CARRY ON WAYWARD ROAD

BACK TO THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER 1

The night was darker than usual. The moon, hidden behind the clouds that filled the sky. There wasn't even a star in sight, they all seemed to know the dangers that lurked and were too scared to be seen. The clouds their safety in the night sky.

The wind, slightly blowing, it was a cold wind, the type that would send shivers down your spine. The last of the leaves, barely hanging onto the trees that once gave them life. The grass had begun withering, turning from the luscious green it once held, to a dark brown.

It had once stood proud holding its head high, now with the cold taking over, it drooped to the ground, ashamed it couldn't show the beauty it once held. The wild flowers that once danced in the sun left a long time ago.

In the middle of the dying nature there stood an old home, that had taken its beauty from the human life and was giving it back to the nature that lovingly surrounded it. The exterior had become one with the vines that twisted and turned, making the cracks and crevasses home for its roots to grow.

The newly birthed trees, finding refuge in the naked floor, growing their way into the wood that was once one of them, greedily taken for human use. The floors were uneven as their roots pushed and forced their way through the surface as they stretched their legs to grow.

The windows, shattered from fallen limbs that cracked and fell from the older trees who were giving into their age. The roof, giving the seeds that fell from above a spot to sprout their wings and hide what nature was taking back from the ones who once took it from them.

The rooms inside were dark, only the small light coming from the flashlight lit the way. Anxiety rising, fear of the unknown. Fear of what could lie ahead. The house was quiet, too quiet. The sounds of nature were hushed. The creatures who lived in the surrounding area, making their presence known at night, were quieted by the rising fear.

The only sound was the wicked sound of the wind blowing through the air, and the creaking as the pressure punished what was no longer wanting to be used as a floor.

Dean, quietly and carefully, rounded the corner, entering the room. His flashlight showing what was in front of him, his gun, raised and ready for action. He fanned the light around the room, lighting every wall and corner. Keeping his breath as even as possible, trying to quiet the thumping of his heart.

The room was empty. A silent sigh of relief filled his soul as he made his way through the room, heading for the door, opposite the one he just entered, making his way to the remaining rooms. The belongings that were left in the home had started becoming one with nature, the same as the structure that sheltered them.

The grass, drooping in shame, made a home on the old couch. Dirt that the wind, so generously, blew through the shattered windows, giving the roots a place to call home. The chair that sat in the corner, no longer anything but springs and a wooden shell, forgotten by the ones who once loved it. The moss had taken over, giving it comfort as it sat alone.

The wind made its presence known as it sent a shiver through Dean's bones, causing him to momentarily stop and pull his jacket around his chin, protecting his body from the harsh breeze. He inched his way toward the door, pausing beside the wall to calm his breathes and silent his heart.

His eyes followed the light, making sure the hallway was clear, before making his way into one of the rooms. The first room in the hallway was empty, with the exception of a single picture hanging on the wall. It was an old picture of a family, in a wooden frame.

The dad had a white shirt, with buttons on the front, and a fluffy collar and cuffs on his sleeves, he had red and brown plaid pants that matched the little boy's outfit that sat on his lap. The mother wore a straight red polyester dress with her hair pulled into a bun, the little girl who stood in front of her had long brown hair and wore a brown dress, matching the style of her mother's.

The picture had started becoming part of nature, like the rest of the house. The spiders had found refuge from the cold in the corners of the frame. The dust that coated it, almost as thick as the webs. The old, wooden paneled walls, covered with equally as much dust and dirt that had blown in from the windows over the years.

Dean made his way back into the hall, careful of every step he made, quieting every sound that his steps would take. The second room in the hall held an old metal bed, the mattress on it, much like the chair, had withered away and only the old metal springs remained.

It wasn't even suitable for the wild creatures to find safety. The spiders, found it home as well. Thick webs covered every inch between the springs, undisturbed from human contact. Dean shuttered again as the wind blew a cold chill through his bones, at the same time as he noticed the fading color of what was once a large blood stain on the floor. Knowing this must have been the boy's room, where he was once murdered, many years ago. Again, the room was empty from what he was looking for.

He calmed his body from the shivers and slowed his breaths from the burning in his lungs that had started due to the cold air he was breathing in. He made his way back into the hallway, quickly checking the bathroom, what was once the normal belongings in the room were cracked and broken, shattered much like the glass in the windows, giving way for the greediness of nature to find home in the brokenness that was abandoned.

Once, Dean was satisfied, knowing there was only one room left in the hallway, he made his way out of the room, drawing in a deep breath as he made his way to the last room.

The door was closed. It sat at the end of the hall, like a dead-end road. Dean placed his hand on the door, prepared to push it open, when his heart started beating faster. Something didn't feel right, he had been doing this long enough, he knew to trust a feeling like this.

He was standing too close to the door, he thought maybe he saw something, but wasn't sure. He couldn't see the shadow that crossed the space between the door and the floor, didn't see the flicker of light. He readied his gun, and pushed the door open, prepared to shoot whatever was giving him the feeling that had filled his chest.

Suddenly, without warning, a bright light shined, blinding him instantly, as an unseen force threw him through the air, crashing him through the weakened wall across the hall. He had fallen into the boy's room, laying on the discolored spot that once pooled the blood of a young victim. As he hit the ground, his gun went off, shooting into the air. It didn't take long before the unseen force was on top of him, crushing his chest.

Dean cried out in pain as he felt what could only be described as someone, or something, reaching inside his chest, squeezing his heart, while stopping the air from entering his body, quieting his cries. It only took what seemed like a quick moment for the darkness to fill his vision. His hearing muffled, like he was under water, his head felt like he was floating. Then, nothing. Complete numbness. No sound, no sight, no feelings.

Sam had made his way up the stairs that threatened to collapse at any moment. The hand rails were gone, they had fallen to the floor beneath them, longing to be part of nature again as the vines wrapped themselves around them, hugging them, welcoming them back to where they once had come from.

Sam's heart was beating fast, feeling like it was going to jump out of his chest. His gun, like his brother's, aimed and ready for whatever waited for him. The light in his hand was the only image he had in front of him. He quickly pushed the door opened that met him at the top of the stairs. It was one large room. He scanned it with his light, finding it empty.

The room held a rug that had become part of the floor. There were holes in the roof as it rotted away and the weight of the life living above it had placed too much pressure on its gentle frame, threatening to collapse at any time. In the corner of the room was a large doll house, one that was homemade, filled with furniture that had become home for the spiders and bugs who found comfort in it. The little wooden doll that sat on the floor in front of the house seemed sad, she seemed to know she had been left, forgotten, abandoned from life.

Beside the doll house was an old wooden car, with wooden, square wheels. The walls had made home for moss as the rain and snow over the years left it soggy and crumbled. An old hook on the wall held some old, rusted hangers, what was left of the clothing that was once loved, barely hung on to them. They had been chewed, making nests for the animals that needed their warmth. What was left was decayed, crumbling at the slightest touch.

At the end of the large room there was a door that led into a storage room. Sam, careful not to fall through the floor, made his way to the door, pushing it opened, prepared to shoot whatever was behind it, found nothing. The room was full of old boxes. They appeared to be belongings and toys that once belonged to the boy of the home.

He was murdered, in his own room, over 50 years ago, causing his family to move, leaving the home they had known, out of fear. No one ever found out who, or what, had killed the boy. He wasn't shot, if anything, it was a wild animal attack, but the boy's door was closed, and there was no sign of animals that had been in the home.

The family feared for their daughter and left in a hurry, leaving a few forgotten belongings. But, to Sam, it seemed they had meant to leave the items in this room. The boxes had been destroyed by the weather long ago, but the items remained. The old school books the boy once used were damaged from the weather, unreadable. The old cars and trucks that he once played with had rusted and started becoming one with the nature that was taking over.

Sam had gotten lost in his own mind, reminiscing on the items in front of him, thinking of the family who lost everything, and never knew why. Never found out what had happened to their once, normal boy. He was jolted from his thoughts when he heard a loud crash, followed by a painful scream from his brother.

The scream was short lived, by the time he had made it to the stairs it had stopped, but that didn't stop the feeling Sam had, the one that told him something was wrong. He was much less careful on his way down the stairs, a decision he quickly regretted, as his leg fell through a rotten step, causing him to fall forward.

His only saving grace, to keep him from tumbling down the unforgiving stairs was the fact that his leg was hung in the hole it had created. Sam struggled to pull himself up, resting safely on a sturdy part of the stairs and forcing his leg out of the threatening step.

The pain shot through his body like a hard blow. He was sure it was broken somewhere between his ankle and his knee. He wasn't sure if his ankle was broken or just severely sprained. He had a long-jagged cut that was sliced down his leg, pouring blood from it, soaking his jeans, pooling into his shoe.

Sam's painful cries got the attention of the force that was torturing his brother. It made its way to Sam. He didn't see it, he felt a cold shiver run down his bones, and a feeling that something was about to happen. He raised his gun, aiming at the stairs, he let off a shot, yelling at whatever was around him.

He couldn't see it, but he knew he could feel it. He knew, for his own safety, he needed to get down the stairs. He used the wall to help pull himself to a standing position. And, allowing his right, injured, leg to drag behind him, he braced himself against the weak wall and made his was down the stairs. Out of all the times the rails were gone, this was one time he had wished they were there. He needed them for support, and safety.

He was almost there, almost to the bottom, just 3 more steps, when the feeling came back. Suddenly, he was thrown from the step he was on, off the side of the stairs and onto the unforgiving floor. His gun, still in hand, sent off a shot into the air, pointing at the direction the force came from. He heard a screeching sound. He had hoped he hit it, hoped he killed it. He sent another shot into the air in the same direction, followed by another high pitched, painful, screeching sound, that pierced his ears, causing his ears to ring and making everything sound muffled.

He lowered his gun a little, keeping it in the same direction and quickly sent off 2 more shots, both followed by the same screams, each one a little louder, and worse, than the one before.

A bright light suddenly shined in front of Sam, it was in the direction he had been shooting. He threw his arm up to cover his eyes, the light kept getting brighter until it seemed to explode. Sam forced himself up on his elbows, looking at where he had been shooting, where the light had come from, and saw what looked like a large burnt spot on the floor.

It looked exactly like what Sam had seen, like something exploded. He collapsed his body back onto the floor, giving a sigh of relief. He was sure he had just killed it, whatever it was. They weren't even sure what it was. They had hit a dead end everywhere they looked. All they knew was for the past 6 months, any kids that went into the woods, ended up dead, the same injuries as the boy that lived in this home.

It had been Dean's idea to come here. He was tired of running into so many dead ends in the research. He suggested they go to the source, investigate, see what they could find, if anything. He had even joked that maybe Sammy wouldn't make it out alive since he could act like such a child. That remark left him with a much-deserved punch to the shoulder that felt like anything but a child's punch.

Dean! Sam shot up, he had to find his brother. He remembered hearing the loud crash and painful scream coming from him. He tried, but couldn't get his body to cooperate. He had hit his head when he was thrown to the ground, he had an undeniable pounding that wouldn't go away, and the loud screeching from that thing didn't help it any.

He knew he had a concussion, that went without saying. He felt lightheaded and nauseated. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and rest, if even just for a few moments, maybe that would help the pain go away, but he knew he couldn't, he had to find his brother.

His leg was beyond being of any use, the pain had radiated up his leg, leaving a throbbing from his toes to his hip. His back felt bruised and sore from the force he had hit the ground with. He decided, his best bet would be to try to scoot himself across the floor, he knew he couldn't walk.

"Dean! DEAN!" Sam cried out, hoping maybe his brother was in better shape than he was and he wouldn't have to try to move. But, with no reply, and the feeling that was bubbling in his chest, he knew he had to find him.

Scooting himself across the floor proved to be more of a challenge than he expected. The roots from the trees and the split wood that left the floor uneven was relentless against his body. He was unable to have any control over his injured leg, unable to maneuver it around the obstacles he came across.

He couldn't do this, not as quickly as he thought he could. He didn't know if he would ever locate his brother if he had to keep taking breaks from the increasing pain that was filling his body. He even entertained the thought of cutting his leg off, sure that would stop the pain. He laughed at himself, thinking the concussion and pain was making him delirious.

It felt like forever before he finally reached the doorway that led to the hall. Calling for his brother again, he still received no answer.

Sam had stopped trying. He had to rest. The pain from his leg and his head seemed to radiate and meet somewhere in the middle, leaving his entire body feeling like it was throbbing. He had left lacerations on him from sliding across the floor. Between the fresh cuts and the deep laceration on his leg, the blood streak he left across the floor was undeniable.

The nausea built as he noticed how much blood he had lost. Using the wall and door frame, he pulled himself up so he was sitting with his back against the wall. An act his head did not thank him for. He removed his shirt and used it to tie around his leg, making a pressure bandage to slow the bleeding.

He knew with the cold night only becoming colder, he would need to keep as much blood as he could to help him stay warm. He still wasn't sure where his brother was or what condition he was in, especially since he wasn't answering Sam as he called his name.

He tried to call for him again, still no answer. The cold air had made his throat dry and he was finding it hard to call out for his brother. The burning in his lungs told him he needed to find him soon and get them to a warm sheltered area, away from the harshness of winter night.

Where he sat, he scooted himself around the doorframe and into the hall, giving him a clear view. He noticed the room on the right, the wall was broken down, he quickly wondered if that was the crash he had heard. The other 2 rooms and the bathroom's doors were all opened, he had decided he would check the room with the missing wall first, but had to pass one room on his way, so, from the hall, he would glance in to make sure he didn't see his brother. He was running low on energy and knew he needed to keep what little he had left.

After taking another moment to catch his breath and prepare himself for the pain he knew was coming, he slumped his body back to the ground and used his arms and good leg to pull himself across the floor. He didn't see his brother in the empty room as he passed it, but it didn't take him long to see the motionless body laying on the floor, Sam was right, it had looked like Dean was thrown through the wall.

With the force Sam felt throwing him off the stairs, he knew how strong this thing was, and how much damage it was capable of doing. His heart jumped in his throat, catching any air that tried to enter or leave his body. There Dean laid, just feet away, as he inched his way closer. He was motionless. Sam wasn't even sure if he could see his brother's chest rise and fall.

There was a pool of blood surrounding Dean's head. No doubt, from the force of the fall. Sam noticed, Dean didn't just go through the paneling on the walls, he had left broken boards where he was pushed. His body had completely torn down every board that held the wall together. They remained under his body, where he had fallen.

"Dean!"

Sam knew he wouldn't get a response, but had to try anyhow. Once he reached his brother, he was finally able to breath again, feeling a weak, but steady pulse and, even though he couldn't see his brother's chest rising, he could see the clouds of breath as his warmth met the coldness in the air.

Once he knew his brother was alive, a sudden helplessness filled him. Sam wasn't sure what to do. They weren't sheltered very well, and the night kept getting colder, he grabbed Dean's flashlight that laid beside him, flickering it on he shined it on the window, noticing the light snow flakes that had started falling.

Sam knew he was in no condition to get both him and his brother out of the house and back to the car, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't get Dean to respond to him.

After looking around the room, in a bit of panic, he noticed a small closet. A wave of relief fell over him, knowing, hoping, that would hold the shelter they needed to make it through the night. Without much strength, or energy left to investigate it then come back for Dean, he had drug Dean across the floor with him.

It wasn't ideal, and he could only imagine how much his brother would hurt from sliding off the boards that laid under him if he were awake. Once Sam had made it to the small closet, he was shivering, his body was shaking uncontrollably, from the blood loss and the coldness that had sunk into his bones.

He maneuvered Dean until he was inside the closet, he then laid Dean's flashlight beside him. It had taken a little more effort than Sam expected, but he was eventually able to pull the closet door closed as he joined his brother. It was small, almost too small for the both of them, but it was shelter, and they needed to be close anyhow, so Sam didn't mind the cramped space.

He did a little more shuffling around, and held Dean with his head leaned against Sam's chest, and his body laying between his legs. Sam leaned Dean on his side so he wasn't against his injured leg. That was the best he could do. They were both curled up, unable to straighten their legs in the tiny space. Sam's leg screamed from the pain of the forced position, but, he wasn't sure what was screaming louder, his leg or his head.

He had quickly looked over Dean's head, thankful that it appeared the bleeding had mostly stopped. He wasn't able to assess him for further injuries, he figured that would have to wait until morning, when it was lighter, and maybe his brother would be conscious by then.

He leaned his head against the wall behind him. He wasn't comfortable having to sit straight up, his back against the wall, but it was the only way they could fit. It didn't seem to matter, anyhow. Without even realizing it, perhaps it was the concussion or maybe just pure exhaustion, Sam was asleep within a matter of moments once his body was able to still.

He didn't know what the morning held for them, or if the morning would even come for them. But, he at least knew, he had done everything he could for the both of them giving what he had to work with. He just hoped they would both be able to see morning, that this wouldn't be the way their bodies were found, injured, frozen together, curled in a closet, the only shelter they could find.