Chapter 4 - Atychiphobia
Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns everything in the Supernatural universe.
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Dean yelled "Sam" and lunged in his chains when he heard his brother scream Jess's name. Sam was in that wall, entombed. His brother's lament faded away; Dean was torn with grief for him. He was supposed to protect Sam. The recent battle with the shtriga had reaffirmed his youthful resolve that nothing would go through him to get to his brother. Dean ignored the rivulets of blood dripping down his hands to patter on the floor. He struggled until his ribs refused to allow his chest to expand, he tried to inhale; the pain gripped him in a vise. His struggles grew weaker as his lungs fought for air. He fell back against the wall as his legs folded, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Color and light slowly began to enter his vision again.
The thing was watching him. It turned back towards the wall, wavering like a drunk as it advanced to touch it. Dean would have sworn it was smiling though it had no mouth. Dean squinted in the uneven light. What the hell? He'd been sure the thing was cadaverous. Yet the visage he saw now had flesh covering the angular bones so that he could no longer see every ridge on its skull. His mind tried to process what he was seeing. What was happening? He had become used to Sam figuring things out on the hunt, leaving him to do all the killing. But Sam was trapped, separated from Dean. A surge of panic swelled that Dean suppressed. Sam's screaming had not resumed. Whether he was unconscious or no longer able to make a sound, Dean had no clue. He didn't believe that Sam was not being tormented any longer; he knew his brother was still in danger. Dean had never been trapped like this. Unable to reach a hand to a manacle, he couldn't pick a lock. He couldn't fight back. He couldn't get to Sam. He couldn't draw a full breath. He couldn't fail Sam, not again.
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Sam no longer saw Jess. Dean's face filled his vision as he strangled Sam. Hard hands circled his throat, heavy ring cutting into his skin. Air was denied access to his starved lungs. Panic and despair dominated his thoughts. This was Dean killing him. Dean who had raised him, taken care of him, rescued him, needed him, loved him. Who was now killing him. A voice in the back of his mind insisted that this was not happening. He was not back in St. Louis, the shapeshifter was dead. It could no longer hurt him. But it was. Sam's sight darkened.
The pressure was gone. He lay gasping in the chill of the tomb. He thought he'd heard Dean's voice, not taunting him but terrified for him. What was happening to him? He realized that he was reliving some pretty dark moments from the past few months. Moments that he wanted to forget. His heartbeat slowed. Sam wondered about the thing they had been hunting. Could it be responsible for what was happening to him? Was the same thing happening to Dean? Who knew what he'd seen and done while Sam had been at Stanford. Surely he had some horrific memories as well. He wasn't exactly a sharing, caring kind of guy and Sam didn't know what he. . .
He lay on the ground at Sam's feet. Anger coursed through Sam's veins, not under his conscious control. It was Dean's fault that Sam was always second best. It was Dean's fault he'd had to leave his normal life. It was Dean's fault he'd survived the fire to return to a nightmare of hunting and risk. It was Dean's fault he'd outlived Jessica. It was Dean's fault that Dr. Ellicott had caught him. "Do it!" Rage swept over Sam that could not be contained. The dam weakened and Dean's order was obeyed, as it was always obeyed during a fight. He could not listen to the "no" in his head. He pulled the trigger.
Shame rose and Sam buried his head in his arms. How could he have fired? The gun had fired no bullet but the darts of Sam's barbed words had pierced his brother all the same. He had failed to keep Dean's trust. He'd crushed his brother with his envenomed words and the pull of the trigger. Sam sank into a mire of self-reproach and disgust and despair.
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Dean watched the creature writhe in the corner. It stayed in contact with the wall that Sam was trapped behind. He'd heard no more cries from Sam and that worried Dean more than he could say. While the thing concentrated on Sammy, Dean concentrated on escape. He couldn't fail in this task. He had to break free. He couldn't ignore John's prime command "Watch out for Sammy." He had finally caught and destroyed his first childhood defeat, the first and last time he'd disobeyed his father's direct orders. He . . . would. . .not. . .fail. . .again! Dean jerked at the chain holding his left arm. It was definitely loosening. He rocked the chain back and forth to wiggle it loose.
Light began filtering in through the vents near the top. The creature stood up. Its body was now clothed in flesh rather than just skin and sinew. It suddenly made sense. The thing was feeding off of them but not their flesh; instead it fed off their emotions. Dean had never heard of anything like this. It would suck them dry before dumping their bodies. Satisfaction rode in its eyes as it stooped to gather the steel bar and approached Dean who kicked at it. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of being beaten again. He hated being helpless. Blinding flares of agony exploded across his body. He was unable to choke back the screams that were torn out of him by the pain and the knowledge he was failing. He struggled to break loose to destroy this thing. Which would give first: the mortar or Dean's flesh?
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Caleb was amazed he hadn't been pegged by a state trooper. He'd had the accelerator floored almost the entire trip. Reaching the outskirts of Plaquemine, he slowed down to check for road signs. Dean had called to tell him about the LeBeau place while Sam had been returning library materials. Caleb'd been going nuts just sitting there waiting for Bobby to call back. When he got nervous, holes appeared in his walls from his fists and his knives. To protect all, he'd Googled the place and found driving directions, just in case. The sun had just cleared the horizon as he turned into the driveway. He spotted the Impala parked off to the side and maneuvered his truck in behind it. Easing his door shut, he was surveying the property when he heard a bellow that could only have come from Dean's throat. He spun around until he located the source. A stone mausoleum stood in a grove of cypress.
Darting to the building's door, Caleb checked his holstered gun. Bobby could have been wrong with the info about the iron. Grasping his dagger by the hilt, Caleb inched the door open to a scene out of a De Sade story. Dean was chained to a wall, his shirt torn in numerous places, each hole marked with blood. Something stood in front of him, striking his with rhythmic blows. Caleb slid into the room. His blade was too unbalanced to throw. He had to be careful going hand to hand; that bar gave it a longer reach.
Dean thought he was hallucinating when he saw Caleb sneak in. He lunged to the left, pulling on that manacle with all his strength. He felt something finally give but it wasn't his shoulder. The chain's bolt plate popped off the wall. He shortened the length of loose chain. No sense popping himself with it. He swung at the creature while Caleb advanced from behind. Elation filled Dean. Their undoing. The creature spun and spotted Caleb. No chance now for a sneak attack. With Dean still restrained by one arm, Caleb would have to force the creature towards him to pin it.
Dean was afraid to swing the chain and hit Caleb by mistake; if he went down, it would all be over. What could he do? Ha! Caleb would never let him forget it but. . . Grasping the bolt plate in his right hand, Dean yelled, "Dude, Jabba the Hut!" and raised the chain.
Caleb smirked. It could work. The chain was rusted so it must be iron. He began feinting with the knife, driving the thing back towards Dean who was pressed against the wall. Dean clamped down on his hope. He chose fear, fear for Sam, fear for himself, to dominate his thoughts. It wasn't too hard to imagine what would happen if this failed. He eyeballed the retreating back until it was within reach. Leaping forward, Dean slung the chain around the creature's neck so that it completely encircled it. It shrieked while burning like a demon splashed with holy water. It dropped the bar as its fingers curled into claws and reached back for Dean's face, gouging the air instead. Dean kept hold as Caleb dove in, his dagger finding what passed for its heart. Dean stumbled forward as the thing collapsed inward into a pile of dust and cloth. He rested his hands on his knees, panting, before sinking to the ground in a heap.
Patting down his pockets, Caleb searched for his lock pick kit. Of course, it was in the last pocket he checked. Dean shook his head. The man might be his elder, but he didn't have it all together when the battle was done. He reached to snatch the kit out of Caleb's hands. "Uh uh uh." Caleb waggled a finger. "You can't even close your fingers right now. I can do it." He chose a tool and deftly picked the locks on the manacles as though he did it all the time, which of course he did. He'd taught the Winchester boys the skill years ago. "Where's Sam?" Caleb hadn't spotted the youngster and feared the worst. He turned his head this way and that in a vain search.
Dean surged upwards but would have fallen again if Caleb hadn't slipped a hand under one arm to bring him all the way up. Dean pointed to the crowbar on the floor as he hobbled over to the wall. "Help me, Sam's behind here." The light dawned for Caleb. The thing had locked Sam up where he couldn't escape but still be within reach of its powers. If that thing hadn't been dust already, Caleb would have kicked its ass. "Which one is it?"
"I don't know," Dean was frantic. He hadn't heard a sound from Sam since the thing's first attack. Fear blocked his throat and any further words.
Caleb was startled at the look in Dean's eyes. That boy was implacable except where Sam was concerned. The cauchemar must have hurt Sam bad. He examined all three blocks; cobwebs were broken on the block on the right. Caleb slammed the end of the crowbar in between the block's edge and the crevice. Dean tried to help but he couldn't lift his arms without hurting his ribs. Caleb slapped his hands away. "Trust me." The block began to move with a grinding noise that echoed through the crypt. "Step back, it's going down." With a resounding crash, the block had hardly struck the floor before both men peered into the opening.
Sam barely heard stone grating on stone. He was overpowered by his memories and thoughts. The half-healed wounds from the past year's events had been ripped open and were now bleeding freely once again. He jumped and skittered backwards when a hand touched him on the shoulder. Blinking furiously against the light, he could barely make out that there were two figures in front of him.
"Whoa, Sammy. It's me."
Dean's voice startled him. He'd last seen his brother in a vision, beaten and bloody. He was still bloody but was now free. Wait a minute. Sam had shot him in the chest. What was up with his face being all bruised? Sam pushed his head into his hands. What was real? He ignored Dean's hand on his arm and groaned.
"Wait a minute, Dean. Give him a minute. Did you find anything about this cauchemar?"
"Is that what it was? Nah. We came here to rescue some idiots and ended up being caught. What's wrong with Sammy?"
"From what Bobby told me, this thing can cause 'dreamers' like Sam to see whatever it wants them to. It can pull out their worst nightmare and force them to live it over and over while it feeds off their fear or hate or whatever they felt when it happened. We both know Sam's got a lot of nightmares." Caleb and Dean looked at each other and then Sam. "Come on, Sam, it's over. We killed it. We need to get out of here. Dean is hurt." Caleb stopped Dean's protest with a glare. He hoped Sam would respond to his brother's needs. Sure enough, Sam uncurled and looked at the two men again. Caleb and Dean each put a hand under Sam's arms and pulled him out of the crypt. His limbs were stiff from the cold and not being able to move freely. It took a bit for him to be able to stand on his own.
"You're hands are ice, Sammy. Look at me." Dean checked Sam's pupils to make sure he didn't have a concussion.
"Dean, is that really you? Where are we?" Sam's confusion was frightening. Dean looked at Caleb for help.
"Sam." He turned to focus on Caleb. "You're in Louisiana. You came here 'cause I asked you to check out something that was killing people." God, if Sam didn't come out of this Dean would kill him. Then John would find him and burn and salt him. "Can't you remember anything?" Sam shuddered and looked away. Caleb winced. Wrong word choice.
"Yeah, we got those kids out. I heard Dean yell. Saw him unconscious and then got knocked out. Woke up in there. . ." Sam felt nauseous with the memory. He couldn't look Dean in the eye.
Dean was worried. What was wrong with Sam? What had that thing done to him? He reached towards his brother then gasped, grabbed his side.
Caleb realized he had to take control. "All right you two. You were coming to my place anyways. Sam, are you ok to drive? I think Dean here will be out cold soon."
A protest died on Dean's lips. He could barely lift his right arm. He hated the thought of Sam driving his car as confused as he was, but he honestly didn't think he could drive himself. Now only if Sam could drive. He looked at his brother.
Sam still wouldn't look either man in the eye, "Yeah, I'm okay to drive. Let's. . .just get out of here. We should grab out stuff from the motel first though."
"I'm going to follow you the entire way. I can keep an eye on you if something goes wrong. Let's go. The sooner we start, the sooner we're at my place."
The three men walked out the mausoleum's door and headed towards the vehicles. Dean moved stiffly. He dreaded the thought of sitting in the car for hours. He'd be so stiff, they'd need a crowbar to get him out. He watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. His brother refused to speak. He had been hurt too but Dean didn't know how he could bandage his wounds. Hell. He couldn't even see what needed to be bandaged. Maybe he could get Sam to talk at Caleb's. Both collapsed into the Impala. They had a long road ahead of them.
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A/N: One more chapter to go. Thanks to those who've kept up with the story and have let me know what they thought. It helped a lot! I would appreciate any other comments reader might have too.