Questhaven 7/12 (SPN fic)
Here's the latest Questhaven chapter. As you might have noticed, I changed the 7/? to a 7/12, so I now know there will be 12 chapters (and an epilogue) for this story. I see the end in sight (and am writing it furiously) and it's really cool since this is my first multi-chap story :-)
Hope you all continue to enjoy. I'm also getting wordy, or something, 'cause this chapter is much longer ;)
Previous Chapters:
6/12
5/12
4/12
3/12
2/12
1/12
Chapter 7
February 2008
Rancho Sante Fe, CA -
Motel just outside of Elfin Forest
Dean threw down his slice of pizza and was across the room in seconds. He skidded to a halt on his knees in front of his brother and said Sam’s name over and over, searching his face for comprehension. Sam’s hands went to his temples and his eyes squeezed shut. Sam pitched forward, losing his equilibrium. Dean grabbed Sam under his armpits and held him upright just as the screaming began. It started as a low moan in the back of Sam’s throat, but quickly escalated into a wail that Dean had never heard from a living being. A sound he hoped to hell he never heard from his little brother again.
Sam continued to scream and clutch at his head, his upper body lolling from side to side. Dean’s grip under his arms was the only thing keeping Sam upright. Dean called Sam’s name, pleaded with him- please, Sammy, what the hell is wrong, stop, stop, STOP!- but if his brother could hear him he showed no sign of it. A tremor began to build, just a shiver in Sam’s arms and legs at first. In moments, Sam was in full on convulsions and Dean had to release his clutch on his arms in favor of laying his brother flat on the floor. Sam’s body jerked and seized, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes screwed shut. The screaming stopped in favor of a growling sound coming from behind Sam’s teeth.
Even while Dean’s heart raced and the fear clutched at his throat, he knew better than to hold Sam down. He’d read it somewhere, or maybe his dad had mentioned it in one of their first aid ‘classes’. Dean put his hands under his brother’s head and did his best to cushion any damage the seizing might do to his already concussed brain. It lasted for nearly thirty seconds, and then the shaking stopped suddenly.
Sam’s head fell back onto Dean’s hands and his body went slack. The room fell silent. The fear released its hold on Dean’s throat and chest. His body sagged, his hands still holding vigil under Sam’s head, and he pulled in a shaky breath and released it.
What the hell was that?
Despite the trauma just moments ago, Sam looked peaceful on the motel room floor. His breathing was quicker than usual, but not labored. Dean pulled his hands away from Sam’s head, wiping them off onto the carpet. Sam was drenched in sweat. Dean watched as droplets beaded up on Sam’s forehead and then ran down his temples. Sam shivered, and Dean prepared himself for another round of seizures, but they didn’t come. Hesitantly, as though he knew what he would find, Dean reached his hand out and rested his fingertips on Sam’s forehead. He pulled his fingers away quickly, Sam’s skin uncomfortably hot to the touch.
Dean jumped into action, grabbing Sam by the armpits again and dragging him toward the bathroom. He was dead weight and slippery with sweat, making the journey that much harder. He thanked God that there was no tub. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to lift Sam into it. Instead, Dean dragged his brother into the shower stall and propped him against the tiled wall across from the nozzle. He peeled off Sam’s shirt, undershirt, shoes and socks and then stepped back , directing the shower head down and away from his brother’s face and turning on the cool water.
Sam’s body jerked once with the shock of the cold, but he didn’t wake. Dean swallowed the painful lump in his throat and took a quick second to grab a bottled water and the first aid kit. He laid a towel on the floor between them and crouched down next to his brother. The cool water splashed off of Sam and onto Dean- he’d be soaked in minutes.
“Sam? C’mon wake up.” He gave his brother’s shoulder a shake, still shocked at the temperature of his skin. “Sammy? God Sam, come on. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you. You gotta wake up.”
Dean didn’t like the desperate tone his voice had taken, but he couldn’t help it. The last twenty-four hours had sucked beyond belief. Sam buried alive and CPR and concussion and now seizures and screaming and a fever that rivaled an oven, and that didn’t even count the fact that he was sitting on the blue-tiled floor of a dirty bathroom while he tried to get his brother’s fever to break and Sammy wake the hell up!
As if on cue, Sam’s eyes opened lazily. Dean watched as his brother’s eyes rolled in their sockets and his lashes fluttered, struggling up to consciousness.
“Hey, little brother. Here, take a drink.” Dean put the water bottle to his brother’s lips and tilted it up. He placed his other palm on Sam’s forehead, relieved that the skin there felt much cooler. “Do you think you could swallow some Tylenol, Sam? You’ve got a real high fever-“
Sam jerked forward, swallowing shower water for his trouble. Dean reached out an arm, stopping his brother from falling over and pushed him gently back to rest on the tile wall. Sam’s teeth began to chatter violently as he spoke, the incomprehensible words tumbling out between shivers. Dean reached up and turned the water off. He wrapped a towel around Sam’s shoulders and tried to make sense of his brother’s rambling.
“Sam, listen to me. Calm down, okay? Can you tell me what happened? Hey, look at me. Sam? Sammy?”
A few deep breaths later, Sam’s shivering was under control. He turned his head to Dean, droplets of water chasing each other down the length of Sam’s bangs and onto his face. His eyes were glassy as they struggled to focus on Dean. Sam’s lips were dry and he licked them quickly before speaking.
“I had a vision.”
***
Sam’s body fluctuated between shivering and burning up as he exchanged his wet clothes for the dry ones Dean handed him. He left the wet jeans on the floor and crawled into his bed, pulling the covers up and over his shoulders as he tried to banish the chill. His head was pounding harder now, a steady beat, and when he opened his eyes to find Dean the room blurred at the edges. He shut his eyes and called out instead.
“What the hell happened to me, Dean?” Sam touched his tongue to the inside of his cheek and tasted the familiar metallic tang of blood. He must have bitten his cheek during the seizures.
His bed dipped and creaked just to the right of his arm and Sam popped an eye open to confirm Dean’s presence. The room was less blurry so he opted to try out both eyes. Dean wasn’t looking at him, but Sam could see his brother’s profile clearly. Dean’s brows were pinched together and his jaw was clenched so tight that his cheek twitched involuntarily. Sam watched Dean’s throat constrict as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I don’t know. You tell me man. You said you had a vision?”
Dean’s voice was strained, pitched just slightly higher than usual. No one but Sam would have ever noticed the difference.
Sam’s body temperature suddenly flared to the other extreme and he kicked the comforter off quickly. He was sweating again, the warm fluid dripping down his temples, neck and back. He grabbed for the still cool, wet towel on the edge of the bed and dabbed at his face.
“Yeah, it was definitely a vision-“
“You’ve never had seizures or turned into a human toaster oven before with the visions, Sam,” Dean said. At some point, Dean had filled the motel’s ice bucket with ice and water. He dipped a washcloth in, wrung it out and laid it on Sam’s forehead. Handing Sam another water bottle he said, “I thought your psychic crap was gone? Is this the first vision you’ve had since yellow-eyes died?”
“It’s the first. I thought I was done with the visions, too.” His temperature swung again and he pulled the blanket up but didn’t bother removing the washcloth. His arms felt heavy and the room was starting to blur again as his headache ramped up for another round. It was a familiar feeling and he suddenly felt the need to tell Dean, quickly, about his vision before he got hit with another one. “I saw the graveyard we were at last night, Rebecca Barnett’s headstone. And then the vision jumped to a cabin in the woods, in Elfin Forest. I got the feeling the cabin was on the same property as the old graveyard, too. Like, just beyond the trees or something. There was a young woman in the cabin, but she flickered a few times like a spirit. I don’t know how I know, but it was Rebecca. Our salt and burn didn’t kill her spirit, Dean.”
The pain in his head rose steadily and he was compelled to throw the blanket off again as his temperature skyrocketed. He felt his hands begin to shake and the room seemed to tilt and jerk under him.
Dean ran his hand over his face. “The visions were always connected to Yellow Eyes, but this one was different, right? The seizures and abnormally high temperature… you think the witch is responsible? Maybe it’s some kind of hex?”
“It’s possible. But Dean, if that’s true, then these visions might be coming directly from Rebecca’s spirit.”
“Which would mean a trap. She’s luring us there.” Dean conceded. “Either way, I have to finish the job. Break the spell, if that’s what it is.”
“Yeah, but-“
Sam jerked his right hand to his head as the pain blinded him for a moment (Bobby, gripping a shot gun and standing guard in front of the motel door; Sam yelling for Bobby to get out of his way NOW). When he opened his eyes again, Dean was staring at him. He saw the moment comprehension dawned on Dean’s face and his brother reached out to grab Sam’s shoulder. Dean’s eyes widened, the fear plain on his face as he realized another vision was coming. Sam couldn’t hold back the shaking in his hands, the shaking that was now spreading. Sweat poured down his face as his body tried in vain to cool itself. Another blinding flash (Dean, thrown up against a wood-paneled wall, blood trickling down the side of his face. Rebecca laughing, looking into Dean’s eyes and placing her hands on his head, green lightning flickering off her fingertips as Dean screamed-)
“Sam? Sam?! Look at me. Hey… You’re okay-“
Somehow, Sam grabbed onto a lucid moment in between blinding visions and grasped Dean’s forearm. He blinked through sweat-soaked hair and blurry vision and made eye-contact with his older brother.
“Don’t go alone, Dean-“
Sam’s head pulsed, blinding light flashed and he threw his head back- (Dean falling onto the ground, blood dripping from his lips; Dean, looking…different…laying on the forest floor, wide gashes from an invisible weapon cutting through the skin of his chest)
“Don’t go…” Another flash, and pain blossomed through his head- (Green lightning hitting Sam in the chest)
“…she knows you.” Sam was on the ground now, someone (Dean, has to be Dean) grasping his shoulders and calling his name- (Dean lifting an elaborate table and upending it; Dean thrown across the room headfirst and sliding into a boneless heap on the floor).
He opened his eyes again, searching for Dean’s face. Sam was sitting on the floor of the motel. His brother was behind him, arms wrapped tightly around Sam’s chest, holding him upright. Sam tilted his head back and to the side, his eyes making contact with Dean’s curiously red-rimmed ones.
He had to make Dean understand, but “Please don’t g-“ was all he managed to say before the seizure hit again and he fell into blackness.
***
Bobby watched as Dean paced a hole in the motel room floor.
Sam’s body was still. A thin sheen of sweat covered him, his t-shirt damp with it, his hair sticking to his forehead. He was breathing rapidly and his face twitched every few seconds as if he were dreaming. A shout from Sam caused both men to jump and turn his direction and Dean stopped his pacing long enough to confirm that Sam was still unconscious.
“Dean?”
Dean kept pacing.
“Dean! Sit down, son.”
Dean stopped walking the length of the motel room and sat down abruptly on the end of Sam’s bed.
Bobby wasn’t sure what the boys had been up to, but it was plain to see on Dean’s face that the last few days had been hell. It looked liked Dean hadn’t slept in a week. His fingers were tapping out a nervous beat on the bedspread near Sam’s ankle and he continued to glance back at his brother every few seconds as if waiting for something. Bobby didn’t like the look in Dean’s eyes much, either. Fear bordering on panic wasn’t a look Dean Winchester wore often, and when he did he had a damn good reason for it.
Dean had called Bobby late Saturday night (or early Sunday morning, depending on who you asked). He knew right away that something was wrong and it wasn’t just the time of the phone call that tipped him off. The kid’s voice had been strained and thin and he’d sounded exhausted. Dean had skipped the “Hello” altogether and jumped right to “Bobby, Sam needs help. We’re in California at that salt n’ burn you threw us-“ Dean had yelled out “Sammy?” and the line had gone dead, but it was all the information Bobby needed. He’d headed to Southern California, trying Dean’s cell back periodically. He’d been driving near an hour when Dean had picked up the line, apologizing and giving Bobby directions to their motel.
Bobby sat down on the opposite bed. He lifted his ball cap, ran his hand over his hair and replaced the hat on his head before speaking again.
“Dean, I need you to fill me in here. What have you boys gotten into?”
Dean sighed and it was as if all the air left his body in that one action. Dean’s shoulder slumped, he looked Bobby in the eyes for the first time since he’d arrived, and the whole story spilled out: the salt and burn job; Sam buried alive; finding Sam not breathing and having to resuscitate him; the visions and the pain Sam was suffering with them.
“He was seizing on the floor, Bobby. And his skin was burning up.” Dean wiped a hand down his face and caught Bobby’s eyes. “The last few episodes blood started coming out of his nose and ears… and the screaming…” Dean’s eyes lost their focus and he shifted them away, but not before Bobby caught the fear hiding behind them. “I didn’t know what to do so I called you. Thanks for getting here so fast.”
Bobby nodded, casting a glance at Sam. “Would have taken me a helluva lot longer, but I was in Colorado Springs picking up some spare parts when you called. So, the salt and burn of the witch’s corpse didn’t take care of her? She’s the one doing this to Sam?”
“He told me one of his visions was of her and a cabin just beyond the graveyard in Elfin Forest. We burned her bones, but she must have a different source of power. What’s happening to Sam, it’s some kind of hex or something. I’m going to go after her, finish the job, but I couldn’t leave him alone here- not like this. He’s lucid sometimes, wakes up from the visions for short periods of time, but I couldn’t risk taking him along either.”
Dean sat in thought for a long moment, and Bobby waited him out.
“It’s almost like the witch is going after Sam, for some reason. Burying him in the grave and putting this spell on him. I was alone in that graveyard for near an hour digging him up and she never laid a finger on me. I was totally exposed, too, no salt lines or anything and she left me alone.”
“You sure you should be heading out there alone, Dean?”
“I don’t have a choice, Bobby. And I need you here with Sam.” Dean stood quickly and began to pack up the duffel. He tossed Bobby the bag of salt and laid one of the loaded shot guns on the nightstand. “You need to lay down salt lines after I leave just in case this is some kind of trick to separate us and she comes after Sam here. Shot gun’s loaded with rock salt. If Sam wakes up he’s gonna be pissed that I left without him, but he’ll get over it. If he has another vision-“ Dean glanced back at his little brother and Bobby’s heart broke at the helplessness on Dean’s face. “If he has another vision, you might have to restrain him. I’ll understand if you can’t… there’s a rope-“
Dean’s voice hitched and Bobby stood to lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of him, son. Don’t worry ‘bout Sam. Go take care of business.”
Dean nodded, grabbed the loaded duffel and his keys and left without looking back.
End Chapter 7
Next: 8/12
Hope you all continue to enjoy. I'm also getting wordy, or something, 'cause this chapter is much longer ;)
Previous Chapters:
6/12
5/12
4/12
3/12
2/12
1/12
Chapter 7
February 2008
Rancho Sante Fe, CA -
Motel just outside of Elfin Forest
Dean threw down his slice of pizza and was across the room in seconds. He skidded to a halt on his knees in front of his brother and said Sam’s name over and over, searching his face for comprehension. Sam’s hands went to his temples and his eyes squeezed shut. Sam pitched forward, losing his equilibrium. Dean grabbed Sam under his armpits and held him upright just as the screaming began. It started as a low moan in the back of Sam’s throat, but quickly escalated into a wail that Dean had never heard from a living being. A sound he hoped to hell he never heard from his little brother again.
Sam continued to scream and clutch at his head, his upper body lolling from side to side. Dean’s grip under his arms was the only thing keeping Sam upright. Dean called Sam’s name, pleaded with him- please, Sammy, what the hell is wrong, stop, stop, STOP!- but if his brother could hear him he showed no sign of it. A tremor began to build, just a shiver in Sam’s arms and legs at first. In moments, Sam was in full on convulsions and Dean had to release his clutch on his arms in favor of laying his brother flat on the floor. Sam’s body jerked and seized, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes screwed shut. The screaming stopped in favor of a growling sound coming from behind Sam’s teeth.
Even while Dean’s heart raced and the fear clutched at his throat, he knew better than to hold Sam down. He’d read it somewhere, or maybe his dad had mentioned it in one of their first aid ‘classes’. Dean put his hands under his brother’s head and did his best to cushion any damage the seizing might do to his already concussed brain. It lasted for nearly thirty seconds, and then the shaking stopped suddenly.
Sam’s head fell back onto Dean’s hands and his body went slack. The room fell silent. The fear released its hold on Dean’s throat and chest. His body sagged, his hands still holding vigil under Sam’s head, and he pulled in a shaky breath and released it.
What the hell was that?
Despite the trauma just moments ago, Sam looked peaceful on the motel room floor. His breathing was quicker than usual, but not labored. Dean pulled his hands away from Sam’s head, wiping them off onto the carpet. Sam was drenched in sweat. Dean watched as droplets beaded up on Sam’s forehead and then ran down his temples. Sam shivered, and Dean prepared himself for another round of seizures, but they didn’t come. Hesitantly, as though he knew what he would find, Dean reached his hand out and rested his fingertips on Sam’s forehead. He pulled his fingers away quickly, Sam’s skin uncomfortably hot to the touch.
Dean jumped into action, grabbing Sam by the armpits again and dragging him toward the bathroom. He was dead weight and slippery with sweat, making the journey that much harder. He thanked God that there was no tub. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to lift Sam into it. Instead, Dean dragged his brother into the shower stall and propped him against the tiled wall across from the nozzle. He peeled off Sam’s shirt, undershirt, shoes and socks and then stepped back , directing the shower head down and away from his brother’s face and turning on the cool water.
Sam’s body jerked once with the shock of the cold, but he didn’t wake. Dean swallowed the painful lump in his throat and took a quick second to grab a bottled water and the first aid kit. He laid a towel on the floor between them and crouched down next to his brother. The cool water splashed off of Sam and onto Dean- he’d be soaked in minutes.
“Sam? C’mon wake up.” He gave his brother’s shoulder a shake, still shocked at the temperature of his skin. “Sammy? God Sam, come on. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you. You gotta wake up.”
Dean didn’t like the desperate tone his voice had taken, but he couldn’t help it. The last twenty-four hours had sucked beyond belief. Sam buried alive and CPR and concussion and now seizures and screaming and a fever that rivaled an oven, and that didn’t even count the fact that he was sitting on the blue-tiled floor of a dirty bathroom while he tried to get his brother’s fever to break and Sammy wake the hell up!
As if on cue, Sam’s eyes opened lazily. Dean watched as his brother’s eyes rolled in their sockets and his lashes fluttered, struggling up to consciousness.
“Hey, little brother. Here, take a drink.” Dean put the water bottle to his brother’s lips and tilted it up. He placed his other palm on Sam’s forehead, relieved that the skin there felt much cooler. “Do you think you could swallow some Tylenol, Sam? You’ve got a real high fever-“
Sam jerked forward, swallowing shower water for his trouble. Dean reached out an arm, stopping his brother from falling over and pushed him gently back to rest on the tile wall. Sam’s teeth began to chatter violently as he spoke, the incomprehensible words tumbling out between shivers. Dean reached up and turned the water off. He wrapped a towel around Sam’s shoulders and tried to make sense of his brother’s rambling.
“Sam, listen to me. Calm down, okay? Can you tell me what happened? Hey, look at me. Sam? Sammy?”
A few deep breaths later, Sam’s shivering was under control. He turned his head to Dean, droplets of water chasing each other down the length of Sam’s bangs and onto his face. His eyes were glassy as they struggled to focus on Dean. Sam’s lips were dry and he licked them quickly before speaking.
“I had a vision.”
***
Sam’s body fluctuated between shivering and burning up as he exchanged his wet clothes for the dry ones Dean handed him. He left the wet jeans on the floor and crawled into his bed, pulling the covers up and over his shoulders as he tried to banish the chill. His head was pounding harder now, a steady beat, and when he opened his eyes to find Dean the room blurred at the edges. He shut his eyes and called out instead.
“What the hell happened to me, Dean?” Sam touched his tongue to the inside of his cheek and tasted the familiar metallic tang of blood. He must have bitten his cheek during the seizures.
His bed dipped and creaked just to the right of his arm and Sam popped an eye open to confirm Dean’s presence. The room was less blurry so he opted to try out both eyes. Dean wasn’t looking at him, but Sam could see his brother’s profile clearly. Dean’s brows were pinched together and his jaw was clenched so tight that his cheek twitched involuntarily. Sam watched Dean’s throat constrict as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I don’t know. You tell me man. You said you had a vision?”
Dean’s voice was strained, pitched just slightly higher than usual. No one but Sam would have ever noticed the difference.
Sam’s body temperature suddenly flared to the other extreme and he kicked the comforter off quickly. He was sweating again, the warm fluid dripping down his temples, neck and back. He grabbed for the still cool, wet towel on the edge of the bed and dabbed at his face.
“Yeah, it was definitely a vision-“
“You’ve never had seizures or turned into a human toaster oven before with the visions, Sam,” Dean said. At some point, Dean had filled the motel’s ice bucket with ice and water. He dipped a washcloth in, wrung it out and laid it on Sam’s forehead. Handing Sam another water bottle he said, “I thought your psychic crap was gone? Is this the first vision you’ve had since yellow-eyes died?”
“It’s the first. I thought I was done with the visions, too.” His temperature swung again and he pulled the blanket up but didn’t bother removing the washcloth. His arms felt heavy and the room was starting to blur again as his headache ramped up for another round. It was a familiar feeling and he suddenly felt the need to tell Dean, quickly, about his vision before he got hit with another one. “I saw the graveyard we were at last night, Rebecca Barnett’s headstone. And then the vision jumped to a cabin in the woods, in Elfin Forest. I got the feeling the cabin was on the same property as the old graveyard, too. Like, just beyond the trees or something. There was a young woman in the cabin, but she flickered a few times like a spirit. I don’t know how I know, but it was Rebecca. Our salt and burn didn’t kill her spirit, Dean.”
The pain in his head rose steadily and he was compelled to throw the blanket off again as his temperature skyrocketed. He felt his hands begin to shake and the room seemed to tilt and jerk under him.
Dean ran his hand over his face. “The visions were always connected to Yellow Eyes, but this one was different, right? The seizures and abnormally high temperature… you think the witch is responsible? Maybe it’s some kind of hex?”
“It’s possible. But Dean, if that’s true, then these visions might be coming directly from Rebecca’s spirit.”
“Which would mean a trap. She’s luring us there.” Dean conceded. “Either way, I have to finish the job. Break the spell, if that’s what it is.”
“Yeah, but-“
Sam jerked his right hand to his head as the pain blinded him for a moment (Bobby, gripping a shot gun and standing guard in front of the motel door; Sam yelling for Bobby to get out of his way NOW). When he opened his eyes again, Dean was staring at him. He saw the moment comprehension dawned on Dean’s face and his brother reached out to grab Sam’s shoulder. Dean’s eyes widened, the fear plain on his face as he realized another vision was coming. Sam couldn’t hold back the shaking in his hands, the shaking that was now spreading. Sweat poured down his face as his body tried in vain to cool itself. Another blinding flash (Dean, thrown up against a wood-paneled wall, blood trickling down the side of his face. Rebecca laughing, looking into Dean’s eyes and placing her hands on his head, green lightning flickering off her fingertips as Dean screamed-)
“Sam? Sam?! Look at me. Hey… You’re okay-“
Somehow, Sam grabbed onto a lucid moment in between blinding visions and grasped Dean’s forearm. He blinked through sweat-soaked hair and blurry vision and made eye-contact with his older brother.
“Don’t go alone, Dean-“
Sam’s head pulsed, blinding light flashed and he threw his head back- (Dean falling onto the ground, blood dripping from his lips; Dean, looking…different…laying on the forest floor, wide gashes from an invisible weapon cutting through the skin of his chest)
“Don’t go…” Another flash, and pain blossomed through his head- (Green lightning hitting Sam in the chest)
“…she knows you.” Sam was on the ground now, someone (Dean, has to be Dean) grasping his shoulders and calling his name- (Dean lifting an elaborate table and upending it; Dean thrown across the room headfirst and sliding into a boneless heap on the floor).
He opened his eyes again, searching for Dean’s face. Sam was sitting on the floor of the motel. His brother was behind him, arms wrapped tightly around Sam’s chest, holding him upright. Sam tilted his head back and to the side, his eyes making contact with Dean’s curiously red-rimmed ones.
He had to make Dean understand, but “Please don’t g-“ was all he managed to say before the seizure hit again and he fell into blackness.
***
Bobby watched as Dean paced a hole in the motel room floor.
Sam’s body was still. A thin sheen of sweat covered him, his t-shirt damp with it, his hair sticking to his forehead. He was breathing rapidly and his face twitched every few seconds as if he were dreaming. A shout from Sam caused both men to jump and turn his direction and Dean stopped his pacing long enough to confirm that Sam was still unconscious.
“Dean?”
Dean kept pacing.
“Dean! Sit down, son.”
Dean stopped walking the length of the motel room and sat down abruptly on the end of Sam’s bed.
Bobby wasn’t sure what the boys had been up to, but it was plain to see on Dean’s face that the last few days had been hell. It looked liked Dean hadn’t slept in a week. His fingers were tapping out a nervous beat on the bedspread near Sam’s ankle and he continued to glance back at his brother every few seconds as if waiting for something. Bobby didn’t like the look in Dean’s eyes much, either. Fear bordering on panic wasn’t a look Dean Winchester wore often, and when he did he had a damn good reason for it.
Dean had called Bobby late Saturday night (or early Sunday morning, depending on who you asked). He knew right away that something was wrong and it wasn’t just the time of the phone call that tipped him off. The kid’s voice had been strained and thin and he’d sounded exhausted. Dean had skipped the “Hello” altogether and jumped right to “Bobby, Sam needs help. We’re in California at that salt n’ burn you threw us-“ Dean had yelled out “Sammy?” and the line had gone dead, but it was all the information Bobby needed. He’d headed to Southern California, trying Dean’s cell back periodically. He’d been driving near an hour when Dean had picked up the line, apologizing and giving Bobby directions to their motel.
Bobby sat down on the opposite bed. He lifted his ball cap, ran his hand over his hair and replaced the hat on his head before speaking again.
“Dean, I need you to fill me in here. What have you boys gotten into?”
Dean sighed and it was as if all the air left his body in that one action. Dean’s shoulder slumped, he looked Bobby in the eyes for the first time since he’d arrived, and the whole story spilled out: the salt and burn job; Sam buried alive; finding Sam not breathing and having to resuscitate him; the visions and the pain Sam was suffering with them.
“He was seizing on the floor, Bobby. And his skin was burning up.” Dean wiped a hand down his face and caught Bobby’s eyes. “The last few episodes blood started coming out of his nose and ears… and the screaming…” Dean’s eyes lost their focus and he shifted them away, but not before Bobby caught the fear hiding behind them. “I didn’t know what to do so I called you. Thanks for getting here so fast.”
Bobby nodded, casting a glance at Sam. “Would have taken me a helluva lot longer, but I was in Colorado Springs picking up some spare parts when you called. So, the salt and burn of the witch’s corpse didn’t take care of her? She’s the one doing this to Sam?”
“He told me one of his visions was of her and a cabin just beyond the graveyard in Elfin Forest. We burned her bones, but she must have a different source of power. What’s happening to Sam, it’s some kind of hex or something. I’m going to go after her, finish the job, but I couldn’t leave him alone here- not like this. He’s lucid sometimes, wakes up from the visions for short periods of time, but I couldn’t risk taking him along either.”
Dean sat in thought for a long moment, and Bobby waited him out.
“It’s almost like the witch is going after Sam, for some reason. Burying him in the grave and putting this spell on him. I was alone in that graveyard for near an hour digging him up and she never laid a finger on me. I was totally exposed, too, no salt lines or anything and she left me alone.”
“You sure you should be heading out there alone, Dean?”
“I don’t have a choice, Bobby. And I need you here with Sam.” Dean stood quickly and began to pack up the duffel. He tossed Bobby the bag of salt and laid one of the loaded shot guns on the nightstand. “You need to lay down salt lines after I leave just in case this is some kind of trick to separate us and she comes after Sam here. Shot gun’s loaded with rock salt. If Sam wakes up he’s gonna be pissed that I left without him, but he’ll get over it. If he has another vision-“ Dean glanced back at his little brother and Bobby’s heart broke at the helplessness on Dean’s face. “If he has another vision, you might have to restrain him. I’ll understand if you can’t… there’s a rope-“
Dean’s voice hitched and Bobby stood to lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of him, son. Don’t worry ‘bout Sam. Go take care of business.”
Dean nodded, grabbed the loaded duffel and his keys and left without looking back.
End Chapter 7
Next: 8/12