Sorry this took so long, but i had computer issues that needed to be resolved and then had to finish next chappy of When Darkness Calls before even attempting to write this one...hope everyone enjoys, thanks for all the awesome review!! so very cool of everyone!! bambers;)
Chapter Six
Sam awoke with a dazed confused expression on his face. Cocking a brow, Sam stared hard at Dean scrutinizing him closely, and Dean could've almost laughed if not for the seriousness of situation.
"You're short," Sam drawled, turning in his seat to get a better look at Dean.
"Thanks for the update, Captain Oblivious." Dean grimaced, not mentally prepared to go another round of Sam craziness. His brother's demonic mood swings were slowly starting to wear Dean down. Just hearing the sound of Sam's voice, rubbed Dean's nerves raw, and he inwardly cringed.
As Dean watched his brother, a dark seething formed within his heart. Anger swelled inside him, burning to be released, and it took every ounce of sheer willpower he had left, not to turn and slug Sam across the jaw for the meaningless comment. It's not like he hasn't said I'm short before, so why the hell is it bugging me so much now?
A slow boyish grin crossed Sam's face, dimpling his cheeks. "Are you by chance a member of the Lollipop Guild?"
Dean stared at him for a second, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head in utter frustration. Unfreakin' believable. Now I'm a damn munchkin. At least Will Smith was a bad-ass. "Yeah, member 238765 of the Lollipop Guild at your service. Wanna a freakin' lollipop?"
"Do you have one?" Sam asked almost gleefully, his smile widening, flashing pearly whites.
"No."
"Then why'd you ask?"
"Cause we munchkins are on strike, and its how we get our kicks until our demands are met."
Hoping the conversation was at an end, Dean returned his attention to the road. I swear to God, if he doesn't shut the hell up, I'm gonna slam my fist down his throat. Dean smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he thought of beating his brother to a bloody pulp. His smile rapidly turned to a frown as he realized what he was actually thinking, and how much pleasure the idea brought to him. What the hell is wrong with me?
Undeterred by the comment, Sam jabbed two fingers in Dean's direction. "You see, I knew you were a munchkin, your hair gave you away."
"My what?"
"You know, your hair, the way it does that whole flippy-doodle thing."
Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. He slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator, wanting nothing more than to get to Bobby's Salvage Yard before he did some serious damage to his drug-crazed brother.
He turned to glare at Sam briefly, then looked back at the road. "My hair doesn't flippy-doodle. I have freakin' awesome hair. And I'll have you know, women love running their fingers through it . . . drives them wild."
"If you say so, still looks flippy-doodle to me." Sam twisted in his seated and crammed his forehead against the window, shifting his head back and forth to stare out at everything whizzing by in technicolor splendor.
"It's better than that brown shaggy mop you call hair," Dean grumbled, unconsciously raking his fingers through his short cropped hair.
"You're not a very nice munchkin, you know that right? You must have anger management issues."
"Really, good to know, cause in about a moment, I'm gonna have kick your ass issues."
"Maybe some sort of aggression disorder as well." Sam pressed his lips against the window and started making weird popping sounds with his mouth, fogging up the window.
Hearing the noise, Dean glanced in his brother's direction. My God, it's like bein' in the car with a freakin' four-year-old. "Seriously, dude, mind not makin' out with my car?" Sam stopped what he was doing, sat face forward, and crossed his arms. "And while you're at it, Dorothy, could you click your heels together three times, maybe your brain would find its way home."
Sam glared at Dean, his happy-go-lucky expression faded, a deep scowl creasing his brow. "I'm not gonna sit here and take crap from one of Glinda's lackeys."
Before Dean realized what his brother was about to do, Sam had already unbuckled his seatbelt, and opened the car door. Sam quickly turned, ready to leap out of the speeding vehicle, and in a split-second of indecision Dean almost let him jump. Wanted him to jump. Christ, what am I doing? Dean abruptly grabbed him in a headlock, and slammed on the breaks. The Impala's tires screeched loudly, the scent of burned rubber filling the car. Dean veered recklessly to the side of the road, and put the car in park, still clutching onto his squirming brother.
"What the hell did you think you were doing, Sammy?" Dean released his hold from around Sam's neck, glowering at him. His entire body trembled, heart hammering uncomfortably against the wall of his chest. "Damn it, you could've been killed."
"Naw, dude, I can fly."
Dean's lower jaw dropped open as he stared incredulously at his younger brother. "You got one thing right, you are flyin' high — but if you had leapt out of Impala, you would've been doing a whole helluva a lot of bouncing."
"And I'm not Sammy, I'm Dean, remember, Will?" Sam said as if the whole munchkin conversation had never occurred. "God, if you're the best the military has to offer then the fate of the world is in dire straights."
Okay, makin progress, at least we're back to me being Will Smith. "Believe me, princess, they don't come any better than me." A cocky grinned twisted on Dean's face.
"Not much comfort there."
"Shut the damn door, Dean, so we can get back on the road," Dean snapped, quickly losing whatever little patience he had left.
Sam did as Dean asked, then yanked his seatbelt around himself, and snapped it in place. Stretching, he yawned loudly, then slunk in his seat, and closed his eyes. "Think we could stop and get somethin' to eat," he mumbled, tiredly. "I'm starvin'."
"Sure, what are ya in the mood for, Dean, fruit loops, nuts, or my personal favorite, a whole box chuck-full of coo-coo for cocoa puffs."
"Hmmm . . . Cracker Jacks."
"Why would you want freakin' Cracker Jacks?"
"Dunno, just want them. Hey, ever notice how no one ever really wants the toy surprise on the bottom of the box, but yet everyone fights to get it."
Yeah, it's a real freakin' mystery, dude." Dean shifted the car into gear, and pulled onto the road. God, if I have to listen to him spouting off nonsense for another five minutes, I swear I'm gonna lose my freakin mind. "Why don't ya get some more sleep, we'll be to Bo — headquarters in about forty-five minutes. I'm sure they have buckets full of Cracker Jacks for ya. And guess what, I won't even fight ya for the surprise."
"Sounds good." Sam rested his head against the window, and within a five minutes, Dean could hear him snoring.
As Dean listened to the sound of his brother's light breathing, his stomach clenching tightly, a dark scowl twisting on his face. Hatred welled inside him unlike anything he'd ever experience before, burning its way through his soul. It coiled its way around his heart, choking off any emotion or reason. He wanted Sam dead. Wanted it more than anything. Wanted Sam to suffer before he died.
Kill him. Kill him now. If anyone deserves to die, it's him.
Dean nodded, agreeing with malevolent voice inside his head. He's caused me so much pain. I've lost everyone because of him.
Pulling off to the side of the deserted stretch of road, Dean parked the car, and reached beneath his seat and quietly pulled out his knife, and gripped it firmly in his hand. As the blade caught a glint of waning sunlight, Dean visualized slicing through his brother's throat, ripping through his heart, and malicious laughter bubbled to his lips.
You deserve this, Sam, for every bit of pain you've ever put me through. Its just a shame you aren't awake so I can see the look in your eyes as you die.
Slowly, Dean swivelled in his seat, raised the knife in his left hand, poised to stab his unsuspecting brother. Sam rolled in his sleep to face Dean, a sudden cry escaping his parted lips. Dean blinked hard, the strange trance he'd fallen under vanishing at the sound. He looked from the knife in his hand to his brother, a sick feeling of dread washing over him. Oh God, what the hell did I almost do?
Dean twisted back, opened the door, and bolted out of the car. The knife he'd held dropped to the ground with a clatter as Dean stared at his hand in disbelief. I wouldn't of . . . I couldn't.
He looked at his brother sleeping soundly, and then yanked out his cell phone. Scrolling down until he found Bobby's number, he jabbed the button and made the call.
Come on, Bobby answer your damn phone.
After the fifth ring, Bobby answered.
"Hello."
"Bobby . . . this is Dean." The words tumbled from his mouth in an urgent rush, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears.
"Somethin' the matter with Sam, Dean?" came Bobby's gruff reply.
"No . . . well, not exactly. Bobby, I think we're in deep shit."
"Tell me what's wrong."
Dean drew in a staggering breath, trying to calm his taut nerves. "I think whatever Sam is taking, not only effects him, but those around him as well."
"What do you mean . . . are ya sure?" Bobby asked, and Dean could hear the concern in the old hunter's voice.
"Pretty damn sure . . . if almost killing my own brother is any indication." Dean stalked back and forth, berating himself for underestimating whatever demon had control over his brother, and now it seemed him as well.
"You did what?"
"I dunno, Bobby, it was like I was under some kinda trance, and all I could feel was pure hatred toward Sam — I-I literally wanted him dead."
"Look, just get him back here, and we'll figure this out together."
Dean could feel the anger inside him beginning to boil to the surface again. Just saying Sam's name elicited a rage he could scarcely control. "How am I supposed to do that when just looking at him or hearing his voice, makes me want to bash his skull in?"
Bobby was quiet for a moment and Dean could tell he was mulling over what Dean had said. "How far away are you from the salvage yard?"
"About a half hour."
"Okay, jus' blare your music. Don't look at him, don't talk to him, and if he talks to you, turn the music up even louder." Bobby took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then continued, "I'll meet you half-way and he can drive the rest of the way here with me."
Dean glared in his brother's direction, fists clenching and unclenching, as he continued to pace. "All right, but you'd better hurry, cause I'm not sure how long I can hold out."
"I'm leavin' right now. Do what I told you to do. And if you feel like you're gonna hurt him, jus' get outta the car . . . hear me, jus' get out and get away from him."
"Yeah, gotcha."
Leaning against the hood of the Impala, Dean hung up the phone and put it back in the pocket of his jacket.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"He wants you dead, Sam. He has always wanted you dead," A darkly foreboding voice spoke to Sam as he watched Dean advanced toward him, knife in hand, poised to strike. Unadulterated hatred filled Dean's green eyes. Green. Not inky black. Not possessed.
"Dean, just tell me what I did?" Sam pleaded, seeing the hatred so clearly directed toward him. "You can't do this, I'm you brother, for Christ sake."
"I want you to die . . . just the sight of you makes me physically sick. You're the reason they're all dead . . . Mom, Dad, and Jessica. And God only knows how many others have died because of you."
"You have to kill him, Sam," the voice inside his mind urge. "You have to before he murders you."
A knife appeared in Sam's hand. He tore his gaze away from his brother for a second to look at it, wondering briefly how it got there, and then dropped the blade. He shook his head. "No, I won't hurt him."
"Then you'll die."
Dean lunged at him stabbing Sam in the chest repeatedly. Sam screamed in pain as blood spilled down his chest.
Sam awoke with a startled jolt, gazing around wildly for his brother. His heartbeat raced a mile a minute as sweat trickled down his face and prickled at his scalp. Noticing Dean leaning against the hood of the Impala, Sam slid to the driver's side, and stealthily exited the vehicle. His keen gaze lit on a knife lying on the ground beside the car, and he stooped to retrieve it. Palming the blade in his right hand, he strode toward Dean.
"Dean," Sam quietly said, hiding the knife behind his back. "Dean, what's wrong?" He asked when his brother didn't say anything.
Dean glance up at him briefly, and before his brother quickly lowered his head, Sam saw the same look in his brother's eyes as in the nightmare he'd just had.
"So, I'm Dean again, good to know." Dean snarled. "Not that I wasn't enjoying be called a munchkin from Oz or Will Smith, but I really think I prefer my own name."
Scratching his head, Sam quirked a brow, at the odd comment. "Dude, what the hell are you talkin' about. You're not making any sense."
"Oh, yeah, that's right, I'm the one not making any sense." Dean pushed away from the car, and came face to face with Sam. "What did you forget your happy joy pills or something, Sammy."
The muscle in Dean's jerked, his face contorting in rage.
"I don't know what you mean." Sam's grip tightened around the handle of the blade. "And I gotta tell ya, you're kinda making me worried. What did I do wrong?"
Dean strode past him, slamming his shoulder into Sam's. "Just get in the car . . . get in and for God sake, just shut the hell up."
Sam watched Dean get in the car, and then pulled the knife from behind his back and looked at it. It couldn't have been a vision. It was only a nightmare. Inside his mind, Sam heard the same voice he'd heard in his dream.
You have to kill him, Sam — Kill Dean before he kills you.
He nodded in understanding, and headed to the passenger's side, a dark glint in his hazel eyes.