Better to burn out – than fade away
Chapter 8 – …balls of steel will take you places
Bobby sat in his truck just outside the open all hour's store, watching the dull blue phosphorous from the shop sign ooze into the night; and spent the few empty minutes he had left considering his options. They were gonna need supplies, lots of supplies, and for who knows how long? He examined the crumpled list he'd made earlier, squinting as the small oasis of yellow cast by his flashlight picked up his scrawl. Most of the more obscure items they'd need for this exorcism he carried in his truck. Always be prepared for the worst…that was the first lesson he'd taught John if he remembered rightly. And it might just be an idea to drop into a drug store come morning, replenish the first aid box while he thought of it. After all, could never have too many sutures in your kit especially if a Winchester were involved.
Throwing an expectant glance at his watch, he fished out his phone. It was exactly one am – and, right on cue, it vibrated softly in his hand.
Bobby scanned the area wearily as the call connected. "On time as always. Well? What you got for me?"
The small voice was metallic, but clear enough. "You're not gonna like it."
"Knew that already…just spill."
There was a brief pause and a breath of resignation before the caller continued. "We're to wait till we can get him alone, then we're meant to pick him up, take him to a lake house about an hour's drive north of here. If you want my advice…don't let him out of your sight, cos Cobb sure ain't. He's had one of us tailing him in shifts for the best part of two days now."
"So, what's Cobb got in mind for him? You found out yet?"
"Nah, he's keeping it close to his chest. Not sure if he trusts anyone, or if the others are in his confidence…don't think they are, but…can't be sure."
Bobby took a deep breath; he'd been hoping for more, a lot more, but at least they had a location. "Can you send me the co-ordinates of this lakeside place? May need to know if things up and go sideways…and…don't go taking any chances, you hear me?"
"I hear you, old man, and I ain't known for being reckless, but I got a feeling we may all have to take some chances before this thing's over with." The caller paused. "Bobby…How much have you told them…about me…I mean?"
"Nothing yet…just like you wanted, although I still can't see why…they ain't John. You could do a whole lot worse than to talk to them boys' y'know. Might just put some other demons to rest, if y'know what I mean…maybe when all this is over…?"
The caller interrupted him, the voice tinged with a smile. "Hah, never had you pegged as a sentimental type, Bo."
"Must be getting soft in my old age."
"Singer…you'll be soft the same day I take to wearing pantyhose and an Easter bonnet when I'm hunting."
Bobby had to work hard to hold his own grin in check as he spoke. "I'm out getting provisions right now, and then we're holing up for the duration, keep in touch…and…watch your back."
He heard the small grunt that sounded like 'always' before the caller hung up, and he stashed his own phone back in his pocket. He had to get this done quick, not letting Dean out of his sight had been good advice and he intended to act on it.
ooooo
Sam was getting nowhere fast. He'd been researching for hours, on every site he could think of, and one or two that normally he wouldn't have touched had his life depended on it, - except it wasn't his life, it was Dean's and it was cut way too short already. So he looked and read and digested every account, every theory and every crazy ramble he could get his hands on, ignoring his natural scepticism and pushing on into the realms of the desperate. The room was quiet and dim, the only light shining out from his laptop, the only noise, the tapping of his fingers on the keys and his gentle sighs of frustration. He looked up, silently checking the still figure under the sheets for the umpteenth time, before returning his focus to the page. And that's what he was doing when he heard his brother's voice, quiet but firm.
"Sam?"
"Hey. Good to see you awake, dude." Sam stood up and smiled as he switched on the tall lamp by the door, the slight glow hooded by the dingy shade. Then he ambled over to the chair and sat by the bed, watching his brother slowly returning to the land of the living.
Dean blinked as the extra light stung his eyes. "What happened?"
"That's a good question; I'm trying to find out, but it's a little like looking for a needle in a bucket of needles. How you feeling? At least you don't look like you're sweating enough to soak the sheets anymore, and that's gotta be good, right?"
Dean just staredblankly at himbefore slowly pushing up to his elbows…but Sam was on his feet and moving round the bed before he could do much else. "Dude, take it easy. What are you doing? You're meant to be resting. Look…Bobby will be back in an hour or two and you can get up then okay?"
As Dean noticed Bobby's absence he felt a definite and unsettling surge of pleasure. That just wasn't right…but he couldn't put his finger on exactly why. He liked Bobby, the old man had been one of the few constants in his life, so why was he so happy to see him gone? He couldn't make any sense of it. He rubbed at his sore scalp as though the friction might force some reason into his brain. Then…gradually…the bare bones of a memory, and suddenly a myriad of images flooded through his head. The look on Bobby face as he stood staring, accusing…the look in Sam's eyes as he watched, condemning, neither of them trusting him. Neither of them having any faith in him – he was lost to them.
'Lost to them?' Dean pressed both eyes with his palm heels in misery while inside his head, the distant voice murmured – but they weren't his words he was hearing, they'd never been his words. And they certainly weren't his feelings. He couldn't believe the stupidity of what he was listening to in his own mind. Sam didn't trust him? Since when? And as for Bobby...there'd never been a time in his life when he hadn't been able to rely on Bobby Singer, so where the hell was this coming from? It made no sense, no sense at all. He knew Sam was standing by the foot of the bed but couldn't bring himself to look him in the face.
And the voice continued, slow and melodious, providing a mantra in the confusion, a fragile island of sanity in a uninviting sea of disorder '… don't trust you…have never trusted you… have lied to you… they have always lied to you…you are weak…you are broken…'
Then Sam's voice joined with the other in his head. "Look, just take it easy; Dean, Bobby will be back before you know it…we'll sort this out, dude, I promise."
ooooo
The creature pulsed and writhed at Sam's words, twisting the feeling of relief and hope that the older man's name inspired, into something altogether darker. Controlling the truth, it planted memories of rejection and betrayal, events that had never happened but were blurry enough to be convincing, weaving them into the fabric of its lies and accusations.
It pushed onward after sensing the first glimmers of uncertainty. Feeling the unease, it uncoiled and extended one thin sinewy arm out into the dark, into the void, and spoke in whispers – gentle words of encouragement, and gentle lies and manipulations. It knew how to get what it wanted, knew how to control and influence and when that failed, it knew how to force.
But for now, it bargained. It gave strength, and healed outer wounds while all the while causing new inner ones. Finding its way, it tasted, tested, invaded…and grew.
ooooo
Dean could feel his brother's eyes burning into him, could feel the intense scrutiny and he hated it. He loathed it with every fibre of his being. He was being weighed and measured, and he was being found wanting. Scrunching his eyes he breathed in, cool air expanding and filling his lungs; but it did nothing to halt the black cloud that was settling over him. He felt like something had fractured and leaked out, filling his mind with a darkness that could never be washed away. The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to leave…now. Gathering the sheet around his body, he stood, feeling strangely alert – feeling strong.
Sam watched his brother move and started to get that feeling again, the one that he always got when he just knew Dean was about to do something monumentally stupid. He held up both hands in a consolatory gesture as he spoke, trying not to look anxious. "Dean, please wait. At least sit back down and wait for Bobby, he'll know what to do."
Focussing on Sam's outstretched hands …at his attempt at deception; Dean still couldn't bring himself to look at him directly. Yeah, Bobby would know what to do all right. If he'd ever needed motivation – that was it. Couldn't afford to wait till Singer got back – had to go now.
"Feeling fine, Sam, need the bathroom." As he passed the duffel on the floor he stooped and gathered his clothes, not once turning to look at his bemused brother before disappearing into the other room.
Sam brushed a hand through his hair, sweeping it back from his face, his mind racing as he stared at the door separating them. He knew about the effects of the weird shit happening to Dean, courtesy of Bobby and his research, but now that he was faced with it, he felt oddly out of his depth. Dean looked way too healthy for someone who just a few hours ago had been a human furnace, and since when did he call him 'Sam' anyway. Only when he was pissed, that's when, but he wasn't acting angry, wasn't acting like Dean. Looking around the small room he spied the phone tucked away next to his illuminated laptop and grabbed it, glad to have Bobby on speed dial.
ooooo
Bobby picked up on he second ring. He knew it was Sam as soon as the number flashed up on screen, and he also knew that if he was phoning…well…it sure as hell wasn't to add to the grocery list. "Sam?"
"Umm, Bobby, how long are you gonna be?"
"Hour tops, why? What's going on…Dean awake?"
"Oh, he's awake all right. He's up and he's pissed and he's kinda…stomping around…"
"Stay with him, Sam, whatever you do don't let him leave that room, I'm on my way back now."
Bobby hung up sharply, not giving Sam the chance to reply. He dumped the basket of groceries in the aisle where he stood and stomped out of the shop, breaking into a run as he made his way back into the night and to the truck. Their time was running out…and way faster than he'd expected.
ooooo
Dropping his clothes on the floor and standing in front of the small sink, Dean watched his fingers trying to bore into the hard porcelain. His head hung low but his eyes were wide and starring. As he raised his line of sight, he slowly took in every tiny detail of each surface. The lime scale collecting round the plug…the cracks in the off white tiles…the slow silver dribble of condensation dancing down the surface of the scratched mirror…and the small but now ever present amber, circling in his eyes…the truth hit him square in the chest.
Oh Jeez, oh no…nonono, this could not be happening, he had not been possessed, he KNEW that, right? Well then? What the freaking hell was this? He opened his mouth, about to shout out, to call to Sam…about to…to do something…but…couldn't think what? All of sudden the need to speak was gone…vanished along with the creeping icy fear and dread, leaving just emptiness.
His mouth had turned bone dry but he didn't notice, his eyes gritty and sore but he didn't blink, he was back in the wasteland, the wind howling round his head and lashing at his skin. He swung round slowly looking into the bleak distance and saw only the void, an empty and desolate expanse, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
Back in the small bathroom the demon stepped away from the sink and gathered up the clothes from the floor, dressing quickly. It nearly had control, but there was still strength tangled in with the immeasurable damage – still fight left in the host. It could feel his confusion as he fought to return from wherever his mind was hiding him. And that strong burning flame of defiance glowed as though it'd been ignited in the pit, and it knew there was no time to waste.
TBC
