Chapter 10: Failure To Launch

They left the motel room after printing out two copies of the document Sam had compiled. They weren't going completely unprepared either, they may not have had their voices but they still had their guns, knives, holy water, salt, and anything else they could possibly think of that might work. The last item they had grabbed was John's journal, the only thing they felt they had left of their father. Neither would admit it but sometimes it felt wrong to go through their father's thoughts knowing everything that had happened.

Unfortunately they didn't have much of a choice, most of what they needed came from that scrap of a book and so they had to keep it with them at all times, no matter how much it may sting.

They decided the best thing to do would be to stick near the residential areas, away from the stores and main roads. The Gentlemen would be far too easily spotted even with the curfew in effect, anyone looking out their windows would see them. So by keeping to the smaller streets they were hiding themselves in a way, and also making the boys' job easier in the discretion department.

Before they had left their room, they had come up with a complete plan for the night. First off they were going to split up, normally they wouldn't except that Dean came up with a way for them to communicate through their phones. They would send Morse code back and forth to each other by pressing different buttons for different periods of time.

After they had worked that out, they figured that they'd each start at different ends of the town and meet somewhere in the middle if neither got interrupted. If one of them did find these things, they would call the other and wait for their sibling to show up before trying any 'heroics' as Sam had worded it. Dean reluctantly agreed to everything they had planned and so when they set out they felt confident things were going to go well. As Sam and Dean split up, both on foot to make the search more thorough, Dean turned towards his brother briefly.

IHey Sam?/I Sam turned to look at him. IBe careful./I

Sam half smiled appreciatively and nodded his head, then turned his back on his brother and walked in the direction of his starting line. Both boys trekked silently, wary of every one of their surroundings, just waiting for the time when they would have to pounce into action.

About an hour into slowly skulking around houses, parks and sidewalks, Dean still hadn't found anything. Truth be told he didn't think that he would, but he couldn't stop just because of that, the hunter in him told him this was his responsibility. To keep people safe from harm. Even if he thought harm had eluded him, he still had to try.

Sam wasn't fairing much better, his feet were getting sore and his head hurt, but so far nothing out of the ordinary. He huddled his jacket closer to him as a breeze picked up, his hands were starting to tingle from the chill so he stuffed them in his pockets. Seconds later he quickly withdrew them as his head ache spiked, sending pain shooting from the back of his brain to his eyes in milliseconds.

He grabbed hold of a nearby tree and dug his back into it to try to gain control of his balance, it didn't help though. He soon found himself kneeling in a puddle, freezing water all over his jeans and soaking into his shoes. All of these details went unnoticed as he dug his hands into his head in an attempt to bore the images out.

The pain he felt in his visions was bad, but this? This was something new. He felt tears sting his eyes, he felt his body begin to shake, and he felt his head exploding from the trauma. Or at least he wished it would already, and just as he was about to let the dark take him, the movie started.

IHe stood on the sidewalk, a sign next to him declared he stood on Bryant St. Sam immediately knew this couldn't be good, this obviously meant someone was going to die here./I

bWhen this is over I gotta call Dean and let him know…I just hope we have time to stop these things./b

Sam was standing on the corner of an intersection when he spotted them. They were barely visible in the shadows of the trees, but there they walked, or glided in this case. Sam stood in silent horror as once again he was brought face to face with his enemy and once again could do nothing but watch their next moves.

Sam had seen them before, but their grotesque smiles and white skin still unnerved him. Each one was different, much like a person, with different features, heights and weights. The tallest of them was positioned in the front of the pack, and Sam could tell from this distance that the thing would tower over him. They wore pressed black suits, white shirts underneath and ties around their bony necks, shining dress shoes completed the look of professionalism. If it weren't for the appearance of death in their skin, the way it was drawn over their bones, lacking texture and humanity, one would suspect them to be a group of lawyers.

In his last vision the tallest, who was clearly the leader, had not been present and now that he was, Sam could see that he was carrying a bag in his left hand. There was also a certain amount of order that had been lacking in the last encounter, these things seemed to be more controlled and precise in their every move with the leader present.

They approached a house, about three houses from where Sam now stood, not wanting to follow but knowing he would have to. He would be forced to be a witness of their brutality and evil, he would have to watch as another person lost their life to these monsters. As they entered the building, the front door seemingly to open of it's own accord, Sam saw movement in the direction the Gentlemen had come in.

He squinted his eyes and took a few tentative steps forward to try to make out the new player. He stopped in his tracks when he realized who it was, now he only had to hope that back in reality he would wait for Sam to help him. But in Sam's current world, Dean slunk through the shadows and dashed up to the house to catch the door while it still stood open. He pushed the door open slightly to allow himself room to move but not enough to cause any unwanted noise. Sam's feet were planted as he watched Dean disappear into the house. He didn't want to go in, he didn't want to see any of this. The dread he felt at this moment overwhelmed him and closed off all of his senses except for his sight, the one thing Sam would have loved to give up right now.

Suddenly there was a flash and he found himself standing in a bedroom. The house was dark and the only light came from the moon, the only thing that allowed him to see the two figures sleeping in the bed in front of him.

bThese things must be running out of time or something…please let me save them. Oh god./b

He prayed for some kind of head start, to snap out of his vision in order to gain more time to help these people, he didn't know if he could handle two more deaths. It was always much more personal when he saw what happened to the victims in his visions, he always felt more responsible.

The door behind him creaked as it opened, two suited men glided inside, their feet not making a sound as they hovered inches off the ground. They positioned themselves on either side of the bed, while Sam backed into a corner in an attempt to distance himself from what was coming. Three more monsters entered, Sam guessed the other two were guarding the door. The three new arrivals also took their positions, two at the foot of the bed and the leader beside the man sound asleep next to his wife.

Everything stilled, not in slow motion, everything just stopped as if in anticipation of what was to come. Curiosity, being one of Sam's strong traits, pushed his feet closer to the spectacle, so that he was standing just wide of the group that now encased the bed.

Sam then noticed that the sleeping man was beginning to stir, that feeling of something invading, waking his mind. As his eyes opened he blinked a few times before his eyes tripled in size and he started to flail. As he did the men beside the bed grabbed flying limbs, their arms darting with precision to gain hold on their targets. As each ankle and wrist was grabbed, blood was drawn, the knife like fingers digging in to flesh just enough to ensure capture.

His senses were beginning to return and Sam could hear the frantic, laboured breathing included in a panic attack. The man's limbs were pulled taught and held against the mattress, his wife still sleeping beside him. The tallest Gentleman placed his bag on the night stand and flicked on the lamp beside it, sending a soft, serene glow through out the room. Sam was beginning to hope that maybe the woman would be spared, that she would stay asleep and not witness what was about to happen.

But his hopes were dashed as she rolled over and opened her eyes, immediately having the same reaction as her spouse. She, also like her husband, was quickly restrained and held down to await the next move of their captors.

The tallest then fixed his entire attention on the man laying in front of him who was staring at the face of death with terrified eyes, his breaths coming in short gasps. The Gentleman looked at his prey for a moment before turning to the night stand and opening his bag.

He reached inside and pulled out something that glinted in the moon light. Clamps. He brought them up to his face as if to admire them, but he was only adding to the terror of the man cowering before him. Placing the clamps on the nightstand he pulled out the next item. Scalpel, who would have guessed. Sam's imagination was already running away with him as his thoughts started to form the gruesome reality.

bWhat the hell is this? Come on, when is this thing gonna be over! I need to help these people!/b

The scalpel joined the clamps, and one last time the monster immersed his hand in the leather bag and pulled out the final item, completing the collection of greatly misused equipment. The syringe stayed in the long, dead fingers and Sam winced in preparation for the untimely demise of this poor victim.

Just when Sam was about to close his eyes, not wanting to watch this man rendered unconscious for the last time in his life, the Gentleman turned from the bed and seemed to stare right at Sam. Sam met his eyes and couldn't help the shudder that flowed through his body when the demonic grin didn't falter, never had.

Then Sam realized it was looking through him, past him. And then he heard the door creak, opening wider, admitting first one creature, then another, then…DEAN. In between the two things, Dean was struggling wildly, trying to free himself. But not to escape, Sam knew his only thoughts were of the two people about to fall victim to these bastards.

Sam watched in horror as his brother was dragged forward, a look of sheer fury and determination on his face. Blood dripped onto the floor from the wounds inflicted on his arms due to his struggling. His eyes were set on the creep in front of him and the people restrained behind it.

He managed to get an arm free and viciously punched one of his captors square in the head. Nothing happened, the thing just stood there with a smile plastered on it's face. Then, with lightning quickness, it grabbed Dean's shoulder and pulled while the second captor did the same. The result was a resounding pop as his bone left it's socket. Dean's mouth opened in silent agony and then quickly clamped closed, both out of habit and determination.

Now with one arm hanging uselessly and the other in the hands of a Gentleman, Dean could only struggle so much and he knew there was no way he would escape. Sam was still rooted to his spot, the pop reverberating in his ears, taunting him. He was helpless, it was bad enough to watch these people die, but if Dean was killed then they might as well take Sam with him.

Finally he snapped back into his brain and dashed towards his brother, full protective mode kicking in. He leapt at the captor holding Dean's good arm and was going to grab him, but he fell right through the figure. His head struck the wall behind it and he lay momentarily stunned, blinded finally, to his relief.

When he looked back, the leader had walked forward and was now holding Dean's bad arm in one bony hand while he inserted the syringe with the other. Rather quickly Dean's struggles stopped and his knees hit the floor, soon followed by his torso and his head.

bNo! Dean! Wake up please!/b

Sam could only sit as his brother's dead weight was lifted between his original captors and removed from the room, followed by the two Gentlemen who had been at the end of the bed.

bGod Dean. I promise I'm going to stop this! I won't let these bastards have you!/b

The tallest then returned to where he had been before, next to the nightstand, and picked up the scalpel. He then, very carefully, leaned towards the man lying on the bed who was stuck in some sort of horrified trance.

The Gentleman sliced down the front of the man's shirt, opening it to reveal a chest rapidly rising and falling as the breaths were sucked in and out of his lungs. It was then that the man decided to become lucid and began to squirm frantically. Once again his efforts were futile as the only result were deeper cuts into his arms, but his legs flung wildly, freed from their captors.

The two holding his arms simply ignored the legs flying in front of them and focused their gaze to their leader, waiting for the bloodbath to begin. The leader didn't seem to notice the appendages either as he lightly placed the edge of the scalpel in between the mans clavicles, ready to draw a nice, long line down to the man's navel.

The man under the blade had stopped struggling as soon as it had touched him, afraid he might cut himself. He didn't even dare to breath as the blade was pushed against his skin, slipping through it ever so slightly, causing the man to wince.

The Gentleman then pressed down harder and seemed to revel in the blood that had collected in the area. The husband started to squirm and his mouth opened in a silent scream, his eyes clamped shut against the nightmare of his pain.

The man's wife lay quietly, in shock, held by the third party member left for the kill. She simply stared, unable to process what was happening to the man she had committed her life to, the man she had promised to love and cherish 'til death do them part.

Slowly the blade moved down the man's chest, inch by inch, professionally guided by the sadistic 'doctor' in control. The blood now came faster, pooling then gliding down the mans sides in streams that were quickly turning into rivers, soaking the sheets and blankets around him.

His mouth remained open, his screams remained unheard, his pleas remained unanswered, and Sam remained in his nightmare. Still sitting on the floor against the wall, he had unknowingly grabbed his head and was rocking softly back and forth. He also didn't seem to realize that he was mouthing something, and if you could have heard him, it would have sounded something like this.

"Please, oh god, please stop. Dean please help me, oh god I can't…please! Dean!"

But, like the man dying in front of him, unaided, his pleas went unheard. He was stuck here, how long it had been in the real world he wasn't sure, but it seemed like an eternity for him. As much as he wished he wasn't, he was still watching the events before him, unable to miss a single moment of it. The man had now completely stopped struggling and lay, eyes wide, slowly blinking every now and then. His chest would rise, hitch, fall, rise, hitch, fall. Each breath causing fresh blood to spill, pooling in the mattress, soaking both bodies tangled in the sheets.

The Gentleman placed the scalpel on the night stand once more, looking at it reverently, it's tip stained with the rich crimson. Then he picked up the clamps and manoeuvred them over the man's torso, pushing until each side was settled snugly into the incision. Then with a slow and calculated move, the man's organs met the light, a sucking noise accompanying their introduction.

The husbands eyes grew wider and his mouth relaxed ever so slightly. His breathing beginning to fail, but his heart still beating. His killer reached out to him, almost lovingly, placing a hand on his chest. No, placing a hand in his chest, squeezing, ripping, pulling. And just like that, this man's life was in the hands of a monster, weakly beating into oblivion.

A box was produced from the leather bag and the heart was placed inside. Everything was quickly cleaned, the bastards' hands showing no trace of the brutal murder that had just been committed. The surgical implements revealing nothing of their misuse, of their deadly deeds. Picking up the bag carefully he turned towards the Gentleman that remained with the corpses wife, smiling sweetly and nodding at a job well done.

Sam had stopped rocking and now sat, a blank expression on his face, but an almost hopeful look in his eyes. Hope, hope that maybe she would be spared, maybe the target was only her husband. Hope, quickly extinguished as the monster raised his hand and plunged it into the woman's chest, snapping and ripping the only things heard in the silence of the night.

Astonishingly, and disturbingly, this snapped the woman out of her trance and she began to fight it. Her unrestrained arm scratching and punching at the white face above her. Her body only went limp when the hand was yanked out of her broken chest cavity, her life along with it.

The Gentleman simply left her, limbs tangled in the sheets, blood pouring from her broken body. Her eyes remained open, much like her husbands. Both now having large holes in their fronts, one professionally crafted, the other brutally forced. The blankets and sheets had once been the cool tan of sand, and was now a muddy brown, glistening in the lamp light./i

Sam couldn't move, shock had settled in and he didn't feel like doing anything but sit and detach himself. But things were not over, in fact they had just begun as hot, white flashes danced throughout the scene in front of him, burning the images into his brain. His mind flinching at the searing heat, the pain and realization of the vision began to return to him. Finally he was going to get his chance to save these people. But more importantly, to save Dean.

Sam found himself on his side, legs curled up to his chest in a bush, hidden from view. His hands were entwined in his hair so tightly that he was sure he was pulling chunks out. Slowly his body began to relax, exhaustion hitting his muscles while intense pain beat down on his brain. His senses refused to coordinate, leaving him confused, he couldn't tell if he was wet or just cold, he felt wet but then the next minute it would feel different. His nose was still lingering on the vision as a copper smell drowned him.

He lay, panting heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating for god knows how long. The pain in his mind would not let up, no matter how long he lay there, it didn't improve. This vision was longer than any he had ever had and the toll it had taken on his body had rendered it useless. He couldn't move, he couldn't think and he could barely breath.

Knowing what he had to do and that if he stayed here any number of bad things could happen , he forced his breathing to even out. It finally slowed to a manageable pace after a while longer and by that time he was able to clumsily position his arms beneath him.

His knees were lowered from his chest and he twisted onto his stomach, bringing his knees back up to help his weak arms raise him out of, what he now knew to be, a freezing puddle of water. He was completely soaked, shivering and his teeth chattered but not just from the cold. His brain was still being assaulted but he couldn't let that stop him.

Finally he got to his feet, leaning against the tree that had failed him before. As he leaned his head back, resting it on the trunk of the maple, the images flashed through his mind once more. As he saw Dean being pulled from the room, as he heard the pop repeat over and over in his pained mind, adrenaline began to flow.

With a lot more strength than he had moments ago he took off, full speed in the direction of Bryant St., knowing, from studying a map to plan their route, exactly where he had to go and how long it would take him to get there. Now he just had to outrun seven sadistic creatures and one reckless hunter.

Dean continued searching, although his feet were yelling at him to stop being so goddamn stubborn and give up. He never was one to quit something he started, except chick flick moments that he seemed pretty good at walking into. But asides from that, Dean Winchester never quit, he was stubborn and that's how he liked it.

He had been searching for a good two hours now, wondering how his brother was doing. He hadn't heard from him so he assumed Sam hadn't found anything. He was starting to get worried that they might miss the Gentlemen or already had, but once again it wasn't going to stop him from looking.

He was just turning the corner onto a brand new street when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He immediately crouched down into a position that hid him from view behind a bush. Black forms, seven of them, were gliding through the trees, making their way through the park to the other side of the street. A row of houses lay there with a street sign on the corner, Bryant St. Now he knew he would have to call Sam, Dean had agreed to wait for his brother if the found anything.

Pulling out his phone he dialled Sam's number. He pushed the phone against his ear so he could tell when the call was picked up. Suddenly he was greeted with Sam's voice and he jumped. "Sorry I can't get to the phone right now. Try again later."

IVoicemail…well that's weird/I

He pulled the phone from his ear, looking at it, trying to come up with an explanation for why his call went unanswered. He dialled again twice and twice it went to voicemail. Finally he gave up, figuring that Sam had left the phone on vibrate or silent and didn't know it was ringing.

He began to advance into the trees, following his targets so that he wouldn't lose sight of them. He saw them move across the street onto the sidewalk, float down a house or two and then turn up the path of one two story home.

ISorry Sammy, but I can't wait around if people are gonna die! Better luck next time bro./I

Dean dashed forward and caught the door that had swung open by itself, to allow the intruders in, before it could close again. He opened the door wider, cautious of a squeak from the hinges and upon not receiving any, slipped through the opening he had made.

The door closed behind him with a click, he didn't care about it though and just hoped the Gentlemen hadn't noticed that the click had taken a little longer to sound than usual. He walked forward, hugging the walls to keep himself in a position of control, gaining a full view on his surroundings.

He stood in a hallway, stairs resting across from the door, creating a foyer effect as there were walls on every side of him. Openings in the walls revealed the living room and a bathroom just down the hall from his current position.

None of that mattered, there wasn't a bedroom on this floor which would mean that the murders were going to take place upstairs. He cautiously walked towards the stairs, his gun having been removed from his waistband and now lying in his hand.

He put his foot on the first step, no creak. He put his foot on the next step, no creak. Dean decided these stairs were pretty much noiseless so he quickened his pace up the flight of stairs, slowing as he reached the landing. He glanced around him, gun at the ready, itching for a chance to get a round off. He saw three doors on the second floor. He figured one was a bathroom, one was an office or spare room and the last was a bedroom. He inched towards the bedroom door, noting that it lay partially open.

Just before he reached his target, a door next to him opened and a shadow passed over his form. He whirled around bringing the gun up to aim at whatever was about to attack. He didn't have time to fire however when a white hand appeared from the shadows of the room and grabbed his gun, yanking it from his grasp. Another hand lashed out and grabbed his wrist, biting into the flesh there.

Dean hardly noticed and instead used the thing's hold on him to support himself as he leaned back and aimed a kick at the thing that had him. His kick met it's mark but didn't seem to do anything to his enemy as, instead of stumbling backwards, the thing in the black suit glided forwards. Dean backed up with it to try to keep space between himself and evil.

He began to throw punches and kicks all over the place, trying to worm his hand out of the grasp the Gentleman had on it. Unfortunately for him, one more monster was available to join the fight playing out in the hall. It came forward, just opposite from where Dean now stood, sandwiching him between the suits.

Dean knew it was now or never, free himself from this creature and get away from the second otherwise he was going to be outnumbered and overpowered. He tried, he tried as hard as he could, but he couldn't free himself. No matter how hard he hit, how hard he pulled or pushed, nothing seemed to faze these things.

He even pulled out on of his knives and tried to stab the thing in front of him but the blade wouldn't enter the flesh. It just sat harmlessly on the surface of the white skin, not even leaving any evidence that it was there.

When his other arm was grabbed and he began to be pulled in the direction of the third door present, he didn't stop struggling. He continued, causing more and more cuts in his skin, blood dripping onto the floor. The door in front of him swung open slightly and he was dragged through the doorway, entering the dimly lit bedroom.

The scene in front of him caused him to stop struggling, momentarily in shock. Then he began again, with more fervour than ever and rage took over, he couldn't let these sons of bitches kill anyone else! Let alone a couple in their bed. He stared at the tallest monster, standing between him and the bed with an item in it's hand.

His eyes burned with hatred, his features twisted in a snarl as he continued to tug and pull. He finally felt something give and his arm came loose. Before he even registered what he was doing, his fist struck a face, his knuckles clacking against yellow teeth. He stopped waiting for a reaction, just looking at the thing in front of him.

Then it grabbed his shoulder and he felt tugging on both sides of his body. Suddenly pain shot through his arm and ran into his shoulder, flooding his right side. He began to yell out, but wouldn't let these things have the satisfaction of another useless scream so he clamped his jaw shut.

He couldn't move his right arm, and he couldn't pull his left arm loose, but he kept trying. When the tallest Gentleman stepped towards him, he didn't even flinch. He didn't take any notice of it until it grabbed his limp arm and pulled it forward, directly into the path of the syringe lying in the deadly fingers.

He felt the drug burn through his veins, leaving a tingling feeling behind as he lost control of his body. He barely felt his form hit the floor with a soft thud as his world faded out.

II'm so sorry Sammy…oh god…I'm sorry……/I

Sam had been running for five minutes, his lungs were heaving and his legs were burning, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't allow those things the next two victims and he couldn't let them have Dean. He only had a few more blocks to go.

All of a sudden he remembered something. He felt like slapping himself, and if it weren't for the fact that he was busy running, he would have. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, his pace never slowing, his legs still carrying him at an astonishing speed towards Bryant St. He turned the screen towards him and his stomach dropped. 3 Missed Calls.

IOh god…he found them…Dean…oh god!/I

He ran even faster, if that was possible. His brother had already found the things, he had been following them for a while now because the last missed call was from ten minutes ago while Sam's vision had been in control. He had even less time to reach his brother before those things accomplished their mission.

He saw the sign rush past him, indicating his arrival and counted as the houses rushed by. One. Two. Three. And as he reached the fourth, he ran up the drive way. He leapt the four steps to the door and simply rammed into it, grabbing the knob and forcing the entrance open. It crashed into the wall as it swung open and Sam lunged forward, taking the stairs three at a time.

He reached the landing and screeched to a halt, and as he did his foot slipped on something, leaving a smear behind his heal. Blood.

Oh God! DEAN where are you!?

He reached the bedroom door in a split second and flung it open. Sam was rooted to the spot, his feet wouldn't move, and his knees lost the ability to hold his weight. He slumped to the floor, his cold pants tightening over his legs. The failed hunter stared in utter disbelief at the room in front of him, a terrified expression forming on his face.

Suddenly Sam lurched forward and heaved, for the second time he heaved until nothing was left. Despite that fact, the dry heaving continued, Sam's body shaking with the effort and strain. After a while his heaves broke into sobs and he couldn't stop the tears. He pushed himself into a corner and lay on the floor, shivering from head to toe, his shoulders shaking as the sobs continued.

The bodies lay on the bed, the colour still in their skin. The moon was still full, light shining through the window. The lamp on the bedside table still on, the serene glow glittering on the wet blood splattered across the ceiling and walls, dripping from the curtains on the window and the sheets of the bed.

Sam had failed.

And Dean was gone.