|The Dybbuk Box
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz PM
A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!DeanRated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Horror - Dean W. & Sam W. - Chapters: 7 - Words: 26,890 - Reviews: 34 - Favs: 26 - Follows: 21 - Updated: 01-12-12 - Published: 01-07-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7719725
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: The Dybbuk Box
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A cursed box and an angry spirit; John Winchester didn't always get what he Hunted. Now his boys will have to finish what he started. Post s7e03 TGND hurt/limp!Sam hurt/protective!Dean
Author's note: Apart from the Xmas fic I wrote, I just can't stomach a world without Bobby yet, so you'll probably get more of these from me. :D I plan on living in fic-denial-land for a while.
Also, this one? Kind of a Sammy whump-fest. No idea why, he just ended up being the punching bag. So sue me. XD Dean taking care of his little brother is just awesome, on account of he's an awesome big brother, or so he tells me.
Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P
"Sam?" Dean shouted, waiting for a response and not getting it. "Dammit, Sam you answer me!" He shoved rubble off his legs and looked up at the gaping hole above. "Son of a bitch." He groaned and wished he'd listened to Sam in the first place. Sam had argued the building was too far gone, that this was one hunt they should leave since they hadn't found anything anyway. He'd been determined though. He snorted in disgust at himself and climbed shakily to his knees. He'd been stubborn.
"Sammy?" Dean called again. "God please be alright." He whispered and stood, swaying for a moment. He reached a hand up and felt blood and matted hair over a nice knot on the crown of his head. "Awesome." He took a few stumbling steps forward and stopped, mouth open in horror. The floor ahead of him was caved in like the one above. His fall had stopped but Sam's had kept on going.
"Sam!" Dean scrambled to the edge and looked over but it was too dark to see anything. "Dammit!" He went back, searching where he'd landed and grunted in surprise when he not only found his flashlight but it looked intact. He turned it on, smiling when it actually worked and went back to the hole, shining the light down. Hanging cables and chunks of brick and mortar were highlighted as he flashed the beam around the wreckage, anxiously searching and then he saw him, or part of him. A long arm protruded from under a mound of ceiling tiles.
"Sammy!" Dean crawled away from the hole and stumble-ran out into the hall and to the stairs. His head was still spinning with the knock he'd taken but he wouldn't let it slow him. Dean flew down the stairs, rebounding off each landing and slid out the door onto the floor below.
The beam of his mag-light cut through the floating dust as he kicked his way through a pile of debris to his brother. Dean dropped heavily to his knees and took Sam's wrist in a shaking hand.
"Please be there." Dean whispered. He dropped his head to his chest, sobbing out a breath of relief. He'd felt a strong, steady beat beneath his fingers. "Okay, Sammy." He grabbed a handful of ceiling tiles and tossed them to the side. Bricks and cabling were mounded above him, even part of a rusted sprinkler system. It took only minutes to free Sam from his cocoon. He was lying on his stomach, one arm outstretched on a pile of cracked ceiling tiles looking for all the world as if he were sleeping. The dust pooled underneath his head puffed up in a small cloud with his breaths.
"Sammy?" Dean bent by his brother's head, brushing the dark brown hair from his eyes. "Come on, buddy. Gimme a sign here." The remains of his EMF meter lay shattered by his face and Dean grimaced, pushing it away.
He'd been so sure it was a ghost haunting the building. People had gone in and come out raving, as if they'd been touched by something. The EMF had remained stubbornly silent, putting the lie to Dean's surety. Then the floor had cracked. Sam had tried to talk him into leaving, that the building was too unstable and Dean had laughed it off…about thirty seconds before the floor gave way right beneath Sam and then him.
"Damn, I'm sorry Sam." Dean laid a gentle hand on the back of his brother's head. He ran his hands firmly along his arms and legs, relieved beyond belief to not find any broken bones. He bent back to his head and tapped lightly on his cheek, still wary of moving him. "Sam? Sammy." Every moment his brother remained still drove a new spike of fear into him. Sam had one hell of a goose-egg on the back of his head. "Sammy!" He slapped lightly this time and got a grunt in response. "That's it. That's it, buddy." Dean rubbed briskly on his arm. "Open your eyes, Sam."
Sam stirred, moaned, face scrunching in pain as Dean watched. He gave a little gasp and his whole body jerked.
"N…no, no, no…no more." Sam muttered, fear in his voice.
"Sammy?" Dean touched his back and Sam cried out. "Shit." Dean grabbed him as he started to shake, chanting 'no more' over and over and broke Dean's heart a little. "Sam!" Dean said firmly and rolled his brother to his back. "Wake up now."
"No…stop. No, no, no…" Sam was begging now, breathless. Dean pulled him up, resting Sam in his arms, head cradled in his elbow and against his chest. He wrapped firm arms around him, trying to anchor him. Dean knew where Sam's head was right now. He was in the Cage, in Hell.
"Sammy, wake up. It's not real." Dean gave him a shake and spoke sharply in his ear. "Sam Winchester, open your eyes. Now!" Sam was struggling and pleading. "Dammit, Sam, look at me!"
Sam fought the chains that held him, burned into his flesh…no, not chains…hands? Arms? Lucifer's voice whispered in his ear, telling him to open his eyes and he wouldn't but…that didn't feel right either. He was in the Cage. He was falling. He was being crushed, suffocated. Look at me, Lucifer's voice commanded but…no. Not Lucifer. Not the Cage. He knew that voice and it didn't belong here. Through the pain and the terror and the hopelessness it came more clearly. That voice was home and safe and…
"DEAN!" Sam's eyes flew open and he would have thrown himself forward with the force of the shout if not for the arms that held him tight. Gradually, the pounding of his heart, the blood rushing in his ears and the panicked breathing calmed and he could hear again.
"Sam? Sammy, answer me!" Dean loosened his grip slightly, feeling Sam's taut muscles begin to let go one by one. "Sammy, you with me?"
"Yeah." Sam squeezed from a raw throat. "Yeah, I'm here. I'm good."
Dean rested his forehead in the back of Sam's hair for a moment and quieted the fear inside him. He didn't care if he was skirting the line of chick flick moment. He needed a minute dammit.
Sam shifted uncomfortably, even though the feel of his brother's heart thumping against his ear was soothing. Now that reality was asserting itself once more, he could feel a multitude of bruises making themselves known.
"Where you hurt?" Dean asked finally, sitting back and helping Sam sit up on his own.
"Back mostly…I think." Sam said through clenched teeth. The movement upright was not helping.
"Ok, lemme look." Dean took the back of his brother's jacket and shirts and lifted them up, shining the flashlight. He gave an appreciative whistle. "Dude, you're gonna be technicolored later." He let the jacket drop back over the bruises already starting to appear. "Let's get you up."
Sam let Dean pull him to his feet and held on for a moment as the room spun. Dean slid one of his arms over his shoulders and groaned.
"Sammy, I'm sorry." Dean said. He shook his head. "I should have listened to you."
Sam chuckled. "I should have grabbed you and shagged ass the minute I heard the floor creak. I'm sorry."
"You wanna wrestle for who's more sorry?" Dean grinned and Sam rolled his eyes.
"I'd still whoop your ass."
"You can't whoop me on a good day, little brother." Dean retorted, smiling.
"Bite me." Sam's eloquent reply ended the comfortable, old argument as they reached the stairs and he needed all his concentration to walk up them.
"All I'm sayin' is seven people don't go off the rails in the same place for nothin'." Dean made the customary circling finger at his temple and Sam chuckled.
"I agree, ok? But we're not going back in that building." Sam walked stiffly to the bathroom door of their motel room, shucking his jacket on the floor. "We need to figure out what it is first."
"You need any help in there, princess?" Dean asked and grinned.
"I think I can handle it." Sam laughed. "Been undressing myself for a while now, dude."
"Not that long." Dean quipped, enjoying the bitch face he received in answer. Truthfully, Sam's back was bruised enough he would have helped if Sam needed him, though seeing his brother naked was never high on his list.
Sam watched dust and grime swirl down the drain with his arms braced on the wall, head under the spray. He was still shaken from the nightmare he'd been trapped in and it frightened him that the pain he'd been in hadn't been enough to snap him out of it. It was his only control of the hallucinations. He shook his head. There was no use dwelling on it. Dean would keep him grounded. He had to have faith in that, in him. He shut off the water and stepped out. His muscles started tightening as soon as the hot water was no longer beating on them.
"Gonna be a fun night." He muttered to himself, toweling off and slipped on the sweats he'd tossed in earlier. Bending to pull them up sent spears of pain from the base of his skill down to his feet. "Crap." He gasped, slapping a hand on the wall for support.
Beneath his hand the wall moved. Sam jerked his hand away, forcing himself to stand straight, rubbing his hand. It wasn't real, he told himself. Yet as he watched, the wall bowed inward. Blood began to seep from the ceiling, dripping and sliding down the cracked wallpaper.
"No, no, no." Sam backed away and jumped when something touched his back. He whirled to find arms reaching out of the wall. Blood began to drop down on his head and the walls impossibly closed in on him.
Dean waited to hear the water come on and patted his growling stomach. "Should have enough time to grab some grub." His brother didn't know how to take a quick shower. He snorted, or leave hot water. He grabbed the keys and turned to leave. Something from the corner of his eye stopped him. He turned back, trying to decide what it was that caught his attention. There was nothing. He took another step and his eyes narrowed. Sam's jacket. Something sparkled in the dusty folds of fabric.
"What the hell?" He knelt by it and picked it up carefully. Mixed in with the dust on the front of the jacket were iridescent flecks. He frowned. "What the hell is this?" Sam had been laying in the stuff when he'd found him. He wasn't sure why but found he didn't want to touch it. He laid the jacket back down and carefully dusted his hands off.
Surprisingly, he heard the shower turn off. Poor guy, he thought. Sam had to be in some serious pain for a shower that short. Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the strange dust. Something about it was making him twitch. He'd see if Bobby had anything to say other than 'Why you sendin' me pictures of dirt, idjit?' He smirked at the thought, about to dial when Sam's voice shot panic into him.
"DEAN!" Sam screamed his name.
"Sammy?" Dean lurched to the door, drew his gun and threw it open. "Sam?" He looked, expecting…well anything really except what he found. Sam was on the floor, huddled against the sink and twitching as though being electrocuted.
"Dean! Help me!" Sam shouted again.
Dean put the gun away and knelt in front of his brother, confused and terrified that Sam was losing his grip completely. Sam was barechested, covered in angry bruises and shivering.
"Sam." Dean took his trembling arms in a steely grip and shook him. "Sam what is it? Talk to me!" He shook him again. "It's not real, Sammy. You hear me? Whatever trippy shit's coming at you right now, it's not real!" He stared down at the back of his brother's head, willing him to listen, to believe. Sam's shaggy hair, still wet from the shower, glittered up at him. "Damn." Now he knew there was something strange going on. He grabbed the damp towel from the floor and dropped it on Sam's head. He scrubbed hard, using both hands to grind the towel through his hair.
One of Sam's hands grasped Dean's wrist. "Sam?" Dean asked. He rubbed harder and a moment later Sam wrapped his other hand around Dean's other wrist.
"Shit!" Sam cursed loudly, jerking his head up under the towel. "Dean?"
"Yeah, hang on." Dean pulled the towel up. "Hey gimmee one of my hands back for a sec, dude." Sam grudgingly released his right hand. Dean turned the towel over and saw it glitter under the light.
"What…what the hell's going on?" Sam freed his other hand and scrubbed them over his face before looking up. He was surprised to see the walls where they should be.
"Supernatural acid trip, Sammy." Dean said and grinned, trying to find some humor now that lucid hazel eyes were staring up at him. "You got dosed with…with somethin'." Dean tossed the towel in the tub.
"Huh?" Sam asked, thoroughly confused. "You're not making any sense."
"Says the guy who was just screamin' under the sink like a little girl." Dean retorted, making Sam groan. "Hey." Dean caught his eyes. "You aren't losin' it. This isn't your egg cracking again."
"Dean." Sam stared and then shook his head. "You don't know that."
"Yes I do, Sammy." Dean took up his brother's left hand and turned it palm up, the large, U shaped scar still healing. "I promise. Stone number one, remember?"
Sam did. He remembered the warehouse, Lucifer, having no idea what was real anymore, how close he had come to eating his own gun to escape when Dean broke through the hallucinations; showed him reality again. He'd asked Sam to believe in him, to make it stone number one and build on it.
"Okay." Sam took a deep breath, striving for calm and gave his brother a shaky smile. "So, if it's not me, then what the hell?" Sam tried to stand and dropped back with a groan. "Crap."
"Don't know how you even got down there as banged up as you are." Dean chuckled. He got a grip under Sam's shoulders and pulled him up. He steadied him and followed Sam's ungainly walk out to the bed. Dean scooped his phone from the floor where he'd dropped it in his panic at Sam's shout.
"You said something about dust?" Sam eased down to sit on the bed, back protesting fiercely.
"Yeah. It's all over the front of your jacket." Dean waved a hand at it where it lay on the floor. "Was in your hair too, even after the shower."
"You feeling ok?" Sam glanced up at him, concerned but smiled. "Any pink elephants dancing around?"
Dean chuckled. "I'm hoping for midget strippers but no." He shrugged and sent the picture he'd taken earlier to Bobby. "No hallucinations."
"Well at least now we have an idea why all those people went crazy." Sam inched his way to laying down, panting by the time he got to his side. He opened his eyes to find Dean's hand in front of his face.
"Painkillers. Take 'em." Dean ordered, knowing Sam's usual desire to tough it out. "You know you're not gettin' any sleep otherwise."
Sam considered arguing but decided Dean was right and took the pills, then the bottle of water he handed him.
"Get some sleep." Dean tugged the sheet up over him. "Don't worry, any flying monkeys show up I'll scare 'em off."
"What happened to midget strippers?" Sam asked wearily, smirking.
"They're riding the monkeys." Dean replied with a grin and Sam laughed.
To be continued…