When The Past Returns To Haunt You.

Summary. . . . . . . . . What if the rabbits foot wasn't the only thing taken from John's Storage unit? What if something that haunted Sam so long ago was taken also? Something with a lust for revenge, and a need to finish what he started all those years ago. An AU sequel to The Nutcracker.

Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . If they were mine they'd still be together!

A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Okay so I agreed to do some wacky shifts at work this week that means I have to completely screw up my sleep patterns, bad for me, good for you as I found myself awake at 3.30 this morning with an urge to write. So here's chapter 2 for you to peruse. Thank you so much for the amazing response to chapter 1, I can only hope that you will enjoy chapter 2 as much. Catch you later, Peanut x

Sam groaned as he staggered his way into the motel room and eased his bruised and battered body down onto the bed, his knees creaking in protest. In just a few days, thanks to a pesky rabbits foot, he had been slammed to the floor, punched and strangled; fallen numerous times skinning and bruising his knees; lost a shoe; had his arm on fire, and knocked himself out; been slapped and punched and knocked out again; and as if that wasn't bad enough, been shot. He yearned for a long hot shower to ease the aches and pains away, but he just felt so damn tired the actual thought of getting up hurt him, his body rebelling against the idea also as his eyes began to close and he slowly began to slide into the comfort of the lumpy, worn mattress his good hand still clasped tightly against his wounded shoulder. He didn't hear Dean enter the room, their many bags thrown over his shoulders, didn't hear him shout his name as the pull of sleep took a firm grip, but he felt the light slap to his cheek and the ones that followed closely after,

"Leave me 'lone, Dean." Sam finally managed to mumble out, his good hand leaving his shoulder to bat weakly at Dean's hand.

"No can do, Sammy. We gotta get ya wound cleaned and dressed, after all that's happened I don't want ya to get an infection from this. C'mon, the quicker we do this the quicker ya can get to sleep afterwards."

Reluctantly Sam inched his way back into a sitting position. Dean was right, to sleep with an un-cleaned wound would be suicide for him, the rabbits foot may have been destroyed, but did he really want to take a risk? Plus he really needed to ask his brother something. Something that had been bugging him since they had first stepped foot inside their Dad's lock up. Something, a feeling maybe, that he had pushed aside as one mishap after another assaulted him. A feeling that something evil had once been stored within the unit, something that had still left a faint trace of itself behind, a trace that had managed to chill Sam to the bone. A feeling that he had felt again both times he had visited the two thieves apartment, at the time he had put it down to the foot, but now he wasn't so sure. He opened his mouth ready to ask the question that had been bothering him, getting as far as to say "Dean?" before he gasped out in agony the rest of the words cut off, as Dean attempted to remove his jacket and inadvertently jostled his wound, the question forgotten as he battled to calm his erratic breathing and stay conscious.

"I'm sorry Sam."

"I know. . . . . . . . .just. . . . . . .just cut the damn coat off will ya?" Sam managed to grind out between gritted teeth. He knew there was worst to come and he wanted to stay strong, but he just hurt so damn much, and he really liked that coat. He steadied himself as Dean tore at his t-shirt, preparing himself for what was about to happen, sending a silent look Dean's way as he hesitated, a look that said "I know you're sorry" whilst at the same time said "please just do it." He turned his head away as the alcohol burned into his shoulder, hiding a cry of agony into the crook of his arm, but it was the stretch and burn of the forceps entering his flesh that was his undoing and had him fading into the blackness; a blackness that Dean allowed him to find comfort in as he continued to prod around, looking for that allusive shard of metal.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as Sam succumbed, as much as he wanted to keep Sam awake and conscious long enough to fill him full of pain killers, it killed him to sit and watch his brother in pain and know he was the one causing it, he breathed another sigh as the clamps finally scraped against metal. Within minutes the bullet was out, the wound had been washed clean again, and the arduous task of stitching had been completed. Now all he had to do was re-awaken Sam, load him up on happy drugs, and wait. He grabbed all the items he had been using, and the blood stained towels and dumped them all in the sink of the motel rooms small bathroom before rinsing his hands and filling one of the plastic cups motels always seemed to have with water. He rummaged around in one of the duffels for some pain relief before making his way back over to Sam, placing the items on the night stand before tapping at his brother's cheek once again.

"Sammy, c'mon that's it wake up, show me those peepers." He encouraged, smiling as Sam's eyes eventually rose to half mast, his brother blinking numerous times before he managed to open them fully. "Hey Buddy." Dean added. "Stay awake long enough to down these pills and drink some water."

"No' wan' any." Sam slurred in exhaustion.

"C'mon Sammy, ya have to." Dean realizing he was fighting a losing battle remembered Sam questioning tone from earlier and in an attempt to keep his brother awake asked. "Sam, c'mon stay awake, tell me what you wanted to ask before?" He immediately regretted the question as Sam's face paled.

Grossman sat slumped in his chair, a bottle of near empty whiskey nestled in his lap, and other empty ones littered around his feet, still dressed in the clothes he had worn since the night of the robbery. He raised the bottle with shaking hands, sending out yet another toast to his fallen friend whose photo he still grasped in his hand before aiming the neck in what he hoped was the general direction of his mouth. He gulped down the amber liquid, not caring that some of it escaped and began to dribble down his chin, dropping off the edge to add more stains to his shirt. Allowing the bottle to fall back into his lap he rubbed a hand across his bristled chin. A beam of sunlight bouncing off something on the litter strewn floor forced him to shut his eyes to get away from it's piercing dazzle, the lids unwilling to open again once he had done so, his mind shutting down, and his brain on the cusp of sending him into a alcohol induced slumber. A scratch though, and a muffled cry broke through his conscious. He grumbled, turning over as best he could in the chair to get away from the noise, but the noise was persistent and annoying, and Grossman found himself waking and wondering where it was coming from.

Standing unsteadily he began to search the mess created from the fight looking for answers and finding them as he looked behind the couch and found the box that Wayne had insisted they take. He stood fixated for a moment, thinking back to the horrors that had happened after his last bout of curiosity, wondering if it would be best to just chuck the damn thing away, but blinded by grief and drunkenness, he began to move closer to the voice that kept calling to him to "let me out" his hand reaching behind him for the pry bar he had seen earlier as he searched. As he reached for the lock, all previous doubts vanished as the voice seemed to get stronger, and the need to get inside grew. With no doubt in his mind that he was doing the right thing, he placed the bar within the lock and pushed as hard as he could, the lock breaking easily beneath his pressure. He reached for the lid, and with a shaky hand opened the lid, a loud sucking hiss reverberating around the room.

So long. So long it had waited in this dark and depressing box. So long had it waited for someone he could reach out to, someone he could control. So long had he waited to taste the essence of the one that had gotten away. So long. He thought he had been successful, only to find himself still locked away within his tomb. He thought he had at one point tasted his prize within close proximity, but the taste had gone and he started to think that after all these years he had finally gone mad. The prize though had returned, so much closer this time, and he was sure at one point his prize had sensed him too, but it had faded again and he knew he didn't have much time, that he would have to use what little strength and power he had left to acquire that what was rightfully his. He'd concentrated so hard, so long with nothing gained that he thought he had failed once more, but his puppet had finally reacted and he had swooped in for the kill, twisting and manipulating until it bowed down to his needs and he tasted his first breath of freedom in years. As he looked upon the vessel that had released him with scorn, he started to formulate his plan to find The One. The One called Sam Winchester.

To be continued. . . . . . . . .

A.N. . . . . . . . . Will try and work another chapter out as soon as possible. Thank you all for taking time to read, Peanut x