Lies I Never Told
Chapter 10
AN: If anyone out there is still interested, this story is just about finished. Yay. I started in '06, 'tis now '08. I am shamed. Will be posting every few days, all things be equal. Watched 'Mystery Spot' last night and… and, dangnabbit, Sam made a reference to a concept central to this story, that Sam makes reference to, in this story. Clear? Sigh. I was somewhat deflated, I wrote the chapter in question a couple of weeks back. Oh well, it prompted me to get on and post this sucker. Cheers!
S s S s S
"We need to get out of here, like now." Sam whispered as he leaned into the solid reassurance of his brother's body. As he spoke a cold breeze sprang up, a frigid caress brushing across his face and almost immediately the forest around them was shifting gently. The treetops waved in the wind, rising up like the fur across the back of stalking cat, twitching in anticipation.
They stopped turning and stood back to back, eyes following the perimeter of the clearing. Sam took a deep shuddering breath, choking in alarm as it caught low in his chest and at the same instant, the world around him froze. His eyes refused to blink, for an exaggerated moment he could not feel or hear, only his sight remained to remind him that he was standing, disconnected, on the cold ground. Desperation clawing at him, he tried to work the muscles of his throat and then suddenly he was free, the sudden rush of returning sensation was almost painful. He flinched, gulping back a small cry of distress.
"Scared Sammy? Running out on the job so soon?" Dean voice was soft, pushed past gritted teeth. It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, but Sam really didn't want to give Dean the impression he wanted to stay where they were. He hesitated, glancing down at Blaine's corpse, there was no way they were going to be hauling that out of the forest. Experience dictated they should stay, circle the area looking for any clues that might explain the unnatural demise of the man at their feet. Dean knew this, Sam knew this, yet everything within him screamed for him to move, run, put as much distance as he could between him and the woods, the house and, his heart pounded with the shock of sudden realization, the Hawksworths. There was a moments silence and Sam could almost feel the uncertainty ripple through Dean's body as he pressed back into Sam, arms still outstretched, gun steady, giving Sam tacit permission to decide their next move.
"Call it what you like, we're empty handed, and whatever did that to Blaine can't be far and I'd bet your gun, that bullets probably won't help us. Got any other tricks up your sleeve?" Still keeping his voice low, Sam kept his eyes on the trees surrounding the clearing; his eyes beginning to ache from trying to keep track of the flickering movements of increasingly wind jostled leaves and branches.
"Good point. I don't see anything wrong with a strategic retreat, sissy boy. And we should report the untimely passing of our freeze-dried lawyer here." Dean said brightly.
"Dude!" Sam's eyes flitted over the bunched fabric on the ground, avoiding the grim remains contained within, black shell buttons reflecting tiny dots of the overcast sky, a row of small beady eyes winking back at him.
"The guy was a prick." Dean shrugged. "Being dead doesn't change that." He pulled away abruptly and Sam staggered slightly before regaining his balance. "Let's go."
Tugging at Sam's sleeve, he started across the clearing. Sam watched him for a few seconds, the dark navy of Dean's jacket and the pale blue of his jeans, a bold splash of color against the backdrop of the drab browns of the trees and dirty stalks of dying sedge grasses sprouting in untidy clumps through the tattered layers of faded leaves that covered the clearing. He glanced down at himself, his black jeans, and brown jacket reflecting the muted landscape and overcast skies. How easy would it be to fall into the damp ground, surrender himself to the bleak embrace of the landscape? Just to let go. Sam swayed slightly, the tension in his body tumbling downwards, eyes falling shut, his feet sinking into the softness beneath.
"Hey! You coming? Sam. Sammy." Dean's voice was sharp and suddenly there were strong fingers digging into his arm, shaking him. "Snap out of it."
Sam eyes flew open and he blinked at Dean. "Shit, Dean. This place, I don't know. Kind of losing it there for a bit."
Dean glared at him. "Keep it together man, we've got to get back, and I've told you already I'm not hauling your lanky ass back by myself," he frowned and leaned forward. "Is there something wrong? Aside from, you know, random dead guys. How's your butt?"
"My butt?" Sam was startled by the abrupt change of subject, his hand sliding down to rub his backside. "Oh yeah. It's not playing up if that's what you mean." Sam stopped surprised. "I wonder if that means anything."
Dean sighed, and glanced around the clearing again. "You know, I can't say for sure, but I've never heard of a tree spirit sucking the life right out of someone. I wonder if Dad would know …" he trailed off, staring into middle distance.
"Yeah, good luck with that." Sam snapped and pushed past him. They began to run, into the trees, retracing their steps back to the trail. It seemed darker under the cover of the trees than before and the wind was gaining strength with each step they took, a noisy rush of cold air battering over and through the exposed branches of the looming trees.
Sam glanced behind him, giving into the paranoia of that itchy spot between his shoulder blades. The forest was alive with dancing shadows and a thousand tiny movements that were swallowed by the heavy mist rising from the damp ground, but nothing Sam could define in any concrete terms followed their steady progress. Not looking where he was going Sam ran into something solid and unmoving, he stumbled back. Dean had stopped and was frowning at a large dead cypress a few feet in front of them.
"What is it, what's wrong?" Sam found himself raising his voice to be heard above the persistent cacophony around them.
Dean ran a hand over his chin, looked unhappily at Sam and gestured at the brown foliage of the cypress. "I swear we passed that thing once already and I'm damn sure we should have hit the trail by now. It wasn't that far."
He swung around; Sam could see his eyes flicking back and forth, looking for anything that would indicate that they were headed toward the trail.
Sam tilted his head back, peering up past the long columns of tree trunks to the patches of darkening sky. The low cloud cover pressed down upon the swaying tops of the trees, a featureless ceiling of heavy grey enveloping the uppermost branches of the trees.
"This way." Dean moved more cautiously, gun pointing to the ground. Sam followed closely, a ball of nervous tension slowly unraveling in his gut, a myriad of questions nagging persistently in the back of his head.
Why Blaine? Why would he even be out here? What was it that he could feel creeping through the forest, sidling between the trees just out of sight? Sam was beginning to suspect he might be something of a coward. He had been afraid before, too many times. Afraid of the dark, afraid of what it hid, but this nagging sense of familiarity was playing havoc with his judgment.
He should have known, should have trusted his instincts, and trusted Dean with his instincts. Hindsight's a bitch and foresight its equally malicious sibling, he reflected bitterly. He had the usual excuses, the little white lies he had always told himself. That being scared shitless on a regular basis had the unfortunate side effect of making it hard to distinguish between the normal healthy adrenaline fuelled desire to be somewhere else when some ugly monster kicked in the door and the elusive sensation of knowing that something indefinably wrong was skulking in wait just around the next corner.
Dean had stopped again and was staring straight-ahead, head cocked, as if waiting for something. He brought a finger to his lips, glancing at Sam, they both stood motionless and Sam tried to pinpoint any other sound other than the whining call of the wind. After a minute or so, Dean shook his head.
"I thought I heard someone," he said quietly, not meeting Sam's eyes. An unpleasant chill crawled across Sam's skin.
"Someone? Are you sure, did you hear a voice. What?" Sam twisted around and around, almost tripping over his own feet scanning the trees, there was no one to be seen.
"No, I'm not sure. He can't … It can't be what I thought …" Dean stopped open-mouthed, his eyes widening as he stared at something past Sam's shoulder.
"Son of a Bitch," he spat and took off, pushing past Sam and running. Sam spun round barely in time to see Dean dodge behind the enormous trunk of a tree some twenty feet away and disappear from view.
"Dean, stop." Sam screamed instinctively, the sudden clarity of understanding hitting him like a hard punch to the stomach. He sprinted around the tree and for a second he thought he could see a figure darting between the distant trees, but it was too dark and what may have been the erratic movements of his brother merged into the pallid cloak of the mist.