Fic: House of Cards: State of Grace 6/6
I woke up from a dream,
I woke up I was crying.
I saw an animal,
with eyes like mine, on fire.
~~HoC~~
August 23rd, 1996
He drifted, the warmth of the blankets over him not reaching the chill deep inside, the cold that spiralled out from the empty place where his heart used to beat. Dimly, he was aware of a hand wrapped around his, a familiar touch that he shrank away from, echoes chasing him into the dark as he mumbled, tried to run away but couldn't move.
Not good enough .You couldn't stop them, couldn't save Sammy and now you're helpless...You know how a revenant is made, Dean?
"No. Please..."
"Dean? Can you hear me?"
Your Daddy killed my family, so I figure I'll just take his to replace them.
"Please don't..."
Starting with little Sammy...
"Come on, Dean. Open your eyes for me, son."
"Sammy... please..."
He'll live forever, and he'll never forget...
"Dean?"
He shivered at the soft, deep voice, the gentleness in it repellent, a terrifying pity that drove ice deep into him. He pulled away from it, yanking weakly at his hand as strong, rough fingers held tight, finally dragging himself free and rolling away, bringing his knees up to his chest. He hugged them tight, ignoring the pain in the bruises and strained muscles, tears choking him as they welled up from the endless, hollow shadows around his heart.
He felt heat brush over his shoulder, hesitate then draw back with a quiet, weary sigh. He sobbed once, burying his face in his arms and the pillow, tasting iron in his mouth as his lip split open under the pressure.
He let go, couldn't hold on anymore, didn't care which as he slipped back into the dark that fogged his memory and let him forget, the echoes that he couldn't silence fading to meaningless sound. He never knew how long he hovered there, safe in the darkness, the cold, fighting the pull of the world until he had nothing left to fight with.
Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinked lazily, feeling his eyelashes scratch over the cotton of the pillowcase, stretching out in front of him. He lay on his side, back aching fiercely as bruises stretched too far. His knees were still hugged against his chest, the faint, lingering heat of a touch on his shoulder not forgotten. He rolled his head a little, hissed involuntarily at the stiffness in his spine.
"Dean?"
He froze at his father's voice.
Not good enough. I failed.
"You awake?"
He mumbled something, throat dry and scratchy, no energy left to hide from the concern.
"Want some water?"
Dean nodded, barely moving his pounding head. He couldn't look at his father as John came around the bed, carrying a small paper cup in one hand, face pale and worn.
The older man gently slipped a rough hand under his head, held the cup to his lips and lifted him enough to sip at the tepid water. It slid down his throat like nectar, cooling, soothing, but it rested like lead in his gut. He pulled back and John gently eased him back to the pillow, setting the cup on the table beside the bed and settling into a chair he pulled forward from the shadows.
His father stared down at him, dark eyes sad and bloodshot.
Grief.
It was the only word he had for the feeling in those hazel eyes, so shockingly like his brother's. He shuddered away from the comparison, turning his head back into the pillow. He heard his father huff out another sigh, an edge of irritation snapping beneath the worry and compassion.
"Dean. Come on, kiddo. It's okay."
He shook his head, mumbled a denial into the pillow, wondering how his father could ever lie to him like that. It would never be okay again.
"You're safe now. Alright? Sam - "
He'll live forever and he'll never forget the taste of your blood...
"Don't!"
He bolted upright, crying out, desperate not to hear the terrible, awful truth in his father's voice. His head throbbed, agonising pain burning through him and he groaned, sank back to the bed, clutching at his temples. He felt his father's hands catch him, ease him down, rubbing small circles on the back of one shoulder, and he mumbled again into his hands, "Don't. I know I screwed up. I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey no, Dean. You didn't screw up, okay?"
"They were too strong. I tried, Dad, I tried but I couldn't stop them! And they took us and they... they... I couldn't... Dad, I couldn't do anything!"
He lifted his head, stared at his father, desperate to find some kind of absolution instead of pity. But John stared back at him, eyes wide and shocked and for a delirious moment he wondered if his father really knew how badly he'd failed.
"Dean..."
"They... they turned him, Dad, they turned him and I couldn' stop them!" he shouted, voice slurring, trying to think past the throbbing, pounding in his head, trying to work out what it was that seemed so jarringly wrong.
"Dean, listen to me!"
He turned away again, couldn't stand to look at the sadness in his father's eyes, barely aware of the soft, vehement curse as he let the darkness come back and start to drown him. He shook, shivering as he slid into it, not caring, the cold finally breaking through the thin wall around his aching heart to drag him down.
The hot touch of skin against his burned it away. He froze, didn't dare do anything to disturb the fragile dream as he focussed on the small hand tucked into his. He couldn't believe it, couldn't shake away the vision of two dead men closing in on his cowering brother as his own blood spilled hot down his throat.
A head burrowed into his chest, long hair tickling his jaw and his breath hitched once, a larger hand closing softly around his shoulder.
"It's okay. I promise, Dean. It's okay."
He sobbed, shoulders hitching as he felt tears spill down his cheeks, soak his brother's head as Sam pressed tightly against his chest. He finally dared look up at his father, dimly remembering the cold certainty that his family was gone. John smiled at him, wearily, sinking into a chair at the side of the bed.
"Okay?"
He nodded, wrapped one arm around his brother's shoulders, wincing a little as his wrist, wrapped thickly, brushed too hard across the bedclothes.
"They should heal up in a week or so."
They sat in silence for a while, his mind still spinning, trying to reconcile his memories with the unconnected present.
"Wha' happened?"
"They split up. I followed the larger group, but those three traced me back to you."
"How?"
"I followed them back, knew you'd've holed up in a house somewhere when I found out you weren't in the motel room. Then..." his father paused for so long, he thought he wouldn't finish. "I was lucky. I got there, and they had you two down in the basement. You were out of it and Sammy..." he trailed off again, and this time neither of them needed to hear the rest.
"I never should have let them get to - "
The door opened, cutting John off.
"Mr. Paice?"
Dean jumped at the sharp query, shrinking back into the pillows as a stern faced nurse poked her head around the door.
"I'm sorry. Visiting hours are over."
John stood and talked to her, a low murmur of voices and Dean thought he'd never heard anyone sound less sorry. Sam's hands tightened around fistfuls of his thin, hospital t-shirt, the younger boy pressing close against him as if he would never let go and right at that moment, Dean welcomed it. He wrapped his arm around his brother, tucking his head down against Sam's, suddenly feeling very young as he stared at the shadows outside the window.
They're still out there.
He didn't question how he knew it, the shiver working its way up from the base of his spine was the only answer he needed.
Somewhere, they're still there and I can't stop them.
Sam squeaked breathlessly as his arm tightened hard around the younger boy but his brother didn't pull back, just burrowed further into him, breath quick and hot against his aching ribs.
"I'm here, Sammy. I won't let them get you, I swear to god I'll kill them before they ever touch you again," he whispered, so quietly his brother never would have heard it if he hadn't been pressed so tightly against his side.
But I can't stop them.
‘Your Daddy killed my family, so I figure I'll just take his to replace them.'
He shivered at the whisper in his mind, dragged in a shuddering breath as John turned back to him.
"Sorry, kiddo, we gotta go."
His father reached out, gently taking hold of Sam's arm. Dean nodded, clenching his jaw tight against the plea wanting to escape.
Don't go. I can't stop them if you go. I can't stop them taking you, or me.
He swallowed them down, whispered a shaky goodnight in his brother's ear and watched them leave, eyes fixed to the bright light spilling under the door long after they'd gone, the dead man's voice scraping across his nerves.
Your Daddy killed my family, so I figure I'll just take his to replace them. Starting with little Sammy...
"No. I won't let you touch him. I won't ever let you touch us again."
You know how a revenant is made, Dean?
"I won't," he whispered to the dark, shutting his eyes against the sound of the lie in his own voice.
~~HoC~~
Starbird Corner, Maine
October 28th 2008
Sam barely noticed the motel room around them, the tidy, dated décor unimportant background noise that he simply tuned out. It was quiet and the manager hadn't asked any questions as he'd carried his brother into the room through the early afternoon mist, head tucked against his shoulder, blood spilling over his hands from the re-opened wounds on Dean's back.
Bobby had helped him ease the empty shell of a man onto the bed furthest from the door, taking one look at his back and turning away, grabbing his phone from his pocket.
Sam listened, his eyes locked onto his brother's as he crouched by the bed, desperately searching the blank, empty stare for him, finding nothing. It felt as though someone had buckled him into a straightjacket three sizes too small, his arms still burning from the strain of carrying his brother, thinner now but still a heavy, solid mass of bone and muscle. He couldn't draw a full breath, managing on quick, shallow gulps of air that nauseated him and ached dully in his lungs.
"Jack? It's Bobby Singer. Yeah. Yeah, you too."
He heard the strain in the older man's voice, the thickness of the tears deepening it, making the hunter sound hoarse and tired.
"I need to call in that favour, Jack. No, no I'm fine. It's a... a friend. He's in a pretty bad way."
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, wondering at Bobby's ability for understatement. But he was lost, dizzy in the dark, too long without real rest and the worry pounding through him made him sway on his knees.
"Here."
He jumped at Bobby's voice, suddenly so close to him as a chair bumped gently at the back of his legs. Silently, he pushed himself up and sank into it, darting a quick, questioning look at the older man.
"He's coming. Sam, he ain't a doctor, but he's the best I can do."
"I know. Thanks."
Bobby nodded, turned away, hesitating as his gaze swept across the figure on the bed. Sam heard him sigh shakily, heard the rasp of his hand scrubbing across his beard, felt the cool space at his back expand as Bobby moved away.
He sat there in the chair, listening to their friend pour salt lines across the door and windows, the faint slide of the grease pencil as sigils and runes slowly grew on the walls, the sharp snap as shotguns and pistols were loaded.
He was numb, cold in a place the warm air spilling from the heater on the wall could do nothing to reach. But he couldn't shiver, couldn't move, still struggling just to breathe as he fell forever into that empty stare, drowning in the lifeless, icy green, choking as tears slid unnoticed down his cheeks.
The soft knock at the door echoed through the space between them and he watched, eyes swollen and red as Bobby shot him a quick look and crossed to the door. He slipped his hand into the duffle at his feet, grabbing the stock of the shotgun as the older man peered through the Judas hole and sighed.
Making a quick, reassuring gesture to Sam, Bobby stepped back and opened the door, revealing a short, middle aged man glaring at him.
"Jack. Good to see you."
Jack ignored the out stretched hand and met Sam's stare squarely. The younger man wanted to shrink back from the heat in his eyes, fear and anger and sorrow long thought forgotten, stirred up again and all the more potent for it.
"Can you help him? Please?"
Jack blinked at the query, glare softening a little at the plea in his voice and Sam watched his eyes flicker to the still figure on the bed between them. He swallowed hard, knowing what the older man was seeing, feeling the blood itch on his hands where it had flowed over them as he carried his brother away from the derelict house.
"Jesus," Jack muttered and the fire in his eyes finally melted, pity stirring in their depths as they darted back to meet Sam's again.
"What the hell happened?" he asked as he started forward, already lifting the heavy bag he carried in one hand. Sam let Bobby answer, satisfied that the stranger was going to help them; he returned his attention to his brother, staring into lifeless eyes that seemed more unfamiliar than Jack's.
"Don't know, exactly. He was taken three days ago, something from our line of work that had a grudge against the boys. We found him a couple hours ago, like this."
"He needs a hospital, Bobby."
Sam laughed silently, bitterly. Hospitals had stopped being an option for anything less than imminent death a year ago.
But he's not there anymore. He might as well be dead already.
The soft whisper in his head strangled the angry mirth instantly and he clenched his jaw tight, reaching out to skim one hand across his brother's pale brow. His shoulders hitched as he got the same response he'd had every single one of the last hundred times he'd made the gesture: nothing.
No sound, no movement, no life.
I'm alone. I don't want to be alone, Dean.
The thought wouldn't leave him as he sat and stared into his brother's face, through the three hours it took the veterinarian to pluck the shards of glass from the jagged wound on Dean's back and stitch it closed...
Don't go.
...to set the broken knuckles and throw more sutures into the split skin across them, wrapping both hands tightly in thick, white bandages, casting as many worried glances at Sam as he did at the patient...
Don't leave me.
...to run gentle, professional fingers over Dean's ribs, jutting out of his wasted frame, muttering in a low monotone as he slipped IV's into the crook of each elbow, "Saline and nutrients. He's malnourished and dehydrated, so I'll make sure you have enough of these to keep you going..."
Sam tuned the instructions out, knew Bobby would take care of it as he listened to the plea running over and over in his head.
Please. Come back, Dean. Please.
No sound, no movement, no life.
Nothing.
For two days.
I'm alone had turned to I was too late, and Please to I'm sorry, but Don't go and Come back stayed constant, a litany in his head, whispered aloud occasionally when he knew Bobby couldn't hear. He didn't know why he couldn't speak them in front of the hunter, just couldn't force his voice to work whenever the older man was in the room, answering questions with a nod or a shake of the head or a shrug.
"Sam, I'm going up to Jack's. Get some more fluids."
He nodded now, the familiar excuse they both needed desperately heavier between them every time. He felt Bobby's eyes linger on him, heard him sigh before the door clicked shut between them and the room was still again.
Sam echoed the sigh quietly, breath hitching at the end in a dry sob. He had no tears left, thought he must have used up a lifetimes supply in the last week.
"Come on Dean. Come back," he whispered, voice rough and throaty from lack of use, his hands trembling as he reached out automatically to check the IV's, studiously keeping his eyes away from the heavy bruising the thick needles that had been designed for use in the tougher hide of cattle and horses caused in tender human flesh. He flinched as his fingers caught in one line, tugging it hard, then knocked against his brother's heavily bandaged hand as he tried to pull free, his eyes darting back to Dean's pale face, searching for any response, for anything that meant he wasn't alone.
His jaw trembled as he waited, swallowing hard, sickened by the deep shadows turning Dean's vacant eyes into hollows. The thin slit of green barely visible through long lashes clumped together into dark ‘vees', staring back at him, past him, through him into a place he couldn't even begin to imagine.
"I'm so sorry, man. Come back."
Sam's shoulders hitched once, twice, his vision blurring and his face twisted as he wrapped his hand around Dean's, tears burning his throat, drowning him as they splashed onto their joined hands.
"Don't leave me, Dean. Don't you dare," he stuttered, his head dropping as he hunched forward, curling around his brother's silence and never breaking it as the sobs wracked him.
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Playlist:
In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth, Coheed & Cambria
The Road I'm On, 3 Doors Down
Map of the Problematique, Muse
Dazed and Confused, Led Zeppelin
So Cold, Breaking Benjamin
Soldiers Make Good Targets, Stereophonics
All Misery/Flowers, The Gutter Twins