Where are you?

Chapter Ten

The whole house is dark and dank and smells sharply acidic, like urine. Dean shuddered, his hands shaking as he put them in his pockets, feeling the heavy weight of the gun there. Sam is beside him and in the dim light Dean can see how big he is, the solid weight of his body pressed against Dean in a protective manner. Sam is steady, calm, his body still and lithe and ready. Dean realised that this was the 'real' Sam, the Sam that the 'other' Dean must have known and loved; the Sam who was strong and always had his back. Dean wiped sweaty palms across the thighs of his jeans. God he was glad that Sam had his back now.

It was a simple haunting; or so Bobby said. A child's spirit; eye witnesses had seen it flickering in and out, from its stance at the top of the stairs. What made it dangerous was the fact that it had the habit and the strength to actually push people down those stairs and two people were now dead, their necks broken.

Sam thought that the child might have been murdered; the body hidden somewhere in the house. Sam had done some research and found out that the house was once a children's home and one that was not very savoury; Sam had seemed distressed as he typed away at the laptop; the history, it seemed, was very tragic.

Dean had been impressed by Sam's research and his obvious enthusiasm for the job in hand. His brother spent hours on the laptop, his tall frame hunched, tongue poking from his lips as he surfed net sites and read long reports. Dean had, eventually, persuaded Sam to leave his research in the early hours of the morning, offering him coffee and a donut "This is how it works ok" Sam had smiled, his long fingers hovering over the keys "I'm the physic geek boy and you're the brave and strong hunter" Dean swallowed

"I don't think it works like that anymore" his voice was hoarse but he was attempting to hide the fear in it "I'm not that man anymore Sam"

Sam reached out a hand and settled it over Deans, squeezing reassuringly "You'll get it back Dean" his voice was soft and gentle "It'll be alright – trust me"

"I hope so" Dean could see the sadness in his brother's hazel eyes but beneath that he could see something else, something he was aware of putting there; guilt.

Dean snapped his mind back to the present. Sam touched his shoulder "Are you ok?"

"Yeah – yeah – I'm fine" it was an obvious lie and he knew that Sam knew it. He put his hand in his pocket again, feeling the gun, hard and heavy under his fingertips. The black hole in his mind seemed to gape and grow, the residue memories not enough to reassure him. Flashes crossed his mind like jagged lightening; him shooting rock salt at a wavering spirit; diving into ice cold water searching for a lost child; the scent of burning flesh in his nostrils as he stood over an open grave. He could see those things but it was like a film, an episode from a TV show. He could see them but he sure as hell didn't actually remember doing them "What now?" he hissed to Sam.

"We look for the kid's body" Sam lifted his flashlight, illuminating the darkness "I guess whoever did this must have hidden the evidence – I'll take the basement and ground floor – you take the upper floor – and Dean – keep your cell on – ok?"

Dean hadn't wanted to split up; the fear that had been a curling in the pit of his stomach was now growing into a churning mess and he felt his legs begin to shake, the sweat on his brow drip down his face, even though the house was cold and he was trembling with it "Ok" he didn't want Sam to see what a wreck he had become; he wanted to be the 'old' Dean – the Dean that would look out for his little brother, the Dean that had sworn to protect. He watched as Sam moved away, the light from his flash growing ever dimmer. Dean flipped the switch on his own light and made his way slowly up the stairs.

The rooms were dingy and run-down; wallpaper peeling away from the walls, what furniture there was damp spotted and filthy. Dean shuddered as he imagined children living here and he could understand why the ghost was so full of rage and hate. As he left the third room he saw it and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. The figure was small, dressed in, what looked like, rags. Its ravaged face was tear-stained and it flickered in and out; wavering in Dean's vision like the images in his head.

Dean walked slowly towards the child; hand out in supplication. It wasn't until he got closer that he realised his mistake, a mistake that the old brave hunting Dean would never have made. The spirit saw him and, then, subtly it changed, its face transforming; evil laughter splitting its features. Arms, surprisingly corporate, reached out and grabbed Dean by the biceps and, suddenly, he was flying through the air, his head spinning, the awful sound of giggling filling his ears as he crashed from the top of the stairs to the bottom. Pain exploded in the back of his head and stars flashed in his eyes; he thought he heard Sam scream his name and then blackness enveloped him and he knew no more.

The scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils and he felt nausea assault him; vomit filling the back of his throat, burning him. He felt wetness underneath his head and he tried to move, but the fierce pain in his skull made him reel and he tried to open his eyes.

"Dean – Dean – for fuck sake man – Dean" he heard Sam's voice, a litany of curses and frantic urging "Open your eyes – Dean – Dean can you hear me?"

Sam's hands were shaking, Dean could feel the tremors beneath his head and neck as Sam touched him. He felt hot tears fall onto his face and he realised his brother was crying. He could hear the panic in Sam's voice and he responded, his eyes flickering open, the sudden brightness making him heave and cough.

"Dean…" Sam's voice was harsh "Oh god – oh god" shaking hands lifted his head and he felt fingers carding through his hair "You're bleeding – you might have concussion – I've called 911 – helps coming" his voice ended on a sob "Oh god Dean – I thought – I thought you were dead"

The next few hours seemed fuzzy and unclear; flashing lights punctuating painful darkness. Hands prodding; poking. Whispered voices; needles being inserted; gentle fingers stitching his wounds.

When he opened his eyes again, Sam was sitting beside him, hazel eyes blurry, shaking hands reaching out the instant Dean opened his eyes "Dean?" he bent forward and Dean felt foolish relief that his breath smelt sweet, expecting to smell sour alcohol or strong weed "You ok man?"

"Yeah" his voice sounded harsh to his ears "You?"

"I guess you expected me to fall right off that wagon again" Sam was attempting to keep his voice light

"Maybe" Dean returned the smile – but his lips shook and he realised it probably looked like a grimace "At least I haven't lost my memory – what's left of it"

"Not funny"

"Maybe a little funny" Sam was touching every little bit of him, his hair, his face, his hands

"Dean – fuck – what were we thinking?"

"You got him though – didn't you?"

"Found his bones hidden in one of the kitchen closets" Sam grimaced "Burnt them – after I had dealt with you"

"Then it worked Sam – he won't kill anymore"

"But he nearly killed you" Sam's voice was harsh, heavy with unshed tears "When I saw you Dean – I – I – it was like before – when you slammed against that car" Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder, stilling him "We're not ready Dean – it was too much – too soon" he could barely keep the panic from his voice "When I saw you there – I wanted to run away and drink the fucking bar dry – I wanted to smoke weed till my brain fried – I wanted nothing more than oblivion" he pressed his hand against Dean's forehead "We need help Dean – both of us – we need help"

Dean looked into his brother's eyes and saw the truth there "Yeah" he admitted, knowing that his brother didn't mean Missouri or Bobby "Yeah I know"

TBC