Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war …
A pre-series story: Dean is 20 and Sam is 16
Warning: This story does contain violence and subjects of sensitive natures so if you find yourself offended by this please go read some of my more gentle/general stories.
S—D
"And Caesar's spirit, raging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war,
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial."
Marcus Antonius (Mark Antony):
Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 1
S—D
09/09/1999: The day the world ended.
Chapter 12:
Then:
Chaz laughed and clapped his hands in delight at the response to his entertainment and now he was ready to announce the main event. 'What a display thank you Foxy you were beautiful and inspired.' He complimented the female and then he stood and sashayed over to where Sam sat. He could feel the fear emanating from the teenager; he drank it in and felt the thrill course through him. 'Bring it over here,' he ordered the guards who undid the manacles and dragged the barely alive prisoner over to where Chaz stood next to Sam.
'No, no please no.' Sam begged he couldn't see the man clearly but he could smell the blood and gore, 'it'll kill me.'
'Well you had better make sure you don't die Sammy boy.' Chaz whispered in his ear, 'let's see what our boy wonder can do.' He undid the cuff around Sam's right wrist and gripped it tightly as he nodded for the prisoner to be dragged closer; yanking Sam's arm hard Chaz smiled even more when he heard the soft yelp of pain and shock come from the boy and then he pressed Sam's hand on the arm of the man.
'No!' Sam cried out but it was too late, the force from Chaz and the call of the injuries were too much and he felt the heat flare inside of him.
Silence descended over the room as the assembled guests and staff watched in amazement as Sam healed the prisoner. Chaz watched his guests with a calculating shine in his eyes as they glowed black; this was working out better than he could have imagined it.
Barely conscious Sam slumped back in the seat he fought to stay aware but it was a losing battle just as he finally gave in he heard a voice that chilled him through to his soul.
'Sam … I am so sorry.'
'P-Pastor J-Jim?' Sam stuttered as the darkness finally took hold and he collapsed against the back of the seat.
Now:
Your swords, made rich
with the most noble blood of all this world.
(Julius Caesar 3.1.155)
War changes those who fight and those who survive it. There is no real glory, only pain and regret mixed with bravery and heroism. Contradictions abound in the way it is perceived, lived and ended. Human against human was a centuries old form of warfare; they plotted and coveted what they thought they wanted from their fellow humanity no matter what the cost. But what of a demonic war? A war not fought for land, riches or politics but a war fought purely for the control of a world filled with mere mortals.
Mortals who had defended themselves against invading forces and their own neighbours but had no idea on how to defend themselves against the warfare waged by beings created within the pits of hell.
When the war first began a small band of hunters were all who stood between the invading hordes and the unsuspecting masses: those who still thought that monsters only existed in horror movies, fairy tales and nightmares. The only other form of monstrosity in the awareness of the population was that who had a human face and an evil mind.
The tide of the war was now turning but not in favour of the human race; it was turning in favour of the invaders.
The military was now governed by the same hunters who used to work in the shadows and in the grey realm between the supernatural worlds and the human world. Although, even with their expertise in hunting, lore, weaponry, and fighting hand to hand they were often on the losing side in the battles and skirmishes. No matter how many of the demonic forces were destroyed and sent back to the pits of hell; more came in their place.
John Winchester was the commander in charge of the Kansas Command Centre and was an imposing figure at anytime even when not in battle. Standing six feet two, with thick and slightly curly black hair showing the first strands of silver at his temples and a salt and pepper coloured beard his dark green eyes often gave the illusion of being pools of fathomless black. His muscular body moved with a lithe grace and the lethalness of a predatory animal and suited his gruff demeanour and very short temper; passionate about his "calling" in life to find the demon ultimately responsible for his family's involvement in hunting to start with and the war against humanity.
He stood staring intently at the map laid out in front of him, Lawrence was his hometown and suddenly the demonic omens and gorilla-like attacks were escalating and the reports coming in from there made his blood run cold. Another piece of intel he had sat like a rock heavy in his gut; it was personal and also held the balance of weight for his decision. If the intel was right then his youngest son Sam was being held by his captors in a remodelled warehouse in the industrial area of Lawrence right in the middle of everything. He hadn't told anyone especially his eldest son and Sam's beloved protector Dean about this new piece of information; John had the unenviable decision of possibly sacrificing his son, his baby, to save the survivors or to send in a rescue mission for Sam and possibly lose any opportunity to save the city and to lose once again to the demons.
'When were you going to tell me dad?' Twenty-year old Dean Winchester demanded as he burst into his father's office his emerald green eyes flaring with impotent rage. Not even an inch shorter than his father, Dean had a stockier muscular build than his father but he had the same lethalness as he moved. Handsome, cocky and fast becoming a lady's man when he had the chance he was a force of power in the making.
'What are you talking about Dean?' John asked distractedly as he marked more places on the map.
'The strike you're planning on Lawrence and the fact that Sam is being held there,' Dean said in such a low controlled tone he made his father look up and stare at his eldest. 'So you do actually hear me when you want to?'
'Do not disrespect me Dean; I am still your father and your commanding officer.' John yelled back, 'how did you get the intel to begin with?'
'Gee dad I'm not your son for nothing,' Dean said as he moved closer to his father his anger driving him past his normal deference to his father's decisions.
'That is enough!' John said as he lashed out and connected his fist with Dean's jaw before the realisation hit; he blinked furiously and stared down at his stunned son, 'Dean?'
'Don't dad, just don't,' Dean said as he spat out a globule of blood and spit.
'What the bleeding hell is going on down here?' Bobby demanded as he charged into the room, 'I can hear ya two idjits all the way down the hall.'
'Nothing Bobby, just a difference of opinion,' Dean said as he climbed to his feet and cradled his aching jaw in one hand while pouring himself a whiskey with the other; he refused to look at his father as he downed the spirits and turned to stare at Bobby, 'so what's up your panties?'
'Just got word from Lawrence, those freaking idjits down there decided to launch the attack on that new stronghold.'
'They did what?' John snarled, his upper lip curling as his temper took control, 'what the fucking hell do they … what did they do Bobby?'
'Just got word back from Ripley they got the charges set ahead of schedule while there was something going on deep in the building. They detonated them before waiting for their orders to come through. Their thinking was to try and kill as many of bastards as they could while they were inside the building. None of them had a brain between them.'
'What about Sam?' John asked 'did he get out?'
'Sam?' Dean spun around to stare at his father in horror, 'do you mean to say that … that was the building where Sam was being held?'
'Dean stop it … I did not give the order to detonate anything, I wanted more intel and to find out if it was viable to send a rescue team in first.'
'Viable?' Dean spat out, 'if it was viable to send a rescue team in first to save your son … Your youngest son!'
S—D
Smoke, debris, heat and flames dominated the ruins of the lushly redeveloped warehouse and new headquarters of the mid-western sector under the leadership of Charzael, son of Azazel and who has a penchant for sexual deviation, BDSM, violence and drinking blood. He was a naturally born sadist and took enjoyment in lulling his victims into a false sense of security before utterly destroying them.
The bombing came without warning; Charzael or as he preferred Chaz had just finished the first part of his entertainment for the pleasure of himself and his guests. His captive touch empath, a dewy eyed blind sixteen year old Sam Winchester complete with killer dimples and a youthful good looks on the verge of handsomeness. His recent growth spurt was indicative of just how tall he could potentially become but for now he was in the awkward all limbs and now grace stage. After his pet human had broken Sam for him he had the boy strapped into a specially made chair, forced him to witness the brutality and violence wielded against one of Sam's extended family and then had Sam heal him. The feat enthralled Chaz and his guests even more when they realised just how close to death the young empath was.
Just as he was about to announce the next part of his planned entertainment the building shook with explosions sounding like the closest of closest claps of thunder. Before they could react to it, walls crumbled as the ceilings and floors above them collapsed. Screams and shouts quickly faded beneath the sounds of crashing bricks, metal and wood.
Newly healed Pastor James Murphy managed to cover Sam's inert form with his own body as the debris showered down on them. Ever so slowly awareness came back to the preacher turned hunter and soldier; painfully and very stiffly he levered himself off Sam. Although, through Sam's miraculous gift he was no longer suffering from the injuries he sustained at the hands of Foxy Jim could feel the new bruises, lumps and bumps forming down his back and the backs of his legs.
'Sam? Come on Sam please don't die on me.' Pastor Jim said as he checked the very still form of Sam Winchester. 'Hang tight Sam I'm gonna go and find help,' he added as he finally found a very erratic pulse and a very slow, shallow intake of breathes. After making sure that Sam was alright he lifted him out of the chair and laid him in a safer more secluded place between the stage and the remains of the wall. After taking a last glance down at the unconscious youth, Jim turned and carefully picked his way through the wreckage of the building searching for a way out.
S—D
Sam slowly came to awareness and quickly wanted to lose consciousness again when the nausea swirling in his stomach made itself known. Although he could only see shadows and red mists he was aware of the ground above him and the sky seemingly below him and the need to vomit tickled the back of his throat once again. He was being carried in a fireman's hold, with his upper body bumping against someone's back and his hands almost grazing the ground. Whoever was carrying him held his legs tightly against their chest pining him tightly; frustrated Sam closed his eyes and tried to focus.
'You fucking little shit,' echoed in Sam's ears when the vomit finally erupted from his throat and cascaded down the legs of his latest captor. Suddenly Sam found himself lying on the ground; cold, wet and shivering he flailed his hands around him a little until he got purchase in the mud and was able to crab-crawl away from whoever had taken him.
'Come back here you little shit.'
Sam tilted his head slightly as he tried to workout whose voice it was, so familiar and yet had a slightly different lilt to it. 'Markus?'
'Yep the one and only, only now new and improved and I have your brother to thank you for it.' Markus smirked as he wiped off the last of the congealing vomit.
'Dean? What do you mean? Where's Dean?' Sam yelled his fists forming in the mud and slime as his anger replaced his fear.
'Your precious brother turned up with his little posse not long after Charzael brought you to Lawrence…'
'I'm in Lawrence?' Sam said the news helped to centre him a little and gave him a fragment of hope.
'As I was saying before I got so rudely interrupted, Dean ended up doing me the greatest favour ever! I was dead well I thought I was but thanks to a little finger clicking and a bit of a deal or two I'm back baby! Bigger and better than ever before.'
'No, no what's dead should stay dead not come back like some noxious weed,' Sam said as he made himself focus on where Markus' voice was coming from.
'For now you're mine kiddo, and I gotta say that I'm looking forward to having you all to myself.'
'How, how did you survive the blast … but you weren't there were you?'
'Nope I was busy co-ordinating the attack on the building,' Markus said his smirk growing into a lecherous grin, 'ya see the idiots here don't know about my extracurricular activities per se so I got to thinking about planting some serious doubts about the need to wait and made it look like the order came from the almighty John Winchester himself.'
'No they wouldn't believe it,' Sam said shaking his head in disbelief, 'my dad wouldn't order an attack like that not without checking everything out first.'
'Yeah right, you keep right on believing that kid!' Markus said as he went to grab Sam by the arm again when he found himself suddenly flying backwards and crashing into the wall behind them.
Dazed Markus tried to get up when he felt another invisible punch push him further away from his intended victim. After he crashed into the side of a large metal bin his head connected with a rock lying next to it and he was unconscious before he even realised it.
Sam let go of the breath he wasn't even aware that he was holding and slowly inched his way up to standing. He waited for a few minutes until the dizziness passed and he didn't feel as though he was about to keel over any second.
Staggering Sam used the wall to guide him as he hoped he was moving away from Markus and not closer to him; he could feel his heart trying to burst out of his chest as he moved through the alleyway. Every sound echoed and made him jump until he got angry with himself and started to think of every "Deanism" he could conjure instantly calming himself as he moved closer to a populated area.
Stopping suddenly Sam gasped as the wall of pain hit him and nearly laid him out. The call to the source of the pain silenced everything else and although he fought against this new intrusive instinct he found himself stumbling closer to it. Shaking and trembling Sam tried to stop himself from reaching out when he felt the same pull come from behind him and before he knew what was happening he found himself surrounded by people in pain, not only physical but also emotional.
S—D
Dean stood in what remained of the warehouse, amongst the ruins were bodies and body parts strewn about as though a strong wind had picked them up and then dumped them haphazardly among the rubble and wreckage. Distraught he turned in small circles his gaze raking over everything in a dying hope of finding a certain teenager. 'Sam,' he yelled frantically, 'come on Sam where are ya?' he muttered softly before yelling even louder, 'Sam … Sammy!'
'Dean over here,' Rufus called out the urgency in his voice making Dean run towards him with a sense of dread coiling in his gut.
'What is it Rufus?' Dean called and then skidded to a stop when he saw the man standing with Rufus. 'Pastor Jim? What? How? Where's Sam?'
'Dean son I am so sorry,' Jim said as he started to sway and his knees gave way, 'I tried … I tried …' his eyes rolled up into the backs of his eyes and collapsed into Dean's arms.
Gently Dean lowered the preacher to the floor before looking up at Rufus, 'what the hell Rufus? I mean what the hell?'
'Dunno what's going on kid but I had no idea that the preacher man was even here,' Rufus said, 'no sign of ya brother though.'
'I know damn it all to hell Rufus but I aint leaving till I find him.' Dean said as he stood up with his shoulders back and head held high, 'take Pastor Jim back to the sanctuary I'm gonna keep looking for Sam.'
'You shouldn't be out there on yer own Dean, they know who you are.'
'Do I look like I care Rufus … Sam is out there somewhere and I aint leaving until I find him.' Dean looked down at Jim and then back to Rufus, 'take care of him please.'
'Yeah sure kid, you sure you won't change yer mind?' Rufus asked although he already knew the answer, 'I'm gonna send Caleb to help ya as soon as I get the preacher back there, and then once he's squared I'll be back too.'
'Actually Rufus there's something you could do for me first.' Dean said cryptically with a small grin and a malicious glint to his green eyes.
After Rufus had left with Pastor Jim and the cleanup crew were well underway with their jobs Dean left the wreckage of the building and stood in the middle of the street in the harsh daylight, where are ya Sam? He turned in small slow circles letting his gaze roam over the once proud cityscape and let his worry and anger build and merge into a fire burning deep in his belly. 'Sam! Sammy!'
TBC
