center Chapter Ten /center
Sam was hesitant about leaving Dean's side, but he knew that his brother was right, they needed to dispel this spirit once and for all, before someone else got hurt. If they didn't, if Sam put his personal worry for Dean in front of his duty to kill off this monster, the next victim could very well be Mary Reynolds, or worse, another innocent victim. Sam didn't even want to think about the ghost trying to kill Dean again after figuring out she didn't finish the job. Dean wouldn't be able to handle that again. And neither would Sam. So, Sam had weighed out the options and decided that he'd burn the bones quickly and then get Dean to a hospital. Dean's wounds were worrying him, but the fact that his brother was still conscious and quite able to still boss Sam around told Sam they weren't life threatening.
"Hey, Blaine," Sam called and Blaine popped out of the hole he had dug above Piggy's remains. "Grab that gas can and let's get this over with." Sam kneeled in front of the grave, looking down at the coffin that held the bones. He imagined what it must have been like to be standing there, with kids taunting and teasing. It must have been awful. Sure, Sam felt sorry for her, but that didn't stop the protective rage he felt towards her after she had chosen his brother, of all people, to take revenge on. And Adam Beaumont and Harley Jensen and every other victim she'd killed. Piggy had to go, that's all there was to it.
Sam accepted the gas can from Blaine and set it down at the side of the grave. The both of them jumped down as Conroy walked over to lend support if they needed it. Sam quickly pried the coffin open with his knife and Blaine helped him pull it the rest of the way off. Dust filtered up at them and Sam turned his face away, but looked down to make sure they had the right place. Blaine started coughing and muttered a sickened, "Oh God," before turning and climbing out of the grave. Sam could easily see what had upset him.
The rotted corpse of Piggy was nothing more than a skeleton with skin. She still wore her clothes and the glasses on her face were broken, half hanging off. Her hair, which was white and stringy, stuck to her head with decay and rot. Her jaw hung open in eternal fear. The bottom of the coffin was stained with body rot and the smell of a forty year old corpse wafted up at them. There was a reason they embalmed the bodies of the deceased.
Sam stood, feeling his own stomach do a quick flop of disgust. He forced away the sickness though, knowing he had to focus on what he was about to do. He was about to put Piggy to rest. He threw handfuls of salt onto the body first. Then, grabbing the gas can, he began to pour the gasoline over the remains, making sure to drench every inch of the body. He didn't want to take any chances. And he couldn't help but feel extra vicious towards it knowing that she had been the one to hurt his brother.
When the gas can was empty, Sam climbed out of the grave, the gas fumes mixing with the decay and wafting out behind him. He put a hand over his stomach as another wave of nausea ran through him. But he lifted his eyes and looked over at Dean, reassuring himself that his brother was still there. Dean sat tiredly in the same spot he'd left him. His head was back and he was looking at the sky. Sam knew it would be a while before his brother would be back to normal. Not just physically, but mentally. Of course, he'd pretend to be okay, but Sam guessed that there would be continuing ramifications from this ordeal. He sighed, praying his brother wouldn't shut him out again.
Pulling the matches out of his pocket, Sam turned around, nodding towards Blaine, who was bent over as though he was about to throw up. Blaine took a few steps back from the grave. Conroy moved away as well and headed back behind Sam. The old man looked troubled. "Don't worry," Sam said, tearing one match out of the matchbook. "This will take care of your ghost problem."
Conroy's voice was soft when he asked, "Do you really have to do this?"
Sam, not looking back at the man, struck the match and lit the matchbook. It went up quickly and he walked to stand over the grave. "Unless you want her to kill this entire town," Sam held the matchbook over the grave, but he stopped when he heard Dean pull in a gasp.
"Maybe I do," Conroy's voice had changed. Sam turned, feeling the flame getting closer to his fingers. The whole world seemed to stop as he saw what was happening. He felt like his feet had just been pulled out from beneath him. Conroy was pointing a rather large sized pistol straight at him. Desert Eagle to be exact. Sam didn't rightly care about the heat on his fingers anymore. A gun shot wound would hurt worse. "Throw that away," Conroy ordered. Sam stared at him in disbelief.
"What are you doing?" Blaine demanded. "We need to kill this ghost."
Conroy's lips turned up into a cruel smile. Sam didn't know the man could look cruel. He was like a completely different person. Conroy dipped his head and kept eye contact with Sam. "Now, I didn't spend forty years learning how to bring her back just so you could kill her again."
The words struck Sam hard. Piggy wasn't a ghost, she was a familiar, a spirit that had been conjured by someone. That made sense, that made perfect sense. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of that before. They'd dealt with familiars before, he knew what they were like, what they were capable of. That's why Piggy could move around during the day. That's why she could leave her place of death. Sam looked over at Dean, seeing his brother now struggling to stand up, ever the hero. The pain on his face was evident and he was finding it hard to do without the use of his hands, but he was determined.
"I said throw that away," Conroy growled, his voice growing darker.
Sam looked back at the old man. He should have known. He should have known the minute Conroy said the ghost was taking out the scum of the town. Sam held the burning matchbook over the grave. His fingers wouldn't hold on much longer, the heat was already intense as the flame crept down the matchbook towards his skin. Sam gave another glance at Dean, making eye contact and talking to Dean with his eyes. i I'm sorry, Dean. /i Dean's eyes widened and he began shaking his hand. But Sam had already made up his mind. "Go ahead and shoot me," Sam growled, glaring at the man.
Conroy didn't hesitate to notch the pistol. Sam was ready to let go of the matchbook, his fingers already loosening. But Conroy didn't pull the trigger like Sam had anticipated. No bullet came flying at Sam's head. Instead, to Sam's utter horror, Conroy swung the pistol around, pointing it straight at Dean. Dean froze halfway to a standing position, leaning awkwardly on the tombstone. His eyes were wide, but his face held that recognizable anger Sam was so accustomed to. "I said drop it," Conroy said in a calm tone. "You don't want him to die after you spent so much effort making sure he lived." Sam didn't hesitate a second before he threw the matchbook to the ground, outside the grave. "Put out that fire, son," Conroy said.
Sam grit his teeth and stepped on the burning matchbook, unable to do anything but comply while Conroy had the gun aimed at his brother. There was no way he was going to let his brother die at the hands of some crazy old man after everything they'd just gone through. He didn't like this position they were in. Conroy with a gun aimed at Dean, who was too weak to do anything about it and Sam standing there with no weapons and no way to stop him. He'd been stupid. He'd forgotten the very first lesson his father had ever taught him, keep your weapon with you at all times while on a hunt. This was a hunt, and where were his weapons? Laying useless in a duffle bag way out of Sam's reach. He hadn't thought he'd need them. He'd been so caught up in trying to get to his brother. But he'd never expected Conroy, of all people in this town, to turn on them so suddenly.
"Why are you doing this?" Blaine spat. Sam was wondering the same thing. He glanced at Dean and saw that his brother was moving again, though extremely slow. The movement was bringing a sweat to his face, flustering his cheeks, but Sam saw the look in his eyes. Dean had slipped into hunter mode. Sam would be ready if his brother tried to do anything. He looked back at Conroy, not wanting the old man to catch on.
Conroy let out a cruel laugh. "Because for forty years, I've been trying to prove they killed her. For forty years I tried to get the sheriff, the FBI, anyone to help me prove they'd killed her. But no one could, no one would. And they lost interest. I took it into my own hands. I brought her back, for justice. She deserves that." Conroy's hand started to shake and Sam sucked in his breath. He was afraid the old man would accidentally pull the trigger on his brother.
"Piggy's death was an accident," Sam said, trying to sound calm.
"They murdered her!" Conroy screamed, his hand shaking dangerously. Sam's heart was doing flips inside of his chest. He wanted that gun pointed away from his brother, now. "They murdered my sister and none of them paid for it!" Sam's eyes widened a little at that.
"Piggy was your sister?" Sam asked.
Conroy pointed a finger at Sam, his face fierce with rage. "Her name was Ellie!" But his face softened a little. "She was my baby sister. My whole world. Taken away from me and I couldn't do a thing about it." Conroy's eyes grew distant. "But now she's back. And she's going to get her revenge."
Sam shook his head. "Conroy, that thing you brought back isn't your sister. She's killing innocent people. And she won't stop. Don't do this man, let us put her to rest. Put down the gun."
Conroy shook his head. "No, you're wrong." He sighed and looked at the ground. "She's making the world a better place. Arrogance will be the death of mankind."
It was at that moment when Dean chose to make his move. Sam had caught him out of the corner of his eye. Dean pushed himself off of the tombstone, running forward and sacking Conroy in the midsection. The old man let out a yell, flailing his arms as they went to the ground. The gun went off and Sam heard Blaine grunt behind him. He flinched, but first things first. Sam ran over to the two on the ground. Conroy was getting his bearings straight and Dean didn't look like he could hold him for much longer.
Sam grabbed a hold of Conroy's arm, twisting his wrist until the gun fell away limply. He kicked it away before waiting until Dean edged himself off the man. Sam flipped Conroy onto his stomach, twisting his arm behind him and kneeled down on the small of his back. When he was sure he had Conroy secure, he first turned to Dean, who was panting but gave him a smile, which assured Sam he was fine. Then he turned his head to look at Blaine, remembering the man's grunt when the gun had been fired.
Blaine was still standing, which gave Sam instant relief. He was gripping his arm, blood seeping from between his fingers. He was grimacing, but nodded when Sam looked at him. "You okay?" Sam asked.
"Yeah," Blaine grit out.
A scream suddenly filled the air and Sam was instantly on alert. He looked towards Dean, who looked at him with renewed fear in his eyes. "Sammy, you have to burn that body," he said, breathing hard.
Sam turned to Blaine. "Do you think you can hold him?" Blaine nodded and took Sam's place on top of Conroy, who had started to yell and buck. Sam made sure Blaine had a good hold on him before he let go.
"You can't do this!" Conroy screamed. Sam ignored him, fishing through his pockets for another packet of matches. He was crestfallen when he couldn't find any. He ran to the duffle bag, rummaging through it almost frantically, cursing at himself as he did so. What kind of idiot was he that he only brought one pack of matches? The mistakes were pilling up on each other quickly.
"Sam," Dean called, sounding strained. Sam turned and saw his brother trying to reach into his pocket with his limp right hand. His face was showing the intense pain. Sam quickly went to him, but Dean had already managed to slip the Zippo between two of his fingers and pull it out. Sam winced again at the blood he left on the matchbook and his jeans. "You owe me a lighter," Dean joked. "I just got that one."
"Thanks," Sam clapped his brother on the cheek. Dean just looked exhausted, not even caring that his brother had shown affection in a joking way. Sam got to his feet and hurried to the grave. He flipped the Zippo open and lit it up. But just as he was about to toss it into the grave, he heard Dean yell his name. He didn't have a chance to react as something slammed into his side, sending him flying. He absently noticed that the Zippo had fallen out of his hand, but when his hip slammed into a tombstone and he flipped over it, head hitting the ground before his body completed the aerial, all thoughts of the Zippo and everything else slipped away.
Sam lay stunned for a few moments, the wind knocked out of him. There was a sharp pain throbbing on his right temple and he could feel something sticky start to trickle down the side of his face. Stars were flashing in and out at the corners of his vision, but he concentrated on pushing them away. He slowly started to regain himself, starting to feel the ache creep into his bones. Nothing was broken, he was sure of it, but there'd be plenty of bruising. But as his senses started to come back to him, he could hear the commotion on the other side of the tombstone, which was now blocking his view.
Starting to pick himself gingerly from the ground, he wondered what had hit him. He was still sort of dazed. But when he heard Dean yell his name, he was suddenly alert again. He got to his knees and looked to see what was happening. It was utter chaos. Blaine lay out cold a few feet away from where Sam was. A wind was circling around, leaves and debris caught up in the force of it all. In the middle of the wind barrier, Dean and Conroy were in an intense scuffle. Conroy had gotten hold of the gun again. Dean, through some amazing burst of will and pain tolerance, had his hands wrapped around Conroy's gun hand.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, using the tombstone to help get him to his feet. He started to go to them, but the wind shifted suddenly, instead of swirling, it was plunging at the two on the ground. Sam felt his heart leap into his throat as it slammed into them. Dean let go of Conroy, covering his head and curling in on himself. But it wasn't Dean who screamed out in pain then, it was Conroy.
Sam watched, horrified and confused as the gun was yanked from Conroy's hand, which was crudely bent at an awkward angle with a sharp crack. Conroy let out another scream before a look of utter disbelief came to his face. "No!" he screamed as his body started to be lifted from the ground. "No! I brought you back!" he screamed in terror. Sam watched the old man claw at the grass as he was being dragged across the ground, towards the grave Sam had just removed Dean from. "Ellie! It's me!" Conroy begged. But then his voice turned angry. "I brought you back you bitch!"
Wasting no more time, Sam rushed forward, spotting the Zippo discarded on the ground. As Conroy was dragged inside the grave with one last gut wrenching scream that seemed to echo and bounce all around them, Sam lit the Zippo and tossed it into the grave. Immediately, the screaming transformed itself into a high pitched, ear shattering wail. Sam rushed to his brother, getting down on the ground and covering him with one arm, while protecting himself with the other. The wind around them intensified, threatening to tear them apart before it suddenly burst into a white light and stopped altogether.
Sam looked up slowly, half expecting the thing to attack them again. But a quick glance around showed no sign of the ghost. He looked at Dean, who was looking around too. When Dean was sure he didn't see anything, he laid back and closed his eyes. "God I hate ghosts," he murmured. Then he opened his eyes and glared at the gash on Sam's forehead. "You all right?"
Sam patted him on the shoulder, smiling. "I think I'll live." He turned to see Blaine slowly sitting himself up. He had a good sized lump on his forehead and what was sure to be a black eye soon, not to mention the bullet wound to the arm. But when he saw Sam, he seemed to relax a bit.
"Is it over?" Blaine asked, eyes wide.
Sam looked over to Piggy's grave, seeing the flames still burning, smoke rising away. "Yeah," Sam nodded.
"What about Conroy?" Blaine asked.
Sam's head turned to look at the other dug up grave. Dean lifted his head as well, looking over there. Sam helped him sit up before leaving his side and walking slowly over to see what had become of the man. As he got to the edge of the grave, he put the back of his hand to his mouth at the sight. Conroy lay half in the coffin, half out. His eyes were wide open, staring eternally at his death. Sam knew he was dead without even checking. Conroy's back had been folded the wrong way. "He's gone," Sam said.
Blaine started sputtering and Sam looked at him. "I don't understand. Why'd she attack him?"
That was a good question. Sam's eyes flickered to Dean, who was starting to sag as he sat. Okay, it was time for the hospital. Sam went over to him, wrapping one of Dean's arms around his shoulders and hefting him to his feet. He looked back at Blaine, the answer having come to him. "He was trying to kill Dean." Blaine just looked confused. But Sam couldn't explain it more than that. He didn't know how to explain it more than that. He just knew it was right. Sometimes, these things couldn't be explained. That's what made them supernatural.
"Hey, Sam," Dean said, his voice winded and weak. Sam looked at him, wondering how the hell he was going to get Dean all the way back to the road. He'd carry him if he had to. But he kind of hoped that Dean would be able to walk out of this one.
"Yeah?" Sam asked, shifting his arms around Dean, trying to get him in a better position.
"Do me a favor," Dean said, his half closed eyes drifting to Sam's face.
"Anything," Sam replied urgently, his worry flaring.
"When I die, just cremate my ass," Dean grinned and Sam couldn't help but chuckle a bit, though the thought of Dean dying wasn't a welcome image at the moment. He turned them around, knowing it would be a slow, long journey back to the car and then to the hospital, but his brother would make it.
"We'll worry about that when the time comes," Sam answered before they started their long trek out of the woods.
Two days later, after a trip to the hospital and a good thirteen straight hours of sleep, not to mention a few hours flirting with the nurse, Dean was up and rearing to go. Sam could only comply, itching to get as far away from this town as possible. Turns out, Sam had to get stitches for the gash on his forehead and a gash on his elbow that he had forgotten about. But he could handle a few stitches. Dean had gotten the short end of the stick. One hand was wrapped up in bandages, stitched and fixed and promised to work again perfectly as soon as it healed. The other arm was in a cast, making it hard for Dean to do just about everything and making it even harder for Sam to keep his patience up. There were multiple other wounds on Dean's body, but Dean didn't seem to pay any attention to them.
But now, they were ready to go, and the hospital, minus a few of the nurses, was ready to see them go. Sam stood at the front desk, filling out the release papers. Dean was standing by, looking at his hands in disgust. Sam could only smile. He knew the next few weeks would be interesting until Dean regained the use of his hands. He'd be almost impossible to live with, but Sam felt like he was up to the task. In fact, he was looking forward to it. Dean was at his mercy. Though he would never do anything hurtful, Sam was not going to pass up this golden opportunity to pay his brother back for all the times Sam had been sick and Dean had been the bed Nazi.
Though, Sam knew that he'd have to be gentle for a while, at least. When the nurses had allowed him inside Dean's hospital room while Dean was sedated, he hadn't missed his brother's tossing and turning, nor the soft moans from the nightmares. Sam hoped the nightmares would go away in time. He'd help Dean whatever way he could with that.
"You're all done, Mr. White," the nurse smiled at him.
Turning to his brother, he clapped him on the back and said, "Let's get out of here, gimpy."
Dean scoffed but retorted with, "I could still kick your ass." Sam had no doubt.
They walked out the door and Sam was surprised when they bumped into Blaine the minute they got into the parking garage. Blaine smiled at them, looking happier than Sam had ever seen the man. "Hey!" he said. "I was just coming to say goodbye to you guys."
"You leaving?" Dean asked.
Blaine nodded. "Yeah. Time to move on. I'm going to go stay with some of Adam's friends for a while. They invited me and I couldn't resist. Besides, they got a killer swimming pool."
Sam chuckled and cuffed him on the arm. "Good."
Blaine shifted a little on his feet. "So, the police are declaring the case closed. They're pinning it on Conroy. I think they just didn't want to deal with it anymore."
"I bet," Sam smiled.
"Hey," Dean said and without thinking reached for his pocket. He stopped when he realized it would get him nowhere. But Sam had already picked up on what Dean had in mind. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a pen.
"Here," he said, taking one of Blaine's hands and writing down their phone number on it. "If you need anything, give us a call."
Blaine smiled at them. "Thanks." He looked over at Dean, who looked frustrated that he couldn't do anything. "I had your car brought up here," he said.
Sam turned to see his brother's face light up. "You did?" he asked.
"Yeah," Blaine nodded and pointed behind Dean. "Right over there."
Dean turned and gave out a sound of pleasure. "Oh, my baby," he sighed out. "Daddy's home."
Sam and Blaine shared a chuckle as Dean walked towards his car. Sam turned to look at the man, seeing the somberness that had settled on his face. He knew the feeling. "You going to be okay?" Sam asked.
Blaine nodded and took in a breath. "Yeah," he looked at his feet. "I mean, I'm going to miss my brother, but…he wouldn't want me to shut down because of this. Now that I believe in ghosts, he'd probably come back and haunt me just to get back at me." There was humor there, but the smile on Blaine's face didn't reach his eyes. "What about you?"
Sam nodded. "We'll be okay," he said with confidence. "We're gonna keep looking for our Dad."
"I hope you find him," Blaine said sincerely.
"Yeah, me too."
Blaine smiled and reached out a hand. Sam shook it and gave him a smile back. "Oh, we filled your car up with gas and everything, but we didn't have time to fix the window."
Sam's eyes widened as at that very moment, Dean yelled, "Sam!" Wincing, Sam gave a sheepish grin.
"What the hell did you do to my car!"
center The End /center