TWELVE
Pierre Pine Inn
Pierre, South Dakota
Thursday, November 23, 2006
3:38 AM
Seeing black spots form in front of his eyes as the demon's grip tightened around his neck, Dean barely heard what the thing had said, his entire thoughts focused solely on getting free and sucking air into his lungs. Across the way, through his vision's haze, Dean could see that his brother was tacked against the wall, struggling with all his might to release himself from the invisible hold The Collector had on him, his eyes wide and panicky as he caught sight of his older brother's worsening predicament.
Trying, and failing, with all his might to get the demon's fingers to loosen its grasp, Dean attempted to smack, kick, and claw at the creature whose clutch was about as crushing as a vice, its hand clamping itself around him as though strengthening its grasp with every struggle for freedom. Eventually, the icy clench became too much, Dean nearly passing out just as The Collector let him fall to the floor, the demon stepping away as his victim clawed at his neck, a red line forming around Dean's throat from the iron grip he had been held in.
Watching as the demon carefully stepped away, eyeing every devil's trap Sam had drawn on nearly every wall, and attempting to steer clear of them, Dean inhaled sharply, his lungs both drinking in the clean oxygen and burning from it at the same time. Getting to his feet when he felt ready to stand, Dean watched the much-taller creature tower over him, noticing that the thing seemed to be pondering its options as to what to do, the arrowhead it had come for still clasped firmly in Sam's hand as he remained pinned in place.
"Now, now, now. Isn't this dodgy?" The Collector asked, a slight British lilt leaking into its voice, somehow reminding Dean of the woman behind the desk at the County Clerk's Office and how out of place her English accent had been.
"Isn't it, though?" Dean snapped, still occasionally pawing at his neck, his words coming out sounding raspy with his Adam's apple feeling as though it was dislodged.
"Now, boys, you don't have to be rude. I only came here to do business and leave. I promise not to hurt one pretty little hair on your heads if you return me my object," the demon said with a smile that Dean didn't trust, the creature's eyes seeming deceptive in some way. Standing his ground while his brother's hand wrapped tighter around the arrowhead, Dean exchanged a nod with Sam, the younger Winchester seeming to be totally okay despite the fact that he had temporarily lost use of his muscles. Looking between them as though it had expected one of them to hand over the thing it was searching for, The Collector's grin turned into a frown the longer the brothers went without moving, a scowl becoming permanently fixed on the demon's face after a long moment. "Hoping I'll take it by force, are you? That can be arranged."
Tensing up for a moment when the demon turned to Sam, Dean furrowed his brows as he spoke, hoping to get The Collector's attention and distract it from whatever it was about to do to his brother. "What are you doing in town? What's your endgame?"
"Why, I don't have an endgame. I was only hired to carry out a task, one that will be finished the moment my item is returned. If you'd please?" the demon asked, holding out a hand in Sam's direction, his eyebrows raised as though giving the Hunter an expectant look.
Standing still for a moment longer, Dean eyed the floor carefully, the shotgun Sam had been hoping to use on The Collector lying forgotten on the ground, only a few feet from where Dean stood. If he rolled at precisely the right spot, he would be able to grab it in-motion, and would then stand with it locked and loaded to use on the demon. However, that was wishful thinking. Before he would hit the ground, the creature would already know what he was going to do and would head it off, most likely throwing Dean into the wall as well. Pursing his lips, Dean continued to glance around the small space, discovering that his only option for survival relied solely on that gun.
Deciding to go for it, Dean's shoulder took the brunt of the somersault, Dean managing to wrap his finger's around the weapon's hilt and land on his feet before the demon caught on, The Collector throwing out a hand to try to propel him into the bathroom portion of the room, with Dean managing to squeeze off a round beforehand that distracted it. Watching as the demon cried out in pain at being hit with a buckshot full of rock salt, Dean cocked the gun again and got ready to fire off another, The Collector using the short time it took Dean to prepare the shot to throw him into the sink. Landing at an awkward angle against the laminate countertop, Dean heard something pop at the same time as the gun rattled against the floor, the weapon falling at his feet with Dean following it close behind, sliding onto the parquet ground like a sack of potatoes, pain ripping through his shoulder from the impact. Standing up, Dean saw that his left arm fell limply at his side, the thing dislocated from its joint due to the way the demon had tossed him.
"Dean!" Sam shouted, still frozen in place, the sight of the injury worrying him.
"Now, my object?" The Collector asked, the smile returning to its face as soon as the demon saw Dean's gimp appendage, the challenge the damage posed the Hunter clearly appealing to it.
Not saying anything, Dean picked up the shotgun and cocked it with one hand, flipping it into the crook of his useless arm and firing aimlessly in succession at The Collector, a few shots hitting the creature while the rest missed. Watching as the demon's grin ebbed away, Dean tried a few more times to hit his target, the thing obviously catching sight of something in Dean's expression that made the battle between them less enjoyable.
In all honestly, as Dean was shooting off rounds, a strange sensation came over him, a sudden hatred that flooded every part of him that was new and fearful. With every blast, his loathing for the demon grew, his directionless shots seeming to build up his revulsion. In his mind's eye, he was firing at The Demon rather than the one in front of him, the yellow eyes Dean remembered seeing on his father's face sticking with him as he attempted to hit the moving target in front of him. Eventually, the gun clicked, his rounds expended, but his growing detestation expanding. As his eyes deadened and his lips became nothing but a solid line, Dean grabbed the gun with his good hand and flipped it around the best he could, holding the butt of the gun as though it was the barrel and bunting it straight into the demon's nose, blood spurting everywhere as soon as the wood hit cartilage.
Cursing loudly, and bending double as the red spewed onto the floor, the demon's eyes darkened, its voice lowering as it stood up, scarlet still running down its face and onto its clothes, the stain blackening the already black. "Playtime's over, children. Either you hand over what I came for, or you'll be in a world of pain."
"Looks like we're opting for pain," Dean muttered, ramming the shotgun into the demon again, this time with the creature grabbing the weapon and tossing it aside, its hand shooting up a moment later to stick Dean to the wall. With hardened determination, Dean forced himself away from The Collector's detainment, his hatred for the creature causing him to bypass every ability the thing could muster. Seeming unsurprised by Dean's disregard for the demon's kinetic hold, The Collector tried again, Dean's face changing into an expression of deep abhorrence as his green eyes deadened and the rest of his face fell lax. "What are you doing in town? What's your endgame?"
"I don't have time for this," the demon snapped, baring its teeth. A second later, Sam began to yelp in pain, his hand unfolding open on its own, with the arrowhead hitting the floor a moment after, the creature's grin returning once again. Rolling with his hurt shoulder reaching the carpet first, Dean winched in pain, wrapping his good hand around the pointed object before the demon could snag it. However, before he could stand, Dean felt his body lift off the ground, The Collector's fingers wrapped around his throat once again. "You don't learn, do you? I told you now is not the time for fun and games."
Slamming Dean into the wall with every emphasized word, the demon bared its teeth in anger, snatching the thing it was there for out of Dean's hand before disappearing, Dean dropping to the ground a minute later, the impact causing his arm to hurt more than ever. Feeling Sam's digits enfold around his good elbow, Dean got to his feet, his brother helping him up and looking as though someone had broken his favorite toy, his face fallen into a furrowed brow and frown, with his eyes going soft and curious. Forgetting it for now, Dean looked around the room to see nothing but a small pile of sulfur on the floor left behind by the demon, all other traces of it gone.
Slumping his unbroken shoulder in disappointment, Dean pursed his lips, his mind racing to connect the dots as to what had just happened and why the demon had left so abruptly. Usually, those things loved to beat up on the less-armed, mostly mashing them into a bloody pulp before leaving them to die for hours on end. This time, however, the creature had just up and disappeared, only slightly injuring Dean before departing. Because of that, Dean had a feeling something was wrong, something big, something that explained why Bobby had given them the indication that the situation they were in the middle of was much graver than they had originally thought.