Salt and Blood 22/25
Chapter 22
I knew I should have felt something. Anger or disgust at what the Winchesters had done to my father, maybe I should have been disappointed because they had deceived me but I didn't feel any of those emotions. Some kind of relief that Harry was still around and I had to admit I was curious about Sam and Dean's next step.
Mostly I felt pain. I lay in the back of their car and every bump shot right through my body. My chest was on fire and I gulped in air in shallow breathes but even that spiked the pain with every movement. If I could have stopped breathing I'd have done that.
The drive seemed endless and I fought to stay conscious. Black spots danced in my vision and I heard the rumble of the car and the voices of the Winchester brothers muffled like through a thick layer of cotton. I had to listen, they were discussing how to get rid of Harry but I couldn't make out the words. I closed my eyes for a second and came awake with a start when Dean opened the door and gently shook my shoulder.
"C'mon, buddy." He helped me out of the car. The cool night air cleared my senses and after breathing through the pain of becoming upright, I made the short distance to their room on my own.
Blue starfish greeted us and to my watery eyes it almost looked like they were moving.
Dean dumped me on the closed seat of the toilet and wrestled me out of the remains of my torn shirt. Dried blood pasted the fabric to my wounds and I bit my bottom lip to muffle the scream when Dean ripped it off like a band-aid.
"Sorry." He tossed the shirt over his shoulder and it landed at Sam's feet who was watching the whole scene with a bag in his hand. He sat the bag down and then left us alone. I'd rather have dealt with my injuries alone - being the vulnerable one wasn't my favorite role - but at least Dean seemed to know what he was doing. Out of the bag he fished a bottle and shook two pills into his palm. I recognized the bottle as an over the counter no-name painkiller I'd used several times in similar situations. Okay, I never had been shot with rock salt before but sometimes my victim wasn't that cooperative. If Dean noticed some old scars he didn't say anything. I took the pills without hesitation.
"Can you take a shower?" He asked and after thinking about the question I nodded. "Okay, take a towel with you and after the hot water has dissolved the dried blood you have to rub your chest as hard as you can. You have to get as much salt out of your skin as you can. Understand?"
It already hurt like a bitch but I knew it had to be done. I jerked my head in a nod.
"Good, after that I'll get the rest out with forceps." With one last considering look at me he left me alone and I concentrated on the task of getting my clothes off. Done with that I was already sweating and trembling and I had to lean my head back against the cool tiles for a moment.
In the shower I gritted my teeth and made good use of the towel. Pebbles of rock salt hit the shower tray and when I was done I barely made it back to the toilet seat.
"Dexter?" Came Sam's voice through the door. "You okay in there?"
I had to clear my throat before I could answer. "Give me a second."
I wrestled my way back in my boxers and the pants, tucked a dry towel around my bleeding again chest and then left the bathroom. As far as I could tell there were still a few pieces of rock salt in my skin but the towel got most of them out. Dean gestured for me to lay down on one of the beds a grin on his face and the promised forceps in his hand.
"What's that?" They had rolled the rug to the side and Sam was busy chalking something on the bare floorboards.
"Let's get you cleaned up first." Dean gave me a gentle push and I collapsed bonelessly on the bed. My chest didn't like sudden movements and I grunted in pain blinking away the tears in my eyes.
"Stay still." With sure movements Dean got to work. By then the painkillers had kicked in and it wasn't as bad as I had expected. It seemed like Dean had done something like that before.
Just like me the brothers were in constant danger of getting hurt during their job and like me they couldn't get to a hospital. Not without raising questions better not be asked. At least they were the two of them, they could take care of each other. I only had myself. Only me to clean my wounds, to put stitches in my own flesh. Except for Harry. He was there when I needed him, he supported me, he comforted me. He never did - could do? - more than talking but that was enough. It had to be enough because it was all I got, all I could hope for.
And now the Winchesters were here to take that away from me, to take Harry away. I wasn't sure if I could stay on the path he had laid out for me, if I could follow the Code without him. I was sure, however, that I didn't want to find out.
Dean put the forceps away, washed the blood off my skin, put ointment on and then bandaged my chest.
"Good as new." He said and gathered his things. They had their first aid kid well stocked with bandages and everything they needed for bloody injuries, I had to admit. I watched him for a second but then my attention was back on Sam. Whatever he had been doing he was done by now. Waiting he sat on the other bed and when our eyes met he gave me a little smile.
"What now?" I asked and propped myself up on my elbows so that I could see what he had drawn on the floor. While Dean had taken care of me Sam had added candles and a bowl with what looked like some kind of herbs. And in the middle of the complex symbol lay my bloody shirt.
"Now we summon Harry." Sam said.
"We are going to do what?" I sat up fully, ignoring the pain in my chest. I needed to catch my breath but I wasn't in danger of losing consciousness which was a good sign. For a brief second I wondered what my life had become. And I had thought it had been strange before. I had no doubt they could summon Harry, I had, however, my suspicions about their intentions.
"Look." Sam was still on the opposite bed, our knees only inches apart and he looked me in the eye with that sincere look of his. "We need to find out why he's still around. What he wants. Don't you want him to find peace?"
To be honest I wanted things to stay the way they were. Their idea of giving Harry peace had so far involved to exhume and burn him. That didn't sound peaceful to me so I was a little prejudiced against their next move.
"What we are about to do will do nothing to him." Dean stepped in. "We summon him to talk to him. Nothing more." From one of their duffels he pulled out little bags which he set aside within easy reach. Salt.
I took in the prepared ritual - or whatever you'd call it - and the rational part of my mind wanted to laugh at the idea of summoning a spirit, I was a scientist after all, but with all the evidence I had seen it was ridiculous to not believe. Like the famous Sherlock Holmes once said: When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
"At least we don't have to improvise this time." Dean shook his head. "I still can't believe that the SpongeBob place mat actually worked."
They had done this before, I guessed, and with less appropriate material it looked like.
So yes, I believed in ghosts and I believed the Winchester when they said they could force Harry to come to them. What I didn't believe was that they only wanted to talk. They had made their intentions clear in the past. Sam had confirmed it just a minute ago. They wanted to destroy Harry.
They kept saying every spirit turned vengeful eventually and that Harry maybe meant no harm now but would for certain at some point in the future.
I wasn't sure if my wish to keep him around wasn't a selfish one. Didn't Harry deserve to find peace? Wasn't I an ungrateful son for denying him that one last thing? He had devoted his whole life to the task of forming me, creating me, turning me into the weapon I had become. I honored him by sticking to the Code but was that enough? Didn't he deserve more?
My brain sluggish from the pain and the meds had difficulties to proceed those thoughts and in the end I nodded my okay.
I didn't know what I expected but I nearly burst out laughing when Sam picked up a leather-bound journal and started to recite something in Latin. It didn't help that Dean lit the candles at certain points or burned the herbs in the bowl at a sign from Sam. The aroma of the burning herbs combined with the still lingering smell of my own blood unsettled my stomach and I wondered if it would interrupt the ritual if I puked right next to it. Swallowing against the nausea I couldn't shrug off the feeling of being in a cheap horror movie. Could this become more cliché?
The Winchesters proceeded like this was the most normal thing in the world to do. For them it maybe was.
The only thing that felt odd - besides the whole situation - was my battered and bloody shirt they had set in the center of the symbol on the floor.
Then Sam finished his reading and both Winchesters stood there looking around as if they expected something to happen. I hold my breath for a second too and then my rational brain kicked in. I had been a fool for thinking that some chalk on the floor and all the mystic mambo-jambo would do anything.
When I opened my mouth to tell them exactly that, my breath condensed as a foggy cloud in front of my face. When suddenly the shirt moved by itself it wasn't only the sudden cold that sent shivers down my spine.
I could only stare at the shirt floating in the air, a tight ball like somebody was scrunching it up with both hands.
The Winchesters were now on high alert. Both of them had stepped back, eyes searching the room and they both had their hands in bags of what I assumed had to be salt.
Then with a flicker Harry stood in the middle of the room. For a second we all just stared at him while his gaze was firmly on me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Winchesters shift in tension like they expected a fight. But Harry stood there without even acknowledging their presence.
"Dexter." He finally spoke. "Are you alright?" He stepped closer and crouched in front of me. He had this worried look in his eyes but didn't do anything.
"I'm fine." I reassured him.
"Harry Morgan?" Sam stepped closer but kept his distance. If he had to fight he'd have space to move. Dean stayed back, a fist full of salt ready to throw at Harry.
At first Harry didn't react to the question but then he stood up and turned to face Sam. He stood between me and Sam shielding me from him, if by accident or as a deliberate act I couldn't tell.
"Who is asking?" Harry knew exactly who they were but old habits die hard and all that. He had been a cop and knew how to get information without revealing too much himself.
"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean." Sam introduced them. "We need to talk."
continue to chapter 23
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