Choices: Chapter 3

Dean's footsteps echoed in the cold, damp cave. Somewhere in the distance he heard water dripping. Or, what he hoped was water. His torch's wide beam easily cut through the blotchy darkness, swathing the cave in a hazy light. It was a large cave, with walls that jutted out in places, creating spots of shadows that Dean's torch was quick to illuminate. So far, each black blemish had turned out to be nothing more sinister. Just shadows.

Dean held his torch higher and aimed it in front of him. He squinted his eyes but for the life of him couldn't see an end to this cave – just more black shadows that stretched on forever, as far as he could tell.

"How big is this fricken cave," Dean muttered to himself, already beginning to feel weary of his choice to follow after the scream. He hadn't heard a peep out of that mysterious girl since entering this cave.

He kept on walking though, further into the echoing abyss. As long as there was even the tiniest possibility that someone was being held here, Dean was going to entertain what Sam often labeled his hero complex.

He shone his torch at the walls around him, looking for any telltale symbols or markings. Perhaps some signs of struggle. On the wall to his right, the beam caught a clump of something discolored, hugging the wall in patches here and there. Dean frowned and walked up to it, reaching out with his hand and prodding it lightly. Something moist and squishy met his touch. Dean pulled away in disgust. "Moss, real evil."

Dean sighed and continued walking. He was getting deeper and deeper into the cave if the increasing depth of his footsteps' echoes were any indication. "Damsel in distress…" he called out softly, fast becoming impatient with this little trek into the Cave of Mysteries that refused to lift back its curtains and reveal any of those mysteries. "Evil soul-sucking killer posing as damsel in distress?"

No answer. It had been a long shot anyway. But, suddenly, Dean's ears pricked up with the sound of running footsteps, the noise cutting through the heavy blanket of silence that had enveloped him since entering. Startled, Dean whipped around and raised his gun, aiming it steadily.

From just beyond the stretch of path that his torch illuminated, a voice – a familiar voice – rang out. "Dean!"

Dean frowned and lowered his gun slightly. Sam? He quickly stole a glance at his watch; he hadn't been gone long enough for Sam to send out the one-man search party. But, sure enough, emerging from the shadows and into the hazy yellow beam was Sam, skidding to a stop and staring at Dean with wide, confused eyes, his chest visibly rising and falling as he sucked in the stale, thin air.

Dean lowered his gun completely and tucked it into his waistband. He raised his shoulders in an incredulous shrug, watching Sam stare at him with that confused frown and with those lips that seemed to be struggling to form words. Dean purposely looked around at the cave walls. "Dude," he said, turning back to Sam. "This doesn't look like outside. I thought I told you to wait out there. Not run in here shouting my name crazily."

Sam finally caught his breath, the stale air in the cave having made it harder for him than it'd usually be. "You called me," he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "No I didn't."

Sam nodded, eyes still shining with remnants of panic, but they were quickly being overrode by confusion. "I heard you. And then I heard rocks collapsing."

Dean's eyes instantly slid towards the ceiling, slightly unsettled with anything that Sam said concerning his life. That itch on his head from that mysterious injury was still very real.

"Man, would you stop having visions of me all dead-like!" Dean said. "Geez."

Finally calming down, relief washing away the burst of adrenaline and fear that had hijacked his body upon hearing those rocks and hearing Dean shouting his name, Sam shook his head. "It wasn't a vision. I heard you like you heard that girl. It must've been the creature again."

Dean smirked. "So you got all lured in too, huh? Worried about me, Sammy?"

Sam scoffed, staring at Dean with a faint smile on his lips – one arising from incredulity more than anything else. "So you believe me now? That it's a trap?"

Dean's face scrunched up in mock thought before he wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Sammy, after long and careful consideration, I've come to the conclusion that," and here he paused for dramatic effect, making Sam roll his eyes and shift his weight impatiently, "It's a possibility." Dean grinned and moved away from Sam, shining his light absently back across the cave walls.

Sam watched him with a smirk twitching his lips. "Oh, really?"

Dean shrugged, scratching away some moss to peer behind it before pulling back and looking over at Sam. "I'm a genius like that."

Sam couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. But it instantly died when Dean's torch began to flicker on and off. That dread Sam had been feeling since the dream began to wind up in his chest again.

Dean shook the torch and banged it a few times, but the flickering didn't stop, instead the light went out completely, bathing them in shadow while their eyes tried to adjust to the sudden dark.

"Well this isn't good," Dean's voice rose from somewhere in the shadows. But almost as suddenly, the torch turned itself back on, blinding Dean who'd had the torch faced towards him, about to check its small bulb. He moved it away in annoyance, blinking away the blue and black dots spinning in front of his eyes. When they cleared and he looked up, he found himself staring at a distorted, billowing figure floating in front of him. Dean jumped back, surprise getting the better of him as he backed into Sam with a start. The brothers froze, staring at the formless mass as it wavered in and out of existence. The only part of it that remained steady were its eyes – two round orbs that looked…sad. Caged and terrified. But mostly sad. Suddenly, from a slit that was obviously its mouth, it wailed. A loud, long, sad wail that reached painful heights, shaking loose small pebbles and erupting in the brothers' heads. They quickly covered their ears, faces scrunched up in pain.

The sound wasn't only penetrating their eardrums, it was penetrating their souls! It was a wail for everything that they'd lost, every person they couldn't save. It was a wail for Dean's lost childhood, Sam's lost future. For the day Sam opened his eyes to find Jessica staring down at him, for the day he turned his back on Stanford in search of a killer. It was for the day Dean watched Sam turn his back and leave for college, the day he rang his father and got no answer. It was for the day he felt the flames lick his back as he ran from their burning house, Sam swaddled in his arms.

And then it stopped. The brothers opened their eyes reluctantly and watched the thing. Weary of it. Dean's hand was resting on his gun, ready to draw it out at any sudden movement, even though he realized it'd probably be useless on this thing, whose body appeared transparent.

"GET OUT!" the thing screamed, causing the brothers to flinch and reach up to cover their ears again, but in the next second the thing was gone. Leaving them in a cold, damp cave that was again silent, save for some residue pebbles still falling from the cave's walls and ceiling.

The brothers stared at the empty spot where that creature had…floated…a second ago. Their ears still pounding, their chests still burning with all those memories its wail had dredged up. Both were fighting the startling feeling that its anguished song had struck – the foreign, strange urge to cry. Though neither would dare admit it.

"What the hell was that?" Dean finally said, in a voice laced high with exasperation.

Sam shook his head, eyes still focused on the memory of Jess enflamed on the ceiling. "I don't know." He looked over at Dean, mentally shaking the image. "But it wasn't the Aztec creature from that blood symbol. One, that thing wasn't corporeal. And two, it told us to leave, it doesn't want us here. That thing isn't what drew us in."

Dean groaned and kicked away one of the dislodged pebbles. "So, what? It is a two creature killers for the price of one deal? And one wants us in here, while the other doesn't want any houseguests? Jesus, now we're stuck in the middle of a roommate squabble."

Sam just shrugged. They stood in silence for a second, each lost in their own thoughts. Each looking around the cave absently. Sam suddenly shot Dean a sidelong glance, remembering Dean bumping into him, startled by the creature. Sam's lips and cheeks twitched as he tried to keep the humour from his voice. "Now aren't you glad I was here to hold your hand, and not waiting outside like you told me to?"

Dean shot his brother a withering glare. Sam just chuckled. But something caught his eye and he straightened up. He grabbed Dean's torch and walked further into the cave, shining the light on one of the cave walls. Dean frowned and followed, feeling naked without the light firmly in his possession.

"Say please next time," Dean muttered, shoving Sam's shoulder before he too noticed what Sam had found. Painted across the cave's wall sat a colourful array of chalk drawings. They were scratched and faded, easy to miss, but as Sam closely shone the light over each individual picture, Dean was able to see them clearly. They depicted what looked like that thing they'd just seen, as it watched different scenarios, in some its arm reaching out, in some just staring. The drawings also showed that symbol that had been found on the victims. It was drawn on the rocky cave over and over again.

"I get moss, you get paintings," Dean muttered, glancing from the drawings to Sam.

"What?" Sam asked absently.

"Nothing."

"They look old," Sam said, staring at them all intently.

Dean raised an eyebrow, struck by how ridiculous that had sounded. "…Yeah. That's why they call them ancient paintings."

"No," Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean there are no new ones. Why would this thing just stop documenting his life?"

Dean shrugged. "He purchased a video camera?"

Sam smiled. "Somehow I don't think that's the answer."

"Don't be so quick to knock the idea. Paris Hilton made filming yourself all the rage," Dean grinned, before pointing at the wall again. "Hey, where's all the blood?"

"It's a different symbol to that Aztec one. It doesn't require blood."

"No, I mean where's all the pretty pictures showing the sacrifices and slaughters. I don't see one entrail or ripped out heart."

Sam stared at the pictures thoughtfully. None of them looked violent. Or sacrificial, or ritualistic, or annual, or anything of the sort. In each image it was just that billowing creature standing besides a scene of people interacting, oblivious to that thing's presence.

"Help me!" a voice cried out, loud, close, scared.

Dean looked over at Sam wearily. "Round two," he said quietly, pulling out his gun and taking the light from Sam.

"It sounded like it came from around that corner." Sam motioned towards the bend in the cave, also keeping his voice low.

Dean nodded and steeped instinctively in front of Sam, leading the way cautiously, illuminating the path with the torch while expertly leveling his gun in front of him. Sam followed, stepping lightly, gun also drawn. Dean stopped when they reached the bend, leaning his back against the jagged, jutting rockface, inching forward until he could see that the path was clear. He then quickly turned the corner, gun outstretched and trigger finger locked and ready. Nothing sprang out at him, but a few feet away, just in reach of the torch's beam, lay a young woman, curled in on herself, back facing the brothers, hood covering her hair. Dean motioned for Sam to stay where he was, and he then cautiously approached the girl, a weary clump building in his stomach.

Sam watched Dean, gun hovering protectively. But as Dean crept closer, lowering the gun more and more, the torch's beam revealed more of the girl's outline. That figure, the bits of hair poking out from the hood of her sweatshirt, it all struck Sam with a deadly familiarity.

"Wait, Dean!" Sam yelled, stopping Dean short, who was crouched beside the figure and about to tap her shoulder.

Dean twisted around, startled by the urgency in Sam's voice. "What?" he asked.

"Get away from her!"

And sure enough, the figure chose that moment to spring up and yank the gun from Dean's hands, pulling back her hood to reveal the short, blonde hair. "Aw, baby, you spoiled the surprise," Meg drawled out, grinning at Sam and pointing the gun at Dean's chest as he sprung back, staring from his empty hands to his nabbed gun in shock.

Meg's eyes slid back towards Dean. "Too slow," she quipped.

Dean practically growled, the anger rising off him in a burst of energy that crackled the air around them. "Oh look, it's the psychobitch."

Meg ignored him, her attention sliding back towards Sam, her amused gaze breaking the trance that had enveloped him the second he had been forced to watch her grab the gun from Dean's hands and point it at his chest. He kept waiting to hear that deadly shot ring out. So Sam stood still, gun still drawn but too horrified by the sight of Dean caught in the crossfire to move or form any words.

"Hi, Sam," Meg chirped. "What a coincidence, bumping into each other like this again."

Sam swallowed his trepidation and let a scowl slide over his features. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure. But it really isn't."

Meg just smiled at that, her eyes lazily flickering back to Dean as he inched forward. "Uh uh," she reprimanded lightly. "I stole this from you fair and square." She held the gun tighter, her finger visibly tightening on the trigger.

Dean grit his teeth and backed up a few feet, reluctantly holding out his hands.

"That's a good boy. Now go stand up against the wall there, next to your brother."

Dean glared at her with an untamed anger that sparked from his eyes. But he reluctantly backed up, frustration clawing at his chest as he silently berated himself for falling into this trap. Now they were both in trouble.

Meg smiled at him and turned back to Sam. "And why don't you slide that gun on over. It's not nice to point guns at ladies."

"Yeah, lady," Dean scoffed.

Meg shot him an amused look before turning back to Sam who was hesitating. Meg sighed dramatically. "Now I know you don't want me to shoot your brother, Sam."

"Okay, okay," Sam said quickly, looking over at Dean. He slowly put his gun on the ground and slid it towards Meg, ignoring the glare Dean was aiming at him. What did Dean expect? Now wasn't the time for a showdown. They couldn't take the chance.

Meg bent down, first gun still trained at Dean, and scooped up the second weapon, tucking it into her waistband.

"Why is it that the ex's can never leave a guy alone?" Dean asked his brother, loud enough for Meg to hear. "And why always the anorexic ones?"

Meg mock frowned at this. "And, baby, why is it that the in-laws are always so stupid? You really shouldn't call a girl names. Especially if she's holding a loaded gun."

"Was this all another one of your traps, Meg?" Sam cut in. "The symbols, the victims, the whispers. How'd you pull it all off? You controlling something else now?"

Meg just shook her head. "What, now that I have you and," she looked over at Dean, "your little dog too," she said mockingly, "you think I'm just going to reveal everything. This isn't the movies, Sam."

Dean laughed, cutting Meg off and earning a startled look from Sam. That brother of his sure didn't make it easy on himself.

"Something funny?" Meg asked, an annoyed flicker passing through her eyes.

"Dad's getting close," Dean told Sam, before turning to Meg with a satisfied grin. "Isn't that right, Meg? It's why you went to all this trouble to find us, to build up this trail, to get us here and set us up, all just to redo the same old trick. Instead of just waiting for us to meet up with dad again somewhere along the line, you're using us as bait. Again. It's careless. Your hand is revealed. So why do it?" Dean turned back to Sam, blatantly ignoring Meg. "Dad's getting close. He's got them scared. Whoever this psychobitch is working for aint too happy that she screwed up her chance the first time round." Dean looked Meg directly in the eye when he said this next bit. "She's getting sloppy."

Meg and Dean locked eyes, staring each other down in a silent battle of wills. Sam watched with a small smile, applauding his brother for finally erasing that perpetual grin from Meg's face.

Meg looked away first. She visibly clenched her jaw before letting that smile slide back onto her face. Though it wasn't nearly as large, or carefree, as it had been a few minutes ago. "Call daddy dearest," she commanded Sam. "And tell him to get here. Tell him you'll both die – long, slow deaths – if he doesn't. Tell him anything, I don't care. Just get him here, Sam."

"Yeah, like he's going to do that," Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I don't have a phone," Sam shrugged, his face set in an expression of mock apology and innocence.

Meg sighed in growing frustration. "Use Dean's."

"He doesn't have one, either," Sam said. Dean shrugged, mimicking Sam's innocent expression, a small smile playing on his lips.

Meg laughed quietly, looking down at her feet and breathing in deeply. She then sauntered up to Sam, her arm outstretched, the gun pointing at Dean steadily, leaving no doubt in either of their minds that she would pull the trigger the instant she felt one of them was about to try something.

She straddled up to Sam, her body pressing against his, her eyes sliding up to lock with his ones, and her hand traveling down his pants and into his front pocket. He cringed, resisting the urge to pull away. She smiled and tugged out his cell phone. "I found it," she said, pulling back and shoving the phone at Sam's chest. He caught it with a glare – helplessness beginning to battle with the dread in his chest.

Meg backed up a few feet and aimed the gun at Sam. Dean instantly tensed, rage boiling in his chest as his protective instincts took over and his muscles wound up, ready to act the second the situation called for it.

"Call him," Meg said quietly.

Sam hesitated, clutching his phone and staring at Meg defiantly, his mouth twitching with anger.

Meg sighed loudly, impatient, fed up, the smile gone from her lips, done with these games. She swung the gun purposely towards Dean's head. "Call, or I'll kill your brother." And she meant it.


A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing up until now, it's given me the motivation to write instead of study ;)