Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Supernatural was created by Erik Kripke – it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain to be made from this transformative nor will any be sought. This fanfiction story is for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: Violence... Always violence + Hurt/Comfort
ENJOY!
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"SAM!... Sam, hurry up!"
"Dean, I am trying!"
"Well try harder!"
A minute passed.
"SAM!"
The day was setting, dropping its cloak of oranges and reds on the world. Creatures of dusk crawling from their holes. Big and small alike, life was awakening. But one area of the forest was already drenched in chaos. Nothing keen on keeping alive ventured too close.
It was a battle of survival. Two things locked in a clash for dominance. One that appeared as a man. The other, a creature of nightmares.
A second man was separated from the struggle, working frantically. Powders. Fire. Antlers. Bones. He cautioned glances at his comrade each time a grunt of miscalculation echoed off the trees.
"Son of a bitch! Sam! Sam, come on man!"
Twigs, stones, and pinecones were jabbing Dean everywhere the Pythonissam wasn't. It felt like hours had passed. He was exhausted. Beat down. Tongue swollen and dry. But the fight was far from over. The Pythonissam, still screeching an eardrum raking pitch, acted with endurance that was barely diminished. Pythonissam are witches of ancient times. They pull energy from any unprotected spirit force within their radius. Stealing life. Thus, until everything around them is dead, they can fight unhindered.
"SAM!"
"Dude. Hold on. Almost there."
Have you ever heard the phrase, 'you are what you eat'? For the Pythonissam it is a literal reality. Consuming a deer's life force sprouts antlers from the bitch's head. The energy of stones lends knuckles of the same. So the witch is more forest then a breathing creature. Bristled with needles and sharp broken… are those bones? With a giggle of glee, pointy white objects from her forearms raked and stabbed her opponent.
"Sammm!" Dean moaned as something sunk deep in his side. Dean's teeth hurt. His back where she repeatedly clawed burned, leaking blood. Its volume well noticed oozing down his leg. Not pleasant: made his jeans sticky and crusty. Dean hated it. Reminded him of being weak and vulnerable, scared, out of control when he was too young. Sweat was burning his eyes but he couldn't wipe it away. Every action focused on not becoming dead. He just needed to last a little longer.
One. Two. Evade. Strike. Three. Four.
Instincts had taken over. Action without thought or command. Which coincidentally lent Dean's mind time to think. This bitch thinks she's gonna win?... Dean's breath was driven from his lungs. She could win. A single misstep and my brains are scrambled egg… Damn side hurts like a bitch… What would Sam do? Dean dove out of the Pythonissam's path. Would Sam survive if I failed? Dean's throat seized up. Resolute strength shot like lightning from the pit of his gut, exploding through his mouth as a war cry.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Shin. Block.
Threaten his brother, a beast is born and though Dean is used to his adrenaline lending a deeply seated strength, he could feel it waning as the encounter tumbled on. Like losing yourself. Because I am not a hero. I can't protect him.
The fight had become nothing more than drawn on abuse.
"Dean! NO!" Sam intervened momentarily. Dropping the tattered spell book for a large branch. It broke with a resounding crack over the Pythonissam's back. Giving Dean momentary advantage to regain control. As Dean descended back on top of the witch, he heard bells. Or cries. He couldn't be sure. But it was something that sent a chill icing the crevices of every bone. Somehow, he knew the end was coming or something equally as bad. Finish it Sam. I am fading. Gotta beat this Sammy. Utter the spell so I can let go.
Sam really saw Dean in that instant. The blood leaking from so many small punctures, the gash in his side, his shredded back, the thorns stuck in his forehead: as if Dean was a pin cushion used without remorse. Split lip. Blood rolling down the side of his face and dripping from his chin. His eyes crazed. Focused but clouded as he refused to to stop fighting until it was over. The only problem, his body was betraying him. Sam saw the determination. Dean was angry, but Dean was tired.
"SAMM!"
"Fuck. Almost done!" Sam began chanting. The bloodied stakes were set. The fire burning. Water boiling. Moss hung from tree branches. It was the most delicate and intricate attack Sam had ever launched. All the while trying to block out the suffering of his brother. He wanted to drop everything and intervene but it would be no use. The witch was gaining power. The only way to truly help Dean and himself, was kill her.
Pythonissam use ancient magic, feeding off their own to gain strength and abilities causing unique traits to morph within the new host. Every time a Pythonissam consume a fellow witch, mixing their characteristics with their own personal cocktail of magic, the results are near radioactive, unpredictable. Extremely dangerous. It is why Sam wanted nothing to do with this hunt. But Dean wouldn't hear it. No amount of risk was ever too great for his big brother. Not when innocent lives hung in the balance.
"SA'..." Dean's call was cut off. He didn't speak again. Just grunted or groaned. Sam's nostrils flared as he continued chanting, not losing pace. Dammit. Come on.
About five minutes ago the Pythonissam became barbed head to toe with hundreds of rose bush like thorns. They were stabbing, gripping, tearing at Dean's clothes, at his flesh. With his strength failing, Dean launched a final attack hoping it was enough. Elbow to the witch's face, he sidestepped the punch grasping wrist control as he twisted to her rear. Arm secured behind her back, Dean wrapped his free arm around her throat and…. Clamped on. It was unlike any pain Dean had ever experienced as the pair fell to the forest floor. Like being on fire but not. His entire chest was pulsing agony as the witch used the position to her advantage. Pushing back harder into him, burying her thorns in his flesh. The hooks tearing anything they could whenever she squirmed.
Dean's vision was faltering. Mom? Flames, a two-story home burning. Sammy was a toddler, taking his first steps. No, Sammy is grown. Sammy where are you. I need you dude. Blackness. Nothing but pictures hanging at various heights on invisible strings descending from a wall-less, window-less room. Sam? Then claws glinting in the darkness lashed out. Tore across his face. When his eyes opened next the world was washed in a red hue but he was back. Back in the forest. On the ground with the witch locked in his grasp.
A single thought grew to encapsulate his mind. Do not let go. Do not let go. That is all he was now. An unforgiving clamp on this creature's back. Like a bull rider, there for the abuse and the ride. Tossed left to right. Body slammed into the dirt, air rushing from his lungs. Dean's eyes were watering. Burning. The salty blood dripping into them made it hard to keep them open or closed. He wanted nothing more than to be able to let go and wipe the pain away.
Dean bit his lips between his teeth, tearing trenches in the flesh. Don't let go. Don't let go. The witch stopped moving. Don't let go. Don't let go. All was still. Don't let go. Chanting, soft and quiet filled his ears. It wasn't Sammy. Dean could hear Sammy, loud and clear, separate from all other sounds. The foreign words slipping off Sam's tongue with flawless fluidity, Dean smiled with pride. But then that other chanting resurfaced his attention. This chanting was close. Soft. A woman's voice. beat eum ut vita… beat eum ut vita… The phrase was uttered over and over. Past experience told Dean to pay attention but he just didn't care to. Don't let go. The relief that it was over too much. Don't let go. Suddenly, Dean started choking on a grey dust as his arms rammed his chest, captive gone.
"DEAN! Dean, Dean, Dean…" Sam slid to a stop alongside his brother. Dean could feel Sam's cold hand on his cheek. It felt thick. Slimy.
"Dean. Open your eyes. Dean. Come on." Dean wanted to open his eyes. But dammit, he was tired. Too tired. I can't right now Sam. Come back later. Quick five and I'll be good.
"Dean?! Wake-up Dean. We gotta get out of here." Sam's voice broke, breaking a part of Dean simultaneously. Dean didn't know what he looked like but it couldn't be good. He could feel the terror rolling off his brother.
"Oh gosh Dean… We are going. We gotta go." Dean was trying to use sheer will to give Sam a sign.To force open his eyes but pure fire had set over him again. Come one. Son of bitch! Eyes instead crinkling closed even tighter. A moan slipping from his lips. Sam gulped. He held Dean's tattered shirt. They weren't big holes but so many. Too many. The stab wound. The scratches. The bruises everywhere else.
"Dean?..." Sam shuttered. Fingers pressed to his brother's throat as Dean's chest stopped rising and falling.