Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
boyking) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2009-08-01 10:07 pm
boyking) wrote in damned_institute2009-08-01 10:07 pm
Entry tags:
Nightshift 42: Ames Street
[from here; fast-forwarding past that thread with permission]
[ Inside Residence #3 ]
The problem with busting down a door instead of picking the lock was that the door wouldn't close properly after. When you were trying to barricade yourself inside from a horde of the living dead, not having a door that could close was a bit of an issue.
As were the very breakable windows. Sam didn't even know if the things outside were smart enough to deliberately smash the windows, but with enough pounding, glass was gonna break whether you meant for it to happen or not. He needed something with no windows and a single entrance with a locking door (preferably with a bolt, but he'd take what he could get). Which meant basement. If there was one. House like this, there had to be one.
No telling if the house wasn't occupied by zombies of its own, either. He didn't really have time to go around checking. Still, he'd rather take his chances in here than out there. Unlike Peter, apparently, the goddamn idiot, and he couldn't help wishing Dean had picked a better time to get his ass sedated. There was no way in hell he'd ever abandon his brother, but it didn't mean he liked having to turn his back on a town full of people or the guy who'd basically saved them both.
Too late to dwell, though. There wasn't anything he could do about it now.
Still holding onto Dean, he hustled him through the house. He was sure it'd been a nice home once, but it looked a bit broken down now, the walls cracked and yellowed, tiles in the dining room peeling. Sam didn't stop for anything. Taking a detour to look for a weapon was a bad idea when he had an armful of barely-conscious Dean and it wasn't as if he had his hands free, anyway. Keeping a grip on Dean was hard enough as it was. Dean wasn't exactly being helpful; he was damn near carrying his brother by the end, almost stumbling his way along. At this rate, his knee was never gonna heal.
He kept expecting one of those freaks to pop out of a closet any second, but either they were really lucky or something much, much worse was in store later. He found the door to the basement near the back of the house. Damn it, if it was locked—
But it wasn't. The knob spun beneath his hand, door swinging inward slowly, revealing pitch black darkness and a set of stairs he could hardly see the steps of.
Stairs. Oh God, stairs.
Stairs were good, technically speaking. They were narrow and let only one person through, two at most with some squeezing. It meant they could avoid getting dog-piled by a bunch of undead corpses. When you were supporting someone's dead weight on a bum knee, though, stairs pretty much just sucked. Looking down them now, Sam thought he might as well have been told to go down a mountain.
So he fumbled for the light switch along the wall, scanning the room to make sure there wasn't anything ready to jump them behind those boxes, then bolted the door and simply eased Dean down at the top of the stairs. They couldn't stay up here too long, but it would do for now. It didn't seem like anything was coming right after them. He figured they were...well, not exactly safe, but they weren't seconds away from getting killed. Which, frankly, was as safe as it ever got for them.
A few minutes, that was all he needed. Then he could go down first, check the area out. The last thing he needed was to drag Dean down only to have to drag him back up 'cause there was a damn zombie lying in wait. It'd be just their luck, too.
Sam let his head fall back against the door with a dull thump before he glanced over at Dean. Dean, who was starting to tip to the side dangerously. Jesus Christ.
It took some rearranging of limbs and a little bit of pushing, but he eventually got Dean to sprawl against his shoulder instead of just tumbling right over his lap. Though that would've made a picture worthy of blackmail and the thought almost made him smile. Almost.
Sam nudged him. "Hey. How're you doing?"
He didn't really expect to get a proper answer, but he was hoping to at least elicit a grunt. Maybe a mumble. Just something to let him know Dean could at least hear him.
[ Inside Residence #3 ]
The problem with busting down a door instead of picking the lock was that the door wouldn't close properly after. When you were trying to barricade yourself inside from a horde of the living dead, not having a door that could close was a bit of an issue.
As were the very breakable windows. Sam didn't even know if the things outside were smart enough to deliberately smash the windows, but with enough pounding, glass was gonna break whether you meant for it to happen or not. He needed something with no windows and a single entrance with a locking door (preferably with a bolt, but he'd take what he could get). Which meant basement. If there was one. House like this, there had to be one.
No telling if the house wasn't occupied by zombies of its own, either. He didn't really have time to go around checking. Still, he'd rather take his chances in here than out there. Unlike Peter, apparently, the goddamn idiot, and he couldn't help wishing Dean had picked a better time to get his ass sedated. There was no way in hell he'd ever abandon his brother, but it didn't mean he liked having to turn his back on a town full of people or the guy who'd basically saved them both.
Too late to dwell, though. There wasn't anything he could do about it now.
Still holding onto Dean, he hustled him through the house. He was sure it'd been a nice home once, but it looked a bit broken down now, the walls cracked and yellowed, tiles in the dining room peeling. Sam didn't stop for anything. Taking a detour to look for a weapon was a bad idea when he had an armful of barely-conscious Dean and it wasn't as if he had his hands free, anyway. Keeping a grip on Dean was hard enough as it was. Dean wasn't exactly being helpful; he was damn near carrying his brother by the end, almost stumbling his way along. At this rate, his knee was never gonna heal.
He kept expecting one of those freaks to pop out of a closet any second, but either they were really lucky or something much, much worse was in store later. He found the door to the basement near the back of the house. Damn it, if it was locked—
But it wasn't. The knob spun beneath his hand, door swinging inward slowly, revealing pitch black darkness and a set of stairs he could hardly see the steps of.
Stairs. Oh God, stairs.
Stairs were good, technically speaking. They were narrow and let only one person through, two at most with some squeezing. It meant they could avoid getting dog-piled by a bunch of undead corpses. When you were supporting someone's dead weight on a bum knee, though, stairs pretty much just sucked. Looking down them now, Sam thought he might as well have been told to go down a mountain.
So he fumbled for the light switch along the wall, scanning the room to make sure there wasn't anything ready to jump them behind those boxes, then bolted the door and simply eased Dean down at the top of the stairs. They couldn't stay up here too long, but it would do for now. It didn't seem like anything was coming right after them. He figured they were...well, not exactly safe, but they weren't seconds away from getting killed. Which, frankly, was as safe as it ever got for them.
A few minutes, that was all he needed. Then he could go down first, check the area out. The last thing he needed was to drag Dean down only to have to drag him back up 'cause there was a damn zombie lying in wait. It'd be just their luck, too.
Sam let his head fall back against the door with a dull thump before he glanced over at Dean. Dean, who was starting to tip to the side dangerously. Jesus Christ.
It took some rearranging of limbs and a little bit of pushing, but he eventually got Dean to sprawl against his shoulder instead of just tumbling right over his lap. Though that would've made a picture worthy of blackmail and the thought almost made him smile. Almost.
Sam nudged him. "Hey. How're you doing?"
He didn't really expect to get a proper answer, but he was hoping to at least elicit a grunt. Maybe a mumble. Just something to let him know Dean could at least hear him.
Re: Inside Residence #7
But Sasuke, as ever, was focused on the mission. No regard for his own injuries. He and Naruto could be so similar on that point. Either one of them could be dying in agony in the dirt and they'd both say they were fine, keep going, keep fighting.
Stupid boys. As if she couldn't hear Sasuke walking toward the kitchen instead of sitting in the living room like she'd asked him to. She turned and pushed the map toward him. "Hold onto this, I think it's a map of the area. Might come in handy. Was there anything in particular you were hoping to find?"
Re: Inside Residence #7
And grabbing onto her wrist with the other. As if from a distance, he heard himself say in a tone of voice that was undoubtedly distracted: "Something like this is good."
Good didn't even begin to describe the smell of living human that was rising from Sakura's body, close and then closer when Sasuke abruptly yanked the girl towards himself, reaching up to grab her shoulder with his other hand. Suddenly Itachi's actions made sense -- Sasuke could feel himself salivating at the barrage of blood-and-flesh assaulting his senses, stomach roiling in anticipation of the bite. Without even realising it, he'd leaned in enough that he could feel her hair brushing against his cheek, and the taste of her nearly on his tongue --
He was hungrier than he could ever remember being, and he was finally, finally about to satisfy it.
Re: Inside Residence #7
Countless reasons came to her; perhaps he'd just been waiting until he knew they were well and truly alone for a moment like this, maybe she'd finally receive some kind of affirmation that she was more than just a nuisance to him. He pulled her closer and she caught herself holding her breath for a moment, uncertain how to react to the sudden change in behavior. One hand was down at her side, held tightly around the wrist, but the other hesitated, hovered near his chest for a moment, before she let it rest there. Oh God, what if he kisses me? What if he wants to do more than that? What if I'm a bad kisser?! Agh! What do I do?!
"Sasuke-kun," her voice was quiet and shy as she felt a blush rising hot and fast in her cheeks, with Sasuke leaning in ever closer, going toward her shoulder. It wasn't the kiss she'd hoped for, but maybe he just wanted to start slow? Maybe---
Shit.
She should've realized sooner. The strange wound. The empty quality to his voice. The behavior that was so out of place. And how he leaned in, closer and closer to her, it wasn't hard to realize it was the same place he'd been bitten by his brother's corpse. Or it wouldn't have been if she hadn't been so lost in her own stupid fantasies! Just my luck the one time we get close and it's all going to hell!
"Let go!" she tried to jerk away once, but was surprised by how strong he was. The second time was enough to free her movement a little though, and her free hand swung hard and fast as she slapped the side of his face.
"Get a hold of yourself!"
Re: Inside Residence #7
The realisation struck Sasuke a moment later than it did Sakura. Eyes widening, he managed to let go of her wrist only after she tried to jerk it away, struggling to try and force himself to take a step back. His body wasn't listening beyond that, however, a near-growl forming on his lips without his consent and hands about to lift to try and grab her again.
And then she slapped him. Actually slapped him (in the back of Sasuke's mind a voice was almost impressed). Sasuke's head snapped to the side and his hands froze in mid-air, a different pain resounding through his skull and fighting for space with the pain jolting from his shoulder and the ache of his empty stomach.
It was a damn blessing: Sasuke focused on that pain, seizing control over his body and mind with a burst of willpower that took him several steps back, body tense nearly to the point of shaking.
So that was the consequence of the bite of the reanimated dead. Less benevolent than that of a vampire, apparently. The hunger hadn't subsided and the scent of Sakura was still heavy enough that Sasuke could sense the consuming desire of his body to, well, consume. But that slap had given him something to pull him out of a stupor, and he was able to concentrate enough on the pain instead of the hunger to think clearly.
(... he owed Sakura, now. Damn it.)
"Get out of this room," he said once he was sure his voice was steady enough. Doubtless Sakura had figured it out by now as well; she'd always been smart enough intellectually, at least. "Find somewhere else far from here."
Re: Inside Residence #7
The Sakura then would've listened. She would've run from the room with tears falling down her cheeks and hidden until daylight. The thought was tempting, but she wasn't that same little girl anymore.
"I'm a medic-nin," she tried, "I want to help you. I might be able clear out what's causing it. Or at the very least stop it from spreading." She might've been able to handle Itachi as a living corpse, but fight Sasuke? Kill Sasuke? There was no way she could do that! "Please. Let me try."
Re: Inside Residence #7
That didn't mean that keeping the temptation of fresh human flesh around was a good idea. Sakura could take care of herself to at least some extent, so it wasn't a matter of needing to protect her from the other undead. At the very least she could make it to another house and barricade the door.
"You've already used plenty of chakra for one night," Sasuke snapped, impatient. "I can handle it. There's no need for you to be stupid and linger around danger when we've got what we came for already."