Stunned, Dean stood with his mouth slightly agape, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He had kicked open the front door to find some weird old hag hovering over Sam. Stunned that the shot of rocksalt had no effect, he did the only thing he could think of; he took aim and swung with all his might, only to have the gun batted away like it was a twig. Then, she was gone.
A soft moan cut through the haze as Dean turned his attention towards a semiconscious Sam. "Sam?" he queried softly as he knelt beside his brother. Sam gave another weak moan as he turned his head slightly.
"Come on, Sam, open your eyes." Dean glanced around the room warily. Although it appeared as if the menacing presence was gone, he was still uneasy. He turned his attention back to Sam, who had just opened his eyes.
"Sam. Sam, look at me." But Sam just stared blankly ahead, his expression vacant. Dean noticed for the first time the angry red marks that marred Sam's face. As he lightly touched Sam's cheek, he gasped sharply as Sam's hand flew up and encircled Dean's wrist in a viselike grip. Painfilled hazel eyes looked up into startled green eyes as the two brothers sat unmoving. Dean recovered first as he placed his free hand on Sam's upper arm and began pulling.
"Come on, we gotta move." With Dean's help, Sam was barely able to make it to the chair before his knees gave out. Dean put his face even with Sam's. "I'm gonna get our stuff. Don't move." At Sam's slow nod, Dean went into the bedroom and quickly threw their clothes into their bags. Less than a minute later they were cradled in the safety of Dean's black Impala as it sped away from the mansion.
Sam felt the fog begin to lift from his mind as they raced through the streets. He tried to sort out what had happened. He'd been dreaming…no, he'd woken up from a nightmare. He went to do a little reading when he'd heard Dean yell. Ah, Dean! Sam whipped his head towards Dean and noticed a thin trickle of blood running down Dean's cheek and disappearing under his chin. "Dean, are you ok?"
"I'm not the one who looks like Raggedy Ann." Dean said shortly. Confused, Sam took in his appearance in the side view mirror. He lightly touched his cheek, which although causing him no pain, felt very warm. What the hell had happened?
Sam tried again. "You're bleeding."
"Must've cut it on the window. It's fine." Dean's jaw worked as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Sam's confusion grew as he tried to get his thoughts in order. Window. Sam's memories played back at him as he remembered trying to get to Dean, the apparition coming out of nowhere and placing her blistering hands on his flesh.
"You broke the window?"
Dean finally looked over at Sam. "Yeah, well, I had to come save your sorry ass. Again. The door and the window were stuck, so I broke the window and came in through the front door." Dean looked critically at himself in the rearview mirror. "Good thing chics dig scars."
Sam rubbed his hand across his forehead as Dean asked, "You ok?"
Although he felt miles away from ok, he squared his shoulders and answered, "I'm fine." He knew from experience that Dean didn't buy it, so he quickly changed the subject. "What the hell was that thing?"
Dean shook his head, bewildered. "I don't know. Did it feel like the same thing that attacked you at the main house?"
Sam considered the question. "I'm not sure. Both attacks seemed calculated, intelligent. But if it was her both times, why didn't we actually see her at the mansion? And why only go after me? She had you locked in."
Dean wished he had the answers, but instead more questions filled his head. "That scream…banshee?"
"Maybe." Sam said. He visualized the woman; the wailing and long flowing dress fit the lore, but her appearance didn't. "But banshees usually wail in sadness, in preparation for a death. She wasn't sad, she seemed furious. And her eyes," he swallowed hard, "banshees are supposed to have long flowing hair and bloodshot eyes. You saw her hair, and her eyes…they were almost completely black."
The car filled with a heavy silence as both men got lost in their thoughts. Sam frowned as he took in Dean's pale face. "Dean, you sure you're ok?"
Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to flash Sam a forced smile. "Just tired. You know, you keep interrupting my beauty sleep, and we're going to have some issues to work out."
Sam's attempt at a rebuttal was cut short as they pulled into a motel parking lot. Accepting defeat, for now, Sam grabbed their gear from the trunk as Dean went to check them in. Shivering, he pulled his jacket tighter as the wind picked up speed. He felt pretty much recovered from his ordeal, yet he was still feeling a little woozy. After making sure Dean was still preoccupied at the front desk, he slid down the side of the car and crouched, resting his fatigued head in his hands. A few deep breaths helped, and he stood back up. Picking up the bags, he headed towards the room Dean had just entered. A beam of moonlight shone through the window and settled on the bed, lighting the way for the weary man. Sam dropped the bags with a loud thump, kicked off his sneakers, and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Dean's words floated over to him as Sam felt himself drift off.
"Yup. Must be some sort of insane banshee-ghost-poltergeist hybrid. That's the only reason even a dead chic would pick you over me, Sammy. Not that I'm complaining. You can keep her. But maybe next time, concentrate on finding a flesh and blood girl, that's all I'm saying." Dean booted up the laptop as he continued his rant. No way was he getting back to sleep tonight. Turning the screen so its glow wouldn't disturb Sam, Dean began his search.
