Darkfalling – SN. fic.

by: sifi




Damnit Sammy! what IS it with you! You keep disappearing like this and one day I'm not gonna come looking for you! Dean stormed inside. It was a lie and he knew it. As long as there was breath in his body he'd never let his baby brother down. Tonight was no exception.

Somehow, between the local firing range where he was supposed to pick up some shell casings, and the motel Sam had disappeared leaving evidence of a scuffle and three brass casings within feet of the Impala's driver door, behind as the only sign something was amiss. It was enough.

He crept along the shadows on stealthy approach to the Early American three story that made the Bates house look like a summer camp and stopped, his breath lodged in his throat as a sharp crack, like gunfire, but somehow different split the air between his objective and him. His very blood shivered in his veins at the sound that came next. He knew that alto voice that screamed to shake windows and his knees buckled.

"What do you want?" he heard fade from the tail end of the scream.

Son of a bitch...Oh you ass holes don't know what you've got yourselves into... I'm coming Sammy... you just hang in there little brother... he felt his skin crawl as he clung to the outer wall, beneath one of the windows and circled toward the rear of the house.

Another crack ricocheted through the night followed by another alto howl from his baby brother and it was all he could do to keep himself from tearing through the foundation stones to get to him. Basement... he's in the basement... sadistic sons of bitches what the hell are they doing...

"Please... stop..." Sam's voice vibrated shallowly. The timber making its way into Dean's nervous system, setting him on fire from the inside, I gotta get IN there!

Scanning the area quickly he dashed to the cellar doors, footsteps from around the far side of the house sliding into his ear just early enough for him to duck down and cover in the shadow.

The "Sentry" wore a black robe, the sight of which made the elder hunter roll his eyes, Oh for the love of God! Get some originality here people! A dark coven... how the hell did they get you Sammy? How did a bunch of pretenders to the dark arts manage to get the drop on you baby brother? he wondered and rose up to his full height, in full sight of the guard.

The man within the hooded robe watched in disbelief as a furious creature loomed out of the shadows, his heart thundered briefly until he saw the shotgun. By the time he registered what he was seeing, enough to try and call out to warn the others, his consciousness was ebbing from him.

"... you DO know! Your power can bring forth the one we need... now CALL HIM!" a sexless voice hissed in the darkness, coming through a small opening in the cellar window riding on the back of burning Blackthorn and Devil's weed tie sticks.

What the hell are you trying to summon you freakin' idiot? Dean wondered, his teeth and jaw aching for how hard he had them clamped as he wrinkled his nose against the noxious odor of the incense and peered into the window, his eyes wide and heart hammering.

In the dark, on the far side of the basement, half shrouded by yet another goon in a robe, this one embossed with celestial symbols, was his baby brother, hanging from two different "I" beams by his wrists, his arms spread, and his body hoisted so high that his feet didn't touch the floor. His head hung to the side, chin over his chest which glistened darkly in the dim light of candles and hurricane lamps. I'm gonna tear you into pieces you BITCH! he snarled inside as the figure before Sam stepped back and something slithered on the floor at its side.

Oh you've got to be kidding me! he held his groan of disbelief as the woven strands flicked through the air, a knot at the end creating that miniature sonic boom he'd been hearing.

"Call him!" the priest or priestess ordered, flicking yet again in warning.

Sam lifted his head, blood trickling from his mouth as he rocked his head from side to side, "Not even if I knew how..."

"Call out! It's all you have to do!..."

"Go straight to hell..." Sam sneered.

Faster than lightning the arm moved, the whip flicked, wrapping itself around the young hunter's naked torso and tore free, loosing another howl from the young man as a new ribbon of flesh was cast aside and another river of blood was born.

Dean was stunned momentarily, it wasn't the first time he'd seen Sam whipped but it still made him sick. He sucked wind, watching the eight feet of braided leather wind around his little brother's torso, watched as his body twisted against his spread and bound arms, rising up against the pull of the simple and sinister device, and would have sworn that once more, just as he had in Eddy Jay's pit that he could hear the sound of Sam's flesh tearing.

That's it! he thought and kicked his way through the window feet first.

"Hey!" he shouted drawing the attention of the three robed coven members, and Sammy who whimpered through his smile and let his head drop back over his chest breathing hard.

Dean pumped the shotgun firing quickly, stunning them with the mere fact that he'd shot. He knew the rocksalt wouldn't do much especially not with them wearing those robes, but the effect would be enough he hoped.

The priest or priestess was the first to recover and move to him, athame in one hand and the whip in the other. He or she flicked the whip, his arm came up defensively and he was grabbed, around the arm and around the neck, the knot at the end flicked stingingly against the side of his head just above his ear. He wound his hand around the leather and pulled with all he had. The leader did not resist, but instead used his strength against him, coming at the elder Winchester with his or her hand raised, the athame poised to enter his heart from above. Dean saw it coming, but his hands were occupied and his footing was unsteady.

"Dean..." he heard softly from his brother, and watched as the ceremonial blade seemed to jump from the hand that held it and embedded itself into the wall near the stairs.

"Sam..." Dean breathed making short work of the person in front of him then moving on to the other two, binding all three of them quickly and tightly before turning his attention to his little brother.

"Sammy..." he grimaced standing before him, his eyes tracing the ropes that bound him. "Hold on Sam..." he urged, a hand on either side of his brother's face, helping to hold it up, looking, searching those fuzzy, half closed blue-greens for signs of understanding.

He felt Sam work his muscles to nod, and stepped away, quickly scanning the basement until his eyes fell on a step stool. He moved the stool under his brother's feet and set about unbinding him.

Once his arms were free and had fallen to his sides Sam held his balance as long as he could and when he couldn't any longer, and felt his body listing to the side, heading for a fall from the stool, he felt the warm hard strength of his big brother there. Dean's arms grasped his blood soaked torso to himself and helped him down, then held him up.

Dean watched Sam waver, he knew he was going to fall and moved certainly to his side, his arms reaching around him, his body strong and ready to feel the weight of his little brother if he went all the way down. Thankfully Sam didn't lose consciousness. Dean looked around, his eyes fell on Sam's hoodie and jacket but he couldn't see his shirts in the dim light, and the coven members were starting to come around.

He grabbed the hoodie and jacket, helping Sam slide them over his battered and bloody body grateful beyond measure that they could get the hell out of there.

Guiding Sam up the stairs Dean had his cell phone out and was dialing 911. As they exited the house he was rattling off the address to the local police, and as they pulled away into the night the sound of sirens began to slice through the air from behind them.


Sam lowered himself achingly onto his bed while Dean salted the door and windows. His mind was numb and his body hurt, and inside of himself he heard the insistent voice, "You can call him and he will come... you are revered! You will be adored and feared by all!"

It's irrefutable... it's destiny... I can't fight it... there is no atonement, there is no changing it, you're wrong Dean... you should have left me there... don't worry... I know I tricked you into making that promise... but don't worry... I'll never make you keep it... I know that now... he thought feeling tears falling silently down his face, drops falling from his chin onto his jeans as agony that didn't come from his body, but made him hurt just the same, racked him.

"Sam?" Dean asked softly. His heart was racing in his chest. He could taste fear in his throat as he watched the water from Sam's eyes soaking into the thighs of his jeans.

"Sam? Come on man... it's okay..." he soothed kneeling before the younger man. "Come on Sammy... let's get you cleaned up..."

Sam's eyes didn't move, they didn't blink, he sat still as a statue, the only sign of movement was his breathing, the pulse visible in his throat, and the tears that wouldn't stop.

Stilling his trembling hands Dean ran the warm water and pulled out the first aid kit. When he returned to the main room Sam hadn't moved and Dean felt a shiver shoot through him.

"Come on Sam... help me out here..." he said softly, unzipping the jacket and the hoodie, peeling both layers off his brothers' bloody torso. As he did so, places that had already formed scabs were torn open again. Dean winced, grimacing, checking Sam for signs of discomfort, for response, for anything that was normal. This is soooo not good... what'd they do to you Sammy? Come on man... please don't be like this... he pleaded inside while pushing the jackets off and tossing them onto one of the chairs.

"Oh jeez..." he groaned and swallowed hard looking once more at flesh that was tattered and frayed to match the psyche it housed, "Sam! Come on dude! Please!" he urged feeling the hairs on his arms standing straight up, his whole body racked in gooseflesh while he squeezed out the face cloth and started mopping the blood from his brother's body.

Max was right... he was right... Max was right...don't worry Dean... I'll never make you keep that promise... Max was right...

He could feel Dean's hand behind his head as the taste of amber fire hit his lips and stung its way down his throat. His nose filled with the scent of Whiskey and his hand came up, grasping the bottle while his throat worked, drawing the fluid thirstily down into his belly.

"Hey whoa easy there tiger," Dean's voice was full of glad relief as he pulled the bottle from Sam's mouth and felt their eyes connect with full awareness, "You alright now?" Dean asked.

Sam hiccoughed, belched and nodded, "...tired..." he sighed turning around and, heedless of his wounds stretched out on his bed, his jeans soaked with blood and water, whatever else was going to happen he didn't care.

"Sam... come on Sam you gotta let me help you get cleaned up, then you can sleep okay?... come on..." Dean urged.

"To hell with it Dean... just leave me alone..." Sam grumbled.

"What?!" Dean asked, certain he'd misheard.

"I said leave me alone damnit! Just ..." Leave me alone, go away, run away, let me die, leave me a gun, go somewhere safe, get out of this life, go meet up with Laura... stay away from the big fight... keep each other happy and safe and make lots of little hunters... I don't care Dean... just leave me the hell alone and let me DIE! I CANT fight anymore! I can't... and I can't ask you to fight FOR me... Please be smart big brother... run away as fast and as far as you can... don't ever look back... Just go away and leave me to take care of my business... "...lemme get some sleep..." he finished and flicked the comforter over himself as sleep drew him away from his pains.


Sam groaned a sound of deep pain and Dean looked over from the computer, his brows furrowed and his bottom lip ragged between his teeth, It's okay Sammy... just rest I'll watch over you... it's what I do... he smiled feeling the warmth of purpose flooding him for a split second before Sam rolled violently, tossing himself onto the floor, on all fours wound tightly in the comforter as his stomach heaved and his spine bowed.

Oh shit... Dean lurched from the chair guessing Sam was never going to get used to whiskey in gulps, he's a sipper alright... he thought grabbing a trashcan and sliding it under Sam's head as his stomach lurched and squeezed again.

"I'm sorry..." he moaned, "...no more... please... don't," he shuddered feeling himself break out into a cold greasy sweat.

"It's alright Sam... don't worry about it..." Dean took up station at his side, holding his head while his body trembled weakly.

He's burning up... Dean realized and reluctantly looked into the trashcan bracing himself for a waft of rancid whiskey and stomach acid. He frowned and leaned forward a bit, his eyes certainly playing tricks on him as he caught sight of brown flecks floating in the basket.

"Oh God please..." Sam cried piteously, his stomach clenching once more, his back bowing to put a golden arch to shame as an impossible storm of dark reddish-brown flowed from him, "...nuhh...pl..se..." he moaned as his arms and legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor.

"Sam!... Sammy... come on Sam!" Dean called checking for a pulse and sighed shakily when he felt it fast and thready but strong in Sam's throat. He grasped his baby brother under the arms, and hiked him back onto the bed, making sure to lay him on his side. With the trashcan in hand Dean went into the bathroom, stoppered the sink and grimaced, turning his head and squinting his eyes as he dumped the contents of the basket into the white porcelain, knowing he had to get a good look, he had to know.

"Oh man this is gross..." he groaned casting a glance at Sam, assuring himself that he was still on his bed, still passed out. No roof diving for you tonight little brother... not if I can help it... he thought remembering the last time he'd seen Sam in anything resembling this kind of condition. He'd wound up dangling by Dean's hand off the top of a four story building, having gone for a little 'Living History Spirit walk' that almost got them both killed.

The contents of the sink were unmistakable. Blood... but none of his ribs are broken, he wasn't punctured anywhere... I sure as hell would've noticed that while cleaning him up, no trace of whiskey smell... I'm gonna puke... how the hell did he get blood into his stomach? Unless...no...no... never... Oh Man... No! he shook his head and returned to Sam's bedside, rolling him back a bit and turning his head so he could see his gums as he lifted his lip looking for signs of fangs.



please R&R

Thanks, sifi