Title: Crazy Train

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Tag to 11x17 "Red Meat" Still on the mend from their near disastrous encounter with the werewolves, the bunker sends up an alarm that will test the Winchesters' ability to function while wounded. Hurt/caring/BAMF!Sam/Dean

Author's Note: I know. I've never gone this long with a story unfinished and I am so sorry about that! But as many of you know, we recently moved to Seattle from Virginia. Cross-country at a crap time of year for finding a job as well. This was NOT planned well. Lol But we're here and making the best of it. And I hope you all enjoy this wrap-up.

On another note, if you'd like to donate a little to help me out until I get on my feet here, every little bit would be appreciated. December is not the time of year to go job hunting. I hate asking for help for myself rather than others but this time I need it. Please give me a hand if you can, guys. You can donate to my Pay Pal at:
kurriehoyt at gmail dot com
Stupid FFNet not allowing outside links. Sigh. Lol

Know that the money will go toward rent, bills, and food. We're skipping Xmas gifts this year as we simply can't afford it. Never move cities in December. Seriously. Lol Thank you! *huggles*

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
Disclaimer: They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh.

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"Hey. You with me?"

Sam blinked and realized he had zoned out for a moment. Dean had him propped against the wall and a hand on his jaw, trying to see his face. "Sorry. Yeah. I'm good. Let's… let's hurry."

Dean scowled but there was nothing for it; nothing he could do for his brother until they made the train as safe as they could. The muffled sound of something crashing carried through the closed door behind them, amplified and copied by the horn. "That can't be good. Why isn't this salt mist crap stopping the damn horn?"

"It's in a glass case. Can't reach it." Sam planted a hand on the wall beside the door as they reached it. "Hurry."

"I know." Dean unlocked the door, stuffed the key in his pocket, and slid it open. He staggered along with his brother as the car rocked with the impact of the spirit on the door behind them. "This is not our best day ever," he said ruefully as the car rocked again and he let the door close behind them in swirl of white mist.

Chapter 6

Sam leaned tiredly against the wall as the door closed and looked into the softly glowing mist. "She's gonna catch up." He coughed lightly. "That's gonna suck."

Dean nodded. He pulled his shotgun back out and hoped the vapor in the air wouldn't screw with the firing mechanism. "She comes in here, she's gonna get a face-full of rock salt. Alright. What are we lookin' for?" he asked as he stepped across the narrow aisle and found lockers. He brushed his fingers over a swirling symbol on the first one.

"There was a mark on the file." Sam forced his body away from the wall and to the lockers. "Just need to find it. It's a Bowen Knot with a knife through the center."

"That's the thing looks like two infinity symbols crossed, right?" Dean nodded to himself and started down the row of lockers checking each symbol. "What do we do when we find it?"

Sam followed after his brother, swallowing against another bout of nausea. "Figure out what broke the protections and fix it." He looked over his shoulder at the door, but, as yet, there was no sign of the spirit. "That should, uh, suck her back in."

Dean snorted behind his mask. "Suck her in. Nice. That didn't sound dirty at all."

"Dude." Sam rolled his eyes with a laugh even his head gave a little dizzying spin. "Priorities." He leaned more heavily against the locker waging a silent battle with his legs to stay on his feet.

"Got it." Dean traced his fingers over the symbol on the front of the locker and looked back at his brother. He frowned, realizing Sam was nothing but an indistinct shadow in the fog. "Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam called back weakly. He lost his fight with his legs and slid slowly down until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the lockers. "M'good. Check the locker."

Dean's frown turned to a worried scowl, but he knew they were running on borrowed time. "Just hang on. Watch that door."

Sam nodded from his place on the floor. He wanted to get back to his feet. He was no good to his brother or himself sitting on his ass. He coughed and reminded himself that he had taken on a werewolf while gut-shot and killed the damn thing. There was no way he was going to go down now because of a lousy stab wound. "Get up," he muttered to himself. Sam took as deep a breath as the mask would allow him and began the slow, painful process of getting back to his feet.

"Huh," Dean grunted as he got the locker open. It hadn't even required the key and that worried him. The locker opened from floor to ceiling, and he waved at the mist as it swirled and tried to flow into the space, obscuring his vision. A red light glowed from the top of the inside of the locker. It flickered like drops of glowing blood on the blade of a long, dangerous-looking sword with a thin, tapered blade that he knew would match the wounds on his little brother if he bothered to check. Dean jumped with a curse when a hand slapped into his shoulder and he turned to see his brother beside him. "Warn a guy!"

Sam smiled behind his mask. "Shotgun."

"Right." Dean handed his brother his own. He couldn't see much of Sam's face around the mask and goggles, but what he could see was bloodless and pale. He could just hear Sam's ragged breaths and caught his elbow before he could move away again. "Hey. Here. You check this mess out. I'll watch the door." He took the shotgun back from his brother's weak grip and gave him a nudge toward the open locker. "You're the walking library of the weird anyway."

Sam caught himself on the open door and nodded. "She's coming. Be ready." Dean tossed him a salute and moved away into the mist until he was only a shadow. "Ok." He looked in at the rapier and shivered with recognition. He knew what that blade felt like cutting through his flesh. Behind the blade, an intricate scrollwork of whorls and labyrinths had been painted on the back of the locker. They completely surrounded it like an artistic border, and he knew instinctively that it had to be more than that; there was no point in decorating something that was never supposed to be seen. Sam pressed his fingers against the design and felt faint grooves. He rubbed the pads of his fingers down one of the lines and felt something flake off. He brought his hand back out and held it close to his goggles, trying to get a look. It was brown and smeared between his fingers with a familiar sensation, and he suddenly knew what it was. "Blood."

Dean took a step toward the door they had come through, ears straining to hear anything, and he staggered back a step as the car rocked with a loud impact from the other side. "You got that thing figured out yet, Sam? Cause' that bitch is about to be on us."

"Uh, yeah. Think so." Sam ran his hand over the wall inside the locker and felt a section of the metal give. He pressed it and it clicked, dropping out and revealed the same sort of blood device they had used to get in to the engine. He groaned and flicked his eyes in his brother's direction as the car rocked with another impact. He heard the tearing of metal through the fog and then the sound of Dean's shotgun blasting. "Crap. Here goes." Sam slapped his hand down on the pad and winced as the needle stabbed into his palm.

Dean threw himself to the right, slamming into the wall of the train as a spear of shadow slashed out where he had been. "You bitch," he snarled and watched Isabella's black cloud boil through the bent open door into the car with them. The salt and holy water mist swirled around her, and he saw the shape contracting in fits and jerks as though it were being attacked. "Just too damn strong, aren't you?" He fired the second barrel into her and grinned as she pulled back through the door. "Suck on that!" He backed away, feeling a sudden need to check on his brother. "Sam? How's it coming?"

Sam watched his own blood begin to appear at the top of the protective design and slowly fill it, glistening darkly in the red light. "Almost! Just have to… to power up the symbol!" He leaned his head against the side of the locker while his blood continued to flow. He could almost feel it leaving him through his hand, one pulse of his heart at a time. It was sickening, and he was in serious danger of throwing up again. He swallowed hard over and over to push it down while he waited. "'nother minute!"

Dean frowned. He knew that timbre of his brother's voice. It meant Sam was in bad shape and hanging on by a thread. He glanced at the door again but couldn't see it through the mist. "Shit." He turned his back on it and went quickly to his brother. "Sam, what's goin' on?" he asked and leaned into the locker for a clearer look. His brows rose under his goggles. "Is that…" he saw Sam's hand on a plate like the one outside the engine and then noticed the blood that was quickly flowing down to cover the symbol behind the rapier. "You should have let me do this. You don't need to lose any more damn blood!"

Sam shook his head and felt himself break out in a sweat. "No… no time." He stared down at his hand, wondering how much blood it had taken; how much more it would need. "Seems'like 'lot."

"What?" Dean asked as he heard his brother slur. "Dude, stop. Let me…"

"Almost." Sam stubbornly stayed in place, feeling his brother's hand on his shoulder.

Dean snarled and spun toward the back of the car, hearing Isabella's ghost crash through the door again. "Ten seconds, then I'm knockin' you down and finishing it myself." He fired a round in the direction of the door, and hopefully the spirit, and was rewarded with another screech of noise. This time, it was picked up in an echo that gradually grew louder and louder.

Sam watched his blood fill the design, flowing into the last lines at its base. He pulled his hand away from the plate and needle with a groan as it flashed a deep red, filling the compartment with more light. "Got it," he said hoarsely. The light glowed, surrounding the rapier, and Sam heard a single, clear tone ring out through the car.

Isabella's spirit screeched in defiance as Dean reloaded the shotgun. He looked up and saw her dark shape suddenly through the mist. "Shit!" He spun, grabbed a hold of Sam, and took them both to the floor and out of her way before she could barrel into them. He rolled to his back beside Sam with the shotgun ready and then watched as Isabella's form was sucked into the locker and the rapier. The black cloud boiled angrily, but at last it vanished and the locker door slammed closed, outlined briefly in a silver light before that too faded away. The echo of Isabella's screech was slowly fading, and Dean let the shotgun fall to the floor.

"Holy crap." Dean shook his head and rolled to his knees, turning to his brother who had yet to move. "Sammy? You still with me?" He got a low groan in response, and Dean dropped his head in relief for a moment. He grabbed Sam under his shoulders and hoisted him up, ignoring Sam's pained sounds, until he had him sitting against the wall. "Alright, little brother. You're gonna stay here while I run back to the engine."

"N… no." Sam fought his way back up out of the stupor the impact with the floor had driven him into. "Not alone."

"Dude." Dean smiled and patted Sam's shoulder. "You did it. The bitch is back on lockdown. I'm gonna run back and turn off the safeguards, then come back here and patch you up. Just stay put and stop bleedin' all over the damn place."

Sam relented and settled back against the wall. "Mirror car. She knocked a couple over. Be careful."

"I'm always careful!" He grinned.

"Are not." Sam closed his eyes, wishing he could remove the mask and goggles already.

"Sit tight." Dean gave his shoulder a last pat and got back to his feet. He picked up the shotgun and reloaded it just in case. He had to shove the door back into its pocket with a shoulder and winced as the resulting clang of metal set off the horn on the floor above. "Stupid biblical piece of crap horn. Oughtta go up there and load you full of rock salt." He muttered the words lest his own voice set it off even louder and jogged as quickly as he dared across the car to the other side. He found the door there in the same state, but it was jammed open far enough for him to squeeze through without making more noise. He adjusted the goggles on his face and steeled himself as he entered the mirror car again.

Dean moved through the mist, waving a hand in front of his face and groaning as it did nothing to make it easier to see. He walked carefully through the car, shuffling his feet and stopped when the toes of his right boot thumped into something on the floor. He knelt and found one of the mirrors face down on the floor. He warily lifted it up and was relieved to see the shroud still safely attached to its frame. He stood with it and eased it back until it was standing again. The shroud drifted with his motions, but whatever lived inside the thing was being safely held back by the salt and holy water in the air.

"Creepiest damn room I've ever been in in my life," Dean muttered as he felt around with his feet until he found a second mirror on the floor. He lifted that one back up as well and jerked his hands away when his fingers slid over glass that should have been cool and instead felt uncomfortably warm against his skin. He made a last, slow circuit around the car to be sure he hadn't missed one and then headed for the engine.

Sam slumped against the wall behind him and focused on taking even, deep breaths. His head was swimming and his stomach churning. There were few things he hated more than blood loss. He pushed himself up a little straighter on weak arms and allowed himself a heartfelt groan for the pain in his stomach since he was alone. "Crap," he gasped, pressing his left hand over the wound in his gut again. The mist made him feel as though he were wrapped in a stifling blanket and disconnected. It made his nerves twitch, unable to even see the lockers a few feet away from him through the white, gently swirling haze. Every moment that Dean was gone seemed to stretch on longer and longer, and worry for his brother began to override his pain. Sam took a deep breath and began the agonizing process of getting to his feet.

He jerked away from the wall when something thumped into the outside of the car on the other side. "What the hell?" Sam put a hand back to the wall to steady himself and then ducked his head as loud fans whirred to life in the walls and the salt and holy water mist started to thin as it was pulled from the air. Relief flowed through him with the visual evidence that his brother was alive and well at the front of the train.

"Nice, Dean." Sam watched the interior of the car around him appear and realized that every surface was coated in a damp, salty layer. He tugged at his t-shirt, noting that included himself as well. He ran a hand over his hair and felt the gritty residue of salt there as well and groaned. "Gonna take forever to get that out."

Sam walked stiffly and slowly toward the door his brother had gone through and leaned against it. He looked through into the next car as both doors were jammed partially open thanks to the spirit. "Come on," he muttered and smiled in relief as his brother appeared at last.

Dean gave a wave and walked silently through the car so as not to set off the horn in the floor above him. "Hey," he whispered as he reached and grabbed Sam's arm when his brother swayed. "You should be sitting down, genius."

"You took too long," Sam said and smirked while Dean steadied him against the side of the car. "Any trouble?"

"Had to pick up a couple of those creepy mirrors." Dean gave a visible shudder. "Never doing that again."

"We need to get off and get the train moving again." Sam blew out a breath and curled over his stomach a little as a fresh wave of pain pulsed through him. "Longer it sits still, better chance something else breaks out or goes wrong."

"I'll do it, but first we're gettin' you off this crazy train." Dean's voice left no room for argument as he started easing his brother to the rear of the car. "Hopefully, we're not too far from civilization. Dumpin' your ass in the nearest E.R."

Sam snorted. "Dude, I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Dean leaned Sam against the wall beside the door and dug the key out of his pocket, opening it. He looked in to the small entry way and nodded, finding it empty. "Ok, come on." He slid under his brother's shoulder again as they crossed the short entryway and he fitted the key into the outer lock. Dean slid the door open an inch and startled back a step along with his brother as something slammed into the other side with a loud thump. "What the hell is that?"

Sam shook his head slowly and moved cautiously to the open crack in the door. He braced a hand on the wall and peered through the gap. He lurched back as something big and dark blocked out the daylight, feeling Dean's hand fisted in the shoulder of his shirt to steady him. "Can't get a good look at it," he whispered.

Dean scowled angrily as he moved Sam back another few steps. "Bet it's what killed that poor bastard at the switching yard. We never did find out what did that." He rolled his eyes and drew his gun, checking how many rounds he had. "Awesome." He flicked his eyes over his brother, taking in Sam's pale, sweating face, and the pain lines between his eyes, the minute tremble in his brother's fingers against the wall of the car; Sam did not have a lot of vertical time left in him if Dean was any judge. He opened his mouth and his brother waved a hand.

"No. You're not going out there alone." Sam glared weakly at Dean. "Give me a gun. I can watch your back."

Dean studied the obstinate set of his brother's face and then rolled his eyes. "Stubborn pain in my ass, Sammy," he muttered as he pulled his own gun from his back and handed it to him. "You stay back. I'm not carryin' your gigantor ass back to the car." Dean smirked at his brother's soft chuckle and turned back to the door, easing it open a little more. He glanced back, saw Sam's nod, and eased out onto the rear deck. He brought his shotgun up and scanned the area, listening, every sense alert for any sign of whatever was waiting for them. He could see nothing, but he could feel it, his hunter's instincts telling him that, whatever it was, it knew they were there and was biding its time. His skin crawled with the sensation as he moved to the edge and knelt down to hop off. His knees stung with the impact on the gravel between the rails, and he winced as the noise carried on the night air.

Sam squeezed out through the partially open door and leaned against the cool metal of the train car, watching while Dean moved cautiously away and toward his right. He moved to the left and slid his head around the corner. Sam looked along the length of the train stretching into the darkness and flinched when something large and dark dropped and vanished beneath the train. "Shit," he hissed. He moved away and spun to warn his brother, but Dean had moved out of sight. "No, no, no." Sam swallowed, resisting the urge to shout for Dean and give them both away to the lurking creature. He knelt with a soft groan and slid his legs over the side, dropping to the ground and barely kept in a yelp of pain as his legs gave out and he ended up kneeling with the rocks biting into his knees. "Dean," he called as loudly as dared. Sam turned his head, looking beneath the car, and reared back as several sets of glowing, red eyes peered at him from the inky blackness. "Dean! It's here!" He brought his gun up in a rush, leaning back and gasped; the eyes were gone. "What the hell?"

"Sammy?" Dean slid around the back of the train in a hail of gravel and stared at his brother on the ground. "What'd you see?" He followed the line of his brother's weapon aimed beneath the cars, and he dropped to one knee to get a look for himself.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. Lots of eyes. It's not there now." He swallowed and used his left hand to push himself up so he was sitting. "Moved fast. Thought it was flanking you from under the train."

Dean stared into the darkness beneath the train until spots danced in his vision, but there was nothing to see. He blew out a breath and stood. "Alright, this thing is pissin' me off now. Come on." He held his left hand down to help Sam back to his feet and had only the sudden widening of Sam's eyes as warning that he should not have turned his back to the train. He grunted as something heavy slammed into his back and bowled him to the ground with Sam's shout ringing in his ears. He heard Sam's gun fire twice before his head banged into the iron rail of the tracks and stars exploded across his vision.

"Dean!" Sam rolled to his knees, his own pain forgotten as the creature ambushed his brother. He fired twice into the back of the vaguely man-like thing on top of his brother and gasped, falling backward as it spun with an angry snarl and faced him. It had two arms and legs. Its torso was barrel-thick, and its skin looked like the sunbaked earth of the desert - cracked and brown and dry. The head that hissed at Sam, however, was what made him stare in shock. Six fleshy stalks like tentacles protruded from the top of the head and each one ended in an eye. They whipped to stare at Sam, and the wide mouth that nearly bisected the bottom half of the head opened in a snarling roar.

"Oh, shit," Sam breathed. He brought his gun back up and fired again, this time aiming for the head. He wanted to try for the heart, but the creature was too close to his brother and there was no clear shot without risking Dean. He scrambled back, pushing himself to his knees while the creature continued to stare at him. The creature turned and bent low over Dean's back, and Sam could see the eye-stalks lower to brush the back of his brother's head before it straightened and peered at Sam again. Its disturbing gaze focused once more on Sam, and this time he could feel an odd, tingling sensation in his mind. "What the hell are you?"

Sam dragged his left leg under him and shoved his resisting body to his feet just as the creature rushed him in a blur of movement. He fired the gun reflexively, hitting the creature just beneath its throat in a spray of blood, and then it was on him. Clawed fingers dug painfully into Sam's biceps as he crashed back to the gravel. His abused body screamed pain along his nerve endings with the impact, and he was dangerously close to passing out as the waving eyes lowered and touched his forehead.

A sensation of spinning and falling swept over Sam as he felt the sickening sensation of the creature's six eyes pressing against his skin. He struggled to raise his right hand and the gun. His breath froze in his chest, and he felt as though something was being sucked out of him, out of his mind. The creature's head drew back enough for Sam to see all its eyes staring down at him. Sam could see streams of faint light flowing into each of the eyes from his own mind, and he suddenly understood. It was feeding on his magic, on the power he hadn't used for so many years.

"No," Sam gasped in a bare whisper. Fear gave him the surge of adrenaline he needed to bring his arm up. He shoved the muzzle of his gun against the creature's chest, over where he hoped its heart would be, and pulled the trigger. His third shot made it rear back with a scream, and the draining sensation faded. Sam's gun clicked empty, and his hand dropped heavily back to the ground as the creature toppled off to land beside him with its clawed hands covering the bloody hole in its chest. He blinked heavy eyes, rolling his head to look for his brother. Relief flooded through him when he saw Dean struggling drunkenly to his feet, and he smiled.

Dean staggered the few steps to Sam and dropped back to his knees beside him. "Y'ok?"

Sam let his eyes fall closed and nodded. "Took you so long?"

Dean snorted a laugh and looked over at the creature where it still growled and writhed on the ground. "That is one ugly son of a bitch." He slapped a hand down onto Sam's shoulder. "Don't go anywhere." Getting back to his feet was harder than he thought it would be, and Dean tilted dangerously to one side, catching himself on the back of the train car before he fell and made an ass of himself. He looked over his shoulder and saw a smirk on his brother's pale face. "Shuddup."

Sam laughed softly and watched Dean climb back up onto the train and emerge a moment later with the weapons bag that he then tossed to the ground. Sam looked back at the creature and shivered as most of its eyes were still hungrily watching him. He shifted his gaze to his brother when Dean's boots stomped into his line of sight. "Had to come from the train. Must have been let out by Isabella's ghost."

Dean studied the monster and hefted the machete in his hand. He stayed carefully away from its grasp as it flung one arm out toward him. He nodded, seeing that Sam's shots must have done enough damage; it was dying. "Any idea what this thing is before I make with the off-with-its-head?"

Sam smirked and coughed before carefully rolling to his side and pushing himself up so he was sitting. "Uh, I think it's actually a beholder, which is just… impossible." He laughed. "I thought they were made up."

"A what now? Wait." Dean stared down at the creature and its waving eye stalks and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You mean those screwy basketballs with all the eyes from when you used to play D&D with your fellow nerdlings?"

Sam barked a laugh, bracing a hand over his gut and the wounds there. "Nerdlings. Jesus, Dean. Yes. That thing. This one's vaguely humanoid, but all those eye stalks can't be coincidence." He thought back to everything he remembered from playing the role-playing game as a teenager after school and again in college and his eyes widened. "That's what killed Granger! In the game, they're drawn to magic and strong enchantments. If they're real and…." He pointed to the creature on the ground. "… they clearly are, then this train would be like an all you can eat buffet. That's why it followed the train."

"This finish it off, you think?" Dean asked, giving the machete a spin.

"I don't know. I thought they were just fiction!" Sam blew out a breath and shrugged stiffly. "Give it a whack and see what happens."

Dean grinned. "Hell, yeah. I like this plan." He pulled the machete back above his right shoulder, holding it with both hands, planted his feet, and swung. The blade sliced cleanly through the beholder's neck, lopping off one of the eyes as he went, and the head rolled free with a last roar from the creature before it went silent. He nodded happily to himself. "Tell me that wasn't a nat-20."

Sam stared up at his brother and then burst out laughing. "You played!"

"What? Did not!" Dean suddenly realized what he had said and cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Just watched your nerd ass enough times to, you know, pick shit up. Shut up."

"Uh huh." Sam snickered and braced a hand on the ground to keep from falling back over.

"I mean it."

"Sure, Dean."

"Gonna kick your ass."

"Better roll for initiative first." Sam laughed again in spite of how much it made his stomach hurt. It was worth it for the look on his big brother's face.

Dean rolled his eyes and stomped back to the weapons bag. He shoved the machete inside and jerked back a step as the train suddenly began moving. "Guess it's ready to go back on its route."

Sam took a deep breath and regained his feet, still laughing though he was mostly hunched over his gut. "Did you hit something in the engine?"

Dean shrugged and shouldered the bag. "Resetting the failsafes must have reset the whole system. I say let it roll and hope nothing else goes sideways. I am not chasing this bitch down again." He went over to his brother and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Look." Sam pointed down and they both watched as the beholder's head and body began to dissolve.

"Saves me having to dig out the salt and burn it. Come on." Dean pulled his brother's arm over his shoulders and turned them off the tracks and toward the street lights he could see glowing beyond a line of trees. "Let's see if we can catch a ride back to the Impala." He looked over at Sam's face and shook his head. "And you're going to the ER, little brother."

Sam nodded, knowing there was little point in arguing. "You too. You know you've got the imprint of the track on your forehead, right?" He laughed when his brother slapped a hand up to his forehead.

"Bitch," Dean grumbled, rubbing his fingers over the growing welt he could feel near his hairline. He tightened his arm around Sam's waist when he listed to one side. "Easy." He looked down at the disturbing blood stains on his brother's shirt. "How's the bleeding?"

"Sucks." Sam huffed out a laugh and eyed the tree line, wishing it was closer. "I'll make it."

Sam turned his head to watch as the Men of Letters train blew its horn once and started chugging away from them back on its appointed route. "Think anyone'll believe us if we tell them we ganked an actual beholder?"

Dean snorted. "Not a chance."

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The End.