so another unedited chapter, hopefully it isn't too bad!! I'll probably be reposting it again once i find my beta, with two stories for her to edit, i think she is hiding from me ... lol!! thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far!! so glad to see so many people sticking with a story I'm writing!! thanks again, bambers;)
Chapter Nine
Sam blinked hard to clear his blurred vision as he tried to keep his gaze trained on the road. Where the hell would the banshee take him? The glare from the headlights on the wet pavement slipped in and out of focus as blood trickled down the nape of Sam's neck.
Grabbing the cell from the pocket of his hoodie, Sam hit the button to call Bobby. The phone rang three times and then he heard Bobby's voice.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Bobby, it's Sam."
"What's wrong, Sam?" Bobby replied in a gruff tone, never one to stand on pretenses. "You don't sound good."
"I'm okay." Sam took his hand off the wheel to rub his throbbing forehead, the car veering precariously to the left. What the heck am I doing. Sam quickly gripped the wheel and swerved back into his own lane. "It's Dean. He's missing."
"Did you boys have another fight?"
"No."
"Sam."
Sam jerked the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment. How does he always know when we've been arguing?
"Well, yeah, we were fighting, but that's not the point. Something took him."
Bobby was silent for a moment, and Sam could almost picture the old hunter with a baseball cap on, scrubbing his fingers through his scruffy beard, a worried expression on his face. "What do ya mean, somethin'?"
"I think it was a banshee. We saw her earlier tonight, and she said Dean was gonna die."
"And you think she might've taken him?"
"Yeah."
"Not possible, Sam," came Bobby's quick reply.
"What do you mean, it's not possible? I'm telling you she took him."
"Don't you boys ever do yer research? If it was a banshee you saw, she was probably trying to warn Dean, not kill him." Bobby took a deep breath, slowly exhaling.
"Warn him?" Sam's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he turned right onto a dark, tree-lined country road. He has to be drunk. "You been hanging with Johnny Walker and Jack again tonight?"
"Nope stone cold sober . . . only had five beers." Bobby let out a short laugh. "Seriously though, yer Daddy and I had our theories about banshees. John even kicked around the idea if you saved the life of the person she wept for, the banshee would be freed from her curse."
"Th-that can't be true. She's a freakin harbinger of death, for Christ's sake."
"That's what yer Daddy believed."
Sam groaned, the fuzziness in his mind increasing. He blinked hard against the blinding headlights coming toward him. The driver in the other car blared his horn and Sam jumped, veering back into his own lane, heart pounding in his throat. Come on, Sam, pull it together. Dean needs you. And he'll be pissed as all hell if you wreck his baby while trying to save him.
"Sam, you sure yer okay?" came Bobby's concerned voice. "You sound kinda strange. Sure you ain't been the one drinkin'?"
"Just tired, Bobby." Sam winced as he rounded his shoulders, trying to stretch his throbbing muscles. "So do you think my Dad was right?"
"Not sure, Sam. Everything I've ever read says they're guardians, protecting certain families."
"Huh, if not her, then who could've taken him?"
"Why don't ya start at the beginning? Tell me what happened and maybe we can figure this out."
"Okay." Sam went on to explain about sighting the banshee at the graveyard and the bar where Dean had disappeared. When he came to the part about Mara, Bobby stopped him.
"What did you say her name was again?"
"Mara."
"Damn it." Bobby was quiet again, his steady breathing the only sound Sam could hear. Bobby's tone turned urgent as he spoke again. "Has Dean been havin' nightmares?"
"Yeah. How did you know?"
"An' he ain't been sleepin'?" Bobby went on to say as if he hadn't heard Sam's question.
"Yeah."
Bobby let out a low whistle, and Sam could almost see him shaking his head. "She's the demon of nightmares, Sam — an' if Mara's got her hooks into Dean, he's in deep shit."
The hairs on the nape of Sam's neck stood on end, sweat prickling at his scalp."What do you mean?"
"Ever heard if you die in your dream, you die in real life?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it's true. But the thing of it is, most people wouldn't consider it the work of a demon cause the victims die of natural causes."
"How do I find him?" Sam held his breath. Please God, don't let me be to late. Come on, Bobby, tell me where to look.
"Best guess, find the banshee and you'll find Dean. If I'm right and he's close to death, she won't be far from him."
"And how do you suppose I do that?" Sam growled in frustration.
"Simple. Go back to where you first saw her."
xXxXxXxXxXx
Sam parked the Impala off to the shoulder of the road near the cemetery entrance. He rubbed the nape of his neck, blood still oozing from the deep wound the demons had inflicted. With vision blurring and temples throbbing mercilessly, he grabbed his flashlight, checked his weapons and slid out of the car, closing the door behind him.
Climbing the low cemetery wall, Sam leapt to the ground, clenching his teeth against the groan of pain as white-hot pain shot through his back. He aimed the narrow beam toward where he'd last seen the banshee, and headed in that direction.
Strong winds rustled through the trees as the weather grew more intense. Lightning cut a jagged path through the darkened sky and was quickly followed by a loud crack of thunder. Driving rains fell once again in earnest.
Cocking his head to the side, Sam squinted, noticing the pale amber glow of flickering light, moving through the trees. The banshee's keen pierced the stillness of the cemetery, grating on Sam's taut nerves. Bobby better be freakin right about this.
He sprinted toward her. His back and sore ribs screamed in protest as he ducked under branches, and swerved to avoid gravestones and jutting roots.
"Wait," Sam called breathlessly. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
The banshee slowed in her steps and turned to look at him. Pale red-rimmed eyes glimmered in the darkness.
Sam quickly caught up to her and raised opened hands to show he was unarmed. "I need to know where my brother is."
The banshee remained quiet while she stared at him.
"Please, you can't let him die."
"Ah, now ye want tae be talkin' tae me," the banshee replied with a lilting brogue. She pursed her lips, regarding him thoughtfully. "Yer brother be in a might bit o' trouble, tae be sure."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Aye, that I do . . . not that it'll be doin ye any good." She let out a loud screeching wail.
Dropping his flashlight, Sam pressed his palms to ears, the sound of her keen driving him to his knees. His body trembled uncontrollably as she continued to cry.
"H-help Dean." Sam begged. "Don't let her kill him — please."
The banshee stop crying and knelt beside him. She placed her chilled fingers under his chin, tilting it upwards to meet her unwavering gaze. "My name be Misery, guardian of the family Kavanaghs yer Irish forefathers." Misery took hold of Sam's arm and helped to his feet. "Now tell me, why should I be helpin' ye when ye would 'ave killed me earlier if ye had the chance?"
Sam stared at her long and hard for several seconds. "Because he's my brother and because I don't think you want harm to come to him."
Misery nodded. "Aye, tis a goodly answer, young Samuel." She choked on a sob, tears glistening in her pale gray-blue eyes. "Tis not in me tae see yer brother come tae such an ill demise." Raising her wrought-iron lantern, she gestured toward the western corner of the cemetery. Misery took hold his arm. "Come, I shall show ye where yer brother be."
Sam hesitated, closely scrutinizing her. What if Bobby's wrong? What if Misery isn't here to protect Dean?
"Where are we going?" he asked suspiciously.
"There be a mausoleum at the far corner o' the graveyard. Mara be keepin' Dean there whilst she works her nightmare upon him."
"Is he — " Sam couldn't bring himself to ask if Dean was dying.
"Aye, he be close . . . I can feel Dean's will tae live rapidly ebbing from him." Misery released her grip on his hand and strode away, her long green dress trailing through the thick, sloshing mud.
Hold on, Dean. I know where you are now. I'm coming to get you.
Sam hurried and caught up to her, grabbing Misery by the forearm, he swung her to face him. "How do I stop Mara? How do I kill her?"
"Nay, Samuel, ye cannot kill a nightmare. Tis as intangible as the wind itself."
"Then how am I supposed to save Dean?"
A sad smile graced Misery's face. "Maybe ye cannot. Maybe ye were just meant tae say yer goodbyes."
Sam shook his head, swallowing hard. "I don't believe that."
Misery's brow's knit together in a frown as she peered into his eyes. "There be an old saying, lost to all throughout time an' age itself, but tis not forgotten by we banshees." She drew a shallow breath and continued, "A tip o' the blade shall cut through the dream, darkness shall fall away and lightness shall be seen."
Sam recalled the reaction of the demons at the bar when they'd seen the blade. "The knife . . . that's why they were afraid of it." Sam's grip tightened on her arm, knees buckling, strength waning as blood continued to drip from the deep cut on his head.
"Aye, but are ye strong enough to face her, Samuel?" Misery eyed Sam, her intent gaze taking in his weakened state. "Tis ye she seeks to possess. Tis yer dreams that make her stronger — yer dreams which set her free from the nightmare realm." Cocking a delicate brow, she pursed pale lips. "Tell me, how can ye hope tae beat her when she's bested ye at every turn?"
Sam straightened to his full height. He inwardly groaned, wincing at the jarring pain along the length of his back. "I won't let Dean die," he growled.
"Her power holds much sway o'er ye, lest ye forget that," Misery warned. "Without Dean tae bring ye from the brink, can ye survive her nightmares?"
"Bring it on, sweetheart," Sam replied, in a tone Dean would've been proud of.
Misery nodded. "All right, Samuel. I shall take ye tae yer brother." She lifted the lantern and marched away, gesturing for him to follow. "Tis said, if ye wound a nightmare demon enough it shall never show its face at yer bedside again. Go for the heart. Twist the blade counterclockwise whilst ye stare the demon in the eyes. But ye mustn't show fear for it will make her stronger."
At the entrance of the mausoleum, Misery hesitated. "I can go no further with ye. I must be at Dean's side if ye should fail." She drew a staggering breath, a sob catching in her throat. Misery placed chilled fingers on Sam's arm. "I shall find him and lead him back, the rest is up tae ye."
"Misery." Sam hesitated, licking his suddenly dry lips. He shrugged, giving her an awkward smile. "Thanks."
"Aye, yer welcome, young Winchester." She cast him a sad smile. "Yer forefathers would be proud of ye." Misery disappeared in a torrent of black smoke, leaving Sam alone to face the demon.
Sam thought of how Dean would react if he saw the banshee again. He'll probably shoot first, an' ask questions later, if i know him . . . and i do. He shook his head, silently begging for Dean to hear him. She's not what she seems. Find her, Dean. Sam stared at the faded trail of smoke, and then at the mausoleum. Don't let her win . . . you hear me. Don't let her beat you. Find her and you'll find me.
Sam pried open the thick slab door of the mausoleum, a shaft of pale amber light cutting through the darkness. The bitter scent of blood, and stale air assailed his senses. Eerie ghostly shadows danced along the stone walls and disappeared into the darkened recesses of the tomb.
Clutching the knife in his right hand, Sam steeled himself for what he might find inside. Silently, he slipped into the darkened room. A circle of candles flickered around the three tombs resting in the center of the floor. Dean lay sprawled on the middle one, his arms dangled motionlessly over the edges. Mara sat perched on his chest, clawed nails digging into his ribcage.
Tightening his grasp on the handle of the blade, Sam stealthily edged toward her. Dean let out a sudden gasp and then went deathly pale. His body stilling completely.
"Dean," Sam shouted. Forgetting all pretenses of a sneak attack, Sam rushed forward.
Mara swung to face him, jade eyes glimmering in the glow of candlelight.
"Get the hell off my brother, you bitch."
"Ah, jealous, Sam," she cooed. "Prefer me on top of you instead." Mara leapt to the ground with catlike grace.
"In your dreams, darlin'," Sam said, in his best Dean drawl.
"No, in your nightmares," Mara countered, laughing as she took a step toward him. She looked from him to the knife and hesitated. A slow devious smile crept onto her face. "So you think you can kill me, Sammy? Think I'll die easily?"
"Somethin' like that — and the name is Sam."
Holding a pent breath, Sam quickly peered beyond her to see if Dean was still breathing, releasing it when he saw Dean's chest slowly rise as he drew in a ragged breath. Sam returned his attention to Mara.
"You'd be proud of your brother, he was quite a challenge, but not so much so that I couldn't beat him," Mara taunted. "You on the other hand, were always easy. Almost like a two-bit prostitute. I like that about you." She edged her way closer, cautiously eying the blade. "I can always bring you to your knees."
"Not this time."
"You think not?" Mara scowled, glaring at Sam. "We'll just have to see about that."
Sam squinched his eyelids closed as images of the yellow-eyed demon flashed in front of him. Visions of people dying by his own hand, swirled inside his mind, forcing him to his knees. The knife he held fell to clatter on stone flooring. Oh God, make it stop!
Blood dripped from his nose as stark pain ripped through his forehead. The images grew more gruesome. His body trembled as he saw himself stabbing Dean repeatedly in the neck and heart, blood surging from gaping wounds. No. Dean. Please stop, I can't take it. His fingers curled tightly around his hair as he hunched low to the ground.
Mara sauntered to Sam, grabbed him by the hair and yanked it viciously so he was peering up at her. She gently traced a clawed fingertip down the length of his face. "You see, you were never a challenge. Your weakness makes me stronger. Your fears are my lifeblood. It's why I love you, Sam — and it's why Dean must die."
Oh God, Dean, this is my fault. I'm so sorry.
I've got to stop her. Have to save Dean. Sam kept his vison trained on her as he felt around for where he'd dropped his knife. His fingers clasped onto it and he dragged it toward him. He palmed the handle, gripping it firmly as he jerked free of Mara's grasp and leapt to his feet.
"Not this time. I won't let you beat me this time." Plunging the blade into her heart, Sam twisted it counterclockwise, his steely gaze never faltering as Mara screamed and jerked away from him.
Mara staggered, clutching her chest and staring at Sam in disbelief. She looked from him to Dean, and one last wicked smile graced her face. "You're too late, Sam," she uttered and then disappeared in an explosion of ash and smoke.
Sam glared at her disappearing form for a moment to make sure she was gone, then rushed to his brother. Blood trickled from the corner of Dean's mouth, and seeped from the wounds on either side of his chest. Dean drew a shallow breath and then went deathly still.
The ear-piercing screech of the banshee echoed through the quiet of the tomb. Sam's heart caught in his throat, choking off his breath. I can't be too late. Please tell me I'm not too late. Dean. . . .
"No. No. No. No — you can't do this Dean. You can't leave me now. She's gone. We won." Gathering Dean motionless body into his arms, Sam held onto him, rocking him gently as he wept bitterly. "Come on, Dean, don't die on me now — I need you. . . ."