Sam draws the short straw in this one...
Hexes
When normal people are very sick or afraid they sometimes call for their mothers or fathers. Not so with the Winchester boys. When they were hurt-they called for each other. Sam found himself doing exactly that as he lay on his back, confused, frightened, unsure of what was even happening to him- except that he was in pain.
"Dean!" He cried out, kicking the ground with his booted heel. He tried to push himself to his feet to no avail. His teeth began to chatter.
"Easy, sweetheart." A voice soothed. "Easy." There were hands on his shoulders, pinning him down. Sam opened his fever bright eyes and waited for them to pull focus on the face before him. She leaned in closer.
"Sam." Her voice was firm. "I need you to calm down, honey."
His brows knitted together as he stared at her, uncomprehendingly.
Another wave of pain shot through him and he cried out, arching his back with it. When it subsided, he was breathless and dizzy.
"Breathe." Ellis smoothed back the tousled brown bags and laid her palm against his forehead. He was still warm. He opened his eyes again and looked at her half- lucidly. His breath hitched. She watched his ribs rise in and out rapidly. She let her hands slide down to the side of his face.
"Hurts," Sam whimpered. His breathing caught in a grimace.
"I know." She said. "I know. I'm right here."
She pulled up his shirt and looked at his stomach. The feel of the air on his torso made Sam wince and she watched his abdominal muscles contract in protest. She wished she could get him to relax so that she could examine him better. She wished Dean would hurry the hell up.
"Dean?" He rolled his head fitfully sideways.
"Dean's not here right now. He'll be back." She held him still for a moment. His struggles against her was so weak that juxtaposed with his size it was almost pathetic.
"Sam," her voice was firm. "You have to stay still. Hey," she took his handsome face in both her hands and coaxed him to look at her. His hazel blue eyes were clouded and confused. "Stay with me."
She'd been with Sam for the better part of several hours, and his condition didn't seem to be improving at all. Despite her feeble attempts to help - he'd possibly gotten worse. He was certainly more disoriented. She heard him stop panting again and she put a hand on his chest. She could feel his heart hammering beneath her palm.
"Breathe, sweetheart. You have to breathe."
He furrowed his brow and managed to wheeze out. "C...Can't."
"Yes you can. I know... I know it hurts. I'm right here." She pitched her voice into a soothing mantra. "It's okay. You're okay." She was met with a whimper as he squeezed his eyes shut. She watched the muscle in his jaw clench. "Its okay," she soothed again. It wasn't okay. It freaking sucked, she thought, conveying none of her worry to Sam.
Dean Winchester burst through the door.
"He any better?" he asked brusquely.
"No," she said. "Tell me you got the things to help him."
"I hope so," he replied. He dumped out a paper bag of various occult supplies. Candles, salt, oils. "These right?"
"We can work with this for sure. I guess all the studying on how to break hexes over the years is about to be put to the test. Too bad it's not always as easy as burning the hex bag."
Dean shook his head. "He looks awful."
Sam's eyes fluttered open. "Dean?"
Dean plastered on a fake smile and a light tone. "Hey Sammy."
Ellis picked out a vial of liquid and moved to the bed. "Sam, honey," she touched it to his lips and he turned his head away and tried to bat at it ineffectually with his hand. "Hey. Hey there, Sammy." Dean took him by the wrists. "Don't kill the help, huh?"
"Dean..." Ellis dropped her voice. "Some of this is not going to be very comfortable for him."
The older man nodded. He sat on the edge of the bed and kept a hold of Sam's wrists.
Ellis placed a hand on Sam's chin and gently pried his mouth open. She tipped his head back slightly and dumped the liquid down his throat. Sam choked a little and tried to twist out of Dean's hold. "No. No." Dean said with a tight smile. "Easy, Tiger."
Ellis lit a blue candle that Dean had brought and placed it inside a circle of salt she'd laid out on the floor. The smell of sulphur from the match stung the air and Dean wrinkled his nose in distaste.
She picked up the pine oil and put some on her palm. She locked gazes with Dean and he nodded and shifted his position behind Sam. He pulled the younger man's head and shoulders half into his lap and wrapped his arms around Sam's chest. Sam winced at the movement. Ellis pulled up his shirt again and touched her fingers to his abdomen. Sam cried out and arched his back, digging his heels into the mattress.
"Its okay, Sam." She soothed.
"Stop!" He cried. "Stop! Please stop!"
"Sammy." Dean's voice was firm. "Its okay, buddy." Sam fisted his hand into Dean's leather jacket. Ellis pressed harder, tracing the lines of the musculature along his abdomen. His protest broke into a choked sob. Dean winced in sympathy but held him in place.
She shook her hand away. Sam lay panting, hand still gripping onto Dean's coat.
"Okay." Dean frowned. "This is the last time either of us is going to get hit with a hex." He said to Ellis.
"You're lucky they didn't want you dead. The goal of this one seems to be pain."
"N...Not lucky." Sam whispered.
Ellis smiled. "Well that's an improvement, you can follow our conversation." She touched Sam's cheek gently.
Dean untangled Sam's large hand from his jacket. "Is that it?" he asked eagerly. "Is it over?"
"No but we have to be precise about when we do the other parts. I'm hoping he's got a break from the discomfort in the interim. Maybe we can get him to drink something."
Dean pressed his knuckles into his forehead. "I need to drink something." He tried to extricate himself from Sam but Sam wordlessly grabbed his arm. "My leg is cramping, dude. I gotta move." Dean said gently.
He pried Sam's hand off and stood up, carefully lowering the younger man's shoulders back onto the mattress. Somehow, even though he was in his mid twenties, Sam's expression manage to make him look about twelve. He closed his eyes lazily.
Dean stretched. "I really do need something to eat."
Ellis waved in the direction of the kitchen. "Help yourself and bring me a glass of water for Sam."
"What's the next step?" Dean's voice called from the kitchen.
Ellis was busy mixing some oils together. "The usual. Some oils, some incantations, a little blood letting."
"Sounds like a party." Dean said flatly. He reappeared with some potato chips and a glass of water. Ellis took it, wiping her hands on her shirt. She carefully propped Sam's head up. He groaned.
"Water." She set the rim to his lips.
Sam felt the cool touch of the glass against his skin. "Drink." A voice said firmly. He didn't want water. She pushed the cup against his teeth and he swallowed reluctantly. "Good boy." She tipped some more down his throat until he grumbled a protest and turned his head. "Well," Dean said around a mouthful of potato chips. "At least he's feeling better enough to be a pain in the ass."
"I think that's a natural thing for Winchesters...although, really, he's in a world of pain. He's doing okay." She maternally pushed her fingers through his soft brown hair, a natural impulse for her for some reason.
"He scared the hell out of me." Dean took a swig of beer.
"I can imagine."
"I didn't know what the hell was wrong, just all of the sudden he's dropped to the floor, yelling."
She drew a finger to her lips and caught Dean's green eyes. "He's listening. Let's not upset him with details, just in case."
The older Winchester nodded. Ellis snapped her fingers and gestured silently for Dean to hand her one of her oil mixtures. Silently, she dabbed some on her fingers and drew it across Sam's forehead. "I need his shirt off."
Sam pulled away protectively as she started to lift the fabric up. She looked up to Dean, who shoved the last potato chip into his mouth and pulled the shirt over Sam's head. Sam cried out at being jostled.
"Sorry buddy."
Lisa poured the oil on Sam's chest and started to rub it in.
"What's in the mix? He already smells like Pine-Sol and fear."
"Shhhh."Ellis moved her hands over Sam's body in a rhythmic gesture and begin to mutter in Gaelic. Sam's breathing grew hitched and he looked uncomfortable again. The muscles beneath his now oiled skin grew taught and he groaned.
Dean watched with concern. Not sure what to say or do. "This feels slightly inappropriate," he joked.
Her hands stilled a moment. "Dean," She warned.
He held his hands up. "Okay okay."
"Sam," Ellis leaned down and put her mouth close to his ear. "Sam."
Sam's eyes slowly slid open she waited for him to pull focus. She rested a hand on his bicep. "Well hello there, Mr. Winchester," she said with a false cheerfulness.
"Hi," he said weakly, a little confused. He swallowed hard and winced. She put a finger gently against the slight cleft on his chin. "It's okay, sweetie." The other hand tightened on his bicep. "Can you say the words Cosaint, caomhu, didean?"
He looked weakly at her, biting his lower lip.
She repeated it. "Cosaint, caomhu, didean."
"Cosaint, Cao-" he broke off, confused.
"-mhu," she finished. "C'mon, baby."
Sam's eyes slid closed.
"Sam," she placed her hands on both cheeks. "Sam"
Dean came to stand next to her, "Sam!" he barked, firmly.
Sam's eyes fluttered open. Ellis was leaning close to him, they were inches away from touching noses. Her thumbs stroked his cheek. "She repeated the Gaelic phrase. "Do this for me, Sam."
"Cosaint, caomhu, ahhhh..."Sam squeezed his eyes shut as pain lanced through him. She held his face still, didn't let him turn away. "Say it."
"C...cosaint..." his teeth began to chatter.
"Fuck, Dean," Ellis turned her head helplessly. "I need to get on this or he's going to go into shock."
"Here," Dean shoved her out of the way. "What is it again?"
"Cosaint, caomhu, didean."
"Right." He touched Sam's shoulder, firmly. "Sam...Sam. Sammy!"
Sam's pained eyes met Dean's. His jaw was trembling.
"Cosaint, caomhu, didean- say it."
"Cos..."
"Dammit, Sam." Dean took his brother's hand in his and squeezed hard, his left hand still on Sam's bare shoulder. "Stop being a pussy and man up!"
Sam steeled himself and started to repeat the mantra. The pain swept over him and he gripped onto Dean's hand, firm and real like a lifeline.
Ellis took a knife, held the blade over the flame to sterilize it, and without hesitation, sank the blade into Sam's left forearm. Sam hissed.
"Keep chanting," she ordered.
"Eyes on me, Sam." Dean's voice was firm.
His arm began to trickle blood. She let it drip to the floor in slow monotonous drops.
"Keep him saying it." She told Dean. She started with her own chant, picked up a smooth stone from the assorted bag Dean had brought. She passed it through the candle flame, let a few drops of Sam's blood drip on it and then closed her eyes and started her own chant.
Sam had broken into a sweat. He was having trouble staying focused. Dean's hand squeezed his own. His older brother's voice drifted to him, making him repeat the Gaelic. God, it was hard. His teeth kept chattering, his voice breaking. He felt detached from his body.
"Sam." Sam's eyes pulled focus to see Dean hovering above him. Even through his fog he could read the worry from the older Winchester. "Say it, Sam."
To be continued...