Disclaimer: All belongs to Eric Kripke and WB. I get nothing except the enjoyment of watching The Pretty.
A/N: Chapter 2 here; there should only be four in total. Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews of Chapter 1!
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Full Circle—Chapter 2
Dean took a deep breath and wiped a sleeve across his brow to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes. The "poltergeist" had turned out to be a fucking demon, and a corporeal one at that. It had thrown Sammy across the room and had then nearly put Dean through a wall. The brothers had managed to keep it at bay with holy water and the names of God, but the blessed athamés had been knocked away. Dean thought he could get at one, but their first priority was getting the children to safety. And seeing how Dean had managed to twist his ankle into a pretzel during one of the later attacks by the demon, that task would have to be undertaken by Sam while Dean kept the demon busy. No matter how much Sammy protested.
And protest he did, but Dean was the immoveable object. He simply gestured at the children.
"They come first, Sammy; you know that," he said quietly. He pointed at his ankle. "I'd only be a liability right now."
Dean could practically see Sam's brain working furiously to find an alternative and he knew the instant his younger brother gave up the struggle and accepted the inevitable. He pulled the Impala's keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Sam, who caught them one-handed.
"If I don't call you, don't come back. You won't be able to help and you could be putting yourself into danger."
"Like hell," Sam growled fiercely. He was blinking rapidly and Dean knew Sam was trying not to have some embarrassing chick-flick moment. "I'm coming back whether you call or not. And if you get yourself killed, jerk, I promise not to burn your body. You got that?"
Dean fought a quiet smile at the ultimate threat in the Winchester universe. "Got it." He reached out and punched Sam lightly on one arm, since, or course, he did not do hugs. Naw. You just stop your car on the side of the road and weep all over your brother about how dead things should stay dead. He probably would have preferred a hug!
Sam herded the children ahead of him and out of the room. He looked over his shoulder once at Dean, who gave him a brief nod, and then he was gone.
Dean tried touching his bad leg to the floor again and gritted his teeth. One athamé had gone out a window when Sam had been thrown—and if Sam had intentionally tried to pull that maneuver off, he could not have done it. Chaos in operation—but Dean's had ended up in the corner of the master bedroom when he had first been knocked down. They had made it to the first floor before Dean had messed up his leg. The large curving stairway, normally no obstacle at all, had turned into frigging Mount Everest, each step making him want to chop his ankle off just to stop the excruciating agony. He was almost reduced to crawling by the time he reached the top.
Grasping the balcony railing, he practically pulled himself to the bedroom. At the doorway, he could see the athamé still lying in the corner and he let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. He was only a few steps away from it when the shadow detached itself from the wall and coalesced into a solid figure, vaguely humanoid in shape, eyes burning red.
Damn, I knew it had been too easy. It probably just had a great time watching me drag myself up the stairs!
Dean was hurtled back against the all, which suddenly flowed over his wrists and ankles as a restraint. He knew then he was not getting out of this in one piece.
"Little human," the demon hissed. "What a nice prize you are! The Lord will be most pleased with me, perhaps even raise me in rank. He has realized it was foolish to let you live; you have proven to be a great nuisance."
"It's nice to be recognized for your accomplishments," Dean said, with an air of unconcern he did not really feel.
"Unimportant as they truly are," the demon replied. "You will die here and no one will remember you. There will not even be a grave marker bearing the name 'Dean Winchester'."
"Course not," Dean said, trying for his usual 'mask all that nasty pain' attitude, "since that's only two-third's of my name and gives no clue to my awesomeness. I can see it now: 'Dean Michael Winchester, Royal Pain in the Ass to Demons Everywhere'." Then his tone turned fierce and serious. "Sam will remember. And all the hunters and the people I've helped to save. Oh, yeah, Evil will remember me, too. Maybe I didn't get to do everything I wanted to—I'm really bummed about the Grand Canyon—but there will be people who will remember." And, at that moment, he truly believed it.
"Too bad, then, your death makes useless your father's oh-so-noble sacrifice. That will please my Master as well."
Dean managed not to flinch and, for just an instant, he struggled against the feeling he had failed his family yet again. He had managed to find some level ground against his raging guilt, supported by two pillars: keeping Sam out of the damn Demon's plans (and saving the world at the same time), and finding a way to get his father out of Hell. If he died here at the whim of some demonic nobody, then his father's sacrifice counted for nothing, and Sam ended up alone and unprotected.
He had run out of time to worry about it. Agony suddenly blazed across his chest, a searing fire that should have left him a blackened corpse, yet he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he remained unmarked. Distantly, he could hear someone screaming and he figured it was probably him.
Blackness moved in but he knew it would only be a temporary respite. The demon would never let it end this quickly.
I'm sorry, Sammy. Who's going to watch out for you now?
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Humans were so fragile, the demon noted with a smile, as it looked out of one of the windows and listened to the lovely screams behind it. The one thing that keeps getting in the way of playing with them as much as one would like to. Not that it had any intention of letting this human off this easily. The Winchesters had been annoyances for far too long. It would have its fun for a while longer, then it would bring the boy's head to its master.
As it smiled happily to itself, anticipating the rewards to come, it suddenly noticed the room growing strangely brighter and it frowned, the human abruptly forgotten. Then it heard a laugh, deep, rich, mellifluous, golden. It was a laugh it had heard only once in person—and that was eons ago—but over and over again in the nightmares to which even demons were heir.
It knew then there would be no rewards in its future. In truth, there would be no future in its future.
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Not even the Impala's powerful engine could produce an iota of more speed; it was already straining to its limit. Which did not stop Sam from still trying to push the accelerator pedal through the floorboard. He had dropped the children off with their grateful parents and was running for the car before they could even utter one word of thanks.
Even so, it had taken too long, much too long. Enough time for the demon to have killed Dean ten times over. He cursed the demon, the distance and his brother's overdeveloped sense of self-sacrifice. At least, he hoped that was all it was—as dangerous as it could be—and none of the weary desire to see it all ended that had plagued Dean for several months after their father's death.
Screeching around a curve in the road, he saw the long driveway that led up to the old house. He took the turn at speed, swinging wide and barely avoiding a tree.
Easy, Sam. Dean will kill you if you scratch his baby!
He mouthed a silent prayer. Please let Dean be there to kill me for scratching the car. Amen.
Sam slammed on the brakes, bringing the Impala to a halt about fifty feet back from the house itself. He stepped out and scanned the darkened, shadow-shrouded structure with increasing desperation. Then a shadow among the shadows detached itself from the front of the house and began to hop slowly toward him, leaning on what appeared to be a piece of railing as a crutch.
Sam closed his eyes briefly and gave thanks to whoever was listening, then he raced toward his limping brother, a huge grin on his face. Being tall had certain advantages in the leg-length department and he covered the ground between them in a couple of seconds and cast a practiced eye over his brother. There were bruises, ripped skin at the wrists that told of restraints and the original bad ankle. All in all, it could have been worse.
"It was."
Sam's eyes widened in astonishment. "How did you...?"
Dean smirked at him. "I don't need telepathy around you, Sam. You kinda write it in big letters all over your face." He winced. "It did some stuff that didn't leave a mark. Which is a pretty neat trick, when you think about it."
"How did you get away?" Sam asked, wanting to offer an arm to assist Dean in walking but knowing it would be refused.
"I'd love to say it was because I'm just that damn incredible," Dean said with a smirk, "but that would be fibbing. And you know that a Winchester never fibs. Except, of course, when we need to. Or when we want to. Or when the truth is really messy. Or--"
Sam held up a hand. "Got it. We lie. A lot. And...?"
"Well, you heard the saying, "There's always a bigger fish in the sea'?" At Sam's nod, Dean's smile turned nasty. "Seems our boy got eaten by something really big. When I could think clearly again, there was a demon-shaped burn mark on one wall, and I was lying on the ground 'cause the wall had let go." Dean scowled at his wrists. "I think I have splinters, for God's sake."
Splinters? Sam figured he would work that last part out later. Right now, he was torn between laughing with relief and hitting Dean for scaring him. As before, his thoughts must have played across his face because Dean gave him a bright smile.
"See? I knew there was nothing for you to worry about."
Which, Sam had learned at a young age, was DeanSpeak for, "Sorry I worried you, Sammy."
Apology accepted, big brother.
Though...he could not shake his uneasiness about what had killed the demon but left alive one of the despised Winchesters. And he hated things he could not figure out.
TBC
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A/N: Halfway mark! Yes, I gave Dean a middle name; Kripke's left it up for grabs! Hope it's still working okay for you.