Sorry for the issue with chapter 1 and chapter 2. I write the chapters during one of my classes, and I don't always realize I've made a mistake. Hope the story is getting good. I read every review and I absolutely love to hear how it's going. Enjoy.
Sam thrust open the doors of the school, and breathed in the frigid air. The sun was shining despite the blizzard forecasted for that night. He was finally free from that place, and the day was looking up. Sure he had gotten detention, but he was done for the rest of the day. He had no homework to worry about for the weekend and no research. Maybe Dean had even figured out what creature was plaguing the city.
With that thought in mind, and a pep in his step, Sam quickly made his way to the house. He let his mind wander back to the car ride. Dean had been surprisingly fun to hang with. It had been a long time since he had fun just hanging with his big brother. Dean was always busy doing things for their Father.
"Don't get used to these luxury rides there Sammy. I'm not a chauffeuring business. It's just because you're late already that I'm giving you a lift." Dean had said. It made him laugh to himself. He couldn't see Dean wearing a cap like those guys did in the limos and opening doors for rich people.
Sam walked up to the house at the same time a truck pulled into the driveway. His Dad climbed out and gave him a nod to acknowledge him.
"Sammy, what are you doing home at this time? Didn't school let out hours ago?" Panic filled Sam.
"Oh, um, I was just spending a few extra hours at school…doing some extra credit," he finished lamely. His Dad eyes him for a few long moments, watching his squirm. Sam truly was the worst liar, but he let the lie slide. It was Friday, and he was tired. He didn't have time to weasel out of his son what he had been doing for three hours. He was probably hooking up with some girl or something.
John nodded slowly, and turned towards the door. Sam followed him inside, breathing a sigh of relief. He had gotten away with it. He was home free. And now Dean would have the research, and then they could just relax for the rest of the day.
John turned the knob and walked straight towards the kitchen. Sam made his way in hesitantly. Something felt wrong in here. He turned the corner, and gasped.
"Dad!" He screamed as he rushed towards his brother. Dean was a bloody mess, lying still at the base of the stairs. He was deathly pale, and if Sam hadn't seen the small rise and fall of his chest, he would have thought him dead. He fell to his knees beside Dean, hands hovering frantically over him, trying to see where best to put his hands on him without hurting him more than he already was.
John came barreling in, but stopped quickly when he saw the state of his eldest son with his youngest boy nearly sobbing over him. He quickly shook himself out of his stupor, and kneeled down beside Dean. He placed his hand under his nose, and caught the small puff of air. Good, he was breathing. Then he placed his fingers against Dean's neck, and found the pulse. It was weak and thready, but at least it was there.
"Did he fall down the stairs?" Sammy asked out loud. John looked at Dean's injuries closely. Yes, it seemed he had fallen down the stairs, but something pushed him.
"There is bruising around his neck. Something got him," John said gruffly. "How could something get in?" He continued. Sam's eyes grew comically wide. Anger spiked through the Winchester patriarch.
"Sam," he growled. "How. Did. Something. Get. In?" Each word was slow and measured. John meant business. Sam's lip trembled slightly.
"I…I thought we'd be fine. I never thought…I didn't mean…"
"Out with it, boy!" John yelled over his son's blabbering. Instead of answering John's question, Sam simply pointed towards a window in the living room. John glanced at it, and everything became clear. A clear break in the salt was visible, just to the side.
"Did you do that?" he asked calmly. Sam winced. He knew that voice. It was the calm before the storm.
"I thought it'd be fine for one night. I was tired after staying up, and getting into bed, and then Dean told me to check the salt lines. I mean, plenty of families don't have salt lines, and nothing ever happens to them. And then this morning I forgot. I thought Dean would check them, I swear! I didn't mean for Dean to get hurt" he cried. John just stared at his youngest son with something akin to hate.
"So let me get this straight. You intentionally broke the salt line to prove to Dean that nothing bad would happen? And because of that decision something bad did happen? And Dean could die because of you?" Sam flinched at every question. It all sounded badly when his Father put it that way.
"I-" Sam was cut off as a giant shadow went barreling past him and slammed into his Father, who in turn, went flying into the wall. The thing turned around and settled its baby blues on Sam. Sammy sucked in a deep breath. That thing. It was an Arachne. It was one of the creatures that he had highlighted in the journal as the cause of the town's turmoil. I guess they now knew what it was.
The creature smiled at Sam, jagged teeth dripping drool and venom over the front of its face. It looked down at Dean and licked its lips. So this thing was what attacked Dean, and it was here to finish the job. A crusty gash on the side of its neck drew Sam's eye. So Dena had gotten a hit in after all. That's right! The only way to kill an Arachne was by beheading it. Sammy looked around wildly, finally spotting the handle of the machete hidden under the couch. Looks like it had been tossed there during Dean's fight with the creature.
He scrambled towards it on his hands and knees. His earsplitting cry shattered the silence when something pierced into his back. For a moment, everything went white. The next thing Sam became aware of was his Father yelling at him to get up, and the cool wood of the floor pressing against his cheek. He could feel the Arachne looming behind him as he writhed in agony on his belly.
Sam blinked a few times, trying to clear the fuzziness from his vision. His hand closed around the machete handle, and at the same time he swung around and struck with the sharp blade. It hit its mark, severing the creature's head from its body.
The body crumbled to the floor, twitching, before it went still. Sam dropped the machete, taking huge gulps of shuttering breaths. The pain in his back was all-consuming. He looked over at his brother, and crawled over to him. John was already there checking over his injuries.
"Dad, I-" he began, but John cut him off.
"Not now Sam."
"But Dad…my back…"
"I said not now Samuel!" Sam flinched. His Father never used that name with him. He didn't mean to complain about his back, but it was sending waves of agony rippling through his small frame, and he could feel it oozing blood all over his shirt. John was mumbling to himself before he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.
"Yes, I need an ambulance right away," he said into the phone. He recited off the address before hanging up on the woman.
"Samuel, get the blanket off your bed for Dean." Sam knew better than to argue. He painfully pulled his feet underneath him, swaying violently when he stood up. Bright spots were flashing in front of his eyes and bile rose in his throat.
"Now Samuel!" His Father barked loudly. Sam shuffled up the stairs, grabbing the blanket before making his way back down slowly. The spots never left his vision, nor did his stomach settle.
"Took you long enough," his Father grumbled. He snatched the blanket from Sam's grip and tucked it carefully around his eldest son, taking a moment to brush the bangs off Dean's forehead.
"Samuel, I want you to wait up in your room until we get back."
"But Dad! I want to go with you! I want to make sure Dean's ok!"
"Excuse me? I just gave you an order," his Dad fumed. Sam hesitated, but squared his shoulders and held his ground.
"I'm going." A knock sounded at the door, and John rose to answer it.
"No you aren't."
"Yes I am!" Sam cried, rising with him and gripping his sleeve. Sam never saw the fist coming until it connected solidly with his cheek. Sam went down on his butt like a ton of bricks while John heaved over him, hands still clenched in fists.
"Do you think this is some game!" He roared. "This isn't some yes or no battle between us! This is Dean's life! You're not coming because you've done quite enough! You almost killed him just like you killed your mother!" By now he had bent down and was screaming in Sam's face. Sam was staring up at him with wide, hurt eyes, trembling violently.
Another knock sounded at the door. John knew he had gone too far, but he didn't know a way to fix what he said so he just straightened and went to answer the door. Paramedics rushed past him, and when John turned around, Sam was nowhere to be seen.