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drip...drip...drip
Frigging dripping is gonna drive him crazy before he has a chance to figure out how to get the hell out of this situation.
The moon is the only light, shining in through the door, drawing long shadows on the musty wood in front of Dean and glinting off the metal shower heads lining the wall he's facing. He's near the doorway, tied to the middle nozzle and as far as he can tell, he's alone, no Sam in sight and he's gotta get free, go find Sam and figure out what the hell's going on. He works his wrists around to get the blood going, the pins and needles shooting through, stabbing into him but at least the hands are almost usable again. The pounding in his head has eased to a dull throb, his jaw still sore as hell but as far as he can feel, he's still got all of his teeth which is always a good thing.
The lonely sound of a hoot owl wafts through the doorway, the cicadas and crickets adding to the chorus and under that, Dean can hear the crackle of brushwood snapping, the rustle of leaves being pushed aside and finally, the heavy thump of boots tramping over twigs and moss coming closer to where he is.
Shit! His mind shoots into overdrive.
Ok, what the hell? Something got to Sam, that's clear, but question is, what? Dean's mind jumps over the possibilities - demon, shape shifter, remnant, ghost or something else? That damn scratch across Sam's anti-possession tattoo, it's gotta be the reason – and he was summoning the spirit of Mrs. Campbell so chances are it's either her or an errant spirit who, at the right place and the right time, decided to make a break for it when Sam opened the portal.
Dean frantically does a mental once over of his body, rubbing one leg against the other to check. Good. His gun's gone but he's still got his baby Bowie knife tucked inside his boot and the other item, the only thing he'd been able to grab from the trunk of the car before Sam hit him, is still a lump in his front jeans pocket. Now, he just needs a break…and to become a contortionist to get his fucking leg up high enough to get to his knife.
He checks the ropes again, testing them for weak spots, tugging and rolling them around the shower head, working the hemp against the metal. Sweat's rolling down his face, trickling down the middle of his back and it's good because now it's breaking out all over his body and he can use it to his advantage. Lubrication makes movement, even small movement, easier and if he can get his wrists rolling around inside the rope using sweat, he can loosen it up and get free.
"You're awake."
Dean jumps in his skin, craning his neck around to see Sam, his face shadowed from the moonlight flickering in behind him, shoulders filling the doorway. Sam's arm moves and a second later, a click is followed by light in his eyes, making him squint against the lonely bulb swinging from the ceiling. Sam reaches up to check the ropes, making sure they're good and tight and looks down at Dean, giving him a sweet smile before he steps back behind him.
"What are we doing here, Sammy?" he asks his brother hoarsely, carefully, twisting his head to see Sam's face.
"Come on, Dean. You and I both know I'm not Sam."
Dean closes his eyes, fear for Sam jumping into his throat but he can't let it show, can't let the thing see his weakness, "Well, let's just say I was really hoping to talk to him. Is he in there with you?"
"He's pushed back." Sam's voice is different, younger, breathy and soft, and his words have a slight lisp.
"Are you…Mrs. Campbell?"
"Momma couldn't come out. She got stuck in the rope he was holding but he couldn't catch me." Sam giggles behind his hand, "He didn't even know I was there and I slipped right on through, was gonna keep going but got stopped." Sam's hand goes to his chest, "In here."
"Laurie…it's Laurie, isn't it?" Dean's straining to look over his shoulder and, seeing Sam nod his head, starts to talk fast, trying to connect, to reason with the spirit, "You need to get out of Sam. We can help you get to where you're supposed to be but right now, you're hurting Sam and I know you really don't want to hurt him, right? He's never done anything to you, has he? He and I are here to protect you-"
"He wants to stop me and so do you. What do you think, I'm stupid or something? I know why you're here. You want to save that bitch!"
"Laurie, we can't let you keep killing people. You already got the men that hurt you, isn't that enough? I mean, why do you want to hurt Mrs. Stowe? She tried to help you. She called the cops when you disappeared from the bar…"
"She didn't try to help me! She was fucking my father! He was in the back room of the bar that night, with her, and my mom was crying and carrying on when I finally got her on the phone…and that whore went in back to tell my dad I was there, so whatever she told you was a lie! I know! I know it all now!"
Tears pool up in Sam's eyes and Dean can see the girl's face laying on top of his brother's, transparent and glassy, superimposed over Sam's features and her face works with emotion as the memories flood back through her.
"My dad told my mom everything that night – he'd been cheating on her for months with that slut and he wanted a divorce so they could get married. When my mom told me what happened, I should have gone in the back and confronted them both but I was so scared, I couldn't think straight and I just wanted to get to my mom, you know? I ran outside, I could barely see where I was going I was crying so hard and I was trying to get home. Those men at the bar…they were right behind me and they grabbed me, pulled me into the car and took me. The two in the back seat were running their filthy hands all over me, kissing me-all I could smell was the whiskey on their breath and aftershave…they all stank with it, like they could cover up their awful smell if they used enough of it."
Sam continued, his voice rising up an octave, "They wouldn't let me go, even though I begged them to…no, they just kept telling me what they were going to do to me as soon as they found a place. I started fighting back, scratching at their faces, biting, hitting and kicking – anything I could do to get them off me. One of them tied by hands behind my back with a belt and the other one pulled off my underwear and stuffed it in my mouth. I couldn't breathe very well and the one I scratched slapped me across the face, over and over and then-."
Laurie's face shows pain, confusion and Sam's hand flutters to his forehead, massaging it, "I g-got mixed up and I think I passed out because the next thing I knew, I was on my knees in the shower and one of them was shoved up inside me and another was in my mouth and there are hands everywhere, hurting me, pinching and twisting me. The one inside me was breathing in my ear, telling me how much I liked it and what a hot fuck I was and then he groaned and I felt him shooting off and the one in my mouth did, too, wanted me to swallow but I couldn't. I started puking up on him and he pulled out, and it went all over my face and then he grabbed me by the hair and tolds me to lick him clean or he's gonna slit my throat. I tried to do what he said but the taste made me throw up again and that just got him madder so he told the next guy behind me to 'do it in my ass' cause I'd be nice and tight there and then…one man was in front of me pushing into my mouth and the one behind me…h-hurting me-"
Sam is crying now, tears rolling down his cheeks, chest heaving, trying to hold it in but he can't and he wipes away the snot from his nose, "G-God, it hurt so bad and I was s-screaming for him to stop but he didn't s-stop…why wouldn't he stop? He-he ripped me apart…"
Jesus Christ, this poor kid. Dean's muscles are tense, rigid, wanting to tear the men limb from limb for her, his protective nature rearing up harsh and red in his mind before he remembers - she's dead and so are the mother fuckers that hurt her and he can't help them but Sam- Sam is still in danger and so is the happily married couple that Laurie's currently gunning for-think, Dean, think!
He keeps his voice steady, calm, trying to win her trust, "Listen, Laurie, what happened to you was…Christ, it was horrible and awful and those men should have had their dicks cut off and fed to them. Killing was too good for them and if I had been you, I would've probably taken them out in a lot worse ways than you did – made them suffer more, you know? But this is your dad you're talking about killing here and the woman your dad, uh, loves. Now you may not agree with his choices and you may not like Mrs. Stowe but she doesn't deserve killing."
Harsh hands on his back shove him face first into the cedar wall, his cheek smashing up against the wet wood and he's barely able to breathe, the pungent smell filling his head even as he hears Sam's voice in his ear, hissing viciously, "If my dad had been home, he would have come to get me and I'd still be alive. He should have been home, not fucking that bitch!"
At the last word, Sam yanks his collar and slams him back into the wall, getting a groan of pain out of Dean and Sam's voice is cold now, deadly venom spitting from his lips, "They deserve killing the most."
"Laurie…listen, I understand how you feel…" Dean begins, his voice muffled from where his mouth is crammed into the wall.
"NO, YOU DON'T!" Sam suddenly screams at him, "You don't understand a FUCKING thing!"
Suddenly, he's released from the wall, the hands on his back gone and an eerie silence fills the air around him. He twists his head to look back at Sam and a thrill of fear shoots through his belly at the look on his brother's face. The spirit face, on top of Sam's, is puzzled, confused, looking down at Sam's body in bewilderment and Dean flicks his eyes to where Laurie is looking. Fuck, Sam's getting a hard-on, the material over his crotch growing and tenting out, dick starting to stand at attention-
"What the-?" a whisper reaches Dean's ears and he slants his eyes back up, catching Sam's gaze and, as Dean watches, a knowing look settles on the ghost's features, the evil smirk on Sam's lips making Dean's knees tremble. Shit, she knows….
"You and Sam have been very bad boys, Dean. I can feel everything your brother feels and do you know what he wants to do to you now? Right now? He wants to fuck you – not normal but take you, against your will, hard and fast and screaming, ripping into you until you lose control, until you're thanking him for what you get and begging him for more. Did you know your brother wants to rape you? I bet you didn't. He can't even admit it to himself, the poor fucked up bastard. I should let him do that to you…then you'd know how I felt…then you'd understand finally, wouldn't you? You'd know the fear, the pain, the hurt when you're torn apart and left for dead."
Sam steps forward, smoothing a hand over Dean's ass cheek, making him twitch forwards at the touch, "They left me like a pile of trash on the floor of that shower, naked and bleeding, barely able to crawl, much less walk and I died there. I watched my blood leaking out of me, through the floor boards of a stinking, shit-hole of a camp shower and I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch myself die."
The voice behind Dean is quaking with pent-up rage, "I want you to know how it feels to be so helpless."
Sam's hands grip both of his ass cheeks now, squeezing and pulling, palms hot and burning through the denim of Dean's pants. Even though Laurie says that's what Sam wants, Dean knows Sam would never let himself hurt Dean, even if he did want to and Dean's honest enough to admit those feelings are inside of himself as well. Where Sam is concerned, all decency and lightness is shoved to the side and Dean knows the wild part of him, the feral animal living inside that wants to bite and mark Sam as his, wants to shove his dick up inside Sam so hard, his brother screams with pleasure, begs for mercy and falls to his knees pleading for more.
And truth be told, it fucking turns him on thinking that Sam wants to do the same thing to him.
It's not rape at all. It's the life of a hunter, their life as it's always been, pain and violence, taking pleasure wherever they can and needing no one, nothing, except each other.
It's basic, untamed and raw, owning for a few moments in time, claiming, possessing, controlling, and hurting. It's power over another, Sam giving and Dean taking, pure and clean, dirty and stark, an ugly beauty that rips at the soul even as it fills it up.
It's love.
Hands are on his hips now, gripping him, pulling him backwards, Sam's crotch is pressed against his ass, dick hard and straining and the young, soft voice continues behind him, "Can you feel how much your brother wants you? Even when he's pushed back, his body still reacts to you, like he can't help himself. It's hard for me to concentrate because of this-"
Dean feels Sam behind him, solid and huge and Christ, Dean's body is responding and even though he fights against it, he feels himself grow hard in his jeans, the denim not giving an inch, constricting him, restraining him.
"Please…don't do this…" he whispers brokenly, struggling to stop his erection, stop the steamy flickers of lust shooting through his stomach and damn his fucking dick anyway!
Suddenly fingers are reaching around, scrabbling at his pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding inside his jeans to cup his cock with a hot palm through his underwear, squeezing painfully and Dean groans, shifting and doing his damndest not to respond but it's useless, it's Sam's hand and his body knows that touch, craves that touch. Before Dean can stop himself, he's rubbing up against those fingers, head falling forward and eyes closing, shame washing over him.
His jeans and shorts are tugged down, baring him to the night air, pulled down to just under his ass and Dean spreads his legs slightly to hold them up, so they don't fall farther, trying to think ahead, to think past this, where he can maybe get free and he can't have pants around his ankles restricting his movements…
The sizzling fist is back around his dick, working him up and down, dragging the flesh with a flick of the wrist until he's jerking and trembling with desire, and filled with self-loathing at his own weakness. The rasp of a zipper behind him has him tensing up and the bump of velvet skin on him, poking into an ass cheek, has him pleading.
"Don't! Sammy – if you're in there and you can hear me, you gotta take control, man!"
"He can hear you but he wants this. You shouldn't beg…when you beg, it just makes them hurt you more."
Hands on his ass cheeks are spreading him wide, nudging his legs apart and when Dean resists, fingers reach around and grip him, pulling open his legs and shoving in between so he's straddling Sam's firm thigh, feeling the muscles bunch under his dick and against his ass.
"Wait! Please-" Dean's twisting, tugging on the ropes above him, trying to get free, to get away, "Sammy, I know you're in there and you can hear me! Snap out of this, man! I need your help!"
Dean thrusts his pelvis forward, sliding off Sam's leg and jumping down and off, thudding into the wall in front of him but Sam's right behind him, iron grip tightening on his hips and pulling them back, fingers digging in to bruise his flesh. One hand shoves down on Dean's back, bending him forward, forcing him down so his ass is exposed, jutting out and ready for taking, "Sam, please!"
Sam spreads him open, hard dick pressing into him, no lube and oh, shit, this is gonna fucking hurt like hell and Dean takes a deep breath, trying to relax so he doesn't get ripped apart and closes his eyes on the pain he knows is coming-
Sam's body starts to shake where he's pressed up against Dean, the hands on him flexing and flailing, losing their hold and gripping again in quick succession and Dean cranes his head back, trying to figure out what's going on and sees-
Sam's face and Laurie's face, one and then the other, then swirling together, Sam's voice hard and desperate, "NO!" and Laurie's soft tone, "You can't stop me, Sam…"
And Sam meets Dean's panicked eyes, just for a moment but it stretches out to a lifetime, spurring Sam on, gives him brute force of will for one tiny second but it's enough to take control, take back what's his and Sam sets his jaw, a look of determination lighting his eyes and Dean loves him more right then than he ever has before.
Sam's body is shaking as he tries to stay in control, as he shoves away from Dean with all the strength he can muster and does the only thing he has time to do-
Sam lunges forward, cranking on the faucets to the shower Dean is huddling under, ripping the ones next to him open as well, drenching Dean, creating a wall between them and Laurie gives a scream of pure rage. Dean can hear someone kicking and pounding on the building behind him, an animal growling and snarling in frustration-
What the hell? Dean's baffled until he remembers what Sam already realized, that moving water is cleansing, pure and represents life at its deepest level and evil spirits, no matter how strong or how cunning, cannot cross it.
He doesn't waste another moment but grabs hold of the shower head above him, pulling himself up and climbing up the wall with his feet, bending himself almost in half, trying to get to his knife. He hooks a foot over the shower head, holding onto it with one hand and using the other hand to scrabble against his leg, trying to get his pant leg up so he can get to the fucking handle which bobbles just out of his reach, for Christ's sake!
Dean holds himself there, yanking desperately at the denim, pulling frantically because he can't breathe, lungs squashed from being bent into pretzel form and he relaxes down, lets himself hang back for a second, huffing in deep pulls of air before he's up again, hunching himself into a ball and working the jean around his leg, pushing it up and grabbing the handle, fingers finally getting hold of the knife and tugging it free with a cry of relief. He lets himself hang for one more second to get a breath before he's pulling himself back up and slicing through the rope (and a hunk of wrist at the same time). Two more saws of the knife and Dean's falling to the ground with a hard thump, landing on a bare hip and he rolls, bounding onto his feet and yanking up his pants in one smooth move before his brain even registers the flare of pain from his fall.
He digs in his pocket, coming up with the iron key he nabbed from the Impala's trunk and dives through the water, towards Sam, towards the spirit possessing him but when he sputters the drops away from his eyes, shaking his head to see, he's alone and the woods stretch out before him, quiet except for the owl screeching in the pines.
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Where the fuck is he?
Disoriented, Dean searches the trees, trying to identify anything in the dark woods but one shower looks just like another and if he chooses the wrong direction, he's screwed. He spins, looking around, spots the glitter of water through the trees, the moonlight dancing on it-
Storm musta cleared up cause the sky is cloudless now-
And runs towards it, tripping over felled branches and mossy tufts, finally thumping up onto the beach and stops, scanning the sand up one side and down the other and there! Wasn't that where he and Sam went swimming the first day? He jogs over to it and yes, he recognizes the turn of beach, the crooked pines where Sam changed into his suit and he backtracks swiftly, hitting the road running, making a bee-line for their campgrounds. Ten minutes later, he's skidding into their site, searching frantically for the Impala, for Sam but nothing – the car's gone and Sam is too.
He spies it on the ground a second later, the rope with the seven knots tied into it and snatches it up, stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket he pulled from the tent, grabbing at his cell phone in the other pocket, thumbing it open and feverishly dialing Sam's number. No answer.
Shit, Goddamn and Fuck!
He needs wheels. Dean goes back up to the road, jogging by camp sights until he spots what he's looking for, an unattended car, an empty fire pit and darkened tent. Pay dirt! He tries the handle and yes, unlocked and he closes his eyes in relief, opening the door silently and sliding in, reaching under the dash for the ignition wires and stripping them quick, touching and getting a spark until the motor turns over with a purr. He shuts the door, quiet as he can, pressing the gas to ease the car onto the road, trying not to waken the owners and raise an alarm up. Once he's clear of the camp site, he guns the engine, getting the hell out of there and speeding towards Mrs. Stowe's house as fast as he can.
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8:50 p.m.
Dean eases the car into the driveway, pulling up behind the Impala and scanning the area quickly, staring up at the house, dark and foreboding. He gets out quietly, shutting the door lightly behind him and creeps up to his car, looking long enough to find out its empty before he climbs in through the open driver side window, not wanting the creak of door to give away his position. He feels around under the seat for his shotgun and pops open the glove compartment for his pistol, making sure both are loaded and ready. He palms another clip and grabs Sam's mojo bag, slipping it all into his jacket pocket, along with a flask of holy water, before he hoists himself back out the window onto the pavement.
On silent feet, Dean runs to the side of the house, putting his back flush against it before moving around to the front windows, glancing in fast before pulling back. Through the sheer curtains, he sees Sam standing in front of two people who are wrapped in each others arms, holding on tightly. Shit, they look scared to death. He works his way back around the side of the house and slides to the back, looking for another way in and there it is, kitchen window wide open. He pulls off the screen, lowering it carefully to the ground and hops in, pulling himself over the sill and sink, climbing to the floor and easing over to the doorway.
"Come on in, Dean. We've been waiting for you."
Damn. Well, so much for the element of surprise. He walks in, staring at the two people clutching each other and nods at them, "You both ok?"
Harriet Stowe gives him a look like he's a freaking idiot and snaps at him, "Of course we're not ok! He wants to kill us…"
Dean rounds on Sam who's drawing a bead on him through the site of his own sawed-off, one eye closed, a smile playing on his lips. When he sees Dean's look, he shrugs, lisping in Laurie's voice, "I won. Gun on the floor, please and push it over here."
A flicker of fear rolls through his stomach as he drops the shotgun, nudging it over with his toe, "Is Sam still-?"
"Yes, but he's not in charge now. I am. You and I can play later, take care of unfinished business after I get rid of these two. Have a seat, Dean. Over there." The gun motions to one of the high-back chairs in each corner of the living room.
"Sure but I just wanted to tell you – I've got your mom here." and he pulls the rope out of his jacket pocket, "Didn't know if you wanted to say 'hi'".
And he swings wide, catching Sam across the face with it, whipping his head around and before Sam can recover, Dean's hand is on the gun, scrambling for it, yanking and tugging on the barrel, forcing it down so it doesn't fire wild and with his other hand, he hits against Sam's stomach, shoving up under his shirt and grinding the iron key he's gripping against the mangled tattoo.
With a pained cry, Sam drops the gun and rips at his shirt, shouldering Dean back and away but Dean hangs on, letting loose the shotgun and grabbing Sam behind the neck, holding him in a steely grip, forcing the key deep into his chest and his chest is burning, smoking, the charred smell of flesh filling Dean's nose until a shriek crashes against his ears and Laurie rises, twisting and writhing out of Sam's body and Sam sags back and down, falling to his knees-
Dean fumbles in his pocket, tugging out Sam's mojo pouch, pouring out the herbs Sam mixed before and chanting the incantation out of the small book he's holding. Christ, he hopes he's doing it right because this is Sam's thing and for all he know, he could be releasing the mother into the air…
"No! Noooo!" Laurie screams as she feels the pull of the spell but it's not enough, she's not being bound, looks like all he's doing is holding her in place and Dean doesn't know what the fuck's wrong so he just keeps reading the damn thing over and over again.
"Candle…" Sam gasps weakly and Dean falls to his knees, fumbling out the small white candle from the mojo bag-
Please, just one more second-
Yanking out his lighter and flicking it into a flame-
Hurry, hurry-
Touching fire to wick just as Laurie flies at him, her ghostly hand touching Dean's chest and moving through him, a millisecond before the candle lights and she's bound to the rope.
Dean can still hear her screaming in his ears as his heart starts to tighten in his chest, can't breathe, can't breathe, lungs are water, dense, full, heart slowing down, pounding out a throb every few seconds instead of steady like it's supposed to, slower now...
He can hear it in his head, the thumping so few and far between it's almost stopped altogether and his vision is narrowing to a tunnel, staring up at Sam's worried face and it's dark now, so dark that he can't even find Sam anymore and the only sound he hears is his labored breathing-
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"Dean!" Sam is holding his brother, hugging him close to his chest, rocking him like a baby, "Dean, please…please..."
Tears roll down his cheeks as he pets Dean's hair, laying a kiss on his brother's forehead, and the couple standing behind him hear Sam's muttered prayer in between sobs, "Don't leave me, Dean...please don't leave me..."
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