Firefly – Chapter 22
By: Suz Mc
The Impala sitting there in the parking lot was a shining hunk of metal relief to Sam and he squealed his rental to a stop beside it. If the car was here, Dean was here and no one had bushwhacked him on the road. Sam had driven straight through from the airport to Cheyenne Wells at well over the speed limit, praying he wouldn't have to shake a cop in an Altima and now he'd made it to his family and things were going to be okay. Together, they could deal with what was coming. The sight of that black car quieted some of the fear that had been tightening his chest since he had read Emily's fate written in Latin.
He was almost unfolded out of the car when the splintered motel room door ignited that fear once again. Choking down the panic, Sam resisted the urge to rush inside the room. Instead, he flattened himself against the outer wall. All of his weapons were in the trunk of a Honda in Austin, Texas, and Dean Winchester never ever left his trunk unlocked. He was going in practically naked and useless if the bastards were still here. Sam reached out a shaky hand, eased the door open just a hair, and waited to hear movement. Everything remained still and quiet so he pushed a little more. Still nothing. Slowly, Sam inched inside the room, overwhelmed by the dead silence until he saw Dean's boot poking out from between the twin beds.
He got to Dean's motionless body in a terrified haze, instinctively grasping for a pulse at his neck. "Dean! Wake up, man!" His brother was still and ghostly pale, a thin film of sweat covering his body and soaking through his shirt. There was a pulse and his respiration was shallow but there was air coming in and out and a heart beating. Using his hands, Sam carefully looked for blood or broken bones and found none.
Dean was unconscious, but not in danger so Sam shifted to the huge missing piece to this puzzle – Emily. Getting up from his knees, Sam called out loudly, "Emily! It's Sam, come out!" He tore through the small room, looking under the beds and checking the bathroom. He called her name once more, knowing in his heart that she wasn't coming out because she wasn't there.
"Dean, wake up! Where's Emily?" Sam tangled his hands in Dean's shirt and yanked him upright to rest against the bed. "Come on," he muttered to himself and lightly slapped his brother's face. "Come on, Dean. Where's Emily? She needs you, man!" He slapped a little harder and that sting got a groaning incoherent response.
Dean's eyelids wiggled open and shut erratically. He leaned to the side, groping the carpet with his hand and Sam grabbed him to keep him upright.
"Hey, Dean. It's me. Sam," he said, grabbing his brother's face with one hand, trying to get him to focus. "Open your eyes, dude."
"Where?" Dean jerked away from his grasp and threw both hands to the floor, searching for something in the carpet. "Where…Emily…"
"She's not here, Dean." Sam had to grab his shoulders as Dean slumped to the floor, weak and disoriented. Hauling his brother's body back into a sitting position, Sam tried to latch onto the thread of consciousness that was there. "Focus, Dean." He tapped his face again and watery green eyes opened a bit wider.
"Sam? Sam."
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Took her. Drugged." He mumbled the words, fighting to get them out.
"Someone drugged you, Dean? Who? Did they drug Emily, too?"
Two sweaty hands grabbed Sam's shirt and Dean used the grip to pull his body forward. "We have to go. We have to get her back. She was alive, breathing…"
That exertion drained all of his energy and Dean slumped forward onto Sam's chest, still trying to wrestle himself out of the poisoned fog.
"Gun. Get my gun. Let's go." Dean tried to shove himself off of Sam's chest and get to his feet only to fold in on himself with a gasp of failure.
Sam settled Dean back against the bed. "You're not going anywhere until you get yourself together. Sit for a second so you can make sense."
For the next few seconds, Dean sucked in deep gulps of air, trying to force oxygen into his chest. Sam watched as reality settled over his brother's face, the fear hardening his features.
"Are you with me, Dean?" Sam sat back, giving Dean's brain time to rerun what had happened and catch up with the present.
"I'm good." Dean reached back on the bed and found his gun, pulling the weapon into his palm and slipping the clip free for a quick check. "Let's go."
"Where are we going, Dean?"
He looked lost and shook his head. "I don't know. We just have to go. We've got to get her back."
"Listen to me," Sam said, reaching out to steady Dean from his terrified spiral. "We'll get her back, but we have to figure out what to do. I need to talk to you first."
"We don't have time, Sam." He tried to get to his feet again, only making it to the side of the bed. "They could have given her too much. She was barely breathing."
"Dean, they aren't going to take the chance on an overdose. They need her alive for now." Sam watched Dean process what he'd just heard, his senses sharpening with every second.
"Do you know something? You do, don't you? Tell me."
Of all the bad news Sam had ever delivered, he dreaded this moment the most. There was no time to lead into the story and spin it to avoid the terror it would inspire in the already wounded man in front of him.
"I know what Amora wants and why." Sam sank down heavily on the bed beside Dean, choosing to face away as he began. "The text I translated said that in order for Amora to be free from Hell, she has to perform a specific ceremony at midnight on the last day of her term after being summoned."
Dean hung his head low against his chest and Sam had to strain to hear his words. "It's a blood sacrifice, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Oh God."
"That's not all, Dean. The sacrifice had to be one of a kind. The text reads that it must be a 'virgin child of light and fire—"
"What the hell does that mean? Calley said that, too. Said that Amora made Emily a 'child of light and fire.'"
He had to tell him the complete truth as he understood it, even though he wasn't exactly certain what that was. One touch couldn't reveal everything and something inside of Sam still wanted to cling to the notion that the seismic connection he'd felt when he touched Emily's hand was all from him. Maybe he'd felt the remnants of a demon Maybe there was some mercy in the world that wouldn't wreck her life the way Azazel had wrecked Sam's.
But wanting something to be so had never worked for Winchesters. Whatever it was, it was real and he couldn't hide it from Dean anymore.
"I'm not sure, Dean, but I think it has to do with Amora being in Calley's body. Maybe she did something to Emily."
That wary look spread over Dean's features as he sorted through facts and words and feelings. "Like what, Sam? Like Azazel? Please tell me it's not that, not again."
Despair and terror were consuming Dean, eating up his strength while Sam watched. "Dean, I don't know what it means, but there's more."
"What?"
"The child had to be 'born of lust alone and sired by a doomed soul.'"
"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered then looked at Sam, stunned and horrified. "That's me. That's why she brought Calley to me because I was going to Hell and she wanted me to be her sperm donor. Jesus." Dean stood on shaking legs and wobbled a bit as he tried to move away from the truth that just kept getting more and more hopeless.
"Amora decided to breed her own human sacrifice instead of searching for a match."
"That's why she said I was 'the perfect one.'"
"We have until midnight tonight to stop it, Dean." Sam watched Dean's despair expanding as he realized the child of his heart was doomed to be murdered, ritually sacrificed, if he couldn't magically find her. "Amora can't actually perform the act, she has to have followers do her dirty work but her hands have to be in the blood after—"
"Stop!" Dean prowled the room, trying to escape from Sam's words.
"Dean, listen—"
An ugly lamp hurled across the room, shattering into pieces against the bathroom door and Dean fell back against the wall, recently rebuilt energy sailing across the room with the furniture. His eyes were pinched shut, his face a twisted mask of pain. "I let them take her. She trusted me and I let them take her. Fucking shit."
Sam was by his side, trying to hold him together. Dean had invested everything he had in becoming Emily's father and it was being ripped out of him in some dingy tragic motel room.
"We'll find her, Dean. I swear."
Dean shook himself free of Sam's grasp. "How, Sam? Just how the fuck am I going to find her? I don't even know how they found us or who they are or how to fucking get any leads by fucking midnight!" He was staggering around the room in his fury, looking for something else to destroy.
Sam reconciled his decision while he watched Dean coming apart. "You can't find her, but I can." That stopped his brother cold.
"What?"
Sam calmly crossed the room and sat down on the bed, settling himself for the fight that was most surely coming. "I said I can find her, Dean. We have a connection and I can use it to find her. I've used it before and I know I can do it."
Dean latched on to the hope Sam threw his way. "What the hell are you talking about? " He sat down beside Sam and a spark of understanding flash in his eyes. "You're talking about that psychic crap, aren't you? You said it was gone, you were done with that years ago."
It was exactly the response Sam expected. He didn't bother with the standard argument because this was going to involve revealing a secret he'd kept for a very, very long time. "It's something I," Sam stopped before he said "learned from Ruby" because Dean still had issues with Ruby and now wasn't the time to add more stress. "It's something I used at the last seal, when I couldn't find you."
That had been the single most terrifying moment of Sam Winchester's life. Only minutes had stood between stopping Lilith and a thousand years of Hell on Earth and Dean was the one who had to be there with him. Using his power was the only choice.
"You told me Cas found me and stopped them from dragging me back." Dean hated being lied to and the bitterness in his voice was clear.
"He did, after I told him where to go, but just listen to what I have to say." When Dean remained quiet, Sam launched into the details of what he was about to do. "It's not like the visions. Those just showed things that could happen or were going to happen. If I focus on the person or the event," Sam struggled for the right words to describe the freakish talent he'd only used once, "I can bend time and see what's happened already, what is happening, and what could happen. I can look around like I'm really there, not just see what pops up."
"You think you can do this bending to see where they took her?"
Dean hadn't blown up or launched into any endless tantrum about how Sam shouldn't use his power or point out his less than human status because he was still stuffed with demon blood. His brother was grabbing at the only hope he had and was willing to do anything. When Dean got to the "willing to do anything" point, things generally went violently wrong.
Sam wasn't going to let it. Not this time.
"I do, but I need your help."
"Tell me what to do and I'll do it, Sam."
"You have to anchor me." At Dean's confused look, Sam said. "The last time, I kinda got lost in the process and almost didn't make it out."
Dean's confusion turned to understanding. "You're trying to tell me that you almost died doing that, that thing? Right?"
"If you'll just be here and help me stay tied to the present, it'll be okay."
"No." Dean was shaking his head. "I'm not going to risk both of you. We've got to find another choice."
Battle had been a way of life between Sam and his brother. They'd traded offense and defense almost hourly through their years of traveling and fighting the enemy and each other. Sam's first instinct was to raise his voice and lay out his case point by point and beat Dean into submission with a louder voice and better facts.
But this was different. Sam watched Dean struggle, desperately wanting to grab the thread to save Emily, terrified at the notion of losing his brother in the process. Taking the decision away from Dean was the only way to help him.
Sam kept his voice calm and steady, resigned to his choice. "Dean, I'm not going to let you lose her and I'm not going to be lost if you'll help me." When Dean opened his mouth to argue, he shut him down. "I'm doing it with or without your help, but you'll double my chances of getting it right if you'll get on board."
Reconciliation between Dean's need to say yes and his need to say no was hard won. Sam waited for the moment of surrender and it eventually came with a sharp intake of air Dean used to muffle a break in his voice. "Okay." He looked Sam right in the eye, and said, "Swear to me this will be okay."
"I swear."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Just be here and listen to what I say in case I can't remember it or hold onto it." Sam started to settle himself. He reached out to take Dean's hand. Every connection he could find to Emily would help and Dean was tangled up in Emily with every cell of his body.
Dean didn't resist the intimate touch. On any other occasion, Dean would have jerked away and told Sam they weren't going steady. Not today. "When you said you needed an anchor, what do you mean, Sam? I don't know what you want me to do." His grip tightened.
"Last time, when I got to the shift between the present and future, that's where I got lost." Lost in the sight of Dean being dragged into the pit and his eyes going black and his soul disappearing into a void of brutality. "I just got so deep into it, I almost couldn't pull myself out," Sam said, looking down at his big brother firming up the grip on his hand like he could keep him from falling into his own mind. "It won't be like that this time."
With a short smile, Sam closed his eyes and let the gates open to release the flood he fought so hard to contain. Emily and her sad little eyes played through his mind and getting hold of her energy wasn't hard to do. It was intense and bright, amped up by the intense fear she had bottled inside her tiny fortress of a body. The room was filled with it, a silent scream that was swirling through the space. What had happened to Dean in that room, the panic and defeat, radiated up through Sam's skin, bringing him back to the moment of the attack.
The door broke open under the pressure of someone's kick. Sam stood in their path and three intruders waltzed through his body and he reached out to grab them from sheer reflex. Dean was sprawled out on the floor, his body covering Emily's where she lay unconscious on the carpet. One of his brother's hands was gripping the little girl's shirt in a tight fist and he mumbled something as a man jerked him away from Emily and tossed him out of the way.
"Three of them. A guy with red hair picked her up."
The man was carrying Emily out of the door, followed by the other two. A woman wiped down the room for prints before leaving and pulling the door shut behind her. Sam followed, watching them all pile into a silver rental car.
"Colorado plate. DCL 667"
Sam put himself into the vehicle. Emily was laying out loosely in the woman's lap, red haired man beside her. They were talking and Sam had to clear his head to concentrate. He tried to listen and repeat.
"Good thing we happened across that redneck asshole and his tracker. Should have invited him to the show. What was his name? Drake?" They all shared a laugh full of arrogance and satisfaction.
"Drake found you, Dean."
Dean's hand jerked against his in the real world and it made the vision fade around him just a bit. It came back around him in pieces. Sam moved the scene forward a bit, trying to figure out where they were going.
Emily stirred slightly. She was about to open her eyes and Sam instinctively reached out to comfort her so she wouldn't be alone in that car with freaks who wanted to kill her. His hand slid through her. She came alive more forcefully than her father had. Zero to sixty. At the second she realized she was being held by a stranger, her body fired into rebellion, arms fighting against the woman's firm grasp. She kicked her feet hard, landing one in the red haired man's lap.
"She's fighting now that she's awake. Nailed the guy in the nuts and he's pissed."
The man raised his hand, swinging it through Sam to slap at Emily's face only to have it stopped cold in the woman's grip. "Don't mark her face. Amora wouldn't like that." Emily twisted and almost got to the floor and out of the woman's lap. The bitch stopped her by wrapping her hand around Emily's bandage and squeezing. The pain bled silently from Emily's eyes and she melted weakly to the floor, surrendering against the unmerciful assault. "Be still or I'll put you in the trunk."
"Lindsey did that to her, too, Dean. Told her not to talk or she'd burn her eyes out and kill her new daddy. Squeezed her burn. That's why no touching for so long."
The vision wavered, being shifted by Sam's own anger. This wasn't going to help. He turned, focusing on the driver. The landscape was speeding by out the window. He saw a highway sign. 40. Going north. The driver was calm with a one-handed grip on the wheel. Looked like he was driving to the movies or the grocery store. Not to an altar to slit a little girl's throat.
Dean was talking to him but he couldn't hear clearly. The driver was fooling around with a GPS on the seat. He handed it back over the seat. "Plug in the address. Maybe it'll help us cut our time."
Yeah, you bastard. Type in the address. Sam blended back to hover over the red haired man's shoulder, his heart pounding in his ears.
"He's typing, Dean. He's typing the address." He felt like he was shouting, as if there were headphones covering his ears. "Listen, Dean." It was hard to focus on such small details. Sam leaned in closer, wishing he could slam his elbow into the bastard's face.
"4219 Deer Walk Rd, Centennial, Colorado. That's where they're going."
He moved to the present. Still on the road, going north. Emily was silent and limp, eyes wide open but blank. She'd shut down completely, unable to deal with the reality around her.
"She's alive. I told you she would be."
He had the destination. He should pull back so they could get on the road but the temptation was too great. If he could see the location of their stronghold, it would help. They wouldn't go in blind. The pounding in his brain grew louder the further Sam traveled from the now to the possible. He called it a possible outcome because they were going to change it. The road was long and rough, gravel wet from rain. A white farmhouse surrounded by windows. Two sentries were walking the perimeter. Dean would kill them first. An odd black mist was drifting around the house, smoldering near the ground. The stink was unmistakable. Amora was there, disembodied and lurking. Sam moved through her, feeling the evil mist licking against his mental self.
As he stepped through the door, the action shifted into a spiraling fast-forward. Emily in white. Black band on her neck. Black candles. Amora taking a host and standing over the altar while the twisted human accomplices stretched the struggling child over the wooden surface.
"Stop…God, please stop…"
Sam put himself over Emily's body, trying to block the knife that sliced right through him, slitting her throat and freezing her dark eyes wide open.
He was losing himself in the nightmare of her dead eyes, her lifeless hand that he couldn't feel. No power. No tingle. Amora's host drenching herself in the blood and her power exploding through the room. Sam was choking on the filthy sulfur stink filling his nose and mouth. His eyes were seared from the burning light flashing out of Emily's corpse, enveloping his senses. The light was warm and soft full of little girl energy and it was the only comfort in a room of savage pleasure in pain. Sam lay down against Emily's cheek, weeping and defeated wanting to feel that comfort.
"Sammy!"
Dean. God. Dean's child was dead and he wouldn't be able to survive it. Sam tried to close his eyes, his ears. He didn't want Dean to see this, to hear this.
"Get out of there, Sammy!"
The voice was stronger now and Sam was being pulled away from Emily's bloody body, pulled away from those dead eyes and wild bloody assholes celebrating. Somebody had him, a real touch, not a fake touch like in this demented vision. He tasted blood, real blood and his knees hit the floor.
Hands were holding his face and he leaned into the touch trying to blot out everything else. He was crying and Dean was holding him up, trying to help him.
"You're done, Sammy. Shut it down. We've got it."
Sam rushed back into the now, into the shabby motel room. He was on his knees, blood running from his nose and a headache flashing pain in his temples.
"I gotcha', Sammy." Dean was holding Sam's face up, wiping away the blood. "You here with me, dude? Talk to me."
"I'm here," he said, feeling the sob catch in his throat. "Did you hear me? The address?"
"I got it all." Dean's voice was quiet and rough, making Sam wonder how much of the final moments he'd blurted out for Dean to suffer through.
The stability began to return and Sam pulled himself off the floor and sat on the bed, reassembling his control. Dean's hand was on his back, helping his to steady himself.
"Promise me you'll never, ever do that again, or I'll kick your ass." Dean got off the bed and went to gathering his and Emily's things to put into the Impala. He didn't wait for an answer, just assumed it was agreement.
Sam got up and followed his brother, understanding that they couldn't talk about the disastrous future that was waiting for all three of them in some weathered Colorado farmhouse.
TBC