Chapter 5

Dean seized Ovington around the wrist and yanked him to his feet, pulling him out the way as Ellen's attack intensified. Ovington was still clutching his heavy sword in one hand, waving it vaguely as if it would protect him. Another sword, of a different design to the one he carried, was wedged into the floor beside him, where it had missed.

The last of the weapons detached themselves from the wall; all together as if Ellen was preparing one, final, fatal attack, one so violent that any space they dodged to would be full of flying steel. And there was nothing to do, nowhere to run… Dean held his arms over his head in a futile attempt to protect it, and braced himself, waiting for the strike.

But it didn't come. An unearthly shriek filled the air, and with a cacophony of clattering and ringing of steel on stone, the assorted weapons crashed to the floor, released, unthrown.

Then, silence, for a few seconds. She was gone. Ovington's next move was one born out of grief and despair, an outpouring of emotion expressed impulsively with a random action. Dean honestly believed that the guy didn't mean to do it; and he was surprised at himself – he wasn't usually so forgiving. Especially when it hurt, so damn much…

Dean tried to gasp but his inhalation was airless and silent. His fingers clutched at his stomach, frozen with shock as his blood seeped out over his hands. Standing slumped, he looked up at Ovington, wide eyed.

Ovington shook his head, his eyes in their deep sockets wide open with horror. 'I… she's gone… I… I'm sorry…' Shaking his head in denial, either of his action or of his wife's departure, he fled the room, leaving through the heavy front doors, which responded easily to pressure now that the ghost was not holding them closed.

Dean reached out for the stair rail when his head started to swim, but missed, and fell to his knees. Suddenly a face was in front of him, but he couldn't see, it was blurry. Sam? No, too small… A hand tapped his shoulder, to get his attention.

'She's gone,' Tallie said. Not a question, a statement of fact. Dean realised that she was trying to comfort him. 'What's wrong? Oh… oh no…' she added, staring at his bloody shirt. His eyes focused with great effort, and he looked at her, trying hard not to topple forwards and collapse on top of her.

'Can you find my brother for me?' he asked hoarsely, squinting to keep her in focus. She was wide eyed again, it seemed like she always was. Maybe she just had big eyes. Her eyebrows were drawn inwards in a distressed frown, and her eyes were glassy with tears. Get it together, Dean, she's terrified. 'Tallie… it's ok, I'll be fine.' He lied so convincingly, he almost convinced himself. 'Can you find Sam for me, please?'

'Sam…' she repeated doubtfully.

'He's at the graveyard. He might be on his way here, even… just get him to come, ok?' he asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

'The graveyard? It's scary… I don't want to be on my own… I want to stay with you.'

'I know you can be brave,' he told her softly, begging her with his eyes.

'Ok….' She nodded, her eyes shining with tears that she had still not shed. She stood up, and turned away. At the door, she turned back. 'Don't go anywhere,' she instructed. But he couldn't hear- he was slumped against the stair rail, eyes closed. No! She screamed, silently. Chewing her knuckles, she stood hovering in the doorway, panicking. I need to find the other one… Sam. Oh god, this is all my fault…Her, and Mrs King, and Dean… and Daddy, where's Daddy?

She didn't even notice the rain as she slipped out into the night.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Sam trudged up the road, soaked and worrying. Part of him wanted to run. Another part wanted to stop, to turn around, to never arrive and have to see how the night's events had turned out. So he kept walking, automatically, one step after another.

The rain was so heavy now that he didn't see the shape approaching him until she was right in front of him, materialising through the rain as though she had stepped out from behind a curtain. Tallie, distraught, shaking, crying. She stopped abruptly in front of him, without meeting his eye.

'I'm so sorry Sam,' she sobbed. He's dying… maybe he's dead. And it's all my fault.'

Stop.

Suddenly, déjà-vu, so strong it made his insides freeze up, tense under his skin, solid. He'd seen it before. A road, and part of him wanted to follow, and part of him never wanted to see where it would end. But, before, he didn't know where it ended. Then, out of the rain, which he could see, but not feel. A figure. She didn't arrive, he couldn't see her coming. She just appeared. She was crying, and she wouldn't look at him. 'I'm so sorry Sam,' she said. 'He's dying, maybe he's dead, and it's all my fault.' And Sam didn't have to ask her; he knew who she meant. And something froze inside him.

And then he woke up. 4.45am, not as early as sometimes, but Dean was still asleep. To take his mind off the dream, vivid in his mind's eye, even when his real eyes were open, he went to the laptop. They needed a job, they'd been idle for too long, and Dean was restless – well, except that now he was sleeping like a baby. But still, they had been looking for work for a while. When he found an article which had potential, something warned him away from it. Not that one, it's not what we're looking for. But Dean saw the article, when he finally woke up, and thought it was worth checking out. Sam argued. Didn't work.

Then, later, in Ovington's hallway. Tallie, talking to Dean. The little girl was somehow familiar, but he couldn't remember how. The dream had faded. Still, something told him she was no good for them, she was trouble. He didn't trust her, without really knowing why.

Now, the dream was back, filling his head, filling his vision. Then he realised why he could only see the dream suddenly, nothing else. Because it was standing in front of him.

Tallie stood, plucking at the tall man's jacket, but he wouldn't look at her. She told him he needed to hurry up, but he didn't answer. He was staring at her, without looking in her eyes, and his face looked like he was thinking about something else: it was the same look Daddy had been wearing since she died. Her panic increased; she needed to get back to Dean; she needed to make Sam understand how urgent it was. She stood on tiptoe, and touched his face. He blinked, coming back to reality. There was blood on her fingers, she noticed; they had left a faint mark on Sam's jaw.

'Please…' she begged him, seizing his hand with both of hers, and tugging it in the direction of the house. 'He needs you to help him.'

Sam shook his head to clear it, and forced himself to be rational. 'I'm coming,' he said, trying to sound reassuring, and wishing there was someone to reassure him. Oh, God, Dean... how bad? Hang on, I'm coming.

000000000000000000000000000

Dean blinked hard, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and concentrate on staying conscious, watching the room sway. He was slumped uncomfortably against the cold banister, but it seemed too much effort to move. Damn, but it hurt.

He heard the door open, and Sam's hasty graceless footsteps stumbling towards him across the floor. He blinked again, clamping his eyes tight shut and opening them again with some difficulty, trying to clear the mist which was blurring his vision. Sam's face swam in front of him, tensed with concern, his mouth opening and closing, making sounds which Dean couldn't recognise as words. His eyes wanted to close, so badly.

'No, Dean, stay awake!'

He heard the words, but he was out before he could remember what they meant.

00000000000000000000000000000

Sam felt like he was clinging on to sanity by a hair as he knelt beside his brother's body. He was so pale, lying in a dark sticky pool, with blood still seeping out of a deep cut in his stomach. There was a cut on his head, too, and a darkening bruise on his forehead. He was slumped, boneless, against the stair rail. His eyes were open, but just a crack, and they were glassy and unfocused, looking up at Sam's face without showing any recognition.

'Oh, God…oh, God… what happened, Dean? I… oh, God…' Sam knew he was rambling and incoherent, but he couldn't think of anything useful to say. He shook his head slightly, wearing an expression of open-mouthed horror, mixed with helplessness. All thought had frozen in his head, all he could see was his brother's broken body, and his eyes, full of pain, and slipping closed…

'No, Dean, stay awake!' he objected, suddenly. He shook his brother's shoulder gently, uselessly. He raked his hands through his hair, willing himself to snap out of it, to make sense of what was happening.

He heard soft footsteps behind him, and a quiet gasp. Tallie. He had completely forgotten her presence, lost in shock. Now she had crept up behind him, and he realised that she must be petrified. He knew he should be strong for her, comfort her. Take responsibility. But, right at the moment, he didn't know how to comfort even himself. He wished Dean would wake up and tell him what to do.

'Oh, God, will he be ok?' asked a small voice behind him, made smaller by the terror that echoed in every word. Sam turned to face her, trying desperately to look like he wasn't terrified, like he knew the answer to her question.

'Yes, he's gonna be fine,' he said, but Tallie still looked doubtful. He couldn't make his voice steady enough to reassure her. How did Dean do it? When we were little, every time it was really bad, he said it would be ok, and I believed him… I didn't realise how scared he must have been, or how hard it is to lie…

Tallie drew back, away from him, shaking her head, tears streaming unstoppably down her small face. 'It's my fault,' she said, again. 'He's going to die…'

Sam tried not to choke as he heard her say that, the statement sounding so definite in his ears. He struggled to breathe. How did Dean do it? He wondered again, reaching out towards Tallie, trying to calm himself. 'No,' he said. Somehow, his voice was stronger now. Maybe because he was so determined that it must be true, he managed to make it sound as if it was. 'No, he's not going to die.'

Tallie's eyes, huge and glossy with tears, finally met his. She searched his dark eyes for a sign, to tell her if he could be trusted. 'Are you sure?' she asked, eventually.

'Yes,' Sam lied. It was easier, this time. He didn't even blink. 'Yes, I'm sure.'

After a pause, she nodded, sniffed, and took a deep breath. Sam remembered the surprising authority she had managed when addressing the butler, that morning. 'We should call an ambulance,' she told him, and he realised that he hadn't thought of that until she said it. Hell, she's more in control than I am, Sam thought wryly.

'Yes,' he replied. Tallie produced a cell phone from a pocket.

'My Daddy's… I guess I'll give it back when he notices it's gone,' she muttered sheepishly, holding out the phone to Sam. He took it carefully. His hands were shaking. Tallie gripped his shoulder with little fingers. 'Sam,' she said. 'It's going to be ok.'

000000000000000000000000000

'I told you so, Sam,' she said, later, when the doctor came out in the morning after long hours of waiting. A tall African-American, poker-faced in his professional white jacket. Sam had feared the worst, but it turned out that the guy just had a serious face.

'He's going to be fine. He was a bit beat up; bruised, a couple cracked ribs. And he lost a lot of blood. But we've stitched him up, given him a transfusion. No major organs were affected; he was lucky -,' (Yeah, lucky enough to get stabbed, thought Sam.) '-So he's going to be fine, good as new, after a few days resting.'

Tallie had stopped listening after the first sentence; she was too busy dancing from foot to foot, tugging on Sam's jacket, saying 'I told you so.'

'Yeah,' Sam replied, laughing with relief. 'Yeah, you were right.' He turned back to the doctor. 'Can we see him?'

'Yeah, sure. He's been asking for you.'

Tallie ran past Sam into the room as soon as the door was open, and leapt up onto the bed beside Dean. He winced, slightly, as she pressed against his ribs, but she wasn't heavy.

'Hey,' he grinned, looking up at Sam.

'You ok?' Sam asked, softly, over Tallie's head.

'Yeah.'

'I told him you would be!' Tallie commented, still revelling in her triumph.

'What, Sammy, you didn't have faith in me?' Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

'Well, I…'

'It's ok, I told him,' Tallie said, as though assuring Dean that it was ok, she had Sam under control.

In the doorway, somebody cleared their throat. Sam spun round, and Dean peered round Tallie to see: it was Ovington. He was bedraggled and still dripping wet after presumably spending the night outside. The dark sockets of his eyes were deeper than ever, making him look tired and unhealthy. His face wore an expression of guilt and awkwardness, but had lost the manic light that it had manifested the previous night. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if trying to be inconspicuous.

'Daddy!' Tallie yelled, still high on relief, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around his knees.

Ovington patted her head absently, but affectionately, looking at Dean. 'Um…' he began, haltingly. 'I'm glad you're ok. I'm sorry.'

Sam glared at him fiercely, unconsciously placing himself protectively between Dean and Ovington.

Dean grunted in irritation, now having to lean sideways to see past Sam's blockade. 'It's ok,' he muttered, almost surprised to hear himself say it.

'Dean!' Sam objected, spinning round. He was planning to elaborate, but he couldn't find any words which seemed appropriate, so he just glared furiously at his brother, not entirely sure why this comment had made him so angry. How can it possibly be ok that this guy stabbed you and left you for dead? That's "ok" with you, is it? You freak!

Dean stared back at him with raised eyebrows and an innocent, politely-questioning expression. Sam seethed.

Ovington, meanwhile, looked stunned. 'I… uh… I'm going to give myself up to the police. But I just wanted to say, first… I'm sorry. And… thank you.' He gazed at his shoes with apparent interest as he spoke.

'Don't do that,' Dean said suddenly. He was surprising himself with this sudden forgiving attitude: usually he didn't take too kindly to people who attacked him. Then he realised why he was doing it. Not for Ovington. For Tallie.

'What?' Sam and Ovington asked in unison.

'Just… take good care of her. You're all she's got, and she deserves the best.'

Ovington nodded, tears shining in his eyes. 'I will. Thank you.'

Dean shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by the man's heartfelt thanks.

Tallie was falling asleep on her feet. 'I'll take her home…' Ovington mumbled, half turning away. He picked her up, cradling her sleepy form in his arms, breathing in the scent of his lively, beautiful daughter, and realising that the faint scent of his first wife's spicy perfume was lingering in Tallie's hair.

There was a brief silence between the brothers after Ovington carried his daughter out of the room. Dean chewed his lip, looking down at the smooth white sheet across his knees.

'Dean, he nearly - ,'

'I know.'

'If it had been me, would you just let it go?'

Sometimes it was easier to just tell the truth. 'No.'

Sam looked about ready to launch into a rant, but Dean cut him off, finally turning to look at his brother. 'Sam, I'm ok. Tallie needs him… I think he'll be... less crazy, now it's all over, and Ellen's gone.'

'You scared me, for a while there,' Sam admitted quietly.

'Yeah, but you had Tallie to protect you, right?' Dean reminded him, grinning.

Sam laughed, despite himself. 'Yeah.'

00000000000000000000000000000000

The hospital staff were suspicious, when Dean told them they didn't need to call the police.

'Somebody stabbed, you, though, right?'

'No, I, uh.. walked into a... sharp... thing,' Dean invented, unable to think of anything very convincing at such short notice.

'Look, if you're protecting someone...'

'I'm not'

'Or if you're worried about them wanting revenge if you press charges...'

'I'm not.'

The doctor narrowed his eyes, and was silent for a long moment, studying Dean's face. Dean stared him down.

'Well... if you're sure.'

'Yup. I'm sure.'

The doctor spread his hands in defeat, shrugging his shoulders. Well, fine then, his expression seemed to say, If you're going to be like that. Dean grinned impudently.

00000000000000000000000000000000

It seemed appropriate – cyclical – that now they were walking up to the massive house in the rain pouring rain again, just as they had on the first day. Roberts opened the door, and didn't look any more pleased to see them than he had the first time. With a sour look, he disappeared up the stairs, leaving them dripping onto the stone floor.

The hallway's décor had been through the wringer in the last couple of days. The weapons which had covered the walls had all been removed from the room after Ellen had thrown them around; apparently Ovington had decided they were too dangerous. The chandelier was also gone, of course, and the twisted remnants of it had been cleared from the floor, though there were some marks on the stonework where it had struck. Now, the room looked less grand: just empty, a huge space with nothing to fill it.

Tallie crept up on them from behind. She was using the back stairs almost every time, now. 'Daddy… can't come down,' she explained.

Dean nodded. If I was him, I wouldn't want to see me either. 'You gonna be ok, kiddo?' he asked her.

She nodded. 'Yeah. We're going to move. Find a house which is… the right size, just for the two of us.' Her face broke into a huge grin. 'And maybe a dog… or a kitten…'

'Get a dog. Then if your Dad starts seeing another badly chosen woman, you can set the dog on her.'

Tallie smiled wickedly. 'I thought maybe I'd find him a nice wife. So that he doesn't choose another one like her.'

Dean nodded, laughing. 'Good plan.'

A silence descended on them. Time to go. 'Well, we'll see you, some time, Tallie. If we're in the area.'

'Ok… I'll miss you.'

'Yeah, we'll miss you too. Look after your dad, ok? Keep him under control.'

'You look after Sam.'

Dean laughed, and Sam rolled his eyes. 'I always do.'

'Goodbye!'

0000000000000000000000000000

Fin

Lol, the ending is very Disney, isn't it? Ah well… a bit of fluff never did anyone any harm. :) Review, please!