Title: Now I Know My ABC's
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.
Author's Note: I know chapters are taking longer these days but work and downtime don't play nicely together sometimes. Lol Thank you all for being so patient! I love you! Now on to this chapter! This is set right after 2x14 'Born Under a Bad Sign' and deals with some of the emotional fall out from Sam being possessed by Meg. In fact, that fallout is pretty much the whole reason this particular chapter took so long and kept getting derailed. HA! Dammit, boys. Enjoy!
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
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T is for Tsukumogami -
Sam came out of the bathroom and looked across the diner to his brother. Dean looked pale still and Sam sighed. His attempts to convince his big brother to take a week off while his shoulder healed had been met with typical Winchester derision. Not even a gunshot wound was enough to make him take a break. Sam flinched internally with the memory of watching his own hand fire the gun that nearly killed his brother. He shook his head and pushed away the horror of that moment. It lived in his nightmares and had kept him awake the last three nights since it happened, each time jerking himself out of sleep to turn to the other bed and make sure Dean was really there and breathing.
"Stop starin' at me. It's weird." Dean raised a brow at his little brother as Sam reached the table and rolled his eyes. "Could you stop lookin' like a kicked puppy for five minutes, dude?"
"I don't look like a puppy." Sam dropped into the booth and reached out to tap the paper in front of his brother. "You checking current events or being stubborn and looking for a case?"
Dean smirked. "Neither." He flipped the paper around and dropped it in front of Sam. "Found a case."
"Dean…"
"Dude, I'm fine. Stop mothering me." Dean glared at him and pointed to the newspaper. "Check it out."
Sam opened his mouth to argue further and then closed it, knowing there was no use. "Fine." He picked up the paper and scanned the page for whatever had caught his brother's attention. He chuckled and looked up at him, holding the paper out so Dean could see it. "It's an ad for washing machines. What? Cursed object?"
"Shuddup, smart ass." Dean grunted and grabbed the paper back, then flipped it and handed it over. "Three people dead. Last one died last night. All suffocated in the house over the last week. Definitely something hinky going on there."
"Huh." Sam read quickly through the article and noticed how, while no explanation for the deaths was given, the police had been quick to point out that they weren't ruling out 'foul play'. That usually meant they had no idea and something strange had happened. "Ok, maybe. It's not a whole lot to go on though."
"We've gone on less." Dean shrugged and instantly regretted it. He gritted his teeth and somehow managed to keep the pain off of his face. His right shoulder was a screaming misery, especially after having Jo dig a bullet out of the muscle. "We'll hit up the local cop shop and see what they're not giving the public." He smiled. "My money's on vengeful spirit, and if you're so worried about my shoulder, Nurse Nancy, you can do all the digging."
Sam groaned but took the offer for what it was - Dean's way of appeasing his worry and guilt. "Fine. We'll look." He glanced up at Dean and then shook his head. "You realize we both still look like we got our asses kicked by a heavyweight? Well, you do."
Dean snorted a laugh and tossed a twenty on the table for their lunch. "We'll just tell 'em a perp got out of hand. It'll earn us 'cop cred.' Come on. I'm bored."
Sam watched Dean slide out of the booth and had no trouble seeing the stiffness of his movements. Dean was hurting a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. Sam would just have to watch him and make sure he didn't get hurt worse because of his stubbornness.
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Dean leaned back in his chair and tossed the report he'd been reading across the table to his brother. "Check it out. It is our kind of job." He smirked as Sam picked it up. Dean tugged on his suit tie and nodded as an officer passed by the window of their little room. "Coroner said the victims were definitely strangled and suffocated." He held up a finger when Sam looked up at him. "Both. It's in there. He found cotton fibers he can't identify and according to this…" Dean pushed a few folders aside and came out with the one he wanted. "… they haven't found anything at the crime scenes that matches, no signs of forced entry, and my personal favorite – no one heard a damn thing."
Sam sighed and nodded. "Alright. You're right."
"I know." Dean gave him a satisfied grin. "I've got the address of the house. I'm gonna go clear it with the chief, and we can go take a look. Don't want any of the locals spotting us and trying to roust us out of an active crime scene."
"Got it." Sam waved him off and started gathering up the files. "I'll put these back and meet you outside." He heard Dean pause in the doorway but didn't say anything, preferring instead to pretend he didn't know his big brother was hovering as though afraid to let him out of his sight. He heaved a relieved sigh when the door opened and closed again and leaned down on the table to close his eyes for a moment. He heard the door open again and Sam groaned. "Dean, I'm fine. I swear. You gotta stop trying to babysit me."
"Didn't think federal agents needed to be babysat."
Sam jerked upright and spun around at the unfamiliar voice. His heart was pounding in sudden terror with the realization that he had let a stranger sneak up behind him. "Shit. Uh… can I help you?" He watched the officer smirk at him and decided he didn't like the guy.
"Came to get the case files. So…" The officer looked Sam up and down as he moved to the table. "You got special needs or something?" He chuckled at the insulted look on Sam's face. "Feds ain't too popular around here. No offense to your fancy suit."
Sam glared at him and quickly backed away. "Offense taken." He could still feel his heart pounding and his breath backing up his lungs. He was heading toward a panic attack and didn't want it to happen in front of anyone else. He left the room, banging the door closed behind him to the officer's laughter and walked as quickly as he dared out of the station. He ignored the looks he got from each uniformed person as he passed. He burst outside in a rush and went around the corner to the Impala. He slid to a stop when suddenly faced with his brother who had beat him there.
"Sammy?" Dean narrowed his eyes as Sam staggered to a stop and gaped at him. Sam's eyes were too wide, his breathing too fast, face pale and if Dean didn't know better, heading straight for a massive meltdown. "Dude, what happened? You alright?"
Sam nodded. He slammed his mouth closed and fought to get his breathing under control. "Sorry," he gasped.
"I only left you alone for five damn minutes. What the hell?" Dean watched him fighting for control. He knew he was having trouble leaving Sam alone for any length of time. After losing him for an entire week to demon possession, he didn't think anyone could fault him for that. A sudden burst of fear went through him and Dean reached out. He tugged the neck of Sam's suit-shirt wide and fished out a length of brown, leather cord with the other. Dean let out a breath of relief when he saw the anti-possession charm dangling at the end.
"Dammit, Dean. I'm not…" Sam flicked his brother's hands away and anxiously straightened the collar. "I'm not possessed again, alright? I'm fine. It's nothing. Let it go."
Dean watched Sam drop his eyes and skirt around him to the car. "You'd tell me if something weird was goin' on with you again, right?"
"Yeah, Dean." Sam slid into the passenger seat of the Impala and closed his eyes with relief. It felt safe in the car and he slowly felt his hammering pulse begin to slow.
"Right." Dean shook his head and went around to the driver's side. By the time he was behind the wheel and pulling away from the station, Sam looked almost normal again if a little pale. "You gonna tell me what caused that little melt down?" He saw Sam's back stiffen for a moment and his brother's eyes never turned toward him.
"I didn't hear him come in," Sam murmured reluctantly. He shook his head. "One of the officers. Heard the door open and I thought it was you but, uh… It was stupid, alright? Nothing."
Dean nodded but he could tell it was anything but nothing. He took a moment and tried to imagine it from Sam's point of view - after being possessed, murdering a man, nearly murdering his own brother and other people he cared about, having zero control of himself and being able to see some of it… Dean coughed around the sudden lump in his throat. "It's not stupid, Sam. You just need some time." He could understand then how it might have been terrifying to turn around and find a stranger behind you.
"Yeah. Time." Sam gave a pained, soft laugh and decided he really didn't want to be talking about that again. "So, uh, the police chief alright with us going to the crime scene?"
Dean let Sam have his change of topic; either he'd work through it on his own or Dean would be having a chick flick at some point down the road to help him out. "Yeah, he gave us the all clear. Well, he didn't want to. Pretty sure he wanted to toss my fine ass out onto the street with prejudice, but I sweet-talked him."
Sam was forced to chuckle as Dean grinned at him. "You threatened him with your non-existent superiors."
"Non-existent, my ass." Dean laughed. "I was gonna sic Bobby on him. Almost sorry he gave in. Would'a been fun to watch." He glanced over and noted that some of the tightness around his brother's eyes had gone away and mentally patted himself on the back.
"So, the reports said something about a delivery or a shipment or something." Sam studiously put his mind on the case and away from the fears plaguing him. "Could be a cursed object or a spirit."
Dean made the turn toward the victim's house and nodded. "We'll go in with the salt guns just in case."
"In broad daylight?" Sam chuckled. "I'm sure the neighbors won't mention to the local cops how they saw two guys in suits carrying sawed-off shotguns."
Dean scowled and rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I get my ass kicked by a cranky Casper and I'm beatin' yours next."
Sam laughed at that and felt a little lighter. "Deal."
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The house was more of a mansion, Dean thought as they walked up the curving, cobblestone drive. "Well, this guy was loaded. That wasn't in the paperwork."
Sam studied the three story house, the turret poking up from the back, and the latticework in the windows. He gave a low whistle. "Loaded and definitely had a thing for classic English architecture." He walked up the wide front steps and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape stretched between the pillars.
"Should have the place to ourselves." Dean flicked the tape before ducking under it along with his brother and glanced back out at the lawn. "The chief said there's a son and a friggin' butler still among the living, but they're both staying somewhere else until the cops clear the house."
"Huh," Sam said as he tried the ornate, brass doorknob and it swung in easily. "They didn't lock the place up before they left? Seriously?"
"Small town cops, dude." Dean snorted a laugh and stepped through the open door. He drew his gun as he did because, humor aside, there was always a chance someone or something else had left the door unlocked and he wasn't going to take that risk with their lives. "Hello?" he called and stopped to listen. After several moments without a reply, Dean shrugged and turned to glance at his brother. "Where you wanna start?"
"Wherever this mystery shipment is." Sam drew his own gun, holding it loosely and started toward the back of the house. "I'm betting that's where the killing started. Has to be some sort of cursed or haunted object. The police report said the crates were in the study, wherever that is."
"You take that side." Dean waved him to the left. "I'll take this wing."
Sam laughed. "Try not to get lost."
"I never get lost."
"Wyoming, 1997."
"Hey!" Dean turned and caught the smug grin on his little brother's face as he vanished through a door. "That was a scenic route, jackass!" Sam's laugh echoed through the quiet house and Dean rolled his eyes. "I was not lost. Bitch," he grumbled under his breath. He took his EMF meter out of his pocket and turned it on as he moved into a parlor at the front of the house. The heavy, brown leather chairs looked like he could sit down and never get back out of them. Dean ran his fingers over the top of a wide, oak desk and tapped his knuckle against a nutcracker soldier with a smirk.
"People collect the weirdest shit," Dean muttered and didn't even bother to try and count the small army of nutcrackers that lined the walls on shelves. He stopped at a set of closed pocket doors and cautiously slid one side open, leading with his gun. He shook his head and found himself in a library. Shelves occupied every wall from floor to ceiling. Every other shelf was filled with books, but every shelf between them had row upon row of nutcrackers. "Ok, that's a little creepy."
Dean tensed as the meter in his hand began to whine. He held it up, scanning along the shelves of collectibles in the hopes one of them would register, but the whine stayed steady. "Huh. Sam!" he called and flicked his eyes around the room warily. "You pickin' up anything over there?" He heard a muffled thump from somewhere in the house but no reply from his brother. Dean frowned and went to the door and out into a hall. "Sam?" There was another thump and then the sound of something crashing and shattering.
"Sammy!" Dean ran the length of the hall toward the back of the house. His gut was screaming at him that something was wrong, and he had long ago learned not to question it when it came to his little brother. He found himself in a kitchen decked out with brown granite countertops and bronze appliances. Dean went to his left, hearing another, louder thump and pulled open a door. "Shit!"
Sam was on the floor on his stomach in the center of what had to be the dead man's den. His head and upper torso were wrapped in an off-white, dusty cloth, and, even as Dean watched, one of his brother's legs swung out to thump weakly at the floor. "Hang on!" He dropped to his knees beside his brother and pulled angrily at the fabric to try and free Sam's head. "Jesus, this shit is tight. Sam?" The kicking had stopped and Dean could see his brother's body stuttering before he went still suddenly.
"Shit. Shit!" Dean rolled Sam to his back and frantically pulled at the cloth. He cleared Sam's face and knew the blue tint to his brother's lips meant he wasn't breathing. "Don't you do this!" He tugged Sam up from the floor and dug his fingers beneath the cloth until he had enough slack to unwind it from around Sam's neck. The skin was reddened beneath, evidence of just how tightly it had been wrapped. "Son of a bitch! Come on!" Dean laid Sam back down, pulled out his knife, and quickly sliced the cloth along his brother's chest. He tugged the lengths of it clear and threw them away before bending over his brother.
"Sam?" Dean put his ear beside his brother's face and his fingers against his throat. His own heart thumped painfully when he realized Sam still wasn't breathing. "No. No!" He tipped Sam's head back, opened his mouth, and blew two quick breaths into his lungs. "Breathe, Sammy. Just breathe." He repeated the process, and just when panic started to steal his own breath, Sam's body jackknifed up from the floor, his eyes flew open, and he wheezed in a long, painful breath. "Holy crap. Easy. Take it easy." Dean caught his brother against him and held on while Sam leaned heavily into his shoulder and re-learned how to breathe. "I gotcha. Slow it down. Hey, you with me?"
Sam nodded, still too busy taking in much-needed air to actually speak. He put a hand to his aching throat and closed his eyes.
"Scared the crap outta me, dude," Dean admitted softly. He eased his brother away from his shoulder to get a look at him. "Casper jump you?"
Sam coughed and shrugged. "Don't… I dunno. Something…" he stopped and tried to clear his throat again. "Cloth over my face from behind. Never saw it. Meter was screamin'."
"Jesus. Ok, come on. Let's get you up." Dean got to his knees and pulled Sam up with him. He steadied him when his brother swayed and leaned him up against an old desk. "You hurt anywhere?"
Sam frowned and shook his head. "Don't think so." His voice was a painful rasp. He braced a hand against his chest and groaned. "Whoever… whatever it was… had a hell of a grip. Crap. Happened so fast."
Dean pulled his meter out of his pocket. It was registering, but barely. "Looks like the spook wore itself out tryin' to suffocate your happy ass."
"Still not sure…" Sam coughed again. "'sa ghost."
"Pretty damn sure," Dean argued with a shake of his head.
"Boxes." Sam waved a hand toward the wooden shipping crates haphazardly stacked at the other side of the room. "Check those."
"Yeah." Dean glanced down and saw Sam's EMF meter. He picked it up and sighed. "Gonna have to fix this later." He flicked the broken wire dangling from the corner and handed it to Sam.
Sam tucked the meter into his pocket and allowed himself to hunch over his sore ribs. "Feel like… got hugged by Andre the Giant." He smirked when Dean chuckled. Sam bent and picked up the cloth that had been used to try and kill him. He shook his head and tossed it into the trash can a few feet away.
"Not a lot left in here." Dean stood and came back to the desk holding out a collection of papers. "Shipping receipts. Most of this stuff looks like it came from Japan." He shuffled through and handed them to his brother. "This one's from India. Looks like the dead dude was collecting relics. You should see the collection of creepy in the other room." He snorted. "Nutcrackers everywhere, dude. Kinda want to take a baseball bat to them."
Sam laughed and stuffed the receipts in his pocket. "We should check the rest of the house."
Dean's gut reaction was to get the hell out of there, and, after a moment of internal debate, he went with it. "We'll come back and we're bringing the damn salt guns next time." He raised a hand when his brother opened his mouth to argue about how 'fine' he was, Dean was sure. "We need to check out those shipments since it looks like most of the stuff has been moved and you look like hammered crap, little brother. Don't tell me you ain't hurtin'. You weren't breathing, Sam."
Sam snapped his mouth closed at that. He had no trouble imagining the panic Dean must have felt at that moment; Sam remembered all too clearly thinking he had lost Dean after the incident with a taser and a bloody bones. He sighed. "Alright."
Dean grinned and took his arm to pull him off the desk and nudge him toward the hall. "Think our odds are good of finding a haunted object. "Gotta still be in the house somewhere if the spook is trying to off random strangers."
Sam nodded. "Upstairs maybe." He coughed again with his throat feeling as though it was swelling and wrapped a hand protectively over it. "Need a drink."
"Got water in the car." Dean hurried his brother down the hall and back outside. He couldn't shake the feeling that the longer they were in the house, the more they were in danger. Danger was their job description really, but that didn't mean taking stupid chances with Sam's life if he could help it. He was still shaken. He couldn't believe how close he had come to losing Sam right there. "Easy."
Sam let Dean steady him when he stumbled down the stairs and turned to look back at the house as they walked back to the car. "Something about this job is weird."
Dean snorted and pulled open the passenger door. "That could be said about most of our jobs, Sam." He ignored the eye roll when Sam huffed and muttered, "Not what I meant, Dean, and you know it."
"Yeah, well…whatever. Next time, we're not splitting up; not if Casper can take one of us down that fast." He guided Sam's head down into the car and closed the door with a last look at the house.
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"So, get this." Sam tapped his computer screen as Dean emerged from the bathroom and his shower, hitching his jeans up on his hips.
"You still sound like you gargled glass," Dean observed with a smirk for Sam's gravelly, abused voice.
"Shut up." Sam glared at him and shook his head. "The last victim was survived by his butler and his son, right?"
"Was?"
Sam nodded. "They found the butler this morning. Asphyxiated in the son's penthouse apartment."
Dean sat down on the end of his bed and tossed his towel back into the bathroom. "Well, shit. That means sometime after we left, one of them took whatever Casper's attached to out of the house."
"Yeah. We need to get to the son." Sam closed his laptop and stood. "I've got his address."
Dean grabbed a fresh shirt and pulled it on, then fixed his brother with a look. It had only been eight hours ago that he had nearly been killed. "You up for this?" The look of derision on Sam's face was answer enough, and Dean chuckled. "Ok, fine. Yeah, you're good. Let's get moving then before we run out of people to talk to."
Sam let Dean drive in silence while his stomach rolled with guilt. He watched the buildings pass in a blur and knew that he was at least partly responsible for the butler's death. If he had been watching his back better and not allowed himself to be nearly killed, they would have stayed at the house and found the object their spirit was attached to. The man would still be alive if not for him. "Ow!" Sam yelped and held his shoulder as he glared over at his brother who had just punched him. "What was that for?"
"Wasn't your fault, Sammy." Dean quirked a brow at him and snorted a laugh for the surprised look on his face. "Dude, your face is like a book. Stop wallowing. The dead guy's not on you."
Sam rubbed his shoulder and looked away. "Maybe."
"No maybe about it. You wanna blame someone, blame me." Dean shrugged when Sam looked at him. "I'm the one who made you leave. I made that call."
"You couldn't have known."
Dean nodded and looked over at Sam until his brother rolled his eyes and smiled. "Exactly."
"Think you're so smart," Sam grumbled but he was still smiling.
Dean grinned and parked the car in front of the apartment building. He climbed out of the car and looked up to the top of the tall building. "So, penthouse, huh?"
"Yeah." Sam came around the car and tugged on his flannel. "We maybe should have worn our suits. This guy's a little loaded and we look like were in a street fight." He gestured to the bruises still healing on both of their faces.
Dean scoffed audibly and headed for the door. "He's the last man standing. He can't afford to not listen to us. Come on."
Getting past the front desk was pitifully easy, and they found the special elevator for the penthouse level conveniently off to the side and blocked from view of the lobby by a massive, potted rhododendron. Dean kept watch, peering through the leaves while Sam picked the lock on the inside and stepped inside with his brother once Sam tapped his shoulder. The doors slid closed and Dean smirked.
"Security in this place is crap." Dean braced a hand on the safety rail at the back of the wood-paneled car as it rose. "He alone up there or are we gonna have neighbors to worry about?"
"Just him now with the manservant dead." Sam straightened his denim jacket, tugged the collars of his flannel straight and rolled his eyes at his brother's snort of laughter behind him. "We want him to take us seriously, remember? Try not to be, you know, you for five minutes."
Dean slapped Sam's shoulder as the doors opened. "Dude, I'm awesome. Now, let me do the talking." He smirked and strode down the short hall to the only door. The hall was painted white, and the door was a solid looking, steel plate with gold trim. Dean quirked a brow as he rang the bell. "Betcha this door cost more than my baby's whole friggin' transmission assembly."
Sam chuckled and managed to school his expression as the door opened and swung inward. "Mr. Shades?"
The young man looked both men up and down and narrowed his eyes. "I'm Dominic Shades. They don't usually let pizza delivery guys up here. How did you get up here?"
Dean stared and shook his head. "We're not delivery guys. We need to talk to you about your family and your butler. It's important." Dean met the man's confused and irritated brown gaze firmly. "Might even save your life, seeing as you're the only one left."
"Are you threatening me?" Dominic demanded and started to slam the door closed.
"Shit. Wait!" Sam caught the edge of the door and slid his foot in to keep it open. "We're not here to hurt you. We want to help you if we can. Please." He met the man's now frightened eyes and looked as sincere as he could. "People have died, Mr. Shades and we're afraid you're next. We want to stop that. Let us help you. Just listen to us." The pressure of the door against his foot eased slightly, and Sam let out a breath of relief when the man opened it all the way.
"Alright, but… so you know, I have a panic button and security can be up here in thirty seconds." Dominic moved back and waved the two shoddily dressed men into his penthouse. "Try not to track anything on the marble. Thanks."
Sam elbowed his brother before Dean could make a biting comeback and gave him a push toward what turned out to be a living room done all in white - white marble floors, white walls, even the couches and tables were white. It was almost blinding. He sat gingerly on the edge of the white couch and didn't miss the way Dominic's eyes tightened. Sam felt sure the man was going to call in a steam cleaner after he and his brother left. "We need to ask you about the shipment your father received before he died."
"Were you two in a fight?" Dominic asked instead, ignoring the question for the moment as he took in their bruised faces. "You don't exactly inspire confidence."
"Your dad's shipment?" Dean pressed. He deliberately sat on the arm of the couch just to annoy the man and smiled. "We need to know what he got and where it all went, specifically anything you might have taken out of the house and brought here."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Dominic shook his head and sat in the chair across from them. "How does that have any bearing on what happened to Robert?"
"The butler?" Sam asked and the man nodded. "We aren't sure yet. We need to know what was removed so we can figure it out."
"You think they were killed because of something in those crates." Dominic rubbed a hand over his face. "Robert, my dad, my brothers… it's like a nightmare."
Sam listened to Dominic's voice trail off and he felt for the man. He glanced over and saw a sudden burst of sympathy on Dean's face as well. They knew what it was to lose family, and losing a brother was something they both feared intensely. "I'm sorry about your family."
Dominic nodded and cleared his throat before his emotions got away from him. "Uh, mostly they were knickknacks. Dad called them artifacts." He smiled sadly and shook his head. "He was always importing crap from the Orient." He chuckled at the amused look on Sam's face "Yeah, he was kind of a romantic about the whole thing, like he was some Victorian era collector. He has… had a whole section of the upstairs devoted to it. Display cases and all sorts of shit. He spent an obscene amount of money on it. We were always trying to rein him in, but Dad loved that stuff."
"What kind of knickknacks?" Dean asked. "We found a manifest, but it doesn't give us much to go on. What we're really interested in is if you or the butler took anything out of the house and brought it here. It's very important."
"I didn't, no." Dominic shook his head. "Robert, though… he probably did. He and Dad were good friends. The guy should have retired ten years ago, but he stuck around for Dad. He even went on that last trip with him to Japan. If he brought anything back, it'll be in his rooms here. They're back there." Dominic pointed down a hallway and then looked away. "Last door on the right. I, uh… I don't think I can go back there just yet."
"Don't worry about it." Sam rose and put a hand briefly on his shoulder. "We'll have a look. Is there anyone else in the penthouse?"
Dominic shook his head. "No. Just me. Dad was always getting on me about finding a girl, settling down, but…" He closed his eyes and turned away. "I'll wait while you have a look."
Dean watched the man go to a small bar on the other side of the room and didn't begrudge him the healthy dose of whiskey he poured himself. "Come on, Sammy." They went down the hall and Dean sighed. "You know, I was all set to hate the guy, but…"
"Yeah." Sam felt sorry for Dominic. Whatever kind of person he may be, he was in a living hell and everyone he loved had been taken from him. "That's probably it." He pointed and went to a door at the end of the hall, opening it. His brows rose as he realized it looked more like the entry of a spacious apartment than just the room he had been expecting. Unlike the rest of the penthouse that was ultra-modern, in there they found warm, wood floors and walls, vintage wallpaper with deep burgundy flowers, antique furniture, and what Sam was sure was an authentic Persian rug worth thousands. "Guy was definitely more than just the family butler."
"He was family," Dean said softly, thinking of Bobby.
"I'll check in here. Looks like a study." Sam looked at the wall of books as he stepped through a door and smiled, running his fingers over the leather spines.
"Geek." Dean chuckled. He wasn't entirely comfortable splitting up from his brother after the events in the house, but he knew Sam would pick a fight about it if Dean tried to hover. He walked away with stiff shoulders and resolved to listen hard for any sound out of place this time.
Sam rolled his eyes fondly as Dean finally walked down the hall out of sight. He knew his big brother was twitching at leaving him alone again. Dean's need to protect him always went into overdrive after an incident. He would just have to do his best to make sure Dean didn't smother him. "Ok, Robert. Where would you put a cursed object?" Sam muttered and went to a floor-to-ceiling shelf lined with objects, most of them of Oriental origin. Like Dean, he was hyper aware of the room around him, determined not to be caught off guard again. He rubbed his still sore throat and coughed reflexively. "Wish I knew what we were looking for."
Sam poked gently at each figure and little statue on the shelves. He rubbed the pads of his fingers together, feeling a thin layer of dust and smiled. He went to the door and stuck his head out. "Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean appeared from the end of the hall. "You good?"
"All quiet. Look for something without dust on it."
Dean's brows rose. "That's it? That's your expert advice?"
"Shut up, jerk." Sam flipped him off.
Dean laughed. "Bitch."
Sam went back to the shelves and carefully examined each piece for something new, something that hadn't had time to earn a layer of dust. He made a complete circuit of the room and sighed when he didn't find anything. "Dean? I've got nothing," he called and headed out into the hall.
"Me neither." Dean emerged from the butler's bedroom and shrugged. "Whatever he brought from the house, it ain't in here."
"Dammit. Ok, let's go ask…" Dean's voice broke off when they heard a muffled shout and he ran. "Come on!" He ripped open the door back into the main penthouse. "Dominic!"
Sam easily outpaced his brother, heading for the living room where they had least seen the man and gasped. "Dean! He's here!"
"What the hell?" Dean stared seeing Dominic in the same state he had found Sam, a white cloth tightly wrapping the man's head and shoulders.
"Get it off!" Sam shouted and dropped to his knees beside the man. He pulled at the cloth desperately. Dominic was still struggling, but he was beginning to fade, his movements weakening.
Dean pulled his knife free and started sawing at the cloth around Dominic's head. "Looks like the same damn cloth that was wrapped around you."
Sam nodded and pulled at each section his brother freed. He pulled it free of the man's face, but Dominic's eyes were open and staring, holding a look of terror even as his eyes stared up at nothing. "No. No! Come on!" He slid his fingers under the fabric wrapped lethally tight around Dominic's throat and pulled harder as Dean cut. "Hurry, Dean!"
"I'm tryin', dammit!" Dean grimaced as he nicked the skin beneath Dominic's jaw and didn't miss that there was no response from him. "Get it off his neck!" he ordered as he cut the last piece clear and then bent to slice straight down Dominic's chest and free his lungs.
"Breathe," Sam begged. He tilted Dominic's head back and breathed for him. He repeated the action again and again and shook his head when he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. "No."
"Sammy, he's gone." Dean pulled his brother back and looked sadly down at the young man. "We tried."
Sam let Dominic's head go and closed the man's eyes. "This shouldn't have happened. We were right here. We should have saved him."
"I know, buddy." Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, put his knife away and stood. "Come on. We need to search this place. Whatever it is, it's out here somewhere. Sammy."
Sam rubbed a hand over his face and nodded. He gathered up the cloth lying in pieces around Dominic, balled it up, and threw it across the room angrily as he stood. He looked around the sparsely decorated living room and shook his head. "There's nothing out here."
"Come on." Dean took his arm and pulled him toward the hall. "We stay together." Sam gave him a silent nod, and Dean knew he was blaming himself for not being fast enough; Dean was blaming himself. They moved quickly through the penthouse searching every room, but there was no sign of the Oriental artifacts they had found in the butler's rooms or the father's house. The EMF meter remained stubbornly silent, only whining softly a few times near outlets. "It's not here."
"How can it not be here?" Sam resisted the urge to plant his fist in the wall as they walked back into the living room. He looked at Dominic's body on the white floor and swallowed hard. "It has to be."
"I don't know." Dean scowled and turned resolutely away from the man they had failed. "Maybe we're wrong and the ghost or whatever it is doesn't need to be near the object. We need to go back to that house. It started there."
"Alright." Sam pulled open the front door and closed it behind them softly. "We shouldn't just leave him there. We should call someone."
"Can't." Dean went to the wall to the left of the elevator and looked up at a small emergency exit sign. He checked the wall and found a small, rectangular panel and gave it a push. A section of the white wall moved inward and to the side, revealing a stairway. "We call and they'll think we had something to do with it. We need to get out of here."
Sam followed him down the emergency stairs. "We have to figure this out."
"We will." Dean wasn't sure how they were going to do that, but he was damn well going to.
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Sam slapped his laptop closed and leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration and blew out a breath. "I can't find a damn thing." He looked up and stared in confusion for a moment with the realization his brother was nowhere in the room. For just a moment, he panicked and then remembered his brother saying something about coffee and Sam hadn't even looked up from his research. He scrubbed a hand over his face and laughed softly. "Jesus."
He stood and stretched the kinks out of his back then went into the bathroom. Sam splashed water on his face, dried it off, and then looked at himself in the mirror. He stared at his eyes and shivered; there was still a part of him that expected them to turn black again at any moment. He turned his head back and forth, watching the light glint in his eyes and memories of the things he had done… the things Meg had done while wearing him… flowed into his mind - blood and pain and fear. He saw Jo's face, heard the absolute terror in her voice as the demon had trapped her against the bar. Sam shuddered. Meg had been laughing at him inside his own mind. The demon had allowed him to watch and let Sam suffer for the moments it had considered raping the girl. Bile crawled up the back of his throat, and he dropped hastily to his knees and bent over the toilet to heave.
Dean found his brother that way when he returned. "Shit." He set the coffees on the table and went to him, bracing a hand on the back of Sam's neck. "Hey. It's just me, dude," he soothed when Sam startled but continued to heave into the bowl. He snagged a washcloth from the bar next to the sink, slapped on the cold water and got it wet before laying it over the back of his brother's neck. "Just breathe, Sammy."
Sam felt the heaving ease at last, and he slumped back into the hand Dean had on him. "Sorry."
"For pukin' your guts out?" Dean shook his head fondly. "Come on." He pulled Sam up, flushed the toilet and nudged him toward the sink. "Brush your teeth before the taste makes you yak again."
Sam burped and swallowed and gave his brother a disgusted look as the taste was beginning to make him want to throw up yet again. "Not funny, jerk."
Dean grinned. "Bitch. Hurry up." He went back out into the room and closed the bathroom door behind him to give his brother a little privacy. He ran his hand over his face and picked up his coffee. Dean looked over and studied his brother once Sam emerged. "So what brought that on? You gettin' sick on me?"
Sam shook his head miserably. He picked up the other coffee and took a cautious sip, grateful when his stomach didn't churn. "No, just… nothing. It's fine."
"Right, 'cause you pukin' your guts out in the middle of the day for no reason is totally normal. Come on." Dean sat in the chair and raised a brow, waiting.
"I, um…" Sam blew out a breath and sat across from him. He looked down at his coffee cup and closed his eyes. "I keep seeing things; remembering things. It… it threw me a little, ok? It's no big deal."
Dean watched his brother and could visibly see him straining for composure. "Shit that Meg did while she was in you?" Sam gave him a nod and ducked his head, refusing to look at him. "Like what?" He didn't miss the flinch. Dean rubbed a hand over his still painful shoulder and sighed. "'Cause I was there when she shot me, Sammy. And that wasn't you." He frowned at the look that crossed Sam's face and sat forward. "What else? What else did that bitch do while she was wearing you?"
Sam shook his head and rubbed his knuckles over his forehead in a bid to soothe his pounding headache. "Doesn't matter."
"It damn well does." Dean kicked his brother's foot gently. "Come on, Sam. Talk to me."
"It was Jo." Sam's words strangled in his throat as he was once again faced the memory of Meg nearly raping his friend. "Meg… she was going to… she wanted… shit."
Dean watched his brother lurch up from his chair and back into the bathroom. It only took him a moment to figure out what Sam couldn't seem to say aloud. "Holy crap," he breathed. He knew just how much worse it could have been for Sam. He followed his brother back into the bathroom and rested a hand on Sam's heaving back as he leaned over the sink with his head down. "You gonna hurl again?"
Sam swallowed convulsively several times and then shook his head. "No. No, I'm good."
"Yeah." Dean didn't believe him for one second. "Ok, come on." He pulled Sam out of the bathroom a second time and gave him a nudge toward his bed. "It didn't happen, Sammy. Whatever that demonic bitch may have been thinking, it didn't happen. And even if it had…" Dean paused as the potential horror of that image overwhelmed him. He shook his head and resolved to make sure Jo never knew just how lucky she had been. "… even if it had, it still wouldn't be your fault. There was nothing you could do. You know that."
Sam rolled stiffly into his bed, cradling his arm with the still-blistered burn against his chest and closed his eyes. "Doesn't make it any easier."
"I know." Dean tugged a blanket up over his brother and patted his shoulder. "Try to get some sleep. I'll wake you up if I find anything."
Sam rolled stiffly into the blanket, burying his face in his pillow and groaned. "Can't sleep," he grumbled tiredly.
Dean nodded and moved away to sit at the table with the laptop. He watched his brother, listening as his breathing slowly evened out and smiled a little in relief that Sam had actually managed to fall asleep, even if it wouldn't last.
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Dean leaned back from the laptop screen and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. They were burning from spending so long staring at the screen in the darkened room. He'd long ago turned off the light and left just the light from the bathroom to keep him company while his brother slept. He picked up his beer and groaned quietly, finding it empty and knowing that it had been the last one.
"Awesome," he muttered. Dean stretched his arms over his head and stood. He pulled on his jacket and headed for the door, stopping for a quick check to make sure Sam was still sound asleep. "Beer run, little brother," Dean whispered with a smirk and grabbed his keys. He slipped out of the room and went to the Impala, ducking his head against the stiff, cold wind. The streets were fairly empty as Dean backed out of the motel. His eyes were drawn up to something light fluttering in the breeze above the motel's roof. Dean narrowed his eyes, watching the wind-blown object, some sort of white cloth, until it floated out of sight behind the building.
Dean shook his head and headed down the street toward the convenience store. The further away he drove from the motel, the more his gut began to nag at him with a sense of something wrong. He slowed the car as he considered and realized it was the cloth or whatever that he'd seen. He shook his head, trying to dismiss it, and couldn't.
"Dammit. What the hell?" Dean did a hasty u-turn on the empty street and sped back to the motel. He parked in front of their room in the empty lot and got out. Dean looked around the roof of the motel and along the quiet, darkened building, but saw nothing out of place. He went to the room, unlocked the door, and stepped inside to darkness. "Sammy?" He'd left the bathroom door open, letting the light filter out, but it was closed now. He flicked on the room lights and saw his brother's slept-in bed. He scrubbed a hand back through his hair and was just about to leave again, chastising himself for being uselessly paranoid, when he heard a loud thump from inside the bathroom.
"Sam?" Dean went over and banged on the door. "Sam, you ok in there?" His response was another, louder thump and Dean's patience was done. He tried the knob, finding it locked, and stepped back to land a well-placed kick. The door flew open to bang into the wall. Dean rushed in and stared in shock. His brother was wrapped up in white cloth again while a cold wind blew through the small, open window high in the wall above the shower. "Sammy!"
Dean caught him as his brother's legs gave out. He pulled at the heavy fabric around Sam's face, trying to give him room to breathe and snarled with the effort. "Come on!" He dragged his brother out of the bathroom and pulled his knife out. He sliced the fabric along the side of Sam's head, watching as his brother's straining face appeared. Sam's eyes were wide and frightened and his mouth was open, gaping in a bid for air he wasn't getting. "Son of a bitch! Hang on!"
Sam fought the cloth's grip around him tighten as Dean fought to free him. His head was swimming with the lack of oxygen. He stared up into Dean's eyes and wondered if this would be the time that Dean had to watch him die for good. Blackness was starting to creep across his field of vision; he had only moments left, he knew, and then the fabric holding him suddenly gave. Sam wheezed in a desperate breath. For a moment, he thought Dean had finally cut him free, but then he could only watch in horror as it tore itself from around his body and flowed through the air toward Dean instead. Sam was rolled violently across the floor and gave a breathless grunt as he slammed into the foot of the bed and heard his brother yell.
"Holy shit!" Dean yelped and fell back as the cloth unwound itself from his brother so quickly, Sam was rolled away from him. He brought his knife up and slashed through the cloth as it tried to wrap around his face. He backpedaled on the dingy rug until his back hit the frame of the bathroom door and slashed the air around him, even as he felt one end of the cloth whip around his chest and tighten. "No… you don't!" He winced, the cloth straining around him, and felt his ribs creak under the pressure. He slipped the tip of his blade beneath the edge and it parted.
"Dean," Sam gasped. He rolled to his stomach and looked over to find his brother still trying to avoid being smothered by whatever malevolent force was animating the fabric. He stretched an arm beneath his brother's bed and tugged out the weapons' duffel. Sam thrust his hand inside the bag and came back out with the container of holy water. He twisted the cap open with fumbling fingers, rolled to his back, and splashed the water across the space between them so it rained down on Dean and the cloth.
Dean reared his head back, trying to hold the cloth with one hand and cut it with the other before it could cover his face and smother him but it was a losing battle. Every piece he cut somehow reknit itself and came at him all the harder. The length around his chest was already squeezing hard enough to grate his ribs together and he was barely breathing. His arms were weakening. The first loop of material coiled around his head, covering his mouth and nose, and then he felt water splashing on his head and face and body. The fabric convulsed around him. Dean gasped in a grateful lungful of air as the cloth released him without warning, swirled into the bathroom and out of sight.
"Dean?" Sam crawled over to his brother and grabbed his knee. "You alright?"
Dean coughed and nodded. He had to convince his body to allow him to sit up as his gunshot shoulder had apparently taken more of a beating than it could stand, and pain radiated all the way down to his fingers. "Yeah. S'it still here?"
"Dunno. Hang… hang on." Sam wrapped an arm around his aching chest and made it to his feet. He stepped over Dean into the bathroom with the bottle of holy water held out in front of him and stared. "It's gone." He climbed into the bathtub long enough to shut the open window and looked mournfully at the broken line of salt they had laid in front of it. "Salt's obviously not gonna cut it here."
"Shit." Dean groaned and slowly inched himself up until he was sitting against the wall beside the bathroom door with a hand braced below his wounded shoulder. "The hell is happening? The hell kinda ghost…" he stopped to cough as Sam reappeared. "… uses a damn tablecloth to kill people?"
Sam lowered himself into the chair beside the table and looked down at his brother. "I don't think that's what's going on. Can you get up or do you need help? How bad are you hurt?"
Dean glared up at him. "How bad are you hurt? I'm fine. Just catchin' my breath."
Sam chuckled and then thought better of it as his ribs screamed at him. He slumped forward a little, moaned as his ribs protested, and sat back up with his eyes closed. "Might, uh… might have some… cracked ribs, yeah." He opened his eyes when he felt his brother's hand land on his knees. "How's your shoulder?"
"Pissed off." Dean snorted and got to his feet. "Kinda like me. Stupid piece of sheet is kickin' both our asses. What the hell?" He looked at the bottle in Sam's hand and quirked a brow. "Holy water?"
Sam nodded. "Only thing I could think of, since the salt in the window didn't even phase it." He set the bottle on the table and ran a hand over his sore neck. "I don't think it's a ghost or a cursed object. I think it's something else."
"Like what?" Dean went to the bag on top of the dresser and dug out the first aid kit. He could feel fresh blood leaking from his shoulder beneath the bandage and given the way Sam looked, he was going to have to wrap his ribs before they did anything else. "You get your shirt off?"
"Yes," Sam said unhappily. He loosened his arms from around himself, tugged his shirt up to his armpits and then froze as the movement shifted his ribs enough to take his breath away for a moment. He slammed his eyes closed and focused on trying to get his breath back. The sensation of being smothered in his own body yet again slammed through his senses. His heart began to pound in his chest and his breaths came short and fast.
"Sammy?" Dean frowned. He dropped the first aid kit on the table beside the laptop and knelt in front of him. "Dude, slow it down. Hey." He braced his hands on Sam's shoulders, lowering his brother's arms, and gave him a gentle shake. "Hey. Hey. Come on. You're gonna pass out if you don't get a handle on this."
Sam opened his eyes enough to see Dean and gave his head a little shake.
Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shoulders and understood that his brother was having a panic attack. "Hey, look at me. Come on." He waited for Sam's frantic eyes to latch on to his. "You're safe, alright? You're safe. You got it? Look at me. You're safe, Sammy. Just breathe." He maintained the eye contact and waited, nodding when Sam's too-fast breathing slowly began to approach normal. "That's it. There you go. Just keep breathing."
Sam leaned in to the hands on his shoulders, letting Dean's presence comfort him even though it made him feel weak. He let his eyes close again at last and slumped a little, grateful to Dean for keeping him upright. "Sor… sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Dean took a hand from his brother and plucked the rolled up ace bandage out of the kit. "Hold your shirt up for me. Here." He tugged Sam's t-shirt up under his arms and let his brother loosely hold it in place. "I'm gonna check those ribs. You just keep breathing. That's all you gotta do."
Sam nodded tiredly. He rested his free arm on his brother's shoulder and tried not to flinch while Dean pressed carefully along his ribs. "Sorry. It was… I just…"
"Meg. I get it." Dean cut him off and looked up to give Sam a small smile. "Dude, ever since it happened, you been havin' nightmares and talking in your sleep about not being able to move or breathe." He looked back down at his brother's bruised chest sadly and shook his head. "There's no way this shit wouldn't set you off. Now hold still while I strap these. I count three cracked, maybe broken. You have any more trouble breathin' and we're going for x-rays."
"Yeah." Sam sniffed, touched that his big brother would be able to so clearly work out for himself what was happening and then wondered why that should be a surprise. No one knew him better than Dean. "Thanks," he said softly as his brother wrapped the bandage firmly around his chest.
Dean snorted. "No chick flick moments, Sammy. You know the rule." Nevertheless, he carefully finished wrapping his brother's damaged ribs and gave him a parting, comforting squeeze to the side of the neck before he stood and pulled his own shirts off over his head.
Sam gave a short, breathless laugh. The long-standing joke did the job of settling his nerves. "Is your shoulder alright?"
Dean peeled the bandage off and craned his head to get a good look at the bullet wound. "Yeah. Jo's stitches held. Just banged it up a little." He pressed gingerly around the wound with a grimace. "Seepin' some blood, but it's no big deal."
"Sit down." Sam raised a brow at his brother's mutinous look. "It's in a weird spot, and it'll be easier if I do it." His face softened a little as he held his hand out for the gauze. "I can handle looking at it, Dean. I'm not gonna have another meltdown. Let me help."
Dean sighed and sat grudgingly in the chair beside his brother. It annoyed him sometimes that Sam could read him so easily. "Fine."
Sam smiled, pleased at having gotten his way so easily and set to work carefully cleaning the blood from his brother's shoulder. He scowled as he worked and studied the wound. "Remind to give Jo lessons on how to stitch. Wow. It's like a five-year-old on a sugar high worked on you."
Dean snorted a laugh and nodded. "She's like a little, blonde Dr. Mengele, dude. She's got fingers like sledgehammers."
Sam chuckled and started taping a fresh bandage in place. "Did she hit you?" He sat back when he was done and braced a hand over his ribs. "Where's my phone?"
Dean went to his bag and grabbed a fresh shirt, pulling it on before he handed his brother his phone. "Who you callin'?"
"Who do you think?" Sam dialed and put the phone to his ear.
"Bobby's morgue. You stab 'em, we slab 'em."
Sam grinned at Bobby's voice. "Hey, Bobby."
"Sam, son. How you boys doin'? Dean's shoulder still a hot mess?"
"Uh, yeah." Sam glanced up at his brother and shook his head fondly. "Look, we've got a problem here. Our simple ghost hunt may not be a ghost."
"Gimme what'cha got."
Dean listened to his brother fill Bobby in on the case so far while he checked to make sure the door and the windows were securely closed. He didn't want a repeat of earlier. Nothing was going to get in and attack them again if he could help it. "Tell him that damn cloth repaired itself after I sliced it up too."
"You hear that?" Sam asked into the phone.
"Well, holy shit." Bobby's voice breathed in surprise.
"Bobby, you know what it is?" Sam waited, listening to papers rustle on the other end of the line.
"I've only seen one once before and that was twenty damn years ago."
"Hang on." Sam put the phone on speaker and set it on the table, giving Dean a nod to pay attention. "Go on, Bobby."
"Sounds like what you're dealin' with is a Tsukumogami."
"A suki-what?" Dean leaned over the phone on the table. "Just tell me how to gank the thing before it comes after us again."
"Keep your pantyhose on. Tsukumogami are a type of yokai. They're objects, like tea pots and crap, that have been around for over a hundred years and gain their own souls. They're really damn rare these days. Think what you boys have found is an ittan-momen. And lem'me tell ya how rare THOSE are."
"Ok, never mind the screwy Japanese words." Dean rolled his eyes. "How do we fight this thing?"
"You lay it to rest. There's a ritual. It's called a Jinja ceremony. Basically, you're consoling the thing and it'll go dormant after that. Then you can destroy it. Since you're after an ittan-momen, I'd suggest burnin' it after the ceremony. Those things are the worst of the bunch. Damn vicious."
"Yeah. We noticed," Sam said ruefully, rubbing a hand over his aching throat. "Send me the ritual."
"You two watch your backs with this thing. You're gonna have to trap it for the ritual, and there ain't no easy way to do that."
"So these things get souls and turn Christine?" Dean rolled his eyes. "What the hell's up with that?"
"Not all of 'em. Not even most of 'em. Just the ones that get discarded and are honked off about it."
"Great. Our killer sheet has separation anxiety. And we have to CONSOLE it? This sounds nuts even in our line of work." Dean shook his head and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He turned the problem over in his mind and went to the window to look out while Sam talked with Bobby about the ritual. He twitched the curtain aside and looked out into the parking lot. He scanned the night darkened lot and the street beyond but saw no sign of the killer cloth. He didn't trust it. The thing seemed determined to kill them now. "Wonder why it's got such a hard on for us?"
Sam put his phone in his pocket and pulled his email up on the laptop with a snort. "I threw it in the trash can when we were at the house the first time. I remember now. I was looking at the crates and I pulled out this wad of packing cloth and tossed it into the trash." He looked over and smiled sadly at his brother. "And then you cut it off me. So yeah, we kinda pissed it off."
"Great. Alright. We need a way to do this that isn't gonna get us dead." Dean looked around the room. He grabbed the weapons bag off the floor and set it on his bed as he mentally sifted through the inventory. He was, frankly, a little nervous to even open the room door to go out to the car. Somehow, he knew the Tsukumogami was waiting for them out there.
"I've got the ritual." Sam tapped the laptop screen and quickly read through it. "It's not even that long which is comforting. We need holy water. Got that." He picked up the bottle he'd set on the table. "Uh, candles; three of them."
"Yeah. Yeah. Lucky us I tossed a pack of emergency candles in here the other day." Dean pulled the package of six, thin white candles out of the side pocket of the bag and tossed them to his brother. "Ok, what else?"
"That's it, really. But, uh…" Sam sighed and gave a stiff shrug in deference to his damaged ribs. "I need the omamori charm from the trunk."
Dean frowned. "The wha'?"
"It's that red cloth, tag-looking thing dad kept in the box in the back." Sam smirked. "You always said it looked like he swiped it off a Chinatown Christmas tree."
"Crap." Dean groaned and went to the door. "Must have it or just want it?"
Sam shook his head. "Must have. It's a requirement for the ceremony. I have to wear it."
Dean dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment then took a deep breath. "Right. Ok." He took his keys out of his pocket and took hold of the doorknob.
"Maybe it's gone off somewhere," Sam offered but he didn't believe it.
"Nope. That bitch is still out there. I know it." Dean rolled out his aching shoulder and looked back at Sam. "Here goes nothin'." He yanked the door open and quickly slammed it closed behind him. Dean didn't waste time looking for the thing. He ran to the trunk of the Impala and was thankful he had parked almost against the door. A lifetime of practice let him get the key into the lock on the first try, and he wrenched it up, opening the hidden compartment before he risked a look around. The cold breeze still blew stiffly. He couldn't see anything out of place, but he could hear the flapping of cloth from somewhere close by, like someone had left a sheet out on the clothesline. It made his teeth itch.
"Shit." Dean dug into the back of the compartment, looking for the box of small charms at the back. He grinned as his hand closed around it, yanked it out, and slammed the trunk closed only to stare in shock at the rippling, white cloth waiting for him on the roof of the car. "Oh, crap." He saw the motel room door open behind the cloth and his brother's tall form appear, silhouetted in the light. "Sam, get back inside!"
"Run!" Sam ignored his brother and instead used the bottle of holy water once more, flinging arcs of water through the air to splash onto the gleaming black of their car and the rippling cloth. The water had the same effect as before, seeming to enrage it. It twisted upon itself atop the car, and Sam watched his brother duck around the side and sprint for him.
Dean yelped as a tail of cloth whipped out and slapped him hard in the face. He shoved Sam back through the door ahead of him and slammed it closed. He leaned back against it and brought a hand up to his face when he felt something warm and wet drip from his chin. "Shit." He looked at the blood on the end of his fingers and rolled his eyes. "How bad's it?"
"You've had worse." Sam leaned in and brushed some of the blood away from Dean's cheekbone and ignored his brother's hiss of discomfort. "It's not that deep; just bleeding like hell. You alright?"
"I knew that thing was still out there." Dean brushed past his brother and into the bathroom to grab a towel, holding it to his face. He tossed the box to his brother. "Your what's-it better be in there, because we are not goin' back out there until that thing's spittin' sparks and I'm roastin' a damn marshmallow."
Sam gave a soft chuckle and opened the box. He smiled and pulled out the old, red silk talisman. "This is it." He set the box on the bed and untangled the omamori's cord, then hung it around his neck. "How are you gonna keep that thing busy while I do the ceremony?"
Dean tossed his bloody washcloth to the bed and pulled a rolled up, leather bundle out of the weapons bag. He smirked and opened it up, revealing a set of ten throwing knives. "I'm gonna staple that thing to the floor while you do your thing."
Sam blew out a breath and nodded. "Alright. Let's do this." He took the candles Dean had given him and set them on the floor. "Basically, I'm gonna call it in here. It'll have to come, so it's probably going to try and squeeze under the door." He waved an arm at it while he went to look at the ritual on the laptop again.
"Got it." Dean moved and shoved his bed away from the door to give himself room to work. He got down on a knee and set his knives out. "Good thing I sharpened these last week. Kiss our security deposit goodbye after this."
Sam leaned over and grabbed the box from the bed, rifling through it again and sighed in relief when he found a small statue of Buddha inside. He set it in the center of the three candles. "Couple more minutes and, uh…" He rubbed a hand over his head and gave his brother a glare. "No teasing me about this ritual."
Dean quirked a brow at his brother. "You're not gonna have to get naked, right? 'Cause I don't think I can take that."
Sam rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom. "No, jackass. Just be quiet while I do this. A lot of Buddhist ceremonies are about being clean and purifying your heart, body, and mind." He washed his hands quickly in the sink and then filled a plastic cup with water, bringing it back out. "So, you're definitely not doing the ceremony."
Dean snorted a laugh and nodded. "Well, get on with it. I'd like to get sleep sometime tonight."
"Alright." Sam pulled the laptop off the table and knelt down in front of his impromptu altar. He set the cup of water in front of the Buddha statue and the laptop to his left where he could see the screen, then put his hands together, bowing his head. "Hail to the jewel in the lotus flower." He looked up long enough to glare at his brother when Dean snorted loudly. He shook his head and glanced at the laptop and the ritual there. "I take refuge with the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. I practice generosity for all sentient beings and ask an audience of the Jinji." He picked up the cup of water and held it between both his hands in front of the statue. "May this water be clean and dedicated to the Buddha, the Dharma, the Sangha." He paused when they heard a rustling sound against the outside of the door.
Dean picked up two of his knives, one in each hand, and gave his brother a nod to keep going.
Sam swallowed his nerves. "Bless this water so it may nourish and cleanse my body." He lifted the cup and quickly drank down the contents then set it aside. "Give me the vision to see the path of peace for the tsukumogami." He took out a lighter and lit the candles. "I seek an audience for peace." Sam stood and purposefully didn't look at his brother. He knew there was no way Dean wouldn't harass him about the next part. He bowed stiffly and gritted his teeth when his ribs protested the movement. Sam straightened slowly and then clapped twice as loudly as he could. He could hear Dean snicker and then heard a series of thumps against the door as he painfully bowed again. "I petition the kami to commune with me. I offer my thanks to the tsukumogami. I offer my praise for a life long-lived and gratitude for a century of service. Please hear my prayer."
Dean watched Sam straighten and clap again, before bowing stiffly, and shook his head in amusement. He put all his attention on the door instead as the leading edge of the tsukumogami slithered into the room between the floor and the bottom of the door. As Sam clapped again, Dean slammed the point of the first knife down through the cloth and into the floor below, pinning it. He expected the cloth to retreat, as it had the last couple times they'd cut it, but instead it kept shoving itself under the door as though it couldn't stop. Dean grinned. "Keep going!"
Sam had to wrap an arm across his ribs as he bowed a third time and kept his eyes on the cloth and his brother. Dean had four knives stabbed through the fabric into the floor and it kept coming. Sam could almost feel the thing's desperation to get inside the room and reach him. He straightened and clapped again. "We beseech you be at peace." He bowed again and coughed as his ribs shifted. The pain nearly took him to his knees and he fought to stay standing and finish the ritual.
Dean reared back as the last bit of the tsukumogami whipped beneath the door and into the room, narrowly avoiding a strike to the eye. "Son of a bitch! Stay down!" He slammed his last knife through the end to staple it to the floor. Dean backed away as it fought to free itself and stood. "Sammy?" He looked over at his brother and didn't like what he saw. Sam was sheet-white, and Dean could see him fighting to stay on his feet as he broke into Japanese and started chanting softly. "You got this, Sam," he reassured him and went to the duffel on the bed to get the lighter fluid. "You just tell me when."
Sam nodded but stayed where he was, bent over in a low bow, both because he could read the words on his laptop screen better that way and because he wasn't sure he could straighten up again. He struggled not to stumble over the Japanese words and blew out a breath when he finished. He raised his head enough to see the tsukumogami by the door. "Be at peace, kami. You have…" He stopped, coughing and wheezed to catch his breath. "… have earned your rest. We thank you for your serv… service."
Dean watched in surprise as the pile of angry cloth suddenly went still and settled to the floor. He smiled and kicked it curiously with the toe of his boot and was relieved when it didn't move. "Nice." He turned back to his brother and lunged forward to catch him as Sam went to his knees, still in his bowed position. "Whoa! Easy. Take it easy." He lowered Sam to the floor and leaned him against the wall. "You good for a minute?"
Sam nodded and closed his eyes. "M'good. Go torch that thing."
"One BBQ comin' up." Dean patted his brother's shoulder and went back to the door. He knelt and cautiously yanked each knife out of the floor and the tsukumogami. He set them aside and felt his nerves jangle in warning as he gathered the cloth up in a ball. Now that it wasn't trying to kill them, he could feel the soft texture of silk. He pulled open the room door and checked outside, finding that no one had noticed anything. Dean jogged to the end of the building and dropped the cloth in a pile beside the dumpster.
"Happy trails." Dean liberally covered the silk in lighter fluid. He took a book of matches from his pocket, lit them, and dropped them on the pile. He took a step back as flames billowed up and shook his head. "Well, that was weird, even for us."
Sam groaned and managed to lift his head and leaned it back against the wall with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. "Crap," he groaned softly. He took one arm from his chest and placed it on the floor, trying to push himself up and winced, thumping back into the wall as his ribs protested loudly enough to make him see stars.
"Hey. Whoa." Dean tossed the lighter fluid on the nightstand and kicked the door shut. He knelt beside his brother again and took his arm. "Let me do the work."
Sam nodded and let Dean pull him to his feet. "Not… not that bad."
"You're a shit liar, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes fondly and steadied Sam against the wall once he had him standing. He looked at him seriously. "Dude, I think…"
"No hospital." Sam cut his brother off and got his eyes open enough to glare at him. "M'fine."
"Bullshit." Dean considered. He leaned down and listened to Sam's heavy, short breaths. He pulled up his brother's shirt after knocking his arm away and ignored the weak protest. "Shut up and let me look." He checked the bandage wrapping Sam's ribs and nodded, finding it still secure. He leaned back, letting Sam's shirt fall and sighed. "Sorry, Sammy. We're gonna hit up that clinic down the road."
"Dean…"
"You're breathin' for shit and your ribs are wrapped." Dean shook his head. He caught the red, silk talisman still hanging around his brother's neck and lifted it off over his head, tossing it to the bed. "That ain't good and you know it. Come on."
Sam wanted to argue but he didn't have the breath to spare for it, which really meant that his brother was right. He didn't have to like it though. He shuffled along beside Dean back outside and to the car. "Gonna…" Sam worked to catch his breath as Dean leaned him against the Impala and opened the passenger door. "Gonna ask… why…"
Dean snorted. "Why we look like we got our asses handed to us by Andre the Giant?" He chuckled and eased Sam down into the passenger seat. "Don't worry about it. I'll think of something."
Sam sighed, resigned to being mother-henned by his big brother. He placed a steadying hand atop his chest and then frowned. He patted his t-shirt and then put a hand to his neck and his eyes went wide. "Shit!"
"What?" Dean looked over from the driver's seat as he turned the car on and there was outright fear on his brother's face. "Dude, what?"
"It's gone!" Sam sat up straighter, suddenly not feeling his damaged ribs as panic tore through him. "Where'd it go?"
"Where'd what go? Sammy?"
"The charm!" Sam looked over at Dean. His breaths were becoming shorter and shorter and block spots were beginning to crawl across his vision. "The anti-possession… Dean, I can't lose that!"
"Whoa, take it easy!" Dean wrapped a hand around the back of his brother's neck, but Sam was well and truly having a panic attack before his eyes. "Breathe! Come on, buddy. Slow it down! Sam!" Dean caught him as Sam's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head and he slumped over toward the driver's side. "Son of a bitch!" He cupped a hand around Sam's neck and let out a small breath to feel his heart beating. Sam's breathing was still shit though. Dean settled Sam against his shoulder and pulled out of the motel lot quickly. "We're gonna talk about this, kiddo." He listened intently to Sam's labored breathing as he drove and tried not to worry that each breath might be his last. He couldn't stand that thought; not after Dad. "Just hold on."
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Sam watched the buildings of the city go by in a blur and shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. He flicked an annoyed glance at his brother. "Still don't think you had to leave me in there for two days."
Dean snorted and gave a one-armed shrug in deference to his healing shoulder. "You know me, Sammy. Doc says things like you nearly punctured a lung and I get annoyed." He snuck a look at Sam and saw the same tension around his eyes that had been there for a week. It made him hurt knowing his little brother still didn't feel safe in his own skin; that had become especially clear after Sam's panic attack in the car.
"Stop it. I'm fine." Sam rolled his eyes and didn't admit that it was nice to be able to take a breath again without feeling like his chest was going to implode. He smiled when Dean landed a weak excuse for a punch on his shoulder, no doubt being careful not to actually hurt him. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," Dean said cryptically. He grinned at his brother's nervous look and hoped he was making the right call. He nodded to himself; he knew he was.
Sam looked out the window in surprise when Dean pulled up and parked in front of a tattoo parlor. A neon purple and blue sign flashed in the window, and he turned to look at Dean. "Tattoos? What are we doing here?"
Dean turned off the engine and faced his brother. He reached out and plucked the cord of the anti-possession charm from inside Sam's shirt, letting the tiny amulet fall against his chest. "These things fall off, dude. They can get lost, pulled off, torn cord, whatever. We can lose these." He watched his brother's face pale and how Sam's hand covered the amulet protectively. "Got a better idea. Here."
Sam watched Dean pull a paper from inside his jacket, unfold it, and took it when his brother held it out. He looked at the carefully drawn symbol, a larger version of the charm on their amulets, done in black. He ran his fingers lightly over the design and had to swallow hard around a lump of emotion in his throat.
"We're gonna go in there and get this. Bobby gave me the name of this place." Dean smiled. "Lot of hunters come through for ink, and the guy knows how to work holy water and crap into the ink to really up the protection." He took the paper back from Sam's shaking fingers, folding it carefully and patted his shoulder until his brother looked up at him with swimming eyes. "I promise, Sammy. No one's gonna ride you like that again. Not if I can help it." He smiled. "You up for this?"
Sam swallowed again, sniffed, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I… yeah." He opened his door and got out when his brother did, then looked at him. "Dean… thanks."
"Don't mention it. Come on."
Sam smiled and followed him into the tattoo parlor. "Hey, you know this means we're gonna have matching tattoos now. There could be talk."
Dean snorted a laugh and rang the bell on the counter. "Whatever, bitch. As long as everyone knows you're the girl."
"Hey!" Sam slapped the back of his brother's head.
Dean chuckled. "It's the hair, Sammy. You give me five minutes with that mop and some scissors…"
"Touch my hair and die." Sam slapped his brother's hand away from his head with a laugh. He looked down at the little talisman on his chest and let out a breath, a long, slow breath of relief, and finally felt like maybe he could feel safe again. He looked up and caught Dean watching him with a knowing look. He shook his head but couldn't wipe the smile off his face.
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The End.
Next Chapter: U is for Undead
A/N: I realize I've taken a slight liberty with the tattoo timeline but it just fit so beautifully here. We'll call it author prerogative. Lol Shhh.