Sick Days - Chapter 10
Title: Sick Days
Summary: Dean's obsession with apparently random medical deaths mirrored from his past lands him and Sam in the middle of a deadly epidemic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Born Under a Bad Sign'
Word Count: 3,745 for this part
Author's Note: Takes place in 2007 post 'Born Under a Bad Sign' with flashbacks to 1987. Many thanks to Amberdreams for the wonderful editing assistance. Master post can be found here.
~~~
Continued from Chapter 9
Inside the Krobath Sanitarium - 1987
When only hollow clicks were coming from the pistol Dean let the empty weapon fall from his suddenly limp hands. The ghost lady stood there smiling all the more as if he had given her a warm hug rather than tried to blow her head to pieces.
His aching arms dropped to his side and his eyes turned to the ground in resignation. Once again he was just a little boy and he felt smaller than ever. If he couldn’t make her stop smiling he sure couldn’t kill her. How could he kill something that was already dead anyway? He needed his dad.
“You can’t hurt me, child,” she spoke gently. “But I can help you.”
He didn’t want her to talk to him like that. Like everything was all right. It wasn’t and it never would be again. Slowly he looked back up at her but he shook his head when he did. No one could help him now.
“I will not harm you.”
“I don’t care if you do,” he told her emptily.
If he couldn’t save Dad and was no good for Sammy then he wasn’t any good to anyone. It didn’t matter what she did to him. But he couldn’t stop himself from quietly asking, “What did you do to my dad?”
“Your daddy is only trying to help me, but you could help me more. You could save him. Would you like that?”
Dean nodded mutely in reply. If there was any way to bring his dad back, it didn’t matter what he had to do. He would do it.
“All I need is a promise.”
“Like a pinky swear?” he sniffled. He looked at the still ghost of his otherwise dead father. There really wasn’t anything to think about. “What do you want?”
“I merely want to be free. If you promise me you'll return when I need you and your father will live.”
~~~
Bay Motor Lodge - 2007
The heavy motel curtains were drawn so that the only light in the room was the far table lamp set on the lowest dimmer setting. It felt like a prison. Dean had wanted the television on to ‘ease the hospice vibes’. While Sam would give Dean anything he asked for right now, the light from the television had hurt his brother’s eyes so Sam had talked him into settling on the radio. That had been a while ago.
At this point he was pretty sure that the radio wasn’t any longer registering for Dean, but he left it on anyway. ‘Stairway to Heaven’ playing in the background while he sat next to his mortally ill brother wasn’t exactly comforting. However, anything was better than hearing nothing but Dean’s labored breaths.
Walking over to the window, Sam peered out the slit between the curtains onto the rain slick empty street and parking lot. The occasional speeding emergency vehicle was still the only sign of life he’d seen since he had decided to hold up here.
In addition to blocking out the light, the curtains also served as a token bit of protection. If the authorities decided to try to centralize those who were sick Sam wanted to make this place look as vacant as possible. The chances were good that authorities would be snooping around public spots like the motel. There was no way he was going to let anyone take Dean from him unless they really could help him and at this point he didn’t see that as a possibility.
He had moved the Impala across the street so that it didn’t look like anyone was left staying at the motel. The front desk still knew they were here, but he had paid the room out through the end of the week. He had been prepared to pay the manager enough extra to ensure that the motel had reason not to report them if it came to that, but he hadn’t had to.
His story about him and his brother being caught in town during their cross-country road trip had been enough to ensure they wouldn’t be bothered. The story was true - he’d just left a few details out. The manager seemed like a good man and Sam was sure that he had genuinely looked as desperate as he’d felt when he’d talked to the man. The guy probably would have offered them a place at his house if he hadn’t had to go home to be with his own son.
Now he was just trying to make sense of all of this with Bobby. “Why’s it going after Dean and not me?”
“This thing isn’t just killing, it’s taking sacrifices and it likes the ones with the most kick. First born sons. That’s why I wouldn’t be any good to you there,” Bobby explained.
Sam nodded to himself in understanding as he sat back down. It wasn’t fathers and sons. It was just sons, some of which just happened to be fathers.
“And what about the symbols?”
“You said it looked like Arabic? You sure about that?”
Sam used his free hand to click through the online references he had found again. He wasn’t sure enough about anything to bet his brother’s life on it, but he was pretty sure.
“It’s the closet I got. Does it mean anything to you?”
“It sure would add up. I’m thinking Hausa.”
It sounded like a liquor. He could sure use some if he didn’t so badly need to keep focused right now. “Sorry Bobby, what’s that?”
“Hausa,” Bobby repeated. “A Nigerian language. It used Arabic characters up until the 1950s.”
“Can you read it?”
“What do I sound like - a world dictionary? You need to get your ass to a library, kid.”
“If it's Nigerian, what’s it doing in Oregon?”
“Well that’s the question, ain’t it?”
There’s no way that Bobby had pulled some obscure language that he didn’t know out of nowhere. He had to have some idea what was going on and Sam didn’t like that Bobby wasn’t just coming out and saying it.
“Do you know what this is, Bobby?” Sam asked outright.
On the other end of the line he heard Bobby sigh. “Got a damn good idea, but it’s nothing good. Your brother’s non-ghost ghosts he’s been seeing around, well, I think they’re fetches.”
“Fetches...” Sam ran the word through his memory for a moment. “Like a spirit double?”
“Bingo. Lot of cultures got some version of them. In British folklore they’re apparitions of living people. I think that’s what we got here.”
“An apparition that would be seen right before someone dies...” Sam reluctantly filled in. “Okay...so I get why Dean is seeing himself, but why’s he seeing other ones?”
“Dean’s skirting the veil, Sam. Someone in that state isn’t likely to have much trouble seeing these things if they’re around. A fetch ain’t a personal hallucination. Anyone could see them. It just takes being in the right place or frame of mind.”
It would explain Dean’s claims that Sam and him had seen one of these things when it hadn’t been affecting them directly even though Sam still wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t have remembered something like that. The fetch theory could also cover the EMF disturbances and Dean’s battery draining.
“I'm with you there, but something has to be creating these fetches, right?”
“That’s the thing...not necessarily. Usually they’re just omens, but the nearest I can figure is that here they’ve been drawn out so that these people so that their spirits can be fed on.”
“What could do that?”
“Probably a lot of things small scale, but the Hausa, hell, lot of cultures, have stories about soul eaters. Usually they’re talked of more like gods or spirits, but traditional Hausa folklore has soul eaters as being humans. Like real nasty witches.”
“But from what I’ve got from Dean and how long this has been going on, this can’t be a human.”
“That was my thought until you came up with the Hausa script. They say the affect of a Hausa soul eater feeding on a person is a wasting disease.”
“Like supernatural tuberculosis.”
“If the symptoms fit.... Human or not, a Hausa soul eater is our best bet at this point. This one might just not be human anymore.”
“Dean said it only took twelve people a year.”
“Sam, there’s something you need to about your brother here...”
Sam’s eyes shot up from the computer screen as Dean suddenly began thrashing around on the bed. “Bobby, I gotta go. I’ll call you back.”
He hung up without waiting for Bobby’s reply and tossed the phone down on the table before rushing to Dean’s side.
~~~
Inside the Krobath Sanitarium - 1987
“Okay. I’ll help you,” Dean replied without much hesitation.
Things couldn’t actually get worse than they were now. It wasn’t until he really looked at the ghost lady that he realize this whole time she hadn’t moved outside of the glowing circle she was standing in. He looked between her and the glowing pictures that must be trapping her.
“How do I get you out of there?”
“All you have to do is join me.” Despite her horrid appearance, her motherly tone and promise of bringing back his father had Dean rapt. “Come into the circle and give yourself to me.”
He hesitated not because he was afraid about what she meant but because he thought he saw a movement behind her. His eyes went anxiously to his dad’s ghost. It hadn’t been his imagination. Suddenly Dad’s eyes were on him as if his father had been released from a trance. Instead of looking blankly through him his dad was now staring sternly down at him. Quickly Dean reached up to wipe the streaks of tears from his cheeks.
“You stay away from her, son.”
Dean’s breath hitched in his throat at the sound of his father’s voice. It was what he’d wanted to hear more than anything. Relief flooded through him, but for once he couldn’t listen to his father’s order.
“No. Dad, you’ll die.”
“If you do this, a lot more than me are going to die.”
“But you won’t,” he replied earnestly.
“Dean, you listen to me. You get away from that thing!”
Dean anxiously looked between the ghost lady and the angry ghost of his father. He really didn’t want to kill anyone. Everything Dad did was to save people. Dad was a hero and Dean wanted to be strong like him.
He looked up questioningly to the ghost lady. “Will people really die?”
“Not for a very long time, child, but if you don’t do this your Dad will die now.”
It wasn’t what Dad wanted and maybe it wasn’t right, but right now he didn’t care. He couldn’t live without Dad and Sammy and he sure couldn’t let his Dad die. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Dean, no!”
~~~
Dean had been completely out for a while but was now scooting around on the bed like he was trying to get away from something. He had thrown off most of his blankets and was lying on his stomach with his head pressed into his pillow. His hands clutched the pillow with a white knuckled grip. Sam couldn’t quite make out the curses that Dean was huffing.
“Dean, what’s go on?”
Dean suddenly pounded his fist on the mattress. His body was too weak to put any real power behind it but the pure frustration came through loud and clear. He wanted to ask Dean what he could do, but he knew his brother was tired of hearing him ask.
Turning away from Sam, Dean curled onto his side. Sam frowned as he saw the blood that Dean had left smeared into the starkly white fabric of the pillow. He turned around to grab a towel to clean up Dean’s face but froze as his eyes returned to his brother.
Dean’s shifting had kicked his sheets low enough to expose nearly all of his tightly tensed back. Sam’s brow creased when he saw something on Dean’s skin.
“Close your eyes,” he told Dean as he flipped on the lamp next to the bed.
Dean tried to pull away but said nothing as Sam ran his hand over the now raised skin of Dean’s lower back. Dean tried to look over his shoulder at Sam, but winced and let his head fall back to the bed.
“How long have you had this rash?”
He was only thinking aloud and not expecting Dean to know the answer. Dean wasn’t exactly a conversationalist at the moment and he could have had it for weeks without knowing it was there, but Sam knew for a fact that the marks hadn’t been there last night. He’d checked that exact area thoroughly at the sanitarium when Dean had thought he’d cut himself.
Sam tilted his head to get a better angle. “Hold on.”
Reaching over, Sam grabbed the complementary motel notepad and pen off the bed stand. It wasn’t just some rash. There was something there - a pattern. He did his best to draw a rendering of it and instantly recognized what it was. It was the same sort of characters he was trying to translate from the circle. Sam clicked the lamp back off and returned his attention to Dean.
His brother was lying still on the bed now. He carefully lifted up Dean’s head as he switched out his pillow. Sam had lost track of how many pillows and sheets Dean had gone through tonight. He’d already had to break into housekeeping’s closet.
Sam started to turn Dean back towards him so that he could clean him but, but Dean stopped Sam from moving him further as he started to look nauseous again.
“Are you dizzy?”
The tense expression on Dean’s face as he clenched his eyes closed was answer enough. Sam waited to move him further until Dean eased his grip on his forearm.
With Dean on his back again, Sam propped him up just a bit. With a new damp towel, he wiped off the blood that had smeared over Dean’s face. Though Dean was obviously still not happy about it, he had at least stopped complaining aloud.
Before returning to what he had just drawn he really looked at Dean for the first time in a while. Something wasn't right. He ran his hand along his brother’s forehead, which had been sweaty for a lot of the night. Now it felt strangely dry but still far too warm.
“Aren’t you still hot?”
“Freakin’ on fire,” Dean croaked.
“You need to try to drink something again.”
“Not drinking anymore.”
Dean was getting more and more insistent on not even trying to drink. He got that Dean was tired of throwing up but he just kept loosing every possible kind of fluid. He had to be getting more dehydrated by the minute.
“Seriously, Dean.”
“No,” his stubborn brother replied again.
If he wasn’t so sick, Sam would have slugged him when he saw Dean unconsciously run his tongue over his parched lips. Ignoring Sam, his brother sloppily tried to clear the mucus out of his eyes enough to focus.
Shaking his head, Sam surrendered to Dean for the moment. “Same as the circle,” he told his brother as he showed him the sketch.
“On my back?”
Sam nodded and saw the relief flood into Dean’s eyes. That was exactly why Sam was even bothering showing it to Dean. He knew that Dean wasn’t together enough to identify any arcane symbols even if he did know them, but he wanted to prove to Dean that this wasn’t just his body giving out, that there was something demonic to this.
Only his brother would be relieved by knowing that. The funny thing was that Sam was relieved too. This really was something they could fight. But the relief was short-lived as something else flashed in Dean’s eyes as he stared at the symbol.
“I did this.”
“The symbols?”
“No...I started this.”
“No you didn’t. Dean, we’re not starting this...”
Sam went silent as he heard a car engine close enough that it had to be pulling into the lot. He looked towards Dean who was already starting to check out again. Dean obviously hadn’t heard anything as his head began slumping to the side.
Sam moved quietly towards the window. Glancing out, he caught a glimpse of a cop car pulling into the parking lot. That was just what they needed. Not only was Dean infected, but he was also wanted by the FBI. It was one of the other main reasons Sam was trying to keep Dean in his personal custody.
His mind was racing, but they were just going to have to hope that the officers had better things to do than go room to room. He started to move away from the window when he saw the two ‘officers’ that stepped out of the car. It was a brunette and a blond that he instantly recognized as Ellen and Jo. After a quick glance towards his brother, he grabbed his jacket and slipped out the door into the misty morning.
“There’s Sam,” he heard Jo tell Ellen.
Ellen quickly closed the distance between them. As she reached him she set down a grocery bag she was carrying. She put her hands on his shoulders and closely looked him over. Her eyes were full of sympathy and before he realized it, she had pulled him into her arms. With nearly no hesitation he clutched her back He hadn’t realized how badly he just needed someone else to be here.
“I’m so sorry about all this,” she told him as she slowly released him. “How’s Dean?”
“It’s not good, Ellen.”
She nodded before continuing. “What about you? Are you sure you’re up to heading out?”
“I’m ready to end this.”
He was beyond completely drained, but it wasn’t just from not sleeping. Watching his brother suffer and not being able to do anything about it was killing him. If he could get out of here and do anything of use it would be an incredible relief. He actually felt guilty about how badly he wanted to get away from the room. The last thing he wanted was to leave Dean, but taking care of Dean like this wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d have to do.
“I though you’d say that. That’s why Jo’s here to help,” she added with a pointed stare. Jo just gave a smug smile in return. There was obviously a long story behind this.
Whatever the story, he didn’t like that Jo was here. Things couldn’t have gone much worse when they’d worked with her. It wasn’t anything against Jo. She was a smart girl. Really smart, but she also had a tendency to get in over her head - just like Dean - and he really didn’t need anyone else to worry about right now. Then there was the last time that him and her had met, which couldn’t have been more awkward.
“You talk to Bobby?” Ellen asked.
“Started to. He thinks...”
“Joanna Beth, just where do you think you’re going?” Ellen asked. Sam hadn’t even noticed Jo slipping towards the motel room door.
“I’m going to go see Dean.”
“No you’re not. You stay put.”
“Why? I want to see him.”
“He doesn’t want you to see him,” Ellen replied with a certainty that surprised Sam. He and Ellen hadn’t talked at all about Jo seeing Dean or who Dean wanted to see him.
“Why wouldn’t Dean want to see me?”
“’Cause men’s egos are as brittle as eggshells.”
Sam raised his brows at that but he didn’t disagree, about himself maybe, but not about Dean. Dean was all about putting on the show he wanted the world to see and right now he couldn’t do that. He was weak and looked like hell. Ellen was right on this one - Dean wouldn’t want anyone seeing him like this, least of all Jo.
“It’s not fair of you to ask him to put on a strong face when he needs all the energy he’s got.” She held her hand out to stop the protest on the tip of her daughter’s tongue. “I know you’re not asking him to, but he will. If you want to help Dean, you’ll just keep your head focused on what you and Sam gotta do.”
Jo looked like she had plenty more that she wanted to say, but she seemed to get that she was pushing her luck already. “Fine. I need to check the supplies anyway,” Jo replied as she headed back towards the car.
“Nice car,” Sam commented with a nod towards the police vehicle.
Ellen just smiled. “Told you there’d be no keeping me out.”
The wicked twinkle in her eye was almost enough to make him smile for the first time in longer than he could remember, but the sound of Dean coughing inside the motel room pulled him back.
He hurried back into the room and to Dean's side. It wasn’t until he reached for a towel that he realized Ellen was right behind him. “I got this, Sam,” she said as she took the towel from him. “Nothing you do here is going to save Dean. You gotta get going.”
“I know.”
But he was still having a hard time forcing himself to turn away from his brother. For all he knew this was the last time he’d see him alive. Not that this was living. He knew Dean would want him to fix this or end it and he was going to fix it.
He almost turned to go, but stopped. “He won’t drink,” he warned Ellen.
“He won’t will he?” She looked back at Sam and raised a brow at that. “You better go, Sam. Your brother and I are gonna have a little talk about what he is and isn’t doing.”
Again Sam almost found the corner of his lips turning up just a bit. He got why Dean liked Ellen and he wondered if Mom really had been anything like her.
“Thanks, Ellen.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You just watch yourself,” she told him as he headed for the door. “And don’t you dare leave me with this boy. I don’t have the patience to put up with his mouth once he’s up and talking again.”
Continue to Chapter 11
Summary: Dean's obsession with apparently random medical deaths mirrored from his past lands him and Sam in the middle of a deadly epidemic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Born Under a Bad Sign'
Word Count: 3,745 for this part
Author's Note: Takes place in 2007 post 'Born Under a Bad Sign' with flashbacks to 1987. Many thanks to Amberdreams for the wonderful editing assistance. Master post can be found here.
~~~
Continued from Chapter 9
Inside the Krobath Sanitarium - 1987
When only hollow clicks were coming from the pistol Dean let the empty weapon fall from his suddenly limp hands. The ghost lady stood there smiling all the more as if he had given her a warm hug rather than tried to blow her head to pieces.
His aching arms dropped to his side and his eyes turned to the ground in resignation. Once again he was just a little boy and he felt smaller than ever. If he couldn’t make her stop smiling he sure couldn’t kill her. How could he kill something that was already dead anyway? He needed his dad.
“You can’t hurt me, child,” she spoke gently. “But I can help you.”
He didn’t want her to talk to him like that. Like everything was all right. It wasn’t and it never would be again. Slowly he looked back up at her but he shook his head when he did. No one could help him now.
“I will not harm you.”
“I don’t care if you do,” he told her emptily.
If he couldn’t save Dad and was no good for Sammy then he wasn’t any good to anyone. It didn’t matter what she did to him. But he couldn’t stop himself from quietly asking, “What did you do to my dad?”
“Your daddy is only trying to help me, but you could help me more. You could save him. Would you like that?”
Dean nodded mutely in reply. If there was any way to bring his dad back, it didn’t matter what he had to do. He would do it.
“All I need is a promise.”
“Like a pinky swear?” he sniffled. He looked at the still ghost of his otherwise dead father. There really wasn’t anything to think about. “What do you want?”
“I merely want to be free. If you promise me you'll return when I need you and your father will live.”
~~~
Bay Motor Lodge - 2007
The heavy motel curtains were drawn so that the only light in the room was the far table lamp set on the lowest dimmer setting. It felt like a prison. Dean had wanted the television on to ‘ease the hospice vibes’. While Sam would give Dean anything he asked for right now, the light from the television had hurt his brother’s eyes so Sam had talked him into settling on the radio. That had been a while ago.
At this point he was pretty sure that the radio wasn’t any longer registering for Dean, but he left it on anyway. ‘Stairway to Heaven’ playing in the background while he sat next to his mortally ill brother wasn’t exactly comforting. However, anything was better than hearing nothing but Dean’s labored breaths.
Walking over to the window, Sam peered out the slit between the curtains onto the rain slick empty street and parking lot. The occasional speeding emergency vehicle was still the only sign of life he’d seen since he had decided to hold up here.
In addition to blocking out the light, the curtains also served as a token bit of protection. If the authorities decided to try to centralize those who were sick Sam wanted to make this place look as vacant as possible. The chances were good that authorities would be snooping around public spots like the motel. There was no way he was going to let anyone take Dean from him unless they really could help him and at this point he didn’t see that as a possibility.
He had moved the Impala across the street so that it didn’t look like anyone was left staying at the motel. The front desk still knew they were here, but he had paid the room out through the end of the week. He had been prepared to pay the manager enough extra to ensure that the motel had reason not to report them if it came to that, but he hadn’t had to.
His story about him and his brother being caught in town during their cross-country road trip had been enough to ensure they wouldn’t be bothered. The story was true - he’d just left a few details out. The manager seemed like a good man and Sam was sure that he had genuinely looked as desperate as he’d felt when he’d talked to the man. The guy probably would have offered them a place at his house if he hadn’t had to go home to be with his own son.
Now he was just trying to make sense of all of this with Bobby. “Why’s it going after Dean and not me?”
“This thing isn’t just killing, it’s taking sacrifices and it likes the ones with the most kick. First born sons. That’s why I wouldn’t be any good to you there,” Bobby explained.
Sam nodded to himself in understanding as he sat back down. It wasn’t fathers and sons. It was just sons, some of which just happened to be fathers.
“And what about the symbols?”
“You said it looked like Arabic? You sure about that?”
Sam used his free hand to click through the online references he had found again. He wasn’t sure enough about anything to bet his brother’s life on it, but he was pretty sure.
“It’s the closet I got. Does it mean anything to you?”
“It sure would add up. I’m thinking Hausa.”
It sounded like a liquor. He could sure use some if he didn’t so badly need to keep focused right now. “Sorry Bobby, what’s that?”
“Hausa,” Bobby repeated. “A Nigerian language. It used Arabic characters up until the 1950s.”
“Can you read it?”
“What do I sound like - a world dictionary? You need to get your ass to a library, kid.”
“If it's Nigerian, what’s it doing in Oregon?”
“Well that’s the question, ain’t it?”
There’s no way that Bobby had pulled some obscure language that he didn’t know out of nowhere. He had to have some idea what was going on and Sam didn’t like that Bobby wasn’t just coming out and saying it.
“Do you know what this is, Bobby?” Sam asked outright.
On the other end of the line he heard Bobby sigh. “Got a damn good idea, but it’s nothing good. Your brother’s non-ghost ghosts he’s been seeing around, well, I think they’re fetches.”
“Fetches...” Sam ran the word through his memory for a moment. “Like a spirit double?”
“Bingo. Lot of cultures got some version of them. In British folklore they’re apparitions of living people. I think that’s what we got here.”
“An apparition that would be seen right before someone dies...” Sam reluctantly filled in. “Okay...so I get why Dean is seeing himself, but why’s he seeing other ones?”
“Dean’s skirting the veil, Sam. Someone in that state isn’t likely to have much trouble seeing these things if they’re around. A fetch ain’t a personal hallucination. Anyone could see them. It just takes being in the right place or frame of mind.”
It would explain Dean’s claims that Sam and him had seen one of these things when it hadn’t been affecting them directly even though Sam still wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t have remembered something like that. The fetch theory could also cover the EMF disturbances and Dean’s battery draining.
“I'm with you there, but something has to be creating these fetches, right?”
“That’s the thing...not necessarily. Usually they’re just omens, but the nearest I can figure is that here they’ve been drawn out so that these people so that their spirits can be fed on.”
“What could do that?”
“Probably a lot of things small scale, but the Hausa, hell, lot of cultures, have stories about soul eaters. Usually they’re talked of more like gods or spirits, but traditional Hausa folklore has soul eaters as being humans. Like real nasty witches.”
“But from what I’ve got from Dean and how long this has been going on, this can’t be a human.”
“That was my thought until you came up with the Hausa script. They say the affect of a Hausa soul eater feeding on a person is a wasting disease.”
“Like supernatural tuberculosis.”
“If the symptoms fit.... Human or not, a Hausa soul eater is our best bet at this point. This one might just not be human anymore.”
“Dean said it only took twelve people a year.”
“Sam, there’s something you need to about your brother here...”
Sam’s eyes shot up from the computer screen as Dean suddenly began thrashing around on the bed. “Bobby, I gotta go. I’ll call you back.”
He hung up without waiting for Bobby’s reply and tossed the phone down on the table before rushing to Dean’s side.
~~~
Inside the Krobath Sanitarium - 1987
“Okay. I’ll help you,” Dean replied without much hesitation.
Things couldn’t actually get worse than they were now. It wasn’t until he really looked at the ghost lady that he realize this whole time she hadn’t moved outside of the glowing circle she was standing in. He looked between her and the glowing pictures that must be trapping her.
“How do I get you out of there?”
“All you have to do is join me.” Despite her horrid appearance, her motherly tone and promise of bringing back his father had Dean rapt. “Come into the circle and give yourself to me.”
He hesitated not because he was afraid about what she meant but because he thought he saw a movement behind her. His eyes went anxiously to his dad’s ghost. It hadn’t been his imagination. Suddenly Dad’s eyes were on him as if his father had been released from a trance. Instead of looking blankly through him his dad was now staring sternly down at him. Quickly Dean reached up to wipe the streaks of tears from his cheeks.
“You stay away from her, son.”
Dean’s breath hitched in his throat at the sound of his father’s voice. It was what he’d wanted to hear more than anything. Relief flooded through him, but for once he couldn’t listen to his father’s order.
“No. Dad, you’ll die.”
“If you do this, a lot more than me are going to die.”
“But you won’t,” he replied earnestly.
“Dean, you listen to me. You get away from that thing!”
Dean anxiously looked between the ghost lady and the angry ghost of his father. He really didn’t want to kill anyone. Everything Dad did was to save people. Dad was a hero and Dean wanted to be strong like him.
He looked up questioningly to the ghost lady. “Will people really die?”
“Not for a very long time, child, but if you don’t do this your Dad will die now.”
It wasn’t what Dad wanted and maybe it wasn’t right, but right now he didn’t care. He couldn’t live without Dad and Sammy and he sure couldn’t let his Dad die. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Dean, no!”
~~~
Dean had been completely out for a while but was now scooting around on the bed like he was trying to get away from something. He had thrown off most of his blankets and was lying on his stomach with his head pressed into his pillow. His hands clutched the pillow with a white knuckled grip. Sam couldn’t quite make out the curses that Dean was huffing.
“Dean, what’s go on?”
Dean suddenly pounded his fist on the mattress. His body was too weak to put any real power behind it but the pure frustration came through loud and clear. He wanted to ask Dean what he could do, but he knew his brother was tired of hearing him ask.
Turning away from Sam, Dean curled onto his side. Sam frowned as he saw the blood that Dean had left smeared into the starkly white fabric of the pillow. He turned around to grab a towel to clean up Dean’s face but froze as his eyes returned to his brother.
Dean’s shifting had kicked his sheets low enough to expose nearly all of his tightly tensed back. Sam’s brow creased when he saw something on Dean’s skin.
“Close your eyes,” he told Dean as he flipped on the lamp next to the bed.
Dean tried to pull away but said nothing as Sam ran his hand over the now raised skin of Dean’s lower back. Dean tried to look over his shoulder at Sam, but winced and let his head fall back to the bed.
“How long have you had this rash?”
He was only thinking aloud and not expecting Dean to know the answer. Dean wasn’t exactly a conversationalist at the moment and he could have had it for weeks without knowing it was there, but Sam knew for a fact that the marks hadn’t been there last night. He’d checked that exact area thoroughly at the sanitarium when Dean had thought he’d cut himself.
Sam tilted his head to get a better angle. “Hold on.”
Reaching over, Sam grabbed the complementary motel notepad and pen off the bed stand. It wasn’t just some rash. There was something there - a pattern. He did his best to draw a rendering of it and instantly recognized what it was. It was the same sort of characters he was trying to translate from the circle. Sam clicked the lamp back off and returned his attention to Dean.
His brother was lying still on the bed now. He carefully lifted up Dean’s head as he switched out his pillow. Sam had lost track of how many pillows and sheets Dean had gone through tonight. He’d already had to break into housekeeping’s closet.
Sam started to turn Dean back towards him so that he could clean him but, but Dean stopped Sam from moving him further as he started to look nauseous again.
“Are you dizzy?”
The tense expression on Dean’s face as he clenched his eyes closed was answer enough. Sam waited to move him further until Dean eased his grip on his forearm.
With Dean on his back again, Sam propped him up just a bit. With a new damp towel, he wiped off the blood that had smeared over Dean’s face. Though Dean was obviously still not happy about it, he had at least stopped complaining aloud.
Before returning to what he had just drawn he really looked at Dean for the first time in a while. Something wasn't right. He ran his hand along his brother’s forehead, which had been sweaty for a lot of the night. Now it felt strangely dry but still far too warm.
“Aren’t you still hot?”
“Freakin’ on fire,” Dean croaked.
“You need to try to drink something again.”
“Not drinking anymore.”
Dean was getting more and more insistent on not even trying to drink. He got that Dean was tired of throwing up but he just kept loosing every possible kind of fluid. He had to be getting more dehydrated by the minute.
“Seriously, Dean.”
“No,” his stubborn brother replied again.
If he wasn’t so sick, Sam would have slugged him when he saw Dean unconsciously run his tongue over his parched lips. Ignoring Sam, his brother sloppily tried to clear the mucus out of his eyes enough to focus.
Shaking his head, Sam surrendered to Dean for the moment. “Same as the circle,” he told his brother as he showed him the sketch.
“On my back?”
Sam nodded and saw the relief flood into Dean’s eyes. That was exactly why Sam was even bothering showing it to Dean. He knew that Dean wasn’t together enough to identify any arcane symbols even if he did know them, but he wanted to prove to Dean that this wasn’t just his body giving out, that there was something demonic to this.
Only his brother would be relieved by knowing that. The funny thing was that Sam was relieved too. This really was something they could fight. But the relief was short-lived as something else flashed in Dean’s eyes as he stared at the symbol.
“I did this.”
“The symbols?”
“No...I started this.”
“No you didn’t. Dean, we’re not starting this...”
Sam went silent as he heard a car engine close enough that it had to be pulling into the lot. He looked towards Dean who was already starting to check out again. Dean obviously hadn’t heard anything as his head began slumping to the side.
Sam moved quietly towards the window. Glancing out, he caught a glimpse of a cop car pulling into the parking lot. That was just what they needed. Not only was Dean infected, but he was also wanted by the FBI. It was one of the other main reasons Sam was trying to keep Dean in his personal custody.
His mind was racing, but they were just going to have to hope that the officers had better things to do than go room to room. He started to move away from the window when he saw the two ‘officers’ that stepped out of the car. It was a brunette and a blond that he instantly recognized as Ellen and Jo. After a quick glance towards his brother, he grabbed his jacket and slipped out the door into the misty morning.
“There’s Sam,” he heard Jo tell Ellen.
Ellen quickly closed the distance between them. As she reached him she set down a grocery bag she was carrying. She put her hands on his shoulders and closely looked him over. Her eyes were full of sympathy and before he realized it, she had pulled him into her arms. With nearly no hesitation he clutched her back He hadn’t realized how badly he just needed someone else to be here.
“I’m so sorry about all this,” she told him as she slowly released him. “How’s Dean?”
“It’s not good, Ellen.”
She nodded before continuing. “What about you? Are you sure you’re up to heading out?”
“I’m ready to end this.”
He was beyond completely drained, but it wasn’t just from not sleeping. Watching his brother suffer and not being able to do anything about it was killing him. If he could get out of here and do anything of use it would be an incredible relief. He actually felt guilty about how badly he wanted to get away from the room. The last thing he wanted was to leave Dean, but taking care of Dean like this wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d have to do.
“I though you’d say that. That’s why Jo’s here to help,” she added with a pointed stare. Jo just gave a smug smile in return. There was obviously a long story behind this.
Whatever the story, he didn’t like that Jo was here. Things couldn’t have gone much worse when they’d worked with her. It wasn’t anything against Jo. She was a smart girl. Really smart, but she also had a tendency to get in over her head - just like Dean - and he really didn’t need anyone else to worry about right now. Then there was the last time that him and her had met, which couldn’t have been more awkward.
“You talk to Bobby?” Ellen asked.
“Started to. He thinks...”
“Joanna Beth, just where do you think you’re going?” Ellen asked. Sam hadn’t even noticed Jo slipping towards the motel room door.
“I’m going to go see Dean.”
“No you’re not. You stay put.”
“Why? I want to see him.”
“He doesn’t want you to see him,” Ellen replied with a certainty that surprised Sam. He and Ellen hadn’t talked at all about Jo seeing Dean or who Dean wanted to see him.
“Why wouldn’t Dean want to see me?”
“’Cause men’s egos are as brittle as eggshells.”
Sam raised his brows at that but he didn’t disagree, about himself maybe, but not about Dean. Dean was all about putting on the show he wanted the world to see and right now he couldn’t do that. He was weak and looked like hell. Ellen was right on this one - Dean wouldn’t want anyone seeing him like this, least of all Jo.
“It’s not fair of you to ask him to put on a strong face when he needs all the energy he’s got.” She held her hand out to stop the protest on the tip of her daughter’s tongue. “I know you’re not asking him to, but he will. If you want to help Dean, you’ll just keep your head focused on what you and Sam gotta do.”
Jo looked like she had plenty more that she wanted to say, but she seemed to get that she was pushing her luck already. “Fine. I need to check the supplies anyway,” Jo replied as she headed back towards the car.
“Nice car,” Sam commented with a nod towards the police vehicle.
Ellen just smiled. “Told you there’d be no keeping me out.”
The wicked twinkle in her eye was almost enough to make him smile for the first time in longer than he could remember, but the sound of Dean coughing inside the motel room pulled him back.
He hurried back into the room and to Dean's side. It wasn’t until he reached for a towel that he realized Ellen was right behind him. “I got this, Sam,” she said as she took the towel from him. “Nothing you do here is going to save Dean. You gotta get going.”
“I know.”
But he was still having a hard time forcing himself to turn away from his brother. For all he knew this was the last time he’d see him alive. Not that this was living. He knew Dean would want him to fix this or end it and he was going to fix it.
He almost turned to go, but stopped. “He won’t drink,” he warned Ellen.
“He won’t will he?” She looked back at Sam and raised a brow at that. “You better go, Sam. Your brother and I are gonna have a little talk about what he is and isn’t doing.”
Again Sam almost found the corner of his lips turning up just a bit. He got why Dean liked Ellen and he wondered if Mom really had been anything like her.
“Thanks, Ellen.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You just watch yourself,” she told him as he headed for the door. “And don’t you dare leave me with this boy. I don’t have the patience to put up with his mouth once he’s up and talking again.”
Continue to Chapter 11