A/N - I'm thinking one more chapter after this, depends on if I can wrap everything up as I'm planning, but we'll see. Thanks again for all the support!
The inside of the shack looked exactly the same as it did before, empty and barren, dust and cobwebs the only adornment. Sam moved immediately to the trap door that led to the cavern, and with a nod of confirmation at Bobby, who immediately moved into position to cover the opening with his shotgun, Sam jerked it up by the hidden handle recessed into the wood. A set of stairs descended into the murky darkness, the far off flickering of a candle set in the wall barely illuminating the bottom.
Sam moved down first, his gun held ready. He immediately moved to the side to keep watch on the empty tunnel while Bobby met him on the ground. They took a moment to get their bearings, their eyes adjusting to the dim light, ears open for the slightest break in the silence. Sam knew the trap door was about midway in the tunnel. He remembered clearly the panic he had gone through when Dean had just disappeared without warning. One minute he'd been there, the next he'd been gone. He remembered every second he had spent in a cold sweat trying to get the door to open again so that he could follow, or at least confirm that Dean was okay. So he knew without any doubt that he would know it when he saw it.
Quirking his eyebrow at Bobby in question to make sure he was ready, he moved forward at Bobby's nod. They had decided against flashlights. While it would have made travelling the tunnel easier, it would have also made them a clear target. They needed every advantage that stealth could bring them. The light wasn't great, a few candles spaced in inconsistent increments on the walls, but it was enough to have a general idea of where to go.
They reached the trapdoor without incident. Sam could just make it out, the wooden cover recessed into the floor. Now they just had to figure out how to trigger it. Sam had already told Bobby that he'd been unable to do it and had gone over everything he'd tried. Bobby thought it might have some sort of timer, or reset device so that it only opened once. Maybe the point of it was to separate people just for kicks. As Bobby had said, they were witches, who knew what they did for fun?
"Okay, really slow and stick close together so we both go, all right?" Bobby whispered so quietly that Sam wouldn't have been sure he spoke at all had he not seen his lips moving.
The men started tapping the floor with their feet, standing close enough together that Sam could almost hear Dean asking when they were sending their wedding invitations, earning a glare from Sam and smack on the back of the head from Bobby. Sam smiled just a little at the thought, the smile dropping almost instantly when he realized that it was possible he would never hear one of Dean's juvenile wisecracks again.
No, that wasn't going to happen. They were going to make it.
Without any warning, the trap opened and Bobby and Sam fell through. It had clearly not been meant to handle the width of two people, and Sam got caught on the edge, colliding with a painful whack on his chest. Then Bobby was through, clearing the way. Sam could feel the door trying to swing back up, pressing against his thighs. With a deep breath, he pushed off the ledge and plummeted down after Bobby, the sound of the trap slamming shut echoing above him.
The landed in a tangle of limbs, sharp bones poking into tender places, hands flailing for purchase. It was enough of a drop that their breath was startled from their chests, even though Bobby broke Sam's fall a bit. He was sure the older hunter was going to be thrilled about that. Sam heard a grunt from Bobby when his knee pushed into something soft trying to lift himself off. With a helpful, if harder than needed, shove Bobby pushed against Sam's shoulders, tossing him over to the side.
They got to their feet immediately, checking their persons and pockets to make sure they hadn't lost anything in the fall. Luckily there was a bit of light down here as well, so Sam was able to see Bobby's shaky thumbs up. Sam had everything he needed as well, so motioned them forward.
Sam had been tense from the moment they were five miles out from the shack, waiting and ready to do battle. As they moved closer to the end of this tunnel that would lead him into the big room and hopefully Dean, that tension was turning uglier, stronger and more invasive. It was one thing to believe that someone was breathing, that you had made it in time, but it was another to actually see it, to prove that you weren't just blowing sunshine up your ass.
And he was absolutely terrified of what they might see when they crossed the threshold.
He refused to go through all the horrible options again, he'd already had them flashing through his brain with full sight and sound since he hit the asphalt back near South Bend, and it had almost been enough to lose whatever might be left in his stomach. He had meant what he said to Bobby. He was tired of putting Dean back together, because he knew he would just have to turn around and do it all over again the next day. The man had no sense of self preservation, he just threw himself in front of whatever bad thing was coming. He loved his brother for that, but man….he just knew it was going to take his brother away from him someday. That's something he was never going to be ready for.
The opening was ahead, he could see the brightness of all the candles flooding into the tunnel. Not the best news, it wouldn't help to conceal their approach, but it would make it easier to see what they were dealing with. He could just make out the murmur of voices, a man and a woman, neither sounding like Dean. He stayed pressed against the side of the wall, grimacing when he saw bloody things that may have previously been animals hanging there. Dean had mentioned those, his disgust evident. Skirting them carefully, he continued forward, making every step, every movement, completely silent. Bobby trailed behind, equally soundless.
They came around a small bend and Sam was finally able to see a small bit of the room. The sight of Dean's feet, still encased in boots, was the first thing he saw, hanging off a table in the center. The second thing he noticed, quickly snuffing out every bit of elation and relief that started to rise within him, was that they were not moving. Needing to see more of Dean, Sam craned his head, his gaze now able to take in Dean's legs up to his hips. That also brought into focus the stains that had turned his light colored jeans to black. Sam almost ran forward then, but Bobby must have seen the same thing and knew how Sam was going to react, his hand closing over the younger man's arm to hold him in place. Sam glared down at him for a moment, trying to jerk away, when rational thought came back to him. Running in there was not going to do anything except get them, and maybe Dean, killed.
He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the pace of his heart, the blood pounding through his veins, the rage tightening his jaw. It was imperative that he keep calm and focused. It was too much to ask that he not be worried and scared, but it had to remain buried until the job was done. He had to think of things reasonably and logically so he could maintain his cool. Of course Dean was covered in blood, he had already known that, he had seen the evidence that Dean had ripped his stitches in the van. It didn't mean they had done anything more to him. It didn't mean he was lying dead on that table.
"We should start now," a female voice said. "I'm not sure how much longer he's going to last."
Sam absorbed those words, tasting them like a bitter pill melting on his tongue.
Fuck calm. Those sons of bitches were dead.
Channeling his brother felt good.
Dean had managed to get some movement back, his arms and torso were his again, but he was still having trouble getting his legs to work. He was now convinced that it wasn't so much his injuries causing this as whatever spell they did. He'd been hurt worse than this before and didn't have this sense of deadness in his body, so it had to be related to whatever they had done to keep him alive. One might think they didn't trust him to sit still. Witches could be taught. Continuing his singular focus in trying to get each muscle moving, he could feel sweat dripping down his cold face as the sense of urgency ramped up. The witches had started to look at him again, still conversing quietly enough that he couldn't hear them, but he did not like the looks on their faces. He was being careful with his movements, but they had to have caught him a few times. The fact that it didn't bother them in the slightest was cause for concern.
"We should start now. I'm not sure how much longer he's going to last."
The words that Witchy Rebecca said loud enough for him to hear sent pure panic roaring down his spine, his fingers jerking at the rush of adrenaline. He wasn't ready yet, half of his body still wasn't working. Fighting wasn't an option unless they wanted to hold still while he punched them to death, or got close enough to bite or something. When your only method of attack was rolling over and flopping on the bad guys a lot, you were royally fucked. Yeah, this was no good.
"Dammit, move your god damned legs, Dean!" he ground out, not caring anymore if they heard him, only caring that they were moving towards him.
Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye, only years of training with John Winchester keeping him from full on looking at it. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, so much so that he almost believed it might be a cruel trick that his head was playing on him in his pending death, one last little 'haha, gotcha' his brain decided to throw at him. It was no illusion though, he realized with relief. Even his best imaginings couldn't conjure up that expression of fury and intent twisting those well known features into something dangerous.
Sasquatch had arrived and he was pissed.
If Dean could have worked up the energy and he didn't want to hide his brother's approach from the witches, he would have cheered and not given two shits about how stupid it would have looked. As it was, he could feel his icy skin growing warmer as hope and the thrill of a fight started to rush through his veins. Yeah, he may not be able to feel his legs quite yet, but he was still ready to go when he could. No way could he let Sam face these bastards alone, look where it had gotten him. Laid out on a table with a ripped open arm. A huge fail on both counts.
Distraction was in order now. He didn't need legs for that.
"So where's the grand pubah? We can't get this party started without the MC!" he exclaimed, feeling a bright burst of triumph when his knee flexed. Just a bit more, baby, come on!
Witchy Rebecca smirked at him, stopping beside him. Weasel was starting to come up toward his head which would put him in easy view of Sam starting to make his way out of the tunnel and Dean tried to quickly find an option that would keep his back to his brother, but Weasel continued on out of Dean's sight. He twisted his head to see that he was going to another smaller table, where there was a bowl and other implements. They must have moved everything that was on this table to that one when he was brought in bleeding out.
"Oh we won't, but there are preparations to be done. Any last words? I'll be putting you in a fugue state for the ritual, so these really are your last moments," she explained, smoothing a hand over his damp brow.
Dean smiled, his biggest shit eating grin ever. "You think so, huh?" She had no idea that Sam was lining up a shot and holy shit! Bobby was there too! Oh, they were so dead.
"You really think we don't know your friends are here?" her smug eyes belying the playful quality of her voice.
Okay that wasn't good.
Things started to move really fast then. Witchy Rebecca turned around swiftly, her hand flying out. Sam was lifted and thrown into a bank of candles, rolling through them at speed to slam against the wall. His gun went flying the opposite way. Weasel was back by his head without any warning, his own hands gesturing towards Bobby, a strange language passing his lips. Bobby froze, his face going incredibly pale, his eyes wide. Then he doubled over with a hoarse cry, blood spewing from his mouth.
"They have protection!" Weasel shouted out. Dean was suddenly very afraid of what those spells should have done if this is what happened with a magical shield.
He could see Sam struggling to extricate himself from the candles, his clothes covered with drying wax, parts of him actually on fire. He had already pulled another gun, but he seemed to be having trouble standing. His chest would come off the floor, his arms coming down to push off, when he would just fall back again with a grunt. Just trying to aim the gun was beyond him, his arms just pushed back down to the ground. Sam's eyes raised to Dean's, and he could see the frustration and alarm even with the distance. Dean tried to project faith and strength back to him, let his little brother know that he believed in him, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. He probably just looked as freaked out as he was.
Dean looked over at Bobby. The older man was on his knees now, blood still pouring out of his mouth, soaking the front of his shirt, but he was already aiming his shotgun and firing. It struck Rebecca in the leg, not a kill shot by any stretch, but Dean knew that he was trying to avoid hitting him. She listed with a screech, her hand clawing over Dean's stomach to try and get some leverage to remain standing. Dean's shout of pain joined hers as her nails and stiff fingers dragged through his torn and tortured flesh. He glared over at her, his arm clasping hers to pull her off. It was the cut arm and it wasn't working quite the way it should, pesky torn tendons, and he was about to adjust to the other arm when he had a recollection of his earlier thoughts on fighting tactics when he was partially paralyzed.
Hell, why not?
With a truly amused smile, he rolled with her, keeping a tight grasp on her arm. He braced for the fall, knowing it was going to hurt since he was coming down face first. She impacted the ground first, followed a millisecond later by Dean. He angled elbows and the one knee he could move to strike first, to hurt and incapacitate. She was on her side, one of his elbows shoved into her neck, the arm holding her arm shoving into her ribs. His knee had unerringly gone for the wound in her leg and her pained howl and the warm wetness soaking into his skin said that he had hit it.
Let's hear it for the flopper attack.
He didn't escape unscathed, her own elbow was pressing into his now bleeding stomach, making his vision white out as starbursts of pain exploded in front of his eyes. He kept his grip on her through some act of some entity, though now he was pretty sure he was going to throw up on her. If he wasn't one hundred percent sure it was going to hurt way worse than the amount of satisfaction he would get from it, he would have let it fly. As it was, he choked it back down, using whatever parts of him still worked to try and keep her pinned.
The attack on her must have been enough to break through the spell holding Sam because he saw his brother now standing, frantically smacking at his clothes to extinguish the various sections that were on fire. If Dean wasn't so concerned, it would almost be funny that he could see Sam's boxer briefs through the charred hole on his thigh. Sam was almost fire free when Weasel turned his attention to him, seeming to throw the same thing at Sam as he did at Bobby. Sam's hard won standing position was taken from him abruptly as he doubled over, arms crossed around his middle, blood coursing over his lips and down his chin.
"That the only thing you got?" Dean challenged, glaring over at Weasel, who was looking a bit peeky. He must not have recharged all his juice from healing Dean. Maybe that last thing he threw at Sam had been his whole load.
"Sam!" Bobby shouted in concern, his voice thick with blood, trying to reload the shotgun with hands that didn't seem to function correctly. Either he was bleeding out and weakening, or there had been more to the spell than it seemed.
Dean had one of them contained, at least until he passed out which was starting to not seem too far off, but it wasn't enough. Sam and Bobby were down, and neither one of them were getting up any sooner than Dean was. Dean didn't want to admit to the growing hopelessness of the situation, but it wasn't looking good. Rebecca was starting to struggle, and while she was hurt, she wasn't doing nearly as bad as Dean was. It wouldn't be long before she was up again, his grasp was weakening. He didn't know what else to do, he realized bleakly. He had nothing left.
In the end, he didn't need to do anything.
With a choked roar, Sam levered up, his gun coming up with him. He fired before he was even fully vertical, his legs shaking beneath him, his arm wavering. But it was enough. Dean heard a sound that could have only come from Weasel that sounded like a balloon losing a spurt of its air, then he was collapsing on the floor in front of their prone forms, a bloody hole between his sightless eyes.
"Nice shot Sammy," Dean gasped, still trying to hold the struggling woman down. It was getting harder and harder to do, and he didn't think it had anything to do with her. His body had taken enough abuse and it was tapping out, whether he was willing or not.
Sam's legs filled his vision then and he looked up to see his blood covered brother aiming his gun at Witchy Rebecca and with a bang, gave her a bullet wound to match her buddy. Dean collapsed in relief, using his last remaining strength to roll off the dead woman beneath him. Trying to even out his heaving breaths, he looked up at Sam, a wan smile of relief spreading across his lips when he saw that the blood had stopped flowing and Sam's color had come back into his skin.
For a moment, Sam just kept his eyes on the witches on the ground, his mouth tight and trembling with anger, his nostrils flaring as he drew in breath. His eyes were cold with satisfaction and hot with rage all at the same time. The gun was still aimed, as if daring them to get back up. Or maybe he just wanted to shoot them some more.
"You smote those sons of bitches, Sam," Dean said softly, his voice infused with pride and awe. He was starting to feel real floaty again and it occurred to him that because ding dong the witches were dead, that meant whatever was making his arm stop gushing blood had went with them. A quick check verified that and it was not a pretty sight. He wasn't sure how much blood he had left in him to lose, but he was damn sure he didn't have any to spare.
Sam's eyes jerked over to his then, and all that righteous fury bled out, replaced by concern and relief. He was on his knees beside Dean's prone form immediately, his hands going to Dean's shoulders to pull him upright. Dean winced at the movement, but didn't stop Sam. He would take a little bit of discomfort to get off the bloodstained floor.
"Hey Dean," Sam greeted with a strained smile, his worried gaze moving over Dean's body with clinical assessment. "Are you…," The second his eyes saw the gaping red maw that was now Dean's left forearm, they widened impossibly. "Jesus Dean," he whispered, already awkwardly shrugging out of his coat with one arm so he could hold Dean up with the other. Sam adjusted the coat so that all the charred spots were hidden away and pressed it hard into the wound. "Were they trying to bleed you out?" Sam asked hoarsely.
Dean had a moment where he considered saying that they did. Sam was going to be uber pissed when he found out that he had done it himself and he wasn't sure he could help his brother understand why he had done it. He really did intend to do it to stall for time, to use the witches' weakness of needing him alive against them. But his good intentions didn't change the fact that it could have gone wrong, that they may not have cared, or may not have been able to keep him going. That, at the time, that was okay too. Anything was better than being a rock with some morbid Greek personification that got off on his own crap for all eternity.
But he wasn't going to lie to Sam. He sucked at lying to Sam and he didn't want a return of his vengeful brother when he found out, this time pointed in his direction. There was no energy left in him for it.
"No, I did it, but they were going to make me into a stone, Sam. I just needed to give you more time," Dean explained hurriedly, the brilliant speech he had started to cook up lost amid the resumption of the bells clamoring through his head. Blood loss was definitely starting to be an issue. What he wouldn't give for a bed and a few pillows right now. A few pints of blood would be good too.
Sam looked like he'd been punched in the face, something coming into his eyes that spoke of shock, betrayal, and deep down, ball shrinking fear. Then there was the hint of tears. That tore through Dean, made him wish he had given the lie a shot, at least until he was in a better frame of mind to explain why he had to do it. Sam opened his mouth to speak, when Bobby moved into view, crouching down beside them. Sam's mouth snapped shut, but that terrified, wounded gaze said everything for him.
"Damn boy, you're a mess," Bobby observed, his concerned gaze bouncing between the ragged end of the wound on his arm not covered by the jacket and his blood soaked stomach. Bobby was also looking much better, no sign that anything had been wrong at all except for the red mess down his chin and front.
"But I'm still pretty," Dean replied, a smile crooking up one side of his mouth.
"Well, that's a matter of opinion, kid. You aren't going to be winning any beauty pageants the way you look right now. Any more of them?" Bobby asked, always good for getting to the heart of the current issue.
"Yeah, the boss is out kidnapping my initiation sacrifice. I don't know if there are others," Dean informed him, his breathing starting to get erratic and shallow again despite his efforts to keep it measured and even. "He was the driver of the van," Dean added to Sam.
"We'll just need to come back for him, we need to get you the hospital," Sam said firmly, starting to gather Dean up in his arms.
Dean put up his token struggle about being carried like some chick on the cover of a romance novel, but since his legs were still a little absent, and he was pretty sure he couldn't walk all that well even if they weren't, he let Sam's tight lipped glare silence him. There was something comforting about being held against Sam's strong chest, kind of like when Dad would carry him up to bed when he was little. He would never admit that outside of his own head, even with a knife pressed to his junk, but the thought was safe in his own mind.
"Shouldn't take me to the hospital," Dean mumbled as they started to make their way out of the cavern, up the stairs to the main tunnel this time. His tongue felt abnormally large and thick in his mouth, making it difficult to maneuver it around the words. His vision was getting more and more out of focus, the darkness gnawing at the edges, slowly but surely pressing further inward. "They're gonna think I'm a suicide." That meant restraints and psychologists. More importantly, he was still cursed with the death echoes. A hospital was the last place he wanted to be.
"They wouldn't be all that wrong, would they?" Sam bit out.
Dean sighed. "Sammy, told you. Wasn't trying to off myself, just needed time. I'll tell you all about it, when I can think again, k?" Dean promised, hoping Sam could make out the words with all the slurring.
He could feel Sam's own deep sigh against his cheek. Jesus, did he really have his face pressed up in the crook of his brother's neck? He was going to sprout ovaries any second. If he wasn't so damned comfortable, he really would insist on being let down.
"I know Dean, I'm sorry. It's just…. It doesn't matter. We'll talk about it when you're better." Sam's voice was soothing, even if it was filled with weariness, edged with pain.
"You all right, Sam?" Dean asked. It occurred to Dean that he didn't really think about everything Sam had gone through to get to him. He could only imagine how hurt he might have been after his close encounter with the asphalt kind thanks to Dean and how much he must have pushed to get there. He didn't miss the scrapes on his face or the black circles under his eyes. Not to mention the whole fire thing and what the hell ever else that witch did to him and Bobby.
"I'm good, Dean," Sam answered, breathing a bit heavy as he made his way up the stairs. Dean wasn't sure he bought it, but it would do for now.
"Bobby?" Dean continued. They were in the tunnel now and it was illuminated just enough that Dean could see Bobby's face.
"Nothing a bottle of Jack won't fix," Bobby drawled, wiping at the blood on his face with a ratty bandana.
Knowing that they were okay helped to drain some of the tension out of Dean, helped him to relax further into Sam's hold. He was almost warm for the first time since he got this stupid curse, and even though it wasn't over and he had major injuries to tend to, his brother was here. He was safe.
He was on the verge of doing a swan dive into that beckoning darkness, when he remembered that he hadn't really gotten confirmation that they wouldn't go to the hospital. "Sammy, still can't go to the hospital. Still have the death echoes," Dean said slowly, trying to make sure each word was clear.
"Bobby's got a few spells to try, we'll cleanse it," Sam reassured him.
Dean struggled to tilt his head back far enough to see Sam's face, but he couldn't manage the angle. So he looked at Bobby instead. "Won't work," he gasped out. He was starting to run on fumes, that miniscule movement of his head took everything he had left. "They said…." He was cut off as a wave of nauseating dizziness crashed over him and he fought to stay present, to stay above it. "It's not..." he tried and failed again. This time, he didn't try again. He was a goner.
"What the hell was he saying?" Bobby asked.
Sam looked down at his limp brother in panic, checking to make sure he was still breathing, that his heart was still beating against his chest. Satisfied that those signs of life were present, he answered Bobby. "I guess he thinks your spells won't work, but even if they don't, I don't see how we can skip the hospital this time. I mean, look at him!" Dean looked like hell. The fact that he was letting Sam carry him pretty much said clear as day that he was feeling like it too. Dean was heavy and Sam's arms and shoulders were screaming at the abuse, but Sam easily ignored it in favor of making sure his brother was safe.
"I hear ya, Sam. I don't think we can patch him up on our own, he's lost too much blood and with the stab wound, his body ain't exactly in fighting shape. We'll have to take our chances," Bobby agreed.
Looking down at Dean's colorless face, Sam prayed he was making the right decision. He just got Dean back, he wasn't about to lose him now, not to blood loss and shock or a death echo. He didn't have the full story on why Dean decided to nearly cut through his arm, but knowing his brother, it had made perfect sense at the time. He shouldn't have made the crack about the suicide thing, he had just been so horrified and filled with so much guilt that Dean may have honestly thought he didn't have any other choice. There was clearly a whole lot he and Bobby didn't know about what was happening to Dean and the only one that could fill them in was dying in his arms. There was no other option.
"Yeah, hospital it is. As long as he's drugged up, he should be safe, at least that seems to be how it works," Sam said ruefully. It would be a hell of a time to be wrong.
"Well, they'll definitely have him drugged to the gills…"
A noise sounded in front of them, making Bobby snap his mouth shut instantly. Both men crowded against the darker part of the wall, Sam protectively pulling Dean in closer to him. They weren't far from the trap door and it sounded like it had been dropped back into place. It could only mean one thing.
The big boss was home.
TBC...