A/N: Just another reminder I do not write death fic!

Screaming for Vengeance

Chapter Eleven

It was waiting, moving through the trees. The shadow shape sliding in and out of the darkness, sighing softly. The snarling breath filling the forest, pulling life away leaving only silence. It moved, slowly, weaving a path through the darkness, a pattern woven a thousand times, the complexity of the dance of death.

Dean struggled up, pushing himself up. He could feel blood running, hot, down his body. He knew it was there, waiting, he could sense it. He could feel its pleasure now. It knew him, it was learning with each moment, each second increasing that pleasure. It sighed, purring softly, its soft snarl winding around him, binding him there. The battle had begun. It would play its game, it would fight its war, the moves well known the outcome inevitable.

His body was beginning to fail, he knew that. His shattered ankle was a mass of pain, the cold was slowly spinning up his leg, further into his body. The black poison tracing a web of pain through him. The time would come when it would come for him. It was still playing, testing, knowing. The hunt was all, it would draw him out to the fields where the creatures of death waited to devour what was left when it was done with him.

It was coming again. He heard the change in its voice, the soft breath sighing out, purring, snarling as it prepared to move again. He tensed, waiting. It was ready. The purring reaching out to him in the dark, bouncing off the trees around him. It was coming. Sliding closer to him, the shadow shape silent, the bushes moving from it, pulling away as if its touch could wound then take their life, pulling it away to where it walked silent through the dark.

It was sighing soft, grunting. The battle was joined. It was coming. Testing, gauging, knowing. The great claws swung for him again, knocking him down. He hit something, a rock off the side of the trail. It reached out through the inky night, the claws making a soft noise as they tore aside the air.

Flame burst above Dean.

In that brief moment Dean saw its claws, curved, covered in blood, his blood. He saw the barest flash of teeth in a great dark maw and the eyes, the nothingness of its eyes. Death, fear, terror.

And the fire came again, with it his brother's voice. A battle cry. Dean looked over Sam had slipped silently up, and was swinging a burning branch like a club, holding another before him like a shield.

It screamed, the terrible sound filling the dark night. It shrieked, the call to war. It was challenging the defender. It turned the great claws towards Sam and swung. Sam was down, the burning branches flickering on the ground. It barked and then, purring softly, chuckling, pleased with itself, pleased with what had happened, it slid back into the night.

Dean lay where he had dropped against the rock. He tried to struggle up, trying to get to his brother, wanting to make sure Sam was ok. I need to get up, I need to get to Sam. Gentle hands turned him over. "Dean?"

"Sam? Are you ok?"

Sam looked at him like he was crazy and laughed softly, shaking his head. He moved away for a minute and came back with one of the burning branches. He set it down by Dean, using the light to find other wood. Sam got a fire burning, carefully building it around them. Dean watched as his brother's movements became slower and slower, each shift reflecting the pain, the effort it took to keep going. Dean tried to push himself up to help Sam. His body refused to go.

Sam finally sat down and put his back against the rock. He gently lifted Dean and pulled him up against his shoulder. His brother's arm was warm around him. Dean sighed, relaxing a little against Sam.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam's voice was soft, almost a whisper again.

"How?"

"I don't really know. I heard you scream, you know and I had to get to you, I knew I had to get to you," he said softly. His voice betraying the effort that had taken.

"Freak," Dean said, nudging Sam gently with an elbow.

"This from the guy who thinks the squirrels are out to get him?"

"They are, I'm telling you Sam, they are out to get me."

"I think you might be losing your mind, Dean."

"Probably, squirrels might have gotten it."

"I'm sure," Sam said softly.

"You shouldn't have come, Sam."

"Dean?"

"What?"

"I…would you…Just shut up." Sam sighed and leaned back a little more, pulling Dean tight against him. "How are we getting out of here?"

"Sam…"

"Dean? Shut up, we are getting out. Both of us, that's what you said when I wanted you to leave me. So…"

"It wants me, Sam. I don't think it wants you."

Sam looked over at him, "Yeah, I know. Do you know why?"

"I…I'm not sure, but I think I might have seen it before."

"And you didn't mention that because?"

"It only just occurred to me. Remember when I was 20, dad and I went hunting a wendigo? You stayed behind for some school thing, I think."

"When dad was hurt, nearly died. Yeah, Dean, I remember."

"We were out, and dad disappeared. Just vanished. I was looking for him all night. Combing the woods, I didn't find him until the next morning, torn up, dying. It was there, watching me. I think it did that to dad to see what I would do."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I know it tracked me as I carried dad out. I could hear it back behind me. I thought at first it was the wendigo, but I think the wendigo made itself scarce when it showed up," Dean sighed. "I think it might have been waiting for me for a long time. I think its ready to finish what it started."

Sam frowned, "You think so? It left when I came with the torch."

Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Sam? You know it's not done. This is all part of the game. It's getting ready for the final battle and I think you might have made yourself a target again. I don't think it likes the fact you are up and around. Unless that was part of it, too. Something to distract me, something else it can use against me. Oh, this is so not good.

"Dean? What?" Sam sighed. "Yeah, I don't believe that either. Will it play more? Or…?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know, Sam. I just hope…" And shut up, Dean.

"Hope what Dean?" Sam had shifted a little so he could look at him. Dean saw tears in his brother's eyes. "How bad is it?"

"Not bad, Sammy. I'm more worried about you."

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said. Dean heard what was there behind his brother's voice. The pain, the exhaustion, the sheer will it was taking to keep Sam going. I hope he can't hear…"So we agree to lie to each other?" Sam said with his half smile.

Dean laughed softly, "Maybe a little." His ankle was throbbing, the pain was beginning to feel like an infection and the cold was spinning up his leg, reaching up with fingers of ice. Which is just not good. He knew he was bleeding. I wonder if I should mention that to Sam? I might want to mention something, I feel a little funny.

"Dean? Listen," Sam said quietly.

"What?" Then Dean heard it, the soft call of an owl in a tree behind them. "I guess that means it's ok to rest for a minute or two." He took a deep breath. "Could you look at my side, Sam?"

Sam moved so he could pull Dean's shirt away from where the claw had hooked into his side, had torn away flesh. Dean saw his brother swallow. Sam looked up at Dean again, the tears back in his eyes.

"Come on, Sammy, it could be a lot worse. " No it couldn't. I take it back, I take it back, do you hear me this time? I didn't mean it.

"The pack is up on the hill, I can't get it until daylight," Sam said calmly, in the "no need to panic" voice. He carefully tore part of his shirt away folding it into a pad and pressing in down on Dean's side. Sam was trying to be gentle, but pain exploded out from his touch. Dean tried to stop the yelp, it almost worked coming out more like a strangled laugh. "Sorry." Sam said calmly, quietly, his voice soothing.

"It's ok, Sam." Dean said smiling at his brother. Sam pulled him back against the rock, his arm warm around Dean.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"When we get out of here I am never leaving civilization ever again."

"Never, ever again, Sam," he laughed softly. "I think I'll even avoid houseplants just in case."

Sam laughed with him. "Get some sleep Dean. I'll keep watch for an hour or two, ok?"

Dean's eyes were already closing. "Wake me in an hour, Sam."

"Sure, Dean. An hour."

The sun was warm on Dean's face. There was a gentle warm pressure against his chest. Sam. He could hear the birds singing brightly in the trees welcoming the sun, dawn's herald singing praise. He could hear the fire crackling quietly, whispering to itself. He shifted a little. He was stretched out, his head resting on something soft, warm. He opened his eyes. Sam smiled down at him.

"Morning Sammy," he said trying to push himself up. Sam moved his hand from Dean's chest and used it to help him up.

"Morning, Dean," his voice was back to a whisper.

"Sam? What is it?"

"Nothing, I just kind of strained it a little last night."

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief, pushing the panic down. I hope he didn't hear that in my voice. All I need if for him to think I am completely freaked out. Which I'm not. Not at all. Nope. He could smell something, warm comforting. "Is that chocolate?"

"Last of it," Sam said smiling. He pulled the can away from the fire and poured it into the cup. He held it out to Dean.

"Sam? You didn't do anything stupid like go get the pack did you?"

"No, I sent the squirrels."

"Oh, that's alright then," he shifted so he could look at Sam.

"Don't even say it Dean. We needed the first aid kit, we needed what was left of the food."

"I would have gone to get it, Sam." Dean said sipping the chocolate and handing it to his brother. Sam looked at him, steadily, unwavering. His eyebrows rose a little. "Ok, thanks, but you should have waited until I was awake." A thought crept into his befuddled brain. "You should have woken me last night to take a watch, what the hell?"

"You needed to sleep, Dean. I dozed off and on and kept the fire going. It was quiet all night, or actually," he smiled. "It was pretty noisy. So I knew it was ok. I was thinking Dean. While its gone I think we should try and get as far as we can."

"Yeah, I think so too. We need to make sure we each have a torch. I still think it is the only weapon we have against it." Dean smiled and leaned back. They finished the chocolate, Sam pulled out the smashed bag of blueberries and they split half of what was left.

"You ready?" Sam said slowly pulling himself up on the rock. He held a hand out to Dean, helping him up.

"Sure Sam, give me a torch." Sam handed Dean a burning branch and grabbed one for himself. He pulled Dean's arm over his shoulders and put an arm firmly around Dean's waist. "Ready, Sam, let's go."

Dean tried not to lean too much on his brother. He could feel the tension in Sam as he fought to keep going. Their progress was slow, barely movement at all. His ankle was agony. It had ceased to feel as part of his body only a source of unending pain. The poison slowly winding up through his body ice cold, the infection that had started, almost unnoticed, hot as fire. Where the two met they bound themselves together in an endless knot of pain.

He kept walking.

Sam was slowing down. Dean tried to shift more of his brother's weight onto himself. It didn't work well, they nearly fell head first down the long hill they were negotiating. Sam stopped for a minute, leaning against a tree. Dean took as much pressure off his ankle—and his brother—as he could. Sam had his eyes closed his face a mask of pain. He had been getting quieter as the day progressed. His voice slowly fading away.

"Sam?"

"No, Dean," he whispered, pushing himself up off the tree and pulling Dean's arm over his shoulders again. He started down the hill, one step, another, slowly down the hill.

Dean could see the steam rising above the trail, the sun warming the path, bringing a last taste of life before the sleep of winter. Spider webs covered the bushes, bright rainbows reflecting on gossamer threads, death waiting patiently in the center. Patient, silent, like the shadow shape pausing before the final game.

And I might be getting delirious again.

A squirrel started chattering at them, complaining of their slow passage through the forest. Dean could see the small creature at the edge of a limb, a pinecone dropped and other, the trail littered green and brown with the cones. He could see another squirrel running between the trees a pinecone in its mouth. The bright blue and black birds were chattering back there, somewhere, among the trees, talking amongst themselves. The forest was filled with life, with movement, with sound, as if it knew what was coming, preparing itself to hide, to withdraw to safety when the dark shape began to move.

This was its night, and every living thing knew it would come. There was a tension in the sunlit forest, the golden leaves spattered with red light like tiny droplets of blood, the trees streaked with damp, with darkness, a touch of it as it had moved through them, scarring, pulling life away and leaving its empty silence behind.

The final moment was coming. It was waiting for night, for the triumph of the dark. It would come, seeking its prey, seeking the one it wanted, coming to take everything before it took life. It was ready. The forest knew that, the sounds growing muted slightly, as if it were grieving for the moment that would come, as if it sensed the violence waiting there, somewhere, silent, patient, eternal.

The sun was beginning to drop in the sky. They had reached a fairly open area, the undergrowth taken by a fire. The trees standing white against the forest like solitary bones driven into the landscape. There was a large rock nearly in the center, tall enough to lean against, a slight overhang to keep some of the rain off.

Sam steered them off the path towards the rock, carefully stepping over the dead wood, corpses of small tress, scattered throughout the clearing. Leaves, where they rested on the ground seemed dark, nearly black, the lost remnants of the living trees, blown here when all color was gone. The solitary rock stood like a sentinel, a watcher in the woods, keeping the living, watching the dead. It was ancient, carried there long millennia before by the retreating ice that had once covered the landscape. It had seen generations come and go. It was waiting, like the rest of the forest, for the dark shadow to return.

Sam carefully leaned Dean against the rock, handing him the torch he had been carrying in a nearly lax hand. Dean took it from him and watched as Sam staggered out into the clearing gathering wood for their fire, slow, each time he reached for the ground Dean could see him flinch, each time he stood the mask of pain like a death mask, covering his features.

Dean lowered himself to the ground, carefully preparing the wood around them for the fire. He made a fairly large circle, hoping that the center of their shelter could be well away from those seeking claws. Sam finally sat down beside him, helping him build the fire, preparing to light it to keep the dark away. Sam pushed the torch in several times, waiting as the tinder caught then moving to a new spot, the fire blazed up around them sparks moving up through the dead trees.

Sam pulled their can out of the pack and filled it with water. They had stopped by a stream and refilled the one bottle they had left. He cut up some of the beef jerky from the bottom of the pack and dropped it in. He smiled at Dean. "Dean's special stew, right?" His voice was barely there.

"Yeah, stew. Good," he looked at Sam. "Your voice?"

"Throats just sore, Dean, that's all, the stew will probably help," he sighed. "You know it would be kind of nice to know what plants we could eat or use to make tea or something."

Dean laughed, Sam looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I was thinking that earlier. Maybe we should take a class, might come in handy sometime."

"Yeah, Dean, if we were ever going into the woods again."

"Which we're not."

"Nope, never again," Sam said with a smile. He leaned back against the rock, closing his eyes.

Dean pulled the can out of the fire and poured the soup into their cup, he leaned back beside his brother, he leaned against his brother. "Good stew, Sam," he said taking a sip and then handing the cup to Sam.

"Yeah, great recipe, Dean. We'll have to make it when we get back."

"Sure, cause this is better than pizza any day." He closed his eyes. The pain in his ankle was almost more than he could bear and the cold had seeped slowly up until it was spreading like a film of ice across his chest. The wound it had made in his side was throbbing, cold, intense, burning. It was slowly pulling his life away, taking him into the cold even before it came.

And he knew. This was part of its game, an opening gambit before the armies marched. A sliver of darkness before the light was taken away.

It's going to come for me tonight. This is it, end game, the final battle. It is coming, it plans on taking me, I think it plans on taking Sam, only to test me before it comes. This is a war it has been waiting for. It has been waiting a long time for this, and I think it is going to take its time, but this is where the end begins.

He hadn't noticed Sam gently pulling his pant leg up, off the ankle, exposing that dark wound. He didn't notice until he heard Sam's involuntary gasp. He turned to look at his brother. Sam's face was a mixture of revulsion, fear and grief. Grief was gaining the upper hand. Tears were filling his eyes, still unshed, but there making his eyes seem bright in the firelight.

Dean looked down where his brother's hand rested warm against the icy wound. Sam's hand a tiny touch of life on the death that was growing there, reaching up, slowly filling him with the black tendrils. He could see, blending with the black, the first streaks of red winding up his leg, a tapestry of death woven on his body.

He looked up into Sam's eyes. What can I say? How can I fix this? I don't think I can, sorry Sam, a little sooner than expected. The tears spilled over, down Sam's face, cutting tiny tracks through the dirt on his brother's cheeks. Dean looked away from the grief on his brother's face, a grief he knew, something he understood. Something unendurable.

He looked out at the night, his brother's hand was still resting on his leg, as if he could hold death at bay. Dean sighed, the tears overflowing his eyes as well. A wisp of memory. How did that go? I remember hearing it at that strange temple dad stopped at. For what I have done, for what I have left undone, for what I have said, for what I have left unsaid—forgive me. Forgive me Sam.

Something tugged at his awareness. He knew. He listened as life died all around him, taken into silence. The forest had grown dark, the stars withdrawn from it. Their eyes had looked down as it had walked the dark places of the earth, they knew what it was, what was coming and they looked away. Dark was complete, the ring of fire a tiny splash in an ocean of night. Nothing was moving, even the wind was silent, holding its breath waiting for the shadow shape.

It was ready, finally coming. The dark shape was sliding through the forest, the soft sigh pleased, moving forward, seeking its prey. Happy, content, the war was joined, the armies would march, the bodies would feed the ground with their spilled blood. It feasted here, the soul taken before the life, pleasure in the hunt, pleasure in the game, pleasure in the kill, when finally it came.

It had waited for this for a long time. It was coming now, seeking the fire, small against its darkness, seeking its prey. It would play, it would wound, it would finally know him completely and then, at last, end it. The time had come.

It reached out through the night, long before its purring sound reached their ears, and touched him, It caressed him with its darkness, the cold filling him. It was in his mind, he could feel it there, twining through him like the black poison flowing up from the wound it had made. It wanted to know him, it wanted to know his pain, his fear.

It wanted him to know it.

A sliver of knowledge slid into him, a knife so sharp the wound was unfelt at first. The dark night of it, the blood, the madness it promised slipped into him. And rested there for a moment. Just a moment before beginning to withdraw the edges now jagged pulling bits of him away.

He screamed, grabbing at his head, trying to tear the visions from his eyes. Sam held his hands down away from where he had torn his face. He thought he could hear Sam shouting his name. All he knew, all he heard for sure, was the sound of its voice sighing, singing to him, softly, singing the lullaby of death.

It was coming.

It withdrew from his mind, pulling away at last. He tried to focus on his brother, tried to escape the horror he had seen. Sam looked wild, he was still holding his hands. Dean saw his own nails red with blood. He looked into his brother's eyes and held them, seeking sanity, seeking warmth away from the unending cold.

It was coming, the final battle joined, the armies were marching, war had come.

And Dean knew, the realization hard, cold as ice. Reaching into his soul, finding the horror, finding the wound it had left there. He knew, this was the end and the fear froze into terror, the pain, the never ending agony burned him and the rage drove him to his feet. It was time to end this. The battle had been joined. The dark shadow was slipping slowly towards him, its song a keening sound filling the forest with a plaintive howl. Death was coming and the horror it had visited upon him was threatening madness. It was the end.

He screamed, wordless, the battle cry of the ages. Challenging, defending. He screamed into the night.

This war ends now.

To Be Continued