Chapter 7

This had to be it. Dean gazed at the drawing of the clearing he just had finished, positioning the church in the middle and outlining a Great Pentacle around and through it. The middle of the pentagram was situated exactly the same place as the church, cornering it on each side. Its apexes were touching the tree line of the clearing, which at the same time constituted the circle. Following his drawing like a map, Dean walked towards the bushes where the Devil's bit was growing, marking this as the first apex, and followed the circle until he discovered another spot where the violet flower had shot out of the ground like weeds. Unsurprisingly, each apex on the map was denoted by Devil's bit. So Sam had been right, the plant was being used as an amplification for a binding spell. Remembering what his brother had said about the flower, especially the part about its roots being used in Hoodoo magic, Dean knelt down beside one of the apexes, the one on the western side of the church, and began digging with a broad-bladed knife. He had to excavate quite a lot of soil before he finally found something interesting: about 4 feet below ground, his knife hit something with a bright sound, like metal scraping on metal. Removing the earth around it, Dean was able to retrieve a small, filigree chest made out of silver, covered by an oxidised layer, measuring 15 by 15 inches and protected by a delicately worked lock. Nothing the blade of a slim knife couldn't handle, but he needed to be careful, not knowing whether the contents of the chest were protected somehow. Using the EMF on the chest, he was able to determine that it hadn't been in direct contact with the spirit world, so he could rule some kind of trapped, angry spirit out that would attack him as soon as he opened the lid. Next, he consulted his father's journal on magic traps and curses. Unfortunately, there was now way of detecting magic John knew of, so Dean wasn't left with many choices.

A sudden feeling of panic rushed through him, soon replaced by fear, then he felt a burning hot pain inside his right hand, and it took him several seconds to understand that these emotions must have come from Sammy. He didn't know how or why and he was still afraid of letting too much of his brother, words or feelings, float into him as he didn't know at what point he wouldn't be able to control them anymore, but he decided that the best way to help Sam was to act fast. Though it almost hurt him physically to ignore his brother's pain, he brushed it aside, took a small knife from his bag and forced the lock on the chest open with its blade. Another stab of pain, this time in his left hand, but again he paid not further attention to it. The lid sprang open and revealed two relics Dean had expected to find inside of it: a root from the Devil's bit and a smaller version of the strange Great Pentacle carved into an iron amulet, inscribed with the words he had found on the headstone too. "Bingo", he whispered and placed the chest on the ground, a few inches behind the line of the unholy circle, thereby breaking the binding spell. The first part of Sam's riddle was solved, leaving the remains of the unvengeful reverend Charleston and the altar.

Hang in there, Sammy, Dean thought, only recalling Sam's emotions too well. I'll get you out of there!

XXXXX

Sam struggled violently against the bonds of Devil's bit that held him pinned against the large crucifix when he discovered what Charleston had fetched from the room behind the veil. A small hammer. And two small wooden stakes with iron spikes. "You're mad!", he cried out as the reverend slowly made his way through the church, his eyes fixed on Sam's. Once he had reached him, he stopped and raised one of the stakes up to Sam's right hand. "Do not fear, my son", he said calmly. "This will drive Lucifer's servant from your body."

Sam did fear. The wound on his cheek was still bleeding and hurting like hell after nothing but a thin scratch inflicted by the iron dagger; he couldn't even imagine how excruciatingly painful an iron spike piercing right through his ghostly body would be. "You're not ser-", he began but would never finish his sentence. Charleston lifted the hammer and brought it crashing down on the stake that cut right through Sam's palm and sent out wave after wave of burning hot suffering through his hand, his arm, his chest. A splitting scream filled the church, soon stifled by a tormented whimper. Through a veil of tears Sam could see the reverend raising the next stake to pin down his left hand as well, and, almost drowned out by his sobs, he could hear him say: "Begone, oh Lucifer!"

"You're – complety – insane!", Sam panted amid tears, unable to utter a whole sentence coherently, then a new explosion of pain was sent through his body and rendered any other words impossible. He could feel how his spirit body panically tried to withdraw from the iron inside his hands and the torment caused by it while at the same time being helplessly bound to the crucifix by the invert Key of Solomon. Even worse, this time the pain didn't just cease after a while like it had after his stunt with trying to breach Charleston's binding spell. It just kept hurting, sending surges of agony through him every time his spirit body tried to break free from the destructive force of the iron and hit the Devil's bit and the Key, and again every time it was pressed back against the crucifix and the iron spikes. If someone had asked Sam to describe what he was feeling or thinking during these minutes, maybe hours of torture, he wouldn't have been able to answer. The pain drowned everything else out, every thought, every other emotion, just everything. He didn't even know whether he was screaming, or swearing, or crying, or even begging Charleston to stop it, even if that meant that he would kill him. The only thing bursting through his torment was his brother's voice, nothing more than a comforting thought, a faint I'll get you out of there! that came and went, then the pain was back and Sam's mind went blank.

Suddenly, it stopped. First, Sam thought that maybe the reverend had succeeded, maybe he had actually killed another hunter, through nothing but sheer pain, and that he was dead for good this time. That thought was further consolidated when he opened his eyes, blinked the tears away and could see nothing but darkness around him. But then he heard Dean's voice coming from somewhere behind him, somewhere close, calling his name. Had he stumbled into Charleston's trap? The thought of having to watch Dean's spirit being nailed to the reverend's crucifix was almost too much to bear and he panted panically: "Don't! – Leave – him – alone!". Then he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, shaking him. His concerned voice once more. "Sammy! Sammy, are you alright?"

"Dean, it's a trap! He's using an invert Key of Solomon to –", he gasped and tried to get up by rolling himself onto his side, but Dean held him back, saying reassuringly: "Easy there, dude. It's over."

At first, his words didn't make any sense to Sam. The memories of what he had been through was still too recent, the pain still too close. How could he have left the spirit circle if he hadn't even been able to leave the cross, let alone the church? But then, slowly, his reasonable side took over and told him how simple the answer was. Someone else had breached the circle from the outside. Someone who knew what to look for and how to destroy it. Dean.

"Had me pretty worried for a moment", his brother went on and helped him sit up. When Sam looked up at him, Dean returned his gaze with a lopsided smile and put on his leather jacket. "Screaming like a banshee. What happened back there?"

Sam took a deep breath, still not really sure he dared believing that he had escaped Charleston's ghostly hell. "It's a long story", he finally said. "Let's save it for a rainy day." Then he changed the subject to a more pressing matter: "Did you burn his remains?"

Dean shook his head, pointing at a small bag of salt that lay beside them on the ground. "Was just on my way when you started screaming. You think that bastard is buried beneath the altar stone?" At the last three words, Sam could see Dean's breath condensating in front of his mouth like they hit a wall of ice, then the cold reached them both.

"Dammit!", Dean exclaimed, his body tensening visibly. He grabbed his shotgun, jumped up and took a defensive stand in front of Sam, who needed a few heartbeats more to scramble to his feet. After everything he had been through, he was still feeling lightheaded and dangerously weak, and it felt far too hard to move his physical body. "You okay?", he heard Dean say, but before he was able to answer, a flickering shadow appeared in front of his brother and attacked without a warning. He could see the ghostly shade of reverend Charleston, his face blinded by rage and distorted by the ugly wound Sam had inflicted, charging Dean with the small iron knife that he had used on Sam's spirit inside the church. Fortunately, his brother reacted much faster than Sam could have in his current condition; with a loud bang he fired his weapon, hitting Charleston directly in the chest. The ghost vanished into thin air, but the cold spot around them remained, betraying his whereabouts.

"You get his remains, I'll hold him off!", Dean yelled, firing another shot in the same instant the reverend appeared again. Sam nodded, reached for the bag of salt and stumbled towards the altar stone on legs that felt an awful lot like jelly. He wasn't able to see that much, as Dean's flashlight was lying somewhere on the ground back by the archway, but the thin streak of pale moonlight from above and his own recollection of the church's design enabled him to find his target in the dark. Behind him, he could hear another shot, then he had reached the slab of stone. As he had expected, someone had moved it closer to the wall, thereby concealing the trap door underneath it. Charleston must have had help, he pondered, someone who had moved the wooden table as well as the altar stone on top of the trap door before the church had burnt down, and with it everything made out of wood. Possibly some poor soul that had believed the reverend when he had prophesised him an eternity in hell if he didn't assist him. Or another religious fanatic – Sam didn't care. Once the remains were cremated, this nightmare would stop once and for all.

He knelt down in front of the slab, placing both hands on its side, and started pushing as hard as he could, but soon had to discover that the altar stone was too massive to be moved by him alone. Charleston must have had more than one loyal servant when he still had been breathing.

"Hurry up, Sammy!", he heard Dean call, followed by another bang and the sound of him reloading the shotgun.

"It's too heavy!", he shot back, yet he still tried to move the slab once more by stemming his feet against the foundational wall behind the altar stone and putting all of his body weight into the next shove. This time, he actually managed to move the stone block about half an inch before reaching a dead end. He let go of the stone and opened his mouth to call for Dean once more, when he felt a sudden surge in temperature right in front of him. Somehow he managed to dodge a direct blow to his head, but was still hit in the chest by something that felt like a sledgehammer and catapulted him backwards into the air. Crashing violently into one of the walls behind him, he panted for breath as the air was knocked out of him. Somewhere in front of him, he thought he heard Charleston's voice say You are mine, hunter!, but it might as well have been his mind playing tricks on him. Another invisible punch tossed him against the wall once more before he could even think about reaching into his pocket and retrieving his bag of salt, leaving him dizzy and far too vulnerable. Having one's soul pulled out from one's body sure seemed to take its toll.

"You better worry about me, you son of a bitch!", he heard Dean roar, followed by another shot from his weapon, then he felt a bright light on his face and his brother's hand on his shoulder, trying to heave him up. "No time for rest, Sammy", he spurred him on and fastened the flashlight to his leather belt. "Salt around the stone, now!" Sam staggered to his feet just in time to see Dean shoot another load of rock salt at the reverend, grabbed the bag of salt and hurried to spread the mineral around the altar stone in a large circle. Not a second too soon. Charleston attacked again, but was forced to retreat once he reached to invisible barrier protecting the two brothers. You cannot escape your fate, hunter, Sam perceived his voice even through the circle, but had neither the time nor any inclination to answer. Kneeling down in front of the slab beside Dean and using the foundation wall as a lever once more, they both pushed with all their might and managed to move the altar stone inch by inch until they finally had cleared the trap door. Sam, remembering exactly where the small hole had been, stuck his finger into the gap without hesitation and pulled the tile up with a loud groan. It moved easier than he had expected, but it still took him several painstakingly slow seconds to open the door completely. Seconds, their adversary didn't leave unexploited. A strong wind arose, tugging at the salt of their protective circle and threatening to tear it away. "Haven't got all day, Sammy", Dean edged him on, his voice expressing anxiety.

"Don't ...", Sam replied, moving the tile an inch more. "call ..." Another inch. "... me that!", he gasped and flung the tile over, revealing a gaping pit of darkness underneath. Another bang sounded, then Dean turned around to look at the entrance. "After you, princess", he said with a smirk and fired the third shot, leaving him with only one more before he needed to reload. Sam gave his brother his enervated We'll-talk-about-this-later-look and lowered his body into the hole, trying to find anything he could place his feet on. "Pretty deep", he muttered when he wasn't able to touch the ground. Dean understood immediately, laid the shotgun down and grasped Sam's hands, enabling him to reach deeper, until he, after approximately seven feet, felt stony ground beneath his shoes. He let go of Dean's wrists and turned around to help his brother down, who gathered the shotgun and the rest of the salt and followed Sam down into the blackness. From above, they could hear an infuriated roar, then salt was blown down to them. The circle had been breached. Dean swore under his breath, sent a shot up through the hole and hurried to reload the gun, while Sam reached for the flashlight, turned it on and illuminated the darkness around them.

"It's a crypt", he whispered, as the beam of light touched upon walls all around them, intermitted by three niches on the eastern, western and southern side of the small chamber they were standing in. It measured roughly ten by ten feet and seemed to have been carved directly out of solid rock. Inside the niches, there had been placed three undecorated stone sarcophagi.

"Great", Dean sighed irritated. "Because we've got so freakin' much time for choices!" As if on cue, the air around them grew colder, then Sam was carried off his feet by the same invisible force as before, colliding painfully with one of the stone coffins. The flashlight slid from his fingers and rolled a few inches away from him, still alighting a large part of the crypt. Certainly enough to see Charleston's shade built itself up menacingly in front of him. At least, he thought with a grim sense of humour, he's going after the weakest link of the chain. If he had had enough breath, he would have cursed his body for reacting so rigorously to what it had been through. I will take you to hell with me!, Charleston threatened him inside his head, but another load of salt from the shotgun foiled his plans once more. "Which one is it?", Dean inquired in a commanding voice, already working on removing the lid from the sarcophagus in the western niche. Sam got up and hurried to his brother's side, helping him throw the heavy stone cover to the ground where it burst into three pieces. "I've no idea", he panted, producing a bag of salt from his pocket and spreading a handful of the mineral on the corpse inside the coffin, already decomposed out of recognition. "Oh no, you don't!", he heard Dean yell beside him, then another shot was fired. "Got anything inflammable?", Sam asked while fetching a lighter from inside his jacket. "In my pocket!", Dean gave back, "Hold this!" He held the shotgun in front of Sam's face, waited a heartbeat for him to take it and pulled a small flask from his leather jacket, emptying some of its content on the corpse. Sam felt a cold breeze behind him and managed to turn around and shoot just in time to dissolve reverend Charleston once more, then he yelled: "Dean!" and threw the shotgun back at Dean who caught it in a dextrous motion. Igniting the lighter, Sam hurried back to the coffin and set what was left of the remains inside it on fire.

"Wrong dead guy!", Dean commented as Charleston's spirit appeared behind Sam only an instant later and let the knife shoot out at his brother's back. Sam understood Dean's warning and hurled himself to the side, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid getting hit. The iron blade was stabbed deep into his shoulder, causing him to gasp in pain, but disintegrated together with Charleston a second later when the next shot hit the reverend in the chest. "Thanks", Sam huffed, ignoring the blood pouring from the wound and focusing on the next sarcophagus. Together, they lifted the lid, and Sam was about to let out a relieved sigh seeing that the coffin was empty and they thus had ruled out two out of three, when the cold spot returned. While Sam still held the stone cover, trying to lower it without getting his fingers caught, Dean turned around, readying his shotgun, but apparently their opponent had decided to alter his tactic.

It all happened so fast that Sam hadn't the tiniest chance to evade Charleston's next assault.

The lid was pulled from his hands, then the same force got a hold of him and dragged him forward with such strength that he was hurled forcefully into the coffin, knocking the back of his head hard against the stone bottom. With a loud thud, the lid fell back down on the sarcophagus, trapping him inside the musky darkness.