Chapter 11: Choices
Dean allowed himself a moment to acknowledge how perfect the mask was, at least as good as the shapeshifter who'd once stolen his face. It was Jessica. Fuck! What must that be doing to his brother? What would it do when he had to watch her die all over again? He pushed the thought down; it wasn't like he had a choice. He had to get rid of her, with any luck Sam's amnesia would hold and he wouldn't remember any of it.
Dean brought up the shotgun. "What makes you think I'm going to give you a chance bitch!"
Sam reacted to that "Dean what the Hell do you think you're doing." He grabbed Jessica and pushed her protectively behind him.
Dean took a step forward and to the side, trying to get a shot. "That's not her Sam, that's not Jessica." He knew that his words wouldn't have any effect, the spell she was using could make him do anything she wanted; she'd already proved that, but Dean also knew that he could break it, that he could get through to Sam somehow, and even if he couldn't he had to try.
Jessica was at least a foot behind Sam but the words whispered in his ear. "You have to protect me. You have to stop him." There was the slightest of pauses. "Kill him." It should have made no sense, he should have refused to even contemplate it, let alone do it. This was his big brother, this was Dean and he loved Dean. "Kill him before he hurts me." He loved Dean, but that didn't matter, he had to do this – for her. Had to do anything she asked of him. Had to. . .
Dean moved again, trying to get a clear shot, but Sam moved to block it, and then the only movement Dean could make was of avoidance as Sam launched himself at his brother. Dean ducked and twisted out of his path but Sam knew him well enough to anticipate the move and shifted to compensate, shoulder charging Dean as he used his height and bulk to literally slam Dean into the wall behind him. Dean's arm was flung out to the side, shotgun with it, Fire exploding through the already injured muscles in his side as the air exploded from his lungs. Sam's forearm came up to press against his windpipe and he had no choice but to fight back dirty. His knee came up to impact with Sam's groin at the same time as his arm swung back round. The weight of the shotgun slamming into the side of his brother's face as Sam went down. He wasn't down long but it was enough, just enough for Dean to aim the shotgun at Jessica and pull the trigger and then Sam was back on him again. A hard punch snapped Dean's head back and then his brother's fingers closed around Dean's throat choking off his air supply again only this time he was too groggy to respond.
The rock salt blast from Dean's shotgun sliced through Jessica and she disappeared.
Sam pulled his hands back like he'd been burnt. Not quite able to comprehend that they'd been around his brother's throat. Dean took a choking gasp of air and slid slightly down the wall, his legs not strong enough to support him.
Sam knew that he should be moving forward should be helping but he couldn't move, couldn't put the necessary thoughts together to control muscles, to make sense of. . .
Dean was gasping for air in front of him, struggling to stay upright, to force himself back to his feet, and all Sam could do was stare at him and then down at his own hands, he could still feel his own grip tightening, squeezing trying to. . .
"Sam?" Dean's voice was raspy, his hands moved to grip Sam's arms. "Sammy? You back with me?"
He looked up, meeting Dean's gaze as tears started to form on the edge of his vision "Dean, I just tried. . . I'm sorry I. . ."
"It's OK Sam, everything's going to be OK." Dean reassured.
"No Dean," Sam's voice broke slightly. "We've been through this; it's not even close to OK. I just had my hands round your throat and. . ."
"Sam," Dean interrupted again, softly wiping away the small smear of blood from his brother's forehead with his thumb. He had done that when he'd hit Sam with the shotgun, Damn this was so screwed,. "I'm OK," he stated, turning his hand to rest against his brother's cheek, "and I'll explain everything but we don't have time for this now. You need to salt the doors and windows, protect the room, OK?"
Sam stared for just a moment longer, his eyes meeting Dean's, seeing the mix of trust and concern there despite what he had just done, drawing in a deep breath as he nodded. He could do this.
"Good boy," Dean said, in that way he had when Sam was five and needed the praise of a big brother to reassure him that he was doing good. It was the right thing to say now because, given his mental state, Sam Damn sure needed all of the reassurance he could get. Dean had already moved round him to grab the duffle and hand it to him.
"I'll be back in a minute Sam." Dean stated, Relieved when Sam took the bag from him and began rooting around inside for the salt. He wished he could stay and help Sam more, it was a while since he'd seen his brother look so lost, not since Jess and. . . He drew in his own deep breath, best not to go there. One way or another this would all be over soon. He took one last look back at Sam before heading back out to the car.
Dean rubbed absently at the new bruising on his neck as he crouched down to look at Tiffany. She was scared but she was holding it together.
"Did you find Sam? Is he. . .?"
It struck Dean that Tiffany didn't know him very well, because if Sam had been injured or worse then he would currently be tearing the guy on the backseat to pieces or. . .maybe not, it had occurred to him that if anything ever happened to Sam then he just wouldn't be able to function, that the world would just stop, and then. . .but either way he wouldn't be here, crouching next to her car, doing his best to give her a reassuring smile.
"He's fine. . ." a damn lie but he didn't have any physical injuries and that was what she was asking. He reached in and closed his hand over the gun that was clutched in slightly shaking hands. She gave it up with obvious relief as Dean once again took charge. "Thank you for your help," he stated. "I'll take it from here."
"But. . ." she started to protest.
"No," Dean stated firmly, he'd known that this was coming. "Pete's going to pay for what he did to Matt, to the others, but you can't be involved any further." He paused, waited for her to meet his gaze. "You need to go home."
"But I could. . ." she tried again, but Dean could see that he'd already won the argument. He knew that she didn't really understand, that he was asking a lot of her to trust him, but she'd eventually given in to curiosity, followed him in to Pete's workplace and she'd seen enough to allow him to convince her that she was dealing with things she didn't understand, shouldn't want to even know about let alone understand. He'd needed her to keep Pete under wraps whilst he went to find Sam, but he didn't need her any more and if she got any more involved then there would be no going back for her.
"I'll come and see you when all this is over." Dean said.
She nodded, biting at her bottom lip as she shifted back into the driving seat. Dean scanned the surroundings, thank God for sleepy small towns. They'd parked out of sight of the road and there was no one else around to witness what he was about to do. He pulled open the back door, gesturing with the gun for Pete to move. He was tied up and it was awkward for him but Dean had no sympathy. He gave him a necessary tug to help him to his feet then grabbed the book from the backseat before pushing Pete roughly in the direction of the motel room. He kept his eye out for any potential witnesses on the way. Tiffany to her credit, didn't hesitate, once they were clear she put the car in drive and moved off without even a glance back.
Sam looked up from where he was pouring a thick line of salt across the back window and watched as Dean pushed Pete into the room. Pete stumbled, thrown off balance by the push and unable to right it quickly with his hands tied behind his back, but he kept his feet, barely.
"So Sam, you remember our friend Pete." Dean pushed him roughly over to one of the chairs, pressing down hard on his shoulder to make him sit. "Pete you remember Sam one of the men you're witch bitch is getting ready to tear to pieces?" He got his face in Pete's. "You remember him don't you?"
Sam finished the salt line and straightened up, watching his brother with his captive. "He's responsible?" he asked.
"Oh Yeah, he's responsible," Dean confirmed, moving over to swap the salt container in Sam's hand for a piece of rope. "You wanna secure him?" Sam nodded and Dean headed to the door to put a line of salt behind it. "You see old Pete there blamed his friend Matt for killing Emma, and Pete was in love with Emma, despite the fact that she was his best friend's fiancée, but instead of doing what your average, vengeful insanely jealous murdering bastard would do, and going over to kill Matt himself, he decided to summon a dead witch to do his dirty work for him."
"It's not like that," Pete finally found the voice to protest. He turned his head, trying to appeal to Sam who was tying his hands to the chair legs "I didn't. . .
"It's exactly like that," Dean stated. "He found a really neat spell that would work perfectly because he already had a victim consumed by fire and linked to the man he wanted to kill."
Sam pulled the ropes just a little harder than he needed to causing Pete to wince. "He summoned a murderous spirit?"
"Oh not just any murderous spirit Sam, as I said this one is the ghost of a witch and when he brought her back, she brought her whole arsenal of magic back with her."
"So she killed Matt, and Simon . . ."
"And a guy named David Kenton, we didn't pick up on him but old Pete here keeps good records, in a nice neat little filing cabinet. Records on Matt and Simon and David and you and the next six victims he had lined up, so he could save his own sorry ass." Dean sank onto a chair the wrong way resting the gun that still pointed at Pete on the high back and placing his injured wrist at a slightly more comfortable angle across his chest. There was more Sam needed to know because he needed Sam's help if they were going to get rid of Rebecca's spirit. "You see, Pete here's none too bright when it comes to summoning spells. When he brought her back instead of using an object to summon her to, he decided she would be easier to control if he summoned her to himself. He wanted his own pet witch to order about, but instead he became the pet."
"I didn't mean to kill anyone else," Pete said pleadingly, again he directed his appeal to Sam. The way Dean looked at him he knew that he would be wasting his efforts but maybe he could convince Sam. "I couldn't find a way to break the spell, to send her back. You don't understand how cruel she. . . I had no choice you have to believe me I couldn't. . ."
"Oh, but that's not entirely true is it Pete." Dean's voice was cold. "You did have a choice. You do know a way to send her back, don't you?"
Pete nodded, his eyes downcast.
"How?" Sam demanded.
"If I die," Pete stated quietly, he lifted his eyes to meet Sam's gaze. "The summoning spell will break if I die."
Sam held his gaze for a moment before turning to his brother. "What? Dean No! Whatever's going on here there has to be another way we have to find a way to stop this without. . ."
Dean stood and took a step towards Sam. "Whoa, there Sam, I know. Why do you think I brought him here? Don't get me wrong I think this sleazebag deserves to die. He's killed three people." He was going to kill you. "He will be responsible for a lot more deaths if we don't stop this thing, but we'll find another way." He held his brother's gaze. "We'll find another way."
Sam nodded, searching the room for his laptop.
"But Sam," Sam turned back to his brother. "You know if it comes down to a choice. . ." He didn't have to complete the sentence his brother got it. If it came down to a choice between Pete's life and Sam's life, they both knew who Dean would save, no matter what it cost him, no matter what he had to do.
Sam stared back at his brother, at his injured, battered, weary brother. It always hurt him to see Dean this way, but knowing that he'd caused those injuries. . .knowing that he'd been ready to kill. . . It tore at his insides, humbled him that he'd practically killed his brother, and here Dean was standing ready to give up a piece of his soul for him, and he vowed to himself that if it came down to it then he would be the one to do it, because for all his brother's stoicism Sam knew that Dean had a much more fragile soul than he did and he couldn't let Dean. . . God it scared him; the things Dean was prepared to do for him. "It won't come to that," he said.
Dean watched his brother turn back to the table and head for his laptop, then he looked back at Pete and he knew that it would.
SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL
It always amazed Dean how a split second in time could seem so long. He'd had several episodes in his short life, moments where time seemed to have no meaning; every thought, every movement stretching out to an eternity and simultaneously happening in an instant. On a rational level he knew that the hyperawareness, was caused by chemical releases in overload when your body and mind were convinced you were going to die. He knew that, just like he knew this time he was going to die.
Sam had made it seem so casual, stretching aching muscles and yawning, standing to allow a fuller stretch and then asking if Dean wanted some coffee. Dean hadn't even looked up from the book he was studying; he'd just waved his empty cup for Sam to take from his hand. He hadn't really noticed when Sam diverted for the bed, his hunter instincts only kicking in when Sam moved for the door. That had him picking up his weapon from the table and turning and standing in one move, but he was too late. Sam's pistol was already pointing directly at his head.
"Don't move Dean," Sam said thumbing off the safety. Then he deliberately swiped his foot through the salt line and opened the door.
"You know," Jess said as she stepped into the room. "I really wanted to let Sam take his time killing you. I think it would have been good for him, therapeutic, you know, but you've become too much of a liability. I'll just have to have my fun and take my time with Sam. He won't be objecting." To make her point, she ran a sharp nail down Sam's cheek, pressing hard enough to draw blood. Then she wiped some of the blood with her finger and placed it in Sam's mouth. He licked it off and she patted him on the cheek. Dean bristled, his own posture shifting slightly.
Sam's finger tightened on the trigger.
Jess giggled, then said casually. "Kill him."
And then Dean was in that moment and he knew that he wasn't just going to die but he was going to die by Sam's hand and he hoped to God that his little brother didn't remember a moment of it. It was too much to ask that he wouldn't figure it out but at least if he didn't remember doing it he would have a better chance of convincing himself that it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't Sammy's fault. Dean knew that, not Sammy's fault at all.
If only he had a way of telling him, but he had a more urgent task in his last half second of life. He had to save Sammy. There was no choice now, nothing else he could do. If he didn't do this then Sammy would die, many others would die too and maybe for them he wouldn't do it, couldn't do it, but for Sam. . .
His gun had already been pointing in Pete's direction, but his eyes turned back to meet his brother's because he wanted Sam to be the last thing he saw, needed to know that Sam was there, that Sam would take care of him.
There were so many things he wanted to say to his little brother. So much that he needed to know, but Dean knew that he didn't have time. There was nothing he could do, because in saving Sam he was condemning him to a future of pain. Nothing that Dean could say to him would erase the anguish of what Sam was doing and there was nothing Dean could do to spare him from that pain. He was out of time, stretched or otherwise, and he settled for the only thing he could think of that might help. It was a woefully inadequate epitaph. "It's not your fault Sam," he whispered.
Dean knew that if the roles had been reversed if he was forced to kill Sam then he couldn't go on, but Sam was stronger than that. He would have to be.
The gun's fired almost simultaneously.
TO BE CONTINUED. . .