Chapter 9

He woke up to a world of agony. Every inch of him hurt. "Oh God," His voice was a light puff of air. He angled himself onto on elbow when his left elbow joint exploded in pain. "Ah," He thumped back onto the floor behind his bed. The dawn was an hour out and the night before was slowly receding, making tendrils of fear sneak up and down his spine. Dean did this. "No," Sam's grunt elicited a muffled response from the adjacent bed.

"Hmf?" Dean untangled from his covers and stared blankly around the room. It looked like there'd been a fight. "Sam?" He stuck his head out when a whimper sounded from behind his brother's bed. "Sammy!" The panic he felt was conveyed brilliantly through his voice.

"Hn-no-" came a quiet sob from the corner.

Dean rolled out of his bed and tripped, before just crawling, the rest of the way to his brother's prone form. "Sammy?"

Sam stared up into wide, green eyes. Full of fear. He inhaled in shock.

"What the Hell happened!" Dean looked at his bruise-ridden brother in shock.

"Just st-stay back!" Sam refused Dean's outstretched hand and uneasily made his way up the wall. There was an obvious change to Dean's personality, compared to the night before, but Sam still couldn't calm himself down enough to stop shaking. Whatever the hell this was needed to be fixed yesterday.

"Sam…?" Dean looked around the room again and moved to help his brother when Sam choked back a sob that quickly turned to a series of controlled inhales and exhales.

"J-jus' stay the hell back," Sam stared at him with an outstretched hand in between them. He was secretly waiting for the right phrase to make all of it normal again, but knew he wouldn't get it from the traumatized expression on Dean's face. "D-Don't move," His voice turned to an angry growl when all he really wanted was to let go and accept help.

"I-" The frightening clarity of what had happened slammed into Dean, and he physically reared back. "Oh god…I did this. I did this?" He pointed at the purple bruises on his brother's face. One eye was swollen shut and his lip had two cuts in them. A hand went to his mouth. Everything on his face opened wide in absolute shock.

"You d-don't remember?" Sam sounded more hurt by that fact, than the attack.

Dean took in every discoloration on Sam's face, plus those sneaking below his shirt, and felt guilt swallow him whole. His chest suddenly hurt. "I'm-m. I'm sorry," It sounded lame, even to him, but it was all he could think of. "I don't know what happened."

"Just, pl…please call Bobby," Sam shied back from his brother's attempt to examine the damages. He tried the best he could to squeeze himself into a corner and stop his shivering. It wasn't really Dean, it wasn't anything like he was gibbering about in the back of his mind. This isn't that day. Not yet. It's something else. The witch, it's the witch. She's doing this. With the last thought anger boiled over the fear and pushed the panic back till he barely shook. He could do this, he could do this. He just needed a second alone. He needed Bobby and he needed a goddamn second to think.

Dean held out his hands and stepped back. Sam looked spooked, and Dean didn't want to push any more buttons to set him off or cause panic. Instead he picked up the phone and placed a call that nearly shredded him. "Hey, Bobby."

Sam's head shot up.

"Dean?"

"I think I hurt Sam," His brother had been curled in on himself, but had now straightened and tensed dangerously every time Dean as much as breathed in his direction. Bobby's response was predictable.

"You stupid sonofabitch!"

Dean's arm hairs prickled from the hate in the old man's voice. "Bobby-"

He huffed on the other end of the line, and Dean heard him calm himself down. "We'll be there in two hours. Do NOT fuckin' move, ya hear me?" he shouted and hung up. Dean sat down on his own bed and braced his head in both hands. He peeked up at his brother's battered face and neck, and felt his stomach unsettling.

"God, Sammy, I'm sorry," His voice was on the verge of breaking as he took in everything he'd done.

Sam was still panting and staring at him with a suspicious, even slight venomous, look. He looked shaky and pissed off. Skittish. "Wh-what the h-hell happened to jjhh-you?"

It didn't go unnoticed by Dean how every other word, uttered by his brother, was nearly chopped to pieces from his panicked stuttering. "I don't know… I'm so sorry."

Sam leaned back heavily against the wall. He was slouched over in pain and cringed with every movement.

"Sam, please let me help you-"

"Stop! Jus' stay back," He put out a hand.

Dean noticed it was shaking badly, but he didn't dare move. Despite the ever present need to protect and help his brother, there was another that overrode that need. Guilt. "I- I won't. I'll sit. I'll sit down," He settled a little more heavily on the bed, hoping to spur his brother out of the corner. It struck him that this would add even more distance between the two of them, and that he wouldn't even have Sam to blame for it. His stomach rolled again and he put a hand on it.

Sam took two steps before tripping, apparently moving for the door, and scrambling back up with an anguished cry. "Ahr-Don't!" when Dean moved.

Dean had flinched, barely leaving the bed. "I won't. I won't," He had one hand out and the other beside him for support. He noticed he was shaking just as badly as Sam. Jesus, he'd seen victims act like this. Shocked and terrified. Unable to fully process what had just happened. He'd just never been one and as far as he knew neither had Sam. Until now in any case.

Sam reached the small dinner table and the weapons-cache before he folded in half. His forehead thumped onto the wooden top. Dean saw the vicious sneer that split Sam's face from the pain.

"Sam, please. Just lemme help you," He looked a little closer. "I'm so sorry," He felt the last vestiges of energy drain from him. I give up. His sleep had been too deep and now he felt as if he hadn't slept at all. With this new development in the witch hunt, the ever-present angel-situation, and his brother's violent emotional upheaval he was just…he felt about ready to quit. "I'm sorry."

Sam pulled out his gun and cocked it. "Y-You're not yourself-f right n-now," He shook so badly that he could barely push in the clip. When Dean heard the click, he saw Sam inch into a chair with the loaded weapon held loosely in his hand.

"I'm more myself than I was yesterday," Dean said with a washed out voice. He noticed Sam's hand, and the gun, twitch. For a second he just wanted his brother to shoot, but it got overruled by not-quite-there-yet apathy.

"You rem-membering what h-happened?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah," He breathed in deeply. "Like a nightmare," He scrubbed a hand down his face. Despite himself his eyes darted to the gun and past Sam's eyes.

"I c-can't…" He fiddled with the gun and adopted a hopeless expression. "Not yet-"

"I get it," Dean cut him off.

A tense silence filled the room a minute or so. Dean stealthily watched his younger brother for signs of pain. He counted dozens, but was still too afraid to try and help. His brother seemed to be calming down despite Dean's presence which gave him a little more hope. It seemed Sam's ordeal, almost turning into a ghoul, had impacted him physically more so than emotionally. "How do you feel?" he finally got up the nerve to ask.

For a moment a look of disbelief took over Sam's face, but then he realized Dean was asking to his emotions. "Fine."

"I really am sorry," Dean repeated in his slow, gruff voice.

"I know, but I-I-"

"You don't have to explain," Dean waved a hand in dismissal. They sat in separate ends of the room for almost an hour before Dean started wondering where Bobby could be. He glanced at his wristwatch and perked his brows.

Sam picked up on the subtle gesture instantly. "How long?"

"Almost an hour and twenty minutes."

"How long did it take for us?"

Dean didn't realize his brother had been so out of it when they left the hospital, to not keep track of time. "About an hour and a half. Little longer."

"So we've got some time," Sam had been pulling his poker face back in place, and tried his damndest to portray an air of calmness. Dean thought he wasn't quite pulling it off.

At least, Dean thought, his shoulders had dropped and his general posture looked a little more relaxed. Or just exhausted. "Yeah, but I wasn't rushing to help two of my closest friends in trouble. I was takin' it slow."

"Whatta ya mean?" Sam felt tension tighten his muscles instantly and made a conscious effort to lower his shoulders.

"I could've gotten here in half the time," Dean sent his brother a meaningful look that somehow eliminated the distance, both physical and mental, between them. "You know we might have to work together when he gets here,"

"I know," Sam hear his voice pinch. They had no idea how long range their witch had, and no longer any trust in anyone. Dean didn't even trust himself. A residual quiver rattled through Sam and he knew Dean saw.

He sighed. "I know you're pissed at me right now and I get it-"

"Dean, that's not it," A humorless smile creased his lips. "I'm not pissed. I know that wasn't you last night. I get it," The gun was still pointed at him.

Dean gestured to it. "Then why-"

"Because whatever made you act like that might still get control."

"I'm fine," A sliver of annoyance crept into him, but he quickly squelched it.

"Yeah. Right now you are," Sam took a moment to stare at him pointedly until he knew Dean realized that this wasn't personal. And besides, he knew he didn't need to blame his brother. Dean was probably doing plenty of blaming himself for last night. "I trust you, Dean. It's the witch doing this."

Dean nodded, but looked away. He even seemed annoyed which made claxons ring out in Sam's head. Dean shook his head and huffed. His hands were folded and he looked calm.

Sam decided not to poke whatever it was when both brothers suddenly perked ears at the sound of an engine outside. "You think that's them?"

"Only one truck. Hope Freddy went back to wherever the fuck he came from."

Sam swallowed and inhaled deeply before attempting to stand.

"Boys?" The yell was instantly recognized.

"In here, Bobby," Dean called back. He flinched, and barely missed it, when his brother tossed a shotgun to him. He got up while Sam struggled away from the table. A small patch of warmth spread in his stomach over how easily Sam trusted him when it counted. With warmth came guilt roaring by once again.

The taller hunter made his way behind the setting while his brother slowly opened the door. It opened to a disheveled, burley hunter glaring at both men in shock.

"What the hell happened to you?" His question was directed at Sam, but turned to Dean when no answer was forthcoming.

"I did it. I think," Dean's clipped answer did nothing to remove the look of utter shock from Bobby's face. Rufus had run around the building, trying to establish a perimeter, Dean realized. He looked away from Bobby's expression and swallowed down the guilt, knowing there were bigger things to worry about than his hurt feelings.

Bobby closed the door behind him and rolled fully into the room. Sam's gun was hovering, nervously, at hip-level while Dean's was hanging calmly by his side. He considered just dropping it and letting them both blow him away.

"Please tell me you didn't," His wide eyes filled for an instant with something other than shock. Anger. Anger directed, not at Dean, as the boy probably thought, but at the bitch who was responsible for ripping everything Bobby had tried to mend, apart. He squeezed his eyes shut and stuck a finger in each.

He knew he needed to keep levelheaded. If nothing else because his boys needed him to. "You boys are damn lucky me an' Rufus are such great hunters," He growled. He looked squarely at Dean, who stared back with a slightly incensed expression. "He found a way to kill the bitch once and for all. With a little help from Stella."

A truck door slammed and the truck roared away seconds later with Rufus behind the wheel.

"What's she doing?" Sam asked from relative safety behind the dining table.

"She's binding the bitch's powers as we speak. All that'll be left for us is to do a spirit exorcism of the person she's possessin'."

"Seriously?" Dean felt his chest pain lift slightly.

Sam took a small step forward. "You sure that'll work? I mean, what if she just jumps to another body?"

"She won't be able to when Stella's done with her. She's at the house with Freddy right now, doing the spell, but binding spells take a little while."

"So what if she comes there?" Dean asked, shotgun in his hand temporarily forgotten.

"Lore on spirit possession says that the spirit can't travel between bodies for more than one breath. On that one breath they can cover about a hundred yards, sure, but that house is so far out she'd never make it in time to stop it even if she could get in," Bobby still couldn't shake the feeling that something was a little off. He knew Dean was reading his shock like an open book, but he wasn't so sure about Sam anymore.

"That bitch better run because when I find her I'm gonna rip her fuckin' head off."

Dean's growl, which triggered a wave of goose bumps in Bobby, had the complete opposite effect on Sam. The boy giggled, and with a shallow intake of air, the penny dropped for Bobby. His face paled as he slowly turned to stare at the young man.

"But the glory of it is, that once that little bitch finishes her spell, I'll be stuck in your brother," His voice sounded the same. Even his expressions and mannerisms were dead ringers of Sam's, but something was just a little off.

Dean never would have noticed if Hephzibah hadn't chosen that moment to go all-in. He realized it with a fluttering of his heart. The cold stab of fear instantly turned to anger. "You bitch…" His voice truly did growl then. He squared his shoulders and brought up the shotgun along with Bobby, bringing up his rifle. "I'm gonna send you straight to hell."

"As I hear, it's lovely this time of year, but there's still a problem," She looked through the eyes of the tall, young hunter. "How do you get me out without killing Sam?"

TBC