Taking Root 21

[smoothiegarten]

Authors: Marina and Casey
Story: Taking Root
Challenge: Coconut 24 (I’ve fallen and I can’t get up), Tangerine 29 (surrender) [Marina]; Blueberry Yogurt 1 (the blues), Blue Raspberry 12 (lurking) [Casey]
Toppings/Extras: Caramel, Chopped Nuts, Hot Fudge, Smoothie
Word Count: 3,334
Rating: R (violence)
Summary: Chase and Dean make an escape attempt.
Notes: I fully intend to write Chase’s story, and that will go up when I have. For now, here’s the next part.

After Chase finished the story, Dean asked him some questions, and then they fell silent. The waiting became more and more excruciating as time passed. Chase didn't like asking for the time, but the panic was only barely staying under wraps, and he wanted to get out of there.

"Okay, it's ten," Dean said, plainly just as jittery. "Let's go."

"You really think he's asleep?"

The other boy hesitated. "Hope so," he finally said, without a whole lot of conviction, as he climbed to his feet and offered Chase a hand. Chase's legs felt a little wobbly, still, so he took it and levered himself up.

Dean let go to stoop and pick up the piece of wood. He reached into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out his penlight, but as he did a frightful grimace passed over it, and he quickly turned his face away.

"Dean?" Chase ventured, not liking this in any respect.

"Yeah?" he asked, voice tight with the same pain.

"Are you okay?"

He turned toward the stairs. "Yup, peachy."

"You don't look peachy."

Dean glanced down at his hand, which was hard to see in the near-dark. "Might need you to hold the light for me, that's all," he said, this time with a strange, monotone edge to his voice.

"Why?" Chase asked apprehensively.

He headed for the stairs. "You don't really want to know."

"Yes, I do." Chase glared at his back. "Edward did something, didn't he?"

Dean stopped with his foot on the first stair and glanced back at him before holding his left hand up to Chase's light. Even in the weak light, it was easy to see the problem: Dean's middle and index fingers were unnaturally crooked and already swollen to double their usual size. Chase's eyes went wide. "Oh no."

He shrugged, glancing down at them and rotating his hand slightly. "At least it wasn't an arm or a leg."

"That's still bad. You need to go to a hospital as soon as they find us."

"They have to find us first," he said, pulling his hand out of the light and heading up the stairs.

"They will," said Chase, firmly, then went quiet so he could follow.

Dean reached the top and followed the same procedure he had the last time, from what Chase had been able to see. Then he glanced back. "Shine your light right on the knob," he murmured, barely audible. Chase complied. It took him a minute to find it, but once he did, he held it as steady as he could.

Dean shook his head slightly and crouched on the top step, putting his eye about even with the keyhole. Then he carefully inserted the piece of wood and got to work. Chase held his breath, hoping against hope that the instrument would be enough to get it open. Dean carefully put his injured left hand on the doorknob and fiddled with it as he jiggled the wood. After a tense minute or two, the door clicked and when Dean turned the knob, it eased outward.

Chase exhaled in relief and turned to Dean. "Now what?" he mouthed.

His friend tucked the wood away in his pocket and carefully pushed the door open the rest of the way, eyes squinted as he obviously strained for any noise, but the house was dimly lit and quiet. Chase looked around also. The front door stood off to the right, but he had no idea where the kitchen was, and they needed to get to the backpacks first.

"C'mon," Dean mouthed back and turned left, momentarily disappearing from sight around a corner. Chase quickly followed him, trying to be silent. The other boy moved with surprising quiet, slipping into the kitchen and moving towards the counter even as he pointed to their right where both bags sat, seemingly untouched.

Chase immediately squatted down next to his backpack and felt around in the front pocket. His chest relaxed as his fingers closed around the bracelet, which was tucked into the calculator pocket, as he'd remembered. Immediately, he found the button and held it down for three seconds, praying that it would work and that his dad would find them.

Dean appeared at his side a moment later, decent sized knife tucked in his belt. "Keep it with us," he murmured, "and let's get out of here."

"Okay." Chase turned his head away from the knife, although he felt distantly glad Dean had thought to grab it. "I sent the signal. We should just start walking."

"Lead the way."

He nodded and hurried back toward the front door as quietly as possible, and Dean stuck on his heels near silently. They made it to the front door without incident, to Chase's shock and suspicion. Nonetheless, they pressed forward and got out. The door was locked from the inside, but not the outside.

Beyond it, there was a small yard and a short brick path that led to the street. Chase carefully shut the door, then hurried down it, looking around. The section of street the house sat on turned out to be part of a winding road high in the hills. The house was the only one in the immediate area, that either of them could see, but as they started walking, the tops of more came into view. Chase frowned and did a full turn. "This is Crescent Beach," he said suddenly.

"Where? How far from Madison?" Dean asked in surprise. "And how can you tell? It's dark."

"Forty minutes. I can tell cause of the hills, look." Chase turned him and pointed north, toward the twinkling lights of the nearby university. "See that one? That's where Laura's college is. My cousin lives there."

"So we're not far from your cousin?"

"Like five miles, maybe." The thought suddenly heartened him, and for the first time, escape seemed really doable. "If we can get down the hill to the highway, there's probably a pay phone we can use."

"Then let's hurry," Dean said, with a nervous glance over his shoulder. "Just in case Edward's not asleep."

Chase nodded and began to trot down the narrow street. Dean stuck with him, obviously relying on him to figure out the way out. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, since Dean obviously had good navigational instincts and would probably have been fine without him, but he did his best. He knew that the street they were currently on was probably the only way down the hill, and that it would be a mile at least before they got to the highway. He glanced back at the house. By this time, they were almost out of sight.

"Southern California needs more trees or even big rocks," Dean muttered. "Still got the bracelet?" he asked, a touch louder.

Chase realized he was still clutching it in his hand. "Yes," he said, quickly stuffing it into the little change pocket in his jeans for safekeeping. The other boy nodded silently, keeping up easily.

They rounded the bend, coming into sight of two houses a ways further down and off the main road somewhat. "Maybe we shouldn't wait until the highway," said Chase, beginning to be apprehensive. "I'm sure someone will let us use their phone."

"Works for me," Dean said, glancing back again. "Too fucking dark," he added, almost inaudibly.

"Yeah, I know," agreed Chase, frowning around at the area. There were standard street lamps further down, but around them there were only lampposts about waist high, and they didn't give off very good light.

They had absolutely no warning for what happened next. The noise, in close quarters, was almost deafening. The pain... Chase cried out and grabbed his leg as his knees buckled.

"Chase!" Dean yelled, rushing to his side. Chase hardly noticed. Something had slammed into the back of his thigh, and it hurt so much he couldn't think. His fingers instinctively probed the area. Through the pain, he abruptly realized that that something had been a bullet, and he was bleeding...and Edward was probably right behind them...

Dean rose up as suddenly as he had dropped down. "Stay away from him," he said flatly.

"I don't believe you're in any position to make those sorts of demands," Edward's voice said frostily.

Chase shut his eyes as panic threatened to take over again. He was as good as dead. They both were. He was certain it would happen any second.

"I didn't hesitate to put a bullet in Mr. Mitchell and I won't hesitate to put one in you, Dean," Edward continued. "Now, we can either do that or you can come back now without more fuss and we'll deal with your little escape attempt in a less violent fashion."

Tears blurred Chase's eyes. He didn't try to move, not that he thought he could.

"I'm not leaving Chase," Dean said.

"I never said you should leave him. Get him up and bring him with you."

Dean shifted, pressing a leg against Chase's back but didn't move other than that.

"I will shoot you. You don't need both arms."

Move, Chase thought, desperate to take this one chance while they still had it, but unable to make himself budge. Somehow, he tore one hand away from his wound and held it up, shakily, toward Dean, who reached out with his right hand before Edward's voice cut the gesture off at the pass. "Left hand, Dean."

Dean froze for a moment and then switched hands. "C'mon, Chase," he said quietly.

Chase gripped the wrist, avoiding the broken fingers, and tried to hoist himself up. His leg throbbed freshly, making him whimper. "Need both hands," he managed.

Dean grabbed him with the other and managed to pull him to his feet. "Just lean on me, okay?"

All he could do was nod.

Even with Dean's help, it was slow going. His right leg would not bear weight, and if he tried it, pain immediately shot through him. The grade seemed much steeper going up. He almost fell a couple of times. Dean said nothing but kept him upright even when he stumbled and despite the fact he had to use his left hand multiple times to do so. It was so torturous that Chase almost broke down and begged Edward to let them stop. Mostly, it was fear that kept him from it, but some part of him knew also that the only way to keep Dean from tipping straight into despair was to keep silent as much as he could.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, they were on Edward's lawn again.

Edward broke the silence. "Into the kitchen. Get Mr. Mitchell on the table."

Chase glanced at Dean, very apprehensive. His friend kept his eyes straight ahead, heading up the stoop and through the already open door.

He kept moving the best he could until they got to the kitchen. Getting on the table was less difficult than walking, although the process freaked him out because he had to use both hands and therefore to let go of his leg. He hated the feeling of helplessness and was terrified that something would happen once he was on the table and in not much of a position to defend himself.

Dean now turned, putting himself firmly between Chase and Edward, who still had the gun drawn. The old man grinned. "And what do you think you're going to do, Dean? I'm not going to shoot either of you again unless you give me reason." He gestured with the weapon. "Go put the knife back and stand by the fridge. Once you do, I'll put the gun down and patch Mr. Mitchell up."

"Just go, Dean," Chase muttered, when Dean hesitated.

The other boy glanced at Chase's leg, but did as ordered, returning the knife to the block and going to stand by the fridge. Edward followed him over making Dean tense. The man reached out and attached Dean to the fridge handle via the handcuff still around his wrist. For a moment, Chase thought that might be it, and then Edward suckerpunched Dean in the stomach. His friend doubled over, gasping for breath.

"Stop it," said Chase. It was reflex, mostly. He couldn't enforce the command, and he knew it. His chest was tightening again, and then of course there was his leg, and the fact that the gun was still in the room, even if Edward wasn't holding it.

Edward stepped back, seemingly satisfied, tucked the gun out of sight and turned back to Chase. "That's the plan, for the moment." He disappeared out of the room briefly and then returned with a heavy-duty medical kit, which he placed on the table beside Chase and started to go through. Chase did not remotely want Edward touching him, and unconsciously edged away a fraction. The man pinned him with a stern glare. "You have two choices, boy. Either you bleed out on this table, which is no real skin off my back, or you let me patch you up. I sincerely doubt Dean has the expertise even if I were inclined to let him try."

Chase clenched his fists, nodded, and tried to focus on his breathing. He was not, not, not going to have a panic attack in front of Edward.

"Better," Edward said, and got to work, not taking any care to be gentle. Chase gripped the table and tried not to scream as he dug the bullet out. A moment later, he held it up for both boys' inspection. "Would you look at that," he said pleasantly. Chase couldn't. The whole thing made him feel sick to his stomach. Surprisingly, Edward didn't insist on it, dropping it with a clang into a small bowl and then starting to wrap it up. Chase didn't open his eyes until it was over.

"There." Edward moved to wash his hands.

Chase looked over at Dean, but the other boy immediately looked away, unable or unwilling to meet his eyes. His chest tightened still further at that.

Edward dried his hands and then turned on Dean, stalking up to him and grabbing his chin. "How did you get out?" he demanded, in a cold voice.

"Leave him alone," Chase gasped out, scooting toward the edge of the table in an attempt to do-something, he wasn't sure what.

"Remember what we talked about earlier," Edward said, ignoring Chase entirely.

Dean swallowed, glancing briefly at Chase before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the sliver of wood.

The surprise was evident in Edward's voice. "You picked the lock?"

Dean shrugged and then winced as Edward's grip visibly tightened. "Yes, Grandfather," he muttered. Chase could only watch in horror.

"I trust you won't be trying that again."

"No, Grandfather," he replied quietly.

"Good." Edward fished the key out and released him from the fridge before grabbing his collar tightly and pulling him close, whispering something in his ear that somehow caused Dean to go paler. Then he shoved the boy towards Chase. "Get him back downstairs."

Dean stumbled over and offered his good hand. After a second, he seemed to remember and offered the other instead, shoulders visibly slumping a bit. Chase didn't take it. Instead, he slid off the table on his own, gripping Dean's shoulder for support as he got on his feet. Dean waited for him to steady himself and then headed slowly for the stairs with him.

"I'll slide down," Chase muttered, as they reached the basement door.

"You sure?" Dean asked, speaking for the first time.

"Better than hopping." Chase let go and lowered himself to the floor, then began a slow shuffle down to the bottom of the stairs. Dean followed a step behind as Edward lurked at the top, blocking out most of the light.

The absolute last thing Chase wanted was to be stuck down in that basement again, even with the hope that someone was going to find them. Nonetheless, he made himself keep going. His leg throbbed every inch of the way, and he knew he wouldn't be walking on it any time soon.

Finally, he reached the cold floor and shifted out of the staircase and against the wall.

For the first time, Edward clicked on the light and followed them down. "Sit there," he told Dean, pointing to a spot right by the staircase. His grandson did as ordered and watched without expression as Edward attached him to the banister before moving to examine the few odds and ends around the basement that the boys had found earlier. Chase watched in silent terror as he went.

After pawing around, he apparently found nothing he considered a threat-either that, or he wasn't particularly worried about the two, considering one was chained to the stairs and the other had just had a bullet put through his leg. Still, Chase didn't relax. Finally, he turned back to the two boys and appraised them. "I expect you both in exactly the same spot come morning, do you understand?"

A mulish expression snuck over Dean's face as he stared back. Chase didn't say anything, either. Where did he think they were going to go now?

"Understand?" Edward asked darkly, meeting Chase's eyes.

"I understand." He understood what Edward expected, at least. He was also certain that his dad would never leave them there that long.

"Dean?"

"I understand," Dean muttered, dropping his gaze as Edward turned his way, although the stubborn look remained. Edward seemed satisfied, though, because he turned and went upstairs. He paused for a minute on the top step, and then flicked off the light and slammed the door shut.

Chase started, then slumped forward and pressed his face into his knees. "Dean?" he ventured, after a long moment of silence.

For moment that lasted too long, it seemed as though Dean wouldn't respond. Then: "Yeah?"

He wasn't really sure what to say. "I...it's going to be okay, yeah? They're going to come and get us."

"Yeah," Dean replied, without much conviction.

The tone scared Chase. He knew it well, because he had heard it enough times coming from his own mouth. "Dean, don't...don't do that."

Dean dropped his head onto his knees with the jingle of his cuff. "Do what?"

"Shut down," said Chase, after a moment.

"I got you shot, Chase."

"You did not."

"Yes, I did," he muttered.

"No, you didn’t," Chase insisted. He wasn't sure what he could say that would convince Dean, though. It made him feel helpless in a way that he had only suffered through once before and had hoped never to endure again.

Dean just shook his head.

At a loss, Chase hunched back against the wall and shut his eyes tight. The tears were coming fast now. He didn't like crying in front of Dean, but he could no longer help it. The only bright side was that he had somehow staved off his panic, which would have been the only thing worse. Well, he could think of several things that were worse, but didn’t like imagining them-the situation was plenty bad as it was, and he was only barely hanging on.

After a moment, he heard Dean shift. "Shit, Chase, I'm sorry, just...don't, please. Your dad's got to be on his way," he said softly.

"I know." Chase made a feeble attempt to wipe his eyes, ashamed of himself but unable to stop.

"I...I'm sorry," Dean said again.

"It's really not your fault. Sometimes stuff just...happens."

"Still, you're right, I mean, I won't shut down, promise."

Chase nodded into his knees. "Okay."

Dean wrapped his free hand around his knees. "How long d'you think it'll take?" he asked wearily.

"Dunno. Not until morning. They're less than an hour away and my dad wouldn't waste any time. Especially since..." he trailed off, and then shrugged.

"kay," Dean said, dropping his forehead back onto his knees.

Chase didn't know what else to say after that.