The Beckoning

Chapter Nine: To Take as Yours

Author's Note: Hey, wish I could say I've just been enjoying myself on vacation, but…alas, I've only gotten bombarded with the sometimes boring, sometimes hectic events of real life (more recently hectic—but I'll save the rant). Can I just say that I love you all for reading, and I love your reviews? Even if I can't, I'm still going to say it. I love you all!

So, I cut this chapter in half because I'm working out some kinks in the latter and, most likely, last part of this story, and felt it cruel and unnecessary to keep you waiting even longer than you have been. With that said, I'll finish this author's note at the end, no more waiting.

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Dean felt a cold twist in his stomach, a lurid hunger he'd never felt before, as he stared at his brother. Without realizing it, he'd walked over to the bedside with a surprising smoothness to his movements. Maeron stood on the opposite side of the bed where Sam lay still, almost peaceful looking, but Dean didn't acknowledge the vampire at first-only kept his eyes on his brother.

"Human life is so fragile, so meager, isn't it?" Maeron remarked, looking over the unconscious hunter with mocking sympathy. "And we…you now hold such power over them, over him. You feel it, yes?"

Dean could only slowly nod.

"This is only the beginning, friend. It starts with him…taking his life. And once you do that, you have the whole world to take as yours," Maeron coaxed, sending Dean a menacing smile. "Think of the power, and all we could do with it. If only," the vampire paused, lifted Sam's arm and held his wrist firmly, "If only you taste the possibility…"

And Dean's eyes followed to Sam's wrist, watched as Maeron slid Sam's sleeve up his arm, and then he saw the gleam of a blade suddenly pass over the flesh of his brother.

"I'm going to make this easier for you," the vampire said, catching a look of disapproval from Dean.

"Will it hurt?" Dean asked, taking note of the well-sharpened dagger in the vampire's clasp.

"…Pain, like life, is only temporary. And in death, naught of pain matters…for death is the end of all things, physical discomfort included. Of course," the vampire chuckled, "I can make it hurt, extend the pain, if you so choose…"

Dean gave a pitying glance at the vampire before looking back to Sam, and then he said, "No...make it quick,"

The vampire turned expressionless for a moment. So you still hold some sense of mercy, hunter. I shall change that soon enough.

"Very well," Maeron snapped. Then he eagerly slid the blade of the dagger across Sam's wrist, and red liquid dripped heavily from the new wound in fine rivulets down the young Winchester's arm. And the vampire watched as Dean forcefully held himself away, fixated with the crimson lust, and he saw in Dean's eyes the raw intensity that for so long he longed to harbor for his own, dark purposes.

And Dean couldn't breath, his heart began beating a million times faster at the sight of blood overpowering the scent and igniting the appetite. And at first he wanted to grab the wrist away from Maeron and take the bleeding trophy to his lips and drink the life, the passion, the power…

But something happened…something stopped him…a voice, quiet and compassionate and familiar that resonated with something deeply buried inside.

'You're my brother, and I'd die for you…'

It was Sam's voice, a memory, a thought—a truth. And Dean knew it was sickeningly wrong to see his brother's blood, regardless of his furious desire for it. "Stop," Dean found his voice, shaky but firm, and he grabbed for the dagger and tossed it to the floor. "I'm not going to kill him,"

"You don't have a choice," Maeron was visibly angered by Dean's actions, and his voice took a new tone of contempt. "And besides, after all this rat has done to you, after all the pain and all the lies…you'd let him live?"

"It's nothing you'd understand," It's nothing I understand…but I still believe in it… Dean knocked the vampire's hands away, taking Sam's wrist and applying pressure. And he was relieved Sam was still asleep.

"You're a fool. Sam needs to die, don't you see? He'll hold you back, away from yourself…away from whom you're meant to become. Sam's death is imminent, and if you won't kill him, than I shall do it for you,"

The next thing Dean felt was his back hitting the wall behind him before he could protest. He leaned against the wall for support only for a moment as he steadied his gaze on Maeron, baring vicious fangs, leaning down towards Sam's neck.

"Get away from him!" Dean yelled, scrambling towards the vampire. He lunged forward, striking the vampire off guard, not realizing Dean's determination and strength were only intensified by the new vampire senses developing within him. Dean and the vampire struggled beside each other, one trying to reach Sam, the other trying to make Sam unreachable.

"You're making a mistake; you have no idea what you're doing!"

"I'm keeping you away from my brother!"

"That's quite humorous," the vampire slammed Dean against the wall, causing the window next to him to crack slightly. "Just a moment ago you were ready to drink the life right out of him. Just moments ago you felt as you've felt your entire life—alone! He left, like everyone leaves you, like everyone will always leave you…"

And Dean was somehow weakened by the words and the sad honesty behind them, and he let his eyes wander away from the vampire to Sam…to Sam's wrist as it bled…and still he wondered, did Sam deserve this? Was he fighting a battle that he'd never win? Sometimes it is best to surrender…

But sometimes you've just gotta fight…

"Yeah," Dean muttered bitterly, placing an imposing glare on the vampire. "Well, Sam came back, didn't he? That's got to mean something,"

And Dean threw the vampire off him, spotted Sam's wooden stake on the floor nearby and decided to go for it. Before blinking he had it in his hands and looked around for Maeron who was no longer in sight.

"Let's see how well you fight in the dark, hunter," Dean heard Maeron's echoing voice coming from the black, lightless hallway. He gripped the stake and took off running quite literally blind into the darkness, hoping he'd somehow be able to detect exactly where this vampire had gone.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," Dean said, almost believing himself. He spotted a quick movement in the shadows down at the end of the hall, nearing the stairwell and he chased it. He heard something behind him fall, something roll, but did not turn around. He focused in the shadows to see, felt something in him aiding his sight as the darkness cleared just a bit and he was able to make out a shape, and then another, and then as he began turning around he saw Maeron.

"That's right," the vampire once again pinned him to the wall, and Dean heard the malicious grin in his voice. "It's not the dark that frightens you, but the fire," and as the vampire spoke the words, and Dean's thoughts fell on the last, he felt a chill traveling down his body through his nerves, every vessel and every cell. He saw the light, the faint glow down the hall, felt the heat.

Somehow, the candles were knocked, or pushed, to the floor, and the room caught fire.

Sam's in that room, the room that's on fire…

Dean felt the fear well inside his chest, confusion tore away at him, and he knew he had to get to Sam. Using everything he had, propelled by every unidentifiable emotion coursing through him, he managed to release himself from the vampire's grasp and drive the wooden stake in his chest.

At the same time he drove the stake in the vampire's heart, Dean felt something tighten in his chest, and the tightening hurt wrenched through the whole of him and he was brought to his knees, one palm against the floor to hold him up and the other pressing his chest.

He hid himself as best he could from the flailing vampire beside him, who had yelled in a silent scream of true shock and defeat before crumbling to dust. And Dean, for a moment, thought he felt his heart stop beating, but as he felt it beat again, and again, and again, he felt truly alive and free of some burden he'd recently been given. Free of the burden of some lonely life rich in death and destruction, with no true satisfaction, just survival. Pain and confusion washed over him. His thoughts and memories were hazy, but one element focused clearly: Sam.

And as he took in a long inhale, he held it in from the crushing sensation of grief claiming his ability to hold himself upright. He realized Sam was still in the burning room.

Dean started off at a crawl, trying to find his strength to stand, to run to Sam, and as he neared the doorway and saw the flames clawing the bed…he heard a voice, a memory…

He saw the smoke, saw the fire, felt the heat and the fear and the pain, the same pain but a different hallway, a different home from another time long ago…

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can!"

There were broken images of a man handing a child over to him, broken images placing themselves together in perfect sense.

"And don't look back!"

The baby was Sam and Dean held him tightly…and he understood the wordless promise he made that he'd protect his brother from that moment on.

"Now Dean—GO!"

And as he stared helplessly at the fire, his memories were beckoning him to remember.

Remember for Sam, you have to save him…Remember…

And as one memory kicked in, it triggered the others and soon his mind was flooded with more frenzied images and sounds, different places and different faces, and he remembered who he was and what he did. And like an innate behavior he knew he had to save Sam, to take him away from the fire, because Sam was his brother and Dean loved him, and Dean remembered him, as he remembered it was his dedicated purpose to protect his little brother.

Get up—get to Sam—save him!

And by something stronger than a second nature, or a first nature, or born instinct- Dean ran to Sam.

He forced himself up and ran to the doorway with fire now blocking safe entrance and flames that circled the bed. He shielded his eyes from the sight, covering his face with his arm momentarily. Disorderly thoughts muttered in his mind, and some of the vampire's words rang back to him. He knew somehow he'd lost a potential to own the world, to take it as his own, but as he knew that he did not care. Because he knew he didn't want to take the world as his own, didn't need the world—just needed his brother, his family. And he felt ill with sorrow knowing he almost gave his brother up for an uncaring world. Almost…

"Sam!" he yelled, wishing Sam would wake up. "Sam, come on, I can't,"—he winced as a flame sparked towards him, the heat seething across his face. I can't do this alone, I won't. "Sam!" he watched in horror as the fire was making its way up the bed, eating away at the mattress and straining in agony to bite Sam. He exhaled rapidly, knowing the next move he made wouldn't be the smartest, but people didn't do the smartest things in desperate situations.

He swatted through the fire and jumped to a fortunately bare spot on the floor unmarked by flames and then leapt atop the burning bed, pulling the still-unconscious Sam up towards him.

"I've got you, Sam," he said, carefully placing Sam in his arms, prepping to carry him over his shoulder. "I'm getting you out of here, getting you safe,"

He knew they couldn't leave the way he came. The fire was quickly spreading and the only way out was the window. Dean lifted Sam and himself off the bed, away from the fire and stood near the corner while glancing outside through the cracked window glass. Leaning Sam against him in a slightly standing position, Dean used his elbow to break the window and the edge of his jacket to swipe away the remaining fragments of glass along the border.

After precariously hoisting his brother outside the window he set him on the roofing ledge that hung out about a foot away from the house, making sure the area was free of any shards of glass. He then stepped over himself, landing clumsily near Sam in an upright position. Dean gave Sam a skeptical, tired look while he ignored his growing headache.

"If you're pretending to sleep through any of this, I swear I'll"—

The older Winchester halted in his words as a low moan escaped from his brother. Sam tilted his towards the sound of his brother's voice but kept his eyes shut.

"Dean?"

"Sam! Are you okay?" Dean scolded himself for forgetting about Sam's wrist wound. He tore part of his shirt and went to wrap Sam's wrist, who only flinched and exhaled painfully. "Hold still, let me tighten this,"

"What happened?" Sam groggily asked, finally opening his eyes.

Dean turned around behind him and peeked at the fire growing closer to them.

"Well, I'll spare you the details. Vampire's dead, you're bleeding because that bastard slit your wrist, and this house is burning to the ground with us on it,"

Sam eyed the spacious surrounding, taking notice of the ground two stories below them.

"We gonna jump?" Sam questioned, feeling a bit uneasy. Dean huffed out a laugh.

"Unless you want to break my fall, we're gonna crawl over to that window over there and exit the house by using the stairs, like normal people would. Any more questions, College Boy? Or can we get the Hell off this roof?"

"What did you call me?" Sam perked up at the nickname. Dean, when he was himself, had called him that and Sam was almost reluctant to believe that through all this, his brother finally got his memories back. He was tired of getting his hopes up.

"Uh, College Boy? Super Geek, Piss Head—I can call you a million things, little brother. And I'll start calling you worse if you don't get that scrawny butt of yours moving towards that other window,"

Suddenly, Dean felt arms wrap around him, and Sam's shoulder rammed into Dean's neck, slightly cutting off circulation.

"You remember! You're back!"

"Air—please—" Dean patted Sam's back, trying to get his attention before he blacked out.

Sam pulled back, but kept his hands on his brother's shoulders. When Dean saw the waterworks in Sam's eyes, he realized he must have missed something, and confusion drew in.

"Dean, I…"

"Whoa," Dean held a hand up. "Pause the chick-flick moment. And look," he put his hand below Sam's chin, forcing him to look in the room behind him littered with flames. "See that? It's called fire. Fire bad,"

Sam shook out of his state of elated shock and nodded. He was so mesmerized to have Dean back that he had forgot about everything else.

"Right, sorry," Sam mumbled, while composing his balance as he tried to stand, Dean helping him. The two walked the narrow ledge to another window. When Sam was about to break the glass, Dean stopped him with a harrowing glare.

"Not with that wrist, buddy," he said, and broke the window on his own. "You need to take it easy until I can get that patched up for you,"

"Patched up? I'm not a doll, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes with a grin, stepping inside the empty room while clutching his wrist.

"Yeah," Dean smirked teasingly, "But I bet you'd give Barbie a run for her money if you went blonde,"

Sam only laughed, taking a few steps away so Dean could climb over the window. As he walked towards the door, he realized he didn't even mind the pain in his wrist so much, couldn't really concentrate on the pain. All he could think about was that he had his brother back, and he couldn't be happier. And he knew once they were back outside and away from fire, away from danger, they'd have a lot to discuss.

And when he expected to hear the crunching of broken glass from his brother's footsteps, instead he heard the sound of wood snapping. The house creaked, and Sam's entire world shook as he heard his brother yell.

Sam turned around, hoping against hope that he'd see his brother landing on the floor next to him and not on the ground two stories down. And when Sam turned around, his heart sank into his stomach, as he turned to face a lonely window.

Dean wasn't there.

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To be continued…

I know- evil cliffhanger. I only did it because I enjoy torturing my readers…I mean, uh…because I need to fix the last chapter…that's it. Hehe…hmm, Dean got his memories back, but it appears he's fallen again…would I not be the most cynical person in the world to have him lose his memories again? Haha, don't worry, I won't do that.

Sorry if the vampire's exit seemed abrupt…I didn't do as well with the vampire sentiment of this story as I anticipated I could, so all I have left to do is try something with it later on after I work more on developing my personal take on vampires.

Oh, and I had been doing some research on how amnesiac victims get their memories back, and no, it's not that they injure their head again and -bump- they remember everything. I read somewhere that there's some trigger involved, and when that memory trigger is turned on, usually the rest of the memories follow. And I thought it'd only be appropriate for Dean's trigger to be that sudden super-brother mode he goes into when he sees Sam in danger (like in a fiery room). I love their brotherly love!

I went for some action writing in this part, and I know I'm not the best action writer, because I usually focus on drama type stuff. So, any feedback in particular reference on how to write better action scenes is well appreciated. I'll use any constructive criticism I can and put it to practice for writing better action and such, and just better writing in general. Thanks so much for reading, I'll quit bothering you now.

Silver Kitten