Chapter 4 Part 1 - Still Alive But Barely Breathing.
A/N: You know this was supposed to be part of chapter 3, but I figured why not make a whole new chapter?!
It was behind him, sniffing at his feet. Its growl was a deep rumbling of thunder that shook Dean to his very core. Dean went stock still and rigid in Sam’s grip, ignoring the confusion on Sam’s face and question in his eyes. Dean felt it nudge his leg with its snout, its teeth grazing his jeans. So taking a deep breath he looked down and to his left, never in a million years expecting to see what had been hounding him these past weeks.
The hell hound was black.
That was Dean’s first observation.
And then he realised that that was a bad description.
It was more like a black hole, a yawning emptiness where the dog should be. A hound shaped hole of black with piercing red eyes that smouldered like coals in a fire. Its fur was dense and shaggy but looked oily as it glinted grimly in the fluorescent lights. Its jowls shuddered with each growl that it let loose from its throat and each snap of its teeth sent drool and spittle dribbling onto the floor, sizzling little holes into the wood where it landed thick and cloudy. Stained teeth peeked out from underneath its lips, long and curved like knives, too many for Dean to count and he willed himself not to move.
He watched as the dog swished its tail, long and black, leaving a trail of embers behind it to float to the ground, disappearing into nothing. The only evidence that they had been there was the imprint on the inside of Dean’s eyelids when he closed his eyes in shock, in horror.
The paws were tar slick and sticky; its claws were sharp and twisted down towards the wooden floor where they were scratching deep gouges into the oak with each little movement and twitch. Dean could see a trail of tar and ash leading out of the roadhouse, and he knew, he knew immediately that he needed to get it away from his brother, needed to get it away from Jo and Ellen.
It growled again, a flash of fire flicking from the open jaws of the hell hound, and it snapped at Dean’s feet again. This time Dean saw as well as felt the fire lick at his ankles and up his calves and only managed to hold back a shout of pain. If it could touch him, if it could melt his jeans with a single lick of its long lolling tongue, if it could twitch its head and burn and blister the skin of Dean’s leg with a single snort from its snout, it could do it to Sam. He whimpered minutely at the pain, hoping Sam wouldn’t hear.
“Dean, man, what’s wrong?”
Dean said nothing, not taking his eyes off the hound next to him and shoved his brother, as hard as he could away from him. He inwardly winced when Sam tumbled to the floor and took a step away. The hell hound followed, so Dean took another step, then another when the dog continued to follow him.
So preoccupied with the hell hound Dean didn't notice his brother levering himself off the floor an expression of hurt on his face. But he sure as hell noticed Sam when he grabbed Dean again, by the arms, shaking him.
“Dean, what’s wrong?!” His eyebrows were furrowed with worry when Dean finally, finally looked up at him, looked at his brother’s eyes that were no longer clouded with anger, and watched as his face slowly distorted. Sam’s head snapped to the side and his mouth gaped open, eyes dribbling a black, blood like substance. He twitched, head jerking until it was tilted on an angle and let out a snarl that crackled through a twisted throat.
The burning in Dean’s arms caused him to look down, and he found the things hands burning hand prints into his flesh. The fingers were scrabbling at his arms as if trying to tear chunks of him off. Dean flinched away out of his grasp and watched as the things head rolled forwards on its neck as it brought its hands up to its mouth. Head bowed Dean watched as a tongue flicked out tasting the blood and burnt flesh under the fingernails. Dean watched as it sucked all of the blood off its fingers and then looked up at Dean for more one arm reaching out towards him.
It smiled.
Dean flicked his eyes to either side of the things head, watching as two more of the things lurched and staggered towards him. The one on the left looked as if its ankle was broken, and its hair that probably was once golden and flowing was in bloody clumps where it seemed to have been torn out. Its face was distorted; eyes gouged out and bloody, mouth torn open wider than possible and seemed intent on screaming as it took slow, wavering steps towards him. The skin of its face was sliding off as if it had been half skinned alive, but it seemed to relish in this fact, pulling clumps of the flesh off along with its hair.
The thing to the far right was in no better condition; one shoulder was pulled up, its hand hanging limply at its chest as it darted forwards, then back, as if feinting or skittish. Its chest had been torn open, as if one of the things had been looking for something within the rib cage, the bones all broken and pointing outwards but seemed to move inwards when it breathed in harsh, shuddering wheezes. The fingers on the hand held at its ripped open chest were bloody, and burnt, the skin black and white bone peeked through the mess of torn flesh. The things eyes were scarily normal, hazel and wide, wide for the eyelids had been torn off and were being chewed vigorously in a lipless mouth, teeth sharp and pointed.
And then all of a sudden it was gone, and it was Sam and Ellen and Jo looking at Dean all wearing similar looks of confusion and concern.
His arms weren’t bleeding anymore.
“Shit,” Dean murmured backing away again. “Shit, what the fuck is going on?”
“Dean, what is it? Man, tell me what’s wrong?”
“Fuck,” Dean muttered, remembering the hell hound. He swung around looking for the beast of a dog only to find paw prints and scratches leading outside. To be sure he checked the inside of the bar, ignoring Sam and Jo and Ellen and their calls of worry, and when he was certain that it was gone, he turned to Sam and just looked at him.
“Fuck off Sam, leave me alone.” He said pulling himself out of Sam’s death grip he had going on. He gave his brother a meaningful look and turned to go back into the bar, a plan of attack already developing in his mind.
*****
“Fuck off Sam, leave me alone.” Sam almost took a step away from the utter fury in Dean’s tone but the look that he gave him made him stop and think. What if Dean’s odd behaviour was to do with the deal?
“Dean! Wait-” Sam said, noticing that his brother was already disappearing through the doorway, but Ellen’s hand on his arm stopped him. Looking down at the smaller woman he gave her a desperate look but she simply shook her head.
“Let him be, Sam. Give him time to cool off,” She said leading him towards a chair.
“I don’t want him to be alone, he might run off or-” Sam broke off, running his fingers through his hair and making to go after his brother but Ellen forcefully stopped him once more.
“He doesn’t want to see you right now Sam, you’re only going to make it worse. If you’re that worried,” She said seeing the wild look in his eyes, “I’ll send Jo down to babysit,” She looked up at her daughter who was privately wondering what the hell was going on and said, “Jo, hun, will you go stay with Dean, make sure he doesn’t run off anywhere,”
“Sure Mom,” She said slowly, eyebrows furrowed, “But wh-”
“I’m not going to tell you, and neither is Sam.”
“I doubt Dean will either,” Sam said from between his hands. “Just, please Jo, make sure he doesn’t leave,”
“Alright, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him,”
“Thanks Jo, just...thankyou.”
*****
The knock on the door sent Dean on edge and he growled through clenched teeth, “Sam leave me the FUCK alone,”
“It’s not Sam, Dean,” The voice replied and Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling whispering “Why, why would you do such a thing! For godssake...dammit,”
“Would you just open the door.” Jo growled back, “Come on, I haven’t got all day. Open the door.”
“No.” Dean shot back leaning against the wall and folding his arms.
“Don’t make me get Sam,” She threatened and Dean swore.
“Fuck, fine, fine, you hear me? Come in.” Dean flicked the lock and went back to packing his bags, completely ignoring the very existence of the blonde behind him.
“Dean, what-?” She began and Dean growled back still to her. He didn’t want to look at her. Now that Ellen knew it wouldn’t be long before-
“Just shut up.” He said hands clenched at his sides.
“What’s going on? Did you have a fight with Sam?”
“No, he’s just a fucking-”
“Dean,” Jo said coming to stand beside him. He could see her in his peripheral vision, all blonde hair and pink lips and he closed his eyes tightly shut. He clenched his fists tighter, nails cutting into the palms of his hands, trying, trying not to touch her. Trying not to look at her. He didn't want to see her face twisted and horrifying.
He didn’t count on her touching him.
“Dean,” She said softly, a hesitant hand place on his arm. “Dean, what’s wrong, why are you leaving?”
“You want to know?!” Dean shouted angry, “You really wanna fucking know?! ‘Cos once I tell you there’s no going back.”
“Dean it can’t be that ba-” She began softly, laying a hand on his arm.
Dean wrenched out of her grip striding away. It was five steps before he swung around eyes lazing and said dangerously:
“I sold my fucking soul Jo. I’m going to fucking hell in two weeks! Is that bad enough for you?!”
“W-what?” The shocked, disbelieving look upon Jo’s face would have been funny if Dean wasn’t so angry.
“I sold my soul. I sold my soul Jo! I sold my FUCKING soul!” He spat out, turning away from her. “Now do you understand? Get the fuck out.”
Dean closed his eyes tightly when he heard the snick of the door shutting and let out a harsh laugh, suck it up Dean, got what you fucking wanted. Just deal with it and get the hell outta here before Sam comes in. Nodding to himself Dean set about locking the door and continuing to pack his bag, motions jerky and vision blurred. Not fucking crying, come on. Suck it UP Dean! He threw his bag down onto the bed angry at himself, angry at his weakness and strode away to face the door.
But then Dean couldn’t hold it in any longer and hot, wet tears rolled down his cheeks as he punched the door, once, twice, three times before sliding down to rest before it. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. Not anymore.
*****
When Jo came running back into the room not five minutes later, tears streaming down her face Sam just knew that Dean had told her. But it was the panicked look upon her face that made Sam jump up from his seat.
“Jo? Jo, what is it? What’s the matter?” Sam asked hurriedly.
“He’s leaving, he’s leaving Sam. Stop him.”
“No!” His heart leapt into his throat and before anyone could stop him, Sam was charging down the corridor and banging on the door leading to his and Dean’s room. “Dean! Dean please, please let me in, don’t go!”
*****
“Dean! Dean please, please let me in, don’t go!”
Fuck that, Dean thought as Sam continued to bang on the door. Enough with being a pussy, enough with fucking sitting on the floor crying, enough with fucking everything. For once Dean was going to do what Sam did. For once Dean was going to be the one to leave.
“No! No, whatever you think you’re doing. Don’t! I swear to God Dean whatever dumb ass this you think you’re going to get away with let me tell you, it’s not going to work! So just open the fucking door!” Sam’s voice was strained, and he knew, he knew what Dean was planning.
So levering himself up off the floor and shouldering his bag he turned back to the door and said, loud enough that Sam would be able to hear him, “Sorry, Sammy.”
“NO!” Sam hit the door again, probably with his shoulder...or maybe his head.
Ignoring the howl Sam made Dean vaulted out of the window and took off at a sprint towards the impala, with much difficulty because of his ribs. What worried him was the fact that the pounding on the door had stopped. And that only meant one thing.
Shit Sam was trying to head him off. Was going to meet him at the impala and try and stop him.
Why couldn’t this just be easy?
So Dean was still running towards the impala despite the sharp stabbing pains shooting through his ribs with his jolting step, when he saw the hulking figure of his brother stood by the drivers’ door. He came to a stop just shy of Sam’s monkey arms reach.
“You stupid bastard! What the fuck are you doing? Where the fuck are you going?” Sam spat and Dean shifted his feet almost guiltily because Sam never swore, not really, so he must be really upset...or really pissed to be hurling abuse at Dean. He was conscious of Ellen and Jo watching but ignored them in favour of shouting back to Sam:
“What do you think Sam? I’m getting out of here.” Dean replied stoically, the mask had come down, the walls had gone up. Sam was getting nothing from him. But then Sam’s expression had changed with his words. Aw hell no, Dean thought blindly as he turned away. The puppy eyes were coming out.
“No, Dean, what are you doing? I know I told Ellen, I know I’ve betrayed your trust, but why are you leaving? You can’t just leave, Dean!” Sam’s voice was broken and wavering, betraying the fact that he was almost crying.
“Fuck. You.” He said again, trying to remain angry, remembering that Sam had tried to manipulate him. He put a hand to his ribs, which were throbbing and pulsing with a white hot pain and Sam’s eyes tracked the movement.
“You’re still hurt, you can’t go anywhere!” Sam said taking a step forwards.
“I am, and I will.” Dean replied, his eyebrows pulled down and he glared at Sam who was reaching out to him. “You can’t change this Sam!” He said finally, stopping Sam in his place. Dean looked up, afraid at the expression he would see on Sam’s face.
Sam looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He was stooped, and pale, like the blood had drained from his face at Dean’s revelation that he didn’t think that Sam could save him from Hell. Dean winced but repeated his words, “You can’t change what I did,”
Sam was a few paces away from the impala now and seemed to be stuck in place. So Dean figured this may be his only chance to get out of here without hurting his brother any more.
His mind was doing a somewhat sad victory dance when his hand made contact with the door handle until Sam’s hands came down on his shoulders. The iron grip of his fingers pulled Dean away from the car and suddenly Dean was being shaken.
“I’m not letting you leave. Whether you believe in me or not, you’re still not going anywhere!” And Sam was still gripping Dean tightly and pulling him away from the impala and towards the Roadhouse.
Dean elbowed Sam in the gut, and when Sam’s breath wheezed out Dean scrambled from underneath his grasp, only to have his arm grabbed. He turned and sent a death glare at his brother. He didn’t want Sam to be caught up in this mess anymore. Didn’t want to let him hope and hope and when the day came and Dean died it would be so much worse.
Maybe he should have topped himself, sent his soul down ahead of time.
Sam let go of his arm, but stood between Dean and the impala again, his stance was a warning: you have to go through me to leave. But his eyes said, I don’t want to hurt you, don’t make me hurt you, please Dean. But Dean simply said, “Bring it on,” and clenched his fists tight lowering them from where they had been held protectively at his ribs.
Their fight was short-lived, after all Sam fought dirty knowing that Dean was still hurt, still weak. Dean got one good shot in on Sam’s jaw, wincing in sympathy when his lip split and blood dripped down his chin. But that sympathy was fleeting when Sam jabbed him hard in the side.
“I’m sorry Dean, I can’t let you go,” Sam said before hitting him.
Pain bloomed at the back of Dean’s head, it radiated in waves through his body, spiking and fluctuating in agonising ripples; he stumbled forwards at the force of the blow, pressing his hands in front of him in an effort keep himself upright. Sam hit him. The knowledge astounded him as he began to tumble to the floor, fully expecting to hit the floor a full speed, but Sam’s arms caught him gently about his waist. Sam was tender, contradicting his previous action of violence and it made Dean shudder. His vision blurred and darkened, but he managed to catch Sam’s heartbroken expression before he was swept away into a nightmarish oblivion, glaring all the while.
Dean didn’t remember anything after that.
*****
Clicky click for the next bit!
It was behind him, sniffing at his feet. Its growl was a deep rumbling of thunder that shook Dean to his very core. Dean went stock still and rigid in Sam’s grip, ignoring the confusion on Sam’s face and question in his eyes. Dean felt it nudge his leg with its snout, its teeth grazing his jeans. So taking a deep breath he looked down and to his left, never in a million years expecting to see what had been hounding him these past weeks.
The hell hound was black.
That was Dean’s first observation.
And then he realised that that was a bad description.
It was more like a black hole, a yawning emptiness where the dog should be. A hound shaped hole of black with piercing red eyes that smouldered like coals in a fire. Its fur was dense and shaggy but looked oily as it glinted grimly in the fluorescent lights. Its jowls shuddered with each growl that it let loose from its throat and each snap of its teeth sent drool and spittle dribbling onto the floor, sizzling little holes into the wood where it landed thick and cloudy. Stained teeth peeked out from underneath its lips, long and curved like knives, too many for Dean to count and he willed himself not to move.
He watched as the dog swished its tail, long and black, leaving a trail of embers behind it to float to the ground, disappearing into nothing. The only evidence that they had been there was the imprint on the inside of Dean’s eyelids when he closed his eyes in shock, in horror.
The paws were tar slick and sticky; its claws were sharp and twisted down towards the wooden floor where they were scratching deep gouges into the oak with each little movement and twitch. Dean could see a trail of tar and ash leading out of the roadhouse, and he knew, he knew immediately that he needed to get it away from his brother, needed to get it away from Jo and Ellen.
It growled again, a flash of fire flicking from the open jaws of the hell hound, and it snapped at Dean’s feet again. This time Dean saw as well as felt the fire lick at his ankles and up his calves and only managed to hold back a shout of pain. If it could touch him, if it could melt his jeans with a single lick of its long lolling tongue, if it could twitch its head and burn and blister the skin of Dean’s leg with a single snort from its snout, it could do it to Sam. He whimpered minutely at the pain, hoping Sam wouldn’t hear.
“Dean, man, what’s wrong?”
Dean said nothing, not taking his eyes off the hound next to him and shoved his brother, as hard as he could away from him. He inwardly winced when Sam tumbled to the floor and took a step away. The hell hound followed, so Dean took another step, then another when the dog continued to follow him.
So preoccupied with the hell hound Dean didn't notice his brother levering himself off the floor an expression of hurt on his face. But he sure as hell noticed Sam when he grabbed Dean again, by the arms, shaking him.
“Dean, what’s wrong?!” His eyebrows were furrowed with worry when Dean finally, finally looked up at him, looked at his brother’s eyes that were no longer clouded with anger, and watched as his face slowly distorted. Sam’s head snapped to the side and his mouth gaped open, eyes dribbling a black, blood like substance. He twitched, head jerking until it was tilted on an angle and let out a snarl that crackled through a twisted throat.
The burning in Dean’s arms caused him to look down, and he found the things hands burning hand prints into his flesh. The fingers were scrabbling at his arms as if trying to tear chunks of him off. Dean flinched away out of his grasp and watched as the things head rolled forwards on its neck as it brought its hands up to its mouth. Head bowed Dean watched as a tongue flicked out tasting the blood and burnt flesh under the fingernails. Dean watched as it sucked all of the blood off its fingers and then looked up at Dean for more one arm reaching out towards him.
It smiled.
Dean flicked his eyes to either side of the things head, watching as two more of the things lurched and staggered towards him. The one on the left looked as if its ankle was broken, and its hair that probably was once golden and flowing was in bloody clumps where it seemed to have been torn out. Its face was distorted; eyes gouged out and bloody, mouth torn open wider than possible and seemed intent on screaming as it took slow, wavering steps towards him. The skin of its face was sliding off as if it had been half skinned alive, but it seemed to relish in this fact, pulling clumps of the flesh off along with its hair.
The thing to the far right was in no better condition; one shoulder was pulled up, its hand hanging limply at its chest as it darted forwards, then back, as if feinting or skittish. Its chest had been torn open, as if one of the things had been looking for something within the rib cage, the bones all broken and pointing outwards but seemed to move inwards when it breathed in harsh, shuddering wheezes. The fingers on the hand held at its ripped open chest were bloody, and burnt, the skin black and white bone peeked through the mess of torn flesh. The things eyes were scarily normal, hazel and wide, wide for the eyelids had been torn off and were being chewed vigorously in a lipless mouth, teeth sharp and pointed.
And then all of a sudden it was gone, and it was Sam and Ellen and Jo looking at Dean all wearing similar looks of confusion and concern.
His arms weren’t bleeding anymore.
“Shit,” Dean murmured backing away again. “Shit, what the fuck is going on?”
“Dean, what is it? Man, tell me what’s wrong?”
“Fuck,” Dean muttered, remembering the hell hound. He swung around looking for the beast of a dog only to find paw prints and scratches leading outside. To be sure he checked the inside of the bar, ignoring Sam and Jo and Ellen and their calls of worry, and when he was certain that it was gone, he turned to Sam and just looked at him.
“Fuck off Sam, leave me alone.” He said pulling himself out of Sam’s death grip he had going on. He gave his brother a meaningful look and turned to go back into the bar, a plan of attack already developing in his mind.
*****
“Fuck off Sam, leave me alone.” Sam almost took a step away from the utter fury in Dean’s tone but the look that he gave him made him stop and think. What if Dean’s odd behaviour was to do with the deal?
“Dean! Wait-” Sam said, noticing that his brother was already disappearing through the doorway, but Ellen’s hand on his arm stopped him. Looking down at the smaller woman he gave her a desperate look but she simply shook her head.
“Let him be, Sam. Give him time to cool off,” She said leading him towards a chair.
“I don’t want him to be alone, he might run off or-” Sam broke off, running his fingers through his hair and making to go after his brother but Ellen forcefully stopped him once more.
“He doesn’t want to see you right now Sam, you’re only going to make it worse. If you’re that worried,” She said seeing the wild look in his eyes, “I’ll send Jo down to babysit,” She looked up at her daughter who was privately wondering what the hell was going on and said, “Jo, hun, will you go stay with Dean, make sure he doesn’t run off anywhere,”
“Sure Mom,” She said slowly, eyebrows furrowed, “But wh-”
“I’m not going to tell you, and neither is Sam.”
“I doubt Dean will either,” Sam said from between his hands. “Just, please Jo, make sure he doesn’t leave,”
“Alright, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him,”
“Thanks Jo, just...thankyou.”
*****
The knock on the door sent Dean on edge and he growled through clenched teeth, “Sam leave me the FUCK alone,”
“It’s not Sam, Dean,” The voice replied and Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling whispering “Why, why would you do such a thing! For godssake...dammit,”
“Would you just open the door.” Jo growled back, “Come on, I haven’t got all day. Open the door.”
“No.” Dean shot back leaning against the wall and folding his arms.
“Don’t make me get Sam,” She threatened and Dean swore.
“Fuck, fine, fine, you hear me? Come in.” Dean flicked the lock and went back to packing his bags, completely ignoring the very existence of the blonde behind him.
“Dean, what-?” She began and Dean growled back still to her. He didn’t want to look at her. Now that Ellen knew it wouldn’t be long before-
“Just shut up.” He said hands clenched at his sides.
“What’s going on? Did you have a fight with Sam?”
“No, he’s just a fucking-”
“Dean,” Jo said coming to stand beside him. He could see her in his peripheral vision, all blonde hair and pink lips and he closed his eyes tightly shut. He clenched his fists tighter, nails cutting into the palms of his hands, trying, trying not to touch her. Trying not to look at her. He didn't want to see her face twisted and horrifying.
He didn’t count on her touching him.
“Dean,” She said softly, a hesitant hand place on his arm. “Dean, what’s wrong, why are you leaving?”
“You want to know?!” Dean shouted angry, “You really wanna fucking know?! ‘Cos once I tell you there’s no going back.”
“Dean it can’t be that ba-” She began softly, laying a hand on his arm.
Dean wrenched out of her grip striding away. It was five steps before he swung around eyes lazing and said dangerously:
“I sold my fucking soul Jo. I’m going to fucking hell in two weeks! Is that bad enough for you?!”
“W-what?” The shocked, disbelieving look upon Jo’s face would have been funny if Dean wasn’t so angry.
“I sold my soul. I sold my soul Jo! I sold my FUCKING soul!” He spat out, turning away from her. “Now do you understand? Get the fuck out.”
Dean closed his eyes tightly when he heard the snick of the door shutting and let out a harsh laugh, suck it up Dean, got what you fucking wanted. Just deal with it and get the hell outta here before Sam comes in. Nodding to himself Dean set about locking the door and continuing to pack his bag, motions jerky and vision blurred. Not fucking crying, come on. Suck it UP Dean! He threw his bag down onto the bed angry at himself, angry at his weakness and strode away to face the door.
But then Dean couldn’t hold it in any longer and hot, wet tears rolled down his cheeks as he punched the door, once, twice, three times before sliding down to rest before it. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. Not anymore.
*****
When Jo came running back into the room not five minutes later, tears streaming down her face Sam just knew that Dean had told her. But it was the panicked look upon her face that made Sam jump up from his seat.
“Jo? Jo, what is it? What’s the matter?” Sam asked hurriedly.
“He’s leaving, he’s leaving Sam. Stop him.”
“No!” His heart leapt into his throat and before anyone could stop him, Sam was charging down the corridor and banging on the door leading to his and Dean’s room. “Dean! Dean please, please let me in, don’t go!”
*****
“Dean! Dean please, please let me in, don’t go!”
Fuck that, Dean thought as Sam continued to bang on the door. Enough with being a pussy, enough with fucking sitting on the floor crying, enough with fucking everything. For once Dean was going to do what Sam did. For once Dean was going to be the one to leave.
“No! No, whatever you think you’re doing. Don’t! I swear to God Dean whatever dumb ass this you think you’re going to get away with let me tell you, it’s not going to work! So just open the fucking door!” Sam’s voice was strained, and he knew, he knew what Dean was planning.
So levering himself up off the floor and shouldering his bag he turned back to the door and said, loud enough that Sam would be able to hear him, “Sorry, Sammy.”
“NO!” Sam hit the door again, probably with his shoulder...or maybe his head.
Ignoring the howl Sam made Dean vaulted out of the window and took off at a sprint towards the impala, with much difficulty because of his ribs. What worried him was the fact that the pounding on the door had stopped. And that only meant one thing.
Shit Sam was trying to head him off. Was going to meet him at the impala and try and stop him.
Why couldn’t this just be easy?
So Dean was still running towards the impala despite the sharp stabbing pains shooting through his ribs with his jolting step, when he saw the hulking figure of his brother stood by the drivers’ door. He came to a stop just shy of Sam’s monkey arms reach.
“You stupid bastard! What the fuck are you doing? Where the fuck are you going?” Sam spat and Dean shifted his feet almost guiltily because Sam never swore, not really, so he must be really upset...or really pissed to be hurling abuse at Dean. He was conscious of Ellen and Jo watching but ignored them in favour of shouting back to Sam:
“What do you think Sam? I’m getting out of here.” Dean replied stoically, the mask had come down, the walls had gone up. Sam was getting nothing from him. But then Sam’s expression had changed with his words. Aw hell no, Dean thought blindly as he turned away. The puppy eyes were coming out.
“No, Dean, what are you doing? I know I told Ellen, I know I’ve betrayed your trust, but why are you leaving? You can’t just leave, Dean!” Sam’s voice was broken and wavering, betraying the fact that he was almost crying.
“Fuck. You.” He said again, trying to remain angry, remembering that Sam had tried to manipulate him. He put a hand to his ribs, which were throbbing and pulsing with a white hot pain and Sam’s eyes tracked the movement.
“You’re still hurt, you can’t go anywhere!” Sam said taking a step forwards.
“I am, and I will.” Dean replied, his eyebrows pulled down and he glared at Sam who was reaching out to him. “You can’t change this Sam!” He said finally, stopping Sam in his place. Dean looked up, afraid at the expression he would see on Sam’s face.
Sam looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He was stooped, and pale, like the blood had drained from his face at Dean’s revelation that he didn’t think that Sam could save him from Hell. Dean winced but repeated his words, “You can’t change what I did,”
Sam was a few paces away from the impala now and seemed to be stuck in place. So Dean figured this may be his only chance to get out of here without hurting his brother any more.
His mind was doing a somewhat sad victory dance when his hand made contact with the door handle until Sam’s hands came down on his shoulders. The iron grip of his fingers pulled Dean away from the car and suddenly Dean was being shaken.
“I’m not letting you leave. Whether you believe in me or not, you’re still not going anywhere!” And Sam was still gripping Dean tightly and pulling him away from the impala and towards the Roadhouse.
Dean elbowed Sam in the gut, and when Sam’s breath wheezed out Dean scrambled from underneath his grasp, only to have his arm grabbed. He turned and sent a death glare at his brother. He didn’t want Sam to be caught up in this mess anymore. Didn’t want to let him hope and hope and when the day came and Dean died it would be so much worse.
Maybe he should have topped himself, sent his soul down ahead of time.
Sam let go of his arm, but stood between Dean and the impala again, his stance was a warning: you have to go through me to leave. But his eyes said, I don’t want to hurt you, don’t make me hurt you, please Dean. But Dean simply said, “Bring it on,” and clenched his fists tight lowering them from where they had been held protectively at his ribs.
Their fight was short-lived, after all Sam fought dirty knowing that Dean was still hurt, still weak. Dean got one good shot in on Sam’s jaw, wincing in sympathy when his lip split and blood dripped down his chin. But that sympathy was fleeting when Sam jabbed him hard in the side.
“I’m sorry Dean, I can’t let you go,” Sam said before hitting him.
Pain bloomed at the back of Dean’s head, it radiated in waves through his body, spiking and fluctuating in agonising ripples; he stumbled forwards at the force of the blow, pressing his hands in front of him in an effort keep himself upright. Sam hit him. The knowledge astounded him as he began to tumble to the floor, fully expecting to hit the floor a full speed, but Sam’s arms caught him gently about his waist. Sam was tender, contradicting his previous action of violence and it made Dean shudder. His vision blurred and darkened, but he managed to catch Sam’s heartbroken expression before he was swept away into a nightmarish oblivion, glaring all the while.
Dean didn’t remember anything after that.
*****
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