Author's note: Sorry for the long wait- exams are over as of today! I am a free woman. Now have some angst ;D
Beta'd by Maddy77
Hey Sammy,
By the time you'll read this, I'll probably be gone. And I suppose I'll take the coward's way out and tell you now that these past ten years have been a lie. Remember Dad's "miraculous" recovery after Valefour kicked his ass? Well, it wasn't so much a miracle as it was a little demon mojo courtesy of a guy named Crowley. He's coming to collect tonight. Drag my sorry ass straight to hell. I just want you to know that it was worth it. Every minute. So please, give this shit up, alright Sammy? Go back to school, become some fat cat lawyer and live the rest of your life. I'm a lost cause, man. Always have been, but it doesn't have to be like this for the both of us. You got out once and you were happy. I'm sorry I screwed that up too. I know you hate me for not telling you about this mess. In fact I can hear you whining at me in my head, saying how "I shouldn't have had to bear this burden alone" and yada yada yada, but you know what? It was my choice. I did it so we could be a family a little while longer and I hope you won't begrudge me that. There's a bottle of whisky hidden in my sock drawer. Give it to Bobby Singer for me next time you see him.
-Dean
PS. Take care of Baby, or I swear I'll haunt your ass.
Dean's blunt, blocky handwriting stood out starkly on the page. Little scratches and crossed-out sections showed where he'd struggled with the wording. Some of the damp patches smelled faintly alcoholic. Sam was more afraid of the ones that didn't. The paper fell out of Sam's shaking hands. He was out the door before it even touched the carpet.
Miles upon miles of dark countryside flashed by in the headlights of a grey '94 Cadillac that had been unfortunately parked two spaces down from the Winchester's motel room. Did Dean pick this hunt on purpose? Sam wondered. A large search area, an ambiguous target. Easy for one hunter to slip away and die before anyone caught on. Where should I even start? Sam wracked his brains, searching for some sort of clue his brother might have left with his final actions. The girl! Dean would have taken her to a hospital first. Sam was certain of that.
The baying was louder than ever now, closer. Dean caught a hurried glimpse of massive paws and slavering fangs in the rearview mirror before hurriedly looking away. In the passenger seat the girl sprawled bonelessly, her head lolling from side-to-side with the motion of the Impala. Dean wasn't even sure if she was still breathing but damned if he was going to stop to check. I have to save one more, just this last girl, please, Dean begged incoherently to anyone who was listening, trying to ignore the futility of the act. When was the last time anyone had responded? If the angels, or God, or whatever was up there had ignored the pleas of a frightened teenager, why would they help someone so tainted as the man he was now? Only the hellhounds answered. He felt one latch onto the rear bumper, causing the car to veer across the road. Dean snatched up the shotgun he'd placed carefully in his lap and took a few wild shots through the back window. He hit at least one, maybe two judging by the angry snarls and the sudden release of pressure on his Baby. The lights of Morris County General glowed faintly in the distance. Almost there…
Sam tried to ignore the first flare of pain in his temple, accompanied by a small twinge of nausea. A few seconds later his vision flickered, as if someone had rapidly flipped a light switch. Oh God, not now. But he knew the symptoms all too well. Sam fought desperately against the growing pounding in his head as the road in front of him began to swerve in and out of focus. The world flashed in front of him again. This time he glimpsed a pale figure in the seat next to him. A girl with dark, dirty hair spread in a sweaty tangle across her face. Then she was gone. Sam pushed back with all his might, fighting against the pull of the vision, afraid of what he might see. His head was expanding, brain pulsating against his skull. Another blinding, excruciating jolt and he saw Dean twisted around in the Impala, brandishing a shotgun at some unknowable terror behind him. Sam could smell the sweat and fear pouring off him, masked by adrenaline and a certain urgency. Sam gasped as snapped back to reality, his head and stomach roiling in panic. The visions only ever showed him on thing, after all. The pain boomed and crackled thunderously in his ears, coated his tongue with ash. It smelled like sulfur. No... Dean. Only a little time. I need to- but he was overtaken completely.
Dean was running wild-eyed through a forest. A branch reached out and snagged him, causing blood to well up on his temple and trickle slowly down his cheek. Dean didn't seem to notice, continuing to pelt through the underbrush, occasionally risking a glance behind him. His breathing was becoming more and more tortured, chest heaving in and out raggedly. He didn't dare stop though. Even after his legs gave out, he crawled- fingers scraping futilely at the dirt. A slow, chilling howl rose behind him, followed by another and another, as the noise rose in a hair-raising crescendo. Dean was jerked violently back as something grabbed hold of his leg, but it stayed hidden on the edge of the vision. In one brutal motion, the thing clamped down. A flash of teeth, the sound of bone snapping, and Dean's scream. The rest of the pack dove in, fuzzy indiscriminate nightmare shapes circling and pouncing on his prone form. Invisible claws raked down Dean's chest. Soon he was nearly unrecognizable; a broken bloody chew toy. His fingers twitched upwards briefly as if he was reaching for the amulet around his neck, but then he was still.
The pounding in his head melded with the sound of a horn until the two became one insufferable blast. Sam floundered inside his own head, finally free of the hellish vision but unable to return to full consciousness. Have to get to Dean. Might still be time. Gotta fix this. Sam winced against the noise, feeling something firm and circular press against his face. Have to get off the steering wheel. He staggered out of the car, wiping away the blood that had pooled on his upper lip. Something gleamed dully in the Chevy's headlights, off the road to the right about a hundred feet ahead. Sam fought the inevitable bile rising in his throat as he crept forward, silently thanking the owner of the car for keeping a flashlight in the glove compartment.
"Dean?" He called, but there was no answer. The night was completely still. Glancing down, Sam saw thick black skid marks slashed across the road. Trepidation growing, he quickened his pace, glass crunching under his feet. Was I this close the whole time? Could I have been watching Dean in real time while he… Sam was sprinting now, all sense of professionalism or personal safety gone.
"DEAN!" The Impala came into view of his beam. A figure was still hunched over in the passage seat, unmoving. The driver's seat had been wrenched open, and was hanging forlornly as if Dean would return at any minute. Sam thought he heard a low, rumbling growl emanating from the trees alongside the road, but nothing emerged in the yellowed glow of the flashlight. Sam cautiously slid around to the passenger side and jammed two fingers onto the girl's neck. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to go find Dean, but he knew he couldn't just leave her there to die either. She looked the same as she had in his vision; right down to the filthy hemp bracelet around her wrist, below the faint, bluish puncture marks from the IV the djinn had used to extract her blood. Her pulse was weak but she stirred slightly under his touch. Not in immediate danger, not my problem anymore. Sam took off into the woods, praying that he hadn't run out of time.
He found Dean sprawled out underneath an oak tree, the ground surrounding him churned into a slush of mud and blood by giant paws. Sam knelt down gently in the damp earth, cradling Dean's head in his lap. Absentmindedly he wiped the gore from his brother's face, imagining the tree sucking up Dean's essence through its roots. He will live on. Sam felt hot and cold simultaneously as the every ounce of air left his lungs in one great whoosh. Tears burned a trail down his face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered aloud to the emptiness.
"Too little too late, I'm afraid," a sardonic drawl replied.