Don't Cry for Me
Don't Cry for Me by CeCe Away
Art by Amberdreams
Summary: It was just another vengeful spirit job. They weren't expecting to run into Jo, nor have the
malevolent ghost attach itself to Dean, making him try to kill himself. Nope, not a ghost at all, but something
much much worse the youngest Winchester is going to have to deal with on his own if he wants to keep his
brother alive-because Dean doesn't do anything half-assed.
written for samdean_otp Sam Dean Mini-Bang 2011.
Art masterpost by amber1960
PG 13
Gen Sam, Dean, Jo
no spoilers or warnings and I don't own these characters
Don't Cry For Me by CeCe Away
"I don't know, Dean." Sam stepped over the broken glass. Every window in the run-down house had been shattered. "Something's off. It just doesn't seem like a vengeful spirit."
Dean wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of decay overtaking the dusty parlor. Moonlight stole inside, illuminating white sheets thrown over chairs and tables. "All the signs point to it. The reports of locals suddenly going insane-six to date-all bat shit crazy enough to hara-kiri themselves. Come on, sounds like a malevolent ghost getting his jollies off around here to me. Six, Sam. Tell me how six people in one little town all kill themselves in the space of two weeks without a nasty spirit influencing them?"
"Yeah, okay. You're right." Sam pumped his shotgun.
Kid didn't look convinced.
"Tell you what." Dean tapped the end of his own sawed-off. "I'll keep my dagger unsheathed in case it's something besides a spirit. Which it isn't."
"Guess we'll know soon enough," Sam said. "Up or down?"
"I'll take the cellar. You search the second floor, then meet back here and we'll sweep the main floor together." Dean glanced at Sam's back as the young hunter headed toward the stairway. "Call out if you find anything."
Without looking back, Sam flicked out an exaggerated salute. Dean grinned. Bossing the kid around never got old.
He tried several doors off the kitchen before he found the cellar. Why an angry spirit would want to hang out here was beyond him, but they'd pieced together that at least four of the suicide victims had come here sometime during the month-one as a realtor, two as potential buyers, and another stopped by to give an estimate for refurbishing. So far it was the only thing any of the vics had in common.
Slipping out his penlight, Dean flicked it on. The little beam barely penetrated the darkness down into the slender stairwell. His first step down squeaked across the old noisy wood and footsteps rustled below. Yep, something was definitely down there.
Dean pumped his gun and descended the stairs that squeaked and squealed beneath each step, which didn't matter since the ghost or whatever was in the cellar would have already heard him. His light bounced around spiderwebs and shelves holding dust-coated jars of preserves or something before shooting across a face.
Jolting, Dean dragged the light back to the figure and the identical shotgun that was pointed at him.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Tracking a specter." Jo tipped her head, making her ponytail fall to the side."Nasty one by the looks of it."
"Well, leave. We got here first."
"I don't think so."
Dean lowered his gun. "You don't think you're gonna leave or don't think we got here ahead of you?"
"Neither." The girl's shotgun lowered.
A frown pulled at Dean's mouth. She looked good. Long legs snug in black pants. Tight blue T-shirt beneath a short-cropped leather jacket. She could give Catwoman a run for the money any day. "Your mom know you're here?"
Brown eyes narrowed. "How else am I supposed to gain any experience? I'm a Hunter. Same as you."
"On your own?"
No, I brought my baby sitter along. Geez."
Dean did not like her hunting alone. Not one little bit. Sure he knew it was in her blood and she was going to do it anyway, despite Ellen's wishes, but…hell, he just didn't like it. That's all.
"You're not ready. You need to go home."
"Says who? You?" One hip cocked out, almost in defiance and Dean couldn't help staring at the curve of it.
"Someone has to say it."
"Pluuh…eease. You and Sam have been hunting at a far younger age than I am. If you haven't noticed I'm a grown woman."
Oh, he'd noticed.
"Get yourself a partner then. Hell, hunt with Ellen for all I care. Ash even. Just don't go it alone. Every Hunter needs someone to watch their back."
"Cause that worked out so well for my dad." Jo flinched, at what she'd let pour out.
Dean went very still. "Ya know what. Never mind." He headed toward a darker part of the cellar.
Jo scurried after him. "You know that's not what I meant."
"Sounded like you meant it to me."
"Just stop. I'm sorry, okay. You know I don't see you like that."
"Fine." Dean spun back to face her. Whatever, but Sam and I are hunting this spirit so you need to back off."
"I am not backing off."
"Yes. You are."
"Look." Jo lifted her chin. "I put a lot of effort into tracking all the signs. It's my first solo and I'm not returning without even trying."
"Meaning you don't want to go back to the roadhouse with your tail tucked beneath your legs."
"Fine. Yes. Whatever." She tossed her head back. "I've got to prove to her I can do this."
"It's not about whether you can do it not for Ellen"
"Then I've got to prove it to myself. I don't care, but I am salt and burning this ghost."
Dean swung the shotgun up to rest over his shoulder. He understood the need to prove yourself. He also knew if Jo didn't do it on this hunt, she'd just run off to another. "Fine, you can stay. But, sweetheart, we're doing this together." Where he could keep an eye on her. "I'm in charge. You do everything I say." Oh her eyes flared wide at that. Maybe this could be fun after all. "Deal?"
She glared at him. He could practically see the cogs of her mind weighing options. Finally her gaze met his. "Deal."
~~~
Basement checked out, they trudged up the stairs. Jo's shoulder bag swung against her hip. Dean wondered what kind of arsenal she had in her little bag of tricks.
Sam was waiting for him on the main floor. "Jo?" His forehead scrunched and he looked questioningly at Dean.
Dean shrugged.
Jo's features tightened. "Sam." Guess she still wasn't over that whole demon possession thing. Awkward.
"Upstairs clear?" Dean barked out at his brother, intentionally bossy so Jo would understand the hierarchy.
Sam seemed relieved to have something else to focus on. "Nothing upstairs. "You?"
Dean flicked his gaze toward the girl. "Well, nothing supernatural."
Jo rolled her eyes.
"Jo, what are you doing here?" Sam asked.
"Same thing as you." Jo grinned then and it made all sorts of feelings jump around in Dean's gut.
Sam frowned. "What data did you use?"
"Newspaper reports. I chatted up the ME. Been sweeping the EMF, but the readings are surprisingly faint, but with the sudden rash of suicides… It all points to-"
"A malevolent spirit." The skin between Sam's eyes bunched as he frowned.
Jo tilted her head again. "You think it's something else?"
"I don't know. It's just…a feeling."
"Sam, I told you," Dean said. "If it waddles like a duck…"
"I know, just keep an open mind."
Dean pulled his handgun from the waistband at the back of his jeans. "I brought the Beretta, didn't I?" Sam's look of relief was worth bringing the extra weapon, though Dean doubted he'd be using it. He shoved it back into his waistband. "Now, can you two compare geek notes later so we can search the rest of this place? Sam, you finish this floor. Jo and I will check outside."
"There's three of us now." Jo drew her EMF from her jacket. "Why do I have to go with you?"
Because he didn't want her running into an angry spirit on her own. "'Cause I'm the boss. You take the front yard." Which he and Sam already scanned on their way in. "I'll take the back." Where he could get to her quick. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic." She spun on her heel and flounced toward the front door, leaving Sam and Dean staring after her.
"This is going to be a fun job," Dean muttered before heading in the opposite direction.
~~~
The old wrap-around porch groaned beneath Dean's boots. He quickly stepped off before the rotting boards splintered beneath him. A slight breeze ruffled weedy grass against his calves. The estate was huge and overgrown. A few rickety out-buildings and sheds lined the edge of the property in front of a dark copse of trees.
Pulling out his own EMF, Dean walked toward the shell of an ancient barn that leaned to one side so bad it looked as though one hard shake could topple it over. Nothing registered on the meter. "All right, ghostie, where are you hiding? Give me some hint of where you've gotten off to."
He made a wide sweep of the yard, stopping near the trees to check the readings again. A cold breeze blew across the back of his neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end. Dean peered into the thick darkness between the trees. He heard the faint sound of water splashing over rocks. There must be a stream within the trees close by. Dean listened a moment longer before turning his back to the little grove and moving on.
Another sound stopped him in his tracks.
A woman's sorrow filled crying tingled along his skin, a soft grief-stricken keen that speared straight to Dean's bones.
He turned back to the forest, hesitating for only a second before he walked into the thicket. Moonlight barely reached the ground. Ducking beneath drooping branches, Dean followed mournful cries. Pocketing the EMF, he lifted his shotgun.
The weeping grew louder.
Dean came around the trunk of a large tree and saw her.
She knelt on the ground over a wooden bucket holding sudsy water, long grey skirt flowing outward across the ground. Head bowed, shoulders shaking, she wept as she scrubbed fabric across one of those old-fashion washboards.
Kay, so salt and burn, but they needed to figure out who she was to find her bones or whatever item held her here. That meant talking, which really was more up Sam's alley. At least for now, she didn't seem aggressive-just incredibly sad. Which, damn, he'd almost prefer her attacking. Weeping women, alive or dead, were just . . . geez, where was his brother's tender self when he needed him? Dean lowered the shotgun.
Well, here goes nothing. Actually he was glad Sam wasn't here to see what a softie he was about to be.
"Ma'am?" Dean stepped closer.
The woman stopped scrubbing. With her head lowered, he couldn't see her features behind the fall of her long silver-white hair.
Okay, then. The awkward silence strained between them. Taking a chance, Dean crouched down, still a few feet away. He settled the shotgun loosely across his knees. "I want to help you."
She remained quiet and began moving the fabric up and down on the washboard again. Her fingers were red. Was she bleeding?
Stretching his neck forward, Dean looked into the washbasin, into the pink water. The woman started crying again, her slim body shaking as she scrubbed the clothes with more force, blood seeping from the material. What? Dean flinched. She was scrubbing a black shirt. He could barely make out some kind of picture or logo within the wrinkles. Wait. Was that a concert T-shirt?
Dean looked down at his own chest, at the same logo. He sprang to his feet, whipping the sawed-off up. "Sonuvabitch!"
Too late! The woman was on him, thumbs digging into his temples, long fingers curling around his head. Faces inches apart, red glowing eyes stared into Dean's, holding him powerless within the intensity of her gaze. A violent wind erupted around them, pulling at the strands of her silver hair, whipping her dress around their legs.
Her head dipped to the side, toward Dean's ear, and she let out a thin screech, low and penetrating, somewhere between the wail of a woman and shriek of an owl. It pierced every fiber of his body, drilling through his organs like the buzz of an electrical shockwave.
A scream erupted from Dean's chest, stealing the remainder of his breath with it.
~~~
Jo jerked at the scream.
"Dean!"
Shotgun at the ready, she ran around the side of the house just as Sam burst out of the back door. "Where?"
"I don't know!" Looking around the grounds, Jo didn't see anything around the out-buildings.
She briefly met Sam's gaze before they both took off running toward the trees. That was the only place Dean could be. At the tree line they slowed, shotguns up and ready. Sam signaled for her to go right. He'd take left.
Nodding, she moved silently across the ground, heart pounding. Damn her pride, she should have stayed with him. All senses alert, the faint sound of trickling water drifted across the quiet air. She followed it to a small stream. There was no sign of Dean anywhere, so she angled back the way she had come, hoping to pick up his trail. If she could figure out the spot he entered the grove, she could find him.
There. A footprint. Another. Definitely the tread of Dean's boots. Her pulse gained in speed as she followed the trail, practically jogging with her gaze glued to the ground. Dean, where are you?
She found him sprawled facedown in the dirt. "Dean!" She ran, sliding to her knees beside him. "Dean!" She jostled the back of his shoulder, but he didn't respond. Placing two fingers at his neck, she felt for a pulse while she scanned the area. Except for hers and Dean's tracks, there wasn't any sign that anyone else was around. No disturbed foliage or broken limbs. Just the regular signs of birds and small rodents. Though nothing was in sight, the atmosphere felt wrong, old and ancient, like something lived within the shadows. Dean's pulse beat steady and strong beneath her fingers.
What could have happened? "Come on, Dean, wake up. Sam!" she shouted. A whistle answered in reply.
"Dean." She nudged him again with the same unsatisfactory result. "Geez, you're stubborn even when you're unconscious." Her chest tightened like bands of steel compressing around her. She moved her palms over Dean's arms, his shoulders and torso, searching for injuries, her fingers skimming over smooth muscle.
"Dean!" Sam ran out from around a tree, slamming to a stop. Even in the low light, Jo had never seen such open fear in anyone's features. "Dean?" Worried eyes met hers. "Is he--?" He stopped, swallowed. "How bad?"
"I don't know." Jo went back to looking for an indication of what was wrong. She slipped her hands into his hair, feeling for wounds or bumps. "I can't find anything, but he won't wake up."
Sam lowered to the ground on the other side of his sibling, his features revealing so much worry she felt almost like an intruder. Setting his shotgun down within easy reach, Sam rolled Dean over onto his back, letting Jo take his older brother's head into her lap. She watched quietly as Sam also felt Dean's pulse and checked his breathing, and then began his own search for injuries.
She studied him silently, her heart breaking a little at the raw worry on his features. Her gaze lowered to Dean, the realization of how much danger-how many times these two guys had been hurt over the years-sank in like a collapsing well to the pit of her stomach.
Sam shook his head, obviously not finding the source of Dean's unconsciousness either. "Dean, bro, come on." He tapped his cheek. "Quit being a stubborn ass. Get up." Sam lifted Dean's eyelid, frowning at what he saw. At her angle, Jo couldn't tell, but from Sam's expression she guessed there was too much dilation.
He glanced around, his quick gaze obviously noting the absence of a struggle or another's tracks as she had earlier. "We need to leave."
"You feel it too?"
Sam's gaze slid to hers, held steady a moment before he nodded. Jo looked back into the shadows. A wave of protectiveness washed over her. She lifted her chin. You can't have him.
"Can you get my and Dean's guns?" Sam jerked her attention back to him.
Jo nodded, even as he pulled Dean from her lap and ducking low, shifted Dean's dead weight across his shoulder to carry him fireman style. Once he was up, Sam took off, leaving Jo to cover their backs.
Dean's arm swayed back and forth with Sam's steady pace. They jogged around the side of the large old house and Sam immediately headed toward the Impala.
"Put him in my car." Jo headed toward the other side of the old carriage house where she'd parked. Her lips quirked up. No wonder they hadn't known she was here before them.
Not hearing footsteps behind, she glanced back. Sam stood in the middle of the driveway, indecisive. She got that he didn't want to separate from his brother and they couldn't leave either of the vehicles here, but too bad, Dean didn't need to be jostled around in that rusty bucket of bolts, driven by a freaked out little brother. Sam was keeping calm now, but she also saw how tight his jaw was clenched, keeping it together.
"Sorry, no. Get the back door for me." Sam headed straight to the black beast of a car and waited for her to get the door for him.
Fine, whatever. Apparently both Winchesters had to have their way, though she conceded the large backseat was much better for an injured hunter. Truth was, she just wanted Dean with her, had to know he was all right during the drive.
Running to the other side of the car, she climbed in and helped Sam slide his brother across the seat.
Each half-in and half-out of their respective doorways, they both stared down at Dean. He'd been unconscious a long time.
"Dean," Jo whispered, smoothing sweaty hair back. Sam remained quiet as though hoping she could bring his brother out of whatever had a hold of him.
There was no response, not as much as an eyelash flutter.
Sam squeezed Dean's arm before easing backward out of the door. He came around the car and was next to Jo when she climbed out.
"Follow me. I'll find a hotel." He frowned down at her.
"I already have a room. You follow me."
Sam nodded. Where he looked so confident while he carried his brother moments ago, he now seemed like a lost little boy. Her heart pulled in her chest. Oh Dean. You better be okay.
~~~
Sam white-knuckled the steering wheel as he followed behind Jo's little rental.
Jo pulled into the parking lot of a posh hotel. Nice car, higher-class hotel. Just how much did she take off the Hunter's at the roadhouse, playing poker? She backed into a spot right up front while Sam had to search farther back in the lot to find an open space.
Getting out of the car, Sam yanked open the back door.
"Did he wake up at all?" Jo's voice rang out behind him.
Sam splayed his hand over Dean's chest, holding it there until he felt the soft rise and fall. "Dean, this sleeping princess act is getting old." He shifted Dean's legs out of the car and took hold of his upper arms, and pulled Dean up to begin sliding him out. Dean's head rolled forward and he moaned.
Sam and Jo both froze. "Dean?" they exclaimed at the same time.
There was no more response, but that slight sound had been the best thing Sam had ever heard, easing the hard weight he'd carried in his chest a bit.
From the other side, Jo helped slide Dean closer to Sam. "Wait here a minute." She slipped away.
Sam blew out a breath, wondering where she went, and let Dean's face fall onto his shoulder while he manhandled him farther out the door. It was such an awkward tight fit, maneuvering floppy legs and arms. Sam jolted when Jo spoke right behind him.
"I told you to wait."
"What?" He glanced to the side, saw the luggage cart she had rolled out from the lobby. "Oh." That would definitely make things easier.
Jo slid her jacket off and folding it, placed it at one end of the low cart. "Think we can somehow roll him onto that?"
"Yep." He planned on carrying Dean over his shoulder again, but this would work.
"Okay." Jo squeezed next to Sam to help him and the cart started rolling.
"I can get him," Sam said. "You just hold the cart still."
With Jo holding the luggage cart steady, Sam wrestled his older sibling's dead weight out of the car and let gravity take over, guiding Dean's headlong roll onto the cart. Head pillowed on Jo's jacket, Dean's limbs splayed on either side along the pavement. Jo drew his arms up to lay across his chest while Sam tried to bend his brother's long legs, finally lifting them to rest along the crossbars at the end when they kept flopping off the cart. He looked ridiculous, which would be funny if Sam wasn't so worried.
Together they wheeled him inside the hotel, receiving a bland look from the young front desk clerk. "Designated drivers." Jo gave him a sheepish smile as they crossed the lobby toward the elevators and the guy's face reddened. "This one can't hold his liquor."
The clerk grinned. Sam supposed two young adults hauling their drunk-off-his-ass friend upstairs could liven up a dull nightshift or maybe the guy just thought Jo was hot. He kept glancing at her while they waited for the elevator to arrive.
The doors slid open and they rolled Dean and the cart inside. As soon as the elevator pinged their arrival at the fourth floor, Dean groaned, slapped around and rolled off the cart.
"Dean!" Sam stopped the cart from rolling into his legs. Trying to pull himself up with palms on the unstable cart, Dean blinked up at Sam like the fluorescent lighting was too bright. "Hell are we?"
Sam laughed, the sudden relief at having his brother awake and talking, making him loopy. He shoved his foot against the door as it started to slide closed.
Jo crouched at Dean's back, pulling him up beneath his armpits. "Come on, big guy, we're going for a little ride."
Dean tilted his head back to look at her, forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. "On that?"
"Mmm-hmm." Jo smiled prettily.
"You pushing?"
"I thought I would." Her lips quirked.
Dean's mouth puckered. "Yeah, 'cause you're pushy." He shoved up to his feet, swayed as though he might crash right back down, but Sam's arm shot out to steady him.
"You good?"
Dean blinked several times. "I'm always good."
Jo frowned at Sam. Sam shrugged. "Says he good."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Prove it." She let go of Dean to put her hands on her hips.
Dean straightened out and took a step forward. His legs buckled and he would have fallen if Sam hadn't hauled him back up.
"Stubborn idiots," she muttered and pushed the luggage cart into the hallway.
Grinning, Sam pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder and dragged him out of the elevator. Dean was completely stubborn, but Sam was grateful for it. It was that stubbornness that had him on his feet, rather than giving in to whatever had taken him down.
Jo had her room door open by the time they caught up to her. Sam stood with Dean in the doorway, not sure where to set Dean down.
"Put him on the bed," Jo directed, scooping up a bra and some kind of shimmery nightgown as well as a towel that had been deposited earlier across the unmade bed.
Sam lowered Dean to the side of the mattress, though his brother didn't seem inclined to lay down. Sam sat beside him. "Dean, what happened?"
Jo dumped the small first aid kit between them.
Dean scowled. "I don't need that."
"You were face down in the dirt when I found you."
"I'm fine. No scrapes. No nothing. Just a little shut-eye."
Jo opened the lid. "For half-an-hour? That's not normal."
Dean's cock-sure grin eased out. "I'm not normal."
"Understatement of the year." Jo pulled out a pill bottle. "At least take aspirin?"
Dean opened his palm and Sam went over to the little sink above the mini-fridge to get him a glass of water.
Handing the glass over, he asked again. "So what happened?"
Dean took the pills and shook his head. "I don't know. I heard this lady crying so I followed her into the trees, then she whammied me."
"Whammied how?"
Dean pressed his fingers to his forehead, rubbing circles. "She grabbed my head and lights out. That quick."
Sam didn't like the sound of that, didn't like supernatural things messing with his brother's head. "So, definitely a ghost?"
"I thought so at first, tried to talk to her."
"She say anything?" Jo asked.
"Nope. Went from weeping to eyes flashing red and that's all she wrote." Dean rubbed his head again. Had to be throbbing.
"Kay." Sam frowned. That wasn't much to go on. Weeping ghost with red eyes who attacked his brother without provocation and so far was the only clue they had to the recent suicides. Maybe she had committed suicide herself? Could account for the crying. "Why don't you rest. I'm gonna get the computer from the car and see if I can dig something up. Hey, what-type era would you say the woman was dressed for?" Could narrow down the search while looking through obituaries on suspicious deaths.
Dean scooted back toward the headboard and stretched his legs out on the bed. He shook his head. "Not sure. Early nineteen hundreds maybe. She was wearing a long dress. Could fit a lot of time periods."
Sam frowned. Not much help there.
"Hey, Sam. Don't stay up much longer." Dean yawned. "Research can wait for the morning. Got the feeling we need to stay sharp for this one. Something's off."
"Sure thing, Mom." Sam stared at Dean a moment before sliding his gaze to Jo. Things never were good whenever Dean felt like something was off too. Which meant Sam wouldn't get much sleep until he figured out just what was going on.
~~~
Dean snapped awake like he'd taken a plunge in an icy river. Something stirred against his thigh. Easing up on the bed, he saw Jo sleeping near the foot of the mattress, her forehead pressed against his leg. A smile tugged at his mouth and he let his fingers run through the silky spill of her hair while he glanced around the room.
Sam had fallen asleep in the overstuffed chair, long legs propped on another chair he'd pulled over from the desk. His face was illuminated in the glow of the digital clock on the desk. 4:01: Still early. The laptop lay dark on his lap.
Feeling gritty, probably from being thrown face first into the dirt last night, Dean scooted carefully off the bed, trying not to awaken Jo. She murmured and turned to the other side and Dean watched her for a moment, all sorts of unwanted feelings jumbling around in his belly he didn't quite know what to do with. She had wanted to tend to him last night, had slept near him…
Dean tamped any tenderness down. He'd been hurt last night, out of it. Jo had a caring nature. Don't make anything more out of it. Dean pulled back, not willing to open himself up to her.
He turned away, spied his duffel near the door next to Sam's. A shower, change of clothes and he'd be back to his old self, better able to deal with this oddball case and… His gaze slipped back to the sleeping girl on the bed. Damn. The sooner they got rid of this ghost and packed Jo back to the Roadhouse, the better.
He still felt a little woozy. Yeah, a shower would definitely help. He grabbed up his bag and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.
The hot water felt great, sluicing over him, loosening tight muscles. By the time he shut off the water and toweled off, he felt so much better-ready to tackle the day and get rid of a crazy weeping ghostie.
Draping the towel around his hips, Dean stepped out of the tub/shower combo and lifted his duffel onto the sink counter. He pulled out a pair of jeans and boxers and rooted around for a shirt when his hand swept over his small pocketknife.
Frosty air curled around him, an abrupt change from the warm humidity from the shower. He wasn't alone. His eyes snapped up to the fogged up mirror.
There was nothing but his own hazy reflection. He spun around, clicking open the blade. Still nothing.
He stared at the short blade, shiny in the swirls of fog. Goose pimples raised along his flesh. He stared and stared, imagined turning the blade in his hand and jamming it in his stomach, felt warm blood take the chill away as it flowed down his skin and soaked into the white towel, making pretty flowery patterns.
Dean flinched, dropped the knife where it clattered on the floor, spinning, spinning. He wanted to grab it back up, slide it across his arms…
What? No! He'd never had thoughts like this. This wasn't him. He pressed his hands to his stomach. No wounds. Nothing there. He hadn't done it. He wouldn't do something like that. Had never thought it.
Weeping streamed along the heavy air, an inconsolable sobbing coating his skin, which grew steadily louder, more intense until shrieking howls pierced his brain, stabbing his head over and over. He sank to his knees, his fist curling over the blade, cutting into his palm.
Make it stop. Make it stop. He wanted to jam the knife in his eye to make it stop. This wasn't him. "Sam!" he gasped out, flinging the knife away where it spun across the floor. He lifted his hand to his head, leaving a bloody handprint on the tile that did a slow rotation. Everything was spinning, his vision graying around the edges. The shrieking kept drilling and drilling inside his head.
This was wrong. It was all so wrong. Stop it. Stop it. Stop the noise.
"Sam!"
He squeezed his head between his hands, fought the urge to smack it against the tile to make the screeching woman shut up. Just shut up! Shut the freak up!
Steps pounded outside the bathroom. "Dean!" The door opened, slightly at first, then it slammed against the sink counter. Hands latched around Dean from behind and he felt himself hauled up backwards.
"What's going on?" Jo's voice floated from the other room.
"Don't know." Sam's tone was clipped.
Sam dragged him out of the bathroom, across the floor and up onto the bed.
"He's bleeding?" Jo again, though she sounded far away behind the shrieking, howling of the weeping woman.
"Bluuh! Make it stop." Dean pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, rolling his head back and forth.
Sam's hands circled his wrists, dragging Dean's hands away. "Stop what? What is it? Dean!"
Dean stared at his brother, willing him to somehow fix this, make her screams get out of his head, make her stop. "Do you hear it?"
"Hear what? Dean, I can't…what's going on? Talk to me."
Dean pulled up, clawing his bleeding hand into Sam's shirt. "You gotta stop her."
"I will. I just need to-Dean!"
The woman's shriek punctured through Dean's skull with such force everything exploded, went white then fizzled to blackness. His brother's shout followed him down into the abyss.
Part 2