Splinter in Your Mind - Team Angst - Defenestration

[chichiri_no_da]

Title: Splinter in Your Mind
Author: chichiri_no_da
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Grievous injury and possible character death.
Summary: Sam and Dean go to investigate a haunting, and get far more than they expected or ever wanted. Dean is forced to again make the hardest choice, when Sam's life hangs in the balance.


Dean planted the sole of his boot against one of the boards that had been nailed across the door and kicked it until it cracked in the middle. "Damnit," he growled as Sam leaned past him to grab the board and pry at it until it came free, nails shrieking as they were pulled out of the doorjamb. "Do they have to make things so hard?"

"After what happened, you can't really blame them for wanting to make sure that thing never got out," Sam said, always so reasonable. "Even if they don't really believe in ghosts."

"Salt," Dean said, kicking at the second board. And then, "Not that they know that. But still, this is a pain, and we're making a racket."

"You're not the one getting splinters," Sam grunted, pulling the last of the wood free. "And there's no one awake at this hour to hear us, anyway."

Dean glanced around automatically, scanning the neighbourhood around the condemned building. It looked like it had once been prosperous, but the windows of the shops were covered with metal grating, and there were no lights on in the apartments above. There was an air of disuse, like the buildings themselves were tired and weighted down with some invisible burden.

None of them were as crappy looking as this place, though. Every window on the ground floor was boarded up. Thick boards had been nailed to the doorway, as well, forming the shape of an 'X'. There was no clearer sign reading 'you're a stupid dumbass if you go in here' than boarding over the door with an 'X', but there were also several bright yellow signs proclaiming 'CONDEMNED' and 'Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted' and 'DANGER Do Not Enter'.

It might as well have said 'Fluffy Bunnies and Rainbows Behind This Door' for all that it dissuaded a Winchester from going inside.

In fact, Dean might have fled from the fluffy bunnies. Scary.

"Poor baby. You want me to do something about that?" he teased, grabbing Sam's hand and turning it over to see the splinter embedded in the fleshy part at the heel of his younger brother's thumb. "Wow, that thing's practically a tree trunk!" he added.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said irritably, trying to tug his hand free, but Dean renewed his grip. "Can we just go inside and take care of this ghost?"

"Just a sec!" Dean said. "You don't want to end up missing a shot, do you? Trying to hold a gun with that stuck in there." He pulled Sam's hand up higher and sealed his lips to Sam's palm, sucking at the splinter.

Sam fell silent, waiting as Dean extracted the splinter with his teeth. Smirking with triumph, Dean flicked his tongue against the palm of Sam's hand before he released him, enjoying the gasp his little brother gave.

"Pervert," Sam said, wiping his hand off on his jeans, but his mouth was twitching.

Dean spit out the splinter and wiped his mouth, glancing up at Sam. "Bitch," he replied, winking.

"Jerk."

They both grinned.

"Can we talk about something other than sex? Like maybe the job?" Sam said after a moment, raising an eyebrow.

"You're just tired from last night," Dean declared, reaching for the doorknob and jiggling it. Yeah, locked. Big surprise there. He pulled out his lock picks and poked at the keyhole. The door was a bit too big and heavy to consider kicking it in. Chances were he'd just break his ankle.

"You wish," Sam said with a grin.

The lock was a bit stubborn, but it gave way after a few seconds and Dean pocketed the tools, opening the door cautiously and poking his head into the lobby.

The place had once been a pretty nice-looking hotel. Nothing really swanky, but the effort they'd made was still obvious. The brass fixtures were tarnished and the wood reception desk was covered with a layer of dust. The paint on the walls was peeling, but it had once been an opulent maroon, offset with panels of mahogany. Or what looked like mahogany, anyway. It was probably fake.

There was no sign that their pounding at the door had attracted attention, so Dean stepped through the door, shotgun in one hand, and pulled out his flashlight. The light stabbed through the dimness, illuminating the dust motes that danced and swirled with unfelt breezes.

Yeah, once this had been a nice hotel, but then one day about a year before, one of the patrons had snapped. Four people had been murdered in their beds before he turned his gun on himself. Ever since, people had reported strange things, noises at night, screams.

More than one person had wound up dead.

Finally it had gotten to be too much, and the hotel had closed its doors. The hotel manager had been the last one to die in the building. He'd killed three maids and then hung himself. Apparently the bankruptcy courts were still wrangling about what to do with the stuff left behind.

"I'm still not sure about this, Dean," Sam whispered, pouring salt in a line across the doorway.

"Not sure about what?" Dean asked, covering the lobby with his eyes and the muzzle of his gun. The truth was, he knew what Sam was going to say. He was just tired of hearing it. They'd been wrangling over this for days.

"It seems like a haunting, but it's weird," Sam said, just as Dean thought he would. "Why would a haunting cause people to kill other people? Why didn't the ghost kill them itself?"

"Maybe the ghost just made it look like people killed other people," Dean said, shrugging. "Besides, they never did figure out some of the killings. What else could it be? We've been over this."

Sam's lips thinned as he straightened up. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "You're right, I know. It just doesn't feel right, though."

"Yeah well," Dean said, flashing a grin over his shoulder. "We both know who's more in touch with their feelings in this family. But that doesn't make you any less wrong. Let's go."

Rolling his eyes, Sam moved to follow Dean as they began to explore the first floor of the hotel.

After a seemingly endless hunt through nearly identical hotel rooms, one laundry and a storage closet, as well as the monstrous kitchen, there was no sign of paranormal activity. Dean's arm was starting to get annoyed with having to hold the silent EMF reader out in front of him, but there was nothing for it but to head upstairs to the next floor and start again.

This time, as Dean reached for the doorknob of the third room, Sam put a hand out to stop him. "Hey Dean," he hissed. "Isn't this the room where the office manager was found?"

Having fallen pretty much into a monotony of open door - look - scan with EMF - look again - leave, Dean paused and blinked up at the number on the door. "Oh yeah, 206, yeah," he said, nodding and finishing picking the lock.

He glanced at Sam, on alert now. If there were going to be a baddie anywhere, it'd likely be here. "You ready?"

Sam nodded, readjusting his grip on the shotgun. His lips were set in a grim line. Dean heard the lock click and twisted the knob, throwing the door open.

Nothing.

Dean looked around the neatly made room, frowning. No blood on the linens, not even a sign of a struggle. Hell, there wasn't even an ominously placed rope with a loop in it, still hanging from the ceiling over a kicked-over chair.

"Okay, this job officially sucks," Dean announced, stepping into the room and waving the EMF around. "There isn't even any sign that a ghost was ever here! Maybe there were just a lot of really fucked up people staying in this hotel."

Sam frowned, shaking his head. "We should check out the whole place before we give up. We haven't even touched some of the more remote areas yet. Besides, just because it's not a haunting, doesn't mean it was a coincidence. There has to be something going on here. This many people don't start murdering people for no reason."

"I know, I know," Dean said, slipping the EMF into his pocket for a moment to rub his eyes and run a hand through his short, bristly hair.

He looked up just in time to see something moving through the air towards his brother.

It looked like a cloud of smog, only much much thicker. It poured through the small, brass vent high in the wall above Sam's head, and curled downwards sinuously like a snake. Dean's eyes widened in horror and he leaped forward, hands raised to push Sam out of the way, voice shouting in warning--

But he was too far away, and Sam was only just starting to look around to see the danger when the cloud reached him.

The younger man cried out - no, screamed - as the demon poured into him through his nose and mouth, and even his eye-sockets.

"Sam! No, Sam!" Dean shouted, fumbling for a bottle of holy water and thumbing off the cap. He brought his hand up to toss the water, but Sam suddenly looked at him with eyes as black as pitch, and smirked.

In a blink of an eye the demon had crossed the room and knocked the bottle out of Dean's hand. Before it had even hit the ground, Sam's other hand came around and connected solidly with Dean's jaw.

The backhand literally sent Dean flying.

He slammed hard into the wall, struggling for breath and fighting not to fall to the floor. He blinked, trying to see through the stars and watching as Sam paced towards him.

"Sammy," Dean gasped with his remaining air. "Fight it, damnit." He still hadn't recovered from the hit, but he straightened, preparing to fight.

"He can't hear you, Dean," Sam purred, his lips still stretched in a smirk. His eyes were back to normal, though they were wearing an expression that Sam never would - a cruel mockery that told Dean he was anticipating something Dean wasn't going to enjoy. "Or rather, he can hear you, but he really can't do much more than listen. Fighting isn't an option, but you should remember that from last time."

Dean's eyes widened. "Meg?" he said, horror rising up like bile in his throat. How many times did they have to deal with this bitch?

But Sam shook his head, clucking his tongue. "No, not that one. I'm just a fan of your work. You Winchesters...you do get around."

"The medallion..." Dean whispered, his eyes going to the amulet hanging from Sam's neck. The one Bobby had given them and swore it would protect them.

"A trinket," Sam said, reaching up and tugging down sharply on the necklace. The string snapped and he tossed it aside, though for an instant Dean saw that the medallion had burned a replica of itself into Sam's palm. For all the good it did. "I'm a bit too powerful for something like this."

Dean took a step forward. "Yeah, while you seem to be pretty much stuck here, aren't you? Not that powerful," he said challengingly. Just keep talking. Keep it distracted. Damnit. FUCK. I need to get it out of Sam!

"I like it here," Sam said, not rising to the bait. "Even now, every so often, someone new comes in to play with me. Someday, I'll take a ride out and find a new playground." He grinned. "Maybe it'll be today."

He ran his hands down his chest and stomach, tilting his head back slightly and letting his eyes fall half-closed. "I like this body."

"Stop that!" Dean snapped, rattled. There was something disturbing about that, like the demon was feeling Sam up from inside.

Sam opened his eyes fully and the smirk widened. "Jealous, Dean? But then, of course you would be." The demon began to move closer again, rounding the bed and moving towards Dean at a slow, stalking pace, like a hunting cat.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean growled, resisting the urge to go for the second bottle of holy water he had in his back pocket. He needed to wait for his shot, since he had no fucking clue where the other bottle had ended up.

The demon moved closer, right into Dean's personal space. Normally, it didn't bother him that he had to look up to meet Sam in the eyes, but right now it was pissing him off. Sam's body could loom.

But he let the demon come. He needed his shot. He had to get that demon out of Sam's body.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" the demon said, laying one of Sam's huge hands on Dean's hip. "In fact, you have a boner right now, am I right? Doesn't even matter to you who's driving this body, so long as you can spread your legs and get yourself nice and fucked."

"Shut the fuck up," Dean growled, shifting away, but he couldn't go far before he ended up against the wall. He put a hand on Sam's chest, as if to keep him away, and put the other one behind him. "Just shut the fuck up and get out of that body before I really hurt you."

He grasped the bottle. Thumbed it open. Waited.

Sam threw his head back and laughed, pressing forward and moulding his lower body to Dean's. It was as if Dean's push had no more strength than a child. When Sam's hand went to Dean's hip again, his thumb was able to trace the edge of his groin, running up and down the bulge in Dean's jeans.

"Yeah, you have no idea what I'm talking about," Sam purred, bending close as if for a kiss.

Despite himself, despite his attempts to stay cool, Dean pressed back against the wall. He lifted his chin and glared up at the bastard behind Sam's face. Cruel laughter still danced in those hazel eyes. "Kiss me and I'll bite you, man. I swear it."

Sam leaned closer. "Is that a promise?" he purred, and Dean felt Sam's lips press against his.

Dean closed his eyes for one moment, pretending to surrender. He could feel Sam's hand shift even more intimately, but his body didn't react. Well, not much.

Then he brought his hand out from behind his back and splashed holy water over them both.

The demon shrieked and jumped back, eyes flickering to black once again as blisters popped out one by one on Sam's cheek and neck.

Sorry, Sammy, Dean thought to himself as he stepped forward and aimed a right hook at Sam's jaw. But he couldn't afford to hold back. Blisters and bruises would heal, but demon possession was for life.

However long that turned out to be.

But the demon was still full of surprises. Sam's hand flashed up and blocked the punch, and then the demon followed that up with a sucker punch to Dean's stomach that came so fast Dean never even saw him move.

As the breath rushed out of his lungs for a second time, Dean cursed and staggered back, fetching up against the wall once again. The bastard was fast. Before he had a chance to react, Sam's hands grabbed him by the arms and the weight of the younger man's body settled against him again, his thigh sliding between Dean's legs in obvious threat.

Sam's hands smoked where they held Dean's holy water soaked jacket, but he held on tightly. "That wasn't nice," the demon hissed.

"Fuck you," Dean snarled, jerking his head forward to connect solidly with Sam's jaw.

Sam sagged slightly at the headbutt, and Dean followed up the advantage, pushing forward and to one side, trying desperately to get some leverage before it could recover. He opened his mouth and started shouting the words of the first exorcism spell that came to mind.

"Exorcisamus te, omnes in mundus spiritus omnes satanica potestas, omnes incursio!"

The demon looked up and snarled as Dean continued to chant in Latin, forcing Sam back another step.

And then Sam's heel hit the discarded water bottle. His eyes widened in surprise as he slipped, losing his grip on Dean and tearing out of Dean's hands at the same moment. He back-pedalled and then hit the window hard.

There was a loud crash of broken glass and splintering wood and then Sam tipped backwards through the window, grabbing desperately and catching hold of only air as he plummeted to the concrete sidewalk below.

"Oh my god," Dean said, his voice stunned and hollow. "Oh my god, Sam! Sam!" he darted to the window. "Sam!!"

He turned and bolted from the room, thundering down the stairs and out the front door of the hotel before skidding to a stop and dropping to his knees next to his brother.

Sam lay on his back, still except for the soft, regular rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were closed, and if the demon was still in there, it wasn't moving, either. From the unnatural angle of his right arm, it was obvious it was broken, probably in more than one place. But there was no telling how much more damage there might be.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean whispered, feeling the roughness in his own voice. Okay, okay think. First priority is getting him out of the street, he thought to himself, sliding his arms gently under his little brother.

He saw smears of blood on Sam's shirt and froze, then realized that his hands were bleeding. He hadn't even felt it, but he must have cut himself on the shattered window when he leaned out.

But the scare made him think of other things, and even as he got to his feet as carefully as he could, he kept thinking about broken necks, shattered spines, and how you weren't supposed to move someone after they'd been hurt like that.

There was a blotch of blood on the pavement.

With Sam's heavy, awkward body cradled against his chest, Dean stood there for a moment dumbly, staring at the patch of dark wetness. That hadn't come from his hands.

"Just breathe, Dean," he told himself, turning deliberately away and heading for the front door. "You'll check him out inside. He probably cut himself."

Sam was laid in the middle of the lobby, still just as limp and unresponsive as before. Dean forced himself to leave him long enough to grab a few things from the trunk. Even as he searched through the Impala, grabbing holy water, the first aid kit, and a few more essentials, he was half convinced that when he returned to the hotel, he'd find Sam gone.

It took an effort to move his feet towards the front door again, dreading that moment when he'd see that the demon had taken Sam away, perhaps leaving nothing behind but a few drops of blood.

But when Dean opened the door and stepped inside, he saw Sam lying there still. And somehow that was worse.

Dropping his burdens to one side out of the way, Dean got down on his knees on the dusty floor and got to work. He had just finished chalking the best damn Key of Solomon he'd ever drawn onto the floor when Sam opened his eyes.

"Dean..." Sam whispered, his voice a dull rasp like it had been scoured with steel wool.

Dean's head jerked up and he dropped the bit of chalk, which clattered and rolled away. "Sammy?" His voice was painfully tight.

"What happened?" Sam asked, shifting and then wincing as he moved his bad arm.

"Don't move!" Dean exclaimed, putting a hand out towards Sam as his heart went into overdrive. "Just...just don't get up, okay? You're hurt, Sammy, maybe bad."

"Bad?" Sam turned his head towards him, lifting it up. Dean could see the pool of blood on the floor. He was still bleeding from the back of his head, which meant he might have hit it when he landed. "How bad?"

Dean had to clear his throat before he could make himself say the words. "I dunno, maybe Meg bad," he said. "Is that really you, Sam?"

Hazel eyes widened with shock and fear. "Dean, that's crazy," Sam said. "If I were hurt like Meg, I'd be dead now. The only reason she lived so long was because the demon was using her body."

"Yeah," Dean said, and he felt the hollowness of despair in his own voice. "I know."

There was a bottle of holy water in his hand. He thumbed the cap, then closed it again. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to know, because somewhere deep down he was pretty sure he wasn't talking to Sam right now.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed the cap open again, and tossed the holy water over his brother.

The fact that he shrieked and smoked didn't come as a surprise. Sam fell back against the floor and convulsed with agony, shifting, trying to escape the moisture, but his hands stopped just short of the chalked lines on the floor.

And Dean just sat there and watched.

Finally, he put a hand out and closed his fingers around Dad's journal, thumbing it open to a page they'd marked back when he'd taken his first airplane trip. He lowered his eyes to the page, covered with John Winchester's tight, even writing, and began to read.

The demon cried out, lifting his hands to his ears, as if blocking out the sound would somehow protect him. It didn't seem to matter that one of his arms didn't quite work right, the bones grating together and the hand refusing to open all the way. "Stop! No!"

"Your fault, man," Dean whispered. "You should have left Sam alone."

He resumed the chant. "Exorcisamus te, omnes in mundus spiritus..."

"No! No! You fool, don't you realize you're killing your brother?" Sam shrieked.

Dean choked on the next word and looked up. Sam had curled into a foetal ball and was rocking back and forth, fighting. But his eyes were black, and glared straight at Dean with disturbing intelligence.

"Do you even know how badly he's hurt? You could exorcise me only to watch him take his last breath," the demon sneered.

The answer was inside Dean. He opened his mouth to tell the demon something, like that he'd thought of that, or that Sam was dead anyway. But his throat closed and he couldn't say the words.

Sam shifted onto his hands and knees, crawling a few inches closer, right to the edge of the chalked drawing. "Can you really live with yourself, knowing you killed him?" he whispered. "Again?"

Dean knew the answer was a big fat 'no'. He met those demon eyes and couldn't think of anything to say.

"Listen to me, Dean," Sam said. "I didn't want things to end up this way. I'll make you a deal." He sat up, crossing his legs in front of him. He smiled - not smirked, smiled - and the black eyes shifted to hazel again. "You let me go, and I'll be Sammy for you. Whenever you want. You won't have to lose your brother at all. What do you say?"

The offer was unexpected, and powerfully tempting. Dean's fingers curled around the journal until the edges dug into his ravaged hands. There was a spot of blood on the page - a perfect thumbprint, and he stared at it, tracing the whorls with his mind.

"It wouldn't really be Sam," he said, trying desperately to convince himself. "If he's really hurt that bad, you couldn't let him have control, or he'd just be in too much pain."

He wondered if Sam was feeling the pain now.

"That wouldn't matter for long, Dean," Sam said, his voice low, seductive. "I'll be real convincing, I promise. You won't ever have to think about it."

Dean closed his eyes and thought about it, really let himself turn the offer over in his mind. He was sure the demon could do it, be Sam when they were together, and Dean was really good at denial. It was practically an art form.

And if he agreed, he'd never have to hold Sam as he died again. Never have to feel his life flow out of him. If he didn't take the demon's offer, Sam would die like Meg's host had. How could Dean even consider not taking a course that would save his life?

But what if Sam was really conscious in there? Trapped inside, and not only unable to speak or move, but in horrible pain from the injuries as well?

Dean swallowed and opened his eyes. "Tempting offer," he whispered. And then, "Exorcisamus te, omnes in mundus spiritus."

"No! No Dean, please!" Sam cried. "No please, stop!" The pleas grew louder, higher, as the demon screamed for mercy.

Tears slipping one by one down his face, Dean spoke the Latin words around the lump in his throat. He was killing Sam, right now. But he kept on speaking, repeating the words over and over.

It took a long time - that demon really was powerful, a lot more powerful than Meg. But finally Sam fell back onto the floor, convulsed once and screamed as a black, noxious cloud poured out of his mouth. The cloud shrieked upwards and dissipated, leaving behind nothing but the strong rotten-eggs scent of sulphur.

Dean threw the journal aside and broke the chalk lines without a second thought, throwing himself into the circle and gathering Sam up into his arms. "Please don't die, Sammy," he whispered, putting a hand to the back of Sam's head and feeling the wetness there. Was his skull fractured, or was it just a cut? Would he even wake up?

He buried his face in Sam's soft hair, shuddering. "Please wake up," he whispered. "Please, Sammy."

He sat there for a few moments, just holding his little brother and unable to convince himself to move. Need to call an ambulance, he thought suddenly. Maybe if he's not hurt too bad, the doctors can save him.

That thought gave him a bit of hope, and he laid Sam back down on the floor, moving to find his cellphone. He had just gotten off the phone with 9-1-1, when he heard a soft gasp.

His head whipped around and he was back at Sam's side within moments "Sam?" Dean stared avidly into his brother's face, reaching out reflexively to brush an errant lock of hair out of Sam's eyes. "Sammy?"

"D-Dean?" Sam whispered, opening his eyes and looking up at him. His pupils were uneven, one much bigger than the other, but he squinted to try to see Dean's face. The relief was almost crippling. "My head hurts."

"Yeah," Dean said, grabbing Sam's good hand and squeezing so tight Sam grunted. "I'm gonna get you to a hospital. The ambulance is on its way. How're you doing, Sammy?"

"Okay," Sam said, his eyes slipping closed. "Thanks Dean."

"Love you, Sammy," Dean whispered, but Sam made no sign of having heard, and that was all right, too.