iA/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, RL's been... well, there isn't a high enough rating for what I want to say, so how's about I just get on with the story, huh?
:: :: ::
But don't say the pain will fade tomorrow,
The last thing that I'll feel will be today.
You, you, you, don't you know?
You took apart my soul.
You, you, you, don't you know?
You put me on my knees and cut my throat.
:: :: ::
His footsteps echoed from the walls as he walked, pace steady and even, when his hands were locked around the grip of his shotgun so tightly his knuckles burned. Pausing, Dean crouched under a window, pried one hand loose and skimmed it across the lines chalked onto the marble floor, felt the faint tingling of power that hazed the dusty air above the ward.
He pivoted in his crouch, scanned the long, open foyer, the bright curves of the Devil's Traps chalked in front of every door and window fragile reassurance when he could hear the hounds baying outside.
"Someone call the pound," he murmured, rising with a weary grunt, his knees popping. "Man, I'm getting' too old for this." He peered cautiously over the window ledge, the thick glass cool against his brow as he leaned into it, watched shadows pacing in the street, their motion smooth and lithe and impossible. His shoulders hunched and he shivered despite himself, shifted his grip on the shotgun, reminding himself it was there.
"Come on, Dean. Suck it up."
The soft echo of his words was lost when the beasts outside lifted their muzzles to the paling sky and howled, the sound jarring along his nerves and he jerked back away from the window, swore quietly.
"Freakin' poodles."
It was even less convincing out loud than it had been in his head and he huffed, turned on his heel and strode deeper into the rows of bookcases. Rounding a corner he stepped over another ward, scratched into the floor this time, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he remembered his brother's face when Sam realised what he was doing. It faded at the memory of his brother's face when he yanked the stitches in his arm loose, daubed the blood that welled too quickly up along the scratches in the marble. He rubbed idly at the new bandage, wrapped too tight from wrist to elbow, shook his hand out, frowning over the faint tingling in his fingers.
Stopping at another window, Dean peered around the frame and watched the Hounds pacing in the street. Smoke rose against the stars, turning the air heavy and gritty across the whole town. The hunter snorted, was about to head back into the depths of the library when a figure stepped easily out of side street, walked to the middle of the main avenue and stretched lazily. Dean froze, felt his blood turn to ice when another figure walked out of the shadows, and another, more and more until they filled the streets.
"Oh hell," he breathed, dimly recognizing the motel clerk that he'd checked in with behind black eyes and a cruel sneer. As if the demon heard him, it turned the man's head to stare at the window and Dean swallowed thickly at the grisly sight of the gaping hole where the host's throat had been. He backed away, fingers locked tight around the shotgun until all he could see through the glass was the plume of smoke, and then he turned, hurried back into the rows of shelves.
A distant roar followed him and he stumbled a little as the floor shook, wondered if the cost of the seal was the town itself or if the demons were just destroying everything until there was no possibility of survivors.
He skidded around a corner, flailing as he fought for balance, saw Tommy jump in the corner of his eye and spun to face the boy, tucked into a corner between two tall bookcases, hands frozen in the act of pouring a flask full of water into a bright yellow balloon.
"Hey," he panted, tried to mask the unease slip-sliding along his nerves, the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped that simmered under his skin. Now I know why an animal will chew it's own leg off to get out of a snare, he thought grimly, plastered a tiny smile on his face for the child. "How's it goin', MacGuyver?"
Tommy frowned at him, brow wrinkling in confusion.
"I said the, the prayer, like you said I had to?"
"Good. That's good, kiddo. You're doin' fine." He watched for a moment as the boy filled the balloon in his hand, noticing with a flicker of genuine amusement that it had a large smiley face printed on one side. "You're just fine," he murmured again, reached out to ruffle the boy's hair in passing as he headed for the end of the narrow corridor formed by the bookshelves.
"Sam?"
His low call still echoed as he rounded the corner, met his brother's quirked brow.
"Anything?"
"Well, we're surrounded by Lassie Goes Down Under on one side and demon powered Romero rejects on the other. Other than that?" Dean shook his head and the younger man huffed, pinched at the bridge of his nose for a moment, leaning on a table strewn with maps and books and scraps of paper covered with his spidery notes. He almost grinned at the sight, so familiar, almost found himself listening for his father's irritation with the scatter shot method Sam had always used for research.
"There's method to it," he'd defended himself, "And it works, doesn't it?"
They'd never been able to dispute that, and by the time Sam was thirteen the chaotic jumble was a regular feature of every motel room and apartment they called home for a while.
"You?" he asked, reluctantly. He knew Sam's method worked, he just wasn't sure they had time.
"Maybe," his brother answered, flipping through papers, shifting to prop one hip on the edge of the table with a wince. "Here, I dug this out. It might help us get out of here at least."
Dean stepped forward, reached out to take the book Sam handed him, squinted down at the symbols printed neatly on the page. He frowned, mumbled translations painstakingly as he scanned the text and felt something shift inside him when he realized halfway down the page what it was.
"This is her spell? Ruby's damn spell to destroy demons? With a virgin's heart? What the hell, Sam?"
He glared at his brother, saw Sam's lips press so tight that they almost disappeared, his jaw working.
"No. It's different," he gritted out and Dean made himself take a step back, forced his hand to loosen around the shotgun. "It won't destroy them, just knock them out of their hosts, maybe, kick them back downstairs. And it doesn't need a sacrifice."
"Oh," Dean murmured, dropping the hand still clutching the book too tight to his side. "Sorry," he offered lamely, and Sam snorted, shrugging it off with a rough jerk of his head.
"Skip it. Dean, if I can make this work, we won't need to worry about the lake or the witch. We can blast all the demons here away, let the angels figure out a way to make the seal safe."
The younger man leaned closer, face earnest and eyes shining, too bright, he thought, he looks... eager, but he shook it off and eased forward a pace, held the book out again, and he couldn't miss the way his brother looked at it before taking it back, tossing it onto the table and scrubbing his hand against his jeans.
"If you can make it work?" he echoed, caught the flicker of uncertainty that pulled at his brother's face and cursed under his breath.
"It, it's kinda, it should work. But I've never heard of anyone using it successfully."
Sam at least looked slightly abashed, shrugging a little and Dean sighed.
We're so screwed. "Sounds peachy." He paused as his brother flipped through the pages of his notebook, covered with spidery scrawl that smeared together as his eyes burned, dry and scratchy. "Sam?"
"What?"
He hesitated, worried his lip between his teeth for a moment. Remembered the cold resolution in his brother's eyes, the outright terror lurking beneath, building exponentially with every day that crept past them, that slipped through their fingers like sand and wondered what he would have been willing to do.
Some lines you don't cross, he thought, tried to ignore the way it sounded hollow in his head.
"Why..." he had to stop, clear his throat, coughing raspily against the familiar burn deep inside, counterpoint to the ice at the base of his spine. "Why didn't you bring this out in Colorado?"
Sam just looked at him for a moment, face carefully blank.
"I didn't have it then. I found it after... later. When I was looking for..." he trailed off and Dean swallowed again, nodded once. He stepped closer again, leaned against the table opposite his brother, propping the shotgun against the leg as he leafed through the books, dragged a thumb across an ancient map of the town, the river winding through the middle of the small settlement.
Silence stretched between them, too many echoes ringing at the edge of hearing, too many questions they couldn't answer, couldn't even figure out how to ask. Too many things they'd done, and he shivered a little, longed for the whiskey stashed in the trunk of the Impala, for the haze it put over all the sharpness of the world he'd crawled up into, so twisted on itself he sometimes wondered if he was really out at all. He shuddered, felt a touch skim down his jaw, a body pressed hard up against him, sulfur on his tongue as he stared into gray eyes that swam with black and ice burned his hand, his back -
"Dean."
He startled, covered it with a twitch of his shoulders, tilting his head to see his brother in the corner of his eye.
"You... you said she might've been one of the demons who..."
Dean blinked, tried to remember if Sam had ever had the power to read his mind before.
"Yeah," he rasped. "Maybe. I don't know, Sam, it's hard to tell."
"Did she... what did she say?"
You'll scream for me by the time I'm done, Dean, the whisper curled through his mind and he shuddered. Sammy isn't coming for you, you know that, right? Nobody here but us chickens, Dean. You and me, we're gonna set this place on fire, and finally he'd screamed her name until his throat bled, screamed as she tore at him and burned and clawed and shredded, screamed and screamed until there was nothing left inside him but she still hadn't stopped.
"Nothin'," he ground out, spun away, snatching at the shotgun, cradling it too close to his chest, he knew his brother would see it, would notice the tremors in his hands but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Dean -"
"She didn't say a damn thing, Sam."
A warm hand caught at his arm and he twisted away hard, yanked it free, horrified at the rush of ice that lashed up his spine. Staggering back, he heard Sam gasp, followed his brother's gaze down to the shotgun, to the frost forming on the barrel around his fingers.
"Fuck," he swore roughly, dropped the gun and snatched his hands away, balled them into fists as it clattered loudly on the marble floor.
"Dean, what the hell?"
"I don't know. I don't know, Sam!"
The cold spread along his arms, so fierce it burned and he sucked in air, felt his knees go weak and stumbled blindly for the nearest bookcase, clinging on to the shelves. "Just... find it, Sam. We gotta get out of here," he whispered, forced his head up to meet his brother's stunned gaze as Sam nodded jerkily. "I gotta get out." Quieter this time, to no-one but himself but deep in the back of his mind something laughed and he swore again, pried his hands away from the shelves and dragged himself up, hesitating for a second as he reached out for the shotgun.
The barrel was cool under his fingers but not cold and he grimaced, stood unsteadily. The charm thumped softly against his chest with the motion, too hot, a pinprick of fire through his shirt and he swallowed hard, closed his fist around it, wanting nothing more than to rip it off and stamp it to powder.
He sighed instead, a slow, controlled breath that plumed white as he let the charm drop, sliding down the cord to rest next to his amulet as he walked unsteadily back to the wide staircase that curved up from the middle of the lobby. Halfway between one step and the next, he stopped dead, could almost hear the light bulb going off above his head as he peered down at the small disc of aged, worn-smooth wood against his chest.
"Huh."
He wobbled, balanced on one foot, reaching out absently for the balustrade and hauling himself wearily up to the wide gallery that curved around the lobby, mind churning as he crossed to the packs they'd stashed in one far corner of the mezzanine, rummaging through the ancient books. Hauling one free he crouched, balanced it on his knee and flipped through the pages, listening to the snarls and barks outside, the eerie sound of an entire population all watching the windows above his head. It set his skin crawling, cold sweat trickling between his shoulder blades, stinging in the mangled stitches wrapping his arm, in the cuts and claw marks on his chest.
He ignored it, focused on the book, muttered a quick, "Yahtzee," under his breath, rapping one knuckle against the paper and shoving back to his feet with a groan as his knees popped again. Paused for a moment, scanning the library, grinning when he spotted the box of wooden tags on a desk tucked into the opposite corner of the gallery. Hefting the bag to his shoulder, he tucked the book inside, grabbed his shotgun and headed over to it, clearing a space and dropping into the seat as he rummaged in the bag and started working.
Twenty minutes later, he sat back, swiped a hand across his eyes and yawned as he held up the battered, dented canister wrapped thickly with black duct tape and chuckled softly. Levering himself up out of the chair, he set the can down on the desk, flicked the fuse poking through the layers of tape and crossed to the wide balustrade, leaning over it to call quietly.
"Tommy? Hey, c'mon up here kiddo. Bring the water balloons."
He listened to the boy scrambling through the shelves, heard his footsteps echoing in the quiet, his head snapping up as he realized he couldn't hear the Hounds any more, couldn't here anything but the sound of the boy running.
"Aw, hell. Sam!"
His brother's startled answer, a crash below and he tensed for a moment, waiting for more sounds, to hear the Hounds baying and snarling but there was nothing, just footsteps, as familiar as his own and he leaned out again, over the empty space of the foyer.
"Sam, they're comin'! Tommy! Get up here! Kate?"
"I got her!" his brother answered, sounded breathless and Dean cursed, spun to the stairs, saw Tommy scrambling up them, clutching an arm full of balloons.
"Tommy! Come on!" he yelled, ducked reflexively when the main doors exploded inwards, the frame ripped away from the wall, hitting the marble floor in a heap of splinters and stone. A small hand slid into his and he dragged the boy with him as he ran back to the desk, slung the bag over one shoulder, transferred Tommy's grip to his jacket and grabbed the shotgun and canister, hearing the boy panting, feeling him shake through the small fist that twisted tight into his side. He stopped, ducked down, found the boy's wide gaze.
"Hey, hey Tommy, it's gonna be okay, alright? We're gonna get out of here now."
The small head nodded at him, but Dean could see Tommy didn't believe it any more than he did and his fingers cramped around the shotgun. We're never getting out of this, he thought again, shook off the defeat even as it dragged at him, urged him to just stay down there on his knees.
I'm tired man, I'm just tired of it.
He stayed low as he scurried to the edge of the gallery again, peered over the edge, saw the figures outside through the ragged hole where the door had been. They clawed at the stone, tore it away piece by piece and his jaw tightened.
"Devil's trap in front of the door ain't much good if they come through the freakin' walls," he muttered, felt Tommy press into his back as the first of them slipped around the marks on the floor, hissing as a toe brushed the edge of the sigil.
Something buzzed against his hip and he started, slapped at his pocket before he realized it was his phone, yanked it free and saw Sam on the display. He pressed it to his ear, ducked as a thick chunk of brick and stone shattered against the stairs.
"Sam?"
"You okay?"
"I'm awesome. Where are you? You got an exit?"
"Yeah. Kate's out, she's got Petey."
He grinned, quick and fierce. "Okay. Get out, Sam."
"No way, Dean I'm not - "
"Trust me, Sam. Get out. And duck."
He snapped the phone shut on his brother's protests and shoved it back into his pocket, fumbled for his lighter and struck the wheel, touched the flame to the fuse poking out of the canister.
"Tommy?"
The boy nodded against his back, head pressing hard against the cold spot at the base of his spine and he shivered once, felt it shift and thought, it's hungry without quite knowing why. "Get down, kiddo. Okay? Put your arms over your head and close your eyes." The twist of paper caught, smouldered for a moment before the lighter fluid he'd soaked it in flared and he reared up, yelled out as he tossed the canister over the edge of the gallery, "Fire in the hole!"
Threw himself over Tommy, had just enough time to think, it hasn't worked, when the black powder he'd packed into the canister went off with a dull whump that hit his back, shoved him down onto the boy, one thin elbow digging sharp into his ribs and he grinned, laughed through the ringing in his ears, felt something patter down onto his shoulders and rolled up, plucked a charred disc of wood from the floor, the symbol carved into it still glowing.
Tommy blinked up at him, eyes wide in the dark for a moment, before the insistent thrum of his phone against his hip made him drag his gaze away.
"Sammy?"
"What the hell? Dean?"
"'s okay, Sammy, we're fine."
Dean shook his head a little, scrambled to his knees and peered over the thick stone balustrade, gaped at the scorched pattern on the marble below, the motionless rag dolls tossed against the walls.
"What the hell was that? What did you do?"
"Holy hand grenade," he sniggered, realized he was breathless, adrenaline buzzing too hard along his nerves. All he could do was ride it, grab Tommy's hand and drag the boy with him to the stairs, tripping down them, the raw skin on his palm scraping along the banister as he caught himself.
"What?"
He heard his brother's squawk in stereo, oddly out of synch and winced, hissed into the phone as he hustled Tommy around a bookcase propped drunkenly against it's neighbor, "Keep it down, will you? We're comin' your way."
"Fine," Sam snapped, hung up and Dean rolled his eyes, stuffed his phone back in his pocket as they cleared the last bookcase, saw the wall stretching away to the cracked open french windows in the corner.
"Tommy? How you doin' kiddo?" he asked, felt the hand latched in his shirt tighten in response and ducked his head, met the boy's too wide gaze. "You scared?"
Tommy shook his head, tears bright on his lashes and Dean slowed, crouched a little as they hurried along the wall, thought; I remember this. 'I saw something real bad happen to my mom and I was scared too.'
"Hey, hey, it's okay to be scared, alright? This is scary stuff."
"You're not."
He had to strain to hear the breathy whisper, reached around and grabbed the boy's wrist, held on tight.
"Yeah, Tommy. I am."
But we just gotta keep going, he wanted to say, we just gotta keep fighting, 'cause that's what your mom and dad would say to do, wouldn't they? But he couldn't get the words out past the lump in his throat before something groaned and snapped in the low ceiling above their heads. He yanked hard on Tommy's arm before he'd even processed the sound and recognized it, throwing the boy at the open doors and his brother, just stepping through them but he knew it was already too late.
I'm sorry, he thought, closed his eyes and waited for the weight of stone and wood and steel to crush down on him. He felt pressure slam into his back instead, hard enough that the air rushed out of his lungs and he heard his ribs creak as he tumbled ass over heels along the floor until he hit the wall hard, his left hip taking the brunt of the impact.
Dean rolled, scrambled hazily to his feet and straightened gingerly, one hand splayed against the wall for balance as he looked for the demon that had thrown him and saw only the ceiling caving in where he'd been a moment before.
"Dean! Come on!"
A hand grabbed at his arm, dragged him through the doors and into the clear, warm air. He blinked, coughed on the dust he hadn't even realized was lining his throat and turned again, found Kate gathering Tommy in to her arms, Petey a pale, shell-shocked bundle clutching her neck. Sam still held his arm with one hand, the other clamped to his nose, blood slipping through his fingers.
Dean's throat turned suddenly dry, arid as the desert as he tried to swallow, forced out his brother's name, saw Sam flinch, just a little.
"I had to," the younger man rasped, fingers closing tighter around his bicep, digging deep into the muscle until he hissed and yanked his arm free. "I had to, Dean."
You always have to, whispered a voice in the back of his mind and he shut it down, nodded fractionally, waited for the guilt to fade out of his brother's wavering, bloodshot gaze. He turned away with a strangled sigh when it didn't, scanned the wreckage of the street around them, flames lighting the plumes of smoke as they drifted into the sky from the gutted ruins around the town.
"'s like we're living Linda Hamilton's Judgment Day," he breathed, heard a startled, wet snort from his brother. "Lake's on the edge of town," he went on, easing forward a few steps, his hip throbbing where it had hit the wall, listening hard. "You get what we need?"
Sam came up behind him, a warm, steady beat against the back of his shoulder but he couldn't stop the skin on the back of his neck crawling.
"Yeah. I think so."
"Think so? Sam, you gotta be sure, dude. We're only gonna get one shot at this. Only way out's straight through the middle of them, and I'll bet my pink slip they'll be right on our asses the whole damn way."
The younger man paused, fidgeted at his back until a heavy sigh ruffled his hair.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure. If we can get to the water, I need to bless it for the banishing ritual. That should hold them off long enough for me to finish it and kick their asses right back down to Hell."
"If we can get to the water," Dean echoed, tilted his head back and saw his brother's pale face, lips thinned, eyes tight and scared, knew his own mirrored it. Jaw tight he turned on his heel, hip aching as it stiffened up and he rubbed at it as he limped over to Kate, clutching the two boys to her side.
"Okay, guys, we can stop all this but we gotta..."
He trailed off as he saw Kate back away from him, terror in their faces, her lips thinned, knuckles white around Tommy and Petey's shoulders. "Kate?"
She shook her head, forced out a whisper that sounded like it hurt.
"You're like them. You're just like them."
He frowned for a moment, just a second before he got it. They saw Sam pull me out of the way. Blinked and he saw it the way they must have, Sam throwing up a hand, invisible force picking him up off his feet and snatching him out from beneath the crumbling ceiling.
"No, Kate no, you don't – "
You don't understand, it's not like that, he wanted to say but he wasn't sure how he could explain it to them, wasn't even sure he could explain it to himself without the blind faith in his brother that had always been enough before.
"He's not like them. Kate, you've just got to trust us."
He reached out, made himself wait when she backed away from him again, pulling the boys with her. He saw her eyes flickering to the streets around them, and Dean knew she was ready to bolt, frightened, everything she thought she knew about the world falling down around her like a house of cards.
Welcome to our world, he thought, let the compassion reach his eyes as he held his hand out between them.
"Kate, come on. Has he hurt you? Has either of us done anything to hurt you? Or the boys?"
It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it before the last question even left his tongue, her face closing up, pulling the boys even tighter and Tommy peered at him past her wrist, his own fingers still locked around the silver flask.
"I can get you out, Kate. I promise you, I can get you out and then you can do whatever the hell you want. But you have to trust us. Trust me."
He felt Sam's attention on his back, but the younger man didn't say anything and they stood there in the shadows of the building, silence as thick as the dust that settled across his hand, still hovering in midair.
"We can – you'll let us go?"
"Kate, you can go now. No one's stopping you, but if you try and run out there on your own they'll cut you down before you even make it to the end of the street."
"Dean."
Sam, behind him, warning but he saw her flinch, pressed closer, knew he had to make her understand.
"They'll kill you, all three of you and then one of them'll possess ya, walk around wearing your body but that ain't even the worst of it because if you go out there, if ya let 'em cut ya down then they'll do what they came 'ere for in the firs' place – "
"Dean!"
Sam again, and he heard the younger man's tread, pushed on, blind to the naked terror twisting their faces, not hearing the whimpering as the toddler buried his face in Kate's neck and the blood drained out of her face. "Killin' you breaks a se – "
Long fingers latched onto his shoulder, yanked him around with a flare of pain that rocketed down to his fingers, along his spine and sent him stumbling sideways.
"Dean! Dammit, what the hell?"
He gasped, layers of bruises tightening as Sam hauled him away from the last few citizens of Devil's Shores, his knees buckling until he twisted loose with a cry and almost fell. His brother caught him and he sagged into the younger man, head spinning, vision grayed out and shot through with static, his ears buzzing.
Sammy, he tried to say, heard his voice, thickened and guttural and wrong mutter "Samuel," instead and cringed, clapped his arm across his mouth, turned wide eyes onto his brother and saw horrified recognition in Sam's face.
He staggered away, tripping backwards until he could lean against the trembling wall and doubled over as his stomach cramped hard. Cold swept up his spine, chill sweat running down his back as he shivered, and the ice felt like darkness, like thick black shadows falling over him, through him and he could almost see them, felt frost bloom under the hand he'd braced against the wall, unfolding from deep down in the pit of his stomach as he -
An open palm cracked across his cheek, snapped his head back into the bricks and stars burst behind his eyes. He folded to his knees, retching, felt someone crowd against him, pressing him into the wall and dimly, through the rushing in his ears, heard his name muttered over and over, ragged with fear.
"Dean? Dean, come on, Dean, snap out of it, De – "
"Sam."
It came out as an almost wordless croak but he heard his brother's shaky laugh, the hands tugging urgently at him shifting to hold him instead, support him as he shuddered through dry heaves.
"You're crazy. Both of you. You're, you're insane and you're not human."
His head felt as though someone had welded pig iron to his skull but he dragged it up, met Kate's furious, terrified stare.
"Sweetheart, right n-n-now, w-we're all you've got."
He hoped his brother missed the stutter, felt Sam's hands tighten around his biceps and knew the younger man had caught it but he didn't say anything, just waited again, on his knees in the dust and rubble, his body aching as though it had been wrung dry and finally, she nodded.
"As soon as you've... done whatever the fuck it is you're going to do, I'm taking Tommy and Petey and I never want to see either of you freaks again."
Dean nodded, let himself lean into his brother and felt Sam's murmur of reassurance but he didn't listen to it, focused on the faint echo in the back of his mind.
Ya never heard him scream, Samuel
The Ghede.
The thought was heavy, thick in his head and for a moment he wasn't sure and then he looked up, met his brother's gaze and saw the same tiny flicker of recognition. He shivered once, creeping cold stealing up his spine and then he made himself push up against Sam's hands, flattening his own against the wall and shrugging away, trying to hide the tremor in his knees.
"Dean?"
It was quiet, low enough that only he could hear it and he knew his brother wasn't fooled but they were out of time.
"'m good," he rasped, winced at the sharp slice of his voice in his raw throat, the dust drying his tongue and he swiped a hand across his lips, swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his mouth. "Let's get this done."
Sam stared at him for a moment, then smiled grimly and turned to Kate.
"We need the quickest way to the lake."
She glared at him and nodded once, slid her eyes to Dean as he pushed away from the wall, straightening carefully when the world spun around him.
"Okay," she muttered, face pinched and white. "Mustang Street onto Sanders Point. That way," and she gestured awkwardly with an elbow, her hands still knotted in the two boys' shirts.
"Awesome."
He swung around, caught his brother's eyes and Sam tilted his head to the side, a tacit query.
You up for this?
He shrugged painfully, hid a wince and twisted his lips up in a thin smile, ticked his chin up towards the side street, just visible through the dust and smoke choking the air.
I'm fine. Take point.
Sam held his gaze for a moment longer, warning and worry layered patchy over the fear and he swallowed, throat lined with ice, a shiver creeping up his spine.
Soon, chile'a mine. Soon we all be comin' t'rou. Can ya feel us yet, in ya bones and in ya soul?
It was a scratch of sound in the back of his mind, barely even there and he shut it down, pushed it away. Not now. Just... let me get us out of this, he told himself, couldn't help but squint at the shadows that seemed to settle ever thicker around him, trailing every motion like comet tails as he watched his brother jog to the corner of the building and peer around it carefully.
"Kate, take the boys, follow Sam. I'll cover you," he muttered, waited for her to fall in behind the taller hunter before he let himself sag against the wall for a moment.
"Please," he whispered, saw his breath fog the air. "Not yet. Just give me long enough to get them out."
It sounded like a prayer, felt like one but he didn't know who he was offering it too, a god he still wasn't sure he believed in, angels he didn't trust or the formless void buried somewhere inside him and he swallowed again, heard the dry click in his throat, the slow burn that traced the path of the thin, faded scar circling his neck and shuddered.
"Not yet," he breathed, watched it fade slowly out of sight before he made himself shove away from the wall and follow his brother and the girl, the two children clutched close to her as the sun tipped over its zenith, began the long, slow slide down into the dark.
:: :: ::
All going well, I'll post again in a week or so - hope you enjoyed, and thanks for sticking with me!