No Light Without Darkness

Chapter 5: Bad Company


May 15th, 3am
Wyoming Centennial Scenic Byway

When Dean passed one of the signs announcing the respective speed limit for this street he glanced at the indicator-needle of the Impala. He went nearly double as fast and he had no intention on slowing down for a few hours. He soon tuned east toward Caper and when a stray thought of long gone times hit it made a big lump rise in his throat. He was going to save Sam’s ass… no matter what.
He set his jaw painfully in determination and ignored the pain and fatigue that tried to take over. He’d get to Nebraska now if it would kill him. Every route-planner would have estimated an eleven hour ride from the west edge of Wyoming to the heart of Nebraska. Dean decided to do it in half the time. He sped down the road and it was probably a good thing that it was the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere or there would have been quite a few bodies to scratch of the asphalt when once he had passed.


May 15th, 10am
Smith and Sons Co. Warehouse
Lazarus, Nebraska

A bucket of water was emptied over Sam’s head. It splashed onto his face and as his head was tipped back at the time, ran up his nose and made him choke out a couple of shocked coughs trying to clear his airways before taking a few gulping breaths. He tried to bring the world back to focus. Whatever had hit him on the head had done an exceedingly well job, because he had been out cold for quite some time considering the taste in his mouth and the empty pit in his stomach. It took him a moment before his vision cleared and he found himself in something akin to a warehouse. He would have liked to take a moment to dwell on the thought that evil liked to squad in warehouses and take a deeper look into the possible meaning of this… but he did not. Because there was Dean – no, not Dean but the creature that impersonated Dean Winchester – sitting on top of the upside-down bucket he had just used for giving Sam his all morning shower.

May 15th, 10am
Main Road
Lazarus, Nebraska

Dean drove down the street. This town was tiny and he was more then thankful for it. He had managed the drive here in a little less then seven hours… which was over four hours short of any realistic estimation for seven-hundred miles across the country. A town this small could only have one motel at most and he had found “The New Rising” motel within minutes of his arrival to Lazarus. The clerk had looked at him quite funny as he had asked about Sam and it was soon pretty clear to Dean that he had been right with his hopes and speculations. It looked like Sam had been with another impostor that looked like him. The motel-guy was slightly irritated at Dean’s plea to describe the car they had had and everything else he remembered. But a few green bills had settled that problem. He had checked the room and found it vacated but for Sam’s stuff, which he snuck out and into the Impala just in case there had to be a hasty retreat.
He now cruised the few streets of this town, looking for his brother or maybe even himself… but what he found was the described car. After cruising for half an hour or so he found the black truck with New Mexican car plates in front of a lone-standing warehouse. He parked the Impala around the corner and got the necessities from the trunk… meaning a twin set of guns loaded with silver bullets, a couple of extra clips, a huge hunting knife and a torch. He would have taken a shotgun as well but with his left arm hurting like he had just used it to brake a fall from a motorcycle at ninety miles per hour, there was no way of him pumping a shotgun soon.
He stowed one gun in his jeans and strapped the knife to his belt. The other gun was held low and close to his leg, so it couldn’t be spotted from across the street as he made his way to the warehouse. He started muttering to himself as he closed in carefully and his adrenaline started pumping again.
“A warehouse? You’ve got to be kidding me! I mean the only thing even more cliché could be the sewers… But I don’t think this one-horse town even has real sewers. Shit, this town shouldn’t even have warehouse! It’s got no more then 300 citizens, what do they need a warehouse for? Probably for the monthly meeting of hell’s bitches…”
He came to the car that had made him so exited and looked inside. Nothing of interest sprang to the eye, so he looked at the truck disdainfully.
“Oh please, as though I would ever switch my baby for this ragged looking nail box!” Then he snuck off towards the building at hand.
He secured the premises – meaning he sneaked around the building once without being seen or seeing anything and decided the premises were clean. He went for the backdoor and got out his lock pick. The lock clicked within seconds and he pushed the door open slowly and as quiet as he could using his bad hand holding the gun level with his chest.
He slid in and closed the door with another silent click. He shouldn’t have worried about making too much noise because before he made one more step inside the building he heard an angry shout – that sounded a lot like his brother.


“What did you do to my BROTHER?” Sam was getting really pissed and although he was not really the person in charge of the situation right now – what with him bound to a wooden post at the mercy of some mean creature – he had decided to cut the crap and the lies and talk business.
“I wouldn’t worry about him to much if I were you…”
Sam had a hard time not rolling his eyes at this absolutely lame and overdone line. It’s not like he hadn’t heard that one before.
“TELL ME! Where is he?”
The grin that greeted his question was one of glee. All Sam could see was the menace this creature had inside itself. It didn’t answer and that was worse then lies. Sam was torn between sheer anger and fear. Fear that his brother was dead or worse.
“I swear if you hurt him I’m going to kill your sorry ass twice over before I send you back to hell.”
The fake Dean got up from its bucket and approached Sam with a languid stroll mocking Sam with childish cutie face that was so not Dean talking in a silly baby voice.
“Awww, look at you! You really are one big, scary mama bear, aren’t you?”
“No, he’s just the cub… I’m the mama bear.”
A shot ripped through the air and flung the fake Dean backwards. It was followed by at least half a dozen more and Sam saw Dean walking up from the far corner of the hall. By then the rapid series of hits had pushed the impostor against the wall meters from where he had just stood.

Dean was over Sam within seconds holding a knife that was as long as Sam’s foot. The huge blade cut through the ropes easily and Sam found himself free and Dean’s gun - along with a fresh clip as Dean had obviously burned the full load in his Lethal Weapon entrance – shoved into his hands.
“You okay, Sammy?”
He stood up and looked at Dean, slightly flustered by the sudden rescue.
“Yeah, I guess. What was that thing?”
Dean shook his head and groped at the back of his jeans pulling out another gun. “Dunno, bro. But I think we can rule out the shapeshifter.”
“Why?”
“Well, cuz these were silver bullets.”
He held up the gun.
“And that is me getting up again!”
Sam followed Dean’s look and saw the other Dean standing up not even a drop of blood painting the wholes in his body. Dean had aimed well. At least half a dozen shots had hit the heart and a couple more had entered the fake Dean’s forehead leaving ugly dark holes.
Sam swallowed hard.
“Any plan?”
Dean grabbed his sleeve and already started pulling him towards the door.
“Yeah, one… RUN!” …and they did.

They sped out the door into the morning air and Sam kept close to Dean’s heels, who was unusually noisy and panting by then. They rounded the next corner and Sam saw the Impala standing there. He had never been as glad to see Dean’s car in his whole life. They jumped in and Dean inserted the key with shaking fingers. To Sam’s horror he saw one more Dean – the fake with the half shot off face round the corner and head to them in a dead run. The engine roared to life and Dean made the wheels squeal as he raced down the street, aiming for himself.
“Dean, what are you doing?”
“Taking out the trash.”
There was a loud smash as their car collided with the body. It swashed into the windshield and rolled over the roof. Sam tuned and saw the fake Dean lying on the street getting up again but they were already far off by then.
Dean pushed the Impala on for a while and Sam got time to catch his breath as his mind was working through the things that had happened and his body stopped pumping his blood at a blood pressure that was around two hundred and something.
“Where have you been?” he managed to get out some five minutes later looking at his brother slightly exhausted.
“Wyoming… been working that Black Dog case with the evil little brother of that would-be-me.”
Dean looked into the back mirror and seemed slightly relieved that there was nothing to see there. Sam gaped at him.
“What? There’s another one out there? Holy crap!”

He pushed his hair out of his face, rubbing his hand over his eyes. He had an enormous headache. Whatever had hit him back at the motel had done a damn good job at messing with his higher brain functions for he found it remarkably hard to concentrate with all the pounding going on between his temples.
“Sure and it’s got your face on it, dude. Do you really think it would have taken me so long to get here and save your ass if I hadn’t been busy myself? Give me some credit here…”
He saw that Dean was not in the best of moods which was understandable as he looked bone tired sitting in the driver’s seat.
“So how did you notice it wasn’t me?”
His curiosity got the better of him and he raised his eyebrows at his real brother.
Dean huffed.
“Well for one the evil bastard didn’t have a shadow – maybe he checked it at the wardrobe in hell and forgotten to retrieve it for his devil’s day out – but I could have looked over it… if there hadn’t been this one big mistake…”
Sam looked at him questioningly.
“What mistake?”
Dean turned to him with a cocky grin.
“’Bon Jovi rocks’? Sorry, but even you don’t have that strange a taste of music, Sammy.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh at that. Now he was sure that he was back with his real brother if there had ever been any doubt about that in the first place. He saw Dean looking at him with a look that said: I told you mine, now you tell me yours.
Sam scratched his head.
“Well I had a couple of clues, like the story of the Impala having a breakdown and all… But I knew he was evil impersonated, when he started picking the onions off his burger.” Dean looked like he had just been told someone used the shroud of Turin as a hanky. “Oh, and of course I know that you would never pet a truck.”
“Woah!” Dean looked scandalized in a funnily grave kind of way. “That’s cheating!”
Sam had to laugh again. The only lady Dean would never even think of cheating at was a ’67 Chevy Impala… go figure.

Sam was going over the things Dean had said.
“You said I – it didn’t have a shadow?”
“Nope. Not even a single dark spot.”
Dean kept his eyes on the road.
“How’s that possible?”
Sam frowned.
“Everything has a shadow. Possessed humans, creatures… they all do. Everything that is really part of this world does have a shadow… As they say: There’s no light without darkness – and the other way around. So the only way something can’t have a shadow is if there is no light at all to cast a shadow, which we know is not the case, or the thing that should have a shadow is not real… like a ghost.”
Dean’s head snapped around.
“What do you mean ‘not real’?”
“Well, what if…”
He was cut off by an angry Dean.
“No, Sam. That thing was real. It was solid. Turn around!”
Sam frowned at Dean’s harsh tone, but obeyed turning towards the rear of the car.
“Holy… what happened to your car?”
The Impala’s rear window was smashed and there were pieces of glass scattered everywhere. He looked back at Dean and understood the pissed mood of the elder Winchester perfectly then. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t seen the state of Dean’s beloved car before. That was probably associated with running for his life…
Dean gave him a grave look.
“That was when I got thrown several yards through the air by this supposedly unreal creature, Sam. I tell you it was real! I hate to say it but it bitch-slapped me into next week… and I tell you one more thing: Real or not that thing is toast. I mean look at my car!!!”
Dean was really pissed…

They drove on quietly for the next fifteen minutes thinking their situation over. By then they had been driving full speed for about half an hour when Dean suddenly slowed down and stopped on the side of the road. Sam looked at the window checking for anything that could have brought on that sudden change of plan.
“Dean, what are you doing? Why are we stopping?”
He looked over and was slightly shocked at the way his brother was looking. Dean was pale and a thin film of sweat was covering his body.
“Sammy. I think for the sake of everyone it would be better if you drive for a while.” Dean pushed open the door and got out groaning slightly. Sam mirrored him hastily. His brother didn’t groan without a reason and that worried Sam enormously. Dean was walking around the car and Sam watched him to come to the passenger’s side. He walked more heavily then normal and Sam made a quick step towards him checking his older brother from head to toe.
“Dean what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
He saw that his brother was cradling his left arm close to his body and reached for it. Dean pulled away from him with a pained hiss.
“Don’t do that man!”
Sam looked at his hand and saw what looked like dried blood.
“Dean, take off the jacket.”
“It’s just a scratch. We need to get out of here!”
Dean growled trying to get inside the car. But Sam stopped him with one hand.
“You’re bleeding. I have to see if it stopped.”
Dean looked at him with his don’t-be-such-a-baby look but obeyed shrugging off his leather jacket. Sam winced at the sight. Dean’s arm was darkly bruised and the forearm bore a deep wound that had smeared a huge deal of skin with rusty red blood. The bleeding seemed to have stopped already though.
“Damn, Dean. What did that thing do to you?”
Dean shrugged getting into the car.
“That bite was the Black Dog not the not-you. But he screwed up my shoulder alright, frickin’ son of a bitch.”
“Just your shoulder?” Sam frowned at him. “Dean you lost quite a bit of blood there and you wouldn’t hold on the side of the road to let me take the wheel if it were just your shoulder.”
Dean sighed and his face showed that he was not yet weakened enough to be talked down by his little brother.

“Now you listen up, Sammy! I’m FINE. I am bone tired because I haven’t slept in 36 hours after driving all night to get your bony ass out of the line of fire. I got some cuts and a dog bite but I could still kick your ass if I have to!”
Sam was slightly stunned but looked at him dead blank.
“Really?”
“What, you wanna try?”
Dean’s foot already left the car again, but Sam held up his hands.
“No. No, actually I don’t. Let’s just get a move on again, ok?” He went to the trunk and got a first aid kit throwing it into Dean’s lap as he got into the driver’s seat.
“You can at least put a bandage over it before you get the rabies or something.”
Dean looked pretty annoyed now which clashed with the walking dead look he had brought to perfection that morning.
“It was a spirit dog, Sam. Spirits don’t get rabies.”
“Man, you lucky one!”
He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice as he started the engine again.
Suddenly Dean let out a yelp that made Sam jump in his seat. But the irritation soon left him as a strong hand gripped the front of his shirt pulling him towards to open window. He saw himself with a pretty mean look on his face and a whole collection of dark unbleeding bullet wounds covering his chest and part of the neck.
“Kick it, Sammy!”

Dean’s cry brought him out of his stupor and he slammed his foot onto the paddle as hard as he could. The Impala sped onto the street leaving a cloud of dust behind. To Sam’s horror it didn’t leave his attacker behind as planned. The fake Sam was holding on in a death grip hanging at the side of the car. Dean had turned in his seat and cried a warning to Sam ere he pulled up one booted foot and slammed it at the fake Sam’s face that was half inside the vehicle. Its head was thrown back but the hand didn’t move from Sam’s collar and he found himself choked pretty hard not really knowing where he was driving. Suddenly he saw the flash of a blade before his eyes and the sickening sound of a deep cut before Dean’s foot crossed his sight again and the pressure on his neck was gone. He pulled in a couple of deep breaths and looked in the mirror to see a huddled form on the road getting up again a few hundred yards behind them.
Dean was panting.
“Man, Old Nick must be an Arnold Schwarzenegger fan! I mean those things are like the terminator! Soon they’ll rip the flesh-masks off their faces…”
Sam was looking at his brother with wild eyes.
“Man, how did you...?“
He stopped mid-sentence as Dean held up something that looked very much like a human hand. Sam’s hand to be exact.
“Gah!” This was plain out wrong. “Dean, I can’t believe you just cut off a hand… my hand!”

Dean gave him a tired grin as he readjusted himself in his seat.
“Not your hand, Sam. Its hand… but now I guess it’s my hand. You know the rule: Finders keepers… loosers weepers.”
“That’s just gross man… you don’t really wanna keep that thing?”
“No. But from what I’ve seen that mini-you might just as well pick it up and reattach it if I threw it out the window. That way it will be at least a little handicapped next time around.”
Sam shook his head.
“I wonder how it found us. I mean it was up in Wyoming with you wasn’t it?”
“Sure thing…”
But his older brother didn’t finish that thought as he was studying the severed hand he still held.
“Sammy, take a look at this!”
He held the stump up for Sam to see, who turned his face away.
“If you don’t cut that crap right now, I’m gonna puke and this is your car we’re talking about!”
Dean looked murderous at that comment.
“Dude, don’t you even think about it or I’m soon gonna have a whole collection of Sammy-hands!”
He emphasized that with flipping his huge hunting knife in his fingers before putting it back at the place in his belt where it had been before.
“But I really think you have to see this. It’s not even that gross… just very wrong in a scientific kind of way.”

Sam sighed and looked over trying to keep one eye on the street. He had to take a second look.
“What the…”
The hand did not have flesh and bones on the severed stump Dean was offering him to look at.
“What is that?”
His brother traced his fingers over it.
“Looks like dirt to me but… well I think it’s clay.”
Sam touched it as well.
“Clay? Then what is that thing… kind of a Golem?”
“Like those Chinese grave keeping soldier types?”
Dean frowned at his newest attainment.
“Maybe… it would explain why they don’t bleed and how they can be immune to silver and consecrated rock iron … and why it wasn’t kept by a devil’s trap. They don’t seem to heal either – or feel pain for that matter.”
Dean, who obviously was no Golem and possessed the human feeling of pain, leaned back in his seat frowning. Sam wasn’t sure whether from pain or annoyance.
Sam thought hard about the whole Golem theory. It worked as far as his information went… there was just one thing that bothered him.
“If they are Golems… then they must have one hell of a puppet master.”
Dean looked at him with an unhappy face.
They needed a save haven and a plan… and that quick.

May 15th, 5pm
Springroad Motel
Clearwater, Iowa

They had stopped just after crossing the border of Iowa. It had been hard going fast and trying not to leave a trail behind but they thought they had managed. Sam threw down the duffle bag and pulled out the first aid kit.
“Okay, we gotta get your wounds cleaned up.”
Dean only gave him a look somewhere between thankful and annoyed but started stripping out of his shirt and jeans. He decided that the best way of cleaning up the wounds would be a shower. But only five minutes later a still wet Dean left the bathroom towel wrapped around his hips and looking deadly pale. Sam knew that he would have savoured the shower if he hadn’t been close to fainting and the last thing Dean Winchester needed now was to slip and bump his head in the shower as well.
Sam waited for him to flop down on the bed and got out the bandages. He looked his brother over who seemed to be sleeping while still sitting up, waiting patiently for Sam to patch him back together. He started doctoring on the bite that marred Dean’s left arm and noticed his brother sway the fraction of an inch.
“God Dean, are you really ok?”
His brother opened his eyes cocking his head to one side with a tired smile that turned pained as he seemed to have stiff muscles everywhere including the neck.
“Question of definition… I hate being chewed on by big hairy things.”
“Did you at least kill it?”
Dean had never said how the fight with the Black Dog had ended.
“No, Dumbass. I offered myself for a little midnight snack in candlelight… Of course I killed it!”

Sam earned himself that cocky remark and he didn’t go for a retort because Dean was probably not up to that right now. He had a big bump on his head but that was just the tip of the iceberg. The elder Winchester’s shoulder was colourfully draped in blue, green and dark purple with the stray deep red in between and Dean’s arms and legs were strewn with smaller and larger cuts apparently from when he had been thrown through the Impala’s rear window. His back was darkly bruised and cut as well from catching the slam into the car although it was not as bad as the arm. Sam scolded himself for not seeing all this from the beginning, but he had to say that Dean had been holding things together pretty well for the state he was in. That he had managed to save Sam’s ass like this was actually pretty humiliating in Sam’s book.
Some of the cuts were oozing small drops of blood and the bite was slightly smeared with red as well again. He bandaged the still bleeding wounds, handing Dean a large dose of aspirin as he swayed just a little more. But then Sam pulled his hand away just as Dean wanted to take the offered drugs. His brother looked at him angrily.
“Shit, Dean… you can’t take them!”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because aspirin is coagulation inhibiting and with fresh wounds it could make you bleed completely dry.”
He looked at his brother as he worked that realisation through in his mind.
“How many did you take since we left New Mexico?”
Dean looked like he was somewhere inbetween slapping Sam and fainting.
“Dunno, a few… maybe five in the whole.”
Sam swallowed.
“That’s bad… no wonder you’re still bleeding although it’s been over twelve hours.”
He studied Dean carefully, but decided that there was nothing more he could do before he had his brother patched together and resting. So he made a makeshift sling for Dean’s arm and told him to get some sleep. Dean didn’t even try to disagree and passed out within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.
Sam just shook his head. His brother was one crazy bastard and he thanked his lucky stars for that.


A/N: The title is the song “Bad Company” from Bad Company and has been heard on one of my favorite episodes: “Scarecrow”.
Oh and thanks to my little kitty again, who has inspired one of the sentences that just had to be inserted in this chapter without even remembering she did… and betaed it because I just can’t type for my life when it’s past midnight (which is when 80 percent of this ff came to life).