Author's Note: Just as promised (to those who read Dear Santa... yeah, cause that little bit of advertsing was so subtle...) her'es the next chapter of Heart of Darkness. Hope you like it, and Merry Christmas!
Chapter 14: Family
Something hard hit him in the side, and he groaned, giving a bit of a roll but determined not to wake up. He was cold, wet, aching, and his lungs were burning. His legs were numb, his throat scratchy, and he really wasn't in the mood to question why someone was poking him in the side with a stick.
But the insistent jab came again, and he groaned once more. Unwillingly opening his eyes, he rolled over onto his back, groaning internally when he felt the mud squelch under his head, encasing itself in his hair.
The first thing he saw was the steel bridge, two stories above the river, that he had involuntarily jumped off the night before. The next was the face of a twelve year old boy.
The kid jumped backwards, dropping the stick that had so obviously been offending this big, muddy, so very scary looking (not that the kid would admit that later) man he and his three friends had found unconscious on the side of the river.
Ignoring the four munchkins watching his every move, and ignoring the inexplicable ache in his heart, he sat up, putting a hand to his head and thanking his lucky stars (and cursing them) that the damn thing about his neck hadn't made him drown for his impudence. That would be the last time he ever tried that.
And that thought was enough to fill him with despair.
Suddenly one boy stumbled forwards, and he had the feeling one of the kid's friends had nudged him. The boy looked back at his friends, who nodded, and looked down again, paling slightly at the one raised eyebrow sent his way.
"Areyouokay?" the kid asked in a rush, exhaling loudly at the end so he was almost too hard to understand.
He didn't answer for a moment, just studying the kids. Then he nodded. "I'm fine," he croaked, his throat still sore from coughing up water.
Encouraged by the non-violent and calm response, a second boy jumped forward. "How come you're… Are you homeless?"
He gave a short laugh. "I don't know," he replied honestly. Depended on whether the demons had tracked him to his latest pit stop or not. But these kids weren't old enough to hear that. Or maybe they were exactly the right age, he didn't really have anything to compare it to.
The other two rushed forward. "How can you not know?" one asked, his round face glowing with excitement and still a small tinge of fear.
"Don't you have a house?" the other asked, and they all had matching curious stares now, their eyes wide. He decided to answer the second question, it was far easier.
"Nah, I just live where my feet take me," he told them, kind of enjoying this childish awe. A lot better than the hate and evil he usually had coming his way.
"Are you really okay?" the first boy asked, his eagerness dying down slightly as he once more took the stranger in. The mud, the bruises, scratches that he couldn't feel yet.
He nodded slowly, losing his own grin. "I'm fine, kid. You don't have to worry about me."
"How'd you end up here?" the same kid asked, serious now that the adventure had died down. He shook his head, mud covered locks of hair hitting the sides of his face.
"I was pulled off the bridge," he answered before he could stop himself
"Who pulled you off?" another kid asked, and he shook his head again, putting a hand to his chest.
"No one you'd know?"
"How about me?" a cold voice suddenly demanded from behind, and he jumped to his feet, twirling about, a malicious snarl on his face.
Not that a snarl did much good against the six demons ranged against him, and he could have kicked himself. He shouldn't have stayed, he should have left as soon as he had woken.
"Who are they?" the lead demon asked in his cold voice, nodding at the kids.
He took a step in front of them. "Nothing you need to be concerned about," he spat, feeling the kids trembling behind him. He wanted to scream at them to run, but these demons were like dogs when offered a chase. Violent, vicious dogs who enjoyed ripping people apart.
The lead demon glanced around him. "Really? But they look good enough to eat," he laughed, and one of the kids gave a whimper, which only set the demons off more.
He felt his chin rise, and wondered at why the thing about his neck hadn't taken a hold on him yet. "Leave them alone," he ordered icily.
The demons' chuckles died down. "Well, we do have bigger fish to fry," the leader muttered oily. "Besides, you don't even know them. Killing them would only be a bit of fun."
He stood up straighter. "And killing you will be so very sweet," he threatened seriously, confidently, and the demon gave a pause, looking at him for the first time.
"Careful, boy," it warned. "That family of yours is still out there, just waiting for us to sink our teeth in."
He went still, suddenly realizing that this demon knew all about him. Everything. Suddenly he didn't want to kill the bastard, but wanted to question him, make him answer, make the demon tell him exactly who -.
He shoved the thoughts away. He was a hunted man. Anyone he got close to was a target, and he wasn't about to let anyone else die because of him.
"My family's dead," he told them, grief filling his voice, and the demons paused, actually taking him seriously. It wasn't hard to lie, because he didn't even know if it was a lie. Besides, if it wasn't, it didn't matter. They could never be anything but dead to him, not while demons hunted him.
He looked away, real tears filling his eyes. His head snapped up, unable to stop the real grief tearing at him. Behind him, one of the kids again made a small noise.
"Do you know what it's like?" he demanded of them, his voice rising. "Do you know what it's like to watch your family leave you, to leave them alone to die? Do you? Do you!"
And with an incoherent scream, he lunged at them, unable to stop himself. Without a weapon, without calm, without the fucking thing about his neck screwing with him, he attacked, adrenaline surging, catching them completely by surprise.
Possessing someone or not, demons suffered the same unconsciousness as people, and, caught unawares, unable to pre-empt the random attack, one fell beneath his fists as he rained down on them, lashing out with as much strength as he could muster.
One was down before the other five even began to counter the attack.
They moved as one, and he felt himself overwhelmed for the barest moment, letting it happen, not forgetting those kids in his moment of insanity and need for bloodshed. But as they disappeared from sight, he lashed out once more.
His kick caught one right in it's privates, and the demon, bent over double, met his fist as it winced with it's victim's pain. Pain lanced down his arm as it hit something hard, but the demon went down, blood gushing from the broken nose.
That left four, and though two had gone down in a matter of seconds, he knew they wouldn't do so just as easily.
He spun, blocking a strike, but unable to block a telekinetic burst from another demon that sent him sailing into the air. He hit the surface of the river hard.
He had barely resurfaced before two of the demons were beside him, staying afloat without trouble. Before he knew it, they both had two hands on top of his head and were pushing him under.
He managed a great lungful of air just before he was submerged, but knew it wouldn't last long as he struggled to remove the demon grip from his hair.
But then one was underwater with him, and it seemed to move just as well as it did on land, punching him hard. He couldn't even block it, could only take it and felt precious bubbles escape from between swelling lips.
Even though he saw the second punch coming, and the kick, there was little he could do. Whatever powers the key endowed him, freedom of movement underwater just wasn't one of them. He was going to die, and the acknowledgement was accompanied by yet more bubbles of air.
He was ready to begin gasping by then, and he twisted desperately in the demon's grip, bubbles escaping without aid of a fist or foot, fear deadening his stomach, lack of oxygen deadening his limbs. Oh god he was going to die!
Something burst from him and he couldn't help but gasp as it did, coughing as he inhaled water, coughing again as the coughing fit bit deep into a deadly circle of cough and inhale. But the grip in his hair was gone, and he shot to the surface, just in time to see the spray of water as the demon that had been holding him down hit the water a small distance away near the edge of the river. Hitting shallow water, it didn't move again that he could see.
The other demon surfaced with him, and he tried to keep an eye on it, even as he gasped for air, and coughed, his lungs burning once more. It circled him, eyes focused on him, intent obviously fatal.
Suddenly inspiration struck him, and he grinned ferociously, feeling about in his pocket even as he felt his legs tiring from keeping him afloat. But he managed to grab the crucifix in his pocket, and he held it up slowly as he began to chant in Latin, taking the key in his other hand to boost his strength. It complied only unwillingly.
The demon's eyes widened as the chant began through puffy lips and with a coarse throat. The weak voice didn't make it any less binding though, and it began to strike out for the bank of the river, panicking and splashing.
He watched it leave, knowing it was getting what was coming. He finished the chant, some long lost memory from his past, and dropped the cross in the water, his grin slipping slightly as the demon screamed, submerged in a river of holy water.
The shrieks were sure to attract attention, so he started for the opposite bank immediately, ignoring the mind-splitting agony of the demon and telling himself it deserved everything.
It was only when his feet touched the muddy bottom of the river, and he had all but collapsed on the bank when the key took hold, driving him to his feet and forcing him ever onward.
Exhausted by his recent activities, he still ran as hard as he could, determined to do it this time without the aid of the key. It was hard, forcing his feet one in front of the other, stumbling, nearly falling, running as much to get away from those people who apparently knew him as he fled the demons.
They were after him, the demons. He could hear their feet pounding away in the soft earth, keeping pace with him easily, prepared to run their hosts to death if it was necessary.
It wasn't. He was so unbelievably tired, sick of it all, sick of running and hiding, and not knowing what he was running and hiding from. Not knowing why he had this fucking responsibility, why he had been cursed with it. He was almost ready to give up, if only the key would let him.
He took a sharp left, leaping onto rock he suddenly saw to the side, and heaving with relief when his footprints showed no sign of diversion. It looked like they just disappeared.
Slightly panting, he hopped from rock to rock, taking it slow, taking the chance to recuperate, at least a little. He could hear the steady gurgle of a creek nearby, and hoped he could lose the demons in it. At least then he could…
What? Get away? And leave those other four to the demons? His heart baulked at that, though he could tell the key was all in favour of it. But they had known him. And the older man, at least, had been devastated by the fact that he didn't recognise him.
Sam. That's what the man had called him. Somehow, none of the demons who had caught up to him, who had known of him before, had ever actually called him by his name, that he could remember. Twelve years without a name, and now he had something to go by. Did it even matter? What use was a name without a life to go with it?
But Sam wasn't all he had been called. No, that girl had called him… had called him…
"Dad," he muttered to himself, pausing as he reached the creek, and realizing he hadn't been paying enough attention to his surroundings. For some reason, for the first time in his memory, that didn't bother him. Because… was it possible? Did he have kids? He guessed it was possible, he figured he was old enough.
He stepped into the creek, gasping with the cold of the water. But it was a quiet gasp, to go with the quiet of the forest and the gentle bubbling of the creek. He had fooled the demons, and that made him grin. It didn't help his current predicament though.
Leave or find them? What would it be like to actually travel with someone, to have help, to not be alone? God, what if they really were his family?
He started as he thought he made too big a splash, as something wet dripped down his face. Then he started again, because it wasn't water, they were tears, and he was crying. Oh God, to have a family, someone who cared about him.
He paused once more, the easy current sweeping about his shins. Did he dare find them? It would put them all in danger…
Then again, he already had. The demons were after them, and it had to be because they were, or used to be, people close to his heart.
He turned about, searching with his mind, ready to welcome the headache that always accompanied this use of psychic ability. He had to find them, he needed them, he couldn't do this alone. And that realization was suddenly so spectacularly clear that he wondered that he hadn't known it before. This task wasn't meant for one person.
His heart pounded as he realized the demons had them. Had his… family? He turned to face the mountains, knowing exactly where the demons would take them. He had to know where the demons holed up, it was the only way to avoid the place. But now, now he started for it, hoping he got there in time.
Besides, he thought, almost forgetting in the face of the possibility of family, the fourth had something to do with his key. That… creature, was the entire reason he had been drawn to Deakin Hill. And he didn't think the reason was going to be great on his end.
Dune looked down at the farm, wondering how the hell he was going to do this. The place was practically crawling with demons, and Sam wasn't here – hopefully yet – to give him a reason to abandon the whole notion of rescue. But if Sam didn't show up, then he needed the other three to draw the younger Winchester brother out. He doubted the man would just come to him.
A snapping branch was all the warning he had. Before Dune could even turn, a knife was pressed against his ribs.
Then a man laughed. "You know, if I were a demon, you'd be skewered." The knife lifted from his skin and Dune took a deep breath, completing his turn.
His jaw dropped, unable to believe his luck. It seemed the man had just come to him.
"Sam?" he heard himself asking disbelievingly. It was shocking. He hadn't expected Sam to seek him out, not for a rescue mission. The Winchesters were notorious for trying to take things on all by their lonesome.
Sam frowned at him, then shrugged. "If you say so," he answered, and Dune frowned.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Sam, it seemed, decided not to answer. Instead he crept forward, until he was squatting beside Dune. Realization began to flicker across his mind, and Sam's next question confirmed his suspicions.
"Was that my family back there?" the man asked softly, assuming – correctly – that Dune would know all about him.
"You don't remember anything, do you?" he demanded a little too loudly, refusing to recognise that his voice was heightened by horror and guilt, two emotions no member of his race had felt before. Those emotions were too human for them.
Sam frowned at him. "Keep it down, you'll wake the neighbours," he hissed, squinting down at the farm. "And what does it matter what I remember. Answer the question."
Dune looked at him for a moment. "Yeah, they're your family. Your brother and your two kids." He had never expected this. What had they done to him?
And yet again he had experienced a thought none of his family had ever even dreamed of. Actions and consequences were of little meaning when faced with the bigger picture. Usually.
"And you," Sam muttered, interrupting Dune's thoughts and turning to face the creature. "You're one of the ones who gave me this, aren't you?"
He put his hand to his chest, and Dune, hearing the tightness in Sam's voice, the anger, nodded. "Yeah, I am. Sort of."
"What did you do to me?" Sam demanded, feeling his throat constricting, and looking down at the farm. He wanted answers so badly. Needed them, needed to know why, how, why. "Why?"
Dune shifted uncomfortably. "Look, can we play 20 questions later? Right now your brother's down there, and I doubt he's in the best shape. And I don't think your kids will appreciate any delay."
Sam gave a soft snort. "I don't even remember them, thanks to you." But his heart wasn't in it. Or rather, it was, just not in the reprimand, and Dune could tell the hunter turned hunted wanted to hold his kids once more. Even if he couldn't remember them. Sam continued. "Come on then, we're wasting daylight. Get your ass moving…"
He trailed off, and Dune realized it was because Sam didn't know his name. He stood, dusting his pants off, and offering the man a hand. Sam was right, they did have to get moving. And in the confusion of the fight, maybe he could sneak the key away. Somehow. But knocking Winchester out here and now didn't seem like such a good idea as it had before.
"The name's Dune, Sam," he answered as he helped the man to his feet. "And lets go rescue those damsels."
Sam grinned and took the lead, and Dune didn't even itch to go for his knife, didn't think that a quick whack to the back of the head would suit his plan almost perfectly. He just took the rear and found himself watching Sam Winchester's back.