What's up Doc? Chapter 5
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CHAPTER 5
Dean spun the Impala to a stop outside the gates of Fort Atkinson in a cloud of dust. The sun was creeping higher in the sky, just edging past eight in the morning. He went quickly to the trunk, pulling out his shotgun and tossing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He stared at the face of the Fort for a moment, readying himself. "Let's dance." He said softly, fiercely and pumped a salt round into the shotguns chamber as he strode into the Fort in search of his brother.
The heat was already building as the sun slowly rose. Dean had left his jacket in the car, wearing only a Tee-shirt that was already clinging to him in a sheen of sweat. He ignored the smaller buildings and headed for the one he knew housed the Commander's office and surgery at the back of the Fort. He felt drawn to it, his 'Sammy radar' leading him forward.
His senses were alert to every sound, every change in temperature, in air pressure. Dean was not going to let the spook get the drop on him again. He seemed to be in luck; the time of day keeping the mad Doctor's ghost from sensing his intrusion or, and his hands shook with the thought, it was distracted with his little brother.
Dean picked up his pace, jogging the last few yards to the two story building. The aging wooden steps creaked beneath his boots and he froze, waiting to see if he'd given himself away. When nothing happened, he stepped over the last few to the stone doorway and inside. The atmosphere was stuffy and cloying, the morning sunlight coming through the boarded up windows already helping to raise the temperature. Like the Jail, the interior of the building was empty of furniture and most anything else. He tread softly over the flagstone floor toward the door he thought would lead to the surgery.
"DEAN!" Sam's voice screaming his name from somewhere below threw Dean's heart into his throat. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to call out to the despair and pain he heard in his brothers' voice. He dug deep for strength and started methodically searching for a way below.
Several more agonized cries pushed him on faster. Finding nothing he sped back outside and skirted the exterior of the building.
"Screw you!" Sam's voice came again, breathless and more clearly. Dean looked down and saw a small window. He dropped to his knees and peered cautiously in. What he saw froze his heart. Sam was chained to a wall, his chest a red ruin and what he swore was the missing Russel Toomey punched a knife of some sort into Sam's left shoulder as he watched and left it there, quivering sickly.
Dean ground his teeth at Sam's cry and then grinned proudly when his little brother; bleeding, exhausted, in agony told the son of a bitch to kiss his Winchester ass. "That's my boy, Sammy." Dean barely breathed. He shot to his feet and ran, rounding the back of the building. He found the cemetery spread back to the sod wall, dozens and dozens of plain stone markers. To his left was an old cellar door and the rage to protect rose up into his eyes as he tugged the door open.
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Doctor Lemke lurched Russel's decaying body to his table and came back with another scalpel. Rage twisted the face into something horrible as he advanced on Sam.
"If you insist on saying such things, I'll have to make sure you can't." Sam jerked his head away, ignoring his greying vision, when the Doctor reached for his jaw. "Let's have that tongue out." He said on a sick laugh.
"Hey! Doctor Mengele! Get the hell away from my brother!"
"Dean!" Sam shouted and saw, as the spirit turned, his brother standing at the base of stairs he hadn't seen.
"Hey, Sammy." Dean grinned but his eyes were all for Russel's body, rage swimming in his green eyes.
"It's possessed Russel's body!" Sam called and Dean nodded, raising the shotgun.
The Doctor screamed with anger and Dean was tossed aside before he could fire. He crashed into the trophy wall, sliding dazed to the floor in a shower of flaps of dried skin.
"Dean!" Sam yelled. The Doctor was stalking toward his brother, the scalpel in his hand. "No!" Sam found desperation gave him new strength. Russel's back blocked his view of Dean. He gave a massive tug on his right wrist, chest burning and shoulder screaming where the scalpel still stood like an exclamation. Sam's blood slicked hand finally slipped free of the manacle and he did the only thing he could think of.
Sam took hold of the scalpel in his shoulder and ripped it out. Fresh blood poured down his chest, his vision threatening to tunnel in on him. He bore down with an almost feral growl, refusing to pass out and used the knife as Dean had taught him when they were children. He flung the blade through the air and watched as it buried itself in the back of Russel's neck. The spirit screamed, turning back to Sam and gave him what he wanted; a distraction to save his brother.
Dean shook his head, his vision clearing and gave a heartfelt 'ewwww' at the strips of skin covering him. He brushed them off frantically and looked up to see Russel going for Sam once again. "Oh hell no!" Dean ground out. He rescued his shotgun from the floor beside him, aimed and loaded rock salt into the Doctor's borrowed back.
It screamed again, louder as the purifying properties of the salt drove it from its borrowed home. Dean watched as the essence of the spirit poured out of the body, dissipating and leaving the remains of Russel Toomey to collapse in a heap.
"Dean." Sam's voice was hoarse with pain. Dean pulled himself to his feet, knowing their reprieve was only temporary. He went quickly to Sam and caught him as he sagged forward.
"Hey, Sammy. God what'd he do to you?"
Sam moaned and dropped his head to Dean's shoulder. "Get…me out of here."
"I've gotcha, Sammy." Dean let him lean against him and reached up to free his other hand. Warm blood began to soak through his shirt. He tried not to think about how much Sam had lost, how much more he could afford to lose.
"It's Sam…jerk." Sam wheezed through the pain and smirked against Dean's shoulder.
Dean chuckled and ignored him, grateful he was still lucid enough to joke. "Here we go, Sammy." He lowered his little brother to the floor as gently as he could, grimacing in sympathy as Sam paled and gasped. Dean freed his feet and helped stretch his legs out. "We don't have a lot of time here til Dr. Evil comes back online." Dean warned and saw Sam's weak nod. He understood. Still, Dean ran to the door and grabbed up his bag, bringing it back.
"Need to…find his…grave." Sam tried to push himself up only to be held down.
"Stay there for a minute. We'll find it but you need patching up first." Dean scowled at the open wound on Sam's chest, the six inch long swath of exposed muscle where he'd been skinned and his eyes widened as Sam gasped in a deep breath and one of his ribs showed for a moment white through the blood. "Shit."
Sam sat painfully still, trying to move as little as possible, breathing shallow to lessen the pain. Absolute relief at seeing Dean threatened to undo him, send him under.
"Stay with me, little brother." Dean tipped Sam's head back and nodded when pain glazed, hazel eyes met his, watching as he bent to tape gauze over his exposed rib. Dean worked quickly, trying to cause as little pain as possible but when he tried to cover the skinned area on his chest, Sam hissed in a breath, shooting out a hand to grip his shoulder painfully.
"Don't! Please!" Sam panted for air, eyes squeezed shut against the stabs of agony pushing through him.
"Okay, Sam. Ok." Dean seethed with the need to make the ghost pay but he kept his hands gentle. He moved instead to the stab wound, then the gash in his bicep. He replaced the hasty tourniquet with a pressure bandage then dug Sam's jeans and boots from the bag. Sam gave him a grateful, if embarrassed look as Dean dressed him. He didn't have a shirt but in this heat, Sam didn't need one.
A sudden clamor of noise from above froze them both. "Time's up." Dean said. "Hang on to me." He got his arms under Sam's shoulders and stood him up.
Sam's vision tunneled quickly in pain. Only Dean's voice in his ear encouraging him, kept him upright and moving; That and the desperate need to be out of that cellar. A gallon or so of water wouldn't hurt either he thought, he was so parched.
Dean was more or less supporting all Sam's weight with the arm behind his chest, under his shoulders. It was maddening for him that there was no way for him to help his brother without hurting him. More disturbing was the dry, papery feel of Sam's skin and the heat he felt coming off him. He was obviously dehydrated and somewhere in the middle of heat exhaustion because of it. He kicked himself for not thinking of water as he eased Sam up the last few steps and outside.
"Not much longer, Sam." Dean promised.
Sam pointed a trembling arm. "There. That has…to be his…g-grave." Some twenty yards away near the wall was a crumbled stone cross. It looked as though it had been maliciously broken. Native American protection symbols had been painted onto what was left of it at some point in the past.
The sound of slamming doors, crashing timbers and a howling wind chased them as they hobbled toward the wall. Dean eased Sam to the ground, back against the wall and thankfully in its shadow.
"Gimme the shotgun." Sam said, working hard to sound stronger than he felt. "I'll watch your back."
Dean passed him the gun without argument and pulled a collapsible shovel from the bag as he set it down beside Sam. The Fort went silent as Dean struck the first shovel of earth. "Ah crap." Dean said with feeling. He dug at a frantic pace, checking on Sam each time the shovel rose.
Sam anchored himself with the solid feel of the shotgun in his hands. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of passing out while Dean needed protecting. Breathing was becoming harder as each minute ticked by and the sudden silence from the Fort around them was jarring his nerves. He blinked a long slow blink and when his eyes opened it was too find the ghost of Doctor Lemke standing before him. No longer confined in the rotting body, it was truly his spirit this time. Sam could see Dean through him still shoveling. The Doctor's visage was not made better to Sam's mind by seeing him as himself. His face held a quality that screamed insanity and misplaced fervor. His eyes were cruel and hard as they fixed on Sam.
Sam raised the barrel of the shotgun, opened his mouth to warn Dean and felt an unseen force shove him back against the sod wall and stop his breath in his throat, silencing him.
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