Act III

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Sam gently did a cursory exam of his unconscious brother, first checking for any obvious neck or spine injuries. When he was satisfied that Dean wasn't critically injured, he went about checking the rest of his body. He ran his hands through Dean's scalp, finding a nice lump on the back of his head from where he had smacked it against the floor. He examined Dean's face and ran a soft finger over a shiner that would turn into a glorious black eye by morning. There was also some swelling on Dean's right cheek that would turn purple in a few hours, but nothing appeared to be broken or out of whack.

Sam moved to Dean's chest and belly, noting the slight wheeze in his breathing. He lifted up Dean's shirt and grimaced at the red welts all over his stomach and the purplish swelling on the right side at the base of Dean's ribcage. The swelling continued onto his back. Sam rolled his brother over gently, the motion eliciting a soft gasp of pain from Dean. The inflammation of the ribs was even worse on his brother's back. He probed the area tenderly and felt the way the bones gave way slightly under the pressure. Definitely cracked, possibly even broken. He also noted a nasty looking bruise forming over Dean's left kidney. Sam put Dean's shirt down and rolled him so he was resting on his left side, taking the pressure off his injuries. His eyes did a quick scan of the rest of his brother and found no other serious damage that needed immediate attention.

Sam sat back on his haunches and frowned, trying to figure out his next move. It was obvious the Uturu was targeting Dean and not him, at least for the moment. He had to get his brother someplace protected and not so out in the open. The library, which was already their unofficial base of operation, was the most logical choice. Plus, it was close. He glanced down grimly at his brother, trying to figure out the most painless way to get him there. He decided that quick and efficient ruled over trying to figure out a comfortable carrying positioning. He stood up and reached for his brother, grasping Dean under the arm pits as he scooped up his weight with a grunt and then hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Dean groaned loudly as his busted ribs met Sam's solid shoulder.

"Sorry, bro," mumbled Sam as he carried Dean back into the den.

Dean was already stirring by the time Sam got him inside. He deposited Dean lightly on a well worn leather couch. "Sam?"

"Easy man," said Sam, placing a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to ignore the whipped puppy look he saw in his eyes. "Just hold tight a sec."

Sam left Dean's side and quickly went for his duffle, pulling out a canister of salt. He shut the door to the den and then anxiously poured out a generous salt line in front of the door. He moved to the back of the room and added a few lines of salt at the two windows on either side of the bookcase for good measure. He replaced the salt in his bag and then pulled out the first aid kit. He pulled out a few compresses and cracked them, activating the ice. He brought them over to his fallen brother. "Here," whispered Sam. He lifted his brother's head up and put one pack underneath the bump. Then he lifted Dean's shirt and tried to position the other pack over the most damaged looking area over his ribs. Dean shivered slightly at the cold, but didn't protest, which surprised Sam. In fact, it seemed like his brother wasn't even there. His eyes held a vague expression that worried Sam. It was like he was in a trance or something. "Hey Dean," said Sam, snapping his fingers in front of his brother's face. "You with me, man?"

Dean's eyes cleared, but only slightly. He looked at Sam. "I saw dad." Dean's eyes radiated pain, so much so that it almost hurt to return his brother's gaze. "I mean…it wasn't dad, but…"

"I know," said Sam, nodding in understanding. He cleared his throat sharply. "I think I might've figured out what we're dealing with," he said quickly, trying to shift Dean's focus off of his encounter with the spirit.

It seemed to help as Dean's eyes cleared a little more. "Yeah?"

"It's an Uturu," said Sam

"An Uta what?" asked Dean.

"Uturu. Dark energy that can shift into basically anything you can imagine. It feeds on your thoughts and keeps forming and forming and getting more powerful until it finds the thing in your head that has the power to destroy you. And whatever kind of power that thing holds, whether it be physical or mental or whatever, the Uturu can use against you," said Sam.

"Making it as strong and invincible as your biggest enemy…or your worst nightmare," finished Dean.

"Exactly," said Sam.

"So this Uturu's gonna get stronger?"

"Unless we figure out a way to kill it, then yeah," said Sam.

"Well that's good," said Dean, groaning slightly as he shifted on the couch. "Why is it only coming after me?"

"I have no idea," said Sam. "Maybe it can only kill one victim at a time…maybe it's using you to get to both of us…I don't know. And I can't figure out how it's getting in your head. Something else more powerful usually taps into your thoughts and then feeds them to the spirit. The Uturu is normally just the hired muscle. It gets its power and regenerating ability from whatever other creature it's hooked itself up with."

"A supernatural hanger-on. Nice," said Dean, suddenly looking away from Sam. "So maybe there's something else in this place calling the shots," he continued, half-heartedly. His eyes were getting that angsted over glaze again.

"Dean…hey…you know that wasn't really dad, right," said Sam.

"Yeah man, of course," said Dean, his voice overly confident, but his eyes betraying him.

"Whatever he said…whatever he did, it wasn't real. It was just in your head," said Sam.

Dean glanced back at Sam, giving him a haphazard smile, his eyes suspiciously sparkling. "I know."

Both brothers were silent for a moment. Sam's eyes drifted away from Dean and landed on the scrapbook still on the table, the article on Max Gibbons catching his eye. A light bulb beamed bright in his head. "Dean, what if the Uturu's power source isn't inside the hotel? What if it's outside?"

"What do you mean?" said Dean, his eyes focusing once again.

Sam didn't respond. Instead, he went over to his computer and did another search. He found what he was looking for and after a quick scan, he nodded his head confidently. "According to this, sometimes demons use Uturu's. They're like pets."

Dean took a glance at the scrapbook, realization spreading across his face. "Crazy cat lady. So, what, Max is possessed by a demon that's controlling this thing?"

"Exactly," said Sam. "The demon controls them and feeds them with the victim's thoughts. The Uturu is able to keep reforming because its source of power can't be killed. Not from in here anyway. Which is why everyone who's come in here has died. They're locked in with a spirit that can't be killed. And eventually, the Uturu becomes the thing in their mind that they're powerless to stop. And it kills them."

"So, you think if we can kill the demon, we can kill the Uturu?" asked Dean.

"Can't survive without something feeding it energy, right?" said Sam. "We cut the Uturu's power source, it can't reform. Iron or rock salt should disintegrate it for good."

Dean gingerly inched himself up into a sitting position. "Alright, so what do we got that can kill this mother? I think my knife and my shotgun are both upstairs."

Sam nodded and sorted through his bag of weapons. He pulled out the container of salt, another knife he knew was made of iron, and an iron poker picked up on some random hunt. "Here's a start," he said as he tossed the knife and poker on the floor towards Dean. "I'm gonna grab your knife and shotgun and see if I can find us a way out of this place so we can get to the demon."

"I think the bitch pretty much has us on lockdown," said Dean.

"We'll just have to go to plan b then," said Sam.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

Sam paused and thought for a moment. "I have no idea."

Dean nodded. "That's good."

"I'll be right back. I'm salting you in as soon as I get on the other side of the door," said Sam. "The Uturu shouldn't be able to get to you."

"Here's hoping," said Dean, taking a quick hit off his flask.

Sam opened the door to the den, breaking the salt line he had laid earlier. The second it broke, a harsh wind hit the room and Sam was violently pulled out of the den and flung out into the foyer. The door then slammed shut, cutting him off from his brother. Sam immediately clamored to his feet and ran to the door, jiggling the doorknob helplessly. "Dean!" He slammed his shoulder brutally against the door, but it was no use, the door was practically super glued shut. He tried fruitlessly to kick the door down with his foot as he listened helplessly to the shouts and slams coming from the other side of the door, imagining with vivid horror what the Uturu was doing to his brother now.

****

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he watched Sam get tossed out of the room and a force akin to a tornado entered in his place. He grabbed for the knife on the floor and stood up, waiting for the Uturu to materialize. When it finally did, he hesitated for the briefest of moments, realizing he was standing before an exact copy of himself, same clothes and everything. Before the Uturu, could get a word in edgewise, Dean pounced at his doppelganger with the knife, adrenaline kicking through him, allowing him to get past his injuries and give him an extra dose of strength.

But his double was ready for him. Dean number two twisted his wrist in the air. Dean cried out as his own wrist snapped and the knife fell out of his hand. His twin then waved his hand towards the bookcase and Dean went flying through the air. He crashed into the bookcase and fell into a crumpled heap on the floor, his head ringing, his ribs and wrist throbbing with pain. He looked up dizzily as his twin swiftly appeared at his feet. "Lemme guess, you're super Dean?" asked Dean, coughing.

"Not quite," said his twin.

"Okay, then you're dick me from the future. Come to rip me a new one for not being strong enough and making all the wrong choices," said Dean.

"I'm Michael, Dean," said the Uturu.

Dean nodded and then stopped when he began to see triplets. "So you are super size me then," he panted. His eyes drifted shut for a moment as he tried to get his focus and steady himself against the pain. When he opened them again, his double had stepped even closer. Dean checked his vessel self out. His stance was confident and filled with strength. He looked bigger and taller, and frankly, more handsome. Hell, he looked like a damn superhero. He looked in his eyes and saw none of the self hatred, the doubt, the sadness. What he saw was much worse. It was a pure unadulterated appetite for destruction.

"What are you so afraid of, Dean?" said Michael. "I come with so much power."

"Too much," murmured Dean.

"Do you really think you're gonna stop any of this on your own?" said Michael. "You're not strong enough. You're weak. You've proved that time and time again. I think the real reason you won't say yes to me isn't because you're afraid I'm going to destroy half the world. I think it's because you don't have the balls. Or maybe you're worried about what being my vessel is going to do to your body? Is it going to hurt you? Is it going to break you? Turn you into a shell, your mind into mush? Tough. Get over it. It's called sacrifice for the greater good."

Dean gave Michael the finger with his good hand. "Sit and spin, you roided out douche bag."

Michael chuckled and continued, "That's it, isn't it. You're too much of a wimp and a coward to get your pretty little hands dirty. You'd rather sit around and cry and angst about like a woman and get all sensitive about what my damn body count's gonna be. That's alright, Dean. Sit and pine some more. Give my runt of a brother the chance to kill off another town or two while you cry yourself into your maxi pad," said Michael, smiling like the Cheshire cat. It was chilling. It was inhuman.

"Screw off," said Dean, not able to meet his own eyes.

"Maybe you're feeling a little guilty, Dean? Maybe your gut is telling you the right thing to do is to say yes to me. Maybe you're thinking you should've done it all along. If you had, maybe all those people in Carthage would still be alive. Maybe Jo and Ellen would be still alive. Maybe Sam would finally be safe," said Michael.

Dean moved his eyes up to meet his own. "No," he said softly.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you? Your little girl voice was getting in the way," said Michael.

Dean glared at himself. "I said no," he responded, putting as much menace behind his voice as he could muster. "Did I stutter?"

Michael responded by grabbed Dean's neck with one hand and pulling him off the ground, smashing him against the bookcase. Dean's air was cut off and his throat felt like it was collapsing in on itself as the muscles inside began to pulse with pain. He struggled wildly, his legs kicking out at Michael, his hands clutching and clawing at his double's arms. But the Uturu's grip was iron tight. Out of desperation, he reached for some books in the bookcase and threw them one by one at Michael, but they had no affect against the spirit. His eyes scanned the surrounding area in a panicked haze as he slowly started to black out from lack of oxygen. He spied a heavy looking metal paperweight on one of the bookshelves and reached out for it, praying it had iron in it. He threw the object at the Uturu and it bounced off harmlessly. The pain in his throat started to ease some, which wasn't good. He was starting to go. He could feel it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the window and the salt line sprinkled at the sill. With one last heave of desperation, Dean stretched his arm as far as it would go and was able to grasp a pile of the salt in the palm of his hand. He angled it towards the Uturu and threw it at the spirit. Michael disintegrated into an explosion of dust.

Dean dropped to the floor like a sack. His vision was completely blacked out and he couldn't breathe. It was like all the air had been knocked out of him and his throat had been squeezed shut, not letting him take in any air. He vaguely became aware that Sam was now at his side, but it was all a blur. He felt hands rolling him into the fetal position, followed by a very sharp slap to his cheek.

"Dean, Dean, breathe. You're panicking. I need you to relax and take a breath," he heard Sam say in a commanding tone.

He did as he was told and it felt like he was trying to suck water out of a straw that had been pinched off. Nothing was getting in.

"Again, again, keep trying," coached Sam.

Again. This time something hit his throat. Oxygen. He gagged, dragging in more air.

"That's it bro, breathe."

He took in another breath and coughed. And then another breath and another and another. Pain returned to his body, which in this case, was probably a good thing. Another breath. And another. He could breathe. He coughed. He breathed. He breathed again.

Before he knew it, he was panting rapidly as his airway cleared more and more and oxygen flowed into his body once again. His vision cleared up as did rest of his senses, leaving him to realize that he was curled up in his brother's arms. Sam was rubbing and patting his back like he was a baby. He would've protested, but he didn't have the energy. And damn, it felt so good just to breathe.

"You got it, man, you're good," said Sam.

A few more moments passed and Dean uncurled himself from Sam's clutches, rolling himself onto his back. He wrapped his arms protectively around his midsection, fighting nausea, pain and out and out fear. Not to mention exhaustion.

Sam stood up and dashed madly about the room, collecting a few random things and dumping them on the table next to his computer. Then he rifled through his duffle and after a second, pulled out a book of spells.

"Sammy?" croaked Dean, coughing. "What're you doing?"

"There's no way out of here, man. I checked the whole house while you were in here," said Sam in a rush as he paged through the spell book.

"Plan b?" rasped Dean.

"Plan b," said Sam, looking up from the book. "We can't get to the demon. So we bring the demon to us."

TBC