When The Past Comes Back To Haunt You.
Summary. . . . . . . . . What if the rabbit's 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. . . . . . . . Still only borrowing from the genius that is Kripke.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . It seems as though I have an apology in every chapter I write these days, but this one I wish with all my heart I didn't have to write. This chapter had been sitting on my laptop, ready to be fine-tuned and posted, when I got an emergency call from back home stating that my Mum was seriously ill and I needed to return asap; I made it home, but unfortunately my Mum never awoke and passed peacefully a few days later. She always loved reading whatever I wrote and I know she would want me to carry on doing so, so I dedicate this chapter, and all future writings to her, and pray that wherever she's now resting they bring her the enjoyment they did when she was here. Gillian x
A.N. 2. . . . . . . . . . Thanks to all who took time out to read the last chapter, after that long break away, and to those who reviewed also. Here's chapter 12, I hope that you enjoy this one also. Peanut x
Dean stole a glance at his watch, angry curses falling from his lips, and his foot pressing down harder on the gas urging the big car to produce more speed, as he noticed how close to midnight it actually was. He turned off the Impala's engine, as he got closer, and coasted into the motel's parking lot taking up a space as far from the building itself as he could possibly get. He opened the door slowly; for once the creak of the heavy metal, that would normally bring him reassurance, causing him nothing but irritation as it sounded loudly in the otherwise still night, no matter how hard he tried to prevent it. He slipped out of the car as soon as the gap was big enough, and closed it quickly this time before making his way to the trunk. He stalled when he got there; not knowing what weapons to take with him, not knowing what would or wouldn't be effective. Maybe he should have listened to Bobby more, asked him more questions, or maybe even wait for the man; but stubbornness was John Winchester's most famous trait, and Dean was every bit his father's son. In the end he chose a flare gun, salt, accelerant, and some rope; adding his favorite handgun to the mix before snapping the trunk closed.
He kept close to the edge of the lot and used the shadows to inch his way closer to the motel, stopping first at the office, wanting to check the register. He paused at the entrance, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he noticed the lack of light coming from inside. Pushing open the door he eased his way inside, his mind wondering where the teenage attendant was, hoping he was outback getting stoned on the weed he had told Dean at check in he could get him at a reasonable price, but the copper tang in the air telling him he wasn't. Keeping to the wall he edged around the counter, bile rising, a hand covering his mouth at the sight that he witnessed.
The boy had been slaughtered; his throat split to the bone, his body hacked at, his insides spilling from the gaping wounds, his face a death mask forever contorted with the agony he had obviously felt as the life drained from him. Dean was pissed, the boy had been no threat, there had been no reason to have inflicted so much torture. He wanted to avenge the boy's death, and maybe he would get the chance too, but Sam came first, if it meant killing the Nutcracker fast to save Sam then he would do so. Walking over to the old fashioned ledger the motel still used he scrolled down the page, checking dates as he went, noting that until he saw his own fake name scrawled, nobody had registered for weeks, the motel making its money by selling rooms discreetly by the hour; after his own signature though there was one more, Grossman, and it was registered to the room right next door to their own. He was right, Sam had never left.
Taking a deep breathe, Dean walked back over to the door, and slowly began to inch his way down the row of empty rooms, passing their own before stopping. He backed up against the wall, all his senses on high alert. He listened for any sign of movement from inside the Nutcrackers room, but even though the walls were paper thin, no sound resounded out. Slowly he turned his body, moving his head towards a gap he had seen in the curtains, his face shifting closer and closer.
When it happened it caught Dean completely off guard, his heart seeming to stop, his breathe catching, his body jerking, his balance giving away, and he stumbled backwards his arms flailing. He landed heavily on his back, stunned momentarily. He watched, frozen for a minute, as the Nutcracker dropped the curtain back into place before the door to the room opened and the grisly site of a half human half mannequin stepped from the room.
Dean tried to move his legs, tried to move his hands, but it was as if he was solidified to the spot. His eyes moved frantically around his sockets, searching for a demon, having only ever felt this way in the presence of one, but it was just himself and the Nutcracker. It bent down towards him its half wood half flesh face within inches of his own as, it oak and enamel teeth bearing as it spoke.
"I felt your proximity Protector. I knew you were here, so I paused in my ministrations and awaited your attempt at rescue. You being here will make this so much more fun, I'll get to take what is rightfully mine, whilst feeding off your emotions at the same time. Now come, you will have a front row seat as my full restoration is completed. Come!"
Dean didn't know how it was happening, but he could do little as he was dragged within the room without the Nutcracker even laying a finger upon him, once inside he was forced into a chair, the ropes he had been carrying used against him, slipping around his torso and tied tightly behind him. He looked around for Sam, but could see little in the gloom of the room. He fought and battled, needing to get free to find his sibling and get them out of there, but the bonds were too strong, and his attempts at escape futile. He stalled momentarily as the malicious beast spoke up yet again.
"I've learnt much over the year's young one. I wouldn't bother trying to break free, you'll never succeed." The Nutcracker, moved back in front of Dean as his struggles started once more. "You bother me. I need silence to concentrate, and I see I won't get that silence by asking, so maybe I need to try something else." Pulling back his tattered red jacket and lifting the white shirt beneath, he scratched wooden fingers savagely against newly formed flesh and began to recite words softly. The result was instantaneous, as Sam's screams echoed around the room. The older Winchester jumped as he was once more psychically pulled, chair and all, across the room. His mind trying to prepare itself for a sight he knew he wouldn't like as he finally caught sight of his brother.
Hidden behind the partition that tried to offer separation between the living space and bedroom, Sam's body writhed upon the dirty and threadbare carpet. Divested of most of his clothes, he lay in just his sleep pants within a circle made from what to Dean looked like blood, a cross running through it black candles burning at each end, and another above his head; his brother's arms and legs running parallel to the lines. His back was arched in agony, sweat glistening upon his torso, his burns and scars clearly on show. Dean could only watch as the Nutcracker's fingers dragged across its own body yet again, could only watch as the same lines were rent across Sam, trailing through the scars, only to disappear; trail, disappear, trail, disappear.
"Stop it!" Dean cried out once he had returned to his senses from the shock. "Stop it, please. You're hurting him."
"What this?" The Nutcracker asked as he tracked his hand across his stomach once again, laughing at Sam's distress and savoring each scream that tore from his mouth. "This is just playtime." He paused his face once more coming within inches of Dean's own, his rancid breath fouling the air with each word he spoke. "The hurting is still to come, so I say we begin."
To Be Continued. . . . . . . . . . .
A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . . .Thanks fo
r taking time out to read, catch you soon, Peanut x