Chapter 18: The Meaning Behind Dean's Words

"Look, I appreciate all of this, but I really need to get to my brother," Sam insisted for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Your brother's fine young man," the doctor said, "He doesn't have a concussion. Now stay still."

Sam sighed. He was sitting on an examination table in the hospital, getting poked and bandaged by doctors when really all he wanted was to be at his brother's side. Dean hadn't been conscious in the ambulance; he had seemed to be in more of a nightmare, his heart beat erratic and his breathing heavy. This had worried Sam greatly. Also the fact that Dean had said nothing since calling out for their mom. The doctors continued to assure Sam that he was alright, merely resting now, but that did nothing to assuage the younger Winchester's fears. He knew something had happened in that well, but couldn't be sure of what it was until he saw Dean.

Dean's head hurt…very badly…he tried to let himself fall back into sleep, that wonderful, painless abyss he was emerging from. But it hadn't been just blackness, had it? He had been dreaming, but he couldn't remember what it had been about. He did remember Jessica…but nothing else.
Now there was a beeping in the room, constant and irritating. It took Dean a moment to realize that it was actually his heart-beat. He opened his hazel eyes.

A hospital…he thought, what am I doing here?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened. It came back to him slowly.

Oh yeah, I almost drowned. Forgot. Wait a minute…where's Sammy?

Before Dean could sit up and look around, the sound of the door to his room opening caught his ear.

"Sammy?" he asked softly.

There was a pause. "Oh you're awake."

Dean immediately sat up when he heard the woman's voice, alarmed. It must have shown on his face, because Mrs. Hoffkins took a step back in surprise, shutting the door behind her quietly.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked.

Mrs. Hoffkins smiled, walking farther into the room.

"I'd heard you were here," she answered.

"Where's Sam?"

"I don't know," she replied, "but I've been to see Jessica. The doctor's say she's been…been speaking again. Ever since you visited her. You must be miracle worker."

"Well, I do my best," Dean answered sarcastically, "now if you don't mind-"

"I don't know why you are here, Dean," she interrupted, "but I do know that you are not a doctor."

Her cold eyes glared at Dean and he returned the stare with the same iciness.

"Yeah?" he asked, "Well, too bad I know exactly what you are, Mommy Dearest."

Mrs. Hoffkins' smile grew from warm to sinister.

"I was afraid of that," she replied, "that's why I'd gone to see Jessica."

"If you did anything to hurt her, I swear…" Dean threatened.

The words hung in the air around them. Dean was tense, not sure what to expect. Now he remembered everything that had happened. Emily had shown him exactly who had murdered her, who had summoned the spirits. Dean had tried to tell Sam, but it was obvious his brother hadn't understood his meaning. Now that killer was standing in front of him.

"How could you?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly with emotion, "She was your daughter, for God's sake."

"I don't have to answer to you!" the woman snapped.

"But you will answer to God!"

"You don't even believe in God," she hissed, "so don't preach to me. You forgot I can read your thoughts, young man."

"I want to know why. Why did you kill Emily and put Jessica the asylum?" Dean asked.

"Because you don't know what it's like!" Mrs. Hoffkins shouted, "You can't hear them! They call to me, night and day, wanting me to free them! I had to do something!"

Tears now stood out in the woman's eyes, but Dean had no sympathy for them.

"So you had the spirits murder your daughter? You could have done a hundred other things! You could have moved away, or…or thrown yourself in the damn well!"

"I realize that now," Mrs. Hoffkins answered, "that's why I put Jessica in the asylum. So I couldn't get to her."

"And so she couldn't tell anyone what you'd done." Dean added.

"That too," the woman replied coldly.

"So what about the other murders?" Dean asked, "The recent ones?"

"I never meant to do those," she replied, tears now running freely down her face.

"Liar," Dean whispered fiercely.

"It's true!" she cried, "I was trying to draw Emily's spirit out of the well so that Jessica would leave me in peace! She would torment me, day and night! I had to do something!"

"No matter what you say, you can't justify what you did," Dean replied.

"But now I know a way to free her," Mrs. Hoffkins continued.

"It's too late," Dean answered, "I already did."

"You couldn't have! For 5 years I've tried to pull her out and failed every time. How could you have done it? You don't even have powers like your brother!" she scoffed.

"Maybe because I was willing to sacrifice myself to do it," Dean said softly.

"You're lying," she whispered, "besides, my plan's already in motion."

"What plan?" Dean asked. He was met only by a fit of laughter from the woman. "What plan!" he repeated.

"I found a more powerful psychic," she replied, "one whose powers will destroy the gateway and release all the souls inside!"

Dean's heart sank at her words and his mouth went dry.

"What psychic?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Sam."

"You do anything to my brother," Dean said through clenched teeth, "I'll send you to Hell myself."

Mrs. Hoffkins seemed not to hear him, though. Instead, she was fidgeting with her purse, still laughing that crazy laugh.

"But first," she continued, "I have to deal with you…"

Mrs. Hoffkins pulled a gun from her purse and leveled it at Dean's chest.