Breathe
The kid was ready in five. Dean wasn’t.
Sweeping the place clean turned out to be harder than he thought. During the two days they spent in the cabin, Dean had been unconsciously cleaning up after himself, wiping things down, making sure not to let his hands linger anywhere where he could be leaving prints. It was an old habit, erasing his presence moment by moment. Seth, on the other hand, had left traces of himself everywhere. A damp towel on the bathroom floor, discarded pajama pants next to the bed, coffee cups left next to the stove, next to the window, in the kitchen. They were small things and somehow personal. And each one was harder than the next. The scent of Seth in the bathroom, the rumpled bed sheets, Seth’s fingerprints on the headboard, million and one details he didn’t want to erase.
Seth waited by the door, the first response bag clutched tightly in one hand, like a life preserver. He didn’t offer to help and Dean didn’t ask. He was glad for the silence and the deliberately blank expression on Seth’s face. It made the whole thing a little easier to bear.
Then he was finally ready to go, the single handgun he always carried a comforting weight in the back of his belt, the pieces of the shattered cell phone in his jacket pocket. He would chuck them out the car window once they were speeding down the highway and call Bobby to let him know that particular line was down for good. Those were the only two things he’d carried in from the car because he’d never planned on staying this long. He’d never thought himself capable of forgetting that he was Dean Winchester, hunter, wanted, alone in the world. But it had been so easy to forget with Seth. So easy to pretend that he was normal, maybe even loved.
In the other pocket was the bottle of antibiotics he was supposed to keep taking. Seth had pressed the bottle into his hand with a quiet admonition to keep taking them every six hours. And for some reason that had been the worst part. The fact that Seth had every right to be angry, every reason to hate Dean now, but instead, the only words he’d spoken in the last twenty minutes were to remind Dean to take care of himself. And Dean couldn’t even thank him because he was afraid to open his mouth. He was afraid of what would come out.
Seth stepped outside first and Dean couldn’t resist one last glance at the inside of the cabin, now that he knew Seth wasn’t watching. Because he wanted to remember it. He wanted to remember it so badly. He would probably never be as happy as he’d been for the past two days and that was okay. He seriously doubted that he deserved more than what he’d already gotten. But he never wanted to forget even the smallest detail, Seth’s quiet chuckle as Dean carried him across the cabin, his warm palm on the back of Dean’s neck, his forehead resting against Dean’s shoulder. He wanted to keep those memories until his dying day.
Seth was already half way to the car, the bag hanging off his shoulder. The sun had come up but the cabin was still in the shade, the surrounding trees arching overhead. Between the sight of the determined set of Seth’s shoulders and the mess in Dean’s head, it took him a few seconds to notice that something was off.
But when he did, it was so obvious that he cursed himself for not noticing it the moment they stepped outside.
It was silent. Unnaturally silent. No birds, no squirrels, not a thing moving among the trees. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A warning tingle shot through his fingers, his spine. The ground in front of the cabin looked undisturbed, the nearest trees and bushes untouched. No broken branches, no tracks, not even a leaf out of its natural place.
His chest constricted.
“Seth,” he said as loudly as he dared, and Seth stopped in mid step, turning around slowly.
“Get back in the cabin.”
Seth stood completely still for a few seconds, which in Dean’s panicking mind stretched into years, into decades, his whole body screaming out a warning. He could hear it now too, a soft, far away rustle that was not wind, along with a faint, lingering stench in the air like a match recently put out. Seth was moving, walking back towards Dean, his eyes wide. Could he feel it too? Probably not, but he knew something was wrong, his posture had changed, his gait had become sleeker, his steps more grounded, his shoulders tense as if expecting an attack. Dean had moved to meet him without realizing he’d done so, his hand curving over Seth’s elbow protectively, tugging him towards the door.
“What is it?”
“Inside. Find salt. Don’t ask questions, just make salt lines at all the entrances, doors, windows, every place where something could get in. Quickly.”
“Come inside with me,” Seth said softly, eyes darting between Dean and the expanse of the forest behind him where there was nothing to see yet.
Dean knew there would be nothing. There would be nothing until there was something and then it would be too late.
“I have to grab something from the car. Go. Just go, I’ll be right behind you.”
Seth disappeared inside and Dean ran for the car. Every goddamned weapon he owned except for the useless handgun was in the trunk. Stupid. Stupid. He’d dropped his guard, thought they were safe, it never occurred to him that something could track them this far. And it was a definite something. Not a vampire or a similar kind of critter, but something bigger. Something that left no tracks, left no traces of itself aside from that faint smell he almost missed entirely. Something that could make the entire forest fall silent by its presence alone. Something he was too fucking afraid to think about, because compared to the big bads out there, Dean Winchester had only hunted small fish so far.
He had the trunk open when he felt it, a distinct change of air behind him, the stench growing stronger. He grabbed the first heavy weapon he could get his hands on and turned, ready to shoot.
It was a girl. Whatever it was, it looked like a girl, small and blonde with one of those boyish hair cuts, a face that was tiny and almost delicate. Maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, and if Dean’s instinct was anything to go by, more dangerous than all the fucking things he’d ever killed. So he shot her. Double barrel salt load right in the middle of her fucking chest.
The shot echoed through the trees, bounced off the cabin and redoubled, sounding incredibly loud in the silence. Birds screeched in complaint, a flock rising from the nearby tree and disappearing into the forest.
She stumbled back, the wound in her chest smoking. Dean began to reload quickly and methodically, his hands steady even though that first shot told him everything he needed to know. Reloading was pointless. Shooting her was pointless. Whatever she was, he was not equipped to take it down. All he’d done was make her angry. All he was doing now is buying time so Seth can ward the cabin.
When she knocked the shotgun out of his hand like it was a toy, he swung out, actually managing to push her back a few steps with the force of his blows. Her one blow sent him flying into the open trunk of the Impala, the backs of his knees striking it with so much force that both of his legs gave out. Gravel dug into his palms as he tried to struggle to his feet. Half a minute? Could he buy another half a minute?
He pulled out the handgun and shot her once in the upper thigh. She didn’t even stumble.
Her fingers wrapped around his neck and she lifted him up, one handed, coal black eyes studying him carefully.
He amended the list of things he knew. He was not equipped to take her down because she was a goddamned demon, the first one he’d ever come across. And he would very likely die.
When the bone in his arm snapped, he screamed.
--
“Come out come out little one! I can hear you breathing!”
The singsong voice drifted up from downstairs and Seth closed his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath. He’d searched all the obvious places for a weapon and found nothing. Not a fucking thing. Whatever the salt lines were supposed to do wasn’t working. Whatever Dean did outside obviously hadn’t worked either. Seth was a good shot but he’d never ventured past the basic handguns. Although if he had to bet his life on it, he’d say that had been a shotgun blast. And if the shotgun had done no damage to whatever was downstairs, then there was no point in searching for a weapon, no point in trying to call for help, no point in anything.
Dean was alive. Seth had heard him growl when they entered the cabin, him and whatever that thing was. It sounded like a girl, but then again, the vampires had looked like normal men. Was he hurt? Seth was afraid to find out. He knew he had to move but his legs seemed locked in place, refusing to budge. He’d heard of being frozen in fear but he’d never experienced it before. Until now.
“Don’t be shy, we just wanna play! Don’t we?”
Dean’s answering groan got him moving. It sounded like he was hurt. Seth had to do something. What the fuck could he possibly do?
The stairs creaked under his feet, his heart beating loudly in his ears, his palms now slick with sweat and freezing cold. He forced himself to keep breathing. In and out. Calm. Whatever happened, he had to stay calm. There had to be some kind of a way out of this but he had no chance of figuring it out if he started panicking. It would help if he knew what he was up against. Why hadn’t he asked Dean about other things he hunted? Two days together, pretty much glued at each other’s side, and he’d never asked Dean about hunting, about all the things that go bump in the night. Too late now. All he could do now is breathe and keep a clear head.
Yet when he saw them, Dean and whatever that thing this was, he stumbled over the last step. Grabbed the rail and dug his nails into it. Stopped breathing all together.
Dean’s face was covered in blood. He was on his knees next to a girl who looked barely an inch over five feet, a skinny little thing with a bad bleach job. That’s all he noticed about her. Because Dean was fucking hurt. Dean was fucking hurt.
“Ah, there you are!” she tilted her head at him and smiled,
“You’re a pretty thing. I did picture you... bigger. A little more impressive, you know? Not that it matters what you look like.”
Seth wasn’t listening.
Head laceration. It was a head laceration and they always bled a lot so it could be nothing serious. But he couldn’t be sure unless he got closer. The unnatural way Dean held his upper body meant some severe bruising over the rib cage or possible fractures or maybe both. Right ulna broken. The forearm was already starting to swell. The bone hadn’t punctured the skin but the break looked pretty bad. What else? There could be a dozen more injuries hidden from the view. Dean met his eyes and that was suddenly worse than all of it put together. Dean Winchester, the man who hunted monsters, the man who had singlehandedly beheaded four vampires and managed to effortlessly evade FBI for years, looked fucking terrified. Seth would have never been able to picture it. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible.
Seth finally focused on her, it, whatever the fuck it was, and saw no iris, no pupil, just a pool of black under the eyelids. He wished he knew what that meant. He wished he knew what that made her, how to hurt her.
“What do you want?” he ground out, proud that his voice didn’t shake.
“Not a damn thing,” she said lightly,
“I wanted to see you, see how you were getting on, what a strapping young man you grew up to be. Daddy would be so proud.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Tucked away all these years, hiding in plain sight. But I think you’ll find out soon.”
Her fingers absently caressed the top of Dean’s head and Seth felt his stomach turn. She was talking fucking nonsense.
“You’re here because of me?”
“Of course. You think I’d go through all this trouble for a piddling little hunter?” she grinned,
“Although I think he might turn into a bonus.”
“Ok,” he said carefully, “but if you want me, you’re gonna have to let him go.”
“No,” Dean snapped, good arm coming up to wrap around her knees, attempting to throw her off balance.
It almost worked. Almost. Her hand found Dean’s collar bone and dug into it with a sickening crack. Dean screamed hoarsely. It was the worst sound in the world. It was worse than the sound of all the ribs he’d fractured trying to give CPR, all the bodies he’d scraped off the asphalt, all the bones he’d had to break and reset, all the screams of pain he’d heard over the years.
It was the sound of world cracking.
Seth felt heat envelop him. Starting somewhere in the back of his throat where his own scream was trying to build, it spread quickly, sinking its hot fingers into his brain. It felt like standing in the middle of a fire, flames licking his face, making their way into his nose, his mouth, igniting his lungs. It burned across his skin like wildfire, a current of energy thrumming through his veins. Fear stuttered. Fury enveloped him. He was going to explode. He was going to self-combust.
“Let him go.”
“Oh, but he sounds so sexy when he’s in pain. Look at that pretty face. Look at that mouth! It was made for bruises.”
“Let him go.”
“No, I think--“ she grabbed the hair at the back of Dean’s head, “I think I wanna play some more.”
Seth’s hands went up on their own. Later he would think that he’d raised them as a gesture for her to stop or something equally pointless. But the fact was, he wasn’t really thinking. He wasn’t capable of stringing two conscious thoughts together. He just needed her her to stop. And his hands were the only part of him that didn’t feel engulfed in flames, that wasn’t searing. His hands were cool. And they seemed to release all that built up heat in one enormous blast, like the world’s most powerful and fucked up flame thrower.
Her eyes flickered in surprise, then she was flying backwards as if pulled by some invisible force, her back hitting the window and shattering it. Seth wanted to howl. He was fucking burning, his eyes were watering, his throat pulsing in fury. The heat just kept pouring out and it felt like dying, it felt like flying, it felt like Dean’s mouth on him had felt, so fucking powerful and beautiful and wild. The window frame creaked and burst outward, the wall surrounding it cracked, the table and chair flew across the floor and slammed against it, the newspapers Seth had been using to start a fire forming a furious cyclone, a small tornado in the middle of the floor. The couch scraped across the floor, picture frames were ripped off the wall, the entire foundation of the cabin quivered and shook under his feet. It went on until he was sure he was screaming, until he was sure it would kill him.
Then it stopped. The flow cut off so suddenly that his knees buckled and he slipped to one knee, head swimming. Nausea flooded him. He was gonna throw up again. Somewhere in the back of his head a small voice wondered how many times he’d thrown up since meeting Dean Winchester. Definitely one too many.
The newspapers slowly fluttered to the floor. The table clattered down, then promptly broke in two pieces. Something warm trickled down to Seth’s lip and he wiped at it absently. He couldn’t look away from the hole where the window was. Beyond it, the green of the trees seemed visually overwhelming, entirely too bright. A spike of pain shot through his eyes. He couldn’t tell if the cabin was now deathly silent or if his hearing was gone for good. Maybe he was dead. Maybe whatever had just happened killed him.
“Seth?”
Dean. Good. He could hear.
He felt fingers touch his arm. Turned his head to meet Dean’s shocked gaze, his face still covered in blood, one hand awkwardly pressed against his stomach. Another spike of pain shot through Seth’s eyes and he grimaced. His lip tickled and he wiped at it again, looking down to find a streak of bright red blood coating his hand.
“Dean?” he said in a small voice, wondering how he could even speak.
Why wasn’t he completely hoarse? Hadn’t he been screaming?
“What did you do?” Dean asked, his voice hushed.
Seth looked at the hole again, the broken table, the curtains torn as if some wild beast had clawed at them, the cracks fanning over the beams. His hands were starting to shake. His stomach turned violently, flooding his mouth in saliva. Terror was uncoiling in there, starting in the very pit and folding outward through his lungs, his chest.
“I don’t-- I wanted-- her to stop.”
She’d said she had come to see him. She’d said that he’d been hiding in plain sight all this time. That daddy would be proud. His entire body was shaking now, goosebumps covering him from head to toe, his teeth starting to chatter. What did that mean? What did he do? Another spike of pain, this one in his temple, made him gasp loudly. What had just happened?
Dean’s hand found his face, his neck. It was so warm Seth wanted to cry.
“Ok, ok, let’s not... let’s not freak out.”
“You think-- you think I’m like her? Jesus Dean, am I like her?? Am I a monster?”
“No. No.”
“Then how did I do that, huh?! How did I do that if I’m not--“
“It doesn’t matter right now. It doesn’t matter.”
Dean was pulling him forward, the hand on the back of his neck insistent until their foreheads were touching and Seth could breathe him in, familiar and comforting.
Dean. Breathing in and out. Chest rising and falling. Dean.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dean whispered, “we’ll figure out. But we should go before she comes back. Ok? Hey, look at me.”
Deja vu. He focused on Dean, the blood on his face, faint lines of pain etched around his mouth. Green eyes ringed in gold. Freckles noticeable even under the smear of blood. Calm. Dean was not afraid any more. Dean was not afraid of him. A few minutes ago he’d been terrified but now he wasn’t and it made no sense.
“You won’t hurt me,” Dean said as if reading his mind, “I know you won’t. But she’ll try again. We have to go before she comes back. Ok? Can we do that?”
--
They stumbled outside, Seth’s legs still barely holding him up and Dean moving like his bones were full of shattered glass, like every muscle in his body was torn. She was nowhere to be seen. It was too much to hope that she was dead; probably just as freaked out as Seth was.
Seth had managed to freak out something that had brought Dean Winchester to his knees. Something that a shotgun blast didn’t even slow down.
A handgun lay on the ground next to the car. Dean bent over slowly and picked it up, hissing as he straightened.
“You’ll have to drive,” he said.
Seth nodded and crawled into the driver’s seat. It took him two tries to get the key into the ignition. His foot shook on the gas as he tried to back out, then jerked on the brake pedal when he stopped to shift into drive. The steering wheel was already slippery from the death grip of his sweaty palms.
“Breathe,” Dean said softly, “just breathe, ok?”
Seth gulped air and tried to steady his foot. Then they were driving away from the cabin, gravel flying. He glanced up at the review mirror and wished he hadn’t. There was a fucking hole in the side of the cabin where the window used to be. A giant fucking hole. He’d done that.
The main road was deserted and that turned out to be a very good thing because Seth was having a hell of a time keeping the car in between two lanes. He wiped at his mouth again, knowing there was more blood without looking at it.
“I can’t lift my arm,” Dean said calmly.
“She broke your clavicle I think,” Seth said, “and your forearm. We need to stop somewhere safe because I need to look at it. If we’re lucky, nothing is severely out of place in there.”
His voice was still shaking and he didn’t know how to make it stop. What were they gonna do if the bones needed to be realigned? What if Dean’s ulna wasn’t just a clean break? What if it was all shattered in there?
He slammed both hands against the steering wheel,
“Shit. Shit. My bag. I left my bag at the cabin.”
“It’s ok, we’ll just-- we’ll steal more stuff.”
“Where? We’re in the middle of goddamned nowhere in the middle of the fucking day.”
“I’ll rob a place at a gunpoint if I have to. We’re not going back there.”
“The pain pills, the bandages, it was all fucking in there.”
“It’s ok Seth.”
“It’s not ok. Jesus, nothing is fucking ok!”
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Just stop the car.”
Seth skidded over onto the shoulder, raising a cloud of dust. Before he’d even managed to put the car in park, Dean was pulling him over with his good hand, wrapping an arm around him. Seth buried his face in Dean’s neck, his breath coming too fast, his heart beating so hard it was almost painful. His fingers gripped Dean’s jacket so tightly that his hands cramped.
“Breathe,” Dean whispered, “breathe.”
His lips brushed Seth’s temple, his ear. Seth tried. He inhaled the leather and metal over and over again until he was nearly lightheaded with it. Fought the urge to crawl into Dean’s lap like a little kid. Kept breathing in Dean’s skin, his forehead pressed against the pulse in Dean’s throat, thumping softly. He tried to match his breaths to the beat. Thud - inhale. Thud - exhale. Dean’s fingernails scraped over his scalp lightly, raising tingles along his spine. Inhale. Exhale.
After a count of thirty he could finally speak.
“I’m afraid,” he whispered, nearly choking on the words.
“I know,” Dean said, his breath warm against Seth’s cheek, “I know. But we’re ok. We’re alive. We’re gonna figure the rest out, ok? Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Seth lifted his head without easing his death grip on Dean’s jacket,
“But what if--“
“No what if. We’re alive. That’s all that matters,” his hand cupped Seth’s cheek,
“We need to go. Can you drive? I can do it one handed.”
“No,” Seth shook his head, “I can. I can drive.”
He made himself let go of Dean and pull back. His hand were still shaking, but his heart had stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest.
“Shit,” Dean hissed.
“What?”
“Stay in the car.”
“What? Why--“
Dean was already out of the car and he was running, he was fucking running with his arm clutched to his stomach. Seth stumbled out after him and saw a truck grill peaking out in between the bushes on the other side of the road. There had been a dirt road there at some point, leading to god knows where, but it was overgrown and well hidden. Someone had tucked the truck in between the trees and bushes where you could not see it unless you knew what you were looking for.
Obviously Dean had, because he crashed through the growth, slipping in the dirt and nearly falling down. Then he stopped suddenly, freezing in place.
“Fuck,” Seth heard him mutter, “Fuck.”
Seth skidded to a stop a few feet away.
He had thought the truck was red. It had looked red. Except there was a few spots where it wasn’t.
He moved closer and Dean grabbed his arm,
“Don’t. Don’t, there’s no point.”
An overpowering stench of copper assaulted his nostrils. There was a body, on the ground, next to the drivers side. A man, older by the looks of the gray streaks in his black hair. That was all Seth could tell about him. His face was completely gone, his chest torn open, one of his legs missing. Further on, near the rear tire, there was a pile of something. Seth wasn’t sure what, but he had a strong suspicion that used to be a man too. One that had been torn to pieces.
The truck wasn’t red. It was coated in blood.
“We have to go,” Dean said, his voice unsteady.
Seth gently pried his hand off.
He moved towards the first body but it felt like he was floating, his legs numb, his chest rebelling at the scent of so much blood. Even on his worst work days, in the worst accidents, he’d never seen such a massacre in one place. His fingers found the place where the carotid pulse should be. The skin was cool and clammy but it gave slightly under the touch. Couple of hours. No longer than five. He could hear Dean breathing heavily behind him.
He’s not sure how they made it back to the car. But he knew that the numbness he felt was an overload. All systems shut down, autopilot engaged. Hello lizard brain. Breathe in and out, put the car in drive, pull out slowly.
“That was Rufus,” Dean whispered, “that was Rufus, he taught me everything I know about vampires, he gave me my first handgun, Jesus fuck.”
Seth said nothing.
Chapter 11 →