Title: Moonstar

Ch. 13: Trade

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure, no money. Welcome to the world thru my eyes.

Summary: Dean is crashing after a string of bad jobs. One last, terrible incident pushes him over the edge. He's on a downhill slide and the Moonstar is the last place he needs to be.

A/N: I believe if one person tells you something it may be a lie. If 20 people tell you something there is a possibility it may be true. Having been informed by innumerable individuals lately, that my penchant of intimating, when I post, that my story quality may be less than expected is, shall we say, tiresome, and despite the fact that this is a, thus far, lifelong compulsion, I will no longer try to soften the blow by warning you in advance. You have all been incredibly enthusiastic and rewarding with your reviews with this and my other stories so I guess I have to start believing that maybe, just maybe, I could be halfway decent at this. I'm just gonna post it , if it sucks, it sucks and I'll have to depend on you to tell me. The fact this particular personality quirk is about as hard a habit to kick as heroin addiction, I'm still gonna do it. Be kind during this difficult time for me, I beg you. You people are all I have to live for.

(Anyone breaking out a tissue yet? Seriously, letting my stuff stand on it's own without a demeaning comment on my part is gonna kill me….aaarrrghhhh……gack…..)

And if ANYONE apologizes for saying what they think I will restrict them from this story forthwith. Sometimes you need a smack upside the head from people you love and if I can't count on you for that, then who can I:)

Ok, on with the show. I have much evil to bestow on you.

The silence grew after David's blunt question. Finally Sam glanced at Dean who was slouched on the bed, staring into his cup of soup.

Linda and David also watched him expectantly and he squirmed inwardly at the scrutiny.

God, he hated being the center of this kind of attention. He detested his earlier helplessness, the pitying sympathy from their hosts. He knew Sam had figured it out but trying to explain something he didn't understand himself, to two strangers….

He wanted to know what Sam had found out that might help make sense of this. Everything was all jumbled together in his mind and he was having trouble separating this new horror from his own nightmare reality. He was furious at being helplessly used by this force, unable to fend it off….Jesus, he really was a weak son of a bitch, how could Sam even stand to look at him anymore after this last episode, let alone speak to him….

He coughed against his fist. "Get on with it," he finally ground out.

Sam got up and fished the bottle of aspirin out of his jacket and wordlessly shook two out for Dean. Dean accepted them in equal silence, dry swallowing them.

Sam settled back into his chair and took a long drink of his coffee. He leaned his elbows on his knees and addressed Linda and David.

"In 1941, Nigel Becker, was still operating this place as cancer hospital. He hired an assistant, a young woman named Margaret Reed." From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean's head snap up. Sam turned to him with a reassuring smile. "No, you're not crazy. She was a real person." He turned back to Linda and David. "I'm sure you know the name if you know anything about this hotel."

David shook his head but Linda nodded. "She disappeared about a week before Becker was arrested."

Sam nodded. "Five days, exactly." He reached for his notes and flipped them open. "I had an interesting conversation with Sarah and Sophie, the ladies at the historical society." He shook his head. "I don't know who their sources are but they have the inside track on a lot of stuff around here." He caught sight of the sandwich sitting on the bed and grabbed it, taking a large bite, shifting the plate to the table behind him. He realized how hungry he was after all the racing around.

"Sam!" Dean snarled suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head was killing him. The air felt too thick.

Sam swallowed the bite. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "To make a long story short, Becker and Margaret had an affair. He had a very magnetic personality and she just fell for it. Everything was great for a while until Becker came under serious investigation and Margaret finally realized what was actually going on at the hospital." Sam snatched another bite of sandwich. "Margaret met a patient here, a Stephen Morrison. She fell in love with him. For real. Margaret wanted to leave with Stephen, the place was shutting down, it was just a matter of time before it all ended." Linda and David were watching Sam with rapt expressions. Dean's gaze was fixed on a position just past his knee, mug forgotten in his grip. A drop of sweat drifted down from his temple.

Sam leaned forward again. "Becker was an egomaniac, not the kind of guy who liked to let go of something once he had it. There's a lot of suggestion raising the possibility that by this time Becker was genuinely insane. Apparently, he went nuts when he found out Margaret and Stephen were planning to run off together. " He consulted his notes.

"No one saw Margaret again after May 17th. Records at the hospital are pretty weak , by this time the hospital was almost closed down and no one was really maintaining them. Stephen Morrison's records stop on May 18th. He's listed as deceased but there are no supporting documents to show if he was cremated or if the body was ever claimed. Rumor had it that Margaret and Stephen did leave together, but not through he front door—"

"He killed them…." Dean's voice was so soft, Sam almost didn't hear him. Dean raised a hand to his face and rubbed between his eyes.

Sam glanced at Dean, nodding. "I think that's exactly what happened. He killed them both and disposed of them somewhere in the hotel."

Linda had a hand over her mouth. "You mean they're buried here, somewhere? In the hotel?" Her tone clearly stating that, spirits on site were one thing, actually bodies something else all together.

David was frowning, struggling to follow this train of thought. "What makes you so sure they're here?"

Sam pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "I'm guessing they're in the passageway somewhere. I'd have said the morgue but you said the real trouble started after your workmen broke into the passage. For whatever reason, their spirits must have been trapped in there and when the workmen broke it open it released them. Or at least it released Margaret."

David's mouth tightened and he traded looks with Linda. Linda reached out tentatively toward Dean. He drew back. She looked at Sam. "But how does that explain what's happening to Dean?"

"He means," Dean said, voice raw, face washed out. "that I'm being possessed by Margaret's spirit." He grimaced at the mug he was still holding and handed it to Sam. The few swallows he had managed to choke down had turned to acid in his stomach.

Linda and David both laughed a little uncomfortably, trying to get the joke.

Sam licked his lips, eyeing Dean as he spoke. "Spirits, demons, whatever, are capable of possessing a living person but have to have a way in, a chink in their armor. It usually results from a vulnerability the person is experiencing, mentally, emotionally or physically that allows a doorway to open and let's the spirit take over."

"You can't be serious," David said, an aw c'mon now look on his face.

Disbelief played over Sam's face. "Are you kidding? What the hell did you think was gonna happen when you called us?" Sam snapped, suddenly furious. "You wanted help!" They stared at him. "What? Did you think we'd waltz in with a bible and some holy water, mumble some latin and everything would be okay?" Dean was staring at him now. Sam was so pissed he didn't care how he sounded. "This is serious! This is for real! It's not some movie where the hero rushes in and saves everyone at the last minute! This thing is getting to my brother. Dean could have died!" Sam felt Dean's fingers close on his wrist. Linda and David had drawn back from Sam's tirade.

"Sam! Dude, chill. Please." Dean tugged on Sam's arm, "this isn't helping." His eyes pleaded with Sam. His haggard face was devoid of color, shadowed by two days of stubble and marked with dark circles under his eyes.

Sam bit his lip and forced himself to calm down. Dean's fingers uncurled from Sam's arm.

Silence filled the room for a beat . There was a soft rumble from outside as thunder growled in the distance. The light seemed to shift in that instant, the room got darker.

"I'm sorry," Sam finally said, rubbing his own eyes. "This is a very dangerous situation and it has to be handled the right way. We have to find the bodies and salt and burn them or this is never gonna end and it's probably gonna get worse."

He turned to Dean, "I know this is hard. She's come for you twice now. This last time it had to be to show you something or tell you something. Where did you go? How did you get in the morgue?"

Dean was quiet for a moment. "I…I can't remember, until I came to in the morgue, it's just a blur. Like some crazy dream." Dean twisted his head to the side until Sam heard neck bones pop. He shuddered at the scattered memories of that dizzy, cold stagger through the blackness, aching with thirst, body burning with fever. The loss of himself….

Dean frowned as a sudden image of bricks being slid into place, someone whistling as they laid them with slow precision, the wall growing higher with each passing moment. The rough feel of them against his face, the smell of wet concrete, face dampened by tears, heart racing as useless adrenaline was pumped into his blood by panic, the growing darkness …

Panic blasted through him as honeysuckle and death filled his nostrils. Dimly he heard his name through the sudden roaring in his ears. A crescendo of voices assailing him. Oh, Christ…no…his mind screamed. Dean started pushing back into the bed, crushing himself up against the headboard. He shoved out his hands, in a futile blocking gesture.He recognized thecold sensation of her presence creeping up his body, sliding effortlessly into him. Why couldn't he stop this?! He felt as though he were falling into himself, sucked into the abyss of his own fear as the room slid sideways…

"NO!" Dean's arms flailed out and he kicked himself backwards, off the bed with a jarring thump and back into the wall, breath coming in moaning gasps. His arms wrapped around his knees, wrists crossed, rocking madly. His head struck the wall behind him.

Sam, stunned, floundered over the bed to try to get to Dean. Linda and David both fell back at his sudden scramble, Linda shrieked, their faces losing color, their hands clasped together. The lights in the room began to flicker and spark. The air turned so cold Sam could see his breath. Thunder rattled the glass in the windows. Sam knelt by Dean and grabbed his arms. Dean's head fell back against the wall again, hard enough to hurt the knuckles of the hand Sam hastily shoved behind it to soften the blow.

"Dean, c'mon man!" Sam ground his teeth. "Dammit! Let him go!" Sam stumbled to his feet again and groped in his bag for the flask of holy water. He fumbled the cap off, stopping dead when he turned.

Dean had stilled, arms still wrapped around his knees, head down. Slowly, he raised his face until he was staring up at Sam from under his brows. The shuddering lights gave the room a stop motion feeling of unreality. For an instant Sam could almost make out a flickering form superimposed over Dean's. He felt his skin roughen, the bottle of holy water, dangling from his fingers.

Dean cocked his head, blinking slowly.

Sam had to swallow twice before he could speak. "Dean?" he ventured hesitantly.

Dean's head made a tiny movement from side to side.

"Not anymore….." he breathed.

God, this was hard to write. This is like the 10th version of this. It gets nastier every time I rewrite it. I just want to move on to the next part so here it is, short and sweet. I'm not even gonna reread it. I'm going crazy...