Dean crouched low as he reached the truck, Alex doing the same. They were quiet for a minute, listening for any signs of Lyle of Keith. When nothing but the eeire quietness of the woods spoke back to them, Dean stood up and peered inside the window. The doors were locked. Dean didn't know whether that surprised him or not. He drew back his elbow and smashed it in, looking around again before he unlocked the door and pulled it open. Alex stood quietly beside him, watching the woods, watching for Lyle and Keith.
Fumbling through the messy contents of the truck, he finally pulled open the glovebox and gave a small war whoop of success. Alex turned to look at him and his eyes widened as Dean pulled Sam's knife out of the glovebox. "Family heirloom," Dean chided. "Needed it back." Dean did a quick search of the rest of the truck but didn't find anything useful. So he slammed to door shut and motioned for Alex to follow him. "Come on," he commanded.
They stalked quietly back towards the slaughterhouse. Lyle and Keith were around somewhere. Dean had a feeling they were hiding. They'd probably heard him screaming when the freezer door was closed, locking his brother inside. He wondered what sort of traps those two hicks could come up with and hoped that finding this knife wasn't one of them. But it was his own damn knife. Bittersweet, he supposed.
"Dean?" Alex's voice was quiet, choked up. Dean turned to look at him as they reached the building. He turned and squatted by it, his back shielded by the wall. Alex did the same, but kept his face turned towards Dean. "It really sucks, knowing you're gonna die, you know?" Dean's face softened.
"Yeah," Dean whispered. "Actually, I do know," he told him. Alex just frowned at him, his eyes glancing at the hole in Dean's shoulder and the bloodied, black and blue, swelling right side of his face. But Dean shook his head. "A few months ago, a doctor told me I had two weeks to live. Heart problems." No need to elaborate.
"Really?" Alex asked, looking surprised.
"Yeah," Dean said again.
Alex shifted his weight, eyes going out to scan the woods before asking, "What happened?"
"I was healed," Dean answered. "By a faith healer."
"Were you scared?"
Dean thought about his answer. Yes, he'd been scared. He'd been fucking terrified. Terrified of dying, of finding out what the afterlife had in store for him, of knowing what he knew about ghosts and spirits and wondering if he'd become the things he hunted. Terrified of closing his eyes to rest for fear that he'd never wake up again, never see Sam again. Terrified for Sam. Because though Dean had been scared for himself, scared of dying, he had been more scared of leaving Sam. Scared that he wouldn't be there when Sam needed him. He'd seen the way his brother looked at him when he laid in that hospital bed, or dozed in the passenger seat, or struggled to put on clothes and eat food and fucking take a piss. He'd seen Sam's eyes and the determination there. He'd been most terrified of failing his brother. Of letting something as meager as death defeat him. It was a terror Dean still felt whenever he thought about that week he'd counted his heartbeats, thanking God for every single fucking one of them.
"I was," he gave quietly. "I am."
Alex licked his lips, taking in that bit of information, processing it. Dean tried to think of something to say to make it better. He tried to think of a lie to tell him that could make him not be scared. But the truth was, Dean was proud of the kid. Proud that he hadn't pissed himself, hadn't gone into a corner and cried, hadn't just laid down and waited. Proud that he was still here, by Dean, willing to help even if it meant he was going to die. Not many people would do that.
"I've never even kissed a girl," Alex said with a nervous laugh. Dean watched his face for a second. The fear was still evident, but there was also a resolve that had fallen across Alex's face.
Dean shrugged. "Well, dude, I'd offer myself, but I don't think you swing that way." He paused. "Do you?"
"Are you trying to take advantage of me?" Alex asked, just the small twitch on the corner of his lips and the glint in his eyes telling Dean that the joke had worked. Dean just let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. Then Alex's face grew serious again. "Do you think it will hurt?"
Dean fought back the watery haze that had fallen on his eyes. He looked at Alex sincerely. "I don't know," he whispered, trying to be as gentle with it as possible.
Alex nodded. "Well even if it does, could you...I mean, because my Mom's gonna be real upset, could you just, tell her it didn't? Tell her that...I mean just..."
"I will," Dean cut in. "I will."
Alex smiled. "Well, at least I'll be in a lot better shape than you," he said and it took Dean a moment to realize that he was joking. Laugh or cry.
Dean grinned. "Yeah whatever, Dead Boy, come on," he gripped Alex's shoulder and gave it a squeeze as the kid grinned back at him. They started to make their way around the building.
"What are we gonna do when we find them?" Alex asked, keeping close to Dean, copying his stance. Dean looked back at him and couldn't help but smile. Brave kid. He would have made an awesome hunter. The thought made Dean want to scream at himself. Not everyone you come across is a potential hunter, he reprimanded himself. Alex is just a sixteen year old kid. He shouldn't even have to worry about crouching low enough to minimize yourself as a target. He should be worried about girls and cars and zits. Not the fact that he's dead and pretty soon, they're going to break the only thing keeping him "alive." Dammit. "I mean, no offense, but they kicked your ass last time."
"Yeah well they won't this time," Dean answered, squinting at something he thought he saw move in the woods.
"That really inspires confidence," Alex said.
Dean shushed him and pulled him down so they were squatted, leaning against the wall. Alex was quiet as Dean stared at the spot he thought had moved. They stayed that way for a few seconds before Dean shook his head. He was starting to get anxious. He had no clue what that thing was doing to his brother and this was taking too long. He needed to find Lyle and give Sam a chance to actually kill the demon. If Sam was still even alive, but Dean shook that thought out of his head and stood up with a sigh. He turned to tell Alex it was a false alarm when a gunshot rang through the woods and Dean suddenly found his leg swept out from under him. He was on the ground, wondering how he got there before he realized that he'd been shot. He hadn't even felt it. Shit.
"Dean!" Alex yelled and Dean felt the kid tug on his arm and drag him, with strength his lithe form shouldn't have possessed. Dean was caught off guard by the gunshot so he let Alex drag him around the corner before he sat himself up as Alex looked at his leg, pressing his hands to the now gaping wound just below Dean's knee. "God, you got shot," Alex exclaimed, his eyes wide.
"It's weird," Dean said, still dazed, wondering how that leg could belong to him. It looked horrible. A gaping wound that had missed his kneecap by an inch or so. In and out, leaving his calf in an ugly exploded mess. He should have been screaming in agony, but instead, there was a slight tingle and that was it. "I don't even feel it."
"Lyle shot you," Alex said and Dean finally looked up from the wound in his leg, realizing he needed to get his act together before Lye shot someplace deadly next time.
Leaning forward, Dean used Alex to stand up, since his leg didn't seem to want to help him. Once on his feet, his leg gave way at too much pressure, but Dean quickly compensated. He could do this. He turned to look at Alex. "Okay," he held the knife out to Alex. "I'm gonna try to draw him out."
"No," Alex shook his head and Dean was caught off guard by his afrontness. He cocked an eyebrow but Alex didn't let him protest. "No, you can still make it out of this. I'm gone. I'll draw him out."
"Alex..." Dean tilted his head, trying to express his pride at the moment. But nothing came out.
"It's okay," he said, patting Dean's arm. "Just, take care of yourself. You got people counting on you."
Dean didn't know what came over him. Alex's words hit a little too close. They were too similar to Roy LeGrange's. He had a purpose, so many people had told him, but he had yet to know what that purpose was. There were times when he'd thought he'd known, thought he'd found out. But in reality, he didn't. All he knew was that he was tired of people being deemed less worthy than him. First Layla, now Alex. Why them? Why him? Why was he still here and so many people weren't? There had to be a reason, there had to be an answer. These thoughts coursed through Dean's mind and for a moment he lost control of himself as he reached out and hugged Alex. It took him a second to realize what he'd done and when he drew back, he was surprised by the look on Alex's face, and by the response he got out of him.
"Thanks," Alex said brokenly. Dean nodded, like he'd meant to comfort Alex. Like the hug had been meant for Alex when really it was Dean drawing all the comfort from it. It was Dean who had needed it.
"Dude," he whispered. "I don't even hug my brother."
Alex smiled and with glistening eyes he whispered, "You should," before he patted Dean's arm one more time and ran out into the open. Dean took several deep breaths, not liking the way his lung had trouble dispelling them of their own will. He was at his limit, he knew it without even having to feel all the pain. When that amulet broke, Alex might not be the only one dying today. But the death toll sure as hell wouldn't be including Sam. So he'd do what he had to do. Because as long as Sam was alive, the world would go on.
A few gunshots rang out and Dean pushed all the troubling thoughts to the back of his mind. It was time to focus. He peeked around the corner and saw Alex duck into the woods, hiding behind a tree as pieces of bark and wood flew off from where the bullets hit it. He caught sight of Lyle, standing in plain view now, with the gun pointed at Alex. No fucking way was he going to let Lyle put a bullet in Alex. No way was he going to make Alex's mom come to the morgue and identify her son with half his face blown away. No, she'd see her son, cold and pale but peaceful. Alex was going to have an open casket and all the girls would swoon and cry and things would be good for him, even in death. He could give Alex that much.
Dean darted from behind the corner, running straight for Lyle. He was happy that his leg could keep him up, even if just barely. He'd made it about halfway before something collided with him, sending him toppling to the ground. He felt something heavy land on top of him, he could feel a rib or two give way in his side with a twig-like snap. He'd lost track of all his injuries, but he'd begun to think that it wouldn't matter anymore. The same resolve that had been on Alex's face was now starting to settle into Dean's. He wasn't making it out of this alive. But he'd go out fighting.
Rolling over, he caught sight of Keith on top of him, his pale, dead, dirty face blue and ugly as ever. Water leaked from his nose and mouth, dripping down onto Dean, and Keith's body felt entirely too mushy. Dean would have gagged if his reflexes had been working. Instead, he moved with the speed and quickness that he unnaturally possesed. Bringing the knife in his hand up, he sliced it across Keith's face. Keith let out a yell, more out of anger than pain, and backhanded Dean. Son of a bitch. Dean regained himself quickly, bringing the knife up into the soft spot on Keith's chin. Dean left it there for a moment, working quickly as he heard another series of gunshots being fired. He mentally counted them. There should only be a couple more bullets left.
Worming his way out from Keith's grasp, he got to his feet and turned to see Lyle pointed the gun at Alex, who now had a bullet wound in his shoulder. "No," Dean gasped, growling with rage. Lyle had the gun pointed at Alex's head and Alex looked fearful, wincing in anticipation. No. Fucking. Way. Dean, in a blind fury, spun so rapidly his vision blurred. He grabbed the hilt of the knife, withdrew it from Kyle's chin and kept spinning until he faced Lyle. The knife left his hand at the same time Keith tackled him again.
Dean heard Lyle cry out. He heard Keith swear at him and curse him and felt him pound down on his face and arms and shoulders with fists too strong. He heard a gunshot go off but didn't hear it hit flesh. Alex might have screamed Dean's name in all of the chaos, but Dean couldn't be sure. He heard Lyle call out Keith's name, more of a warning that a plea. The beating stopped and Dean blinked for a second. Staring up at Keith, wondering why the man's face looked so terrified.
It took Keith's sudden spasm, Lyle's suddenly muffled cry, Alex's body hitting the ground, and pain like Dean had never felt pain before, to make him realize that the knife he'd thrown had hit it's target: Lyle's good eye. And using Lyle's blindness against him, like Dean had hoped he would, Alex had run forward, grabbed the amulet, and smashed it.
Dean didn't feel Keith's body fall down on top of him. His own body was on fire. Yet so frigidly cold. He couldn't help the choked scream, muffled by injured lungs, broken ribs, and pain so heavy, so intense, that Dean could only manage to hold onto consciousness for a few seconds. He may have cried out Sam's name., or maybe John's, or both.
Then Dean sucked in a breath and when it didn't come back out, he closed his eyes and let the dizzying darkness quelch his nightmares.
Sam eyed the closed door. He was shivering and probably slightly hypothermic, but he could tell the moment Dean had stopped pounding on the doors and had run off to destroy the amulet. He could tell not only because he couldn't hear Dean yelling for him anymore, but also because Sam was starting to realize he could tell when his brother wasn't there anymore. When Dean had first gone missing, taken from his bed in their motel room, it had startled Sam into waking up. The abruptness of having his brother gone, Sam could sense it. An odd feeling, akin to deja vu but with less sight and more just feeling. Sam stared at the door for minutes, prolonging what he knew was bound to happen, listening to the demon sharpen its knives and prepare more tools. It hardly even acknowledged Sam.
So when he turned back to the demon, who turned to face him, a hungry look on his face and knives held in his hands, Sam knew he'd have to hold this thing off for as long as possible. Keep it busy, until Dean could come through for him and destroy the amulet. Then Sam could kill the thing, get to Dean, because God only knows what shape Dean will be in when that happens, and get him to a hospital. Then everything would be okay. Because everything was always okay. They'd get through this.
The demon came forward and Sam realized that he'd better start concentrating on the task at hand instead of letting his mind wander. Though he knew part of it was from being so damn cold. He had to focus. "Look, buddy," Sam started, eyeing the knives in the demon's hands. "I really don't taste good..." But the demon just licked its lips and Sam sighed. "You really like working for Lyle and Keith?" Sam asked. "The two dumbest guys on the planet?"
"Quiet now," the demon said calmly and Sam had half a second to anticipate its move as it lunged at him, knives forward. He jumped to the side, barely missing being impaled. One of the knives slid across his side, though not deep. Enough to make him bleed. He put a hand to his side and glared at the thing. Come on, Dean. But how would he even know if when the spell was broken? How would he know when this thing was made mortal? When this thing could die?
It rushed him again and this time Sam grabbed hold of one of its hands, trying to get the other, but the demon brought the knife up and sliced the side of Sam's face. He backed off. Dammit, this thing was too quick for him. He'd just have to be quicker.
Sam spun around, bringing his leg out, and kicked one of the knives away from the demon, who looked mildly surprised at the motion. It'd probably never had someone who had fought back like this before. The thought made Sam angrier than he should have let it. His mind drifted to Alex and all the pictures of the other people who had gone missing. Damn this thing.
He must have made the thing mad, because as he took a few steps back, the demon let out an ungodly roar and charged at him. The noise it had made surprised Sam and he didn't have time to regather himself as the demon knocked into him, its knife threatening to dig into Sam's heart, but he caught the wrist as he tumbled backwards, the demon on top of him. Sam landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him and only years of sparring with Dean saved him from letting the knife slam down into his chest. It poked and pricked at his skin, grazing it, but Sam used all his strength to keep it from killing him outright.
With his other hand, he reached up and hit the demon in the face. He drew blood, but the demon didn't seem to notice. Sam's arms were getting weak and the knife kept grazing deeper and deeper into his skin. Then it hit him. No physical punch had ever hurt this bad. It started with his toes and worked its way up his body, building in intensity and making Sam want to cry out and scream and kill all at the same time. A feeling of dread washed through Sam and in a suddenly adrenaline surge, he reached out and punched the demon again. This time, he got the reaction he'd been waiting for.
The demon stopped its attack and Sam lay breathing for a second, willing the dread to go away. Forcing his mind to ignore the reasons why he'd suddenly felt to helpless, so lost, so alone. He stared at the demon, watched as it reached up and put a hand to its bleeding cheek. Sam took the opportunity to buck the demon off of him. He rolled until he reached the counter where the knives were kept. He grabbed the first thing that his wandering hand found and whirled, sensing the demon coming at him again.
The meat cleaver found its way into the side of the demon's head without Sam even having to aim.
Sam stared at it for a second, his eyes wandering from the bleeding half decapitated head to the knife that the demon held, inches away from Sam's own face, frozen in death. Sam took a few shaky breaths before pushing the thing, testing it.
It fell over dead. Dead. Sam had killed the demon. It could be killed. That meant...
"Dean," Sam gasped and got to his feet. He ran for the freezer door, ignoring the protests of his body, ignoring the tears that were already building in his eyes. Ignoring the feeling that had clenched his heart. The same feeling he had when Dean had gone missing. The feeling that his brother was gone. Sam wouldn't allow it.
Sam ran through the slaughterhouse towards the open door. Although his running was only a small step up from a crawl. He couldn't really tell, his mind so intent on finding Dean, getting help, making sure they both lived, making sure they got the hell away from this damn town, and never letting his brother out of his sight again.
When Sam reached the door, he was surprised to find a squad car and an ambulance already there. When had that happened? It didn't feel like they'd been in there that long. Sam looked around, his stomach dropping to his feet as he saw the body bags lined up. There were four. Four? Dean.
"No," Sam cried out and took a few steps forward before his legs gave out.
"Hey," a voice called from somewhere in the distance. "Hey, we have another one over here!"
And suddenly he was surrounded by blue and lights and questions. What was his name? What happened? Was he all right? Was there anyone else? Just hang on buddy, we'll get you to a hospital, you're gonna be okay. In reality, there was only one question that needed to be answered. "Where's my brother?" But his voice was too soft, too muffled to be heard over the commotion and no one answered. He was swarmed by uniforms and blankets and oxygen masks. His vision was going in and out and someone was holding him up. They were helping him towards an awaiting ambulance but Sam just wanted to sleep and cry and never wake up. How could Dean be dead? After all this? He wasn't supposed to die. Dammit, Dean wasn't supposed to die.
But as they passed the other ambulance, Sam caught sight of someone being loading in. His eyes widened and his heart sped up but even with the extra adrenaline, it wasn't enough to make his body work. But he listened. He listened to what they were saying because that prone figure laying there, with three different paramedics trying to stop the bleeding, bringing out the defibrilator, shocking him back to life, was his brother. It was Dean. And he had to listen, to hear what they were saying, to hear what had happened.
"Clear." Another shock. Sam reached his own ambulance. "No pulse. Clear." Another shock. Someone helped him inside. He laid down. "We've got nothing. Up it. Clear." Another shock. A prick in his arm. Someone leaning over him, asking him his name. But he could only listen.
"We've got a pulse."
Sam sighed and closed his eyes, leaving the rest for the morning when he woke up and had his brother back.