Reprisals chpt 13

In Lakeview Oregon Dean drove past the vacant lot that was the motel they'd been staying at in 1992, the one where his father had given him just enough whiskey for the first time to make him pass out. The one he'd taken him from and driven a hundred and fifty miles away from just so he could try and camouflage his eldest son in one of the last uncorrupted vortices in the area. The one Dean was heading back to when he ran afoul of Momma Psycho Freak, as he'd never been able to stop thinking of Aaron Beyers. His palms slicked beneath the gauze and he was grateful for the dirty, used to be white, wrapping, otherwise he might've lost his grip on the steering wheel.

Another mile down the road he pulled in and checked them into a room with a blend of nautical and forest motif. He brought their bags in and tossed them each on their respective beds, Sam's on the left and his on the right while Sam got busy salting the two windows and making a half circle by the door.

Dean set up the laptop and printer on the table and sat down with the local phone book getting the locations of area cemeteries and directions to them while Sam sat on the bed and made a phone call.

"… okay, but if you hear from him let him know okay? It's really important if he's used them yet …" Sam nodded sipping from his water bottle and wincing. "… yeah the number's still the same if you find out anything… Thanks Shep,"

"He's gonna try and get hold of dad and see if it's ever happened before?" Dean asked as he printed the directions to all three cemeteries in town and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Yep… nothing to do but wait… we should get something to eat and rest till nightfall," Sam suggested, "…and you should let me re-bandage your hands man, you're gonna get infected."

"Yeah… wound check… alright…" Dean nodded easily. Sam could see his mind was long and far away and something inside of him twitched, horribly unsatisfied with the results of their previous conversation.

About twenty minutes later, after washing, salving and re-wrapping the raw meat Dean was calling hands Sam looked closely at one of his brothers' palms and was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of tendon white beneath some of the exposed muscle. His mind went back to Richardson and the prank fest they'd wound up starting there. He remembered the look on Dean's face as he realized the beer bottle had been glued to his hand and the glimmer of appreciation for the extent of the joke. Dean always could appreciate a good prank, even if it was on him. Sam wondered how long it was going to be before he shook off this case and dusted off his sense of humor again.

All the more reason to handle this quickly and thoroughly, then he'll be alright and maybe some of that weight'll come out of his eyes.

"Dean?" he started and felt a 'clang' inside as their eyes met. Wow, shields are at maximum!

"Not now Sam," Dean shook his head. He'd felt it coming. All his senses were honed to razor sharpness as the hour of battle ticked steadily closer. His outer stillness belied the snarling creature inside that would not rest, nor let him, until this demon they'd created was done and could bring no more harm to the world. There would be time later for the wallowing in doubt and guilt. The warrior inside knew this just as surely as he knew that one day even the most finely crafted shield would shatter. To win the battle, to die if need be for the sake of the preservation of light, for the saving of those few innocents who remained was all that mattered, anything else was icing.

"…for each time he falls, he shall rise again… and Woe to the wicked…" he thought nodding to himself and feeling his armor buckling snugly against his body. "I shall impersonate a man… come… enter into my imagination and see him…" he heard ring out in his head and cracked the tiniest of smiles, another guilty pleasure no one knew about. He was running out of them but that was okay, if anyone could appreciate some of his down-time pass-times, it was Professor Peabody over there.

"Okay…" Sam acknowledged knotting the end of the gauze around his wrists. He knew that look on his brothers' face. He knew he was psyching himself up in a way he only did when they were up against something big, something more dangerous than the average Woman In White or Mordechai Murdoch. This was almost a Salvation level psych, course, they were up against a demon they'd helped create so….

Dean worked in silence, removing the dressings from Sam's left side with the utmost care, each wiry black knot in his flesh serving to hone his focus as he washed them with peroxide, reapplied the triple antibiotic ointment and re-bandaged them. His eyes counted 43 distinct and identifiable chain link images that had been crushed into his skin, deeper than the bruises left by the broken ribs themselves, then slid around to his brothers back, the impossible number of cuts he'd obtained from the crystal. It seemed so far away, that evening Dean had cared for him before they'd settled in to watch MST3K and get satisfied on pizza and beer, Dean nipping from his whiskey once in a while as the night wore on.

He noticed that Sam's back, while still home to several dozen deeper cuts had managed to heal quite nicely, and the deeper marks that remained were well on their way to healing. Thank God for favors. He smiled deciding his back didn't need any tending at the moment and looked next at his left shoulder where the then Ghost of Eddy Jay had bitten him, leaving a "Red Dragon" worthy dental impression of blistering behind. He wiped the area, applied the ointment and a bandage and moved on to the last place he was aware of. A fist sized burn in the small of Sam's back that could've been twin to any of the blister holes on his own torso. Yeah, gotta get those covered before we go, he reminded himself and repeated the ritual.

"You can get the one in front," he admonished handing over the more benign tools of their particular trade and going into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself and took off his shirt.

Dean sighed, the gauze on his chest had leaked through and his waistband was bloody again. Damnit! How long are these freakin' things going to last! but he knew three days given the depth of them was not unheard of. Gingerly he began to clean them. The stripes around and up his abdomen, and the palm print on his chest were the easiest despite the blue-flame burning feeling. The one in the small of his back that disappeared just under the jean line wasn't so hard either, it was the strip up his spine that was hard to get at.

He had one hand over and behind him, squeezing cool water down the line while the other held a towel at the base of the rend. That's all I need is a pair of wet jeans and Sammy'll think I peed myself 'er something…he was trying to joke with himself, to start the arduous climb out of the dark place his mind was hiding but it wasn't working.

Sam knocked once and entered carrying the first aid supplies in his good arm. He stopped short and sucked wind as he caught sight of the extent of Dean's wounds.

"Dean…" he breathed shocked setting the stuff down on the counter.

"Here get that one in the middle would ja?" he asked handing the wash cloth to Sam and turning his back on him for the moment, in several ways.

"And you were the one lecturing me about not telling you if I was hurt! Nice, hypocrite! I don't get you Dean! You know what we're going up against tonight!" Sam's clear tenor tolled in his ears.

"It's not like I'm letting them fester Sam…"

"Not the point and you know it…" Sam countered. He was right and they both knew it so Dean offered no argument. There wasn't one he could offer.

Willing for the moment to let it go, knowing they both needed their focus Sam changed the subject to something more banal, "So I've got this phone number running around my head, 987-6112, does that mean anything to you?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, it sounded familiar, he shrugged, "Maybe it's a girls' number… hey Sammy gets a phone number," he smiled then added teasingly, "Don't worry I won't tell Sarah…" Dean looked over his shoulder with a grin that should've been patented but Sam was being serious. Figures…professor broody over here… yeah and I'm such a ray of sunshine right now… "No man, seriously, it doesn't mean anything to me."

"…Least far as I can figure it's a phone number, nine eight seven, sixty one twelve…" he reiterated and startled when Dean ducked away from him, wheeled around and shook his head.

"I don't recognize it," he voice faltered and Sam knew he was lying but was stunned momentarily by the shock he'd seen cross Dean's face before it slid behind his wall.

"Yes you do…" curious, Sam nodded "Who is it?"

"I'm telling you Sam…"

"You're lying to me Dean, you don't do it often and I'm pretty good at knowing…" he stopped short and cocked his head to the side, a little voice trying to be heard as Dean whipped his t-shirt off the counter and strode from the bathroom while sliding it over his head, his body oblivious to the irritation of the soft cotton on the wounds. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and went to the door careful not to disrupt the semi circle of salt that was their protection, "I'll be back before dark, you stay in here or so help me God Sam…" he threatened and left without waiting for a response.

In seconds Sam could hear Metallicar's twin exhaust chopping out onto the road. Sam sat down at the table and accessed the internet while he made a few phone calls.

--

Please don't let him be drunk, don't let him have gotten into a fight, we have to finish this…Sam thought watching the Impala pull smoothly up to the motel room door. Dean saw him in the window and nodded. Sam grabbed his jacket, the directions to the right cemetery, and the journal then stepped carefully over the salt making sure the door was locked behind him.

"You got your head clear?" he asked sliding into the passenger seat.

"Yep," Dean nodded and tossed a bag to him, "Italian combo sub Sammy, fuel for the fire. You ready to go kick some demon ass?" he asked, as if the little outburst this afternoon hadn't happened at all.

"Ready as I can get…" he nodded unwrapping the sub and biting hard into it, if he wants to play I can do that too. He'll tell me what happened when he's ready. "So I did some research and found out our boy's buried at St. Pascals…" he started around a mouth full of thick Italian bread and huge slabs of meat.

"I know… I found his grave this afternoon…" Dean said.

"Oh… alright then," Sam nodded and ripped another chunk out of the sandwich.

"Look Sam, I'm sorry about this afternoon…" Dean sighed, "… but you were right, this case has got me a little fragged…"

"Y'know I did notice that…" Sam smirked as they pulled into the cemetery's access road. "Look, it's okay…everyone's got something that sets 'em off… your trigger happens to be obscure numeric sequences mixed with demonic serial child killers… it's alright," he nodded grinning hugely now, glad the time was finally here.

"Yeah," Dean nodded cocking that half grin that gave Sam hope that his big brother would be back to normal when this was over. "You sure you're up to digging tonight?" he asked.

Sam nodded and held up the second half of the sandwich, "Fuel for the fire… speaking of which…?"

"We are loaded for bear…" Dean confirmed pulling to a stop and pointing to the right, "See that monument?"

"The obelisk?" Sam asked.

"Yep, two up and three over… let's go," he cut the ignition and slid from the front seat meeting Sam at the trunk.

--

About three feet into the hole Dean kicked Sam out and told him to stand guard with his senses wide open, he didn't need all his reserves spent.

Sam had spent the best part of last night and this afternoon not just researching everything he could find out Aaron Mitchell Beyers, which had been quite informative in its own right, but also engaged in re-translating a surprisingly large quantity of the ritual they'd used during the phantom traveler incident, tailoring it to serve their far more precise needs.

"Y'know it's too bad we can't just do some kind of spell to summon 'em here like they do on t.v," Sam mused.

"Yeah, well, hate to break it to you Sammy, but you're not Rose McGowan, and I sure as hell ain't Alyssa Milano… which I guess is a good thing after all… I mean, we've done enough to…" he joked breathlessly.

"Don't remind me… Please don't remind me…" Sam shook his head.

"Hey it wasn't all bad… they let us pick up girls… and, it was kind of an interesting experience…" Dean admitted shrugging.

Sam grinned shaking his head, sometimes he was truly amazed by his brother.

Once Dean hit wood and cracked open the casket, ensuring that the remains of Aaron Beyers were still in there, their senses began to sing with tension and the breezy night took on an eerie quality they were frighteningly accustomed to.

"Keep your… everything open Sam…" Dean urged seriously as he poured another 50 pound bag of salt over the corpse.

"Isn't that a little… much?" Sam asked taking the empty bag and handing Dean the five gallon can of gas.

"Not with these guys…" Dean shook his head and left no corner of the grave un-sodden.

"…anything?" he asked standing at the foot of the grave, ready to strike the matches in his hand and wondering if he'd misinterpreted Eddy Jay's challenge, wondering if he was too late already, wondering if this was going to do any good or just waste some of their resources.

"Nope," Sam shook his head.

Dean shook his head, took a deep breath and struck the matches. He watched the fire catch through the sulfur and felt a hand shove him hard between the shoulder blades.

"Dean!" Sam called as his brother toppled into the six foot hole, The six foot deep, gasoline soaked hole while holding lighted matches! "Dean!" he called again and saw yellow glow for a second before the hole went dark and he felt himself thrown with incredible power several headstones away, barely missing the obelisk as he cruised by, landed with a sickening squashing feeling and felt himself struggle to retain consciousness.

His eyes fixed on something at the foot of the grave, something that wasn't really making too much sense. He could see a huge platinum blond pile of hair, distinctly feminine atop a bony plank-board figure. He shook his head and felt his eyes grow wide as the apparition with its lower face painted orange smiled, waved at him and stepped into the hole. Got something… he groaned inside his head. That wasn't Eddy Jay… musta been Aaron…but where's Eddy? I can't start without knowing he's here... he thought pushing himself onto all fours as quickly as his body would allow.

Part of Aaron Beyers' grave had been obscured from his sight by a large headstone but when he finally managed, really just a moment later, to rise to his feet he saw the crouching figure he'd helped to create grinning and laughing, looking down into the hole and occasionally plowing armloads of dirt back into the Earth.

Come on Dean… be okay… be conscious… be fighting…Whatever went down that summer… you gotta fight it, you can't let this son of a bitch beat you! he willed his brother whatever strength he might need and crept toward the open grave, hoping to find a way to help Dean. His hand wrapped around the grip of his gun but his vision wasn't cooperating, the dark, his pain and maybe even a few new injuries were conspiring against him and he wasn't sure he could make the shot just yet. Besides he wanted to be performing the ritual when he shot the bastard, who was really getting into the idea of burying Dean alive now and methodically plowing that dirt back down.

Eddy Jay stopped plowing dirt into the hole and looked down, apparently someone, maybe Aaron, maybe Dean had said something. Well it wasn't Dean…Sam thought and cocked the gun, sliding it out of his pocket just in time to hear a terrible scream that set his heart racing just before a shaft of fire erupted from somewhere below, and after a second ground vibrating 'whump' the grave began to burn. DEAN! he wanted to scream and run forward, but no matter what happened in that hole he'd finish this for his brother. No one was going to ever hurt his brother again! Not without some serious payback! He flicked his eyes at some motion and watched Eddy Jay stand up. There was no time to waste. He began to chant the ancient Latin ritual, rose to his full height and leveled the gun at the demon's head. He aimed for the one in the center first, then the other two, watching a hole appear into its forehead. He looked curiously as the same kind of demon killing lightning cascaded through the new and now dying demon and instantly remembered watching the vampire Luther die in exactly the same manner.

Guess the bullets work, he thought as the thing that had been Edward Jacob Simons fell to its knees and toppled into the grave. Must be getting crowded in there… he heard Dean's voice in the back of his head and ran forward, still chanting the new ritual just to be on the safe side while he faced whatever it was he might see down there.

--

Dean felt himself falling and put his forearms down feeling the salt lessen his impact. He heard Sam holler for him but the gasoline soaked grave was turning yellow. He slid his jacket partly off the side he wasn't laying on and smothered the flames quickly unable to hear Sam call to him the second time just before he looked up at the foot of the grave, still on his side and saw the One and Only Momma Psycho Freak step into the hole with him.

He landed straddling Dean's legs and Dean kicked, not really thinking it was going to work but having to try anyway. The unleashed spirit of the man he'd killed fourteen years ago knelt down and he felt the pressure on his legs as the hands pressed his shoulders back with inhuman or demon imbued strength, either way, no matter what he grabbed at or tried to hit, it was faster and stronger than he was.

"Hello baby…" he cooed and licked his lips before trying to capture Dean's with them. Dean whipped his head to the side and contracted every muscle he had trying to throw this thing off of him. "I missed you so much… you know none of my other kids ever got the chance to grow up… I'm so glad it's you that brought me back…" he said stroking the jawbone of the side of Dean's exposed neck.

Dean felt the cold hand press his head to the side, keeping him pinned to the rock salt as he leaned forward breathing his putrescence into his face before the sickening moist flaccid mouth came to rest on his neck, those hideous yellow and brown teeth touching his skin while the clammy hands slid under his shirt and over his chest. Dean gritted his teeth and kept himself still while his left hand balled into a fist, and his right stealthily slid into the half mashed box of matches curling two of them between his fingers and orienting them properly. He felt something changing, Momma Psycho Freak was getting solid on him. He could feel the vibration of his moan as he tasted first his ear then the tender spot behind. Eewww! I'm gonna hafta take a bath in bleach! Just another second … come on you sick freak… go to town… get as solid as you can you son of a bitch! he silently urged and stilled the sigh of relief when he felt the bastard's chest press against his.

"Gotcha!" he sneered striking the sulfur tip of the matches with his thumb nail while his left hand came up with every ounce of force he could muster and slammed through the almost fully realized body of Aaron Mitchell Beyers'. Gasoline soaked salt met flaming matches somewhere near the center of his torso and he sat up, still pinning Dean down by sitting on his hips for a moment before his chest began to glow as the purifying fire ate him with acidic speed and he burst into a column of flame.

Dean squirmed kicking and bucking and shoving until he was free of the restraining weight. He rolled as far away as he could and curled into a ball until the rest of the fumes ruptured into the cleansing fire the Winchester boys knew so well.

Okay gotta go! he thought and bent through the flames catapulting himself as high as he could, his feet and hands locking into the Earth in sync as he clawed his way out of the hole.

He felt a hand grasp his and haul him out onto the cool grass where he lay while Sam's breathless voice chanted until the ritual was complete, and he let himself lay down next to Dean until all trace of both the corpse and the demon were gone.

--

In his dreams Dean lay on his back, restful until his eyes opened for some reason and he looked onto his marred chest and saw it streaked with unmistakable orange. He felt himself startle as his hands reached up and beat down ripping the newly forming skin over his burns while he tried to scrub the orange colored lipstick away.

His eyes popped wide just as Sam got up from his comfy little oasis where the contrivances of reality TV were almost entertaining. He pressed end on his phone and set it on the nightstand. In fact he was just getting up to wake Dean from his nightmare.

Dean glanced at the clock on the nightstand and groaned. 9:20? That's it? Okay, I can stay up again…

"That's three in twenty four hours. You have to find a way to get past this Dean… despite what you might think, it might take me a while to put two and two together but I can do it. Aaron Beyers was found dead in his home in early August of 1992, his septum had been slammed into his brain and his blood supply had been cut off by his own jawbone. I don't know how you ran across him, I don't know what happened and I'm guessing I probably never will… and believe it or not I can live with that," he watched Dean's expression begin a subtle shift, "You're my brother, and I hope you know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you…" a knock sounded on the door and Sam rose looking down into his big brothers' dumbfounded expression, "I love you Dean but I know you're not ready to talk to me…" he grabbed his jacket and slid it on, "I'll be back in the morning so don't wait up," he said and opened the door.

"Hey Sam…"

"Hey Laura…thanks for coming," Sam smiled and hugged the woman hard before stepping out into the night, "See you in the morning."

She nodded and locked the door behind him, then smiled that warm open smile that tore down Dean's defenses. No judgments, no reprisals, just the woman who loved him and nothing more. She moved to the side of the bed and sat down.

--

From outside the room Sam couldn't stop himself from looking through the crack in the curtains. Dean needed something he wasn't going to accept from his brother so he'd called the only person he could think of that would die for him and refuse any efforts if he ever tried to do the same.

He watched her sit, saw their eyes meet and watched for a few short seconds as the man who'd always presented himself as 'too slick for stuff to stick to,' hitched a breath, let a sob tear out of his throat and dove into her unconditional love.

End.

Hope you enjoyed the ride.

sifi