A/N: Second last chapter, finally here for your reading pleasure! It's all come down to this…Thank you so much to those of you who take the time to review! You guys are my motivation, you rock ;)
That said, hope you can all take the time to review these last two chapters. But, more importantly, I hope you enjoy them.
Chapter 9:
Sam's muscles strained as he yanked at the door, trying to force it open, trying to get to his brother before Brad did with that gun. He had to finally give up when his fingers began to numb.
Sam ran his hands through his hair in frustration, panic clawing at his chest. God, he hadn't meant it. He didn't want Dean hurt. He wanted him alive! He wanted him safe. He wanted him here next to him, now, cracking smart-assed jokes.
Sam took a shaky breath, calming himself down, forcing himself to think. To find a way.
But he couldn't concentrate, couldn't stop thinking about Dean being torn from the room, about the weakened state he was in, about bullets tearing through his body.
The spell! Dean's only chance now was being able to defend himself. And that meant stealing away Brad's supernatural ability. He had to turn the remaining Parkers human again.
Sam quickly picked up the book from where he'd dropped it and opened it to that dog-marked page. Scanning through what had to be done, letting his desire to save Dean overpower any trepidation or doubt he was feeling, Sam grabbed his bag and pulled out the stuff he'd need.
He took a second – but only a second – to breath in deeply and feel his heart batter against his chest. He'd never done anything like this before. It was complicated. It was dangerous. But he couldn't worry about that right now. Dean was in trouble and it was up to Sam to save him.
He gripped the book tightly and began reciting.
Dean felt himself pulled through the house with startling speed, and then flung down the stairs to the basement ground below. He gasped as he hit the ground, the impact shooting a spike of pain through his body that left him fighting to remain conscious, to ward off the fog threatening to consume him. Giving in would mean relief from the pain spiking through his battered body, but it would also leave him vulnerable to Brad's attack. So he lay there splayed and unmoving, using all his energy to resist the black creeping across his vision.
Through the fog he could just make out Sam's voice in the distance, shouting his name, banging on something. And then silence. Dean still had enough sense, and enough trust in his brother, to realize that Sam was probably working on turning these bastards human. Now, Dean just had to avoid being killed until Sam pulled of the spell. If he pulled off the spell.
Great, Dean thought. Way to be optimistic.
Blinking rapidly, forcing away the fog, Dean clenched his jaw and gripped the dirt floor beneath him, pulling himself into a sitting position.
"Good. I thought you were dead. Would have loaded this gun for nothing then," a voice rang out.
Dean looked up in time to see Brad materialize in front of him. Dean's own shotgun in his hands.
"I suppose 'that's mine, give it back' is going to fall on dead ears," Dean sighed. "Pun intended," he added.
Brad lifted the gun and pressed the barrel against Dean's cheek. Dean gulped and struggled off the ground. The room was silent as the two stared at each other - Dean could practically hear his own heart beating. Though he stood completely still, his eyes locked with Brad's, feeling the gun pressed against his face, very aware that all Brad needed to do was squeeze that trigger and Dean was done.
Dean felt a temporary spark of relief when the barrel left his cheek, but it was quickly replaced with a weary fear when Brad shoved the barrel underneath Dean's chin, against his throat, and used it to force Dean backwards.
Holding his breath, Dean stumbled backwards as the cold barrel pressed against his throat, stopping when his back bumped into that bloodied wall.
"Bye, Dean," Brad whispered, his eyes glistening.
No, no, no, Dean thought, his eyes widening when he realized that spell wasn't going to kick in on time.
"This is what they're all talking about, isn't it?" Dean practically yelled, desperate to distract Brad.
Brad tilted his head, a frown interrupting his distracted expression. He seemed to withdraw from whatever memory he'd run to in these last few seconds. He still held the gun tightly against Dean's throat, but his finger relaxed. "What?"
Dean gulped, knowing that he didn't have much time. Come on, Sam…
"Your neighbors. They say they hear strange noises at night. Is that you shooting people? How much people have you killed, huh? Is that how you get your rocks off, beating manners into a terrified town?"
Brad's eyes glowed menacingly. "They had to be taught! So no one else would get hurt!"
"Are you even listening to that logic!" Dean yelled incredulously.
"Enough talking!" Brad yelled back, pressing the gun tighter against Dean's flesh.
Dean's heart hammered and his mouth turned dry. "So you're just going to shoot me? Even though I'm not sorry. Are you giving up that easy? Is that all Bret meant to you?"
Dean shut his eyes, bracing himself for what came next. Brad swung the gun and Dean collapsed to the ground with a groan as it connected with his head. Tears stung his eyes but Dean willed them away and forced himself up, spitting out some more blood. This he could deal with. A few painkillers later on, he'd be fine. Anything to delay Brad pulling that trigger.
"Had enough?" Brad asked, kneeling in front of Dean, a triumphant smile on his face.
Dean took a shuddering breath and forced himself to grin back. "Why, you getting tired? Close to nap time?"
Brad snarled in rage and grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up and slamming him back against the wall. "Enough of this!" he yelled, aiming the gun wildly and pulling the trigger.
Dean ducked just in time, falling to the ground and covering his head as the bullet exploded into the wall above him, raining down bits of concrete and leaving his ears ringing. Dean looked up at the hole in shock – that was almost him!
Brad cried out in frustration – the rage rippling off him with a supernatural force that slammed Dean back up against the wall. Dean flinched as Brad wrapped his hand around Dean's neck to prevent him moving and shoved the gun against Dean's temple. "No more games!"
"Bret!" Dean cried out, in one last attempt to prolong becoming just another splattered mark on a stained wall.
"What did you say?" Brad whispered, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why are you calling my brother?"
Dean's breath rattled in his lungs. He licked his split lips, eyes wide. He had to be careful with what he said next. Resist the wisecrack and go for the heart. It was his last chance. "Bret. He doesn't agree with what you're doing."
Brad pressed the gun tighter against Dean's head.
"Wait, wait!" Dean yelled. "You really sorry? You really want me to be sorry? Bring Bret down here. See what he has to say. Convince him that you're doing this for him. Cause', right now, I don't believe you. And I don't think he does either."
Dean held his breath, watching Brad closely. Brad blinked a few times, a scowl scrunching up his features. Finally, after what felt like hours to Dean, Brad moved the gun away and stepped back. Dean sagged a little in relief.
"Bret!" Brad called.
Bret materialized next to his brother. He glanced at Dean for a second before looking away.
"I told you I don't like seeing this," he said quietly. Dean strained to hear his voice. Maybe Bret could convince Brad to end this madness once and for all.
Brad stood quietly for a second. "Is it true what he said? You helped them find me?"
Bret looked down guiltily. "Yes," he whispered.
Dean watched the exchange carefully, wondering if they were distracted enough for him to attempt to reach the door. He slid quietly along the wall, but had to suck in his breath to keep from wincing out loud as his back passed over a protruding stone. There's no way he had the strength to get to the door without detection. Though he hated feeling this helpless, it was up to Sam and Bret now.
"Why?" Brad choked out.
"Because…" Bret faltered. "Because…They aren't helping you. You still feel…guilty. I don't want you to be. You didn't mean to kill me. I know that. You don't need to kill all these other people to prove it."
Brad smiled at this.
Dean rolled his eyes.
"I know," Brad said. "But I'm doing it to make sure what happened to us never happens again. Don't you see? I'm doing this to protect you, and people like you, from me, and people like him," he pointed at Dean, who couldn't help frowning indignantly.
"So this isn't making you miserable? Making you relive that moment you shot me?" Bret asked.
"No." Brad tilted his head and looked at his brother. "Please understand, Bret. This is the right thing to do. I'm protecting this town. I'm sorry I've kept you out of this whole thing. I thought it'd be better that way. But I guess that only hurt you more. From now on, we'll do this together."
Bret stared at his brother for a second, and then let a small smile creep onto his face, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "Okay," Bret said.
Wait. "What!" Dean exclaimed, staring at Bret disbelievingly. "That's what you helping us was about? Feeling left out!" Dean shook his head in disgust, in disbelief, in anger, and finally in defeat. He was exhausted.
Brad just smiled. And pointed the gun at Dean's head. "Bye, Dean."
Dean shut his eyes tightly and braced himself for the inevitable.
I'm sorry, Sammy…
God, this was taking too long! But Sam ignored the panic and continued to recite, running his finger along the page as his mind hurtled from memory to memory, showing Sam how to properly pronounce all these words, to give the precise intonation, to pause for the right length of time. John had taught them well.
Finally, he reached the end and snapped the book shut. He gazed around for a second, barely daring to breathe. Had it worked?
Suddenly a large surge of blinding light sprang up from the circle he'd been reciting in, pushing past – and through! – Sam with such force that it slammed him against the wall. Sam cried out, grabbing his stomach – it felt like he was on fire! Blinking past the pain, he watched as the light built up on itself until it was a large ball of sizzling, wavering, blue and silver energy, and then as it finally erupted, shooting out in all directions. Sam shielded his eyes. The door crashed open as the light surged through it and illuminated the whole house.
And then nothing. It vanished.
Sam removed his arm from his eyes cautiously. Everything looked like it was before the burst of light. Except, now the door was swinging on its hinges, no longer forced shut by any supernatural ability. That had to mean it had worked! Didn't it?
He looked down at his stomach. The pain had receded so fast he barely remembered feeling any.
"Note to self," he muttered. "Move out of the way."
Sam scrambled up and grabbed his duffle, running from the room.
Heart in his throat, Dean shut his eyes and waited to hear that deadly shot ring out. The last thing he'd ever hear. He prayed that Sam wouldn't have to find him with a bullet in his head. That those psychos would at least get rid of his body before Sam could see it.
But the shot didn't go off, two cries rang out instead. Dean's eyes flew open, catching the tail end of a stream of light before it disappeared. He then stared in shock as Brad and Bret doubled over, dropping the gun, clutching their waists, faces scrunched up, fear and confusion battling in their eyes. He watched, transfixed, as colour swam into their gray skin, as they jerked and clutched at their chests, as the black clouds disappeared from their eyes leaving light brown ones behind.
A smile crept onto Dean's face. "Nice work, Sammy," he whispered.
Brad's head snapped up and he glared at Dean. One hand still clutching at his body as life surged back into it, he reached out with his other arm and tried to finish Dean off with his last bit of preternatural ability. Energy sparked from his fingers, but fizzled out almost instantly.
"Ha!" Dean shouted, laughing in relief. "Looks like your circuits have fried! Want to electrocute me, now? See that electrical box over there?" Dean pointed to the box sitting in the corner of the basement wall. "Go grab a handful of those wires. Bare hands." Dean grinned, malice sparkling in his eyes, "Trust me."
Brad ignored him, staring at his hands in disbelief. He straightened up and turned to Bret, whose stunned look matched his own.
"What did you do to us?" Brad whispered, turning back to Dean.
"Gave you a second lease on life," Dean grinned. "You can send me the thank you card later."
"No!" Brad yelled, scooping up his gun and again pointing it at Dean. "You ruined everything!"
"We're alive," Bret mumbled, staring down at himself, brow knitted tightly.
"Bit slow, aren't ya?" Dean muttered, but leaned back when Brad pointed the gun closer to Dean's chest.
"You still need to be stopped. Sam doesn't get it. That's why he did this. But he will."
Dean sighed heavily and, quicker that Brad could react given his newer, slower human reflexes, he grabbed the gun and twisted it out of Brad's hands, slamming it across his face. Brad stumbled backwards, his hand flying to his reddened cheek in shock.
"Man, enough with this psycho babble!" Dean yelled. From the side of his eye he saw Bret run at him. He smiled and waited for Bret to get closer, and then whipped around, grabbing Bret and using his momentum to flip him backwards. He winched as the move jarred his body, but smirked when he saw Bret lying stunned on the ground.
Brad practically growled, running back towards Dean, scooping up a plank of wood on his way. Dean ducked the swing and circled Brad cautiously. Even alive, Brad was a big guy. And crazy. Not a great combination from where Dean stood. Brad swung and managed to clip Dean's shoulder. "I will still kill you for Sam's sake," Brad yelled.
Dean regained his footing and used the pain still rippling through his body as fuel for his anger. That was it! He'd had enough.
He ripped the plank of wood from Brad's hands, chucking it aside and swinging his fist at Brad's face, a loud crack ringing through the basement as his fist connecting with Brad's nose. Brad stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, his hands flying to his nose as blood poured out. He looked as his hands in shock, at the blood that stained them red.
"That's enough talk about me and Sam, you got that?" Dean warned, his anger breaking through, surging to the surface. "Yes, we fight, we bitch. But you know what?"
Brad struggled up and circled Dean.
"It's what brothers do!" Dean grabbed Brad by the collar and pushed him carelessly aside. "We aren't sadistic, twisted, psycho bitches like you two!"
Brad cried out in frustration and grabbed for the gun again, aiming it at Dean, who, spurred on by a blinding irritation, grabbed the barrel and pulled it away, slamming it across Brad's face. Brad fell back against the wall, staring up at Dean with stunned hatred.
"You have to die," he spat.
"Man, killing me isn't going to solve your fucking problems," Dean spat back, sauntering up to Brad. "If killing your brother, and your family and yourself didn't work, what makes you think killing me is going to be any different? What makes me so goddamn special!"
Brad sprang up and charged at Dean, who deftly stepped aside and used the butt of his gun to knock Brad unconscious.
Dean tossed the gun aside and smirked at Brad's unmoving form. "That's gonna smart in the morning, bitch."
Sam ran to the basement door. He could hear sounds of struggle. He grabbed the handle and pulled - almost pulling his arm out of its socket in the process. He stared at the door in shock.
"Their powers are meant to be gone," he muttered out loud.
"It's just locked," a voice said behind him. Sam whipped around to find that young girl from his vision standing close to the kitchen's wall, glancing at him shyly from beyond her curtain of blonde hair. Her eyes were rimmed red.
"Oh," Sam managed to say, feeling a bit stupid for not coming to that conclusion himself.
"Am I alive again?" she asked timidly. "I feel…different."
Sam smiled gently. "Yeah, you are."
She looked down and nodded, returning his small smile. "You made me alive again?"
"Yes," Sam said, not seeing any reason to lie. She'd been in his vision. She was obviously someone he had to help.
"To save your brother?" she asked again.
"Yes," Sam repeated, fear again clutching his chest as he listened to the scuffs and thuds coming from beyond the door. "Do you know where the key is?" he asked her urgently, but she wasn't listening, her eyes were looking at something far off.
"Brad killed my brother. And then he killed my parents. And then me," she gulped. She looked up at Sam with fearful eyes. "I forgot about that. All of that. I was so scared."
Sam's eyes clouded with sympathy, remembering the fear he felt in his vision. "And you ran for help but there was no one around, right?"
"Yeah," she whispered, looking at him with wide eyes. "He keeps saying he wont let anyone hurt us, but he hurt us. A long time ago. He's the bad man." Tears welled up in her eyes.
Sam chewed his lip and knelt down to her height. "I promise you I wont let him hurt you again. But he's going to hurt my brother if I can't open this door. Will you get me the key?" She just stared at him. "Please?" he added, his voice almost cracking.
She moved her head to the side, looking thoughtful, and then pushed away from the wall. She hurried to the kitchen counter and jumped up, grabbing a cookie jar. From within it she withdrew a key and handed it to Sam before running off.
"The key was in the cookie jar," Sam muttered. "Of course."
He unlocked the door and hurried downstairs, just in time to catch Dean knock out Brad with the barrel of his gun.
"Dean!" Sam called, a smile breaking onto his face, erasing the worry lines.
Using his arm to wipe the sweat and blood from his face, Dean turned and watched Sam descend the steps. "Hey, you finally decided to join the party?"
Sam smirked. "Looks like you had a hell of a time without me."
"Yeah, well -" Dean's words were cut short as his legs gave way under him.
"Woah!" Sam cried, catching Dean and pulling him up before he could hit the ground. He held Dean firmly until he felt Dean get control back over his body, then he cautiously let go.
"You okay, man?" Sam said, noting the new bruises forming under the dried blood on Dean's face. They really had to get Dean checked out - walking around with all those injuries couldn't be good. But at least he was walking around. Today had been a close call.
Dean nodded, and then shook his head slightly to clear it. He turned to Sam, who was watching him carefully. "Better than a hangover, that's for sure" Dean said, grinning.
Sam smirked again. "I think you've had a bit too much excitement today, Dean," Sam chastised playfully. "Time to get you home to bed."
A smile pulled on Dean's lips. "Word of advice, little brother. Stick to your brooding thing. Leave the funny to me."
Sam snorted, unable to wipe the smile from his face that had erupted there the instant he saw that Dean hadn't been shot. That his brother was still alive.
"I'm alive," another voice added to the mix.
Sam whipped around to find Bret sitting in the basement corner, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, rocking back and forth.
"Bret?" Sam said.
"Yeah, he's been like that ever since I knocked him down and he saw Brad get his assed kicked."
"I'm alive," Bret repeated, staring at a random spot on the dirt ground.
"He's a bit slow," Dean explained with a shrug.
"Bret?" Sam repeated moving towards him. "Hey, it's okay."
Dean reached out his arm and stopped Sam. "Uh uh," he said, glaring at Bret wearily. "He's one of the bad guys."
Sam frowned. "What?"
"Tried to kill me," Dean explained.
Sam looked at Dean in bewilderment. "Oh," he said. How could they have been led down so many wrong paths on this case? It was ridiculous.
"So, we call the police now. That was the plan, right?" Dean began to say, before he noticed Bret spring up and grab for the gun. Dean's eyes widened and he tried to get to it first, but he was too slow with his injuries. He watched in horror as Bret lifted the gun and pointed it at Sam. "Watch out!" Dean yelled. Sam jumped away from the line of fire, but cried out as a shot rang out and grazed his shoulder, forcing him to tilt backwards and lose his balance, falling to the ground in a spray of dirt and blood.
"Sam!" Dean shouted. It took him less than a second to survey the scene and decide that Sam's bag – and the gun inside it – was closer and more faster to get to than trying to tackle Bret. He dived for it and retrieved a pistol, lifting it and aiming at Bret.
"Put it down!" Dean shouted, gun held firmly and steadily in front of him. All the aches and pains in his body were instantly forgotten as he stared Bret down, finger ready at the trigger. "Put it down!" he yelled again.
Bret hesitated, watching Dean. Almost thoughtfully.
"I swear to god, you aim that at my brother again and I will kill you," Dean said – his voice rang out strong and calm. Sam sat still, a hand pressed against the shot wound, watching the situation with bated breath.
Bret breathed heavily, watching Dean. "You brought me back, you son of a bitch," he said, voice breaking and tears welling up in his eyes.
"Dude, whatever emotional baggage is weighing on you, I don't give a fuck. Put the gun down!"
Bret's faced began to turn red and scrunch up in distress. "What am I going to do?" he choked out. "We'll go to jail."
Dean's arms and eyes were straining with concentration. He risked a glance at Sam, making sure he was okay. There was a dark circle forming under Sam's fingers as they pressed against his shoulder, and he was watching Bret wearily.
Dean returned his focus to Bret, who was shaking and sweating. Bret's eyes slid to Brad lying unconscious on the floor, to the blood splattered wall, to Sam, and then finally to Dean – to the gun held firmly in his hands. He looked Dean straight in the eyes and smiled calmly, like he was about to share a secret. He then swung the gun towards Sam's chest.
A shot rang out.
Sam flinched, but opened his eyes when he heard a body hit the ground. And it wasn't his. There, in front of him, mere feet away, lay Bret. Dead. Eyes staring at the ceiling, that chilling smile still on his lips. A small, red circle sitting right over his heart.
Sam gasped and looked over at Dean, who was still standing with the gun outstretched. He was staring at Bret's body with wide, shocked eyes. His eyes then slid down to the smoking gun in his hands, and Sam swore he caught a shudder run through Dean's body. But Dean seemed to mentally shake himself, quickly sheaving the gun in his waistband and hurrying towards Sam.
He put an arm around Sam's shoulders, and helped lift him up. "You're okay, I got you," he said. Sam winced as his shoulder stung with the movement.
"Let me see," Dean said, gently prying away Sam's fingers. Sam's shirt had darkened with blood, but it was clearly only a graze. "Just a scratch."
Dean grinned when Sam looked at him incredulously. But it was a faint grin. Sam caught Dean's eyes again slide towards Bret's body.
"You had to," Sam said softly.
Dean tore his eyes away and ripped some cloth from his outer shirt – it was already all torn to hell, unsalvageable. He wrapped it around Sam's shoulder carefully. "Guess your vision was right after all," Dean said as he wrapped Sam's shoulder, avoiding Sam's gaze. "I am a killer. You should've put a bet on it, I could've owed you big bucks."
"Dean," Sam said, pulling away so that he could look at Dean properly. "One, he's only been alive for 20 minutes. Brad was the one who really killed him. Two, he would've killed me if you hadn't shot him. He left you no choice, Dean."
Dean smiled. "Three, this whole thing couldn't end until I saved your ass from something. It's how it works."
Sam chuckled, taking a half-hearted swing at his brother.
Dean was silently grateful that Sam's shoulder didn't seem to be bothering him too much. "Time to call the cops, ey? Let them get off their asses and handle something for once."
Sam's eyes involuntarily slid to Bret's body. He sighed. "I don't know what we can tell them," he admitted. He'd been so sure that they had to hand this one over to the police once he turned the Parkers human again. But, now…he wasn't so sure. "How do we explain…him," Sam said gesturing at the body.
"We don't," Dean said matter-o-factly. "We leave an anonymous call, explaining about the murders that they committed – leaving out a few details, of course – and skidattle out of here. We've done our part, time to hit the road."
Sam couldn't help snorting. He nodded his head. "Trust you to be a fan of Ockham's Razor – the simplest choice is always the best one."
Dean stared at Sam blankly. "What the hell you talking about, man?"
"Never mind," Sam brushed off.
"Okay, college boy, since you know all the big words, you go find a phone, I'll stay down here."
Sam hesitated, his eyes again sliding to Bret's motionless body. "Are you sure?"
Dean followed Sam's gaze and sighed. "Look, I throw a good punch, I do, but it wont keep ol' Brad down forever. I gotta tie him up before the cops show. Can you do it with your shoulder? No. And the sooner you call them the faster we can get out of this hell hole. Okay, dingbat?"
Sam frowned at the random insult, but nodded his head. Hugging his arm tightly to his body, he quickly ran up the stairs and out of the room.
When the old door crept shut behind Sam, Dean found himself alone with two motionless bodies – one staring at the ceiling with large, brown eyes, and that chilling smile forever forged onto his face. The silence in the room was so thick, and so unsettling, that Dean began tapping his fingers absently against his leg, just to make some noise.
Looking around the bloodstained room, he saw the rope that had bound him earlier lying in a corner. He moved to grab it but stopped short once he passed Bret's body. Looking up quickly to make sure Sam hadn't returned, Dean slowly knelt beside Bret. A shudder escaped through his body as he looked at the face that had already turned slightly blue. He looked so young. Dean's eyes slid towards the hole in his chest. He sighed. "Fuck you and your screwed up family," he whispered. "You made me choose between you and my brother. This couldn't have ended any other way."
Dean got up angrily, but then sighed again and let the anger fade. Instead, he knelt back down and slid his hand over Bret's eyes, closing them.
He then went to grab the rope. Stretching it out to test the length, he saw that it wouldn't be enough. He began digging around the mess in the back for more.
He didn't notice Brad's fingers twitch. He didn't notice Brad slowly raise his head and freeze when he saw his brother's body. He didn't notice Brad reach for the discarded shotgun.
Where is the stupid phone, Sam thought, annoyed that he'd left his behind. "In a family as weird as this, it could be in the fridge," he muttered, at the same time realizing that talking to himself was slowly becoming a habit. Something that was sure to land him in the loony bin if he wasn't careful. "Dean would make sure of it," he muttered to himself again.
But before Sam could think or say anything else, he gasped and fell back against a table as another vision ripped through his head. No, not another one. The same one! Dean holding that gun over Bret's body…wait…no. This time Sam was able to hold onto more of the vision, to see more. It wasn't just fleeting feelings this time. Sam watched as the man holding the gun limp in his fingers turned his face towards Sam. It was Brad! Not Dean! Then this too must have been a vision of what had happened 16 years ago. No…then why had Sam felt Dean's energy so strongly? The vision swung to the body lying bloodied and unmoving on the dirt floor and gave Sam his answer. Sam's heart froze as a terrifying dread spiked through him. It was Dean.
Sam's eyes flew open. No, no, no, no, no. Pushing himself away from the table, his eyes turning towards the basement, his feet skidding and sliding across the floor in his haste, Sam ran back to the basement door. His heart was beating so loudly it became all he could hear. A foreboding rhythm that beat in tune with his steps, blocking out any other sound, beating into his head, forcing to the fore memory after memory of his brother. Growing up, fighting, yesterday, today. Dean. Beat after beat.
Sam finally reached the door, skidding against it in his haste, ripping it open with shaking hands, he bounded inside with startling speed and was half way down the stairs before he looked up. And what he saw forced the world to fall away so all that was left was this image of Dean backed up against the red wall, terror in his eyes, as Brad's finger pulled the trigger. The shot rang out. Loud and deadly and reverberated in Sam's skull as he stood frozen. It rang out, and Sam could only watch in horror as Dean flew backwards, blood spraying out from his chest and his back, splattering against the stained wall, adding a new glistening pattern to the bloody collage.
"No!" Sam cried out, choking on unshed tears. He forced his legs to move and ran the rest of the way down the stairs, eyes locked on his brother as Dean's hands reached for his chest and as he stared at the blood running through his fingers in stunned silence.
Brad turned to look at Sam, his eyes wild. He smiled before lifting the gun and again aiming it at Dean.
"No!" Sam cried again, but his plea was lost in the blast of another shot exploding from Dean's own shotgun, connecting with Dean's stomach in another spray of blood that hit Sam in the face and dripped from his arm.
Dean's hunched form flew up against the wall from the impact. Brad smiled and backed off, dirt-streaked and blood stained, the gun hanging limply from his fingers.Sam dropped to his knees, the shock and horror overwhelming him as he watched his brother slide down the wall, leaving a trail of glistening blood behind.
TBC…