Thanks to Maygin for all her help as beta, and to all the great readers!
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Dean was back on the road, the Impala doing ninety.
Left him, left Sam. There wasn't much Dean could wrap his head around right then, in fact there was only two thoughts he held onto. He'd left Sam, alone, defenseless…alone. Bobby was there he reminded himself, Bobby was with Sam. Sam wasn't alone, Bobby would watch after him. Get the stone, the words bounced through his head on the heels of left Sam.
Hands gripping the steering wheel with intensity enough to yank it off Dean took a bend in the road too fast. Nearly losing control of the car, it fishtailed, headlights swinging into the woods before being righted back onto the road again. Horns blared angrily from an oncoming van he avoided hitting by mere inches. Heart pounding wildly against his ribs, Dean struggled to steady his breathing,
Going back to the property alone wasn't what frightened Dean to the point he nearly couldn't formulate a coherent thought, it was leaving Sam. He'd been separated from his brother all of one time in the last six months, a few short weeks ago when he'd left Sam at a library. Then Sam was safe, cell phone in hand, calling Dean every ten minutes. The air inside the Impala was thick and stifling. He'd left his brother, drugged him and left him. Sam trusted him and Dean betrayed that trust. Dean was just as alone as Sam. He didn't like it, he hated it.
Sam's alone, left him, left him, left him.
Yanking his cell phone out, Bobby was on speed dial. His heart nearly blew out of his mouth when Bobby answered before the first ring completed.
"He's still out. Sam's ok."
"Thanks." Dean wanted to say twenty other things, ask more questions, tell Bobby how grateful he was for the man's help. Tears dripped down his cheeks, his throat completely closed.
"Did you get it already?"
"N-no. Not quite there yet. I just wanted….needed…thanks Bobby."
"You be careful. You won't do your brother any good if you get hurt or killed." Even though Bobby's voice was gruff, Dean could picture the soft look in his eyes.
"I will. Thanks." Dean closed the phone slowly, carefully and put it in his pocket. Bobby would never fully understand, and Dean could never fully express his gratitude right then. It wasn't just Bobby helped them so willingly, it was his simple ability to recognize and acknowledge them, what they needed, how they felt.
It pained Dean to think his father would never have thought to reassure him Sam was safe, not in pain, and did in fact trust Dean, need him. Being brutally honest Dean had to admit, John would have shoved Dean's fears to the side, ordered the job be done. That is if Sam had even survived to this point, John could be a bit trigger happy. John's constant reminder all of Dean's life to take care of Sam had been more because John needed someone to, didn't really want to do it himself. He never understood Dean wanted to, never needed to be told. What John ordered and expected out of family loyalty Dean did out of love. Dean really only had a grasp of one way to show his brother that love, and it was to provide whatever he could for Sam. To John, Sam was a responsibility; to Dean he was a reason to live.
Dean's main goal right now was to get back to his brother. Retrieve the stone, take it back to Bobby and send those spirits, or whatever they were on their way. Far away, where they'd never be able to hurt Sam, or him, or anyone again.
The Impala bounced down the bumpy drive leading to where the McCreedy home once stood. He imagined Sam, in the back of a car, drugged, semiconscious, confused as he'd been driven down the same drive so many months ago. The place was still a mud pit, it seemed each time Dean was here it was the same. Splashing through, sprays of darkened water arched into the air in the wake of the tires. Dean could hear tiny pings as the splattered mud hit the side of the car. Driving as close to the foundation as he could Dean parked the car, cut the engine. Cell phone in pocket, Dean sprinted to the trunk. A small blessed silver edged knife was secured with a strap around his ankle. Pistol with consecrated rounds went into the back of his waistband, shotgun with rock salt held firmly in his right hand, a small, folding shovel in his left. The flashlight he shoved into his jacket pocket.
Dean started across to the section of the buried foundation he remembered the stone being implanted. He ignored the mud his boots slapped through, ignored the droplets that sprayed the bottom of his jeans.
"Dean. DEAN!"
Spinning around, Dean faced Sam, watched fascinated as the breath from his voice made a fore trail in the night air while Sam jogged at him. "What are you doing here? How'd you get here?"
Sam grinned mischievously, "I didn't swallow the sedative, faked being asleep. Borrowed Bobby's truck and followed you, I thought you'd need help." Head cocked to one side, offering a sweet, lopsided grin.
Inhaling sharply Dean stared at his brother. "Sam, I just talked to Bobby not ten minutes ago, he said you were out cold."
Shrugging, Sam reached for Dean's shotgun. "He lied so you wouldn't worry and to give me time to catch up to you."
When Dean pulled the shotgun away from Sam's grasp, Sam looked down at his feet, hands dropping to his sides. Looking at Dean from under his bangs, following his eyes Dean saw a hint of moisture brighten Sam's eyes. "You don't believe me?" Sam's voice was soft, wounded.
"Sammy…I…" Dean took a step back, reached into his pocket for his cell phone. If it was true Bobby was in for one helluva speech, not to mention the split lip Dean was planning.
"Dean?"
Dean's stomach twisted viciously, Sam sounded so lost, so uncertain. Taking his eyes from Sam only long enough to flip open the phone, his gaze popped back over to Sam when he heard a stifled gurgling sort of sound. When his eyes met Sam's, his brother was lifted from the ground and flung away with a gasp. He hit the ground with a thud and a groan, sliding a few feet in the mud.
Away from the stone.
Before Dean could do much more than inhale Sam was picked up and tossed again, like a giant rag doll, landing solidly against a dead tree.
"Sammy." Dean pushed the word out between his teeth. This couldn't be Sam, couldn't be. Trick, it was a trick, Redding, or McCreedy were doing this to keep him from the stone.
But if he was wrong?
A few steps in Sam's direction he watched Sam roll away from the tree, stand up, shake his head. "Dean. Please, don't let them. Hurts Dean. Help me, please."
Spinning on one heel, Dean sprinted at the plot of ground where the stone was. Sam screamed after him, Dean tried shutting out the voice, concentrated on the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. Can't be Sam. Cell phone out, he ignored Sam's pleas, his begging Dean to help him.
"You on the way back?"
"Not quite. Is Sam there?"
"Still asleep."
"You can see him, touch him?"
"Yeah, Dean, what's—"
"Bobby, just do it, touch him and tell me he's there, really there."
"Dean…"
"NOW Bobby!" Dean heard rustling, movement on the other end of the phone. Tucking the shovel under his elbow, rested the shotgun in the bend of his arm, Dean pulled out the flashlight, flicked it on, and started searching.
"DEAN…killing me…Dean! Don't leave me, please. I'm scared! D-deeaannnnn…."
"Dean, you there?"
"Yeah."
"He's right here. I have my hand on his arm, it's Sam, he's here, just like you left him."
Snarling, Dean clenched the phone in his fingers, snapping it shut. The beam of light fell on the spot, Dean ran, dropping to his knees and sliding next to the stone. He started to dig.
Sam's screams, pleading increased. Dean ignored it, don't look back, don't look back. Realizing in the next instant there was quiet. Dean looked up in time to see Sam charging him, yelling at him to stop, or he would be hurt, die. Pulling up his shot gun, dropping everything else Dean faced Sam off.
"Stop!" Dean shouted.
"I'll make you kill him." Sam snapped back, not slowing down.
Dean took a step back, wavering. This isn't Sam. Isn't Sam. Dean took another step away from the stone. "Don't." The word choked out of Dean's throat. Shaking his head, blinking through tears. "Don't."
Dean fired, squeezing his eyes shut. "Sam." He barely whispered, opening his eyes.
The sight meeting him drove him to his knees. Sam made gurgling, choking noises. Dean was barely aware of the world around him, his vision narrowed down until Sam filled it completely. Sam stumbled back, one hand trying to cover the gaping hole in his chest, his mouth dropped open, but no words came out, just wet, pained gasps. Blood trickled down his chest, oozed through his shirt, dripped to the ground. His other arm flailed the air in a desperate attempt to not fall. Upper half of his body bending down Sam wheezed out, "Deea—"
"Oh Christ…Sam…Sammy?" What if…Sammy? Can't be Sam, can't be, can't be, cantbecantbecantbe. Dean fought the atmosphere closing in around him, forcing the air from his lungs and trying to fill them all at once. Staggering to his feet, Dean dropped everything but the flashlight. Needing to concentrate on even the tiniest movement of his muscles he made his way to Sam.
"Oh, God, Sam. I'm sorry. Sam." When Dean reached out, wanting to take hold of Sam, his hand skimmed right through.
Sam looked up at him, sadistic smile spreading across his face. "You should see your face right now. Killed your precious little Sammy. Next time you shoot him it'll be for real."
Dean fumbled for the shot gun again, pulled it back up, steadied its shaking. "You leave him alone you bastard." Dean fired again, again and again.
A whoosh of air and blast of warmth assaulted Dean and signaled Sam's evaporation. Back to the stone in a few long, fast strides Dean snatched up the shovel, redoubled his efforts to free the thing from the ground.
"Wanna see how he'll die?" Sam whispered in his ear, hanging over his shoulder, re-coalesced, and warm feathers of air brushing Dean's neck.
Dean ignored it as well as he could, kept digging. Sam flickered away, then reappeared on his other side, kicking out, connecting with surprising force with Dean's ribs. He landed with a grunt a few feet away. Pulling one arm around his middle, Dean shoved off the ground with the other, snarling out, "Go back to Hell." He had the shovel working at the dirt around the stone again.
Sam was hanging over his shoulder again, "Maybe you slit his throat, or shoot him. Oooohh…no, better you beat him to death with your own hands. Can't you feel it, his bones breaking, flesh tearing and bleeding while you hit over and over? What his final breath feels like under your hands. See the pain, the hurt, the betrayal in his eyes as they go lifeless. Feel his dead, cold body."
Wishing he could just elbow Sam in the face and shut him the hell up, Dean wiped sweat, and a few tears from his eyes. Popping up one corner of the stone, he covered it with his legs and went onto the other side.
Sam disappeared only to reappear crouching in front of him. "Ya know what Dean? You'll never get back to him in time. Not ever."
Dean froze, looking up. There was nothing but dying trees and darkness. Scrabbling the dirt with his fingers until they bled, Dean yanked the stone free. Gathering everything in his arms Dean ran to the car, tossed it all in the front seat, threw himself in after, slammed the door, gunned the engine and peeled out to the road.
Cell phone out Dean nearly passed out from relief when he heard Bobby's voice. "Did you get it?"
"Back, on my way back. Bobby watch out. They're coming after….Bobby, Sam?" Dean bit down on his lip to steady himself.
"Dean, listen to me, he's fine. Still asleep. Ignore them. I'll take care of Sam, I promise you Dean he'll be ok."
"Thank you." Dean wasn't exactly sure he'd said the words before hanging up or thought them.
Going after Sam. Alone. Not alone. Left him…lefthimlefthimlefthim.