SPN Gen Fic: Over the Hills and Far Away 4/6

[superbadgirl]

Dean didn’t know how he ended up flat on his back. He blinked once, twice. All he could see was smoke, a glimpse of a strange orange glow peeking from it now and again. He didn’t … he couldn’t … he rolled around like a turtle stuck on its shell. He finally got flipped onto his right side, and right away saw Sam lying a few feet from him, unmoving, face white as paper. Oh shit oh shit, the demon had killed his brother. No, Sam wasn’t dead. No, no. Dean wouldn’t believe it without proof, like before. It wasn’t like last year, it wasn’t. He couldn’t seem to move, though every muscle was tense and ready.

Large shapes, two of them, came out of the smoke. They had air masks on, were dressed like firefighters. He knew they weren’t real firefighters, nope. Demons, there were demons everywhere. They only looked big, were normal man sized. Possessed humans. One of them pointed at Sam, and they both ran to him. He watched them kneel next to Sam, shake him to see if he’d respond. He didn’t, as far as Dean could see. A whoosh of fresh flames, like a wall, shot up and cut off his already impaired line of sight. Panic coursed through him, a tidal wave of it so intense he gasped, inhaled a bunch of smoke for his trouble. Dean coughed weakly, body moving and reacting at last. Through the flickering fire one of the two demons leaning over Sam stiffened and half turned, then shook his head and continued talking to his buddy.

He had to move before it was too late. Sam couldn’t defend himself. Dean scrabbled to his feet, listed to the left as he struggled to pull his knife from its holster, hands shaky. He looked at it, just to be sure he had it. It was the knife. Ruby’s special, convenient demon killer. He didn’t remember having it before, except he had it now so he must have always had it. He’d kill them all if they touched his brother. His head spun and spun, tried to catch up with itself and never could. Only one thing mattered, and that was saving Sam. The demons had his brother up, arms slung over each of their shoulders, his feet dragging. Away, away, they were taking Sam. He didn’t think, only lunged through the flames, knife hand swinging.

The one closest to Dean reacted a millisecond before he reached them, shoved Sam and the other demon aside as if to take the full assault in some heroic sacrifice. Dean didn’t give a damn what it looked like. Demons weren’t heroes. He struck with the knife, satisfied to feel it meet some resistance, heard a thunk, felt the blade slide into flesh. He expected that weird internal lightning effect because it was the demon killing knife, but all that happened was the guy shouted in pain. Dean spared a glance at Sam’s unmoving form, the other demon sprawled, also unmoving, halfway on top of him. Shouts, off to the side. He saw more demons, firefighters, demons rushing at them. Knife, he needed the knife. He scrabbled for the one he’d stabbed, didn’t know how he ended up flat on the floor again.

Then the walls and ceiling shook, came down. A heavy chunk of something knocked against his ribs. The air rushed out of Dean’s lungs. He lay there, tried to cough and choke and couldn’t. The edges of his vision tunneled, winked out. Winked back on.

He opened his eyes and saw gray. Stone or steel, he didn’t know. He had a chalky taste in his mouth, grit in his eyes, an elephant on his chest. Dean hacked up what felt like half of his left lung and only then remembered what had happened. Sam. Demons. Sam. He got to his hands and knees, squinted through dust and smoke to catch sight of his brother. Movement to his right, someone coughed. Two shapes in a heap about three feet from him. Sam, and the other demon.

“Sam,” he said and coughed again.

Sam first, demons second. Dean inched his way to his brother, who didn’t move or wheeze or anything. He felt better seeing Sam’s chest moving up and down, a shallow, slight movement was good, it was good. He needed to get them out. Fire all around, no fire. Debris all around, trapped.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio,” he said under his breath, feeling like he had done this all before and didn’t need to.

The demon he’d knifed, leg, got ‘em in the leg, groaned and clutched at his thigh. Dean stared at the masked face, couldn’t see past fog. The other one, slumped across Sam’s legs, had blood on its neck, completely out. He frowned. Demons took a lot of punishment before crapping out like that. His attention focused elsewhere, he almost didn’t catch the other one making its way toward them. He snarled and shouted out more of the exorcism.

“Whoa, mister. Just take it easy,” the demon said, voice hollow. It raised its hands, balanced on one knee with the other leg extended straight. “I’m a paramedic. I can help. I need to check on my partner, and yours.”

“What you need to do is stay away from my brother,” Dean said. “I’ll take care of him.”

The guy tilted to the side, grunted as if in pain. Dean wasn’t going to fall for that. He ignored his own aches and pains, kept himself ready to spring to action in a blink. His fingers itched to grab the knife handle sticking out of the demon’s leg, give the thing a good stick right in the eye. He didn’t pick up the exorcism where he’d left off, because he couldn’t think straight enough for Latin. His brain didn’t want to stay in one place, didn’t know where it was. He didn’t make any sense, and knew it.

“Fair enough.” The demon pulled its helmet, then mask off. It shrugged out of the air tank and tried to set it aside. It tipped over like the tank pulled it down, flopped onto its back, which arched slightly. It gurgled for a second. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Instincts fought themselves within Dean. He wanted to help, but he wanted the guy to bleed out. It couldn’t be both. He almost heard a thwapthwap sound, a window shade flapping, or a movie reel spinning and spinning emptily. Not real. There were no windows here, no doors, no movie screens. He fumbled for his flask of holy water, couldn’t find it. Something tugged at his arm. He looked to see what it was.

“Dean,” Sam said weakly. “Hey.”

And everything else seemed to disappear.

&&&

He’d lain awake for what seemed a long while, unable or possibly unwilling to move. Everything hurt too much. He could tell there was grit in his eyes, and opening them would add to the hurt. Truthfully, Sam was afraid that if he opened his eyes now, he’d see that half the warehouse had fallen on top of him. That’s what it felt like, something sharp on his gut, something much more yielding on his legs. Dust tickled his nose, so he breathed through his mouth and tried not to cough. As if they were separated by miles, he heard Dean say his name and then mutter an exorcism. Sam knew he had to show signs of life. He had to fix Dean, so maybe Dean could fix him. He opened his eyes, not surprised to learn he’d been right about the irritation, and about half the building being on him. His eyes started watering immediately, tears streaming hot down his temples.

“Dean, hey,” he said to get his brother’s attention, but he couldn’t hear his voice outside of his own head. His ears rang too loudly. He hadn’t noticed that before, was almost all he could hear now.

Dean apparently heard, though, and his face peered from above and he seemed to be talking. Sam knew him by familiarity and common sense rather than sight or voice; he couldn’t see well enough to know if Dean was okay any better than he could hear him. Of course he wasn’t okay. Neither of them were. He let his eyes water unchecked, didn’t think anyone there would blame him. For all he knew, they had the same problems. Dean wasn’t in the right headspace to pull any mocking about crying like a baby. Whoever he had been talking to … Sam raised his head and squinted to see who Dean was trying to exorcise.

The softer heavy thing on his legs was a firefighter. Sam recognized the gear even with his blurry vision. The guy wasn’t moving. A couple of feet away, another firefighter lay writhing with something dark jutting out of his left leg. Shit. Knife. He didn’t remember that happening, of course, but he could do the math.

“Dean,” Sam said again, as if Dean hadn’t been rambling something at him for a minute or two. “What did you do?”

“The knife didn’t work for some reason, but don’t worry. I’m not going to let them hurt you,” Dean said as he leaned close.

Suddenly, sound was crystal clear again. Sam heard Dean, he heard the creak of the warehouse settling and succumbing to fire, the guy with the knife stuck in him exhaling in quick, pained bursts. He thought he even heard faint shouts beyond the wall of wreckage, but that was probably wishful thinking.

“It seems to me the knife worked just fine,” said the guy with said knife in his thigh, voice tight with pain and yet oddly calm. “Now listen. I’m a paramedic with the LA County Fire Department. I need you to let me stabilize my leg, check my partner and look over both of you while we wait for them to get us out. Two of my crewmates are right on the other side of that pile. If they’re still alive, they’re coming for us, and if they’re not, others will. Until that happens, you need to let me do what I can to help.”

All in all, Sam didn’t think the guy sounded demony at all. He wondered what exactly Dean heard when his brother grabbed his arm and held on. Hurt like hell - Dean had latched on right where a bruise was forming, apparently - but contact was good. He had to somehow get control here. He just wasn’t sure he could manage it. He let his head sink to the floor, too-familiar vertigo back in full force. Oh, he did not want to puke. He willed his stomach into submission while the vertigo slowed and stopped.

“Dean, listen to him. He’s just a guy, and we should let him do all of that.”

“Sam.”

“He’s not a demon. He’s a man, and he can help us.” Now that Sam could hear, he wasn’t sure, but he felt like he was coming across as a bit drunk. Slurring couldn’t be a good sign. He struggled onto his elbows, nodded at Dean for helping get some of the rubble off of him. “You should do the other part of what we do now. Save people. Help him.”

The firefighter had managed to get to one knee, though he leaned heavily on a large heap of debris for balance. He didn’t look much older than Dean, yet somehow also looked worlds older. Sam saw a dark stain surrounding the knife handle and frowned. Leg injuries were only treated like paper cuts on TV. In real life, they could be serious. Fatal, even. If they didn’t suffocate and die in here, that guy wasn’t going to be walking around joking with his pals at the end of the hour. And Dean had done that. The guy wasn’t looking at them, only his friend. The lack of self-preservation on his part meant Sam had to make sure Dean didn’t do more damage.

“Yeah, you’re right, Sammy,” Dean said, quiet and confused. “I know you have to be right. Not demons, just men.”

Dean leaned across him, reached for the unconscious firefighter. Though he still looked twitchy to Sam, he’d taken a step in the right direction. Now Sam had to keep him on that path, if he could keep himself present. Had to, he had no choice. He didn’t know what he could do if Dean suddenly slipped into delusion again and tried to hurt these men. The second Dean’s hands landed on the firefighter, the other one moved.

“No, Johnny.”

With speed that belied the injury, the firefighter lunged ahead and basically tossed himself between Dean and his buddy. Sam winced. He saw the pain running rampant across the guy’s features, but underneath it was something he recognized too well. If these guys weren’t brothers by blood, then they were brothers in spirit or by circumstance. It was reaction, plain and simple, no thought. It was exactly what Dean always did when he thought Sam was in trouble.

Sam floundered a bit, managed to catch Dean’s elbow, and Dean backed off with his hands up. The mannerism was so Dean that no one would ever know that two minutes earlier Dean was erratic and pretty much off his rocker. Well, maybe not no one. The firefighter eyeing Dean like he wasn’t exactly one hundred percent in his right head remembered the Dean of two minutes ago, not that the Dean of right now would come off as sane to a civilian either.

“Hey, man, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Sam said, not altogether sure who among them needed the most convincing.

The firefighter glanced at him, eyes wild, almost as wild as Sam had seen Dean’s lately. Oh, boy. He couldn’t … no one could expect him to work miracles under these conditions. He took a shallow breath, which was full of dust and he started coughing. That was, as it turned out, the miracle he needed. The tension in the air changed into brotherly concern on Dean’s part and first responder concern on the firefighter’s. He’d take the time to ponder the irony of his distress being a miracle further, except a minor coughing jag cued pains of various severity to make themselves known. He thought maybe he was in trouble, here.

“Sam,” Dean said, right in his ear. “Take it easy. Just try to breathe past it.”

Right, sure. Sam choked. Something was pressed against his face, and the air he was coughing started tasting cleaner. The coughs diminished, but every nerve ending felt raw and he couldn’t even his breath out. The firefighter had dragged his tank and mask closer. Everything looked hazy, and he wasn’t sure if that was the plastic facing or if he was going to pass out. He pulled his head back, but the mask remained in place. That was okay, it was helping. He stopped resisting and breathed.

“Your friend’s not doin’ too good,” the firefighter said.

“What, you think you’re like a genius or something?” Dean said. “I can see that.”

“Look, I don’t know what your story is. I don’t care what your story is. You’re the asshole that just stabbed me, and yet I’m willing to work with you while we’re stuck in here.”

Not that any of them had much choice, Sam thought.

“Will you help me get my friend off him once I can get his head and back stable enough?”

Good, now that things had calmed a bit, it seemed this guy wasn’t easy to rattle. Sam supposed that was a key quality to look for in a firefighter. His head was raised slightly, the mask strapped onto him. The paramedic appraised him quietly for a second.

“You keep this on and don’t move,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back to check you over in a minute.”

Sam nodded. He had no desire to attempt hacking up a lung again and wouldn’t look gift oxygen in the mouth. For now the mask could stay, but for as long as he was able he was going to watch to make sure to give it up if someone else needed it. The dust had to be affecting all of them. He only knew as much as his own body’s reaction, but it couldn’t be good to breathe in as many dust particles as they all were.

“My brother,” Sam said, surprised his voice was so croaky. “He’s Dean, and my name’s Sam. Dean, he hasn’t been well. He didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, they never do.” The guy looked older than he was again. “I’m DeSoto, if you need to catch my attention before I can get back to check you over. Just so you know, I’m helping because it’s what I do. Don’t expect me to care too much.”

That was absolutely valid, couldn’t blame the guy. Sam blinked slowly, his lids not quite working at the same speed. He felt when the man was rolled off his legs a few minutes later, and he raised his neck and shoulders up to check on Dean. His brother watched DeSoto talk to his friend, and had an odd expression Sam had started to recognize as a precursor to Cuckoo For Cocoa Puffs. It was clear even considering Sam’s unclear vision.

“Dean, come here.” Sam waited until Dean was close, then grabbed his arm. “Stick near, huh?”

“Dude, these guys are …” Dean ran a shaky hand through his hands. “Do you know what…?”

“They’re firefighters. Nothing more. You know this.”

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m five.”

Sam ignored the withering look in favor of making himself appear as miserable as possible, a trick that usually worked. It wasn’t difficult to pull off, and worked as it always did. Dean cleared a spot next to him and sat watching DeSoto tend to his friend, who hadn’t stirred at all as far as Sam could tell, then attempt to make the knife protruding from his own leg more secure. Sam was limited to an odd point of view, but it looked like the guy was starting to feel the effects of blood loss. Of all of them, Dean was in the best shape and that didn’t give much comfort, all things considered.

“Sometimes I do, even when you don’t think the world’s being overrun by demons and turn into an arsonist,” Sam said.

Of course, thanks to him their world was being overrun by demons. That was what they had to look forward to by getting back. That and Dean’s demise. Sam appreciated Dean not mentioning that. For a second, Dean didn’t respond except by blinking at him.

“What did you say?” Dean asked, as if Sam had just said ‘potato, potato, potato, potato’ instead of insulting him. “Hey.”

Odd. Sam tried to repeat himself, but it was too much effort and didn’t get past ‘sometimes’. He retreated to that fugue state of not being awake, but not being asleep either. He just needed a minute or two. He heard Dean and DeSoto talking, an order to keep him awake, a metallic burst of static and tinny voices. Wanted to see what was going on, couldn’t.

He must have drifted further into nothing than he realized, was startled when there was a shake to his shoulder and DeSoto’s face appeared above his, then there were two DeSotos, three. Sam closed his eyes as the faces spun. He thought his legs felt funny, hands too, like they were full of trapped energy. He was worried about what that meant, for Dean as much as for him. He couldn’t pass out. He had an awful thought that they’d never get back home if he passed out now. He doubted he was going to have much choice in the matter. DeSoto removed the mask and stared at his eyes for long enough Sam started to become uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Beside him, he sensed more than saw Dean stiffen. He fumbled a hand, patted Dean on the … foot. DeSoto frowned at him, then looked away.

“What?” Dean asked. “What is it?”

“His left pupil’s dilated. His right’s not.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’d better hope they dig us out fast,” DeSoto said. “Your brother probably has a serious head injury just like Joh - my partner, maybe a bleed.”

“What?” Dean asked again. “He was all right and talking just a little while ago.”

“I sincerely doubt he was all right, pal. Sometimes there’s a cumulative effect, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“S’ okay, m’ okay,” Sam said. He was a liar, liar, warehouse on fire. “Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

The words in his head sounded nothing like the words that actually came out and this time Sam heard that too. He didn’t understand why his brain mostly worked, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating. Everything felt numb and yet painful. He wanted his arms and legs to stop feeling funny. He heard a strange noise, like someone was trying to talk with a sock in his mouth, realized with some detachment it was him, deteriorated from gibberish to nothing in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t stop it, any of it. He failed. He bit his tongue, inhaled sharply. Blood, he tasted blood. Dean shouted, at him, at DeSoto, at demons that didn’t exist. Volts of electricity in his arms, legs. Sheer, blinding panic. He couldn’t breathe, coul…

&&&

For a little while, Dean had been himself. He’d felt it. He’d also felt it snap. That weird sensation that had plagued him, whatever it was that he knew existed but didn’t know how to explain, flapped in his brain over and over and he couldn’t stop it if he tried. All he knew was Sam was scaring the crap out of him. He lost his shit, and himself. He could not deal with Sam’s strong, flailing limbs in some sort of fit and the black-eyed son of a bitch trying to suffocate his brother at the same time, no way. First thing was to get the demon away from Sam, Sammy. He ignored the thwapthwap as best he could and stretched for the most obvious point of attack. Knife, Ruby’s knife, still in the guy. He grabbed it and twisted, more than happy to hear the primal scream of pain from the demon. Maybe the knife would work this time. Maybe, if he could get it out and stick the demon in a more fatal place.

Blood everywhere, spurting. Big blood vessel in leg, Dean remembered. Good, good. The demon fell away from Sam, who continued shaking. Or, earthquake. No, it was Sam, hurt and wracked with spasms. Oh, shit. Demon had tried to kill his brother right in front of him and that shouldn’t have happened. He grabbed his head for a second. How had he let the demons get at Sam like that? Didn’t matter, didn’t Sam, he had to make his brother stop doing that. Shouting, blood. More voices. More demons.

“Oh, hell, it’s just like …”

“I need pressure bandages over here. DeSoto’s gonna…”

“Someone check on this one, and Gage. We’re going to need more hands.”

Hands. There were demons all around Dean and they pulled at him. An arm around his throat hauled him away from Sam.

“Nnonono,” Dean shouted.

“Someone get that guy out of our hair,” a demon, no man, no demon said, wore a helmet with white stripe. “36’s paramedics can handle him. They’ve got Lopez and Kelly out there already. Make sure there are some uniforms present too.”

“Got him, Captain.”

Small guy, covered in soot. Smoky. Stronger than he should be, because demon, demon black eyes. They were everywhere and they had Sam. Thwapthwap. In all the chaos, Dean had the realization he should have had what felt like a long time ago. That he needed Sam. Didn’t just want to keep his brother safe, honest to goodness needed Sam to keep everything from going the wrong directions in his head. He fought hard as he was bodily removed over piles of brick and steel and ash, losing, lost.

Cool air, darkness of night. Smoke, faces. All of them with blank, black eyes, alternately laughing then glaring. On off, on off. Dean’s head spun and none of this made sense. He … Sam. Sammy.

“Sam.”

“Jesus, this one’s strong,” someone said in his ear.

Flat on his back, again without him understanding how, Dean stared at the cloudless but smoggy dark sky. Flashes of skin and black eyes swam into his line of sight every so often. He fought and fought, but could not free himself. Knees on his shoulders. Hands, probing and searching, a touch to his forehead, eyelids peeled back. Brightness. Darkness.

“He’s banged up, but nothing too bad. I’ll try to get Rampart to authorize police transport instead of ambulance.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. I’m the one who’ll get to ride back there with ‘im.”

“Perks of being the senior man, Reed.”

“You’re senior, all right.”

Time and space blurred. Through whatever he was going though, his brain was stuck on Sam. Dean was face up, then he was face down. Sam. Cheek cut on sharp, small rocks. Sam. Cool steel on his wrists. Spinning streetlights and flashing red lights. Sam, Sam. Where was his brother? He twisted and turned and finally saw Sam, feet hanging off a short gurney, face too white. He felt his right shoulder strain, almost too far, as he tried to get to Sam.

“Anh, no you don’t.”

He was pulled the wrong direction. Vinyl squeaked underneath his ass, hands stained with blood pinned between the seat and his back. Demons had Sam. Bobby would help them, he needed Bobby to help him save Sam. The city whizzed by and his brain wouldn’t stop looping even as the car he was in stopped and backed up slowly. Bright lights, white walls. People stared. He watched as they all blinked and revealed eyes dark as pitch. The sound of an automatic door whooshed, he turned. Sam on a stretcher, with demons all around him, wheeling him away. Jumbled thoughts in his head, things he knew were true and things he only thought were. Fire. Demons. Witch. Not the right time. Sam would help him. Sam knew where they were supposed to be (not here not now no) and how to fix it. Bracelets removed, fingers tightened their hold on his biceps.

They were everywhere, and multiplying fast. Dean wrested himself from the hold on his arms, powering forward. They had his brother. Sammy. Sam. This was wrong, wrong place, wrong time. Hands. Black demon eyes. Fire, fire, no. Bright lights. They were taking Sam somewhere away from him. If he could only think past the panic, but he couldn’t. Sam was the only thing keeping him him. Seconds after freeing himself, Dean was caught again. Couldn’t move, only inches. It wasn’t enough. The panic bubbled. He could feel it, in his gut, his hands. He was sure his brain was fizzing like a goddamned can of Coke.

“Get your hands offa me,” Dean shouted. Sam wasn’t moving, but they were taking him. “Sam. Sammy!”

No one listened. No one helped him. Only Sam could, and Sam was… Dean got his arms free and swung wildly, his chest tight with a cough that wouldn’t come. Fire. Smoke. He killed it, it was dead. He knew it was. Fight fire with fire. Demons all around him, spreading like an epidemic. Help, oh … oh. He couldn’t see Sam anymore. One of the demons who had him wrenched his right arm behind his back, and up.

“The fire,” he shouted. “Demons. Wrong time. Have to get back, back to the future. It’s our density!”

“You want to give me a hand here, Reed?” one of the demons said, then grunted as Dean elbowed him with his left arm. “This one’s got a real bee in his bonnet.”

Breath hot on Dean’s neck. Hot, burning. Fire demons. His skin would start blistering if he didn’t get free soon. Everything started to fracture before his eyes. Black-eyed people loomed around him, each one becoming three, then four, until all he could see were faces with black eyes. They were suffocating him. He had to get to Sam. Sam needed him and he thought maybe he needed Sam even more. Knew it, the only thing he knew.

“Put him in six, and call extra security down here. Mike, we’ll need psych.”

One last effort yielded a knock of his forehead against the frame of a door, another bruise. If they got him in that room, Dean knew they would torture and then incinerate him just like they were doing to Sam right that very second. He screamed and kicked as they lifted him onto a thin mattress. They were so strong. Too many of them.

“Hold him. Get the restraints on him, now.”

It was the leader demon speaking, Dean realized. He was in some sort of demon nest. He bucked, refused to give up. It wasn’t in his blood to give up, and even if it was, he couldn’t. Sam, he had to get to his brother. Couldn’t. Too-strong hands held him fast and strapped him down. He must be on some kind of torture rack. Oh shit, oh god, Sam. This wasn’t right. He had to think, think. Everything swirled above him, faces. A ceiling of big squares filled with holes. Couldn’t catch his breath. He didn’t want to die, he wasn’t ready yet. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Sam was, where was Sam? His brother, at least was supposed to survive. The deal. He’d made the deal so Sam could live. But that was then, hadn’t happened yet, because now was back then and not right time. Something metal and big, reached for him like a malformed arm.

Dean screamed. Terror. And he knew, deep down, how wrong this was. Winchesters didn’t scream. Think, think. Had to keep his brain straight. A prick on his arm, something sliding into his veins like ice water. Dean thrashed on the bed, couldn’t free himself. Felt his arms turn to wet noodles. Spaghetti arms. Oh no, oh no, no, no. He had to … something. Some … couldn’t remember. Thwapthwap. The multitude of demonic images went hazy, then disappeared.

To Chapter Five
Master Post