Conversations With The Dead - Chapter 5b
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Sam - 20th June 2000. The Ridge, Ridgeville, Georgia.
The house looks the same. It stares down at him. That rounded window in the attic glints like an eye, the sun hitting off the glass. Standing by Bobby's truck, Dean looks over and locks Sam's gaze. There's an almost smile from Dean, a smile that doesn't really mean anything. Sam quickly looks down to the dashboard.
On his lap, he fiddles with the bracelet, the same one he hasn't taken off since the day he received it. And pressed in one hand, he holds the crucifix, the one Pastor Jim gave to him a long time ago.
Soon, the sun will go down. Soon, Sam will have to sit in the dark for the first time in four years. Even now, at the age of seventeen, Sam sleeps with a nightlight. He won't sleep in the dark, you couldn't make him do it even if you offered his voice back.
But Sam needs to sit in the dark, he needs to wait for Her, he needs to save his dad. God help him, Sam is terrified.
He hasn't been this scared since that asshole Tommy Renwick locked him in a closet three years ago. Sam hopes Tommy's arm has a nice, ugly scar on it where Sam sunk his teeth into the jerk's skin. Fuck that asshole.
Dad. Do it for dad. Sam could cry with how much it hurts to miss his dad, how much it hurts to know where his dad is.
In the Dark.
Sam shudders and pulls his jacket tighter around hit body. He's sweating under three layers, the air is stuffy inside the car, the sun is hot on his skin. Still, Sam shivers. He always shivers. He can't stop his hands from shaking.
"Sammy?"
Sam jerks, almost hits his head against the ceiling of the car, when Dean appears in the window. His face is pinched, he looks too old, too worried. Sam wishes he could say something to make him less afraid. But Sam can't speak. Sam will never speak again.
Dean gently eases the car door open and crouches down. "Me and Bobby are just setting things up inside. Are you okay out here on your own?"
Sam wants to say no. He wants to tell Dean how much he wants to drive all the way back to Minnesota and hide in his room for the rest of his life. But Sam just nods because he has no other choice.
Getting away the first time was a miracle.
They need something more than that this time.
His fingers tighten around the crucifix.
Sam watches Dean and Bobby head over to the house, watches them make their way up the steps and through the front door. An unhelpful voice in his head tells him that they won't be coming back out. He pushes it down with prayer, one of the many Jim taught him, reciting it over and over in his mind until he can't hear that voice again.
Be brave, be brave, be brave.
She had eaten up his bravery, gutted him and scooped it all out.
His hands tremble harder, if it's possible, hard enough to shake up into his arms. He curls his arms into his middle and hunches forward to keep them still.
The front door creaks open again and Dean comes hopping down the stairs. The sight of his brother seeps a little relief into his chest, but not enough to quench the fear that is consuming him. Sam grips the bracelet and the crucifix pendant tighter in his hands until he can feel the point of the cross digging into his palm.
Dean eases the passenger door open and kneels down. He hesitantly reaches out a hand, but quickly diverts it to grip the door handle.
"Me and Bobby are all set up in there," he says. He's quiet for a moment and Sam can feel his eyes on him. He can tell Dean is waiting for some kind of answer so Sam just nods.
"Are you sure about this?" Dean finally asks. "We can find some other way to lure it out…"
Sam shakes his head frantically. He doesn't want to do this, dear God, he doesn't, but he wants his father back more than he feels afraid. If he wants his dad back, this is the only way. She didn't take John for any reason other than to lure Sam. John is a worm on the end of a hook, Sam is a fish. And Her, She's the shark.
She won't come out unless Sam is served up on a silver platter.
"I'll be right outside the door the whole time. Me and Bobby," Dean reminds him. "We're armed, okay? I'm not letting it touch you again. All you have to do is make the signal, then me and Bobby will come in and do the rest. All you have to do after that is run."
Sam frowns. No.
"What's wrong?" Dean asks.
Sam opens his mouth and wishes once again that he could speak. He clamps his mouth shut and frees his hands from where they're pinned around his middle. He jerks a thumb towards himself, wiggles two fingers in a running motion, then shakes his head.
Dean doesn't look like he understands, so Sam repeats it a few times. When Dean finally gets it, his eyes go wide.
"What? No, Sam. You need to run," he says. "What do you mean you're not running?"
Sam clenches his eyes closed, frustrated. He'd thought he'd made everything clear back at Annette's, writing it out and miming until his wrists were stiff, but maybe his communication skills aren't as manageable as he'd thought. He's definitely going to have to learn sign language, if his hands would just stop shaking, or if he doesn't die tonight.
Sam huffs a sigh and opens the glove compartment. He finds a cigarette pack and glares at Dean who looks suitably guilty, then he finds what he was looking for. A notepad and pen. Balancing the paper on his knee, he focuses his efforts on writing intelligibly. Once he's done, he hands it to Dean.
"'The door only stays open if She's in our world'," Dean reads. He frowns and glances up. "Yeah, you already said."
Sam refrains from rolling his eyes and takes the paper back, scribbling something else down, then handing it over.
Dean frowns at the paper as he reads, "'If She's dead, the door closes.'" He considers it for a moment, then nods. "So, we only gut the bitch once dad's back, right?"
Sam nods, relieved.
Dean shrugs. "No problem, Sam. Me and Bobby will handle it while you run back to the car, okay? The Impala's warded so it's the safest place we've got for you."
Sam nods, running a shaky hand along the dashboard. He feels Dean's hand on his shoulder, and for once, Sam doesn't jerk away.
"Let's light the bitch up," Dean says.
The curtains are drawn, blocking out any light from the moon outside. Sam settles down in the centre of the room, the UV torch in his hand flashes back-and-forth in his trembling grip. In his other hand, he tries his best to hold the string still.
He can hear Bobby and Dean outside the door, hear the floorboards creak under their weight. There's a brick wedged between the door and the frame, Dean won't be locked out like he was the last time.
No one makes a sound. There's nothing but the high whisper of wind rushing down the fireplace.
Sam tilts the torch upwards until he's sitting in a pool of light, surrounded by a circle of shadows. He has no idea which direction She might come from. It feels all too familiar to the Dark and his hands are now slick with sweat, the torch is slipping in his shaky grip.
She'll be coming for him soon. She must have smelled him by now. She's coming.
He grips the string more firmly, he feels the crucifix weighing down in his inner pocket, the bracelet feels tighter on his wrist.
He can't breathe. He can't breathe. She's coming, coming, coming, coming for him.
Sam feels a tightening in his chest, his heart beats desperately inside, wanting to be out. He needs to get out. But his legs feel like lead beneath him, his whole body is frozen solid, his hands twitch and shake uncertainly. He's so hot, he's too hot…
"Sam, I'm right here," Dean's voice filters quietly through the gap in the door. "I'm right here with you, Sammy. I'm here."
Sam forces a breath in, then back out. Dean is here, Dean is here, Dean is here. In and out, in and out, in and out.
For dad. They're doing this for dad.
The huff of hot air on the back of his neck stiffens his spin and suddenly he can feel the weight of Her right behind him. Sam's mind has detached itself from his body and he's hardly aware of turning around, tilting the torch upward and yanking the string as he does.
He yanks the string hard, hears the bell ring on the other side of the door, hears Dean cursing.
For a split second his torch settles on Her face, settling on the stretched skin of Her empty eye sockets. Her mouth is stretched wide, a gash running from ear to ear, her countless teeth are bared in a grim smile.
Then the room explodes with light and She rears back onto Her long, bone-like legs, hissing and spitting, scrambling back into the corner in search of darkness. There are no shadows, there is nothing but light, brilliant light.
When Sam can't move, it's Dean who pulls him back and out of the way. Sam finally manages to get onto his feet and he stumbles clumsily into a wall, banging his shoulder painfully but he barely notices. He can't pull his eyes away from Her.
Bobby and Dean have Her cornered, training Her with their weapons. Seeing Her now in the light for the first time, truly seeing Her, She is far more terrifying than he remembers. She's big, bigger than She seemed when he was half the size he is now. But She's cowering, curled up and pressed into the corner, whining like a dying cat.
"It burns!" She shrieks. "It burns!"
"You're gonna feel a lot worse than that before I'm done with you," Dean barks. He turns to look over his shoulder, eyes going wide when he catches sight of Sam. "Get the hell out of here!"
Sam is rooted to the spot. He can't move, even though he wants to more than anything. He sees Her look up and stare at him with that eyeless face. Her grin grows wider. She reaches out one arm, Her long fingers wriggles, and one of the claws scrapes the glass of the nearest light.
Lightning fast, she swipes and the room grows a little darker. She lashes out and knocks Bobby and Dean back. Sam watches Her crawl up the wall, across the ceiling, and through the door to the hallway.
"Fuck!" Dean yells, kicking the broken UV light. Bobby grabs Dean's arm and points across the room, to the corner by Sam. There's a patch of blackness nestled in the lit-up part of the room, the same place where Dean's bed was settled four years ago. An impossible dark hole leading to nothingness.
"It's going to be coming back here if it wants to be getting back to wherever it came from," Bobby points out.
Dean nods, catching his breath. "Do you know what the hell that thing was?" he finally asks. "It was ugly as fuck."
Bobby raises an eyebrow, amused. "Not a clue. Never seen anything like it."
Dean shifts his gun in his grip and makes his way over to Sam, placing his free hand on his shoulder. "You good?" he asks.
Sam is anything but. Still, he nods. The motion makes him dizzy and he eases himself down, eyes locked on the doorway to the Dark. He was trapped in there for two months but it had felt like years. He thinks maybe it was. He manages to tear his gaze away and looks up to Dean.
He opens his mouth and forms the shape of the word dad, pointing to the Dark.
"Dad's in there," Dean agrees. "We'll get him out, okay?"
Bobby is kneeling by the doorway, peering into its blackened depths. Hesitantly, he reaches out a hand and pushes it forward until it disappears in the shadows. He quickly pulls it back.
"Well, I ain't never seen something like that," he admits. He flicks on his flashlight and shines it inside, the light is swallowed up by the Dark. Bobby leans forward a bit. "John Winchester?!" he shouts. His voice echoes away.
Dean squeezes Sam's shoulder. "Dad's coming back," he says surely. He turns to face the door where She disappeared, gun focused into the hallway.
All three of them jump at the sound of a high pitched scream. "Help me!"
Dean's eyes go wide. "That's a kid!" he cries. "It's got a fucking kid!"
He sprints out the door and Sam's right on his tail. He manages to grab Dean at the foot of the stairs up to the attic, pulling him back.
"Sam, I'm not leaving a kid with that thing!" Dean snaps, trying to pull away but Sam's hold is firm. Once he has Dean's attention, he points to his ears. Listen.
"Dean, help me! Please help me! DEAN!"
Dean looks to Sam, mouth hanging open. "That's you," he realises. "That's your voice. But I…"
Sam pats his throat, where his vocal chords once were.
"Jesus, fuck!" Dean swears, realisation dawning. "That's why you can't speak. That thing took your voice."
Sam nods sadly.
"Why did you never try to tell anyone?" Dean asks softly. "I always thought it was… I thought you were just too scared to speak. I never thought it was because you can't speak. Fucking Christ…"
Sam never tried to tell anyone because he never wanted to remember any of it ever again. He could grow his plants and read his books and never think about the Dark again. But he'd never be so lucky as to forget.
"Dean, why don't you play with me anymore?"
It's Sam's voice, but not from his mouth. The voice of a child coming from the mouth of something grotesque. She's at the top of the stairs, crawling down towards them on all fours. Sam can see the glint of her teeth in the dark. Dean grabs a tight hold of his arm and pulls, tearing them away, back to Dean's old room where there's light.
Dean pushes Sam at Bobby, who catches him and guides him over to the corner. Then, the two of them close the door and barricade it with an old dresser. Sam backs up against the wall, shivering. He finds his abandoned flashlight a few steps away and leans over to grab it.
The door knocks. He hears his voice coming from the other side, "Dean, let me in!"
Bobby gapes, sputtering, looking between the two of them. The door knocks again, trembling in the frame. Sam gets onto his hands and knees, staring into the Dark. His mind detaches itself from his body again and he crawls forward, letting the blackness swallow him up.
It's colder than he remembers, sending a shiver through his bones the moment he's inside. He can feel the damp, stickiness under his feet as he moves. The patch of light from the room grows smaller and smaller behind him.
Oh, boy, why did you come back?
He sees he flickering just up ahead. Ghost girl. It hurts, a lump in his throat, not knowing what her real name was. He lifts the torch up and settles it on her. She looks just the same, just as horrifying.
You'll never leave now, she says. She drops her head sadly. You're here for the man, I suppose. I thought it was strange, we never had a grown-up here before.
Sam nods frantically, crawling closer.
I'll take you to him, she says, and drifts away. Sam hurries after her, climbing to his feet, making his unsteady way through the Dark.
There is more flickering up ahead, a huddle of fading light. And in the centre, a heavy lump of shadow lies unmoving. Sam gets closer and casts the torch over his father's shape. He drops to his knees, hands moving unsteadily over pale, icy skin.
His heart hammers in his chest. Sam can't tell if his dad is breathing.
He taps John's cheek desperately. After a moment, John begins to rouse. Once his eyes are open, Sam buries his face into his shoulder, gripping onto him tightly.
Sammy? John says, his voice sounding loud and quiet in the vast Dark. Sam doesn't hesitate any longer, pawing at John, pulling him up. John lists a little to the side once he's sitting, and Sam holds him steady easing him to his feet. He hooks his dad's arm over his shoulder and hurries. Ghost girl floats ahead of them, leading them back the way he came.
Sam, I don't understand, John slurs. Is this real?
Sam grips his father tighter, a tear of relief making its way down his cheek. They're stumbling along together when the doorway becomes visible again. The light grows the closer they get.
Then there's shrieking so loud and high it pierces Sam's ears. He hears gunshots going off, he can hear Her screaming, and the doorway is suddenly shrinking, smaller and smaller.
John is standing on his own now, eyes wide and awake in the darkness. Sam grabs his hand and pulls, running for the door. It's closing, they're never going to make it.
It's getting darker.
It's getting darker
darker
darker…
Something shoves at him hard in the back and he goes flying forwards into the light, landing harsh and painfully on the wooden floor. The air is knocked out of him and he flops over onto his back, clutching his stomach, trying to sit up.
He can feel the blood on his knees, soaking his jeans. He rolls onto his side, catching his breath.
He sees Her then. He sees Her corpse. She's a heap of skin and bones, mouth hanging open impossibly wide, Her empty eye sockets are dark and surprised. She's dead.
He glances behind where the doorway to the Dark was. There's nothing there now but faded wallpaper. There's no sign of his dad.
He scrambles over to Her corpse and slams his fist down on Her broad, bony chest, again and again, willing her heart to beat. She needs to come back, She needs to open to door, She needs to.
Dean's arms circle him and wrestle him back.
"It's dead, Sam," he says in his ear. "It's gone. It won't hurt anyone again."
Sam struggles because Dean isn't getting it. Dad is gone. Without Her, there is no door, there is no dad. He swivels around to face Dean, to make him understand.
"We'll find another way to open the door," Dean is saying. "I promised we'd get dad back. I promised."
Bobby is lingering by the corner, covered in bruises, blood leaking down the side of his face, looking a little shell-shocked as he stares at the empty space where the doorway was.
"I'll find another way," Dean promises. "You know me, Sam. You know I will. Dad's not gone."
But he is. He is, he is, he is. He's never coming back. Dean doesn't understand, Dad is never getting out.
"I'll find another one of these things, I'll make it open the door for me. I swear, Sam," Dean promises. He holds Sam tightly in his arms, rocking him like a child fresh out of a nightmare.
Dad's gone.
"I swear, Sam. Do you hear me?"
Gone.
Sam opens his mouth a screams. The room is silent. Through the curtains, the sun begins to rise, casting morning light across the fields outside. It's no longer dark, but Sam's hands still shake.
Next
Sam - 20th June 2000. The Ridge, Ridgeville, Georgia.
The house looks the same. It stares down at him. That rounded window in the attic glints like an eye, the sun hitting off the glass. Standing by Bobby's truck, Dean looks over and locks Sam's gaze. There's an almost smile from Dean, a smile that doesn't really mean anything. Sam quickly looks down to the dashboard.
On his lap, he fiddles with the bracelet, the same one he hasn't taken off since the day he received it. And pressed in one hand, he holds the crucifix, the one Pastor Jim gave to him a long time ago.
Soon, the sun will go down. Soon, Sam will have to sit in the dark for the first time in four years. Even now, at the age of seventeen, Sam sleeps with a nightlight. He won't sleep in the dark, you couldn't make him do it even if you offered his voice back.
But Sam needs to sit in the dark, he needs to wait for Her, he needs to save his dad. God help him, Sam is terrified.
He hasn't been this scared since that asshole Tommy Renwick locked him in a closet three years ago. Sam hopes Tommy's arm has a nice, ugly scar on it where Sam sunk his teeth into the jerk's skin. Fuck that asshole.
Dad. Do it for dad. Sam could cry with how much it hurts to miss his dad, how much it hurts to know where his dad is.
In the Dark.
Sam shudders and pulls his jacket tighter around hit body. He's sweating under three layers, the air is stuffy inside the car, the sun is hot on his skin. Still, Sam shivers. He always shivers. He can't stop his hands from shaking.
"Sammy?"
Sam jerks, almost hits his head against the ceiling of the car, when Dean appears in the window. His face is pinched, he looks too old, too worried. Sam wishes he could say something to make him less afraid. But Sam can't speak. Sam will never speak again.
Dean gently eases the car door open and crouches down. "Me and Bobby are just setting things up inside. Are you okay out here on your own?"
Sam wants to say no. He wants to tell Dean how much he wants to drive all the way back to Minnesota and hide in his room for the rest of his life. But Sam just nods because he has no other choice.
Getting away the first time was a miracle.
They need something more than that this time.
His fingers tighten around the crucifix.
Sam watches Dean and Bobby head over to the house, watches them make their way up the steps and through the front door. An unhelpful voice in his head tells him that they won't be coming back out. He pushes it down with prayer, one of the many Jim taught him, reciting it over and over in his mind until he can't hear that voice again.
Be brave, be brave, be brave.
She had eaten up his bravery, gutted him and scooped it all out.
His hands tremble harder, if it's possible, hard enough to shake up into his arms. He curls his arms into his middle and hunches forward to keep them still.
The front door creaks open again and Dean comes hopping down the stairs. The sight of his brother seeps a little relief into his chest, but not enough to quench the fear that is consuming him. Sam grips the bracelet and the crucifix pendant tighter in his hands until he can feel the point of the cross digging into his palm.
Dean eases the passenger door open and kneels down. He hesitantly reaches out a hand, but quickly diverts it to grip the door handle.
"Me and Bobby are all set up in there," he says. He's quiet for a moment and Sam can feel his eyes on him. He can tell Dean is waiting for some kind of answer so Sam just nods.
"Are you sure about this?" Dean finally asks. "We can find some other way to lure it out…"
Sam shakes his head frantically. He doesn't want to do this, dear God, he doesn't, but he wants his father back more than he feels afraid. If he wants his dad back, this is the only way. She didn't take John for any reason other than to lure Sam. John is a worm on the end of a hook, Sam is a fish. And Her, She's the shark.
She won't come out unless Sam is served up on a silver platter.
"I'll be right outside the door the whole time. Me and Bobby," Dean reminds him. "We're armed, okay? I'm not letting it touch you again. All you have to do is make the signal, then me and Bobby will come in and do the rest. All you have to do after that is run."
Sam frowns. No.
"What's wrong?" Dean asks.
Sam opens his mouth and wishes once again that he could speak. He clamps his mouth shut and frees his hands from where they're pinned around his middle. He jerks a thumb towards himself, wiggles two fingers in a running motion, then shakes his head.
Dean doesn't look like he understands, so Sam repeats it a few times. When Dean finally gets it, his eyes go wide.
"What? No, Sam. You need to run," he says. "What do you mean you're not running?"
Sam clenches his eyes closed, frustrated. He'd thought he'd made everything clear back at Annette's, writing it out and miming until his wrists were stiff, but maybe his communication skills aren't as manageable as he'd thought. He's definitely going to have to learn sign language, if his hands would just stop shaking, or if he doesn't die tonight.
Sam huffs a sigh and opens the glove compartment. He finds a cigarette pack and glares at Dean who looks suitably guilty, then he finds what he was looking for. A notepad and pen. Balancing the paper on his knee, he focuses his efforts on writing intelligibly. Once he's done, he hands it to Dean.
"'The door only stays open if She's in our world'," Dean reads. He frowns and glances up. "Yeah, you already said."
Sam refrains from rolling his eyes and takes the paper back, scribbling something else down, then handing it over.
Dean frowns at the paper as he reads, "'If She's dead, the door closes.'" He considers it for a moment, then nods. "So, we only gut the bitch once dad's back, right?"
Sam nods, relieved.
Dean shrugs. "No problem, Sam. Me and Bobby will handle it while you run back to the car, okay? The Impala's warded so it's the safest place we've got for you."
Sam nods, running a shaky hand along the dashboard. He feels Dean's hand on his shoulder, and for once, Sam doesn't jerk away.
"Let's light the bitch up," Dean says.
The curtains are drawn, blocking out any light from the moon outside. Sam settles down in the centre of the room, the UV torch in his hand flashes back-and-forth in his trembling grip. In his other hand, he tries his best to hold the string still.
He can hear Bobby and Dean outside the door, hear the floorboards creak under their weight. There's a brick wedged between the door and the frame, Dean won't be locked out like he was the last time.
No one makes a sound. There's nothing but the high whisper of wind rushing down the fireplace.
Sam tilts the torch upwards until he's sitting in a pool of light, surrounded by a circle of shadows. He has no idea which direction She might come from. It feels all too familiar to the Dark and his hands are now slick with sweat, the torch is slipping in his shaky grip.
She'll be coming for him soon. She must have smelled him by now. She's coming.
He grips the string more firmly, he feels the crucifix weighing down in his inner pocket, the bracelet feels tighter on his wrist.
He can't breathe. He can't breathe. She's coming, coming, coming, coming for him.
Sam feels a tightening in his chest, his heart beats desperately inside, wanting to be out. He needs to get out. But his legs feel like lead beneath him, his whole body is frozen solid, his hands twitch and shake uncertainly. He's so hot, he's too hot…
"Sam, I'm right here," Dean's voice filters quietly through the gap in the door. "I'm right here with you, Sammy. I'm here."
Sam forces a breath in, then back out. Dean is here, Dean is here, Dean is here. In and out, in and out, in and out.
For dad. They're doing this for dad.
The huff of hot air on the back of his neck stiffens his spin and suddenly he can feel the weight of Her right behind him. Sam's mind has detached itself from his body and he's hardly aware of turning around, tilting the torch upward and yanking the string as he does.
He yanks the string hard, hears the bell ring on the other side of the door, hears Dean cursing.
For a split second his torch settles on Her face, settling on the stretched skin of Her empty eye sockets. Her mouth is stretched wide, a gash running from ear to ear, her countless teeth are bared in a grim smile.
Then the room explodes with light and She rears back onto Her long, bone-like legs, hissing and spitting, scrambling back into the corner in search of darkness. There are no shadows, there is nothing but light, brilliant light.
When Sam can't move, it's Dean who pulls him back and out of the way. Sam finally manages to get onto his feet and he stumbles clumsily into a wall, banging his shoulder painfully but he barely notices. He can't pull his eyes away from Her.
Bobby and Dean have Her cornered, training Her with their weapons. Seeing Her now in the light for the first time, truly seeing Her, She is far more terrifying than he remembers. She's big, bigger than She seemed when he was half the size he is now. But She's cowering, curled up and pressed into the corner, whining like a dying cat.
"It burns!" She shrieks. "It burns!"
"You're gonna feel a lot worse than that before I'm done with you," Dean barks. He turns to look over his shoulder, eyes going wide when he catches sight of Sam. "Get the hell out of here!"
Sam is rooted to the spot. He can't move, even though he wants to more than anything. He sees Her look up and stare at him with that eyeless face. Her grin grows wider. She reaches out one arm, Her long fingers wriggles, and one of the claws scrapes the glass of the nearest light.
Lightning fast, she swipes and the room grows a little darker. She lashes out and knocks Bobby and Dean back. Sam watches Her crawl up the wall, across the ceiling, and through the door to the hallway.
"Fuck!" Dean yells, kicking the broken UV light. Bobby grabs Dean's arm and points across the room, to the corner by Sam. There's a patch of blackness nestled in the lit-up part of the room, the same place where Dean's bed was settled four years ago. An impossible dark hole leading to nothingness.
"It's going to be coming back here if it wants to be getting back to wherever it came from," Bobby points out.
Dean nods, catching his breath. "Do you know what the hell that thing was?" he finally asks. "It was ugly as fuck."
Bobby raises an eyebrow, amused. "Not a clue. Never seen anything like it."
Dean shifts his gun in his grip and makes his way over to Sam, placing his free hand on his shoulder. "You good?" he asks.
Sam is anything but. Still, he nods. The motion makes him dizzy and he eases himself down, eyes locked on the doorway to the Dark. He was trapped in there for two months but it had felt like years. He thinks maybe it was. He manages to tear his gaze away and looks up to Dean.
He opens his mouth and forms the shape of the word dad, pointing to the Dark.
"Dad's in there," Dean agrees. "We'll get him out, okay?"
Bobby is kneeling by the doorway, peering into its blackened depths. Hesitantly, he reaches out a hand and pushes it forward until it disappears in the shadows. He quickly pulls it back.
"Well, I ain't never seen something like that," he admits. He flicks on his flashlight and shines it inside, the light is swallowed up by the Dark. Bobby leans forward a bit. "John Winchester?!" he shouts. His voice echoes away.
Dean squeezes Sam's shoulder. "Dad's coming back," he says surely. He turns to face the door where She disappeared, gun focused into the hallway.
All three of them jump at the sound of a high pitched scream. "Help me!"
Dean's eyes go wide. "That's a kid!" he cries. "It's got a fucking kid!"
He sprints out the door and Sam's right on his tail. He manages to grab Dean at the foot of the stairs up to the attic, pulling him back.
"Sam, I'm not leaving a kid with that thing!" Dean snaps, trying to pull away but Sam's hold is firm. Once he has Dean's attention, he points to his ears. Listen.
"Dean, help me! Please help me! DEAN!"
Dean looks to Sam, mouth hanging open. "That's you," he realises. "That's your voice. But I…"
Sam pats his throat, where his vocal chords once were.
"Jesus, fuck!" Dean swears, realisation dawning. "That's why you can't speak. That thing took your voice."
Sam nods sadly.
"Why did you never try to tell anyone?" Dean asks softly. "I always thought it was… I thought you were just too scared to speak. I never thought it was because you can't speak. Fucking Christ…"
Sam never tried to tell anyone because he never wanted to remember any of it ever again. He could grow his plants and read his books and never think about the Dark again. But he'd never be so lucky as to forget.
"Dean, why don't you play with me anymore?"
It's Sam's voice, but not from his mouth. The voice of a child coming from the mouth of something grotesque. She's at the top of the stairs, crawling down towards them on all fours. Sam can see the glint of her teeth in the dark. Dean grabs a tight hold of his arm and pulls, tearing them away, back to Dean's old room where there's light.
Dean pushes Sam at Bobby, who catches him and guides him over to the corner. Then, the two of them close the door and barricade it with an old dresser. Sam backs up against the wall, shivering. He finds his abandoned flashlight a few steps away and leans over to grab it.
The door knocks. He hears his voice coming from the other side, "Dean, let me in!"
Bobby gapes, sputtering, looking between the two of them. The door knocks again, trembling in the frame. Sam gets onto his hands and knees, staring into the Dark. His mind detaches itself from his body again and he crawls forward, letting the blackness swallow him up.
It's colder than he remembers, sending a shiver through his bones the moment he's inside. He can feel the damp, stickiness under his feet as he moves. The patch of light from the room grows smaller and smaller behind him.
Oh, boy, why did you come back?
He sees he flickering just up ahead. Ghost girl. It hurts, a lump in his throat, not knowing what her real name was. He lifts the torch up and settles it on her. She looks just the same, just as horrifying.
You'll never leave now, she says. She drops her head sadly. You're here for the man, I suppose. I thought it was strange, we never had a grown-up here before.
Sam nods frantically, crawling closer.
I'll take you to him, she says, and drifts away. Sam hurries after her, climbing to his feet, making his unsteady way through the Dark.
There is more flickering up ahead, a huddle of fading light. And in the centre, a heavy lump of shadow lies unmoving. Sam gets closer and casts the torch over his father's shape. He drops to his knees, hands moving unsteadily over pale, icy skin.
His heart hammers in his chest. Sam can't tell if his dad is breathing.
He taps John's cheek desperately. After a moment, John begins to rouse. Once his eyes are open, Sam buries his face into his shoulder, gripping onto him tightly.
Sammy? John says, his voice sounding loud and quiet in the vast Dark. Sam doesn't hesitate any longer, pawing at John, pulling him up. John lists a little to the side once he's sitting, and Sam holds him steady easing him to his feet. He hooks his dad's arm over his shoulder and hurries. Ghost girl floats ahead of them, leading them back the way he came.
Sam, I don't understand, John slurs. Is this real?
Sam grips his father tighter, a tear of relief making its way down his cheek. They're stumbling along together when the doorway becomes visible again. The light grows the closer they get.
Then there's shrieking so loud and high it pierces Sam's ears. He hears gunshots going off, he can hear Her screaming, and the doorway is suddenly shrinking, smaller and smaller.
John is standing on his own now, eyes wide and awake in the darkness. Sam grabs his hand and pulls, running for the door. It's closing, they're never going to make it.
It's getting darker.
It's getting darker
darker
darker…
Something shoves at him hard in the back and he goes flying forwards into the light, landing harsh and painfully on the wooden floor. The air is knocked out of him and he flops over onto his back, clutching his stomach, trying to sit up.
He can feel the blood on his knees, soaking his jeans. He rolls onto his side, catching his breath.
He sees Her then. He sees Her corpse. She's a heap of skin and bones, mouth hanging open impossibly wide, Her empty eye sockets are dark and surprised. She's dead.
He glances behind where the doorway to the Dark was. There's nothing there now but faded wallpaper. There's no sign of his dad.
He scrambles over to Her corpse and slams his fist down on Her broad, bony chest, again and again, willing her heart to beat. She needs to come back, She needs to open to door, She needs to.
Dean's arms circle him and wrestle him back.
"It's dead, Sam," he says in his ear. "It's gone. It won't hurt anyone again."
Sam struggles because Dean isn't getting it. Dad is gone. Without Her, there is no door, there is no dad. He swivels around to face Dean, to make him understand.
"We'll find another way to open the door," Dean is saying. "I promised we'd get dad back. I promised."
Bobby is lingering by the corner, covered in bruises, blood leaking down the side of his face, looking a little shell-shocked as he stares at the empty space where the doorway was.
"I'll find another way," Dean promises. "You know me, Sam. You know I will. Dad's not gone."
But he is. He is, he is, he is. He's never coming back. Dean doesn't understand, Dad is never getting out.
"I'll find another one of these things, I'll make it open the door for me. I swear, Sam," Dean promises. He holds Sam tightly in his arms, rocking him like a child fresh out of a nightmare.
Dad's gone.
"I swear, Sam. Do you hear me?"
Gone.
Sam opens his mouth a screams. The room is silent. Through the curtains, the sun begins to rise, casting morning light across the fields outside. It's no longer dark, but Sam's hands still shake.
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