Disclaimer: Supernatural has claimed my very SOUL! But I make no money off of it. *shrugs*
A/N: Okay, so this was by far the most epic chapter to write (written, by the way, when I was waiting for my car to be fixed and, later, while I was hanging by the pool on a rainy day). Unfortunately, it's the last I have ready and prepared for a while, so... I'm working on it. Real life is getting in the way and stuff.
Special Thanks: Merisha for another AWESOME betaing, and KaoruKamiya307 for listening (so sorry for the spoilers...). And of course Shinaria for always leaving the sweetest reviews and Frank for dropping everything to read this. Ya'll are awesome! Hope you enjoy!
Videos: youtube. com/watch?v=mUQM_w2H5fk (This one really caused me to write this chapter)
youtube. com/watch?v=kOyiu19bWWs (Because you're gonna need something fun after this chapter)
Chapter 7:
Dean sighed and flipped the book shut. Jimmy had slept for the better part of the day, and Sam was calm if nothing else. He'd seemed a little distraught the last few times Dean had checked up on him, but had eaten the sandwich he was offered and, after asking for a bathroom break, returned solemnly to his personal prison. Still hard to decide if he preferred a screaming, fighting Sam over this quiet stranger. 'Course, everything seemed quiet right now. Dammit, the apocalypse had come, Lucifer walked free. Where were the armies of the dead? Where were the four horsemen? Where was the fire and the brimstone and weird light and pain and blood and ash and smoke that he remembered from his time down under?
So far, no amount of research could explain what was taking the devil so damn long.
Wearily, he leaned back in his chair and glanced at Jimmy... who stared back with wide, blue eyes.
Dean blinked, assuring himself that he was, in fact, seeing this, then scrambled out of his chair and hurried to the man's side.
"Hey, you awake?" he asked softly. Didn't really matter that he was stating the obvious, anyway; poor guy probably couldn't even understand him.
Jimmy moaned and shifted, one hand slipping out from under the covers. Dean stared at it blankly for a moment before his sluggish brain could recall what to do.
Geez, this is weird. Haven't had to do this for Sammy since he was a kid.
Dean knelt down beside the couch and took the hand in a firm, hopefully reassuring grip, but Jimmy furrowed his brows and untangled his hand, going instead to touch Dean's left arm. Right where Castiel had burned a handprint right into the skin.
"D-Ddde...D..." he clucked thickly.
"Dean," Dean pressed, pushing down his discomfort at having anyone touch that particular scar. If that was what the little guy needed, weird as it was, far be it from Dean Winchester to deny him.
"Dddeeean," Jimmy slurred then, blinking rapidly, he tried again. "Dean."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm Dean."
The man's face weakened with relief, but it was momentary. His brows furrowed, eyes shining with confusion. A moment later he shifted, grimacing, his eyes widening with fear.
"Jimmy?" Dean pressed. "Hey, Jimmy, you in pain?"
Jimmy turned, focusing on Dean's face as he repeated the question. Stiffly, the smaller man nodded, wincing as he did so.
"Okay, I need you to let me know where it hurts."
Again, Dean had to repeat himself before understanding dawned on Jimmy's face. Clumsily, he threw off the blanket and pressed his hand against his lower abdomen, shifting again. A million different possible maladies ran through Dean's head, each as unlikely as the next. After all, if he'd been seriously injured, he would have said something before, right?
So what...
Dean stared at the man lying on the couch. Jimmy squirmed, his eyes wide as panic began to set in. He really, honestly had no idea what was going on.
Oh, God. I think he's brain damaged. I am so, so sorry...
"Okay," Dean said lightly, unsure of whether to chuckle at the sight or freak out a little himself. "Dude, I'm just gonna guess, but I think you need to take a leak."
Jimmy stared up at him in confusion. Of course. Probably couldn't string two words together right now, much less figure out what one pain meant over another. Dean licked his lips awkwardly, not entirely certain what to do...
Just like Sam. Yeah. Pretend it's like that time you had to potty-train him... 'cept Sam freaking knew when he had to go.
"All right, here we go," Dean grunted as he reached down and heaved Jimmy up by his armpits. Jimmy started at the sudden contact, but managed to get his feet on the ground. After a few awkward stumbles, he managed to find his footing and, if not walk, then at least shuffle to the bathroom, leaning against Dean the whole time.
When they reached it, Dean realized they had another problem. He had hoped that, upon seeing the toilet, Jimmy would remember what to do and how to use it, allowing Dean to exit the whole situation gracefully. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen.
Jimmy blinked owlishly at the toilet, perhaps dimly remembering its function, perhaps wondering what the hell it was. Suddenly, the man's face contorted with fear. He leaned against the sink, hands trembling. That was when Dean noticed the dark stain that spread slowly down his pants.
"Shit," Dean hissed. He lunged forward, grasping Jimmy's shoulders and giving him a shake. The spread of the dark stain slowed to a stop, but Jimmy glanced up at him with wide, panic stricken eyes.
"What's happening to me?" he begged silently.
Shit, he's definitely brain damaged.
"Okay, Jimmy," Dean sighed. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take care of you."
Dean gently coached a confused Jimmy through unbuttoning his pants and lowering his boxers (thankfully without having to resort to singing the "Potty Song") standing in front of the toilet, and aiming. Well, Jimmy would have to practice aiming on his own time. After that, he turned on the water for the tub and coaxed Jimmy to strip down, climb in, and wait patiently. If nothing else, he seemed to have the hang of taking orders by now, though he still looked so small and dejected sitting there in the rising water. Yeah. The bath would be good for him.
Who knew how much grime the poor sucker had accumulated in the past couple of days, aside from his little 'accident'.
"Hey, I'll be back," Dean soothed.
Jimmy stared at him, not budging. Probably didn't understand.
Dean gathered the soiled suit into his arms and took his first few steps out the door.
"Dean," Jimmy called, his voice firm for the first time since they'd found him. But when Dean glanced back, his blue eyes were still wide and lost.
"I'll be back," Dean promised, and he hurried to drop the clothes in the laundry room.
Bobby frowned at him from the kitchen table, watching as Dean dumped the clothes and a sizeable portion of detergent.
"Wanna tell me what our guest's doing without his clothes?" Bobby asked the moment Dean flipped the machine on.
Dean sighed and scratched the back of his head.
"Yeah, he's in the tub. He had a little trouble going to the bathroom. I'll give him some of my clothes."
"Did he say anything?"
"Well," Dean mused, sitting down opposite Bobby. "He figured out my name. That's about it."
Bobby nodded, tapping one finger against his open book.
"You figure out what's wrong with him?"
"Honestly?" Dean snorted. "I think he might be brain damaged. I mean, he's like a baby. Doesn't know what's what or how to do pretty much anything by himself. You any closer to figuring out what might have caused this?"
"Angel's the only thing that makes much sense," Bobby grumbled. "Doesn't make much sense even then, though, does it?"
"Nothing in our lives ever does," Dean reminded him. Bobby's whiskers twitched, a grin tugging at his lips.
"I probably ought to get back to him," Dean sighed. "Don't want him to drown in the tub or anything."
After briefly stopping by his room to grab a change of clothes, Dean returned to the bathroom. Jimmy combed his fingers through the warm water, lips pursed pensively.
"All right," Dean grunted, dropping the clothes on the sink. "Let's get this over with."
Picking up a washcloth and a piece of soap, Dean pantomimed the proper method for lathering up. Jimmy watched blankly until Dean shoved the foamy cloth into his hands.
Clumsily, Jimmy began to run the cloth over his arms and chest. Once he'd about cleaned himself up, Dean helped him to dunk his sudsy head under the water.
Jimmy did not like that. The moment his head was submerged he wanted out, and damn near snapped Dean's wrist trying to claw his way back to the air.
"Hey, hey, easy," Dean urged, holding Jimmy tightly by his wet, shaking shoulders. "You're okay, you're all right. Jesus..."
Jimmy gasped, his eyes roaming around the bathroom until, at long last, he seemed to convince himself that he was, in fact, fine.
Dean helped him to crawl out of the tub and handed him a towel. Jimmy followed his every order without fail.
Well, maybe this'll make getting him into some clothes a bit easier.
"No!"
The cry broke through what fragile calm had descended upon the house. Dean's heart leapt into his throat as he turned, bolting down the stairs to the basement as though the armies of hell were on his heels.
Bobby already stood at the door, staring sadly at the figure on the bed.
"It's another hallucination," he explained lowly. Dean slipped behind him, watching as Sam leaned forward, his eyes half lidded. For a moment, Dean feared he might topple over, then,
"No!"
Dean's gut clenched as Sam leapt from the bed and stumbled to the bucket, puking his living guts out.
Boy, Sammy, I do not envy you right now.
Sam leaned against the wall, panting heavily. Well, at least he'd get a reprieve. Until he started hallucinating again.
Suddenly, Sam went rigid, his head banging against the harsh concrete wall. Dean winced in sympathy, even as his jaw clenched.
"The hell is that?" Bobby mumbled, but they had an inkling.
Sam sagged against the wall and, bonelessly, fell to the floor. Before either Bobby or Dean could make a move, though, he went flying back into the wall.
"Dammit! Already?" Dean hissed, grabbing at the latches that held the door in place. They didn't budge.
Eyes widening, he yanked at the dead bolt, but it might as well have been welded shut.
"Sam!" he cried, banging on the door. "Sammy!"
"De-augh!"
Sam's face twisted with pain, every vein standing out on his arms as he struggled with the invisible force.
"Sam!" Dean screamed, but his only response was the bed jerking up from its position on the floor and slamming against the door.
"My God," Bobby breathed.
Dean gulped, glancing at the older hunter. Bobby's usually unflappable face could officially be considered, well flapped.
"It's Sam," Bobby choked. "He's doing this."
"Well, he's gonna stop," Dean growled, searching around for... anything. There! A crowbar tucked into the corner, probably intended to ward off ghosts on a run to the panic room. It would do.
Snatching up the crowbar, Dean began whacking at the latches. He'd damn well break them off if he had to; no way he was going to let this happen!
SammySammynoI'mgonnasaveyouthat'smyjobevenifthingsaredifferentit'smyjobit'llalwaysbemyjobpleaseSammydon'tdothis...
"Dean!" Bobby yelled, grabbing Dean's shoulders. He just about threw the older hunter off of him before he remembered himself.
"Sam's out cold," Bobby explained. "Let's get him on the bed again."
Again. How sick and twisted was it that this was the second time they were doing this?"
Dean swallowed thickly and, with a jerky nod, dropped the crowbar and followed Bobby into the panic room. It was miserably easy to move Sam onto the bed, like transporting a rag doll. At that moment, he didn't even look like Sam. Just looked like every other sorry son of a bitch Dean had ever helped.
o-o-o
"I'm so proud of you.
Sam stiffened, his gut clenching as he looked up. Ruby stood at the foot of the bed, smiling that benevolent, seemingly altruistic smile that she had used on him too many times.
"Get out, bitch," he snarled. Ruby rolled her eyes.
"Oh please, Sam. If you could get over yourself for like a second, you'd see what we accomplished." She sighed dreamily, tucking her thumbs into the belt loops in her jeans. "I mean, wow," she laughed. "I knew you were something the day I met you, but... that moment when you killed Lillith, I think I maybe fell a little bit in love."
"Yeah? How'd you feel when I held you down and Dean stabbed you?" Sam spat.
"A little pissed," Ruby admitted. "A little surprised. But it wasn't as bad as you'd think." Smirking seductively, she eased herself onto the bed beside him. "I mean, hard to spoil a moment like that, right? And, anyway, if it had to be someone I'm glad it was you."
She leaned in closer, slipping her hand onto his thigh, bringing her lips to his ears in that familiar way that always sent a shiver down his spine and made him feel sick to his stomach.
"You're special, Sam. You always were."
"That's why he's my favorite."
Sam whirled around.
No. God, no, not him...
Yellow eyes twinkled with delight in the dead janitor's face, and he smirked down at them.
"Dean killed you," Sam gasped.
"He killed Ruby here, too, but you know what they say about dead things." He raised one brow suggestively. "You're walking, talking proof that dead things don't stay dead, ain'tcha, boy?"
Bile burned the back of his throat, and it was all Sam could do to keep from gagging.
"And, anyway, death makes you stronger. You always wanted to be stronger, didn't you, Sammy?" The yellow-eyed demon grinned and walked around the foot of the bed, a shadow passing over his face. When he stepped back into the light, he was an impish, yellow-eyed John Winchester. Sam clenched his teeth, stifling the urge to gasp as the demon knelt before them, smiling with his father's worn face.
"This is what you were meant to do, Sam," he insisted in John's deep voice. "Don't sulk about it, kid. Have a party; you finally lived up to your destiny."
"Just because it's what you wanted me to do doesn't mean it's my destiny," Sam spat.
The demon rose, his eyes sparkling with glee. He didn't say anything, and suddenly Sam missed the teasing. It kept his mind off the pounding of his heart, the dryness of his mouth.
Sam swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the possessed face of his father, and blinked.
When his eyes reopened, John was gone, replaced by a form all too familiar.
"No!" Sam shouted, jerking back as the demon leaned over him, smirking with Sam's own face, the yellow eyes shining.
"Tell me, Sam," he mused, catching Sam's shoulders and slowing his writhing prey's movements. "If you didn't want this, if it wasn't your destiny, then why'd you do it?"
Sam could have argued, he could have, but all that came out were strangled cries of,
"No, no, no, no..."
Ruby laughed.
"It's cause he likes it," she explained, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder, exposing her pale throat. Sam knew what she was going to do the instant she held up her wicked-looking knife, but he was powerless to stop it as she dragged the blade across the side of her neck.
Blood welled up, ruby red against Ruby's pale throat, trickling down.
Ba-bump.
Sam's heartbeat slowed, his eyes widening as the blood traveled over her collarbone, down her breasts, wasted. His mouth was suddenly parched, his mind screaming for just a taste.
Ba-bump.
Just one mouthful, and then the pain would stop. He could end it now, before things got really nasty.
Ba-bump.
His hands shook as the demon shifted closer to him, offering him her neck. His throat throbbed, begging him to slake his thirst. Licking his lips, Sam leaned in, taking in the heady, powerful scent of the demon blood. It was like a shot of whiskey, the surge of relief when he just couldn't go any further.
But Dean.
Ba-bump.
He was trapped here in this room for a reason. He was trying to get back to human.
"No!" he shouted, shoving the demons back and staggering to his feet. His stomach churned, and he only just managed to stumble to the bucket at the far end of the room before the first heaving retch emptied his stomach of its meager contents.
It's too late.
The thought sprang to his mind, unwelcome, making his throat burn as his gut clenched again, sending him right back over the edge of the bucket.
Doesn't matter what you do, jackass. You're stuck. Not even human anymore.
The retches turned into dry heaves, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.
You made this choice. Now live with it.
Sam collapsed against the wall, gasping for air, when his whole body went rigid. Eyes flying open, he stared down at his hands. Every vein had turned inky black, and it was traveling upwards.
No no no not again
Sam choked as his neck stiffened, banging his head against the rough cement wall. His skin contracted, his insides swelling up, pressing out until he thought he might explode.
Then, without warning, he went limp and fell to the floor. Wheezing, he reched forward, struggling to crawl back to the bed, his safe spot.
"Gah!" he cried as the tension returned, and Sam went flying through the air, slamming back against the wall, his wrists chained to the cement by invisible ropes.
"Sam! Sammy!'
There was a banging on the door, but Sam couldn't open his eyes to see.
"Sam!"
"De-augh!" he screamed as pain tore through him, fire coursing through his veins. There was a screech of metal as the bed went flying across the room.
"Sonnuva!" Dean shouted. Sam groaned, fighting to move just a finger, to crack his eyes open, but he couldn't even muster that. There was a sharp clang of metal on metal as Dean yelled, trying to break in, and Sam inherently knew that he was doing this. He was responsible. He was to blame.
He just couldn't control it.
Darkness seeped into his mind, and for once, he gladly let it steal away his consciousness.
o-o-o