Finally got chapter 8 up, I had a few problems uploading it. This chapter will answer the question where is Dean and will be rehabilitated. I have to admit this is my favourite chapter, and it leave everything with a little mystery.
Hope you all like it
Chapter 8--An honourable death or a Samurai Warrior
The snow floated down upon the earth gently, a light white haze falling on top of the blanket that already covered the cold hard earth. A thin layer lay on top of the windshield, the whooshing of the windshield wipers was the only sound in the now still car. The driver side window was open half-way, leaving a thick layer of snow on the driver's upper thighs and left shoulder. The young man's skin was pale, his lip's a pale blue and open a bit. A handsome young man with a leather jacket; he was dead, he had to be dead, how could he survive being out here?
David Suzuki looked the man over. Pushing his glasses further up his button nose, he moved closer, examining every bit of the man's prone body. A small misty cloud, so light and thin he almost didn't see it escaped the man's slightly plump lips. Suzuki quickly opened the door, leaning over the younger man, his fingers reaching for the man's frozen body, feeling the deep chill, the shaking form.
"Are you okay?" His voice frantic at the sight, his teeth chattered at the hollowing winds. How was he going to get this man into the cabin? He shook the man, "Wake-up, I'm an old man, I can't carry you!" he spoke as if the man was awake.
He stood up, looking at the far off cabin, biting his lip. It would be a difficult trek, but he had to do it, otherwise this young man would die. He opened the backseat door and rifled through the young man's items. His fingers hovered over the syringe that he'd almost pricked himself on its sharp, slightly bloody tip…a junky! He shook his head and thought about leaving this man to die out here. It would be a better ending than to die on the streets with a needle protruding from his arm, another dead junky! He pulled himself from the car, walked to the driver's side and leaned forward.
"It's more of an honorable death than to die on the streets," he whispered into Dean's ear. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing it, he started to turn. Noticing something in the young man's hand, a photo, he leaned forward to grab it. There were three men sitting together…the frozen junky sitting in front of him, an older man smiling, and another young man, younger. Suzuki turned the picture around, it read:
Dad, Sammy, and me, summer 2001, our last hunt together
Suzuki's fingers traced over the letters, soaking in the words, his family, this young man's family. Sammy must be his brother, he concluded…last hunt? He scrunched his nose, wondering what that meant. His eyes went back to the young man, did he have more family? Was he a disgrace? Was that why they no longer hunted together?
Suzuki went back to the backseat and pulled out two blankets. Placing one on the ground, he began pulling the younger man from the car. Stumbling as he pulled, the snow knee deep, he cursed in Japanese. The elderly man pulled himself up, gripping the younger man's shoulders tighter, his fingers slipping, he pulled harder, grunting at the man's heaviness and cursing the snow, praying to his ancestors for the strength to save this man's life. They must've heard him…he could feel his ancestors pulling with him as he pulled the frozen young man to the blanket.
At that moment, the old gentleman knew this man was more than he seemed. He wasn't just another junky…his body wasn't wasted from drug use, this was a man with a destiny, one that was great, he could feel it. His ancestors had chosen this young man to become a great warrior, if he wasn't one already, and he was honored they chose him to save this life. Somehow he knew the young man had stumbled with the drugs, wasn't just another junky; he would help this man get back on the right path.
As Suzuki eased the man's body onto the blanket, he sunk into the snow.
"Son of a bitch!" he cursed out loud. He hadn't considered that Dean might sink into the snow. This was a lot tougher than he imagined, but he had to move forward. It was his destiny to save this man's life, to help him with his great journey. Suzuki gripped the other blanket, placing it upon the frozen body of a son, a brother, possibly a father, but not a lost soul, the elderly man would see to that.
The elderly man moved to the other side; he took a deep breath as a strong, bitter cold wind greeted him, reminding him of the dangerous predicament and to hasten his steps. He picked up the two corners of the blanket, prayed to his ancestors, and pulled Dean to his cabin…a good half-mile trek.
They finally reached the cabin and Suzuki pulled Dean up the four steps, grunting, gritting his teeth, gripping Dean's shoulders tighter, his fingers digging deep into the young man's skin, pulling as hard as he could. He fell backwards with the last effort to haul the frozen man over the final step. Dean's heavy body lay on top of the old man, cutting off his oxygen. Suzuki gasped at the heaviness and lack of air and shifted, moving from under Dean's still body.
He stood-up, placing a hand on one of the solid oak pillars, taking in air, resting for a moment. He shook his head, he could rest inside. He turned around and opened the door and gripped the blanket, his face red with the effort, pulling Dean inside and to the fireplace. The fire was almost out so the elderly man turned to his pile of wood. He had enough to start the fire up again; he tossed the dry timber into the fireplace, poking at it, moving it, the fire came alive, devouring the wood as if the fire was a god and the wood was its sacrificial lamb.
The bright orange and yellow danced, reflecting in Suzuki's glasses. He turned to his new guest…was he still alive? He removed his jacket and placed it on top of the young man, pushing his fingers to Dean's neck, looking for a pulse. He sighed in relief as he found it, faint but steady in defiance to death, a 'fuck-you' to the grim reaper. Suzuki smiled, this stranger was a tough son of bitch. He'd already taken a liking to the young man, strong; resilient; he had a warrior spirit, maybe a great Samurai in his past life, the elderly man smiled at the thought.
With renewed determination, he stood-up, crossed the large room to a large built-in wooden bookcase and scanned the titles. He roughly knew where the book was, his eyes rapidly moved side to side, his fingers hovering overtop of the bindings, mumbling to himself the names of the titles in English and Japanese. He let out a triumphant shout when he found the book. He quickly grabbed it; others fell to the floor, one hitting his big toe…he cursed again. Suzuki opened the book, turned, and scanned through the pages, treating each page as if it was sacred text, mumbling to himself, tracing the words.
"Hypothermia!" he exclaimed, quickly reading the text, soaking in the information. He scrunched his nose, his eyebrows becoming one. His eyes bugged out as he read that skin to skin contact was the most effective and expedient way to warm a hypothermic body.
He lowered the book and looked at the fallen warrior, the idea of being naked with another man was unappealing, but he couldn't allow this young man to die! He put the book down, went upstairs to the linen closet and got some blankets. Rushing down to place the blankets on top of the young man, he disrobed Dean and himself and climbed into the warmth that welcomed him. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Dean, moving close, sharing the cold that lay within this body, shivering, the coldness of his body shocked Suzuki, but he pushed past it, nothing would stop him, he rubbed at the young man's body.
Dean could feel a heat coming from somewhere, a warm constant heat. His body welcomed the relief; he felt safe, secure. The heat dug deep within him, seeping through his muscles, through to his bones, and his organs, conquering the invading cold that held its icy grip on his body, a still fast enemy that lay within his body.
But, there was another sensation…something more constant, more insidious. He knew what it was, an unvarying pain, need, want. It reared its ugly head, shouting, screaming, demanding that it be heard, that the need be quenched…he opened his eyes. The pain was unflinching, it dug deep, the warmth forgotten, the pain, the need, the want, the desire dug deep, too deep, he fought, but he was weak, he wanted to scream, but he had no voice. His heart raced, his breath quickened, he clenched his fist, hard, his nails digging deep into the soft skin of his palms. He relaxed, not being able to take anymore pain. His breathing harsh, irregular, he looked around, where was he? He saw a stout hairy arm wrapped around him and turned around to see a short, stout, old Japanese man asleep beside him. What the hell happened?
Dean quickly sat-up, the pain still constant, the shock joining the party of pain, fear, confusion, and oh god please tell me what I think happened really didn't happen!
"What the hell? Where am I? Who are you? Why are we…we didn't," he shouted frantically, attempting to stand, stumbling, his legs in a tangled mess with the blankets, he fell backwards.
Suzuki woke with a start at his guest's reaction, he stood-up, put on a long kimono style robe, wrapping the long belt around his protruding stomach. He picked-up the book and showed it to Dean. "Skin to skin contact, most effective way to treat hypothermia." He smiled. Dean's eyes scanned the words, relief rushing over him, the pain still constant, still screaming, never leaving…Dean needed to take care of his habit.
"I have to go, where are my clothes?" the young hunter raked a shaky hand through his hair, his leg too close to the radiating heat of the fire, threatening to burn his flesh. He didn't need more pain, so he moved his knee.
Suzuki frowned; he'd taken care of the hypothermia, now he had to take care of the heroin.
"I know you have…a habit. I will not help you kill yourself, I threw the heroin away."
Dean's first reaction was to kill this man, how dare he throw away his heroin? Who the hell did he think he was? His second reaction was one of relief, he didn't want the drug, he wanted to be free, he didn't wanted it in the first place.
"Please…" His voice shaky, racked with pain, trepidation, how was he going to function without it? "I…nnneed it…ppplease…" His body shook, the pain increasing, resonating through him, it was excruciating! "Please you have to…" He screamed as the pain, burrowed deep inside of him.
Suzuki ran to him, tears stung at his eyes, remembering his own father's failed attempts to be free of opium; he took hold of the younger man's shoulders, keeping him close. "You must fight the pain young warrior. I know it is difficult, but it is poison, you will conquer this evil."
The older man's voice was strong and unwavering, but the pain was stronger. Dean punched the old man, he ran to the door exposed save his boxers, the bitter icy cold shocking his already vulnerable system. He shivered deeply as he scanned the area, searching for his car. Finally seeing it about a half mile away, he ran to it, opening the back door, throwing all his possessions to the ground. He needed it so much, his hands shook, his bare feet screamed at the frozen ground they were forced to stand upon.
"I need it…where is it…I need…" He fell to the ground, shivering, crying, his hands over his face, covering his shame, humiliation, and his weakness.
Suzuki ran to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Dean raised his head, his eyes pleading, "I don't want it, I never wanted it…please help me!"
The old man bent down, "That is a start. Let's go inside…I don't like the idea of being naked beside you again, the neighbors might talk," he smiled and Dean couldn't help but laugh.
Dean got up. He had very little pride left, being strong enough to get up by himself and defeating the drug was all he had left.
John woke-up in a wheat field, he looked around, wondering how he got there. He slowly got-up, looking around, he knew his boys were here, but where…? And why?
He walked, the warm breeze welcoming, soothing, it held the sweet smell of Rosemary and Lavender. He smiled at the memory, Mary had loved the smell of Rosemary and Lavender, he'd even bought her Lavender perfume. After her death, he kept a pouch of its dried flowers in his pocket, stroking the soft suede, putting it to his nose smelling its sweet scent, taking in its soothing properties, and the memories of his beloved lost wife.
The middle-aged man searched the empty land, his hand tenderly gracing the tops of the wheat plants.
"Dad" John turned to see Dean standing in front of him. He was close, he could see his handsome face, his eyes looked green in the sunlight, a soft breeze wisped through his short, spiky as if it was a child playing with his hair.
A smile came across John's face, "Dean, thank god! Are you okay?" A tear stung his eyes, his boy was safe, Dean was safe, at least something in this chaotic world was right.
"Yeah dad, I'm good," Dean smiled, he was at peace. He held a hand out to his father for a long over due embrace, a tender moment they both so desperately wanted and needed.
John stretched out his hand, their fingers close, their tips almost becoming one. Then John saw something, something around Dean's torso…fingers, long, thin, grotesque, fingers. They had long, thin, cylindrical-shaped nails, grabbing him, digging into his flesh.
"Dad…" the boy pleaded to his father to save him, to make the monster go away.
"Dean!" John shouted as Dean was thrown backwards and disappeared.
"NOOOOO!" John screamed, bolting-up from his nightmare.
Dean spent the next few days in excruciating pain; he screamed, cried, punched his fist into the wall. Suzuki tended to his every need, he sat by him, gave him green tea, swearing by its many virtues and healing elements. Dean didn't want it, it was bitter, and he was barely able to keep anything down, but somehow it helped him. Suzuki spoke to him, into his ear soothingly, his hot breath softly blew into Dean's ear, his last words were a question which Dean answered.
"Yes, I understand…yes, we do."