CHAPTER 5
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SAM
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Sam watched Dean moved stiffly around the room. The older Winchester's face was drawn in a tight line and his hand occasionally found its way to his lower back and rubbed. He stopped at the bowl of rainwater, courtesy of Sam's forethought to replace the bottles of drinking water lost to the river, and scooped some up to take a long pull, groaning when he bent too far back.
"You okay there, old man?" Sam asked with a smirk on his face.
Dean didn't even glance Sam's direction. Still chugging water he raised his free hand and prominently displayed his middle finger.
Sam chuckled because really, he couldn't blame him. When he'd woken this morning, he too had been feeling the effects of their previous day's events. Muscles he'd never known existed, screamed and complained at every movement. Between their battle with the rough waters and spending the night, or what had been left of it, on makeshift beds they'd rigged from a couple of raggedy and questionable mattresses they'd found, they were both feeling sore and achy.
Still, Sam hadn't had nearly as much trouble dealing with the after effects as Dean; since waking, he'd seemed to be struggling with the physical repercussions more so than Sam and it left the younger Winchester wondering how much of that could be attributed to his two recent concussions and how much was merely a consequence of Dean's recent severe aversion to sleep.
Dean lowered their water collector back on the floor and smacked his lips before glancing at Sam. "Don't suppose you thought to set a rabbit snare while you were out there catching rainwater, eh Daniel Boone?" he rubbed at his stomach, undoubtedly as hollow feeling as Sam's.
"Funny," Sam quipped and rose from his floor pallet, "but no. No rabbits. It was too dark for that. So, what do you want to do next? We can either spend more time scouring this building, see what we can find or take a look around outside, now there's a bit more light to move around by."
"Well," Dean began, already picking up their stuff and moving toward the exit. "Nature calls so... nature it is, I guess."
They moved carefully down the narrow hall toward the building's main exit and once there stood still at the threshold, surveying that which had been largely shrouded in darkness and drenching rains upon their arrival. In the daylight, those rotten stairs looked even more dangerous than they had felt the night before. It was a wonder neither of them had fallen down. Now, they could see the heavily forested terrain that surrounded the ruins and how nature seemed to be engulfing all evidence of man's ill fated inhabitation of the small landmass. The only sound around them was that of the fat droplets of rain as they smacked the abundantly thick leaves of the surrounding foliage of the forest beyond.
Dean emitted a low whistle. That was a lot of ground to cover.
"Do we even know whereabouts on the island those kids were? Or if they even made it to dry land?" Sam said, imagining, like Dean, that they would be searching that island until they were old men.
"Michael swears they made it here so..."
"Right," Sam agreed as he followed Dean closely down the front steps, "and according to the police reports, they didn't search the island until after the funerals and only because of pressure from the families of the dead students. Michael's insistence that they'd made it to the island had a lot to do with that."
"And I'm sure the cops did a thorough job in their search," Dean said with the appropriate amount of sarcasm and promptly grabbed at the railing as he nearly lost his footing.
Sam drew up closer, drawing a silent sigh of relief when Dean righted himself and continued down. He bit his lip to keep from commenting. Sam had been hopeful last night, given how exhausted they'd both been by the time they'd bedded down that Dean would not only sleep, but that their physical exhaustion would lead to sleep deep enough to keep whatever demons he was dealing with at bay.
That hadn't been the case, however.
Sleeping lightly came as a necessary byproduct of the job and Sam had heard the precise moment that Dean had gotten up. So Sam knew that Dean had spent much of the night moving quietly about the room, checking the few remaining weapons they'd had, tinkering with the broken cell phone and whatever else he'd been able to come up with to avoid sleep, and Sam was worried.
They both knew the dangers that came with this sort of problem. They'd known many a hunter who'd suffered from such an issue; it was only natural as this job was the stuff that nightmares were made of. Those hunters didn't usually last long and the few who'd had partners often got them both killed. It was common knowledge; lack of sleep leads to a lapse in judgment and focus, both dangerous obstacles in their line of work. And last night, even with the both of them barely able to stand, Dean had slept little.
It wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that Sam realized Dean had finally given in to sleep. But it had been short lived. The sounds of fear-filled moans and mutterings broke him from his light sleep and he'd watched as his brother had twitched and writhed, hands clenching and unclenching. Just as he'd decided to intercede and wake him, Dean had bolted upright.
Sam had met Dean's eyes in that instant. They were wild and terrified, uncertain and lost. "You okay?" he'd asked. Dean had stared back at him blankly, as if he were seeing someone else, then the confusion cleared and he'd nodded.
"Yeah… I'm…" he hadn't finished. Just got up slowly and began checking on their clothes as they hung near the re-lit fire to dry.
Knowing there was nothing to be said or done that he hadn't already tried, Sam had sighed in resignation and rolled over, asleep once again in a matter of seconds.
They reached solid, albeit muddy, ground when Dean moved off sharply to the left, long strides telling just how urgent 'the call' had been. Sam moved to the right, his gait no less eager as he too moved to heed to his own date with nature.
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DEAN
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Once out of sight, Dean checked to make sure he was alone before he leaned against the side of the building and breathed a sigh of relief.
That building. God, he'd never been so glad to get out of anywhere in his entire life.
Jesus, this was insane. Dean sighed and pressed his back into the wall. Closing his eyes he dropped his head back, intentionally banging it against the worn concrete, grabbing at the pain in hopes that it would ground him.
And Sam. If he got that 'look' from him one more time...
Annoyance, frustration, concern and... worst of all, pity. Dean didn't need that, any of it. He needed all this shit to stop. Now.
You know, it can stop any time you want...
Dean looked around in panic. He knew he was alone. He could hear Sam, going about his business a few feet away, but too far away to be talking to him. But, most importantly of all, that wasn't Sam's voice he was hearing inside his head.
He didn't even recognize that voice.
Lemme introduce myself, Deano. I'm the only voice of reason you're going to get in this world. My voice is the one you'll hear when you go to sleep, when you wake up and all the moments in between.
"No..." Dean whispered shaking his head in vehement denial. "Not real, go away."
You really think not? But I am real, Dean. I'm as real as the pain and guilt you feel. As real as the pain and torment you inflicted and you don't get to just wish that away, Dean.
Dean's hands came up and clutched at the sides of his head. "It wasn't–" he stuttered for another agonizing breath. "I didn't want to–"
Well too fucking bad!
A force shoved Dean back against the wall; Dean's eyes flew open. A face, dark and cruel, distorted by years of death and rage stared back at him. It didn't have a mouth or a nose; just eyes, red as blood, piercing him.
Hands twisted into Dean's shirtfront holding him securely against the wall. "It's too late for remorse; but not too late for regret, because I intend to make you regret the day you were born."
Dean's hands gripped something cold, wet and soft. The denim of his jeans was soaked through at the knees. He opened his eyes slowly. Wet grass, leaves and... death.
Gasping in surprise, Dean shot back, ass landing in the mud and grass this time. Some kind of dead animal lay right where he'd landed on his hands and knees. A patch of its fur was missing exposing flesh at the creature' side with a familiar carving on it. And as much as Dean didn't want to see, he couldn't help himself and inched forward to get a better look. A rune.
Dean felt a cold trickle of fear snake down his back. "Son of a–"
"Hey!"
Startled, Dean fell back on his ass again. "Dammit, Sam!" he shouted when he caught his breath. Clutching at his chest, he twisted and glared at his brother as he walked toward him. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that."
Sam threw his hands out slowly. "Dean, I've been calling out for the last five minutes. What are you–" the sight of the ground in front of Dean told the older Winchester he saw it too. "What the hell is that?" he asked, clearly indicating the carving on the dead animal's side.
Dean cleared his throat. He couldn't bring himself to look at the thing again. "I uh, thought I heard something, went out to look around and when I got back I tripped over the thing." He wiped his muddy hands on the thighs of his jeans. Sam was looking at him. Hard. "What?" he shouted defensively and rose unsteadily to his feet. "I tripped, Sam. It happens."
Sam stood too and looked from his brother to the dead animal. "You know, vengeful spirits, really powerful vengeful spirits have been known to pick on people and push them around."
"Yeah, and people have been know to slip on slippery ground," Dean muttered. He was staring down at his hands, the mud and grass buried beneath his nails, plucking at the larger pieces. "One clumsy moment and a dead animal doesn't necessarily make it the work of a vengeful spirit," Dean added. When met with utter silence at his statement he looked up and there was that 'look' again.
"Where you there last night, when that ghost attacked us?" Sam asked pointedly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What would make you think it's anything else?"
Dean was so not ready to go there. In fact, Dean would never be ready to go there. But Sam was demanding some kind of rationale for his statement, some kind of answer. "Call it a-" he started but when his eyes drifted down to the carcass.
You don't' get to just pretend this away, Dean. Let him see you for what you really are. Atone for your transgressions...
Dean closed his eyes a moment, trying desperately to close his mind, his ears, his-
"Dean?" There it was. Back to concerned-Sam again.
Opening his eyes he stared hard at Sam a moment. "You'll just have to trust me on this," he said then looked down at his hands. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd kinda like to rinse some of this mud off." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away.
Walked. Not running but he might as well have been. Moving away from the evidence of his own evil. The rune. His rune. His mark, the one he thought he'd left in Hell. The only physical sign of just how far he'd fallen...
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…..NEXT-
