Disclaimer: See part one. Or two. Or three. Basically all of the parts before this one.
A/N: Last chapter folks, let me know what you think of this whole crazy thing.
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The fifth time Sam wakes up he's being dragged down a corridor by his wrists. He's pretty sure he's in shock, both from blood loss and because apparently his brother's been turned into a monster and Sam's been cast in the role of new chew toy. His head still wants to fall off and his whole body feels like one big bruise but it's his shoulder that's sending shockwaves through him. The pain is too intense for him to form words. He groans and his brother drops him immediately, leaving Sam flat on his back and moaning. When he opens his eyes that gray nightmare face is once again in his, but this time they both flinch back. Sam is struggling to breathe through the pain but he hastens to speak before he has to hear his childhood name and that two word apology he's come to loathe.
"That...was so wrong," Sam mumbles breathlessly, his eyes sliding back shut as he attempts to ride the waves of pain coursing through him. "Can I just...say this is probably...in my top five worst days ever. And with our lives that's really saying something."
"Sammy!" is the mournful reply. Long fingers once again curl around his biceps, but this time he's merely pulled into a sitting position. His hands are grabbed roughly and his eyes fly open to see the wendigo's fingers shredding the bindings on his wrists and tossing them away with a grunt of disgust, moving quickly back away. Sam sighs with relief.
"Thanks," he murmurs absently, tentatively examining the raw hamburger his wrists have become, "now if we only had the first aid kit." An object hits his leg. It's a backpack that's already been torn open. The outside is stained with spots he recognizes too easily: old dried blood. He opens it and finds a treasure trove: not just a first aid kit but a granola bar, some clean socks, a t-shirt and duct tape. He sets the bag aside as more feeling returns to his fingers in a rush. After the fire in his hands dies down some he's able to apply antibacterial cream and wrap gauze around them. The shoulder wound is more awkward because he can't see it, but eventually he manages to get a decent pressure bandage using the t-shirt. He's just grateful it's not his dominant shoulder that's hurt. The kit doesn't include any antibiotics or heavy duty painkillers, but there's some aspirin and Sam manages to swallows two. It's not easy because his mouth is dry as the desert; that bottle of water feels like a lifetime ago. The granola bar he warily sets aside; he knows he should probably eat it but nausea flares at the thought. He doubts he could bring up enough moisture to get it down.
Dean's kept his distance while Sam was tending to his wounds, and this more than anything convinces Sam that Dean's still with him, even if not in full control of the monster he's become. Whatever's done this, his brother is fighting it with everything he's got. Sam feels a wave of guilt as he remembers his brother's wounded too; the burn may not be severe but it still must be painful. He checks the kit but the burn cream is missing, if it was ever a part of the kit at all, and he sighs.
Another bag is tossed in his direction from the shadows, startling him out of his musings. This one is a small purse and the contents are pretty meager: lipstick, car keys, wallet. Sam removes a wallet, pulls out a Virginia driver's license with a picture of a blonde woman smiling.
"Lily Keene," he reads aloud. "Lily..."
/"…Keene's the only survivor. She and her husband Glenn went missing for three days. They were found back where they were last seen, but no one could figure it out. He was burned to a crisp." Sam's fingers click the keyboard as his brother nods.
'Like Trevor Small." Dean takes a long sip of beer and reaches for another slice of pizza as Sam nods absently.
"Lily was shredded. Apparently she regained consciousness long enough to say she killed the monster, burned it to death. She slipped into a coma after that. Police think she offed her husband in self-defense." The brothers look at each other for a second. Dean chews more slowly, considering.
"Drew Piersen and Trevor's mom?" he asks, treating his brother to a view of half-chewed pizza that makes Sam grimace. Sam shakes his head at his brother's lack of couth then looks back at the hacked file he's been reading.
"Right, both also all torn up, although in both cases some of the wounds were determined to be bite marks from an 'undetermined animal or possibly a deformed human.' Hannah Small was alive when found but died of her wounds at the scene. Police were thinking possible serial killer."
"Dan Piersen?" Dean asks, and Sam pulls up the appropriate record, skims through it quickly, decides he's done with the pizza for the night. Or maybe ever.
"He was found dead next to his brother's body, covered in his blood. Gunshot wound, self-inflicted apparently. The weird thing is his brother's blood wasn't just on him, it was in him. In his mouth and stomach contents. "
"They think he ate his brother?" Dean asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"The bite wounds didn't match, but yeah. Cops had him pegged for all the killings, closed the file until the Keenes went missing," Sam sighs. Dean shrugs at him as he closes up the pizza box then leans back, patting his stomach contentedly. Sam can't help but smile. A full Dean is always a happy Dean.
"So what are we thinking? Some new freaky kind of werewolf curse?"
"I don't know Dean, I think the key is where do they go? They all went missing in the same square mile radius, and the bodies were found there too. There were tons of people and police combing that area but not one witness who saw how they got back. Whatever's happening, the answer's gotta be there."/
Sam blinks and the nondescript hotel room of his memories fades like smoke. He can't recall if they ever figured out what they were hunting or were caught before they could, but he now knows what happened to the victims, even if the why is still unclear. He puts the purse aside and another object drops into his hands. His fingers clench and then recoil from this new gift; Sam throws the flare gun back at his brother, eyes blazing. Adrenaline gives him the energy to struggle to his feet. As soon as he's standing Dean forces the weapon into his hands again. Sam growls, throws it down the corridor with all the strength his body has. The pain in his shoulder flare and he leans against the wall, wincing.
"Sammy!" Dean glares at him incredulously for a second, then lopes off to retrieve it. He presses it meaningfully into his brother's hands once more. Dean moves back and stands perfectly still, accepting, expecting his brother to kill him like it's nothing. Nothing.
Nothing's ever pissed Sam off more.
"I'm so sick of this self-sacrifice martyrdom crap, Dean! Stop trying to kill yourself for me, I'm not even worth-" Sam does the only thing he knows will make his point; he turns the flare gun towards himself. A second later it's ripped from his hands and he's pushed down again, his brother towering over him growling with fury. Despite the fresh pain Sam nods up at him. "See? That sucks, right? Look, I'm not gonna kill you, Dean, and you can't make me, so you can just forget that plan. We need to figure out a way we both get out of this and then we're gonna stop it so this doesn't happen to anyone else. Or else we'll both end up dead just like all the others."
Dean growls at him for another moment then roughly hauls him to his feet. He gives him another bag, a backpack that hasn't been torn and that has "Property of Trevor Small" written in careful block print on a label affixed to the flap. It's surprisingly heavy. He pulls open the flap and yanks out textbooks, a spiral notebook, markers and pens and a calcuator, and finally, miracle of miracles, a couple more bottles of water. He opens both and hands one to his brother, almost choking in his haste to down the other one. When he crumples the plastic, a full bottle is thrust at him and he shakes his head.
"No, that's yours." Dean continues to glare at him, holding the bottle out, and his eyes say 'you, blood loss' and 'me, big brother' and 'stop fighting me on every damn thing, Sam!' It's so much his brother that Sam feels a loosening in his chest. He sighs and takes the bottle. "Okay, okay, you win," he grumbles. He counts as a blessing that his stomach accepts the fluid so readily, Sam doesn't think he can take another barf session.
"I'm sorry." Sam rolls his eyes, which is a big mistake; he pinches his forehead as the headache bloom back to full life. Dean grunts in what Sam knows is concern and he waves a hand absently while keeping his eyes closed.
"I'm okay, just...stupid." Dean grunts in what Sam knows is agreement. Sam snorts and finishes his water, turning the case over in his mind and thinking aloud.
"Okay, so we know with the other victims it let them out once at least one of them was dead. You think if we can manage to escape this place without killing each other it might break the curse or spell or whatever the hell this is? Make you human again?"
Bony gray shoulders shrug. The brothers concur; it's as good a theory as any.
"Okay, so we need to escape a maze, from the inside. That's doable. You've already been marking passages you tried, right?" Dean blinks at him, holds up his hand and Sam gives a small smile. "Right, so we can keep doing that, we keep turning in the same direction each time, and we mark where we've been so we know if we're caught in a loop." Sam grinned. This they could do. This they'd been trained to do. "Dude, it's just like the cornfield mazes Dad used to make us find our ways out of when we were kids. Except we don't have to do it blindfolded. We can do this, Dean. Once we're out, if that doesn't break the spell, I'll find a way to reach Bobby. We'll get out of this, I swear."
"Sammy!" Dean replies. Sam feels the flare gun pressed back into his hands firmly and he stiffens, but as their gazes meet he sees the spark of green that holds his brother's fear, knows what he needs to say so they can continue.
"I won't need to use it, but I'll keep it. You won't hurt me again, Dean, I promise." Dean huffs, but Sam sees relief in another glimpse of green eyes. They walk to the dead end of this passage. The other victims' things all seem to be piled in a heap, lost and forgotten. More signs of violence and struggle and loss; Sam can't imagine anything harder than having your loved become something you have to kill before it destroys you. He remembers his father begging him to end this, remembers what they both made his brother promise, and he knows there's a world of apologies owed but they are Winchesters and they'll never be spoken.
"I'm sorry," Dean says, handing him his missing knife, and Sam can't help the bitter laugh that escapes him as he slips the sheath into his waistband. His brother's found their weapons bag, he slings it over his bony shoulder in a way that's so Dean and they start to find their way out.
Dean leads the way, but at every turn he stops and waits for Sam to provide direction. It's slow going, and the sound of monster claws scraping stone sets the hunter's teeth on edge and will haunt his dreams. He stumbles a few times and when he does Dean stops and refuses to move until Sam rests and recovers a bit. His brother stays in his sight but never comes too close, and at some point Sam realizes his shoulder is bleeding again. He marvels, not for the first time, at Dean's strength. None of the other victim's had been able to restrain the beast, let alone actually care for their loved one. He knows that his brother is straining against instincts, the throbbing in his shoulder reminds him that Dean's control is limited, but he has to keep going, make sure it won't come to that. His brother will keep him safe, even if it costs them both everything.
When they see sun and sky and open field they both freeze, disbelieving their own eyes. The view isn't familiar but Sam's memories are still scattered; whatever did this to them could have taken them anywhere. Dean's further away and there was a fuzziness to the world that Sam knows means they have to move now or he won't be going at all.
"I think we should go through at the same time," he states, and Dean growls uncertainly. It might be a missing memory, or just instinct, but Sam feels the truth of it in his bones. "Together, Dean. I know, I know it's hard, I know you're fighting but we're almost there, man. Just a few more feet, we can do it. You can do it."
Dean does nothing but growl at him for a moment, and when Sam meets his eyes there's no flash of green, only hunger. Sam wants to scream at the world, they can't have made it this far, come this close to lose now. Dean's running towards him, snarling and Sam raises the gun. His mind's stuck: please don't please don't please don't make me do this but it doesn't matter. Dean's too fast and he's hesitated too long. Sam's weightless, flying, and then blood is rushing to his head and he can see the ground is moving too fast and Dean's growls vibrate through him like he's in the Impala. There's a wave of vertigo and the world glows like his brother's eyes, red then green then Chevy factory black.
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The sixth time Sam wakes up he thinks he's still dreaming, because he's in the Impala. He turns his head and takes in his brother driving, frowning in concentration, humming a Foreigner song and tapping the steering wheel. Dean being Dean. He feels warm and hazy, the comfort of being home thrumming through him in a pleasant way. He tries to sit up a bit and pain tries to make a reappearance and it's the best thing ever because that means this is all real, and some of the haziness is probably painkillers. He makes a small noise and Dean looks him over, smiles as he eases onto the shoulder. Sam knows he should be full of questions, but he's only got one.
"Are you okay?" Dean looks at him like he's lost his mind.
"You're the one who's a quart low and a few inches shorter from being pounded, dude, I should be asking you. But I won't because you'd say you're fine and you're not. We're heading to the hospital once we've cleared a few more counties." Sam just looks at him, waiting, and finally he sighs. "Put the damn eyes away. I'm fine. It sucked. It's over."
"Is it over?" Sam asks wearily Dean shifts, sighs again. He swallows hard, looks away, and Sam knows his brother is drowning in pointless guilt.
"Yeah, seems to be. Talked to Bobby, he'll do the cleanup. I just wanted to get the hell out of there." Dean takes a deep breath, building up to something neither of them want. "Sammy, look, I'm...I'm..."
"God, don't say sorry, Dean, I will shoot you."
"I wasn't going to," Dean snapped. "I'm hungry."
"You're hungry."
"Starving. I can't remember the last time I..." Dean trails off, his face like copier paper as fumbles for the door handle, wrenching the door open and half-falling out the car into the road. Sam jumps out and wavers for a moment holding the car for support, the sound of retching filling his ears. As soon as he's got his feet more firmly under him he's at his brother's side, hauling him back into his seat as he spits bile into the gravel.
"Stop it, Sam, your shoulder," Dean pleads and Sam shakes his head fondly.
"My shoulder's gonna be fine," he tells his big brother gently, willing him to believe. "I'm fine. It's all okay."
"Dammit, it's not," Dean glares at his brother. "How could you let me do that to you?"
"How was I supposed to stop you?" Sam returns incredulously.
"You're a hunter, Sam, you should have tried!" Dean argues back, and Sam is momentarily speechless. He knows they're both overcome with what's happened, but he can't believe his brother still doesn't get it.
"I wasn't gonna kill you, Dean!"
"I'm already..." Dean stops and Sam's mind finishes the sentence.
Dead.
Gone.
Neither is acceptable.
Dean sighs wearily, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter now. Let's just get you to a doctor before you mess up my patch job."
"You know what, Dean?"
"What, Sammy?" Dean responds tiredly, and Sam knows he needs to do something to break through to his brother, that his usual repertoire of pleading eyes and earnestness isn't getting through Dean's walls this time. What happened in the maze was too altering and what's happening with his deal is too big, and Sam elects to face it with something unexpected, something small. Something he learned from his brother.
"Bite me."
For a moment he thinks he got it wrong, Dean's frozen, his expression one Sam can't read. Finally a shadow of a smile breaks through and he knows Dean understands what he's really saying.
I forgive you, Dean. I love you, Dean.
"Get in the car, funny guy." Dean retorts in pretend annoyance. The older Winchester gets out of the car, pulls Sam to the other side and gently sets him in, eyeing him anxiously for any sign of further injury. Sam grins up at him.
"You admit I'm funny?"
"You taste funny."
Thank you, Sammy. I love you, Sammy.
"I...what...?" Sam sputters as his brother makes an exaggerated face of disgust.
"Dude I'm gonna have to have a whole bucket of beers to get the taste out of my mouth, it's disgusting."
Sammy, I'm sorry.
"You just puked, Dean."
"Yeah? Well, you threw up all over me back there!" Dean growls at the younger man's smug grin. "It's not like it's something to be proud of, dude."
"I'm concussed. I always barf on you when I'm concussed. It's like tradition."
"Tell me about it, pukey little freak," Dean mutters as he pulls them back onto the road. "Kept telling Dad to stop feeding you before hunts but he thought it might stunt your growth. Ha!"
"You've got issues," Sam replies sleepily as he leans back, satisfied.
The next time Sam wakes up, he'll be in a bed with scratchy hospital sheets and machines that go ping and antiseptic smells. But he'll be alive, with Dean hovering over him and filling in the missing pieces from the hunt and flirting with the nurses and just being Dean, so that's more than fine.
THE END