If there was one thing Caleb knew to be grateful for in the midst of being forced to endure a harsh jail sentence, it was that his attorney managed to work yet another miracle for him and get his preliminary hearing moved up. Before she arrived at the jail with her surprising news, the hunter had basically subjected himself to the depressing realization that he would be forced to languish in a haunted jail until his day in court came. It was not the three weeks he had been preparing himself for, but the next morning after a separate case was plea bargained.
Having the chance to have his day in court the next morning was as exhilarating as it was terrifying for him-he had no clue how a judge would look at the evidence that was presented in the case. It scared him when he thought about what might happen if this different judge looked at the same evidence that the other one had, and made him stay in the jail until the trial. Caleb had no idea what he would do if the judge, after all the witnesses and experts were done testifying, bound him over for trial. It was a conclusion he was bracing himself for as hard as it was, and it was definitely hard to think about sitting in a single cell for twenty hours of the day.
Tossing and turning on his bed the night before the crucial hearing dawned, he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Not with the jail itself, but with someone else. Ever since the guard was murdered by the spirit and the jail officials transported him and the others to a newer section of the detention center, the attacks had slowed down. The feeling he was grappling with, had to do with something else. The problem was figuring out what exactly, and how he would fix it.
Part of him chalked it up to irrepressible nerves overfacing a judge far sooner than he expected. According to Dawn, the hearing would last only a few hours before the final verdict was rendered. After that, he would have no choice but to go along with whatever happened. That was not a feeling he welcomed when he realized how good his chances were of being bound for trial with the evidence the prosecution had. No matter if there was someone who could verify his alibi, the plentiful DNA evidence was overwhelming.
Sleep was impossible for him that night. It was most nights he was away from his family, but the hearing the next morning, proved to be the one thing that kept him from being able to fully embrace unconsciousness for a little while. Rolling over on his side to look at the clock that hung above the outside of his cell, he saw it was nearing the magic hour when he would be woken up to get ready for court.
Inmates who had court hearings or trials, were woken up earlier than most to get ready. Some of the people who were scheduled to be in court right at the start of the morning, did not even have the chance to eat. Hoping that would not be the case with him when his stomach was already performing a series of acrobatic dance moves in his stomach, he slowly sat up when the guards announced their arrival by unlocking his cell door.
Unlike his arraignment when he was made to walk into court in his jumpsuit, the guards handed him a suit for this occasion. Having it on gave him confidence that had been sorely lacking before. This gave him the impression that he was suiting up for something important, that someone would take him seriously in court and would listen to his defense. More than that, it got him out of the oppressive uniform he had made do with.
To his surprise (and relief), the jail allowed him to eat breakfast in the pod before they took him. Usually he could barely stomach the foul-tasting food, but he shoveled it down that morning. It would likely be the only full meal he would get to have for the majority of the day. Standing up when he was through, he knew it was time to go. Standing in front of the guards while they chained him, he was strangely relieved to go through that process because he knew it was leading up to his precious chance in front of a judge.
A preliminary hearing was the last stop before trial. Sometimes a defendant was very lucky and got his or her case tossed out before the more serious trial happened. On the other hand, Caleb could recall many different instances where he heard something on the news that was the exact opposite of that.
As he walked through the jail and into the underground parking garage to climb into the police van, he hoped he would be one of the lucky few who was freed from the confines of a cell. There was nothing he wanted more than to find justice for Lexa's family, but that justice should not end with his life on the line. Looking out the slats in the door as they traveled, he saw snippets of a town he used to love. This was the same town that gave him his life back after his wife died, and now it was the same town that was doing all it could to end it.
Swallowing profusely against the lump in his throat that urged him to cry, he thought about the conclusion of the hearing making it possible for him to see his boys again. It had been just over a week since he was arrested, and already the bitter sting of separation was hard for him to ignore. There was so much that he could have (or should have) been part of that he was not.
The ride to the courthouse was not a long one, and for that he was grateful. The short ride gave him little time to prepare before the hearing, and that was a good thing. The darkness from moving into the more secure parking garage, met his eyes before his door was opened and the guards got him out. Walking with them across the wet parking lot toward the back entrance to the courthouse, he wondered what this hearing would do.
Would it end up good for him? Or would it hold him over for more of the same? As the guards led him into an elevator and they traveled up to the third floor, he knew to expect the worst. Thinking the worst was what would save him from bitter disappointment later. Stepping out, the guards led him down the hall toward a part of the courthouse that was reserved for inmates who were waiting on their hearings.
Stepping into the cell, he tried to relax until his case was called.
Resting on the hard bench located near the back of the holding cell, he gingerly rolled up the sleeve on his shirt and examined the fresh marks on his upper arm. The attack happened right before the wake-up call. Somehow, he had been able to conceal the marks from the guards. If he didn't? He knew what his punishment would be, and he dreaded it.
The spirit was still at large in the jail, and that did nothing to ease the frustration and nerves that pummeled his system. From what he was able to pick up from Dawn when she last came to see him to talk to him about the hearing that morning, she was digging through the town archives to figure out exactly how this woman died. Having his attorney on his side in more ways than one, was a weight off his chest.
Paying attention to the sounds outside, he felt his heart pounding like a bongo drum when the same guards came back to his cell. Putting aside the sandwich he had been picking at, he felt sick to his stomach when they took him by the arm and led him down the hall toward where the courtroom was. He wanted this with all of his heart, but somehow it was terrifying to him. Swallowing hard, he had a brief second to prepare himself for what was to come, before the door was thrown open.
There was plenty of people in the courtroom that morning. Looking toward the galley where Lexa's family was, he could read nothing on their faces but determination to have justice for their child. A part of him wondered what exactly they thought of him, and if they believed the evidence the prosecution had. Spotting Dawn in her typical place at the defense table, he was only too happy to be seated there. Giving her a smile through his nausea, he focused on the meticulous notes she had.
Most of it was legal jargon he could not understand, but it was the words he could understand that gave him a jolt. From what her notes communicated, she was ready to call the man who provided him with a sound alibi. Beyond that, she also planned on calling the head of a security camera company that might give the court a new angle to consider. Whatever she had up her sleeve, he had full confidence in her astounding prowess as a lawyer.
"Hey," Dawn whispered. "Are you okay?"
"Define 'okay'," Caleb whispered back.
Dawn did not respond while she listened to something one of the bailiffs said. Turning back to her, it was not difficult to spot the concern in her eyes. Over the last week or more, her concern was what managed to get him through the day. There was no sympathy from the guards, and certainly not from anyone else in the jail.
"You look pale as a ghost."
Caleb smiled a little at her ironic comment. "I'm just feeling all this this morning."
When Dawn visited him in jail the night before to give him the lowdown on what was going to happen, he only partially processed it. Now that he was sitting in a packed courtroom waiting for a judge who may or may not exceed his wildest dreams, he felt like throwing up. There was nothing he wanted more than to walk out of the room a free man.
Understanding lit up his lawyer's face, and when she offered him comfort by rubbing his arm, he felt a warmth permeate his system that he had not felt in a long time. It was the small things she did for him that mattered nearly as much as the big ones. Her touches and soft reassurances that everything was going to be okay, was a big help to him. Even if his mind was not totally in agreement with what she said.
Taking the crackers she discreetly passed to him, he could see the warning in her eyes to eat them. Not being foolish enough to risk her wrath, he quietly munched on them while everyone else started to arrive in the room. The prosecutor was one of the last people to arrive. He tried not to stare in his direction, knowing how upset it would make him to associate this person with his continued incarceration.
Standing up when the judge entered, he tried to look upon this man with a fresh pair of eyes that were not tainted by the earlier one. Sitting back down, he put all of his trust in his attorney. It was his only option, and the safest one when he considered what the alternative looked like. It did not take long for the judge to wrap up his introductory message to the court and the reason for the hearing. Settling back in his seat, he waited for the first witness to be called.
In a preliminary hearing, there was no need for courtroom politics that dictated which side went first. For that, he was grateful. The state went first and called their own forensic expert who was able to testify to the validity of the findings in the house. Not to his shock, the forensics that was collected at the scene, matched his to a "T."
Trying not to panic while he watched Dawn approach the podium to begin her cross-exam of the witness, he could see her shift the story away from his perceived guilt and to a more plausible explanation. It was truly fascinating to watch Dawn use tactics and words that changed the entire perspective on what was being said. By the end of it, he felt slightly better about his chances for having the case tossed out.
The forensics expert was only on the stand for an hour or less. It was a long time, but not nearly what he had been expecting. Covering a yawn with his hand, he could see Dawn glance his way when she saw it. Shaking his head to let her know it was okay, he leaned forward in his place when the court called the man who he talked to just before the murder happened. This man would most certainly be one of the deciding factors in how this case proceeded.
Dawn was the first one to approach him. Releasing the breath that had been imprisoned inside of him, he watched her confident gait and tried to mimic it for himself with how he was feeling. The witness was composed, much like he himself wished he could be.
"Please state your name for the record," Dawn said, grasping the edges of the podium.
The witness leaned forward, holding the microphone closer to his face. "Connor Welks. C-O-N-N-O-R W-E-L-K-S."
"What is your occupation?"
Connor cleared his throat; it did not take much to tell he was nervous about testifying. From what Caleb could remember of their brief encounter before the murder, he liked this man. He was the only one in the town who seemed to have a clue that something was not "right." The hunter used that sense Connor had to further use him for information about the murders.
"I am a detective employed with a private bureau."
"Are you often called upon to investigate disappearances and murders?"
"Yes, I am."
"And by whom?"
Connor lifted his hand in the air for emphasis. Reaching for his water that a bailiff set by his side before the start of the hearing, Caleb took a reassuring sup from it. His heart was pounding, but he felt better after eating Dawn's crackers. Keeping his eyes centered on her, he felt dread encircle his soul when he noticed the nearly undetectable drop in temperature.
The spirit was there, and it was anyone's guess whether or not she would choose to make a scene. Hoping that this would not be the case when he already had enough problems without anything being added to it, he settled back in his seat and tried to put on the face that nothing was wrong. Maybe if he thought that long enough, the spirit would decide to bother him later.
"Usually I am called by both state and local police. Sometimes I am referred to a certain family or private organization when there is a need for it. Mostly, it depends on the circumstance."
Dawn nodded, pausing in her speech to take a sip from her water bottle. "Do you remember being called by the family of Alexia Branch?"
It was through Lexa's family that Caleb met this man at all. In a strange twist of fate that was humorous to him, he could remember striking up a bizarre friendship with this man when they both mutually agreed that whatever was happening in the town, it was not natural. After ascertaining that Connor was not a hunter in disguise, he slowly began to rely on him for information for his hunt.
"I do, yes."
"What was the nature of their call to you? What was their purpose in establishing contact?"
"They wanted information on how they might possibly find evidence that would exonerate their son, who was accused of killing his aunt and uncle, from my understanding. The evidence was overwhelming, and they needed to have another outside source help them."
Not long before he was accused of Lexa's brutal slaying, Caleb visited her brother in jail and also the crime scene. From speaking with the young man and understanding once and for all that he was not dealing with anything but a shifter, it became clear what he had to do.
"And did you help them?" Dawn prompted.
"I did, yes."
"How so?"
"I was able to get information from their security cameras, and also from the crime scene itself."
Shifting his focus to the other parts of the courtroom that he could not as easily see, he felt his heart drop into his stomach when he noticed the spirit standing near the exit. Her flaming hair was billowing behind her, and she had a weapon in her hand. Staring with open-mouthed horror at her lopsided smile, he could not breathe as he watched her make the brazen move of scratching her razor across the wall near the light switch.
At least this time, he would not blamed for something he did not do. When the judge heard the odd scratching noise from the back of the room, he lifted his head toward it but did not make a comment. There was nothing to say when there was no one there that was visible to the court. Taking back control of his breathing, he knew Dawn was shaken by the spirit's outburst, but was able to continue her direct exam of the witness.
"Did you ever have an interaction with Caleb Rivers?"
"I did."
"Is he in this courtroom?"
Connor nodded. "He is."
"Can you point him out?"
Without hesitation, Connor pointed to him. There was a noticeable hush in the courtroom when he did, and Caleb could understand why. When Connor briefly met his gaze, Caleb was bolstered when he gave him a small smile. At least someone had his back through this.
"What did he say his purpose was in being in Medina? Did you ever discuss that?"
They had: Caleb could remember being more honest with him than he could ever remember being with an outsider. Through his honesty with Connor, he was able to get an early start with his hunt and was able to have access to all of his findings.
"He said his purpose was to help find the one responsible for the death. There was no other reason that he gave."
"Did you believe him?"
"Yes."
"Do you recall if he said he had an occupation that would explain his presence there?"
"He only said he was there on a personal investigation."
At that moment, Dawn changed the course of her questioning. Instead of focusing on the minute details around their first conversations, she was now switching to the night of the killing. When he saw what she was going to do, he felt sick all over again. After she was cleared by the judge to approach the witness with a still image of what looked like a security image from the road, he took a breath.
"Can you tell me what's happening in this picture?" Dawn inquired, once the witness showed the picture to the judge for his approval.
Connor nodded, staring at the picture that was clutched in his hand. There was little of it Caleb could see other than the grainy black and white that marked it for what it was. Whatever it was, he had to believe this would do something in taking the burden of guilt off his shoulders.
"I am meeting with the defendant on the road on Jefferson street. It's near a park."
"The time on this image says it's around 8:55. Do you remember this being correct?"
"I do."
"How long did your conversation last?"
"About ten minutes."
With that timeline, it all but excluded Caleb from the crime. There was simply no conceivable way for him to have been in two places at once. The murder happened, but it did not come from him. With that statement from Connor, it was hard for him to resist the feeling of being uplifted.
Of course there was an immediate interruption by the prosecution who demanded their turn to approach the witness. To his amusement, the judge denied him that request until Dawn was finished. Watching her smoothly handle the prosecution and his infuriated remarks, it was like watching gold. Dawn was not one to fold under pressure, and was certainly not going to let anyone intimidate her into silence.
Once she was done questioning the witness, the prosecution had their turn. Instead of finding a new way to approach the questions and the powerful testimony he already gave to the court, the prosecutor worked to discredit him to the best of his ability. That moment came unexpectedly when the witness admitted to giving an interview to a local news station. It was a rule that had been broken by him the first chance he got, and that enraged Caleb.
If the judge ruled that his testimony was no longer valid because he spoke with a news station when he was not allowed to, he knew he would be going to trial. Without his critical testimony to secure his fate, he had no clue how the judge would handle it. The one thing he had going for him was the image on the security camera that captured the truth of their encounter. Even if the witness was discredited by his transgression, the hunter hoped the physical evidence would still be allowed.
The prosecution finished their cross-exam fairly quickly after getting him to admit that he did wrong. There was nothing else for them to dispute when the picture was in black and white. Holding his breath while he waited for the judge to make his ruling on whether or not the witness statement would count, he saw the fury in Dawn's eyes that Connor disobeyed an order.
The judge pulled no punches when discussing the bombshell that had been dropped in the courtroom. Far from being accommodating with this man after he found out about the interview he did, he lambasted him for going against a court order. However, as the judge reminded them, physical evidence could not be swayed by an interview. This man's testimony would be looked at as invalid after what he did, but the images taken from the security camera, would not be.
Even without his testimony to back up his defense, Caleb was still getting his chance. Relieved that Connor had not screwed up his one chance of getting out before a trial started, he watched him leave the witness stand like a scolded puppy. Diverting his focus away from him, not willing to let himself get upset about anything right then, he waited for the judge to make his final ruling.
This is what he had been worried about all morning, and now it was there. The judge spoke at length about proper conduct in the courtroom. He also talked about the importance of forensic evidence, and also the visual evidence from the security camera. What was confusing to this man was the obvious physical evidence that tied him to the crime, but also the contradictory image that dispelled that theory.
Caleb could appreciate the situation the judge was in. He could not fathom how irritating it would be to have a case that was as jumbled as it was. He hoped he would make the right choice.
When the judge addressed the court with his ruling, Caleb could feel his heart lurch painfully. No matter what might end up happening, he would have no choice but to live with it. It was with that thought in mind that he forced himself to keep his eyes on the judge, and nothing else. Aware of someone holding his hand, he gave Dawn a grateful look that she was paying attention and knew how much he was struggling.
"The evidence against Caleb Rivers is substantial," the judge said in part. "There is the forensic evidence that clearly states he was there when the crime happened. On the other hand, you have video that was shown today that clearly communicates that he was not.
The burden of proof this court has is, in most ways, lesser than the burden a criminal trial has. For our courtroom ethics, we must prove probable cause. Probable cause is similar in nature to the obligation a jury has to acquit or convict beyond a reasonable doubt, but it is not the same. For this reason, we have this system to dictate how a case should proceed.
With this case, it is clear that the defendant was there forensically. However, he was not there physically. The obligation this court has is to abide by our laws and our ethics, and render a decision that is not in any way biased or conformed to one fact. That is why, I cannot in good faith, allow this defendant to be placed on trial when there is exculpatory evidence."
The breath Caleb had not even realized he had been holding, came out like a volcano. The idea that he was not going back to a solitary cell, was overwhelming. For once in his life, something good was happening to him before he went through hell. Processing the unbelievable news that he was going to be a free man, he looked at Dawn and saw the same look of gratitude that he knew was on his face.
He was beyond words while the judge finished up his closing statements. The one pitfall the judge mentioned was that Caleb would be at the mercy of the court if the court found evidence in the future that supported the theory that he killed Lexa. That did not matter to him: What mattered was the thought of having the option to walk out a free man.
When the judge dismissed the court, the guards came over to him. However, instead of cuffing him like he was used to at the conclusion of a hearing, they cut off the ID tag that he was forced to wear. Having that tag off his wrist was further proof of the break he was getting. Getting up from his place at the defense table, he wrapped his arms around his lawyer. There were not enough words in the entire world to convey how thankful he was for her and what she did.
"Thank you."
It was the only two words he was able to whisper to her without breaking down. Feeling tears flow down his cheeks, he could feel her smile against his suit. This was something they both hoped for, but both feared they would never have.
Dean
The only peace Dean found in the few moments since the ghoul left him alone in the cold, dark underground cellar, was that he was not being faced with more attacks. The ghoul launched his surprise attack on him without warning, and that was its intention all along. Thinking about the choices that led up to his fateful decision to go with "Matt" to search for the monster, filled him with a regret that encompassed his entire soul.
Why did he not interrogate Matt further about why he was in Carthage? Why did he so easily accept his story that he came there to help? How could he have failed to pick up the warning signs that must have been there in some fashion? None of it mattered now; what mattered was somehow finding the courage to keep going. Everything in him was begging him to give up so his body could rest, but he couldn't. That would be going against everything he believed in.
The ropes he was tied with were too tight for him to manipulate on his own. Not that that fact stopped him when it was his life on the line. Pulling against the thick ropes that were bound tightly around his wrists and feet, he could not shift them. Laying back against the hard flooring of the makeshift coffin he was in, he could feel tears escape past his eyes and slide into his mouth past his gag.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried not to think about how critical the situation was. He was only fooling himself when he was brought back to reality by the large wound in his shoulder the ghoul created. When the ghoul fed on him, the powerful force of the bite was enough to tear through his nerve and muscle. With that wound, he was beginning to lose feeling in his arm and knew that he needed medical attention as quickly as possible.
It was hard for him not to travel to the dark place where he blamed himself for what happened. Examining his responses and actions that led up to this moment, was very easy for him. Shaking his head in disbelief at what was happening to him, his ears strained to hear what was happening on the outside that would warn him the ghoul was coming back.
How many times had Dean Winchester been faced with something that was truly evil? How often did he run into the line of fear instead of running away from it? How many times did he disregard his own need for protection in favor of those who needed it? Too many times to count in the several years since his family-his new family-began training him in the life after he found out the unfortunate truth from one of his closest confidantes, and his guardian Caleb.
Hunting, using guns and knives to further his chances of survival, was something he was used to. It was something that called to him; something that centered him to the ground more than anything else could. Being a twelve-year-old and already having an impressive amount of knowledge on the complicated way the different weapons worked, was not anything he knew should be happening to anyone but him.
Thanks to the careful training Caleb did with him down in the basement after school, he learned to hone the skills he needed for survival. Those times down in the basement in their workout room, also served the purpose of strengthening his bond with his guardian. In difficult times where Dean felt the keening sense of loss that eclipsed him after the death of his parents, Caleb would be there to offer a supportive word and a shoulder to cry on.
He needed that; he needed to know he was okay when there were days he could not see it for himself. Those times were few and far between the good days he had. Training (and more importantly exercising the shield he had), was one of the highlights of his day.
The force field was a rare ability that garnered its power from the love Dean felt for those around him. Even though Dean could barely remember the first time he used it, he grew to appreciate its power. The one area he could not master yet, was how to wrap it around himself. He had made great strides in extending its power, but could not yet breach the invisible barrier that kept him from being secured in a fight.
He needed to figure it out. Badly.
Lying in the cold, hard box that was supposed to be his coffin, and the underground cellar that was supposed to be his grave, he could not comprehend the situation he was in. In a way, he supposed it was his own fault for getting too close to the enemy. For not realizing before it was too late that he was becoming friends with someone who would prove to be the eventual cause of his death. For the first time in his life, he felt the pull from the other side. Felt his energy disappear as quickly and surely as his ability to draw breath around the critical wounds.
The shield was no use, not when he could not even muster enough strength to enact it. Self-disgust and self-loathing was what he felt in that instant as his bound hands came in contact with the copious amount of blood on his stomach and chest. He needed help desperately, but he was not even sure his family knew where he was. It was a mistake not telling them where he was headed, and it was one he figured he would end up paying for with his life.
Somewhere in the room that was devoid of life other than the few insects that scurried above him, he heard the door to the cellar open. The light momentarily seeped through the cracks in the closed coffin. Hoping against hope it was his family coming to save him from certain death, he could feel his breath catch in a painful gasp when he saw the last person on the planet he wanted to see.
"Matt" was back from wherever he went in the few moments of peace Dean was allowed to have. His face, so like his friend but so unlike his in so many other ways, was relaxed into a victorious smile that told him his "friend" thought he won the battle. He may have, but Dean was not going to make it easy on him. He had no clue what he could do with his hands and feet tied, but he was determined not to die a weak death and instead fight for every breath he had.
His knife was still clasped tightly within the ghoul's hand. It was hard not to stare at the weapon when he knew the ghoul would use it on him sooner or later. There was nothing "Matt" could do to him that would hurt him worse than knowing his best friend was gone. That grief was potent in his mind, was what controlled his every response in that moment as he glared at him. The gag prevented him from speaking, but he would not be cowed into silence.
"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Dean. I thought," the ghoul said, twirling the knife between his fingers. "That maybe I could snag the real culprit; the one responsible for the death of my family. When that didn't pan out, I had to resort to other options."
It was hard for Dean to ignore what he was saying. If he could have, he would have blocked his ears from absorbing any of what it was saying. Monsters made excuses, but it did not wash away the stain of their guilt. Innocent lives had been lost because the ghoul chose to veer away from its eating pattern, and go after defenseless people.
The ghoul decided to take the risk of removing the gag from his mouth. Inhaling a deep breath when the gag was gone, every breath only served to exacerbate the pain in his ribs. There was no doubt that some of them were broken. Breathing was hard with how excruciating his side was, but he was determined not to let it show how much pain he was in.
"I don't care what you say to me. You are nothing but a filthy, disgusting monster."
To Dean's satisfaction, he noted his comment had an effect on the ghoul. This ghoul was more restrained than others that he heard about. Instead of fighting him (or even worse, killing him), the ghoul chose to turn the other cheek to his comments. No matter if the ghoul was practicing self-control, it did not take away the natural desire for human food.
Bracing himself for the pain of being fed on again, he was shaken to notice the slight changes in the ghoul's appearance. Instead of sporting Matt's dark brown hair and slender build, he was starting to grow into the appearance of himself. The changes were subtle, but Dean knew the transition was happening.
"More disgusting than the people who purposefully hurt us? We weren't monsters, Dean. We fed on the dead, just like the rest of us. However, that wasn't good enough for your guardian. For Caleb. He killed my father without hesitation, and for that? For that I wanted blood. I wanted his blood." The ghoul stabbed his knife just above Dean's head. "But then, I found out he was already in jail."
"So what? You decided to get even by taking someone he cares about?"
"Someone he loves, more like. I guess you could say that was the initial reason."
"Wonderful," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "You're just as twisted as I thought."
Dean's taunt did the one thing that he was afraid would happen again: The ghoul took that opportunity to choose another feeding site. Closing his eyes when he could feel the indescribable sensation of his skin being pierced like it was made of nothing but the finest silk, he could not contain the scream of pain. It was in a different place than his shoulder, but was on his other arm. Before too long, he knew he would lost the feeling in both of his arms.
With that horrific thought in mind, he pulled back from the ghoul as much as he could. When the ghoul lifted his head to capture his gaze in his relaxed one, Dean could see more of his facial features start to appear on this monster. It was unnerving to see it when he knew how wrong it was. Focusing on the sounds he could hear from above them, he hoped that meant his luck was about to take another change for the better.
When the ghoul put his head down for yet another bite, that was when the door to the cellar was thrown open and light flooded in. The ghoul barely had the chance to respond before he was thrown back by the shot that came from Jim's shotgun. Relief and a joy that was intoxicating, filled his entire being when he saw Bobby's face hover above his.
Never once did he think he would get the chance to see his family again when he was caught in the trap "Matt" set for him. Jim was still fighting the ghoul that wasted no time in recovering from the attack. It was hard to know he could do nothing to help Jim when he needed it, but his first thought was on getting out of the coffin. Luckily enough for him, Bobby was right on the ball and took out his knife to cut the rope.
"You need some help, son?" Bobby's voice was forcibly light for his sake, but Dean knew he was greatly disturbed by what he was seeing.
Dean nodded, beyond words at everything that happened in such a short amount of time. As he felt Bobby's knife come down on the ropes and saw away at them, he felt guilt permeate his soul at what was happening. It was hard not to feel that way when it was because he put his trust in his friend, and now he was in this situation.
Jim was fighting the ghoul, but from what little Dean could see of the battle, Jim was gaining the upper hand. The ghoul backhanded him, but that did nothing but spur his guardian on. Jim took a step back from the fight, and grabbed his machete. Once he had that weapon, the fight was won fairly quickly. Now that Jim had successfully killed the monster, he could focus his efforts on helping Dean.
"I'm sorry," Dean said, not able to stop the tears that came down his face.
"What are you talking about?" Jim demanded, looking stunned that he would even think about placing blame on himself.
"I never should have-"
"Stop," Bobby commanded. "You did nothing to earn this. Let's get you out of this-"
"Coffin?" Dean supplied, when Bobby was fighting to find the proper word for it.
Bobby's face paled when he heard that term for what Dean was in. Now that his hands and feet were free from their bounds, he felt more relaxed. It was incredibly claustrophobic to be in a tight space like that, and not be able to move.
"Dean," Jim said. "What happened to your shoulder?"
"He fed from me. Be careful moving me, I'm pretty sure he broke some ribs."
Jim nodded as he carefully tucked his arm under Dean's head and Bobby assisted by providing support under the rest of Dean's body. Moving him from the coffin was harder than it looked, and Dean was just glad when it was over. The sudden movement was tough on his wrecked body, and the gasp of pain that he could not control when his ribs and body gave a painful jolt, was very clearly hard on his family.
Once he was down on the ground where he could rest free from the confines of the coffin, his family had a better shot at looking at his body. The amount of blood he lost from what the ghoul did, was the least troubling part of it. His shoulder was numb, and he knew that could not be a good thing when he knew what happened to it. Gritting his teeth when Jim and Bobby started their exam on him, he could see Jim shake his head in horror at what was happening.
"How long have you been down here?" Bobby asked.
"A few hours, I think."
"We have to get him a hospital," Jim murmured.
The last place Dean felt like going was a hospital, but he knew he had no choice. The injuries he had were too extensive for his family to handle. The one concern he had was that the hospital would naturally wonder how he got injuries like that.
"How-how is Sam?" Dean asked, gasping when he moved the wrong way.
"He's okay," Jim said, squeezing his hand. "He's okay, Dean."
