ENTITY (Chapter Nine)

Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on his quietly brooding younger brother. "Sam, what the hell is up with you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing my ass. Did you hit your head?" Dean reached for him, intending to check his skull for any telltale lumps or abrasions. Sam smacked his hand away. The force whacked Dean's knuckles into the Chevy's dash and he yelped. "Dammit Sam."

"Don't touch me."

Sam's eyes flashed and Dean raised his hands. "Okay, dude. Fine. No touching, but look at me, Sam, into my eyes."

The younger boy tensed, then warily turned so that Dean could see his eyes. The expected uneven dilation that would suggest a head injury was not present. Dean searched his brother's face anyway, unnerved by the hard and determined expression. "Oh, I get it now," Dean breathed. "this is another don't trust big brother episode. I thought we'd sorted this shit out."

"That's not it."

"Then what is it? Did that bitch shove a shot of estrogen in your tea, cos you're acting awfully girly, Sam. Even for you."

Sam glowered at him, his chest heaving. "Tell me about the injury to my shoulder. Tell me what you found when you removed the scissors."

The request threw him, and Dean gaped, unable to figure why Sam even wanted to go back there. His brother had deliberately avoided learning the details about that night, about how badly injured he had been. And it had worked fine for Dean. Heal and move on. That's what they did. Well, it seemed that's what they used to do.

"My shoulder, Dean," Sam demanded, his tone impatient. "What did it look like?"

Dean flinched, forced to remember what he had worked so damned hard to forget. Gory, grizzled minced meat. The flesh had been shredded, pulverized. And the blood. God, Sammy had bled so much. Dean closed his eyes, forcing the images away. "Uh, it." He srubbed a hand across his face. "Why are you asking?"

"So I can damn well get an answer. Why the hell else would I ask?"

"Sam, what's going on?"

"Why can't you just answer the fucking question, Dean?"

"You're starting to worry me. Seriously, I think she put something in your tea."

Sam's expression fractured, the anger collapsing in on itself as pained devastation moved in its place. Sam wet his lips, his lower lip quivering. "It's in her, Dean," he said. "I sensed it. The same thing that's in Tara is in Beth."

"Okay, that's not particularly good, but we can deal with it."

"Did you see the wound on her face?"

"Yeah, so."

"That's how it got in. It sliced its way through her face. Through that deep wound."

Dean's gaze slipped to his brother's shoulder. "Is that what this is about? You think that thing is inside you." Sam tensed, his eyes wary, scared. Dean reached out to touch him, sighing as Sam once again slipped back. "There is no way that thing is in you, Sam."

"Dean."

"No, I know you. I'd know if there was something different about you. I'm your brother. I changed your nappies when you were a baby, wiped your nose when you were a snotty little toddler, beat off those bullies in—"

"I get the picture, Dean," Sam cut in, "but this thing doesn't change a person's personality."

"I think it does. You heard those women at the carnival, Beth was a half decent person before this happened. It changed her."

"PTSD," Sam said. He slumped in his seat and stared out the window at the darkness that closed in around them.

They were pulled off the side of the highway, still several miles from Perryton but Sam's disconcerting behavior had demanded that Dean pull the car to the side before they hit town. Dean watched his sibling, waiting for Sam to further explain his whacked out theory. And whacked out it was. Sam sometimes came up with some whoppers, but this one… this beat them all. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or punch his brother for being so stupid. So he did neither, and he waited.

"It's in me, Dean," Sam finally continued, his voice soft. "And you can believe otherwise, but all the evidence is there, man. All of it. It's just a matter of time before something happens." Sam seemed to draw in on himself at the last words, his tone self-defeating and most definitely hateful.

Dean's heart clenched and he reached out to touch his brother, his hand stilling as Sam flinched and reached for the door release. "Sam, don't."

"Don't touch me, Dean."

"Christ, Sammy."

"Don't."

Dean drew back, relaxing as Sam's hand lifted from the door. "Fine, but answer me this, what's your spidey-sense telling you?"

"What?"

"Your shining. What's it telling you?"

"I don't know."

Dean sighed. "Sam, you've taken a few facts and drawn an implausible linkage between them. You and Beth were both injured, but that's where the similarity ends. She got away with a cut over her eye, you almost bled to death. What's that telling you, Einstein?"

"Dean, what the hell am I meant to believe. It drew us both in, attacked us and then let us walk away. It's obvious. I'm the same as Beth, as Tara. It's just a matter of time before this thing inside of me kills someone. Christ, Dean," he finished roughly, tears budding in his eyes.

"Beth walked away," Dean responded calmly, "you nearly didn't. She kept her eye, you almost lost your life. You blocked it and that made it work harder, but it didn't succeed. It's not in you. I would know. Trust me, I would know."

"Then why didn't it just kill me if it couldn't take me as a host?"

"Maybe it can't."

"That's just a theory, Dean."

"And so is your hair-brained idea that you're now Edward Scissorhands."

"Funny."

"Seriously, Sam. I'm your brother, I can read you and I know when you're off. You're odd, but you're not off. Trust me. One-helluva-big-brother is right. Always right."

Sam huffed, but Dean caught him risk a hopeful glance across the space that separated them. He left the conversation there, aware that pushing too far would jeopardize the ground he had just made. He took comfort from having injected some uncertainty into Sam's dark web of despair, he now just needed to find the proof to hammer his conviction home. And he would find it.

Dean eased the Impala back onto the highway and they returned to town in silence. He pulled into the Steak Palace. Sam glanced at him, and opened his mouth to voice a complaint. "We need to eat, Edward," Dean said.

"This is not a good idea."

"Hey, the food's not that bad."

"Things have changed."

"No, they haven't. You have not changed. You are my freakin' annoying little brother and you've come up with one hell of a bizarro theory, but other than that you're unchanged. Now move, before I have to kick your ass."

Dean got out, impatiently waiting for Sam to do the same. His brother finally extricated himself from the car, then dawdled near the rear of the Impala, his gaze wary. He scanned the car park and then the inside of the restaurant, no doubt judging the number and variety of potential casualties should his inner-evil want to come out and play.

Dean looked away, unable to be unaffected by the pain Sam was in but knowing that this was an easy fix. Dean knew Sam was wrong, there was nothing supernatural in him. Admittedly, his brother was a bit off kilter, still recovering from the injury that had almost taken his life, and frustratingly pig-headed… but he was entirely human. Dean knew that better than he knew himself. He could read Sam, his brother's sensitive, open nature helped, but it was the twenty-three years that Sammy had been in his life that gave the elder hunter the surety he needed. There was no way Sam could hide from him, and definitely no way that some freakin' knife wielding shadowy son of a bitch could use his brother without Dean recognizing the change. And if Sam were relying on his instinct rather than on raw analytical logic, he would know it too.

The mutt Sam had tried to befriend a week before distracted Dean's thoughts. The mangy canine slunk from behind a parked van and sauntered toward them. It had fattened up over the week, no doubt as a consequence of the leftovers that Sam had discretely dropped near the fence each time they left. He probably thought Dean had not noticed, but he had.

"Your girlfriend's here," Dean said as he shrugged toward the animal.

Sam glanced at him then looked over at the stray. His eyes brightened. He approached the dog, his manner gentle and warm. "Hey, have you been getting my presents," he murmured as he crouched down, allowing the animal to nuzzle up to him and lick his hand.

Dean watched, simultaneously disgusted and encouraged. Disgust won. He imagined the fleas bridging the gap between his brother and the dog. Their next port of call would be his beloved Chevy. He realized with a stab of alarm that he was going to have to fumigate his baby.

He shifted where he stood, glancing at the restaurant. He could smell the steak, but it did not warm his appetite. He sniffed, bringing one hand up to massage the tense muscles at the back of his neck. His hand stilled partway there. He sucked in a breath, his eyes darting back to Sam. "Son of a bitch," he exhaled. "That's it, Sam, the dog." He moved forward, scaring the animal as he grabbed Sam's arm.

"Dean, back the hell off."

"Beth's dogs ran away. Animals can sense the paranormal, they sensed it in Beth and it freaked them out. Remember what she said, that it was like the hounds of hell were on their tail. That scrawny bag of bones there is a goddamn paranormal Dog-o-meter, Sam," he finished off, grinning widely. He childishly tugged on Sam's jacket, then impetuously pulled his brother into a loose headlock. He knuckled Sam's hair, messing the already tousled strands into a mini afro.

Sam grunted, taking the punishment for a few seconds before he sliced his arm up, pinned Dean's wrist behind his back and shoved him hard against the side of the Impala. The breath whooshed from Dean's lungs. He grunted, arching back to break the hold. But Sam's body kept him firmly pinned against the side of the car, his brother's tall and well muscled form an impenetrable barrier.

Just as quickly as Sam had grabbed him, he was released. Dean grinned and spun around, leaning back against the Chevy as he proudly regarded his brother. "Yeah," he exclaimed, grinning widely as he rubbed at his wrist. "There's nothing wrong with those reflexes, little brother."

Sam stood several feet away, his breath fanning out into the rapidly cooling night air. He scanned Dean's face then looked past to the stray dog. Dean watched as Sam processed Dean's theory, he worked it through in his mind. Dean knew Sam would over-think it, analyze it, and search for holes in it. But there were none.

"Dog-o-meter," he repeated, almost giddily. He laughed, pushed his hand through his hair then pounded the roof of the car. "Son of a bitch," he exclaimed triumphantly. "Christ, I love that mutt."

Sam's lips twitched as he traded his attention between his brother and the dog. His shoulders relaxed as the moments passed.

Dean raised his hands. "C'mon, dude. I'm right. You know I'm right."

"Maybe."

"Maybe," Dean scoffed. "No maybes, Sammy. It's a freakin' rock solid certainty."

"Okay, thanks Missouri." Sam finished as he looked across the table at his brother. He thumbed the end call button and put the phone down. "Tara's the same," he informed, ignoring Dean's I told you so look"She took Tara around to a neighbor who has two dogs, they freaked out as soon as the kid entered the yard. She didn't even need to get close."

"Dog-o-meter," Dean said.

"Can't you come up with a better name?"

"I like it."

"Yeah, well, your taste is extremely questionable."

"So how do you think you blocked it when it attacked you?"

"I don't know." Sam rubbed a hand across his jaw, scratching before loosely dropping it back to the table. He fidgeted with the phone then idly moved it around. "Beth couldn't block it so how could I?"

"Cos you're psychic boy-wonder," Dean said, pride evident in his tone.

Sam ignored that, reaching instead for the book Beth had given them. He flipped it open to page 102 and scanned the text. It contained a standard exorcism ritual. Latin transcript with key words that he recognized and a few that he did not. It had the potential to work, though they would not try it until they had thoroughly researched every word, every meaning, to ensure that it was safe. He could also see that it was composed of one step. The latter stage, after the spirit had been freed. Beth had been right, they needed a way to draw the entity out. Sam closed the book, pushing it away. He exhaled heavily, returning to idly pushing the phone around. "We need to exorcise Beth first," he started. "The entity within her is weaker than what is in Tara."

"You felt a difference?"

"The sensation was the same, but the intensity less. The thing must procreate by transferring a part of itself to a new host and because the transferal is fresh, the newly placed entity is weaker. Like a newborn, a child."

"And the chosen host has to be psychic, or have some form of extrasensory power in order to be suitable."

"Not just psychic. It didn't try for Missouri or Marcus, just Beth and I. Somehow we must be connected in some way."

"Not necessarily. You may just all share a similar spidey-sense thing. It drew you and Beth in, so maybe you and her operate on the same frequency and Missouri and Marcus don't."

"Possibly. I just wish we knew what set all this off. If fear was the ignition point for her connection with me, then what was it for Beth?"

Dean considered that, his lips pursed in silent contemplation. "Beth said that the parents had bought the kid a puppy, and it had been run over. The timing would have been about right, and that would constitute a pretty devastating event for a child."

"If she witnessed it."

"I think we can assume that she did."

"Yeah, okay. So that'd trigger an emotional response with the potential to electrify psychic pathways around the girl."

"Which would be enough to bring Beth in."

"Except that she didn't sense the danger like I did and she touched her. But I don't get why it took out the parents."

"Witnesses."

"You think it's that smart?"

"I hope not, but of the four people in that room, it took out Tara, it used Beth and it wasted the other two. Seems pretty smart to me. But what I can't figure out is how it got into Tara to start off with."

Sam rubbed a hand across his brow, kneading at his forehead. He shook his head, at a total loss to get an answer to that. He leaned one arm on the table, resting his head against his hand to prop it up. "We may never know. But we do know that we have to exorcise Beth," he said tiredly. "And this," he pushed the book toward Dean, "only takes care of the second part. First up we have to get the entity out of the host."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Dean asked carefully, his eyes scanning Sam's.

"The candle idea is a dud," Sam said lightly, noting that Dean did not smile. He let a moment draw past, then said, "I'll do it. I will draw it out. The incantation will then exorcise it." Sam saw Dean's gaze drop to his shoulder, and he hurried to reassure his brother. "If we set it up right, there will be no way it can hurt us. Remember it relies on weapons it gains from its surroundings. So we deny it access to anything. We choose the location and we make it safe."

Dean sat stiffly, his posture tense, his gaze locked with Sam's. Neither man spoke for several long minutes, then Dean said. "As much as I hate this, Sam. And I swear to you, I hate it. I don't see any other option, aside from walking away from this godforsaken mess and never looking back."

"We can't do that."

"We can."

"No," Sam said gently but firmly.

Dean hesitated, then said, "Okay, we can't. So we do this once and we do it right."

"Twice. We'll be doing it twice. Beth then Tara."

"Fine, smart-ass. Whatever. And," Dean wet his lips, his forehead knotting as he looked away from the table. He rubbed a hand across his face, seeming to have difficulty completing his thoughts.

"And?" Sam prompted softly.

"And," Dean continued, sweeping his gaze back to lock with Sam's. His stare was intense, dark and serious, the look his brother got only in the most dire of situations. Where decisions mattered, split seconds mattered… where life and death were but a hairs breath apart. "I will follow your lead. If you need me to stand back, I will. Regardless of the situation, of the risk to you. If you tell me to do it, I will. But only if you rely on your intuition and not on that twisted logic of yours. Jesus, Sammy, I told you that watching Alien over and over would screw with your mind."

"I was six, dude."

"Too young to watch that shit."

"Dad let me."

"Yeah, well, he let you a lot of things you were too young to do."

"Yet it was okay for him to give me a .45?"

Dean shrugged, and Sam realized his brother had deliberately drawn focus away from his quiet announcement. From the admission that he would stand down from his big brother role if the need required it. "Thanks," he said softly, "I know that this is a big deal for you, and—"

"Sam," Dean warned.

Sam raised his eyebrows and huffed. "Okay, jerk" he finally said.

"Bitch."

"I can't believe you talked me into that," Dean groused as he thumbed over his shoulder to the Chevy. It sparkled in the early morning sunlight, gleaming and proud. It made what now sat in the back seat even more upsetting. He shifted his gaze to the man responsible for his current distress. "That is a classic car, Sam. Do you understand what that even means? It's not one of those cheap plastic imported heaps that shit all over the highway. It has class. It demands respect."

"Shut up, Dean."

"You're cleaning it, bitch," he snarled as he landed a solid thwack to the back of his brother's head. His fingers tingled and he knew that had to have hurt. He grinned and waited for the reaction.

Sam whirled and predictably retaliated. Dean easily ducked out of the way, leering evilly at his annoyed sibling. "Hah," he crowed, lightly flicking his hand at Sam's shoulder. "It's the guilt, man. It's slowing you down."

"No, you jerk," Sam breathed, "you're pissing me off." Sam deftly snagged his brother's wrist, twisting and flexing the joint into an unnatural angle as he leaned in close, using his superior height over the older man.

"Uh," Dean grunted as Sam exerted just enough pressure to bring pain, but not enough to cause harm. Dean laughed softly, wincing as Sam exerted just a tiny bit more pressure. His brother's closeness did not intimidate him. Dean knew his brother would never deliberately hurt him, and Sam was in full control of his faculties, of his strength. They had played this particular game, in its various forms, their entire life. Dean also knew a move or two that would instantly reverse the situation, but he did not exercise them. He let his brother think he had control, think he had cornered his big brother. Sam needed this. He needed the confidence boost. And he needed something else…. "Dude," Dean griped lightly, "you need breath mints."

Sam huffed, his breath warm against Dean's face. "Enough with the car, already. It is fine. I'll vacuum it. Wash it. Hell, I'll freakin' lick it clean if that will shut you the hell up."

"Aw, gross."

Sam's eyes sparkled, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. He released Dean's wrist and moved back. "Then quit jerking around."

Dean rubbed at his wrist as he scanned sunlit street and the self-storage complex. "Think she'll come?"

"I said for her to be here at nine o'clock. And I said it nicely, so yeah, I think she'll come," Sam responded, checking his watch before walking to the rear of the Chevy.

"What'd you say to her?" Dean asked as he joined his brother. He made no attempt to help and Sam glowered at him.

"I told her that we'd found a guy who had experienced the same thing that she had. I suggested that it may help if she met him."

"And she bought that?"

"Well, no, not exactly. She took some talking around. But I think she felt bad about what happened the other day."

"Pushing you down the steps and almost killing you?"

"Well, that's a particularly melodramatic version of events, but yeah."

"And what about asking her to come to a self-storage complex. That didn't bother her?"

"She doesn't know that's what it is."

"She will when she pulls in, Sam."

"Then we'll wait out front. It doesn't look so bad from the street."

"No," Dean agreed, "nothing that a can of kero and a match wouldn't fix."

Sam huffed as he shoved a bag in Dean's hands. "Make yourself useful."

"Am useful."

"Yeah. Not."

Dean smirked, following his brother as they wound their way into the complex, unlocked the rented unit and quickly moved inside.

"It looks smaller than it did yesterday," Sam noted as he dropped the bag. He moved to the wall and flattened his palm against it, testing the surface as he slowly moved along.

"Ten foot by fifteen foot. It's the only one they had available and this town isn't exactly busting out all over with these things. Anyway, the smaller the better," Dean said, frowning as he watched his brother. "Sam, we've already done that."

"No harm in doing it again."

"We haven't allowed time."

"Won't take long."

Dean shook his head then dropped to one knee as he foraged around in the bags. He pulled out a portable battery operated lantern which he held up. "Make yourself useful and hook this up."

"When I've finished here."

"No, now, dude." Dean waved the lamp toward his sibling, grunting as Sam ignored him. He pushed to his feet and set the lamp up himself. Frustration and concern gnawed at him as Sam continued to methodically examine every square inch of the drywall box they had chosen for the ritual. "You getting Alzheimers?" Dean eventually bit out. "We did this yesterday, remember. This place is as safe as it's ever going to get. No sharp edges, nothing loose, nothing that could be used to impale us."

"I know."

"Then what are you doing?"

Sam shrugged, his shoulders tense, his expression fixed. He had reached the open doorway and there he hesitated, lightly running his fingers over the metal. He frowned as he found something, his lips drawn together in a tight line. Whatever it was must have passed his pedantic inspection because he eventually continued on.

"Dude, enough already," Dean finally said. He joined his brother and pulled the younger boy around to face him. "What's going on, Sam. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. Spill."

Sam raised his hands, then fumbled with Dean's jacket, pulling and prodding at the buttons. Dean itched to slap him away, but the look on his brother's face stopped him. "Sam?" he pressed gently, holding his breath as Sam's world-weary gaze drew up and met his.

"Are you nervous?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean lied. He raised his eyebrows as Sam cocked his head to the side, his expression searching. "This'll be a piece of cake. C'mon, we've spent two days haggling over this, working through every possible scenario. We've gone over this godforsaken box with a fine tooth comb. If that thing gets the drop on either one of us, there's nothing here that can hurt us." He clasped his brother's upper arms, squeezing gently. "Nothing is going to go wrong. But, if you're getting those spidey-sense tingles, we can still walk away from this."

"We can't, Dean."

"We can and we will. You just have to say the word."

"Don't put this all on me."

"I'm not, but this is your call. I will back you one hundred percent whichever way you go, but this is your decision to make, Sam. I can't make it for you."

"What happened to us being a team?"

"We are, but you're the lead on this job. You've got the whole shining thing happening, I haven't. It's your call."

He clasped the nape of Sam's neck and gently squeezed, then returned to the bag. He worked deliberately, his muscles tense and a deep hope in him that Sam would back down. As much as it would tear him apart to turn his back on Tara, and on Beth, this was one job that he was willing to risk his sanity for. But it was not his decision to make. It never had been.

"We'll do it."

Dean stilled, then nodded. He kept his back to his brother. "Then let's get set up. Beth will be here soon."

"You tricked me into coming here," Beth said, her eyes dark with anger.

"Yes," Sam answered honestly. He glanced back at Dean as the older boy locked the door. The sunlit slid away and Sam's eyes slowly adjusted to the more muted light provided by the battery operated lanterns.

Beth took a step back, her attention darting between the two men. "Why are you doing this?"

Sam raised his hands and gestured to Dean to stay back. "Beth, listen to me. The entity that is in Tara, is in you as well. The vision that you had was its way of drawing you in. It wanted to procreate and you were a suitable host."

Beth took another step back. "Let me go and I will not tell a soul. You pair can get out of town."

"I can sense it. I know it's in you. It infiltrated your system through that wound in your face. Dean and I can kill it. Will you let us?"

The woman considered that, her gaze wary and sharp. "I would know if that had happened."

"No. You wouldn't. Tara didn't, not until it was too late and she witnessed the death of her parents. It will be the same for you. We can stop it."

"If it's in me then it's in you too. You were attacked. Your shoulder."

"It's not in me. It tried, but it wasn't successful."

"How do you know?"

"A little dog told me." Sam smiled then and allowed his voice to soften. "Your dogs ran away, Beth. They sensed it in you. Once this is over, you can get them back." It was the woman's weak point and she visibly sagged. Sam gave her a moment, then cautiously approached. "I need to touch you to free it, then we'll read the ritual and it will be over. I'll protect you, I promise."

"The ritual won't work."

"It will. We've refined it. It will work."

"What if it doesn't?"

"It will. You need to trust me."

Beth glanced toward Dean, then back to Sam. "I trust you." But not Dean. Sam prickled, but did not allow a visible reaction to show. "Do you have anything that could be used as a weapon?"

"What?"

"Keys, phone, anything sharp. Once the entity is released, it will search for a weapon and it will do it so fast that we won't have a chance to block it."

Beth fumbled in her pockets, her hands shaking. "Only my phone and car keys."

"Put them on the floor."

She bent down and placed the items before her. Sam collected them and took them to Dean. The older man had taken cover in the corner, behind a thick industrial strength Plexiglass shield that they had firmly adhered and wedged in place. He unlatched the heavy bolt that held the screen in place, and moved it to the side in order to take the items. Dean put them behind him, out of sight, then clutched at Sam's wrist. "You sure about this?" he whispered, "I mean, really sure." He licked his lips and the hold he had on Sam's wrist was tight.

"Yeah. I am."

Something close to pain crossed the older hunter's face, and he nodded. He gently squeezed Sam's wrist, trailing his fingers down until the contact broke.

"You know what to do."

"I won't come out, Sam. Not until it's over."

"Regardless of what happens – of what you see?"

Visible pain twisted across Dean's features, but he nodded.

"It'll be okay, Dean. I will be okay." Sam turned his back and returned to Beth. Without looking back at his brother, he reached out. The tickle of electrical sensation was immediate, and a second later his fingers touched Beth's skin. That was all it took.

End Chapter Nine