A Supernatural Quickie: Chapter 14;
Rachel held her arms braced straight against the wheel of the impala, trying to calm her racing heart. She'd thought that once she got away she'd feel better, that the confusion that blurred her mind and terror that seemed to have taken ahold of her soul would end, but if anything she only felt worse after having left Sam and Bobby and Dean….The lights of the impala were like islands of brightness in the night, and it was so dark…she tried to ignore the little voice in her head that whispered that she shouldn't be out here, alone in the night, that she should turn back because she was actually running from safety rather then to it, but the darker the night got the harder it was to remember why she'd felt so pushed to leave.
Maybe she should just turn back…but then another car crested the hill in front of her, its headlights flashing bright into her vision, blinding her and leaving blackness with white afterimages behind---and there were screams, and blood and evil things laughing in the dark at the pain they caused…
The horn of the oncoming car blared, bring Rachel back and she swerved back into her lane just in time, watching it fly past. She pulled over onto the side of the road, feeling the gravel rough under the tires before she pushed open the door and stumbled out, being sick into the long grass that lined the roadside.
What was happening to her?
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Dean paced up and down the hallway in frustration.
"Are you sure this is going to work Bobby?" he grumbled, checking his watch again and sending a skeptical glance into the kitchen.
"I'm not letting you shoot the dog Dean so you'd better start hoping that it does."
Dean ground his teeth and waited, the minutes seeming like hours while Bobby and Sam worked. He hadn't really been serious about shooting it anyways…just would have been quick at least.
"I think I've about got it…" Sam said, coming back into the hallway, his hands packing the red ground beef into ball.
"This will knock him out?" Dean asked.
"It's got enough tranquilizer in it to put a werewolf out," Bobby said, following Sam. "And if it doesn't, this will:" He held up a second raw meat ball in his hand. "Now lets see how good a dog-whisperer your girl is," Bobby nodded at Sam to go first.
"What, why me?" Sam protested, "You've got the bigger one, you go first."
"Yours has more of the drug."
"It's your dog..."
"Oh for hells' sake will you two stop being such princesses," Dean roared, grabbing the squishy ball of meat out of Sam's hand and approaching the still open front door slowly…he whistled once, looking back at Bobby who made a face—apparently any training past 'guard' was too much to hope for. Guest it was going to have to be the hard way after all… Dean took deep breath and stepped out the door into the night.
"Here doggie, doggie…" Dean called softly, taking another step out onto the porch. He heard the growl start from the darkness at the bottom of the steps where the light failed to reach.
"Dean…" Sam warned from behind him.
"I hear it Sammy."
"Well then throw the blasted thing and get your ass back in here!" Bobby hissed.
"He needs to eat it," Dean said softly, "Not play catch with it."
Dean saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye, and froze, watching. The dog was circling him, moving to attack from behind, but Dean moved with it, keeping it in front of him. He held out his hand holding the meat, bouncing it slightly up and down.
"Hungry boy?" he asked, hearing the growling increase.
"Well my brother made this special, just for you," he said, watching as the dog moved forward into the edge of the light. "Sam's not that great of a cook…"
"Jerk."
"But I wouldn't let that stop you…" he coaxed, holding out the meat but waiting while the dog took another step, and another, before tossing it just as the dog crouched low ready to spring.
Dean retreated back into the house, "Bitch," he replied trying to cover how his heart was racing. "So now what?"
"Now," Bobby said, leaning back against the door, "we wait."
And Dean looked outside, smiling as he saw the dog take the first sniff and then bite out of the hamburger.
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Rachel looked up when she saw the headlights appear, praying that they didn't start the nightmarish flashes again, but this time they didn't pass by, but pulled up on the shoulder behind the Impala and stopped.
"Is everything okay?" a voice said, and a man got out of the drivers side of the car.
Rachel nearly laughed in relief when she saw the lights on top of the car and the police uniform the man was wearing when he stepped into the zone illuminated by the headlights. She could imagine how pathetic this looked, the car stopped, door flung open and her kneeling being sick on the side of the road—just like some modern day fairy tale princess needing rescuing.
"Here," he said, helping her sit back and offering her a bottle of water. "Drink this. What's your name?" he asked while she unscrewed the top and took a drink, washing the sour taste out of her mouth.
"Rachel," she answered, it was at least one thing she was pretty sure of.
"Well Rachel, I don't think that you're in any shape to drive, why don't you tell me where I can drop you off?" he suggested and she started to laugh…he actually thought she was drunk…drunk! The complete un-hilarity of what the real situation was hit her and she couldn't stop laughing even while tears rolled down her face.
"I don't know where to go," she confessed, hiccupping as the laughter stopped.
The officer stood up, hands resting on his gun belt while he looked down at her. Great, she thought, now he's going to think I'm a total nut job and I'll get stuck in some hospital….the thought gave her immediate chills, but she didn't know why.
"I think I have a suggestion about that," he said casually, holding out a hand and helping her to her feet…but he didn't let go of her hands, his grip tightening as she tried to pull away and when she met his eyes—they were completely black, as if all the darkness of her nightmares were contained within.
"Why don't you go to hell?"
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Dean's hands kneaded the bumpy grip of the steering wheel on the station wagon—and why did Bobby never seem to have anything not completely humiliating to drive?!-- his knuckles alternating between a bloodless white and deep red as the circulation was cut off and restored moment by moment.
"Where is she?" he whispered, eyes scanning the road desperately as his foot unconsciously lowered on the gas pedal.
He could see the lights from Bobby's truck lagging behind in the rear view mirror and could almost hear Sam cursing him for driving too fast, but he didn't care. He needed to find Rachel and bring her back home himself…he needed to pull her into his arms and know that she was okay, because until that happened Dean didn't know if he was okay either.
He heard the horn blare from behind him and slowed down. Sam had given him that look when Dean had insisted that he ride with Bobby back at the house, that half-concerned, meddling half-'I know best' gaze that Sam had down to perfection, but Dean needed some time alone.
The car crested the top of the hill and Dean swore when he saw the Impala pulled over on the side of the road just down the slope, the drivers side door open but no one inside. It was all starkly illuminated by the lights from the police car, also stopped and empty right behind it. Dean slowed as he passed by, pulling in ahead of the cars as Bobby rolled to a stop behind them.
"Now what?" Sam called, stepping out of the truck and gazing into the woods on either side of the road.
Dean was busy walking around the Impala however. He could see the marks from where she stumbled out, soft hands pressed into the gravel, but there were other footprints also, deeper and smooth edged from boots.
"Sam, what do you make of this?" he asked, standing back while Sam walked over, flashlight in hand.
"Looks like two people were standing here," he commented, eyes reading the signs as clearly as Dean's could. "And…someone fell here," he indicated a spot, just off the road where the grass was flattened and slanted downhill. "Rolled…then," he knelt at just at the tree line hands brushing the grass and coming away wet. He raised his fingertips into the light the red standing out obviously against the paleness of his hand.
His eyes met Dean's and he watched as his brother went completely still, death personified for whom so ever had caused that blood to be shed.
"Do you boys smell that?" Bobby asked, coming up behind them a rifle in his hand.
Sam sniffed and swore; The sour smell of sulfur filled the air.
"Demon," Dean said, turning the very word into a curse.