Weaver, chapter 10
"It's starting to look like our best bet is some kind of succubus." Sam looked horrified. And a lot more horrible than Dean had thought. Damn, the dark circles under the eyes had resurfaced fast. No, they hadn't actually gone away. "Maybe not in the traditional sense, though. We could be dealing with something that's adapted different behaviors, something that feeds off dreams instead of…"
"Sex," Sam finished hoarsely. He looked a little like he was going to puke, and his already pale face became more ashen. Sam nodded once, but it didn't seem like affirmation. "That doesn't make me feel much better."
"It shouldn't," Dean said. He shifted in his seat. He didn't exactly like the conclusion, either. Sex was real, a physical act committed by physical beings. Dreams weren't. Fighting an incorporeal entity with a shotgun and holy water wasn't really feasible. "We'd know how to get rid of a regular succubus. With this, I don't even know where to start."
Sam leaned back and tilted his face toward the ceiling. Dean looked around the small diner. It wasn't the best place for this kind of conversation, but they'd both agreed bars and beers weren't a good combination in light of the no sleep rule. It bothered him a whole hell of a lot that they'd had over twenty-four hours to research and they hadn't made much progress. It had been thirty-six hours since either of them had slept. All things considered, they were holding up all right, but he knew neither of them could sustain staying awake for more than three days and not have their skills compromised.
"I don't either, man, but we have to figure this out soon." Sam looked back down at him, pushing his plate toward the middle of the booth. Sam might as well have admitted he was struggling, Dean thought uneasily. "But right now I have to pee. All this damn coffee."
Sam slid out of the booth. Dean started to do the same, stopping when Sam cleared his throat. He glanced up.
"What're you doing?" Sam said.
"I'm coming with you."
"I appreciate the caution, but I think you can trust me to pee all by myself, Dean."
He shrugged his shoulders and slid back to his original position. Maybe he was carrying it a bit too far, but he didn't like leaving Sam for more than a few minutes at a time. Dean checked his watch, then watched Sam's progress toward the men's room. So he was an overprotective son of a bitch. He could not take reviving Sam again. Well, he could and he would…but the thought made him feel cold and scared inside. He did not like those feelings. At all. The waitress blocked his view for a minute as she paused by their booth and topped off his and Sam's coffee cups. He lifted the cup and drank automatically, eyes still trained on the men's room door.
He spared a moment's glance at his watch. He was about to invade his brother's independence, not to mention his privacy, when the door finally opened and Sam emerged. Dean tried really hard not to let it show, but he was seriously creeped out by the thought of some demon mindfucking Sam at every opportunity. It was hard to keep his mask in place when Sam's differentness made him such an easy target. His brother's skills had probably opened him wide up for the attack, and once the demon had latched on it didn't look like it was going anywhere anytime soon.
"Hey, you ready to go?" Sam said.
Dean nodded. Back to the road. Winnemucca was a couple hours behind them. They had buried the Black Dog carcasses and, with the threat to the town gone, there wasn't reason to stick around. In his mind, there was reason to leave – they'd have better resources for research about their latest problem and medical care in an actual city instead of a dusty speck on the map. He'd semi-consciously started driving back east without even asking Sam. West might have taken them too close to Palo Alto, and Sam didn't need bad memories on top of bad dreams. Since Sam hadn't objected, Dean figured Salt Lake City would do as a destination point.
"You feeling all right?"
"Tired and wired." Sam gave him a small smile. "You?"
"Could be worse," Dean said.
And it probably would be soon. He tossed Sam the car keys. Driving might give at least one of them loud music, open windows and the road to concentrate on, and right now Sam looked like he needed it more. Dean probably looked like ass himself, but he knew he'd be able to outlast Sam. It had only been a week since his brother had started looking exhausted more often than not (and now Dean wondered if Sam had ever not, or if he'd just wanted to believe things were okay), but a week of bad sleep didn't take long to make an impact.
"Your turn to drive. My turn to pee."
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean headed for the men's room, a little more assured that Sam wouldn't go all unconscious on him now that he'd been reminded he was hovering too much. And Sam had proven he could last two minutes out of Dean's sight. Shit, he really was a mother hen. He peed fast. Sam was leaning on the car, face turned to the sun with eyes closed, when Dean pushed through the diner door. His gut gave him that old feeling again. He made it over to Sam in under three seconds, grabbing his brother's arm tightly.
"Holy shit!" Sam said, jerking upright and away from Dean. "What?"
Damnit. Dean couldn't come up with any way that would effectively mask his actions or his concern. Sam gawked at him for an awkward moment.
"What, what?" Dean said.
Really, he shouldn't have to explain. It took only a second for Sam to don an understanding expression. It occurred to him, way too late, that a small hospital in a small town was better than no hospital in the middle of nowhere and they were taking a pretty big risk. If Sam had been sleeping and if Sam had stopped breathing…but Sam hadn't and Dean didn't want to go down that road. A far more productive use of his time was to concentrate on the actual road.
"Sorry," Sam said.
"Let's just go."
They rode in silence for a while. Dean fidgeted around a bit, alert from the caffeine bolting through his bloodstream and by the latent presence of fear he'd probably maintain until they figured this thing out. No matter how he wracked his brain, he couldn't discern a viable way to fight this kind of demon, presupposing they were dealing with a succubus with bonus dream powers. At least not a viable way he really wanted to try.
"Y'know, Dean, I was thinking," Sam said hesitantly. Oh, great. "It might be possible to starve the demon. It feeds on dreams, probably, right? If I don't give it dreams for long enough, it could weaken and die off."
Dean nodded and glanced over, eyes locking on Sam's hands on the steering wheel. They no longer shook, but gripped the wheel tightly enough to whiten the knuckles. He took that as a sign of Sam's struggle to concentrate. He clenched his jaw. If he was right, Sam shouldn't be driving and yet the alternative wasn't really an alternative, either. Sam had a point, though, and Dean had considered it before.
"We have no idea how long that would take. Lack of sleep might kill you before you can kill the demon. Besides, if it goes without for long enough it might just seek out another host with interesting dreams to munch on," Dean said, and as he did so he realized the futility of their current strategy.
There had been several reports, nationwide, of people who had normally healthy spouses or friends or whatever who'd suddenly started exhibiting the same signs Sam had presented: unexplained fatigue with rapid onset, severe sleep apnea. Despite seeking medical treatment, all those people had died, most of them during an episode of "apnea." This thing was mobile and strong enough to suck the life out of people even when they were in the hospital, even when they were hooked up to machines designed to jumpstart breathing action when it ceased. And the fact that the potential victims had been scattered all across the country was pretty damned disturbing in its own right. This thing could go anywhere and get anyone.
"If that's true, then that means I'm going to have to sleep soon. We can't let it attack someone else."
Ah, the same conundrum they'd faced with the Black Dogs. Dean hated it, but Sam was right. He thought he'd drawn the same conclusion a while ago and hadn't wanted to face it. He clenched his jaw. The thought of willingly allowing Sam to venture into a dreamscape that had already nearly killed him terrified Dean to no end.
"No, we can't," Dean said. "And yes, you are."
This was a fight for Sam alone, unless there was a way for Dean to join his brother's dreams. He didn't do this mystical shit. Give him a flesh and bone demon any day of the week, and the guns, machetes or fire to kill it. Physical things. He couldn't reiterate that enough. He tossed around the idea of calling their father again.
"Oh." Sam didn't sound nearly as freaked out as he should have, instead was almost stupefied. Dean looked at his brother, whose jaw was set in that way meant to portray determination, but was something else entirely. Maybe Sam was scared. "Maybe we should stop at the next town."
"Why is that?"
"So I can sleep, make sure this thing doesn't get the chance to go for anyone else," Sam said, shifting a quick glance over to him. His brother appeared more and more ragged around the edges, and might just want rest. "Keep it with me."
Dean's gut screamed no, his head knew Sam's idea had merit. If they were even close to right about this, then they'd made a mistake leaving Winnemucca. Salt Lake City was still a hell of a drive away, and he doubted the next town they encountered would be any bigger than Winnemucca. It would probably be smaller. Most of the counties they were driving through only had one town equipped with medical facilities.
"I…"
"You'll be right there." Sam cut him off, speaking quickly. "Now at least we know it happens fast, in real time anyway. It might not be bad if you catch it right away. You should probably get some rest now. This could get ugly."
Déjà vu. Sam was getting damned bossy. Dean frowned at his brother's profile, as if doing that could possibly help him understand what was going on in Sam's mysterious brain.
"Okay, bossy," Dean said. "What I was going to say is that we should see if the next town has a hospital or clinic first. We're not getting stuck in a town without one, even if we can handle most medical issues ourselves."
He shouldn't have to say it. Unnecessary risk was not his bag, though Dean was starting to think that it might be Sam's just like it sometimes was their father's. While he'd normally be happy to find traits linking Sam and their dad, that one was not on the top of the list. They wouldn't think twice about getting themselves killed if it meant taking out the demon that had killed Mom and Jess, and Dean knew that. But that wasn't the only thing they were careless about. He supposed he wasn't that much different, only his motivations were about more human things.
"Oh," Sam said again.
"How are your ribs, by the way?" A not-so-subtle change in topic seemed a good idea. "Need more painkillers yet?"
"No, I'm okay."
Dean doubted that, but it wasn't really the time or place to disagree. It was a moot point anyway. Fine or not fine now, chances were things would get worse. He stared out the window. The sun started to peek up over the horizon already. Daylight should make it a little bit easier to stay alert. He closed his eyes briefly to alleviate the dryness. His head spun, symptomatic of his own fatigue.
"I really do think you should sleep," Sam said. "You look like crap."
"Thanks." Dean opened his eyes, eyelids clicking slightly. "Seen yourself lately?"
"Fine, be a stubborn bastard."
"All right then."
Sam couldn't really expect him to just doze off and leave him unprotected. Dean was tired enough that he couldn't rely on an internal clock to wake him up after twenty minutes. It wasn't a chance he could take. Sam pushed the car faster and turned up the music. It was Zeppelin. Stairway to Heaven. Dean jerked upright and hit the fast forward button.