Shut The Gates At Sunset 19/21

[soncnica]

Title: Shut The Gates At Sunset 19/21
Author: soncnica
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: gen, h/c
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word count: cca. 2.325 this chapter, the whole story has around 48.040 words.
Summary: Shut the gates at sunset, after that you can't get out. A case finds Sam.
Spoilers: Umm S1?
Warnings: Maybe I can warn for catatonia and abuse but not Sam or Dean... and dunno, blood lose. And Sam has a lot of erm embarassing moments in this fic. Poor kiddo, I made him suffer from something kinda... odd. Let's call it... supernatural injury.
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is not mine!
A/N: The title and well the summary come from a song called Enjoy The Ride by Morcheeba. Erm, the song has nothing to do with the story, I just thought it would be an appropriate uh name for it.

 

When Dean parked the car at the cemetery he almost cried at the lie he had to tell Sam. He knew this would be a long search for a headstone that probably doesn't even exist. But he couldn't bring himself to tell that to Sam. It would be foolish to worry him but on the other hand it was a stupid thing to do. They left Leroy to bleed to death so they probably didn't bury him in a marked grave. If they buried him here. If they buried him at all. Sam didn't have to know that. He knew he lied to Sam when he said that he knew exactly where Leroy was buried, but it was an innocent lie, right?

Yeah, Dean you keep telling yourself that and maybe it'll become true.

Exiting the Impala, he ran towards the graveyard, his bag already on his shoulders, the shovel hanging from his hand and leaving bruises on his legs. He searched every headstone, every grave, and every scrap of uneven earth that could be considered as a grave. An owl was his only companion when he ran through rows and rows of unevenly scattered graves.

"The only person that's gonna die tonight my friend, is Leroy." He muttered to the owl and descended down a small hill on the lower level of the cemetery. The branches of the trees were hanging lower here and one of them scraped him over his head: "Son of a bitch."

It didn't help though, the scrape still hurt.

The headstones were older here and Dean thought that luck might just smile upon him.

The night was warm in a cold kind of way as the wind was cold when he swirled around Dean. The grass was brown in color, scorched from the summer sun and it crunched beneath his feet as he moved among the wooden crosses and names of loved ones that were buried underneath.

The moon was still high on the sky with no intention to leave it anytime soon.

"Leroy, Leroy, Leroy, come out, come out wherever you are, you piece of dead bones."

"Lucy, Peter, Nicole, Leonard, Angus, Nicolas, Abel, Samuel," he stopped at the name there, and for a moment he thought back on his brother…

-:-

Sam slept, peacefully and undisturbed. He dreamed of meadows and woods with an occasional wendigo chasing him, but mostly just nothing. No Leroy dying, no Jessica, no Dean in trouble, just peace and quiet.

And then he stared at the ceiling with a horrible notion that Jessica would appear there, burning alive. And then he slept some more with dreams of Dean and himself when they were kids.

And then he watched at the window and thought about Dean on the graveyard digging up Leroy's grave and complaining the whole time. That brought a sour smile upon his face, a smile that soon faded into a gasp for air.

-:-

"Alex, Bernard, Leroy. Ha, got ya, you son of a bitch. 1823 until 1888, you lived long enough I don't know why you have to live beyond your life."

He lowered his bag and his shovel and started digging.

The earth was still damp from the rain as Dean struggled with the shovel. The wet dirt was heavy as he threw it on the side.

"I have to say, Leroy, I'm surprised they buried you in a marked grave, being that they bled you to death. Being that they were afraid of you." he grunted out.

He started sweating and when the cold wind blew around him, he shivered.

His shirt was drenched in sweat as he plunged the shovel into the wooded casket. A small form of bones greeted him: "Well, hello there. Finally…we meet."

He jumped out of the grave and reached for the canister of salt.

-:-

Sam couldn't get enough air to fill his lungs. He gasped and held his hands to his chest wanting somehow to relief the pressure he felt there. He raised himself from his lying position wanting to know if that'll help him breathe.

The hollow eyes with almost black brownness were the first thing Sam saw.

"Leroy." He rasped out and the fire he felt before was in his throat again, burning the soft tissue there all over again.

Long gray hair, thin and sharp like a needle, hung from his face, hiding his face, but Sam saw…he saw the things he couldn't before. He saw the weariness marring Leroy's face. The years he spent on fields, taking care of his crops, years of worrying over rain and sun were almost shockingly evident in his eyes and face. Underneath the farmers exhausted exterior Sam saw loneliness, pain, fear and longing.

"You're the one Ryan was projecting me to. You thought I wouldn't find out?" his voice was like sandpaper scratching on wood. His mouth was moving slowly, too slow for Sam to comprehend the words, but something in his mind told him the meaning of them.

Leroy poked a long, thin, bony finger into Sam's chest, breaking the tip of it in Sam's hoodie. Sam screamed, as pain flared through his chest. He could breathe now, which was little comfort, as every breath he drew in made his chest burn.

"Well, kid," Leroy lowered his gray, wrinkled face closer to Sam's, "I guess I'm going home now and I'm taking Ryan with me."

His voice turned into a soft whisper, barely scraping the surface. His breath as it hit Sam's nose smelled of dirt. A metallic smell of blood lingered on the edges but Sam wasn't quite sure…maybe it was his own blood he smelled.

"What?" Sam said breathlessly, still clutching his chest and looked through tear filled eyes at Leroy's fading form.

"I just wanted to go home. I just want to go home." The words faded into the silence of the room, being absorbed by every object in the room.

The room's dim light became hollow, stripped of all calmness that the light usually brings to a person. It became lonely, silent. The wind outside was the only noise Sam could hear before Leroy faded and took his words with him.

But the meaning still floated in Sam's mind, going straight to his heart.

Wanna go home, Leroy? Yeah well, we don't always get what we want.

It was a vacant thought, a thought brought by pain and: ""Dean! Oh fuck, make it stop!"

Sam screamed and fell on all four, barely missing the side of the bed. His hand fell off, but he got it back up and clutched the blanket.

But there was no Dean to stop the pain, no Dean to help him. It was just him and the dark room. Even Leroy left him.

He could feel the stitches break on his wrist; the blood was starting to bubble out of the cut. His head hurt, he thought his brain would leak out of his ears, maybe I'm bleeding again, his chest still burned like hell.

"Dean!" he sobbed out, tears running into his open mouth, the taste salty and warm on his tongue.

He could feel blood mixing with the tears and he dropped his head to wipe his mouth in the green blanket. It did nothing, the blood was still dripping out, a thick line of bloody saliva coming straight from his mouth to be soaked by the blanket. He rested his hand to his stomach where he felt the muscles constrict. He knew he was going throw up and it wasn't gonna be pretty, as he had nothing to throw up.

He choked, the blood in his throat making him gasp and spit. But it didn't help; the blood was still pooling in his mouth, the tears were silent in their descent, the pain from his wrist shooting spikes of heat up to his eyes.

"Dean! Oh fuuuck!" he yelled at first but soon his words were swallowed by a whimper.

"Dean." a whispered cry.

He wasn't afraid that someone would be coming to knock on his door, he would actually be happy if someone would come. He wondered if Leroy felt like this when he was dying. Scared, alone and in pain, with no one to help him, far from home.

Alone.

-:-

After pouring the gasoline on the bones he light up his lighter. The flame brightened the darkness surrounding him and he threw the canister into the grave. The flame lit up his face as a smile was slowly creeping upon his lips.

"Just die. For good this time, you son of a bitch."

He didn't have time to glow on a job well done. He had to get back to Sam.

-:-

If this is how dying feels, Sam thought, remember to ask Dean to shoot me when my time comes.

"Oh God." He clutched at the blanket with his hands and braced himself for the retching that he felt coming. Nothing came out, but spit and blood. He groaned and let his head fall on the bed. He rocked a little, the motion almost relaxing him.

When his forehead hit the blanket, he groaned some more. The thought of why this was happening never entered his mind. When another cramp hit his stomach he cried out. Tears were mixing with the sweat on his face, and tickled down his neck.

"Dean! Make it stop," he cried silently into the blanket, drowning his face into his blood, tears and sweat, "please."

But there was no one. No one to help him, when everything in him was breaking and falling apart. His spine felt like someone was trying to break it in two and he leaned himself on his forearms.

Little white dots were dancing in front of his eyes, like snowflakes in winter. He was cold, so cold…his shirt was drenched in sweat, his hoodie soaked and smelly. He hated that smell…the smell of helplessness. He choked on it, sending little droplets of blood to land on the blanket.

"God…oh, fuck. Make it stop." He didn't know if he said those words out loud, didn't know if he was even alive at all. Every sensation imaginable was put up a notch, flooding him, making him twist and turn from the inside out. When he thought his spine would crack in two, there was nothing. No pain, no blood, no retching, no cramps, no burning sensation, nothing. It was almost like something sucked the pain from him, leaving him spent.

He raised his head from between his shoulders and looked at the table in front of the foot of the bed. He found his breath, and he used it. Breathing as deep as he could, he looked at his surrounding.

I died and this is how it is. A motel room, great. Just…crap.

He let his head fall on his hand again. The sound of a telephone ringing brought him back to reality. He raised himself from the bed, slowly when he felt a cramp in his leg.

"Dean." breathless.

He remembered Dean putting his phone near the bed somewhere, and when he raised his head from his forearm to look around the room he saw a flash of light on the nightstand.

He breathed and reached his hand to pick up the phone.

"Dean." he wiped away the tears from his eyes, his leg still in a cramp, but otherwise he felt great.

"Sam? What's wrong?" his heart fell into his stomach at the sound of Sam's voice.

"Actually…nothing." He still couldn't get the crack of fear and pain out of his voice, and he knew Dean would pick up on that and worry…too much.

"Sam?"

Just one word, just one little three letter word and Sam heard everything his brother wanted to say with that. That Dean was scared, that he knows he's scared, that everything will be alright. And he even heard one thing that he was positively sure Dean didn't even wanted to say…you're not alone.

He blinked once to put away that thought, to keep it safe somewhere inside and he choked out: "Where are you?"

"On my way to you. I'll be there in a few minutes. Leroy is toasted." He smiled, and Sam could see him with that triumphant smile on his face and he had to smile himself.

"He came here…"

"Sam? Are you O.K.? Did he hurt you?" his eyes widened when Sam told him that, the heart in his stomach fell even lower.

"No, Dean. I mean yes. I mean…that's the point. I feel fine. I feel like nothing happened. I feel like I've just slept for a really long time." And it was true. He felt absolutely amazing. Like nothing happened.

"Sam, are you sure you're fine? You sound a little…drugged."

"Funny, Dean. No, listen to me. I feel great."

He checked himself out. There was blood on his hoodie and shirt, blanket was full of it too and the room smelled of blood, bile and sweat. Yeah everything's fine…normal.

"What did Leroy want?" down to business, with his heart down to his knees.

"He," his eyes widened with the realization of what Leroy said, "Ryan."

"Sam?"

"He went after Ryan."

He stumbled off the bed, the cramp in his leg gone, when he messaged it back to normal while talking to Dean and zigzagged towards the door. He tripped on the blanket that fell of the bed and cursed it. The door were easy to open, because he was doing that his whole life…so was breathing but he was still looking for his breath when he walked on unsteady legs towards the object of his affection right now.

"Sam stay where you are, I'm gonna get you."

Dean heard a car in the background.

"Sam?"

"Just get to the hospital." and he hung up.

"Idiot." Dean muttered to himself as he threw the phone on the passenger seat and floored the Impala.

TBC…

 

Comments

[27-jaredjensen.livejournal.com]

Aww, Sammy!! He really had it rough there, huh? Intense chapter:) I’m glad that he’s getting back to normal, though. Haha, I love the "idiot" from Dean at the end:)

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

yeah he really did have it bad... man, I just love hurting that boy :)

ROFL! Dean's just Dean... ya know!
and I miss this now.. in S6... *sigh*

thank you!

S.

[vonnie836.livejournal.com]

Wow, I'm glad Dean found Leroy and burned him. This last attack on Sam was bad, but I really wonder how Ryan is doing. And somehow I have the feeling this isn't over yet. What a ride. Hugs, Vonnie

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

*giggles* :))))

S.