To Die in Love's Embrace Chapter 5
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"Dean!" Sam shouted, fear on his face and Dean wanted to comfort him. He wanted to tell Sam that everything was alright but his body wouldn't cooperate. He felt himself slipping sideways and the last thing he saw were the feet of his brother before he closed his eyes and floated away.
CHAPTER 5
Sam slid to a stop on the bridge, dropping to his knees in a panic. "Dean! Dean!" Sam took his big brothers face in his hands. He could see Dean breathing heavily but he was unconscious and bleeding. Sam looked warily around them but the Banshee was still out of it, at least for the moment. He jumped to his feet and ran to the railing of the bridge to look over and nearly fell to his knees in relief when he saw his father on the ground below, rather than in the water. Panic ripped through him then. Dad was not moving, unsettlingly still on the dirt below.
"Sa…Sammy." Dean's weak voice spun Sam around and he sprinted back to his brother.
"Dean? Are you ok?" Fear made Sam's voice crack, tears threatening to fall.
"I'm awesome." Dean managed breathily through the pain burning into his shoulder. His eyes rolled, making him nauseous as Sam stripped off his T shirt.
"This is gonna h-hurt. I'm sorry." Sam folded his shirt carefully and waited until Dean gave him a short nod.
"Do it. Then we gotta find Dad."
Sam placed the shirt over the stab wound and pressed. He leaned into it even as Dean cursed and writhed once, moaning and then crying out. "I'm sorry." Sam said again.
"S'okay S-Sammy." Dean hissed between his teeth and fought the blackness that tried to claim him again. "Dad?"
"Under the bridge." Sam eased up and lifted the corner of his shirt to see if the bleeding had stopped. "It's still bleeding, Dean."
"Yeah but it's slowed." Dean gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, clapping a hand to the makeshift bandage. "It's ok, Sammy. We need to get Dad. Help me up." It was awkward, his much shorter brother trying to get him to his feet and Dean spent several moments on reaching his feet just holding on to Sam while the blackness assaulted him in waves, trying to take him down once more.
"Dean?" Sam's scared voice brought him back and he forced himself to smile.
"It's ok, little brother. I'm ok. Come on." Dean turned them both toward the road and started shuffling, using Sam's shoulder more as a crutch since he couldn't exactly lean down on him. Sam kept hold of his shotgun. He swallowed against the fear and worry as he felt warm drops hitting his bare shoulder. Dean's elbow dug into his shoulder and his sore left arm didn't want to hold the gun up properly but he forced it up.
"Damn bridge…didn't keep her away. What the hell?" Dean grumbled, slurring lightly as they stepped from metal to earth.
"She was floating." Sam looked up, startled by the paleness of his brothers usually tan face. "Her feet weren't touching anything."
"Not…fair." Dean looked down the incline to the water below and could just see his father over the tall weeds. He blew out a breath and leaned more heavily on Sam as they started down.
"Dad?" Sam called out, hoping to get a response. There was nothing.
"Sammy!" Dean gasped and turned him toward the bridge.
Sam turned to see the Banshee had returned and was now floating toward them. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger. At the same moment, a force slammed into Dean and knocked him from his feet to plant face first into the hill with a grunt.
Sam's shot slid just past her as Dean fell and threw his aim off. "Dean!" Sam aimed again and froze, looking up at her. She changed before his eyes. Her red hair bled to blonde. She thinned and grew taller, the angles of her face softening. Her now full lips pulled into a gentle smile as her arms reached slowly out to him.
"Sammy." Her voice breathed, slithered on the night air to his ears and he shivered.
"No." Sam said softly. The woman before him was one he had only seen in pictures, had no conscious memory of and even as he ached to be held by her he knew it was a trick and felt tears slide from his eyes. "You're not her." He pulled the trigger as she neared and gasped at the sound as the visage of his dead mother vanished in a burst of light and rock salt. He shook himself and turned to find his brother. Dean laid face down where he'd slid and as Sam reached him, he sobbed in a breath. Dean was out again.
Sam closed his eyes for a second and just breathed, trying to get the terror under control. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Dad and Dean were supposed to protect him; save him, not the other way around. He felt as though his world was falling apart. He opened his eyes and looked up the hill, knowing he'd never get his father and brother up the incline. They were simply too big.
"Make a decision, Sam." He told himself fiercely, his family's lives in his hands. Sam dropped the shotgun to the ground, ignoring it as it rolled away and took Dean beneath his arms. He turned him over and then dragged him down the hill. Even having the benefit of gravity, Sam's shoulders burned by the time they reached the bottom but he couldn't afford to stop and rest. At the bottom, he dragged Dean past their father's still form and under the bridge. Sam settled him as best he could, replacing his balled up, now blood-soaked shirt against Dean's shoulder then ran back to his father.
"Dad." Sam said, crying. He patted his father's cheek, then gave it a light slap but received not even a blink. He swallowed back the tears and took his father under his shoulders and began to drag him towards his brother. He left them side by side and then sprinted out from under the bridge and back up the hill. His time was growing short he knew. She'd be back soon and he needed to protect them.
Sam skidded around the side of the bridge and out onto its span, running to where his father's bag had fallen. He scooped it up and turned back, his lungs burning and ran back off the bridge. He slid down the last few feet of the hill, crying out as his bad arm was jarred and felt some of the stitches tear away but it didn't matter. He knew he had to be faster. He dropped the bag between his Dad and Dean and dug hastily through coming out with a large jug of salt. He popped the pour spout open and poured a hasty circle of salt quickly all around the older Winchesters. He made sure the line was thick and far enough from their arms and legs they couldn't accidentally break it. The jug empty, Sam dropped it and let it roll away, going to fall to his knees between them.
Fear shook his hands, made his breath hitch in his chest. He was so tired. His shoulders hurt and sagged, so sore from the dead weight as he'd dragged them, his wounded arm burning pain down into his fingers.
"Dad." Sam whispered over his father. "Dad, please. Wake up." He didn't and Sam bit his lip to hold back a helpless sob. He turned to his brother, his big brother who looked so young now. "Dean?" Sam tried not to think how much blood he'd lost, how much saturated the older boys shirt.
"Sammy." The voice, her voice whispered again and he slammed his eyes closed.
"No." Sam said, a tear sliding down his cheek. They were going to die, his dad and brother. They would die if he didn't get help. Sam looked up to the hulk of the old green, iron bridge above them and wished a car would appear but it was silent in the dark. Only the gentle lapping of the water in the canal beside them and Dean's labored breathing broke the night air.
Sam settled the ball of his shirt on Dean's shoulder more securely to control the bleeding. The welt on his father's forehead mocked him. There was nothing he could do for them without help. He needed to get help.
Sam stood and walked to the edge of the salt circle he'd hastily poured to protect his family. He cursed himself for leaving the shotgun on the hill and looked back at their still bodies. Dean would never have made such a fundamental mistake, he knew. He wished Dad would wake and tell him how stupid he'd been to leave it, to forget his only defense.
"I have to try." Sam said and swallowed the terror. He looked back out into the darkness and stepped outside the circle. He took only three steps.
"Sammy." Her voice came again, this time at his shoulder and he whimpered as a gentle hand touched his bare back. "My Sammy." His foot sank slightly in the ground and he felt something beneath his shoe. He looked; eyes widening to see what could only be a bone just protruding from the trodden soil. He could do nothing but his Dad and Dean, when they woke, they could finish it. He scrabbled his fingers at his left wrist and let his watch fall with a soft thump to the ground beside the bone.
"Come with me, Sammy. I need you. Please." The Banshees voice called to him and he wondered if that was really how his mother sounded; sad and loving all at once.
He looked up. He knew he shouldn't. Sam knew it was wrong but he couldn't stop his eyes from betraying him. He looked up as soft arms encircled his shoulders, shivered as cold began to seep into his skin. He looked up into his mother's face and knew he was lost.
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John Winchester groaned. He knew he should open his eyes but was loathe too. Pain ricocheted back and forth through his skull and he could feel nausea waiting in the wings to have its say. Memory nagged at him as he breathed in the scent of night air and water; listened to the gentle lapping of water as it tried to lull him back to sleep.
He was forgetting something; something important. There were flashes of a motel room, a diner, red hair, his sons teasing each other in the car, a forested road, a bridge…
"SAM!" John's eyes flew open. "Dean!" He remembered. The Banshee had come for them. Sam had tried to warn them. He turned his head, swallowing the nausea that threatened to swamp him and then rolled to his knees while the ground spun beneath him. He breathed through it, refusing to pass out with his blood covered son beside him. "Dean! Answer me, son." John took Dean's pale face in his hand and checked his shoulder. He pulled aside the blood soaked shirt and gasped, recognizing it as Sam's.
"Sammy!" He shouted and looked around for the first time. His mind was still in fragments, trying to order itself around the pain in his head. Sam was nowhere in sight. They lay beneath the hulk of the bridge inside a salt circle and John could see it was ringed with Sam's footprints. "Sam! Dammit you answer me!" He waited to hear his youngest's voice and felt his chest squeeze with fear when no answer came.
He went back to Dean and hissed in sympathy when he found a stab wound beneath the blood. Sam's shirt had done its job. The bleeding was nearly stopped. "Dean." John slapped his face gently. "Wake up, son." He slapped his son's face a little more firmly. "Sammy needs us, son. Time to wake up." Please wake up, he said silently to himself.
As if he'd said the magic word, Dean moaned. His head rolled into his father's hand and his eyes cracked open.
"D-Dad?" Dean's voice was weak and he hated that. He looked up at his father, saw the welt across his forehead and remembered seeing him laying frighteningly still below the bridge. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dad…you okay?"
John gave a short, pained laugh. "I'm fine. I've had worse knocks on the head from better spirits."
"Sammy!" Dean yelled suddenly and launched himself upright. Only his fathers arm behind his shoulders kept him from falling back. "Dad! Sam saved us! The Banshee…that bitch was coming back!"
"Ok, ok Dean." John settled his eldest back to the ground. Fresh blood was beginning to seep from the wound. "Lay still, Dean." He ordered as Dean struggled to sit back up.
"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, near frantic. "Dad where is he? We gotta find him!"
"We will, son." John pulled his duffel over, beyond relieved to find it there and pulled out the First Aid kit. "We're not going anywhere until we get you patched up."
"I'm good." Dean argued. He could hardly breathe through the fear of knowing Sam was missing. "Dad he wouldn't just leave us. Please!" His father held him down with a hand to his chest.
"Dean!" John said forcefully, relieved when his son's eyes snapped up to his. "You're not going to do Sam any good if you bleed to death trying to find him." Dean's eyes blazed up at him with rebellion for a moment more before he finally relaxed into the ground. "Good. I'm gonna stitch this up and put a pressure bandage on it." John said as he pulled a metal whiskey flask from his pocket. It was dented from his trip over the bridge. "I need to sterilize the wound. This is gonna hurt, Son."
Dean let his eyes close, more upset than he could describe hearing his father echo his brother. "Sammy." Dean said softly and cried out as the whiskey burned into his shoulder.
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Sam shivered where he sat against a tree beside the canal, the rough bark biting into his bare back. He had expected to die. The Banshee had carried him, untroubled by his size, as though he were a small child. The cold of the grave had seeped into his back and arms as she held him close. Pain began to pound through his head with every frosted breath that escaped his lips. She had spoken softly to him. Hearing his name on her lips with his mother's face disturbed him on a visceral level. He wanted his Dad and he wanted to crawl in Dean's lap like he had as a small child and feel safe. He didn't feel thirteen just then. He felt more like five and desperately wanted his big brother to come scare away the monsters.
She stood over him now just looking at him. He was so cold. He could see the blue tint to his skin. Sam tried to rub feeling back into his arms with sluggish hands but it was pointless so long as she stayed near him. It was eighty degrees at least, a true warm summer night but he couldn't feel it. The Banshee brought her own winter with her.
She reached a hand out to him again, running it through his hair then freezing fingers down the skin of his chest. The cold seeped deeper into him and Sam couldn't find the energy to move away.
"My Sammy." She whispered in her otherworldly voice.
"I'm n-not…your Sammy." He said again for the hundredth time. "You…are not…my Mom." Sam worked to keep his voice strong, his words clear. She didn't seem to hear him and brushed her hands down his arms. She cupped the side of his face in frigid fingers and made him wince with pain.
"My darling boy."
"K-Kaz." Sam stuttered, his mind fogging with cold. The hands on his face stilled. "You're her m-mom." Sam forced his eyes to stay open to look at the face inches from his own. "Kaz."
The Banshee released his face. She straightened, frowning down at him. His mother's face began to slowly change, her hair bleeding back to red.
"Kaz." Sam said again and fought the cold that wanted to eat him.
The Banshee's eyes widened and she threw her head back in a scream. Sam flinched as the sound pierced into his splitting head. A moment later he was flying through the air, tossed like a rag doll by a ghost who no longer confused him for her son. Sam had only a moment to suck a frantic breath into his frozen body before he hit the warm water and sank into the Erie Canal.
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Dean jerked back from the semi-unconsciousness that had claimed him as a strange scream broke the still of the night. "Dad?" He asked and John shook his head.
"Almost done." John bent back to Dean's shoulder and started the last stitch. He knew what that scream must be from the descriptions Sam had read to them. The question that made his hands shake and the breath stop in his throat was 'why now?'
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