A/N: Second last chapter! Yes, chapter 8, I'm pretty sure at least, will be its last. Thank you again to everyone who's reviewed! Keep letting me know what you think ;)


Choices: Chapter 7

Dean lay still, listening to his breath struggle past his lips. It hurt to breathe but at the same time his body felt numb, dull prickles replacing the throbbing he'd felt mere hours before. They must have doped him up, which would explain why his eyes felt so heavy and why they were watering with the effort to remain open. He was exhausted. But he refused to let his eyes shut again, refused to let his mind revisit that cave or that asylum; refused to find out if Meg and her pet fog were waiting for him just beyond his consciousness. So Dean lay there, listening to his breath rattle past his lips in an empty hospital room and trying to ignore that his family wasn't there.

His eyes flickered towards the open door. A shadow had fallen across the threshold. It wavered and moved as somebody paced back and forth just outside the room. Sam. Dean would bet his last breath on it; he'd recognise that restless pacing anywhere. Dean would've smiled if his body were in any mood to obey, and if he wasn't wrestling with the sudden urge to pretend he was asleep.

Dean watched as the shadow stopped fidgeting and Sam's head peeked around the doorframe. Sam's eyes widened when he saw Dean, and he quickly stepped inside the room. "You're awake!"

"Yeah," Dean said after a second. He shifted, uncomfortable under Sam's gaze. Sam slowly, hesitatingly, walked up to Dean's bed. Dean turned his head slightly, not yet ready to look at Sam and face his brother's guilt, but he could still feel Sam's eyes on his face. He knew he looked bad, that his nose was broken and his face a mess - he could feel one eye beginning to swell, could feel the dull stings and throbs indicating the amount of cuts and bruises he wore.

"Are you okay?" Sam finally asked.

"What have I told you about stupid questions?" But the sarcasm wasn't there. It was flat. Automatic. Dean didn't want to be mad at Sam, he really didn't, but he also didn't want to be lying in this fucking hospital bed with a broken nose and a punctured lung. You don't always get what you want.

Sam looked down for a moment, his fingers absently playing with the edge of the bed sheet. He shifted his weight from one foot to another and tugged at his shirt collar. Why was it so stuffy in here? Stalling, Sam swiveled his head to the side and saw a lone chair resting against the wall. He grabbed it, dragging it across the floor as its legs squeaked in protest. Sam accidentally hit it against the bedside table with a sound like a gunshot. He flung out his arms to steady the table, dropping the chair with a loud clatter. But finally, face flushed, Sam lowered himself onto the chair, forcing his hands to rest on his knees and resist fidgeting. He glanced over at his brother, ready for the smirk and wisecrack, but it didn't come. Dean's face had grown paler and his eyes were staring off into the distance.

"Dean…" Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

"It's okay. Not your fault. Forget it."

Sam took a shuddering breath, scuffing the floor with his shoe and feeling his face heat up in the effort to keep his emotions under control. In the span of a few hours he'd been tricked into a cave, battled with a corpse, had to listen to his brother's screams, was reunited with his dad only to have him leave again, and realised he'd almost killed Dean. All within a few hours! Sam would've collapsed from stress and exhaustion right there and then if it weren't for this figure lying in front him, this figure who refused to look him in the eye. Sam sighed and ran a hand over his face, leaning back in the chair. "Please, Dean - "

"Not in the mood, Sam!" Dean interrupted. Sam gaped a bit, before nodding softly. Dean sighed, berating himself for snapping like that. "Where's dad?" he finally asked.

Sam looked away, hoping Dean wouldn't see his tired tears. "He left."

Dean shut his eyes momentarily. "Did he forget the Get Well card?"

"He stayed until we knew you were okay. He said to tell you that, you know, he's relieved you pulled through. We both are."

Dean finally looked over. He watched Sam's eyes flit over his face and glance away again. Dean smirked. "Dork."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Nice," he smiled.

They were quiet for a few minutes, an awkward silence again descending between them. Their relationship had always been spotted with difference and misunderstanding, but never before had all those issues festered into such a large chasm that though they were sitting mere inches apart, neither knew what to say or how to stop feeling a million miles away. So for a few minutes they just sat, listening to Dean's heart monitor, to the distant sounds of voices in the hallway and to Sam's shoe as it scuffed the floor.

"Dean," Sam finally blurted out. "Look, man, I'm sorry, okay? Just…yell at me, get mad, do anything, but don't just say it's okay. Jesus…I'd be pissed off if this were the other way round." Sam watched Dean, the back of his neck prickling as he waited for a response.

Dean frowned and tried to lift himself higher on the pillows but gave up almost immediately. "You broke my nose, dude. I can forgive you dissing me for your dorky chums and shooting me again, but, dude, if I look in the mirror and see a football-thumped Marcia Brady staring back, I'm kicking your ass."

Sam sighed and resisted rolling his eyes. "Okay, you don't want to do the whole serious discussion thing, I get that. Just…I need to know that…that you know that I'd never, you know, hurt you. On purpose. Meg, she," Sam licked his lips, turning to stare out the small window. "She knew how to get into the right memories. I don't know how, I mean, it must have been that Vebiel - "

"The what?"

"Um, the Vebiel. That's what the thing was. It's old, maybe 2000 years. Meg's controlling it by, I don't know, trapping it's energy –it's free will, I guess - somewhere. A big somewhere. Dad doesn't know where."

"Oh, swell."

"But, Dean, about - "

"I know, Sam," Dean interrupted. "Dude, if I were really worried that your skinny ass wanted to whoop mine, do you think I'd be handing you '49s every time we go on a hunt? I'd be giving you a slingshot," he cocked his head to the side. "And even that would be risky. Goliath and all."

Sam snorted softly.

"But, uh…" Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, annoyed by how touchy-feely he was about to sound. Must be the morphine.

"Yeah?" Sam prompted.

Dean took a deep breath. "Do you really hate it that much? All this?"

Sam looked up, startled by the question, caught off guard. "No," he answered quickly, automatically, not giving himself time to think about it.

"Really? Because I think your subconscious begs to differ. I think deep down there in Sam-land you remember that you had a pretty sweet deal going on with me and dad out of the picture."

Sam frowned at this, guilt and pity clawing at his chest. "No, Dean. I mean, yes, I don't want to do this forever and I don't want to keep dangling my life in front of…demons and ghosts and god knows what else. But, I don't blame you for any of this. I just, I wish you would consider a normal life one day too. There's more out there than this, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes again. "One bridge at a time, Sammy. And anyway, you need guys like me to keep the streets safe for you lawyer types. Scum smells scum, you know."

Sam snorted again, before absently picking at the edge of Dean's hospital sheets. "I just don't want to keep seeing you in hospital gowns. Not really your color, you know?"

"They could be fluro pink and I'd still pull it off," Dean replied after a second, his voice growing gravelly as sleep began to invade his throat.

A nurse popped her head through the door. "You should probably let him get some rest now."

Sam nodded faintly. "Okay," he said. He stood up slowly, smiling at Dean. "I'll be back later, okay? Did you need anything?"

Dean's eyes were already beginning to droop. "Monica Bellucci."

"I'll see what I can do," Sam smirked. He slowly backed out of the room, weary to leave Dean alone again, but one look from the nurse told him he'd likely have to draw fists if he wanted to stay longer. So he headed to the bathrooms and soaked a paper towel, finally washing the dried blood from his face. He looked into the mirror and was startled to find a black symbol marring his cheek. He stepped closer, cautiously running his fingers over the symbol. It was the same one found on those five bodies dumped near the forest, and it marked the same place that Meg had pressed her hand, using the Vebiel's power to enter his head. He'd bet anything that underneath all those cuts and bruises, Dean's cheek held the same.

"Dammit," Sam muttered, tossing the reddened paper towel into the sink and clutching the sides of the basin. That other symbol, the dripping red one, had obviously been a, well, red herring. And, as Dean had pointed out, an illusion. So that meant it had been yet another mental construct of the Vebiel's. The Vebiel was powerful, and while there was still a chance it could enter their minds without any physical contact, it was dangerous.

Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and stormed out of the bathroom, sinking into one of the hard, plastic seats in the emptying waiting room. It might as well have been a Lazy Boy recliner for all his tired body cared. His eyes stinging from exhaustion and unshed tears; Sam dialed the number he could recite in his sleep. It rang and rang, a bell chiming in his ear, before his dad's answering machine finally picked up.

"Hey dad, it's, uh, Sam. Dean is," Sam laughed suddenly, everything becoming too much for him. But he ran a hand through his hair forced himself to calm down. "He's fine. But we need to know if you found Meg and destroyed whatever she's using to house the Vebiel's energy. So, call us, okay? And, uh, about before - " Sam was cut off by a loud beep, signaling the end of the message. Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it incredulously. He laughed again - abruptly, harshly - and shoved the phone back into his pocket, not caring that it was awkwardly wedged between his thigh and the armrest. He was beyond feeling discomfort. His head was a haze of red and his chest was burning with the effort not to crumble right there and then, in that waiting room, waiting for his brother to recover, waiting to hear back from their dad, to find Meg, to find Jess' killer, to see if his brother would ever look at him the same.

But Sam didn't crumble; he slid down the chair instead and stared at the smudged wall across from him, and waited. He waited for a week. He visited Dean every day, checked with the doctor on his progress, snuck him in greasy take-out to replace the hospital food, brought them clean clothes from the motel. He went back for Dean's car, watching the forest wearily but turning his back on it and the cave within. And he waited. Waited for their dad to call, waited for Meg to appear, waited to see if her control over the Vebiel would get stronger and enter Dean's head in one of his morphine-induced sleeps. Drugs were the only way to get Dean to sleep. The doctors were puzzled; they attributed his sleep resistance to trauma and shock. Sam did too.

Sam waited for Dean to mention that day again - that cave and what had happened there. But Dean refused to, he acted as if it were forgotten. But Sam knew better.

Dean slowly recovered. He was able to sit up within a few days, able to reach for the remote without grimacing within a few more. His face was still black and blue from the broken nose, but the cuts were healing over, and the gashes on his arms were no more than fleshy pink trails. By the seventh day, the symbol on their faces had disappeared, and on the eighth day, Sam's phone rang.

Sam and Dean had been arguing over who was more annoying, the Phil or the Oprah, when Sam's phone began vibrating, shaking the bedside table. Both looked over. Sam grabbed it and flipped it open. "Dad?" Sam listened for a second before frowning. "What do you mean she's gone?"

Dean propped himself up further on the pillows, watching Sam's face and trying to hear what their dad was saying.

"So you've been here the whole week, trying to find her?"

Dean tried not to feel stung. He swatted Sam's leg instead. "Ask him about the foggy thing."

"Dean wants to know if you've worked out what she's using to house the Vebiel's energy." Sam listened for a second before smiling slightly and glancing at Dean. "Yeah, his stubborn ass is doing pretty good, considering." Sam listened again, the smile dissolving into another frown. "What, but…no, dad – Okay! Yes, fine. Bye." Sam hung up and breathed deeply, trying to control his frustration.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam looked over, finding it strange that Dean hadn't grabbed the phone off him the instant their dad had answered. "He said he's searched every inch of that cave, the forest and this town, but no sign of Meg or of where or what she's storing the Vebiel's energy in. He thinks she's skipped town, so he's left as well, back to the trail he was on before we called him. He thinks she's given up this round."

"That's bullshit!" Dean blurted, ripping off his covers angrily.

Sam jumped up, anticipating Dean's move. "Whoa, Dean, slow down, okay? You don't want to make your injuries worse."

Dean ignored the dull ache in his chest and ribs and pointed emphatically. "She's still out there, Sam, and she's going to keep drawing out and killing people unless we stop her! You said it yourself, until we destroy whatever she's storing the misty bitch's energy in, she's dangerous. Too dangerous."

"Okay," Sam soothed, warily picking up the edge of Dean's covers and drawing them back over him, only to have Dean fling them back off. "But, Dean, we have to work out where the energy is, first. No use going out guns blazing if we don't have a place to point."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're such a loser sometimes."

Sam frowned. "Random insults aside, my point still stands. How are we going to find this...thing, object, whatever the hell it is?"

Dean shrugged and settled back into the pillows. "Beats me. But I'm stuck here in this bed, so you better run along and start finding out."

Sam scoffed. "You weren't so stuck in that bed a few seconds ago."

Dean grinned. "A little nursemaid showed me the error in my active ways. Pass me the remote would you, nursey?"

Sam laughed, chucking the remote onto Dean's lap. "Yeah, milk it up. I'll call you if I find something."

"Nuh uh, you'll come right here and tell me in person if you find something," Dean said, worried Sam might dive into this fight without him.

Sam smiled. "Then I'll be back as soon as I can."

Dean mock saluted Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and walked out, a smile dancing on his lips.


Sam stepped out of the hospital and stopped, frowning. In front of him were three exit routes, but Sam for the life of him didn't know which one to take because he had no clue where he wanted to go. Where he could go to try and find the place that Meg was storing the Vebiel's energy, especially if their dad had had no luck. This had better not be a key-turned-little-sister situation. Sam frowned at the thought. "My life is crazy," he muttered before hopping into the Impala and, more out of habit than anything, headed for the local library.
He'd been through every recent newspaper article, looked up every site for the local paranormal and had hacked into the police records to see if any more deaths or violence had been reported. He'd hit a dead end. Sam leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and sighing. How was he meant to tell Dean that their dad was right – that it looked like Meg had skipped town and taken her pet fog with her? How was he meant to look at Dean's black and blue face and tell him they'd just have to let this one slide? That though they never let a hunt go unfinished, there was a first time for everything and this first had arrived a week after Dean had nearly died at his own brother's hands because of this fucking hunt.

… "Oh totally freaky, and then they found her body dumped out near the forest."

Sam's ears pricked up, and he sat up straighter. What was that? He stood up and walked towards the voices, pretending to be browsing a shelf of books. Peeking through a gap in the row of books, Sam found himself staring at a group of four teenage girls sitting around a study table, schoolbooks lying forgotten on the table.

… "That chick Sarah, her sister was one of the victims, yeah?"

"Mmhm. If you ask me, their whole family is into some weird assed voodoo magic stuff – I mean, have you seen Sarah's black nails and her hair lately? It's like, totally green."

"I thought she was just going punk?"

"Ever thought that was just her, like, front?"

"Her what?"

"You know, her cover story, for her witchy ways?"

"Ah…wow, that so makes sense."

Sam smiled to himself. Bingo. If there was ever a way to find out something, town gossip was the way to do it. He grabbed a pad and pencil from his bag and walked up to the girls. They stopped talking immediately and glanced up at him.

"Hi," Sam said, smiling. "I couldn't help overhear your conversation just then."

The girls glanced at each other, wondering if they'd been saying something wrong, given it had only been a week since those victims were found and identified. But then one of the girls put her hand on her hip. "Yeah, what of it?" she said, looking Sam up and down.

Sam chuckled. "I'm a reporter. I'm not from around here, I work for a small magazine somewhere…not here, but I'd really love to hear from some local voices about the, uh, incident."

"You want to interview us?" another of the girls asked, sitting up straighter.

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Is there a photo opp?"

Sam looked at her and tried to resist smirking. "Maybe, I'll have to ask my supervisor. So you girls up to be interviewed?"

The three of them turned to look at the girl who had first spoken. She chewed her lip, watching Sam, before shrugging and moulding a bored expression onto her face. "Okay. Make it quick though, we have to study."

Sam pulled up a chair and flipped open his pad. "Uh, so you girls think one of the victims was into witchcraft, why do you say that?"

They looked at each other guiltily.

"It's okay," Sam said. "This can be off the record if you like."

One of the girls leaned forward eagerly. "Well, see, all this like weird shit has been happening lately and Sarah's family is connected to all of it."

"Really? You're friends with this Sarah girl?"

"Ew, no, she's a freak." The girl's eyes widened. "I mean, you know, I feel totally bad for her and her family for their, you know, loss and all, but no, she's not really one of us, you know?"

Sam smiled tightly, pretending to scribble some notes. "What kind of weird things?"

"She lives near our school, right? And we're always seeing like black cats running across the street when Sarah or her sister were around."

"Kim, doesn't the Sutton family own those cats?"

Kim glanced at her friend and frowned, thinking. "I'm sure they were ginger last time I saw 'em."

"Wow, freaky."

Sam mentally sighed; maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "Anything else?"

"Oh, lots. Like…they've got the whole Goth I-worship-Satan-to-be-cool thing going on. Oh, and the sister, the one who was killed, she used to babysit and that house with the black smoke."

"Black smoke?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, this house on the corner of Bourke, lately this black smoke has been, like, rising from it. Really weird."

"It's been cold lately, maybe they're just using their fireplace?"

The girl who'd been telling him the story smiled slowly. "The house has no chimney."

Sam's eyes widened. "Corner of Bourke, you said?"


Sam pulled the Impala up across the road from the house those girls had been talking about. It looked normal enough. A double story, minivan parked out front, lawn a bit overdue for a trim, curtains open.

Sam grabbed his duffle bag and made sure that the EMF reader was safely tucked inside. He then hopped out and jogged up to the front door, listening to the doorbell chime for a few seconds before the door swung open. Sam found himself staring at…nothing. He frowned and looked down. There, craning her neck up at him, was little girl with a huge grin.

"HI!" the girl shouted.

Sam grinned. "Hi, uh, are your parents home?"

"Yes," the girl said, nodding emphatically. "You're BIG."

Sam laughed. "I guess I am. Do you think you could get them for me?"

"Okay." She abruptly turned and ran into the house.

A few seconds later a woman, obviously the mother, hurried forward. She was wiping her hands on a cloth and had flour stains on her pants legs. "Sorry about that," she said. "I've told her a million times not to answer the door but kids just don't listen."

Sam smiled. "She's a cute one."

Suddenly a crash resounded from within the house. Sam instantly tensed. The mother retreated into the house and craned her head into the adjacent room. "Joshua! I told you, ask me or your brother to get that for you."

"Why…" a voice complained in return.

"Because you're too short." She turned back to Sam, a smile on her face. "What can I do for you?"

Sam whipped out an ID he happened to have on him, too fast for her to actually read properly. "I'm here with the local council, we've been getting reports of strange, black smoke hanging over this area and we need to check each house to see if the toxins it carries has infiltrated any houses. I'll only be a minute," he added quickly, seeing her sigh and look back at her children.

"Okay," she said, moving aside to let him in. "It's not dangerous is it?"

"No," Sam smiled reassuringly, despite images of those five bodies flashing across his mind.

Sam walked past the living room and saw the kid, Joshua, arguing with his little sister over the remote. Their legs were scattering a forgotten Monopoly game as they fought. He traveled past them and towards the stairs, needing to find an empty room so he wouldn't have to explain the EMF. Stepping over a skateboard and a stuffed bear, Sam ascended the steps, looking at the framed photos on the wall as he did. The more he saw of this house the more he hoped that those girls' gossip had been just that: gossip. Nothing about this house made it a candidate to house an ancient spirit. A purple print rug covered the stairs, for crying out loud! Internal heating kept the autumn chill at bay, pictures of kids with toothy grins hung against each wall and he was pretty sure he just saw a pet gerbil in one of the rooms he passed.

"Dude, I'm on your team, stop shooting me!"

Sam glanced through an open doorway and saw two more kids, aged about 12, playing an X Box game. Sam sighed and drew out his EMF reader, ducking into an empty room. He turned it on and swung it around. It began to give off positive readings almost immediately. Sam looked up, startled and alert, his cheek already beginning to throb with phantom pain as he anticipated another attack on his memories. But nothing came. Sam cautiously swung the device closer to the walls – the readings increased. He clenched his teeth and shut the thing off impatiently. "Meg, you're a piece of work," he muttered. Trust her to trap the Vebiel's energy in an innocent family's house. What the fuck were they supposed to do now?