Somewhere a Clock is Ticking, 7/9 (R, Sam/Dean)
Just a note to say that I won't get to see the new ep (\0/) until the weekend, so please no one spoil me in my LJ! After tonight I'll probably be avoiding my flist until I've seen the ep - catch up with you all at the weekend. <3
Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking (Part 7 of 9)
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventual Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly.
Wordcount: Approx. 70k for the fic as a whole.
Betas: So, so much love to zooey_glass04 and aynslee, beta readers and Ameripickers extraordinaire, for all their awesomeness. Thank you, darlings! <333
Notes: This is the fic I wrote during Nano 2007; I had only seen up to episode 3.04 (Sin City) at the time. This is therefore set post-3.04 and contains spoilers only up to that point; of course, it has now been completely overtaken by canon and is officially AU. Oh well. The fic is complete, and will be posted chapter by chapter as I sort out my life.
Summary: There seemed something very wrong about eating the peanut butter of someone whose blood was spattered all over the books he was about to read, but this wasn't the time to be passing out from hunger.
Previous chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
They stood there for a long time, but Dean didn't regain much coherence. Nor did he seem inclined to let go of Sam. Sam eventually managed to walk them up the stairs out of the basement, but Dean continued to cling on to him, and he didn't really want him to let go anyway. Sam quickly gave up on any notion of driving anywhere, and instead settled down in the living room and held on to his brother.
It was okay. He didn't think they were likely to be bothered by the police or worried neighbors or friends: Thomas had seemed very much a solitary type. Sam figured it might be best to stay there for a while anyway. They probably ought to try to track down and deal with the ghosts that had escaped; until he figured out whether they were nearby or had returned to wherever Thomas had captured them, this was as good a base as any.
And it would give Sam a chance to study Thomas's books and see if he could figure out how the necromancer had tapped into the power stored in the cubes. If Thomas had been able to use it to extend his own life...
Dean hissed suddenly, startling Sam out of his thoughts. He looked up to find that Dean had at last raised his head from Sam's shoulder and was staring off to the left, his teeth bared. Sam glanced over and jumped. A young girl was crouching on the floor, watching them curiously. Her blonde hair was plastered to her head, water dripping off her onto the floor.
Lara Sinclair, Sam thought, remembering the logbook and the way she'd tried to bite through the barrier to get at Thomas.
She met his gaze and bared her teeth at him: they were long and needle-thin in a way no human's were.
Dean hissed again, threateningly, and Lara giggled and vanished.
Sam breathed out slowly. Jesus, this was fucked up. He thought longingly of his shotgun, still out in the Impala. The thought of trying to make it there and back with Dean in this state, though, was enough to make him shudder. There was no way they'd be able to do it without attracting unwanted attention.
He supposed Thomas probably had salt in the kitchen somewhere. Walking that far might be feasible. But if some of the ghosts were still in the house with them, salting the place would hardly help. And Sam didn't want to try putting a salt ring round them while Dean was in this condition: he simply didn't know how he would react, and his brother had been through enough already.
Dean settled back down, resting his head on Sam's shoulder again, seemingly content to stay like that for the foreseeable future. Sam rubbed his brother's arm soothingly, then pulled out his cell phone. Bobby was bound to be near-frantic by now.
The gruffness of Bobby's voice when he answered told Sam how right his guess was. "Sam? What happened, are you all right?"
Sam leaned back against the back of the sofa. "Yeah, I'm okay. I ran into Thomas." He hesitated. "He's dead, Bobby. I had to smash the cube Dean was in, there was no other choice, and the ghosts in it turned on him."
Bobby was silent for a moment. "How's Dean?"
Sam took a deep breath. Dean had given no indication that he was even aware Sam was having a conversation with someone, but he lowered his voice anyway. "He's a bit... the worse for wear." He didn't know what else to say. My brother kissed me, and that was the moment when he seemed most like himself? He hasn't let go of me since, and I'm glad, even if it means he's messed up?
"The worse for wear how?" Bobby asked sharply.
"He'll be okay," Sam said hastily. "He's just a bit... shaken up and disoriented. I'm sure he'll be fine by tomorrow. Just - being trapped in there with those other ghosts for so long, and probably the shock of the cube being broken, like you said. He's already a bit better than he was right afterwards, it's just... going to take a little while for him to come back."
"Okay," Bobby said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Are you boys going to head back up here now?"
"Not yet," Sam said. "We should probably track down the ghosts that got free first. And that'll give Dean a bit more time to recover, too."
"Maybe I should drive down there," Bobby suggested. "Help you out with the ghosts, free you up to concentrate on your brother."
Sam swallowed. Bobby was always a comforting figure, but Sam really didn't want him around just now, not while Dean was like this - he didn't know how Bobby would react. And he had a feeling he would frown on the research he was planning to do, too. "There's no need, Bobby - we're fine, really. If Dean's still... out of it tomorrow, I'll call you, okay?"
"If you're sure," Bobby said after a moment. "You boys are safe where you are, I take it?"
Sam glanced over to where the ghost girl had been. "Yeah. Yeah, we're safe here."
~*~
The day passed slowly, but Sam was too glad to have Dean back - in whatever condition - to chafe at the inaction. He did eventually make a trip to the kitchen, with Dean still hanging on to him, to find the salt, and when Dean didn't react too negatively at the mere sight of it, Sam took the risk of laying a salt circle round the sofa. They might as well spend the day resting up, since Dean didn't seem to be about to snap out of it any time soon. But Sam was going to need to sleep at some point, and since he'd seen first-hand exactly how dangerous the ghosts could be, he'd rather not take any chances.
And the knowledge that Dean wouldn't be able to drift off anywhere while he slept was also a guiltily comforting thought, even if Dean showed no inclination to do that yet.
Dean made a quiet whimpering sound when the circle was complete, but Sam was able to soothe him with a hand on his head and a few quiet words. They settled back on the sofa together, lying down this time, Dean tangled over and around him. Sam held on to his brother and reminded himself of how it had felt, lying alone in his empty bed the night before, wondering if he'd lost Dean completely this time.
He had Dean back. And he was going to bring him back all the way.
No matter what it takes.
~*~
Waking up in the dark came as something of a shock, though not nearly as much as the sight of three ghosts staring at him, standing just outside the salt line. Sam inhaled sharply, eyes flicking automatically to Dean.
Dean was still tangled up with him, but he had raised his head and was staring fixedly at the ghosts outside the salt line. He wasn't hissing or snarling, though, Sam noted with some relief. He was just staring.
But something in his gaze must have gotten to them, because all three vanished suddenly.
Sam breathed out slowly, and reached out to his brother, touching his shoulder. "Dean. Hey."
He wasn't really expecting a response, but Dean slowly turned his head to meet his gaze, and Sam felt his own eyes widen. Dean looked... better. Not normal, not even close to it, but his face had lost the wildness of that morning, and there was a sanity and an awareness when he looked at Sam that hadn't been there before.
"Hey," Sam said again, trying to stop himself from getting his hopes up too far. "How are you feeling?"
Dean stared at him fixedly for a moment, then whispered, "Sammy."
Not exactly an answer to his question, but Sam would damn well take what he could get right now, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Yeah, Dean."
Dean blinked at him as he smiled, then seemed to come back to himself more. "You... okay?"
Sam couldn't help but laugh, though it sounded alarmingly close to a sob to his own ears. "Yeah, Dean. I'm okay. I'm good. How about you?"
"I'm... okay," Dean said. His voice was getting stronger, Sam noted; it didn't sound quite so rusty now. "Better now."
"Good," Sam said quietly, overwhelmingly grateful that Dean was coming back to him. "You had me worried this time."
Dean didn't say anything, just rested his head back on Sam's shoulder.
Keep him talking, Sam thought. Much as he was guiltily enjoying having Dean this close, he didn't want his brother slipping back into the unresponsiveness of that morning. "What was it like, inside the cube?"
Dean stiffened against him, then buried deeper into Sam's hold, shivering. "No..."
"Okay," Sam said hastily, rubbing at the back of Dean's neck in reassurance. "I'm sorry, Dean. You don't need to tell me about it if you're not ready."
It was a few minutes before Dean's shivering subsided. "Not much to tell," he said unexpectedly.
Sam kept quiet, waiting for his brother to say whatever he was ready to share.
"Trapped," Dean said finally. "Forced in with the others. Couldn't stay... apart."
Sam remembered the way Dean's hands had become claws when he'd turned aggressive that morning, remembered the similarity he'd noticed to Mrs. Green's claws, and thought he understood, at least a little.
"Glad to be out," Dean said. "Even if..."
He trailed off, and Sam couldn't help the jolt of alarm he felt at that statement. "Even if what? Dean?"
"Even if he was right," Dean said, muffled against his neck.
Sam made himself stay calm. "Thomas? What was he right about?"
Dean raised his head again, and Sam flinched at the expression in his eyes. "About me changing," Dean said.
"Oh no," Sam said, some of his calm evaporating. "Dean, no, you can't listen to what he said. He didn't -"
"I'm slipping, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I can feel it. I know you have too."
"But you're better again now," Sam protested. "You were bound to have a reaction to being imprisoned like that -"
"No, Sam," Dean said. "How are you feeling now?"
Sam frowned. "What?"
"How are you feeling?" Dean repeated. "Really?"
Sam wished he knew where his brother was going with this. "I'm okay. A bit tired, but -"
"You fell asleep at noon," Dean said.
Sam stared at him. "So? It was a tiring morning."
"No," Dean said. "It was me, Sam."
Sam frowned. "What? No, it -"
"It was me," Dean repeated, his voice thin. "I didn't mean to, Sammy, I swear, I wouldn't, but -"
"Whoa, whoa," Sam said, his mind racing. "You're saying..."
"That I was slipping," Dean said quietly, meeting his eyes. "And that you're my anchor to... here. And I think I - drew on you, somehow."
The knowledge of the kiss hung between them. Sam remembered again how much it had reminded him of the alleyway, of trying desperately to bring his brother back. How much warmer Dean had seemed afterwards. The wave of light-headedness that had struck him.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Dean frowned at him. "What?"
"Okay," Sam repeated. "I'm not letting you go, Dean. If I can give you some of my... energy and that can help you, then good. I'm glad."
Dean shook his head. "No, I don't want to hurt you like that, I can't -"
"Dean," Sam said sharply, holding his gaze. He needed his brother to understand this. "That didn't hurt me. What would hurt me would be losing you. And I'm going to do whatever it takes to prevent that."
"It's dangerous," Dean said. "If I slip too far, if I take too much and can't stop myself..."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Sam said firmly. "My choice, Dean."
Dean stared at him for a moment, then closed his eyes and rested his head back against Sam's shoulder, unhappiness etched in his face. But he didn't argue the point, and Sam would settle for that for now.
~*~
"Nasty," Sam said, mostly because Dean normally would have said it, but hadn't.
"He got what he deserved," Dean said neutrally, sounding entirely unaffected by what was left of Thomas's corpse.
Sam swallowed at that, and concentrated on dragging the bloodstained body out of the trunk.
They'd taken advantage of it being the middle of the night - and the fact that Dean seemed a bit more normal - to get the Impala and take what was left of Thomas's body out of the town to salt and burn it. It was easier now that Dean was no longer clinging to Sam the way he had for most of the day, though he stayed very close and only broke physical contact when Sam was actually touching the corpse.
Sam tried to concentrate on Dean's behavior rather than the corpse itself, as he dragged it across to the center of the clearing, a safe distance away from the Impala, and fetched the lighter fluid and salt. It was odd setting the body alight himself. Dean had always done that part when he could, even when they were just kids. Sam wasn't sure that his brother enjoyed it, precisely, but it was important to him. There was no way Dean could do it this time, though, so Sam struck the match himself, glanced at his brother for a moment, and then dropped it on the corpse.
Dean stared at the flames with an intensity that made Sam nervous. It was mostly in an attempt to distract his brother that he said, "I hope this means he'll be at rest."
Dean didn't look away from the flames. "Do you?"
Sam thought about the expression on Thomas's face as he'd talked about his mother's death. "Yeah, I think I do. He told me his story -"
"I heard it," Dean said.
Sam shot a quick glance at him, but Dean didn't offer anything more. "Yeah, so... I guess he'd see being a ghost as a fate worse than dea- well, as something pretty horrible."
Dean was silent. Then he said, "That didn't stop him from leaving anyone else to suffer it." He looked away from the fire to meet Sam's gaze for the first time; his expression was steady, but there was a hatred in his eyes that Sam had rarely seen Dean direct at a human being. "He could have laid them to rest. He could have given them peace. But all he did was imprison them - us. All he did was imprison us, force us together, take away what humanity we had left. Lara Sinclair was three when she died, and he was going to lock her away forever."
Sam swallowed and forced himself to meet his brother's gaze. Even though the sound of that 'us' made him uneasy.
Dean turned back to the fire. "At least we give them salt and fire. We make an end."
We. Them. Sam held on to that as they watched the fire burn.
~*~
It took Sam three trips to bring all Thomas's books and notes up out of the basement.
"You don't really need all of them to figure out how to deal with the ghosts," Dean objected, accompanying him back up the stairs for the third time. "Just the log book."
Sam thought fast. "I, uh, want to research how to remove spirits from the cubes properly. Instead of breaking them, you know? So we can start... laying the others to rest, too."
Sam felt like the lowest sort of scum when Dean's eyes lit up and he smiled slightly for the first time since Sam had freed him from the cube.
"That's my Sammy," Dean murmured, his voice low and proud.
Sam swallowed and tried to smile back.
"Go research, then," Dean said. "I should've known you'd start having withdrawal symptoms at some point today, anyway. I'm gonna go check on where the other ghosts are." He clapped Sam on the shoulder, maintaining the contact only slightly longer than normal, and walked off down the hallway.
That's the first time he's voluntarily left my side since the cube, Sam thought. It looked like maybe Dean was starting to get back to normal.
Good, Sam told himself firmly, and carried the books through to the kitchen, where he set them down with the rest.
His stomach rumbling reminded him of how long it had been since he'd eaten properly. Sam sighed and raided the fridge, making a peanut butter sandwich to keep him going while he read. There seemed something very wrong about eating the peanut butter of someone whose blood was spattered all over the books he was about to read, but this wasn't the time to be passing out from hunger.
He settled down and began searching Thomas's books for information on how to channel the power stored in the receptacles.
~*~
It was weird being this far away from Sam.
Dean frowned and rubbed at his arms, trying to shake the uneasy sensation of wrongness. He no longer felt like he had right after Sam had shattered that goddamn cube - like his brother was the only thing between him and... nothing. He couldn't have moved away from Sam then even if he'd wanted to. The feeling had slowly faded, blurring in his memory, but he still felt... weird. Now it was more like Sam was the center of the world, rather than the whole of the world, but even so it was fucking hard to walk away from him.
He tried to put it out of his mind and focus instead on where the hell all the other ghosts were. The house seemed suspiciously empty. Maybe they'd all left while he and Sam were off burning that bastard necromancer's body?
There was a quiet giggle over to his left. Dean stopped and looked sharply in that direction. "Lara?"
Another giggle, from his right this time, and then Lara shimmered into view, perched precariously on the back of the sofa. She grinned at him, her teeth only slightly pointed now, though she was still dripping wet.
Dean hesitated, then gave in and smiled at her. Wasn't like he had any room to judge anyone for being a ghost. "Hey, kiddo. You okay?"
"Hide an' seek," Lara announced brightly.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, you're good at that, I can tell."
"Not just me," Lara said. "Everyone!"
"The others playing too, are they?" Dean asked. "'Cause I was kind of looking for them."
Lara's eyes widened. "No, the dark one's looking. We hide!"
Dean paused. "The dark one?"
He knew exactly what she was referring to, of course. He'd been trapped in the cube with her and all of the others long enough to absorb some of their knowledge and attributes. Even though he felt more sane now, and she looked it too, he still had some idea how her mind worked. The 'dark one' was the shade, the one Sam had set free from the other cube.
"Found the others," Lara said quietly. "No good at hiding."
"What happened when it found them?" Dean asked, leaning down to put himself at a better eye level.
Lara bared suddenly long, needle-like teeth. "Ate them aaaall up!" She snapped them menacingly, then broke off into giggles again.
"Huh," Dean said. "But you're good at hiding, right?"
"Best," she said, beaming at him, her teeth suddenly back to normal.
"So, how about you hide from the dark one?" Dean suggested. "Hide the best you can, till Sam and I find a way to trick it."
Lara looked suddenly worried. "You got to hide too!"
Dean smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry. I gotta watch out for Sammy, but the dark one won't catch me. Promise."
She appeared somewhat reassured by that. "Okay. Time to hide 'gain now."
"Yeah, you hide," Dean agreed. "Don't you come out for anyone but me or Sam, okay? I don't want the dark one eating you up."
She giggled again and vanished. Dean felt cold water against his arm, then even that was gone.
He took a deep breath and headed back in the direction of the kitchen, where Sam was bent over Thomas's books. "Hey. I think we've got a problem."
It took a moment for Sam to look up. "What's up? You okay?" He turned over his page of notes.
Dean filled him in on what Lara had told him. Sam frowned, glancing down at his books.
"We need to find a way to trap it or take it out," Dean concluded.
Sam looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You believe what she told you? Just... the two of you didn't seem too... friendly, earlier."
It was Dean's turn to frown, then he had to try not to flush as a dim memory came back to him of hissing at Lara when she was staring at Sam too threateningly. "We were both still a bit... out of it. She's okay."
Sam smiled at him, reassurance that Dean couldn't help but focus on. "Okay, then. I, uh, think the shade's probably Thomas's parents, judging by what he said and what I've read in his notes so far. It seems like his father's ghost has sort of... assimilated his mother's spirit, and their combined spirit is doing the same to the other ghosts, if Lara's telling you the truth."
"Ate them all up," Dean muttered, and shook his head. "Okay. Have we got anything to salt and burn?"
Sam frowned. "I'm not certain, but what I've read in his journal implies he disposed of his mother's body pretty thoroughly - burned her out in the woods. He went and found his father's grave and dug up the bones to get rid of them, too. He wanted to be really sure he had them trapped."
Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "Great." He tried to think. There had to be something they were overlooking.
"I guess... one option would be to try to trap it back in a receptacle," Sam suggested hesitantly.
Dean felt himself stiffen and forced himself to see the logic in it, whatever he felt about those goddamn cubes. "I... if there's no other way. But it would be too dangerous, Sam. Especially with that shade."
"Thomas made a lot of notes on the things he did," Sam said. "I'm not saying it would be easy, but I think I could pull it off if I had to."
The thought of Sam performing the same ritual that had been used to trap him made Dean shudder. "I really don't think necromancy's for you, Sam. Can't we find something else?" He cast about desperately. "What about those bones down there? And the blood?"
Sam stared at him, then grabbed another book and began paging through it. "I don't know about the blood, but the bones... I know I saw a reference somewhere..." He paused, and stabbed a finger at the relevant passage. "One from his mother and one from his father, I think. As his first contacts with death, apparently - it's powerful stuff."
"Nice," Dean said. "Okay, so if we burn those, that might stop it, or at least weaken it. Let's do it."
Sam looked back at his books again, but closed them and stood up only a little reluctantly. "Where is it now?"
Dean paused. "I don't know. I didn't see it when I was looking about." He glanced around, suppressing a moment of paranoia that it would be hovering right behind him. "Okay, then how about we check it isn't in the basement, then salt the door and go back down to burn the bones."
Sam didn't look entirely convinced, but he grabbed the salt and lighter fluid from the counter. "Okay, let's give it a try, I guess."
The basement was empty. Dean tried to ignore the cubes and how much they creeped him out, and focused on the bones instead.
"Do we really need to salt the door?" Sam asked, unscrewing the cap on the lighter fluid.
"Yes," Dean said emphatically. "For all we know it'll feel it the moment you touch those bones and come running. And you saw what it did to Thomas."
"Yeah, okay, I guess you're right," Sam said. "I'll go do that."
"I'll come too," Dean said hastily. He wasn't about to stay in the basement alone with those cubes while Sam went up where the shade had to be, not a chance in hell. Fortunately, Sam didn't call him on his reasons, just led the way up the stairs.
Sam had laid a line of salt across half of the doorway when Dean heard the scream.
Lara. He darted out the clear half of the doorway.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, trying to grab him.
"Salt that door and burn the bones!" Dean ordered, and shifted in the direction the scream had come from.
He found the shade in the kitchen.
It was far larger than it had been when Sam had freed it in the basement, and Dean was immediately convinced that their theory was correct - it was consuming the other ghosts, probably readying itself to go after Sam. There was no sign of Lara, and Dean hoped like hell she'd managed to hide in time. Though that scream didn't give him much hope.
The shade came at him, blackness pouring through the air.
Dean shifted to the other side of the room, then into the living room when it reappeared in front of him. He knew that it was old and powerful, could feel the malevolence radiating off it. But he also knew that Sam was probably burning the bones right at that moment. All he had to do was hold it off long enough for that to work.
If it worked.
He had to shift again as it lunged at him, and was readying himself to move again when the shade suddenly stilled, a tremor running through it. Then it threw itself at the door to the basement.
Oh yeah, it's gonna work, all right.
Dean didn't think there was much it could do to Sam beyond the salt line, but he couldn't be sure. So all he could do was try to divert its attention.
"Hey! ...Poltergeist!" Okay, it wasn't the best insult he'd ever come up with, but so long as Sam didn't hear him, what the hell. "No, wait, you're not even a poltergeist, are you? Just black... gloop. With an eating habit that's seriously out of control."
Picking up a magazine from the table near the couch was far more difficult than he'd have liked. Well, he'd never claimed to be a good poltergeist himself. He was quite proud of the direct hit he scored when he threw it, though.
The shade turned and came at him again.
"Dean!"
Dean shifted to the far side of the living room, and found himself with a good view of Sam, who was standing in the basement doorway.
"Dean, c'mon!" Sam yelled. "I'll open a gap in the -"
"Touch that salt and I'll kick your ass!" Dean yelled back. He knew how fast the shade was now, and he had no doubt it was capable of killing Sam and extinguishing the fire before it faded.
At that moment, it came out of the wall behind him and knocked him to the floor.
Dean gasped and rolled, instinctively bringing his hands up to defend himself, vaguely aware that his fingers were lengthening and hooking into claws as he did so. He snarled and lashed out.
Sam was yelling in the background. Dean had enough time to hope his brother had the sense to stay behind the salt line, or he really was going to kick his ass, and then the shade was on him, smothering him, ripping at him. He fought back as best he could, claws and teeth, wild and desperate.
And then it all stopped.
Dean stared up, his teeth still bared, as the shade shuddered again. An invisible shockwave seemed to pass through it, then there was a flare of orange, and its blackness crumbled away like dust. All that was left was grey mist, dissipating like smoke.
The ghosts it ate, Dean thought, and collapsed back onto the floor.
The last plume of grey smoke coalesced instead of fading, however, and after a moment Lara was sitting beside him. She crawled towards him, needle-sharp teeth bared.
Dean let her come. He wasn't about to put up a fight, not against her. Besides, he had bigger worries. The world was starting to turn hazy and unreal around him.
Sam. Where's Sam?
Lara lowered her head and Dean, half-braced for her to take a bite out of him, instead felt her cold, wet lips press against his cheek.
"Kiss you better," she announced, sitting back again.
Dean wished he could muster a smile for her, but he was losing sight of the reality of her, of everything around him. Slipping.
"Dean!"
Sam.
The shocking reality of Sam's hands closing around his wrists and then sweeping across his chest was like catching sight of daylight from the bottom of a cold, dark lake, but Dean still wasn't sure he could reach the surface.
Then Sam's lips were on his, like air rushing into his lungs, and Dean gasped as the world started to flood back in around him, confused and distorted but real. He held on, clinging to Sam, waiting for things to make sense again.
~*~
Sam knew it was ridiculous to panic at the sight of his brother lying on the floor like that - it wasn't like Dean could die twice - but he couldn't stop himself. There might not be any blood this time, but that didn't mean he wasn't losing Dean just the same; the glassy, unseeing look in his eyes told its own story.
He grabbed Dean's wrists as he dropped to the ground beside him. "Dean? Dean!"
His brother half-opened his mouth, as if fighting to speak, or for air, and Sam couldn't take it any more, couldn't stand watching this happen to Dean again.
He brought their lips together, half mouth-to-mouth, half kiss, fury in his movements until he felt Dean respond, felt Dean's arms come up and cling to him desperately. The knowledge that his brother was still there, still holding on, was enough to gentle the kiss, reassurance passing back and forth between them.
Sam forced himself to pull back, breathing hard. Dean held on to him, and Sam ran his hands reassuringly across his face, over his neck.
Enough. Enough of this.
"Better now," the ghost girl chirped beside him.
Sam opened his mouth to snap at her, then thought the better of it and tried a smile instead. "Lara, right? Lara, could you do me a favor? For Dean. You like Dean, right? You want to help him? Because I need one of the cubes from down in the basement. Do you think you could get one for me? For Dean? Please?"
Lara eyed him for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust him, then beamed. "Help Dean."
She vanished before Sam could give her any further instructions, and he could only hope she'd understood what he was asking.
He'd have preferred a bit more time to do research before carrying out this ritual - Thomas had been right that necromancy really wasn't something to dabble in - but he couldn't watch Dean go through this any longer. The ritual was simple enough: difficult, sure, but based on simple principles. And after the work he'd done with Ruby over the past year, Sam was fairly confident his will would be strong enough to help force the ritual to work.
And then Dean would be back, properly back.
Sam glanced around. He was going to need a knife, and his notes.
He started to pull away from his brother, but Dean gasped and tightened his hold. "Don't..."
Sam pressed a hand to Dean's cheek. His brother's eyes were aware, but disoriented, and Sam bit his lip. "I'm not going far, Dean, and I'll be right back - I need to fetch something so I can help you."
"You help," Dean murmured, turning his face into Sam's hand. "Don't..."
Lara suddenly rematerialized beside them, and to Sam's relief, she was holding one of the cubes, even if she was hissing at it, her teeth extended.
"Thank you, Lara," Sam said, reaching out hastily to take it from her.
Dean's gaze fastened on it, and he recoiled, trying to shift away. "Sam, no - what - don't -"
"It's okay, Dean," Sam said as soothingly as he could. "I think I know how to bring you back now, but I need the cube to do it, okay? You're going to be fine, just hang on -"
Dean's hand caught painfully tight around his wrist. "Sam, no - you can't use them, you can't become like him -"
Sam swallowed. "I know you hate the idea, and I'm sorry, Dean, but it's worth it. You're worth it."
"No," Dean insisted again. "Not worth it just for a month - not worth you becoming that, Sam, please -"
Sam felt suddenly cold. "What do you mean, 'just for a month'? Dean? It's - no. No. She gave you a year to live, damnit! And you died - the bargain was broken - she gave you a year to live, Dean!"
"Gave me a year," Dean said. He still sounded out of it, clinging to Sam's wrists. "Life never came into it."
Sam came very close to hurling the cube across the room. Instead he set it down carefully on the floor. If Dean was telling the truth - and Sam didn't doubt it, and not just because his brother was far too disoriented to lie at the moment - then necromancy couldn't help him. Nothing could help him, because the crossroads demon had her fingers wrapped round his soul, and even if Sam found a way to cheat death, he'd still have to find a way to cheat her.
He'd already lost his brother once, and in just over a month he was going to lose him again, a loss even more final than death.
Sam lowered his head and tasted salt in his mouth, washing the taste of Dean away.
~*~
Salt. Sam.
Dean licked his lips, soaking up the taste, caught up entirely in the realness of it. It was almost impossible to think around, and he couldn't get enough of it. He reached up and dragged Sam in closer, holding his head steady so he could lap at the liquid. It felt like forever since he'd tasted salt without it burning him. And even longer since he'd tasted Sam so clearly, felt him slipping inside and slowly making Dean real from the inside out. He was dimly aware something wasn't quite as it should be, but it was impossible to figure out what when his world was narrowed down to the taste of Sam against his parched lips.
Sam made a strange sound, one that tugged at something inside Dean, even if he couldn't quite figure out why it hurt him, but then their lips met again, and Dean could do nothing but hold on and let Sam wash over and through him.
He drifted in the sensation for what he suspected was a long time. But time was confusing him, moving in jerks. One moment Sam was bent over him, face pressed close and repeating his name, and the next Sam's hand was pressed against his chest and he was talking to someone Dean couldn't see, or maybe to himself. Nothing really sank in beyond a wave of impressions that swept over him and receded just as quickly.
"...and Bobby hadn't found anything," he was distantly aware of Sam saying at one point. "No way to break -"
Sam's voice was familiar, soothing despite the twisted, painful emotions in it. Dean listened more to the rise and fall of his brother's intonation than to the words that made no sense at the moment anyway.
At another point, Sam stopped touching him, his hands drawing back, and Dean jolted to shocked awareness of the fury in his brother's voice. "...bastard, I can't believe you didn't tell me -"
Dean couldn't help his moan of pain or the way he arched up off the ground, needing. But then Sam's hands were back, in his hair, on his chest, and he subsided, letting the world settle back into place around him, Sam's voice soothing again.
When the world eventually began to make sense again, Dean blinked and found his brother looking at him.
Sam was simply looking, as if he'd been watching for a long time and was quite prepared to sit there silently and watch him for a lot longer yet. Dean met his gaze without flinching. It was made easier by the fact that everything still felt somewhat strange and unreal, if not quite as non-existent as before.
Eventually, Sam said, "You back with me?"
Dean didn't look away. "Never left."
Sam glanced down, and Dean noticed for the first time how red his brother's eyes were. Before he could muster the strength to speak again, though, Sam looked back up, and his face was set.
"You think you can stand now, if I help you?" he asked. "I don't want to lose any more time."
Chapter Eight
Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking (Part 7 of 9)
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventual Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly.
Wordcount: Approx. 70k for the fic as a whole.
Betas: So, so much love to zooey_glass04 and aynslee, beta readers and Ameripickers extraordinaire, for all their awesomeness. Thank you, darlings! <333
Notes: This is the fic I wrote during Nano 2007; I had only seen up to episode 3.04 (Sin City) at the time. This is therefore set post-3.04 and contains spoilers only up to that point; of course, it has now been completely overtaken by canon and is officially AU. Oh well. The fic is complete, and will be posted chapter by chapter as I sort out my life.
Summary: There seemed something very wrong about eating the peanut butter of someone whose blood was spattered all over the books he was about to read, but this wasn't the time to be passing out from hunger.
Previous chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
They stood there for a long time, but Dean didn't regain much coherence. Nor did he seem inclined to let go of Sam. Sam eventually managed to walk them up the stairs out of the basement, but Dean continued to cling on to him, and he didn't really want him to let go anyway. Sam quickly gave up on any notion of driving anywhere, and instead settled down in the living room and held on to his brother.
It was okay. He didn't think they were likely to be bothered by the police or worried neighbors or friends: Thomas had seemed very much a solitary type. Sam figured it might be best to stay there for a while anyway. They probably ought to try to track down and deal with the ghosts that had escaped; until he figured out whether they were nearby or had returned to wherever Thomas had captured them, this was as good a base as any.
And it would give Sam a chance to study Thomas's books and see if he could figure out how the necromancer had tapped into the power stored in the cubes. If Thomas had been able to use it to extend his own life...
Dean hissed suddenly, startling Sam out of his thoughts. He looked up to find that Dean had at last raised his head from Sam's shoulder and was staring off to the left, his teeth bared. Sam glanced over and jumped. A young girl was crouching on the floor, watching them curiously. Her blonde hair was plastered to her head, water dripping off her onto the floor.
Lara Sinclair, Sam thought, remembering the logbook and the way she'd tried to bite through the barrier to get at Thomas.
She met his gaze and bared her teeth at him: they were long and needle-thin in a way no human's were.
Dean hissed again, threateningly, and Lara giggled and vanished.
Sam breathed out slowly. Jesus, this was fucked up. He thought longingly of his shotgun, still out in the Impala. The thought of trying to make it there and back with Dean in this state, though, was enough to make him shudder. There was no way they'd be able to do it without attracting unwanted attention.
He supposed Thomas probably had salt in the kitchen somewhere. Walking that far might be feasible. But if some of the ghosts were still in the house with them, salting the place would hardly help. And Sam didn't want to try putting a salt ring round them while Dean was in this condition: he simply didn't know how he would react, and his brother had been through enough already.
Dean settled back down, resting his head on Sam's shoulder again, seemingly content to stay like that for the foreseeable future. Sam rubbed his brother's arm soothingly, then pulled out his cell phone. Bobby was bound to be near-frantic by now.
The gruffness of Bobby's voice when he answered told Sam how right his guess was. "Sam? What happened, are you all right?"
Sam leaned back against the back of the sofa. "Yeah, I'm okay. I ran into Thomas." He hesitated. "He's dead, Bobby. I had to smash the cube Dean was in, there was no other choice, and the ghosts in it turned on him."
Bobby was silent for a moment. "How's Dean?"
Sam took a deep breath. Dean had given no indication that he was even aware Sam was having a conversation with someone, but he lowered his voice anyway. "He's a bit... the worse for wear." He didn't know what else to say. My brother kissed me, and that was the moment when he seemed most like himself? He hasn't let go of me since, and I'm glad, even if it means he's messed up?
"The worse for wear how?" Bobby asked sharply.
"He'll be okay," Sam said hastily. "He's just a bit... shaken up and disoriented. I'm sure he'll be fine by tomorrow. Just - being trapped in there with those other ghosts for so long, and probably the shock of the cube being broken, like you said. He's already a bit better than he was right afterwards, it's just... going to take a little while for him to come back."
"Okay," Bobby said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Are you boys going to head back up here now?"
"Not yet," Sam said. "We should probably track down the ghosts that got free first. And that'll give Dean a bit more time to recover, too."
"Maybe I should drive down there," Bobby suggested. "Help you out with the ghosts, free you up to concentrate on your brother."
Sam swallowed. Bobby was always a comforting figure, but Sam really didn't want him around just now, not while Dean was like this - he didn't know how Bobby would react. And he had a feeling he would frown on the research he was planning to do, too. "There's no need, Bobby - we're fine, really. If Dean's still... out of it tomorrow, I'll call you, okay?"
"If you're sure," Bobby said after a moment. "You boys are safe where you are, I take it?"
Sam glanced over to where the ghost girl had been. "Yeah. Yeah, we're safe here."
~*~
The day passed slowly, but Sam was too glad to have Dean back - in whatever condition - to chafe at the inaction. He did eventually make a trip to the kitchen, with Dean still hanging on to him, to find the salt, and when Dean didn't react too negatively at the mere sight of it, Sam took the risk of laying a salt circle round the sofa. They might as well spend the day resting up, since Dean didn't seem to be about to snap out of it any time soon. But Sam was going to need to sleep at some point, and since he'd seen first-hand exactly how dangerous the ghosts could be, he'd rather not take any chances.
And the knowledge that Dean wouldn't be able to drift off anywhere while he slept was also a guiltily comforting thought, even if Dean showed no inclination to do that yet.
Dean made a quiet whimpering sound when the circle was complete, but Sam was able to soothe him with a hand on his head and a few quiet words. They settled back on the sofa together, lying down this time, Dean tangled over and around him. Sam held on to his brother and reminded himself of how it had felt, lying alone in his empty bed the night before, wondering if he'd lost Dean completely this time.
He had Dean back. And he was going to bring him back all the way.
No matter what it takes.
~*~
Waking up in the dark came as something of a shock, though not nearly as much as the sight of three ghosts staring at him, standing just outside the salt line. Sam inhaled sharply, eyes flicking automatically to Dean.
Dean was still tangled up with him, but he had raised his head and was staring fixedly at the ghosts outside the salt line. He wasn't hissing or snarling, though, Sam noted with some relief. He was just staring.
But something in his gaze must have gotten to them, because all three vanished suddenly.
Sam breathed out slowly, and reached out to his brother, touching his shoulder. "Dean. Hey."
He wasn't really expecting a response, but Dean slowly turned his head to meet his gaze, and Sam felt his own eyes widen. Dean looked... better. Not normal, not even close to it, but his face had lost the wildness of that morning, and there was a sanity and an awareness when he looked at Sam that hadn't been there before.
"Hey," Sam said again, trying to stop himself from getting his hopes up too far. "How are you feeling?"
Dean stared at him fixedly for a moment, then whispered, "Sammy."
Not exactly an answer to his question, but Sam would damn well take what he could get right now, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Yeah, Dean."
Dean blinked at him as he smiled, then seemed to come back to himself more. "You... okay?"
Sam couldn't help but laugh, though it sounded alarmingly close to a sob to his own ears. "Yeah, Dean. I'm okay. I'm good. How about you?"
"I'm... okay," Dean said. His voice was getting stronger, Sam noted; it didn't sound quite so rusty now. "Better now."
"Good," Sam said quietly, overwhelmingly grateful that Dean was coming back to him. "You had me worried this time."
Dean didn't say anything, just rested his head back on Sam's shoulder.
Keep him talking, Sam thought. Much as he was guiltily enjoying having Dean this close, he didn't want his brother slipping back into the unresponsiveness of that morning. "What was it like, inside the cube?"
Dean stiffened against him, then buried deeper into Sam's hold, shivering. "No..."
"Okay," Sam said hastily, rubbing at the back of Dean's neck in reassurance. "I'm sorry, Dean. You don't need to tell me about it if you're not ready."
It was a few minutes before Dean's shivering subsided. "Not much to tell," he said unexpectedly.
Sam kept quiet, waiting for his brother to say whatever he was ready to share.
"Trapped," Dean said finally. "Forced in with the others. Couldn't stay... apart."
Sam remembered the way Dean's hands had become claws when he'd turned aggressive that morning, remembered the similarity he'd noticed to Mrs. Green's claws, and thought he understood, at least a little.
"Glad to be out," Dean said. "Even if..."
He trailed off, and Sam couldn't help the jolt of alarm he felt at that statement. "Even if what? Dean?"
"Even if he was right," Dean said, muffled against his neck.
Sam made himself stay calm. "Thomas? What was he right about?"
Dean raised his head again, and Sam flinched at the expression in his eyes. "About me changing," Dean said.
"Oh no," Sam said, some of his calm evaporating. "Dean, no, you can't listen to what he said. He didn't -"
"I'm slipping, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I can feel it. I know you have too."
"But you're better again now," Sam protested. "You were bound to have a reaction to being imprisoned like that -"
"No, Sam," Dean said. "How are you feeling now?"
Sam frowned. "What?"
"How are you feeling?" Dean repeated. "Really?"
Sam wished he knew where his brother was going with this. "I'm okay. A bit tired, but -"
"You fell asleep at noon," Dean said.
Sam stared at him. "So? It was a tiring morning."
"No," Dean said. "It was me, Sam."
Sam frowned. "What? No, it -"
"It was me," Dean repeated, his voice thin. "I didn't mean to, Sammy, I swear, I wouldn't, but -"
"Whoa, whoa," Sam said, his mind racing. "You're saying..."
"That I was slipping," Dean said quietly, meeting his eyes. "And that you're my anchor to... here. And I think I - drew on you, somehow."
The knowledge of the kiss hung between them. Sam remembered again how much it had reminded him of the alleyway, of trying desperately to bring his brother back. How much warmer Dean had seemed afterwards. The wave of light-headedness that had struck him.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Dean frowned at him. "What?"
"Okay," Sam repeated. "I'm not letting you go, Dean. If I can give you some of my... energy and that can help you, then good. I'm glad."
Dean shook his head. "No, I don't want to hurt you like that, I can't -"
"Dean," Sam said sharply, holding his gaze. He needed his brother to understand this. "That didn't hurt me. What would hurt me would be losing you. And I'm going to do whatever it takes to prevent that."
"It's dangerous," Dean said. "If I slip too far, if I take too much and can't stop myself..."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Sam said firmly. "My choice, Dean."
Dean stared at him for a moment, then closed his eyes and rested his head back against Sam's shoulder, unhappiness etched in his face. But he didn't argue the point, and Sam would settle for that for now.
~*~
"Nasty," Sam said, mostly because Dean normally would have said it, but hadn't.
"He got what he deserved," Dean said neutrally, sounding entirely unaffected by what was left of Thomas's corpse.
Sam swallowed at that, and concentrated on dragging the bloodstained body out of the trunk.
They'd taken advantage of it being the middle of the night - and the fact that Dean seemed a bit more normal - to get the Impala and take what was left of Thomas's body out of the town to salt and burn it. It was easier now that Dean was no longer clinging to Sam the way he had for most of the day, though he stayed very close and only broke physical contact when Sam was actually touching the corpse.
Sam tried to concentrate on Dean's behavior rather than the corpse itself, as he dragged it across to the center of the clearing, a safe distance away from the Impala, and fetched the lighter fluid and salt. It was odd setting the body alight himself. Dean had always done that part when he could, even when they were just kids. Sam wasn't sure that his brother enjoyed it, precisely, but it was important to him. There was no way Dean could do it this time, though, so Sam struck the match himself, glanced at his brother for a moment, and then dropped it on the corpse.
Dean stared at the flames with an intensity that made Sam nervous. It was mostly in an attempt to distract his brother that he said, "I hope this means he'll be at rest."
Dean didn't look away from the flames. "Do you?"
Sam thought about the expression on Thomas's face as he'd talked about his mother's death. "Yeah, I think I do. He told me his story -"
"I heard it," Dean said.
Sam shot a quick glance at him, but Dean didn't offer anything more. "Yeah, so... I guess he'd see being a ghost as a fate worse than dea- well, as something pretty horrible."
Dean was silent. Then he said, "That didn't stop him from leaving anyone else to suffer it." He looked away from the fire to meet Sam's gaze for the first time; his expression was steady, but there was a hatred in his eyes that Sam had rarely seen Dean direct at a human being. "He could have laid them to rest. He could have given them peace. But all he did was imprison them - us. All he did was imprison us, force us together, take away what humanity we had left. Lara Sinclair was three when she died, and he was going to lock her away forever."
Sam swallowed and forced himself to meet his brother's gaze. Even though the sound of that 'us' made him uneasy.
Dean turned back to the fire. "At least we give them salt and fire. We make an end."
We. Them. Sam held on to that as they watched the fire burn.
~*~
It took Sam three trips to bring all Thomas's books and notes up out of the basement.
"You don't really need all of them to figure out how to deal with the ghosts," Dean objected, accompanying him back up the stairs for the third time. "Just the log book."
Sam thought fast. "I, uh, want to research how to remove spirits from the cubes properly. Instead of breaking them, you know? So we can start... laying the others to rest, too."
Sam felt like the lowest sort of scum when Dean's eyes lit up and he smiled slightly for the first time since Sam had freed him from the cube.
"That's my Sammy," Dean murmured, his voice low and proud.
Sam swallowed and tried to smile back.
"Go research, then," Dean said. "I should've known you'd start having withdrawal symptoms at some point today, anyway. I'm gonna go check on where the other ghosts are." He clapped Sam on the shoulder, maintaining the contact only slightly longer than normal, and walked off down the hallway.
That's the first time he's voluntarily left my side since the cube, Sam thought. It looked like maybe Dean was starting to get back to normal.
Good, Sam told himself firmly, and carried the books through to the kitchen, where he set them down with the rest.
His stomach rumbling reminded him of how long it had been since he'd eaten properly. Sam sighed and raided the fridge, making a peanut butter sandwich to keep him going while he read. There seemed something very wrong about eating the peanut butter of someone whose blood was spattered all over the books he was about to read, but this wasn't the time to be passing out from hunger.
He settled down and began searching Thomas's books for information on how to channel the power stored in the receptacles.
~*~
It was weird being this far away from Sam.
Dean frowned and rubbed at his arms, trying to shake the uneasy sensation of wrongness. He no longer felt like he had right after Sam had shattered that goddamn cube - like his brother was the only thing between him and... nothing. He couldn't have moved away from Sam then even if he'd wanted to. The feeling had slowly faded, blurring in his memory, but he still felt... weird. Now it was more like Sam was the center of the world, rather than the whole of the world, but even so it was fucking hard to walk away from him.
He tried to put it out of his mind and focus instead on where the hell all the other ghosts were. The house seemed suspiciously empty. Maybe they'd all left while he and Sam were off burning that bastard necromancer's body?
There was a quiet giggle over to his left. Dean stopped and looked sharply in that direction. "Lara?"
Another giggle, from his right this time, and then Lara shimmered into view, perched precariously on the back of the sofa. She grinned at him, her teeth only slightly pointed now, though she was still dripping wet.
Dean hesitated, then gave in and smiled at her. Wasn't like he had any room to judge anyone for being a ghost. "Hey, kiddo. You okay?"
"Hide an' seek," Lara announced brightly.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, you're good at that, I can tell."
"Not just me," Lara said. "Everyone!"
"The others playing too, are they?" Dean asked. "'Cause I was kind of looking for them."
Lara's eyes widened. "No, the dark one's looking. We hide!"
Dean paused. "The dark one?"
He knew exactly what she was referring to, of course. He'd been trapped in the cube with her and all of the others long enough to absorb some of their knowledge and attributes. Even though he felt more sane now, and she looked it too, he still had some idea how her mind worked. The 'dark one' was the shade, the one Sam had set free from the other cube.
"Found the others," Lara said quietly. "No good at hiding."
"What happened when it found them?" Dean asked, leaning down to put himself at a better eye level.
Lara bared suddenly long, needle-like teeth. "Ate them aaaall up!" She snapped them menacingly, then broke off into giggles again.
"Huh," Dean said. "But you're good at hiding, right?"
"Best," she said, beaming at him, her teeth suddenly back to normal.
"So, how about you hide from the dark one?" Dean suggested. "Hide the best you can, till Sam and I find a way to trick it."
Lara looked suddenly worried. "You got to hide too!"
Dean smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry. I gotta watch out for Sammy, but the dark one won't catch me. Promise."
She appeared somewhat reassured by that. "Okay. Time to hide 'gain now."
"Yeah, you hide," Dean agreed. "Don't you come out for anyone but me or Sam, okay? I don't want the dark one eating you up."
She giggled again and vanished. Dean felt cold water against his arm, then even that was gone.
He took a deep breath and headed back in the direction of the kitchen, where Sam was bent over Thomas's books. "Hey. I think we've got a problem."
It took a moment for Sam to look up. "What's up? You okay?" He turned over his page of notes.
Dean filled him in on what Lara had told him. Sam frowned, glancing down at his books.
"We need to find a way to trap it or take it out," Dean concluded.
Sam looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You believe what she told you? Just... the two of you didn't seem too... friendly, earlier."
It was Dean's turn to frown, then he had to try not to flush as a dim memory came back to him of hissing at Lara when she was staring at Sam too threateningly. "We were both still a bit... out of it. She's okay."
Sam smiled at him, reassurance that Dean couldn't help but focus on. "Okay, then. I, uh, think the shade's probably Thomas's parents, judging by what he said and what I've read in his notes so far. It seems like his father's ghost has sort of... assimilated his mother's spirit, and their combined spirit is doing the same to the other ghosts, if Lara's telling you the truth."
"Ate them all up," Dean muttered, and shook his head. "Okay. Have we got anything to salt and burn?"
Sam frowned. "I'm not certain, but what I've read in his journal implies he disposed of his mother's body pretty thoroughly - burned her out in the woods. He went and found his father's grave and dug up the bones to get rid of them, too. He wanted to be really sure he had them trapped."
Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "Great." He tried to think. There had to be something they were overlooking.
"I guess... one option would be to try to trap it back in a receptacle," Sam suggested hesitantly.
Dean felt himself stiffen and forced himself to see the logic in it, whatever he felt about those goddamn cubes. "I... if there's no other way. But it would be too dangerous, Sam. Especially with that shade."
"Thomas made a lot of notes on the things he did," Sam said. "I'm not saying it would be easy, but I think I could pull it off if I had to."
The thought of Sam performing the same ritual that had been used to trap him made Dean shudder. "I really don't think necromancy's for you, Sam. Can't we find something else?" He cast about desperately. "What about those bones down there? And the blood?"
Sam stared at him, then grabbed another book and began paging through it. "I don't know about the blood, but the bones... I know I saw a reference somewhere..." He paused, and stabbed a finger at the relevant passage. "One from his mother and one from his father, I think. As his first contacts with death, apparently - it's powerful stuff."
"Nice," Dean said. "Okay, so if we burn those, that might stop it, or at least weaken it. Let's do it."
Sam looked back at his books again, but closed them and stood up only a little reluctantly. "Where is it now?"
Dean paused. "I don't know. I didn't see it when I was looking about." He glanced around, suppressing a moment of paranoia that it would be hovering right behind him. "Okay, then how about we check it isn't in the basement, then salt the door and go back down to burn the bones."
Sam didn't look entirely convinced, but he grabbed the salt and lighter fluid from the counter. "Okay, let's give it a try, I guess."
The basement was empty. Dean tried to ignore the cubes and how much they creeped him out, and focused on the bones instead.
"Do we really need to salt the door?" Sam asked, unscrewing the cap on the lighter fluid.
"Yes," Dean said emphatically. "For all we know it'll feel it the moment you touch those bones and come running. And you saw what it did to Thomas."
"Yeah, okay, I guess you're right," Sam said. "I'll go do that."
"I'll come too," Dean said hastily. He wasn't about to stay in the basement alone with those cubes while Sam went up where the shade had to be, not a chance in hell. Fortunately, Sam didn't call him on his reasons, just led the way up the stairs.
Sam had laid a line of salt across half of the doorway when Dean heard the scream.
Lara. He darted out the clear half of the doorway.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, trying to grab him.
"Salt that door and burn the bones!" Dean ordered, and shifted in the direction the scream had come from.
He found the shade in the kitchen.
It was far larger than it had been when Sam had freed it in the basement, and Dean was immediately convinced that their theory was correct - it was consuming the other ghosts, probably readying itself to go after Sam. There was no sign of Lara, and Dean hoped like hell she'd managed to hide in time. Though that scream didn't give him much hope.
The shade came at him, blackness pouring through the air.
Dean shifted to the other side of the room, then into the living room when it reappeared in front of him. He knew that it was old and powerful, could feel the malevolence radiating off it. But he also knew that Sam was probably burning the bones right at that moment. All he had to do was hold it off long enough for that to work.
If it worked.
He had to shift again as it lunged at him, and was readying himself to move again when the shade suddenly stilled, a tremor running through it. Then it threw itself at the door to the basement.
Oh yeah, it's gonna work, all right.
Dean didn't think there was much it could do to Sam beyond the salt line, but he couldn't be sure. So all he could do was try to divert its attention.
"Hey! ...Poltergeist!" Okay, it wasn't the best insult he'd ever come up with, but so long as Sam didn't hear him, what the hell. "No, wait, you're not even a poltergeist, are you? Just black... gloop. With an eating habit that's seriously out of control."
Picking up a magazine from the table near the couch was far more difficult than he'd have liked. Well, he'd never claimed to be a good poltergeist himself. He was quite proud of the direct hit he scored when he threw it, though.
The shade turned and came at him again.
"Dean!"
Dean shifted to the far side of the living room, and found himself with a good view of Sam, who was standing in the basement doorway.
"Dean, c'mon!" Sam yelled. "I'll open a gap in the -"
"Touch that salt and I'll kick your ass!" Dean yelled back. He knew how fast the shade was now, and he had no doubt it was capable of killing Sam and extinguishing the fire before it faded.
At that moment, it came out of the wall behind him and knocked him to the floor.
Dean gasped and rolled, instinctively bringing his hands up to defend himself, vaguely aware that his fingers were lengthening and hooking into claws as he did so. He snarled and lashed out.
Sam was yelling in the background. Dean had enough time to hope his brother had the sense to stay behind the salt line, or he really was going to kick his ass, and then the shade was on him, smothering him, ripping at him. He fought back as best he could, claws and teeth, wild and desperate.
And then it all stopped.
Dean stared up, his teeth still bared, as the shade shuddered again. An invisible shockwave seemed to pass through it, then there was a flare of orange, and its blackness crumbled away like dust. All that was left was grey mist, dissipating like smoke.
The ghosts it ate, Dean thought, and collapsed back onto the floor.
The last plume of grey smoke coalesced instead of fading, however, and after a moment Lara was sitting beside him. She crawled towards him, needle-sharp teeth bared.
Dean let her come. He wasn't about to put up a fight, not against her. Besides, he had bigger worries. The world was starting to turn hazy and unreal around him.
Sam. Where's Sam?
Lara lowered her head and Dean, half-braced for her to take a bite out of him, instead felt her cold, wet lips press against his cheek.
"Kiss you better," she announced, sitting back again.
Dean wished he could muster a smile for her, but he was losing sight of the reality of her, of everything around him. Slipping.
"Dean!"
Sam.
The shocking reality of Sam's hands closing around his wrists and then sweeping across his chest was like catching sight of daylight from the bottom of a cold, dark lake, but Dean still wasn't sure he could reach the surface.
Then Sam's lips were on his, like air rushing into his lungs, and Dean gasped as the world started to flood back in around him, confused and distorted but real. He held on, clinging to Sam, waiting for things to make sense again.
~*~
Sam knew it was ridiculous to panic at the sight of his brother lying on the floor like that - it wasn't like Dean could die twice - but he couldn't stop himself. There might not be any blood this time, but that didn't mean he wasn't losing Dean just the same; the glassy, unseeing look in his eyes told its own story.
He grabbed Dean's wrists as he dropped to the ground beside him. "Dean? Dean!"
His brother half-opened his mouth, as if fighting to speak, or for air, and Sam couldn't take it any more, couldn't stand watching this happen to Dean again.
He brought their lips together, half mouth-to-mouth, half kiss, fury in his movements until he felt Dean respond, felt Dean's arms come up and cling to him desperately. The knowledge that his brother was still there, still holding on, was enough to gentle the kiss, reassurance passing back and forth between them.
Sam forced himself to pull back, breathing hard. Dean held on to him, and Sam ran his hands reassuringly across his face, over his neck.
Enough. Enough of this.
"Better now," the ghost girl chirped beside him.
Sam opened his mouth to snap at her, then thought the better of it and tried a smile instead. "Lara, right? Lara, could you do me a favor? For Dean. You like Dean, right? You want to help him? Because I need one of the cubes from down in the basement. Do you think you could get one for me? For Dean? Please?"
Lara eyed him for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust him, then beamed. "Help Dean."
She vanished before Sam could give her any further instructions, and he could only hope she'd understood what he was asking.
He'd have preferred a bit more time to do research before carrying out this ritual - Thomas had been right that necromancy really wasn't something to dabble in - but he couldn't watch Dean go through this any longer. The ritual was simple enough: difficult, sure, but based on simple principles. And after the work he'd done with Ruby over the past year, Sam was fairly confident his will would be strong enough to help force the ritual to work.
And then Dean would be back, properly back.
Sam glanced around. He was going to need a knife, and his notes.
He started to pull away from his brother, but Dean gasped and tightened his hold. "Don't..."
Sam pressed a hand to Dean's cheek. His brother's eyes were aware, but disoriented, and Sam bit his lip. "I'm not going far, Dean, and I'll be right back - I need to fetch something so I can help you."
"You help," Dean murmured, turning his face into Sam's hand. "Don't..."
Lara suddenly rematerialized beside them, and to Sam's relief, she was holding one of the cubes, even if she was hissing at it, her teeth extended.
"Thank you, Lara," Sam said, reaching out hastily to take it from her.
Dean's gaze fastened on it, and he recoiled, trying to shift away. "Sam, no - what - don't -"
"It's okay, Dean," Sam said as soothingly as he could. "I think I know how to bring you back now, but I need the cube to do it, okay? You're going to be fine, just hang on -"
Dean's hand caught painfully tight around his wrist. "Sam, no - you can't use them, you can't become like him -"
Sam swallowed. "I know you hate the idea, and I'm sorry, Dean, but it's worth it. You're worth it."
"No," Dean insisted again. "Not worth it just for a month - not worth you becoming that, Sam, please -"
Sam felt suddenly cold. "What do you mean, 'just for a month'? Dean? It's - no. No. She gave you a year to live, damnit! And you died - the bargain was broken - she gave you a year to live, Dean!"
"Gave me a year," Dean said. He still sounded out of it, clinging to Sam's wrists. "Life never came into it."
Sam came very close to hurling the cube across the room. Instead he set it down carefully on the floor. If Dean was telling the truth - and Sam didn't doubt it, and not just because his brother was far too disoriented to lie at the moment - then necromancy couldn't help him. Nothing could help him, because the crossroads demon had her fingers wrapped round his soul, and even if Sam found a way to cheat death, he'd still have to find a way to cheat her.
He'd already lost his brother once, and in just over a month he was going to lose him again, a loss even more final than death.
Sam lowered his head and tasted salt in his mouth, washing the taste of Dean away.
~*~
Salt. Sam.
Dean licked his lips, soaking up the taste, caught up entirely in the realness of it. It was almost impossible to think around, and he couldn't get enough of it. He reached up and dragged Sam in closer, holding his head steady so he could lap at the liquid. It felt like forever since he'd tasted salt without it burning him. And even longer since he'd tasted Sam so clearly, felt him slipping inside and slowly making Dean real from the inside out. He was dimly aware something wasn't quite as it should be, but it was impossible to figure out what when his world was narrowed down to the taste of Sam against his parched lips.
Sam made a strange sound, one that tugged at something inside Dean, even if he couldn't quite figure out why it hurt him, but then their lips met again, and Dean could do nothing but hold on and let Sam wash over and through him.
He drifted in the sensation for what he suspected was a long time. But time was confusing him, moving in jerks. One moment Sam was bent over him, face pressed close and repeating his name, and the next Sam's hand was pressed against his chest and he was talking to someone Dean couldn't see, or maybe to himself. Nothing really sank in beyond a wave of impressions that swept over him and receded just as quickly.
"...and Bobby hadn't found anything," he was distantly aware of Sam saying at one point. "No way to break -"
Sam's voice was familiar, soothing despite the twisted, painful emotions in it. Dean listened more to the rise and fall of his brother's intonation than to the words that made no sense at the moment anyway.
At another point, Sam stopped touching him, his hands drawing back, and Dean jolted to shocked awareness of the fury in his brother's voice. "...bastard, I can't believe you didn't tell me -"
Dean couldn't help his moan of pain or the way he arched up off the ground, needing. But then Sam's hands were back, in his hair, on his chest, and he subsided, letting the world settle back into place around him, Sam's voice soothing again.
When the world eventually began to make sense again, Dean blinked and found his brother looking at him.
Sam was simply looking, as if he'd been watching for a long time and was quite prepared to sit there silently and watch him for a lot longer yet. Dean met his gaze without flinching. It was made easier by the fact that everything still felt somewhat strange and unreal, if not quite as non-existent as before.
Eventually, Sam said, "You back with me?"
Dean didn't look away. "Never left."
Sam glanced down, and Dean noticed for the first time how red his brother's eyes were. Before he could muster the strength to speak again, though, Sam looked back up, and his face was set.
"You think you can stand now, if I help you?" he asked. "I don't want to lose any more time."
Chapter Eight