Sam was eating his breakfast while the laptop booted up. He decided against the stronger pain pills. They tended to make him a bit drowsy. He needed to stay alert and focused.
Bringing up the browser window, he was glad he cleared the history each time they started a new job. This job hadn't required as much online research, so the list of sites wouldn't take too long to go through. The third page he scrolled through, a newspaper site, brought up a photo. More precisely, it was the photo of the crash from eleven years ago. All of Sam's memories came flooding back. The car at the salvage yard, scanning the Impala, and the door slamming into him. Then it dawned on him that Dean left. In the car. He grabbed his phone, hoping to warn his brother before things got dangerous.
"This is Dean. Leave a message." Damn it, Dean. Why aren't you answering your phone? His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing.
"Sam, I know what--" His relief at hearing his brother's voice was quickly replaced by fear.
He heard the car rumbling, a grunt of pain, and the phone dropping, then nothing.
"Dean! Are you ok? Dean!" For what felt like forever he got no response. Then a strangled "Sam!" before everything went silent.
No sure what he hoped to accomplish on foot, he raced from the room to go find his brother. Right into the path of the speeding Impala. He froze for a second, too shocked to react. Only for a second. A terrified scream from his brother snapped him out of his initial shock. Dodging at the last moment, he managed to make it back to the room before turning to see if Dean was alright. The car swung back around and faced the motel room. The engine revved, as if daring Sam to come back outside.
He had to find a way to get his brother out of the car. Fear showed again on his brother's face and Sam realized Dean was fighting something. His own safety forgotten, he ran to the car. A couple of feet from the driver's side door, Dean stopped struggling, slumped over the steering wheel. He tried not to panic, tried not to assume the worst. He needed to know his brother was ok. And he needed to find a way to bind the spirit from attacking until they could exorcise it.
Sam reached for the door, hoping the spirit wouldn't stop him. Bracing the door, he leaned in to check on Dean. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found a pulse. Relief that was short-lived when he heard his brother's breathing, shallow and grating. God, Dean, what the hell happened to you? Wrapping Dean's left arm over his shoulder and grabbing him around the waist he tried pulling him free of the car. A moan of pain from his brother spurred him to move more quickly.
"I'm sorry. I know it hurts but I have to get you out of here." Getting to his feet carefully, he carried Dean to the safety of their hotel room, laid him down on the floor, and started checking him for injuries. No broken bones, no new head injuries, so what happened? He placed a hand on his brother's chest to check his breathing again. When the touch caused Dean to flinch, Sam lifted his brother's shirt, unprepared for the sight that awaited him. A round welt across his chest was beginning to bruise. The situation quickly went from bad to worse as a coughing fit brought blood.
"I know how much you hate hospitals. We have no choice." He desperately needed to call 911, but couldn't put the paramedics at risk too. A salt circle around the car would be the quickest method until he could fix things permanently. Unfortunately, the salt was in the trunk of the car. He would have to risk getting near the car again. Two steps from the room, the car stopped running.
Why stop now? In the silence, he heard a gasp from his brother and then nothing. Rushing back to Dean, he knew why. Dean was no longer breathing. The spirit had done what it set out to do.
"Dean! Don't you do this to me. You can't give up now!" Checking again for a pulse and finding one, Sam forced himself to focus. He couldn't lose his brother now. He tilted Dean's head back, made sure his airway was clear, and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, ignoring the falling tears.
"Breathe, damn it! Breathe!"
Sam continued to breathe for his brother for almost a full two minutes before Dean started trying to breathe on his own. Gasping and coughing, he even opened his eyes momentarily. Relieved beyond words, Sam initiated the biggest of all chick flick moments and didn't care. He hugged his brother.
When the pain subsided to a bearable level, Dean became aware of several things. He was once again lying down, his brother was sobbing like a baby, and God please tell me this isn't what I think it is.
"Sam, where are we," he said between gasps, "and why the hell are you hugging me?"
"Don't ever do that again, jerk. You scared the crap out of me!"
Hearing the fear in his little brother's voice, he decided to let it go, and pushed himself from the hug, his breathing still a little ragged. "Whatever, bitch! Where's my car? That damn spirit didn't crash her, did he?"
"The car? You almost die and you're worried about the car?"
"Damn straight! It's not her fault."
"You stubborn pain in my ass! The car is fine. Not a scratch. Not yet anyway."
"Not funny, Sam. You hurt my baby and I will kick your ass." As soon as I can stand, that is.
"So you would rather I let it kill us?"
"Of course not. We just have to figure out how to stop the ghost without hurting my car." The obvious fear still lingering in Sam's voice, Dean tried to allay some of it by sitting up. Which, he discovered only too quickly, wasn't such a great idea. The pain in his chest that was a dull throb now felt like it was on fire. It also made breathing more difficult. Ok, that hurt like a bitch. Lying back down for a minute.
"We aren't doing anything. You are going to the hospital. I'll get Dad's journal and take care of this. I just need to make it safe for the paramedics to help you."
"And exactly how do you plan on doing that?"
"I just need to put a salt ring around the car while it is stopped. All of our salt is in the trunk."
This time he managed to sit up without almost passing out, still felt dizzy and out of breath. "Are you crazy? You're not going anywhere near the car until it's safe. I'll go get the salt."
"Am I crazy? You can barely even sit much less stand. Besides the car stopped running when you--"
He could see Sam fighting for composure, not very successfully.
"When I what?" What happened that has him so scared? Wait. Didn't he say something about me almost dying?
"Stopped breathing. For two whole minutes. I didn't think you were going to make it. I thought I was losing you. So you can understand why I'm not so worried about the car. She can be rebuilt, you can't."
No wonder you look so freaked. I'm sorry I put you through that, Sammy.
"Dude, did you just say she? I knew it. You like my baby too. Admit it!" He hoped the humor would take some of the fear and sadness from his face. The tiny smile he received didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was a start. "Hang on a minute. You said I stopped breathing. Does that mean--"
"Yeah, Dean. It does. I had to give you--"
"Don't even say it out loud. That's just gross! We tell no one about it. Ever. You got that?" The worst part was now he had a mental image he was sure he didn't want. "Gross!" This time a laugh and the sadness was gone. Now to erase the fear. For Sam, that meant the one thing Dean tried to avoid at all costs. He'd talk about what happened. Really talk, not hide behind jokes. Quietly, still finding it hard to breathe, he asked, "How did you know?"
"Know what?"
Not going to make this easy for me, are you Sammy? "That I was in trouble. Was it a vision?"
'No, not a vision. I was going back through my research from last night and found a photo from the original crash. The memories all came back in a rush, why I went to see Marcus, what I was doing just before you found me."
"I know you were looking for Dad's journal, but what did happen?" As Sam recounted the events of that morning, Dean winced, remembering his own encounters. They were both lucky to be alive. "Hey, Sam. I have a question for you. Why are we dealing the spirit of the brother instead of the kid who died in the crash?"
"The day of the accident, Scott Oram was driving. The grief over losing Wesley and the guilt that he wasn't able to protect him were too much." He went on to explain all that happened in the man's short life. For a minute, Dean couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. He would've been just as messed up if he lost Sam like that. The sympathy didn't last long. The spirit tried to kill Sam, then tried to kill him to make his brother suffer. That was was unforgivable.
"Ok, so how do we get that son of a bitch out of my car? Without damaging my baby!" The last words came out forcefully, causing another coughing fit, another one with blood. Damn that hurt like hell. Ok, no more yelling either. Breathing back under control, he said, "And without you going anywhere near the car."
Sam couldn't figure out how he lost the argument. He almost never lost an argument with Dean. Just flash the puppy dog eyes and his brother would do whatever he wanted. So why is it that I'm digging through Dad's journal while Dean tries to get the salt from the trunk? How the hell did he do that? He had to find out how to bind the spirit's power before his brother got himself into even more trouble.
So far the ghost was quiet. He knew it was only a matter of time. Pretty soon it would decide it was done playing. Lost in the search for the right incantation, he forgot to keep an eye on Dean's slow progress. He was obviously still in a lot of pain. An angry yell, followed by more coughing, brought him to attention.
"Damn it all to hell!"
"What's wrong? You ok?" He didn't sound as mad as he did irritated.
"The frigging keys! They're still in the ignition."
"Why don't you let me get them? You shouldn't even be walking around right now."
"We're not going through that again. I told you. You aren't coming anywhere near the car until it's safe. Got that?"
"You could at least let me help." Sam knew he'd never be able to convince Dean that his own life was just as important. That it hurt him to see his brother in such pain and not be allowed to ease it even a little. "Just be careful, ok?"
"Sure thing, Sam. Now quit your bitching and find the incantation." Making sure to listen for any more problems, he searched a little more frantically, getting the sudden feeling things were about to get bad quickly. He heard the car door open, some angry muttering from his brother, then another angry curse.
"Son of a bitch almost got my fingers! At least I got the keys." He knew now the spirit was toying with them, lulling them into a false sense of security. Finding what he was looking for, he tried to stop Dean from trying to get in the trunk. With the incantation they shouldn't need the salt after all. As usual the Winchester luck was holding. Dean backed away from the trunk seconds before it slammed shut again, salt in hand and headed back to the room.
"Come away from the car. I found what we need." No sooner had he spoken the words, than the car started again. At first it looked like it would try for Sam. Like last time, it turned before hitting the building. Now it was headed for Dean, standing in the middle of the parking lot, no shelter in running distance. Not that he could run in his condition. He was rooted to the spot, looking much like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Dean!"
Dean was still not sure how he won that argument. Sam had pulled the pissy face and the puppy dog eyes, both of which usually worked on their own. In combination, they were unbeatable. This time Dean got his way, which he almost immediately regretted. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his head throbbed to the beat of his too quick pulse. Every step was like trying to breath under water. Though he'd rather suffer the pain than put Sam at risk again. The going was slow and he heard Sam muttering in the background, obviously still pissed he'd lost. As Dean approached the car, he realized things would be even harder than they anticipated.
"Damn it all to hell!" He realized too late that yelling was a bad idea. A very bad idea. His lungs protested the added abuse causing another coughing fit, and more blood. Not to mention the world was spinning just a little. Glad that his back was to his brother, Dean tried to compose himself and hide the blood from him overprotective little brother.
"What's wrong? You ok?"
"The frigging keys! They're still in the ignition." He needed the keys to get into the trunk. He wondered if they would ever catch a break. Even Winchesters deserved better than this.
"Why don't you let me get them? You shouldn't even be walking around right now." Knew he'd throw that in my face. Not falling for it.
"We're not going through that again. I told you. You aren't going anywhere near the car until it's safe. Got that?" I already let you get hurt enough on this damn case.
"You could at least let me help." A pause and a sigh followed by, "Just be careful, ok?"
"Sure thing, Sam. Now quit your bitching and find the incantation." That was the only way he was letting Sam even leave the motel room, once the car was not controlled by the seriously pissed spirit. Fighting yet another wave of dizziness and nausea, he finally reached his car.
"Don't worry baby, I'll get that bastard out," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I let this happen. We'll figure this out without you getting any more damaged." He carefully reached for the door, avoiding a repeat of last night, and pulled it open. Still wary of an attack, he braced the door with his left leg while reaching in for the keys. He was almost free of the car, steadying himself, when the door slammed closed, barely missing his fingers.
"Son of a bitch almost got my fingers! At least I got the keys." Even with the near miss, he knew that had been way too easy. The ghost was messing with them, waiting for who knew what before striking again. Now he only had to make it to the trunk and get the salt. Using the car to keep him upright, the trip to the trunk was much quicker. Again hesitant, he unlocked and opened the trunk, bracing it with one arm. He reached in for the salt, snatching it out as the pressure on his arm was too much and the trunk slammed shut. What does this jerk have against my fingers? He just stepped away from the trunk when Sam hollered, waving the journal and headed his way.
"Come away from the car. I found what we need."
The minute the words the left Sam's mouth, the car started back up and headed for Sam again. Damn, why didn't he stay in the room? Though this time the car swerved much sooner and was headed straight for Dean instead. He'd been so worried for Sam, it took his pain addled mind longer to notice that fact. He stood rooted to the spot, not able to think, much less move. Only his brother's voice, screaming his name, could get his attention.
"Dean!" The fuzziness cleared, not bringing with it a solution. Then, "Use the salt! Make a circle around you now!"
If not for years of training to immediately respond to an order without thought, he would've been run down by his baby. As is was, he opened the salt container and spun a circle of salt around him just in time. Though the spinning part wasn't the best idea. His body had taken a lot of abuse. It had enough and was done for now. He saw the car swerve away and Sam rush to him, felt the ground rushing to meet him, bracing for impact. Instead of the hard concrete, he felt arms catch him, lowering him gently to the ground.
"Come on, man. No more lying down on the job." The humor was welcome. It did nothing to hide the fear in Sam's voice. "Dean? You ok?"
"Just peachy, Sam. I'll be fine in a minute. Are you hurt?" He couldn't get his eyes to focus yet, or his mind for that matter.
"I'm fine. It didn't even try for me this time. Did you say something to make the spirit more angry?"
"Told him to leave you alone. To take me instead." Crap, didn't mean to say that!
"You what? Why the hell would you do that? Damn it, Dean!"
"It didn't matter. He planned to kill us both anyway. He wanted me to watch my little brother die like he did. You messed up his plans by not dying."
"It does matter. Why is my life more important than yours?"
He had no intention of answering that question right now, knowing that "because I said so" wasn't an answer Sam would accept. He chose the best way to not answer it. He quickly changed the subject. "Where's the car?" A frustrated sigh from Sam said he'd let it go. For now.
"Just a few feet away idling. I expanded your salt circle so he can't get to us right now. That should give me enough time to read the incantation. Think you can sit up?"
"Yeah, I'm good. The spinning decided to take a break. So what does this incantation do precisely?" He could tell from the way Sam hesitated he wasn't going to like the answer. "Sam?"
"It works a little like the one we used on that demon that was crashing airplanes. It frees the spirit from what they are attached to. Unlike the demon it isn't free to destroy at will. It will be returned to the place the spirit was created, where Scott died. He'll be sent back to the Caprice. Then I can call the paramedics. Once you go to the hospital, I can figure out how to get rid of the spirit permanently. Without Marcus catching me."
"Hell no! You are not doing this on your own. We'll take care of it now. And no hospitals!" The angry protest exacerbated his already abused lungs. Struggling to catch a breath, the latest bout of coughing had him doubled over in pain. The fire in his lungs returned followed by a sudden stabbing pain lower in his chest. After a minute or two, the coughing finally stopped, taking the stabbing pain and fire down to a bearable level.
"Dean, it's obvious you have some internal damage. You know there's nothing we can do for that. You need to see a doctor. Don't think I didn't notice the blood. It's serious. Hospital serious. Now, just for once can you worry as much for yourself as you do me?" The pleading tone to Sam's voice perfectly matched the look in his eyes.
Damn if he didn't pull the puppy dog eyes again! With a sigh he agreed, "Ok, we'll go to the hospital. You have to promise me you'll wait for me to deal with the spirit though. He's too dangerous to deal with alone. You'll need time to research. That'll give me the time to get checked out before we salt and burn the bastard. Got it? Sam, promise me you'll wait for me."
"Fine. Together."
Marcus lived in Glen Rose most of his life. He'd listened to a lot of gossip, so many rumors. He never put stock in them. He saw it as people with too much time on their hand creating something to talk about. Small towns weren't exactly exciting. Gossip made the small town world go around. This one time he was listening. Not engaging in the gossip, but eavesdropping on the latest stories while eating lunch at his favorite diner.
Today's topic was the Killer Crossing and its lack of activity. Some claimed the kids researching the story scared the spirit away. Some of the more inventive ones were certain they'd done something to get rid of it. Since the day of the accident, the one where young Sam saved the little girl, no other problems had happened. None of the little things and definitely not the big thing everyone was sure would happen. They'd all heard the story of the original accident, knew that the fatal accidents all occurred on the anniversary of poor Suzanne's death, in the same way. You'd have to be blind, or new to town, not to notice the pattern. Even the skeptics had to admit it was too similar to be coincidence.
The thing that convinced Marcus that maybe those boys did do something had to do with more than the intersection. He would never tell anyone in town, not wanting to be labeled a crazy old man. He'd had strange things happen in his salvage yard. Small things, never dangerous. Things that stopped the day Sam and Dean Burgess arrived in town. He never was able to pinpoint the cause of the occurrences, just that they were always near the back of the yard.
After his conversations today with Sam, then Dean, he had a pretty good idea of it. He'd known Scott Oram, used to love to watch him play football. The kid planned to play for UT Austin. He dreamed of being a Longhorn, then a Dallas Cowboy. Dreams that died with his parents. He'd never regretted giving up those dreams to take care of his baby brother. When Wesley was taken from him too, it had been too much. The community felt the loss of the Oram boys for quite a while after they were gone. Marcus never had the heart to sell Scott's car, not that anyone would buy it, knowing its history.
Thinking back, he realized that it was after the car was delivered to him that the strange things started to happen. He hadn't touched the car in all the years it sat collecting dust, until he took the part for Dean's Impala. That's when the salvage yard went quiet. Now they were having trouble with the Impala. Again, it was too coincidental. He tried calling them. Neither of them were answering their phones. As soon as he finished lunch, he would go tell them his suspicions about the car and hope they didn't think he was crazy.
Sam, with Dean safely sitting in the salt circle, opened their father's journal to the incantation. Looking back to make sure his brother was ok one more time, he prepared to read the long spell needed to rid the car of the spirit, carefully going over pronunciations. One word misspoken could spell disaster for both of them. Certain he was ready, he started slowly, hearing the car engine rev in response. What he didn't notice was that the spirit was turning the back of the car to them, trunk open. Dean did.
"I think he's not too happy. Hurry up that spell, dude!"
He looked up to see what would give his brother that indication, barely in time to dodge a knife aimed at his head. His knife. Damn, that's not good! He found our arsenal. Better make this quick.
"Sam, you alright?" Dean was trying to stand, the fear in his voice evident.
"Yeah, I'm fine. He missed. Let's just hope he can't load a gun." He went back to the spell, staying more aware of the trunk of the car and the multitude of dangerous weapons kept within. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could get Dean to a hospital. His breathing was worse, his skin pale and cold. Two lines later and another knife headed for them, this time their machete aimed at Dean, who was too distracted with more coughing to notice.
"Dean, look out!"He grabbed him to pull him to the ground still in the salt circle, when he felt the pain in his left shoulder. A quick scream escaped as they hit the ground. He breathed through the pain, not wanting to see how badly he'd been cut.
"Sam! Is it bad? Let me see." He let his brother quickly check it out, knowing that was the only way he'd be allowed to finish the incantation. "It's not too bad. Should only need a few stitches." Then more quietly, "Thanks, Sam." He knew Dean hated to admit to a mistake or weakness. To hear him thanking Sam for saving him indicated how much pain he must be in. He looked ready to pass out.
"We finish this now. Before he finds anymore sharp objects."
Standing back up, Sam picked up the pace reading the spell. If he didn't finish it soon, they could both end up in the hospital or worse. He was almost finished when he looked up for a second. What he saw made his blood run cold. The ghost now had their crossbow, their loaded crossbow, out and aimed at Sam. He reacted quickly, but not quite quickly enough. As he dodged the bow, he felt it slice along the side of his head. He fell to the ground, too stunned to move, blood running in his eyes, not noticing that he'd fallen outside the circle. It was exactly what Scott's spirit had been trying to do.
Attempting to stand, he heard the car tires squeal and a cry from his brother, felt a shove, then saw something he would never forget, would probably have nightmares about for months. The image of his brother being run down by his own car, body slumped in the now shattered windshield would be forever burned in his mind.
"Dean! Oh my god, DEAN!" Before he could rush to his injured brother, the car revved again and started to roll forward. Stepping back in the circle, he knew the only way to help his brother now was to utter the last few lines of the spell. As the last word was spoken, the car stopped. Sam rushed to Dean, praying he was alive. He had a pulse and was breathing, but there was so much blood, so much of Dean's blood flowing down the windshield and hood of the car. While quickly securing the trunk to avoid questions from the cops, Sam called 911 and prayed they would get there in time. He couldn't lose Dean now. Not like this.
Awareness was a struggle. The pain called for surrender. The need to know Sam was alright pushed past the overwhelming desire to give in to oblivion. As usual, Sam's safety won out. Trying to remember what happened, Dean's mind replayed the few minutes before losing consciousness.
He'd been sitting, attempting to breathe through the pain in his chest. The spirit started throwing their weapons. He remembered the knife, the machete, and the crossbow. He remembered Sam getting hurt and falling from the salt circle, their only protection from the angry spirit. The last thing Dean remembered was pushing his brother from the path of his car and the pain. Lots of pain. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. His head pounded. His whole right side could still feel the impact from the car, though there was a pronounced, stabbing pain in the right arm and shoulder that must have pieces of the windshield embedded in the flesh, blood flowing freely down his face, arm, and really his whole right side. The worst though was the fire in his lungs and the sharp, intense pain on the ride side of his chest, making breathing nearly impossible.
He still couldn't believe how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. Though he realized he shouldn't be surprised. It was typical Winchester luck. He never thought his baby would be the one to finally get the best of him. At least it wasn't Sam this time. That would be more than Sam could handle. He still hadn't forgiven himself for shooting Dean while possessed. A familiar touch distracted him from his difficulties long enough to hear the comforting words from Sam. Words that told Dean exactly what he needed to know.
Thank God you're ok, Sammy. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on. I don't think I'm going to make it this time. I'm sorry I won't be here to save you. I'm sorry to leave you alone. I'm so sorry, Sam.
He wasn't sure how much, if any of it, he said out loud. He couldn't fight the pain anymore. Spasms shook his whole body, stealing what little air was left in his abused lungs. "Bye, little brother," was all he could manage before his body just quit.