The Man in the Dark
Chapter One
I was never afraid of the dark
not until I realized who dwelled in it
who wielded the shadows to his bidding
and only when I saw the flash of his knife
did I realize it was too late.
Dean had been underwater for nearly two minutes. Sam stood on the shoreline frantically searching for any sign of his brother. It shouldn't be taking this long. He desperately wanted to dive in and swim to the bottom of the lake and make sure Dean was simply taking his time. Dean was just being careful and making sure everything was right. He was just trying to piss Sam off. But Dean had told him specifically to stay on the shore. Stay out of the water in case the expulsion rune didn't work. Stay out of the water in case the lake spirit was still around. And he planned on doing that, for the first thirty seconds since Dean had disappeared beneath the surface. When a minute rolled around, Sam had taken off his hoodie. At a minute thirty, Sam had waded into the water knee deep. And now, at two minutes, Sam was just waiting for a sign, hoping he was wrong, hoping he was worrying over nothing. Dean could hold his breath for two and a half minutes if he tried really hard. No need to panic. Sam didn't need to panic. Dean was going slow, being precautious. That's what Dean did, right?
But when the up rush of bubbles hit the surface, Sam wasn't even thinking as he dove beneath the water. His flashlight held out in front of him, he tried to spot his brother as he dove deeper and deeper. He could see the faint glow of Dean's flashlight and he used it as a beacon, hoping Dean was still nearby. Sam found the rune first. Dean had placed it carefully, atop a sunken gravesite. It had taken two weeks of research to figure out what to do about the lake spirit. Their father's journal hadn't said anything about it. So Sam and Dean had gone through every resource they knew, trying to find a way to dispel it. They'd finally found the rune. Carve it into a sandstone rock and place it atop the grave. So here it was, the expulsion rune, the grave, no lake spirit, and no Dean. What the hell? If the rune was placed, he should have come back to the surface, right?
Sam swam around a tree stump, using his flashlight to shine through all the wildlife and debris in the water. He was acutely aware that he was running out of air and would need to return to the surface soon. But God, if he was running out of air, he didn't want to think about how Dean was holding up, if he was holding up at all. Panic began swelling up inside him as he realized it was very possible his brother may have been taken by the lake spirit just as the rune was being placed. No, that couldn't be. He was going to find his brother. He'd go back up for air and Dean would be standing on the shore, peeved at him for disobeying him. And sure, he'd sound a lot like their father, but Sam wouldn't care. Tonight, he wouldn't care if Dean yelled at him, chastised him, hell he wouldn't care if Dean outright punched him. He just wanted Dean to be there.
As he began turning himself to kick towards the surface, Sam's flashlight suddenly illuminated a figure in the water. It took Sam half a second to recognize the form of his brother, floating limply, head sagging, one foot caught in a tangle of rope and seaweed. Sam was horrified. He propelled himself towards his brother, feeling his lungs burning, but he wouldn't leave Dean down here for a second longer than he had to. He had to get him out of the water. As Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, he wanted to cry when his brother didn't react. Just kept on floating. Kept on sagging. Dead to the world. No, not dead. Just unconscious, not breathing. Sam tugged and pulled on the rope and the weeds, remembering awfully quick that he'd never been able to beat his brother's record for holding his breath. He'd never even come close.
Finally, Dean's foot came free. Sam grabbed him beneath the arms and kicked off the bottom of the lake, swimming towards the surface, holding Dean's limp body as close to his own as possible. He was getting dizzy, but he wouldn't let himself fail, not when it wasn't only his life on the line, but also his brother's. Sam broke the surface with an exploding gasp. It took him a moment to regain himself and when he did, he swam backwards towards the shore, concentrating on holding his brother's head above water, even though it was painfully obvious by Dean's pale complexion and blue lips that he wasn't breathing.
Reaching the sandy banks, Sam lugged his brother up and out of the water and then collapsed to his knees beside him. He put a hand on Dean's neck, feeling for a heartbeat. There was none and Sam's stomach dropped. His world seemed to stop. He was too late. Dean was gone. He was dead. He felt physically sick, but pushed his own health and horrible thoughts away, trying to stay calm and take control of the situation. There was still time, he could still bring him back. He tilted Dean's head back and began compressions on his chest. After thirty, he pinched Dean's nose closed and breathing into his brother's mouth, wishing Dean would wake up and shove him off, disgusted that his brother's lips were on his own. He felt for a heartbeat, but still there was none.
"No," Sam cried. He began compressions again. "Dean, come on," Sam begged, watching his brother's slack face, blue and pale and utterly dead. No, not dead. Just unconscious, not breathing, no heartbeat. He continued compressions and breathed for his brother again. Touching his neck, still there was nothing. Sam felt tears well up in his eyes, he couldn't hold back the sob as he began compressions again. "Dean, please," Sam begged to his brother's still form. "Don't do this to me. You're gonna let a piece of seaweed bring you down?" Come on Dean, wake up and laugh at my joke. You'd find it funny, I know you would. So just wake up and I'll joke with you all you want. I won't even complain. I'll let you rag on me all you want. Just please open your eyes goddamn it.
And as Sam breathed for his brother a third time, still unable to find a pulse, and began compressions again, he couldn't stop the sobs that escaped him. Sobs that came when his mind started to convince itself that Dean would not be waking up. He would not open his eyes and tell Sam to piss off. He would not pull Sam into a hug and tell him everything would be all right. And Sam didn't bother to hide the tears.
There was a white river and he was standing on the edge of it. He didn't remember how he came to be here. It was quiet near the river. It wasn't water. Water never looked this beautiful. It was like pearls. Endless, shapeless pearls sparkling and swirling together, moving in a current, laughing and dancing and singing, but doing it all silently. And he could only watch and wonder how he got here. He felt as though something were missing. His hand was empty. He felt alone.
I don't want to be alone, he heard himself say. He hadn't opened his mouth. It had been his voice, caught on a wind that wasn't blowing. He stepped forward, his toes dipping into the white river. It wanted him. He could feel it. Small hands grabbed at his skin and he began sinking. Being removed. Being erased. Being forgotten. I don't want to be forgotten.
And then his skin was on fire. Wherever the white river was touching him, he was burning. It should have been painful, but he didn't know pain anymore. He was disappearing. He knew this was wrong. The white river started to transform around him. The glossy pearls turned to black stones. Jagged structures jutted out from beneath the white. They soiled the river. Tainted it. Burned it. And he could feel it was wrong. But he was still sinking and he couldn't stop it. He was being consumed.
"Stop." A voice. Noise. It broke through the silent, senseless world and he remembered sound. He felt a hand grip his own and he remembered touch. His hand was no longer empty. He remembered movement and turned his head. He saw her face and remembered sight. But he could not remember her. He couldn't, because he had never known her. But she didn't feel wrong. "Come." She commanded and he listened.
Then they were running. And it was no longer familiar. The white river was gone. But in its place stood a black mountain and the mountain moved. The mountain ran after them, chasing. He feared the mountain. He didn't know why, but he did. But the hand in his own kept pulling, kept tugging, kept assuring. And then they were falling. It didn't hurt when they landed. She sat him down and closed a door. They were inside a white box. Beneath the door, the black mountain peeked in, but could not see.
Where are we? He asked without a voice. I don't remember this place. And he didn't. He couldn't, because he had never known it. Am I lost?
"I found you," she told him, cupping his face in her hands. "You're going to leave me soon."
I don't want to. I want to stay.
"You'll find me again soon."
I don't want to be alone. And she wiped away a tear he didn't know he had cried. He couldn't recognize sadness.
"You won't be," she smiled and he heard another voice, in the distance, but couldn't make out the words. It sounded familiar. He knew he could remember it. He could, because he had always known it. "Hero," she gave him a name. He knew it wasn't his, but he accepted it anyway. "I need you to save me. I'm in the blue house. We have white shutters. I need you."
How will I remember? I don't remember you and I'm looking right at you. And even as he stared at her, she was fading. Her voice softening, the other growing. He was starting to remember what was real and forget what was not. How can I save you?
"You save everyone. You'll remember. You have to leave. He knows you're here. He'll be waiting for you in the cellar." He didn't think he understood. And as soon as the words were said, he forgot them. He didn't think he could remember. She turned and he saw the black mountain beneath the door. It eyed him and he knew he hated it. "You have to leave," she repeated. "Breathe."
Breathe? And his voice mingled with hers and changed into another. And the white room faded and the black mountain slipped away with a screech. And he forgot about the white and the black and her. And he remembered the water, the cold, the life. He remembered the world. He remembered the pain.
"Breathe!" the new voice yelled. And he remembered love.
That was all he needed to forget the forgotten.
"Dammit, Dean!" Sam screamed after the fifth round of compressions. He grabbed hold of the front of Dean's shirt and lifted him up, begging to whatever god was listening to just let his brother live. To just start his heart one more time. To let him stay here, because Sam couldn't do this by himself and if Dean left, he'd have no one. "Breathe!" Sam screamed, shaking his brother's still form, running out of other options.
Then, because Dean could never deny his Sammy anything, he coughed up a lungful of water. Sam shuttered with hope and fear and watched as Dean coughed, water leaking from his mouth. Sam gave another sob, this one of utter and pure joy and rolled his brother onto his side, rubbing small circles on his back, watching as Dean coughed out all the water he had breathed into his lungs and sucked in the precious air that had been withheld from him. He choked and gagged and coughed, but it was the most beautiful sound Sam had ever heard. Dean's eyes fluttered open and focused slowly. Sam was still leaning over him, watching him. Had he been gone too long? He hadn't been breathing for nearly six minutes. Was that too long for his brother to be okay?
Dean's eyes flickered around before he turned his head slightly and they fell on Sam. Sam just watched him, hoping to see recognition there. Hoping beyond hope that Dean would know who he was, would be able to think and speak and move like he used to. Dean coughed once more and Sam saw the most gorgeous sight he had ever laid eyes on as Dean's lips curled into a smile.
"Oh God," Dean groaned, his voice hoarse and weak. "We didn't kiss or anything, did we?" Sam was crying again, but this time they were tears of a different kind. He ignored his brother's resistance to touchy feely moments and tugged him into a sitting position before wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tightly. When he pulled away, Dean was looking at him tiredly, bemused. "That bad, huh?" he asked, eyes half closed.
Sam let out a chuckle and ran a hand over his face, wiping away the remaining lake water and tears that had been staining his cheeks. "God, Dean, I thought you were dead," he admitted, watching as Dean tiredly took in his surroundings.
"Nah," Dean choked out, coughing. "Can't be rid of me that easily." He looked at the water and his eyes narrowed. "Did we get rid of it at least?" he asked, obviously not knowing what else to say. He looked away from Sam as he started to shiver. Sam left his side for just two seconds, one of his hands never really leaving Dean's leg. He grabbed his hoodie and brought it back, wrapping it around Dean's shoulders.
"Yeah," Sam answered, squatting in front of his brother and just looking at him. His color was returning. But he couldn't get the image of his brother's blue lips and white face out of his mind. His relief was slowly turning into exhaustion and he could see the feeling reflected in Dean. Sam couldn't resist anymore. He reached out and ran a hand over his brother's head. Dean just looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
"I know we kissed and everything, but do we have to cuddle too?" Dean tried to joke and Sam just frowned, biting his lip to keep from crying again. It had been too close this time. Way too close. When Sam didn't say anything, Dean sighed heavily and let his shoulders drop. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," he whispered.
Sam scoffed and stood up, exhaustion turning into anger. He turned away and faced the water, arms crossed over his chest. "You weren't breathing, Dean," he said, turning to looked at his brother and making sure Dean heard him and understood. "You didn't have a heartbeat. I thought…" Sam's voice broke and he had to close his eyes for a moment and collect himself. "I thought this was it."
There was a grunt and Sam opened his eyes to see Dean trying to stand up. It looked as though his limbs were made of rubber, and it probably felt that way too. Sam went to his side immediately, placing a hand on his arm and holding him steady. Dean took a deep breath which ended in a watery cough. But he cleared his throat and looked at Sam pointedly. "Yeah, well it wasn't," Dean said, reaching up and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
Sam just glared back at him. "That's the best you can do to comfort me? 'Yeah, well it wasn't?'" Sam mocked. Dean just shrugged.
"Hey," he said and pointed at himself. "Drowning victim here. Give me a few minutes to come up with something poetic." Dean grinned, though it looked like it took a lot of strength out of him to do so.
Sam gave him a smile back and then shook his head. "I know," he whispered. "It's just, I'm tired of you almost dying."
Dean chuckled at that and Sam couldn't help but smile. "Yeah I know," he said with a shake of his head. "But, if you look at it from the other side, it's better than almost living," he said with a shrug. Sam shook his head and looked away, feeling the last of his fear slowly starting to seep away.
"Let's just get out of here," Sam said.
"Please," Dean answered, letting Sam help him up the hill to where they had parked the car. He was tired, exhausted actually and his lungs were sore and heavy and his ribs were bruised. But it was better than not being able to feel anything at all, he supposed. "I'm gonna smell like fish for a week." Sam chuckled and left Dean's side once they got to the car and he made sure Dean could make it the rest of the way. "I guess it's all in a day's work," he said, opening the car door.
Sam smiled at him from the other side before climbing in. "It's what you get for playing the hero all the time," Sam muttered. Dean paused, the words striking him in a way they normally wouldn't have. He stood, half in the car, half out and tried to figure out why the words were lashing out at him so. Sam, who had started the car, leaned over to eye him. "Dean?" he asked, worried again.
But Dean just shook his head and sat down, pulling the door shut behind him. He tried to wrack his brain, find the memory that was eluding him. He felt like he was forgetting something, but he didn't know what there was to forget. He tried to remember, but nothing would come. And then, as if his brain was reaching out and taunting him, he caught a glimpse of a memory he shouldn't have. A voice, a girl. She was touching him. She'd given him a name. "Hero," Dean whispered.
Sam looked over at his brother, wondering if maybe he'd been too quick to assume his brother was all right. "What?" he asked after hearing him whispered something.
Dean looked over at him, confusion in his eyes, but he quickly shook his head and gave a small chuckle. The memory was gone, whatever it had been. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "God I need a drink."