Forged by Fire 8/?
Dean stepped to the side far enough for Forge to get the door open. Nodding at the vampire he slipped out and turned to watch Forge pull the door shut. He heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking back into place, silently wishing Sherman Banks a long and healthy life.
“We gotta get Sam out of there!” Dean shouted as he sprinted down the hall.
Forge grabbed his arm and pulled him to an abrupt stop. “How are you going to get into his cell?”
“I…” Dean looked around. He took a few deep breaths and forced the panic rising like bile through his body back down. “We need to find Michaels, he can get us in.”
“He’s not far, but how are you going to convince him…” Forge grinned and his words trailed away. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Pointing down the corridor, away from the solitary cells, Forge said, “He’s that way.”
“How?”
Forge cocked his head to one side and tapped the side of his nose. “Us vamps have some advantages.”
Letting Forge take the lead, Dean followed him along the corridor. They ran, dodging around the few men they encountered. This part of the prison hadn’t been overrun yet. Dean didn’t need Forge’s keener hearing to recognize the sounds closing in around them. The fire was driving some away from this area, but once the pen was broken open this whole area would be overrun with things not likely to be as fearful of fire as humans.
From what Dean could judge they were about halfway between the offices and the pen when gunfire erupted in front of them and more explosions rocked the part of the prison behind them. Skidding to a halt, Forge’s hand landed hard on Dean’s arm and turned him slightly to one side.
One of the guards that had escorted Sam to the meeting room was slumped against the wall beside a door. His legs sprawled across the floor at odd angles. Blood dribbled from his ears, nose and eyes. He was clearly dead. Dean caught a glimpse of two more men wearing guard’s uniforms and Michaels just inside the room. One held a shotgun pointed at Michaels.
“Hey!” Dean charged into the room. Using the element of surprise he kicked the legs out from under the closer of the two men and sent him flipping backwards to the floor.
“Father, I thought I told you to-” Michaels’ words stopped when the armed guard turned to look and found Dean’s fist in his face. His free hand grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and yanked it away. Spinning to look for Forge, Dean saw him in the doorway.
The first downed guard got up, shaking his head and snarled, displaying extra fangs. Dean huffed, rolled his eyes and raised the shotgun, blasting at him. The force from the shotgun hits didn’t kill him, but they did drive him back him far enough for Forge to get his hands on him. Fisting both hands in the material covering his shoulders, Forge yanked the man farther from Dean.
Another man, an inmate, barreled into Forge and the guard, causing Forge to lose his grip. The guard grabbed the prisoner and hoisted him up. Dean clearly saw tattoos on each man’s arms, different tattoos symbolizing different gangs. Fangs dropped the guard dug into the man’s neck. His screaming and kicking stopped when the guard ripped into arteries then snapped his neck.
Michaels gasped and inched away, going farther into the room.
Forge’s face scrunched up making his nose wrinkle, and disgust was all over his features. “Really? That’s just gross! You know, it’s assholes like you who give the rest of us a bad name.”
The guard snorted and took two steps toward Forge. Shock then anger registered on his face when Forge didn’t do what he probably expected which was to cringe away in horror and run. Dean couldn’t help the soft laugh when Forge simply stood there staring the man down.
“Asshole?” The guard sneered and spit at Forge. “I’m no regular guard.”
“No shit.” Forge raised his hands, waggling his fingers at the man. He bared his teeth, his own fangs dropping down. “Bring it, asshole.”
Dean’s attention turned back to Michaels and the other guard. The latter was still out cold from Dean’s punch. Standing over him, Dean leaned down and pulled up his lip, exposing his teeth and extra fangs. Swearing softly under his breath, Dean put the shotgun nozzle to the man’s forehead and fired, hoping that was going to accomplish the same thing as decapitating the vampire.
Michaels scrambled away from the body. Dean stepped clear and reached down, grabbing his hand and hoisting him to his feet. Michaels stared down at the guard for a few seconds before turning his gaze to the corridor. “Father?” He looked from the dead vampire, to Dean and the shotgun.
Forge had made quick work of the other guard and was coming through the door.
“It’s a rough parish,” Dean smirked at Michaels. Taking his arm, Dean towed him toward the corridor. “I need to get to solitary and get Sam out.”
“S-sam? Who is Sam?” Michaels recovered, straightened his shirt and pulled away from Dean.
“My brother. You have my brother locked up in there. Belmont! Only he’s not Belmont and I don’t have time to explain. There is a fire in the solitary section and he’s trapped.” Dean stepped back far enough he was out of Michaels’s reach and held the shotgun up aiming at Michaels’s forehead.
“He can open them from the offices we were in,” Forge said. He stepped passed Dean and took Michaels’s arm. When the warden tried freeing himself Forge’s fingers clamped with enough force Michaels hissed out a breath and tried twisting away. “No. We’re not the bad guys here and we’ll help you, but you got to get his brother unlocked first. See that guy out there? Did you see his extra teeth?” Forge jerked on Michaels’s arm for effect and showed his own extra set of fangs. “News flash, vampires are real and in here. You’ve got way bigger problems than a riot.”
“I’ll unlock the solitary doors, but first we have to get back there.”
Dean nodded and said matter of factly, “We will. If you see anyone on camera with eyes that look silver, those are shapeshifters. You take them out with silver, the vamps you need to behead.”
Michaels simply blinked at him a few times before Forge pushed him into a run toward the office they’d left Sherman Banks guarding.
When they reached the office door, Dean looked directly into the camera and pointed to his eyes. “Sherman, let us in.”
For a few seconds it seemed as if they weren’t going to get back inside, but then the door buzzed and clicked. They were through and it was closed and locked behind them in no time.
“They’ve been trying to get in, the ones with funny eyes. I’ve seen them in the monitor. They’re all over the place,” Sherman was talking fast and pointing at the various screens.
“We know. You just do what I said. We’ll you get out.” Dean crossed the room, pointing at the various computers. “Which one?”
Freed from Forge Michaels went to one of the computers and typed in commands. A light on the screen flashed from green to red. He pulled a ring of keys from his pants pocket. Removing one he threw it at Dean who caught it out of the air.
“The security is down now. Those doors will only open from the outside, if it won’t use that key.”
“Got it.” Dean pocketed the key. “Anyone else in solitary?”
Michaels shook his head no. “There would have been an alarm at the state capitol. By now the National Guard is probably mobilized and on their way. They’ll have the place surrounded in an hour or less. They won’t come in unless they think there is no other way.”
“There are still real people in here. We need to help get them out,” Forge said. “Then let the rest burn with this place.” His gaze met Dean’s. “You go get Sam, I’ll get them out.”
“I can’t leave,” Michaels said.
“You have no choice. Once the Guard gets here they’ll need your help and expertise, we both know the blueprints for this place and what it really is are two different things and I’m betting you’re more accurate. C’mon, Sherman, we’re out of here.” Forge pulled the kid from his chair and strode to the door. Turning back to Michaels he asked, “Coming?”
“You’re really a vampire?”
Forge nodded and stepped aside while Michaels keyed in the code to unlock the door. “Yep.”
“And a detective?”
“Been in law enforcement one way or another since the Boston Massacre.”
Michaels squinted at him and Dean saw the man’s fingers move in a counting motion. “That was over three-hundred years ago.”
“Yeah, it was. And I have to say, this is a first for me. Prison riot with the gangs being vamps and shifters. You should be proud.” Forge swung the door open, nodded to Dean and stepped into the corridor. “See ya in a few.”
Dean looked at his watch. “If we’re not out in two hours…”
Forge nodded. “Same here.”
“What do you mean?” Sherman asked.
Michaels took his other arm as they left the office. “Trust me Banks, I don’t think we want to know.”
A slight salute with the shotgun he carried and Dean headed down toward the section of solitary cells, hoping this wasn’t the last time he’d see Forge.
The corridor housing the solitary cells was thick with smoke, but not impassable. Sam’s cell was in the middle. At the far end was where the main fire burned, but the building and corridor were constructed of metal and stone. “There’s nothing here to burn,” Dean mumbled. Flames lapped along the walls, not climbing high to the ceiling as normal.
This was no ordinary fire.
Dean stopped at his brother’s cell, pounding one fist against it. “Sammy!” He jerked the small window open and looked inside.
Sam appeared on the other side, swatting at the air next to his head he turned and snapped at the cell, “Get away. Dean? You’re not real. Are you real?”
“Yeah, Sammy, I’m real and I’m getting you out.”
“There’s a fire. Dean’s there’s a fire. Get out. Don’t burn, I can’t watch you burn.”
“No one is burning, Sam.” Dean set the shotgun against the wall and got the key in the lock and turned. Before he could crank down far enough on the latch to open the door shouting and the sound of footsteps hit him a split second before he was tackled and thrown down the corridor.
“Leave that scum to burn.” It was another of the guards Dean had seen with Sam during that first visit.
Bouncing off the floor, Dean went at the guard, swinging. Two prisoners appeared behind the guard. The fact the three appeared to be working together set Dean’s nerves on edge and a dozen alarms off in his head. Clasping both hands together, Dean swung, connecting with the guard’s face. He reeled backwards straight into the other two.
A few long strides and he was back at Sam’s door. His fingers barely brushed the latch when he was grabbed from behind and spun around. Dodging to the left he narrowly avoided a fist to the face. Surging forward he drove his knee into the man’s groin. The other inmate and guard were picking themselves off the floor. Dean ducked to the side and snatched the shotgun. Bringing it up he fired directly into the man’s middle.
The man staggered backwards but didn’t go down.
“Mother-crap!” Dean spat and ducked when the man came at him again. Fortunately Dean was faster; this was no vampire, it was a shapeshifter.
When the shifter’s fist connected with the solid metal door he doubled over, grabbed his fist and screamed, staggering away. Dean gave him a solid kick for good measure. The fire crept closer. Flames oozed along the walls. The smoke was thickening and the heat was rising despite the fact there was nothing to feed the fire other than the air around them.
The guard and other inmate came at him, forcing him farther from Sam’s cell. Shoved into the door of a cleaning closet between the cells Dean’s weight crashed through. Tangled in brooms and buckets, Dean struggled to get to his feet as one of the men advanced on him. Just as he reached out for Dean the man’s head arched back and he screamed.
Spinning around the man howled and moved forward. Sam, belt buckle in one hand charged him, shouting and swiping at his neck. His eyes were glassy and wild, his hair fanned across his forehead. If Dean didn’t know him, he’d be looking for a way to end the man he saw now. The buckle sliced through again and again until the man melted to the ground. Sam pounced, driving a thick wire into the man’s eye. The body jerked and jumped around for a few seconds before going still and shuddering into a puddle of foul smelling ooze.
Sam pocketed the belt buckle and had grabbed the shotgun, breaths coming in hard and jerky fits. He brought it up and spun around at the same time. Gun raised he glared at the two remaining men. “I might be crazy, but I’m not stupid and my big brother there,” he dipped his head to Dean, “he’s the best shot in the world and he taught me. I don’t miss.”
One of the men took a step forward and Sam fired blowing his head apart. Twisting on his heels he put the final man in his sights. He swatted at the air near his ear and cocked his head away from his own hand. “Shut up,” he whispered, “I don’t want to kill a person.” Looking the man in the eye Sam’s voice was small and uncertain. “Please, don’t make me.”
Flames snapped and snarled around the man’s feet. Holding his hands up he looked from Sam to the hall. Sucking in a breath he turned and ran.
Sam turned and looked at Dean, eyes wide, skin pale and he was trembling. Letting his hands drop to his sides he raised one shoulder and wiped at his ear with it. “Go away.” The crazed killer of a few seconds ago vanished, leaving a confused and frightened young man in its wake.
“Sam. There’s nothing there.” Dean moved forward slowly not sure how his brother would react.
“Are you here?” Sam took a few steps toward him. When Dean merely nodded Sam shoved the shotgun at him and threw both arms around Dean. Pressing his face to Dean’s neck a few deep, harsh sobs rolled out of him. Dean brought both arms up and held his brother tightly, rubbing his back a few times.
“We’ve got to get out of here, buddy.” Dean pulled away and looked Sam up and down.
Sam nodded and held up the belt buckle. “I didn’t lose it and I got these.” He dug pieces of wire strung together into the shape of a cross from his pocket. “The bed frame is iron.”
Patting the side of Sam’s head, Dean grinned. “That’s my boy.” He took Sam’s arm and moved by him. “Time to go.”
“Is there a demon here with us, right now?”
Dean looked back at his brother and shook his head. “No.”
Offering him an anemic smile Sam’s shoulders sagged and he relaxed. “Good. I don’t like her and kept telling her to leave me alone. She says knows Satan and Abaddon.”
Having no idea what to do with that information, or how to react and doubting it was even real and not imagined Dean nodded and tightened his grip on Sam’s arm. The middle of a prison riot where some of the gangs were vampires and shapeshifters and the entire place was in flames wasn’t the time or place to sort out what Sam said. He’d worry about it later when they were out and safe.
Giving Sam a gentle tug, Dean picked up speed. Sam offered no resistance, running alongside Dean. The fire followed, snapping and nipping at their heels like some hellish terrier. Twice it skirted around them, driving them in a direction Dean didn’t want to go. It forced them to another section of the prison.
Here there were cells, three floors of them. All the doors were open and groups of men were fighting, some armed with makeshift weapons. Again, Dean saw tattoos on their arms. He could pick out three distinct designs. He and Sam kept to the wall, inching along, so far unnoticed by any of the inmates.
“If we can get through there,” Sam pointed to an entrance, the gate was swinging open. “It leads to the showers and mess, we can get to the yard from there.” The fingers of his other hand closed around Dean’s forearm, gripping hard enough it made Dean want to pull away.
He ignored the pain and patted Sam’s arm. “Okay. Stay close.”
The fire reached into the central area of the cell block forcing the men to scatter. Dean took that minute of distraction to bolt toward the loosely swinging gate and corridor beyond. He wondered, not for the first time, what sort of cosmic force thought it was so damn funny to lock him up somewhere with a panic stricken brother terrified of fire.
Sam’s harsh breathing closed in even more and Dean felt his brother press against his back. He didn’t have to look back to know the flames were too close. Sam’s fear also gave him some sixth sense when it came to fire. He seemed to know from the heat produced exactly how far a fire was from him. Sam was pressing Dean to go faster and get farther from this fire, that was obvious.
Gunfire cracked on the opposite side of the cell block as they ducked through the gate and into the corridor. When Dean stopped and twisted on his heels Sam took the hint and was one step ahead of him, pulling the gate closed.
Sam took one of the wire crosses and jammed it into the lock. “That won’t hold forever, but it’ll keep this closed and maybe no one will try opening it.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Dean muttered, not convinced but it wasn’t a useless ploy either. Turning them and going in the direction Sam pointed out they’d gone maybe a dozen yards when flames leapt from the floor. Throwing his free arm over his face, Dean skittered back, shoving Sam behind him and forcing him back a few steps.
“Dean,” Sam hissed and sidestepped, turning far enough Dean was forced to look behind him. More flames had come through the entrance gate and were slithering along the walls then the floor. They crisscrossed, creating a barrier between the brothers and the gate. Sam’s grip clamped down even more. He shuddered and pulled in a ragged breath. The fingers of his other hand curled in Dean’s shirt and he whispered one word. “Abaddon.”
Dean turned away from the gate. Standing in front of them, hands folded placidly in front of him and a small smile on his face was a man. The flames swirled around him forming a vortex with him as the center, but they didn’t touch him.
The same man who’d been in a picture taken over a hundred years before. Dean had seen his picture in the prison security camera feed.
“Dean. Sam. It’s about time. I’ve been waiting.” This was who Dean had identified as Weasel.
Chapter 9