Disclaimers: Duh, they ain't mine, no money made, don't sue (cause it ain't worth the pocket lint).
Summary: Inspired by 'The Benders"...what if they had decided to hunt Sam instead of trying to kill him? One-shot? Obviously not. :D
Pixel-O:...it wasn't a Mustang? huh. oh well, the Continuity Gods demand that I keep it as such for this story, so forgive me for the whoopsie, 'tay? ;)
A/N: Sorry sorry sorry! it's taken sooo long to get this chappy up. RL is a bitch and I'd like to smack her. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Oh yeah, no Wincest unless you read it in, 'cause thats just squicky...;)
A Bit of Darkness
"Oh, and Dean?"
They paused, Dean looked back at her.
"If your 'usual playmates' come calling, give them my number for a while. Take some time off."
Dean led Sam slowly to the junkyard of old rusted out cars behind the barn. He spotted the Mustang that had belonged to the officer's brother. There were layers upon layers of dust on its roof and hood that spoke of years of obvious neglect, but in her previous life, the black beauty had been a well cared-for princess. Opening a slightly creaky passenger door, he eased Sam onto the seat, then tucked his legs into the car.
"Dude, you are not putting those filthy, muddy feet into my car. I'm going to go back and get your sneakers and..."
"No, Dean," Sam said quietly, "I just wanna get out of here."
Dean hesitated, and then, "Okay. You're the boss. But just for tonight."
Sam didn't seem to hear, so Dean walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat, crossing his fingers as he turned the key.
Coughing a couple of times, the Mustang roared to life with a full-throated grumble, then settled down into a purr as Dean shifted her into drive.
Keeping his hand securely on the back of Sam's neck (for Sam's comfort, he told himself), he drove back toward town.
Dean parked the Mustang on a side street until all of the squad cars had left the parking lot, lights and sirens blaring, apparently going to Kathleen's aid. Once they were gone, they switched cars, and Dean continued to drive into the night. He had checked Sam's bandages and hadn't seen any fresh bleeding, so he opted to continue driving and get as far away from Hibbing as they could before dawn.
Just before the bright fingers of sunrise began to creep over the horizon, Dean finally pulled into a shabby motel just off the highway. There were no cars in the parking lot, but just to be safe, he asked for the room at the far end of the building, as he always did when one of the brothers was wounded. He reserved the room, reparked the car, and began to jostle Sam into wakefulness. Two exhausted eyes blinked open, and Sam turned his head toward Dean, not even bothering to lift it up off the headrest.
"Sorry, bro, gotta get you inside before you immolate."
"...'m not a bloodsucker," he mumbled.
"No, from the looks of it, you're a blood donor."
A one-fingered salute was all the response he received. "Come on, Sammy," he said as he lifted his young brother out of the seat, "Up and at 'em."
Reluctantly Sam rose from the car, stumbled into Dean, and would have fallen less-than-gracefully onto his face if not for the secure grip Dean had on his waist. He recovered his equilibrium slowly, and let Dean lead him to the safety of the motel room and the relative comfort of the bed inside.
Dean sat Sam on the edge of the bed and gently eased the jacket off, wincing inwardly every time Sam gasped or hissed in pain. That done, he checked the crude bandages, and decided to exchange them for more sterile ones. The shirt had stopped the bleeding, but just was not going to work for long term. He began to unwind the ragged strips from Sam's shoulder when Sam began to sway. Catching his brother by the shoulders, he laid him down then swung his legs up onto the bed. Sam's eyes were half open, and Dean checked his pupils. No delayed reaction, pupils were the same size. Good, no head injury. He decided that Sam was finally succumbing to blood loss and exhaustion. He continued to gently clean and rebandage the wounds as Sam drifted to sleep.
When Sam woke up, the final rays of sunset were shining weakly through the crack in the window shades. He tried to sit up and found it awkward. His right side protested, and his right arm was bound to his chest. As he moved, the lightning monster that had been sleeping in his shoulder crackled to life and struck him fiercely.
He wasn't aware that he had made a sound until Dean knelt beside the bed with a glass of water in his hand. He slipped his other hand under Sam's head and lifted it up, placing the glass to his lips so he could drink.
His eyes closed in pleasure as the cool water slid down his throat and into his empty stomach, seeping into all of the dry cracks along the way. He made a small sound of protest as the water was taken away.
"That's enough for now Sammy," he heard as a cloth was placed on his forehead. He hadn't realized how hot he was until then, but now he felt a growing fire in his limbs, and his pulse thudded deafeningly in his head. He swallowed and tried to say something, but the lightning monster gnawed at his shoulder again and the pain forced him down into darkness.
Sam wandered the dark nightmare halls of his dreams where disjointed images tormented him. The walls seemed to undulate and bulge, the hallways twisted upon themselves and warped back, and the lights dimmed and then turned red. The many disgusting peices of bone and fur that hung from the ceilings brushed along his face as he turned around, startling him into a gasp. He regretted inhaling, because then he smelled the rank, sour stench of unwashed bodies and sweat, filth, and the unmistakable copper tang of blood.
There were noises all around him. From the corners of his eyes he saw people and things waver at the edge of his vision, but when he turned his head to look, they were gone. A scratchy jazz record still played, its' jangling notes grating on his nerves and sending a fire through his brain. His head throbbed in rythym and his breathing was rapid and shallow.
The young hunter was being hunted in the halls; he heard the sounds of scuffling feet and the sharp 'whisk' of a knife being sharpened on a whetstone. He started to run from the sound, but the ever warping floor tripped him. He fell to his knees and struggled to rise. As he did, a figure came aroung the corner. It's hair was straggly, the beard unkept and streaked with grey. Pa Bender carried a long knife, swinging it back and forth in front of him, as if trying to gut Sam. He looked into the father's eyes and saw only blackness, and when he opened his mouth, it was filled with rows and rows of sharply pointed teeth.
Sam screamed in terror.
Sam screamed in his sleep, tossing and turning in the grip of his fever. Dean had stripped Sam down to his boxers in an effort to keep him cool, and he continued to sponge his younger brothers' body with water that he had added rubbing alchohol to. The quickly evaporating liquid aided in cooling his body temperature enough that they could avoid the hospital, but he was still worried at the nightmares that seemed to torment Sam. He knew that Sam was especially vulnerable to nightmares, and the horrible night they had lived through was only fuel for the fire.
Finally, Dean decided that he needed to take more drastic action. He dared to leave Sam for a moment to plug the bathtub and start running cold water into it. Running back to his brother, he was torn, but knew he needed to get ice. He grabbed the ice bucket and, with a rare prayer on his lips, raced to the ice machine down the hall and filled the bucket. When he returned, Sam was still on the bed, thrashing and trying to push something away from him. Dean gathered him into his arms, whispering soothing noises and stroking his face and neck to try to calm him. It took a few minutes, but Sam seemed to calm a bit, and Dean took the moment of peace to scoop him into his arms and carry his tall, lanky brother into the bathroom and place him gently into the tub of cold water.
The reaction was instantaneous. Sam yelled at the shocking temperature and his eyes flew open. His muddled mind saw Dean holding him and instinctively he began to fight. Dean tried to keep his grip on Sam's arms, but the water made his skin slippery. Soon, however, Sam slipped back into unconciousness and started to slide down the edge of the bathtub. Dean slid his arm under Sam's shoulders, holding him as he scooped up water to bathe his face and neck as Sam lay against his arms, shivering.
Sam's eyes fluttered and opened weakly, and focused slowly on his brother's face.
"...gonna kiss...me now?" Sam asked, lips twitching in the barest beginning of a grin.
"Hell, no. I do that and you'd drown, jerk." Dean wasn't about to admit that at that moment, he almost would, in purest joy at seeing his baby brother's hazel eyes.
"Dean?" Sam's quaking voice brought him out of his brief reverie.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Dean said under his breath.
He helped Sam sit up as he pulled the plug, then wrapped him in a large towel and pulled him up to sit on the edge of the tub, perching beside him to make sure he didn't fall over. When Sam indicated he was ready to go back to the bedroom, he draped Sam's arm over his shoulders and they walked slowly back to the main room.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and Dean started to remove the bandages and sling on Sam's right arm, since they had gotten soaked in the water. Surreptitously checking Sam's body temperature by feel as he unwound the bandages, Dean was confident that the fever had broken.
Skillfully, he wrapped new dressings on Sam's wounds, then went back into the bathroom to 'clean up' as Sam struggled into a dry pair of shorts. When he heard no more noises and soft swearing, he returned and found Sam curled up on his left side, halfway under the blankets, asleep.
Dean grabbed the opportunity to catch a few hours of rest for himself, and soon was sleeping lightly in the other bed.
Dean woke up almost four hours later, the sounds of Sam whimpering in his sleep had warned him of another nightmare. He eased out of bed and sat down behind his brother, propped up against the headboard, Sam's head cradled against his chest. Not having been thoroughly awake to begin with, Dean quickly fell back to sleep.
Sam was back in the endlessly twisting halls of the Bender house, and this time all four of the family were hunting him. He saw the brothers flanking him on both sides and following him through the house, and he knew the father was behind him; he could feel the hot, rancid breath on the back of his neck. He turned a corner and saw Missy standing in front of him.
Little Missy, whose hair was long and soft brown, now tangled in knots, her formerly gentle and pretty face twisted into a mad grin. Sam felt sorrow for the little girl whose family had let her become this twisted, evil thing; she should have been outside playing in the sun, laughing, but here she was in the darkness with a knife in her tiny hand.
Preoccupied with his desolate thoughts, Sam had let himself be surrounded. Too late, he realized that there was no escape. He whirled around, but every exit was blocked by a menacing figure, grown to towering heights in his fear. The blades they held sparkled with a sickening light, the edges shiny and red with bright crimson blood. The stench, sounds, and sights of his nightmare were overpowering, and Sam's knees buckled. He sank to the floor, gasping, tears shining on his cheeks as he tried to prepare himself for whatever these freaks had in their sick, twisted minds.
Then Dean was beside him. His brother stood in front of him, and it seemed to Sam that he glowed with an internal fire. The Benders shrank back, shielding their eyes, and in the blink of an eye, were gone.
Dean looked back at Sam and grinned crookedly, then winked and disappeared.
The halls of the Benders house began to straighten and fade, the scratchy music bacame soothing and gentle, and the smell of blood was replaced by a fresh spring breeze. He found himself in the safest place he could think of: the back yard of their home in Lawrence, sitting on the lawn in the shade of the old tree.
Sighing in his sleep, Sam edged closer to Dean, whose arm closed instinctively around his brothers' shoulder.
Three days later saw the two brothers well on the mend and itching for their next adventure.
As they walked out into the bright sunshine, Sam knew that, even though most of the nightmares had been exorcised, there would always be a bit of darkness inside him.
A/N: Okay, not quite the ending I had in mind, but I couldn't leave you guys twisting in the wind any longer. Hope you enjoyed, and hope my muse comes out to play a little more, shy little twerp that she is, hehehe. (Just a note, I'm going to Pensacola for a few weeks, but should be back and able to write more after that, 'cause I still have a winter story on the burner from December!)