A/N I am once again sorry that this update is coming so late today. I tried, guys, that's all I can say. That, and this is a hell of a chapter so prepare yourself. :)
Chapter Seven
Dean had been driving all night and should have been exhausted. Quite on the contrary, every mile that drew him closer to Big Timber sent adrenaline pumping through his veins.
This was it. The shell game was over. He was finally getting Sam back.
The realization hit him anew as he pulled off a dirt road and parked just behind the old Dodge Avenger that had started his search seemingly forever ago. There didn't appear to be anybody inside the car, but Dean was still wary as he approached it with his gun in hand.
It was empty, however, and Darrion was nowhere to be seen in the vicinity of the mine.
Dean returned to the Impala and began to sort through the gear in the trunk in preparation for his trip into the mine. It was with some trepidation that he packed their limited supply of explosives, along with a couple of flares. He didn't know if they would work against a Talamh, but it was all that he and Bobby could come up with. At the very least, the flares would provide some protection as most underground creatures responded poorly to bright lights. If all else failed, they would simply blow up the entrance, trapping the Talamh inside but that was only to be used as a last resort.
It was with an odd sort of déjà vu that Dean began to throw the rest of the supplies into his duffle. He had done this same thing over twenty-four hours before at the Harris Mansion, but this time…this time Dean was pissed and determined. Darrion wasn't getting away. He was either going to die, or Dean was going to make him wish that he was dead.
It was with a dark and sober attitude that he packed the first-aid kit for Sam. Before, it had been with the vague hope that Sam would be mostly unscathed, but those last videos that he had watched…they turned his stomach every time he thought about them. Sam wasn't doing good, and he would be shocked if he didn't end up carrying Sam back to the Impala.
Setting the duffle aside, he began to strap a stolen SCBA unit around his shoulders and chest before attaching the mask across his face. He had a second unit for Sam—somehow, he doubted that Darrion had been kind enough to supply one for him. There hadn't been a lot of units to choose from, but Dean had gotten the best equipment that he could find. He had been lucky enough to locate ones that had hands-free comms built inside the masks. It would allow them to communicate easily and swiftly, and it was the most luck that he had had…well, it had been a while.
After making sure that the air was flowing correctly, Dean grabbed the duffle and Sam's SCBA and swung both over his shoulders. Striding purposefully towards the mine entrance, he ducked underneath the board that read Danger! and entered.
It was dark, damp, and cool inside.
Flicking on his flashlight, Dean began to make his way along the tunnel. It didn't take him long to come to the first set of turns.
"Huh." Dean was mildly surprised, although not disappointed, when he found the splashes of red paint on the wooden beams. They looked recent, and he could only assume that Darrion must have been marking his path, which was good for Dean although perhaps not the wisest move on Darrion's part.
It would be his last mistake.
Dean was about a mile deep into the belly of the mine when the faint sounds of a struggle caught his attention. Dean stilled instantly and held his breath, listening intently.
Someone cried out, and Dean's heart jumped against his ribcage. He would know his brother's screams anywhere.
Breaking into a run, Dean took the remaining turns at a flying speed, just barely stopping to make sure that he was following the splashes of spray paint. The duffle bag and SCBA unit cut into his shoulders, but he didn't dare stop, not if the Talamh already had Sam.
He rounded a corner, his breath coming in sharp pants, and stumbled to a halt, flicking his flashlight off. Up ahead where the tunnels intersected in a T shape, a dim light cut through the darkness.
Illuminated by his own flashlight, was Darrion. He was pressed up against the wall, a sniper's rifle lodged against his shoulder, and pointed down the right-side tunnel.
That was probably where the Talamh was, and Dean spared a glance that way. Something was definitely moving around, something big. He could hear the soft scrapes and grunts as it woke.
Fear boiled strong and hot in Dean's belly. They had to get out of here.
He hadn't seen Sam yet, but he could hear his frantic struggles and what sounded like the clanking of chains. The Talamh surely had as well.
Creeping forward, Dean eased his gun out and flicked the safety off. It was a sure weight in his hand, steadying him.
Darrion's sole focus was on the Talamh, and he didn't even have time to process the attack as Dean grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. Jerking him roughly back, he slammed him up against the wall hard enough to crack his head on the rocks.
Jabbing his gun up into the soft skin of Darrion's throat, Dean felt strong satisfaction in the fear that sparked in the other man's eyes.
"You had better pray that my brother is okay when this all ends," Dean snarled softly, the threat clear as he shoved his gun in deeper. Darrion's face went white. Before he could utter any sort of defense, Dean whipped the gun around and, using the butt, smashed it over Darrion's head.
He slumped gracelessly to the ground and lay there, unmoving.
Stepping over the body, Dean rounded the corner as he flicked his flashlight back on.
And, at long last, he saw Sam.
Dean came to a stuttering halt, his heart catching as he stared at him. He had known that it was going to be bad, but seeing it first hand, seeing the damage that had been inflicted, hit him like a two-by-four.
His little brother, the brother that he had sworn to protect, was hanging by his wrists from the walls and fighting feverishly against the chains that were holding him there. His skin was a delicate grey and even from here, Dean could see the sweat coating him. It mixed with the blood that was pouring down his arm, staining the ragged t-shirt and jeans that he wore.
Both relief and horror warred within him until Sam raised his head and they locked eyes.
Sam's pinched face went even paler if that was possible and his eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open.
Something in Dean's chest loosened and despite everything that had happened, he found himself smiling as he hurried forward.
#
Terror coursed through Sam as he stared with disbelief at Dean.
Like Darrion, he was wearing an oxygen unit that covered up most of his face, but that just made it worse. That meant that Dean was actually here, and not some figment of his imagination.
Dean was here to kill him, to do what he had promised years ago and kill the monster that Sam had become.
"Dean…" Sam managed to croak out, no longer fighting against the chains as he cowered back against the rocks. He had been hunted down by creatures from hell and not been scared, but to have Dean do the hunting, to have Dean be the one to kill him…it was petrifying.
Had Dean learned about the visions that Darrion and Mr. Harris had been trying to force? Or maybe he thought that Sam had drunk more demon blood to restore his powers, to escape the torture.
But Sam hadn't—he hadn't, he'd swear on their mother's grave that he hadn't.
Dean was carrying something large and bulky over his shoulder, probably whatever he was going to use to kill Sam.
Sam had to get out of here, he had to run, to hide. Get back up to the surface, out of the mine. He'd be smarter this time than when he had escaped from the panic room. Dean would never find him.
Only, Dean was now close enough that if Sam's hands hadn't been bound, he could have reached out and touched him.
He needed to get out, he needed to defend himself even if he couldn't escape, he had to make sure that Dean didn't kill him.
Sam resumed his wild thrashing, trying to kick his brother away from him. Dean dropped the duffle onto the ground, neatly avoiding Sam's feeble attacks. Pressing in close, his hands bracketed Sam's face and forced his head around.
Sam's heart went cold.
Maybe Dean meant to snap his neck. He pulled back, wrenching his head free.
"Dean, please, don't…don't kill me. I know that I messed up, but I—" Words were rapidly failing him, his brain churning as his heart pounded out an unsteady rhythm, he couldn't find the air to breathe. Everything hurt and part of him just wanted to die, but he couldn't die. Not here. Not in this hell hole of a tunnel. He wanted to die out in the sunshine.
Maybe Dean would allow that. Maybe Dean would remember at least the fondness that he had once had for his little brother and would be willing to grant him that one last wish.
"Not here, at least, don't kill me here," he tried, his voice cracking with emotion, but Dean wasn't listening. His hands were rough and commanding as he fought against Sam, trying to pin his head back against the wall. He had a mask similar to his own and was trying to force it over Sam's head.
Was it to poison him…? But that wasn't a very 'Dean' way to kill someone. A gun, yes, or a machete, even a very blunt object would work for him. But poison? That just didn't make any damn sense.
Only, maybe that wasn't Dean's plan. Maybe he had another reason for it, something that Sam didn't know yet. Dean was smart, he would know that Sam knew his tricks, and he would try to find some other way to stop him.
Sam tossed his head side-to-side, trying to knock Dean's hands and the mask free. When that didn't work, he slammed his head—and Dean's hand—back into the wall. Dean let go with a faint yelp, but Sam didn't have time to celebrate his small victory.
He had merely delayed the inevitable.
Impatience was clear in Dean's eyes as he thrust his face into Sam's personal space and tried to say something through the mask, but between the plastic and the ringing in his ears, Sam couldn't make it out.
Dean dropped the SCBA unit, allowing it to dangle over his arm. He once again grabbed Sam's head with both of his hands and this time refused to let go.
"SAM!" he yelled—his voice distorted and thick—as he clasped Sam's face hard. "I'm trying to help you, let me!"
Yeah, Dean had always tried to help him. He had been trying to help him see that he had gone too far, that he had turned into a monster, something to be hunted.
Dean's eye's bored into his and Sam looked away, unable to keep eye contact. Dean knew him too well, he would see the fear and guilt there. Not that Dean was always right about everything. Sam hadn't fallen off the wagon, he was still clean.
The grip on his face slackened just a little, and Sam jerked to the side, thrusting his knee up as hard as he could. Dean grunted loudly, stumbling back a step. He threw a look over his shoulder, and when he looked back panic—and fear?—were present.
With a growl of frustration, he grabbed Sam's head and cracked it back into the wall hard enough to make everything tilt. A grey haze floated across Sam's vision and he sagged back, momentarily losing control of his body.
When his head cleared, Sam found that Dean had pressed the mask over his nose and mouth. Holding it firmly in place with one hand, he was trying to work the straps around the back of his head with the other.
Sam felt a sob rise in his chest.
It was over. Dean had won. He was going to kill Sam.
"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried. I never wanted that to be me, it just sort of happened. I—you were dead and I wanted to make Lilith hurt but then I needed it so bad and I let everything else go, everything that mattered, and I'm sorry. Just—"
The lines on Dean's face were hardening and he wasn't making eye contact with Sam as he pressed something small into his ear. A moment later, Dean's voice was being carried through to him crystal clear.
"Sam. Sammy, you've got to calm down. Hey, listen to me. Listen." Dean was pressing the mask tighter against his face as Sam wilted, fighting for breath as fear tightened his chest. "Yeah, just breathe. C'mon. You've got fresh oxygen right there, just take some deep breaths. Get it all out, it's just the Talamh, you're okay, so don't fight me on this, dude, I'm here to help." Dean coached as he finished strapping the mask around the back of Sam's head. He then set to work on awkwardly strapping the slim oxygen tank to his back and once finished took a step back.
His hand moved up, pushing back Sam's sweaty bangs and resting against his forehead. If it had been any other time, Sam might have said that it had been a tender touch, a loving one.
But that…that wasn't right. Dean was here to kill him, to make good on his promise to hunt him down...but that also wasn't right? Sam sucked in another deep breath and noticed that the rancid smell was fading. He had gotten so used to its stench that he had forgotten that it was there until it was not as powerful.
Sam took several deep breaths and closed his eyes as he tried to regain control.
The fear was also dropping, plunging back to more manageable levels as his heart stopped attempting to pound its way out of his chest. Clarity began to return, and Sam felt his cheeks color in embarrassment.
The Talamh. Right.
"Sam?" Dean was looking at him, his eyebrows pinched together in concern. Dean, who was there, who was not murderous, but here to help.
"Dean? Dean, is that—you're not here to kill me?"
Dean's eyes darkened with something that looked like hurt, but when he spoke it had disappeared. His hands jumped up, resting atop Sam's head gently. "Yeah, it's me. Took me a hell of a long time to find you and you can chew me a new one later, but I'm here now—I'm gonna get you free, so just sit tight and breathe, okay? Okay?"
Sam nodded, a little dumbfounded as he tried to wrap his brain fully around the fact that Dean was here and not about to try and kill him.
Dean's smile was edging on painful, but it was rapidly replaced with a frown as he took a step back. "You're a mess, dude. Hold on, I'm gonna wrap your arm, you're leaking like a rusty faucet."
Sam didn't say anything. He watched Dean fumble open a small first aid kit and disentangled a pressure bandage.
"Sorry," he said sincerely as he wrapped his hand around Sam's wounds and added pressure to stop the heavy bleeding before quickly and efficiently wrapping the bandage around it.
He couldn't tell if Dean had seen the word carved there in his rush, but he felt the shame same rising all the same.
"Almost there, hang on just another minute, and then we're out of here," Dean said, taping the bandage down before digging into his pocket and pulling out another flashlight and a lockpicking set. Setting the flashlight down on the ground to light the area, he went up on his tiptoes and reached for the shackles.
"That's not gonna work," Sam mumbled.
Now that the fear was not eating away at his insides like acid, Sam's wrists were a throbbing reminder of what Darrion had put them through and of the damage that had been done. Hell, his whole body ached viciously after his attempted escape.
Dean snorted even as he reached for Sam's right wrist. "I've been picking locks since before I could shoot a gun, so unless…"
Dean's eyes went wide as he saw the warped keyhole. His fingers skimmed the air above Sam's abused wrist, seemingly afraid to touch skin. The look that he threw Sam was heart-wrenching.
"Sammy, what…?" Dean looked like he was about to be sick.
"I tried to run. Darrion didn't like that."
Dean pressed his lips together. "People don't just torture someone like that, it's—it's inhumane, it's beyond human. It's—" He couldn't find an adjective bad enough to describe what it was and he stopped, pulling a deep breath of his own. His voice had lost some of the franticness when he spoke again. "Don't worry. I'm going to get you out of here, just…"
His words tapered off as he tucked the lockpick back into his pocket and moved to stand directly in front of Sam. He reached up, winding the chain that connected the shackles together around his hands.
"Hold on, I can't do this without putting pressure on your wrists, and that's gonna hurt," he warned but Sam was already preparing himself for the coming pain. Dean gripped the chains tightly and yanked as hard as he could.
The pain was blinding, and Sam thought that he might have screamed. When at last the pressure eased, Dean looked white.
"I'm sorry but I've got to do this. I don't see another quick way out. The stake is loose, I think, if I can get the right angle I might be able to pull it free…"
"I know, I know, just do it," Sam hissed out between gritted teeth, leaning his head back against the walls and blinking the water out of his eyes. Dean looked hesitant, but he wrenched back on the chains again, trying to get the nail to shift out of the wall.
His face was turning beet red with the effort that he was putting in, but nothing was happening. He paused, panting, and shifted position before straining against the unyielding metal as Sam chewed his lower lip raw in an effort to not cry out.
The veins in Dean's face were popping when he finally gave up and let the chains go. Sam slumped back, sucking air in through desperate wheezes. Dean dropped his head, his shoulders heaving unevenly as he too fought to get enough air into his lungs.
Sam stared at his brother. He knew what needed to happen, and what would need to be said, but waited for Dean to have a chance to compose himself. To give him some privacy, Sam looked over Dean's shoulder and down the tunnel.
For the first time since he entered the mine, Sam felt his heart clench in true terror as a pair of pale eyes blinked back at him from the Talamh's lair.
Dean gave a strangled laugh, running a hand through his hair. "It won't budge."
The eyes blinked and disappeared.
"Dean—" Sam began urgently and Dean's head jerked up. He thrust his finger into Sam's face.
"Don't you dare—don't you dare say a damn thing. I'm not leaving you here to be a bite-sized Sammy snack, I'm getting you free. I just need to come up with a new plan."
Sam opened his mouth again to warn Dean about the Talamh, only to snap it shut.
Dean wasn't going to be able to free him, not in time to save him from the Talamh. It was too late for that…but it wasn't too late for his brother.
"Dean," he tried to make his voice as reasonable and not terrified as he could. "Dean, it's okay. I'll be alright, I've made peace with dying. You can go."
Dean shook his head again and with apparently no better plan reached up again to grasp the chains and yanked. "I'm not listening," he ground out between gritted teeth, "to a single word that you have to say."
"Stop, Dean, please. Listen to me, I'm not… I'm not going to make it even if we get out of here. My body's all screwed up, so just—please, listen to me. Get out while you still have the chance. I'll be okay, it's better you than me anyway, right?"
It was the wrong thing to say, and Sam knew it as soon as the words had left his lips. Dean finally paused in his frantic struggle and let his forehead drop to rest against Sam's shoulder.
"Don't you ever—ever—say that to me again," he half-whispered, his voice pained in a way that Sam didn't often hear, except maybe when he was talking about Mom. Dean's fist clenched in Sam's t-shirt right over his weakly laboring heart, and he raised his head again. This time, his words were furious. "So, if you aren't going to say anything useful, keep your pie-hole shut and let me figure this out."
But Sam had been born as stubborn as they came, something that Dean often reminded him of. And he loved Dean too much to let him die over something so stupid.
"Damnit, Dean. This is exactly like that time with the Croatan virus," and there were tears in his voice and in his eyes. Dean would hear them, but Sam didn't care. He just wanted Dean to get out, to live to see another day. "Darrion did things to me, they gave me these drugs and I'm not alright. My heart is giving out. I don't think that you can save me even if we get out of here, so please, just go. Go, that's all I want. I'm okay. I promise that I'm okay. The world needs you, Dean, not me."
Dean was shaking his head rapidly even as his face screwed up. "No. Just no." He rested his forehead against Sam's and squeezed his shoulder almost painfully. "I'm not leaving you behind. I was right not to last time; you weren't infected and I'm not making that mistake. Either we both get out of here, or neither of us do, Sammy."
Sam choked on his tears, and leaned further into Dean, taking in strength from his proximity with his brother.
Dean pulled away, reexamining the rock wall and chains with a wired determination.
It struck Sam with inspiration.
It would be risky and could backfire in so many ways, but they had run out of time and Dean wasn't listening to him. He was just going to have to risk it.
"Dean."
"No."
"No, Dean, listen. There is a storage shed, just in front of the mine—"
"I know I saw it," Dean growled as he ran a hand through his hair again. He looked to be on the edge of striking something and Sam hurried on.
"I've been in it, and there's a whole bunch of equipment. Bolt cutters, blowtorches, pickaxes, all sorts of tools. You might be able to find something in there to cut the chains, or-or get me free."
"I can't leave you, Sammy. The Talamh is waking up, I can hear it. And once it smells all that blood, it's gonna come for you. You're a sitting duck right now, there's nothing that you can do to protect yourself if I'm gone."
"Dean," Sam snapped and was surprised to hear the strength there. "We're running out of time. If we don't try something, then we are going to face off against a Talamh with nothing. We're not getting out of that alive, even if you stay, so either go and find a way to get me out or we die."
Dean swore loudly, but once again grabbed the side of Sam's face, sliding one hand behind his neck to bring him in closer.
"I'll be back, I swear. I'm not leaving you," he vowed, his hand lightly massaging Sam's neck in a silent promise.
It took all the strength that Sam had to break away from the touch. "Go." His voice broke on the word, but he couldn't help it.
Dean hesitated a moment longer, darting a glance behind him and towards the Talamh.
The eyes had not reappeared, and Sam was faintly grateful for it.
When Dean looked around again, Sam was surprised to see tears in his eyes.
"I know what you're doing, but unfortunately it makes some damn sense. Sammy, you've got to—look, you don't get to die, not right now. We're going to get you medical help once we're out of here, they'll figure it out and you'll be okay."
"Go," Sam repeated emphatically.
Dean squeezed his neck once more, his eyes boring into Sam's, and then he was gone, darting away and back up the tunnel.
Sam was alone again.
Tilting his head back against the rough rocks, Sam closed his eyes as he breathed in the fresh oxygen that was flowing through the mask.
When he opened them again, the pale, luminous, eyes were staring at him once more.
Sam stared back. Despite Dean's hurried medical attention, he could feel blood seeping through the bandage on his arm, and the smell of iron was thick in the air. The eyes blinked shut, but they would be back soon. The Talamh was just testing the water, deciding if it really wanted to make the effort.
It would, though. That was just how Winchester's luck went.
"C'mon. Come and get me…" Sam muttered through his teeth. They had to get this out of the way before Dean returned because if he was dead and the Talamh satisfied, then his brother could leave and the Talamh might not follow.
The eyes opened.
Dean had left the second flashlight behind, and from its light, Sam could see a massive paw with thick claws inch out from its lair. A snout emerged, twitching as it sniffed the air.
The Talamh had woken, and it had decided that it was hungry.
#
Dean sprinted back up the tunnel. The oxygen tank was heavy on his back and slowing him down, but he didn't dare take it off. Not only would it take too much time, but he couldn't risk the musk of the Talamh getting to him.
He had heard about the effects of the Talamh, but to see it in person…Dean had rarely, if ever, seen his brother out of his head with fear and the sight had shaken him. Sam didn't get afraid like that, not of a monster and certainly never of Dean.
Dean pushed his legs to go faster, refusing to acknowledge his burning muscles.
Sam's pale face and the terror written there, the fear of Dean killing him haunted his every step. He could be angry and he knew that too often he had lashed out at Sam. More than once, Sam had been on the receiving end of his fist, and Dean had meant for those punches to sting at the moment, even if he had regretted it immediately after. But kill him?
In his absolute worst moment, Dean had been willing to let Sam die, but he had never—could never—be the one to pull the trigger or hold the knife.
That went against every fiber of his whole being. Hell, even the fact that Dean was leaving his brother behind to face off against a dangerous monster to save Sam's life was rubbing him the wrong way. It wasn't helped by the fact that knew that Sam had sent him off to get him out of harm's way, to make sure that Dean survived instead of him.
Because he thought that Dean was worth saving, and he wasn't.
That was wrong in ways that Dean couldn't even voice.
Dean ducked his head, pushing himself harder, ignoring the burning in his chest as his lungs worked to provide him with enough oxygen to keep up the intense pace.
There was faint light ahead as the entrance to the mine appeared, and Dean sprinted through it and into the bright sunlight. The brilliant light was blinding after so long in the dark, and Dean threw up a hand to protect his eyes as he skidded on an abrupt right turn towards the small and broken-down shed.
Crashing through the door, he took a second to orientate himself and then turned towards the nearest shelf. He began to dig through the various objects, tossing aside a wrench and a rusted saw that he deemed useless. Abandoning the shelves, he dug through the crates that were lined up against the wall.
How long had he been gone now? Too long.
"Damnit, damnit, damnit." Dean plunged his hand into the box and hissed as he smashed his thumb underneath something. Shaking off the pain, he dumped the box out and scanned its contents. Finding a bolt cutter, he jammed it into his belt loops.
It wasn't in the best condition—the handles were coated in rust—but it would have to do. He was darting back out the door when he half tripped over an old blowtorch. He half thought about taking it, but then kicked it aside.
He didn't know how to use it and now wasn't the time to figure it out.
Dean set off at a dead run.
A stitch was burning in his side and he was panting by the time he reached the halfway point.
Dean had barely made it past the next turn when a high-pitched and deafening roar shook the mine, sending dust tumbling down from the roof.
"Sammy—!" Dean's heart did a funny little jump in his chest and all the air left his lungs.
He was so close, yet he was too late. Sam could already be dead and if he wasn't, it had just become a very real possibility that he would be by the time that Dean got there. It was Cold Oak all over again, him too slow, Sam vulnerable.
The roar came again just as Dean was pelting around the corner that would lead him to where he had left an unconscious Darrion.
Only, Darrion had regained consciousness and was standing there, his head tilted back and his mouth open. His rifle was resting against his leg as he stared with horrified awe at the Talamh.
The monster was more terrifying in life than it had been in artists' renditions. The lumbering beast was as tall as the mine, possibly even taller if the way it hunched its back was any indication. Its skin, leathery white and callused, scraped against the walls as its overgrown claws dragged along the ground.
Dean raised his gun as the creature passed by, but it would do him no good. The underbelly was protected by an equally tough layer of skin, so shooting it would do little but get its attention.
It roared again, shaking its large head as it squeezed forward, heading past the head of the tunnel and towards Sam.
Dean lunged forward, and the motion sparked Darrion back into life. He threw out a hand and caught Dean hard in the chest, knocking him backward.
"You can't do that—you have to be careful. I need that blood," he snarled as he hefted the rifle, now pointing it at Dean's chest. Darrion was bleeding from a nasty cut at the top of his head from where Dean had pistol-whipped him, but he looked pissed off and ready to fight.
Well, welcome to the club. Dean was pissed too.
"You try and stop me from getting to my brother, and I'll kill you."
Darrion scoffed, moving with Dean when he tried to push through. "Why? So that you can kill the freak yourself? I don't think so, not until I'm done with him. If the Talamh doesn't kill him, then I'll gladly step aside and let you get on with it, but until then, stay the hell back."
The Talamh roared and backed up a step as if unsure if it wanted Sam. It shook its head, its wide nostrils flaring, and then lurched forward again.
Darrion's focus shifted from Dean for just a moment to follow the creature's progress and Dean didn't squander the opportunity. Grabbing the gun, he yanked it ruthlessly from Darrion's grasp and turned it on him.
"I don't give a rat's ass about you. So, either get your ass out of here or get yourself killed but don't you dare come near Sam again. I've warned you twice now, and I think that's awful generous because I won't do so again."
Through the radio, Dean heard Sam give a panicked and terrified gasp.
Dean didn't waste any more time on Darrion and revenge.
Spinning around, he ducked down to get between the Talamh's legs. He had to bend down to fit, but he shoved his way through, determined to get to Sam before the Talamh did. The Talamh did not like that and it jerked back, a long snout appearing between its legs.
Without hesitating, Dean slashed his knife against its front right leg. It was useless, the knife not even penetrating the skin, but it did make the Talamh throw its head back, roaring again.
This gave Dean just enough time to slip past it and set his stance protectively in front of Sam.
He could feel Sam's chest heaving against his back, and heard him give a protesting, "No!"
The Talamh lowered its great head. Its face was horrible to look at as its wicked eyes glinted in the dark. It opened its mouth to let out another roar, revealing thick fangs the size of Dean's forearm.
Dean raised the gun and fired. The Talamh batted at the air, shaking its head in disapproval of the noise.
"Dean—no, go! Get out of here!" Sam was practically begging in a shrill tone, but Dean ignored him as he leveled the gun at the Talamh's eyes. Eyes were almost always vulnerable, and he wanted the Talamh to hurt. Perhaps then they stood a chance of it deciding that they were not worth the effort.
It bowed its head towards him, its breath hot on his skin, and Dean lowered the gun accordingly. It crowded in on him, pushing him back into Sam. The Talamh roared again, deafening Dean and sending a spray of spittle across his face.
A massive paw came swinging down and Dean twisted, crowding Sam back in a desperate attempt to protect him. He fired, but either his bullet when astray or it bounced off the Talamh's skin.
The paw missed him by a hair.
The Talamh didn't miss the second time as the paw came swinging back around, catching Dean hard along his shoulder and back and batting him aside and away from the Talamh's query like he was no more than an annoying bug. If he hadn't been wearing the SCBA unit, the claws would have left deep slices across his back.
He hit the unyielding wall forcefully, and slid down to the ground, unable to move as his body went on strike. His head drooped forward as his vision went grey and then his eyes were closing against his will.
He didn't know how long it was until he came too, but he roused to Sam's blood-curdling scream.
Jerking his head up, Dean blinked wildly as the mine tunnel tilted viciously and warm blood trickled down his face.
When his vision cleared, he found the Talamh bent awkwardly over Sam, it's head buried in his chest.
"No…" It was a soft, desperate, plea as Dean staggered upright, searching blindly for his gun. He found it and fumbled it into position. Sam screamed again as the Talamh yanked its head back, trying to pull Sam away from the wall and back to its lair.
Without stopping to think or process, Dean pulled the trigger until the gun clicked, signifying that the clip was empty. The Talamh let Sam slide from its mouth as it screamed in frustration. The once white fangs were dripping blood and Dean felt numb as he slammed another clip into his gun. That hadn't—it had to be a trick of the light, something else.
Aiming high, Dean sighted up the barrel towards the roof of the Talamh's still open mouth, firing again and again. It howled, shaking the massive head side to side and sending great globs of dark blood raining down.
Blinking his blood out of his eyes, Dean aimed again.
A crack of the rifle had Dean looking over in surprise. Darrion was standing just on the other side, his rifle up and pointed in the direction of the Talamh's side. The dart—and why Darrion had brought a tranquilizer rifle to this fight was beyond him—clattered off the protective layer of skin.
It just seemed to annoy the creature as its paw came swinging around, just missing Dean as he ducked. He was still unsteady on his feet and almost tripped over the flashlight that he had left behind earlier.
Scrambling for it, Dean directed the strong beam into the Talamh's pale eyes. A flare gun would have been more effective, but Dean didn't have the time to find it nor the duffle.
It howled, a paw coming back towards Dean and the surely infuriating light, but Dean was ready this time and dodged the blow even as he kept the beam directed into the creature's eyes.
The light had to be excruciating after years of complete darkness.
Dean surged forward with little regard for his own safety, pushing the Talamh back. It bellowed, sending more blood flying. "Yeah, you'd better run…" Dean doubted that the Talamh was seriously hurt but even if it would just leave them alone, he would be happy.
Darrion stepped forward, blocking his path and the light.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean snarled, but Darrion turned his back to him, firing the rifle again. The second tranquilizing dart did as much good as the first one had.
Dean elbowed him roughly out of the way, raising the flashlight again. The Talamh hissed, shaking its head angrily, and the paw came slashing down.
Dean ducked. Darrion didn't.
He was flung sideways much as Dean had been before but, unlike Dean, the Talamh wasn't headed towards an easier victim. Leaping forward with surprising agility, it opened its mouth wide, and clamped down on Darrion, easily lifting him from the ground.
Darrion screamed, but Dean was focused on getting out of the Talamh's way as it began to drag its prize back down the tunnel, leaving a thick trail of blood behind. Dean couldn't find it in himself to care. Darrion was still alive for the moment, still screaming, but Dean turned his back.
Sam was slumped limply against the wall, his head hanging against his chest and his eyes closed. Thick red blood had completely soaked his shirt and was steadily dripping onto the ground.
"No."
Dean scrambled forward, reeling internally as terror coursed through him. "Sammy—Sam, can you hear me?" he managed to get out between numb lips. He didn't know what to do, there was so much blood, he had to stop the bleeding. He dug his knife out and began to cut Sam's shirt down the middle, ripping it open as he went.
Sam wasn't responding, hadn't answered him.
"SAM!"
Sam jerked oddly, his head lifting a little. His face was white. "De'n?"
Dean breathed again. "Yeah, I'm right here—" Dean stopped, his mouth dropping open with dumb horror as he got his first look at what was underneath the blood-soaked T-shirt.
The Talamh had sunk its teeth straight through Sam's chest and stomach area, leaving gaping holes that allowed bone, muscle, and his intestines to peak through.
He let Sam's tattered t-shirt fall back into place, feeling sick.
"You're goin' to be okay," he said determinedly even as he had to blink rapidly to clear his vision as he wrenched off his jacket and flannel shirt. He began to cut the shirt into long strips, his movements clumsy with haste.
"You okay?" Sam murmured, his voice faint and paper-thin. Dean didn't look up from his task.
"I'm going to stop the bleeding, and then we'll get you to a hospital, they'll fix you up, you're going to be fine, man. You're going to be just fine."
He began to wind the bandages tightly around Sam's torso, causing his brother to stiffen. "Gotta stop the bleeding," Dean repeated, his voice cracking before he yanked the make-shift bandage tight. Sam cried out and Dean bowed his head, unable to look into Sam's face for fear of what he would see.
He wasn't saying goodbye.
He wrapped a second layer of bandages around the first, praying that this would keep everything in place, that nothing would shift. Sam whimpered softly.
"You good?" Dean asked, even though that was a ridiculous question. No, Sam wasn't good. Half of his internal organs were threatening to fall out and he had already lost a lot of blood.
Sam didn't say anything—his eyes were closed again, his skin now a pasty sort of grey.
"HEY! Front and center!" Dean patted Sam's cheek harshly and Sam mumbled something indiscernible.
"Good, stay awake, buddy. You just hang on, I'm getting you out." He squeezed Sam's shoulder, leaving a bloody handprint behind.
Sliding the bolt cutters free from where he had stuck them in his belt, Dean went to work on one of the chain links near the head of the stake. He tried to keep his hands steady, but they were refusing to obey his commands.
Sam was bleeding out, and he had a bolt cutter.
"Keep talking to me," Dean ordered even though he was practically on top of Sam in an attempt to get a good angle and could feel the rapid cooling of his skin as he began to slip into shock.
"I'm still here," Sam said faintly.
"You can do better than that, c'mon. Talk to me, tell me, uh, I don't know. Just talk to me."
"Anything?"
Dean was amazed to hear the weak amusement in Sam's voice. The first chain snapped, and Dean stabilized Sam with his own body as he swung from one arm. "You're okay, we're good," he offered as Sam moaned in pain. He reached up, attacking the chain on the other side.
"Yeah, anything. Hell, you can make fun of me, or-or call me out for not finding you sooner. I dunno. You're the one who always has something to say. You can even try and practice therapy on me, and I know that you've been dying to do that. This is a one-time offer."
Sam made a non-committal sound at the back of his throat as Dean strained against the second link. It gave way easier than the first had, and Dean dropped the bolt cutter as it snapped, grabbing Sam instead as he began to fall.
"I've gotcha," he said as Sam cried out feebly, his eyes squeezing shut. Warm blood was already leaking through the bandages that Dean had just applied, seeping into his shirt.
"It's not that far to the Impala, we're getting you some help." Dean shoved a shoulder underneath Sam's armpit, preparing to hoist him upwards. Sam didn't move to help, his breathing wet and heavy even through the mask. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist, hauling him upwards.
Sam gasped raggedly. "Dean!" he cried out desperately, and if it was an appeal for help, a cry for comfort, or perhaps even a plea for him to stop, Dean didn't know.
"Sorry, Sam, sorry…" He pulled Sam's arm further across his shoulder and latched onto his arm just above the burns with an iron grip. Sam swayed drunkenly, his head lolling off to the side as his neck muscles refused to do their job. "Okay, you good? You're good, let's move."
Dean began to gently but firmly pull Sam back up the tunnel, ignoring Sam's faltering attempts to walk. His knees didn't seem to want to lock, and his feet dragged, but he was trying and that was all that counted in Dean's book.
Sam lifted his head from where it had been half resting on Dean's shoulder when they passed by the spot where Darrion had been hiding. Darrion, who was no longer screaming.
"Where's…" Sam began but broke out coughing. Dean's heart constricted. He doubled over but Dean pulled him back upright.
"Don't worry about it, save your strength. Focus on walking, okay?"
Sam restlessly flexed his weak hold on Dean's shirt and obeyed the command.
The further they went, the more of Sam's weight Dean found himself responsible for. The arm that he was holding onto felt cool and waxy, and if it wasn't for the way that Sam's chest was bellowing up and down, Dean might have thought him to be dead.
They were over halfway out of the mine when Sam gave up.
"Dean, I need—I need to sit down," he mumbled thickly, and Dean shook his head, adjusting his hold on Sam in an attempt to take even more of his weight.
"You can sit down when we get to the car, we're close, I promise."
"No, Dean—" Sam's knees were not holding him up anymore, not that Sam was even trying.
"Damnit, Sam. Don't do this, you son of a bitch!" Dean snapped out, staggering under Sam's suddenly increasing weight as his brother melted towards the ground.
"Just one minute, please, I—just one minute. Then I'll get up again." Sam's voice was raspy and fading. A lump formed in Dean's throat, clogging up his airways.
"That's not how it works, and you know it. You stop, and you're not getting up again so we're not stopping."
But Sam was pulling them both down, muttering softly about needing just a moment, and Dean gave in, not that he had much of a choice. They sat down together harder than Dean would have liked, wrenching a soft moan from Sam. Dean scrambled back up onto his knees, shifting Sam over to sit against the wall.
Sam breathed out a long sigh of relief, and let his head tip over to rest against Dean's shoulder. Dean wrapped an arm more firmly around Sam, tipping his own head to rest against the crown of his brother's.
"We're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay," he promised, taking a deep breath. The sickening scent of blood filled his nose, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His own hands were trembling badly as he pulled Sam in closer.
Sam was starting to shake, and he coughed wetly.
"Dean?"
"Right here." Dean wrapped his arm tighter around Sam, trying to cipher off his pain. "Take some deep breaths, we're moving again in a minute, right?" It was almost like he was back with a two-year-old Sam, telling him that they would have to turn off the TV in a minute and go to bed, or leave the park and return to the motel.
"Dean…" Sam's voice was so quiet that Dean almost missed it. Sam was saying his brother's name like he was trying not to hurt him. Dean opened his mouth, trying to work out a sentence, a rebuke that commanded Sam to get his act together and not die, but the lump there was expanding and prohibiting him from speaking clearly.
"Dean, I'm not leaving here alive."
"No," Dean managed to get out, shaking his head doggedly.
Sam huffed a laugh that sounded more like a groan. He coughed harshly, and his breathing sounded wetter than before. "Better—Better this way, right?"
"Don't talk, save your breath, just…" Dean wriggled out from underneath his brother and Sam made a small noise, his hand flopping out in an attempt to grab Dean. Dean caught his hand, squeezing it.
"I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Not without you."
Fumbling for the flashlight, Dean shone it down onto Sam.
His stomach rose up, threatening to expel its contents everywhere.
The inside of Sam's mask was coated heavily with bright, red, blood. Even as he watched, Sam began to cough and more blood splattered the inside of the mask.
Sam's lungs were filling with blood.
"No, no, no…I've, here—" Dean struggled for words.
Sam was fighting for air. There was a large crack through the mask of the SCBA unit and Dean frantically unstrapped it, pulling it off Sam's head as gently as he could before tossing it aside. It was useless, it wasn't offering him oxygen anymore.
Sam groaned, the air gurgling in his lungs as his chest heaved. Dean ripped off his mask, thrusting it over Sam's face instead. He held it in place with shaking hands.
"Here, breathe in, you've got fresh oxygen right there, it's right there," he ordered, his voice pitched higher than normal. Sam shook his head, weakly attempting to shove the mask aside, but Dean held tight, easily thwarting his attempts.
Sam gave up, his fingers curling over Dean's wrist where he was holding the mask in place. His mouth was moving, but without the aid of the radio, Dean was having trouble making the words out.
He bent low and felt even worse if that was possible as Sam started again.
"I've always looked up to you, you know that?" His voice was pained, almost unrecognizable as he fought against his own body. "I've always wanted to be just like you…I guess I got a little lost, huh…" Sam's smile was painful, and Dean shook his head.
"Shh, don't talk. You can tell me all this later at the hospital. I'll be there, okay? After you get out of surgery, I'll be waiting, and we'll talk then."
Sam's eyes were glistening as he dragged his arm upwards, fisting his violently trembling hand in Dean's t-shirt, right where his amulet use to be before Cas had taken it. "My big brother…You're gonna save the world. I always knew that you would." And he smiled, a genuine smile that showed off his bloody teeth and Dean didn't think that he could breathe from the tight band that had wrapped around his chest.
Sam half-sobbed, half-choked, and Dean had never felt more helpless in his life.
"It's—It's okay, Dean. You can move on. Cas'll make a good partner. He and Bobby, they'll look out for you, so don't—don't let 'em go…don't make my mistakes."
Dean didn't want Cas. He just wanted Sam. As long as he had Sam by his side, everything would be fine. Everything would work out as long as Sam was okay. Sam had to be okay.
"Sammy…"
Now it was Sam's turn to shake his head, even as he attempted another smile. "I'm okay. It's okay, it's better like this."
Dean blinked back tears as he reached down, his hand resting right above Sam's laboring heart. The beat was weak and frantic.
"It's not. Sammy, it's not okay," Dean pleaded, watching with horror as more blood slipped between Sam's lips. Sam's hand lost its hold, slipping off of Dean's chest and onto the ground.
Sam's lips were moving again but Dean couldn't make out what he was saying. He leaned in, lifting the mask and putting his ear right next to Sam's mouth even as he scooped Sam's hand up and squeezed it hard enough that it had to hurt.
"Don't leave me, stay with me. I don't want to die alone," Sam was whispering as for the first-time tears started to leak out of his eyes, mixing with the blood on his face.
Dean squeezed Sam's hand again, bringing it up against his chest as he smoothed Sam's hair out of his face. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. You're not dying," he promised in a hoarse voice.
Sam's eyes fluttered shut and didn't open again.
Dean lurched forward, feeling frantically along his neck for a pulse.
It was still there, however faint, and his chest was sluggishly rising and falling. Sam was only unconscious.
Dean refused to accept that this was how it was going to end. Grabbing Sam's arm and wrapping it around his neck, he tightened his grip on Sam's waist and pulled him upwards with a powerful jerk.
Sam slumped against him, his body limp.
Dean began to determinedly drag his brother forward, blinking back tears as he did so that he could see where he was going. Sam's head swayed sickeningly with the movement.
Struggling under the excess weight, Dean attempted to pick up his speed, focused now solely on getting out of the mine. If he could just get them to the car, then everything would be alright. Sam wasn't dead yet, if he could just get him some help…Dean wasn't giving up the fight yet, even if Sam was. He would fight for both of them.
The tears almost began when they reached the entrance of the tunnel and staggered out into the early afternoon sunlight.
It would be okay. It would be okay.
They were drawing near to the Impala when Sam began to buck weakly in his arms, making a horrible gurgling sound. Dean stumbled to a halt, looking down at his brother, and in the light of day, the truth was undeniable.
Sam wasn't making it to the hospital.
Dean bowed his head, fighting against the wave of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. Slowly, he allowed them to sink towards the ground, cushioning Sam's body against his.
Gently, reverently, he shifted Sam's head to rest in the crook of his elbow.
"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here, I'm right here," he said as clearly as he could, his voice thick. He smoothed Sam's hair back, looking down upon the face that he knew so well.
Much to his amazement, Sam's eyelids fluttered half-open. The once bright hazel was dim, and Sam searched unseeingly for his brother. Dean fumbled the straps of the now blood-filled mask and flung it off. It wasn't going to do Sam any good.
Hunching over Sam, he pressed a hand against his cheek, willing him to feel Dean's presence, to know that he wasn't alone.
"Sammy, you just—you just rest, okay?" Dean had to stop, struggling for the right words. "You can go to sleep, I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you." He began to rock softly, both arms encircling his brother.
Sam's eyes slipped close, his lungs still attempting to bring in air but without any results.
His back arched, the gurgling intensifying, and Dean buried his face in Sam's shoulder, clutching tighter.
"I'm here, I'm here," he repeated helplessly as Sam continued to shake, drowning in his own blood.
And then it stopped, Sam's body going slack. One last wheeze escaped, ghosting past Dean's cheek.
Sam was dead.
Dean screwed his eyes shut as the tears that he had been holding mostly at bay began to trickle down his face. He bowed himself over his brother's body, his own trembling inconsolably as he cradled Sam to him.
He threaded a hand through Sam's hair, the grief both numb and excruciating.
Somehow, over the last year, he had forgotten the deep despair that losing Sam brought. How it cut at his very soul in ways that hell itself had been unable to. How it ripped any shred of hope and joy from him and crushed him completely.
Sam couldn't be dead—Dean couldn't let Sam die, Sam wasn't supposed to die.
"CAS! CAS, PLEASE!" Dean didn't even realize that he was yelling until the words were torn from his throat. "CAS! I NEED YOU!" Only, Cas couldn't help Sam. Cas had been cut off from heaven and hadn't even been able to heal Bobby, never mind bring someone back from the dead.
Dean crumpled completely underneath the weight of everything, his soul shattering into a thousand pieces.
Sam was dead. And nothing else mattered. Not the angels, not the apocalypse, or Lucifer. Not the demon blood or Sam's betrayal. The only thing that mattered was the rapidly cooling body in his arms.
Bowing his head, Dean rested their foreheads together in an intimate imitation of what they had shared when Sam had been alive.
The tears were coming thick and fast now, overwhelming Dean as he helplessly rocked Sam back and forth.
Sam was dead.
And Dean wished that he was too.