Hey there! Thanks Megan, as always ;)
On with the show!
Unleashed Fury
VII
Dean watched Sam while he slept, almost without daring to blink. Several hours had passed, but Sam hadn't twitched. Dean's anxiety did nothing but increase, but his mind cleared marginally in the quiet room. At some point in the wee hours of the morning, he even accepted the cup of coffee that Bobby had brought him, and managed a rough thanks around the knot in his throat.
Sam finally stirred a couple of hours before sunrise, and Dean's stomach clenched in fearful expectation. It killed him seeing Sam drugged, but if his little brother was in pain when he woke up, Dean wouldn't be able to stand it. The older Winchester's mind was already on edge, his thoughts trapped in a loop of echoed cries and phantom sensations of clutching at Sammy's shaking body. Dean's hands hadn't stopped shaking yet, and his lungs screamed with every breath he took. It was like being electrocuted over and over again every time his brain hit "play" and relived the last few hours.
Dean, make it stop. Please make it stop!
Closing his eyes, Dean pressed both hands over his temples and exhaled shakily. Part of him wanted to run away from the room, from the house, from everything. It was a fleeting thought, but the truth behind it was too powerful to ignore. Dean wouldn't survive seeing Sam in that kind of pain again.
By the time Dean looked up, Sam's eyes were open half-mast and hazily fixed on him. Dean's breath caught and his body tensed. For the longest of seconds the siblings stared at each other in silence. Dean was about to decide that Sam was still too out of it to recognize him, when the younger Winchester gave Dean a small, doped-up smile.
Dean's eyes tingled, even as he felt his lips curving to return Sam smile.
Hey.
The younger stared at Dean a few seconds longer, Sam's soft smile lingered as he took Dean in with trusting laziness. Any other time, a stoned Sam would have prompted Dean to store teasing ammunition for weeks, but not this time. As long as Sam wasn't in pain, anything else felt like relief.
"You okay?" Sam croaked, his eyes gaining focus.
Dean laughed, the sound sudden wet and uncontrolled. He was an inch away from falling apart, and something on his face must have given it away for Sam to pick on it.
"Am I okay?" Dean rasped. He clenched his teeth, because the next laugh building inside his chest threatened to turn into something much more humiliating. "Jesus, Sam..." Dean breathed in and scrubbed at his eyes. "How many times are we going to do this?"
Dean's response seemed to confuse Sam further. The younger man blinked, probably struggling to focus and remember why his big brother was so worked up. Morphine had always hit Sam hard, and Bobby had given him a generous shot.
"What...?" Sam mumbled, raising a sluggish hand and pressing it over his eyes. "Am I drugged?"
Dean wasn't able to produce a chuckle this time. Sam's tone was getting to him, and Dean's words trembled subtly in return.
"Morphine." Dean confirmed guiltily. "You...it...it got a little rough."
Sam processed Dean's words slowly, and parted his lips to say something. A weak cough stole his voice and Sam licked his lips.
"Hang on. I'll bring you some water" Dean offered, getting to his feet so fast his knees cracked.
"Dean?" Sam whispered worriedly, rolling his head towards his brother as Dean stood.
"I'll be right back." The older Winchester reassured him.
Bringing Sam water was an easy task Dean could accomplish, and he needed desperately to focus on something to stop feeling so useless. He left the room and went straight to the kitchen on slightly shaky legs. As he filled a glass from the tap, Dean sensed Bobby's presence at the door.
"How is he doing?" Bobby asked, his voice heavy with weariness.
Obviously, John's old friend hadn't slept either. Dean took a deep breath and kept his back to Bobby as he replied. "He just woke up. I'm bringing him something to drink."
"We gave him a large dose. He should have been out for a while longer." Bobby said worriedly. "Is he okay?"
"He's still pretty hazy, but you know him." Dean said, forcing an off-handed tone.
If someone was stubborn enough to fight his way through sedation, that was Sam. Bobby let out a huffed laugh, showing his understanding. When the glass was full of water, the older Winchester turned off the tap and started towards the door.
"Dean." Bobby started.
The older Winchester looked up at his friend, and felt his stomach curling uncomfortably. Bobby hadn't moved from the door, and was effectively blocking Dean's exit.
"Did you get the Impala?" The younger hunter asked, before Bobby could continue.
The diversion tactic didn't escape Bobby, who nodded as a response to Dean question, but didn't let him get away with it.
"We gotta talk." Bobby insisted.
"Not now." Dean retorted in a low voice.
Despite Dean's good intentions, he realized that his words had sounded like a warning. The truth was that everything was too raw —he was too raw. Dean had been dying to take a swing at something for hours, and given how weird things were with Bobby recently, it would be incredibly easy to snap. But that was something Dean really really couldn't afford right now.
"I need to take this to Sam." He rationalized his refusal to Bobby, averting his eyes.
Bobby didn't budge right away, but Dean didn't meet his eyes either. The silent battle of wills ended a second later, when Bobby let out a quiet sigh and stepped back.
Dean passed by Bobby wordlessly, and hurried back to the room upstairs. In the few minutes he had been away from Sam, an uneasy feeling had set in the pit of his stomach. Dean was holding his breath by the time he reached the bedroom. Of course, Sam was where Dean had left him. But his little brother's eyes were closed and Dean hesitated at the door, stupidly clutching at the glass as if it held all the answers to the world. Bobby was right, Sam shouldn't have woken up so soon and he needed the rest. But the prospect of Dean spending more time in the silent room, with nothing else to do but unsuccessfully trying to keep the screaming in his head at bay, was suffocating.
Dean gave himself a mental shake to snap out of his morose thoughts, and approached the nightstand to leave the glass, trying not to disturb Sam. In the end, it turned out that Sam wasn't asleep, because the younger man stirred as soon as Dean got closer.
"Dean?" Sam slurred, blinking heavy lids open.
Dean turned automatically to meet his brother's eyes. Sam's vulnerable look tightened the lump inside Dean's throat, but the latter swallowed it down and forced a calm voice out.
"Hey, Sammy. I brought you some water. Wanna try to drink?" He offered gently.
Sam glanced at the glass and nodded and tried to sit up, but his limbs were slow to respond. Watching Sam's face pale as he clumsily tried to push himself up was too much for Dean, who reached out to help him despite all the Winchester's unspoken rules about age, pride and independence.
"Thanks." Sam murmured.
Dean shook his head lightly, and helped Sam drink, keeping an arm around the younger's back and a hand on his shoulder. Sam managed a few sips of water before slumping back.
"Dammit..." Sam cursed, clearly frustrated at his own weakness.
"Take it easy, man." Dean soothed.
Dean put the glass away and gave Sam's shoulder a gentle squeeze, reluctant to let go completely. The contact was helping Dean breathe easier, and his stomach had finally settled. He realized then that he wanted to hug Sam. Really hug him. Dean hadn't felt a need so intense since the morning after he had sold his soul in exchange of Sam's life, when he had come back to the cabin and found Sam alive.
But even though the need to hold Sam close was physically painful, Dean set his jaw and resisted it. It was not the right time to give in to emotions, but to be strong and keep it together. As soon as Dean felt ready to let his little brother out of his sight for more than five minutes, he would go for a walk, a drive, a drink... hell, maybe a fuck. He would lick his wounds, get his head back in the game and come back his usual self. Any other thing wasn't going to help them. Anything else wasn't an option.
"Dean?" Sam questioned thickly.
Sam was blinking dazedly, as if the feat of sitting up had wiped him out completely. A slurred hue of disorientation had returned to his voice and Dean couldn't help shifting his hand from Sam's shoulder to the nape of his neck. Unconsciously, Sam leaned into his light touch.
"I'm here." Dean comforted him.
And he would be damned if he allowed his voice to break.
"Something…something's off." Sam mumbled, with a grimace.
Dean pursed his lips, not ready to relinquish his denial yet.
"You're high as a kite, Sammy." Dean tried, with a nervous chuckle. "That's what's off."
Sam's frown deepened as he lifted an uncoordinated hand to the side of his head. With the other hand, he found Dean's shirt and flexed his fingers in the fabric.
"No…it's…" Sam tried, shaking his head.
Dean squeezed the back of Sam's neck reflexively. The younger looked up, his eyes solemn.
"They got me, didn't they?" Sam said calmly.
It wasn't a question, so Dean didn't try to answer it. Instead, he avoided Sam's eyes altogether and started to pull away, but his brother's grip of his shirt stopped him. Dean didn't have the heart to force Sam's hand loose forcefully.
"We gotta talk." Bobby had said.
Damn, Dean had only wanted some more time to wrap his head around everything. Sam should have been out a few hours longer anyway, even Bobby had said so. Dean didn't want to think about all the furies' victims dying less than a week after they were whammied. Or, about the fact that the only survivor was admitted into a mental hospital to keep her from killing herself. They had no idea what to do, and even though Dean knew that he shouldn't be wasting time lying to Sam, he just wanted to enjoy the fact that his little brother was awake before focusing on anything else.
"Dean?" Sam pushed.
The rough tone of his brother's voice dragged Dean's gaze back to Sam's. His little brother's eyes were wounded, his expression broken. Dean knew it was the morphine: if Sam had been himself, he would be putting on a brave face. Without Sam's strength, Dean felt lost. This wasn't the first time that Sam was injured, nor that it was Dean's responsibility to finish a hunt. He was accustomed to stand up against the odds, especially if he had to protect the most precious thing he had.
"Dean, talk to me." Sam pleaded.
This time though, Sam's pain had shaken Dean so badly that he didn't seem able to regain his balance. The fear of seeing Sam hurting again was paralyzing, and it made Dean continuously second-guess himself. He couldn't afford freezing on his brother when he needed him the most. Dean had to react.
Don't be scared, Dean…
"What happened, Sam? What did they do to you?" Dean asked Sam, his voice gravelly.
Sam straightened up against the headboard as he sensed the switch in the conversation, by which Dean turned into hunter and Sam turned into the witness, into the victim. The emotion that flashed across Sam's eyes was hard to identify, buried under layers of stubbornness and morphine. But it wasn't denial; that was all Dean. Sam always faced whatever challenge life threw at him with a fierce sense of right the fuck at you determination. All their childhood miseries, Jess' death, and their father's... those events had almost destroyed him. But Sam had never stopped fighting, while Dean still went to bed some nights with a hollow sensation of unreality and Dad can't be dead in the pit of his stomach.
"Anything you remember, dude." Dean coaxed softly.
The younger frowned, licking his lips. His gaze turned inwards, as he searched for something that seemed to be buried deep inside his uncooperative mind. Sam grimaced and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as drugs slowed his thoughts down. Dean knew by experience that everything felt floaty and thick when you were on morphine.
"We don't have to do this right now." Dean backpedaled. "Sam, maybe you should-"
"Megan was in the living room, drinking coffee." Sam started in a faraway voice, cutting Dean off. "Trisha was in the kitchen and I didn't see Alec right away. I approached Megan from behind, and choked her unconscious. Then Trisha... she was calling Megan." Sam hesitated and his frown deepened. "I tried to choke her too when she came into the living room, but she twisted in my arms, tried to get me with a knife and cried for Alec. I knocked her out with the butt of my gun."
Another grimace contorted Sam's face and he rolled his head on the pillow, as if he was trying to escape his own discomfort.
"I tried to be more careful with Alec, because Trisha had warned him." Sam continued, his voice losing strength. "I waited for him and..." Sam trailed off, as he slid his eyes to Dean. "Are you holding my hand?"
Dean opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by the tired amusement in Sam's remark. His hand flexed reflexively around Sam's, as he awkwardly cleared his throat.
"My hand is placed over your wrist." The older deftly rephrased Sam's previous statement. "I'm just checking your pulse."
Sam tried to smile, but the levity was short-lived. Sam's groggy frown of distress turned more pronounced, and he twisted in the bed, curling towards his older brother. It was an unconscious gesture, young and instinctive, that told Dean that Sam wouldn't be awake or coherent much longer. Only will-power had allowed his little sibling to talk through the drugged veil, but Sam's body could only be tricked by adrenaline to a certain extent.
"Alec had on a baseball bat" Sam continued, his voice fading to a whisper.
Dean clenched his teeth, his eyes raking automatically over the bump on his brother's head.
"I pinned him against the wall, twisted his arm so that he'd let go of the bat and knocked his head against the wall. He went limp, and I thought he was out." Sam shut his eyes and tightened his fingers around Dean's wrist as he spoke. "But then he opened his eyes and attacked me with the bat. I remember crashing against the cabinet, scrambling to my feet and somehow knocking him out with a vase. You came in a short while after that."
Dean nodded slowly, swallowing to bring some moisture to his dry throat. He absently sipped the water that Sam had left, whishing it was whiskey or tequila, anything that would help him shake off the cold that gripped his veins.
"Did he say anything to you?" Dean asked, considering the possibility of a counter-spell.
Sam shook his head weakly. "No, he just looked at me, but..." Sam's hand went rigid around Dean's arm. "Dean, he saw me." He croaked.
The older hunter felt a shiver run down his spine at the weird, charged way Sam had pronounced the word "saw".
"He saw me and then it all became blurry" Sam's voice died off as his eyes dulled.
"Sammy? Sam, hey." Dean tried desperately to rouse him, shaking his brother's hand.
"Hurts, Dean..." The younger moaned in a thin thread of voice.
"What does?" Dean leaned closer to his brother, squeezing his hand.
"The noise... I can't...it's like a friggin' drill." Sam gasped and buried his head in the pillow. "It won't stop."
Dean tried to breathe around the lump in his throat, helplessly ghosting his free hand over Sam's side, as his brother writhed in the bed. If Sam's case was similar to Phoebe's, then drugs were the only wall between Sam and agony. Dean forcing his little brother to kick his way back to the surface just to give him answers was cruel, and it was making Dean nauseous.
"It gets worse if you're awake, doesn't it?" The older questioned sadly. "Sammy?"
Sam blinked big, hurt eyes at him, unwilling to admit that Dean was right. But Sam didn't need to; the older Winchester nodded in tacit understanding.
"Try to relax, bro." Dean said, softening his demeanor. "You need to rest."
"But, Dean…" The younger argued.
"It's alright." Dean reassured him, holding Sam's gaze. "Don't fight it."
"Are you mad?" Sam asked weakly.
Dean almost laughed at the ridiculous question. "No, I'm not." He promised. "I'm not, Sammy. Get some sleep."
Sam took his words as permission and let his eyes slip closed. Dean watched him as his sibling's features relaxed little by little. Soon, Sam was out again, hopefully for the next few hours.
It would be enough; Dean was fixing this now.
He didn't even jump when he felt Bobby's light hand on his back, as he had already been aware of the presence of the seasoned hunter hovering close by. However, the warm gesture didn't succeed to ease the tension in Dean's muscles, and John's first-born shrugged off his friend's hand almost immediately.
"Dean-" Bobby tried calmly.
"No." Dean shook his head automatically.
"He is going to be okay." Bobby said in a low voice.
"He was in pain again." The older Winchester countered, hating how his voice trembled.
"Dean, just let him sleep."
Dean scowled at Bobby, not appreciating taking orders from anyone when it concerned Sam, especially when that someone was asking him to leave Sam alone. Bobby stared him down, unfazed by Dean's attitude, until eventually Dean was forced to admit that his friend was right. Slowly, the elder Winchester let go of his brother and stood up. He felt weird inside his own skin, tired, but also buzzing with determination. Strangely cool.
Desperate.
He turned to Bobby with a deadly stare.
"Where are they?" Dean asked flatly.
oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo
A panic room. If Dean hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. When Bobby had said he was preparing something to contain the Furies in his basement, Dean had imagined some kind of lock up, sure, but not a full-fledged isolation space 100 % supernatural-proof. The hunter in him was secretly thrilled; it was the most amazing thing he had seen in a while. But there was also a part of Dean that thought about the weirdness of the situation. Somehow, knowing that it was a good idea to have a supernatural panic room in the basement was just wrong.
In any case, the Furies weren't going anywhere; the room was a real fortress. The idea of having Sam's torturers cornered and at his disposal sent a spark of fire down Dean's spine. Compassion had always been low on Dean's list of priorities when his little brother was suffering. He went straight for the door handle, but the heavy iron door didn't budge when he pulled it.
"It's locked." Bobby said evenly. "We can talk to them through the peephole."
"I'm not talking through a hole." Dean growled.
"Well, tough, because you'd be too stupid to go in." Bobby said, as he fixed Dean a stern look.
Dean's jaw clenched on its own accord; he itched to do something quick, drastic. The urge was so intense that his whole body throbbed with it.
"Open it, Bobby." Dean hissed.
"And then what are you going to do? Hand your ass over to them?" Bobby argued. "We have to figure out what we are going against, son, that was the plan."
"Fuck the plan. I want in, Bobby, now." Dean seethed. "Where is the key?"
The seasoned hunter stepped forwards, and held Dean's furious gaze without flinching. "There's only one key." Bobby informed him, patting the pocket of his flannel shirt. "So what's it going to be? Are you going to hit me, Dean?" Bobby challenged him.
Dean's lips curved up in a barely-controlled snarl. Hitting someone… Jesus, that would feel good. The anxiety of the last hours concentrated in his fists like lava, screaming to erupt. Dean knew it wasn't Bobby whom he wanted to hit, but if Bobby insisted on placing himself between a beast and its prey, it wouldn't end well.
"Dean, we don't need this now." The older hunter said with all the authority he could muster.
"Speak for yourself." Dean bit back.
"I speak for Sam." Bobby said in a low voice. "Your brother doesn't need this."
Dean faltered, his fury leaking out of him at the mention of his brother. He stepped back, physically dragging himself away as he pulled in a deep breath and got a grip on his explosive emotions. Bobby was right again. Actually, Bobby had been right too many times for Dean's liking, which meant that Dean was getting sloppy. He was stumbling his way through a hunt like an erratic, emotional newbie. If his dad could see him right now, he would tear him a new one for letting things get so out of hand. For having let himself get so out of shape.
"You're right." He mumbled. "I'm sorry."
The older hunter's expression softened, showing Dean that he had never been angry in the first place. In Bobby's presence, Dean sometimes felt as insecure as a little kid. He turned and leaned both hands against the wall, and bowed his head, breathing deeply.
"Okay." Dean said, his tone of voice much calmer. "What do we do now?"
Bobby stepped closer to Dean and replied confidently: "We learn more about what they are, what they want and how they do what they do. Then we figure out how to break their spell over Sam."
"And what if there isn't a way to break it?"
"There's always a way, Dean." Bobby affirmed self-assuredly.
Dean exhaled, and gave himself a last mental shake to boost himself and focus on the case. Even if the concept of Sam being a part of the case was hard to reconcile.
"Fine." Dean said, straightening up. "I got this, Bobby" He looked at Bobby in the eye and produced a rueful grimace. "But can you go and stay with Sam?"
The older man hesitated, clearly not liking the idea. His eyes betrayed him, as they flickered to the door. Dean realized that Bobby still thought Dean would go kamikaze into the panic room the second Bobby turned his back on the younger hunter.
"I won't try to open it." He reassured Bobby, a shade of a smile grazing his lips. "I just need you to stay with Sammy. I don't want him to be alone."
It was the truth. The only reason why Deanhadn't stayed with his brother was that waiting helplessly by Sam's side was driving Dean crazy. At least if Bobby was with the younger Winchester, Dean would be able to compartmentalize his concern and face the Furies without having his attention split between the bedroom and the basement.
"Please, Bobby." He pressed earnestly. "I promise I won't do anything stupid."
Bobby snorted. "Boy, if I had a penny for every time I've heard you say that..." But the older hunter relented with a long-suffering sigh and a resigned nod.
"I'll be upstairs." Bobby said as he left, and glanced one last time at the panic room door before walking up the stairs.
Dean's lips trembled as his father's friend left, but he repressed the automatic request for Bobby to return and get him if Sam's condition changed.
Focus now.
Turning back, Dean pulled the peephole iron door open. It gave way with an eerie metallic shriek and Dean would have laughed if he hadn't been so wired. He quickly stepped aside to avoid meeting anyone's eyes.
"Who's there?"
Trisha's voice was the first sound to filter from behind the thick iron door. Her tone was confident and cold, just as Dean remembered her to be. Setting his jaw, Dean settled with his back against the wall, next to the door, and kept his eyes trained ahead.
"I said who's there! What is this place?" Trisha repeated venomously. "Show yourself, you bastard!"
Dean huffed a laugh and shook his head.
"Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He muttered.
There was a minute silence behind the closed door, until a second voice came through.
"Dean."
It was a male voice, grave and rich; beautiful in a dark, decadent way. The hunter shivered.
"How do you know my name?" Dean gritted out.
"Are you kidding? I've been dying to meet you." Alec's voice replied, full of amusement. "You're the most imprinted person in Sam's mind. It's like I already know you. How's Sam doing, by the way?"
The cruel condescension of Alec's words caused Dean's blood to boil. The older Winchester barely repressed the urge to turn around and try to choke Alec through the hole.
"How about you tell me, Alec." He growled. "What the Hell did you do to my brother?"
The soft chuckle that ensued sounded muffled through the inches of solid iron that separated them, but its malice was clearly audible. Dean canted his head towards the peephole, itching to confront them face to face. It was a miracle he kept the presence of mind to restrain himself.
"He didn't do anything." Trisha retorted, jumping to Alec's defense. "We haven't done anything."
"Unlike you." Megan intervened, her voice softer but as packed with disdain as the others.
Alec chuckled again. "Sounds like you've got the girls quite worked up, Dean" He teased. "Then of course, it's not civil to kidnap people and lock them up in a bunker."
"You're not people." Dean snarled.
"Oh, really?" Alec challenged, his voice sharpening in the edges. "And what do you think we are?"
The oldest Winchester fisted his hands at his sides.
"Furies." The word sounded harsh, like a curse on Dean's lips. "Erinyes. The Angry ones."
His accusation was met with a huff from Alec, and Dean thought he could hear Trisha whispering something to Megan.
"We prefer to refer to ourselves as The Gracious Ones" Megan remarked, languorously.
"Yeah?" Dean arched an eyebrow at the empty basement. "What about self-righteous, blood-thirsty nut jobs?"
As a profound sense of hatred radiated from the panic room, Dean smiled to himself.
"What?" He pushed. "You don't like my definition?"
"You're a funny guy, Dean." Alec said coldly, his previous scorn subtly edging into anger. "Sam thinks that about you too."
Dean felt his throat constricting as he took the hit, and his fisted hands tingled, full of electrical rage. The sole idea of that monster…raping his brother's mind made the hunter want to break Alec's neck. The Fury had no right to talk about Sam as if he knew him. He had no right to talk about Sam, period.
"I'm going to ask you one more time." Dean growled, menacingly. "What are you doing to my brother?"
"You still don't get it." Alec's voice sounded close, right by the peephole. "We're not doing anything to him."
"All we did was open a door." Trisha hissed behind her friend.
"So that he could see himself as we see him." Megan added.
Dean again repressed the urge to smack his fist through the opening.
"What does that mean?" He demanded, his tone tense.
"It means that it is his own darkness that will end him." Alec answered in the gentlest of voices. "Not us."
"The things he's done." Trisha's smile permeated into her voice and Dean felt sick to his stomach at the pleasure she seemed to feel while reminiscing on Sam's secrets. "Guilt will consume him. And Justice will prevail."
"Justice?" Dean barked. "This is not justice!"
"We don't choose who we lay our eyes upon." Alec chimed in. "Things are just the way they are, Dean."
The jerk had adopted a condescending tone of voice again. It was more than Dean could stand.
"Right, you don't control it…you don't choose them." Dean seethed, "That's why the first poor devil you wasted was your father? Tell me Alec, for how long did he beat you until you decided to dish out 'justice' to Daddy?"
There was silence again and Dean knew he had hit a nerve. Alec and the girls were acting like patronizing, cruel, cold-hearted motherfuckers and he wouldn't let them get away with it.
"The people we've touched were guilty." Trisha intervened.
"You don't have the right to judge that." Dean denied.
"Andyou are telling us that? A hunter?" Trisha huffed.
"Who has that right, then? God?" Alec laughed sonorously. "Don't you get it, Dean? We are Gods."
Dean shook his head, nausea mixing with the fire in his gut. He was clenching his jaw so hard it had started to ache.
"We are talking about abusers, liars, cheaters, thieves and murderers, Dean." Megan said, her tone suggesting a double-edged patience.
"Of which Sam is none of!" Dean ground out.
"Sam is all of those, and worse." Alec said insisted grimly.
"You don't know anything about my brother!" The older Winchester exclaimed.
"Oh, man, I know him better than you'd think. Better than you never will."
"SHUT UP!" Dean yelled, punching the door with all his might.
The dull metallic sound didn't do any justice to the pain that flared in his knuckles and spread through his hand. Eyes closed, Dean panted through the vicious throbbing, unwilling to give away his pain or his wild emotions. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain.
"You're scared. I don't need to see you to know that." Alec crooned softly. "Don't worry, it will be over soon."
Alec's words would have been received with an explosion of fury a few seconds before, but this time they only caused Dean's throat to constrict even more. The hunter straightened his back against the wall, cradling his fist absently as he tried to swallow back the incipient tears that thickened his voice.
"I'm not letting you have my brother." Dean said.
"You can't save him, Dean." Alec said. "The walls he has built to keep his crimes from swallowing him whole are already crumbling. You know I'm right. You've heard him scream."
Dean gritted out an indefinite growl, born deep in his throat. "I'll kill you." He heard himself saying.
It was barely a whisper, but Dean knew it hadn't gone unheard. Gathering all his confidence, Dean squared his shoulders and forced his voice to sound strong and menacing. "If you don't release him right now I swear to God I'll kill the three of you right here and now." He said matter-of-factly, his tone soaked in hatred.
"That won't save him." Alec said softly, almost compassionately. "Even if we die, our spirits have been cast, and we won't leave until we've finished our mission."
Dean raised his eyes.
Mission?
Alec could have being referring to Sam. Maybe he meant Phoebe at the hospital. But there had been something in the way Alec had said it that spoke of longing, rather than hunger. Then Dean remembered what Megan had said back at Trisha's place.
Don't you sometimes feel like...there's somewhere else, someone else we should…
She hadn't finished the sentence, but Dean recognized the feeling, the search for something, someone, lost. His pulse accelerated as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. The detail was important, Dean could sense it. He just needed time to figure out what it meant.
"How long does Sam have?" Dean said in a rough voice.
"It depends on how much he wants to resist us. How much he wants to suffer." Megan answered simply.
"How much you blame him." Trisha added.
"What?" Dean's head snapped to the open peephole.
Again, Alec's voice sounded impossibly near. Dean could almost feel Alec's breathe on the side of his face, but he couldn't tear himself away from the door as he waited for an answer.
"You can't lie to him now, Dean." Alec explained, delighted. "He's so open to guilt that he'll absorb the culpability if someone resents him. His guilt, your blame; you know all his secrets, Dean. You are our battering ram in this siege."
Dean's knees threatened to buckle and he leaned harder against the wall, as his thoughts ran in circles.
I did that to him?
White spots danced in the edges of his vision and Dean tasted bile in the back of his throat.
"That's not…" Dean's breath hitched, cutting off his words, even as he shook his head.
Sam screaming. Sam clawing at his head, bucking in Dean's arms and against Dean's chest...
His little brother had been fine when Dean had found him in Alec's house, just dazed. Sam had even kept him company in the car during the arduous drive back to Bobby's. It was then that he had broken. More than that, Sam had exploded.
No. Dean said to himself. It can't be.
They hadn't been alone. When Sam had started screaming as if someone was cracking his skull open, Bobby was there… holding Sam's arm.
"Shit." Dean murmured.
He couldn't think of a reason why Bobby would blame Sam, other than perhaps something Dean didn't know; the huge, pink elephant in the damn room. Sam and Bobby hadn't talked to each other for months, and even now the air was strained when it was shared by the two of them.
"I got this, Bobby. But can you go and stay with Sam?"
"Shit." Dean repeated.
And then started to run.
oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo
"Get away from him!" Dean ordered, as soon as he reached Sam's bedroom.
Bobby startled at Dean's entrance and shot the agitated hunter a wary look. He had been sitting by Sam's bedside, watching over the younger hunter as he checked a book about Greek Mythology. Sam seemed asleep, his brow furrowed, but he stirred when he heard Dean's voice.
"What's wrong?" Bobby asked, alarmed.
"Bobby, get away from him. Now." Dean commanded from the door-jam.
Bobby slowly rose to his feet, his gaze jumping from Dean to Sam.
"Why?" He asked, taken aback.
"You're enhancing them, Bobby. This…tension between you two. It's hurting him." Dean explained tersely.
Bobby's eyes widened dramatically and he quickly backed away from Sam. Judging by his disconcerted expression, he still didn't understand what was going on. But he had reacted on instinct at the possibility of harming the youngest Winchester unknowingly.
"What are you talking about?" He asked, meeting Dean's eyes warily.
"Th-they told me, it's like they're trying to…ram their way inside his mind and break him from the inside." Dean stammered. His head was starting to swim as the adrenaline rush of the last minutes crashed through him. "They feed on guilt, and somehow whatever the hell is going on between you two is smashing against his defenses too."
Bobby opened and closed his mouth like a fish, at a loss for words. What Dean was saying was hard to believe, but it made sense. As soon as Bobby realized that too, his expression filled up with sorrow.
"My God." He whispered, running his hand through his hair and fumbling helplessly with his cap. "Dean, I didn't-"
"I'm getting him out of here." Dean said flatly, cutting his friend off. "I want my brother as far from those monsters as possible."
Away from you.
Bobby heard the implied subtext as clear as if Dean had said it aloud. The younger man swallowed hard and held Bobby's gaze ruefully. Dean knew honest-to-God that Bobby didn't mean to harm to Sam, but couldn't be bothered to spare his friend's feelings when he was in full protective mode. That is, the particular hard-core mode that caused Dean's thoughts to tunnel into a sole concept. Running through the flames engulfing them. Getting Sam somewhere safe before everything turned to ashes.
Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Go, Dean, go!
Bobby probably read it all in Dean's desperate features, as it was impossible for him to hide something that life had carved in him so deeply. Finally, John's friend averted his eyes, nodded, and started tiredly towards the door.
"He's awake again." He whispered to Dean, before leaving the siblings alone in the room.
Dean's attention immediately turned to his brother. His first impulse was to run to Sam's side, but instead of doing that, he stood frozen at the door. He didn't dare to go further into the room, because the risk of hurting Sam was as solid as the ball of lead rolling in Dean's stomach. What if Bobby wasn't the only one who detonated the mines inside Sammy's head? Even if the morphine was supposed to keep Sam safe for a while, even if it was Dean, and not Sam, who was shaking and needed the support of the wall to stay on his feet, the mere idea of causing Sam more pain was unbearable.
"Does it hurt?" Dean asked roughly, his voice barely a whisper around the lump in his throat.
Sam's eyes were half-open and fixed somewhere distant. It took a second for the younger Winchester to react to his brother's voice.
"What?" Sam mumbled thickly, a light frown crinkling his brow.
Dean clenched his fists, as he repressed the childhood gesture of biting his knuckles, or even the adult impulse of throwing a punch into the wall.
"W-When... if I-" Dean closed his eyes and pulled in a broken breath. Blubbering like a messed up kid, while it may be an accurate reflection of his state of mind, wasn't going to help Sam. "If I come closer to you or if I touch you… does it hurt?"
Sam's face crumpled in confusion. "What?" He repeated, more intently this time. "No, Dean... Why would it hurt?"
Dean felt himself going weak in the knees, and reached out to hold onto the doorframe.
"Are you sure?" Dean pressed, almost desperate for Sam's confirmation. He was starting to get lightheaded, as if his brother's answer was the air he needed. "It doesn't... get worse if I-"
"No." Sam reassured him, increasingly agitated under the imposed opiate calmness, as he picked up on his brother's fear through the fog. "Dean, what's going on?"
Dean couldn't answer right away, too weak with relief to do anything else other than resting his forehead against the doorframe.
"Dean?" Sam called out worriedly.
Dean felt the pull of his little brother's call. It was Sam's voice that prompted him to tear himself from the door. With every step Dean took towards Sam, he got further away from his almost-breakdown, and closer to the frail mirage of control that having a purpose gave him.
He walked to Sam on only slightly shaky legs, steeling himself against the kid's troubled gaze.
"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam questioned, his gaze tenuous as he grabbed onto Dean's arm and soon as his big brother was within reach.
Dean froze, fearing that Sam would start screaming at any moment. Only when the younger tugged at Dean's elbow to pull him closer, did Dean's body snap out of his trance.
"Nothing's wrong." Dean replied automatically, as he responded to Sam's anxious hold and helped his brother upright. "C'mon, Sammy. We gotta go."
Sam let out a faint groan when Dean moved him, and tried to bat his brother's hands away, as he dazedly tilted his head to search Dean's gaze.
"What happened?" Sam pressed, as urgently as he could muster. "You talked to them, didn't you? You alright?"
Dean stopped trying to get Sam out of bed and met the kid's dilated pupils. His brother didn't understand what had gotten into him and Dean couldn't blame him, because when he acted on automatic pilot, he was disconnected of any logic.
"I'm fine." Dean inhaled, exhaled, and breathed in again to gain some clarity. "Everything's fine, but we have to go."
"Why?"
"Just…" Dean bit his lip and squeezed Sam's biceps, pleadingly. "I'll explain later, okay? I promise. But I need you to help me here. I need you to trust me now."
Sam stared into Dean's eyes with a frown, uncomprehending but subdued implicitly by his inherent trust in Dean. That trust was the only thing that had ever been able to make Sam act against his questioning nature, and it moved Dean more than he would ever admit to his brother or himself.
"Okay." The younger whispered, as he shrugged lightly.
Dean lips tugged up a little, stupidly glad that Sam still believed in him.
"Think you can walk if I help you?" He asked Sam.
His brother seemed to consider the question, and finally managed a weak nod. Still, Dean had to balance him as soon as Sam was on his feet and listed woozily against his brother's chest. The younger blinked slowly as he got used to the new position, his head brushing Dean's shoulder, and his breath soft next to Dean's neck. Sam was trembling like a new-born colt that had to use every ounce of strength and willpower he possessed to hold his own weight. Dean possessively tightened his arms around his brother's shaky frame, even as he told himself that this was better than before, when Sam had been spasming in body-wrenching pain.
"You doing alright?" Dean asked him, in a gentle tone.
Sam nodded and pulled away from his brother, as if to prove it was true. Dean allowed him to but didn't let go of his Sam. Instead, he put Sam's arms across his shoulders and started to guide him out. His little brother obligingly staggered along with him. Luckily, Sam was coherent, but that didn't help Dean hate drugs any less. A few drops of that venom and his strong, resilient and independent sibling had been rendered into a dependent, broken kid, deprived of all shade of control.
This shouldn't be happening, it was all wrong. Dean needed Sam to be okay or everything else would spin out of control.
They made their slow, wavering way downstairs in silence. Sam kept his eyes closed or open to slits, stubbornly fixed on the floor. His head bobbed with every step, but he was making a valiant effort to keep himself upright, albeit tilted towards Dean. When they arrived in the living room, something caught Sam's attention and Dean felt his brother's change of focus almost as if their nerves where connected, because Sam was so close against Dean's side, he was hyper alert of the slightest twitch in Sam's body.
"Sammy?" Dean questioned, concern lacing his voice.
Sam raised his eyes a few inches and the tremble in his muscles rippled into Dean's core. But then the younger surprised him by giving a weak smile and Dean looked up too. Bobby was in the corner, tension making his fists clench helplessly at his sides as he watched them go with the saddest expression Dean had seen since the ominous 48 hours when both siblings had died.
"Bobby." Sam acknowledged faintly.
Bobby swallowed before returning the smile, but didn't try to move closer, as much as it obviously pained him not being of help. Dean looked down, as regret stung bitterly behind his eyes. Bobby would plunge a knife into himself before hurting any of John's sons. Yet, the older Winchester's unconscious reaction was to hold his brother more firmly, needy for contact and warmth and familiar pulse under the grasp he had of Sam's wrist over his shoulder. It was also a protective movement, in a way that kept Bobby immobile where he was. The two older men shared a long look that spoke of concern and frustrated guilt.
"Can you get the door?" Dean asked him softly.
Bobby's jaw twitched, but he nodded almost immediately and hurried to open the door for them. Bobby also went ahead to the Impala and opened the passenger's door, before retreating a few steps to let Dean fold Sam gently into the front seat. The short walk and the fresh air sobered Sam a little, but as soon as he was settled, he curled into himself with a shiver.
A blanket, Dean thought. Dammit, why didn't I think of getting a blanket.
He was slipping, leaving out obvious details that should not have escaped him. They wouldn't have escaped him if there hadn't been so much white noise in his head. How could he fix this mess if he couldn't think of a damn blanket? Dean's chest constricted as he closed the door on his barely conscious brother's side. A strange feeling of detachment was starting to wash over Dean, as his breathing became shallower.
Don't you dare. You, damn pussy, you are not having a stupid panic attack.
There was a blanket in the trunk. It was always there, with the second emergency kit. Dean had put them in there himself. It was his father's methodical training, John's way to do things. How could Dean have forgotten that?
Don't lose it now. Not yet. C'mon, Dean, you can do this, just get the blanket and get your brother somewhere safe before you break.
"Dean."
Bobby's voice sounded far away. Dean ignored it, walked around the car and put the key into the trunk lock.
"Hey." Bobby tried again.
Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back.
"Son, stop." The older hunter tried, concerned.
The trunk wouldn't budge. What the fuck was wrong with it? Dean growled and turned the key more forcefully, but the lock didn't give as he yanked at it in earnest. In that moment, he would have downright used a crowbar if he had had one, or if Bobby hadn't grabbed his arm.
"Stop!" Bobby ordered.
Dean whirled around and pulled his arm free, ready to take a swing. Bobby had already backed off, and had his palms in the air.
"Easy." Bobby said, his voice dropping and octave. It was soothing, as his father's low, rumbling tone when he said something important and needed Dean to pay attention. "Just lemme."
John's friend took the key from him, slow and easy, as if he was dealing with a skittish animal. He opened the trunk in his first attempt, and then held it open wider for Dean, who bitterly swallowed the irrational wave of betrayal towards his car that enveloped him.
"What do you need?" Bobby asked him, gesturing at the trunk.
"The blanket." Dean mumbled, without ungluing his eyes from the ground.
Bobby retrieved it, closed the lid and passed the worn gray blanket to Dean, who took it wordlessly. Digging his fingertips in the soft fabric gave a sense of solid structure to his following steps, namely, make Sammy comfortable and get Sammy back to the motel. As long as he didn't think about after, Dean could deal with the now, and he craved the calming sense of numbness of the little, easy actions to shut his brain.
"Dean." Bobby tried to reach him once again, his voice gentle and worried eating at Dean's crumbling walls.
The older Winchester shook his head. He only wanted to go to the driver's side and leave, but Bobby was blocking his way, going all the way around the car seemed stupid and such a simple decision was tearing Dean apart. Bobby stepped closer and for a second it seemed like he would try to grasp Dean's shoulder, but the younger man scrambled away.
"No." Dean said with a quavering voice, as he clutched the blanket as a shield between himself and Bobby.
"Dean..."
"Don't." Dean warned, taking an automatic step back as Bobby took another one forward. "Just don't, not now. I- I can't."
If Bobby tried to hug him at that moment, that would be it. Dean would break down on his friend's shoulder and he wouldn't be able to pull himself together after that. So as appealing as the idea of letting go was, and even though he knew that Bobby was safe, Dean couldn't afford it.
"Okay, kid. But you gotta breathe now." Bobby said evenly, respecting Dean's space. "Stop for a minute and breathe."
"No, I-" Dean shook his head again, "I need to-"
"You can't drive like this, Dean. You need to calm down, alright?" Bobby said reasonably.
The younger hunter snorted and unconsciously searched for something to lean on. Because Bobby was right, whether Dean liked it or not: numbness insisted on eluding him and the rapid beating of his heart was making him wobbly. As his back found the trunk, Dean bent forwards a little and forced air into his lungs. Bobby approached him carefully, and leaned against the car by Dean's side, in silent support.
"I'm sorry." Dean whispered, without looking at Bobby. "I know this is not your fault."
Bobby scratched his chin. His expression was weary as he answered. "No, I am sorry. He's your brother; you do what you gotta do."
Dean's chin trembled a little and he ducked his head to avoid his friend's compassionate gaze.
"He's an asshole." Dean blurted. "The damn idiot went against them alone. He fucking decked me! And he did it to protect me. And now, now he…"
Bobby came closer, his arm almost brushing Dean's, and the young man choked as a quiet sob stole his breath.
"They are torturing him, Bobby. They are going to twist him and tear at him until he shatters, until he wants to kill himself. He-" Dean blubbered, lungs seizing at the memory of Sam squirming in his arms, begging Dean to make it stop. "He's m-my little brother… and I couldn't… I can't…"
Bobby faced Dean and placed both hands on the younger's shoulders. He squeezed Dean's tense back, and the latter couldn't bring himself to shrug his friend away.
"It's not going to come to that" Bobby said firmly. "Sam will be alright, Dean. We're going to fix this."
Dean sniffled and raised wet eyes to Bobby. He wanted to believe his friend so badly he almost didn't mind Bobby seeing the tears that brimmed in his eyes.
"Help me." He pleaded. . "Help him, Bobby, please."
Bobby swallowed and gave Dean's cheek a soft pat.
"You know you don't have to tell me that." The older stated softly.
Dean nodded and managed a small, embarrassed smile. "I'll call you later, alright?" He said, as he wiped at his eyes.
Bobby recognized that the moment was over and let go of John's first-born with a parting shake.
"You do that, boy." Bobby replied. He glanced through the windshield and his expression softened. "Take care of him."
Dean stood upright, relinquishing the car's support, and shot Bobby a firm stare.
"You know you don't have to ask me that."
Bobby gave a solemn nod and stepped away from the Impala and from Dean, who started towards the driver's door.
"Dean." Bobby called.
The younger hunter turned in time to catch the bottle of pills that Bobby threw at him.
"What's this?" Dean asked.
Bobby stole another glance at Sam before answering.
"More morphine." He answered. "In case it gets really bad. There's also some
Vicodin in there. Sedatives helped him against the spell, right?"
Dean clenched his jaw and rolled the bottle in his hand.
"Thanks." He said to Bobby and quirked his lips as a goodbye.
He still felt weird when he took his seat behind the wheel, but Dean didn't let fear seize him this time. He had more pressing things in mind, like Sam whimpering next to him as he instinctively rolled his head towards his big brother, his eyes closed and his forehead scrunched in discomfort. Dean tucked the blanket around Sam's torso, hoping in vain that he wouldn't rouse him during the process.
"D'n?"
No such luck.
"Right here." Dean whispered back.
Sam peered at him through glassy eyes, then at the wheel.
"I'm sorry you have to drive." The younger mumbled, as his eyes slipped closed again.
Dean gave Sam's knee a brief squeeze and started the car.
"Don't be." He said determinedly. "It's my job."
TBC
