Fic: Underneath
Title: Underneath
Author: brate7
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, PG-13
Word Count: 1700
Summary: Sam is no longer possessed, but something's still wrong.
Note: Originally published in the zine Road Trip With My Brother 4, Agent With Style Press.
There is a sequel to this story: Surfacing by K Hanna Korossy.
Underneath
By Brate
Sam woke up slowly, the synapses in his brain struggling to fire. His head felt like someone had rammed a sharp spike very slowly through his skull--twice. He listened for a moment before he ventured to open his eyes. When that didn't increase the pain, he decided to go the whole nine yards and actually lift his head.
As soon as he did, a sprinkle of water hit him in the face.
"Dude, what the hell?"
"Sammy?"
"Who else would it be?" Sam snapped, before he focused on his situation: he was tied to a chair in the middle of their motel room, and he couldn't remember anything about how he'd gotten there. Most importantly, Dean looked halfway between hopeful and terrified. "What happened?"
"Well, the spirit we were after decided to use you as its new digs."
Sam didn't need Dean to fill in any of the blanks. He knew exactly what kind of hell his brother must've gone through to exorcise the intruder. Sam could see it in the dark eye-circles, etched lines and stark paleness of Dean's face. Ironically, he'd had the easier time of it, possession and all. Especially since he didn't recall a damn bit of it.
"So is it gone?" Sam ventured.
Dean nodded tightly. "Back to Hell."
Sam wiggled his bound hands as much as he could. "So…can you untie me?"
"Just a minute." Dean flicked his wrist, spraying more liquid on Sam. "Christo."
Sam simply lifted his eyebrows.
"Okay, now I can." Dean smirked, pretending he hadn't been scared as hell. He quickly untied the ropes around Sam's wrists and ankles. Rising, he grasped Sam's shoulder for an instant before letting go. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Sam rubbed his wrists gently, ignoring the chafed and broken skin. Again, he thought himself lucky to be oblivious of his ordeal. He stood and started to follow his brother.
But couldn't. About two feet out of the chair it was as if he'd hit an invisible wall and couldn't go any farther.
Dean had been walking to the bathroom. When Sam stopped, he did, too. He turned around, confused for just a second, before he and Sam looked up…to the Devil's Trap painted on the ceiling.
"I think something got left behind," Sam said with deceptive calm.
Moving closer, Dean's expression turned agonized. "But it was gone," he insisted. His hands tightened into fists. "Do you feel anything? Sense anything?"
"No." Sam shrugged. "Did I before?"
"There wasn't a chance. It hit you and you weren't you." He started pacing back and forth in front Sam, though never getting within arm's reach. Survival instincts died hard. "The holy water and Christo had no reaction," Dean mumbled, summarizing the problem.
"Try something else," Sam suggested.
* * *
Two hours later and the brothers were no closer to a solution.
Dean had tried every test they knew for possession and nothing reacted. The EMF meter remained silent, holy water was useless, and, worst of all, neither of the brothers could feel anything…off. Everything was fine.
Yet Sam couldn't leave the Trap.
Neither considered taking the Trap down to allow Sam out. No way were they going to release whatever it was into the world…especially housed in Sam's body. Dean did his best to make his brother comfortable. He tossed Sam some bandages and ointment, before getting him a sleeping bag out of the car and a pillow from the bed.
If Sam curled up, he could lie down inside the circle. Even though he didn't remember going through an exorcism, his body did, and it was worn out. Caution was essential, however, so Sam didn't get anything that could be used as a weapon.
At dinnertime, Dean went out to get some food. When he returned, he set Sam's portion on the floor outside the circle and pushed it over the invisible line.
Eyeing the meal, Sam chuckled: soda in a Styrofoam cup, no straw, and a sandwich. Nothing he would need silverware for. He quipped, "You think I'm going to kill you with a spork?"
Dean spoke without thinking. "I think I'm not gonna give you the chance."
Sam was quiet after that.
* * *
Dean's eyes were blurring after a few hours in front of the computer screen. He thought he had the answer: a more comprehensive exorcism. Unfortunately, it seemed the bastard inside Sam had dug in deep--it wouldn't leave easily. And it would hurt when he forced it out.
Reluctant to tell Sam what he'd found, Dean continued searching for anything else that would work. But it was pointless; he always came back to the rite. Resigned, he finally gave in to the inevitable.
"Do it," Sam ordered. "I'm not about to live in here forever. The décor sucks, for one thing."
Their room was the farthest from the motel's office, the rooms around them empty. Dean had set it up that way earlier in preparation for Sam's original exorcism, but needed it for the same reason now: to hide the noise--the screams. Sam's screams.
They decided to forego tying Sam to the chair. Dean couldn't risk going inside the circle to do it.
Dean held the printed page in his hand, the words of the rite burning his eyes. His hand shook, but he disregarded it, focusing on Sam. "All set?"
Sam met his gaze. "Get it out of me."
Dean nodded. He started talking, the Latin flowing easily from his tongue.
When he paused to take a breath, he heard a sharp gasp from Sam, followed by a low moan. Dean continued, unsteady but strong.
Sam screamed. "Son of a bitch!" Hunching over, he pounded his fists into the ground. He trembled and sank further, continuing to emit sounds of distress.
Standing and allowing--no, making-- brother shake in agony was killing Dean. But no matter what happened, no matter what Sam said, he couldn't stop. Sam had to be saved.
The words on the page ran together, but Dean soldiered on, his voice rising in volume to counteract his brother's cries.
On the last word of the invocation, Sam collapsed, deathly still. Curled up in a ball, impossibly small.
Dean's harsh pants echoed in the silent room. "Sammy?" Was it over? He dropped, brushing a hand down his face, searching his brother for signs of life. He wanted to check, feel, but he forced himself to stop before he reached for Sam. He didn't know if the thing was playing possum or really gone.
His brother's chest rose and fell in silent puffs.
The knot in Dean's gut unclenched; he would have to wait. Dean slid back until he hit the chair, then clambered up and took a seat.
Sam slept.
Dean watched.
* * *
Sam woke slowly, head pounding, with a serious sense of déjà vu. This time, there was no stuffiness or memory loss; his eyes flew open immediately, searching.
Dean sat in a chair facing him.
"You going to throw water on me again?" Sam asked, voice hoarse. He coughed, wincing at the painful reminder.
"Think it'll work any better this time?"
"No, probably not," Sam conceded softly. He managed to rise to a sitting position. He glanced up and shivered involuntarily.
"Ready to try again?"
Dean asked the question casually, but Sam could hear the worry he tried to hide. "As ready as I'll ever be." Sam pushed up, ignoring the aches in his body. He stood, swaying, but upright. Two steps. Two steps and he'd be out from under the Trap. But he hesitated. What if it was still inside him?
"Damn it, Sam, go!"
Flinching, Sam moved forward. Nothing stopped him as he walked out of the circle, nothing held him within. He took a deep breath and laughed, deafening in the small room, but he didn't care. From Dean's wide grin, he didn't, either.
"Now can we get the hell out of here?" Sam asked. He tilted, and Dean rushed to his side before he fell.
"Yep, just as soon as you can walk ten feet without falling over."
Sam wanted to challenge that decision, but he knew it was reasonable. Grudgingly, he let his brother "escort" him to the bathroom, although he'd recovered enough to push him out so he could handle business.
When he reopened the door, Dean was waiting. He didn't grab Sam, but he walked with him in case he was needed.
Sam sat down heavily on his bed. He took the offered water glass and pain pills. Once they were swallowed, Dean gently pushed him down. He first checked the bandages on Sam's wrists before running his hands over his brother's head, looking for injuries from the exorcism. Apparently finding none, he gave Sam a light slap to the top of his head and pulled the blanket up.
"Sleep," Dean directed. "You've earned it."
Comforted by the closeness of his brother--a fact he would be denying even under torture--Sam fought against the lull of sleep. Something was wrong. "Have you even slept since yesterday?"
Dean paused a split second before shaking his head.
Sighing, Sam growled, "Then go to bed."
"I will if you will."
"Deal."
Dean rolled his eyes, but walked around Sam's bed to fall onto his own. The brothers automatically turned to face each other.
Exchanging a grin with Dean, Sam closed his eyes. He really tried to fall asleep, but too many thoughts were running through his head. There had been something inside him, something evil, and he hadn't even known. What if it happened again? How could he stop it? "Why is it always Latin?" Sam mused aloud.
Without missing a beat, Dean said, "Dead language for dead things."
Sam opened his eyes and stared.
Hazel eyes stared back. "What?"
"It scares me when you start to make sense."
"Then shut up and go to sleep," Dean said. "I'll be speaking gibberish again in the morning."
"Thank God."
"Besides, I'm planning to paint a Trap on the roof of the car; not gonna happen again."
Smiling, Sam sank deep into his pillow and let his thoughts drifted away. He knew he'd be safe.
His big brother was watching over him.
end
Author: brate7
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, PG-13
Word Count: 1700
Summary: Sam is no longer possessed, but something's still wrong.
Note: Originally published in the zine Road Trip With My Brother 4, Agent With Style Press.
There is a sequel to this story: Surfacing by K Hanna Korossy.
Underneath
By Brate
Sam woke up slowly, the synapses in his brain struggling to fire. His head felt like someone had rammed a sharp spike very slowly through his skull--twice. He listened for a moment before he ventured to open his eyes. When that didn't increase the pain, he decided to go the whole nine yards and actually lift his head.
As soon as he did, a sprinkle of water hit him in the face.
"Dude, what the hell?"
"Sammy?"
"Who else would it be?" Sam snapped, before he focused on his situation: he was tied to a chair in the middle of their motel room, and he couldn't remember anything about how he'd gotten there. Most importantly, Dean looked halfway between hopeful and terrified. "What happened?"
"Well, the spirit we were after decided to use you as its new digs."
Sam didn't need Dean to fill in any of the blanks. He knew exactly what kind of hell his brother must've gone through to exorcise the intruder. Sam could see it in the dark eye-circles, etched lines and stark paleness of Dean's face. Ironically, he'd had the easier time of it, possession and all. Especially since he didn't recall a damn bit of it.
"So is it gone?" Sam ventured.
Dean nodded tightly. "Back to Hell."
Sam wiggled his bound hands as much as he could. "So…can you untie me?"
"Just a minute." Dean flicked his wrist, spraying more liquid on Sam. "Christo."
Sam simply lifted his eyebrows.
"Okay, now I can." Dean smirked, pretending he hadn't been scared as hell. He quickly untied the ropes around Sam's wrists and ankles. Rising, he grasped Sam's shoulder for an instant before letting go. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Sam rubbed his wrists gently, ignoring the chafed and broken skin. Again, he thought himself lucky to be oblivious of his ordeal. He stood and started to follow his brother.
But couldn't. About two feet out of the chair it was as if he'd hit an invisible wall and couldn't go any farther.
Dean had been walking to the bathroom. When Sam stopped, he did, too. He turned around, confused for just a second, before he and Sam looked up…to the Devil's Trap painted on the ceiling.
"I think something got left behind," Sam said with deceptive calm.
Moving closer, Dean's expression turned agonized. "But it was gone," he insisted. His hands tightened into fists. "Do you feel anything? Sense anything?"
"No." Sam shrugged. "Did I before?"
"There wasn't a chance. It hit you and you weren't you." He started pacing back and forth in front Sam, though never getting within arm's reach. Survival instincts died hard. "The holy water and Christo had no reaction," Dean mumbled, summarizing the problem.
"Try something else," Sam suggested.
* * *
Two hours later and the brothers were no closer to a solution.
Dean had tried every test they knew for possession and nothing reacted. The EMF meter remained silent, holy water was useless, and, worst of all, neither of the brothers could feel anything…off. Everything was fine.
Yet Sam couldn't leave the Trap.
Neither considered taking the Trap down to allow Sam out. No way were they going to release whatever it was into the world…especially housed in Sam's body. Dean did his best to make his brother comfortable. He tossed Sam some bandages and ointment, before getting him a sleeping bag out of the car and a pillow from the bed.
If Sam curled up, he could lie down inside the circle. Even though he didn't remember going through an exorcism, his body did, and it was worn out. Caution was essential, however, so Sam didn't get anything that could be used as a weapon.
At dinnertime, Dean went out to get some food. When he returned, he set Sam's portion on the floor outside the circle and pushed it over the invisible line.
Eyeing the meal, Sam chuckled: soda in a Styrofoam cup, no straw, and a sandwich. Nothing he would need silverware for. He quipped, "You think I'm going to kill you with a spork?"
Dean spoke without thinking. "I think I'm not gonna give you the chance."
Sam was quiet after that.
* * *
Dean's eyes were blurring after a few hours in front of the computer screen. He thought he had the answer: a more comprehensive exorcism. Unfortunately, it seemed the bastard inside Sam had dug in deep--it wouldn't leave easily. And it would hurt when he forced it out.
Reluctant to tell Sam what he'd found, Dean continued searching for anything else that would work. But it was pointless; he always came back to the rite. Resigned, he finally gave in to the inevitable.
"Do it," Sam ordered. "I'm not about to live in here forever. The décor sucks, for one thing."
Their room was the farthest from the motel's office, the rooms around them empty. Dean had set it up that way earlier in preparation for Sam's original exorcism, but needed it for the same reason now: to hide the noise--the screams. Sam's screams.
They decided to forego tying Sam to the chair. Dean couldn't risk going inside the circle to do it.
Dean held the printed page in his hand, the words of the rite burning his eyes. His hand shook, but he disregarded it, focusing on Sam. "All set?"
Sam met his gaze. "Get it out of me."
Dean nodded. He started talking, the Latin flowing easily from his tongue.
When he paused to take a breath, he heard a sharp gasp from Sam, followed by a low moan. Dean continued, unsteady but strong.
Sam screamed. "Son of a bitch!" Hunching over, he pounded his fists into the ground. He trembled and sank further, continuing to emit sounds of distress.
Standing and allowing--no, making-- brother shake in agony was killing Dean. But no matter what happened, no matter what Sam said, he couldn't stop. Sam had to be saved.
The words on the page ran together, but Dean soldiered on, his voice rising in volume to counteract his brother's cries.
On the last word of the invocation, Sam collapsed, deathly still. Curled up in a ball, impossibly small.
Dean's harsh pants echoed in the silent room. "Sammy?" Was it over? He dropped, brushing a hand down his face, searching his brother for signs of life. He wanted to check, feel, but he forced himself to stop before he reached for Sam. He didn't know if the thing was playing possum or really gone.
His brother's chest rose and fell in silent puffs.
The knot in Dean's gut unclenched; he would have to wait. Dean slid back until he hit the chair, then clambered up and took a seat.
Sam slept.
Dean watched.
* * *
Sam woke slowly, head pounding, with a serious sense of déjà vu. This time, there was no stuffiness or memory loss; his eyes flew open immediately, searching.
Dean sat in a chair facing him.
"You going to throw water on me again?" Sam asked, voice hoarse. He coughed, wincing at the painful reminder.
"Think it'll work any better this time?"
"No, probably not," Sam conceded softly. He managed to rise to a sitting position. He glanced up and shivered involuntarily.
"Ready to try again?"
Dean asked the question casually, but Sam could hear the worry he tried to hide. "As ready as I'll ever be." Sam pushed up, ignoring the aches in his body. He stood, swaying, but upright. Two steps. Two steps and he'd be out from under the Trap. But he hesitated. What if it was still inside him?
"Damn it, Sam, go!"
Flinching, Sam moved forward. Nothing stopped him as he walked out of the circle, nothing held him within. He took a deep breath and laughed, deafening in the small room, but he didn't care. From Dean's wide grin, he didn't, either.
"Now can we get the hell out of here?" Sam asked. He tilted, and Dean rushed to his side before he fell.
"Yep, just as soon as you can walk ten feet without falling over."
Sam wanted to challenge that decision, but he knew it was reasonable. Grudgingly, he let his brother "escort" him to the bathroom, although he'd recovered enough to push him out so he could handle business.
When he reopened the door, Dean was waiting. He didn't grab Sam, but he walked with him in case he was needed.
Sam sat down heavily on his bed. He took the offered water glass and pain pills. Once they were swallowed, Dean gently pushed him down. He first checked the bandages on Sam's wrists before running his hands over his brother's head, looking for injuries from the exorcism. Apparently finding none, he gave Sam a light slap to the top of his head and pulled the blanket up.
"Sleep," Dean directed. "You've earned it."
Comforted by the closeness of his brother--a fact he would be denying even under torture--Sam fought against the lull of sleep. Something was wrong. "Have you even slept since yesterday?"
Dean paused a split second before shaking his head.
Sighing, Sam growled, "Then go to bed."
"I will if you will."
"Deal."
Dean rolled his eyes, but walked around Sam's bed to fall onto his own. The brothers automatically turned to face each other.
Exchanging a grin with Dean, Sam closed his eyes. He really tried to fall asleep, but too many thoughts were running through his head. There had been something inside him, something evil, and he hadn't even known. What if it happened again? How could he stop it? "Why is it always Latin?" Sam mused aloud.
Without missing a beat, Dean said, "Dead language for dead things."
Sam opened his eyes and stared.
Hazel eyes stared back. "What?"
"It scares me when you start to make sense."
"Then shut up and go to sleep," Dean said. "I'll be speaking gibberish again in the morning."
"Thank God."
"Besides, I'm planning to paint a Trap on the roof of the car; not gonna happen again."
Smiling, Sam sank deep into his pillow and let his thoughts drifted away. He knew he'd be safe.
His big brother was watching over him.
end