Blind Faith or Misplaced Trust? (Wisdom Reigns, Denial Remains 2)
Disclaimer: I write purely for the enjoyment of my readers and myself; also I kind of like to bang the boys around a bit before sending them home. No monies have passed hands with this or any of my stories, (sigh), and I have no affiliations with the CW, the production company or anyone associated with the show Supernatural.
Author's Note:This is the next instalment of the Wisdom Reigns Universe; sorry it has taken a while to get it up and going. I hope that it doesn't disappoint…
Dedication:This story is dedicated to a certain reader/reviewer who has patiently waited over a year for this sequel. This is for you Steph; I hope you enjoy it as much as the first story.
Chapter One: You've Gotta Have Faith.
Dreams can come back and haunt at any time, day or night.
Sam sat on the park bench watching children play, so happily, so innocently that it made his heart ache even more. Two small boys caught his eye and unconsciously he moved closer to them. They were playing apart from the other kids, tossing a ratty old ball between them, when the younger one of the two tripped on his shoe laces and fell scraping his bare knees. Smiling sadly Sam watched the older one immediately jog over to check his sibling making sure that there were no serious injuries before helping his little brother up onto his back for a piggy-back ride, the older one whispered something that changed the sobs into giggles. The older boy carrying his brother and their ball, passed by Sam and he found himself grinning and giving them an understanding wink ran a shaking hand over his face, trying to wipe away the invisible cobwebs.
His heart ached for the time when that was him and Dean playing while their father rested or researched nearby. Kicking their ratty old soccer ball between them but not playing with any of the other children at the park. Small for his age Sam always felt safe when his brother was right there to watch over him.
Twenty-plus years later and Sam found himself wishing for that again; for Dean to be there watching over him, 'where are you Dean?' Sam whispered hoarsely, 'where are you?'
His headache thumped unmercifully as he put his glasses on and slowly stood up, 'not gonna find ya sitting here am I?' he said before realising that he was talking out loud to himself. 'You're losing it Winchester.'
Sam turned around to squint into the sunlight until he could make out that very familiar face and baseball cap, 'hey Bobby.'
'Sam son it's so good to see ya,' Bobby said wrapping the younger man in a tight bear hug, 'ya look … like shit ya idjit. What have the two of ya gotten yerselves into this time?'
'Good to see ya too Bobby,' Sam said as he slowly extricated himself from Bobby's embrace, 'thanks for coming down here.'
'No thanks needed kiddo ya know that.' Bobby said as he sat down on the bench and faced Sam, 'so what the hell is going on?'
'The Gorathic Moth, I think one of the offspring is back…'
'He, he thought I was just dreaming it all but … but he said that he'd follow up a few leads and I haven't seen him since, that was two days ago.'
'Damn it, how are ya doing Sam? And do not say yer doing fine.'
'It's weird Bobby, I feel so … so empty for the lack of a better word, but then … it feels like I still have one of those things still in me and … and … argh … my … head …'
'Sam? Sam what is it?' Bobby asked as Sam dropped to his knees, 'Sam?'
'Argh … head … hurts … vision…' Sam said as he tried to focus on his older friend and mentor as his already failing eyesight blacked out completely, clearing enough for him to witness another scene, in another place and at a time that had not happened yet.
'Dammit Sam talk to me,' Bobby said again desperately trying to rouse the youngest Winchester, 'what the hell is going on?'
The first thing he became aware of was the foul stench of rubbish, vomit, alcohol and urine amongst other unnameable smells. Groaning he tried to pull himself up on his hands and knees, after two attempts, he was finally able to push back a little and balance on his legs in a kneeling position while he tried to workout where he was.
His head literally felt as though it was about to split in two as the tendrils of pain invaded every brain cell and fired through all of the nerve endings. Every time he tried to remember what had happened the pain intensified tenfold. Every time he tried to remember, who he was or where he came from the pain spiked to the point of his losing consciousness. All he knew was that someone was waiting for him to come back, back to where and to whom?
Swallowing down on a rising groan of pain he slowly got to his feet, using the graffiti covered brick wall as a crutch; dizzy he tried to stay upright and had to close his eyes to ward off the nausea and acidic burn making its way up his oesophagus. 'Keep moving just put one foot in front of the other.' He grunted out the words as he staggered towards the entrance of the narrow laneway. Opening his eyes just enough to watch where he was going he tried to make out his surroundings. The laneway had only one way in, the other end was sealed by a heavy iron fence topped with barbed-wire rolls. The two walls were covered in graffiti and other mysterious stains including what looked like blood spattered bullet holes.
Overflowing rubbish bins lined the lane and large brazen rats scrounged through the scraps and debris looking for easy food. They barely gave him any attention, until he almost stood on one, the high pitched squeal and a sharp nip on his bare feet made him concentrate on where he was going and what he was doing.
It was only then that he realised he was barefoot, confused he stared down at his filthy feet covered in grime and dried blood. 'Huh,' he muttered frowning he tried to remember what happened to his boots. Giggles started to bubble up his throat and pushed against his chattering teeth wanting to be freed; the absurdity of his situation no longer lost on him. 'Gotta find him, find the Tribute,' he muttered aloud as he stumbled out of the alley and onto the busy street.
Squinting against the sudden brightness he tried to decide where to go when he felt the moving inside his head and let out a scream of unadulterated pain, clutching the sides of his head he tried to find some solace but only found himself surrounded by staring strangers.
'Argh! Get out of my head!' He screamed again as the crawling continued burrowing in and around his brain. Fisting his hands, he started to pummel the sides of his head trying to dislodge them.
'Alright Sir … calm down,' a deep masculine voice grated against the vibrations assaulting him and he had to stop it no matter what he had to do. A deep guttural growl pushed its way out as he snarled and dropped into a fighting stance.
The sensation of breaking bones and snapping cartilages by his hands fed his white rage and spurred him on to continue his attack; the strike came from behind, swift and almost lethal laying him out on the footpath, unconscious and bleeding from a cut on the base of his skull.
The crowds gathered to watch four uniformed police officers manhandle the man to the ground. The crushing blow to the back of his head brought silence throughout the onlookers, many of them disgusted with the way the police handled the obviously troubled young man especially when he was felled by a blow to the back of his head, a stealthy attack he had no way of defending.
The officers finished handcuffing their prisoner before realising that there was a photographer in the crowd taking as many photos as he could, and then there were others recording the violent arrest on their cell phones. Frustrated they radioed for an ambulance for both their own and for the still unconscious prisoner lying facedown on the ground.
Sam unlocked the door to their latest motel room and stepped aside for Bobby to let him in first as he was carrying his bags and weapons. With a deep sigh Sam glanced around the room subconsciously hoping that Dean was going to be standing there yelling at him for being out for too long and calling him a "bitch".
'You okay Sam?' Bobby asked when he turned around and found Sam still standing in the doorway.
'Huh? Oh yeah m'fine Bobby,' Sam said as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, 'just tired I guess.'
'Yeah I don't doubt that but we still have to talk Sam.'
'Talk?' Sam sat down at the small table and dropped his gaze to stare at the faded pattern in the laminate covering. 'Whatcha wanna talk about Bobby?'
'Hmm gee let me think, yer vision ya idjit,' Bobby said trying to keep his temper in check, 'I let ya off when ya came back out of it, and on the way back here but now we're on our own and without anyone near us so … talk to me son, tell me what ya saw.'
'It was weird … umm not like my usual visions…'
'Usual visions?' Bobby grunted as he looked over at Sam, 'how bout some coffee?'
'Sounds good thanks Bobby,' Sam looked up and managed a soft smile for the man he considered his adoptive father although he would never admit that fact to Dean, Bobby or anyone.
As Bobby busied himself making fresh coffee, Sam took a deep breath and explained his confusing vision.
Heavy black clouds hung over a street in the middle of busy city centre, lightening flashed above startled people who could not move to cover or safety. The forks of lightening struck the ground around them sending showers of sparks over them and charging the air with wild electricity.
Before the storm ended, a large creature hovered above them, it had large cream coloured wings made of thick hide, and two black circles on the bottom of each wing the only markings.
One by one people, frozen where they stood were covered with gossamer threads weaving cocoons around them. Screams of pain and anguish filled the air until thunder drowned them out. In the centre of the mayhem, a young man stood covered in blood and weighed down by chains.
'As the vision faded away I saw his face and his eyes,' Sam said looking up at Bobby, 'it was Dean.'
'Git this in to ya Sam, and I'll go and git us some food and then we'll work out our plan of attack,' Bobby said placing his hand on Sam's shoulder he squeezed it gently until he had Sam's undivided attention. 'I mean it Sam we're gonna git that idjit back and we're gonna rid the world of a plague of moths.'
'Thanks Bobby,' Sam said unshed tears glittered in his eyes as he stared up at the craggy face he knows so well, 'for everything.' He added his voice cracking with his pent up emotions.
'Here's the remote kick back and watch the idiot box until I get back, no research, no computer nothing ya got me?'
'Yes Sir.' Sam said as he took the remote and went to sit on the small sofa, his headache had not gone it had actually intensified and sitting quietly for a little bit was suddenly very appealing.
'I'll git ya some Tylenol as well,' Bobby said as he shut the door behind him, after all of these years he knew the signs of Sam's headaches and wasn't going to give the young man a chance to deny having one.
Sitting behind the wheel of his truck Bobby stared at the motel room window for a few seconds before pulling out his cell phone, they needed backup.
After he finished with his call Bobby pulled out of the car park and drove towards the small shopping centre in search of something nutritious and appetising for Sam and something nice and greasy for himself as well as something stronger than coffee to drink, meds for Sam and other supplies. This was not going to be a quick and easy hunt.
Sam sat up with a start and stared around wildly, the only sound he could hear was his own harsh breathing and it completely unnerved him. Picking up his glasses Sam squinted down at the remote and deciding on the need for some noise, anything would do turned the television on. He hadn't even realised that he had fallen asleep and then to top it off he had no idea what woke him. At first, he thought he had heard Dean calling him, but now now, he was sure that it was only a dream.
'Hope ya hungry kiddo,' Bobby said as he let himself into the room stopping suddenly when he realised two things simultaneously: Sam looked like he was going to pass out and was as white as a sheet, and a news report on the television that froze his blood.
'B-Bobby?' Sam looked up at the older man and let his tears fall, 'it's starting all over again isn't it.'
'They-they said that Dean attacked the police officers without provocation and it took four of them to take him down,' Sam said with effort as he tried to step the tears, 'he was … he was … he looked so bad.'
'Breath Sam, just breath I'm gonna make some calls…'
'Gonna puke,' Sam hiccupped as he rushed as fast as he could to the bathroom. Bobby heard the now familiar sounds of retching coming from behind the bathroom door and shook his head to clear his mind. Taking his cell outside he breathed in the cool night air and put on his best FBI persona.
He raged in the small empty room throwing himself against the walls constantly until he finally dropped to the floor exhausted. There was no furniture in the room, not even a mattress for him to lie down on, devoid of anything showing a modicum of humanity. He was caged and treated like an animal.
Running on empty, with no energy left in his reserves he sat with his back against a wall and banged the back of his head against the padded vinyl coverings. In an almost rhythmic action he continued to beat his head as he looked up and saw the giant moth hovering in the corner of the ceiling watching and seemingly waiting for him.
'Ah Protector I have you where I want you,' its voice echoed in his head, younger sounding and not as powerful as the previous Gorathic moth he had fought but strong enough. 'With you languishing here Protector, I am free to finish what my father wanted … to devour the Tribute and to absorb his power.'
'Who … what do you want?' he screamed at the creature, 'who's the Tribute? Why do you want me? I don't understand.'
'Calm down now or I will sedate your ass,' a stranger said as he unlocked the door and strode in, dressed all in white scrubs, he had colourless flesh and hair with the palest of blue eyes, 'the doc wants ya ready for ya therapy session.'
'Who are you?' He rasped, 'what am I doing here?'
'The name is Kurt Mullins, and ya know what Psycho keep up the crazy act and they'll commit ya instead of sending ya to jail.' The orderly sneered, 'so ya coming quietly or what?'
'It's gonna get you, don't you see it?' he asked pointing to the seemingly empty ceiling.
'Right it's gonna be like that is it?' The man said as he left the room and came back in pushing a wheelchair with restraints attached.
'No, no, no!' he cried out and tried to push himself away from the albino menace, he was a stranger and dangerous and he knew deep down that he should get away from him.
The albino grinned coldly and produced a small syringe from seemingly nowhere and moving faster than his intended victim could track plunged it into the bare arm, 'you could've taken the easy way out … glad ya didn't though pretty boy.'
'Leave me alone,' he raged feeling the fire build before the drug took over and extinguished whatever flames and embers of his fiery rage he had left.
'Okay Psycho let's have some fun,' Kurt leered in his face as he manhandled him into the wheelchair, 'Doc didn't say what kind of condition he wanted ya in.'
Caleb sat sipping his beer in his new motel room and thought about everything he had just seen and heard. He hadn't had a chance to catch up with the Winchesters since they had all gone their separate ways after the last Gorathic moth attack just over a year ago.
He had to stifle his reactions when he saw Sam again for the first time since then, still too tall and too thin, the kid was still not back into his usual self. He had a limp that seemed to worsen when he was tired, and he seemed to use his left arm and hand more these days, his right hanging by his side or draped across his knee. If he did use his right hand and arm then it was in a limited capacity and in very slow and deliberate movements. He wore his glasses full time now making him look younger and more studious if that was possible. The most noticeable change was in the way he spoke. Now instead of just chatting or reeling off facts and immense amounts of research, Sam chose his words carefully and spoke slowly with a slight pause when he found himself starting to flounder a little.
He had such a haunted and lost look about him before and now with Dean missing he looked utterly destroyed.
'Help yerself to a beer Bobby,' Caleb said without looking up, 'how's Sam?'
'Finally asleep,' Bobby said as he helped himself to a drink and then sank down on the sofa and sighed deeply, 'balls!'
'Ya said it dude!' Caleb replied, 'ya said it all.'