Confusion
Title: Confusion
Author: prism_writer
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Genre/pairing: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Word-count: 5,343 words.
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none
Summary: "S--" he swallows hard before trying again. "Sammy," he manages in a husky whisper.
Notes: Written for hoodie_time Writing Between the Lines challenge, for It doesn’t take long to realize he’s not getting up, can’t get up. He’s landed on his back, head mercifully cradled in the deep pile of leaves the kids were playing in earlier that afternoon, and as he gazes up to the broken second story window, Dean knows the leaves are the only reason he’s still alive. But as he catches sight of Sam through the shattered glass, frozen in place and clearly disoriented, Dean wonders if there will be any mercy at all in his survival. by neonchica .
Disclaimer: As much as I wish upon that star... They are still not mine...
“Sam, stop!” Dean pleads, dodging another wild punch his brother throws at him. With Sam slightly off balance from his crazy swing, Dean lunges forward and tackles his younger brother to the ground. But as soon as the two of them hit the floor, Sam brings his knee up into Dean’s stomach, slamming the breath right out of his lungs.
Dean gasps and his grip on his brother relaxes, allowing Sam to scramble to his feet. Straightening painfully Dean takes a step toward his brother.
Sam’s eyes narrow in anger and he slams open palms against Dean’s chest.
Everything seems to move in slow motion as Dean flies back and crashes into the window behind him. The force of Sam’s shove carries him through the window and flings shattered glass in every direction.
The ground rushes up toward him and before he realizes what happened, he lands with force enough to make his world go black for a few seconds.
It doesn’t take long to realize he’s not getting up, can’t get up. He’s landed on his back, head mercifully cradled in the deep pile of leaves the kids were playing in earlier that afternoon, and as he gazes up to the broken second story window, Dean knows the leaves are the only reason he’s still alive. But as he catches sight of Sam through the shattered glass, frozen in place and clearly disoriented, Dean wonders if there will be any mercy at all in his survival.
The expressions on Sam’s face change more then once as he stares down at his brother lying still on the ground below. Anger, fear, horror, puzzlement, relief. Finally realization flickers across his face and his murky blue-green eyes grow round as his mind registers the scene before him.
“Dean!” Sam yells, turning suddenly to pound frantically down the stairs. He bursts out the front door and reaches his brother in seconds, dropping to his knees beside him.
Dean’s mouth moves like he’s trying to say something but no words come out. Sam realizes his brother is fighting to get air back into his collapsed lungs and he quickly grabs Dean’s shoulders and rolls him onto his side.
Oxygen rushes mercifully back into his lungs and he gasps sharply, pulling in the much needed O2. He stays on his side and breathes deeply, tightly curled into himself.
“S -- “ he swallows hard before trying again. “Sammy,” he manages in a husky whisper.
Sam shifts so he’s resting on his knees beside his brother and reaches out to touch his shoulders. “Dean, I’m sorry. I - ” His sentence breaks off and his eyes begin to narrow.
Dean recognizes the look in his brothers eyes -- the frustration and rage -- and he tries to push himself to his knees. “Sam. Sam, it’s your brother, Dean.”
Sam’s eyes lock onto Dean’s and the elder Winchester can see the battle ensuing behind his younger brother’s startled eyes. “Dean, help me,” he chokes out before suddenly leaping to his feet, overcome by a rush of some strange emotion Dean can’t figure out.
Dean begins to scramble up painfully but Sam lunges at him and swings his fist in a wide arch.
Dean ducks the blow, but ends up on his butt in the slightly damp leaf pile. Without making a sound, Sam attacks again, this time slamming his booted foot into his brother’s chest.
Dean feels his ribs give as he flies backward and smashes into the ground hard, almost losing the breath he’d just regained. He groans and scrambles backwards as fast as he can, holding one arm over his bruised and possibly broken ribs. “Sam, you have to stop this!”
Sam’s eyes are narrow and his mouth set as he reaches down to grasp a large dead branch, holding it out to the side as he advances slowly, eyes set on his target.
Dean keeps moving backward away from his crazed and apparently hallucinating brother, but Sam is faster and leaps forward suddenly, swinging the branch. Dean throws an arm out in front of him to deflect the blow away from his face and the force of the swing cracks the branch over Dean’s forearm, leaving Sam with a short club-type weapon.
Sam moved in with surprising speed, swinging the club at Dean with the intent to kill. One of the blows land on Dean’s right side and he cries out from the pain, doubling in on himself, certain now that his ribs are broken. “Sam, stop!” Dean pleads, his breath ragged as he rolls painfully away from Sam’s next swing. “I know you can! Fight it! Fight whatever it is!”
Varied emotions play across Sam’s face and Dean can see his brother’s pain, but then his gaze slip back into the intense, focused-on-murder look. His hand quickly moves to his belt and he pulls out something that glints in the bright sunlight.
Dean’s eyes widen as he stares at the gleaming blade of the silver knife as his brother moves closer. “Sam, stop!” he cries hoarsely as he again tries shakily to get to his feet.
The blade swings at him and he jumps back, just barely avoiding being gutted by the wicked piece of silver. The next swing is higher and faster in coming and Dean doesn’t move quickly enough. The silver dagger slashes across his shoulder and chest, immediately drawing wide streams of blood.
Suddenly the look in Sam’s eyes is gone and he drops the knife like it is burning hot. “Dean,” he gasps, rushing toward his bleeding brother.
Dean staggers backwards a few steps before tripping over his feet and dropping to the ground with a grunt. Sam is instantly by his side, his strong yet gentle hands holding his brother steady. “Dean! Oh god, Dean I’m so sorry! I can’t -- it’s like I can’t stop myself! You have to get out of here, Dean. Right --” The worried look is gone in a moment and he abruptly shoves Dean against the ground, wrapping his hands around his brothers throat.
“Sam!” Dean gasps as he struggles to free himself from Sam’s strangling grip. Sam only tightens the pressure and the corners of his mouth turn up in a sneer. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” he snarls, using his whole body to trap Dean beneath him. “I've had just about enough of you and Dad."
“Sam!”
Bright spots appear before Dean’s half closed eyes and he’s not sure who shouted. Maybe he? Or has he just imagined it? Breathing still evades him and he arches his back, vainly attempting to drag air into his burning lungs, trying to throw his troubled brother off his stomach.
“Sam!”
The shout comes again and Dean knows it’s not himself. Someone else must be here. Hurry! He thinks, frantic as the edges of his vision blur, quickly seeping over all of his vision. He’s still gasping in nothing, his mouth partly open and his lips tinged slightly blue.
Darkness slowly settles over Dean as his mind starts shutting down and his eyes roll back when suddenly the hands are gone off his throat and wonderful air rushes back into his lungs, bringing a deep frantic gasp from him.
“Sam, ya’ idjit! What the heck?” Bobby exclaims, yanking the younger Winchester to his feet. Sam wrenches away from the man’s grip and stumbles back a few steps. As he does, his eyes clear and Sam sees their surrogate father dropped down beside a prone figure on the ground. At first he can’t see who it is, but as Bobby shifts to the side, Sam sees his brother’s pale face and the blood soaking the front of his tan t-shirt.
“Dean!” Sam gags, not sure whether to rush forward or stay back. He decides on the latter and drops to his knees where he stands. Had he done that to his own brother? Guilt and agony tears at his heart and he doubles over, groaning.
“Dean, boy, can you hear me?” Bobby grunts, carefully turning Dean onto his side so the man’s lungs could inflate more.
Dean gasps deeply and immediately begins coughing, spots of blood appearing on his lips when he does. Bobby, reassured that the man could breath again, whirled on the younger Winchester slumped on the ground behind him.
Sam’s hands are clasped on either side of his head in disbelief and Bobby can see that he’s trying vainly to keep them from shaking. The young man’s eyes are filled with dread as he looks past Bobby to his brother who is still struggling to breathe.
Bobby sees that it is useless to question Sam at the moment and opts to leave it for later. Giving Sam one last look, he turns back on the injured Winchester who is trying unsuccessfully to push himself into a sitting position.
“Whoa, boy,” Bobby cautions, pressing against Dean’s shoulders gently. “We don’t know how bad you’re hurt.”
Dean frowns and pushes at Bobby’s hands. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he rasps, trying again to lift him self from the ground. This time Bobby reluctantly helps him sit up, keeping a strong hand at the man’s back.
Dean bites back a groan and pressed an arm over his mid-section as his bruised ribs are strained. “Show me, Dean,” Bobby orders, pulling the young hunter’s arm away from his body. Dean doesn’t protest and braces both hands against the ground.
Moving carefully, the senior hunter pulls up Dean’s shirt to reveal dozens of discolored patches of skin rapidly darkening on the man’s stomach and ribs. He draws in his breath in a hiss of displeasure as he eases the shirt up more to Dean's shoulders.
A wide gash runs along his chest from almost the center to the outside of Dean’s right arm. It is bleeding freely and his stomach and the top of his pants are now sticky with the blood. “Dean, we gotta get you to the hospital,” Bobby states as he examines the rest of the man’s body.
“No hospital,” Dean grunts, closing his eyes for a minute. “You can patch me up just as good.” Slowly he cracks open one eye and catches Sam looking at him. The young man quickly looks down, too mortified to meet his brother’s eyes.
Bobby seems to remember Sam then and turns quickly on the boy. “What in the heck was that, Sam?” he demands harshly and continues without waiting for an answer. “You almost killed your own brother! If I hadn’t come when I did, Dean probably wouldn’t have survived you.”
Watching his brothers face carefully Dean sees him cringe at Bobby’s sharp words and he tightens his lips. “Bobby, stop,” he rasps, lifting his head to look straight at his brother.
“Are you possessed or something?” Bobby pauses and his eyes narrow as he stands to his feet. “Or are you even Sam.” Dean’s eyes widen at Bobby’s conclusion and his eyes dart up at the older hunter, remaining silent even though he hates to see his brother like this.
Sam’s head jerks up then, his face betraying his anguish and distress as he shakes his head quickly. “I’m not possessed!” he insists, risking a quick glance toward his brother. “I just-- I don’t know what happened.” Slowly he lifts his eyes to meet Dean’s. “Did I -- I didn’t-- do all this-- did I?” he asks carefully, dropping his pained, now almost completely hazel eyes again.
Bobby blinks in surprise. “You don’t know if you did this?” he repeats back gruffly. “And if you’re not possessed then what the heck made you try to kill your brother?”
Sam doesn’t raise his eyes and shifts, his knees falling into a ‘V’ shape. “I don’t know,” he whispers.
Dean opens his mouth to say something comforting to make his brother feel better when Sam’s head jerks up and his jaw clenches.
He starts to lunge to his feet but before he gets all the way up, Bobby yanks out the small flask of Holy Water from his back pant pocket and unscrews the cap, flinging the blessed water at the boy.
Sam throws up his arms and stumbles to a stop as the water hits his face, soaking the collar of his shirt. His eyes are wide now, his pupils tiny dots of black, and he looks up at Bobby in astonishment, searching the older man for an explanation.
Dean is just as surprised as Bobby when the Holy Water has no effect on his little brother. He remains sitting silently on the ground as he watches the other two men.
“What the h-ll,” Bobby mutters, quickly recapping the bottle and shoving it back into his pocket. His eyes never leave Sam’s face even though he has to look up a few more inches to meet the 6’4” height
“Bobby,” Dean’s voice is still grave and Bobby can hear the pain and discomfort in his voice and turns back quickly. “Bobby, we gotta go. It might be something around here that is making Sam do all this." Dean doesn't believe his own words, doesn’t really think that’s what’s happening but he’s hoping he’s wrong. And besides, this wasn’t the best place to be at the moment, seeing as how they still hadn’t finished their job.
Bobby nods once in agreement and crouches down to help Dean slowly to his feet.
Dizziness pounds Dean’s head as he reaches his full 6’1” height and he sways to the side. Instantly Sam is by his left side, sliding a supporting arm around his back.
No one says anything on the slow walk back to the Impala, but Sam can feel the rigid anxiety in Dean’s body against his side as they reach the car.
Without saying anything, Bobby helps Sam maneuver Dean carefully into the back bench before sliding in behind the wheel. Sam drops into the passenger seat as Bobby starts the car and as he pulls his door shut, out of the corner of his eye he sees Bobby’s free hand go to rest on the hilt of the gun stashed on the side the driver’s seat.
What is wrong with me? Why am I acting like this? Sam steals a glance back at his brother and finds his eyes open, his face tight with caution and pain, one arm clamped around his torso.
Dean’s intense green eyes are focused on Sam’s face, trying to read his thoughts and emotions and the young hunter quickly turns to face forward again.
The rest of the ride to Bobby’s house is filled with a pressing silence. When they get there, Bobby hurries to open the back door and help Dean out of his car. Sam knows the two are wary of him and he’s not so sure about himself either and keeps his distance.
As he watches Bobby wrap a supporting arm around Dean, Sam feels a constricting band tighten around his chest, taking his breath away. How could he have done that to Dean? To his own brother? Maybe he was possessed. Maybe Bobby was right. Sam gulps in a deep lungful of air before hurrying ahead of the two men to open the front door of Bobby’s house. He stands on the inside, keeping the door between himself and his friends and watches Dean climb the porch stairs painfully, leaning heavily into Bobby.
Guilt and remorse press down hard as he closes the door behind the men and hurried into the bathroom to get the first aid kit. When he enters the living room again, Dean is lying on his beck on the couch, his shirt off and his injuries exposed.
Bobby grabs the small box from Sam’s hands and sets it on the floor, pulling open the lid quickly. Sam remains standing at the foot of the couch and Bobby turns a frown to him. “Well don’t just stand there, kid,” he says gruffly. “Make yourself useful and go boil some water.”
Sam turns away quickly and heads into the kitchen to get the pot. As he reaches the sink, an intense pain fills his head and horrifying images of his past flash before his wide eyes. His hands fly up to grip his head and as he stumbles halfway around, his eyes catching sight of the figure on the couch. He remembers that face, the one that kept telling him he wasn’t worth anything. That everything was his fault. That he was a monster.
The eyes turn to him and the mouth distorts into what Sam thinks must be a smile, even though it looks to him more like a snarl. “You're nothing but a monster Sam. You've never been more and you never will.” The familiar voice of his brother doesn’t seem to be coming from the man, but his mouth is moving.
Sam reels back until he hits the edge of the counter, his throat moving up and down rapidly as he swallows.
“What’s wrong with your brother?” Bobby interrupts Dean, getting up quickly from where he knelt beside the older Winchester.
Dean stops talking to Sam and his breath catches in his throat. “Bobby,” he manages. “Bobby, he’s gonna go crazy again! Do something!”
Bobby glances around the room quickly. “Like what? It’s not like I can do anything to the kid.” As he says this, his eyes fall on the closet door to his right. If he can get Sam over there, he might be able to lock him in. He quickly lays out his plan to Dean, who doesn’t seem to like it much, but doesn’t protest.
Dean begins talking to Sam again, keeping his brother’s attention drawn from Bobby so the senior hunter could get the door open and himself into position.
Now the pain is unbearable to Sam and the person his mind is projecting into the couch reaches for a new level of torture, taking on the appearance of his mother but still with his brother’s voice. She begins to sit up, still taunting Sam. “You know it was your fault that I died. And Jessica. She would still be here, alive right now if you had been watching out for her. But no.” His mother seems to grow bigger as she speaks and Sam’s rage peaks, his mind blocking out the rest of what is said.
Pushing off the counter, Sam launches himself toward the couch, aiming straight for where his brother is sitting. Bobby braces himself for the impact and jumps forward, crashing into the young man as he comes through the door way and throwing them both against open closet door. Moving with an agility that surprises even himself, Bobby manages to get Sam into the closet and close and lock the door behind him.
At first, Sam is stunned by the sudden attack but then he begins pounding on the door and yanking the handle, trying to free himself from the small dark space.
Bobby quickly shoves a chair up under the handle of the door and steps back from the closet before moving toward Dean who has sat up. The First Aid Kit still lies open on the floor at the foot of the couch and Bobby grabs it up. “We’d better get you fixed up before your brother finds a way to get out of that closet.” He glances at the shaking door in the hall before grabbing out the needed supplies from the small box. “That gash looks pretty nasty. What’d you get cut with?”
Dean’s answer is choked off by a sharp hiss between clenched teeth as the antiseptic enters his wound, creating a deep sting. “Ruby's knife,” he says when he could get his breath back and starts from the beginning when Bobby’s head jerks up in surprise.
(Two Hours Earlier)
“Are you sure this is the right house?” Sam says uncertainly, eyeing the three young boys playing around in the large leaf pile near the side of the house.
Dean pulls the Impala into the drive and cuts the engine. “Yep, this is the place. We’d better get this spirit dispelled now.” He shoves open his door and gets out.
Sam hesitates for a second before climbing out and following his older brother to the back of the car. “Dean, this doesn’t feel right,” he cautions, taking the duffel Dean is holding out to him. “Something about this place seems off.”
Dean snorts as he slams the trunk shut. “Quit whining, Sam. The house is painted orange and green and has a spirit living in the walls. That would make everything feel off.” With a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, he hefts his bag over his shoulder and starts for the house.
Sam frowns and hurries after his brother. “You know what I mean. Are you sure it’s a spirit that we’re up against?” he questions, casting a quick glance at the leaf pile. Two of the boys have abandoned it and are now rushing for the front porch.
“Hey!” Dean shouts, catching the attention of the kids before they reached the first step. “You don’t want to go in there,” he warns, approaching rapidly. The boys pause for only a second before dashing up the stairs and into the house, slamming the door loudly behind them. The remaining boy just sits silently in the middle of the deep leaf pile.
“Crap,” Dean mutters, racing after them. “Why is it that kids never listen to me?” he grumbles out loud, drawing a quick grin from his younger brother. They reach the front porch in a matter of seconds and charge into the house. The two boys hadn’t made it far and were only half way up the stairs to the second floor when Dean catches them by the backs of their shirts.
“Let us go!” one of them screams, kicking furiously to get away. Dean holds them away from him as he drags them down the stairs and past his snickering brother. “Shut up,” he mutters as he passes and Sam shakes his head, picks up the duffle Dean had dropped and heads up the stairs.
By the time they reach the ground outside, both boys have stopped struggling but are still glaring red-hot daggers at Dean, who releases them quickly as the third boy runs up. “You three need to stay away from this house ok? There -- this place is haunted.” He widens his eyes knowledgably and nods his head solemnly.
Immediately the murderous looks drop from their faces and are replaced by an almost amazed terror. “Really?” the older one asks, glancing warily past Dean at the ugly house. “This place is really haunted?”
Dean nods and begins to respond when the youngest one eye’s grow wide and his face becomes ashen. “T--Trevor! I see it! It’s Rachel’s ghost!” His shaking finger points to the upstairs window and Dean turns quickly. Something moves and for a split second, it resembles a girl about 16 years old. Then, it vanishes. Dean faces the boys again but they aren’t there anymore. They are already half way up the road, running as fast as they could.
Dean frowns and glances back up at the second story before he hurried back into the house. “Sam?” he calls, mounting the old stairs. His call is met only by his muted echo. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Dean calls again.
This time Sam answers from the far end of the hall. Dean rolls his eyes as he pushes in the door to the last room.
It’s almost completely empty except for a few chairs scattered around the floor. “Did you see anything up here before?” Dean asks, glancing at his brothers as he wipes a finger over one of the dust covered chairs.
At first Sam doesn’t answer and remains standing ridged before one of the tall windows. Then, slowly he turns and Dean catches the strange look in his brother’s eyes. “Dude, what happened?" Dean laughs. "Rachel kiss you or something? Come on, we have to get this done.” Turning his back to his brother, Dean reaches down to lift his duffel from the middle of the floor. As he straightens back up, a soft footfall behind him causes him to turn and he catches sight of Sam’s tense face before a chair crashes across his shoulders, forcing him to his knees.
(Present time)
Dean pauses in the middle of recounting the day and glances at the closet where his brother is locked. The door has stopped shaking and Dean casts Bobby a quick glance.
He tucks in the corner of the bandage around the Dean’s chest and gets to his feet, moving cautiously to stand in front of the closet. No sounds come from within and Bobby carefully moves the chair and unlocks the door. Glancing once at Dean, he pulls the door open.
Sam is sitting propped against the back wall, sweat beading on his forehead from the airtight space, all the fight gone out of him. When the light floods into his little space he turns his head up slowly to look at Bobby remorsefully. “Please do something?” he whispers, the tip of his chin quivering as tears build in his eyes.
Bobby clenches his jaw to keep from showing his emotions and reaches down to pull the younger Winchester to his feet. “Sam, I’ll find something. We’ll figure this out.”
Sam nods wearily and glances toward his brother who is painfully trying to pull a t-shirt over his head. It keeps getting stuck on the bandages circling his chest and Sam gives Bobby a quick glance before moving slowly toward Dean, keeping both hands in sight.
Bobby follows close, but hangs back when Sam reaches his brother. Moving carefully so as not to startle any of them including himself, he reaches out and frees the shirt, letting his hands drop and the shirt with them.
Dean’s eyes dart up to his brother’s face when he catches sight of his hands and he sets his jaw.
Sam drops his eyes and as he takes a quick step back, thinks he hears Dean mutter a thanks but he’s not sure.
Behind Sam, Bobby clears his throat. “You boys wanna explain exactly what happened to make Sam act like this?" he asks dryly, moving around the couch the sit on the edge of the desk by the wall. "Cuz I’m dying to hear it." Dean opens his mouth to continue his story, but Sam begins talking first.
(Two Hours Earlier)
Sam shakes his head as Dean stalks past dragging the two boys after him, and climbs the stairs three at a time, his long legs getting him to the top in seconds. The hallway before him is empty and most of the room doors cracked open a little.
The door at the end of the hall is open all the way and Sam walks toward it cautiously. Nothing appears to be out of place or wrong in the room and he sets the bags down on the floor, keeping his shot gun tucked into the crook of his elbow.
There is dust everywhere in the room as if it hadn’t been cleaned for years. Two large windows take up the wall directly in front of him and Sam walks over, looking down at the front porch roof as his brother appears with the kids.
The temperature in the room suddenly drops a few degrees and the hair on Sam’s neck stands straight. But before he can turn, something cold clamps on to the back of his neck and a shiver races down his spine. Spirits weren’t supposed to be able to touch things let alone be touched.
“I like you,” a wispy voice croons, keeping Sam in place with both icy hands now. “I don’t usually like people but you seem to be the perfect person for me. My Daddy would always tell me that I would never amount to anything, that I was ugly and no one would love me.”
The young ghost yanks him backward and he sails through it, crashing into the wall hard, his gun skittering across the floor. The spirit pauses for a second, outlined by the light from the window and Sam’s stunned mind barely has time to register how old she is before she’s suddenly beside him, wrapping her cold fingers around his shoulders and pinning him to the wall near the floor.
“You seem like the same thing has happened to you. Did your Daddy tell you that?” Her voice sounds so innocent and sad. Like a young child. “Were you never good enough for your family? Did they call you a freak too?” Suddenly she leans forward and presses her freezing lips onto Sam’s, catching him by surprise. He suddenly can’t breath as she presses harder, forcing his lips apart.
He struggles as hard as he can but Rachel’s spirit is much stronger then him and keeps him pinned to the wall. Just as Sam starts to get dizzy from lack of oxygen and her tight kiss, the spirit is suddenly gone and he hears the front door close as Dean enters the house.
Gasping deeply he pushes him self to his feet and staggers over to stand in front of the window. The three boys are gone and the leaf pile almost directly below him abandoned.
“Sam?” his brothers voice calls from the middle of the staircase and Sam’s back stiffens as thoughts and assumed memories flash through his mind: his brother shouting at him for not doing his best at something, even though he had tried as hard as he could, his father turning his back when Sam tried to show him his accomplishments, lying to him, hitting him, always hitting him...
“Sam?” His brother’s voice is closer now and tinged with uncertainty that Sam is sure is fake. “I’m in here,” he answers tightly, keeping his back to the door. His hand clenches tightly on the back of the closet chair as his brother enters the room. Dean asks a questions Sam barely hears and Sam’s jaw clenches.
Turning slowly he finds his brother looking at him. “Dude, what happened?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “Rachel kiss you or something? Come on, we have to get this done.” Not even realizing the irony, he turns his back and bends over their bags. Sam lifts the chair he had been holding and steps forward, swinging it toward Dean.
His brother straightens and turns just as the chair smashes into his back, dropping him to his knees.
(Present Time)
Bobby is staring at Sam as he trails off. “That’s the last thing I remember,” Sam says quietly, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. “I don’t remember anything else until I suddenly looked out the window and saw Dean lying on the ground outside. I got down there I remember kneeling next to him. But only little bits and pieces after that.”
Dean frowns and absently traces one of the small cuts along his jaw line from the glass of the window as he continues the tale.
(2 hours earlier)
The chair breaks and Sam drops what remains in his hand and charges at Dean. His brother barely has time to roll out of the way before Sam hits the wall where he had been seconds earlier.
Almost without missing a beat, he whirls around and swings his fist up, catching the side of Dean’s jaw and knocking him backward. Dean scrambles to his feet and ducks another blow by his brother.
“What the heck, Sam?” he exclaims, jumping back to avoid a kick aimed at his stomach. All his brother’s fighting moves are reckless and spur of the moment, the totally opposite of what they’ve both been taught. Careful and well thought out is how the moves are supposed to be executed.
Dean has the advantage over his brother because of how he is fighting and grabs Sam’s arm as his fist comes forward, yanking him off his feet and dropping him heavily to the floor.
Even though his fighting moves are all wrong, his agility and speed are still the same. As he falls, he twists his body and locks his legs around Dean’s bringing them both crashing to the floor.
As they hit, Sam rolls to the side and leaps to his feet, Dean following only a few seconds after him. “What on earth, Sam?” Dean exclaims, leaping back to avoid his brother.
Sam remains silent as he attacks recklessly and uncoordinated. For a moment Dean thinks he is going to stop when he staggers to a sudden stop and looks down at his hands, but immediately he lunges forward and catches Dean across his mid-section with his right arm, smashing him into the wall.
Dean’s head smacks the wood paneling too hard and his face contorts from the pain. When Sam steps back, he slumps to the ground, momentarily stunned by the impact. His brother’s foot swings up to catch him on the side of the head, but Dean rolls away, clambering unsteadily to his feet.
(Present Time)
Bobby keeps glancing at Sam while Dean is telling the rest of the story, but the boy seems calm now. When Dean is finished up to where Bobby had come, the older hunter gets to his feet. “Well, we are definitely going to have to go back there and rid the house of this angry spirit,” he says, stepping into the kitchen, keeping his body turned to face the boys just in case Sam decides to go crazy.
A bottle of sleeping pills sits in the far corner of the cabinet by the fridge and Bobby grabs them up quickly and heads back into the living room. “Sam, I’m going to need you to take these when we get into the car. We can’t have you messin’ things up while we’re there and I’m not about to leave you here alone.” He hands Sam the bottle of medicine and water.
Sam takes them in his slightly shaking hands and watches as Bobby eases Dean off the couch. “Wait a minute, why does Dean have to come?” he protests, standing quickly.
Bobby lifts his eyes to frown at Sam. “Boy, this isn’t a one person job and you’re going to out of commission for a while.” Dean is standing now and Sam cuts his eyes away, moving ahead to open the front door for them.
The two men are moving pretty slowly and Sam has already reached the Impala. He pulls open the back door, then the front passenger and slides in.
The water and pills are still in his hand and he quickly unscrews the caps and swallows two pills with one gulp of water. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the window.
The back door slams, then the drivers door as Bobby slides in. The engine turns over as the sleeping pills begin to take effect and the last thing Sam hears before slipping off into a deep darkness is Dean's low voice as he reassures his little brother that everything is fine, that this is going to work.
And Sam's heart breaks.