Reprisals chpt 10

The ethereal cold from Eddy Jay's hand on the center of his back did not burn in the same way as the places he'd touched his flesh. Whether it was because the spirit did not currently desire to hurt him, or because it wasn't in direct contact with his skin he did not know, nor did he care really. Long as we don't end up in one of those cells again… Dean thought and let the gun tremble in his hand. He licked his lips and grimaced then gave his brother the smallest of signals before turning his head to look into the wolfish features of their tormentor. Come on Sammy get the hint man… come on! he thought desperately, "I… I don't…"

"I said do it!" Eddy Jay sneered into his face, his countenance seeming to become less translucent even in the scant light.

Dean held the spirits eyes, noting in the periphery of his vision that Sam had finally got the hint and begun to chant almost inaudibly. The scowl that flashed and the fury that followed as their tormentor realized what was happening was a heart stopping instance even for a hunter as practiced as Dean who stood back and fired a trio of consecrated iron rounds into the less transient evil.

"You arrogant fool!" Eddy Jay snarled despite stumbling back a few steps with the rounds.

Sammy's chanting gained volume as Dean stood over him, Stay down Sammy…you'll be safer…waiting for this malevolence to manifest back into the world so he could kill it.

Dean shook his head and felt Sam's good hand grab the waistband of his jeans.

The pressure across his slashed abdomen bit sharply, as his little brother pulled himself to his feet while reciting the Latin passages with increasing strength and clarity.

The semi-corporeal entity that was Eddy Jay lurched at Dean who, with Sammy clinging to his back unsteadily couldn't move as freely as he liked. He squeezed off two more rounds; thirteen, twelve…he counted down and exploded a guttural sound of anguish as he felt the fabric of his shirt tear then beneath that, the burning of the palm sized blister in the center of his chest as it was ripped through, and beneath that another layer of skin and raw exposed nerve was sheared. Wet rolled down his chest and belly, catching once more in the waistband of denim before sliding even further to come to rest in the cotton of his boxers. Oh man… that hurts like a mudda! he ground out inside his head, wrapping his left arm around his own back and pulled Sammy close to him willing him to know enough to Stay close to me Sammy… I swear I'll protect you… I got you into this, I'm gonna get you out so help me God!

Sam's clear tenor rang in his ears and Latin had never sounded so melodic as Dean moved them as a unit out of Eddy Jay's reach. Maneuvering them around so their backs were at the tunnel Dean kept his eyes on the psycho in front of them. There was something changing and it had him kind of mesmerized. He couldn't say whether the ritual was working as they'd hoped or not nor was he suddenly sure that what he was looking at was a good thing.

As he backed them away Eddy Jay became corporeal, just like they'd hoped and intended, but he didn't seem to be averse to the alteration in his ethereal status. In fact, he kinda looked like he was smiling and maybe more than a little happy about it.

A knowing look passed between the manifesting personage and the eldest Winchester boy and Dean's head tilted to the side. Did I just see…?… no, that's not possible! That doesn't happen… can it happen?... I never heard of it happening… shit! What have we done? his heart beating at a clip that made Metallicar's chop sound slow.

"Sammy stop!" he urged choking down the panic.

"What? Why?" Sam asked.

He squeezed the trigger, Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven… stop! It's not helping… consecrated iron rounds aren't working! They're not killing it…does seem to be slowing him a bit… still, don't waste the ammo! Sam… run… oh crap… "Run…" he ordered willing his baby brother to find the strength somewhere to do as he said.

Grinning as they ran down the passageway to the cellar the freshly re-embodied Eddy Jay strolled nonchalantly after them, his unbeating heart full of satisfaction. He was going to have so much more fun with them now that he had a body again.

--

They emerged from the cellar into early dusk, bloody, wounded, confused and with many miles yet to go. Orientation came quickly to Dean in particular who had a knack for direction and moved his agonizingly battered brother firmly in the right direction to take them through the woods and back to the campground where Metallicar was waiting patiently for them.

Sam forged ahead barely aware of anything other than his body demanding he stop. Adrenaline seemed to work in his favor though and given the circumstances, he was grateful for every second he was able to go without feeling bits of spongy lung pop into his throat and mouth. The coppery taste that the chunks came with had subsided he noticed and he realized that whatever part of his lung that had been shaved or torn by his broken rib had at least stopped bleeding. I hope, he thought and realized that he could breathe a little more fully. His clodhopper caught on some thick undergrowth and sent him careening into the bole of a tree where he leaned gasping, barely able to support himself.

"Come on Sam! You can do this!" Dean prodded glancing over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around his little brother to help him as best as possible, "I don't think he's following us… maybe he got what he wanted… maybe he can't… Damnit! What the hell did we do?"

"Huh?" Sam breathed, his eyes were at half mast and he appeared to be on the verge of consciousness until Dean grabbed his chin then slapped him gently.

"Sam! Come on! Work with me here! Stay with me… I promise I'll let you rest once we get to the car… come on!" he choked barely able to resist the sting in his eyes. How did I screw this up so bad? How? How did I get us into this? Please don't let Sam be the one to pay for my… for my… please…

Sam nodded lethargically against him and pushed with his legs. His eyes saw Dean's fill up so he closed them and let his big brother lead him knowing he was in the best possible hands. Don't Dean…it's not your fault, could've happened anywhere…he caught our scent in Missouri… don't blame yourself okay? Really… you've said… it's a dangerous gig… we both know the risks okay? So don't cry man… I don't think I can carry your pain right now okay, I think it might be too much for me okay especially right now? Why does this hurt you so much? I'm sorry you hurt…really…

--

True to his word Dean wrestled Sam into Metallicar's back seat, went to the trunk and seconds later covered him with a blanket they kept for emergencies. Sam's eyes cracked open as he rolled onto his least damaged side and exploded into a series of coughs that brought up what medical personnel would call 'coffee grounds' which were in fact the remnants of dried blood. At the back door, once Sam was situated and the coughing had subsided Dean knelt and ran his hand from his brothers' slightly fevered brow over his head. "Hey…I'm not going to leave you alone Sam… it means you're going to have to wait a bit before I can get you to a hospital but I'm gonna salt and burn this son of a bitch asap… I'm not leaving anything to chance okay?" he explained and pressed his lips tight together.

He's holding something back…Sam nodded, "Dean… what did we do wrong?... what happened back there?" he asked breathlessly.

Dean breathed deep, "I don't know for sure yet… but don't worry I've got a better plan this time…"

Sam smiled feeling his eyes close, "It was a good plan… look like hell…" he muttered before losing the battle against unconsciousness.

"Look who's talkin…" Dean shook his head, his lips still pressed tightly, remorse splintering into him, a deepening irritant as he continued to fight tears that seemed determined to be unleashed. He smoothed Sam's hair and pressed his forehead to his baby brothers head while he tried to collect himself.

Lots left to do… please let me be right… please let this be enough…he begged the powers that be as he stood at the trunk of the car, the magazine for his .9mm in hand as he loaded it completely from one box then slid it into its appropriate groove in the weapons box Tiny built for them. His eyes fell on another box of shells he pulled out and opened up. There were sixty shells in it, enough for four full clips if need be. They were at war after all.

The scent of sandalwood wafted into the back of his nose and mixed with dried sweet-grass that lined the box as he loaded a spare clip with the custom bullets and made himself ready.

--

The gun rested in his jacket pocket and his body was far beyond screaming or protesting almost anything. When he'd stopped at a gas station to fill up, and for some microwave bean burritos and water he'd caught sight of the date on a local paper and realized they'd been two solid days' prisoner beneath the earth. He woke Sam just long enough to force him to drink from a squeeze bottle and forced himself to stop after downing half a bottle in two gulps. No sense in making myself hurl… so he paced himself as he drove them into the cemetery and drove slowly, shining the spotlight on every nearby grave marker he could find. He didn't want to leave Sam alone until he absolutely had to and he didn't want to wake him just yet either.

He shook his head returning to the entrance of the graveyard, Y'know Dean this has really been one big fat crap-ass week! Ranks right up there with that whole damned rawhead thing…okay but maybe not as bad as those first couple months after the truck… I missed you girl! he stroked the dash affectionately and turned to look in the back seat.

"Sam… come on Sam… I need you…" he urged rolling him back just a bit until his eyes opened and seemed to focus.

"Wha?"

I think this is about the best thing I've ever tasted! Sam purred while chewing the cold burrito and chasing its doughy goodness down with his room temperature water. He kept his eyes moving, scanning every shadow or twitching leaf for signs of Edward Jacob Simons while Dean looked for his grave. The going was slow but around ten thirty they finally found the grave.

Dean put the car into park and opened the door as did Sam, "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Uhhh getting shovels…"

"You got lookout duty bro… try and dig a grave and it'll probably wind up being your own…"

Sam just looked at him, true enough he couldn't have done it on his own but he could certainly help.

"No… keep your eyes open…" Dean shook his head.

"Dean you're not exactly in the best shape of your life either…"

"Just…" Dean sighed meeting Sam's eyes, "stay… please…and don't hesitate to use the gun if you have to…"

Sam's curiosity and instant softening was a reward to Dean, he knew what the word 'please' did to Sam. "I won't," Sam assured him as he got out of the car, pulled the necessities out of the trunk then leaned into the driver door window with a smirk.

"You get to dig the next one…"

Sam smiled and nodded, "Deal."

--

As he dug, Dean's mind raced at 240, self recrimination waltzing intricately with uncertainty of several different stripes, and concern about Sam.

That son of a bitch got in my head…why would it do that? Why would it want me to hurt Sam? and shouldn't it have known once it was inside that I could never hurt him? What was it after? Did I really see what I think I saw? Was that what it was after? Is that why it came after us? Is that why it said 'no deaders'? Will these bullets work if the consecrated rounds didn't? They've never been tested before… never had an opportunity, but man I didn't want it to be like this… did I say the numbers out loud? Is that how Sam picked 'em up? or are his efforts paying off and pretty soon I won't be able to keep any thoughts from him? What if he starts hearing people's thoughts and can't stop? God everything is falling apart…Why didn't I leave him in Missouri and just come and handle this myself? Damn am I dumb! He's everything that's good in my life… well the biggest of everything that's good and stable and… "Dean…you can't second guess yourself, you have wonderful instincts… you just really need to learn to trust yourself…" he remembered Laura telling him when they'd talked on the phone a few weeks ago and he'd voiced an insecurity. She's so positive… I wish I could feel that kind of certainty. What if it left something inside of me? Some evil seed or something like that slow growing Demon that infiltrated Sammy so slowly between Bull City Arizona and that last trip to Bobby's, what if I wind up hurting him? I couldn't live with myself…Hey genius stick to the task at hand…his sub conscious mind ordered noticing he'd stopped digging and was lost in thought, leaning on the shovel, his throbbing hands bleeding through the gauze. Even his fingertips ached and he wondered if a good manicurist would be able to pull the splinters without making him want to kill. I could just dip my fingers into some Elmer's glue and have Sam do it… The image of Sam holding his hand and filing his nails at one of those professional carts came to mind replete with him soaking his opposite hand in some warm soapy water, and he chuckled allowing himself to go so far as to imagine Sam wearing a pair of red cat's eye shaped glasses with rhinestones glistening at the temples as he snapped a piece of gum and chattered with a New York accent. He felt his face split into a huge grin and he began to shovel again.

Aaahhh I kill me… thanks Sam… he thought momentarily able to quiet the wounds within. Reckoning would come soon enough.

--

As Dean layered the contents of a 50 pound bag of rock salt onto the skeleton of Edward Jacob Simons both of the boys became somber. Their senses straining into the night, every breeze or rustle slicing into them, neither of them able to believe there could be any adrenaline left in their bodies and yet there it was, pounding their hearts and racing their blood.

Both of their bodies humming with tension filled the air, stilling the nocturnal living things in the graveyard as Dean soaked the body with five gallons of gasoline, he stood at the foot of the grave, his fingers trembling. I aint' takin' any chances with you buddy, once I know you're gone there ain't no way you're coming back EVER…there isn't gonna be a single freakin amino acid in here for you to use to come back again! Then softly in his mind he heard, I wonder where he's planning on popping up… I know he's not done yet, I can feel it! He looked around, struck the match and threw it into the hole, When I'm done with Eddy Jay…Watch out Aaron Mitchell… I'm coming for you next.

They sat in Metallicar or stood at the graveside until around four a.m. when naught but ash remained. Slowly, tension leeched from them each and Dean could barely re-fill half the grave before simply giving up. Calling it 'Done Enough' he drove wearily back into the night. He sheathed Metallicar in a visitors spot in the emergency room parking area; entered, grabbed a wheelchair, wrestled Sam into it and pushed him into the building where he stood wobbling, holding onto the handles for stability while he pulled out his wallet, grabbed the matching credit card and i.d. he'd put into it back in Missouri. He stepped around the chair toward the intake clerk's desk and promptly collapsed.

Please and Thanks…

I know this one's a little slow but… it's necessary.

sifi