17
The ghost of Elizabeth had lead Dean through a twisting maze of hallways upstairs, past countless doors, before coming to a stop in front of one. Dean was glad that she had come to lead the way; he knew it would have been hours before he found it on his own. His hear trip hammered as he thought about how long it had taken already, and the damage that could have already been done.
"This is it," Elizabeth said, her voice a soft whisper in the hallway that barely reached his ears. "I'll wait here for you to take you back. The rest is up to you."
Dean nodded, not wanting to give himself away, and readied the shotgun in his hands. He thought about simply opening the door, but his anger boiled inside him, taking control, and he kicked out a foot in full rage to send the door flying inward in a shatter of wooden shards.
When he entered the room he wasn't surprised to find himself looking at himself. The shape shifter turned, obviously surprised at the dramatic entrance, but not shocked that the man he had been waiting for had finally arrived.
"Ah," he said happily. "You finally made it."
"You're gonna wish I hadn't," Dean grated. "You give my face a bad name."
The shape shifter shook his head and tsked softly. Dean's eyes drifted behind him to where Kya sat, bound and blindfolded in a chair. It took him a minute to realize why she wasn't speaking. Her lips had been sewn shut with thin black thread. The false Dean saw him staring and stepped back to let Dean view his full work proudly.
"I think it's the best work I've done so far," he admitted.
Dean wracked his brain for a sharp retort, ending with a simple, "I'm gonna kill you."
"You already did," came the reply.
"Well I'll make sure to do it right this time."
The shape shifter lunged at him with a scalpel in one hand before Dean could make his move, slicing into his shoulder. Dean accepted the stinging blow and turned with his rush, bringing the butt of his gun to connect solidly with the back of the shape shifter's head. His enemy stumbled but remained upright, turning to face Dean with a hungry glare in his eyes.
"You'll have to do better that that," he said smugly.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Dean shot back.
The impostor lunged again, knocking Dean to the floor and causing him to lose his weapon. Dean struggled, putting both hands on his attacker's shoulders, rolling him until Dean had the advantage. He brought his fist down hard, punching himself in the face until blood stained his hand. He got up and brought his booted foot into the shape shifter's ribcage, kicking until he heard the ribs snap.
"I'll kill you," the shape shifter grunted through clenched teeth.
Dean smirked and picked up the shotgun again. "Promises, promises."
He blew a hole into the impostor's knee, not wanting to kill him just yet. The shape shifter howled and clutched at his blasted kneecap, writhing on the floor in agony. Dean grabbed him by the hair, hauling him to his feet and slamming him against the wall.
"You think that hurts," he growled. "You should stay for the after-party."
Dean let go, letting his rage loose, and when he was done he had grinded the thing's face into an unrecognizable pulp with his fist. He stepped back and let him drop to the floor. Dean crouched down, one foot on his back, his hands holding the shotgun steady at the back of the shape shifter's head.
"This time," he said firmly. "Stay dead."
Dean fired and blood spattered outward, hitting his face, shoulders, and chest. For a moment all he could was sit there and breathe hard before his anger began to ebb away and he came back to himself. The thing that had stolen his face lay dead beneath him, an unmoving bloody mass before it vanished into smoke like everything else the house conjured up.
Dean set the gun down and rushed to the chair. He slid the blindfold from Kya's eyes, and when they came into focus he could read the raw fear in them.
"It's okay," he said quickly. "It's me."
He pulled a pocket knife from his jeans and sawed through the ropes that bound her wrists to the armrests. Underneath lay raw, bleeding skin from fierce abrasion. He gritted his teeth, anger washing through him again, when he saw the thick nails embedded in her hands. He cupped her chin his palm, tilting her head upwards, and placed the tip of the knife against the first of the stitches holding her lips together.
"Hold still," he said softly.
She winced as he sliced through. When her lips were freed he went to work on the ropes on her ankles, discovering four more nails pushed deep into her calves.
"Dean," she whispered.
Her voice was raw and hoarse, barely audible even in the quiet of the room. His throat tightened at the plaintive sound of it, until the muscles in his neck twitched. He wished that he had made the bastard suffer more, but he was dead and that was all that mattered.
"It's okay," he said again, as reassuringly as he could. "I'm sorry but this is going to hurt."
He steeled himself and yanked out the nails, each one bringing forth a cry of pain from Kya. He moved to the ones in her hands, pulling them out in one swift motion. As soon as they were free he tore off strips from the sheet on the bed in the room, winding them around her bleeding hands and legs.
Kya brought a shaking hand to her lips and tore out the thread. Tiny beads of blood pooled from dozens of puncture marks and Dean dabbed at them with his own shirt. He stopped and met her eyes, but only for a second. He was unable to hold the look.
"God," he said brokenly. "I'm so sorry. I should have gotten here sooner."
She reached a hand up to his face and brushed it against his jaw gently. "You got here. That's all that matters."
He caught the hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it gently before leaning in to kiss her forehead. The thought occurred to him to kiss more than that, but he brushed it aside in favor of getting the hell out of dodge.
Elizabeth looked at him as he emerged from the room with Kya cradled tightly in his arms. She nodded once, as if to say that he had done well, before beckoning for him to follow once again.
In his arms, Kya buried her head in his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. Even though she was safe, the pain still plagued her body, and the fear still remained wrapped around her like a shroud. She was strong, but there were some things that brought even the strongest of mortals to their knees. This was one of those things.
Dean held her even more tightly, understanding completely, when he felt her tears cling to his shirt and spread through the fabric, permeating more than just the cotton he wore. They dug all the way to his heart.
