Grayscale
IV
Author's Notes: Oh my GOD, I'm SO sorry you guys! Honestly, I did not intend to start a story and have it go such a long time between updates (I was supposed to be over that phase of my life). My gazillion apologies just won't make up for the wait, I know, but I am certainly very sorry. I could tell you a bunch of reasons why I haven't updated, but they'll all come off as whiney excuses, and I don't like excuses…so I'll leave it at 'I'm sorry' and beg a thousand times over for your forgiveness.
Aside from that, wow, gosh, thanks so, so, so, SO, so much to everyone who kept asking me for an update, well past the last time I posted (which was forever ago…). Especially to jjlover82, mariazinha, bubblesquirt and Ash8 for really getting me going. But everyone's kind reviews and encouraging response has been so very helpful, and I seriously can't thank everyone enough. Of course, if there's anything I can do to make up for the wait, let me know…
More Notes Most People Aren't Reading (lol): Um, also, because of excu…uh, reasons, I had kind of hurried the first half of this chapter up, attempting desperately to find my groove again with this story. I'm pretty sure I got it back…I hope. We'll see. Also, please keep in mind, if I were writing a deathfic, I would allow proper warning to ensue prior to beginning the story. Yes, just…trust me on that when you finish this chapter.
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"I can't make you beg for your life, but I can make you beg for his…"
"Don't you touch him," Dean cautioned, pulling against the cuffs that bound his arms behind his back. And Gordon ignored him, if not indulging himself in the helplessness of Dean's voice.
He lifted his foot and slammed it hard into Sam's abdomen, sending his upper body forward from the inward push. Sam let out a strangled yell before Gordon kicked again.
"Stop it!" Dean gasped, leaning forward so much that he nearly dislocated his shoulder.
"Why?" Gordon faced him a brief moment. "Sam's evil, you know. We hunt evil. We stop evil. We kill evil. It's what we do," he grinned. "Or have you forgotten that?"
"He's not evil!"
"Oh, I beg to differ. I know all about little Sammy. Ellen didn't want to talk too much, but fear does something to a mother that makes secrets seem like artificial promises not to share. What I don't know is why you're so willing to let him walk free, knowing what he is."
"So, okay, you have this big idea he's demon spawn. Fine. He's still breathing," thank God. "Why haven't you just killed him? Why torture him?"
"Ah," Gordon nodded casually. "Torturing is fun. I like to think of it as kind of an incentive for all my hard work—seeing son's of bitches like Sam here suffering. A lot of times I have to go for the kill so quickly I hardly enjoy it. You know maybe he hasn't done all that wrong by you yet…but what his future holds…whatever his future holds…it has to do with the demon that killed your mother. He's going to turn, Dean. He'll turn against you."
Sam half-attempted to raise his head, to speak, but could only utter out a ragged breath. Gordon's eyes snapped back to him, and again he kicked but this time it was higher. If Sam had been coherent enough to guess, he'd think he was feeling what it must be like when your diaphragm implodes. He hacked and coughed, trying to catch enough air in his lungs, slowly becoming oblivious to his surroundings. But he heard Dean yelling clearly, heard him struggling against his own restraints, and his voice was the only thing that kept Sam from giving into the growing urge to sleep. But fading into the background was so much easier than facing the pain, so he let his brother do the talking.
"Look at him!" Dean commanded. "If he's so evil, why hasn't he done anything to defend himself? Why hasn't he…called up his demon buddies to kick your ass?" he continued breathlessly. "Because he can't! It's not who he is."
"Are you really that blind? Look, he's your brother, your blood. I get that. But you have to think logically about this. You think it was that easy for me to kill my sister?"
"Yes," Dean puffed, turning his head to his side as if it disgusted him to look at Gordon.
"I didn't say it wasn't easy…but it wasn't that easy. It only took me one second to see her fangs…those fangs told me more about my sister than I ever knew about her. She wasn't my sister anymore. And if I just let her live…Do you know how many people would be dead now, because of her? If Sam lives, do you want to think of how many people will die?"
"Did she attack you?" Dean asked, still looking away.
"What?"
"Your sister…did she attack you?"
Gordon felt his fists tightening, found it hard to keep his eyes focused on Dean.
"What's it matter if she did or not? I got to her before she got to me."
"So…she didn't attack you."
"What's your point? I'm alive and she's not. End of story."
"Oh, I don't think so," Dean sneered, moving his gaze back to meet Gordon's. "Seems to me you didn't even give her a chance. She might have been different, but she was still your sister…and you killed her without giving her the benefit of the doubt. I bet you wish you hadn't. I bet you anything you wish you let her live…see if there was another way to help her, than to just give up on her like that."
"You don't know the first thing about it."
"I think you miss her, don't you Gordon? You think about her every day, how you royally screwed up when you capped her."
"Shut up!" Gordon demanded and any carefree attitude he'd managed to keep quickly vanished. The cool, frigid calmness in his eyes disappeared and now burned a fiery, furious almost red. "I did what had to be done! And I'd do it again. I couldn't have helped her. She couldn't have helped herself." His fists quavered now.
"You were scared…" Dean said in something hardly a whisper, trying to convince himself as much as he was Gordon. Watching the other man flinch from the words caused him to speak up. "You're scared maybe the world is more grayscale than you choose to see. And that makes you wrong. It makes you the bad guy."
"I'm not the bad guy here," Gordon said, as if it were his mantra, something he needed to hear that allowed everything he stood for to be true. "You can think what you want to think…but I know what I'm doing. And neither of you are talking about this big secret…so maybe Sam doesn't know the demon's plans. But I will say this…I'm not letting him out of here so we can all find out later on."
When Gordon lifted his gun and put it to Sam's temple, it became apparent to Dean that exploiting Gordon's last nerve and crushing it wasn't going to hinder his motives to destroy Sam, and ultimately kill everything Dean lived for. Dean thought of the knife tucked away in his back pocket, though there was no way he could get to it, no way he could use it. All he had were words and it wasn't enough.
"Don't—"
"Dean, I knew the kind of man your father was. I know the kind of hunter he raised you to be—strong, fierce, powerful. He didn't raise you to be weak, to keep Sam attached to your hip for the rest of your life. He didn't raise you to question evil and seek motives for it, which wastes time, gives the bad guys a chance to escape, to keep on killing. Think of John and what he'd do right now."
"He wouldn't do anything to Sam, not ever."
"Aw, Dean…you really believe that? Now how can you know that for sure…seeing as how…oh…he's dead."
Gordon couldn't help the small trembling that ran through him as Dean nearly growled and his chains rattled behind him while he jerked forward.
"I'm going to kill you," Dean said matter-of-factly.
"No, I don't think you will. See, once I pull this trigger, you'll feel like the heaviest weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You'll understand Sam's death is for the greater good, for everyone. And you'll think twice about where you stand. Because right now you're just one soldier, and you're up against an entire army who see things differently, who see things for what they are at their core…no grayscale bullshit."
"I think you're the one who's confused. Right now, I think you're no better than the things you hunt. Twisted, demented, just plain ill."
"You know, I've really had it with your negative opinion about me. Kinda hurts my feelings. So you want to join Sam here in his grave? You need to make a choice, Dean. You're either on our side, or theirs. Good…or evil. Which side are you on?"
Dean looked at Sam, and for a flickering moment of coherency, Sam was able to glance up at Dean. It was in that moment that needed no words, no second thoughts, for Dean to know his answer.
"Which side are you on, Dean?" Gordon asked again, firmer, and pressed the gun closer to Sam's head. "Which side!"
"My brother's!" Dean said fervently, his eyes locked on Sam. He felt a bittersweet pang beat in his chest, because oh, how the truth could hurt. "I'm on my brother's side…no matter what."
If it was the fate of the world or the fate of Sam…well, there was no hesitation on which Dean would save first.
"Well then…seems to me John would be disappointed in you. If this is what you choose," Gordon said sardonically, nudging the gun barrel against Sam's head, jolting him. "Your funeral."
Dean heard the gun cock, and time flashed like lightning behind his eyes, blinding him to the point of paralysis. He was constrained, helpless, and unable to knock the gun away, to stop Gordon from pulling the trigger. Sam was going to die right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to save him.
He saw was the smug grin on Gordon's face. For a moment, then, it was only Sam there, suspended somewhere unreachable with the threat of death looming closer than Dean appreciated. He was almost thankful that Sam had his head bowed down, eyes cast away from Dean's, though Dean could still envision the torment swirling about those puppy-dog orbs his brother possessed.
And then he thought of John.
"…I want you to watch out for Sammy…"
It was the last order given to him, the first assignment he had as a big brother, the only job he cared about, and the most important thing he'd ever do in this world.
"…I want you to watch out for Sammy…"
"…You wouldn't even blink…"
"…The things I'm willing to do…"
"…I want you to watch out for Sammy…"
"…Yeah, Dad, you know I will…"
Whatever it takes.
Dean's heart raced, his veins trembled with an erratic pulse as blood coursed through him angrily, determined. This was it, his only chance, and he couldn't screw it up.
He tried not to yell, tried not to allow the glass shattering scream erupt from his throat as his arm muscles contorted, stretched, ripped forward. He gritted his teeth and continued to pull, fighting the throbbing resistance behind him as his left hand twisted and pinched into the metal of the handcuffs. He ignored the pain and the sharp snap in his wrist, ignored the cringing tingle that crawled over his entire body when the bone in his thumb cracked and popped.
In half a second, his left hand tore free from the cuffs, relinquishing use of his right arm which he took no hesitation in reaching for the switchblade tucked away behind him. In less than half a heartbeat, he swung out in one fluid motion of solidified rage and animalistic precision. The blade flew out from his hands, tunneling through the air in a swift motion, and before anyone could blink, it met its target.
Gordon dropped the gun instantly, both hands maneuvering dizzily up towards his chest where the knife flew in, pounding into his flesh, grinding against bone. He took two steps backwards, staring at Dean, almost impressed and in shock.
Once Dean remembered how to breathe, could see his surroundings clearly after being blinded by the blurring fury that took him over, he carefully stood up and paid no attention to his broken hand. He walked tiredly, but with confidence, over to Gordon who was slowly starting to slump forward. It seemed he was trying his best not to fall, just kept one hand steady on the handle of the blade, maybe testing the thought of pulling it out himself.
Gordon held his ground, arrogantly smiling through blood-stained teeth, as Dean made his way up to him and stood just inches away.
His voice rasped and cut in his throat.
"I told you…you're a killer…like me."
Something harsh glinted in Dean's eyes. He glanced down over to Sam and a new wave of anger hit every nerve in his body as he recalled what the man in front of him put his brother through. He brought his gaze back up to Gordon.
"No, I'm not like you, Gordy," Dean started, providing his best and most charming smile. "Because in ten seconds, I'll still be breathing."
The arrogance washed away from Gordon's face, and suddenly Dean's hand was over his, twisting the blade in his chest. Blood spilled down his lips and lost words curdled somewhere over his tongue. He gave one last attempt at half a smile, a kind of knowing smile that Dean couldn't quite understand and didn't care to at the moment. Then Gordon shut his eyes. Dean pulled the blade out slowly, jaggedly, and watched as Gordon fell to the ground and convulsed a moment. One last breath escaped him before he stopped moving altogether.
Dean dropped the knife and gripped his hand, letting out a long and heavy sigh.
"It's over, Sammy," he said with dramatic relief, lowering his shoulders to ease up the tense muscles in his neck. He turned around and kneeled beside his brother about to give him a quick once-over before figuring out the easiest way to get him back to the impala and to a hospital, but then he noticed Sam's head was still facedown. He wasn't moving. "Sammy?" Dean tried again, this time lifting Sam's chin.
No sound of response was emitted from Sam, his eyes closed, and a frightening chill ran down Dean's spine when he realized his brother wasn't breathing. A quick second passed as he frantically paid notice to all the blood around them. Sam's blood. And the pallor of his skin was so unnatural. And God, he should be breathing.
"Sam!" Dean yelled, and he forgot about the intense pain in his left hand as tried to move Sam down to his back. He scurried closer and situated himself quickly, put both hands one over the other atop Sam's chest and began compressions. After the first compression Dean winced back, feeling the tenderness in his hand swell with a blistering pain. He bit back a small cry and went to try again, but there wasn't enough strength he could muster to put enough pressure.
Dean struggled to try different angles with his hand so he could do compressions without it hurting so much, but found no simple solution.
There was so much blood. It was everywhere. Dean's body began to shake and tremble, thinking of all the blood loss his brother has suffered. This wasn't something he could fix on his own. This wasn't a first-aid kit and a bandage ordeal. He watched water droplets fall on Sam's forehead while he hovered over him. It took him a moment to admit it wasn't just drops of water, but tears.
The plan had been simple…get in, stop Gordon, save Sam. This wasn't how it was supposed to go down. It was unacceptable. Dean took Sam by the shoulders as best he could and shook him.
"Sam, breathe!" He yelled. His voice carried into the lonely darkness. It was so still, everything around him so unmoving, so stuck in some frozen, dark hell.
He was ready to break down, to cave inward, and just let go of every emotion he ever locked away. He was ready to give up because he didn't know what to do, and I can't do this alone. He was ready to end it all, since everything worth hanging around for was lifeless in his arms. He was ready…until he saw a ribbon of red and blue light dance on the ceiling, flashing back and forth.
And when he really listened, he could hear the faint chorus of sirens. He heard voices yelling, doors opening, and lights turning on, flickering above and illuminating the entire gory scene around him. He dared to call for help, afraid to hope for some kind of miracle.
Then, in a very hazy motion, Dean saw people flooding into the room. Footsteps echoed, clattering against the concrete. He watched silently, disbelievingly, as an EMT knelt down on the other side of Sam. He thought it might be a figment of his imagination. Everything was happening so fast.
The man's eyes were young and gentle, reminding Dean somewhat of Sam, which only piqued his interest to stare, half mesmerized as though this was some kind of hallucination. The man was talking but Dean could barely hear above the noise. People scattering about the scene, shouting things, asking questions he had no mind to answer. And his head throbbed.
All he could do was say 'Save Sam, save Sam' but he wasn't sure if the people knew what he was saying or if they could even hear him. It was then he realized how dark it was getting, how tired he'd become all of a sudden and how much harder it was to keep his eyes open. But he was able to keep a tight grip on Sam, even when the man and one of his friends came over and tried to pry him away.
Dean just held on.
"Save Sam…save him…"
And he couldn't let go.
A woman and another guy came up behind him, tried to pull him back gently, whispering things like 'It'll be okay, we're here to help' but he was so afraid to trust them. Because maybe it was some kind of trap. Because what if they knew about Sam…what if they knew the secret…what if they would kill Sam once he let go? And then he remembered…Sam may already be dead.
But still, he couldn't let go.
Then, all the chaos in the room quieted, and people were moving around soundlessly. When he witnessed everyone around him moving their mouths with no sound, no voice, he shut his eyes. And there was one soft voice, eerily calming, that came to him clearly.
It said "Sleep…everything will be okay now…Sleep."
"Save…Sam…please…" Dean pleaded inside his head, unable to hear even his own voice. He was disoriented, clinging onto his brother.
"Sleep," the voice spoke firmly. It was a commandment. And his mind and body had no choice but to obey, and so he fell into the forthcoming darkness of sleep.
-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-
To be continued…
I plan on letting the end of this chapter make sense the beginning of next. I have my reasons for things…
My goal is to have this story finished BEFORE Hunted airs this Thursday night. I hope I can reach that goal, lol. I've finally got my inspiration back, so that should help…I don't know, a LOT.
Thanks to everyone for reading. And please remember what I mentioned before this chapter about my fair warning system…mm-kay?
Silver Kitten