Entity (Chapter Four)

One bag of empty food containers dropped from Dean's hand into the farthest trash can in the row of nine. He held onto a second and hesitated, as though considering whether to toss it or keep it as a memento. Sam hoisted his two bags into the closest trash can, then joined his brother. He snatched the bag from Dean's fingers and dumped it. "So, what did Viv say?"

"Good news." Dean flashed a smile. "Tara's not adopted. Mr and Mrs bits'n'pieces gory candy floss were her parents. You were right. She's not like Max." He play-punched Sam's shoulder. "The shining jackpots again. Right on the money, Sammy boy. I'm telling you, we need to set ourselves up in Vegas for a few weeks. Ka-ching!"

Sam huffed, then grunted as Dean punched him again. This time harder. He blocked a third strike from his too bright-eyed sibling. "What's wrong with you?"

Dean pursed his lips, his eyes wide. He side-stepped, threw a punch then countered Sam's reflexive defense. Sam ducked just in time to avoid a stunning blow to the face. He backed up, breathing hard. "Dean, what the hell?"

The older boy stepped back, his eyes strangely glassy. He shook his head, turned on his heel and walked away. Sam stared after him.

Dean was packing his bag when Sam returned to the motel room. There was a shaky almost frantic manner to the older man that unnerved Sam. Dean noticed him and gestured that they should step outside. Sam tensed in preparation for another sparring match, but Dean seemed to have calmed down.

"Pack your stuff."

"I didn't unpack anything." Sam gestured to the clothes he wore, the ones that presently reeked of stale sweat. "Can't you smell me?"

Dean considered that, then his nose twitched. "Uh, yeah, come to think of it you are a bit ripe. Take a shower, but make it fast. We can still make Perryton before dark."

"Perryton?" He lowered his voice and drew his brother away from the motel room door. "You want to take Tara back home? We can't do that, Dean. We don't know what killed her parents. It could still be after her."

"Maybe, but it's not our problem. She's not like Max, so she's not our problem."

"No, she connected with me. She needs our help."

"No, Sam. She's not like Max and only Max could connect with you. It's something else and it wants that kid. I'm not going to stand back and watch you go down in the cross-fire." Dean ran a hand through his hair and stepped back. He was breathing hard, his eyes bright. "We're taking her back to Perryton then we're hauling ass out of there."

"We can't," Sam said gently. "We have to find out what happened, what she saw. We can't abandon her."

"Hell yeah we can."

Sam touched his brother's shoulder. He could feel the minute tremors through him and his concern grew when Dean did not shrug away. "We can't, Dean. And I know you would never leave her to die. So how about you unpack your clothes, I'll take a shower and then we'll try to find out what she knows. You said that when she woke she knew her parents were dead?" At Dean's subtle affirmative nod, Sam continued. "Then she's consciously repressing the memories. That should make it easier to draw them back out."

Dean pursed his lips and looked away. Tears budded at his eyes and he sucked in a breath. He shrugged Sam's grasp then, but the retreat was gentle, almost painfully so.

"You okay" Sam asked.

"Peachy."

Sam huffed. "Okay, so you'll unpack and apologize to your clothes for the harsh treatment."

"Uh huh."

Tara's conscious repression of the memories did make them easier to draw back out, but the very moment that Sam saw the light of recollection spark in Tara's eyes, he realized how he and the girl were connected. That understanding came at a heavy price.

Pain sliced through Sam's skull, jagged and red hot. Before he completely lost the ability to communicate, Sam begged his brother to switch her off.

"Dean, make her forget. Please, stop her from… remembering," he rasped. It was all he managed. He crumpled as his barely regained strength dissolved beneath the onslaught. He felt Dean kneel beside him, he felt his brother's warm touch and his voice, but beyond that he experienced only blinding pain.

An indeterminable time later, the pain eased and awareness shifted back. With it came a raw ache and vile bitterness that tasted horribly like regurgitated pecan pie. Gluttony, it seemed, would be his undoing, and he mused on that even as he lurched up and dashed to the bathroom. The bitter irony remained with him through the first spasms of sickness, but after another eternity of a different pain, one that left him with a raw throat, aching abdominal muscles and his face streaked with tears, irony was but a dark memory.

"I get it now," Sam spat bitterly as he flushed the toilet and shakily shifted to the wash basin. Stained and yellowed ceramic with crazy cracks and a rusted plug hole held his attention for several long minutes, and he flinched when Dean touched him. "It's her fear that connects us. When she's afraid, she psychically reaches out and whammo, torture-Sam time," he said bitterly. He turned then and saw his brother nod. The cold dawn of understanding almost drove Sam to his knees. "You knew. You knew and you let me quiz her anyway. Jesus, Dean—"

"No. I figured it out. Just now. But I should have known before. When she woke she was initially afraid. You sensed that. Somehow, even in sleep, you sensed it and it caused you pain. I should have drawn the conclusion then." Dean's lips twisted and his eyes darkened with bitter self-recrimination. He gestured to the bathroom and all that it represented, "This should never have happened."

"Not your fault," Sam said. His knees gave out and he slid down, his spine grating painfully over the lip of the basin before his butt found the floor. He pulled his knees up and bowed his head between them. He heard Dean leave and then return a moment later. He jerked back as he felt something draped over him.

"Easy, it's a blanket. You need to keep warm."

Sam clenched his jaw as his body began trembling. "We have to know what happened, Dean. You have to find out. It's the only way to fix this."

"I'm not asking her any more questions. I'm not putting you through that again. "

"I'll… be… okay," he panted, as the room tipped and spun. He groaned and closed his eyes.

"No you won't," Dean said tightly. He continued to fuss with the blanket, rearranging it several times before his hands settled on Sam's shoulders, their movement finally stilled. "We will go to Missouri. She will know what to do."

Sam stared out of the roadhouse window at the traffic, the people… anything other than the food on the plate before him. "I paid good money for that," Dean griped, observing his brother's failure to take a bite. "We're not leaving until you've eaten it."

"I can't."

"You can and you will." Sam turned pained eyes to his brother and Dean's resolve almost failed. Almost. "I'm serious, Sam. We're not leaving here until you eat."

"Look what happened last time," Sam said bitterly.

"I know and I'm sorry but you have to try."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he moved the steak around on the plate with his fork. He sighed deeply, then picked up a quickly cooling potato slice and stuck it into his mouth. His jaw moved as he chewed, and his gaze returned to the window. Since leaving the motel, he had said very little and had refused to make the phone call to Missouri that would alert her to their arrival. Dean had not pushed it, instead he had called Missouri and kept it brief, giving very little away. To tell her more would have required Dean making the call in private, and Dean knew that would have broken his brother – shown him how scared Dean was. And Dean knew he was already doing a shit poor job of holding it all together as it was.

They had not quizzed Tara any further for fear of the ramifications for Sam. Instead, Dean worked hard to bring that protective shield of repressed memory back around the girl. The unhealthy psychological state that shielded Sam and kept him safe. He was not foolish enough to believe that the girl could be maintained in that state forever. Sooner or later, she would remember, or something would scare her, and Sam would suffer.

Dean looked at Tara and he swallowed thickly. The kid was no less a victim than Sam. And her childish manner, the shy acceptance and trust that she placed in him and his brother wedged a blade deep into Dean's heart. She was a victim, but she also had the potential to rip Sam apart, and Dean would do anything… anything, to make sure his little brother never had to go through that pain again.

"What does that say?" Tara suddenly moved the book she was reading in front of Sam, her finger pointing to a word that Dean could not see.

Dean forced his thoughts aside and intercepted the girl's attempt to reach Sam. "Tara, Sam is tired right now, he doesn't want to be disturbed."

Tara barely glanced at him. "Sam, what's this word?"

Dean reached over and took the book. "Tara, what did I say?"

Sam winced and his attention pulled back from the simply fascinating view out of the window. "What's going on?"

"There's a word that I don't understand," Tara said before Dean could open his mouth. She pointed to the book that Dean now held. "Can you tell me what it means?"

Dean sighed and passed the book to his brother. "We have to hit the road soon, Sam. Eat that steak and I'll let the rest slide."

Sam found the word, defined it and passed the book back. The younger boy evaded physical contact with the child. Dean had noticed and quizzed him, but Sam had no explanation other than a feeling of unease. One of those spidey-sense things, Dean presumed, and he left it alone. Tara returned to reading and silence once again fell across the table. Sam started on the steak, glancing at his brother before returning to staring out the window.

"We'll reach Missouri's around eight," Dean said.

Sam nodded.

"It'll be okay," he reassured. "She will know what to do."

Missouri Mosely heard the rumble of the classic Chevrolet Impala before it cruised to a stop outside her house. She remained seated, waiting until the front doorbell rang, and then she stood, brushed her hair back from her face and walked to the door.

"Oh my," she breathed as she took in the worn expressions of the two young men. "You boys look like the weight of the world is upon your shoulders." Sam shuffled where he stood, then bowed his head. Dean tried for a cocky smile, but it didn't come off as anything close. Both boys were hurting, she could see it on their eyes without even reading their thoughts.

"This is Tara," Dean offered quietly as Missouri looked down at the small girl who stood slightly behind him.

"Well, hello. Aren't you just a sweetie." The child smiled shyly, then turned and looked back at Sam. The younger boy stood several steps behind, his head still down and shoulders stooped. He looked beaten and Missouri's heart clenched. "C'mon in, it's cold out. Winter is falling quick this year, don't you think?"

None of the group answered for a moment, then Dean offered a weak, "Yeah, it is. It'll be a cold one."

Missouri frowned, stepping aside to allow the small group to enter her home. The two boys already knew their way around, and moved to the lounge room. They were seated on opposite sides of the room when Missouri joined them. Tara stood awkwardly at the door, politely waiting to be ushered into the room and directed where to sit. Missouri directed her to a large old rocking chair while she sat beside Sam. She placed her hand on his knee, "you're having a hard time, right now, I see."

Tears filled the young man's eyes immediately, and he sniffed and bowed his head. She kept her hand on his knee, gently massaging. "You're scared for him," she said, looking up at Dean. "You're not sure what to do."

Dean flinched, then shook his head. "I…."

"Quiet, boy. I haven't finished speaking."

Dean's eyes widened. "Yes maam."

"Tara here is quite an amazing young woman," she observed as she turned toward the girl. "Are you hungry, dear? I've cooked my special recipe roast with seasoned vegetables. I'm told it's quite delicious."

Tara blinked, her expression interested. "With roast potato?"

"Why, of course."

"Goody."

"If you would be so kind as to help me lay out the table, I'll carve the roast. There's enough for us all."

"I'm not really hungry," Sam admitted. "Don't put anything out for me, it would be a waste."

"We'll see about that." She stood, beckoned Tara to her and took the young girl's hand to lead her from the room. "You boys relax. Tara will call you when the meal is ready."

Missouri led the girl to the dining room and showed her the cutlery drawer and the plates, she directed her on how to dress the table before moving to the kitchen to finish preparation of the meal. She worked efficiently, but her mind was on the two boys that waited in her sitting room.

She sensed Dean's fear for his younger brother. That boy had a strong protective streak when it came to Sam, and he was smart, savvy and strong. It took a lot to shake Dean Winchester, but shaken he was. And Sam. She sighed heavily, that boy had powerful abilities, much stronger than he realized or knew how to deal with. That is why they were here. Though she did not know the details, she had sensed enough to know that this was about Sam's powers… and the girl. That slight young thing had Sam scared, but why she could not determine. He had shut down, his mind closed to her gentle probing. With more force, she could have extracted more, but she would not use mental force on the boy, not when he appeared so fragile already. First, she we get them fed and relaxed, then they could talk at length.

"Can I call Sam and Dean?" Tara asked, as she appeared in the doorway.

"Why, yes, my dear. Tell them to wash their hands first though. You know boys, they tend to forget."

Tara smiled shyly then disappeared in the direction of the lounge room. She heard muted voices, then the two young men walked past the kitchen doorway. Dean had his hand on Sam's shoulder. "He's such a good boy," Missouri whispered, "infuriatingly arrogant with a vile mouth, but a good boy."

Several minutes later, the four were seated around the small dining table, a spread of pot roast, potatoes and greens before them. "Help yourselves," she said, taking a seat beside Sam. She leaned toward him and said softly, "I know that your stomach is twisted in knots right now, child. Food makes you feel nauseous, doesn't it?" Sam nodded, his pained eyes lifting to meet hers. "I made a special pot of tea for you," she nodded to the steaming cup before Sam's setting at the table, "take a few sips, see if it doesn't help some."

She watched as Sam extended a shaky hand and took the cup. He sniffed, looked at her before taking a hesitant swallow. She smiled encouragingly. "It's an herbal blend. It will help to settle your stomach. I wouldn't want you to miss out on my famous pot roast."

Sam smiled, though it was tentative and did not quite reach his eyes. She made small talk then, managing to engage Dean in conversation before Tara also chirped up. Though she and Dean worked to include Sam, the younger boy clearly lacked the resources to participate fully. After several minutes, she exchanged glances with Dean and neither of them tried any further to include him.

"Do you have sauce?" Tara piped up, her eyes scanning the table.

"Yes, honey, but it wouldn't go well with this meal."

Tara frowned, still looking at the spread before her. "It's nice on potato."

"I have gravy for that."

"Oh."

"You don't like gravy?"

"It's not my favorite."

"And sauce is?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. How about you go back into the kitchen, open the refrigerator and you might just find your favorite in there."

"Really?"

Missouri chuckled. "It's a small bottle in the door. You can't miss it."

Tara grinned, carefully folded her napkin and placed it beside her dinner setting then excused herself from the table.

"Sauce," Missouri said, "with pot roast."

"It's actually not bad," Dean piped up.

"Did you teach the child to ruin her food?"

"What? No, I've only known her a day."

"Long enough to corrupt her mind."

"Hey," Dean groused. "I can't help it if the kid has good taste."

"Good taste," Sam snorted quietly. "Your taste in food leaves much to be desired, man."

Dean pasted an expression of hurt disgust on his face, but Missouri could see that the older boy was as pleased as she was that her niggling at Dean had achieved its desired effect. As she watched him, Sam grimaced and pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"Honey," Missouri said, " what's wrong?"

"Uh, my head." Sam's grimace tightened. He pushed his chair back, and stood, using one hand to brace against the table. He curled forward and clutched at his head. "Argh, God. Dean, please."

"Sam!" Dean shoved his own chair back. It slid, toppled and thudded loudly on the polished timber floor. "Where's Tara?" Dean wrapped a supportive arm around his brother. "Find her."

Missouri gestured toward the hallway but could not take her eyes from Sam. His face had taken on a deathly gray, one white-knuckled hand fisted at his forehead. Pushing her own chair back, she made to move to him, to help. Dean held up a hand. "No. Find Tara and calm her down."

"But Sam--"

"Tara's fear cripples him, Missouri. When she's scared, the kid somehow gets inside Sam's mind and rips him apart. You have to find her and calm her down."

Missouri shook her head, her fingers pressed against her lips.

"Missouri. Now. Go."

Missouri moved, her limbs loose and awkward. She found the girl in the hallway, staring dumbly at the front door. The child visibly shuddered as something banged up hard against the door, shaking the frame. "Damn," Missouri whispered as she sensed the girl's fear of the entity that had chosen this precise moment to play games with the house. Missouri recognized it as a playfully infuriating spirit but without the power or motivation to cause harm. It had visited before, several times and though she had tried every trick in the book to rid the house of it, it returned. Because it was harmless, she realized that she had not tried hard enough to remove it, instead the charms and potions that protected the house from more evil forces was effective at also keeping it out. She had thought it was enough. She had never predicted anything like this particular scenario.

Her heart clenched and she moved to the girl. "Tara, honey. It's okay," she soothed, "it cannot hurt you. In fact, it's been here before and I've named it." She had not, but it seemed fitting. "Casper," she said with forced cheeriness, "the friendly ghost." The spirit chose that moment to toss itself heavily against the door. The timber moved imperceptibly and Tara screamed, twisted away and ran back down the hallway and into the dining room. Missouri followed.

She found that the brothers had not moved. Sam lay on the floor of the dining room, his head against Dean's thigh and eyes tightly closed. Tears leaked down the side of his face, and blood coated his lips and chin. The dark fluid formed a crazed, jagged pattern against his ashen skin. He had curled one hand around Dean's left wrist and the pressure he exerted brought obvious pain to the older boy. Dean noticed her and looked up. "Dammit, he can't take any more of this."

"I—" she started helplessly.

Dean glared at her, then stood, pulled his brother up and sliced a stunning blow to Sam's jaw. The knock-out punch took Sam down hard and with his fingers still locked around Dean's wrist, the sudden dead weight knocked the older boy off balance. Dean grunted, fell heavily to one knee and then with a tenderness that belied the brutal action he had just taken, he pulled his unconscious brother into his embrace. Missouri swallowed back bile and steadied herself against the dining room table. For a moment silence fell across the room, then Tara began a low keening. At the front of the house, the spirit continued to bang, bang, bang -- playing its game.

"How long will it last?" Dean looked up and Missouri saw he was crying. "How long?" he pressed when she did not immediately answer.

"Ten maybe fifteen minutes."

"Too long."

Missouri suddenly understood that Dean had checked the force he had used on Sam. "How long until he wakes," she asked numbly.

"A few minutes and when he does, that son-of-a-bitch out there has to be gone."

Missouri doubted that to be possible. "Or Tara has to be calmed down." Dean immediately turned his attention to the girl, his expression hard. "Don't you be thinking of hitting her," Missouri berated weakly, doubting that she would have the strength or conviction to stop him if he tried.

"You have a better suggestion?"

"Headphones."

"What?"

"Stay with Sam, I'll be a minute."

She set the girl up with a children's DVD and headphones in the furthest room of the house from the door that the entity had chosen to attempt to bash down. She stayed with the child until she had settled, then returned to Sam and Dean. She found that Sam had roused, though he sat with his head in his hands, the long fingers twisted through his hair. "Dean?" Missouri asked cautiously, "Is he alright?"

"I'm fine," Sam answered as he raised his head. Missouri winced because the youngest Winchester looked anything but fine.

Dean agreed and shuffled where he stood, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders tense. "As soon as that thing stops, we'll haul ass out of here."

"Uh, can't Missouri–", Sam started.

"Help? No, she can't."

Sam frowned and turned to her, his expression pained. "Missouri?"

Clearing her throat, Missouri said, "That's not exactly true, honey. How about you boys tell me what has happened until now and I'll see whether there's something or someone who might be able to help."

Dean sighed heavily and she sensed his frustration and anger. "Boy, no lip from you."

"C'mon, be straight with us here. Can you help or not?"

"Tell me what is going on."

"Read our minds."

"Dean, honey. You giving me sass will not help Sam. I know you are hurting so I'm going to ignore your lip, but don't push your luck."

Dean had the good grace to look abashed. He ducked his head, then slowly related the sequence of events that had led he, his brother and the young girl to her home. "Can Tara be switched off?" he asked when he had finished relating his tale.

"What do you mean?"

Dean frowned and scrubbed a hand across his face. He looked dead on his feet, almost worse than Sam, if that were even possible. Reliving the events had taken their toll on him, and Missouri knew that he had omitted several particularly gut-wrenching details for Sam's benefit.

"How can we stop her from invading Sam's mind?" Dean clarified.

"It's likely that she could be taught to control her powers. She is young, her mind not yet fully formed, and even if she could learn how to control her thoughts, she lacks the physiological wiring that would enable her to manage it well enough to protect Sam. But--," she held up a hand, forestalling Dean's words. She turned to Sam who sat quietly, one hand to his forehead, the long fingers alternating between massaging and kneading. "You can be taught to block her. You can protect yourself."

"Block the visions," he asked hopefully.

"No, honey. You have incredible powers, a gift. I don't think you can turn it off any less than you can stop being who you are. But it should be possible for you to stop the kind of thing that is happening now."

Sam's eyes clouded, his expression pained. Though her heart ached for him, the sooner he accepted this new addition to his life, to his psyche, the easier it would be for him to cope.

"I have a friend who may be willing to help. He is a powerful psychic, though his abilities are different from Sam's, he has a broader understanding of this area than I."

Dean nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"Sam?"

Sam shrugged, his eyes closing. "Yeah, whatever."

Dean frowned as he glanced at Missouri then regarded his brother with concern. "Where is this friend of yours? Can we go to him now?"

"It's best that Sam doesn't leave the house. I'll ask him to come here. He lives some distance away. Even if he agrees to see Sam, he couldn't be here until morning."

"Will he agree?"

"It's likely. He knows of your father, and respects him. By default he knows of you and Sam. I think he will want to help if he can."

Dean nodded, then pushed a shaky hand through his hair. "So, for tonight we need to do something about Tara. The Wiggles will only keep her occupied for so long, unless you're planning on letting me…," he trailed off as he brought a hopeful gaze up to meet Missouri's.

"Dean Winchester," Missouri chastised, "you will do no such thing."

The muscles around Dean's mouth twitched. "Then give me an alternative."

"Sedative," she said quickly, returning her gaze to Sam. She softened her tone. "I can give you a drug that will give you some well needed rest and block your conscious mind from Tara. It will wear off by morning, though you may feel a little fuzzy for the first hour or so after waking. And," she added as she sensed Sam's resistance. "you will be safe here. You've seen that nothing can get in, no matter how hard it might try."

Sam shook his head, suddenly withdrawing his gaze from Missouri and his brother. "No, Dean can knock me out again if something happens."

"No, he can't, Sam," she responded, her voice breaking.

"Then I'll take my chances on my own."

"No, honey. I've seen how Tara affects you. Your body cannot tolerate any more of that." She softened her words, pressing him a little further. "The drug will block Tara from making contact if she is frightened again. It will get you through the night, and it will give your body a chance to heal."

"No."

"Can't you drug Tara," Dean interjected.

She had been hoping that he would not ask that particular question, but now that he had, she answered truthfully. "I can give her some herbal tea that will settle her down, for her own protection. But she may not be the only one who can reach Sam."

"What are you saying?"

"We do not know what we are up against and leaving Sam vulnerable right now is not wise. Drugging Tara will not protect Sam if something comes looking for her, finds her mind closed but senses the link to Sam and follows it."

Dean's brow knitted as the young man processed that. Even exhausted, Dean was jumping to more distant conclusions that she had even reached herself, but that were not entirely unlikely. The one that brought tremors to his hunched form was the realization that there could be an open psychic link between Sam and Tara that if not shut down, could bring any number of evil forces down onto the young hunter. Sam would have no way of defending himself, and although knocking him unconscious had severed Tara's link after she had activated it, it would not be effective on something stronger… more malevolent. If something got in, Sam could be killed without even leaving the safety of Missouri's home, and Dean would be helpless to prevent it.

Dean almost broke right there and then, and Missouri wished she had chosen her words, been more reassuring. However, when it came to the Winchesters, she did not lie easily. They needed the truth. It kept them sharp – it kept them alive. "Sam, do what Missouri says," Dean finally ground out, his tone harsh.

Sam's head jerked up, his eyes meeting his brother's. "I'll be helpless," he rasped as he wrung his hands. "Dean, can't you–"

"No. Just take the goddamn pills, Sam."

Stung by his brother's abruptness and presently lacking the mental faculties to read the depth of emotion that underlay Dean's words, Sam turned wounded eyes to Missouri. "Missouri, please."

"I'm sorry, honey." The youngest Winchester was an open book when it came to his emotions, and now the look of defeat and abandonment cut her deep. He bowed his head and she knew that he had given in. "Good boy," she touched his shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'll get you a glass and the pills. You will be safe, I promise."

End Chapter 4