A groan of tedium escapes me, startling the fearful.
Is this a test?
It has to be. Otherwise I can't go on.
Draining Patience, drain Vitality.
This paranoid, paralyzed vampire act's a little old.
"The Patient"- Tool
They stopped at a gas station outside of Reading, PA., the Impala needing refueling.
"So this ghost, it haunts a cemetery? Little redundant, don't cha think? Like a pirate having two peg legs!" He grinned and reached for one of their new credit cards.
Sam raised his eyebrow and shrugged, "Hey, don't ask me, I just get the info. You can be all Dr. Laura if you'd like."
Dean snorted, "Nah, sounds more up your alley. Besides, figured you'd know best, there dead boy."
"Ah, I see we've moved past the thankful stage and progressed to name calling. So how long's this joke going to last, deal making wonder?" Sam cracked a grin, masking the sudden surge of anxiety clutching at his stomach.
Never one to show it, Dean thought along the same thread, "Oh, at least a year." He winked.
Sam sighed, unable to keep up the banter, "Alright, I'm sorry, but I can't joke about this. We shouldn't be hunting, we should find a way-"
"What? To prevent my one year limited warranty?" Dean scoffed, "We've spent the last month looking, my eyes are permanently crossed! Besides, Bobby's still at it, and we have a job to do!"
Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Dean cut him off, "No Sam, that's it, it's final! I'm not just gonna sit on my ass here. We hunt. End of story!" With that, he got out of the car and slammed the door.
Sam ground his teeth, letting only a huff of his frustration out. Sometimes, Dean's crap was so tiring and frustrating, Sam wanted to put his fist through something. Usually he saved it for the baddie that they were up against, but now there was nothing to punch, no one that warranted a good throttling. Well, okay, the Impala could take a hit, but Sam did value his new lease on life. Besides, he knew Dean was right. They exhausted the books, and Google searches only went so far.
Instead, Sam got out himself and stalked towards the mini-mart. Maybe food will help ease some tension. As he browsed the racks of processed, fortified, and otherwise non-organic snacks, Sam looked back outside. Predictably, Dean was leaning on the trunk, face turned into the sun. But the look on his brother's face said quite clearly that he wasn't thinking of the sun. No, Dean was miles away.
Sam felt the beginnings of guilt. He didn't like adding to his brother's load, he knew Dean worked his hardest, perhaps too hard. He went to the literal end of the world for Sam. A flash of renewed anger coursed through Sam. But he shouldn't have traded himself! Therein lied his greatest beef with Dean. That he never allowed himself to be safe instead of Sam. Sam wasn't five, he could take responsibility for himself. Dean never allowed such a thing.
Sam made his way to the drink cooler, grabbing two Mountain Dews. Figuring Dean needed a peace offering, he also grabbed his older brother's favorite brand of jerky. The stuff was disgusting, but hey, if it perked up Dean's mood, whatever. Adding a bag of Peanut M&Ms to the pile, Sam walked up to the counter. A girl of 18 greeted him energetically. He couldn't help but return her grin. Her casual conversation lifted his mood slightly, and as she handed him a bag, he noticed that a slip of paper that wasn't his receipt made it's way between the M&Ms and soda. Sam smiled and thanked her, pushing out the door, turning to share a parting grin.
But as he walked towards the impala, he noticed Dean was not in his seat. Figures, Sam rolled his eyes, Dude's got a bladder of a blue haired lady. He slid into the passenger seat, cracking open a Dew. But as Sam brought the drink to his lips, something caught his eye. Turning, he gasped and nearly dropped the bottle.
A knife was embedded into the leather seat, right in the center of the indentation cause by Dean's many hours of driving.
"Holy-!" Sam instinctually reached for the knife, yanking the 8-inch blade from the seat. As he did, a piece of paper fluttered to the bottom of the car. As adrenaline rushed through Sam's body, he lunged for the slip. He read it through:
The evil one has sealed my fate
I am buried alive!
Inside a tomb of hate and fear
I tremble inside - I struggle
In the cold, cruel earth
I gasp for air,
I seek the blackness
I am one with the oblivion
Of empty places,
Places I could not escape
When still alive
They throw shovels of soil
Atop my wooden coffin -
Yet still I faintly breathe
And squirm as I try
To scream, wretched
In a nightmare -
Trapped in this dream
I sought the solace of this grave,
But now I know that I was wrong
That not even death can efface,
The horror, the gloom, and the dread
Of this lonely place
Nor can the grim reaper efface,
The blight of those who were born
To be the outcasts of paradise
Sam read the paper over 3 times in quick succession, horror building. His pulse pounded in his head. The page was torn from a book, salutations being the only handwritten part. The world swirled before Sam's eyes, threatening to engulf him.
"Oh God! Dean!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, shaking from fear, guilt, and a hint of anger. Why did his brother do this now? "waitaminute..." Through the haze, Sam realized that the handwritten 'Sam' and 'Dean' were not in his brother's blocky script. Dean used all uppercase, while this writing made exaggerated capitals and small, quick lowercase.
The world fell completely from Sam. Someone took Dean, someone wants to screw with my head. Sam pressed his palms into his temples, leaning forward to rest his head on the dashboard, it's cool metal calming Sam's discordant mind. He couldn't stop on one thought. Who did this? Was he dead? Why? what should he, Sam, do? Was he dead? Wait for more information, more threats? Was he dead? Research? Research what? Was Dean dead? Oh God! Sam pressed harder, attempting to squash the terrible thought from his mind. No, he can't be! Focus Sam, focus!
Taking a deep breath, he gathered his thoughts. Alright, let's try the cell. It was a long shot, but Sam figured no harm in trying. Hitting the speed dial, the call went through, ringing sounding tinny and unreal against Sam's ear. The sound of hard rock came from the floorboards, startling Sam. He stooped the call and bent to find his brother's phone beneath the seat. Sorrow pelted his stomach as he stared at the mobile. He tilted his head as the LED showed that Dean had two missed calls and one new voicemail. He dialed the voicemail; Dean's password never changed, not since he was five. It was BOC.
A chill ran up Sam's spine and to his limbs as he listened to the message.
"Hey Sam, take a listen..." A gravelly, hoarse voice sounded over the line.
Sam jumped as something slammed into the phone, followed by a series of of muffled thuds, crashes, and curses.
"GET OFF ME, YOU SONOFABITCH!!" came his brother's voice, alive with anger, "I'm gonna Kill-"
Dean's voice was cut off by a sickening crunch that made Sam nauseous, followed by a groan. Sam nearly dropped the phone, but held on as the voice came back.
"Well Sammy, seems we have some business. I'll be in touch." Click. The message ended.
Sam didn't even register the annoying woman on the voicemail. He pressed end with shaking hands and slumped in the seat. Business? That voice...Sm shivered and tried to place it. Familiar, but not on the tip of his tongue. Sam was in shock. Just 10 minutes ago, he was arguing about Dean's life. Now, his brother was in immediate jeopardy.
"FUCK!" Sam slammed his palms on the dash, a movement usually punishable by law. He rarely swore, usually leaving that to Dean, but the anger, resentment, and frustration boiling over in Sam's veins needed an outlet.
He yanked himself behind the wheel, flipping the ignition. He needed to find his brother, that's all that mattered. Punching the accelerator, Sam flew back to their motel room, to his only haven left, the laptop.
---The poem used is by Ronald Dondiego---i own nothing, cept the plotline...blah, blah, blah...:D
i'm writing this and Updating immediately, so there may be a wait 'tween the chapters...sorry!!!