In the upcoming chapter "There's No Light" shit's getting real, peeps ?
All the fumbling around with keys, and food, and whiskey, and shit – did you never forget to lock your home's doors when in thoughts or under stress?
Chapter 4 ~ There Is No LightThree days pass …
During which Dean's not acting different as from the beginning.
During which Sam's not having any visions.
Castiel flew by once, checking in on his friend and took off again when he noticed nothing out of the ordinaire.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean can't think about what can possibly keep Sam's mind so damn occupied, that he has missed to lock the door. Jesus. With a serial killer on the loose, in his home, and he simply FORGETS to lock the room.
He can't quite believe it, and first he thinks it's a test or some other weird shit. But it isn't. And when he realizes that that's his chance, he grins so maliciously, it would creep the worst psycho out.
When he steps outside, he listens. He hears noises coming from his right.
He knows, that there has to be a room nearby – probably Sam's bedroom. He heard him leave it in the mornings and enter it late at night.
Dean's pretty sure of it.
He also thinks, that this is what he's been waiting for. For that one chance, when the hunter isn't attentive enough. Though, Dean had hoped it would last a bit longer.
He kind of likes drawing the foreplay (with this man) out, and so far, Sam was doing so good. But now, he's messing it up so bad.
So, Dean's a gourmet and not a gorger. Which means, they are going to play a few rounds of hide and seek. Oh, and by all means, Sam's going to be the one who will need to hide.
When Dean enters the library, he can hear soft snores coming from a leather-couch far from the shelves. So, he walks over and looks, and his grin becomes wider when he sees the offspring of those snores.
It's Sam. He's dozing along, unaware of the danger close to him. Dean's tempted to touch him. But he doesn't. He watches him for a long time, and the fingers of his left hand hoover over the younger man's face, as if he's going to brush along his high cheekbones and defined jaw.
He can feel the anticipation grow in his chest, when he thinks about what he's going to do to the hunter. The sounds he's going to make when he does so, and how blissful he'd feel when he'll draw blood and when he's going to watch life fade from these soft eyes.
~ The Black Beast ~
Sam's carrying the tray with a paper-plate and still hot sausages on it down the corridor from the kitchen towards Dean's room. He pats with his bare feet audibly down the tiled floor, since he hadn't managed to get dressed yet.
He's been too sunken in research, mostly how to help someone suffering from the Stockholm-syndrome. Sam's sure there's a way to get Dean Winchester to not want to torture and kill people anymore. There has to.
The man doesn't seem like the typical psychopath. – Not to Sam anyways. At least not during their time being. He's been talking to him more often these days, and there's a familiar warmth coming from the supposed killer.
If it isn't for Sam KNOWING, that Dean Winchester is a class a messed up serial killer, he would think he's like anyone else. A completely normal person. A nice and decent guy.
Except for that he isn't.
With a sigh, Sam's already fumbling for the key in his pyjama-bottoms when he stops in front of Dean's door and freezes. He raises his head slowly, his look traveling over the threshold into the room.
Into the room.
The door's open wide.
Sam lets the key drop and moves his hand to his back and it comes away empty. His eyes widen and his breath catches in his lungs.
A million thoughts run through his head like nas-cars starting their last round.
Didn't he lock the room?
Sam can't remember. No it couldn't be. – He knows – at least he's pretty sure – that he's locked the damn door behind him when he left the last time.
Did he?
Doesn't matter anyway. What's done is done, now he needs to get his fucking gun, which probably slipped out from his waistband while he was dozing on the couch.
Sam curses in his mind and puts the tray down. He sneaks towards his room, where he knows he'll find his Baretta under the pillows of his bed.
When he slips his hand under the pillow, it comes away empty too. He curses again.
Dean Winchester could be anywhere in the bunker. And he's weaponed – at least with his Baretta.
He could be anywhere.
There are plenty of places to hide out. Plenty of places to get hands on weapons too.
Sam curses again – at himself, at the Winchester. At his own stupidity.
So, Sam thinks, because that's one of the things he can do best.
Dean's got at least two hours before him. He's still in the bunker, because there's no way out except for one, and that one is locked seven days from Sunday.
Well, there's still the garage, but Sam thinks, Dean won't go there … besides it is locked too.
He decides to stick with the things he KNOWS. (Well, that's not much, but better than nothing.)
Sam knows he's alone with Dean.
He knows Dean's a psycho and probably a sneaky bastard.
He too knows, that no matter how Dean's been acting towards him, it might as well was only a façade.
Sam Campbell cannot count on the man's mercy. Because he is damn sure Dean doesn't know what that even means.
He also knows, that there're weapons in room E5. Because he's the one who put them there, and he doesn't keep that one locked, because why the hell should he, huh? It's not like he was intending on taking a psychotic serial killer in now, was he?
Yes he actually has. And that's why he is damn well screwed now, if it's for Sam to guess.
All of a sudden he feels sick to his stomach, because that can't be happening, can it? Not in his home. Not in the bunker. And damn well not when Castiel's missing in action.
~ The Black Beast ~
Sam hears something, and catches a glimpse of a shadow from the corners of his eyes, sneaking past his room's door. He whirls around.- And sees nothing.
"Dean?!" Sam's not sure if it's an intelligent thing to call for him, but it's out of him before he realizes it. Sam bites his tongue.
He moves to the cupboard, where he supposes his knife is. But it's not, and he curses again.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean smiles at himself, when he hears Sam calling his name. He wraps his hands tightly around the hilt of his knife and lurks around the corner when Sam leaves his room, slightly ducked and oh so softly, not to make a sound.
Dean follows him and becomes one with the wall against his back when he watches Sam walk up the stairs, heading for the room with the big table and the map on it.
He's careful too, to be as silent as possible, when he sneaks through it, following Sam. Dean's confident, that this's probably the best hunt he's been on so far, and that this is going to be the most wonderful experience he's ever had and he'll ever have in his entire life.
~ The Black Beast ~
Sam knows he's there. He can sense him, he feels being watched.
There's one thing Dean Winchester doesn't know about the bunker. It's about all the hidden doors, behind shelves and walls leading into other rooms or corridors.
So, Sam disappears behind one of them, which is leading him into the kitchen. Once there he goes straight for the drawer with the knives and takes the biggest of them, before he vanishes again as if he's never been there.
He moves back towards the library behind the shelf he sneaked behind before and waits. He keeps perfectly still. Hears the other man move, listens to his heavy boots giving away his position.
Dean's not sneaking anymore.
Which tells Sam, that the man's done playing.
Sam lurks through a small hole in the shelf and waits for Dean to appear in his line of sight. And when he does, he waits some more. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, making his blood roar in his ears.
For a moment, Sam thinks, he can hear his own heart beat, and maybe so does Dean. But that's just imagination and he knows that. So he keeps his breaths even.
When Dean's standing with the back at him, and is about to head towards the map's room again, he senses his chance and burst out from his hiding.
Fast as lightning and perfectly skilled, he tackles Dean to the side, when he runs past him and disappears in the corridor towards the bedroom.
Dean's taken aback for a matter of seconds, but recovers fast and takes off behind him, but loses track pretty fast, when he finds himself in front of Room 7b.
He pants and grins and shifts the knife in his hand and he listens.
"C'mon, Sammy.", he hollers amused, "You should've known this would happen sooner or later." Dean's eyes narrow when he hears movement from behind and dodges as plow from his most favorite prey, aiming for his head.
Though, Sam gets to hit him in his chest, which leaves Dean reeling for a moment too long, and a punch lands square in his face.
"Drop the knife.", Sam orders him, showing the chef's knife, holding it defensively before him. "I don't want to hurt you, Dean." He really means it. Because he still doesn't want to hurt him, and he still doesn't want to kill him. Sam still thinks, that it can be solved in another way.
Dean staggers back and wipes blood from his split lip. His jaw starts to bruise already. He grins at Sam and sniffs.
"I'm not a project, Sam.", he says panting , licks blood from his lip, and is turning the knife in his hands over, so it's more useful for slicing than stabbing. "I don't know what you think you're doin' here, but I sure as hell can't be healed. I don't want to be cured." He makes a step towards Sam.
Sam takes a step back.
"There's a part of you that doesn't want to do this." Sam's trying. Because that's what he always does.
"You keep telling that yourself." Dean's got murder in his eyes. Not that kind, that's wild and furious. Nope. He's calculating.
"I think, there's still something good inside of you. – I think, that you're not all bad." Because he can't be. All good has something evil inside of it, and all the evil has something good. So does Dean.
Sam doesn't exactly know how to handle this, but he will. Somehow.
"Oh, I'm so going to enjoy this.", Dean hisses, blood on his white teeth, his cheek turning a light shade of blue. "You're going to be my most precious one."
A cold shiver runs down Sam's spine at the man's words and swallows hard. Maybe he was wrong about Dean though.
After all, you can get a horse to the water, but you can't make it drink.
And that's exactly when it happens. At the most unfortunate of times.
Sam feels a slight pull under the skin of his head. The tickling sensation behind his eyes. A wave of dizziness cursing through him, and he knows – the vision's going to hit him any second now, and then he's really pretty damn much screwed.
And he shoves the eerie sensations away and holds onto the here and now – and he doesn't know if it'll work, but he tries. Because he knows, he can't fight the man off, when he's having a vision.
So he spins on his heels and takes off in a sprint, his long legs carrying away in a rapid speed. He flings himself around the corner, nearly sliding into the wall.
Dean's hot on his heels, obviously done hiding and mocking. The more Sam tries to get away, the more determined he feels to get the drop on him, to take him down.
Usually, Dean's not a runner, and he hates chasing his victims, but with Sam it's different. The man's skilled and he damn well knows that.
They end up in the library again, and Sam's panting and his eyes are glassy when they dart around until they catch on Dean's green eyes mere feet away.
Sam's lifting his empty hand and sucks in a shuddering breath. "We don't have to do this."
Dean chuckles. "Oh, and HOW we have to do this.", he says, taking in a broad stance. And the very next moment he takes off towards Sam and flings himself at him.
They are all limps and fists wrapped up and though apart, wrestling, knocking over things. Dean hits a couple of good plows. Sam does too – despite the increasing pain behind his eyes.
Sam's losing his knife when it's knocked out of his hand, and he fists Dean's shirt in his hand, trying to get him off of him and away, because his head is going to explode any minute now, and that'd be his death-sentence.
It's a single moment of headlessness on Sam's side, that he doesn't see it coming.
Dean's above him, sitting up on Sam's legs, holding them down with his weight and slams the knife into the hunter's side.
That moment, when their eyes lock, and Dean sees in Sam's eyes the inevitable fate of getting to know the real Dean Winchester, it fills him with pure bliss.
It washes over him, spurs him on. He doesn't want this to be over just yet, and he's actually aiming for the man's chest, but he decides otherwise.
He decides to see – and feel – how far he can push the hunter beneath him. He decides to not kill him just yet, because it'd be too soon, too fast. There'd be no time to relish it, to bath in the man's despair.
Sam screams in agony, when the rippled blade is forced into his soft flesh, slicing into him like hot metal into ice-cold butter in one smooth go. He see's stars dance into his vision and it blurs, and grows dark on its edges, but he latches onto consciousness like a drowning man onto a lifebelt.
He's not sure how he manages it, but he throws Dean off of himself, and the knife gets yanked out of him with the motion.
Sam's not feeling anything. – There's no pain at all, and he figures it's because of the shock, because of his body fighting.
He gets to his feet – more or less – and scrambles away, across the floor, towards the staircase. He feels the warmth of blood soak into his shirt, as he clutches the wound with his flat palm. He feels cool sweat spreads over his skin rapidly fast, and his vision grows blurry.
Sam can't process yet what just happened, and he's glad about it. – Because as soon as his mind's going to realize that he's been stabbed, and that he's losing too much blood way too fast, his body will give in on him.
It's all about surviving now. So, he calls out to Castiel, when he scrambles into the kitchen and something heavy is crushing into him from behind, taking him down.
And he yells again, when his side's on fire all of a sudden and pain is daring to consume him entirely.
Sam's not done fighting yet. He tries to throw off the weight resting on his lower back. He can feel the other man's calves alongside his thighs and a hand gripping his shoulder.
He finds himself on his back in what seems like the amount of a spare second, and he looks up at Dean.
Green fire burning in his eyes, a coldness mirroring in them he's not seen so far in his entire life and his breath catches, when he spots what the man's holding in his hand high above his head.
Dean feels the rush of adrenaline cursing through his body. He feels Sam beneath him, his entire body trembling and screaming for salvation. And who is Dean Winchester if he's not the one giving it to him?
The hammer in his hand weights heavy, as it hovers in the air, ready to get slammed down.
He sees Sam. Sam, who has still fight in his eyes, who is still determined to not give up into him, despite there's no way of getting out of underneath him.
There's no escape.
Dean's got him trapped and he's ready to finish this. At least that's what he thinks at first. He sure wanted to draw this out some time longer, and he wanted to make the man beg and scream for him. But the bliss he's feeling fades rapidly fast now and is replaced by sympathy and worry.
It's a weird thing to feel though for the Winchester. He's never felt anything like it before and he's shocked that he is actually capable of it. He's overwhelmed, and he thinks for a moment what he is supposed to do now.
Because it is not the way he imagined it before in his daydreams.
The hunter is looking up at him. The fight draining from him, sorrow creeping into the hazel of his irises. Bright brown and golden flakes fading, becoming translucent.
Sam's chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, his bloody hands resting on it and he closes his eyes, as if he's accepting his fate.
And now that Sam would accept what Dean is about to give to him, Dean doesn't want it anymore. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to do this to Sam in particular.
There's a realization dawning on him, and Dean is not sure if he wants to have it. He doesn't feel like he's supposed to accept what these emotions – taking a hold of him - are doing to him.
He stares down at Sam. Takes in his paling face. The tender skin of his eyelids shielding his view from the killer. He sees the blood on Sam's hands, the way his throat works when he breaths, and he just can't.
Not right now anyway. Not like this.
~ The Black Beast ~
Yellow eyes gleam and lighten up in anticipation. His pupil has finally found what is his other half, what makes him whole. What keeps him connected to this world by a thin thread.
It's exactly how he has imagined it, and he is not filled with wrath. Not in the slightest. If anything he feels glee and anticipation at what lies before him – before his pupil – before the entire world.
It's the last piece in the great big puzzle missing. The last unpredictable threat in this game.
And it might become the final score in what will turn his pupil into what he is supposed to be.
~ The Black Beast ~
A/N: Here we go ? You like? Maybe it's kinda lame? I don't know … I think we need some action, but it'll take a while and we need to let their relationship evolve, don't we?I know I'm always slow with these things, but hey, it's not like we don't have time, do we? ?