Dove's Heart 4/6
Title: Dove's Heart
Chapter Three: Doubt and Hurt
Author: fuu_43
Word Count: 4,130
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pre-Series. Sam goes missing and Dean and John struggle to find him. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving.
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Dean walked through the thick underbrush, hating the way the branches grabbed at his arms and legs. With each step they caught on his jacket and pants, pulling the fabric uncomfortably tight. He could feel them with every movement, closing around him and snapping beneath his boots. Picking his way over thick ropy roots, he inwardly cursed and struggled to keep his balance. The ground was uneven and covered in a thick layer of foliage that made it impossible to stay easily upright. He’d stumbled more times than he could count.
Glad that there was no one around to see him fumble and trip, he picked his way over a fallen log and wobbled momentarily before steadying himself. He was sure he looked no better than a new born calf making its first awkward steps.
Starting forward again, Dean maneuvered around two trees that had grown so close together they appeared to be one large dark mass. Branches twisted out from them and grew upwards in a shadowy mess that was impossible to discern in the dark. The trees surrounding him were old, tall and dark, with rough bark that seemed to cut into his skin like slivers of glass. The colors were bright and unnatural too, jewel toned and vivid even in the barely there light.
Everything about the forest was too much and he was getting tired of it. Dean didn’t even want to think of the strong scents that stained the air. The smell of grass and earth seemed to saturate everything, seemed to cling to everything. It made his nostrils burn; the scent of green was so substantial he could practically taste it.
He hated it, preferred the reek of old pizza and moldy hotel room.
Around him the air was quiet and Dean’s movements sounded like an avalanche to his straining ears. It was cold too. Not a biting cold, but a chilly breeze that had slowly worked its way underneath his coat and jeans as time had passed. Now his limbs were just numb, the fabric chafing uncomfortably against his cool skin.
He’d been looking for hours, searching methodically through the ancient woods that seemed straight out of a twisted fairy tale. Time had alternately crawled and swiftly passed in front of him, trees and trails blending together in his head until he longed for civilization. He was tired of the uneven territory, yearned for the smooth blacktop of a state highway. He’d found more deer paths than he could count, each crooked path seemingly no wider than his forearm.
Dean had spent most of the time alone, ears and eyes struggling to take in every noise around him as he moved. He was used to the woods, had spent much of his youth trekking through them with his father and brother. Now, without either next to him, Dean was unaccustomed to the suffocating sense of vulnerability.
He had known that something was wrong, had been feeling off for weeks, but only after separating from his father had it become plain to him. Somehow these last two months had changed everything, had changed him. No longer did he feel like a self-assured adult. No longer did he feel like he could handle everything that was thrown at him.
Hell, he had turned into a five year old, watching his father constantly, needing his constant reassurance.
We will find Sammy. We will get Sammy back.
The words had buoyed Dean, had somehow allowed him to pick himself up off the floor and continue on when all he’d wanted to do was curl up and die. His father had been close enough to touch for a long time now and Dean could count the number of times his father had been out of sight on one hand. The two of them parting ways had been necessary, had been imperative, and it had seemed so easy when they’d originally planned everything out. But it had been difficult to let his dad leave, tough to watch him stride purposefully out of his sight.
It had been too reminiscent of another day, of another time in which his self assurance had lost him the one thing he’d truly needed to protect. In his head the image of his brother lingered, Sam slouched and tired, rubbing sleepily at his eyes as Dean walked away like the cocky little shit he’d been. So sure of himself, so ready to take on the big bad world.
It had been a hard lesson to learn, but a bitter pill that Dean would willingly swallow a thousand times if it would bring back his brother. He was nothing great, nothing spectacular. He was a fool and a child.
Alone in the woods Dean fought to remember the feeling of security that he’d had previously. He forced himself to stand straighter, to will the swagger back into his cautious steps.
Pausing, he visually scanned his surroundings and glanced up at the stars. Though he had a compass, it was shoved deep in one of his coat pockets and had remained there all evening. The air was clear and he knew the night sky well enough to go without. There was a map too in his front jean pocket, well worn and covered in red pen lines that he’d had memorized for days. His father had a matching one.
Dean knew the woods like the back of his hand, new every path, every stream, every possible place that Sam could hide or fall or run. He reassuringly checked the flare gun stuffed uncomfortably between his jeans and the small of his back. Phones were a joke this far from civilization and he’d long given up any chance of the battered object actually picking up any sort of reception.
Turning, he shone his flashlight down a possible path. The light barely cut through the thick woods creating a hazy beam that seemed insignificant compared to the surrounding darkness. He’d already canvassed much of the forest, every leaf and tree blending together in his mind. Dean tried not the think about his brother in such a place, lost and confused and hurt. It was hard not to picture Sam alone and afraid and Dean had pushed the image out of mind more times than he could count.
Now it was an effort to simply keep the weakly fluttering spark of hope in his chest from dying. They were close, so impossibly close that it made Dean’s stomach churn and his jaw clench.
A blood soaked phone booth flashed behind his eyelids and Dean forced himself forward. The awful image was one his mind had conjured up repeatedly. The memory was sharp, practically painful in its clarity.
I’m scared.
His brother’s voice on the phone had been stuttering and soft.
Just the recollection made his palms sweat and his heart ache.
Several branches snapped and Dean cocked his head to the side. Despite the density and age of the forest, the animals he’d come across were few and far between. He knew they were out there, knew that the aged wood had to be filled with deer, squirrels, rabbits, and other creatures. They had remained invisible though, slinking out of view and avoiding the beam of light cast by his flashlight easily.
Another noise followed, leaves ruffling and twigs breaking as the large animal lumbered. It moved unevenly, its gait stilted and slow as it traveled through the underbrush.
Dean felt tension gather in his shoulders and his muscles clenched uncomfortably. The warning his father had given him concerning bears echoed uneasily in the back of his mind.
Quietly clearing his suddenly dry throat, he waited for it to move on. Listening to the animal as it continued forward, oblivious to the human nearby, he stomped down on his frustration. Dean had no urge to wait for a cranky bear that was out for a late night honey run.
He heard it shift again, the noise almost familiar in its hesitancy. Dean’s mouth opened before he could stop it.
“Sammy?”
His voice cut through the night, wobbly and scratchy and filled with uncertainty. He cursed under his breath, furious at himself for giving into the urge. He’d done it twice already, calling out instinctively for Sam at some unknown noise. Both times it had been nothing and Dean was glad his father hadn’t been around to hear Dean’s frantic calls for a brother that wasn’t there. And though this was clearly a larger animal, Dean hated himself for acting like a fool once again. It was pathetic, he was pathetic.
The rustling halted for a moment before continuing and Dean barely heard it over the unexpected rush of blood in his ears. Adrenaline pounded through his veins, twisted and raced and made his mind stutter as it attempted to catch up. The noise grew louder, strange and unnatural and recognizable. Though he couldn’t see well, he turned his frame more fully towards the direction of the sound.
It sounded like no animal he’d ever heard.
“Sammy?”
This time Dean was certain the movement paused at his words.
There was a noise like wet sandpaper and Dean paused only for a moment before recognizing the sound.
It had been a voice, a human voice.
A voice that was dry and cracked and worn, raw and barely recognizable in its painful rasps. And even though he had barely heard it, was even now uncertain that it hadn’t been his overactive imagination, he cleared his throat and yelled.
“Sammy!”
He could hear the frantic edge in his own words.
“D-n?”
The slurred and hesitant reply that echoed oddly in the trees and was unmistakable.
Pushing his way through thick branches and low bushes, he raced forward as fast as his legs would carry him. It was a voice that he knew, a voice that had begged him for a cookie, had recited all fifty states in under two minutes, and had whined petulantly when Dean had told him he couldn’t have a dog. Dean tripped over his own legs and nearly fell flat on his face. He felt as if his feet were on fire, as if he were slowly drowning in sand. The ground beneath him somehow seemed to grow more uneven, the trees surrounding him were gnarled hands that reached out and grabbed at his feet.
His brother’s voice sounded again, frightened and coarse and completely real and Dean wished that his flashlight were a spotlight. The air was like mud, so dense that he couldn’t seem to draw enough oxygen into his burning lungs. He frantically scanned the darkness, his actions frenzied as he tried to pinpoint Sam.
Knowing that he was nearly there, sensing that his brother couldn’t be much farther, Dean’s world narrowed. He thrust the doubt and fear that had taken root inside of him away and forced his body forward. A low branch snagged his coat and he mercilessly ripped the fabric free.
There. If he squinted he could see a shape almost completely obscured by the tall grass and thick leaves that hung between them. Dean watched the foliage shift as the figure moved forward, close enough now that he could make out shaggy hair and gangly limbs.
It was Sam.
A sharp cry split the night and every hair on the back of Dean’s neck rose at the unnatural noise. In front of him Sam had stumbled to the ground, the thick grass nearly blocking out his entire frame. The abrupt visual absence of his brother had Dean unintentionally crying out for him, his own voice shaky and uncertain.
Hearing the fear and pain and knowing that it was Sam, Dean sprinted across the space between the two of them. The fear he’d managed to squash rushed back into his limbs, making him feel light headed and dizzy. It was as if he had just ran a marathon, as if he had just been pumped full of pain meds.
Tripping over a large root, the beam from his flashlight skittered across the trees and ground. Dean, panting with exertion and dripping with sweat, froze.
There.
A pale arm was just visible in the beam of his flashlight. Nearly buried in greenery, Dean stared at it for a moment while his brain fought to catch up. After all of the time he’d spent looking, after all the time he’d spent beneath an ocean of dread, after a grainy film had spread and grown to cover everything around him, Dean felt as if he were just waking up.
“Sammy?”
Kneeling next to the half buried form, he tentatively reached out with his free hand while his other kept a painfully tight grip on the flashlight. Sam’s skin beneath his hand was warm, his slight frame trembling. He could hear his brother crying, weakly sobbing into the ground beneath him. Dean’s stomach turned at the noise and for a moment he wasn’t sure whether it was the adrenaline rush or something else that required him to choke down the unexpected nausea.
Sam was turned on his stomach and Dean gently started to roll his brother over. He needed to see his brother’s face, needed to have those wide eyes meet his own.
His brother let out a low keen at the movement and Dean froze. He recognized that sound, could practically feel the pain radiating off his brother. He had thought it was nothing, shock from the abrupt stumble, a sprained wrist from the fall, a twisted ankle from a protruding root.
Swearing under his breath, he picked up the discarded flashlight and scanned it over his brother’s shivering body. He knew it would be easier if he used his other hand to push at the long grass that obscured parts of Sam but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Sam was there and warm and real and Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to let go again.
He moved the flashlight over his brother’s arms and head, murmuring quietly in soothing tones. The noise seemed to calm his brother, who continued crying and hiccupping but discontinued the keening cries that hacked like a chainsaw at Dean’s threadbare control. His brother was a mess, covered in cuts and bruises. His arms were noticeably smaller, the skin on his hands paper thin and pale. The t-shirt he wore was threadbare, torn, stretched and Dean recognized it instantly. It was the same shirt Sam had been wearing the day he’d disappeared.
“D’n?”
Sam’s voice was muffled and barely discernable between the ragged cries that escaped his raw sounding throat. Sam wasn’t just in pain; he sounded confused and defeated. The kid’s tongue barely seemed to work in his mouth and it looked like he’d been wandering for days. He wished the truth were so simple. Sounding more like an animal than a person, Dean fought to keep his mind calm.
He had Sam, Sam was there, and Dean could deal with anything else.
“Shhhhhhh….”
Gently squeezing Sam’s shoulder, he felt his brother relax fractionally beneath him. Sam took in another huge uneven gulp of air and Dean willed his younger brother to calm down.
Flicking the light over Sam’s lower half, Dean inwardly cringed. One of Sam’s legs was oddly bent and the wicked edge of metal gleamed clearly under the bright light. His brother’s dark wash jeans were stained a dark rusty color. He struggled for a moment to wrap his mind around the image, to connect the smell of wet leaves and iron to the picture in front of him.
Jesus.
The metal and dark colors snapped together in his mind and Dean’s hand clutched more firmly at his brother’s shoulder.
“It’s okay Sammy, I’m right here.”
His voice had wavered just slightly at the end, fracturing for a moment before he’d regained power. Shifting his body closer to his brother’s, he kept the light on Sam’s legs and lifted his other hand to help keep his balance. At the loss of contact Sam shifted and cried out quietly. The sound was low and barely there, the voice gravely and torn.
Using his softest tone, Dean hushed his brother again and touched his free hand to his brother’s unharmed leg. Sam stilled at the light feel, his sobs once more quieting to soft whimpers.
The grass beneath Dean’s legs was damp and the wet quickly settled into his jeans and already numbed legs. He eyed the rusted bear trap warily, his fingers skimming lightly over his brother’s injured leg to the trap. At the light touch another choked cry escaped from his brother and Dean automatically brought the light to Sam’s face.
Turned to the side, Sam had one hand curled up next to face, strands of grass peeking out between his clenched fingers. Mouth parted and eyes closed, Dean took in the pale face and reminded himself that Sam was alive. The miserable cries and tear stained cheeks should have been enough physical proof but Dean could feel the barely there line he walked fluctuate dangerously.
Sam’s eyes parted slowly, squinting against the bright light. Redirecting the beam out of his brother’s face, Dean took in the glassy gaze that sluggishly moved over his surroundings. His pupils were blown, barely reacting to the brightness.
“Sammy?”
Dean kept his voice soft and soothing, hoping that Sam would recognize his older brother. He knew that it was probably impossible for his brother to focus, that the pain had to fill up everything nook and cranny inside of him, but still soothingly moved a hand through Sam’s tangled sweat drenched hair.
Sam visibly swallowed at the motion, the pain receding just enough in his eyes that Dean knew his brother was aware, if only for a moment.
“I’m here Sammy.”
The words were like ash in his mouth, a promise he’d easily made and just as easily broken a month ago.
He moved his hands soothingly over the nape of his brother’s neck, hoping to keep him aware for a few more moments as his mind wrestled with what he needed to do next. His hand brushed over an unnatural warmth and his fingers involuntarily tightened on the object, mentally mapping its shape. It was thick and sturdy, larger than any normal necklace chain. Despite its size the links were smooth beneath his fingers, almost delicate in shape.
Sam didn’t own a necklace, didn’t think that any jewelry was cool except whatever Dean wore.
Dean felt his teeth curl back in a snarl and his fingers spasm around the chain as he pushed down the urge to rip it from his brother’s body. He knew what the chain was connected to, could feel the magic ripple and twist abnormally against his skin. No doubt the object was trapped between his brother and the hard ground.
An innocent looking box that contained the heart of a dove.
It had taken longer than he’d thought possible to map every object in the room, to catalogue their purposes, places of origin, and magical properties. He’d learned more than he’d ever wanted to about curses, charms, spells, and everything in between. It had taken the two of them twice as long to decipher how the hundreds of objects had fit together, how one object had been missing in a set of nineteen others. Their hotel room had become a madman’s library, every available surface covered in books and handwritten notes.
His father had cursed and sworn and continuously poured over the hundreds of pages of tiny text. It was ridiculous that such a small object had torn apart their family so completely and easily. Dean remembered the shock he’d felt after his father had figured it out, the anger and frustration that had exploded from him before draining away and leaving only fear and sorrow. He hadn’t known what it was like to be so angry, had never felt a white hot rage that easily blocked out every rational thought. He had wanted to murder and maim so badly that his body had trembled. The motel room wall had been a poor substitute.
Afterwords they’d scrambled over the evidence, rechecking every scrap of paper and obscure text they’d gotten their hands on to be certain. The two of them had gathered all of the pieces they could but even now there were still things that were unknown, a timeline that didn’t quite make sense. With Sam next to him, Dean finally let all the unanswered questions and frustrations slip away.
There was still a deep tension though, a touch of terror that had practically sunk into his bones. And he knew it would remain until the cursed object was removed, until his brother was truly free and well and tucked away safely.
Taking a deep breath, Dean forced his fingers from the object and moved them back towards the trap. He could do nothing at the moment to the metal abomination that still threatened his brother, but the trap that cut deeply into his leg was another matter entirely.
Dean pulled himself out of his thoughts and watched Sam’s eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes a dark shadow against his colorless face. Talking quietly and continuously to his brother, he grimaced at the rusted contraption. His brother’s leg was twisted in the trap and clearly broken, the pants soaked through with blood. The wound was ragged and torn, a mess of cloth and bone and metal.
He pulled off his coat and draped it over his brother’s slender shoulders. Sam looked smaller than he remembered and the coat practically swallowed him whole. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t covered him earlier; though sweating his brother was practically shaking from the chill in the air. Just another failure Dean could add to his list. Sam sighed at the warmth and turned his head so that his nose was tucked beneath the popped collar.
“D’n.”
Sam’s voice was barely comprehendible and Dean wondered just how long Sam had been wandering around in the frigid dark searching for his brother. Bringing a hand reassuringly to Sam’s back, he continued the low stream of words his brother had interrupted. His throat was getting sore from the continual speech but he barely noticed. Sam relaxed further, his cries finally tapering off as he slipped into unconsciousness.
“Sam?”
The abrupt quiet was stifling and even though Sam was no longer in pain, Dean guiltily wished that his brother would wake up. Asleep Sam was too still, too pale and silent. Using his free hand, he stripped off his long sleeved flannel and tore it roughly into large pieces. Shifting his weight forward, Dean paused.
Against the small of his back he could feel the flare gun shift uncomfortably.
Shit.
Cursing his own idiocy, Dean stood up and looked above him. Branches obscured the sky, creating a dark canopy that shimmered under the glare of the flashlight. Inwardly cursing, he let his focus shift to his brother again. Sam remained unmoving on the wet earth.
“Sammy, it’s going to be okay. I’m right here.”
Edging away from his brother, Dean glanced up into the trees. Not seeing an opening, he raised his voice and stepped further away. Sam remained unresponsive. Visually scanning, Dean moved farther from his brother, his gaze constantly skipping between the two.
After several minutes of searching Dean inwardly cheered as a clear space between branches came into view. The flare gun was warm from being cradled against his body and he couldn’t help the weak smile that flitted across his face. His dad would be far, but there was no way he wouldn’t rush towards them as quickly as possible. Hs father was worried out of his mind, was nothing more than a machine that researched and planned and held his oldest together. Pausing to check on Sam once more, he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.
Bright light cut across the sky and Dean shielded his eyes from the abrupt illumination.
His brother’s startled moan of pain was loud and Dean didn’t wait for the light to fade before turning back to Sam. The noise and flash had startled his younger brother awake and he weakly cried out as he tried to move away from the brightness.
“No Sammy.”
Dean gently knelt next to his brother and held him still as he moaned. Dean rubbed a hand over his brother’s back and shoulders as if he were nothing more than a baby and lowered his voice until it was nothing but a low rumble. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he turned his attention back to the broken leg. Reaching for it, he took a deep breath and cursed the goddamn woman who had done this to Sam.
He fucking hated witches.
Chapter Three: Doubt and Hurt
Author: fuu_43
Word Count: 4,130
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pre-Series. Sam goes missing and Dean and John struggle to find him. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving.
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Dean walked through the thick underbrush, hating the way the branches grabbed at his arms and legs. With each step they caught on his jacket and pants, pulling the fabric uncomfortably tight. He could feel them with every movement, closing around him and snapping beneath his boots. Picking his way over thick ropy roots, he inwardly cursed and struggled to keep his balance. The ground was uneven and covered in a thick layer of foliage that made it impossible to stay easily upright. He’d stumbled more times than he could count.
Glad that there was no one around to see him fumble and trip, he picked his way over a fallen log and wobbled momentarily before steadying himself. He was sure he looked no better than a new born calf making its first awkward steps.
Starting forward again, Dean maneuvered around two trees that had grown so close together they appeared to be one large dark mass. Branches twisted out from them and grew upwards in a shadowy mess that was impossible to discern in the dark. The trees surrounding him were old, tall and dark, with rough bark that seemed to cut into his skin like slivers of glass. The colors were bright and unnatural too, jewel toned and vivid even in the barely there light.
Everything about the forest was too much and he was getting tired of it. Dean didn’t even want to think of the strong scents that stained the air. The smell of grass and earth seemed to saturate everything, seemed to cling to everything. It made his nostrils burn; the scent of green was so substantial he could practically taste it.
He hated it, preferred the reek of old pizza and moldy hotel room.
Around him the air was quiet and Dean’s movements sounded like an avalanche to his straining ears. It was cold too. Not a biting cold, but a chilly breeze that had slowly worked its way underneath his coat and jeans as time had passed. Now his limbs were just numb, the fabric chafing uncomfortably against his cool skin.
He’d been looking for hours, searching methodically through the ancient woods that seemed straight out of a twisted fairy tale. Time had alternately crawled and swiftly passed in front of him, trees and trails blending together in his head until he longed for civilization. He was tired of the uneven territory, yearned for the smooth blacktop of a state highway. He’d found more deer paths than he could count, each crooked path seemingly no wider than his forearm.
Dean had spent most of the time alone, ears and eyes struggling to take in every noise around him as he moved. He was used to the woods, had spent much of his youth trekking through them with his father and brother. Now, without either next to him, Dean was unaccustomed to the suffocating sense of vulnerability.
He had known that something was wrong, had been feeling off for weeks, but only after separating from his father had it become plain to him. Somehow these last two months had changed everything, had changed him. No longer did he feel like a self-assured adult. No longer did he feel like he could handle everything that was thrown at him.
Hell, he had turned into a five year old, watching his father constantly, needing his constant reassurance.
We will find Sammy. We will get Sammy back.
The words had buoyed Dean, had somehow allowed him to pick himself up off the floor and continue on when all he’d wanted to do was curl up and die. His father had been close enough to touch for a long time now and Dean could count the number of times his father had been out of sight on one hand. The two of them parting ways had been necessary, had been imperative, and it had seemed so easy when they’d originally planned everything out. But it had been difficult to let his dad leave, tough to watch him stride purposefully out of his sight.
It had been too reminiscent of another day, of another time in which his self assurance had lost him the one thing he’d truly needed to protect. In his head the image of his brother lingered, Sam slouched and tired, rubbing sleepily at his eyes as Dean walked away like the cocky little shit he’d been. So sure of himself, so ready to take on the big bad world.
It had been a hard lesson to learn, but a bitter pill that Dean would willingly swallow a thousand times if it would bring back his brother. He was nothing great, nothing spectacular. He was a fool and a child.
Alone in the woods Dean fought to remember the feeling of security that he’d had previously. He forced himself to stand straighter, to will the swagger back into his cautious steps.
Pausing, he visually scanned his surroundings and glanced up at the stars. Though he had a compass, it was shoved deep in one of his coat pockets and had remained there all evening. The air was clear and he knew the night sky well enough to go without. There was a map too in his front jean pocket, well worn and covered in red pen lines that he’d had memorized for days. His father had a matching one.
Dean knew the woods like the back of his hand, new every path, every stream, every possible place that Sam could hide or fall or run. He reassuringly checked the flare gun stuffed uncomfortably between his jeans and the small of his back. Phones were a joke this far from civilization and he’d long given up any chance of the battered object actually picking up any sort of reception.
Turning, he shone his flashlight down a possible path. The light barely cut through the thick woods creating a hazy beam that seemed insignificant compared to the surrounding darkness. He’d already canvassed much of the forest, every leaf and tree blending together in his mind. Dean tried not the think about his brother in such a place, lost and confused and hurt. It was hard not to picture Sam alone and afraid and Dean had pushed the image out of mind more times than he could count.
Now it was an effort to simply keep the weakly fluttering spark of hope in his chest from dying. They were close, so impossibly close that it made Dean’s stomach churn and his jaw clench.
A blood soaked phone booth flashed behind his eyelids and Dean forced himself forward. The awful image was one his mind had conjured up repeatedly. The memory was sharp, practically painful in its clarity.
I’m scared.
His brother’s voice on the phone had been stuttering and soft.
Just the recollection made his palms sweat and his heart ache.
Several branches snapped and Dean cocked his head to the side. Despite the density and age of the forest, the animals he’d come across were few and far between. He knew they were out there, knew that the aged wood had to be filled with deer, squirrels, rabbits, and other creatures. They had remained invisible though, slinking out of view and avoiding the beam of light cast by his flashlight easily.
Another noise followed, leaves ruffling and twigs breaking as the large animal lumbered. It moved unevenly, its gait stilted and slow as it traveled through the underbrush.
Dean felt tension gather in his shoulders and his muscles clenched uncomfortably. The warning his father had given him concerning bears echoed uneasily in the back of his mind.
Quietly clearing his suddenly dry throat, he waited for it to move on. Listening to the animal as it continued forward, oblivious to the human nearby, he stomped down on his frustration. Dean had no urge to wait for a cranky bear that was out for a late night honey run.
He heard it shift again, the noise almost familiar in its hesitancy. Dean’s mouth opened before he could stop it.
“Sammy?”
His voice cut through the night, wobbly and scratchy and filled with uncertainty. He cursed under his breath, furious at himself for giving into the urge. He’d done it twice already, calling out instinctively for Sam at some unknown noise. Both times it had been nothing and Dean was glad his father hadn’t been around to hear Dean’s frantic calls for a brother that wasn’t there. And though this was clearly a larger animal, Dean hated himself for acting like a fool once again. It was pathetic, he was pathetic.
The rustling halted for a moment before continuing and Dean barely heard it over the unexpected rush of blood in his ears. Adrenaline pounded through his veins, twisted and raced and made his mind stutter as it attempted to catch up. The noise grew louder, strange and unnatural and recognizable. Though he couldn’t see well, he turned his frame more fully towards the direction of the sound.
It sounded like no animal he’d ever heard.
“Sammy?”
This time Dean was certain the movement paused at his words.
There was a noise like wet sandpaper and Dean paused only for a moment before recognizing the sound.
It had been a voice, a human voice.
A voice that was dry and cracked and worn, raw and barely recognizable in its painful rasps. And even though he had barely heard it, was even now uncertain that it hadn’t been his overactive imagination, he cleared his throat and yelled.
“Sammy!”
He could hear the frantic edge in his own words.
“D-n?”
The slurred and hesitant reply that echoed oddly in the trees and was unmistakable.
Pushing his way through thick branches and low bushes, he raced forward as fast as his legs would carry him. It was a voice that he knew, a voice that had begged him for a cookie, had recited all fifty states in under two minutes, and had whined petulantly when Dean had told him he couldn’t have a dog. Dean tripped over his own legs and nearly fell flat on his face. He felt as if his feet were on fire, as if he were slowly drowning in sand. The ground beneath him somehow seemed to grow more uneven, the trees surrounding him were gnarled hands that reached out and grabbed at his feet.
His brother’s voice sounded again, frightened and coarse and completely real and Dean wished that his flashlight were a spotlight. The air was like mud, so dense that he couldn’t seem to draw enough oxygen into his burning lungs. He frantically scanned the darkness, his actions frenzied as he tried to pinpoint Sam.
Knowing that he was nearly there, sensing that his brother couldn’t be much farther, Dean’s world narrowed. He thrust the doubt and fear that had taken root inside of him away and forced his body forward. A low branch snagged his coat and he mercilessly ripped the fabric free.
There. If he squinted he could see a shape almost completely obscured by the tall grass and thick leaves that hung between them. Dean watched the foliage shift as the figure moved forward, close enough now that he could make out shaggy hair and gangly limbs.
It was Sam.
A sharp cry split the night and every hair on the back of Dean’s neck rose at the unnatural noise. In front of him Sam had stumbled to the ground, the thick grass nearly blocking out his entire frame. The abrupt visual absence of his brother had Dean unintentionally crying out for him, his own voice shaky and uncertain.
Hearing the fear and pain and knowing that it was Sam, Dean sprinted across the space between the two of them. The fear he’d managed to squash rushed back into his limbs, making him feel light headed and dizzy. It was as if he had just ran a marathon, as if he had just been pumped full of pain meds.
Tripping over a large root, the beam from his flashlight skittered across the trees and ground. Dean, panting with exertion and dripping with sweat, froze.
There.
A pale arm was just visible in the beam of his flashlight. Nearly buried in greenery, Dean stared at it for a moment while his brain fought to catch up. After all of the time he’d spent looking, after all the time he’d spent beneath an ocean of dread, after a grainy film had spread and grown to cover everything around him, Dean felt as if he were just waking up.
“Sammy?”
Kneeling next to the half buried form, he tentatively reached out with his free hand while his other kept a painfully tight grip on the flashlight. Sam’s skin beneath his hand was warm, his slight frame trembling. He could hear his brother crying, weakly sobbing into the ground beneath him. Dean’s stomach turned at the noise and for a moment he wasn’t sure whether it was the adrenaline rush or something else that required him to choke down the unexpected nausea.
Sam was turned on his stomach and Dean gently started to roll his brother over. He needed to see his brother’s face, needed to have those wide eyes meet his own.
His brother let out a low keen at the movement and Dean froze. He recognized that sound, could practically feel the pain radiating off his brother. He had thought it was nothing, shock from the abrupt stumble, a sprained wrist from the fall, a twisted ankle from a protruding root.
Swearing under his breath, he picked up the discarded flashlight and scanned it over his brother’s shivering body. He knew it would be easier if he used his other hand to push at the long grass that obscured parts of Sam but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Sam was there and warm and real and Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to let go again.
He moved the flashlight over his brother’s arms and head, murmuring quietly in soothing tones. The noise seemed to calm his brother, who continued crying and hiccupping but discontinued the keening cries that hacked like a chainsaw at Dean’s threadbare control. His brother was a mess, covered in cuts and bruises. His arms were noticeably smaller, the skin on his hands paper thin and pale. The t-shirt he wore was threadbare, torn, stretched and Dean recognized it instantly. It was the same shirt Sam had been wearing the day he’d disappeared.
“D’n?”
Sam’s voice was muffled and barely discernable between the ragged cries that escaped his raw sounding throat. Sam wasn’t just in pain; he sounded confused and defeated. The kid’s tongue barely seemed to work in his mouth and it looked like he’d been wandering for days. He wished the truth were so simple. Sounding more like an animal than a person, Dean fought to keep his mind calm.
He had Sam, Sam was there, and Dean could deal with anything else.
“Shhhhhhh….”
Gently squeezing Sam’s shoulder, he felt his brother relax fractionally beneath him. Sam took in another huge uneven gulp of air and Dean willed his younger brother to calm down.
Flicking the light over Sam’s lower half, Dean inwardly cringed. One of Sam’s legs was oddly bent and the wicked edge of metal gleamed clearly under the bright light. His brother’s dark wash jeans were stained a dark rusty color. He struggled for a moment to wrap his mind around the image, to connect the smell of wet leaves and iron to the picture in front of him.
Jesus.
The metal and dark colors snapped together in his mind and Dean’s hand clutched more firmly at his brother’s shoulder.
“It’s okay Sammy, I’m right here.”
His voice had wavered just slightly at the end, fracturing for a moment before he’d regained power. Shifting his body closer to his brother’s, he kept the light on Sam’s legs and lifted his other hand to help keep his balance. At the loss of contact Sam shifted and cried out quietly. The sound was low and barely there, the voice gravely and torn.
Using his softest tone, Dean hushed his brother again and touched his free hand to his brother’s unharmed leg. Sam stilled at the light feel, his sobs once more quieting to soft whimpers.
The grass beneath Dean’s legs was damp and the wet quickly settled into his jeans and already numbed legs. He eyed the rusted bear trap warily, his fingers skimming lightly over his brother’s injured leg to the trap. At the light touch another choked cry escaped from his brother and Dean automatically brought the light to Sam’s face.
Turned to the side, Sam had one hand curled up next to face, strands of grass peeking out between his clenched fingers. Mouth parted and eyes closed, Dean took in the pale face and reminded himself that Sam was alive. The miserable cries and tear stained cheeks should have been enough physical proof but Dean could feel the barely there line he walked fluctuate dangerously.
Sam’s eyes parted slowly, squinting against the bright light. Redirecting the beam out of his brother’s face, Dean took in the glassy gaze that sluggishly moved over his surroundings. His pupils were blown, barely reacting to the brightness.
“Sammy?”
Dean kept his voice soft and soothing, hoping that Sam would recognize his older brother. He knew that it was probably impossible for his brother to focus, that the pain had to fill up everything nook and cranny inside of him, but still soothingly moved a hand through Sam’s tangled sweat drenched hair.
Sam visibly swallowed at the motion, the pain receding just enough in his eyes that Dean knew his brother was aware, if only for a moment.
“I’m here Sammy.”
The words were like ash in his mouth, a promise he’d easily made and just as easily broken a month ago.
He moved his hands soothingly over the nape of his brother’s neck, hoping to keep him aware for a few more moments as his mind wrestled with what he needed to do next. His hand brushed over an unnatural warmth and his fingers involuntarily tightened on the object, mentally mapping its shape. It was thick and sturdy, larger than any normal necklace chain. Despite its size the links were smooth beneath his fingers, almost delicate in shape.
Sam didn’t own a necklace, didn’t think that any jewelry was cool except whatever Dean wore.
Dean felt his teeth curl back in a snarl and his fingers spasm around the chain as he pushed down the urge to rip it from his brother’s body. He knew what the chain was connected to, could feel the magic ripple and twist abnormally against his skin. No doubt the object was trapped between his brother and the hard ground.
An innocent looking box that contained the heart of a dove.
It had taken longer than he’d thought possible to map every object in the room, to catalogue their purposes, places of origin, and magical properties. He’d learned more than he’d ever wanted to about curses, charms, spells, and everything in between. It had taken the two of them twice as long to decipher how the hundreds of objects had fit together, how one object had been missing in a set of nineteen others. Their hotel room had become a madman’s library, every available surface covered in books and handwritten notes.
His father had cursed and sworn and continuously poured over the hundreds of pages of tiny text. It was ridiculous that such a small object had torn apart their family so completely and easily. Dean remembered the shock he’d felt after his father had figured it out, the anger and frustration that had exploded from him before draining away and leaving only fear and sorrow. He hadn’t known what it was like to be so angry, had never felt a white hot rage that easily blocked out every rational thought. He had wanted to murder and maim so badly that his body had trembled. The motel room wall had been a poor substitute.
Afterwords they’d scrambled over the evidence, rechecking every scrap of paper and obscure text they’d gotten their hands on to be certain. The two of them had gathered all of the pieces they could but even now there were still things that were unknown, a timeline that didn’t quite make sense. With Sam next to him, Dean finally let all the unanswered questions and frustrations slip away.
There was still a deep tension though, a touch of terror that had practically sunk into his bones. And he knew it would remain until the cursed object was removed, until his brother was truly free and well and tucked away safely.
Taking a deep breath, Dean forced his fingers from the object and moved them back towards the trap. He could do nothing at the moment to the metal abomination that still threatened his brother, but the trap that cut deeply into his leg was another matter entirely.
Dean pulled himself out of his thoughts and watched Sam’s eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes a dark shadow against his colorless face. Talking quietly and continuously to his brother, he grimaced at the rusted contraption. His brother’s leg was twisted in the trap and clearly broken, the pants soaked through with blood. The wound was ragged and torn, a mess of cloth and bone and metal.
He pulled off his coat and draped it over his brother’s slender shoulders. Sam looked smaller than he remembered and the coat practically swallowed him whole. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t covered him earlier; though sweating his brother was practically shaking from the chill in the air. Just another failure Dean could add to his list. Sam sighed at the warmth and turned his head so that his nose was tucked beneath the popped collar.
“D’n.”
Sam’s voice was barely comprehendible and Dean wondered just how long Sam had been wandering around in the frigid dark searching for his brother. Bringing a hand reassuringly to Sam’s back, he continued the low stream of words his brother had interrupted. His throat was getting sore from the continual speech but he barely noticed. Sam relaxed further, his cries finally tapering off as he slipped into unconsciousness.
“Sam?”
The abrupt quiet was stifling and even though Sam was no longer in pain, Dean guiltily wished that his brother would wake up. Asleep Sam was too still, too pale and silent. Using his free hand, he stripped off his long sleeved flannel and tore it roughly into large pieces. Shifting his weight forward, Dean paused.
Against the small of his back he could feel the flare gun shift uncomfortably.
Shit.
Cursing his own idiocy, Dean stood up and looked above him. Branches obscured the sky, creating a dark canopy that shimmered under the glare of the flashlight. Inwardly cursing, he let his focus shift to his brother again. Sam remained unmoving on the wet earth.
“Sammy, it’s going to be okay. I’m right here.”
Edging away from his brother, Dean glanced up into the trees. Not seeing an opening, he raised his voice and stepped further away. Sam remained unresponsive. Visually scanning, Dean moved farther from his brother, his gaze constantly skipping between the two.
After several minutes of searching Dean inwardly cheered as a clear space between branches came into view. The flare gun was warm from being cradled against his body and he couldn’t help the weak smile that flitted across his face. His dad would be far, but there was no way he wouldn’t rush towards them as quickly as possible. Hs father was worried out of his mind, was nothing more than a machine that researched and planned and held his oldest together. Pausing to check on Sam once more, he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.
Bright light cut across the sky and Dean shielded his eyes from the abrupt illumination.
His brother’s startled moan of pain was loud and Dean didn’t wait for the light to fade before turning back to Sam. The noise and flash had startled his younger brother awake and he weakly cried out as he tried to move away from the brightness.
“No Sammy.”
Dean gently knelt next to his brother and held him still as he moaned. Dean rubbed a hand over his brother’s back and shoulders as if he were nothing more than a baby and lowered his voice until it was nothing but a low rumble. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he turned his attention back to the broken leg. Reaching for it, he took a deep breath and cursed the goddamn woman who had done this to Sam.
He fucking hated witches.