HIDDEN
CHAPTER TEN
AN: Thank you so much for sticking with this. Very special to me how supportive and most encouraging everyone is. Please take the rest of this story with a flake of pink snow - if you would - it's almost over now.
Happiest of New Years to all - celebrate every day of life - come what may!
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The snow continued to fall…
Sam and Dean battled against the giant, white flakes. Finding their way back to the cabin wasn't easy. The wind whapped them in the face like a swarm of angry bugs and the flurry of snow only served to slow them down - damn near swallowed them up.
Sam was freezing. The wounds he'd sustained took turns burning and throbbing. The pain stopping then hurting again. He could feel blood tracing a path down his wounded leg. The hole in his chest pulled with every breath, causing his abdominal muscles to twitch and spasm.
Gawd he felt sick.
Thing's fingers were cold and stung and were quickly loosing strength, but kept hold of the crossbow - loaded and at the ready.
"Ugh." Sam stumbled awkwardly, his foot dragging behind through the ever deepening snow.
Dean grabbed an arm setting Sam straight, keeping them moving. "You gonna make it?" He shouted over the top of the wind.
"On it," Sam said, desperate to stay up right.
Dean shot him a look. "You sure?"
"Sure, sure I'm sure." Sam kept a hard-edge look on his face.
Dean kept staring.
"For the fifth time, Dean, I can make it," Sam bit back a groan, elbowing aside his pain.
"Uh-huh." Dean slowed his pace, inching closer to Sam in case the kid wanted to make another snow angel - using his face. "Almost there," he said. Bow raised, Dean scanned the tree line, searching left then right, blinking hard against the flying snow. "No sign of Beefcake," he muttered.
"He's still after us," Sam confirmed in a small voice, not bothering to look around.
"How can you tell through all this white shit?"
"Can sense him."
Dean eyed Sam and frowned deeply, obviously not liking that answer - not one little bit.
Their boots crunched through the drifting blizzard as they rounded a grove of tangled bushes. The lighted windows of the cabin finally came into sight. With bowed heads, they made for the cabin.
"Look's all clear." Sam wobbled slightly, eyes registering the surroundings.
The large trees bordering the small house offered little protection from the wintry storm. Snow had already piled up - glistening - on the slanted roof. Smoke curled lazily out of the chimney. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet. Took on a chestnuts roasting. Hot cocoa sipping, cookie baking, warm and inviting feel.
"Little too clear. Like something off a sappy, overly priced Christmas card." Dean eyed the cabin with suspicion.
No Christmas card he'd ever seen on the drugstore card-racks featured an injured, bleeding brother or some giant- sized replica of one, hunting them down like mangy sled dogs.
They made the porch. Taking the steps in tandem.
Dean paused. Listened with an ear to the door. Nothing.
Sam peeked in a side window. Everything appeared as they'd left it.
Dean shrugged, giving Sam the 'here goes nothing' look as he pushed open the unlocked front door, stepping in first.
A blast of chilly snow pushed Sam in right behind him, the kid still battling to stay on his feet.
They paused again in the open doorway. Held their breaths, snow creeping like fog across the floorboards.
A toilet flushed.
Sam and Dean both heaved a sigh.
"Bobby, hit the lights!" Dean howled, promptly slamming the door shut behind him with a boot kick and locking the deadbolt. "Sam! Go check all the other doors and windows"
"Umph," Sam whimpered.
Dean turned around just in time to see Sam's eyes roll white and his body tilt sideways. "Ho." Dean took Sam strongly by the arm. "Come on, pal, stay on your feet."
Thing gripped tighter to the crossbow, keeping the weapon from hitting the floor.
"Yeah." Sam's eyes rolled back, though his vision blurred. "Okay. I'm good." He corrected his stance.
Dean gave Sam the once over, not trusting enough yet to let go of Sam's arm. "Damn it, Bobby, hurry up," Dean yelled again in aggravation, noting the lights were still on.
"You screaming for me, boy," Bobby's grouchy voice sounded off. Strange.
Dean tensed and spun around. Saw Bobby stepping out from behind the kitchen door. Saw a man right behind. Saw red. Bobby's red. Dripping from the corner of his mouth and hair line. Dean's own red-anger quickly filled ever fiber of his being. The man behind Bobby was his supposed family. His mother's father. His grandfather, who had a gun pressed menacingly against Bobby's temple.
Bobby tilted his head in apology. "Was plunging the toilet when I shoulda' been watchin' the security cameras."
"Samuel," Dean snarled. "You fucking bastard."
Thing went into guard dog mode. Raising the crossbow and pointing an arrow at the bald man's head.
"W-who?" Sam stuttered out, standing right at Dean's shoulder.
All that time in gray hell and Sam had never seen a soul. So this was the man behind his captivity. The man behind his second deployment into hell.
Thing itched to pull the trigger, wanting to send a feathery bolt running straight through this old guy's right ear and drag his brains out the left before he ever had a chance to answer the question.
Dean took one gliding step in front of his brother, putting himself between Sam and the threat. "Sam." Dean kept his bow raised, reaching hand back and waving. "Ease up."
Thing followed orders, lowering the bow, the arrow pointing harmlessly at the ground.
"Dean?" Sam questioned with agitation.
"Sam, meet Samuel. Our grandfather," Dean said, his voice dripping with distaste like he'd just been fed a spoonful of dog diarrhea.
Sam's mouth gaped slightly, never taking his eyes off the man. "He's…he's…"
"Weapon's on the floor," Samuel fiercely blurted.
Dean stood his ground. "He's the friggin' bastard who kept my kid brother…" Dean's eyes shifted ever so slightly, indicating Sam poised and at the ready behind him. "…locked up for a year." Dean's tone was dark and deadly. "Kept the most important person in the world to me rotting like dead meat in that piss-hole." Dean shivered at the mental image of Sam lying in filthy clothes, on the filthy cot, in the filthy cubbyhole, doped up to the gills. Swallowing back the bile, Dean asked, "What do you want now? To Extract more of Sam's DNA for your experiments…take over the world," he assumed.
"I said, weapon's down, son."
"Not your son. Not anything to you," Dean snarled like a ravenous animal.
Thing defiantly raised the bow, readying to fire.
Dean calmed himself. "You heard our Grandfather, Sam. Weapon down."
Thing opened, releasing the weapon.
Before Sam's bow even hit the floor, Dean advanced two full steps. Bravado high. Crossbow higher. An arrow pointed right between Samuel's eyes.
"What do you think you're doing?" Samuel hissed. "Weapons down. That means you too, Dean-o." Samuel edged along the wall toward a window, pulling Bobby to his chest to shield himself further.
"This is me…" Dean took another threatening step. "Killing you," he said, voice matching the darkness of his eyes.
"And this is me…"Samuel twisted the nozzle of the gun against Bobby's temple, pinching skin and producing a grunt from his captive. "Blowing a .38 caliber bullet hole in replacement daddy's head if you don't drop your weapon and back off. Now!"
"Stop pussy footin' around, boy, and just kill the old geezer," Bobby barked, his eyes glassy.
"Question is…" Samuel said in a peaceful, calm way "Which old geezer is going to buy it first?" Samuel raised a brow, his finger twitching on the trigger of the handgun pressed to Bobby's head.
Dean's bravado slammed into place and he heeded Samuel's warning as he lowered his weapon. The bow slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. "Now what, Doctor Weird with a splash of strange?" Dean hissed, wishing he could kill Samuel with his eyes alone. "You and prototype-Sam going to extract more of my brother's DNA for your Cracker Jack robot army?"
"Something like that."
"You just can't wait to be King, can you?" Dean spat.
"Assistant to the King," Samuel corrected.
Dean's brow puckered. What the hell did that mean? Someone else was in charge - that's what. Shit.
"And those Cracker Jack experiments were working," Samuel continued self-assured, with a hint of pride. "Until their cells started to deteriorate, and the clones went rabid."
Dean laughed in hysterical self-amusement, "They went crazy-dog on your asses."
"So, you put them all down," Bobby grunted, remembering the pile of dead bodies they'd found at one of the compounds.
Sam shuffled nervously behind Dean.
"They play hard, but break fast." Samuel shrugged nonchalantly. "We killed all their donors, too." Samuel's eyes briefly shifted to Sam, then back to Dean. "Except for a handful who seemed to have the Wheaties factor. You actually did us a favor rescuing Sam, Dean. Otherwise your kid brother would be rotting in a mass grave right now with all the rest." Samuel tipped his chin toward a window, eyes now permanently locked on Sam. "He's out there. You've been feeling someone watching you?" Samuel asked knowingly. "He can sense you too, Sammy boy. For miles and hundreds of miles. He took off. Ran from me. To find you. Kill you. Because your screwed up thoughts and cluttered emotions about hell are messing with his mindset."
Dean went from being amused to being furious in a blink. "You don't need Sam's cells anymore to keep Conan The Energizer Beefcake up and running," he quickly deduced.
"Need Sam there as bait to collar his clone's ass." Samuel nodded, a wicked smile crossing his face. "Sam there has some nice, meaty red stock, although right now looks like some of that stock is leaving his body."
Sam glanced down at the blood soaking through his shirt just under his rib cage and through his pant leg. He was thawing out and the bleeding was starting to flow faster - save for his shoulder.
You look like you're going to kiss the ground, kid." Samuel smiled bigger. "Good. Makes my job easier."
Thing jiggled back and forth nervously at Sam's side, rattling a few coins in Sam's pocket.
"Sammy?" Dean didn't take his eyes off Samuel for a second.
"I'm just fine, Dean," Sam replied, calmly and sweetly.
"He's just fine," Dean redirected just as calmly and sweetly back at Samuel.
Samuel smirked. "Like I was saying…the kid has some meaty stock running through him. Sam's clone is only one of a handful that didn't go kapoof and turn into a puddle of slimy soup after one too many charges. We need All Star-Sam and Scrawny-Sam back." Samuel winked at Dean. "More Cracker Jack experiments."
"So you can restock your army with new and improved toys," Dean mumbled sarcastically.
Bobby caught Dean's eye. Stand ready, boy. We are not so screwed yet. "You bad guys are so cliché," Bobby interrupted, stirring uncomfortably in Samuel's hold. "Talk to much and you're all insane."
Samuel tightened his embrace. "Not suffering from insanity - more like benefiting from it," Samuel half-laughed.
"So now what, grandpa blab-a-lot?" Dean growled sarcastically.
"So, now…" Samuel got serious. "Sam there needs to stay conscious long enough to help me tie you two up and then we go out into the frozen tundra and catch us a rogue clone."
"Why not just kill us!" Dean double-dog dared.
Samuel paused to think that over a moment. "Loving it." He shook his head no. "But if I did that, Sam would rather die than help me out." Samuel glanced at Sam. "Really want both Sam's alive."
"No. Not helping you, you sick freak," Sam conquered, taking a step forward - eyes trained on Samuel.
Dean smiled smoothly. That's my boy.
Thing tap-tap-tapped against Sam's thigh, obviously wishing for the weapon on the floor.
"Or better yet," Samuel continued. "You take another step, kid, and I will just kill these two and lash your scrawny-ass to a tree and sit back and wait for your … "
"Dean." Sam tensed, his tone filled with anxiety. "He's out there," he warned with absolute certainty, gaze dropping to the crossbow lying on the wooden floor.
Thing stopped tapping, ramrod straight at Sam's side.
Dean flinched back a protective step, closer to Sam, eyes never leaving Bobby's.
Samuel's attention divided. From Sam to Dean to the window and back to Dean.
Bobby blinked at Dean. One. Two. Three. Raising his boot slowly, Bobby kicked the flat of his foot backward against the wall two times.
Thump.
Thump.
The power in the cabin suddenly shut down, plunging everyone in it into complete darkness.
All hell and chaos and mayhem broke loose at once. Everything happening within seconds of each other.
The drunk and disorderly scuffle of feet.
Furniture lifting into the air.
Glass shattering.
Flesh hitting flesh.
The flash of gunfire.
A grunt.
A groan.
A yelp
The front door slamming open.
Winter-cold wind blowing inside.
Blasts of snow swirling across the floor.
"Bobby!"
Thump.
Thump.
The lights came back on.
Dean and Bobby were tangled in a heap of chairs, books and end tables.
Dean quickly shoved out from under the busted-up mound, grunting as he worked his way up to his feet. "Fuck!" he howled, scanning the room. "He was in here."
"Lumber Jack, Sam." Bobby waggled a hand in the air struggling out form under the overturned couch. "Tell me something I don't know, idjit."
Dean continued to look about, his body shaking from adrenalin. He could feel the bruises forming on his arm where large, strong, familiar - but not - hands had grabbed hold of him and sent him airborne.
"Dean! Old geezer. Little help here," called Bobby.
Dean shook free of his shock and lifted the couch, nearly tossing the heavy piece across the room. "Who turned out the lights?" Dean questioned as he pulled Bobby up to wobbly feet, making a quick check of the bleeding wound on the side of Bobby's head.
Bobby shoved Dean away and quickly started digging through the rubble. "You heard of clap on - clap off?"
"You watch infomercials?" Dean looked shocked.
"Hallmark channel too." Bobby flipped an end table over, arming himself with the .57 Magnum duct tapped underneath. "It's where I got my inspiration. Thump on - thump off," Bobby said with an air of satisfaction. "Two swift kicks to any wall…kills the circuit breaker. Every light in the house goes out."
Dean clucked his tongue, "Little late there on the lights out," he murmured, but there was awe in his voice as he pulled his crossbow out from under a chair, happy to see an arrow still knocked and ready.
One arrow between the eyes of their grandfather was all Dean needed, and he wouldn't miss.
"How you want to handle this?" Bobby asked, handing Dean a gun he'd pulled out from inside a false book.
Bullets were too good to waste on, Samuel, but Dean took the gun and shoved it in his waistband for good measure. Glancing at the floor, Dean cringed at the sight of quarter-sized blood droplets leading out of the cabin.
"Sammy," he whispered fearfully
"Kid will be all right, Dean. He's got balls," Bobby assured. "I'll take the backyard," Bobby plotted, already on the move. "You take the front."
Dean nodded, coming out of his stupor. "Watch yourself," he called after Bobby as he inched cautiously out the open front door.
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When the door to the cabin blew open, it wasn't just a swirl of cold and wet snow that invaded Sam's very being. A very tall, very broad, very muscle bond, swift and nimble shadow entered with it. The shadow-man, straight away started tearing the place apart. Tossing whatever/whoever he could get his giant hands on about the room like a bull charging the Matador's red cape.
Sam nearly blacked out when he was thrown headlong, hitting the couch and tipping the piece over onto its side. Somehow keeping his wits, Sam scrambled on all fours across the floor.
Thing's fingers splayed wide and blindly searched the floor for the crossbow, but in the anarchy of tumbling furniture and bodies, was unable to arm himself.
Then as quick as the bull had come, the bull had left. Out the open door and disappearing - Ninja-like - into the snow-filled night.
Sam got to his feet. For a split second hesitated. Deciding Bobby and Dean could handle Samuel, he headed out the door. He knew Other-Sam was luring him from the cabin. Knew what his twin wanted. Sam didn't care. He was drawn to this mirror image of himself. Maybe not as strongly as Beefcake-Sam had been drawn to him. But drawn just the same. He didn't know how. Didn't care to find out. Both their minds were made up. Two Sam's couldn't walk the earth together. Invading one another's space. In body or in mind.
Sam shivered. Though he was cold, warm sweat dripped down his chest.
Thing hugged Sam's chest. Duh - wasn't sweat - was blood.
Snow crunched under Sam's boots as he limped along, too cold to tell if his leg was still bleeding. He could barely see through the whip of white flurries as he traced the footsteps of his twin; who appeared to be heading toward the black covering of trees behind the cabin. Sam didn't get very far, however. Bigfoot's prints had quickly disappeared. Dusted over by the constantly heavy and fresh falling snow.
A strange, deadened silence fell over Sam, and he stopped near a pile of chopped wood.
He started to breathe hard. Little huffs of air going in and out his open mouth. Numbing his tongue. His teeth. The blizzard infiltrating his entire body.
He was weak.
He was lanky.
He was stupid.
Standing out in the open like a hunted deer. Unprotected. His training far from complete, not to mention his twin bested him by eighty-plus pounds of solid Grade A beef.
'Course it didn't matter none. Beefcake-Sam seemed to have Scrawny-Sam on radar even from hundreds of miles away. Sam didn't have to see his mirrored-self to know the freak was close by. Watching. Smiling. Stalking. Playing ball and string - a lethal wild-cat - slow to kill the mouse. Obviously, Beefcake-Sam's favorite game.
Why hadn't his twin thrown anymore stars? Had Other-him run out? Sam highly doubted that. Beefcake was just that crazy or that arrogant not to rush an attack. Whatever the reason, Sam's only option was to fight. What choice did he really have. Be killed or be caged. He wasn't going to run. Wasn't going to get locked in a cage ever again. Weak and injured, or not.
If you're going down, son. Go down swinging. John Winchester's last rule blew cold in Sam's ear.
Sam glanced right. Then left. Then down at the stack of snow-covered logs. A smile of his own came to his face when he saw the hint of red sticking out of all the white-stuff. An axe. Held in place by a log.
He lifted his head high and shouted, "Enough! You can show yourself!"
Time slowed to a creep.
The snow blew.
The wind howled.
The trees creaked.
Sam's heart pounded. His body began to shake with shivers and his shoulders hunched involuntarily. His face was so cold it hurt. He fought to keep from sinking to his knees.
Thing, too, was raw and numb. Fingers crimping.
Like something out of a dream, an enraged, bulky shadow-creature suddenly shot from the shroud of trees. Beefcake. None other. His twin made straight for Sam. Tall and big and strong. Looking even more superior and fierce in the dimness of the night than his reflection had in the Ford's fender back in the field.
Sam didn't see a weapon in the large hands that pumped at his twin's side. Didn't matter. Sam had no doubt Beefcake could tear him apart with his bear hands and steamroll Sam - bloody - into the snow.
Warning bells went off in Sam's head. The instinct to retreat was strong. This was more than he had bargained for. Sam was scrawny. He was weak. He was insane. He was…
A Winchester. John's voice intercepted his thoughts, snapping Sam from his passiveness.
Sam forced himself to remain calm and not move. Fought off the overpoweringly spread of panic. Un-hunching himself, Sam drew his shoulders far back. Spread his feet apart. The right slightly forward. The left slightly back. Balanced. Keeping his eyes on the target that plowed through the near calf-deep snow toward him - a grunting mound of muscle.
Thing twitched at Sam's side, knowing exactly what his job was.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
The mantra was hard to keep up. So many things were going through Sam's head at once. He could almost hear what Beefcake was thinking. The instinct and desire to end Sam - that strong. That intense.
Sam's knees quivered harder, but he dug in. Still fighting the all-to-human urge to shrink back. To run. He just had to wait for Beefcake to get close enough.
Everything seemed to swirl in slow motion.
As Beefcake neared, Sam noted the guy didn't even appear injured. Hadn't Dean nailed him in the shoulder with an arrow? He looked strong and unharmed. Gawd, his twin was big. Had Sam ever been that tall? That built up? Even at his best, Sam didn't think so as he listened to the heavy impact of Beefcake Sam's feet crunching down upon the new fallen snow.
Out of the corner of Sam's eye, a second shadow moved several yards off to his left. Sam took in three things at one time. Wasn't Dean. Wasn't Bobby. And this shadow had a rifle pointed directly at him.
Crap. Samuel. Had to be.
Sam had no time to worry about that now. Beefcake was suddenly on him. Leaping over the woodpile like a robot.
Thing snatched the axe handle, the snow immediately melting under the touch.
Not going back to hell.
Not going back to hell
Dead or alive - just not.
With what little strength Sam possessed in his body - the rest coming from his soul - Sam swung the axe.
Beefcake attacked full force, elbow landing against Sam's wounded chest.
Sam slammed to the ground. Laid out on his back in the snow, the wind knocked from him.
"Deee," he tried to cry out but it was like a toothbrush had been rammed down his throat and the word ended on a drooling gurgle.
Stunned, Thing released the axe.
Beefcake dropped down next to Sam. Drew close. Eyes on his prize. A crooked smile on his face. "You trained hard, boy. But not hard enough."
"Bite me." Sam cringed, he hadn't meant to put ideas in the other guy's head.
Beefcake could have torn right into Sam. Gutted him with his teeth, but his twin just eased back off of Sam. Flippantly flicking hair out of his eyes. "Go for it," he uttered and stood back a few feet. The cat letting the mouse go - temporarily.
Never one to waste an opportunity, Sam flipped to his belly. Eyes flicking about, he spied the axe handle only inches from him.
Thing made a desperate scramble, reaching out for the axe.
Sam almost laughed when the Rocky theme started to echo in his ears.
Thing snatched the axe.
Sam surprised himself when he sprung to his feet and whirled.
Beefcake barreled toward Sam.
"Ahhhh!" Sam let out a war cry, and swung hard as he could.
Sam was shocked into horror as he watched his twin's head was whacked right off the refrigerator-sized body. Sailed up and through the air, thumping wet and super bloody, face up - eyes no longer registering their surroundings.
Sam stumbled backward.
Thing held tight to the axe, as if the handle was made of glue - blood dripping from its blade, spotting the snow.
Sam stared on in sick-curiosity as Beefcake-Sam continued to remain upright. Tripping over his feet like some freaky Barnum circus sideshow. Headless Beefcake, aimlessly staggered awkwardly about. Arms outstretched. Hands searching. Still in hunter mode. Still wanting to end Sam even though his head was missing. It wasn't more than a few seconds before Beefcake's death sentence finally caught up to his body, and he bashed belly forward down into the snow - dead.
Never under estimate a Winchester. John's voice rang out into the night.
The carnage was horrible. Blood and bone and strands of vein and skin poked out of Beefcakes stubby neck. Sam wanted to puke so badly, but he quickly turned his thoughts toward enemy number two.
Thing raised the axe, ready to defend.
Too late. No need. Something sharp and pointy jabbed deep into Sam's neck.
"Uh- gaaah," Sam groaned out loud, knowing right away what the sharp, pointy thing was.
The darts drug absorption was rapid.
Thing dropped the axe and reached up to pull the protruding shaft, but quickly went dead-weight dangling by Sam's side.
Sam too, immediately going limp and breathless. "Nuh."
Gobs of falling snow and the black-shroud of the nearby forest, mixed, combining with the whiteness of the ground. A 'which way is up' confusion swiftly taking Sam over.
Wet and trembling-cold from the snow that had penetrated his clothing, Sam folded down to the ground. Plopping softly in a snowdrift, back scrapping against the pile of chopped wood.
Woozy, chemically confused and immobilized, he blinked upward. Huge, white bricks fell from the sky. Sam cringed, awaiting the bone-crushing pain, but the bricks were light and fluffy. The bricks stuck to his hair and his eyelashes and finding their way up his nose - turning him into a human snowman instead of gritty mush.
TBC…
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