WARNING: This story contains scenes of abuse and a graphic scene of rape. This is not meant to be a pleasant story so if that's not your cup of tea please read something else.
They've lived in lots of old houses before, never for very long but there's something special about this one that Sam doesn't quite like, something that bothers him the second they pull up and Dad drops them both off. It's in the middle of the country at the end of a long gravel drive; small, one storey with a sloping roof and a wrap-around porch. The paint is peeling from the front and the windows look almost black from the amount of dust on them.
"It's mad at the rest of the world," Sam remarks as he and Dean lug their duffle bags up the creaky old steps. He glances to the side and sees an aged seat swing that looks about one gust from snapping off the cord that connects it to the low slope of the roof. "It wants to make it suffer."
"Aw c'mon Sam don't be such a pussy," Dean says with an enthusiastic grin. "It's got some old world charm." He pushes the door open a little too enthusiastically and it bangs on the inside wall.
"Dean watch yourself," John says, grimacing as he comes up behind the two of them. "This place is an antique."
"More like a relic," Sam mutters as he enters the front hall behind Dean. The walls are all solid wood which is something Sam's not used to, having only ever seen plaster in the places they've stayed. And the wood looks aged to, at one point having been a fine ochre but now it looks faded and stained with age. Glancing up at the ceiling Sam sees cobwebs in the rafters.
"Right at home in a Stephen King book," Dean says as he stops to let John lead them down the hall, passed a furnished living room containing a sofa and armchair and a desk that belonged to the previous owner.
"Like you've ever cracked the spine of a Stephen King book," Sam says smartly.
"Boys, please don't start," John says with a tired sigh. "Christ, eight and a half hours on the road I thought you'd be too bushed to go after each other."
"We're not going after each other!" Sam insists with a smirk. John stops in front of a door and fumbles in his pockets for a ring of keys. "Dean are we going after each other?" Sam asks his brother cheekily.
"Nah," Dean say dismissively. "I usually wait til you're asleep to do that."
"That's creepy Dean," John mumbles as he fits a key into the old fashioned lock on the door and turns it. The lock groans and then John swings the door open to an old room that's just as derelict as the rest of the bungalow. There's on large bed in the room and a huge old desk on the opposite side. It's a big room, too big to only contain such meager furnishings but Sam knows that he and Dean will have to get used to it.
The two of them walk into the room quietly. Sam looks up at the ceiling and yep there are more cobwebs there, not that he minds since they're too far north for any dangerous spiders. Dean waltzes over to one of the two big windows and scuffs at it with the sleeve of his jacket, wiping off a layer of dust and letting the weak evening light in.
"Not so bad," he says. "A few throw pillows, some scented candles and some drapes and it would be a regular room at the Ritz." He grins at Sam who knows that Dean's saying this for his benefit, the way he usually does when they get stuck somewhere less than stellar.
Sam shrugs and says, "It's not that bad. Kinda rustic actually." He turns to John and gives him a weak smile, trying to show that he's not upset or anything and really he isn't. Hell it's actually kind of charming, in a Vincent Price midnight movie kind of way.
"I'm sorry," John says softly. "It's…well alright I don't know how long you guys will be shacked up here but it won't be too long…"
"I still don't see why I can't go with you," Dean mutters grumpily as he drops his duffle bag on the edge of the bed and opens it, his gaze moody. "I'm old enough. We've done dangerous stuff before."
"This…this isn't the same thing Dean," John says in an evasive manner. "I don't even know what the hell is running around that swamp and neither does Bobby."
"We've gone up against things like that before," Dean says punitively. Sam is standing back, leaning against the wall and pretending to be thoroughly engrossed by the ornate design carved into the black handles on the front. Usually it's him giving lip lately but right now he's more the happy to let Dean have his say.
"Things before didn't rip their victims limbs off and then impale them on tree stumps," John says in a voice of deadly finality. "Look you two are all I've got left and all I care about in this crapsack world and I'm not putting either of you at risk, no matter how old you think you are."
Dean sighs heavily while pretending to rifle through his things but Sam can tell that he knows their father has a point. It's really quite admirable of him, Sam thinks, seeing as how ever since Dean was sixteen John hasn't really thought twice about dragging him out into the field. Sam's only fourteen and is dreading the day he's told he has to go with them for one of the really dangerous assignments, not that either Dean or Dad have trained him up to go against such things. It's mostly just salt and burns for him.
"I'm sorry about the bed," John apologizes.
"Don't worry Dad," Sam says encouragingly. He's trying to be less of a pain lately. "Dean and I are used to it. Besides I think this is the biggest we've had to share."
"Just don't go rubbing your night boners up against me," Dean says with an impish smirk and Sam turns faintly pink around the ears. John lets out a mortified laugh as though he can't help but find it funny as hard as he tries. The second he turns around Sam gives Dean the finger and an ugly look which only makes Dean wiggles his eyebrows evilly.
"I'll be back before the end of the month," John explains as he walks them back down the hall. "You've got the Impala Dean. It's in good condition now and I'd like to come back to it like that."
"I'd never hurt my baby," Dean says in offense but John ignores him, stopping in the door to turn and face them both.
"There's five hundred in your duffle pocket Dean. That's for food and necessities and stuff. I don't wanna hear about you going to any strip joints—
"They have strip joints in this part of the world?" Dean says in mock surprise. Sam can see his point though. The town is a full half hour drive away from where they are and he's pretty sure it's too picturesque small town America for there to be anything more scandalizing than a rack of Playboy magazines at the convenience store.
"Just use it responsibly please?" John says with a huff. "If you wanna pick up some brewskies for the two of you that's fine just make sure you limit your brother."
"I'll be careful Dad," Sam says with a nod. He doesn't really go too hard on what little booze he chooses to partake of anyway even though Dad and Dean both insist he's more than old enough to suck back his fair share.
John gives him a confident nod and caps off his talk with, "If I can't call you then I'll get somebody who will. Bobby or maybe Jo…either way they'll tell you it's a message from me."
"Be careful Dad," both Sam and Dean say in unison. It's a shared moment of realizing the gravity of the situation they're both in; John about to head off for a dangerous hunt, Sam and Dean being left to their own devices in the middle of nowhere. John smiles at the two of them and then gives Dean a bracing pat on the shoulder before turning to Sam, who he hugs gruffly for a moment.
And Sam is grateful for it, even though he can't help but be mad at his father for the life they lead. He knows it's the teen angst escalating the feelings of resentment but deep down he cares about his father, although not nearly as much as he cares about his big brother.
They watch John as he walks back to his truck, the sunset in front of him casting his shadowy profile against the sky. They watch until his truck drives down the gravel driveway before they turn back into the hall of the house. And it's only after the door to the house closes ominously that Sam suddenly feels something more about the place, like a thick blanket being wrapped around him, but not in a pleasant way. It's a stifling, oppressive feeling that makes him feel like he's alone despite the fact that Dean is walking quite at his ease beside him, humming the chorus from 1979 like this is all just another day at the office. Sam can't help but look back behind him as they walk down the hall, even though he knows there's nothing there and he wonders briefly if maybe he's just being paranoid.
He and Dean are silent as they go through their things, Sam pulling out a box of Windsor salt. It's his turn to line the doors and windows this time since Dean did at the least place they were at. Sam usually doesn't mind because doing so gives him a chance to scope out their surroundings but for some reason he doesn't want to do it this time, doesn't want to be in this foul house alone for longer than a few moments.
He's just worked up the nerve to start salting the sill on the right side of the bed when Dean cusses angrily.
"What's up?" Sam asks.
"I can't find my fucking amulet," he says moodily. "I know I packed it before we left the motel." He frowns and then says, "It's not in your suitcase is it?"
Sam shakes his head. "No it's not. At least I don't think it is. I'll check in the morning just to make sure though."
"Great," Dean mutters and Sam frowns.
"Why do you even want it? I thought you'd be turning in after I salted his stupid mess of a house."
"Just like having it is all," Dean says, his eyes flicking to Sam again and Sam knows the reason Dean likes having the amulet at all times is because it's the one that Sam gave him, because he likes having that little piece with him no matter what.
"I'll check," Sam repeats, "but first I wanna make sure to keep the creepy crawlies out of here before we go to bed." He shakes the box of salt for emphasis and Dean chuckles dryly, zipping his duffle bag back up.
While Sam salts the house, Dean goes to take a shower. The bathroom is just next to their room and Sam has to resist the temptation to put a line of salt along the bottom of the bathroom door while Dean is in there just for shits and giggles. Instead he goes onto the kitchen, opening every cupboard just to make sure there aren't any spiders or rats living in them. He tests the lights and faucet, which both work and is relieved that the fridge is also in running condition. It's really the only part of the kitchen that looks like it's been updated in the past fifty years.
The living room like the bedroom looks too big for what it contains, but that's mostly due to the big fireplace at the opposite edge. There is thankfully a TV that gets three channels which Sam tests when he's salting the window sill. The windows in this room overlook the lake that's a ways away from the house and the old dock that stretches over the shoreline. There's a big tree near the dock with branches that stretch over the dock, an ugly tree that gives Sam the creeps just looking at it. He shakes his head and turns back to salt the other window when something behind him slams.
He turns around, his eyes scanning the living room. Nothing is there, no rats, no people and no ghosts. Frowning, he walks into the hall and sees that what's making the banging noise is the bathroom door, which is opening and closing at regular intervals. Sam can't help but shiver, even though he knows it's totally something he can deal with. After all he's got salt handy. He wishes that he had salted the door to the bathroom when he had the chance but there's no time like the present to make a good decision for the future.
Setting his jaw grimly he walks down the hall and crouches down, spreading a line of salt along the bottom of the door and gets to his feet. His smirk of confidence drops the second he realizes that salting the door has no effect. It's still opening just to the point of being ajar and then closing again. This isn't right…ghosts are supposed to cease and desist at the sight of sodium iodine.
The oppressive feeling returns and Sam backs away, suddenly wishing that his father and Dean had thought to train him better against things besides ghosts. The door to the bedroom is closed and Sam just has enough sense to turn and seize the knob when suddenly the bathroom door bursts open and something grabs him and pulls him back. He lets out a yelp of fear and panic and drops the salt which pools on the floor like white sand.
"I vant to suck your blood!" A theatrical voice says in his ear.
Anger replaces panic and he whirls around to see Dean, his hair damp, slumped against the wall and laughing hysterically.
"Jesus Christ Sam!" Dean wheezes. "I can't believe you fell for that. God what the hell is the matter with you?"
Sam frowns and gives Dean a shot to the arm before storming through the bedroom door and stripping his shirt off. He plops himself on the bed which is mercifully comfortable and stares moodily up at the darkened ceiling. He's mad because Dean played the joke but angrier at himself for being such an idiot and letting the atmosphere of this stupid old house work him up like that.
Dean swaggers into the room and he's not laughing.
"Aw c'mon Sammy I'm sorry," he says genuinely as he sits down on the side of the bed and strips off his socks and jeans. "I was just having a bit of fun."
"You were being an asshole," Sam says, although what fight there could have been in his voice is muted because being pissed off has made him all the more tired. "Why'd you gotta go freaking me out like that?"
"I'm sorry," Dean repeats as he shuffles into bed, his arms behind his head. "I guess I could just do with a laugh today. This place isn't exactly the Goodship Lollipop you know."
"Tell me about it," Sam sighs. Then, because he doesn't want to good to bed angry he rolls over facing away from Dean and says, "I'm gonna get some shut eye now. And don't worry, I'll keep my night boner well away from you."
"You're too kind," Dean says with a laugh and Sam smiles, glad that he was able to let go of the prank, although when he closes his eyes he still feels that strange weight pressing in like there's something spiraling in the air watching the two of them fall asleep.
Wind stirs the tall grass outside the house, rippling the surface of the lake. The branch over the dock creaks as though on the verge of breaking despite being older than anything on the property. Midnight comes and goes and the Winchester's sleep on, neither one of them stirring when something pushes the salt away from the door and walks unseen and undetected across the floor towards the bed where they slumber.
It hovers over the end of the frame for a moment then comes around the side to where Dean is sleeping soundly on his back. It stops there for several moments and then reaches down for his throat. Dean's back arches, his breathing hitching in his throat and rattling as though trapped in his windpipe.
Then the invisible force lets him go and disappears altogether, leaving both boys sleeping peacefully, both blissfully unaware of the intruder as well as the vicious purple bruise that forms on Dean's neck.
Sam wakes up too early in the morning. He's slept straight through the night which would normally make him feel good but for some reason he can't help but feel tired. Glancing at his watch he sees that it's a quarter to eight in the morning. Grimacing, he tries to roll over and go back to sleep but in wakefulness he again is made aware of that enclosing, claustrophobic feeling that makes the skin on the back of his neck prickle.
After ten futile minutes of trying to fall back to sleep he gives up and slides off the bed, his bare feet touching the cold wood of the floor. He looks over his shoulder and sees to his chagrin that his older brother is still fast asleep, his arm over his head. Shaking his head, Sam pads softly to the door and heads to the bathroom for a nice, hot shower.
The bathroom has ugly wallpaper over it that at one point was probably pink with green flowers but is now a sickly peach that makes it look like diseased skin. The thought makes him shiver involuntarily and he wishes that just once he could get his imagination in check. Fortunately the water is hot and refreshing and after a nice long stay under the spray he feels a little more at ease.
It's as he's going back toward the bedroom that he notices something he hadn't before. The salt lines under both the bathroom and bedroom doors have been scraped away into neat little piles like miniature ant hills.
That's not a good sign, but then again it was windy last night and maybe a draft pushed them together like that…
And maybe one day I'll become President of the United States, Sam thinks bitterly. He crouches down at the door frame to get a better look. The bedroom door is still closed like he left it, the salt pile pushed to the left and a little bit out as though something from inside the room had swept it outwards.
Sam starts when he sees two shadowy feet under the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor and for a second he's prepared to start chanting in Latin but then common sense once more reins him in and he realizes that Dean is still in the room. He probably stepped on the salt line…
"That stuff's to protect us, idiot," Sam says in annoyance to the outline of Dean's feet. He stands up, puts a hand on the knob and pushes the door open.
His heart stops for a moment.
There's nobody on the other side of the door. Dean is still sleeping soundly on the bed in the same position as when Sam left him there. The weight of the house presses in on him again and Sam stands rooted to the spot for a moment, paralyzed by the remnants of a fear he thought he'd gotten rid of as a child.
Something's not right here.
Plucking up his courage again, Sam steps into the room and marches over to Dean's side of the bed.
"Dean!" He hisses, shaking his brother by the shoulder. Dean groans and his hand falls away from his face languidly. "Dean wake up, we've got a problem!"
"Yeah you do," Dean grumbles sleepily, "you're up way to early kiddo." Dean shakes his head for a moment and then opens his eyes, fixing them grumpily on Sam. He cocks his head to the side in confusion at the worry on his brother's face and it's at that moment that Sam notices something on Dean's neck. It's a large, fresh, purple bruise.
"Dude you've got a hickey!" Sam says, forgetting his worry for a moment. "Where the hell did that come from?"
"What are you talking about Sammy?" Dean looks bemused and sits up, rubbing the side of his neck. He hisses at the contact and seems to wake up in a flash, kicking the covers off and heading to the mirror over the old desk. He tenderly examines the bruise for a moment as though trying to place it in his memory while behind him Sam stands stock still, watching his brother carefully. Then Dean shakes his head and says, "Well unless you've been giving me love bites in my sleep buddy boy I'm guessing this is just a bruise." He turns and smiles at Sam, "I guess you must've given me a good right hook when we were training."
Sam bites his lip. "We haven't trained for like three days Dean. And that bruise looks fresh."
"Then I guess I hit myself against the bed last night or something," Dean says with a shrug. Then, noticing that Sam still looks un-nerved he walks over to him and puts a bracing hand on his shoulder. "Hey it's alright I've had way worse bruises than this."
Sam nods. Then jumps out of his skin when door behind both of them slams shut. Dean goes into full hunter mode and shoves Sam behind him, turning around to face the door. His eyes flick down to the bottom of the door, noticing that the salt line isn't there. "What the fuck Sam?" He hisses. "I thought you—
"I did!" Sam insists, stung that Dean is accusing him like this. "But when I got back from the shower I noticed all the lines pushed into little piles…" A glance over his shoulder shows him that the lines on the windows have likewise been pushed together. Suddenly his trepidation over the place boils over and he's babbling nervously, "God dammit now we're stuck in this stupid fucking house with some stupid ghost that we—
"Hey!" Dean says in a commanding voice. "What the fuck is wrong with you Sam? We're gonna be fine alright? It's just some stupid ghost. Nothing we can't handle." He smiles again and Sam, feeling slightly sheepish for having panicked so childishly, nods.
They go around and bless the house using the Latin that's been drilled into their heads. Dean's of course is broken but it doesn't really matter. By the time eight-thirty rolls around the whole house has been scoured and Sam, in spite of himself, feels at least a little bit better.
Dean takes a shower afterwards and Sam, remembering that he promised to check his duffle bag for Dean's amulet heads back to their bedroom to go through their things. He smiles a little as he's searching the inner pockets, hearing Dean's voice carry from the bathroom as he sings in the shower sweetly…
Singing…sweetly…Sam blinks and whirls around. Dean is as tone deaf as they come and there's no way that his voice would ever sound that angelic but there it is, plain as day, his voice undoubtedly singing some old lullaby. And as Sam creeps over to the open door to listen he tries to tell himself that it's just the acoustics of the bathroom.
"…when you wake, you shall have, all the pretty little horses…"
Sam screws up his face. It's a beautiful sound but it's also incredibly uncanny. The stream of the shower stops and still Sam stays in the door frame, listening as Dean continues singing to himself, his voice still hauntingly melodic. The door opens a moment later, letting out steam into the hall and Dean steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist.
He doesn't stop singing when he sees Sam, doesn't even acknowledge him for the briefest moment. He simply brushes by Sam back into the room and Sam, completely at a loss, turns to stare at Dean. Are his eyes playing tricks on him or is there another bruise on the back of Dean's neck?
Dean drops his towel and starts changing, pulling some sweats and a muscle shirt on, his gaze out of focus. Slowly Sam walks towards him, hoping to God that this is just Dean suddenly going introspective on him even though it's totally uncharacteristic. He steps on a creaky floorboard that groans loudly. Dean stops singing, his head snapping up. Then he turns as if he just noticed Sam and jumps.
"What the hell Sam?" He sees, suddenly angry. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Are you alright?" Sam asks, stopping at the end of the bed, his eyes fixed on Dean as though afraid the second he looks away that Dean's going to transform into something not entirely himself. Dean scowls and says, "Course I'm alright. I'm starting to wonder if you're completely kosher though."
"What are you talking about?"
"You've been acting like a total chickenshit since we came here."
Sam stands there for a moment, feeling completely idiotic because he knows Dean has a point, but also because he now realizes that Dean can't feel it the way he can, the way this foul house seems to be pressing in on them. Dean is watching him levelly, rubbing the back of his neck. He grimaces when he feels the new bruise but before Sam can say anything Dean's whole attitude changes, his face darkening. He storms passed Sam without any warning and Sam shrinks away as though Dean's anger is emanating off of him like a hot iron.
"Where are you going?" Sam asks him as he follows him down the hallway.
"For a walk," Dean says, his voice sounding hollow. He bangs the front door open and walks down the steps, heading down the rock drive and passed the Impala, leaving Sam completely stunned and just a little bit hurt behind him.
Sam has the television turned on full blast. He's just eaten some of the cereal that Dad left for them in the trunk of the Impala. It's passed noon and Dean still hasn't come back. Sam's been trying hard to keep himself busy because every time he comes to rest he feels like the house is starting to creep up on him like some kind of predator in the night.
He's re-salted all the doors and windows and is sitting in front of the TV watching some stupid formula one racing broadcast when he hears a noise from somewhere out in the hall. Sam sits stock still and listens, counting the claps as they come. First one, then a second, then a pause and then three claps in succession…
And again he can't help but feel scared because he's here alone and has no idea where Dean could be and knows without a doubt that whatever is in this place isn't just a typical spook because if it was then it would've been contained somewhere by the salt and showed itself by now.
Clap, clap…clap, clap, clap…
"Go away!" Sam yells, his eyes still fixed on the TV because he doesn't want to look anywhere else at the moment and it occurs to him then how utterly pathetic it is that he feels so helpless without his brother there. Even though he hasn't been fully trained to the extent as Dean he should know how to tackle something that goes bump in the day.
Stealing himself he gets to his feet as the clapping continues and turns to go into the hall. Of course there's nothing there, not that he expected anything to be since there never is. Then again that's because the clapping isn't coming from the hallway…it's coming from inside the walls, not just on one side of the hall but on all sides. Sam closes his eyes, standing in the middle of the hallway between the front door and the bedroom door, and suddenly wishes that he hadn't because with his eyes closed he feels like anything could be around him, watching him, waiting for him…
He opens his mouth to recite the exorcism chant when the clapping stops and he hears a sniffled sob behind him. He turns slowly and starts when he sees a boy his age standing behind him, naked, his body riddled with deep cuts, his long blonde hair over his eyes.
Sam's fear turns to a rushing tenderness and he steps closer to the spirit, who shivers as though he can feel the cold despite being dead. He looks up at Sam who is alarmed to see that the boy's eyes have been gouged out, leaving empty black sockets behind but it's not matter. Sam's seen spirits like this before since he started helping with salt and burns.
"It's alright," Sam says gently, "I'm not going to hurt you…"
The ghost shakes his head, his empty eyes gazing over Sam's shoulder. Then he's within an inch of Sam's face and Sam can't back away because it happened too damn fast and any and all instincts he had have dropped out of him along with his stomach.
"Look what he did to me," the boy whispers, looking down at his scarred body then back over Sam's shoulder and Sam not knowing why turns around too and yelps when he sees another spirit standing behind him, this time of an older boy, a young man really with curly blonde hair who is likewise naked and has a gaping slash across his throat, his eyes also missing.
Sam lets out a strangled sob when the second ghost comes up just as close, holding him locked in a terrible gaze that makes Sam wish he could just wake up from this horrible nightmare.
"She made me do it," the older boy says, his voice sad and mournful and full of regret that pulls at Sam's heartstrings despite his terror. "I didn't want to but she made me…she always made me…"
"M-made you?" Sam repeats, his voice choked and he's ashamed when he realizes that his eyes are brimming with unshed tears of fear. The older boy starts to sob and behind him Sam hears the younger one do the same. Sam is shaking so bad that he's surprised he hasn't collapsed. How he wishes he could run or recite something or even just pass out to end this but nothing comes to end this spiral of horror until the door bangs open behind him but Sam can't find it in him to look back.
The ghost of the older boy looks up and suddenly his gaping eye sockets widen at the same time he lets out a wail of furious terror that distends his mouth. Screams, violent and searching fill the air from in front of Sam and behind him as both ghosts let out wails of anguished despair and before Sam knows it he's screaming too and his knees give way as he collapses to the floor, his hands over his face.
Something comes charging behind him and he knows this is it, knows that he'll never see Dean or his father or Bobby or anything again because the presence in the house has finally come for him. It wraps him round and pulls it to him…only it's not a malevolent hold…its warm…and human.
Dean is holding Sam to him and rocking him back and forth like a baby as Sam lets out strangled sobs.
"Shh," Dean whispers soothingly, his lips against Sam's hair, arms around him in a tight embrace. "Hey come on now Sammy it's alright I'm back now…it's okay…"
And Sam, overwhelmed by fear and shame and anger at himself and relief that Dean's back sobs into Dean's shoulder, the memory of those two spirits burning into his mind like a hot iron brand. He's so grateful that Dean isn't reprimanding him for being a wuss and after a few moments Sam is calm enough to break away and give his brother a relieved yet sheepish smile.
Of course because this abominable house just can't give him a moment's peace his smile never comes because he can see it just over Dean's head, it's face wizened and horrible, it's hair wild and matted, it's yellow eyes glaring down at them, it's torn lips curled into a hideous facsimile of a smile that reveals broken teeth.
"Dean it's behind you!" Sam shouts, scrambling back. Dean whirls around and looks from side to side, his eyes alert but the second he looks back the woman vanishes and Sam can't even see it. He lets out a groan of frustration and puts his head in his hands.
"It's alright Sammy," Dean says soothingly, "I believe you okay?"
"I don't wanna stay here," Sam says, getting shakily to his feet, heading down the hall and back into their bedroom which is mercifully devoid of anything either living or dead. Dean follows him and it's when Sam has opened his duffle bag to pack things that he looks up and finally gets a good glimpse at Dean. "What the fuck?!" Sam all but yells when he sees that Dean's got even more bruises, one over his eye and another on the center of his neck. "What are you doing to yourself Dean? Where the fuck did you go?"
"I fell asleep in the field," Dean says simply, "I didn't get enough shut eye last night Sam…"
"What the hell are you talking about? You were out longer than I was!"
Dean glares at him so suddenly and fiercely that Sam lets out a small gasp and steps back from the bed. His older brother's whole gaze has changed so that he looks almost as predatory as this whole house feels. His lips have curled angrily and his eyebrows are knitted together. Then, in that same hollow voice he spoke in before he left the house he asks, "What'd you do with my amulet Sam?"
Sam blinks, completely surprised by the question which is so out of the blue. They've got more pressing matters to attend to so what the hell does Dean care about that necklace anyway?
"I haven't found it yet," Sam says guardedly. Dean curses so violently that Sam jumps and takes a step away from the bed.
"Of course you didn't find it," Dean says as he walks slowly around the bed, his gaze almost feral as he approaches Sam who backs away from him with a feeling of dread. "One simple fucking request and you've got to go slacking off just because you don't want to be here."
"Dean…" Sam says, his voice shaky. This can't be happening now, not after what he just witnessed in the hallway. It's not fair for him to feel so small and alone after only being in this rotten place for just a day. He half turns to make a dash for the door when Dean seizes him violently by the arm and yanks him towards him.
"DEAN!" Sam yelps in pain and fear.
"Why can't you just do what the fuck you're told?!" Dean snaps viciously and with that he flings Sam from him hard, sending him crashing into the bed painfully. His head smacks into the bottom of the frame and he sees stars. He crumples to the floor, clutching his head in pain. He doesn't even have the strength to cry right now, simply laying there in heap and feeling completely alone in the world.
Above him he hears Dean let out a moan. He feels him crouch down next to him and put a hand on his back but Sam flinches away, still clutching his throbbing head.
"Aw Jesus Sammy," Dean says, his voice thick with tears and Sam finally looks up through his hair and sees Dean slumped against the bed, his face completely broken. The anger dissipates as Sam knew it would because he knows that this isn't Dean doing these things. Dean would never hurt him, not like this. It's this house and whatever possesses it. As Sam crawls over to Dean and puts an arm over his shoulder he glances at his brother's neck and notices three long bruises in the shape of fingers pressing into his throat.
They sit there for what feels like hours, both too spent by what's been happening to have any strength to move until finally sometime around six Sam suggests that they get some food into them. He leaves Dean in the room and goes to the kitchen to put on some soup which he pours into their thermoses. When he gets back to the room he finds Dean has crawled into bed, his arms over his head. Sam sets the thermos down on the desk and glances into the mirror in spite of himself.
He can see her standing at the opposite side of the room in the reflection of the mirror, still looking malevolently triumphant as she stands there with the two mutilated boys. This time Sam holds her gaze, mustering up all the courage he can find. He's not going to let this bitch win, no matter what it takes. After a long moment the three of them vanish and Sam lets out a breath. Just as he's crawling into bed he glances at the door.
The salt lines have moved again.
It's very dark when Sam wakes up. He checks his watch and sees that it's three in the morning, which isn't all that unexpected because he and Dean went to sleep very early in the evening. His head is pounding from where he hit the edge of the bed and for a second Sam lies there, not wanting to move for fear that he'll see the spirits again.
He reaches out a hand for Dean to see if he's still sleeping but freezes when he finds the bed empty. Sam sits up in the darkness and looks around the room but Dean's not there. The door is wide open though, showing him the hallways stretching beyond. There's an orange glow tinging the darkness of the walls. Dean must have gone to the living room to watch some television.
Sam slides out of bed, noticing how cold the room is again. Holding his arms around himself he walks slowly to the door and has just set foot in the hallways when he hears it again; the soft sound of Dean's voice singing from within the living room.
"…birds and the butterflies peck out his eyes, poor little baby crying mama…"
As Sam comes around the corner into the living room he can see Dean standing in front of the fireplace which is roaring brightly. He wonders where in the hell Dean found the firewood but doesn't really have time to think on such a plain thought because as he draws cautiously near his older brother he notices that Dean isn't wearing any clothes. He's standing completely still in front of the fireplace, naked and singing that same hauntingly sweet song.
"Jesus Dean put some clothes on," Sam says in an effort to make thing seem mundane but his voice breaks because he knows that this isn't just Dean doing something weird for the sake of being weird. The firelight glows on Dean's naked skin, shadowing parts of his face, making his eyes appear to be pinpricks in the darkness. He stares into the fire as though it's a fascinating documentary, his lips moving almost autonomously.
Sam eventually works up the nerve to put a hand on Dean's bare shoulder. He stops singing instantly and turns his head slowly to look at Sam but their eyes don't meet. Dean smiles softly and raises a hand. Sam, remembering when Dean threw him against the bedframe flinches but doesn't move away as Dean's hand gently caresses the side of his face, stroking it lovingly.
The fire crackles in front of the two of them, the only noise breaking the stretching silence. Behind them the hallway seems darker even though the light is spilling out into it. To Sam it seems like they're both trapped in the living room as though this part of the house has sectioned itself off from everything else.
"Sammy," Dean whispers, his voice distant, "my sweet little Sammy…"
"Dean let's go back to bed," Sam says, his voice low, fully aware of just how far out there this whole situation is. He almost wishes that Dean were violent again because there would be nothing suggestive about him hitting Sam or shoving him. This loving caress is the last thing in the world Sam was prepared for and he doesn't like it one little bit.
Dean doesn't answer, but moves closer to Sam who can't back away because his legs have turned into Jello and he's afraid that if he tries to move he's going to disappear into the endless darkness of the house. Dean's other hand finds Sam's, closes over his wrist and leads it to his own body, over his heart, down his chest and further, down to the most intimate part of Dean's body.
Sam feels nausea overwhelm him as his hands touch is older brother's penis. He tries to pull away desperately but Dean's hand is too tight around his wrist. Sam can only stand there, feeling his stomach knot and his eyes fill with tears as Dean forces him to explore that part of him in front of the blazing firelight. And it's not Dean, Sam knows…it's the evil in this house forcing Dean to commit something so awful, so completely unforgiveable, something that Sam knows he can never forget.
"Dean can we please go back to bed," Sam says, his voice breaking as Dean continues to make Sam's hand brush up against him. This is so wrong, so sick and Sam once more hopes to God that this is all just an extended bad dream. Tears are spilling down his face and Dean is growing hard against his hand and Sam knows what the house wants to have happen and that is where he will draw the line. He'll attack his own brother to make this stop if he has to.
Dean blinks and then lets Sam's hand fall mercifully away from him. Sam backs away several paces and collapses against the wall, not wanting to believe what just happened, not daring to think about what could have happened. Dean turns and walks slowly away, sleep walking out of the living room and back down the hall and out of sight.
Sam stays in the living room shaking like leaf for a second, feeling bile rise in his throat. Then when he hears the door to the bedroom close he lurches out of the living room, stumbling back down the hall, not bothering to care as the light from the fire is extinguished behind him as the darkness of the house creeps along the walls. Sam collapses against the toilet and before he can stop himself he throws up into the bowl, bile stinging his throat as he vomits up what little food is in him. When he's done and his stomach feels empty and his throat burning he gets shakily to his feet and turns the tap water on hot, scrubbing at his hand until it's rubbed raw, until steam has fogged over the mirror.
Finally when his skin starts to smart he shuts the water off and looks up into the mirror. He can just see his blurred reflection through the fog…and behind him two figures, the two boys he saw earlier slowly come into focus. Sam shakes, wanting to make a mad dash for the door but he knows he has nothing to fear from these two because they're not the evil in this accursed house…
"She'll make him do it," the older boy whispers into Sam's ear. "Just like she made me."
Sam lets out a moan as he turns back to see them both and realizes with a sickening jolt that almost makes him throw up again just why these two are appearing to him naked. The younger boy looks at him, black ooze seeping from his sockets as he nods over and over again.
"No…" Sam whispers, shaking his head violently from side to side.
"I didn't want to," the older boy repeats, "but she made me…she made me…"
Sam turns to look in the mirror and sees the crone's face there, leering at him. Roaring in rage Sam smashes the mirror with his fist, shards of glass cutting into his skin. He collapses against the wall and sinks to the floor, too exhausted from fear and revulsion to remain conscious, while above him the older boy continues to repeat, "She made me do it…she made me…"
He's in bed when he wakes up and realizes that Dean must have moved him in there sometime that morning. His hand is bandaged too and for a moment he clings to the precious notion that maybe, just maybe it was all some horrible nightmare.
Dean's in the living room, watching TV and doesn't return Sam's greeting when he enters. He simply sits staring at the screen and not acknowledging Sam's presence in the least. He's wearing a muscle shirt and Sam can see more finger-like bruises around Dean's arms like something has been grabbing him and soon a suspicion begins to form in his head.
After nearly an hour of sitting in uncomfortable silence with his older brother Sam gets to his feet and walks back to the bedroom. More for something to do than anything he pulls out a book from his duffle bag and begins reading, trying to ignore the strange feeling hovering over him. It's the same intangible weight that's been in the house since they got here but there's something more to it, something like the way the air gets before a big thunderstorm. He knows something's going to happen, something really bad. Soon he can't even focus on the book anymore and puts it down.
He's about to go back to his bag to look for Dean's amulet again when suddenly an echoing, maniacal cackle fills the air, circling around him as though it's flying. Sam stands at his full height, trying to show the bitch that he's not afraid of her this time even though all the hairs on his body are on end. The windows begin to rattle in the panes and fly open violently. Sam doesn't know why but he walks over to them and looks outside towards the lake. His heart catches in his throat when he sees it, dangling from the distant tree.
It's the body of a woman, dangling from a thick noose. She's wearing a bloody nightgown, her thick black hair matted and flying around her as though caught in a violent wind. The cackling grows louder and louder and then the body's arm rises suddenly and points at Sam who lurches backwards just as the windows both shut with resounding bangs.
He turns around and finds Dean standing in the door of the room and this time his appearance is so heinously different that Sam can't help but back against the window.
"Dean…" He says in a small voice. Dean walks over to him purposefully, grabs him by the arm and throws him to the ground bodily again, possessed by a strength greater than his own. Sam tries to scramble away but Dean grabs him by the foot and throws him clear against the room like a ragdoll. Sam crashes into the mirror over the desk with a cry of pain. Glass crunches under him and once more he tries feebly to escape but Dean's on him in next to no time, pulling him off the desk and punching him clear in the middle of the face.
Its hours before Dean finally relents and Sam feels completely broken, every part of his body aching and bruised, his nose bleeding, his lips cut. He's on the floor curled up with his arms over his face, his knees against his chest, shaking as though in an earthquake. Long ago he gave up trying to get Dean to stop because he knows it's not Dean, not even remotely.
Above him Dean lets out a strangled gasp as though something is choking him. Sam looks up through swollen eyes and sees that his brother's head is titled back as something invisible pulls at his throat. Sam remembers the noose around the crone's neck before he passes out completely.
Dean's nowhere to be seen when Sam awakens again, sore and aching not only in his body but in his very soul. The sun is setting. At first he doesn't want to even bother looking for Dean because he fears that when he finds him he won't actually be there anymore. Loyally Sam gets to his feet and stumbles through the house, calling Dean's name. There's nothing, nothing but a note he finds carved on the wall of the living room: get help
Sam knows he has to try because both he and Dean are over their heads right now. There's no way to get a hold of Dad but he knows that he can reach out to other people. His fingers shaking he dials Bobby's number on the old phone in the kitchen and luckily he picks up.
"Hello?"
"You have to help me Bobby," Sam says thickly, no longer ashamed at how desperate and alone he sounds.
"Sam?" Bobby asks, confused, "Is that you? Where are you? What's happening?"
"Something's got Dean," Sam says, not knowing how to describe to Bobby all that's happened in the past couple of days. "He's going to be back soon and she's going to make him…" His voice breaks, too terrified at the thought.
"Make him what?" Bobby demands in concern. "Who's she Sam? What's happening?"
"I don't know!" Sam sobs. "It's not a ghost Bobby it's something different! Please help me!"
"C'mon Sammy you can deal with this! Your Dad and Dean have taught you how."
"Fat fucking chance," Sam spits. There's a pause as Bobby processes just what Sam has told him and Sam can't believe that the man hasn't known just how amateur Sam is. Then again he doubts that anybody has come up against something like this before.
"Where are you?" Bobby asks.
"I don't know!" Sam says anxiously. "I don't know where we are! It's this house and there's a lake and a tree and this woman…she's gonna make him…she's gonna…"
"Tree?" Bobby says, his voice suddenly sounding empty. "Sam I really need you to think here for me buddy…where was the last place you remember going through that had a name?"
And Sam forces himself to think straight. He remembers the big green sign of the town as they were driving through it that afternoon.
"Perron," Sam says. "The town's called Perron. Bobby please help me I don't know—
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Bobby spits vehemently. "Sam where's your Dad?"
"HE'S NOT HERE!" Sam all but shouts, annoyed that Bobby isn't getting this. "Bobby please I don't know what's happening and Dean's going to be back soon and—
"I'm gonna fucking kill your father the next time I see him," Bobby growls. "Sam listen to me very carefully. If what you're telling me is true then your Dad's gone and left you two at the Williams House. It's got a real bad past Sam, really fucking bad. Jesus I cannot believe he left you guys there."
"What is it?" Sam says, ignoring the clapping sounds that have started in the hallway again. They're trying to scare him to throw him off and it won't work
"There was a witch that lived there named Hephzibah Williams," Bobby explains as quickly as he can. "She was really fucked up Sam. She and her husband had two sons and when the oldest was fourteen she…she started screwing around with him."
Sam feels his stomach knot in disgust as he remembers the ghosts of the two boys.
"And when her youngest was fourteen she started forcing the two of them to…well you really don't wanna know…"
But Sam already knows because the oldest boy has told him. She made him do it…and he didn't want to even though she always made him.
"Sam are you still with me?" Bobby asks.
"Yeah," Sam replies in a voice that is remarkably devoid of fear.
"When her husband found out he planned to have them arrested so the old bitch decided to take matters into own hands and one night she made the oldest son murder his brother in the living room before she killed him."
Of course she did…that was why the two boys had stab wounds all over their bodies.
"Her husband and the police arrived in time to see her go all crazy and run out to the tree in the backyard and proclaim her devotion to the devil before she hung herself." Sam closes his eyes and looks ever his shoulder as the clapping ceases. For a second he can't figure out why but then his trained ears pick up the noise of someone walking slowly up the gravel from outside.
"Sam I need you to get out of there as fast as you fucking can," Bobby orders and Sam can't believe it when he hears how scared the man sounds. "I don't fucking care if you have to hot wire your brother's car and drive to the nearest gas station just get the hell out of there!"
"He's here…" Sam whispers, tears sliding down his face.
"SAM!" Bobby roars. "SAM GET THE HELL-"
Sam drops the phone as the front door opens. He stares with wide eyes at the kitchen door, listening to the sounds of Dean's heavy footfalls on the wooden floorboards. Sam is shaking violently, barely listening to Bobby's desperate voice on the other end of the phone which is dangling on its cord over the side of the counter. The footsteps get closer and closer until Dean is walking right passed the door…and then on further down the hall, not even bothering to look into the kitchen.
Sam lets out a breath of relief and then picks up the phone.
"I'm going to go now," he tells Bobby in an empty voice. "Thank you." He hangs up and then walks slowly into the hall, looking behind him to see that the door to the bedroom is closed. His heart beating in his ears Sam turns and prepares to walk out the front door and dash to the Impala when the bedroom door suddenly bursts open.
Dean is standing in the door way, the light on. He's naked again and Sam can see rope-like bruises on his brother's wrists and ankles. Not bothering to even try to reach out to him Sam turns and tries running down the hallway but an invisible force grabs him by the ankles, causing him to land splayed on the floorboards and though he tries to grabbing on the doorframe of the kitchen it's no use. The force pulls him backwards into the room, his scream cut off when the door slams shut the second he's across the threshold.
He fights as hard as he can in spite of the injuries from early that day but the force controlling Dean is too strong and completely oblivious to Sam's cries for Dean to fight back against it. Try as he might Sam can't prevent it from happening, can't escape when Dean manages to strip him down completely before he violently throws him on the mattress.
Sam closes his eyes but the evil makes him open them and keep them open because that's just how fucked up it is. It wants Sam to see this, to feel every hard inch of Dean over him and in him, pushing against his resisting body violently. And Sam can't even cry as it happens, all he can do is lay there and try and let his mind go numb as Dean does it over and over again until Sam is screaming into the pillow and begging for death, for any kind of release. The only mercy he has is that the evil never lets Dean come in him, instead forcing him to pull out and release over Sam's body or else shove Dean's cock down his mouth and make him come there.
And eventually it's over because the evil is satiated. Through it all Sam can see the ghost boys in the corner of the room, huddled together as they watch what happened to them play out in front of them, unable to help or interfere.
Dean dresses silently as Sam lays on the stained mattress, covered in his brother's fluids, his mind a complete blank because that's all he can do to hang onto sanity. Dean's fully under its control then and for some reason it feels like being nice. Dean picks Sam up and carries him into the bathroom where he runs and shower, plopping Sam into the tub before it walks away and slams the bathroom door shut behind it.
And it's there as the hot spray hits him that Sam finds himself again. He won't think about what just happened. He won't let this sick entity destroy the most precious bond he has no matter what lengths it goes to. He's going to get them both out of this even if it kills him. Slowly, after twenty minutes in the shower, Sam gets out and walks slowly back to the bedroom. Dean isn't there but in the living room where Sam knows he would be because that's where the witch was. He's got no time left. It's now or never. After dressing he opens Dean's duffle bag and digs in it until his hand closes over something, something he knows he'll need if he has any hope of saving them.
Dean's sitting in a rickety old chair in front of the fireplace when Sam enters the living room, breathing deeply, his eyes open and staring into the flames. On the table beside him Sam can see a large pair of scissors. Swallowing back every other emotion he steps into the room and stops behind the chair.
"Dean?" He says, just because he wants the evil to think that he's still naïve and innocently trusting. Dean doesn't turn around but continues staring into the fire. Sam creeps closer and then stops. Dean begins laughing maniacally, a deep, mirthful giggle like a child caught doing something wrong. The chair that Dean is sitting in begins to rise slowly off the floor, inching through the air until it's almost touching the ceiling. Then without any warning it flips over and the legs bang against the ceiling and Sam is able to see Dean's face, albeit upside down.
His eyes are crazed and red, his lips stretched and cracked and his face contorted into a grotesque mask and Sam knows for sure now that this is not his brother. The chair continues to bang against the ceiling, its legs rattling into the rafters and Sam, pissed beyond all belief at the witch for what she's done lunges forward and grabs Dean's arm, tugging at him desperately.
"LET GO OF HIM YOU BITCH!" Sam shouts, practically pulling Dean's bruised arm out of its socket. Dean's mouth stretches open and the witch's cackle fills the air, deafening Sam as the chair continues to violently slam into the ceiling. Just as he's thinking that she'll never let go the legs and seat of the chair break and Dean comes tumbling to the ground on top of Sam, both landing in a tangled heap as the remains of the chair fall upon them.
Dean scrambles out of the tangle and grabs the scissors and leers at Sam from his warped eyes.
"I'm going to kill him!" The witch's voice says from within Dean's body.
"FUCK YOU!" Sam roars and kicks Dean in the face with all his strength. He tumbles backwards, the scissors gripped tightly in his hand. Sam scrambles to his feet and sprints down the hall which is filled with continued clapping that sounds like thunder. He hears Dean hot in his heels, the witch's heavy breathing seeming so close behind him but still he doesn't turn around.
He bursts out into the night and tries to make a dash for the Impala but knows that it won't be any use. Instead he turns the corner and begins running for the rear of the house. The windows of the house explode outwards in front of him and Sam can feel shards of glass sprinkle his face but he does not stop. If he can just get to the tree where the woman hung herself then maybe he can find her remains and do something with them…
Sam can see the dock and the tree and knows without knowing why that this is where he needs to be to get rid of the spirit. If he can just reach it in time he'll be able to be on a square playing field with the evil entity. He's almost there, his feet clattering over the wood of the dock when again the invisible rope catches his ankles and he falls face first onto the half-rotted wood.
Sam rolls over and tries to struggle away but it's too late. Dean is on him and then on top of him. His hair is wild and too long to be his, standing on end, matted with blood and his mouth has stretched wider than ever. Sam can't even scream before the witch makes Dean plunge the scissors into his abdomen.
Time seems to stand still as the excruciating pain overwhelms Sam's senses. He looks up at the contorted face that used to belong to his brother, feeling blood ooze from the wound as the witch pulls the scissors out. With every last ounce of strength he possesses Sam digs into his pocket and pulls out the amulet that he found in the bottom of Dean's duffle bag. He holds it up in front of Dean, whose twisted face suddenly looks confused.
"It…it was in your bag…all the time," Sam says with a weak smile.
For a moment the yellow eyes of the witch still look confused…Dean reaches out a shaking, gnarled hand to touch the amulet and the second his fingers close over the carved finger he lets out a shaking gasp and his eyes widen.
Sam can feel it then, feel the mutual understanding and love ripple through the air. He knows that somewhere within that monster Dean is remembering the Christmas where Sam gave him the amulet, remembering every time they laughed together and fought together and talked long into the night while at some motel in the middle of nowhere.
Dean lets out a scream from the depths of his soul that starts out as a scream of pain from the witch. The yellow disappears from his eyes, leaving them their mossy warm color again. Every sign of the witch disappears from Dean's face and hands and the bruises she left on him vanish like rapidly melting snow. The scream turns into an anguished sob and Dean rolls off Sam, coughing like crazy. Sam can see something black and bilious expel itself from Dean's mouth. He's sobbing hysterically, his very core seemingly broken and Sam, sitting up painfully knows why.
He can remember everything; remember all that he did to Sam over these past few days. He can remember it because the witch wanted him to see it all, wanted it stick with both of them because that's just how soulless she is. Dean rocks back and forth on the dock, clutching the amulet to him like it's his only anchor to life and Sam gently touches his shoulder, trying to comfort him despite the fact that is insides are on fire from the wound.
Dean jumps when he feels Sam's hand touch him and he scrambles away.
"D-don't," he says thickly. "You c-can't Sammy…not after what…oh God," He groans, closing his eyes and pulling his knees up to his chest as he rocks, howling like a baby. Sam knows that even if the witch couldn't kill them she at least wanted this, wanted to break them. Well he already got this far and he's not about to let her win. Despite Dean's protests Sam crawls over to him and wraps his arms around Dean's neck and holds him tight.
"I'm alright," he whispers. "I'm fine…bleeding quite heavily but I think I'll live…" He's trying to be funny to help them both forget about it the way Dean did when they first came to this place.
Dean gasps and looks down at Sam's injury.
"Oh fuck," he gasps. "Oh fuck Sammy I'm so sorry I d-didn't-"
"Dean," Sam says soothingly, "please…let's go back to the car first and…" His voice trails away when his eyes rest on the dark slick on the ground where Dean coughed up the black spirit of the witch. It's then that he notices that the weight of the property seems to have vanished. Is it possible that…? He shakes his head. Right now he needs to get cleaned up. "I can't do it by myself," Sam continues, breathing heavily, "so I need you to help me okay?"
And Dean nods and together they both stand up and walk back to the car, leaning on each other for support as they walk back around the house together, both broken for completely different reasons.
Dean missed puncturing anything and although it takes Dean a good fifteen minutes he manages to get Sam patched up, leaning him against the hood of the Impala while he uses the First Aid Kit. Every time he sees a bruise on Sam's body he flinches and looks away, his hands shaking, but Sam talks him through it, staring at the house as though afraid that if he lets it out of his sight it's going to vanish.
"There we go," Dean says in an attempt at his usual personality, "all fixed up." Sam's torso has been wrapped in bandages so that he looks like half a mummy. The stitches sting a little bit but Sam manages to pull his shirt back on without help which he would have had to do anyway because the second Dean's hands are away from his body he seems to fall apart again.
"It' alright," Sam tells him bracingly but Dean shakes his head furiously.
"No it is not fucking alright Sam!" He snaps. "I…I did…I did those things to you I don't even know how you can be around me right—
"She did them," Sam corrects him with a shake of his head. "I know it wasn't you Dean."
"It was still my body!"
Sam closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. He can remember it all in vivid detail not that he wants to and it hurts him to think about. "It sucks," Sam says quietly. "Dean it sucks that it happened okay? I hate that it did and yeah it makes me sick thinking about it but when I do…it's not you…I mean I don't see you…I know you would never hurt me, especially not like that…"
"Sam…" Dean says in a low voice as though he's going to argue again but Sam shakes his head stubbornly.
"What do you want then?" He asks hotly. "You want me to just not be around you anymore? Cause Dean I can promise you now that it'll be a lot worse for me to do that than it will if I have to put up with a few bad memories…"
Dean laughs bitterly as though bad memories is putting it nicely which if Sam is being honest it really is but he knows he's telling the truth. In demonstration he walks over to Dean and pulls him into a tight hug, burying his head in his big brother's chest.
"This is what you are," Sam tells him in a muffled voice. "Not what she turned you into. So please do me a big favor and don't…don't hang onto it okay?" Dean looks down at him for a long moment, his eyes bright and then slowly he nods, a faint smile creeping over his lips.
"Now, let's go get rid of this bitch shall we?" It's a stab at his former gusto and Sam appreciates it but shakes his head, his eyes travelling back to the house, which seems diminished to him somehow.
"We already did," he says with a small smile. Because Dean expelled her from his body the way nobody ever had before.
They leave their things in the house for the night and sleep in the back seat of the Impala just to be safe, Sam leaning against Dean who never once lets go of him, both safe and secure despite the cramped quarters.
"Tell me everything when you boys get here alright?" Bobby says. Sam called him early in the afternoon, telling him that he and Dean managed to deal with evil spirit of the witch the night before. Bobby doesn't even want to begin to think how that happened, although when he thinks about it, it makes perfect sense to him. Sam and Dean's bond is too close for that evil bitch no matter what she tried to throw at them.
Countless hunters and innocent people before Sam and Dean had gone into that house to deal with the ghost of the witch. All of them had lost their lives and those who hadn't had last a hell of a lot more. The woman's remains had been destroyed long ago but she had lived in purely because her evil was what connected her to the house.
It comforts him to know that the boys, his boys really, are on their way here now. However that doesn't stop him from picking the phone and making one last phone call. It's a number John left him a while ago when he started disappearing to Minnesota every other month.
Thankfully John's the one who answers, sounding chipper and disgustingly carefree.
"Hello?"
"Do me a big favor Johnny-boy," Bobby says, trying hard to control his temper, "and don't come over for a really long time. I'm liable to kill you if I see you again."
"What the fuck Bobby?" John says in outraged confusion. "What's gotten into you?"
"I could ask you the same thing!" Bobby thunders. "What the hell do you mean leaving your boys alone in that goddamn house!?"
There's a profound silence on the other end and Bobby knows that John's been caught. After a moment he says, "I…they were the only ones who could have stopped her. I tried once before and-"
Bobby laughs hollowly. "You rat bastard," he says with a shake of his head. He can't believe what he just heard. "You left them there on purpose to clean her spirit out because you couldn't."
"Look I did some research and I figured it would take a complete inversion of the kind of relationship Hephzibah's son's had to get rid of her," John says defensively. "And Sam and Dean…they're closer than a lot of brothers Bobby. I knew they could do it."
"You have no goddamn idea what could have happened to them in there," Bobby says through gritted teeth. Honestly after talking to Sam and Dean he's inclined to believe that the worst did happen to them.
"They're too strong for-" John begins but Bobby cuts him off again.
"Yeah they are. Helluva lot stronger than you are. I don't think you'd catch either one of them leaving the other behind in one of the most severely haunted houses in the tri-state area just to go schtupp some waitress in Minnesota."
"That's not fair Bobby," John says acidly. "Adam had a baseball—
"I don't give a rat's nutsack what the fuck that little bastard had," Bobby says in a voice of finality. "You come around here again I'm going to throw you through a wall you understand me?" He hangs up then and tags a swig of whiskey. One of these days John's gonna push those boys too far and then he's really going to lay into him.
The boys show up around supper time and one look at them tells Bobby everything he needs to know. He feeds them, lets them get cleaned up and gives them both a glass of Jack Daniel's straight up and then orders them to bed.
He could cry over what he knows must have happened between them in that place. Sam's bruises and the haunted look in Dean's eyes are enough to tell him the parts they left out of their story. He goes to his phone book and looks up the name of a practicing witch whose life he saved a few months ago.
She's happy to hear from him.
She doesn't ask why when Bobby asks if she could do him a favor and make two strong memory erasing potions for him.
It's really for the best after all.