A/N: Thank you, Mary T., for being the greatest beta ever:)
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Chapter 10
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"Jesus Christ," Sam muttered as he pulled into the parking lot of the institute, "we're too late." The lot was surrounded with police cars flashing their lights, officers going in and out of the building; a couple of paramedics wheeled out a stretcher with a sheet draped over it, they were followed by a young man and an older woman, both wore shocked expressions on their pale faces.
"Son of a bitch," Dean sighed, lifting his head from the window.
A cop stepped out from behind one of the vehicles and held up his hands to signal Sam to stop, he complied, then rolled down his window and looked up at the man curiously: "What's going on, Officer?" he asked, "we were coming to visit our grandma---"
"This is a crime scene, son," the officer replied, "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."
Sam feigned surprise. "What happened?"
The cop hesitated, obviously trying to decide how much he should tell the stranger, but after a moment he relented: "There's been another attack. One of the nurse's is missing."
"That's horrible." Sam shook his head, looking down at his lap for a second. "Well, I hope you find her . . . we'll be on our way now." With that, he shifted gears and backed out, then tore off down the road; Dean glanced over at him.
"Back to the cabin?" he assumed.
"It's the only place I can think of," Sam answered, "it's where he took you."
"Doesn't seem like he'd be stupid enough to do that again though," Dean countered, rubbing his forehead thoughtfully.
"Well, he was stupid enough to come out of hiding already."
Dean nodded. "True. He should've known we'd be right on his tail."
"Who knows?" Sam said, "maybe we'll get lucky for once." He laughed when Dean scoffed at his words. Winchester luck. Yeah right. "It could happen," he added, his voice sounding innocent and naive.
"Sure it could," Dean said, grinning like a fool, "and I could sell the Impala for a Mustang!" He patted the pale dashboard of his beloved car fondly; most people would consider a brand new Mustang GT a prize, but he would take his 31-year-old baby anyday over the crappy, aluminum "cars" of today.
"Worth a look, don't you think?"
Dean shrugged. "We've gotta try."
-----
Natasha's screams and pleads for help only excited Gein further as he ran the sharp blade down her arm, leaving behind a trail of blood that trickled down onto her white jacket; she whimpered pitifully, her breaths coming out in short gasps as he was unable to calm down, nearly hyperventilating. The knife cut into her skin and ripped it open, they were only shallow cuts, but she cried out in pain each time, her trembling only made it worse, deepening the cuts. She was tied to a wooden chair securely, ropes wrapped around her wrists and ankles; she didn't recognize the place, but could tell it was a small room with wood walls and blood-stained floors. When she glanced outside, she saw the sun was high. She had been taken early in the morning.
"Please," she whispered, hot tears stinging her eyes, "let me go."
"No, no, no," Gein sighed, "I can't do that." The light from the window flickered in his eye when he looked up at her. Natasha shivered. "I have to punish you."
"I haven't done anything!" Natasha sobbed.
"Oh, but you have." He placed the knife against Natasha's wet cheek and gently trailed the elegant line of her jaw, all the way down her neck and to her breast; he stuck the knife between two of the buttons and yanked on it, sending one of them flying up and opening her shirt. "Remember the baby you killed?" he continued, "never even gave it a second thought, did you? You only think about yourself . . . "
"Wh-what?" Natasha stuttered, "how did you---?"
"It is the Lord's will," Gein interrupted her, "that I punish you for your sins." Silently, he dug the blade in till it cut the thin skin right beneath her collarbone, she gasped in pain, struggling against her restraints.
"You're insane," she muttered, her voice cracking with fear and pain.
Gein chuckled. "That's what they said about Jesus."
"Yeah, and look what they did to him!"
She never saw it coming, but felt it and heard it a moment later when his large hand snapped up and struck her on the cheek, leaving behind a red imprint; it stung fiercely, like a bad bee sting only larger, and she squeezed her eyes shut to try to block it out. But in only a second, Gein had grasped her jaw fiercely and her eyes flew open, crying out when his face was mere inches from her's; she could smell his breath that reeked of smoke and some other bitter scent . . . oh god, her thought came against her well. . . . He smells of blood.
"I'm not going to kill you quickly, you know," Gein said, his voice was soft but still chilling, "no, no . . . it will be slow. Just like that baby's death was when you let them poison it!" He pushed her away and jumped to his feet, beginning to pace the length of the tiny room, his breaths coming in shorter and shorter, harsh bursts. "I should burn you alive!" he screamed, stopping and pointing at her with an unwavering finger, "then you would know your child's pain. Your skin will melt away . . . and I'll make sure you stay alive long enough to feel it."
"No . . . "
"Yes!" Gein laughed as he reached over and grabbed a small, metal can, then tipped it over and poured a small bit of a nasty-smelling liquid onto her lap; Natasha felt the horror in her increase, getting worse and worse. Gasoline. Gein produced a black lighter from deep within his coat pocket and held it up for her to see, then he flicked his thumb and a small flame shot out; Natasha shrieked, her mind abandoning all thoughts and focusing completely on the agony that was to come. Her yelling grew louder as he walked toward her, grinning disgustingly---
"Back off, Gein!!!"
Sam's shout echoed around the room in unison as Dean kicked down the rickety door, a powerful .45 braced between his hands; simultaneously, Gein dropped the lighter onto Natasha's lap and it burst into flame as she screamed helplessly. The brothers eyes widened in horror, but didn't let it phase them for long as Sam instinctively ran to the suffering girl and Dean flattened Gein with a bullet to the chest then raced to him before he could recover. But he wasn't quick enough, and grunted as his breath leapt from him, Gein having placed his boots right to his chest and kicking him back.
"You're gonna be okay," Sam assured the girl, swiftly patting down the flames with his jacket, though not in time to prevent her legs and stomach from being horribly burned. She sobbed as he untied her hands and ankles and scooped her out of the chair, sparing Dean a look just as his brother was thrown into a wall and slid to the floor, moaning.
"Dean?"
"I'm fine. Get her out of here!" Dean snapped.
Reluctantly, Sam obeyed his brother's order and fled the building, holding Natasha close; Dean struggled to his feet in time to deliver a blow to Gein's stomach, then brought his elbow down on his back, knocking him down to his knees. Dean was unrelenting in his attack, immediately kicking Gein in the face with his heavy, leather boot and forcing him onto his back; but Gein was far from defeated, he swung his legs around in a windmill and smacked Dean across the face, spinning him around and slamming him against the wall. Dean grunted his discomfort, pushing his back to the wall as a way of keeping himself upright, then prepared for another blow, hardeing his stomach just as Gein dug his fist deep into it. It had the desired effect. The punch having barely phased him, Dean jumped forward, wrapping his hands around Gein's neck and taking both of them to the floor.
Outside, Sam placed Natasha in the backseat of the Impala and covered up her burns the best he could before dialing 911, hastily giving them directions, and then dashing back inside, hoping the fight would be over---or at least moved elsewhere---before help arrived. His long legs carried him into the tiny cabin quickly, arriving just as Dean tackled Gein, choking him; the older brother glanced over his shoulder, then shouted:
"Sam, get the lighter!"
Speed was vital so Sam dove around Dean and grasped the fallen lighter, but he was still too slow, and Gein managed to wrestle Dean off him, gaining the upperhand; he was about to slam his fist into Dean's face when Sam snapped his leg forward and kicked him in the temple. "Dean," he said, urgently, "we've gotta get out of here. I had to call the cops."
Dean's eyes turned into perfect circles. "Sam---"
"I had to," Sam cut him off, throwing a punch into Gein's windpipe and then taking one to his stomach and stumbling back. "She needs help," he gasped.
"So do you," Gein snarked, pulling a shiny object from his back pocket and lunging forward; Sam side-stepped the vicious thrust and wrapped his large hands around Gein's wrist, squeezing and twisting it around painfully.He gripped Gein's other arm and held it to steady himself as he planted his heel into his enemy's stomach and pushed as hard as he could, sending Gein flying through the flimsy wall and out onto the ground, lightly covered by snow. Sam and Dean were right behind him as Gein landed on the ground and a tiny cloud of white burst up around him; he wasn't subdued for long, and jumped back onto his feet with a mad flash in his eyes, then spun around and fled in the direction of the forest behind the cabin. Dean raised his .45 and slowly squeezed the trigger with the pad of his finger, making sure he had lined up the shot properly; the round found it's target in the middle of Gein's back, leaving behind in it's place a tiny hole that began bleeding dark---almost black---blood.
"That's just nasty," Dean muttered as he took off running alongside Sam; just as he flicked on his own lighter and held it over Gein, the man rolled around onto his back and threw his pocket knife into the air. It buried itself an inch into Dean's stomach, forcing him to drop the lighter and watch it fall uselessly as he staggered and dropped to his knees, placing his hand over the wound that was gushing blood.
Instinctively, Sam grasped his brother to hold him up while snatching the .45 and blasting Gein right in the forehead, blood and brains shot up and covered Sam, nearly making him gag as Gein screamed and fell over. Not hesitating the slightest bit, Sam picked up the lighter and threw onto Gein---but his aim was off as Gein swung and knocked his legs out from under him---still, the flames ignited and began to eat away at Gein's pants. He screamed his fear and agony and crawled away, kicking against the ground and frantically throwing snow on the flames; the smell of burning, rotted flesh filled the air and Sam and Dean's nostrils, causing them to gag and lean over, pressing their hands to their stomachs.
"This isn't over!" Gein spat, his voice was sharp as a blade and sent chills down Sam's spine; Gein scooped up a handful of fluffy snow and threw it onto the blaze on his legs as Sam dropped down to reach for the lighter again. His fingers were within inches of the shining object when Gein's boot connected with his wrist, snapping the fragile bones within; the sound of his brother's short cry of pain brought Dean out of the fog of his pain and the stink of Gein's flesh, and he pushed himself forward, back into the fight. Sam cradled his wrist and rolled aside, giving Dean room to pin Gein down temporarily and land a few solid punches to his face and throat; Gein growled, striking upward and digging his fingers into the stab wound, the sharp pain nauseated Dean and forced the breath from his lungs. Sam pushed Dean away and took over, but he was too late and Gein had already recovered, he swung and punched Sam in the nose, splattering blood all over his dirty knuckles and sending Sam tumbling down to the ground. Before either brother could strike, Gein had found his way back to his feet and taken up a strong stance, his legs shoulder-width apart and slightly bent, his shoulders rounded, fists clenched---eyes gleaming with excitement.
Sam took a step back, then swung his leg around in a fankick, his foot smacking across Gein's jaw; Dean bent over and grabbed the lighter as Sam moved, then lunged at Gein, trying to catch his sleeve with the tiny flame. Gein pushed him aside, then backhanded Sam and forced him away by punching him in the gut three times, then viciously kicking him on the side of the knee; Sam cried out as his knee was wrenched to an awkward angle and gave out beneath him, and Dean fell his heart twist at the sight of his little brother in pain. He yelled angrily and raced toward Gein, his hands outstretched and thumbs poised to gouge out Gein's eyes; their bodies slammed into each other and Dean's momentum carried them over to a tree, where he pinned Gein. Trembling from exertion, he pressed harder and harder till he felt the soft, wetness of Gein's eyaballs against his dry thumbs; gritting his teeth, he combated Gein's attempts to stop him and pushed on, gradually stabbing deeper. Blood spurted out and all over his face, Gein struggled against the whole time, growling and screaming angrily, full of pain; Dean felt sick as the eyeball squished against his thumbs and the blood and clear liquid ran down his hand.
Gein brought his knee up and hit Dean in the groin, catching the young man off-guard; he gasped feebly and released his hold on Gein, but Sam already had his back and ran forward to take his place. He punched Gein in the jaw, then the nose, the eye; he slammed his forearm into his throat, hit him in the stomach over and over again, then dug his fist in and pushed up so the blow went under Gein's ribs and completely stole the breath from him. Absent-mindedly, Sam thought: Do zombies need to breathe? before Gein planted his hands on either side of Sam's shoulder and blindly struck out, managing to lash out with a decent head-butt and temporarily daze him. But Gein was at a severe disadvantage, completely blinded by Dean's attack and in terrible pain from his numerous injuries; Dean pulled himself from the ground and half-crawled, half-walked to Gein, tackling him by wrapping his arms around Gein's legs and flinging him down. He looked over to Sam anxiously, relieved to see him with the lighter once again, working at trying to get to catch aflame; it was dripping wet and the cold air kept extinguishing anything he could get.
"Damn it," Dean muttered, quietly; beneath him, Gein shifted, and he returned the move with a fierce punch to the mouth, cutting his hand on the teeth but also knocking a few of them out in the process. Even burned, beaten and maimed, Gein still struggled against him, his strength having been taxed but not defeated;
"Got it!" Sam spoke as he hurried over, cradling the lighter.
Sirens sounded from the cabin, drawing the attention of both boys; Dean's mouth fell open, he shook his head in bewilderment: "It took us over an hour to drive up here! How'd they get here so fast!?"
Sam shrugged. "Maybe there's a station around here somewhere," he offered.
"Fuck." Dean looked around. "We can't light him up here, they'll hear us!"
Sam growled, then slapped the lighter shut and gripped Gein's arms: "Get up!" Dean jumped off as Sam yanked and forced Gein to his feet, his eyes darted back and forth between the cops surrounding the Impala and their prisoner. No ambulance had arrived yet. Hospital's probably far away, he thought with regret, hoping Natasha would hang on long enough to make it.
"Let's go, Dean," Sam sighed, holding Gein's arm behind his back and pushing him into the dense forest.
Dean snarled, falling into step beside Sam and keeping his eyes pinned on Gein, who was fighting back but with very little success; Sam held tight to Gein's wrists, and Dean pressed his gun to the small of his back, every now and then looking back to make sure they hadn't been spotted. He wondered how far they would have to walk before they could safely set Gein on fire and his screams wouldn't reach the officers; the thought alone was enough to make him uncomfortable, imagining Gein laying on the cold ground as his flesh was burned away and death slowly came over him.
They walked and walked, it felt like hours but Dean suspected it had only been able fifteen minutes, he figured they had gone about a mile away from the cabin; abruptly, Sam stopped and threw Gein down, then reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced the lighter. He took a deep breath, slid his thumb over the raised edge, and threw it down on Gein's chest as he tried to stand up; Dean kicked him beneath the jaw, knocking him back to the soggy earth as the crackling flames spread across Gein's torso, licking at his face and burning through his clothes. He batted at the flames but it did no good, only fanned them and caused them to spread faster; in no time his limbs were engulfed, he was coughing wildly on the smoke, the life---or afterlife---draining from his cold eyes.
Sam covered his nose and mouth with his hand, coughing harshly; Dean looked away as Gein's skin blistered and burst open, peeling away. It didn't escape either brother that their own mother had suffered the same, horrible fate.
It felt like it took forever before Gein finally stopped crying and breathed his last and went completely limp, then they waited till all the flesh had been eaten off his bones and there was nothing but bones left; they put out the fire before it could catch onto any trees or bushes, then buried the body in a shallow grave and turned and headed back to the cabin. Neither spoke. Sam's knee throbbed, Dean's side felt like it was on fire, but neither noticed. They were panting, exhausted, and sickened by what they had been forced to do---no matter how much Gein had deserved it.
By the time they got back to the cabin, an ambulance had arrived and they were loading up Natasha, who was conscious, an IV attached to her arm; a police officer who was holding a clipboard turned, his face suspicious. "Who are you?" he demanded, dropping his arms and approaching them rapidly; then he noticed their appearances and his face became a mask of confusion and concern. "What happened to you?"
"How's the girl?" Sam asked, surprised by how tired he sounded.
The officer paused. "How did you know?"
"We're the ones who found her," Dean replied, "my brother . . . he called for help. His name is Scott, I'm Daniel . . . Wilson."
"I'm Lieutenant Porter. Let me see some I.D.," the officer said.
"It's in my car---" Dean gestured to the Impala. "Can I . . . ?"
"Yeah, go on." Porter paused. "You boys look like you need to get checked out by the medics. Were you attacked, too?"
"We got here while he was still attacking Natasha," Sam explained, as Dean went to the car. "He roughed us up a bit. We chased him off that way---" he gestured vaguely toward the woods "---is she gonna be okay?"
Porter nodded. "Looks like it. Third degree burns, but we got here in time," he said, "if she doesn't develop an infection she shouldn't have any longterm effects other than scars."
"That's good to hear."
Dean returned holding their fake I.D.'s, that seemed to satisfy Porter, who then confirmed with Natasha that they had rescued her; she watched them with haunted, terrified eyes, but nodded her understand. She wouldn't tell the police what she saw. They wouldn't believe her anyway. In a few minutes, the paramedics slammed the doors of the ambulance shut and Sam and Dean watched them drive away, having refused treatment themselves. They gave a report, and a phone number that would never reach them, then were released to go home.
They sat down in the Impala, breathing in her scent and relaxing, she was always their home, and she felt so comfortable and loving compared to the cold, outside world. Sam assured Dean his knee wasn't too bad, just twisted, not torn; and Dean tried to lay Sam's fears at rest by allowing him to fuss and bandage up the stab wound in his side. Then Sam slid across the seat and took over the steering wheel, noticing how Dean's eyelids fluttered and he slumped, clearly exhausted, his injuries and the day's events taking their toll. But he was alive. And that was the most important thing.
Letting out a quiet, pleased sigh, Sam reached over and patted Dean's thigh before starting the car and driving off; he smiled with contentment when he felt Dean's hand rest on his shoulder and squeeze.
"You okay?" Dean yawned, his voice heavy.
Sam's smile grew. "Yeah, Dean . . . I'm fine." He leaned over and flipped on the tape player, laughing when Dean grinned sleepily. "Just . . . this . . . once," he said, firmly.
"Whatever, dude." Dean turned up the music before he leaned back and closed his eyes, and even Sam allowed himself to enjoy the classic rock he had listened to all his life:
And if I say to you tomorrow
Take my hand, child, come with me
It's to a castle I will take you
Where what's to be, they say will be
Catch the wind, see us spin
Sail away, leave today
Way up high in the sky
But the wind won't blow
You really shouldn't go
It only goes to show
That you will be mine
By takin' our time . . . ooh!