Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. Sadly. I'm still in shock…
Warnings: Swearing, blood and Winchester angst. Enjoy!
A/N: I'm still in shock over the first part of the season finale and I'm still struggling not to cry. I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL NEXT THURSDAY!!!!
Anyway, back onto the story. Hope you enjoy this because it's one of the hardest things I've ever written, and somewhat of a challenge. Hence the lengthy delay in me posting. Let me know what you think, yeah?
There are a few more chapters after this, and possibly an epilogue. And, judging by how well I pull the rest of this off, possibly a sequel. Onwards my friends, and don't forget to review me!
Part Thirteen: Lessons Learned
-
So soon may I follow
When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
The Last Rose of Summer by Thomas Moore
-
Sam responded immediately to Dean's frantic shout for him to get back. He scrambled away as fast as possible, the gun gripped tightly in his fist and clattering loudly against the metal beneath him.
The loud boom of the shotgun was deafening to Sam's ears, and he watched in horror as the Wraith disappeared once more, before reappearing in the blink of an eye right before Dean. For a moment, both Dean and the Wraith just stared at each other, Dean's face a mixture of fury and defiance and fear.
Fear for him, Sam knew, because he knew his brother better than anyone, and he knew that Dean had never had any concern for his own safety. He didn't care if he got hurt as long as Sam and their father were okay. It made Sam want to scream sometimes, because it didn't make any sense.
And there he was, boldly staring down the thing that had been tormenting him relentlessly. Dean didn't know the Wraith like he did; he didn't know what it was capable of. Sam knew that it could quite easily kill them if it wanted to (which it did) and it would when it had finished toying with them both. They had to destroy it before it had had it's fun, and before it killed Dean.
Sam screamed at Dean to get back but before his brother could, he was flying through the air, and crashing through the glass window of the office.
Sam stared dumbly as the glass showered down and Dean disappeared before he scrambled into action. He crawled desperately to the door of the office, still clutching the gun and aware that the Wraith was still behind him. His body was sluggish and awash with pain, and his vision danced sickeningly in front of him, but he could see Dean on the floor, covered in glass and blood. He was semi-conscious and Sam crawled over to him, gripping his shirt desperately before glancing over his shoulder to see where the Wraith was.
"C'mon Dean. You gotta wake up," he begged. "I need you..."
Dean groaned, and his eyes fluttered, but that was the only response he received. There was so much blood everywhere. Sam's fingered shakily searched for a pulse, and he breathed easier when he found one, throbbing strongly in his brothers neck. He was breathing steadily too, and a relieved sob escaped Sam as he dropped his pounding head onto his brothers chest.
He was okay. He wasn't in any danger yet. There was enough time for Sam to get him some help. But there was so much blood...
Sam breathed in the scent of his blood and sweat and Dean. Dean, who had always been there for him, through thick and thin. Dean, who was his brother, and his best friend and the one who had taught him everything he knew and more. The one who had come here to save him knowing full well that he would be risking his own life to do so.
Sam breathed in again, and just thinking about how strong Dean had always been for him calmed him down automatically, as it always had.
It was his turn to be strong this time.
"It's okay now Dean. You don't need to worry about me anymore," he whispered into the warmth of Dean's chest. "You just rest."
Clumsily, he fumbled for the handgun and closed his freezing fingers around the grip. He needed to end this quickly, because he was losing strength and he was losing it fast.
" 'am..." Dean groaned, his eyes still closed.
"Shh, Dean. You stay here. I'll be back..."
Sam made sure that the shotgun was close to Dean in case he needed it when he woke, before he grasped onto the edge of a nearby table to help pull himself upright. He sagged against the rotting wood, the gun clenched tightly in his hand. Bile rose in his throat and vertigo threatened to get the best of him but he stubbornly held on and waited for it to pass.
He almost threw up again, but he breathed deeply and blinked rapidly to try and get rid of the black spots that were dancing before his eyes.
The Wraith appeared in the doorway and Sam tried to calm his beating heart.
Stay strong, Sam...
Don't ever show them that you're afraid...
He needed to draw the Wraith away from Dean, who was vulnerable and unable to defend himself. At least if the Wraith was concentrating on him then Dean would have a chance to wake up and defend himself.
"I've already lost enough," Sam muttered, struggling to stay upright even with the help of the rickety old desk. "I'm not going to let you have Dean too..."
His only reply was a primal hiss.
"Figures you can't talk. At least you would've been able to tell me why you're doing this to me..."
The Wraith's eyes bored into his own, staring endlessly, emotionlessly. Sam snorted at himself. There was no reason for destroying lives. Just mindless, reasonless evil.
"Fine. You want to kill me?" Sam slurred, talking more to himself than anything. "Bring it on."
That seemed to be what it had been waiting for because Sam felt freezing pressure surround him and start the squeeze.
He gasped for breath and struggled to fight against whatever it was the was holding him immobile but to no avail. The Wraith hissed, narrowed it's eyes and moved closer, watching with obvious glee as Sam fought.
It felt like someone had inserted a red-hot hook into his stomach and was slowly dragging it up. He could feel his strength being sucked out of him, and it was becoming harder and harder to breathe.
Oh god, it was finally...this was what it wanted. It was going to rob him of what little strength he had left, then take possession of his body as he died. His own body would become a puppet to the Wraith, and then...and then the Wraith would kill Dean, and their father and everyone he had ever loved. It would terrorize anyone it came across, killing mercilessly using his face, his hands...
Sam couldn't let that happen. Even if it meant that he died in the process, he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't imagine his face displayed on televisions and newspapers alike, accusing him of killing his own family. A cold blooded murderer.
And yet he was getting weaker. He couldn't move at all and he was going to die here in a run down, rotting warehouse. Seemed a fitting end to a life lived in the shadows, but not one he wanted.
Sam didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave Dean and he wanted to work things out with his father. Why had he been so eager to sign everything away a few hours ago? Why had he been so eager to die when he was so terrified now?
It didn't make any sense. It never had. Just like the Wraith. The Wraith was an anomaly, and perhaps Sam was too.
"Y-you can't..."
And then all of a sudden he was released. He half collapsed to the dirty floor, and gasped for much needed air. It filled his lungs, sweet and cold and Sam felt dizzy again. His vision whirled unsteadily but he managed to turn his head and look at Dean, who was still lying on the floor surrounded by glittered shards of glass.
He was starting to move a bit more, but he was no closer to waking up. No help to be found there then.
Sam struggled to find his feet. Amazingly, he managed once more, though he swayed dangerously and staggered when the world swayed. He was seeing double of everything, and the Wraith became a black blur before his eyes, complete with two glowing eyes that seemed blindingly bright to him.
He lifted arms that seemed to be made of lead and tried to focus on the Wraith. He had to grip the gun with both hands to stop it from falling.
Taking a breath that caught in his throat, Sam squeezed the trigger and staggered when the recoil hammered into him.
The Wraith hissed angrily, having escaped the bullet. All things considered, Sam's aim had probably been way off anyway. But the Wraith seemed to realize that the gun held a real danger and retreated from the office room.
Sam felt a surge of accomplishment; it was a start a least.
But before he could gather his wits to try and think of the next move Sam was hit by a blast of ice-cold energy that sent him flying through the window Dean had broken.
He landed awkwardly on the hard metal floor outside, the air forced painfully from his lungs and the gun sent clattering when he lost his grip.
Sam rolled over and reached desperately, but it was too far away, teetering on the edge of the mezzanine and threatening to fall to the factory floor at any moment.
The Wraith appeared between him and the gun, and Sam attempted to pull himself upright once more and put some distance between him and it.
The Wraith had other plans however, and it drifted closer to him. Sam propelled himself backwards desperately, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing but a stack of rotting crates and a couple of rusting barrels. Not that it would be of any use against a incorporeal being, but he needed something to use as a distraction so he could get to the gun and put those blessed bullets to good use.
He'd heard somewhere that Wraiths could be destroyed by holy weapons. Whether that included bullets that were blessed had yet to be seen. If he had holy water or something of the like, it might have made a difference. But he had to work with what he had. He didn't need to worry about the Wraith getting possession of him while he was alive because Dean had made him put on the necklace...which was….holy...
Suddenly an idea struck him. It was risky, and he'd likely die anyway but as long as the Wraith was destroyed, it didn't really matter did it? He needed to make sure that it didn't hurt Dean anymore than it already had. It was his turn to protect Dean, and he'd be damned to hell if he didn't do it right.
Sam's hand fell on something cold and small and he grasped it without looking to see what it was, keeping his eyes on the Wraith at all times. His heart was pounding savagely in his chest and his breath rasped loudly in his ears.
Defend me in battle. Be my safeguard and protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil...
He hurled whatever it was in his hand at the Wraith as hard as he could and watched as if vanished again.
Thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls...
Once the Wraith had vanished, Sam dove towards the gun that was resting at the edge of the platform with the desperate hope that it wouldn't fall. His fingers touched the cold metal as he landed on his stomach, and for a moment he thought that the gun had been knocked over the edge. But somehow, he retained his grip and managed to wrap his fingers around the grip.
Sam lurched to his feet and whirled around the face the Wraith, bringing the gun up as he did so. With one hand he gripped the cross that hung at his neck, with the other he held the quavering gun aimed at the Wraith.
"The light of God surrounds me," Sam managed through his labored breathing.
The Wraith was infuriated, and it rushed at him faster than he could keep track of. He tried to steady his trembling arm, and to stop his vision from swimming before him as he struggled to concentrate on speaking the words and breathing steadily as his father had taught him
"The love of God enfolds me."
He braced for the recoil and pulled the trigger once, purposefully missing and hoping that it would slow it down a bit.
"The power of God protects me."
As predicted, the Wraith kept coming, dodging the bullet with ease. Sam felt that frigid pressure surround him once more, trying to keep him immobile. Through chattering breath and strained breathing, Sam continued
"The presence of God watches over me."
The Wraith was close now, and Sam felt the last of his strength being drained out of him. His knees began to give out, and Sam's heart beat impossibly faster as it struggled to keep its hold on life.
"Where ever I am God is," he whispered. "Go to...hell you...son of a...bitch."
Sam closed his eyes when the Wraith was on him, its last attempt to possess him. As it surrounded him, he pulled the trigger and gripped the pendant so tightly that bold ran from between him fingers.
With a cry of rage, Sam pushed against the Wraith with the last of his mental strength as he kept pulling the trigger until the chamber was empty, words from every prayer he knew tumbling within his mind. Blood dripped from his fist slowly.
As each of the bullets pierced through the shadow that was the Wraith, it screamed an ear splitting scream and disappeared for the last time in a blinding flash of light and a blast of frigid wind that buffeted his aching body.
The pressure was gone. Sam was alone once more. The Wraith was finished.
The breath was sucked from his chest as the realization hit him. Finally, his knees gave out and he collapsed against the rusted railing behind him. For a moment, all was well, and Sam was crying as he felt a weight the size of the world lift from his shoulders. He was free...
Suddenly, a painful screeching sounded, and the rail Sam was leaning against gave was.
And then he was falling...
-
The sound of blaring gunfire had John and Caleb leaping from the truck, shot guns in hand and racing towards the factory. Johns heart was pounding with exertion and panic, and he prayed that the boys were okay.
He was furious and terrified and the whole thing had spiraled out of control too quickly for him to be able to do anything but watch helplessly.
Caleb was fell behind as John raced as fast as he could towards the open door where the battle was raging.
He prayed that Dean had found Sammy alive. He prayed that they had been able to hold off the Wraith long enough for them to arrive, and he prayed that there was someone somewhere watching over them.
He should have been watching over them, but he had failed in that duty. Now wasn't the time to be wallowing in self-recrimination and hatred though.
Flash light and shot gun at the ready, John kicked the door open further and burst inside.
"DEAN?! SAM?!"
Caleb was at his side in moments, and for a moment, they stared around trying to find wherever the battle was taking place. All was quiet. The gunfire had stopped.
Please don't let me be too late...please...
A loud thud echoed in the darkness, and they whirled around, the light from the flashlights reaching out and illuminating a still lump on the other side of the factory.
John took off before anything really registered in his mind. He skidded to a stop and fell to his knees beside the still body of his youngest.
"Sammy..." his hand was shaking terribly as he reached out and gripped his shoulder.
Blood coated Sam's face and soaked his shirt and he was clearly unconscious. His skin was cold to touch and one of Sam's legs was twisted at a sickening angle.
John was unaware of the tears that were coursing down his face.
"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?"
There was no response. John set about searching for a pulse, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he found once, weak and fluttering against his finger tips.
"He's still alive," he murmured.
"I think he must've fallen from up there," Caleb said after a moment. "I'll go and check it out."
"Find Dean," John called after him.
He pulled out the first aid kit that Jim had supplied him with, and the bottle of water.
"Don't you die on me Sam. I forbid it, you hear me?" John was whispering under his breath. "Once you're all better, you and me and Dean are going to go on a holiday. You'd like that wouldn't you?"
He set about meticulously wiping the blood away in search of the head wound. When he found it, he ignored the way his stomach sank, and his bile rose in his throat. Ignoring the white glint of skull, John placed a wad of gauze against the wound, and bandaged it in place as carefully as possible.
Once the wound had pressure on it, John pulled out his cell and dialed 911. Normally he wouldn't bother, because they all knew how to deal with injuries, but when a fall was involved, it wasn't anything to fuck with. There was a the possibility of spinal injuries, and there was no way in hell John was going to make it worse for Sam.
John spoke briskly as he kept his eyes on Sam, giving the address then throwing his phone away from him.
Gently, he ran his hands over Sam's unconscious body, pulling up his shirt and hissing in dismay at the dark bruising on his abdomen. There was definitely internal injuries. And that leg...
There was a very obvious deformity of the femur, which was one of the strongest bones in the body and one of the hardest to break.
"Jesus, Sammy. You're a mess." John said quietly.
He took one of Sam's bruised and scraped hands in his and stroked a strand of blood soaked hair off his sons face.
"Don't you worry, Sammy. You're old man's here now. I'm going to make this better."
A loud clatter and a muffled curse sounded from the upper level of the factory, and John tore his gaze away from the broken body of Sam and looked up to see Caleb stumble to the stairs, supporting Dean.
It appeared that Dean was semi-conscious, and Caleb kept muttering curses as he struggled to maneuver Dean down the stairs.
Dean looked like hell, but he was still alive and able to walk, which was a good thing. He was covered in blood as well, and had a large, bloody lump near one temple.
"Shit," Caleb cursed again, as he carefully lowered Dean to the floor next to Sam. "Found him upstairs in the doorway of an office. Seemed he was thrown through a window. There's no sign of the Wraith anywhere."
"Which can only mean that it's back in Sam," John murmured, looking back down at his youngest again, to where he grasped Sam's limp hand in his own.
"No...S'not," Dean's slurred voice met their ears and John whipped his head up to look at him.
"Dean?" Caleb tapped Dean's cheek lightly.
Most of Dean's weight was against Caleb's chest, and he listed there before his eyes blinked open and he looked blurrily back at John.
"Sam killed it," he told them, struggling to form the words. "Saw it die with my own eyes. It's gone."
"But...how?" Caleb asked, apparently dumbfounded.
"Beats me," Dean closed his eyes and leant more heavily into Caleb. " 'm tired..."
"Don't go to sleep on me, kid. I'm not carrying your sorry ass to the car." Caleb jostled Dean slightly, wary of his injured head.
That was two head injuries in one night. It couldn't be good. If anything, he'd have a killer headache for the next few days, John knew.
"How's Sam?" Dean whispered, his eyes closed. "He okay?"
"He's fine," John answered bluntly, returning his attention to Sam.
He was still unconscious and showing no signs of waking. John knew how to check for signs of responsiveness, but he dare not test any of them because of the possible internal injuries Sam had sustained.
The wail of distant sirens greeted John's relieved ears and closed his eyes for a moment before he leant forward and pressed his lips to Sam's forehead.
"Don't you worry Sammy. There's help on the way. Me and Dean won't be far away." he whispered for his ears only as the ambulances pulled up. Flashing lights lit up the factory, and Caleb met his gaze steadily.
They'd come up with a cover story on the way here so they wouldn't be caught out, and it was a good solid one. All John had to do now was make sure that Sam had the best treatment possible.
He touched Mary's golden cross reverently where it lay against Sam's chest. He hoped it had protected him.
"You'll be okay, Sam," John whispered as the paramedics rushed over. "I'm going to make sure of it."
-
John had talked to so many people over the last eight hours that they were all blurring together into one generic face - police, hospital staff, Caleb, Jim, they all looked the same and it mattered little to him.
He was so exhausted that he was ready to drop where he stood. In fact, it was probably sheer willpower that was keeping him on his feet.
Dean had been given the all clear. He'd suffered several bad lacerations and had received over a hundred stitches in all. There was severe bruising on his chest where (according to Dean) the Wraith had tried its best to make him one with a wall. His dislocated shoulder had been aggravated and had been placed in a specialized sling. The two bangs to the head had combined into one more serious concussion. He'd been given a hospital room and was being kept in for observation for the next few days.
Sam's condition, on the other hand, was still unknown. He'd been whisked away by hospital staff the moment they'd arrived and John hadn't seen hair nor hide of him for almost eight hours. His doctor too, had been noticeably absent too, and John hoped that was because he was busy treating Sam.
John looked down at Dean, who was resting peacefully before him. He'd been given pain killers and John was determined that he'd rest uninterrupted for awhile longer yet.
All of them were exhausted, and while the relief that this was over was palpable, it had been over shadowed by Sam and Dean's injuries.
John was too tired to even begin to consider what to do next.
A soft tap on the door frame alerted him to Caleb's presence. The younger hunter had returned to Jim's to shower and change and collect some things for Dean and Sam. Jim had called off the search for Sam and was probably clearing up the mess they'd left the place in. He'd have to find some way to make it up to him, John thought to himself.
"Any word yet?" Caleb asked in hushed tones.
John shook his head wordlessly, returning his gaze to Dean.
Caleb set down the bag of Dean's things by the door. "I think I'm going to go and see if I can hassle some information out of the nurses. I'll be back."
John nodded, distracted by the cuts and bruises on Dean's face. He reached out and traced a finger over one of the high cheek bones softly.
It wasn't the kind of life he'd wanted for either of his boys. He'd wanted desperately to find a place they could settle down and make a home for themselves. He'd tried too, but no place seemed to take. Both Dean and John had been on the road too long to want anything other than stretching roads and the freedom to decide where to head next.
Sam was different, he knew. He had always known that. Sam needed a solid foundation to cling to when he had nothing else. Both he and Dean had done their best to give him that, teaching him solid morals and rules, but it wasn't really enough, and it never would be. Sam was the type of person who was always searching for something he could never find, always reaching for something more. It was a large part of what made him who he was, and who he would eventually be.
John could remember the endless questions Sam had when he had been just a little tyke, and burning with curiosity to learn everything he could about every damn thing that happened. It had been a point of great frustration for John and Dean, those questions that seemed to come out of no where. The answers that they both came up with were always inadequate to Sam, so he usually went off and found his own solutions. Sam was fiercely independent, and had always seemed older than his thirteen years.
He couldn't imagine what the world would be like if Sam wasn't in it. He didn't want to either.
"If only your mother was here," he murmured sadly to his oldest. "She would know what to do. She had an answer to every damn thing."
The worst part was, John wasn't sure if he could ever heal the wounds that Sam had suffered over the past few weeks. Wounds that he had inflicted, and the wounds that had been inflicted by the Wraith.
Yet again, while they had all been scrabbling around for answers, Sam had taken matters into his own hands and found a solution himself. And almost gotten himself killed in the process. While he greatly admired Sam's courage and strength in the face of adversity, he would have to have a talk with him about it. Everything Sam had done had gone against everything he had been teaching them both. They were a team. They worked best together as a team, and they won as a team.
But then, he had been the one who had bailed on Sam first. He had left Sam in a corner to defend himself. It wouldn't happen again, John told himself. Not ever.
"Excuse me, Mr Turner?"
A middle aged doctor knocked softly on the door and John turned to face him.
"That's me."
"Can I have a word?"
John nodded and followed the doctor out into the hall where Caleb waited.
"My name's Doctor Amal," the doctor introduced himself. "I'm Samuel's doctor."
"John. This is my brother Caleb," John replied as he shook the man's hand. "What can you tell me about my son?"
"Your son was seriously injured from the fall," the doctor began. "He's sustained an Intracranial Hematoma."
"What's that?" Caleb asked blankly.
"It's when a blood vessel in the brain bursts as a result of a traumatic head injury, and blood begins to gather between the brain and the skull. We've had to drill a hole in Sam's head in order to drain the blood. At the moment we've managed to stabilize him, and we're monitoring him very closely."
"And what about his other injuries?"
"There was some internal bruising around several of his organs, but no serious bleeding. He was lucky that he hasn't got any apparent spinal injuries. The broken leg was severely damaged, but the surgery was successful. It'll take him awhile, and some therapy but he'll be able to walk again."
John breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall behind him. Caleb clapped him on the shoulder, unable to keep the grin off his face.
"That's great news doc!"
The doctor nodded and smile. "He's a very lucky young man. However, it will take quite awhile for him to recover completely. Head injuries such as his can take up to six months or more to heal. He'll experience several side effects for awhile as a result..."
"What kind of side effects?" John asked immediately.
"Well, he'll be on medication for awhile to help prevent post traumatic seizures. He could experience amnesia, anxiety, head aches and problems paying attention. This could continue for a few months after he's out of hospital. The leg will take several months to heal. He'll experience a degree of discomfort from the extensive bruising, and he's quite weak," the doctor looked at both of them once more. "It's going to take awhile for him to recover completely. It's going to take a lot of patience on every ones behalf, and it's not going to be easy for young Samuel."
"I don't care how long it takes," John replied gruffly. "As long as he gets better."
The doctor nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"Can we see him doc?" Caleb asked.
"He's in post-op at the moment. He'll be out in an hour or so and once we've got him settled I'll send someone to fetch you."
"Thanks doc. Appreciate it," John shook the mans hand from his spot on the wall.
"See?" Caleb said once the man had left. "Told you he'd be okay."
John rolled his eyes. "If i took your word on everything, Caleb, I'd probably be dead already."
"Aw, c'mon. You don't need my help for that, you stubborn son of a bitch," he grinned.
"Goddamn, Caleb, spare me the lecture. Help me to a chair before I collapse."
A/N: The prayers used in this chapter are The Prayer to the ArchAngel Michael and the Prayer for Protection by James Dillet Freeman. (This prayer is rumored to have been carried on one of the people who walked on the moon. I thought it was cool!)
All the medical facts were found by myself on the net, and from what I can tell, they're as accurate as possible. Forgive any mistakes!