The Ghost Within

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Supernatural…obviously.

Chapter 10

It was quiet when Sam finally stirred and opened his eyes. The bed was hard but comfortable and he turned his head a little to see if his brother was up yet, wincing as the resulting pain made him squint and moan involuntarily. He was used to waking up to unfamiliar surroundings, each motel room different yet similar at the same time. The ease at which he treated these awakenings was usually due to the awareness of how he had gotten there, the flow of continuity. However for an uncomfortable few seconds Sam was at a loss, this was no motel room.

His memories finally decided to make an appearance, stirred up from the fog when pain also reared its ugly head and he realised he was hurt - and if he was hurt…

"Dean?" Sam cried out in pain as stitches pulled tight in tender skin and he raised himself on one elbow looking around the room and turning to the door expectantly when he heard footsteps. Disappointment rolled over him when the Doctor came though the door and he immediately saw the concern etched on the older man's face. "My brother, is he alright? Where is he?"

"Take it easy son, you've been out for nearly four hours." The Doctor took a breath, checking over his patient's vitals as he spoke. "Your brother he left a little while ago, I couldn't stop him I'm sorry. I had just started to go over his injuries, I had no idea he had been hurt before."

"What…where did he go?"

"I don't know but he drove off. He had bruising and cuts, I didn't know I thought he was just exhausted, concerned – I should have checked him out earlier. There was a wound in his side and something in his arm just below his shoulder and it looked bad, infected but as soon as I touched it he…" The Doctor shook his head.

"Please I need to know." Sam was fully focused now, any pain he was feeling had been pushed to the background by the anxiety that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

"Touching the skin around the wound seemed to trigger a massive pain response and something else…I don't know. When I first woke him he seemed dazed but coherent enough, the first thing he asked about was you. He let me begin to examine him but then after…he became confused almost delirious. It was like he was in a waking nightmare, he was seeing something and I think it terrified him."

Sam frowned trying to think clearly, logically but Christ this was Dean and this job was not over. Something still had a hold on his brother.

"How, how bad was he hurt?" It also dawned on Sam that apart from seeing Dean knocked out he really had no idea what injuries his brother had sustained during their most recent battle, in addition to those he already carried. Sam was also aware that the visible blood and gore would probably pale in significance to those wounds of mind and soul.

"Well his pupils were reactive but he still seemed dazed and without an x-ray I couldn't confirm if his cheekbone was fractured. He had a puncture wound in his side which I was going to stitch and possibly another in his leg but he's lost blood and he's not coherent. There was also a shattered wrist cast on his arm which I didn't see until his jacket was off – he needs medical attention Sam."

Sam slowly, purposefully swung his legs off the bed and placed his feet on the floor looking around for his shirt. "I need to find him now, the stuff that's going on in that house – it's not finished yet."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adrenaline now pumped through Sam's body thankfully giving him the momentum to do what he needed to do. He impatiently waited whilst the Doctor removed the IV not really paying attention to the lecture he was being given although grateful that the old man was helping rather than hindering. His frustration growing when Dean's cell phone went unanswered.

Sam eased his injured arm and shoulder into his shirt, pausing only to do two middle buttons up before he took a breath and stood, grateful he was still in his jeans as he slid his boots on. Everything swayed for a minute before his body adjusted to being vertical and he turned towards the Doctor. "I need to borrow your car, I think I know where my brother is and from what you said, he's in danger and I need to get there fast."

Doctor Schuman paused, frowning at Sam's words then nodded gravely. "You're in no condition to drive but I can see you've already made your mind up. You think he's gone back to the house don't you?"

The look on Sam's face was answer enough and the Doctor walked out of the room, snagging a set of keys from a hook on the wall inside his office as he passed. "C'mon son I'll drive you."

Sam followed the Doctor out of the surgery, his injured arm protectively across his bandaged stomach. "You know you don't have to do this Doctor Schuman."

"Maybe I do. Maybe this is my way to help, I can't do much else nowadays. Too much hurt has happened to good people because of that damn house. I don't know if I can go in though…"

The car pulled up alongside the house and Sam saw the Impala already there. It was parked haphazardly along the gravel drive and the driver's door was still partially open. Not good. There was no sign of Dean.

"Thanks Doc, I'll take it from here okay and I'll get Dean to you."

"I can wait here if you want."

"No, it's safer if you don't but thanks."

Sam was already halfway up the path when the car drove off. He had pushed the front door open in his rush to find Dean when he realised he had nothing, no knife, no gun, no holy water. Nada, zip, sweet fuck all. Shit.

He ran unsteadily back to the Impala and checked the backseat and front, no weapons but he did see the keys in the ignition. He got the boot open and grabbed the spare rifle, stuffing extra salt rounds in his shirt pocket and wishing he'd brought his jacket. He shoved a lighter and a flask of holy water in the back pocket of his jeans as he ran back to the door.

Sam was sweating now and he felt the sting as it covered the raw stitches in his shoulder and across his stomach. He was trying to make some sense out of this but his thoughts kept straying to the promise he had made his brother. The broken promise that he would look after Dean, get him through this.

"I swear Dean I'll fix this." Sam vowed to himself. "Just please be alright."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was quiet and still. Waning afternoon light filtered in and Sam flicked several light switches on as he moved further into the house, stopping at the base of the stairs. Dean had to be up there but what the hell was he thinking, why would he come back here alone?

He took the stairs two at time then reached the broken door of the master bedroom, still no Dean. Sam squinted in the dimness then turned the light on wishing he hadn't as the light seemed to refract off his skull, making his stomach turn. God, not now.

Half way across the room he saw the weapons bag and was reaching for the salt and a torch when he froze. A yell of pain shattered the silence, a gut wrenching sound that was all the more terrible because Sam knew that voice belonged to Dean. Sam was suddenly spurred into action by the blind, driving rage to kill whatever the hell was hurting his brother. He ducked through the hole in the wall recklessly, the stitches in his shoulder already seeping blood and the ones across his stomach not far behind.

Sam charged down the stairs, cocking the rifle as he went and not caring how much noise he made. Thoughts of Dean at the cemetery holding his own bloodied knife came to mind and he prayed that wasn't the case again that he wasn't too late this time.

Sam stood in the doorway of the dank room, the torches he had hung earlier still glowing dimly. The ability to breath is gone for seconds as he took in the scene before him then his instincts and training take over, pushing any emotional response to the background.

Dean was lying shirtless on the bed frame, restrained with what looked like wire. His muscles were taunt, covered in blood and sweat and Sam could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Thank God.

The spirit was next to the bed and turned her head to stare malevolently at Sam before curling long dead lips in a snarl. "Mine now. Can't have him back."

Sam had fired the rifle twice before his brain caught up with the reaction. The spirit dissipated but the air around seemed charged as the debris on the floor from their earlier encounter began to stir. He wasted no time and strode over to where Dean lay, eyes open but otherwise unresponsive.

"Dean? Dean?"

No answer, no movement. Shit.

Sam wanted nothing more than to stop and comfort his brother but the urge again had to be ignored. Finish the hunt first, get safe then patch yourself up before you start again. He could still hear his father's lecture after he had dropped his rifle on a hunt to check if his unconscious brother was still alive. He should have known better, nearly gotten them both killed but then he'd only been eleven.

She appeared again on the other side of the bed, flickering in and out like some bad hologram and seemed to concentrate on Dean. Dean's back arched up from the bed and he screamed as the stitches across his shoulder and down his arm were ripped out right in front of Sam's eyes in the fraction of a second it took him to aim and fire. Not before he noticed however that as soon as Dean reacted to the pain, the spirit seemed to take shape, become more stable.

The spirit's howl rang through the room as she disappeared and Sam grabbed the salt canister from his shirt and ripped the lid off, pouring a thick ring as quickly as he could around the bed. Okay think Sam, he berated himself, whatever is in Dean's arm must have something to do with what's keeping her here and she's taking her strength from his torture.

Torture, his brother was being tortured right before him. Fuck, get a grip.

He needed time. Time to get that thing out of Dean, time to burn it. Time he didn't have.

He dived to the floor as the small table by the bed was suddenly hurled at him, and he thankfully landed on his good, well not so bad side. He rolled on his back wincing as he rolled over the metal flask in his back pocket and grunted as he sat up, stitches burning as his muscles flexed with the movement. He stood up swaying, an idea forming in his head amidst the other jumble of thoughts and emotions he was trying to keep in check.

He began a basic Latin protection ward as he quickly grasped a salt round and doused the casing with holy water from the flask then loaded it into the rifle. He waited. Waited as the swirl of debris made his eyes water, he felt something sting as it hit into his knee but he didn't move. He waited until she appeared again at the edge of the rapidly diminishing salt circle and he fired at almost point blank, finishing the last line of the spell.

The stillness was nearly overwhelming but he had to get started. He had prayed that it would work but he had no idea how long it would last.

He stepped inside the salt circle, choking back a sob as his eyes surveyed the damage inflicted on his brother. The restraints across Dean's legs and chest that also pinned his arms underneath were made of barbed wire. Fucking barbed wire that had snagged and torn skin. Sam's eyes trailed over a stomach wound, fresh bruises and a nail protruding from Dean's swollen left hand that was still dripping blood but he focused on the wound high in his brother's arm.

"Dean? God I know it hurts but it's nearly over okay. Please just trust me and, and I'll fix this."

Nothing. Dean's half opened eyes stared blankly, his chest still rising and falling too rapidly.

Sam forced himself to breath as he mentally acknowledged the fact that he was going to inflict yet more pain on Dean. There was no other way than to cut the object out but in this case the end would have to justify the means. Again, Dean had to suffer to be saved in their screwed up world.

He saw Dean's hunting knife, still bloodied lying on the floor near the burnt out shell of the wooden box at about the same time he realised that his own knife was in his jacket. The jacket that was still lying somewhere in the Doctor's surgery. He moved quickly to retrieve the knife, wiping the dried blood off with his already mangled shirt and pouring holy water over the blade.

"I'm sorry Dean. God I'm sorry. I have to do this man." Sam couldn't stop to think any longer or he would lose the nerve, let his heart rule his head. He couldn't even stop long enough to loosen the cruel wires that held his brother captive, he couldn't risk running out of time.

Without further ado he steadied his trembling hand and made a cut into the swollen wound, seeing for the first time something about an inch under the skin.

He wasn't prepared for Dean's reaction as his brother tried to rise off the bed with a groan, pushing into the wire, his eyes widening as they found Sam. He was even less prepared when Dean spoke.

"No…no more Sam. Finish it. Deserve it I…I understand. Killed you." Dean was rambling, delirious. "Make it right, fix it. Please. Kill. Me. Make it stop."

"Dean no! I'm not trying to, God Dean I wouldn't …" Sam felt sick to his stomach but kept going, he had to save Dean from this, he had to. He ignored the screaming in his head, the anguish of knowing that he might be saving Dean's life but it was screwing his brother's head up even more.

He widened the cut enough to see something hard and almost white sticking up through the gore. He spied the pliers back across the room and thought they would do less damage if he could use them to grip and pull out the…bone? Christ it looked like part of a finger bone as it finally came out of the bloodied wound. With a final choked back scream, Dean sagged on the bed, eyes closed.

Sam felt the air crackle around him as he stared stupidly at the piece of skeleton wedged in the nose of the pliers. The air pressure seemed to drop and his ears popped as he realised he had run out of time and needed to destroy the only hold this bitch had on the world. Right now.

Improvising as he had done all his life, Sam grabbed the empty petrol bottle up and shoved the bone inside noting with satisfaction the strong residual fumes still inside the container. He grabbed a handful of salt from the floor around the bed and threw that in as well.

He ignored the mind splitting wail. He found it a little hard to ignore the fact he was suddenly lying on the floor, the air pushed out of his lungs but he still held the container and lighter firmly. His head and body protested in vain as he scrambled to his feet, noticing in a detached kind of way that his bandages were stained red.

"Burn you bitch." Sounding just like his brother.

Sam flicked his lighter on and dropped it inside, his hand singed as the flame ignited the fumes immediately and he let it fall to the floor. He watched as the plastic melted from the inside and the flames licked through hot and intense. Sank to his knees as the scream became unworldly, vibrating his nerve endings. Let out a shuddering sob when it was really over this time.

Stumbled to his brother with tears streaming down his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean didn't exist in the real world anymore. His awareness was based on pain and a series of haphazard images that tore at his sanity, at his very soul. He was too confused to even comprehend what was happening to him as the spirit tortured his body and mind, gaining strength from his anguish.

Although he knew why he was being punished.

At first he had retained enough lucidity to make sure Sam was alright and even though he still wasn't absolutely clear whether that Sam had been the real one he couldn't take the chance. When the Doctor had touched the damaged skin where the bone had entered it was like an electric shock had gone through his body, short circuiting any remaining shred of self control.

He suddenly knew without a doubt he had to go back to the house to save Sammy. The ancient bone embedded in his flesh lured him, shaped his thoughts without the need for logic or rationale. All that it needed was to prey on its victim's greatest fear, worst nightmare, and it was long practiced in finding what it wanted. What it needed. It just usually didn't get a second chance to torment the same victim – they normally went away to die.

The spirit had once been an innocent. Not now. She had been flailed alive and driven to insanity through pain and torture then left to die a slow death in the dark, bound and alone. That was all she knew now, the pain and terror was all that was left. She felt their fears when she touched them and tainted their minds on contact with her poisoned soul.

This one was different. She owned this one now, he carried a piece of her and that hadn't happened before. The others had all gone away but this one would come back to die, to give her essence. She felt his approach and waited impatiently, hungrily.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room was familiar and a sense of absolute terror washed over him as his mind's eye showed him what had happened in this place so long ago. Screams and sobs that were not his filled his mind but he had no sense of self left to understand he existed outside what was shown to him.

He was pushed roughly onto the bed without any attempt of a struggle but was vividly aware of the pain as the barbed wire wrapped around him and was pulled taut. Icy fingers caressed his neck as the spirit bent down and appraised her victim.

"You will pay the price for your sins. For the blood on your hands I will make it right. Murderer."

Dean did not see the piece of wood suspended in the air above his ribcage otherwise he might have flinched or tried to move. His breath was knocked from his lungs as the wood impacted and black spots swam across his vision reminding him of dead eyes. As he finally managed to draw a breath, another blow landed across his abdomen and he passed out.

As Dean surfaced into near consciousness, he saw a blur of movement from the corner of his eye and again could not breathe as the hot burn and tear of the flail cut down his side, striking his hip bone. Tears streamed down his face unnoticed as his eyes closed once again.

There was no sense of time or rhyme or reason. Just her whispered words echoing through his now fevered mind.

His eyes focused a little when he felt a touch on his shoulder, almost warm, almost familiar but whatever it was just hurt him again. He saw the shape of Sam and knew his brother had come back to extract revenge, send him to hell finally, thankfully.

"No…no more Sam. Finish it. Deserve it I…I understand. Killed you." Dean had to let Sam know he was doing the right thing. "Make it right, fix it. Please. Kill. Me. Make it stop."

As he looked up at Sam he felt another shock of pain that blasted through his body sending him into blackness one last time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam stared at the bloodied body of his brother in front of him, he was both relieved beyond belief and absolutely terrified at the same time. Dean was alive but at what cost? The injuries he saw were bad, they had been inflicted in a way to create the most pain, the most suffering without death but Dean would recover. Eventually.

What Sam didn't know was whether he had been in time to save the Dean he knew or whether he had lost a part of his brother forever. Torture of the mind is a powerful tool and can break even those with the strongest constitution. However Dean had already been weakened before they even took this job, Sam just hadn't realised the extent of it until too late. He had ignored the signs, making it all too easy for Dean to dwell in his own private hell.

Sam placed a gentle hand on his brothers forehead, finally able to provide comfort too little too late. He used the pliers to cut loose the savage wire that bound his brother's chest and limbs and winced when he pulled it away from the flesh drawing blood. The denim had protected Dean's legs to some degree but had still left deep scratches that showed through the torn fabric.

"Dean? Dean please wake up. It's over now, really over this time. Please Dean."

Sam's mind went blank for a minute as he didn't know where to even begin, he had few medical supplies and he just wanted to get his brother out of this place.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam was hazy on how he had gotten his brother to the car but he felt his body sag when he finally laid Dean down awkwardly across a blanket in the back seat. Although Dean's chest was bare he was too afraid to cover him with anything in case it caused more pain. Dean hadn't stirred at all as Sam had carried him out, his body lifeless in his brother's shaking arms.

Sam had run out of words. Dean was too far away to be reassured and to Sam, the words just highlighted the fact that he had failed miserably to make everything alright. Everything was not alright and until Dean woke up he wouldn't know if it ever would be again.

He braced one hand on the Impala as he made his way around to the driver's door and got in slowly, his vision blurry. He started the car and concentrated on the short drive to reach the surgery. The ten minute drive took nearly twenty and felt like hours. Sam felt like throwing up by the time he parked in front of the small building and was relieved when he saw the Doctor hurrying out to meet the car.

The Doctor wasted no time opening the rear door where Dean lay. "Good God son what the hell happened? I need to get a stretcher."

"No. No stretcher, I'll get him inside."

"No Sam you're nearly falling down yourself and you're bleeding again. Let me help you."

"No." Sam walked around to the kerb and leant in the backseat, carefully moving Dean into a sitting position. As he placed one arm behind his brother's back and another under his knees, Dean's head lolled against his chest. His brother's vulnerability gave him the strength to somehow carry him inside, following the Doctor back to the same room he was in not long before.

The harsh light inside made him wince but he gently laid his brother on the bed, placing a hand on Dean's arm, not at all ready to relinquish contact. He realised there were other people in the room and the Doctor was saying his name.

"Sam it's okay. You need to let us do our job. This is my wife Helene and our good friend Joanne, they're both nurses and they understand the situation so you don't need to worry."

"Sam honey, I need you to come and lie down."

"No. I'm not leaving him." He looked at Helene wondering why she seemed to be getting further away.

"It's okay, get the other portable bed in here. Trust me it'll be easier." The Doctor knew to pick his battles and it was clear that whilst Sam was still conscious, this was one battle they weren't going to win.

Sam felt so tired and so drained, his body was well past the point of exhaustion but his mind refused to yield. He felt a kind hand on his arm that steered him over to the other bed that had been placed next to Dean. He sat on the bed but he couldn't take his eyes off his brother as the Doctor and Joanne went about assessing his injuries.

"Is he…how bad is he? Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Sam at last voiced his fear.

"As far as I can tell there is severe abdominal bruising and abrasions, possibly cracked ribs and internal bleeding. His left arm needs to be x-rayed to make sure there's no further damage but that can wait until morning. I want to get him stabilised. His body has been severely traumatised from these wounds Sam, so I've put him on a fairly strong medication for the pain. Effectively it will keep him sedated for several hours. He'll be in a lot of pain and I've still got to patch him up so it's best if he rests."

Sam took in the details, too numb to thank the Doctor and too weary to protest the small sting as Helene inserted a feed in his arm to attach a drip. For the second time that day Sam felt himself slipping into an induced sleep.

tbc…