A/N: In all honesty, this chapter never really felt right to me and it was really hard to make myself edit this one because of that. I probably should've just rewritten the thing, but my larger goal right now is to finish this story for you all as quick as possible. I think I've made you wait long enough (I'm so sorry).
So, this chapter is not as polished as the last one—I just couldn't make myself re-read it over and over. I think the last half of the chapter will probably be more enjoyable for you than the first half (I enjoyed it more, anyway). It's this first section that really gave me fits. I still hate reading it…I hope you don't.
Gaelicspirit was kind enough to give this a sanity read and made some adjustments for me, but other than that, this is not beta read.
I apologize for clunky sentences and any errors. Hopefully, the next one will be better.
Thank you for sticking with me and for reading. Reviews are much appreciated and very motivating, so thank you in advance for those as well.
Chapter 11: Before We Disappear
Life ain't nothing if it ain't hard
It'll show you who you truly are
Knock you down when you get too tall
Till you spun around in a free fall
~Chris Cornell, Before We Disappear
Dean's words rang in Sam's ears. Hurt hit first, followed swiftly by confusion.
If Sam knew one sure thing about his brother, family came first—above everything. For Dean, that meant sticking together through whatever life dealt, good or bad. This especially applied to Sam. Brain coming back online, Sam pushed his hurt aside and gave Dean the answer he'd pressed for.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should stay, go back to school when all this is done."
The truth telegraphed through Dean's body language. He flinched and paled, his expression registered shock—the fingers on his right hand fisted on his knee. Sam knew immediately Dean didn't mean one word of it.
But…then why? Why would Dean press this issue when it was not what he wanted? Figuring out Dean's motivations, though, could be a lot like playing chess. Sometimes Sam had to apply pressure to reveal the strategy.
He decided to let the play run, hoping upping the ante would, at some point, pay off in a confession. Until then, they had a case to solve.
"First, we gotta finish this job," Sam continued. "I think we should tell everyone what's going on. They're scared and any information, any hope we can give them, will help."
A vestige of shock fading from his expression, Dean nodded. "Okay, Sam. Your call. We'll handle it however you want."
Sam cringed. Passivity rarely bode well where Dean was concerned. Sometimes it was another word for giving up and he could feel his stomach tighten at the thought.
Overriding his little brother intuition, Sam said, "I'll call everyone and see if we can meet at Becky's so we can talk to them all at once."
Closing his laptop, Sam grabbed his phone and stood.
"Look," Dean began, rubbing his neck as his words brought Sam to a standstill. "I know you don't want to hear this, but, uh, it's probably one of your friends who summoned Jess."
Sam sighed. "Yeah, I've been trying not to think about it. Why would any of them want to do something like this? Why bring Jess back? Why bind her?"
"I don't know, man," Dean gazed at him with sorrow, "and I'm sorry. But we need to figure out which one of them did this and make sure they never try anything like it again."
"Yeah, I know." Sam hoped Dean knew he could count on him—that he wasn't irreparably damaged by the turns of this job, but Dean had dropped his eyes and wouldn't look back. "I'm gonna make those calls."
Sam stepped outside leaving Dean sitting on the bed—shoulders slumped, head bowed as if it was simply too much to fight gravity.
Worry about Dean consumed him, but he had things to do. They had to resolve this job and fast—Dean's life depended on it, he was sure. Maybe I should call Dad? He'd know what to do. Pulling out his phone, his finger hovered over 'Dad' before he relented and pressed Chris's number, trying not to think too hard on it.
"Hello?" Chris's tired voice helped him refocus.
"Hey, you got a minute?"
"Uh, sure. I just got back from the hospital, but I've got some time before my evening class."
"How's Aaron?"
"No change. Looks like a princess waiting for true love's kiss."
The corner of Sam's mouth lifted. "I'm so telling him you said that… And Becky? Is she—how's she doing?"
"You know Becky. She's exhausted but she won't leave his side. They've put a recliner in the room so she can rest, but she needs to get out of that room—out of that hospital—for a while." Chris paused, then said, "How's things there? The truth, Sam."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut; leaned against the Impala. Unexpected emotion rose from the widening pit in his gut.
"Not so good, actually." Sam pressed his lips together to stop the tide rushing his lips, but found himself confessing. "I'm scared, Chris. I'm losing my brother. After everything, I'm losing him again."
Sam sniffed, pinching between his eyes.
"Sam? Hey—" Chris's voice sounded uncertain, puzzled.
Sam didn't want to be saying any of this, as if spoken a loud, it'd become real, but the words pressed out before Chris could continue.
"I thought the worst was over, he was getting better, ya know? But now…it's like he's dying all over again."
Sam heard Chris inhale in the silence he left hanging.
"Things were that bad with the car accident?"
"He was in a coma and the doctors didn't think he'd wake up—his heart stopped, but they got him back. So, yeah, it was bad."
"I'm sorry, Sam. I had no idea—I wish we could've been there for you. But he's not dying now," Chris said. "You're not losing him. He's a little beat up, but he'll be okay."
"Look, I know you're trying to make me feel better, but you don't know everything. Dean's in trouble, serious trouble, and if we can't stop it..."
Sam's voice broke and he stopped to swallow.
"I don't know what to say," Chris replied on a worried, nervous exhale. "I don't…I don't understand—is there something else happening? Is this…thing...monster…doing something to him in his dreams?"
Blowing out a breath, Sam explained, "It's called an ekimmu…and it's a type of poltergeist. It can hurt people like you saw it do to Dean—but it's not like Freddy Kruger. It can't cause physical injury to you in your dreams, it has to be present. It can also feed off your life force, influence your emotions—make you angry, that kind of thing."
"So—is that why you lost it like you did? Was it doing that to you?"
"Yeah, I think so. I had been at the apartment the night before and that's when I first remember being so angry…and it took a long time for the anger to fade."
"That's so…bizarre. Could it do that to any of us?"
"I think, yeah. If you were at the apartment where it's strongest and, especially, if you are experiencing heightened emotion, then, yes. The lore says it can cause criminal behavior, but I think it needs something there to work with to make someone do something they normally wouldn't."
"But you don't think that's what's going on with Dean?"
"Dean says no and I gotta admit, he doesn't fit the pattern. He says these dreams, nightmares…he thinks he's being pulled into the spirit plane, whatever you want to call it. It's a long story, but, uh…" Sam cleared his throat. "He's getting weaker—he's scared to sleep, won't eat. If we don't find a way to stop whatever's happening to him," Sam nodded to himself, "…I think it's killing him."
Another pause before Chris, stuttered out, "This is all so—it's crazy." Chris stopped and light puffs of air passed through the ear piece of the phone. A moment later, Chris said, "I won't pretend I get any of this or how it's possible, but, Sam, you're gonna beat it. Whatever it is, you'll figure it out. You're the smartest person I know and when you set your mind to it, there's nothing you can't do.
Sam laughed. "Yeah, man, I wish. Dean keeps saying we'll figure it out too…we always do. And he's right, I know he's right…"
"I can hear the 'but' a mile away. But?"
Fear fractured Sam's brittle words. "But I can see something in his eyes…it scares me. It's like he's saying goodbye, like he's given up or something. I'm not sure what to make of it, but I feel like we need to hurry, whatever we do." He cleared his throat and took a breath. "Which is why I'm calling you. We need to get the whole group together and explain what we know and what we plan to do next."
"Okay, sounds good. Whatever you need, I'm there."
"Thanks, man. I-I really appreciate it. Also, I need you to tell me what happened at the apartment. I need to hear your version of events, what happened and how Dean was acting."
"Okay—why don't you ask Dean?"
"Because I need to know everything and not the edited-for-Sam's-benefit version."
"Oh, right—yeah, I remember how that trick goes. Tommy used to hate when I did that. I can imagine it's a big pet peeve of yours, too?"
"Understatement of the century." Sam smiled, knowing Chris was smiling too. "I need to know what to expect if we go back there. So, it's you, man."
"Okay, well, I hate to be one to undermine the big brother code of honor, but if you think it'll help?"
Sam hesitated. He wanted to know what had happened between Dean and Chris that night at the hospital—but given the weird truce they seemed to have forged, maybe it was better to let it go?
"Okay, start at the beginning, start with when you got to the apartments and tell me what happened from there."
WCAWCAWCA
After ending his call to Chris, Sam stuck his shaking hands in his pockets and let his chin rest on his chest, Impala bracing him from behind. He closed his eyes and let the guilt and residual fear wash over him. All thoughts of calling the others fled; he just couldn't deal with it right now.
While he'd been puffed up with self-righteousness and anger, his brother had been bleeding and unconscious. Dean would have spent hours bleeding alone in that cold apartment if not for Chris.
Sense memory of his hands shoving against Dean's chest curled his fingers—he could hear the thump of his brother's body hitting the wall. That the ekimmu had made a marionette of his emotional state gave little comfort when he imagined his brother pinned to the ceiling, bleeding, in pain, because of his dead girlfriend.
At least now it made sense why Dean didn't know where his car keys had been.
Swimming in tandem with guilt, irritation prickled his skin knowing Dean had point-blank refused to go to the hospital. And why had he refused to go to the hospital? Because he didn't want to further upset Sam. Which was plain stupid. Sam would have been far more upset if Dean had suffered greater injury—or worse, died—because he'd refused to seek medical attention. But, of course, Dean believed he was charmed with invincibility.
Thank God for Lori and her medical training. Even as he felt grateful, he also felt frustrated with both her and Chris. Physically, Dean had been in no condition to stop them from carting him off to the hospital had they insisted. Shaking his head, he scoffed. He knew how convincing Dean could be when he tried. For all the crap he flipped at Sam for his puppy eyes and lost orphan look, Dean had a hell of a way of getting people to do what he wanted as well.
And, of course, Chris would've fallen into protect Sam mode right along with him.
Thoughts and feelings churned and mixed until Sam didn't know what to feel. It was all so much. And he knew he'd have to get himself under control if he and Dean were going face this thing. He couldn't risk attracting the attention of the ekimmu and its influence again.
He concentrated on clearing his mind and letting the tension drain from his body, envisioned it melting out through his toes. The Impala held him steady, a solid sturdy weight at his back while he wrapped his emotions into a tight ball he could control, making sure they would not control him.
He focused on the feel of the cold steel at his back, on the solid cement under his feet. Tipping his head back, he absorbed the sunshine and let the California breeze lift his hair up and away. Being aware of every sound and sensation, he dwelled in the moment, let it make him strong. The chaos of life swelling around him helped bring a sense of grounding.
His eyes sprang open. For a fleeting second, he caught a wisp of something. Refocusing, he left himself open to the nudge tip-toeing through his mind.
Dean.
Muted, barely there, but definitively Dean. Buried deep, his brother's unconscious bond called. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean's soul swelled outside his body—as if all that had happened in the last months had cracked the walls that contained it just enough for anyone sensitive enough to pick it up. He'd thought it gone, but there it was, just a graze. The depth of Dean's misery hovered outside of Sam's perception, but drew close enough he caught an impression of... insecurity? Guilt and sadness also layered under the physical pains. What could Dean possibly be feeling so much guilt and doubt about?
Those warning bells from earlier in the car blared again. He remembered how Dean hadn't fought back at Lori's, didn't even try to protect himself. The only reason Dean would leave himself openly vulnerable was if he thought he deserved it. Sam had seen his brother do this before in various ways. Usually a bar fight Dean got the worst end of after a particularly bad hunt. A bad hunt being defined by guilt over the death of an innocent. But what had Dean done that would deserve Sam's anger like that?
That was just—no. Sam wouldn't allow Dean to do that to himself. Whatever his idiot brother was stewing about, Sam knew with certainty Dean didn't deserve any of this.
Before he could take the thoughts any further, the thread was gone. He was alone in his own skin once again. His first instinct was to march into the room and demand Dean talk to him. Sam wanted the chance to refute the misplaced blame he'd sensed—he needed Dean to know what he knew. He knew his brother was a good man who fought hard to get up every day and do the right thing without regard to the constant weight he carried.
He also knew Dean would never be still enough to listen—likely he'd be too full of mortification to hear anything Sam would say. His brother would go on full-facility lock down.
No, Sam thought, some things Dean needed to believe he kept private. It would be more advantageous to keep an eye out for Dean instead. Circle the wagons and protect, that's what he had to do now. With his purpose renewed on that single thought, Sam felt centered and prepared to move forward.
Coming back into the room, Dean had moved to the table and was pecking idly at Sam's laptop. There was a little line of concentration between Dean's eyes as he squinted at the computer screen, reading. Something had captured his interest.
Coming to stand next to Dean, Sam asked, "Find something?"
"Yeah, sort of." Dean's eyes skimmed across the lines as one finger tapped the down arrow. "According to this guy, Rene Descartes, the soul is joined to the body through the pineal gland." Dean looked up. "That's the gland Missouri says is responsible for my connection to the spirit world, right?"
Sam slowly nodded. "Yeah."
"Well, this says some people believe the soul communicates through the pineal gland and is the center of spiritual and psychic energy. It is also where the sleep regulator, melatonin, is produced…it, uh, gets triggered through the eye's retina."
"Okay," Sam conceded, "and why do we care about that?"
"Chris said when I woke from my nightmare, he could see flames in my eyes. Maybe, for second, he was seeing through the door? What if the lore is right, and the door between the spirit world and reality is accessed in each person through this gland?" Dean spread his hands out. "So, instead of me being a Ham Radio, it's more like my door got left open by the near-death experience from the car accident? What if, when circumstances are right, a person's soul can get pushed through this door when they are asleep or unconscious?"
"What?" Sam drew his head back in surprise, eyes darting in thought. "Wait. If that was true, everyone who had this connection would run the risk of being pulled across and our research didn't mention anything about a coincidence of death."
"Right," Dean said, "but most people don't actively pursue the link when they see spirits—especially not at first. Most people would do everything in their power to avoid contact—whereas I have been reaching out to Jessica right from the get-go and she's been reaching for me. Plus, when we did our research, we never looked closely to whether or not there were any deaths associated with this phenomenon."
Sitting, Sam leaned forward on the table. "Okay, go on."
"I've been doing some looking," Dean paused to meet Sam's eyes, "and there's not a lot out there about it—understandably. But, there are a couple of cases where people who experienced NDEs ended up dead several months after performing a séance to connect with a dead loved one."
"That's not exactly good news, Dean."
"Maybe not, but it gives us a place to start figuring this out. Missouri told us until I learned control, it wasn't a good idea to mess around with this. Maybe, between my lack of control, Jessica reaching out to me and the ekimmu and their combined pull..." Dean shrugged.
Sam blew out a breath. "So you think your soul is literally being pulled through the open door in your brain to the other side?"
"I don't see a better explanation. Do you?"
Sam had to admit he didn't. "So how do we stop it?"
"Well, I say we keep doing what we're doing. Unbind Jessica and get rid of the ekimmu. Once Jessica is free to move on and the ekimmu is banished, the pull might reverse itself. And I think it has to happen at the apartments where their presence is the strongest."
"There's one problem," Sam said, "every time you get near the place, you end up on death's door. And I can't do a spell reversal, exorcise the ekimmu while also keeping it off my back without your help."
"I'll be fine, Sam. We'll have to be quick, is all. As soon as Bobby calls back with what we need, we can start planning when to do this thing. I say, the sooner the better." Dean leaned back, rubbing his blood-shot eyes.
Sam couldn't take his eyes off the weary slump of Dean's shoulders. He was right. They needed to act now before Dean grew any weaker, but Sam couldn't help the panic building in his chest whenever he thought about taking his brother back there. He didn't want Dean anywhere near that place—talking to Chris had confirmed that. But, he also knew he couldn't do this thing without Dean. Looking at his pale-faced, raccoon-eyed, shivering brother, he had an urge to pack them both up and run. Take Dean and run as fast and far as they could.
He knew he wouldn't, because Dean wouldn't. The panic escaped as a weak, breathy plea. "Dean…."
Dean's face changed from eagerness to something painful.
"Don't, Sam. Please." Dean looked out the window, hands dropping to his lap. "You know we don't have a choice."
But we do have a choice, Sam wanted to scream. Call some other hunters in, leave, let it be someone else's problem. He shook his head and let his hair fall forward to cover his face. Even as those thoughts crossed his mind, he knew he could never be okay with leaving Jessica in the hands of anyone else. He couldn't.
His phone rang, startling him. Looking at the display, it read BOBBY.
Sam answered it, clearing his throat. "Uh, hey, Bobby. Whatta ya got?"
Dean's posture relaxed at the mention of Bobby's name. Sam half listened as Bobby explained about ekimmus and how it couldn't be banished until the original binding spell was broken. Breaking his eyes away from Dean, he stared at the table as he concentrated on what Bobby was saying.
"Everything I got says this was summoning spell designed for revenge. It works by binding the spirit to haunt the victim until they either go crazy or die. A specific victim."
"What? Bobby, that can't be right. Are you sure?"
Dean's eyebrows rose, but he didn't say anything.
Sam winced at the cussing insults Bobby threw his way. "No, sorry, you're right."
"You think I'm still wet behind the ears, kid? I just get my jollies half-assing my research? Think I'd be telling you this if I weren't sure?" Bobby continued ranting.
"Alright, I said I'm sorry!"
He shot a glare Dean's way, suppressing the chuckle that escaped Dean's lips.
"Of course I'm sure, ya idgit! Passing an object through flame, everything that's happening—no other explanation. She's still here because her job ain't finished and haunting Dean is the job."
"I get what you're saying—I just don't understand how Dean got mixed up in this. It doesn't make sense unless Dean was the original target and that makes even less sense—"
Listening to Bobby's gruff voice should have been a balm on his nerves, but the things he heard brought no comfort.
"Maybe the dumbass who did this made a mistake casting the spell, left it too vague...or maybe your brother's shining messed the spell up—a magnet for trouble, that boy—either way, she's bound to him or this wouldn't be happening. There's nothing else keeping her here other than the summoning and binding spell."
"I guess," he responded to what Bobby was saying, "but it seems thin. I mean, if someone had a target in mind, that's pretty powerful and usually requires something specific. I don't see—"
Sam held the phone away from his ear and grimaced at the obscenities pouring forth. Dean's soft laugh followed the tinny ant voice ranting from the speakers. Their eyes met and even Sam had to smile. This felt familiar, felt right. Right enough he felt his shoulders relax from their hunched position.
When the yelling died down, Sam held the phone back to his ear. "Okay, so how do we undo it?" Sam's eyes followed as Dean stood and walked to the bathroom.
"You have get the culprit to burn the locket and break the binding spell."
At the doorway, Dean stumbled and he had to grab the wooden frame for support. Sam half stood from his seat, trying to listen to Bobby and keep an eye on Dean.
"Well, that's not gonna be easy. Not like whoever did it is going to walk up and say, 'hey, it's me'."
Sam had to tamp down the urge to end the call when Dean continued to cling to the wood unmoving. Finally, Dean pressed a hand to his forehead, took a breath and disappeared into the bathroom, closing Sam off.
Sam sat back, keeping one ear and both eyes on the bathroom door. "We could what?" Sam glowered at the phone.
"The only other way to break the spell is to trick it into thinking Dean is dead. Stop his heart long enough and the magic binding dissolves."
Whispering as he moved away from the bathroom, Sam said, "Bobby, he nearly collapsed just now walking to the bathroom…and these nightmares he's having? Dean thinks his soul is being pulled through to the other side. There's no way he's strong enough to risk that."
"Look, Sam, I hear you, boy, but this is pretty strong mojo and hard to break. She won't stop until she's released one way or another."
"Yes, I know, but…," Sam gripped the phone so hard, the plastic creaked. "And that's the only other option besides getting the original caster to burn the locket?"
"Those are the only two ways I can find to break the binding spell. That has to be done before you banish the Ekimmu or she'll go with it."
"Bobby, no—"
"I know, kid, I know. Look, I've got another idea, but I knew you wouldn't like it…so I gave you the worst-case scenarios first. I found a spell that would allow Jessica to possess Dean—maybe she can tell you who did this? I think it's your best shot. The ingredients and the incantation are very precise, so you'll need to write this down if you want to try it."
Sam's lips pulled back as he grit his teeth, pressing his fist, phone and all, to his forehead in frustration. Bobby was right, he didn't like it one bit. Stopping Dean's heart was not an option, though, and they needed to find out who did this and fast. "Okay, hang on." He got up and rummaged around until he found paper and a pen. "Alright, give it to me."
Sam carefully jotted each ingredient as Bobby called them out along with the instructions for performing the ritual and the words for the incantation. The instructions had to be followed to the letter, so he diverted all his attention to Bobby's words as he wrote it down.
"You got all that?"
"Uh, yeah. Got it. Thanks, Bobby. I'm sorry about earlier, there's a lot goin' on and—"
Sam forgot to finish his apology. Dean had opened the bathroom door and stood with such a strong look of confusion that Sam forgot what he was saying. Sam walked toward him, a question on his lips when Dean went gray and crumpled to the floor.
"Crap! Call you back!" Sam hung up on Bobby and tossed his phone aside. "Hey," he said, lifting Dean from the floor to brace him between his arm and chest. "Dean, c'mon!" He gave his brother a shake and then another. "Wake up, Dean!"
Dean stirred, face screwed up as he blinked at Sam. "S'going on?"
Sam helped him sit, keeping his hands on Dean's shoulders for support. "You tell me. You came out of the bathroom and dropped like a stone."
"Hmm. Felt a little dizzy," he slurred. "Then, it was light's out."
Dean pulled his knees to his chest and rested his arms across his stomach, content for a moment to lean against Sam.
"Thought you were on the phone with Bobby?"
"Dude, you passed out…kinda ended the conversation pretty quick."
"Oh. Sorry?"
"It's okay. We were mostly done anyway. Though, I'm gonna have to call Bobby back and explain." Patting Dean's shoulder, Sam said, "Let's move this conversation somewhere more comfortable."
Sam didn't wait for Dean's response. He hooked his hands under Dean's elbows and lifted him slowly to his feet.
"Mmm, good thinkin', Sammy," Dean mumbled.
Sam settled him onto the bed. "There, that's better. Want some water?"
Dean shook his head, swaying woozily with the motion. "What did Bobby say?"
"You sure you want to talk about that now?" Sam hedged. "You don't look so good. Maybe we should—"
Dean lifted his eyes. "I get you're worried, Sam, but don't do that. My body may be weakening, but my mind is fine."
"I know," Sam said, "I didn't mean…." Sam sighed at the look on his brother's face, left the sentence open. Sitting next to Dean, he scrubbed his face with both hands and dove in.
"He said this particular spell, the kind where something personal has been passed through fire, means there was a specific purpose to the binding." The confusion on Dean's face mirrored exactly how Sam felt. "It means," Sam continued, "someone brought Jess back to haunt someone. A specific someone."
"But why?" Dean asked.
"Most likely? Revenge. Which makes no sense—why would any of my friends want that kind of revenge? And why a haunting? Why use Jess?"
"I don't know, Sam. Seems oddly specific and personal. Did Bobby say how we break it?"
"Yeah," Sam's shoulders slumped. "That's where it gets tricky. Obviously, something went very wrong and she's bound to you until you either die or go insane."
"What?" Dean turned to him.
"Bobby says she's bound to someone until the job is finished or she wouldn't still be here. That's how the spell works—and since you're the one she's haunting…"
Sam shook his head at Dean's look. "I don't know, man. Bobby says it is possible you were never the original target, but a mistake was made or maybe it was your pineal gland activity. He thinks somehow you got in the way and, wham! He thinks maybe with your thing going on, it drew her in. I don't know…maybe she had enough of herself left to reach for me, but got you?"
"That's pretty thin, Sam." Dean said, face a mixture of confusion and cynicism.
Throwing his hands up, Sam exclaimed, "Well, it's all I got. You got a better idea?"
Dean rubbed a finger and thumb beneath his lower lip. After a minute, he said, "Yeah, I do. But you're not gonna like it."
Sam couldn't imagine it getting any worse. "Tell me."
"Well, let's say whoever did this had it out for you. It was you she was supposed to haunt. One wrong word, and, uh, with my…problem, that makes a lot more sense how she got stuck with me instead. Like a moth to a flame."
He didn't want to think one of his friends would do that to him—they knew how devastated he'd been. Dean was right, though. It would make a lot more sense. Jess was the best of them all. Any one of them could blame him for her death. Any one of them—and they'd be right.
"You all right?"
Sam looked up, met Dean's eyes so full of concern for him. It wasn't fair. Maybe he deserved this, but not Dean.
Sam coughed to clear his throat. "Yeah. Just hard to believe this is happening."
"This isn't your fault, you know," Dean said, somehow knowing. "This? This is on whoever cast the spell, not you."
Sam nodded, but the words didn't lift his burden. Of course, his brain knew Dean was right, but it didn't change how his heart felt. He appreciated Dean's attempt, though.
Heaving a weary sigh, Dean rubbed his hands down his thighs. "Okay, so how do we fix this?"
Closing his eyes, Sam breathed out. "Bobby says there are only three ways to stop this."
"Okay…and?"
"The first would be to get whoever cast the spell to melt the locket."
"Well, that's not gonna be easy—especially since we don't even know who it is. Second option?"
Swallowing, Sam looked at Dean. "Option two, we banish Jess with the ekimmu."
Surprise chased across Dean's face. "Well, screw that! Not happening. I'm almost scared to ask, but option 3?"
"You die. Or, well, you have to die long enough to sever the link to Jess. I told him we couldn't do that, you're too weak."
"Okay, but if we don't have any other options?"
"No, Dean—forget it." Sam glared at Dean for thinking option three was in any way viable. "When I told Bobby as much, he suggested performing a ritual—letting Jessica possess you. He says she will be able to tell us who cast the spell and we can force them to melt the locket."
"Alright," Dean nodded, "that's more like it. So why the poo-poo face?"
"Because Dean, look at you! Look at what being in the same room with Jess does to you! You think you're strong enough to come out the other end? I mean, who knows what letting Jess possess you will do to you."
Dean pursed his lips, glanced at Sam before spreading his hands. "What choice do we have? Yeah, it sucks, but it sucks less than the other options."
Sam didn't say anything. He didn't like any part of it and hated feeling like they had no choice. God help whoever was behind this because Sam was going to nail their hide to the wall, friend or not.
"Hey, you hear me?" Dean was saying, nudging his arm.
"Mmm-what?"
"I said, did you get a list of the ingredients we'll need?"
"Yeah, I got it. Standard stuff—but the words and the ritual have to be precise. No room for error, so I want to practice drawing the symbols and saying the words before we actually do it."
Dean frowned. "Yeah, we don't need for this to get any more screwed. So, we going shopping?"
"Why don't you stay here," Sam said, standing. "I can cover this on my own."
"I'd rather come with, I'm sick of doing nothing." Dean stood too. "And sleeping is out."
Sam frowned at the flush he saw in Dean's cheeks. He pressed the back of his fingers to Dean's cheek.
"Dude," Dean ducked away, but not quickly enough.
"You've got a fever. You think going out is a good idea?"
"No, it's a great idea—better than sitting here going stir crazy." Dean walked to the door. "C'mon, let's go find ourselves a nice Pagan magic shop."
He was out the door leaving Sam no choice but to grab the keys and follow. This and the surrounding cities were big enough, finding the right kind of shop wouldn't be that hard. In the car, Sam pulled his phone out and began searching for the nearest place. After a few minutes of scrolling he found a place a little closer to San Francisco, but not too far to drive.
"Got it," he said.
"Alright," Dean said, patting the dash, "let's go."
WCAWCAWCA
Dean drifted in and out of a light doze. The sway of Baby rocked him toward sleep, but he'd jerk himself awake, heart racing in fear of losing a little more of himself. At some point, he must have finally lost the battle because the car door slammed and shook him awake. Opening his eyes, he found his face pressed against the glass of the Impala's window and his neck aching from his awkward slump.
"Hey," Sam said, setting a sack in the floorboard by Dean's legs. "Feeling better?"
"Except for this giant crick in my neck." He pushed himself upright, wincing at the sharp sting of stitches tugging in his chest. His fingers lightly rubbed over them, soothing the needle-like pain away.
The muffled sound of Sam's phone cut off any questions Dean had about where and how long. His too heavy head fell back against the headrest and he shifted his eyes sideways to watch Sam dig into his pocket. Who could possibly be calling them right now?
"Nathan, everything okay?" Sam glanced at him as he said, "Uh, well, we're like 45 minutes out—"
Dean ignored the soreness in his neck and rolled his head fully toward his brother. Squinting against the bright light reflecting off the car's hood, Sam listened to his friend intently. The afternoon sun bared down on the black car, but it didn't stop Dean from shivering. Sam didn't even call him on it anymore—maybe because it had become his permanent condition. He envied the bead of sweat rolling off his brother's face. His eyes trailed Sam's awkwardly long fingers brushing the moisture away.
"Um, let me check with Dean." Sam pulled the phone away from his ear, smothering the mouthpiece against his chest. "Do you feel up to dinner? Nathan says Becky agreed to take a break—he wondered if we'd meet them at The Treehouse? Might be a good time to run all this by her and see how she feels about what we're thinking."
Dean nodded and closed his eyes as soon as Sam went back to his conversation. He really wanted to say no. He longed to hide from the world and remain cocooned in Sam and Dean World forever.
"Yeah, we'll meet you there. Okay, sounds good."
He heard humor in Sam's voice at whatever Nathan had said but all Dean could do was wonder if this was the person who'd done this terrible thing. To wonder if this was a person so angry with Sam they'd summon his dead girlfriend to haunt him. One thing was for sure, people were complicated and it could be hard to predict which ones held the deepest secrets. This kid, though, he didn't seem like the type to hurt people. None of them did.
"Alright, see you in a few."
Dean blinked and then blinked again. The road thrummed underneath him, the rumble of the engine a steady purr, the high tones of music rode just above that. Where the last several minutes had gone, he didn't know. Blinking a little wider, he could see the sun nestling in the horizon, shadows falling across the landscape and casting the city in a cloak of color and darkness.
Swiveling his head to his right, he watched the buildings blur by, their yellow lights beginning to glow in the dimness. Body completely at ease, he forgot to be afraid. Even when everything took on a surreal, dreamlike quality that increasingly terrified him, this is where he felt safe. Riding in the only home he had with his brother at his side. This was life at its best.
Breathing in, Dean shut his eyes against loss and grief invading the moment—Sam had agreed and would be staying behind. When this case was solved, if there was enough left of him to move on, he'd be moving on alone. His fists curled and he grit his jaw. Everything, hopeless. Dean closed his eyes and wished for some help, wished for this burden to be removed.
"Hey, we're here." Sam shook his shoulder gently.
Dean's eyes blinked open—had he fallen asleep again? The last he remembered, despair clutched him in a tight grip. Even in the middle of that, he'd…what? Blanked out? Fallen asleep? What exactly?
"At the risk of sounding like a broken record, are you okay?"
Sam's concern bled through his eyes and Dean broke the contact, looking around him as he pushed to sit. The engine popped and cracked as it cooled in the night air, the rising moon large in the east and street lamps now the main source of illumination. Stopped in a large parking lot, there wasn't much to see.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, distracted by their location. "Are we on campus?"
Sam peered out the front window toward a mass of buildings. "Uh, yeah. The Treehouse is an on-campus restaurant. We used to meet here for pizza and burgers when we were too lazy to go very far or just short on time." Sam opened the door, looked back at him. "Hope you're ready for the best burger you've ever eaten."
Dean grabbed Sam by the loose material at his elbow. "Hey, let's keep this to basics. No need to show all our cards, okay?"
Sam stared back and nodded. "Okay, yeah."
He followed Sam across the parking lot and inside a nondescript shop nestled between several other nondescript shops. Weird, rubbery weakness made him step carefully. His balance off, despite his care, caused him to bump into things as he passed. When his elbow cracked loudly on the doorframe, Sam shot him a funny look but kept going until his phone buzzed and he paused to read a text.
"They're on their way, said to go ahead and pick a table." Sam looked around the restaurant and then headed for a table tucked in a corner, affording them the only semblance of privacy in the restaurant. Once there, he let Dean sit in the chair backed into the corner before taking his chair and pulling it in close, essentially boxing Dean in. "If you know what you want, I'll order for both of us when they get here. The locals get a little bent out of shape if groups go up to order together."
Dean's first instinct was to say he wasn't hungry, but the tightness around Sam's worried eyes told him his brother was expecting as much. Looking around at the other diner's plates, he said, "Yeah, okay, best burger ever sounds great."
It was gratifying to see the surprise and relief in Sam's eyes. Dean wasn't sure how he was going to choke it down, but it would be worth it to see Sam relax a little.
"Yeah, okay." Sam nodded with enthusiasm. "The garlic fries are pretty good, too."
"Sure, why not?" Dean tried to smile, but he shivered instead. The air conditioning in this place was working a little too well.
"You still cold?"
Denial was pointless, so he shrugged.
"You want the spare coat in the car?" Sam asked.
"No, mom. It'd look weird me sitting here in a coat while everyone else is in shorts," Dean whispered.
"Who cares what everyone—"
"They're here." Dean nodded toward the entrance. Nathan and Becky stood inside the door, scanning the crowd. Part of him was relieved for the interruption, but another part of him tensed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea? Nervous jitters bloomed in his stomach and his heart rate jumped.
Sam lifted a hand in a wave and both responded with a smile as they weaved around tables toward them. Dean pulled in a deep breath, tried to steady the nerves jumped along his skin. He didn't know why he felt so off-kilter—this was not a big deal. Just more people he had to perform for. People important to his brother. Important because they'd be the ones looking out for him.
"Hey, guys," Sam said when they reached the table, "been a while since we've done this."
"Yeah, man," Nathan said, nodding at Dean quickly before saying to Sam, "too long. Food's still as good as ever, or so I hear."
Leaning with arms folded on the table, Dean watched the interaction between his brother and his friends and tried to imagine 19-year-old Sam sitting at one of these tables with younger versions of these people. Despite his arm pressing into Sam's and their shoulders brushing, he'd never felt more disconnected. This, in turn, increased his discomfort.
"You guys ready to order?" Nathan continued, not sitting. "Becky? What would you like?"
Sam stood and pulled out a chair for Becky. "I'll go with Nathan to order, you can stay here with Dean."
Becky smiled, but it looked strained and her eyes were shadowed. "Sure, get me the Teriyaki bowl and, uh, water." She sat across from Dean and when she looked up at him, she did a double-take. Dean tried not to make a face, but he had a feeling he knew what came next.
After Sam and Nathan were out of earshot, she leaned in. "Are you okay?" Dean opened his mouth to answer her and she cut him off with a look. "No lies, Dean. How are you, really?"
Since when had he become so predictable? He probably had Sam to thank.
Smirking, he said, "Shouldn't I be asking you?" Guilt made him break his eyes to the table top. "I don't know if I've had a chance to say so, but I'm sorry about Aaron. I should've told him no, I…," he stopped to swallow.
A warm hand covered his.
"I'm going to tell you like I told Sam," she said once she had his attention. "It's not your fault. He wanted to go, he's an adult. You both made it clear it was dangerous and tried to talk him out of it. I don't blame you and I know Aaron wouldn't either…so please, don't let this weigh on you."
He bit his lip and nodded—more to appease Becky than because he agreed. He knew he'd messed up. He couldn't help wondering why she was being so nice to him. Between shape-shifter Dean and Aaron getting hurt, he was surprised he wasn't getting a sharp palm to the face.
"Dean," she said, breaking into his thoughts. She stared at their hands with wide eyes, "you're shaking like a leaf." A frown pulled at her mouth.
He sat back, letting the movement dislodge her hold. "Yeah. It's…okay. I'm okay." He hoped she'd let it go. This was one discussion he did not feel comfortable having with basic strangers.
She sat back as well, her hand still resting on the edge of the table. "Well, I hate to be blunt, but you don't look okay."
The half-smile he'd been giving Becky fell from his face. He shook his head and sucked his bottom lip against his teeth until it twist. She was right, of course—he wasn't alright. And maybe that was why he felt so on edge? Nothing felt right. Sniffing, he let his eyes find Sam standing at the counter making their order and leaned forward again.
"I was wondering if I could ask you a favor." His voice came out gruff, so he cleared his throat and met her eyes square on. Out of all Sam's friends, Becky was the one he felt most sure about. He didn't count Lori since she and Sam just met.
"Sure, what is it?" Her demeanor suggested she knew something serious was coming.
"Sam and I have been talking…once this is over and we've taken care of everything…Sam's staying."
Her mouth fell open and her eyes roved his face. "What are you talking about? Sam's thinking about going back to school?"
"Yeah," Dean forced between stiff lips. "It'll be better for him, here."
Becky studied him until he began to fidget under the scrutiny. Anxiety hopscotched through his chest and he shivered.
"Is this Sam talking or you?" Before he could answer, she leaned in and lowered her voice. "You know, Sam and I talk. Since the thing in Saint Louis, we've been emailing now and then—a phone call on occasion."
Dean wondered where this was going. "Yeah? Not surprising, I guess. Sam needs people around him."
"I'm saying...all the times we've talked? He's never once mentioned coming back to school. He seemed pretty sure about where he needed to be and what was important to him." She kept her gaze steady on his face.
"What can I say? Things change. Maybe being back here made him realize what he was missing?"
She gave an abortive head shake that seemed frustrated more than anything.
"And what about you? This doesn't seem like the kind of job someone should do solo."
He shrugged, taking a long breath in through his nose, cleared his throat again. "Wouldn't be the first time. You do what you gotta do." Wanting to end the conversation, he asked, "So… Will you, uh, you know, keep an eye on him for me? Call me if he needs anything?"
Becky pressed her lips together. Regarding him steadily, she nodded. "Of course, I will." She bent her head to the side. "But are you sure this is what he wants?"
His eyes traveled back to Sam paying for their food. He shrugged. "He didn't say no."
And wasn't that the kicker. He'd been so sure Sam would dig his heels in, and, when he didn't, Dean had been hurt—which made him angry at himself. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? It was what was best for Sam and he should be grateful his brother had agreed. If Sam had insisted otherwise, Dean wouldn't have been able to keep saying no. But somehow, despite it all, he felt…betrayed. And wasn't that a foolish, selfish thing?
When a basket of fries slid in front of him, he flinched away.
"Whoa, easy." Sam placed Dean's burger and beer in front of him after a pause, saying, "Talking about me, huh? Was it a good secret?" His voice held humor in it, but Dean knew he was concerned and genuinely curious.
"You wish," Dean muttered, grabbing the beer and taking a deep pull from it.
Becky glanced at him and then smiled at Sam. "I was giving Dean the same speech I gave you about needless guilt."
Sam's face sobered as he nodded and sat. "Ah, yes. The Becky Pep Talk." He looked up as Nathan approached. "Chris said there'd been no change?"
"No." Becky sighed. "The doctors say he could wake up anytime." She reached for her water as Nathan took his seat. "Physically, they can't find anything wrong with him. They can't explain why he's still out."
"Yeah, well, I think we can."
Both Nathan and Becky froze in the middle of sorting out their orders and stared at Sam. Dean braced himself. Here we go.
"What?" Becky said.
Sam exchanged a look with Dean. "We have a theory about what's going on that might explain why Aaron isn't waking up."
"Are you serious?" Nathan asked, brows lifting.
Sam looked at his friend. "We had this case a while back. Children were falling into comas and no one could explain why. Turned out, it was a vampire-like witch called a Shtriga. It fed on the life-force of the children, sending them into a coma. Once we killed it, all the children woke up."
"So, wait," Becky perked up, "you think that's what's happening here? And if you kill it, Aaron will wake up?"
Dean scratched the side of his face. "Not exactly. This thing isn't a witch—more of an angry spirit, called an ekimmu. We've never dealt with one before, so we can't be 100% certain about anything."
A myriad of emotions crossed her face and she was obviously upset. Dean couldn't blame her. He wished they had better news for her.
"But you do think there's a chance, right?" she asked, determination crinkling her eyes.
"Yes," Sam chimed in, "we think it might work."
Nathan stared at his plate, looking puzzled. Dean didn't know what to make of the kid. Of all Sam's friends, he'd spent the least time around Nathan and he didn't have a good handle on him. He seemed quieter than the rest, though. Gentle, fragile. He chalked it up to the shock of knowing ghosts do exist.
Finally, Nathan spoke, hope brightening his eyes—asking what everyone else seemed to avoid mentioning. "So you don't think it's Jessica?"
Dean pinched between his eyes as he listened to Sam take a shaky breath.
"It's…complicated," Sam explained, "but, no, we don't think Jessica has anything to do with Aaron or the deaths. Far as we can tell, Dean's the only one she's hurting." Sam's gazed locked on his plate then and he pulled a lip in.
"Wait," Nathan looked between them, "what does that mean?"
Dean looked away and sighed loudly enough to draw attention. He didn't want to talk about it, wanted the subject dropped immediately. Every muscle tensed with the need to escape.
"We think whatever's happening to Dean—"
"Sam." Dean tried to stop the flow of words, but Sam only glanced at him.
"—is related to Jessica, but she's not doing it on purpose. Dean's been having these nightmares, only—"
Huffing with irritation, Dean broke in, voice raised a little too loud, a lot too aggressive. "Look, can we not talk about this now? Food's getting cold."
"Dean." Sam rebuked, giving a tight head shake.
"What?" he said, "They don't want to hear about this. I thought the whole purpose of this little meet and greet was to take a break."
"It's alright," Nathan intervened before things devolved. "He's right. We're supposed to be relaxing, we should talk about this later."
Sam glared at Dean. The look screamed, You're a stubborn idiot with no manners.
His scowl met Sam's until the ringing in his ears and the heat in his cheeks began to fade. He realized they'd become the center of attention—Becky had stopped pushing her food around and Nathan's eyes were bouncing between the two of them. Tension tightened his shoulders. He'd created an uncomfortable bubble of awkward.
Curious glances from the nearest table added to the crushing sensation building in his chest. All those eyes devoured his skin hotly, sending bolts of unease up and down his spine. He needed for everyone to stop looking at him. Pressing against Sam's side, he said, "Let me out, man. Gotta go to the restroom."
Sam stood and pulled his chair away and, with one hand on Dean's shoulder, asked, "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Sam." Dean jerked his shoulder away from the touch burning his skin. "Gotta pee—that okay with you?!"
Annoyance flashed bright on Sam's face and Dean stumbled to a stop, regret filling him immediately; that came out a lot harsher than he meant it. He threw a quick look of apology at his brother before striding away.
Once in the bathroom, Dean locked himself inside a stall and leaned back against it, closing his eyes. His heart throbbed, reverberating throughout his body; his lungs strained to pull air in and he coughed roughly. Pulling his inhaler from his pocket, he breathed the mist in and tried to relax his tense muscles. How had he lost complete control? Hiding in the bathroom like some overemotional girl. What's happening to me?
Holding his hands out, they trembled like an earthquake had seized them. He fisted them both and clenched them by his sides. After a minute of slow, deep breaths, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Dad?" he whispered when the voicemail picked up. "It's Dean. I—" Dean screwed his eyes shut painfully tight, nodded to himself. "It's nothing…just. I wanted to make sure you're okay. Call when you can. Bye."
Dean wrapped his hand around the phone and pressed both to his forehead.
"Get a grip," he whispered to himself.
He stood there, breathing, trying to track how much time had already passed and how long it would take to fake pee. Sure his reprieve was up, he came out of the stall and stood in front of the mirror over the sink. Dull, wet eyes met him when he looked up and he had to admit he did look like crap.
His skin bleached an abnormal color, cheeks gaunt, and an uncomely flush spreading down his neck. Sniffing, he turned on the water and bent to splash the coldness over his face. He dried his skin and left the bathroom, feeling shaky but at least the tightness in his chest eased enough to manage.
When he got back to the table, the conversation had moved on to old college stories and Becky grinned at something Nathan had been saying. Sam had left enough room for him to squeeze back into his chair and he listened to Sam chuckle as Nathan hammed it up. Dean tried to pick up the thread, but the words washed right over him. He shook his head to clear it and looked up to find Sam's eyes on him. He knew he had missed the end of the story, but surely he hadn't check out too long since the smile was just fading from Sam's face.
"You gonna eat that?" Sam nodded toward Dean's untouched plate.
Dean stared at the villainous food cooling in front of him. Dean Winchester, hunter of supernatural things, intimidated by a burger and fries. He winced. Picking up a bundle of fries, he stuffed them in his mouth and forced himself to chew. Tired of his brother's attention, he smiled wide, putting the mushy fries on display. Sam snorted with disgust and turned back to his seafood and salad.
The burger, though—that took all his will. After the first bite, every bite after settled in his stomach like a stone. When the first wave of nausea hit, he admitted defeat, flopped the burger back onto his plate and used his beer to keep down the little he'd managed.
A sharp jab in his side coincided with his name. "Dean?"
"What?" he asked, the room shifting and sharpening around him.
"I asked you a question," said Sam.
Dean looked around the table. Everyone had finished eating and looked at him in askance.
"Oh, sorry," he murmured, throwing a crushed napkin he'd been clenching onto his plate. "What was it?"
Sam cleared his throat and peered closely at him. "You up for meeting tomorrow night?"
"For the, uh...the thing we discussed?" Dean asked, having no recollection of what had been said while he was spacing.
"Weren't you listening?" Sam's words tinged in irritation, but worry colored his face and voice. "Tomorrow at six?"
Nodding, Dean said, "Yeah, sounds good."
Sam's eyes roved over Dean's face, scrutiny evident in the narrowing, intensely drawn scowl.
"Okay," Becky said, "I'll text Lori and Chris, let them know."
Nodding, but still distracted, Sam pushed his plate away and, distracted, murmured, "Make sure they know it's important they both be there."
"Yeah, I will," she said. "So, I guess I should be getting back to the hospital. Nathan, you ready?"
"Uh, sure."
Dean followed the group outside, relieved the evening was drawing to a close. Once out in the open air, he felt a little better. He watched Sam hug Nathan and then Becky.
"See you guys tomorrow." Sam smiled at them, but it was half-hearted.
"Yeah, man," Nathan said, "See ya later."
"Night." Becky squeezed Sam's hand as she released him from the hug. "See you soon."
When she moved in front of him next, he blinked in surprise.
"Hey, you too."
She wrapped him in her arms and whispered in his ear, "Talk to him, please." She smiled at him as she released him and turned to follow Nathan to his car.
Sam turned to look at him, eyebrows arched in surprise. "What was that?"
Dean shrugged, head wagging. "Don't look at me."
"Get your own friends." Sam narrowed his eyes, joking, "These ones are mine." Sam bumped Dean's shoulder as he passed.
After they got in the car, Dean turned to Sam. "Mind if we take the long way back? Get a little fresh air?"
Sam hesitated, then started the car. "Sure, man. But only for a while 'cause, you and me? We got a lot of work to do."
"Yeah, we do." Dean smiled at his brother.
This is what they excelled at, their differences never an issue when it came to their work. This, he'd miss like a limb…or two or three. When he and Sam worked together, perfectly in sync, there was no better feeling in the world. Turning on the radio, Dean stopped when he heard Soundgarden playing. Sam gave him a look.
"What?" Dean asked. "I like Soundgarden."
Sam grinned and shook his head, steering the Impala out onto the road.
Dean reached into the backseat and grabbed his light green coat and wrapped it around him, leaning back into the Impala's familiar smell. Rolling down the window, he closed his eyes and let the cooling night air clear his foggy mind as the music carried him away from his troubles.
WCAWCAWCA
"Dean?"
A hand patted his arm.
"Hey man, we're here."
Dean groaned and lifted his head. They were parked outside their room—high in the sky, the moon hid behind gathering clouds. Sallow lights of the parking lot lit the area dimly.
"How long I been asleep?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Not long; twenty minutes or so. C'mon, we got things to do." Sam swatted his knee as he leaned over to grab the sack of stuff he'd bought earlier.
They dumped the sack's contents on Sam's bed and read and re-read the instructions Bobby had given. Once the words were memorized and everything was laid out per instructions, they began practicing the ritual. They didn't actually light any candles or mix the ingredients together, not wanting anything to actually happen yet.
When the time came, Dean stripped to his underwear and lay on the floor inside the circle Sam had created. Instead of the mixture they'd be using for the real ritual, Sam pulled out a cheap set of watercolor paints and a brush. As he practiced the chant, he painted red symbols on Dean's skin. He was mindful of the stitched flesh across Dean's chest, but worked methodically, his concentration wrinkle appearing between his brows.
A shiver ran through his body at the first touch of cold bristles. Bracing himself, he tried to lay still, but the tickle along his ribs forced another shiver from head to foot. After the third time he jerked away, Sam snapped, "This is ridiculous! You gotta hold still, man. I can't get them precise if you keep doing that."
"I'm tryin'!" Dean cried earnestly. "Can't help it—it tickles."
"Well, how come I never knew you were so ticklish?" Sam asked with exasperation.
"Yeah, because that's something I'd tell you." Dean gave Sam a look of disgust. "Do I have stupid written across my forehead?"
Sam shrugged with his lips and eyebrows. "That can be arranged." He twirled the brush in his fingers, spinning little dots of red over the both of them.
Dean slapped the back of his hand into his brother's middle. "Jerk."
"I thought I was 'bitch' and you were 'jerk'?"
Dean rolled his eyes and lay his head back down, taking a deep breath. "Okay, I'm ready. Go."
Sam leaned in and carefully stroked the brush against Dean's pebbled skin. Dean held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, tried to imagine lying on a warm beach in the blistering sun. He's body quivered in the middle of a long stroke and he opened one eye, expecting Sam's classic bitch-face.
Instead, Sam had doubled over laughing at him. Dean snorted out a laugh too, not sure if it was all that funny or if they were just delirious with nerves. Sam swiped a big stripe down the middle of Dean's stomach, right over his belly button, causing the muscles to bunch and twitch.
Dean honest to God squealed.
"Sam, no! Don't you dare," he protested when he saw the look in his brother's eyes.
Sam put aside the brush and paints and dug his fingers into Dean's sides, wiggled them in all the right spots. Dean jerked away, banging his head on the floor as he threw it back in a spate of giggles. His mirth turned into a hiss when his back reminded him he was in no shape to be wrestling. He let go of Sam's wrists and stilled.
"Oh crap, Dean, I'm sorry. I forgot. I'm so sorry." Sam's guilt-struck expression took the sting out of the pain and he forced himself to relax.
Smiling because it had been so good to see Sam laughing with him, Dean said, "S'okay. I'm alright."
Sam stared back and it took a minute, but finally his own smile crept back across his lips. "You just wait until you're healed—I'm not forgetting this for a second."
Dean wanted to tease back, smart off some obnoxious, snarky response, but as soon as Sam said the words, Dean's smile disappeared. By the time he healed, he'd be gone and Sam…Sam would still be here.
"What?" Sam asked, his smile also fading. "What is it?"
Shaking his head, Dean said, "Nothing. Don't worry about it." When Sam seemed to be winding up into share and discuss mode, he said, "Better get back to it, Sammy. Night's wasting away."
Dean begged him, not with words but with his eyes, to let it go. Sam got the message and acquiesced.
This time, when Sam picked up the paints and began drawing symbols across Dean's skin, Dean was too preoccupied with his depressing thoughts to notice their tickle. Closing his eyes, he swallowed and pushed away visions of lonely nights patching himself up alone, nothing but late-night TV to keep him company.
"Relax."
"What?" Dean asked.
"You're holding your breath. Relax, you're gonna turn blue. Besides, I'm done."
Dean sighed, shoved the mess in his head to the background, and lifted his head to look at Sam's paint job.
"Looks good, Sammy."
"Yeah, I think we're ready."
Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders and helped him sit.
"Does that mean I can take a shower and get dressed?" Dean shivered head to toe, punctuating his point.
Looking perplexed, Sam said, "I don't understand how your skin can feel so hot and yet you're cold. You sure you're not getting sick? Maybe you have fever chills?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. How I feel…it's different from anything I've ever felt. It's like it comes from inside and spreads outward—and I can't get warm. Though clothes do help."
"Well, your skin is like a furnace." Sam hesitated, uncertainty uncustomary for Sam in every word. "I'm really worried about you—between the spacing out and this weird fever…"
Dean patted Sam's chest. He realized Sam had been aware of everything, only pretending not to notice for Dean's sake. "I'm okay, you know. I'm not sick, it's not something physical."
"Except it is." Sam looked at Dean through his bangs. "Maybe the cause isn't, but it's manifesting that way."
"Maybe," Dean rumbled. Hard to get much past his brother, he thought. He scratched at the dried paint on his arm with a grimace. "What? It itches—I'm gonna go shower before the rest dries."
Sam supported his elbows and pulled him to his feet, taking his cue to lighten the moment. "Leave me some hot water. I think I got as much paint on me as I did you."
Laughing, Dean nodded. Sam had streaks of color all over his arms and even on his neck and face.
"You look like a manic artist, dude."
"I do, don't I?" Sam said. Fondness glittering in his eyes.
"You really do. Next thing you know, you'll be cutting off body parts and mailing them to people." Dean paused, smiling, wanting to catalog the moment and commit it to memory. Sam seemed to be doing the same thing. Finally, as time stretched into awkward silence, Dean turned toward the bathroom.
"Out in a few," Dean said, closing the door behind him.
He adjusted the knobs on the shower and let the water warm as he shucked his boxer-briefs. When billows of steam filled the room, he stepped into the spray and pulled the curtain closed. Closing his eyes, he braced himself with one hand and leaned into the jet of water. If a few stray tears escaped into the water, no one would be the wiser, including himself.
TBC...