Chapter Eleven – The Exorcist
"Uh… Jackson… Rosanna? Do you think I could have my brother back now? And Shelly?" Sam warily inquired, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. He held tight to his dad's journal, his finger inserted where the exorcism was bookmarked, but he was hoping he wouldn't have to use it. He hoped they would be reasonable. Since they were now both dead he hoped they would simply decide to move on to wherever it is spirits go.
Dean turned to his brother and smiled, his eyes shimmering with a luminous glow. "This is an exquisite body, so young and strong… so virile." Jackson ran his hands across Dean's chest and down to his abs, feeling the firm muscles beneath the t-shirt, caressing the taut, trembling flesh under his splayed fingers. "Maybe I should keep it?" He used Dean's lips to draw up into a lascivious smirk. "Perhaps reclaim my lover. It has been so very long."
Sam took a deep breath and opened up the journal. Like hell you'll keep my brother's body. Not happening, freak. He started to read, but Shelly raised her hand to silence him, her eyes pleading for mercy. He momentarily paused and waited to see what she had in mind, ready to begin again at the first hint of trouble.
"Jackson, we need to leave these young people alone. They have their own lives to live." She reached up and caressed Shelly's face, tenderly running her fingers across the soft skin of her beloved granddaughter. "I won't deny my granddaughter her own life. Jackson, it's time to move on."
"But you had a life." Anger spewed from Dean's lips, his face twisted from an intense, lingering agony, contorting his handsome features until he was almost unrecognizable, his green eyes nearly black from a fierce, unfocused hatred; outrage at his destiny and the cruelty of fate unbridled and driving him to the brink of madness. Years of solitary torment had left Jackson lost in a haze of conflict and confusion, consuming him and driving his spirit beyond the edge of reason. "I died before I had a chance to live. Everything I missed… we missed. We could have it all, Rosie. Please, this is our chance. Don't you want to live again?"
Shelly placed the palm of her hand gently against Dean's cheek, softly stroking down until her fingertips rested against his full lips, her eyes closed as if Rosanna was remembering the past, their love and their stolen future. She opened her blue eyes, tender and loving, and smiled at him. "Jackson, I've lived a full life. It's over. I'm ready to move on. My darling, I love you. If you love me, you'll come with me. We'll have a glorious time in the next life. That's where we belong now. Please, Jackson. Let these children be. For me."
Sam cradled the book in his hands, open and ready. He watched Dean for a sign, hoping his brother was in there somewhere and could help push Jackson out.
All hope of a peaceful resolution vanished as the book suddenly flew from his hands and landed twenty feet away as he was pressed up against the wall immobile. He gasped and cursed his foolishness. I should have stuck to the plan. I'm an idiot. Please, God, don't let him take Dean!
"Jackson, no! Please!" Shelly cried out.
Rosanna was pleading with her lover to not do this, grasping at his arm and trying to draw his attention to her, but he pushed her aside, concentrating all of his powers on holding Sam against the wall. "Silence, Rosie. We deserve this… I deserve this. You can't expect me to just give you up… I won't."
"But you have me, my darling," Rosanna implored before her feminist core exerted itself, her eyes determined. "I won't stay here. I won't."
"If you love me, you'll stay. We have life within our grasp. Please, Rosie… stay. Stay and love me," Jackson begged, his tone wistful, wanting, desperate.
Sam was frantically searching his memories for something that could save them. All of Dad's lessons suddenly gaining in importance, at last finding relevance. The foremost mandate was to always keep your cool. Yeah, right, easier said than done. Jackson was unbelievably strong. His determination and lust for Dean's body made him a formidable opponent as his very existence demanded he maintain control. With eighty-five years of hatred and longing fueling his desires, Sam doubted the exorcism alone could vanquish him now. He knew as soon as he tried to utter the first words Jackson would stop him and Dean would be lost.
Sam was shaking, more scared than he could ever remember being, wishing his dad was here to fix things, to make everything alright again. His mind was whirling with a thousand thoughts as he fought to grab hold of an answer. His panic at possibly losing his brother causing every emotion to rise up and assault him; his terrors threatening to undo him. He had one purpose on his mind, only one thought… Dean. Saving Dean.
Dean was the rock he depended on, always handling anything that came his way, be it on the hunt or in life. Sam had always looked up to his big brother for guidance, for inspiration; admiring him and trying to be just like him. If ever there was a time, now was it. Focus… calm yourself down… you can do this… don't fail him now… Dean would never give up on you… think, Sam, think… you can do this… A clarity came over him, pulled from the depths of his being, as if Dean was speaking to him, calming him down and standing resolute beside him instead of being the face of the enemy glaring back at him from across the room. Quietly, Sam asked, all emotion contained as he assumed his role, "Jackson, so how long do you plan on keeping my brother's body?"
"Time? You ask about time?" Dean chuckled, as if Dean, himself, would be finding any of this humorous. He's probably screaming now, ready to kick my butt for not following the plan. "I've waited eighty-five years.., a lifetime." He curved up his lips into a satisfied grin. "This fine body? I think I'll be keeping it for a very long time, I have a lot to experience, a lifetime to live."
"And Dean doesn't get to live his life?"
Dean's face again contorted obscuring his features and making him seem unreal, a caricature of the old Dean. The real Dean was truly hidden now, trapped deep behind this mask that looked like Dean but wasn't; the fire that had always burned in his gut for the hunt extinguished, while the heart and soul that filled his eyes so often with delight as he teased and tormented, and then vigilantly protected his kid brother vanished before Sam's eyes. This new, generic Dean paused considering Sam's plea before shrugging, no pity within those expressive green eyes, no compassion left, only defiance. "I deserve this… " Dean took on a pensive look, his eyes reflective as if Jackson was inwardly searching, digging through Dean's mind and unearthing his hidden secrets. He calmly responded, "Your brother is filled with pain. It consumes him."
The comment startled Sam and his mind tried to deny the hurt he saw glimmering in Dean's eyes, a hurt he had thought came from Jackson, but now he wondered. His heart pounded in his chest as he softly asked, "What? What pain?"
"So much pain, buried deep, but there… It taints his soul. This is a mercy, releasing him from the struggle."
"Bullshit!" Sam screamed, his own defiance not willing to surrender his brother to this evil. "You're just trying to justify yourself. You get out of my brother, you sonofabitch!"
Jackson quietly, but firmly spoke, "No." His eyes again traveled over the expanse of Dean's body, but his smirk held none of the playfulness that Dean's real smile evoked, instead appearing sinister and depraved. "Your brother doesn't deserve this fine body."
Sam sucked down his terror and tried to think. Trying his best to emulate Dean's cavalier attitude he attempted a new approach. "So, now that you have such a fine body, what are your plans? I mean, it has been eighty-five years, what's tops on the to-do list?" He sweetly smiled, hoping Jackson would fall for the dumb-kid act.
Dean continued with that wicked, wrong smirk as his eyebrows arched. "What do you think, little man?" He released a sly laugh as he glanced at Shelly, his tongue gliding over his lips to wet them as the smirk deepened.
Sam wanted to wipe that smirk off Dean's face… off that bastard Jackson's poor imitation of Dean's face, but he felt himself instinctively offering one of his disapproving looks of disgust, finding the interplay all too familiar. Too bad you're a freakin' spirit stealing my brother's body because obviously you two have the same priorities. Maybe that's why this bastard picked Dean in the first place. Damn, eight-five years without any nookie… and Dean thought he'd had a dry spell? Sam sucked down his rage and terror and continued to play his role as he again reverted to the dumb-kid persona. He smiled and nodded, "Yeah, of course, looking for a little afternoon delight?"
"I bet your brother is more than adequately endowed. I'm sure you can understand, the spirit's been willing, but until now…," Dean's eyebrows quirked up in that comical manner that was so close to the real Dean, yet not; and he grinned, his dimples deepening as his eyes glanced downward in amusement, "I was missing the fundamental equipment."
"Yeah, that must have hurt… having an itch, and no way to scratch it," Sam snarkily responded, feeling Dean's chutzpah fortifying him. Before panic managed to totally overtake him, Sam tried one more desperate approach as he casually inquired, "You drink, Jackson?"
Dean's face registered surprise, but his eyes twinkled with a curiosity. "Drink?" He paused and considered the boy before him, the boy's simple smile hardly presenting any cause for worry, instead bringing out a mirthful response, "Why do you ask?"
Sam continued smiling, not much else on his body able to move. "Well, after eighty-five years I figured you could use a drink. Dean always carries a flask of whiskey in his inside coat pocket, the uh… right side. You know, just to take the edge off."
Dean grinned as he reached into the pocket retrieving the metal flask and quickly unscrewing the top. With a bold and defiant nod he raised up the flask in a mock toast. "To this fine body and a new life." He winked at Sam before he guzzled the liquid.
Steam rolled out of Dean's mouth as the actor within presented the perfect spit-take before crumbling to the ground writhing in agony, one arm wrapped tight around his middle while the other reached out and gripped at the carpet, desperate to hold on to something while his stomach retched. As he struggled to hold himself up from total collapse onto the floor of the lobby his powers diminished and Sam was freed from the wall.
As soon as the pressure released, Sam was running for Dad's journal, reciting the words from memory before his hands ever grasped the worn leather.
Dean gave one panicked look back at his brother, but in his present state Jackson was unable to regain control over the younger Winchester, instead concentrating all of his considerable powers to holding on to the strong body he was possessing. Dean was kneeling on the floor, bent over with his head cradled in his hands while his hips continued to lurch forward in painful spasms as tremors radiated through his spent body, the violent reaction to the liquid and the start of the exorcism enacting a heavy toll on him.
Even under the pressure of their dire situation Sam's brainpower kicked into overdrive as he concentrated and the Latin words flowed. He spoke calmly and clearly, reciting the exorcism from memory, barely looking at the journal, all of his attention fixed on Dean and the effects racking his brother's body. The guttural moans and gasps causing Sam to shiver as his blood ran cold in his veins; his own gut retching from the sight of his brother's thrashing form. Dean started to violently shudder and Sam knew Jackson was now feeling the full effects of the exorcism in addition to the holy water, and he prayed it was enough to make the spirit vacate Dean's body.
Dean twitched and moaned, waves of sharp, stabbing pain assailing him; Jackson's spirit desperately trying to hold on to his body, digging deep for a handhold on his last chance at life. His fists alternated between grasping at the carpet and pounding down in pain and frustration, clenching and unclenching in vain, unable to do more than thrash about on the floor of the lobby. His eyes looked up again, pleading, desperate, trembling with fear and loathing at what this mere boy had managed to do. A disbelief ever present as Jackson felt the life draining away from him, as he experienced his very essence pounding at the confines of this fine body ready to explode out into that empty, vacant nothingness of the spirit world.
Sam continued reciting the exorcism, picking up the pace before Jackson discovered the means to stop him. As he got to the last line Dean arched his back and yelled to the rafters, a piercing, primal scream ripped from the depths of his soul, and then he fell back to the ground on his hands and knees panting and wasted, barely able to keep from collapsing in a heap on the floor. Sam felt his heart quicken as he closed the journal praying Jackson was truly gone, hoping he'd set things right and gotten his brother back; looking for a sign that the Winchesters had again dodged that ever-persistent bullet that was constantly taking aim against them.
A bright light shimmered around Dean and then moved away, hovering just behind him as the disembodied spirit was again left orphaned in the world, still trapped in this realm, but without a host body, impotent and alone.
Shelly turned to Sam, tears pooling in her eyes, as Rosanna spoke, "He was a good man, I don't… " Her voice cracked as her heart ached for the man she had loved, a man who somehow lost himself in the distant tunnel of time, a man who under normal circumstances would never have attempted to steal another man's life. Her voice hitched as she softly whispered, "He lost his way. I'm sorry… this wasn't my Jackson. He never would have… " Her voice finally broke from her anguish. She paused to get her emotions back in check, glancing at the shimmer of light behind Dean; her eyes filled with a deep love, a love that had waited almost a century to be reclaimed, a love that was finally released from the lingering pain from years of longing. "Please… please forgive him."
Sam nodded, his sensitive eyes displaying a basic decency that revealed his compassion. Eighty-five years of disembodied haunting could bend any man, making even the strongest mind succumb to the temptations of evil. He cursed himself for being so naïve as to think reason would hold sway with a ghost. He didn't fault the spirit for trying to hold on to life, he blamed himself for risking his brother on a whim when he should have known better. Dad and Dean will most definitely be kicking my butt over this one… and I deserve it. It was stupid… really stupid. Dean could have… Sam forced his mind to focus on the now… beating himself up over this one wasn't going to help Dean now. There would be plenty of time for that later.
"Tell my granddaughter I love her." Rosanna took one final look around the theater and softly gasped, as if she was breathing in the very essence of life. She turned toward Sam and whispered, "Thank you." A light shown within Shelly, illuminating her angelic face and radiating out around her like a halo before leaving and moving across the floor of the lobby where Rosanna joined her spirit lover beside Dean.
Sam didn't understand it, but he distinctly heard her voice gently reassuring Jackson, stilling his fears, "Jackson, let's go home." The ethereal glow of the two figures seemed to flare out into a brilliant expanse of white light and then just as quickly extinguish as the lobby returned to normal.
The few people present around them simply scurried away unsure of what just happened, but not wanting to be anywhere near in any case.
Dean's eyes drew wider as he watched the white light expand and then implode into a fine line and disappear. He glanced about the lobby, his breathing labored and heavy, each breath taking every ounce of strength he could muster. He felt like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, ripped open and mauled by those damn flying monkeys, all the stuffing pulled out of him and thrown about in pieces on the forest floor. Now trying to put the pieces back together and hoping he got them back in the right spots, his insides all jumbled together and feeling haphazard, not quite whole, still fractured and broken.
Pulling from somewhere deep inside he staggered to his feet with the help of a firm grip from his brother, bracing one arm around his middle in an attempt to hold himself together as he teetered on shaky legs, the slack-limbed image of that damn scarecrow again filling his thoughts. This possession had lasted a considerable amount of time, much longer than any of the previous times and he was weakened from the experience, like the damn thing sucked all his life energy away. The holy water and exorcism also enacting a heavy toll as Jackson desperately clung to his last chance at life. The lingering effects from the struggle over control of his body left him wasted and weak, barely holding on. He knew some of what had happened, or at the very least had the knowledge to connect the dots, but in this moment his main focus was on breathing and not collapsing to the floor. Everything else could wait.
Shelly, on the other hand, was showing signs of true emotional distress. She was trembling and her eyes were wide-open, terrified as she searched about the theater like she knew something unnatural had occurred, but she couldn't process it, the emotions and events too far beyond any rational explanation. At least the presence in her body had been benevolent, not wanting to bring her any harm; unlike Dean's ghost who had latched on with a fierce grip, digging and gouging through his insides, tenaciously refusing to surrender his last chance at life. Her eyes focused on the brothers. "What happened? How'd I get here?"
Even with his own body still trembling, still struggling to regain any semblance of control, all of Dean's attention turned to his brother and the job. "Sammy, it gone? You alright?" His eyes were filled with love and deep regard for little brother, the panic and pain of this possession already being nudged into the back corners of his mind.
Sam shook his head in wonder. Dean looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champion, beaten down and battered after being repeatedly knocked to the mat, but being a Winchester he was typically too obstinate to simply stay down and admit defeat. And, of course, his first concern when he regained consciousness would never be for himself or his apparent injuries. Dean could fall off a ten-story building and on his way down he'd be checking on me. Once he splat on the concrete, his first words in the afterlife would be 'How's Sammy?' Christ, Dean!
Sam did the only thing he could do right now, he calmly answered his brother, "Yeah, Dean, they're both gone."
Dean looked surprised before slight memories filtered through his mind and then the truth hit him hard. It was like a heavy curtain was ripped off and the blinding sun was blazing through the window into his soul, revealing the reality of the last few moments and illuminating that truth. "Both?" he rasped out, his face contorting from remnants of pain that ran like electrical currents through his body in aftershocks, tiny jolts of memory lacing through his thoughts and insuring he didn't forget this experience anytime soon.
Sam looked at Shelly, knowing she wouldn't understand any of this, but he figured there was no skirting the issue. Dean would just have to explain it later as best he could. "Jackson and Rosanna."
"ROSANNA?" Dean was slightly bent over with his hands gripping his thighs as he tried to steady himself and catch his breath. His eyes were hooded and had lost their spark, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he barely stayed focused on his kid brother beside him, watching him like a hawk. God, Sammy, what's your deal? Chill out, dude!
Sam moved towards him, wanting to reach out and help steady him, but resisting the urge, knowing Dean would never want anyone to think he was weak or in need. Still, he positioned himself within arm's reach, standing firm beside his big brother, just in case. "Yeah, Dean, that's why the chair where Shelly was sitting had such a high reading. It wasn't Jackson being near her, it was her grandmother."
Dean slowly stood upright, scrubbing his hand across his face, his eyes constant on his brother as the knowledge sunk into his muddled brain. It all makes sense now. Damn, why didn't we see?
Part of Dean wanted to ask specifics, to know all the painful details, but right now he was simply too wasted to hear the answers. His main thought was relief that it was over. Finally over… He noticed the first signs of panic on his brother's face and he knew Sam was worried. About what he couldn't tell for sure, the kid always was a worrier. Right now he honestly didn't care. The hows and whys weren't as important as the end result. The job was over, the spirit was gone, and they could finally get on with their lives. End of story… for now.
TBC
Reviews… please? Yeah, I'd really like to know what you think. Thanks for reading anyway, B.J.