Lessons 6/10
Sorry for the uber long wait. I've had problems with this chapter. With 
dodger_winslow's help (muchos appreciation!) I've stuck bandaids over them, and I"m very pleased with the result.
Title: Lessons 6/10
Rating: R for language and violence
Cateory: Gen
Timeline: After 'Provenance' but before 'Dead Man's Blood'
Disclaimer: I lay claim to nothing.
Summary: Murders at a college campus lead the brothers on a ghost hunt where Dean seems likely to become the next victim.
Warning: This chapter does deal with a smidge of violence and sensitive themes :P
Lessons - Chapter 6:
Sam grabbed the pictures and stuffed them back into the box. “Dean!” He caught up, grabbing Dean by the elbow.
Dean yanked free his arm. “What, Sam? You want to talk about this? They’re evil bitches that the cops wouldn’t know how to handle. Are you willing to risk more lives just to keep your fucking conscience clean?” The accusation seemed to swallow some of Dean’s anger and a flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I’m going to take care of this myself. Your Jiminy Cricket has nothing to worry about.”
“Would you just listen and put the action hero, guns blazing thing on hold? For once. There are hundreds of photos in here. Hundreds.” Sam rummaged through the box and pulled out a yellowing picture that looked three or four decades old. He held it up for Dean to see. “Look how far back they go. They can’t be alone in this. Susie’s what, twenty one, twenty two? And Damien only a few years older. Look at this picture, Dean. There’s more going on here.”
Dean sighed and shrugged, barely glancing at the photo. “I don’t care. I don’t care, Sam. Susie’s confessed her involvement, that’s good enough for me. I’m not just going to stand by and wait for someone else to die.”
“Half an hour. Can you stand by for half an hour? Just let me do a bit of research -”
Dean tried to cut him off.
“Just half an hour,” Sam said. “Come on, it takes less time to fix your hair in the mornings.”
Dean gave Sam a dry look. “Someone’s mistaking me for him.” Dean glanced at Sam’s tousled hair. “Maybe not.” His banter sounded half-hearted though. He sighed and kicked at a tuff of grass. Glancing up after a few minutes, he looked more annoyed than anything else. “Half an hour, not a minute more.”
Sam smiled. “Not a minute more.”
Dean paced the small length of their dorm, listening to Sam clicking away at the laptop. Photos were scattered around Sam on the bed, but Dean couldn’t look at them. Sam was in one of those photos. Sam was in one of those fucking photos and was crazy if he thought Dean was just going to let that slide. He could feel the gun’s cold metal pressing against his skin. Another ten minutes and he was out of here. Another ten minutes and this hunt was over.
Dean slowed his pacing and shut his eyes momentarily. He was about to kill a human being, evil or not. He was about to stand in front of another person - living, breathing person - aim his gun and fire. He wasn’t about to banish a spirit or exorcise a demon, he was about to take a life and hope karma wasn’t watching. But the guilt was just something he’d have to deal with after Sam was safe from those psychos. He’d known for a long time that there were few lengths he wouldn’t go to for his family.
“Wow,” Sam said, interrupting Dean’s thoughts. “Looks like we’ve found our non-human for you to go Rambo on.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sam turned the laptop to face Dean. The screen displayed a newspaper article retrieved from one of the school archives. The article was old - from the late twenties. The heading claimed suicide on campus, but Sam was pointing at the photo of the curious crowd. “See him?”
Dean squinted and let his eyes travel over each face. His eyebrows rose as he focused on a face near the back. “It’s the boyfriend… minus the nose ring.”
“Damien, circa 1928,” Sam said.
“Huh. Why are they always stupid enough to get photographed and end up in the newspaper?”
“I don’t know, but Damien’s either found the fountain of youth, or he’s the not so human ringleader behind the string of not so suicidal deaths.”
“How many more have there been?”
“For almost a hundred years there’ve been one or two suicides a year from colleges in this area. All the same way.”
“They jumped?”
“They jumped.”
“A hundred years?” Dean said. “Jesus. We’re trolling through the paper every day for this kind of weird shit, how’d we miss the hundred year suicide thing?”
“No one’s made the connection between them all. And it’s been quiet for the past few years.” Sam tapped a few keys and brought up a new article. “Six years ago, one of the victims - Perry Jones - survived her fall and told police she didn’t jump, that some strange trance befell her and she found that she couldn’t control what she was doing. The police believe she was drugged, which brought them to suspect Perry’s roommate.”
“Why?”
“The roommate was the last person Perry remembers before going into the trance and jumping. The roommate confessed straight away. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“She confessed believing she was the one who had tried to kill Perry. But not by drugging her. She said she woke up in her bed a few hours after Perry’s fall with barely any recollection of the past year. She said the last thing she remembered was meeting this guy she thought was ‘cute’ during Orientation and then waking up a year later. Apparently she only remembers bits and pieces of the past year, including…get this… ‘tapping into her psychic ability to render people’s minds more susceptible to external influence’.”
“Like what the Vulcans do?”
Sam snorted. “Mind control, yeah. She thought she was psychic. She ended up in a psych ward and no other suicides fitting this pattern have been reported since. Until now. I think the official attention spooked Damien away. But he’s back.”
A niggling suspicion began to grow in Dean’s stomach and he sat down on the bed’s edge. “Found anything on Susie?”
Sam shut the laptop and put it aside, scooping up the photos as he talked. Was he avoiding Dean’s eyes? “Her birth certificate says she’s twenty one, I’ve found pictures of her in both elementary and highschool. She won a scholarship to this college.” He packed the photos neatly into the box.
Dean clenched his jaw. “Shit. I was going to kill an innocent girl. Damien’s done some possession or spell thing to control her, hasn’t he? She’s not a heartless bitch, she just chose to get the wrong guy’s attention. Who knows how long she’s been under his ‘turn-me-Goth-and-manic’ spell.”
Sam closed the box lid and looked up at Dean. “You didn’t know.”
“This Damien dick, he’s using those symbols we found in that room to possess these girls?” Dean asked, ignoring Sam’s attempts to ease his guilt.
Sam shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. I can’t find any information on them. I guess they’re used to keep him from dying, or yeah, maybe to help him possess these girls and control their abilities.”
“So this Susie chick really is a walking talking crystal ball that can astral project? That’s not Damien’s influence?”
“I think she was just born with the ability and Damien’s exploiting it. She probably didn’t even know she was able to control the astral projection thing.”
“Well, it stops here. Find his dorm number.”
Sam sighed and accessed the school’s dorm lists. “I still don’t know how you think you can shoot someone in the head and not get noticed,” Sam muttered, then frowned, tapping the keys with more determination. “I can’t access his information.”
“Try again.”
“I can’t. It isn’t listed.”
Dean sighed. Give him hacking scarecrows or homicidal paintings any day. “Well, you just lost your Geek Boy status.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Gee, I’m heart broken.”
Dean sighed again and flopped backwards onto his bed. “So, what are we meant to do now? We don’t know anything about those symbols or how to break Damien’s hold on Susie. We’re kinda stuck between a rock and your eighth-grade baking attempt.”
Dean ducked the pillow that Sam tossed at him, then scooped it up and popped it under his own pillow.
“We should get some sleep and look at the whole thing fresh tomorrow,” Sam said, walking over to Dean and yanking his pillow out from under Dean’s head. Sam shoved the photos under the bed and kicked off his shoes before flipping off the light and settling in under the covers.
Great, Dean thought. Another night waiting to see if they’d be attacked or entranced or tattooed with frickin’ unicorns and cherubs.
Dean lay in his bed all night, staring at the ceiling and refusing to let sleep touch him. He listened to Sam’s breaths instead, letting their rhythmic rise and fall reassure him that death hadn’t encroached on their lives again. Not yet, anyway. And Dean would be damned if he’d let it. He remained awake in his bed until the sun’s first tentative rays snuck through the blinds, then he left Sam sleeping and went to shower.
When he returned, Sam was gone.
The door to Susie’s dorm was open a crack, even though light barely crept through the sky and the halls were eerily quiet as students slept away hangovers or study hang-ups or whatever the reason college kids seemed incapable of waking up early. Holding back his anger and panic until he was safe from prying ears, Dean nudged open the door.
Dean’s stomach flipped when he saw Susie sitting at her desk, using a razor blade to carve symbols into her arm. Blood ran from the shallow cuts, dripping from her forearm and staining the carpet below. For a second, he’d irrationally thought the blood was Sam’s.
“You boys have no manners,” she said, yet to look up at him. “You never knock.”
From where he stood, Dean saw her lips curl into a smile. His eyes hardened and he strode into the room, shutting the door behind him and grabbing Susie by her throat, taking her by surprise. He slammed her against the wall, tipping over the chair with a loud crash.
Eyes wide, Susie raised the arm holding the razor, but Dean was too quick. With his free hand he grabbed her wrist and squeezed until the blade fell from her fingers. “Where’s Sam? Tell me!”
Susie looked scared. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked scared. She still refused to answer.
Dean pulled the gun from his waistband and pressed the barrel against her forehead, tightening his grip on her neck until she turned red. “You tell me where he is, or God help me…”
He meant it.
His finger twitched on the trigger. He meant it.
Susie’s eyes watered and she strained against his hold to turn her head and nod at the fresh cuts on her arm. Dean glanced at them. “That room with the symbols? He’s there?”
She just nodded, gargled sounds coming from her throat as she struggled to breathe.
Dean let go and stepped back, sheaving the gun. Susie fell forward, one hand flying to her throat while the other grabbed the wall as her feet failed to support her.
“He better be there and he better be unharmed or, sweetheart, you’ll know what pain really feels like.” Dean turned and flung open the door.
“Wait!” Susie lunged forward and grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin. “Please, don’t do it. Please.” Her eyes bore into his. They were dark brown, almost black, but Dean saw the fear in them. Or maybe it was his own reflected back at him.
Dean shrugged off her arm, running from the building.
Damien was sitting beside a stereo, fiddling with the stations. With Damien’s attention elsewhere, Sam tried again to free his wrists of the ropes binding them. The knots refused to loosen, and Sam wasn’t even going to try to free his ankles without the use of his hands. He breathed heavily through his nose, his mouth gagged by an old cloth. He didn’t know what was worse - the taste of dirt and grit against his lips or the pounding emanating from the side of his face where Damien had knocked him out. Where the hell was Dean?
Sam struggled against the rope again, but only managed to chafe his wrists. Goddamn it; he was so sick of being the captured one.
Damien settled on ‘Paint it Black’ by the Rolling Stones and hopped up. He started scooping up half empty beer cans, chugging what was left before chucking them into a corner. “Beer?”
Sam glared at him.
Damien grinned. “Oh, right, you’re a bit tied up right now.” He chuckled and knelt in front of Sam, looping his finger around the gag and pulling it away from Sam’s mouth. “Beer?” he offered again.
“Won’t desecrating your shrine with beer and rock music get you struck down?”
“Not religious,” Damien answered, standing back up. “There’s only one god I believe in: Me.”
“You think you’re a god?” Sam glanced around the room for the umpteenth time. The makeshift entry that he and Dean had created was haphazardly boarded up. The floor was littered with chip packets and half empty bottles and cans. There were a few cardboard boxes sitting neatly in the corner, but nothing that Sam could cut himself free with.
“In here I am.” Damien casually strolled around the room, his fingers gliding over the symbols. “These little babies make sure my heart keeps pumping and my blood keeps flowing.”
“So you can stay young forever.”
“Something like that.” Damien tapped the symbols. “When I’m this close to them, they make me fucking invincible. In this room, I am God.”
“Am I meant offer a goat? What do you want with me?”
Damien walked up to Sam and slid down the wall next to him until they were sitting side by side. He leaned his head rest against the wall, shutting his eyes lazily like they were just two students chatting. “With you? Nothing.”
Fuck, he was bait. “Dean’s not going to fall for this. He’s not just going to walk into a trap.”
Damien pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. He tapped it lightly against Sam’s cheek, smiling as Sam flinched. “I think you’ll find he will.”
Sam tried to ignore the feeling of cold steel on his face. “Why do you and Susie hate him so much?”
Damien’s eyes flashed in anger. But the emotion disappeared just as quickly. He pulled the knife away and started fiddling with it. “There are always reasons,” he said, staring absently at the knife. “You’ve been to college, right?”
The question was random. It unsettled Sam more than it should have. He looked away and refused to answer; he wasn’t going to let himself get sucked into any of this guy’s games. Not while waiting in the mouse trap set for his brother.
“Yeah, you’re one of us,” Damien said, appraising him.
Anger rose in Sam like bile in his throat.
Damien laughed softly. Everything he did was soft or slow. Like a freakin’ cat. “Apart from the ‘evil’ thing, of course.”
Sam bristled. Dean was the only person he tolerated patronizing him. And only on his good days. “Is your plan to talk me to death?”
Damien just smirked. “We’re academics, Sammy. We understand that those shit-faced ideas like good and evildon’t exist. There are always reasons and no one goes out of their way to choose the wrong ones, the ‘evil’ ones. It’s just that the smart people, like you and me, know that sometimes you gotta give up certain things to reach goals. In the end…” His eyes turned glassy and he seemed to retreat into his mind for a second. “In the end, one or two people forgotten or crushed on the way means nothing in the pursuit of progress. You get that, right?”
Sam’s anger was growing, perhaps irrationally given he knew he was talking to a murderer, but it was there nonetheless, swelling inside his chest. “Is that your excuse?”
“Is that yours?”
Sam was startled by his response, but he quickly wiped the confused expression from his face. “You kill people. Innocent people. I don’t care if you’re a psycho or a fuckin’ political science student. That’s inexcusable and we’re going to stop you.”
“He’s going to die, you know,” Damien said. Not cruelly. Just a statement. “Think you’ll remember him ten years from now? Think the world will? And if they do, will it be the good or just the bad?” Damien looked away again. “The world has a tendency to do that, you know, just remember the bad.”
A chill ran down Sam’s spine. Why did he get the suspicion this was no longer about Dean? “You and Susie seem to think I’m going to kill him. If you’re relying on that scenario, I wouldn’t hold my breath. If you have any.”
Damien smiled slightly. “You’re not going to kill your brother, Sam.” He started to carve the date into the floor.
“I know!” Sam said, annoyed that even the bad guy felt the need to laugh at his concern over the dream. “You and Susie were the ones who wanted me to believe that, remember?”
“You ever take any Cinema Studies?”
“What?” Sam said, growing more frustrated.
“Hitchcock was big on the whole MacGuffin thing. It means -”
“I know what it means,” Sam cut in. “Why are you telling me this?”
Damien finished carving the date and began twirling the knife in his fingers. “The MacGuffin: a plot device that furthers the story but is actually irrelevant. A red herring, in other words. It’s meant to keep the audience all preoccupied with something that, really, has nothing to do with anything.”
Sam grew cold. “The dream meant nothing…”
“The dream meant nothing,” Damien repeated, grinning.
Sam’s frown deepened. “You were just playing with my head. You…you gave me that dream just to, what? Watch me squirm? What the hell was the point of that?” Sam’s voice rose. This was fucking ridiculous! This whole hunt was ridiculous!
“There wasn’t a point; that’s the point.”
“No…” Sam said slowly, thinking. “There’s always a point. Red herrings are used to distract the audience. To hide the real clues, the…the twist ending…” Sam’s mind ran back through everything they’d encountered so far. He looked at Damien. His head was spinning a little. “Dean…he’s going to kill you… That’s what Susie saw. That’s what she knows he did! Or will do. That’s what you’re both trying to stop.”
Damien’s smile tightened. He held up the knife. “Not trying; will.”
Just then, the planks covering the hole burst open in a spray of wood and Dean appeared, gun drawn.
Dread curled through Sam’s chest. No.
Damien grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him to his feet, wrapping one arm around his chest while the other pressed a knife against his throat. Dean felt his chest constrict.
“Let him go.” He pointed the gun but didn’t dare pull the trigger with Sam so close.
“No,” Damien said.
Sam gasped as the knife broke skin and a thin trail of blood ran down his neck.
Dean swallowed, trying to not let his panic show. “What do you want?” he asked through clenched teeth, clutching the gun and glaring at Damien like he could telekinetically torch the guy.
“I want you, Dean.”
“Want to rephrase that, pervert.”
Damien chuckled. “I want to talk to you. Civilly. Don’t make me turn this into a blood bath.”
Dean glanced at Sam. They locked eyes.
“Dean, Susie saw you killing him in a vision, don’t trust him!”
“Shut up!” Damien tightened his hold on Sam.
Dean’s grip on the gun tightened in response, but he let the words sink in, pulling with them the memory of Susie screaming at him: I know what you did and I won’t let you… Dean smirked. “I suspected.”
Sam looked surprised.
“Not as dumb as you look, huh?” Damien said.
“Hey, now, you’ve already got my brother in a stronghold; don’t go insulting my looks too. How do I do it?” Dean crossed his fingers mockingly. “Please say beheading, please beheading.”
Damien smiled and shoved Sam away. Sam stumbled, his feet bound too tightly to catch him. He fell to the ground with a thud.
Dean didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger. A loud shot rang out and Damien stumbled backwards, grunting a little and shutting his eyes in pain. But he didn’t fall. He didn’t even bleed. A cold began to creep up Dean’s spine as he watched Damien right himself and look down at his shirt where a hole sat in the fabric. A perfect round hole: a perfect shot. Right above the heart.
Dean glanced to the side at the sound of rustling fabric. Sam had awkwardly pulled himself into a sitting position and was staring at Damien - and the gun shot - with a frown that Dean was sure matched his own.
“Nice shot. Now watch this.” Damien pulled down the collar of his shirt and Dean watched as the bloodless wound in Damien’s chest sealed itself. “Cool, huh?” He poked a finger through the hole left in his shirt and frowned. “Should’ve asked you to aim for my head, though. Oh well.”
“So you really are like a bug that won’t die,” Dean said, backing up and stalling for time as he analyzed his options. “These symbols, they keep you alive. Well, big fucking whoop. There are always ways to kill someone. Just gotta think outside the box.” Dean’s eyes traveled to the gap in the wall, then to Sam, trying to work out how he was going to get them out of there.
“Told you this room makes me a god,” Damien said to Sam.
Without warning, and with a speed Dean hadn’t expected, Damien ran up to Dean and grabbed the gun from his hands, smacking it across his face. Hard. Dean’s head whipped to the side and stars exploded in front of his eyes. The next thing he knew, Dean was on the ground, staring at a dirt floor that wavered in tune with the pain pulsating through his head.
“Dean!”
“I’m fine, Sammy.” Dean’s voice slurred as he pushed himself up with one arm and gingerly felt his cheekbone.
Before he’d recovered, Damien wound back his fist and struck Dean in the face with the strength of a man ten times his size. As if in slow motion, Dean tipped backwards and teetered for a moment before the weight of his throbbing jaw forced his body into a fall that gathered speed until he hit the ground in a spray of dirt.
“Hey!” Sam yelled.
Dean lay there for a second, dazed. Blood welled in his mouth.
“Maybe he should have brought Joey and Chris along,” Damien said. “Make this rescue more of a joke, huh, Sammy?”
Anger coursed through Dean, eclipsing the pain and fueling a reckless streak he thought he’d long ago restrained. Dean sprang up and plowed into Damien’s waist, tackling him to the ground with a loud ‘oomph’.
“Don’t call him that.”
Dean held Damien down by the neck and reeled back his fist, but Damien caught Dean’s wrist mid blow and threw Dean off him with a force that sent Dean flying across the room. Dean braced himself for impact but couldn’t help crying out as he collided with the wall. He slumped to the floor.
From beyond the spots still exploding in front of his eyes, Dean saw Damien stride towards him. Dean scrambled backwards, feeling the ground for some sort of weapon and forcing himself to ignore the pounding in his head.
Damien grabbed the lapels of Dean’s shirt and lifted him with an ease that scared Dean. “Are you done playing the hero?”
“I’ll never be done.” Dean swung his fist, connecting with Damien’s throat. Damien instantly let go, stumbling backwards in a coughing fit. “The heroes get all the chicks.” Dean grinned and ran for Sam, but Damien used his speed to cut Dean off. Too slow to duck the blow that connected with his mouth, Dean again found himself splayed on the ground.
Damien slammed his foot down on Dean’s neck, cutting off his air. Dean gasped and tried to pry the foot away but Damien pressed harder, almost crushing Dean’s windpipe. Panic ripped through Dean as his lungs screamed and his mind started to drift away, leaving only the agony of an airless body behind.
“Stop it!” Sam yelled, somewhere in the distance. Dean wanted to turn and offer him reassurance, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move and he could barely see beyond the black creeping across his vision.
“Now that I have your attention, we need to talk,” Damien said, eyes boring into Dean’s. “And you need to listen carefully. Can you do that?” The pressure on his neck increased and Dean nodded. He hadn’t even heard what Damien said, but anything to breathe again. The body was selfish like that. Damien removed his foot.
Without feeling or controlling it, Dean started coughing and sucking in air. When his lungs were satisfied, Dean turned to the side and let his head rest against the cool earth as feeling crept back into his limbs and his mind returned from the black fog it had escaped beneath. He lay like that for a few seconds, cringing as the pain returned to his face. He could already feel bruises forming and his skin swelling. Reluctantly, Dean pushed himself into a sitting position.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” Dean said, too sore and tired to stand up or back away. He didn’t really see the point of trying: his last three attempts had landed him right back here on the floor anyway. So he just sat there, looping one arm around his knee and leaning his head down against it. “I just usually skip the bad guy speeches in films and go straight to the action. You don’t come with a remote, do you?”
“Dean,” Sam hissed. Guess he didn’t approve of Dean telling the bad guy to just get it over with. Dean looked over to roll his eyes, but saw that the rope binding Sam’s wrists was stained red. He kept quiet.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Damien said.
That got Dean’s attention.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Damien said. “I want to. If you trip and fall down a flight of stairs, I’ll be laughing, but I’m not going to be the one to push you. I’m giving you a way out.”
Dean scrambled up and glared. “What the hell are you talking about?” He started backing away, closer to Sam.
Damien smiled and rested his hand on the wall behind Dean, leaning close. “I want you to take your brother and leave. Leave my college, leave my town. Leave. And don’t ever come back.” He pulled back and straightened Dean’s jacket, glancing at Sam, who was seething. “You do that, and you and Sam here will be safe. You don’t…” his grip tightened. “You’ll both regret it.”
“Why?” Dean asked, anger coursing through him, spurred on by the threat to Sam’s life and by the pain pounding through his head.
Damien watched him for a second them backed away, picking up a half-empty packet of chips and popping a few in his mouth. “I’m guessing you already know about my girl’s abilities.”
“She likes to brag.”
“I’m guessing she also told you about your imminent death?”
Dean felt a sting. His imminent death. The words were flung so casually that they actually hit this time. He felt Sam’s eyes on him. He turned and offered a cocky smile and a quick roll of the eyes. Imminent death? Pfft. Been there, done that. “Not before you, evidently,” Dean said, turning back to Damien. “That’s why Susie branded me. She doesn’t want to lose her boy toy. Too bad she’ll be banging a new one soon.”
Damien curled his fingers into fists and anger sparked through his eyes, almost turning them red. In a blur of color, he was in front of Dean, slamming him against the wall. He bore his teeth in a snarl. “She brands them, I kill them.” He pulled away, composing himself. “Remember feeling all hung-over when you thought she was a big scary ghost? When she astral projects, that’s one of her skills. She can slow down people’s senses enough so that when I come into this room and do a bit of black magic, I can extend these symbols’ power to whoever has The Mark - that spearhead tattoo she brands our victims with - and with their senses all slowed down thanks to Susie, I can get into their heads and make them jump. Easy as pie.” Damien walked to the other side of the room, rummaging through a cardboard box. “I’m not telling you this to fit the idiot bad guy mold,” he continued, voice muffled as he searched. “I’m telling you this because I can’t control who I make jump. Whoever has the tattoo may as well kiss their life goodbye.”
“You could always, gee, I don’t know, not kill anyone to begin with!” Sam said.
Dean smirked.
Damien looked up at Sam and smiled like one would to a hapless moron. “The deaths play an important role in our project. They’d be honored to know they died for a good cause. A project that, for God knows why, he wants you and your brother a part of. That’s the only reason Dean’s still alive. He doesn’t want him dead. Not yet.”
Dean grew cold.
“What project?” Sam asked.
“He’s willing to risk my life!” Damien said, ignoring Sam’s question. “I get it, I do. I know the project’s important and that you and your brother bring a whole new dimension to it, but I’m not willing to risk my life.” His attention turned to Dean. “I wouldn’t disobey him, so I’m not going to kill you, but I want you gone. You’ll die soon, anyway, Susie saw it. But I won’t go down with you.”
Dean glanced around the room again, trying to see an option he’d missed. “What do I get out of this deal? You said it yourself, I’m branded. The next time you and that witch decide to play god, I’m a stain on the sidewalk.”
“I know.” Damien pulled out a carving knife and lighter from the box. “She shouldn’t have branded you; she was just trying to help me. I’m going to fix that.”
Dean’s eyes widened.
“You’re going to burn it off?” Sam sounded horrified. With good reason!
“Dude, I’ll take my chances with the sidewalk!” An involuntary shudder ran through Dean’s body as Damien flicked on the lighter and began heating the knife.
“Can’t let you do that,” Damien said as he continued to heat the knife. “He doesn’t know Susie branded you. I can’t let him know; Susie doesn’t deserve to get in trouble.” He looked up at Dean, the heat from the lighter making his eyes glow. “She was just trying to protect me. From you.” Damien smiled slowly. The bastard was enjoying this.
“You’re sick,” Sam spat.
“Yeah, at least fork out the cash for laser removal if you’re going to tattoo me without, you know, permission!”
“Why a spear? Just tell us that.”
Dean glanced down at his brother. “Gee, Sam, you’re really focused on the important issue here.”
“Children, hush,” Damien said, walking up to Dean.
“This should be fun,” Damien said.
Dean watched Damien warily, keeping his distance. He risked a glance at Sam and the exit but regretted it a second later when a blur in the corner of his eye became Damien’s body slamming him to the ground.
“Get away from him!”
Damien grabbed Dean’s neck and tried to keep him still, but Dean battered away the knife and managed to shove Damien off him. He scrambled up and kicked Damien in the head.
Damien rolled away and scooped up the knife. He strode back to the box.
Dean ran to Sam and pulled him to his feet. There was no time to untie him; just needed to get him out of here. But, damn, Sam’s bound ankles were going to be a problem.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean quickly bent and started tugging at the knots.
“Just get out of here,” Sam said.
Dean ignored him. “Ow!” He looked up incredulously, rubbing the spot on his head where Sam had whacked him with his bound hands. “What the hell kinda thanks is that?”
“Just go, Dean! Stop being a stubborn idiot, get out of here.”
“You stop being a stubborn idiot.” Dean glanced over his shoulder as Damien pulled from the box a long, thin, wood spear with a sharpened head. Unable to untie the knots, Dean sprang up and grabbed Sam around the shoulders, half carrying, half dragging him towards the exit.
“Stop moving!” Damien yelled. In a blur of movement he was in front of Dean, shoving Sam away and slamming Dean against the wall. He reared back the spear and thrust it through Dean’s shoulder, beneath his collar bone, pinning him to the wall.
Dean screamed.
***
Go to Chap 7
dodger_winslow's help (muchos appreciation!) I've stuck bandaids over them, and I"m very pleased with the result.
Title: Lessons 6/10
Rating: R for language and violence
Cateory: Gen
Timeline: After 'Provenance' but before 'Dead Man's Blood'
Disclaimer: I lay claim to nothing.
Summary: Murders at a college campus lead the brothers on a ghost hunt where Dean seems likely to become the next victim.
Warning: This chapter does deal with a smidge of violence and sensitive themes :P
Lessons - Chapter 6:
Sam grabbed the pictures and stuffed them back into the box. “Dean!” He caught up, grabbing Dean by the elbow.
Dean yanked free his arm. “What, Sam? You want to talk about this? They’re evil bitches that the cops wouldn’t know how to handle. Are you willing to risk more lives just to keep your fucking conscience clean?” The accusation seemed to swallow some of Dean’s anger and a flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I’m going to take care of this myself. Your Jiminy Cricket has nothing to worry about.”
“Would you just listen and put the action hero, guns blazing thing on hold? For once. There are hundreds of photos in here. Hundreds.” Sam rummaged through the box and pulled out a yellowing picture that looked three or four decades old. He held it up for Dean to see. “Look how far back they go. They can’t be alone in this. Susie’s what, twenty one, twenty two? And Damien only a few years older. Look at this picture, Dean. There’s more going on here.”
Dean sighed and shrugged, barely glancing at the photo. “I don’t care. I don’t care, Sam. Susie’s confessed her involvement, that’s good enough for me. I’m not just going to stand by and wait for someone else to die.”
“Half an hour. Can you stand by for half an hour? Just let me do a bit of research -”
Dean tried to cut him off.
“Just half an hour,” Sam said. “Come on, it takes less time to fix your hair in the mornings.”
Dean gave Sam a dry look. “Someone’s mistaking me for him.” Dean glanced at Sam’s tousled hair. “Maybe not.” His banter sounded half-hearted though. He sighed and kicked at a tuff of grass. Glancing up after a few minutes, he looked more annoyed than anything else. “Half an hour, not a minute more.”
Sam smiled. “Not a minute more.”
Dean paced the small length of their dorm, listening to Sam clicking away at the laptop. Photos were scattered around Sam on the bed, but Dean couldn’t look at them. Sam was in one of those photos. Sam was in one of those fucking photos and was crazy if he thought Dean was just going to let that slide. He could feel the gun’s cold metal pressing against his skin. Another ten minutes and he was out of here. Another ten minutes and this hunt was over.
Dean slowed his pacing and shut his eyes momentarily. He was about to kill a human being, evil or not. He was about to stand in front of another person - living, breathing person - aim his gun and fire. He wasn’t about to banish a spirit or exorcise a demon, he was about to take a life and hope karma wasn’t watching. But the guilt was just something he’d have to deal with after Sam was safe from those psychos. He’d known for a long time that there were few lengths he wouldn’t go to for his family.
“Wow,” Sam said, interrupting Dean’s thoughts. “Looks like we’ve found our non-human for you to go Rambo on.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sam turned the laptop to face Dean. The screen displayed a newspaper article retrieved from one of the school archives. The article was old - from the late twenties. The heading claimed suicide on campus, but Sam was pointing at the photo of the curious crowd. “See him?”
Dean squinted and let his eyes travel over each face. His eyebrows rose as he focused on a face near the back. “It’s the boyfriend… minus the nose ring.”
“Damien, circa 1928,” Sam said.
“Huh. Why are they always stupid enough to get photographed and end up in the newspaper?”
“I don’t know, but Damien’s either found the fountain of youth, or he’s the not so human ringleader behind the string of not so suicidal deaths.”
“How many more have there been?”
“For almost a hundred years there’ve been one or two suicides a year from colleges in this area. All the same way.”
“They jumped?”
“They jumped.”
“A hundred years?” Dean said. “Jesus. We’re trolling through the paper every day for this kind of weird shit, how’d we miss the hundred year suicide thing?”
“No one’s made the connection between them all. And it’s been quiet for the past few years.” Sam tapped a few keys and brought up a new article. “Six years ago, one of the victims - Perry Jones - survived her fall and told police she didn’t jump, that some strange trance befell her and she found that she couldn’t control what she was doing. The police believe she was drugged, which brought them to suspect Perry’s roommate.”
“Why?”
“The roommate was the last person Perry remembers before going into the trance and jumping. The roommate confessed straight away. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“She confessed believing she was the one who had tried to kill Perry. But not by drugging her. She said she woke up in her bed a few hours after Perry’s fall with barely any recollection of the past year. She said the last thing she remembered was meeting this guy she thought was ‘cute’ during Orientation and then waking up a year later. Apparently she only remembers bits and pieces of the past year, including…get this… ‘tapping into her psychic ability to render people’s minds more susceptible to external influence’.”
“Like what the Vulcans do?”
Sam snorted. “Mind control, yeah. She thought she was psychic. She ended up in a psych ward and no other suicides fitting this pattern have been reported since. Until now. I think the official attention spooked Damien away. But he’s back.”
A niggling suspicion began to grow in Dean’s stomach and he sat down on the bed’s edge. “Found anything on Susie?”
Sam shut the laptop and put it aside, scooping up the photos as he talked. Was he avoiding Dean’s eyes? “Her birth certificate says she’s twenty one, I’ve found pictures of her in both elementary and highschool. She won a scholarship to this college.” He packed the photos neatly into the box.
Dean clenched his jaw. “Shit. I was going to kill an innocent girl. Damien’s done some possession or spell thing to control her, hasn’t he? She’s not a heartless bitch, she just chose to get the wrong guy’s attention. Who knows how long she’s been under his ‘turn-me-Goth-and-manic’ spell.”
Sam closed the box lid and looked up at Dean. “You didn’t know.”
“This Damien dick, he’s using those symbols we found in that room to possess these girls?” Dean asked, ignoring Sam’s attempts to ease his guilt.
Sam shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. I can’t find any information on them. I guess they’re used to keep him from dying, or yeah, maybe to help him possess these girls and control their abilities.”
“So this Susie chick really is a walking talking crystal ball that can astral project? That’s not Damien’s influence?”
“I think she was just born with the ability and Damien’s exploiting it. She probably didn’t even know she was able to control the astral projection thing.”
“Well, it stops here. Find his dorm number.”
Sam sighed and accessed the school’s dorm lists. “I still don’t know how you think you can shoot someone in the head and not get noticed,” Sam muttered, then frowned, tapping the keys with more determination. “I can’t access his information.”
“Try again.”
“I can’t. It isn’t listed.”
Dean sighed. Give him hacking scarecrows or homicidal paintings any day. “Well, you just lost your Geek Boy status.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Gee, I’m heart broken.”
Dean sighed again and flopped backwards onto his bed. “So, what are we meant to do now? We don’t know anything about those symbols or how to break Damien’s hold on Susie. We’re kinda stuck between a rock and your eighth-grade baking attempt.”
Dean ducked the pillow that Sam tossed at him, then scooped it up and popped it under his own pillow.
“We should get some sleep and look at the whole thing fresh tomorrow,” Sam said, walking over to Dean and yanking his pillow out from under Dean’s head. Sam shoved the photos under the bed and kicked off his shoes before flipping off the light and settling in under the covers.
Great, Dean thought. Another night waiting to see if they’d be attacked or entranced or tattooed with frickin’ unicorns and cherubs.
Dean lay in his bed all night, staring at the ceiling and refusing to let sleep touch him. He listened to Sam’s breaths instead, letting their rhythmic rise and fall reassure him that death hadn’t encroached on their lives again. Not yet, anyway. And Dean would be damned if he’d let it. He remained awake in his bed until the sun’s first tentative rays snuck through the blinds, then he left Sam sleeping and went to shower.
When he returned, Sam was gone.
The door to Susie’s dorm was open a crack, even though light barely crept through the sky and the halls were eerily quiet as students slept away hangovers or study hang-ups or whatever the reason college kids seemed incapable of waking up early. Holding back his anger and panic until he was safe from prying ears, Dean nudged open the door.
Dean’s stomach flipped when he saw Susie sitting at her desk, using a razor blade to carve symbols into her arm. Blood ran from the shallow cuts, dripping from her forearm and staining the carpet below. For a second, he’d irrationally thought the blood was Sam’s.
“You boys have no manners,” she said, yet to look up at him. “You never knock.”
From where he stood, Dean saw her lips curl into a smile. His eyes hardened and he strode into the room, shutting the door behind him and grabbing Susie by her throat, taking her by surprise. He slammed her against the wall, tipping over the chair with a loud crash.
Eyes wide, Susie raised the arm holding the razor, but Dean was too quick. With his free hand he grabbed her wrist and squeezed until the blade fell from her fingers. “Where’s Sam? Tell me!”
Susie looked scared. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked scared. She still refused to answer.
Dean pulled the gun from his waistband and pressed the barrel against her forehead, tightening his grip on her neck until she turned red. “You tell me where he is, or God help me…”
He meant it.
His finger twitched on the trigger. He meant it.
Susie’s eyes watered and she strained against his hold to turn her head and nod at the fresh cuts on her arm. Dean glanced at them. “That room with the symbols? He’s there?”
She just nodded, gargled sounds coming from her throat as she struggled to breathe.
Dean let go and stepped back, sheaving the gun. Susie fell forward, one hand flying to her throat while the other grabbed the wall as her feet failed to support her.
“He better be there and he better be unharmed or, sweetheart, you’ll know what pain really feels like.” Dean turned and flung open the door.
“Wait!” Susie lunged forward and grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin. “Please, don’t do it. Please.” Her eyes bore into his. They were dark brown, almost black, but Dean saw the fear in them. Or maybe it was his own reflected back at him.
Dean shrugged off her arm, running from the building.
Damien was sitting beside a stereo, fiddling with the stations. With Damien’s attention elsewhere, Sam tried again to free his wrists of the ropes binding them. The knots refused to loosen, and Sam wasn’t even going to try to free his ankles without the use of his hands. He breathed heavily through his nose, his mouth gagged by an old cloth. He didn’t know what was worse - the taste of dirt and grit against his lips or the pounding emanating from the side of his face where Damien had knocked him out. Where the hell was Dean?
Sam struggled against the rope again, but only managed to chafe his wrists. Goddamn it; he was so sick of being the captured one.
Damien settled on ‘Paint it Black’ by the Rolling Stones and hopped up. He started scooping up half empty beer cans, chugging what was left before chucking them into a corner. “Beer?”
Sam glared at him.
Damien grinned. “Oh, right, you’re a bit tied up right now.” He chuckled and knelt in front of Sam, looping his finger around the gag and pulling it away from Sam’s mouth. “Beer?” he offered again.
“Won’t desecrating your shrine with beer and rock music get you struck down?”
“Not religious,” Damien answered, standing back up. “There’s only one god I believe in: Me.”
“You think you’re a god?” Sam glanced around the room for the umpteenth time. The makeshift entry that he and Dean had created was haphazardly boarded up. The floor was littered with chip packets and half empty bottles and cans. There were a few cardboard boxes sitting neatly in the corner, but nothing that Sam could cut himself free with.
“In here I am.” Damien casually strolled around the room, his fingers gliding over the symbols. “These little babies make sure my heart keeps pumping and my blood keeps flowing.”
“So you can stay young forever.”
“Something like that.” Damien tapped the symbols. “When I’m this close to them, they make me fucking invincible. In this room, I am God.”
“Am I meant offer a goat? What do you want with me?”
Damien walked up to Sam and slid down the wall next to him until they were sitting side by side. He leaned his head rest against the wall, shutting his eyes lazily like they were just two students chatting. “With you? Nothing.”
Fuck, he was bait. “Dean’s not going to fall for this. He’s not just going to walk into a trap.”
Damien pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. He tapped it lightly against Sam’s cheek, smiling as Sam flinched. “I think you’ll find he will.”
Sam tried to ignore the feeling of cold steel on his face. “Why do you and Susie hate him so much?”
Damien’s eyes flashed in anger. But the emotion disappeared just as quickly. He pulled the knife away and started fiddling with it. “There are always reasons,” he said, staring absently at the knife. “You’ve been to college, right?”
The question was random. It unsettled Sam more than it should have. He looked away and refused to answer; he wasn’t going to let himself get sucked into any of this guy’s games. Not while waiting in the mouse trap set for his brother.
“Yeah, you’re one of us,” Damien said, appraising him.
Anger rose in Sam like bile in his throat.
Damien laughed softly. Everything he did was soft or slow. Like a freakin’ cat. “Apart from the ‘evil’ thing, of course.”
Sam bristled. Dean was the only person he tolerated patronizing him. And only on his good days. “Is your plan to talk me to death?”
Damien just smirked. “We’re academics, Sammy. We understand that those shit-faced ideas like good and evildon’t exist. There are always reasons and no one goes out of their way to choose the wrong ones, the ‘evil’ ones. It’s just that the smart people, like you and me, know that sometimes you gotta give up certain things to reach goals. In the end…” His eyes turned glassy and he seemed to retreat into his mind for a second. “In the end, one or two people forgotten or crushed on the way means nothing in the pursuit of progress. You get that, right?”
Sam’s anger was growing, perhaps irrationally given he knew he was talking to a murderer, but it was there nonetheless, swelling inside his chest. “Is that your excuse?”
“Is that yours?”
Sam was startled by his response, but he quickly wiped the confused expression from his face. “You kill people. Innocent people. I don’t care if you’re a psycho or a fuckin’ political science student. That’s inexcusable and we’re going to stop you.”
“He’s going to die, you know,” Damien said. Not cruelly. Just a statement. “Think you’ll remember him ten years from now? Think the world will? And if they do, will it be the good or just the bad?” Damien looked away again. “The world has a tendency to do that, you know, just remember the bad.”
A chill ran down Sam’s spine. Why did he get the suspicion this was no longer about Dean? “You and Susie seem to think I’m going to kill him. If you’re relying on that scenario, I wouldn’t hold my breath. If you have any.”
Damien smiled slightly. “You’re not going to kill your brother, Sam.” He started to carve the date into the floor.
“I know!” Sam said, annoyed that even the bad guy felt the need to laugh at his concern over the dream. “You and Susie were the ones who wanted me to believe that, remember?”
“You ever take any Cinema Studies?”
“What?” Sam said, growing more frustrated.
“Hitchcock was big on the whole MacGuffin thing. It means -”
“I know what it means,” Sam cut in. “Why are you telling me this?”
Damien finished carving the date and began twirling the knife in his fingers. “The MacGuffin: a plot device that furthers the story but is actually irrelevant. A red herring, in other words. It’s meant to keep the audience all preoccupied with something that, really, has nothing to do with anything.”
Sam grew cold. “The dream meant nothing…”
“The dream meant nothing,” Damien repeated, grinning.
Sam’s frown deepened. “You were just playing with my head. You…you gave me that dream just to, what? Watch me squirm? What the hell was the point of that?” Sam’s voice rose. This was fucking ridiculous! This whole hunt was ridiculous!
“There wasn’t a point; that’s the point.”
“No…” Sam said slowly, thinking. “There’s always a point. Red herrings are used to distract the audience. To hide the real clues, the…the twist ending…” Sam’s mind ran back through everything they’d encountered so far. He looked at Damien. His head was spinning a little. “Dean…he’s going to kill you… That’s what Susie saw. That’s what she knows he did! Or will do. That’s what you’re both trying to stop.”
Damien’s smile tightened. He held up the knife. “Not trying; will.”
Just then, the planks covering the hole burst open in a spray of wood and Dean appeared, gun drawn.
Dread curled through Sam’s chest. No.
Damien grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him to his feet, wrapping one arm around his chest while the other pressed a knife against his throat. Dean felt his chest constrict.
“Let him go.” He pointed the gun but didn’t dare pull the trigger with Sam so close.
“No,” Damien said.
Sam gasped as the knife broke skin and a thin trail of blood ran down his neck.
Dean swallowed, trying to not let his panic show. “What do you want?” he asked through clenched teeth, clutching the gun and glaring at Damien like he could telekinetically torch the guy.
“I want you, Dean.”
“Want to rephrase that, pervert.”
Damien chuckled. “I want to talk to you. Civilly. Don’t make me turn this into a blood bath.”
Dean glanced at Sam. They locked eyes.
“Dean, Susie saw you killing him in a vision, don’t trust him!”
“Shut up!” Damien tightened his hold on Sam.
Dean’s grip on the gun tightened in response, but he let the words sink in, pulling with them the memory of Susie screaming at him: I know what you did and I won’t let you… Dean smirked. “I suspected.”
Sam looked surprised.
“Not as dumb as you look, huh?” Damien said.
“Hey, now, you’ve already got my brother in a stronghold; don’t go insulting my looks too. How do I do it?” Dean crossed his fingers mockingly. “Please say beheading, please beheading.”
Damien smiled and shoved Sam away. Sam stumbled, his feet bound too tightly to catch him. He fell to the ground with a thud.
Dean didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger. A loud shot rang out and Damien stumbled backwards, grunting a little and shutting his eyes in pain. But he didn’t fall. He didn’t even bleed. A cold began to creep up Dean’s spine as he watched Damien right himself and look down at his shirt where a hole sat in the fabric. A perfect round hole: a perfect shot. Right above the heart.
Dean glanced to the side at the sound of rustling fabric. Sam had awkwardly pulled himself into a sitting position and was staring at Damien - and the gun shot - with a frown that Dean was sure matched his own.
“Nice shot. Now watch this.” Damien pulled down the collar of his shirt and Dean watched as the bloodless wound in Damien’s chest sealed itself. “Cool, huh?” He poked a finger through the hole left in his shirt and frowned. “Should’ve asked you to aim for my head, though. Oh well.”
“So you really are like a bug that won’t die,” Dean said, backing up and stalling for time as he analyzed his options. “These symbols, they keep you alive. Well, big fucking whoop. There are always ways to kill someone. Just gotta think outside the box.” Dean’s eyes traveled to the gap in the wall, then to Sam, trying to work out how he was going to get them out of there.
“Told you this room makes me a god,” Damien said to Sam.
Without warning, and with a speed Dean hadn’t expected, Damien ran up to Dean and grabbed the gun from his hands, smacking it across his face. Hard. Dean’s head whipped to the side and stars exploded in front of his eyes. The next thing he knew, Dean was on the ground, staring at a dirt floor that wavered in tune with the pain pulsating through his head.
“Dean!”
“I’m fine, Sammy.” Dean’s voice slurred as he pushed himself up with one arm and gingerly felt his cheekbone.
Before he’d recovered, Damien wound back his fist and struck Dean in the face with the strength of a man ten times his size. As if in slow motion, Dean tipped backwards and teetered for a moment before the weight of his throbbing jaw forced his body into a fall that gathered speed until he hit the ground in a spray of dirt.
“Hey!” Sam yelled.
Dean lay there for a second, dazed. Blood welled in his mouth.
“Maybe he should have brought Joey and Chris along,” Damien said. “Make this rescue more of a joke, huh, Sammy?”
Anger coursed through Dean, eclipsing the pain and fueling a reckless streak he thought he’d long ago restrained. Dean sprang up and plowed into Damien’s waist, tackling him to the ground with a loud ‘oomph’.
“Don’t call him that.”
Dean held Damien down by the neck and reeled back his fist, but Damien caught Dean’s wrist mid blow and threw Dean off him with a force that sent Dean flying across the room. Dean braced himself for impact but couldn’t help crying out as he collided with the wall. He slumped to the floor.
From beyond the spots still exploding in front of his eyes, Dean saw Damien stride towards him. Dean scrambled backwards, feeling the ground for some sort of weapon and forcing himself to ignore the pounding in his head.
Damien grabbed the lapels of Dean’s shirt and lifted him with an ease that scared Dean. “Are you done playing the hero?”
“I’ll never be done.” Dean swung his fist, connecting with Damien’s throat. Damien instantly let go, stumbling backwards in a coughing fit. “The heroes get all the chicks.” Dean grinned and ran for Sam, but Damien used his speed to cut Dean off. Too slow to duck the blow that connected with his mouth, Dean again found himself splayed on the ground.
Damien slammed his foot down on Dean’s neck, cutting off his air. Dean gasped and tried to pry the foot away but Damien pressed harder, almost crushing Dean’s windpipe. Panic ripped through Dean as his lungs screamed and his mind started to drift away, leaving only the agony of an airless body behind.
“Stop it!” Sam yelled, somewhere in the distance. Dean wanted to turn and offer him reassurance, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move and he could barely see beyond the black creeping across his vision.
“Now that I have your attention, we need to talk,” Damien said, eyes boring into Dean’s. “And you need to listen carefully. Can you do that?” The pressure on his neck increased and Dean nodded. He hadn’t even heard what Damien said, but anything to breathe again. The body was selfish like that. Damien removed his foot.
Without feeling or controlling it, Dean started coughing and sucking in air. When his lungs were satisfied, Dean turned to the side and let his head rest against the cool earth as feeling crept back into his limbs and his mind returned from the black fog it had escaped beneath. He lay like that for a few seconds, cringing as the pain returned to his face. He could already feel bruises forming and his skin swelling. Reluctantly, Dean pushed himself into a sitting position.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” Dean said, too sore and tired to stand up or back away. He didn’t really see the point of trying: his last three attempts had landed him right back here on the floor anyway. So he just sat there, looping one arm around his knee and leaning his head down against it. “I just usually skip the bad guy speeches in films and go straight to the action. You don’t come with a remote, do you?”
“Dean,” Sam hissed. Guess he didn’t approve of Dean telling the bad guy to just get it over with. Dean looked over to roll his eyes, but saw that the rope binding Sam’s wrists was stained red. He kept quiet.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Damien said.
That got Dean’s attention.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Damien said. “I want to. If you trip and fall down a flight of stairs, I’ll be laughing, but I’m not going to be the one to push you. I’m giving you a way out.”
Dean scrambled up and glared. “What the hell are you talking about?” He started backing away, closer to Sam.
Damien smiled and rested his hand on the wall behind Dean, leaning close. “I want you to take your brother and leave. Leave my college, leave my town. Leave. And don’t ever come back.” He pulled back and straightened Dean’s jacket, glancing at Sam, who was seething. “You do that, and you and Sam here will be safe. You don’t…” his grip tightened. “You’ll both regret it.”
“Why?” Dean asked, anger coursing through him, spurred on by the threat to Sam’s life and by the pain pounding through his head.
Damien watched him for a second them backed away, picking up a half-empty packet of chips and popping a few in his mouth. “I’m guessing you already know about my girl’s abilities.”
“She likes to brag.”
“I’m guessing she also told you about your imminent death?”
Dean felt a sting. His imminent death. The words were flung so casually that they actually hit this time. He felt Sam’s eyes on him. He turned and offered a cocky smile and a quick roll of the eyes. Imminent death? Pfft. Been there, done that. “Not before you, evidently,” Dean said, turning back to Damien. “That’s why Susie branded me. She doesn’t want to lose her boy toy. Too bad she’ll be banging a new one soon.”
Damien curled his fingers into fists and anger sparked through his eyes, almost turning them red. In a blur of color, he was in front of Dean, slamming him against the wall. He bore his teeth in a snarl. “She brands them, I kill them.” He pulled away, composing himself. “Remember feeling all hung-over when you thought she was a big scary ghost? When she astral projects, that’s one of her skills. She can slow down people’s senses enough so that when I come into this room and do a bit of black magic, I can extend these symbols’ power to whoever has The Mark - that spearhead tattoo she brands our victims with - and with their senses all slowed down thanks to Susie, I can get into their heads and make them jump. Easy as pie.” Damien walked to the other side of the room, rummaging through a cardboard box. “I’m not telling you this to fit the idiot bad guy mold,” he continued, voice muffled as he searched. “I’m telling you this because I can’t control who I make jump. Whoever has the tattoo may as well kiss their life goodbye.”
“You could always, gee, I don’t know, not kill anyone to begin with!” Sam said.
Dean smirked.
Damien looked up at Sam and smiled like one would to a hapless moron. “The deaths play an important role in our project. They’d be honored to know they died for a good cause. A project that, for God knows why, he wants you and your brother a part of. That’s the only reason Dean’s still alive. He doesn’t want him dead. Not yet.”
Dean grew cold.
“What project?” Sam asked.
“He’s willing to risk my life!” Damien said, ignoring Sam’s question. “I get it, I do. I know the project’s important and that you and your brother bring a whole new dimension to it, but I’m not willing to risk my life.” His attention turned to Dean. “I wouldn’t disobey him, so I’m not going to kill you, but I want you gone. You’ll die soon, anyway, Susie saw it. But I won’t go down with you.”
Dean glanced around the room again, trying to see an option he’d missed. “What do I get out of this deal? You said it yourself, I’m branded. The next time you and that witch decide to play god, I’m a stain on the sidewalk.”
“I know.” Damien pulled out a carving knife and lighter from the box. “She shouldn’t have branded you; she was just trying to help me. I’m going to fix that.”
Dean’s eyes widened.
“You’re going to burn it off?” Sam sounded horrified. With good reason!
“Dude, I’ll take my chances with the sidewalk!” An involuntary shudder ran through Dean’s body as Damien flicked on the lighter and began heating the knife.
“Can’t let you do that,” Damien said as he continued to heat the knife. “He doesn’t know Susie branded you. I can’t let him know; Susie doesn’t deserve to get in trouble.” He looked up at Dean, the heat from the lighter making his eyes glow. “She was just trying to protect me. From you.” Damien smiled slowly. The bastard was enjoying this.
“You’re sick,” Sam spat.
“Yeah, at least fork out the cash for laser removal if you’re going to tattoo me without, you know, permission!”
“Why a spear? Just tell us that.”
Dean glanced down at his brother. “Gee, Sam, you’re really focused on the important issue here.”
“Children, hush,” Damien said, walking up to Dean.
“This should be fun,” Damien said.
Dean watched Damien warily, keeping his distance. He risked a glance at Sam and the exit but regretted it a second later when a blur in the corner of his eye became Damien’s body slamming him to the ground.
“Get away from him!”
Damien grabbed Dean’s neck and tried to keep him still, but Dean battered away the knife and managed to shove Damien off him. He scrambled up and kicked Damien in the head.
Damien rolled away and scooped up the knife. He strode back to the box.
Dean ran to Sam and pulled him to his feet. There was no time to untie him; just needed to get him out of here. But, damn, Sam’s bound ankles were going to be a problem.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean quickly bent and started tugging at the knots.
“Just get out of here,” Sam said.
Dean ignored him. “Ow!” He looked up incredulously, rubbing the spot on his head where Sam had whacked him with his bound hands. “What the hell kinda thanks is that?”
“Just go, Dean! Stop being a stubborn idiot, get out of here.”
“You stop being a stubborn idiot.” Dean glanced over his shoulder as Damien pulled from the box a long, thin, wood spear with a sharpened head. Unable to untie the knots, Dean sprang up and grabbed Sam around the shoulders, half carrying, half dragging him towards the exit.
“Stop moving!” Damien yelled. In a blur of movement he was in front of Dean, shoving Sam away and slamming Dean against the wall. He reared back the spear and thrust it through Dean’s shoulder, beneath his collar bone, pinning him to the wall.
Dean screamed.
***
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