Chapter 15
Dean groaned loudly, lifting his head a bit as his eyes fluttered open, or so he thought. The cool stone floor beckoned his fever-hot skin, and he slowly lowered his head back down onto it letting the numbing cold ease his throbbing skull and sweaty body.
His eyes half-lid, he worked to make out his surroundings. To say his stone prison was dark would be the understatement of the century. The black veil that held the room captive was thick, preventing anything and everything from being seen. Dean turned a well-trained ear and concentrated hard to locate even the faintest sound.
Confident that Father Freak or any of his fellow psychotics weren't around, Dean pressed his palms firmly against the floor and took a deep breath before pushing himself up. Jerkily, he managed to get his knees under him and sighed with relief when he gained enough strength to stand. Damn, I feel old.
He didn't get very far in the motion, a sharp tug to his wrist and the taunt quiver of metal wrenched him backwards and completely off of his almost non-existent balance. Dean's shaky breathing halted completely as he braced his body for the impending fall and he drew blood as his teeth broke skin working to stifle the scream that ravaged his body as the dull thud of flesh on stone broke the silence.
"Son. Of. A. Bitch." Dean gasped, fighting against his bonds, the metal tearing into his wrist.
Giving them a sharper tug, he determined they had to be latched onto a wall or some object that lay behind him. Great, I would get the kinky priest. Positioning himself into the best version of a sit he could manage, Dean slowly began to scoot backwards towards the chain's origin. A small cry fled his lips when he rammed into a wall of some sort, the sharp stone bruising his back. OW!
Methodically, Dean rested his head against the wall, rolling it back and forth and shifting his weight until he found a place where the rocks didn't bore into his skull. He ended up in a half-slumped sit, the chains that bound him clanking out his captivity with each movement of his anxious hands until finally the clamoring noise became too much for his pounding head to handle and he had no choice but to set them idly in his lap. This sucks.
Time spun on, although completely irrelevant and he sat, mesmerized by the swallowing darkness and the shaky rise and fall of his congested chest forcing out each tired exhale and sharp inhale.
His prison quarters seemed to stretch for endless miles with each passing breath. The boundaries hidden by blackened shields bending and breaking, taunting him with a way out, a way back to Sam---a way he was unable to take. He was losing, had lost, and failed the one sure thing in his entire life, the one thing that summed up his entire pathetic existence.
Sam was his coming and going, his reason to fight, to persevere, to act strong and play the hero, to protect, to simply breathe. Dean didn't have anything to call his own, he knew that. There wasn't a single possession that didn't hold a bullet, or a sharp edge that bore his personal signature. Way it should be, dammit! I'm not a chic so why the hell am I acting like one?
But, still, his brother was blood, a bond that would never be changed, mangled, or broken throughout even the worse of deaths. And Dean had prepared him for such a death. He'd been the one to train when his dad was absent, to condition Sam's mind and mold it into the hunter he should be, and was. He'd overcooked the oatmeal, and fought the dripping wet toddler seeking exile from the tub. He'd read the stories, and he'd tucked him in. He'd done it all and Sam depended on him, maybe still did.
And that made Sam his to some extent. Sam relied on him for food, shelter, and comfort. He'd come to big brother for any problem, seeking his council over anyone else's, including their father's. Sam was his to protect and guide and offer some sense of normality too.
All was good until he'd left, the one thing Dean clung to more than oxygen had abandoned him. But he'd come back and that was enough for the moment. Although, all the reconciliation in the world couldn't, and wouldn't patch up the tattered remains of the past two years spent in absolute silence between them. They'd missed too much, and grown up too much. Too different. But a lot alike. Huh…
Dean blinked away the burning wetness filling his eyes. The pain of that horrible day was more than enough to rip his heart out, but it paled next to the agony of knowing he'd never being able to tell his brother what he'd really thought about the whole thing. How proud he'd been, and damn floored that his Sammy had done so well, and had dreams. Real dreams and ambitions that were unique only to Sam. And that was something Dean would never be able to indulge in himself. God, hell on earth if I'd have went off to school. If Sam thought Dad was mad when he left…sheesh.
Silently, he cursed his dad's and his own stubbornness, his pride, and his lack of expression regarding anything emotion-wise. His walls were tall, their foundation deep, and they had kept him safe through many of life's deserts and barren wastelands, but they'd also had prevented him from letting Sam in. He had denied his own brother access to what made him the best big brother ever, in his opinion..
His thoughts and ideas remained scribbled in a worn leather book, instead of finding their way to his brother's ear. He'd missed more opportunities than he even wanted to acknowledge to tell Sam about their mother. He should've, regardless of how tight the pain clenched his heart. His little brother deserved to know who she was, and how great she was. Why when she smiled the whole world seemed right, and even the shattered porcelain of her favorite figurines wasn't enough to make her stop loving you and she swore she always would.
He was losing, had lost, because now there was no way Sam would ever know. Dean couldn't even fathom a life without his brother, even when he'd left for school, the elder could wander there and watch, or call. Something. But this, this end, was final, unyielding. Damn, death makes whiny bitches of us all.
Sam was going to venture down a path that Dean, for once, couldn't tag along for the journey no matter how badly he wanted to. It was worse that Dean knew it wasn't Sam making the decision, it was someone else deciding to steal and manipulate something that wasn't rightfully his. That bastard.
A strong, hunter part of him screamed for him to fight, that the battle wasn't over, and that the tide could change. But the more Sam-like part of him, the reason and logical part of him calmly refuted that belief. He was chained to a wall, his brother was alone in the hotel, at least he was hours ago, and under some from of spell. No visible escape and no shroud of hope.
It was futile. All or any resistance to his current situation would only bring hurt and a deeper sense of agony when all came to a crashing halt but still he couldn't stop. He was trained to fight and protect and that outweighed every thing else.
Furiously, Dean wrestled with the chains, his fingers moving desperately, searching within the dark for some weakness in the metal bonds. He twisted, pulled, and jerked until his arms were damp with a substance he could not see, but knew to be blood. The coppery smell was easily recognizable. Stop, Dean, stop. Think this is bad? Talk about living hell if you couldn't touch anything and everything ever again. Exploring's half the fun anyway.
Dean grit his teeth, One more try, andyanked harder before letting out a angry cry to the walls that encased him, to the evil that had sought him out and hurt his family, and to whatever good that existed in the world for shunning him, ignoring him as he and his family strove onward ridding the walking hell-wrought menaces from the earth and above all for letting his brother walk blindly to his death.
His guttural rant was shut off by the creaking and groaning off in the distance followed by the dancing orbs of bright light that found him, eyes wide in anger and bloody fists clenched. Dean blinked as the blinding rays hit his eyes and turned his head away from it and the figures that wielded them until his vision could adjust. Great, now I'm blind.
Dean rolled his head slowly back towards the direction of the lights and waited until the priests were mere inches from his prone form before bucking forward and kicking out his legs manically. A smug grin plastered on his face as felt the jarring of bone and the yelp of pain from one of the three. Take that, stupid asshole. Friggen dogs know better than to mess with Dean Winchester.
His victory was short-lived. Firm hands gripped his legs at the knee their fingers digging in around the bone as they forced them to the ground with a dull thud. Dean struggled against the two men, who were obviously Father Andrew's sidekicks, as they held fast but they merely bore down on him harder with each movement and he had no choice but to succumb. Easy on the merchandise, fellas…
"Judging from all that screaming and kicking, I assume you're glad to see us." The deep voice clipped, and Dean didn't have to work his brain too much to know it was the crazy ass priest himself.
"Yeah, just tell me you were smart and didn't lose the key. Would hate for some church member to wander down here and find me all chained up and get the wrong idea. Priests and all, you know," Dean mocked, rattling the chains as he turned to face his captor down. No, seriously, 'cause these things are a bitch.
"Clever. But I'd advise you that it would be in your best interest to keep your filth to yourself." Father Andrew chided, stooping over so his face was level to Dean's.
"And if I don't?" Dean pressed. I got to learn how to shut my mouth.
"You'll get to watch." The priest rose to his full height, and watched the mix of emotions cloud the young captive's face. Oh that's brutal.
"Do I have to pay full price or can I get a discount since it's my brother your killing?" Dean joked, his only reason being he had no clue what else to do. Gonna have to wire it shut, is what I'm gonna have to do.
"Why don't you ask him? Seeing as he is to be the main attraction." Father Andrew taunted, his head tilting to the side as he studied Dean's face for a reaction.
"Would if I could, but I can't. You made sure of that." Dean stated heatedly, his eyes drifting to his bonds once again. Nonchalant…don't act desperate.
"But you can. Sam is here." Father Andrew's mouth twisted into a sneer at the revelation and the horror that claimed Dean's features.
"W-what?" Dean stuttered. Any chance at time to escape, to save his brother was gone. Sam had walked into their trap. Crap. Crap. Crap
"Yes. Shall I have Father Michael and Father Christopher bring him in?" The priest didn't wait for a reply, and Dean didn't give him the satisfaction of one. Father Andrew simply nodded to the two men holding Dean, and they understanding, released him and disappeared back into the dark.
Dean's body shivered in apprehension and fear of what awaited him when his brother was let in. He couldn't see him, but he could hear the two followers mumbling things to someone other than themselves, and make out three sets of footfalls. If they so much as hurt him, I'm gonna kill 'em.
He could've cried in relief when he saw his brother unmarred and just as Sam-like as ever, only he was Dean and simply didn't. Sam towered above him, dark hair mussed and clouding his eyes. The eyes Dean knew were empty, but comfort still existed in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to see them.
"We have things to attend to, brothers. Let us leave them. The last few real words spoken are always a comfort to those left behind." Father Andrew stated coolly, his white orbs meeting Dean's as he lowered his light to the ground and followed his brethren out.
"Sam." Dean muttered weakly, his chin dropping to his chest, "Sammy, I'm sorry."
"Why?" The question stung in Dean's ears. It was warm and so Sam. But it couldn't be, it had to be another game, just a cruel trick Andrew was playing. I'm gonna turn that dude into a eunuch. I swear to God…okay focus…Sammy…
"I can't stop it. You're g-gonna…" Dean drew in a rattle breath, and brushed a hand across his face, working to regain his composure and remind himself that he was doing this more for himself and his later infinite guilt trip, not for the shell that dared call itself his brother. "I'm gonna lose you, Sammy, and I can't even put up a fight."
"Yeah, but you're Dean. You always save the day." Sam replied nonchalantly, sinking down to the floor across from Dean and looking at him. Really seeing him, the eyes that were once so clouded and void were morphing, slowly softening and melting into the deep soulful pools of brown Dean knew so well. Oh God…please…
"Sammy?" Dean's voice held the quality of a whimper, hope intertwined as he watched his little brother shake his head, shut his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in the same way he did for every migraine or vision as he waited for release.
"D-dean?" Sam opened his eyes slowly, and blinked away the remnants of pain-induced blur. "Dean! Oh god, are you okay?" Stupid question, college boy.
"Hell of a lot better now." Dean murmured, wincing as his brother worked to free him from his bound. "They won't budge, Sammy."
"I can get it." Sam protested, pulling harder until Dean could feel the raw skin scraping off his wrist.
"Stop it, Sam, you're hurting me." Dean stated firmly, "Just stop."
"What happened, I mean, what…I was in the hotel, and then you were gone. You left, why'd you leave?" Sam sounded so young, and so confused that Dean could feel his heart crumbling.
"Sam, you're marked. You remember that?" Dean asked pointedly, but soothingly.
"Yeah." Sam mumbled. Yeah, I bet you do...the way you say it makes it just so believable.
"Well, Father Andrew, he---that bastard used that to take hold of you somehow. You weren't you. And I left to stop him before he could hurt you. He wants to kill you." Dean rambled, not sure if he was making sense, but by the size of his brother's eyes, he guessed he was. Something click, please!
"But I am me." Sam replied, clearly puzzled. Dammit! Use that massive brain of yours geek boy!
"You are now. He must've released you so he could prepare for the sacrifice. Or knew you were locked in so it's not like you could run off." Dean thought aloud. Or wanted to torture me further by letting see what I was gonna lose.
"Sacrifice? You mean, the murders." Sam questioned, trying to piece back the jumbled mess that was his memory. Now, you're getting it.
"Yeah, Sammy, 'cept they were sacrifices. Andrew and his psycho friends used the victims, the marked victims, as a sacrifice for immortality." Dean admitted, leaning wearily back onto the wall. We should so look into that one Sammy boy minus the freaky sacrifice stuff. I can't keep going through all this 'are you gonna die today' stuff.
"I knew." Sam muttered, "It-it was like I was there. But watching. I saw it."
"A nightmare. A vision?" I gotta call someone about those.
"Yeah." Sam nodded, turning pleading eyes to his brother, "What are we going to do Dean?"
"You have to fight it, Sammy. Andrew's using a chant or something from this old book, but I really don't see me getting my hands on that one. So, you have to do whatever you have to do to not give into it." Dean reasoned in his best authoritative "I'm the big brother do as I say" tone.
"What if I can't?" Sam asked fiercely, emotion breaking through each word, "What if I can't?"
"You can. And if worse comes to worse, I'll resort to saving your ass like I always do." Dean cracked a small smile, and was grateful that Sam returned the favor.
"Right." The younger stated disbelievingly, "Cause let's just forget all those times I was the one saving your's."
"Hey, you're four years behind, college boy." Dean retorted quickly. Although he is catching up. I should start a running tally.
"Maybe so, but at least I have a plan." Sam shot back, winking to his brother as he pushed himself off the floor and back into a standing position and grabbing the discarded flashlight from the ground. As always.
"Oh, really? Mind filling me in, here?" Dean asked to Sam's retreating form, "Sam? Sammy, where are you going? What are you doing? Come back here!" Listening 101. When big brother speaks, you stop everything and pay attention. Oh right, Sam slept through that lecture.
"I can't, Dean." Sam replied slowly, "He's coming, I can feel it. If I don't go now, we won't have a chance in hell."
"What am I supposed to do, sit here?" Dean argued, biting down on his tongue to prevent him from saying anything absolutely horrible in what could be his final seconds with his apparently insane little brother.
"No, you pissed Andrew off, remember? You get to watch." Sam stated matter-of-factly, as if the entire possibility of his older brother watching his demise was nothing more than spending a Saturday watching cartoons. Wonderful. Looking forward to it. This sucks.
"Sam, I—I, uh…"
"I know, Dean. Me too." Sam murmured before raising a fist and banging on entrance to the cell, summoning their captors.
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Alright there ya have it. Sorry it took a bit longer than i expected. Lots of things to hammer through, so thanx to HT for helping me out there! and uh...lemme know what you thought. The end is in sight...
