Vengeance Is Mine 10/?
Title: Vengeance Is Mine
Genre: gen, h/c
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence,
Characters: Sam, Dean/OFC,
Chapter word count: 2441
Warning: Spoilers from Season 2, 3 and 4
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can lay no claims to the sexy boys. =( Just having fun with them.
~*~*~
Her piercing gaze smoldered in his eyes, and he groaned, letting out a scream as an intense headache built behind his eyes, pushing with a force he thought must dislodge his eyes from their sockets.
Then the torturous pressure moved to his chest, and he could feel her fingers inside his ribcage, caressing his heart and lungs, and the icy cold tore into him, crushing his organs in a freezing grasp.
Blanche felt tears trickling down her face as she dropped beside Dean, trying to ignore Sam’s screams as she wrestled Dean’s limp body into more of an upright position. Dean’s hand moved feebly to cover hers and he tried to push her away.
“Help Sammy,” he gasped, and she was relieved to see there was no blood in his mouth. All she had to do was tie off his jugular. Simple. Her heart sank at the thought of her task and she shoved the gas can she’d still been carrying out of her way.
“I can’t Dean, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she tilted his head to the side and pressed her left hand above his wound and simultaneously scrabbled at the hem of her flannel shirt. “I have to help you first. Sam will be fine until I get you stable. It’s been about a minute now so I only have a couple minutes to stop this bleeding.”
Dean pushed her away again and Blanche let out a little sob, cupping Dean’s face in her right hand. “Dean, you are both going to die if you don’t let me do this quickly.” Her gray eyes bored intensely into his dull green ones and he slowly nodded, just a hint of the movement.
“Okay,” he breathed, too weak to protest further and Blanche raised the hem of her shirt to her lips, catching a loose couple strings in her teeth and pulling.
A foot-long length of string raveled loose and she bent over Dean with trembling hands. His life-blood was pumping impossibly fast from the tear in his throat and it coated her hands instantly, causing her fingers to slip each time she tried to pinch the severed artery closed.
A sob escaped her and tears blurred her vision as she missed again as heavy thump from behind her signaled that Jenny was tossing Sam like a rag-doll again. Dean’s fingers brushed her leg and she raised her wet eyes to his.
“It’s okay,” he mouthed, voice failing him. “It’s okay.”
Blanche shook her head violently, wet hair slapping her cheeks. “No,” she argued, choking back the tears and glancing at Dean’s watch. One minute and 30 seconds had passed since Sam had entered the room. Dean had only three and a half minutes left, at best.
~ * ~ * ~
Sam’s body slammed hard into the bookshelf and he crumpled to the floor in a heap, raising his arms to protect his head as the books crashed down on him.
The sharp corners dug into his skin and he was knocked facedown by a particularly large book striking his head.
He writhed in pain, face contorting as he shakily pushed himself to all fours trying to crawl away.
But the Rusalki was quicker. Her wet hands closed on the back of his neck and hurled him across the room to plaster him against the brick fireplace.
Sam’s cry of pain tore involuntarily from his throat and he slid half-fainting to the floor, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead and another on the back of his head.
His head ached and his body ached and he vaguely realized her couldn’t feel his left hand very well.
Glancing blearily down at his arm, he registered the blood soaked sleeve and the odd angle of his forearm.
It’s broken, he observed wonderingly before Jenny lifted him and tossed him away again, head first into the wall.
He moaned and didn’t get up.
~ * ~ * ~
Blanche’s head jerked up suddenly and her bloody right hand flew to her hair, jerking out the hairpins she’d tucked in the front last night. With shaking fingers, she raised the 4 pins to her lips and bite down, closing them into a tighter clamp.
“Hold perfectly still,” she mumbled to Dean around the three pins still in her mouth, as she painstakingly pried one of the pins open with one hand and her teeth and maneuvered it around his jugular as she maintained the pressure above the wound with her left hand.
A little grunt of disbelief escaped her as the pin slid into place and the flow of blood slowed slightly. Her fingers flew back to her lips and she pried open another bobby pin, easing it into place beside the first one, pressing harder with her left hand at the same time, above the wound and directly on the severed vein, above the pins. The gush of blood diminished instantly and notably and did she only imagine that Dean’s face lost some of its ashen pallor?
The third pin slipped on a little easier and she moved one of her left fingers to press below the small cluster of clamps, trying to prevent any air bubbles from leaving down through the jugular.
With her right hand she dug into Dean’s pockets until she located his cell phone. Her heart leapt as she flipped it open and saw the coverage bars. The storm was letting up. She could hear the difference in the rain now, the relentless deluge diminished to a light drenching.
Her fingertips left bloodstains on the buttons as she dialed 9-1-1 and wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder.
“Hello, yes I need an ambulance to come to Madeline Proctors house at-- Abby is that you? Thank God! Hurry, send the ambulance to Madeline’s. There’s a man here with a severed jugular. Yes, Madeline’s fine. Hurry up Abigail! See if you can get a hold of the Air Patrol and send if a chopper if they have it. I’ve stopped the bleeding but--”
A tremendous weight crashed into her, knocking her away from Dean and smashing her against the wall, the phone crunching into little pieces beside her. She groaned as she slid to the floor, buried beneath Sam’s limp weight.
He rolled off her painfully slowly, his left arm immobile while his right clutched his ribs and his eyes lit on the gas can beside Dean. In a movement slower than usual but still full of lethal grace, he lunged to grab it and whirled toward Jenny, dousing her one-handed with its contents as she advanced on the three.
The gasoline splattered in a puddle around her, dripping down her body, rolling off her water-dampened clothes and hair. She was no longer soaking wet, and Sam’s eyes lifted to the ceiling where the sounds of the rain were the softest they’d been yet.
“Hurry Sam!” Blanche screamed as Sam fumbled clumsily in his pockets for the lighter, but it was gone.
“I lost it!” he shouted desperately, and suddenly Blanche felt something cool and hard slipped into her hand.
It was Dean, handing over his lighter and she tossed it instantly to Sam as she shouted a heads up.
Sam turned painfully, caught it, flicked it and dropped to his knees, turning his head to shield his face as he lowered right hand to the floor.
The burst of flame roared up around Jenny’s feet and licked instantly up her body, singeing Sam's eyebrows and bangs. The spirit screamed and flailed furiously, trying to escape the flames. Blanche and Sam were slammed immovable against the wall again, choking up blood in agony.
But there was nothing Jenny could do to stop her demise. The gasoline did its work, burning fiercely, and the Rusalki didn’t stand a chance.
The water on her body evaporated rapidly from the heat and within seconds her hair was a raging mass of flames, writhing around her head in a sick dance.
Seconds later she was gone, withering into damp ashes that succumbed to the hungry flames that roared on to eat at the furniture.
Her hold on Blanche and Sam was broken and they slumped to the floor, coughing and wincing, all three hunters leaning against the same wall in much the same attitude of pain and exhaustion.
Blanche was the first to raise her head, blood trailing down her chin as she shakily pulled herself to her feet leaving red handprints everywhere she touched. Sam groaned and she briefly peered into his face to be sure he as okay. He waved her away slowly and she collapsed beside Dean, her legs giving out treacherously underneath her.
“Dean?” she whispered, voice trembling as she checked the makeshift clamps on the severed vein. They’d held and she raised her eyes to his face. “Dean?” Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids and stung her nose as she waited for a sign he was alive.
She felt Sam stiffly lower his lanky body beside her and could practically feel the anxiety and fear emanating from him.
“Dean, if you can hear us open your eyes. Please,” Sam pleaded as his big hand closed around Dean’s wrist, checking for a pulse, not finding one.
Gritting his teeth resolutely against the pain washing over him he checked again. Still not feeling any flicker of life in his brother he bent carefully over him and touched his cheek to Dean’s nose, waiting for a puff of air.
It was several excruciatingly long seconds before he was rewarded with a light exhale and a thready whisper.
“Sammy, back off. You’re invading my personal space.”
Sam and Blanche both sagged in relief, Blanche burying her head in her arms and Sam dropping his head to hide the naked affection for his brother in his eyes.
“Thought you were a goner for a moment there Dean.” Sam tried to hide the quiver in his voice but didn’t quite succeed.
“So did I little brother,” Dean whispered, eyes running sluggishly over Sam. “Are you okay? Where are you bleeding?”
He tried to raise himself up but didn't have even the strength to brace himself on his arm.
“I’m fine Dean,” Sam lied huskily to his brother, emotion choking him. “It’s just a little blood and bruises. I’m fine, really. Now don’t move or get your heart rate up. Just wait for the ambulance.”
Dean lay back obediently, his eyes moving to Blanche. “Don’t cry, Blanche. Everything will be alright now,” he murmured. He tried to smile confidently but it ended up a tiny little half-smile that brought more tears to Blanche’s eyes.”
“I’m not crying,” she teased tearfully. “It’s this damn smoke.”
She and Sam gasped in unison and turned to look behind them. The gasoline had leaked across the floor and the fire had by now engulfed the couch and drapes and was inching across the floor toward the door.
“We need to get you out of here,” they both announced in unison, turning to Dean, and Blanche stepped over his legs to allow Sam access to Dean’s upper body.
“Don’t let his head flop around,” she cautioned unnecessarily and Sam nodded, biting his lip as he tried to figure out a way to carry Dean with only one arm.
“I can hold my own head up thank you very much,” Dean mumbled, his voice still a little wobbly. “An' I c'n walk."
Sam had nudged his body behind his brothers and slid his right arm around Dean and under his arms, lifting him up as he made sure to support his head.
The movement sent a flare of pain through his broken ribs, and he choked back a scream of pain. It can out a muffled grunt instead and Blanche looked up anxiously.
Sam gave her a quick shake of his head, nodding warningly toward Dean, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, but moved around to Dean's other side to mirror Sam's hold.
"We're gonna have to drag you a bit, Dean," she grunted as they hoisted him up, careful to keep his head from moving too much. "Just kinda go limp so it's easier."
The last bit was unnecessary, seeing as how Dean didn't seem to have a bone in his body as they shuffled quickly across the floor, supporting his dead weight and barely beating the flames to the door.
They didn’t stop until they were on the front porch, where they carefully eased Dean down, propping him against the wall.
“Put me in my baby,” he ordered weakly, but Sam shook his head firmly.
“No Dean. The paramedics should be here soon and we can’t be moving you around too much. Besides, you don’t want blood all over her seats.”
Dean stopped and regarded the Impala thoughtfully, finally seeming to decide Sam was making sense.
“Fine…” He frowned, concentrating hard, his eyebrows puckered. “But I don’ wanna go to the hospital Sammy.” His voice was breathy and fluctuating up and down and Sam frowned as well.
He knelt with a hiss of pain and peered into Dean’s face. “Dean? How many fingers am I holding up?”
He waved his fist in front of Dean’s face, and Dean followed his hand with his eyes.
“None Sam. I didn’t get a concussion, I got my jugular bitten in two,” he pointed out and Sam looked disconcerted.
“Well you’re acting loopy,” he defended, and Dean snorted weakly.
“I did lose several quarts of blood,” he pointed out, giggling, and Blanche settled down on the wood beside him, leaning across his lap to check the pin-clamps. They were holding fine but the blood was starting to leak out again.
“Sam call 9-1-1 again please,” she requested, forcing her voice to stay calm. “Make sure they’re on their way.” She pressed her fingers hard into Dean’s neck above his wound.
“You’re bleeding again,” she informed Dean quietly as Sam spoke to Abby in the background, limping painfully back and forth as he spoke. “Hold still.”
He obliged her, resting his head against hers as they waited for help to arrive.
Sam emerged from the house carrying Madeline, who was still unconscious, over one shoulder, bracing her body against the wall so he could slide her off his shoulder and to the porch boards.
"Still unconscious?" Blanche asked worriedly. "Shouldn't she have woken by now?"
Sam glanced at his watch, his face still white with pain. “It’s only been eleven minutes,” he informed her incredulously. “Can you believe it?”
Blanche looked surprised. “It feels like ages,” she admitted quietly, tilting her cheek lower against Dean’s damp hair.
Chapter 11
Genre: gen, h/c
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence,
Characters: Sam, Dean/OFC,
Chapter word count: 2441
Warning: Spoilers from Season 2, 3 and 4
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can lay no claims to the sexy boys. =( Just having fun with them.
~*~*~
Her piercing gaze smoldered in his eyes, and he groaned, letting out a scream as an intense headache built behind his eyes, pushing with a force he thought must dislodge his eyes from their sockets.
Then the torturous pressure moved to his chest, and he could feel her fingers inside his ribcage, caressing his heart and lungs, and the icy cold tore into him, crushing his organs in a freezing grasp.
Blanche felt tears trickling down her face as she dropped beside Dean, trying to ignore Sam’s screams as she wrestled Dean’s limp body into more of an upright position. Dean’s hand moved feebly to cover hers and he tried to push her away.
“Help Sammy,” he gasped, and she was relieved to see there was no blood in his mouth. All she had to do was tie off his jugular. Simple. Her heart sank at the thought of her task and she shoved the gas can she’d still been carrying out of her way.
“I can’t Dean, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she tilted his head to the side and pressed her left hand above his wound and simultaneously scrabbled at the hem of her flannel shirt. “I have to help you first. Sam will be fine until I get you stable. It’s been about a minute now so I only have a couple minutes to stop this bleeding.”
Dean pushed her away again and Blanche let out a little sob, cupping Dean’s face in her right hand. “Dean, you are both going to die if you don’t let me do this quickly.” Her gray eyes bored intensely into his dull green ones and he slowly nodded, just a hint of the movement.
“Okay,” he breathed, too weak to protest further and Blanche raised the hem of her shirt to her lips, catching a loose couple strings in her teeth and pulling.
A foot-long length of string raveled loose and she bent over Dean with trembling hands. His life-blood was pumping impossibly fast from the tear in his throat and it coated her hands instantly, causing her fingers to slip each time she tried to pinch the severed artery closed.
A sob escaped her and tears blurred her vision as she missed again as heavy thump from behind her signaled that Jenny was tossing Sam like a rag-doll again. Dean’s fingers brushed her leg and she raised her wet eyes to his.
“It’s okay,” he mouthed, voice failing him. “It’s okay.”
Blanche shook her head violently, wet hair slapping her cheeks. “No,” she argued, choking back the tears and glancing at Dean’s watch. One minute and 30 seconds had passed since Sam had entered the room. Dean had only three and a half minutes left, at best.
~ * ~ * ~
Sam’s body slammed hard into the bookshelf and he crumpled to the floor in a heap, raising his arms to protect his head as the books crashed down on him.
The sharp corners dug into his skin and he was knocked facedown by a particularly large book striking his head.
He writhed in pain, face contorting as he shakily pushed himself to all fours trying to crawl away.
But the Rusalki was quicker. Her wet hands closed on the back of his neck and hurled him across the room to plaster him against the brick fireplace.
Sam’s cry of pain tore involuntarily from his throat and he slid half-fainting to the floor, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead and another on the back of his head.
His head ached and his body ached and he vaguely realized her couldn’t feel his left hand very well.
Glancing blearily down at his arm, he registered the blood soaked sleeve and the odd angle of his forearm.
It’s broken, he observed wonderingly before Jenny lifted him and tossed him away again, head first into the wall.
He moaned and didn’t get up.
~ * ~ * ~
Blanche’s head jerked up suddenly and her bloody right hand flew to her hair, jerking out the hairpins she’d tucked in the front last night. With shaking fingers, she raised the 4 pins to her lips and bite down, closing them into a tighter clamp.
“Hold perfectly still,” she mumbled to Dean around the three pins still in her mouth, as she painstakingly pried one of the pins open with one hand and her teeth and maneuvered it around his jugular as she maintained the pressure above the wound with her left hand.
A little grunt of disbelief escaped her as the pin slid into place and the flow of blood slowed slightly. Her fingers flew back to her lips and she pried open another bobby pin, easing it into place beside the first one, pressing harder with her left hand at the same time, above the wound and directly on the severed vein, above the pins. The gush of blood diminished instantly and notably and did she only imagine that Dean’s face lost some of its ashen pallor?
The third pin slipped on a little easier and she moved one of her left fingers to press below the small cluster of clamps, trying to prevent any air bubbles from leaving down through the jugular.
With her right hand she dug into Dean’s pockets until she located his cell phone. Her heart leapt as she flipped it open and saw the coverage bars. The storm was letting up. She could hear the difference in the rain now, the relentless deluge diminished to a light drenching.
Her fingertips left bloodstains on the buttons as she dialed 9-1-1 and wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder.
“Hello, yes I need an ambulance to come to Madeline Proctors house at-- Abby is that you? Thank God! Hurry, send the ambulance to Madeline’s. There’s a man here with a severed jugular. Yes, Madeline’s fine. Hurry up Abigail! See if you can get a hold of the Air Patrol and send if a chopper if they have it. I’ve stopped the bleeding but--”
A tremendous weight crashed into her, knocking her away from Dean and smashing her against the wall, the phone crunching into little pieces beside her. She groaned as she slid to the floor, buried beneath Sam’s limp weight.
He rolled off her painfully slowly, his left arm immobile while his right clutched his ribs and his eyes lit on the gas can beside Dean. In a movement slower than usual but still full of lethal grace, he lunged to grab it and whirled toward Jenny, dousing her one-handed with its contents as she advanced on the three.
The gasoline splattered in a puddle around her, dripping down her body, rolling off her water-dampened clothes and hair. She was no longer soaking wet, and Sam’s eyes lifted to the ceiling where the sounds of the rain were the softest they’d been yet.
“Hurry Sam!” Blanche screamed as Sam fumbled clumsily in his pockets for the lighter, but it was gone.
“I lost it!” he shouted desperately, and suddenly Blanche felt something cool and hard slipped into her hand.
It was Dean, handing over his lighter and she tossed it instantly to Sam as she shouted a heads up.
Sam turned painfully, caught it, flicked it and dropped to his knees, turning his head to shield his face as he lowered right hand to the floor.
The burst of flame roared up around Jenny’s feet and licked instantly up her body, singeing Sam's eyebrows and bangs. The spirit screamed and flailed furiously, trying to escape the flames. Blanche and Sam were slammed immovable against the wall again, choking up blood in agony.
But there was nothing Jenny could do to stop her demise. The gasoline did its work, burning fiercely, and the Rusalki didn’t stand a chance.
The water on her body evaporated rapidly from the heat and within seconds her hair was a raging mass of flames, writhing around her head in a sick dance.
Seconds later she was gone, withering into damp ashes that succumbed to the hungry flames that roared on to eat at the furniture.
Her hold on Blanche and Sam was broken and they slumped to the floor, coughing and wincing, all three hunters leaning against the same wall in much the same attitude of pain and exhaustion.
Blanche was the first to raise her head, blood trailing down her chin as she shakily pulled herself to her feet leaving red handprints everywhere she touched. Sam groaned and she briefly peered into his face to be sure he as okay. He waved her away slowly and she collapsed beside Dean, her legs giving out treacherously underneath her.
“Dean?” she whispered, voice trembling as she checked the makeshift clamps on the severed vein. They’d held and she raised her eyes to his face. “Dean?” Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids and stung her nose as she waited for a sign he was alive.
She felt Sam stiffly lower his lanky body beside her and could practically feel the anxiety and fear emanating from him.
“Dean, if you can hear us open your eyes. Please,” Sam pleaded as his big hand closed around Dean’s wrist, checking for a pulse, not finding one.
Gritting his teeth resolutely against the pain washing over him he checked again. Still not feeling any flicker of life in his brother he bent carefully over him and touched his cheek to Dean’s nose, waiting for a puff of air.
It was several excruciatingly long seconds before he was rewarded with a light exhale and a thready whisper.
“Sammy, back off. You’re invading my personal space.”
Sam and Blanche both sagged in relief, Blanche burying her head in her arms and Sam dropping his head to hide the naked affection for his brother in his eyes.
“Thought you were a goner for a moment there Dean.” Sam tried to hide the quiver in his voice but didn’t quite succeed.
“So did I little brother,” Dean whispered, eyes running sluggishly over Sam. “Are you okay? Where are you bleeding?”
He tried to raise himself up but didn't have even the strength to brace himself on his arm.
“I’m fine Dean,” Sam lied huskily to his brother, emotion choking him. “It’s just a little blood and bruises. I’m fine, really. Now don’t move or get your heart rate up. Just wait for the ambulance.”
Dean lay back obediently, his eyes moving to Blanche. “Don’t cry, Blanche. Everything will be alright now,” he murmured. He tried to smile confidently but it ended up a tiny little half-smile that brought more tears to Blanche’s eyes.”
“I’m not crying,” she teased tearfully. “It’s this damn smoke.”
She and Sam gasped in unison and turned to look behind them. The gasoline had leaked across the floor and the fire had by now engulfed the couch and drapes and was inching across the floor toward the door.
“We need to get you out of here,” they both announced in unison, turning to Dean, and Blanche stepped over his legs to allow Sam access to Dean’s upper body.
“Don’t let his head flop around,” she cautioned unnecessarily and Sam nodded, biting his lip as he tried to figure out a way to carry Dean with only one arm.
“I can hold my own head up thank you very much,” Dean mumbled, his voice still a little wobbly. “An' I c'n walk."
Sam had nudged his body behind his brothers and slid his right arm around Dean and under his arms, lifting him up as he made sure to support his head.
The movement sent a flare of pain through his broken ribs, and he choked back a scream of pain. It can out a muffled grunt instead and Blanche looked up anxiously.
Sam gave her a quick shake of his head, nodding warningly toward Dean, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, but moved around to Dean's other side to mirror Sam's hold.
"We're gonna have to drag you a bit, Dean," she grunted as they hoisted him up, careful to keep his head from moving too much. "Just kinda go limp so it's easier."
The last bit was unnecessary, seeing as how Dean didn't seem to have a bone in his body as they shuffled quickly across the floor, supporting his dead weight and barely beating the flames to the door.
They didn’t stop until they were on the front porch, where they carefully eased Dean down, propping him against the wall.
“Put me in my baby,” he ordered weakly, but Sam shook his head firmly.
“No Dean. The paramedics should be here soon and we can’t be moving you around too much. Besides, you don’t want blood all over her seats.”
Dean stopped and regarded the Impala thoughtfully, finally seeming to decide Sam was making sense.
“Fine…” He frowned, concentrating hard, his eyebrows puckered. “But I don’ wanna go to the hospital Sammy.” His voice was breathy and fluctuating up and down and Sam frowned as well.
He knelt with a hiss of pain and peered into Dean’s face. “Dean? How many fingers am I holding up?”
He waved his fist in front of Dean’s face, and Dean followed his hand with his eyes.
“None Sam. I didn’t get a concussion, I got my jugular bitten in two,” he pointed out and Sam looked disconcerted.
“Well you’re acting loopy,” he defended, and Dean snorted weakly.
“I did lose several quarts of blood,” he pointed out, giggling, and Blanche settled down on the wood beside him, leaning across his lap to check the pin-clamps. They were holding fine but the blood was starting to leak out again.
“Sam call 9-1-1 again please,” she requested, forcing her voice to stay calm. “Make sure they’re on their way.” She pressed her fingers hard into Dean’s neck above his wound.
“You’re bleeding again,” she informed Dean quietly as Sam spoke to Abby in the background, limping painfully back and forth as he spoke. “Hold still.”
He obliged her, resting his head against hers as they waited for help to arrive.
Sam emerged from the house carrying Madeline, who was still unconscious, over one shoulder, bracing her body against the wall so he could slide her off his shoulder and to the porch boards.
"Still unconscious?" Blanche asked worriedly. "Shouldn't she have woken by now?"
Sam glanced at his watch, his face still white with pain. “It’s only been eleven minutes,” he informed her incredulously. “Can you believe it?”
Blanche looked surprised. “It feels like ages,” she admitted quietly, tilting her cheek lower against Dean’s damp hair.
Chapter 11