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Goodbye Is Never Forever

Chapter Twenty-One: Holding On

Missouri — 09:02 PM.

The car was silent as Dean cruised to a stop outside of an old barn. Neither brother had uttered a single word since they had left the horrors of the motel room behind. Dean looked over the building carefully, eyes narrowed, on any other day he wouldn't have given it a second glance. It seemed quiet, normal, untouched in years. It didn't look like a place that housed a group of vampires, but he wouldn't linger on that thought. He was determined, and nothing was about to stop him or get in his way. Alison was in there, he was sure of it. He had to be sure, because he didn't have plan B to fall back on. If this didn't go the way he wanted, what else was there? It was his last hope at finding his sister, he needed to be right.

Beside him, Sam didn't share his hopeful attitude. "Dean," he pressed, wary. "Are you sure about this?"

Dean turned to him, exasperated, and frowned. There were only so many times he could listen to the same thing. "Sam, we're doing this." he told him, blunt. "You can stay in the car if you want."

"Well, obviously I won't be doing that." he snapped. "But, Dean, we don't know what the hell is in there—"

"Vampires." Dean stopped him. "I told you." But Sam didn't look at all convinced, not that he could blame him for that. Asking him to believe that monsters were real was a step too far, he just couldn't understand his hesitation to believe that their sister was alive. "Look, Sam, I know it's unbelievable, but this is real. This is what happened to Ali. You saw all that stuff in her room, and I know you think we're both insane, but we're not. Now, are you coming, or not?"

Without another word or a second glance, the door was open and he was out of the car. Sam huffed and shook his head, there was no reasoning with him anymore. He didn't like to think what was going on in his head, or what he really thought he was going to find in that barn. He didn't want to imagine the fall out should she not be there. Even if the body identified hadn't belonged to their sister, all signs still pointed to her being dead. He just couldn't seem to accept that. Against all better judgement he followed him from the car. The chill hit him immediately, and he could see his own breath in the air.

Dean remained in front as they approached the barn in silence, he was visibly on edge, as though expecting to be attacked at any moment, and he pushed open one of the large doors.

"Stay behind me." he muttered. It was a simple command, but Sam wasn't going to argue.

They stepped inside and Dean's eyes scanned the room frantically. For a moment he was sure that they had the wrong place, that Sam had been right all along and he truly was clutching at straws. It was dark and cold, and there was something about it all that just gave him the creeps. It appeared like it had been abandoned for years. The walls around them were damp and looked as though they could collapse down at any given moment. The ground beneath his feet was soft, and he could feel his boots sinking deeper into the mud with every step he took. He continued on his way, ready for anything to jump out at them, but something brought him to an abrupt halt. It stopped him dead in his tracks. His eyes were wide and his breath caught in his throat. Alison.

His green eyes blinked, hard, and then blinked again, but she was still there. It took him a moment to even understand what was happening. She was there, they had found her, and he didn't know how to feel. His sister was slumped down on the ground, and one of her wrists was handcuffed to the metal pipe slightly above her head, holding her there. Though he couldn't see her face, he could see from where he stood that she was covered in blood. He felt sick, and something in his stomach churned. He found himself beside her in three long strides, everything else lost in his mind, and he dropped to his knees next to her.

His hand found her cheek gently. "Ali?" he pressed, nervous, because for a moment he wasn't even sure that she was breathing. Her skin was cold to touch, her face was pale, and he felt a fear like nothing he had ever experienced before. "Alison?! Can you hear me?!" He pushed the blonde hair from her face, matted to her head with blood, and he gripped her face between his hands. "Alison?!" he yelled, desperate. "Come on, Ali, wake up!" She stirred, barely enough movement to notice, but it was there, and a soft frown came to her face. "She's alive." he breathed. "Sammy, she's alive."

There was blood everywhere. It colored the small white vest she wore and it stained her jeans. It covered her arms, her chest, her hands, and it was stained beneath her fingernails. Blood completely covered one side of her face, and it only took a glance to see the wound at her hairline causing it. He made an attempt to move a lock of hair, solid with dried blood, to get a better look, but she flinched away in pain. He had seen all he needed to see. A new wave of panic ran through him. He had been right, she was alive, but only barely.

"We need to get her out of here." he said, his voice hard, determined. "She needs a hospital."

"Dean?" she murmured, and he looked down to her. She was hazy, but she was awake. She looked confused, disorientated, as though she wasn't sure what was happening around her. "What are you doing here?"

Despite everything, Dean cracked a smile. "Goodbye doesn't mean forever, remember? I told you I'd come back if you needed me." But Alison still appeared lost. She reached up, and he noted how her hand was trembling, weak, she almost appeared drunk. Her words were slurred and she didn't appear to have the first clue what was going on there. And then a much darker thought came to him. "Ali?" he pressed, his tone firm. He didn't want to ask, but he had to know. "Alison, those things—"

But she shook her head at him, as if she already knew what he was thinking. Hell, he was more than sure that she did. She always did. "They didn't bite me." she murmured. "They didn't wanna turn me."

Dean frowned, confused. "Then, what?"

For a moment she looked uncomfortable, and he was sure that she wasn't going to answer. "They wanted to feed off me."

Dean was confused, and for a long moment he didn't understand. He opened his mouth, ready to ask her to explain it, but it clicked. He had seen enough movies to know, he'd read her research on those things, he wasn't an idiot, he knew. "You mean they were drinking your..." He trailed off, he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Oh, god. Alison—"

"I'm sorry, Dean." she cut him off before he could say more. "I should have listened to you."

Dean simply shook his head. There was a time and a place for that, but it wasn't there. "You're okay." he assured. "You're gonna be fine, Ali. I promise." But even he wasn't so sure of that.

Her skin was freezing to touch, and she was covered in a cold sweat that didn't fill him with confidence. Even in the dim light, he could see that her lips were a pale shade of blue, and, he noticed as he took a hold of one of her hands, through the blood, so were her fingernails. Her breathing was short, shallow, and he wasn't sure how much longer she was going to be able to hold on. There was so much blood covering her, and he couldn't even be sure where it was coming from, if it was even hers. He didn't have the time to look, because a sound behind him made him jump. And that was when he remembered, they weren't alone.

Dean looked up to Sam, and he noticed how he hadn't moved an inch. His eyes were wide, and there were tears shining in them. He was frozen to the spot. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't react. "Sammy?" he pressed. "Dude?"

"She's alive." he said, his voice little more than a whisper, and he could hear the shock in his words. "You were right. About all of it."

Alison frowned at him, barely even conscious. He knew, she was in and out. "Did you say Sam?" she asked, and she sounded so young, so vulnerable, so innocent as she spoke. "Is he here?"

"I'm here, Ali." Sam said, his voice hoarse. Slowly, tentative, he moved to kneel down beside them, as if broken from a trance, and his hand gently brushed the hair from her face. Her skin was so cold, it took him by surprise. "Alison? Are you alright?"

But the loud bang behind them stopped her answer before she could even think one up. It was followed by the sound of voices, and it startled both brothers. They looked between each other, uncertain. It could have been anyone, anything. All they knew now was that they weren't alone. A part of him knew what was going on, and he knew it wasn't going to end well. The voices that they could hear weren't human, and somehow hunting seemed a lot less safe than it had done when he had been with his sister.

Dean's eyes found Alison's, and she suddenly seemed more alert. He searched her face, desperate. "What do I do?"

For a moment she considered her answer. "Have they seen you?" she asked, and the question confused him. "Dean, do they know you're here?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

Alison nodded, she shifted the slightest bit to sit up a little straighter and he noticed the pain flash through her features as she did. "This is what you need to do," Her eyes were filled with sorrow, remorse, and apology as she looked up to him. She took a short breath, as if struggling for words, and she closed her eyes. "You run." she told him simply. "Fast."

It was a blatant command, and it brought a frown to Sam's face, as if to ask what she had meant. Dean, however, understood the instruction perfectly, and he felt his heart sink in his chest at the words. She didn't think that they were going to survive, she didn't think that she was going to survive, she didn't see a way that the three of them all came out of the situation alive, and she wanted them to leave her there, she wanted them to save themselves. If it hadn't been for the utterly serious look on her face, or the new found determination behind her words, he could have laughed. It broke his heart to think that she assumed they would ever consider it.

Dean shook his head at her, incredulous. "Don't be so stupid." he chided. "Alison, you either tell me what I need to do or I'm gonna go out there and I'll find out for myself. I am not leaving you here. Do you understand me?"

Alison looked torn between answering him and refusing, but she sighed, she knew it was a pointless argument. "Heads." she told him simply, her voice weak. He narrowed his eyes at her, but followed her gaze towards a darker corner of the room. He saw something glimmer in the light, something metal, and then he realized, it was a machete, and everything made so much more sense.

He nodded, and a new found confidence came to him. "Heads. Right." He squeezed her hand, and tried to ignore how she trembled, or how she couldn't seem to find the strength in herself to squeeze back. "Hold on for me, Ali."

Dean made a move to stand, but she stopped him. "Dean." She made a weak attempt to grab his arm, but her grip wasn't strong enough. That scared him.

"No." He shook his head. "You start saying goodbye and I swear I'll kill you myself."

"Dean, don't do this." she whispered, he could hear the fear in her voice, he could see it shining in her eyes. "Please."

Dean regarded her for a long moment, and his eyes found hers. "Do you trust me?"

Alison frowned at him, as if confused. "What?"

"Do you trust me?" he asked again, a little firmer.

Alison didn't say anything for a minute, as if contemplating her response, something he never thought she would have to do when faced with that question. She blinked open her eyes again and smiled a little. "Do you remember when we were kids, like I was maybe six or seven," Dean frowned, as if to ask where she was going with it. Her voice was strained, and he was sure she was struggling to get the words out. "I had this tooth that needed pulling, you know when they get really loose and they just won't budge? You asked me if I wanted to make a dollar, you said you'd help me. You tied a piece of string around my tooth and you tied the other end to the kitchen door, and then you slammed it. My tooth went flying across the room."

Dean laughed, and he pushed back the tears in his eyes. "Yeah, I remember." He smiled. "We crawled around on our hands and knees looking for it for hours."

"Yeah," She nodded. "You gotta have a hell of a lot of trust in someone to let them do that to you."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, and he pretended like he didn't know the voices outside of the barn were getting gradually louder. She didn't seem aware, or maybe she didn't care. "I guess you do."

"And, you know something," She continued, seeming unconcerned with her surroundings. He could tell it was taking every ounce of her strength to even speak to him. "I'm probably still dumb enough to let you do something like that to me now."

Dean chuckled. "Same here." he agreed. "If you really trust me that much, I need you to trust me when I tell you that we're gonna be fine, all of us. You need to let me do this, Ali, you need to let me help you."

Reluctant, she nodded. "I believe you." Her voice wasn't strong, and he didn't think she bought her own words for a second.

"Sammy, stay with her." he instructed. "And try and get her out of those cuffs."

Sam looked worried, he looked afraid, and Dean could tell he didn't like what he was about to do, but he didn't argue. "Be careful."

Dean threw him a smirk. "Always am."

As he turned, the smirk dropped from his face, and all aspects of confidence dropped from his stance. Was this how he was going to die? He had no idea what he was doing, he had no idea what he was facing, or how many of them there were. The only thing on his mind was his sister, and, unless he did this right, there was a good chance none of them would get out of there alive. But he had to try. He grabbed the machete and headed towards the doors.

Slowly, tentative, he came closer to the sound of the voices, and his eyes fell to the people they belonged to. From where he stood he could see four of them. They looked so normal, so human, but he knew that to be a lie. These things were evil, they had almost killed his sister, and he was going to make them pay for it. He stepped out of the shadows, and none of them seemed to notice as he approached them from behind. He took a swing at the man standing closest to him, and he felt as the blade easily sliced through the flesh of his neck. Everything seemed to slow in that moment. The body crumpled to the ground, and the head rolled to the side. There was blood everywhere, and three sets of murderous eyes were fixed upon him.

Dean's grip on the machete tightened, and he knew now that it wasn't just a fight for his own life, it was a fight for the lives of his brother and sister, too. If he lost this, so did they.

The man closet to him stepped forwards, arms outstretched as if to say he wasn't the least bit intimidated. He didn't look to be much older than thirty, dressed simply in black jeans and a shirt, and Dean found the time to wonder how many monsters he had passed on the street and never looked twice at. He looked more confused than angry. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, bemused.

A dark smile crossed his features. "Dean Winchester." he stated simply, as if he thought that would actually mean something to them.

But his eyes narrowed. "Winchester." he pondered, and then he nodded. "Well, I'm Marcus. So nice to meet you." There was nothing but sarcasm in his words. "I take it you're here to save the pretty blonde hunter? What are you, brother? Cousin?"

A new wave of protectiveness seemed to wash through him. "The pretty blonde hunter has a name." His voice was low, lethal. "I'm her brother." He took a step towards him, threatening. "I don't take well to people drinking my kid sister's blood."

The man chuckled as though the situation amused him. "So, what's your plan? Hm?" He smiled. "What, you barge in here, kill us all and just walk back out again? You think you're gonna survive this, Dean?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Do you?"

Marcus held up his hands, and he took a step back from them. The other two men stepped forwards, both eyeing him dangerously. They approached from either side of him, slow, calculating. They moved around either side of him. One grabbed him around the arms, holding him back, while the other approached from the front. A cold smile came to his face, and he grimaced a little as a set of fangs descended over his teeth. It was nothing like he had ever seen before. But he wasn't about to let himself get bitten.

Dean moved faster, he brought up his leg and kicked the man before him hard in the stomach, sending him back a few steps. He ripped his arms free of the man holding him and swung the machete around, slicing through his neck easily. He rounded on the other man who was eyeing him warily, he almost looked scared, but Dean had lost any ounce of fear or intimidation that had ever existed. All he felt was rage, the need for revenge, he thought back to the state of his little sister and he saw red. That was all he needed. He took a simple stride towards him and drove the machete through his neck. This time he watched, he noted the pain flicker in his eyes as the colour drained from them, the blood that spilled from his mouth, and the look of utter fright that was fixed into his features. He pulled out the machete and watched as he fell to the ground, choking on his own blood. He stepped forwards and lunged the machete through his skin, cutting through his neck.

Dean turned and faced the last of them still standing; Marcus. The stoic front hadn't faltered, and he still appeared more amused than threatened. "Quite a display." he remarked, as though impressed. "You come in here, slaughter three of my nest, and you think that's gonna end well for you, kid?"

Dean shrugged. He was more than aware that he hadn't lifted a finger to help the others, and he couldn't tell if that was out of choice or reason. "You tell me." he challenged. "I'd say we're winning here."

"Dean, Dean, Dean," He shook his head. "Let me tell you something, there are more of us out there, and it doesn't take long to recruit a new nest. You're not harming me by killing them, you're just creating work for me. And, since I have a hunter tied up in there, she might be my first new member."

"You touch one hair on my sister's head and I swear to god I will bleed you dry myself." he seethed. "Don't even try it."

Marcus took a dangerous step forwards, and only inches separated them. "Would you like to know what your sister's blood tastes like?" he asked, taunting. "Or, better option, would you like to find out?" The question took Dean by surprise, and he frowned. Before he could even process the words, a fist crashed around his face and sent him to the ground. The force behind it wasn't human, it was more like being thrown face first into a brick wall. "You'd make quite an addition." He stepped over him and crouched down. He pulled out a knife and sliced it across his own palm. The blood dripped from the wound, and a darker look came to his features. "Open wide, Dean. Get ready to feel that blood-lust. Your sister is about to be your first feed."

Dean fought against the hand at his chin, forcing his mouth open, but the monster that held him was stronger. He felt the blood drip against his chin, against his cheek, running across his skin. He reached down, desperately trying to grab the machete that was just out of his reach, and struggled. The blood flowed fast from his hand, and he knew he could only avoid it for so long. He thought about Sam and Alison and he knew that he had to do something. They were going to die. With that thought a strength came to him. He pushed out of his hold and his fingertips found his weapon. He drove the blade up through his chest, enough to see it come out of the back of his shirt, but he didn't so much as flinch.

"You're a sick bastard." he seethed. He pulled the machete from his chest and brought it up again, it swung down, straight through his neck, and he dropped to the ground before him.

And then everything came to a stop around him. Silence fell over the barn, and the only thing he could hear was the thumping of his own heart against his chest. His hands were bloody and trembling by his sides, his whole body was shaking, his breathing was labored, and he couldn't string together a straight thought. He stayed there on the floor for a long moment, simply staring down at the bloody floor with wide eyes. Everything was covered in blood, the same as he was, and he couldn't believe what he had just done.

His thoughts fell back to his sister, still lying on the floor, bloody and struggling, dying, and everything once again became so clear to him. The machete fell from his hand and clanged against the floorboards, forgotten about. He scrambled to his feet and turned to make his way back to his siblings, his stomach in knots. He wasn't sure what to expect.

When Dean returned it was to find Alison had been released from the handcuffs, and even from where he stood he could see the broken fresh around her wrist. She was lying on the ground, wrapped up in Sam's jacket and supported by his brother's arms. He was speaking softly to her, he couldn't hear what about, he didn't suppose it mattered, but he noted the look of worry on his brother's face. He looked terrified. Alison was barely conscious anymore, and he knew that they had to do something, fast.

Dean dropped to his knees beside them, and he saw the colour drain from his brother's face at the sight of him. He had barely even noticed, but he ignored it completely. "How's she doing?" he dared to ask, but, as his eyes looked over her slowly, he knew that he wasn't going to like the answer.

Sam shook his head. "Not good." Her eyes were closed, and somehow she looked worse than she had when he'd left. "Dean," He looked down to her, and he pulled up the bottom of her vest. The flesh of her stomach was pierced and still bleeding. It looked like a stab wound. "Give me your phone. We need to call an ambulance."

It took a long moment for him to even register what had been said to him. Her managed to tear his eyes away from her stomach, and they found his brother's. "No." Dean said, his voice firm. There was no way. "We can't."

Sam frowned at him, incredulous. "What?" he exclaimed. "Dean, she needs help, or she's going to die."

"Sam, look around you." he said pointedly. "We're surrounded by dead bodies. We can't bring the cops here."

"Dean, we'll tell the cops—"

"You don't get it, do you?" he snapped, impatient, frustrated. "Sam, the cops would never believe what really happened here. Who the hell would? We need to get out of here, before anyone sees us. We need to take her to a hospital."

It was at that thought, when he looked down to her, that he noticed she wasn't moving, and a horrible feeling washed through him. "Alison?" he pushed, shaking her slightly. "Ali?!" All aspects of softness were gone, because he needed her to wake up. He needed to see her open her eyes. "Come on, Ali, wake up." Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him through her lashes. She was dizzy, and everything around her was spinning, disorientated. "Can you hear me?"

Alison gave the smallest nod, and it looked as though it had taken all of her energy to do so. "Alison, we need to get out of here." Sam said to her, his voice was soft, understanding, but there was a note of alarm to it that she didn't miss.

The words seemed to register with her, and she took a shaky breath. The second she tried to move, she stopped. She winced in pain, and fresh tears brimmed in her eyes, she looked in agony. "Dean," she murmured, her voice strained.

"You're alright, Ali." he assured her, and his hand found her cheek. "I've got you, I promise. I've got you, sis. You're gonna be fine."

The pain seemed to subside, and a soft smile graced her face. "Told you I'd make a hunter out of you." she muttered.

Despite everything, Dean cracked a small smile. He knew she had said it for that exact reason, to show him that she was still in there, that she wasn't about to give up on them, that, aside from everything going on around them, she could still make a joke. But that didn't change the fact that she needed help, sooner rather than later.

Sam looked over her slowly, concerned. "Can you walk?" he asked.

Alison nodded and she took the hand he offered her, allowing him to pull her gently to her feet. His other hand supported her back, and he noticed how weak she really was. She was dizzy, and her knees almost immediately gave way beneath her. Sam and Dean instinctively grabbed a hold of her before she could fall to the ground, and the look they shared was not one of confidence. They knew there, they were both wondering how much longer she was going to be able to hold on, if she was even going to make it to a hospital.

But Dean ignored those dark thoughts. He reached down and picked her up effortlessly. "Come on," he pressed. "Let's get the hell out of here."