Title, Summary, Disclaimer and Warning: Check first Chapter
A/N: Hey guys! WoW thank you all so much for the reviews! So In return, another chapter ;) Enjoy.
Lucy silently seethed. The young hunter, Sam. He must have done something to Sebastian. No, no Sebastian probably just didn't hear the phone or something her voice of reason told her. He was sleeping maybe. God only knew the boy was always tired. He spent one night as a werewolf and spent the next month, until the moon was full again, trying to re-coop. Besides, Sam was tied to a chair. There was no way he would have been able to get out of that rope. She had tied the knots herself.
She hit the redial button again and waited silently, only to have the voice recorded message say 'The person you have dialed is currently out of area or has their phone switched off. Please try again later.' Lucy resisted the urge to throw her phone clear across the street and put it back into her pocket instead.
Something was wrong and she knew it. Biting her lip she decided she would wait until Dean was dead before she went back to the hotel where she had left Sam and Sebastian. Getting revenge was the most important thing to her, and she was sure it was the same for her little brother.
Lucy smirked as Dean went back to trashing the hotel room. Good thing she put it in his name, or the name on a credit card she had found in his wallet that is. She didn't want to be held responsible for the damages to the room. She almost laughed as Dean upturned the table in the middle of the room. She sighed and wrapped her arms tighter around her, the cold wind going through her jacket.
Dean breathed in the scent from Sam' t-shirt. The worn material comforting, as was his little brother's scent. He remembered images of Sam when they were younger. Sparing under their father's watchful eye, playing hide and seek (a game John liked because he believed it helped build the boy's tracking skills), and laying in bed late at night talking about everything under the sun. Dean smiled. They were good times.
Sam's dead face pushed its way in front of the happy memories. Dean felt his heart constrict and cried out painfully. He put the t-shirt down and lunged at the table in the middle of the room, throwing it hard against a wall. He turned on the beds punching the pillows as if they had caused him all this pain. He ripped them apart making feathers fly everywhere. He remembered having pillow fights with Sammy when they were bored out of their skulls from being cooped up in shitty hotel rooms for days on end.
Pulling the sheets off the bed Dean proceeded to tear them apart. The sound of ripping material and his own ragged breathing filling the awful silence that should have been filled with him and Sam discussing the hunt or girls or just bantering with each other.
When the sheets were a pile of messy strips all over the room Dean turned and lashed out at a wall. He kicked and punched it hard, barely feeling the pieces of flimsy plywood imbedding themselves into his hands. Dean turned so he could slide down the wall. He crumpled on the ground and laughed at the pieces of jagged plywood in his hands.
Grabbing one of the bigger pieces he pulled it out slowly reveling in the pain. It splintered and broke away under his skin as he pulled it out. Dean stood up again as another wave of grief took hold of him, making him throw the mattresses off the beds.
Dean smiled when he tripped over his bag. He opened it, not wanting to touch it much as if it would burn him. It was his things. Things that belonged to him and were therefore like him. Dean shuddered with self hatred. He pulled out his favourite Metallica t-shirt, the one covered in blood stains. Dean had to close his eyes against the sudden wave of nausea. It's all your fault, you killed him. If you hadn't been so fucking slow, so clumsy, so stupid it might have been you and not him. You killed him! You killed Sammy! With a tight grip on the t-shirt Dean ripped the worn material in half.
Jumping to his feet he emptied the contents of his bad and threw it around the room. He hated it. He hated everything that was his. But most of all he hated himself.
A glint of metal caught his eye and he noticed the knife he usually slept with on the floor in the middle of the room. Well maybe he didn't hate everything. This object looked promising.
Sam pulled up out the front of an old red brick motel. He jumped out of the car he had stolen and ran to the front desk. He was greeted by a young teenage girl who sat slumped in her chair with her feet on the desk. She was chewing on bubble gum and reading a girl magazine. Her was hair in high pigtails and her lips covered in bright pink lipstick. She didn't even raise her eyes as Sam entered the room.
"Hey. I'm Officer Taylor. I'm looking for a man who might have come here earlier tonight. He's about six one, mid twenties, brown hair, green eyes. He might have been with a brunette girl. You haven't checked anyone with that description in here have you?" Sam asked trying to keep his tone calm despite his anxiousness.
The girl didn't even bother to look up from her magazine. She just blew another gum bubble and shrugged as a reply.
Sam fumed. This girl was trying his patience, "Please Miss, we have reason to believe this man is armed and extremely dangerous." Sam tried to appeal to her sense of security. The girl just shrugged so Sam continued, "He's wanted in twenty states for raping and murdering young girls like yourself. Please did anyone fitting that description check in here? Or a tall brunette woman, who could pass for a model?" He tried and kicked himself mentally for saying things like that about Dean, because his brother would never do anything like that.
This caught the girl's attention and she tore her eyes away from an article she had been reading about Brad Pitt, "Nah sorry. No one like that checked in here tonight that I know of. You could try ol' Bill's place. It's just a mile or so down the road there. They have a killer bar around the corner. If I was some psycho I'd go there to hold up. It's very out of the way and not many tourists know 'bout it." She said pointing down the road.
The girl's eyes met Sam for the first time and grew wide. The young guy in front of her looked like hell, he was covered in blood, pale and seemed generally exhausted, "Oh my god! Mr do you want me to call you an ambulance?"
But the girl didn't get an answer as Sam bolted out the door and jumped into the stolen car. He gripped the steering wheel for a few seconds trying to compose himself. He was going to find Dean. He would be at the next hotel, Sam just knew it. He hadn't know about Bill's place and was glad he had gotten that bit of information because the other hotel he was going to try was another half an hour in the opposite direction. Taking a deep breath Sam skidded out of the driveway hard and tore off down the road.
Dean held knife against his wrist and exhaled loudly. It would be so easy, just a flick of his wrist. Then he could see Sammy and his Mom again. He could end all this pain. He laughed despite himself.
He was never going to see Sam or his Mom again. If there was a Heaven and a Hell, his Mom and Sam would be in Heaven. He, on the other hand, would end up in Hell. For killing his brother. At least there would be things to hunt. Although in Hell he would probably end up the hunted instead of the hunter. And God only knows how many pissed of creatures were down there waiting for him.
Dean was just about to end it when he realized something. His father. Sure he was going to hate him but he should at least know what had happened. At least he wouldn't be left hanging like Dean had been when John had deserted him. Dean lowered the blade and crawled to where the bedside table was. He remembered putting his phone there when he had come in.
It took him a little while to find it under all the feathers and torn up sheets but when he did he stared at it. '2 missed calls'. Dean checked the number, he didn't recognize it so he ignored it. Probably just someone who wants us to do a job. Well there was no way in hell he was going to do another job now. He had done his last job. He was out.
Sitting on his knees Dean dialed in his father's number and waited until the familiar voce message came through. Dean waited for the beep and then in a voice as stable as he could muster it he began to speak, "Hey Dad, it's me. Umm, something, something happened. It's Sammy. I-," Deans voice broke into a small squeak, unable to try and keep his tone calm any longer, "I tried to stop it, but it, it happened so fast Dad. Sammy, he, his. He didn't, umm. Oh god Dad, he didn't make it." He rushed out in one breath, "I'm so sorry Dad. I couldn't stop it. It's all my fault, oh god his dead because of me!"
Dean broke down completely. Sobbing uncontrollably into the phone, "Oh god Dad. I-I don't know w-what to d-do! I'm so s-sorry. Oh god! Christ it s-should h-have been m-m-me! I'm going to m-make it me! Goodbye D-dad, I'm sorry." Dean choked out and hang up the phone. The call had just cemented it in his mind. He knew what he had to do.
Sam sped down the road as fast as he could without losing control of the crappy car he had boosted. He saw a small neon sign saying 'Bill's Place' flashing up ahead. He cursed under his breath when Dean still didn't answer his phone.
The idea had come to Sam like the bullet from a gun. How could he have been so stupid! Call Dean. Call him and let him know you're okay. Maybe, just maybe if Dean picked up the phone Sam could convince him that he is okay. But in his heart he knew that if Dean had picked up the phone it would have just freaked him out hearing his supposedly dead brother on the other line.
Hitting the re-dial button Sam held the phone hard against his ear. This time he was met with a beeping, letting him know that Dean was using his phone. Sam's heart almost jumped out of his throat. If Dean was using the phone he was still alive! Sam still had time.
Slamming on the breaks Sam skidded into the driveway of the hotel like a bat out of hell. Dean would be proud of his very non-nanna-ish driving. That or he would be pissed that Sam was driving like a crazy person and putting himself in danger. Sam guessed a little of both.
Leaving the car on Sam jumped out and ran to the front desk as fast as his battered body would let him. Behind the old desk was an elderly lady who looked to be around 70.
Sam gave the most sincere smile he could manage, "Excuse me ma'am. I'm Officer Taylor. I'm looking for a man who might have checked in here last night or early this morning. He's around six one, short brown hair, green eyes. He's in his mid twenties. He might have checked in with a tall brunette woman. Can you think of anyone fitting that description?"
The old lady looked up at Sam, her eyes wide as they took in the ragged appearance of the young man in front of her, "Are you okay Officer?" she asked, concern clearly in her voice.
"Yeah I'm fine. But please, it's really important I find this man. You haven't checked in anyone with that appearance have you ma'am?" Sam replied trying not to snap at the old lady.
She contemplated what he had said for a second and then nodded, "Yeah I remember a young brunette woman checking her cousin in here last night. She drove a big black car. He was out cold in the passenger seat and she said that he had had too much to drink so they needed a place to stay. Very nice young girl, very pretty. I checked them into room 305. Is this anything I should be worried about?" she asked slowly.
Sam's heart made another leap out his throat. Dean was here. He'd found him. He was going to be okay, "No. Could I please have the spare key to the room ma'am? I need to speak with this man urgently."
"Sure thing Officer." She said handing him, "There you go. The room's just around the back. On your left."
Sam nodded thanks, took the key and bolted from the small room. He jumped back into the car and sped around the back row of rooms.
Dean grabbed his knife and headed into the small bathroom. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and threw up the contents of his empty stomach. The acid burned his throat as he spat. He wiped his mouth nonchalantly and stood up on wobbly legs.
Gripping the sides of the sink he stared into the mirror. The person in the mirror looked like him, yet was not him. His skin was a pale yellow, his eyes puffy and bloodshot. He generally looked sick. Looking down at his hands he saw they were still covered in Sam's blood. He grabbed the small coarse soap, turned on the tap and scrubbed hard at his hands. The blood came off but to Dean it was still there. He still felt dirty.
A new thought came to the elder Winchester as he stood and grasped the sink for dear life with his now wet hands. The dreams he had been having. Were they a warning of what had happened? Each one he had lost Sam in and now he really had lost Sam. They must have been some form of warning. Maybe Sam wasn't the only one who had dreams of what was going to happen.
Why had he ignored them? There was clearly something not right with them to begin with. Maybe that was it. He had ignored the warning signals and lost Sam because of that. It was his fault.
This 'discovery' brought a new wave of guilt and grief onto the already guilty Winchester. He should have told Sam about the dreams! He should have let his fucking walls down, swallowed his pride and maybe none of this would have happened. He had failed his brother twice now. He could have prevented it! He was sure of that.
But then what about Sam's vision? Had the boy seen his own death? He had been pretty shaken by it. Oh god, had he known what was going to happen but went on the hunt anyway? This new thought made Dean fly his fist at the mirror. Shards of broken glass entered his already battered hands.
Dean let out a yelp of pain and defeat and slumped to the ground. He looked around him, tears in his eyes. He could have stopped it. He could have stopped it all. He should have never pulled Sam away from Stanford. He should have never let the boy take up hunting again. He should have told Sam about his dreams. He should have made Sam tell him about his vision. He should have, he should have done something.
But he had been selfish. He had wanted Sammy all to himself again. He was to happy to have his little brother back with him that he had ignored the signs that it could cost him Sammy all together, as it had now done.
Dean Winchester broke completely. No longer able to sustain the weight of the guilt on his shoulders. Of pain in his heart he reached for his knife and a long shard broken mirror on the ground. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He would do this last thing. Then it would all be over. The pain would stop, the guilt would stop. He would stop.
Taking the piece of broken mirror Dean held it against his wrist. With a shaking hand he cut deep into his skin, hitting the veins, letting the blood flow, "I'm sorry Sammy." He mumbled before switching the mirror into the other hand.
Sam pulled the car up hard. He didn't even wait for it to roll back into a stopped position before he jumped off and ran to room 305. He noticed the Impala glistening in all her glory out the front of his brother's room. Taking a deep breath, trying to prepare him for what he might see, Sam put the key in the lock and opened the door.
Hey! So, What'd you think? Boring, funny angsty, crap? Please let me know as I'm not to sure about what I really thought about this chapter. I know it's not some of my best work. If I had to describe it in one word, I'd use 'Primitive'. I think it lacked something, but I just can't put my finger on it. But anyway let me know what you think, I'm hoping to reach, umm, 70 reviews :) That's 12 from what I have now. Hope it's not to big to ask but you know, the more reviews I get the faster the chapters come up, and I'm sure you brilliant people can muster 12 reviews or more ;) Thanks guy's and until then!
Mishka xXx
