LODESTONE pt 17

[kamelionwriter]

Misha tossed in his bed. The storm was keeping him awake. Not that he felt like sleeping. He didn’t feel like doing anything. Just restless, but still too weak to do anything about it. And when he closed his eyes, the old man was there, looking at him. Speaking words he didn’t understand, with that damn finger in his face. He flung the covers off him, sat up. The moment his feet touched the warm wood, he realized he wanted to lay back down. But then he’d just want to get up.

He walked down the stairs. Selma was in the sitting room with a book. She started to say something, but Misha held up his hand, not wanting conversation. He wanted to go back home. He turned and walked into Angel’s chest. His eyes slowly rose, and the old man looked back at him. He quickly backed away, upsetting the table Jared had put in front of his shoddy repair job. Angel’s arm snaked out and grabbed him before he fell, and he jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you all right?” There was concern in the deep voice. The door opened, and Jared looked in, stepping aside so that Jensen could see around him.

Eyes. Looking at him. All the time, eyes looking at him. . .”leave me alone. Please. Just go, all of you.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed. Misha cringed under the gaze, and turned away only to bump into Jensen, who grabbed his arms tightly. “No,” he said, and gave Misha a shake. “Tell me you didn’t do it!”

“Do what?” Misha asked. He was confused. He tried to wring his arms away, but Jensen’s grip was like iron. He didn’t like to be held, he didn’t want to be touched. Jared appeared over his should. Protective. Always so fucking protective. And then Selma was standing, watching, and Gramma had come out of her small room. Misha just shook his head, tears smarting his eyes, then falling down over his cheeks. “No, just stop, please. God, make it stop!” His weakened legs gave way. He heard Jensen curse, the grip that held him tightening. Angel grabbed him from behind. Selma muttered something about the brain fever, and checked his forehead. But Jensen was looking at him, and wouldn’t look away. He knew.

Misha just smiled. “I’m supposed to be your guardian angel, aren’t I?” And he laughed through the sobs.

********************************

Misha was back in his bed with a sleeping herb. Jensen stood on the tiny sidewalk, in the rain. His shirt was soaked. His jeans hung heavily on his hips. The water felt great, and he craned his head back, opened his mouth.

“Dude. Bugs.”

Jensen spat. “D’you go and say that for?”

“You know insects are carried by rain. Get caught in the drops. Low-level clouds.”

“Didn’t you have any fun as a kid?”

“Not by eating bugs.”

“You’re depraved.”

“Is Misha okay?”

Jared probably knew, too. Or had an idea. It seemed they all knew, but no one was talking. “He did it for me. I don’t know how. I guess that man somehow put it in there.”

“Is that why they just left you and Angel on the island?”

“Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

Jared crossed in front of him, and looked at him. Stared. Uncomfortably. “All I know is, you’re back. You seem more like. . .”

“More like what?”

Jared cleared his throat. “More like the Jensen I know.”

“I could swear you were going to say something else. Thought I’d have to hit you.”

“Come back on the porch.”

“I like the rain.”

“I know. And you like standing out on the roof in thunderstorms. Now come on.”

“What are we gonna do? We can’t just leave it in him.”

Jared huffed. “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore now than I did before. But this has gone on for too long. If that old man could get it out of you and into Misha, then he can get it out of Misha.”

“And into what?”

“I don’t know. Kill it.”

“I don’t think it can be killed.”

“Exorcized? Is it really an evil spirit, or is it just - lost?”

“You think Misha can find out? He sort of has a way about him, you know?”

“He’s been so ill. God. Selma said he had a brain fever that night when he brought me back. He was sick for days, but I was out of it too.”

Jensen clapped his hand on Jared’s shoulder, and was surprised to have it knocked away. “What the hell? I’m trying to be supportive here!”

“I’m sorry, I. . .” Jared gritted his teeth. “It’s just - you told him to get me out. You willingly put yourself in that situation back there.” His eyes glowed with anger. He shuffled his feet in the puddles.

Jensen barked a disbelieving laugh. “Jared, you were close to gutted!”

“It wasn’t that bad! It was a shallow cut.”

“How was I supposed to know that? Huh? You had your gut sliced opened! You screamed, and nearly passed out! They were getting the goddamn blood! And you thought I was gonna just leave you to that?” He stood toe to toe. “Is that all you think of me? You seriously think I don’t care more than that?”

“So you think your staying behind wasn’t going to drive me crazy? I was worried sick about you! I was pissed off and scared, and - damn you!” He shoved, and Jensen took a surprised stumble back. “You’re my fucking best friend, don’t you dare think for a moment that I don’t care just as much as you do!”

They fell silent. Jared was scraping his shoes against the pavement. Jensen breathed heavily, the revelations running through his head. “Wow,” he finally said.

“Yeah.”

“So, I guess that’s settled.”

“What is?”

“We can’t stand being out of each other’s back pockets.”

Jared looked surprised, then laughed, throwing his head back, and catching the raindrops in the sound.

***********************
The storm lasted through the night. Dawn forced it way through threatening clouds, casting an ill light over trees still dripping rain onto the roof of a bustling house.

Selma and Gramma were busily cooking up a brew, putting Jared in mind of witches around their pot. Gramma was steadily instructing Selma. Jared noticed with a smirk that the crucifix, which hung over the back door, had a small white handkerchief draped over it. So he couldn’t see, of course. Angel had gone out in the height of the storm, with no word.

Misha was holed up in his room, covers tight underneath his chin despite the humidity. Jared had dared to peek in on occasion to see Jensen sitting vigil, reading a book, seemingly calm. It was strange how the two men had switched places. Almost disconcerting. And it sent a warmth through him when Jensen would lean over and lightly dab at the man’s sweaty brow with a cool cloth. The fever had returned, thus Angel’s hasty departure. Jared had offered to sit, but Jensen just waved him away. He knew his friend well enough to know he felt the weight of responsibility. Misha did this for him. For Jared. So they’d be able to rest. But now, it looked like it was killing him. Angel said although he had accepted it into him, he was fighting it. Having been a victim before, his will was in a state of panic, and his body was suffering.

Jared busied himself by fixing everyone drinks. In the blinding heat, they were chugging water at a rate that would empty the sea beyond. With Selma and Gramma over a hot stove, and Jensen holed up in the airless room above, the glasses were emptied almost as quickly as he could make the rounds. He was guzzling glasses himself from the effort alone. Misha’s was untouched. Jared would empty it and refill it, asking how he was. Jensen would reply “no change” in a monotone that meant he was either involved with his book, or tired of the question. But Jared asked, every half hour, on the hour. Jensen rose one time only, to go to the bathroom.

Once Jared caught him leaning forward, just watching the man in his fitful sleep. Part of him felt a tug of envy, and he wondered if Jensen would sit vigil like that for him. When Jensen glanced over his shoulder at Jared, that question was answered. Of course he would.

Angel arrived just before evening with a surprising guest in tow. The old man was forced inside the house, livid at being abducted. Angel thrust him into the center of the sitting room. He pointed to a chair that sat in the corner, which Selma quickly brought over to him. The man was forced to sit. He looked up at Angel with angry eyes. “Why is this?”

“You tell me, old man.”

“I have name! Called Yahna!” He beat at his chest with his fist.

“Yahna. What the hell kind of name is that?”

“Family came here. Father’s name. Why is this?” His light eyes looked eerie in his dark face.

“You know what that thing is, don’t you?”

“What ting?”

Angel’s lips curled back in anger. “The thing you tried to get rid of. The thing that ended up from one friend’s soul into another.”

“That is not my doing. It asked me.”

“Asked you what?”

“To let it go.”

Jared frowned. “How did you hear it?”

The man, Yahna, shot him a poisonous glare. His gut curled. “Do you not hear it? It is talking. Always.”

“It is killing a man. He’s upstairs.” Angel leaned over him. “You got it out once before. You get it out again.”

“It chose! Was not me!”

“Get it out of him!” Angel yelled, pushing up. “Jared, get them down here. We’re ending this, once and for all.”

Anxiety flooded Jared as he ran up the stairs to see Jensen peeking out into the hall. “What the hell’s going on down there?” Jensen asked, his brows pulled tight in irritation.

“That old man’s here. Angel got him. Help me.” Jared quickly crossed the room and whipped the blankets off Misha’s - naked form - “WHOA!” He quickly turned. “Dude!”

“The guy was roasting! Hell, I didn’t look at nothing!” Jensen angrily snatched up Misha’s shorts. “His underwear’s on, for pete’s sake!”

Okay, it was. He was just expecting clothes, or something. “Christ, just get those things on him. Hurry up.”

“Help me, huh? Get his leg. This man needs a hospital, but I’m scared to put him in one around here.” Jared lifted one leg, then the other. They carefully shifted the drowsy man until he leaned against Jensen’s chest, then raised him and pulled the shorts up.

“How humiliating,” Jared muttered.

“How’d you think he’d feel? Hold him up.” Jensen asked. He sat Misha back on the mattress and patted his cheek as Jared braced him. “Come on, man. Work with me. Open your eyes, I can’t carry you down those stairs.”

It took a while for Misha to blink blurrily at them. “S’going on?”

“He’s too damn weak,” Jensen muttered, and took Misha’s head in his hands. “We’re gonna get you better. But you gotta try and walk, okay? No wussing out on us.” Jensen threaded his arm underneath Misha’s. Jared took his left, and together they hoisted the man up. He wavered, then seemed to find his balance. Jensen wrapped his other arm over his shoulders. He managed two steps, then slumped and was dragged to the top of the steep stairs, where they paused.
There was no way they were getting down there bracing him, and carrying him down those steep stairs wasn’t an option. “Angel! Little help here!” Jensen called down.

He appeared quickly. Angered at Misha’s weakening state, he aimed a glowering stare to his right where Yahna sat, then bounded up the stairs. “Come now,” he said gently, and Misha raised his head. “One step at a time, like everything else, yes? Let’s go.” And slowly, painfully slowly, they eased the sick man down. Misha threatened to fall twice, and Jared was glad that Angel was bracing him in the front. Once down, they quickly lowered him to one of two large stuffed chairs, the only comfortable ones in the house, chairs that Gramma normally let no one touch. Misha’s eyes closed, his breathing erratic.

Yahna watched, dispassionately. Angel rose, and pointed. “There. Get it out of him.”

“And do what with it?” Yahna exclaimed.

“Can you exorcize it?” Jared asked.

Yahna cackled. He actually cackled, a terrifying, high-pitched sound that made him seem as mad as he looked. “You can’t do that! Doesn’t work.”

“Why?”

Yahna’s gaze was disconcerting. “It is not from hell,” he said, slowly and factually. His eyes glowed with mirth.

Jared swallowed hard and looked at Angel. A long sigh made him snap his head back around, and he hurried to Misha’s slumped figure. “Oh God. . .”

“Misha? Nononono. . .” Jensen rushed alongside him and forced the man up. Slapped his face. “Misha! Shit, is he breathing?” He quickly planted his hand against Misha’s chest and snapped his head around. “SELMA?”

“Move over,” she said urgently, and lay the pale man back against the cushions. His eyes were open and unseeing. His face was like paste. “Don’t you do this to me boy, you hear me?” She smoothed his hair back and leaned her ear over his lips. “Not breathing.” Her two hands instantly folded over his heart, and she started compressions.

“Misha!” Jared yelled. He grabbed the man’s shoulder, touched his neck, his head, wanted to slap him. He felt himself being pulled back, but kept his gaze on Misha. Something touched his mind.

Selma muttered and continued to work on Misha as everyone watched. He lay still, eyes unfocused, mouth slack, skin nearly translucent. Jared tugged towards him, his eyes filling with tears of disbelief. Then the room was swirling. Was he fainting? How the hell would that help? He heard Selma yell out in frustration, her hands on Misha’s cheeks as his eyes faded.

“No!” He tried to reach for him, but hit the floor instead. So damn dizzy. . .

“Let her work!” Jensen was grabbing his arms, but Jared was gone. His legs buckled and he lay back. Reality faded around him. He heard a voice yelling, telling him to focus, to let go. He blinked rapidly and found himself on his knees, Jensen’s face leaning right in his. “Let him go!” Jensen was yelling. “He’s pulling you down with him!”

Jared blinked, and tried to look over at Misha, but Jensen grabbed his head in a vise-like grip, forcing their eyes to meet. Jared instantly clamped his own hands over Jensen’s, prying.

“Let him go, Jared! Stop trying to save him.”

“No. . .no one was supposed to die,” he forced from his aching throat. His chest constricted.

Jensen was on his knees in front of him. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and leaned his forehead against Jared’s, muttering words under his breath that Jared couldn’t hear. He knew Jensen was sharing his own fear, that he was barely holding it together himself. Jared put his hands to Jensen’s head. They stayed that way, drawing strength from the other. “You have to let him go,” Jensen whispered, and his voice choked. “I just know you have to let him go.”

Jared wilted, falling back on his heels as he released Jensen. His eyes found the ceiling and he stared at it for several moments before coming back to the activity before him. He could still feel the pull, feel Misha going under. He slumped, defeated, watching.

Jensen had risen and backed away. Selma was still working on Misha. It was as if time sped back up and re-involved them in the scene. Jensen was staring at the floor, and Jared recognized the look of concentration. He’d seen it when the tech crew was having camera trouble. Jensen would stand behind them, his arms folded against his chest, his concentration intense as he watched, and learned, while the cameraman worked on the problem. He was trying to solve the problem himself. “What if we put it back?” he asked slowly.

“What?” Angel asked from Misha’s side.

Jensen turned to Yahna. “If you get it out of him, will it come back to me?”

Yahna rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then nodded. “Maybe.”

“Then do it. Put it back.”

Jared couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? No! Are you insane?”

“Listen to me. This thing is intelligent. Maybe I can talk with it.”

“While it’s in you,” Jared muttered in disbelief.

“Sure. Or you can. I’ll - I’ll let it talk through me.”

“NO!” Jared was on his feet. But Yahna was nodding.

“He’s going,” Selma said, continuing compressions. “If you’re doing something, do it already!”

“Can be done,” Yahna said. “He must be tied.”

“What? Tied?” Jensen snapped to attention.

“Get a chair and rope.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Jared asked.

“Do you wish for Misha to die?” Angel yelled angrily.

“Son of a bitch!” Jared rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a straight backed chair. “Where the hell’s the rope?”

“Out back,” Selma called over her shoulder, still working on Misha.

Out back. Of course it was out back. He tripped down the rickety stairs. The air was sticky. Thunder clapped, and Jared wanted to drown in it. He found the rope coiled like a snake near the back shed. It was thick and filthy. A quick shake loosened some dirt, but not enough. No time. He slapped it against his thigh as he rushed inside.

He nearly ran into Angel. “We’re out of time,” he said hastily, steering Jared to where Jensen was sitting in the chair. He looked determined, but Jared could feel the fear rolling off him. “Tie him,” Angel said, crossing the room back to Misha. “Hands behind him.”

Jared froze.

“Come on, dude,” Jensen urged. “Whatever it takes, just do it. Think tv.” He crossed his wrists behind him.

Jared wrapped the rope firmly around his friend’s torso, then around his wrists. “You okay?” he asked.

“Tighter,” Angel responded before Jensen could answer. “Trust me.”

He hated Angel right now. Jensen gave a consenting nod, and Jared wrapped the rope tighter, seeing the barbs cut into his friend’s wrists. He knotted it off, then swung in front of Jensen and squatted down before him. “You sure about this?” he asked.

The response was a nod. Which meant hell no he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to let Misha die for him. Jared had a thought “Is it gonna do the same thing to you that it’s doing to him?” He turned to Angel. “Is it?”

“It has not been out of him long. I don’t know. He might not react.”

“Stop talking!” Selma yelled. “Do it now!”

Gramma entered with a bowl. Jared clenched his jaw and turned back to Jensen. “You listen to me. You promise me something. No matter how bad you feel, you gotta talk to me. We’re not gonna let this thing win. Got it?” He felt an odd shiver as Jensen’s green gaze met his, and he nodded firmly.

He was taking it rather well, considering.

The bowl was placed beside Jensen. A pungent smell wafted through the air. He winced. “Don’t you have anything sweet-smelling around here?”

“Many same plants. All bitter.” Gramma rose from her crouch, hesitating at a catch in her back. Her dark eye glinted as they fell on Yahna. “So. Do what you do, then. Go on.”

The heady scent from the pot made Jared dizzy. He closed his eyes and clasped the arms of Jensen’s chair. A presence filled the space behind him. “Back away, son,” Angel said, softly, putting his hands on Jared’s shoulders.

“No,” Jared practically growled, his eyes meeting Jensen’s.

“It isn’t safe,” Angel tried again.

Jared shouldered him back. “I said no!”

“Yahna, do it now!” Selma yelled from beside Misha, and Jared never heard her so afraid.

Yahna raised his hands, and chanted.

Misha’s eyes flew open in a spasm. He gasped loudly.

“What’s happening?” Jared asked, alarmed.

“It’s leaving him,” Angel answered.

Selma jerked her hands away, then rose and rushed backwards as Misha came to life. He rolled to his stomach and grabbed his head, whimpering, then screaming out in agony. He slammed his head to the floor, his body trying to curl in on itself. His faced was angled toward the center of the room, and Jared could see the tracks of tears on his cheeks. Angel held the man as he railed, then he fell limp, his eyes confused. They sought Jared’s, then drifted to Jensen. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Yahna shoved Jared out of the way and planted his hands on Jensen’s head. Jensen gritted his teeth, fighting. Then he gave a short scream.

Jared stopped breathing. He lurched forward, but Selma stopped him, dragging him back to the corner of the room. Misha rose to his elbows and watched, pale and wide-eyed. Yahna was trembling, his head down. Jensen was fighting the ropes.

After an eternity, Yahna looked up. “‘Tis done,” he said roughly, and released Jensen.

Jensen’s head fell back, then sank to his chest. He let out a single sob, and muttered in a small, broken voice, “Son of a bitch.”

“Jensen?” Jared carefully loosened Selma’s hold on him. Cautiously, he crossed the room and  knelt down. “Talk to me.”

“God - this hurts.” His soft voice cracked. “I didn’t know - how much it hurts.”

Jared braced his knees, then put a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop the hurt. He didn’t know how. “Listen to me. We can fix this. What does it want? Ask it. You can do it. We can fix this, just talk to it.”

Jensen’s chest heaved with the effort of breathing. “No.”

Jared squeezed his shoulder. “Please, come on, man! You said you’d do this. Just ask what it wants.”

“He’s scared of the answer,” Selma said carefully, walking forward. “‘Cause he already knows the answer. Don’t you?”

Jensen’s face screwed into a sob, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“I didn’t realize it was this bad,” he said as the sob broke. “Oh God, it’s. . .” his mouth opened, but he said nothing, like words couldn’t describe what he was feeling.

Jared shifted closer and brought both hands up, massaging his shoulders. “I know. I know, man. Let’s fix it, okay?”

“It wants to die.”

Jared felt his brows raise. “It wants to die?”

He was breathing heavily. “It’s too tormented.” He hesitated in a cry. “Just kill it. Kill me.”

Jared slowly shook his head. “No. No way in hell.”

“Jared, please,” he whispered.

“NO!”

“Oh lord,” Selma exclaimed. “We were wrong. It’s just a spirit that wants to stop wandering.”

“The eyes,” Misha said weakly, and all turned to him. “His room, all the darkness. . .”

“It was looking for a way to end it. The more people it possessed, the darker it became, because of the victims,” Selma concluded.

“God, can we stop the talking?” Jensen pleaded. He jerked forward in the chair, nearly toppling it. “It doesn’t matter! Anything, just get a damn knife! Please!”

And this would be the reason he was bound. He tugged at the rope, his eyes livid, crazed. “Jared. Let me go.”

“No.”

“Dammit unite me! Now! It’ll just find someone else! Don’t you get it?” He pulled, struggled, then threw his head back, teeth gritted, obviously in pain.

“What is it?” Jared spun, looking at the people in the room in turn. “What’s happening to him?”

“I think it’s trying to do the job for you,” Angel said.

It took a second for him to realize what Angel meant. “No. NO!” Jared again grabbed Jensen by the shoulders. “Jensen, look at me. Look at me! Just hold on a little longer, we’ll figure this out I swear to god, I promise you . . .”

But Jensen screamed out at him, spat at him, and head-butted. Jared fell backwards, stunned. Selma was at his side in an instant, and together they looked at Jensen in shock.

His eyes were black. His face was reddened and contorted in rage and sorrow. He was crying and laughing at the same time, his features screwed up in agony as he fought the ropes binding him. Jared knew if he broke free, he’d drive that knife into his chest himself. But god, those eyes! And they weren’t black like the effects he’d seen. His eyes were - gone. “Jensen!”

“It’s taking him,” Yahna said, his voice calm.

Jared pushed at Selma.“You knew what would happen, didn’t you?” he yelled at Yahna. “You knew what it wanted. Dammit, fix it!”

“I’ve done all I can,” Yahna said over Jensen’s barely contained scream.

Oh God, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take this. Misha was sitting up, half supported by Angel, and his weak eyes looked as lost as Jared felt. Jensen cried out in rage and struggled against the chair, pulling at his wrists, twisting his torso to loosen the ropes. He had to stay tied. But like this, the thing would kill him. Jensen released a scream that made Jared throw his hands over his ears. “Somebody DO SOMETHING!” Jared shouted angrily, no longer trying to hold in a sob.

Gramma appeared from the corner. She creaked downwards as much as her old joints would let her, took the bowl in her bony hands, and raised it to her lips.

Jared’s eyes widened. The frenzy continued, but Gramma was calm, quiet. She offered the bowl to Jensen. He leaned his head forward, and took a sip, his black eyes fixed on Gramma as she drank the rest of the brew. She let the bowl drop. “It is done,” she said, and turned to the small group.

Jared looked at Jensen. His eyes were green, his expression horrified. He slowly sat back, trembling, staring at the older lady, who turned to them. Gramma’s eyes were black.

“No. . .” Selma pleaded, and Angel muttered her name.

She smiled a terrifying grin, and fell to the floor.

“Gramma?” Selma cried out, rushing to her side. She wrapped her arms around the old lady’s frail, thin shoulders and pulled her into her lap. “Gramma,” she wailed, and embraced her limp shape, rocking her. “Oh, Lord!” Angel helped Misha stand, and they shakily joined the two women. Yahna looked on.

“Jared.” His name was a whisper, but it brought him back. As Selma rocked Gramma’s still form in her lap, he crawled respectfully around them and behind Jensen’s chair. Jensen’s wrists were chaffed. But Jared had done his job well. Immobilized, there was no way to injure himself other than the chaffing. No cuts, no bruises. The hands were swollen slightly, the circulation restricted. Jared worked quickly, biting at the knot, spitting out the threads, and finally unwinding the coils from his friend. He fisted Jensen’s shirt and helped him to stand, guiding him away from the chair, to the side of the grieving woman.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. And the room was quiet.