HEY THERE EVERYONE

And by everyone I mean the very few people who encouraged me to finish the story (that means you .777) 3

Anyhoo, this was VERY rushed because I have a very busy day tomorrow and I just really wanted to get this up tonight...

So here's how it ends, ENJOY!

The blood was pumping through Sam Winchester's veins faster than his heart could supply it. When did breathing become this hard? Doesn't matter when, just keep running. He hadn't dared to look over his shoulder since he started running; away from the psycho ghost, but also away from their supplies and, more importantly, his brother.

Should I have stayed? Is Dean okay? Should I run back? The questions were racing through Sam's thoughts faster than his steps were hitting the pavement, but he didn't have time to figure out answers for them. Sam wasn't even sure where he was until he looked up and saw a wooden coaster looming over him.

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can," Roger's voice came from behind Sam, but he just kept going, never looking back, "You can't get away, I'm the maintenance man." The ghost laughed sadistically.

Sam searched his pockets for a weapon of any kind for the fifth consecutive time since he started running, just as he felt a blow to the back of his shoulder, causing him to stumble and, inevitably, to fall.

"Whoops," said Roger, "looks like you didn't run fast enough."

Sam pushed himself up from the pavement and glared at the ghost, his shoulder screaming in pain. He was nearly in a standing position when Roger raised his hammer again and swung it at Sam; he twisted trying to dodge it, but the metal connected with Sam's side and there was a brief cracking sound, signaling a broken rib, followed by a world of pain all down Sam's side.

He screamed in pain as he doubled over, then raised his hands to try and block the next blow- but what good would it do? It wasn't a real hammer, so it couldn't really be defected, but it could sure as hell hurt.

The next blow caught him in the dead centre of his back, and Sam collapsed to the ground, all the air from his lungs momentarily expelled. There was hardly enough air to form coherent words, but he managed a small, "Dean," before cringing in pain.

"Oh, calling out for your brother are you?" Roger's ghost mocked him, "He won't be here any time soon, I tied him up real well."

Another blow, this time to Sam's other side, another crack, another broken rib, another cry of pain

"But don't worry," Roger continued in between hits, "he's fine. I only kill four people at a time."

The next swing of the hammer caught Sam by surprise, coming straight down on his right knee cap, and Sam screamed in inexplicable pain, "Please," he whimpered trying to curl into himself but having to stop when his broken ribs protested, "please."

"Please what, stop?" Another sadistic laugh, "I don't think so- you my boy, are lucky number four."

Roger raised the hammer again, and Sam shut his eyes.

A scream rose from across the park, and Dean cursed. He'd been working at the ropes around his wrists for what seemed like an eternity, all the while he could hear his brother in agony, I'm coming Sammy, I'm coming. Just hold on brother, I'll be there.

The rope was giving a little more leeway now but it still wasn't enough to get his hands out. Dean's eyes searched frantically around for anything sharp enough to cut through the rope, but here was nothing, so he would just have to keep wiggling and hope for the best.

Another scream, this time louder, and longer.

"SAMMY!" Dean had gotten out of hundreds of ropes in his life, why was this one taking so goddamn long? Your baby brother's in serious trouble and you're here tied to a freaking unicorn.

Almost a minute passed before the screams stopped; and the screams either stopped because Sam got away or because –

No, Dean wasn't going to think like that.

Another long and unbearable minute passed before Dean was finally able to get free from the rope. He took off at a dead sprint in the direction that Sam had run, but then skidded to a halt in front of a boring-gray building with a sign that read "Maintenance Office."

Quick as his pounding heartbeat, Dean found the flowerbed and doused it in sat and oil.

"Adios, you son of a bitch."

He struck a match and threw it on the flowers, watching them wither and burn and silently hoping that that would be the last he ever knew of Roger Wailen.

His body was on fire, so he was almost glad when it started to go numb.

Sam attempted to mentally assess the damage done to his body, but everything was becoming a blur. Broken ribs? A couple. Broken legs? I don't think so, just injured knees. Arms? Severely bruised. Head? Miraculously intact, took a couple punches to the face though… black eye?

His bruises were the least of his worries, he soon realized. He struggled to push the fog out of his mind and when he finally did he remembered quite clearly where he was: top of the wooden-coaster.

Where are those other people died, he recalled. Those three teenagers, the four victims before them, and the four victims before them, all died the same way, same place. Tied to the top of the coaster and left to bleed out.

Oh, Sam thought, so that's why my wrist is wet.

He remembered upsettingly that after Roger tied his arms and legs to the tracks of the coaster, he also slit his wrist for good measure. The knife was poised to cut into his other wrist when Roger let out a terrifying scream and vanished into fire.

At first, Sam had been relieved; one less cut meant more time, right?

Wrong. That only works if you can move, but being tied to the coaster tracks with a broken body is not an ideal escape situation, and Sam felt like he was nearing the end and he helplessly watched more blood flow from his wrist and drip onto the pavement four stories below.

Drip. Drip.

"SAM?" Dean had yelled the name a hundred times over, but he couldn't remember ever calling it out more desperately.

He had been running for a while but he just kept running, scared to stop. Was there anything about the past murders that could help him? He racked his memory for any help, but all he could remember was four people, always four people, and the freaking spirit had choses Sam as number freaking four, "SAM?! SAMMY!"

He would scream the name until his throat went hoarse.

Dean finally decided he had to stop, just stop and think for a minute, so he skidded to a halt under the highest peak of the wooden coaster that passed over the paved pathway.

Think, Dean, think. Four victims… what happened to the victims though… suffered severe trauma and then bled out… okay but where… and then finally Dean remembered.

"Tied to the top of the coaster," he whispered out loud.

Drip.

Something wet landed on Dean's arm, and annoyed, he went to wipe it off.

Rain? Dean wondered.

But when he looked at his hand it came away red. Dean suddenly noticed a tiny, tiny puddle of blood where he'd been standing; hard to make out in the dark but all too vividly alarming now.

A gear shifted in Dean's mind and it all clicked for him.

The coaster.

Dean looked up, "SAAAAAAAAAAM?!" He cried desperately, straining his eyesight to see a slight bump on the tracks of the coaster when they were at their height.

Dean had never run faster in his life; hopping the fence that kept civilians out and climbing onto the tracks.

"SAMMY?" Dean yelled again, reaching the part in the tracks that started to go upwards. Hand over hand, shoes struggling to find foot-holds as he made his way up the tracks.

After what felt like millennia, Dean reached the top of the tracks, where there was thankfully a couple feet of platform on one side of the track, and Dean's eyes fell on his brother.

"Sammy," the word was nearly choked out, and Dean ran over to his brother, falling to his knees by his side, "SAMMY?"

Sam's eyelashes fluttered open, hazel irises searching, not finding, and then closing again.

"Come on, Sam," Dean wanted to cry but he resisted, "let's see those eyes again, huh? Those freaking puppy dog eyes, please show them to me, kiddo."

When Sam's eyes opened again, this time staying open, Dean let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in.

"D'n," the youngest Winchester managed to mumble out, "…wrist."

Dean nodded and as quickly and as carefully as he could, he cut away the ropes that had his brother tied down. He reached into the duffle and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping it around the cut wrist and tying it again with a second cloth.

When Sam was free and the blood finally clotted, Dean wasn't sure what to do- they couldn't just stay on top of a roller-coaster now could they?

"Hey, Sammy? How bad is it?"

Sam looked at his brother, opened his mouth as if to say something, then quickly shut his eyes, which Dean recognized as the universal "if I try to say anything I might cry" signal.

"That bad, huh?" That motherfucking ghost I almost wish I hadn't killed him so that I could just kill him all over again that sorry son of a bitch that-

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"I know that we have to get down."

Dean looked at his brother sadly, Dammit Sammy I wish life wasn't so hard for you, I wish you couldn't stayed at Stanford, I wish-

"I can make it, I promise."

Dean smiled down at his baby brother, "I know you can."

It was a painful process, but the brothers finally made it back down to solid ground; Sam trying not to yelp with every movement and Dean trying not to cringe with every yelp. But it was what the brothers did best, when things were tough they clung to each other and when things got tougher they held on even tighter.

After Dean finished wrapping and bandaging Sam's ribs, there wasn't much else he could do- the rest of Sam's injuries were severe bruises and internal injuries. Sam was in a lot of pain, but he was going to make it, Dean would make sure of that.

"So Roger's done?" Sam asked. He was lying on the ground with his head in his brother's lap, he wasn't quite ready to get up just yet.

"Oh so you're on first name basis with the guy now, eh?" Dean smirked.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam smiled back.

"And yes, Mr. Wailen is in fact, done."

"That's good." Sam replied.

Dean laughed quietly to himself about the simplicity of that answer; the poor kid had been beaten within an inch of his life, and all he can say is that it's good.

But then again, looking around, not a harm in sight, his brother safe in his arms, I guess good is an alright name for it.

Dean smiled, and Sam returned the favour; it was good.

FIN

YEP THAT'S IT. IT'S DONE!

Sorry not my best work but I was in a hurry, please please PLEASE let me know what you think!

REVIEWS ARE LOVE!

xoxo

Darby