Chapter 8: Carousel of the Damned
The world dropped out from under Dean. Abby’s whisper, that ghost of a voice he’d mourned for five years, sliced through the night air and straight into his chest. “Dean…help.”
Sam grabbed his brother’s arm, his own face a mask of stunned horror. “That’s not possible.”
Abby stood framed by the rotten boards of the ticket booth, solid, her eyes wide with a terrified confusion that was utterly, heartbreakingly human. The rusted carousel behind her let out a metallic shriek and began to turn, its horses lurching in a jerky, sickening parody of a gallop. Sadie stepped forward, her instinct to shield overriding her own shock. “It’s a trick.”
Xavier’s hand closed around her wrist, pulling her back a step. “Stand clear,” he growled, his hunter’s eyes scanning the suddenly-active midway. Dean shook off Sam’s grip, his face ashen. He took one lurching step toward the booth, toward the girl he’d failed. “Abby?”
The carousel music box kicked in with a distorted, wheezing chime. Abby flinched at the noise, her gaze darting toward the spinning figures before locking back onto Dean. “I’m scared,” she cried, her voice breaking. A single tear traced a clean path through the dirt on her cheek.
“Don’t!” Sam yelled, but Dean was already moving, drawn by a grief and a hope so vast it blinded him. The Ferris wheel groaned above them, a deep, protesting sound of metal on metal. One of its gondolas broke free with a sudden, sharp crack, swinging wildly on its single remaining cable.
“Dean, get back!” Sadie screamed. Xavier raised his pistol, aiming not at Abby, but at the shadows pooling around the base of the shuddering ride. Abby reached a trembling hand out toward Dean. “Please,” she sobbed. The ground beneath the ticket booth shimmered, like heat rising off asphalt, and began to crack.
The weathered planks of the ticket booth floor splintered with a sound like gunfire. Abby gasped, her body tilting backward into the nothingness yawning beneath her. Dean moved without thought, his boots slamming against the shuddering boards as he threw himself forward.
His fingers closed around her forearm, her skin shockingly warm and solid under his grip. The floor where she’d stood a second before dissolved into jagged, rotting teeth. “I’ve got you!” he shouted, the words ripped from his lungs.
He pivoted, wrenching his body backward with all his strength. Abby stumbled into him, a real weight against his chest. They crashed together onto the solid ground of the midway just as the entire booth collapsed in on itself with a deafening roar of twisting wood and snapping beams.
Dust plumed around them, thick and choking. Dean coughed, his arms locked around the trembling girl. “Abby,” he choked out, his voice raw. Her fingers clutched the leather of his jacket, knuckles white.
Sam was there instantly, his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We need to move. Now.” Behind them, the carousel horses seemed to scream on their poles, their painted eyes gleaming in the strobing light. The Ferris wheel shuddered, another cable whipping through the air like a severed tendon.
Xavier yanked Sadie back as a metal seat smashed into the dirt where she’d been standing. “It’s pulling the whole place down!” he yelled over the cacophony. Dean scrambled to his feet, pulling Abby up with him.
She was breathing hard, her eyes wide with a terror that was horribly, undeniably fresh. “It’s me, Dean,” she whispered, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. He looked from her dirt-streaked face to the carnage unfolding around them, and made a decision.
“Run!”
They ran.
Xavier covered their retreat, firing shots into the groaning machinery of the carousel to distract whatever force animated it. Sam hauled Abby up by her other arm, his long legs eating up the cracked asphalt of the midway. Sadie stayed close to Dean's flank, her own breath ragged, her bandaged wrists screaming with each jarring step.
The carnival fought their escape. A gang of mechanical clowns twitched to life, blocking the exit gate with jerky, synchronized movements. Xavier didn't hesitate, driving the heel of his boot into the chest of the lead figure, sending it crashing into the others in a cascade of splintered plastic and rusted springs.
They burst through the shattered gate into the empty parking lot. The Impala sat alone under a flickering sodium light, a beacon of solid reality. Dean didn't stop running until his palms slapped the cool, familiar metal of the driver's side door.
He immediately turned, his hands flying to Abby's face, wiping the grit and tears from her cheeks. "Are you hurt? Are you hit anywhere?" His voice was frantic, his eyes scanning her for injuries.
She just shook her head, sobs wracking her small frame. "I don't... I don't understand," she choked out, her fingers clinging to the sleeves of his jacket. Sam and Sadie stared, their faces pale in the yellow light. Xavier kept his gun raised, his eyes scanning the dark tree line.
Ten years. It had been ten years since the funeral, since the closed casket. Dean's hands trembled as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, a gesture so tender it made Sadie's chest ache. Abby Sage was here, solid, and warm, and alive.
She was breathing.
She was breathing. Dean’s thumbs stroked her cheeks, his own breath coming in ragged hitches that fogged the cold air between them. The carnival’s distant groans faded into a watchful silence.
“What do you remember?” Dean whispered, the question leaving him like a prayer.
Abby’s brow furrowed, her eyes searching a past he knew was empty. “I…my car…you were driving? I think? Someone ran a red light…I saw them but then everything went dark…” The memory was a ghost in her voice.
Dean’s face crumpled, the last of his hope draining into the asphalt beneath his boots. “That was ten years ago.” He swallowed hard, the words tearing his throat raw. “You died, Abby.”
Sam said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. Sadie’s hand found Dean’s shoulder, a firm, grounding pressure. The word ‘died’ seemed to physically strike her.
Abby flinched, staggering back a step as if pushed. Her wide eyes locked on Dean’s, filling with a desperate, animal denial. “No,” she breathed, the sound too small for the truth it carried.
Xavier lowered his pistol slightly, his gaze tracking from Abby’s shattered expression to the dark tree line. “We can’t do this here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. His free hand gestured toward the idling Impala.
His free hand gestured toward the idling Impala. “We’re a sitting duck out here. We need walls, a door that locks, and time to think.”
“He’s right,” Sam said, his voice tight with a forced calm. He gently nudged Abby toward the car’s back seat. “We’ll figure this out, okay? Just not here.”
Dean helped Abby into the back, his movements awkward with a tenderness Sadie had rarely seen. She slid into the passenger seat, her pink hair a vivid shock against the worn leather, while Xavier took the wheel. The engine roared to life, a sound of pure escape, and they left the silent, watching carnival behind in a spray of gravel.
The drive passed in a thick, heavy silence. Abby stared out the window, her breath fogging the glass, while Dean watched her from the other seat as if she might dissolve. They found a motel twenty miles down the interstate, a single-story L-shape of faded blue doors under a flickering vacancy sign.
Xavier paid cash for two rooms at the far end. The key stuck in the lock of room 114, grinding against the tumblers until Sam shouldered it open. The room smelled of stale cigarettes and industrial lemon cleaner, the carpet damp underfoot from a recent shampooing.
Abby walked in first, her steps hesitant on the ugly floral pattern. She stopped in the center of the room, beneath the harsh glare of the ceiling light, and wrapped her arms around herself. “I still feel the grass,” she whispered, not looking at any of them. “From the…the ground.”
The words hung in the motel air, thick as the damp carpet smell. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, a pained, ragged sound. He crossed the room in two long strides, his work boots silent on the worn fibers.
DEAN PULLS HER CLOSE. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand cupping the back of her head, his face burying into her hair. She was so small against his jacket, trembling like a bird held in a fist. “You’re not there anymore,” he murmured into her hair, his voice cracking. “You’re here.”
Sam looked away, his jaw working. Sadie watched, her own throat tight, until Xavier’s hand found the small of her back, steering her gently toward the adjoining door. “Give them a minute,” he said, his voice low. His touch was a brand through her shirt, a sudden, fierce contrast to the shattered grief in the room.
He pushed the door open to the second room, identical and bleak, and pulled her inside. The latch clicked shut, sealing them in a bubble of yellow light and stale air. Before she could speak, he pinned her against the wall, his body hard and demanding against hers.
His mouth found her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin below her ear. “I need to feel you,” he growled, his hands already pulling her shirt over her head. The bandages on her wrists were a stark white against his tanned, calloused hands as he undid her jeans. She arched into him, a desperate sound escaping her lips, her own fingers clawing at his belt buckle.
“Fuck me,” she breathed, the words hot against his ear. “Just fuck me hard.” He shoved her pants and underwear down her thighs in one rough motion, his own jeans already open. He lifted her, her back against the cheap wallpaper, and drove into her with a deep, single thrust that punched the air from her lungs.
She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as he filled her, a brutal, perfect anchor. He set a punishing rhythm, each movement a raw statement of possession against the terror and grief of the night. The headboard slammed into the wall with every thrust, a frantic drumbeat against the murmur of voices next door.
“You’re mine,” he snarled into the sweat-damped hollow of her throat, his hips pistoning. “All mine.” She could only gasp, her legs locked around his waist, hurtling toward a sharp, shattering climax that wiped every other thought from her mind.
His thrusts grew harder, deeper, until her gasps turned into a sharp cry against his shoulder. He followed her over the edge with a choked groan, his body shuddering against hers as he came.
For a moment, they just breathed, fused together in the aftermath. He lowered her gently until her feet found the floor, his hands steadying her shaking legs.
Next door, through the thin wall, they heard the distinct click of a door opening and shutting. Sam’s voice, low and careful, filtered through. “I’ll get some food. Something simple.”
A moment of silence followed, then the soft rumble of Dean’s acknowledgment. The outside door opened and closed again, leaving a profound quiet in its wake. Sadie rested her forehead against Xavier’s chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart slowing.
In the other room, the silence was different, a thick and fragile thing. Dean stood with his back to Abby, staring at the closed door Sam had just exited. The weight of being alone with her was a physical pressure on his lungs.
He turned slowly. Abby was sitting on the edge of the nearest bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, studying the faded geometric pattern of the bedspread. The faint odor of turned earth still seemed to cling to her, a scent memory that made his stomach clench.
“Talk to me, Abby,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “What do you feel right now?”
She didn’t look up. “Tired,” she whispered. “So tired. And…hollow. Like I’m a glass someone filled up too fast.” She finally lifted her gaze to his, her eyes swimming with a confusion so deep it was agony. “They said I died.”
Dean took a step toward her, then stopped, afraid to shatter the moment. “You did,” he said, the words ash in his mouth. “I buried you.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. She looked down at her own hands, turning them over as if seeing them for the first time.
“Then why,” she began, her voice cracking, “do I feel so empty?” She brought a hand to her chest, pressing hard against the fabric of her shirt. “There’s nothing here, Dean. Where my heart should be beating, there’s just…a hole.”
Dean crossed the room and knelt before her, the damp carpet fibers pressing into his knees. He placed his rough, trembling hand flat against her chest, over the soft cotton of her shirt. He held it there, his own breath held, until he felt the distinct, rhythmic thud against his palm.
DEAN PUTS HIS HAND OVER HER HEART TO FIND IT BEATING. “It’s there, Abby,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I promise your heart is beating.”
She covered his hand with both of hers, her fingers icy. “It doesn’t feel like it to me, though,” Abby says, a single tear tracing the dust on her cheek. Her eyes were bottomless pools of confusion.
“I’ve come back from the dead before,” Dean whispers, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear with a gentleness that cracked his own façade. “You’ll feel weird for a bit.” A shudder ran through her small frame, and she leaned into his touch, her forehead nearly touching his.
Next door, Sadie gasped as Xavier’s mouth closed over her nipple, his tongue rough and demanding. He had her pressed against the rattling air conditioner unit, one hand fisted in her pink hair. “You taste like sweat and motel soap,” he groaned against her skin, his other hand sliding between her legs.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her head thumping back against the wall. He pushed two fingers inside her, his thumb circling her clit with a ruthless precision that made her knees buckle. “Do that again.”
He did, his fingers curling, scissoring, stretching her as she rocked against his hand. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growled, watching her face contort. “Always so ready.” He replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock, not entering, just pressing there, a brutal promise.
“Don’t tease me, you asshole,” she panted, her nails scoring down his back. He grinned, a wild, feral thing, and slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one relentless stroke. She cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her, all teeth and domination.
Their rhythm was a frantic, driving counterpoint to the quiet tragedy unfolding through the wall. Each of his thrusts was a punctuation mark against her grief. “Harder,” she demanded against his lips, and he obliged, his hips pistonning, the unit shaking violently behind them.
She came with a choked sob, her body clenching around him in waves, and he followed, spilling into her with a guttural cry, his own release a raw echo of her surrender. They slumped against the wall, a tangle of heaving breaths and damp skin.
A key turned in the main door of the other room. Sam’s footsteps were heavy, followed by the rustle of a paper bag. “Got some burgers,” Sam announced, his voice carefully neutral. “And pie.”
Dean finally pulled back from Abby, his hand leaving the steady beat of her heart. “You hear that? Pie.” He offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s get some food in you.”
He helped her stand, her hand small and cold in his. In the adjoining room, Sadie slowly disentangled herself from Xavier, the smell of sex and bandage adhesive clinging to her skin. She listened to her brother’s forced normalcy through the wall, her own heart pounding a furious, living rhythm in her chest.