Okay, no evil cliffie for the weekend! See? I know how to be nice. Really. No promises about next week, though.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Okay, he really had to stop laughing. This was not funny. Sam clamped his mouth closed around his hysteria, deciding it was the happy-juice. He tried to focus on the elevator around him. In the movies and on television, there was usually a trap door in the top of the elevator car. That panel just off-center looked promising.
Sam focused on the tube stuck in his arm. If he just yanked it out, he would bleed profusively. Not going to do that again, Sam decided. Last time Dean totally freaked. He found what he thought was the off switch. Then he carefully removed the tube from the needle still stuck in his arm. Nothing spurted out, red or otherwise. Sam blew out the breath he had been holding.
The elevator shuddered again and dropped with a jerk. Sam braced himself against the walls, the wheelchair slamming into his shins.
"Great," he mumbled.
"Sam! Sam, can you hear me!" Dean's voice came through muffled but clear enough.
"Yeah!" Sam shouted at the ceiling. "You coming or what?"
"Working on it!" came Dean's answer. "Just got the doors open a crack. Hang on!"
"And where am I going to go?" Sam demanded of the wheelchair. He shrugged, checking the wheel-locks. The chair was pretty stable with them on, not perfect but maybe good enough. He positioned it directly underneath the panel he figured was probably a trap-door.
Sam stepped onto the wheelchair, his balance more shaky than he remembered. The panel didn't just push out, the way it did in the movies. Oh, no, this one had to be screwed in. Probably some stupid safety measure. He reached for his pocket, for the lockpick kit. Instead he got a handful of soft cloth and a breeze across his backside. He really shouldn't have let them give him that happy-juice. Well, hindsight was 20/20, and he had to admit his head felt a lot better.
Down to just his hands to use as tools, Sam beat on the panel. It started to give, but made an awful racket.
"I said I'm working on it, Sam!" Dean shouted.
"I heard you!" Sam shouted back, still whaling on the panel.
-
"He heard me," Dean grumbled, pulling back on the fire axe wedged between the elevator doors. "That's why he's making all that noise. Because he heard me." He grunted, yanking on the axe handle again. Large cuts and dents were in the doors, but just hitting them with the axe didn't do any good. He had to pry the doors open.
The noises coming from the elevator shaft were not doing anything to ease his conscience, either. The way Lily's namebadge flew off like that, it wasn't normal. It had to be the gremlin. Gritting his teeth, Dean pulled harder on the axe. Where was Lily with that help?
Sweat trickled into his eyes, but he did not have a free hand to wipe it away. The elevator just below him groaned. When he got his hands on that frigging gremlin…
"Dean!" Several people ran toward him.
"About time," he groaned. "Hurry up! My brother is down there!" With a gremlin out to get him.
Two pairs of strong hands took over the axe handle, prying the doors open wide enough for a man to fit through. Dean shucked his jacket.
"Hang on, Sam! I'm coming down now!" Dean positioned himself between the doors. The top of the elevator was not that far, maybe eight or ten feet. What floor were they on again? Fifth or sixth? He took a deep breath, preparing to jump, when the shaft filled with the screech of metal on metal.
The sound pierced through his ears, drove deep into his brain. He staggered back, hands covering his ears. Below him, the elevator dropped freely, along with his stomach.
The doors slammed shut again when the guys holding open the doors covered their ears too. The sounds of the elevator hitting something solid was following by a profound silence. The silence rung in his ears, stupefied his brain.
"Sam!" His scream filled the hall, causing movement and motion. He led the others in racing for the stairwell. They had to get to Sam.
-
Okay, so maybe standing on a wheelchair was a really, really bad idea. He needed to file that one away for future reference. That panel that Sam had been so worried about hung open now, dangling from one of those stupid screws. Yeah, that was a great safety feature. He needed to write a letter. To somebody.
Sam tried to move, but his whole body hurt. He needed to move, to find a way out, but he hurt. When he tried to move the wheelchair off his chest, his vision went white with the pain and he nearly passed out. Or did he pass out? It was hard to tell.
-
It liked watching things fall, break. That was good. Explosions were better, but harder. This was hard. It had hoped for a good boom for all the work this took to make the box fall.
It liked flying machines better. Those were easier to knock down. These boxes were hard. It scratched its head, enjoying being able to take care of that itch. Now it wondered if the tall one died. That would be good. When it tried to peek inside, see if things were safe, it heard the other one shouting. The one who hurt it was usually around the other one, so it scrambled back up the shaft. It could wait to find out if the tall one died. Until then, it would hide. It was really, really good at hiding.
-
"Sam!" Dean beat on the basement elevator doors. "Sam!"
"What?"
Dean sagged against the outer doors in relief. "Are you hurt?" he demanded through the doors.
"I'm fine."
Dean recognized that voice. Sam was hiding something. His pulse quickened with the realization and Dean cast his eyes around for something to pry open the doors. There was no fire axe here, just an extinguisher. Why did he leave that upstairs?
"Dean!" Bobby burst through the doors. Where the hell did he come from? Carrying a crowbar? "Here!" He tossed it in the air.
Dean snagged the metal from the air. "Thanks." He attacked the doors with it. Bobby rushed to his side to help. They grunted together, straining against the doors. "Bobby?" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Yeah?" Bobby huffed.
"Never left," he said between grunts, "did you?"
"Nope." He felt Bobby press harder against the crowbar. "Sat…in…truck."
"Why?" Dean grunted, feeling the doors begin to give way.
A rough chuckle rumbled through Bobby's grunts. He paused, looking over at Dean. "The gremlin. Did you really think I'd leave you two alone here with a gremlin after Sam?"
Dean really had to stop underestimating Bobby. "Push, Bobby. Sam's hurt."
"Sorry." He could tell Bobby really threw his weight behind it then and the doors opened enough for Dean to put both hands in. With Bobby's help, he pressed the doors apart.
In front of them Sam laid in a crumpled heap. Oh, crap. He rushed inside to place a gentle hand over Sam's chest.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked, not opening his eyes.
"Checking to see if you're breathing," he snapped.
"Couldn't talk if I wasn't breathing," Sam answered.
"Why won't you open your eyes?" Dean demanded, alarmed.
Sam sighed, head rolling from side to side. He squinted up at Dean. "Headache." His eyes shut as he waved a hand up. "Too much light."
"Come on, princess. Let's get you up so the doc can check you out," he said, trying to inject authority in his voice.
"Don't!" Another voice shouted. Dean glared back through the doors Bobby held open. It was one of the ER doctors. "Don't move him!" The man ducked under Bobby's arms. He waved to the others behind him, two men carrying a stretcher.
"Sorry we took so long, Dean," an orderly apologized as he pushed by Dean. "But we had to stop for the doctor and this." He lifted the stretcher briefly.
Dean stepped back to help Bobby with the doors. With Bobby on one side and him on the other, they forced the doors to fully open. Dean felt the tension on the doors ease as he shoved his side fully open.
"Stay there," Bobby cautioned. Dean shot him a hard look. "Never know when a gremlin might get into the doors."
One of the orderlies shook a hand at them. "No kidding! Keep on those doors until we get Sam out of here."
Dean clenched his jaw but he stayed right in front of his door while Bobby did the same on the other side. They loaded Sam on the stretcher, one of those whip-lash thingies around his neck. After they carried his brother out, Dean remained at his station in front of the door. It would take a few minutes to carry Sam upstairs anyway.
"Uh, Bobby? You know, I probably shouldn't…" He was really bad at this. "I mean, I…"
"Dean. Shut up." Bobby gave him a shove toward the stairwell. "And next time I start in on Sam when he's in the hospital, I expect you to knock me on my ass."
Dean glanced back to see if Bobby was serious. There was a twinkle in his eyes. Well, at least they were good. He shared a chuckle with Bobby up the stairs. They did not dare stray too far from Sam.
"Any new ideas?" Dean asked as they jogged up the stairs.
"Get Sam back to the house and take care of this thing," Bobby grunted. When Dean gave him a quizzical look, Bobby shrugged. "We know he's safer there than here."
Dean nodded. That was pretty obvious now.