so, at long last a new chappy, sorry it took so long!! thanks so much for reading and for all the awesome reviews so far!! bambers;)
Chapter Fourteen
Sam made quick work of binding his brother's legs together with the duct tape he'd found on the floor, counting himself lucky that Dean had only gotten in a few well-placed kicks in the process.When he was finished, he hauled his brother to his feet, and set him down in Ellicott's worn leather chair.
With that accomplished, he looked over the piece of paper he'd found again, trying to decide what his father had meant by it. It had to have something to do with Mildred's book or journal, he was almost certain of it. But Bobby had both of them back at the motel, and Sam wasn't sure how he was going to get them if Bobby was as bad off as Sam thought he might be.
He knew trying to leave the asylum with Dean would be nearly impossible to do with Susan, Bo and all the other angry spirits still lurking around the building. Not to mention that Dean would more than likely fight him all the way down the stairs and through the asylum, and Sam was nearing the end of his strength, and truthfully didn't think he could manage it.
His attention was momentarily diverted to Dean as out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother struggle against the straight jacket, a murderous gleam in his wild green-eyed glare. Trashing violently, Dean tried to kick out at Sam, but only managed to slide down a little further in the chair.
"Gonna rip your freakin' throat out with my own hands," Dean snarled. "They told me you would do this . . . told me you would . . . they said . . . " a vicious laugh ripped from his lips, "gonna laugh when I see the blood rush from your veins . . . then gonna tear you apart piece by piece."
Sam turned his back on Dean, mentally trying to block out what his brother was saying, forcing himself not to listen. But as his brother's rants grew more violent and evil sounding in nature, Sam swung back to glare at him.
"Gonna carve ya up in little tiny pieces an' bury ya in the walls . . . in the walls . . . they bury them all in the walls . . . the walls are filled with them . . . rotting souls . . . decaying flesh," Dean glanced up at him and mercilessly laughed, "an' then there will be you."
"You'd never get the chance," Sam growled furiously, nearing the end of his mental and physical endurance.
Dean leaned forward in his seat, never taking his sights off of Sam. "Wanna bet?" he said in a low dangerous tone that was so similar to his normal voice, Sam was forced to take an involuntary backward step.
For a brief moment the wild crazed look was gone from his brother's eyes, and it was Dean looking at him. For a split second he was once again Dean the hunter, killer of ungodly creatures, the man who didn't know how to quit, and that thought sent a shiver of panic racing through Sam's spine. And then as quickly as the look appeared on his brother's face it disappeared as Dean began to ramble incoherently once more.
For the longest time he just stood there and stared at his brother, not understanding a word Dean said, and realized for the first time that even if he could find a way to cure him, Dean might never be the same again. His brother's mind had fractured into too many pieces, and undoubtably there would be lasting affects. All Sam could hope for now was that one day Dean might find his way back to being the man he'd always been before.
But for now, he needed to get those books from Bobby. With no other options left available to him, Sam decided he should at least give the older hunter a call to see if he could manage the drive before Sam tried to figure out a different plan. Sam trudged over to the desk, snatched his phone off of it, and jabbed the button to call Bobby. The older man answered within the first two rings.
"Sabm?" Bobby asked, concern evident in his trembling, nasally tone.
"Yeah, it's me." Sam hesitated, wondering if he should really ask the injured hunter to drive in his condition, but quickly searching his mind for any other alternatives, Sam realized he had no other choice. "Bobby, think you could bring the journal and Mildred's book to the asylum? Wouldn't ask ya, but just can't think of another way to get them otherwise." Sam heard a muffled grunt of pain coming from the other end of the line, and mentally kicked himself for asking Bobby for help when he was in no condition to go anywhere except a hospital. "I'll figure out another way to get the books, Bobby, you need to get to a hospital."
"Alreaby on by way ta da asylum . . . shoulb de there in a coudle of minudes." Bobby was silent for a moment, and Sam could hear another pain-filled groan escape the hunter's mouth, before he finally continued, "Pullin' ondo the streed dow."
"You sure you're okay, Bobby? You don't sound very — " the words left him abruptly as he heard the sound of screeching tires and then a loud crash coming from somewhere outside of the building.
Sam rushed to the barred window with heart hammering away inside his chest. Taking a quick look outside, he saw Bobby's truck, the front-end of the vehicle crumpled around a light pole, and spun on his heel and darted for the door.
"Won't be here when you get back . . . they said it, said I'll be gone. Gonna take me . . . you'll see . . . nothin' left," came a dire sounding warning from Dean.
Sam hesitated with his hand on the doorknob as he glanced back in Dean's direction, torn between helping Bobby and staying there to make sure his brother would be all right. But without the books that at this moment were Sam's only hope to help Dean, he understood his brother was already lost to him. Reluctantly he headed out the door, calling back over his shoulder, "Gonna save you, Dean, just like I promised, an' nothing's gonna stop me from doing that."
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sam rushed out of the building and over to Bobby's car. The older man was slumped over the steering wheel, not moving. Sam's heart skipped a beat as he stopped short, fearing his long time friend was dead. A subtle movement coming from inside the truck caught his keen gaze and he was moving again, rushing toward Bobby.
He yanked on the crumpled door and finally managed to wedge it open enough to get inside. "Bobby, you okay?" he asked in a breathless rush as he quickly checked the older man over, searching for injuries.
"Jus' hit by heab," Bobby muttered almost incoherently. "I'll be okay."
"I'm so sorry for this, Bobby." Sam's stomach clenched painfully as he noticed how bruised and battered Bobby was and knew deep down that Dean was the cause of most of the older man's injuries. "This is all my fault, shouldn't have gotten you involved in this."
"Nod yer fauld," Bobby weakly grumbled as Sam carefully helped him out of the car. "Cabe here on by own." He winced as he gingerly touched his broken nose. "Jus' hobe these books helb yer brother so I cad kick his ass whed he's bedder." Reaching back inside the vehicle, Bobby grabbed the two books off the floor of the truck, and handed them to Sam.
"Thanks, Bobby."
Sam glanced down at Mildred's worn journal, leafed through it for a moment and then yanked out her unfinished novel from beneath it. Slack-jawed, he stared at the title, Your Mind Tricked You to Feel the Pain, in disbelief. It couldn't have just been a coincidence that his father had written the same exact words on the paper that Sam found, and knew instinctively the answers he needed were buried somewhere within the pages of the yellowed manuscript.
"This has to be it, it has to have the answers I need, Bobby." He glanced back in the direction of the massive stone structure, and then looked once more to Bobby. "Gotta call an ambulance for you, then get back inside to Dean."
"M'okay . . . Goin' wib you," Bobby replied determinedly. "Been lookin' through tha' book an' yer gonna neeb by helb if I'b understandin' it correctly."
"You're sure, Bobby," Sam asked, eyeing the injured man, and knew from the look in his eyes that Bobby wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"Yeah, I'b sure."
"Alright," Sam said with a deep sigh, "but be careful, Bobby . . . I mean, there are a lot of them in there, and Dean's just . . . ." his voice trailed off as he thought of how far gone his brother really was. "He's just not the same."
Bobby gave a curt nod, and winced with the effort. Together they headed back inside the asylum. No more than a few feet inside the door, they both heard the sound of Dean screaming at the top of his lungs. Dean's heart-wrenching cries echoed throughout the darkness of the institution, and filled Sam's insides with fear for his brother's life. Without giving any thought to Bobby or all the vengeful spirits he knew to be around, Sam dashed up the steps, taking them two at a time.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Dean watched the dark-haired man leave the room as he continued to struggle against the straight jacket that held him a prisoner. For the briefest of moments, the younger man had looked slightly familiar, but then the voices filled his mind once more to overshadow any memories that still lingered at the back of his mind.
Dark shadows seeped through the door, walls, and up through the dank floors boards, all edging closer to Dean, all speaking in rapid succession. Their words mingled together with the ones inside his mind, growing louder and louder until he felt as if his head might explode, and for a moment wished that it would. Closer they came slowly taking the forms of men and women with gaunt faces, sunken ghostly gray eyes, and long spindly fingers.
One woman with flowing blond hair and pale blue-green eyes stepped forward, and bent slightly to look directly at him. She tilted her head from side to side, a puzzled expression on her face as she continued to gaze at him, then she smiled and nodded to the others.
"At long last," she uttered as tears slipped down her cheeks, "There is a cold dark place in all our minds. Where our souls have sought comfort, but have found none. From shallow graves and sleepless nights we had somehow lost our way . . . until now. With you we are at long last set free." With that said, she leaned in and kissed Dean on the lips.
Stark white-hot pain ripped through Dean's mind, a cry of pain erupting from his lips as the kiss deepened. As she slowly faded away, shadowy images of things he couldn't quite make out converged with the voices inside his head to crush him beneath the weight of all of her guilt. With a faint smile, she vanished in a trail of wispy white smoke, but he could still feel her inside his mind, her pain and torment now his own.
The rest moved forward all placing their withered bony hands on Dean. His head shot backward, eyes squeezing tightly shut as he screamed over and over again against the vicious onslaught of their tortured emotions. One by one they all entered his mind and disappeared in spirit.
Writhing in his chair, Dean struggled in vain against the last few remaining spirits, the straight jacket keeping him securely bound and at their mercy. Eyes rolling backwards into his head, he jerked spasmodically as the clamourous voices inside his mind became too much for him to endure any longer.
Tears slipped down his cheeks unchecked as he relived all their darkest moments. Their pain now Dean's pain, his mind splitting and fracturing to accommodate all their overwhelming guilt. With a pathetically weak whimper, Dean fell from his chair and curled into a tight ball as the last of the spirits disappeared in a swirl of gray smoke.