Welcome back!
I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, or to those who don't celebrate, just a great week in general!
Thanks to all of you who took the time and effort to review, it really means a lot to me!
Here goes the next chapter, might be a bit short, but the next one will be up soon.
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 3
It took Sam almost thirty minutes to reach the first tool shed. Sweeping the entire thing didn't take more than a couple of minutes, though, mostly collapsed as it was, definitely not in use for a long, long time. And since there was a thick layer of dust covering every available surface it was clear that Dean hadn't been here at any time in the recent past.
The second building he hit was an old green house, filled with not so healthy looking tomato-plants and zucchinis. They didn't look as if they'd been watered recently and again Sam could not find any trace of his brother ever having been here either.
By the time Sam reached the first of the garages closest to the house he was soaked in sweat despite the chill of the night and he allowed himself a ten minutes break in order to drink some water and settle his fast-beating heart.
Of course, the garage turned up nothing, as did the second one just a couple of minutes away. It took him a whole lot longer to search those buildings though, since these were locked up and he needed to pick the locks before being able to enter.
He was halfway towards the next building, a storage shed from what it said on the map, when suddenly a sharp pain hit him square in the chest, made him topple over in pain. He collapsed to the ground, panic freezing up his brain for an instant. Uncontrollable panic, his breath ripped from his body, the world around him blacking out for a minute or two.
He gulped for air, not able to draw a decent breath into his starving lungs, black dots appearing at the edge of his vision within barely minutes. But it wasn't just the exhaustion of running, of searching, not just the fear for his brother that kept a firm hold on him right now.
He shook his head, tried to clear his thoughts, to decipher the…emotions rippling through him. Those feelings…
It felt like water lapping over him, entering every crevice of his body, choking him, freezing him up. Water everywhere…and fear, no, panic…cold panic gripping him tight.
He never lost consciousness, not really, was more or less aware at all times and yet not really there.
It didn't feel like a vision, not like any vision he ever had before, anyway. There were no pictures or scenes playing out in front of his eyes, like a movie he was watching, just this complete darkness. And then this…feeling of utter and complete panic and he knew…he just knew…
"Dean…oh god, man. What the hell is happening to you?"
It was like a cry for help, a moment of unstoppable fear that made his brother reach out for him, call for him.
Something like this had never happened before. It felt a bit like back at the hospital, after the crash, when he had watched the doctors revive his brother's dying body. He had thought he'd heard Dean calling out then, had heard his voice reaching him through time and space. Or the incident with the glass breaking when Sam had been fighting with their dad…
Shit, so this had to be serious. If it wasn't already too late.
Sam pulled himself back up into a crouch, still panting and trembling from the violence of what he'd just been subjected to. He could still feel Dean, right there inside his head, fading away fast, beyond his reach.
Ok, think, THINK. Thinkthinkthinkthink.
Remember the "vision" or whatever it was. Remember what you felt. It might give you clue as to where to look. Something. There had to be something!
He hadn't actually seen anything so no clues there. But what he had felt…he had felt what, exactly? Cold, definitely, freezing cold as a matter of fact, but that could still place Dean anywhere in the whole damn state. Since Dean had left basically all his clothes in the Impala he had to be cold if nothing else. Pain, too, but again, that didn't help him one bit.
But then there had been this other feeling…this…what the hell had it been, how to place it?
Water.
It had felt like water, lots and lots of it, drowning in it. Engulfing him, choking him.
Damn it.
He fumbled the map out of his backpack, flattened it with trembling hands on the ground in front of him, shining the flashlight over it frantically.
There was no pool on the premises, just a pond on the other side of the house. Somehow that didn't feel right, though. He'd take his chances with it anyway, nowhere else to go. If that wasn't the place, then it would mean that Dean wasn't anywhere on the premises and that…No, no thinking about this now. He had to be somewhere close by, Sam felt it, he just knew…
Just when he was about to put the map away again his eyes fell on another mark, a little ways off to the side, barely on the premises anymore. It appeared to some kind of shaft, a well or something the like. A tunnel led to it, apparently, at one time, but it had been crossed out about halfway to the house. So no longer in use or collapsed, more likely. Still…the shaft…
That had to be it.
Just a feeling but he'd go with his gut-feeling now, hoped he wouldn't come to regret it later.
Frantically he crammed the map into his pocket, picking up the duffel and slinging it over his shoulder while already running full force. No time to waste, he'd rest later.
I'm coming, Dean. Just hold on a bit longer.
xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx
Almost at the top now…almost…
And he'd be damned if he gave up now, not when being so close.
Every single muscle in his body was screaming with exertion by now, trembling uncontrollably with the mind-numbing cold. At least it was a little easier to see up here, the thin crack in the ceiling illuminating the top of his prison a little more clearly. Up there was definitely some kind of door or latch. The only problem now if he would manage to open the damn thing from the inside at all, let alone still have the stamina to do it.
It got increasingly more difficult to tread water with his legs, them being not only tired but becoming more and more uncoordinated too. Must be the cold, numbing his muscles. And jeez, he would have been ready to swear that his ribs were screaming at him to stop moving, the pain almost driving him to the breaking point at times and he had to work up every last ounce of will to push past it, to keep treading. His arm was probably faring even worse. He had hooked his swollen thumb into one of the belt loops of his jeans to keep the limb from moving around aimlessly in the water, causing him even more pain. He kept his eyes glued onto the latch, his only means of escape – or so he hoped.
Just another minute or two and he'd be able to reach the latch.
Sammy, what the hell. Right now would just be the time to find me, open up that latch and get me the hell out of here. I swear, if you do, I'll let you have first turn on the shower for a month – don't wanna go anywhere near water for some time to come anyway…and I'll buy dinner – for a week maybe more…depending.
No such luck, apparently.
He judged the distance, reached out his left arm, stretched it to its limit, brushed the metal of the door for a second before slipping off again, head going under for a second, leaving him sputtering and coughing.
How the hell was he supposed to bring up enough strength to push that thing open without anything to use as leverage? He couldn't even hold on with one hand and push with the other…
Another thirty seconds, then he tried again.
The damn thing didn't budge.
Slowly, or maybe not so slowly at all, he started to panic again, his breaths coming in short, heaving gasps. He put everything he had left into pushing at the damn latch one last time, pounded at it with his fist when it didn't budge, heaved when panicky waves of nausea and claustrophobia overwhelmed him once more, making breathing almost impossible.
Jesus, he was gonna drown? Was he going to drown here, no way out, the exit just inches from his face? He wondered briefly what it would feel like. Would he fight, scream, kick or just drift down slowly, accepting his fate?
God, no, accepting was not an option. But then again…what could he do.
OK, this was SO not helping him calm down.
He struggled, with all his might, to calm down his breathing, forced the black spots dancing around in his vision to retreat yet again, give him a little more time to think. Not really a lot of time, considering that he had like what…a couple of minutes left before the water reached the top of the shaft? His head almost hit the latch now, the water already up to his collarbone. Dean slid the numb fingers of his left hand through a rusty handle on the inside of the latch, holding on to relieve his legs a bit. The muscles in his biceps were trembling within seconds though and he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold on for long. Not that he would have to…
He had found the source of the running water, but that hadn't proven to be of any help either. On his way up the friggin shaft he'd gone along the walls, searching for some crevice, an opening in the bricks, a pipe or drain. He'd found the pipe in the last third of the shaft, about as wide as a slender tree trunk, pouring the freezing liquid into his prison. Not nearly wide enough to fit a body through, certainly not his, anyway. Not that it mattered, since the water was coming out of the damn thing with such force, he'd not be able to move against it. Not that he'd been eager to try, not knowing where it would lead, how long it would go, if there was any way he was going to get out of it at all.
The pipe also seemed far too small to pour such huge amounts of water into the shaft, fill it up so quickly. Definitely not natural…
If he couldn't go up, and going out the side entrance was out of the question, too, there was just one other way to go really, but he knew that this option was not going to work either…going down. No way was he going to open the damn door, he hadn't been able to dig it up enough.
Still, his last chance.
He decided that, against all odds, he would not go out without a fight. That much he owed…well, dad, for sure, and Sammy, most definitely. And himself, come to think of it. He'd not give in to his damn fear, he'd fight till he couldn't fight any more. And that would be that.
It still took him damn long to gather all his courage, tilting his head back to savour the last breaths he would be able to take before the water filled up the shaft entirely. He pinched his eyes shut tightly, trying to focus, fighting for sanity.
I'm not going to drown. Notgoingtodrownnotgoingtodrownnotgoingtodrown…
The mantra not really working. Screw this.
...
Sammy, come and get me, damn it. This would be THE James Bond moment right here and now…only a couple of more seconds to go… Please, stop the countdown, Sammy…
He held on, fingers slipping time and time again on the cold and slick metal, took the deepest, longest breaths possible, held on till the water lapped over his lips.
One last time he cast his eyes upwards, checking if the latch hadn't opened miraculously, half expecting to see Sam's shaggy head appearing over the edge, his soft brown eyes peering down at him through the opening, hand extended to pull him out.
Still alone.
He closed his mouth and let go.
Sinking down was fairly easy, easier than he had thought, and a lot faster too, his body so heavy from his waterlogged clothes, his cold muscles. Once he had reached the bottom he sought out the door, found it on his first try, luckily enough. He latched the fingers of his left hand between two bricks just above the door, braced himself. Already he could feel the air supply in his lungs running out, could feel the familiar urge to let go of the air held in all at once, fighting the urge to do just that.
Just like battling Sammy for who could stay under water longer…let it go in small puffs, focus, focus, FOCUS. Of course, the odds were stacked up against him just a bit here. Not the same situation as back then. So much more to loose than just his freaking pride…
He held on, searched for the glass of the window with the heels of his boots, which he had put on again after his fall off the wall. He'd doubted that it had been the right decision when trying to swim with the heavy things wearing him down. Now he considered it a blessing. He took aim, one foot braced against the floor for leverage, eyes closed for lack of lightning, took a swing.
At first, nothing happened, a painful jolt running through his ankle all he got for his efforts. It was damn hard to put much force behind a blow delivered under water.
Should have tried that when there was no damn water in here…
Too late for self-reproaches now.
Still he needed to try again.
He kicked the window again, then a third time and when he thought that he would try, one last time before he could not summon up the strength to do any more, he felt the glass give way beneath his heel, felt his foot sink through the glass, into free space beyond. He wriggled it free with effort, delivered two last kicks before he felt that he couldn't go on anymore.
Damn it, fucking too late.
He could feel the surge and pull of water draining out through the hole he had created, felt a sudden rush of joy at the thought that, indeed, the tunnel or whatever was lying beyond that door had not been completely filled with rubble or something else. The water would be able to drain, thank god.
The only problem was, he really didn't know if the opening was big enough for the draining to go on faster than the actual filling of the shaft. No way to know.
Probably no way to find out, either, because already he felt the last air leaving his mouth in a cluster of bubbles, rising quickly to the surface, taking with them the last bits of hope, of breath, of life.
He felt his head go light, dizziness taking over so quickly it almost surprised him. Maybe it was the coldness of the water or the sheer exhaustion of the excruciating hours spent down here, but there was actually nothing else he could do, his body simply not cooperating anymore. As the first swell of water pressed itself between his icy lips all he could think of was Sam, his little brother, his whole reason to live, and he figured that, Sammy being a freaking psychic and all, he'd just for the hell of it sent him a little message, a quick goodbye for all it was worth.
As his body slowly drifted up the shaft again he wasn't aware of the faint glow illuminating the water around him anymore, his eyes closed tightly to preserve the image of the last face he ever wanted to see, ever.
XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx
tbc
AN:
I know it's a mean ending for the chapter, but I needed to end this here in order to get the typos and such out of the way for the next one. I hope you bear with me!
Ok, so as always…reviews are greatly appreciated…they keep me going.
Take care.