Hehe, hello all my dear friends and readers. I'm baaack! (Receives glares.)
Umm, I really am sorry for not updating! Honest! (Readers put away pitchforks.)
There we go :)
So, yes, I truly am sorry for the massive delays in updating anything. To tell the truth, I have struck a massive writers block! For anything, my mind has gone totally blank. I also just need to say, thank you to quite a lot of people, for making me see sense, and giving me that boot up the backside, and henceforth, I am now continuing with this story.
All of those who absolutely hate me for not updating the others will have to bare with me for a few more weeks, but I have finally got my own computer set up and running in my room, and I hope to now get out regular updates for all of my stories! This story is the first to be updated as it is my favourite, (well obviously, it's Supernatural!) but, I am also beginning to think of an ending to my HSM story too.
Just a note:
Some people have said that the last chapter of this story had them slightly confused, but fear not, that is all part of the plan!
Thank you to EVERYONE that has either reviewed or read any of my stories, I greatly appreciate it, and I will take any advice, comments or complaints about them, and take them all to heart.
And now, without further ado, the next, highly waited on (by me mostly hehe) chapter of Lost in the Dark! Oh and by the way, this chapter doesn't have any real action in it, but it was just something I had to write. Next chapter will have more, as I already have a plan!
John had never heard his eldest scream before. It really wasn't pretty. He could do nothing as he watched his son squirm in his seat, as though trying to break free of an invisible grasp. Slamming his foot heavily on the brake of the Impala that had been cruising down the road, tearing at well over seventy miles-per-hour, he twisted his head, seeing Dean smash his fists into his thighs and throw back his head so far, John could see the muscles in his neck stretching. Flinging himself towards his suffering son, he tore off his seat belt and roughly grabbed Dean's head and stroked the side of his face in a calming manner.
"Son, son, you gotta talk to me. What's going on?" his voice was reflecting the barrier he was trying to keep, and not allow any hints of the terror he was feeling inside show through. Slowly, he could see Dean's breathing evened out, and he sighed inwardly. Suddenly, Dean spoke, his voice soft, yet scratchy, as if he had not spoken for months.
"Something's happened, Dad. Oh god... he… I saw Sam. He's, uh, that bastard has done something to him. I…" He trailed off, before turning to look his father in the eyes. John could see a haunted look in them, and he shuddered at the thought of what Dean could have seen. "We need to go. Now." It wasn't a statement, it was an order. John stared at his son for a few more seconds, his face contorting in confusion, before slowly nodding his head and turning back to the wheel of the car.
Glancing down, John looked at the laptop that Dean had set up in the car. It had been on his son's lap, but had fallen off and dropped heavily to the floor. Picking it up, he opened the screen and gazed at the blinking dot on a map. Dean had been able to do what he had said, and they had traced Sam's phone to a house, only a few miles away.
It would take roughly half an hour to get there if he was going slowly, but that he did not intend to do. Putting the car in gear, he floored the gas peddle and they shot off down the road, Dean's laboured breath the only sound the two making.
As they shot down another road, John frowned and broke the tense silence. "What happened back there Dean?"
Risking another look at the laptop, his stomach clenched painfully to see that it would only take a few more minutes to get to Sammy.
"I saw Sam, dad." Dean's face was a mixture of worry, pain and heavily concealed guilt. Only John could tell about the guilt, as it was cleverly disguised. He was good at reading Dean, but always fell second best to his youngest. The two shared a special bond, something that John silently envied, wishing he had that connection with both of them. "He was… in this room. I could see him, as though I were there. It was so weird. He was being attacked by this man… I couldn't see his face. I tried to move, but I couldn't help him, in fact it was like I was frozen in place, unable to do anything. Sam managed to get in few hits in. I tried calling to him, but I couldn't hear my voice… This guy produced some needle thing… it was huge, and he plunged it into Sam. That was when I came back to reality, and suddenly, you were leaning over me, telling me to calm down."
He stopped there and looked at his hands that were tightly clasped together.
"How have we never been on Oprah?" he muttered quietly, before looking back up to John. "What's going on dad? What the hell is happening to me? Before, I was hearing things and now seeing them too? What's wrong with me?" Dean was scared, and it showed. He was shivering, even tough it was well over 30 degrees. His hair looked limp, and his face was creased. He certainly looked older than he was, wisdom shining in his eyes, which no teenager should have had to have known. He guessed it came with his son's job description.
John's heart was beating loudly, pulling him out of his stupor. Gazing intently into his eldest's eyes, he panicked, having no answer to the questions that hung in the air from when Dean had uttered them. He opened his mouth, as if to respond, but nothing came out and after a few seconds, he turned his head back towards the road, and twiddled the steering wheel, shooting off down another road to their right.
Dean grit his teeth. That episode a few minutes ago had him terrified, not only for Sammy's sake, but for his too. What had happened to him? Why had he been able to see Sam? Looking out of his father's window, he looked at the trees that encased them. It wasn't dark, so he could see clearly for miles.
Suddenly, he spotted something. A bag, left astray on a bed of leaves, underneath a large tree, resting up against the trunk. He screamed at his father to stop, and pushed open his door as John gazed uncertainly at him. Jumping out of the car, he made his was as quickly as he could, his back causing him trouble. Realisation ebbed its way into his mind, as he recognised the bag. It belonged to Sam.
Bending, feeling his dad's hand on his shoulder, he kneeled on the floor and opened the bag with shaking fingers. Pulling the zipper as far as he could, he glanced inside, almost dreading what he would find.
The first thing he noticed was a gleam of bright light. Frowning, he reached in and grabbed for the object. It turned out to be a thick, curved hunting knife, one that incidentally, Dean had bought for his birthday that year. He had even had the initials carved into it for him. He could remember the look on his little brother's face when he had given it to him.
"Cheer up Sammy, we're gonna have a great time." Dean attempted a grin at his brother, who sat, arms crossed on the sofa, staring moodily at the wall. He was angry, beyond reckoning.
Their dad had gone on a hunt, leaving the day before, saying that it was urgent, unavoidable. It just happened that Sam's birthday was two days after he left. But, that wasn't even what Sam was annoyed about, as John had missed his birthday before. It was the fact that it was like he had completely forgotten it even was his birthday. He said nothing apart from goodbye and 'Dean, look after your brother'. Sam had watched as he left, mouth open, gawping at his retreating back.
Turning to face Dean, his face was contorted in anger, which made his brother flinch. "Dean, how the hell can you stick up for this man, after he walks out and completely forgets?" his voice was slightly raised, but had not yet reached the full on Sammy-tantrum that Dean was so accustomed to.
Dean frowned, and glanced at his watch. Nine thirty in the evening. Suppressing a groan, and settling to roll his eyes instead, Dean shook his head gently, taking in his brother's posture, deciding to tread carefully.
"I'm not sticking up for him Sam, I'm just saying that we're probably gonna have more fun now, if you will get off your little tantrum stool, and come out with me."
That had been Dean's plan for the next day. It was a Saturday, so he needn't worry about school, and henceforth, he had decided to wake Sam up for some breakfast, before handing him over his presents (Sam had no idea that Dean had even got him anything,) and then taking him out for a lunch, grabbing a DVD from the local store around the corner, and watching that.
Watching Sam's movements carefully, he sighed a breath of relief as Sam's shoulders sunk from their defensive pose and he dropped his arms, falling limply into his lap. Looking up at his brother, Sam smiled slightly, before standing up and walking towards Dean.
Seeing the look of terror growing on his brother's face as he walked towards him, he grinned as Dean expected him to hug him. Swiftly, he grabbed Dean's arm, spun him round and got him in an arm lock. Reaching out with one hand, he proceeded to tickle his older brother, until he was caught off-guard from Dean's yelling, and was spun round and forced onto the floor, his older brother's weight settling on his back.
"God, Sam, you're getting rusty." Dean smiled.
Shortly after that, Dean sent his brother off to bed, earning a groan of disappointment. However, watching his brother's disappearing back, he snuck over the couch and reached underneath. Grabbing the large box that was hidden dutifully in the shadows, he lifted it out, along with a few bits of black, thin tissue paper that he had managed to get from the store.
Spending the next ten minutes wrapping the box carefully, he couldn't wait for his brother to open it in the morning. Smiling and putting the box back under the sofa, he decided that he couldn't be bothered to walk upstairs, and so collapse on the sofa, drifting asleep with a small smile gracing his lips.
When he woke again in the morning, he yawned and blinked as sun attacked his eyes. Grunting, the sharp pain behind his forehead slowly disappeared and he glanced up at the clock. Eight twenty-four. Opening his eyes wide, he blinked a few more times, before swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and standing up, swaying slightly as he got a faint head rush. Shaking his frame, he stumbled over to the kitchen and grabbing a few bits of bread, shoving them in the toaster.
"SAM!" he yelled, attempting rouse his brother. Sam had always been a light sleeper, and before the bread had shot up out of the toaster, his brother had come barrelling down the stairs and dropped into a chair around the table.
"Morning Sammy, happy birthday." Dean grinned at the sleepy look on Sam's face, before it brightened considerably at those words.
"Thanks Dean." Sam replied softly, looking at his brother with now wide puppy dog eyes. Hearing a spring, Dean looked back towards the toast, before taking them out, placing them on a plate and dropping it in front of Sam. Smiling his thanks, Sam proceeded to wolf down his toast, and cause Dean to pull a face.
"Dude, you sure can be gross sometimes." Shaking his head in a mock disgusted manner, he barged passed Sam and reached under the sofa. Pulling out the box for a second time, he stood up again and sat himself down next to Sam.
Placing the parcel on the table in front of him, he smiled as he watched Sam's reaction. His whole body paused in moving, and he looked at the present. Dropping the piece of toast in his hand, he looked over at the present. His eyes had gone wide and still, as though afraid that he might break the box as he reached towards it.
"You… you got his for me?" He whispered, eyes flickering to Dean who smirked and nodded. Watching his baby brother take the present in slightly shaking fingers, he was about ready to burst with pride. He was sure it stood out in his eyes, and he hastily rearranged his features into those of nonchalant.
Sam pried open the tissue paper as carefully as he could, scared of ruining his only present. As he removed the layer of paper, it revealed a box, slightly layered with red felt. Opening it, he gasped. Inside was a curved knife, lying on a thick pad of white foam. Its gleaming surface made Sam's mouth drop open as he took it in. Dean had never bought him anything like this. Looking closer at it, he saw something engraved onto the handle, just at the bottom.
Staring at it, he couldn't contain his happiness as he grinned and tackled his brother, being careful to place the knife down first. Hearing his brother's protests, he held on tighter, not caring that it was a major chick-flick moment that Dean so despised.
"Thanks you Dean." He whispered quietly in his ear, smiling broadly.
"Any time little brother, any time."
Looking at the knife now, he saw a small amount of a dark red coating the very edge of the blade. Frowning, he stowed it back in the bag and stood up, taking the pack with him.
"It's his." He said to John who stood a few feet away, taking in the surroundings. Looking back at the bag he clenched his eyes shut.
We're coming Sammy, hang on!