The Nutcracker.
Summary. . . . . . . . Trying to bring a sick Sam some Christmas cheer, Dean unwittingly places his brother in danger.
Disclaimer. . . . . . . Still only loaning the guys, but I'm working on a plan!
A.N. . . . . . .Well here it is chapter 8, I hope that you enjoy it, catch you later, Peanut x
Pain and exhaustion left him floating somewhere between sleep and awake fullness, his body seeking the rest, yet at the same time unwilling to allow him to totally relax and heal, a permanent ringing reverberating around his skull preventing him from seeking that calm, silent, dark place that he knew so well. He groaned as the ringing increased before going silent, the quiet lulling him to step deeper away from pain and further into the blackness. He jumped as his arm was suddenly gripped and shaken, and his name was spoken softly, the tone sounding hurried and worried. He willed his broken body to move, willed his heavy eyes to open, instinct telling him that something was wrong, that he needed to forgo rest, that he was required. Opening first one, then the other eye to slits took more effort than he thought possible, the lids slamming closed again briefly as harsh florescent light shone into his sockets, igniting a world of agony that had him rolling to the side and expelling what little food he had eaten earlier; cringing away from the pungent smell once he had finished, as it threatened to send his stomach into a sloshing, rolling mess once again.
His eyes shut again, the effort of being sick slipping him back into the warmth and calm of his mind, but that voice began talking once more and this time it was accompanied by a tapping upon his face. "Buddy! Buddy! C'mon, it's time to wake up." A small part of him wanted to comply, but the darkness was a stronger pull, there he could forget all his pains, forget all his sickness, and just relax with his memories of the most beautiful blonde he had ever met. The tapping though refused to let up, and the voice grew louder and more worried by the second, the words being spoken breaking through his clouded mind and registering in his brain. "C'mon buddy, you have to wake up, we need to get you home." Home, home, why did he need to get home? As his eyes struggled to open yet again, a thought pushed it's way to the front of his mind, and words fell stuttered from his mouth. "Wa. . .. . . .wat's goin' on?"
"There's been some trouble, Dean needs ya Johnny."
That was all it took, his eldest boys name being mentioned. John's eyes flew open, the pain that crashed it's way through his body ignored and forgotten as he stumbled from the bed, desperate to get to his clothes so he could get dressed, hit the road and get back to his son. He stumbled slightly as his damaged leg gave way beneath him as he stepped into the worn denim of his jeans; cursed himself out, and refused Caleb's help, as he felt stitches pull in his side, as he attempted to pull on his t-shirt; but that stubborn Winchester streak had taken hold, and no matter the pain, John was now determined to work through it. He looked up after tying his boot laces, thankful that Caleb had sorted out their belongings whilst he was getting dressed and loaded them into the truck ready to go, with determination still pushing him on he stood on wobbly legs, waiting a few seconds for the dizziness to pass before moving towards the door; a thought stopping him on the threshold, a thought that needed voicing. "Caleb, you mentioned Dean, was Sammy okay?"
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Frigidly cold air creeping their way through the cracks of the rotten wood, sent their wisps across the soft flesh of Sam's bare chest, arms and legs, causing the already trembling boy, to shake all the more violently. He had woken a few minutes previously, scared, confused and alone, stripped down of his outer clothes and tied by shackle and chain to the wooden frame of what appeared to be a barn. Terror had taken a hold of all his thoughts as he realized he was here alone, that Dean wasn't here with him; he knew that something bad must have happened for his brother not to be there, and the panic that thought created had made him lose it completely; if Dean were gone, and to Sam's confused, tired, hurt mind, that could be the only answer, then what was the point of him carrying on? So he sat there, his knees bent, his head resting on them, tears falling, and a combination of shivers and sobs rippling his body.
He tried to still his trembling body as he thought he heard movement coming from the other side of the stall he had been placed in, hope once again flaring inside him that it could be Dean, that Dean could have been unconscious too and was just now waking up; but that hope was dashed as the movement got closer, Sam knew Dean about as well as Dean knew himself, and for his brother to make that much noise was wrong in Sam's eyes. Dean was loud, boisterous and noisy in everyday situations, but he had this streak that ran beneath the surface and was very rarely shown, a streak that was stealthy, furtive and silent, a streak that Sam knew he would be showing if he was there. He wiped the dew from his eyes as he waited to see the face of his abductor, something telling him that he was not about to like what he saw.
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He gagged as he rested, wishing he had had the strength to wash first before he had been reverted back, the smell of the sewers overpowering his senses, but washing had not been a priority at the time, getting his prize settled and ready had been. Now though the desperation to rid himself of the foul smells was growing, and the thoughts of having been forced to walk through those offensive, distasteful smelling tunnels was feeding the anger that was growing once again inside him; how could someone of his stature have been forced to stoop so low? Oh they would pay for this, they would all pay dearly, starting with the boy. He had known the minute his prize had woken up, could feel the fear that flowed from him in waves, could hear the sobs that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide; the emotions feeding him, making him grow in strength, strong enough to move his wooden limbs but not enough to revert back to human form, that he knew was going to take time, time he hoped he had the patience to with stand.
Standing up on limbs that felt like twigs, he began to edge closer towards the boy, wanting, needing to see the fear upon his face. He kept to the shadows at first, relishing the terror an unseen assailant was creating, but soon that emotion was not enough, he needed more, he needed a stronger reaction, he needed a sensation he had not felt in a long time; so he stepped from the shadows, cherishing the look of disbelief that registered on the youngsters face, and the fear that emanated from his being, fear that soon turned to terror the closer and closer he got. Reaching out his arm he began to stroke the soft flesh of the boys arm, before moving his hand to his face.
To Be Continued. . . . . . . .
A.N. . . . . . .As always thank you all so more for taking time out to read, will be back soon with a new chapter, Peanut x