AN: Kathy, an idea of yours made it into this chapter!
I hope everyone had a nice Father's Day weekend and that nobody got hurt in the tornados that touched down in Michigan and Ohio! (All is well here; the Michigan tornado was well off to the east of me.)
And...cliffie resolution, go.
Edited to fix a number of typos. Ugh. There were a lot.
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Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace
Like sorts inside a dream
Leave the path that led me to that place
Yellow dessert stream
Kashmir by Led Zeppelin
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Sam jerked awake hard enough to hurt. Again. He breathed hard, waiting for the vestiges of panic to fade. Except they didn't, not entirely. He was waiting for a quiet you alright? or feet propped on his bed, or even more humming, anything from the Dean Winchester playbook that said I'm here and it's okay; it was just a dream. But there was only silence.
Still riding the adrenaline rush, Sam pushed himself up on his elbows and made a quick survey of the room and the bathroom beyond. There was a distinct dearth of Dean. Deliberately, Sam fought back the incipient panic attack.
Dean could be using the bathroom down the hall or making a phone call...in the middle of the night...or flirting with the night nurse, or any of a hundred other things. But Sam remembered what had initially sent his pulse skyrocketing and made him jerk awake. He'd been in the middle of a dream where he was trying to set fire to a grave filled with teeming mice and snakes. He'd even known it was a dream, because hovering just outside the reach of his sight was a dark presence, a voyeur to his psyche. The oneiroi crouched in his periphery like a giant crab spider, waiting for him to wander too close.
Sam had been feeling distinctly annoyed by the spiteful watcher. The feeling of unease kept growing, emanating from the darkness. It told him Sam couldn't avoid the magnetite vein forever. It was inevitable that he would be caught again.
Then everything paused. The oneiroi gave the impression that it was sniffing the air like a hound. Sam was suffused with a violent gleefulness, then it was gone so fast he'd smashed into wakefulness. And Dean was missing.
Lingering sleepiness and the fog of medication clouded Sam's mind and he couldn't figure out what could have possessed Dean to leave or where he'd go. Sam moved to stand and fell back onto the bed with a gasp.
Yeah, between the fear and the meds, he was not thinking straight. Standing up unassisted is a terrible and painful idea. He breathed through the pain for a minute, then his eyes fell on the open book on the rolling tray table between the heads of the beds. He pulled the tray to himself, sitting leaning awkwardly back to try to keep pressure off his throbbing hip.
It took too many tries to get the words to make sense.
Nyx is not evil, but true neutral. Oneiroi are perversions that seek to span the gap from dreams to death. Warding and protection...rosemary to keep the dreams at bay...
Dreams away. "Rosemary is for remembrance," Sam thought, his mind drifting to Jess in a white nightgown, handing out wildflowers to ensure she wasn't forgotten. "Lay her on the earth, and from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets spring!"
No, no, he was awake now. And Dean needed him. The thought quickly grounded Sam, and he leaned forward, letting the pain sharpen his focus. There was rosemary in the car and Dean I'm-fine Winchester had probably decided that a broken ankle was no obstacle to something that could potentially help Sam.
And now...was it possible the oneiroi really had its hands on Dean? It was thrilled. Dean was gone. And as Dad had often said, "a coincidence just means you haven't found the connection yet."
No, Dean was in trouble, and Sam was going to find him. He didn't see any slippers, but at least he was in scrubs and not a gown. Sam pulled his feet up and slid them off the other side of the bed, gauging the distance to the door. Doable.
Sam rose in one more or less graceful motion and lurched to the door in a not graceful motion. If he leaned on the wall and favored his bad side, it wasn't too bad. Sam opened the door, keeping a death grip on the frame. Far to his right was the nurse's station, currently unoccupied if his iffy vision was telling him the truth. Just to his left was a stairway door. Instinct and familiarity drew him left. How many hospitals had they left via a back stairway?
Through that door, Sam surveyed his next and biggest obstacle so far. Stairs. Thankfully, if Dean was heading for the car, his baby, he'd have to head down. Sam just wasn't capable of up.
Clutching the rail with both hands, Sam hopped down the first step. He winced at the jar and the cold on his bare foot, but he could live with it. It was not, however, very fun. He was shaking and panting by the time he reached the bottom. And despite the light hospital clothes, his hair was wet with sweat.
What the hell am I doing, he asked himself, but it was way too late to just go to the nurse's desk instead. Besides, something was pulling at him, practically screaming that Dean was in trouble. Then he saw a binder propping the door open and forget his reservations. Dean had come this way. And he had a vague memory of Dean saying, promising, that he'd be right back. This had been a lot longer than right back.
Sam let his weight push the door open, leaning heavily on it. He saw the car immediately. A writhing shadow loomed near it, hunched over --
"Get away from him!" demanded Sam in a voice he didn't recognize. He threw the binder he didn't remember grabbing and it bounced off the oneiroi, which recoiled. Sam was shuffling forward as fast as he could, pain forgotten. He went down onto his hands and good knee, not really feeling that either. He blindly threw a crutch in the general direction of the monster, which made its nauseating gurgle sound.
Sam didn't care if it sang Hello Dolly. He was at Dean's side and rolling him and checking his pulse -- galloping, but there. There was blood on Dean's face, but unarmed and up against the gleeful menace of the roiling, oily oneiroi, that was all Sam needed to know for the moment.
Sam pulled the car keys from Dean's slack hand and moved. Later, he could never have told you how he did any of it: got the car unlocked and the closest door opened, dragged himself and his brother across the back seat, and pulled the door shut behind them.
The next time Sam breathed, his back was against the rear passenger door with his left leg stretched along the seat and his right foot on top of the weapons bag, which sat on the floor behind the driver's seat. He had Dean huddled awkwardly against his chest, head lolling on Sam's shoulder. Sam was gripping Dean's tshirt so hard his fingertips were tingling.
Sam had no reason to think they were much better off here than outside, except that they were protected from animals if the oneiroi stuck with its earlier playbook. But the Impala had represented safety and home for Sam for so long that he'd reacted instinctively.
Panting with fear and adrenaline and there it was stabbing pain, Sam took stock. For just a second, Sam closed his eyes and let his forehead fall again Dean's head, realizing belatedly that one or both of them were trembling.
"How about you wake up and tell me what a stupid plan this was, huh? That the car frame is steel, not iron, and there's nothing to stop the oneiroi from breaking in?" asked Sam with a watery chuckle. "And while you're at it, explain what the hell made you think you should sneak out the back door instead of waiting until Bobby and Irv toasted it."
Sam lifted his head and looked at the inky black form that caressed the car window teasingly. It had Dean caught in its dreams and both men trapped like treed raccoons. Bobby wouldn't be done for hours, and if someone from the hospital came looking for the Winchesters, they'd just be in danger too.
Besides, Sam could just feel the oneiroi's satisfaction. It wanted them now, badly enough to lie in wait, to forget its normal cowardice. It loved trapped prey, and it wanted to toy with them. He could feel it exerting pressure on his mind, wanting him to fear.
Sam's mind raced. He was shaking hard enough that Dean's head bobbed against his shoulder, remembered fear clouding his mind. Except, he wasn't alone this time. And he knew more than he had before. And the monster probably couldn't hold them both at once, or it would never have released Grace.
Sam made himself unpeel his right hand from Dean's shirt. With his right foot, he pushed the weapons bag toward his hand. The bag got stuck against Dean's legs, forcing Sam to bend forward to snag it. The pain in his hip spiked enough to make his vision double briefly. Sam held his breath, tightened his abs, and managed to lift the bag over Dean with just his arm. He was panting again by the time the bag was on the floor on the passenger's side.
Now for a two-pronged attack. He would appeal to Nyx, hoping Bobby decided to do the job early, and he would also give Dean something positive to help him get out of the Hadean landscape in his mind.
"Hey, Dean, do you remember when I always wanted to make blanket forts?" He felt blindly under the seat until he found a plastic water bottle. It was empty, but that was okay.
"We were in some hotel room and Dad was gone, and I used all the blankets off the beds and the table and chairs, and convinced you to let me eat lunch in my fort." Sam found a knife and managed to cut the top third of the bottle off. He nicked a finger and put a small slice in the canvas of the bag, but couldn't find it in himself to care about either.
"Except, while you were getting food, I decided it was too dark, so I took a scissors and cut a big square out of one of the blankets to make a door." Sam used his teeth to unscrew the flask of holy water, unwilling to competely let go of Dean for even a second. He sloppily poured a few inches into the water bottle.
It was hardly a stone offering bowl, but that was water for Chaos and salt for Hypnos, or sleep.
"You were mad, but when you put the beds back together, you made sure that blanket was covered by a different one. Dad never did find out." Sam let a drop of blood into the water bottle. Blood for Geras, old age.
"Or, hey, remember when we were at Pastor Jim's and his church was going to host a little petting zoo, with pony rides? I was so excited. Then we had to leave before it happened. I bet I cried about it for 100 miles." Sam had a sudden idea. He wet a non-bloody finger in the flask and drew crosses on the backs of Dean's hands and on his forehead. It had been a longshot, but he still sighed when Dean didn't stir.
"The next time Dad left us with Bobby, you decided we should go into his neighbor's barn for our own little petting zoo. Mrs., uh, Webster? No, Webb." Sam apologetically slipped Dean's silver ring off and dropped it into the bottle too. Silver for Prophecy. But where was he going to get something no longer alive?
"I thought it was amazing, even when her nasty old goose pecked me." Unable to think of anything else, Sam pulled some hairs from his head and dropped them in, too. Something dead for Death. He stretched a long arm to set the repurposed bottle carefully on the front seat. But he drew a blank on the incantation. Dammit! He had to remember, or his work was for nothing.
"There wasn't a pony, so you decided I should ride her goat. Her goat!"
"Wasn't tall 'nough to getcha on her cow." As soft as Dean's voice was, it made Sam startle badly. And it was hands down the greatest thing Sam had ever heard.
"Dean? You okay?" Sam's relief was a living thing.
"Peachy. Oneiroi?"
Pain suddenly shot through Sam's temples, bringing wisps of memories of darkness, and he knew he was being attacked. "Yes," he said tightly.
"Mmph." Dean had sat up slightly, but he slumped back more heavily against Sam again. "Sucks."
"No, no, no, Dean." Sam glanced up and flinched at the sight of the outside of the car. The oneiroi, using either its body or something else black, was slowly covering the windows. Whatever it was, it looked like melting rubber and didn't let even a hint of light through. The window of the door by Sam's feet was completely covered, and the driver's door window more than half. Blackness was beginning to ooze across the rear window too.
Sam was about to order Dean to stay awake, Dad-style when he realized he had something even more efficacious. "Dean, you have to stay awake." He didn't keep his panic or pain out of his voice. "I need you. I need your help, Dean."
Dean straightened as if by magic. "You're hurt."
"It's attacking." Sam's head hurt enough to distract him from his leg, and that was saying something. "Good memories. Good memories help."
There was a pause, and for a second, Sam thought Dean had lost his battle and fallen unconscious again. He should have known better. "Steve. You called that dumb goat Steve."
Sam could have cried in relief. "Yeah, but Mrs. Webb saw us and made me get off because she said I could hurt him because he wasn't really made for riding."
"She. Mrs. Webb have us each a glass of 'Steve's' milk. Then she called Bobby."
The pain in his head receded a little, which was good, because he was trying to follow the conversation and remember the stupid incantation and assess Dean's condition and keep an eye on their captor all at the same time. "He made us do chores the rest of the afternoon to punish us."
Dean snorted, lightly, though he still didn't lift his head. "That's the night you fell asleep in your spaghetti. I don't think you opened your eyes during your entire bath."
"We actually did make it to that community night at Pastor Jim's one year," murmured Sam. Great goddess Nyx...what came next?
"I remember. You should have seen the balloon animal guy's face when you asked for a triceratops. How are you really doing? Is there a reason I'm on your lap?"
The abrupt topic change would have surprised Sam except that he recognized that both the memory and the status report were ways of looking out for Sam. "You first." It was a Winchester rule that if one guy had to help the other get anywhere, the hauler was allowed to demand the first how you doing update from the haulee. "And do you remember that incantation for Nyx? And, uh, remember how much I wanted Pastor Jim to take one of the animals home? The piglet, I think."
Sam thought Dean might balk at the request for a health update, but he didn't. His head turned to watch the ooze moving across the windshield. "That thing's sliming my baby!" He sounded so outraged that Sam nearly smiled. Which was probably the point. "I fell onto my ankle, and I'm seeing two of everything, but my head is starting to hurt less." He stiffened a little. "Mostly."
Dean was probably under attack from the oneiroi, Sam thought, as his own headache had abated slightly. "I always wanted to take animals home."
"Tell me about it. Grasshoppers. A kitten. Some little lizard thing. And yeah, I remember the incantation," Dean added surprisingly. Or not; the words were essentially a weapon. Dean liked to downplay his brain, but he was a savant with weapons of any kind, from guns and blades to wards and incantations, even if he preferred to leave the last to Sam.
"Sammy!" Sam hadn't even realized that he'd been drifting or that Dean was calling until he was jolted. By Dean shaking his shoulder, as it turned out.
Sam blinked and tried to pay attention. The more windows were covered the darker it got, and it would be very, very easy to go to sleep. "Sammy!" Dean had managed to turn sideways enough to put one hand on the side of Sam's neck and the other on his shoulder. "You asked for help, asked me to stay awake and I did. Now you need to help me by staying awake and telling me what's hurting."
That's right. He had asked for that. Sam pried his eyes as wide open as he could and was rewarded by a Dean smile -- a real one. "Sorry," he offered. "It's...attacking me sometimes too. But, uh, I can't move my leg. It's more screwed up." Sam shook his head, tired of the feeling that something was boring its way in. "Can, uh, can you say the incantation slowly so I can repeat it in Latin?" Sam grunted as the pain in his head grew again. He was battling meds and pain and the oneiroi all at the same time, but letting sounds like that slip out wouldn't exactly help get that worried look out of Dean's eyes.
"You remember when we were staying in that shack on the Chatahootchie River? You brought something home multiple times a day, even a snake once." Dean must have recognized that this pain was from the oneiroi. See? Smart. "Hey! Front and center."
"Yes, sir." Sam didn't realize what he'd said until it was out of his mouth.
"Sam, keep your eyes open. You ready for the incantation? You got everything ready?"
"Uh-huh." It occured to Sam that Dean wasn't doing so great either, judging by how little he moved. It was hard to tell in the dark, but his eyes didn't seem to be totally tracking.
"Okay. Pay attention." Dean's quick, unquestioning trust had been one of the things Sam had missed the most when...oops. He was supposed to be paying attention.
"Start over," he directed.
Dean didn't even complain about it. "Great goddess Nyx."
"Deam magnum Nyx," Sam translated, grateful that Latin was so instinctual.
"Accept my offering."
"Accipere munus mihi."
"And grant me leave."
"Et concessa mihi venia."
"To banish your errant child."
"Ut ex dispelle vestris puer errans."
The black nearly covering all of the windows retreated slightly. Sam repeated the incantation again, and again it recoiled. The pressure on his mind faded to almost nothing, then came back with a vengeance.
"W-was that the same place I found my pet turtle?" he asked, needed something to hold onto. He knew Dean would figure out that he'd gone back to the conversation about the Chatahoochie.
"Yup. I can't believe I agreed to let you keep that thing for a while." Sam began muttering the incantation again, willing Dean to keep talking.
"Me either."
""Dude, you were holding it and looked at me all excited and when I didn't answer right away you got his ridiculously sad look and I thought you were gonna cry. I kind of had no choice but to let you keep it." Grudgingly, Dean added, "and it was actually kind of cool. I thought you'd keep it a while and get sick of it and I could let it go before Dad ever found out, like I did with all the snails you caught."
"Dad knew about the snails." Damn, when had he closed his eyes? Sam pried them open again, and it was even harder this time.
Dean looked surprised. Given the differences in their ages, there weren't many things about their childhood that Sam remembered that he didn't. "Really?"
"Yup. He told me not to take them into the house, or leave the bucket in the sun or keep them more than a couple days."
"Huh." Dean processed that. "Guess I didn't need to be so careful to sneak them back to the pond." He shook his head, grinning.
"But he did not find out about Sheldon, even though we kept the box under his bed." Sam was grinning too, though his eyes were barely open.
Dean groaned theatrically, but the smile was in his voice. "Not until he rolled over in his sleep and his hand went into the box Sheldon was in. That's when things got interesting."
"Well, how was I supposed to know he was a snapper?" They laughed softly together.
Sam said the incantation yet again, hoping that it would keep working. This time, Dean said it with him.
"Hey, Sammy, remember your first bar fight?"
Sam tried to remember. "I was...sixteen? And we were eating in a bar that was also a restaurant?" The oneiroi was projecting fury, but it didn't worry Sam as much as it had before, which probably a bad sign.
"Yeah, the bartender told those punks that it was Dad who ratted their little meth cooking enterprise out to the cops." Dad detested drugs and dealers. "So they came at him to rough him up and teach him lesson. He took exception to it, and so did we. I told you to stay out of it, but you were -- you are -- shitty at listening."
Sam was almost too tired to smile. "Like I was gonna stand back while my family was in a fight." He remembered the aftermath, too. Nobody had been left standing except the Winchesters.
They'd had to leave town, but first John had poured each of his boys a whiskey shot and toasted having family to watch your back. Figured it had taken an attack to get Dad and a teenage Sam on the same page, but it was a night that Sam remembered with fond nostalgia. The three of them really did make a hell of a team. "Hey, Dean --"
The oneiroi screeched and coiled in on itself like a taut rubberband released. It was suddenly back in its humanoid shape, this time twisting in apparent pain. Without hesitation and admitted double vision be damned, Dean raised the gun Sam hadn't seen him retrieve and unloaded on the monster, right through the window.
It was deafening within the confines of the car, but they still could hear the scream above shots. Brain stuck firmly in autopilot, Sam somehow recited the incantation one last time.
By the time he finished, his forehead was resting against the back of Dean's shoulder as he was still facing away from Sam holding the gun up.
Sam really hoped that did the job, because he couldn't get his head up or eyes open. And there was no way he could stay awake for one...more...minute...
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AN: The quotes about rosemary and violets are from Shakespeare's Hamlet, the latter referencing Ophelia.
The balloon animal story is something my older son really did when he was three, asking a balloon animal maker for a "twicewatops." I was like, just make a green dog and tell him it's a triceratops and he'll be happy. LOL
The Latin comes from Google translate.
The turtle story is compliments of my fellow Kathy who comments so faithfully.
If you want to see a cool video that helped inspire the "oneiroi tries to eat Baby" scene, check out https colon slash slash youtu dot be slash LcQ3GWpy22Y
Timelady66: Oops. *grin* Lulled you into complacency, did I? I haven't written anything with Cas in far too long. I am impressed beyond measure at you recalling Ophelia's flowers! Kudos to you! *bows in admiration* The nurse should be happy she didn't come out when the oneiroi was trying to swallow Baby, huh? So did this chapter serve as an adequate apology for the completely unexpected whump and cliffie? heh heh
Kathy: Flashbacks and your turtle story! I hope it made you smile! Your comment certainly made me happy, with all of the things you enjoyed in chapter 10. You and I seem to have similar taste and a similar sense of humor too. For example, I love it when Dean can tell that Sam's in the process of waking up. Anyway, hope you survived the cliffie and enjoyed the boys reminiscing and inadvertently cuddling!
Christine: I've never heard that admonition before, but I like it. But no, with me it's never the worst possible thing...my crazy imagination knows no bounds for torturous ideas, and I almost always tone it down for the story. Scary, eh?
stedan: Oh, good...glad you don't mind sappy writeritis. The limit on how many questions can be asked is something that was done to me when I was a kid! And my middle child was (is) just as inquisitive. I am so glad for Google! I'm awfully happy that you like Barb. I hope you enjoy Uncanny Valley, as it's a very different feel from the first one.
supernaturalsammy67: Aw, thanks! Glad the cliffie didn't drive you too crazy. Sammy to the rescue! Sort of. You are just so sweet and supportive that just seeing your username makes me smile.
MewWinx96: Hey, I get it! Life gets busy -- I love seeing comments any time, and am grateful that you took the time, even when busy.
Jenjoremy: I liked Irv and was sad about his ending, so I gave him another appearance! My older son was one who needed tickets so he didn't ask so many questions! Now that he's in high school, he carries a notebook so he can jot down questions to look up later (something he learned from me)! Good call about Sam. But Dean didn't really mean to leave. *snicker*
muffinroo: "Metaphorical salt circle" is going to have to join my lexicon! You should patent these fabulous phrases, but I'm glad you don't because I love to steal them. It seems that Dean also took exception to the monster's claim, so you're probably good, assuming it's dead. You make me smile!
Long live BRUCAS: The nurse is probably lucky she didn't go after Dean just yet! Wonder what she would have thought of the oneiroi...
DearHart: Sorry it took a while! So glad you're reading!