So I am thinking probably 3 more chapters to go...thanks for reading and for all the support and awesome reviews. They mean the world to me!! bambers;)
Fifty-Eight
"Sh-she walks in fire . . . f-fire." Sam blinked hard, trying to erase the blurring image of the fiery winged-demon who hovered, pacing the perimeter of the living room. Her pale, bluish-gray eyes never strayed from him for more than a moment. "Sh-she's burning . . . can't you see her?" Struggling against the ropes tightly secured around his ankles and wrists, he grew more frantic as she edged closer to him.
"What the hell's he ramblin' about?" Markus demanded as entered the room, and stalked to where Sam was tied to a chair.
"I dunno." The stocky, brown-eyed man shrugged, gesturing to Sam with the barrel of his gun. "Guess he seems to think some sort of fire demon is after him."
"Is that it, Sam?" Markus clamped his hands down on both of Sam's wrists, and leaned in closer. "Demon's comin' to get ya?" He chuckled as Sam shied away from him. "Well, you don't have to worry about them cause I'm gonna get ya way before they do."
Tilting his head to the side, Sam trained his sights on the fiery demon as she drew back and hovered beside a tall man who stood guard near the front entrance. "N-Not me . . . you."
Markus narrowed his eyes on Sam, scrutinizing him for several long moments before he spun on his heel and glanced around the expanse of the room. He swung back to face Sam, leaned in and cupped a hold of his face. "If they're here, what the hell are they waiting for?"
"Sh-she's . . . she's waitin' for Dean." A lazy half-smile played across Sam's lips as his eyes fluttered close.
"Damn, his mind's all screwed to hell." The brown-eyed man laughed as he got to his feet and strode to the window and peered out through the cracks in the boards. Glancing back over his shoulder, he asked, "Do you think Lucas found Dean yet?"
"Leave my brother alone . . . you hear me . . . d-don't you touch him." Sam's previous smile vanished as his stomach abruptly clenched, cramping knots forming in the pit of his gut, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Squeezing his eyelids even tighter closed, he struggled to draw a few panted breaths.
"I'd say it's a safe bet." Markus nodded, ignoring Sam's comments. "Dean doesn't seem the type who'd wander too far away with his brother here alone." He nudged his head toward Sam, and further added, "Owen, the drug's taking effect, let's get him over to the couch, then go find a blanket to cover him with."
"You really think he's gonna believe Lucas was lying to him?"
"The way I figure it is, he'll come in here all guns at the ready, find Sam apparently sick on the couch, an' then while he's checking on him, we move in." Markus untied the ropes from around the handrails, and bound Sam's wrists together. "So, he really doesn't have to believe it for long, just enough to let his guard down." As he spoke, he knelt and did the same with the younger man's ankles.
Vainly, Sam squirmed and twisted in their arms as both men carried him to the couch, and dropped him onto it. As Owen rushed off to find a blanket, Markus gripped hold of Sam's t-shirt, and yanked him forward, so their faces were only mere inches apart.
"If you don't stop squirming, I swear the only thing your brother's gonna find when he gets here is your corpse." Pushing himself away from Sam, he cocked back a fist and slammed it into his face with such force that Sam's head snapped backward from the blow.
"Th-they'll never f-find you," Sam murmured, heading lolling to the side as he struggled against the darkness edging around him. "Sh-she'll burn ya til there's nothin' left but ash."
"There's no one here, Sam." Markus shifted slightly to glance around the room, then refocused his attention on Sam. "But even if there was some damn demon, like you say, you'll be dead long before I will." Reaching in his pocket, he yanked out a syringe, and held it up for Sam to see. "You see before I gave this to you, I added a little something special to it." He lightly pressed on the plunger, and Sam watched as a few droplets of liquid bubbled over the top of the needle. "So even if your brother did get here, and somehow managed to rescue you, he'd only be saving you to watch you die."
"Markus," the man guarding the entrance called out as he stepped away from the door. "Someone's pulling into the driveway."
"Alright, get everyone together, and head out the back door," Markus ordered, releasing his hold on Sam.
Sam dropped back down onto the couch, and curled into a tight ball, clutching his stomach and whimpering as the cramping pain intensified. Within a matter of moments, Owen sprinted into the room, hastily covered Sam with a blanket, tucking the scratchy fabric under the cushions to hide the bindings tied around his wrists and ankle, then followed the others out of the house.
Markus hung back a few seconds longer, watching Sam. "Water Hemlock, Sam . . . tell Dean, I'm sure he'll wanna know." He spun on his heel, and strode out of the room.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Dean slid out of his car, and eased the door shut. With Sam's .45 hidden in his waistband, he double checked his own gun, making sure the safety was off, and then slipped into the shadows of the trees, silently making his way toward the entrance. Edging around an outcropping of shrubs, he crept toward the front window, and peered in through the cracks in the boards.
From the narrow crack, he could see that the lights were on, but as he squinted to get a better look around the room, he couldn't see anyone moving around inside. A sudden sharp cry of pain echoed from somewhere right behind the wall, setting Dean into frantic motion. Racing to the stairs, he bolted up the steps, and ran headlong into the door, splintering the wooden frame. The door flung wide open, banging into the wall before smacking back into Dean as he rushed inside.
"Sammy!" he shouted, mindless to everything else but his brother's growing cries of pain. Following the sounds of Sam's cries, he raced into the living room, and abruptly stopped short, seeing his little brother curled into a ball with tears streaming down his face. Within a heartbeat he was at Sam's side, dropping to his knees on the floor beside him. "Sam, what's wrong?"
"D-Dea – " Another anguished cry burst from Sam's lips as he tried to pull his legs up closer to his chest. "G-Gonna be s-si – " Before he could even manage to get the rest of the words out, he hastily turned his head to the side, and heaved violently, body shuddering as he repeatedly gagged.
Fowl smelling vomit splattered and dripped down Dean's jacket, shirt and jeans, as he carefully rubbed his brother's back. Swallowing back the bile rising in his own throat, he softly uttered, "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. You're gonna be okay, I gotcha little brother."
"N-No . . . ," Sam gasped between panted breaths, shaking his head. His eyelids cracked open for a moment before he squeezed them closed.
In that brief glimpse, Dean saw that his pupils were constricted to mere pinpricks, and cursed under his breath. "What'd they give you, Sam?" When Sam failed to respond, Dean yanked back the blanket around his brother, cursed again as he noticed the ropes tied around his wrists, and pulled up his sleeve, searching for the needle mark. "Come on, Sammy, you've gotta tell me what drug they gave so I can get you help."
"W-Water h-hem . . . .hemlock," Sam managed to ground out before coiling his body inward once again.
"Sonuva – " Dean's breath lodged in his throat, revenge forgotten for the moment as he gaped at his brother. "That's dea – you're not gonna . . . it's g-gonna be okay, Sammy," he stammered, heart pounding so hard within his chest, he was certain Sam would hear it and know he was absolutely terrified. Hands trembling, Dean worked at untying the ropes, frustration mounting as his sweaty fingers fumbled with loosening the tight knots. "I'm gonna get you to the hospital, an' you'll be fine."
"D-Dea," Sam whimpered, hanging his head over the side of the couch, "I'm g-gonna – " His words were abruptly cut off again as he retched repeatedly, struggling to catch his breath in between gagging.
"Guuhhh . . . . D-Dean, it h-hurts so much . . . so d-damn much."
"Remember that game we use to play when you were little, Sammy," Dean uttered, grasping at the long ago memory in hopes that he could make his brother forget the pain for a short while. "Every time you were really feelin' sick we'd play it . . . I'll go first." Untying the last of the knots binding Sam's wrists, Dean shifted to work on the ropes around his ankles. "Elmira Gulch." Sam wrapped his arms around his stomach, and arched forward, crying out in pain. "Come on, little brother, Elmira Gulch, what movie?" Dean gently coaxed, sweat beading on his brow as he frantically worked at the knots.
"T-too easy . . . Oz."
"Didn't wanna make the first one tough on ya." Tears blurred and stung at Dean's eyes as he watched his brother writhe around on the couch. "'Kay it's your turn."
"P-Ponyboy Curtis."
"The Outsiders," Dean replied without any given thought. "Why do you always think you can stump me with that one?" A wistful smile played across his features, recalling how Sam had made him watch the movie once when their father was away. "I'll go you one better, it was written by S.E. Hinton."
"You b-been reading, Dean?"
"Fifth grade English assignment." Unable to loosen the knots around Sam's ankles, Dean unsheathed his knife, and carefully began cutting away at them. "Sammy, I don't wanna cut you, so you gotta try an' hold still for me."
"C-Can't, Dea – "
Wincing, Sam wrapped his arms firmly his legs and pulled them closer to his chest. Another heart-wrenching scream ripped from his lips as he vaulted forward nearly tumbling off the couch, but with lightning fast reflexes, Dean dropped his knife, snaked out an arm, and caught hold of his shirt, pulling him into his arms. Dean's grip tightened around his brother as Sam retched. Vomit spilled down Dean's back, leaking in between the collar of his jacket, and soaking into his shirt, but he refused to loosen his hold on Sam.
"I-I'm sorry, Dean," Sam uttered between choking gasps for air.
"It's an old shirt, Sammy, don't worry about it," Dean breathed, knowing Sam was close to giving up, and also realizing what he was really apologizing for.
"I'm n-not gonna . . . dad taught us, Dean . . . you know I'm n-not – so y-you gotta forgive me . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he drew in a shuddering breath. Sam's eyes, bloodshot and shimmering peered into Dean's, pleading with him to accept his apology before it was too late. "Please, Dean . . . th-they made me doubt you, so you gotta forgive me . . . 'kay?"
"We're not gonna talk about this right now." Dean shook his head emphatically, not about to let his brother give up and leave him. "Later when you're better I promise we'll have the mother of all chick-flick moments, but not now . . . not like this."
"Th-they killed me . . . y-you know that . . . th-there's not gonna be a l-later – " Sam's eyes suddenly rolled backward into his head, body twitching and convulsing in Dean's arms, spurning him into action. Snatching the knife off the floor, he hastily sliced through the rest of the knots.
"Come on, lil' brother, let's get you out of here." Dean's heart lodged in his throat, stomach clenching painfully as Sam screamed and thrashed against him as he hauled him to his feet. "You're not dying on me . . . I won't let you die."
"Afraid you really don't have much of a choice in the matter," came a voice from behind Dean, and without have to turn around he knew it was Markus. "Cause you're not going anywhere."