Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Supernatural world. I just take them out to play with from time to time.
A/N: It seems I can't resist Puss-in-Boots eyes hence this update is a little quicker than normal. Amazing what happens when you flash your eyes LOL!
Day Six
The warehouse turns out to be a complete waste of time. Sam feels like crying. Every time he thinks his brother is within his reach, the Fates decide to play twisted games with him. He needs to vent, to scream at something but Bobby is the only person here. Sam knows, he knows, Bobby doesn't deserve his venom but Sam's despair is clawing at his very soul, demanding attention. He can't help himself.
Bobby takes the brunt of it with surprising grace. Through his anger, frustration, desperation and fear, Sam knows Bobby will call him on his outburst one day. But not today.
He slams the door of the deserted office they've just entered, sending years of dust into orbit and causing Bobby to glare at him, irritated at Sam's lack of discretion. Sam doesn't care and shrugs, unrepentant. If anyone were here they would have fled the scene or made themselves known by now.
He turns to Bobby, irrationally seeing his failure to find Dean written in every crease and line on the older man's face. He knows Bobby doesn't blame him but he blames himself. He should have found his brother by now, should have him safely tucked away in some motel room by now. Hell, if he had gone missing, Dean would have found him within hours. He's been dragging round this godforsaken town for so long now he thinks he'll be dreaming about it for years to come.
Lost in his depression, Sam doesn't notice Bobby turning out the drawers of the only desk left in the room. He doesn't see him take a pile of old, browning letters. He doesn't see the look on Bobby's face as he reads through the fourth letter for a second time.
He does hear Bobby's sharp intake of breath though and he sees the writing on the paper as Bobby waves it in front of his face.
*****
Dean's seeing things now. He must be. There's no way that fighter jet could possibly be flying around the room. For starters, it's far too small and way too quiet. It could be a stealth fighter, he thinks. Maybe it's being flown by faeries. That would go some way to explaining it. And, on reflection, that damned buzzing he can still hear is about the right volume for the size of plane.
Maybe if he curls up into as small a ball as he can the gunner won't see him and fire on him. Because he's sure that's going to happen any minute now. Why else would the demons have sent a fighter plane? He crawls into the nearest corner he can find, wincing as his scraped and battered body finds every stray nail and stone in the place.
The corner is cool and damp, but he feels safe here. He decides the fighter jet can't find him here and relaxes slightly. But only slightly, because he's still a hunter and a hunter never lets his guard down completely.
As the buzzing dies away into the distance, Dean allows his eyes to close. Just for a moment.
*****
Bobby turns the piece of paper over in his hand two or three times, just to be sure he's not missed anything. When he's sure he's reading it right he can't quite hold back a curse. They were so sure Dean would be here but not only is he nowhere to be seen, they now have two more addresses to check out. The letter is from Jefferson Watts and it's not a bedtime story. It's a graphic description of his demise and resurrection which is enough to turn Bobby's stomach. Dean's name pops up from time to time and it's with a sinking heart that Bobby hands the correspondence over to Sam.
He's impressed that Sam doesn't hit the floor. All the indications point that way, the sudden loss of blood from his face, the shaking hands, the wavering knees. Credit where it's due though, Sam seems to push it all to the back and Bobby's never been more proud of him. He watches as Sam's eyes clear and the tiredness seems to wash away in an instant. He's happy to follow Sam's instructions now the boy is fully focussed again.
The address the letter was sent to doesn't correspond to the warehouse. Nor does the address it was sent from. That leaves the two men a destination each. Bobby would prefer to stick together but it's been six days now and Dean doesn't have the time for them to hold hands and dance round handbags together.
Sam insists on finding the letter writer's abode and although Bobby is reluctant to let him, he knows it's the more likely hiding place of this monster. He knows Sam needs to be the one to find Dean, he just hopes Sam can take it if the worst case scenario plays out.
*****
Voices wake Dean. Not gently, but not violently either. For a brief minute he thinks it's Mom come to get him ready for school. Then he remembers Mom's gone. Has been for a long time. His second thought is that Sam has finally made it, that his baby brother has come for him, because he knows he will. His third thought, because Dad always said first and second thoughts are all well and good but it's the third thought that makes the difference, is that he's still alone and he doesn't like it.
It's been a long, long time since anyone came to see him. He's not had any food for days and his only water has been what he's managed to suck off the floor or off the dripping walls. It's degrading in the extreme but at the time he only cared about staying alive. Now, he's not so sure he's even that bothered any more.
The voices have stopped, and he's beginning to wonder if they were ever there. He suddenly realises with a shock there's total silence. The buzzing has gone and there's not sound from above. He uncurls a little, ignoring the protests from his weary body. Shoving himself into a sitting position, he wraps his arms around his knees, hugging himself to provide a little warmth. He's not completely lost it, he thinks, he still has his survival techniques.
Then he freezes again. Though the darkness he spies a set of eyes. Yellow eyes. And he can't get any further into the corner than he already is.
*****
Sam insisted on taking the Impala. He dropped Bobby off in town, waiting while he hotwired car. He knows Bobby won't waste time and although he trusts the older man with his life, and Dean's, he's impatient to be on his way.
It feels like forever to Sam but eventually Bobby has an engine running and Sam tears down the street, his destination burned into his mind like a brand. He won't give up the impala for two reasons. He doesn't want to bring Dean home in some nameless car he's hotwired in a parking lot. And he's going to need the arsenal hidden in the trunk.
It takes him longer than he wants to reach his destination and darkness is starting to fall. The house he's arrived at looks deserted but his instincts tell him otherwise. His hunter's senses are screaming out to him. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's going to find his brother here. He refuses to think beyond that, refuses to even consider he might be bringing his brother's body home. Dean is here and he will be fine.
He stops around the back, hiding the Impala as best he can in the tree lined track behind the house. He moves silently, opening the trunk, taking what he thinks he'll need and some other things he doesn't think he'll need but he's damned if he's going to take risks with Dean's life now. The trunk clicks closed quietly, so quietly Sam almost goes back to check he's actually locked it.
He sidles up to the back door, peering through the window into the filthy gloom beyond. He can see silhouettes moving around carelessly, he can hear laughter and he feels his blood starting to boil. These people, things, in there are enjoying this.
And at that moment he knows nobody but the Winchesters will be walking away from here tonight.
*****
Dean can't tear his eyes away from the glowing orbs staring at him through the darkness. He wants his dad so badly, he wants his mom but most of all he wants Sam. He clings to one thought as the yellow eyes blink slowly, purposefully, at him and grow larger, nearer – Sam will come, Sam's nearly here, Sam won't abandon me.
He wants to crawl into the wall behind him but he can't. He's starting to lose concentration, the eyes before him sliding in and out of focus, disappearing for seconds at a time. Just when he believes the demon behind them is gone, the eyes pop up again, brighter and more mocking than ever. He doesn't realise he's scratching the stonework beneath him. He doesn't realise he's opened up the cuts on his hands, doesn't realise he's bleeding again.
He can see hands now too. Long fingers reaching out towards his face, talon like nails scraping along his cheekbones. He whips his head round to the side, trying to escape the ice cold touch of those disembodied hands. He swears he can hear laughter. He's sure there are a pair of blue lips appearing now, just below those yellow eyes.
And now he can hear movement above him.
He doesn't realise he's screaming.
*****
Sam doesn't want to think about what he's about to do. He knows in the back of his mind maybe this is going to push him over that fine line they walk every day. The one that distinguishes between hunter and cold blooded killer. But he'll deal with that as and when he has to. He'll never forgive himself if he loses his brother because of some sentimental weakness. His brother has been shown no pity, of that he's sure, so why should he be merciful.
He barrels through the door, not giving his adversaries time to register he's just one man. Weapons, primed and ready before he even left the Impala, are in full force. He ignores the recoil of his shotgun, ignores the splatters of blood as they spray the room and its occupants, himself included. He ignores the shouts of outrage and indignation. He ignores them as they turn to cries of panic, cries for help.
He throws the shotgun down, he'll collect it on the way back, he thinks. In one swift move he has the iron stake in both hands and finally, finally, he's ready for Jefferson Watts.
Jefferson Watts who is cowering behind a dresser in this dingy kitchenette, surveying his fallen army. Who suddenly doesn't seem so scary and doesn't feel so brave. If Sam ever had any sympathy for the man it doesn't show. He wields his iron weapon with agility and skill that belies his exhaustion. Jefferson Watts knows his time is up for good this time, but he's not going without a fight.
Thing is, he hadn't reckoned on Sam Winchester's determination to save his brother. At all and any cost.
*****
Dean flinches when he hears gunshots and the sound of bodies hitting the floor. The demon floating in front of him wavers and shimmers out of sight but Dean doesn't trust it. It's a demon after all and they don't play by the same rules as everyone else.
The noises from above sound terrifying to Dean's muddled mind. He wonders if the ceiling will come crashing down on him. Then there's silence. Still and oppressive silence. Dean can't handle any more silence because he knows something's going on, he just can't string two thoughts together at the moment. He wants this to be over one way or the other.
He hears the door scrape open slowly, almost hesitantly. He sees the light streaming in through the doorway and he sees a figure standing there. All an open door means to him now is more pain, agonising pain, and humiliation. He tries to make himself as small as he can and whimpers in fear.
And then Sam is there.
*****
A/N: So, here we are. Back where we came in all those weeks ago. But don't worry - I wouldn't leave our boys there. We have a few more days of recovery to come. After all, you can't have the hurt without the comfort :)
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