A/N: Now the Winchesters are back together they have catching up to do and Bossguy to deal with.
Howlround (Chapter X) by frostygossamer
Campbell is in Ellen's lab on the other side of the main building, beyond the mess hall. He bents forward, studying the large glass-fronted cabinet where the most promising samples are stored. He moves a couple racks to one side and slides out a metal canister marked C/47. He places it on top of a bench and goes back to rummage in the cabinet again.
As the two Winchesters cross the mess, Dean spots the remainder of Ellen's chocolate lying where she left it on the table. He picks it up and greedily stuffs it in his face.
"Just can't pass up on candy, can you?" Sam remarks.
"Dude," his brother retorts, between chomps. "Haven't eaten since I got here."
There was that half package of lemon drop candy, but who's counting?
Sam ruminates a moment. "So that, uh, 'thing' in the ice. It was YOU, right? How did you-?"
"Well, duh. Sure it was me," responds Dean. "Told you it was a long story, Sam. I'd let you have the full picture, but first we gotta get outta this alive."
Sam looks at his knife. "It was YOU in my room. YOU left me this knife. I thought one of the other guys was tryna frame me."
"Uh-huh. For your protection, kiddo. I checked out all the dorms. Had to nose out which guys were human and which were demon. No sentimental crap, no snaps, no keepsakes equals no humanity, yeah?"
"And you didn't come directly to me why exactly?"
"Checked out your room, Sam, and I know you travel light but I couldn't be sure if they'd gotten to you yet. Then I got interrupted, so I left you that demon-killing silverware, in case." He squeezes his brother's shoulder. "Thank God you're OK, Sammy. The way you ducked in that closet I knew you had to be as freaked as me by those damn black-eyes."
They approach the laboratory with caution. Inside, Campbell is working on his samples, seemingly oblivious.
"He's fixing another batch of Croatian virus," hisses Dean.
"Croatoan," corrects Sam, in an undertone. "Not the guys who invented the necktie."
Trust Sam to slip a factoid in the conversation.
Bent double, Dean sneaks in the lab and hunkers down behind a file cabinet. He signals silently to Sam in the doorway. Sam watches Campbell place a rack of samples beside the canister then turn away to get gloves and instruments.
Dean holds up three fingers and Sam nods. In one, two, THREE they dive on Campbell, shoving him forward into the bench, crushing his face against a wall cabinet. Despite them coming at him from behind, Campbell is able to shrug them both off with one effort. Dean smashes into the steel sink, sending a rack of empty test tubes crashing and shattering in the bowl.
Jeez, Campbell may be a well built guy but he is way stronger than he should be for his age. Sam regains his balance first and picks himself off of the floor, running forward with a growl to tackle Campbell. His former leader pulls him in and grabs his hand, the hand holding the demon knife, keeping it high over his head, shaking it until the blade drops from Sam's grasp, clattering among the lab equipment.
Something of an evil laugh escapes the demon's wicked lips. He forces Sam over against the bench and shifts his grip to squeeze tight round Sam's throat. The younger Winchester's face is turning beet-red. Gurg! Dean jumps on Campbell's back, wrapping his arm around the guy's neck, using his weight to pull that bald head backward. He is seething with anger. He hasn't come this far to lose his brother now.
With Campbell distracted, Sam is able to break free. He scrambles to retrieve his lost knife from the clutter. No longer hampered by Sam, Campbell turns in Dean's hold and uses his unnatural strength to hurl him up against the wall. Bam! It winds him and Campbell stops to chuckle darkly, but not for long.
Closing in fast, Sam desperately drives his knife up under the monster's fifth rib and turns it, with the sickening scrape of blade on bone.
The demon gasps, whines and slumps, sliding solidly to his knees. He opens his mouth and out spills that same dirty-black flux Sam saw corrupt Ellen. As they watch, the smoke column finds a vent and vanishes out into the frigid air.
"What the hell is with the black crap?" Sam demands, shaken.
"It's the same with all of them, Sam," Dean answers, picking himself up and stowing his weapon. "The demon possesses a human body. They call it a meatsuit. Crazy, huh? That hellacious stench is, I dunno, their ugly tainted soul, I guess. Whatever, it's gone."
Sam pulls a disgusted face and gasps, "And the guy? He's just dead meat, huh?"
Dean lets go a deep breath and smiles, without humour.
"I guess. Take it easy, Sam. Now the douche is gone it won't be back."
They stand panting until their breathing evens out. Sam doesn't know how to feel about stabbing Campbell. He has never taken a life before, not even an animal's. He is almost a veggie, for God's sake.
"I-I- Jeez, Dean, I killed him," he croaks.
Dean nods. "It's good, Sam."
Calmingly, he pats his brother's arm. Sliding Sam's knife out of Campbell's body, he wipes it on his own sleeve and holds it out to him. When Sam doesn't take it, Dean stows it in the big guy's belt for him. Sam pushes him away.
"Damn it, Dean. It's NOT good. I'm a-a pacifist and I just killed a man."
His brother thinks he is being a little picky. "Fire? Explosives? They don't kill?"
Sam sighs. Dean has a point. "Not- not face to face, Dean. It's different somehow."
Dean dismisses that with a sneer. "Wasn't a man anymore, Sammy."
He stalks out of the room. As always, Sam follows.
~O~
Dean has made his way back to the mess hall and Sam finds him ransacking the kitchen for food, slamming cupboard doors and rattling empty pans. Boy, is he fungry. The energy drain he has experienced over the last several hours is really biting back. He would kill for a cheeseburger.
"Sammy, I seriously need to eat something before I implode," he grumbles.
Sam steps in and takes over, grabbing back a package of beancurd his brother is sniffing suspiciously.
"Dude, go sit down and I'll make you something to eat. Then you're gonna tell me what the hell has been going down here, because this whole thing feels freakin' unreal."
Dean pulls out a chair and flops down at the long mess hall table, sighing. Sam can see he looks completely beat. He opens a can of tomato soup and nukes a couple frozen tofu hotdogs.
"Got anything to drink, Sam?"
Sam knows Dean doesn't mean water. He already noticed his brother's hands are starting to shake a little.
"There's a fifth of Jack in the Rec Area. Over by the TV."
Dean gets up to fetch it. He rescues the whiskey bottle from behind a teetering pile of old DVDs - no TV reception in Antarctica - and he has already glugged downed a slug before he gets back to the table. Sam hands him a glass and he pours another, leans back and sighs.
"Ah! Sammy. Sammy. Sammy."
Sam returns to stirring the soup. Without turning around, he remarks, "Man, can you STOP with that."
Dean knits his brows. "What, Sam?"
"That right there. Saying my name all the damn time. You'll wear it out."
Dean didn't realize he was doing it. Only it feels GOOD to say his brother's name out loud again, after so long. Nice to not feel his voice break on that second syllable.
He laughs. "Well, pardon me, Sam." Sam glares at him and he makes a face. "Oh. Kay."
The microwave dings. Sam pours the hot soup from the pan into a bowl, fixes the rolls, brings the whole meal over to his brother and sits down across from him. Dean points to the whiskey bottle but Sam shakes his head. He needs the facts first.
"Talk. I gotta hear this."
Dean finishes the steaming soup in record time then scornfully eyes the tofu-dogs. A loud rumble from his stomach soon alters his opinion. He shrugs, slathers them with ketchup and mustard then chows down.
"Got your last message," he mumbles, his mouth full of dog.
"Oh, yeah? Uh, great, I guess."
Sam is mildly interested. He wondered if his last email had even made it to Tasmania. So it got through? Fine. Not that it matters since the recipient is right here.
"Great?" Dean chokes on his mouthful. "Dude, I said your LAST message, knucklehead. Your final message. Ever."
Sam's brow crumples in a perplexed frown. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Exasperated, Dean waves his second half-eaten hotdog under his brother's nose.
"It means, Sammy, it's taken me a whole MESS of sweat and tears, not to mention a freakin' TRUCKLOAD of hard-earned cash to SHAZAM myself right here and now - to the butthole of oblivion - to SNATCH your scrawny ass outta the grabby paws of freakin' fate."
Wow! Sam holds up his hands.
"Shazam yourself? Dude, wait up. You're getting WAY into Twilight Zone territory here."
"Sure I am," agrees Dean, pushing away his empty plate. "You might wanna fix us some popcorn. 'Cause, brother, this is gonna be one EPIC flashback."
Sam sits spellbound as Dean acts out his entire backstory. He leaves almost nothing out, although he does pretty much skate over the empty heartbreak days directly following the shocking news of his kid brother's tragic death. Those times are way too painful to put into words, especially for an emotionally inarticulate guy like Dean. But Sam knows his big brother well. To him the little hitches, while Dean seeks for glib words to cover up his feelings, are the most eloquent. As always, Dean's eyes speak volumes.
"And that's where YOU show up," he concludes.
"When I holed up in the storeroom. Sure." Sam nods.
"When you hid your scaredy-cat ass in that funkhole, yeah," corrects his brother.
Sam isn't about to let that big-brother put-down pass unchallenged.
"Seem to remember YOU lollygagging in that same storeroom."
Dean grunts. He doesn't appreciate it much when his snarks rebound.
"I was NOT lollygagging. I was SURVEILLING the situation."
"Yeah? Well, likewise."
Dean, having succeeded in diverting attention away from his emotions by annoying his brother, folds his arms and smugly rocks back in his chair. Jeez, he has so missed this.
"And you paid for all this how?" Sam demands. "Had to be one crazy expensive stunt to build a freakin' Time Machine."
"Sold the car repair business. Yeah, Sammy, all five shops. House, savings all gone too. Worth it."
Sam is dismayed. "Aw, man! You loved that business."
Not as much as he loves his only brother, but Dean would never admit that to the guy's face. Awesome big brother Dean would move the Earth for his Sammy but he would blame Global Warming.
"Dude, it was worth every cent to get to ride in a freakin' Time Machine. Seriously, Universal Studios has nothing."
To break the mood, he raps on the table. "Uh, so Sam, you believe me now?"
"Sure, I believe," Sam chuckles. "Man, you don't have the imagination to make all that up by yourself. Though I gotta say there were a couple things I KNOW I've seen on late-night cable."
Dean spreads his hands wide.
"What can I say, Sammy? Sometimes life just imitates the crap outta art."
~O~
As Dean sits stuffing his face with anything edible his brother can find in the kitchen, Sam runs through the guy's backstory in his head. Several times he pauses to look at Dean with a fridge logic question half-formed but each time Dean merely raises an eyebrow silencing him. The big guy's face reflects the doubts and queries passing through his brain. Dean chuckles fondly. The kid is such an open book. He has missed that too.
When Dean is done feeding his face, he sits grinning affectionately across the table at his brother. Sam fidgets under his gaze. Does he have something written on his forehead?
Dean notices his discomfiture and laughs. "You are certainly a sight for sore eyes, bro."
Sam gently scoffs. "Glad you think I was worth it, Dean."
"You were, little brother," Dean assures him. "Dude, woulda done more."
"Really dunno how much more you coulda done."
Sam has to admit Dean amazes him. Who else would have been crazy enough to risk life and limb, and maybe worse, by travelling through space and time to save his sorry ass?
"So, uh, Dean, I guess now we wait for the regular supply plane to get us outta here? You want I get you some dry clothes?"
He checks out the cuts crisscrossing his brother's chest and the slash around his ear. "And Band Aids?"
"Sure," agrees Dean, flapping his hand away. "But before the cavalry gets here, I say we erase the evidence trail. No way can you explain all this freaky crap to the authorities. Not unless you wanna end your days finger-painting in some freakin' mental insane-atorium. May as well let history have its little methane explosion, huh?"
Sam nods. "And you? How're you gonna get back home, time-wise? You do know we accidentally took out your Tempala?"
Dean sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Their father gave him that car. And all those months he and Kevin worked on her, gone. He knows the Impala was a necessary sacrifice but it does bite.
"Kevin said she'd be unstable," he shrugs sadly. "But I guess it's what she woulda wanted."
His Baby missed the big guy's ass in shotgun anyways.
"So, uh?" Sam raises a questioning eyebrow. "You need a ride, Marty?"
Dean slaps the table with both palms.
"Not going home, Sam. This wa strictly a one-way trip. I messed with the freakin' timeline. Now you're safe MY future ain't gonna happen. Not HERE anyways. Expect I'm gonna wibble-wobble out any time now. My work here is done."
They stare at each other a long moment, but no wibble-wobbling takes place.
After a while, "We missed something?" Dean asks.
Sam searches his memory until a lamp comes on in his head. "Ellen?!" he yelps.
Jumping up, he bolts back to the lab where Ellen is lying trussed up like a turkey waiting for Thanksgiving. He rolls her out from under the unit. Her eyes are big and wild-looking. Dean appears behind him.
"Get her crucifix," grunts Sam. "It's in Campbell's room."
Dean returns a second later with the big gold cross and hands it to Sam. He is mystified by what Sam wants it for. They do have demon-killing knives, right?
"No way is that gonna work," he objects.
"It's all we got," responds Sam.
He isn't going to let Ellen go without trying his damnedest to save her. Ellen has been a mother to the team. She deserves whatever he can do. But he has zero idea what he CAN do.
To start, he pins the woman's shoulder to the floor with his left elbow and presses the heavy crucifix to her heaving breast, right over her heart and HARD. She squirms furiously, as Dean's strong hands restrain her legs, and she fights to scream through her gag. Steam rises from her flesh where the consecrated gold touches bare skin. The flesh bubbles and spits like fat on a griddle. Seems the thing WAS 'genuinely blessed'.
"I cast you out, unclean spirit!" Sam yells in her face. "Be gone from this creature of God! Depart from this servant of God! The power of Christ compels you!"
"Where'd you get all that?" Impressed, Dean is struggling to keep her down.
"Um, it's from 'The Exorcist'," admits Sam, with a half-shrug.
Amazingly, it IS working a little. The demon in Ellen is starting to weaken but it has its foul claws deep in the microbiologist's soul. In desperation Sam bitch-slaps her hard enough to make even Dean flinch, incidentally knocking the gag loose from her mouth. The demon spits full in Sam's face. He wipes off the spittle with the back of his free hand and growls.
"Listen to me, bitch. Your unholy plan is WRECKED. Your homies are freakin' GONE. You're the ONLY one of your loathsome breed left in this place. What're you gonna do against the two of us? It's over. Let go this woman. She's no freakin' use to you now."
The demon smirks up at him, aware Sam cares too much for Ellen to do her any real harm. Dean makes a scoffing sound, then he is shoving Sam aside.
One knee on her abdomen, he winds the heavy chain of the crucifix tight around the demon's neck, twisting it tighter and tighter, making her flail and choke. Gripping Walker's knife firm in his right fist, he presses the sharp point against her throat. A single drop of wine-dark, debased blood oozes from the tip and snakes its course across her white flesh, finding its escape via the cleavage of her heaving bosom.
She gasps. The cold look in Dean's green eyes means business.
"OK. No more monkeying around, bitch. This lady don't mean crap to ME. Anyone is better off dead than polluted with your kind's freakin' hellfire filth. Beat it, douchebag! In three I'm gonna start cutting. Nice thin slices of prime rib. You're gonna enjoy every second. Hell, I know I will. Yeah, I'm gonna fillet you. You wanna know how it feels to be sliced and diced one achingly slow inch at a time? And when I'm good and done I'm gonna ram this blade through your freakin' neck and it's gonna ring my bell but good, capisce? One. Two-"
The demon is quick to stop him. "OK, OK," she gasps. "You win, heartbreaker. It was getting kinda boring around here anyways."
Ellen's mouth opens and smoke curls up from her scarlet lips, black and noisome, disappears out the door, crosses the passageway and vanishes through a small crack in an outside window. Ellen falls soft and limp in Sam's arms, breathing albeit only shallowly.
"Awesome," comments Dean, pleased with his work.
Sam grins. "If I didn't know you, Dean. It couldn't tell you were bluffing."
Dean chuckles dryly. "Wasn't bluffing."
There hasn't been a whole lot to bluff about since he arrived in Antarctica. The danger is way too real.
Ellen coughs weakly and winces as Sam carefully eases the crucifix off of her scorched breast. It has left a nasty cross-shaped burn like some kind of tattoo, but it will heal. Probably. They untie her and she sits up rubbing her wrists. She is clearly a little disoriented, but herself again.
"What in the name of holy Hell just happened?" she demands, worried. "I- I was..." Her hands go to her neck.
Sam thinks fast. "It was Campbell. Filthy creep slipped you a roofy, the degenerate freak."
"Seriously?" She wonders why he would bother when she was so up for it. "The old pervert! Who'da guessed he was into date rape? He came over such a regular guy."
"The regular-looking perverts, they're the worst," comments Sam.
They help her to her wobbly feet and she notices the new arrival, Dean, for the first time. She flashes him a woozy smile.
"And who're you, handsome? Relief plane come early, Sam? The regular pilot's not this cute."
Dean shakes his head. "Nah, no plane yet. I'm Dean, Sam's brother. How I got here is, well, let's say it's classified."
Ellen's shapely eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. "Classified, huh?"
"Ma'am." Dean assumes what he thinks of as a military hero face.
Slightly shell-shocked, Sam tries not to laugh hysterically.
"C'mon, Ellen. You deserve a drink."
TBC
A/N: Looks like everything is peaceful and peachy. But Dean is still here. Next chapter soon.