Born of Ill Intent.
Please read warnings from chapter one.
Many thanks for all your lovely reviews for the last chapter. It's given my muse a nice big hug!
On with the silliness...
Chapter Ten.
"Dean, put me down, I can walk," demanded Sam, feeling bolstered by the adrenaline rush of the last few minutes. "You can't carry me down those steps, I'm too heavy, and you could trip."
His brother glanced at him, appraisingly. Sam was soaked in sweat, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead. Blood still oozed from under the bandages roughly taped to his middle.
"Really?" asked Dean, a shade sarcastically. "You're weaker than a newborn kitten, I could use your gut as a colander, and you can walk?" He shook his head. "I don't think so, Sammy. Besides, you're still bleeding. The doc needs to finish sewing you up before we go anywhere."
Bobby scratched the back of his neck and glanced back at the entrance. "Can that thing get through?" he wondered aloud.
Patch shook his head. "Doubt it. The walls are eight feet thick. They have to be to withstand the magical forces involved in ethereal travel…"
The walls shook with the force of a strong impact from the other side, and a huge crack appeared in the brick work.
Dust pitter-pattered down to the concrete floor, sounding deceptively friendly in the enclosed space, much like a woodland stream or waterfall.
Everyone stared at the crack as though it was about to bite them.
"Maybe we should just go," said Sam, gulping, eyes wide with worry. "I mean, these bandages will hold out a while longer, right?"
William glanced between his patient and the wall. "Uh… I…"
Something slammed into the wall once again and, halfway up, a brick toppled out, landing on the floor with a loud crack.
The doc nodded frantically. "Yeah, sure," he said, shakily. "It can wait. Let's survive Anaconda first, and then we'll worry about infection."
Bobby nodded. "I just hope whatever's at the other end'll be a darn sight friendlier!"
But Dean wasn't listening. He was already leading the way, heading down the steps and carrying his injured brother with him.
Patch shrugged and followed, muttering, "Can't be any feckin' worse, surely…"
"Don't say that!" Bobby growled and clipped him round the back of the head. "Idgit!"
The minute they rounded the third turn on the spiral stairwell, the slamming stopped. Dust drifted down in the silence that followed, and the men all exchanged glances.
Sam cocked his head to one side. He'd been allowed to stand, but only because his weight was becoming too much even for Dean's stubborn constitution to take for so long. They had compromised by Dean holding him up with an arm around his waist.
"I don't think it broke through, as such," began Patch, but was interrupted by a weird skittering and scuttling noise, and it was getting closer. "But maybe it found its way through the cracks?" he finished, helplessly.
"I've heard that before somewhere," said Sam, eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, me too," said Dean, but he looked scared. Like, really scared.
"What the hell is it?" asked William, not liking the sound of this.
"Ever seen The Mummy?" came the unwanted reply.
Bobby's eyebrows went through what remained of his hairline.
"Oh, you are shittin' me!"
"Nope." Dean plunged down the stairwell once more, dragging Sam with him. "Get moving, unless you want a bunch of flesh-eating scarabs chewin' on your ass!"
Down they went, tripping and scrambling, down, down and further down, until it seemed as though they'd reached the very bowels of the earth. And still they continued downwards. The scarabs were closing in on them, the sound of their tiny insect feet sending shivers down everyone's spines, the thought of flesh and muscle being stripped clean from bone foremost in every man's thoughts.
Patch caught sight of the little blighters, the mere front line of what must have been thousands of beetles, little blue-black shells gleaming in the torch light. He sped up, pushing and shoving at the other men.
"Move it! The bastards are almost on us!"
The small group almost fell forwards in a determined effort to widen their lead, and Bobby could feel his old knees clicking and grinding.
Then, suddenly, the flaming torches flickered out, plunging the stairwell into darkness. From further up, there came a loud slam, like two stone slabs banging together, then a multitude of high pitched shrieks which were abruptly cut off an instant later.
Dean and Sam came to a dead stop, with William, Bobby and Patch piling into the back and nearly sending them all rolling down the steps.
"Shit! I gotcha!" Dean tugged Sam right up close when he teetered on the brink, and wrapped both arms around him.
"You ok?" he asked his brother, while fumbling in his jacket pocket for a lighter.
"Yeah," Sam replied on a gasp, eyes at half-mast from pain and exhaustion. He glanced all around, trying to get used to the pitch black and regain his night vision, but the darkness was cloying, suffocating, and Sam was starting to panic until he noticed something.
"Wait, listen!" Sam weakly gripped his brother's arm, and tried to get his breathing under control. "They've stopped, too."
Indeed, the scarabs had fallen silent, and no further sounds came from above.
But the silence was suddenly filled by the long, drawn out grating noise of stone on stone from all around them, accompanied by the feeling of large objects moving and sliding nearby.
Finally pulling out his trusty Zippo, Dean flicked it open and lit up their world.
"Wow!" the doc whispered.
They found themselves in a wide cavern the size of a football stadium. Its walls were lined with white and amethyst crystals, the high ceiling sparkled with stalactites, which almost met the pointy heads of the stalagmites growing up from the cavern floor. Purples and pinks winked prettily back at them, reflecting the flame from Dean's lighter.
"What in God's name is going on?" said Bobby, bewildered and angry. He was startled when his own words echoed back at him, and lowered his voice. "What is this place?"
"It's the house," Patch replied, softly, and his smile was fond when he added "It's still trying to protect us."
Dean nodded. "Must've squashed those scarabs like, well, bugs?" he shrugged.
"Yep," agreed Patch. "When it changed and created this cave, it caught the poly between two forming walls."
"So I'm guessing it ain't over yet," said Bobby, dryly, while William ambled over to a particularly beautiful stalagmite to study it. He seemed fascinated with the place.
Sam stared thoughtfully ahead.
"No, it's not," he said quietly. "He's coming after us, and he won't stop until we're all dead. That's what he was created for."
He turned to Dean, looking sad and lost in the flickering light. "But I have an idea."
His brother frowned. "Why do I get the feeling I ain't gonna like this?"
Sam gazed back, pointedly. "Because you won't," then he turned to Patch. "Polys don't like silver, right?"
Patch shrugged. "Nope. Just like normal, everyday shape shifters, silver will hurt them."
"There silver in these mountains by any chance?"
"Now that you mention it," Patch narrowed his eyes in thought. "There are some old abandoned mines a few miles from here."
Even sick and pale as he was, Sam looked a little excited. "Do you think the house could do us another favour?"
Patch grinned, catching on instantly. "And then some, boyo. And then some…"
"I can't believe you're even considering this!" Dean fumed aloud.
Bobby and Sam both rolled their eyes. It wasn't the first time he'd said it in the last half hour or so, and no doubt wouldn't be the last.
Patch was examining the walls of the cavern and muttering, sometimes patting the crystals affectionately. From what little they could make out, it sounded to the others as though he was talking to it, and that may well have been the case, because in the next second a dull glow seemed to emanate from the surrounding crystals, lending the cavern an enchanting and intimate atmosphere.
William was just finishing the last suture on Sam's stomach by the light of Dean's Zippo. It had taken him a good hour or so under less than adequate conditions, but he admired his handy work as he tied it off, then wrapped and bandaged the wounds tightly. Satisfied Sam's gut looked secure enough, he packed away his equipment. All things considered, he hadn't done a bad job, but the kid was the real hero in this. Sam hadn't uttered a word of complaint, though his face had been tight with pain, teeth digging into his lower lip, and fists clenched to breaking point around Dean's hands.
"There," said William, patting Sam's shoulder and helping him sit up a little, his back against a rough wall. "That should serve you well for a few hours, but it will need changing. In the meantime, I want you to take it easy," he glanced briefly at Dean. "And you can forget any plans you might have for now. You're in no fit state to take on a field mouse, let alone a polymorphic."
Dean nodded and thumped his fist gently against a stalagmite. "Damn straight," he told his brother, and ignored the kid's feeble glare.
Any forthcoming arguments were put on hold by Patch, who joined the rest of the group with a goofy grin on his face, and a delicious smelling bundle in his arms.
"Grubs up, boys," he announced to his stunned companions, and dumped down several steaming hot, grease-proof bags. "Best burgers in the world, made with twenty-one day matured prime Irish fillet, smoked bacon, Cornish Cruncher mature cheddar, homemade ketchup and hot English mustard. Oh, and I pickled the gherkins meself!"
"W-what? How…?" Dean stammered around a mouthful of saliva, eyes filled with the look of a hungry predator that'd caught the scent of his prey. He sniffed the air furiously, putting Bobby in mind of a big, friendly dog snuffling for left over crumbs.
Patch widened his grin. "We already had the ingredients; the house just put them together for me."
Bobby stared at the feast, a question forming. "So why…?"
Patch anticipated him. "Shouldn't use magic for something so mundane and trivial as shopping. It's disrespectful and causes no end of trouble. And besides," he said, with a self-conscious shrug. "I love to cook. It's a nice, relaxing hobby."
Dean was no longer interested in explanations, and had already sunk his teeth into succulent beef and fresh baked bread, moaning obscenely.
"Ooofffmyyyfffuckinffffgodddd!" he managed around an oversized mouthful, meat juices, ketchup, and mustard oozing and dripping down his chin.
Sam normally would have grimaced, but instead found comfort and humour in the familiarity of his brother's disgusting eating habits. He couldn't help smiling fondly.
"Good, eh?" said Patch, with a twinkle in his eye.
Dean nodded and moaned again, saving his breath this time for another bite.
Everyone downed three burgers each, but Sam declined food on William's orders.
"Nil by mouth for now," he told his patient, kindly. "Your gut's too badly damaged to attempt digestion and needs time to heal. Ideally, you should be on a nutrient drip, but that'll have to wait until we get to safety. Unless…" he raised an eyebrow at Patch and nodded his head towards the crystals.
The Irishman smiled apologetically. "Intravenous drips aren't usually covered in house practical magic. Might end up doing more harm than good if we asked." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "But I can ask it to help dull the pain a little. Might take a while to formulate, but it works real well, if you're interested?"
His question was directed at Sam, who nodded eagerly.
"Dude, I'll try anything right now."
"Consider it done," Patch replied and wandered back into the depths of the cave.
Sam sighed tiredly, and eyed the food bag with something akin to envy.
"Can't wait 'til this is all over."
Dean stopped chewing and cast him a guilty glance. "Sorry, dude."
"Wasn't hungry anyhow," said Sam with a small, unconvincing smile.
If anyone noticed Dean's free arm winding round his little brother's shoulder and squeezing gently, nothing was said. Dean's last burger remained untouched despite Sam's protests.
Bobby cleared his throat. "Best we try and get some shuteye," he glanced at the others. "I'll take first watch; you guys rest up."
The men finished the rest of their meal in silence while Patch returned with a small bowl made of purple quartz.
"Here, drink some of this" he placed the bowl against Sam's mouth. "It should ease the pain, take away your hunger and help you sleep."
Aware of Dean's worried gaze, Sam tentatively sipped at the cup, tasting something warm and sweet, like honey and strawberries, and began to drink with more enthusiasm. He felt its effects immediately as a pleasant, relaxing sensation that coated his throat and soothed the throbbing pain in his stomach.
"Wow," he slurred after a third mouthful. "Thasss…tttthhassss…prettttty ddammnn goooo…"
That was all he managed before his eyes slipped closed on a gentle snore, and his head dropped limply to Dean's shoulder.
Dean huffed out a small, relieved laugh. "Sleep tight, little brother."
Some hours later, with the team fully rested and fed once more, a familiar disagreement was brewing.
"I'm gonna do it."
"Dean…"
"I mean it, Sammy," said Dean, firmly, stopped his pacing and crouched down to Sam's eye level. "You're not gonna be bait for that thing, you understand me?"
Annnnd out came the puppy dog eyes, as predicted.
Bobby rolled his eyes at William, who was checking Sam's stitches again, but both men wisely chose to stay quiet.
"I'm the ideal choice," said Sam, as gently as he could. "I'm injured, slow, can't fight. Hell, it can probably smell my blood! It'll go for the weaker option."
Dean was already shaking his head. "That's why it should be me."
"Dean, c'mon man," Sam insisted. "If it gets too close to you I won't be able to help. But if I'm the bait, I'll have all you guys as back up."
"Sam," Dean clenched his eyes shut in anguish, knowing his brother was right. He bit his lip then opened his eyes again, bright emerald green flashing fiercely by the light of the crystals.
"And besides, the kid will know me instinctively 'cos I gave birth to him…" Sam's jaw snapped shut for a second and he blinked. "Jeez, now there's a sentence I never in a million years thought I'd say!"
"I don't like this, dude," Dean growled, not at all amused.
"If it's any consolation," Sam replied with a wry smile, "neither do I…"
A distant, muffled bang and some weird giggling broke out, echoing round the cavern and bouncing off the walls.
Dean instinctively crouched in front of Sam, shielding him.
"What the fuck was that?"
Sam's eyes darted back and forth, seeking the source of the noise. "I'm thinking it's our boy. He's trying to break through the walls."
"Damn kid must be as strong as The Hulk or something," Dean replied, also warily watching the shadows. Deep rumbling within the crystal walls followed more giggling. "Little shit's playing with us."
Sam grinned, weakly. "Playing with his food, huh? Guess we didn't do such a great job raising him."
Bobby snorted and cautiously backed away from the walls. "Must've learned his table manners from Dean."
"Hey!" Dean protested. "I don't play with my food, I eat my food…" he trailed off while he considered that statement, and gave a little shudder. "Never mind."
Patch appeared by their side and placed a comforting hand on each brother's shoulder.
"He's found us; probably trying to find a way in. But we're all set to take the little bugger down." He eyed the younger Winchester with concern. "Now. Are you sure you're ready for this, Sam m'lad?"
Sam swallowed hard when he realised that they were no longer referring to the poly as an 'it'. But he nodded.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"Let's get to it then."
Dean slung an arm round Sam's waist, taking some of his little brother's weight.
Patch led the group through the crystal cavern and out into a freshly formed narrow tunnel with a low ceiling. It was extremely low, in fact, and there were no torches here, no crystals, nothing to light their way except Dean's Zippo. With muttered curses and mumbled exclamations each time an elbow or head bumped a wall or ceiling; they made their way carefully along, each with a hand on the shoulder of the man in front and stooped low to avoid knocking themselves out. Poor Sam did his best to keep from crying out; as the tallest of them all, combined with his grievous wounds, he suffered the most, having to stoop his head and shoulders over. Dean kept a firm hold on him, silently offering support in more ways than one.
Ahead, something glimmered in the light of the Zippo and as the men shuffled closer it grew brighter.
Sam smiled tiredly as he entered. "It's beautiful, Patch."
It was an underground room the size of two tennis courts end to end, and it was lined with solid, refined silver. The opening consisted of a stone and silver door that looked like it would take several herds of elephants to move.
William stared around him in amazement. "I've never seen anything like it before in my life. It's amazing!"
Dean nodded in agreement. "Sure is," he said and turned around in a circle, watching the walls reflect the Zippo flame. "Bet there's enough silver in these walls to take down an entire battalion of shifters."
Bobby shifted from foot to foot. "Just so long as we can see what's going on in here at all times. I don't want anyone to let Sam outta their sight for a minute."
"Don't worry, Bobby-boy," said Patch. "I've got that covered."
They all gazed around the silver room in silence, each man reluctant to leave, until Sam spoke up.
"Ok. You guys had better split," he said with a grin, sounding a good deal steadier and more confident than he actually felt, and glanced at the hard, silver floor with a grimace. "This is sure gonna be fun."
Dean was the only one not fooled by his casual demeanour. He squeezed Sam's shoulder, and handed over his favourite weapon.
Sam stared at the silver Taurus.
"For luck, ok? She's always served me well," said Dean. "She'll look after you.
"What about you?" asked Sam, nervously.
"I'm covered." The older brother swept aside his jacket to briefly reveal another gun jammed into the waistband of his jeans,
Sam swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Thanks, Dean," he said, hoarsely, and took the offered weapon.
"I got your back, bro," Dean added, quietly, green eyes soft and serious. "I won't let you down this time, I promise."
"You have never let me down," Sam whispered back at him, trusting gaze filled with sincerity. "And I know you won't this time either, dude."
Another bout of maniacal giggling, the kind that sets teeth on edge, echoed around the group, accompanied by more banging and the sound of stone cracking under pressure. Tiny dust eddies circled round their feet, while the ground trembled and shook.
Patch cocked his head to one side. "Shite. He's nearby already."
"Kid learns fast," said Dean, distractedly. "Takes after his parents."
William shuddered. "Think my testicles just rose back up inside me," he whispered, fearfully.
"No more time to waste," Bobby growled, and grabbed Dean by the shoulder. "Let's go." He nodded to Sam. "Remember: we're right here, ok, son? Close by."
Sam gave him a shaky salute. "Yeah, I know."
Dean reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away from his brother, every instinct screaming at him to stay by Sam's side, but knowing it wouldn't solve anything.
Sam watched the others leave, trying not to show his fear at being left all alone with a lethal polymorphic shifter after his blood.
Though, technically, he wasn't alone. There were a series of hidden observation points on the outside of the room, each connected to the others by a small tunnel. Dean and the guys would be watching closely, but he couldn't help the shudder of apprehension running through him.
There was every chance this plan wasn't going to work but it was all they had. It was based on the shaky assumption that the shifter would go after Sam, given that he was the kid's 'mother' – and Sam sure wasn't living that one down anytime soon - with that special parental bond thing they'd once had, before the birth.
But there's always the chance he could go after one of the others, thought Sam, anxiously.
God only knew what would happen next, but he just had to hope they were all prepared and on their guard.
When the other men were out of sight, Sam carefully leaned against the silver cavern wall and sank down to a crouch, hissing in pain. His fingers closed around the weapon his brother had given him, drawing some comfort from the feel of the stock in his grip. It was loaded with silver, but Bobby had already shot the poly in the head and it had made no difference. Maybe, hopefully, this time Sam would just be close enough for a single shot to the heart, because that was all the chance he was going to get. The poly was too strong and too fast. If Sam missed or bungled the first shot, there would be no second attempt. Though he never said it out loud, and especially not in front of his brother, Sam doubted Dean, Bobby, Patch or William would get there in time to stop the shifter from tearing him apart, but at least they could seal up the room, effectively imprisoning the poly in an underground silver cage. He would eventually decline from starvation or the poisonous effects of the silver.
The world would be a slightly safer place. Problem solved.
Perfect.
Apart from, ya know, the hideously painful death that awaited Sam should he fuck it up in the first place, not to mention what it would do to Dean, seeing his kid brother die like that…
Please God don't let me fuck this up.
Sam could almost feel Dean's nervous gaze on him. Patch had said there were small man-sized faults in the walls, like natural one-way mirrors made of silver glass. The other men were all behind the walls watching and waiting for the poly, weapons also loaded with silver.
Sam offered up a prayer and kept his eyes on the entrance.
TBC.
Can they pull this off? Will it go according to plan?
Or is there an almighty fuck up just waiting in the wings to strike?
Leave me some happy thoughts and I'll get back to you soon…
Only one more chapter, and then the epilogue!
Love and hugs,
ST xxx