SPN Gen Fic: Weaver 5/9
Nov. 23rd, 2006 11:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
superbadgirlTitle: Weaver
Author: sbg
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A
Season/spoilers: 1/directly follows "Nightmare"
Summary: Sometimes dreams teach, sometimes they tell the future and sometimes they just hurt like hell.
Disclaimer: The Impala, Sam Winchester and (oh, this one hurts) Dean Winchester and various other characters don't belong to me. Some of the things referenced in the story also don't belong to me, but then some of them do. All these things, sans my own words, belong to Kripke Enterprises (Scrap Metal & Entertainment) and The CW. Not trying to step on toes or claim ownership, much as I would really enjoy that.
~~*~~
Sam knew the adrenaline could fade fast, and he hurried over to his brother’s side. He hoped like hell the Dog was down for good, and that Dean was just pinned by it and unable to move, not motionless because of some other reason. He reloaded the shotgun just in case, clicking the barrel back in place just as he reached the gruesome scene. The creature had fallen right on top of Dean, its giant head covering most of his torso. He needed to get that thing off, the sooner the better. He poked at it with the barrel of the gun, and got no reaction. Dean still didn’t move.
“Dean?” he said, and almost wished this was a dream. “Hey.”
He intended to ease down to his knees, but just sort of collapsed to them instead. The Black Dog had to weigh over two hundred pounds, and could very well be squeezing the air right out of Dean’s lungs. Sam set the shotgun down and rubbed his adrenaline-clammy hands down the front of his jeans. His muscles were already starting to return to their previous shaky state. He looked at Dean all limp and quiet, and a small resurgence of adrenaline hit him. He shoved at the Dog, the action pulling at his already sore ribs. He managed to roll it off to the side and immediately turned his attention to Dean.
The shotgun lay across Dean’s chest, and there was blood everywhere. Sam couldn’t see any evidence of new injury, which he hoped meant the slick wetness covering Dean’s shirt was from the Dog. The scratches on the jaw had reopened, but that was it. He could see Dean breathing. He reached out, pulled the gun away and then slapped Dean’s face gently. At first, Dean’s head just lolled, but then he started to show signs of waking. Sam sagged down off his knees and onto his butt. He switched to shaking Dean’s shoulder, until he saw Dean open his eyes a crack.
“You okay?” he said.
“I think.” Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “But I’m not really sure I know what happened.”
“You shot it while it was on top of you.” Sam jutted his jaw toward the corpse. “They’re both dead.”
It occurred to Sam that he hadn’t actually checked the one he’d shot, but it hadn’t moved. Dean sat up, picking at his shirt with a disgusted expression on his face. Then he looked at the dead Black Dog and his expression got even more disgusted. He rubbed the back of his head and confusion mingled with the disgust.
“I did.”
“Yeah. Good thing, too, because I didn’t have much of a shot from where I was.”
“So it worked?” Dean said, sounding a little too relieved for Sam’s liking. He raised his eyebrows. Dean automatically sat up straighter. “Of course it did; Bobby’s the man.”
“Bobby’s the man,” Sam repeated. Dean continued to rub at the nape of his neck. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Just hit my head, no big deal.”
Sam relaxed, but he was starting to feel like crap again. If he thought about it, he’d felt like crap for a solid week. Tired despite sleeping, listless. All signs he really shouldn’t have ignored, because in the back of his mind he’d known. He decided not to aggravate Dean by admitting that. First things first. The actual hunt might be over, but there were still things to be done. He eyed the corpses, surprised they hadn’t vanished like so many supernatural beings seemed to do.
“Do you think we should dispose of the bodies?”
“We can’t burn them, it’s too dry out here.” Dean chewed on his lip for a second. He sounded tired, and stood up slowly. “I’ll go get a shovel.”
“Maybe it can wait until morning.”
Sam wanted to get it over with, but he wasn’t sure he’d make it back to the car without feeling like passing out. He didn’t think Dean was really up for digging a hole big enough for the Dogs, either. A few hours of rest would do them both good, and if not rest, then at least painkillers. He was just bruised, but it hurt like hell nonetheless.
“What difference would that make?”
“I could probably help then.”
Dean looked down at him skeptically. Sam took a deep breath just to show Dean he wasn’t going to double over in pain or anything. It was just another kind of discomfort he was already so used to again, one of many things he was growing accustomed to in his new-again lifestyle. He’d get over the weakness. He just needed some time. He reached up a hand, and Dean not only gave him that but also an arm around his shoulders and a whole lot of pull. Dean didn’t even think about it, and Sam fought the instinct to shrug off the help in an unspoken “I’m fine.”
“You’re still going to be sore.”
“Yeah, I know, but that’s not the point.” He’d be much better in a few hours. He would. “Do you really feel up to digging a hole right now?”
Dean didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched in classic annoyance. Sam sighed.
“Look, man, I’m not maligning your manhood. I just want some more damn Tylenol or something.”
“Maligning? Why can’t you ever talk like a normal human being?” Dean gave him a flip smile. “It seems to me you’re maligning your own manhood, which you don’t really have to do around me, Sammy. I already know you’re a pansy, you don’t have to testify.”
Obnoxious as it was Sam was glad for the abuse. It beat the overt worrying and pacing Dean had done before. He doubted this was going to go down like any other hunt. It was far too personal, but if they could keep each other from getting too weirded out, then that would only help them figure it all out. Sam snorted.
“Okay, I’m a pansy who needs more than Tylenol. Dude, I feel like I sprained my whole body.”
“Ouch.” Dean lost a little of his flippancy, and he leaned over for both shotguns. He winced when he stood, the only evidence Sam was going to get that his brother wasn’t one hundred percent either. “I really need a shower anyway. Blood itches when it dries. We’ll want to get back here before sunrise, though.”
“Someone might spot the bodies and call wildlife,” Sam said, nodding.
“I’d prefer the things on our asses be demonic in nature.”
Oddly, Sam actually couldn’t agree more with that statement. Not so oddly, he thought. If he stood any chance of getting back to school, he had to keep his name as clear as possible. He had to keep his fake names as clear as possible, too. The moral difficulty of being a con artist was as painful for him now as it ever had been as a kid. He didn’t know how Dean just accepted it. Sam shook his head, not sure where the tangent had come from. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked slowly toward the car, a familiar, resonant sound.
“Gimme the keys,” Sam said after Dean had stowed the weapons. “I think I should drive.”
“With cracked ribs?” Dean frowned at him. “I don’t think so. Not my car.”
“Bruised. And, Dean, if I sit down right now and don’t have something to focus on, I’m going to fall asleep.”
“Oh,” Dean said, and gave him the keys without further ado. “Right.”
And that right there reminded Sam that no matter how blasé Dean acted, he was not okay with any of this. Not just about the dreams of late, but the very idea Sam was different. He felt displaced in all aspects of his life. His intention might be to return to a safe life once they found their dad and the demon was dead, but how could he really do that as this freak who sometimes saw things before they happened? He had to stop losing himself in these thoughts.
They climbed into the car and fell into the post-hunt routine, just a fraction more tensely than usual. There were things they needed to discuss, though neither of them wanted to. Now that it was more than suspicion he was being preyed on, Sam tried to think of beings that could potentially control or feed off of dreams. He came up empty, except for…One, two, Freddy’s coming for you. He gave a small laugh, just as he pulled the car up in front of the motel door.
“What the hell could you possibly find funny right now?” Dean said, breaking the silence Sam hadn’t even realized they’d held during the ride.
“Nothing, just…” Sam opened the door and slid carefully out of the door. Dean did, too, and they walked to the motel in synch, his brother slowing down to keep snail’s pace with him. The necessity of keeping upright and stiff had been exhausting. He pressed his fingers against his sternum and winced. “I just had a thought. It’s stupid. But what if Freddy Krueger were real, somehow?”
Sam started laughing softly again, almost happy when doing so made a wave of pain ripple through him. The ache, in his chest at least, kept him awake. Without it, he’d just be too exhausted to function at all. It wasn’t really funny, though, the Freddy Krueger thing. The means might be different with the demon – he wasn’t being hacked to pieces or anything – but the end result seemed to be the same. There might come a dream he’d never wake from, no matter how hard Dean tried to make that happen.
“That’s not exactly hilarious, Sam.” Dean glared at him as he made a beeline for the bathroom. He didn’t shut the door all the way.
“It is a little,” Sam said toward the cracked door, but then his chuckles faded. “Our lives are like one never-ending horror movie.”
Dean didn’t answer. Probably couldn’t hear through the noise of the shower. Sam headed for the coffee maker. He wasn’t convinced keeping himself caffeinated would help that much, but right now it seemed the best option. Once he got a fresh pot brewing, he turned his attention to the computer and began the search. He set up the laptop on the table instead of sprawling on the bed. He stared at the screen so long he forgot to blink, trying various key words. He came up pretty much empty, and he wondered what the chances were that they were dealing with something undocumented anywhere. It didn’t seem very likely to him. He just wasn’t going about it the right way, but his brain seemed fuzzy.
He gave up the computer and decided to try to sketch the thing he kept seeing in his dreams. Maybe leaf through their dad’s journal to see if anything sparked recognition. Sam closed his eyes for a second, conjuring up an image of the recurrent female figure. As always, she looked familiar. He opened his eyes and grabbed a small notepad out of the journal. He wasn’t a great artist, but he managed to rough out a decent etching of what his memory supplied.
“Dude, why are you doodling a picture of Bloody Mary?”
He jumped, heart pounding. Dean stood right behind him, already dressed and his face was rebandaged. Sam hadn’t even heard the shower stop. Dean peered over his shoulder with an odd expression on his face. Sam looked back down at the notepad. It did look like Bloody Mary. He frowned. He should have made that connection a long time ago. It was obvious enough now.
“I…this is…”
“Hey, relax and spit it out, Sam,” Dean said, pulling the other chair out and sitting down. “This is what?”
“This is who I eventually saw in my dreams.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. Sam toyed with the corners of the notepad, folding the paper up slightly. He dropped the pen, let it roll across the table.
“That doesn’t make any sense. She’s gone. It can’t be her. And even if it could, she wasn’t the type to mess with dreams.”
“I know all that. But it’s her.”
“You said eventually.”
It was impossible. Sam’s stomach felt cold, and his throat burned with it, as if he’d just swallowed a large ice cube. Whatever plagued his dreams also toyed with him. It fed him horrible images of Dean getting hurt or dying and disguised itself to boot. The information was not going to help them figure things out. If anything, it set them back.
“Sam?”
“Oh. Hmm?”
“Who did you see in the dreams before Bloody Mary? Maybe that’s where you need to focus.”
“At first, it was…” Dean tilted his head. Sam cringed. “It was Jess.”
Dean mirrored his cringe, and Sam concentrated on toying with the notepad’s edges again. They just sat there for a minute or two.
“Okay, so what does this mean?” Dean sounded as unflappable as ever. Sam looked up. His brother’s eyes gave it all away, though, and so did the fact he averted his gaze the second Sam made eye contact. “It’s just another thing it can do. We already know it manipulates.”
“Yeah.” Did they? Frankly, Sam was no longer sure of anything. He was afraid he could be dreaming at this very moment. “Maybe. It seems to be able to get in my head somehow.”
“So we look up demons associated with sleep. And mind control. There has to be a connection somewhere.”
He’d already searched. He didn’t stop Dean from sliding the laptop over. Sam didn’t think he could do much of anything, actually. He had an overwhelming sense that they were screwed, and it wasn’t a good feeling. He stood up and started pacing, stopping only long enough to get himself a cup of coffee. He poured one for Dean, too, and stuck it on the table. Sam’s mind raced to nowhere.
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Dean said suddenly, eyes focused only on the computer.
“Think what?” Sam said.
“What you said before. That our lives are an unending horror movie. Because they’re not.”
Sam sat down again, hard. Coffee sloshed out of the cup onto his hand, hot but not scalding. Dean’s voice was low and careful. Sam rubbed his coffee-damp hand down his face, pinched his nose to ward off a headache that hadn’t started yet but probably would soon.
“We go from place to place fighting evil things most people don’t believe in, and most of the ones who do only believe because it’s happened to them. That seems like horror to me.”
“There’s a difference you’re overlooking,” Dean said, leaning toward him with eyes narrowed and dark. “We don’t get dead like they do in the movies.”
Dean said it more like a desperate vow than a statement of fact. Sam didn’t want to tell his brother that he’d always thought the real horror, even in movies, was left to those who survived the monsters.
~~*~~
“It’s starting to look like our best bet is some kind of succubus.” Sam looked horrified. And a lot more horrible than Dean had thought. Damn, the dark circles under the eyes had resurfaced fast. No, they hadn’t actually gone away. “Maybe not in the traditional sense, though. We could be dealing with something that’s adapted different behaviors, something that feeds off dreams instead of…”
“Sex,” Sam finished hoarsely. He looked a little like he was going to puke, and his already pale face became more ashen. Sam nodded once, but it didn’t seem like affirmation. “That doesn’t make me feel much better.”
“It shouldn’t,” Dean said. He shifted in his seat. He didn’t exactly like the conclusion, either. Sex was real, a physical act committed by physical beings. Dreams weren’t. Fighting an incorporeal entity with a shotgun and holy water wasn’t really feasible. “We’d know how to get rid of a regular succubus. With this, I don’t even know where to start.”
Sam leaned back and tilted his face toward the ceiling. Dean looked around the small diner. It wasn’t the best place for this kind of conversation, but they’d both agreed bars and beers weren’t a good combination in light of the no sleep rule. It bothered him a whole hell of a lot that they’d had over twenty-four hours to research and they hadn’t made much progress. It had been thirty-six hours since either of them had slept. All things considered, they were holding up all right, but he knew neither of them could sustain staying awake for more than three days and not have their skills compromised.
“I don’t either, man, but we have to figure this out soon.” Sam looked back down at him, pushing his plate toward the middle of the booth. Sam might as well have admitted he was struggling, Dean thought uneasily. “But right now I have to pee. All this damn coffee.”
Sam slid out of the booth. Dean started to do the same, stopping when Sam cleared his throat. He glanced up.
“What’re you doing?” Sam said.
“I’m coming with you.”
“I appreciate the caution, but I think you can trust me to pee all by myself, Dean.”
He shrugged his shoulders and slid back to his original position. Maybe he was carrying it a bit too far, but he didn’t like leaving Sam for more than a few minutes at a time. Dean checked his watch, then watched Sam’s progress toward the men’s room. So he was an overprotective son of a bitch. He could not take reviving Sam again. Well, he could and he would…but the thought made him feel cold and scared inside. He did not like those feelings. At all. The waitress blocked his view for a minute as she paused by their booth and topped off his and Sam’s coffee cups. He lifted the cup and drank automatically, eyes still trained on the men’s room door.
He spared a moment’s glance at his watch. He was about to invade his brother’s independence, not to mention his privacy, when the door finally opened and Sam emerged. Dean tried really hard not to let it show, but he was seriously creeped out by the thought of some demon mindfucking Sam at every opportunity. It was hard to keep his mask in place when Sam’s differentness made him such an easy target. His brother’s skills had probably opened him wide up for the attack, and once the demon had latched on it didn’t look like it was going anywhere anytime soon.
“Hey, you ready to go?” Sam said.
Dean nodded. Back to the road. Winnemucca was a couple hours behind them. They had buried the Black Dog carcasses and, with the threat to the town gone, there wasn’t reason to stick around. In his mind, there was reason to leave – they’d have better resources for research about their latest problem and medical care in an actual city instead of a dusty speck on the map. He’d semi-consciously started driving back east without even asking Sam. West might have taken them too close to Palo Alto, and Sam didn’t need bad memories on top of bad dreams. Since Sam hadn’t objected, Dean figured Salt Lake City would do as a destination point.
“You feeling all right?”
“Tired and wired.” Sam gave him a small smile. “You?”
“Could be worse,” Dean said.
And it probably would be soon. He tossed Sam the car keys. Driving might give at least one of them loud music, open windows and the road to concentrate on, and right now Sam looked like he needed it more. Dean probably looked like ass himself, but he knew he’d be able to outlast Sam. It had only been a week since his brother had started looking exhausted more often than not (and now Dean wondered if Sam had ever not, or if he’d just wanted to believe things were okay), but a week of bad sleep didn’t take long to make an impact.
“Your turn to drive. My turn to pee.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean headed for the men’s room, a little more assured that Sam wouldn’t go all unconscious on him now that he’d been reminded he was hovering too much. And Sam had proven he could last two minutes out of Dean’s sight. Shit, he really was a mother hen. He peed fast. Sam was leaning on the car, face turned to the sun with eyes closed, when Dean pushed through the diner door. His gut gave him that old feeling again. He made it over to Sam in under three seconds, grabbing his brother’s arm tightly.
“Holy shit!” Sam said, jerking upright and away from Dean. “What?”
Damnit. Dean couldn’t come up with any way that would effectively mask his actions or his concern. Sam gawked at him for an awkward moment.
“What, what?” Dean said.
Really, he shouldn’t have to explain. It took only a second for Sam to don an understanding expression. It occurred to him, way too late, that a small hospital in a small town was better than no hospital in the middle of nowhere and they were taking a pretty big risk. If Sam had been sleeping and if Sam hadstopped breathing…but Sam hadn’t and Dean didn’t want to go down that road. A far more productive use of his time was to concentrate on the actual road.
“Sorry,” Sam said.
“Let’s just go.”
They rode in silence for a while. Dean fidgeted around a bit, alert from the caffeine bolting through his bloodstream and by the latent presence of fear he’d probably maintain until they figured this thing out. No matter how he wracked his brain, he couldn’t discern a viable way to fight this kind of demon, presupposing they were dealing with a succubus with bonus dream powers. At least not a viable way he really wanted to try.
“Y’know, Dean, I was thinking,” Sam said hesitantly. Oh, great. “It might be possible to starve the demon. It feeds on dreams, probably, right? If I don’t give it dreams for long enough, it could weaken and die off.”
Dean nodded and glanced over, eyes locking on Sam’s hands on the steering wheel. They no longer shook, but gripped the wheel tightly enough to whiten the knuckles. He took that as a sign of Sam’s struggle to concentrate. He clenched his jaw. If he was right, Sam shouldn’t be driving and yet the alternative wasn’t really an alternative, either. Sam had a point, though, and Dean had considered it before.
“We have no idea how long that would take. Lack of sleep might kill you before you can kill the demon. Besides, if it goes without for long enough it might just seek out another host with interesting dreams to munch on,” Dean said, and as he did so he realized the futility of their current strategy.
There had been several reports, nationwide, of people who had normally healthy spouses or friends or whatever who’d suddenly started exhibiting the same signs Sam had presented: unexplained fatigue with rapid onset, severe sleep apnea. Despite seeking medical treatment, all those people had died, most of them during an episode of “apnea.” This thing was mobile and strong enough to suck the life out of people even when they were in the hospital, even when they were hooked up to machines designed to jumpstart breathing action when it ceased. And the fact that the potential victims had been scattered all across the country was pretty damned disturbing in its own right. This thing could go anywhere and get anyone.
“If that’s true, then that means I’m going to have to sleep soon. We can’t let it attack someone else.”
Ah, the same conundrum they’d faced with the Black Dogs. Dean hated it, but Sam was right. He thought he’d drawn the same conclusion a while ago and hadn’t wanted to face it. He clenched his jaw. The thought of willingly allowing Sam to venture into a dreamscape that had already nearly killed him terrified Dean to no end.
“No, we can’t,” Dean said. “And yes, you are.”
This was a fight for Sam alone, unless there was a way for Dean to join his brother’s dreams. He didn’t do this mystical shit. Give him a flesh and bone demon any day of the week, and the guns, machetes or fire to kill it. Physical things. He couldn’t reiterate that enough. He tossed around the idea of calling their father again.
“Oh.” Sam didn’t sound nearly as freaked out as he should have, instead was almost stupefied. Dean looked at his brother, whose jaw was set in that way meant to portray determination, but was something else entirely. Maybe Sam was scared. “Maybe we should stop at the next town.”
“Why is that?”
“So I can sleep, make sure this thing doesn’t get the chance to go for anyone else,” Sam said, shifting a quick glance over to him. His brother appeared more and more ragged around the edges, and might just want rest. “Keep it with me.”
Dean’s gut screamed no, his head knew Sam’s idea had merit. If they were even close to right about this, then they’d made a mistake leaving Winnemucca. Salt Lake City was still a hell of a drive away, and he doubted the next town they encountered would be any bigger than Winnemucca. It would probably be smaller. Most of the counties they were driving through only had one town equipped with medical facilities.
“I…”
“You’ll be right there.” Sam cut him off, speaking quickly. “Now at least we know it happens fast, in real time anyway. It might not be bad if you catch it right away. You should probably get some rest now. This could get ugly.”
Déjà vu. Sam was getting damned bossy. Dean frowned at his brother’s profile, as if doing that could possibly help him understand what was going on in Sam’s mysterious brain.
“Okay, bossy,” Dean said. “What I was going to say is that we should see if the next town has a hospital or clinic first. We’re not getting stuck in a town without one, even if we can handle most medical issues ourselves.”
He shouldn’t have to say it. Unnecessary risk was not his bag, though Dean was starting to think that it might be Sam’s just like it sometimes was their father’s. While he’d normally be happy to find traits linking Sam and their dad, that one was not on the top of the list. They wouldn’t think twice about getting themselves killed if it meant taking out the demon that had killed Mom and Jess, and Dean knew that. But that wasn’t the only thing they were careless about. He supposed he wasn’t that much different, only his motivations were about more human things.
“Oh,” Sam said again.
“How are your ribs, by the way?” A not-so-subtle change in topic seemed a good idea. “Need more painkillers yet?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Dean doubted that, but it wasn’t really the time or place to disagree. It was a moot point anyway. Fine or not fine now, chances were things would get worse. He stared out the window. The sun started to peek up over the horizon already. Daylight should make it a little bit easier to stay alert. He closed his eyes briefly to alleviate the dryness. His head spun, symptomatic of his own fatigue.
“I really do think you should sleep,” Sam said. “You look like crap.”
“Thanks.” Dean opened his eyes, eyelids clicking slightly. “Seen yourself lately?”
“Fine, be a stubborn bastard.”
“All right then.”
Sam couldn’t really expect him to just doze off and leave him unprotected. Dean was tired enough that he couldn’t rely on an internal clock to wake him up after twenty minutes. It wasn’t a chance he could take. Sam pushed the car faster and turned up the music. It was Zeppelin. Stairway to Heaven. Dean jerked upright and hit the fast forward button.
~~*~~
Part 6 here
Author: sbg
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A
Season/spoilers: 1/directly follows "Nightmare"
Summary: Sometimes dreams teach, sometimes they tell the future and sometimes they just hurt like hell.
Disclaimer: The Impala, Sam Winchester and (oh, this one hurts) Dean Winchester and various other characters don't belong to me. Some of the things referenced in the story also don't belong to me, but then some of them do. All these things, sans my own words, belong to Kripke Enterprises (Scrap Metal & Entertainment) and The CW. Not trying to step on toes or claim ownership, much as I would really enjoy that.
~~*~~
Sam knew the adrenaline could fade fast, and he hurried over to his brother’s side. He hoped like hell the Dog was down for good, and that Dean was just pinned by it and unable to move, not motionless because of some other reason. He reloaded the shotgun just in case, clicking the barrel back in place just as he reached the gruesome scene. The creature had fallen right on top of Dean, its giant head covering most of his torso. He needed to get that thing off, the sooner the better. He poked at it with the barrel of the gun, and got no reaction. Dean still didn’t move.
“Dean?” he said, and almost wished this was a dream. “Hey.”
He intended to ease down to his knees, but just sort of collapsed to them instead. The Black Dog had to weigh over two hundred pounds, and could very well be squeezing the air right out of Dean’s lungs. Sam set the shotgun down and rubbed his adrenaline-clammy hands down the front of his jeans. His muscles were already starting to return to their previous shaky state. He looked at Dean all limp and quiet, and a small resurgence of adrenaline hit him. He shoved at the Dog, the action pulling at his already sore ribs. He managed to roll it off to the side and immediately turned his attention to Dean.
The shotgun lay across Dean’s chest, and there was blood everywhere. Sam couldn’t see any evidence of new injury, which he hoped meant the slick wetness covering Dean’s shirt was from the Dog. The scratches on the jaw had reopened, but that was it. He could see Dean breathing. He reached out, pulled the gun away and then slapped Dean’s face gently. At first, Dean’s head just lolled, but then he started to show signs of waking. Sam sagged down off his knees and onto his butt. He switched to shaking Dean’s shoulder, until he saw Dean open his eyes a crack.
“You okay?” he said.
“I think.” Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “But I’m not really sure I know what happened.”
“You shot it while it was on top of you.” Sam jutted his jaw toward the corpse. “They’re both dead.”
It occurred to Sam that he hadn’t actually checked the one he’d shot, but it hadn’t moved. Dean sat up, picking at his shirt with a disgusted expression on his face. Then he looked at the dead Black Dog and his expression got even more disgusted. He rubbed the back of his head and confusion mingled with the disgust.
“I did.”
“Yeah. Good thing, too, because I didn’t have much of a shot from where I was.”
“So it worked?” Dean said, sounding a little too relieved for Sam’s liking. He raised his eyebrows. Dean automatically sat up straighter. “Of course it did; Bobby’s the man.”
“Bobby’s the man,” Sam repeated. Dean continued to rub at the nape of his neck. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Just hit my head, no big deal.”
Sam relaxed, but he was starting to feel like crap again. If he thought about it, he’d felt like crap for a solid week. Tired despite sleeping, listless. All signs he really shouldn’t have ignored, because in the back of his mind he’d known. He decided not to aggravate Dean by admitting that. First things first. The actual hunt might be over, but there were still things to be done. He eyed the corpses, surprised they hadn’t vanished like so many supernatural beings seemed to do.
“Do you think we should dispose of the bodies?”
“We can’t burn them, it’s too dry out here.” Dean chewed on his lip for a second. He sounded tired, and stood up slowly. “I’ll go get a shovel.”
“Maybe it can wait until morning.”
Sam wanted to get it over with, but he wasn’t sure he’d make it back to the car without feeling like passing out. He didn’t think Dean was really up for digging a hole big enough for the Dogs, either. A few hours of rest would do them both good, and if not rest, then at least painkillers. He was just bruised, but it hurt like hell nonetheless.
“What difference would that make?”
“I could probably help then.”
Dean looked down at him skeptically. Sam took a deep breath just to show Dean he wasn’t going to double over in pain or anything. It was just another kind of discomfort he was already so used to again, one of many things he was growing accustomed to in his new-again lifestyle. He’d get over the weakness. He just needed some time. He reached up a hand, and Dean not only gave him that but also an arm around his shoulders and a whole lot of pull. Dean didn’t even think about it, and Sam fought the instinct to shrug off the help in an unspoken “I’m fine.”
“You’re still going to be sore.”
“Yeah, I know, but that’s not the point.” He’d be much better in a few hours. He would. “Do you really feel up to digging a hole right now?”
Dean didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched in classic annoyance. Sam sighed.
“Look, man, I’m not maligning your manhood. I just want some more damn Tylenol or something.”
“Maligning? Why can’t you ever talk like a normal human being?” Dean gave him a flip smile. “It seems to me you’re maligning your own manhood, which you don’t really have to do around me, Sammy. I already know you’re a pansy, you don’t have to testify.”
Obnoxious as it was Sam was glad for the abuse. It beat the overt worrying and pacing Dean had done before. He doubted this was going to go down like any other hunt. It was far too personal, but if they could keep each other from getting too weirded out, then that would only help them figure it all out. Sam snorted.
“Okay, I’m a pansy who needs more than Tylenol. Dude, I feel like I sprained my whole body.”
“Ouch.” Dean lost a little of his flippancy, and he leaned over for both shotguns. He winced when he stood, the only evidence Sam was going to get that his brother wasn’t one hundred percent either. “I really need a shower anyway. Blood itches when it dries. We’ll want to get back here before sunrise, though.”
“Someone might spot the bodies and call wildlife,” Sam said, nodding.
“I’d prefer the things on our asses be demonic in nature.”
Oddly, Sam actually couldn’t agree more with that statement. Not so oddly, he thought. If he stood any chance of getting back to school, he had to keep his name as clear as possible. He had to keep his fake names as clear as possible, too. The moral difficulty of being a con artist was as painful for him now as it ever had been as a kid. He didn’t know how Dean just accepted it. Sam shook his head, not sure where the tangent had come from. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked slowly toward the car, a familiar, resonant sound.
“Gimme the keys,” Sam said after Dean had stowed the weapons. “I think I should drive.”
“With cracked ribs?” Dean frowned at him. “I don’t think so. Not my car.”
“Bruised. And, Dean, if I sit down right now and don’t have something to focus on, I’m going to fall asleep.”
“Oh,” Dean said, and gave him the keys without further ado. “Right.”
And that right there reminded Sam that no matter how blasé Dean acted, he was not okay with any of this. Not just about the dreams of late, but the very idea Sam was different. He felt displaced in all aspects of his life. His intention might be to return to a safe life once they found their dad and the demon was dead, but how could he really do that as this freak who sometimes saw things before they happened? He had to stop losing himself in these thoughts.
They climbed into the car and fell into the post-hunt routine, just a fraction more tensely than usual. There were things they needed to discuss, though neither of them wanted to. Now that it was more than suspicion he was being preyed on, Sam tried to think of beings that could potentially control or feed off of dreams. He came up empty, except for…One, two, Freddy’s coming for you. He gave a small laugh, just as he pulled the car up in front of the motel door.
“What the hell could you possibly find funny right now?” Dean said, breaking the silence Sam hadn’t even realized they’d held during the ride.
“Nothing, just…” Sam opened the door and slid carefully out of the door. Dean did, too, and they walked to the motel in synch, his brother slowing down to keep snail’s pace with him. The necessity of keeping upright and stiff had been exhausting. He pressed his fingers against his sternum and winced. “I just had a thought. It’s stupid. But what if Freddy Krueger were real, somehow?”
Sam started laughing softly again, almost happy when doing so made a wave of pain ripple through him. The ache, in his chest at least, kept him awake. Without it, he’d just be too exhausted to function at all. It wasn’t really funny, though, the Freddy Krueger thing. The means might be different with the demon – he wasn’t being hacked to pieces or anything – but the end result seemed to be the same. There might come a dream he’d never wake from, no matter how hard Dean tried to make that happen.
“That’s not exactly hilarious, Sam.” Dean glared at him as he made a beeline for the bathroom. He didn’t shut the door all the way.
“It is a little,” Sam said toward the cracked door, but then his chuckles faded. “Our lives are like one never-ending horror movie.”
Dean didn’t answer. Probably couldn’t hear through the noise of the shower. Sam headed for the coffee maker. He wasn’t convinced keeping himself caffeinated would help that much, but right now it seemed the best option. Once he got a fresh pot brewing, he turned his attention to the computer and began the search. He set up the laptop on the table instead of sprawling on the bed. He stared at the screen so long he forgot to blink, trying various key words. He came up pretty much empty, and he wondered what the chances were that they were dealing with something undocumented anywhere. It didn’t seem very likely to him. He just wasn’t going about it the right way, but his brain seemed fuzzy.
He gave up the computer and decided to try to sketch the thing he kept seeing in his dreams. Maybe leaf through their dad’s journal to see if anything sparked recognition. Sam closed his eyes for a second, conjuring up an image of the recurrent female figure. As always, she looked familiar. He opened his eyes and grabbed a small notepad out of the journal. He wasn’t a great artist, but he managed to rough out a decent etching of what his memory supplied.
“Dude, why are you doodling a picture of Bloody Mary?”
He jumped, heart pounding. Dean stood right behind him, already dressed and his face was rebandaged. Sam hadn’t even heard the shower stop. Dean peered over his shoulder with an odd expression on his face. Sam looked back down at the notepad. It did look like Bloody Mary. He frowned. He should have made that connection a long time ago. It was obvious enough now.
“I…this is…”
“Hey, relax and spit it out, Sam,” Dean said, pulling the other chair out and sitting down. “This is what?”
“This is who I eventually saw in my dreams.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. Sam toyed with the corners of the notepad, folding the paper up slightly. He dropped the pen, let it roll across the table.
“That doesn’t make any sense. She’s gone. It can’t be her. And even if it could, she wasn’t the type to mess with dreams.”
“I know all that. But it’s her.”
“You said eventually.”
It was impossible. Sam’s stomach felt cold, and his throat burned with it, as if he’d just swallowed a large ice cube. Whatever plagued his dreams also toyed with him. It fed him horrible images of Dean getting hurt or dying and disguised itself to boot. The information was not going to help them figure things out. If anything, it set them back.
“Sam?”
“Oh. Hmm?”
“Who did you see in the dreams before Bloody Mary? Maybe that’s where you need to focus.”
“At first, it was…” Dean tilted his head. Sam cringed. “It was Jess.”
Dean mirrored his cringe, and Sam concentrated on toying with the notepad’s edges again. They just sat there for a minute or two.
“Okay, so what does this mean?” Dean sounded as unflappable as ever. Sam looked up. His brother’s eyes gave it all away, though, and so did the fact he averted his gaze the second Sam made eye contact. “It’s just another thing it can do. We already know it manipulates.”
“Yeah.” Did they? Frankly, Sam was no longer sure of anything. He was afraid he could be dreaming at this very moment. “Maybe. It seems to be able to get in my head somehow.”
“So we look up demons associated with sleep. And mind control. There has to be a connection somewhere.”
He’d already searched. He didn’t stop Dean from sliding the laptop over. Sam didn’t think he could do much of anything, actually. He had an overwhelming sense that they were screwed, and it wasn’t a good feeling. He stood up and started pacing, stopping only long enough to get himself a cup of coffee. He poured one for Dean, too, and stuck it on the table. Sam’s mind raced to nowhere.
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Dean said suddenly, eyes focused only on the computer.
“Think what?” Sam said.
“What you said before. That our lives are an unending horror movie. Because they’re not.”
Sam sat down again, hard. Coffee sloshed out of the cup onto his hand, hot but not scalding. Dean’s voice was low and careful. Sam rubbed his coffee-damp hand down his face, pinched his nose to ward off a headache that hadn’t started yet but probably would soon.
“We go from place to place fighting evil things most people don’t believe in, and most of the ones who do only believe because it’s happened to them. That seems like horror to me.”
“There’s a difference you’re overlooking,” Dean said, leaning toward him with eyes narrowed and dark. “We don’t get dead like they do in the movies.”
Dean said it more like a desperate vow than a statement of fact. Sam didn’t want to tell his brother that he’d always thought the real horror, even in movies, was left to those who survived the monsters.
~~*~~
“It’s starting to look like our best bet is some kind of succubus.” Sam looked horrified. And a lot more horrible than Dean had thought. Damn, the dark circles under the eyes had resurfaced fast. No, they hadn’t actually gone away. “Maybe not in the traditional sense, though. We could be dealing with something that’s adapted different behaviors, something that feeds off dreams instead of…”
“Sex,” Sam finished hoarsely. He looked a little like he was going to puke, and his already pale face became more ashen. Sam nodded once, but it didn’t seem like affirmation. “That doesn’t make me feel much better.”
“It shouldn’t,” Dean said. He shifted in his seat. He didn’t exactly like the conclusion, either. Sex was real, a physical act committed by physical beings. Dreams weren’t. Fighting an incorporeal entity with a shotgun and holy water wasn’t really feasible. “We’d know how to get rid of a regular succubus. With this, I don’t even know where to start.”
Sam leaned back and tilted his face toward the ceiling. Dean looked around the small diner. It wasn’t the best place for this kind of conversation, but they’d both agreed bars and beers weren’t a good combination in light of the no sleep rule. It bothered him a whole hell of a lot that they’d had over twenty-four hours to research and they hadn’t made much progress. It had been thirty-six hours since either of them had slept. All things considered, they were holding up all right, but he knew neither of them could sustain staying awake for more than three days and not have their skills compromised.
“I don’t either, man, but we have to figure this out soon.” Sam looked back down at him, pushing his plate toward the middle of the booth. Sam might as well have admitted he was struggling, Dean thought uneasily. “But right now I have to pee. All this damn coffee.”
Sam slid out of the booth. Dean started to do the same, stopping when Sam cleared his throat. He glanced up.
“What’re you doing?” Sam said.
“I’m coming with you.”
“I appreciate the caution, but I think you can trust me to pee all by myself, Dean.”
He shrugged his shoulders and slid back to his original position. Maybe he was carrying it a bit too far, but he didn’t like leaving Sam for more than a few minutes at a time. Dean checked his watch, then watched Sam’s progress toward the men’s room. So he was an overprotective son of a bitch. He could not take reviving Sam again. Well, he could and he would…but the thought made him feel cold and scared inside. He did not like those feelings. At all. The waitress blocked his view for a minute as she paused by their booth and topped off his and Sam’s coffee cups. He lifted the cup and drank automatically, eyes still trained on the men’s room door.
He spared a moment’s glance at his watch. He was about to invade his brother’s independence, not to mention his privacy, when the door finally opened and Sam emerged. Dean tried really hard not to let it show, but he was seriously creeped out by the thought of some demon mindfucking Sam at every opportunity. It was hard to keep his mask in place when Sam’s differentness made him such an easy target. His brother’s skills had probably opened him wide up for the attack, and once the demon had latched on it didn’t look like it was going anywhere anytime soon.
“Hey, you ready to go?” Sam said.
Dean nodded. Back to the road. Winnemucca was a couple hours behind them. They had buried the Black Dog carcasses and, with the threat to the town gone, there wasn’t reason to stick around. In his mind, there was reason to leave – they’d have better resources for research about their latest problem and medical care in an actual city instead of a dusty speck on the map. He’d semi-consciously started driving back east without even asking Sam. West might have taken them too close to Palo Alto, and Sam didn’t need bad memories on top of bad dreams. Since Sam hadn’t objected, Dean figured Salt Lake City would do as a destination point.
“You feeling all right?”
“Tired and wired.” Sam gave him a small smile. “You?”
“Could be worse,” Dean said.
And it probably would be soon. He tossed Sam the car keys. Driving might give at least one of them loud music, open windows and the road to concentrate on, and right now Sam looked like he needed it more. Dean probably looked like ass himself, but he knew he’d be able to outlast Sam. It had only been a week since his brother had started looking exhausted more often than not (and now Dean wondered if Sam had ever not, or if he’d just wanted to believe things were okay), but a week of bad sleep didn’t take long to make an impact.
“Your turn to drive. My turn to pee.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean headed for the men’s room, a little more assured that Sam wouldn’t go all unconscious on him now that he’d been reminded he was hovering too much. And Sam had proven he could last two minutes out of Dean’s sight. Shit, he really was a mother hen. He peed fast. Sam was leaning on the car, face turned to the sun with eyes closed, when Dean pushed through the diner door. His gut gave him that old feeling again. He made it over to Sam in under three seconds, grabbing his brother’s arm tightly.
“Holy shit!” Sam said, jerking upright and away from Dean. “What?”
Damnit. Dean couldn’t come up with any way that would effectively mask his actions or his concern. Sam gawked at him for an awkward moment.
“What, what?” Dean said.
Really, he shouldn’t have to explain. It took only a second for Sam to don an understanding expression. It occurred to him, way too late, that a small hospital in a small town was better than no hospital in the middle of nowhere and they were taking a pretty big risk. If Sam had been sleeping and if Sam hadstopped breathing…but Sam hadn’t and Dean didn’t want to go down that road. A far more productive use of his time was to concentrate on the actual road.
“Sorry,” Sam said.
“Let’s just go.”
They rode in silence for a while. Dean fidgeted around a bit, alert from the caffeine bolting through his bloodstream and by the latent presence of fear he’d probably maintain until they figured this thing out. No matter how he wracked his brain, he couldn’t discern a viable way to fight this kind of demon, presupposing they were dealing with a succubus with bonus dream powers. At least not a viable way he really wanted to try.
“Y’know, Dean, I was thinking,” Sam said hesitantly. Oh, great. “It might be possible to starve the demon. It feeds on dreams, probably, right? If I don’t give it dreams for long enough, it could weaken and die off.”
Dean nodded and glanced over, eyes locking on Sam’s hands on the steering wheel. They no longer shook, but gripped the wheel tightly enough to whiten the knuckles. He took that as a sign of Sam’s struggle to concentrate. He clenched his jaw. If he was right, Sam shouldn’t be driving and yet the alternative wasn’t really an alternative, either. Sam had a point, though, and Dean had considered it before.
“We have no idea how long that would take. Lack of sleep might kill you before you can kill the demon. Besides, if it goes without for long enough it might just seek out another host with interesting dreams to munch on,” Dean said, and as he did so he realized the futility of their current strategy.
There had been several reports, nationwide, of people who had normally healthy spouses or friends or whatever who’d suddenly started exhibiting the same signs Sam had presented: unexplained fatigue with rapid onset, severe sleep apnea. Despite seeking medical treatment, all those people had died, most of them during an episode of “apnea.” This thing was mobile and strong enough to suck the life out of people even when they were in the hospital, even when they were hooked up to machines designed to jumpstart breathing action when it ceased. And the fact that the potential victims had been scattered all across the country was pretty damned disturbing in its own right. This thing could go anywhere and get anyone.
“If that’s true, then that means I’m going to have to sleep soon. We can’t let it attack someone else.”
Ah, the same conundrum they’d faced with the Black Dogs. Dean hated it, but Sam was right. He thought he’d drawn the same conclusion a while ago and hadn’t wanted to face it. He clenched his jaw. The thought of willingly allowing Sam to venture into a dreamscape that had already nearly killed him terrified Dean to no end.
“No, we can’t,” Dean said. “And yes, you are.”
This was a fight for Sam alone, unless there was a way for Dean to join his brother’s dreams. He didn’t do this mystical shit. Give him a flesh and bone demon any day of the week, and the guns, machetes or fire to kill it. Physical things. He couldn’t reiterate that enough. He tossed around the idea of calling their father again.
“Oh.” Sam didn’t sound nearly as freaked out as he should have, instead was almost stupefied. Dean looked at his brother, whose jaw was set in that way meant to portray determination, but was something else entirely. Maybe Sam was scared. “Maybe we should stop at the next town.”
“Why is that?”
“So I can sleep, make sure this thing doesn’t get the chance to go for anyone else,” Sam said, shifting a quick glance over to him. His brother appeared more and more ragged around the edges, and might just want rest. “Keep it with me.”
Dean’s gut screamed no, his head knew Sam’s idea had merit. If they were even close to right about this, then they’d made a mistake leaving Winnemucca. Salt Lake City was still a hell of a drive away, and he doubted the next town they encountered would be any bigger than Winnemucca. It would probably be smaller. Most of the counties they were driving through only had one town equipped with medical facilities.
“I…”
“You’ll be right there.” Sam cut him off, speaking quickly. “Now at least we know it happens fast, in real time anyway. It might not be bad if you catch it right away. You should probably get some rest now. This could get ugly.”
Déjà vu. Sam was getting damned bossy. Dean frowned at his brother’s profile, as if doing that could possibly help him understand what was going on in Sam’s mysterious brain.
“Okay, bossy,” Dean said. “What I was going to say is that we should see if the next town has a hospital or clinic first. We’re not getting stuck in a town without one, even if we can handle most medical issues ourselves.”
He shouldn’t have to say it. Unnecessary risk was not his bag, though Dean was starting to think that it might be Sam’s just like it sometimes was their father’s. While he’d normally be happy to find traits linking Sam and their dad, that one was not on the top of the list. They wouldn’t think twice about getting themselves killed if it meant taking out the demon that had killed Mom and Jess, and Dean knew that. But that wasn’t the only thing they were careless about. He supposed he wasn’t that much different, only his motivations were about more human things.
“Oh,” Sam said again.
“How are your ribs, by the way?” A not-so-subtle change in topic seemed a good idea. “Need more painkillers yet?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Dean doubted that, but it wasn’t really the time or place to disagree. It was a moot point anyway. Fine or not fine now, chances were things would get worse. He stared out the window. The sun started to peek up over the horizon already. Daylight should make it a little bit easier to stay alert. He closed his eyes briefly to alleviate the dryness. His head spun, symptomatic of his own fatigue.
“I really do think you should sleep,” Sam said. “You look like crap.”
“Thanks.” Dean opened his eyes, eyelids clicking slightly. “Seen yourself lately?”
“Fine, be a stubborn bastard.”
“All right then.”
Sam couldn’t really expect him to just doze off and leave him unprotected. Dean was tired enough that he couldn’t rely on an internal clock to wake him up after twenty minutes. It wasn’t a chance he could take. Sam pushed the car faster and turned up the music. It was Zeppelin. Stairway to Heaven. Dean jerked upright and hit the fast forward button.
~~*~~
Part 6 here
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 09:56 pm (UTC)You do know you are killing me with the suspense....
I'm leaving you this message with one hand over my eyes, because I really don't want to start this 'til it's finished and I can read in one fell swoop - I just know it's going to be worth the wait - but I have to tell you the temptation is....
First you have to taunt me with the "Dreams teach" quote...yeah push all the buttons why don't you? I was listening to Sarah MacLachlan in the car all day and thinking about how the song "Hold on hold on to yourself, 'cos this is gonna hurt like hell" is so Supernatural.....Right at the bottom I can't help but see the Stairway to Heaven mentioned, was listening to that only the other day in the bath...
Then you top it all off my listening to my favourite Peter Gabriel song - (I live only a stone's throw from our Salisbury Hill and our road is named after it, different spelling but close enough hehe). I'm beginning to think you are tormenting me on purpose.
**hugs**
"""Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
Had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
(I) just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom boom boom
"Son," he said "Grab your things,
I've come to take you home.""""
::;sniff::: Even that sounds like Supernatural now....I'm doomed aren't I? :))
no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 01:28 am (UTC)It's amazing how when you get sucked into something, everything else around you seems to relate to it.
I see your Solsbury Hill and raise you a flood:
When the flood calls
you have no home, you have no walls
In the thunder crash
you're a thousand minds, within a flash
Don't be afraid to cry at what you see
The actors gone, there's only you and me
And if we break before the dawn, they'll
use up what we used to be
Lord, here comes the flood
We will say goodbye to flesh and blood
If again the seas are silent
in any still alive
It'll be those who gave their island to survive
Drink up, dreamers, you're running dry
(Here Comes The Flood, PG)
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 01:40 pm (UTC)""Oh God if you’re out there won’t you hear me
I know that we’ve never talked before
Oh God the man I love is leaving
Won’t you take him when he comes to your door""
no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 01:10 am (UTC)It's "One, two, Freddy's comming for you..."
I'm a massive Freddy fan, so, yeah... but I am loving your story so far.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 06:27 pm (UTC)I've, uh, never actually seen Nightmare on Elm Street. Guess that showed. ;)