He watched as the lifeless body dropped to the floor in front of him, like a rag doll. All he does is smile a cold, evil smile down at the foolish man who had tried to stop him, even got a few good stabs in. Literally. There were three stab wounds in his stomach, but they were no reason for worry. He was no mere human after all. At least he wasn't anymore.
His gaze lingered on the man he had just murdered a while longer, the pathetic, weak, being inside him screaming at him to save the man. He scoffed, then turned around and started towards the door. Steps away from the door, he stopped, doubled over, and placed a hand on his forehead.
'No' He thought. 'They can't. His head felt as though it would explode as Latin words and rituals filled his mind. He fell to his knees as the words stopped, as the pain left his head. He sat a moment staring down at the fresh stab wounds as they started to bleed. Blood. That only meant one thing. He was back to his old self.
He sat in the protective circle, staring down at the old book in his hands, opened to a Latin ritual, the same ritual he had just recited, the same ritual that would give him his brother back. Well, in a sense. He wouldn't have his brother safe and sound in his arms as soon as he liked, the demon had made sure of that, but his brother would be himself again. The same little brother he had grown up with and loved with all his heart, not the evil bastard those things had changed him into.
He looked up as the demon snickered.
"You just made a big mistake." It mocked, then vanished, leaving him alone in the small apartment. He really hadn't liked the tone of it's voice.
He had gone from his knees to his back in a matter of seconds, and from total awareness to 'what the hell is going on?". He didn't know where he was... or more like he couldn't remember where he was. He only knew four things at the moment. It was dark, he was cold, he was alone, and he was dying.
The older brother sat back on his knees, his mind running through a whole list of ideas of what the demon could have meant. The only possibility he kept coming back to was, what if his brother had been hurt? He knew that the demons could heal themselves, but not right away. It took a few minutes, and what if those few minutes were not on his brother's side that night. He had no idea where his brother was, and wouldn't be able to help him. And that was what scared the older brother the most.
He was scared. He didn't want to be there anymore. He wanted to go home. His home was different from others. His home was sitting in the passenger seat of the '67 Chevy Impala, his brother sitting next to him. From the looks of it, he would never be home again. He could feel Death tugging at him. He didn't want to die, not yet at least. Maybe he would want to go back to school, maybe not. Maybe have a family, maybe not. He had a long list of 'maybe, maybe not's' but there were two surefire things he wanted. He wanted to kill the demon, send it back to hell where it belonged, but more then anything; he wanted to see his brother.
Suddenly, he was hit with something, and hard. Some sort of impulse, telling him to go, to run, to hurry. Without a second's hesitation, he leaped to his feet and darted out the door.
Every second it got darker and darker, colder and colder, more painful and more painful. He knew he deserved it. Every minute of suffering, he deserved. He had killed innocent people, their only mistakes being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He deserved the worst death possible; he didn't deserve to live. Not him. So he gave in, he gave up. He stopped fighting, and let the pain and darkness wash over him. It would be over soon.
He ran. Down the block, across the street, through the insane mobs of people, he ran. The destination was unknown. All he knew was the voice, telling him to get there before it was too late.
He was hovering. He was in the middle, the crossroads, the intersection... of Life and Death. In the direction of Life was darkness and despair. In the direction of Death, was a simple light. Good or bad light, he didn't know, but there was only one way to find out.
Another impulse. "Stop!" It yelled. So he did. He came to a sudden halt, looking around at his surroundings for the first time. There wasn't much. Deserted buildings, mostly. The one he had stopped in front of was an old, tri-level library with big double doors, and wide, open windows. "Hurry." The voice was back, and he listened. He barged through the large mahogany doors as easily as he would toothpicks, then started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping he wouldn't be too late.
He had stopped again. He was now three fourths of the way there. There were voices and soft whisperings of his name coming from Death's gate. Up close the light look good, inviting, warm, safe. More then anything he wanted to run through the gates and let it all be over, but there was something stopping him. A voice, telling him to just wait, to hold on. The voice sounded so familiar, but he couldn't remember who the voice belonged to. He sighed, looking from the right to left, looking from Life to Death. Finally he decided Death, then without another glance back, turned down the path, ignoring the frantic shouts coming from the other way.
He leaped over the two remaining steps leading to the third floor, then, following what the voice told him to do, ran to the right. The room he came to was large and filled with many stacks of old books. Cautiously, he walked through the stacks through the stacks, shouting his brother's name, telling him to hold on, wanting nothing more then to find the boy, and go home. He hadn't been home in over six months and his heart ached for it. That was the only thing that had kept him going, the ache for the home he one had, and the hope to one day be there again.
It was dark in the room, causing him to nearly miss the shivering form lying in between stacks thirteen and fourteen. He stood frozen, staring down at the bloodied form. Finally the realization of him finally finding his brother hit him, hard, and in a split second he was on knees next to the boy, pulling him into his arms.
He was there. He was finally there, standing in front of Death's Gate, when he felt the touch, when he heard the soothing whispers. The touch, the voice, they felt safe, comforting, even more so then the heavenly, peaceful place in front of him. It told him that maybe, just maybe, if he were to go back, that everything would be okay, that he wouldn't be alone anymore. He had a choice to make, choosing Death meant all suffering would end, and he could finally be happy, right? Life, well, was life. There would be pain and suffering, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he wouldn't be alone, the voice was there, and maybe he could find his brother. Death seemed peaceful, calming, safe, but it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like home, and that was really where he wanted to be. He took one last look at the heavenly world in front of him, just two steps away, turned on his heels and started running, running as fast as he could towards the voice, towards home, towards Life.
He didn't want to set his baby brother down. He didn't want to ever let go of him again, but he had to, and he knew that. Just for a minute of course. He had to call and ambulance, his brother's wounds were really deep and most definitely fatal, and the younger boy wasn't even responsive, and was barely breathing, so hesitantly, he set the boy down, back onto the cold floor, silently promising to be back soon.
They were gone. The touch and the voice were gone, making the younger brother run faster and faster. They couldn't leave, not now. He needed to know who they belonged to, if he knew the person or not.'No, please no. Don't leave' The words ran through his head as he took the last few steps towards the life he once knew.
He had to go stand near a window to get good reception in the old dump the people of the town called a library. He kept shooting glances towards his brother. He thought he heard the younger boy whimper the first sign of life he had given his older brother all night.
"Okay sir, just sit tight, emergency vehicles are on their way right now." And with that the woman hung up. He shut his phone, taking a deep breath, then looked up. He was surprised when what he saw was another lifeless, bloody body, a sharp, blood covered hunting knife lying inches away. He stared down at the body, knowing it had been his brother who had killed the man. He also knew his brother had no control over what he had done, but would still blame himself. The eldest Winchester brother sighed, not caring . He could deal with his brother's pain and guilt, help him overcome it, just as long as no one ever took the younger boy away from him ever again.
The older brother wasted no time. Dropping his already forgotten phone to the ground, he ran back to his brother, again hoisting him up, cradling the boy in his lap, rocking him gently.
The touch was back. The warmth, the feeling of safety. He sighed, smiling slightly, taking one last glance to the far away light, then began climbing his way out of the darkness. The pain started inching its way back into his body, making him want to drop, and give up. But he knew he couldn't. The voice was pleading him not leave, to just stay, to hold on.
It was all coming back now. The pain was almost unbearable; the only thing that kept him going was the soft voice, and the warm touch cradling him. He could feel a hand on his face, brushing back the long bangs off his forehead. He was nearly there. He could make out sounds, although very faint. He could almost see. There were dark shadows dancing around him. He drew in a long, deep breath, then pulled himself the rest of the way out of the darkness.
There was a sharp intake of breath, causing the older brother to jump. He at first thought there was an intruder, but then realized it had come from the limp form cradled in his arms. He quickly looked down at the younger boy's face, gripping his chin tightly, waiting, hoping, praying, for another sign of life.
It was an effort, a very painful effort, but he finally opened his eyes, wondering who it would be staring back down at him.
He had done it. Finally, his little brother had opened his eyes. It was the happiest moment he had experienced in the longest time. Seeing his brothers eyes for the first time in months, having them be the actual eyes of his baby brother, and not the eyes of that thing's that had been inside him, was enough to bring tears to his own eyes. The younger boy stared up at him, breathing a relieved smile, his breath getting caught in his throat.
"Hey." His little brother spoke one word, his voice pain laced and broken, but that one word was sweeter to the older brother's ears then his favorite Led Zeppelin song.
It was his brother; all along it had been his brother. The soft voice, the calming touch, it had been his brother. How the older boy had found him he didn't know and he didn't care. He stared down at him, tears streaming down his face. It was a rare sight to see his older brother cry, and usually he couldn't stand it, but he had a feeling that these where simply tears of joy, not sorrow or anger. A moment later, his older brother was pulling him tighter into his chest, pressing his cheek onto the younger boy's forehead. The youngest Winchester leaned into the show of affection and let himself be rocked and held. He smiled to himself, pressing his face even closer into his older brother's chest, as he heard emergency vehicles approaching in the distance.
It had been a long, depressing six months. There had been anger and sorrow for both brothers, there had been the longing for the comfort they both had when they were together. They didn't know what was to come in the future, at the moment they didn't care, at the moment it didn't matter. They were finally safe. They were finally together. They were finally home.