True north- Dean
“Nooo!” the other green-glowing man shouted.
The sound of his voice brought Dean around to see the man change direction. He was now running full speed away from Sam and toward him. Aware of their presence now, and before the second green guy could get more than a few steps, Sam was on him.
Then he wasn't.
With little more than a glance, Green Guy sent Sam sailing through the air. He flew several feet and when he landed, the sound of air rushing from his lungs filled the forest. Momentarily forgetting about Dean, Green Guy stood over Sam, a foot raised with the clear intent of finishing him off.
“Sam!”
Sam was too far away and Dean knew he’d never make it in time. He glanced at his wrists. Flesh cut neatly across veins, blood trickling out with each beat of his heart. Still, he had to try. Fear for Sam’s life wouldn’t allow him not to.
It wasn’t exactly running. Weakness assailed his limbs- he moved in what felt like slow motion. Coming to terms with his inability to make it in time, he flipped the knife in his palm and prepared to throw. Willing his hands to work, hoping his aim would fly true-
Green Guy snarled something, Dean was too far away to hear, and the boot came down toward Sam’s face.
Knife raised, Dean’s feet went suddenly out from under him.
At first Dean thought it was the blood loss; some odd sense of weightlessness due to weakness. Or that it was all in his head. The ground falling away from his feet couldn’t possibly be happening. Then it got worse.
Things started cart-wheeling. The world tipped, tilted and spun, top over bottom time after time. His stomach wanted to rebel but gravity’s constant reorientation made it hard pressed to figure out how and where. He thought he might have to-
His back and head collided with something solid and every thing stopped, even the rush of air in his lungs.
Dazed from the impact, sparks ignited behind his eyes. Nausea grew, warring with the fight to stay conscious until Dean lost all sense of what was happening for a couple of seconds. He had no idea how long it took before he managed to force his eyes open; things slid every direction and images blurred before sliding into place. When they did, he realized two things with sickening clarity…
First, only one type of being had the power to toss a man like that -he looked down- and keep him suspended several inches above the ground without ever touch him.
And two, not ten feet away, Michael stood near the green guy Dean had knifed. Feet braced, shoulders tense, he looked decidedly un-Michael-like and he was staring daggers at him. Everything about his posture sent alarms ringing.
Oh, and he had the knife gripped in his right hand, tight with intent.
Awesome.
“M-Michael?” Dean stammered.
Michael looked down at the dead man. “This was my brother you killed,” he glanced up at Dean, “you bastard!” he yelled, voice full of rage.
This was definitely not Michael. Well, it was but at the same time, not. This was a much angrier, scarier version of Michael. And worse, he stood over the body of something evil, defending its right to exist, hands balled into fists, threatening and-
Brother. “Sam...” Dean whispered frantically and darted his eyes over.
“I’m alright!” Sam called back but paid quickly for his reply. A swift kick to his side sent him curling in on himself. Green Guy smirked down at him and drew his foot back to deliver another.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouted and tried in vain to pull free. But the power did not wane.
The green guy nodded at Dean. “Let'm go, Marty,” he seethed and notched his chin higher, nose flaring. “I wanna crack at 'im.”
Not-Michael spun on the other man. “You had but one job to do,” he shouted, “One job! And now Jack's gone!” He pointed in warning. “Just… stay put and keep an eye on that one. And Jack, I need him alive, and preferably without damaged internals, aye?”
Jack looked petulantly at his brother. “Aye,” he finally answered. Obviously disappointed, he lowered his leg but stayed close to the younger Winchester, keeping him in check.
Marty. The name clicked in Dean’s head, pages of an old file mixing with half-bitten words from a silent ghost. Martin Bowe.
“Don’t get too comfy there, Winchester,” Martin walked around his dead brother and came to stand in front of Dean. “Your brother over there isn’t out of the woods yet.” He looked around him a second. “Literally.”
“You know who I am?” Dean growled. This was getting worse by the minute.
“Oh, yes,” Martin moved around the corpse of his brother. “I know exactly who you are. Don’t think I could ever forget you, after all, I bear your mark.” Martin pulled up the bottom of his sweater, revealing flesh and the outline of bone and-- “Things gettin’ clearer for you now?”
Dean’s eyes widened. Overwhelmed, he slammed his eyes shut and looked away.
It was his mark. Always in the same spot, just below the sternum. The mark he’d personally carved into all the souls given him under Alastair’s tutelage. The signature he’d perfected on those he’d sacrificed for his own cowardice. Those who’d paid for his weakness. The shameful reminder of how he’d broken in Hell, choosing to avoid further pain and willingly dammed others to endure more of the same. At his own hand.
“Memory’s a bitch, ain’t it?” Martin hissed. “Open your eyes, Dean.”
At a loss for words, Dean merely ignored him. The tree bark scraped up his back as he felt himself moving down. “No,” he shook his head, “no, please.” Something grabbed his chin, felt his head tugged front and center.
“Open’m or I’ll let Jack start cuttin’ into yer brother. Jack here prefers guns, but knives... well, he’s no you, but he’s still really good enough with’m.”
“No!” Dean’s eyes flew open. The truth of what he was dealing with stared back at him, black eyes washing out any semblance of color. He met the demon's eyes with glib acceptance.
“Ah, yer not surprised, I see,” Martin teased.
“You're Martin Bowe,” Dean growled.
“Bravo,” he grinned. “And this,” he looked at the dead body, “is- was my-” his voice faltered a bit as his gaze lingered on the fallen body. “My brother, Jim.” Martin looked at Dean once more. “You killed him...”
“Fine,” Dean shook his head vehemently, he had to stop this. “This was my fault. I killed your brother. I made you into this. It was me. So kill me, but let him go,” he nodded toward Sam. “This wasn’t his fault, just mine. I did th- that to you. Let him go. Please.”
Martin shook his head. “Really?” he looked down in mocked disappointment. “Begging, Dean? Tsk, tsk, tsk... how the mighty have fallen, eh?” He ran one hand down the side of Dean’s neck. “Sorry, no can do.” He strode lightly away, back turned to Dean.
“Why the hell not!?” Dean all but shouted, desperation filling his heart, constricting his chest. Suddenly it all made sense. The ritual site, the bodies, the way that green-tainted man had felt flesh and blood beneath Dean’s blade even though he had died over a century ago... “The sacrifices,” the last part clicked. “You were using those kids to resurrect your brothers.”
But if Martin was already done, why the hell the cat and mouse chase with him and Sam around the island? Why not just kill them? All those ghosts… their focus… “You need me for something, don’t you? The spell, it… it needs something more.”
“Ah, but it’s not always about you Dean.” he thought a moment. “Well, it is, but it’s about yer brother too. He’s got an important role to play in this.”
Six kids… four Bowe brothers. Dean wasn’t really sure how that math worked. Dean shook his head in confusion. “What? Why?”
“Well, for one, he’s your brother - an eye fer an eye, an all that.” He looked back to where Jack kept watch over Sam. “And another,” he shrugged, “I’m tired o’waitin’. I want to look in the mirror and see me again.”
Six weren’t enough… Martin needed more, Dean suddenly figured. Him, Sam and Michael.
Not if he could help it.
“Plenty of bodies in the world,” Dean commented, his voice masking worry for the demon’s current host. He could only hope Michael was okay in there. “How about a donkey? I think you’d look great in gray.” Dean gasped, feeling the air in his lungs leave in a single rush of air. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe.
“Mind yer manners, Dean or I lose my temper and I finish bleedin’ you now, rather than later.”
Just like that, the pressure lifted and Dean gulped in air. Gasping, still stuck to the tree. Panting as if he’d run five miles. “Why,” he whispered, “why wait?”
Martin seemed to smile, a truly happy smile. “Ah, the brilliance of my plan, you see. I’m going to possess your body, give you a front row seat to the final two sacrifices. More than that, let you see through your own eyes as you plunge the knife into your own brother’s heart. Then into Michael’s.”
“You mean-” Dean struggled to breath and talk. “You mean Michael’s still alive?”
“Oh yes, alive and screaming. I have to smack him around a bit every now and then to get him to calm down, but he’s in here,” he tapped on his head. “Even now, not too happy.”
“So you used Michael to lure me here? That it?” Dean asked.
Martin sighed. “May surprise you t’know that in the beginning, this weren’t about you. I didn’t even know you were topside.” He moved away, staring off at his brother Jack. “This was about bringing us all back, give us our bodies and make them stronger, more powerful. Make it so no one would ever touch us again.” His eyes closed, a shadow of pain passing over his features. “Didn’t know ‘til Will just... dissolved.”
Dean huffed. “Lemme guess, you didn’t read the fine print.”
“Didn’t get the chance.” he turned and stared blankly at Dean. “Alastair’s men came and took me away to meet his latest, greatest new apprentice.”
Dean swallowed. Images flashed inside his mind. Knives. Entrails. Screaming. Blood. Souls, begging for mercy. Cutting. Slashing. Darkness.
Dean blinked, forcing the memories back. “Wow,” he deadpanned, “so, now you’re down two brothers. Good for our side.”
“Oh, that’s rich.” Martin spun, his face clouded with disgust. “After Will died, I wanted to make sure that never happen’ again, so I went lookin’ fer answers. Blood of an angel, I was told, or of someone touched by one. And who do I know that was personally plucked from Hell by those bastards?” Martin asked the empty air. “None other than Alastair’s prize pupil, golden boy!” he huffed in disdain.
Dean swallowed. He desperately wanted to change the subject. He knew the whole ‘touched by an angel’ crap would come to bite him in the ass eventually. “How long have you been in him?”
“Not long. Bloody fool came here looking for his friends when the police blew him off.” He looked down at his hands, the hands of a stranger.
“So you possessed him instead? Why?”
“Ye’know…” Martin wagged a finger at him. “Since ye'r on yer way to the void an' all, I’m gonna educate you a bit. So's ya don’t die stupid,” he said with a toothy smile. “Dealing with the unnatural, it leaves a mark on you. The more powerful the being, the deeper the brand. Yer pal here… he was just a shinny beacon in the dark, all marred by that filthy Shtriga a few years back. Ya know, all those years down the-”
Whatever Martin was about to say, was cut off as his brother’s shout of panic caught his attention.
Three ghosts were darting in, out and around him and he swatted at them, anxiously. “Get'm off me!” he bellowed, swinging at the empty air.
“What the hell...” Martin muttered. “Quit playin’ around with those things!” he shouted.
“Not--” Jack danced away from one, only to have the other pass through him. “Not playin! Somethin’s wrong. I can’t make’m st-stop! An- and they hurt!”
Dean squinted. For a moment he thought he was seeing things. But the more Jack jumped around, the more he could see them. Small but powerful bursts of energy.
They flared bright and hot seconds before shooting through Jack, surrounding him, darting through him. One, then the other, then one more. After passing through him, they seemed to fan out, regroup and darting through him again. It was like … multiple spirit energies working as one.
The ghosts were combining their energies!
“Dammit,” Martin growled and just as he lifted his hand to try and put a stop to them, a small cluster of pure energy attacked him from behind. It surprised Dean as much as it had Martin. More than that, after that group passed, another flared and followed. Dean had to close his eyes to keep the bright light from blinding him.
When he opened them, Martin wasn’t nearly as close as he’d been before. Covered in mud, leaves, pine needles and various sticks, he was several feet away; obviously carried and dropped. Dean would’ve laughed but the familiar sight of the ghost from the unmarked grave site took all the joy of the moment. While the others tormented the Bowes, she stood close, too close. Staring up at him.
Pinned to the tree like a helpless insect, all he could do was stare back. “Why don't you go join your friends, huh?” he attempted to deflect. “They’re having fun!”
It was valid try, but a cold fist twisted inside his gut as Dean saw another ghost appeared next to her and also staring at him. Dean swallowed. This newest ghost, wasn’t big; he was enormous. Maybe bigger than Sam.
Dean’s eyes darted from one to the other, the sense of dread turning to true concern. “Ah c’mon... seriously?” he whined and who could blame him? Already having had two encounters with the woman and both leaving him less than stable, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to a third.
While the other spirits tormented the Bowes, Dean watched as the right side of the woman’s face creepily inched up into some kind of macabre attempt at a smile. She opened her mouth and tipped her head back. The tree to which Dean was pinned began to shake mightily. Every bush and tree around him started swaying violently.
“Oh shit...” Dean mumbled and squinted as the world around him started to swirl. The sound was practically deafening; he likened it to being trapped in a hurricane.
The male ghost looked at the woman and vaulted sideways, their spirits combining, a bright light sparking. Despite wanting to see what happened next, Dean was forced to close his eyes. Besides, he had a pretty good guess about what would happened next. “You realize this is non-consensual, right?” he shouted.
The light charged forward and Dean’s back arched off the tree trunk. He probably screamed but couldn’t be sure; the world went too black for sound.
~o~
Dean woke slowly and a few things became abundantly clear in his otherwise fuzzy mind. One, he was face down on the wet, soggy ground, his head pounded while his stomach roiled incessantly. Second, he had no idea how he’d gotten there, and worse, where he’d come from.
Instinct told him to get moving but for the life of him he couldn’t think why it mattered, or how he was going to manage it. His muscles shook uncontrollably and it was a struggle just to open his eyes.
Whispers rode a sudden cold breeze. The hair on the back of his neck rose as the chilled wind skittered across his flesh.
“Go.. go.. go..” A stronger gust flushed across his body and the whispers grew intense. “Now!”
Dean finally managed to open his eyes. Though she was little more than a faded image now, the woman from the unmarked graves stood a few feet away, her energy flickering in and out, clearly lacking strength and form. Her face looked haggard and worn.
Memory came rushing back; Michael. A tree biting into his back. Green glowing Jack, and... No. Not Michael; Martin. And...
“Sam!” Dean growled. He had to find Sam. Bracing trembling hands on the ground, he pushed himself up.
“C’mon, Dean,” Martin’s voice echoed around him, bouncing off the surrounding trees. Too close. “You can’t get away from me. Show yourself and I might go easy...”
“Shit,” Dean hissed and scrambled to his feet. Well, that was the intent, instead he landed on his belly again, this time the latter chose that moment to roll angrily and the world shivered out of focus. He blinked several times to get it back in clear view.
There was a large copse of dense brush five yards to his left and this time, Dean didn’t risk trying to conquer gravity. This time, he settled for crawling, watching his hands as if he saw them from a distance. Shaking and moving in slow motion, measured movements to keep from collapsing again.
One ghost riding his ass had been bad enough, but two...? This case sucked balls.
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