Boxed In
Special thanks to those of you who sent along their kind encouragement. So… here you have it. One showdown…
Chapter Seven
Dean ran ahead of Sam and tried the front door, but without success. He turned around and Sam thought he looked like someone had just sucker punched him.
"What?" Sam asked, worriedly looking him over. Dean was breathing too carefully, half bent over holding his side. Even in the dim light Sam could see the dark bloodstains covering Dean's t-shirt.
Sam still couldn't believe what had happened. In the split second after he'd fired the gun, he'd felt his heart stop. In slow motion, Andrew had pulled Dean right back where he had been and used him as a shield. That was when he's seen Dean fall and his own heart fall with him.
When he'd tried to shoot Dean at the asylum he'd just been angry that the gun hadn't been loaded. But this time he'd been fully aware of what he'd just done. Dean was all he had left and he could have killed him. His brother still hadn't seen the ragged bullet track across his ribs, but Sam's hands were beginning to shake again just thinking about it.
"You all right?" Sam asked, swallowing heavily.
"I…"
"What?" Sam asked again, fighting down panic. "Tell me!"
"You're going to have to kick in the door," Dean grimaced. "I can't manage it." He looked downright disgusted with himself and Sam let out a choked laugh, relief washing through him. He really didn't know if he could handle any more disasters right now.
"Don't get used to it," Dean eyed him. "I get the chicks and I get to kick in doors. It's the natural order of the universe."
"Got it," Sam smiled and backed up to give himself some room.
"And stop smiling," Dean ordered.
"Right." Sam raised a foot and kicked with all his strength, aiming for the lock.
The door broke open with a crash just as another childish scream came from inside the house. Dean brought his shotgun up and then looked at it, frowning. "Crap." He threw the car keys to Sam. "You'd better get the gas out of the trunk. The guns are only gonna work on Andy."
Sam nodded and ran for the car, hurriedly digging out the gas can and a canister of salt. As he returned he saw Dean leaning against the house, bent over with his hands on his knees. Guilt washed over Sam again, but he fought it back. Now wasn't the time. He would have to make it up to Dean later although he had no idea how.
Amazingly, Dean didn't seem to be angry. He didn't even seem annoyed. Which reminded Sam yet again that he would never really understand his brother.
Dean abruptly straightened when he heard Sam's tread on the porch stairs. He gave Sam a short nod to say he was ready then raised his shotgun and turned, heading into the house. "He'll be in the same room he was before," he said grimly and Sam silently nodded his agreement although Dean couldn't see it.
They quickly worked their way to the large living room at the rear of the residence. Walking in, they found the vampire much as he had been last time, only this time he was standing, his hands locked around the shoulders of a young fair-haired boy about ten years old. Sam stayed back toward the entryway, but Dean walked in, his shotgun aimed and ready.
"I thought we had a deal," Dean said through clenched teeth.
"We do," the ghost replied in the hollow echoing tone that Sam was growing to hate. "I am simply ensuring that you keep your end of the bargain. Young Joshua is going to stay here with me while you take care of business."
"You said you would leave them alone."
"And I will as long as you take care of Andrew." He smiled that same awful grin, the one that said 'I am so much smarter, faster and meaner than you are'. "My time is limited and I'm not stupid enough to think that you won't need some encouragement to finish the job quickly."
The child looked panicked, the small ghostly figure flickering like a weak florescent bulb. His wide, frightened eyes were locked on Dean's shotgun.
"Please," the boy said, "Please don't hurt me." He held out his hands protectively in front of him as best he could with Morgan holding him. "Please!"
Sam saw the color drain from Dean's face as he watched the boy frantically try to free himself.
Andrew ran into the room, revolver in hand and aimed it at Dean. "Put the gun down!" he ordered.
Sam, who had remained out of sight by the entryway, having expected just such an unwanted entrance, stepped forward and aimed his own handgun at Andrew. "Careful who you're ordering around, Andrew."
Dean remained where he was, aiming at the increasingly furious vampire. "I'll kill them both," he snarled. "I'll suck them dry and it will be your fault. All because you couldn't do one simple thing."
"He's right there," Dean growled. "Do it yourself."
"I don't have the energy," the ghost snapped. "I can't do more than hurt him. That's not enough."
"Daddy!" the child screamed. "Help me, please!"
As if just realizing what was happening Andrew stared dumbfounded at his own son. "Joshua?"
"Daddy," the child sobbed. "I'll be good, Daddy, I promise. Please. You don't have to punish me. I'll be good."
"Kill him!" Morgan ordered. "We had a deal!"
The child's eyes widened in near hysteria, thinking the vampire was talking about him. His terrified gaze locked with Dean's. "You can't! Please!" he begged, "Don't hurt me!" He began thrashing in the vampire's hold trying to break away.
Wounds blossomed on the child's chest, the old gunshot wounds reappearing as the boy continued to writhe and scream, unable to get away. As the blood spread, the ghost's breathing became wet, the labored sounds loud in the appalled silence, but still the child fought, trying to get away.
Dean's face twisted in anguish and Sam felt his own heart constrict painfully. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves was so ingrained in their thinking that hearing the child plead for his life was torture. Especially when Sam knew what Dean was going to have to do. What Dean was about to do.
"I'm sorry," he heard Dean barely breathe out.
"No, PLEASE!" the child screamed. "NO!"
Dean held the shotgun white-knuckled and fired. The boy evaporated with an echoing scream filling the room. The shot spread salt in a wide spray across the floorboards around the vampire.
A ferocious, banshee-like wail filled the entire house, but no one moved. Sam still had a gun on Andrew who was aiming at Dean who still had the vampire in his sights. It was like a psycho version of a conga line.
A wind blew through the room, although there were no windows open and as it died, the woman appeared standing behind Dean, fury written across her features.
"How could you?" she screamed.
"Behind you!" Sam shouted, afraid the woman would attack Dean for shooting her son. She looked so real, so solid that Sam was amazed. Dean started to turn, but stopped when he saw she was looking at Andrew and not him.
"How could you?" she screamed again.
Dean jumped when she appeared in front of him and put a hand against his side over the ragged bullet wound, the flickering movement so fast he hadn't seen it coming. "I'm so sorry, baby. Don't worry. Mommy's going to take care of it," she said and then turned burning eyes toward her husband.
"Enough!" the vampire roared. "Finish him!" He charged trying to grab the woman to use as another hostage. Instinctively Dean moved to block him and he and the vampire crashed to the floor. The vampire was only half-corporeal and Dean was simply outmatched, unable to effectively hold or hit. They twisted in a flurry of movement, fighting for control. The woman screamed furiously and leapt into the melee, viciously attacking the vampire.
Sam snatched the gun away from a stunned and frozen Andrew. He tucked it into his waistband and picked up the gas can and salt still sitting beside him. Sam pulled the caps off as he ran and then began liberally splashing the blood stained floor with both substances. Just as he heard a pained cry from Dean, he pulled his lighter from his pocket, flicked it open and threw it into the puddle, causing the gasoline to ignite with a whoosh.
Sam turned back to see the woman still fighting desperately to pry the vampire away from Dean who was almost limp in the vampire's grasp. Fresh blood was spreading across Dean's shirt mingling with the old, but Sam couldn't tell where it was coming from. Finally, the woman got her arm around the vampire's neck and pulled him back just as the vampire exploded in a cloud of fiery sparks.
Dean fell to the floor and lay deathly still. Sam moved to help, but stopped when the ghost flickered once, disappearing where she was, and then reappeared kneeling at Dean's side. "It's ok, sweetpea. Mommy's here," she cooed. Sam watched as she ran her hands over Dean's bloodstained chest, tears running down her face. Stepping closer, Sam could see the new wound through his brother's torn shirt. It looked like a bite wound. The vampire had ripped and torn near Dean's collarbone like a dog trying to rip into a hunk of meat.
Sam blinked and the ghost was on her feet moving toward Andrew like a lion stalking a wounded deer.
"Charity," Andrew said, nervously backing away. "That's not Joshua. I didn't do anything to him. You stay back!"
"All I wanted was to leave, find someplace safe for me and Joshua and you do this? You've hurt my son for the last time, Andrew," she said fiercely. "Do you understand me?"
"Charity," he said, still backing away finally running into the wall. "Charity, please. I didn't mean for it to end like that. You made me so angry. I couldn't help it."
She leapt at him. One second she was five feet from him, the next she was on him. Her hand passed right through into his chest. Andrew screamed and clawed at her arm trying to move it.
She tilted her head to one side, watching him. "Andrew… you broke my heart. I think you need to know what that feels like."
Andrew's scream abruptly died away and his face went slack. The woman withdrew her hand from his chest and he slumped over, landing heavily on the floor with a meaty thunk.
Charity turned and ran back to Dean. She sat down near him and pulled him into her lap so that she could put her arms around him and rest his head against her chest. It looked so like the position they had found the bodies in downstairs that Sam was startled.
"Sweetpea," she said sadly, brushing a hand through Dean's hair. "Honey, can you hear me?"
Dean groaned and shifted, weakly raising a hand toward his chest. "Wh… what happened?"
"It's ok," she reassured him. "He won't hurt you anymore."
"Hurts," Dean mumbled and Sam fought the urge to rip him out of the woman's grasp and run for it. He didn't know how she would react to anyone else taking her 'son' though.
"Shhh…. Just hold still, baby. I know it hurts," she said, still slowly brushing a hand through his hair.
Dean sighed and let his hand fall away from his chest. "Mom."
Sam could see that Dean was barely conscious. He was hurt. He was confused. It was still heartbreaking to see the sudden expression of absolute faith and peace on his brother's face. It was like every bit of pain and trouble was bearable now, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like he could rest now.
Sam knew he ought to look away at such an exposed, unguarded expression, knowing Dean had never meant for him to see it. Dean was a mess, injured and barely awake, and yet for once completely unburdened. It was something Sam wasn't sure he had ever managed to do for Dean in all of their years together. Sam didn't know if it was even possible since he was one of those burdens.
"Missed you," Dean whispered.
"Hush, sweetpea," she said softly.
"S'ok," he murmured. "Not your fault. Had to go."
The woman pulled him more tightly to her. "I'm not going anywhere."
Dean opened his eyes and if Sam had thought his brother's first reaction was heartbreaking, seeing all of his barriers slam back into place, seeing the burden of who Dean was resettle almost like a physical weight onto his shoulders was enough to almost bring Sam to tears.
She was rocking him and for just a moment Sam could see that Dean didn't want to move, he wanted to stay and feel a mother's love, any mother, but Dean was awake now and he knew it wasn't their mom holding him.
"It's my fault, baby. It's my fault," she began to repeat over and over.
"It wasn't your fault," Dean said softly. "What happened wasn't your fault." He looked at her and their eyes met. "I'm sorry." Sam wasn't sure what he was sorry for. For thinking he was her son? That her son had died in the first place? That her husband had killed her too? Dean sat up, painfully, and moved back from her.
"What's the matter, baby?" she said worriedly.
Dean didn't answer and tears began to flow freely down her face again. "Don't be mad, honey. I won't leave you this time," she said, her voice breaking. "Not this time."
"Charity?" Sam said. "What happened before?"
"I died," she whispered desolately. "I died first. I was holding you. I knew I needed to stay with you, but I died first."
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, grief written on his features. "Not your fault," Dean said again. "Sometimes… sometimes, it just happens."
Charity sat forward. She put her hand against Dean's cheek and leaned so that her forehead was touching his. "My brave boy," she whispered. "Always so brave for Mommy."
The fire was spreading from the original pool of gasoline. It had already caught the sofas on fire and was spreading up the curtains. The rug Andrew had fallen onto was beginning to burn and Sam didn't really want to be around when Andrew's clothes caught fire. A few more minutes and the wooden flooring would burn through into the basement. He really didn't want to be around when the gas downstairs caught.
"Dean," Sam whispered.
Dean gestured vaguely with a hand and Sam knew he was aware enough to realize the fire was spreading around them.
Charity was still sitting with her forehead against Dean's. She leaned back just a touch and kissed his cheek. "I love you, sweetpea."
Sam saw Dean close his eyes and swallow heavily. "I'll be all right now. It's ok for you to go."
"Baby?" She was already starting to fade.
"It's ok," Dean said again. "He won't hurt either of us anymore. We're both safe now."
Charity faded away to nothing, her hand slipping away from Dean's cheek as she disappeared and Sam saw Dean lean into it, just barely, as the sensation of her hand against his cheek faded with her.
Sam saw a glimmer of movement and turned back toward Andrew to see the little boy sitting cross-legged beside his father. The child reached out and patted Andrew's back. "Mommy says we're leaving now, Daddy. I'm sorry." The boy flickered one last time and was gone.
Sam hurried to Dean's side and dragged him to his feet. "Come on, Dean. Time to go." He pulled one of Dean's arms over his shoulders and headed for the door, not stopping until he unceremoniously threw him into the passenger seat. Sam ran around the car and got into the driver's seat, put the car in drive and roared away from the house.
Dean had picked up Marigold before Sam had pulled him to his feet and he sat in the car with her in his lap. As always Sam was amazed at his brother's attachment to the shotgun. It was like a security blanket or a teddy bear, only lethal.
They had just pulled out onto the road when Sam heard the explosion as the fire hit the gas filled room in the basement. No need to call the cops now. Andrew was dead and anything that was left of the ghosts would burn away with the fire.
An epilogue tomorrow…
