A.N. I know I said this before, but I am sincerely sorry to anyone that's still reading this that I haven't updated in so long. I have been struggling with just getting it written. There is more to come soon after this and I'm aiming to have it completed before I go travelling next month. Again, I'm really sorry, not sure how happy I am with this chapter but I hope anyone reading it enjoys it.
The silence was unbroken. It was thick, almost suffocating. The wind wasn't rustling the trees, the singing of the birds was ominously absent and the threatening crunch of footsteps had long since faded.
Dean couldn't be sure when the silence had fallen. He struggled to concentrate on more than one thing at a time, and right now that thing was run!
As he struggled through the woods, numb toes apparently doing their damndest to trip over anything they could find, he could feel it niggling at the back of his mind, the sensation that something had changed. And then it hit him like a lightning bolt. He was alone. He stopped dead in his tracks, lungs burning from the frigid air. There was nothing. Silence. He spun round, eyes scanning the darkness, searching frantically for a shadow standing in the trees, watching him. Nothing.
"Sam." The name ghosted out of Dean's mouth as adrenaline was pushed aside by a new surge of panic. He couldn't have lost his brother in these woods, not again. How could he not have noticed he'd gone? It'd been bad enough when his little brother had got a strange look in his eyes that had told Dean that Sam had left the building, a little worse when Sam had tried to suffocate the life out of him and now that he'd disappeared where Dean couldn't even keep an eye on him, it was just plain shitty.
But the silence, it was just wrong. The only sound was his breath whispering in and out, and the blood thundering in his ears. Was he dead? Had he bled out? Tripped and just gone to sleep in the snow? Or had Sam simply caught up to him and hugged him to death.
If he was dead then he was going to be so pissed off.
Was he dead? Sure he didn't feel the pain quite as acutely anymore. It had settled to a dull throbbing and the cold wasn't as piercing. But there were loads of reasons for that. Adrenaline, shock, blood loss, the list went on. Or you're dead that little voice in his head kindly provided.
No way. He couldn't be dead. If he was, it was a shitty ass limbo. It's got you Dean. All your fighting did nothing, because it would inevitably get you in the end. And now it's got Sam too.
"Shut up." Dean grumbled at his subconscious. He tried to quell the growing panic in his mind, how could he save Sam when he couldn't even save himself?
Then he heard something. Or thought he heard something. A whisper in the darkness. He strained to hear, struggling to silence his loud breaths that were rattling in and out of his chest. The all encompassing silence was almost painful.
It was faint, but it was there. It had to be, he didn't care if it was leading him to his doom, if it led him to Sam that was all that mattered. As stealthily as was possible he stepped one foot forwards, he didn't know why he was trying to be so quiet, it knew where he was, it was playing with him, but if he could keep going like it was a regular hunt then maybe he could cling to some semblance of control.
He winced at the sound of the snow crunching under his boots. The sound was almost offensive in the suffocating stillness.
He thought he heard the whisper again, pulling him forwards, pulling him towards Sam. They were screwed, the sudden thought caused him to laugh and he clamped a hand down on his mouth to prevent any more noise. Huh, hysterical laughter was usually more Sam's bag, but he really wanted to laugh at how utterly and fantastically screwed they were. He had no weapons, no idea what they were fighting, no idea where the hell they were and pretty much no chance of survival. If this wasn't the time for hysteria then he didn't know what was.
So he let a bit more of the giggle out, then a bit more and a bit more until his laughter boomed around the forest. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone, taking his waning strength with it. His legs gave out and he sank to his knees, he stared at the ground, waiting for the icy cold to seep through his jeans. It didn't come. He couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything anymore, hadn't really for a long time. It was an odd sensation, knowing the pain and cold was there, but feeling nothing.
"Didn't you wonder why you're still alive Dean?"
His head snapped up. He hadn't heard anything approaching, hadn't sensed anything watching him. But now Sam was there, standing in the trees, face hidden by the darkness. He couldn't tell if he was relieved or terrified. Sam's voice had an inhuman echo, something behind it that would make grown men run crying to their mothers.
"Where's Sam?"
The figure in the trees was quiet for a long time, until Dean wanted to scream at it to hurry the hell up. And he would have done if he wasn't so damn scared.
"I'm here Dean. I like it here...You liked it too remember? I remember how you like the snow."
Dean's voice had left him, he couldn't think what to do.
"It snows all the time here Dean."
Dean's breath stuttered to a halt in his throat. Sam was moving forwards, stepping out of the shadows, out to where the snow made the earth shine. The shadows were sliding up and away from his face; soon Dean would be able to see his eyes. Oh God, he couldn't look into those eyes again, he remembered what was there now, underneath the tranquillity and bliss.
"Stop!" He blurted out, thrusting a hand forwards as if that could keep him back. As if it could stop the shadows moving and keep his eyes away. Surprisingly Sam stopped, his eyes mercifully hidden in the darkness.
His focus blurred from Sam to his outstretched hand, his fingers were a sickening shade of white and they looked kind of prune-y. His hand was trembling but he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the exertion of keeping his arm held out. He had to think, forget about his stupid hand and just think. But it was so hard to concentrate, his mind kept drifting, losing track. The world tilted on its axis and he shut his eyes against the wave of nausea that threatened to overpower him. At least he thought he did, or was some part of him just remembering that he had to try not to hurl. His vision tunnelled, the edges fading like an old photo, until the only thing he could see was his hand. His hand that didn't feel connected to him anymore. It was still stretched out, trembling, everything else was in darkness. A confusing, suffocating blackness that was closing in further and further. Solid and all-encompassing. Only it wasn't, not quite, the blackness was breathing, pulsating with shapes that had slid out of the trees and into his eyes.
It wasn't right, he didn't like it, the shadows were in his eyes and he couldn't escape them. He was aware of Sam, still standing in the same spot, quietly surveying him as he wrenched his head to the side to try and shake the writhing shadows away.
He could almost tell what the shapes were - he knew, at the back of his mind already - but there was too much confusion, too many things crying urgently for attention and he couldn't grab hold of any of those thoughts. He made a guttural, choked sound when one of the shadows momentarily shifted from the rest and nearly lurched into focus before it was snatched back. There was something else too, a sound he could almost hear; a sound he didn't want to hear.
"I can't..."
"Think?" Sam's voice was reasonable, understanding and terrifying. "You don't need to think Dean. You're tired. Let me think for you."
Dean squeezed his eyes closed, desperately trying to force the shadows away, they were still moving, still trying to be seen.
"I mean look at yourself Dean. You've lost a lot of blood, you're weak and lost. Even if we find the car I don't think you'll make it to a hospital. Why don't we just stay here?"
With considerable effort, Dean trained his blurry eyes on Sam, or at least the vague outline of him.
"Why don't you bite me?"
"There are things in this wood that bite Dean." The swiftness and deadly promise that Sam delivered the statement with froze Dean's next retort on his tongue.
He winced as the pain in his head from the unheard sound intensified. By the time it subsided Sam was right in front of him. Down on one knee, making it damn hard for Dean not to meet his eyes. He stared at Sam's knees instead, trying to concentrate on the wet denim that stuck awkwardly to his brother's juddering legs. Sammy hated the feeling of wet jeans, no matter what had just happened, whether they'd been caught in the rain or taken an unscheduled swim in a lake after getting their asses kicked yet again, he'd always bitch about how he hated the feel of wet jeans. He had the sickening notion that Sam's jeans would never be dry again.
"Let go Dean." Dean kept his eyes fixated on the wet denim, trying his damndest to ignore the unsettling echo behind his brother's voice and the way that he kept saying his name like that, constant and insistent.
"What are you?" He mumbled
"I'm your brother Dean."
Dean shook his head slowly, painfully "No, you're just wearing him like a f-f-freaking hat."
"Come with me Dean. Don't you remember? You liked it where I am."
He shook his head again "No...Just... make me think...I do." God he was tired, his eyelids were so heavy and the effort of trying to ignore the shadows in his eyes was exhausting.
"We could stay here. Forever."
"Forever ain't very long...when you're bleeding to death."
"You don't need to worry about that Dean."
"Stop saying my name like that and give me back my brother." Dean growled with a sudden surge of energy.
"I'm right here. Come and get me. Dean."
It was screwing with him, it knew he was helpless and it was just messing with him now.
"If I look at you, we both die."
"What makes you think you're not dead already Dean?"
"You're still a pain in my ass for starters. Think I'll stick around long enough to get rid of you."
"Or you could just follow me. I know a place where we can lie in the snow and look at the trees." Sam paused "The best spots have already been taken, but I can fit us in." There was a laugh behind his words, a threat and a promise at the same time and Dean remembered the trail of corpses left undiscovered in the woods.
"It snows all the time here Dean."
"Yeah well snow's no fun if it happens all the damn time."
"If we leave the snow then you'll be dead Dean."
Dean's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he defiantly snapped his head up to face his brother, carefully avoiding looking directly into his eyes. It looked like Sam, it was the same body he knew better than anyone else, but it wasn't Sam. There was something lying under the surface, Sam was moving in small jerks that he seemed not to notice. He reminded Dean of one of those stop-motion monsters from those old movies. His breathing was off, stuttery and shallow and the shadows in his eyes pulled at Sam's face, warping it. "Why? Are we in a freaking snow globe or something?"
Dean could hear the smile in his brother's voice "Or something."
Sam paused, titled his head jerkily to the side as if listening and rose to his feet "Time to go now Dean."
Dean grunted, his foggy mind trying frantically to come up with a way out of this. It seemed like Sam was losing patience with him, now when he spoke his alien voice was sharp, the sound was like icicles slicing through Dean's flesh.
"I know you see them Dean. Just let them in, it'll be...easier."
"No."
Sam sighed, or would have sighed if his breathing was anything near normal instead of those stuttering gasps. For a moment it was like it was really Sam, and Dean briefly thought that this was a delirious nightmare brought on by blood loss and the most intense cold he had ever felt. Whenever Sam got exasperated with his brother (which was often) he would stop, take a breath to calm himself down and adopt what he assumed was a sensible tone in order to communicate with his unreasonable brother. Most times Dean would tell him where to shove his high and mighty attitude and he would have done now if he hadn't found himself nose to nose with his brother, transfixed on his eyes. Trying so hard to pull away but really really not wanting to.
"You know if you don't come with me you'll die, don't you Dean?" Sam's tone was reasonable, suddenly he was making so much sense and Dean found that he was nodding slowly, like a wind-up toy that needed cranking up again.
"Nobody dies here Dean...They're all still alive...The lonely souls..." Sam's voice was slow, gentle, soothing and the darkness that was closing in didn't feel so bleak anymore.
"We can stay with them Dean...You and I...We'll just...stay...frozen in time..."
Dean had been drifting, losing his tenuous grip on the world, the shadows were pulling softly at him now, dragging him to where it was comfortable and warm. Then something in Sam's words seeped through to him frozen in time. He gasped sharply, half lidded eyes shooting open, he tried to jerk away from the shadows, but it was too late. They had him. He could see them now. He could hear them, hear them screaming. Torturous wails of fear and pain. He could see their faces, twisted in macabre grins, laughing and screaming at the same time. Their faces were frozen, but their eyes, their eyes howled out to him for help. He tried to scurry back, scrambling for purchase on the frigid ground, but the shadows weren't just in his eyes anymore. The shadows were figures, bodies with skeletal fingers that snaked up his hand and clamped down with a cold that pulled his remaining strength away and dragged him to them to join them in the shadows.
Tbc. I promise.