Title: The woods are lovely, dark and deep

Author: Wysawyg

Summary: Sam Winchester had begun to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.

Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It's all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.

Author's Notes: The dark starts here and only goes downhill. Be warned.

Endless gratitude to my wonderful beta, TraSan, who prevented this fic from being an incomprehensible mess. Any existing incomprehensible mess is entirely my own fault.

Chapter 3

"Is your room alright?" The motel girl asked chirpily when Sam walked into the room, glancing up from tapping away at the computer. Sam was almost fooled into believing she was nothing but a nice girl doing her job. He kept the image from the dream fixed in his mind even though the flames licking his brother's body seemed akin to the nausea crawling up the sides of his stomach.

Sam had scoped the area before walking in. There were no cars outside the other doors which meant everyone was likely to be out. He closed the distance between himself and the girl in three long steps and grabbed hold of the front of her blouse, tugging her away from the panic button, "Where's my brother?"

"What?" The girl squeaked, looking too shocked to do anything in that moment. Another act, Sam was sure.

"I know your mother took him. Where is he?" Sam could hear his own voice as a low growl, liking the way it vibrated in his throat.

"I don't know what you are talking about," The southern burr in her voice was more distinctive now, clashing with the fear. "Please, just let me go. I haven't seen your brother."

Sam's face felt hot and he wondered whether the girl was about to use her pyromaniac gift on him. She'd be in for a surprise. Other 'children's' gifts didn't work on him. He hauled her over the counter and backed her up against the wall. "Don't even try it. I'm asking you nicely. Where is my brother?"

"I haven't even seen your brother except in passing," The motel girl said as she scrabbled to find any kind of purchase to escape Sam.

"Don't lie to me," Sam hissed. "I know your mother has something to do with his disappearance and I know what you can do. Where did she take him?"

"My mother?" The girl said, "My mother is the head of the WI, my mother is a former nurse, my mother doesn't go around kidnapping people. Please, just let me go and I'll call the police and they can look for your brother." And drag you away to a loony farm, Sam could hear the implication in her tone.

For a moment, his grip loosened as sanity warred with the anger and worry twining itself through him but then the remembrance of her impassive face from his vision returned once more and he tightened the grip, giving her a hard shove back against the wall. "Don't lie to me. This can all be over, I'll let you go. You just need to tell me where your mother is."

The girl surprised him then, using the strength of his own grip to swing her legs up and kick him in the stomach. He suspected she was aiming for something lower and blessed her bad aim even as his grip dropped and he leaned back to clutch briefly at his stomach. He had survived being winded before and so, before she could get more than a footstep away, Sam seized her once more and pressed her against the wall, his forearm shoved against her throat, applying a light choke. "That wasn't nice," He growled.

"Just let me go," The girl was begging now, tears streaming down her face, "I promise I won't call the police, I won't tell anyone. Please."

Sam frowned. This wasn't how he'd expected it to go. He would threaten her. She'd do something, fight or flame or frown, but she'd give up the information. He didn't expect the terrified child act to continue and the lingering doubts started to coalesce in his mind, whispering that he should just let her go. Sam paused, keeping his arm in place but not applying more pressure. Make or break. He pulled the small knife from its sheath and pressed it against her neck, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to get his point across, "Look, I'm not a bad guy. I understand you're protecting family but I need to do the same. Where is my brother?" He pressed a little harder.

The girl's chest hitched up and down as she tried to keep her neck still and not press into the blade. "I don't know," She repeated, tears running freely down her face. "Please god, I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."

Sam pulled the knife back with a long sigh, wondering exactly how this simple plan had gotten so badly fucked up. He suspected the answer was when they'd first driven into the place. He kept his arm in place for a moment, just giving himself a moment to breathe before finally bringing the arm back and assembling some form of apology or perhaps just a final plea.

That was when it went to hell. The splutter of an engine sounded pulling past the office, Sam's head jerked to follow the sound, the girl lurched to get away from Sam, Sam raised his hand to fend off an attack he expected. The girl moved, Sam moved, the knife moved and suddenly the knife wasn't waved in the air anymore, it was planted firmly in the girl's chest. Sam felt time slow, he saw the girl's mouth move in shock and then absolute stillness and she sagged down against the wall, unseeing.

Sam fell with her, his heart thumping staccato in his chest. "Hey, hey," Sam tapped her cheeks, searching for any response on her lifeless face, "Come on, breathe. Come on…" Sam realised in horror that he didn't even know her name, "Come on, motel girl." He knew it was hopeless, the angle of the knife and its placement. Sam couldn't have delivered a more perfect kill blow if he'd tried.

He heard the growl of an engine and saw a brief flash of headlights as they illuminated the body slumped against the wall in a macabre semblance of humanity. Then the car that had caused the mess drove out of the parking lot and away into the night. The fear of discovery steeled Sam into action and he scooped the body into his arms, muttering an apology as her head lolled and he made his way over to the parkland around the back of the motel.

He set her gently against a tree, arranging her as if she'd just stopped there for a rest and never gotten up. It didn't take long to fetch a shovel and dig a grave. He would have made it deeper but the clock was ticking and Dean was waiting. He lowered her gently into the ground and then wiped his fingerprints off the knife. It had been a cheap buy, untraceable back to him. Finally Sam hefted the dirt until it covered up the hole once more, pretending he didn't feel any tears coming down his cheeks.

That done, Sam retreated back to the motel room and emptied what felt like everything he'd ever eaten into the toilet.

Sam realised that his thoughts were going around in circles but at that moment, he didn't care. He should go to the police, tell them what happened but then they might not help him find Dean. He should find Dean and then he could tell Dean what happened and his big brother would make everything alright. But first he needed to find Dean and his only lead was lying in a shallow grave below a tree.

Where was an eye-splitting, nausea-induced, brain-frying vision when you needed one?

As it turned out: just around the corner. Sam only had time to stumble over to his bed and throw himself down before the vision seized control of his brain, layering in image after image, all edged with phosphorescent light. He saw Dean, tied at the front of a large room to a wooden X, his back arching away from it where Sam could see a cross-hatch of slices, some deep gashes and others just papercut fine. A woman stood in front of Dean, the motel girl's older twin, with a long bladed knife held in her hand, the edge already run with blood.

As Sam watched, her mouth moved in soundless words before she turned, all languid grace and plunged the knife into Dean's chest. His brother's mouth opened wide in a silent scream, his head slamming backwards until finally he sagged forward, limp and lifeless.

It took a while for Sam's eyes to give him back the vision of the acid-bright motel room instead of the room in which his brother died. Adrenalin coursed through Sam but, despite the full colour ferocity of the vision, it left him very little clue about where his brother actually was. Sam forced himself back into the memory of the vision. The room was large, wood panelling which looked expensive, and a raised area at the back.

Sam tried to focus on that, tried to force his brain not to acknowledge the figure of his brother. Sam needed to be on form to get his brother out of there, not bent over from the nausea twisting in his belly. Just to the right of the stage, he could make out something stacked in the shadows, dark, curved but with a splash of red. Chairs, his brain filled in, rows of stacked chairs. "They're in the fucking town hall." Sam was at once shocked by their audacity and worried about just how he'd manage to get in there without alerting half the town.

Calm settled into Sam's skin as he set in motion, re-checking his weapons and going over the ritual to the spirits one more time. When he walked out of the motel room, he was all calm focus and sharp steel. He slid into the Impala, it would only be a five minute walk to the town hall however, judging by his brother's condition from the vision, it was unlikely Dean would be in any condition to walk. He loaded his own and his brother's duffels into the car, planning on driving out of there as soon as he had his brother back.

Sam drove far slower than he wanted to, knowing it would take just one passer-by alerting the coven and they'd call the demon in and then the shit would literally hit the fan. Sam had always hated his 'gifts' but never as much as right in that moment when they'd shown him two versions of Dean's death. He pulled into the town hall parking lot, grouching internally about the distinctive purr of the Impala's engine. Hopefully the coven wouldn't pick up on it, though it might at least give his brother some hope.

The outside of the town hall and the surrounding area were all tarmac'd over so Sam had to fight his instincts and walk away from the hall in order to perform the ritual he'd researched. As far as he knew, the Winchester family had no Native American blood so Sam didn't really believe Dean's reassurances that somehow the spirits would bind the coven's power away from them. The only reason he did this at all was because Dean told him to and somehow it felt like if he just listened to Dean then everything would be alright.

The ritual didn't take long. Sam just scattered some tobacco to the ground, hoping the spirits had no particular objection to Golden Virginia. He muttered prayers toward some of the spirits, not quite focusing as much as he usually would, knowing every second spent there was a second that he wasn't rescuing Dean. He straightened, hoping for some kind of sign that it had worked but there was nothing.

Sam didn't wait any longer, crossing the parking lot and heading towards the town hall. Once he was closer, he slunk down, trying to reduce his height as he peeked into one window. He couldn't make anything out very clearly but he recognised the scene as similar to his vision. The dark red blood plain on Dean's bare chest and back looked even more gruesome in the cold light of reality, every slice a tally mark against Sam's soul for how long he had delayed, one for every second of hesitation and self-pity.

Sam didn't wait any longer; he walked over to the door, readied his shotgun and kicked down the door. The high priestess seemed to be in some kind of trance and not even aware of the youngest Winchester's intrusion. The rest of the coven span to face him and lifted their hands, Sam braced himself but felt nothing. The confusion on the faces around him had Sam muttering a quiet prayer of thanks to the spirits.

"Such pretty blood." Sam wasn't fast enough to prevent the witch from making another long slice across Dean's chest, crimson rivulets of blood streaming down one of the few unmarred areas. Sam saw the knife turn like his vision and knew the next blow would drive straight into Dean's chest. Sam raised his gun and fired, a perfect shot in the centre of the woman's forehead.

Sam was entirely unprepared for the blast wave that emanated out of the woman's dead but still standing body. The backwash blasted at his mind, feeling like it was scouring his soul out of his body. He could see Dean's head jerk repeatedly and he worried that his brother was being sent into a seizure until he noticed the movements seemed more deliberate than that and headed in a single direction.

Sam followed the movements and spotted a small ugly clay idol sitting on a table. Two bullets bought silence.

The effect on the surviving members of the coven was instantaneous as they dropped like limp rag dolls to the ground. Sam ran uncaring past them to where Dean sagged bonelessly from his bindings.

Sam lifted his brother's chin up and flinched, every cut on Dean's body had its twin in a line of pain etched indelibly on his brother's face. Dean's mask had slipped and shattered on the ground. He watched numbly as Dean attempted to secure the mask back in place with a weak smile, "Guess we should've gone after the werewolves."

Sam wished in more ways than one that they had never come to this place. "You would only have managed to get yourself clawed." Sam reached up his sleeve for the knife then remembered that it wasn't there anymore and pulled out the knife strapped to his calf instead. He sliced through the bindings holding his brother, his reflexes barely fast enough to keep Dean from tumbling to the ground. The hisses of pain as Sam had to grab onto Dean's gashed frame cut through Sam too. He saw his brother's eyes flick to the knife still gripped in Sam's hand, blade turned away from his brother, and winced at the flinch it provoked.

He kept a grip on Dean with one arm, Dean's legs worryingly incapable of supporting him, while he tucked the knife back away, out of his brother's line of sight. "Dean, I'm gonna have to carry you," Sam apologised. "It's going to hurt." Sam didn't give his brother any chance to object as he slid an arm under Dean's knees and the other across Dean's lower back, ignoring the dampness of blood against his arm.

"M'fine, Sammy." Dean said sleepily, "Put me down and I'll walk."

"You couldn't even manage to stand, Dean. You won't be able to walk." Sam headed towards the door, keeping his eyes averted from the fallen figures of the coven. "Don't worry, it's not far to the car. I'm sure no-one will see you and ruin the reputation of the great Dean Winchester." It was worrying how little Dean was protesting.

The walk to the Impala was mercifully clear of any observers. Sam edged open the unlocked door with one foot and laid his brother along the backseat. Dean muttered protests and shifted restlessly to try and find a comfortable spot. Sam pulled back reluctantly from his brother and swung himself into the driver's seat. He revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, heading out of the town.

Once they were clear of the town limits, Sam flipped open his phone and dialled an anonymous phone call in to the police for where they could find the coven. He wanted to include the location of the motel girl too but knew Dean wasn't entirely unconscious and he wanted plenty of time to talk to his brother over what happened and figure out what to do.

It took a long time before Sam was comfortable enough to pull into a motel and stop. It took a while before he found one that looked quiet enough that carrying his bloody brother into the room wouldn't be noticed. Sam reached into his duffel and pulled out a clean t-shirt, switching it for the one with his brother's blood on it. The motel owner was a bored-looking grey-haired man who didn't even look at Sam as he took the card, swiped a copy and then handed over a couple of keys.

Sam returned to the car and lifted his brother up into his arms; Dean had fallen asleep at some point on the journey, not even stirring when Sam pulled him out, head lolling against Sam's shoulder. He carried Dean into the motel room and set him down gently on the bed before heading back to lock up the car and retrieve the two bags and the first aid kit.

Dean was still lying in exactly the same spot and Sam had to check his pulse to reassure himself that his brother was still alive. He was hesitant to work on Dean's injuries, knowing it would likely wake him up and he'd have to face the pain once more. He headed into the tiny bathroom and filled a basin of water, dipping a cloth in and walking over to his brother.

The first touch of cold cloth against Dean's chest had his brother hissing awake, eyes darting full of fear at his surroundings. He settled back a little when they rested on Sam, taking shallow breaths to avoid stretching the skin on his chest too much. "Where are we?"

"Motel," Sam answered, not entirely sure where they were either. He'd just kept following the road away from the town and decided to figure out where he'd ended up later. "This'll sting." Sam traced the cloth along one of the slices, trying to clear away the blood enough to get a look at the actual injury, hoping that none of them would need stitches.

Fate was not smiling on Sam as within ten minutes of starting to wipe the smeared blood off Dean, he could already find two that were deep enough to need stitches and suspected he'd be using needle and thread a lot more before the job was done. "How'm I looking, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Slightly uglier than normal," Sam jested half-heartedly.

"Jealousy is a petty emotion you know," Dean retorted.

"I need to clean these out," Sam motioned to the revealed cross-hatch of injuries across Dean's chest, "It's going to sting."

"As opposed to the pain-free bliss I'm in right now?" Dean asked.

"I could give you something for the pain. We've got some morphine."

Dean snorted, "Morphine for paper-cuts? A little over-reaction there. Just give me a couple of aspirin and I'll be fine."

One of these days Sam would have to whittle some decent pain medication down to resemble aspirin just so he could get his brother to take what he needed. Unfortunately that day hadn't come yet so Sam just fished a couple of small round tablets out of the bottle and held them out to his brother.

Dean dry-swallowed them, making a disgusted face at the taste, "Chewy cherry-flavoured aspirin are the way to go, Sam. I'm telling you."

"Except for the fact they are half as effective as regular aspirin and twice as expensive."

"So you just have to chew twice as many."

"I don't think your sugar habit needs feeding."

Once Sam was sure that the aspirin would have begun to take effect, even if just to take the edge off the pain, he reached for the bottle of antiseptic and a couple of cotton swabs. Sam tackled the seemingly largest first, drawing a hiss of pain out of his brother as he drew the antiseptic-laden swab across. His hand shook a little as he threaded the needle but he accomplished it without too much hassle, beginning the row of neat stitches to draw the two sides of the wound closed.

"Pick the bluntest needle, why don't you?" Dean grouched, shifting even as Sam tried to keep him still to prevent the clotting injuries from re-opening.

"Just for you," Sam responded, leaning back to survey his work on the first cut. There was no point bandaging them individually as they pretty much covered Dean from his collarbone to the line of his jeans at his hips; front, back and sides. Sam dipped a fresh piece of cotton in the clear liquid and set to work on the second worst injury, a deep gash that ran in line with Dean's ribs.

Dean lapsed back into silence while Sam treated the rest of his injuries, only the tight set of his jaw and the rare wince giving Sam clues of how much pain he was in. There were only four slices on Dean's front that needed stitches, the rest Sam just cleaned and resisted the temptation to cover Dean in the Flintstones plasters he'd picked up at a gas station. "Roll over." Dean obeyed Sam's command with little more than a protesting growl and a hiss as he re-settled on the stung injuries.

Sam had vaguely hoped that Dean's back wouldn't quite be as bad considering that he had been tied chest outwards to the wooden X. Obviously he must have been turned about in the restraints at some point though as, if anything, his back was worse. Two long gashes traversed the length of Dean's back, the edges wide and blood seeping out. Sam internally grumbled knowing the pain that his brother must've been in and forgetting to mention about.

Sam pinched the two sides together, blocking out the sound of Dean's yelp, and started the stitches. It was more slippery work this time, the antiseptic mingling with the blood to create a slick layer upon the skin. Twice the needle slipped from Sam's fingers and Sam had to hastily wipe some of the mix off onto the bed sheets before he could regain his grip.

Dean's breathing settled into the regular rhythm of sleep as Sam worked and he was amazed his brother could sleep while Sam stitched up his back but then Dean was no stranger to injuries. If some people could sleep through rumbling trains and others through soaring planes then it just about made sense that Dean Winchester could sleep through stabbing pains.

It was with regret that Sam had to wake him once the stitches were done but it would have been impossible to wrap the bandages around with Dean lying down. He gently aided his brother to a sitting position, ignoring the way Dean would woozily lean towards Sam when he moved, and began to unroll the bandages around Dean. It took two full rolls before the entire area was covered and Dean frowned down at himself. "I look like a freaking mummy." He shifted experimentally. "Man, no wonder those things are pissed all the time. It's freaking impossible to move. Did you have to do them so tight?"

Sam helped his brother to lie flat again, whether his brother wanted it or not. "I'm going to go see if I can find a store, get some supplies in." Sam had used up all the bandages, not to mention the antiseptic bottle was looking a little dry. "You need anything?"

"Some skin that didn't hurt would be just peachy," Dean muttered, the comment obviously not meant to be heard, "Just some beer."

By the time Sam returned from the small mom 'n' pop store that he'd found, Dean was fast asleep. Sam set down his laden armful of brown paper bags on the table and set about unpacking what was necessary into the fridge. The rest he left for that moment as he made his way back over to his brother.

The sleep, which had appeared restful on first glance, looked more and more disturbed as Sam ventured closer. The pain was obviously troubling Dean even in slumber as his body twisted and shifted. Sam pressed a hand to his brother's forehead but, beyond the pain-induced sweat, there was no sign of fever. Sam was hoping not to need a course of antibiotics for these injuries, the knife had looked clean and, in their line of work, becoming antibiotic resistant was incredibly dangerous.

Sam pulled away from his brother's bedside and headed back to the half unpacked bags of shopping. He lined up the various pill bottles along the kitchen counter, pulling out a couple of aspirin to try and soothe the headache already brewing in the back of his skull. It could do little for the tension that Sam knew was the cause but the relief of pain in his own head just made it that bit easier to think.

He needed to tell Dean what had happened in the motel room. The idea of keeping that big a secret from his brother was ridiculous, the only question was that of timing. Dean was still struggling with his injuries and he really didn't need the knowledge of his brother becoming an accidental murderer to add to that. On the other hand, the longer Sam waited, the worse the blow would be when he did tell Dean. Would Dean think Sam hadn't trusted his brother not to turn him in? Would he think Sam didn't trust him altogether? That would be a worse injury by far than what the witch had done.

He would tell Dean tomorrow. That decision made, Sam felt that bit lighter as he tucked the last few groceries away in the cupboards. He pulled a bottle of beer out of the container for himself, tucking the rest into the fridge door to cool and settled back in a chair to watch his brother's restless sleep.

He would tell Dean tomorrow and everything would be okay.

A/N: Hands up anyone who thinks it'll be that easy? Thought not. As always, feedback is love.