A Supernatural Ghost Story: Chapter 11;
The undead thing lurched closer to Dean, coming at him in a straight line and Dean said a short prayer of thanks that these things seemed incredibly stupid. If it had tried to circle around him he'd have been screwed with his ankle making it nearly impossible to turn effectively, it would have easily gotten behind him in a matter of moments. As it was there was a slight chance that he could keep it occupied long enough before it killed him for Sammy to get away.
He wasn't deluding himself, he couldn't run, could barely move a step without intense pain, and only had a short blade to defend himself with. They weren't going to hurt Sam so the best thing he could do was try to take as many with him as he could and hope that Sam was fast enough to out run the rest.
"Come on fuglies," he whispered as it got within two feet and he struck out with the knife, slashing a deep gouge across its neck and stabbing deep into the main artery in the shoulder before diving in between it and the other one and rolling a few feet away.
It barely seemed to slow it down however, although its one arm now flapped ineffectually—Dean must have managed to cut some tendons with that stab. The second one he'd dodged started turning towards him and Dean scrambled backwards, trying to get to his feet only to feel hands like a vise close over his neck.
He'd missed the third zombie moving in the dark to get behind him and now it held him tight, hands closing to cut off his air and coming close to breaking his neck.
Dean twisted as much as he was able to see Sam take down the last one—its head was hanging at an awkward angle from where Sam had kicked it and as he slashed at it again it toppled backward over a headstone.
As soon as he got a moment to breathe, Sam immediately turned to look for his brother, seeing him kneeling on the ground with the zombie holding him by the throat and twisting his head back. Sam started to move forward but froze when the thing wrenched on Dean's head and his brother groaned softly.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…" the figure said, coming closer and shaking its head. A short grey haired old man stepped into view, slightly hunched he shuffled slowly, his joints creaking with arthritis. He looked like a typical grandfather, right down to the knitted sweater, but there was something about him that made Sam's stomach churn.
"So what poor bastard are you possessing this time?" he asked, trying to inch his way closer to Dean.
"I'm hurt Sammy, this is the real me, the whole deal—Death personified. We're getting close to when I ride, I don't need vessels and possession anymore."
"And when is that?" the more information he could get the better, and the longer he could keep Death talking the longer Dean had.
"tsk tsk—you should already know the answer to that if you think about it," he stopped and looking Sam in the eyes, lifted one hand and the zombie pulled Dean's head back until his neck creaked and he moaned.
"Stop it!" Sam yelled, tears biting at the edges of his eyes as he fought against the urge to run to Dean, knowing that if he moved Death would kill him before he could get there.
"You can stop it Sam," the old man said, one hand poised in the air in front of him. "You can stop this right now—save Dean, stop these lovely creatures of mine from hurting anyone else…and all you have to do is say yes."
Sam froze, the breath stilling in his lungs as he realized that it would always come down to this. He could never escape this choice no matter how long he fought or how far or fast he ran. Somehow they'd always end up here…Dean's life hanging in the balance and Sam facing this choice.
And really it wasn't a choice—not when it was his brother's life, his brother who practically raised him from a baby, loved him and looked out for him every day of his life, his brother who had gone to hell for him and saved his life time and time again.
Sam looked down at where his brother knelt, meeting his eyes and seeing the rage and despair in them even while tears clouded his own.
"Sammy…no…" Dean choked out with the last of his air as if he could hear what Sam was thinking, could read it in his eyes.
Sam took a breath, and tore his gaze away from his brother, knowing that it would probably be the last time that he saw him and opened his mouth to agree—but Death wasn't watching him anymore. The old man's eyes were riveted on something behind Sam and there was a nervousness, an uncertainty in his posture now.
"Who are you?" he whispered, and Sam turned around to see what new element had joined them, but there was nothing there. The graveyard was as empty as it had been moments before, only the 7 of them—Death, his four undead zombies and the two brothers waiting in the grey dawn.
But Sam heard a whisper of sound as if from far away or through thick fog: "Someone who you can't hurt." There was a shift in the wind, and Sam thought it saw someone standing in the gloom—a grey outline of a girl in the mist. "Leave the Winchesters alone," she said and then the mist turned to fire.
Sam's cry had woken her from whatever mist clouded daze she so frequently slipped into and she'd come to the graveyard, taking in the scene in moments: Dean kneeling on the cold ground bleeding while something evil and undead gripped his throat so tightly he was turning blue, Sam standing a few feet away but parallelized with the threat to Dean, his heart in his eyes as he looked at his brother.
And then she'd heard it speak…she could see the outline of an old man like a fuzzy and faded photograph, but there was something darker lurking inside that figure that send a shiver through her. It has eyes in the head of swirling darkness that burned with a fire the colour of blood. And its voice…it was clearer than anything else she could ever remember hearing and seemed to reach inside of her and resonate like striking a tuning fork on metal.
"Who are you?" it whispered menacingly, eyes trying to burn holes into her through the dark.
"someone who you can't hurt," she answered, briefly surprised that whatever this was it seemed to be able to see her. It didn't matter what it was though, it only mattered that it was whatever was causing the heartbreak to overflow Sam's eyes.
She looked around once more and took in the other undead lurking around the brothers. They were indistinct too, their forms blurred, but what stood out clearly was a burning brand on their foreheads the same as the old man's eyes burned. She recognized it, from where she couldn't remember, but it was familiar and so she focused on that—drawing on whatever strength was left to her, for Sammy who wouldn't live through tonight if she couldn't send these things away.
She'd seen it in his eyes as clearly as Dean had. He was going to say yes, he would do nearly anything to save his brother—they were each other's only weakness. And if he said yes, then he'd be lost from her.
"Leave the Winchesters alone," she warned, reaching for the brands and forcing the energy to flow through her and consume their evil burning.
Sam watched in astonishment as the zombie's seemed to be incased in flame for a moment, burning so bright and yet somehow also so darkly that he could barely look at them.
The thump of bodies hitting the ground made him open his eyes and he looked around, barely believing what he saw until Dean moaned and he quickly moved to his brothers' side. The old man or Death had vanished, the zombies lying dead—completely dead grey lumps like the tombstones as the sun rose in the distance.
"What happened?" Dean whispered, his throat so swollen and hoarse he could barely force words out.
"I don't know…" Sam said looking around, "they just dropped dead."
"Death?"
"Gone, for now at least…" Sam trailed off, not sure about telling Dean about the voice he'd heard. Dean didn't seem to be in the best mood for confiding in at the moment, it was only early that same day that he'd accused Sam of drinking demon blood again after all—what would he think of Sam said he was hearing voices now? Especially if the horseman was hearing it too…
"Lets get out of hear," Sam suggested and Dean grunted in agreement and then in pain as Sam pulled him to his feet and they made their way towards the car.
"Are you sure you won't go to the hospital Dean?" Sam asked as he pulled the impala into the motel parking lot and went to shut off the engine. Dean's throat was still so swollen that he could barely speak and his leg was soaked in blood.
"be fine…" Dean managed, taking another swig of whiskey before twisting the cap back on and getting out of the car.
Sam rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue by now, he hoped that Dean would at least consent to some ice in addition to the alcohol. He grabbed the first aid kit out of the backseat and tossed it in the top of his bag before moving to follow Dean into the hotel room—he'd need stitches at the very least.
He shut the door behind him, turning the lock and pausing to salt the doorway before moving over to where Dean lay on the bed. He was stretched out, the bottle of whiskey held against his forehead, injured leg held out stiffly on the bed.
"Come on," Sam said, nudging Dean's uninjured foot with his own. "If you're not going to go to a hospital then the least you can do is sit up so I can get you fixed up." He knelt down on the floor in front of his brother, laying out the gauze and tape and needles onto a clean towel beside the bed.
Dean grunted and levered himself to a sitting position, ready to make a joke about Sam stitching like a girl when he froze in place, his hand coming down hard on Sam's shoulder in warning and making his brother pause as well.
"Sam," he warned, hand reaching behind him for where he'd left a gun under his pillow as Sam turned and followed Dean's gaze to the corner of the room near the bathroom door.
A girl stood there, she looked pale and exhausted but relieved too. Long dark hair framed a narrow face with enormous gray eyes that looked larger because of the dark shadows that surrounded them. She slumped down to the floor, leaning against the wall and reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face, slender fingers the nails covered in chipped blue polish got half way there before falling limply back to the floor. It was the oddest thing, but she looked familiar to Sam…as if he should know her from somewhere.
He wasn't aware that he'd moved until Dean's hand tightened on his shoulder and he realized that he'd leaned closer to her.
"Who the hell are you?" Dean asked, "And how did you get in here?"
She looked up startled at the question, and glanced around her eyes narrowed suspiciously for intruders.
Sam leaned forward, ignoring Dean's hand still clutching at his shoulder so he was closer to the girl, "Are you alright?" he asked and watch while her eyes widened in confusion and surprise.
"You can see me?" she gasped quietly, and then fainted, her form shimmering into mist and air.
