A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Essay week attacked with a vengeance! Again, I love reviews and I love all you reviewers, hehe. Hope you guys enjoy.
Choices: Chapter 6
The gun slid from Sam's fingers, clanging to the ground with an echo that reverberated into his ears. Dean was gone, disappearing in a puff of black smoke. And now Sam was alone in a cold room with echoes that whispered back his name.
His rage was quickly dissipating, draining from his body until the burning on his cheek was the only heat that remained. Suddenly tired, Sam slid to the floor. His eyelids fluttered shut and his head drooped forward. There was something…something he needed to remember, but his mind was being invaded by sleep. Somewhere through the fog he remembered a gunshot and the sound of a body hitting the ground. But soon those too were smothered into silence. And sleep stole him away.
Unfortunately it wasn't long before he was brought back by a light tapping on his cheek. Sam forced open his eyelids, only to shut them again at the sight that met him. He was back in the cave, back with Meg.
"What the hell did you just do to me?" Sam slurred out, his cheek still sizzling. He was disoriented, bits of memory floating to the surface of his mind only to be tangled with pieces of other memories and recent dreams.
Meg leaned back and sighed dramatically. "Dean went bye-bye. There endeth the ride."
Sam squinted at her, trying to make sense of she was saying…Wait. Something nagged at his memory. Something about…Dean. Hadn't he just been in here? In here with Sam? Yes, he had! They'd been arguing…
Sam's chest began to feel heavy, as if anticipating what his mind was on the verge of remembering.
Meg smiled suddenly. "Oh well. Hadn't planned for him to leave the building so soon, but I still got to see the show."
"Are you going to stop speaking in metaphors anytime soon?"
"Okay," Meg said, surprising Sam. She leant forward, her eyes sparkling. "You killed him."
The words circled Sam's head slowly, brushing against his mind, teasing him, before slowly sinking in and pulling Sam with them until the pressure on his lungs and heart grew almost too much.
And then Sam remembered. Dean, Stanford, the asylum. Dean trying to warn him, to stop him. The fight in Rebecca's house…Jesus, he broke Dean's nose! How was that even possible! She'd somehow…entered his head and manipulated his memories. Was that what his dream that morning had been? A manipulated memory? Did believing it make Dean's injuries bleed into reality?
Oh god…
The asylum. He'd been possessed again, angry and irrational. But Sam hadn't meant what he'd said, what he'd felt. He hadn't believed any of it. Had he? Then Sam's world shattered, letting the rest of the memories spill up through the cracks.
He'd pulled the trigger.
He'd pulled the fucking trigger! Watched as the rock salt collided with Dean's chest and flung him backwards, his eyes never leaving Sam's.
But in the moment when Sam's guilt was about to overflow and replace his shock, the sound of running footsteps invaded the quiet cave. Sam's head whipped towards the noise, irrationally thinking it was Dean. A mere second before the owner appeared, Meg gave a strangled yell as an invisible force flung her backwards. Then from around the corner, their father appeared, rubbing an amulet in one hand and reciting something under his breath. Meg skidded further across the cave, her fingers angrily clawing the ground, trying to stop her momentum.
"Get away from my son."
Sam's mouth slid open. "Dad? You're here!"
John ran up to Sam, muttering another chant that instantly unfurled the fog binding Sam's feet. John quickly knelt and began tugging at the ropes binding Sam's arms. "Of course I'm here."
"But…what…how did you do that?" Sam asked, referring to the way he'd dispelled the fog and overpowered Meg. He was shocked to see him here at all. He never thought his dad would just walk into a trap like this.
John finally unknotted the ropes, pulling them away from Sam's arms. He looked at Sam, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "I did some research on the way over. Don't tell me you boys just barge into these things unprepared?" John suddenly looked around. "Where's Dean?"
Sam's eyes snapped towards the corner where Dean had disappeared hours ago. He glanced at his dad, dread robbing him of his voice. He leapt up and hurried towards the other room, terrified of what might be awaiting him, all the while praying silently. Daring to hope that Meg's mind games were just that. Games. John quickly followed, knowing instantly that something was wrong. They turned the corner and froze.
Slumped against the wall, head hanging limply, and legs sprawled in front of him, was Dean. He wasn't moving. Sam couldn't even tell if he was breathing. His shirt was a mess of torn, bloodied cloth with angry welts and gashes peeking through the tears. Blood dripped from Dean's face, splattering onto his chest. His arms were bound tightly, but they could still see the glistening cuts.
Unable to feel his legs, to feel anything outside the throbbing in his head, Sam stumbled further into the alcove, dropping to his knees beside his brother.
"Dean?" he whispered. No reaction. Sam reached up with trembling hands, lifting Dean's head as gently as possible. A gasp of horror tangled in his throat. Dean's face was a bloodied mess and dark bruises had already begun to creep up under his eyes. A broken nose.
No…
"Dean?" Sam asked again, still only able to whisper. He shook Dean's shoulder gently. "Dean?" No reaction. "Dean? Come on man, just…blink or something. Please..." Against his pale skin, the red on his face stood out mockingly. His skin felt cold and clammy. His lips were tinged with blue.
Barely holding it together, his chest feeling like it was about to implode, Sam felt for a pulse. He quickly pulled away when he couldn't find one. Shocked, his eyesight made blurry by unshed tears, Sam could only stare at his brother. At his hanging head, his limp form. God, all Sam wanted was for Dean to raise his head and yell at him. To yell at Sam for breaking his nose, for not believing him, for doing this!
But Dean just lay there. Choking on his grief, Sam began urgently tugging at the rope binding his brother's hands. He shouldn't be tied up like this!
John still stood frozen, watching his son's still form. Watching the blood drip from his face and splatter onto his shirt. Each drop adding to the growing red stain, each drop another mark. Each drop a reminder of the two red ones that had made him look up that night to see his wife bleeding on the ceiling.
Sam's distress brought John out of his stupor and he grabbed a knife from his pocket, running up to his sons. "Here," he said, pulling Sam's hands away and using the pocketknife to cut the rope. With the pressure off his hands, Dean's body slumped further forward. John quickly caught him and leaned Dean against the cave wall.
John pressed his finger against Dean's neck, feeling for a pulse. He had to shut his eyes and will back a cry of relief when he felt one. "He's still alive," John said, smiling at Sam who was staring at him with wide, scared eyes.
"…What? Really?" Sam looked at Dean again, trying to see the life that his dad felt beneath his finger.
"His pulse is faint. Erratic. If we don't…" John trailed off, noticing how Sam was looking at him. He hadn't looked at him like that in years. A silent plea to take control and tell him what to do, tell him that it was going to be okay and that Dean would be fine. And it almost broke John's heart that he couldn't do any of that, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try. John turned back to Dean, one hand holding his shoulder tightly, stopping his limp body from tilting over.
"Dean," John commanded. An instruction.
"Dean," John said again, watching his son closely. "Open your eyes, Dean." No reaction. Nothing. John grit his teeth as panic began to cloud his head. "Listen to me, dammit. Open your eyes!"
A flicker. A blink. A groan.
Sam's mouth slid open and he would've shouted with joy if he wasn't so mesmerized by that small frown slowly transforming his brother's face.
"…Dad?" Dean slurred out, his lips barely moving, his eyes still shut.
John smiled and cupped Dean's face. "Yeah, it's me. Me and Sam are going to get you out of here, okay?"
Head still limp, eyes still shut, Dean's lips moved, wanting to say something else. But he coughed suddenly and reeled back in pain. John had to quickly put his hand to the back of Dean's head to stop it smashing against the cave. "Whoa, take it easy there, Dean."
Dean's eyes flew open and his mouth gaped – gasping without sound. Then his eyes fluttered shut and his body went limp again as he sunk back into unconsciousness, falling against his dad.
"No, no," Sam said, rubbing Dean's arm to try and get his attention back. "He must have broken his ribs," Sam said, noticing Dean's lips turning a darker blue. "Shit! He can barely breathe!"
John wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders and pulled him from the ground. Sam hurriedly followed, draping one of Dean's arms over his shoulders and then using his free arm to grab Dean tightly around the waist, careful to avoid his ribs. John did the same and they half dragged, half carried Dean through the cave. Both could feel how cold he was, but neither dared mention it out loud.
Back in the main area of the cave, Meg's legs and arms were bound by the black fog and it covered her mouth like a gag. She was struggling ferociously and glaring at them with unbridled anger. Sam would have smirked if he didn't hate her so much. Would've killed her there and then if his worry for his brother – for this limp, cold figure in his arms – didn't easily overpower that hate.
"Leave her, come on," John said, understanding Sam's fury, feeling it himself. He gripped Dean tighter and, with Sam's support, began hurrying towards the cave's exit. Jeez, Dean was heavy.
Outside, the cold air hit Sam in the face, stinging the cuts on his face and making him shiver. He tightened his hold on Dean, trying to trap what little heat Dean's body had left. He started to head for the Impala but felt a jolt as John began to head in the opposite direction.
"We'll get his car later," John said. "Mine's over here."
Sam nodded numbly, following his dad, Dean's body feeling heavier with each second. He felt like he was betraying Dean by abandoning his car there. Sam shook off the thought. Dean's crazy obsession with the Impala was beginning to rub off.
John opened the back door, helping Sam lift Dean into the back seat. Sam jumped in beside him. John stood for a second, his hand on the car door, watching Sam cradle Dean's bloodied form. Sam tore his eyes away from his brother to look at his dad. He raised his eyebrows. John nodded in acknowledgement, closing the door and hopping into the front seat. The car swerved onto the road and left a cloud of dust sparkling in the night air.
Sam held Dean tighter, stopping him from sliding off the seat. He cradled his limp body close to him, refusing to let his brother slip away. He leant his head against Dean's, terrified at how cold he felt. Sam noticed two streaks on Dean's face, where tears had traced a path through the dirt and blood. Sam bit his lip to keep his own tears from slipping over.
"Hang on, Dean," he whispered. "You're going to be fine….Please be fine."
Dean just lay there, Sam's arms the only thing keeping him from slipping away.
The hospital door banged open and Sam and John staggered in, carrying Dean between them. All his skin now had a deathly blue tinge. Two nurses hurried towards the family, a stretcher appearing as if from nowhere. It was so much like a movie - the white coats, the firing questions, the commotion. Dean lifted onto a stretcher, the mask placed over his blue lips, the cloth wiping away the blood on his face. Or maybe it felt surreal because of the throbbing in Sam's head. It had grown louder in the time it took them to get to the hospital, blurring Sam's vision and dulling his hearing. Everything around him was turning gray, whipping past him like a movie in fast forward. The only thing his mind could concentrate on, that made him believe this wasn't a movie set, was his brother's face underneath that mask. Still, quiet, without his trademark grin. And his dad's hand absently brushing Dean's hair as he talked to the doctor.
The next thing Sam knew he was sitting on one of the hard, plastic chairs in the waiting room. Waiting. He looked up to find his dad pacing restlessly in front of him. Just like Dean. Always had to be moving. Sam sighed and rested his head against his hands. "I did this," he whispered, talking to his shoes, the words coming out hot and muffled.
His dad's footsteps stopped. "She used the Vebiel to get into your mind," he said. A statement. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, realizing what had happened.
Sam looked up. "The what?"
John sat down in the chair next to Sam's, placing his hands inside his jacket's pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. "The Vebiel. That black fog. It's an ancient entity. There are no clear accounts about where it came from, but it used to be worshipped. I don't know by who. But it has the power to enter minds and change memories, or make people believe something that shouldn't be real outside our heads."
"But then it becomes real," Sam cut in.
John nodded. "Yes. It used to…help…its worshippers. Make the sick believe they were well. Make the starving 'see' their crops grow again. But after awhile, as the generations went by, the worshippers stopped believingHe became a myth to them, no more. So without their belief, it weakened and eventually its physical form eroded and it became just the black fog you saw in the cave."
"That's why Meg needed a corpse to trap it in. An artificial case."
"Exactly. It's been hiding away in that cave for hundreds of years. She found it somehow. Learnt how to control it. She has it trapped in that corpse and is controlling its powers through something like this." John dug around in his pocket and withdrew the amulet he'd used to turn the fog against Meg.
Sam reached for it and absently rubbed his fingers along the jagged sides. Still stuck in a slight haze, shock numbing his chest and slowing his comprehension, it took him a while to realize what was wrong with this explanation.
"This is plastic!" he exclaimed, holding up the amulet in surprise.
John smirked a little. A smile so like Dean's. "The spell used to control the Vebiel needs to house the thing's essence somewhere. It doesn't matter where – the spell can't tell the difference between an ancient amulet and 60 cent knock-off."
Sam scratched his head, stress etching lines into his face as he tried to grapple with this information while taming the nagging feeling in his stomach. He was desperately waiting to hear if Dean would be okay. The doctors had wheeled him away and Sam was terrified that it would be his last image of Dean – on a stretcher, face covered with a plastic oxygen mask.
John's eyes softened at Sam's distress. "If you break the thing being used to house the essence, you break her control of it. I used this amulet for my spell, but my access to its powers is very limited compared to hers. Using the fog as rope is the best trick I had. To be able to use your minds like that…she must be housing the energy in something bigger."
Sam sighed in frustration and leaned his head against the cold hospital wall. Just like that cave's wall and Dean's skin. Always cold.
"This morning…last night, I mean. I had a dream, at least then I thought it was a dream, of Dean getting hurt. And then when I woke up Dean had a bruise on his wrist. And later I had that same…vision…and Dean got this cut on his head. But Meg wasn't there and neither was any black fog." Sam looked over at his dad, wanting an explanation.
John frowned. "She has a powerful hold on it. I didn't realize it was that strong," he trailed off, lost in thought. "She can use it to enter people's minds without directly touching them. But the effects are much weaker that way. That's probably why she needed to get you both into that cave."
Sam abruptly stood up, unable to just keep sitting and talking while Dean was locked away somewhere, being probed and prodded back into life. Sam ran a hand over his face, trying to block out the image of Dean's battered face. "God, how is any of this even possible! I mean yeah, I get that we deal in the fucked up, but this is beyond insane. Dean might be dead because of my memories?" Sam laughed suddenly, running his hands through his hair again, a nervous habit.
"Cut it out," John said, surprising Sam. John was staring at him sternly. "This isn't your fault."
"Not my fault?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "My memories, my psychic alter ego. My finger pulling the trigger. Who else am I meant to blame? The universe?" Sam scoffed and absently kicked at the floor.
"Blaming yourself isn't going to help anyone. That thing is powerful. More than anyone can be asked to fight. There was nothing you could do to prevent this. Dean will pull through. He's strong."
"More like stubborn." Sam glanced at his dad, remembering how the 'Daevas' had attacked him in the cave but disappeared before doing any real damage. "Dean fought it off," Sam realised. "He didn't let that thing control him." Sam's guilt ballooned and it was only the doctor's approaching footsteps that kept it from consuming him.
John quickly stood up next to Sam and they both watched the doctor approach. Sam had a million questions formed and ready to fire: Was Dean in pain? Was there any damage? Were his ribs broken?
Was he alive?
But his tongue felt too thick and his throat too tight to speak them aloud. So they festered in his head as he just watched the doctor. Waiting.
"He's going be fine," the doctor said, smiling.
Sam's breath untangled from his throat, the throbbing in his head disappeared and suddenly the room around him came into sharp focus again. He could've kissed the doctor in the state he was in. But, since that'd most likely get him kicked out of the hospital, he grinned instead.
"His ribs were broken and have punctured his lungs, and he was suffering from blood loss and severe shock, but we've stabilized him for the time being and I strongly recommend he stay here until we're certain his injuries are stable enough for him to move freely."
Sam nodded, the grin disappearing under a concerned frown. "Can we see him?"
"Yes, of course. Just make sure you let him get lots of rest once he wakes up."
"Thank you doctor," John said, offering a tight smile.
The doctor nodded and moved around them, to the next group of waiting relatives.
Sam looked over at his dad who returned his relieved smile. For a second the air between was completely free of tension. "Dean's strong," John repeated.
"Stubborn," Sam smirked, heading for Dean's room, anxious to see him. He stopped when he noticed his dad not following. Sam turned around to find his dad lifting his bag onto his shoulder. Slowly, reluctantly.
Sam's mouth slid open a little. "You're leaving again?" He walked back up to his dad, eyes traveling between the duffle bag and his dad's guilty eyes. "I don't believe this."
"I have to," John said quietly. "Nothing's changed. It's still out there."
For a moment Sam struggled to find any words. He was torn between shock, anger and hurt. He clenched his fists and shook his head. "You're not even going to see him first?"
John shut his eyes momentarily before looking away. "I'm sorry, Sam. About what happened to Dean, about everything. But the thing that killed your mother is going to keep coming after you boys unless I stop it. And Dean was right." John looked back over at Sam, emotion making his eyes sparkle. "You boys are my Achilles' heel," he smiled slightly.
Sam frowned, confused, angry, distraught, unable to see that logic. "I think today's proved that it's not exactly rainbows and butterflies when we're on our own. We need to face this thing together!"
John placed his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder. "I've told you, there's still time. You and Dean will both have a role. I promise. But not yet."
Sam shrugged off his dad's hand, anger clouding his head. "This is ridiculous!" Sam said, throwing up his hands with a hollow laugh. "Dean almost died today, dad! Is that the price you're willing to pay to hunt down mom's killer? If he had died today, and you do finally find this thing and destroy it, will it be worth it? Will you have the thing's blood running down your hands and feel…anything…knowing that it was Dean's blood you swapped it for?"
Anger sparked through John's eyes and Sam prepared himself for the backlash. But it didn't come. John's shoulders just sort of deflated and he looked off at a point just beyond Sam's shoulder. "It would have killed me to have lost my son today."
"Both sons," Sam corrected with an unwavering gaze.
John gaze flickered back to Sam, understanding that Sam would never forgive him if the hunt ever killed Dean. "Dean didn't die today," John said, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder and erasing the emotion from his face. "You're both stronger and smarter than that. But if I don't find out where the Vebiel's energy is being stored, it's going to keep coming after you both. And it's me they're after, not you. I have to go alone on this. For now." His tone softened. "It's safer for us all this way." John patted Sam's shoulder again, before turning to walk away.
Sam clenched his fists, trying to keep his angry tears at bay. "Just see Dean first," Sam blurted out. "Please."
John paused and half turned back. "Tell him…tell him I said hey. And that I'm goddamn relieved he pulled though. Take of yourselves, Sam."
And Sam was left to face his brother – and his guilt – on his own.
It was one of the hardest things John had to do, leave Sam standing there. Leave the hospital where Dean had almost died. So John forced his legs to keep moving, past the plastic chairs, past the reception desk, past the hospital entrance.
He had to leave. Because he knew if he stayed, if he stared at his son's bruised and broken face, he knew he wouldn't be able to walk away. To fight the temptation to stay by Dean's bedside and make sure neither he nor Sam ever got hurt like that again. To just give it all up.
So John walked away.
There was a beeping somewhere in the distance. Dean tried to ignore it but the sound snuck into his head and disrupted his sleep. He tried to turn away from it but found that he could barely move. And that any movement he did make sent a sharp pain through his ribs. So he lay still. Every beep followed by a memory of what had happened. Beep. Meg. Beep. The cave. Sam. The gun.
Dean forced himself through the haze, through the pain, and opened his eyes. An room stared back at him, quiet and still.
He listened to the beep of his heart monitor to fill the silence.
TBC
