So, I had to export this chapter in because it wouldn't post, something wrong with the server...sorrry for any transfer errors, although I think i found most of them now, after seeing double sentence when I read it ovver on live preview...so anyway, this chapter is all about what Sam has been up to since Dean has been missing...let me know what you think...bambers;) ...lol, sorry to anyone who already might have read this chapter and thought it was a new chapter I was posting...was fixing an error i saw and somehow managed to delete the whole chapter and had to repost...
Chapter Six
Sam paced back and forth outside, silently fuming as he waited for Dean. The incessantly cheery blinking of the Rock 'n a Hard Place's pink neon sign silhouetted against the gloomy sky, mocked him, further adding to his fury. Damn it! Why does he always have to be such a pain in the ass? I was only trying to watch out for him.
He glanced at his watch, noting the time, then up at the roiling clouds gathering the impending storm. Hesitating with his hand on the door, Sam scowled. I'm not the one who's wrong here. He swung around, and stalked down the street toward the motel.
Halfway to the Sleep Inn the rumble of thunder became a roar as the heavens gave way to driving rain, lightning splaying across the darkened sky. Making sure his laptop case was zipped tightly, Sam clutched it protectively to his chest as he trudged through the pouring rain.
A car's headlights reflected the torrent of rain, windshield wiping swatting furiously back and forth as it sped by, a curtain of water ejected from a deep puddle along the curb, splashing Sam. Furious, he swiped the grimy water from his face. "Oh, just freakin' great! Like this night couldn't get any worse."
I should've taken the Impala, and let him walk home in the rain, would've served him right. Sam glowered as cold droplets trailed down his forehead and into his eyes. What the hell's wrong with him? He knows better than to draw attention to himself. He let out a deep aggravated sigh. If I'd been the one, raising a toast with the locals, he would've been so pissed.
Another car raced by, dousing him again. Huh, spoke too soon. Throwing up his free arm, Sam gestured toward the car. "Thanks! Thanks a freakin' lot, buddy . . . needed another shower, ya jerk!"
Entering the dingy motel room, Sam slammed the door, and tread across the matted, puke-green rug, water squishing from his soaked sneakers. He angrily kicked them off, and set his laptop on the coffee-stained table. Sam peeled off his soaked t-shirt, flexing tired, aching muscles, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and to get some rest.
They're all dead you know. And so are you, Dean. So are you . . . you just don't know it yet.
The words haunted him. Raking damp strands of hair out of his eyes, Sam shook his head in disgust. Oh, brilliant, Sam! A banshee tells your brother he is gonna die, and what do you do? You leave him alone! Real nice!
Snatching his cell phone from his pocket, Sam hit the button for Dean's number and listened as it rang and rang.
"Come on, Dean, answer your goddamn phone."
"This is Dean Winch — "
Sam's thumb jabbed the disconnect, and he threw the phone on the bed. He snatched up a coarse motel towel and rubbed it briskly over his dripping hair and body. Dropping onto a cushioned chair he stretched his long legs, fingers drumming on the table, steady gaze trained on the cell. Come on, Dean, call me back.
Within a minute, Sam was on his feet. Grabbing the phone, he called his brother again.
"This is Dean — "
Sam hung up, rummaged through his duffel for a dry shirt, threw it on, yanked on his wet sneakers, grabbed his hoodie and bolted out the door. You'd better have a damn good reason for not answering your phone, Dean! And it had better not include any extracurricular activities with that bartender either.
Sam sprinted through the rain. Strong gusts pushed hard against him, hampering his efforts; rain pelted at his back. The Rock 'n a Hard Place's blinking neon sign shone like a torrid beacon against the bleak sky. He stopped short, a quiver racing up his spine. Closed. The lights in the bar were out, the only car left in the parking lot was Dean's Impala.
Heart in his throat, Sam marched to the window, cupped his hand over his forehead and peered into the darkened tavern. Nothing stirred inside. The only light came from the jukebox and the neon signs over the bar. Carefully, he tried the door, and was surprised to find it hadn't been locked. An eerie stillness emanated from the bar as he eased inside and closed the door. Darkened shadows danced across the walls, wreaking havoc on Sam's taut nerves.
"Dean?" Sam called as he sidestepped the tables, headed toward the counter. No answer, only a deafening silence that choked the leaden air. "Dean, where the hell are you? Answer me!"
He quickly searched the bar and backroom, then strode to the bathroom. Flicking on the switch, pallid fluorescent light filled the small space. Sam stared slack-jawed at the mirror hanging on the wall above the sink. That's not possible, Dean broke that mirror. A tremor of panic filled Sam, his stomach clenching. I wasn't gone more than an hour; they couldn't have cleaned this place and fixed the mirror in such a short amount of time. Could they?
Sam glanced down. Rust-colored splotches dotted the white tiled floor. Blood? Squatting to get a closer look, he noticed they trailed from the first of the two bathroom stalls. Hand shaking, Sam pushed the door opened. His breath lodged in his throat at the sight of dried blood splattered on the walls and toilet. Oh, God! Dean!
Damn it, Dean, that was a banshee —
I know Sammy, but I can solemnly promise you I'm not going to die going to the bathroom.
You'd better damn well have kept your promise, Dean.
Sam stood, his steady gaze returned to the mirror. He rubbed his jaw. His brow arched in confusion. Why the hell, did they fix the mirror, but not even bother to clean up the blood? It just doesn't make any sense.
Chilled air swept ominously into the room, lifting a vaporous breeze Sam shivered, his frosty breath fogging the glass.He wiped away the mist, jerking involuntarily at the sight of blue-gray eyes staring at him
Sam wheeled to find he was alone. His pulse quickened, breath lifting wispy plumes. He turned to face the mirror. In the reflection, her glistening gaze remained fixed on him.
"Dean is going to die, Sam. . . . Why do you refuse to see what's right in front of you?"
"No!" Sam shook his head, glaring at the mirror. "Where's my brother!" He forced the words through clenched teeth, his chest heaving as he drew an icy breath. "If you harm him, Hell won't be big enough for you to hide!"
Mournful tears filled the disembodied eyes, her keen wailing echoing in the tiny room. Sam clamped his closed fists over his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut against the throbbing pressure building in his temples as he heard the banshee's voice inside his head.
"Reflect on the past and you shall find . . . demons and haunting delusions do bind. . . ."
Trembling, Sam clutched the edge of the sink, desperately trying to steady himself as her haunting tone and frightening images of Dean alone and suffering combined. His knees buckled, the force of Dean's torment driving Sam to his knees.
Dean's anguish, so devastatingly raw as he lay hunched on the ground in the pouring rain, seared through Sam's soul. Sam's body convulsed as his brother's pain and despair enveloped him.
"Images are not always as they seem . . . when caught between daylight and the dream. . . ."
The vision blurred and changed. Sam's stomach clenched as Dean held a gun in a shaky hand. Sam's heart pounded erratically inside his chest, dreading Dean's intentions. Don't you do it, Dean! Don't you dare leave me!
The vision of Dean called out to Sam and it was as if he were sitting beside him. "Sammy . . . dude, you have to give me some sort of sign that you're alive . . . something — anything! I can't take losin my mind . . . I'll fight off any demon if it means you're alive and safe."
"Hold on, Dean, I'm gonna find you . . . gonna save you . . . so don't you dare die on me!"
"Sammy."
"You have to trust me, Dean. You have to hold on.""
Reforge the once true vision . . . shatter the illusional division. . . ." The banshee's voice trailed off as she wept bitterly.
The vision and the banshee vanished. The chilled air seeped from the room, replaced by stifling heat. Shivering despite the warmth, Sam gripped tightly onto the basin, struggling to his feet. Bracing himself against the doorframe, he collected himself and surveyed the tavern for anything he might have overlooked.
Long purposeful strides returned Sam to the bar. Biting at the inside of his lower lip, Sam studied the neon sign on the wall, dark eyes narrowing in anger and frustration.
Soul Stealer, Killer Nightmare, Mind Erasers . . . yeah, those don't sound too ominous.
"Yeah, like those freakin' names don't just scream, don't drink me." Why the hell wasn't I paying closer attention?
Sam grabbed his cell and jabbed the button to call Dean. The sound of Metallica's Wherever I May Roam rang loud across the emptiness and Sam jumped.
"Oh, shit!" Sam bolted across the expanse, knocking chairs over and slamming into tables as he frantically searched for his brother's cell phone. On the floor near the entrance he spotted it. He bent and snatched it off the ground. Squinting, he noticed a dark stain on the wall right in front of him. More blood.
"Damn it! What the hell did that banshee do to you?"
Sam whirled around and glared at the bar. That toast! What had Mara said? Sam racked his brain trying to recall the exact wording.
One sip to enthrall you. One sip to poison the mind. One sip to ensnare you. One sip to make you mine . . . and then the nightmares begin.
If that isn't a curse of some sort, I don't know what is. Sam slumped onto the nearest chair, trembling, feeling as if someone had sucker-punched him in the ribs. He laughed bitterly. "I just sat here like an idiot and watched as that bitch poisoned and cursed my brother. And now she's taken him to God only knows where."
Sam stood abruptly, the chair slamming to the floor with a loud thud as he headed for the door. She only had an hour head start. But where would she take him? Where do I even search?
"In a hurry to go somewhere, darlin?" came a sickeningly sweet feminine voice from directly behind him.
Startled, Sam swung to face the banshee. Instead he found four pairs of gleaming crimson eyes trained on him. The buxom woman who'd almost fallen over him earlier in the evening smiled as the man in the black cowboy hat and the arm wrestlers cracked their knuckles, glaring hungrily at Sam.
"Um, I was just leaving." Sam hitched his thumb toward the entrance, mind racing, trying to figure out a way he could take four demons alone with only his knife and the flask of holy water.
"Oh, I don't think so," the man in the cowboy hat drawled. At his slight nod, the two burly men at his side moved ominously toward Sam. "Our Mistress would not be pleased if you were to interfere with her plans."
Sam backed slowly away, glaring at the two approaching demons. Reaching into his pocket, he grasped the flask and jerked it out. Hastily yanking off the cap, Sam threw holy water on both demons.
They swiped the droplets from their face, grinning at Sam. Depraved laughter echoed throughout the tavern as the buxom woman moved forward, twirling a lock of her flaxen hair around her clawed finger.
"You really have no idea what we are, do you?" She cooed, her simpering voice grating on Sam's nerves. "Holy water, while very effective on mere demons, means nothing to us."
The two bigger assailants grabbed Sam's arms, twisting them behind him in a viselike grip. Sam bucked and squirmed, trying to break their hold. Rearing up, he smashed his head into one of his captors, almost managing to escape. The one in the cowboy hat slammed its fist into Sam's ribcage, knocking the wind out of him. The brick wall of a beast to his right tightened its grip on Sam's arm, claws tearing through his hoodie and gouging his skin.
"Who the hell are you?" Sam bit off between gasping breaths. His brows furrowed as he struggled in vain to free himself.
"Let's just say we're the stuff of nightmares and leave it at that." She moved closer to Sam, pressing her body to his. Her tongue traced a hot, wet trail as she licked his earlobe, then whispered seductively, "Such a pretty face, every ounce of emotion so eagerly displayed for all to see. No wonder she finds herself enthralled with you."
Jerking his head away, Sam snarled, "Where did that banshee take my brother?"
"Glaistig Uaine?" The woman arched a brow and smiled. "Ah, yes. She does love playing her little games, doesn't she?" She turned her back on Sam. "You'll never find him. You see, she wanted you all to herself and he's gotten in the way once too often."
She's lying! Sam seethed, clenching and unclenching his fists. She has to be . . . this can't be my fault . . . not again. "What would she want with me?"
The creature in the cowboy hat placed his hand on her shoulder and called her by name. "Cailleach."
She pursed her lips and regarded him with wary eyes.
"Peto Glaistig Uaine quod planto certus is can non reperio suus," he ordered.
Damn them! He wants her to find the banshee and to make sure I can't! Sam made one last attempt to wrest free then stood still, listening intently. Grateful he understood what they were saying . . . even more grateful they didn't know that.
"Haud Mara would non exsisto commodo si ego left vos unus per him. Is does non votum him quoque pessime vulnero," Cailleach replied in a scathing tone. Hands on hips, she glared at the older demon.
The creature laughed. "Ego spondeo non neco him."
She continued to stare menacingly at him.
"Vos operor non fides mihi?" The demon's eyes narrowed as he stared at Sam and then at Cailleach.
So Mara doesn't want me harmed. Good to know. Still, Sam didn't like the sinister gleam in the older assailant's eyes. It didn't seem as if it cared what their Mistress wanted. Come on tell me where she is. Tell me where I can find Dean.
"Is can non take plus. Mara est ita iuxta attero him, mens, somes quod animus. Nos can non afford ullus erroris iam!" Cailleach breathed angrily.
No, Dean can't be close to dying. Not Dean! He's too strong. Sam writhed against his captors' firm grip.
"Ego teneo. Is ero exsisto mortuus pro nox noctis est per, tamen quis illae unus?"
Damn it! Don't you die on me, Dean!
Sam slammed his heel down hard on one of the beast's foot. It yelped in pain, releasing its hold. He swung and smashed his fist into the other's gut. Grunting, it doubled over.
He bolted for the door only to be seized as the creature extended its beefy arm and grabbed his shirt, whirling Sam around and bashing him in the face.
Sam staggered, dazed by the ferocity of the blow. He blinked hard, clearing his vision. Sam rushed to the pool table, his attackers close behind him. Grabbing a pool cue, he struck out at his assailants. The stick connected with a loud crack, the creature slumping to the floor in a heap as the thin wood snapped in half.
The other one charged, slamming into Sam, knocking them both to the floor. Hitting the ground, Sam rolled and leapt to his feet, the demon close behind.
They circled, each vying for an opening. Sam swung first, catching his attacker in the jaw. It laughed, smashing its fist into Sam's ribcage, followed quickly by an upper cut to the face. A rush of air escaped Sam's lips as he doubled over.
The force of a chair slamming across his back, sent Sam sprawling against the bar. Sam gripped the counter with shaky hands, struggling to stay on his feet. He turned, ducking a meaty fist.
A sharp lightning jab of pain coincided with the crash of a bottle against the back of his skull. Sam stumbled, warm blood oozing down the nape of his neck. His vision blurred as he unsheathed his knife.
He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking hard as he tried to clear his head, seeing double, everything sliding in and out of focus. Knife in hand, Sam lashed out at his attackers as he staggered toward the entrance.
At the glint of steel, the creatures' eyes widened. They trembled, snarling; hands raised defensively they edged nervously away from Sam. Cailleach cowered behind the older demon as he cast a furtive glance at the weapon.
Fumbling with the handle, the door swung open behind Sam and he stumbled, falling to the hard pavement outside. He kicked the door shut with one foot and scrambled back away from it. Sam clutched the back of his head, trying to remain focused as blood seeped through his fingers. He stood and staggered toward the Impala.
His breathing came hard and fast, heart pounding in his ears as he waited for the creatures to burst through the door in pursuit. No keys. They're going to warn Mara. I have to get to Dean before they do! He let his head drop back against the seat, his fist beating against the steering wheel in helpless frustration. I have to stop them. They can't get to Dean.
He opened his eyes, glaring at the hot pink neon flashing before him, teeth clenched as he struggled to find a solution. Panic welled within him, surging through his soul. He squinched his eyes. I have to stop them! God, I can't let them get to Dean!
Startled by the sound of splintering wood, Sam's eyes flew wide open to stare in amazement at the heavy neon sign as it broke free and flew across the parking lot. It smashed into the door, barring the exit. Neon lights popped and sizzled in a dazzling display of color.
Sam shook his head in utter disbelief. No, it's not possible . . . I-I couldn't have done that.
Biting at his lower lip, Sam stared at the sign for a moment longer then hot wired the Impala. Dean is so gonna kick my ass for this. A wry grinned twisted on his lips as the engine roared to life.
"Now to find that banshee bitch."