Chapter Seven
AN: Alright people, I sincerely apologize for the wait on this one. I hit a major road block that I’m still trying to get around. I know where I’m going but I’m having trouble getting there b/c my muse brought the wrong map along for the ride. Don’t worry, this will get finished! I’m not stopping till it’s done no matter what it takes! As always, you’re comments are welcome. Please tell me if you’re still engaged in the story or not so I can work harder at making it better. :D
Chapter 7 Sam burst into the kitchen a command to run echoing at the back of his mind as he made his way to the back exit. He tucked his chin in and swung the duffle up to shield his head as he rammed his way through the sliding glass door and into the storm-riddled night.
The shattered glass flew and Sam twisted, landing hard on his right shoulder, sliding across the patio through standing water into the yard and over the too high grass. The muddied water sprayed out around him as he was assaulted by the ongoing downpour. Coming to a halt several feet from the ruined patio door, Sam managed to quickly push up onto an elbow. He quickly swung his head around to look behind him, his already sodden hair slapping him across his face as he squinted through the deluge.
The demon came to a halt at the threshold, backlit by the low light coming from the living room beyond the kitchen. It took the young hunter’s eyes a moment to penetrate the shadows of his brother’s face but he was able to see the sneer of annoyance there as clear as day. He followed the path of demon black eyes as they glanced down, coming to rest on the thick line of salt that blocked any attempt at a forward progression. The demon was caged in…for now at least.
Sam got to his feet and turned to face the imprisoned being.
The beat of the rain seemed to fade into the background as it turned into a slow drizzle leaving Sam acutely aware of the heaviness and depth of his own breath. The rapid beat of his heart pushed adrenalin rich blood through his body causing an intensity in the awareness that only danger could bring. So intent on the man before him, Sam hardly took notice of the few steps he made stopping just short of the concrete that made up the patio.
Sam tilted his head forward and blinked against the tiny rivulets of water that ran down his face and fought to obscure his vision.
“Who are you?” he asked his voice low and gruff with emotion barely held in check.
The demon smirked in a twisted rendition of Dean’s usual cocky smile. The wicked twist of lips caused a shiver to run through Sam’s body. It held none of the mirth he was used to seeing only the promise of unspeakable evil.
Uncertainty quickly rose and the young Winchester immediately thought back to the time when he had been possessed. He never truly understood what Dean had felt trying to save him until now, even though he’d been gradually making sense of Dean’s logic over the pass few months. Now all he had to do is figure out how to return the favor and get this son of a bitch out of Dean.
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He’d shouted for his brother to run. It was the last thought he’d had before he found himself here.
Dean stood in the dark hotel room of a past dream he’d rather forget. A dream and a room where he’d shot himself only to be confronted by the fears of his future. He didn’t want to be here. The memories of that nightmare haunted him in the waking world and sought to overwhelm him now. The empty blackness of his own eyes staring up at him, and the finality of the words spoken before waking, echoed in the room around him.
“This is what you’re gonna become!” Dean shook his head and tried. Tried to take control. Control of his body, his thoughts; he had to get out of here but things were jumbled, confused and it felt like it was getting worse. He went to the door and banged on it with his fist. He tried the knob even though he knew nothing would come of it then started in with his shoulder, ramming it against the impenetrable barrier several times before standing back and kicking it with a bare foot. He didn’t feel the pain from those blows nor did he feel the blood that trickled rapidly down his bare chest till he stumbled back after the fourth kick and tumbled to the carpet.
He laid there a moment and focused on his pain till he could bare it, push past it. “Get it together Dean,” he grunted to himself.
This frantic bullshit isn’t getting you anywhere, he thought.
Dad taught me better than this. Calm your ass and think. May not be able to take back my body but this is my mind…there has to be a way for me to take some kind of control. Dean groaned as he sat up and looked around. Pulling himself onto the bed, he scooted over till he could reach for the pillow under the bed spread and pull the pillow case off. He proceeded to rip the material and work the strips he made into bandages. Something told him that the wounds were more than likely a mental manifestation of his real world hurts and he supposed he could have tried to mentally get rid of them but he needed to know the state his body was really in and, if how he was feeling was any indication, it wasn’t good.
When he was done, Dean took another look at the room. Everything he remembered was there, right down to the blue and green jungle themed wall paper. Across from him was a queen sized bed with a blue-green bed spread to match the one he sat on. Beyond that were the only two windows in the room, barred and black beyond, the desk and chair so prominent in that nightmare, still sitting cold between with that hated desk lamp - if one could really hate a desk lamp - still sitting near its edge. Dean’s eyes continued to roam to the left and settled on the kitchenette. It stared back…bare, gleaming dully in the low light of the three working lamps spread around the room.
Next was a door he could only assume led to the bathroom and, beside it, the door to the hall standing solid and unbreakable. Behind him he saw what could be described as a sitting area but was actually just extra space between the bed he sat on and the wall that held a couch, an armchair and a table with one the lamps in between.
And finally to his right the final lamp atop the nightstand between the two beds, sitting behind an old rotary phone. The phone.
“Nah…” Dean crinkled his brow in thought. “That couldn’t possibly work.” Dean grabbed the phone and set it in his lap and stared down at it as if it held the answers to the universe. He picked up the receiver then placed it back in its cradle with a huff. “It’s not like you got any working plans, Hilts.” Dean cocked his head to the side, arched a single brow and said “What the hell…” With a shrug of a shoulder he removed the handset again and started dialing his brother’s cell.
Dean listened to the rapid ticks of the connection being made, surprised that he was getting that much, and after the fourth series of ticks he heard the click of the call being received and sat up straighter. “Sam..?”
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AN: Well, I hope that will tied you over till I get the rest of this bitch together :D And for those who don’t remember, though I doubt that’s possible, Dean’s back in the room from Dream A Little Dream and “Hilts” would be the fav Winchester reference to The Great Escape. Later, peeps, and again your thoughts would be great!
