Darker Shoulders To Lean On ~ A Supernatural Fanfic
Hi Guys! So you know how about, let's think, a year ago I said I'd be updating soon? Well, um I guess I kinda lied! I ground to a holt with fic writing tbh, a horrible combination of writer's block, school work and stress, so um, if you even still remember this fic (and I won't blame you if you don't!) here is chapter 2!
P.S. Thank you so much for sticking with me if you are infact reading on from the last chapter, and hope you enjoy!
Also, you know how I said in chapter one that this would be a two-shot? I kinda lied about that too!
Enjoy R&R!
Previously…
He was truly scared for the first time in his life, and not because of a hunt or some kind of supernatural being. He was scared of true human nature. Whilst he lay, powerless and weak in a hospital bed, Sam could be out there in trouble, in the midst of a fight, or bleeding out without him at his back, by his side, where he was made to be. Dean shuddered, terrible images flashing through his mind. He blinked rapidly, trying to wash the images away. Even Sam's not that thick, Thought Dean hurriedly, trying to sooth his throbbing conscience. Even Sam would know when not to risk his life for mine.
Now…
Chapter 2
Sam blinked several times, his brow creasing in confusion as he stared through the now open door frame. The motel car park beyond looked completely empty, the edges slowly seeping into shadow the farther from the motel building the tarmac stretched. Sam glanced around quickly, his eyes skimming the horizon like a skater on ice. After tossing a quick look to the top of the door frame, half expecting a guillotine to spring forth and decapitate him and smiling in spite of himself, Sam stuck his head across the doorway's dividing lines in an effort to gain a better view of the surrounding area.
"Hello, Sam." A voice from behind him spoke, and Sam, quick as a whip, lashed around with the cool metal of the gun steady and poised in his hands.
The sight that met Sam's eyes surprised him. A young girl, no more that sixteen stood there, with a mop of glossy, dirty-blonde hair adorned with vines swept in a messy bun atop her head. Tendrils of both hung down in wavy, uneven coils that seemed to sway by themselves, making it hard to distinguish where the hair ended and the vines began, as if they were one thing. Her eyes shone a deep, menacing purple, and dark flakes of inky colour occasionally flitted through them. Her pale demeanour seemed to almost glow in the dim light from the streetlamps beyond the gritty motel room, and she was wrapped in an assortment of tattered silk wrappings that were nothing short of antique. She seemed unreadable: Beautiful yet terrible at the same time.
"Who are you?" Sam hissed, his voice laced with steely intent.
"You need not know who I am." She said shortly, her hands clenched delicately in front of her. "Just that I am the only one who may be able to help you."
"I don't want your help." Said Sam bluntly, flexing his fingers around the handle of the weapon. "Not until I know who the hell you are."
"Are you sure? " She said innocently, shrugging "I may be the only one who can save your brother." She grinned, displaying rows and rows of small pointed teeth, like a sharks.
"But if you don't want my help, then that's no loss on my part." Her grin widened, her lips thinning to pale strips as she slid towards the door.
"Wait! What do you mean you can save him?"
"Lower the weapon and we shall talk." She took a measured, confident step in his direction.
"No." Sam said bluntly, tightening his hold on the 'weapon' in question.
"I said," She hissed, her eyes clouding over with malice. "Lower the weapon." She flicked her had to one side and Sam's gun was torn from his hands. It flew against the wall and where it should have made contact with the peeling motel paper, it disappeared in a dispersion of purple smoke.
"It is lucky for you that I truly wish to discuss the matter, for I have turned down much more over much less."
With the grin still plastered to her face, she sank into a chair that rested behind her, and wrapped her shawl further around herself.
Sam mentally gulped.
"Now, I can save our sweet, innocent little Dean, no more heart issues, no complications, and I shall even clear up a certain liver infection on the horizon that none of your modern medicine men could possibly yet have detected."
"But?" Sam questioned, every sense screaming at him to reach for the knife in his boot. "What's the catch?"
"Well! I wasn't exactly going to cure your brother for nothing now, was I?" She giggled, a strange sound escaping her, like the scraping of nails down a blackboard. Sam cringed, the sound making his teeth itch.
"I will heal your brother," She licked her lips with a forked tongue that gave Sam the strange urge to bite his own. "If you let me use you." Her eyes glimmered; her eyes alight with sadistic intent.
"U-use me?" Sam stuttered, clearly taken aback, and took a careful step backwards.
"No!" She giggled, her eyes suddenly alight with glee, "Not like that! Oh, you humans! So narrow of mind." She shook her head slowly, and whether authentically or not, proceeded to wipe a tear from her eye.
"No," She chuckled, her hideous laughter slowly fading out. "I simply wish for you to be the subject for the ritual."
"What sort of ritual?" Asked Sam cautiously, already surprised at the minimal extent of the task. Suddenly, Dean's voice filled his head, expressing advice from a long ago hunt;
If you're in the dark about what's going on, and a hunt seems too easy, there's gonna be a catch or you've done it wrong.
"I mean," Sam added "What will it do?"
"Silly Sammy," She smiled, once again shaking her head, her voice dripping like silk in syrup.
"As young as I appear, I am much older and more powerful than your average demon or poltergeist. This," She added, gesturing towards her own form. "Requires more maintenance than you might imagine" She rolled her eyes, sensing Sam's next question. "And it will heal your brother! I will utter an incantation over your flesh and then your brother will be up and walking like a man resurrected!" she leaned back in the chair, her eyes carefully studying Sam's features.
"That's not what I meant," Sam mumbled quickly, hating how childish it sounded, even to his ears. He sighed, defeated. "What will happen to me?"
The girl giggled again, covering her fanged mouth in a mockery of manners.
"Oh sweetie, there will be consequences, and I'm afraid the pain will be truly awful, but at least they won't last too long, and you'll get to see Dean good as new again!"
"Why are you helping me anyway?" Sam asked, his mind already made up.
"Oh, Sam," She said shaking her head, almost in a disappointed manner. "Firstly, it's my job to cause bodily pain, and usually I'm not the caring sharing sort of type, but your mental pain is really messing with my 'mojo', as you people like to put it today." She made small visual quotation marks with her slim fingers to emphasize. "Really, it's a win-win." She smiled sweetly, tilting her head to one side like a curious puppy about to bite. "You and your brother are rather the fetish in monster circles: A deal with the great Sam Winchester would defiantly give me some publicity." She blinked rapidly, her eyes flashing dangerously in the overhead light.
"So, do we have a deal?"
Sam paused before nodding tightly, his face impassive.
"How do we seal it?"
She chortled knowingly, almost as if she'd been asked the question many times before. "People like you always seem to expect a kiss or something; I'm not one of those… hell scum you know." She wrinkled her nose, stretching out her arm in Sam's direction. "I simply prefer a shake of the hand, if you wish to make it official."
Sam swiftly clasped her taloned hand in his, inwardly surprised by the crushing strength that she applied.
"The pleasure's all mine, Mr Winchester."
He gasped in surprise as the long vines snaked forth from her to rap around his arm, digging deeply into his flesh as a burning sensation radiated outwards from the wrapped vines. Sam stifled a cry as blood began to pound from beneath the vines, his own blood pattering wetly onto the motel carpet.
The girl grinned wickedly, tightening her grip on Sam's arm one last time before withdrawing her own. Sam stumbled back, almost tripping over in the wake of his sudden release.
"Meet me," She grinned, licking Sam's blood from her tentacles, her eyes glowing in delight. "I'll be there."
Sam's eyes flew open, his body lurching up from its horizontal position on the bed, his Dad's journal sliding from his lap. He tasted the coppery tang of blood heavy on his tongue and felt a cold sweat resting on his forehead. Shakily, Sam looked down at his forearm, and sucked in breath at the discovery of an address burned into the pale flesh.
Sam stumbled to the bathroom accompanied by the ever present odour of burnt flesh which assaulted his nose, causing him to retch. It sickened him to the stomach knowing that it was the smell of his own flesh that he was gagging on. Blood flowed steadily from the split and singed skin, and Sam bit his lip as he attempted to roll his sleeve back to gain a better view of the damage. Burnt skin clung to the material of the shirt, and peeled away in places like elastic as it welded with the fabric. Sam hated burns, always had, and yet he always seemed to receive the brunt of them whenever they met any kind of fire breathing, supernatural nastie. Sam had had enough of them to know that the current state of his forearm was pretty bad.
Sam choked back tears as he finally managed to peel the shirt from his forearm, the pain crippling, and clumsily worked the ruined article from his arm where he flung it straight into the bin. He hated the idea that part of him was fused to it. Sucking in breath, he shakily walked to the sink where he clumsily dropped the plug into the bottom of it. He then turned the wheel of the cold tap, his fingers awkwardly slipping off the smooth surface as he turned on the cold water flow. He caught a look at himself in the mirror and sadly wasn't surprised by the pasty pallor of his skin. He'd seen this sort of thing too many times to know otherwise.
Before he could think twice, he plunged his forearm into the basin and let out a strangled cry as his muscles spasmed in resistance and the pain consumed everything he knew. White hot light clouded his vision and he didn't feel the tears spilling from his eyes until the pain subsided and the water's cool demeanour suddenly changed from a curse to a blessing, and he groaned in contentment as the water stopped the deep-felt aching that was previously pressed into his skin like hot pokers.
Grabbing one of the plush, white motel towels, Sam dunked in quickly into the basin of freezing, now-pink water, cringing at the steadily returning feeling of the stabbing pain of his arm. With the pain came a sudden wave of nausea, and before he could stop himself he was emptying what little lunch he had eaten into the bathroom toilet. Sam groaned as he dry heaved, unable to bring up any more of what little food he had forced himself to eat, and slumped back on his heels, defeated, his arm burning painfully anew. Sam groped in the basin for the waterlogged towel and upon finding it, wrapped it slowly around his arm, somewhat dulling the pain.
Dragging himself to his feet, head pounding, Sam weakly stood and swayed his way back into the bedroom. After scrawling a quick note to anyone who may return to the room (namely Bobby, or even Dean, stupid son of a bitch if he did come this far from the hospital) informing them of where he'd gone, Sam headed for the fridge. Hopefully he could grab himself an ice pack, a drink and a truckload of painkillers before dragging himself to ' 23' Dunwhere Road' to slap fate in the face and save his brother's life. If there was even a chance that this could work, Sam was going to take it.
The drive to 23 Dunwhere Road had been tense, each minute taking too much time, each mile taking too long to disappear. Even Dean's tapes hadn't managed to lessen the electrically charged atmosphere behind the wheel, and after only a short while of Metallica, they had become an all too familiar reminder of their owner, and Sam didn't need those thoughts clouding his already troubled mind.
Upon pulling into the street, Sam's first impression was that it was incredibly crowded for such a run down, bordered up place. Many of the shops were empty, 'To Let' signs glowing white from many of the grimy windows. It took Sam a short while to remember that it was in fact very close to Thanksgiving, and that was he a normal person with a job and a family, he may be among those people.
Sam sighed, resisting the urge to itch at the now bandaged burns on his right arm. The painkillers had dulled the ever-present scalding fire to a dull heated throb, and though he doubted that the scars would heal completely, he hoped that they would fade at least to discolouration as opposed to reading '23 Dunwhere Road' for the rest of his life. Dean would be making jokes. Sam thought miserably, hating how out of place he felt in the driver's seat without Dean's familiar presence in the Impala.
Sam had crossed the street quickly, nobody sparing him a second glance through the heavy flow of shoppers, and swiftly counted the numbers down to number 23. The building was dark and foreboding, three stories high with a thin strip of attic, its skeletal features protruding like the bones of a malnourished child. Shoppers paces became subconsciously quicker as they walked through its shadow, and others turned up their collars as if to block it out completely.
Sam spotted a door to the right of the building and decided that that was probably his best option. Opening it slowly, he rested the palm of his left hand against the hilt of his knife for reassurance. It felt somehow wrong meeting with a monster for the purpose of anything other than killing it.
Sam cursed under his breath as he moved up the stairs, sure that he had already lost the element of surprise judging from the amount of noise that each step made, and spotted a large room at the top of the attic hallway that the stairs fed into.
"Well," Sam muttered, moving slowly down the hall, "If I were a smug, self-important, boarder-line-sadistic monster, that's sure as hell where I'd chose to camp out." Sam crept down the hall, hugging to the shadows; each foot placed carefully in an effort to remain undetected. Upon reaching the door, Sam slowly turned the knob and froze as an eerie tune floated through the sliver of open space between the doorframe and the door itself. It was a strange melody that Sam was sure he recognised as a crude attempt at the American national anthem, and he listened on the other side of the door, steeling his nerves. Just as he was about to enter, the singing stopped and an all too familiar voice called;
"Sam sweetie? It's rude to hang outside doors you know. "
Sam sighed, and upon accepting that he had no choice, forcefully pushed open the door.
The room was long, probably spanning almost the entire attic floor, and a row of grimy windows rested in the wall on the side of the street four stories below. In the centre, perched on a plush green armchair sat Sam's favourite monster, green vines crusted with his blood, sadistic grin plastered in place. Her arms rested at the elbow on an angled table adorned with a silky black cloth, upon which rested a strange assortment of bones, plant matter, sticky liquids and symbols from multiple cultures as far as Sam could tell up-side-down.
"You took your time, Sam, at one point I wondered if you were going to show"
Anger flowed from inside Sam, and he glanced at her creepers once again.
"Yeah? Well I could have been here a hell of a lot sooner, if you hadn't burnt the fucking address into my flesh. Most people just, you know, tell each other where they're going to be, or write it down."
"I like to make a lasting impression, and anyway," She continued, picking dried blood carelessly from her vines. "That's no way to talk to the lady that's going to save your brother. She twitched an innocent smile "I could just as easily stop that damaged heart from beating."
Sam's retort died in his throat, his heart settling somewhere in his stomach. His pride he could lose: there was no way he was going to gamble with Dean's life.
The girl smiled maliciously. "That's better now Sammy,"
Sam glared daggers, swallowing hard.
"Stoic and silent, that's how we gonna do it, huh?" she shrugged and stood, "As they say, that's no skin off my nose."
She grinned, her eyes flashing red for a moment before returning to their burning purple.
"Let's begin"
Before Sam could register what was happening, vines wound forth from the creature's hair to wrap around his body, and as Sam cried out in surprise he was slammed into the table, his back connecting harshly with its array of herbs and liquids.
The women bent forward, pressing her lips to Sam's ear and smiled as he shuddered against her.
"I'm not sure if you know how much torture this whole ordeal has put me through, Sam" She lashed out her tongue, giggling as Sam recoiled. "Unfortunately, when I make a deal, I have to honour it, otherwise the consequences on my part can be…severe." She continued, drawing a long handled, double edged knife from beneath her silken folds of clothing. "When I learnt of your position in town, I was ready to kill you and your arrogant brother, but even though now I must let him live, your death will be all the more useful to me."
Without warning, her fangs extended from her gums, and she sank them harshly into Sam's side sucking blood from him in great gulps and laughing as he cried out, struggling in his bounds to get away from her.
She fed for a few minutes, occasionally pausing to tighten the vines holding Sam splayed across the table on the occasion that he would twitch or moan in pain. She grinned, watching him as the blood and strength drained from his veins, and when she finally pulled back, her maw was smeared with his blood.
"Now, Sam," She spoke softly, trailing a finger down the clamped muscles of his jaw "That should take a little of the fight out of you, don't want you moving too much for the next part."
Sam groggily acknowledged her actions and weakly tried to move, jerking his head away, but the combination of blood loss and leafy restraints kept him firmly in place. The constant, drumming pain in his side was his only solid anchor to reality. A thin moan tore itself from Sam's lips as he thought of how much Dean was going to kick his ass later on, how mad he would be if he knew what exactly Sam had gotten himself into.
From somewhere outside of his own mind a dull, rhythmic chanting floated to his ears, and though he couldn't make out what exactly it was the voice was saying, it was low and gravelly, as if two voices were speaking at once. Through his foggy haze, he vaguely recognised the voice had paused, and before he could react, there were cold hands on either side of his face.
"Sam, sweetie, I feel obliged to inform you that for the next part I'm going to need a little bit of, well, you, and I'm afraid it's going to be very, very painful."
Sorry Dean, was Sam's last coherent thought before white-hot pain exploded across his abdomen, and he finally allowed himself to scream.
Hopefully tbc soon…