Fic: Battle Cry (Supernatural) Chapter 3/10
Here's chapter 3. Masterpost is over here. Chapter 1 can be found here.
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 2024
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
Chapter 3: The Problem
Sam and Dean shuffled out of the Impala and into the motel room. Sam settled on the bed with a huff. Dean scooped up the T.V. remote and plopped down next to him, settling back against the headboard. The television flipped on and Sam glanced up to catch the last seconds of a car insurance commercial.
Dean flipped, and flipped, and flipped, cycling through the channels, making pictures flash by. Sam stared at the passing images. He thought they ought to make some sort of story, but they passed too quickly to recognize. Instead, he flopped down backwards across the width of the bed, landing half on and half off of Dean’s legs.
Dean kicked in an effort to dislodge him, but he wasn’t in the mood to move. Outside, Sam could just hear John talking on the phone, probably to another hunter trying to figure out what they were dealing with. He had pulled the room phone as far as it could go outside and shut the door to get some measure of privacy. The phone cord stretched taught across the floor, threatening to trip the next person to try and cross the room.
Sam ought to be doing research or helping on some way instead of laying like a lump across his brother’s bony knees. He was just so tired. He’d barely slept the night before and everything had been moving so fast until this point. He felt his eyelids droop as the TV droned. Dean shifted, but Sam couldn’t be bothered to shift to a more comfortable position.
When Sam woke the television was off and the room was dark, except for the glow of the bathroom light. Sam stretched and sat up, realizing that at some point he’d been moved to lay properly in the bed. He could hear someone shuffling in the bathroom.
“Dean?”
Sam let out a frustrated huff. This was getting old and he’d only been like this for a day. They had better find a cure fast. He stood and shuffled towards the light, hoping that if it was Dean, he’d have enough sense to shut the door if he was doing anything…private.
He stuck his head around the door frame and found his father standing in front of the damp mirror, wet hair dripping onto his t-shirt as he shaved. John caught sight of his reflection and turned to face him.
“Hey, tiger. We thought you might sleep all day. Better?”
Sam frowned and took better stock of where he was. He tapped his wrist.
“It’s about six o’clock. You slept through lunch.”
There were a hundred things he wanted to ask. Why did they let him sleep? Had they found anything? Finally, he settled for mouthing, ‘Where’s Dean?’
John eyed Sam, deciphering what he had said. He turned back to the mirror and resumed shaving. “He stepped out to get dinner. He’ll be back in a minute.”
Sam watched John shave for another moment, unsure what to do with himself. He’d like to ask another question, but that was impossible without either John turning around or finding paper to write on. Sam turned and ambled back into the bedroom to turn on the bedside light. He saw his textbook still lying open on the small round table and decided he ought to at least try to study if he had a little extra time.
He collected the book and settled back onto the bed while he waited for John to finish up or Dean to get back. He was startled when not a minute later, the phone began to ring. Sam picked it up and had it to his ear before he realized his mistake. After a moment of silence, he heard Bobby’s gruff voice. “Hello? John? You there?”
Sam looked around for something, anything that might help. He spied a pen lying on the nightstand and chucked it at the bathroom door. John stuck his mostly shaven face out. “Sam? What’s gotten into you?”
Sam held the phone out and shook it at John. John seemed to get the message and collected the phone from Sam, crossing the room in a few long strides.
“Hello? Singer? Yeah, sorry. Sam picked it up. Yeah he’s here. Okay, hold on.”
John shifted the phone so that the receiver was against his chest. “Bobby’s on the phone.” Sam rolled his eyes. He’d surmised that much at least.
“Sam,” John said with a tone of warning in his voice. He gave Sam a sharp look, but continued. “He says he has some questions for you. Might have something, might not.”
Sam nodded. Please, God let Bobby have found something.
“Alright, Bobby. Go ahead,” John said as he sat down next to Sam so he could listen at the receiver as well.
“Okay. Sam there,” Bobby asked.
“Yeah, he’s here. He’s listening too.”
“Good. I got a couple of leads, but I need some information to narrow it down. You said it looked like a spider, was it small, like a bug?”
John looked at Sam expectantly. Sam shook his head. It hadn’t been small. It had been roughly the size of a terrier. He indicated its height from the floor. “No, Sam says it was bigger. From what I saw it was about two - two and a half feet tall. Skinny legs, but a rounded torso, like a bug.”
“Did it have claws that you could see?”
Sam rocked his hand back and forth. “Kinda?” John guessed. Sam frowned. He held up a finger and then dashed to his backpack. “Something got the kid good,” John said as Sam rummaged through his things. He pulled out a pencil and a notebook before returning to sit next to John.
It didn’t look like it at first, but it definitely sank some sort of talon or claw into my chest. About an inch long.
“He says they weren’t noticeable at first, but it sank some sort of talon into his chest. They were about an inch long.”
“How many per leg?”
Sam held up a single finger.
“Just one.”
Bobby got really quiet and they could hear him flipping pages in the background. Sam could feel his shoulders knotting up as he waited for Bobby to continue.
Finally Bobby came back on, sounding reluctant. “Did it make any noises, try to talk or anything?”
Sam had to think back.
When we first scared it out of hiding, it was making this high pitched wailing noise, sort of like a baby crying. It made that sound a couple of times. When Dean shot it, it grunted. It never spoke.
“When it first showed it was wailing, like a baby. He says when Dean shot it off him it grunted. But it never spoke. Is that important?”
Bobby was quiet for a long minute. When he finally did speak, he said, “I think I know what it is. Did it have a long neck and a puckered mouth?”
Sam nodded.
“Yeah, that sounds like it.”
Bobby cussed. “And you said Dean shot it? Is it still alive?”
“No, it’s dead. We burned it, most of it. It was pretty torn up from the gun shots. Why?”
“Dammit! Sounds like it was a reo tahae”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a voice eater.”
“A voice eater? So that really is what’s wrong with Sam?” Sam scowled at this remark, but didn’t try to argue. He wanted to hear what Bobby had to say.
“They lure people into dark, tight spaces, like caves,” Bobby said. “They steal a voice and use it to cry out for help. When the victim walks into their lair, they devour the voice to use the next time before chowing down on other choice bits.”
“Choice bits?”
“Apparently they like eyeballs in particular, but I get the sense anything human is pretty tasty to them.”
John was silent at that. Sam just felt sick. That thing had been glued to his face, inches from his eyes. He shivered.
“So how do we fix it?”
Bobby was quiet again. “John…”
“Singer.”
“There’s a ritual, but it’s -”
“What is it?”
“It’s complicated, but the basics involve the victim eating the tongue of the creature, seasoned with a few choice herbs.”
“Any of the creatures?” John asked. Sam could hear the desperation in his voice.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Dammit Singer, make it that simple.”
“I wish I could. Don’t you think I would if I could? It has to be the one who ate his voice.”
“We could collect the ashes.”
“How long have those been sitting there? All day? What’s the likelihood they’re even still there. Even then, the ritual is pretty specific. The tongue has to be treated with a special oil and herb mixture and eaten raw.”
John snatched up the notebook from Sam’s lap and plucked the pencil from his limp hand. “Give me the ritual. It’s worth a try.” John snapped.
Sam felt himself sinking. There was no way that was going to work. Sam knew enough about rituals to know they were exacting. You had to get everything just so, or they wouldn’t work, plain and simple.
He vaguely registered his father signing off the phone and flinging the notebook down on the bed before storming back to the bathroom. He was still sitting in the same spot when Dean walked in five minutes later.
He took all of a second to assess Sam when he entered. He threw the food on the table and came to kneel in front of Sam.
“Hey, man. What’s wrong?”
Sam just stared at Dean. How was he ever going to talk to him again? He blinked.
“Hello? Earth to Sam.” Dean waved his hand in front of Sam’s face. Sam batted it away and flopped onto his side facing away from Dean.
“Sam?”
Sam held his resolve for all of five seconds before he rolled back over. Dean must have spotted something in his expression, because his face softened.
“What is it? What happened?”
Sam reached out and grabbed Dean’s shirt. Normally he would have respected Dean’s no touching policy, but just then he, well he wasn’t sure what he really wanted. To just feel connected again.
Dean for his part, didn’t draw away. Instead he made Sam scoot over and got on the bed next to him.
“Hey. Hey, it’s fine. We’ll get through it, man. It’s going to be okay.”
Sam wondered if Dean realized he’d fallen back onto old habits from when Sam was still small enough to be comforted. A warm hand rubbed circles on his arm and Dean had squashed himself as tight against Sam as he could. It was the same thing he had done when Sam was four and scared of some nightmare. His warmth was soothing and Sam relaxed into the contact.
He refused to cry.
John stalked back out into the room and made directly for the food.
“Dad?” Dean said.
John ignored him.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
John growled. “That no good Singer is what happened.”
“Bobby? He found something?”
“More like a pot full of nothing. He seems to think there’s nothing to be done.”
“What?”
“There’s a ritual, but he seems pretty sure it won’t work. He’s going to keep looking, but he didn’t sound too hopeful.”
“Wait, a ritual?” Dean looked down at Sam who had buried his face in Dean’s shirt at his father’s words. He could feel Dean’s stare on the back of his head. “What kind of ritual. Why wouldn’t it work?”
John sighed. “Apparently it’s supposed to be done on the freshly harvested tongue of the beast that did this. Seems to think it won’t work if we use the ashes.”
“We have to try.”
“That’s what I told him. He gave me the ritual,” John said waving his hand at the notebook now laying at the foot of the bed. “Still going to do some digging though. That can’t be the only solution.”
Dean nodded. “Hear that Sam, we’re going to try and Bobby may still find something. Don’t give up yet.”
Sam simply buried himself deeper into Dean’s side.
<< Masterpost Chapter 4>>>
Title: Battle Cry
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John Bobby
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Chapter Word Count: 2024
Rating: PG-13 for some cussing and a wee bit of violence
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s supposed to be a witch. It’s supposed to be easy. Sam and Dean shouldn’t have to do more than help burn the body. But, when they are faced with an unknown monster, the consequences will be life altering for all the Winchesters. Will they be able to fix the problem, or will Sam have to learn to adapt to the newest challenge in his life?
Chapter 3: The Problem
Sam and Dean shuffled out of the Impala and into the motel room. Sam settled on the bed with a huff. Dean scooped up the T.V. remote and plopped down next to him, settling back against the headboard. The television flipped on and Sam glanced up to catch the last seconds of a car insurance commercial.
Dean flipped, and flipped, and flipped, cycling through the channels, making pictures flash by. Sam stared at the passing images. He thought they ought to make some sort of story, but they passed too quickly to recognize. Instead, he flopped down backwards across the width of the bed, landing half on and half off of Dean’s legs.
Dean kicked in an effort to dislodge him, but he wasn’t in the mood to move. Outside, Sam could just hear John talking on the phone, probably to another hunter trying to figure out what they were dealing with. He had pulled the room phone as far as it could go outside and shut the door to get some measure of privacy. The phone cord stretched taught across the floor, threatening to trip the next person to try and cross the room.
Sam ought to be doing research or helping on some way instead of laying like a lump across his brother’s bony knees. He was just so tired. He’d barely slept the night before and everything had been moving so fast until this point. He felt his eyelids droop as the TV droned. Dean shifted, but Sam couldn’t be bothered to shift to a more comfortable position.
When Sam woke the television was off and the room was dark, except for the glow of the bathroom light. Sam stretched and sat up, realizing that at some point he’d been moved to lay properly in the bed. He could hear someone shuffling in the bathroom.
“Dean?”
Sam let out a frustrated huff. This was getting old and he’d only been like this for a day. They had better find a cure fast. He stood and shuffled towards the light, hoping that if it was Dean, he’d have enough sense to shut the door if he was doing anything…private.
He stuck his head around the door frame and found his father standing in front of the damp mirror, wet hair dripping onto his t-shirt as he shaved. John caught sight of his reflection and turned to face him.
“Hey, tiger. We thought you might sleep all day. Better?”
Sam frowned and took better stock of where he was. He tapped his wrist.
“It’s about six o’clock. You slept through lunch.”
There were a hundred things he wanted to ask. Why did they let him sleep? Had they found anything? Finally, he settled for mouthing, ‘Where’s Dean?’
John eyed Sam, deciphering what he had said. He turned back to the mirror and resumed shaving. “He stepped out to get dinner. He’ll be back in a minute.”
Sam watched John shave for another moment, unsure what to do with himself. He’d like to ask another question, but that was impossible without either John turning around or finding paper to write on. Sam turned and ambled back into the bedroom to turn on the bedside light. He saw his textbook still lying open on the small round table and decided he ought to at least try to study if he had a little extra time.
He collected the book and settled back onto the bed while he waited for John to finish up or Dean to get back. He was startled when not a minute later, the phone began to ring. Sam picked it up and had it to his ear before he realized his mistake. After a moment of silence, he heard Bobby’s gruff voice. “Hello? John? You there?”
Sam looked around for something, anything that might help. He spied a pen lying on the nightstand and chucked it at the bathroom door. John stuck his mostly shaven face out. “Sam? What’s gotten into you?”
Sam held the phone out and shook it at John. John seemed to get the message and collected the phone from Sam, crossing the room in a few long strides.
“Hello? Singer? Yeah, sorry. Sam picked it up. Yeah he’s here. Okay, hold on.”
John shifted the phone so that the receiver was against his chest. “Bobby’s on the phone.” Sam rolled his eyes. He’d surmised that much at least.
“Sam,” John said with a tone of warning in his voice. He gave Sam a sharp look, but continued. “He says he has some questions for you. Might have something, might not.”
Sam nodded. Please, God let Bobby have found something.
“Alright, Bobby. Go ahead,” John said as he sat down next to Sam so he could listen at the receiver as well.
“Okay. Sam there,” Bobby asked.
“Yeah, he’s here. He’s listening too.”
“Good. I got a couple of leads, but I need some information to narrow it down. You said it looked like a spider, was it small, like a bug?”
John looked at Sam expectantly. Sam shook his head. It hadn’t been small. It had been roughly the size of a terrier. He indicated its height from the floor. “No, Sam says it was bigger. From what I saw it was about two - two and a half feet tall. Skinny legs, but a rounded torso, like a bug.”
“Did it have claws that you could see?”
Sam rocked his hand back and forth. “Kinda?” John guessed. Sam frowned. He held up a finger and then dashed to his backpack. “Something got the kid good,” John said as Sam rummaged through his things. He pulled out a pencil and a notebook before returning to sit next to John.
It didn’t look like it at first, but it definitely sank some sort of talon or claw into my chest. About an inch long.
“He says they weren’t noticeable at first, but it sank some sort of talon into his chest. They were about an inch long.”
“How many per leg?”
Sam held up a single finger.
“Just one.”
Bobby got really quiet and they could hear him flipping pages in the background. Sam could feel his shoulders knotting up as he waited for Bobby to continue.
Finally Bobby came back on, sounding reluctant. “Did it make any noises, try to talk or anything?”
Sam had to think back.
When we first scared it out of hiding, it was making this high pitched wailing noise, sort of like a baby crying. It made that sound a couple of times. When Dean shot it, it grunted. It never spoke.
“When it first showed it was wailing, like a baby. He says when Dean shot it off him it grunted. But it never spoke. Is that important?”
Bobby was quiet for a long minute. When he finally did speak, he said, “I think I know what it is. Did it have a long neck and a puckered mouth?”
Sam nodded.
“Yeah, that sounds like it.”
Bobby cussed. “And you said Dean shot it? Is it still alive?”
“No, it’s dead. We burned it, most of it. It was pretty torn up from the gun shots. Why?”
“Dammit! Sounds like it was a reo tahae”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a voice eater.”
“A voice eater? So that really is what’s wrong with Sam?” Sam scowled at this remark, but didn’t try to argue. He wanted to hear what Bobby had to say.
“They lure people into dark, tight spaces, like caves,” Bobby said. “They steal a voice and use it to cry out for help. When the victim walks into their lair, they devour the voice to use the next time before chowing down on other choice bits.”
“Choice bits?”
“Apparently they like eyeballs in particular, but I get the sense anything human is pretty tasty to them.”
John was silent at that. Sam just felt sick. That thing had been glued to his face, inches from his eyes. He shivered.
“So how do we fix it?”
Bobby was quiet again. “John…”
“Singer.”
“There’s a ritual, but it’s -”
“What is it?”
“It’s complicated, but the basics involve the victim eating the tongue of the creature, seasoned with a few choice herbs.”
“Any of the creatures?” John asked. Sam could hear the desperation in his voice.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Dammit Singer, make it that simple.”
“I wish I could. Don’t you think I would if I could? It has to be the one who ate his voice.”
“We could collect the ashes.”
“How long have those been sitting there? All day? What’s the likelihood they’re even still there. Even then, the ritual is pretty specific. The tongue has to be treated with a special oil and herb mixture and eaten raw.”
John snatched up the notebook from Sam’s lap and plucked the pencil from his limp hand. “Give me the ritual. It’s worth a try.” John snapped.
Sam felt himself sinking. There was no way that was going to work. Sam knew enough about rituals to know they were exacting. You had to get everything just so, or they wouldn’t work, plain and simple.
He vaguely registered his father signing off the phone and flinging the notebook down on the bed before storming back to the bathroom. He was still sitting in the same spot when Dean walked in five minutes later.
He took all of a second to assess Sam when he entered. He threw the food on the table and came to kneel in front of Sam.
“Hey, man. What’s wrong?”
Sam just stared at Dean. How was he ever going to talk to him again? He blinked.
“Hello? Earth to Sam.” Dean waved his hand in front of Sam’s face. Sam batted it away and flopped onto his side facing away from Dean.
“Sam?”
Sam held his resolve for all of five seconds before he rolled back over. Dean must have spotted something in his expression, because his face softened.
“What is it? What happened?”
Sam reached out and grabbed Dean’s shirt. Normally he would have respected Dean’s no touching policy, but just then he, well he wasn’t sure what he really wanted. To just feel connected again.
Dean for his part, didn’t draw away. Instead he made Sam scoot over and got on the bed next to him.
“Hey. Hey, it’s fine. We’ll get through it, man. It’s going to be okay.”
Sam wondered if Dean realized he’d fallen back onto old habits from when Sam was still small enough to be comforted. A warm hand rubbed circles on his arm and Dean had squashed himself as tight against Sam as he could. It was the same thing he had done when Sam was four and scared of some nightmare. His warmth was soothing and Sam relaxed into the contact.
He refused to cry.
John stalked back out into the room and made directly for the food.
“Dad?” Dean said.
John ignored him.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
John growled. “That no good Singer is what happened.”
“Bobby? He found something?”
“More like a pot full of nothing. He seems to think there’s nothing to be done.”
“What?”
“There’s a ritual, but he seems pretty sure it won’t work. He’s going to keep looking, but he didn’t sound too hopeful.”
“Wait, a ritual?” Dean looked down at Sam who had buried his face in Dean’s shirt at his father’s words. He could feel Dean’s stare on the back of his head. “What kind of ritual. Why wouldn’t it work?”
John sighed. “Apparently it’s supposed to be done on the freshly harvested tongue of the beast that did this. Seems to think it won’t work if we use the ashes.”
“We have to try.”
“That’s what I told him. He gave me the ritual,” John said waving his hand at the notebook now laying at the foot of the bed. “Still going to do some digging though. That can’t be the only solution.”
Dean nodded. “Hear that Sam, we’re going to try and Bobby may still find something. Don’t give up yet.”
Sam simply buried himself deeper into Dean’s side.
<< Masterpost Chapter 4>>>