It kind of bothers me to watch Sam burst into a cloud of black smoke that dissipates into nothingness, but I've got bigger problems at the moment. Besides, it doesn't matter because now I know that my brother's not dead.
Ignoring the sting of the slash marks across my chest which have absolutely ruined one of my favorite shirts and the soreness of my throat, I clamber back to my feet and cross the room to the pile of reporter on the floor. I kneel next to her and check for a pulse, which, to my relief, is steady and strong. I try to move her as gently as possible, turning her over onto her back. That was quite a fall after all. Evidenced by the fact that she's out cold. I frown at the idea of a head trauma, but decide that, at least for the moment, she'll be alright. Thank god the girl had the presence of mind to hold open the journal for me to see the rest of the exorcism. I kind of hate to admit it, but that demon really had me. I guess that means she saved my ass. Huh, never saw that one coming.
Anyway, I've got a brother to locate so I get back to my feet again, something that's getting harder and harder to do each time (God, I hurt), and move towards the open cellar door. I glance down into the darkness and decide to yell down and wait for a response before I exert the energy to climb down.
"Sammy?" I call.
"Dean, is that you?" a voice that's half groan calls back.
"Yeah, Sam, it's me. How you doing down there?" I ask, hoping that groan isn't one of pain, but being too cynical to believe that so settling for hoping that it's not severe pain.
"Dean, I thought I saw…" Sam begins and I'm afraid I know where he's headed with that so I cut him off.
"It's okay, Sam. It was the demon. Fear demon, remember?" I say, trying to seem more relaxed about the whole experience than I really feel. There's a long pause and I start to get a little worried, "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"You coming up?" I ask, feeling a little impatient with him. I mean, I thought I just saw him die, I'd kind of like to see him in front of me alive and okay.
"Yeah, I'm coming. Dean, there's a bunch of other people down here, too. Most of them seem to be kind of in shock."
"I'll bet." I mutter to myself, already thinking of the major headache that getting all these people out of here, keeping them from going hysterical, and satisfying the local authorities about all this is going to be. Maybe it would be best if we just got these folks situated and split before the cops actually arrived. Not that I really want to leave them out here, but the Impala really doesn't have the space and I don't feel like getting arrested again at the moment. No, I'm much more inclined to spend the night in my motel room than in the local jail.
At that moment, Sam emerges from the cellar. As much as I hate sappy chick-flick moments, I could almost hug him. Almost. As it is, I smile so wide my mouth hurts.
"Hey, I'm getting tired of saving your ass." I tell him to cover the entirely over-emotional reaction I feel at seeing him safe and sound.
Sam smiles this indulgent smile like he sees right through me or something. Then, he looks over my shoulder and sees Lindy and the smile disappears. I step back and give him a hand out of the cellar, following him to her side.
"She fell from the ceiling, but I think she'll be okay." I report to Sam as he kneels next to her just as I'd done only minutes earlier.
"The ceiling?" Sam asks, looking up at me over his shoulder.
I shake my head, "Don't ask."
"Dean, you're bleeding." Sam says almost accusingly, pointing at my shirt, "And what's wrong with your voice?"
"I'm fine." I shrug off his concern and decide to focus his attention on somebody else, "Look, if you're okay, can you start helping people out of the cellar while I get Lindy to the car?"
Sam nods, his face taking on a serious and professional look. But he still looks from me to Lindy and back again with concern. I bend down and slide my arms under the unconscious girl and pick her up, to prove to Sam that I'm okay. He seems to accept that because he turns and heads back for the cellar. I nod to myself, satisfied that Sam's stopped prying and turn for the door. As glad as I am to have Sam back, I'm even more glad this thing is over and I don't particularly want to relive any bit of it by relating what happened to him. It was bad enough the first time.
I pause for a moment before I reach the street to readjust Lindy in my arms. It's not that she's heavy or anything, it's just my muscles are a little angry about being thrown into walls more than once and all. The movement must have jostled her out of her sleep, though because her eyes flutter open a little and she groans.
"Hey, beautiful." I quip, smiling at her.
"Dean?" she asks, her voice just as rough as my own, reminding me that she got the crap strangled out of her, too. I hate demons that like to strangle.
"That's me." I assure her.
"What…?" she starts to ask, lifting a hand to her head.
"You kicked its ass, that's what." I interrupt, hoping she'll feel better with the knowledge that she's the reason we made it through this. She gives a weak smile, but she looks on the verge of passing out again. I figure I should probably try to keep her awake given the fact that she almost definitely has a concussion, "This'll be one hell of a story, right?"
"'Reporter manages not to get everyone killed by demon?'" she jokes.
"I was thinking more like 'Reporter and incredibly handsome ghost hunter save hunter's dumbass younger brother and assorted missing persons.'" I reply.
Lindy immediately stiffens in my arms and the movement is so sudden I'm almost afraid I'll drop her, "Oh my god, Sam."
"No, he's okay. That wasn't really Sam." I reassure her quickly before she can freak out, "Just the demon messing with me. He's helping the others out."
"Others?" Lindy asks, confused.
"All those missing people, remember?" I remind her.
"Oh." she says, quieting down. Then, she stirs again, "Dean?"
"What's up?" I ask, wishing that I'd parked a little closer.
"Does this mean I can drive your car?"
"The Impala?" I stop walking in surprise, looking down at her then up at my car again. My mind races for an appropriate answer when she starts laughing. I frown at her, wondering what exactly is so funny.
"Nevermind." she says, still smiling.
I wonder for a moment if she's making fun of me before I dismiss the thought and resume the trek to the car. I'm too exhausted to care too much at the moment, anyway. Thankfully, we reach the car then and I manage to get the back door open without dropping Lindy. I try to place her in the seat as carefully as I can, feeling the slashes on my chest pull at the awkward movement. I try not to let the pain show because I know she's watching me and she'll spill to Sam who will undoubtedly go all mother-ish on me. The last thing he needs to be doing after an experience like this is worry about me.
"So, will you make me a deal?" I ask her as soon as I've got her in.
"What?" she asks, eyes bright and interested, which I find very reassuring given that she just fell from some height and hit her head on the floor.
"If I turn on the car and give you some music to listen to, will you stay awake until Sam and I finish getting these people out?"
"I guess." she kind of shrugs.
"I'm serious. You've had a head injury. No sleeping." I lecture, reminding myself of Dad for the second time tonight.
"Yes, sir." she replies sarcastically. She must see some seriousness in my face or something, though, because she continues, "Okay, I promise I'll stay awake. Just make sure the music is good and loud."
I grin, "Is there any other kind?"
With that I find her some Judas Priest to listen to, turn the car on and pop it in the tape player. I wait until the music fills the air, double check that she's okay in the back seat. Then, I turn and reluctantly head back to the store. I'm relieved to see Sam out front, having people sit on the front porch. Sam's right, too, these people seem utterly shell-shocked. They hardly seem to know what's going on. I think about what the demon did, what it made me feel, and I can hardly blame them. Some of these people have been missing for over a week. I'm surprised there aren't casualties. But I shouldn't get over-excited just yet. I'll be damn surprised if some of these people don't end up in a loony bin or become recluses or something after this.
"How many more, Sam?" I ask, too tired to recall how many missing persons there were at the moment.
Sam looks up from the guy he's just seated and briefly reassured, "Two more."
"Got it." I nod, heading inside. As I pass him, I hand him my phone, "Here, call the cops for me, will you?"
Sam wordlessly takes the phone. When I'm safely past his prying eyes, I allow myself a moment of weakness and gingerly probe the bruises at my throat. I'm fairly sure my throat's going to be all black and blue for at least a week. Great. Not only is it hard to pass as an FBI agent when you look like you've had the crapped wrung out of you, but it's hard to pick up chicks looking like that, too. Plus, I've got these annoying scratches to take care of. I cautiously pull my shirt away from the wounds, wincing as the material pulls free of already drying blood.
I put those thoughts out of my mind, focusing once again on the still unfinished task before me. I don't relish the idea of climbing the ladder down into the cellar, but I can't bring myself to ask Sam to do it again either. Especially not after he was held prisoner down there. Nope, big brother Dean will finish this up.
But I have to say, I'm not all there anymore. In fact, I'm almost asleep on my feet already. The adrenaline from before has completely dissipated leaving just a bruised and scratched Dean behind. So, it almost surprises me when I realize that I'm back outside with the two remaining people. Even worse, I almost jump when Sam comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder.
"We should probably go, Dean." he says.
Well, at least I won't have to argue with him about that. That's a relief.
"These people okay for now?" I ask him, trusting that he's taken care of that for me.
He nods, "They don't really know what happened, but they know that help is coming, they just have to stay put."
"Good. Let's get out of here."
Sam and I both head for the car, silent. I can tell from the way he's walking that Sam's dead tired, too. The Impala looks like heaven on wheels by the time we reach her again.
"Do you want me to…?" Sam starts to ask, getting all concerned again.
"Get your ass in shotgun." I say before he can even finish asking to drive.
Sam shrugs and complies. He must really be tired. He's usually much more stubborn. I decide not to question it and just get in behind the wheel. Lindy's made good on her promise and is still awake in the back seat. I notice that she brightens when she sees Sam.
"Sam!" she says, looking as relieved to see him as I felt.
He smiles at her, "Hey, Lindy. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think I'm fine. What about you? We thought…" she shakes her head and doesn't finish. I'm thankful because I don't want to have a discussion with Sam and I know that if she tells him that we thought he was dead, he won't let it go no matter how tired he is.
"I'm okay." he nods.
I, meanwhile, turn the car around and head back down the highway. We pass the cops on the way, three squad cars flying down the road with lights and sirens blazing. The three of us are quiet and I worry a little about Sam and Lindy. Lindy stays awake, but I worry about her head anyway. I really don't want to take her to a hospital, but I wonder if maybe I should. And I worry about Sam because he's got this introspective look on his face and I just know that he's thinking about whatever that demon did to him. Thankfully, the motel comes into sight before I can talk myself into saying something about that to him. I wonder fleetingly how fast I was driving, but the thoughts leaves my brain almost instantly. I don't really care.
I pull into the spot in front of our rooms and put the car in park. Rather than getting out, however, I turn in my seat to look at Lindy, "Well, should we get you into a hospital and get that concussion checked out?"
Lindy pushes herself up, her eyes wide, "Hell no! You have any idea how much trouble I'll be in if I end up hospitalized while working on a job? Besides, it's just a little bump on the head."
"You fell from the ceiling." I remind her.
"And you've got three slashes across your chest." she retorts stubbornly. She crosses her arms across her own chest, "I'm not going unless you go."
I sigh, which really hurts my throat. So, I curse under my breath. Sam raises an eyebrow at me and smirks because he and I both know that she got me with that one.
"Fine, but if you fall into a coma, not my fault." I snap a little more harshly than I mean.
"I promise I won't haunt you if I die." Lindy says, one hand on her heart and the other up in the air like she's taking an oath.
"That's not funny." I frown at her, getting out of the car and opening the back door to help her out.
"I thought it was kind of amusing." she replies, holding her hand out to me and letting me pull her to her feet.
She wobbles a little, but she stands on her own. I feel a little better about not rushing her to the ER. I guess I've taken some pretty bad hits to the head and been okay, after all. Maybe I'm overreacting. Oh, god. I'm acting like Sam!
I try not to trip and fall on my face when that thought hits me. Instead, I frown deeply at myself for thinking that and silently escort Lindy to her room. Sam follows closely and I notice, to my annoyance, a small amused smile on his face as he watches me. I glare at him and refrain from being too helpful with getting Lindy comfortable on her bed. My tired mind doesn't even leap to add innuendos to that, a clear indication that I need to sleep for nine or ten hours.
"We should at least keep this door open in case you need anything." Sam pipes up as he opens the adjoining door to our room.
"Whatever." Lindy says, sounding already half asleep.
I push past Sam into our room and stumble towards the bathroom. I close the door behind me before yanking my shirt off. Three long cuts run diagonally across my chest. I quickly clean them before opening the door and grabbing a clean shirt. I pull it on before Sam can see the wounds too clearly. Then, I let my jeans hit the floor, not caring that the door to Lindy's room is still open before climbing into bed in my T-shirt and boxers. I'm too tired to do anything else in the way of cleaning up tonight. Sam, on the other hand, grabs some clean things and heads for the shower.
"Night, Sam." I grunt, knowing that by the time he's done I'll already be out.
"Night, Dean." he replies.
"Goodnight, Sam! Goodnight, Dean!" Lindy calls suddenly from the other room.
I can't suppress a smile. I call back, "Night, Lindy!"
Sam echoes me before he closes himself in the bathroom. The sound of running water reaches me and I let it lull me to sleep.
