentle pat, Dean stood up again. "Fine. Fine." He mock grumbled and then froze as he felt something cold slither across his skin raising goose-bumps with a terrifying familiarity. "Shit!"
Moira was back.
Bobby was seriously pissed off or worried, he couldn't decide which as neither Winchester answered their phones. Shouldering the shovel, he barked at Dean's voicemail to return his damn call and stalked back through the cemetery. Those boys were going to be the death of him, he was certain.
Halfway out of the cemetery he absently glanced towards the right at a rather gaudy looking headstone with a concrete parrot on the top, he hadn't seen this one on his way in, and froze. MOIRA SMITH. What the hell?
The blood drained from his face. Damn. IRA wasn't his girl.
Crap.
Cursing loudly, Bobby grabbed the shovel and started digging, again.
"D'n?" Sam slurred more out of sheer exhaustion than anything else. His whole face throbbed from where it had mashed against the Impala's trunk and was now resting against the road, but other than that he'd gotten off surprisingly lightly, all things considered. Well until he considered his arms, his wrists actually… They ached, horrible and hot with each heartbeat and he was pretty sure they were broken, which was really going to suck. He could already imagine the field day Dean was going to have with this as Sam recovered… Sam paused. Dean. Speaking of Dean, where was he? Sam was hurting, shouldn't he be hovering around somewhere? Especially as the injured hunter could easily imagine what kind of field day Dean's guilt complex was probably going on. Stupid big jerk. It wasn't even his fault.
Struggling to sit and using his elbows to lever himself up a bit, Sam tried to keep his wrists steady but he was still gasping and trembling at the effort it took just to sit. Slowly, he looked around. The world seemed a split second behind him and it took a few moments for it to catch up and him to focus on it but when he did, he froze.
Fuck.
Dean was standing a few feet away from him but by the cold, cruel look in those dark eyes, Sam knew it wasn't his brother watching over him. The spirit was back.
Oh shit.
And she didn't look any friendlier this time.
To be continued –
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