Proximity
Author's Note: I believe this is the quickest I've ever updated…and I have 40+ reasons for why that's even possible. I seriously have butterflies in my stomach. I thought I had some error when I got off work and saw all the alerts in my inbox (but a happy error, at that). I am amazed…and suddenly ignited with a new twist for this story, and because you all took the time to support me in this crazy venture, I have taken about half my allotted time to sleep before work tomorrow to whip this chapter out. I'll be floating for days from all of you. Thanks a million. Now I only hope this next chapter is worthy of the attention. I'll let you read while I swat out the butterflies…
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Dean ran.
"Sam!"
He ran through each and every stinging stretch in his limbs willing him to stop.
"Sam!"
He ran against all the protesting aches in his chest that fought for an even flow of oxygen.
"SAM!"
He ran all the while his body did not favor the motion, and his willpower spoke for him, and he continued to run. He would not let himself stop; would not let Sam disappear into the darkness with that thing latched onto him.
"Sammy!"
Dean ran quicker than he'd ever thought he could.
Still, he couldn't run far enough from fear and pain…and he couldn't run fast enough to Sam.
And willpower, even from the strongest mind, can only endure so much before it's broken by reality. Dean's body broke; snapped dryly from utter exhaustion. He felt his legs give way, and like falling in a dream, everything became surreal- even the ability to fight against it.
His prior exuberance drained into a churning nausea in his stomach. He made one last leap forward, reaching out for his brother, before falling miserably to the earth below.
Dean couldn't run anymore.
But that didn't stop Sam from calling out for him.
And that only fueled Dean's unending determination to get up and keep running.
Yet, against his will, against every bone and tired muscle in his body, Dean found himself unable to keep his eyes open. His body was shutting down, forced to shut down from the exceeded stamina it used. The pain that had been ignored for the duration of the chase had caught up with him and was pulling him to unconsciousness. All senses faded somewhere far away, the only thing remaining were the echoes of his brother's pain-ridden cries to haunt him in his restless sleep.
-:-
Sam fought.
He kicked and pulled, tried grabbing onto something—anything—to get away from his sightless attacker. The more he fought, the more tired he became at the futile battle, and soon the real fear set in. Dean wasn't behind him anymore. Sam swore he tried calling out for Dean, in between struggled breaths and harsh cries that escaped him from being battered against the floor of the woods.
Not knowing if Dean was faring any better encouraged him to fight harder.
So Sam fought.
And he gave all he had to pull free, to kick out of the ever-tightening grasp. Finally, after so many failed attempts, the world stopped moving away from him. He was let go.
He took half a second to catch his breath, struggled to stand up, and looked around him. He searched the dark for anything menacing and found nothing but the web of shadows around him and the trees that seemed to loom over him half-threateningly. He knew he wasn't alone even though he couldn't see his attacker.
"Dean?" Sam called out, spinning around in all directions, hoping for some kind of a response. "Dean!" he yelled louder, infusing more desperation.
Sam turned again, and found himself staring into a wall of blackness. He was shoved mercilessly backwards, felt his spine cringe from the impact with the tree behind him. He shut his eyes as if it could reduce the pain, but it didn't. Suddenly, he felt a grip as cold as ice and hard as steel clenching against his head. The cold stung like fire against his cheeks and he tried to cry out in pain, but instead his voice crumbled in his throat at a dull, wary groan.
It was as if something was clawing his face from the inside out, and the pain was stealing his breath and making his mind numb. He finally couldn't take the darkness, the not knowing, and he opened his eyes and looked before him at a tall, dark figure. It was shapeless, constantly changing like a shadow in wild candlelight, but all the while kept its build tall and its frame defiant against any chance Sam wanted to take to run.
But Sam fought.
He tried to pull away, to get the thing to let go. The harder he tried, the harder the thing held on.
Then Sam saw staring back at him two red, bottomless eyes that sharpened a terrifying glare towards him. He felt the fear prick away at his dwindling strength, and the pain was becoming so overwhelming that all he wanted to do was close his eyes and never open them again…just melt away into the darkness and let the hurting stop.
Still, he couldn't give up…he decided to fight, to fight for Dean…
And Sam fought until he couldn't fight anymore.
He fought until the darkness won him over, the pain exulting over his body.
And he closed his eyes, melting into the darkness, and for a little while let the hurting stop.
-:-
The dark attacker swelled with victory, letting the young Winchester slide down to the base of the tree as he fell unconscious. He hovered around for a moment, wondering what torment he could cause the hunter when he'd awake, what fear-filled energy he'd be able steal from him to thrive off of. Without much thought, it occurred to him what he might do.
Bring him to the fire…
-:-
"Sam…" Dean spoke before he was even fully conscious. He opened his eyes, the action almost resisting, given the fresh bout of pain washing over him. It was raining now, a small drizzle that sung a melancholy song through the cruel whispers of the tress in the wind. He's gone, they'd whisper, it's your fault…
He didn't realize at first how hard he was biting his jaws together, but the new headache informed him of just that. He tried to stand up, having to use his fists against the ground to push his upper body high enough so that he could venture to move his legs.
He bit, literally, through the pain of forced movement when all his body wanted—deserved—was to rest, and he flimsily got to his feet. He wavered in his balance as he gained proper footing for the now wet and increasingly muddy ground.
"Sam!" The older Winchester belted, his voice lashing out at the darkness, the darkness that held his brother hostage. He was left unanswered, save for the light falling of rain that hit the trees and seemed to clamor around him. The silence was always loud when it was Sam he wasn't hearing, and he couldn't stand the screaming silence.
The moonlight was gone, covered in rain clouds that just had to cry this night. Why this night, Dean wondered, knowing he needed all the light he could have to search for his brother. But Dean also thought what a perfect night for the sky to cry—he'd lost his brother for the second time in a matter of days. And angels would cry from the heavens for the bloody rampaging Dean would inflict to find his brother.
"Sammy," Dean said his brother's name as if he were mourning for it. He took a few steps forward, stopped, turned in another direction and took another few steps. He stopped again.
Maddening indecision was now stripping away at his usual collected persona. If only he could stay calm, stay focused, he could better search for Sam.
But where the hell was he supposed to start looking in the middle of no where?
Dean tried to ignore the pain in his shoulder, spreading down his arm and virtually allover his body. He tried to ignore it with all he had, but the incessant throbbing mingled with the fatigue that continued to pull at him, and the pain was disorienting.
His vision was beginning to blur and he took extra effort to focus it. He didn't even notice at first that his body was shaking from the cold wind while his wet clothes were sticking to his aching body. He would have liked nothing more than to just collapse again. Yet, his first collapse only worsened the situation in his eyes, albeit was a small break for him to regain some energy that he was lacking.
Dean wasn't in control, and that was sending his thoughts spinning in rage.
There was something not quite right in the air. The darkness had a color to it, he was noticing, a color he couldn't define maybe because he'd never seen it before, or maybe because it seemed to be every color flashing maniacally around him. He closed his eyes to regain what he hoped he had left of his sanity, and then opened to see the same thing. Maybe he was dreaming, after all, he thought…and he looked at his hands.
He heard somewhere that if you look at your hands while dreaming, you can will almost anything to happen. And he was willing for anything to wake him up, to have Sam safe right next to him, and for the nightmare to be finished.
And he studied his hands, trembling as he put them outright in front of him, but the dull colors didn't stop. And then he heard that voice. He heard that familiar voice that once had such vigorousness to it, but he hadn't heard it in so long that it sounded tired, weary.
"Dean," the stern voice said, and Dean's attention was commanded upward. He saw nothing where he stared and so he turned around partially confused but mostly in shock to see who he saw.
"Dad?" the word tipped out of Dean's lips as he fought against the quivering sensation tugging at him. For a moment, he didn't want to question how this was possible; he just wanted to know it was real. He stepped forward, closer to his father-John Winchester, the man standing there, looking at him, and halted when he jumped back.
"Stay away from me," John barked, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched together. "You're not my son. My son is a fighter, a warrior…and you didn't fight for Sam…you let him get taken. This is your fault!"
There was a ferocity in the words that Dean had not expected, although he didn't expect to hear his father at all. Still, the words cut through him, and inaudibly he inquired an explanation.
"You can't deny it. You're pitiful, look at you! Sleeping in the mud instead of out there looking for your brother! He is your responsibility, Dean. I trusted you with him and you let me down. You…You are pathetic,"
"But, Dad…I…"
"Don't talk to me. As soon as Sam is found, I'm taking him with me. You can't be trusted with him, you can't protect him, you can't save him…"
"No," Dean felt his throat tighten and his eyes burned. "No, you can't take him. I'll protect him, Dad—I will! I'll save him,"
"You can't even save yourself. You're a failure and no son of mine…"
Dean stared at John. Agony in hot waves was simmering in his eyes. And the colors were changing still, and the rain was making music, and Dean knew something wasn't right.
"No, I'll save him. You can't take him!" Dean found himself shouting with an aggression that surprised even him. "He's my brother,"
"Not if he's dead, he isn't," John held an angry glare with a cynical smile.
"Don't say that!" Dean hissed. "I'll save him, I'll find him!" he added, securing his faith in the words.
"You can't save him. He's dead. You killed him. You murdered him."
Dean's eyes widened at the accusation, the accusation he knew he was guilty of.
"No, he's alive…"
"You chose him to die. You picked him, instead of that cop. You murdered him. You murdered Sam. You murdered your brother." John continued to taunt him with the evil words, and Dean was flinching at each verbal stabbing.
"No, no, no…I…he…he's okay…"
"Murderer!"
"Stop it!"
"Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!" John was yelling, shrieking, and the colors were flying as John then disappeared, and Dean wanted to shout, wanted to run away, but he couldn't. And again he was falling.
I didn't mean to put him in danger…
Falling faster…
I would have given anything to take his place…
Falling harder…
Sam, come back…Sammy, please…
Falling…falling…falling…
"SAM!" Dean screamed out, his eyes opening painfully quick, and he stared up at the moon. His breaths were short and frequent and he felt his heart in his throat. Brushing the pain as best he could away, he sat up, his eyes dodging around him.
It was a dream…he realized. But I'm still in the nightmare…
He thought he should try and calm himself down, to take slow, deep breaths…but it was impossible for him to do so, knowing Sam was somewhere out there. And it was his fault…
The guilt was beginning to resurface as his awareness took over. The hopelessness of the situation was ruthless.
He wanted to have hope, but Sam was his hope, and Sam was gone…
And Dean needed hope…
He couldn't survive in the business without some form of it.
Reality was proving more difficult to grasp than anything. Dean was on his knees, he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to warm up, to wake up, and to just do something other than wallow in pity for his inability to help his brother now.
The tears were just about there, finding their lost path to cry, and Dean was ready to submit. He was willing to admit he'd made a mistake. Sam was his responsibility and he failed at protecting him. He hung his head down; nausea once again spiraled through him as he tried to breathe, to concentrate…
But then he felt the cold hand touch his shoulder…and he turned around with a gasp caught somewhere between a question and a yell.
Dean stood quickly, ignoring his body's objection, and he then stammered out, "It can't be you…"
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
-:-
The End—
Of chapter two…
To be continued…
I know, I should have been nicer to all of you wonderful reader/reviewers, but I couldn't help myself with this ending. I'll try and have the next part up soon as I can—you've all breathed an extended life to this story that I wasn't expecting. Total angst awaits. Thank you all!
Silver Kitten