MISCALCULATION
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"They're not zombies!" Sam hissed. "They're freaking ghouls!"
"Doesn't matter," Dean answered, hands tightening on his gun. "Head shots and decapitation still works." He grinned. "Decapitation. Awesome."
They kept their voices down, watching as the tainted creatures walked through the hushed, moon-lit cemetery.
"This explains how they've been able to keep hidden for so long," Dean said. "Bastards are a hell of a lot smarter than zombies."
"Yeah, but Dean, ghouls usually just eat the dead. Why are they killing people?" Sam motioned to the hundreds of tombstones around them. "It's not like there's any shortage of corpses around here."
Dean shrugged. The why of things was never as interesting to him as it was to his curious little brother. "Maybe they got tired of the taste of formaldehyde."
"Formaldehyde can get you high," Sam said matter-of-factly.
"God, you're such a geek," Dean laughed, then looked at his brother, frowning. "Wait a minute, how do you know that?"
"Someone at school tried to sell me a joint laced with it once."
"No shit?"
"No shit." Sam shrugged. "But I read it destroys your brain cells, so . . ."
"Huh." People. "Stick with booze, baby brother." He checked his gun. "Okay, let's get this shit done. After all, we've got plans tonight."
Distracted by the approaching monsters, now just twenty feet away, Sam looked at his brother questioningly.
Dean's green eyes danced. "My cock, your ass?"
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Sam's eyes widened.
"Dean, behind you!"
Dean spun and swung. The ghoul's head flew off its shoulders, falling to the grass and rolling.
"Thanks."
Sam didn't bother to answer, just gave a short nod of acknowledgement, then recounted the bodies, matching the heads, making sure they'd gotten them all.
Count satisfied, spattered with blood and soaked with sweat, the two brothers stood panting, trying to pull enough oxygen out of the thick humid air not to pass out before starting their ghoul bonfire.
Dean hawked harshly and spat on the ground. "I hate fucking Florida," he announced.
Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead. "You love the beach."
"This isn't the beach," Dean retorted. "It's too damned hot. It's like breathing soup!" He stretched his shoulders out, grimacing. "I almost dislocated my shoulder on that last one. Big bastard."
"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Sam leaned over to wipe the blade of his machete on the grass. "At least there weren't too many of them."
"Yeah." Dean frowned, looking at the corpses surrounding them. "I was kind of expecting more than five, with the amount of damage they've been doing."
Sam pulled a bottle of water out of his pack, drank deeply and passed it to his brother. "Let's take a breath. Then we can take a look around, see if we missed anything."
On cue, a wrenching scream rose and the brothers jerked around.
"Crap!" Dean dropped the water and they ran toward the continuing, and horrific, screams.
They were too late.
When they hit the cemetery's parking lot, a group of seven ghouls were crouched over the bloody and, now, silent bodies of two teenagers, a boy and a girl.
They'd clearly been torn out of the lime-green Datsun idling nearby, killed, and were now serving as dinner to the slavering monsters.
"No!"
Enraged, Dean rushed forward and dispatched two of them with head shots before the other five even looked up from their meal. Right behind him, Sam took the head of a little old lady with a bloodstained mouth and dead eyes and then the other four were up and lunging at them with bared teeth and sharp claws.
Whatever his sins, John Winchester had taught his sons how to fight, his teaching so ingrained, it passed as DNA imperative.
Don't look at their faces
Eyes red with rage, Dean took one down -
focus on the kill
- stood back to back with Sam, machetes slashing, faces grim, teeth clenched, eyes merciless -
watch your brother's back
Number two sank to her knees, severed neck spurting out blood and soaking Sam to the skin. He kept on swinging and took number three from behind when he tried to run.
if you're hurt, suck it up and keep fighting
Number four howled as Dean's downward stroke chopped his arm off at the shoulder. As the creature fell to his knees, hissing, Dean swung again and its head flew off and rolled across the parking lot, face fixed in a defiant snarl.
and don't stop until every fucking one of them is dead
Silence. Victory.
And defeat.
The brothers stood exhausted, surrounded by the dead.
Dean walked slowly over to the slaughtered teenagers - children they could have - should have saved.
"Damn it," he whispered in despair.
Should've known - God, God, they're just freaking kids . . .
Sam wiped his face, tears mixing with blood. "We didn't know, Dean. No way we could know they'd show up here tonight."
"Maybe if -" Dean stopped, sighed. In truth, they had done everything they could, with the information they had.
It was just that fucking Winchester bad luck again, and these kids had paid for it.
Dean put it aside for now. They weren't done yet.
"Let's finish this and get the hell out of here."
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The boys drove the teens' Datsun back into the cemetery using the access road, collected the ghouls they'd killed earlier, and then drove back to the parking lot where they loaded the rest of the bodies into the car - including the teenagers.
They soaked the car and its reeking load with gasoline but when Sam drew out his lighter, Dean shook his head tiredly. "Gasoline's not going to be enough. We gotta burn 'em down to ashes and there's too many of them. Go get the magnesium."
Sam nodded and ran to the Impala. He dug underneath the false bottom in the back of the trunk and carefully drew out a metal lockbox.
Back at the gore-packed car, Sam opened the box and handed the dark jar of magnesium shavings to his older brother. "Be careful," he said nervously.
"I will." Dean looked at Sam, saw the anxiety in his eyes. "Don't worry, we don't need to use a lot. We just gotta be sure the fire keeps going until everything's gone."
Dean sent his brother back to the Impala with the lockbox and then sprinkled a few ounces of magnesium shavings over the bodies. Then he threw a couple of lit newspaper cones into the car and waited until he saw them catch.
The brothers sat in the Impala, watching the car burn. After a few hot minutes, the magnesium ignited, flames shooting white hot into the sky - a pyromaniac's dream.
Job done, silent, they drove back to town.
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"I'm going to take first shower, Sammy. Then while you wash up, I'll go grab us some dinner."
"Sounds good." Sam tried to smile. It was a total failure but a good try. "Good thing we got the room before we went out," he quipped. "Desk clerk would've had a heart attack if she'd seen you like that."
Dean smiled back - another good try - and headed into the bathroom.
- suck it up -
Sighing, Sam pulled a couple of beers out of the cooler. He took one to his brother in the shower, then came back into the bedroom and started undressing, alternating between long draughts of beer and stripping off another piece of blood-soaked clothing.
Dean wasn't in the shower long, but when he came out, Sam was down to his boxers and already finishing his second beer.
"What do you think, Sam? Pizza?"
"Sounds good." Sam's voice was a little slurred. He saw Dean look at the empty beer bottles and flushed. "Come on, Dean. After today . . . "
"I know, baby," Dean said gently. "Just make that the last one, 'kay? We gotta be on the road early tomorrow and I don't want you to have to travel sick."
Sam nodded, dropping his gaze. He got up to go shower, shied back when Dean leaned in to kiss him. "God, don't, dude." He laughed nervously. "I reek."
Dean clamped a hand on the back of his neck and drew him in. "Who cares?" He kissed him lightly.
"You okay?" he mumbled into Sam's mouth.
Sam nodded. "Tired. I just - I wish - " he stumbled to a halt.
"I know. Me, too." Dean pushed the hair back from Sam's face. "I'll be back quick as I can. Pepperoni okay?"
"And green peppers. And mushrooms!"
With another quick kiss and a nod, Dean was out the door.
When the growl of the Impala had faded, Sam wearily pulled a clean t-shirt and sweat pants out of his duffle and shuffled into the bathroom. He stripped off his boxers and climbed into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it would go, then stood under the blistering stream, watching the blood and dirt wash down the drain.
He'd lied to Dean, of course. Par for the course. Winchesters never admitted to being anything other than fine.
- good, fine, okay, no problem, thanks for asking now back the hell off -
Thing was, Winchesters spent so much time not being okay, if they ever admitted to not being okay, they'd soon be spending all their time bitching.
Ow, my back hurts! My legs, my arm - oh shit, my shoulder's dislocated again - damn, is that my spleen on the floor?
- ignore it, move on -
No, he wasn't fine. Dean wasn't fine. But they would be.
He sighed, stuck his shaggy head under the stream of water, rubbed in some shampoo and started scrubbing.
Our lives are so messed up.
When the water started to cool, he rinsed his hair and finished scrubbing off the last of the blood. The water was cold when he finished. He dried off and dressed quickly, shivering.
While combing out his hair, he heard the door in the other room open and close.
"Dean?"
There was no answer. Sam stiffened and turned toward the bathroom door.
"Dean?"
Sam heard a soft laugh.
Shit!
He looked around the bathroom - no window, and his cell phone was in the other room.
"Come on out, boy!"
Shit!
"You come on out or we're coming in!"
At least two, then.
Dad?
With slightly shaking hands, Sam fumbled through the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, pulled out his knife and slid it into the top of his pants at the back.
"Boy! Won't say it again!"
Sam opened the door.
Hunters. Big men, dressed in rough jeans, boots and flannel, and heavily bearded. Both positioned to block him from escaping. Both had guns tucked in their belts. They stank of whiskey and violence.
"Well, well. Sam Winchester," one of them said, swaying drunkenly. "Come to town to clean up a few ghouls and look what we find." He looked at his friend with a sloppy grin. "Told you it was their car, Frank."
The other, older, man didn't answer, just nodded and ran his cold eyes up and down Sam's slim frame.
"Who the hell are you?" Sam asked tightly.
"I'm Jack. This here is Frank. He's not a big talker." He raised a small bottle of whiskey and took a healthy swig. "We're friends of your dad."
Sam's eyes widened. He looked from one to the other, trying to hide his apprehension. "My dad's not here."
"Oh, hell, we know that!" Jack nudged Frank, laughing. "Not yet, anyway."
Sam paled at that. "What - what do you want?"
"Your daddy told us you-all ran off, asked us to keep an eye open." Jack snickered, licked his lips. "See, John - he wants your brother back."
"Dad sent you to get Dean?" Confused, he looked from Jack to Frank.
"Nah. See, John figures with you gone, your brother'll go back to him." Jack laughed at the dawning horror in Sam's eyes. "Your daddy said we should kill you."
"That crazy bastard." Sam said, aghast.
"Listen to the mouth on him. Cute, ain't he, Frank? And just look at those pretty eyes."
"Dean won't go back to him, no matter what you do to me," Sam said desperately.
"Oh, hell, we don't give a shit about that," Jack scoffed. "Thing is, I owe your daddy money. I take care of you, that goes away." He took another drink.
So why aren't I dead already?
A shiver ran over Sam and a dreadful suspicion grew, fueled by the way they were both looking at him. "What do you want?"
"Nothing you ain't already giving away." Jack grinned. "I ain't never fucked a demon before. Have you, Frank?"
Frank's eyes were hot. "Not a boy."
Sam took a step back before he could stop himself.
Jack laughed harder. "Hell, kid, it's not like you're human. What's the problem?"
Sam said incredulously, "My dad told you to -"
"John knows me pretty well, and he didn't tell me not to. That's permission in my book." He drained the last of his bottle, tossed it onto the floor. "Sam, that mouth of yours is about making me crazy. Tell you what, you come with us, do what we tell you - we won't even kill you! How's that for a deal?"
Frank broke in, tired of all the talk. "Damn it, Jack, we don't have all night. Let's get the kid in the truck before his brother comes back."
"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Sam's voice rose. He fought to keep calm, knowing that if he lost control, he was dead.
Jack gave an excited little giggle. "Oh, you're comin' all right. One way or the other."
Sam saw his death in their eyes. Worse, he saw rape and prolonged torture. He could probably make it back into the bathroom, stall until his brother got back, but Dean - these guys would kill him.
No, no fucking way. He'd rather die than see Dean hurt.
But not their way. Better to die here, now.
Sam could feel the comforting weight of the knife at his back.
Jack weaved toward him. "Come on, cutie, let's get goin'."
Sam hit him in the mouth and sent him staggering back.
"Ouch! You little bastard -" Jack touched his mouth and, amazingly, laughed again. "This is gonna be fun."
"This is taking too goddamned long! Let's just shoot him and get out of here," Frank said roughly.
"Oh, hell no!" Jack said drunkenly. "I want my fuck!" He grinned at Sam. "You're coming, Sam, hard or easy. Take your pick."
Sam squared off, raised his fists. "Hard!" he spat.
Jack laughed. "Good choice!" He lunged at Sam.
One chance.
Choose.
Kill, or be killed.
Sam pulled the knife out from behind him and sank it into the man's chest.
Mouth gaping in surprise, Jack gave a horrible, gurgling cry and fell to the floor, grabbing onto Sam and pulling him down with him.
"Oh, shit!" Frank plunged forward. "Jack!"
Hands bloody, eyes stretched wide with shock and fear, Sam pulled away from the dying man - gun, where's the damn gun, he must have fallen on top of it, shit - and then Frank was on him, hands reaching out, bearded face fixed in a grimace of rage.
Sam twisted away from him and lunged to his feet, going for the duffle next to his bed and the .45 inside, but the big man grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him back and off his feet, slamming him heavily to the floor.
"You little shit!" Frank hissed. "Your dad was right about you!" He looked at his partner, already dead on the floor, eyes staring blankly up at him. "Damn it!"
Sam kicked out with his bare foot, catching the man on the side of the head. Frank didn't let go and Sam kicked again, aiming desperately for his groin. He missed. Cursing, Frank pulled him up, slapped him heavily across the face and then slammed him back down again onto the floor.
Sam cried out in pain, tears spilling from his eyes, feeling at least one rib break on impact.
Frank raised a fist and slammed it into the boy's mouth. "Goddamned demon!" He hit him again.
"We should've killed you the minute we saw you! Should've killed you!" His hands closed around Sam's throat. "I'll fucking kill you now!"
Choking, Sam tore at the hands around his throat, bucking up at him, trying to use what little strength he had left to throw the man off, but the maddened hunter just growled and squeezed harder.
too big, too big, fight, damn it, fight
His vision was starting to grey out, little flashes of light pinwheeling at the edges.
Dean, please, I don't want to die!
Desperate for air, he swung his arm in a wild roundhouse swing, striking Frank hard on the ear. The man loosened his hold just enough for Sam to take one precious gulp of air. Then he swore and resettled his hands on Sam's throat, his cock hardening and nudging against Sam's thigh.
no no no!
Sam flung his arms out, hands clutching, grabbing, looking for anything, anything. His hand fell against Jack, gun, where's the gun, metal, gun, not gun, hilt, grab it, sharp, grab it, pull, shit, hurry, hurry, please - !
Dean!