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WARNING: This chapter contains spoilers for S2!!
"Okay." Dean said, pacing back and forth as he thought. "We need a plan and we need it yesterday, and in order for the plan to be even slightly effective, I need to go to my car."
Mrs. Winters blinked at him. "What, you're running away and leaving your brother—"
"Of course I'm not leaving Sam!" Dean said exasperatedly. "I have to get all my—uh—equipment—out of the trunk!"
"Equipment? What kind of equipment?"
Dean decided to cut to the chase. "Look, lady, Sam and I hunt demons, okay?"
"You hunt demons?! Have you lost your mind?!"
"Hey, don't you dare come down on me! You're the one with an evil room that eats people! You have no room to talk!"
"That's different—I mean—oh come on, that's completely different, young man! Demons don't even exist!" she said.
"Yeah, okay, I'll keep that in mind the next time one tries to kill me." Dean said. "Now while I go to my car I want you to get everyone out of this building—"
"I can't just evacuate the Inn!"
Dean stared at her. "I am prepared to do anything—anything—to get Sam safely out of that room—including breaking down the wall! Do you really want everyone here to witness that? Because they're going to all want to know why some guy is hacking down the wall with a chainsaw, they're not exactly going to sleep right through it!"
"You're going to use a chainsaw on my wall??"
"I would if I had one!" Dean said firmly.
Mrs. Winters looked into his eyes and saw his determination, and knew that he was telling the truth. "I'll pull the fire alarm." she said quickly.
"Okay." Dean said. "But before I go to my car I'm going to go back upstairs and see if I can get Sam to hear me through the wall. Maybe it'll work this time."
Meanwhile…
Sam cautiously walked into the bedroom and looked around—nothing was out of place that could have caused the strange noise. He stood motionless for several seconds listening to the sound of his own panicked breathing, but nothing happened. "I need to get more sleep…" he muttered, turning toward the bed. "What's taking Dean so long, anyway?"
The sound occurred again; a cracking, grinding noise so intense that it made Sam think that the room was collapsing. He whirled around to face the direction of the noise.
It was coming from behind the large dresser.
Without stopping to think, Sam took several long strides up to the dresser, grabbed hold of it, and tried to slide it back away from the wall. It wouldn't move at all, not even an inch. It was as though the dresser was nailed to the floor. He gave up and tried to peek behind it instead. There was only about half an inch of space behind the dresser, and it was pitch black so he couldn't see anything. He leaned forward against the wall to get a closer look.
Without a warning the dresser suddenly jerked backward five feet on its own and came to rest with a thud in the middle of the room.
Sam jumped back and stared over at it. "Okay," he said, trying to think logically. "Furniture doesn't move by itself…so that means there has to be a poltergeist in here. I'll just go find Dean and—" he froze mid-sentence and stared in shock at the wall that the dresser had previously hidden from view.
The wall was charred black like it had been burned, and was covered in a spider web of deep cracks from the floor to the ceiling. It was also moving, pulsating in and out in a rhythmic pattern—like it was alive.
As Sam stared in shock at the sickening sight he noticed that some kind of liquid was dripping out of the cracks and landing in a puddle on the floor. He reached out and touched the wall, only to pull his hand back instantly with a cry of pained surprise. It had been soft and squishy—and he was pretty sure it had just badly burned his hand. "Damn it!" he yelled angrily, cradling his hand. He looked at his fingers, which were wet with whatever liquid was coming out of the wall. It was dark red, sticky, and smelled like iron. "Blood…" he whispered. "There's blood coming out of the wall." he ran his other hand through his hair. "Definitely not a poltergeist, then...and I have no idea what it is, but it's definitely time to go!" he ran over to the door and discovered that it had somehow become locked. He got out the key and shoved it into the lock, but before he could twist it the key burst into flames. Cursing, Sam pulled his hand back and then looked for something to put out the fire. He walked toward the bathroom to get some water, but the door slammed shut before he could get to it. Well, there went that idea.
"So I'll get out through the widow." he said, and ran over to it. He pulled back the curtains and cursed.
A brick wall had replaced the glass panes of the window. He couldn't get out. "What the heck is going on?!" he yelled.
"Sam? Sam can you hear me?" a voice called from outside the door. Dean.
"Dean?" Sam yelled back, running back over to the door. "Dean, open the door!"
"Sam! Thank God!" Dean said, glad that his brother was alive. "Listen Sammy, the room is evil!"
"Yeah, Dean, I know! I can see that!" Sam said, looking around. "Dean, I can't open the door from in here, it's stuck!"
"What about the window?"
"Somehow the glass got replaced by a brick wall! I—I don't know how. There's some freaky stuff going on in here, Dean. Is there any way you can get the door open? Maybe a crowbar or something?" he asked hopefully.
"Sam, there is absolutely no way that I could possibly open the door." Dean said, the frustration clearly evident in his voice.
"Why not? What's wrong?"
"The door is gone, Sam. There is no door on my side!"
Sam took a deep breath. "Oh—this is bad."
"No, really?" Dean snapped. "Hey, at least I can talk to you now, when I tried before the damn room didn't even let you hear me!"
"I wondered what was taking you so long." Sam muttered, feeling stupid for not having realized something was wrong earlier. "Well, since I might not be able to hear you for long, did you find anything out about this room that might be helpful?"
Dean laughed. "Oh, I found stuff out, but I assure you none of it is helpful!"
"Humor me, alright?"
"Well, Mrs. Winters told me that over 22 people have either gone missing or died horrible deaths in there all in a time span of about 200 years. There's this pattern where the people that are stuck inside the room can be heard by people outside the room—"
"Like right now?"
"Yes."
"And could the people outside the room ever do anything to help?" Sam asked. There was a long pause. "Dean?" Sam prompted.
"…No." Dean said finally. "No, they couldn't, because damn door disappears!"
Suddenly the loud, grinding and cracking sound filled the room once more. Sam turned to look and watched as the cracks expanded and got longer, filling up a greater area of the wall. The wall was pulsating faster now, and the once slow drip of blood had escalated to a steady pour.
He was suddenly aware that Dean was frantically yelling his name. "I'm okay, Dean." he said quickly. "I'm still here."
"What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?!" Dean yelled in relief.
"Didn't you hear it?" Sam asked.
"Hear what?"
"The loud cracking and grinding sound. You didn't hear it?"
"No! I didn't hear anything! What's going on over there, Sam?"
Sam shook his head. "I—I have absolutely no idea. The wall—"
"—is bleeding?" Dean finished for him.
"Yeah, among other things…how did you know?"
Dean cursed loudly. "I just do, alright, I don't have time to explain how! Listen to me Sam, don't go near the wall! I'm going to run to the car and look for something that'll get you out of this, okay?"
Sam looked at the burned, bleeding, and obviously living wall. "Dean, I'm pretty sure that nothing in the Impala is going to be of any use against this…I mean, face it, we don't even have any real idea what we're up against! And even if we did there's no way for you to get to me."
"I'll get in there!"
"And how are you planning to accomplish that?"
"I don't know—I'll find a chainsaw or something and break the wall down—something! There has to be something I can do."
"Dean—"
"No, Sam! Don't you dare start! I'm going to get you out!"
"Yeah." Sam said softly, remembering all the times Dean had kept him safe—and the one time he hadn't been able to. "I know you're going to do everything you can to do just that, but some things…some things are just beyond your control, Dean."
"No, Sam—"
"Yes, Dean!" Sam snapped, "Some things are beyond your damn control! When are you going to realize that?!"
Dean sighed, realizing what Sam was getting to. "Probably never…and can we not talk about this now?"
"Talk about what? My death and you making a deal to bring me back? Oh yeah, it's only been four months out of a year since then and we haven't talked about it yet, so why start now, right? We've still got eight more months."
"Sammy—"
"How could you make that deal?!" Sam yelled furiously, his current situation completely forgotten. "How, Dean?? You knew firsthand how I would feel because Dad made the same deal for you, but you did it anyway, didn't you?! Wasn't it you who said 'what's dead should stay dead'?! Damn it, Dean!"
"Sam, can we please talk about this some other time?" Dean said. "Like maybe when you're not in danger?"
"My death was beyond your control." Sam said, ignoring him. "You—you couldn't save me…and you just couldn't accept that, could you?"
"Sam, please just stop—"
"You couldn't live without me." Sam said quietly, all of his anger gone. "And if you couldn't live without me, how the hell am I supposed to live without you?"
Dean didn't have an answer. How could he even respond to a speech like that?
Sam sighed, realizing that now probably wasn't the best time for this talk. "Dean…I'm sorry—" he started to say, and then stopped as he happened to glance over at the wall. It had stopped moving and the blood wasn't dripping anymore. The entire room was totally silent...like the calm before a storm. "Dean, something's wrong." he said urgently.
"What?"
Before Sam could respond a force of some kind flung him into the air like a rag doll. He slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room and was knocked unconscious—right in the pool of blood under the widening black space on the wall.
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