Disclaimer: Sam and Dean ... toys for grown-up girls ;0)
Synopsis: The poop hits the fan for Dean and Sam - aah poetry (grin)
Just a quick heads-up - I'm a complete and utter comic book fanatic - so my writing style reflects a bit of that madness - you've been warned (wink, wink, nudge, nudge!)
Transference
By Merisha
Thanks to John for Beta-ing it for me ;0)
"I said drop it!!"
The sheriff has his gun aimed at Sammy, Sammy is aiming at the Lich (who tonight, ladies and gents, is masquerading as the damsel in distress) and I'm aimed directly at the sheriff. Your typical Mexican standoff ala Winchester. Shit, I really hate it when this happens! My neck pops as I rotate it slowly. The muscles in my arms are tense, if he so much as twitches, he's gonna be dead before he's meddling ass hits the floor. Innocent bystander or not, nobody threatens my baby bro!
"Like I said before sheriff, this isn't what it looks like!" I am seriously pissed but my poker face gives nothing away and my eyes never waver from my target.
"Listen boys, I don't know what your 'beef' is with this young gal, but this ain't the answer! Now lower your guns slowly and let's discuss it all civilized like."
Beef … he said beef … I love countrified folk!
The 'gal' in question is standing motionless in front of Sam's aim, looking imploringly at the sheriff, the true picture of frailty and innocence. There's no doubt this Lich is good at what it does.
"Sheriff, I know this looks bad, but please, you've got to trust me when I tell you that the thing standing before us is a murdering monster!" I can hear the irritation seeping into Sammy's voice. The Sheriff doesn't seem convinced and my gut tells me this isn't going to end well.
We've been tracking this crafty bitch for four solid days. Sammy's research and my keen sense of navigation (with a slight detour, cause I don't need to ask for directions) eventually led us to Eastern Wyoming, where 6 untimely deaths occurred over the past month. The victims seem to have died from self inflicted wounds; the offending weapons still clutched in their very stiff hands. Sammy figures that statistically that means that almost a tenth of the town are suicidal. Snort! Definitely worth an investigation.
We did the whole fake "FBI agents Smith and Jones" thing to get a closer look at the victim's files. Must've inadvertently raised some suspicion with the local sheriff, who did some FBI'ing of his own, and followed us. The trail led to this abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of town and just as we were about to open a can .. the sheriff showed up. So here we all are, with a very confused officer-of-the-law (who's got the wrong end of the stick) thinking that we're on the verge of shooting an innocent girl, when in fact we're trying to snuff out the life of this cold blooded killer.
It's probably hundreds of years old from what we can gather. With the help of Sammy's google-ing we found out that Lich's are powerful, magical and very undead creatures. I really hate undead creatures. These things apparently sell their souls to a demon or the devil himself (which hit a bit close to home) so that they can inherit evil powers like raising the dead or stealing life in order to live. The Hellhound-blog says that they can transfer damage to anyone who attacks them in close contact and we're already to close for comfort. We've never been up against the likes of it before so our plan was simply to kill this mother and get the hell out of Dodge, but the Sheriff is kinda messing with that plan. When was anything ever simple for a Winchester?
Which brings us back to the here and now …
"You boys are already knee deep in the compost, so lets not make matters worse, you need to put your gun's down so that …"
But before he can finish his sentence, the Lich decides to make its move. It lunges forward with unexpected speed. Sammy manages to get off a shot …
"POWW!!"
… and just barely wounds it in the shoulder. The innocent face of the young girl contorts hideously as it barrels towards me. Holy crap! I take aim, shoot …
"POWW!!"
… and miss.
"Shit!"
I don't get time for a second shot. This thing is faster than the speed of light and yet everything seems to be moving in slow motion. It's just like when that Clark Kent dude from Smallville goes into bullet-time.
The creature swooshes to the left, it's so close I can feel its decaying breath on my cheek. For an instant I get lost in its murky eyes and get a terrifying look at authentic evil. I fight the urge to throw up. Its claw like hand reaches out and brushes my shoulder as it shoots by. A cold tendril of hopelessness seeps through my skin from that touch and freezes me to the core. I suddenly feel that I'm almost definitely in deep shit. I look over at Sammy who's running towards me, a raw "NO" reverberating from his lips. The shocked sheriff decides that now is a good time to come out of his stupor, spins around and fires ...
"POWW!!"
He catches the Lich squarely in the chest. It looks straight at me for a split second and smiles, then screeches out through the door and into the night. The whole thing is over in an instant.
That wasn't so bad. The gun slips from my relaxed grasp and thuds to the wooden floor. I grin awkwardly at Sammy. He's suddenly right up in my face. I battle to focus on him for a second.
"No … No … No …!"
I want to tell him that it's okay … we at least wounded it … that means it won't get very far … we'll just hunt it down, again ...
But I can't seem to get a word out. I cough instead.
"Coughhhh!"
I taste blood. I taste blood? Is it just me or is the floor tilting?
"You're okay, I've got you, I've got you!"
Sammy's hands are holding me, holding me up. I look down incomprehensibly at the blood seeping between my fingers. My hands have somehow found their way to the gapping wound in my chest. There's a gapping wound in my chest? How did that happen? It suddenly dawns on my addled brain … a Lich can transfer damage … close contact … it touched me …
"Oh shit! Oh Shit!" my voice sounds shaky and weak. I'm sure that's not a good sign. I think that it may be a possibility that I'm dying over here. Shit, I hope I'm not dying! I really didn't want to end it all in some old shack in the middle of nowhere. I was secretly hoping to leave my mortal coil age 95 banging a voluptuous blonde. Life just keeps handing me those damn lemons!
I look up at Sammy and there are tears in his eyes, but that doesn't hide the stubborn and determined glint. It's the same look he always gets when he'd do anything to save me. My chest suddenly tightens.
The pain is finally making its presents known and my eyes start to water. I cough up some more blood. Oh this is just peachy!
"Coughhhh! Ouch!"
I really hate pain.
And then as if on cue my shaky legs begin to buckle. Luckily Sammy has a firm grip on me as we both sink to the floor. He manages to turn me into his hold and I find myself cradled up against his chest, my head falling back to rest on his shoulder. Generally I'd protest the whole 'chick-flick' moment and rag Sammy for being such a girl. I don't. I shake slightly … must be going into shock. The intensity of the pain doubles as Sammy pushes his hand down on the wound. There's blood everywhere. My blood.
"AAAAAH shit Sammy!!" I huff through the waves of agony. I think I may just need to pass out for a while.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I've got to stop the bleeding Dean!"
"What the hell just happened?" The Sheriff is kneeling next to us. He brushes an unsteady hand through his hair.
"You Bastard!"
I jump slightly at the harshness of Sammy's tone.
"Look what you've done …" he looks uncomprehendingly at the Sherriff and his voice breaks as he whispers "… look what you've done!!"
The sadness in his voice is almost too hard for me to bear.
"Sammy? It's okay, he didn't know …" I suddenly feel very weak. It's like someone is switching me off from the inside. I clutch Sammy's arm like a lifeline. His will power is the only thing keeping me lucid. I don't want to die, not yet, I'm not ready. I still have 9 month, 22 days, 7 hours, 35 minutes … but who's counting?
It's at times like this that I wish I could be like John Wayne or Steve McQueen and rattle of some classic one liner like "I'm the stuff men are made of" … but instead I whimper …
"Owie! Owie! Owie!"
TBC …