I have been stressing and building up the obsession to get this chapter edited just right and posted, so sorry if it's not all that great. It's been sitting in my documents for a long time now and I think if I don't post it I'm gonna freakin' explode! OO
I'm always curious about what might happen between commercial breaks. Here's my take on that. Hope ya'll enjoy! Do me a favor, tell me if this whole "The Boys are stressed about Dean's deal" thing is getting old or annoying. I write this for ya'll to read, so your opinions are way important to me.
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Chapter 4
At night fall, the Winchester brothers were still on the road; they had been traveling literally all day, stopping occasionally for food or a gas fill up, etc. Sam stretched his cramped legs and looked at his watch.
"Dean, it's eight. We've been driving for over twelve hours."
Dean shrugged and nodded in acknowledgement of Sam's words.
"So...Don't you wanna stop or something? Take a rest?"
Dean scratched at his neck absently. "I'm fine, Sammy. Unless you wanted to."
Sam shook his head. "No, it's just...No, I'm good."
Sam propped his head up on his fist and looked out the window into the freshly darkened night. They had headed west that morning and must have been nearly to Iowa by now. Neither of them had really found anything to hunt, so there was no set destination; they were just traveling for...well...Dean had just wanted to get back on the road with no real explanation as to why.
Sam knew his brother. Dean wanted to ditch their last finished hunt so quickly because being on the open road soothed him and cleared his mind; and Lord knows he had a lot on his mind. Sam sighed. He admitted, watching the world pass by through the windows of the Impala was such a beautiful concept. It soothed him too, and it was exactly what he needed; some time to sort out his thoughts.
Sam felt like he had a permanent post-it slapped on the foremost part of his mind these days. Not one second of the day-and most of the time in his dreams too-did Sam not think about what the future held for him. He knew the demon had had plans for him, but were those plans still in motion now that the YED was dead? What were or what had they been? Did the fact that demon blood poisoned his veins mean he was evil? And what of the being-brought-back-from-the-dead factor? Ah yes...Dean's deal. When he wasn't thinking about his feared-to-be-dark future, Sam was overwhelmed with guilt and fear over his brother's ever shortening life-span. Sam told himself that they still had time; nine months, eight days, three hours and twenty-eight minutes to be exact, but who's really counting anyway?
Sam had looked all over the internet, through old books and even gone to see a few people who may or may not have practiced less than reputable methods(Behind Dean's back, of course) Nothing...In three months, Sam had come up dry every time.
He filed through a bit of the past two years in his mind: Countless false identities and law impersonations, breaking and entering, stealing, wanted for murder, being trailed by the FEDs, confronted with death (on both brother's parts), possibly evil, limited one year of life, killing the Yellow-Eyed Demon and on the hunt for hundreds of demons that had recently escaped from the gates of hell. Sam shook his head and smiled, despite all the true severity of the situation. He and Dean could definitely hold the spot in the Guinness Book of World Records for strangest lives.
The loud blare of the Impala's horn cut through Sam's haze of thoughts. He jumped and looked around quickly. A semi to the right was making its way back to its own lane.
"Jackass." Dean mumbled angrily as he accelerated the Impala and passed the truck, watching as its lights got further and further away in the rearview mirror. Sam relaxed and shifted in his seat. He glanced over at Dean who still looked tense; his hands gripping the wheel tightly. Sam knew semis made Dean nervous, hell they made them both nervous. Every time one shared the highway with them, Dean would floor it and pass as quickly as possible.
Sam knew it was a little silly, especially taking into account what they did for a living, but it was a logical fear. Give either of them a black dog to hunt or a demon to exorcise and they'd do it, no problem at all. But show them a Mac truck going seventy miles an hour, and they were uncomfortable. Irony: It seemed to be the Winchester's reoccurring companion.
Sam looked in the side mirror back at the fading lights of the semi, his jaw set. He was surprised by how the mere sight of the vehicles brought back unpleasant memories. He frowned as he recalled all that had happened that fateful night. The horrors that he had witnessed that he wished he never would have seen. That night they found, or were ambushed rather, by the demon was one of the worst nights of his life. And, unfortunately, Sam would never forget it.
November 2006
Sam's mind raced dizzyingly and his heart hammered mercilessly against his ribs. His hands shook slightly as they gripped the handle of the Colt, finger poised reluctantly over the trigger. "If you do this...this will all be over. Everything dream of revenge you've had in the past year will be brought to life and you won't ever have to worry about it again...but it's Dad."
"Sam, no."
Sam heard his fallen brother's plea, quiet and broken by pain and desperation. Sam kept his watery gaze on his father who looked up at him desperately. "...But it's Dad."
"You do this!" John ground out. "Sammy!"
Dean's desperate plea echoed throughout Sam's head and drowned out the one that his father issued. It erased any other thought and Sam lowered the gun, looking apologetically at John.
"Sam..." His father's voice wavered with disappointment.
In the next moment, black smoke erupted from John's mouth. The Yellow-Eyed Demon expelled itself from its host's body and disappeared between the cracked floorboards of the broken down cabin. John gasped and relaxed back against the floor. A choked sigh of pained relief came from Dean. John looked helplessly up at Sam, angry at his son's decision, before letting his head fall back against the floor.
Sam breathed out a held exhale and bit back a sob. The Demon had gotten away yet again, and it was his fault. But his own father couldn't possibly ask that of him; to shoot him in the heart, to end it there and then. Even if he had pulled the trigger and killed the demon along with John, Sam knew Dean never would have forgiven him. Sam had the present thought that perhaps Dean would have remained in that coma and slowly slipped away from him had John not been alive to save him. The Colt held lax in Sam's hand as he quickly turned and moved over to Dean.
He crouched down, taking in again the frightening amount of blood soaking the front of Dean's shirt.
"Dean...Dean?" Sam's eyes quickly searched his brother's face as Dean lifted his head weakly to look at him.
"Th-ank you." Dean's voice was quiet and breathy as he verbalized his gratitude towards Sam's decision. The sound of sheer relief in his voice broke Sam's heart. As if Dean really expected him to pull the trigger had he not been there to urge other ways. Sam nodded and swallowed hard against the constricting feeling in his throat...
"Hey, listen..."
Dean's head lolled weakly onto his shoulder. He blinked heavily, but he kept his eyes open and fixed on his brother. Sam took Dean's hand and placed the Colt in it.
"Take this. Shoot the damn thing if it comes back. I'll be right back."
Dean nodded weakly and he closed his fingers around the handle of the old gun. Sam's eyes threatened to let fall the tears that waited in them as he looked at the toll Dean's unseen injuries were taking on him. He looked so vulnerable lying there. Too weak to even hold his head up or barely keep his eyes open, yet holding a gun tightly as if it were the last treasure in the world. It didn't seem fair to ask Dean to keep fighting in his condition, but Sam knew Dean would, and always would, without question. He would fight til his last twenty-one grams were spent.
Dean looked bad, really bad. His chest rose and fell weakly and face seemed all that much paler against the bright red splashes that stained it. Sam had no idea what dark form of torture the demon had called on to hurt Dean and make him bleed the way he did, but it was causing him to fade; and fast.
"I'll be right back." Sam repeated, looking reassuringly into Dean's eyes.
He stood up and went over to John. They had to hurry. If the YED did come back, it'd be best if the three of them were long gone by then.
"Come on."
Sam took his father's wrist and draped his arm over his own shoulders. John didn't look at Sam as he helped him to his feet and took on the weight that his own injured leg could not hold. He made no attempt to talk or return the desperate looks Sam was giving him. John remained completely silent except for the occasional pained grunt as Sam guided him out to the Impala. He gently eased John's limp leg into the car and looked up at him sadly.
John's eyes looked straight ahead, glistening with tears and avoiding Sam's gaze intently. Sam swallowed hard.
"Dad?" He offered in a soft, low voice.
John just shook his head coldly and turned his face away from his youngest son. Sam nodded in understanding and closed the door. He ran into the house and back to his brother. He took long strides to where Dean lay, but stopped short. Dean held the Colt at arm's length, pointing it straight at Sam.
"Dean-" Sam took a step forward, hands lifted innocently in confusion. Dean clenched his teeth and cocked the Colt, stopping Sam in his tracks again.
"What did I tell you helps make our job more bearable?" Dean's voice shook a little, but lost none of its intensity or quality of getting across the point that he wasn't in the mood to be screwed with.
Sam exhaled and dropped his hands to his sides as he understood Dean's actions. "Killing as many evil sons of bitches as we possibly can."
Dean's arm shook and he let out a choked breath. That was the second time that night that he had pointed a gun at one of the two people that meant most to him in the world. Sam knew it was a smart thing to do. After what Dean, all of them, had been through that night, caution was an intelligent companion. Dean closed his eyes and let his arm fall heavily to his side. Wet coughs jarred his body and screwed up his face against the pain that accompanied them. Blood bubbled up in his mouth and rolled down from his lips. Sam rushed over and knelt next to Dean.
"Dean? Oh God, Dean. What'd it do to you?" His eyes welled as he gently touched the side of Dean's face, wiping away one trail of blood running from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
"You al-right?"
Sam shook his head in utter disbelief that Dean would even think of his well-being in the state he was in at the moment.
"For God's sake, I'm fine." He brushed aside Dean's over-shirt to check for any wounds the demon might have inflicted. It disconcerted Sam even more to see that there were no visible lacerations of the skin, yet a sickening amount of blood soaked through Dean's t-shirt.
"Mmm-S-sorry...Should've known...It was Dad though."
Dean spoke in slurred broken halts. Sam nodded understandingly, hoping to calm Dean's worries and keep him from using the seemingly huge amount of energy it took to speak.
"I know. There's no way we could've seen it coming. It wasn't your fault."
Dean's head nodded and drooped lazily against the comforting touch of Sam's hand and his features smoothed with the pull of unconsciousness.
"Hey, look at me. Look at me!" Sam raised his voice when Dean didn't open his eyes immediately.
"We gotta get you out of here." Sam urged gently. "Can you move?"
Sam took the Colt from Dean's loose grip and hid it in the inner pocket of his jacket.
"MmI'll...try." Dean said in a low raspy voice.
Sam nodded and smiled weakly, attempting encouragement. He pulled Dean's arm up over his shoulders and wrapped his own arm around his back.
"Ok, ready?"
Dean made a low grunt of affirmation and Sam lifted him up onto his feet. Dean let out a stifled groan of protest and fisted the cuff of Sam's jacket in his fingers. He fell heavily against Sam, staggering him a few feet to the side.
"Whoa, whoa. I gotcha." Sam assured as he regained his balance.
Dean breathed heavily, his exhales coming in short wheezes. The small effort of moving alone seemed to be exhausting to him. His feet dragged lazily in futile attempt to help Sam's walk a little easier. Sam was not at all comforted by the cold feel that Dean's skin had taken on. He quickened his pace and kicked open the partially closed door. They finally made it to the backseat of the car and Sam opened the door.
"Here we go."
He said softly as he shifted Dean in his grasp and eased him onto the seat. Dean groaned and his features contorted with pain as he started to slump over. Sam quickly grabbed at the collar of his shirt and righted him against the back rest. Sam knew Dean was tired, weak, bloodied, broken and all around beat, but he didn't like the idea of him falling asleep and possibly not waking up. He wasn't going to let Dean die. Not now, not ever.
Sam closed the door and Dean rested heavily against it, holding an arm protectively around his chest.
Sam got behind the wheel and immediately started the engine. He peeled down the dirt road towards the highway.
"Dad? Dad...you...ok?"
John turned with a wince and looked back at Dean, worry and slight guilt etched on his rugged face.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Dean. How you doin'?"
Sam looked in the rearview mirror when he didn't hear a response from the backseat. He saw Dean just nod weakly at John. No cocky smirk turned up his mouth, no snide or bravado laced remarks passed over his lips; that scared Sam and he pushed the pedal down further.
The next song on the cassette tape started. Sam hadn't even really noticed that it had been on, but he didn't turn it off. The soft beat of the music was the only thing filling the other ways unnerving silence. They flew along the dark, fog-draped road. All was quiet for a few moments. Sam frequently sent worried glances back towards hi brother over at his father.
"Just hold on, alright? The hospital's only ten minutes away." Sam said after a few moments of silence from all three of them.
John let out pained breaths as he clutched at the bullet wound in his leg.
"I'm surprised at you, Sammy..." It had been the first thing John had said to Sam since the cabin. "...Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye to eye on this. Killing the demon comes first. Before me, before everything."
Sam looked in the rearview mirror again. A completely vulnerable and resigned Dean looked warily back at him. Sam shook his head slightly and readjusted his hand on the wheel.
"No, sir. Not before everything." It was yet another thing to add to list of things that Sam and John did not, in fact, see eye to eye on. Sam would let the YED get away a thousand times before he would let Dean die in any attempts to kill it.
"Look we still have the Colt, we still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright? I mean, we already found the demon once-"
The sound of metal on metal and the feeling of being thrown violently sideways cut Sam off mid-sentence. He felt shattered glass bite into his flesh and his vision went dark. The finish of "Bad Moon Rising" sounding faintly in Sam's ears was the only connection to the conscious world that was quickly threatening to fade.
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Sam felt a hand grip his shoulder and he twitched violently away from it. Dean jumped back a bit, hand raised defensively.
"Whoa, whoa. Easy there, tiger."
Sam exhaled loudly and looked around out the windows. They were off the road and had stopped in a parking-lot.
"Where are we?" Sam asked warily, rubbing at his eyes. The feeling of tears on his finger tips made him wipe a hand hastily across his vision.
"A charming little hotel that apparently has 'vacy' instead of 'vacancy'."
Sam chuckled absently at Dean's smart-alec remark, still recovering from his pull back to reality. Dean looked him over, clearly curious and worried as to what had put Sam so off his guard.
"You looked tired. Decided to stop."
Sam nodded and smiled gratefully at his brother. Dean gave him another questioning look and went off to rent a room. Sam took in a deep breath and rubbed his eyes again. His gaze wandered around the interior of the Impala. He smiled faintly, noting how much better condition it was in now. No busted windows, crushed interior, mangled doors. It was all fixed; good as new. Sam's eyes turned almost reluctantly to the backseat. He half expected to see Dean, in similar condition to what the Impala had been, staring back at him.
Sam sighed and turned forward to look out the front window. He watched Dean talking to the manager inside the office. Sam wondered if Dean had ever really fully recovered from that night. They had never really talked about it, not even brought it up really. The memory had presented itself in Sam's mind more times than he would have liked. The image of Dean writhing in pain and the sound of him crying out from the unseen marring that ripped through his body was permanently burned into Sam's mind; a devilish brand that he wasn't sure even time would heal. The memory of his father begging him to pull the trigger sent chills over Sam's skin. He wondered what John would have done if he were his own shoes. Sam guessed he would have done it...John would have used the last bullet to finish what he had started twenty-two years ago. Well, there was never any doubt about it. Sam and John just had a different outlook on life.
To John, the demon came first. Always had. It was priority number one. Not to Sam. All his years of hunting as a child and as an adult taught him that the thing you hunt is not what motivates you to carry on and it's not what you live for. Werewolves won't stay with you in your darkest hour when all others have abandoned you. Vengeful spirits don't do any and everything in their power to protect you. A demon would never make the ultimate sacrifice, just because they couldn't bare the pain of living without you.
To Sam, Dean came first. Always would. Sam knew Dean thought it his job to protect him, to watch after his little brother. Sam likewise felt the same responsibility to uphold. Dean would always be priority number one. Before any demon, revenge, the job, his own fears of what the future holds, before even himself. Dean came first; before everything.
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Okie dokie, this isn't my favorite chapter, but I just wanted to write a "Commercial Break" story)
If you were wondering about the "Til his last twenty-one grams were spent." It's said that when a person dies, they lose twenty-one grams. Supposedly that's the weight of their soul. I saw it in the movie...-Shudders- most damn depressing thing I've ever seen in my entire life. Do NOT watch it unless you're on uppers, or drunk out of your mind or something hahaha.
Again I apologize if that like...flat out sucked! haha, but it's late and I just really wanted to get that posted.
Alright, so that was pretty EMO I suppose. Buuuuuut, it's dear Dean's turn to reminisce next...and oh yes, there will be Wee: D
Reviews are like Tiedup!Dean and I'm...well...Me!:D
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