A/N: Ahh, bless you all for reviewing... My brief sojourn into No-Self-Confidenceland has now abated and I feel really guilty for leaving you with a cliffie. So seeing as I'm going to be at work for a very long time today, here's a short chapter to resolve it... Oh and I'm sorry if you got two alerts as I did it a bit wrong first time round... D'oh. Computers eh?
This is actually as far as I've typed, so I'll try not to leave the next update too long!
Chapter Three
Okay, don't panic, Dean told himself, trying to remember the calming breathing techniques his Dad had taught him, the counting to ten, the…
Hell, who was he kidding? Right now, he couldn't even think how to count to five.
Sammy screamed again, again crying out his brother's name, but this time biting off the last letter with an hysterical sob.
God, Sammy, Dean thought. What's it doing to you?
Dean didn't know what 'it' was exactly. But right then, he didn't need to. All he needed to know was that the thing was hurting his brother, and that was enough.
Sammy let out another blood-curdling scream.
And that did the trick.
It was as if something in Dean's brain just went 'click'. And then he knew exactly what he had to do.
Sprinting for his own room, he almost tripped over the pillow he'd discarded on the floor minutes earlier, hurdling over it just in time to avoid smashing his head against the window frame.
"There's more than one way to get into a locked room, Dean," he heard his Dad telling him sagely, as with trembling fingers he grabbed hold of the window frame and attempted to shove up the sash.
But the window, like Sam's door, refused to give it up that easily, a new summer coat of paint causing it to stick stubbornly, resolutely resisting Dean's valiant attempts to throw it open.
"Come on!" Dean swore under his breath, slamming his hand under the frame and pushing for all he was worth. "Dammit, you want me to smash your ass?"
As if in response, he heard the paint around the frame crack, and the sash gave up all of a couple of inches.
But that was enough.
Encouraged, Dean shoved some more, bracing his already-tired legs and trying not to notice the soreness in his hands or the pounding in his head, as with a sudden whoosh that almost sent him into an unintentional two-storey nosedive, the window finally opened all the way.
Sticking his head out, Dean made a quick assessment of his options – which amounted to window-ledge-don't fall – before hauling himself out onto the sloping roof of the porch beneath his room.
Sneakers struggling for purchase on the slick tiles, for a second he just clung to the window frame like an over-sized limpet, before the sound of Sammy's renewed screaming galvanised him into action, drowning out the terror, the uncertainty and the cold, hard dread attempting to lay claim to his chest and forcing him to concentrate on edging slowly towards his goal.
Six feet didn't seem like much when you were sneaking along a hallway; but when you were attempting to play Spider-Man on the side of a building fifteen feet up with only hard concrete to break any potential fall, it felt like miles.
Dean may as well have been trying to crawl over broken glass to Canada.
Don't look down, don't look down… his little voice urged, for once attempting to be helpful. Unfortunately, his feet chose that moment to be just the opposite, slipping on a loose tile and sending him sliding down the roof until his foot caught in the guttering and halted his momentum with a bone-jarring crunch.
Grabbing onto the decorative joint between two sections of tiling so tight his fingers ached, Dean took a deep breath to steady himself before pulling himself carefully back up towards the side of the house, feet planted firmly sideways in an attempt to avoid any further slippage.
Reaching out a trembling hand, he had never been so happy to feel rough wood cutting into his fingers as when he finally managed to make a grab for Sammy's window frame.
Hauling himself up to the glass, he paused suddenly, almost afraid to look inside, terrified that he might see something far, far worse than his kid brother thrashing around in the throes of a terrible nightmare.
Taking another deep breath, he carefully peered over the window ledge and into Sammy's room, steeling himself for the worst, his anxious glance despite his best efforts drawn immediately to the ceiling before he dared look anywhere else.
No-one on the ceiling.
No flames.
So far so good.
Although the room was unlit, the spectacular sunset behind Dean's shoulder was enough to throw a little illumination into the darkened room, enough that he could just make out Sammy thrashing around in the bed, hair matted to his pale forehead in sweaty clumps as the little boy's hands clutched and unclutched at his bedclothes convulsively.
"Sammy…" Dean muttered, fingers finding the bottom of the sash as the Big Brother Instinct immediately drowned out all his other senses.
So much so, that it was only when he had the window open a good few inches he noticed the dark shape standing over his brother's bed.
His breath catching in his throat as his muscles instinctively tensed, Dean found himself trapped smack bang in the middle of the classic fight or flight conundrum. While his own sense of self-preservation told him to run like hell before he was seen by an unidentified enemy, his sense of duty to his brother screamed at him to get the hell through that window and get whatever that thing was the hell away from Sammy.
It was really no contest.
"I'm coming, Sammy," he whispered, shoving open the window as hard and as fast as he could in the hope that, without weapons, at least he might have the element of surprise on his side.
Not for the first time that day, he cursed the fact that the only thing Uncle Ian expressly forbade them bringing from their apartment was the shotgun.
Forcing himself quickly through the open window, Dean stopped suddenly, one foot in and one foot out, as the first proper look he got inside the room almost froze the blood in his veins.
The dark shape standing over Sammy's bed wasn't a demon, or a spirit, a Shtriga or a Succubus.
The thing standing over Sammy's bed was Uncle Ian.
And just for a split second, Dean would have sworn the guy's eyes were totally, completely white. No iris. No pupil. Just white.
Ian's eyes locked with Dean's and the former blinked.
And when his eyes re-opened, they were their usual hazel.
The two of them just stared at each other.
For one long moment that seemed to last an hour.
And then Sammy was crying, able to get out only one word between huge gulping sobs.
"Dean?"
Dean was through the window and at his brother's bedside before Ian had even properly registered he was in the room, climbing up onto the bed and pulling Sammy into a hug so tight, Dean actually thought he might break the kid.
But no way he was letting go.
"It's okay, Sammy," he said, stroking the boy's sodden hair with trembling fingers, eyes never leaving their Uncle's. "You're okay now. You're safe."
Whilst Dean wasn't entirely convinced of the accuracy of this last statement, he knew that Sam needed to hear it. "You're safe."
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Kinda short, but hopefully not too mushy! Reviews welcome - but no threats this time!
