Hope you guys liked the last chapter. Lots of limp Sam to follow and I'm trying to incorporate all your suggestions. The more, the merrier. Read on!
"Dean!"
Bobby glanced around the empty room, the small mess of crumbs and water that Dean had left on the table, wondering where the boy was. Something was not right, Bobby could feel it in his bones. Years of hunting had awakened a heightened sense for imminent danger in him, and he shivered as a cold chill ran up his spine. Dean was nowhere to be seen, Sam was not there too. Did the demon decide to collect early? She would so rot in hell, the bitch. He wandered up the stairs, into Sam's bedroom, and stood there for a while, staring at Dean's mess (again) around him, wondering what secrets Sam was hiding. His eyes fell on the laptop, wondering if Sam would see it as an invasion of privacy or just plain concern for his wellbeing. Never the one for shy denial of work, though, he decided to take a peek, Sam's thoughts were not necessarily important here, Sam's safety was. If he was hiding something, it would be on that freaking laptop, coz Dean rarely used it and Sam never let it out of his sight. What the Impala was to Dean, the laptop was to Sam. Darn morons. Bobby signed and flipped the laptop open, running a quick check on every document that Sam had stored in the computer, sure that he would find some hairbrained scheme to get Dean out of his deal. He was better than Dean at the computer for the plain reason that he had to do his research himself while Dean had Sam.
Eyebrows knit together, he peered intensely at the screen, scanning the words for anything that could lead him to Sam's wonderful secret. God, that boy was one huge trouble magnet. Sometimes, Bobby just felt like tying him up to a chair or to the Impala seat and taking off for a moment's peace. He scrolled down the names of the listed documents, looking for something, he did not know what.
What he came up with was so shocking that Bobby was left reeling at the intensity of it all. He stared at the bleeping screen in stoic silence, blood freezing in his veins. So, that darn idjit thinks he can pull this off? Sam was not doing this, no way. Not if he had a say in it. Cussing, Bobby grabbed his shotgun, loaded it with rock salt and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him, calling Dean on his cellphone. Gotta go save the Winchesters' darn asses again!
Sam closed his eyes, drawing his knees closer to his chest, trembling slightly at the anticipated pain. It was not the best idea ever, but with almost no time left to get his brother out of the deal, he was not going to let an opportunity like this pass him by. It didn't stop the nausea though, and he felt his stomach clench, his veins standing out in stark contrast to the pale skin on his arms. His stomach lurched, but his mind was made up. There were no double thoughts about this. If it worked, it worked. Dean would be saved. If it didn't, tough luck. Dean would be saved anyway. It was a win-win situation according to Sam. Of course, not knowing what would become of him if it didn't work did nothing to ease his anxiety. If everything went horribly wrong, he would be joining Mom, Dad and Jessica, wherever they were. He didn't know if he believed in a heaven, didn't know if there was anything pure at all in this world. Except one thing, of course. His brother's love. Dean's love for his brother was not tainted, it was pure like the morning rain and Sam loved him back with all his being. He would do anything for him. Anything.
He just hoped that if he didn't make it, Dean would find that note tucked under the shotgun seat of the Impala. His only chance to say goodbye to his protector, his best friend, his big brother was a few words scribbled in a dirty scrap of paper. Ironic, huh?
He shook himself out of these thoughts crowding his mind, stood up and started removing his clothes. Ha-ha, funny. Dean would get a huge kick out of this. Suddenly, he felt like laughing, thoughts of stripping for a deal running through his mind. His brother had reduced him to playing strip poker, huh?
Only in his boxers now, his skin tingling with the chilly wind, he sat back down and bent his head till it nearly touched his knees. The evening had quickly progressed and the only light illuminating the cave came from the fire. Inching closer to the fire, Sam pulled the knife toward him, gritting his teeth and aiming just below the elbow.
On second thought, he put the knife down and pulled his shirt toward him. Tearing it into rags, he started gagging himself with it. If he screamed, atleast he would not allow it to reverberate all around the forest as a desperate plea for help from Dean. He stuffed the straggling rags into his mouth, securing it tightly around his neck with his long sleeve. He only hoped that after the summoning, he would have the strength to remove the knot and speak to the thing.
Breathing deeply to calm his racing heart, he stretched out his arm, aimed the sharp blade to the soft skin of the inside of his forearm, raised the knife, and plunged it in.
White hot pain exploded inside his head, blinding his vision for a moment. He took deep, ragged breaths, trying to regain control of the situation, breathing through the agony. No sense blacking out at this, there was so much more to be done. He stared at the knife embedded in his arm, trickles of blood running down his arm. That was it? God, was he anemic? Well, he needed to get his iron levels checked with a doctor then.
But that was for later. It was a really big, huge maybe for later. Now he had to extract the knife. His ragged breathing pushing his chest up in nervous pumps, he curled the fingers of his hand around the carved blade of the knife. Gritting his teeth and curling up his toes, he inhaled deeply... and pulled.
The result brought only one consolation... he was not anemic. The knife dislodged itself from the flesh, leaving a gaping wound spurting extreme amounts of blood. But he had to get to the end of this.
Staggering to his feet, he stood swaying over the fire, his arm held up over it, dripping blood right to the heart of the flame. Tearing off the gag from his mouth, his parted lips chanted the spell, his words breathy but clear, spilling out in fluency after all the effort he had made to learn it for a whole day. He watched the crimson streams meander down his arm and drip, drip, drip into the fire, vanishing as they hit the center of the heat. Steeling himself, he prodded the wound with his finger, swallowing the bile when he watched it sink into the tissue. Retrieving his finger, he let the blood drip in a circle around the fire. The fire flickered, crackled, and suddenly roared up, catching him by surprise and causing him to instinctively move his arm away.
The air in the cave suddenly turned extremely cold despite the blazing fire. In fact, the fire seemed to have forgotten its properties and turned into a snowball, emanating a bone-chilling cold. At last, it was here. It was here.
Fuel me with reviews! Helps me write much faster.