Consequences Chapter 3
Wow! I'm so pleased with the response to this story. I've been trying to alter the 'complete' category but it won't budge so you're just going to have to trust me. I'll let you know when it's truly finished so don't worry.
This is a somewhat extra-long chapter so clear your diary...
Apologies to all: haven't had the time to respond to your kind reviews due to a family crisis, and it's a miracle I got this one out. But I will reply...eventually!
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Dean's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel didn't let up despite the screaming protest from his hands. He barely noticed, too busy keeping an eye on the road, an eye on his little brother laying unconscious in the back, and one eye – is that even possible? – on his cell phone sitting in the front passenger seat – Sam's seat.
One bar – twenty minutes passed. Two bars – another fifteen minutes, and now he was just waiting impatiently for the third. A third bar meant a decent enough cell service, which in turn would indicate that civilisation wasn't far away.
Dean didn't think, refused to. Refused to think about what he'd said to Sam after he nearly drowned. It hadn't been Sam's fault, not at all; he always reacted that way when his little brother was hurt, so scared of losing him that Dean's only outlet had nearly always been rage. He refused to think about Sam's reaction, the hurt in his voice, his eyes, how it all told him that he'd ripped his kid brother's heart to shreds.
Thinking would lead to doubt, worry, and ultimately more anger. And anger hadn't worked too well for him lately; he couldn't afford the distraction so he concentrated instead on getting his brother to a hospital.
Thinking, in Dean's opinion, had never been his strong point.
The fit, the fit, had lasted a total of twenty two minutes and the poor kid was exhausted. It didn't finish there, however, since within ten minutes of that one coming to an end another seizure hit, and it was far worse and far longer than the last, though Dean could have sworn it wasn't physically possible. Dean was starting to get an inkling that something was seriously amiss, and instinct told him it was partly down to the ghost attack, though he wasn't excusing his own behaviour down by the lake.
Sam had fallen asleep as soon as he came out of it and hadn't stirred since, completely unresponsive and unaware as his older brother rolled him onto his side, placing a towel under his head. The last thing he needed was to choke on his own blood, and eventually Sam's tongue did stop bleeding though not without leaving a nice dark red patch on the towel.
Dean was frustrated and worried as hell because with Sam completely out of it there was no way he could administer the anti-epileptic drug, at least not without force feeding it to him and running the risk of Sam choking on the damn thing. But with Sam in a deep sleep, he wasn't convulsing and Dean had to be grateful for small mercies because he wasn't sure how much more the kid could take.
Dean was now following their only possible course of action. Driving.
"I'm so sorry kiddo. I never meant...God! Why now? Of all the fucking times and places, why did this have to happen now?" Finally releasing one hand Dean thumped the steering wheel. One last glance at the readout on his cell phone and he grabbed it up, speed dialled then jammed it against his ear. "Gonna get you some help Sammy, you're gonna be ok I promise. Don't care what it takes."
Eventually the line picked up and Dean managed to relax slightly.
"Dad? We got a big fucking problem..."
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John and Bobby were heading out to a local bar in the mood for a post-hunt celebration when John's cell phone chirped out impatiently from his jacket pocket, demanding attention.
Damn needy technology! Worse than having kids! John thought with a wry grin before flipping it open. The grin soon faded.
"Dean, calm down." John glanced at Bobby with a frown. "What's happened to Sam?"
Bobby watched his friend's face as he listened in on the call. By the time Dean's explanation had finished, both men had veered away from the bar and were headed straight for Bobby's truck. Heart sinking when he quickly understood, John sought to reassure his son.
"Where are you right now? Ok, just get him to the local clinic in town. Keep him hydrated and if he wakes up try and get him to take his Tegretol and Epilim." John glanced over at Bobby as his old friend slid behind the wheel and held up three fingers. "We're on our way son, three hours at most." He snapped the cell shut just as Bobby put his foot down and the truck roared out of the parking lot.
"And?" Bobby briefly took his eyes off the road to study John; judging by the way his face was entirely bleached of colour he figured the news wasn't good.
John huffed out a frustrated breath. "Seems Sammy was attacked by a ghost."
Bobby's eyes narrowed when he sensed there was more to come. "What kind of ghost?" He asked wary of the answer.
When John turned to stare at him Bobby nearly gasped out loud at the sheer unadulterated fear in his eyes.
"It sounds like a Sumerian water spirit." John replied in a shaky voice.
"Aw crap!"
John merely nodded in response. Yeah, that about summed it up alright!
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Dean glanced in the review mirror when he heard a low moan from the back seat, and saw a pair of tired blue-green eyes looking back at him, lids at half-mast.
"Welcome back little bro." Dean called softly. "How ya feelin'?"
Sam just blinked slowly, either not hearing or not understanding the question. Dean pulled over to the side of the road, grabbed a bottle of water and Sam's mediation from the glove compartment, then leapt out from behind the driver's seat. Whilst Sam was conscious, if not too lucid, Dean's was going to take the opportunity to follow his dad's advice. Opening the rear passenger door, Dean crouched down and tilted Sam's head to get a better look at him.
"Sammy you with me kid?"
Sam stared at him then nodded slightly, as though just that small amount of movement exhausted him. "Dean...thirsty..." He whispered, and Dean saw the desperation in his brother's eyes when he tried but failed to raise his head.
"S'ok Sam, I gotcha." Dean smiled softly as he gently rolled Sam onto his back then twisted the cap off the bottle. "I want you to drink some of this for me, ok? Then it's time to take your meds."
"Uh huh," Though it came out as more of a sigh than anything else.
Dean placed a hand at the base of Sam's neck, gently lifting his head, and fed him small sips of water. Weak as a newborn kitten, he took a few tiny mouthfuls and started lightly choking. Dean pulled the bottle away and rolled Sam onto his side once again, rubbing his upper back.
"Easy there. Just take it slow." Dean tried to smile encouragingly but he was sure it came off as a grimace.
Sam barely even had the strength for the simple task of just drinking some water, and Dean wondered if it was too risky to give Sam his anticonvulsants right now.
"Want some more?" He offered the bottle again as Sam nodded, looking decidedly stronger already. Sam even raised a hand to steady the bottle against his lips this time, and took long gulps until the container was half empty.
"Thanks. Needed that." Sam's voice was less hoarse and closer to normal, Dean noticed with some relief as he uncapped the bottle of Tegretol, but it was the addition of the Epilim that helped stop the seizures, and Dean was going to have to watch Sam carefully until he got him to the town clinic. At least Dad and Bobby were on their way by now and I'm still gonna panic if Sam doesn't stop looking at me like that...
"Here, take these." Dean calmly held out the anticonvulsants. "Don't want another seizure if we can avoid it. There's a medical clinic in the next town; we should be there soon."
"Don't need a clinic Dean. I'm fine now, just tired." Sam accepted the pills and swallowed them down with the rest of the water. "It was probably just shock."
"Maybe," Dean frowned stubbornly. "But I'm not taking the risk. Never seen you that bad before, and besides, you took water into your lungs. You're getting checked out Sammy, so deal with it."
Sam sigh in resignation, knowing it was a waste of what little energy he had to fight him on this. Dean was worried and in Big Brother mode, which meant that Sam wasn't going anywhere without him, and it was even questionable as to whether or not he'd let him go to the bathroom without an observer.
"Sam...I'm sorry I yelled at you," Dean said suddenly. "I..."
"Yeah I know Dean." Sam smiled softly. "You were scared for me is all." It made so much more sense now, unlike before when his thoughts were jumbled and caught up in a blind panic. Maybe he was feeling better because he was less dehydrated, the water having revived him a little and the effects of the drugs made everything seemed clearer.
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and gave a lopsided grin. "Nah, was just furious about getting lake water on the upholstery."
"Yeah right."
"Damn straight, and you'd be the one cleanin' it up bitch!"
"That's it; I'm riding with Dad from now on, Jerk!"
The rest of the journey continued with mild jovial banter to the usual background of rock music and accompanying eye rolls from both brothers. Sam was in a half sitting position by now, but still in the backseat as per Dean's orders. By the time they got to the clinic and parked up, Sam was more or less back to normal, protesting he was fine, but Dean insisted once again and gave their father a quick call to let him know they'd arrived before escorting his little brother into the examination room.
Dean watched carefully, listening in on Sam's answers to any questions, and of course butting in as per big brother protocol when he felt Sam wasn't telling the doctor everything. Needless to say, the subject of his brother's encounter with a ghost was neatly avoided, Dean coming up with the kind of cover story that made Sam glare daggers at him.
"...yeah, he thought it would be fun to go for a swim in the lake, his leg cramped up and he damn near drowned. Dumbass little brothers huh?" Dean shared a conspiratorial grin with the doctor. "Good job he had his awesome big brother around to fish him out!"
Sam did his best to just shrug his shoulders, smile and admit weary defeat, but when he caught Dean's eye it was very much a different story. Dean merely winked back with a smirk and the little brother death stare slipped up another defcon, virtually impaling him between the eyebrows, a clear warning that retribution was imminent.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon...Sam's face suggested darkly.
Bring it on squirt...Was Dean's answering grin.
The humour faded a little when the doctor expressed his worries over Sam's slightly elevated blood pressure and accompanying heart rate, and drew some blood for laboratory analysis. Satisfied that his patient had taken the appropriate dose of anticonvulsants, the doctor left the room to fill out the request forms leaving behind a young nurse to admit Sam over night "just as a precaution", one that Dean was more than happy agreeing with.
Sam checked his watch with surprise before reluctantly handing it over to said nurse; he hadn't realised it was so late at night. Their father and Bobby were due to arrive anytime soon but Sam couldn't keep his eyes open. The exhaustion he'd managed to push aside earlier came back with a vengeance and Sam found himself drifting off into a doze, his big brother's endless flirting with the tiny nurse lulling him to sleep.
Dean watched the nurse's shapely backside appreciatively as she left the room, hips swaying, a coy smile over one slender shoulder. He shook his head with a grin wondering where the nearest storage cupboard was and if there was room enough for two. A light snore interrupted his PG 17 day dreaming and he glanced over at his little brother, noting his returning colour with relief.
Soft knocking at the door drew his attention to find a worried looking John and Bobby peering in at Sam. Dean motioned for them to come in but with a finger placed over his lips. They nodded when they realised Sam was asleep and moved round the bed to stand close enough to Dean that they could hear each other's whispers.
"How's he doing?" John studied Sam's face carefully, watching for signs of distress.
"Ok for now; he just fell asleep." Dean's frown slowly increased when he saw Bobby reach out and grasp Sam's wrist, checking his pulse. What's wrong here? "Doc said his blood pressure's a little high...Dad? What's goin' on?" He asked finally. John was gently checking Sam's eyes, ears, even his neck glands; it was enough to persuade Dean he was missing something.
John tried out a reassuring smile, which unfortunately appeared way too weak and shaky to be convincing. "Let's step outside and I'll explain."
Dean threw one last concerned glance at his sleeping brother then allowed his father to guide him from the room.
Once outside, Dean folded his arms and glared at John. "Well?"
"What else did the doctor tell you?" John tried avoiding the question just for a moment.
"They're waiting for his blood results to come back; he just needs to rest up and they're keeping him in overnight for observation." Dean shrugged. "He's gonna be ok, probably just the shock of the near drowning." The glare returned. "Now what gives? Why the Dr Kildare moment back there? Sam's already been examined so what were you lookin' for?"
His father sighed, suddenly seeming ten years older. "It's not over yet Dean. And it won't be 'til that bitch is gone."
Dean blinked in surprise. "Come again?"
A gaggle of student doctors rounded into the hallway chattering amongst themselves, and both Winchesters fell silent each taking a sudden interest in either the floor or ceiling. The instant they were alone Dean edged over to his father, taking in his rumpled appearance.
"Dad?"
"The spirit that attacked Sam; she's doing this to him." John pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "God! This is complicated and we don't have time for a full explanation right now; her victims die, she moves on. But Sam lived...and now she knows his weakness, his vulnerability..." worried eyes sought his son's.
Dean stared at him "...she won't be able to resist coming back to finish him off." He finished, voice hard, eyes narrowed. "I need to know all the facts. What she is, was, what she does and why. Now Dad!"
"Dean..." John's despairing voice was interrupted when the door to Sam's room was wrenched open to reveal one very distressed Bobby Singer.
"You'd better get in here, it's happening again."
"Oh God Sammy!" Dean pushed his way into the room, his father right behind him.
"I've pressed the call button so someone should be here soon," Bobby turned his concerned gaze on John, his message clear. She's got her hooks in him.
Sam was writhing on the bed, agony written clear across his face, his body tensed and flexed as though undergoing a full on electric shock.
"Sam it's ok," Dean whispered as he held Sam's head still, whilst the rest of his body jerked and bucked in the throes of another epileptic seizure. "You're safe here, no one's gonna harm you. Let me do all the work. Helps on the way..." It felt strange repeating those words for the third time that day, but Dean didn't care if he had to utter them a thousand times if it offered Sam any kind of comfort, if he could even hear him. But if anything the fit increased in violence, and by the time the medical team arrived Sam was barely able to draw in a breath, his lips white and bloodless, mouth filling with saliva as his natural swallowing reflex short circuited along with the rest of his body.
Terrible, painful gasps filled the room as Sam struggled for air, tight spasms wracking his poor body.
Pleasestophurtinghim! Pleasestophurtinghim! Dean begged silently, but carried on muttering calmly, trying to give him some kind of anchor, a guide to fix on until the seizure passed.
If it passed.
Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open and stared up at his brother. Dean's heart clenched when he saw the pain and fear in those pleading soulful eyes. There was nothing he could do to ease Sam's suffering.
But as he stared closely at his brother he noticed something…
If he'd blinked in that second he'd have missed it. A red spark deep within Sam's eyes, like tiny lightning, illuminating the irises just for a moment, then it was gone. If he'd had any doubt about his father's conclusion it was now well and truly wiped.
Dean was wrenched away from his brother by firm hands and pushed to the back of the room. Someone yelled to 'get that kid outta here!'
Over the panic and confusion he was vaguely aware of John gripping his shoulders and frog marching him from the room.
"Easy son. They can't help him if we get in their way. They said we can wait by the open door." It took a while to placate him because Dean was becoming real interested in shoving that doctor's stethoscope in a place that would take a great surgeon several hours to retrieve it.
John, Dean and Bobby stood helplessly in the background, watching as their youngest was prodded, poked, and eventually drugged into submission. Whatever they'd given him soon worked like a charm, but by the sounds of things the dosage had been big. Sam was now laying still and silent on the bed, eyes closed, and face almost grey under the clear plastic oxygen mask.
The nurses left with the exception of one who stood by noting Sam's vitals and checking off some sort of criteria on a clipboard, whilst the harried looking doctor ran a shaky hand through thinning hair before turning to the boy's family.
"If there's any way you can get Sam's consultant here I suggest you do it now."
John glared at the doctor when he felt Dean tense up beside him. "Perhaps you'd like to explain that."
The doctor shook his head, worriedly. "I just don't…look. I've never dealt with anything like this before. Your son's EEG is all over the place and we had to drug him to almost toxic levels to help get him under control." He finally met John's gaze with a scared one of his own. "We're gonna have to monitor his renal and liver function constantly just in case there's any damage, but I have no idea if he'll seize again when he wakes up."
Dean felt Bobby's hand come to rest on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and waited for his father's response.
John nodded slowly. "Ok. I'll call him."
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Dr Mitchell sat at his once again untidy desk in his once again borrowed office. He'd been going over the latest inpatient figures and the statistics were proving rather baffling. One thing was becoming quite clear to him, however. With the weekly health scares in the media, increases in back problems, depression, anxiety, alcoholism, drug abuse, he concluded that the human race was suffering from a bad case of paranoia and an epidemic of hypochondria.
Because absolutely everyone he met was sick in some way. Even on the odd occasion when his work load eased off in a rare show of compassion, just going out to dinner with non-medical friends was a chore.
There was always someone asking him for advice about their low-cholesterol diet, the tendonitis in their elbow, the pain in his ass….
Or his thoughts on the latest flu vaccines and will there ever be a cure for AIDS, will there ever be a cure for your mouth pleasejustshutupshutupshutup….
It left him with bad case of heart burn each time. One evening, following a particularly bad bout of indigestion, a dinner guest warned him it could be chest pain leading to a heart attack, and that was it. He couldn't take it any longer and politely excused himself from the table.
But it was worse when he went out with colleagues. From the consultant gynaecologist discussing some of his patient's more intimate problems, to the consultant microbiologist explaining in graphic detail the finer points of fungal infections. But it was the orthopaedic surgeon crowing about a particularly successful amputation he'd performed on a gangrenous leg, whilst Dr Mitchell was tucking into a rare steak….
That. That, was the last straw. At one stage he thought the guy was going to open up his laptop, ask the waiter to hang a white sheet across the restaurant and perform a PowerPoint presentation, complete with colour photographs.
And so here he was, up to his ass in paperwork, having declined three dinner invitations already. And it was only nine o'clock on a Friday night.
Wow! Productive night so far!
And he couldn't have been happier.
It wasn't that he was squeamish, couldn't do his job if he was, but there was a time and a place for everything. He loved his work, breathed it, and often slept in his office when keeping close tabs on a particularly sick patient.
Once such patient had been Sam Winchester, over sixth months ago.
Tony Mitchell sat back in his rickety old seat, the wood scratched, and the leather upholstery worn thin. It was more than odd, he concluded. He'd come to know the Winchester family pretty well during Sam's recovery, and he liked all three for very different reasons.
Dean, for his smart-assed attitude and understated intelligence, which when combined made for a very charming, if cocky, young man. His love for his family knew no bounds and Tony couldn't help but admire him for that.
Sam was a shy kid that hadn't yet learned to feel comfortable in his own skin, but he was brave, warm hearted and incredibly smart. Tony wondered what would happen to womankind when the kid found out what those puppy dog eyes of his could do.
John Winchester was an ornery old bastard that was for godamn sure. Stubborn, pigheaded and determined to do things his way. But he loved his kids even if he sometimes had trouble showing it, and hated to see them suffer. On the night of Sam's overdose Tony had watched John pace the hall, waiting for news of his son, sometimes sitting down to offer comfort to his oldest kid. Somehow, and Tony also wasn't quite clear on the why, a mutual respect had grown between the two men over the course of Sam's treatments, appointments, and during the unfortunate emergencies related to his condition.
Tony found the Winchesters to be the most down to earth and likeable family he'd ever met, and yet they were also the strangest. He knew there was something different about them; he'd sensed that over time but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. They didn't talk much about themselves, but Tony did know their mother had died when Sam was just a baby and that their father's job kept them on the road. Tony guessed John was some kind of freelance investigative reporter or something because he'd over heard some pretty interesting conversations between the older man and his sons, not to mention the grizzled and equally ornery Bobby Singer whenever he put in a visit. And John had never denied it.
It also explained why they'd been using a different family name when Tony first met them. Or at least it sort of did. It hadn't been until a few months later when some priest guy had come to visit a Sam Winchester and Tony had no idea who he was talking about. After some discussion with the cleric Tony soon figured out that he was talking about the Hamilton boy, and John Winchester entered stage right. There had been an awkward moment where the priest and John had stared at each other in shock, before scrambling to explain.
John was undercover writing an article, couldn't talk about it, top secret, don't want anyone stealing his ideas, etc. And so the entire family had adopted the name Hamilton on a temporary basis. Tony hadn't been fooled for a second, but the priest -what was his name again? Jim Something…sounded Irish – had been genuine and even vouched for the Hamiltons…Winchesters, whatever, covering any medical expenses.
They were good people, and that was all Tony cared about…
Tony startled awake at the loud ringing. Rubbing one hand over his face and trying to dig the sleepy crap from his eyes, he reached out and grasped the receiver.
"'Lo. Mitchell here." Tony tried to stifle a yawn and keep from falling back to sleep all at the same time. But he sat up straight in his chair, now fully awake and frowning deeply at the sound of a gruff and familiar voice on the other end of the line. "I'll get the first flight out. Get the doctor in charge of Sam's case to email me the basic details, including symptoms, length of each seizure, therapeutic drug monitoring, dosage, the works. Oh and John? Make sure he only mentions Sam's hospital number and date of birth. Not his name. There's no such thing as a secure network."
It was standard security procedure whenever individual cases were discussed across the technological ether, but Tony got the distinct impression John needed to hear it. And once again he had no idea why.
After hanging up Tony immediately went online to book his flight, then glanced at his watch. He had two hours in order to get home and packed, before dragging his tired ass to the airport.
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Dean leaned forward in his seat next to Sam's bed, one hand wrapped loosely round his brother's wrist. He felt exhausted, but couldn't bring himself to sleep, afraid of what might happen.
After yet another seizure since his father called Sam's consultant, Sam was looking desperately ill. Fortunately the last one had come to an end without the administration of drugs, which was just as well since the nurses and doctors were getting increasingly nervous at the prospect of over-dosing the poor kid, compensation culture being what it was.
There had been a low conversation out in the hall between Bobby and John, presumably about the spirit and how they were going to tackle it, but Dean would ask soon enough.
"Any change?"
Dean glanced up at his father a little startled. John was seated in the other chair, stroking the sweaty strands of hair away from Sam's face.
Didn't even hear let alone see him enter the room. Guess I'm losin' my touch.
"He's awake from time to time but I don't think he really knows what's goin' on." Dean muttered, eyes dark with worry. "So, you gonna tell me about this spirit?"
John was silent for a moment before answering. "One thing you should understand about this. It's rare. So rare in fact that the last reported sighting was over two hundred and fifty years ago and no one's clear on the details. But that's not to say she hasn't been busy. Very few of her victims survived."
Dean frowned. "Was there a pattern?"
John turned his head pointedly to stare at his sleeping youngster. "Oh there's a pattern alright. But that's where it gets complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"Our ghost is a nomadic water spirit, more of a demi-god actually, wandering from water source to water source, always lakes or springs but never the ocean." John's voice grew soft as he continued to stare sadly at Sam. "She needs the dark, troubled thoughts and energies of young kids in order to find the strength to move on. Indications are a pattern of teenage deaths by drowning, often with the appearance of suicide. In ancient times, it's said that people offered up their more troublesome kids as sacrifices, and in exchange the water stayed clean and kept everyone from dying of thirst in times of drought."
Dean could feel there was more to it but stayed silent, letting John take his time.
John fixed his unblinking gaze back on Dean. "If her victim has experienced suicidal tendencies in recent years the spirit considers that a bonus. In fact, the power she gets from that…" his voice trailed off. He could tell that Dean understood.
"It's addictive. She won't let him go 'til he's dead." Dean blinked back angry tears, stood and paced to the window. "Sam must have been like the flashing cherry on the cake after a four course friggin' meal!"
"Yeah, that and his struggle with epilepsy provided the after-dinner mints." Bobby's voice resonated from the doorway. "Made it easier."
"So it was just bad luck?" Dean tried to calm down, to focus on what was important.
"'Fraid so. You kids were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Bobby moved into the room and glanced down at Sam, noting the slow shallow breaths. Poor kid won't last much longer.
"So how do we get rid of her before…before it's too late?" Dean followed Bobby's gaze. "Some weird water banishment? 'Cos I'm thinking the bitch'll be too soggy for a salt and burn, not that there'll be any bones since she's a freakin' god."
"Demi-god," John automatically corrected. "But you're right. It's gonna take a ritual."
"Actually," Bobby scratched the back of his head. "The getting' rid of is pretty easy, she doesn't have many followers these days so she's weak; it's finding her that's gonna be tricky. That's the part that needs a ritual, finding and trapping her, and though I can get the stuff together it's gonna take a while. Uh…but it's gonna be dangerous."
"Why? We just go back out to the lake…"
"I doubt she's even there anymore, Dean. She's bound to have moved on and we don't know where, but you can be damn sure she won't be far from Sam." Waiting for him to die. Bobby didn't say it, but everyone heard. The next thing he said caused a lot of raised voices and a loud SSSHHHHH from a passing nurse.
"We have to summon her here. To Sam."
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Tony grumbled as he parked his rental up in front of the hospital. As it was, his flight had been delayed by three hours due to bad weather, the airline almost lost his luggage, and the only car the hire company could loan him looked like it had been through a wrecker at least twice before being deposited on a busy highway in front of a bunch of Kamikaze truckers.
Mind you, he thought as he struggled from the buckled driver's seat, it was probably an improvement and at least the engine and transmission worked, because fuck all else did!
To add one final insult to injury, he grabbed his laptop bag and luggage from the rear seat, slammed the door….and the rear bumper detached itself with a mournful groan and crashed to the tarmac. Tony just stared at it helplessly for a moment before shaking his head in despair, turning his back and heading inside. It really was going to be one of those days.
"I'm Dr Mitchell, here for Sam Winchester." He announced at the reception desk, offering a friendly smile.
"I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name." The nursed grouched out after checking her computer and fixed him with a belligerent glare. Tony's friendly grin slipped. "Sure you have the right hospital?" Her tone was more than a little patronising to a man who'd been through way too much in the last few hours, and he resisted the urge to leap over the counter and give the woman a very graphic demonstration of a Proctological exam.
He leaned in, eyes boring menacingly into hers, but kept his tone pleasant. "You like your job? 'Cos if not, I can do something about that." he said smoothly, before adding slowly as if talking to a small child, "Where's the kid brought in earlier with the epileptic seizures?"
The nurse blinked, realised that here was a man at the end of his patience, and pointed down the hall. "Second on the left Dr Mitchell."
Tony allowed a small tick to develop under his right eye as he continued smiling down at her. The nurse audibly gulped when he shoved his face right in hers and growled "thank you kindly."
He could feel her nervous gaze on him as he strode away, grinning smugly.
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"Hey there buddy. Finally awake huh?" Tony had perched himself on the edge of Sam's bed as the kid blinked slowly up at him. "How ya feeling?"
"Hi Doc. M'fine. Little tired." Sam wasn't exaggerating. He could barely move and every breath seemed an effort. "Thirsty." He turned his head slightly to look at his brother, seated on the other side.
Dean smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry kiddo," and pointed to the small notice attached to the headboard. "Nil by mouth, for now. But we can give you just enough to keep your mouth from feeling like a bear's crapped in it."
Tony smirked loudly and the corners of Sam's mouth curled up slightly.
"Donmakemelaugh. Hurts." But his amusement was evident in spite of the pain. Sam's eyes slipped shut on feeling something cool pressed to his lips, revelling in the small relief it brought. His over worked muscles at least felt properly relaxed by now, which was a small mercy, but they still ached like a bitch.
"Ok. You get some rest; I'll be back in a little while." Tony nodded to Dean. He didn't have to ask him to keep an eye on his own brother; Dean wasn't going anywhere.
Doc Mitchell had to admit he'd never heard of a case this bad. It seemed almost unreal, and he was beginning to feel scared for the kid. Sam couldn't survive many more seizures like the ones his family had described to him, but equally they were running out of options with the anticonvulsants. According to the blood tests, Sam's kidney function was already impaired, and judging from the physical examination his was breathing laboured.
He had a plan in mind, but it wasn't a good one.
He had to convince the family it was Sam's only chance.
He really wasn't looking forward to being on the receiving end of the John Winchester glare.
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Tony shifted from foot to foot. Yep, there it was. The Glare.
"You wanna what?"
The doc sighed. "He's already had three more seizures since you called me, each one lasting longer than before, far more aggressive, and with less recovery time in between. The kid needs a break or his body will give out."
John could understand that but "you want to put him in a coma?"
Bobby glanced between the two men. "Gotta admit doc, that's a little extreme."
"Yeah I know, and believe me when I say that it carries risks all on its own." The doc leaned against the wall, wishing he'd gotten more sleep on the plane. "But it's all I got 'til we figure this out."
The three men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. No one was aware of Dean's presence until he quietly spoke up.
"Do it."
"Dean?" John turned sharply, pushing himself away from the wall. "Son, listen…"
"I mean it Dad. Sam can't take much more punishment. At least this way it buys him some time 'til we can prepare the summoning ritual and kill that sonofabitch."
Tony's eyes flew comically wide as they swivelled between the three men like pin balls.
"Huh?"
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"Sammy? You awake kiddo?" Dean smiled when Sam finally won the struggle to open his eyes.
"Uhuh." His voice sounded weird and muffled coming through the oxygen mask, and he really didn't have the energy to say much more.
"Doc Mitchell's come up with an idea, but we don't have to go through with it if you don't want to, ok?" Dean knew what Sam's answer would be however, and set about quickly explaining everything from the spirit to the ritual, lingering only briefly over the subject of teenage suicides, but he could see from the sadness in his kid brother's eyes that he understood. He finished on the doc's plan with a certain amount of dread.
"It'll give us more time…"
"S'ok." Sam gave a small nod consent.
"It's risky; if it takes too long you might not come back out of it." Dean placed a hand over Sam's forehead and leaned closer, almost hoping Sam would change his mind. The thought of his brother wasting away in a hospital bed because of some dumb camping trip…
"You won't let that happen." Sam smiled slightly and closed his eyes, feeling soothed by his brother's presence, and drifted off to sleep again.
Dean could barely speak round the lump in throat at his brother's complete and stupid faith in him.
"Damn straight," he whispered.
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Out in the hallway, another similar conversation was taking place, but in much greater detail.
Tony was crouched down, head between his knees whilst Bobby Singer held a brown paper bag over his mouth and nose. John didn't know whether to laugh or comfort the poor guy and soon opted for the latter. After all, he knew what it was like to finally have your eyes opened to what lived in the darkness, and yeah…it came as a shock.
It had taken time; at first he'd just stared at Bobby and John as if they were insane, then he'd laughed as though they were morons. But something about it all must have convinced him…
"Holy shit! This stuff's real?"
… Because that's when the panic attack hit.
John was a little worried at first since the guy was no spring chicken and it could've been a heart attack. But Tony finally got himself under some semblance of control and leaned back against the wall, still in a crouch. Bobby took the bag away but hovered nearby just in case.
"I knew there was something about all this…Sam's illness…never seen anything like it…" he muttered, and then fell into a moment's silent contemplation. "So when I saw my dead Great Aunt Agnes on my eighteenth birthday….my god. That was real?" He hung his head. "Had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Hoped I was just drunk."
John smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, most people do when…"
"No. I mean I really hoped I was just drunk, and I still wish I was…she was naked in the bathtub!" Tony clamped a hand over his eyes in despair. "Now I have to live with the knowledge that it really happened! My god! She was in her seventies! How am I not blind?"
John and Bobby refused to look at each other for fear of laughing out loud; they had more important things to worry about. John held out his hand to the doc.
"Come on. Let's go put my son in a coma for his own good."
Tony glanced up at the offered hand for a moment, considering that statement in all its weirdness.
"When you put it like that…"
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"Here we go Sam." Dean stayed the doc's hand for just a second. "You sure?"
Sam nodded then suddenly scrunched his eyes shut as minor tremors spread throughout his body. "Dean…please…can't…" he gasped out.
"We're out of time gentlemen, this could be it." Tony grasped Sam's wrist and held the needle to the crook of his arm. "What's it to be?"
John nodded, tears trickling silently down his face. Dean was next to his brother on the bed, holding Sam close. He could feel the tension in Sam's body building with each second that passed as he watched the needle gradually sink into the kid's arm. Increasing his grip and keeping Sam still until the doc had finished was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. He hated this, but he also knew it was the only way.
Sam immediately relaxed in Dean's arms, eyes struggling to stay open for a moment longer as he gazed up at his family. "Thanks, feel bett…" and he was gone.
Tony fixed a blood pressure cuff to the kid's arm, a pulse oximeter to his index finger, and started tapping some information into the machine next to the bed.
"That's just the initial dose, but the barbiturate's working." Tony studied the readouts, making notes on Sam's chart. "Programming timed and measured doses for throughout the night. Now upping his oxygen a little." He turned John and Dean, seeing their sad and worried gazes. "It's not so uncommon to send a patient into deep unconsciousness to protect the brain from status epilepticus. But it's a little extreme, usually the last line of defence."
Dean nodded, unable to speak right at that moment, and kissed the top of his brother's head I'm here Sammy. Not going anywhere without you.
Bobby had already taken off to gather the equipment necessary for the summoning so there was nothing left for the three men to do but wait, and hope Sam would be ok.
Hours ticked by.
John dozed in the chair, whereas Dean still sat on the bed, back propped up against the headboard keeping Sam tucked in his arms. He knew it was stupid but he was scared of letting go physically in case it meant letting go altogether; it gave him comfort and hoped that wherever Sam was right now he could feel it too.
Dawn turned into full daylight, turned into afternoon light, turned into evening. Tony had drawn so much blood from Sam's arm during the course of the day that Dean was amazed there was any left in his body. Each time the blood results came back with encouraging news; Sam's renal function was improving which meant that dialysis could be avoided. Dean bided his time between dozing and watching TV, and all the while he kept two fingers on the pulse in Sam's neck. He didn't care that there was a perfectly good cardiac monitor for the task; it was just another comfort and one he wouldn't willingly give up.
It was getting quite late by the time an exhausted Bobby finally stumbled into Sam's room, which was now becoming the command post for the whole impromptu hunt.
"Bobby, you get everything?" John was on his feet immediately.
"Had to call in a few favours, but yeah." Bobby set down a small back pack down by the bed, and with bushy eyebrows pulled down into a concerned scowl, studied the deeply unconscious boy, "Sam ok? Has it worked?"
Dean glanced worriedly at Sam's pale face. "Yeah. So far so good."
Tony chose that moment to appear in the doorway, back from the reception desk with fresh coffee. "So how do we do this?"
"You're getting out of this room and we're locking the door for starters." John held out a hand before Tony could protest. "For your own safety doc; this aint no job for a medic."
"Right. And what if something goes wrong and Sam needs help?" Came the retort that no one could really argue with. "You really wanna take the risk of locking me out?"
Bobby shrugged as he turned to John. "Man's gotta point. And he could be a help if the bitch gets nasty."
Another one of those contemplative silences was broken by an impatient snort from Dean. "Can we just get on with it? Time's a wasting' for Christ sake. Time Sam doesn't have!"
Galvanised by Dean's stricken tone, Bobby opened the backpack and got to work.
Tony watched with interest as various symbols were drawn on the floor and walls with chalk; some of them looked fairly simple and benign, others were terrifying and Tony turned his gaze from them.
Even with John's help it took time, blessing the room with holy water and chanting strange scripture. Tony was a devout Catholic but he'd never heard of most of this stuff and it surprised him how Dean just sat calmly holding his brother, but then he was probably use to this.
Hunters.
Hunting.
And not of the deer or elk variety. It was difficult to imagine these guys creeping round the forests in Davy Crocket-style hats, blasting away at anything that moved and mounting it on a wall over a fireplace.
Unless it was a ghost elk, he thought to himself feeling a little dazed, but then how would that be mounted on a wall? And could elks become ghosts…?
"You ok there doc?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine." Tony shook his head and grinned at John. "Just a little overwhelmed by all this."
John nodded, returning the grin. "So, Bobby? You said getting her here was the hard part; what happens after that?"
Bobby reached into the back pack and withdrew, of all things, several children's water pistols, a metal canister, and moved into the bathroom. They heard the running water and John frowned when Bobby returned a few minutes later, the pistols dripping wet.
"Just aim straight at her and keep firing." He handed one to Dean, John, then Tony just in case.
John and Dean glanced from the pistols to Bobby, and then back again. "You gotta be kiddin' me."
Tony, not entirely sure what this was about, merely shrugged and prepared to stay close to Sam. His young patient was his primary concern and he would leave any fighting up to the others unless it became strictly necessary to join in.
And anyway, nothing was gonna happen, 'cos this wasn't real, right?
Right!
Dean slid out from the bed but didn't move away, just stood beside it, weapon at the ready even it was a kid's toy. He felt ridiculous but if it did the job then who was he to complain?
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Pretty soon they were ready, the candles lit, the sun had set and the windows and door well and truly locked from the inside, complete with salt lines. Bobby picked up a rather ancient and dusty leather-bound tome, and flipping to the bookmarked page he took a deep nervous breath, and began reading.
It was a strange sounding language, the words dark and so heavy they seemed to hang in the air. After several minutes Bobby finished the ritual and placed the book on the nightstand. Everyone glanced around the room as the tension rose to fear inducing proportions…
…and a big fat nothing happened.
John frowned and Dean shifted his stance a little.
"Uh…not to burst your bubble there…" Dean muttered as he eyed the symbols scrawled on each of the four walls.
"Don't say it!" Bobby growled. "It was the right ritual, I checked and double checked boy, and I been at this game a darn sight…"
"I'm just sayin' is all! Geeze! No need to get all…"
"Will you two cut it out?" snapped John, trying to intervene but a certain hunter's pride had been hurt and wasn't about to let it go.
"You think you can do better boy? Then go ahead! Be my guest ya young…"
"Uh, guys?" Came Tony's rather shaky voice. "Are those symbols supposed to be doing that?"
The arguing stopped immediately and everyone turned their attention back to the walls. The chalk symbols were aglow with an eerie red light and the room temperature suddenly plummeted. The candles flickered a little as a light breeze picked up from nowhere, and Dean found himself shivering as though someone had walked over his grave. He whirled round to check on his brother and gasped. It appeared as though an invisible hand was carding gently through Sam's hair, gradually loosening the oxygen mask, trying to remove it.
"Hey!" Dean leapt towards the bed and snatched his little brother into his arms, reaffixing the mask. Another cold shiver ran through him, his breath misting in the air and he hugged Sam tighter, trying to keep him warm. "Dad?"
"I don't know son! Just keep hold of 'im!" John's eyes narrowed warily when the candles flickered once more then extinguished altogether along with the glowing symbols, plunging the room into darkness. "Bobby? Some good ideas would be real useful about now."
Bobby spun round, "She's fighting it, knows what we've done." The room remained dark and silent. "She's trapped alright. Now we need her to…"
The symbols suddenly blazed again in the red light and she came at them, screaming silently towards Sam, and hovering over his bed. Her grey misty shrouds crackled with that now familiar and haunting red lightning, which snaked downwards trying to reach for him.
"Stay away from him!" Dean yelled, turning Sam's face into his neck, hand clutching protectively at the back of his little brother's head. "You can't have him!"
A few bursts from John's water pistol and she was gone.
Nothing. Silence.
It can't have been that easy.
The symbols continued to glow, suggesting that it wasn't.
Bobby and John circled the room as best they could, whilst Dean kept a tight hold on Sam. No one expected such a direct attack on the boy and Dean was scared shitless.
"Hey Bobby?"
"Yeah kid." Bobby answered softly, any slights forgiven.
"Uh…if she's trapped now, can we get Sam out of the room?" Dean's voice was shaky in the darkness and Bobby frowned sadly, wishing it were that simple.
"'Fraid not. If Sam leaves the room she can break out; it's her lust for his energy that's helping the symbols keep her prisoner. Sorry kid, but we just have to keep fightin'."
No sooner had he said it than she came at them once more, again going straight for Sam, trying to gain a hold on him. Dean reached up with his pistol and fired, water squirting noisily until it was empty. This time it hit its mark and her scream was loud as she writhed in pain and flung herself at the walls, frantically trying to escape. A few more hits from John and Bobby and they were also out, racing into the bathroom to reload.
She whirled round vengefully, seeming to notice Dean for the first time.
You…she hissed and flew at him again. And damnit but she was fast, just like before at the lake.
Dean scrambled in front of Sam, at the same time pushing him back.
She grimaced and snarled, hovering in front of him. Then time seemed to stand still as her face suddenly tilted to the side, the anger gone to be replaced by curiosity, then glee as though she'd find something not only amusing but also useful.
I can take you both…your guilt…your anguish for him…you reek of it…
She reached out and Dean felt himself surrounded by the grey misty cloak, and suddenly understood what Sam went through at the lake. Sheer agony was like a bolt of lightning through his skull, and he tried to cry out but his vocal cords were paralysed by the pain. He now saw the red lightning not as an outsider but as a part of it…and by Christ did it hurt.
Just as suddenly she swooped away again, flickering and screaming with anger. Dean's head was reeling from the attack, but he made out the shapes of Tony, Bobby and his father, fully re-loaded and attacking the bitch, fighting to draw her away from him. His eyes watered and his brain felt as though it had been fried from the inside out, but he found the strength to turn and check on his brother, relieved to find he was still breathing.
Dean briefly considered heading to the bathtub to reload his own pistol but he couldn't risk leaving Sam. The other three men were still fighting, taking it in turns to return to the bathroom for more 'ammo', but given the spirit's incredible speed it was virtually impossible to get a bead on her. Her screams were proof enough the water obviously worked when it did hit her, though Dean couldn't figure out why. She was a water spirit, so why would water hold the power to kill her?
Bobby fired again and Dean caught some of the spray on his face, his tongue subconsciously darting out to lick his lips….salt? Salt water?
An idea struck him and he reached over his brother, rummaging in the storage unit under the cardiac monitor. When he felt around his fingers closed on what he hoped he was looking for and pulled. By the light of the glowing symbols along the walls Dean smiled tightly, as he set himself up as bait.
"Guys! Let her go!"
Three puzzled faces turned his way and glared at Dean as though he'd gone nuts.
"What? You crazy?" Bobby yelled.
It was enough to break their concentration and the spirit once again darted across to the bed, swooping in to claim the brothers. Before she surrounded them, her grey shroud floating closer each second, Dean broke the seal on his precious find in one quick movement and tightened his grip on the soft clear plastic. Once again the red lightning crackled around his head, and the pain nearly floored him, but he stubbornly held on…and squeezed.
The spirit took a few seconds to register what was happening, then she angrily peered down at Dean through the mist.
What have you done to me?
And Dean grinned when she spotted the now empty saline IV bag, her eyes widening with fear. She screamed long and loud, her face contorted in a rictus of agony, and slowly she began to disintegrate as though the saline were acid. The smell was horrendous, the sight sickly, her ethereal skin bubbling and sliding away into nothing, revealing her darkness. It was a slow process, one Dean sincerely hoped he'd never have to witness again. But gradually the red lightning gave one last crackle, the spirit faded and the symbols on the walls winked out, leaving three hunters, a coma patient and a doctor in total darkness.
After a small silence, Dean felt the need to comment:
"Well this sucks…"
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Author's notes:
Much swearing accompanied this chapter since I just didn't feel happy with it. There's something missing, and I really don't feel as passionate about it as I did the last chapter. But...I tried. That's all I can say.
The next instalment will be the conclusion, unless my somewhat overtaxed brain comes up with something else...have to say that I really hope not. Need to leave this alone for a while.
Again, many thanks for your continued support and I will answer you!
Kind regards,
ST.xxx.