Would you look at that, I actually managed to have a new chapter ready this Sunday, too. Thanks all of you guys for your wonderful reviews and good luck wishes (and even for calling me evil, I guess I deserved that for my previous cliffhanger :p ). Here's chapter 5. Warning for the usual creepiness. Extra warning for any spelling mistakes/other inconsistencies I might have missed. Half of this chapter was written while I was trying to figure out which planet I was on, plus typing one handed. I went through it extra-carefully today and polished it up, but in case I missed something, sorry about that.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 5
Sam had been having a normal dream for once. It was just the usual run-of-the-mill silliness regular people had who didn't see others get torn up by monsters on a regular basis. True, there was some absurdity in it, and Sam suspected it was because of the pain medication Dean had forced on him before he went to sleep. But it allowed him to actually rest.
Then everything changed. Sam was back at the empty house, and suddenly, something started happening to the walls. They started melting, as if under oppressive heat, and then eyes appeared in them, all fixed on Sam. He tried to draw back, but he was rooted to the spot, unable to move. He watched in horror as clawed hands reached out for him from the floor. He tried to gasp, but breathing was suddenly too difficult, as if something was trying to suffocate him. He felt something touch his head and knew with dreadful certainty that this was no longer in the dream.
His eyes snapped open. And then he saw it, the thing, it couldn't have been bigger than a medium-sized dog, but it definitely looked far stronger. Its eyes were red, its limbs long and thin. It was glaring at Sam as it stood on his chest, its weight making him light-headed.
Sam tried to move away and dislodge the creature, but his limbs felt like lead. It was almost as if his body no longer belonged to him. He opened his mouth to call for Dean, but no sound would come out, as if something was inside him, preventing him from speaking.
All the while, the creature was staring straight into his eyes. It felt like it held Sam in a spell, like that was the reason why Sam could not move. It felt as if Sam belonged entirely to the creature, and would be unable to do anything or be anything without its approval.
Then the thing lifted its long hand and clutched his shoulder. It was a familiar gesture, something Dean had done often when trying to calm Sam down or comfort him. This time, however, it was a parody of his brother's touch, an attempt at empathy from something which could not understand what that meant. Sam felt sick.
Something was happening to him. The world was drifting further and further away from him. His eyelids were getting heavier. Sam fought to keep them open. He was already helpless, unable to move. He did not want to lose consciousness with that thing sitting on top of him. He did not want to offer himself up as prey so easily. He tried again to move, but the effort only intensified his dizziness.
He drifted away in a world of sharp claws and red eyes.
xxxxXXXXxxx
Sam gasped awake to find the world bathed in sunlight. He was still shivering from some terror he could not define yet. Dean was leaning above him, looking contrite.
"Sorry about that," he said. "Shouldn't have woken you like that."
"Like what?" Sam asked, frowning in confusion.
He noticed the feather in Dean's hand – probably taken from one of the pillows - and realized his brother must have been tickling him under his nose to wake him up. He scowled.
"Dude, I swear, sometimes it's like living with a little kid."
"Hey, I know all about that," Dean retorted. "After all, I've lived with you all my life. Anyway, I let you sleep in. I would have let you sleep some more, but Ellen wants us downstairs. It's got to do with the case."
Sam sat up or, at least, he tried to. His limbs felt heavy and his movements were sluggish, like his body did not belong entirely to him. There was a weakness that seemed more than the injury from the day before, and there was a lingering terror in the back of his mind. Something had happened. Or, at least, he thought so.
"Hey Dean, how did you sleep last night?"
Dean seemed slightly surprised by the question and Sam could not blame him. They did not usually go for this kind of pleasantries.
"You mean apart from the fact that you forgot the window open and it was colder than hell in here?"
Sam glanced at the window, that was still hanging open.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I must have forgotten I opened it."
He rubbed his forehead trying to drive away some of the dizziness. He could not understand why he felt so tired, he usually woke up quicker than that. When Sam let his hand drop and looked up he noticed Dean frowning at him, unable to hide his concern.
"Sam?" Dean asked cautiously. "What's wrong?"
Sam shook his head, frightened by the confusion fogging his mind.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I…I had really weird dreams, I think."
Come to think of it, Sam realized that he actually could not remember his dreams. There was this vague unsettling feeling that he could not let go, and that was the reason why he felt the need to mention his dreams to Dean in the first place. He half-expected one of Dean's usual quips and was surprised and vaguely unnerved to see his brother regarding him with an intensity that spoke of his concern.
When Dean reached out and touched his forehead, Sam froze confused.
"Uhh…what are you doing?" he asked uncertainly.
Dean was inspecting him like he was some specimen under a microscope and Sam had no idea what he had done to warrant that.
"There's a scratch on the side of your head," Dean said, pressing against it slightly.
Sam winced and made to slap Dean's hand away.
"And what gives you the right to mess with it anyway?"
Dean's face remained grave.
"It was not there when I took you to the hospital. In fact, I'm ready to swear it wasn't there this evening, either."
Sam shrugged, not seeing that much of a big deal. There were plenty of explanations for why the scratch was there.
"I must have scratched myself in my sleep," he said dismissively. "It happens."
The look on Dean's face said clearly that things like this did not have normal explanations when it came to them.
"Roll up your shirt, Sam," he ordered.
Sam scowled at him.
"Why the hell would you ask me to do that?"
But Dean was in one of his moods when he refused to accept Sam's evasion tactics and pushed Sam around until he listened. There was no way he was going to let this go, and Sam preferred he complied now while it was still the two of them instead of risk having Ellen, or worse, Jo, barge in to see why they were late coming down. Shaking his head and muttering the world "ridiculous" several times because he needed to have the last word even when he followed Dean's instructions, Sam rolled up his shirt.
He knew immediately by the darkness in Dean's eyes that something was wrong. Looking down, Sam spotted the bruise on his chest. It was nothing bad and he could have sustained it during yesterday's fall. But it was a common pattern in the victims of their hunt, so he would be a fool to ignore it.
"Dean," he said shakily. "I swear I don't know how I got that."
Dean's features softened. He reached out and patted Sam's shoulder.
"It could be nothing, Sammy," he said, and Sam was sure he did not believe it himself. "But even if it is, we'll get a handle on this."
How? Sam wanted to ask. He did not even know what this was. He wracked his brains, but he could not remember anything. He knew there was something, but he could not remember anything but the unease that came with the sensation that he had encountered something dangerous.
The door opened and Ellen burst in. She looked from one to the other.
"I thought you boys would be down by now," she said. "I told you there's been a development."
"Yeah, I think we just figured out a development ourselves," Dean said tightly. "That thing's coming for Sam. I thought this Roadhouse of yours was protected."
Ellen bristled at Dean's accusing tone.
"Don't start that with me, boy. The Roadhouse is protected. Every trap and sigil I can think of is here. Whatever it is must be finding some way around." Her tone softened as she looked at Sam. "How're you feeling, son?"
Sam shrugged, as always uncomfortable at being the center of attention.
"More confused than anything, actually. I don't remember anything. You said you have something to tell us?" he added, eager to have to attention shifted from him to something else.
Ellen's features hardened.
"Harold Lindstrom is dead," she announced. "He was found this morning."
"He die in his sleep?" Dean asked tightly.
"He died at the house where Sam was attacked," Ellen replied.
Dean swore.
"I told him to stay away from that place."
Ellen shook her head.
"Harold wasn't the kind who did what he was told. He went to the house and he was attacked, some time last night. My guess is, before the attack on Sam. Our friend's been busy. The good news is, nothing seemed to have gotten Josh."
Sam glanced uneasily at Dean. By the look on his brother's face, he was not in the mood to be reminded that the thing that had apparently spent part of the night hurting Sam could have gone to hurt somebody else instead. Of course he was duty bound to protect Josh. But the need to keep Sam safe went much deeper than any duty.
"How about we head downstairs to the bar?" Sam said, deciding a change in subject was called for. "We can all put together what we've got so far."
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Sam and Dean had relocated downstairs. Ellen was sitting at their table and Jo was puttering around the counter, pretending to be subtle, but obviously listening to every word they were saying. Sam was buried in his laptop, trying at the same time to struggle with the huge plate of bacon and eggs Ellen and Dean had thrust upon him. He did not have the heart to tell them he had no appetite at all. He was sure anyway that, as far as Dean was concerned, it did not matter. Dean would sit on him and force feed him if he refused to eat.
Dean was explaining the pattern he had managed to figure out from Ash's information, and Sam had to admit he was impressed. It was not that he doubted Dean's skills. A lot of Sam's research methods had been learned from Dean, even though Sam did not want to admit that and Dean would not want to hear it. But it was times like these when Sam realized just how fast his brother's mind worked and he was filled with that age-old admiration that he had never quite shaken off.
"So, there have definitely been attacks like this before?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded.
"It's almost like some kind of epidemic, really, only very few people have managed to find a connection. One of the reasons being that they never happen in the same town. Also, there's a hiatus between the cluster of deaths from one town and the next. Sometimes, it lasts up to ten years. This one has a shorter rest period, though. The last attacks were two years ago, in a small town about two miles from here."
"It's getting bolder," Ellen deduced.
"Maybe," Dean accepted. "But I found something else. If you look at the earlier cluster of deaths, you notice that there were sometimes up to ten or twenty victims. Few similarities between them, though, which is probably why no one had any doubt this was anything other than natural causes."
"And now things are changing," Sam said.
"Yeah, they are. There are fewer victims in each cluster and most of those had some kind of similarity between them."
"That's weird," Ellen commented. "It's eating more often, but it's eating less."
"What if it used to be more than one?" Dean pointed out. "What if that explains the large number of victims and the discrepancies between them?"
"What happened to the rest, then?" Ellen asked.
"Hunters," Sam guessed. "If the regular authorities missed a pattern in the deaths, I'm betting Hunters managed to find one."
Dean nodded towards Sam.
"That's my guess also. Maybe Hunters picked them up one by one, until there was only one of those things left."
"And now it's alone and desperate," Sam added. "It doesn't care anymore about not drawing attention. It picks up its victims one by one, killing Harold and coming after me, even though it must know this is a Hunter's place."
"That's some desperation," Ellen remarked, eying Sam with narrowed eyes. "I wonder if it would risk so much for just anybody."
Sam felt something weighted in the way Ellen was looking at him. Immediately his defenses were up.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Yeah, Ellen," Dean cut in. "I'm just as curious as Sam to know what you're driving at."
Ellen made an impatient gesture, cutting Dean short. Her attention was fixed on Sam.
"How did you know to look into that house, Sam? There was no indication you would find anything there. After all, Josh lives on the other side of the town and there are no empty houses there."
Sam hesitated. In truth, he had no answer to that. Just a hunch and he had no idea how he had come to reach that conclusion.
"I was watching the house from Andrew's window," he remembered. "I thought for a bit something seemed odd."
"Odd?" Ellen repeated.
Sam shrugged. The conversation was making him more and more uncomfortable. Dean and Ellen were both fixing him with their stares and Sam was suddenly feeling trapped. He had the irrational urge to escape somewhere neither of them could find them.
"I thought I saw something," he admitted. "But when I called Dean to come have a look here was nothing there. I thought I'd imagined it, but I couldn't let it go."
Ellen nodded, as if she had expected this explanation.
"It's safe to say that something saw you then and liked what it saw – badly enough to risk coming here."
"Fine," Dean said. "Case closed. That's how it got to Sam. What of it?"
Ellen cast him an irritated look.
"Have you ever wondered why Sam? Why it's so desperate to get to Sam? If it is the last of its kind, if it has been chased by Hunters before, what does Sam have to make such a risky situation worth it?"
Dean looked calm, but there was something on his face that showed he was starting to hate this conversation.
"Ellen," he began warningly, but Sam shook his head.
"No, Ellen, please go on," he said, and he was surprised how calm he managed to keep his voice. "Do go on. You think I have something that attracts that thing? My visions maybe? Whatever other psychic powers I might have?"
"Sam…" Dean said, but Sam only had eyes for Ellen, who was suddenly looking hesitant to go on.
Sam had no idea how long they stood like that, but it felt as if he was on trial. Dean was tense and nervous beside him while Ellen looked regretful, but determined. Jo had stopped pretending she was working and was leaning against the counter listening to them. Sam did not turn to look at her. He did not want to see the expression on her face.
"We know how it is with supernatural beings," Ellen said at length. "They are drawn to each other."
Sam had always known Ellen was trying to say something like that. He did not know why he felt so cold to hear it, though, as if that acknowledgment made him irredeemable. He pushed himself up, clutching the laptop.
"Right," he said coldly. "Thanks for that. I'll be in my room."
He took the laptop and left, not looking back. Ellen shook her head.
"Sam," she began, but Sam acted as if he could not hear her.
"I'll be in my room," he repeated. "Thanks for breakfast."
Ellen turned to Dean who was fixing her with a cold stare.
"Dean, I know how it sounded like to him, but that's not how I meant it."
Dean's features did not soften. He shook his head.
"Ellen, for a year I've been trying to convince Sam there's nothing wrong with him. And because of people like you, it's one step forward ten steps back. It's why I didn't want to tell you anything."
Ellen frowned.
"That's too big of a secret to keep only to yourself, boy. What Sam is…"
Dean slammed his hand against the table.
"Sam's Sam," he snapped. "That's the only thing he is."
Ellen lowered her eyes.
"I know that, Dean. But if whatever he has is somehow drawing supernatural creatures towards him..."
Dean stood up, pushing the chair away.
"Then you let me deal with that," he said firmly. "What you don't do is go putting ideas into Sam's head. Sam's not a freak that deserves to be on a Hunter's radar."
Ellen actually looked shocked at that.
"Never said he was, Dean."
"No," Dean said. "But that's what it sounded like to Sam."
He walked out of the bar, not looking at the two. He had a brother to talk some sense into.
XXXXxxxxxXXXX
Sam was sitting hunched over his laptop when Dean walked in. He did not look up, but from the way his hunched shoulders relaxed, it was clear he knew who had just walked in. His good hand was scratching distractedly over his cast.
"Sam…" Dean began warningly and Sam pulled his hand away without looking at his brother.
Dean cleared his throat. He did not know how to do this. He was usually trying his best to act as if Sam's powers did not exist. It was clear, though, that downplaying them after what Ellen had said would not work.
"Look, Sam, what Ellen said…she didn't mean it the way it sounded."
Sam scoffed. He had yet to look up and Dean was starting to think he would have to bring in the big guns if he wanted to get Sam to listen to him.
"I think she meant it exactly how it sounded, Dean," Sam said. "And even if she didn't, it's the truth. You can try all you want, but even you can't deny it."
Dean rounded on him feeling an irrational stab of fury at Sam for insisting on tackling the matter of his psychic episodes, instead of just ignoring them.
"Do you really want the truth, Sam?" he snapped. "The truth is exactly what I told Ellen after you left. The truth is, you're Sam. That's it. That's all there will ever be to it, as far as I'm concerned."
Sam finally looked up to meet Dean's steely gaze. His own eyes had softened and he was smiling slightly, a soft smile he reserved only for the times Dean got his coffee right while making a quip about girly drinks, showing that he recognized well enough Dean's attempts to take care of him, even when they were hidden behind his brother's usual sarcasm.
"You make it sound so simple," Sam said wistfully.
"I'm making it simple," Dean declared. "You should to."
Sam watched Dean's eyes a moment longer, searching for a hint that his brother did not actually mean it. He must have found everything to his satisfaction though. He looked away and pointed to the laptop screen.
"I think I know what we're dealing with here."
Dean nodded encouragingly.
"Oh yeah? What?"
Dean was glad Sam had decided to put behind him the discussion of his freaky powers and concentrate on the case. Of course, knowing Sam, this was going to be just a temporary moratorium. But Dean would take what he could get.
"As I've said, every culture has its own nightmare creatures," Sam began. "From Scandinavia, to Croatia, to everywhere else in Europe. There are even such creatures in Africa legends and Hindu mythologies. The Native Americans have them too…"
Dean raised a hand, not really in the mood to talk about supernatural cross-cultural influence. He would be sure to mention them to Bobby next time they were there and then let him and Sam geek out to their heart's content.
"So which one are we dealing with?" he asked. "Do we even know?"
Sam gave a half nod, typing something on his laptop.
"I think so. I think it's a night hag."
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"What like an old witch?"
Sam gave a non-comittal shrug.
"Not necessarily. They can disguise themselves as old women, true, but that's not their real form. The English had this belief in people with nightmares being "hag ridden", meaning that they were taken over by the hag in their sleep, which resulted in them becoming more and more tired, since they essentially could not get any rest."
Dean raised his eyebrows at that, his lips twitching.
"Hag-ridden?" he repeated. "Are you saying an old woman rode you, Sammy?"
Sam gave him a dark look, the one that said "you're a disappointment and your jokes are a complete disgrace" that he had perfected when he was twelve. Dean snickered. That was one way to clear the air between them. He grew serious once more when Sam rubbed a hand over his face, and Dean noticed just how worn-out he looked.
"You're exhausted, aren't you? Because of this…hag-riding thing."
Sam grimaced.
"Dude, stop calling it that. And yes, I feel drained. I think Hags are from the same family as Strigas to be honest. They too suck out the life force of their victims, only these do it while they're causing their prey terrible nightmares. I don't know why. Probably it tastes better if we've got some adrenaline pumping in our bodies."
Dean's jaw clenched. He did not like the idea that another of those energy-sucking things had latched on to his brother yet again. And Dean had not even been aware of that.
"How does it do it, though? I mean, Andrew was sleeping next to his husband, who apparently did not notice anything. And I didn't wake up at all last night. And none of its victims did, either."
Sam leaned back. He was frowning at the laptop, even though Dean suspected he could no longer see it.
"Actually, I think they did. We did, rather. First, we know it got close to us. Remember that bruise on all of the victims' chests?"
Dean nodded, urging Sam to go on.
"I think I know what causes it. The Hag is said to sit on their victims' chest, essentially paralyzing them. Even if we do wake up, we can't move, we can't speak and we might not even remember. Or, if we do, we just chuck it up as another nightmare."
Dean was staring at Sam in growing horror.
"You woke up last night, didn't you? You saw it."
Sam put his hands on his head, closing his eyes. Suddenly, his head was pounding.
"I don't…Dean, I'm trying to remember, but all I get is a blank. It's like I have some mental block. I know something happened, but I can't remember what."
Sam sounded confused and slightly frightened, in a way Dean had not heard him for a long time. He took a step towards him.
"Sam?" he asked uncertainly.
Sam let his hands drop. Dean did not like the look of utter horror in his brother's face. Sam as rarely willing to acknowledge that he was scared – and now he was letting Dean see just how terrified he was.
"Sammy? What's wrong?"
Sam shook his head as if in a daze. He shuddered suddenly.
"I saw it…it was…" Sam paused and his eyes widened. "Dean I woke up last night and there was this…this thing on my chest and it was looking straight at me, and I couldn't breathe. I tried to call you, but I couldn't speak…I couldn't move at all, Dean!"
Dean wondered if this Hag also had the power to instill terror in its victims, since he had seldom seen Sam so rattled before. Then again, Sam came with a bagful of control issues. Waking up unable to move or speak with something giving him nightmares and leering over him, that would have been an ordeal for anyone. For someone like Sam, it had to be downright traumatizing.
He approached his brother and put a reassuring and on his shoulder, concerned when Sam reached up to clutch it, instead of pushing him away in his usual need to prove his independence. Well, that wasn't good.
"Don't worry, Sammy," he said. "We'll have this figured out in no time."
He wished he could convince himself of it, too.
xxxXXXxxxx
She was back at the house. Not the house that consisted of her hiding place, but the other house, the one she lived in when in human form. She had called her work that morning and insisted that she could not come in. She was not feeling well. She was half-tempted to say she would never come in. After all, she intended to cut her losses from this town pretty soon. She only had one thing left to do.
The Hunter. Sam. She would not leave until she was finished with him. Maybe his brother, too. Or maybe not. Maybe she would leave the brother alive for a while and then catch up with him somewhere else when he was least expecting it. Grief made such sweet-tasting nightmares.
It had taken her a while, but she had finally realized what attacking Sam meant. Her clan had never attacked Hunters. It was too risky. But they had still fallen prey to Hunters, one by one. This was more than a good meal. This was an opportunity for revenge. And she had never been one to spurn opportunities when they were dropped in her path.
The night hag is a supernatural creature often associated with sleep paralysis and nightmares. It's supposed to sit on the sleeper's chest, giving them bad dreams (I honestly could have gone with a lot of things in this story, apparently almost every country's folklore has at least one variation of a creature giving people nightmares).