We're on to chapter 4 now. Some creepy stuff at the end, just so you know. Also thank you all for your lovely feedback (except that some of you are guessing so well the direction I want to take this that I'm starting to worry you're acquiring mind reading abilities :P )Enjoy!
Chapter 4
Dean was sitting in the hospital waiting room, unable to escape the feeling that he was going to jump out of his skin at any moment. Sam had not woken up at all, not while Dean was waiting for the paramedics and not in the ambulance. They were all worried and they would not tell Dean anything. They left him in the waiting room while they worked on Sam, and Dean was sure that if he received no news soon, he would go mad.
"Dean?"
Dean's head snapped up. Harold Lindstrom was standing next to his chair, looking haggard.
"I've heard what happened. You were next to my place? Is that where the thing that killed Andrew was?"
"Looks like it," Dean said. "It was collecting trophies from the victims. We have Andrew's library card."
"Well, what was it? Did you get it?"
Dean shook his head.
"I didn't even see what it was. I don't think Sammy did either. It tripped him down the stairs and then it must have fled the place."
He caught the glint of disappointment in Harold's eyes and he understood the reason behind it. But he could not bring himself to care. All his thoughts and emotions were focused on Sam. He had no room for anything else now.
"How's your brother?" Harold asked. "Not hurt too badly, I hope."
Dean grimaced, remembering Sam lying unmoving at the bottom of those stairs. For a moment he had been sure Sam had not survived the fall. But he had, even though he was in the hospital. Dean could work with that.
"He'll live," was all he said.
Harold eyed him thoughtfully.
"Anything I can do to help?"
"There is, actually," Dean said. "Stay away from that house."
He noticed Harold's minute flinch and knew he had guessed right – Harold had been thinking of acting out some revenge fantasy that was only going to get him killed.
"Listen," he said soberly. "Whatever this thing is, it's been around for a long time and it's experienced. Sam's a damn fine Hunter and it blindsided him. You're a civilian, Harold. What do you think it's going to do to you?"
Harold scowled.
"So, just sit back and let the experts handle it, right?"
Dean shrugged.
"That's why you called us, isn't it?" He noticed Sam's doctor and was out of his chair in an instant. "Excuse me," he added distractedly.
Dean met the doctor halfway. He was searching the elderly man's face for any signs of concern. However, he looked relaxed. Dean allowed himself to breathe more easily.
"How's my brother, Doc?" he asked, not giving the other a chance to greet him first.
The doctor smiled indulgently.
"Well, he managed to rebreak his wrist, which really wasn't ideal. He was already in for a long recovery. Now it's gonna be longer. You can let him know he's added an extra two weeks at least on that cast."
Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was going to love that. He had already been treating that cast as if it was his mortal enemy.
"How is he otherwise, though?"
The doctor sobered up.
"Damn lucky. He got away with a broken wrist and a few scrapes and bruises. He could have broken his neck."
Dean gulped. He had known that since the beginning. He just did not need the doctor's confirmation to add to his nightmares.
"That property is unsafe, I always said it," the doctor added. "You can tell the owners that if they want to put it to good use they should bring the whole damn thing to the ground not restore it. And tell that brother of yours he had no business being on those steps with an already broken wrist. He must have seen they were unsafe."
"Sam's a bit too stubborn for his own good," Dean commented. "Can I see him?"
The doctor nodded.
"You can do better. You can take him off my hands once he wakes. Something tells me he's gonna be a lousy patient."
Dean snorted.
"You can say that again. Don't worry, Doc. Once he's up, I'll take him home."
He made to head for Sam's room.
"One more thing," the doctor said. "How's your brother sleeping?"
Dean stopped in his tracks.
"He's been through some stuff," he said neutrally. "We've recently lost our Dad, so yeah, he's been pushing himself too hard to take his mind off things."
Dean hated the compassion in the doctor's face. It made John's loss more real.
"You too, I'm sure," the doctor remarked, his tone softening.
Dean glared at him, unwilling to give him anything.
"I'm not the one in the hospital bed, doc."
"But you could be. Look, all I'm saying is…cut yourselves some slack, boys. Take care of each other."
Dean turned without sparing the doctor another word. Later, he would remember the elderly man and wonder if he had not experienced that kind of loss himself when he was young. He had not said take care of yourselves as most would have told him but take care of each other. It was as if he had known that, in such instances, you needed someone else to pull you from the abyss.
xxxXXXxxxxx
The world was all darkness and fog. Sam felt as if he was stuck in a muddy swamp, his thoughts muddled and confused. There was a sense of danger and fear, but even that was muffled, remote, not really belonging to him. Slowly, though, he was returning to reality, and he had a feeling he would not like it.
He tried to move and take stock of himself, but any kind of shifting felt difficult, as if he wasn't fully in control of his own body. Then, he felt a hand settle on his chest. A vague, unexplainable terror seized him and he flinched, his eyes snapping open.
"Hey!" Dean said holding both arms in front of him to show he was not a threat. "Ease up there, tough guy. You're too beat up to wake up swinging."
Sam frowned, puzzled. He was still in that deep state of drug-fueled confusion just after waking up, and he hardly remembered his own name. He had no difficulty putting a name to the person who was with him, though, since recognizing is brother's presence was more instinct than anything.
"Dean?" he asked uncertainly.
His brother responded with a broad grin. Sam knew Dean did not smile at him like that unless he was trying to mask his concern.
"Why are we in the hospital?" Sam asked.
Dean's mouth thinned.
"Well, Sammy, that's what happens when you decide to take a tumble down the stairs straight into a crappy basement."
Sam frowned. He tried to remember more, but all he had was fog and an unexplainable terror that almost did not feel like it belonged to him. All his memories had the quality of an uncertain dream.
"There was something in that basement. I remember that."
Dean nodded.
"Probably what flung you down the stairs. What was it?"
Sam hesitated. The more he tried to remember, the more his mind seemed to move the memories out of his reach.
"You didn't see it?"
Dean shook his head.
"I heard you call. I was on my way then I heard this crash. You taking a swandive, I later found out. I got there as fast as I could, but there was nothing close by that I could see."
Funny, Sam would have expected Dean to tear the basement to shreds until he found their creature.
"You didn't look for it?" he asked uncertainly.
Dean scoffed.
"Right," he said tightly. "Because I'm apparently the type of brother who's always left you vulnerable and unconscious when you're in need of medical attention to look for a creature I might not even know how to kill."
Sam looked away, slightly ashamed of himself. He had never wanted Dean to think that he fell short of Sam's expectations.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't think it had been that bad."
Dean's own features softened. He patted Sam's shoulder.
"It's not that bad," he said. "Well, you did manage to mess up that wrist again."
Almost unwillingly, Sam' good hand reached for his cast. Dean swatted it instantly.
"Seriously, Sam, you break it a third time I'll tie you to the bed and keep you there."
The sound of a disapproving cough interrupted them. A middle-aged nurse had appeared in the doorway and, by the way she was looking at Dean, she had caught the wrong end of their conversation.
"Young man," she told Sam, striding towards the bed to check his vitals. "You should really be careful about the company you keep."
Sam raised his eyebrows while Dean spluttered something vaguely indignant. The nurse looked Sam over, then nodded curtly.
"So?" Dean asked. "Can I take him home?"
The nurse glared at him.
"If he wants to, he can leave," she said, hinting that Sam could very well stay there if it meant not going with Dean. "Provided you don't tie him to the bed – or break his other arm as well."
"Hey, I didn't break it the first time, either," Dean said, his eyes smoldering.
The nurse left in a huff. Sam rolled his eyes. No doubt there would be a couple of pamphlets on how to escape abusive relationships well-meaningly handed out with his discharge papers. It happened from time to time – they did not go to the hospital except for the really big things, but they were always sporting bruises from their job and it was hard to explain them to civilians. The conclusion wasn't really that far-fetched. When it was Dean hurt and Sam was the target of the nurses' wrath and suspicion, he usually took it in his stride. He and Dean knew the truth and no one else mattered. Dean was different, though. Whenever the nurses thought he was hurting Sam, Dean took it as a personal attack against his self-appointed role as Sam's protector.
"Don't worry about her, Dean," Sam felt the need to say. "She doesn't know you like I do."
He was not really surprised when Dean rolled his eyes.
"How hard did you hit your head?" he quipped. "I should have told them to make the new cast pink to match your girly attitude."
Still, Dean could not completely hide the pleased look on his face. Sam settled more comfortable on the bed. His work was done.
"Get some more rest," Dean told him. "Ellen's picking us up in half an hour."
Sam frowned.
"What about the car?"
Dean was suddenly fascinated by the wall in front of Sam.
"Car's still at the house."
Sam gaped at Dean.
"Let me get this straight. You left your baby out there all alone and unsupervised?"
He faltered when he saw the tightness in Dean's eyes. There was only one reason Dean would neglect his car like that. Sam reached out and patted Dean's arm.
"Thanks,' he said. "I'm sorry."
Dean's eyes lost some of their previous intensity.
"You damn better be sorry," he quipped. "If anything happens to that car, I'm taking it out of your hide."
Of course, because Winchester luck was a thing, the nurse took that very moment to enter the room with Sam's discharge papers. This time, Sam did laugh when he saw the glares she was giving Dean.
xxxXXXXXxxx
Ellen gave Sam strict instructions to go to his room and rest for the day. Sam had tried to grumble, but Dean had backed Ellen up, adding his own brand of overbearing protectiveness. Sam was to spend the day sleeping. No laptop, no research, no focus on the Hunt whatsoever. Dean would go get the Impala, and then he would return and Sam had better be asleep by the time he got back.
"What about Josh?" Sam challenged. "What if, while I'm lying about that thing decides to go finish what it started with Josh?"
"I doubt it," Dean said. "It didn't bother Josh for two nights, maybe it will keep not bothering him. Either way, Ellen has a friend staking out his place."
"A Hunter friend?"
"Of course. Nothing supernatural is getting inside Josh's place without him knowing. And tomorrow, we can pick up where we left off."
Sam finally relented, and it was a testament to how tired he actually was that he did not make more noise. Of course, Dean spent the trip to the house and back wondering if Sam had not only pretended to give in. He got back to the Roadhouse, fully expecting to see Sam hunched over his laptop. He was rather surprised to find him deeply asleep instead. He grinned slightly.
"Glad to see you're finally doing as you're told," he muttered.
He had noticed Sam relaxing even further at the sound of his voice, as if he subconsciously knew Dean was there now and felt much safer because of it. The thought was humbling and terrifying – and it warmed Dean more than he would have thought possible.
It was still early, so Dean decided he might as well make himself useful while Sam slept. He had the list Ash gave him of the previous victims. It was time to make some calls.
Three hours later, Dean had a pattern built up for the attacks. He checked his notes, grinning proudly. He could not wait to show Sam in the morning. Now all he had to do was figure out what the thing was. But he could do it next morning, or, at least, he could have Sam do all the heavy lifting. Dean woke Sam briefly to have him eat something, then they both settled for the night. It had been a long day and Dean was feeling exhausted. As he was falling asleep, he frowned slightly. It was getting cold in the room. Perhaps Sam had opened a window while he had been away. In any case, he was too comfortable to move. If Sam woke up from the cold, he could close his own windows. It was the last thought before falling into a deep sleep.
xxxXXXXxxxx
Harold knew what he was doing was not exactly smart. He was going against their instructions, and Dean had been right about one thing. They were the ones who knew how to deal with the supernatural. He didn't. If Ellen found out what he was doing, she'd probably chew him a few. She was definitely expecting him to step aside and let her experts handle things. But her experts had already faced this thing and failed. Harold did not hold it against them. He was smart enough to know that failures happened even to the best. But the truth was he wanted to try himself. He knew where Andrew's killer was holed up. And he wanted a chance to take his own revenge.
Harold stepped inside the house, flashlight in hand. He did not bother going upstairs into the bedroom. Sam had been attacked in the basement, which meant that had to be a lair of some sort. He descended the steps carefully, slightly surprised that nothing came to fling him down.
He was down in the basement when he thought he spotted something in the corner. He got closer to have a better look…
"What the hell?" he muttered, terror griping him as he realized what he was seeing.
It was the eyes that got him, that cold, unblinking stare that seemed to see inside the secret corners of Harold's soul. They paralyzed him. He dropped the shotgun he had been carrying, thinking belatedly that it would not have worked anyway. The creature pounced. His last thought was that he should have listened to Dean. He should not have gone to the empty house alone.
xxxXXXxxxx
She had already fed that evening. The man had waltzed into her lair like some sacrifice. She was not going to give that up. Besides, if he was in league with the Hunters, she had to take care of him before he said something that might give her away.
There was no need for her to feed again. But the Roadhouse and her victim there called to her. He would be vulnerable, she thought. More prone to her nightmares, more likely to give in. Not too much, she told herself. She would take just a little of what he had to give. It did not do to exhaust such a food source all at once. She would not come by something similar too soon.
She was telling herself it was also practical. She had to find out what they knew about her. She had to see if they had discovered what she was or, worse, if they knew her human identity. They had run into her, but they had not seemed to realize there was more to her than met the eye. Or maybe they had just pretended it was so. Her mother had taught her often that Hunters were good at pretending.
Cautiously, she crept through the window. It was three o'clock and, as usual, everyone seemed to be asleep in their beds. Sam's brother was turned towards Sam, the fingers of his outstretched hand almost brushing the pillow on his brother's bed. An unconscious gesture of protection and once again, she was touched despite herself. Then, she nearly snorted in contempt. Sam could not be protected like this. Not from her.
Sam was sleeping on his back. It was the only way he could sleep with his recently damaged wrist. He looked relaxed this time. Most likely it was the medicine he had been given at the hospital. Well, she thought, he would not be relaxed for much longer. Not while she fed.
She was wearing her true form once more when she climbed on Sam's bed and reached out for him. She extended her clawed hand and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. She could feel the nightmares brimming beneath.
"Give me your dreams," she said.
His eyes snapped open then. He was staring straight at her, terror written on every line of his face. He opened his mouth as if to shout. He would have probably called for Dean, she thought, but, of course, he could not manage it. They never did. They often woke up like this, but they could do nothing to fend her off. And, once she had fed, they would not even remember her.
Uhh…is this a bad time to let you know I might not post next Sunday? I mean, I'll try to get a chapter in, but I'm also getting the second dose of my covid vaccine, so there might be a delay (but even if there is, you won't have to wait until Sunday two weeks from now for the next chapter). I'll have it up as soon as I'm able.