Hey everybody…I'm back with the next chapter!
And, some of you might be relieved to learn that finally, I got some poor soul to beta for me…OcherMe…thanks you so much, it's great working with you, honestly (and I hope you won't come to regret offering it… ;-))!
Enough said for now…hope you enjoy the next chapter!
From this dark room
Chapter 6
Sam made it to the bookstore and about halfway through the third overstuffed aisle of crooked and mismatched shelves before he felt the anger that had been boiling inside his belly recede and be replaced by first shame, then worry. He knew that something was wrong, had known it probably since last night already, only he'd been too preoccupied to figure it out then, too immersed in the case that he didn't see what was right before his own eyes.
Ever since talking to Amy, since hearing the story of Tom and Suzie, he'd pretty much known, though, somewhere inside, had his fears confirmed and thrown right back at him. And still he'd tried to push it aside, still hoping beyond hope that he'd been wrong, somehow. Only then, realistically speaking, he'd still known. The only thing he wasn't all that sure of was, if Dean knew too…
Almost 45 minutes and six equally crowded aisles later he found a book, old and a bit tattered, marked with a black pen stripe on the bottom and along the back, declaring it to be second-hand and therefore priced down 50%. The reason why nobody else had ever cared to buy it pretty apparent from the desolate state it was in…plus the fact that most of the passages in there were actually handwritten and hard to read, some of them even in Latin.
Sam had picked it up out of pity, mostly, he'd never been one to be able to look past a beaten, desolate being…the reason he'd stuck to his brother so far, most likely, and books made no exception. Leafing through it, he'd been stunned into silence by the content, not being able to believe his luck, or whatever else one would like to call it.
The book started off as a book of lore, mostly, reciting a couple of stories of the supernatural…cute little bedtime stories about ghosts and ghouls, a banshee, and one lady in white haunting an old bed & breakfast on Cape Cod. Sam skimmed them loosely, his attention captured for whatever reason, an invisible pull, his mind probably just looking for something, anything to ease the tension, to occupy himself beyond the fear eating away at his guts.
Reaching about the middle of the book there was another story, about a demon and Sam settled himself in one of the low, slightly stale smelling lounge chairs that flanked each aisle to read through this more carefully, finding his eyes growing wider and wider as he went on. Unconsciously he leaned forward, body tensing, eyes scanning the pages with fiery intent, his own heartbeat reverberating intently in his own ears.
A short little tale, originating somewhere in the middle east…some place like Pakistan or Iran from the names of the people involved, about a demon that was born out of anger and destruction, thriving and growing while eating away peoples sanity until one day it was able to rise above the need of human fear and flesh to unleash hell on all living things to turn the world into hell.
Sam had to swallow…because while the tale was merely that…a tale, fiction…something in there struck a chord, made his stomach clench and flutter involuntarily.
As he turned to the next page he realized that the following pages had been removed from the book, ripped out and replaced with yellowed, lined notepad pages, glued in amateurishly and covered over and over with slightly askew handwriting, the letters tiny and cramped, fighting to fit everything they wanted to say in the limited space available.
Sam immediately was mesmerized, the image of his father's journal springing to mind as he skimmed the rows and rows of small print, a little smeared in places, words blotted out, others inserted later on, notes and comments jotted along the edges whenever some new thought, some new bit of information had occurred to the writer. The words weren't always clear, the meaning sometimes eluding Sam, but what it came down to was a collection of different versions of the lore Sam had just read, about the anger-demon, stories collected over a long period of time, apparently, from all over the world.
The thing was given many different names, the story many different twists and outcomes. The most common name being Ragazara, the name emanating from the Hebrew word for wrath or fury. Basically, from what Sam could decipher after just the first reading was that the original ending, the one he'd just read, was nonsense, according to the writer. From all the different endings from all the stories the man had read and collected over time he'd come to the conclusion that the Ragazara was born out of anger and resentment, a person's own private demon born into his or her own flesh, lashing out and feeding on anger and fury, intensifying the feelings that every person carried within him- or herself to a level that made reigning them in impossible.
The writer further elaborated that the demon, once it had fed on a human to its satisfaction, was able to switch bodies to further strengthen itself, latching onto another host. He called it a leech, a demon without a true form that would go on and on until it was destroyed - or finally destroyed itself in its insatiable craving for more anger, more pain.
Sam felt himself pale at the thoughts and piles of research collected in this little piece of madness in front of him. He felt his fingers first tighten, then starting to shake as he went on, scanning line after line of the small block letters, trying to find what he was looking for, afraid and unwilling to miss anything by not being thorough enough.
The reason behind the demon's urge to grow, to destroy more and more human life still not clear, not even after the hours and weeks and months, probably even years of research the author had put into this, for whatever reason. The only conclusion the writer drew after filling pages and pages with increasingly incoherent thought and scrambled writing was that human madness did not need motivation, did not need reason. Once it was born, it was hard - no - impossible to stop.
Which again sent an almost violent shiver down Sam's spine.
The way of infection finally spelled out to him, right how he'd suspected, had feared. Through injury and blood, maybe even saliva, if you wanted to believe some of the stories. Either way, Sam knew that, whatever it was, whatever name he chose to give this thing, it had gotten his brother. He was absolutely, 100% certain of it now.
Which led right to another problem, something he couldn't, try as he might, find anywhere in this damn book that had given him all the godforsaken information he had been looking for, save for the one, the most important one...
How to stop it.
How to save his brother.
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On his way back to the car Sam knew he'd made a vital mistake in letting Dean go off by himself. He had no idea where Dean had gone to, hell, there was no way to keep his brother in check as it was, on the good days, the regular ones, but in his current condition Sam had no idea where Dean would go.
Well, theoretically speaking he did know, only, they were in the middle of a foreign city which Sam was sure held it's fair share of bars and drinking holes and he had absolutely no idea which one Dean had chosen to drown himself in.
Hell, he could have taken the damn car and simply abandoned Sam here, could have driven off to let Sam make his own way back home.
Fuck.
Sam quickened his steps, hand clutching the small paper bag containing the book as tightly as possible, afraid to lose it. There still might be a way out of this, somewhere in there. He hadn't really gotten the chance to read through everything, not word for word, some paragraphs too illegible so he'd skipped those parts and saved them for further examination.
Right now he just needed to make sure that he found his brother.
According to the book, it took about a week for the demon to manifest itself enough to drive the host insane enough to kill, after that only another couple of hours at the most until he found another body to switch to, then make the former host kill himself.
That would still give them…about four to five days, minimum, right? Yet for some reason Sam doubted that Dean would be able to hold on that much longer. He knew his brother. They'd just been through some of the worst months of their lives. His brother had breached the edges of sanity more than once, by a hair's width. And there had been no damn demon, at least not one inside him, to get him there. Sam really didn't think that Dean would need all that much encouragement to get there again.
He took two stairs at a time to get down the two flights into the parking garage, the space where they'd parked the Impala hidden from view behind the wall of the ramp that led to the upper stories, hiding the big car from his eyes until the last moment.
When he finally did make out her back fender, he at first felt an immense sense of relief, then another surge of panic when he realized that it would mean that Dean was somewhere on the loose in this city that Sam didn't really know his way around in.
Fuck again.
He almost jumped out of his skin when he found Dean sitting on the little curb in front of the car, back against the banister behind him. His head leaned back against the iron railing, eyes still hidden by his sunglasses despite the relative gloominess of the underground garage.
"Damn it…Dean…almost gave me a freaking heart-attack…"
Sam automatically took a step backwards, bracing himself before relaxing again, stepping closer.
This was still his brother…still him. They would figure this out. Still time.
Dean didn't respond.
"What are you doing here?"
"Well…what does it look like? You left…and took the keys with you. What was I supposed to do?"
His voice low and too composed, which was always a bad sign, Sam knew that much. Dean raging and screaming and lashing out in the open was the preferred option, any day. That Sam could deal with. This lethal quiet, ready to explode act was nothing Sam had ever done well with.
It made Sam pause, this still apparent aggressiveness. Somehow he'd expected Dean to be withdrawn and ashamed, had expected the anger to have dissipated by now to be replaced with the unavoidable guilt. So this was definitely a step forward, but it was going in a direction that didn't exactly boost Sam confidence about the outcome.
He was unsure how to tackle this, should he jump right in, confront Dean about what he'd just found out, voice his fears? It could be the right way, could make his brother try harder to fight this. Dean would do anything, anything to protect his brother, Sam knew that. But on the other hand it could only serve to piss Dean off more, could make the…demon inside him latch onto him even harder, causing Dean to tumble over the edge faster.
He needed to think this through some more, figure this out by himself before making a decision. Get them to safer ground first, back to the motel, where Dean couldn't just disappear to a place Sam could not find him at.
Still a couple of days left.
He wasn't looking forward to those, not at the rate this was going, but he thought he'd be able to pull it off. He had to.
Dean hadn't given up on him back when he'd been…indisposed with Meg…right? He was simply going to return the favour now, however hard it was, still would be.
"Alright…uhm…why don't we get back on the road? Rush hour is going to set in soon, we probably wanna be off the turnpike by then." Sam mumbled, opening the driver's side door, slipping the book in the pocket of his jacket before depositing both on the backseat.
When he turned forward again Dean was still sitting there, no doubt staring at him from behind his glasses and it didn't take much of Sam's imagination to picture the slightly red-eyed stare his brother would be directing towards him right now, lids lowered despite the shades, ever hiding himself away, always making sure that nothing could slip beyond his façade that he didn't want to be seen. It sent a shiver down Sam's spine, knowing that this glare would usually be reserved for the bad guys, the fuglies that managed to piss off his brother real good. Knowing this glare to be directed at him right now hurt more than he'd ever thought possible.
There had to be a way…
Sam started the car, leaning over so he could open the passenger side door for Dean, waiting with forced patience as his brother finally dragged himself off the floor, unsuccessfully hiding the wince that crossed his features at the change in altitude before making his way around the front fender and dropping himself into the passenger seat. Immediately he turned away from Sam, shutting himself off and Sam out.
Well, alright…no verbal sparring then, gave him some more time to think about this. Even though discussing this with his brother was something that he cared about more than anything else right now.
Sighing Sam drew the big car out of the spot and made his was back up towards the street.
Maybe he'd come up with something by the time they made it back to the motel. Maybe they even would manage not to get into each other's faces till then.
For some reason though Sam highly doubted that.
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Dean wasn't stupid.
No matter what people might think about him he wasn't the brainless idiot that some took him to be. He might not have been as smart and educated as his little brother, but he wasn't dumb. He was able to figure some things out by himself, like, for example, right now.
He knew that something was wrong with him. Seriously so. Beyond the usual, that was. He'd always been a freak, there was no use denying it, he'd never tried, either.
But this right now was a whole new level of weird. And he hated it.
He knew what was wrong with him…had figured it out by himself, too, pretty much the moment he'd heard abut that Suzie chick getting all weird right after being jostled at that bar, the same like Mark getting jumped for no apparent reason and then "turning" psycho after.
It really didn't take a genius to figure this out, but still he'd hoped that he was wrong, that there was something else, that maybe he was just…plain old unreasonable. That at least he could deal with. That he knew how to handle. Sam too. At least it wouldn't endanger his brother, because there was no doubt in his mind as to who was the one to suffer from this now the most.
He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't, wouldn't, ever hurt his brother. There was just no way. He'd sworn to protect him, to look out for him. He'd promised his mum, the day she'd brought the squeaky little bundle home from the hospital. Had promised dad, too, on numerous occasions, like the night of the fire and so many countless times after. Had again promised him the night he had died…to save him. Had promised him something else, too, only that was something he wasn't too sure he'd come to hold up to. There was just no way…
How could he ever turn against is brother?
He hadn't even managed to turn on him when Sam had been possessed, had tried to kill him, had shot him, beat him up, dug a freaking thumb into the bullet hole, for crying out loud. And then he hadn't even known, not for sure, not right from the beginning, that Sam had been possessed…because somewhere deep down he had feared that Sam had indeed turned dark side, that Dean had lost him. Only he'd been too weak, too goddamn selfish to admit to it…admit that his dad may have been right.
And god had it turned out to be the right decision then…
But this now…this was one scary piece of shit.
He could feel it, feel it eating away inside himself, nibbling at his humanity, at his reason. He knew it was wrong, terribly so, he knew he was being unreasonable and totally out of line, and he fought it with all his might. But already he could feel his resolve weaken, could feel his mind shutting off, this white hot anger blazing through him, taking away what little was left of his sanity.
When Sam had left him there in that parking garage, Dean had felt himself close to boiling over and he'd actually been thankful that Sam had left when he had, because he wasn't all too sure that he'd been able to reign himself in anymore. He'd had plenty of time to come back down since then, Sam being gone for more than 2 hours, for crying out loud, leaving him there, unable to get in the car and drive away, unable to do anything but freaking wait like a damn schoolboy waiting for his dad to pick him up after school.
God had he hated it.
The whole drive back to their motel he didn't say one word, and it tore him up inside to know that his brother would not understand this…he couldn't understand. There was no way Sam would know that he only kept silent so he wouldn't even get the opportunity to snap at Sam again. Because he couldn't be sure that he would be able to control himself anymore.
He was afraid of what he might say, what he wanted to do…somewhere inside. Was afraid of not being able to control it anymore.
Sam couldn't find out, period. He had to find a way to beat this…by himself. He couldn't burden his little brother yet again. The past months Sam had looked out for him, had had to hold him, Dean Winchester, older brother and protector of little Sammy, in check and tied to life.
Sammy couldn't find out about this.
No way.
This was happening way too fast…his head hurting and throbbing increasingly as time wore on and it seemed as if the longer he kept himself in check, the more it hurt…spreading throughout his whole body, making him nauseous. Just the thought of food made him wanna puke already, and he hadn't even had anything since…well…last night, he thought. He didn't really remember.
Just too damn fast.
Wasn't he supposed to have more time? Well, he had no idea how much time the others had had. About a week for Mark…Suzie too, right? The ones before that he didn't know. They hadn't had time yet to interview any of the relatives and friends that would maybe know. That would still leave him with another couple of days at the least, right?
Only he really didn't feel he had much more time left.
Still there were so many open questions and he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to figure them out by himself. Sam was usually the one thriving on research, the one doing most of the head-work. While Dean enjoyed putting puzzles together, figuring things out, discussing them, tossing and turning them until they fit, the dry and somewhat tedious art of getting all the puzzle pieces out in the open, laying them out on the table so they could start reassembling them, was something he wasn't too good with.
Not patient enough, that's what his dad had told him over and over again.
Because it wasn't as if he couldn't do it…he just didn't like it any. Why bother, when there was someone there that enjoyed doing it so much that he practically volunteered, under the cover of forced patience that was, but still. Sammy loved this kind of thing…him being the brain and Dean the muscle and force behind it. That had been their dynamics all along. And it had worked out well enough all their lives.
When Dean had been hunting alone, the brain part had not really been missing, but it had been sorely missed. He'd proven himself worthy, or so he thought, had shown that he was able to do this, was more than capable. He just hated to think that now, especially in his not-so-reliable state of mind, he was going to have to reach back to those resources again.
Sam was driving in silence, not even the music turned on, for Dean's benefit, no doubt, because Sam of course would notice him hurting…always being the observant, considerate one.
Dean fought the urge to lash out at Sam, verbally, for being so damn kind and altruistic, which was ridiculous to say the least, but he couldn't help it, he wanted Sam to care…and he wanted him not to. He wanted him to say something and he wanted him to shut the hell up. He wanted him to stay close, to not leave him alone and please, finally, just give him space, go and get himself lost.
He cringed when the car hit a pothole, bit back the piercing remark about watching his car, goddamn it, wanting to yell at Sam for treating her the way he did.
Dean turned away then, turned his back on Sam, hoping that in not looking at him he wouldn't feel this deep, unabashed anger at him anymore. Willing himself to be stronger so he could get over this. If he could manage to just hold himself back…then the thing or whatever it was that had taken him over would disappear eventually. He just had to be stronger then it.
He could feel Sam tensing as he turned his back, knowing that his brother was wrecking his brain, worrying himself sick. He'd most likely chew on his bottom lip, chin thrust forward, taking about ten years off his already boyish face, that deep crease in between his eyebrows pretty much gouged in there by now, thinking of something to say, starting to say something, then biting back at the last second.
Sammy wouldn't understand.
He'd have to keep him away, keep him at a distance until he'd figured this out.
He could do this.
When they finally reached the motel Dean all but sprinted from the car, making his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and turning on the water full blast before he dry heaved into he stained porcelain of the toilet, the rush and rumble of the water drowning out the sounds of his sickness, he hoped.
There wasn't much to bring up, the heaves bringing nothing but tears to his eyes, making his ribs ache from constricting over and over again.
When he was done he just sank back against the dirty brown tiles surrounding the base of the bathtub, his knees pretty much pressed against the toilet bowl, the space was so small, breathing, waiting. He let his head sink back against the rim and waited until the cool air of the room dried the sweat that had broken out all over his skin.
He was feeling slightly better, he thought, the urge to kickscreampunch slightly abating as soon as he was not in direct contact with Sam anymore. At the same time he felt like his heart was breaking, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, thinking that, in order to spare Sam he had to stay away from him.
The one thing he'd never thought possible. The one thing he'd fought for all his life – staying close to his baby brother, keeping him close to keep him save and now all he could do, all he knew what to do in order to keep him from harm was doing just the opposite.
The knock on the door almost made him crack his knees on the toilet bowl and he felt the headache coming back with a snap so strong it made him dizzy.
For a few seconds he said nothing, just stayed there and willed the world to stop spinning, his heart to stop beating so wildly, it made him all the more dizzy it seemed.
Then there it was again, a tentative yet insistent knock and then Sam's voice, grating like nails over a blackboard, yet soothing and reassuring at the same time.
How in heaven and hell could this be so fucked up?
"Dean…man, is everything alright? Can I…is there anything I can do to help?"
He wanted to yell at him to shut up and go away, run as fast as he could, save himself. But of course he couldn't, because that would mean condemning himself to sure doom.
Alone, he was nothing.
Sam always the one giving him reason, purpose.
With Sam gone, he wasn't sure he'd still be able to fight this.
And fight he had to, for the both of them.
"Dean…can I come in? Please…just let me in…"
"I'm good, Sam. Please, just…just leave me be for a minute, alright?"
His voice so thin, it made Dean cringe, he was chastising himself for not being able to sound stronger. He could just imagine what it would sound like to his brother.
"Dude…come on… Just let me help."
Dean thought he'd break then. Because in all honesty, he wanted nothing more than to let Sam in, right now, let him help. Let him help by just being there, by his side. It used to be enough in the past. Only he knew that right now Sam would not be able to help. He would only make things worse. He wasn't able to face him yet, he wasn't strong enough yet…he still had some goddamn walls to built back up. Why the hell was this so hard all of a sudden? He used to be the master at being bob-the-freaking-builder of emotional walls. This couldn't be this hard…right?
"Dean…"
A little more desperate now and Dean could practically see Sam take a step back, preparing himself to kick in that door. Usually his little brother would be the one to pick the lock, but somehow right now he didn't seem to hold the patience.
He had to say something, anything to make Sam go away just for a little while, to give him more time. Just a little longer and he'd be able to face this…
"Sammy…please, just…just go away. Go get dinner or something…just please…leave me be, just for a while…"
No anger anymore, not right now. Just plain need to get some time on his own for a while. Willing Sam to please understand.
The short pause on the other side of the door made Dean fear the worst. He almost feared for the door to come crashing in any moment now, hoping he'd be able to react fast enough to get out of the shooting range. But then he heard shuffling, a heartbreaking sigh and he knew he had won, however doubtful the success was. For now he'd gotten his way.
"Alright…I'll get us something to eat then. What do you want? There were a couple of fast-food joints at that mall down the road…"
The resignation in his voice again making Dean cringe. But there was no other way.
"Not hungry, Sam. Just go and eat out, give me a couple of hours, alright? Just...find yourself a girl or something…stay away for a while…gimme some space…"
It was meant to sound teasing, their usual banter supposed to bring some kind of relief to the tension practically prickling between them like electrical overload.
Somehow it didn't work.
Another couple of seconds of silence, then he heard Sam draw away, heard his heavy footsteps cross the room, heard the car-keys jingling as Sam picked them up, then the front door easing shut. A couple of seconds later there was the telltale creak of his car's door being wrenched open and shut, then the engine roaring to life.
Any other day the sound of it would have made him tingle all over, a sensory orgasm almost.
Now, as he let his head sink onto his arms, choking back a sob that wanted to break from his lips, it only made him want to hide in this ugly brown bathroom forever.
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tbc
AN:
So, not really a lot left to say, so I'll just cut this short.
Thanks to everyone who took the time to drop me a review…you guys rock, honestly. Thanks for sticking with me so far…and as always I hope to keep you with me for the ride a little longer!
If you find the time, I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter…so drop me a review or something!
Thanks again and take care!!