So, new story...hope everyone enjoys!! As always, I live for reviews!! thanks, bambers;)
When Darkness Calls
"Dean, your phone's ringin' again," Sam mumbled as he rolled over on his bed. "Come on, dude, answer the damn thing or we'll never get any rest tonight." He wrapped the pillow over his head, snuggling deeper under the covers. The sound of his steady breathing told Dean his brother was asleep even as he yawned and tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind.
"Okay, Sammy." Dean yawned, stretching tired muscles. Bleary-eyed, he fumbled for the cell on the bedside table. "Hello."
Deafening silence, the only reply.
"When I find out who the hell this is, I'm so gonna kick your ass for keeping me awake night after night for nearly two weeks." Dean jabbed the disconnect and slammed the phone down.
He snatched the phone from the nightstand. "Who the hell is this!"
"How's Sammy, Dean?" came a deceptively soft voice. "He looks so peaceful when he's asleep. It's almost as if he doesn't know he's being watched."
Dean shot to his feet, fingers tightening around the phone. Grabbing the knife from beneath his pillow, Dean stormed to the window, yanked back the curtains and peered out into the darkness. Not seeing anything, he went to the door and flung it open. "Where the hell are you?" he growled, eyes narrowing as he searched the parking lot.
"I wonder if that's how he'll look when he's dead?" The man on the other end of the line laughed.
"You touch one goddamn hair on his head, and I swear to God, I'll hunt you down and rip you apart with my bare hands, you sonuvabitch!"
"You won't even be able to find me, Dean." He chuckled. "I've been watching you for months now and you've never even noticed me."
Dean stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. He shivered as a blast of icy air bit at bare skin. Heavy snowflakes swirled around him, dampening his face and clinging to his thick eyelashes. He blinked them away, mind racing, trying to recall anyone who might've been following them. "What do you mean, you've been watching us?"
"You like your coffee black, think M&M's are a food group, have a weird late night obsession with graveyards, and sleep with that knife you're holding under your pillow."
Dean stared incredulously at the blade he held in his right hand, then glanced from side to side, searching the deserted parking area. How the hell could he know that?
The man drew a deep breath and continued, "Sammy, on the other hand, likes a dash of cream in his coffee, twirls his fork through his scrambled eggs when he's deep in thought, hates being called Sammy, and has terrible nightmares where he wakes up screaming."
Dean took a shuddering breath, frigid air burning his nostrils. Mindless of the cold stinging his bare feet, Dean climbed onto a snowbank and peered into the darkened woods. Moonlit shadows dipped in and out through the skeletal trees, branches bent eerily in the breeze. "How do you know so much about us?"
"I told you, Dean. I've been watching you. Watching and waiting, trying to decide. . . ." The man's voice trailed off, baiting Dean.
"Trying to decide what, you sonuvabitch?"
"Which one of you I should kill first."
"Not if I find you first."
Maniacal laughter erupted from the phone. "I already told you, you'll never find me."
"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Dean growled into the phone, wispy plumes of frigid smoke lifting into the night air.
"I think I know you and Sammy pretty well." The phone went silent for a brief moment, only the sound of the man's steady breathing filling the void. "I'm disappointed in you, Dean. You never did ask what I've decided."
"I don't give a rat's ass what you've decided."
"Ah, very well." There was condescension and stinging mockery in the man's tone. "But if you should happen to change your mind, just check your emails."
Dean glanced at the motel room door. "I don't have an email."
"Sure you do, Dean. Just check."
The line went dead. Dean stood staring at his cell. "Sonuvabitch."
He turned and rushed back inside, catching the door before it slammed shut and woke Sam. Grabbing the laptop, he headed to the bathroom. Dean flipped on the computer and noticed four emails waiting for him to read.
He clicked open the first document and saw his name written repeatedly throughout the page. What the — Frowning, he opened the next one to find the exact same thing only with Sam's name instead. On the third email he scrolled halfway down and found the word 'then' intermingled amongst the repetitions of his name. Dean went back to the first one and, sure enough, halfway down he saw the name 'Sammy' written in bold black letters.
Hands trembling, he reopened the second and fourth emails and found the words 'first' and 'you'.
Sammy first then you.
Dean glared at the computer screen. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some maniac try to hurt you, Sammy.
Raking fingers through his scruffy hair, Dean racked his brain, trying to recall anyone over the past month who might've stood out. There's got to be someone who seemed strange . . . I must've noticed someone watching us. He ran his hand along his jaw and scowled. There's no one.
"You've got mail," came the computer generated voice and Dean jumped, startled by the sudden noise.
He quickly opened the email and found a link to a website called The Death Watch. Jabbing the button with his index finger, Dean cringed, seeing a live video feed of their motel bedroom, the camera aimed directly at Sam's sleeping form.
Dean sucked in a deep breath, stomach clenching as he read the caption beneath the video.
He's sleeping so peacefully, I wonder if he's even aware he is about to die.
Under the dire words there were dozens of photos of both Sam and Dean: on hunts, at motels, eating in diners, sleeping, even showering. Goddamn it! The freakin bastard's been in our room.
Dean slammed the computer shut and stormed out of the bathroom. He strode to Sam's bed, shaking him roughly. "Get up, Sammy. We're leaving."
"What? Why?" Sam grumbled between yawns. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretching as he glared at Dean. "It's the middle of the freakin night and it's snowing, for God's sake. Can't we wait til morning?"
"Damn it, Sammy. Get the hell up and get ready to go. Now," Dean ordered, not bothering to look at Sam as he crammed clothes into their duffels.
"Dean, what's the matter?" Sam sat up, the covers sliding down his bare muscular chest gathering across his hips.
Frowning, Dean threw Sam his shirt and pants. "Get dressed. And dude, if you're not wearing boxers, for God's sake don't stand up."
"Dude, you do realize, you're not making any sense, right?" Sam shrugged on his flannel shirt, hastily buttoning it, then yanked on his pants.
"Sammy, I want to be outta here in like five minutes so get moving," Dean said evasively. I can't tell him there's some stalker trailing us. Not yet . . . I have to figure this out first.
Sam's brows furrowed, lips drawn into a hard line against his teeth, steady gaze following Dean's every movement. "Does this have something to do with that phone call earlier?"
"Yeah, somethin' like that." Dean went into the bathroom and gathered their stuff. He hastily returned, throwing everything into the bag.
"A job?" Sam asked, zipping his jacket.
"Not exactly." Dean threw on his jacket, grabbed their bags and headed for the door with Sam following. With his hand on the doorknob, Dean turned to his brother, biting at his lower lip. "Just stick close, okay?"
Narrowing hazel eyes, Sam stared at him. "What aren't you telling me? What's wrong?"
How the hell am I supposed to tell him that every move we make someone is watching? Dean scowled, shaking his head in disgust at the thought of the live video feed of Sam sleeping. Hell, from the looks of it, everyone is watching for that matter.
"Nothing's wrong." Dean turned and marched to the Impala before Sam could ask anything else.
Snow continued to fall at a steady pace, brisk, biting winds whipped across the snow-covered ground, kicking up snow and making it hard for Dean to see more than two feet in front of him. Dean opened the trunk, threw the bags in, closed it and got in the car.
Sam brushed the snow off the car, then scrapped the ice from the windows. He slid into the passenger's side, slamming the door. Leaning against the window, he crossed his arms and silently brooded.
Starting the engine, Dean flipped on the lights and windshield wipers. He peeled out of the parking lot with tires slipping and sliding through the fresh snow. Dean could feel Sam's angry glare on him as he kept his eyes trained on the road. Oh, great, he isn't going to let this go. Man, he's like a freakin' pit bull when he gets something in his head.
"Sam." They spoke simultaneously.
"What, Sammy?" Dean gave him a sidelong glance, before returning his attention to the road ahead.
Sam turned and stared at him. "I'm not stupid, I know something's wrong." He hesitated, licking his lips. "That phone call, what was it about? You were fine until then."
Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in perfect rhythm to AC/DC's Highway to Hell, Dean let out a deep exasperated sigh. "It was just a crank call. Some dumb jerk trying to get a rise out of me."
"Well, apparently it worked, dude, cause I've haven't seen you this agitated in a long time."
Red flashing lights cut a path through the heavy snowfall ahead. The strobe of lights from police cars and an ambulance lit the night. A single dark sedan sat at the intersection, but Dean saw no evidence of a wreck. He squinted through the steady swish of the wipers as he slowed. A police officer flagged for them to pull to a stop, and motioned for Dean to roll down his window.
The patrolman leaned in, resting his arm on the window frame. "You boys will have to take another road. This one's closed."
Dean jerked his head toward several men putting two body bags into an ambulance, and asked, "What happened?"
"Double homicide." The officer shook his head, scrubbing his hand across his face. "Looks like someone shot them while they were waiting for the light to change."
"Anyone see anything?" Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat and peering at the car.
"You fellas need to leave now before you cause an accident."
"All right. Thanks officer." Dean turned the Impala around and headed back in the direction they'd come from.
"That's odd." Sam swiveled in his seat to stare back at the black sedan.
"Two guys being gunned down, in the middle of the night, in a snow storm."
"Happens all the time, Sammy." He didn't miss the implication, it wasn't hard to guess Sam had noticed how similar the other car was to Dean's Impala. No. Sammy wasn't stupid by a long shot.
"Did you happen to notice — "
Dean's cell phone rang, silencing Sam immediately.
Dean stared at the phone for a second, stomach churning as he flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Now see what you made me do," came the same deceptively calm tone as earlier. "It's all your fault, Dean. If you'd only stayed where you were those two poor boys wouldn't be dead now." He paused, chuckling. "Course, then, I guess you would be."