Fic: Picking up the Pieces (SPN) Chapters Nine
Chapter Nine
Sam saw the headline and knew what his brother had done. Bobby drove while Sam read through the article and did a quick search on his phone.
“Greenlawn Cemetery, Bobby. That has to be where he’s gone.”
“Boy’s gonna do a salt and burn in his condition?” Bobby grunted.
“So, Professor Elliot was a lecturer at the local college for over 35 years,” Sam ignored Bobby’s comment and started on about the case, “There were rumours he was sexually assaulting his students but nothing was ever done. After he died 6 months ago, women started speaking out about what he’d done. Geez, over 40 women have made claims… Guy’s a scumbag.”
“You’re telling me,” Bobby huffed, shaking his head.
“Anyway so he lived to the age of 90, died in Hill House where he lived and gave private lessons. God.”
“Okay, now I definitely want this guy barbequed.”
“Yeah, no doubt about that… So the house was boarded up but college kids have been going through trashing it.”
Bobby snorted, “I don’t blame them.”
“Two girls that went in were killed in mysterious circumstances, more injured… Sounds like a piece of work ghost if you ask me.”
“Your brother knows a hunt when he sees one.”
“Obviously this guy has to be taken out but we have to make sure Dean doesn’t get himself in anymore trouble. He’s already been out for hours.”
Sam looked out the window, clenching his jaw.
“Going as fast as I can, Sam.”
Sam didn’t look at Bobby, “Go faster.”
…
Dean was moving by sheer will power alone… and possible fuelled a bit by the whiskey. To be honest he hadn’t drunk that much, because even though he wanted to quickly reach the bottom of that bottle and forget the pain for a while, he needed to stay sharp, and also his right side was still aching and he probably shouldn’t put his liver through much more.
He drove the shovel into the ground again, making slow progress. His back wasn’t up for this. He tried to tune out the voice in his head.
You can’t do this. You’re too weak. You’ll never reach that coffin.
He pierced the ground, harder this time, groaning out loud, because it hurt so much. He paused and leaned against the headstone, sneezing messily towards the ground.
You can’t do it.
He closed his eyes, took a breath through his mouth because his nose was completely blocked, “Screw you,” he said, directing it to no one but himself.
And he resumed digging.
…
Sam and Bobby took off in opposite directions, searching for the grave of Professor Elliot. It was pitch black now, only the light of their torches to guide them. Sam wanted nothing more than to scream his brother’s name, but he knew better than to alert the possible ghost that was hanging around, or any nearby citizens that were likely to call the police at the sight of 2 grown men, wandering round the cemetery at night. He scanned his torch across the graves. Dean had to be here. He had to be.
As he powered forward deep into the cemetery he started to hear it. A sound of shovel in the ground, earth being moved, turned over. What was more alarming was the sounds Dean was making, this panting, wheezing, almost sobbing cries. Every breath out, as the shovel hit the ground, was forced out, voiced in a strangled grunt of pain.
He couldn’t help it.
“Dean!”
Sam’s torch light finally found him, only about a foot and a half deep into this grave. He was shoveling quickly, but not effectively. The dirt was mostly going back into the grave.
“Dean, stop.”
Sam jumped into the grave, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Dean tried to continue, almost like he didn’t see his brother there, but his hands were shaking, slowing down.
“Dean, please,” Sam said, close to his ear.
Dean finally stopped, slowly raising his head to look at Sam. His eyes were glassy, face slick with sweat.
“We have to…” he fumbled, dropping the shovel.
Sam grabbed his shoulders, “I know. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. We’ll take care of it. Together. Okay?”
Dean smiled weakly, as his eyes struggled to stay open. Then his knees buckled and his head hit Sam’s chest with a thud. Sam wrapped his arms around him.
“I got you.”
…
Dean refused to leave until the job was done. Sam and Bobby were making quick work of the grave digging while he leaned against a grave stone, legs out in front of him going numb. He couldn’t focus on the pain. It was everywhere. So intense that it buzzed loudly in his ears. He kept his eyes open, ‘cause he had to keep watch, to protect his family.
He coughed hard.
Sam stopped, head popping up out of the grave
“You alright, Dean?”
Dean nodded, still coughing into a fist. He leaned to his left and threw up in the grass next to him.
“Dean,” Sam was climbing out.
“Get back in there, Sam,” Dean’s voice was raspy, but he kept it firm, “Keep going.”
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
“We’d already be back there if you’d shut up and dig faster,” Dean groaned, adding a smirk just to reassure his brother.
“Just… don’t die,” Sam said.
Dean laughed, despite… everything, “I’ll tell you if I get a sense of impending doom.”
Sam scowled and reluctantly jumped back in and resumed digging.
As time went on Dean found himself struggling to stay conscious. The pain was next level. He listened to the rhythmic sound of shovels piercing the ground. He heard it when they finally cracked through the wood of the coffin lid, his eyes drifting shut. It would be over soon.
Suddenly a ghostly chill washed over him. Sam and Bobby were out of the grave, Sam bending over the duffle, grabbing the salt, Bobby leaning on his shovel, exhausted.
“Sam!” Dean shouted, using every bit of breath he had in him.
Professor Elliot had materialized out of the dark and was looming by his headstone.
As Sam turned, fumbling for his shotgun, the professor flicked his hand and flung him across the cemetery, the sound of an ominous thud coming soon after. Bobby got to the salt, and threw it towards the ghost, making his form flicker and disappear.
Dean was scrambling to his feet, as the ghost appeared behind Bobby, reaching a ghostly hand towards his throat. Bobby gasped and clutched at his neck, hitting his knees, as the professor choked the life out of him.
Dean grabbed the salt and lighter fluid. He shook it out liberally over the coffin and body that lay inside, followed by the lighter fluid.
He heard Bobby begin coughing like he could finally breathe. Not good.
Dean grabbed the lighter from his pocket and threw it in as Professor Elliot advanced towards him. He turned to fire mid-run, a warmth washing over Dean as the burning ghost passed through him.
“Dean,” Bobby said, his voice rough.
“Get Sam,” was all he said, sitting down on the ground, “Go check on Sam.”
Dean had to sit down or he was going to pass out, the bad thing was, he didn’t know how he was ever going to get up again. All of a sudden he was hit with the pain in his spine, it would have taken the feet out from under him if he weren’t already sitting down.
Sam and Bobby appeared, running towards him. Dean started to fall backwards as he relaxed with the relief that Sam was okay. They skidded to the ground beside him and held him in place.
“Sam, shit,” Dean felt the air being forced from his lungs, “my legs… I think I…”
“Shhh, Dean. You’re moving your legs. They’re moving. It’s fine. You just need some morphine, alright?”
“God, yes,” Dean joked, embarrassed for even worrying that his back had finally failed and he was potentially paralysed.
“Let’s get you up and moving then. Or are we gonna yabber all damn night?” Bobby butted in, voice hoarse and strained from being almost choked to death.
As the two men hoisted Dean up, Sam made a small, almost unperceivable, moan of pain.
“Ya’alright, Sammy?” Dean asked, a hint of stern brotherly command in his voice.
“Yeah,” he nodded, but twisted a little, grimacing.
“Sam.”
“I think I broke a rib,” he said, flippantly, “It’s fine.”
“Bobby’s looking you over when we get to the car,” Dean ordered, trying to get his feet under himself.
Bobby snorted, “Obviously.”
Getting back to the car seemed to take forever but at the same time happened very quickly.
Sam and Bobby lay Dean down in the back.
He lay flat on his back, coughing up the gunk in his lungs.
"You should sit up," Sam said, bending to help rearrange him.
"No," Dean panted.
"Dude, you're coughing up a lung," Sam said, impatiently.
"Nah, Sam... my back's worse... I can't..." Dean decided to finish the sentence there, dangerously close to a panic attack. Cause if he focused any attention on it...
It's bad. It's bad. It's bad. It's bad.
"Okay. Alright. Just relax," Sam said, a hand on his thigh.
Dean closed his eyes.
"Ahh," Sam hissed in pain.
Dean's eyes flew open. Sam was gingerly holding a hand over his chest. Before Dean could even muster strength to comment Bobby was sitting Sam down in the front seat and reaching his hands up under his shirt.
"It's okay," Sam said, although Dean could tell his teeth were clenching together, "It's not bad."
"I'll be the judge of that," Bobby said.
Dean smirked a little and let his eyes close again. His little brother was being taken care of. The ghost was history. And it was a job well done. Gold stars all around.
...
"Well, it's broken," Bobby straightened, tugging the brim of his hat.
"Thought so," Sam pulled his shirt back down.
"And you're gonna bruise up nice."
Sam huffed a laugh, "Been a while since I had a good bruise anyway."
"Alright, well, you can have some Tylenol and we'll get some cream on that later. Prognosis is, you'll probably live."
Sam smiled, "Good to hear. Happy now, Dean? Doctor Bobby's checked me over... Dean?"
Sam looked into the back seat and Dean was out, head lolled to the side, white as a sheet.
Bobby grabbed Dean's leg and leaned into the back.
"Son? Can you open your eyes for me, Dean?"
Dean's head moved slightly but it was taking him a long time to wake up.
“Dean? Come on, Dean. Open your eyes, boy,” Bobby squeezed Dean’s shoulder, giving him a little shake.
Dean scrunched up his face, “What’re ya shaking me for?” he muttered, voice thick with congestion.
Bobby and Sam both let out a breath, “Just stay awake for us, son.”
Dean brought a hand up and sneezed, not even successfully covering it as Sam saw a spray directed almost perfectly at Bobby’s face. Direct hit.
Waiting for the cursing to follow soon after, Sam was surprised when Bobby just wiped his face with his sleeve and smiled at Dean.
“Sorry, Bobby,” Dean slurred.
Bobby put a hand on Dean’s forehead, testing for fever and wiping off the layer of sweat.
“It’s alright, kid. Just hang tight till we get you back in a bed,” he moved his hand to his chest and rubbed comfortingly, “You did good.”
Sam had to stop himself from gaping at the scene. He couldn’t help but think that in another life, Bobby would have made a great father, and then he realized… he already was.
“Sit in the back with your brother, Sam. I want you to keep talking to him. Keep him awake. And be careful with that rib.”
Sam smiled softly at the gruff, bearded hunter, clothes smeared with dirt.
“What?” Bobby asked, showing the whites of his eyes under his trucker hat.
“Nothing,” Sam said, but gave Bobby a look.
Bobby shifted on his feet and tugged his hat, returning Sam’s smile.
“Alright… well… Go on and look after your brother.”
“Sure thing,” Sam nodded.
…
Sam saw the headline and knew what his brother had done. Bobby drove while Sam read through the article and did a quick search on his phone.
“Greenlawn Cemetery, Bobby. That has to be where he’s gone.”
“Boy’s gonna do a salt and burn in his condition?” Bobby grunted.
“So, Professor Elliot was a lecturer at the local college for over 35 years,” Sam ignored Bobby’s comment and started on about the case, “There were rumours he was sexually assaulting his students but nothing was ever done. After he died 6 months ago, women started speaking out about what he’d done. Geez, over 40 women have made claims… Guy’s a scumbag.”
“You’re telling me,” Bobby huffed, shaking his head.
“Anyway so he lived to the age of 90, died in Hill House where he lived and gave private lessons. God.”
“Okay, now I definitely want this guy barbequed.”
“Yeah, no doubt about that… So the house was boarded up but college kids have been going through trashing it.”
Bobby snorted, “I don’t blame them.”
“Two girls that went in were killed in mysterious circumstances, more injured… Sounds like a piece of work ghost if you ask me.”
“Your brother knows a hunt when he sees one.”
“Obviously this guy has to be taken out but we have to make sure Dean doesn’t get himself in anymore trouble. He’s already been out for hours.”
Sam looked out the window, clenching his jaw.
“Going as fast as I can, Sam.”
Sam didn’t look at Bobby, “Go faster.”
…
Dean was moving by sheer will power alone… and possible fuelled a bit by the whiskey. To be honest he hadn’t drunk that much, because even though he wanted to quickly reach the bottom of that bottle and forget the pain for a while, he needed to stay sharp, and also his right side was still aching and he probably shouldn’t put his liver through much more.
He drove the shovel into the ground again, making slow progress. His back wasn’t up for this. He tried to tune out the voice in his head.
You can’t do this. You’re too weak. You’ll never reach that coffin.
He pierced the ground, harder this time, groaning out loud, because it hurt so much. He paused and leaned against the headstone, sneezing messily towards the ground.
You can’t do it.
He closed his eyes, took a breath through his mouth because his nose was completely blocked, “Screw you,” he said, directing it to no one but himself.
And he resumed digging.
…
Sam and Bobby took off in opposite directions, searching for the grave of Professor Elliot. It was pitch black now, only the light of their torches to guide them. Sam wanted nothing more than to scream his brother’s name, but he knew better than to alert the possible ghost that was hanging around, or any nearby citizens that were likely to call the police at the sight of 2 grown men, wandering round the cemetery at night. He scanned his torch across the graves. Dean had to be here. He had to be.
As he powered forward deep into the cemetery he started to hear it. A sound of shovel in the ground, earth being moved, turned over. What was more alarming was the sounds Dean was making, this panting, wheezing, almost sobbing cries. Every breath out, as the shovel hit the ground, was forced out, voiced in a strangled grunt of pain.
He couldn’t help it.
“Dean!”
Sam’s torch light finally found him, only about a foot and a half deep into this grave. He was shoveling quickly, but not effectively. The dirt was mostly going back into the grave.
“Dean, stop.”
Sam jumped into the grave, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Dean tried to continue, almost like he didn’t see his brother there, but his hands were shaking, slowing down.
“Dean, please,” Sam said, close to his ear.
Dean finally stopped, slowly raising his head to look at Sam. His eyes were glassy, face slick with sweat.
“We have to…” he fumbled, dropping the shovel.
Sam grabbed his shoulders, “I know. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. We’ll take care of it. Together. Okay?”
Dean smiled weakly, as his eyes struggled to stay open. Then his knees buckled and his head hit Sam’s chest with a thud. Sam wrapped his arms around him.
“I got you.”
…
Dean refused to leave until the job was done. Sam and Bobby were making quick work of the grave digging while he leaned against a grave stone, legs out in front of him going numb. He couldn’t focus on the pain. It was everywhere. So intense that it buzzed loudly in his ears. He kept his eyes open, ‘cause he had to keep watch, to protect his family.
He coughed hard.
Sam stopped, head popping up out of the grave
“You alright, Dean?”
Dean nodded, still coughing into a fist. He leaned to his left and threw up in the grass next to him.
“Dean,” Sam was climbing out.
“Get back in there, Sam,” Dean’s voice was raspy, but he kept it firm, “Keep going.”
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
“We’d already be back there if you’d shut up and dig faster,” Dean groaned, adding a smirk just to reassure his brother.
“Just… don’t die,” Sam said.
Dean laughed, despite… everything, “I’ll tell you if I get a sense of impending doom.”
Sam scowled and reluctantly jumped back in and resumed digging.
As time went on Dean found himself struggling to stay conscious. The pain was next level. He listened to the rhythmic sound of shovels piercing the ground. He heard it when they finally cracked through the wood of the coffin lid, his eyes drifting shut. It would be over soon.
Suddenly a ghostly chill washed over him. Sam and Bobby were out of the grave, Sam bending over the duffle, grabbing the salt, Bobby leaning on his shovel, exhausted.
“Sam!” Dean shouted, using every bit of breath he had in him.
Professor Elliot had materialized out of the dark and was looming by his headstone.
As Sam turned, fumbling for his shotgun, the professor flicked his hand and flung him across the cemetery, the sound of an ominous thud coming soon after. Bobby got to the salt, and threw it towards the ghost, making his form flicker and disappear.
Dean was scrambling to his feet, as the ghost appeared behind Bobby, reaching a ghostly hand towards his throat. Bobby gasped and clutched at his neck, hitting his knees, as the professor choked the life out of him.
Dean grabbed the salt and lighter fluid. He shook it out liberally over the coffin and body that lay inside, followed by the lighter fluid.
He heard Bobby begin coughing like he could finally breathe. Not good.
Dean grabbed the lighter from his pocket and threw it in as Professor Elliot advanced towards him. He turned to fire mid-run, a warmth washing over Dean as the burning ghost passed through him.
“Dean,” Bobby said, his voice rough.
“Get Sam,” was all he said, sitting down on the ground, “Go check on Sam.”
Dean had to sit down or he was going to pass out, the bad thing was, he didn’t know how he was ever going to get up again. All of a sudden he was hit with the pain in his spine, it would have taken the feet out from under him if he weren’t already sitting down.
Sam and Bobby appeared, running towards him. Dean started to fall backwards as he relaxed with the relief that Sam was okay. They skidded to the ground beside him and held him in place.
“Sam, shit,” Dean felt the air being forced from his lungs, “my legs… I think I…”
“Shhh, Dean. You’re moving your legs. They’re moving. It’s fine. You just need some morphine, alright?”
“God, yes,” Dean joked, embarrassed for even worrying that his back had finally failed and he was potentially paralysed.
“Let’s get you up and moving then. Or are we gonna yabber all damn night?” Bobby butted in, voice hoarse and strained from being almost choked to death.
As the two men hoisted Dean up, Sam made a small, almost unperceivable, moan of pain.
“Ya’alright, Sammy?” Dean asked, a hint of stern brotherly command in his voice.
“Yeah,” he nodded, but twisted a little, grimacing.
“Sam.”
“I think I broke a rib,” he said, flippantly, “It’s fine.”
“Bobby’s looking you over when we get to the car,” Dean ordered, trying to get his feet under himself.
Bobby snorted, “Obviously.”
Getting back to the car seemed to take forever but at the same time happened very quickly.
Sam and Bobby lay Dean down in the back.
He lay flat on his back, coughing up the gunk in his lungs.
"You should sit up," Sam said, bending to help rearrange him.
"No," Dean panted.
"Dude, you're coughing up a lung," Sam said, impatiently.
"Nah, Sam... my back's worse... I can't..." Dean decided to finish the sentence there, dangerously close to a panic attack. Cause if he focused any attention on it...
It's bad. It's bad. It's bad. It's bad.
"Okay. Alright. Just relax," Sam said, a hand on his thigh.
Dean closed his eyes.
"Ahh," Sam hissed in pain.
Dean's eyes flew open. Sam was gingerly holding a hand over his chest. Before Dean could even muster strength to comment Bobby was sitting Sam down in the front seat and reaching his hands up under his shirt.
"It's okay," Sam said, although Dean could tell his teeth were clenching together, "It's not bad."
"I'll be the judge of that," Bobby said.
Dean smirked a little and let his eyes close again. His little brother was being taken care of. The ghost was history. And it was a job well done. Gold stars all around.
...
"Well, it's broken," Bobby straightened, tugging the brim of his hat.
"Thought so," Sam pulled his shirt back down.
"And you're gonna bruise up nice."
Sam huffed a laugh, "Been a while since I had a good bruise anyway."
"Alright, well, you can have some Tylenol and we'll get some cream on that later. Prognosis is, you'll probably live."
Sam smiled, "Good to hear. Happy now, Dean? Doctor Bobby's checked me over... Dean?"
Sam looked into the back seat and Dean was out, head lolled to the side, white as a sheet.
Bobby grabbed Dean's leg and leaned into the back.
"Son? Can you open your eyes for me, Dean?"
Dean's head moved slightly but it was taking him a long time to wake up.
“Dean? Come on, Dean. Open your eyes, boy,” Bobby squeezed Dean’s shoulder, giving him a little shake.
Dean scrunched up his face, “What’re ya shaking me for?” he muttered, voice thick with congestion.
Bobby and Sam both let out a breath, “Just stay awake for us, son.”
Dean brought a hand up and sneezed, not even successfully covering it as Sam saw a spray directed almost perfectly at Bobby’s face. Direct hit.
Waiting for the cursing to follow soon after, Sam was surprised when Bobby just wiped his face with his sleeve and smiled at Dean.
“Sorry, Bobby,” Dean slurred.
Bobby put a hand on Dean’s forehead, testing for fever and wiping off the layer of sweat.
“It’s alright, kid. Just hang tight till we get you back in a bed,” he moved his hand to his chest and rubbed comfortingly, “You did good.”
Sam had to stop himself from gaping at the scene. He couldn’t help but think that in another life, Bobby would have made a great father, and then he realized… he already was.
“Sit in the back with your brother, Sam. I want you to keep talking to him. Keep him awake. And be careful with that rib.”
Sam smiled softly at the gruff, bearded hunter, clothes smeared with dirt.
“What?” Bobby asked, showing the whites of his eyes under his trucker hat.
“Nothing,” Sam said, but gave Bobby a look.
Bobby shifted on his feet and tugged his hat, returning Sam’s smile.
“Alright… well… Go on and look after your brother.”
“Sure thing,” Sam nodded.
…