ENTITY (Chapter Seventeen)

From Chapter Sixteen:

Evil blood-red eyes turned to Sam and fixed on him. The unblinking gaze was the only descriptive feature in a body encased in swirling darkness. It literally seethed with black rage and Sam jolted as it fought to disengage the hold that the younger hunter had over it. But it would not break. At least not yet. As the connection vibrated then settled, Sam knew he had locked it down.

…

Dean was a necessary component in killing this thing, and Sam needed it dead. The older boy would not know the price Sam was willing to pay, and he recognised the selfishness of keeping that from his brother. But he was beyond being a team player. The thing had plans for him -- plans that Sam could not endure. Beyond the pain, beyond all he had been through, what the future held was far worse. He needed it all to be over. He needed to be safe and staying alive was no longer safe

Chapter Seventeen:

Bright sunshine, light cottony clouds, a gentle breeze. Nothing bad happened on days like that, but Dean knew better. He screeched into the driveway of Missouri's home and saw the black woman standing on the porch, her hands twisted into knots. She met him at the bottom of the steps, stopped him with a hand against his chest.

"The entity is here," she said, her tone flat, horrified.

"Where's Sam?"

She seemed to wilt. "He is holding it off."

"With what?" He tried to move past her, but again she blocked him. His eyes flashed as she placed both hands on his chest, flattening her palms. He grabbed her wrists to pull her away.

"Taser," she said.

Frustrated, he pushed her hands away and roughly nudged past her. She caught him again, the back of his jacket this time.

"He says you have a taser."

Dean stiffened, turned to look at her then past her to the car, the glistening sunshine. He turned back to the house. It towered over him, the front door closed, somewhere inside was his brother – and that thing. He ripped out of her grasp, ignoring her as she again reached for him. He took the steps in one stride and reached the door. He expected it to be unlocked. It was not.

"Dean, you have to get the taser."

He faced her, his blood thrumming with anxiousness, barely repressed panic. "What?"

"He says electricity will kill it. He said you have a taser."

"What's going on? Where is he?"

"Inside, with it." Tears welled in her eyes, made her look down. He tracked her gaze and saw blood on the sleeve of her jacket.

"You're hurt."

"It's nothing."

"Let me see." He returned to her, shifted the material so he could see the cut. Long and bloody. "It'll need stitches."

"It got the drop on me," Missouri admitted softly. "I thought the property was safe so I wasn't vigilant. I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry."

Her hollow apology disturbed him. He stepped back, let his hands drop to the sides. His gaze again slid to the house, took in the tinkling charms, the pots of God knows what that Missouri had littered around the place to keep the supernatural out. He flexed his fingers, beating away the cold slicked sweat that folded in on them.

"Sam thinks a taser will kill it?" he asked.

"Yes," she looked up. "He's certain of it."

"Fine, then we taser the bitch."

He retrieved the taser and a handgun from the car, then sprinted down the side of the house. Missouri struggled to keep up.

"Dean," she panted, "Tara's not possessed. At least not any more. Releasing that thing released her. She's not dangerous. Don't hurt her."

Dean weighted the handgun, studied Missouri's face, then tucked the weapon into the waistband of his jeans.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"In the hallway with Sam."

Dean moved inside. He found Sam sitting with his back against the wall, midway down the hall. Between Sam and the door was a human-like form. Dark and denser than a moonless night, a void with infinite depth and visible sentience. Fire red eyes in the otherwise featureless figure had locked on Sam. Dean found himself unable to look away, unable to move or even breathe.

"Shadow person," Sam said, his voice breathy soft, pained.

Dean swallowed, forced himself to move. He reached his brother's side, his attention fixed on the entity by the door. It did not divert its attention from Sam.

"That's no shadow person, Sam."

"It's evolved. You got the taser?"

"Why isn't it moving?"

"I've locked it down."

"Okay." Dean's skin prickled. "That's a mind thingy, right?"

"You have to taser it. One hundred thousand volts. It will kill it."

"If it's a shadow person, then a taser isn't going to take it out."

"It will this time."

Dean finally looked at his brother. Really looked at him and the exhaustion and pain in the younger man's face shocked him. Sam looked worn, aged, sick and beaten. Worse than Dean had ever seen him, and he thought that impossible. Sam's gaze held, but there was an emptiness there that scraped through Dean.

"The taser, Dean."

"I've got it."

"Use it."

It was a command. An order. Directed without tone or depth, but an order nonetheless. It sounded oddly out of place coming from Sam and Dean sought to challenge it. He sought to understand.

"How do you know it will work?"

Sam got that look. The just do it already look, then it passed and the bare emptiness shifted back. Dean fought to get a breath against the cold fingers that knotted through his chest, compressed his will.

"Do it, Dean."

Another command. Dean resisted it, tension tickling at the edge of his consciousness. Sam's eyes closed, the emptiness shuttered. His expression twisted with anguish that made him look ugly and old.

"It's killing him," Missouri said fretfully. "Dean, please. Just shoot the thing."

Dean tensed and his finger tightened on the trigger, his limbs trembling. Beside him, Sam's breathing changed, became heavier, harsher. He looked down and saw blood coming from Sam's nose, both nostrils, a constant deliberate trickle. Sam groaned, low and deep. He fisted one hand in his hair and restlessly tugged at the long strands.

Anguish made Dean's hands shake violently, but the proximity of his target still ensured that he would get a valid kill. He had only to pull the trigger. It was easy. So easy. Too easy.

He hesitated, looked down at his brother. Tears stained Sam's cheeks, weaved through the blood and accentuated the agony that impaled the younger boy.

"God, Dean," Sam pleaded. "End it. Please."

Dean's finger caressed the trigger, the aim accurate, the objective sure, but a tight band of anxious misgiving compressed his chest and made him doubt. The barest breath of time passed as Dean struggled with uncertainty. He scrutinised Sam's face, searched past the tears, the twisted grimace, the sheen of sweat and blood. He forgot to breathe as he saw something else, an emotion he had never encountered in Sam. Beneath the raw surface that evidenced his kid brother's suffering was a darker edge of torment. An interface of desperation that nuzzled like folded silk at the jagged corners of Sam's battered consciousness. Dean did not recognise it. Did not immediately understand what it meant.

"There's no other way," Sam whispered, every word laced with hurt and hollow defeat. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

His little brother's tortured apology provided Dean with the clarity that had been missing. He almost vomited as understanding gouged deep into his gut and twisted. He dropped the taser, his breath coming in hard fast pants.

"You're connected to that thing. Electrically connected. That's how you're holding it off, some energy connection. And you were going to let me zap it. Zap you. Christ, Sam, it would have killed you."

"There's no other way."

Dean stared at his brother, unable to believe that Sam could so easily sacrifice himself. They had shut down the faith healer that had healed Dean. Did Sam forget that? But he saw it in his brother's eyes that Sam had not. Weeks of torment, of near death, of mistakes that had caused Sam incomprehensible pain – that had almost cost them their lives – had stripped Sam of his resilience. Now, when it came down to it, Sam had given up. Dean could understand it, could even empathize, but he would never accept it.

"You have to break the connection. Once you do, I will fry the son of a bitch."

"There won't be time. It will kill you. And Missouri and Tara."

"Maybe."

"Not maybe. I know what it wants, Dean. I know everything about it. And I know that it wants you dead. The moment I let it go, it will kill you. It will be so fast, you won't even know it. But I will. I will see it all."

"So you're just going to take yourself out. Just like that. No family discussion to see, hell, maybe there's another way."

"You don't understand," Sam said brokenly. "It wants to use my abilities to draw in others like me. Everything we have done, all we have stopped, it will have been for nothing. And it will make me live it all. I won't even be able to… to kill myself. Please, you have to end it."

"I'm not going to end you, Sam."

"To not do it is… crueller," Sam rasped. His tear muddied gaze dropped to stare with morbid longing at the taser.

Dean could barely breathe. This was not happening. This was not how it would end. It would not. It was not a fucking option. He gnashed his teeth, turned and slammed his fist into the wall. Pain rocketed through his forearm, weakened his knees. Endorphins flooded his system a moment later, warming him with a rush that skittered and twisted leaving him dizzied and panting. He breathed hard through the warm glow, grimacing pain, the rage, the brutal injustice, and braced one arm against the wall as he leaned toward Sam.

"That thing is not getting you. You will not watch us die, and you will not become that thing's host. I promise you, I will fix this."

"Dean."

"No, Sam." Dean drew in a hard steadying breath. The figure hovered less than ten feet away, waiting, seemingly patiently but with a vibrating energy that told of what its intentions. "How much longer can you hold that thing off?"

"It's over. There's no point."

"No. You and me. This. It's not over. It does not end here, Sam. You do not end here."

"Dean—"

"Listen to me. I know you will do anything to stop that thing from killing again, and I know you've been through absolute hell. But I'm telling you that it won't always be like this. I can fix this. I can get rid of that thing and I can save you. But you have to buy me some time. You have work with me. You have to fight."

"I can't."

The dark certainty in Sam's voice brought Dean down. He dropped heavily, cross-legged, a dulled, slow burn through his muscles as he fought back the rising panic. He sucked in a hard breath and caught Sam's unbandaged hand. It was cold, sweaty and the long fingers jerked with uncontrolled spasms.

"Sammy, look at me."

His brother did, but the dulled eyes warned Dean that soon his brother would not be able to comprehend. His system was shutting down – going into shock.

"I know what you did in that warehouse," he started, his voice shaking. "I know what you endured. But even through all of that pain, Sam, you held on. You defeated it. You did it then, you can do it now."

"I can't."

"You can. Trust me, you can. You're stronger than that thing. You exorcised the bitch even after everything it had done to you."

"You will die."

"Not if you hold that thing off until I can neuter it. You can break the connection and I'll taser it. I just need you to be strong for a little longer."

Sam stared for several long moments, his eyes glazed, the eyelids heavy, then he breathily said, "I'm sorry." His eyes slipped closed.

"Sammy, no." Dean grabbed his brother and shook him, making him gasp and his near closed eyes to widen. Dean leaned in close. "While you still have a pulse, I will fight for you. But you have to hold on. You have to fight. Please, fight with me. Don't give up. Not now."

Sam's eyes glazed over and he began to fall to the side. Dean choked back a cry, grasped the front of his brother's jacket and pulled the near unconscious boy to him. The entity watched them keenly and Dean jerked his gaze away, terror and panic warring to bring him entirely undone.

"Fight," he rasped. "I'm begging you, Sammy. Please. Fight. For me. I can't… I can't do this alone."

His impassioned plea received no response. He knotted his fingers into the fabric of Sam's jacket and fought back the wracking sobs that tore through him. He heard Missouri behind him. She was crying but he did not turn to see her.

"Missouri, leave," he forced out. "Get out of here. Take Tara and get out of here."

He did not hear her move, nor did she say anything. He closed his eyes, his brother's listless body clutched hard against his own. He felt the steady rhythmic pulse of Sam's heart, inhaled the coppery, stale scent of sweat, blood and fear. His muscles tightened, his injured forearm suffering further abuse as he attempted to rise, to pull Sam up. If he could get his brother away from it, physically separate him from the entity….

He only made it to his knees before he fell, overwhelmed by the vicious realisation that there was no escape for his brother. There was no physical distance that could save Sam. He raised his head and screamed his denial, his anguish. The sound tore off into a choked whisper as his fingers unconsciously found the taser. He brought it up to fire, his arm quivering, his muscles crippled, weighted.

His vision shimmered, but he could see the thing through the blur of tears. He had only to fire. So easy. It would all go away. Countless lives would be saved. And Sam would die.

He sobbed, his arm shuddering, then dropping. The taser fell to the floor. Out of reach, but the loss was deliberate. He could no more kill his brother than he could will himself to cease breathing. He recognised his own selfish ineptitude, and self hatred suddenly wired through him, the sensation dark and pure. It rapidly intensified, demanded an outlet, and he took the only thing close: Sam.

He pushed his brother away, holding him at arm's length, his fingers gouged into the younger man's biceps. Then, with a sharp jerk, he shook Sam, making his head snap on his shoulders. When that elicited no response, Dean viciously shook him again, adding a verbal tirade to the physical assault.

"Fight, dammit. Don't you give up on me. Not now. Not after all of this. Don't you fucking dare."

Sam jerked and groaned. Dean stilled, his nerves jangling, sweat cold against his skin, making him shiver. He waited, holding his breath as Sam sluggishly raised his head. The younger man blinked heavily and struggled to focus. Then the blue-green eyes met Dean's and held.

"Shut the hell… up," Sam said breathily.

"Sammy?"

"And what's with… the hands?"

Dean smiled then. A reflex action that defied the curdled anxiousness through his gut, the stone cold drive of blood through his veins. Sam squinted back at him.

"Hands, Dean," Sam reminded, his tone softly exhausted but firm.

"Uh, yeah." Dean loosened his grip on Sam's upper arms. "Sorry."

Sam blinked heavily, then leaned back against the wall. He tipped his head back, his eyes closing.

"I can... hold it for five minutes. Best… can do."

"That'll be enough," Dean said throatily. Emotion choked off any further words, but he could not linger, could not dwell in the moment. He stood, bracing himself against the wall as nausea churned his gut. He breathed through it, retrieved the taser and stepped past his brother.

Missouri stood just a few steps behind. He stopped beside her, wiped a hand across his face, trying to scour away the tears. "You need to leave," he said, his voice low.

She said nothing, just stared at Sam. Dean glanced back. His brother's eyes were closed, his head back, the blood thick on his lips and chin. He had one hand braced against the floor, leaning heavily to that side.

"I will stay with him," Missouri said.

"You could die."

"I know."

She looked up and Dean knew she understood the potential sacrifice. She did not even question whether it might be best to give it up. Losing Sam was not an option – for either of them.

At the kitchen, Dean scanned the room. Tension knotted his gut and made his pulse drum against his ears. He had no idea of what to do. None at all.

He hugged his injured forearm against him, the sharp ache now making him queasy. He moved to the counter and braced himself against it. His knees weakened. He fought the urge to sink to the floor and curl into a fetal ball. The entity would find him there and make mince meat out of him. It would be quick though. He would not even feel it. But he could not submit, not yet. Not while there was still a chance, while Sam was still able to hold it off.

With a shaking hand, he flicked on the faucet. Water flowed into the bowl, swirled and eddied before scurrying down the drain with a low gurgle. The sound suggested a forming blockage within the pipes, but it was not the sound that mesmerized him, rather the viscous fluidity.

He swung around and leaned against the counter. He scanned the kitchen, the dining room, the soft sound of running water teasing his consciousness. He swallowed hard, his attention unwillingly drawn to the clock and the seconds that ticked by. Five minutes, he had already wasted a good thirty seconds.

Desperation knifed through him, demanded that he find a solution… and fast. But anxiousness squandered rationality and Dean found himself panting, on the verge of panic. Behind him the water jangled down the drain, drops of interconnected molecules, bridged ions, a liquid path of conductivity.

He twisted back, frowning as he took in the water. An idea formed. He shut off the faucet and hurried to Missouri. She sat beside Sam, the young man resting against her, his eyes closed. Dean addressed the psychic.

"Does anyone around here have a swimming pool? Large, enclosed and with a nearby power source."

She stared blankly.

"Missouri. Think. Does someone have a pond or large water feature, something close that we can get to?"

"The Brookes three houses down installed a swimming machine last summer, but it's—"

"Is it a pool?"

"Yes, for resistance swimming."

"It'll be full?"

"I'm not sure. I suppose so."

"Leave Sam. Get as many power cords as you can find and meet me at the Brookes house in two minutes."

"Dean."

"Two minutes."

She stood, wincing as she pushed herself up from the floor then hurried down the hall. Dean slipped the taser into the waistband of his jeans. He hunkered down beside Sam.

"You still with me?"

"Just."

"That's good enough. We're going to a pool party and shady there is coming with."

"Pool?"

"Water. Conductivity. Zappo."

"Zappo?"

"Trust me."

"Okay."

He pulled his brother to his feet, bracing him and wincing as Sam groaned miserably.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered as he deftly snagged one of his brother's wrists, drawing that arm across his shoulder. He stooped, allowing Sam's weight to rest against his upper back before he rose, bringing Sam up in a fireman's carry. Though the heavy bracing around Sam's fractured femur protected the injury from Dean's touch, the movement still elicited a pained moan.

Dean turned to face the shadow person, holding his breath as the fiery eyes flickered. Hitching his brother up, Dean moved quickly from the house. He met Missouri at the back door. She had the power cords and a portable bar heater. They quickly moved toward the front of the house, then out into the street. The entity scuttled along behind, keeping pace as they pounded down the sidewalk.

It was broad daylight. The worst possible time to be battling the supernatural on a suburban street, his semi-conscious brother over his shoulders and a freaky black figure on their tail. But no-one noticed because there was no-one around. Dean needed that luck to hold.

He reached the Brookes' home in seconds. It stood on a double block, the single storey sprawling residence fronted by freshly clipped lawns, a fountain with a urinating boy holding a fish and ornamental roses that bordered the narrow path from the street to the inset porch. Missouri unlatched the gate. Dean surveyed the quiet street then ducked in, hurrying up the path.

Curtains shuttered the windows. No car in the driveway. All good signs, but their security system slowed Dean down. An electronic minefield that he could not afford to screw up. He fumbled and cursed, his hands shaking.

"Put me down," Sam requested softly after Dean failed for the third time to disengage the system.

"I've got it."

"No, give me a try."

"Fine." Dean gently lowered Sam to his feet then kept an arm around his waist. Sam's face was ashen, layered in a veil of sweat, his eyes slitted. "Sam," Dean started.

"I can do it."

"Five seconds. If you don't get it—"

"I'll get it."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the stirring hiss of rubber against pavement caught his attention. In the street, a car slowed and drew closer, still several houses away, but deliberately approaching. Dean froze and waited, his heart pounding. Missouri sidled in beside him.

"The Brookes are away for a month," she whispered.

Dean glanced at her, then back at the car. It drew to an almost stop, the nose level with the driveway to the neighboring house. The car's cab and most of the front was still out of view, which meant the occupants could not yet see them. "Stop," he said under his breath. "Just stop."

The entity cocked its head and looked to the approaching vehicle. Its eyes blinked and focussed.

"Sammy?"

"Nearly got it."

The vehicle inched along. Now the front quarter panel was visible. The Brookes' fastidiously bare front garden and piteously inadequate porch left them visibly vulnerable.

"Sammy," Dean growled.

The younger man did not respond. Dean ducked his head, checking that his brother had not passed out, but Sam was resolutely fixed on disabling the alarm system. With a final twist, a shaky jerk and a triumphant, if not pain twisted, grin, Sam foiled it. There was no time for congratulatory handshakes. Dean bundled his brother inside, tugging Missouri after him. He pushed the door shut, leaving a slit which he peered through. The entity on the outside. Beside him, Sam grit his teeth and softly keened, his hands going to his head.

"Hang on, Sam." He glanced at his brother, his heart clenching as Sam slid down the wall, his features contorted.

"It's hurting him," Missouri said unnecessarily.

Dean fisted his hands, breathing hard. The shadow person blocked the view, then moved aside, pushing into the corner, out of sight. It knew to hide, Dean realised with a stab of fear. Just how smart was this thing?

Beside him, Sam sobbed, and outside the car slowly moved past. The moment the vehicle had gone, Dean pulled Sam to his feet and hoisted him across his shoulders. "Open the door then run," he commanded Missouri.

Dean wove his way through the house, carefully navigating the narrow hallways so as to protect his brother's lanky limbs from knocks. He reached the back of the house, unlatched the door and stepped outside. It took a moment to get his bearings and to see the pool gate off to the side. He hurried toward it, unlatched it and swung it open. Missouri followed, the entity arrived a moment later. Dean carefully lowered his brother to his feet, grabbing him as Sam's knees gave out. He held the younger man up, allowing Sam to rest against him, his head on Dean's shoulder. Sam panted, his breath warm against Dean's neck.

"Sam, you still with me?"

"Yeah."

Affirmative, but entirely unconvincing. Dean carefully pushed Sam back, his grasp tight around his brother's biceps. Sam's head lolled forward and blood dripped from his nose to splatter at the ground between them. Dean fought back panic.

"Sammy, c'mon you have to stay awake."

Missouri came to stand beside him. He glanced at her. "Find power and plug those cords in."

"But—"

"Now," Dean growled.

Sam lifted his head and blearily watched as Missouri retreated. He lightly pushed at Dean, grimacing as he sought his own balance. He dazedly surveyed his surroundings, taking in the pool, the paving and the freaky entity that watched them. He finally looked across at Dean.

"I'm going to get wet?"

"Yeah, sorry."

Sam considered that, his pain bright eyes taking it all in, working it out in his mind. Dean could see his brother making the connections.

"What if it doesn't follow me in to the pool?" he finally said. "Or if it doesn't stay in there once I get out?"

"Then we're screwed," Dean said with forced lightness.

Sam ignored that. "What if the house voltage isn't enough to fry it?"

"It won't be, but it won't be enough to fry you either. It will let you break the connection without giving it a chance to go all freaky Friday on us."

"What if it doesn't?"

"You ask too many questions, little brother."

Sam shrugged listlessly, his haunted gaze shifting to the entity. "If this doesn't work—"

"It will."

"It's not worth—"

"No, Sam," he leaned in close, forced his brother to look at him. "You are worth it. Whatever it takes, kiddo. You got that."

"But—"

"No buts, no nothing. This will work. Remember, I'm one-helluva-big-brother."

Dean received no smile, no come back. Not even the requisite roll of the eyes. Instead, Sam looked up at the house and trembled, closing his eyes momentarily as though dizzied, or overwhelmed by pain.

"Safety switch," Sam said softly, his eyes reopening. "The house would have one. You have to disable it or else toasty won't toast."

"You're freakin' kidding me?"

"No."

Dean scrubbed at his face, his brilliant plan beginning to crumble. His morose thoughts were distracted by Missouri's return. She trailed an electrical cable behind her, the thick white cord snaking across the ground as she unwound it.

"That thing live?" Dean asked.

"Not yet. The switch is on the other side of that window." She pointed to the house, and the large sparkling window that looked out onto the exercise pool.

Dean took the cable, plugged in the electric bar heater and set it by the pool. Close, but not in the water. He returned to Sam, reaching the younger man as Sam tried to wipe at the blood streaming from his nose. He seemed unable to coordinate the action and instead dropped his arm to his side despairingly.

"You holding up okay?" Dean asked, realising the utter stupidity of the question as Sam again reached at the blood that leaked from his nose. The flow had increased, the color darker.

"You go inside," Sam said. He touched at the blood with a shaky hand.

"I'm not leaving you out here."

"I will draw it into the pool—."

"No."

"But isn't that your plan?" Sam looked genuinely confused.

"Basically, but it will follow us into the water, Sam. I'm not leaving you out here on your own."

"I'm the bait."

"The voltage from the house won't kill it, it will only slow it down. It still has to be tasered."

"I can do that."

"Sam, you can't, you won't have the strength to get out of the pool, and that thing isn't going to be tasered until you do. Just stay here. I'll kill the electrical cut-off and—"

Sam grunted, slipped toward the ground, his back hard against the fence, his broken leg stretched out before him. He coughed, choking on blood, spatters of it striking Dean as he caught his brother and slowed the gravity fed descent.

"Sammy?" Dean said urgently, he cupped his brother's face, his fingers slicking through the viscous fluid that now poured from Sam's nose. Sam was losing it, losing control of the connection. Dean bit back a cry of denial, tensing as his brother's eyes flew open and grew wide, focused on something beside him. Dean jerked his head to the right, starting as he came face to face with the entity. It stood at arm's length, so close that the energy field tingled Dean's skin.

"What the hell?" Dean rasped.

"Plan B?" Sam asked hopefully, his voice fading.

Dean's mouth went dry. There was no Plan B.

End Chapter Seventeen