Hole In The Sky for brihana25 2/2
“Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey!”
The man in the bed snapped awake and immediately shrank back towards the bolster, apparently trying to melt into the wall. “Oh my Go- Ouch!”
“Easy there, Todd. Don’t want your ticker to check out just yet.”
“O my God! My ti…” The man trailed off, gave a generous shake of his head. “Are you a reaper? Oh my God you’re a reaper, aren’t you? It’s that steak, isn’t it? I knew I shouldn’t, but it smelled so good and I thought what the hell-”
“Hey,” Dean said a little taken aback by the mention of the reaper, snapped his fingers in front of Todd’s face but it barely changed anything about the string of blabbering pouring out of the guy’s mouth.
“-and now hell has come to claim me. Can’t it be reverted? I mean I might be old, but there’s still so many things I-”
“Hey,” Dean hollered and it finally grabbed the guy’s attention. “Look at me. I’m not a reaper. You’re good and you’re not going to hell. Not yet, at least.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Look at you, it’s too dark. I got poor sight. It’s those goddamn computers, I tell you. All my life I had eyes like a hawk. Then they drop me this thing and before I know it my eyes just ain’t working the way they used to.”
“Oh God, I so don’t have time for this shit,” Dean groaned but stood up obediently and walked to turn on the light.
“Better?” He barked not waiting for the answer. “Good. Grab your shit, we gotta go. Hope you got pants underneath,” he added nodding towards the crumpled sheets.
“You’re that guy who tried to kill a clerk this morning,” Todd exclaimed after he’d found his way to a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “I saw you on TV.”
So that actually happened, huh.
“I mighta sounded a little hazy on the details,” Dean said with a lackluster smile. “but what I meant was: move!”
“It’s you, I’m sure. My body might be old but my mind?” Todd knocked at his temple with the deformed knuckles of his right hand, a triumphant expression on his face. “Sharp as a knife!”
Dean exhaled audibly, examined the old librarian; his bright idea of speeding up the research could definitely use a little polishing.
He sighed with frustration. “Yeah well, I didn’t have my morning coffee. Come to think of, it I still haven’t.”
“But it’s,” Todd squinted his eyes at the old clock, “almost 4 in the morning.”
“My point exactly.”
***
“I know!” Todd declared with satisfaction completely forgetting about the book lying in front of him, his face enlightened by the yellow glow of a desk lamp. “It’s a secret order, isn’t it? I mean why else break into a library in the middle of the night and look up such things!”
Dean lifted his eyes from the screen of the laptop distractedly and fought the impulse to tell the guy to shut up and get back to work. Todd might have seen The Wizard of Oz one too many times but his books? Even Bobby didn’t know his better. Besides, whatever buckets of crazy he brought with himself, the guy was genuinely trying to help and that, if nothing else, was a rare enough thing to deserve a credit.
Dean knitted his eyebrows, let off a grim laugh at how far and at the same time how close the statement was from the truth. “Don’t get too excited Todd, it’s hardly ever the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
Then he thought about Sam and struggled to swallow down the tightness in his throat that followed. Pot of gold, more like a fucking life line.
“Whatever it is, it seems to have a taste for young men,” Dean said hearing the quaver in his voice, the letters from police reports jumping in his vision. He cleared his throat. “It probably feasts on them. It is also capable of fucking with your mind and smart enough to care.”
“My ex-wife fits the profile perfectly,” Todd chuckled. “I tell you, she could suck up all the life from you if she set her mind to that. A real ball of fire that one!”
Dean scrolled down a few more pages but found nothing that would give him an idea where all those boys were taken. Fucking perfect.
“Keep digging. I’ll be back in a few.”
Cautiously, Dean sneaked out from the library, making sure no one saw him. He wanted to call Bobby, or Ellen, or fucking anybody and everybody that could know something, but he was too afraid it would end up with yet another mind-melting hallucination. He remembered talking to Bobby like through a thick curtain of fog, however, his phone bore no sign of the call ever being made. Memory that was his and wasn’t at the same time. Like a fucking cuckoo’s egg. He had thought the scene at the motel was part of the deal, but apparently it had actually taken place. Some of it at least. Or hadn’t, which would mean that he had finally lost it. Not that it hadn’t been coming to him, but Dean just wished that his psyche had chosen a slightly less bleak corner of his mind.
For now, he moved the Impala from the street in front of the entrance to the library to a back alley which seemed to be a bit less in the center of spotlight. Grabbing Dad’s journal and his colt, Dean trod back to the building really hoping that Todd would be able to point him toward something he could kill by now.
No such luck.
“You know, back in the day I had several theories as to what caused all those disappearances,” Todd welcomed him with a frowned forehead, engrossed in his thoughts. “There was this episode of the X-Files where-“
“If you say aliens, wacko grandpa or not, I swear I’m gonna shoot you.”
“Anybody told you that you seem a bit erratic? Besides, there’s no greater obstacle to the conquest than narrow minds,” Todd announced pointing the ceiling with an outstretched crooked finger.
“Never mind, I’m probably gonna shoot myself first,” Dean groaned dropping the colt and the journal on the top of his desk, moving the latter in front of his eyes and starting to leaf through it. He knew the thing practically by heart, but the touch of the pages gave him a strange sense of comfort. Besides, it wouldn’t have been the first time something had slipped his attention.
Todd seemed to be battling whether to transfix his eyes on the firearm or on the journal. “Is that-“
“Yes it is a gun and yes it is a mysterious book containing secret knowledge,” Dean sighed exasperated. Wasting time was something he really could not afford. “Now if you don’t mind-“
Dean broke off half way and lifted his palm to hush Todd as well. The clattering that drew his attention was coming from the back of the library, from the outside, just where he had moved the car a minute before. Dean stood up, snatched the colt, and approached the nearest window to have a peek. Todd was standing as well, his eyes huge with alarm, face expectant. Dean shook his head, too dark, indicated with the barrel that he was going to make a recon run.
It was raining again. The drizzle changed into a full-time deluge that was soaking in his already drenched clothes and obscuring his vision. He moved quietly, knees bended, back to the wall, body ready to spring any second. He advanced towards the car and slowly started to circle around it, scanning the area carefully. He relaxed a bit when nothing unusual caught his attention.
He motioned towards the entrance of the alley when his phone rang. Dean checked the ID but didn’t recognize it. The frisk of hesitation floated in and out and he picked it up.
“Yeah?”
The sounds streaming out of the phone were in equal measure soothing and spine-chilling. They captivated him, enraptured and daunted. The timbre seemed vaguely familiar, evoked images of fair, faint veil falling down on his bare chest, the touch on his skin immersing him in a peaceful lull under a cloak of sorrow. The sensation of despair was overwhelming, but the acceptance it stepped shoulder to shoulder with conveyed relief. He knew he didn’t have to do it anymore and the realization felt liberating. The fight had been over a long time ago, it had ended together with that broken yell.
“Jesus Christ!”
Something pushed him and he fell to the ground, the sound of metal hitting the concrete filled his ringing ears. Somebody’s hands were on him, a stream of nonsense wrapped up in words mixed up with the hum of rain. Much too close.
“Get the fuck off me!” He bellowed trying to push away the prodding hands.
“Ok. Did the urge pass?” Todd stepped backwards showing the balls of his hands in a gesture that was probably supposed to be placating. “I sure hope it passed ‘cause I don’t know how I would explain how I became acquainted with a dead criminal and I’m much too old to fight my way up the prison ladder, and-”
“Shut up for a second, will you?” Dean was shaking all over. “What the hell just happened?”
Todd blinked, his gaze followed the gun and the phone lying next to Dean’s feet. His expression changed, raindrops tracking down the deep wrinkles marking his face. He approached Dean and put a surprisingly steady hand on his shoulder, helping him to stand up.
“I think you might wanna keep this thing away for a bit,” the old man said nodding towards the ground.
Whether it was the phone or the gun he was indicating Dean didn’t know but the mental dots in his mind started to connect. He couldn’t feel much more than a mere shadow of the sensation, but the salt on his lips told the story he wasn’t terribly eager to hear. The street seemed empty. He picked up his stuff, making sure to put the safety on the colt back on.
“I think I owe you one,” Dean said sheepishly scratching his jaw, words choppy.
Todd didn’t answer. Instead he quietly motioned back towards the library. The impression was odd and Dean, to his own surprise, would much prefer the blabbering he had been inundated with so far.
“You should head back home,” he said firmly opening the door.
“And leave you alone in my library?” Todd exclaimed indignantly, sounding deeply offended. “I’m not nuts!”
The corners of Dean’s lips curled up. “I think I’m way past the point of fair judgment.”
They settled in their seats and dived in the books, the piles on the desks regularly fed by the old librarian. Todd suggested a few names, but Dean dismissed them. It was getting light out when he finally came across something that caught his attention.
“I think I got it.”
Todd stood up and shambled towards Dean’s desk. The exhaustion visible in both the guy’s movements and expression stabbed him with a sudden pang of guilt.
Dean waited for the old man to stoop above his desk before he resumed. “Look here,” he said pointing a picture with his finger. It showed a woman with flaming hair, one human leg and one donkey-like. “All class, huh?”
Todd raised his eyebrows. “E- empusa?”
“That’s a first one for me as well,” Dean responded, dragging a trembling hand down his face. He realized vaguely how tired he was himself. Every second he was spending over the books caused almost physical pain to him and God only knew what it meant for Sam. But with things like these? It was a matter of one shot and one shot only, and he needed to make it count. “Feasts on young men, on their blood and flesh. It possesses powers of altering the mind, and can take a human form. It fits.”
“A Greek demigodess?” Todd read adjusting the glasses on his nose. The bewilderment was surreal for somebody who had just spent all night studying supernatural creatures without as much as a blink of an eye. “In New London, Missouri?”
Dean shrugged not sure what to say. This shit just happened, he never really wondered why here and not there. That kind of thinking led nowhere.
“It says,” Todd continued, apparently not expecting an answer, “that it is depicted as a specter or as a demon.”
“Oh, it’s corporeal, all right,” Dean said with a wince. The memory survived only in shreds but unfortunately clear enough to keep him in for the following nights.
“It’s venomous?” Todd looked up from the page. “It says it’s venomous. What does it mean it’s venomous?”
Dean stood up, ignored the kinks in his neck and spread a map of the town on another desk. He started circling the areas where the victims might have been taken from.
“What are you doing?” Todd asked emerging behind his shoulder
“Trying to narrow down the area of hunting. I’m almost sure I saw this thing here last night,” he said marking the bar with a red circle.
Todd pointed another red point on the map. “This right here? Isn’t it the motel where you-?” He trailed off making twiddles in the air with his right palm.
Dean sighed heavily, propped on the desk with both arms, “It’s where it took my brother from.” It was the first time he pronounced it out loud and it caused a fresh flash of anger running down his back. “And had me believe he was dead.”
Todd leaned further over the top of the desk. “Like hypnosis? Was that what happened in that alley?”
Dean grimaced, chewed on his bottom lip, “I think this thing’s poison acts like hypnosis, yeah, but with a delayed effect. Seems like it’s sleep that triggers it. All of the victims couldn’t boast big families; I guess the fewer people to fool, the better. It saw me in that bar and recognized me,” he said tapping a finger against the spot on the map, “probably decided to change its not-killing-families strategy. And it had my number.”
“But how come did it-“ Todd looked at Dean even more baffled but after seeing his expression the penny dropped. “Oh. And… Yikes,” he said rubbing his jaw.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he added after a bit, “but if it, you know,” another twiddle in the air. “I mean why take your brother?”
Dean could almost hear Sam’s answer: ’cause you’re a man whore. He swallowed. “Things like that are often believed to be repulsed by,” he hesitated, coughed, “traces of long-term use. I think it might have something to do with all this initiation rites bullshit, alleviating power, that kinda stuff.”
Todd’s eyebrows flew all the way up to his forehead. “Seems like a hell of an argument for a hippy lifestyle.”
Dean had a bleary recollection that on every other occasion it would be freaking hilarious and at the same time a winning straw in many discussions with his brother. As it was though? He didn’t think he will ever raise that up.
“What we need is the info on how to kill the bitch.”
***
It took another hour before Todd had found something that actually might work: consecrated silver blade to the heart. Dean toyed with an idea of silver bullets but finally came to the conclusion that the devil was in details and grabbed a round only as a backup.
He had been sitting at the back of the bar for three hours already. It was a cold, wet morning and as it befitted a place like that, there was no sign of life at this time of the day. Dean cursed, fidgeted, and fought with his foreboding thoughts but stayed in the car all the same. The bar was his only foothold; it seemed to be the center of the Empusa’s hunting ground, probably a great source of fresh prey.
Dean didn’t know whether the thing had first taken him as a mark and then changed its mind or maybe it knew its target from the first second and fucking him had served only as a diversion - slash - occasion to deliver the venom. However, there was a haunting dreadful thought which kept coming back to him - he might have said something about his little brother, ill and vulnerable at the motel, a perfect game. Hypnosis or not, it made him feel sick.
It wasn’t until the late afternoon that he saw the blonde chick enter the bar. The place was still far from crowded, but the early patrons had already started to gather up. At the sight of the girl, Dean’s whole body craved to spring, the seething anger flooding his mind and overshadowing everything else. Instead, he lowered his body in the seat so that she couldn’t see him on her way in. She entered through the back door and Dean wished he could at least follow her, not lose her from sight. The adrenaline was boiling in his veins like in a cauldron, effectively blotting out all coherent thoughts and suffusing him with sheer belligerence. He didn’t even attempt to fight it and let the rage enlighten every fiber of his body. The Impala was parked in such a way that it enabled him to keep an eye on both the front and the back door. Earlier on he had made sure there was no other way in or out of the place. Now, the only thing left was to wait for the Empusa to leave and lead him to her lair, to Sam. Dean realized he needed to play it smart, but it didn’t change the fact that sitting idly in the car seemed like the fucking hardest thing in the Universe right now.
Before she left the place the gloomy afternoon had had enough time to change into a murky evening. Dean had been sitting almost motionless through all that time, too preoccupied by the sight of the blonde wrapped around another boy to check how long. After the scene from yesterday’s evening he knew she was hunting, but the sight sent a freezing flare down the nape of his neck nonetheless. Those things were greedy, he told himself; a new mark didn’t have to mean anything.
She gave the boy a kiss, long and intense, and Dean was struck by the sick feeling of familiarity. They got into a blue Fiesta, probably his, as she had come here on foot, and off they drove. Dean started the Impala and followed them, making sure that they were separated by at least two other vehicles.
The streets were passing away behind the windows dark and smudgy, and Dean didn’t catch more but a fleeting image of the world outside. The boy was driving fast, probably set on reaching the destination as soon as possible and suddenly Dean was struck by the idea that they might be headed to his place, the thought sending a cold flash down his neck. He shook his head as if by doing so he could make the fear and doubts disappear. She would need a place of her own, a safe hideout, it was the only logical choice. The reasoning didn’t change the fact, though, that driving steadily and keeping his distance seemed suddenly even more challenging, his knuckles going completely white in a tight clutch around the steering wheel.
Soon enough they left the town and the Fiesta swerved from the highway into a narrow unpaved road arrayed with trees. Dean waited a bit and followed only after making sure the vehicle in front had gained a reasonable distance ahead. With the lights turned off, he steered the car in the same direction, barely able to distinguish the outline of the road in the dim evening light. For some time he couldn’t see the car in front and fought with himself not to floor it, jump in front of the Fiesta, and have a more upfront conversation with the blonde.
Finally, out of the gloom emerged a dark shape of a house. Not big, wooden construction looked to be in a deep need of renovation. Or demolition. Either way, dilapidated and secluded, seemed like a perfect spot for a blood-thirsty creature to throw its own swinging parties without being disturbed by anyone. The sight hit him as distantly familiar and Dean couldn’t help an involuntary shudder.
The blue car was parked right in front of the door. Dean pulled up next to it and turned off the engine. He got off in one leap slamming the door absentmindedly, checked his weapons and forged towards the entrance. The windows were heavily shaded, but a dull yellowish hue percolated through the thick cloth, indicating there was light inside. Dean readied the gun, figured it would work better at a longer range, and put his ear against the uneven surface of the scratched door trying to establish the state of events inside, but without much success. He jammed the handle and the door eased open.
The light was on, but the scarcely furnished living room was empty. Dean swallowed hard, he could feel the sweat breaking up on his temples as the sight stirred something fierce and icky in him. The unmistakable, overpowering scent of a rotten body didn’t help any. Dean blinked, tugged the collar of his bottom-up around his face and nose with one hand while recovering his grip on the gun with the other. He was about to head upstairs when he caught a glimpse of a greenish bundle tucked behind the wall separating the living room from something which in the original house-plan was probably supposed to be a kitchen. Quietly, Dean motioned towards the object, letting both of his arms fall down as he stepped over the threshold, feeling a new wave of panic when he lifted the duffle bag; Sam’s duffle bag.
His trigger finger itched; he clenched a fist around the fabric and exhaled shakily. There were other things scattered around the room in a random fashion, probably belonging to the rest of the poor bastards respectively enticed or coerced into visiting, but Dean didn’t have it in himself to check for any of Sam’s other belongings.
Think Winchester!
The odor was making him feel light-headed, it seemed even more severe here than in the living room. Then he saw it; a basement hatch, not more than a darkish outline merging into the dirty floor almost perfectly. Dean squatted down and ran his fingers on the verge of the entrance. The hatch was partly hidden under a heavy cabinet, the wooden, worm-eaten boards chiseled with deep scratches where the old piece of furniture had been moved. Of course it was a fucking basement, it was always a fucking basement, he should have learnt it by now. Without thinking, Dean pushed the cabinet and it slid away revealing the whole of the entrance. He yanked the hatch open and was hit with a new wave of stomach-wrenching stench. He leaped inside and ran down the steep steps.
Halfway down, the light pouring from above turned out to be insufficient so Dean took out the flashlight propping it in the Harries hold. No sooner had he reached the bottom of the stairs than he had an occasion to appraise the interior. The reek was almost too much and Dean tried laboriously to breathe through his mouth. The beam of the flashlight exposed the terrifying contents of the basement. He counted three corpses in different states of decomposition, with missing limbs or parts of the body ripped out. His stomach made a threatening somersault at the view and he swallowed down the bile. The whole ground seemed to be lined with random objects and rags neither of whose destination nor origins Dean was curious about. He scanned the small area in search of his brother but there was no sign of Sam.
Fuck.
Dean came back to the kitchen and lunged towards the stairs leading to the second floor. The old wood was creaking under his feet but there was nothing he could do about it. He needed to find Sam, now, the images of dead bodies flooding his vision. Suddenly one of the old steps gave up under his weight and a loud thud filled the interior as his foot fell through the board.
“Fuck!”
Okay, no point in keeping the pretense anymore. Dean motioned up, his calf hurt a bit when he put his weight on it, but fortunately it wasn’t anything serious.
He almost managed to reach the top of the stairs when he saw the blonde looming over.
“You here for another mercy fuck?”
Dean shot, but the bullet missed the target by a mile and before he knew it, he was flying backwards, hitting the stairs, and then breaking the bannister on his way back down to the living room. The blow stole his breath, paralyzed him, and for a fraction of second, he thought that was it. Then the pain hit him and he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“’Cause I gotta tell you, stalking a girl like that?” She sat down at the bottom step, not far from where Dean was lying on his back, desperately trying to catch a breath. “Creepy.”
“Where is my brother, bitch?” He gritted, all teeth.
She giggled in response, a flirtatious sound that singed his back with a flash of rage. He motioned to get up, managed to roll to his side.
“Funny how you’re the one to ask now,” she said with a smile, making a few steps towards him, and squatting down.
“I’m gonna cut the answer out of your throat, you evil bitch.”
“You seemed much more complacent last time we spoke,” she said reproachfully but then brightened up, reached out a hand and ran it in his hair. “But I like this version better. It’s a shame I have no use of you. You’re funny.”
Dean caught the outstretched hand and swung his body to the other side using his weight to drag the empusa with himself and cause her to lose her balance. With the other hand he retrieved the blade from behind his belt and sank it deep into her flesh.
She recoiled immediately, looked at the hilt protruding from her belly, then locked her gaze back on Dean, her face a twitching mask of wild anger and frenzy.
“You tried to fucking kill me!” She bellowed, her voice a combination of surprise and malevolence. “After all the nice moments we shared, I can’t believe you tried to fucking kill me!”
Dean half crawled and half scrambled towards the wall and, leaning against it heavily, started to lift himself up scanning the nearest surroundings for something he could use as a weapon.
The empusa took out the knife and tossed it aside, her attention focused solely on Dean. Her eyes seemed much darker, much more spiteful, and hair appeared to be swaying slightly.
Where’s the fuckin’ donkey’s leg? Why can’t she grow a fuckin’ donkey’s leg? Dean thought right before he felt a blow to his head.
He realized distantly that he was sliding down the wall to the ground, but soon enough he wasn’t aware of anything but pain and darkness wrapping and suffocating him. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe and then the sensation of falling was back, the images of Dad and Sam dying terrible deaths, screaming and sobbing, surrounded him and all he wanted, all he could think of, was for the fall to end and the void to consume him.
Suddenly it stopped. Dean inhaled much needed oxygen with a loud wheeze and tried to blink away the dark spots obscuring his vision. The empusa turned from him and faced a small figure holding in a shaky grip something that looked an awful lot like a coat rack. She was standing over the boy, saying something, but for the life of him, Dean couldn’t differentiate any words. What gripped his attention, though was the flash of silver not far to the right. Putting into the movement all the strength he could muster, Dean rolled towards the blade, nabbed it, then using the momentum to bounce to his feet, thrust it fiercely into the empusa’s heart.
He fell heavily on her but swirled away instantly as her body started to spasm convulsively. Streaming from the wound was a black substance mirrored by black cobwebs gradually covering her arms, palms and face. It was a matter of seconds before the seizures stopped completely and the body was lying motionless on the ground.
“Thank God for the dramatic evil speech,” Dean grunted trying to get back to his feet and was surprised to see an outstretched arm in front of his eyes. He regarded the boy with an appraising look and took it. “You ok?” He rasped.
The boy was all huge eyes, dressed only in boxer pants and an unbuttoned shirt. He laughed nervously. “Dude, did you just seriously asked me that question?”
Dean shrugged, wincing as his left shoulder responded with a flash of pain. “Listen, did you see anybody else here?”
The boy blinked, “No, not really.”
Dean made a few shuddering steps past him, but as the world spiraled around, he realized he wasn’t making it up the stairs.
“I need you to help me up,” he said hoarsely indicating the direction with his head.
The boy’s gaze followed and incredibly, his eyes grew even bigger. “No way in hell! I’m not going back there! She wanted to fucking eat me!”
“No shit,” Dean spat menacingly, wrapping all his anger and exhaustion into the two syllables. It was just a kid, he told himself, just a random scared-to-fuck college kid. But it didn’t alleviate the need to deck the selfish piece of shit.
On jelly legs, Dean started towards the stairs. He had climbed all of three of them when exhaustion finally caught up with him; those were fucking high stairs. Just when he was sure his knees would buckle under him, Dean felt an arm around his back, keeping him up.
“What is so important up there anyway?” The boy asked and Dean leaned on him heavily whether he wanted it or not.
“My brother,” he said. Please God, let that be the truth.
“Oh,” the boy tilted his head upwards. And after a few more steps: “I’m Craig, by the way, and I really appreciate you stopping by.”
Dean nodded in acknowledgement, not really sure what to say.
The climb was long and arduous. By the time they were up, Dean couldn’t see much beyond the stars dancing in his vision.
“Sam!” He hollered.
Ignoring Craig, he motioned to the first door on the left. To his benefit, the boy took the hint and motioned to check the one situated opposite.
“Over here,” he yelled, panic easily distinguishable in his voice.
Dean’s heart picked up the pace, thudding deafeningly in his chest. Dashing past the kid, he saw a long body slumped on a bed, one of the wrists handcuffed to the frame.
“Sammy!”
In a second he was next to his brother’s face, prodding and checking, looking for any injuries. Sam stirred under the touch.
“Shhh, it’s ok, I gotcha,” he whispered in a trembling voice feeling a cool wash of relief. “I gotcha.”
“Err,” Craig approached him and picked up some object from the nightstand. “I think she might have doped him with something.”
Dean lifted his gaze and noted the empty syringe in Craig’s fingers. “Sonuvabitch. Gimme that.”
“Morphine,” Craig blinked handing him the syringe and picking up a small bottle. “Is he high?”
Dean examined the needle, put it away, and focused back on his brother. He lifted Sam’s eyelids, checked his pupils, and then his pulse. Sam opened and closed his eyes lazily, making a deep noise somewhere at the back of his throat.
“As a fuckin’ kite,” Dean answered.
That explained at least why his brother hadn’t picked the handcuffs. It seemed there were no other injuries, so the empusa had probably tried to keep him disabled until she would move to the next stage. Like a fucking hoarder. Dean felt the rage boil in his veins and wished he could kill the bitch for a second time.
“I need you to help me get him out of here.”
“What about the cuffs?”
“I got it,” Dean snapped. He’d forgotten about them. How could he fucking forget about the damn handcuffs?
He took out his tools and attempted to pick the lock, his hands shaking badly.
“If there’s something I can do-”
“There is. Shut up,” Dean barked and heard the desired click when the lock finally gave up.
Craig nodded and slid one arm under Sam’s barely responsive body. He lifted their weight with a gasp. Dean threw his brother’s other arm around his neck and for a second he thought he would fall down himself but somehow managed to keep his body upright.
“Come on, Sammy, move those gigantic feet of yours,” he muttered and Sam seemed to get it through the narcotic haze as his legs moved a fraction.
Half walking, half dragging Sam down - most of the dead weight resting on Craig - they managed to get outside. Dean opened the Impala’s back door and they positioned Sam inside. He then moved to the back of the car, popped the trunk, took out a bottle of kerosene, and headed back to the house.
“Stay with him,” he threw at Craig.
Dean dragged himself upstairs, made sure there were no other people in the rooms, and poured some kerosene there. Then, moved back to the living room, grabbed Sam’s duffel, found the colt and repeated the procedure, stopping for a moment next to the empusa’s body, now a collage of white skin and ingrained black net. He turned around, not sparing it another look.
The fire caught fast, fed by the flammable liquid easily consumed the wooden construction. Dean staggered towards the car, panting heavily, realizing that he was running on not much more than just fumes. He fished the keys out of his pocket and motioned towards the driver seat.
“You think you can handle yourself from here?”
Craig peered at him wide-eyed and Dean wondered briefly if maybe it was the kid’s usual expression. “You can’t drive like that!”
Dean huffed a bitter laugh and sat behind the wheel pinching the bridge of his nose. “Take care, Craig.”
“Wait. You’re barely conscious, you really shouldn’t drive. Let me, I mean, I can drive you wherever you want, I’ll ask somebody to go with me to grab the car later. It’s not like I’ve plans for tonight.”
Dean examined the boy’s earnest face, sighed, and tossed the keys at him. “Just,” he lifted his palm, hesitated, only to eventually change his mind. “Don’t scratch her.”
With difficulty, he stumbled to the backseat and settled next to Sam’s half lying body. His brother’s breathing was even and the sound reverberated comfortably in Dean’s ears. He let his lids drop, just for the tiniest bit; he wasn’t going to sleep, just needed the world to stop spinning for a goddamn second.
“So where to?”
“Huh?” Dean’s head snapped up.
“Where should I take you?” Craig was looking into the rearview mirror, the Impala already on an asphalt road. Huh. “Hospital?”
“No hospitals,” Dean slurred waving a hand drunkenly. “A motel. Make a pick.”
Craig looked dubiously but didn’t say anything. Dean turned towards Sam, keeping his sight on his brother until his ton-weighing lids cut him off again.
***
Dean jerked awake, sweaty and scared. His roaming gaze wondered around the strange interior and locked on the bed tucked against the opposite wall. Sam. It was coming to him in stages, the events of the previous night, the drive, Craig taking them to his place, Dean not really in any state to argue.
He checked the time - 6.43 - and got up wincing at the leaning vestiges of his fall last night. He settled next to his brother’s bed and motioned to check his pulse. Sam twitched under the touch.
“Wha-?”
“Hey Sammy,” Dean said softly, bending towards his brother and smoothing his forehead with clammy fingers. “You’re safe. I’m here, I promise I’m not going anywhere. Go back to sleep.”
“’Kay,” Sam said and dozed off again. Dean soon followed the suit.
***
Raindrops were bouncing against the windshield as the Impala cut through the downpour, Dean more than happy to finally leave New London. Sam was riding shotgun and Dean couldn’t help but dart his eyes in his brother’s direction every other second.
“You’re gonna get a cramp if you keep doing that,” Sam asserted drily, but there was no real reproach behind the words. “Or crash us into a tree. One of the two,” he added, blew his nose and crumpled the used tissue in his palm.
“What? You were saying something? ‘Cause all that snot you leak? Kinda distracting.”
“Seriously, dude. Creep factor, ease up on it.”
“Says the spud. I swear if I find green slime anywhere on that seat, it’ll end up in your food.”
Sam took a breath to retort but was stopped by an attack of coughing, wet and violent, and spilling tears out of his eyes. By the time it had finished, the only thing Sam was left with was a miserable moan.
“You’re like a poster boy for yuck,” Dean observed. “You wanna stop, grab something to eat?”
Sam pulled a disgusted face and the sight made Dean chuckle. “Ok, no food then.”
“I’m gonna catch some sleep,” Sam said weakly, lowering his body in the seat. “You think you can keep the staring at bay and the car on the road?”
“Oh, I can keep her straight alright and still take some compromising photos of your drooling,” Dean offered with a grin.
“Yeah, whatever,” Sam slurred, his eyes already falling shut.
The car was soon filled with loud snoring and Dean turned on the radio at a low volume. Sam always slept well in the car, the combination of the quiet music and the hum of the engine lulling him better than anything else. Dean had a blurry recollection of his father packing them into the car and driving around in circles on the occasions when nothing else could persuade little Sammy into sleep. The car thing had served as a last resort and worked invariably.
Dean smiled, didn’t bother controlling his jumping gaze.