Boring stuff first. Kripke still won't give me the boys and Evanescence won't lend me the song.
Now for the fun stuff. Sorry this took so long. Life got in the way a bit. I'll try not to let that happen again.
This one is for SPNAngelGirl, who writes EPIC long reviews and who I love very much in an I-haven't-known-you-very-long-and-am-really-not-trying-to-be-weird-or-pervy kind of way. You were the first one who really showed an interest in me and I appreciate that more than words. *big hugs*
So to you, and to everyone, enjoy!
Sam's vision was hazy. Whether the fog was due to the situation he was in, or the tears he could feel building, he wasn't sure. But the world was definitely cloudy, and it was irritating him immensely. Jessica's beckoning hand was blurring over Dean's shoulder, her face was shimmering. That was crap. He wanted to be able to see her properly, now that she had come back for him. Stupid eyes! He blinked, trying to clear his sight, and was surprised at how difficult it was to lift his eyelids again. Damn!
Sam was dying. He knew that now. Had known it for a while, if he was being completely obvious with himself. Dying was … interesting. Not what he had expected. Less glamorous for one. He had never expected to die kneeling in a muddy puddle in the middle of a rotten, rain-soaked ghost town. He had hoped for something exciting; something with oomph! To go out with a bang! This was just soggy, cold, and a little humiliating. On the other hand, dying was also much less painful than he had anticipated. Once the initial agony had passed, the spreading heat in his back was actually quite pleasant. It was keeping him warm, distracting him from his water-logged jeans and his dripping hair. And he had never expected to see Jess. That one was a nice surprise. He didn't think that she would ever come back, thought that she would blame him for everything. But she was here. And she wanted him to go with her.
He didn't know how to tell Jess that he wanted to follow her; that he would follow her anywhere she asked. His limbs were unresponsive, his voice had failed him, and even his eyes were beginning to refuse to obey simple commands. Piecing together coherent thoughts was becoming increasingly difficult, words and images firing randomly in his brain. He tried to nod his head; to indicate his consent to Jessica; but it was impossible. The command dissolved somewhere in between his mind and the muscles in his neck. He hoped Jess would understand.
"We're leaving here tonight." Jessica spoke gently but firmly, a bizarre hint of Dad in her tone. Tonight? That soon? Sam wasn't ready to leave yet. He had things he needed to do first. He had to stop the yellow-eyed demon. He had to finish the job. He had to say goodbye. To his old friends. To Ellen. To Jo. To Bobby. To Dean. He couldn't go anywhere without telling Dean first. It had always been that way; that was just how it worked. Dean needed to know where Sam – Sammy – was. And Sam needed to know that Dean would be ok. Dean thought he had to protect Sam, but had never understood that it also worked in reverse. Sam had to watch out for his brother. His stupid, suicidally gung-ho big brother. So he couldn't leave until he had told Dean. Until he had said goodbye. Properly.
"There's no need to tell anyone." Once more, Jess' voice reached into his thoughts and replied accordingly. Sam almost scoffed at the idea. Of course he had to tell Dean. He knew his big brother better than anybody, and he knew that Dean didn't cope well with sudden change, no matter how deep he tried to hide his emotions. He needed time to adjust … to prepare. So Sam had to tell him. He HAD to. But … If Sam told his brother what was happening, Dean would only try to stop it. He wouldn't understand. He couldn't possibly understand. He would never let Sam go.
"They'll only hold us down." Jess echoed Sam's mind exactly. As if to illustrate her point, he felt distant hands move him, pull him upright. A shape moved into his line of sight. He was pretty sure it was a face, but the features were blurry, indistinguishable. More importantly, it was in the way. Jess was behind it somewhere, and he couldn't see her any more. Damn!
He blinked.
Dean pushed away from his brother, gritting his teeth to mask the raw emotion in his expression. His legs were freezing and his face was numb, battered by the driving rain, but he bit back the shivers and focussed on Sam. He wished he hadn't. If it was even possible, Sammy looked worse than before. His head lolled listlessly to the side as if the supporting structures had turned to mush. He seemed to be having an increasing amount of trouble keeping his eyes open; the lids were half closed and the stare behind them was glassy. From the direction of the gaze, Dean would have guessed that Sam was looking at something behind him. But Dean knew that there was nothing there.
"Hey, look." He moved his hands from around his kid brother's back, shifting to support his Sasquatch form. Sammy didn't as much as glance at him. Maybe he couldn't, maybe he didn't want to. Whatever. Dean didn't really care what Sam did – or did not – want right now. Sam was going to listen and he was going to do what he was told.
"Look at me." He ordered, sounding like his father even to his own ears. That was the tone of voice that left no room for argument. It was the tone that made you pay attention. Clearly Sammy's attention-paying capabilities were compromised, because he didn't even try to comply. Not satisfied with the response, Dean grabbed the lapels of his brother's jacket, forcing him to straighten up a little, and held him there, within his line of sight. He needed to get through to him; needed something to penetrate his skull. So he leant in towards Sam, speaking directly at him and looking him squarely in the eye.
"It's not even that bad." Dean spoke calmly and evenly in an attempt to reassure both his brother and himself. It wasn't overly successful. He could hear the shake in his voice that betrayed his emotions; he could feel the sharp sting of salt water in his tear ducts. He also knew that he was lying. It was bad. Very bad. The thought of the blood loss alone made him feel slightly dizzy, never mind whatever that knife had ripped apart inside his brother. Facing the truth, he put Sammy's chances of recovery at minimal. Even if he survived the wound itself, the risk of infection from a rusty, dirty blade was high. And depending on the internal injuries, survival was only the beginning. Sammy might never be the same again. Might not walk again. Might not…
"It's not even that bad, alright?" Dean had to keep believing, for both of their sakes. He had to pull himself together; to be the strong one. He took a steadying breath, willing himself back to a state of relative calm. Stressing wasn't going to do Sam any good, and it wouldn't help make the situation any better. He closed his eyes briefly, finding a well of inner peace he didn't know he possessed, and focussed intently on his brother's ragged breathing. Each inhalation was slow and shallow, but Dean could just about match his own to it. That was good; a ray of hope. Surely?
Sam paused in his quest for oxygen, his chest stilling momentarily before picking up a more erratic pace.
Dean's calm was lost and panic took over again.
Et Voila! Hope you liked the latest instalment. Hopefully the next chapter wont take so long (praying to Cas for help with that!) and I'll see you all real soon.
For now … Don't fear the reaper!