What's Dead Should Stay Dead
Disclaimer: I like the toilet paper roll to unroll from the topside, I prefer a manual transmission car and I don't like tapioca pudding, the consistency creeps me out. Oh, and I have nothing to do with Supernatural.
Thank You: To Wysawyg who takes time out from writing some really great stories and lets her plot bunnies dine on sawdust to be a tremendously helpful and supportive beta. I made some changes and additions after she beta'd, so as always, any mistakes are mine.
Thank youx2: To the anonymous reviewers I cannot thank personally. Thanks!
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"They're gone," a quiet moan came from inside the house.
Bobby stepped over the threshold and found the caretaker sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. "Where's Dean?" Bobby asked harshly. "Where's Sam?"
"They're gone," the caretaker moaned again, looking up at Bobby. "He took them."
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Flatt Plains Community Cemetery – Caretaker Residence
"He? You mean the Necromancer, this Ezra Umholtz guy?" Bobby asked, from where he stood in the doorway, glancing down at the caretaker still sitting on the bed.
"Yes," the old man nodded his frizzy hair bobbing in time to the motion. "But I sent Bojangles after them and when he returns he can lead us to them."
"No offense to you, but I'm not waiting around for a dog to show me where Timmy fell in the well," Bobby snapped. "Your dog can find us out there just as easily as in here. We're going after the boys. Did you happen to see which way they went?"
The caretaker pointed in the direction the necromancers had gone. "They headed deeper into the cemetery," he said.
"Then that's the direction we head," Bobby replied. He grabbed the caretaker by the scruff of his neck and propelled him towards the open door. "We only have an hour to go before midnight, so let's get a move on."
Monroe Family Mausoleum
The ground beneath him was cold and hard causing his joints to ache. His insides still quivered and he felt older than his twenty-eight years would suggest. He lay there as still as possible, hoping to gain a few minutes to collect himself before anyone noticed he was no longer incapacitated. He listened to the sounds around him, collecting as much information as he could and hoping it would be enough.
Sounds echoed in the room, indicating its size and depth. Liquid pouring, candles sizzling and the scratching, pulling sound of rope reached his ears. A low moan reverberated in the stillness and he moved from caution to roaring anger in between heartbeats. He knew that voice.
Dean sprang to his feet and rushed towards Sam before common sense engaged and he realized how outnumbered he was, not that it mattered. Sam's lanky form lay stretched across the altar at the back of the marble tiled room. He couldn't be certain in the dim light, but it looked as if Sam was tied to the altar and his hospital gown had been replaced by a black robe similar to the others. Black cloths adorned the room and red candles surrounded the altar flickering in the dark expanse.
The Necromancer looked up from Sam and pointed the dagger in his hand at Dean. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Uh, uh, uh," he tsked. "I wouldn't." He moved the dagger point directly to Sam's throat and pressed the tip into his flesh. Sam's Adam's apple bobbed convulsively and Dean fisted his hands at his sides. "I'll get to you soon enough."
"You'll get to me now," Dean insisted, shrugging off the hands that sought to restrain him. "Leave Sam out of this."
"Sam is this," the Necromancer declared pressing the dagger point tighter against Sam's skin. Dean stopped his approach and tried to make eye contact with Sam, to let him know it was okay, that somehow he'd get him out of this, but he couldn't from this angle.
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, his apprehension growing. The hands were back again, holding him in place, but this time Dean didn't struggle, he bided his time.
"I'll bet Sam here has figured it out, haven't you Sam?" the Necromancer's oily voice taunted.
Sam did not reply and Dean was beginning to worry it was because he could not. "Why don't you enlighten me?" Dean sniped.
The Necromancer lifted the dagger and gestured to the carved tiles around the altar. Dean moved forward, but the hands on his shoulders and the knife back at Sam's throat changed his mind. "These tiles tell the story. It is a story of life and of death. My brother's death."
The pattern slid together and solidified in Dean's mind. "Your little brother," he stated. "Thomas."
The Necromancer's face spread in a slow smile. "You are smarter than I gave you credit for," he replied. "Yes, my little brother Thomas." He pointed to one of the pictographs. "He was like Sam."
"If he was like Sam, I can tell you this," Dean said. "He wouldn't want you hurting someone for him."
"Maybe not," the Necromancer agreed. "But, I want my brother back and I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen. He'd understand."
"Well, that's selfish," Dean remarked hotly.
"Selfish?" the Necromancer replied, amused. He chuckled lightly. "This isn't my first new body," he explained. "Ezra is my third host and you will be my fourth." He picked up the silver chalice. "But first, Sam will be the one for Thomas."
Sam's chest was heaving. Dean could tell he was afraid no matter what Sam may be willing to admit. "What happened?" Dean asked, trying to distract the Necromancer and buy precious time.
The Necromancer gave Dean the look of a parent humoring a curious child and his tone spoke volumes to the same. "Thomas had a gift. A gift like Sam's," he explained. "Once people found out, they were afraid of Thomas. One day, a group of men caught Thomas alone and beat him. He died two days later."
"Where were you?" Dean snapped moving slightly forward and to the right. "He was your little brother. Where were you?"
"You of all people should understand," the Necromancer snarled. "You understand the burden of watching out for someone special like Thomas, like Sam." He ran his fingers through Sam's hair affectionately, his eyes seeing someone else. Dean tensed and barely restrained himself from reacting. "The vigilance it requires," he continued. "The constant strain of watching out for him, how tired you feel under the weight of the burden you carry."
From his new position Dean could see Sam's face. Tears and emotions swam in the hazel depths of his brother's eyes. Dean knew that Sam was empathetic, but these tears weren't for Thomas, they were for Dean because a part of Sam believed the crap the Necromancer was shoveling. "Sam isn't a burden," Dean snarled angrily. "We take care of each other. It doesn't have to be the same to be equal and I don't believe Thomas was a burden either. It's a convenient lie you've told yourself to justify your actions."
The Necromancer gripped the dagger tighter reining in his emotions. "I've been dead," he announced. "You'd be surprised how clear things become once the veil of societal mores is lifted." He signaled one of the others with a finger sweep and knuckles found their way to Dean's abdomen. "I failed my baby brother and they killed him. If I can make that right, nothing is going to stop me, least of all you."
Dean bent over with a groan. "A lot of people are dead," he groaned again, standing up. "Get over it."
"That's easy for you to say, but what if it was Sam? What would you do?" The Necromancer asked, his dark eyes penetrating.
Anything, Dean thought as his eyes flicked to Sam's. They were begging him to say the right thing, to keep the promise he had made. "I'd do what you have to do," Dean replied, breaking eye contact with Sam. "I'd let him go."
"Then let him go," the Necromancer declared, lifting the blade high.
As the chanting began a wind blew through the chamber, causing the candles to dance in the breeze. The Necromancer picked up a silver chalice and held it next to the dagger. "Powers of the Kingdom, be ye under my left foot and in my right hand!" The Necromancer intoned. "Glory and eternity, take me by the two shoulders and direct me in the paths of victory!"
Dean struggled against the men restraining him, trying to break free and get to Sam. The Necromancer stirred the contents of the chalice with the dagger before he set down the chalice and began to chant again. "Mercy and Justice, be ye the equilibrium and splendor of my life!"
The Necromancer pressed the blood-coated dagger to Sam's chest and made the first cut. "Intelligence and wisdom crown me!" he cried, continuing the ritual.
"Aagh!" Sam groaned, finding his voice for the first time since Dean had been in danger at the caretaker's house.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, once more pushing hard against the others holding him tightly in place.
The wind picked up again and the squeaking, rubbing sound of fingers on wet glass resounded throughout the chamber. As the Necromancer moved to make another cut the doors burst open and in a flurry of black the Necromancer was knocked backwards against the candles.
The church members holding Dean and surrounding the altar rushed to the aid of their fallen leader, while Dean seized the opportunity and ran towards Sam. He could hear the commotion and the shouting on the far side of the altar, but Dean's only concern was for his little brother.
Sam's head was spinning. He knew the blood on the dagger had been laced with something and he could feel it racing through his veins. When the Necromancer disappeared from view in a tangle of limbs and a black blur, Sam struggled against the ropes that pinned his arms and legs to the altar. Every movement and tug brought a fresh wave of pain rippling through his stomach, but he had to free himself.
Dean's face appeared above him and relief washed over him. He could scarcely hear what Dean was saying over the din, but the murmured litany of, 'okay, you're gonna be okay,' rang true. His hands were cut free first and when Dean dipped out of sight, Sam felt the rope around his ankles fall away. Dean's hands were on his shoulders, easing him to a sitting position and then pulling his legs off the altar where they dangled as useless wooden blocks.
Cool hands on his face caused Sam to look up from his feet and he found Dean merely inches from his face. "Are you going to be okay if I leave you here for a minute?" Dean asked, his green eyes searching Sam's face for the truth.
"I'm okay," Sam stated quietly, perpetuating the biggest lie the Winchesters told.
Dean's hands moved to the back of his neck and then his shoulders giving them a light squeeze. "I'll be right back," he said.
A loud, yipping yelp from behind Sam caused him to twist slightly and Dean to peer over Sam's shoulder to the floor behind the altar. The Necromancer was struggling to free himself from underneath the carcass of a large black dog. "Bojangles!" the shrill voice of the caretaker echoed off the walls.
The Necromancer stood with the bloody dagger in his hand. He began to chant in Hebrew and Sam could feel the weight of his words penetrating his mind and wrapping his head in a fog. He fought against the fog, pushing it away and back towards the Necromancer. "No!" the Necromancer shouted in frustration.
Sam's eyes darted around the room, searching for the answer to the remaining questions. If he could figure out the key to stopping the ceremony, they'd more than level the playing field. Bobby appeared at Sam's left and nodded to Dean giving him permission to go after the Necromancer. "Dean," Sam called. Dean stopped in his tracks and turned to face Sam. "Smash the tile that represents Thomas."
"Got it," Dean shouted over his shoulder, taking off full bore. He lifted the heavy tile from its place on the wall and held it over his head.
"Stop!" the Necromancer shouted. "I command you to stop!"
Dean grinned wide. "Yeah, well I command you to go to hell." He slammed the tile down on the hard marble floor and it shattered into a myriad of slivered pieces.
"You are going to pay for that," the Necromancer promulgated, motioning to someone behind Dean. "Hold him."
Dean caught sight of the man beside him. The man held tightly to Dean's right arm and bent it backwards, straining the injury to his shoulder. "You?" Dean asked, his eyes growing dark as his rage built. "Did you deliberately miss that bleeder?"
"I caused that bleeder," Dr. Monroe confessed. "It would have been slow enough to get Sam here for the ceremony before he died. I didn't count on Cheryl."
"Your son was one of the missing," Sam remarked quietly from his seat on the altar and Dean threw the good doctor a glare that could have melted steel.
"I did it for the power he represents," Dr. Monroe stated unashamedly. "The power over life and death has a strong allure."
"You sacrificed your family to this man for power?" Dean asked, fury etching every line in his body. "Family is the most important thing. You watch out for your family, you keep them safe, but you don't turn them over to power hungry death dealers."
"Spoken like a true protector," the Necromancer interjected. "What better way to command the ultimate loyalty than to demand the ultimate sacrifice?" He stepped closer to Dean and raised the dagger. "You know that to be true," he whispered.
Sam scanned the tiles frantically searching for the symbol representing the Necromancer. It had to be here for the ceremony. Sam just had to find it. As the Necromancer began to chant in Hebrew, Dean fell to his knees, shouting in agony. Sam spotted it and pointed to a far tile. "Bobby, smash that tile," he instructed softly yet insistently.
"Which one?" Bobby asked, looking around at the tiles unable to identify the one Sam was pointing to.
"The one with the fence followed by the ox head," Sam replied, gripping the edge of the altar in anticipation of supporting his own frame. When Bobby nodded and moved away from him, Sam struggled to remain upright on the altar. The pain in his stomach flared and he gasped for breath.
Bobby picked his way past the caretaker who was cradling the fallen canine. He reached the tile and pulled it from the wall. "Master!" one of the hooded members shouted, but his warning came too late. The tile landed at the Necromancer's feet and snapped neatly in three sections.
Dean was abruptly released by the men holding him and he slumped forward. He narrowly saved himself from unceremoniously landing face first on the marbled floor with flat hands. Dean sucked in a great lungful of air before hauling himself to his feet and back to Sam. "You okay?" he asked, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder to help support him.
Sam nodded. "You?"
"Yeah," Dean replied. A flash of metal caught his eyes and he narrowed them in angry suspicion. He gently pulled on the metal chain around Sam's neck and the amulet emerged from its hiding place in Sam's robes. Dean grabbed both sides of the chain and pulled outwards snapping the chain and pulling it from Sam's neck. Dean swung the chain, wrapping it around his hand and grasping the amulet in his fist.
The smell of burning hair reached Sam's nostrils and he grimaced. "Dean, look," he said, jutting his chin towards the smell. The six hooded figures stood in a circle around a heap of smoking robes. "I think the Necromancer's spirit was evicted from his host body when Bobby smashed the tile."
"He's just a nasty pile of putrefaction," Dean quipped. His hand did not leave Sam's shoulder, but the other gestured at the figures. "How does this fit in with your promise of power?"
The men glared at Dean before turning to walk away. "Hey, where do you think you are going?" Dean demanded loudly.
"Dean, we can't hurt them," Sam stated, grabbing Dean's arm lightly. "They're human."
"They're evil," Dean contradicted, angrily. "They're evil of the human variety, but still evil."
"Let them go," Sam insisted. His hazel eyes silently willing Dean to make the right choice.
"They tried to kill you," Dean argued with a snarl, his free hand fisting tighter around the amulet.
"And you stopped them," Sam said, wincing when he shifted. "You saved me. Let them live. Let them live knowing you did the right thing and they didn't. They offered up their family for a chance at immortality. That's the difference between us and them." When Dean did not immediately back down, Sam added. "Let them go."
Dean relaxed his posture and frowned. "I don't like it."
"You're not supposed to," Sam reassured him.
"Bobby, can you help Sam for a minute?" Dean asked, flicking his gaze to the older man for a moment.
"Sure thing," Bobby replied, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Dean," Sam protested, reaching for Dean as he started to walk away.
Dean turned back around to face his brother. "I won't do anything stupid," he promised. Sam tilted his head to the side, furrowed his brow and shot Dean a look of sheer disbelief. "Okay, I won't do anything incredibly stupid," he amended.
In seven long strides, Dean caught up to the hooded men. "Monroe!" Dean shouted.
Dr. Monroe reflexively turned to the sound of his name being called. "You can thank my brother for your life," Dean announced, pulling back his fist and hitting Monroe squarely in the face.
Dr. Monroe fell to the ground as blood spurted out his nose and ran down his face. "I dink you brode by node!" he growled, cupping his hand around his nose. One of the other men helped Monroe to his feet.
"You'll live," Dean replied simply. He turned his back on the black robed figures and marched back to the altar, resuming his place next to Sam.
"Was that really necessary?" Sam asked quietly, as Bobby stepped away and walked behind the altar.
"Yeah," Dean replied with a smirk. "It was."
Keening from the floor garnered the brothers' attention and they turned their heads to look at the old caretaker on the floor. Bobby was standing helplessly next to him, seemingly unsure of what to do. "I bound him to me," the caretaker lamented, fat tears rolling down his gnarled cheeks. "I bound him to me when he was a puppy and now he's gone."
"He died protecting others," Bobby said borrowing from the hunter's credo. "It's a good way to go."
The caretaker smiled dully through his tears. He pointed a finger at Dean and said accusatorily, "You didn't drink your tea, did you?"
"After what happened before, are you crazy?" Dean asked.
"Perhaps," the caretaker admitted. "But you still should have drunk the tea. It would have provided you a measure of protection." The caretaker pursed his lips and pouted. "I told you to trust me."
"Sh'yeah, that was gonna happen," Dean snarked.
"I hate to break this up," Bobby interjected. "But we need to do something with the remains and that amulet."
"I think we should salt and burn it, along with Thomas," Dean replied, looking at the remains which were now melting. "Anyone have a shop vac?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "The chalice and the tiles too, just to be safe," he cautioned.
"How am I going to haul your heavy butt while carrying tiles, a chalice, an amulet and a rotting pile of dead Emperor?" Dean asked with a lop-sided grin. "Cause I gotta tell you little brother, your butt is heavy."
"Whatever," Sam groused. "I can walk."
"Sure you can," Dean teased. "Can you even stand? How about sit without falling over?" Dean loosened his grip on Sam, but did not remove his hand. Sam reached out for Dean's arm to balance himself and glared at his older brother. Dean was right, but that did not mean Sam had to like it.
Silence lingered in the air for a moment until Bobby cleared his throat. "So uh, how did you know which symbol would help Dean?" Bobby asked, stepping closer to the brothers and changing the subject.
"Because it was the symbol for brother," Sam said, making eye contact with Dean. "Or…protector of the family."
Dean swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, but it was several beats later before he waved his hands in front of the tiles and tossed off, "So, where's the symbol for, 'pain in the ass geekboy?'"
Sam extended his middle figure and pointed towards the ceiling. "It's right here," he deadpanned, lifting his eyebrow.
Dean laughed and ruffled Sam's hair, the touch restoring the good feelings Sam normally had at the gesture. "Let's get you out of here, Sam."
In the end, it proved easier said than done. Dean refused to leave Sam at the mausoleum or in the Impala by himself, so Bobby and he alternated between carrying a load to Thomas' grave and staying with Sam. By the last trip, it was obvious the tea Sam drank at the caretaker's was wearing off. His face was pale and Dean could see the pain Sam was trying to hide.
"We're almost done," Dean stated. "Bobby's taking the last turn at digging and he'll finish the burn."
"You should be out there with him," Sam forced out, trying to sound natural. He did not succeed.
"Bobby will be fine," Dean reassured him. "When he gets back, I'm going to go and get the Impala. I should be able to drive it most of the way here. Bobby picked up some killer pharmaceuticals, I'm told. Should have you singing show tunes before we get back to the highway."
"Funny," Sam huffed. He was lying down on the floor because Dean had insisted he could not lie on the altar. Sam shivered and the movement pulled on his wounds. The recent cut on his chest had stopped bleeding, but it was still red and oozing.
The door opened and Bobby entered the mausoleum. His clothes were caked with dirt and he was sweaty. "All done," he announced, pulling off his cap and rubbing his head. "Where'd Jasper go?"
"Who?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.
"Jasper?" Bobby asked. "The caretaker? Little guy, white hair, talks, well talked to his dog?"
"Dean helped him load Bojangles in a wheelbarrow," Sam replied. "I think he was taking him home."
"Seemed like a good dog," Bobby commented. He did have a soft spot for dogs and he felt for the little guy. "You boys ready?"
"Yeah, I should be back in twenty minutes," Dean replied standing up.
"Won't be necessary," Bobby said. "I went back for the car seeing as I was halfway there anyway. I thought Sam might need some pain killers by now."
"Thanks, Bobby," Dean replied, his green eyes reflecting gratitude. He was not used to help and it always surprised him when it came his direction.
"Nothing to it," Bobby replied. He pulled a syringe out of his back pocket. "It's pretty strong stuff, Sam, but I think you need it." He waited until he received a go ahead signal from both brothers, before he uncapped the syringe and plunged it into Sam's arm.
The cold liquid burned as it entered his arm, but moments later Sam felt as if he was floating detached from his body. "Wow," he slurred. He heard Dean's tinkling laugh and his eyes drooped closed before he snapped them back open. "I can walk."
"Sam, you're already in the car," Dean's disembodied voice replied from the darkness. "And we're driving, so don't try to get out either."
"Okay, I didn't want pie anyway," Sam replied, drifting on the edge of awareness.
"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean said in a commanding tone.
"Kay," Sam murmured, drifting off.
Dean shook his head and turned to Bobby in the passenger seat. "Are you headed home after you pick up your truck?" he asked.
"Yep, I think you boys have it covered from here," Bobby replied. "You'll call me though, if you need something?" It was phrased as a question, but it was statement.
"Yeah," Dean replied. "I will. I'm going to get some miles between us and this damn town before I find a motel though."
"You're welcome to stay with me for a few days," Bobby offered.
Dean snuck a look at his sleeping brother in the back seat. "Thanks for the offer, Bobby, but we're good." He wanted, no needed some time with Sam before things turned to hell again and things always seemed to turn to hell before they were ready. Dean pulled into the parking garage next to Bobby's truck.
"Take care," Bobby said, exiting the Impala. "I'll expect to hear from you when you stop tonight and then, well that's it unless you need me."
"Right," Dean replied. "Thanks."
"Sure thing," Bobby replied, shutting the door.
Dean waited until Bobby got in his truck and started the engine before pulling away. He wanted at least an hour between them and Flatt Plains. When he reached the highway, Dean made a decision and turned his car east. Sam moved restlessly in the back seat and mumbled something about his gummy worms. Dean chuckled softly at his stoned brother and pressed down on the accelerator, allowing the open road to grant him some peace of mind.
TBC
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AN: Well, I didn't leave ya'all hanging after all! Thanks to Wysawyg and her rush beta job! I am thinking about a recovery/epilogue chapter, so I may work on that while I'm gone.
Thanks to everyone who has been reading.
As always – Feedback Welcome!