A/N: Wow, if I had a nickel for everyone who called me 'evil' after that last chapter, I'd be rich enough to buy the rights to Supernatural! I think I may develop a complex. :) But fear not! I may be an evil bitch, but even I have a heart – Sam and Dean aren't done fighting, yet. ;) Sidenote: I've noticed that the site is screwing up some of my formatting when I post, and some sentences appear to have lost their spaces. I'm trying to fix this, but I apologize in the meantime.
By the time Dean had composed himself enough to lift his head Sam had slipped back to sleep, his arm still draped over Dean's shoulders. His brother's lashes were dark against pale cheeks, and the sight of his peaceful face almost destroyed Dean's fragile control again.
Sam seemed incapable of staying awake for long these days, his surgery and painkillers making it almost impossible. His memory had been like a song on repeat when he could stay awake a full day. Now he was like a skipping record – fragments of awareness, repeating endlessly.
Dean released his death grip on his brother's gown, his fingers aching as they unclenched. He didn't understand – it should have worked. The poltergeist had to be Daniel Hauser – there was no other explanation – and he had toasted the fucker's remains. There was no reason that the spirit should still be in Sam's brain.
He resisted the urge to punch something, instead digging the nails of his hands into his palms until they stung. He had put all his hope in this venture, and now he felt bereft, hopeless.
Think, damn it. There has to be an explanation.
Hauser had been electrocuted, and the poltergeist seemed to be electrical in nature. Destroying the bones hadn't dispelled it – it must have found something else to anchor it to this world, something to draw its energy from.
His eyes shot to his brother's bandaged head, a sick feeling growing in his stomach.
Sam…
It was feeding off of Sam. It made sense – his brother's worsening symptoms, the spirit's ability to linger. Hauser was tapped into the electrical currents of Sam's brain like a supernatural parasite. Draining him. Killing him.
He had to get this thing out of his brother. And after burning the bones, there was only one way of doing it –
He needed to perform an exorcism.
But how the hell was he going to pull that off in a hospital? Exorcisms were notoriously loud, messy, and dangerous. Not the most subtle of techniques. Even though he was dealing with a spirit rather than a demon, it was bound to cause a ruckus. He'd never be able to finish the ritual before he was interrupted by alarmed hospital staff.
Sam wouldn't be able to leave the hospital anytime soon, with that shunt in his head, but Dean knew that if he let this continue much longer, his brother wouldn't survive. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wipe away the lingering sensation of tears. He'd have to do it in the hospital, somewhere other than Sam's room – somewhere isolated and soundproof.
He searched his memory for a viable place, mapping out the hospital in his mind. They were in C Wing, between B Wing, which was the psychiatric ward, and the beginning of the new D wing – the future home of Glenvale Hospital's MRI and imaging center. It was still under heavy construction, not yet in use.
It was their best option, empty and nearby. Getting Sammy there would be difficult – it would have to be done late tonight, when staffing was low. He would need to be prepared beforehand – supplies, a plan. There wasn't a lot of time, and as much as he wanted to stay and be here when Sam woke up again, he needed to get ready.
Still, he hesitated, staring at his brother's sleeping face. His eyes looked sunken and he was thin, his shoulder's bony against his pillow. Dean had the sudden fear that if he were to leave now, Sam would die. But if he didn't go, if he didn't make this happen soon,losing Samwas a certainty.
Snatching a piece of paper from the bedside table, he scrawled out a quick note.
Sammy –
Don't worry, little brother. You're going to be fine. Hang on – I'll be there soon.
Dean
He folded the note in half and tucked it under Sam's limp hand, then forced himself to turn and walk away, praying that Sam would still be there when he returned.
It was eleven PM by the time Dean had gathered the proper supplies, researched the exorcism ,and returned to the hospital. It had been difficult, finding the proper ritual. The vast majority of exorcisms were aimed at demons, not spirits, but he had finally found an obscure rite in one of Sam's books. He had the spell written down and tucked in his backpack with some holy water, angelica root, bindings, and five consecrated white candles.
Itwasn'tdifficult to talk his way into Sam's room. Muriel, an older, easily charmed night nurse was working. Dean allowed his eyes to tear slightly as he told her that he just had to see Sam, that he wouldn't be able to sleep until he did. She crumbled like shortbread, ushering him past the nurse's station with a motherly pat on the back. Dean felt like a total shithead for manipulating her, but could see no other choice. He comforted himself with the belief that Muriel would want to help, if she knew what was really going on.
Sam was asleep when Dean slipped into his room, the note clutched to his chest. He had obviously woken up at some point, and Dean couldn't help but wonder how he had reacted to finding himself alone. He would never really know.
Dropping the backpack on the foot of the bed, Dean retrieved the wheelchair folded in the back corner of the room and pushed it to Sam's side.
"Sam," he said softly, shaking his brother's shoulder gently. Sam moaned and his eyelids flickered.
"Come on, buddy. Open your eyes."
Sam blinked, his eyes unfocused and dazed. Dean saw him scan the room blearily, his confusion apparent, before his gaze locked on to Dean's face.
"Hey, Sleepyhead. Up and at 'em, okay?"
Sam stared at him blankly for a moment, and Dean had the sudden, horrifying suspicion that his brother didn't recognize him. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion and struggled to sit up.
"Dean?" he said thickly, and hot relief flowed through Dean as he helped his brother upright.
"Yeah, man. Don't worry – you're okay. But we have to get you to another wing so we can fix you up, okay?" He locked the wheels on the chair as he spoke, keeping a steadying hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder.
"Okay," Sam acquiesced weakly, swaying against his grip.
"Atta boy." he said encouragingly, swinging Sam's legs over the edge of the bed for him.
"'M not a dog," Sam said petulantly, his voice muffled in Dean's neck as he lifted him gently upward and over to the wheelchair.
Dean chuckled, absurdly happy to hear his brother being snippy. Despite an ever-increasing disorientation, Sam was still… Sam.
"No," he said fondly, as he settled Sam in the chair. "A dog actually does what it's told every once and a while."
Sam snorted, slumped in the seat.
Dean grabbed the backpack and parked the chair by the door, then crouched down to eye level in front of his brother.
"Okay, sit tight, Dude. I've gotta do something real quick, and then I'll be back. Can you stay here for me?"
Sam nodded, his head moving stiffly. Dean smiled reassuringly at him before ducking out into the hall and towards room 345. The lights were out, but Dean could see its occupant in the illumination from the hallway. A middle-aged woman was lying in the bed, staring blankly at a corner of the ceiling. Her wrists were attached to the bedrails with soft restraints, and she moved restlessly.
Scanning the hallway quickly and seeing no one, he slipped into the room and moved silently to the bed.
"Hey, Angela." He whispered, glancing at the name on her chart. "Let's get you out of these things, huh?" He undid the restraints gently and lowered the bedrail. Angela didn't speak, but her eyes rolled to his face and a bubble of spit formed on her lips. Dean felt a spasm of guilt and pity as he guided her to her feet and out into the hallway.
"Take a stroll, sweetheart." He muttered, pointing her towards B Wing and giving her an encouraging but gentle push forward. She shuffled ahead awkwardly, still silent. Apologizing wrodlessly, he turned and walked around the corner and down the hall to the nurse's station.
Muriel looked up as he approached, smiling benignly.
"Hey, thanks, Muriel." He said sincerely. "You're a real sweetheart."
She blushed and shooed him with her hand, looking pleased.
"You get some sleep, dear."
"I will," he saidwarmly,waving and starting to walk away. He paused, trying to look as though he'd just remembered something.
"Oh, Muriel, I saw one of the other patients walking down the East hallway – seemed pretty… out of it. Middle aged woman, brown hair, big scar over her right eye? "
"Oh, that's Angela! She must have gotten out of her restraints." Muriel gasped, standing swiftly and moving around the counter. "Thank you, hon. I've got to go fetch her. You have a good night, now."
"Sure thing," Dean said, hating himself as he watched her trot around the corner. As soon as she was out of sight he turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, back to Sam's room.
Sam was nodding sleepily in the chair when he got there, but he jerked to alertness again as Dean pushed him swiftly into the hall and towards D Wing.
"Whe're we goin'?" he slurred.
"Somewhere quiet, bro. Get you fixed up."
Dean scanned the hallways as he pushed the chair rapidly towards their destination, grateful that it remained empty.
Soon the wide double doors of D Wing loomed up before them. They were locked, bold red signs proclaiming the area authorized personnel only.Prepared for this, Dean pulled a metal file from the backpack and made quick work of popping the lock. Having been intended only to keep wandering civilians out, it was useless against a professional.
Sighing in relief, Dean pulled his brother through the doors and relocked them. This hallway was dim, lit only by humming backup lights. Empty, black doorways lined the sides. Bypassing them, he pushed Sam down and around a corner, further into the construction zone.
"Dean?" Sam said in a small voice, and Dean realized that his brother was scared.
"It's alright, Sammy." He reassured. "I know this is strange, but I don't have time to explain the details. You were hurt, and now we have to take care of a little problem in our area of expertise, understand? But we're going to fix it, and you're going to be okay, so just hang on, alright?"
Sam' head tilted back and to the side, so that his upraised eyes met Dean's. There was confusion there, and fear, but trust as well, and he dropped his chin again, nodding. Dean released a handle for a moment to squeeze his shoulder, then spied a likely looking room to his right. He halted, moving away from the chair for a moment to investigate.
There were no windows, and the walls and door looked thick There was an exam table bolted to the middle of the floor.
Perfect.
He ducked out into the hallway and retrieved his brother, then closed and locked the door after them. He wondered vaguely if Muriel had discovered that Sam was gone yet, but didn't have the time to consider it for long.
He pushed Sam to the exam table and locked the brakes on the chair.
"Okay," he said, suddenly nervous. "I'm gonna help you up on the table. I need you to lay on your stomach, alright?"
The ritual called for the possessed individual to be tied to a raised surface, arms over their head. Dean supposed that this was usually done with the person on their back, but Sam couldn't be expected to do that, not with the shunt still in place.
Samwas lookingat him in bewilderment, but pushed up on the arms of the chair without questioning him. Dean swiftly hooked his hands under Sam's arms and guided him up onto the table. His brother flung out an arm and sank awkwardly to his side on the hard surface, out of breath from the effort. He panted for a moment, then rolled weakly onto his stomach.
"Sam?" Dean asked hesitantly, pulling his supplies from the bag. "You trust me, know I'd never hurt you, right?"
"Yeah," Sam sighed immediately, his eyes beginning to close.
"Okay. Good." Dean said, then pulled Sam's unresisting arms gently over his head and bound them to the table. Sam pulled weakly against the restraints, his eyes opening again and searching for Dean's face.
"What're you doing?" he asked, sounding very young.
Dean leaned down and stared intently into Sam's eyes, trying to project all the confidence and love he could muster.
"I'm saving you, Sammy."
A/N: And you all called me evil… :) Oh, Ye of little faith…
