ENTITY (Chapter Ten)

Sam had not counted on the entity having the ability to forcibly propel a body. They had thought it could only manipulate objects, which had necessitated a restricted, controlled environment. The small storage unit met that purpose, and now saved Sam from serious injury as the entity demonstrated an ability to adapt to its surroundings. Sam pondered the potential for supernatural evolution as he slid to the floor of the small storage unit, the breath knocked out of him from his brief flight across the room.

Winded, Sam offered no defense against the entity's follow up assault. Raw air seethed cold against his face then struck, hard. The blow whipped his head to the side and the young hunter saw compacted stars against a black canvas. Almost beautiful if it weren't for the rush of blood against his ears and the burst of pain through his cheek and jaw. It hit like a champion prizefighter, but without the fair playing rules or the advantage of warning. As the dizzied confusion cleared, anger shifted into place, and he pushed to his feet. He scanned, spotting the entity almost immediately. Hovering, the black vapor seemed almost to be composing itself, or choosing its next target. It shimmered, poised, shadowy and dense. Wispy tendrils leaked from the edges of the mass like ethereal fingers. Probing, calculating its next move. Claustrophobic silence weighted the excruciating standoff – broken only by Sam's own furious breathing. Not even the sound of Dean's Latin verse broke the stunning calm.

Sam jerked his attention to his brother, his breath frozen, his heart stalled. Dean had stopped reciting. Had he finished? Terror prickled his skin as Sam wordlessly sought confirmation from his sibling. Their eyes met and Dean ran his tongue across his lips, dropped his head and recommenced reading. Sam stared, dumbstruck, then cursed his brother before risking a glance at Beth. The woman cowered in the corner, her arms hugged around her knees and head down. She was an unlikely target – the host. The entity needed something to go back to, it would be unwilling to compromise its safe haven.

However, Sam it seemed was fair game. Not yet old enough to procreate, the entity clearly saw Sam as a threat rather than a potential incubator for its malevolent offspring. That knowledge provided some comfort but it did not erase Sam's growing anger. Homicidal shadows pissed him off and being beaten up by one made his rage almost irrational. As he waited, back pressed against the wall, for the smoky vapor's next move, Sam trembled with a murderous need to exact some pent-up revenge. He would give anything for the shotgun, even to have the momentary satisfaction of blasting the shit out of the bastard. It would be pointless and immediately regretted, but irrationality made him crave for it anyway.

The entity moved. Sam tracked it, awed by the graceful ease with which it chewed up the air. An acrid, burned scent seared in its wake, as though it consumed oxygen and expelled some bitter byproduct as waste. It jerked and twitched, then struck the Plexiglass shield behind which Dean sheltered. The elder hunter sprang back within his cramped confines, a fierce expletive chopping through the Latin verse. The heavy duty plastic warped. Sam growled and took a step forward, his eyes widening as the dark vapor twisted in mid air then funneled back toward him.

Sam tensed in anticipation of pain, but before it reached him, the vapor distorted in on itself with an airless shriek. The sudden shift shocked Sam into gathering his wits and scuttling side-wards. He cinched into the corner as dark light exploded, sliced up and splintered across the ceiling. A loud pop accentuated the entity's cataclysmic departure. Sam panted hard, his wide eyes locked on the smoke charred ceiling. Silence descended and only his own harsh breathing scarred the quietness. It was almost anticlimactic, and neither he nor his brother moved for several long minutes.

"Shit," Dean eventually said.

"Fuck," he offered in response and Dean's eyebrows shot up. Sam grunted as he stood. He steadied himself against the wall and gently tested his jaw. Bruised, but not broken. It did not ease his anger any.

Dean extricated himself from his shelter and joined Sam. "You good?"

"Peachy."

"Okay," Dean said warily.

Sam shrugged, his pulse throbbing with unused adrenaline and undirected anger. "I hate shadows. I fucking hate them. I so wanted to blast the fucker." He fisted his hands, his body practically vibrating.

"Sam, calm down." Dean grabbed his biceps and gently pushed Sam back against the wall. "This is about the Daeva's," he said carefully.

Sam shook his head and tensed to pull away. Dean's grip tightened. "We'll fix this. All of it. Dad, Mom, Jessica… all of it. I promise."

"I just want rock-salt to work on everything," he said, the anger deflating. "Shadows… I hate them."

"Yeah, so do I, but this isn't a Daeva. This is simpler—"

"Don't say easier, Dean."

"I wasn't going to. But this has nothing to do with us. It's just another job, Sam. It's not personal. We can call it quits right here. You don't have to do this again. It can end right now."

"We have to help Tara."

"And we will, but not like this. We'll figure something else out, do more research, find another way. You don't have to be that thing's punching bag, Sam. You've been through enough."

Sam looked away, his gaze hooded. "What if there is no other way?"

Dean squeezed his arms. "There is. And we'll find it. We've got time. That thing in Tara is not going anywhere."

Dean watched his brother as Sam gradually calmed down and reverted back to being himself… not an inferior Dean-clone. Being beaten up by a dark shadow brought out the worst in the youngest Winchester, made him do horribly poor imitations of his classier and definitely more handsome sibling. Though imitation was the highest form of flattery, Dean was not prepared to deal with a psyched up, trigger happy, shadow slaying Sam. Dean may have conceded to wearing a looser fitting big brother outfit, but he was not about to give up the darkly dangerous older brother routine. There were some things that remained sacred. Anyway, he did not swear anywhere near that much. Did he?

Frowning, Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and snagged the Chevy's keys from his jean's pocket. He dangled them, nodding at Sam as the younger man glanced over. Sam hesitated, checked Beth then stood and accepted them. "Stay with her, she's still a bit shaky."

"If that thing has done anything in my car, Sam."

"I said I'd clean it."

"You're not licking it clean."

"How about I piss on it. Would that be better?"

Dean resisted the urge to thump his brother. He settled on a murderous glare instead, incensed when Sam laughed and ducked out of the storage unit.

"Is it over?" Beth asked after Sam had been gone a few minutes.

"Yeah," Dean said. He crouched down before the shaken woman. "You doing okay?"

"Yes. No. Not every day that you see that. I mean," she looked at him strangely, then added, "for me. It's not every day. Where's Sam gone?"

"He'll be back in a minute."

"I should get up."

"Don't if you're feeling shaky."

"No." Beth fidgeted, her hands fluttering before she accepted Dean's offered hand. He pulled her up, then steadied her. "Thanks," she murmured. "Misjudged you. Sorry."

"We got off to a bit of a rocky start."

She smiled weakly. "Are you sure it's over?"

"Yes."

"How do you know all of this?" She regarded him carefully, then shook her head. "Don't answer. I don't need to know."

"It's complicated."

"Isn't everything?"

Dean nodded, smiling. "Yeah, it is."

"Should I offer you something? Money?"

"No."

"Why?"

Dean looked to the door, he could hear Sam returning. "It's not necessary."

"What about a meal?"

"Maybe. Come outside. Sam has something for you."

"What is it?" She sounded nervous.

Dean smiled warmly, waiting until the uncertainty faded from her eyes. "It's furry, has really bad breath and Sam thinks that you'll like it. Personally. Not so sure."

"Tango and Boxer?"

"You're getting warm," Dean said. He ushered Beth to the door and then helped her outside. Sam was waiting for them, the Steak Palace mutt sitting beside him. "The ribbon looks bad, Sam," Dean informed dryly as he took in the recently bathed, groomed and flea-rinsed hound.

"No it doesn't," Sam said as he crouched beside the dog. He teased at the ribbon, flattening the pink silk against the dark brown and gold flecked dog hair.

Dean sighed and glanced at Beth who stood silently beside him. The woman made no effort to go to the wet nosed, woe eyed pooch. In fact, she seemed almost dumbstruck. This was not going as well as Sam had said it would. Dog nuts love dogs, the younger boy had said as he had hit Dean with his most baleful puppy-dog eyes. But, despite the little brother con-job, Dean had not gone down without a fight. Agreeing to have a flea-bag hound in the Impala was worth making Sam beg and cajole and promise to do the laundry for a month, wash the Impala – by hand – every week for three months, and never, ever, to let the car run out of gas again.

But now it was all going to shit and it seemed that Sam knew it. The younger man shifted, uncertainty clouding his features. He averted his gaze from Dean and scratched behind the dog's ears. The mutt leaned in and Dean had an awful sick feeling that if Beth didn't take the thing, it would be back in the Impala – permanently. The most awful third wheel he could possibly imagine. The Winchester brothers and their shit-eating side-kick. Shit-eating in the completely literal sense.

"She's lovely," Beth said flatly.

Dean scratched at his head. This was going downhill fast. He swiped the back of his brother's head as he moved past. Sam grunted and muttered but Dean deliberately ignored him. He returned to the Impala. Inspected the car, removed several dog hairs and turned his nose up at the slightly perfumed, doggy scent that lingered at the back seat. Snorting with disgust, he brushed his hand across the leather and silently cursed his soft hearted brother. "Dog nuts love dogs, my ass."

The shrill ring of his cell phone broke his thoughts. He tracked the sound to the glove compartment, flipped it open and snagged the phone just as it switched to voicemail. Missed call. No caller ID.

Sighing, he pocketed the phone and wove his way back through the storage complex. He noticed with some hope that the situation had improved in his absence. Beth now crouched beside the dog while Sam stood. The relief faded as he took in the distracted, pained expression on the younger boy's face. "You okay?" Dean asked, narrowing his gaze as he moved in closer.

"Yeah," Sam said as he acknowledged Dean's return. He briefly kneaded at his forehead then drew in a deep breath. "That thing had a mean right hook."

"Not bad for something with no hands," Dean said lightly but he continued to watch Sam. When satisfied that his brother was not about to keel over, he turned his attention to the woman. Beth knelt beside the dog, her fingers knotted in its long fur, and her face wet with tears. She sobbed and Dean struggled to comprehend what that meant. He turned back to Sam for an explanation.

"Dog nuts love dogs," Sam said softly, his tone vaguely self-satisfied.

"So we won't be wasting a bullet then," Dean responded dryly. He arched an eyebrow at Sam's chastising look, then retrieved his cell as the voicemail tone came through. He dialed through, retrieved the message and listened. His mouth went dry and his eyes darted to Sam as he recognized the caller, the chipped, frantic message and the dull silence that followed. "Shit," he breathed. Sam watched expectantly. "It's Missouri," Dean said. "She's got trouble."

Sam paled and his adam's apple bobbed. "The entity in Tara?"

"Yeah. We've got to go. Now."

"Dammit, Dean, we should have known that," Sam said after he ended the call to Missouri. He kneaded at his forehead, at the throbbing ache through his mind. It had intensified since learning of Missouri's broken message. And had worsened as the hours passed and contact could not be reestablished with the aging psychic. Finally reaching her had not eased the pain, and Sam knew that it was neither the blows to his face nor the fear for Missouri that had caused it.

"How the hell could we have known that exorcising Beth would alert Tara's freaky pal?" Dean said bitterly. "We figured that it relied on solid connections between hosts – telepathy and touch. Did Tara connect telepathically?"

"No, Missouri said the kid was fine up until three hours ago. Up until we splattered that thing across the storage unit's ceiling. It had no clue what we were going to do until we did it. But now it does." Sam quit massaging at his temple and exhaled heavily. Dean glanced at him but remained silent. Sam continued, "It must retain a connection. Maybe the thing in Beth wasn't its kid, maybe it was a part of it. Maybe it's spreading rather than procreating."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean's fingers tightened on the wheel. "How's Missouri?"

"She's okay," Sam said. "Shaken up, but unharmed." Silence fell between them and he had to work saliva into his mouth before he could add the next part. "Marcus was there too, Dean." The elder hunter looked across and Sam did not need to finish.

"Shit."

"Missouri thinks it ran out of energy before it could turn on her. But it's got some level of control over Tara that it never had before. The kid kept Missouri hostage for the past three hours, Dean. Held a knife on her. Then five minutes ago she ordered Missouri into a cupboard, shoved a chair against it and left the house. Missouri broke out but she can't find the kid. She's disappeared."

"That's what's been happening for the past three hours. Why we couldn't get a hold of her?"

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. He squinted at the landscape as it flashed past. Though Dean was speeding, the slowly moving time grated painfully through Sam. His foot tapped against the floorboard, and he tugged at his lower lip. "You know we have to find Tara and do the exorcism. We can't research. We can't wait."

"I know."

"It knows we're coming, Dean. And it wants us to."

"Yeah, I figured that." Dean glanced at him. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay."

"There's pain pills in the glove compartment."

"No, I'm good. Just drive."

Dean acknowledged that, his grip tight on the steering wheel. He glanced in the rearview mirror, as though checking that there was not something coming up behind them. "So, how do you want to play this?"

Sam fidgeted, rubbing his palms across his thighs. He looked out the window at the featureless landscape, tension thrumming against his fingertips, making his heart beat faster. "Same as we did with Beth. We find Tara, take her someplace safe and we exorcise her."

"Okay, I'd be on board with that. So how do you think it got out of Tara anyway?"

"When we exorcised Beth, the shock of losing a part of it must have prompted a short burst of energy. Short lived, but not short lived enough." Sam shifted in his seat, his hands drawn into tight fists. He pursed his lips and regulated his breathing as his own emotion ramped up the pain through his skull. He deliberately calmed his body, relaxing and easing the tension. The pain edged back, but the dull ache remained. Deliberate and methodical, in time with his own heartbeat. The connection had been set, the lure primed. Now that the entity had him, it was not going to let him go a second time.

Dean steered the Chevy deeper into the quiet industrial estate, past shuttered warehouses and empty manufacturing sheds. He relied on Sam to guide him.

"Next left," the younger boy offered tiredly.

Dean shot his brother a worried glance, then steered the car into the wide avenue. Rows of warehouses lined the street, all of them hollowed and dark as shadows stretched from the late afternoon sunlight. He hazarded a guess that the buildings were abandoned.

"There, that one."

"That two storey place with the huge glass windows."

"Yeah."

"Nice. Well, one things for sure, we're not exorcising the bitch here."

Sam smiled, though he looked tired. Exhausted actually. But he was not bleeding and Dean saw that as a good thing. "You stay here while I get her."

"No. I'll come. I'm not sure where she is, not exactly."

Dean's gaze narrowed then he nodded. "Okay, then let's grab her and bust this place."

They worked their way into the building, Dean keeping Sam behind him. The unlocked doorway opened into a large expanse of open space that constituted the ground floor level. Debris littered the floor, a blend of broken and discarded construction material. An abandoned warehouse conversion project, Dean mused. He glanced back at Sam and found the younger boy looking up. "Upstairs?" he whispered in question.

Sam nodded, then moved in close as Dean led the way to the stairs, then commenced ascending. Their footsteps hushed through the quiet. The stairs curved into a landing, then split back on itself as it went higher. Sam wavered at the landing and Dean caught him just as he was about to fall. The younger man leaned into him, his breathing fast. Dean steadied his brother and waited for him to raise his head.

"It knows I'm here," Sam said.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Go back to the car, take the back-seat, she'll have less change of reaching you from there. I'll grab her and be down in a minute."

"I'm okay."

"Sam, she could make a lunge for you."

"I need to come."

Dean hesitated as Sam moved back, his fingers white knuckled on the railing, but otherwise he seemed to have regained his equilibrium. He watched him a moment longer, then turned and continued up the stairs. He hesitated at the first floor door and glanced back at Sam. Sam shook his head and gestured to continue to the next level. Dean frowned, unease tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He continued up but paused on the next landing between the first and second floors. He turned to his brother. "Sam, go back to the car."

"No."

"Sam."

"No, Dean."

Dean exhaled heavily, disturbed by the bitter determination in the younger man's eyes. He could not tell whether it was just the pain or something else that was making Sam so recalcitrant. Regardless, it was clear that Dean would not win this argument and even trying would just waste time and cause Sam further pain. All Marcus had taught the younger man seemed to have gone to shit, and Dean knew that it was not the training but rather the entity. Killing its kid, or part of it, or whatever the hell it had been, had seriously pissed it off. They had to get the girl and end this. Fast.

They reached the door to the second level and Dean held Sam back as he rested his fingers on the handle. He nodded once, then pushed it down and drew the door open. They stepped into a small foyer, the open expanse of the second level just beyond. Dean slowly moved forward, one arm extended out to keep Sam behind him. He sighted Tara against one wall, her knees drawn up and head down. She stared fixedly at a patch on the floor before her. Unseeing and unmoving. She had Bruno, the toy stuffed dog with her, clutched against her small body with one thin arm.

Dean deliberately looked away, unable to align the crushing responsibility for the innocence before him with the aching responsibility of keeping Sam safe. So he did what he did best: avoidance. He scanned the warehouse, his heart-rate picking up as he took in the three panel high, floor to ceiling windows filled the wall opposite where he and Sam presently stood.

Sam huffed and nudged up behind him. "Exposed beams," he said, lazily lifting one hand. "That'd hurt."

Dean reluctantly looked up. "Yeah," he agreed, as he took in the rusting steel beams that crisscrossed the room's width. As the upper floor of the two storey building, no effort had been made to enclose the ceiling. It was butt ugly – and since learning that the entity could physically propel a body with force, it was lethal. He swept his gaze back down and across the solid brick walls that formed two sides of the room. Very little debris littered this floor of the building, but where there was less potential for impalement, it made up for it in expanse and structure. Facing off with the entity in that room would result in certain death – a bloody one at that. He glanced at his brother. "Stay here, I'll get her."

Dean did not bother with pleasantries, though he was gentle. He firmly grabbed the child and carried her toward the door. She stiffened in his embrace and Dean adjusted the slight girl against his chest so he could see her face. Open eyes stared blankly. It was damned unnerving. The thing had control of her, yet it made no attempt to have her break free. As he looked across to Sam, he understood why. His brother had fallen to his knees, his head in his hands. He made no sound, but the crippling rigidity of his body spoke volumes. Dean weighed his options, the choice made for him as Sam crumpled to the floor. He put the girl down and hurried to Sam. He worked quickly to bring his brother to his feet then wound his arm around the younger man to keep him there.

"Can you block it?" he asked, his tone desperate. It was an asshole of a question. One that Sam did not bother answering. If Sam could block it, he would. "We're leaving," he said as he hooked a glance back at the girl. She stood watching, her vacant eyes staring at them… at Sam.

"I can't," Sam said softly.

"You can, Sam. You just have to work harder."

"I can't."

"You can, dammit." He pulled Sam forward, giving him no choice but to walk or be dragged. Sam dug his heels in at the head of the stairs to the lower level.

"It wants me, Dean. But if I can't have me, then it will cut its losses. And it can. It can kill me."

"Marcus taught you to block. Are you telling me that was a waste of time? Everything we've been through. Everything! It was all for nothing?"

"No." Sam pulled away, his breathing harsh. He squinted and rubbed at his face. "It wasn't for nothing. We can still end this, Dean. But it has to be here."

Dean's hands shook and he fisted them at his side. "Fine, but not in there. We'll find somewhere else in this shit hole, but it's not happening in there."

Sam's gaze shifted to the side. "Try to take Tara from that room and it will kill me instantly."

"What?"

"It has to be in there or not at all."

"You're telling me that you are going to willingly face off against that thing in there?" Dean hooked a thumb over his shoulder, his hand shaking. Sam shrugged, his expression miserably tortured.

"No way, Sam. No fucking way. That is a death trap. You would not last a minute in there with that thing. Look what that freaky bastard in Perryton did to you, and it only had a 150 foot square box to work in. That bitch has at least two thousand square feet, plate glass windows, steel beams, brick walls. And it's stronger."

"Dean."

"No!" Dean fiercely cut his brother off. He vibrated with the need to make this right. To protect Sam, to do what was his God-given role, and his alone. And he suddenly knew how. It was what he should have done from the very start. "You know what," he announced tightly, "This ends now, Sammy. The fucking old fashioned way." In one fluid action, Dean withdrew the Glock from the waistband of his jeans. He barely had it out before Sam's eyes widened, and in a move that stunned the older boy, Sam grabbed his arm, knocked the gun from his grasp and slammed him hard against the wall. Stunned by his brother's violent strength, Dean made no effort to resist. "Is this you or it?" he rasped. "Has it got to you?"

Tears budded in Sam's eyes and he wrenched away, staggering before dropping to his knees. He snagged the fallen weapon. Dean's breath froze in his throat. "Sam," he said cautiously.

"You're not killing her."

Sam's voice sounded strangely off and the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood on end. "Sammy, give me the gun."

Sam fingered the weapon, his eyes downcast. He flicked it off safety. Dean reached out just as Sam raised the weapon and fired. The stunning discharge shocked the elder hunter and he recoiled with each sharp burst. The bullets slammed into the far brick wall. When the round was exhausted, Sam allowed the weapon to drop to the floor with a loud clatter.

"I don't want to die," Sam said softly. "But I will not be responsible for the death of your humanity either. So we do this my way." He looked up, his pain-filled gaze steady. "You promised you would follow my lead. Now more than ever I need you to do that. Can you?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Sam, please."

"There is only one way this can end. Exorcism. Like Beth."

"It will kill you."

Sam averted his gaze, pushed to his feet and wiped the sleeve of his jacket under his nose. It came away speckled with blood. Sam impassively considered it then lowered his arm. "We don't have much time. We have to build you a shelter." He raised one hand, stopping Dean from speaking. "You will read the incantation while I hold it off."

"Sam, no."

"It won't kill me outright. It wants me and it will try to take me. That's your chance to exorcise it. You read fast. And no stopping halfway through like last time."

"It's suicide."

"No. Even suicide is a choice, Dean. I have no choice."

Dean's gaze slid to the gun. There was more ammo in the car, he could knock Sam out, get it and finish the kid.

"No." Sam's firm voice cut through his thoughts. "I will choose death before I allow you to kill Tara."

"It's not your choice."

"Yes it is. This is my playing field. My freaky spidey-senses. My shining. My rules. You made me a promise, Dean."

"I have no problem breaking it if it keeps you alive."

"I could not live with that Dean, and neither could you. And," he paused, "we screwed up in Perryton because we thought we knew it all. What if killing Tara unleashes the fucker, gives it unimaginable power? We'll both die with the responsibility of countless deaths on our hands. I don't choose that, Dean. Don't you dare make me."

Dean swallowed hard. He averted his gaze, his vision swimming. "It's unlikely to be released, Sam," he said, his voice small.

"More unlikely than exorcising Beth only to have momma bear in there lash out and kill Marcus? There are no certainties here. But there are facts. The exorcism ritual will kill it. That is a proven fact."

"What if there's a bigger momma bear, and killing this thing unleashes it?"

"I would know if there was something else, Dean. There's not. This is the only one. And we're going to kill it. Here."

Dean shook his head, he no longer trusted himself to speak. Sam breathed heavily and Dean could practically sense the raw energy emanating from the younger man. He was running on adrenaline only. Would it be enough to sustain him while Dean completed the reading of the ritual? Just how fast could he speed-read the lines anyway? Fast enough to save his brother's life?

"We can do this, Dean," Sam said, and he sounded like a washed up baseball coach trying to urge on his crippled, defeated team.

Dean flinched as Sam touched him. He had not even realized his brother had moved. He looked up, saw the determination and courage in his little brother's eyes and he felt a flicker of hope – and a numbing wave of despair.

"We can do this," Sam repeated, and he sounded less washed up, more sure. "It will be alright. I promise."

Dean trusted his brother and he believed in him, but this…. As Sam moved away, Dean caught his wrist, unable to speak when Sam looked at him, his pain-glazed eyes questioning. The control Sam had over the pain, over the entity, was solid but wearing. Dean had seen his brother tire under the assault, and now he was bleeding. Untended, it would get worse. It wasn't that Marcus' teachings were flawed, or Sam had messed up and forgotten the lessons… it was the entity. Exorcising its little buddy had backed it into a corner, and Dean knew Sam was right. It was desperate to find a replacement host and what better than the one that had gotten away. It would not kill Sam outright. But it would seriously mess him up before it realized the futility of its efforts. That huge empty room with its pretty glass windows, bare brick walls and steel girded ceiling would be Sam's own torture chamber. And Dean would witness it all.

He grasped Sam's wrist tighter, then squeezed once and let go. Their eyes locked, but neither spoke. There were no words for what they would face, and no words for what it might bring. Sam looked away first, his whispered, "We've got work to do," breaking the tentative connection and Dean felt the loss like a barbed arrow through his heart.

End Chapter Ten