Vengeance Is Mine 9/?
Title: Vengeance is Mine
Genre: gen, h/c
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence,
Characters: Sam, Dean/OFC,
Chapter word count: 2165
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can lay no claims to the sexy boys. =( Just having fun with them.
~*~*~
Turning on his heel, his long legs carried him up the stairs as his urgent voice preceded him. "Dean! Dean the Impala's gone! Dean!"
He burst into Blanche's bedroom just in time to throw himself to the floor as Blanche's gun went off. The bullet narrowly missed him and buried itself deep in the wood of the doorframe.
"Sam!" Blanche sat upright, sheets clutched to her chest, gun still pointed in his direction. "What are you doing? I almost shot you!"
Sam stared ashen at the bullet hole where his head had been only seconds earlier. "I'm looking for Dean," he explained slowly, then scrambled up, glancing around wildly. "Where's Dean?" His breath escaped him as he charged across the room and flung open the bathroom door.
"Blanche, where's Dean?" he repeated, crossing to the bed and grabbing her shoulders, shaking fiercely.
"I don't know!" Blanche exclaimed, laying down her pistol and pushing Sam away. She looked blankly at he empty space on the bed beside her. "He was here earlier." Her eyes fell on the laptop on the side table and she leaned across the bed to pull it towards her, exposing her bare back.
Sam's eyes were drawn to a particular large scar on her ribs, but then she was sitting up again and opening the laptop.
"He, woke up sometime earlier and was looking at this," Blanche informed Sam, turning the computer so he could se.
Sam leaned close and perched himself on the edge of the bed. Blanche made room for him and they both studied the screen intently.
Several pages were open and appeared to be overlapped intentionally so that only the first few lines of each one were visible. Sam narrowed his eyes in thought, focusing quietly for several minutes, Blanche resting her chin on his shoulder as she looked as well.
Without warning Blanche gasped and scrambled to her knees, forgetting she was naked. "Dean figured out who's next," she gasped and Sam caught the sheet before it slipped.
"Who?" he demanded and Blanche's finger touched the screen, causing a little blue-green star of color.
"Madeline Proctor. See, her name is on the top page, and all the ones behind it are in order of death, most recent to the first victim. And see this window minimized down here? He pulled up directions to her house. She doesn't live very far from here."
Sam jolted off the bed and looked down at Blanche in horror.
"Blanche, it's almost dawn," he pointed out. "And he's there alone. Idiot! Why didn't he wake us?"
He strode toward the door but turned back as Blanche squealed his name. Sam caught her as her legs tangled in the sheets as she tried to follow him and set her upright.
"Get dressed quickly," he ordered and she nodded wide-eyed as he ran to his own room.
Blanche's thoughts whirled as she threw off the sheets and shoved her longs legs into a pair of cargos. Why had Dean left without waking them?
She got her arm stuck on the long sleeve of a gray and blue flannel and growled in frustration. Tearing her arm free she pushed it back in correctly, tripping over her laces as she shuffled into her boots while tucking her gun onto the waistband of her pants, in the small of her back.
She buttoned the shirt as she ran, meeting Sam in his doorway as he pulled a tee over his head, tugging it into place over his chest.
"Come on!" He grabbed her hand and they tore down the stairs and out the front door. The rain instantly drenched them to the skin and Blanche tripped on her laces again going down the steps. Sam steadied her and they slogged toward the truck.
"You drive," Blanche shouted over the thunder but Sam shook her head, floppy hair sticking wetly to his head, as he shoved her up into the drivers seat.
"You can get us there faster," he argued. "Just tie your boots."
Blanche's fingers flew as Sam slid into the cab and in seconds the keys were turning in the ignitions and the windshield wipers were going full blast.
Chunks of sopping grass and mud and gravel shot from the back tires as Blanche shoved the chevy into drive and tore down the driveway.
The storm seem to intensify as they sped toward Dean. The truck slewed from side to side on the treacherous terrain but Blanche fought the vehicle into submission and in minutes they were on asphalt and breaking the laws of motions.
Sam had his phone pressed against his ear, futilely trying to check his voicemail.
"Dean called three times," he informed Blanche over the rain pounding down the truck, and Blanche drove faster.
"He shouldn't have left in the first place," Sam muttered, trying to squelch the sick feeling in his stomach. "he should have woken me."
Blanche's throat was too tight to speak so she only nodded and fought to keep the truck on the road as they skidded around a sharp curve.
Sam tapped long fingers nervously on his leg and braced himself as they hit an enormous pool of water across the road.
The truck skidded in slow motion as the tires skimmed the waters surface, hydroplaning for several yards.
Blanche resisted the instinct to press the brake and instead floored the gas. The tires caught purchase on the pavement and they screeched on.
"How are we supposed to get the Rusalki's hair dry in this?" Blanche moaned and Sam looked grim.
"We'll have to get creative," Sam frowned. "Do you have an extra gas can in here by any chance?"
Blanche's eyes lit up as she instantly caught his train of thought. "Yes and there's a lighter in the glove box. So we molotov it?"
Sam nodded, digging the lighter from it's hiding place and tucking it in his jeans pocket. "Yeah. I just hope we're in time." He glanced at his watch. 7:35 am.
"Blanche we have less than five minutes!" Sam gasped out and Blanche threw him an anxious glance.
"We're almost there," she assured him, feeling less than confident. "Hurry, hurry," she murmured, jerking the truck onto a side road.
The sky was purpling with dawn as they screeched to a halt in front of a remote house.
Dean's Impala was parked beside the house and Sam flung himself from the truck, rushing to throw the trunk open, closing his fingers around a crowbar. Not knowing which weapon would fell the creature, he figured it best to try several.
Blanche was already advancing up the steps, gun cupped in her fists and gas can under her arm, whole body tense.
Sam followed on her heels and they darted to lean against the house on either side of the front door. They paused listening and looking at each other.
No sounds can from within and Sam glanced at his watch.
7:44.
His eyes darkened and in a quick movement he'd kicked the door open and rushed in, Blanche on his heels.
The room was a disaster. Tipped and broken furniture littered the wooden floor, shouting of a struggle.
Blanche nudged Sam and pointed with his gun to the left side of the room.
A pair of legs were visible on the other side of the topped couch and Sam felt guilty at the rush of relief that flooded him at seeing it was a woman.
Not Dean.
Blanche switched her gun to her left hand and gently laid her fingers against the supine woman's neck, feeling for a pulse.
"She's alive," she said, looking up to Sam but he wasn't there.
Clambering to her feet, she set down the gas can and gun and struggled to right the couch. Scooping the woman up, she deposited her carefully on the cushions and retrieved her weapons.
Sam had moved on when Blanche knelt beside the woman. Gun ready, he eased into the kitchen. Clear. Then into the dining room. Clear.
And then he heard it: a hollow thud, followed by a another quieter one. Whirling, her crept down the hall in the directions of the sounds.
A slight splash and dampness in his shoes caused him to look down at the dark puddle around his feet. Water. And it wasn't from him.
His head shot up and in two seconds the closed door in front of him was kicked open and he stumbled to a halt on the threshold, a broken cry bursting from his lips.
"Dean!"
Dean was slumped against the left wall, legs crumpled under him, arms limply at his sides and his head lolling to one side.
Sam's breath caught and stuck in his throat and all the strength left his legs. He fell weakly to his knees, feeling as if he'd been gutted.
Dean's bright blood coated his neck and was steadily flowing down his chest. He feebly attempted to raise his hand but couldn't.
"Sammy," he whispered, firelight from across the room flickering in his green eyes, dull and filled with pain. "Look out."
And then Sam saw her. She was standing in the far corner of the room, the light from the flames sputtering in the fireplace playing over her.
She was wet, standing in a pool of water, her long dark hair clinging to her flimsy clothes.
But what Sam noticed the most was her face. Cold and calculating, and stained with blood around her mouth.
Dean's blood.
The wave of fury that swept over Sam shot life back into his numbed limbs and he surged to his feet with a fearsome yell. The gun flashed in his hand: one, two three four.
Jenny's body jerked with each short but she remained upright, water instead of blood spurting off her where the shotgun pellets struck her. Sam stared as she fixed him in her icy gaze and spoke.
"Do not interfere," she ordered, eyes narrowing as he charged her. the crowbar swung, sliced through air and suddenly Sam was pinned against the wall, face first, his gun knocked from his hand and clattering uselessly to the wet floor.
He struggled but it felt as if he'd been cemented against the wall. His feet felt like chunks of lead and he couldn't separate himself from the wallpaper.
"Dean! Dean!" he shouted, and struggled fruitlessly, feeling the pressure mounting against his body, feeling his ribcage protest against the invisible force crushing him.
Sam groaned and strained, gasping as the pain tore through him.
"Dean," he gasped again, horror-stricken gaze fixed on his brother's inert form. There was so much blood. So much.
There was a sudden blast and Sam choked in a rush of hair, his crushed lungs aching in relief as the pressure was abruptly relieved.
His lanky body sagged to the floor and his heavy eyes fell on Blanche, standing in the doorway with a shotgun in her hand.
Blanche pumped rounds of rock salt into Jenny before switching to her pistol, emptying her entire clip into the Rusalki.
"Sam! It's not working!" Blanche's voice was high with strain as she drew her knife and hurled it across the room to bury it in Jenny's back as she simultaneously tossed Sam the shotgun he's dropped in the doorway.
Before Sam even knew what was happening, he was clawing at the invisible force crushing his body up the wall until his head bumped the ceiling.
Jenny stood, watching silently as Sam's long legs flailed and jerked inches from her.
Sam threw a desperate look at Blanche and kicked a leg toward Dean, indicating his plight. There was blood everywhere, so much of it that Blanche was sickened. There was no way Dean could survive this. If he wasn't already dead.
Sam choked and gasped as Jenny tilted her head and his insides constricted painfully. He gasped and gagged, blood trickling from his lips, painstakingly keeping his eyes away from his brother.
The Rusalki was completely focused on Sam now and Blanche knew that if she was going to save Dean, she'd better do it now.
Straining incredibly, Sam managed to keep his grip on the shotgun and angle it toward the young water spirit. The blast broke the strangling hold and Sam hit the floor hard, groaning as the awkward impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
Jenny seemed to ignore Blanche's presence as she grabbed Sam and slammed him against the wall again.
"I know your little girlfriend is trying to save him," she whispered in Sam's ear, her icy cold, wet hands on the sides of his face sending deep chills to his very bones. "It doesn't matter. She can't save him." Jenny smiled, blood stained teeth sickening him and he gagged.
"Don't worry. I'll fix her too, after I take care of you." Jenny nodded. "He shouldn't have tried to save that murderer in the other room. She deserves to die. And anyone who would help him, deserves to die too."
Chapter 10
Genre: gen, h/c
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence,
Characters: Sam, Dean/OFC,
Chapter word count: 2165
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can lay no claims to the sexy boys. =( Just having fun with them.
~*~*~
Turning on his heel, his long legs carried him up the stairs as his urgent voice preceded him. "Dean! Dean the Impala's gone! Dean!"
He burst into Blanche's bedroom just in time to throw himself to the floor as Blanche's gun went off. The bullet narrowly missed him and buried itself deep in the wood of the doorframe.
"Sam!" Blanche sat upright, sheets clutched to her chest, gun still pointed in his direction. "What are you doing? I almost shot you!"
Sam stared ashen at the bullet hole where his head had been only seconds earlier. "I'm looking for Dean," he explained slowly, then scrambled up, glancing around wildly. "Where's Dean?" His breath escaped him as he charged across the room and flung open the bathroom door.
"Blanche, where's Dean?" he repeated, crossing to the bed and grabbing her shoulders, shaking fiercely.
"I don't know!" Blanche exclaimed, laying down her pistol and pushing Sam away. She looked blankly at he empty space on the bed beside her. "He was here earlier." Her eyes fell on the laptop on the side table and she leaned across the bed to pull it towards her, exposing her bare back.
Sam's eyes were drawn to a particular large scar on her ribs, but then she was sitting up again and opening the laptop.
"He, woke up sometime earlier and was looking at this," Blanche informed Sam, turning the computer so he could se.
Sam leaned close and perched himself on the edge of the bed. Blanche made room for him and they both studied the screen intently.
Several pages were open and appeared to be overlapped intentionally so that only the first few lines of each one were visible. Sam narrowed his eyes in thought, focusing quietly for several minutes, Blanche resting her chin on his shoulder as she looked as well.
Without warning Blanche gasped and scrambled to her knees, forgetting she was naked. "Dean figured out who's next," she gasped and Sam caught the sheet before it slipped.
"Who?" he demanded and Blanche's finger touched the screen, causing a little blue-green star of color.
"Madeline Proctor. See, her name is on the top page, and all the ones behind it are in order of death, most recent to the first victim. And see this window minimized down here? He pulled up directions to her house. She doesn't live very far from here."
Sam jolted off the bed and looked down at Blanche in horror.
"Blanche, it's almost dawn," he pointed out. "And he's there alone. Idiot! Why didn't he wake us?"
He strode toward the door but turned back as Blanche squealed his name. Sam caught her as her legs tangled in the sheets as she tried to follow him and set her upright.
"Get dressed quickly," he ordered and she nodded wide-eyed as he ran to his own room.
Blanche's thoughts whirled as she threw off the sheets and shoved her longs legs into a pair of cargos. Why had Dean left without waking them?
She got her arm stuck on the long sleeve of a gray and blue flannel and growled in frustration. Tearing her arm free she pushed it back in correctly, tripping over her laces as she shuffled into her boots while tucking her gun onto the waistband of her pants, in the small of her back.
She buttoned the shirt as she ran, meeting Sam in his doorway as he pulled a tee over his head, tugging it into place over his chest.
"Come on!" He grabbed her hand and they tore down the stairs and out the front door. The rain instantly drenched them to the skin and Blanche tripped on her laces again going down the steps. Sam steadied her and they slogged toward the truck.
"You drive," Blanche shouted over the thunder but Sam shook her head, floppy hair sticking wetly to his head, as he shoved her up into the drivers seat.
"You can get us there faster," he argued. "Just tie your boots."
Blanche's fingers flew as Sam slid into the cab and in seconds the keys were turning in the ignitions and the windshield wipers were going full blast.
Chunks of sopping grass and mud and gravel shot from the back tires as Blanche shoved the chevy into drive and tore down the driveway.
The storm seem to intensify as they sped toward Dean. The truck slewed from side to side on the treacherous terrain but Blanche fought the vehicle into submission and in minutes they were on asphalt and breaking the laws of motions.
Sam had his phone pressed against his ear, futilely trying to check his voicemail.
"Dean called three times," he informed Blanche over the rain pounding down the truck, and Blanche drove faster.
"He shouldn't have left in the first place," Sam muttered, trying to squelch the sick feeling in his stomach. "he should have woken me."
Blanche's throat was too tight to speak so she only nodded and fought to keep the truck on the road as they skidded around a sharp curve.
Sam tapped long fingers nervously on his leg and braced himself as they hit an enormous pool of water across the road.
The truck skidded in slow motion as the tires skimmed the waters surface, hydroplaning for several yards.
Blanche resisted the instinct to press the brake and instead floored the gas. The tires caught purchase on the pavement and they screeched on.
"How are we supposed to get the Rusalki's hair dry in this?" Blanche moaned and Sam looked grim.
"We'll have to get creative," Sam frowned. "Do you have an extra gas can in here by any chance?"
Blanche's eyes lit up as she instantly caught his train of thought. "Yes and there's a lighter in the glove box. So we molotov it?"
Sam nodded, digging the lighter from it's hiding place and tucking it in his jeans pocket. "Yeah. I just hope we're in time." He glanced at his watch. 7:35 am.
"Blanche we have less than five minutes!" Sam gasped out and Blanche threw him an anxious glance.
"We're almost there," she assured him, feeling less than confident. "Hurry, hurry," she murmured, jerking the truck onto a side road.
The sky was purpling with dawn as they screeched to a halt in front of a remote house.
Dean's Impala was parked beside the house and Sam flung himself from the truck, rushing to throw the trunk open, closing his fingers around a crowbar. Not knowing which weapon would fell the creature, he figured it best to try several.
Blanche was already advancing up the steps, gun cupped in her fists and gas can under her arm, whole body tense.
Sam followed on her heels and they darted to lean against the house on either side of the front door. They paused listening and looking at each other.
No sounds can from within and Sam glanced at his watch.
7:44.
His eyes darkened and in a quick movement he'd kicked the door open and rushed in, Blanche on his heels.
The room was a disaster. Tipped and broken furniture littered the wooden floor, shouting of a struggle.
Blanche nudged Sam and pointed with his gun to the left side of the room.
A pair of legs were visible on the other side of the topped couch and Sam felt guilty at the rush of relief that flooded him at seeing it was a woman.
Not Dean.
Blanche switched her gun to her left hand and gently laid her fingers against the supine woman's neck, feeling for a pulse.
"She's alive," she said, looking up to Sam but he wasn't there.
Clambering to her feet, she set down the gas can and gun and struggled to right the couch. Scooping the woman up, she deposited her carefully on the cushions and retrieved her weapons.
Sam had moved on when Blanche knelt beside the woman. Gun ready, he eased into the kitchen. Clear. Then into the dining room. Clear.
And then he heard it: a hollow thud, followed by a another quieter one. Whirling, her crept down the hall in the directions of the sounds.
A slight splash and dampness in his shoes caused him to look down at the dark puddle around his feet. Water. And it wasn't from him.
His head shot up and in two seconds the closed door in front of him was kicked open and he stumbled to a halt on the threshold, a broken cry bursting from his lips.
"Dean!"
Dean was slumped against the left wall, legs crumpled under him, arms limply at his sides and his head lolling to one side.
Sam's breath caught and stuck in his throat and all the strength left his legs. He fell weakly to his knees, feeling as if he'd been gutted.
Dean's bright blood coated his neck and was steadily flowing down his chest. He feebly attempted to raise his hand but couldn't.
"Sammy," he whispered, firelight from across the room flickering in his green eyes, dull and filled with pain. "Look out."
And then Sam saw her. She was standing in the far corner of the room, the light from the flames sputtering in the fireplace playing over her.
She was wet, standing in a pool of water, her long dark hair clinging to her flimsy clothes.
But what Sam noticed the most was her face. Cold and calculating, and stained with blood around her mouth.
Dean's blood.
The wave of fury that swept over Sam shot life back into his numbed limbs and he surged to his feet with a fearsome yell. The gun flashed in his hand: one, two three four.
Jenny's body jerked with each short but she remained upright, water instead of blood spurting off her where the shotgun pellets struck her. Sam stared as she fixed him in her icy gaze and spoke.
"Do not interfere," she ordered, eyes narrowing as he charged her. the crowbar swung, sliced through air and suddenly Sam was pinned against the wall, face first, his gun knocked from his hand and clattering uselessly to the wet floor.
He struggled but it felt as if he'd been cemented against the wall. His feet felt like chunks of lead and he couldn't separate himself from the wallpaper.
"Dean! Dean!" he shouted, and struggled fruitlessly, feeling the pressure mounting against his body, feeling his ribcage protest against the invisible force crushing him.
Sam groaned and strained, gasping as the pain tore through him.
"Dean," he gasped again, horror-stricken gaze fixed on his brother's inert form. There was so much blood. So much.
There was a sudden blast and Sam choked in a rush of hair, his crushed lungs aching in relief as the pressure was abruptly relieved.
His lanky body sagged to the floor and his heavy eyes fell on Blanche, standing in the doorway with a shotgun in her hand.
Blanche pumped rounds of rock salt into Jenny before switching to her pistol, emptying her entire clip into the Rusalki.
"Sam! It's not working!" Blanche's voice was high with strain as she drew her knife and hurled it across the room to bury it in Jenny's back as she simultaneously tossed Sam the shotgun he's dropped in the doorway.
Before Sam even knew what was happening, he was clawing at the invisible force crushing his body up the wall until his head bumped the ceiling.
Jenny stood, watching silently as Sam's long legs flailed and jerked inches from her.
Sam threw a desperate look at Blanche and kicked a leg toward Dean, indicating his plight. There was blood everywhere, so much of it that Blanche was sickened. There was no way Dean could survive this. If he wasn't already dead.
Sam choked and gasped as Jenny tilted her head and his insides constricted painfully. He gasped and gagged, blood trickling from his lips, painstakingly keeping his eyes away from his brother.
The Rusalki was completely focused on Sam now and Blanche knew that if she was going to save Dean, she'd better do it now.
Straining incredibly, Sam managed to keep his grip on the shotgun and angle it toward the young water spirit. The blast broke the strangling hold and Sam hit the floor hard, groaning as the awkward impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
Jenny seemed to ignore Blanche's presence as she grabbed Sam and slammed him against the wall again.
"I know your little girlfriend is trying to save him," she whispered in Sam's ear, her icy cold, wet hands on the sides of his face sending deep chills to his very bones. "It doesn't matter. She can't save him." Jenny smiled, blood stained teeth sickening him and he gagged.
"Don't worry. I'll fix her too, after I take care of you." Jenny nodded. "He shouldn't have tried to save that murderer in the other room. She deserves to die. And anyone who would help him, deserves to die too."
Chapter 10