The Guilty Party
Disclaimer: blah blah blah, I don't own them, blah blah blah. But if I did, oh boy...
Previously on Supernatural:
"I'm so sorry." Dean whispered to the empty room.
"You should be." Wait. Empty rooms don't talk. Dean whipped his head up. Their eyes met. He stood not two feet away from Dean's chair. Sam.
"Boo."
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Chapter 5: Payback
Dean gasped and pushed his chair back. Sam. I knew it. I knew you were alive. Those lying bastards… how could… Dean looked again, the initial shock quickly wearing off. But it wasn't Sam. His Sam wasn't pale as… well, death. His Sam didn't have deep dark circles under his eyes. Nothing alive could have those eyes.
"No. You're not him." Dean cried out, too bewildered by the appearance of his brother to remember he was in a hospital with very open doorways.
"Oh yes, I am." Sam's image flickered slightly as he walked across the room. The few seconds of viewing Sam's decaying insides was enough to make Dean want to gag. "You see Dean, this is your fault. You killed me, but not just with that beautiful car crash. You killedwhat I could have hadwhen Jess died. I could have been married. I could have been happy."
Without warning, Sam was leaning his face into Dean's, only a few inches from his nose.
"But you kept me from that." Dean tried to push his wheelchair back, the stench of his brother's dead body overcoming his senses. But he couldn't move; something holding him and the chair still. Dean began to panic. It's not Sammy. It's not…
"Why?" Dean's voice cracked, never taking his eyes away from the horrible imitation of his baby brother. He cleared his throat, trying to sound stronger than he felt. "Why are you haunting me, Sam?"
Sam's eyes squinted. Suddenly, Dean's body flew out of the wheelchair, slamming into a wall. He could have collapsed if an unseen force wasn't holding him up. He grunted as pain flared across his back. Sam flickered, walking around to Dean again. The lights flickered and a sharp wind was coming from nowhere, whipping the hair around the brother's faces.
"Dean. We have hunted enough pissed off spirits for you to know we hardly need a reason." Sam grinned, his teeth stained with blood. A small crimson trail began to flow out of his mouth. "And I am one pissed off spirit Dean."
No. No, that's not right. Dean gasped for breath, his eyes darting to the doorway, seeing a quick flicker of movement. Why wasn't anyone coming to help? Okay Dean, think. Distract him. Maybe someone will walk by. Just keep him talking.
"No, they… you… those things always have a reason. They always want something." Dean paused, quickly coming to the realization. "And what you want I can't give you, little brother. You couldn't save Jess and you think I made that happen."
Sam snarled, blood flickering from his mouth. "What I WANT, dear brother, is for you to pay. To suffer. Like I suffered every damn day since Mom and Jess died." He stared intently at Dean. The pressure on Dean's chest increased, making it feel like his back would snap at any moment. "You pulled me from both of those fires Dean. Why didn't you just let me die then? No, you had to wait until now, when I would suffer the most. After months of nightmares, of doing nothing but hunt. I tried to get away from that, but you. You pulled back in. And now, I'm burning forever."
Sam squinted again. Dean gasped as he realized he couldn't breathe. The pain in his back was quickly becoming a tingling numbness. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes.
"Dean!" Dean strained his eyes open, turning his head toward the new voice. In the doorway stood his savior. John. In his right hand was a shotgun pointed straight at Sam's chest. Sam whirled around, flickering slighting. His eyes became slits at the sight of the gun.
"Hello John." John's jaw clenched at the sadistic tone his son's voice had. When did his son's eyes become so sad? Maybe it only happens after death. God, I hope so. He tightened the grip on the gun and took a step forward.
"Let him go, Sammy." His eyes glanced at Dean who was almost unconscious against the wall.
"Or what Dad? You'll shoot me?" Sam snickered. "We're in a hospital genius. You can't go firing weapons without attracting some attention. Do you really think I'm that stupid?" Sam flickered once more, the anger pulsing out of his eyes. "Oh wait. Yes, you do think I'm that stupid. You and Dean have always thought I was helpless. Poor little Sammy. Can't even protect himself. Well guess what Dad." Suddenly, he stood in front of the gun, pressing his chest against the barrel. "I can now."
John's body flew across the room, landing next to Dean. The shotgun clamored to the floor, now useless. Sam grinned, an evil giggle escaping his bleeding lips. Slowly, as if to punctuate what he was doing, Sam reached down and grasped the gun. Settling it on his hip, he stood, smirking.
"Huh. Look how the tables have turned. Oh Deanie, time to wake up. You can't miss this." Dean's head snapped to the side as if slapped powerfully across the face. Groggily, he opened his eyes, squirming slightly at the sight of his father pinned next to him.
"There we go. Up and at 'em, big brother!" The sadistic humor left Sam's face as he leveled the shotgun at his family.
"Sam." John stared at his son. No, not his son. This was just a spirit, a manifestation of something evil that his innocent little Sammy could never house. He glanced at the doorway. Sam turned, following his line of vision and with a smirk, closed the door gently. The click of the lock made John groan. "Sam, stop this."
"Shut up Dad. You've missed out on too much of my life to tell me what to do." He turned to John, smirking. "You've missed so much. And it was hardly daisies and chocolate kisses. We never told you about our little adventure in Ellicott's mental asylum, did we? You never knew that I shot Dean with a loaded gun, huh?" John glanced at Dean, trying to find the lie, praying it wasn't true. Dean simply watched Sam, his face filled with horror and embarrassment.
Sam began to pace across the hospital room, his image flickering again. Now he was really getting into it. "Granted, it was filled with rock salt, but it still hurt like a bitch, right Dean-boy?" Dean grimaced, unwilling to answer. Sam's image flickered, the anger pushing through his voice. "Come on Dean. I know you can still talk. I didn't hurt you that much. So you finally don't have anything to say, huh? No smart comeback or quirky one-liner? Maybe if I fill your chest with salt again, you'll start talking. We both know what happens when your chest is hit with rock salt. I wonder what would happen if I aimed for your face." Sam fingered the trigger, threateningly.
"Sammy." Dean gasped, trying desperately to gather breath. "This isn't you. Please Sam."
"No Dean. I think this is me." Sam began to pace once more, his finger itching to take out his anger. "Remember what I said about the little girl in the painting? The job in New York with Sara? Some people are just born tortured. This spirit, my spirit is just as dark as I was. I just never let my true nature come out. Just because I never acted on impulse like sweet Melanie did, doesn't mean I didn't want to. Ellicott possessing me was when I could really act out my feelings that I had always had but could never reveal. Cause I always had to be good, little Sammy. Poor Sammy who couldn't fight for himself. Poor Sammy who couldn't save Jess."
Bloody tears began to fall down Sam's cheeks, the flickering increasing. Suddenly, he stopped, standing completely still. He looked up, resolve in his eyes.
"Enough monologuing, as you would say dear brother. Time to feel some pain."
Like the hunter he was trained to be, Sam raised the gun, aiming it straight at Dean's face. A grin crossed his face as he pulled the trigger.
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I know this has taken forever to be posted and I'm super sorry! This is kind of a filler chapter so it doesn't feel like my best work. I promise the next chapter will be coming soon and it will be worth the wait. My life has been beyond crazy, but now I have a bit more time to fulfill my obsession. :) Please R&R cause it keeps me inspired!