Chapter Seven
"So what did you do that piece of crap car of yours that's keeping you from coming? I swear you drive like a soccer-mom sometimes."
Dean's expression is one of shock as he opens his mouth to retaliate.
"What the hell! We've been hauling ass all day to get there-"
"It does NOT take that long to get here and the only accident that I heard of was cleared up hours ago" Sakari says, irritation in her voice once again.
"You ever hear of rubbernecking? God, we'll get there, just stop bitching already…" Dean grumbles.
A short pause follows and the only sound heard is the soft purr of the engine. He hears a sigh into the phone and Sakari finally says "Look, you're not the only one losing sleep over this. Just get here and I'll fill you in."
"You think you've figured it out?" he asks.
"Almost. I can't tell you now, you need to-"
She abruptly stops, nothing but silence greeting Dean's ears.
"Sakari?"
Nothing. He adjusts the phone in his hand, ignoring the piercing stare Sam has been giving him for the past five minutes.
"Dean…" she softly answers, her voice wavering.
"What is it?" throwing a filthy look at Sam, trying to get him to stop staring.
"Someone…someone's listening," her response hesitant.
A small shiver runs up and down Dean's spine and he straightens up in the seat, biting his lip. He starts to press on the accelerator, paying no attention to the speed limit.
"Who?" he slowly asks, his lips barely moving.
Silence.
"S-Sakari?" he stutters, fear clawing at his insides. Tension filled seconds crawl by as he waits with baited breath.
God not her, not now…
"Shi-"she mumbles. A faint crackling comes from her end, and she whispers, "call Ayden."
"Call…? Wait, Sakari-!" he nearly shouts into the phone, causing Sam to jump in surprise.
A familiar click sounds and he snaps his phone shut, balling his hand into a fist around it.
"Shit..."he hisses under his breath, flooring the gas pedal as they roar down the back road.
"Dean they have speed limits for a reason" Sam says, his teeth gritted and his hands clutching at the seat and door handle as Dean makes a particularly violent turn. The screeching of tires fills the airs and he jerks at the steering wheel and thrusts his phone in front of Sam.
"Take it!" Dean spits out, voice raised. Sam does as he's told, terrified at Dean's driving on this little road. "Go to contacts and dial Ayden, he should be the third or fourth entry in there."
Sam obliges and hands the phone back to Dean who snatches it out of his hands.
"Dean what's going on?" Sam questions, concerned at his brother's reaction and for this Sakari.
"I don't know Sam," worry in his voice. The phone rings a couple times when it finally picks up.
"Hello?" a stern male voice answers.
"Ayden get over to Sakari's now, something's going down over there" Dean yells, hoping that he can get there in time. "I don't know who or what it is but-"
"I'm on it" Ayden replies, quickly hanging up. Dean closes his phone once again and throws it onto the seat, placing both hands on the steering wheel as trees and houses speed by.
Ayden, if you truly are good, you won't let them touch her...
He does not recall how it is he came to be here. He does not know how long he has been lying here on the floor, his cheek resting on the blood soaked hardwood floor. His blood, pouring from the wounds covering his skin. An annoying buzzing fills his ears; it's excruciating. He fears that his head will split open any moment now, perhaps bringing relief along with spilling his brains onto the floor. A minute and twisted grin appears on his face as he envisions the reaction from whoever it is that would find him in such a state. He lets himself lay there for a another minute, allowing his body a small amount of rest before he attempts the excruciating task of pushing himself up off the wet, red floor.
Why the hell is he here?
He slides his right arm back and starts to lift himself off the floor, his arms shaking from under the weight of his own body. As he straightens his elbows his hand slips out from under him, bringing his head to the floor with a sickening crack. He gasps in pain and his eyes start to water, multicolored spots screwing with his vision. He feels a tingling sensation in his throat and tastes a metallic essence in his mouth. He spits up blood, and plants his hand down to try the gruesome task of standing up again. He feels the sticky substance trickle down his chin to his neck, staining his already blemished shirt even further. He brings himself to full height at last, and feels the wind knocked out of him. The room starts to spin and his head feels as though it will be crushed from the pressure; he grabs at his head, expecting to find a vice clamped across his head. He falls to one knee and closes his eyes, waiting for the sudden bout of vertigo and the pounding in his ears to pass. He pants heavily and tries to focus, attempting to recollect his thoughts. He grits his teeth and pulls his hands away from his head, feeling a sick warmth on them. He slowly erects himself once more, careful to keep himself from slipping again and looks at his blood covered hands. He simply stares at them, and a flash hits him like a lightening bolt; a blow to the head, a swift kick to the abdomen and a blow to the temple before he's thrown into the wall.
He remembers now.
Rough hands grab at his jacket and yank him to his feet; a forehead is slammed into his own. He remembers falling, falling into the glass. He remembers it shattering under the impact and piercing his skin, the back of his neck hitting the frame of the table, feeling himself spinning out of consciousness.
But how he got to the kitchen he does not know. He couldn't have possibly moved there by himself in this state. Ignoring the pounding in his ears and the weakness in his knees, he begins the arduous journey to the foyer. Flicking on a light switch as he shuffles past it, he places a hand to the wall to steady himself. He drags one foot after another, cursing himself for getting into this mess. He reaches the foyer and takes a quick glance, surprised to find everything intact.
Then as he shifts his body to go the other way, the lights flicker, static coming from the stereo in the living room.
His midnight eyes widen and he limps as fast as he can to the large room at the west end of the house, his heart racing. He steps into the room and his jaw drops slightly in shock. There on the opposite wall, is the rough sketching of…something. And dripping from this depiction is an all-too-familiar red liquid.
"What the…" he murmurs.
He barely registers the smashing noise when someone breaks in through the front door. They're screaming two names, but he cannot make out whom. His head is spinning again, stars flashing before his eyes, and he feels himself fall to the floor once again. As he lies on the floor just as he did mere moments ago, he sees something shimmering to his side. He reaches out and grabs it, picking it up clumsily. He brings it closer to his face and feels something sharp poke his finger. Surprised, he holds it up to the dim light and sees a small syringe. Inside it remains a tiny amount of a shiny, almost mercury-like substance.
Silver…
He drops it and lets it clatter to the floor, feeling someone grab his aching shoulders. His head swimming, he sees a familiar face, worry plastered all over it.
"Winchester…?" he mumbles, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.
Dean lets out a tiny nervous laugh and shakes him lightly.
"Hey Ayden man, stay with us" Dean says.
Ayden tries to point to the syringe at the elder Winchester's knee. Dean sees it and picks it up, scrutinizing it closely.
"Ayden, what-"
"Silver…" he whispers.
Dean looks angry now.
"Who the hell did this to you? And where's Sakari?" Dean asks, rage evident in his voice.
Ayden gives in and shuts his weary eyes, opening his mouth one more time to say to Dean, "see you in a few…"
And he lets himself be taken by the darkness, his cheek pressed against the cool linoleum floor.