Title: Isle of Lost Souls
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean
Author's note: I know. I'm rotten. I can't help myself. :D
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P
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Dean jumped as he felt a touch along his thigh and cursed. "Dammit!" He backed up and bumped into Sam's back. "They're screwing with us. Not giving us anything to shoot at."
"Stay or go?" Sam cocked the shotgun as something tugged at his hair with cold fingers. "We could come back in the morning. Do this in daylight?"
"Better chance we're seen." Dean growled in anger. "But less chance we get mobbed. Ok. Let's go." He took a step back again, expecting to run into his brother. He gasped and spun when he didn't. "Sam?" His brother was nowhere to be seen. "Oh no. No. No! Sammy?" He shined his light frantically around him but found no sign of him. The only prints he could see on the ground were theirs coming from the shore. "Give him back you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. "Sam!"
Groaning answered him and he watched as the wisps of mist began to gather together around him in a circle. Shapes began to form; arms, legs and they shambled slowly toward him. He aimed the flashlight at them and his eyes went wide in shock. "Oh you have got to be kidding me." The unmistakable ghosts of a half dozen long dead pirates surrounded him.
CHAPTER 4
Dean swallowed hard against the lump of fear in his throat for his missing brother as the spirits drew closer. He raised his shotgun and fired at them, dispersing two with one shot of the rock salt. He didn't wait to see what the others would do and ran through the hole he had created. He was intent on finding Sam. He couldn't have gone far; the island wasn't that damn big.
"Sam!" Dean yelled into the night. He spared a glance over his shoulder as a chorus of eerie cries went up from the ghosts behind him. "Come on, dammit! Sam!" He spun and fired again as one of the ghostly pirates closed on him. It evaporated with the salt and two more took its place. "Where the hell were you assholes last night, huh?" It chilled him to realize how lucky they had been the night before, spending an entire night on the island and not running into the spirit mob. He dodged around a tree, bounced off another, and jumped as a phantom hand smoothed down his backside with a chill.
"Hey! Hands off the merchandise!" Dean yelled angrily. "Great." He shot another round at a ghost materializing in front of him and began to hastily reload. "I gotta get the handsy pirates." He jammed salt rounds into the gun as fast as he could but not fast enough. One of the pirates appeared in front of him, and the gun was ripped from his hands to spin off into the trees. The phantom hands returned, taking his arms and legs this time and tugging him back against the tree while the spectral pirates closed around him.
"Where's my brother?" Dean shouted and grunted, struggling in vain to free himself. The nearest pirate grinned at him beneath a tattered tri-corn hat, pushing his face into Dean's on a puff of freezing air. "I know I'm pretty…but I am not your type, pal." Dean turned his head to the side and felt more phantom hands on his body. The ghost reached toward Dean's face with skeletal fingers and, despite Dean's desperate attempt to pull away from the touch, the spirit slid his hand inside Dean's head. Pain erupted inside his skull so strong it whited out his vision and stole his breath. Now he understood how Sam had been taken without a sound. It froze and burned at the same time, and he tumbled gratefully into unconsciousness.
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Dean groaned and gasped awake with a start, the memory of a ghostly hand in his head driving his eyes open. "Shit!" He hadn't expected to still be alive and the surprise rushed adrenaline through his system. He tried to move and growled when he felt restraints at his wrists and ankles. He turned his head up and saw he was lying on the beach with his hands staked out above him on each side. He pulled experimentally and found the ropes secure.
"Welcome back."
"Sammy?" Dean jerked his head to his left with the sound of his brother's voice so close. Relief sucked the air out of him for a moment.
"Yeah," Sam smiled grimly. "Was kinda hoping you'd find me without, you know, getting caught." He chuckled and groaned. "They, uh…pretty sure they're not coming back."
"Good. Gives us plenty of time to get the hell out of this." Dean could see Sam was staked out in the sand just as he was.
"Not really." Sam looked over and met his eyes. "I figure we've got about a half hour. Look down."
"Huh?" Dean raised his head and looked down his legs…to the ocean surf lapping lazily just beyond his feet. He let his head thump back onto the sand. "The tide's coming in, isn't it?"
"This was a popular way to kill people back in the pirates' day," Sam commented and pulled on the ropes again, earning himself another stab of pain from his leg and his still sore ribs and back. His body did not like being unnaturally stretched as it was.
"You ok?" Dean asked, hearing the hiss of pain.
"Peachy." Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing through the pain. "Always wanted to check 'drowning' off the list."
"What list?" Dean pulled on his right arm as hard as he could and felt a slight give in the stake.
"The 'ways I've almost died' list." Sam chuckled and looked back over at his brother. "Cause I expect my self-proclaimed awesome big brother to get us out of this."
Dean laughed softly and shook his head. "Beats having our hearts crushed in our chests, I suppose." He fought to pull the stake out again and growled. "Friggin' ghosts can tie some damn knots."
Twenty minutes later, Dean had only worked the stake a couple inches out of the sand and was cursing, wondering just how long the things were. The tide was rolling in with purpose and made him pull with desperation, ignoring the pain from his now-abraded wrists and the warm stickiness of blood oozing from the torn skin.
The ghosts had staked him out slightly higher up the beach than Sam. While the water was only halfway up his own chest, Sam was already working to hold his chin out of it and sputtering water each time a wave rolled over his face.
"Dean?" Sam called with a hint of panic in his voice.
"Just keep breathin', Sammy." Dean didn't spare him a look. He didn't need to see how close he was to losing him. He renewed his efforts, tugging and pulling on the stake, determined to get it free in time.
"Dean," Sam choked as another wave washed over his face and coughed, spitting it out. "Dean, I'm sorry." He didn't think his big brother was going to pull off a miracle this time and the words of the shifter were echoing in his head. It may have been a monster but it had direct access to Dean's mind, and Sam knew the things it had told him had been the truth. He didn't want to die with the words left unsaid. "Sorry I left you with…" He had to hold his breath through another wave. "…stuck with Dad. Shouldn't have just…just left you."
"Dammit, Sammy! Shut up!" Dean shouted and finally glanced over. Sam had his head raised as far as he could, but the surf was lapping at his face, his nose barely above it. Dean took his first wave in the face and spat the salty water out fighting the panic threatening to overwhelm him as he realized that his brother was out of time. "Sam? You hang on, you hear me?"
Sam couldn't speak. He gasped in what he knew would be his last breath and held it as the water finally covered his head, trying desperately not to give in to the terror he felt knowing that, this time, there was not going to be a last minute reprieve. He could just see Dean beneath the water now, struggling still to free himself. The water buoyed Sam up and pulled painfully on his leg and chest. The pain made him want to suck in a breath and he fought the urge. The push and pull of the waves tugged him back and forth and black spots began to dance in his vision as the urge to breathe became overwhelming.
"Sam!" Dean shouted between waves. He let his head drop back into the water, trying not to give in to the terror he felt filling his entire being, knowing that his brother was breathing his last. Dean yelled out his frustration into the water as he pulled frantically on his right arm. It came free in a rush as the water washed into the space he'd created around the stake and set it free. He didn't bother catching his breath. Dean lurched over to his left and pulled his other arm free. He sucked in air as he sat up and panic drove him to dive beneath the water and free his legs; he couldn't see his brother anymore. His legs free, Dean splashed over to Sam and dropped to his knees, reaching beneath the water. He felt along his brother's arm until he found a stake and wrenched it free.
"Hang on, little brother," Dean gasped and tried to pull Sam's head up. With only one arm free, there wasn't enough slack, and he fell to the other arm in a panic. "Almost. Almost, dammit. Hang on." Sam's other arm came loose, and Dean wrapped his arms around his chest, pulling him above the water. "Sam!"
He expected a lifeless body, was steeling himself for the reality of a drowned brother, but instead pulled up a brother who spasmed wildly and heaved in desperate breaths between bouts of coughing. "Holy crap." Dean crushed him to his chest for a moment just feeling him breathe and struggle in his arms.
"Dean," Sam gasped finally into his neck. He had been a moment away from breathing water. He knew it. The pressure in his chest had become unbearable just as he'd felt Dean's hands on his arms.
"Hang on. Hang on, ok?" Dean pulled back and grasped his shoulders. "Lemme get your legs free." Sam gave him a nod, and Dean took a breath and ducked beneath the water to pull out the stakes still binding him to the sand. Sam came free in a rush with another wave, and Dean floundered back to the surface to grab hold of him again. "Ok, here we go. Come on." He pulled Sam up with him and staggered up out of the surf and sand into the trees.
Sam walked on rubbery legs, still heaving for much needed air, Dean's arms around his chest all that was keeping him standing as his abused leg protested walking. "Stop. Dean, please." He needed to sit. The movement was taking a toll on top of the residual panic still coursing through him, and he was perilously close to throwing up.
Dean nodded and eased Sam down to the ground with him, leaning him back against the bole of a tree. "Slow it down, Sam." He was close to hyperventilating. Dean put a hand on his neck and squeezed gently. "You're ok."
"I know." Sam forced himself to stop wheezing in air with the comforting weight of Dean's hand on his neck. He shifted his legs and slammed his eyes shut. "Shit."
"What?" Dean followed the hand Sam shot out to his leg and sighed. "Being staked out didn't do you any favors, huh?" He ran a hand down the sopping leg of his brother's jeans and brought it up. It glistened with water and spots of red in the moonlight. "And you're bleeding again. Alright. I officially hate pirates."
Sam couldn't help the chuckle and got his eyes open again. "Liar," Sam said and grinned weakly when Dean looked at him. "You know you love Jack Sparrow."
"That's Captain Jack to you, dude." Dean smirked and shook his head while Sam snorted softly. He looked around them and groaned. "Got to be somewhere we can hole up. Guns are gone and our packs." He stuck his hand into his water-logged pockets and came out with seven shotgun shells. "Not enough salt to do any good."
"We figure out which side of the island we're on, we'll know where we left our stuff." Sam raised an arm and clasped hands with Dean to pull himself shakily to his feet.
"Assuming they didn't do something with it," Dean said darkly. He pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulder and started them walking along the shore, just inside the tree line.
"And assuming they leave us alone long enough." Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing back the exhaustion. He patted the front of his shirt and sighed. "My charm's still there. Yours?"
Dean raised his hand up and showed the charm still wrapped around his wrist. "Maybe that's why the pirate death sentence instead of having our hearts crushed. The curse couldn't get to us?"
Sam winced in sympathy seeing the already-darkening bruises and the torn, raw skin circling Dean's wrist above the leather holding the charm. "Maybe. Hope so." It was taking every ounce of willpower Sam had not to beg to sit back down again. The wounds in his leg stabbed up into his head with every step. Dean seemed to know and took more of his weight onto his shoulders with a grunt. "Sorry."
"Next hunt…you get to carry me," Dean said with a chuckle. To himself, he'd admit that he didn't mind half-carrying Sam just then. He needed the physical reinforcement of his brother heavy on his shoulder that he was alive and well after coming so close to watching him drown. He remembered what Sam had said just before the water closed over him, his apology, and he decided they were damn sure going to have a talk about that load of crap later. "You see anything? Feel any ghostly hands copping a feel?"
Sam chuckled softly. "No. Nothing yet." He peered out into the darkened forest and saw nothing except a few remaining wisps of fog. "Probably haven't figured out we aren't sleeping with the fishes yet."
"Well good. Let's hope they don't." Dean hitched Sam higher on his shoulder as he felt him flagging, leaning heavily into him, and he could see the pinched look of pain on his face even in the dim moonlight. "At least it's not raining."
"Dean. What are we gonna do?" Sam asked quietly. "We're stuck here until morning."
"We'll be fine, Sammy," Dean said in as sure a voice as he could muster. "Ghosts already think we're toast, and Lonely Hearts can't get at us while we've got your stinky charms."
Sam nodded and tried to let the confidence in Dean's voice comfort his jangling nerves. At that moment, he couldn't see how they were going to avoid ghosts and find the source of a curse in their current state without ending up on the island's ever growing list of casualties.
"Keep walkin', dude," Dean said gently as Sam's head drooped and his pace slowed.
"Sorry." Sam picked himself back up and got his legs moving again. "We can…we can try the burial grounds. North side of the island."
"Soon as I know where north is," Dean said ruefully and wished he'd paid more attention to navigating by the stars as he looked up through the tree tops.
"We're on the…south side," Sam smiled and waved an arm out toward the ocean. "We'd see the shore from the north." He smirked when Dean rolled his eyes. "We shouldn't be too far from where they ambushed us. That way." He pointed in the direction they were going.
"You and that ridiculous geek brain of yours," Dean snorted.
The woods and the island remained silent. Dean kept his eyes on the fog, waiting for it to start forming ghosts again and grateful when it didn't. Sam was giving all his effort to walk on his own in spite of the exhaustion Dean could see clearly written all over him. Poor kid had been used for target practice and nearly drowned, not to mention running a fever from the infection. He looked ready to fall down at any time. He wished now he had convinced Sam to take a few days and heal up before they came back. The guilt was a lump in his throat that he knew wouldn't leave until he got Sam off the island again. Dean groaned inwardly imagining his father's reaction to his rather spectacular failure to watch out for Sam in the last couple days.
"Dean," Sam put a hand to his brother's chest and then pointed. "I think that's our stuff."
They shuffled forward through the trees to the dark shapes on the ground Sam had noticed, and Dean grinned as they reached them. "Finally, something goes our way." He let Sam stand on his own and bent, picking up their shotguns and passing one to him. "Here." He took his duffel and slung it over his shoulder, and then grabbed Sam's and did the same, knowing his brother didn't have the energy left to carry it and stay standing. "Ok. Burial grounds."
Sam turned and nodded. "That direction." He let Dean slide his arm over his shoulders again and felt safer with the gun in his hands even though it had proved no obstacle to the piratical spirits who had taken them earlier. This time however, they would be prepared. They knew how the ghosts worked and what to expect. They wouldn't be caught off-guard again.
Dean got them moving once more, this time angling away from the beach and into the center of the island. The sooner they found the source of the curse the better. If they were lucky, destroying it would settle the island's ghosts as well.
"I want a beer," Sam commented softly. "Get the taste of salt water out of my mouth. Yech."
Dean chuckled. "Don't blame ya." He had yet to shake the sight of Sam vanishing beneath the waves beside him and tightened his grip around his chest.
"Guh..dude. Ribs," Sam reminded him as Dean's arm tightened.
"Crap, sorry." Dean smirked and loosened his arm again.
"Girl," Sam tossed his brother's favorite insult back at him with a laugh even as the action had warmed him.
"Bite me." Dean refused to look over at him and see the ridiculous sappy look Sam no doubt had on his face.
Fifteen minutes later and nearly across the island, Dean's nerves were on edge. He couldn't believe they had crossed without a single ghostly attack or any sign of the curse. It made him nervous, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sam was walking on his own beside him after assuring Dean that the bleeding was minimal and he could handle it. He limped heavily but stubbornly kept pace with Dean's easier stride.
"I got a bad feeling about this," Sam said suddenly into the silence as they neared the burial grounds.
Dean snorted. "Ok, Han." He turned to look behind them and wished the EMF meter hadn't been in his pocket on the beach. It was water-logged and would take him hours to dry out and fix. He didn't like not having a warning system in place. "How much farther?"
"Just up ahead," Sam replied and nodded. "Through those trees."
"Sooner or later something's gonna figure out what we're doing," Dean said softly and hefted his shotgun.
"Maybe we'll get lu…" Sam's words were cut off as several vines dropped from the trees above them to loop around his chest, arms and legs. "Dean!"
"Shit!" Dean shouted as he was wrapped up and yanked suddenly from his feet. They were almost at the edge of the trees. He could see the open space of the burial grounds ahead of them as the vines roughly hoisted them both into the air.
Sam cried out as one vine wrapped tightly around his injured leg and more tightened across his abused chest, squeezing his ribs tightly. Spots exploded across his vision with the pain and he distantly felt another coil of vine wrap around his neck. He had only a moment to wonder; why always his throat?
"Sammy!" Dean struggled against the hold of the vines. He craned his head and watched as Sam suddenly went limp, his shotgun falling from nerveless fingers to thump into the ground below. It made him tighten his own grip as the vines squeezed him hard, lifting him higher. He growled out his frustration and glared down at the dark shadow that appeared below them; the curse personified, he knew now. "I am gonna…enjoy…ganking your ghostly ass, pal!" He shouted and then sucked in a breath as more of the vine closed around his neck.
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To Be Continued…