Title/Chapter: Ancient Words - Ch. 23 "Consequences"
Author: Supernatural Mommy
Characters: Sam, Dean, OFC, OMC (child), OMC ; no pairings
Spoilers: None really, unless you've not seen Season one, to Nightmare
Warnings: PG-13 now, R overall for adult themes. This chapter some religious references: Overall rated for language, violence (including non-con acts depicted with OC's and torture) hurt/comfort, religious references (seriously, this story uses lots of religious references, so if that bothers you, please don't read) I will try to label each chapter appropriately
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em pity, but new characters are my own creation.
Summary: The battle's over, but who's making it out alive?
Author's Notes: Sequel to Look Into His Eyes. Please read through my author's notes Here (from first chapter) and Here (Chapter listing and summary with some minor plot spoilers) if you need more information, explanations, etc.
Chapter 23 "Consequences"
She was a captive witness, unable to look away from the sight before her.
The last several moments had ended in a brilliant flash, leaving her elated. Then she saw the demon's final attack. She had watched her brother's small, limp body fall, only to be caught with a magnificent show of angelic power.
The divine being landed softly, wings shimmering behind him. And as he knelt with her brother, she'd never been so terrified of what she might find.
She pushed away from the comfort of Dean's arms, struggling to stand. His strong hand braced her elbow and she met his eyes in a daze. She ignored the tears that tried to blind her, instead pushing herself as fast as her wounded body would walk toward her brother's small body.
She was trembling from fatigue and naked fear by the time her body was able to drop bonelessly beside the one holding her brother so protectively.
She reached a trembling hand over to brush the wisp of bangs from his forehead, leaving her hand to rest there. He felt cool to the touch. She looked over to meet the eyes of the angel. In locking her eyes with his, she found herself unable to turn away.
Her own fear turned to disbelief at the sheer anguish in the angel's unending gaze. Tears cut glistening tracks along his chiseled face. Her tears mingled with his as they dripped between them and onto the floor. Her gaze flew back to her brother. He couldn't be . . .
It took almost too much effort to raise her hand, placing fingers along his neckline.
Maybe she wasn't in the right spot. With a sob of frustration, she moved the fingers up and down along his neck, trying to find the correct position. She just wasn't finding the right spot. That was all. And once she did, she would feel his pulse, feel proof of the life that had to still be within his small body.
The angel stilled her frantic movements, grasping her trembling hand and completely engulfing it within his own. She met his eyes tentatively. She heard the brothers behind her. But with her hand still in the angel's, the world slowly spun away, leaving only the three of them: Bobby, her, and this angel.
Within their own void, the angel spoke quietly.
"Our father has listened, dear one, and He answers." As he spoke, Bobby took a wheezing breath. She stared at her brother. But just a moment ago . . . she tore her gaze from her sweet brother and looked again at the angel, surprised to see such emotion etched into the face before her. "The little one will live. But his body has been through much. As has yours, sweet one. Recovery will not come easily."
She closed her eyes as one of his large hands cupped her chin, the comfort of that small touch a bit overwhelming.
"Remember your faith, and have faith in the small one as well. God will be with you." She sighed as the comforting touch, and the angel, disappeared. She looked back at her brother and then, startled, saw that both Sam and Dean were kneeling on the other side of her brother's small, still body.
"You okay, Annie?" She heard Sam's gentle voice, but he sounded like he was in a tunnel, getting further and further away. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus on her brother. But her eyes felt heavy, and it was becoming harder and harder to breath. Soon, all too soon, all she could do was feel: Feel relief that her brother was alive.
Then everything faded to black.
"Man, is she okay?" Sam was watching his brother tend to Annie, feeling for Bobby's pulse as he asked. Something wasn't right. Bobby's pulse was steady, but weak. And he was unconscious.
Just minutes before, the blinding light made it difficult to see what happened. But he did know that the demon had lashed out at Bobby as he was expelled from Larkin's body. That alone was enough to worry him as he looked at the pale little guy. His gaze crossed over to rest on Annie, pale and still in Dean's arms. His brother had lifted her slightly, feeling for a pulse.
Annie was almost as pale as the dirty white sheet that still encircled her. Her breathing had a short, almost panicked quality to it. Dean looked up, meeting Sam's eyes with a worried look.
"Her shoulder started bleeding again. And she's cold. Pulse is kind of erratic. I think she might be going into shock. We've gotta get some help here. How's he?" His eyes fell again to the woman in his arms. He shifted her limp body so it lay on the floor. He had a flannel shirt on, and the jacket he had taken off earlier. They had to warm her up somehow. That damn sheet wasn't enough to cover her, much less protect her from going into shock. He pulled the flannel shirt off and put it over her like a small blanket and then turned to find his coat. Sam's words stilled his movements.
"Do you have your cell, Dean? He's unconscious and his pulse is slow. I don't know, but I think that demon did something to him before it was exorcized. And he didn't eat while we were here. They only had a little bit of water earlier today . . ." Dean glanced over at his little brother, studying him. "How long were we even here, Dean? I kind of lost track of time."
"Two days . . . and I checked the cell earlier. No signal." Dean ran a hand through his hair, cupping his neck in a unattainable attempt to calm his nerves. He looked down at the bodies. Bobby's small pale one, Annie's only slightly larger trembling one. And across the way . . . ohmyGod . . . Andy. "Gotta check on Andy, keep an eye out."
Sam just nodded wearily, a hand cupping Bobby's forehead, another holding one of his small hands. He didn't even glance back at Dean, instead blinking his eyes and trying to keep the sway from his suddenly trembling body.
"Aw, shit, man . . . he's in bad shape." Dean's heavy pronouncement was an echoing shot as Sam fell in a slump to the side of the Carvers. The dull sound of his head hitting the floor echoed in the now silent chamber.
Dean looked up from the gruesome site of a blood-saturated Andy just in time to see his brother fall to the side. The smack of his head hitting the wooden floor echoed within the room and his breath hitched as he scrambled up.
Damn, Dean . . . okay Sam had already as much as said he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in the last two days, maybe it was all just catching up to him. He slid down beside Sam and rolled him over to feel for his pulse, and then his thoughts shifted to an all stop as he really saw his brother close up for the first time.
His chest was a bloody mass of cuts, some deep and some shallow. They formed some kind of crude design. That f*ckin' ba**ard, what the hell did he do to his brother? Blood still oozed steadily from a small but deep cut right in the center of it all, while above the bulk of the cuts was an older gash that had the oozing puss and deep red, puffy signs of an added infection. Man!
A scuffling sound drew his attention towards the center of the room. He swiftly drew his gun from the waistband of his jeans as he saw a woozy thug sitting up with a hand to his head.
"Don't move." He stared the man down, slightly surprised when the man looked at him steadily, and then just stretched. The man turned to face him more fully, holding his hands up slightly.
"Looks like you've got bigger worries than me, dude. I swear, I'm not going to hurt any of you. Hell, I was trying to help." With that, Dean's eyes widened. Then he narrowed his gaze and cradled his gun hand with his other, seriously contemplating whether or not to shoot the man. He thought of his brother's chest and his grip tightened. "Look, you need help. Ain't no way you can get all these people taken care of by yourself and cell reception's sucky all the way out here. I can go call for help in the house."
Dean thought about it.
"Maybe the other girl Larkin had is up to helping, I think she's a nurse. I can check on her too." George was nodding to himself, gruff voice working along with his thoughts. "She's at the house . . ."
"No, she's not. She's somewhere safe. And after everything that happened to her . . ." Here his jaw locked and he thought about what everyone else had been through as well. How could he trust this man? "You bastards hurt her real bad. Messed up all of these guys real bad."
Considering the abuse heaped on all these guys, he caressed the trigger of the gun in a thoughtful manner.
"Look, I'm a bastard, I'll give you that. But I didn't know what I was getting into here. I'm not a nice guy, but I don't hurt women and children, not on purpose. I didn't hurt these guys, I really didn't." George looked at him with a pleading look that was completely out of place on his rough face. "Besides, you need help. You can't do this by yourself. The tall one, there, I had to give him CPR early on today. Something's wrong with him, dude, seriously. The rest of them . . ."
He caught a fleeting look of some kind of emotion flick over the guy's face when he looked at Bobby, then his previous words registered. Sammy . . . CPR?
"What do you mean, you had to give my brother CPR?" His voice was a low growl, and dangerous. At least it was if he could hide the tremble. Damn emotions. He didn't have time for this. His hand was shaking while he waited for an answer. Bu the man suddenly looked awfully uncomfortable. "Answer the question!"
"Well, um, he and the little guy got away and were hiding. I was out looking for them when the little man there came running out all upset and said that Sammy wasn't breathing." He took a deep breath and Dean tried real hard to stop the trembling. "I went in and figured that he was having another seizure, had stopped breathing. He was turning blue when I got there. So I, uh, gave him CPR . . ."
"Wait, you said another seizure? He had one before?" He was eying Sam nervously, suddenly really scared for his little brother.
"Yeah, right after we got them all here. The pastor guy got our attention and we took him in the other room. He seemed to get over it pretty fast that time. But today, he was out of it for a long time afterwards." Dean was trying to digest this information, suddenly feeling awfully tired. "Look, just let me help. It's not like you have a lot of options here."
"Yeah, okay. Get the nurse." He explained where the girl was at and George started for the door. "Oh, be careful with her. She'll probably have a gun ready to take a chunk out of you."
George nodded once before heading out the door. Dean looked wearily down at his brother. Man. The kid never caught a break. Psychos and seizures just didn't mix well.
George walked quickly towards the small shack on the opposite side of the old house. He'd do this, call for help, and then hightail it out of here. Stopping just to the outside of the tiny structure, he considered his first move.
Element of surprise, disarm the girl, and then get her to the barn. He nodded his head crisply, he could do this. She was just a slip of a girl.
He picked up a stick and threw it hard against the roof along the opposite side of the building, and then quickly walked the few steps to the doorway of the place, sizing the girl up quickly as he entered.
She was mobile, which was surprising, wrapped in not much, his gaze shuttered against the details. He took in her splinted foot, splinted with sticks no less. In a split second he saw the gun held tightly in her small hand and leaned forward to knock it easily from her grasp.
She wasn't quite as distracted as he had thought. Her arm whipped out to club him against the side of his head, his sore head. He winced and drew back, stooping to pick up the discarded gun as he studied her.
"Look, I came to get you to the barn. A bunch of people are hurt and there's a guy there that said to come get you. You're a nurse, aren't you?" He met her eyes steadily.
"What's it matter to you? I don't trust you. I know you were with him." George couldn't fault her, really he couldn't. But he didn't have time for this. He lowered himself, resting his backside on his calves.
"Look, I'm an ass, I know it. But did I ever actually hurt you? No." She eyed him with so much venom he was actually a little impressed. Still, she was just a girl. He reached out to help her up. And that stupid right hook of hers took him by surprise. His hand flew to cradle his nose. His most certainly broken nose. That was gushing blood like a fountain. He glared at her. "Look lady, I don't care if you go to help them out or not, but that's where everyone else is and that's where the calvary's gonna ride in to save the day. So you goin' or not?"
She bit her lip, considering. She looked a sight. And were he willing to use more force he could have easily taken her to the barn whether she wanted to go or not. But he wasn't, not on a girl. Especially one who had already been ten rounds with the devil. He waited for her answer.
Their eyes met in a showdown of wills.
Neither truly backing down.
She was just a girl, he reminded himself. A girl with a mean right hook.
His blood dripped from between his fingers as he vainly tried to staunch the flow.
And their eyes still met in a contest of wills.
He'd be damned if he'd lose to a girl.
He'd assured himself that the threesome at his feet all had steady pulses. What was it with everyone dropping like flies around here, anyway?
He'd found too many cuts and scrapes and bruises on his brother and even little Bobby. But when he's shifted Annie's slight form to try and make her a little more comfortable he found himself wanting to puke at the abuse her body had absorbed. He'd applied pressure to the shoulder wound, wincing as she groaned pitifully. He looked over to Larkin's still unconscious form with a locked jaw and clenched fist.
The man had only been possessed within the last hour or so, but he had been hurting these guys long before that. He was a far cry from innocent. The ba**ard.
He eased up on Annie's shoulder, pleased to see the bleeding had slowed tremendously. His remaining shirt had come off, being the only clean thing he could find to bind wounds with. He bunched up a section of it and tore a strip from what remained to bind the dressing in place temporarily. His stomach churned in anger and he gazed again at Larkin, eyes narrowed.
Then his vision shifted to Andy and he decided to see if he could do anything for the other man. He made his way over slowly and crouched beside the man. Blood pooled all around his body, saturating his entire torso in a crimson stain. Man. He slowly peeled the blood-soaked shirt up, trying to avoid hitting the knife still sticking out of the man's back. He hissed as he caught sight of the wound.
It was still oozing a trickle of blood. It did appear to be a slow trickle at this point, and the fact that it was still flowing was a small glimmer of hope. He raised blood soaked fingers up to find the big man's pulse. It was erratically slow, a faint flutter against his fingers. But it was there. He felt cold, clammy, to the touch and he knew by now the blood loss had to have sent the man into shock.
He looked around for anything to cover the man with, eyes finally falling disdainfully on the tapestries along the wall. They were fabric. It was only the symbols stitched into them that gave him pause. Finally his survival instincts took over and he stood up, walking over to start pulling them down one by one. Arms heavy with the course fabric he crossed again to Andy, and started trying to situate the material around the knife, not wanting to jar it at all. Once Andy was completely covered, he again felt for his pulse. The same.
They would lose him soon to the blood loss and shock if he couldn't get help here soon. The man's short breaths accentuated that point. Man! He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the short hairs and pulling hard in frustration. Shit! This was so screwed up!
A noise behind him had his hand on his gun, whirling around and pulling it out at the same time. He steadied his hand, locking both hands now into position around the smooth metal.
"Get the hell away from my brother!"
He'd screamed within his own mind frantically for what seemed like forever. The absence, yet again, of his innermost desire, caused him to careen, whimpering, into his own head.
But moving through the mental fog took far longer. He'd failed. He couldn't believe all his planning had still ended in this: Failure. It wasn't fair. He just wanted the demon back. That's all!
Maybe there was still a way. He felt the hilt of cool silver still in his hand. The master must have left it for him, wanting him to finish what he'd started. Maybe then he would come back. Maybe then he would give him what he wanted.
His eyes opened with a jerk and he turned his head quietly, absorbing the room. His special room, it was supposed to be. Not fair. They took it all away from him. They took his demon away from him. Again.
He saw the other man pull the special tapestries off the wall and his head began to pound. Those were his! They were special! How dare he?
His gaze shifted and found the downed occupants on the other side of the room. Suddenly he was so happy. Yes! He still had a chance to fix this. Make his master happy.
He turned back to gaze at the other man and moved quietly. He clutched the knife close to himself and stood. He kept glancing at the other guy, but he was intent on helping that stupid pastor. He dropped soundlessly to his knees beside the trio of still bodies, contemplating.
The little one. He shook his head vigorously, no way. The little one had angels around him. Angels liked the kid, but they didn't like him too much, he didn't think. He perused the girl. Oh for more time. He reached out to glide a finger down her jaw line, leaving a slight trail of perspiration behind. If only. But no, first he had to appease his master.
He turned his eyes on the other, the tall kid. He straddled him, satisfied when there was no response. He leaned close, smelling the blood mixed in with sweat. He raised the knife, but was startled from bringing it down. He must have made a noise. Well, damn.
"Get the hell away from my brother, you bastard!"
That changed things a bit, didn't it. He sneered at the man, swiftly bringing the knife down to caress the man's jaw line.
"Ah, ah, ah . . . wouldn't want me to slip now would you?" He smiled. He had him now.
He'd make his master proud.
Dean stood with shaking hands. That asshole had a knife to his brother's throat. Why hadn't he secured him? He knew the guy was a psycho. Now his brother was being threatened, and it was all his fault. Son of a b**ch!
"Don't you think you sliced him up enough? Get away from him!" He tried to sound angry and mean. He blinked the frustrated tears away and clenched his jaw against the lump in his throat.
"I think, unless you want Sammy here's neck split wide open, you better drop the gun now." The asshole knew he had the upper hand. When it came to Sam, he couldn't take a chance. He dropped the gun, trying to keep it close enough to reach in case he had the chance. "Now just walk forward a little, there. Wouldn't want you having any ideas about getting to that gun, now would we? Just sit down like a good little boy, now."
He clenched his teeth together. Shit! How could he have messed up so badly. With an angry nod of his head he dropped to his knees. He watched carefully. He'd need to move at any opening.
"Great, now just be a good little boy and watch." The monster's eyes gleamed as he looked briefly down on Sam again and then flicked his eyes back to Dean. "I wouldn't try anything. Little brother might have to pay the price."
Man, it was getting harder to breath. Focus, Dean. He could do this. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. He could do this. He watched the knife nervously. Glared at the asshole. Watched the knife again.
A light swipe and blood was swelling along a line there. A giggle. A freakin' giggle.
"This is fitting I think. You watching as I have my fun, and then I can kill him. It's all your guys' fault. I had everything in place. I just needed to complete the ceremony and my master would have granted me anything! At least I can make him proud now."
"Man, you are buckets of crazy. You know that? Demons don't make deals with little spineless assholes like you. You couldn't give him anything except someone else's life. You're a f**kin' coward."
"No! He would have granted me what I wanted! He would have!" With that and a dangerous frenzied look on his face, he bent over Sam and drew the knife along his jawline, lightly laying another line. He grabbed Sam's shaggy hair and pulled his head up, forcing his neck open. The blood welled and made Dean want to be sick. He raised the knife again, and that was it.
With quickness that defied his body's current state of agony, he slammed into Larkin. But the man was steadier than him, and he only succeeded in knocking him over slightly. The movement did dislodge his hold on Sam. The sickening thud as his brother's head hit the ground once again cut straight through his heart.
He turned his rage on Larkin - with a fast punch straight to the ba**ard's nose. But Larkin swiped him with the knife, finding his already sore chest. Man, should'a seen that one coming. He pushed the pain aside, intent on making this asshole pay.
If looks could kill, he'd be smoldering already. Too easy. After everything that prick had done, he deserved pain. Lots of pain. Not looking down to acknowledge the slick wetness running down his lower chest, he plowed into Larkin.
They landed in a whirl of arms and legs just beyond the trio of unconscious bodies. Trading punches now, he felt that stupid knife stinging his torso several times before he was able to finally knock it loose. It skittered across the floor.
He rained punches along the man's jaw and stomach, giving into a satisfying, fury-induced, adrenaline-pumping ass-kicking. He was exhausted when he finally rolled off the barely conscious man.
" No one messes with my brother." He turned away, disgusted with the lump of shit he had just beat to a pulp, disgusted with himself for not doing better - protecting them all better from this evil son of a b**ch. A sudden sharp pain in his shoulder caused him to cry out in pain and twist from the threat.
Shit! He didn't think the guy had any fight left in him. Obviously, he had enough. Enough to stick him like a pig. But as he whirled the air seemed too heavy to breath, the world spun around him, and the creep was suddenly falling, with a quickly spreading red spot right where his heart should have been. Huh?
He turned heavy-lidded eyes to see the other dude had returned, and was holding a gun straight ahead, pointed to where Larkin had been upright just moments before.
Great, the bad guy killed the other bad guy. People were crazy! His body felt too heavy, too . . . much. He landed in a heap on the floor, barely keeping on his behind.
He needed to get to Sam. Needed to check on Andy. Needed to . . . sit. He needed to sit for a minute. His body felt too heavy, and he was suddenly a little too fuzzy to think about why.
"Never liked that asshole anyway." Rough voice kept talking for a minute, but Dean couldn't follow the fast words.
"Help me . . . don't . . . leave . . . 's not like anyone . . . at least fifteen, twenty minutes. Help me . . . come on." Linda? Lisa? No, L . . .L . . . Lori. That's it. Man. She sounded ticked off. " . . . run away afterwards . . . Please. I can't . . . "
He felt soft hands ease him back towards the floor and he struggled for a second. Didn't help. The cold floor soothed his back, but it pressed in against his other wound there. At the same time those same hands were feeling his chest, his torso.
". . . this one's deep . . . pressure . . . now!" Suddenly the little hands were clear and some freakin' heavy hands were pushing hard against his chest. Man, easy. His vision cleared for just a second and he recognized the thug from before. Thug? Was helping now . . . huh.
"'M fine, help Sammy. Andy." Man his mouth felt like cotton was in it. Why was it so hard to talk? To breath even?
The other voice was already echoing from across the room. Hard to hear her though.
"This one's . . . worst . . . Might not . . ." He tried to turn his head. But his head didn't want to cooperate. So he listened to her voice instead. She was over on the other side of the room, so Andy. Not Sammy. Sammy would be fine. Had to be. Help was here.
This freaking nightmare had to be over now. It had to be.
". . . outta here . . . Not . . . jail. They'll . . . soon." The rough voice of the other guy. Leaving?
His eyes drifted shut sometime before the cold air rushed in and flashing lights invaded the dark chamber. He opened his eyes with a groan, forcing his body to the side so he could see what was going on.
Everything was still a blur. Voices echoed around him, the lights flashing left him feeling dizzy, and he could only catch words. When someone stopped to take his pulse he tried to push them away. "See Sammy first."
They didn't listen, and everything was too foggy. He couldn't get them to understand. Maybe he only thought he was yelling at them to help Sam.
They didn't seem to even hear him. A sharp prick in his arm caused him to try to see the person beside him. He tried to shake his head. But his body wasn't listening to him. His head pounded, drumming against the blur of movement around him, the blend of voices that he couldn't understand any more.
Someone patted his arm. And then everything faded to black.
Removed from the flashing lights of below, the guardians gathered, prayed, and watched.
The soft sound of reverent voices praying was broken only by the soft ruffling of feathers as wings tensed in elation, and in sorrow.
The battle had been won, but the cost had been great. The humans had been worthy opponents, had fought gracefully, tenaciously. They faced their challenges with dignity and faith. Some faith in their Lord, others faith in each other. But in the end, a child had saved them all.
The guardians prayed for healing, for faith, for hope.
The humans would need all.
Removed from the heavenly group, three guardians flexed their wings in agitation and frustration. One prayed that his charge would recover, retain his innocence in the light of all that had occurred. Another felt the soft whisper of heaven's promise. The holy one's earthly life was not certain. He did not know if he would usher him home or guide him back to those who loved him on earth.
The last guardian smiled with a half-grin. He would be planting seeds. His charge wasn't faithful, didn't claim to be. But maybe someday . . . he folded his arms, flexed his wings.
They all waited, in the shimmering light of their own divine glow, for their opportunities. The soft whisper of prayers in the background mingled with the sweet promise of heaven's answering song.