Summary: When Dean is seriously injured during a standard haunting, Sam wants revenge. The only problem is there is no way to settle the scores, and Dean only has three months left...
Timeline: After Jus In Bello.
Rating: T
Warnings: Mild language.
A/N: Apologies for taking so long to finish this story. I just couldn't get the second part right, and even though I'm still not completely satified with it I decided to post it anyway. Nothing's perfect, right? Anyway, hope you like!
Three Months
Part One
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"Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard."
– The Scientist, Coldplay
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The day had been sunny, a rare occurrence in the Winchesters' usually dark, overcast lives. White clouds drifted lazily in the sky above them as the sun beat down against the black top of the Impala, the interior almost like an oven but the heat seemingly not an issue to the two men inside. It was even welcomed. A lone hawk used the wind to its advantage as it soared across the open space, appearing to guide them along the beaten road, nice company on this lonely stretch of farmland.
It had been astonishingly beautiful in a peculiar way, for they rarely had the chance to actually enjoy nice weather. Which is exactly what Sam was doing, taking advantage, arm resting on top the open window, wind whipping through his hair, the sun hot against his face. Dean was in the driver's seat next to him, one hand loosely gripping the top of the steering wheel, the other rummaging through a box almost as old as the cassette tapes it held – maybe even more so – and barely maintaining form.
Finally deciding upon one, nearly five minutes after sticking his hand in the box in the first place, Dean popped the tape in the cassette player and Metallica's "Jump in the Fire" was soon playing steadily from the speakers, familiar guitar chords sounding through the muggy air.
"A good ol' fashioned haunting," Dean crooned as he managed to place the box of cassette tapes in the back of the car, eyes kept trained on the road although it was unlikely they would meet any cars out here in the middle of nowhere. The grin on his face was like a child's, giddy with anticipation. "Man, have I missed those. When was the last time we took one on anyway?"
Sam didn't answer, detecting the topic Dean was attempting to bring up, not wanting to get into that discussion again. He didn't want to spoil the nice weather. Anyway, Sam couldn't even remember. It might have been at that creepy ass hotel with the pool and the girl and the old lady Dean had wanted to poke with a stick. God, the things you do remember…
"We should be there in twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen if you drive faster."
"Is that code for 'hurry your ass up' or something?" Dean asked while casting his brother a sideways glance. "What's the rush anyway? We've got plenty of time."
Sam folded the map he had cradled in his lap neatly in his hands and held on to it, storm clouds on their way. "I guess I just want to get this hunt over with." His excuse was lacking reason, but Dean already knew the answer he had refused to give.
"You just think this is a waste of our time," the older Winchester announced, a slight tone of anger in his voice.
Sam was quick with a response for he had expected this exact remark. It was what he had been trying to avoid, but obviously that was easier said than done. These things always seemed to win out when it came to Dean. He always got Sam to talk, though Sam could never say the same when it came to Dean discussing what he was thinking. Take this whole "one year left to live" business, except now it was only three months. Three months and eight days to be exact. He couldn't help but count.
"I never said this was a waste of our time."
"But you were thinking it," Dean stated assertively, his voice deep and edgy, just how it always sounded when he was serious and confident, sometimes even cocky. "You think anything that doesn't involve The Deal is not worth considering. You're forgetting that there are people out there who need our help."
"I haven't forgotten that." Sam's tone matched his brother's. Hell, he'd copied it from his brother when he was only twelve. "We've hunted and destroyed plenty of demons-"
"Only because you think one of them will be able to help me," Dean interrupted in his argument, not daring to take his eyes off of the road ahead, fearing he would see the hurt in his brother's eyes. Maybe he was selfish, but he was not willing to feel the guilt again, like a giant wave forming inside of him, ready to break and drown him from the inside out.
"The Deal's done Sammy," Dean said in a softer voice, the anger still there but not directed to his brother's refusal of acceptance; more towards himself, for not being able to figure out a way to leave Sam whole, intact. To maybe not leave him at all, though Dean knew that was impossible. There was no ritual, no exchange of sacrifice that would sever this deal. It had been set in stone, and Dean was damned if he was about to take a sledgehammer to it, because it was too risky. Any of it, even allowing Sam to use up the contacts in his phone, asking all the hunters, priests, and merchants they knew if they had any idea how to stop hell itself from opening up and swallowing you whole. He knew the terms of the bargain well, and he didn't want to see Sam lifeless again, lying on a bed in some rundown motel, skin pale and icy cold to the touch, chest unmoving. No, never again.
Sam was silent. Had been for the past minute. Dean chanced a glance but could discern little from the back of Sam's head, the younger man's face turned to the open window; unwilling to let Dean see the emotions etched into his features. Dean was glad for that, didn't know if he could take it. Damn kid and his puppy dog eyes.
The past could not be changed. His fate would not be altered.
"We still have three months…" Quiet, the words almost lost amongst the roar of the Impala's engine and the drums of Metallica.
The older Winchester sighed but nodded his head, the only other physical reaction a tightening of his hand on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. "Yah, Sammy. We do."
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They arrived at the farmhouse within the estimated range of time and immediately got to work. The building was an old fashioned two storey with several shuttered windows facing the winding dirt path that lead from the main road. It was fairly isolated, the nearest neighbour located on a farm thirteen kilometres away.
"So we know that the spirit is not connected to its body?" Dean directed this knowledge as a question while he opened the trunk of the Impala and revealed the secret compartment hidden within it. He reached for his shotgun as his brother answered him.
"The owner of the house said the body was cremated. The only possible thing that could be keeping the spirit here is the grand piano in the basement." Sam grabbed his own shotgun and began to load it with rock salt. "It's the only object that had a significance in Henry DeVancs life when he was alive."
"Henry DeVanc, old bastard back from hell," Dean chuckled to himself, enjoying every moment that reminded him of when ghost hunting had been a regular job. It seemed all they hunted now were demons. "Right, so if it's as simple as burning the damn piano then why didn't the owner do it himself?"
"Because the ghost was too violent by the time he called us and realized the piano was the source," Sam replied as he shut the trunk of the car. "He didn't feel safe entering the house."
"Wimp," Dean muttered under his breath, but then followed his brother to the front porch of the dwelling. Using the key they had been given by the owner, they quietly entered the house and looked around.
It seemed ordinary besides a few dents in the walls that seemed out of place. A winding staircase stood before them, hiding half of the old fashioned kitchen from view but leaving the living room to their right open for inspection from where they stood. A dark, narrow hallway was located on their left, two doors attached to it. One they knew lead to a small washroom while the other contained stairs leading to the unfinished basement.
Shotguns at the ready, the brothers headed directly to the bottom floor where they knew the piano was situated. If the spirit did not manifest then this job would be incredibly easy. An in and out event that simply involved the destruction of a grand piano by death of burning.
However, from what the owner had told them, the spirit haunting the house was by no means a friendly one. Apparently this one had already tried to kill the owner of the house by pushing him down the stairs and attempting to drown him in his own bathtub. It had also spilt a pot full of boiling water on a guest, resulting in third degree burns.
The basement was cluttered with objects of all kinds. Mainly junk littered the cement floor and climbed to the ceiling in piles pushed into three corners of the rectangular room. However, the fourth corner held a massive grand piano, its three legs small and wobbly compared to the large mass they surprisingly were able to maintain.
He'd never admit it, but Dean had always had a deep appreciation for the piano. Sure, he listened to crashing drums and winding guitar solos practically all day long, but the piano had something about it. He had seen a few pianists play, and even though he had watched their concerts on crappy motel television sets when nothing else was on, he could see how each musician seemed to lose themselves in the music. It was as if they entered some sort of trance, their fingers moving in a blur as they skimmed across the keys. Some sat with their backs straight, tense yet flowing, while others moved their shoulders to the music. Either way, it was sort of, well, magical.
Dean shook his head slightly to remain focused. If Sam was capable of reading thoughts he's probably be rolling on the ground in a fit of laughter by now. Dean couldn't allow that, so he cleared his throat and followed his brother to the piano. Sam was looking around the basement, almost as if he were searching for an appearance by the ghost even though he knew it was a poltergeist and invisible to the human eye. Nonetheless, it was always good to be wary.
"All right, let's do this. Give me the gasoline." Dean held out his open hand while he examined the piano. The top was a deep brown, currently closed with a few scratches littering its surface.
"I thought you brought it," stated Sam as Dean's head whipped upwards to stare at his younger brother. After a moment of silence his outstretched hand dropped heavily to his side. "Sam, I told you to grab it from the motel."
Sam was quick to defend. "I didn't hear you say that!"
"Well maybe you should clear the wax out of your ears then, because I did." Dean sighed heftily, pursing his lips as he stared at the piano. "Well I sure as hell ain't waiting another day to do this. The piano looks pretty flammable, so let's just do without the gasoline."
Dean could tell Sam was mulling the idea over, his brow creased in thought. "It's safe to bet DeVanc is going to get pretty pissed as soon as this thing catches fire."
"Why hasn't the old bastard attacked us so far? I mean, he's supposed to be some violent poltergeist, right? Not really living up to the reputation." Dean pressed his lips together. "I'm kind of disappointed actually."
"Apparently he only goes after those who mess with his piano. You sure it'll burn fast enough?"
"I guess that's something we'll just have to find out and see Sammy." Dean made his way to the far corner of the piano, his back facing the basement wall. "The real question here is," He grinned as he took a lighter from his coat pocket. "How much do you remember from your boy scout days?"
Sam grinned back, taking his position at another piano leg. "You don't have a chance."
Both brothers crouched next to the piano, each holding a small flame to old wood that seemed to be on the verge of decay, the musty environment of the basement no place for the delicate piece of furniture. After a few moments the wood finally caught and small flames began to flicker up the leg of the piano, spreading quickly over the wooden keys in less than a minute. Dean stood up from where he was crouching, a disappointed look on his face as he stared at the hungry blaze. "Damn it," he cursed. "I almost had mine lit."
Sam smirked at him from across the large piece of furniture. "I could always start a fire faster than you Dean, even when we were kids."
"Yah, well this ain't boy scouts Sammy. I would have had this fire going in a second if you hadn't forgotten the gasoline."
"Me?" Sam asked in mock outrage. "You were the one who was supposed to-"
Without warning, the piano suddenly jerked backwards, a loud, abrupt grinding noise echoing against the walls as the legs of the piano scraped against the cement floor. Dean jumped back and stared at it as if the piece of furniture had teeth. He looked up at his brother with alarm clearly visible in his eyes, the brightness of the fire mixing with his distress as the flames tore across the top of the piano.
Not less than two seconds after the furniture's unexpected movement, the grand piano skidded back even further, this time with such great velocity that Dean had no time to react.
Sam watched in horror as the large, burning object connected with his brother. The sound of the one lit leg splintering from the heat of the fire sounded through the room at the same time as the sickening crack of Dean's body colliding with the cement wall. The piano made a deafening crash as its right corner fell to the ground in a heap of broken wood and hissing flames. Dean's scream of agony came directly afterwards.
The hefty piano had pinned Dean to the wall. The piece of furniture was still standing on two legs and one collapsed corner, and behind it Dean was trying desperately to push the large object away from him. The fire had draped itself across the entire top of the piano and hungry flames were now licking at the older Winchester's clothes.
"Sam!" Dean called out over the growling of the flames. The younger Winchester had already made his way to the back of the piano and was frantically attempting to push it aside. However, the fixture would not budge and Sam realized that the spirit was holding it there.
"Dean, hold on," he grunted as he pushed with all his strength. A stray flame bit at his hand and he instinctively drew back. He had to douse the fire before it reached his brother. He had to let the piano burn to destroy the spirit and free Dean. He didn't know what to do. He had no freakin' clue.
Glancing at his brother, Sam noticed the pain distorting his face and the look of wild panic in his eyes. The flames were uncomfortably close to the older Winchester and were just beginning to singe his leather jacket. Sam decided to give the piano one last shove before giving up and dousing the flames. Putting his shoulder against the wood, ignoring the heat from the fire and the squirming of his brother to his right, Sam pushed with all his strength.
As another piano leg shattered and collapsed, the hold of the ghost seemed to instantly weaken and the piano went crashing into the second wall. Sam barely caught himself from falling forward as his muscles ached with the effort. Instantly turning his head in the direction of his brother, he saw Dean slumped against the wall, now in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Sam practically dove towards him, dropping to his knees by his brother's side as he took in the damage. Dean was sitting on the floor, having slid down the wall as soon as he was free of the burning piano. However, his head was lulled to the side, his eyes barely open. A stream of blood was dripping down his chin, his clothes masking the internal damage done to his abdomen when he had been pinned.
Sam instinctively pulled his cell phone out and was dialling for help, though he went through the motions unaware of what he was actually doing. It almost seemed as if he were two people at the moment, one taking action and doing what had to be done while the other simply stared at his brother, completely frozen.
We still have three months. The words echoed in Sam's head as his other self reached out a hand and felt Dean's pulse. He could see his brother's chest rising shakily but he needed the reassurance of an actual heartbeat; a promise that Dean would not leave him. Not yet.
"You're going to be okay Dean. Help is coming," Sam assured his barely conscience brother, realizing that he had already hung up the phone after stating the address they were located at to the dispatcher. He could hear the crackling of the fire and faintly wondered how he would explain their situation later on. The thought was barely acknowledged, however, for Dean was trying to move.
An unrecognizable sound escaped his brother's lips as Dean raised his head, eyes opening wider. Suddenly Sam understood what he had said, and leaned in closer. "I'm here Dean. I'm right here."
Dean looked confused, his eyes glossy in the fading embers of the burning piano. It seemed as though DeVanc had finally been destroyed, but Sam had no time to think of that. "I can't see you," Dean stated, alarm in his voice. "I-I can't see you."
"Don't worry Dean, I'm here. You're going to be okay," But almost as if in challenge to Sam's words, Dean's eyes slid shut and no sirens could be heard over the crackling of the fire.
