The Man in the Dark Chapter 7/10
So I'm still not sure how long this fic is going to be. At least a few more chapters. Things really heat up in this chapter and, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I think this is the best chapter so far. I had a dry spell there for a while, but I'm pretty sure that I got back into the swing of things with this one. So I hope you enjoy.
Also, if you guys come check out my journal, you can see the pretty picture I made for my header. :) I'm proud, hehehe.
Summary: Sam deals with the knowledge that his brother's taken a life and the brothers' worlds get turned totally upside down.
Chapter Seven
Confessions were something Sam had never liked. He liked knowing the truth, but to confess something meant that someone had been keeping it a secret. Someone had spent years keeping their thoughts locked away. Some had thought the truth to be so horrible that to say it out loud would be instant condemnation. And in most cases, that was true. In most cases when confessions were spat out under pressing circumstances, the truth was not something pretty. But this. Dean’s confession. This was beyond not being pretty. This was beyond being ugly, grotesque, hideous. This was at a point that Sam didn’t even know a word for. It was a sharp smack to his soul, to his heart, to his childhood and everything he’d believed to be true about his brother. This confession had Sam struggling to hold the pieces of his shattered image of his brother together.
“You killed him?” Sam whispered back, his voice soft, weak, innocent. Sam was suddenly five years old again. Please, Dean, please just get a band-aid and make this all better. This hurts too much.
Dean’s chest puffed a little and he didn’t smile as he said, “You hard of hearing?”
“You killed another human being?” Sam asked a little louder, eyes wide, watching Dean and pleading with him to say it wasn’t so, to say that he did not just admit to something Sam had always held as his number one moral value in life. They were hunters, but they were not killers. “Another living human being?” Sam reiterated.
No smart comment. No jibe, no deterrent, no denial. Just something simple. A simple statement like a knife in the back.
“Yeah.”
The silence was almost deafening. Sam was distantly aware that they were still being stalked by the wraith, but part of him had already accepted that this monster was probably listening, probably letting this conversation happen, letting the truth come out. And though he should have cared that they were playing by the wraith’s rules, he found that he didn’t. He found that he didn’t give a shit about the wraith he knew was watching. All he cared about was the man standing across from him, the brother standing so defiantly, the killer standing there confessing.
But how could Dean be a killer? How in God’s name could Dean, the guy who would give up his life for someone else in a heartbeat, be a killer? Killers were supposed to be creepy lunatics who didn’t care about anything but getting their jollies on while watching their victims die. That wasn’t Dean. Was it? Dean had always been into the hunt. He’d always taken pleasure in putting a bullet into a ghoul, did he now find pleasure in putting a bullet into a person? Into a living, breathing, scared, confused person? Had his joy for the hunt transformed into something Sam had never thought possible?
“Look, Sammy, hate me later,” Dean said, his eyes going to Cecily, who had made her way over to him and was now tugging on his jeans. He smiled down at her. “We have to get her out of here. We can talk morals in the car.”
“How’d you kill him?” Sam asked, watching as Dean’s confident posture faltered for a split second. But Dean straightened again.
“I put a bullet in his head,” Dean said coldly, though his eyes were shining.
Sam shook his head. “Dean…”
“What do you want me to say?” Dean suddenly yelled, the anger in his voice surprising Sam slightly and making him flinch. Dean’s eyes were blazing with such a strong intensity that Sam almost looked away. But he held his gaze. “Do you want to hear that it was an accident? Do you want to hear that I had no intention of killing him? Because I did!” Dean’s voice rose another notch and Sam wondered if his brother wasn’t just yelling at him, but yelling to be heard by what was watching them. “I did, Sammy, I aimed my .45 at his head and I pulled the fucking trigger. I killed him. I took someone else’s life.”
And the initial shock suddenly evaporated out of Sam’s system as he heard his brother’s voice break. Sam’s eyes softened a little as Dean leaned down and picked up Cecily. The girl instantly laid her head against his chest. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
Dean ran a hand over her hair and reached up to take the protection charm from around his neck. Sam had an instant of panic and betrayal course through him but when Dean put it around Cecily’s neck, Sam fought back those thoughts. Dean had never taken that charm off. Sam had been the one to give it to him. “This will keep you safe,” Dean whispered back to her, smiling warmly. She looked up at him with such wide, scared eyes, and clutched at his shirt for dear life. Her hero the killer. But there was something more to it, Sam could tell. He could tell by the way Dean’s eyes were shining with tears that shouldn’t be there. He could tell by the way his brother had brought up all his defenses and still Sam could see through them.
No, there had to be a reason why Dean would take another person’s life. Look at him. Letting a little girl cling to him, shushing her and telling her everything will be all right, trying to keep everyone alive, trying to keep everyone happy, trying to keep everything from falling apart around him. Why? Why would he kill someone? And Sam needed to know the answer so badly that he voice the question out loud.
“Why?” Sam’s said so softly. Pain flashed across Dean’s face, but Sam was relentless. He needed to know. He needed to understand. This was Dean. He needed to be reminded.
Dean’s eyes lingered on him a moment before they fell to Cecily, who sense he was looking at her and turned her eyes up towards him. A sad smile crossed his face. “It was either him or me and the five guys caught in the room with us.” Dean’s eyes came back up to meet Sam. “When a guy shatters all the windows and a thousand pieces of glass are flying through the air at a hundred miles an hour, you don’t have much of a choice, Sammy.” Dean’s voice wasn’t like anything Sam had heard before. There were no masks holding behind the raw emotion there and Sam knew that Dean only took down those masks, only let people in, when he needed reassurance, when he needed to be told that he did the right thing.
Since the beginning, since that first night his father had placed a gun in his hand and started to teach him the tricks of the trade of hunting, Sam had always enforced it within himself that human lives came first and foremost. The number one rules in Sam’s Guide to Being Human: never take another human life. And Sam had lived by that rule for his entire life, on every hunt he’d ever been on. No ifs, ands, or buts. It was black and white, there was no gray, no amendments to be made.
Until now.
Until his brother stood in front of him with eyes so open, so clear, so genuinely lost that immediately the little Congressmen inside Sam’s head started working to amend his personal constitution. And there was no question whether it would pass or not. Because, though Sam had never believed anything could possibly change his mind, there was no ignored rule number two of Sam’s Guide to Being Human: Brothers, no matter what they do, will always be brothers. In order to appease rule number two, Sam was going to have to make some exceptions. And he was willing to do so. For Dean. Because his brother needed it. Because they both needed it.
But Sam wasn’t able to tell Dean this as the air around them suddenly grew darker. Dean’s eyes widened and he whispered a quick, “Shit,” before he jerked his head back in the direction of the hall. Sam nodded and the two took off at a run simultaneously down the hall. Dean held Cecily to his side with one arm and had the shotgun ready with the other. Sam was carrying the duffel bag now, the journal still tucked into the back of his pants. He wished that he could suddenly harness whatever power lay inside his head and learn the entire Aramaic language in the next couple of seconds. Because both Sam and Dean knew that they weren’t getting out of this one that easily.
As if to prove them right, Sam felt a force knock into him and the next thin he knew, he was flying sideways, through an open door. He heard Dean yell his name. Sam landed on his butt, leaning up against the wall, knocking over a shelf which spilled its contents onto the floor with a loud clatter. Sam shook his head slightly to clear it and then looked up. Dean was running towards him, but the door slammed shut in his face, leaving Sam alone inside the room. Sam felt his breathing hitch as Dean pounded on the door. This wasn’t good.
Sam realized suddenly that the electricity was on. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, casting a yellow glow around the room. It wasn’t darker than it should have been. That was a good sign, right? Then, Sam noticed that this room wasn’t just another office. His heart sped up as he saw runes and symbols drawn on all four walls and the door. Candles and pictures and journals lined the shelves. Just like in Jeremy’s bedroom. “Not good,” Sam whispered under his breath as he pushed himself up.
“Sammy!” Dean was screaming from the other side of the door. He sounded panicked. “I swear to God if you hurt him Genie I’ll kill you again you stupid psychotic bitch!” Sam fought back the warmth he felt inside him at the words. Only in their family would those words mean so much. “Sam! Answer me!”
“Dean,” Sam said, coming over to the door, but keeping his eyes on the room as if the wraith would pop out of one of the walls any minute. “I’m okay,” he said loudly so his brother could hear him.
“Thank God,” Sam heard Dean mutter something he was sure Cecily shouldn’t be hearing. Then his brother spoke up again. “Can you open the door?”
Sam reached down to try and, as hard as he pushed, the door would not open. “No, it’s stuck.”
“Is he in there with you?”
“No, he’s not here,” Sam answered, looking around the room again, just to be sure. His eyes suddenly fell on one of the journals that lay open on a shelf. He walked over to it and frowned as he saw the bloody fingerprints on either side of it. But then his eyes widened as he realized what was written there. It was the counter verse in Aramaic. The one they needed for the exorcism. What the hell? Sam thought for sure this must be a trick. This was a dream. When he’d been thrown in the room, he had hit his head and now was dreaming. That had to be the answer. It couldn’t possibly this easy. Why would the wraith throw him into a room that held its own destruction?
Sam heard Dean started to rattle the door again. “Stand back,” he yelled from outside. “I’m gonna kick it in.” Sam didn’t say anything as he heard Dean shoot a handgun at the handle of the door and then try to kick it. He hardly noticed as Dean cursed loudly when the door didn’t budge. Sam’s eyes were on the runes on the walls. There was something different about them, something that wasn’t right. He recognized them.
Then it hit him. It hit him so hard Sam nearly lost his breath. He dug the journal out and started flipping through the pages. He found what he was looking for and looked back up at the runes. His eyes went wide and he swore as he turned and went back to the door, hearing Dean still trying to kick it in with no avail. All of his previous doubt about his brother was immediately forgotten. Now he just wanted to get out of here.
“Dean!” Sam yelled.
“Hang on, Sammy!” Dean yelled back, thinking Sam was in trouble. Sam could hear the panic in his voice again.
“No, Dean, listen to me,” Sam demanded and the kicking on the door stopped. “There are runes on the walls inside this room. They’re the same as what are in Jeremy’s journal.”
“Is that where they brought him back?” Dean asked, sounding as if he were leaning against the door so he could hear him.
“Yeah, but that’s not all,” Sam answered but paused as he heard Cecily start to say something. He couldn’t hear her soft voice through the door. “Dean?” Sam asked, worried now. This wasn’t good. This definitely wasn’t good. They needed to get this door open. Now.
“Sam?” Dean called back.
“Dean, the runes on the walls are protections runes,” Sam said. Dean was quiet so Sam went on. “His journal says Jeremy tried to get rid of the spirit once they brought it back. They had to have come back to this room, but they couldn’t have done that if the wraith could just come in and get them. I think this was their safe room. The wraith can’t come in here.”
There was silence for a minute and Sam’s eyes frantically moved back and forth around the room. Finally, Dean spoke up. “What does that mean, Sam?” Dean asked slowly, but it was evident his brother already knew what that implied.
“He’s not trying to keep me in, Dean,” Sam said. “He’s trying to keep you out.”
***
On the other side of the door, Dean froze. His hands were flat against the door, his forehead centimeters away from touching the cool metal. His chest was heaving, out of breath from trying to get his brother out of the room. He’d wanted to get him out of there so badly. If Genie did anything to Sam, Dean didn’t know what he’d do. There’d be hell to pay, that was for sure. Hell and a few other things. But now, all Dean wanted was for this door to stay shut. He didn’t want it to move until this was over. Until either the wraith was dead or had moved on. Because as soon as Sam had told him the purpose of the closed door, that the main goal was to keep Dean out, a light had clicked on in Dean’s head and a light had gone out in the hallway.
That, coupled with Cecily’s incoherent cries that the man in the dark was angry, made Dean realize that this wasn’t about Sam. The dreams, the confessions, the whole being dragged through a winery and then thrown into a room, it was never about Sam. The wraith wasn’t after his little brother, he didn’t want to kill the one good thing Dean had left in life. At least, not with his own hand.
Because as Dean’s eyes turned to the side and his ears took in the sharp gasp and following shrill scream of terror escape from Cecily, he knew that this was, and always had been, about him. And not just his brutal and torturous death. Not just about Dean’s blood being smeared on the walls and every sin he’d ever committed being paid back by a thousand lashes to his soul. Not just about taking Dean’s life to avenge the one he killed. No, it was never about that. As the wispy black smoke hand settled on his arm, Dean became painfully aware that Genie had no intention of killing him. He had no intention of ending it all with one swift flick of his blade. Genie had other things in mind and as Dean’s eyes rose to meet the dark billowy ones staring at him from behind the face he’d recognized at first glance, he caught sight of the entire plan, of the entire revenge, of the entire horrible, gut wrenching idea and all Dean wanted to do was put the handgun he’d thrown to the ground into his mouth and pull the trigger as many times as he could.
And Dean wished he could lock the door closed for all eternity. And he wished he could wipe his memory clean of Cecily and teleport her to a place he didn’t know and be able to tell himself that he’d never heard the name Cecily Fiesher or Sam or John Winchester or Cassie or Carol or Missouri or every other person that had ever meant something to him in even the smallest of ways. Because as the wraith lifted it’s hand and put it to Dean’s face, as it pushed its presence into his head, into his soul, into his being, as it entered into him and he screamed with the pain of every wound he’d ever sustained, physically and mentally, Dean knew that everyone he cared about would die. And it wouldn’t be at the hands of Genie. It would be Dean with the knife in his hand. It would be Dean with the malice in his eyes. It would be Dean with the blood on his clothes, on his skin, on his soul and when it was all over, Genie would leave and Dean would be surrounded by the corpses of his loved ones and know that he was the one who killed them. And then no gun in the world would be able to take away his pain.
***
Sam heard Cecily scream and his heart sped up. Sam heard Dean scream and his heart stopped. His mind started reeling and he began to pound his fists against the door, ignoring the pain in his fingers and the bloody marks he was leaving behind. No, no, no, no. Stop screaming. Everyone stop screaming. Dean stop screaming. Fight it. Fight him. You killed him before you better fucking kill him again you bastard. I don’t care. I don’t care if you kill a hundred people if it means you’ll be safe, be alive, come back to me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I doubted you!
“Dean!” Sam screamed out loud, his own voice wavering as Dean’s scream was suddenly cut off and he heard something hit the door forcefully and then fall to the ground. He heard his brother grunting and moaning and whimpering. “No! Dean!” Sam screamed again. Then it all went quiet and Sam felt tears sting at his eyes. No, what had it done to him? What had that fucking thing done to his brother? Please don’t be dead.
Knowing there was nothing he could do to get the door open, Sam dashed back to the journal on the shelf and picked it up, looking at the counter verse while he fumbled with one hand to extract the holy water from the duffel bag. And as soon as he had both in his hands, the door swung open and Sam jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. And then Sam knew fear like he’d never known it before.
Dean stood just outside the doorway, Cecily in his arms, her small body squirming, tears staining her face pink. A knife was held to her throat, her quivering lower jaw making it leave small, thin cuts on her neck. Dean’s cold, black eyes stared back at Sam and the smile on his face was foreign. This was a stranger. And when he spoke, it was Dean’s voice, but it wasn’t his brother.
“Can Sammy come out and play?”
Go to Chapter Eight
Also, if you guys come check out my journal, you can see the pretty picture I made for my header. :) I'm proud, hehehe.
Summary: Sam deals with the knowledge that his brother's taken a life and the brothers' worlds get turned totally upside down.
Chapter Seven
Confessions were something Sam had never liked. He liked knowing the truth, but to confess something meant that someone had been keeping it a secret. Someone had spent years keeping their thoughts locked away. Some had thought the truth to be so horrible that to say it out loud would be instant condemnation. And in most cases, that was true. In most cases when confessions were spat out under pressing circumstances, the truth was not something pretty. But this. Dean’s confession. This was beyond not being pretty. This was beyond being ugly, grotesque, hideous. This was at a point that Sam didn’t even know a word for. It was a sharp smack to his soul, to his heart, to his childhood and everything he’d believed to be true about his brother. This confession had Sam struggling to hold the pieces of his shattered image of his brother together.
“You killed him?” Sam whispered back, his voice soft, weak, innocent. Sam was suddenly five years old again. Please, Dean, please just get a band-aid and make this all better. This hurts too much.
Dean’s chest puffed a little and he didn’t smile as he said, “You hard of hearing?”
“You killed another human being?” Sam asked a little louder, eyes wide, watching Dean and pleading with him to say it wasn’t so, to say that he did not just admit to something Sam had always held as his number one moral value in life. They were hunters, but they were not killers. “Another living human being?” Sam reiterated.
No smart comment. No jibe, no deterrent, no denial. Just something simple. A simple statement like a knife in the back.
“Yeah.”
The silence was almost deafening. Sam was distantly aware that they were still being stalked by the wraith, but part of him had already accepted that this monster was probably listening, probably letting this conversation happen, letting the truth come out. And though he should have cared that they were playing by the wraith’s rules, he found that he didn’t. He found that he didn’t give a shit about the wraith he knew was watching. All he cared about was the man standing across from him, the brother standing so defiantly, the killer standing there confessing.
But how could Dean be a killer? How in God’s name could Dean, the guy who would give up his life for someone else in a heartbeat, be a killer? Killers were supposed to be creepy lunatics who didn’t care about anything but getting their jollies on while watching their victims die. That wasn’t Dean. Was it? Dean had always been into the hunt. He’d always taken pleasure in putting a bullet into a ghoul, did he now find pleasure in putting a bullet into a person? Into a living, breathing, scared, confused person? Had his joy for the hunt transformed into something Sam had never thought possible?
“Look, Sammy, hate me later,” Dean said, his eyes going to Cecily, who had made her way over to him and was now tugging on his jeans. He smiled down at her. “We have to get her out of here. We can talk morals in the car.”
“How’d you kill him?” Sam asked, watching as Dean’s confident posture faltered for a split second. But Dean straightened again.
“I put a bullet in his head,” Dean said coldly, though his eyes were shining.
Sam shook his head. “Dean…”
“What do you want me to say?” Dean suddenly yelled, the anger in his voice surprising Sam slightly and making him flinch. Dean’s eyes were blazing with such a strong intensity that Sam almost looked away. But he held his gaze. “Do you want to hear that it was an accident? Do you want to hear that I had no intention of killing him? Because I did!” Dean’s voice rose another notch and Sam wondered if his brother wasn’t just yelling at him, but yelling to be heard by what was watching them. “I did, Sammy, I aimed my .45 at his head and I pulled the fucking trigger. I killed him. I took someone else’s life.”
And the initial shock suddenly evaporated out of Sam’s system as he heard his brother’s voice break. Sam’s eyes softened a little as Dean leaned down and picked up Cecily. The girl instantly laid her head against his chest. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
Dean ran a hand over her hair and reached up to take the protection charm from around his neck. Sam had an instant of panic and betrayal course through him but when Dean put it around Cecily’s neck, Sam fought back those thoughts. Dean had never taken that charm off. Sam had been the one to give it to him. “This will keep you safe,” Dean whispered back to her, smiling warmly. She looked up at him with such wide, scared eyes, and clutched at his shirt for dear life. Her hero the killer. But there was something more to it, Sam could tell. He could tell by the way Dean’s eyes were shining with tears that shouldn’t be there. He could tell by the way his brother had brought up all his defenses and still Sam could see through them.
No, there had to be a reason why Dean would take another person’s life. Look at him. Letting a little girl cling to him, shushing her and telling her everything will be all right, trying to keep everyone alive, trying to keep everyone happy, trying to keep everything from falling apart around him. Why? Why would he kill someone? And Sam needed to know the answer so badly that he voice the question out loud.
“Why?” Sam’s said so softly. Pain flashed across Dean’s face, but Sam was relentless. He needed to know. He needed to understand. This was Dean. He needed to be reminded.
Dean’s eyes lingered on him a moment before they fell to Cecily, who sense he was looking at her and turned her eyes up towards him. A sad smile crossed his face. “It was either him or me and the five guys caught in the room with us.” Dean’s eyes came back up to meet Sam. “When a guy shatters all the windows and a thousand pieces of glass are flying through the air at a hundred miles an hour, you don’t have much of a choice, Sammy.” Dean’s voice wasn’t like anything Sam had heard before. There were no masks holding behind the raw emotion there and Sam knew that Dean only took down those masks, only let people in, when he needed reassurance, when he needed to be told that he did the right thing.
Since the beginning, since that first night his father had placed a gun in his hand and started to teach him the tricks of the trade of hunting, Sam had always enforced it within himself that human lives came first and foremost. The number one rules in Sam’s Guide to Being Human: never take another human life. And Sam had lived by that rule for his entire life, on every hunt he’d ever been on. No ifs, ands, or buts. It was black and white, there was no gray, no amendments to be made.
Until now.
Until his brother stood in front of him with eyes so open, so clear, so genuinely lost that immediately the little Congressmen inside Sam’s head started working to amend his personal constitution. And there was no question whether it would pass or not. Because, though Sam had never believed anything could possibly change his mind, there was no ignored rule number two of Sam’s Guide to Being Human: Brothers, no matter what they do, will always be brothers. In order to appease rule number two, Sam was going to have to make some exceptions. And he was willing to do so. For Dean. Because his brother needed it. Because they both needed it.
But Sam wasn’t able to tell Dean this as the air around them suddenly grew darker. Dean’s eyes widened and he whispered a quick, “Shit,” before he jerked his head back in the direction of the hall. Sam nodded and the two took off at a run simultaneously down the hall. Dean held Cecily to his side with one arm and had the shotgun ready with the other. Sam was carrying the duffel bag now, the journal still tucked into the back of his pants. He wished that he could suddenly harness whatever power lay inside his head and learn the entire Aramaic language in the next couple of seconds. Because both Sam and Dean knew that they weren’t getting out of this one that easily.
As if to prove them right, Sam felt a force knock into him and the next thin he knew, he was flying sideways, through an open door. He heard Dean yell his name. Sam landed on his butt, leaning up against the wall, knocking over a shelf which spilled its contents onto the floor with a loud clatter. Sam shook his head slightly to clear it and then looked up. Dean was running towards him, but the door slammed shut in his face, leaving Sam alone inside the room. Sam felt his breathing hitch as Dean pounded on the door. This wasn’t good.
Sam realized suddenly that the electricity was on. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, casting a yellow glow around the room. It wasn’t darker than it should have been. That was a good sign, right? Then, Sam noticed that this room wasn’t just another office. His heart sped up as he saw runes and symbols drawn on all four walls and the door. Candles and pictures and journals lined the shelves. Just like in Jeremy’s bedroom. “Not good,” Sam whispered under his breath as he pushed himself up.
“Sammy!” Dean was screaming from the other side of the door. He sounded panicked. “I swear to God if you hurt him Genie I’ll kill you again you stupid psychotic bitch!” Sam fought back the warmth he felt inside him at the words. Only in their family would those words mean so much. “Sam! Answer me!”
“Dean,” Sam said, coming over to the door, but keeping his eyes on the room as if the wraith would pop out of one of the walls any minute. “I’m okay,” he said loudly so his brother could hear him.
“Thank God,” Sam heard Dean mutter something he was sure Cecily shouldn’t be hearing. Then his brother spoke up again. “Can you open the door?”
Sam reached down to try and, as hard as he pushed, the door would not open. “No, it’s stuck.”
“Is he in there with you?”
“No, he’s not here,” Sam answered, looking around the room again, just to be sure. His eyes suddenly fell on one of the journals that lay open on a shelf. He walked over to it and frowned as he saw the bloody fingerprints on either side of it. But then his eyes widened as he realized what was written there. It was the counter verse in Aramaic. The one they needed for the exorcism. What the hell? Sam thought for sure this must be a trick. This was a dream. When he’d been thrown in the room, he had hit his head and now was dreaming. That had to be the answer. It couldn’t possibly this easy. Why would the wraith throw him into a room that held its own destruction?
Sam heard Dean started to rattle the door again. “Stand back,” he yelled from outside. “I’m gonna kick it in.” Sam didn’t say anything as he heard Dean shoot a handgun at the handle of the door and then try to kick it. He hardly noticed as Dean cursed loudly when the door didn’t budge. Sam’s eyes were on the runes on the walls. There was something different about them, something that wasn’t right. He recognized them.
Then it hit him. It hit him so hard Sam nearly lost his breath. He dug the journal out and started flipping through the pages. He found what he was looking for and looked back up at the runes. His eyes went wide and he swore as he turned and went back to the door, hearing Dean still trying to kick it in with no avail. All of his previous doubt about his brother was immediately forgotten. Now he just wanted to get out of here.
“Dean!” Sam yelled.
“Hang on, Sammy!” Dean yelled back, thinking Sam was in trouble. Sam could hear the panic in his voice again.
“No, Dean, listen to me,” Sam demanded and the kicking on the door stopped. “There are runes on the walls inside this room. They’re the same as what are in Jeremy’s journal.”
“Is that where they brought him back?” Dean asked, sounding as if he were leaning against the door so he could hear him.
“Yeah, but that’s not all,” Sam answered but paused as he heard Cecily start to say something. He couldn’t hear her soft voice through the door. “Dean?” Sam asked, worried now. This wasn’t good. This definitely wasn’t good. They needed to get this door open. Now.
“Sam?” Dean called back.
“Dean, the runes on the walls are protections runes,” Sam said. Dean was quiet so Sam went on. “His journal says Jeremy tried to get rid of the spirit once they brought it back. They had to have come back to this room, but they couldn’t have done that if the wraith could just come in and get them. I think this was their safe room. The wraith can’t come in here.”
There was silence for a minute and Sam’s eyes frantically moved back and forth around the room. Finally, Dean spoke up. “What does that mean, Sam?” Dean asked slowly, but it was evident his brother already knew what that implied.
“He’s not trying to keep me in, Dean,” Sam said. “He’s trying to keep you out.”
***
On the other side of the door, Dean froze. His hands were flat against the door, his forehead centimeters away from touching the cool metal. His chest was heaving, out of breath from trying to get his brother out of the room. He’d wanted to get him out of there so badly. If Genie did anything to Sam, Dean didn’t know what he’d do. There’d be hell to pay, that was for sure. Hell and a few other things. But now, all Dean wanted was for this door to stay shut. He didn’t want it to move until this was over. Until either the wraith was dead or had moved on. Because as soon as Sam had told him the purpose of the closed door, that the main goal was to keep Dean out, a light had clicked on in Dean’s head and a light had gone out in the hallway.
That, coupled with Cecily’s incoherent cries that the man in the dark was angry, made Dean realize that this wasn’t about Sam. The dreams, the confessions, the whole being dragged through a winery and then thrown into a room, it was never about Sam. The wraith wasn’t after his little brother, he didn’t want to kill the one good thing Dean had left in life. At least, not with his own hand.
Because as Dean’s eyes turned to the side and his ears took in the sharp gasp and following shrill scream of terror escape from Cecily, he knew that this was, and always had been, about him. And not just his brutal and torturous death. Not just about Dean’s blood being smeared on the walls and every sin he’d ever committed being paid back by a thousand lashes to his soul. Not just about taking Dean’s life to avenge the one he killed. No, it was never about that. As the wispy black smoke hand settled on his arm, Dean became painfully aware that Genie had no intention of killing him. He had no intention of ending it all with one swift flick of his blade. Genie had other things in mind and as Dean’s eyes rose to meet the dark billowy ones staring at him from behind the face he’d recognized at first glance, he caught sight of the entire plan, of the entire revenge, of the entire horrible, gut wrenching idea and all Dean wanted to do was put the handgun he’d thrown to the ground into his mouth and pull the trigger as many times as he could.
And Dean wished he could lock the door closed for all eternity. And he wished he could wipe his memory clean of Cecily and teleport her to a place he didn’t know and be able to tell himself that he’d never heard the name Cecily Fiesher or Sam or John Winchester or Cassie or Carol or Missouri or every other person that had ever meant something to him in even the smallest of ways. Because as the wraith lifted it’s hand and put it to Dean’s face, as it pushed its presence into his head, into his soul, into his being, as it entered into him and he screamed with the pain of every wound he’d ever sustained, physically and mentally, Dean knew that everyone he cared about would die. And it wouldn’t be at the hands of Genie. It would be Dean with the knife in his hand. It would be Dean with the malice in his eyes. It would be Dean with the blood on his clothes, on his skin, on his soul and when it was all over, Genie would leave and Dean would be surrounded by the corpses of his loved ones and know that he was the one who killed them. And then no gun in the world would be able to take away his pain.
***
Sam heard Cecily scream and his heart sped up. Sam heard Dean scream and his heart stopped. His mind started reeling and he began to pound his fists against the door, ignoring the pain in his fingers and the bloody marks he was leaving behind. No, no, no, no. Stop screaming. Everyone stop screaming. Dean stop screaming. Fight it. Fight him. You killed him before you better fucking kill him again you bastard. I don’t care. I don’t care if you kill a hundred people if it means you’ll be safe, be alive, come back to me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I doubted you!
“Dean!” Sam screamed out loud, his own voice wavering as Dean’s scream was suddenly cut off and he heard something hit the door forcefully and then fall to the ground. He heard his brother grunting and moaning and whimpering. “No! Dean!” Sam screamed again. Then it all went quiet and Sam felt tears sting at his eyes. No, what had it done to him? What had that fucking thing done to his brother? Please don’t be dead.
Knowing there was nothing he could do to get the door open, Sam dashed back to the journal on the shelf and picked it up, looking at the counter verse while he fumbled with one hand to extract the holy water from the duffel bag. And as soon as he had both in his hands, the door swung open and Sam jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. And then Sam knew fear like he’d never known it before.
Dean stood just outside the doorway, Cecily in his arms, her small body squirming, tears staining her face pink. A knife was held to her throat, her quivering lower jaw making it leave small, thin cuts on her neck. Dean’s cold, black eyes stared back at Sam and the smile on his face was foreign. This was a stranger. And when he spoke, it was Dean’s voice, but it wasn’t his brother.
“Can Sammy come out and play?”
Go to Chapter Eight