To Die in Love's Embrace Chapter 8
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"Sam, I need you to stay calm." John said, purposefully keeping his voice even and trying to ratchet down the panic level of both his sons. "In the weapons bag under my bed. Get the Silver dagger and the Pentagram. I'll teach you the words…"
"I already know the ritual, Dad." Sam interrupted and smiled in spite of how scared he was when his Dad gave a small laugh.
"Of course you do." John shook his head. "Don't leave the room. Open the door but stay behind the salt line."
"Okay, Dad." Sam listened to Dean in the background begging their father to hurry and Dad's assurances that they would be there in minutes. Sam hung up the phone and looked out the window at the glowing figure as it moved closer. "I can do this."
CHAPTER 8
Sam dropped the cell phone on his Dad's bed and dove under it for the weapons bag they always kept in the room. The temperature in the motel room was still barely above freezing. Sam could see his breath puffing in small clouds, all from the influence of the ghost outside. He snuck a look over the end of the bed and jerked back in surprise. The spirit of Daniel Rand was practically pressed against the window now. In his mind, he heard the voice of Kaz's mother telling them it had followed her to the bridge and killed her and he shivered harder.
"No." Sam said and refused to let his fear swallow him. "I can do this." His Dad trusted him to take care of himself until he got there, to banish the spirit. He would not let him down. He tugged the bag out and unzipped it, hastily digging through the guns and knives until he found the silver. He pulled that out and found the Pentagram tucked into the side pocket. He slipped the leather thong over his head so it rested against his breast and stood, knife held firmly in his left hand as the ritual called for.
It took every ounce of courage he had to walk to the door, take the knob and turn it. Sam opened it slowly so as not to disturb the heavy line of salt beneath it. He stepped back with a gasp as the ghost appeared just on the other side of the entry, held at bay by the purifying salt. Sam took deep breaths to calm himself and raised the point of the blade to his forehead.
"Ateh." He said softly, making the word a clear thought in his head. His eyes stayed unmoving on the spirit as he mimicked his father's motions, making the sign of the cross along his body. "Malkuth, ve-Geburah, ve-Gedulah, Le-Olahm Amen." He turned to his left then, forcing himself to take his eyes from the spirit and pointed the blade East. "Ye ho wau." Sam turned a quarter turn to the South, feeling sweat drip between his shoulder blades as he was forced to turn his back on the ghost. "Adonai." Another quarter turn and he could see the spirit in his peripheral vision. "Ehe I eh." A breeze blew up, flowing through the room, ruffling Sam's dark hair into his eyes. He turned to face the spirit again, blade pointing directly at it. "Agla."
The breeze grew stronger while the ghost remained still as if waiting. Sam brought the blade back to his forehead. "Ateh, Malkuth…" He stared down in horror as the breeze became a wind and the wind funneling through the open door spewed salt in around Sam's feet. He had no time to think before the line was broken. His eyes snapped up to the ghost.
The leather thong holding the Pentagram moved around Sam's neck. The symbol whipped up past his face, twisting behind his head and Sam felt his feet leave the floor as the leather bit into his neck below his jaw. He gasped, choking for air, fingers of his right hand scrabbling to free himself as the ghost used it to levitate him. Sam stared up seeing the Pentagram thunk flat against the ceiling. He strained his ears, hoping to hear the distinctive sound of the Impala's engine but the night was silent except for his choked cries.
He squeezed a sliver of a breath past the leather and did the only thing he could think of to save his life. "ve-Geburah." He fought for another breath and squeezed out the next word as his lungs burned. "ve-Gedulah." His vision was tunneling, his head spinning and demanding oxygen as the ghost took three careful steps into the room, glowing head tilted up to Sam. He opened his jaw wide, begging, pleading and got one last gasp of air past the thong. "Le-Olahm, A…Amen."
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"Dad. Hurry." Dean begged. Every fiber of him vibrated with the need to be with his little brother. He couldn't fail him again, he just couldn't.
"We'll get there in time." John assured his son in a dangerous voice and hoped, prayed that he was telling the truth. His heart pounded in his ears, behind his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel, urging the Impala to go faster. She shot along the quiet streets; thankfully free of police for the speed limit was less than a thought with the youngest Winchester in danger.
"Hang on, Sammy." Dean breathed against the window. His shoulder was bleeding still through the torn stitches but he felt none of it. In his head danced visions of blood and death that all had Sam's face and he was close to choking on the tears. 'Please don't let me fail him.' Dean said silently to whatever might be listening.
"Try his phone again." John ordered, desperate to hear his boys voice.
Dean flipped it open and dialed, hoping that this time Sam would answer where he hadn't the last two times. It rang and rang and, as before, tripped to voicemail and Dean slammed a fist into the door in desperation.
"Keep it together, Dean." John told him fiercely. "Could be any number of reasons why he's not answering." He fought for calm in the face of Dean's wrath and terror but in truth he felt it just as strongly. They reached the center of Fairport Village and John heard the not so distant horn of a train as the barriers began to drop ahead of them. He growled and pressed the accelerator to the floor. "Hang on." They were not going to wait on a freight train. The car jumped forward, flying down the road and over the tracks, gaining air for a moment as the light from the nearing train bathed the interior of the Impala before she was past and screaming off toward the Motel. They were so close, so nearly there.
Dean was leaning forward as if he could urge even more speed from the engine. His eyes fastened eagerly on the roof of the Motel as they neared. His Dad squealed the tires as they turned into the parking lot and sped to the rear of the complex. As they neared, Dean could see the room door standing open and his heart clenched. The car had barely stopped when Dean launched himself from inside, shotgun held ready to blast the ghost if it were still there. He slid to a stop inside the door and then dropped to his knees with a cry, shotgun sliding across the floor.
"Sammy!" Dean gathered his fallen brother into his arms. Sam had lain sprawled on the floor unmoving; eyes closed and lips a light shade of blue. Dean saw a piece of leather twisted beneath his chin and got his fingers beneath it, giving a tug and loosening it.
"Dean?" John pounded into the room. "Sam!" He was beside his sons in an instant. He put trembling fingers against Sam's throat as Dean unwound the cord of the Pentagram from his throat and tossed it away. He dropped his head to Sam's in abject relief. "There's a pulse. There's a pulse."
"He's breathing, I think." Dean put his ear beside his little brother's mouth and nodded frantically. "Yeah, yeah he's breathing. Oh god." He crushed Sam to his chest while his Father stroked a hand along Sam's face.
"Get him up on the bed." John ordered and stood. He kicked the silver knife as he turned and pulled salt from the open duffel. He shoved the door shut as Dean laid out Sam with his back against Dean's chest and re-poured the broken line.
Dean leaned back against the headboard and supported his brother, one arm across his chest and breathed in time with him, reassuring himself with the steady thump-thump beneath his hand that Sam was still there. "Sammy?" Dean smoothed his over longhair from his brothers eyes and rubbed the knuckles of his hand along Sam's sternum. "Sammy. Wake up. Please?" He looked up to his Dad with worried eyes as the older man sat beside them and assessed his youngest child.
"He's been strangled." John saw Dean's eyes darken to match his own. "He must have finished the ritual or he'd be…"
"Don't say it." Dean cut across him and rubbed Sam's chest again. "Come on, midget. Time to wake up. You're giving the old man gray hairs."
John growled and smirked and took Sam's chilled hands in his own, rubbing warmth into them. "Sammy? Son open your eyes for me." It was delivered in the authoritative tone both his boys had learned to respond too and it seemed to work. Sam's arms and legs gave a weak jerk, his head rolled against Dean's chest and his eyes cracked open just a slit.
"Dean? Dad?" Sam croaked through his aching throat and felt his brothers' chuckle through his back as he watched his Dad's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "Got 'im." Sam said and raised a hand to rub his neck.
"You did, Sam. Very well done." John patted his hand, proud and stood. "Stay with him, Dean. I'm going to see if I can get some hot tea from the office. Soothe that throat of yours." He smiled down at Sam. "Then we're re-stitching that shoulder."
"Balls." Dean said, with feeling using their Uncle Bobby's favorite curse. John laughed and reluctantly left the room and his boys.
"How you doing, Tiger?" Dean asked softly after Dad left. Sam coughed and twitched as it shot pain up into his head.
"Throat hurts." Sam whispered. Whispering seemed to hurt less. "He was really mad."
Dean groaned and thumped his forehead down into Sam's hair. "That's my fault. I was pissing him off I think."
Sam gave a short, pained laugh. "You're good…at that." He wiggled to get a look at Dean's left shoulder and gasped. "You're bleeding!"
"Aw it's nothin'." Dean assured him and got a tighter hold when Sam tried to get up. "Knock it off and sit still. Dad'll take care of it." Sam settled and heaved a few relieved breaths, closing his eyes.
"I was listening." He said softly, almost a mumble.
"Listening for what?" Dean asked and tunneled his fingers through his brothers' hair again, needing the contact and comfort himself.
"Th'Impala." Sam said, sleep in his voice as the ordeal started to pull him into sleep. "Hear her…engine. Know yer'comin'."
Dean chuckled against his head and held him more securely as Sam's body went lax with sleep. "Dude you're such a girl." Yet it was Dean who held him tightly, who brushed a tender hand along his face and placed a fond kiss into the unruly mop of dark hair though he'd never have done it had Sam been awake. "Never change, Sammy." He said softly. "Man, don't you ever change."
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