Fic: Capture the Flag 23/24
Title: Capture the Flag
Author: triquetralmoon
Rating: R
Genre: H/C (respiratory illness, PTSD)
Warnings: Swearing, violence, flashbacks of graphic torture
Spoilers: Season 4, this is set in between Criss Angel Is a Douchebag and Sex and Violence.
Summary: A soldier in the war to stop the apocalypse, Dean is running himself into the ground as he runs away from his time in Hell. What he pegs as a simple sickness soon becomes something much more deadly. The Winchesters can never catch a break. For some soldiers, the war is never over.
Author's Note: Final chapters and epilogue.
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21 / Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Giving Up the Ghost
Dean pushed himself on across the lawn and into the Cole's backyard through the unlocked gate, praying he was putting some distance between himself and the mirage behind him. After a quick pause to spit out a mouthful of blood, he sidled through the backdoor. A mirror across the way gave him a vantage point to check out the room all the action was going on in - and it was all bad news.
The ghost was standing over his brother - who was giving shuddering gasping coughs, Bobby was unconscious.
Dean backed up into the kitchen - plan formulating in his head, even as his arms were already reaching toward the cabinets. He had to hurry, being this close to the ghost was doing something to him - his chest aching with a deep heaviness, each breath was doing less for him.
Splenda. Cinnamon. Salt, c'mon tiny umbrella chick - where are you?
Suddenly his eyes spotted it, the familiar girl in the yellow dress that had always brought him comfort, Morton Salt. Clammy hands reached up to snatch out the tall cylinder, which he could tell from the weight of it was still nearly full, thank god. Poking his thumbnail under the metal spout, he got it open and ready.
Calmly, Dean walked into ground zero, not bothering to fight the coughs that overtook him now that he didn't have to be in stealth mode. When he was done, he looked up to see the ghost had straightened up from his loom over Sam's body and was staring right at him in a creepy expectant sort of way.
Now that his little brother was in full view, he could see the blood covering every inch of his head, Sam's usually light brown hair looking black.
Oh, god.
Dean swallowed hard against a wave of fear and anger, his gaze tightening its sights on the next supernatural being he was going to waste.
He swung the oxygen mask down under his chin. "You wanna talk...to me?" he gasped.
"Talk is cheap, man. Action - action is the only thing we can do," Cole pleaded at a frenetic pace, "I just want to do right by you, that's all - I swear! And living every single day buried under these heaps of burden and guilt, no one should have to."
"No argument there." Dean replied.
Dean had never seen a ghost do a triple take before. It probably would have been more amusing if the ghost in question hadn't practically just scalped Sam.
"Look, I get it...I do." Dean continued, bringing the mask back up to his mouth for a needed hit of oxygen. "In the beginning...you're with your unit, you're in it together."
Corporal Cole, apparently intrigued in what the elder Winchester had to say, began to pull back on the juice a little. Dean felt something start to ease up in his own chest, felt a little steadier on his feet - the room not swimming quite so much. It was possible that some of that was in direct relation to hearing Sam's breathing ease up too. Good news was good news.
"And you watch as all of them die, one by one. You're left alone to do unspeakable things. Then you're shipped home, as if you could even have a home anymore."
As he caught his breath, Dean caught sight of Sam blinking his eyes up at him. He really didn't want him to have to hear any of this.
Cole was looking at him forlornly, shaking his head. "She wanted me to make a home here, but what I did - what they made me do, it's carved in here forever. Taking out Charlie didn't trouble me so much, but when Charlie's got kids..." The spook sounded terribly close to tears and Dean found himself wondering if ghost's could cry.
Cole's head hung low for a moment before he lifted his chin to meet Dean's eyes. "I came back here, but I was still fighting the war in my head. Still am. That's why I gotta help you out, man. Let me."
Dean nodded. "I'll go with you, I will. But I want your word - on your honor - that you'll leave my brother alone. The old man too."
"Dean, no!" Sam, who wasn't as concussed as Dean was hoping, had been listening after all. He wasn't so with it that he was lifting himself off the floor in a hurry, though.
"Sam, shuddup." Dean gave a glare frought with meaning to his little brother.
Corporal Cole went straight-backed immediately, saluting Dean. "On my honor."
"Let me say goodbye first." It wasn't a request; it was the last demand of a dying man.
Cole phased out of the way, giving Dean the chance to cross the room to Sam. He stooped in close, the metallic scent of blood overpowering as he hoisted his brother up to sit against the wall near the display case. "You still got the lighter fluid?" he whispered.
Sam's slightly unfocused eyes widened in surprise and relief and he nodded.
"Follow my lead."
Dean used the cabinet to get himself back up into a standing position, still keeping his back to Cole. He slung the backpack off and put it in front of Sam, removing the oxygen mask - ignoring the worried twitch that played across his kid brother's mouth. Considering mess that Sam was looking right now, Dean was pretty sure he had a similar twitch as he used the hem of his t-shirt to try and wipe some of the blood out of Sam's eyes. Sight was not optional in these situations. Still, as serious as this whole shit storm was, Dean's memory was automatically flicking back to the days of cleaning chocolate off of the face of the toddler who used to stumble around after his big brother with an adoring smile on his face.
Locking gazes with Sam, he stood the rest of the way up, knuckling his sternum as he arose. "Okay, Mikey. Ready?"
"Waiting on you, man," came the reply from behind him.
Dean spun around, the force of it jarring his already dizzy skull! His hands were gripping the cylinder of salt as he turned, a half-moon of protection forming around him and Sam as the salt-line ended at the wall.
They'd never heard a ghost stutter before, first in bewilderment, then in rage. Cole phased outside the wall of the bubble they were housed within, his hands reaching out like claws to try and snag Dean outside of the boundary.
Working quickly, Dean used the oxygen tubing like a lasso to try and pull the flag case off of the edge of the shelf where it could fall into his waiting hands. The first time, he missed. The second time, the corporal pulled on the plastic line to try and force his chosen victim out of the sanctuary. Sam reached up from his place on the floor and grabbed Dean by the belt, preventing him from tumbling forward into harm's way.
Dean snatched up the crossbow and tossed Sam the salt container. He fired without hesitation, clipping the ghost with the iron-tipped arrow and temporarily dispersing the soldier's energies into the ether. It bought enough uninterrupted time to get the triangular flag case into his hands.
Opening it was like a virgin trying to figure out where the clitoris is.
"…the fuck?" Dean gasped, his hands thumbing the clasps clumsily. "Sam, how do you…?"
Cole was back at the boundary. It didn't take him long to figure out that while he couldn't pass through the salt line, he could sure as hell start hurtling stuff toward the boys. It was like a tornado was suddenly assaulting the room, books and DVDs flying of their shelves, the glass within the window panes rattling. Glass shards from the broken curio flew up to deliver a million cuts.
"C'mon, c'mon…" Dean let it drop to the debris-laden shag carpet and tried to thump it open with his boot, but he was off balance and couldn't get enough force going to splinter the durable oak.
Now that all bets were off, it was as if the wind that was rising up around them was stealing the air directly from Dean's lungs. And bit by bit, the torrent of supernatural wind that was swirling about them was lifting grains of salt away from the line.
"DEAN!" A voice bellowed against the din. Dean looked up to see Bobby, crowbar in hand. The old man flung the iron rod across the room, right through Cole, buying them a few seconds of eerie silence before it all started up again. Before Dean could throw a hand out to catch it his body was overtaken by hacking, bending him in half as he coughed up blood, bile, and ectoplasm.
Mostly blood.
It was only because Sam managed to get himself on his feet and make a grab for the crowbar himself that Dean didn't end up with a temple full of pure iron.
"LOOK OUT!" Sam shouted, grabbing his brother by the shirttails and shoving him towards the safety of the wall.
Dean's body began sliding down the wall as he was forced away the encased burial shroud, the only sounds he was able to make out for a moment his own wheezing and the ringing in his ears. Sam stood up to his full height, muscular arms raised above his head as he slammed the crow bar down in one fluid motion, a crack of splintering wood as the flag was freed from its enclosure, the triangle of cloth doing an odd flip in the air like old games of paper football.
A hank of hair fell out from where it was tucked safely within the loving lengths of the flag. For once, luck seemed to be on their side. They could end this in one fell swoop.
In perfect synchronization, Sam went for the lighter fluid and Dean grabbed the salt, both of them pouring out liberal doses.
The roar of the room silenced so they could all hear the snap of matches bursting aflame.
"I wanted to help you, soldier." Cole gazed at Dean mournfully.
His chest long past the point of being able to speak some pithy remark, the elder Winchester simply saluted.
Truth be told - Dean wanted help, he just wasn't sure what kind anymore.
Dean let the matchbook fall onto the iodized accelerant, feeling a flare of scorching heat beneath his sternum, leaving him immediately breathless as intense heat stole the oxygen from his lungs. Cole burned out, the ghost's form quickly absorbed in a *whoosh* of phosphorescent flame. The entire room was bathed in the momentary glow, shedding a strange luminosity on both Bobby and Sam's blood-smeared faces.
Dean thought maybe he at least knew who he wanted the help from.
His stupid body thought he meant that right now, his knees buckling as his breath hitched on the searing pain in his lungs. His younger brother grabbed him before he went down hard.
"Whoa, whoa…Dean, you okay? Bobby?" Sam asked even as pulled his older brother's arm around his shoulders and began helping him towards the exit. They were lucky the cops weren't there already.
Bobby stepped forward over the debris, eyeing the ring of blood around Dean's mouth, the t-shirt that wasn't quite as bloody as Sam's. He quickly grabbed the objects they came in with, stuck them in the backpack and started helping Sam get Dean out of the house. They were all in bad shape, with injuries that needed looking after.
"Take him to the car. I'll grab the stuff from the house."
Dean found himself being towed across the street, stifling a cough the entirety of the short hike. It seemed wrong, somehow. On the one hand, he felt better than he had in nearly a month. The fever was definitely gone, and he wasn't even having that extremely gross experience he normally got from breaking a fever, the distinct sensation he was being bathed in someone else's sweat. On the other hand, his chest was hurting him something fierce and it was as if he had gotten slammed into a wall of fatigue.
Sam was wearing a tight frown as he sat Dean into the front passenger seat of the car. He tried groping his older brother for his pulse, but only got his hand smacked away for his trouble.
"We gotta go!" Dean gasped, a high-pitched wheeze curling around the ends of his words.
Sam was not about to be deterred when he'd examined cadavers with more color than Dean was exhibiting at the moment, and opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but Bobby came jogging up, tossing various duffels onto the floor of the backseat.
"Keys, Sam!" Bobby barked, throwing an unmistakable look of worry toward Dean.
Without hesitation, Sam tossed the keys to Bobby, a satisfying clink ringing out as metal hit metal in the older hunter's calloused palm. Sam scooted himself into the back, sitting behind Dean, who was now at too awkward an angle to deny whatever attempts at triage Sam wanted to foist on him.
Sam was surprised at how clammy and cool Dean's skin was, the pulse beneath the surface puttering along in a weak rapid fire staccato. He gripped his older brother's shoulder and shook, trying to put some focus back into a gaze that was darting around lethargically.
"Bobby, something's wrong."
Bobby only needed to take his eyes off of the road for a moment to realize that younger Winchester was not exaggerating. Bobby steered the car through suburban avenues with one hand and fisted Dean's shirt in the other, trying to shake him awake.
"Dean? You with me?" Bobby glanced nervously over toward the young man sitting next to him.
"Dad?" Dean slurred, his tongue laying thick and clumsy along the bottom of his mouth. Saliva thick with blood dribbled out his bottom lip as his head fell forward limply.
Sam didn't need paramedic training to know that his brother was going into shock.
"Sam, pull 'im back there and get his legs up!"
The car still moving, Sam reached forward into the front seat and hoisted an unconscious Dean backward by his armpits, quickly getting him settled in the back. He forced himself to ignore the déjà vu he was feeling, the memory rising up of sitting in the backseat of the car with his brother's cold, cold body after leaving a small town in Indiana. In a move he was sure to get crap about later, he rolled down one window and stuck Dean's feet on the ledge.
No sooner did the gravity start pushing blood flow back upward toward his brain than Dean's eyes snapped open, his body quaking as his stared up at the ceiling of the Impala in confusion. Sam was hooking up a bag of saline to the IV port still in his arm.
"Wh-what the hell, Sam?" Dean wheezed, shivering violently.
"We'll get you warm in a second, man. I need to know where you're hurt." Sam's large hands began their usual paths up and down his older brother's body with brisk efficiency, searching out any gash or bruise that could be the cause. He wasn't finding anything, and if he wasn't finding anything - did that mean the ghost wasn't done screwing with him?
They watched him burn, though. And fever was gone, so what the hell?
Sam ran his hands through his hair in frustration, hair that was becoming crispy as the blood dried in it, black flakes fluttering down like strange dandruff. His mind was flickering from one thing to another, not able to make sense of anything. It was how he often felt in those last few days of trying to hold out without the blood Ruby gave him.
Dean, you need to concentrate on Dean...not Ruby. His blood, he's bleeding...not her blood.
"Sam?" Bobby called from the driver's seat. Sam caught his worried gaze in the rearview mirror.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ban the thought of the half-full flask from his mind. He couldn't exactly start chugging back demon blood right now. "Yeah. He's conscious. I can't find a wound."
"Dean, there was blood all around the salt-line. Did Cole go after you in there?" Bobby asked.
"No, but...the salt..." Dean broke off into coughing, his chest heaving erratically as he turned his head toward the floor and began spitting out blood.
"What about the salt?" Bobby asked - his voice calm even as his driving revealed whatever panic he was hiding beneath the surface. Sam struggled to keep Dean from sliding off of the seat as the Impala took a corner sharply, the hand he put on Dean's solar plexus causing eliciting a sharp inhale.
Sam wasted no time in lifting Dean's t-shirt.
"Jesus, Dean," Sam swore softly, one hand going for his mini-maglite. The streetlamps they were passing provided inconsistent dim light, only highlighting the many dark shadows that were creeping across his brother's entire torso. What the maglite showed made him want to throw up - the entirety of Dean's upper chest mottled in scarlet and purple, with blood dotting the pores like a bad rash.
Sam's memories smacked him in the face with enough force to give whiplash.
They were the only visible wounds Dean had from Yellow-Eyes gutting him from the inside out while wearing their dad like Armani.
They were the colors Dean's corpse began to have as the blood pooled beneath his skin before Sam finally agreed to bury him.
It took Sam a moment to snap back with it, to realize Dean was gripping his arm. Gripping his arm and from the looks of it - worried about him. His brother wasn't in a hospital bed, he wasn't a corpse, he was right here in front of him.
Somehow Sam managed to swallow enough spit so that his dry mouth could speak once more. "It's internal," he called to Bobby before asking Dean what happened.
"Magneto," Dean replied - all he got out before he ran out of air again. Every breath seemed anchored to the ocean floor, his torso shuddering as every muscle in his frame tried to get more oxygen. "Shit." Something flickered in Dean's eyes, a spark of recognition that he knew he might be in trouble here.
"Magneto? What the hell does that mean?" Bobby asked, one hand on the wheel while the other one was searching through something in the front seat. Sam didn't know what until Bobby was handing the portable oxygen tank over to him. "Turn it up all the way."
Sam did as he was told as his mind tried to put together what Dean's clue was. Magneto.
"Dean, stay with me, man. Just keep breathing. Blink once for no, twice for yes. You got it?"
Dean blinked twice at Sam along with an eye roll even as he squirmed uncomfortably, his skin going from pale to ashen.
"Magneto - bad guy from the X-Men?"
Two blinks.
Okay, that was a start. Magneto's super power was exhibiting magnetic force over metal objects, a kind of telekinesis.
"Cole hit you with something metal?"
One blink. And a smack upside the head that had surprising strength behind it.
That one suggestion was pretty much all Sam had been able to come up with. Still, there was something there.
Magneto, blood, Ruby's blood, Dean's blood...
"Salt...line..." Dean gasped out, trying to sit himself up, but only succeeding in nearly passing out again.
Wait a minute...blood around the salt-line.
A picture formed in Sam's mind, hanging out in a motel room, an open box of pizza on the bed between them. Sam was lying on his stomach doing a crossword, while Dean watched a movie in the background. X2. Dean had bugged him to watch the part where Magneto escaped from his plastic prison; had, in fact, flung the TV Guide at Sam's head to get his attention. What had happened?
Think, dammit, think. Sam squeezed his eyes shut again, ignoring Bobby when he heard his name called.
Iron. The blue mutant chick had injected the guard with too much iron in his blood. Magneto had used his powers to pull it out of him, pulled the extra metal right out of his body, killing him.
Sam winced, picturing it all too clearly - Dean trying to rush over the salt barrier and making mincemeat of his insides in the process. Dean bleeding internally, a fever raging so high that it threatened spontaneous human combustion, but still crossing the street to be the hero. Sam didn't know whether to hug him or hit him. Maybe both.
Sam opened his eyes, breathing a single word. "Ectoplasm."
It wasn't a question, but Dean still blinked twice - hard.
"Sam, what the hell is going on?" Bobby snapped out, officially having lost all patience.
"Bobby, just a second. I promise." Sam dug his phone out of his pocket along with a scrap of paper and began punching in numbers.
"Hello, Ross? This is Sam - yeah, man. Wish I could say the same, but we definitely need the help. Access to a chest x-ray would be a start. Right now? Closer to Meadville. Clinic entrance in ten minutes, you got it. Uh, if you could get your hands on a couple pints of O negative, it wouldn't be a bad idea. 'Kay, man, thanks."
All traces of anger out of his voice, Bobby spoke again, "Just tell me which way to point the car."
Part 24
Author: triquetralmoon
Rating: R
Genre: H/C (respiratory illness, PTSD)
Warnings: Swearing, violence, flashbacks of graphic torture
Spoilers: Season 4, this is set in between Criss Angel Is a Douchebag and Sex and Violence.
Summary: A soldier in the war to stop the apocalypse, Dean is running himself into the ground as he runs away from his time in Hell. What he pegs as a simple sickness soon becomes something much more deadly. The Winchesters can never catch a break. For some soldiers, the war is never over.
Author's Note: Final chapters and epilogue.
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21 / Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Giving Up the Ghost
Dean pushed himself on across the lawn and into the Cole's backyard through the unlocked gate, praying he was putting some distance between himself and the mirage behind him. After a quick pause to spit out a mouthful of blood, he sidled through the backdoor. A mirror across the way gave him a vantage point to check out the room all the action was going on in - and it was all bad news.
The ghost was standing over his brother - who was giving shuddering gasping coughs, Bobby was unconscious.
Dean backed up into the kitchen - plan formulating in his head, even as his arms were already reaching toward the cabinets. He had to hurry, being this close to the ghost was doing something to him - his chest aching with a deep heaviness, each breath was doing less for him.
Splenda. Cinnamon. Salt, c'mon tiny umbrella chick - where are you?
Suddenly his eyes spotted it, the familiar girl in the yellow dress that had always brought him comfort, Morton Salt. Clammy hands reached up to snatch out the tall cylinder, which he could tell from the weight of it was still nearly full, thank god. Poking his thumbnail under the metal spout, he got it open and ready.
Calmly, Dean walked into ground zero, not bothering to fight the coughs that overtook him now that he didn't have to be in stealth mode. When he was done, he looked up to see the ghost had straightened up from his loom over Sam's body and was staring right at him in a creepy expectant sort of way.
Now that his little brother was in full view, he could see the blood covering every inch of his head, Sam's usually light brown hair looking black.
Oh, god.
Dean swallowed hard against a wave of fear and anger, his gaze tightening its sights on the next supernatural being he was going to waste.
He swung the oxygen mask down under his chin. "You wanna talk...to me?" he gasped.
"Talk is cheap, man. Action - action is the only thing we can do," Cole pleaded at a frenetic pace, "I just want to do right by you, that's all - I swear! And living every single day buried under these heaps of burden and guilt, no one should have to."
"No argument there." Dean replied.
Dean had never seen a ghost do a triple take before. It probably would have been more amusing if the ghost in question hadn't practically just scalped Sam.
"Look, I get it...I do." Dean continued, bringing the mask back up to his mouth for a needed hit of oxygen. "In the beginning...you're with your unit, you're in it together."
Corporal Cole, apparently intrigued in what the elder Winchester had to say, began to pull back on the juice a little. Dean felt something start to ease up in his own chest, felt a little steadier on his feet - the room not swimming quite so much. It was possible that some of that was in direct relation to hearing Sam's breathing ease up too. Good news was good news.
"And you watch as all of them die, one by one. You're left alone to do unspeakable things. Then you're shipped home, as if you could even have a home anymore."
As he caught his breath, Dean caught sight of Sam blinking his eyes up at him. He really didn't want him to have to hear any of this.
Cole was looking at him forlornly, shaking his head. "She wanted me to make a home here, but what I did - what they made me do, it's carved in here forever. Taking out Charlie didn't trouble me so much, but when Charlie's got kids..." The spook sounded terribly close to tears and Dean found himself wondering if ghost's could cry.
Cole's head hung low for a moment before he lifted his chin to meet Dean's eyes. "I came back here, but I was still fighting the war in my head. Still am. That's why I gotta help you out, man. Let me."
Dean nodded. "I'll go with you, I will. But I want your word - on your honor - that you'll leave my brother alone. The old man too."
"Dean, no!" Sam, who wasn't as concussed as Dean was hoping, had been listening after all. He wasn't so with it that he was lifting himself off the floor in a hurry, though.
"Sam, shuddup." Dean gave a glare frought with meaning to his little brother.
Corporal Cole went straight-backed immediately, saluting Dean. "On my honor."
"Let me say goodbye first." It wasn't a request; it was the last demand of a dying man.
Cole phased out of the way, giving Dean the chance to cross the room to Sam. He stooped in close, the metallic scent of blood overpowering as he hoisted his brother up to sit against the wall near the display case. "You still got the lighter fluid?" he whispered.
Sam's slightly unfocused eyes widened in surprise and relief and he nodded.
"Follow my lead."
Dean used the cabinet to get himself back up into a standing position, still keeping his back to Cole. He slung the backpack off and put it in front of Sam, removing the oxygen mask - ignoring the worried twitch that played across his kid brother's mouth. Considering mess that Sam was looking right now, Dean was pretty sure he had a similar twitch as he used the hem of his t-shirt to try and wipe some of the blood out of Sam's eyes. Sight was not optional in these situations. Still, as serious as this whole shit storm was, Dean's memory was automatically flicking back to the days of cleaning chocolate off of the face of the toddler who used to stumble around after his big brother with an adoring smile on his face.
Locking gazes with Sam, he stood the rest of the way up, knuckling his sternum as he arose. "Okay, Mikey. Ready?"
"Waiting on you, man," came the reply from behind him.
Dean spun around, the force of it jarring his already dizzy skull! His hands were gripping the cylinder of salt as he turned, a half-moon of protection forming around him and Sam as the salt-line ended at the wall.
They'd never heard a ghost stutter before, first in bewilderment, then in rage. Cole phased outside the wall of the bubble they were housed within, his hands reaching out like claws to try and snag Dean outside of the boundary.
Working quickly, Dean used the oxygen tubing like a lasso to try and pull the flag case off of the edge of the shelf where it could fall into his waiting hands. The first time, he missed. The second time, the corporal pulled on the plastic line to try and force his chosen victim out of the sanctuary. Sam reached up from his place on the floor and grabbed Dean by the belt, preventing him from tumbling forward into harm's way.
Dean snatched up the crossbow and tossed Sam the salt container. He fired without hesitation, clipping the ghost with the iron-tipped arrow and temporarily dispersing the soldier's energies into the ether. It bought enough uninterrupted time to get the triangular flag case into his hands.
Opening it was like a virgin trying to figure out where the clitoris is.
"…the fuck?" Dean gasped, his hands thumbing the clasps clumsily. "Sam, how do you…?"
Cole was back at the boundary. It didn't take him long to figure out that while he couldn't pass through the salt line, he could sure as hell start hurtling stuff toward the boys. It was like a tornado was suddenly assaulting the room, books and DVDs flying of their shelves, the glass within the window panes rattling. Glass shards from the broken curio flew up to deliver a million cuts.
"C'mon, c'mon…" Dean let it drop to the debris-laden shag carpet and tried to thump it open with his boot, but he was off balance and couldn't get enough force going to splinter the durable oak.
Now that all bets were off, it was as if the wind that was rising up around them was stealing the air directly from Dean's lungs. And bit by bit, the torrent of supernatural wind that was swirling about them was lifting grains of salt away from the line.
"DEAN!" A voice bellowed against the din. Dean looked up to see Bobby, crowbar in hand. The old man flung the iron rod across the room, right through Cole, buying them a few seconds of eerie silence before it all started up again. Before Dean could throw a hand out to catch it his body was overtaken by hacking, bending him in half as he coughed up blood, bile, and ectoplasm.
Mostly blood.
It was only because Sam managed to get himself on his feet and make a grab for the crowbar himself that Dean didn't end up with a temple full of pure iron.
"LOOK OUT!" Sam shouted, grabbing his brother by the shirttails and shoving him towards the safety of the wall.
Dean's body began sliding down the wall as he was forced away the encased burial shroud, the only sounds he was able to make out for a moment his own wheezing and the ringing in his ears. Sam stood up to his full height, muscular arms raised above his head as he slammed the crow bar down in one fluid motion, a crack of splintering wood as the flag was freed from its enclosure, the triangle of cloth doing an odd flip in the air like old games of paper football.
A hank of hair fell out from where it was tucked safely within the loving lengths of the flag. For once, luck seemed to be on their side. They could end this in one fell swoop.
In perfect synchronization, Sam went for the lighter fluid and Dean grabbed the salt, both of them pouring out liberal doses.
The roar of the room silenced so they could all hear the snap of matches bursting aflame.
"I wanted to help you, soldier." Cole gazed at Dean mournfully.
His chest long past the point of being able to speak some pithy remark, the elder Winchester simply saluted.
Truth be told - Dean wanted help, he just wasn't sure what kind anymore.
Dean let the matchbook fall onto the iodized accelerant, feeling a flare of scorching heat beneath his sternum, leaving him immediately breathless as intense heat stole the oxygen from his lungs. Cole burned out, the ghost's form quickly absorbed in a *whoosh* of phosphorescent flame. The entire room was bathed in the momentary glow, shedding a strange luminosity on both Bobby and Sam's blood-smeared faces.
Dean thought maybe he at least knew who he wanted the help from.
His stupid body thought he meant that right now, his knees buckling as his breath hitched on the searing pain in his lungs. His younger brother grabbed him before he went down hard.
"Whoa, whoa…Dean, you okay? Bobby?" Sam asked even as pulled his older brother's arm around his shoulders and began helping him towards the exit. They were lucky the cops weren't there already.
Bobby stepped forward over the debris, eyeing the ring of blood around Dean's mouth, the t-shirt that wasn't quite as bloody as Sam's. He quickly grabbed the objects they came in with, stuck them in the backpack and started helping Sam get Dean out of the house. They were all in bad shape, with injuries that needed looking after.
"Take him to the car. I'll grab the stuff from the house."
Dean found himself being towed across the street, stifling a cough the entirety of the short hike. It seemed wrong, somehow. On the one hand, he felt better than he had in nearly a month. The fever was definitely gone, and he wasn't even having that extremely gross experience he normally got from breaking a fever, the distinct sensation he was being bathed in someone else's sweat. On the other hand, his chest was hurting him something fierce and it was as if he had gotten slammed into a wall of fatigue.
Sam was wearing a tight frown as he sat Dean into the front passenger seat of the car. He tried groping his older brother for his pulse, but only got his hand smacked away for his trouble.
"We gotta go!" Dean gasped, a high-pitched wheeze curling around the ends of his words.
Sam was not about to be deterred when he'd examined cadavers with more color than Dean was exhibiting at the moment, and opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but Bobby came jogging up, tossing various duffels onto the floor of the backseat.
"Keys, Sam!" Bobby barked, throwing an unmistakable look of worry toward Dean.
Without hesitation, Sam tossed the keys to Bobby, a satisfying clink ringing out as metal hit metal in the older hunter's calloused palm. Sam scooted himself into the back, sitting behind Dean, who was now at too awkward an angle to deny whatever attempts at triage Sam wanted to foist on him.
Sam was surprised at how clammy and cool Dean's skin was, the pulse beneath the surface puttering along in a weak rapid fire staccato. He gripped his older brother's shoulder and shook, trying to put some focus back into a gaze that was darting around lethargically.
"Bobby, something's wrong."
Bobby only needed to take his eyes off of the road for a moment to realize that younger Winchester was not exaggerating. Bobby steered the car through suburban avenues with one hand and fisted Dean's shirt in the other, trying to shake him awake.
"Dean? You with me?" Bobby glanced nervously over toward the young man sitting next to him.
"Dad?" Dean slurred, his tongue laying thick and clumsy along the bottom of his mouth. Saliva thick with blood dribbled out his bottom lip as his head fell forward limply.
Sam didn't need paramedic training to know that his brother was going into shock.
"Sam, pull 'im back there and get his legs up!"
The car still moving, Sam reached forward into the front seat and hoisted an unconscious Dean backward by his armpits, quickly getting him settled in the back. He forced himself to ignore the déjà vu he was feeling, the memory rising up of sitting in the backseat of the car with his brother's cold, cold body after leaving a small town in Indiana. In a move he was sure to get crap about later, he rolled down one window and stuck Dean's feet on the ledge.
No sooner did the gravity start pushing blood flow back upward toward his brain than Dean's eyes snapped open, his body quaking as his stared up at the ceiling of the Impala in confusion. Sam was hooking up a bag of saline to the IV port still in his arm.
"Wh-what the hell, Sam?" Dean wheezed, shivering violently.
"We'll get you warm in a second, man. I need to know where you're hurt." Sam's large hands began their usual paths up and down his older brother's body with brisk efficiency, searching out any gash or bruise that could be the cause. He wasn't finding anything, and if he wasn't finding anything - did that mean the ghost wasn't done screwing with him?
They watched him burn, though. And fever was gone, so what the hell?
Sam ran his hands through his hair in frustration, hair that was becoming crispy as the blood dried in it, black flakes fluttering down like strange dandruff. His mind was flickering from one thing to another, not able to make sense of anything. It was how he often felt in those last few days of trying to hold out without the blood Ruby gave him.
Dean, you need to concentrate on Dean...not Ruby. His blood, he's bleeding...not her blood.
"Sam?" Bobby called from the driver's seat. Sam caught his worried gaze in the rearview mirror.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ban the thought of the half-full flask from his mind. He couldn't exactly start chugging back demon blood right now. "Yeah. He's conscious. I can't find a wound."
"Dean, there was blood all around the salt-line. Did Cole go after you in there?" Bobby asked.
"No, but...the salt..." Dean broke off into coughing, his chest heaving erratically as he turned his head toward the floor and began spitting out blood.
"What about the salt?" Bobby asked - his voice calm even as his driving revealed whatever panic he was hiding beneath the surface. Sam struggled to keep Dean from sliding off of the seat as the Impala took a corner sharply, the hand he put on Dean's solar plexus causing eliciting a sharp inhale.
Sam wasted no time in lifting Dean's t-shirt.
"Jesus, Dean," Sam swore softly, one hand going for his mini-maglite. The streetlamps they were passing provided inconsistent dim light, only highlighting the many dark shadows that were creeping across his brother's entire torso. What the maglite showed made him want to throw up - the entirety of Dean's upper chest mottled in scarlet and purple, with blood dotting the pores like a bad rash.
Sam's memories smacked him in the face with enough force to give whiplash.
They were the only visible wounds Dean had from Yellow-Eyes gutting him from the inside out while wearing their dad like Armani.
They were the colors Dean's corpse began to have as the blood pooled beneath his skin before Sam finally agreed to bury him.
It took Sam a moment to snap back with it, to realize Dean was gripping his arm. Gripping his arm and from the looks of it - worried about him. His brother wasn't in a hospital bed, he wasn't a corpse, he was right here in front of him.
Somehow Sam managed to swallow enough spit so that his dry mouth could speak once more. "It's internal," he called to Bobby before asking Dean what happened.
"Magneto," Dean replied - all he got out before he ran out of air again. Every breath seemed anchored to the ocean floor, his torso shuddering as every muscle in his frame tried to get more oxygen. "Shit." Something flickered in Dean's eyes, a spark of recognition that he knew he might be in trouble here.
"Magneto? What the hell does that mean?" Bobby asked, one hand on the wheel while the other one was searching through something in the front seat. Sam didn't know what until Bobby was handing the portable oxygen tank over to him. "Turn it up all the way."
Sam did as he was told as his mind tried to put together what Dean's clue was. Magneto.
"Dean, stay with me, man. Just keep breathing. Blink once for no, twice for yes. You got it?"
Dean blinked twice at Sam along with an eye roll even as he squirmed uncomfortably, his skin going from pale to ashen.
"Magneto - bad guy from the X-Men?"
Two blinks.
Okay, that was a start. Magneto's super power was exhibiting magnetic force over metal objects, a kind of telekinesis.
"Cole hit you with something metal?"
One blink. And a smack upside the head that had surprising strength behind it.
That one suggestion was pretty much all Sam had been able to come up with. Still, there was something there.
Magneto, blood, Ruby's blood, Dean's blood...
"Salt...line..." Dean gasped out, trying to sit himself up, but only succeeding in nearly passing out again.
Wait a minute...blood around the salt-line.
A picture formed in Sam's mind, hanging out in a motel room, an open box of pizza on the bed between them. Sam was lying on his stomach doing a crossword, while Dean watched a movie in the background. X2. Dean had bugged him to watch the part where Magneto escaped from his plastic prison; had, in fact, flung the TV Guide at Sam's head to get his attention. What had happened?
Think, dammit, think. Sam squeezed his eyes shut again, ignoring Bobby when he heard his name called.
Iron. The blue mutant chick had injected the guard with too much iron in his blood. Magneto had used his powers to pull it out of him, pulled the extra metal right out of his body, killing him.
Sam winced, picturing it all too clearly - Dean trying to rush over the salt barrier and making mincemeat of his insides in the process. Dean bleeding internally, a fever raging so high that it threatened spontaneous human combustion, but still crossing the street to be the hero. Sam didn't know whether to hug him or hit him. Maybe both.
Sam opened his eyes, breathing a single word. "Ectoplasm."
It wasn't a question, but Dean still blinked twice - hard.
"Sam, what the hell is going on?" Bobby snapped out, officially having lost all patience.
"Bobby, just a second. I promise." Sam dug his phone out of his pocket along with a scrap of paper and began punching in numbers.
"Hello, Ross? This is Sam - yeah, man. Wish I could say the same, but we definitely need the help. Access to a chest x-ray would be a start. Right now? Closer to Meadville. Clinic entrance in ten minutes, you got it. Uh, if you could get your hands on a couple pints of O negative, it wouldn't be a bad idea. 'Kay, man, thanks."
All traces of anger out of his voice, Bobby spoke again, "Just tell me which way to point the car."
Part 24